#Also I rarely ever actually duck out of a story

[azriel-scum]

It wasn't supposed to be this way - Part 2

Hi hey hello! Part 2 is here! I'm worried that there are some inconsistencies from part 1 to part 2 and if there are certain things that don't add up. I wanted to get this out, but I'm also considering going back to revise both parts to make sure it flows!

This is my first time actually posting fanfiction, I've been reading it for as long as I can remember and writing here and there, but I feel like I'm still trying to nail down my writing style. I might make some minor changes, but I'm very much open to any feedback!

Warnings: Domestic abuse

Tags: @littleffawn, @frogsandhomicidalducks

Walking with her head low, Elara neared the center of the city.

It was heartbreaking to walk through the city this way - actively trying to avoid everyone, trying to not be recognized.

Velaris meant a lot to everyone in the inner circle and Elara would never try to claim that it meant more to her than anyone else. All of them would unquestionably lay down their lives to protect this place - Gods Rhysand had done just that - had experienced something worse than death for fifty years straight.

At the risk of being too self important, some days she felt like Rhysand was the only person who could truly relate to how she felt about how deeply her soul was intertwined to this city. The fae who lived here, their families, their stories. It wasn't just that - it was the priestesses in the library, it was the Illyrian warriors who had been outcasts of the camps, and all of the other souls this city has taken in.

Having to hide herself away from the citizens of the city, sneak around to hide a dark and twisted secret, being too ashamed to show her face - was truly heartbreaking to her. It affected her in a way that most would never understand. She ached to describe this feeling to someone, to unload the heavy mass of shame she was carrying, but who could she possibly tell?

Rhysand was the closest thing she had to an older sibling, he understood the way she grew up and where she came from, understood how much this city meant to her and above all else, truly understood the burden of having others rely on you to perform and deliver what was needed of you.

Rhysand's inner circle were trusted individuals, they were competent - they did what needed to be done and they rarely, if ever, let themselves slip away from that. How could he continue entrusting her with the city if Elara couldn't even be trusted with making the right decisions about her personal life?

Somedays it felt like the shame she carried was more visible than any bruise Merikh could've ever given her.

She neared her mother's house, somewhere she had once loved, a place that once represented freedom and new beginnings, now a house of looming death.

There was a group of young Fae walking on the other side of the road, bright eyed and eager, Elara looked up and smiled at them out of habit. One of her most favorite things to do was visit the schools in Velaris as often as she could. For a moment she foolishly forgot about being on guard, and wistfully thought about what it would be like to hit a reset button, to have developed differently, to give the chemicals in her brain a second chance. To be a young female again, bright eyed and eager about the world.

From behind her, a steady and authoritative male voice spoke with the calmness and respect that only a trained and diplomatic soldier can master.

"Governess"

Her back straightened at the exact same moment that her heart stopped beating. Slowly, she turned around, because what other choice did she have?

As she turned around, the male's head was still ducked into a bow and Elara had a fleeting thought - this was the one millisecond she had before he would see the state of her neck and face, the very last moment before she would have to come up with some kind of explanation. As the male raised his head to look her she ducked her head briefly as a sign of respect, never quite used to having people bow to her and never wanting to leave it unanswered.

Raising her head to look at the male, she recognized him as being a spy from the night court, one of Azriel's trusted soldiers.

"Sylas," she greeted him with a smile, lest he sense anything amiss with her, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I've just returned from a mission and was walking through the city. I saw you from across the way and thought I would say hello," His tone was easy and he was smiling, but Elara was keenly aware of him cataloging her appearance.

Quick on your feet Elara

"Well that makes two of us, I've just returned to the city and was paying my mother a visit," the lie slipped out easily and much more naturally than she could've hoped for. "I trust I'll be hearing about your travels and the state of Prythian soon." Elara received weekly reports, occasionally from Azriel, but more often than not he was away and the report came from one of his spies.

Sylas nodded affirmatively and replied "I look forward to hearing about your mission as well," pointedly, he looked at the bruises on her face, "I'd hate to see what your opponent looks like."

Elara's heart dropped and her anxiety spiked, but ever the composed warrior she simply gave Sylas a conspiratorial smile and wink.

"I'll see you at our next meeting, take care of yourself, Sylas"

He briefly bowed his head one final time and with that he was off.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

What were the odds a spy trained to work under Azriel himself didn't see straight through that entire interaction?

Elara wouldn't bet anything valuable on it. She just hoped he had enough discretion to keep his mouth shut.

With her face bruised, her heart pounding and her head held high she entered her mother's house.

She opened the door to good natured chaos.

Endor and Elvira had music playing through the house and they were dancing in the living room - trying and failing - to spin each other around. Her mother was sitting up in her recliner, laughing, a rare but golden sight to see.

For a brief moment, Elara stood at the door, her family not quite noticing her yet and she smiled, a glimpse of the version of her family without the abuse and the hardship.

Her brother twirls Elvira around and as she turns she catches a glimpse of Elara standing at the door.

"Ellie!! What are you doing here?" her sister runs across the room, but stops halfway, "what happened to see your face?"

Ellie offered her a simple sheepish shrug and said simply "duty called again."

Elvira laughed and hugged her, Endor gave her a fist bump, and her mother just shook her head and smiled.

A wave of shame crashed over her.

Her job obviously required that she be diplomatic and act with discretion, if that meant lying or being a little manipulative, so be it - but this kind of behavior had never infiltrated to her personal life, to her personal relationships.

Elara had perfected the art of compartmentalizing quite a few hundred years ago - and she shoved this feeling into dungeon cell in the depths of her brain and stored it under lock and key.

Her siblings had already gone back to dancing and her both motioned to the seat beside her.

For the next few hours they laughed and talked, her and her brother cooked lunch, and they sat around her mother, just being in her presence.

A good reminder for Elara that she needed to do this more often.

The music had been stopped for a while, Laurel had dozed off and Endor had gone to train with some friends. The two sisters were sitting out in the backyard and it was nice - there were so many things Elara wanted to discuss with her - the state of relationship, her mother, Elvira's future and a number of other things that could and should be address but it all felt too heavy to bring up now.

Sitting out in the sun made Elara feel much better, her wings felt less sore and when she had looked in the mirror earlier, the bruises were mostly faded, the accelerated healing finally starting to kick in. She had barely thought about Merikh since being here; her mind wouldn't allow her to out of pure preservation. She did allow her mind to wonder where he was, if he had returned to their apartment, if she should go back there and if he would be in a good mood if she did.

Without warning, there was a knock on her mental shields. Elara immediately recognized it as being Rhysand. Immediately, she opened a small sliver of her mind.

"El, come to House of Wind as soon as possible. No immediate threat to the city, but we have intel that needs to be discussed."

She responded affirmatively and stood up. "Sorry little sis, duty is calling. Tell Mom and Enny I'll be back sometime this week, I love you."

Her sister, as the rest of her family, was used to her having to dash off for various reasons with little to no warning. She simply nodded and Elara was off.

She flew over the city to the house, wings sore and mind heavy. Elara allowed herself for just a moment to consider her current situation and what she would do.

Leaving. Leaving was the only option. She knew that, had for some time.

She arrived to the house and was immediately greeted by Feyre.

"I know I said we wouldn't bother you, I'm terribly sorry."

Elara shook her head and smiled duty calls.

She followed Feyre into the dining room. Rhysand was sat at the head of the table, Cassian was standing at his side energy buzzing through him and Azriel was sat slightly off to the side shrouded in shadows; Amren and Mor sat toward the middle of the rectangular table. Elara recognized a few of Azriel's spies and a few of Cassian's soldiers.

She scanned around the rest of the table and had to physically restrain herself from reacting. Merikh sat at the other end of the table speaking with Sylas, Azriel's spy whom she had crossed paths with earlier in the day. Her heart started to race, but she made a conscious effort to slow it down, lest she spread a scent of fear or anxiety throughout the room.

Rhysand looks up to see his Governess entering the room his eyes glaze over ever so slightly and he spoke to her mind.

Sylas went out to the northern steppes this morning. We had heard word of an errant camp leader that had moved his people closer to the mountain, he's amassed a larger group under his lead and he's been conducting some very concerning drills and shows of strength.

It was not unusual for Illyrian camp leaders to be causing unrest. While Elara herself was not directly responsible for this area, it was very pertinent that she was made aware of disruptions or possible sources of conflict. Usually, though it would not have required an emergency meeting.

Rhys must have sensed Elara's slight confusion and he continued his explanation.

Of course, as you know, these kinds of things aren't unusual. Sylas came back and gave report, we weren't particularly concerned, but Azriel heard one of the names of the Illyrians and recognized him as being a citizen of Velaris.

An active member of the camp or a hostage? That felt like a ridiculous question, but the whole scenario was borderline unbelievable. Neither option seemed realistic, but how else would a citizen of Velaris join a camp in the Illyrian steppes. Why else?

It seems he is an active member by choice. How or why he got out there I'm really not sure. We have Merikh monitoring the situation, but of course it's something to keep an eye on. We can't have them recruiting people out of Velaris.

Certainly not.

She turned around to the rest of the room. Merikh was trying to make eye contact with her, she could feel a little bit of his anxious energy. Maybe he was trying to gauge her thoughts, figure out how volatile she was feeling. In their home, Merikh might have the power over her, but in this house and with these people, Merikh was lucky to have even found someone to take the time to bring him up to the meeting room.

Rhys nodded toward her. Your meeting Elara Starlight, we follow your lead.

She made eye contact with Azriel and Cassian, smiling to acknowledge them. Cassian smiled back, Azriel simply nodded. There was something about his silent acknowledgement that gave her a boost of confidence.

Addressing the room she asked, "what do we know about the citizen of Velaris? How could he have gotten to the steppes?"

Sylas opened his mouth to speak, after getting a small go ahead gesture from Azriel, but Merikh was quicker.

"I believe he was frustrated with the lack of opportunity here, there have been a lot of changes and there's no place for a male like him anymore. He seems like a restless male that would've been better suited for the Illyrian lifestyle. If he fits better there, why would we bring him back?"

Elara couldn't find a way to respond to that without blasting him out of his seat, so she simply stayed silent and turned toward Sylas.

He ducked his head toward her, "Governess, I can't say why he joined, but I do believe that the leader of this particular camp is ramping up his recruiting efforts. He's very eager to grow his numbers and spread his message."

Azriel added in "We will be running missions through that region regularly and making contact with leaders and members. I feel we should have extra boots on the ground here in order to ensure we're not losing anymore of our citizens to this cause."

"I'll speak to my contacts throughout the city to see if I can better understand the situation and will of course report back. Azriel, we'll be in touch about missions and Sylas," she turned to the spy, "I might pull you in for some intel gathering around the city and I would like to go out to the Illyrian steppes to see it for myself." Elara hadn't been out to Illyria in quite some time, she was not necessarily eager, but there a was a threat to be handled and she knew she needed to be out there.

Elara opened her mouth to ask Cassian a question about the Illyrian soldiers and if there were any grumblings across their ranks but Merikh stood up before she could get the words out.

Her anxiety spiked and dread overwhelmed her. If it was possible to die of second hand embarrassment, Elara's death would be the most eminent it ever had them.

"Now hold on, I'm the emissary between these lands, I should be the one to go. I would not need an spy escort to make sure I'm not raped and maimed for a simple visit. We've already lost a citizen to their groups, it doesn't -"

"If the governess wishes to visit the Steppes, I will see to it that she makes the visit." Azriel spoke with such finality that everyone was quiet for several moments.

Rhsyand had been quiet for the majority of the conversation and he was now carefully and silently considering Merikh.

Elara stood there in silent shame. How horrible was it to have your partner speak of you in that way in front of the High Lord and inner circle. How was she ever meant to be taken seriously?

Feyre, Elara do you believe we're done here? Rhysand asked mind to mind. Elara indicated it was and Feyre agreed.

"We will continue to monitor the situation and take the next steps we've decided on."

With Rhysand's dismissal, everyone stood from the table, some hanging around to talk, others laughing about their days; the serious events from the meeting almost entirely forgotten.

Elara walked down the hallway to pop into her office, while she didn't work out of it often, there was some paperwork and letters she wanted to retrieve. As she opened the door, she heard footsteps behind her and immediately knew it was Merikh. Before she could decide on what to do he had a grip on her forearm and was in her face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Elara opened her mouth to respond and he shoved her back further into the office.

"You made me look like a fool out there. You've turned this city to shit and now you want to come in looking like the hero and step over me to go out to Illyria."

Elara stayed silent. It was better than trying to reason with him when he was in this state.

In the back of her mind, she clocked the softest sound of a heal turn around the corner. Unsure if Merikh heard it or not, she tried to back out of his grasp, worried someone would see what was going on. He held on tighter and opened his mouth to berate her again - she heard another soft step in their direction, this time Merikh heard it, but before he could fully react, Azriel was standing in the doorway.

Elara had never felt shame quite like what she was feeling in this moment. She had never wished to disappear more, had never wanted to be invisible and cease to exist quite as much as she did right now. Azriel could be quieter than silence itself, Elara knew that as well as anyone else. Had he made the noise intentionally to alert them of his presence? Had he misjudged the situation, wanted to avoid catching them in a compromising situation?

Azriel stood for a moment, considering the two of them.

"Merikh, you're needed in the foyer, Rhsyand needs to speak with you."

Merikh, had tried to disguise his hand placements as a romantic gesture, removed his arms from her shoulder and nodded once before leaving the room.

And there stood you and Azriel.

Heart racing and blood pumping, anxiety spiked so high she was starting to shake.

Calm and composed, Azriel stood like a stone in the doorway. It seemed he was rendered speechless.

#acotar #innercircle #rhysand #azriel #cassian #acotar imagines #a court of thorns and roses #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #feyre

[trulybetty]

dec' x 21 - wrapping paper

Prompt: wrapping paper Pairing: dieter x ofc!bryony Word Count: 993 Warnings: domestic fluff, tiny bit of French you can Google translate if you wish, it's also dieter - he has his own warnings Summary: Dieter and Bryony put up the tree - nothing much else to it. I was inspired heavily by one of @wildemaven's moodboards for this! AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

A/N: still not well, but have enough whereabouts to post what's already written over the next couple of days, so if you're following along at home - enjoy!

Dieter, with a flourish, finished draping the last strands of tinsel around a gold-framed black and white portrait of Dolly Parton, one of many that decorated the living room wall. It brought a touch of kitsch to the holiday decor that was already out and filling the living room.

“Dieter, there’s tinsel everywhere” Bryony laughed, plucking a stray piece from her hair.

“It’s Christmas Daff,” he offered up as if explanation enough, “If tinsel isn’t sticking to you by the end of it, have you even decorated?” he retorted.

Dieter, ever the enthusiast for the festive season, had already placed the giant nutcracker hippos on the driveway, much to Bryony’s chagrin. “Every time I see those monstrosities,” she had muttered more than once, “I have dreams of running them down with my car.” She knew she’d never actually do it – partly because of the security cameras, and partly because deep down, they were a bizarre but endearing part of their Christmas traditions now.

But mostly because of the security cameras.

The tree stood tall and grand in the corner of the room, its branches bare and awaiting adornment. Boxes of decorations lay open at their feet, a mishmash of colours and styles, each with its own story. No real theme present, just an eclectic mix of both of their tastes.

Bryony with her elegant and timeless decor complimented Dieter’s ostentatious rainbow of decorations ranging from vintage baubles to a rubber duck dressed as Elvis.

Bryony picked up a bauble, inspecting it with a smile. “Do you remember this one?” she asked, holding up the glittery ornament. “We got it at that Christmas market in Cardiff.”

Dieter raised a pointed eyebrow, “How could I forget? You spent twenty minutes deciding between that one and another one that looked exactly the same.”

Then, Dieter reached into a box and pulled out a series of hippo-themed decorations. “Ah, the pièce de résistance,” he declared, holding them up for Bryony to see.

She groaned playfully. “No not the hippos again, please? Can we have a reprieve this year?”

He gasped dramatically, “Bryony Morgan, it's tradition!" he said in a very rare instance of using her full name as she rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” she conceded, not that she’d have any real say as three hippos had already graced the tree in the time it’d taken her to object.

Finally, the tree was a riot of colours, lights, and memories—every ornament had its place, and every light twinkled in merriment. Dieter stepped back, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Now for the passementerie,” he declared.

The sound of rustling paper drew Bryony's attention. Dieter had disappeared for a moment, only to return with an armful of gifts, each wrapped in paper that was undeniably Dieter—bright, bold, and bordering on the obscene.

Bryony eyed the wrapping paper warily as Dieter began placing the gifts under the tree. “Dieter, what is on that wrapping paper?”

He looked up, an impish grin on his face. “Oh, you know, just some tasteful nudes. Quite artistic, really.”

Bryony squinted at the paper, “Artistic?” she asked as she got an eyeful of a black and white sketched erect penis with holly framing its balls. 

Dieter beamed with pride. “It's a festive little number I found online. Quite avant-garde, don't you think?”

“This is for my gifts?” she asked, wondering why she was even questioning it.

“Who else?” he chuckled, placing a particularly large gift front and center, two large breasts framed the centre of the gift above a bright pink bow. “Only the best for you, Daff,” Dieter replied, winking at her.

Before Bryony could formulate a response, something caught her eye. Hanging among the branches, nestled between the lights and tinsel, was a small Cartier box, its red hue unmistakable. She hadn’t noticed it when they were finishing up the tree, she was sure she wouldn’t have missed it.

“Dieter, what's this?” she asked, her voice suddenly soft.

He came up behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder. 

“Oh, that old thing?” Dieter feigned nonchalance, but the twinkle in his voice betrayed his excitement. “Just a little something for you.”

Bryony’s voice caught in the back of her throat, it was a box big enough to be any number of things. The whispers of the tinsel seemed to quieten as she unhooked the box, her mind racing with the possibilities of what lay inside.

Dieter's presence behind her was a solid reassurance, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “Go on, open it.”

She glanced back at him, searching his eyes for a clue. “Dieter, this isn't…” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken question hanging between them.

He shook his head, a gentle smile softening his features. “Not yet,” he said with a quiet conviction that made her heart skip a beat. “But when the time comes, and it will, it's going to be everything you deserve and more.”

With deliberate care, Bryony opened the box, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Inside lay a delicate necklace, its simplicity and elegance a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of their Christmas tree. It was beautiful – a classic and understated piece. While the exact opposite of Dieter, much like Bryony herself, so very much him in its thoughtfulness.

“Wow–I don’t know what to say,” she managed to breathe out.

“Well that’s a first for you Daff.”

She fixed him with a look before tracing the outline of the solo square diamond that hung delicately on the white gold chain, “It’s beautiful Dieter, thank you.”

Dieter's hand lifted to cradle her jaw, his thumb tracing her cheek. “Just like you mon chéri.”

Bryony lifted her hair as she allowed him to clasp the necklace around her throat, the cool weight of it felt like a comfort as he adjusted it to sit just right.

Dieter leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “Merry Christmas, Bryony,” he murmured.

#december x 500 #dieter x bryony #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x ofc!bryony #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[toonqueen]

Duckvember Day 1: Dead Duck (Part 1)

lololol Part 2 coming SOON hopefully.

Okay this story has OCs that are the adult kids of Mighty Ducks the Animated Series. HERE IS A CHEAT SHEET SINCE NOT MANY READ MY STORIES BACK IN HIGHSCHOOL. (Only One Many Here Has. lol) This story is very

Luke-  Duke’s son that pretty much looks exactly like him but has both eyes. Super smart but does not apply himself because of gifted child burnout. @fluxchix is responsible for him.

Maestro - Son of Canard and Luceria Decoy that fell out of a portal one day, like you do. Super sweet guy even though he has seen some shit. Also he's deaf so I'm writing SIGNED instead of SAID a lot.

Tayshia - Tanya and Wildwing daughter that someone while having loving parents turned out to be kinda a jerk man. Wtf is up with that?

Karma - Grin’s son, I really don’t have  much to explain here. 

Mercedes - Nosedive’s daughter. Everything you find annoying about Nosedive but then doubled. 

Molissa - Duke's daughter and Luke's younger sister.

Castor and Blaster - Mallory’s twins.  Funny story I can’t remember these two’s real names. These were their nicknames. I actually rarely ever wrote them so LOLOLOL. 

Rex - Dragaunus’ son that is good and working with the ducks because he’s the bad bitch Mercedes was able to pull by being autistic 

Tyrant - not related to Dragaunus in any way, just a new saurian from limbo that is the new bad guy or something.

THIS STORY IS LUKE AND MAESTRO CENTERED. 

Betaed by @cataradical but the next part may be unbetaed because I am unsupervised.

—-----------------------

 “Thank you for the ride. You do not have to stick around,” signed Maestro as he sat in the passenger seat. He had been excited all day to go to the bookstore. The book he wanted the author to sign was sitting in his lap.

“Ah, I’ll be in the area. There’s stuff on the other side of the street I’m going to check out,” replied Luke, signing as he spoke aloud.

“Cool. I will text you when I am done,” Maestro signed as he smiled, “I do not know how long the line is going to be. He is famous enough to draw a crowd.”

“Take your time. There’s no rush. Maybe we can have dinner afterwards,” Luke said and signed. Maestro put on the device that helped him hear. It was something Tanya had created a short while ago that easily wrapped around the back of his head and ended at a circular shape on each end. It wasn’t 100% helpful with hearing speech, but it was what he normally wore in battle mode so he could not be surprised and attacked from behind. 

“A quick dinner. I wanted to finish packing tonight,” Maestro signed, smile widening. He opened  the truck door to get out. He closed the door, tucked the book under his arm, and waved his friend off.. Luke snickered and waved in return before the other duck disappeared into the store.

Luke headed to the strip mall across the street. He was sure he could find something to waste his time on for a few hours. He didn’t want to go back to his empty apartment and for sure did not want to go back to the Pond and be forced to practice. 

Luke barely had a chance to park when he already received a text message from Maestro. He expected it to be a long paragraph explaining something that happened at the signing. Instead it was a short message: “Pick me up now. Please.”

Luke hopped back into the pickup, returned to the bookstore. Maestro was waiting outside with a very neutral expression. His copy of the book was no longer in his arms.

Luke parked the truck and Maestro got in without saying a word. Angrily buckled himself up.

“Uh, that was quick... How did it go?” Luke said as he signed, a little bit unsure about asking because it clearly did not go well. 

“Not good. Can we go to your apartment?” Maestro signed back as he dropped his messenger back onto his lap. The book didn’t appear to be inside, either.

“Okay…” Luke trailed off, replying with a simple “okay” in sign.

The drive was awkwardly quiet. Maestro stared out the window, hugging his bag. When they pulled off at an exit and stopped at a red light, he finally broke the silence. Without looking at Luke, he spoke aloud, “He didn’t even give me the chance to explain. He just said I was mocking his work.” Most of his enunciation and tone was clear but when it came to longer words they were more mumbled. Before Luke could say anything, he continued, “I mean. I knew better than to mention Limbo. I just said there is warring on our home planet and he just– just shot me down. I mean. It’s the elephant in the room that no one talks about, but it’s kinda common knowledge that alien ducks are here because our planet sucks right now. So wouldn’t it make sense there would be someone in my situation?” 

Luke nodded, not sure of what to say at that moment. He then realized Maestro wouldn’t see his nod so he reached over to give the upset duck a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. 

Maestro looked over at Luke; he wasn’t crying but his eyes were misty. 

Luke went to speak but was interrupted by an angry honk from the car behind him. The light had turned green. The gray duck grumbled to himself, annoyed, and resumed driving.

Maestro looked a little amused at Luke’s frustrated reaction to being honked at. He wiped a tear from his eye, chuckling, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Luke added verbally. He then signed his response, forgetting a moment Maestro wouldn’t understand him. It was frustrating for him that he couldn’t communicate with his friend while driving. 

Maestro could tell Luke thought that he had missed the words. “Do not worry. I am watching your beak now,” he reassured softly with a light smile despite his watery eyes. 

“Did you still want to go out to eat?” asked Luke. 

“No,” Maestro replied verbally. He spoke softly because Luke had to keep his eyes on the road, but still signed a bit out of habit. “I am going to take a nap. I was up until 4 AM, so excited to meet this guy. I do not want to go back to the pond right now because Tanya would see I was upset and mom all up on me.”

Luke took a moment to process what Maestro said. “Yeah, it's fine,” he replied. “You can crash at my place. I have a few things to do so I’ll drop you off first.” 

----------- 

A Short Time Later

—---------

“What kind of dump did you send me to?” the gentleman spoke into his cellphone as he got off the elevator. He angrily dug into his pocket for the hotel room key. “I’m on the third floor. THIRD FLOOR.”

There was a pause as the man stopped in front of the door, finally retrieving the key card. “I don’t care if it's a five star hotel. I don’t care what actors stay here. This place is as bad as that so-called bookstore you sent me to. I’ll call you in the morning.”

The author shoved open the door, tossing the key and phone on the dresser. He took off his jacket, dumped it on the couch as he entered the small office space in the large, fancy hotel room. Before he could switch on the light, he heard an abrupt <i>click</i> from the desk. It was followed by the flicker of fire from a lighter. 

The author, confused, turned on the light.

Luke sat on the desk, lighting his cigarette clamped in his beak. He took a drag, held it between his fingers. In his other hand was a copy of the author’s book, opened about a third way through. “So here’s the shit I don’t get,” he said coldly. “Your book is like, 10% about this former child soldier in Uganda, and then the other 90% about telling others how to cope. You, a guy who has never experienced the horrors of war. Where’s this child soldier you spoke about? The boy who actually had to endure all this pain and misery?”

“How did you get in here! The security in this place is… how!” the human seemed rather stunned. 

The duck ignored his outburst, flipping through the book. “Not a word from the guy in here… It's like you’re making money off his trauma. Wow. Does he get any of the residuals off your book sales, because I mean, come on. Or is this some sorta ‘Memories of a Geisha’ bullshit?”

“What is this? I’m calling the police!” the man went back to the table he had left his phone. The grey feathered duck stayed on the desk as he flipped through to read the next page of the book. When the human picked up the phone he saw he had no signal. He tried calling out but just got a defunct noise in the return. He then picked up the hotel phone but it had no ring tone

“Don’t worry man. I’m her to just talk,” Luke called from the other room. The sound of him getting off the desk could be heard, “Comon, we just need to discuss a little situation.”

The author went to leave the hotel room, but the doorknob didn’t work. 

“You know, EMP shit isn’t just stuff for sci fi movies,” the grey duck added as he came to the office doorway, “Man, everything is fucking automated nowadays. Even that silly hotel room lock.” 

“What do you want?” The man glared at the gray duck. The human didn’t seem scared but knew he was in possible danger. 

“Heh, can’t you at least guess? Maybe?” He stood. “I mean, it's not that often you see two alien ducks in one day,” Luke said as he leaned against the office doorway. He took another puff from his cigarette.

“You’re threatening me because I called out that other duck’s publicity stunt?” the author snapped. 

“Alright, first of all, there was no one from ‘our media’ with him,” Luke gave finger quotations as he spoke, cigarette bouncing between a pair, “he came alone and stood in line with all the others. Why couldn’t you just sign his fucking book and let it go?”

“What kind of PTSD trauma do you ducks have? You play hockey, right? You’re celebrities. I don’t see anything about your experiences related to the contents in my book,” the human ranted, more annoyed than anything else.

“Look, you could &lt;;i>technically</i> say that about any of the other ducks around my age born on Earth.,” Luke explained irritably. “But Maestro wasn’t, okay? He came to this planet when he was fourteen. I think he’s only told me about half of the shit he went through before he got to Earth. He really, <i>really</i> liked your book.” He didn’t expect the author to understand, however. “And even though you’re an asshole, obviously, the book helped him a lot. I could tell.”

Luke stood up right, moving closer to the author. The human stood his ground. Completely unempathetic, just as the duck guessed. 

“And what, praytell, did you want me to do about your friend’s problem?” the author demanded, crossing his arms. 

Luke rubbed his own forehead. God, this man was dense. “You wrote a book to help people, and your attitude is like… <i>this</i>?” he sighed. “Look, how about this. Wait a few days, and then send him a signed copy of your book with a nice short note apologizing.”

“And what if I don’t?” the human replied, unfazed. 

“How bad would it look if the advocate against child soldiers was taking blood diamond money this whole time?” Luke threatened, biting down on the cigarette. He took out his phone and opened up a search.

“I’ve done no such thing,” the author grumbled as he loosened the tie from his collar a bit.

“Oh, I can probably find connections in half an hour. If not, I can make a few up, all 100% believable,” Luke stated as he typed on his smartphone, “I might even have it done in fifteen minutes.”

“Impossible. Get out of here now,” the human said sternly, but it also had a slight tone of worry.

“You really want to try me? I’ve already shown that our advanced alien technology just blocked all the electronics in your room. Don’t you think that I could do more?” Luke asked rhetorically.   The other paused and let out a defeated sigh.

“All this because I hurt your friend’s feelings?” the human replied.

“Yep!” Luke could only reply as he gave what could only be described as  a sarcastic ‘buddy buddy’ patting on the back to the author, “I’ll check up on you and make sure you do as I said. Alright?”

“I will,” the author grumbled, reluctantly taking Luke’s threat seriously. Luke was heading away from the author and to the nearby window.

“Then, I’ll catch you later,” Luke replied before opening the window, “and if you breathe a word of this to the cops, I’ll know.”

“Uh.... alright,” the author said unsure as he saw the duck disappear out the window and probably take the fire escape down. Before the human could say anything else he was gone. 

As Luke was walking to the maroon truck he was borrowing he received a text. 

Mae: Where are you at? I just woke up. 

Mae: Not asking because I expect you to come back. 

Mae: Just asking. No rush. 

Luke saw the messages as he got into the maroon pickup. He replied back.

Luke:  I was just picking up your favorite donuts, from that little place across town. 

Mae: Oh geez. You didn’t have to!

Mae: Thank you! <3

Mae: I’m actually hungry for real food now but I’ll eat one on the way to real food or something. Ha.

Luke: Alright. I’ll come pick you up. :)

After he replied he put the phone in the passenger's seat with the box of donuts he really did get before his meeting with the author.

#duckvember 2023 #duckvember #mighty ducks the animated series #duke l'orange #Canard thunderbeak #Lucretia decoy #Maestro Decoy #Luke L'orange

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

previously

Earlier Rory had encouraged Amelie to use her VAMPIRIC ALLURE, and is now finding themselves wondering what on earth they've unleashed upon the club.

"Um, kid. A word?"

Something that had never been fully appreciated, especially not by their father, was that when one had a lot of Fury, one also got real good at keeping that same Fury on a tight leash. When they wanted to. She liked to swim in it, sure. To be surrounded and kept afloat by it. But she always kept the shoreline pinned in the map of her mind and likewise knew how to make her way back. Well, mostly. So perhaps that was why that even though they could scent the uptick of pheromones in the air, they had been keeping their snout and their wits free of it. Those regular normies, however...

JOAQUIN: I'm being truly sincere when I say that you are absolutely the prettiest girl I see here tonight. RORY: Didn't I catch you saying that very same thing to some other unfortunate all of five minutes ago? Also not 'girl.' Don't infantilise an actual grown woman, my guy. GHOST LADY: Ooooh, you got him good....

He and Amelie continued to develop a friendly relationship. In that one of them was very much just being friendly, whereas the other appeared to want something more akin to a relationship.

JOAQUIN: Interesting cocktail you have there. AMELIE: Thank you! It's less unseemly than someone else's neck, don't you think? JOAQUIN: Actually, I don't mind if you get a little unseemly... AMELIE: Actually, I prefer the wrist. Is that all right? JOAQUIN: Unconventional but whatever. You're hot, I'll roll with it.

And that was the story of how Joaquin gave his first ever blood donation.

No one seemed all that bothered, except for this one lady. Who always seems to be perpetually bothered anyway (in my saves at least).

LADY: EXCUSE YOU, HOW IMPROPER- LILITH: Ma'am, you came to a night club in Windenberg and you expected propriety? Although I'm not quite sure what you were expecting, considering that outfit. Fly fishing hat, really?

Across the room, Rory observed as Amelie remained the oblivious calm eye in a storm that was entirely of her own making. Really, she had been concerned that the child was manipulating Lou? This kid truly had no ducking clue.

"Uhh, Amelie? Maybe tone it down a little? You've got Lemon McSqueezy over here looking like he'll never smile again a day in his life."

(I still have no idea why 'Lemon McSqueezy' was pouting so much.)

With the VAMPIRIC ALLURE now safely on 'standby' mode (or... however it worked) Rory was free to attend to other matters. They had of course sniffed out Lilith's significantly more pronounced undead presence the moment they entered the club (Amelie as a newfanged vamp was so much easier on her snout) . But they were in neutral territory and so far, the vampire matriarch was behaving... neutrally. Thus Rory figured that they could be cordial. Ish.

RORY: Everyone has an Opinion on it, I'm sure, but you've kept out of Moonwood business and you've never said shit about my pack or how I raise my pups. So likewise I can't give a duck what you do with your...fledgling. But seriously. She thought that a 'honeypot' meant bees... LILITH: [eternally suffering sigh] Tell me about it...

Rory must have caught Lilith in a rare vulnerable mood, with Lilith likewise catching them in an even rarer vulnerable mood, because they had as close to a heart-to-heart as two bad bitches from such opposing occults have likely shared across the ages.

LILITH: Caleb and I never intended for her to be so... isolated. But she's only recently acquired even a small degree of solar resistance and - well, you know how people can be. With us. RORY: Suppose I do at that, yeah. LILITH: Anyway, while I doubt it was your primary purpose in bringing her here, thanks for looking out. RORY: Anytime. [squints] Is this the part where we're supposed to... hug it out or something? Because I'm passing. LILITH: Oh, with that I can concur.

What happened in the Vatore household later that night, I can only imagine. Likely Amelie went to bed wondering if people in nightclubs were normally so friendly and obliging, while Lilith interrupted one of Caleb's many waterworks fests for a Chat.

#my sims #amelie vatore #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 gameplay #sim 4 alphabet #alphabet legacy #sims 4 vampires #sims 4 werewolves #rory oaklow #lilith vatore #joaquin le chien

[kimbleefucker]

Thanks for answering my ask! Sorry if all the asks are overwhelming/unwanted (just let me know and I will stop asking!) I just love OC chitchat and I can't find anyone to talk about their OCs. (ToT) Anyways sorry, again lmk if these types of asks r annoying and I will cease. I never would've guessed Remi was a wolf chimera, I LOVE that! Is there a more animalistic side/transformation (like how the other fellas in BH)? Do you have a pic? Did remi have the white/silver hair before chimera or was that a side effect? Was wolf chosen during the military experimentation or was it just "alright we can make you any kinda chimera, you might get something cool like a wolf or spider or something lame like idk a literal duck." How/why did Remi get in the military? I read a bit on your SI blog; what kinda alchemy do they do? What inspired the design? I REALLY love the look of your OC because it's like...they fit in seamlessly? I also rarely see OCs with glasses so I guess I'm just intruigied by the design choice ahaha. Not even just design but the story is so. I'm not sure how to word this but like it's not really far-fetched/"out there" , Remi just fits in like they were already in the show. Lol.

NOOOO ITS not annoying at all!!!! Ty!!! I appreciate them tbh I actually never get to talk abt my oc/si and/or their ship bc my friends rlly aren't into ocs

Yeah!! Similar to the other chimeras like that that can shift into a... anthro like form

I haven't drawn it almost ever admittedly and this is even nearly a decade old.... I should redraw it

I've considered if I should make it a side effect!! I never delved into it but when I conceptualized it, it had been a result of the chimerafication

Tbh we don't exactly know how the animals were chosen, but Heinkel and Darius and a Lion and Gorilla respectively, so it felt right- with both being considered sort of "top tier" if their animal class, a wolf felt like it slotted in with them. And they are the chimeras that don't take issue with being chimeras! So it felt right to associate w them.

I had originally conceptualized them as a plant specialist in alchemy, probably somewhat similar to the Tringham Brothers in 03, but I've never fully fleshed out that part bc im still unsure. It was part of the Ishval route. But as for the reason behind the military, that's mostly because Amestris is a military nation and the best way to success is thru the military, especially as a state alchemist! It's a bit shallow, intentionally.

As for the design, I tried to make them look as close to me as possible! My hair isn't quite as long anymore, and my glasses are silver instead of gold now, so I've considered updating the design but never got around to it! There's also that long time skip (idk like 6 months) in between promised day and events prior, so I've considered updating it and associating it with promised day in lieu of that

The glasses admittedly are bc I do wear glasses! I guess I could have taken them off but like, I take pride in being a megane character and I think those traits add to my oc/si as well ((:

TY!!!!!! I know ofc canon compliance isn't Obligatory but I rlly did want it to feel very Natural and In Line with the series, as much as I could. I wanted any degree of seamless believability, that could be adapted at a moments notice. It's just part of the fun fr me... trying to fit into the rules as close as possible as an outline for all the character and design choices... so I'm rlly glad that it paid off !!!

#fma oc #fullmetal alchemist oc #solf j. kimblee #solf j kimblee #kimblee #art by rigamo12 on twt #the character card is by me tho (:

[masterdizzi]

Do you have any ginger hirano headcanons

Yes, yes I do.

Stacy has a purple bracelet on her right arm, I headcanon that Ginger has one as well and she is the one who made the bracelet for Stacy originally, she doesn't wear hers but keeps it as a comfort item

Stacy is Ginger's main source of comfort and vice-versa

Ginger is incredibly gifted and great at almost everything, hence why her sister is so jealous of her but in reality Stacy is great at things as well but Ginger just knows it better than her. She does her best because she wants to see her sister proud of her but instead it makes her jealous.

Stacy and Ginger do get along when Stacy dosent feel compared to her by their mom, they have their average sibling rambles (FYIO) but they still love each other.

Ginger is airheaded and has a very short attention span, just like her sister.

Despite all that, she's very devoted as a fireside girl and tries to not lose focus while on the job.

Ginger doesn't let negative things the other girls say get to her, like her crush on Baljeet.

Ginger has a very great memory and is an amazing listener (in Bee story, she listens to Baljeet's boring speech about bee communication and is able to replicate it to the girls later in the episode)

Of the rest of the FSG troop, Ginger gets along best with Adyson.

Ginger knows Japanese

If Ginger notices that Stacy is in a bad mood, she talks to her to cheer her up.

Ginger and Stacy are awful at sharing

She likes to feed the ducks in her free time.

After the events of "Bubble Boys" Ginger got herself a color coded schedule to match Baljeet, she also copies a lot of his interests so she has something to say if they come in conversation

Ginger wants to be just like her sister

She is very oblivious to a lot of things

Stacy being angry at her is one of the few things that actually hurts her feelings

Ginger wears bows in her casualwear just like her sister.

Most of Ginger's clothes are Stacy's old clothes that she outgrew

Ginger doesn't like hanging out with the backyard squad unless Baljeet is there

Ginger is the best watchman in the fireside girl troop

When on duty, Ginger often talks about Baljeet for absolutely no reason

Ginger first heard about Mishti from Phineas and ever since, she's had a deep hatred for her.

Anytime her sister is preforming, ANYWHERE, she makes sure she has a front row seat, no matter how hard she has to work to get it.

Ginger is an early-bird

Ginger and Stacy don't hide secrets from each-other so when Stacy learned about Perry's identity, she had a hard time not telling her sister

Due to parallels, Ginger is the most supportive of Isabella's crush on Phineas out of the Fireside girl troop

Ginger likes cookies and gets upset anytime Stacy eats hers, (this happens often)

Ginger doesn't have a competitive spirit Vs her sister, but Stacy does

Purple is Ginger's favourite color, but she's fond of teal solely because her sister is, vice-versa is true with Stacy

Candace had absolutely no idea the two were sisters until Stacy brought it up in a conversation once, long story short, she felt like an idiot

Ginger is third in command in troop 46321, so she leads on the rare occasion that Isabella and Gretchen are both absent, that usually involves helping Baljeet which the other girls hate but in the episode "Brain Drain", Baljeet is sick too. I headcanon that she spent that day helping her sister.

#phineas and ferb #pnf #ginger hirano #stacy hirano #isabella garcia shapiro #gretchen #milly #holly #adyson sweetwater #katie #pnf headcanon #headcanon #baljeet tjinder #dr hirano #perry the platypus #phineas flynn #ferb fletcher #buford van stomm #candace flynn

[anotherblinder]

A small update!! I know I've been slow on updates and stories as of late but rn it's going to take a big dip for awhile. on Sunday (so yesterday my time) we had a ef1 tornado come down our street. I need some time to recover emotionally since it was literally my worst nightmare come to life. lmao always fun living out a nightmare irl. ANYWAY, please understand that this lack of activity is for me to be able to process everything and try to get back to normal.

I am perfectly fine and so is my family and animals. we sustained no damage to our house, the only damage was the duck fence when the old almond tree fell on it. all animals are alive and accounted for. which i am so very grateful for as the ducks and chickens were in the yard at the time. there were no casualties that happened at all in this incident but some houses were badly damaged. my family is grateful we were very lucky and sustained very minimal damage.

I hope to be able to write again soon. for now do not expect any updates until one randomly appears 😂. I'm not sure how long that'll be but I'm hoping not too long as over the years I grew to be unscared of my tornado nightmares has actually helped me cope with this event. currently i get spooked by the sometimes loud wind outside or planes passing over so it'll take some time.

im hoping that if its a wet winter and we get storms that will also help me cope and get used to the noises again. it is very rare that we get tornados in this state and especially this area. this is the first time ever in all my 24 years of living here. with that being said, i love you all and have a Happy Thanksgiving 💕 stay safe 🩵

🌼 Jay

#anotherblinder talks

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Dinner for Two [Ch. 2]

Non-Idol AU, Chef AU

TW: Descriptions of a Fight, Bullies, Mild Descriptions of Cuts and Bruises

CW: Food

Genre: Slow Burn Romance, Drama, Light Comedy

Pairing: Chef!Na Jaemin x Reader

YN Pronouns: Not Specified

(2/?) [Previous] | [Next]

[NCT Masterlist] | [Other Groups Masterlist] | [Dinner for Two Masterlist]

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: Here’s part two! I hope you’re all enjoying, so far! It’s a bit of a slow burn hehe

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

II. Hors d'Oeuvere

The beginning of a multiple-coursed meal. It is akin to a savory appetizer to be served prior to the later parts of the meal. It provides but a glimpse to the art to come after while also representing a small bit of the Chef’s expression and learnings behind their course. The Chef in question pulls this from his past.

He remembers it being cold that morning. The day he had to decide whether to stay with his mother in the small seaside town, the woman who nurtured and supported him for nearly twelve years now, or if he should leave with his father to the city, his father who begged and pleaded to keep his son in his life and to leave behind the rickety port town. As soon as Jaemin started showing interest in the culinary arts, his father had jumped at the opportunity to ask him to move with him, he promised to be a proper father and to provide supplies and funds for Jaemin’s interests. His mother, bless her soul, told Jaemin that it was his choice, but to leave that to a child was not the wisest.

That day was a beautiful one, a rare sight for the port town. If every day was like that, maybe Jaemin would have stayed. The snow was fresh on the floor, a field of white contrasting the lull of the waves. It looked just like icing atop a cake, smoothened out at the edges and forming soft peaks. With snow filtering down from the sky and landing on every and any surface it could touch, it reminded him of powdered sugar finishing a pastry, the final and light touch to an otherwise completed dessert. It was an undisturbed beauty to marvel at, something to enjoy with a warm beverage or a hearty meal. It was best enjoyed in company, or so his mother would often say. But, to counteract this, to be young is to find beauty in all things, to find the simplest of joys as the most wondrous of things, and to make the best out of all situations regardless of whether or not they understood the gravity of it all.

At the time, he just wanted to be a chef, and a good one at that. He didn’t know the repercussions it would have later, nor did he have the care to think about it at that age.

For now, Jaemin would just understand that day to be a beautiful one.

But the snow didn’t stay undisturbed forever, nothing ever does. Soon, Jaemin heard shouts outside and he ducked under the window, hoping that he wouldn’t get in trouble, but curiosity would be the death of him, and instead he peered out ever so slightly to see the scene that was just on the edge of his listening abilities.

“Back off! Leave my brother alone!” The child sneered at the bully. Jaemin couldn’t tell who it was as they were covered head to toe in warm clothing. Standing in front of who he assumed to be their brother, they held their hands up and shut their eyes tight. “Pick on someone your own size!” Their brother cowered behind them, crouching down close to the snow and holding his head in his hands while tears streamed down his bruised face.

“What a loser! The cripple really thinks he can go to the moon someday!” The bully sneered, making a move to land yet another kick to the boy who was already downed, something which drove the bruised and battered child to cry even more. “Out of the way!” The bully shoved the child aside.

“Stop it!” Another boy, a bit more frail-looking but not nearly as bad compared to the one on the ground, shouted from afar. He ran up to the child who had been knocked down and helped them up. “You have nothing to prove by attacking my siblings!” He dusted off the child’s jacket, making sure the snow was away from their face.

“Hey! Leave them alone!” Another boy ran out now, tackling down the bully. “You don’t touch my siblings like that!” He shouts at the top of his lungs.

“Ugh, so much for not fighting,” the frail boy scoffs. The bully and the other boy tumbled in the snow before the bully shoved the boy off of him. The child grabs a fistful of snow and chucking it at the bully who had just stood up. The force of the roughly shaped snowball knocked him back down.

“My older brother says that if I can’t say anything nice then I shouldn’t say anything at all but he’s not here right now and I’m really mad! So you’re a meanie!” The child picks up more snow and hurls it towards the bully. The other boy ran towards the cowering one, helping him up and holding him so that he wouldn’t get hurt anymore.

All the while the young Jaemin watched from his house window, pleasantly amused yet shocked and wondering if he should call for help, but seeing the child absolutely demolish the bully was something he wanted to see the end to. He himself had been victim to his bullying before, it was nice to see karma finally hit him, literally. He was used to seeing other kids run around picking fights, but never had he seen it happen so close to home. He only caught the latter end of the scuffle, and such alone was very entertaining, but when he glanced out of the window, it was then he saw why they were fighting in the first place. Before he knew it he was rushing outside to help.

What best to soothe the cold than warm soup? When he offered it to the group of children, they just laughed at him, but the cut and bruised one only nodded and said: “yes, please.”

Jaemin was quick to lead them in. His parents were out at the moment, they had told him that they would be back late. The three siblings walked in, trailing water behind them from the melting snow, and the last one closed the door behind him. Jaemin ran to the kitchen.

“Just a second!” He says. He watches the four sit down at the kitchen table and Jaemin got to work. A simple chicken noodle should do, nothing too fancy, Jaemin would just use the can from the cupboard and add a few more things to it. Pulling out all the necessary ingredients, Jaemin prepared it exactly as his mother taught him to. In no time, the soup was ready. He prepared them into separate bowls and laid them out in front of the three, all of which were waiting in excitement.

The frail sibling reached over and took the youngest one’s hat off.

“Dad says no hats at the table!” He brushes the stray snow off of the child’s head.

“Dad’s not even here,” the daring one mumbled. The youngest took a spoonful of the bruised one’s soup and held the spoon up to his mouth.

“I can feed myself!”

“Dad says I have to help you, so suck it up!”

“No!”

“Just eat it!” The youngest shoved the spoon into the brother’s mouth and he stopped. His eyes grew wide and a small gasp left his mouth. He takes the spoon from the youngest and eats more.

“This is really good! Did you make it yourself?” He asks Jaemin.

“Yeah, weren’t you watching me?” Jaemin takes a seat next to the daring sibling.

“I mean, yeah, but wow this is great,” he pushes the youngest’s bowl closer to them. The youngest starts eating too, and immediately a smile rose.

“Wow… you’re like a master chef, or something!” The youngest compliments Jaemin. Jaemin, feeling heat rise to his face, drinks some of the soup as well to cover it. The daring one pats his shoulder.

“You’re really cool for this! You didn’t have to help us, but you did! That’s pretty rad, dude,” the daring sibling had a wide smile. They all conversed and smiled among themselves as they ate the warm soup. The ice on their hands had long thawed out and instead all they felt was warmth.

Then, they heard rapid knocking at the door. Jaemin walked over and opened it, seeing yet another boy holding a plastic ziplock filled with cash. The bills inside were soaked from the snow and dirtied in some places, it all looked kind of disgusting, actually. Yet, he had a toothy grin while he leaned over and spotted the three.

“Look, guys! I found all the money that Ben threw out!” He held up the bag so that they could see. The bruised boy’s eyes lit up and he walked slowly to the other, holding his hand out for the bag. The tanned boy handed it to him and the bruised one counted the bills inside.

“It really is everything!” His smile matches the other’s. “Thank you so much! I thought it would all be gone,” he says.

“What’s that?” Jaemin was curious and so he had to ask.

“I’m saving up so I can go to the moon!” The bruised one smiles, a new fervor taking over his features like none other.

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms

NCT Tag List: @cherrylovr @minjiville @resonantcherry 

Dinner for Two Tag List: @leesalts

If you want to be added to either tag list or removed just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

#nct #nct x reader #nct x you #nct x yn #nct u #nct u x reader #nct u x you #nct u x yn #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #nct dream x yn #jaemin x reader #jaemin x you #jaemin x yn #my writings #dinner for two

[dudewhy3]

For the fanfic writer emoji ask, I dare you to answer all of them 😌

you're funny, i like you

i already answered some of them, so i'll answer the others here. thank you for the ask!!♡

😅 ✍️🍦💖🏆🤗🤩

😈 🧐🦅💞🤲✅️⌛️🤯

🥺🛒💖🌞🧠🤭

✍️🛒💋🎶❌️🍦🙋‍♀️🎨👀📚

🤡 a line/scene/moment/exchange i've written that made me laugh: the Rice Fiasco in chapter 7 of wpts and the Duck Team scene in chapter 8. fun stuff

✍️ do you have a beta reader? YOU ARE THE BETA READER AHAHAHA

🛠 what tools/programs/apps do you use to write? google docs. that's it lmao. i sometimes use the writer bot on discord, if that counts

🍷 do you drink and write? ....yeah, sometimes

🍆 do you write spicy stuff? i'm not comfortable with writing it at this point in my life welp

🎃 do you write fics for holidays? i do actually! i have a Christmas au as well as an Easter au

🎯 have any of your readers guessed any major plot points? they used to guess every plot point back in 2020, when "There for You" was a thing

🎨 how do you feel about fanart of your stories? i love and adore it whenever someone draws for my stories, you'll get crushed in internet hugs if you do that ♡

🤗 advice for new writers: write for yourself and post for the 5 to 10 people that will read and comment (not my words but they stuck with me). also try to have an outline of your stories, or a general plan. It's easier to write without getting lost this way. And take breaks. If it starts feeling like too much, take a break, go for a walk, don’t burn yourself out. It's okay, your story and your readers will still be there when you come back ♡

🧠 and you picked Sasha so: She loves literature. yeah that’s it

💌 how do you feel about comments and feedback? i love both really, it makes me happy whenever i recieve any. it makes me want to keep going and write more and update more often and it just generally fills me with joyyyy

💲 will you ever open comissions? i actually haven't thought about this yet, i'm not sure

📈 how many fics do you have? 16 and counting

👀 tell me about an up and coming wip please. well. ok. there's this university au where Armin's Grandfather is their biggest shipper, but Annie is too afraid to be honest with her feelings and they just end up hurting each other. you know. fun stuff

🤲 would you please share a snippet of your wip? already did it here, but i'll share another as a treat:

Another bit from chapter 9 of Who painted the sky?:

She steals a glance at her colleague, who’s just as unbothered as always, then goes back to watching the game just as Hitch manages to take Armin out. The boy falls dramatically, acting wounded, the children’s laughter echoing through the yard; his antics bring a smile on the host’s lips. Hannah watches as Hitch runs to her team and high fives everyone, jumping around so excitedly. In the meantime, Annie offers Armin her hand to help him up, and the boy takes it gratefully; only to pull her to the floor with him. After a moment of silently staring at each other, Armin mutters something, and the two of them start snickering. Hannah finds herself watching them closely before realising just how intimate of a moment that must be and looking away. They sure seem to share such a rare bond, however unexpected.

😬 which of your works would you be the most horrified for your friends, family, coworkers, to stumble across? all of them. they're pieces of myself that i don’t want certain people to know of

🎉 what leads you to consider a fic a success? it’s all up to how happy ot makes me really

🥰 how do you feel about reader interaction? it makes me happy whenever readers interact with my fics, be it a lengthy comment on my prose or a short 'thanks, i'm looking forward to the continuation', it always makes me very happy

#ok now THIS was a lot #but i had so much fun hahaha #thank you for the ask! #mimi tag #ask game

[icewindandboringhorror]

Daily Log 8

Trying out (probably just temporarily) making short daily-ish notes about things, in an attempt to see if it helps me be more reflective or productive lol.

Activities: Dr's appointment early in the morning, then had to go to the bank and pick up one other thing after. Of course since minimal exertion somehow makes me exhausted for the entire day because of the many wretched curses upon my physical form, I didn't accomplish much else lol..

Took pictures of the avocado pit carved items. Not sure when I'll have the time to edit and post them.

FINALLY did plant the Nasturtiums, and a few other plants! I dislike most "yardwork", especially pulling weeds, because it's hard for me to tell what counts as a "weed" or not, since some of these apparent "weeds" are also pretty flowers and I feel bad for destroying them. A while ago at a relative's house they were doing yardwork and I saw a pile of some of these "weeds" on the ground, so I took a few home to try and replant them. I finally got around to putting them in real containers today, and most of them seem to be doing well so far.

Unfortunately the 'forget me not' flowers (some of my favorites because of blue being one of my favorite colors) never seem to transplant well, after multiple attempts at saving them from people's yards and thinking I've dug down deep enough to get all the roots this time and etc. etc. , they just seem to kind of flop and die after replanting them.. epic gardening fail.. misery and sadness . so on and so forth

Edited next sims let's play video for like barely 15 minutes.

Thought about a few ideas for the story I think I mentioned in the first Daily Log about a doctor and magical experiments. :3c

Had a lot of what seems like nerve pain?? or something?? in my arms radiating down to my fingertips and wrists (likely something to do with my shoulder blades/chest/back of upper neck/shoulder area being perpetually problematic), so I didn't do a lot of work with my hands or computer stuff for long.. stimky

Sketched out one of the border sections for the tapestry painting thing, but really Thought About It more than Did Any Tangible Progress.

Washed like two miserable little dishes in my cringe fail kitchen sink with my loser lame achy fingers and hands

Notable sights: SAW SOME GEESE when walking past a park today!!!! I rarely ever see geese, mostly just ducks and common birds and squirrels around here. There were also some interesting plants I briefly got to look at in a store on the way home from my appointment. I don't even want much in life (yet it all seems so unattainable for someone in my situation lol), like I don't want to have a mansion or anything, but just a modest little house with a small yard would be so cool.. I would love to actually curate a real permanent garden instead of everything having to be in pots all the time. connection across time with my very likely peasant ancestors, looking up to the sky like 'ah, if only I were part of the landowning class'

Goals moving forward: SUPER focus on social activities, finding new friends in the places I want to move, communicating with ones I have, because I keep ignoring this for weeks and I am never going to have a social support network if I don't actually build one lol.. Living in a broad interconnected society where social tethers are pivotal for survival (unless you're rich - and even then, social connections likely help substantially in career and etc. - most currently rich people had rich parents, etc. etc.) is so antithetical to my hermit nature.. aughhh....Why so inherently difficult for brain to Process Socialization And Communication. >:V

Physical therapy exercises. Finish and upload videos, edit costume pictures & etc. Do the new costumes I've planned. MAKE SCULPTURES at some point, I miss them.

Notable foods: ASPARAGUS DAY FghdhVGVTYYEAAAAA!!! asparagus squad1!!!!! Also went against the evil nutritionist diet and allowed myself one serving of bread which I used to make a spicy turkey wrap sort of thing. >:) I miss being able to make spicy pickled onions and stuff. Still wishing for heartier food too.. I get blood testing soon, so maybe I'll find out if I'm actually deficient in something that's giving me constant cravings lol..

#just posting these publicly since it feels more like I'm doing something or easier to hold yourself accountable if you make public #declarations of goals and progress or etc. .. perhaps.. for now #no rambling tags today... too seepy eepy #investing my limited time stocks into Napping Incorporated instead of The Longwinded Typing Company #daily log

[belphegor1982]

Can I have a director's cut on "Loopy," please?

You didn’t specify a part so I went with ALL OF IT. Prepare yourself :P

(Sorry it’s so late, I’ve been working on it for the past couple of weeks - you’d think I could’ve got this out for the actual Groundhog Day, but nope, had to finish it the day after 😅

Loopy

Plop… plop.

Okay, so this story came into being because of the 2014 Short Story Speed-Writing Challenge, which is a thing that happens (or at least did happen in the 2000s-2010s, I’m ashamed to say I haven’t been paying this fandom the attention it deserves lately) in the Hogan’s Heroes fandom, especially on a little FFnet forum called Forum XIIIC. Basically, you have two weeks within set dates to write a story 1k to 4k words long, which has to start with (or have) one of the prompts from a list that could go from “first lines of a novel” to “random lines from existing HH fics”. I think that particular year was the “existing fic” line. (EDIT: it was − namely ML Miller Breedlove’s Gone Fishing.) for some reason I latched onto it and it collided with the “Carter experiences a Groundhog Day Loop” idea I’d been jotting down notes about a while ago. That’s why I love these fandom events − you never know what they’re going to inspire from you!

I’m assuming that anyone reading below the cut has already read the fic, so heads up, I’m just gonna drop spoilers for plot twists here and there :D

The night breeze shook a couple of drops from recent rain into the river from overhanging branches. Aside from that and the rustling of trees, the woods were absolutely quiet. The sort of quiet heroes complained of in adventure books.

Carter never saw the point in complaining when things got quiet. But then I’m not a hero, am I.

Of course he is, but since he’s also Andrew J. Carter, he won’t believe it in a hundred years.

“Wake up, Carter!”

Carter turned back from the bridge in the near distance and frowned. “I wasn’t sleeping, Newkirk.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell with you.”

It’s weirdly difficult for me sometimes to write Newkirk & Carter banter, because unlike with LeBeau, insults and digs roll off Carter like water off a duck’s back, but that doesn’t mean Carter is stupid, either. He’s oblivious, sure, and cheerful and easy-going, but sometimes Newkirk’s barbs do get to him and he’s like “Hey!” (and sometimes − though rarely − he’ll dish right back, leaving Newkirk with his mouth open like a big dog who’s just been karate-flipped on his back by a mouse :D)

“Cut the wisecracks,” Colonel Hogan said in a loud whisper. “Kinch, do you see anything?”

“All clear, Colonel.”

“Then let’s go. And keep your eyes and ears open, fellas.”

I had to be careful with the dialogue, since it would’ve been really easy for the repetition to make it annoying. It starts pretty generic, and it’s the repetition and differences that keep the reader’s interest (hopefully). But also I had a lot of fun with parallels and contrasts, like for example Newkirk’s “Wake up, Carter!”

Retrieving a downed flyer was never a walk in the park, but at least they wouldn’t have to search in every bush or under ever fern to find him. An Underground agent had called on the radio with crucial information, as well as the fact that he was currently hiding an English Lieutenant recently escaped from Stalag V. Sandman (said agent) checked out, and Hogan had agreed to meet in order to retrieve the pilot.

Carter followed Kinch, Newkirk and Hogan across the bridge to the rendezvous point nearby, with LeBeau bringing up the rear. Below them, the waters ran pitch-black despite the half-moon light.

Sandman emerged from a bush half a dozen yards from the river bank and signalled them.

“There are seven stories,” he said.

“As there are seven days of the week,” Hogan replied evenly. That made just about as much sense as the first part as far as Carter was concerned. Sometimes he wondered where the guys who thought up those codes got them.

From fairy tales in canon, pretty consistently! Which makes it a challenge for fic writers to find fairy tales to allude to that haven’t been used in the show or in other fics. Here, “There are seven stories, as they are seven days of the week” is from Ole Lukøje, Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of the Sandman. It’s about the Sandman telling stories to a little boy to take him to sleep; if he’s good, he’s getting good dreams, and if he’s bad, he gets nightmares. I pulled that thread throughout the story in little nods, like the seven stories/days of the week that almost became seven loops. In the end, I ran out of room and inspiration, so there’s six of them, but if you squint and include the first part there are seven :D

Sandman smiled.

“Hello, Papa Bear. Good to finally see you in person.”

“I’m told you might have something of mine?” said Hogan, shaking his hand. As if on cue, a broad-shouldered guy in a RAF uniform stepped out from behind a tree and saluted.

“Flight Lieutenant Charles Hickman, sir. May I say, I was warned that this might happen, but it’s a mite peculiar all the same.”

Usually I try to flesh out OCs better than this, but Sandman and Flight Lieutenant Hickman didn’t really need more than they got. (I really laid on the Britishness thick with Hickman, too.) At least you gradually find out more about Sandman as the story goes on?

Hogan raised an eyebrow. “‘This’ meaning your capture, or our little Travellers Aid Society meeting?”

“Truthfully, sir, both.”

“Here,” chimed in Sandman, handing Hogan an envelope. “Every troop movement between Hammelburg and Düsseldorf for the past three weeks.” His face grew sombre. “People died for this information. I hope you will make good use of it.”

This is particularly cynical in the light of the later reveal, huh? People died, yeah − because he must have seen personally to some of them.

“We will,” said Hogan solemnly. “In the meantime, you –”

“Wait,” LeBeau interrupted. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I don’t know… something in the bushes. Maybe just an animal or –”

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!”

All hell broke loose.

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!” means “Stop! Freeze/Don’t move!”

Amidst the gunfire, the shouting and the muzzle flashes that made his eyes water, Carter counted a dozen Gestapo. They had shouted their warning, and now they were firing at anything that moved – and at, he saw with a mounting horror that made his hands shake and his bile rise in his throat, at least two bodies that didn’t move. Before he had time to find out who it was, he stumbled, shuddered, and fell to his knees; pain that hadn’t been there (or maybe he hadn’t paid attention to it) a second ago flared through his chest, leaving him limp and light-headed, barely aware that the blood running down his front was not a good sign.

As he fell headfirst into the cold earth and the shredded leaves, the terror vanished, and he was numb, indifferent to what was happening to him – the pain was fading, too – his only thoughts for Hogan, Newkirk, LeBeau, Kinch, hoping they could make it through.

Look, you can’t exactly say that Carter is self-effacing, but he’s definitely not as in-your-face a character as Hogan, LeBeau or Newkirk, or even Kinch, for all that he’s quiet. When explosives are off the table he doesn’t seem to be as self-confident as the others, and it just felt right to go that extra little step and have him be self-sacrificing as well. Like, the guys were okay before I got here, they’d be okay without me. (except NO THEY BLOODY WOULDN’T BE!)

Something fell against him with the weight and finality of death.

Carter didn’t live long enough to know whose corpse it was.

Yeah, I deliberately kept the first ending as vague and brutal as possible. At this point the reader should be confused and horrified, maybe more the former than the latter. And then...)

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Carter!”

“W—what?”

I’m alive!?

And there you are – back to the beginning! That’s why the repetition of “plop... plop” and “Wake up, Carter” was essential. Only these two sentences, mind you – Carter reacts differently every time.

Carter ran a shaking hand across his chest, looking for the bullet wound, his heart thumping wildly. The blasts from the German machine guns were still echoing in his ears, along with the chilling moans of men about to die – including his own, he realised with a jolt – and the smell of blood-soaked earth overpowered everything else.

Nothing like some small but visceral details to pull you into a story!

But everything was quiet, normal. No Gestapo, no machine guns, just the busy silence of nightlife going about their business, the wind in the branches, and the “plop” of raindrops falling into the river.

In case the reader’s forgotten where the “plop plop” came from :o)

The bridge stretched before them. Kinch was scanning their surroundings for anything suspicious, apparently finding nothing of the sort.

Maybe Carter had been day-dreaming.

But it had felt so real…

The first snap back has Carter doubt it actually happened. Because honestly, by Occam’s Razor rules you’re not gonna jump straight to a Groundhog Day loop situation − you’re going to think you had a very vivid hallucination.

“Carter, are you all right? You’re so pale you’re practically glowing in the dark.”

Aww, Newkirk cares behind the snark 💖

“Cut the wisecracks,” Colonel Hogan said in a loud whisper. Wait. What? “Everyone okay? Right. Kinch, do you see anything?”

“All clear, Colonel.”

“Then let’s go. And keep your eyes and ears open, fellas.”

See? Even with slight differences (Carter being shaken and Newkirk sort of noticing it), the dialogue stays on track... and so does the rest of it.

This felt oddly familiar to Carter, like a song he didn’t remember hearing but that he knew anyway. An uncomfortable feeling crept over him, intensifying when Sandman popped out of his bush and Hogan strode towards him.

“LeBeau,” he muttered, “what’s the French word for when you think you’ve already seen what you’re seeing right now?”

“What, déjà vu?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a 90% chance Carter wouldn’t know this particular phenomenon, since I’m not sure just how much it popped up in fiction at the time, but the occasion was too good to pass, come on.

Newkirk shot him an odd look, but Carter ignored him, still profoundly uneasy. Ahead of them, Hogan and Sandman exchanged passwords, something about seven stories and seven days of the week – and boy but the absurdity of it rang a bell in Carter’s head.

“I’m told you might have something of mine?” said Hogan. Before he had finished speaking, Carter knew which tree the pilot was hiding behind.

Flight Lieutenant Charles Hickman.

How do I know that? I can’t know that! Unless…

“Flight Lieutenant Charles Hickman, sir.” Carter’s heart leaped in his throat. “May I say, I was warned that this might happen, but it’s a mite peculiar all the sa—”

“Sir?” The bell in Carter’s head had become a giant flashing light. He stepped in and looked at Hogan straight in the eye, trying to ignore the mounting panic. “Something’s wrong.”

For the moment Carter’s just reacting to the weird déjà vu sensation – he’s not quite ahead of the plot yet.

His CO went from a bantering mood to deadly serious in the space of a second. “How?”

Yes, Carter often has his head in the clouds, but when it comes down to it he’s also a competent spy and Hogan trusts him implicitly.

Well, there wasn’t two ways around it. “I… I think Gestapo’s coming. Right now.”

Sandman’s eyes went round and he looked around him. “What?”

Sandman’s going both “how can this guy know that” and “crap, are they there already??”

Hogan shushed him and turned to Kinch and Newkirk, who were keeping lookout to the bridge and the nearby woods. “Anything suspicious, guys?”

“Don’t think so, Colonel,” said Newkirk slowly.

“Well, let’s not stay and find out. Hickman, with us. Sandman, we owe you big time.”

“Wait!” They had started back, but Sandman ran after them. “You forgot the troop movements!”

“Wait! You can’t leave this early, the Gestapo’s not there yet! I have to stall!”

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!”

Oh, no…

The Gestapo patrol ran towards them, and suddenly Carter saw with absolute clarity that yes, it had happened before, and he was probably not going crazy. It wasn’t much of a comfort to be right in those circumstances.

“Run, guys, r—!”

In the ear-splitting chaos he never saw the black-uniformed man raise a gun to his head.

This time he died instantly.

Small mercies :’(

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Cart—”

“RUN!”

He basically just finished his last thought here.

Only when the four of them stared at him in a mixture of alarm and incredulity did Carter realise he had shouted at the top of his lungs. Still shaking all over, he sucked in a breath and tried to calm down his pounding heart.

They were back at the bridge. Again.

They were all alive. For now.

“What’s wrong, Carter?” asked Kinch, frowning, but his voice gentle.

Kinch will always give a friend the benefit of the doubt 💜

“Gestapo—patrol,” Carter panted, taking off his cap and wiping his forehead. It was cold enough that he could see his breath hanging in the air, but he was drenched in sweat. “V—very close.”

The woods were completely silent, but nobody questioned him and everyone dove for the bushes.

In their line of work, they can’t afford not to take something like this seriously. (but they will snark afterwards if nothing happened - and even if something did happen, to grasp at something familiar.)

However, after it became obvious that wherever that patrol was, it was nowhere near them, they emerged to scan the bridge and both banks of the river. Then turned looks on Carter that ranged between sceptical and angry.

“Thanks for the false alarm, Carter,” said LeBeau, brushing wet leaves from his jacket.

“Ever heard of the boy who cried ‘wolf’?” Newkirk said in his most sardonic tone.

Carter took a deep breath. “Look… If we cross that bridge, a patrol will turn up and kill us all.”

Everyone stared at him – he felt a complete fool – but he held his ground. This was too important.

As he lied to convince them not to meet Sandman, he tried to push down the disgust at the idea of abandoning the Underground agent and the British pilot to their fate. Maybe the Gestapo would not consider two men the same threat as seven, and not shoot first and ask questions later? Maybe they could spring them later from the Gestapo HQ? Sandman had dealt with Papa Bear once or twice, but never face-to-face. He had no idea they were POWs.

It was all for the greater good.

(since Hot Fuzz (2006) I canNOT hear/read this phrase without hearing an echo in my head (the greater good) XD)

A little voice whispered, Keep telling yourself that, Andrew.

He felt sick.

Carter doesn’t do well with guilt :(

When they finally crossed the bridge – Hogan reluctantly giving Carter the benefit of the doubt and deciding to remain hidden until they were sure it was safe – they were too late. The Gestapo patrol held a gun on Hickman, the pilot, and one of them was gripping Sandman by the arm.

Oh no, they caught the flyer and the Underground agent! (right?)

Hogan shot Carter a strange look and silently ordered his men back to camp.

Only the wild hope that they would all make it to camp alive kept Carter from taking his CO aside and telling him everything. He still wasn’t quite sure he would be able to meet his own eyes in the mirror when they got back.

Carter had always been a little accident-prone, and it always got worse when he was distracted.

Which is why he didn’t see the root before he tripped on it and fell into the ferns.

He does do that in canon sometimes :D Also I toyed with the idea of having whether or not he actually survived ambiguous, but in the end I preferred this ending, since it’s a change from the violence and it makes it obvious that just Our Heroes surviving ain’t gonna cut it.

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Carter!”

Hey, I didn’t die this time! was his first thought, closely followed by a fervent I’m not letting these guys get captured again. No way.

“Oi! Are you—”

“The coast is clear. What are we waiting for?”

And he ran to the bridge without waiting to see the others’ reactions.

“Maybe if I speed-run through the whole thing the Gestapo won’t have time to catch up!”

Unfortunately, neither Sandman nor Hickman had reached the rendezvous point just yet.

“Carter!” hissed Hogan as he crouched down near him, white with fury. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten killed – you could have gotten us all killed!”

In any other circumstances, this dressing-down from one of the men Carter respected most would have made him wish the ground would open up and swallow him; now, however, the memories of the previous fiascos were so vivid and he was so focused on getting everything right this time that he brushed it off.

Sandman appeared taken aback at finding them already there when he arrived.

“There are seven stor—”

“As there are seven days of the week,” Carter interrupted. Then, raising his voice a little, “It’s okay, Lieutenant, come on out!”

Hogan grabbed him by the arm. “What are you playing at?”

Of course Hogan trusts his men, but this is WTF, even for them.

His voice was low and dangerous, and it sent a chill down Carter’s spine. Carter’s resolve weakened significantly, but he didn’t back down. Instead he threw a pleading look at his friends and his CO.

“Could you guys just trust me on this? I swear it’s important, and we’re kinda on a clock here.”

Then, as Hickman hesitatingly stepped out from behind his tree, Carter turned to Sandman and held out a hand.

“Troop movements, please?”

Sandman’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that? Nobody but me knows.”

“You said it was crucial information,” Kinch pointed out. “Is that it?”

“Yes it is, but your man is not supposed to know! What else do you know?” He turned on Carter with surprising venom. “Who are you spying for?”

That’s rich, coming from a double agent. But also, stalling again!

“Now wait a minute, mate,” Newkirk cut in. “You’re way off!”

“He’s no spy!” said LeBeau hotly. “Enfin, si, mais… he’s not a traitor!”

In this context, “Enfin, si, mais” means “I mean/Well, yes/he is, but”. si here is the specific “yes” that contradicts a previous negative statement.

Also, no matter how weird Carter is being at the moment (or generally speaking), nobody else gets to insult him in Newkirk’s and LeBeau’s hearing, or worse, threaten him. Nobody, period 💜

Carter almost smiled, but between the ticking clock and the oncoming Gestapo, nervousness was giving way to sheer dread. “Could we do this somewhere else? I—I mean go elsewhere? Right now?”

Hogan squinted at him. Carter stared right back.

Please, please, Colonel, he thought as hard as he could, as if Hogan could read actually minds – sometimes he could make a fellow believe he could. I know I’m a goof and I mess things up sometimes, but right now I’m dead serious and I need you to believe me!

Hogan’s appraisal seemed to turn out in his favour, and he nodded slightly. Carter sagged with relief.

“Okay. Sandman, the information, please. Come with us, Flight Lieutenant; we’ll sort out the rest later.”

“Nobody goes anywhere.” To Carter’s dismay, Sandman pulled a gun and pointed it straight at him. “Not until I’m sure he’s not a traitor.”

Isn’t it ironic that the loop where Carter is intent to hurry things up as much as he can is also the loop where they spend the most time in this particular place? Also, hello, Chekhov’s gun! Yep, Sandman has a gun, and now Carter – and the reader  – knows it.

“Oh, for the love of…”

Carter found himself flanked with Newkirk on one side and LeBeau on the other, both glaring at the agent in surprisingly similar ways. Kinch didn’t glare, but his calm, steady stare made where he stood perfectly clear.

Standing their ground for their friend 💖

Sandman glanced behind him, perhaps weighing the odds. Then he pulled the envelope from his jacket and handed it to Hogan.

“All right, all right. Here.”

Hogan tucked the precious information inside his own jacket, nodded at Sandman, and signalled his team to make for the bridge. Carter sighed inwardly. Maybe this time would…

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!”

“RUN!” he screamed.

But they were too close.

It was slaughter. And this time, he saw everything.

This next part was perhaps the hardest to write of the whole story. I mean, look, I wrote 800 words where I killed LeBeau once and my hands were shaking the whole time – so killing all five, like this? Yeah :S

Flight Lieutenant Hickman went down first when a bullet went straight through his head. The next second, Carter felt a blaze of pain explode in his knee and collapsed, breathless. When he could lift his head, he spotted LeBeau on the ground propped up against a tree, blood all over his left thigh, staring into the distance. Wait, thought Carter through the red haze in his head, that’s not right… he faints when he sees blood, his eyes should be closed… A few feet further, Newkirk, his face ashen, was curled up on himself so tightly Carter couldn’t see exactly where he was hurt; then he shuddered, relaxed, and lay very still, and Carter screwed his eyes shut. Only then did he realise that he was sobbing.

So I might have mentioned it before, but I like to write like I’d point a camera if I knew how to film, and this scene only needs a few quick, chaotic shots to give the reader a sense of what they’re going through. I don’t need to linger on what’s happening (to LeBeau, to Newkirk, even to Carter); what the scene needs is something quick and vivid, not drawn-out (not that I had the room, anyway - even with a minimal author’s note the story clocked out at 4,990 words for FFnet - and 4886 on AO3 - so I really toed the limit with this one!). Anyway. This whole scene needed to punch the reader in the stomach, and for that I had to go all out and be very, very precise and concise. Hopefully I succeeded.

Kinch was nowhere to be seen, and Carter caught himself hoping someone would be left alive when this loop came to an end.

Sorry, bud, this one is the “no mercy” run :(

Please let it start all over again. Please.

The thought that this might be it, combined with the sight of LeBeau’s and Newkirk’s bodies, made Carter grab a nearby root and violently throw up. When he looked up again, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Colonel Hogan was on his knees with his hands behind his head, staring defiantly at the Gestapo men who held him at gunpoint.

Right, who thought I had forgotten our dear colonel? Raise your hands!

A few yards away, Sandman was apparently attempting to talk himself out of this situation; Carter vaguely saw him handing a paper to a soldier. But he only had eyes for Hogan.

Psst - Sandman is not “attempting” to talk himself out of this mess, he’s showing the soldiers an Ausweis. This will come up again later, because even though Carter isn’t really paying it attention right now, he has noticed!

Hogan, whose eyes found him lying in the ferns, and who mouthed “Run!”

Colonel Robert E. Hogan, ladies and gentlemen. The mission comes first, but his men come second, and he third.

After a heated debate with himself, Carter started to crawl away, almost passing out with pain at every movement. Everything was spinning, so he kept close to the ground, not stopping even when a single gunshot behind him left him shaking madly and almost whimpering…

Hope everyone understood that this means Hogan didn’t make it. (and boy, talk about sentences I never thought I’d type...)

Until he reached the river bank, and saw two Gestapo come back to the group, dragging Kinch’s limp body between them.

Kinch’s death means the death of hope. It’s as simple as that.

Everything was lost.

Carter let go and fell down… and down…

He was unconscious before he hit the water.

And either drowned in the river or died of shock/blood loss. God this loop is grim...

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Carter!”

Oh thank God.

Poor Carter. The weariness is starting to creep in.

They were all there, alive, unscathed – no bullet wounds, no bruises, no sightless eyes. The absolute nightmare of the last “loop” came crashing down on Carter, who had to suppress a wild urge to wrap Kinch, Newkirk and LeBeau in one bear hug, and shake the Colonel’s hand like mad. As it was, he wiped his eyes as discreetly as he could and answered Newkirk with a vague “I’m fine.”

Which of course made Newkirk watch him more closely. But that was all right.

Newkirk snarks, Newkirk smirks, but Newkirk worries (because he cares) 💜 And he’s fiercely perceptive. He doesn’t understand what’s got his mate to look like that, but he thinks that either he’ll figure it out or Carter will tell him eventually.

Carter was so relieved to see them walking, breathing, living, that the afterthought didn’t hit him till after they crossed the bridge.

What was that paper Sandman showed the Gestapo?

And why had he glanced behind him, almost toward the exact spot they had burst from later?

It’s all about the little details, folks! And it’s a credit to Carter’s perceptiveness that he still remembers things like the paper and Sandman’s suspicious glance after the nightmare that happened after. Much as I love writing the guy as clueless about certain things, if he really was completely no thoughts, head empty he wouldn’t have lasted two days in the spy business.

The more he thought about it, the more his suspicion grew. What if Sandman had actually been stalling when he accused him of being a mole? What if…

Well. One way to find out.

When Sandman emerged from his bush, Carter pounced on him and clamped a hand on his mouth. The guy twitched and jerked so viciously it made his teeth rattle.

And the thing with Carter is that he’s straightforward. Not sneaky and cunning like Newkirk, not calm and prudent like Kinch, not even in-your-face like LeBeau, but once he’s decided to do something he will do it.

“Sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “Colonel, I know it sounds kinda crazy, but I think this guy’s not on the level.”

“Mffrmmfm…!”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

This little gag is so easy but it’s still one of my favourites XD

“Wait a minute, Carter,” said Hogan. “This is serious stuff. What makes you say that?”

“Fmvvhf.”

“Well, that’s rude.” Carter jerked his chin toward Sandman’s jacket. “He’s got a paper in his pocket in case we meet a German patrol.”

Sandman looked apoplectic. At Carter’s last words, though, he went quite still. He didn’t even flinch when Hogan slowly reached for the inside of his jacket and pulled an envelope.

“No, not that one – that’s the troop movements between Hammelburg and, uh, Düsseldorf. Or it’s supposed to be, anyway.”

Sandman glared up at him, still purple in the face, with eyes that would probably pop out if they bulged any further.

Hogan ripped open the envelope and skimmed through the contents. And frowned.

“Funny. Says here that the 5th Panzer Army passed two miles north of Hammelburg two weeks ago.”

“Didn’t they capitulate in North Africa last week?” Kinch asked quietly with an odd look at Sandman. Newkirk and LeBeau stared open-mouthed at Carter.

Which places the story around the third week of May 1943, as the 5th Panzer Army surrendered in Tunis on the 13th. The more you know! I always try to have my HH stories fall on at least some pretence of historical timeline.

“They did. Now let’s see the paper Carter was talking about.”

Said paper turned out to be an Ausweis signed by Major Hochstetter, stipulating that its owner was Gestapo, and, if possible, that his cover should not be blown.

Not sure it actually worked like that, but I needed a smoking gun, so to speak.

“Could be a fake, Colonel,” Kinch pointed out.

“Yeah. This looks pretty damn close to Hochstetter’s signature, though.

Of course he’d know what Hochstetter’s signature looks like - I don’t remember if we see them forge it in canon, but let’s be honest, they probably did a fair few times :D

Let’s haul him back to camp, we’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” Carter had almost forgotten Flight Lieutenant Hickman. “Didn’t Sandman say he had a flyer with him?”

Fortunately, Hickman came out from hiding and saluted sheepishly. “Is it a, er, bad time?”

“Not at all, Flight Lieutenant. We’re open all hours,” quipped Hogan.

One little thing I like when writing HH fic is getting to write these fun little jokes, even if it kinda drives me crazy to have to think them up!

“Now let’s go while the woods are Kraut-free.”

Carter shivered. If they knew…

When the Gestapo patrol did barge in, this time they only found dirt and moss. Carter, Hogan, Hickman and the others watched them from bushes and under ferns. Carter still had a tight hold on Sandman, who had been blindfolded and looked much calmer. While it was nice not to feel like he was gripping a six-foot-tall wiggling pike, Carter had a feeling it was too good to last.

He was right.

Not three minutes after the Gestapo had passed them, Sandman tripped on something, pulling Carter down with him; the next thing Carter knew, the moonlight glinted on something metallic.

Sandman has a gun. Oh boy, I should have remembered that from last time!

Not “last time”, actually, but the time before that. But who can blame him for getting his loops mixed up...

No time for self-reproach. Carter jumped on the guy to try to wrest the gun from him.

He was so focused on wrenching the gun from Sandman’s hands that the shot took him completely by surprise. They were both practically nose-to-nose, so he could plainly see the stunned look on his opponent’s face – followed by a small, incredulous smile.

Ah, Shrödinger’s shot. For a second your characters are both alive and dead, both teetering on the edge of the precipice. And then one of them notices they’ve been hit, and the penny drops - and you’d better hope it’s not the character you were hoping would make it. (unless it’s for whump and hurt/comfort purposes, which I love a lot ^^)

The agony hit him about one second later. He had the small satisfaction of seeing Kinch knock out Sandman with a brutal-looking blow before staggering and collapsing against Newkirk, who barely caught him in time.

For some reason I love reminders that Kinch is a boxer. Who knows exactly the amount of force he needs to put in a punch to not do real damage - but also, in a situation like this, restraint might not be a priority.

“Carter! Andrew, what… oh n—”

“Andrew, look at me,” Hogan said, and it was so very hard but Carter made an effort – it was the Colonel. He never gave an order unless he thought they could do it. “Look at me. You’re going to be all right.”

No, he isn’t, and they all know that. But just in case it ends up working...

“T—trying,” Carter managed to utter, but his world was going white at the edges and he was pretty sure the tang in his mouth was blood. Not a good sign.

“Hold on, Andrew,” said Kinch quietly. His voice was thin, unsure, all wrong. “We’ll get back to camp in a minute. Wilson’ll patch you up.”

LeBeau said nothing; his mouth was trembling too much. Carter couldn’t see Newkirk behind him, but he could feel him shaking as he tried to put pressure on the wound – vaguely, as though it was someone else Newkirk was gripping. Not a good sign, either.

It’s okay, he wanted to say, but the hole in his chest seemed to burn up all the air in his lungs. You’re all fine, Sandman can’t hurt any of you now, the Gestapo’s gone… It’s not even hurting so bad now… It’s okay, really…

Look, is it a coincidence that I’m drawn to characters with such shitty self-confidence that they automatically assume their loved ones would be okay without them, or write them that way? I don’t think so! *finger guns* But just in case you might think that Carter being the only one not to survive this whole nightmare is remotely okay -

At least he would get something right this time…

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!”

No! No! They couldn’t –

Carter breathed in, suddenly terrified. He didn’t breathe out.

- I had to make it explicit that no, Carter basically sacrificing himself is NOT okay in a million years. You all have to get through this one, my guy. Find a solution. (no pressure :P)

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Carter!”

Oh, boy…

I am not above gratuitous Quantum Leap references ^^ Sometimes Dr Beckett’s life feels like a Groundhog Day loop, poor man. (I don’t think they used that trope in the show, did they?)

Carter never thought that repeatedly dying could be so exhausting. He felt sick, drained, and utterly fed up with the whole thing. How many times had he died already? How many times had the others? How could they return to normal time when he appeared the only one who noticed the loop? How could he end the cycle when there were so many ways for the situation to go horribly wrong?

Until now, he hadn’t really wondered about the whys and hows. He had this chance of correcting something that ended in disaster, and he was grateful for that. But nothing he did ever worked.

I did debate with myself as to whether to explain why time kept snapping back, and to that particular point. Does it have something to do with Sandman? The river? Some kind of trickster god having fun with Carter? (or the author being a jerk, lol?) In the end, though, it didn’t matter. What’s important is not the why, what’s important is the lengths Carter will go for his friends and the resourcefulness that comes from being backed up against a wall.

One thing was certain, though: he had to stop Sandman, one way or another.

Carter considered himself a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, who rarely, if ever, got angry. It took a lot for fury to build up to a point where he was no longer content with just snapping at people. But once he reached boiling point…

That traitor got my friends killed. All of them. Several times.

Not again.

“Er, Carter? You all right, mate?”

He must look odd, all dark frown and set shoulders, and Newkirk must have noticed it. But he was past caring.

When Sandman turned up, Carter punched him. Hard.

One of my absolute favourite tropes is the easy-going sunshine character getting pushed hard enough that they either break or go all out. Carter being Carter, it’s still fairly mild, comparatively, but it’s so completely out-of-character that Hogan and the guys are taken by surprise and absolutely baffled.

There was a lot of things behind that punch; grief, guilt, righteous fury, the memory of blood on familiar uniforms and eyes staring sightlessly at the sky, every second of the nauseating panic he had felt each time he died…

The force of the blow lifted Sandman from the ground and he landed heavily on his back, unconscious.

Carter cradled his throbbing hand against his stomach, whimpering soundlessly. Why did it always look so darn easy in the movies?

Nothing wrong with having a character throw a mighty punch, but I like the occasional reminder that it hurts like hell when your knuckles aren’t prepared!

“Carter!” said Hogan, visibly hovering between alarm and sheer befuddlement. “What the hell –?”

“Sorry, Colonel. But that guy’s a Gestapo spy. Look.”

He fished the Ausweis from Sandman’s pocket and handed it to Hogan, who perused it, frowning, and handed it over to Kinch.

“Sure looks damning. But it could be a fake to get past patrols.”

“Yeah, but – wait – there ya go.” The false information followed, and Hogan’s frown deepened.

“Okay, the 5th Panzer Army was nowhere near Hammelburg last week – and what’s that about Colonel Fleisher being executed? He defected to the Allies last month, we put him on the plane to London!”

This time it’s the other way around: the document that comes up first is the Ausweis, while the second is the so-called “troop movements” - with the extra detail of something only the Heroes would know (the German officer’s defection), just to hammer the point home.

“If Sandman is a Gestapo spy, it makes sense that he’d try to feed us false information, right?” Carter asked, trying not to show how anxious he was. He had to get this one right. He had to.

He tucked Sandman’s gun inside his bomber jacket and made a show of being at least a little surprised when he came face to face with Hickman behind his tree.

“Hi.”

Hickman blinked. “Um, hello there.”

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose.

This time Carter remembered the gun! And he pretended to be surprised to see Hickman behind “his” tree :D

Introductions were made quickly, and everyone agreed to sort out everything back at Stalag XIII. They were almost at the bridge when the Gestapo patrol Carter kept expecting turned up, far enough to avoid detection; nevertheless, he insisted on waiting a little longer still.

When they were absolutely sure the patrol was far enough not to hear even a gunshot, they made for the bridge, Hickman half-carrying, half-dragging Sandman, who barely stirred.

I had to make sure the patrol wouldn’t hear them later.

Carter’s hopes kept growing at each step he made. Maybe this was it. Maybe this time the timeline would stop starting again. No more screw-ups, no more mistakes, no –

Now that’s just tempting fate, is it?

There was a sharp thud and a grunt behind him. He whirled around in time to see Hickman doubled up in pain… and wheezed when Sandman plowed into him as though this was the World Series.

Look at me, pretending I know the first thing about American sports XD I originally wanted a reference to American football (since I couldn’t have rugby - c’est la vie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) and the Superbowl, but the first Superbowl was in 1966 and what preceded it was complicated and not half as iconic. So I figured I could use baseball - players dive on a base in baseball, right? So they can hit other players more or less accidentally? I’m not sure ice hockey was a big thing in 1940s Muncie, Indiana anyway, so :-|

Carter flailed, trying to regain both balance and breath, felt the bridge guardrail against his back, gripped Sandman’s jacket –

And they both fell over into the river.

I should keep track of how many fics I’ve written where a character ends up falling into a body of water and/or rained on and soaked to the bone. That should be fun.

The murky waters swallowed him whole. Unable to tell which way was up, Sandman still clutching at him like a leech and dragging him down, Carter panicked. He kept trying to kick the bottom, like Newkirk and LeBeau had recommended when he had admitted he really couldn’t swim, but couldn’t find it.

Writing fanfiction for Hogan’s Heroes is standing at a buffet with many varied things that don’t necessarily go well together, and cherry-picking the ones that agree with you while merrily ignoring a bunch of others. In “The Well” Carter has no problem swimming, whereas in “Will the Blue Baron Strike Again” he almost drowns into four feet of water because he couldn’t swim and panicked. (Also, infamously, LeBeau’s throwaway line at getting volunteered to do something dangerous: “That’s also how I got married” while absolutely nothing in the rest of the show suggests he’s married.) I decided early on that Carter couldn’t swim at all for Reasons (mainly whump-related ones) and it’s one of the half canonical details I like sticking to.

The need to open his mouth and get some air was becoming overwhelming. Naturally, this was when Sandman elbowed him in the throat.

For some reason this is one of the little details I’m proudest of in this fic. Sandman doesn’t kick Carter in the stomach or punch him in the head - he elbows him in the throat. It feels both more random (like Sandman is thrashing about in the water) and grounded in reality.

Carter made a keening noise only he heard and swallowed a great gulp of muddy water.

Bells rang in his ears, stars exploded before his eyes. Dimly he wondered how often one could see stars at the bottom of dark German rivers.

Then he sank into nothingness.

⁂

Squish… squish.

“Andrew! Wake up!”

And finally, a difference! A double difference, though not necessarily obvious enough that the reader immediately notices. Incidentally, once you realise Newkirk isn’t saying quite the same words in quite the same order, you also realise he’s calling Carter by his first name, which he sometimes but rarely does. Because the “you called me [X], it must be serious” trope is one of my very favourites 🥰

Carter retched and spouted out about a gallon of water. It didn’t feel enough, so he curled up on his side and tried to expel some more liquid. Then the voice broke past the rushing sound in his ears.

His first barely conscious thought was, We’re still stuck.

His second was, No… wait.

Carter almost didn’t want to wake up. He was in the floating, uncertain state between oblivion and consciousness, and as he slowly grew more aware, he knew which had his preference. His lungs burned, his ribs hurt like they had no right to, and he was shivering with cold.

He was also soaked through and through. That’s a dumb thing to be when it’s cold.

But the voice was insistent, urgent, and too familiar to ignore. Presently it was joined by other voices, tinged with the same quiver of… fear?

You bet they’re afraid, young man!!

“Take it easy, Andrew. Slow breaths.”

“Blimey, you weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t swim!”

That’s Kinch and Newkirk, respectively :o) Hopefully it’s obvious enough that it didn’t need to be pointed out. Not that it was that important.

There was a hand on his back, rubbing gently, the soothing rhythm gradually easing his ragged gasps into more regular breathing. He managed to crack his eyes open and was treated to a sliver of dark sky and four anxious faces, as well as a collective sigh of relief. Both Newkirk and LeBeau were drenched, and Hogan and Kinch were covered in mud.

You know LeBeau and Newkirk jumped in after Carter while Hogan and Kinch rushed to the bank to drag them out (and potentially take out the threat of Sandman).

Hogan shook his head with a small smile. “You guys are gonna turn me grey before the war is over.”

They do! Season 6 Hogan is noticeably greyer than season 1 Hogan :D

“Ça va, André?” LeBeau stared at him as though not quite sure Carter was really there. His voice wasn’t too steady, and neither was Newkirk’s when he cut across.

“Well, of course he’s not all right. Probably swallowed his weight in water.”

Kinch didn’t say anything, and continued to rub Carter’s back. It worked wonders, and Carter soon could breathe well enough to rasp, “S—Sandman?”

“Right there,” Hogan said, pointing to a motionless form on the ground. “Hickman tried to revive him, but he was dead before we pulled him out.”

Maybe Sandman’s death triggered the end of the loops. And maybe it had nothing to do with it. We’ll never know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Cracked his head on a rock when he fell, probably,” Newkirk added, not a twinge of sympathy in his voice. “He had a nasty wound on his head. Bled like sin. LeBeau almost fainted.”

The English I hear or read sometimes stay with me for a loooong time - because it’s an idiosyncrasy, because of a particular intonation, who knows. I remember reading the brief but striking description of a head wound that “bled like sin” in one of Gravelgirty/Aragonite’s Sherlock Holmes’ Scotland Yard stories, and it felt right from Newkirk.

LeBeau rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment.

Carter went cold all over. Did I kill that guy? How do I know I didn’t?

Hogan seemed to read this in his face, and said calmly, “You fell, he fell – you got lucky, he didn’t. It happens. Believe me, we’re all very glad it’s not the other way around.”

It didn’t make it all right, but it made it easier to face. At least right now.

It’s hard for us writers sometimes to reconcile the comedic aspect of the show with the grim realities of war in general and WW2 in particular. Carter is shown throughout the series as being proficient in explosives, in making and launching bombs, while being one of the genuinely sweetest characters on the show.

So - Doylist explanation: it’s just funny to have the enthusiastic funny guy also be potentially one of the most dangerous of the team. Watsonian explanation: Carter loves explosives, loves his job and takes it seriously, but that doesn’t mean he has to like killing a fellow human being one-on-one (which he hates, but will do if given no other choice).

Carter breathed out and allowed his tense, aching muscles to relax. He still didn’t know what had gone wrong with the timeline, whether someone or something had been responsible, or whether it would ever happen again.

All he knew was that his friends were all alive and well, and that he had somehow managed to survive, too.

Maybe that was the whole point.

It’s always tempting to want to justify everything that happens in the story. But while it’s important that there is internal cohesion (the plot is convincing, the characters’ behaviours make sense, etc.) sometimes you can afford to go the Mary Poppins route and say “Nope, I don’t have to explain anything” :P

“Something that bugs me, Carter,” said Newkirk thoughtfully on the way back to camp. “How did you know Sandman was a Gestapo spy in the first place?”

Trust Newkirk to ask the important questions :D

The question made everybody look back at him. Carter gulped.

Oh boy. Where do I start…?

Carter (and probably the reader, too) was so caught up in getting everyone safely out of the loop/stopping both the Gestapo and Sandman from hurting anyone that (added with the feeling of “no consequences, everything just snaps right back so I can do anything” inherent with time loop stories) he just didn’t think about how his actions would look like afterwards. So naturally that “oh crap” moment was the perfect place to end this story!

Thank you for indulging me! And I’m sorry it took so much time :S

#fic commentary #sometimes I write

[monasatlantis]

Stardew Valley quick Review

You guys know I hardly ever review a game that is not some sort of (J)RPG but this game managed to keep me entertained for 52 hours and was yet cozy enough to find the will and energy to play this game even after work - something that hardly any game manages to do. So I have decided that it is worth a quick review after I have finished the main storyline of the game.

So far I would say it is one of the best Farming Games I have ever played so far.

I like the maturity behind it. The stories of the Townsfolk aren't all just happy and nice. We have Alcohol-Addiction, PTSD after serving in a war, the game doesn't hide that the Mayor has s*x with a certain Lady, even in bushes in the middle of the night XD but refuses to make the relationship official and many more things you would not find in any Harvest Moon or Story of Seasons games, that much is for sure.

Lots of Crops to plant - could be more, but it is still plenty and why it is missing some of the "usual crops" like Cucumber, it gives you "Starfruites" and the likes.

There is also a big variety of what you can do with them. Pickled Corn and Cherry Wine or Peach jam are among the possibilities.

You can even put your wine, ale or cheese the the basement and let it become better, by becoming older. Its a nice Idea to add a third step to it, so make the stuff even more valuable.

Its one of the rare occasions where you do not just have cows and sheep and maybe also some goats, but also pigs. (Now, Story of Seasons and Harvest Moon certainly also have big varieties of animals sometimes, but I still think adding an Animal that rarely everyone uses in such a game, but yet not using it for its actual purpose, was a great idea.) And then we have those cute little dinos running around with Chickens, Ducks and Rabbits XD A really nice idea.

I would have wished for having a cat and a dog as a pet and I have to admit I kind of missed that this pet has some sort of purpose - it was sometimes really tedious in Story of Seasons/Harvest Moon to Train your cat so it would bring out the chickens and that isn't really realistic either ^^' BUT you could have introduced rodents that make your farm Animals sick and the more hearts you have with your cat, the less rodents will be on the farm or something like this. Just giving the pet a bigger purpose would have been nice.

All in all, as amazing as this game is, I feel like it has A LOT of wasted potential. For example: Why do the other Bachelors not get married, after you've gotten married? Yes, I know you can get a divorce any marry someone else, if you want. But a game that doesn't shy away from Divorces and Stepparents and the likes of that, should not shy away from your character being allowed to steal someones partner away from that person, getting that person divorced as well and give us a nice complicated Patchwork family. (But I guess the coding for that would be too complicated...)

I really liked the way the community center bundles made you do things you might avoid otherwise. Like... I HATE fishing. And yet I did a lot of it for the fishing bundles that I NEED to finish the game. I do not need to take or fulfill requests from the Townsfolk, so if someone asks for a trout, then I can just ignore that. But if I want to finish the game, I need to go fishing - I was actually almost sad there were no big cooking bundles that forced me to cook XD (Because that is also something I hate and rarely do in such games....)

I found it sad tho, that it was over so fast, so soon. If you were prepared, you could have easily finished the game in one year. (It took me too, but I didn't pay enough attention to what I needed...) I wish the Community Center would have had more floors and you have to finish like 3 floors and a Basement and a Balcony or something like that. So that whenever you have finished one part of the building you get different crops to harvest, different fish to catch, different materials to use for buildings and reparations and the likes. I would not wish to make the community center harder to finish. But just make it so, that this game still has main story goals for like 4 in-game-years or so - that can of course also take longer.

You have more than enough Bachelors, you can have Same-Gender-Marriages and two kids are better than one. (More would be more fun, but then we would have some trouble with aging, because then Sams brother would need to age too and... you know...)

I was a bit disappointed how absolutely emotionless and uneventfully the "getting married" and "we are pregnant"- events where tho. I married Sam and when I asked him to marry me he was like: "I accept and I will plan the wedding, it will be in 3 days." And that was it. No big "I love you" - Moments or anything. The wedding itself wasn't a big deal either and I could go to work the same day at 6 in the morning as usual. When we wanted to have a baby, the message came in the middle of the night, in the dark, without having any "I would like to have children with you, some day" - kind of conversation happening beforehand. (I guess it implied they were just doing it and then just wondered if they could leave the condoms in the drawer or something like that ^^' But it didn't feel very wholesome.) There was also no big event to announce the pregnancy. Like a few days later Sam said something like: "You are pregnant." And another few days later he said: "Can't you tell your pregnant?" and that's been it. No Doctor has ever seen my character, even tho we have a clinic in town that could have easily asked for some sort of checkup or something like this and then figured out the good news. Anything really, that would make it more happy and special. The Birthing event once again was conveniently in the middle of the night, in the dark, without any cutscenes and right the next day my character was back to farming. That could and should have been done better.

Other than that, I really liked the game. The place was also neither too big, nor too small - I did sometimes feel like time was moving was too fast, but on other days, slower days, it felt like the time until the shop opened took forever XD

I really also like how you can choose from different kind of Farms. Its really nice - tho I did use the basic Farm for my first run.

I do not use it, but the freaking game has not just an actual Multiplayer, it also has Farms and other extras that will help you playing with multiple people. I think this is a really cool Idea.

Sprinklers! I love those things! The last year I almost never had to water any Crops at all XD Sooo convenient. The Auto-Collector for the Animals as well. It made life as a farmer so much easier. Same goes for the Auto-Feeder in the Delux-Barn and the way the Silo works. Nice. Makes sure that such menial task don't take all your time and energy and make sure the game won't get boring too fast.

Its not very realistic, but I did like that my Barn-Animals could have babys on their own. It was always a nice surprise. And if you do not need another Animal, you could always sell it OR just make sure your Animes can not have Babys at all. (I was sad tho, that the Rabbits - of all Animes - could not reproduce on their own. It felt a bit weird to me, that Cows could have Babys with themselves, but Rabbits could not mate like... well... Rabbits do XD)

The mining part was a bit too hard for my liking. Especially when you are supposed to get to level 100 in the skull cavern without an Elevator and the time-limit on your hands.

Speaking of which - passing out every day at 2 in the morning is a bit stupid. They could have found a better punishment for not going to sleep. Because it is very inconvenient for the mines.

Anyway the music was nice (I did not like one song in Summer tho...) and the game-mechanics and controls mostly worked the way they should without causing much trouble. So...

I give the game 9 out of 10 points.

It is certanly one of the best farming games I have played so far.

#monas game reviews #Stardew Valley Mona Version

[tobiasdrake]

Orange League, Episode 35 - Back in Pallet Town

Ash returns home with -1 Brock but +1 Tracey in tow. But that's okay because Brock's here anyway. He made his choice to remain on Daidai/Valencia Island and study under Professor Uchikido/Ivy, but then something happened. He refuses to elaborate, but it's pretty clear from Brock's tendencies that he made a pass and got fired. Misty even says as much.

So, rather than actually. Like. Go home? He came to Pallet Town and has been doing housekeeping for Delia ever since.

You know that thing in RPGs where, like, you have a party limit. And for any characters not currently in your party, there will just be this designated social area where they can hang out and wait to be selected? I guess Ash's house is the social hub for inactive party members. That makes sense.

Ash also gets to show off his trophy to his mom, giving us some truly bizarre characterization for her. Delia's been a bit of an odd duck; She's presented in a positive light but is rarely supportive of her son. It's been suggested that she doesn't want him to be off on his Pokemon journey, and expected him to fail and come home like most Trainers do. But she was also the one pressuring him to live up to his family legacy, so I don't know.

When Ash shows her the trophy, she plays it off in the most heartbreaking way imaginable. Due to its shape, she mistakes it for a dumbbell that he bought to replace her missing one. She snatches it from his hands and goes off to exercise with it, giving him none of the validation or appreciation he was seeking. Ash is left crushed by his mom's complete disinterest in his victory.

But as soon as he's gone, she polishes the trophy, displays it in a place of honor, and just stands there smiling at it. She is proud of Ash. She loves her son, she fully recognizes what an accomplishment this is, and she's so happy for him. She just. Can't seem to bring herself to communicate that pride and love to him, and so ends up hurting him all the same.

What a complicated character for someone with such a minor role in the story. Kinda puts a new spin on her whole "How dare you save the world!?" thing in Lugia's Explosive Birth/Power of One, too.

Speaking of which, Ash finally turns over the GS Ball to Oak, since he forgot to do that in the movie. Can't have important plot points happening in optional side media, after all.

But there's one other reunion waiting for Ash here. One last bit of business before we finally wrap up Kanto and officially begin Pokemon Gold/Silver. At long last, it's time for Ash to have his final boss Rival Battle with Shigeru/Gary, the anime version of Blue.

#pokemon liveblog #pokemon #orange league #ash ketchum #satoshi #brock #takeshi #delia ketchum #hanako

[lupineleigh]

This is a historical artifact from 1992. Possibly 1991. At least for me it’s a huge piece of my literary history.

I’m a born story teller. I can remember coming up with original stories and original characters since I was four years old, possibly younger.

I wanted to share an idea for a story to act out with a friend and since I never knew when I’d see my busy friend again, I had to write down my ideas to make sure I did not forget them. I also suffer from poor short term memory and Executive Dysfunction which leads to choice paralysis, time blindness, and struggling to start and finish tasks. Because of this, I have gotten by with making notes for myself everywhere I could find a blank spot to write. Here, you can see me reminding myself what time to bathe so I could get to bed on time without getting fussed at.

Since I didn’t know how to draw Darkwing yet, I traced over a picture of him in my Disney Adventures magazine and put my tracing paper picture in my journal. That was the first year I started using markers, too, as my preferred tools for coloring were my awful, cheap, scribbly colored pencils, or my smelly childhood box of Crayola crayons with the built in sharpener.

I started my first Darkwing Duck fanfic in this journal. It was originally going to be a play between me and my then best friend, but I got stumped on how to include her in the story, since I knew she’d want an important role. I asked her for ideas and wrote the ending as she relayed it, with her as the random side character barreling in to save the day and defeat the whole hoard of villains. She was happy with that ending. I…was not. I wanted the hero to actually do something besides be the damsel in distress. 😆 So I started a new copy on loose leaf lined note paper. I redrew DW in the same pose and tried to draw Audubon Bay Bridge, and copied down my favorite prose that I wrote as a kid, and embellished the story with more details, more setting and mood, and ended up with a lot more angst. I remember taking my folder with all those loose pieces of paper on a trip to Arizona and New Mexico and trying to write in the car, and on my grandma’s coffee table. Physical comfort always took a sideline to my need to pour out an ongoing story while I was in Writing Mode. Even though I did not have access to Darkwing Duck episodes or comics then, I wrote from memory and later looked for the comics and episodes I referred to.

**Long post and triggering story ahead. Proceed with caution. Mentions of depression, cancer, death, grief, etc. **

Fast forward to 2010. I finally finished my hard copy of “The Villains’ Revolt” and decided it was high time to start typing the darn thing before my pencil copy became too blurry and faded to read. It was August 11, around six pm… I had just typed “One night, the city of St. Canard was unusually quiet.” And then I got hit with the worst bombshell of my life… My mom came in and said my dad, who was laying on a cot in our living room, suffering from debilitating, rare Lung Cancer that attacked his spinal fluid and shut down his organs and body functions one by one over the course of four months, was on his last breath. She asked me to come downstairs.

I saved my file, turned off the computer, left “Villains’ Revolt” on my desk, and descended into the worst depression of my life. I held my dad’s hand, read to him, showed him magazine pictures, choked out a song for him with other family members, and told him it was okay to let go… That we’d be okay… I was not okay. I didn’t want to let go. I wanted a miracle. I got one, but it was more like a hallucination than the miracle I was praying for… Dad gasped his last, and I hugged him one last time and walked away, told the hospice nurse I was okay, and shut down for the rest of the month, letting my relatives handle all the arrangements. It was awful. It was the worst pain I have ever felt in my chest. It was a weight I physically carried for the next fifteen months. I could not think, feel, or do anything normal without crying or feeling like I was watching from some other plain or existence. I could feel myself slipping away and feared leaving my devastated, depression-paralyzed mother alone. She wasn’t cooking, doing laundry, cleaning or doing anything for herself then except laying in bed for weeks and filling out forms and making phone calls. We were both overwhelmed.

I stepped up. I took over all the housework, lawn care, cooking, cleaning, and tried to find a new normal for Mom and me. I struggled to keep us on a meal schedule and sleep schedule. I struggled to be present for myself and my dog, who stayed quietly by my side, even when I forgot to feed or walk him. We survived. We pulled through.

But my heart needed an outlet. I had to release that volcano of feelings somehow.

I started a new story. “My Daughter, My Life.” I poured everything into that. All of my pain, fear, grief, confusion, vulnerability, struggles to make a new normal and find who I was again without the guidance of a parent or mentor, or even a friend. I was completely isolated by physical distance and emotional distance from everyone I knew…

Writing kept me alive. It gave me purpose. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with a story I could never publish but I had to have a safe outlet to process my feelings and project onto characters who I could relate to.

It was exhausting and painful but I finished three stories, and a bit of research led me to Fan fiction .net. I was scared to share so much of myself, but I was so lonely, even a critique would have been welcome. Just being noticed and acknowledged as a living person was enough. I figured the worst that could happen was I’d be ignored. I’d lose nothing by posting. So I did.

That is my history, and the beginning of the new me.

My stories were accepted with open arms, and a fan wrote to me to suggest a new story idea based off of my short story. I did some more research, and found a whole fandom on a forum I never knew existed. I needed a little bit of encouragement to approach so many strangers online, but I joined the forum and quickly found a friendly fun community that made me feel like I actually fit in for the first time in my life.

That community was my home for the next ten years, and it will always have a piece of my heart. They helped me grow so much as a person, opening my eyes and mind and filling me with more dopamine and excitement than I could contain! I had more energy from talking about anthro ducks online than I had as a growing child! It was amazing, and I made some amazing friends online that I still talk with on a near daily basis.

Nice year old me would be surprised to see where old me is now, and very confused by my new perspectives, but she’d be relieved to see that I wasn’t alone my whole life. I didn’t suffer endlessly in silence. I’m still here. I’m still writing. And I’ll keep writing for as long as there is a spark of inspiration and flexibility in my aching hands.

This is my story. My past and my present. And I am proud of how far I’ve come. What happens next? Who knows! The future awaits!

#lupineleigh’s writing #lupineleigh’s history #archaeological artifact 😆 #child journal #1991 101 Dalmatians journal #a well used diary #Darkwing Duck Fanfic The Villains’ Revolt backstory #grief #loss #my personal story

[floweramon]

F and R!

Hello!

F: I suppose the longest fandom would be either Sailor Moon or Pokemon. I was into them as a kid, and when I got onto the internet as a preteen I found fansites that talked about the Japanese versions, which led me to learning about anime and how many other things I watch were from Japan (like Yu-Gi-Oh! and Digimon) and I was so fascinated that when my father found out about anime conventions he and my mom took me. I dressed up as Sailor Sun, a TOTALLY original character, and the rest is history. Sailor Moon and Pokemon had a lot of influence on my art, as well as some of my early stories (fun fact, my namesake Digimon OC is partially based on characters from Sailor Moon and Inuyasha)

R: Oh boy XD Most people don't know about my rarepairs or crackships because I so rarely talk about them! I don't think this is even all of them, I just picked some of my top ones that I sometimes think of and would like to do fanfiction of someday (but likely never will if I'm being honest)

Put under read more for length XD

Snow White and Tiana. I mostly see them as platonic baking buddies, but if they were to meet when Snow White is an adult (and obviously with the help of time-and-space travel shenanigans) it could be a cute pairing. I also think the idea of the first and last traditionally animated Disney princesses being friends is cute.

Fakir and Pike from Princess Tutu, but only after the series. Without getting into everything that happens in the show, the main character Ahiru goes back to being a duck and lives with Fakir by a lake. I have this specific idea about how Fakir wants to bring by people Ahiru knew when she was human so she wouldn't just rely on him for companionship, so he invites these two girls he knew were her friends, Pike and Lily. And over time Pike, who in the series id have a minor crush on Fakir, grows closer to Fakir.

Lizzie McGuire and Isabella Parigi. Assuming Isabella is meant to be about Lizzie's age, I think it'd be cute and hilarious if the two girls who Paolo fucked over formed a friendship that turned romantic. I like to imagine they became penpals after all the stuff in Rome and it evolved from there.

Murray and Jing King from Sly Cooper. I actually started writing a fanfic for this but I lost steam on it. It was mostly spawned from two things 1. thematic appropriateness as it was Murray's resolve to save his van that helped strengthen Panda King's own resolve to save his daughter. So while he would still be hesitant about them being together, I think eventually he would feel Murray could be trusted. and 2. there's a bit of spite behind the idea, as the only other Jing King fanfic at the time had her paired with her misogynoistic captor.

Mavis and Angus from The Adventure Zone. I think they would be cute as like first crushes of each othr, and I think Merle's reaction would be hilarious XD

David and Mr Talbot from Alvin and the Chipmunks. Again, mostly born from an unwritten fanfic I thought of for a Dracula film addition to the Wolfman and Frankenstein films. Without getting into the whole plot and just focusing on the subplot relevant to the ship, Theodore and Mr. Talbot weren't actually cured of lycanthropy but they have better control and Mr. Talbot is now serving as a "werewolf mentor" for Theodore. During a school trip to Transylvania both he and David are chaperoning and after seeing some interactions between them Theodore starts to get the idea of playing matchmaker so his werewolf mentor can also be a dad. Alvin hates the idea because Mr. Talbot is their principal and it'd be weird, so he and Theodore clash on that throughotu the course of the plot.

The background lesbian bug from Cuphead. Specifically this one:

This one I know no one has ever shipped. I've never seen anyone acknowledge her, how all the other bugs are focused on the fight but she's focused on the dancing girls, and I am weirdly obsessed with her existence and would like her to date one or both of the dancers.

[cathikesny]

Have you ever been somewhere and seen something so out of place that you’ve wondered “….am I, like, hallucinating right now?” I don’t do drugs, but this was a thing where I looked at my boyfriend, Rob and was like… “are we high? What is happening? What the hell are we seeing right now?”

This happened to us at Wantagh Park.

💰: FREE

⏰: Open 365 days, roughly from dusk until dawn

📍: 1 King Road, Wantagh, Long Island (DO NOT GET ON THE PARKWAY ACCIDENTALLY)

♿️: ADA Accessible, all paths are paved

🏃‍♀️: Beginner level of intensity

🐶: “Only Allowed In the Dog Run”… people walk their dogs here and no one cares it seems

🚗: LOTS OF PARKING, I say park by the baseball fields and walk along the marina to get to the park

📸: Moderate “Instagramability”

Let me backtrack quickly, first, because this park has just a LOT to offer besides what this stupid post will be about. It is a multipurpose facility run by and for the town of Wantagh. It hosts the community public pool (which actually looked really nice even in the off-season when we first went), a mini-golf course, athletic facilities/fields, nice playgrounds, a skating arena, boat launch, tons of picnic areas, a dog park, a marina, somehow even more?!? 

I’m here to talk about the “<u>Fitness Trail</u>” though.. sort of. All of the information listed above is in regards to the “Fitness Trail”. It’s nice for, like, a morning walk with your dog or chosen loved one and also views of Jones Beach and the “Pencil” and theater… honestly, whatever. That’s great. Back to what is actually so MUCH cooler here. 

<u>So here’s the story</u>:

There Rob and I were, just checking out a park for the first time that I knew would at least have views of canals. I had very low expectations, and I had very little research done. WE JUST WANTED SOMEWHERE TO WALK LUNCH OFF AND IT WAS NICE OUT AND THIS WAS SIMPLY... there!

I remind you, there we still were just minding our business walking along the marina and joking about the boat names and how the swans and ducks had clearly been fed by people over time because they kept following along with us… I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH, UNSUSPECTEDLY JUST MINDING OUR OWN BUSINESS and then we got to the picnic/lighthouse area and I heard just a really out of place, extremely LOUD bird call (btw, we are low-key becoming birders, please don’t judge us…me....I’m the birder and he sometimes thinks it’s cool) and I looked around and up in the tree above us were GREEN TROPICAL BIRDS?!?!?! ummmmm……?????? This is Long Island? The NORTHeast? Are they lost???

Honestly, it’s low-key embarrassing how long Rob and I stood there gawking at this tree full of deafeningly loud green birds above us, contemplating if they were parrots? Are they parakeets? Did some domesticated ones get out at some point and just have a ton of babies in the wild? Rob started googling. We followed them around the park. We literally have NO EVIDENCE TO PROVE WE SAW THESE BIRDS. We took not a single picture or video. We were, I think, too baffled. When I told him I was making this post and I had to go back to GET THE PROOF (which I only barely did, just to warn), he was like “what did you expect? It was so confusing. We were thrown off and they blended in with the trees!” All fair points.

Turns out they were Monk Parakeets. Very smoochable little heads if you ask me.

They are really rare for this area (meaning they have no business being here) and are indigenous to Argentina and South America, but for whatever reason, according to a local news article, they decided to migrate to New York during the pandemic and take up residence on Long Island, regardless of high housing prices. 

Ridiculous. But, I guess New York is still the place to be. 

This particular LARGE flock of Monk Parakeets have adjusted to the extreme temperatures and just LIVE IN THIS EFFING PARK IN WANTAGH ALL. YEAR. LONG. I don’t get it one bit. It is so weird. It is so cool and deeply funny and I am clearly overly obsessed with their presence. 

If you want your best chance of seeing them, park by the entrance to the public pool facility instead of the beginning of the baseball fields (which I thought was a good place to park because we enjoyed our little extra marina walk). Across the parking lot from the pool entrance is an athletic field with big, tall floodlights. You should see a very large nest in one of those lights. That is their home. They may have bought more real estate, but this is the one I know about with certainty. There are usually some adults hanging out protecting their property. They are so cute and bizarre and fun. It really does feel worth going JUST FOR THEM, but….

The rest of this park is great too. The trails are paved completely and have nice views, a mini beach section, tons of activities for the whole family and a free boat launch if you’re fancy... but honestly, I come back to see the wild parakeets. I also (went in early November) saw a Brant which is another rare to this area type of goose that was very cute and stout. So, this place is like rare bird heaven. (See Brant below, allowing himself to be abandoned by his flock so I could take a picture of him, I assume).

Screenshots of are of the Cornell Lab Merlin Bird ID App, which has become a real must have for my walks if not solely for the sound ID. You really never know what wildlife surrounds you. 

#long island ny #long island #longislandny #liny #new york #newyork #birding #birds #birders #wantagh park #wantaghpark #wantagh #cathikesny #adventure