#now I'm wondering if that exchange was actually spoken and maybe they just cut the sound in post for some reason? hmmm

[fairyroses]

— SMALLVILLE, "Lexmas" (5.09)

#IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAINNNN #god the way lex smiles in the first and last gifs makes me feel UNWELL #he's sooo precious and soft and happy 😭 #also this is the first time I've noticed that lex silently mouths 'thank you' and lana mouths back 'you're welcome' right before they hug #now I'm wondering if that exchange was actually spoken and maybe they just cut the sound in post for some reason? hmmm #either way it's cute ❤️ #smallville #smallvilleedit #svedit #lex luthor #lana lang #lexana #sv 5x09 #dcmultiverse #my gifs #so GUESS WHAT I've got a week and a half left of grad school then I'll be FREEEEEE and I'm gonna make SO MANY gifs #might just make this a whole month of posting lexmas gifsets tbh eheheheh

[cookinguptales]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💙

You know... I put off answering this for a while because I just could not choose five. And I still can't?? I have so many fics I've written, many of them for fandoms of one, and I find that I actually love a lot of them.

So... if you'll forgive me, I think I'll just talk about a whole bunch of fics that I love for a whole bunch of reasons.

(cut because... I really do talk about a lot of fics lmao)

I think these days a lot of people follow me for WWDITS/nandermo fic. It's one of my current loves, and I've really enjoyed writing for this fandom. I do wonder if I'll keep writing after nandermo becomes canon (or gets sunk for good) but in the meantime... I guess I'll just keep having a good time?

I think my favorite fic I've ever written for WWDITS is Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow, Too. I was looking at a bunch of prompts for the Trick-or-Treat Exchange (more on that later) and I ended up smushing several of them together in my head. But then the story really got away from me, I guess, as I really started to delve deep into Nandor's mind (a WILD place to be, I'm telling you) and it ended up not being posted for another month. Whoops?

Either way, though, I feel like I was really able to get at some of the ideas I'd been juggling with the characters for a long time at that point, and I think the prose itself was very nice at times. I did complicated things with that fic that I haven't done before, and in the end... I think I did a good job! It's probably the fic I'm proudest of in this fandom.

That said, I'd like to give Honorable Mentions to both When We Sway (I Go Weak) and Five Times Guillermo Helped Nandor Collect Semen (And One Time He Didn't) just because both of those fics involved me getting wildly out of my comfort zone. I think both of them seem a bit... outdated, maybe, after s4 and s5, but I think they match the tone of s3 nicely.

Sway was heavy on pining, something I feel like I'm good at writing, but also very heavy on physical action. As many of you know, I'm disabled! I have never waltzed. The kind of movement I described in that fic is not easy for me to do myself, and action scenes have always been difficult for me to write fluidly. So the fact that I was able to write both dancing and fighting convincingly in that fic made me really relieved. I got several comments from dancers telling me how well I'd captured dancing with a partner and like. PHEW. I did a ton of research and bro I was RELIEVED. So I do feel very proud of that.

Even more outside of my wheelhouse was both 5+1 things fics. I'd written a little bit of porn before this, even some for nandermo, but not much and I was largely dissatisfied with it. But boy did I get a lot of practice with those fics. lmao. It was essentially 11 sex scenes of various levels of filth loosely strung together with longing, and like... honestly, I'm very pleased at how most of them turned out! And I think I'm a lot better at writing porn now, even if it always turns out very fucking weird and introspective.

Speaking of weird.

The other fandom I love dearly these days is Sleep No More, which I've been writing for for several years. For a long time, I mostly just wrote this one for exchanges? Mostly ToT and Yuletide. I love writing for SNM, an interactive theater situation in NYC, because I can really fuck around with writing styles. I can play with ideas about religion and folklore and magic and blood and storytelling and tradition, and I can do it while writing some of the most fucked-up relationships that exist. I can play with a show that has very little spoken word, where a slap and a kiss might be in the same loosely choreographed dance, where I get to be a part of this haunted house, but only as a ghost...

While I'm sure the very few people who usually read my SNM fic might disagree, I think my favorite thing I've ever written for SNM is It's A Sin to Tell A Lie. It was my first time really trying to assemble a semi-coherent narrative from the show (largely inspired by some things that I realize now were not always common experiences in the show lmao) so I'm not sure it always aligns with how I see the characters now, but I feel like I wrote a really haunting fic that used the source material in interesting ways.

The Honorable Mention this time goes to The Consequence of Sounds, which is probably the strangest thing I've ever written. A friend of mine joked that she'd like it even if someone wrote like a haunted space hotel AU for the show and that apparently scratched something insane in my brain, so... I wrote a fic that combined space opera, Macbeth, Scottish folk magic, and the music of the spheres.

It's....... very weird. But it was also so fun to write, and I think it was fairly successful. I think the point of fanfiction is weaving together a familiar canon in a brand-new way, and I had fun bringing odd little allusions and old ideas into a new AU. I had to get really creative and that was so fun.

Speaking of weird AUs... I wrote a lot of them when I used to write karabita. haha. This is another one of those fandoms that I picked up a lot of followers with, though idk if any still follow me. Osomatsu-san was a weird comedy show that threw itself into surrealism and AUs very often, and that allowed me to do the same. I think... out of the many, many karabita fics I wrote, my favorite might be Love's Carriers, which is a flower shop AU I wrote out of spite after someone told me that all flower shop AUs are terrible. I worked really, really hard to make the AU suit the characters rather than the other way around while also incorporating flower language, one of my favorite stupid tropes. Again, I think this one came out surprisingly well, especially considering I wrote it in like... 24 hours in a fit of pique. lmao.

Other fics I remember being very proud of in that era... uh... The odd karabita KH AU that no one read because there is basically zero crossover between those fandoms... The soulmark AU because I am WEAK to those... The wingfic... ah... the wingfic... I don't know if I'd use words like "best" or "favorite" for that wingfic, but... I do think it's probably the most I've ever put of myself into a fic. The anxieties re: love and disability that I put into that fic were so real that I still cry every time I look at certain parts of it. I've grown as a person since writing it, but... yeah, those are still fears that haunt me. So I guess I could say it feels the most "me" of any of them I ever wrote.

Other than that... I guess we end up in my exchange fic era. I spent many years writing fic of extremely variable quality for exchanges lmao. I think the most successful was undoubtedly there's not a word yet (for old friends who just met), the muppets slash fic that launched... god, honestly. like. I know I did not create a fandom, but being in at the ground floor and being the one that everyone came to talk to when the pairing DID get off the ground was surreal. lmao. I created that tag on AO3! Everyone said I was crazy for writing that fic! Then they read it and they fell in love a little bit! Then the pairing became canon and everything went bananas! What a weird, surreal, delightful fandom experience.

That Muppets fic really came from the heart and really just came from me writing a fic during a very difficult time in my life and wanting to create a love letter to the characters that got me through it. I wanted to make other people feel the way The Muppets made me feel, and the fact that I succeeded in that (against all odds!) really does make that one special to me.

But... I wrote a ton of exchange fics for tiny, tiny fandoms that most people have never considered! Weird spooky crossover f/f ships, like my Crazy Rich Asians/Ready Or Not Astrid/Grace fic, or my Stoker/Sharp Objects India/Amma fic! Rarepairs like my Kimi no Na wa (Your Name) f/f Mitsuha/Miki fic! An unhinged lost episode of Puppet History! Character studies of dear little elderly murderers in Arsenic and Old Lace!

I also wrote sort of quasi-original fic, especially for the ToT exchange. Ghosts of dinosaurs falling in love with each other in a museum (inspired by a real historical case of the wrong skull being on a skeleton -- and god, that one has a hilarious IRL story attached to it) and a pet shop full of the ghosts of animals longing for companionship and grim reapers grappling with life and death and forbidden love. Mann I loved writing those.

And honestly??? I could write entire posts about any of the fics I'm talking about here. I love them, especially the ones that weren't really loved by anyone else. Hell, I'm turning that pet shop into an extended f/f origific right now.

Writing fic for tiny fandoms of one or two for an exchange feels so bittersweet because you can make that person really happy (and, not to toot my own horn, but I tend to make recipients really happy in exchanges) but it just kind of... fades away. Those stories sometimes have very short lifespans just because they're really just for one person. It's not a good or bad thing, just the nature of exchanges. I love designing a fic that's tailored to one person's likes, dislikes, and deepest desires. It's so fun for me. But it is kind of sad to see those fics fall by the wayside after. So I have to love them enough to make up for it. haha.

Finally... a fic I adored writing, that absolutely consumed me, and it's for a fandom that is basically nonexistent. I loved going to Meow Wolf's House of Eternal Return and experiencing the work of hundreds of artists all coming together to make something great. I wanted to add my art, too. No one is out here looking for HoER fic, especially not for the pairing I wrote, but like. BOY, if there's any fic I've ever written that's the definition of "I wrote this for me", it's Gnosis.

Anyway, yeah, I've been posting fic on AO3 for *checks* almost 15 years now, so I guess it makes sense that I can't narrow this down to just five, lmao. But I'm also trying not to go on too much.

But seriously, seriously, if anyone wants me to talk more about these fics or any other that I've written, I would be so incredibly happy to give you a play-by-play of what I was thinking, what I was trying to do, what I liked, what I disliked, what I'd change now, what changed me, etc. I think any author would be haha.

But I'll cut this short now!! As for who to tag... honestly, since I read so much fiction for a living these days, I don't really read fanfic anymore. I'm not sure who I follow writes it anymore. I have most fic tags filtered, being real with you. So... how about this. If you are a writer and you want me to tag you, just lmk!!! And I will send you the message.

#ask games #writing liveblogging

[clonecumber]

So in Imperial Commando, Niner says that he hasn't spoken to Fi in nearly two years, and that bothered me a little. (Well, more than a little.) I just find it a little strange that we know that Skirata personally takes the time to check up on the hundred or so commandos he trained, yet he can't find time to arrange anything between Fi and Omega and make sure that Omega gets to check up on Fi. It also makes me wonder whether Omega ever asked to communicate with Fi directly (even just to record a message for him or something,) because it seems like they would so *what happened and why didn't they.* Basically I'm wondering how to square Omega being so tight-knit and caring about each other with the fact that they don't actually interact with Fi for almost two years once he's on Mandalore, and I find it difficult to believe that at no point during those two years did they have even 5 minutes to talk to him. My instinct here is to ask why Skirata might find it beneficial to keep Fi and Omega apart, and I can't tell if I'm unfairly on an anti-Skirata kick here, but maybe he sees their separation as something that will help establish Kyrimorut via Omega's dependence on him as the "keeper" of Fi? (I know this is very rambly and I apologize but I want your thoughts here!)

Hi! Again, you don't have to apologize for rambling. I'm not exactly free of sin myself here, and I don't mind, anyway.

So I was thinking about this, and I checked, and you're right that in IC Niner and Darman both comment that they haven't seen Fi in a couple years. Darman even goes one further and acts relieved that he's able to talk to Fi now, which sort of implies he wasn’t able to before:

Which surprised me a bit, because I remembered this part in Order 66 (that I had to go back and find to make sure I wasn’t imagining things), where Darman mentions that Fi left them messages sometimes:

Granted, leaving messages isn’t really the same thing as being able to talk. It’s still something. It’s less clear if they’re able to respond, but them receiving texts from a dead man apparently isn’t a security issue, so I feel like they must have a secure enough method of communication that they might be able to reply too, at least sometimes.

And I mean, at the very least, they should have been able to use Jusik as a messenger, since he’s noted to have been updating Omega on Fi’s condition this whole time, and they are able to talk to him.

It’s likely KT just forgot, and she sort of went off the rails with characterization continuity in IC anyway, but I agree with you that it’s strange if she shifted to the idea that Omega never got to talk to Fi. I mean, canonically it didn’t happen. They did have some form of communication as per the above. But it would be very strange.

But since it didn’t, and in order to square it with Darman and Niner’s comments in IC, I’d bet that communication coming from Fi has been exceptionally sparse and thin on substantial topics, and doesn’t feel emotionally satisfying. They’ve gotten updates, but they haven’t talked. If you only saw someone you love for barely ten minutes over a year ago and barely exchanged hellos, will you count that as “seeing” them within the last two years, or will you count the time instead based on the last time you saw them where you were also able to spend quality time with them? (Holy cow, that sentence.)

That’s the best explanation I could come up with, anyway.

As for the rest, I agree that it doesn’t really fit with Kal’s MO, either, except in the way that Kal tends to forget about people having relationships that don’t involve him. I don’t feel like he’d deliberately cut Fi off, not even in that way he does where he tells himself he has a good reason for it. He’s too proud of Omega as a concept. Rather, I think it’s more likely this is similar to the way he doesn’t ever really think about the Nulls talking to and missing each other in a way that doesn't involve him, so he probably just doesn’t even think about whether Omega are talking to each other or not. Not even in the vein of wondering how Fi’s doing. Not deliberately malicious, but just a consequence of his own self-centeredness. Being fair to him, though, while he is someone Fi respects and looks up to, and while his advice would carry a lot of weight with Fi, Skirata’s not actually responsible for Fi’s recovery. He’s not a medical professional, and unlike Parja he hasn’t tried to insert himself as a medical authority in Fi’s life regardless. If he’s keeping his nose out of it unless specifically requested, that’s not wrong of him (though a check-in probably wouldn’t really be amiss, I’m pretty sure it just literally has not occurred to him).

So I wouldn’t really place the blame for this at his feet. If I were to try to come up with an in-universe rationale for this, I’d probably say that it looks a lot like Fi’s self-isolating.

Whoever is helping him with his recovery should be encouraging him to reach out to people who care about him, but either they’re not, which isn’t great, or they are but Fi’s dodging the issue, which isn’t exactly something they can help. Lead a horse to water and all that, and they can’t make Fi utilize his support network. Unfortunately, I do think it’s very likely Fi would dodge communicating with Omega every chance he gets. He likes to pretend things that upset him aren’t happening, and with his own struggles with his self-worth, I can see him neglecting to communicate with his squad. It might make things too real for him, it might make him wonder why he’s “wasting their time”, and he might even be resentful of them sometimes. The rest of Omega isn’t in a situation to apply force to the situation either, not until Atin makes it to Mandalore (after which, we rarely see Fi anywhere without him, so).

This was interesting to think about. Let me know your thoughts?

#purgetroopercody #other star wars meta I guess #fi #omega squad #long post #repcomm

[amostimprobabledream]

And He Walks With Flames (Dabi x Reader) -Part Three

The old man is still talking, his voice flattening to a self-important drone, but Dabi isn’t listening.

He tends to pick and choose when he tuned into the miserable old fuck's ramblings, since he knew most of it would amount to nothing in the end. It would soon all be ashes. Since he'd been brought to this sterile shithole, he'd entertained himself with fantasies of exactly how he was going to kill the old man and those crawling little assistants of his - and oh, didn't Dabi have so many options to choose from? The thought makes his fingers twitch with excitement, like they are flexing of their own accord in anticipation of the event.

But that, too, has eventually gotten boring. That was something they didn't often mention about captivity – its fucking tedious whenever you don't have humans in white coats poking at you or running their little tests with their precious machines. If Dabi wasn’t keenly aware of how temporary this all was, and since he knows he’s too powerful for them to really be able to hurt him, he probably would have lost it a long time ago. He never did take too kindly to being…restrained.

So imagine his joy, his fucking glee, when the idiot humans had actually done as he demanded and brought you here to him, like a lamb to the slaughter. Oh, Dabi may be behind a barrier and have those magitech guns pointed at his head, just waiting for an excuse to open fire, but that doesn’t matter. Just as long as he can see you again, he was prepared to tolerate doing so with restrictions in place.

For now.

You stood there, gazing up at him with a dark scowl forming on your pretty little face at the pet name, just as he'd suspected you would. Yet it felt quite natural to him, wrapping around you in a veil of false intimacy he knew would make you squirm.

The very fact he wasn't supposed to have even laid eyes on someone like you made it all the more hilarious to Dabi that he'd been able to demand your presence here before him, all with the threat of sinking back into his unresponsive state if not properly indulged. Even behind this barrier and with all the little enchantments cast on the place, he held plenty of sway. Getting humans to dance to his tune was something he never tired of doing. Their false sense of superiority over him would be their undoing.

"Don't call me that." you snap at him in a bitchy tone, narrowing your eyes a fraction. He wonders if that’s supposed to be intimidating.

"Mm? You don't like that?" Dabi asks in a mock-apologetic tone, his smile nothing less than scornful as he tilts his head. "What should I call you? Angel? Baby? Honey? I'm all ears, princess."

You open your mouth to bite back at him and he wants to laugh - you're clearly not accustomed to being spoken to like that and it only makes him want to do it more. Such a spoiled little thing. Getting you all huffy and flustered, such a sharp contrast to your smart, academic clothing and attempts at maintaining a detached demeanour, is the best entertainment he's had in weeks. You’re so damn cute when you’re annoyed.

"We brought the girl as you asked, demon," interrupts Fuji, and Dabi feels a vein of irritation puncture his pleasure at teasing you. He's had enough of the Director's voice to last him a lifetime, which is unfortunate since the old fuck seems disinclined to shut his mouth any time soon - he does like to hear himself talk. "Now will you co-operate with us?"

"You really are interested in me, aren't you?" Dabi hums, tail swaying laconically behind him. "How flattering. Or...could it be you're hamstrung by your lack of options? Hmm? Seems like I'm the only demon you've got in here. How pitiful."

"That's awfully confident talk, considering you're the one currently being held captive." Director Fuji replies casually, and Dabi snorts softly but with derision. "And here I thought demons could sense one another - either this facility is better fortified than I had thought, or you're overestimating your powers."

"Perhaps." Dabi replies lazily, as if this is of no concern to him.

You bite your lip as you watch this exchange.

You had expected Dabi to fly into a rage at that. Weren't demons supposed to be famously volatile? Either he's unusually composed for his species, or the ancient depictions of demons have a rather more extreme point of view than previously thought. Then again, no doubt Dabi knows that excessively aggressive behaviour on his part will result in some pretty painful magical retaliation and doesn't care to risk it, or he just doesn't think the Director is worthy of his rage. And no doubt the humans who used to fight demons in the history books would certainly see them far more monstrous than the detached viewpoint of a scholar who has likely never even seen one.

Yet even with all these safety measures, you cannot help but feel uneasy with Director Fuji casually divulging this information to Dabi. Knowing that he has potential allies somewhere in the building may well encourage him to act out, maybe even mount an escape attempt. From what Father has said, of all the demon specimens the facility has managed to acquire, Dabi is the anomaly. Is it because he's the strongest of all of them, or merely the most human-like? For all you know, there could be a horde of the terrifying, red-skinned beings depicted in your textbooks chained up in the basement. The thought makes a shiver crawl down your spine.

Dabi’s eyes turn back to yours and you stiffen.

“Why did you want me here?” you say, deciding to cut him off before something else obnoxious spills from his mouth, which seems to be an occupational hazard when it comes to this guy. “What’s the point?”

Dabi shrugs elegantly, tail flicking.

“Why not? You weren’t supposed to be in here at all, were you? Yet in you marched like you had every right. It made me curious. Plus, it’s nice to see a decent pair of tits around here.”

You know he expects you to squawk and flounce out in a huff, so you stays rooted to the spot, still scowling at him. The urge to cover your chest is strong, but you manage to overpower it, aware of how still the room has gone. It’s like only you and Dabi exist, and the thought is both frightening and oddly exhilarating – among all these scientists and supposed brilliant minds, you’re the only one he cares to speak to. He answered Dr. Fuji’s questions, yes, but he barely even looked at him. You’re the one he directly spoke to. That gives you some modicum of power, even if you’re not sure how best to use it just yet. “You don’t frighten me, demon.” You make sure to tell him calmly.

Dabi quirks an eyebrow at that.

“Oh?”

The word is loaded with tension, a little hiss on the syllable that makes you shiver, but you know he can’t do anything to you in his cage. So, you tilt your head back and offer him a bland, beatific smile.

“Sure, you might have some strong demon magic. That’s par the course for demons as humanoid-looking as you. I know quite a bit about demonology, you see. Not like these scientists with their tests and machines, but in other ways. It’s an interesting subject, and one you interrupted me from by making me come here with some pathetic attempts to get under my skin.”

You give a shrug.

“But you’ve overplayed your hand. Now everyone here knows you can speak and understand everything they say. No more treating you with kid gloves, so I guess that means there’s a lot more tests coming your way now. But really, how powerful can you be?”

Your smile widens into a smirk as you go in for the kill. He wanted you to come here? Then that was exactly what he’d get – you weren’t some trembling coward who would stand there like a deer in headlights just because a big bad demon spoke to you. You were your mother’s daughter, after all.

“After all, you’re the one behind bars.”

There’s silence. A silence that blankets the lab like snow, and Dabi’s smile remains in place, but his eyes are cold and piercing as they stare at you. You feel tingles erupting through your body, like you’ve narrowly avoided being bitten by a wolf and are only inches away from its jaw still. One of the assistant researchers is outright staring at you, open-mouthed, like you’ve suddenly sprouted a tail, or your skin has turned blue or something else miraculous and inexplicable.

"Director, we'll be taking our leave now." Father says beside you, making you jump.

To be honest, you had completely forgotten he was there. Evidently, he isn’t comfortable with the way the demon behind bars is looking at you either, even if you think it’s a little late for that. Still, he’s glaring at his boss with an unusually fierce look of disapproval on his face.

"Our part in this is over."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, fine." Director Fuji says, not even glancing at the pair of you, far too excited that he’s gotten the response he wanted from Dabi to care. "You may leave."

Relief washes over you and you risk a grateful glance at Father. Perhaps he feels bad that his forgetfulness caused this in the first place, and it's spurred him to go against the Director's whims for once, but he's right, you hardly need to be here now that Dabi is apparently feeling conversational and you're only too happy to get back out into the afternoon air.

The rush of relief doesn't last long, though, and you mourn its absence because, as you turn to go, a voice calls out to you, lashing around you like a lasso. Despite yourself, perhaps because you don't want it to look like Dabi frightens you - don't want to admit he does - you look back.

Those eyes. Whenever you look at Dabi you can see he's powerful, but you don't spend a lot of time thinking about the various forms power can take, the nuances of it. But when your gaze meets his, you feel like you've been pulled under by a whirlpool. Everything around you, the lab, the director, your father, all of it disappears and only he remains. Only he is what matters. That look burns everything else away, whispering promises to you that you don't want to hear.

So why are you listening?

"I'll be seeing you again soon, sweetheart." Dabi says in a low voice, like it's meant exclusively for you. "Real soon."

Anger unfurls inside you like a flower. Who does this…specimen think he is? He certainly can talk big, but the reality isn't looking so good for him - poked and prodded at by plenty of magically gifted humans and a container built specifically to hold creatures like him. The only reason he got his way today is because the Director couldn't help but indulge his scientific curiosity. But he’s an arrogant bastard to assume he'll be indulged a second time.

That thought in your mind, you sneer and flick your hair back.

"Don't count on it, demon."

Is it your imagination, or did a flicker of something cross his face when he took note of your refusal to call him by name? Maybe you only saw what you wanted to see, but either way it makes you feel a little better, to know something you said bothered him.

You stride out of the lab, knowing he's watching you, that he has no choice but to stand there and watch you disappear from his sight, without knowing if you'll return or not now that the scientists have finally gotten him to speak. He can hardly pretend not to understand them now.

~

Mother was right.

Anybody who is anybody seems to have shown up to the fundraiser tonight.

You smooth down the skirt of your dress, vaguely aware of your palms being a bit on the damp side. It’s not just the amount of people in the room, either - the entire room feels stiflingly humid and you’re glad somebody thought to open the doors to the balcony.

Ribbons of gold are hanging from the ceiling, attached to dozens of balloons. The tables are also draped in gold-coloured tablecloths and everywhere seems to have been polished to within an inch of its life. The dinner won’t start for a while yet and you didn’t eat anything before hand, worried about spilling it or your stomach sticking out unflatteringly. So, you remind yourself to take it easy on the champagne as you snatch up a flute of it from a passing waiter. Still, the drink does taste good as it goes down, bubbles fizzing on your tongue. You press your fingers to your lips with a little smile.

You hear your name being called and glance over to see a figure manoeuvring through the crowd towards you and your smile morphs into a grin.

“Momo!”

She looks ravishing, of course. She always does, in a silver gown that sparkles like a diamond. Her jewellery is simple and understated, but you can tell from a glance that it’s expensive. It’s odd to see her without her trademark ponytail, but it looks great on her. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t help but instantly compare yourself, your clothes, your hair, your style, to hers and wonder how you measure up. You suspect you may be lacking.

You do your best to push those thoughts away – you’re Momo’s friend and you shouldn’t view her looking amazing as some kind of failing on your end. Anyway, it wouldn’t do to get all maudlin right now, not when you have so many people to talk to and things to see.

“You look amazing!” you tell her, giving her a hug. “Is that dress new?”

“Oh…sort of,” Momo shrugs, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, beaming shyly at you. Ah, so she used her magic to make it, then. Usually, Momo buys her clothing like everyone else – she’s certainly rich enough to afford it. But every once in a while, she’ll use her magic to create an outfit and it looks like that’s the case tonight. It’s good to know Momo sees this event as important to, that you and Mother aren’t just making a big deal out of nothing. “You look great too, I’ve always liked that necklace on you.”

You touch it, pleased, but you can’t help give her a playful nudge.

“And of course, I bet your parents are looking forward to the auction, right? They could probably afford to buy every lot here, if they wanted to.”

“Don’t be silly!” Momo replies, but she’s giggling. “Though mother did hear about some sort of rare lamp that might have belonged to a djinn that she was fascinated about. And I’m sure there are other things that would be so useful for our magical studies, I hope there are some representatives of the academy here who can participate in the bidding!”

You hadn’t even thought of that – trust the genius Momo to be thinking about the potential of the academy getting their hands on some magical oddities.

“That’s a good point. I’m sure we’ll run into a professor or two,” you say, risking another sip of your champagne. “They party hard, these intellectual types.”

Momo laughs again, and you do too, the mental image of Professor Nedzu getting drunk a pretty hilarious one. You don’t even know if he can drink, but maybe tonight you’ll find out for sure-

“Look!” Momo suddenly whispers.

You hear gasps near the entrance to the building and turn around, eyes widening when you realise who has just walked in. Your mouth falls open.

“It’s him.”

The rumours were true. You don’t know how Mother pulled it off, but when some of the crowd parts, you spot the unmistakable red-and-white head of Prince Shouto Todoroki.

Thought it’s strange for the youngest child to be the heir to the throne, you can admit that there’s an aura to him, a certain stoic regalness to his features. It’s common knowledge that of King Enji’s children, only Prince Shouto is able to use both fire and ice magic, the perfect combination of elements, and it is this reason that he is considered the ‘true heir’. What Princess Fuyumi and Prince Natsuo’s opinions are on being passed over for their supposedly weak magical ability has never been discussed publicly, and the less said of Queen Rei (or ‘the Mad Queen’, as some circles call her in whispers), the better. You did hear a rumour once about someone else. A firstborn Prince who disappeared under mysterious circumstances, but you’ve never put much thought into it. How can a Prince just go missing? Wouldn’t people be looking for him if that were the case? It just seems too farfetched to be true.

“Should we go talk to him?” you blurt out without thinking, yet the idea of inconveniencing the prince in any way fills you with dread.

“Well…” Momo says, also glancing Prince Shouto’s way, and you know it’s not a trick of the light that her cheeks hold the faintest hint of a blush. “Perhaps later, when he isn’t busy? We wouldn’t want to be rude and interrupt him when he’s speaking with important people…”

Right. You wouldn’t want to be rude.

Still, excitement fizzes through you veins as reality hits you full force. You’d been viewing this evening as having a chat with a bunch of stuffy old academics older than your father, but now you’re beginning to understand why Mother had been so insistent on you dressing up and brushing up on conversational topics. Not that you’re out to catch yourself a husband or anything – you’re way too interested in your academic career and honing your magic for that – but that doesn’t mean you’re not interested in doing other things. Especially with people who look like Prince Shouto.

“Momo!” calls a voice, and you make a face. Ugh.

“Oh, it’s Iida and his family!” Momo says, glancing at you, knowing your distaste for your classmate very well. He’s just so pompous and annoying and he always makes lectures drag on far longer than they need to by asking unnecessary questions. “I’ll just go say hello, okay?”

You nod, knowing that a family as well-connected as Momo Yaoyozoru’s means she’s probably going to have to say hello to a lot of people tonight.

“No problem, I’ll catch up to you later.”

She nods at you, a grateful smile on her face, before she moves over to speak to what looks like Iida’s older brother, Tensei. You quickly slip away before the younger brother can spot you, which is easy enough with this many people here. You mill around the room, taking another sip from your champagne. You feel a bit like an actress playing a role, perhaps ‘girl at the party’. As you walk, you pass by a mirror and glance at it, making sure you haven’t smudged your make-up or something.

You have to admit, the dress you’re wearing looks good on you. You found it in the back of your wardrobe after seemingly throwing everything else you own onto your bed. But the searing shade of blue complements your skin tone well, and the style of the dress flatters your figure without being too revealing. You’ve seen a couple of people glance your way, and it feels nice when it’s in a place as wonderful as this. And it’s only for tonight, so there’s no pressure on you to look like this every evening.

Soon the auction for magical artefacts will start, though you’re not planning on buying anything – your parents might not be struggling to make ends meet, but you have student loans to think about. Plus, there’s no way you could afford any of them, especially not with the lords and ladies here when they want something.

As you move further into the hallway, you notice there seem to be stalls and tables, probably merchants flogging their wares. Curious, you move to inspect them. Strange objects lie on a bed of black velvet, some of it recognisable to you, others you’ve never even heard of. The intellectual in you is dying to know more. “Are you enjoying the party?”

You glance up at a voice.

A man, you’d guess he’s in his mid-thirties or so, is watching you from a stall right at the end of the hallway. It’s a bit bigger than the others and you suddenly realise he’s actually sitting in front of a tent of some sort.

“I am, yes,” you reply, moving a little closer to have a look at what he might be selling – just because you have no intention in participating in the auction doesn’t mean you won’t buy anything. “Are you?”

The man smiles and there’s something about him…it’s hard to explain, but you’re both curious and wary. Like every word you’re saying to him is being weighed and measured for every possible meaning, even ones you didn’t intend. Yet he doesn’t look like a merchant trying to sell his wares to rich patrons. There’s something else going on here, and you want to know more.

“I am,” you say, making your tone light and pleasant as you look over the items on the table in front of you. One of them is a crystal ball, and it seems to be the real deal, not one of those knockoffs you sometimes see. “What is it that you’re selling here?”

“I’m a fortune teller of sorts,” the man replies, still wearing that charming smile. “I tell people what may lie ahead. Though I should say for clarity purposes that it is not an exact science.”

“Oh, Tarot cards?” you say, delighted. “I’ve never had my cards read before. Are you still offering readings?”

It might seem a little bit of a strange thing to indulge in at a party, but until you can reunite with Momo, you’re on your own and the auction doesn’t start for a little while yet. Though you know you were invited here, it’s still a little intimidating to walk around among such giants in their respective fields. Especially in such an outfit as the one you’re wearing – usually you dress nicely but comfortably, since you spend most of your time either studying, attending lectures or occasionally going out with your friends. Nobody needs to wear high heels while they’re listening to the origin of magic, for example.

Anyway, you’ve always wanted to do this, why waste the opportunity?

“Certainly,” the fortune teller says, standing up and gesturing. “Please, come inside. I find atmosphere is rather important to properly do a reading and it’s far too noisy out here for appropriate mystique.”

You laugh slightly at that and follow him inside the tent. It’s much bigger inside than it is on the outside – you presume some sort of illusion spell is at work, or perhaps the tent itself is enchanted. It’s dark in here, candles sitting all around the perimeter of the tent. Normally you’d be wary of that being a fire hazard, but looking closer, the flames have an unnaturally white tint to them instead of the usual cheerful yellow, so you assume they’re enchanted to not burn in case of accidents. Anyway, you know enough magic to conjure water if there is one.

“Let’s do this at the table,” the fortune teller says, sitting down and gesturing to the chair opposite. “Would you care for some herbal tea?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you say, relieved to have a good excuse to refuse, holding up your champagne flute. “I don’t think herbal tea and champagne mix.”

He chuckles, bowing his head in acknowledgement.

“I suppose not.”

You sit down opposite the fortune teller, breathing in the fug of incense, a pleasant, slightly spicy smell lingering in the air. The table is covered with a purple cloth, and you notice there are various posters and tapestries covering the walls of the tent, though the lighting isn’t bright enough to make them out well.

You slide over some coins, uncertain of the amount, but your guess is either accurate or the fortune teller judges it fair, because he accepts them with a small smile and a nod but doesn’t comment any further. Instead, he reaches for a black pouch sitting on the table and begins to shuffle the cards in elegant hands, and you notice he’s wearing a ring, a dark pink gemstone winking at you in the candlelight as his hand moves.

He’s right about atmosphere, there’s an ambience here that would have been lost if you had sat down for the reading outside in the loud, crowded, white and gold decorated hallway. In here, in the dark, a secretive hush falls over you and the fortune teller that makes you wriggle in anticipation in your seat. This is the kind of place that goes beyond magical, like something truly mystical could happen here, even if you’re aware that this is just a bit of fun, nothing more. But you don’t want to offend him by not taking it seriously.

He smiles, and spreads the cards across the table, face down. The pattern on the back is pretty, black and silver and faintly gleaming in the dim. The flames atop the candles around the tent flicker, as if they want to lean in to listen to what’s about to unfold. The fortune teller looks at you and his eyes hold yours.

“Shall we begin?”

#Dabi #My Hero Academia #Reader Insert #Dabi x Reader #Touya Todoroki #Boku No Hero Academia #BHNA x Reader #Demon AU #Supernatural AU #Writings #Fanfiction

[averysexyleon]

Karl x Ada opener

Authors note: This is an intro to a two person roleplay between Ada Wong and Karl Heisenberg. You didn't know you needed it, but baby you did.

Strauss, or maybe the static between the notes, was starting to sound more like the grinder Karl was using. The engineer sneered to himself and dropped the tool to pound his gloved fist on the radio, which sat on the same pile of metal as his current Soldat installation.

The banging didn't help, and Karl frowned over at the cord. The ELF installation should have cleaned up the clarity of the radio. Maybe it had a blown speaker. He picked up the grinder and with a glance at the radio, it turned off. Now Wiener Blut's oddly lighthearted echoes left the subterranean chamber and Karl was left with his thoughts.

This probably wasn't the best way to work. The headgear he was cutting was for the corpse on the next table over; the cadaver was setting out to thaw. Implantation was never successful on a meat popsicle. It would be hours before this neural visor was done, so it was a rewarming race--Karl hated when the corpses began to decompose, when the too-familiar scent of rot overtook the rooms.

Now he'd done it; he glanced over at the corpse and then found himself lost again, not thinking, just staring emptily at the cadaver. What time was it? It had to be four in the morning. He removed a glove and his glasses, rubbing his eyes mostly as an excuse to not look at the grey carcass. He needed a break. Maybe Strauss had been trying to warn him.

He spun on his stool away from the intricate wiring and stacks of metal, to another workstation. He removed his other glove and now, without his dark glasses dimming the view, he reached for the wooden music box. It was comically out of place in his dreary workroom, painted a powder blue color and embellished with beautiful wood carvings and gold leaf.

DONNA was emboldened on the top, glittering in the reddish-orange light Karl insisted on working under.

She'd had another fit, some kind of depression or psychosis, and had broken it. Again. It had been a gift from her father, one of the best wood carvers in Europe, and thanks to Donna's own skilled hand it retained most of its splendor. But it also took a lot of beatings when she was, as Miranda said, "having an episode." An episode of missing her parents, Karl mused, turning the top over to look at the brass plating of the musical part. Imagine, being taken from your home and experimented on causing mental damage. Who would have thought.

It was, of course, that decrepit and obnoxious doll she'd spoken to Karl through, asking in syrupy tones to pretty please fix it. For decades now, Karl insisted that Donna use her own voice when asking a favor from him, which caused her excess stress...this time, he just didn't argue. It wasn't a big deal. He was angry at Miranda for discarding her "special daughter" and one of the "Lords"--what a fucking joke--instead of Donna, who he usually couldn't blame for having loose screws.

It was supposed to play "Für Elise." He inspected it, turning the box carefully while willing the parts to move. First it wound, and he heard the correct pauses between each click of thread. The winder wasn't broken. Now it released. Karl listened to the clunks that resonated from the little plates, a sad mimicry of Beethoven. A hammer or two was broken, it seemed, and one coil was off-center.

He wondered if using his hands was necessary, but then noticed a broken hinge on the lid. Might as well open it up, that would need a new metal lip. This was even more comical; a spring-loaded ballerina was poised to spin when he opened the lid. She popped up, waiting on the music box to send her into a pirouette. The little dancer looked sappily up at him as if challenging him to stare back.

He moved the ballerina close to his faintly luminescent yellow irises. One of her legs was cracked, her skirt askew from the throw that broke the music box.

"Donna, you really have lost your fucking mind if you think I'm gluing that." Donna of course would never--her craft supplies could work far more wonders for a ballerina fracture and wardrobe malfunction than anything Karl had in his entire factory. Just as he leaned forward, happy to repair the music box mechanism, a strangely modern sound blipped from the hall speaker.

"Son of a bitch," he said aloud, and dropped the music box. Karl swiftly, almost troubledly, exited the room and strode down the dark hallway.

Karl was always hesitant to introduce any "modern" tech into the factory, but as time went on it became evil necessity. Still, his paranoia was so excessive that he wired security systems to all devices: a speaker gave a tone any time an email made its way to his closed network. He rarely got any form of communication and liked it that way.

However, he'd had a thorn in his side ...awhile now. She called herself a few things, but he knew the truth. She was a goddamn spy. Karl listened to Miranda's sparse bits of information about contact with Albert Wesker, and organizations to help with her "science" projects long enough to pick up the name.

Ada Wong. Dangerous, calculating, murderous, mysterious, and not to be trusted with any level of seriousness. Blah blah blah. It wasn't as though Miranda thought any spy could be a personal threat. Oh no, that would mean Miranda didn't see herself as an infallible god. That would mean admitting there was a possibility where she didn't continue to get everything she wanted.

Let the bitch think so. But Karl had plenty of reason to want his motives and information kept away from a spy.

She found him, or he found her, when he was digging for information on the "Connections" group that Miranda kept flying to the US to meet with the past few months. Whatever she had planned with that group, it was big. No calculations required for Karl to feel an uneasy pit in his stomach. It was a big deal, and not in a good way.

Ada seemed to have information about it, but was pressing HIM to exchange what he had and knew. He had no intention of giving anyone anything, actually. And the longer the pair surreptitiously exchanged cryptic little notes with no discernable meaning, the angrier he got. And the more paranoid.

Now here she was, bothering him again.

He entered the pitch black room with no trouble at all, and nearly slapped the button that woke the screen. His eyes danced over her typed note, and Karl finally snapped. He knew he would never find safety in shadows, and interrupting his work was getting fucking old. Didn't she have any manners? And wasn't he a LORD???

As it usually did, genius struck him as his anger manifested.

He fumbled with the audio recording option, finally found it. Leaning over the monitor Karl spoke, for the first time, directly to the faceless, personless woman. His voice was recorded, little wave forms dancing across the screen.

"I'm done with the chess, Ada." His accent stressed the first A, as though he were mocking her name itself.

"I've got too much shit to do to be pen pals. You wanna talk shop, you meet me in the stronghold past the Forbidden Woods. I'll give you a week. Sunset."

It was perfect, he decided as he sent the clip. If this was a plant by Miranda to test his loyalty, the excuse of the Stronghold would be literal execution for any typical traveler. That's how he dealt with spies. Problem solved.

If that wasn't the case, and if Ada was as skilled as that Wesker had made it seem, then she might just live and he would deal with her then. If she wasn't a plant, and wasn't skilled, well. The Lycans would deal with that too.

He wondered as he left the room, telepathically turning the radio on again and hearing the magnificent tones of Kommt, ihr Töchter filter into the hallway, what day it was. Would he even remember when a week had passed?

Karl withdrew a cigar from his inner pocket. "You're gonna have to wait a little longer for a heartbeat, you poor bastard," he mused to the corpse, fishing for his lighter. "Gotta fix a fuckin' ballerina."

The choir, still scratchy, swelled from the radio speakers.

Seht! Wohin? Auf unsre Schuld!

Sehet ihn aus Lieb und Huld!

"Can't ask for better hold music."

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #heisenberg fanfiction #heisenberg smut #ada wong #resident evil village #resident evil fanfiction

[treya-barton]

Hello there!! I'm here with a Promptis prompt ❤️ I'd love to see something sweet and fluffy. How about the first time either one of them realizes they are in love with the other?

Sorry this took so long to write!  I had somehow missed the ask at first and then when I noticed it I had other projects going on and then struggled to come up with a good idea.  This idea ended up not being all that fluffy but there are definitely some sweet moments and hopefully you will still enjoy it!

“Hey there, Prince Noctis.”

The words still rang in Noctis’s head.  He lay sprawled on his bed after his first day in high school which had been followed by his typical princely lessons and a training session with Gladio.  Yet, he didn’t feel as tired as he usually did. Instead, while he was physically tired from sparring, he felt more awake and alert than he typically did day to day. And he knew exactly who he could attribute it to.

“I’m Prompto!  Nice to meet you!”

Prompto.  Like Noctis didn’t already know who he was.  As he had immediately called out right afterward. Prompto had been in his class in middle school.  He had always stood out to Noctis because just like him he always seemed like a quiet loner.  He couldn’t remember Prompto hanging out with the other kids in class, and he always seemed to go straight home after school.  The other thing that stood out is unlike the other students in class who either whispered about him behind his back or when they actually approached him it was only to ask questions about being a prince, Prompto always looked like he wanted to speak to him but couldn’t bring himself to.  In retrospect, especially after the experience he had today, Noctis wish he would have.  Or that he had gone out on a limb and approached Prompto instead.  Because unlike all of his other classmates, Prompto seemed to genuinely want to know him – Noctis.  And he had never experienced that before.  

Even with Ignis and Gladio who knew the real him there was always a stopping point.  Ignis was his Chamberlain and Gladio was his Shield so no matter how close they were at certain times there was always that underlying distinction.  But today, even though it was only for a brief moment, he had been able to forget that.  All because Prompto had approached him, slapping him on the back like they were old friends.  Noctis had returned the gesture and somehow knew in that moment things would never be the same.

  “Don’t I know you?”

Prompto flushed as he buried his face in his pillow.  He didn’t know how he had managed to carry on past that embarrassing moment or how he had even found the courage to introduce himself in the first place.  After so many attempts where he had chickened out in middle school, he had surprised himself that morning by finally carrying through with the plan.  After introducing himself, Noctis’s eyes had scanned his body, before recognition had hit and he had bluntly called Prompto out on his half fib.  Half because while they had been classmates, they had only spoken directly one time, the moment where Noctis had told him he was heavy and fully mortified him.

Prompto looked over at his desk drawer that still contained the letter from Lady Lunafreya, the letter that had been his strength to carry through with his plan.  Noctis had always seemed as lonely as he was, even when surrounded by their classmates bombarding him with questions about living in the palace. Even before he had received the letter, with Lady Lunafreya subtly encouraging him to befriend the prince, Prompto had noticed that Noctis seemed to be a kindred spirit.  The prince never seemed to talk to anyone on his own free will and always stayed to himself until getting picked up from school; Prompto remembered finding it sad how the prince could be in the same situation he was.

But now, with an act of courage, he had changed all of that.  Upon getting to know him that day, Prompto realized that Noctis was just as blunt as he had been the first time they spoke, although it was more due to being awkward from his upbringing than due to any malice. He also had the same tastes in videogames that Prompto did and was pretty relaxed which Prompto hadn’t expected. He had just allowed himself to be dragged along by Prompto’s whims the whole day, and he hadn’t seemed to mind the bubbly, nervous energy Prompto had adopted after he had learned to be more friendly and to talk to people.  He wondered if Noctis had been surprised by that change, so different from the person he had been in middle school, but the prince hadn’t mentioned it nor seemed to mind. Prompto looked over at the pictures lined up on his closet door, outlining the changes he had been making since middle school, and he couldn’t help but let out a smile.  His hard work had really paid off.

  Noctis was irritated and he couldn’t quite place his finger on why.  He and Prompto were hanging out at his apartment, Noctis needing to hide away after his engagement with Lunafreya had been publicly announced.  Prompto had come over to keep him company, and usually that was enough to cheer him up but today it only seemed to sour his mood further. Prompto seemed to have noticed and had fallen silent, stealing glances at him while he pretended to be invested in his phone.  “What,” Noctis finally asked.

“Huh?” Prompto asked, eyes darting at him over his phone before quickly looking away as he saw Noctis’s pointed glare.  “I don’t get what you mean, dude.”

“If you want to say something, just say it,” Noctis replied, his normal patience with his best friend completely gone.  He didn’t know why he was so irritated – it wasn’t like it was Prompto’s fault that due to his duty to the Crown he had no say in many of his life’s choices including who he was going to marry.  It’s not that Noctis didn’t like Luna – she was someone he had always relied on for advice and he cared greatly about her.  But something about the treaty just didn’t seem right, and he didn’t like that his father was sending him away when his health was in decline.  Noctis clenched his jaw, then looked back at Prompto and noticed that the blond had his arms crossed over his chest while he was staring down at the ground.  Prompto rarely ever showed this side to himself – he put on a friendly façade even when he was feeling down – so it surprised him to see him openly appearing hurt. Noctis felt some of his patience return along with his guilt.

“Hey, Prom, I’m sorry,” Noctis said, reaching out an placing a hand on Prompto’s shoulder.  “I’m just feeling irritated today.  I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

Prompto let out a sigh before turning to face him.  “Wanna talk about it?” he finally asked, blue violet eyes boring into his.  Noctis bit his lip.

“What’s there to talk about? Everyone’s ecstatic,” he said.  “Even you…”  Noctis finally cut himself off, blinking in surprise by his bitter words. When he had found out about the engagement, he had told Prompto about it afterward and his best friend had seemed happy for him.  In Prompto’s defense, he had been witness to Noctis’s journal exchange with the oracle and seemed to be convinced Noctis had a crush on her.  That certainly may have been true when Noctis had been a child, but now…  Noctis’s cheeks suddenly flushed with realization, and he let out a groan before covering his face.

“Whoah, Noct, you ok buddy?” Prompto asked.  “Also, even me what?”

“Can we talk about something else,” Noctis asked, suddenly embarrassed.  He understood why he was so annoyed – he was mad that Prompto seemed happy about his engagement to Lunafreya.  It didn’t really matter what the news articles said or even that it was his duty – the only opinion that really mattered was Prompto’s, and Noctis was beginning to realize that maybe he had wanted Prompto to be upset, jealous even.

‘Shit,’ Noctis thought. It wasn’t like even if Prompto was jealous there was anything that could be done, so it made sense for his best friend to show his support and be happy for him.  Noctis glanced out at him from between his fingers as he thought through Prompto’s reaction to the news.  He had seemed happy for him and had immediately started teasing him about his crush, but if Noctis was remembering correctly there had been a tiny, brief moment that had flickered across his face that almost seemed resigned. Pairing that with how Prompto had appeared just a moment ago and maybe, just maybe Prompto wasn’t as excited about the news as he acted.  Noctis’s relief was bittersweet, since he had discovered his feelings for his best friend far too late to do anything about it.  ‘Figures,’ he thought, as Prompto tentatively switched topics to the upcoming event scheduled in king’s knight that would be starting right around the time they started their road trip.

“We should have plenty of time to play in the car!” he said, and Noctis finally felt his mood begin to improve.  That was right, he would have the trip to Altissia with his best friends prior to his whole life changing to look forward to.  It would only be a brief moment, but he would cherish it for the rest of his life.

  Prompto felt thoroughly embarrassed.  Not that it was anything new.  He had asked Noctis to join him so he could secretly snap a photo of Cindy working at the garage in Hammerhead and they had been caught in the act.  Noctis had helped him play it off and had even managed to finagle a picture of the two of them together; it was moments like that which reminded Prompto that hey, Noctis really was king of Insomnia and would do a great job one day.  Once they resolved the current predicament they were in, that is.  “My hero, Noct,” Prompto whispered to himself as he looked at the photo Noctis had taken for him.  It had come out looking really good – Noctis must be paying attention during some of his moments rambling about photography.

Prompto flipped through his camera until he found one of the many selfies he and Noctis had taken together. He stared at it quietly for several long moments before letting out a deep sigh and setting his camera down.  Prompto was in one hell of a dilemma.  On the one hand, Insomnia had fallen and right now – more than ever – Noctis needed him as his best friend.  It was a role Prompto filled willingly – he would always be there for Noctis and knew how much he relied on his support.  But at the same time, deep down, buried in Prompto’s most selfish desires that he would never tell anyone…he couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit grateful for his current situation.  Because with the fall of Insomnia, there no longer was a point to Noctis’s engagement to Lunafreya.  The treaty had been a ploy by Niflheim to get Regis to drop his guard and had led to the fall of Insomnia, the death of Noctis’ and Gladio’s fathers, and more than likely the death of Prompto’s own parents who he hadn’t heard from since Insomnia was attacked.

Obviously, Prompto would trade it all back if it meant Insomnia was safe and all the people who had died could be brought back.  He would have definitely preferred watching while his heart broke as his best friend – the person he had fallen in love with at some point in their friendship without being able to remember the exact moment when it had happened – married the person he had looked up to his whole life instead.  Prompto used to think Noctis had feelings for Lady Lunafreya, but little moments like their conversation after the engagement was announced had made him wonder otherwise.  A part of him wanted to know what Noctis would have said after his “Even you” but he had clammed up afterward, and Prompto had helpfully changed the subject to spare his best friend an awkward conversation.

But then things like today would happen where Noctis would support his crush on Cindy, and Prompto would wonder if it was all just wishful thinking.  Cindy was certainly attractive, and Prompto couldn’t help but admire her focus and dedication to her work, but half of his admiration for her had been an act to cover his heartbreak after Noctis’s announced engagement. And even though that was no longer going to happen, it wasn’t like Prompto could suddenly turn it off when it was expected at this point.  Prompto flushed in embarrassment as he thought back to his true intentions that morning.  He had expected to snap the photo and then spend the rest of the morning taking pictures of Noctis, enjoying a quiet morning with his best friend until they had been surprised by Cindy’s interruption.  

‘This isn’t the time to be moping,’ Prompto reminded himself.  They had a mission to save Lucis – that was far more important than Prompto’s conflicted feelings over his best friend and king.  Prompto slapped his cheeks a few times, just as he used to in middle school before his runs, and picked up his camera before heading out from the camp to see what his companions were up to.  They would be leaving soon for the next leg of their trip and he was sure Iggy or Gladio could use some help packing.

  It wasn’t fair.  After all the loss Noctis had experienced on his journey, all the pain he had been through, once he had finally reunited with his friends and once again strengthened their bonds of brotherhood, he had fallen for Ardyn’s trap yet again and had been sucked into the crystal in order to fulfill his destiny as the King of Light.  He had finally been at a place, after everything had happened, after nearly losing the person he cared most about, to be honest with him and bare his feelings to him.  There had been no obstacles left to hold them apart anymore and now the new obstacle was one he could not overcome.  He was destined to die in order to save the world.

As Noctis floated about in the space enclosed in the Crystal, learning about his destiny as his body slowly absorbed the crystal’s power so he would be strong enough to make his last stand, he suddenly wished he could turn back time and do things differently.  He wished he could have been honest to Prompto about his feelings and let him know that he knew Prompto’s crush on Cindy was all for show, that he knew he had been jealous over his engagement but had held his feelings in check for his sake.  Holding back for the sake of the failed engagement, then until he could talk to Lunafreya face to face to let her know his feelings first until her death made it a wasted effort, then feeling hurt and bitter after losing another person he cared about and wasting the opportunity again when he was tricked into pushing Prompto off the train, nearly losing him forever.  What had been the point of it all?  If he had just been honest, they would have been able to spend a few stolen, happy moments together.  It would have been something he would have cherished until the very end.

Once Noctis finally was released from the crystal and made his way back to Hammerhead, reuniting with his friends in a bittersweet moment, he considered using his final moments to confess to his best friend how he had been in love with him, probably from that moment Prompto had first called out his name.  However, he didn’t want to leave Prompto with that burden, not here at the end. Not when he would be leaving him for good this time.  Yet, somehow, just like at that moment in high school all those years ago, Prompto seemed to have the courage he did not have.

“Hey Noct, can I talk to you for a moment?”  Prompto looked like he had something on his mind. This Prompto was more serious than the one Noctis was used to, and not for the first time he wondered what his friends had been through during his 10 year absence.  The dark circles under Prompto’s eyes and the weariness that seemed ingrained in his face, unable to be completely hidden by his warm smile, told him all he needed to know.

“Of course.  What’s up?” Noctis asked.  They moved away to a quiet corner amidst the car parts strewn in the cramped space of the fenced in rest stop; there weren’t very many places where they could truly get a moment to themselves due to how small the safe area was and how many hunters took shelter there between jobs.

Prompto fiddled with one of the pieces of scrap metal for a moment before setting it down.  “This may come as a surprise and honestly it’s probably not the time for me to be saying this but…I figure at this point I’m pretty much out of chances.”  Prompto took a deep breath and then released it.  “I love you, Noct.  Have been in love with you for quite a long time.  I don’t know when it started, but I know I realized it the day you told me you were getting engaged, and I thought my world was crashing down.  This may be selfish of me to do when you don’t have a lot of time left but…”  Before he could finish, Noctis had thrown his arms around him before squeezing tight.

“You are the least selfish person I know,” Noctis assured him. “Shit, Prom.”  Noctis’s voice was trembling, and as Prompto’s shock wore off and he wrapped his arms around Noctis as well, he could feel how the king’s heart was racing where it pressed against his chest.  “I love you too.  I think from the very moment you greeted me like we had been friends forever.  You were the only person who wanted to know me and not the prince or the king or the king of light and for that you will always be precious to me.”

Prompto wrapped one arm around Noctis’s head and gently patted him on the back as he felt his best friend cling to him.  “We should have done this a long time ago, huh?” he asked, and Noctis snorted into his shoulder.

“You think?” he asked, before tilting his head to look at him.  Prompto flashed him an apologetic smile before they leaned forward for what they both assumed was their first – and their last – kiss.

  It really was a gorgeous sunrise.  If Prompto had his camera with him, he would have snapped a picture in order to commemorate the sacrifice the love of his life had made in order to allow it to happen. Instead, he did his best to ingrain it in his memory, taking in the feeling of the warmth on his skin, something he hadn’t felt in ages, the glow of the light as it reflected on the ruins of Insomnia, causing the broken class to glitter in the city like tiny jewels. ‘I wish you could see this,’ Prompto thought, hand clutching the photo Noctis had chosen to take with him to his final moments, that same selfie Prompto had looked back on all those years ago. They had both looked so happy as they had been goofing off together, and now…

The photo had slipped from Noctis’s fingers where he sat sprawled out on what would have been his throne, the citadel a shambled mess from where it had been ransacked during the fall on Insomnia.  After Gladio and Ignis had confirmed the death of their king, Prompto had picked up the photo before stepping outside to mourn.  Gladio and Ignis let him; Gladio had seen what photo Noctis had chosen to take with him and had gauged that something had changed in their relationship. Ignis had guessed just based on the change in inflection in their tone during those final hours together. Suddenly, the early morning quiet was broken by Gladio’s shout.  “Prompto! Hey, Prompto, come and see this!”

Prompto sighed, tearing his eyes away from the sunrise before making his way back to the throne room. “What is it?” he asked, before his eyes fell on the throne.  Noctis was no longer slumped over – in fact he was standing upright while leaning heavily against Ignis.  Ignis, who hardly ever seemed to get flustered, had tears rolling down his face while Gladio was grinning widely at him.  “Noct?” Prompto said, his voice coming out at a whisper.  “Is it really you?”

“I would sure hope so – I feel sore as hell,” Noctis grumbled in response.  “What are you doing standing at the door? And do you know where my photo went?”

Prompto grinned widely; if Noctis was complaining then he really was ok.  “I have it,” he said, before rushing in the room.  “I’ve got you buddy,” he added, moving to Noctis’s other side so he could also help steady him.  If Prompto’s arm around Noctis’s shoulder was a little tight, and if Noctis’s hold on Prompto’s jacket was clinging, no one said anything.  To both of their surprise, Gladio then swooped them all into a group hug, which they gladly joined in on.  They weren’t sure why Noctis had been granted a second chance at life, but they weren’t going to trade it in for the world.

Several days later, it was again early morning.  Noctis woke up to the soft clicking sound that meant Prompto was scrolling through the pictures on his camera.  He slid open one eye and yawned as he turned to face him, smiling at how after only a few days of peace and having Noctis back in his life, Prompto was slowly losing the dark circles under his eyes and regaining some of his old enthusiasm. The weariness was still there, and some of it may always be there, but Noctis would do all he could to lessen it every day.  “What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Some of the old photos of us,” Prompto replied.  “Just reflecting on the past I guess.”  He then lifted up his camera and took a snapshot of Noctis gazing up at him sleepily with his hair sprawled on his pillow.

“No fair,” Noctis grumbled. “I wasn’t ready.”

Prompto let out a chuckle. “Want to take one together?” he asked. Prompto had almost completely stopped taking photos during the 10 years Noctis was gone – there were a few pictures here and there but for the most part that time period was undocumented as people were more focused on survival and holding out for his return.  Thus, seeing him enthusiastically pick up his hobby again warmed Noctis’s heart.  Besides that, it wasn’t like he could ever deny Prompto anything.  Certainly not ever again.

Noctis scooted closer to Prompto, pulling his boyfriend against him so Prompto would be able to get a good close up shot.  Just as Prompto was about to hit the button to take the photo, Noctis turned his head and pressed a kiss to Prompto’s cheek, causing his boyfriend to squawk in surprise.  “Noct!” he whined, and the king chuckled in response.

“This is why you keep getting called a chocobo,” he teased, nuzzling at Prompto’s hair.  Without the hair gel it didn’t look quite as much like chocobo tail feathers, but it was still close enough.

Prompto set down his camera on the side table before pulling Noctis into his arms.  He knew how much he liked to cuddle in the morning; even when their relationship had been platonic Noctis had been clingy in the morning. “You happen to like chocobos,” Prompto replied, and Noctis couldn’t help but let out a snort.  He may like chocobos but it was nothing compared to Prompto’s adoration for them.

“I like you more,” Noctis replied, and Prompto flushed before pulling Noctis even closer to try to hide his face.  Noctis grinned before snuggling closer, appreciating the opportunity.  He had fully given up hope that this day would come, and now that he had Prompto to himself he was going to cherish his time with him every moment he got.  He couldn’t help but feel like it was somehow his father and Lunafreya’s doing, and he wouldn’t let his chance go to waste.  “I love you, Prompto,” Noctis said quietly, and Prompto squeezed his arms around him to show he had heard him.

“I love you too, Noctis,” he replied, voice fond.  Noctis smiled before sliding his eyes closed again, deciding they could stay in bed together just a little bit longer.  Prompto chuckled quietly but didn’t stop him – he always had spoiled Noctis, hadn’t he? Thus, both men stayed thus entwined for most of the morning, reluctant to part and appreciating a quiet morning together.

#ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #Promptis #Noctis x Prompto #Noctis Lucis Caelum #Prompto Argentum

[cinnaminsvga]

The game didn't say that someone couldn't ask you what you wanted to respond to people who send you that stuff in and that you couldn't respond to that message

So I guess save this until it's done (or do it now) and say everything you want to say to them here because I'm curious to your responses. I also agree on the show love to zee even without ask games agenda maybe we should all collectively start doing that again 👀

omg wait.... anon big brain THIS IS THE BEST.... thankfully one of us has the brain cell bc i’m definitely taking up your offer (and no need for the show love agenda HAJDKWKSL even just sending random asks about whatever is love enough for me!! being able to be weird with my anons is good enough for me 😎) anyway, everything is under the cut because this gets long LOL ILY ALL

first anon: OH MY GODDDD THE WAY MY EYES TEARED UP WHILE READING YOUR ASK HELLO????? if you’ve followed me since tlhc... i literally WAS just 18 back then and now i’m 21?? TIME ISN’T REAL?? i really can’t believe that there are people Out There who have followed me for so long,,, idk how to express myself well (which is funny bc i’m supposed to be a “writer” lol), but i just wanna say that i’ve always been scared of whether my followers actually like me or was just here to read my fics so hearing your words really helps me calm my anxiety a lil LMAO i’m just on this weird lil blog,,, writing my weird lil stories (and oversharing about my life and my poops as you said HJSADHJASHD i literally screamed when you said that bc damn you are so right) and i just hope that i come off friendly to people at the very least,,, so thank you dude (if we’ve spoken off anon before, i’m sure that i enjoyed whatever exchange we had since you sound like a genuinely awesome person,,, ily and i hope you have a great week!!

second anon: HAHAHHA YES I AM SUPER ANXIOUS!!! ALL THE TIME!!! i try to be funny but humor is subjective, yenno? i’m just glad i was able to find people who share the same kinda crackhead humor that i have :3 and you’re so right,,, what’s life without a little spicy angst? and dw about parasocial relationships HAJSDHASJ like,,, i know you’re on anon and i have no idea who you are, but if you (or any anon really) have sent me a nice ask in the past, even just to say hello or whatever, i kinda already consider you a friend?? like MAYBE you’re just a wooper in my brain (i imagine all my anons like woopers LOL) but the fact that you took the time to send me anything in the first place is just??? like WOW you thought of me??? that’s amazing and i have no words,,, thank you so much and i hope we can continue to speak with each other more!!

third anon: ah yes... my main genre of crangst... but it seems like the past two years have transformed me into a fluff smut writer as well... shows that i’m growing at least LOL gotta expand my horizons or whatever... BUT I’M SO GLAD YOU LIKE FOX RAIN LIKE,,, ANYTIME FOX RAIN GETS MENTIONED, MY HEART GROWS TEN MORE SIZES LIKE ;-; i know authors whine all the time about notes, but fox rain really is my babey and i just wish more people liked her, yenno? so i’m glad you’re able to enjoy it (and living vicariously thru y/n because aren’t we all? LMAO) and i hope you’ll stick around until the next chapter of fox rain gets published (whenever.... that may be.... sweats)

fourth anon: LOL i have a guess as to who this is but imma keep my mouth shut in case i’m wrong,,, but if i’m right, then yea i’m glad to have been your mutual for so long SAJDHJASHD i think we’ve been mutuals since??? 2018?? maybe 2019??? either way, that’s a LONG TIME and i’m always happy to see you in my notifs. it’s so wonderful to see you grow over the years and i know you’re only going to be much greater with due time!! stay epic and phroggers, my dude,,, ily

fifth anon: ONE OF YOUR FAVORITE WRITERS PLEASE... I AM GOING TO CRY ;-----; if you’ve been following me since outcast, that’s like??? early 2018??? late 2017??? HOLY SHIT THAT’S ALSO BEEN A WHILE,,, god i remember how fucking insane that time was and how many memes i made about that au LOL they were good days,,, i’m flattered you think i was funny enough for a follow,,, and that you’ve stuck around until now even though you’re not even into kpop anymore??? which is SO CRAZY bc that means ;-; that you’re here ;-; because you... y-you like me? 😳👉👈 LMAO ok but in all seriousness, it always boggles my mind to know that people follow me for like... me... because as someone who doesn’t really have many friends outside of social media, knowing that people out there like me enough to follow me despite not liking bts or kpop anymore is... just nothing short of amazing. so thank you for sticking around, and i hope you can continue to hang out with me on this silly little blog 🥲

#GOSH THAT FELT GOOD TO GET OFF MY CHEST LOL #that ask game was SO HARD omg #i never realized how much i need to talk HAHASHJDHJAS #which is funny bc i don't write.... nor do i tweet that often.... so where is this need to talk coming from.... LOL #anyway tldr to all my followers whether silent or active: i love you all #thank you for sticking around with me for however long #and i hope we can continue to make more happy memories together :D #ask game #Anonymous #answered

[petersmparker]

Clutch pt 7 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: This is the first time Peter has spoken to you since he’d kissed you in the alley, and he can’t help but be surprised.

Word Count: 1868

A/N: woo! long time coming, huh? thanks to everyone following this series for their patience! we’re one week into the semester and college is already beating me into submission. did someone say “five classes that assign almost 50 pages of reading due for every class”?? Love you all for sticking w me!!! I’ll promise the next one will be out faster- it’s already written for editing!! ps, tumblr literally won’t allow a cut, so I’m sorry to anyone who has to scroll past this

INTRO PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8

It's nearly a week until Peter sees you again due to careful avoidance in the halls and an unfortunate streak of petty crime a distance from your usual routes. Even despite the heated kiss that had been exchanged and his decision to share with you the name behind Spider-Man, he worries that it would be unwise to approach you outside of the suit, and the sight of you in school makes his heart do flips that leave him flustered and distracted for an admittedly embarrassing amount of time.

Because of this, the week passes with some anxiety and nerves. Peter isn't exactly sure how to make odds or ends of what had occurred between you. The kiss had been wonderful- something he had dreamed of without the nerve to actually hope for it. Moreover, it was his first. He wondered if it was yours too, or if you minded that it was him.

Well. Not him, he supposed. Spider-Man. He knew that you felt nothing for him personally, but rather his superhero alter ego. You knew very little about him, after all, besides his name. There wasn’t much he’s been able to share. But if you did, Peter wondered, would you see something in him worth caring about?

Five days in, as Peter goes through the motions of dinner, he fights the urge to admit to May what had occurred. To just talk about it, maybe get some advice. The thoughts rattle in his brain nonstop, keeping him in a near-constant state of “What now?”. But he meets her eye over her container of takeout as she digs a piece of broccoli out from under her rice, and can’t seem to do it. Not yet. Not until things are clearer.

As he climbs into bed, he once again replays the kiss in his mind for the millionth time, hoping to hell that his fixation isn’t breeding false hope.

The next day, Peter decides to swing through the street where his fight had occurred to survey the damage repair. It was something he, unfortunately, was becoming accustomed to doing after putting himself on the radar of higher level criminals the year before. The guilt always struck him when he viewed a shattered glass storefront or a torn apart corner of a building. No matter how hard he tried, sometimes the damage control got away from him.

Seeing the closed-up mini mart is just like every other time, and it feels terrible.

Despite that, the guilty thoughts circling Peter's brain come to a dead stop the moment he lays eyes on you again. Overcoming them was nervousness. Embarrassment, even, as he recalled just how much you'd been at the center of his mind for the past week.

You’re walking along the far side of the street, gazing up at what is left of the shop. The busted-out window is covered in several layers of plastic, wood planks, and cardboard. While the police tape is long gone, the word CLOSED is clearly displayed on the front door- as if the mess of a window isn’t enough of a clue.

As Peter watches, you move on toward a telephone pole to read a sheet of paper that had been stapled to it. After a few moments, you tear it off and stride, agitatedly, in the direction of an alley that he knows all too well. For a brief second Peter wants to assume that you’ll just walk past it. Surely you aren't going to return to The Place It Happened and cause the impending conversation to be even more awkward than it was already going to be.

You turned into the alley, and with a sigh, Peter jumps from the roof he had been perched upon to meet you there. He touches down next to you, startling you only slightly when he attempts to casually say hello and reach for the flyer in your hand.

"Jesus," you gasp, yanking the paper away from him in your exasperated surprise, "Part of me had a feeling you'd show up, but I still wasn't prepared. Maybe you need a bell around your neck."

Peter accepts the now-offered flyer and tries not to shiver when you gently brush a finger against his throat for emphasis. "Ah, well," he starts, somewhat awkwardly, "That might ruin the element of surprise a bit, you know? The bad guys would hear me. Mr. Stark might have to fire me. And in this economy?"

"Spider-Man gets paid?" You ask, bewildered.

"God, no," he says quickly, "This suit is payment enough. And he gave me all this nice stuff I couldn't afford, I- I'd never ask for more."

With a gentle laugh, you place a hand on his arm. "You're a good guy. Really. It makes the shit this reporter is spreading all the more ridiculous," you say with finality, gesturing toward the flyer he still hadn't read.

Pictured was Spider-Man in the midst of his criminal sendoff. Shards of glass are flying across the whole photograph, and the look on the man’s face is one of complete terror. The caption reads, SPIDERMAN: HERO? OR PUBLIC MENACE?

"Oh," Peter says, dejectedly, "I can't really argue that, can I?"

In a quick movement, you rip the flyer out of his hands, crumple it, and toss it toward the open lid of the nearest dumpster.

"Spider-Man," you say firmly, commanding him to hear you, to listen, and Peter’s surprised by the seriousness of your tone.

Your voice lowers in volume when you say, "Peter," and take his hands in your own, and he nearly melts.

"Everything you do is for the good of others. You've saved people's lives before. Put your own in danger to do it. That flyer is slander. Nothing more. No one in their right mind will believe this, and you, you damn intelligent boy, you should know better than to buy into it, either."

"The damage-" Peter starts, before you raise a hand over the mouth area of his mask.

"Nothing was destroyed, Peter. The infrastructure is sound. It was a single window. It can be replaced. Lives can't be replaced,” you assert, squeezing your  eyes shut tight when you continue to say, “With the way I was reacting, I- I probably would have been shot. You stopped that from happening.”

"But. . ." he starts, muffled against your hand, before he realizes that he doesn’t know what to say.

Your other hand comes up so that you can gently hold the sides of his face. The touch sends shivers up Peter’s spine. He’s sure you can feel it when it shakes him, and he’d be embarrassed if he weren’t so entranced by your eyes now that they’ve reopened. You stare into the eyes of his mask, almost as if you can actually see his face.

Your voice fills with what Peter thinks is gratitude when you say, "I would be dead if it weren't for you."

A tension-filled moment passes in which he reels, mind flitting to a hundred different places, before it lands on a terrible thought.

"Is that why you were willing to kiss me?" Peter asks, tentatively.

Surprised, your hands fall away for a brief second, before coming back, holding him tighter than before. "No," you say, definitively, "I would have kissed back no matter what you had done. I'm glad you gave me the opportunity."

With your words, the anxiety slips away from Peter all at once. The fear of rejection is sapped out of him, the concern that he had overstepped his boundaries, the sinking feeling he got every time he thought about how he left afterward. He is left with a balloon in his chest inflating too quickly. It fills with happiness, relief, and affection. It takes his breath away.

In his joy, Peter forgets who he is. Not unlike the first time, he surges forward, arms wrapping around your lower back to pull you forward. He leans in to kiss you, and realizes once he meets your mouth with his own that he's Spider-Man. Not Peter. The mask is still on. His embarrassment is horrific, and had you not burst into delighted laughter Peter may have left the country then and there.

"That- that was so dumb," he says, awkwardly, reaching up to hide his face as if the mask didn't always hide his blush, "I'm sorry. That was- oh man."

You pull him down to plant a kiss on his cheek, paying no mind to the mask that has thwarted his attempt at affection. "This is why," you explain, stopping to press a second quick kiss to the mouth of his mask, "You ask if I kissed back because you saved me? I kissed back because in the little time I've known you, you've been funny. And you've been kind, and brave. What more could I have done, besides feel something for you?"

Peter calms slowly, the heat of embarrassment being replaced by a different kind of warmth. A lovely, comfortable one. The urge to tell you who he really is- more than just his name- bowls him over like a tidal wave, potential ramifications be damned. He opens his mouth to do so when a voice at the entrance of the alley says, "Hey, it's Spider-Man!"

Peter turns to see someone who appears to have stumbled upon the alley at the worst possible time. While you hadn't heard them speak, his hearing is far better. You don’t turn until after he’s faced the unwelcome arrival.

Luckily, thinks Peter as he attempts to emote as much disdain as possible without moving, it's just you. Ned waves at the scene you’ve made in the alleyway, unaware of the context of your meeting or the true presence of you in his life.

"Hello there," he adds, when neither of you respond. His tone implies that he's picked up on something, but Peter isn't sure what that is.

"Uh, hello," Peter answers, unsure of what to say.

Ned looks between the two of you slowly. "Is... everything okay?" He asks, seemingly unaware of how odd it is for a civilian to ask if Spider-Man is alright, whether or not he secretly knows him personally.

His eyes flick downward to your hands, still cupping Peter’s jaw.

"Yes!" Peter exclaims, backing away from you, "Everything is fine! In fact, I should probably be going, now that everything is fine."

"Oh?" His best friend questions in response.

"Absolutely," you say slowly, picking up on Peter’s tone.

Ned nods, but his expression clearly states that he is both skeptical and confused. In a moment of eye contact, Peter realizes that you know there's something going on, too. Maybe even that the person who has stumbled upon you and him knows something. The prospect of it is vaguely terrifying. He can feel you continue to stare at him long after he’s turned back to Ned, searching for the words to say, and is sure that you’re searching his body language and the squint of his eyepieces for answers. His posture falls from rigid to defeated.

Peter turns to look back at you, reaching toward you to grab your hand. He stops halfway, thinking better of the action before he’s spoken to Ned. You almost reach out to meet it, but you stop too, centimeters away.

"I have to go," he says, voice laced with apologies and explanations he can’t fully give to you right now, "I'll... I'll see you. I'm sorry."

You smile reassuringly. "See you, Spider-Man."

After a long moment, he turns away. After nodding toward Ned, still watching from the end of the alleyway, he takes a huge leap into the air and swings away. Maybe he’s mistaken, but he’s sure that he can hear Ned offer a quick, I guess I’ll see you later? to you before he runs off.  

Tag list:

@undiadeestos @moonstruckholland @deathofthethrones @souvenirsvisuels

@nedthegay @legendarydazekitten @secretlittlewonders @jackiehollanderr @disgustangg 

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fluff #peter parker series #peter parker x reader #peter parkerxreader #peter parker reader insert #peter parker self insert

[iforcedabot-blog]

I Forced a Bot To Watch Every TNG and DS9 Episode and Write One of Its Own

You may have seen “I forced a bot to watch” posts where someone claims to have “forced a bot” to read or watch hours of video and written it’s own script. Those weren’t real but in recent history it has become possible to do it for real in a pretty convincing way with OpenAI’s GPT-2 system. This is an unbroken, unedited sample of GPT-2 ‘fine-tuned’ on all the TNG and DS9 scripts. Note that television scripts have have distinct formatting and style and all of that is copied perfectly by the bot. It even *almost* gets understands page numbers (in the first example – 28, 28, 28A).

28   EXT. PLAZA/SURFACE - DAY (OPTICAL)    Data and Worf as before.                    DATA                (puzzled)            You left him there? He left him            there?                    WORF            Yes. He had been there for            hours... then decided that I            was going to kill him.    Data frowns, he can't figure out how to phrase what    he did...                    DATA            I do not understand.                    WORF            You knew?                    DATA            I was afraid.    They exchange a look... Data thinking quickly, is    back to the source...                    DATA                (continuing)            I could have programmed some            medical bank monitors to monitor you            for a pulse response when you            could enter Klingon memory.                    WORF            We would have --        STAR TREK: "The House... " - REV. 08/10/94 - ACT FOUR       45. 28   CONTINUED:                    DATA            But I was afraid that it would            disrupt my memory.                    PICARD            I'll tell you what I have to do.    They look at him and then Picard EXITS. Data sits in    command.                                           CUT TO: 28A  INT. WORF'S QUARTERS    The room is DARK and distant. Worf is struggling to    regain his senses as Picard ENTERS.                    WORF            Captain... everything I saw is            gone... everything.    Worf regards him for a moment... then he starts to fight    it off... he stops in surprise... he doesn't know how    all this is going to impact his relationship with    him... he's uncertain what to do... he glances at the    wall panel and frowns, surprised at the way he sees    Worf... he glances around the room and tries to    find a way to fight it off-kilter... it's pretty    night... Worf hits the wall panel and it OFF.                    WORF            I was... heading somewhere.                    PICARD            Worf... what's the matter?    Worf decides to break for a moment... he EXITS.

That was one the first scenes I generated that impressed me, though it cheats a bit with by being mysterious enough that it’s hard to rate how coherent it is. But you could almost see as one of the more moody and experimental character-focused episodes in Season 7 TNG. Earlier networks could copy the formatting of a TV script but they totally fell apart when you tried to actually understand the content. Even which characters were present in a scene did not stay consistent from line to line. GPT-2 handles this amazingly keeping track of not just characters but subject of conversation in a scene.

Here are some more samples chosen mostly for the humor:

                  DAX            I think we're lucky this was            just a bad batch of            equipment.                    KIRA            I'm glad you think that.                    DAX            I'm glad we're lucky.                    KIRA            Okay.  I'm going to let you use            the Bajoran storage bin to backup            your data on this trip.    And with that, Kira heads off down the Corridor.  We    HOLD on a thoughtful Dax. 19   INT. OPS    Kira and Dax EXIT the turbolift, followed by Sisko, who    goes to the Transporter Room in frustration.             DEEP SPACE: "The Wire" - 03/01/94 - ACT ONE            12. 19   CONTINUED:                    KIRA            It's not working.                    DAX            I'm having trouble retuning the            transceiver.  The adaptors            won't work.                    KIRA            Maybe they should replace us by            rentals.                    DAX            With what?                    KIRA            With your arms.                    DAX            With your hands.                    KIRA            Your arms.                    DAX            You're lifting your arms.                    KIRA            My arms.                    DAX                (the hurtiest)            Your arms.  They're my hands.    Kira takes a beat, looks down at her arms for a moment.                    KIRA            They're your hands.                (a beat)            You know what I see when I get            this...                    DAX                (laughing and crying)            Kira, you never told anyone about            your arms.             DEEP SPACE: "The Wire" - 03/01/94 - ACT ONE            13. 19   CONTINUED: (2)                    KIRA            When you get to the wormhole, you            should see them grow into shape-            shifters.  And you'd be right...            because their arms are like that...            closer than you can get.  They            grip off your arm.  Bad dreams.                    DAX            I thought you weren't going to talk            about me.                    KIRA            I told myself I was not.  But when            the time comes... I want to figure            out what we're doing and what we            are.  I always figure it out.    Dax looks at her own hands.  Kira's too fast for her    good measure.                    KIRA            I'm holding all the cards.  I'm            playing them all.  I'm a prisoner            in here.  I can't be happier.                    DAX            You seem like you've got a lot.                    KIRA            You have me all.    Kira takes one last look at her hands.  Kira can't help    her enthusiasm.  Her hand.  Kira takes another step toward the    desk.                    KIRA            You're not going to hurt me.                    DAX            You're not.  And that's a            good thing.

This is from a later batch where I stripped out some of the very repetitive content in the scripts before training — mostly headers and footers that repeat the exact same information every page. Another sample that was weirdly hands and arms themed:

42   INT. ENGINEERING    Geordi and Data at their respective consoles.                    GEORDI            We're ready when you are, Data.                    DATA            I will prepare enough data for your            desire, Commander.                    GEORDI            Good. Data, what was the vessel            in which the shuttle was            launched?                    DATA            The vessel was slightly more            complex than the starship I            estimate, sir. It chose a            specific set of coordinates to            target the specific            nodes on the Enterprise-D.                    GEORDI            And it didn't work. That's            your fault, Data.                    DATA            I fault is very fault, sir.            I should have realized that.                    GEORDI            If you had, the Enterprise-C            could have taken out a few more            nodes...                    DATA            I do not believe we could have             survived the attempt on the            shuttle, sir.       STAR TREK: "The Loss" - REV. 10/10/90 - ACT FOUR       51. 42   CONTINUED:                    GEORDI            I know Data, it would have been            difficult for you to break into            hands and legs and grab a few            nodes... I've never run into a            shuttle in my life that didn't            get that lucky.    Geordi looks down at his hands and arms, frowning.                    GEORDI            What are you so angry about?                    DATA            My heart... and possibly my entire            psychology.                    GEORDI            That's not good.                    DATA            I am angry that Starfleet has            let you down, Commander.                    GEORDI            I know... but I was relieved            that no one tried to destroy            my shuttle.

INT. DATA'S QUARTERS    Data, still in his Starfleet uniform, is sitting at a desk    working at the computer. The door CHIMES.                    DATA            Enter.    The door OPENS and Geordi ENTERS.                    GEORDI            Data, what are you doing here?                    DATA                (stands)            This is my quarters.    He looks at the desk for a beat, then EXITS.                    DATA                (continuing)            You are here to examine my            computer.                    GEORDI            Computer, is there anything I can            do about your...            computer?                    DATA            Computer, are you aware of what I            have just said?                    GEORDI                (nods)            In case you're wondering... I've            told you something before...                    DATA            I have never spoken to my computer            before.                    GEORDI            That can't possibly be the case...    Data shakes his head.                    DATA            I have been trying, but I            have been unable.                    GEORDI            Why?                    DATA            I have been trying for over            three, four nights.                    GEORDI            It must be a pretty long night.                    DATA            As long as it is not.                    GEORDI            And what does it feel like?                    DATA            I have been experiencing a            sustained, transient, and            unsteady increase in the            emotional neurotransmitter-like            activity in my cerebral cortex.            The same as if I were completely            offered a cup of tea, or a            coffee, or an air horn.                    GEORDI     ��      That sounds like someone who            has been through a lot.    Data nods.

I experimented with mixing other TV show scripts, the complete set of Frasier in this case. GPT-2 learns very quickly never to mix characters and language from the shows — too well, I wish it would mix them! But I swear the samples trained with some Frasier feel more like a sitcom:

ANGLE ON MAIN VIEWER (OPTICAL)

ANGLE ON MAIN VIEWER (OPTICAL)    Riker's face...                    RIKER            Captain, I am detecting a Class-M            planet with high radiation            unaffected by the sun.                    PICARD            Which planet did you detect?                    RIKER            Class-M.                (beat)            I'm sure it looked like a Class-            M planet...                (beat)            What is it?                    PICARD            A small planet with low surface            radiation.                    RIKER                (laughs)            Not class-M.

Here’s another one that feels more like a sitcom, in particular, the repeated dialog lines are something I see a lot in the post-Frasier samples.

======== SAMPLE 15 ========                    KIRA                (to Dax, explaining)            Dax, we were just talking about you.              I realize you're upset about            me, but I've always looked            good in a tuxedo.                    DAX            I don't look good in a tuxedo.              I've always looked good in a            clutch, Benjamin.  And I'm glad to            say, I haven't seen you since I left            the homeworld.                    KIRA                (smiles)            I know you're upset, but I've            always looked good in a chiffo            uniform.                    DAX            And I'm glad to see you've never worn            it anymore.                    KIRA            I've never looked good in a chiffo            uniform.                    DAX            Well, I've seen you look good in            it all... when you're wearing            anyone else's tux.                    KIRA                (smiles)            I never look good in a chiffo            uniform.                    DAX                (smiles)            I'm glad you said you were going to            be happy at the Bajoran wedding.                    KIRA                (smiles)            I'm glad you said that.    Dax smiles and they walk off.                    DAX                (re: the wedding)            I suppose I'll have to mention it            to someone.                    KIRA            I'm not planning to.                    DAX            Who's next?                    KIRA            My husband.                (a beat)            I guess he'll be staying with us            this year.                    DAX            He'll probably be staying with us            this year.                    KIRA            I know.  I just got here last            night.                    DAX            I mean it's just a question of...            who?                    KIRA                (beat)            I'm still not sure.  I've got a            surprise planned for the next few            weeks.  Besides, it sounds like            somebody's going to need a place to            keep me warm.                    DAX            I'm sure they will.                    KIRA            I'm sure they will.                    DAX            Now what about you... are you sure            you don't want to stay with me for            a while?                    KIRA                (re: the wedding)            I have a job to do... I'm a            pretty gal...                    DAX                (reacts)            I hear you're married...                    KIRA            That's right.                    DAX            And what about Jake?                    KIRA            He's leaving Starfleet.                    DAX            A few weeks ago he was sent back            to the Institute.                    KIRA                (reacts)            He's gone?                    DAX            He's been living on the station            all his life...                    KIRA                (beat)   ======== SAMPLE 16 ========

This sample is as long as you can get right now the limit on the output is about 1000 words in the tiny version of GPT-2 that OpenAI let’s us play with. It would still be possible to create an entire script by taking the output from one sample and using it a ‘prompt’ to generate the next sample, over and over until you have a complete script. Since the scripts do clear structure like page and act numbers it should eventually get to ACT 5 or stick an ending on there. Maybe a project for the future.

#gpt-2 #tng #text generator

[amwritingmeta]

Love your take on everything & it really gives me hope for a destiel endgame. I was wondering if you had noticed Dean getting a bit more 'camp'? I don't subscribe to that kind of stereotype normally but as Jensen, a supposedly straight, (let's keep cockles out of this!) actor's interpretation of bi, it seems as though his mannerisms have been somewhat feminised, maybe? I'm thinking mostly of The Face that Mary points out. (also Max's interest in the grenade launcher interests me!) discuss :-)

Helloooo my dear and lovely Nonny! 

Yes, this reply is long overdue and all I can ask is your forgiveness!! Thank you so much, I’m glad you’re enjoying my take and that it gives you hope! :)

I’ve had to ponder this question for a good long while, tbh, because I kind of know what you mean, but I also feel that Jensen’s mannerisms as Dean have had a few wrist flicks and eye rolls that have always felt overly dramatic because Dean can be high drama, right? I don’t know if I’d necessarily label these things as camp or feminised, though.

I mean, I could watch this gif forever. This moment is so fucking awesome! :P

We could theorise into eternity about what’s true and what’s not true about how Jensen claims to play Dean so straight and so uber-masculine, right? I mean… proof’s in the pudding, puddin’ - and even though the editors can change the meaning of a scene by cutting out parts or changing stuff around, there are too many moments that are clearly directed, if not chosen by Jensen in how to be acted out, that are done so in order to be edited in a certain way. There have been these moments of wrist flicking from the beginning, I’d say, because it’s how Dean moves in certain moods or moments. 

Anyone who disagrees with this, please, do jump in! I encourage you adding your thoughts and interpretation!

Now, I know we could debate where Jensen stands until we’re all blue in the face and we’d still be none the wiser. I know a lot of people who believe he sincerely did not know that Dean is meant to be bisexual and that he played him straight as a doornail for eleven or twelve years until someone said, look, we’re deciding to move forward with the love story so, beware, Dean is in love with Cas and this is happening. And I think this is fair enough! Because Jensen has been so outspoken about how he plays Dean and relates to Dean and Dean is s.t.r.a.i.g.h.t.

Yeah, in there lies the problem for me. In what motivation he’s had to make this statement again and again. I find it hard to believe that an actor would work on any project for over a decade and not take an interest or feel curiosity about how the narrative is built. Actually, I find it improbable. Jensen has spoken about how he used to fill every page of the scripts he’d get with thoughts on Dean’s motivation. Does this mean Jensen knew Dean is meant to be bi? Nope. And I can’t argue for or against, merely say that it doesn’t add up to me - at all - that an actor who is so in tune with his craft and who clearly cares about this character would play him - consistently - for twelve years without really knowing him. 

There is this marked pattern with Dean where he’s attracted to a man and immediately overcompensates by chasing a woman and it’s established in 2x02 with Ash and Jo (if not sooner…). It’s fascinating to watch that episode and notice this pattern because it becomes like a subliminal thing. 

It in no way works as proof that Jensen chose to play Dean attracted to Ash, and running after Jo to narratively compensate for it, like it’s a subtextual scale that weighs too hard on one side and then immediately needs to be righted by overtly stating that Dean prefers women. (which looking at the subtext blatantly just is not the whole truth and never was) But it’s a character trait that is brushed at from the start and then becomes the lynchpin for so many important character moments and, looked at that way, even works as foreshadowing for Castiel and the role he’s going to play in Dean’s character progression. But I shan’t go into deeper details on that now because then we’ll be here until Christmas morning. 

What I’m saying is that this has been a conscious part of Dean’s character from the beginning (to my mind) and my mind fucking boggles at the idea that Jensen - who has dedicated such a huge chunk of his career to playing Dean, a performance that will, most likely, be a career defining one - would not know everything there is to know about Dean. 

Okay, I’m crossing over into complete Jensen-behaviour conjecture and speculation and that’s not really what your question was about. (though they do relate, as your question reflected) :P

As for Max and the grenade launcher (god what a lovely choice of topic you throw my way!!) :) –>

Max is gay. Max is hot. Max likes the look of Baby. Max is invited to view Baby’s goodies. Max notices the grenade launcher. 

(that wasn’t meant to come out as the text for a story book for children) (…or was it) ;)

This has been discussed before so it’s very likely that you’ve read up on it a while back because I am so damn late in replying, buuuuut let me still give you the bare bones of this exchange, yeah? I mean, they’re pretty amazing bones.

The exchange between Max and Dean opens with Max saying that Baby is still “major” and Dean offering him the tour. Which consists of what? Max calling out the grenade launcher. And Dean replying to Max’s question of “is that a grenade launcher” with “yes she is” but then immediately grabbing what they need: witch killing bullets. 

I mean, the actual lead into this exchange is Max telling everyone he successfully got a guy’s phone number, right? Dean making this face:

What’s so amazing is how Dean gets a dose of a guy completely and utterly at ease with his sexuality, and then we’re taken to the trunk of Baby - the prop that Jensen says “is a part of me”, speaking as Dean…….. - and shown the phallic shaped monstrosity of a weapon in serious need of release and Dean, aptly, assigns it a sex and, to his mind, it’s a “she”, it’s a female in need of release, as is Dean’s non-performing side. His feminine side, if you will. His yin to his overcompensating, toxically masculine yang.

The beginning of inner balance being found between these two is given to us by Dean launching that grenade into that cement wall in 12x22. 

And here we have a beautiful setup for exactly what that moment means for Dean Winchester. And that he is so extremely subconsciously aware of it all.

“Yes, she is.”

I mean…. seriously, Dean.

And why is it Max asking to dig his nose into Baby’s junk? Sorry, I mean trunk. (….or do I?) Because Max is a reflection of Dean throughout this entire episode. He is our Dean exposition in many many ways. And he ends up making the wrong choice for the right reasons. And I look forward to when Max and Alicia return and I wonder if Alicia will be restored. Come on, Jack. You know you can right this wrong!! :)

Thank you for asking, Nonny! And happy holidays to you!

xxx

#answered asks #dean is bi #max #grenade launcher