#might as well draw them full worm at some point. so i feel less bad LMAO

[mikiruma]

7 11 23

*dj khaled voice* ANOTHER ONE

#my art #meet the robinsons #furry #mtr furry au #<- making a tag for this bc might as well. #anyway ive been going purely off vibes for these but. he seems like he would have a ferret at some point #maybe after lucille and bud adopt him? #i feel like i saw that hc before somewhere on this site.... if i did then it was really good and that person was big brained #anyway im thinking wilbur might be next. i think he would be a crow or something #honestly spike and dimitri are a close second #mostly bc i already drew them as horrifying worm people #might as well draw them full worm at some point. so i feel less bad LMAO

[multimilfs]

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Stairway to Heaven

Summary: Anon requested Melissa Schemmenti + 132 -- "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

List of prompts found here!

A/N: Happy ficmas everyone!! I have been working really hard to get ready for kickoff today and I hope you'll all enjoy what I have in store! Enjoy!

Special thank you to the amazing @arewecoolio for reading this over for any errors!! You're the best 💖

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @multifandomfix @greenawayprentiss @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): None

Gary is cool. He's even funny on occasion, when he remembers the punchline. He treats Melissa like a Queen—though she deserves nothing less—and worships the ground she walks on. But you’re not convinced he’s good enough for her. 

You’re watching the two interact across the lunchroom with simmering jealousy. It’s an ugly emotion you’re not fond of feeling, but one you can’t seem to shake these days. The grip on your grading pen tightens as Melissa laughs at some joke of Gary’s. 

“Girl, you’ve got to do something about all… that.” Ava says, motioning to your expression, “Channel that anger into something productive. Like packing orders. Or sex.” 

“I’m not participating in your pyramid scheme.” You answer. 

“Oh, so you’re going to get some? Finally. It’s hard having to entertain you with my stories when I’m not getting anything back.” 

“To be fair, I never asked to hear about your sex life,” You point out. Ava shrugs and you continue, “If you tell me about Tyrone one more time I might lose it.” 

“Tyrone? He’s old news. I’m onto Jamal now, keep up.” 

“Jamal? What about his sister?” 

“She was into some weird stuff. I’m freaky too, but even I draw the line at dolls.” 

Ava shivers and you decide not to ask. It’s better for your sanity that way, though you’re morbidly curious. Ava never tells a bad story. 

Another presence joins the table as Janine sidles up, looking far too awake and positive for 9 am on a Tuesday. She smiles obliviously. 

“Dolls? I loved dolls as a kid.”

Ava scoffs, “Yeah, I bet you made them kiss each other and all that nonsense.”

“Of course I did. It was like directing my own little show!” 

“Is that where the control issues started?” You ask. 

Janine’s oblivious smile drops and she levels you with a look. It’s closer to matching Barbara’s with every day that passes, it’s almost impressive; but unless Barbara herself levels one at you, you’re going to remain unphased. 

“Don’t shame my childhood development just because you’re jealous over Melissa and the vending machine guy.” 

You turn red, “I am not jealous!” 

“Right. And I wasn’t named tastiest doomsday prepper in Philly.” Ava says, rolling her eyes. 

You and Janine lock eyes, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Everytime you talk to Ava you learn more about her; that isn’t always a good thing. When Janine opens her mouth, you give her a subtle shake of your head. Once the two get started it’s impossible to get them to stop. 

Unfortunately, Janine is too stubborn, and has to do things her way; she engages the Principal in a battle of wits she can’t win. You tune it out the second she starts in on how doomsday prepping is futile and the kind of neurotic spending reaction it induces only benefits the government. That isn’t a can of worms you feel like glancing inside. 

You decide to torture yourself emotionally instead. 

It should be easy to watch Melissa laugh and grin in that smug, bright-eyed way she pulls off so well, but it turns your stomach to know Gary is the cause of it. He’s nice enough—that’s the excuse you try to use everytime, to no avail—but he isn’t you. And against the slim odds of someone like Melissa ever wanting you romantically, you wish it was you. 

Does he know her favorite restaurants, her favorite soap operas? Does he know about the years Melissa dedicated to caring for her Nana? Does he know how incredibly fucking lucky he is to have Melissa Ann Schemmenti wrapped around his finger? 

The likelihood of him knowing anything important is slim-to-none. The redhead is too private to share information so soon, but the little green-eyed monster in your head prods you, asking what if he does? Your fists clench in your lap. You’ve been climbing the stairway to heaven this whole time and Gary’s probably on the highway. 

“Hey, hon,” You’re surprised from your thoughts to see the object of them in front of you, leaning on the table, smiling. 

You smile back, “Hey, Mel.” 

“What are you doing tonight?” 

Hope claws up your throat. You shove it down violently, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Depends. Why?” 

“Gary was asking about you, he wants to meet ya. I was thinking you could bring your secret lover on a double-date tonight. You meet my guy, I meet yours.” 

You tilt your head, brows scrunching, “Secret lover?” 

“Oh come on,” Melissa rolls her eyes. She levels you with a look that says don’t give me that bullshit, “I’m not blind. You suddenly go silent on all things romance and think I wouldn’t figure out what that meant?” 

Nerves and mortification make you nod, smiling sheepishly. Your chest hurts. Of course she’d notice; after several years of friendship and teaching together, how could she not? The two of you were practically glued at the hip before Gary came along. No topic had been too much and then for you to go silent… you can see how that’d come across. You’re glad she didn’t suss out the real reason. 

“I’m not sure. Things are still pretty new…” 

“I’ll buy your drinks.” 

That makes you pause. 

Then you see how she’s looking at you. She’s leaning down into your space, grinning like she knows she's won. You can’t deny her anything, not when you know how much it’ll mean to her for you to really meet Gary as her romantic interest rather than a passing acquaintance. It’ll kill you. Watching her laugh with him will undo your feeble grip on sanity. 

It’ll kill you, but you’ll do it for her anyway. 

“When and where?” 

— — 

This is a terrible idea. 

The place Gary chose is a total dive, and not the good kind; every surface is covered in a fine layer of grime and ash, ninety percent of the men and women at the bar smoking like chimneys, and the beer you ordered tastes like if someone decided to waft alcohol in the direction of their drink. All of this you could forgive. 

What you can’t forgive is the absence of a proper pool table. 

Every table in the place is falling apart at the seams. There’s maybe two cues per table and some of the nets have holes large enough to send grown men chasing after solid and striped balls alike. 

The worst part? Melissa stands in the center of it all, smiling like none of it bothers her. You know better. Her smile is strained at the edges, her eyes slightly pained. If only she’d say the word, you’d sweep her out of here. She just maintains that strained smile when you walk up to her. 

“Where’s the secret lover I was promised?” Melissa asks. 

You smile, though your heart isn’t in it. It’d taken endless promises to get her to agree, but eventually—

“Sorry I’m late y'all. There’s a guy selling mixtapes outside and I had to hear it before I bought anything. Can’t be too careful, you know?” 

Melissa’s smile melts from her face. Her eyes bore hard into you, dark with emotion. As she looks between you and Ava—who leans against the table next to you, either totally oblivious or uncaring—her jaw tenses. 

Gary chooses that moment to speak, a jovial smile on his face, “Now I did not see this coming! I never would’ve guessed you two would be seeing each other.” 

“Neither did I.” Melissa says. 

You want to disappear into the floor. Despite the fact that Melissa is openly seeing Gary, you feel you’ve done something wrong. 

It doesn’t help that Ava drapes herself against your side. She makes deliberate, intense eye contact with Melissa, and takes a slow sip of a drink you failed to notice. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. You’re grateful for the absence of anything sharp. 

“What can I say, I lucked out. Anyone would be lucky to get a piece of her.” Ava says. Her tone is startlingly sincere. 

You give her a hard look. She just shrugs. 

“No drink for me?” You ask, anything to distract from the way you can’t look at Melissa. 

Ava raises a brow, “If you want something, you just gotta ask.”

“I’d kill for a gin and tonic.” 

“Got it.” 

“I’ve got it, you two sit.” Melissa interjects. 

She extracts herself from Gary and stands at the same time Ava does. On another night, you’d take Melissa's offer as the kind act it is, but tonight it feels strangely like a threat. 

The two are caught in a strange staring contest. You want to reach out and tug Ava down into her seat, but you’re frozen, wondering what the hell is going on.

“I’ll get it.” Ava says.

“She’s my friend.” Melissa crosses her arms over her chest. 

“She’s my date.” 

Melissa’s body tenses at the word. 

You’re too busy watching Ava, trying to decipher where she’s been hiding this acting talent. She had been reluctant to join your ruse and now it seems like she couldn’t be anywhere else. For a moment it feels authentic enough to make your stomach turn.

Gary cuts in before Melissa can back down, “I could use another beer if you’re going towards the bar.” 

“Sure. You got it, Gar.” 

The two walk away in tense silence. Melissa keeps looking at Ava from the corner of her eyes, while the principal pretends she isn’t there. 

It leaves you with Gary and you smile. Trying to pretend there’s no tension is easier with the women across the bar. 

“It’s good to meet you,” He says, friendly enough, “Melissa talks about you enough I feel like I already know you, but I’m glad she got you to come out tonight.” 

“Yeah. It’s good to meet you officially. Besides the occasional run-ins during lunch, I mean.” 

He nods and drinks the last swig of his beer. You take a few seconds to glance through the haze of smoke towards the bar. Melissa leans one arm on it, waiting while the bartender runs around helping out rough-looking men and women. She looks perfectly placed and yet stands out; she’s probably the most beautiful woman to ever set foot in this place. 

Ava’s chatting up a woman at the bar like Melissa isn’t even there. So much for her putting on a good act. 

Even if she’s not looking at Ava directly, you know Melissa’s listening, cataloging everything. You’ll get an earful about having self-respect when choosing partners later. 

“There’s another reason I had her ask you here tonight.” Gary says.

His face is serious. You’ve never seen the man without a smile and it unnerves you. Trying not to let that show, you raise an eyebrow. 

“I wanted to meet the woman Melissa’s in love with.” 

You blanch. 

“Gary, that’s—she’s not—“ 

A hand settles on top of yours and his smile makes an appearance. It’s kind, kinder than you deserve after all the things you’ve thought about him. 

“I knew there were three of us in this relationship when I went out with her the first time. But I’m giving you the chance to make it two again,” He says, “She’s crazy about you and I can see you feel the same way. She’s all yours.” 

You should be overjoyed. Melissa feels the same way about you, you have a shot? Instead, you feel angry. 

“You’re going to give her up just like that?” You snap. 

Gary startles you by laughing. 

“I can’t exactly give up what isn’t mine.” 

“She chose you.” 

“Sometimes people make mistakes.” When you seem unconvinced, he shakes his head, “Melissa’s a good woman, she deserves someone who makes her happy. That just happens to be you and not me. I’m not mad about it.”

You’re reeling. The room feels like it's spinning and you don’t have time to regain your focus before the women return. Ava sets down your gin and tonic with a nod. 

Melissa starts up an animated conversation with Gary, who nods along, adding in his own comments. He keeps glancing over at you when Melissa won’t. The whole thing makes your stomach turn; you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You grab Ava’s hand, flashing a strained smile at the pair, “Excuse us for a moment,” and drag the principal off to the bathrooms. 

 Once you’ve shoved Ava in the ladies room and locked the door behind you, you spin on your heel towards the other woman. 

“I know you want this to bother her, but dragging me into the bathroom for a quickie is a bit much, even by my standards.” Ava says. 

“That’s not what this is.” 

“Right, why else am I here then?” 

“When you and Melissa went to grab drinks, Gary told me Melissa’s in love with me.” 

Ava stares at you. 

“That’s it? I could have told you that months ago.” 

You blink, “What?” 

“Yeah, neither of you are subtle. You practically have it written on your billboard sized forehead.” 

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach a hand up to your forehead, before reminding yourself to focus on the task at hand. Ava knew Melissa returned your feelings the whole time. You wonder who else knows and has let you stew in jealousy for weeks. 

Melissa’s reaction to Ava makes a lot more sense. It’s almost comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has been fighting with jealousy. You feel very, very blind.

“Who else knows?” You ask. Your friend gives you a blank stare, “Seriously? Everyone knows?”

“Yes. Do me a favor though and play dumb a few more weeks? I’ve got good money on this.”

“You bet on me?”

“I bet on Melissa, actually, which is why I need you to keep quiet.”

“Ava, I’m not going to ignore this because you want to win a bet. Come on.” 

Ava rolls her eyes, “Fine, I’ll cut you in on the bet.” 

“Ava!” You glare.

“This could be your chance to support a young, black entrepreneur. It’s hard out here.” 

“Try that on Jacob.” 

She lets out an ugh and throws her hands up. You want to be upset that she’s asking you to keep quiet, to lose more valuable time with Melissa, but you can’t be; even if she did leave you oblivious for weeks. If you’re going to be upset with her, you have to be upset with everyone. 

It comes from a place of letting you make your own decisions; you know that and admire it just a little. But you were oblivious. Melissa seems like she is too, if Gary’s talk told you anything. Would they have let the two of you circle each other the whole time? 

You would be miserable if Gary—Gary, who you’d been unfair towards this whole time—hadn’t spoken up. He’s sacrificing his chances with Melissa so you can have your own. Mentally, you make a note to get the man some kind of ‘thank-you’ gift. 

Ava snaps in front of your face and you jerk back. 

“What are you going to do?” She asks. 

“Uh… talk to her?” 

“Not the energy I was looking for, but good enough. Let’s go.” 

Ava grabs your arm, not unkindly, and drags you to the door. You drag your feet. 

“Now?!” 

She doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. The bathroom door is opened and you’re nudged through it. You walk, but throw a glare over your shoulder, annoyed at her sudden silence. Ava doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Gary is the only one left at the table and you panic, eyes searching the room. The heart in your chest settles when you catch a glimpse of familiar red hair. 

Melissa’s across the bar at one of the more put together pool tables, surrounded by women in a shocking amount of leather. Her eyes are focused right on you. They move briefly to Ava, though she doesn’t seem to find anything damning. The focus of her gaze moves away when one of the other players nudges her and she leans over the table to line up a shot. 

You’re caught for a second in watching her. Her eyes narrow before she settles in to take the shot and when she pulls back the cue, she makes direct eye contact, and sinks a solid ball in one of the pockets. 

Cheers go up from the woman you assume she’s playing with. You don’t bother to look at her. Instead, you make a direct beeline for Melissa; her eyes following you every step of the way. 

“Can I talk to you?” You ask when you reach her. 

You’re well aware of the glances her fellow players are throwing in your direction, but you don’t care. Melissa seems curious, but she gives nothing else away. 

“I’m in the middle of a game, hon.” 

Laying your hand on her arm, “Please, Mel.” 

Like magic, you watch her soften. She nods and hands off her cue to the nearest person without looking. You lead the way outside, wanting away from the noise and smoke for a few minutes, if only to clear your head. 

The silence is too tense for your liking, but neither of you are doing anything to break it. You breathe deeply. You’re at a loss on what to say; how do you tell someone you’re in love with them? 

Instead of anything rational coming from your mouth, you ask, “How do you feel about Gary?” 

Melissa jerks in surprise, “That’s what you pulled me out here for?” 

“He seems to think your feelings, your heart, lie elsewhere,” You barrel forward, hoping it works in your favor, “Namely, with me.” 

Her eyes widen slightly before she schools her expression. It’s all you need to feel more secure in blindly following Gary’s word. 

“I’m not sure where he got that idea.” Melissa says. 

“But you’re not denying it.” 

“Does it matter? You seem to have things pretty easy with Ava.” 

A note of bitterness slips into her voice. You soften, recognizing the underlying jealousy you’d been feeling only this morning. 

“It matters to me,” You say, “because I’m crazy about you, Mel, and I need to know you feel the same way.” 

Melissa doesn’t bother to hide her surprise this time. You smile, but fidget under all of her attention. You want to reveal every thought and feeling to this woman in a way that’s overwhelming. She seems so shocked, you can’t help but want to assure her of how real your feelings are. 

“I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much,” You admit. It feels odd to say it out loud, “But you make a lot of impossible things feel possible.” 

She looks at you like she’s never seen you before. It’s daunting. 

“You really mean that?” Melissa asks. 

“Wholeheartedly.” 

“And what about Ava?” 

You chuckle, “I bribed her into playing the part. She’s a surprisingly good actress.” 

“Good.” 

Melissa leans forward and kisses you. 

It isn’t the kind of kiss you expect, but it’s the kind you always daydreamed about; the soft, almost hesitant way she claims your lips, while her hands dig into your hips. You’ve never felt so awkward and so pleasant in your life. You have no idea what to do with your hands. 

The other kisses in your life never felt so strange. You wonder how much they really meant to you, if this is what a real, loving kiss feels like; unsure and yet, eager. 

Throwing your nerves out the window, you give in to all of it. You sink into the whirlwind of emotions and wrap yourself around Melissa. Her kiss grows more insistent and you match it, pulling where she pushes, moving with every forceful press of her lips. 

You’re on your last shred of oxygen when she pushes you back. Only an inch of space separates the two of you taking in furious gulps of breath, cheeks flushed pink and wearing matching smiles. It hardly feels real. 

“You’ve been holding out on me.” Melissa says. 

“Hardly. I’d have kissed you in a second if you asked.” You say sincerely. 

“Me? Why would I be the one to ask you?” 

You raise a brow, “Well, you were the one seeing someone else.” 

“I wouldn’t have gone out with him if you said something.” 

A laugh leaves your lips unbidden. Your eyes sparkle when you look up at Melissa, wondering how you managed to get so lucky. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to answer that question. She’s wonderful and kind and beautiful and all the things you feel you don’t deserve. She’s yours anyway. 

Her eyes shine as she stares back. Wishing you could jump into her mind, you get lost in them. Then you do as she wants and capture her lips in another kiss. It’s shorter than the first and more comfortable, but the feeling of newness still lingers. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how much time you’ve lost being jealous. But you try not to dwell too much; it’s difficult when the most beautiful woman in the world is staring into your eyes. The lost time doesn’t matter when you have it now—when you have her now. 

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #abbott elementary x reader #melissa schemmenti imagine #abbott elementary imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #multimilfswritings #dec2022 #multimilfsficmas2022

[obeymeluv]

Signs they Love You (Pt. 2)

This semester is almost over and while the teacher is a bit disorganized, I have a semblance of breathing room. I thought I’d pop this out real quick and maybe something smaller. Baby-related thing still pending. I want to do it, just not quite enough time yet.

Part 2 has Asmo, Beel, and Belphie.

Belphie’s is not long AT ALL because...well, it’s Belphie. And it’s me. I’m so-so with Belphie.

Asmodeus

For once, his charm and sin is a double-edged sword

Yes, he’s very experienced and has had many lovers--many splendid little things over hundreds of years--but how to make it unique? How to tell you?

Asmo is very calculated in how he flirts, from what he wears and what he plans to say. He personally believes every relationship should be special. No repeated dates unless both people have a preference for it

So when he decides he likes you, the first thing he does is pull out this BIG ASS BOOK he’s kept for centuries and leafs through it to see what he’s done before

 No, it doesn’t matter that 99% of these dates were AGES before you were born. He’s checking the list because YOU DESERVE A SPECIAL DATE!

He’s secretly hoping you’ll get some of the many hints he’ll be dropping, but consulting the book is also a good idea for an official first date

After two weeks of shopping with you, taking spa days, trying to weasel his way into more cuddles, Asmo decides it’s time to pull out The Book idea because you’re not getting it

You’re just distracted by his beauty to see the fact that he’s trying to flirt. It’s fine.

This date idea requires the big guns (really only Diavolo, but he needs Lucifer to get to Diavolo). He’s setting his plan into motion, trying to sweet-talk Lucifer into taking him by Diavolo’s castle but Mammon overhears

The second-eldest is very unimpressed, DARES to mock him while sipping noisily on a soda, and just asks him why he doesn’t tell you straight up.

“Because it’s a stupid, tasteless idea.” Asmodeus scoffs and shoos him away like an annoying little thing as he amps up the charm and resumes his conversation with Lucifer.

“Bet it’ll work.” is all he hears Mammon murmur.

“Look,” Mammon shrugs. flicks his eyes to Asmo and then just nods his head towards you as you come around the corner into the dining room. “You just man up and say, ‘Do you--SMFF!”)

Asmo has never strangled anyone to death but today it might happen

Or he’s going to break this new six inch heel off in Mammon’s mouth (or his ass)

With Mammon sufficiently strangled (or choking on his soda, he’s not sure which) Asmo, plays it cool (barely) as you pass through to do something else (thank god!)

Highly amused, Lucifer agrees to help him

By the end of the week Asmodeus has a cute greenhouse picnic planned. Only Satan and Lucifer know

He’s pretty scarce around the House of Lamentation, even turning Solomon down once or twice, but it’s all worth it for the set up. He even bought special flowers

Barbatos escorts you through the winding greenhouse that almost seems lush and trim enough to be part of the Royal Gardens. He stops just before a manicured arch of flowers, the walkway studded with garden lights, stepping stones, and beautiful roses

He goads you forward, sending you on your way. The little roses perk up and explode into gorgeous blooms

And they’re talking?! One of the notecards say they’re a Devildom brand of rose--a mimicrose. The flower acts like a recorded, hiding a secret message, and blooms when it’s delivered to the right person

Your face lights up a gorgeous flattered color as you make your way down the trail compliments popping up every step

Asmo’s waiting at the end of the arches, looking like the cat that ate the canary with his catered spread. Sitting pretty on the classic checkered blanket.  

You only kind of hear the last rose confess--Asmo’s voice going quiet and shy as he swears he really, really loves you

The demon in front of you seems very far from that shy voice but you catch the tinge of pink on his cheeks. He saunters up to you and says something witty about how only he could be perfect for you, and that only perfect him could set all this up!

You two have a cute, quiet date with little cakes and finger foods

Diavolo sends Lucifer a text with a blurry photo saying he ‘photobombed’ you two, but doesn’t realize he has to be in the photo for it to count. Lucifer still thinks it’s a cute picture

Beelzebub:

It takes Beel a while to come around to the fact that he might like you

Not because he doesn’t like you, but because he’s equally comfy being friends. Friends are fine, too.

Even as a friend he still gets that giddy rush when he holds you, that flood of warmth when he impresses you, so for a while he thinks he has the best of both worlds

When that balance starts to feel threatened, the realization creeps in

Then he realizes there’s no going back and if he doesn’t say anything, you get caught up with other people and he’ll miss you. You just won’t be around as much anymore!

 When someone on the Fangol team starts getting a little too curious and close, the red flags go flying in Beel’s mind. He needs to tell you and tell you now!

Probably doesn’t have an extensive dating history and is, in general, the best sweet boi, so he’ll ask around for ideas. The second someone suggests a cupcake message or cake message, he’s done. No more ideas! That’s the best one!

To put his feelings in it, Beel decides to make the cupcakes himself. He buys enough to make 3 or 4 dozen cupcakes because he anticipates stress eating at least two batches

And the ugly ones. Can’t give you ugly ones!

He takes full advantage of Asmo or whoever getting you out of the house, throwing on a little apron and getting to work. Belphie supervises, occasionally scolding him

Beel eats a few cupcakes more than he’s supposed to and decides to draw frosting people so the space doesn’t feel empty

His frosting spelling isn’t that great. One of the words look weird. More than one, actually

Trying to write over it just makes extra frosting, unreadable globs

Beel eats that one, then realizes he messed up some of the topping, so he smooths it out and tries again

Belphie plays wingman, fully aware of his brother panicking over presentation and trying to spell (and not squeeze the life out of the frosting bag), and writes little love messages on the wrappers

It’s stuff he’s heard Beel say in his sleep for at least a week.

Beel resigns himself to a mash of cupcakes that are kind of readable and way less than what he planned to have. He doesn’t know Belphie’s done a gradual bait and switch of the cupcake liners since he’s eaten just as many as he’s made

You see a smiley face and the frosting people and it’s enough to melt your heart

Beel is speckled in flour and frosting (he’s got crumbs on the corner of his mouth), and he looks adorably awkward in the apron. He’s so nervous he’s in his demon form, wings buzzing frantically behind him.

It’s like he wants to take off and make nervous circles around you.

He stutters out an awkward ‘I like you’ and mumbles other things. Belphie, who’s curled up under the prep table, grumbles out ‘READ THE LINERS!’ before snuggling down again

You and Beel go on a cute little hunt to pick and read the wrappers, splitting cupcakes with each other.

At the end of it you’re very full and very happy. And Beel’s extra delighted because you smell (and taste) like cupcakes.

Belphegor

Does he like you like you, or just like the fact that you don’t bother him?

In his book, you’re not terrible. Not annoying. You don’t wake him up on purpose, and you seem to get along with Beel.

Not bad, right?

Maybe this means he just doesn’t have high standards?

He knows he wouldn’t mind napping with you. Maybe that means he likes you?

One night, when he’s hit that ‘slept all day’ high and he’s awake and thinking it over. He asks Beel about it because who else would know him better than his twin?

Then he learns. OH BOY DOES HE LEARN!

Apparently he talks about you in his sleep? And he blushes? CUDDLES THE PILLOW?

Beel is hardly worried about the threats, the finger pointing in his face, and the way he’s bobbing his head like a bull about to charge. It’s just standard little brother things! Very cute!

Belphegor feels bad and a little unworthy to date you. His sin is very taxing and he spends a lot of the time napping. Is it really a good idea?

It’s a heavy issue to think about, and he dreams.

Belphegor has always believed that dreams are a way for you to work out the issues you have when you’re awake, so he’s not surprised to dream about you

The dreams are so vivid, so heart-warming, and he’s so happy. It’s all about you and him--snippets of dates that he can’t completely see. He’s not sure where you’re at or what led up to the moments, but they’re all a happy, quiet cuddle that gives him more energy than he’s felt in a while

He knows, then, that he should at least ask you. When he gets his next burst of rested energy, he’s going to confess

Belphegor’s nearly scared straight out of bed when he sees you tentatively approaching it. He musters up enough concentration to hold a conversation and is VERY embarrassed to find he basically called you here

Almost like a subliminal message, or sharing a dream, you just simply had to come and tell him about the adorably awkward dream. It was very cuddly and kind of put you in a cuddling mood

Belphegor’s got a major case of sleep brain but it sounds like YOU actually just confessed

Plays the big card--go big or go home!--”If you like me, get in the bed.”

Realizes about 3 seconds later how that sounds. Is very embarrassed and wants to hide under his blankets and die. 

He’s already wormed under them and is firmly cocooned (so he doesn’t have to look you in the face or see if you stay) “You know...if you like me. Want to cuddle and stuff...like a couple...”

He feels your weight spread out along his bed and scoops you up like a blanket monster. It’s like being swallowed by a fitted sheet, blanket coming at you from all sides, and you both laugh about it.

Belphegor is a big fan of the private cuddle pile

#Obey me! #Obey me! x reader #Asmodeus x Reader #Asmodeus #Belphegor x Reader #Belphie x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader

[angstyaches]

This is trope anon from before :) It might be interesting to see Elliot put off feeling sick, because he is so caught up taking care of everyone else? He kind of strikes me as a worry about everyone else first kind of guy lol. Then absolutely regretting it later haha

If not Elliot, Ryan also kind of gives me similar vibes

CW: mention of disordered eating/malnourishment, trauma mention, overwork, nausea, emeto, dizziness, blood mention (he’s a vamp, so yeah), pining (for absent partner), platonic/brotherly caretaking

Author’s note: Elliott and Felix are going to be just FINE! They’re not even broken up; Felix is just a little AWOL after a fight they had. I just loooove me some angst.

Elliott’s vision went pitch black for a moment as he stood and waited for the kettle to finish boiling. His stomach lurched so harshly that he almost turned towards the sink, expecting the return of the blood he’d drank for breakfast. Instead, he swallowed, closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly through his nose. He was overexerted, probably. He’d been pushing himself during his and Shayne’s ritualistic “sparring” (or, as Shayne called it, “trying to kick the shit out of each other” or “therapy”) session. Elliott had hoped his supernatural abilities would have begun to manifest by now, seeing as his transition to full vampire was complete. But still, nothing yet. Maybe the stress of Felix being gone was stunting his development. Maybe the stress was adding to how bad he felt.

The kettle clicked, reminding him of why he was standing in the kitchen in the first place. Elliott’s heart sank as he recalled Shayne’s eyes rolling back in his head, his body almost hitting the ground before Elliott could catch him. Turned out the kid had been starving himself again. Elliott would have punched his lights out if they hadn’t already basically been out.

A minute later, Elliott picked up a hot mug and crossed the open-plan kitchen and living area to where he’d left Shayne on the white sofa. He was conscious now, at least, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused.

The mug contained hot, weak tea and a few spoons of the glucose solution Ryan had concocted for Felix’s blood-and-sugar lollipops. Back in the day, when Felix refused blood and couldn’t hold food down, Ryan had fed him the solution like this, and it had kept him from passing out. The smell was so strong that Elliott almost gagged, his body so delicate as to protest merely being in the presence of human sustenance.

Elliott tried to hand Shayne the mug, but his cousin’s hands were so shaky he almost dropped it immediately. Elliott took it back, trying to ignore the fact that his own hands weren’t exactly the steadiest. He brought the rim of the mug to Shayne’s lips.

Shayne made a face and pulled away as soon as he took the first sip. His hand went to his mouth, like he was considering spitting it back out.

“Swallow it.”

A shiver seemed to roll through Shayne’s body as he did. His eyes watered like he was about to cry. “That tastes like shit, El.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for forgetting that you need to eat.”

“I didn’t forget I needed to…” Shayne mumbled. “I’m not stupid.”

“That’s extremely debatable. Drink.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“Drink,” Elliott said again, as calmly as he could, “or I’m going to get Ryan.”

The last of the fight went out of Shayne’s eyes. Elliott knew he didn’t want Ryan or Nancy to know things had gotten this bad again.

Victorious but not feeling it, Elliott brought the mug to Shayne’s lips again and again, letting him take small sips. At one point, he covered his mouth again, shoulders jerking forward as he gagged slightly. Elliott’s stomach flipped at the sound and he had to turn his face away until Shayne stopped. He didn’t usually puke from seeing somebody else do it, but he had a bad feeling that if Shayne threw up, he would lose it too.

Shayne shook his head when presented with the mug again. A tentative hand rested on his stomach. “I can’t, El. It’s so heavy.”

Part of Elliott didn’t want to yield so easily, wanted to make him finish the mug. He wondered what Felix would do, or how Charlie would have reacted to that pleading look. Elliott knew he wasn’t soft in the same way they were. He just hoped he wasn’t harsh.

He hoped he wasn’t frightening.

He swallowed against a swell of nausea in his belly. Whatever was gnawing at the pit of his stomach weakened his resolve.

“Okay,” he said, “lie down.”

Shayne gave a small sigh of relief.

Elliott took the mug back to the sink. White floor and wall tiles swayed all around him like he was inside the world’s most colourless kaleidoscope. He slowly breathed in through his nose, leaning on the edge of the countertop to try and introduce some form of balance to his body.

He’d extended the offer to Shayne, but honestly, lying down sounded like an absolute dream to Elliott, too. Maybe his body would stop freaking out if he got a little more rest. His sleeping pattern was completely thrown off, his mind raced in the middle of the night. Felix had star-fished across about forty different mattresses before choosing theirs, and while Elliott had acted like he didn’t care which one they bought, he had ended up agreeing that it was the best mattress he’d ever used. But sleeping there without Felix felt wrong, so his body had been rejecting it as much as physically possible.

Nowadays, he might as well have been sleeping in a wooden coffin like the stereotype dictated.

He turned around to check on Shayne, frowning when he saw that he was still sitting upright on the sofa.

“I thought you were going to try and sleep?”

“I can’t – I can’t,” Shayne whispered, lowering his head into his hands. “El, I – every time I try, I feel like she’s here. Breathing on the back of my neck…”

Guilt churned Elliott’s stomach this time. Elliott felt regrets like cobwebs sticking to his soul, and although he didn’t allow himself many, one of those cobwebs was the feeling that maybe he could have gotten Shayne out of Madelyn’s sooner.

“She’s not getting in here,” Elliott promised. “Ryan will have her head on a stick before letting that happen. Nancy will turn her blood into tar.”

“She doesn’t have to be here, El. She’s already here.” Shayne pressed a finger to either side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Jesus, I’m – I’m sorry, man.” Elliott laid a hand on his stomach, stifling a belch since he really didn’t need gas leaving his body to make this moment even more stressful. “What usually helps when this happens?”

As Elliot should have expected, Shayne gave a lifeless shrug. Alright, think, Elliott told himself, swallowing thickly. He’d never seen Shayne warm up to anyone until that day in the park when he’d been clinging to Charlie like his life depended on it. He liked to act tough (and who did he pick that up from, I wonder?), but really, Shayne just didn’t want to be alone.

He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t understand that feeling.

Elliott swallowed again, fighting the lump in his throat and the swirling in the pit of his stomach.

“Want me to sit with you?”

Shayne opened his eyes, looking genuinely surprised.

Elliott sank down on the sofa without waiting for a verbal answer. He hit the cushions a little too quickly for his stomach’s liking. It shifted noisily, semi-digested contents swimming around inside. “Now, if you think you can feel someone breathing on you, you can tell yourself it’s just me.”

“Ugh,” Shayne groaned, curling up on his side so that the top of his head was just next to – scarcely touching – Elliott’s thigh. “Do not breathe on me, man.”

Elliott smiled through his vaguely-concealed discomfort, glad that Shayne wasn’t facing him. “Afraid you’ll catch vampire cooties?”

Shayne didn’t respond beyond a soft groan that Elliott interpreted as “shut the fuck up, old man”. So even though he’d have loved to keep taunting his cousin and keep himself distracted, Elliott shut up, letting his neck rest against the back of the sofa and draping one arm up over his eyes. Lack of vision made the world feel a little less like the spinning drum of a washing machine. Elliott regretted dreaming up that metaphor, gritting his teeth as he realised his stomach felt like such a drum, too.

He was swallowing constantly, every few seconds now, chest tight with the effort of drawing slow, shallow breaths. It felt like the fibres holding his being together were frayed and left just shaky enough to throw everything off without causing him any actual, physical pain. Beneath it all was a tiny flame of anger; what the hell was the point in becoming a vampire if feeling unexplainably shitty at inconvenient intervals was still on the table?

An icy shiver ran down Elliott’s back, and he flinched where he sat. He slid his hand around the back of his neck and gulped another wave of saliva. Nothing was there, yet when he exhaled, he shuddered again. Shayne’s talk about Madelyn must have wormed its way into Elliott’s mind. Lord, he really was a mess.

He glanced down to make sure his sudden jump hadn’t disturbed Shayne. It was hard to tell if the boy was sleeping or just trying very hard to stay still. At least he didn’t seem to be panicked or shaking anymore. Elliott desperately wanted to stand up and walk around; moving and distracting himself would surely ease the building pain in his stomach, but he didn’t think he could get up without jostling Shayne.

Sucking in a breath and trying to brace his stomach for the move, Elliott shifted his weight on the sofa, cringing at how much the cushions flexed with him. He watched Shayne’s head, his breath still caught somewhere between his belly and his lungs. Another trickle of unpleasantly cool sweat ran down the back of his neck and his hands shook until he dropped the weight of his head into them. His elbows felt unbalanced on his knees. His stomach flipped, and he swallowed measuredly against its protests.

“El?”

“Yeah,” Elliott choked out, though he’d meant to give a friendly, open yeah? As in Felix’s chirpy Yeah, buddy? Are you okay? What can I do for you?

“Y’alright?” was all Shayne replied with.

“I’m good, yeah.” Upon tasting blood and bile, Elliott gulped again. “Just relax, okay? No one’s going to –”

Elliott jammed a fist against his lips in time to stifle a wet, shallow belch. The sound was so sudden and violent that his head shot forward, almost ducking between his own knees.

“Fuck,” Shayne gasped, scrambling upright despite the fact his eyes were barely open. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elliott half-snapped, annoyance at himself manifesting as annoyance at Shayne. “I may have pushed myself a bit this morning, but I’m –”

He was once again cut off by a belch, this one rumbling up from much deeper inside him. His belly continued bubbling even after the air stopped being pushed up.

“El, I think you need to –”

“Don’t.” Elliott shook his head.

“Why did –” Shayne winced slightly and rubbed at his head. “Why didn’t you say you were feeling sick?”

“Because I was trying to look after you!” Elliott sighed into his hands. The tiny burst of frustration was dizzying on top of everything else. “Lord fucking knows you can’t take care of yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Shayne said back, though his voice was empty of any of its usual fight. “I’m – I’m trying, I’ve been trying… Elliott, just go to the sink!”

Elliott’s shoulders rolled as he covered his mouth with his palm, feeling a thick film grow over his tongue. He was tempted to swallow it down again but a cramp ripped through his gut, making all of his organs squeeze in defiance of him swallowing anything.

“Shit,” he somehow mumbled, sitting forward and pushing himself to his feet as Shayne pushed – weakly but with good intentions – at his back to help him up. Elliott sprinted across the kitchen tiles and flung himself at the sink, stars in his vision and blood in his mouth. He was unbearably dizzy as he heaved up what he’d drank that morning. At least it had been an animal-blood day, and he wasn’t watching mouthfuls of human blood pooling in the sink and trickling into the drain.

It was a waste, but it could have been worse. He choked on a sob, realising he’d never thought like this until Felix.

“Fuck,” Elliott gasped when something moved next to him. He hadn’t even noticed Shayne following him to the sink. “Christ. I feel awful… Why – why do I feel this bad?”

“You’re trying to force something you’re not capable of.” Shayne folded his arms and rested them on the countertop, eyes falling shut again.

Elliott spat bitterly towards the drain. “How the fuck do you figure that?”

“Because that’s my whole life summed up, El.”

Elliott gripped the neck of the tap and turned it on, directing the water around the sink to get rid of the mess he’d made. His head was spinning and his nerves still felt alive with electricity and just wrong in general, but his belly felt a lot better. He felt like he could breathe normally again.

“You okay?”

“I think so.” Elliott rinsed his mouth, running tap water into his palm and lifting it to his lips. It was cool, and soothing on his throat after the retching.

Shayne looked positively miserable as their eyes met. “What now?”

As he shut off the tap, Elliott brushed a wet hand across the back of his own neck, relishing the cold drip that started trailing down his back. He shut his eyes, feeling like he was ready to drift off to sleep on his feet, like a horse.

“Well,” he said, “how would you like to take a nap on a really nice mattress?”

#Elliott #StW Elliott #emeto #nausea #emeto fic #sickfic #emeto sickfic #OC sickfic #OC emeto #vampire emeto #overwork #vomit fic #vampire oc #my OCs #Swallow the World #vampire whump #angst #emotional whump #long fic #fic length

[ofmythsandmadness]

stop moving | d.h

you do diego’s eyeliner. 2k words.

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NOTES: gender neutral. long haired diego. i don’t know why i’m writing this and i kinda hate it lol, i rarely write this sort of thing but y’know. i’m going to check all messages, notifs & messed gems in the morning, i’m really only posting this and ghosting again, bc i know otherwise i’ll never do it. and y’know, i want to feel productive about something. take care folks <3

BUY ME A COFFEE HERE. | CHECK OUT MY OTHER WRITINGS HERE.

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"CAN YOU PLEASE STOP MOVING?!”

Hot breath stings your trembling fingers as Diego huffs a laugh; it’s barely a sound, a mumble of a chuckle, but you feel it vibrate through your body and hit your hand and it almost does you in. You almost just give up and confess your undying attraction, right then and there. And as though you need more contact, even more of him pressing against you, egging you closer to the precipice that will surely be your infatuated doom. 

“You’re the one who asked to do this, you don’t get to complain.”

“Well, you wanted it. You agreed to this!”

“I--” another exhale against your hand, another peal of laughter following shortly. You've half a mind to clamp his mouth shut with it, if it wouldn’t ignite yet another ill-thought fantasy of yours. “This was still your idea.”

Your smile buds and blooms despite your brain begging your lips to be still. You can’t help it; he’s too good at weaseling into the cracks of your composure. One look, one soft chuckle and you’re set for life. It doesn’t help that you’re basically on his lap, cradling his face in your hands like he’s a baby, and his own fingers tap-tap-tap away on your hips, creating a rhythm no one else but you can make out. Honestly, you’re surprised you haven’t totally cracked yet, this close and this personal.

“Shut your eyes.”

“They are shut.”

“No they’re not!” you poke lightly at the fluttering lids. Your lip snags on your bottom lip; a poor attempt to hide a giggle. “I can’t do this with your eyes open.”

“D'aww…” his lids shut as he groans. “So I’m just supposed to sit here? Let you draw on my face in total darkness?”

You click your tongue, half in disapproval in his exaggeration, and half because you’ve won yet again against his stubbornness. “I won’t be long. Suck it up.”

“Sure. Y’know, I have siblings; I know how long it takes them to do makeup, and-”

“-stop moving, asshole!” Your free hand tugs ever lightly on a strand of hair, one of the many that’s slipped out of his ponytail. Repressed thoughts flash in sultry red across your thoughts and you swallow, quickly letting the hair go. “I-I need you to stay still, or this will take forever.”

Diego sighs and his grip tightens around your hips. Before you know it, he’s moving you. “Then stop wriggling,” he grumbles, flattening you against his legs. You’re basically straddling him, at that point, and your mind goes absolutely blank at how much more intimate this feels. Does he notice? Or is this just another friendly motion you’re yet again reading into?

Your mouth tastes of cotton balls and it’s dry as an Arizona summer. Still, you manage an ‘okay’ before readying your pen again. All you can hope for is a steady hand, though by the way he still holds your waist, and how your mouth lingers mere inches from his lips -- well, you’re coming undone.

It’s just eyeliner, you tell yourself. Your hand rises and swipes; black begins to pool its deep colour against his lashes, low and thin. The line builds taller, thicker as you work, extending out to the corner of his eye. As he breathes, and you try to remind yourself how to, the eyeliner pen works its shaky magic and draws the slightest tinge of a wing against his skin. 

“How’s it going?”

At least he’s kind enough to mumble it, though his face still shifts under your hold. Once more your tongue clicks. 

“It goes better when you don’t speak.”

He swallows his laugh; you know, because you feel his throat work as you hold his head steady. It’s strange and exhilarating, to be so close and still so far away. You want to cradle his cheeks gentler, to hold his face with the heart of a lover, but you’re terrified he’ll recognise your touch and realise your feelings. So you barely touch him and remind yourself to be professional about this.

It’s eyeliner, not a rom-com.

“I’m bored,” he whisper whines. 

“Shh.”

“It’s too quiet.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, patting his cheek gently. “M’working.”

“Y/N...”

You pull away and sit back on his thighs. His left eye doesn’t look half bad, but if he keeps talking… “You can’t talk, ‘else it’s gonna look bad!”

“Then you talk!”

You baulk. “What?”

“I’ll be quiet,” he swears, pouting up to you with eyes still shut, “but please, say something before I lose my mind.”

“Well, I-I-what about?”

“I don’t know. Anything.” He smiles softly. “I like hearing you talk. Don’t care what about.”

You could die right then and there. It’s a simple compliment, it’s really the bare minimum, but you’re already head over heels. And just a couple of soft spoken works are all you need to do you in and nearly keel you over, still straddling his muscular thighs.

“Uh…” you cough, forcing out the giddy tremble that threatens to take your voice. No lovesick teen voice today, thank you very much. “Okay. I don’t have much to...well, the other day, I saw my coworker totally wipe out leaving work.” You pause, expecting some reply, but he stays silent. “And he... he ate so much shit, he might as well dunked his head in a gas station toilet. And - and you know, normally I’d try to sympathise, but when you always make a point to park in my parking spot, I don’t care. Brett’s such an ass. And I don’t blame him, cause he’s got an asshole name -- Brett can’t be anything else but an asshole. So it's his parents fault probably but still, I…”

You continue on, slipping from the topic of your coworker to the free muffin you got with your coffee last week, to the prospects of buying a pet to keep your apartment less lonely, and to what probably felt like a thousand and one things ranted at him. All the while your hands continue, making neat work of a task that had just felt impossible.

And miraculously, aside from a chuckle thrown now and then, Diego stays silent. Maybe he actually means it. Maybe he does like your voice -- or he’s so bored he’s falling asleep, you don’t know. But it’s okay, you don’t let yourself linger on that, too content with taking in his relaxed features and the gentleness of the afternoon sun on the two of you.

“Aaaand….there!” With a triumphant shout, you throw the eyeliner to the side and your hands plunge towards the sky, fist-pumping like you’d just won the lottery. Your body bounces up and down on his lap like a child meeting Santa; in your excitement, you barely notice. “You’re done!”

“That’s it?”

“Yup.” You grabble for a mirror, looking away from him for a moment as you reach for the handle. Wiping it off, you’re focused solely on making sure the glass is clean enough for him to see himself in, and your brain is distracted enough to totally forget what you’ve even done, enough so when you look up, all you have is,

“Oh.”

Look, you know Diego is an attractive man. You’ve known since the day you met; he’s a beautiful guy, a handsome asshole who wormed his way into your befuddled heart before you could even learn his name. He’s pretty enough that if he wasn’t so set on his weird vigilante career, he could probably shoot for being a damn supermodel. He’s a catch! But all those years of knowing that and feeling like that could not prepare you for the sight in front of you.

Diego squints at you, cocking his head. “Is it okay?”

“I…” Delicate black lines his upper lash line, making his deep brown eyes stand out even more. He’s smiling still, full lips curving up to only make your heart pound faster. A strand of his hand falls across his face, painting the gentlest of shadows but it doesn’t bother his pretty face. “I...no, no, yea-ah…”

“Wow,” he laughs, jabbing a finger into your side. “Eloquent.”

“I-I-shut up,” you stammer. You force the mirror into his hands and look away. You’re still on his lap, still straddling his lap and the logical part of your brain begs you to get it together and fall off, already. But the stupid, foolish, absolutely idiotic part leaves you paralysed. “Just look for yourself.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for him in the silence. There’s nothing, though, for achingly painful seconds, until the mirror shifts down. “Huh.”

“Huh, good? Or bad?” 

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Really? What’s wrong?”

“It’s not bad,” he assures you, his smile evident in his tone. “Just different. Don’t know how to feel about it.”

“O-oh...well, if it makes you feel better, I think it looks great.”

“You do?”

Oh, dammit. That came out with way too much enthusiasm, didn’t it? Your legs are concrete as you shift, face angled towards the floor. Hopefully he’s strong enough to push you off him when your body literally catches flame from humiliation. 

“You look good man,” he mocked back to you. But he’s grinning, egging you on like a child who knows he’s got you twisted around his pinky finger. “Come on, say it like you don’t have a gun to your head!”

And maybe you do, maybe you’re holding the revolver to your temple, just asking to get screwed if you dare speak beyond the most stilted compliment you’ve ever extended to someone. He’s a friend, you remind yourself; friends are allowed to compliment the other. They’re allowed to say they look good and not make it a thing, even if they wish it was a thing, and--

“--hey? You in there?”

“Sorry,” you say to the floor. You swear a thousand curses before looking back to Diego. And, yeah -- he still looks impossibly good. The ageing afternoon sun falls just perfectly against his skin, flushing him into the being of a god, standing in your apartment while you, a mere mortal, remains stuck to his thick thighs.

You gulp in air desperately, trying to catch your gaze on something, anything else -- but nothing sticks. He’s still there, inches from you, desperately aching for you to stare at.

“No, uh, yeah. You look - you look hot.”

Wait.

That wasn’t--

“-I look hot?”

That isn’t what you were supposed to say.

“I,” you have literally nothing to save yourself. This is the end! You’re young Leo and Rose is shoving you off the door and into the icy waters, and you’ve just got one last look at pretty Diego to satiate the freezing burn before you succumb to it. “I...wasn’t...that wasn’t what I meant.”

He has no right to look so smug. But he does it anyway. He leans away from your hands as they flutter through the air on their own accord, looking at you through half-lidded pools of caramel. “You don’t think I look hot?”

“Don’t,” you warn, with little strength behind it. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m just asking.”

He leans back in. You’re almost touching again. 

Is this weird? This is definitely weird.

You swallow back the lump in your throat and stare back at him. This all feels like fifth grade all over again -- awkward, sticky and like every move is the wrong move. But you can’t stop yourself from playing into his hands, because that sly, shameful part of you wants this more than will ever be admitted. You want him to look at you like this, like you could hang the stars if he asked you to...and you want him to pull you closer, as he does, and mean it.

Could he?

“Would you hate me? If I thought you looked hot?”

Diego head cocks to the side as he seemingly contemplates your words. A nudge meets your side; you look down to see his hands once again reaching for you. Though it's on their own accord this time, gently landing on your left hip, then the right. You shiver.

“That depends,” he says slowly. His eyes narrow, black wings just barely crinkling in. “D’you mean it like, ‘oH, that’s so-oo hot, woW-’”

Your laugh is hardly a whisper. It cracks even before your lips. “Come on.”

“Or, do you…” his fingers dig in a little more. They nudge at the fabric of your top, daring it to move enough so they could cradle the flesh hidden underneath. “You mean it the other way?”

Heart in throat, all the courage you can possibly muster with it, you mutter, “the...other way, probably.” Then a second later, “is that okay?”

“Mm…” His fingers finally reach your skin. You shiver under his touch, warm and unflinching as they brush against the soft curves. Diego’s face comes towards your own and you force yourself not to move. But he doesn’t stop, instead he goes past you, brushing his plush lips against your earlobe. “I would say...that if all this took was making you do my eyeliner, I shoulda asked years ago.”

“I, okay...don’t play with me, here--”

“--I’m serious,” he protests lowly. His lips leave your ear but they don’t run far. Instead, you find them a brush away from your own, just as you were minutes before. Only this time, you don’t try to clamp your mouth shut and skirt away from the touch. You nudge your nose against his own, exhaling softly as more skin meets the heat of his own. “You think I just let anyone sit on my lap like this, without thinkin’ it could be more?”

You shrug like this is normal. Like you’re perfectly at peace with the universe and the way you’re wondering how his tongue would taste, pushing back against your own. “I mean...do you?”

“No,” he chuckles low. “No, I’m...not into friendly lap dances, actually.”

“O-oh. Mm.”

He pulls you closer. He wants you closer.

“Diego…” You’re unravelling. You’re fucking unravelling, unnerved by his voice and his hands and you’re putty in them, all inhibitions sliding away like you’re three drinks in. His hands by your sides leave their marks against your skin; you can feel the pads of his fingers, burning into your skin like they were molten iron and not just mere brushes. “I...”

“Tell me.” He sounds cocky. He has a right to be, even if you’re damned to admit it. “Tell me what you think.”

Your hands shiver up his forearms, clinging to his bare shoulders as he pulls you impossibly closer. Your mind’s going a mile a minute and you refuse to listen to a single thought. You’re only feeling him.

“Y/N…”

“Fine,” you huff, with a smile. Your noses brush again; your eyes flutter shut with his image imprinted against their lids. “I think you look...hot as hell, Diego.”

“Yeah.” He’s grinning; you can hear it in his voice, that smirk that makes your gut flip like a damn rollercoaster ride. “S’what I thought, baby.”

And then he kisses you.

A/N: i normally hate writing oblivious characters but this wasn’t even intentional really. every time i try to write something remotely sexual i just lead the reader into ‘oH tHiS iS jUsT wHaT fRiEnDs Do’ and ‘iT’S wEiRd rIgHt’. to my defense...i doubt you’re on this page reading this expecting good sexual tension. i’m not the tua writer for that; let me know if you want recommendations for that because trust me, there are better authors for that. for now, you get this. <3

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves #hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #my writing #this is so random #I just saw a fanart of completely different ppl doing eyeliner and i thought #why not put diego in eyeliner he deserves it

[crimsonspade]

Ambushed with Apathy Year 8, Gotham City

He’d just gotten his helmet off and tossed his cape across his bed. It had been a long night, and dawn was just starting to break through Gotham’s perpetual cloud cover. He was really looking forward to a lukewarm shower and maybe four hours of sleep before he had to report into WayneChem for work.

Just as he was reaching up to undo his bow tie he heard a click behind him. Spinning around and into a defensive position, hand ready to grab one of his many knives, he saw an intruder in his apartment.

If one was so inclined, she could be described as breathtakingly beautiful. Smooth dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes that flicked over him as if he were a worm beneath her leather boot. Good thing Hood wasn’t inclined so he could just mentally describe her as looking full of herself.

“Who,” Hood started to ask, only to be interrupted by her accented voice.

“So you are the one distracting my beloved.” She did a pointedly slow appraisal of him and then around his crappy apartment. “What a joke.”

Hood straightened up in affront. Ok so maybe his place could be cleaner. And he could organize his many, many article clippings of Batman covering the walls. But he wasn’t exactly expecting company tonight...or ever. Who did this woman think she was, that she could break into his place and judge him like some queen?

“Pardon me, Your Highness, but what do you think you’re doing here?” He waved a hand to indicate his abode, slipping the knife from his sleeve into his palm at the same time, just in case.

“I am Talia Al Ghul. I came to see for myself why my beloved has declined a return into the fold of the League of Shadows. You are the Red Hood, a chain keeping him here. You are very underwhelming.” Talia flocked her hair over her shoulder, turning to browse his collection of Batman merchandise, “And tacky.”

Hood narrowed his eyes, he’d heard of the Shadows...Who was she talking about him chaining to Gotham? Wait, she couldn’t possibly mean- “Batman? Bats was in the League? I don’t believe you.”

She gave him an arrogant smirk over her shoulder, picking up the silver batarang he’d had mounted on one of his shelves. “Where did you think he learned how to utilize the darkness?”

Her attention returned to looking at his collection and Hood found that he didn’t have any evidence to contradict her. From what he knew of Bats’ training, he traveled the world and learned from multiple teachers. But he rarely went any further into it than that...

“Alright. Say I believe you. You’re trying to...what. Threaten me to try and get Batsy back? Lady, you might just belong in Gotham, because that’s insane.” Deciding to go along with this for now, Hood walked over to his dresser to continue his plans for the next few hours. Looks like it’d just be peppered with thinly veiled hostile conversation. Twirling his knife he placed it down and started undoing his cufflinks.

“I’ve looked into you, Hood. You barely exist. You are holding him back from his full potential, potential the Shadows can help him accomplish, changing the world, not just this derelict City.” Talia toyed with the batarang, flipping it between her fingers. Hood eyed her and silently wished she’d cut her hands.

“I’m his partner, and that ‘derelict City’ is our home and probably the biggest thing Bats cares about.”

“Then perhaps the City also needs to go.” Talia mused, turning on her heel to face Hood once more. Her sharp eyes followed his every movement, looking for a threat. He noted with irritation that she’d yet to put down his batarang prize.

“There’s a fast-track to getting on Batsy’s bad side. Go ahead, I’ll eat popcorn and watch as he stops you.”

“Not even Batman can stop the League of Shadows.” Talia declared with a tilt of her head. Hood raised a brow.

“If you really believe that then why are you trying so hard to get him to join you?” He asked with a smirk. The glare she shot him might’ve been threatening to any other person. Hood just barely restrained a chuckle and let out a soft huff instead.

“You don’t like me. I’m not thrilled about you either. But I’m not the one going anywhere in Bat’s life, so suck it up buttercup.” Hood said as he slid his suit jacket off his shoulders. With practiced movements he took out the various knives kept in the lining and sleeves, laying them out on his dresser.

Talia watched in growing offense as he proceeded to turn his back, leveraging one leg up onto his dresser to get at the ankle knife kept there which joined the others in the pile. Her scowl deepened as Hood took out the light chain whip from the small of his back and set it next to his pile of knives.

“You dare disarm before one who announces her intent to be your enemy?”

“Hey, before you barged in I was planning on taking a shower. Besides, you’re not going to kill me, Highness.” Hood replied without facing her, emptying his pockets of his mini smoke bombs and flash grenades. He felt the air shift behind him, as Talia closed the ten feet between them and pulled his shoulder so they were face to face with his back pressing painfully into his dresser.

The prickle of cold steel against his bare throat would’ve given him goosebumps if he hadn’t expected it. Talia stood barely inches from his face, pressing her pilfered batarang to his throat until it was just barely not cutting skin.

“What’s stopping me from slitting your throat right here and being done with you?” She hissed with a furious look in her eyes.

For the first time that evening, Hood gave a broad smile, stretching his scars until it hurt.

“You could,” He admitted, his smile not dimming in the slightest as he nodded and a line of blood appeared as he moved against the blade against his throat, “But you won’t be getting out of this apartment without my little pen knife here going three inches into your liver, causing you to bleed out in, ohhh, less than three minutes?”

Without moving a muscle, she looked down. Hood flexed his hand around the knife in question to make his point, heh, clear. He’d kept one knife up his sleeve, and now the tip was digging into her side, just one little jab and it would do exactly as he said.

“You are a vigilante, you follow my beloved’s foolish ideal of not causing death, you are bluffing.” She insisted, bringing her eyes to lock again with his.

“Oh am I, sugarplum? Well, if you think that, then maybe you should roll these dice and see just which one of us is bluffing.” Hood raised his brows, eyes wide and smiled even wider. It caused her to draw back, even just a fraction.

The glow of his green eyes this close was...unsettling.

With exaggerated slowness, and without breaking eye contact, Talia removed the batarang she held to his neck. Hood lowered the tip of his knife at the same time.

“You are less than nothing. He will grow bored of you.” Who was she trying to convince? Him or herself? Hood snorted.

“Which one of us is the entertainer here, Your Highness? I’m the co-star every opening night, while you’re barely a featured guest.”

Retreating towards the window, Talia turned to go. Hood growled, bringing his arm and knife back up, “Ah, ah, ah. Forgetting something, Your Highness?” She looked back and wordlessly Hood used his knife to indicate the batarang she still had in her hand. “Get your own.”

Suddenly slicing through the air next his head, the batarang lodged itself into the wall behind him, bisecting one of his articles of Bats fighting Penguin in Metropolis. Dang, now he’d have to ask for a reprint.

“I am still not impressed.” Talia stated with a glare. Hood doesn’t roll his eyes despite feeling the urge.

“The feelin’s mutual, cupcake. Get. Out.” He bites out, patience thoroughly used up.

Maintaining eye contact, she goes. Hood doesn’t blink until he is looking out at the rising sun and finds no trace of her. Only then does he allow his shoulders to slump and let out a tired sigh.

On second thought, he’d skip the shower. Collapsing onto his bed sounded wonderful.

#crimson spade #red hood #talia al ghul #Batman #my art #my writing #year 8

[evostrashbin]

Any backstory or headcanons for your Kiran? It’s fun to hear the backstories of other summoners! Or if that’s too broad uh...why did she pick Grima? What do they have in common how did they learn to get along etc

Oho buckle up now this is about to get LONG since I had a few months to think about these kind of things 👀 (These are purely headcanons for my personal version of Kiran of course! Some of this might be a little dark so TW for abuse mention , please skip parts that make you feel uncomfortable! Also keep in mind I'm no native english speaker and haven't written anything long in ages )

Her backstory is nothing out of the ordinary, she's been summoned to Askr from our dimension & current time and was just a normal person before she became the summoner. She's pretty thrilled by her new role and takes her duty very serious (even if some of my art might suggest otherwise haha) and is absolutely fascinated by now being surrounded by magic, dragons and literal gods, things she normally only knew & loved from fairytales! Coming from an abusive family she not once looked back and never had the desire to return to her old realm and is happily living in Askr now. Her and Grima originally started out on a weird kind of fascination coming from both sides, with Kiran being completely unafraid of Grima the second she summoned him, he found that very odd since the usual reaction of people seeing him is fear, but Kiran was just... happy he showed up and not in a way of „Wow a powerful god I can use for his power“ but just genuine, foolish excitement. Considering he was the first evil dragon god she ever summoned she was just very intrigued by him, wanted to know more about him and why so many of other heroes were so afraid of him. So she made it her mission to get to know him a little better and make him feel welcome in his new home (But making sure to give him space if needed!). Grima was a little annoyed by that at first, asking her why she keeps pestering him but also just perplexed by her actively seeking out his company with seemingly no goal (at least none that made sense to him, why would anyone seek him out on their own if not to appease to him for his power to use it for their own selfish gain). Considering his distrust and straight up hatred towards humankind he's not exactly kind to her in the beginning since he suspects ulterior motives, but Kiran doesn't let that discourage her and she's not taking any of it. If anything it just makes her wonder why he despises humans so much (and yet has chosen a human vessel...) , why he's so full of hatred and since she's stubborn, she just keeps „pestering“ him. Though he would never admit it, he finds himself enjoying her company, this odd little human who doesn't fear him at all from a realm unlike anything he's ever known before and ends up slowly warming up to her (in his own way, means he's getting less insulting and starts having actual conversations with her, he finds himself very intrigued by the fact that neither dragons nor gods exist in her realm and so does magic and yet she's the one Breidablik has chosen to get that kind of power? Also Kiran has the patience of a saint even when Grima is testing that alot at times ) After a while they both start sharing bits of their pasts with each other (Imagine Grima still being kinda snarky, but in a less mean way haha. Also Grima being very much suprised at Kiran not abandoning him after learning about his past), and learn that they're not so different from each other in some ways, touching common ground in the experience of having had the ugliness of humanity having turned them repulsive and disappointed (Due to Kiran's almost life-long experience with physically and mentally abusive parents that were only interested in her as a resource, and not as a person and once she had no use or didn't obey their wishes, they just straight up told her everyone would be better off without her and that she should've never been born and essentially making her believe that everything wrong in the world is her fault & blaming her for it because she's just „ such a terrible child“ (just to keep it very short, we're not going to dive into the really ugly details) . They bond over having parental figures who treat their whole existance as a mistake as soon as they lost total control over it and people just constantly using them as a resource for their own gain. Basically trauma-bonding at its finest, both have seen and experienced some of the ugliest sides of humanity. This leads to Kiran now understanding where Grima's hatred comes from. (Though Grima genuinely asks himself how Kiran doesn't t hate all of humanity after her experiences...) With her newfound understanding she decides to show Grima that not all of humanity is ugly and selfish and cruel ( a lesson she had to learn herself for years and still sometimes struggles with, but she's determined to show Grima that there's people he can trust, even if it might just be her) and wants to give him a chance to start new in Askr and leave his past behind so even he might be able to find happiness. She's not striving to drastically change him though, she wants to help him cope with his experiences and give him a chance to live a somewhat normal life (as much as that's possible for someone as Grima) , following his longing to just be human. Grima in return might not openly show it, but he really appreciates her efforts in treating him with kindness and (mostly) like a normal person and not a lost cause beyond any redemption that's just 100% pure evil and never deserves anything good happening to them. So they slowly build a relationship on mutual trust, Kiran just likes him the way he is despite him not exactly being a good person (she's well aware he's flawed but so is she in the end and all the ‘ugly’ parts of him and his past are just a part of him)  .It's... new and not unpleasant to him, having someone who wants him around who isn't just blindly worshipping him or staying out of fear. It's just a whole new experience for him that comes with having to deal with a whole lot of unknown emotions over time ;) That's what it boils down to to keep it short! Do not let yourself get deceived though, the only person Grima is kinda soft with is Kiran and pretty much exclusively when it's just the two of them since Grima does not want to have other people see him kinda vulnerable or think of him as weak, He'll still threaten to kill other people while calling Kiran his worm (in a loving way haha). Kiran herself also isn't just endless patience and kindness, she also likes to mess around at times with Grima and has her own struggles and flaws, if she'd ever get a fallen alt it would probably be a duo unit of her and Grima where she gives up believing into there being some good in the world and turns her back to it with Grima, giving in to despair and seeking to just destroy everything with him when all the bad things get too overwhelming. oh also some random headcanons for Kiran! -She's prone to overworking herself since she takes her work very serious, fell asleep in the library and the castle gardens more than once due to exhaustion, got to a point where even Grima scolded her for it to take more care of her health. -She's nocturnal so you'll find her wandering around the castle at weird times, often makes for nice and silent meetings with Grima just to talk when nobody else is around since he doesn't sleep alot. -She enjoys drawing as a hobby in Askr and keeps a sketchbook which she uses to make sketches and sometimes even studies of all kinds of heroes she finds interesting! She once made a detailled study of Grima's dragon form and gifted it to him on the day of devotion c:

#ask #dentos-wife #me actually taking my time to write something long?? #never expected anyone to be interested in my personal and more specific headcanons though #I'm just a big sap #Kiran and Grima just mean alot to me in general #they're my emotional support broken people haha #also fiction is about having fun so I'm not taking things too serious who cares if Grima's a villain he deserves love too #idk. thinking about character dynamics and interactions is just alot of fun to me #especially if it's with more odd and morally questionable characters like Grima #don't mind my terrible writing I usually don't write at all haha #also please don't take any of this too seriously #it's just personal headcanons

[haberdashing]

open your eyes (i see your eyes are open) (4/?)

Jon, faced with being the last one left in a dying world, sends his memories back in time to someone who might be able to fix things before the worst can happen.

Sasha James, for her part, is very confused.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

on AO3

The visit to Artefact Storage was nice, but just like when she’d been reassigned, Sasha was only too happy to get out of there and head to the Archives, though she knew well enough now that the latter was plenty dangerous in its own right. At least she knew what to expect from the Archives. At least the Archives weren’t literally paying her to test out horrible, unpredictable things...

...no, that was Jon’s job now, wasn’t it? Elias had chosen him, the Web had chosen him, and now he was the Archivist, and he was going to be put through things much worse than anything Artefact Storage had to offer...

Sasha had started this train of thought in the hopes of reassuring herself, but instead, as she entered the Archives, she just felt a little queasy as she thought of what lay in store in Jon’s future.

Or what would lay in store in Jon’s future, anyway. Things wouldn’t be so bad this time around, not if Sasha had a say in it.

Jon was already in the Archives, perched over Tim’s desk as the two spoke about something, and Sasha was struck by the sight of him. He looked so different than he had in his final days before, and not just because his skin was free of scars--his hair was short and much less gray than before, he was still wearing a suit of all things rather than the hodgepodge of outfits he’d rummaged through as his professional mask slipped and his options grew slimmer...

...and, as Jon turned her way, Sasha could see his eyes focus on her, and though his gaze was still dark and meaningful, there wasn’t the same weight to it, the same sense of the universe itself staring back out of those deep eyes.

(She still felt like she was being watched, but that was only to be expected now, wasn’t it?)

“Good to see you, Sasha.” Jon shot her a quick nod. “I was just briefing Tim on his next project--you’re still working on the Hodgson file, correct?”

God, that felt like ages ago, though Jon had only given Sasha that assignment last Thursday. The Hodgson file wasn’t even one of the real ones, just somebody who’d gotten drunk and mistook what was probably a plane for an alien vessel, though Sasha was struggling to recall all the details at the moment. “Right, yeah, I was, er, having trouble looking up the relevant flight patterns, I believe it was? But I’ll keep trying, of course, so-”

Jon looked over Sasha again, and his gaze softened slightly. “Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, I... it’s just, um...” ...hell, she was struggling to come up with an excuse, so why even bother? She wanted to tell Jon about what she’d learned eventually, and perhaps now was as good a time as any. “Actually, could we talk in your office? When you’re done with Tim, I mean, I don’t mean to rush you.”

“I think we’re done here already.” There was a flat tone to Tim’s voice that set Sasha on edge--had he and Jon been arguing, perhaps?

“Oh, yes, we’ve covered pretty much everything I wanted to discuss at this point, so.” Jon rapped twice on Tim’s desk with a slender fist, a gesture Sasha had never seen him use before his promotion but had already encountered several times since. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss.” Tim’s voice had a bit more energy to it now, and as she walked with Jon to his office, Sasha saw him shoot her a wry grin.

Sasha closed the door behind her and took a seat as Jon got settled.

“What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well...”

That feeling of being watched that permeated the Institute was making the hairs on the back of Sasha’s neck stand up, and she knew it wasn’t just because Jon was looking at her with an expression somewhere between curious and impatient.

What were the odds that Elias- that Jonah Magnus was watching them right now? Probably not great, really, he did have an actual job besides just spying on his employees, but he certainly could be watching. Was thinking about it that much more likely to make it happen, drawing his attention to her thoughts? God, it was hard to know, wasn’t it? And that was the problem, being caught up with knowing and not knowing...

“Now that you’re the head archivist here, it’s your job to hear when the general public’s encountered something supernatural, right?”

“If it’s in a statement given to us, yes, but those are usually made by liars and the mentally unwell.”

Sasha did her best to drum up a smile. “Good thing this isn’t a statement, then, right?”

It could be a formal statement, probably, but Sasha didn’t want that, not when anybody with access to their archives could read it afterwards, not when there was information she now knew that could prevent the literal end of the world if the right people acted upon it.

A soft sigh, more perfunctory than anything. Jon was trying to play the grump again, but Sasha was pretty sure she could see through it even without everything she now knew about Jon masking his true feelings. “Where are you going with this, Sasha?”

“This weekend, my mind just- just filled with a ton of information suddenly. Info about you, about the other assistants, about the supernatural, about a little bit of everything really. Things I should have no way of knowing, but now I do. I figured you ought to know--could come in handy down the line.”

“Do you have any proof of this?” Jon tilted his head to one side slightly. “Something you shouldn’t know about me, perhaps--and not just from hacking, either?”

Sasha thought about arguing the point about hacking with Jon, but honestly, it was fair enough that she be called on it. Instead, she just nodded and took a deep breath--not that she really needed the extra air for what she was going to say, but because it felt right, and who was she to deny the moment that extra bit of dramatic flair?

“Mister Spider wants more.”

Jon’s face went pale in an instant, his gaze unfocusing as he seemed to look more through Sasha than at her.

“Jon?”

Jon didn’t respond.

“Jon, it’s okay!” Sasha rapped gently on his desk. “It’s just me. It’s not... it’s not that.”

Jon blinked rapidly a few times before shaking his head.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jon was clearly not fine, as his hands were shaking slightly and his face still didn’t have its full color back, but Sasha wasn’t going to argue the point. “But I- I’ve never told anybody about that, how did you-”

“I told you. Weird supernatural information shoved into my head over the weekend. Simple as that.”

“Right. You- you weren’t making that up, then.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Sasha answered just the same. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Jon looked unconvinced, and Sasha suddenly remembered how when “Antonio Blake”’s statement had appeared, Jon had thought only Tim could be trusted to investigate it, only Tim could be ruled out for having written it as a practical joke on his new boss--that felt like an eternity ago, and yet it hadn’t even happened yet...

“You said you didn’t want to give a formal statement, correct? Was there any other action you expected from me regarding this?”

Sasha shrugged. She still wasn’t sure how much she could share, especially here, in the belly of the beast. Maybe in the tunnels, some time... assuming there still were tunnels, and they weren’t being plagued by worms or Not-Thems or murderous Jurgen Leitners...

“I just wanted you to know about it, mostly. I know a lot about these old archives now, so if you’ve ever got a question, I’m glad to do what I can. Not that I wouldn’t be willing to help anyway, but, you know, if I already know the location and validity of statement number 0051701, or whatever, might as well use it, right?”

Jon squinted a little. “What is statement number 0051701?”

“Oh, it’s...” Sasha let out a soft giggle. “We haven’t gone over it yet, but it’s about an old calliope organ.”

“Kuh-LY-o-pee.” Jon corrected.

“Ka-lee-O-pee.” Sasha repeated, a grin growing on her face. “Though there’s really no one correct pronunciation, or so I’ve heard.”

“...right. Well, thank you for letting me know about all this, I suppose.”

“Of course. You are the boss around here, right?”

“As Tim keeps reminding me, yes.”

Sasha stood back up and cracked open Jon’s office door, but before she left entirely, she added, “Seriously, reach out if you need me- or any of us, really. It’s not healthy to spend too long cooped up in here by yourself.”

“Duly noted.”

As the door closed behind Sasha, she could only hope that she was doing enough, that her offers to help would be taken advantage of when Jon needed it most.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

[ilguna]

Belamour - Chapter Nine (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, murder plot

wc; 11.2k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Today marks the eighth day of the Hunger Games, you think. If you’ve been keeping track of it correctly, it’s been a week, and today is the eighth day. You’d like to say that the time has flown, but the days feel like they drag on forever. Especially with how hot it’s been during the day. It feels like you’re living through lifetimes in the span of a couple of days.

You should probably clarify that today is the eighth day of the games for you guys. Time typically moves differently inside of the arena, and it’s because the gamemakers are always trying to make something happen. Whether that be fights, or just plain death, it’s all dependent on the circumstances.

All you know is that your brothers and family friends have watched you survive in here, and come close to death three times now. The first one being Horace, the second being the mutts, and the third being the boy from Twelve. Although, you don’t think he counts much, holding you underwater was his own death wish.

Reed and Mox are probably beginning to gain hope on the situation. If you’ve survived an entire week, and managed to form a schedule of sorts, then you should be on track to go home. All you have to do is not fuck up between now and then. Don’t pick too many fights, drink plenty of water and eat more than enough food.

Keep your allies close but your enemies closer.

This morning was eerie. Allio didn’t say a word, mostly made grunting noises when Lennox suggested that him and Allio go out to try and hunt. It’s been three days since the storm, so the animals should be appearing back in the woods, but there’s no promises. If they come back with nothing, you’re going to be sent out to the pond.

As soon as the boys left, you and Trink had a quick conversation about how weird it was. You suggested the fact that he’s probably still mad at you three for yesterday, and she agreed. As soon as it was over, you and her started going through boxes to find any stray food.

She ended up finding one full of food. The cornucopia is normally plentiful with all sorts of stuff, so you weren’t surprised that she found it so quickly. The next thing to do was gather all the garbage and make a trash can of sorts. Already, you’ve thrown out wrappers and old bones.

It isn’t until you’re throwing out a fish’s skeleton, when you realize that it might be possible to make a soup out of these. Like chicken and beef broth, but instead with bones. Then you seem to remember that you never watched your brothers when they made it. You were always either out of the house or doing something in your room.

And the others don’t mind the fish--you could care less about eating it every night--but if you continue to make them eat it, or anything that has to do with it, they’re going to riot. It wouldn’t hurt to at least propose it, so you make note and toss the skeleton into the box.

“Hey, you know what I just thought of?” Trink is sitting in the sand, passing over trash when she finds it.

“What?” you ask, grabbing another handful and throwing it into the box. It looks like that’s the last of it. 

You shut the lid on the box, and leave it unlocked, hoping that’ll be a good enough signal to you later that it’s the trash box. If not, the placement of where it is should be good enough for your memory.

“Snares.” she says, “We make snares and set them up in the woods, just so we don’t have to be out there hunting the entire time.”

You nod distantly, thinking it over. It’s not a bad idea. You could catch things overnight and go to grab the animals in the morning, and just reset it, you think. You’ve never had to do something like that before, so it’s more or less a toss up. 

“Do you know how to make one?” you ask.

She’s shaking her head, face turning a light shade of red, “No, I was hoping you’d know.”

And your eyebrows are drawing in, “Why?”

“You and Finnick were at the snare station during the training days, remember?”

For a moment, you’re about to deny it all, not being able to recall a single moment like that. It hits you, after that. Sitting at the snare section with the incredibly impressed expert, and how you taught Finnick knots when he asked. It really does feel like years ago, when it was literally two weeks ago.

And the more it comes back to you, the more you seem to realize that you never actually learned any snares. You were more focused on trying to figure out new ways to tie knots, hoping that whatever the expert tried to teach you, you already knew and it would come back to you in that moment.

You fucked up, majorly. You spent an hour or so at that station without spending a single second of actually learning how to tie a snare. A skill that would now help to keep you all from starving. You grit your teeth, because who’s the one person that spent more time at that station after his first alliance was gone? Finnick.

You look over at Trink, shaking your head before the words form on your tongue. She seems to understand, maybe thinking that you don’t remember. Or maybe the change of expression told her that you don’t know how to tie snares at all.

“It’s no big deal.” she says, “I’m looking forward to fish for dinner, anyway. Even if it’s not the greatest, we can rely on it, hopefully.”

“Yeah.” you agree.

It’s only a few minutes later when the boys come back, absolutely nothing in their hands. Lennox tries to offer an apology, but you figured that this would happen. The gamemakers are keeping the animals from supplying the woods, what’s new? After all the shit they’ve thrown your way recently, it’s only customary.

You pack up your things, collect the empty water bottles, and leave for the pond. On the way, you hum a fisherman’s tune and try to recall the actual words to it. There’s a ton of variations to them, and you remember bits and pieces from the original and all the remakes. By the time you reach the pond, you’ve made a frankenstein version of the song.

You grab the fishing pole and then unpack your things, laying it all out. First, you get the water and purify it. You line the canteens up to make sure that they aren’t taking up a huge amount of room inside of the backpack. After that, you dig through the dirt to find a worm, making the situation beneath your nails worse.

At this point, you’re sure that it’s just stained that dark brown color. There’s really no other way to explain it. There’s a baby blue on the top, and a dark brown beneath the bottom. Picking at it has done nothing but aggravate you. So, you sit in tired silence and wait for the fish to bite.

You can imagine that your brothers are picking out everything that you’re doing wrong. Cringing when you choose to do one thing over the other, they’ve probably already found out ways to make your fishing pole better, and are just waiting for you to realize it too. You’ve already considered crackers and stuff like that, but it’ll eventually break off in the water, and you’ll just waste the food.

You wish that you were able to hear them and what they have to say. Beg them for advice on what to do. Allio is just becoming a bigger problem, the more that time goes on. The food is becoming more scarce, it’s hot here during the day and last night the weather plunged terribly, enough to make you grab out a second jacket from a box.

All you want is to survive, and it keeps getting harder the more that the days go on. You wish that the gamemakers weren’t allowed to interfere, and just had to watch from the sidelines. Of course, the games wouldn’t be nearly as interesting but manipulating the weather is unfair.

You pull out the first fish, and go right back in for a second. This one seems to bite only minutes later, faster than the first. You go to place the second fish down, only to find that the first is missing, with no sight of it around you. Your eyes barely manage to catch a quick movement in the bushes, and the knife is in and out of your hand in a flash.

“Shit!” a voice hisses, you jump to your feet, fingers fumbling for the sword to catch the thief before they have a chance to run.

You have the sword raised, prepared for the other tribute to jump at you. And you just barely peer around the bushes, about to swing and end it. But you catch yourself mid-air once you see who it is. His dark, curly hair is so familiar and it catches you off guard almost immediately.

He’s got a knife clutched in his hands, eyes wide and staring up at you. There actually seems to be some wince on his face, like he was fully prepared to accept his fate with the sword. Leave it to him not to even think of defending himself. 

“Blaire?” you ask, eyebrows drawing together as you survey the area around him.

You’re looking for Finnick and Thyme, they have to be around here somewhere, right? They’re supposed to be grouped up together, so it would only make sense for them to be traveling together. Then again, you’re with the careers and you came down here by yourself. On the other hand, you wanted it that way. 

You find no one around him. Maybe Blaire volunteered to go alone, like you? But that doesn’t make sense, Finnick typically travels with other people, no matter the weather or what they wish. You remember all the times in the rain, and how he’d walk his friends, girls and guys, home after school. Especially the ones that were looking upset.

One more look at Blaire, and you can see that his cheeks have sunken in, no longer as chubby as they were during the week in the Capitol. He’s been starving, and traveling down to look at his hands, it makes sense why he was stealing the fish. He’s hungry.

“Where’s Finnick?” you ask, looking back at him. 

A fish in one hand, and a knife in the other. The longer you stare at the knife, the more you recognize it. Again, you’re looking at his face, and the guilty expression seems to set in. There’s only one knife that looks like it, and it’s the exact design of the one that had been stolen out of your backpack.

Good news, you found the thief that took the entirety of the feast from your backpack in the shack. It explains the disappearance of the food and the knife. Bad news, you accused Allio when it had nothing to do with him, which means that there is undoubtedly a bounty placed on your head, and he’s probably explaining it to them right now. It still doesn’t explain the grapes.

A part of you is angry, because Blaire has caused this riff in the alliance whether he knows it or not. And it’ll be nearly impossible to repair without explaining to them how you know that it wasn’t Allio. It would give up Blaire’s position, and how you didn’t kill him on sight. Even worse if he doesn’t shut up in the sky.

On the other hand, you’re fairly impressed. He managed to get passed four sleeping career tributes, steal the food and leave without making a single sound. The timing and execution is amazing, and you know for a fact that you wouldn’t be able to pull off something like that.

Unfortunately, his luck has run out.

Blaire’s shaking his head, the wince from his face fading as you lower your sword. For now, you have absolutely no intention of killing him. He’s too kind, and you know that the stealing was for his own survival. Even if you’re in the Hunger Games, you can appreciate it. 

“I don’t know.” he says, you offer your hand out to him, but since his hands are full, he can’t grab it. Your arm falls back to your side.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You haven’t seen him at all? You’re supposed to be with Finnick and Thyme. Don’t you have an idea of where they are?”

He gets to his feet, you can see the damage you did to his leg, now. It’s a nick, enough to surprise him and make him think that you did some serious damage. You find your little knife a few feet away. You pick it up, and await his answer.

“I haven’t seen them at all since the first day. We all split up, I didn’t even know that Verda was going to the cornucopia.” Blaire frowns, “She died in the bloodbath, right?”

You nod quietly, bringing him over to where you had been sitting before by the pond. You throw the hook back into the water, “Yeah, it was a quick death, though. I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t any of us that had done it. Definitely wasn’t me.”

“You’re still with the careers?”

“Yeah.” you look over to him, “What have you been doing this whole time? Other than stealing from us.” 

His face flushes, and he opens his mouth and then closes it. He shakes his head, eyes closed and then he looks down to the dirt, “I was hungry.”

“You left nothing.”

“Can you blame me? You guys looked well off, I didn’t see a harm in it at all. And I didn’t leave nothing, I left the crackers and figured that would be good enough. That and the water.” Blaire’s still got a grip on the fish, you have a feeling that you won’t be getting it back.

You pull up another fish, place it on the plastic, and then go right back in again, “We’ve been sharing food. One measly rabbit for four people, it’s not exactly the best. Doesn’t sit right with them.”

He hums, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Take the fish, and a thing of water.” you reach into the bag, pulling out the water bottle you’d used, it’s full of water, “Should be clean.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah. Clean out the cut on your thigh to keep it from being infected.”

You can’t believe that Blaire doesn’t know where they are. So much for a second-hand alliance, none of them are together. Verda’s dead, Blaire is wandering the woods alone, starving. And who knows what’s happened to Finnick and Thyme? It could very well be Blaire’s situation but better or worse, depending on where they are.

You’re so guilty. This isn’t directly your fault, because Finnick had his own alliance so he should have been able to find all of them just fine. But had you… you’re the older tribute, you were supposed to be watching over him. Yet, he’s off somewhere, maybe alone, maybe starving and dehydrated.

Finnick might have broken the agreement on the alliance with the careers, but he’s your friend. Finnick and you have known each other for years. Had you just spent time changing his mind and reassuring him, he might be with you now. You were just so mad that he had turned his back on something so great.

There’s no way of knowing now, if you two could have survived out here. Knowing him, he would’ve wanted to stay away from the cornucopia entirely. Which just means going into the woods with absolutely nothing and banking on sponsors. You know how to do things like start fires, and hunt without all the good stuff, but it just helps.

Then again, you did warn Finnick. You told him that going about this alone or without the careers would be harder. There’s not as many people watching your back. And of course, at some point they’re going to be unreliable and dangerous. But you’ve survived this far, and you’ve only just come across problems.

As far as you know, the games are halfway over. There’s eleven dead, and it’s been a steady flow. In eight more days, the games could be over and you could be going home. 

Blaire dips his hand into the water, pulling out a handful of water as he dumps it onto his thigh. His face twists, a hiss coming from his lips. You feel sorry for him, it has to hurt and it’s going to hinder his walking. But it’s what he gets. It’s justice, in your mind.

Doesn’t mean you can’t help him out somewhat. You and Blaire might not have talked to each other for long, but you don’t feel uncomfortable around him. And he seems to be pretty relaxed, too. You wonder if he sees you as a friend directly, or a friend of a friend.

Sticking the fishing pole between your calf and your thigh, you dig through the backpack for the first-aid. You pull it out, and toss it to him, hoping that he knows what he’s doing, and won’t have to ask you for advice. For a moment, you can see him staring out of your peripheral, and then he takes it.

“I really am sorry, (Y/n).”

“It’s fine.” you mutter.

Blaire doesn’t say anything else for a while. He washes out the blood, waits for his calf to dry, and then places a bandage on top of it. When he’s done, he carefully shuts the first aid and holds it out for you. You take it, tuck it back into its spot, and pull up the next fish that comes around.

Three should be good enough. You wrap it all up in the plastic once the newest one is done squirming, and then place the package into the backpack, right next to the water. 

Blaire’s watching you closely again. Once you’ve zipped up the bag, you look at him, “Good luck.”

“Won’t you be down here tomorrow?”

“Not if we get something from the woods.”

Blaire looks down to the fish in his hands, “It’s been quiet.”

“We know.” you get up, placing the knife back into its spot on your belt, and then the sword. You throw the fishing pole into the bushes and then turn to look at Blaire, “If I have time, I’ll leave something for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Find a place to stay, Blaire.” you tell him, starting your way back to the cornucopia.

The walk is quiet, Blaire doesn’t follow. You manage to get back before sundown, and your allies have already got a fire started. You all get rid of the scales on the fish, then Lennox gets to cooking.

Allio still says nothing, not even when he’s offered food or if you guys ask if he wants more. Eventually, he gets up without a word and goes to take a walk, leaving just the three of you in the cornucopia. A part of you wants to tell them that you saw Blaire down at the pond, but figure that won’t go over well.

You obviously didn’t kill him, and explaining what happened with the food won’t be the best, either. Even if they were to get on your side, you’re sure that suspicions would start to rise. Unless you lied and said that you tried to kill Blaire and he got away. It would explain why he didn’t die immediately but then it would be a waiting game, and wishing death on him.

And coming clean to Allio, he’ll probably find a way to spin it on you. The two of you have made your distaste for each other clear, and Trink is the same way. The only semi-neutral person in this group anymore is Lennox. And you’re sure that’ll only be a matter of time before he’s turned again Allio, especially with the attitude that he has.

Allio has just come back from the woods, a dead rabbit in his hands and a victorious look on his face, when a cannon blasts. The look almost disappears, changing to confusion. But then he hands off the rabbit to Lennox, and takes a seat in his regular spot.

“Nice catch.” Trink murmurs, but it’s clear you’re all still puzzled about the cannon.

It could be anyone except you guys. Blaire, Finnick, Thyme, you think Mac is still alive and both the tributes from Eight. There’s one more, you’re sure of it, but can’t seem to think of who it is. Six tributes, the possibilities are endless.

Allio opens his mouth, another cannon cuts him off. Two tributes. Two tributes are dead.

You press your lips together. Could be Blaire, could be Finnick and Thyme. Could be Mac and Blaire, or both of the Eight tributes if they were caught off guard. Endless, really. Until you get to see the sky and their faces tonight.

You hope you didn’t call their deaths, Blaire and Finnick. You have the worst type of luck with things like that, pointing out how they could happen and then it happening. It knocks two players out of the game, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t matter. 

“Two.” Allio says, as if you all don’t know.

Trink’s pulling her hair out of her face, “Probably a fight between three people.”

You nod along, and Lennox shrugs, “Mutual kill?”

“Isn’t that rare?” Trink asks, “Like I’ve never seen that ever.”

“Probably, I thought that there was one year when it happened, though.” Lennox begins to scoop up the scraps to throw into the trash box, but you’re flying across the small space to stop him, “What?”

“I can use this as bait.” your eyes scan the surrounding area, trying to find something to put it in. The spare canteen bottles come to mind.

After finding one, you pack as much as you can inside, and tuck the can somewhere cold. It’s not going to stay good for long, which means that you’ll have to use as much as possible, and then empty it out to start over. For now, it’ll have to work.

It’s agreed between you guys that it should be an early night. You wait for the death recap in the sky with them, finger crossed for whatever reason. You don’t want it to be anyone you know, but on the other hand, it would be easier. You wouldn’t have to kill them later on, if someone did all the work for you.

The music starts, the blue emblem of the Capitol appearing in the sky. You watch and wait patiently, heart beginning to beat in your chest. It isn’t that big of a deal, you take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

The first face in the sky is the girl from Eight, which immediately knocks out Blaire and Finnick. It leaves two tributes, though. The boy from Eight, and Thyme. Both tributes from Districts Nine and Ten are dead, both of them died during the bloodbath.

“It’s Thyme.” you say, and you really do call it. She’s next to appear in the sky, her district number below her face. 

You turn towards an empty space in the sand, writing out initials. T and L for Trink and Lennox, A for Allio, B for Blaire. One for yourself, F for Finnick, M for Mac, and a number eight for the boy from Eight. And then a question mark, because you still can’t recall where the last tribute is from.

Nine tributes left in the game, four of them being you guys, and five being everyone else. It could be two girls left in the game, and it could be three. Which leaves six or seven boys. 

You suddenly begin to worry about the alliance, one more death from one of the stray tributes, will mean an even score. You’ve seen this problem happen many times before, the career tributes all turning on each other. That or they split up, and you can’t see that happening without one of you dying.

One of you has to go to keep the alliance intact. You’ve been relying on it for this long, and you’re not about to get killed because of paranoia going on in the group. You quickly rub out the sand, and then look up to the others. There’s a sadistic smile on Allio’s face, and you know immediately. He has to go.

“We’re getting closer and closer.” Allio says, and then his eyes drag over to you.

You don’t like this. You’re the youngest, they’re all older than you by one or two years. To Allio, you’re small and weak, and possibly the most useless one still in the group. But as far as you know, he’s got no kills on his head, and you’ve got four. And you’re sure that Lennox and Trink still think that he’s the one that ate all of his food.

There’s evidence.

It’s obvious. You wonder if he knows this too.

You give them a lighthearted smile, because for now, they’re not going to kill you. They’re going to keep you around, because you’re their only supplier of food right now. You have until the animals begin to show themselves in the woods again. Which could be any day now.

The anthem finalizes loudly, and the outside is dark again. Inside the cornucopia, the fire is still going, still giving off plenty of light.

“I’d say we go out and try our luck with hunting again.” Allio says.

Bad idea, you’re already shaking your head, “Just so we can come right back here in a few days? The arena is huge, you have to know that at this point. We could walk for miles and still find nothing.”

There’s a glare in his eyes, “It’s better than sitting here.”

“I don’t think so. Everyone out there is going to die one way or another, let them kill themselves.”

“And what about us?” Trink asks.

You give her a look, and shrug, “We can’t stay together forever. But we might as well make the best of it.”

They already knew that, but you wonder if they realize that you’re banking on the hope that you all stay together. Allio is upset again, Trink looks like she’s taking what you said into consideration, and Lennox is indifferent. 

Lennox keeps the fire going. He says that tomorrow will be Trink’s turn to watch over, and then it’s left to you and Allio to fight it out. Then, you’re all laying down to sleep. Except, it doesn’t come easy tonight.

Nine tributes left in the games. Eight that need to die to make sure that you win. Three of them are allies, one of them a friend from back home, two of them you consider friendly, and two nobodies that you could care less about. You’re almost there. All you have to do is not give up.

You’ve kept your strength this far, what’s a little more?

In the morning, you’re up to relieve Lennox so he can go straight to bed. By the time the sun is higher up in the sky, Allio and Trink are up. You all agree that it would be a good idea for you to go out and fish, because one measly rabbit isn’t going to do much for you four.

You take the backpack with you, and leave without waiting for Lennox to wake up. The others will fill him in, and since they’re awake, they’ll be able to watch over the cornucopia. You just hope that Allio isn’t going to fill their heads with the same thoughts you had last night.

The pond is devoid of Blaire, and it’s quiet. You fish, your thoughts being your only company. And they aren’t very pleasant.

You think that if Allio were to die and the others were to find out that it were you, they wouldn’t be angry. Obviously killing either Trink or Lennox would make the other mad, because that’s their friend from back home. It would be interesting to try and pin it on Allio and see how either of them react, but that could easily backfire. All they’d have to do is think that you’re accusing people too often, and suddenly you’re the odd one out.

And getting rid of Allio would do good, because he’s a boy. And if there are only two to three girls left in the game, it would be nice to even out the playing field a little. Give you, Trink and whoever the other person may or may not be, a good fighting chance. 

You’ve done fine against boys so far, but it’s good to have that extra step, anyway.

There’s a crackle of a leaf, which makes you look over. Blaire’s coming through the trees, still looking malnourished, but a lot more energetic today, “Good morning,” he says, and then sits by you without a word.

It would be a lot easier if he knew how to fish for himself. He’s seen where you put the fishing pole, the real thing that he’s missing is the knowledge and a water bottle to reel in the fish. But then again, you don’t want to just hand out information without getting something in return.

“Good morning.”

“Saw the sky last night, right?” he asks, and you nod. The stench of fish coming from the canteen bottle is enough for you to rethink wanting to touch it and use it as bait, “I have a feeling Thyme and Finnick were working together.”

You look over at him, “Yesterday you said you all split.”

“Finnick and Thyme vaguely ran in the same direction. I couldn’t keep up.” he says, “And I haven’t been able to find them since. The arena is huge, (Y/n).”

You nod, “Yeah, we found that out a few days ago.”

Of course Finnick would work with Thyme, it just makes sense. From one companion to another. You wonder if he’s also hurt, or if it was just Thyme that took the damage. They probably brought in the Eight girl somehow, thinking that she’d be an easy kill, but wasn’t. Hurt Thyme pretty badly, Finnick finished Eight off, and then was left to Thyme. 

In that case, she could be a mercy kill. They could have been using that tactic this entire time, which means that a handful of deaths could very well belong to them. 

“Can I use your water-purify droplets?” he asks, you dig through one of the front pockets to bring it out for him. He thanks you, and then goes right to collecting water. As soon as he’s sat back, you’re pulling out a fish and telling him to take it, “Has there been any drama between you guys yet?”

You look at Blaire, again, and study his face. It looks like genuine curiosity, an innocent question.

He explains himself; “I’m just asking, since all the other times with the games and there being this amount of careers left, drama starts.”

Maybe Blaire has a problem with silence, “Minimal drama, I’m going to take care of it.”

Right after the words leave your mouth, you freeze, fingers still trying to unravel the coil of water. That statement could mean a number of things to him, and everyone back at the Capitol. But talk about giving away an undecided plan. Killing Allio won’t be easy, at all.

Everything has to be perfect. You have until the animals appear, you need a night when you’re taking the shift, and you need to somehow make him look guilty and make sure that he won’t be missed. You know that it’ll be easier, one less mouth to feed, and he won’t be offending you guys each time he opens his mouth.

You almost think his death will be premature, and you should wait until the ‘outsider’ tributes are down a little more. That’s when the thinking stops, because it comes into conflict with your original thought. You don’t want there to be an even playing field, and you don’t want a free-for-all at the cornucopia.

Allio has to go, but you don’t have the timing down just yet. 

“Oh,” Blaire says, he probably caught on to the wording, “Right, is it a group thing or…?”

“No.” you say, “I don’t think that the other two will like the idea.” you put some more fish scraps on the end of the hook, and dip it into the water, “But it needs to happen.”

He doesn’t say anything. You fish for another hour before you’re tired, nothing has bitten since Blaire’s fish. He tries to give it up, but you assure him that it’s no big deal, and bid him goodbye, the fishing pole going straight into the bushes. Instead of taking the regular path home, you take a wide arch, hoping that’ll give you more time to find something else to take home.

Lucky for you, a rabbit darts out of the bushes, and the knife lands in the back of its neck. You’re about to say that it’s good enough, until the back of your mind is telling you that you might as well explore. It’s not anywhere near sundown just yet, and if you go back to the cornucopia now, you’ll just sit there with the rest.

And it’s easier to explore alone, you think. There aren't a ton of people trampling over the leaves, breaking sticks and such and leaving an obvious path that you had been there. It looks less daunting, and the other tributes might even consider staying around. One path isn’t a lot. It’s worrying, they might relocate, and they might not.

You use some of the rope to tie the bunny up onto your backpack. It looks funny with how it hangs down, and you’d put it inside of the backpack, wrapped in a sheet of plastic. Except, it’s still bleeding, and it would mess up everything inside. You’d rather the blood get all over the back of your jeans and shoes instead.

If you were standing and facing the mouth of the cornucopia, you’d say that right now, you’re on the right side of it. Roughly where Allio had disappeared off to last night. If you were to go left of the cornucopia, it would just be the coast, nothing good over there. 

Out here, on the right side, should be relatively nothing. Especially with how the others have described it. You’ve never actually come over here, yourself. You always figured that there wouldn’t be anything interesting. They say they can’t hear flowing water, and it’s just trees.

So, you figure it’s going to be the same, and that the trip out here is useless, and you’re really just trying to burn time, not wanting to deal with Allio’s attitude. It’s devoid of animals, which makes you think that the gamemakers are slowly giving in to the supply of wild animals again, which is good news.

They were right about the dense forest part. You’ve seen worse in other arenas, but it’s still surprising. Having this many trees on what you think is an island. It smells green out here, too. Healthy trees and plants. Honestly, if there weren’t a coast, you’d just say that this is a regular forest arena.

Those tend to be the trickiest. Having to fight in them is hard. Hiding behind trees may seem comical, but they work better than you think. At some point, if you’re not careful, the trees begin to look the same and you can wander in circles for hours, thinking that you’re going the right way but you aren’t.

It’s even more embarrassing when you finally realize what you had done for the past hour, knowing that the people back home and the entire Capitol just watched you do it like an idiot. You always used to ask, “How hard can it be?” But being out here has opened your eyes. You always knew that the arena was hard, especially with how little the Capitol gives, but it’s just making you even more aware.

The more you wander this way, the more you’re able to see the tall cliff, which is beginning to look more like a mountain with how it peaks. It’s definitely climbable, you know that. Just by judging the incline, though, it’ll be a tiring walk. And for what? A good view? Right.

At some point, you get tired of walking straight, and go diagonal instead. If you get lost, you’ll just follow the beach around until you spot the cornucopia. Easy enough plan. Plus, getting lost won’t be too bad. Unless, of course, the Capitol decides to throw in their own twist with you.

After what you said at the pond, you have a feeling you’ve got them intrigued enough to not jump to do things with you. The Capitol has likely figured out that you meant Allio, and saying that you’ve got it handled means that you’re working alone. You even confirmed it by telling Blaire that the group wouldn’t approve.

He probably caught on too. He’s smart, older than you too. Just like most of the other tributes are, except for the Twelve tributes and Finnick. You don’t know the ages of everyone, just a basic idea of where they’re at. You know for sure that Allio, Trink and Lennox are older than you. There’s no question about that.

There’s a moment, while you’re walking through the trees, you hold your breath to make sure that you don’t hear anyone following you. And then you hear it, and it’s enough for you to look over with wide eyes, and not even hesitate about going over. It’s running water, loud and crashing.

As you move through the trees, you’re careful to make sure that there isn’t anyone over here. It’s uncharted territory for you. As far as you know, this is where all the tributes could be, all hiding out around the same area. It’s out of the distance of the cornucopia, and it’s away from the path you walk everyday to the pond.

It’s smart. If someone chose to stay out here, it’s smart.

Through the trees, you’re able to see the water, sneaking up onto the dirt enough to make it mud. You don’t dare move past the treeline, and even position yourself behind a tree, looking out to the scene in front of you.

It’s a paradise. Further out, there’s a waterfall, and it looks like there’s a running stream out here after all. Around the bank are flowers, there’s lilies and lily pads alike, floating on top of the crystal blue water. With how the sun hits the water, it looks absolutely clear. Clean, cleaner than the pond water.

You think you even catch a glimpse of a fish tail, before it’s disappeared completely. How did the others miss this? You have a hard time believing that their curiosity didn’t get the better of them. Especially the mornings that the boys went to hunt. You know you’d try and take a big track around to try and get the best of what you can.

It’s beautiful over here. And as much as you want to fish, gather better water and just walk into it altogether, you know that there’s something else here. Whether it be a water mutt, or a person. In the arena, everything is too good to be true. If it’s not dirty and clearly falling apart, then it’s gamemaker engineered and there’s something wrong with it.

Even with this thought, your eyes catch a vague movement behind the waterfall. A dark color, maybe an animal? But then it happens again, and you know better. It’s not an animal, not with how upright the figure is. One more movement, and it’s registered in your mind. There’s only one person that you know that would bet on something so delicate and dangerous. And it’s not Blaire.

It has to be Finnick. There’s a cave behind the waterfall, and he found it. Smart.

You have the sudden urge to call his name and wander out, but catch yourself before you act on it. You don’t know that it’s him, it could be another tribute that figured out how to swim or don’t have an insane fear of the water. And second, you don’t know if you’re still on friendly terms with him. Not after what happened.

Yet another secret to keep to yourself. You’re careful to sneak off without making much noise, a little upset that you’ll be missing out on a perfect fishing opportunity. If you had your spear, you’d be able to take out half a dozen fish before you realize that it’s way too much.

At least you know where Finnick--or another tribute--are now. You could easily blame them for Allio’s death if something goes wrong. And then the thought of the fact that you knew that they were alive, but again didn’t kill them, pops in your head. You can’t blame any old tribute for Allio’s death without being incredibly guilty.

You make it back to the cornucopia just fine, finding that there’s already a fire going again, and Trink is taking her turn roasting it. They’re all startled at your approach, reaching for their weapons. They must be used to you approaching from the side and coming around, instead of just walking out in the open.

“No fish, got a rabbit, though.”

“None at all?” Lennox asks, “We had so many yesterday.”

“I tried for hours, found nothing so I wandered around until I spotted this guy.” You free him from your rope and hand him off to Lennox, “It’s better than nothing.”

Lennox gets to work at ripping the rabbit apart. You go ahead and hand out the water, and then take a seat near the fire to keep warm. You can already feel the temperature change, again, the gamemakers are tampering with the weather. To combat this, Trink slides in another couple of sticks, and it’s just a waiting game.

“Who’s watching tonight?” Lennox asks, and he’s looking between you and Allio, because the two of you haven’t taken an overnight shift in a while.

“I’ll take it tonight, Allio can have tomorrow.” You say.

“I’ll take the next two days, since I haven’t been doing much.” He says, and then begins playing with his sword over the fire.

It’s an hour or so before the first rabbit’s meat is thoroughly cooked. You tell Lennox and Trink to share the first one, and you and Allio will get the second. For a moment, Allio doesn’t look that thrilled that you made a decision for him like that. But then he must realize that means that he might eat more, and the expression falls.

After dinner, you all stay up for a little longer, playing stupid games and trying to burn more time. As always, the Capitol symbol appears in the sky, along with the sound of the anthem. But there were no deaths today, so it fades quickly. Only then do the others call it a night.

You position yourself up against a box, the hilt of the sword in your hand. If you haven’t had any trouble up to this point, then there shouldn’t be any tonight, either. Which means that you get to sit around in the cold, watch as the fire slowly dies out, and try to keep yourself awake.

It’s just silence during the night. The only time there’s actual noise is during the day, when the birds and insects are awake. You can faintly hear the sound of waves on the shore, and you don’t even bother trying to hear the waterfall, because it’s too far off.

If you thought staying in the cornucopia was cold, you can’t imagine what it’s like behind the water. The water is freezing, and if it’s a cave, then that means the stone will be cold too. Unless the tribute inside of there thought ahead and somehow built a blanket of leaves to keep them fairly warm.

And the mist from how hard the water is coming down? It’ll make some things wet if it’s too close. The only real solution to that, is if it’s deep in there. Honestly, you thought caves behind waterfalls was a thing for fairytales. Like those stupid books your mom used to read you before bed, back when you were in elementary school. 

You listen as the sand shifts, when you look over, it’s Trink rolling over. She’s got her back to you now. Within arm’s reach is her canteen and sword, in the case of an emergency. A few feet away lies Lennox, who sleeps on his back. His things are still by the fire, but with far back he is into the cornucopia, he could just use anything off the wall.

As for Allio, he sleeps on the other side of the fire. Compared to you and Trink, he’s by far the closest person to the mouth of the cornucopia. Easy access for anyone to come around and kill, and just run off into the woods. It’s not possible for you to do the same. It’ll be too suspicious over the fact that you were missing. Especially since you were supposed to be guarding everyone.

Tonight isn’t the night, and you’re not too sure that the next two nights are either. But time is running out, and you need to get to him before another random tribute dies. You need a plan, not something half-assed that could easily be seen through.

At this point in the games, you’re not even sure if that’s possible. Everyone has some sort of paranoia running through their heads. And it’s obvious that it’s gotten to you first. It’s for the right reason, you think. To keep an alliance intact. You could always go out and survive on your own, it’s clear that you can. Just take a backpack and don’t show up at the cornucopia again.

But you’re relying on the other's safety. And they’ll probably know where to go, down to the pond or to the shack to get to you and take you out for keeping them waiting like that. Of course, you could always go somewhere else to hide, but you’re not experienced in the woods.

Blaire might be. The only thing that he’s lacking is actual supply. If you were to team up with him, then you’d have a better chance than just going alone. But it poses the same problem that you’re working with at the moment. Eventually, tensions will rise between you and Blaire. And eventually, if you two somehow manage to be the last two alive, you’ll have to kill each other. 

You don’t want to kill Blaire. You’d much rather someone else do it, because you consider him friendly, just like how you consider Mac friendly. It’s obvious why you don’t want to kill Finnick too. So it’s automatically knocking out three of the eight tributes that need to go, to make sure you win.

At the rate you’re all going, you don’t think that Blaire, Finnick or Mac will die by chance. Blaire might not have the same will to live as the rest of you do, but he’s still fighting to stay alive. And a good example of that, is him stealing food, even though it’s dangerous.

Maybe he has a death wish, and he was partly hoping that he’d get caught and immediately killed for it. It would be one way to end his pain, but you’re not entirely sure if that’s the best way to go, leaving your life in someone else’s hands like that. Especially during the Hunger Games, where everything is supposed to be entertaining.

You could beg for a speedy death, but in the end, you’re all just puppets for the Capitol. None of you want to displease them enough to the point where they do something rash. Whether that be another event in the arena that gets you hurt, or something to your family back home.

You too, are a puppet. And it’s exactly why you’re going to make Allio’s death shocking enough to keep the Capitol on the edge of their seats, and better for you.

By the time that dawn breaks, Trink is up. She lets you sleep into the afternoon, and then wakes you up so that you can still make a trip down to the pond for water for all of them. You’re fairly groggy, and spend a good amount of time just making sure that you’re awake enough to do things.

The good news is, there isn’t an immediate need for fish. Lennox and Allio went out to the forest while you were sleeping, and managed to catch a whole pig. The bad news, the animals are reappearing. They’re still scarce, but all that really matters is the fact that they’re there.

You say that tomorrow is your limit.

Blaire is sitting in the shallow end of the pond when you get there. The bandage is gone, but the cut is still on his thigh. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, so you assume that it's feeling better today. Before he can even ask, you toss over the iodine droplets.

“Thanks. For a while I thought that you weren’t going to show up.” He says.

“Took the night shift, I got to sleep in.” You throw the hook in, and resist the urge to yawn. 

Unlike the boys, you’re pretty capable of staying up throughout the night. The only person that really gets a pass is Lennox, because he’s taking the most of them. He probably realized that the other day, and it’s why he’s pawned off the nights onto you guys. Although, to be fair, you’re pretty sure he was taking it until the difference between you and Trink and Allio was settled.

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday,” Blaire starts, but doesn’t continue past that. 

Looking at him, you’re expecting him to pick up once he realizes that he’s got your full attention, you’re wrong, “About what exactly?”

He looks up from his water bottle, tossing the iodine back your way. You catch it easily, and he begins to shake the water, “Taking care of your problem--or the problem, I should say. Don’t you think that could get you killed?”

“Everything in the arena could get me killed.” you say, there’s a tug at the wire, you reel it in, “No matter what I do, I’m always putting myself into trouble. I come down here alone, I continue to feed you, I create plans and keep secrets and try to stay off my allies’ radar. It’s the same for you. Sooner or later, we’re going to get killed or be the ones that kill.”

“Not me.” Blaire says, taking the fish from you, and then watching you pack up your things, “Shouldn’t you keep going?”

“Friends caught a pig. I’m mostly down here to plot, but you’re here.” you look at him, motioning to the fish with one hand while you block the sun with the other, “Take it, it’s yours.”

“I could leave.”

“What you do, is your own free will.” you say.

Blaire sits down right next to you, pulls his shoes off and then places his feet in the water. He starts taking the scales off the fish, you want to warn him about the dangers of the water, how deep it is and you’re not entirely sure what lies in there. But decide you’ll let him figure that out for himself.

“Tell me your plan.”

You can’t stop the laugh that sputters out of you, loud and long. Blaire was expecting this, there’s a small smile on his face, and he waits patiently for you to stop. Even a couple minutes later, you’re still giggling at the idea. Telling Blaire your plan to kill Allio? And for what? You’ll give away everything about the situation.

“Fat chance.”

“You act like I’m going to work against you.” Blaire says, and you’ve still got a funny smile on your face, “(Y/n), I’m in your debt. Plenty of times now.”

“Why? Just because I fed you? As if that’s even a reason.” you roll your eyes, “It’s charity work.”

“You could have killed me by now. Or brought your alliance down and had them do the job.” Blaire says, “Or not shown up and let me starve.”

“You’re caught up in what-if’s, none of those are real reasons.” you say, and the second that the words leave, you want to take them back. Because they are real reasons, you’ve been smuggling this boy for days.

Back home, you know some other poor family would try and repay you. It’s just how it works. You could do something nice like give one of Naida’s boys an old pair of Reed or Mox’s shoes, and she’d be insisting on making dinner for you all for at least two nights. All of it would be on her.

And there was one day, something like that actually happened. It wasn’t for one of her boys, it was actually for the youngest girl, Windy. She’s older now, six or seven, you can’t remember exactly. But it was just after your dad had died, and your brothers and you were in a deep hole.

Reed was illegally fishing, Mox was desperate with his studies, and applying for jobs at the local stores around, but no one was falling through. Naida knew that the four of you were struggling, and scrambling to sell things to stay afloat. A lot of the things that you were selling were old dresses that Alyssum wouldn’t be needing for a long time.

Windy had some important event at preschool, and Naida didn’t want her to look dirty and poor. She was completely missing clothes for Windy, because she’d sold Calandra’s baby clothes a long ass time ago. And even worse, she was scraping by on rent that month, she wouldn’t be able to afford nice clothing.

You found some old dress in the plastic bin beneath your bed. Clearly expensive, and looking almost brand new. You knew that it would go for a lot at the Square. Even the richest families sometimes go down there to get a good deal on things. And if the Square wouldn’t have worked--you doubt it wouldn’t have--you were going to head down to the seamstress.

You didn’t even ask Reed or Mox if it was okay, didn’t even consider the fact that Alyssum would need something like that in a few years. You found an old shoe box in the boys’ closet, and then some ribbon off of a doll from your room. You tied the box up nicely, with some wonky ass bow on the top. And took your ass right over to Naida’s.

The dress was easily a month’s worth of rent, maybe more. But you knocked on the door, Naida answered, and you handed off the dress, saying, “I heard Windy needs something nice for her school thing. Hope you guys have fun.” and left Naida at the house.

Later that day, when your brother’s were coming back from what they did during the day, Naida stopped them on the porch. In no time, she was crying, and absolutely crazed because she thought you’d spent a ton of money on a dress that you couldn’t even afford. But Reed recognized the dress, reassuring her that it would be a hand-me-down. Even then, Naida didn’t want to accept it.

They didn’t give her a choice either. Said basically the same thing that you did. When they came into the house, they found you doing your math homework at the dining room table. You’ve seen Reed proud many, many times, but the look on his face is one you’ll remember forever. You did a good job.

Naida’s way of paying you all back, was the free babysitting for all of you. Taking Alyssum in during the day while you and Mox went to school, allowing Reed more hours for the illegal fishing. And even after he became a legal adult, she continued on with it. She definitely knows that she’s paid it over so many times by now, but chooses to do it still.

Anyway, Blaire might be thinking the same thing. But instead of a dress, it’s his life. Something that is so temporary in the Hunger Games, and even dangerous. You’re risking your life by saving his. You’re putting trust into him not killing you by continuing to do this.

And the one way he wants to pay you back is by listening and giving advice. You don’t know if Blaire has grown up in the poor part of District Three, or if you’re just overthinking all of this. But it’s what makes the most sense to you. You said it yourself yesterday too, that Blaire is not only older, but smarter. He’s got at least two to three years on you.

“There’s nine tributes left in the arena.” you begin, making him look over, “And I’m worried that as soon as it hits eight, my alliance will break up, and I want to keep it together for as long as possible. It’s nice having people watch over my back, knowing that they’ll protect me. And they’re not all that bad, either.

“Allio, the boy from Two, has been causing trouble between all of us, except for Lennox, the boy from One. Of course, last week you took our entire sponsor gift, and I honestly thought it was Allio, and so did Trink and Lennox.” you stare at Blaire, “They still think that it’s him, as far as I know.

“I would get rid of Lennox or Trink, except they’re friends, they’ve known each other for a while. If one goes, the other’s sure to go crazy, so I figured that Allio would be my best bet, anyway. The only problem I’m having is how to get it done. It has to be tonight or tomorrow, because I don’t want someone to die before we get there. And I don’t want the animals to reappear in the trees.”

Blaire nods, thinking this over. He’s quiet for a long time, staring down at his fish. You think he’s just as stumped as you are, and then he speaks, “You can’t ask the others to help you kill him?”

“They think I’ve only killed one person, and I’m not trying to come off as aggressive. I only blew some of it when I told Allio that I hated him, just like Trink seemed to. So, I bet I’ll already be suspected.”

“Could always say that it was some random tribute.”

“That’s what I was thinking, except there isn’t anyone around the cornucopia.” you say, ignoring the waterfall tribute. They’re not as important, they're too far away. Once again, if it’s Finnick, you don’t want to give him away to the others. You wouldn’t be killing him with your own hands, but you’d lead them right to him. It’s good enough.

“You guys explored around the area?”

“More or less.”

Blaire hums, “You said something about the night shift, who’s taking the next one?”

You look over, “Allio said he’d take the next two nights.”

“Oh, then that’s easy. If he falls asleep during the night, just get him then.” Blaire says, “And then find some outlet, like sleeping or whatever.”

You hold your breath, trying to picture it. In this case, doing it tonight would be suspicious, since you’d finally get him alone for once--or ‘alone’. The others will still be there, just unconscious. You could kill him while he’s asleep, and then quickly lay back down. As for the blood knife, there’s a box that you could probably slip it under.

There’s only one problem, the one that’s nearly impossible to get around.

“What about the cannon?”

Blaire huffs out a laugh, “Guess you’ll just have to move quickly and make sure you aren’t breathing heavily. Turn your back to them or something. You can’t over sell it either, so pretending to sleep through the cannon might be cheesy. Or, it might be realistic, I don’t know.”

Allio sleeps on the other side of the cornucopia, opposite to you, closest to the mouth. Unfortunately, another obstacle is going to be the lit fire, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t control the weather, the gamemakers can. And it’s going to be impossible to get them to just make it warm tomorrow night. Unless they come to the conclusion by themselves.

You stare into the water, almost losing yourself in your thoughts, when you see it. A dark motion, bigger than any fish, “Get out of the water, now.” 

You push yourself to your feet, throwing the backpack away. When Blaire doesn’t move fast enough, you grab the back of his hood with both hands, pulling him out of the water and a couple inches away. He’s got it now, coughing because of how hard you were on the hood.

The black mass is towards the top now, just beneath the surface. You watch the bubbles appear, and pop. One of them lands on Blaire’s bare foot, and he hisses, backing up some more. You watch as his skin turns a shade of pink first, and then deeper to red.

You wonder if the water was hot, or if it’s poison. 

Does it really matter?

You grab the water bottle that’s hanging out of Blaire’s back pocket, uncapping it, and then dumping it out, still staring at the water. No matter how much iodine you put into this, it’s not going to be clean. And it doesn’t matter that he grabbed it from the shallow end, either. Whatever is in the water can contaminated it.

“Here.” you say, placing it in his hand, and then moving on to your bag.

You pull each canteen out and dump them out, watching as the water runs downhill and back into the pond.

“Do you think that the fish is bad?” he asks.

You look over, he’s holding it out for you to see. You don’t spot anything abnormal with it, but you didn’t see anything wrong with the water initially, either, or the pond.

“Toss it in.” you shove everything back into the backpack, and attach the fishing pole to your backpack, “I know another place.”

Blaire follows what you said, tossing it into the water, and pulling on his socks and shoes after. You lead him around in a wide arch, exaggerating the path you took the other day. He doesn’t question you at all.

This walk is much faster than the first one, but the moment you hear the waterfall, you get a bit hesitant. You still lead Blaire through the trees, heading right towards the crystal blue water, but watching to make sure there’s no one there just yet. You’d like to give them a chance to leave.

There is no one, and there is no movement on the other side of the waterfall. Once Blaire sees what you’ve led him to, he gasps slightly, “Wow.”

“Yeah, I know. We shouldn’t be here for too long.” you glance behind you, there’s no one. If Blaire can sneak around you guys quietly, it’s no question that others might be able to do the same, “You watch out for anyone.”

“You don’t like it over here.” he says, it’s not a question.

“We’re invading someone’s space.” is all you say, “Fill up the canteens, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Blaire sits down, unfastens your fishing pole, and offers it to you. You shake your head, pulling off your shoes, and then your socks, and you roll up your jeans as far as they’ll go. After that, you pull your sword into your hand, and carefully wade into the water, watching for anything unnatural.

That was definitely a mutt in the pond, as always, gamemaker generated. It’s a wonder if it appeared because they made the creature come out, or because the fish that you caught made them appear. Either way, you couldn’t see it coming. You knew that the water was deep, but you didn’t know what else would be in it.

There’s a great chance that the gamemakers made the mutt appear to push you away and make you think of another place to go. Whether that be deeper in the forest, or over here. You need to work quickly, get Blaire his fish and tell him to go back to where his camp is, wherever that may be.

Your eyes travel back to the waterfall, still no movement. The tenant might be out, another reason why the gamemakers pushed you this way, to purposely cause conflict. If it’s Finnick, though, you think he won’t attack. And if he does, he’ll just leave Blaire out of it, since Blaire’s supposed to be his ally, anyway.

You feel something brush by your foot, and it’s enough for you to jump out of your skin. It’s a fish, curious and bold of what’s joined it in the water. You’re still, and stare at it, waiting for it to come back around. And when it does, you slam the sword into it, staining the blood a temporary pink.

“You should go back to your camp.” you tell Blaire, moving out of the water now, “Don’t stay over here. I’ll meet you back at the pond tomorrow, and we can take the walk around back over here.”

“Sure.” Blaire says, taking the fish off the end of your sword, “Thank you, again.”

Blaire must think that he’ll never stop being in your debt, and you’re afraid of that, too. The list keeps getting longer and longer. Eventually, he’s going to try and find something to pay you back with.

“I cleaned the water.” he says, “It’s all nice in there.”

“Thanks.” you dry your feet on your jacket, pulling on your socks and shoes before you unroll your pants. You sling the backpack over your shoulder, drying the blade on your jeans.

Blaire’s ready to go, too. He assures you that he’ll know the way back, and the two of you split. The entire walk to the cornucopia, you feel awful. Almost afraid that someone is following you back. You check several times, and of course, there’s no one there.

The second you’re out of the trees, the feeling subsides.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair lacuna #lacuna

[silverhandsass]

My Beloved Intended (Part 9)

As Valerie's concerns eat away at her, she devises a plan and breaks the rules. Johnny faces a pleasant surprise.

(Regency AU | V / Johnny)

All current chapters available on - Ao3

— — — — —

For every single day they spent apart, Valerie couldn't help but worry. The roses in her room lasted only a little while before they slowly began to wilt. She made sure to take the one she'd worn in her hair and press it in a book. The rest simply faded day by day, reminding her that more time had passed since their last meet and that the wedding day grew ever closer. It was certainly bittersweet.

When they had just over a week remaining, Valerie began to hatch a plan. It all started with a letter to Lady Palmer, asking her for a favor. When getting the response she was hoping for, she had another letter sent. She had one of her maids send a letter to Mary, giving her specific instructions. That threw her nerves into a mix once more for the entire day as she waited for a response.

Later in the evening, a message was delivered in form of a small letter. Valerie took it to her room, stood by the fire and opened it. 'Tomorrow,' it said. Valerie smiled brightly and tossed the letter into the fire. She waited until every inch of it turned black before walking off.

—

The next morning, Valerie had spoken to her mother that she was to visit Lady Palmer. Her friend had sent an invitation for Val so that they may enjoy one final visit before her wedding. Her mother was pleased enough with the reason and had offered to join her, but Valerie insisted that it was not necessary.

It was truly not necessary.

As she hopped into Panam's carriage, she greeted her dear friend as they gave each other a knowing smile. "Are you ready?" She asked Val.

"Extremely. I'm... Rather anxious," Val admitted.

"You've damned the rules yet again," Panam grinned. "I admire your courage."

"It's less about courage and more about impatience," Val sighed, glancing out the window.

"I'd say you look downright concerned," she observed. "When I'd read your letter I could hardly believe it. Here I thought you were just another puppet, whisked away by a no-good worm of a man that would seek to domesticate you and hurt you 'til the end of your days."

Valerie paused. "Thank you?"

Panam laughed. "I mean to say I was wrong about you, and glad for it. You might be one of the only people who truly understands me and my distaste for the lives we lead. The others of the same mind are my servants. They ought to be my peers. When you told me you needed my help getting to Hartwell Inn in country hills, my day finally burned with excitement."

"You have not told anyone, have you?" Val asked, fiddling with the embroidery on her dress.

"Of course not. Do you think I would endanger such a deliciously devious event?" Pan asked, then chuckled at the look Val gave her. "My dear friend, you've entrusted me with this secret of yours, I would be but a charlatan to endanger you in any way. Besides, anyone that dares move against the world that has deemed us nothing better than accessories to a man's arm, they'd have my full support."

"Why had we not met any sooner, Lady Palmer?" Valerie smiled, taking her hand.

"If you call me that one more time, Valerie, I shall make you walk beside the carriage all the way."

—

By the time they had arrived at the Inn, the sun had all but vanished. The skies were pale and packed with clouds, and what simply was a faint drizzle had become a persistent downpour.

"Remember," Panam spoke a little loudly. "I shall retrieve you shortly after sundown if we are to get you home on time."

"You are a dear friend, Pan. I am in your debt for this—"

"No need to worry about that now, you must go!" She gestured to the door.

Val gave her a tight hug before exiting the carriage. Perhaps she should have thought about bringing an umbrella, though she did not expect such heavy rain. Thankfully, the path to the inn was not too far and she still had her hooded cloak. She rushed into the establishment, asking for the reservation.

Rose, they had agreed, was the name they'd sign it under. Much to her relief, there was already a room signed to that name. After being directed to the room, Valerie stood there, alone, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves. She had never, not once in her life, done anything of the sort. The study and Calhoun's were entirely different, as they were both within reach and easy to get to. This... This was deviation of a new sort and it scared her, but also excited her.

Knocking on the door, she opened it and walked in. The room itself was rather lovely and not too spacious. To the left was a fireplace that was fronted by a couch. To the right was the bed, rather large and covered in the fluffiest pillows and accompanied by two nightstands. Ahead of her, by an open window, stood the true treasure of the room; man she had been looking for. Turning around, Johnny saw her and smiled brightly.

He stood beside a table by the window, his hand resting gently against the back of a chair. The moment he saw her, he began to approach her. Val swung the door shut behind her and moved to close the gap between them.

The pair wrapped themselves around each other in a warm embrace, sighing in relief. For a moment, as they pulled away, they simply looked each other in the eye. A small smile here, a thumb's caress there, and Valerie found herself kissing him yet again. She could have melted in his embrace, her lips moving so passionately against his. He tasted of tea and berries, smelled of a warm hearth and pine, and felt like home.

Just as she held onto him so fervently, as her kisses grew urgent, he pulled away. His chest heaved as he worked to steady his breathing. "Wait," he whispered and held onto her still, brushing a lock of loose hair from her face. "I just... I want to see you. Speak with you."

Hearing those words, Valerie smiled warmly. "I do too."

"Or perhaps I should get you something dry to wear," he chuckled, pulled away to look at her fully. "What—did you swim here?"

"Hmm, very funny," she smiled.

"Well, no matter. This should be fine," Johnny said, moving to the table. He began to pick up the cups, dishes, whatever had been set out for them, moving it to the smaller table in front of the couch.

"What... are you doing?" Valerie asked him.

"The fire isn't going to come to us. You need to stay warm, dry off," he explained as though it were obvious. The moment Valerie tried to help, he frowned and pointed at the couch. "Sit." Once he was done moving everything over, he joined her, pouring her some tea and presenting her bowls of berries and cream. "It was clever, sending the letter through Mary."

"I'm glad it reached you well. I... needed to see you. Since we won't be having any gatherings before the wedding," she explained, picking up her cup.

"But my dear, it is terribly bad luck to see one another before the wedding," he chuckled.

"To hell with luck, we've been making our own rules from the start," she said, taking a sip and putting her cup down.

Johnny smiled at her and reached for her hand. "Thank you for meeting with me here."

"I needed to know you were alright," she replied, holding his hand with both of hers now.

"I am. So close to the wedding, it's... I've been keeping my nose out of trouble," he sighed.

"But my lord, that's where it belongs," she smirked, raising a brow.

"Truly heartbreaking, I know," he chuckled, placing a hand over his heart.

Valerie laughed. "Are you excited?"

"To get into trouble?" He asked.

"I was going to say about getting married but that bears the same meaning," Valerie joked.

Johnny let out a hearty laugh. "If it means more of that humor at my side, then yes, truly I am." That made Valerie smile and bite her lip a moment. His gaze lingered on those lips before he turned his attention to his tea. "So... About that kiss."

"I'm sorry," she interrupted. "I was simply so relieved to see you were here and doing alright, and then it just... happened."

"I do not regret it." He put his cup back into place. "My only contemplation is... Well, I mean, you were in love with him, Val." That smile of hers finally faded. "I just wanted to make sure that you knew what you wanted."

Valerie's eyes lingered on the fire a moment. "You know, for a long time, I did love him. I mean, he did make me happy. But ever since it all ended, I've had time to think and to see it for what it truly was. I was happy, but... It wasn't real. It doesn't feel real. Jeffrey... my first love? That was real. His promise, his intentions... But with Laurence..."

She took a breath, leaning back into the seat. "We'd meet at the same place, we'd make love, we'd talk, and I’d leave. Make love, talk, leave, over and over again. On occasion, he'd paint or draw me, though it was mostly sketches on paper that I now realize was probably not to waste any paint..." Valerie rolled her eyes. "But it was... meaningless. I was finding an escape through him and I thought it to be love, but... then I had some time to think. About love. About what it was."

"And did you find an answer to it? That very question ails many a man," Johnny raised a brow at her.

"It ails women too, believe me," Val laughed, looking at him. "All this time, I'd been looking for a husband. One man to spend the rest of my life with, to get to know him a little before marriage and to then learn more about one another and go through all of life's hardships together, as well as everything good that came with it."

She paused to pick up a berry, popping it into her mouth while she collected her thoughts. "I did not realize, in our arrangement, when we set aside those expectations from one another, we became friends. I enjoyed our company more than I've enjoyed any other in a long time. I've wanted to strangle you, to embrace you, to laugh with you, cry with you... I began to yearn for you even though we were already to be married."

Valerie decided to wait a moment, wanting to give him the chance to speak by going for her tea and taking a long sip. He did not speak, instead he sat there beside her, his breath slightly quickened and his gaze focused solely on her. "I hope that does not bother you," she began, "that I feel this way. I know it was not our agreement and I understand if you wish to remain... free..."

"Free?" He repeated immediately. "My dear, I have not known freedom, not truly, not until I met you."

Valerie froze.

Johnny got off his seat so that he could kneel in front of her and take her hands in his. "I thought freedom meant leaving my home whenever I wanted, filling my nights with inebriation and meaningless companionship. I've always been angry at many things in my life, at the injustice, mainly... but you... Oh, my dear, you've made me furious," he squeezed her hands with a cheeky smile. "You've made me feel so much more, and you've made me remember what freedom truly meant."

He took a breath, almost studying her gaze. His thumbs brushed over the back of her hands in soft, caring circles. "In the gardens, you asked me if I wanted to be free of you—love, I am free because of you. To know that in a week, we would be walking out into the world as one... It gives me hope."

"You said love," she breathed.

"What?"

"You called me love," she clarified.

He did not break eye contact with her. "I have never lied to you, I see no point in starting now."

Without warning, Valerie leaned in to kiss him—so hard, in fact, that she stumbled forward on top of him and tackled him into the ground. The pair of them laughed, a little winded by the impact. Seeing her above him, her golden hair curtained around their faces, he could not help but kiss her again, propping himself up on his elbows.

In their kiss, Valerie felt herself pulled into their passion, absentmindedly grinding her hips against his. The sound that he made was one she had never heard before from any man. It was enough to send her cheeks burning pink and her core flaming in arousal. He sat up with such strength that it pushed her onto his lap, before he moved to have them both stand.

He pulled her tightly against his body, simply holding her there. "Are you sure you want this? Here, now, with me?"

Val pushed herself up. "Yes," she kissed him, "Yes," another kiss, "and yes," she finished with a final kiss. That seemed to be enough to make him smile and embrace her. His hands rushed to her back to attempt to undo her corset, finding no strings or anything of the sort. Valerie pushed him away slightly and shook her head as she pointed down her front. Her bodice had been made with simple clasps hidden in floral embroidery along the front. When he looked at her quizzically, with a hint of excitement, she gave him a cheeky smile. "You did mention a simpler corset..."

Laughing at her comment, his lips crashed into hers and his hands fumbled with the clasps, undoing them so easily. With slow movements, he hooked the neckline of her dress and slowly pulled it down, his thumbs running over the sides of her ribs as he did so. The dress pooled around her feet, leaving her in only the thin, silken gown. Val's hands traveled down his chest and to his pants, finding her way around the buckles to give it a sharp tug. Then another. One more.

It wasn't coming loose.

The pair of them burst into laughter, Johnny's head falling into her shoulder a moment. "And you were complaining about my corset..." Val laughed, trying to give his pants a few more tugs but giving in to the laughter instead. Through their giggles, Johnny took her hands in his, leading them to where they were meant to go and showing her how to unlatch his pants.

One they were off, he had his forehead leaning against hers as he kicked them off to the side. Valerie moved her hands up to pull apart his shirt, resting the palms of her hands against his bare chest.

"Where else would you like to lead them?" she whispered to him, a delicious invitation.

There was a sparkle in his eye as he caught onto her meaning, his hands wrapping around her's once more. Without looking away, he slowly led one down his chest, across his abdomen and lower until it rested along his length. Val's mouth ran dry at the feeling of him beneath her touch. The moment she stroked him nice and slow, his hands moved to her arms. He let out yet another sigh of relief, his hips grinding into her palm.

Her fingers wrapped around him, doing what she knew how to do and caressing him—all the while watching every little way his expression would change based on where she'd touch. She could feel herself growing slicker and hotter just looking at him.

A few moments longer of this had him grasping onto the gown, tugging it up, up, up, until it was well over her head and off of her. She could have sworn that he staggered slightly, his eyes lazily dragging over every inch of her body. His hands were instantly cupping her ass, pulling at her in such a way that it hoisted her up. His hands slid down her thighs in time with her arms wrapping around him. Val let out a small yelp as she felt him carry her, her little shriek morphing into giggles.

She exclaimed in surprise yet again when he dropped her onto the bed, following her right after. There, nestled between her legs, he hovered above her and grinned. They had sunk into the soft mattress slightly, and she looked positively angelic to him in that moment.

"My dear, you look ravishing," he whispered to her, his face mere inches away from hers.

Her hand gracing his cheek was far too sweet a gesture for the words that came out of her mouth. "Then ravish me."

He could not have had a more enticing invitation, as his lips found hers without hesitation. His tongue danced against hers, exploring her and tasting her, before he trailed it along her jaw and across her neck. "As you wish," he mumbled against a breast before lowering even further to take a nipple into his mouth. Her back arched and her eyes closed slowly, a drawn out moan ringing out from her.

It was the first moan of pleasure he had ever heard from her, and it was music to his ears. Had he known she sounded so sweet, he would have fought harder to win her heart weeks ago. Sucking onto her breast, he ran the broad side of his tongue over the sensitive nub before moving slowly to the other, giving it a bit of attention. His hand took place where his mouth was previously, massaging her with care.

Valerie was moving and rocking beneath him, her body aching to continue to be touched. It was clear to him just how familiar she was to the world of pleasure, but there was one thing he wanted to do most with her—one thing he knew she might appreciate. He slowly began to move even further, losing himself into her sweet scent as he kissed her belly. He took a deep breath through the nose, nearly sinking into the bed and melting.

She had pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch him, her anticipation building so intensely she might combust. She watched as his arms hooked beneath her legs and his hands rested flat on her belly, and then her heart stopped. From just above the apex between her legs, he looked up at her and smiled.

"I should like to see you this way every morning, my dear," he muttered to her.

Valerie bit her lip so hard she might have started tasting iron. Her face was surely redder than it had ever been. She ran her fingers through her hair to get it all out of her face, finding it a mistake to do so as it was right when Johnny's lips met her clit. Losing her balance, she slipped and landed back into the bad, letting out a sharp gasp.

His slick, hot tongue stroked along the bundle of nerves without warning, flicking against it a few times before he pulled away with a suckle. Her hips tried to push and pull, to sway into his touch but he held her firmly against the bed by the abdomen. He then dragged his tongue from the edge of her entrance and up to the top, teasing her clit once again. He ran it along this way once more, and again, before sending his tongue as deep into her as it could go. He pulled away with a gasp as one would after taking a deep drink, hissing something about how delicious she was.

Valerie could have died right then and she would not have cared.

Her hands grasped tightly into the sheets as she moaned, unsure as to how long her eyes had remained closed. His tongue moved up to her clit again, giving her some long and painfully slow strokes. She had barely noticed the absence of one of his hands upon her belly, as she started to feel something teasing at her entrance. Val dared to glance down, seeing how his arm flexed and his muscles tightened to hold her down while his other hand had positioned itself below his jaw. A moment later, she felt his finger push into her.

Valerie cursed into the air, unsure as to whether it was the waves of pleasure or the mere sight of him tasting her so thoroughly that aroused her so heavily. He seemed so lost in it, as though it was the only thing that mattered and nothing else. Suddenly, a second finger went into her just in time for his tongue to move mercilessly against her. Her head thrust backward again as her back pushed up. The hand at her abdomen was now holding onto her thigh to keep her legs spread, a moment that was almost second nature to the man. His fingers hooked inside her, pushing up against her nerves and tugging at them relentlessly.

Feeling those intense waves of pleasure building within her, she reached down with a hand, tangling her fingers into his hair as she called out his name. His fingers thrust into her faster, his tongue worked harder, and he held onto her tighter just as her hips ground with each wave. When the climax finally hit her, her moans came out in shudders, more composed of heavy gasping and chest heaving than an actual moan. In that moment, every single inch of her body responded to Johnny, as though he had full control.

He continued to caress her, both inside and out, his touch slowing down gradually alongside her ecstasy. The moment her body lowered to the bed and her grasp loosened, he pulled away from her with a kiss and placed one more along the inside of the thigh he held. He let out a hum of satisfaction, slowly crawling his way up. She lay beneath him, panting heavily and her cheeks painted a deep red. The moment he was in reach, he leaned in to kiss her, hearing her muffled, tired moans against his lips.

Then, much to his surprise, she was motioning for him to pull away. She guided him onto his back and he began to realize what she wanted, and the thought made his cock throb with anticipation. Valerie laid down alongside him, her arms keeping her face propped just over his arousal while she lay on her side. Slowly, a little nervously, she took him in her hand and heard him gasp. Val looked over to him, not realizing just what an image she was creating for him as she brought his tip to her lips while looking him in the eye.

His breathing faltered severely, as did his composure. By God, if he did not spend the rest of his days making this woman happy, he would deserve every bit of the nasty fate he'd receive.

He had told her that what one would do to a man was more of the same as what a woman would receive, so she tried to follow that notion. Which was why Valerie ran her tongue from the underside of the head and over the top before taking him into her mouth again. That seemed to do the trick just well enough as it sent Johnny sinking back into the bed. His jaw worked as he tried to reach forward, deciding on grasping the covers beneath them instead. She was thankful, as his knuckles turned white from the tightness.

She continued to run her tongue over him, finding that the more places she licked him, the more reactions she'd get out of him. God, she'd never heard such soft, quiet moans from a man—it pleased her to know he was enjoying what she did, so she continued. When she pulled away for air, she stroked him with her hand, watching as he bit his lower lip and furrowed his brows, that little crease forming in between.

Seeing as how he was slick from her tongue, she gave it a try. She moved her lips to the head once more, swirling her tongue over the sensitive tip before slowly taking his length into her mouth. That caused him to moan a little louder, whispering words of encouragement to her. She pulled out slowly, tasted him once more, and then took him in even deeper. She continued this way, nice and slow, exploring him, finding out what made him tick, listening to him.

She soon felt his hand caressing the side of her body, finding its way between her legs. His fingers slipped between her folds, making her moan around his cock. She pulled away with a suckle, watching him slightly twitch at the sensation, so she tried it again. It was all the more alluring when feeling him touch her ever so slowly, that intoxicating pleasure building within her again. Just as she began to feel determined to have him find his release, she felt him begin to motion her to get up.

"Not so soon," he whispered. "I want to be with you."

Val licked her lips, seeing his eyes immediately drawn to the motion. He moved in to kiss her, taking over in that prospect with a sense of hunger he had never shown before. Moments later, he had led her onto her back once more and had mounted himself above her. His hands were constantly upon her in the gentlest touches he could muster. Beyond giving her pleasure, it was to move her hair out of her face or simply stroke it, or entwine his fingers in hers—simple little things.

She had never taken her time this way while making love.

Perhaps she had never properly made love before.

Her belly grew aflutter at the thought.

She felt him grind his cock against her slowly with such patient motions, she was sure it must have been killing him. It certainly was killing her. It made Val pull away from the kiss with a sharp nibble. "Johnny. Take me."

"Where would you like me to take you, my dear?" he whispered, running his tongue along her neck, making her whimper.

"To heaven, to the bloody moon," she whispered, "I want you, darling."

"Where do you want me," he demanded, teeth grazing at the skin above her breast.

"Johnny..." She begged breathlessly, "I want you inside me."

"And I want you around me," he replied, moving to kiss her as his hand guided his tip to her entrance. Looking her in the eyes, he drove himself into her slowly.

The pair of them gasped at the sensation, holding onto each other tightly as they adjusted for a moment, before Val wrapped her legs around him impatiently. Johnny moved to kiss her, losing himself in realization that they both tasted of each other. His hips rolled forward and he thrust himself into her, deep, deep, deep. The moment he pulled out of her, he could not wait to thrust himself back in, finding himself in a steady rhythm.

Val's hips moved on their own accord, wanting to take him in with each thrust as she moaned into the kiss. A moment later, Johnny pulled back from the kiss just long enough to bring his fingers to his lips—the fingers he had moved inside her. He took them ever so slightly into his mouth before leading them down to her clit. Val watched this with slightly parted lips, panting and moaning at what she felt only to feel like she was losing herself in pleasure once more.

With him thrusting inside her with such intensity, and his fingers working at her most sensitive spot, it did not take long for her to find her release again. As her insides tightened around him, it had him dipping his head into her shoulder, cursing and moaning at once. Val's fingers had just begun to dig into his skin at his shoulders when realization struck her. She moved her hands to his hair and the base of his neck instead, fingers wrapping tightly around his lush, black locks.

Tugging at his hair in such a manner tilted his head back and it seemed to do all the right things to him. He looked down at her, his eyes piercing into hers. She could feel it now. One hand moved to her thigh to keep her stable, the other had been looped beneath her shoulder, holding onto the bed by the sheets—tightly. His hips thrust into her faster, with more urgent strokes, and his moans began to grow a bit more vocal.

In the few seconds building up to his peak, his hand moved from the sheets to the back of her head, his muscles tensed and he pulled at her by the hip. Johnny buried himself inside her as deep as he could go, calling out to her as he felt a powerful orgasm pulsate through him. Moving once, twice more into her, he remained still, breathing heavily while feeling her hands moving from hair to cheek to shoulder.

Their moans sounded together, their breathing shared and their bodies entwined ever so tightly. Johnny felt himself nearly collapse onto her, holding onto his remaining strength by a slim thread. The second he had the willpower, he gave her one more lingering kiss before pulling out of her.

He dropped into the bed just beside her and Val moved to immediately rest against him, the pair of them still trying hard to catch their breath. His arms were immediately around her, hands brushing her hair back and caressing her body, keeping her close. Her hand laid splayed across his chest, holding onto him a moment before it went up to his jaw. Her fingers traced along through his beard until her palm cupped his cheek.

The same cheek that very hand had struck once. Something she wasn't sure she'd forget, nor forgive—both of which he had already done.

She glanced up at him and Johnny returned the gaze. The two of them said nothing, but they held each other close. They knew very well what this entailed, what this meant for them. They knew all too well, the words that did not need to be spoken between them just yet. It only made them all the more certain about the days to come. Certain about the single, most important truth about it all.

They were never to feel alone again.

#It is almost the end! #Also #it's burned #romance #smut #fluff #Johnny Silverhand #V / Johnny Silverhand #Cyberpunk 2077 #Regency AU #my fics #valerie rose palencia

[viktorfm]

(MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL, NONBINARY) - Have you seen VIKTOR SAMUELS? VIKTOR is in HIS/THEIR SENIOR year. The VISUAL ARTS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say HE/THEY are OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT and DEPENDENT. Rumors say they’re a member of KINCAID. I heard from the gossip blog that THEY'RE HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH THEIR THERAPIST. (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

dont. look at me. i know. anyways if it wasnt obvs i abandoned cupid (n darrow) in order 2 bring the two ocs tht he ws inspired by n ws a combination of bt. theyre better as different ppl methinks.

DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS TW

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basics.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - january 2nd, 1996

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: preaker, vermont

sexuality: pansexual uwu

pinterest

stats

favorite song: disorder, joy division / it’s getting faster, moving faster / now it’s getting out of hand / on the tenth floor, down the back stairs / it’s a no man’s land / lights are flashing, cars are crashing / getting frequent now / i’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling / let it out somehow

background.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in preaker, vermont - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3d art ap course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to yates but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( tw death, grief, overdose / hospitalization beyond this point )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to yates to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality & facts.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the ~urban legends~ at yates and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all their money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away hbdsjfngkh

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a twig but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

religious trauma? oh worm ;; three cheers fr <3 guilt <3 anyways uh. just people tht viktor hs known thru the church in some way even tho hes a fkn. freak now. maybe even family friends. 

the horror of our love :/ ;; hmm. any romance tht cld b toxic i think this cld fit. just rly a bad fit. viktor doesnt rly know hw to love so nothing rly lasts bt. maybe they try n try n nothing works bt they keep trying. cld also just be anything unrequited.

little fkn gremlins ;; theyre all evil n mean. bt theyre all friends. <3 

you are nothing ;; uuh. enemy plots. spicy enemies. rly bad enemies. rivals. they r brutal towards each other bcos nothing viktor does is ever soft.

fuck u dont pity me ;; uh. people who try to get close to viktor n he just. bites at them. he’s like no. bc he assumes ppl who r kind in response 2 his vileness r. theres smth wrong w them. n it might hv to do with pity. n he hates pity.

ugh. locals x ;; ppl who also grew up around preaker, vermont. the samuels r <3 well known folks n the uh. hm. the murder is an ongoing case. so they cld know abt it <3

dont tell anybody x ;; this is for soft plots. i dont know much about soft plots but. 

maybe i am part of the problem ;; the problem is chlamydiagate. this is a hook-ups connection. fwbs n one night stands. ppl viktor hs brutally ghosted. he doesnt acknowledge their existence outside of these events, perhaps. 

dont u just wna go apeshit ;; this is where viktor becomes a bad influence.

bt uh. anything. pelase

#yatesintro #death tw #grief tw #murder tw #addiction tw #drug abuse tw #hospitalization tw #overdose tw #hypersexuality mention #religion mention #zooweemama

[viktcrr]

「maxence danet-fauvel & nonbinary」⇾ samuels, viktor, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that he/they are a capricorn and 24 years old. he/they are studying visual arts, living in noland and can be observant, ingenious, reticent & dependent. when i see him/them i am reminded of a sculptor’s hands clay-ridden, the insistent hum of tv static, and a crying preacher inside a dusty funeral home.  ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hllo !!! i’m james n here’s one of my big idiot muses <3 he’s not actually dumb he’s :/ a bit evil. bt thts okay hes still <3 beloved <3 LKDSFHLSADLKGFSHLKD anyways!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

pinterest

stats

inspired by: beetlejuice (beetlejuice), sid (toy story), jack sparrow (pirates of the caribbean), francis wilkerson (malcolm in the middle), azula (avatar: the last airbender), vicky (the fairly oddparents), stu macher / billy loomis (scream), marshall lee (adventure time), bojack horseman (bojack horseman), any it’s always sunny character :/

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to radcliffe but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, especially since the one year anniversary of tatiana’s death was this month (january) - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

UPDATE: now that summer’s come n go ... viktor hs been thru <3 a lot <3 recently. switched therapists (his :/ last one got her license revoked) & started new medications, went to a treatment center briefly ‘cos .. he wasn’t doing too well :/ bt now he’s back baybey! trying to be better n trying to be sober but ... :/

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the lore & cryptids at radcliffe and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away HBDSJFNGKH

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate… but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies… because viktor would have a lot of them…

familiar faces… people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances… people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids… just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend… probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances… people who knew him from his youth.

exes… good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft… i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited… either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension… of the … spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends… old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups… current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die… friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence… he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg… he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

#ruhqintro #death tw #grief tw #drug abuse tw #addiction tw #overdose tw #hospitalization tw #hypersexuality tw #religion mention

[jothowrote]

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

(I wrote this unfinished TMA/Mechanisms crossover as a warm-up for Nano two and a half years ago and just found it again on an old hard drive - it’s set around season 2 TMA. I thought I’d let it see the light of day, since we live in interesting times and it hopefully might distract people for a time, like it did me.)

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

The Jon that walked into work on Monday was not the same Jon that had been left working late in the archives on Friday night. Martin was pretty sure that anyone with eyes could see it – and perhaps eyes were not even necessary, what with the pungent aroma of tobacco and alcohol that hung around this ‘other’ Jon like a haze. Not to mention he was smiling.

Martin immediately suspected foul play. If you had read the kind of statements he had, then it wasn’t completely unusual for people to vanish and be replaced, although usually the changeling made a bit more effort to blend in.

The Monday morning had begun strangely anyway, as Martin had been surprised to find himself the first at work. Jon had become more or less of a permanent fixture at the archives, working so late and arriving so early that one could almost assume that he simply didn’t go home. The small cot bed remained untouched, however – Martin had checked. And so, on coming in to work and finding Jon’s office empty, Martin had decided to take advantage of that fact and hang around outside it, hoping to catch Jon before he mired himself in work and stage a sort-of intervention. He’d even tried to recruit Tim and Sasha to his cause as they both arrived at the institute for the morning. Sasha had said something about being too busy and slipped off – Tim had snorted and said some very rude things about Jon before vanishing into the tiny kitchenette for his morning coffee.

Not one to be deterred by something so insignificant as no back-up, Martin had squared his shoulders and continued to lurk outside Jon’s empty office. As the morning ticked by, and there was still no sign of Jon, he had grown steadily more anxious.

`He’s probably just having a breakdown at home,’ Tim said, on his way past with his third coffee of the morning. `Makes a nice change from him having it here. Just leave it – I’m not doing your work too.’

Martin decided to give it until lunch.

At one minute to twelve, the door by the stairs swung open wildly – startling Martin, who had been staring unfocused in the opposite direction at the lift doors in steadily decreasing expectation – and Jon sauntered through.

It was only `Jon’ in the loosest sense of the word. As Martin watched, the Jon-impersonator swaggered up the corridor with no limp to speak of, a bottle of something smelling strong as petrol sloshing in one hand. The other hand, Martin couldn’t help but notice, was hovering over a gun in a hip holster.

Martin was frozen in confusion and perhaps a little fear as the stranger-Jon walked right up to him and paused in front of the office door. When he made as if to open the door, Martin let out a small squeak of indignation. He was promptly engulfed in thick tobacco smoke.

Coughing, his eyes watering, Martin did nothing but watch as the stranger winked at him and went straight into the Head Archivist’s office, slamming the door behind him.

`You’re telling me that Jon’s been replaced by some kind of steampunk cowboy that looks exactly like him?’

Tim, on his fourth coffee, looked unimpressed.

`We’ve been attacked by flesh-eating worms, but this is where you draw the line?’

`Are you sure it isn’t actually Jon just having a midlife crisis?’

`It may have looked like Jon superficially, but apart from that he’s a completely different person.’

Tim squinted at Martin, and reached forward as though to feel his forehead.

`Are you feeling ok?’

Martin slapped his hand away irritably.

`I’m not hallucinating Jon dressed as a steampunk cowboy, that would be really weird.’

`And yet would explain so much. Are you sure it’s not just –‘

The door to the kitchenette slammed open and fake-Jon strolled in.

`Is that coffee I smell?’

He pushed past Tim and Tim’s gaping mouth and poured the rest of the pot into a mug. To Martin’s annoyance, it was his mug.

Fake-Jon swigged at the coffee – Tim’s thick black tar that Martin avoided – and sighed.

`Anything stronger? Only I’m out of whiskey.’

`Who the fuck are you?’ Tim said, finally getting over his shock as he watched the rest of his precious coffee quickly vanish down the stranger’s gullet. `You’re not Jon.’

`Well, I am Jon – Jonny d’Ville, to be exact.’

`You’re not our Jon,’ Martin said, his voice going embarrassingly squeaky again. Jonny d’Ville grinned, and it was a violent grin.

`Ah, sweet. Your Jon isn’t here at the moment – I’m afraid I’m what’s here instead.’

Elias, apparently disturbed by Tim’s indignant shouting, chose that moment to poke his head around the door to the tiny kitchen with a supremely disapproving expression.

`Don’t you all have work to do?’

Martin opened his mouth, but all he managed was another squeak. Tim, who had gone back to gawping, said nothing.

`Oh, and by the way, Jon – you really need to start being a little more considerate with the people who come in to give their statements. I’ve been getting more complaints.’

Then Elias paused, and looked Jonny up and down.

`And is that get-up really suitable for work?’ he sniffed.

Martin saw Jonny’s hand twitch towards the gun in his hip holster, and had a sudden moment of complete dread, but Elias had already let the door swing shut behind him.

`That’s the big boss man, then?’ Jonny asked, his grin starting up. `Isn’t he a ray of sunshine.’

He turned to Tim and Martin, his grin wide and dark. It was unsettling to see such a look on Jon’s usually sour bur harmless face.

`So,’ he said, twirling the gun in his hand, `what is it you do for fun around here?’

*

Martin had been summarily dispatched to the nearest off-license in order to provide his new boss with more whiskey, and Sasha caught him in the corridor on his way back to the archives, clutching the plastic bags and wincing every time they made incriminating clinking noises.

`What’s with the Jon look-a-like?’ she asked in a whisper.

`He wouldn’t say until he had more whiskey,’ Martin said dejectedly.

`Makes a bit of a change from the old Jon, though,’ Sasha said, grinning. `Even though they look exactly the same, this one somehow manages to look kind of hot.’

`Eww, Sasha.’

`What?’ she shrugged. `Everyone likes a bad boy, Martin.’

`He looks deranged,’ Martin hissed.

`Yeah, that too. Maybe it’s the crazy eyes, maybe it’s the leather, maybe it’s the eyeliner. Maybe it’s that he’s not stalking us all and watching our houses at night.’

`Jon’s having a hard time right now-‘

‘Oh, please don’t start with all that shit, Martin. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to make allowances for him – I mean, I know you bonded or whatever,’ Sasha made sarcastic air quotes around the word, `when Prentiss attacked us, but honestly, even you must be able to see that he’s going completely off his rocker.’

`I just… he means well…’

`He treats us all like shit, Martin. You can’t keep defending him if you value yourself at all.’

Martin gave a deep sigh. The bags clinked.

`To be honest, it’ll be nice having a break from Jon. And this Jonny guy sounds like he has loads of great stories.’

`Oh, I do,’ said a strange parody of Jon’s voice from behind them, making Martin jump. `And you can hear them, just as soon as I get a drink or four. Is that my whiskey?’

Martin nodded, and Jonny’s smile grew wider.

`Well then, let’s get this party started.’

*

It ended up being Martin, Tim, and the new weird Jon in the Head Archivist’s office, as Sasha – who had been very distant lately – had pushed off to see her new boyfriend. Elias remained completely oblivious to the change in Jon, and probably assumed they were hard at work.

Jonny poured them each a whiskey and downed almost a full bottle by himself. Then he settled back in Jon’s chair, put his feet up on the desk, and sighed.

`So, where would you like me to start?’

Tim opened his mouth, eyes wide, but Martin got there first.

`Where’s our Jon? Is he ok? Is he going to come back?’

Jonny grinned.

`Your Jon is most likely on my ship right now. No doubt my crew are… looking after him, in their own way. He’ll be back. Eventually.’

`Does he have to come back?’ Tim muttered. Martin elbowed him. `Ouch,’ he grumped. `Your elbows are really sharp.’

`Why is he on your ship? Where is your ship? Why do you look exactly the same?’

Jonny laughed, and drank some more.

`Aren’t you full of questions? I should perhaps clarify that my ship, Aurora, is a starship – and it’s not so much a question of `where’ as `when’.’

`A starship,’ Tim said, blankly.

`As for the resemblance – well, I’m only making a guess here, as I’m stuck with you and not on the Aurora – but it’s a very well-educated guess. I can only assume that when space-time tends towards infinity in universes like ours that these strange resemblances do occur simply due to statistics. And for some reason, your Jon and I have swapped places.’

`It might be something Jon touched in artefact storage,’ Martin said, biting his lip anxiously. `God knows there’s enough weirdness in there to cause something like this.’

`Why should we believe you?’ Tim asked. Jonny laughed.

`Why would I lie?’

Tim shot Martin a look. Martin shrugged.

`Good point,’ he said, taking a swig of his whiskey and resigning himself to the complete mess his life had become. `Carry on.’

&

Jon had for once made it back to his flat rather than just collapsing into the airbed in the archives, but it was late and he barely had time to register the dust and neglect before collapsing onto his bed and passing out.

He woke up with his face pressed to cold metal, which was ever so gently vibrating. He flung out an arm to feel around for the light switch, and the resultant crash woke him fully.

It transpired that he’d inadvertently upset a precarious pile of bottles, all empty and smelling strongly of old alcohol. They’d rolled across the floor, clanking and crashing as they did so, and Jon looked properly at his surroundings.

The small room, which had metal walls and apparently the entire contents of a bottle bank, was neither his bedroom nor the archives.

Jon looked around, blinked a few times, and really wished the bottles weren’t all empty.

It took him a while to get to the door without his walking stick, but using the wall to prop himself and sheer determination, he made it and began to hobble down the corridor beyond.

The background humming – along with the gentle vibration of the walls he clung to and the floor beneath his socked feet – made him feel faintly queasy. This was not helped by the panic rising up in his throat.

Something small, many-legged, furry, and glowing green dropped from somewhere above him. Jon screamed.

The small green thing squealed back and shot off in the opposite direction.

`For fuck’s sake, Jonny,’ someone said behind him, in a thick Russian accent. `Do you have to keep shooting them?’

Jon turned rapidly and lost his balance, only just catching himself on a nearby bit of pipe. The newcomer squinted at him from underneath a furrowed brow and a pissed expression.

`Just how drunk are you?’ she asked, incredulously.

Jon pulled his body, his dignity and his bravery up.

`Who are you, and why do you know my name?’ he demanded, his voice suitably strong, albeit a little squeaker than he might have liked. `And where the hell am I?’

The woman just stared at him.

`Jonny – just what have you been drinking?’ she asked. `Or – wait – did you eat that reconstituted spinach I left around the mess? I told you it killed an octokitten!’

Jon felt overwhelmed but pushed on. The woman was strange – hell, the whole situation was absolutely mental – but there were no flesh-eating bugs in sight, and that meant he wasn’t having a nightmare, at least.

Although if this was a fever dream, maybe he should go to the doctors when he woke up.

`I’m sorry,’ he said, snippily, `but do I know you?’

The woman just stared at him.

Another gently glowing creature dropped down from the ceiling, screamed at the sight of him, and skittered away down the corridor.

The woman sighed, deeply.

`You’re not Jonny, are you,’ she said, finally.

`My name is Jonathan Sims,’ Jon said.

`Hmm. Well, this is a strange day. I’ll get the others together – come with me, not-Jonny.’

The `others’ consisted of a motley selection of people in various strange outfits, some of whom were more metal than flesh.

Jon was feeling more and more out of his depth, and sure that his imagination was not so good as to dream this up.

`So, this isn’t Jonny?’ asked one.

`Isn’t it obvious?’ said another. `He’s clearly a completely different person.’

`Looks exactly the same to me,’ the woman Jon had met first, whose name turned out to be Nastya, said. `Even scared the octokittens away.’

`Are you kidding?’ said the one who’d introduced themselves as Ashes O’Reilly, quartermaster. None of the others had given their names. `He hasn’t shot any of us since we came in here.’

There was a chorus of agreement.

`Good point,’ said man who was more brass than skin. `Can we keep this Jonny? He seems a lot nicer than ours.’

`We should probably try and work out what happened,’ Ashes said, although they made no move to do so and looked distinctly bored by the proceedings.

Jon’s leg finally gave way on him, and he sagged, defeated, onto a nearby bench.

`Look,’ he said, head in his hands, `I don’t know who any of you are. I don’t know who this `Jonny’ is who you all know, but he’s not me. I just… I need to get back home. To the archives.’

They all looked at each other.

`This is definitely not our Jonny,’ said Nastya. `So what do we do now?’

&

Jonny toyed with his gun, bored out of his mind. For an archive full of creepy stories, he was disappointed in the lack of things to shoot. He supposed, if he could be bothered, he could poke about in the dreaded `Artefact storage’ the two research assistants had spoken about in such grim tones, but he didn’t think their uppity boss would appreciate him shooting up a priceless antique. Although maybe then he could shoot the boss… he hadn’t liked the look of him.

Martin – the one who seemed most upset by his supplanting the `real’ Jonathan, had talked a bit about the time they’d been overrun by flesh-eating worms, which sounded like a lot of fun – sadly, it had apparently been sorted out long before Jonny arrived.

He clicked his safety on and off, sighing. There weren’t even octokittens to terrorize. He didn’t think he’d ever actually miss the blasted creatures.

And yet here he was, pining for his ship, surrounded by dust and paper and fear. There was a story here, somewhere, but they already had a way to tell it – they didn’t need the help of the Mechanisms.

He pulled his harmonica out of his waistcoat, played a little tune. His go-to currently was the anthem of General Snow’s resistance. He felt attached to the defiant tune – he had been there just before Jack had gone down in battle, seen the kid sink his last drink.

Jack the giant killer hadn’t wanted to be made into a hero in a story he didn’t deserve, but he got made into one anyway. It made Jonny feel a little nostalgic for that bloody war, in all honestly. There hadn’t been a good war like that in a while.

The best wars were always when the two sides became mirror images to one another, in the end.

A hesitant knock snapped him out of his reminiscing. Martin poked his head around the door, his face falling almost comically.

`Oh,’ he said. `It’s you.’

`Sorry,’ Jonny grinned. `Still the wrong Jon, I’m afraid.’

Martin looked at the harmonica.

`You play that?’

`No – I keep it around for decoration. Yes, I fucking play it,’ Jonny said. `It’s something to do with my hands that isn’t shooting people.’

`Oh, good,’ said Martin, squeakily. `That’s… that’s good.’

`Anything interesting happening?’

`Not much – although Elias will probably be along soon, so you might want to… I don’t know... pretend to be more like Jon?’

`What does your Jon do all day?’

`Well, record statements, mostly.’

`On this?’ Jonny dangled the tape recorder between two of his fingers, looking at it distastefully.

`Careful!’ Martin lunged for it, knocking over a pile of statements and tripping over some dusty boxes. Empty CO2 canisters clanked around his feet. Jonny laughed.

At that moment, the ajar door opened farther, and Elias Bouchard walked into the room. He was greeted by the sight of Jonny cackling, feet still up on the desk, tape recorder still dangling from his hands, Martin on the floor and surrounded by old yellowing statements and empty fire extinguishers.

`I thought I heard you… laughing,’ Elias said, slowly. Jonny met his gaze with a violent grin.

`I tripped,’ Martin said, breathless, scrambling to his feet. `You know me, so clumsy.’ He tried for a laugh, but it sounded a little panicked.

`Hmm,’ said Elias, still locked in eye-contact with Jonny. `Well… as long as there’s not a problem.’

`Nope,’ Jonny said, still grinning.

Elias shut the door behind him.

`He knows,’ Jonny said, smile abruptly dropping as he turned to Martin.

`He knows?’

`That I’m not your Jon.’

`We all know that, though,’ Martin said, shrugging. `It’s not exactly hard to tell.’

`No – he knows. I don’t think he knows what I am, exactly, but he knows more than he’s letting on.’

`But it’s just Elias,’ Martin said, as he attempted to gather together the spilt statements. `Oh god, Jon is going to kill me – I’ve probably ruined his system…’

`To be honest,’ said Jonny, `I think he’ll be so relieved to be back that he won’t care.’

`That doesn’t sound like Jon,’ Martin said, still manically trying to make some order out of the chaos his flailing limbs had created. `He’s been struggling lately – I don’t know what this will do to him but it’s not going to be good…’

‘Well, you get on with that, then,’ Jonny said as he swung his legs to the floor, spurs clacking.

‘Where are you going?’ Martin called after him, as he swaggered to the door.

‘I’m going to look for something to shoot,’ Jonny said, winking, as he disappeared out of the office.

‘You can’t just… leave!’ Martin said, but Jonny had already gone.

#the magnus archives #The Mechanisms #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonny d'ville #tim stoker #fanfiction #crossover

[rockshortage]

*Cracks knuckles* Ow. Let's see, how about: A6, 16. B1, 12. C1, 2, 3, 5, 8. D4. E2, 3, 7. F2, 5, 10, 12 (Sorry, but also not sorry) I6. L1, 2, 4, and 9 :)

hoo boy that took a while

A6) Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.”

Ah, he questions himself a lot. Maybe he wasn’t listening well enough because he was too distracted by being anxious? Maybe he misinterpreted this event, because his background knowledge on it was lacking, he doesn’t know the full story and opinions from all sides, he’s not sure he can form a well educated opinion on this--

A16) Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?

Hector needs to do it himself for Science, because how else is he to truly know, if not from his own personal experience? Trusting what people tell you is good and all but gathering data yourself is better.

Unless we’re talking about raider politics, in which case there’s not really a good way for Hector to gather data without seriously endangering him and friends, so he’ll just listen to Gage.

B1) Do they believe you have to give respect to get it, or get respect to give it?

Generally, he believes it’s necessary to give people respect before you can expect it in return. He learns that many people do not in fact think the same way. He’ll still want to extend basic courtesy to them even if they’re assholes, unless they disrespect/piss him off to the extremes, or if their actions threaten his position and in turn the well-being of himself and friends.

B12) Your OC orders something to eat and gets their order done in a pretty wrong way, something they can’t just pick off or whatnot to correct, or something major is missing. What do they do?

Have a back and forth about it in his head – ah it’s not so bad it’s still fine, but then again he really wanted it differently… but he doesn’t wanna bother them and be entitled about it, but man… :( Might get close to pointing it out but chances are slim that he’ll actually get someone to correct the order. It’ll be disappointing but he’ll eat it.  

C1) Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it?

Eeeh, not a super strong one. His baseline are general societal morals and norms, like… help person good, kill person bad. Most of the time he’ll base his actions on what feels right for him and for his friends. He’ll consider: will doing this make me feel bad afterwards? Will it have a negative impact on other people, who don’t deserve it? Is that consequence worth it because it saves my own skin or helps/protects my friends?

C2) Would your OC feel bad if they acted against their morals? If not, would they find a way to excuse themselves for it?

Bringing back the point about sacrificing for the greater good. He’d consider that the morally right thing to do because it impacts fewer people negatively. But making that sacrifice endangers his friends, whose lives for him personally are worth much more than an abstract crowd of people. So he chooses to not do the thing for the greater good and save his friends instead, and yes, he would feel very bad on the one hand, because oh boy. As far as most people are concerned, he did a horrible terrible thing and was extremely selfish and absolutely chose wrong. But on the plus side, and that’s a very big huge plus- he still has his friends. And still having his friends makes him feel less bad than how he would have felt if he didn’t have his friends anymore.

So uh… yes and no.

C3) Is it important for them to be with people (socially, intimately, whatever) whose major ideological tenets align with their own?

More or less. He can’t hang out well with people he completely disagrees with in every way, of course that’s not going to work. But Hector is… how to say… kinda boring when it comes to ideals and opinions and all that stuff. He just doesn’t have very strong ones in general. Which can make him a little bland and potentially spineless, but also pretty agreeable. As long as they don’t constantly shove their great big opinions in his face, they’ll get along well enough.

C5) Do your OC’s morals and rules of common decency go out the window when it comes to those they don’t like, or when it’s inconvenient? Aka, are their morals situational?

I think I kind of answered this in C2. Basic morals do get thrown out the window if friends are threatened, or if he gets pissed off enough. He’d have to be really pissed off though. As well as being post having-grown-a-spine(-at-least-partially). Hurting people bad but being insufferable to Hector also bad so guess what fucker

C8) Is your OC more practical or ideal morally? I.e., do they hold people to high expectations of behavior even if it’s not realistic for the situation, or do they have a more realistic approach and adapt their morality to be more practical?

Again a little tricky because I’m having trouble coming up with a scenario that would help me make up my mind with a definite answer. I’m leaning more towards a practical approach 1) because Hector is more of a realist/pessimist in general, 2) he doesn’t want to like… be overly demanding

D4) Would they like to be immortal? Why, why not? If they are immortal, would they rather not be?

The more he thinks about it the more meaningless life seems to get for someone like him. Solution: don’t think about it! Repress that shit because it’s not like you can do anything about it anyway. Also an involuntary solution but one that helps nonetheless: have shit memory so that you don’t feel like you’ve lived too many lifetimes.

If you were to ask him, the answer you get completely depends on the headspace he’s in at the moment. If he’s just vibing, going about his day and things are going well then yeah! Immortality isn’t so bad. If you catch him on an off day, things aren’t going so well, maybe he just thought about having to deal with losing his friends eventually… then you obviously get the opposite answer.

E2) Which of the nine types of intelligence is your OC strongest in? Weakest? (Linguistic, existential, naturalist, et cetera)

I know I talked about this before and I grouped them from strong to medium to weak but I can’t for the life of me find the post anymore (thanks tumblr for your useless garbage search and tagging features). So I can’t even check if I’m still on the same wavelength with past me :v

From strongest to weakest we have…

Logical-mathematical

Spatial

Linguistic

Bodily-kinesthetic

Musical

Naturalist

Interpersonal

Existential

Intrapersonal

E3) How many languages do they speak?

Three… and a half.

The half language being Swiss German, because I don’t know what the fuck it is even after graduating from language uni

The others: Standard German, English, and French, from strongest to weakest.

E7) Are they a good note-taker? Are they a good test-taker? Do exams make them nervous?

Yes, yes, and yes. He’s very good at taking notes considering most of science is documentation. And even now when he’s not doing a lot of Formal Science things, he still writes in his journal almost daily, summing up events and making notes of important things. He gets nervous with tests with all the self doubt if he really prepared well enough and the unpredictability of the questions that will be asked, but once the pen is in his hand, he just blazes through it.

F2) What’s their ideal home look like? Where is it?

Someplace underground, safe and sturdy like a vault. Industrial aesthetic is welcome and he wants to have plenty of space, but it shouldn’t feel huge and empty. Needs to be homey, even if it might feel a little rustic to the average person. Having it built into a mountain would be sick, so he still has the perfect protection from the sun, but he doesn’t have to crawl out of a hole in the ground like some kind of worm – instead he opens the door and gets the most amazing view immediately.

… and I promise, only after writing the above did I remember that he pretty much lives in a mountain already, just a plastic one. Close enough.

F5) How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera?

Quite handy indeed. He can fix most things, he usually just needs some time to (re-)familiarize himself with the object and its functions. A lot of it also involves trial and error, but he’ll figure it out eventually.

F10) Do they engage in any of the arts? How good do you intend them to be? Would they agree they are?

He’d actually be really good at pen/pencil drawing, what with making technical illustrations and blueprints of Science Stuff, but it’s not a skill that’s applied in an artsy setting. When the goal is to draw for the sake of drawing, evoking emotion, or paint with a brush, that’s probably when shit would fall apart. I can’t remember who the artist was, but it reminds me of this little comic about Paladin Danse – in which he’s extremely good at technical drawings but then he attempts to draw a dog and it just looks…wrong.

Now with music, he’s more likely to engage in it in an artful way. He likes to sing, even if he very rarely does it now that he has people around him more often than not. Before, he’d just be alone in his lonely place and sing and scream to his heart’s content, but now he’s too awkward to do it, because someone might hear him. He is pretty good at it though, considering how much alone time he’s had to practice.

F12) Would they enjoy a theme park?

The rides and junk food? Yes absolutely. But the giant crowd and every little consequence it entails, nope, no thank you, he’ll just leave it be.

You bet he’s gonna go on the rides at nuka world though once they got them back up and working, because the crowd isn’t as big as pre-war and he’s the fucking overboss and can skip lines and restrict access to others however he damn pleases.

I6) Could they eat the same thing they enjoy over and over and not get bored of it quickly?

He can, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. The first month or so at nuka world he almost exclusively lives off of some shitty nutrient bars. In some scenarios, food just exists as sustenance and not as something to be enjoyed.

In a preferable scenario though, it is to be enjoyed. And I think while he would get bored of it after a while, it’d take longer than for the average person. And even then, he’s just happy he can eat something enjoyable at whatever pace he likes instead of having to scarf down Compressed Nutrient

L1) How have your characters changed since you created them?

He stopped existing in a void, which is a pretty damn big change. Now he has a whole world and other characters to interact with, that contribute to shaping and developing his personality.

L2) What do you consider the biggest themes in your character, if any?

Oof, this is hard. Maybe… getting to know yourself? Accepting change, personal growth?

L4) Would you hang out with your OC if you could?

I’m actually not sure sjdfsdnsv

Like yes he is sweet bean who must be protected, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is a weird little old man. I guess if we can just chill listening to music and he can go off about crustaceans or something and we speak The Horrible Language, why the fuck not

L9) How did you come up with your OC?

Masks cool. Me especially like gas masks. Unhinged science characters also cool. Make generic but still sliiiightly unique design and make it a point to not have him be a young pretty boy character despite having immortality. Add lots of weaknesses to compensate for the immortality. Add science personality things and complete the picture with projections of my own personality. Boom, you’ve got yourself the beginnings of a Hector

#hector messerli #i did not proofread please wish me luck from the future #corvidexoskeleton #ask meme #ask #hector ref

[zontiky]

Okay but au where they're not all related and five is a mysterious orphan Diego keeps running into at odd hours of the night and then him just being like "fuck it he's like 13 he can't be out alone at night" and then just takes him home like a godamn stray and five is THRIVING under the positive attention he never had I beg of you please feed my soul. Also sorry if this doesn't make sense I've had 2 hours of sleep and like 8 coffees today

i think i’ve read a fic similar to this but FUCK YEAH let’s do this (sorry im so late btw i havent been feeling bullet points lately fksjdfks) ALSO HEY OP PLEASE DON’T DIE I HOPE YOU’RE OK??? 

so diego is still a cop and he’s patrolling or doing whatever it is that cops do, and then he sees a kid sitting in an alley

obviously he pulls over like “hey kid you okay?” and the kid is like “shut up go away bootlicker” and diego is instantly “okay then come on im taking you to get food”

the kid doesn’t want to go but at the same time diego can tell he knows that there’s really no better options. this child looks hungry

so the kid and diego go to griddy’s and the kid says his name is five when asked

“that’s not a name”

“is too”

diego+fam have a long history of trauma and reginald called them by number which was their birth order or something? idk OH SHIT WAIT YOU SAID NOT ALL RELATED OK OK COOL SO

luther is a mechanic who diego knows because he’s the dude who’s often the one repairing his car, they’re on pretty good terms and go out for coffee sometimes because luther hates alcohol and diego’s body is a temple so he doesn’t drink

diego is diego he’s a cop but he’s highkey broke and i really don’t know how much cops get paid? hm

ok google says from 34.6k - 89.4k a year and numbers mean nothing to me so lets say he’s just a gremlin who lives in a boiler room because it’s efficient

OR he’s still dating eudora and lives with her

you know what that’s probably the better option i’m gonna go with that. they don’t have as much childhood trauma even though none of the “siblings” come from exactly good homes? but none of them were raised by reggie mcfuckface so it’s less like,,, bad even though they’re all fucked up

WAIT DO THEY HAVE THEIR POWERS

HELL YEAH THEY HAVE THEIR POWERS

ok ok so luther is a mechanic who uses his super strength and endurance to just fucking carry cars around his garage and i know NOTHING about mechanics as a profession but but but luther is good at what he does

diego is a cop who lives with eudora and throws knives like a boss. he also throws tennis balls really hard because stabbing people on duty isn’t advised

you know what? i’m gonna say allison ISNT a movie star, shes a smaller actress with minor roles here and there because she’s a mom and spends time with claire. she doesn’t use her rumor as much because honestly she doesn’t see a reason to? like sometimes she’ll go “i heard a rumor you gave me a free shot of coffee” and like,,, that’s it shfskd

her and patrick are still divorced but that’s because they did it the healthy way. they knew they were drifting apart but instead of rumoring him they broke it off mutually and they still meet up for coffee. they’re friends ok. claire loves her parents

klaus! klaus has problems but because im a soft bitch dave is here in 2019. he’s… also a mechanic…. they all know eachother but dave knows luther and diego pretty well. luther via work and diego via luther

yes klaus! so klaus has a history of drugs and addiction, because while he wasn’t shoved into a mausoleum ghosts screaming at you all the fucking time doesn’t help with staying sober

but because he has a support network he can fall back on he’s doing well, he’s a barista in a coffee shop that allison and patrick & diego and luther frequent

shoutout to klaus

five is an orphan he’s 13 and small and kind of a genius? fuck what if as a kid five accidentally time-traveled to 2019 and thaT’S HOW HE BECAME AN ORPHAN 

galaxy brain

so five is this kid in the wrong time living on the streets not knowing how things work

i mean he does obviously because he catches on quick and he’s smart but really he doesn’t know how some shit works ok. he’s clueless when it comes to technology and pop culture and shit

ben!! ben is alive!! he’s a part time writer and a full time librarian!! he knows klaus because during his homeless days klaus stuck around the library because free bathrooms and also reading to take his mind off the ghosts. they become really close and ben gets klaus to move in with him and then he’s trying to get sober and then ben’s car crashes and that’s how they meet luther and dave OHHHH

additionally: klaus illustrates some of ben’s books because he knows how to draw yay

vanya! she’s first chair in the orchestra and she’s dating helen cho because i say so

so vanya kicks ass at violin, she’s being gay teaching lessons all that good shit what more is there to say

harold isn’t here because there was never an umbrella academy

hmmm back to the,,, actual plot,,, im sorry sksfhdjsk

SO DIEGO FINDS FIVE RIGHT

AND HE’S LIKE “oh no this child is awakening my paternal instincts oh no i have to take him home with me now”

eudora opening the door to see her husband boyfriend with an angry looking teenager at his side: dear god what did you do this time

eudora instantly bonds with five and i mean INSTANTLY like she lays eyes on him and goes “child?? small?? looks lonely?? must protect” and five looks at her like “badass looking lady she probably knows what shes doing might as well ask for info and stuff” but hes actually thinking “oh dang she looks like she knows what she’s doing RESPECT” and yeah ksdjhsdkf

then five expects them to be mean or just get tired of him and kick him out but?? they dont??? wack

diego is instantly like “kid where do you live”

‘um’

“you live somewhere right???”

‘UM’

they find out he’s legally dead and thats another can of worms entirely

so they register and foster five

diego and eudora are registered foster parents you cannot change my mind alright

then five is introduced to luther and dave, and also ben and klaus because theyre hanging around the shop bc it’s their off day

so five instantly has 4 more people giving him instant love and validation and he’s like “woah”

THEN ALLISON AND PATRICK

claire too,, claire immediately adopts five as her older brother

this entire time five is like “i can’t stay im gonna leave soon you all know this right” and eveybody is “yep ok sure” but they all know hes gonna stay

hhHHHH GAME NIGHTS

five beats everybody at scrabble

diego beats everybody at darts, even though everybody calls him out for cheating

vanya beats everybody at musical chairs. she levitates the chairs so nobody can sit down

luther beats everybody at outdoor games. do not play tag with this man you might not make it out alive

allison is the QUEEN of blurt! 

ben is so good at charades it’s unfair

klaus honestly sucks at board games, but he always wins uno and nobody knows how (its the ghosts skfhsdkf)

five is so confused because its obvious all of them are cheating but??? nobody cares?? what

“it’s because it’s fun nobody is actually upset”

whaaaaaaat

so they have to explain to him that they dont play to win they play to have fun and its just a fun thing they do to spend time together and bond

five: mind blown

THEY TAKE HIM TO AN AQUARIUM

BEN JUST CHILLS WITH THE OCTOPI THE ENTIRE TIME

FIVE BONDS WITH CRABS

THEY ALL LOVE SEALS

five gets exposed to modern culture!! klaus and ben teach him memes is what i’m saying 

five goes to school!!! he makes friends!!!! they have nice sleepovers and diego and eudora make them cookies :’)

i want to say. okay so.

reginald exists and he had made grace eariler as preparation for the children he was going to adopt, but he died before he could buy any babies

so grace exists! and!! she knows the “siblings”!!!

so five has a grandma because im not going to lie grace is basically all of their’s mom

she lives in the mansion but she can go outside and DO THINGS and she makes them COOKIES and she LOVES HER KIDS and GRANDKIDS and five ADORES her ok

basically five is happy with his pseudo family that’s it thank you for your time

wait no actually he figures out how to time travel safely and he does go back and forth

sometimes he pops in and he’s like “hey we ran out of milk” and then a second later he’s like “for the love of god wait until tomorrow to get milk dont ask why you dont wanna know” and its obvious that he came back from the future and HHHHHH YES

the commission can’t do shit because found family love is simply too strong

hazel and agnes are the nice couple who run griddys and birdwatch

five is fond of them too honestly like he just loves going to griddys because it has so many happy memories for him and its where he met diego (sorta) and also yay hazel and agnes!!

SO YEAH BASICALLY: FIVE IS HAPPY AND THIS AU IS GOD TIER THANK YOU

THIS IS A GOOD ONE I LIKE THIS AU THANK YOU

#asks #tinky-wink #tua #aus #hcs #rambles #stray au #team zero

[0poole]

Why I don’t really like anime

Alright well here’s one that’s pure “who tf asked” energy but it’s something I’ve legitimately been thinking about. Most of these are just me trying to organize how I think. I try to keep away from this general aura of saying I don’t like something completely unprompted, but my brother is a massive anime fan so I’m around anime a lot more than anything else I’m not into.

Obviously I’m gonna have to preface this with the whole spiel. People can do and enjoy literally anything they want so long as it doesn’t hurt other people. Apart from that, this is just me putting thoughts onto paper and shouting them out into the void pretending people on the internet care or even will hear in the first place. And, apart from THAT, I’m also saying I just don’t like it, not that it’s “bad.” Anyone saying something as expansive as anime can be universally “bad” is objectively an idiot who doesn’t know how things work. Also, I’m not trying to cover my bases as if I expect anime fans to hound me like people stereotypically assume they would, I’ll always cover my bases when saying things like this to catch literally anyone and make the undertones of what I’m actually saying perfectly clear to everyone.

And similar to that, absolutely none of this stems from the less affectionate stereotypes of anime fans. Let it be known that I’ve been a part of various fandoms, including My Little Pony, Steven Universe, Undertale, and probably some others that have just-kinda-bad to horrible stereotypes put on them because of the true weirdos in the fandom who act seriously out of turn. I know the feeling of being lumped in with those unfortunately remarkable people as if this giant group acts basically in the same way/agrees with the same actions. Plus, anime has grown so far beyond the “nerd culture” that I feel like it’s more normal to like at least a little anime than to not like it at all, so people that suggest all anime fans are weirdos are the weird ones.

    But yeah, over time I’ve definitely felt a full bias against anime for some reason. Obviously some fit into my interests and get into my mind when I had an anime phase (like anyone), as I’ll mention, but for the most part if something is brought up as “anime” I just lose all interest in watching it. I feel like in terms of my overall biases, there are only three types of series: Non-anime animation, Anime, and Live action. For some reason, live action series are even worse in the bias chart than anime. I literally can’t muster up even the slightest interest in a live action series, while I can at least sometimes get behind the idea of an anime (and it’s a whole different can of worms for movies/other forms).

    The reason why I say “non-anime” animation instead of “western” animation is because it really doesn’t have to do with place of origin at all. Also, calling stuff “western” kind of excludes non-Japanese eastern countries that don’t produce anime, like Russia and India. For me, the question is just anime compared to all other types of animation. Aside from the objectively bad art styles of course.

That really just gets troubling with the true definition of “anime,” though, but as far as I care to define it it’s entirely revolving around the art and animation style, and maybe various other stylistic things as well. It’s one of those “hard to define it, but you can usually spot one when you see it” sort of things. But, I feel like even though “anime” might literally just mean “Japanese animation” in general, I feel like there are Japanese animations that could not be “anime.” For example, the big one being anything by Studio Ghibli. It honestly could or could not be anime, but the fact that there is a debate suggests that there’s more to anime than it just being Japanese. If it’s not origin, then basically all of it rests on the style itself. Especially since so many people start off trying to draw “anime style” (like I did), and since some things have been called “French anime” (a term which honestly gets me infinitely more into an idea for some reason, I guess it being “French” reverses the negative bias from “anime”). Then of course it gets into murky water, though, like are Teen Titans (the original) or Avatar: The Last Airbender anime? It’s obviously something that doesn’t have a clear definition and it sucks. But, it’s easier for me to talk about if it’s limited to the art style, because that’s pretty much my main gripe with the whole thing.

I could also just not even remotely know what I’m talking about but just go with it.

If it had to be limited to a single sentence, the main reason why I don’t like anime is that it feels like 90% of it looks extremely similar to one another. See a few paragraphs down for the major exceptions, because there’s always exceptions. Also I’m sure someone somewhere is trying to pull out the “Calarts style” argument here and honestly nothing inoffensive pisses me off more than that and I’m gonna for sure make a separate rant on that some day. Obviously “western” animation isn’t the saving grace either, but it feels closer in general.

It may be one of those things that is supposed to be more functional, of course. I’d have to imagine it’s much more writing-focused, because, if I were an executive at an animation company, I could definitely get sold on a story much more easily if it followed very similar artistic practices that have been used by so many other companies/groups. Plus, for the audience, it’s probably easier to enjoy a story when you are pretty sure you’re going to be into the art style of the show by default. I’d have to imagine that’s why there are so many different anime (animes? Consider it a fish/fishes type thing) out there. For the most part, too, it seems like the vast majority of it is animated simply, with the higher detail and budget being saved for the big events. I’ll never say it’s not a reasonable thing to exist. It just sucks when the one thing made to be so universal is the one thing you don’t like. 

But I’m definitely realizing I care about the visual of an animation more than the story. Definitely, a few years ago, I went full stereotypical writer, and cared so much more about the story itself than how things looked, but I definitely have changed from that. I’m much more likely to enjoy a story that’s pretty simple and easygoing that’s told in amazing animation than a highly detailed and complex story that’s told in pretty simple and easygoing animation. I mean, apart from that, I definitely don’t like the idea of a story’s complexity being one of its selling points, but that’s beside the point. Also, not to suggest all anime are “simply animated.” Exceptions are everywhere.

I’m the type of person who can enjoy something by “turning my brain off,” if you want to discredit the value of simplistic stories. Plus, now that I’m starting to try and make animations of my own, whenever I see some crazy good animation I’m halfway between “The animators are legends for putting in the massive legwork of making that” and “The animators are legends for making so impossibly good and high quality.” It also boggles my mind a bit when I see an overly detailed anime character/mech/whatever move. Someone had to animate that.

And then there’s one specific gripe that’s basically exactly that, but distilled into its purest form, and that’s how practically all young male protagonists in a mostly realistic setting in anime look like actual doppelgangers with each other. But, again, that’s a product of japanese society being less racially diverse overall compared to the Americas, so obviously the archetypal male is going to look much more average compared to what I’m used to. Just because there’s a reason doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. And, obviously, a lot of anime doesn’t have this issue, especially with the slightly less prevalent idea of “anime protagonist hair” of the past. Plus, girl characters don’t really seem to have this issue, and lord knows anime girls are a big thing. And, even worse for my case, it’s the same issue I have with the Calarts argument: The protagonists are supposed to look more average/approachable, while the side characters and environment can go the extra design-distance. I will say though that if an anime features the main character who looks just like that one archetype, I just can’t like it at all. It’s too plain. Same goes for when characters attend a school, and their “main” outfit is just their school uniform. Obviously practically all schools in Japan have uniforms, but it’s just so boring from a character design prospective. 

Another big part of the style that I don’t like is just the level of detail anime characters/things often have. The worst part of this is always, ALWAYS the hair. It always looks so greasy and stringy, and it just makes me feel gross looking at it for too long. I don’t even care what color it is. Something a little less universal are the more fantastical side of outfits some characters wear some of the time. Obviously some outfits just go too far with detail, or maybe try too hard for a specific look that it thwarts the design as a whole. It’s kind of hard to say that without having specific examples, but I’ll always prefer bigger shapes and relative simplicity over the level of detail most anime characters have. Same goes for items too. 

One thing that’s very easy to avoid on the larger scale, but still pretty prominent and a thing I genuinely hate, is how much more sexualized things are in anime. Like I said, it’s pretty easy to avoid sexualization because you can usually tell from the get-go where it’s at its worst, but even in other cases it feels like it creeps in even in the best shows. Trust me, though, I’ll never not admit to being horny, but when I sit down to engage in a genuine story I’m not even joking when I say that there is practically no situation where I want sex to be involved. Romance can be on-and-off, but specifically sexual elements just really throw me off of taking a story seriously, even when it’s actually incorporated into the greater themes and ideas of the story. I don’t know why I’m so averse to it, but I am. But, really, this is more of a writing thing than a visual thing usually. I swear to god, whenever my brother shows me an anime (my family would be completely disconnected from anime without him), there is like a 70-80% chance some female character is going to call a male character a “pervert” (or whatever the untranslated word they use is) and have it play off like a casual joke/remark. That shit actually makes me want to die. It doesn’t even matter whether or not they’re actually being a pervert, the mere mention of the remote idea genuinely pisses me off to no end.

Even though it’s just barely relevant, the way they always draw people with blood shooting out of their nose when they see lewd things makes me feel uncomfortable too. I’m not sure what anime originated that trend, because it sure as hell can’t be a thing from real life. That just doesn’t happen on the scale it happens in anime. Plus, it can’t feel good. 

Strangely enough, one of the main things that doesn’t put me off is having to watch with subtitles. For one, if there’s any culture whose animation I enjoy inherently more by default, it’s French animation, so I still deal with it outside of anime. And, even when I understand the language being spoken, I still like watching with subtitles just so I never mishear or misunderstand something. But, also, I’m actually completely on the “sub” side of the age-old-and-probably-ignored-nowadays-but-i’m-behind-the-times “Dubs vs Subs” debate. For some reason, it is extremely hard for me to look at an anime with a very plainly english voice over top of it. It just doesn’t feel right, almost ever. Some get it right of course, but the general state of dubs is pretty low compared to just reading text with the default emotions behind them. It sounds kind of counterintuitive, because I can’t exactly admire the animation as much if I’m reading text, but I feel like I’ve watched and written enough (even though it doesn’t exactly take much to find this skill) to realize what the general effect of a scene is, and when I do, I can usually watch the actual animation itself instead of reading the text. Like with French stuff, I can pick up very few words that repeat and match them to the subtitles to learn just the slightest bit of another language. I actually took a French language class in high school though, so it’s much easier then…

And one thing that I actually wish non-anime did was make different intro sequences/songs for different seasons/sections of the story. Even though some classic cartoon intros are so insanely classic that it’s hard to want to get something else, I can imagine that, for the most part, the alternative intros could be just as good. I guess it’s because we have so many more episodic shows, so the same intro could reasonably apply to the whole show as if it’s practically the same thing over its entire course, unlike anime which are more structured and progress with each season. I just want more music.

Of course different anime differ in levels between these, with some being major problems in some areas and being completely fine in others. I really don’t like going super in-depth about things I hate though, so let’s just skip that.

But the only rule without an exception is the rule that states “everything has an exception,” so there are a few anime that I actually like, or ones that I respect from afar. I did have an anime nerd phase in my past, although it wasn’t super intense or long lived, but in that period a few anime did sneak into my radar and I still like them, mostly because I can’t help but love the nostalgia. 

The one that kinda doesn’t count is the Pokemon anime. I like it because it’s Pokemon and I love Pokemon. Plus, it’s based on literally the most profitable gaming franchise ever, so it’s not like a fringe indie series. I will say that I actually really like the artistic direction they’ve taken for both the series and the official artwork/design as a whole. The Sun and Moon series looked pretty cute but maybe took it a bit too far, but the current series has a great balance of the clean, expressiveness of the Sun and Moon series but the solid-ness of the series before it. Apart from that, though, it’s one of those things I only still watch out of obligation, and for the rare good moments. I just love watching Pokemon exist, you know? Since I’ve watched so much of it already, and don’t have too much else to watch on a weekly basis, there’s no reason not to just put on the newest episode. It’s funny, though, because I normally like the dub of the anime more than the sub, but since the Sun and Moon series upped Ash’s expressiveness up to 10 it felt like his old dub voice actress didn’t quite match him anymore. Since I had no impression on what his original japanese voice sounded like, it was easy to start watching the subbed version and apply his new traits onto that voice. Either way, watching the subbed version means I can watch further into the series, and can’t get spoiled on things that’ll happen weeks/months down the line in the dub. As I said, it’s pretty normal nowadays to be into anime, meaning so many more people are following the Japanese episode release times and posting about it ASAP.

One that’s pretty expected is One Punch Man, which I watched once I heard someone explain it as “a parody of anime,” or something to that effect. The greatest thing about parodies is that they can be enjoyed both by those who love the thing being riffed on, and those that don’t. So, I watched it, and loved it. Me thinking about it like a parody also let me pass by the usual gripes I had with anime as a whole, like over-the-top crazy strong villains explaining so much out in the open, only to get one-shot by Saitama. And, the more obvious parody elements, such as Saitama becoming so strong just by exercising a lot, and just being a generally understated guy who just kinda is around. Pairing him with Genos, the more stereotypical anime powerhouse protagonist, is a great choice. For the animation, they even go super hard on the battles partially, I’d have to guess, because it still is just cool, but also to juxtapose how relatively simple Saitama is. There’s even some great character designs in there, like I remember this one single-episode side villain who was like a silhouette girl (?) with sharp teeth and long, seaweed-like hair that I loved the most. There’s also that second-in-command henchman guy under the main season 1 villain who looked sort of octopus-like, and I think had a crazy stupid name. I even liked the second season, which I guess most people didn’t like as much? It might’ve not been the highest of highs but I didn’t hate too much of it. 

One of the weirder examples is Attack on Titan because of the artstyle. For some reason, it feels like the characters of AoT are drawn and designed so well that they can look anime, realistic, and just barely cartoonic at the same time, creating diverse and impressionable characters without having to resort to the crazy stuff like colored hair and weird clothes. Plus, this lends extremely well to the overall atmosphere of the show, which of course is more grim in a slightly more realistic setting, but with the occasional guise of happiness some scenes have. It can be everything at once. But, of course, I only realized that after watching it, and the main selling point was actually how interesting and unique the story was, while remaining, at first, pretty simplistic all things considered. I just loved dudes with giant swords jet boosting up to a shambling giant and slicing the back of their neck. Compared to most anime, it was so specifically designed, instead of having a lot of detail put into everything to have the uniqueness. The Scout uniform is basically iconic at this point, while remaining pretty straightforward and, even better, completely unrevealing. Even when you hear the idea of an “anime sword” you also kind of think of something super flamboyant and complex, while the Scouts’ swords are also pretty simple, but very recognizable, basically being a rectangle, and also being replaceable. The whole device they use to get around is also so simple, yet so cool, and relatively reasonable. From a writing perspective, it’s also really good to have all main characters be on practically the same playing field in terms of abilities (aside from, you know, Erin) so each knows their full limitations, and you don’t learn anything out of the blue in the midst of battle. Even better, it’s a type of power you have to be genuinely skilled with, not like how most stories pull the “you’re inherently powerful you just need to release it!” sort of deal (Again, Erin).

I am kinda falling out of interest with the story as it progresses, though, but it’s entirely not the creators’ faults. Part of the appeal initially was how mysteriously cool and terrifying the Titans were, and why everything in this world was the way it was. Like with pretty much everything going on for long periods of time, the explanation had to come eventually, and it never is quite as good as you thought it’d be. Now that I know exactly why everything is the way it is, a lot of the magic kind of dissipated. Plus, that subplot of the false royalty of their kingdom and all the politics of that got very Star Wars Prequels with me. I didn’t come for that stuff. I am still a bit in that “I’m obligated to watch it since I’ve watched so much already” camp, so if they ever continue the series I’ll get back in. I’m definitely not at all the manga type, though. I don’t really like long form comics as a whole, and my eyes genuinely hurt looking at most manga because it seems they don’t use different shades of grey as much as they should. It’s all black and white, and my eyes can’t stand it. It’s the digital age, dammit. Leave the old style behind.

Even though I already said it’s on the verge of being anime and even though It’s all movies (I think?) you gotta admit Studio Ghibli stuff is just impossibly magical. I can only actively remember seeing like 3 of them (Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, and Ponyo) but I would actually sell my soul to keep these movies in existence. I’m highly considering watching Kiki’s Delivery Service next because I think it’s on some streaming service my family has, where I can literally just watch it whenever with no fuss. They all fall into that kind of foreign fantasy genre that I love to all hell, because the “usual” for western fantasy has gotten impossibly stale and I actually kind of hate it now. Literally whenever any kind of story is a fantasy story, but with fantastical elements coming from some culture that isn’t the norm for fantasy, I can’t help but love it. Even though I’m talking more about the high fantasy genre, I can still love Ghibli stuff for being so adorably casual and local, making it feel so much more like every little thing they show you exists in some magical recess in the real world. The artstyle also has that kind of feel, where it’s cute in that weird-looking way. Plus, it’s a movie, so there’s a more solid stream of higher quality animation, instead of the more necessarily efficient series. Also also, I would die for Chihiro. That’s all.

For the stuff I don’t actively engage with as much, you can’t not mention the big Shonen Jump names, like One Piece, Naruto, and the one I interacted with the most, Yu Gi Oh. I’ve watched all three of those to some extent at some point in my life, but they didn’t really stay too much. 

One Piece has another remarkable artstyle, being so weird and quirky and large-faced with everything. I can also appreciate the fantastical pirate elements, as well as the very unique superpowers of Luffy, and the rest of the Devil Fruit powers. I would totally try watching again if it didn’t have over 900 goddamn episodes. That’s the problem with watching super popular stuff like that, it goes on forever, and it’s so hard to make that commitment. Either way, I think that one guy with the cigarette/lollipop was a walking “pervert” joke so I don’t miss it too much. I also honestly think a non-episodic series that goes over like 200-something episodes can’t possibly have a truly balanced and engaging story all throughout.

Naruto also had that “High fantasy of another culture” appeal to it, and is probably the most classic anime that isn’t Dragonball (which I personally am not really into at all, never was). I don’t really have too much to say about it, but I did really like the Wii game I had where it was a fighter with all the characters. I haven’t checked, but I’m pretty sure Naruto’s just like One Piece in that there are too many episodes to make the commitment and I think Naruto might even have a worse problem with “Pervert” jokes, but I don’t remember exactly.

Yu Gi Oh, on the other hand, is actually still sort of my jam. The recent stuff, whether it’s the cards or the series, is completely beyond me, and looks like the true anime BS that I don’t like, but the OG Yu Gi Oh stuff was awesome. I still know how to play the card game, at least with the earlier, simpler rules and card effects. I don’t even know how to play the Pokemon card game, and Pokemon’s one of my favorite things ever. I wish we still had those pre-made decks sorted so I could just play really quickly with those to regain my idea for strategy, and then make an original deck of the hundreds of hundreds of cards we have lying around. It’d be fun for no other reason than nostalgia. The video games are probably a good place to start, and I still have that old PC one where it was split into multiple versions for like Yugi, Kaiba, and Joey I think. I had the Yugi one, and last time I tried I actually had trouble beating him. There’s a semi-decent multiplayer one I have on Steam right now but it’s one of those things where I could either play that, or just… not, and continue life as normal. I might try it out again, but I already feel like I’m wasting my day. Oh my god, then Dungeon Dice Monsters on Gameboy Advance? Who needs anything else for that plane ride, am I right? I think there’s even those semi-story based RPGs on the Gameboy too that I should probably try out again. There’s just so much goodness.

And I haven’t even talked about the anime yet. Definitely the more meme-able of the classic anime, and I can definitely appreciate it for that. It was pretty weird in its own way. Especially with Yugi himself having what might just be the most insane and nonsensical hair style of all of anime. But, even then, I actually think it’s my all-time favorite, and I kinda love it. I have no idea why I do, but I do. I couldn’t even conceive of how to draw it from anything other than the front view. I also seriously appreciate when a character’s main icon/representation is something unique, and the Dark Magician is such an insanely cool character for just being some random dude on a card. Even apart from that, the Millenium Puzzle looks really cool, as does pretty much anything with an Egyptian flair to it. Then, we got the man, the legend, Joey Wheeler, who would not have been the same with any other voice actor. I stand by the fact that Tea and Tristan should’ve been fused into a hot-headed tomboy though, you really could’ve done without them both separately. Kaiba is also a classic anime antagonist/antihero, and he’s pretty lovable for it. Such great characters for something that really didn’t need them at all. I definitely have more nostalgia for the card/video game overall, but the anime definitely has an impression of its own. 

There’s also Zatch Bell, which I only know about in full because of that one Billiam video. I did have some vague idea of what Zatch Bell was, but only because we got those cool little books to hold the cards in. Honestly though the average character design in the show kinda sucks considering the fantastical elements are kind of cool. The only reason why I’m bringing it up at all is because I think Zatch’s design might be my all-time favorite character design in any anime property ever. His hair does still look pretty greasy, sure, but overall he has a very simple and clear design, and even though I’d definitely redesign him to look more puppet-like, the only reason why I see him as a puppet is because of the lines going down his cheeks. Those lines might be one of my all-time favorite single character design details for some reason. He also has a giant bow around his neck, and that plus the wide dress seriously makes him feel like a character I’d design (mostly because I have a character with somewhat the same details) minus the uber-generic anime boy protagonist sidekick.

For the list of anime I haven’t engaged with at all yet but can respect from afar, the shortest one I can describe is that one with that skeleton guy who has that average job and it’s animated very plainly, almost like a more western adult animation. You know, that one who got the meme with the subtitle of “Thanks, but reconsider!!!” with him looking all average but also anime-shocked at the same time. I can appreciate the deviation from pretty much every norm for sure.

For the more popular stuff, probably the second most likely for me to watch is My Hero Academia. The artstyle is just varied enough to make it feel better. Sometimes the hero outfits get a little weird, but most of the time they’re alright. What I’m really here for is the base character designs under them. Deku is an amazing average protagonist character design, who definitely looks average but still unique enough to not look boring. Designs like that are hard to come by, because it’s so much easier to use more over-the-top unique elements to make the main character unique. Doing more with less is always preferable though. I could list off all the characters and all, but beyond Deku I really would just be saying things like “The guy who looks like a crow or whatever.” Except for Tsuyu. Tsuyu is best girl, and if you don’t draw her mouth wide enough I’ll be sorely disappointed in you. I think there isn’t a single character I love more from a property I don’t engage with at all. To be honest, I don’t think there’s a serious chance for me really wanting to get into it, though, mainly because I’m intimidated by that little shitstain with the weird latex ball mohawk. As I’ve heard, he’s the walking “pervert” joke type. Could be wrong. I hope so.

The most likely is another Academia, that being Little Witch Academia. It looks adorable as all hell, and the fantasy elements look classically fun, being a sort of bubbly spin on the more generic Harry Potter-type stuff you might imagine for a witch/wizard school. I’ve heard that any Studio Trigger series is animated very well, but somewhat lacking in the story department, but as I said before I can very easily enjoy a simple story with great animation in front of it, so it really seems super up my alley. Plus, it’s just like, ON Netflix. I could literally just boot it up any second and start watching. 

I usually try to organize these paragraphs/lists in ascending order of interest, but I gotta break that for something that’s super half-and-half, and sort of the one that triggered me to want to finally write down all this junk. Madoka Magica is occasionally really cool, with the absurd and bizarre imagery of each Witch and Labyrinth, and I seriously love that part. But… Then it turns to the characters, which I honestly hate looking at multiple times more than the average anime character. Maybe it was somehow intentional, but their faces seriously look like those drawn by kids just starting out trying to draw anime, but just barely adjusted to look more polished for the sake of decency. I’m also not really into the story, being this massive juxtaposition of cutesy little magical girl antics and hellish demonic nonsense and brutal events. Trust me, I’m not the one to shy away from intense, adult stuff in animation, but I feel like the two extremes are almost too far apart from each other to really get into. That, and the magical girl dresses they each transform into was the specific inspiration for me mentioning designs that feel like they’re too set on doing one thing that it hinders their overall design. The yellow girl’s dress looks pretty cool though, since she has those weird poofy shoulder things, another character design trait I love. I just had to mention it because of how crazy interesting the Witches and Labyrinths are. 

I just remembered Sailor Moon existed as I was writing that, and I’m not insanely opposed to looking into it. It might fight with Dragonball for the title of most classic anime ever. It also looks kind of cutesy-fun, which I can enjoy, but I definitely would expect it being a bit old to be its downfall. The artstyle alone gives me some vicarious nostalgia, even though I’ve never engaged with anything styled like it (and honestly believe it’s objectively worse than the anime style that’s more common nowadays). People as a whole seem to be nostalgic about it, so it’s kind of hard not to also feel it a little bit. As I said, though, I do kinda hate it compared to modern stuff. Same thing applies to Dragonball and really anything of Toryiama’s work. I can see the nostalgia from other people, but I just don’t like it.

I’m sure there are others that are just barely being forgotten about, but you get the point.

So yeah, that’s basically why I hate anime except I talk more about the anime I do like instead of hating on it as a whole. Believe it or not, when I like animation, I truly do like it, regardless of whatever form it is. But still, anime as a whole is not at all my thing. Feed me my generic Disney Channel “Calarts” SJW shlock instead. 

#anime #who tf asked #rant #rambling #opinions #poole #etc #animation