#and imagine how challenging that must be for little dog to have such a confrontational loom for SFE where the larger dogs

[morethanwords0475]

March TC Challenge

1. If you could change one thing about your TC, physical or personality-wise, what would it be?

I don’t know, sometimes it sounds like he hates life a little? I’m not delusional that everyone must love their job, but it hurts whenever he expresses too much relief that a holiday is finally coming up, or, especially, when he doesn’t have to teach us for whatever reason (like when we eventually go on exam leave).

2. Are they “your type”, or was falling for a person like them completely unexpected?

I think he is my type in that he’s beautiful, teaches really well, and is super good to our class, but last year I actually didn’t find him that attractive so he probably wasn’t exactly my type, appearance-wise, not when T was still here.

3. If they were an ice cream flavour, what would it be?

I think he would be a fruit flavour that is naturally sweet with a hint of sourness.

4. Imagine you have a whole weekend to spend with your TC. What would you guys do?

I would love to walk his dog with him, go out and eat something nice, maybe have an afternoon coffee date and read together, walk around the lake and just talk…

5. What’s their biggest talent?

Not sure about talents – teaching?? I know my man used to do music though 🥰

6. Be honest: would you guys be a power couple or not?

Probably not 'power' in the traditional sense, but I just feel like we’d probably make each other better people and that’s good enough for me.

7. If they knew about your feelings, would they confront you about it or ignore it?

He probably suspects by now, I think if it got too obvious and was making him uncomfortable he might confront me about it. He’d try to be indirect and gentle about it, though it would definitely be scary.

8. Are they a good singer?

I am very curious, I love his slightly hoarse, raspy voice, but idk if it would sound good singing.

9. If you could choose an outfit that your TC had to wear every single day, what would it look like?

This is very difficult to choose, my inherent love for white shirts says that, plus a vest maybe, though I also love seeing him in casual clothes like hoodies.

10. Are they more academic, artistic, or athletic? What about you?

Incas Lily is probably 70% academic, 10% artistic (we don’t get to see his artistic side so it’s hard to tell), and 20% athletic (he works out more than do sports), I’m probably 75% academic, 15% artistic, and 10% athletic.

11. Do they inspire you as a person?

So much, he is so much goodness and cares about genuine things and forms solid connections with people, he is so good and so loved.

12. Are they an early riser or a night owl?

Early riser most likely, he said on school nights he usually goes to bed at like 22:30 (I wish TAT).

13. Have you ever made each other angry or upset? If so, how did you reconcile?

I’ve always been good in class even before liking Incas Lily so I’ve never made him mad, and he only gets a bit upset at people who don’t listen or do work. There must have been times when he was annoyed with me but didn’t verbalise it, though. I was upset with him for making fun of subjects I like – other than Biology – and felt hurt, we kind of reconciled when he conceded the value in some of those subjects after I pressed him on it.

14. Do you ever find yourself imitating them, either consciously or unconsciously?

I definitely don’t imitate him as much as I did T, the only things I can think about is subtly adapting his sense of humour or hand gestures. I did steal his way of drawing bullet points, I don’t remember ever seeing another teacher draw it like that.

15. What do you think their love language is? What’s yours?

This is extremely hard to tell, not least because I don’t even know if Incas Lily is in a relationship, let alone seen it displayed at school. I would guess quality time and acts of service will probably be high for him. Mine are physical touch and words of affirmation - the latter works very well with having a TC, the former not at all.

16. Have they taught you anything that isn’t school related? Valuable life lessons, insights on how you feel about yourself, etc.?

That time we had a talk about my mental health and stuff, he tried to boost my self-perception and made me see some of the maladaptive thought patterns I had. Especially when he was helping me prepare for my interview, we mostly focused on questions about myself, he helped me think of some of my qualities that I didn't know I had or couldn't admit to. Occasionally hearing his opinions on life during our lessons has also been very valuable.

17. What would they have to do to make you lose feelings for them?

I think anything that compromises his basic identity as a 'good' person, a good teacher – in terms of like moral standards and being a decent human being and all that. That’s the core of my attraction.

18. Are they introverted or extroverted? What about you?

His MBTI is introverted, but he is definitely quite social with many teachers as well as students. He seems more extroverted than me, I’m probably the more introverted of extroverts.

19. Who’s more likely to start rambling about their interests while the other listens?

He’s done it sometimes in lessons and I always love it, I also do on some occasions when talking about the subject I want to major in. 

20. Do you feel guilty about having feelings for your TC?

A bit, sometimes, he’s so good to us it feels like I’m preying on that kindness. Like, he deserves a normal life without some girl semi-obsessing over him, although I mostly don’t actively inconvenience him with these feelings. At least this time he’s not married (😭)

21. Are you insecure about them liking another student more than you?

Always. I always said I loved T before any of his other students did, but I didn’t have feelings for Incas Lily until a year after he started teaching us, so I’m sure he likes a lot of other students better than me. I might be getting the highest grades in my class, but he doesn’t just want grades. Man, and I’ve seen him have really casual dynamics with some of the students a year or two below us and it sucks.

22. What kind of hairstyle would you love to see them in?

His current one is super pretty, it's curly and thick and frames his facial features beautifully. I miss when the top was dyed silver, though, that was the utmost beauty.

23. Do you think they trust you?

We don't ever really get into an emotional level of trust, but for any academic setting he must do. He let me self study a unit, he said he thinks I'd never be able to cheat, and he let me finish up an experiment alone in his lab when we were still doing experiments.

24. What’s the most comedic moment that’s occurred between you two?

It's hard to say, but it was quite funny when he used to give me quizzes for his lower year groups to do, especially when I sometimes get inexplicably caught up in them.

25. Have you ever drawn them or written about them to vent your feelings?

I write about Incas Lily often – usually in diaries and on this blog, sometimes in imagines.

26. How do you feel when you’re around them? Are you so nervous that you can’t concentrate, or do you just feel happy that you get to spend time with them?

I used to almost always be really happy around him (he was my comfort teacher before I really had romantic feelings), it turned into nervousness maybe a few months back, and now a mixture.

27. Do you guys have any inside jokes?

There's one where I told him off for not teaching us something and it comes up in exams, but I think it also annoys him a little.

28. Do their morals, principles, or political views align with yours?

Maybe less so than it was with T, but with basic things like political inclinations, support for gender equality/the LGBTQ+ community/etc., being pro-choice, we are very similar on.

29. Have you ever tried to get over them?

Some days when it gets really bad, like during Mocks in January or sometimes this month, I have wondered whether I should or am meant to get over him, but it's so hard when seeing him makes my heart clench every time.

30. If someone nice your age showed up in your life and you caught feelings for them, would you move on from your TC?

We have so little time now, I doubt I could catch feelings for someone my age or move on from Incas Lily. Hopefully, I will after I go to university.

31. Have you ever said or done something that, in hindsight, might have been hurtful to them? Have they ever done the same to you?

Like for the inside joke, I (jokingly) complained about him not teaching us something, which might have been a bit hurtful, but I have truly tried to always be careful and good around him. I was hurt when he made fun of some of the subjects I like, especially during times when I was feeling really tense, and I do wonder whether he knew it affected me, even though it was all done jokingly.

#Incas Lily #tc #tc community #teacher crush #male tc #tc challenge #march tc challenge

[clairecrive]

“Favorite”- Alfie Solomons x Shelbysister!reader [Requested]

A/N: it’s been a minute since I’ve last written Alfie. Hope I didn’t mess it up. hopefully you’ll like it x It was requested by this anon and someone on wattpad.

Warning: some cussing (it’s Alfie so what did you expect)

Word count: 1.5K ish

Tagging: @mollybegger-blog​, @evelynshelby​, @br0ck-eddie​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @fandom--0verdose​, @sopxhiea​, @fuseburner​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, 

"Fucking Italians," y/n mumbled both angered and brought to close eyes by her thundering headache. Not that it helped but it was più forte di lei, after what those fuckers had put her through, y/n could barely contain her anger. If it wasn't impossible for her to stand without throwing up and probably fainting, she'd be already on her way to give them a piece of her mind.

"Retreat your claws, kitten. It's already been taken care of." A familiar voice spoke from beside her. She didn't need to open her eyes and look to know to whom the voice belonged. It welcomed her every morning and wished her sweet dreams on most nights.

"It's not. My fist hasn't met their faces yet."

His presence comforted and helped in rooting her. There was no point in getting all worked up while she was still in the hospital risking making her headache worse. Y/n knew that but to know and to act accordingly are two different things.

"Well then, that can be arranged, pet. For now, though, you need to rest," he tutted not even trying of hiding his amusement.

Y/n groaned.

"The world must be fucking ending if Alfie Solomons is the wisest in the room," she snickered knowing how prone to anger and action Alfie was.

He merely scoffs and despite not looking at him, y/n knew that he had shot her a mean glance. Indeed, she could only imagine the state she was in but whatever it was, it must not be a pretty sight. And whatever image Alfie had carefully crafted for himself over the ears, y/n knew that he was worried. Probably angry too but given what he said about the Italians, he had already acted on that leaving only worry.

All the more reason to resort to sarcasm then, y/n thought.

However, before any of them could add anything, the door of the room opened. And so did y/n's eyes.

Fuck, was the first thing that crossed her mind when her eyes fell on her brother.

This was not how she'd imagined being reunited with him.

"Mr Solomons," Tommy's tone matched the iciness of his eyes and the imperturbability of his expression.

It was something that y/n had always both admired and hated about him. It was amazing how aloof he was able to come across on any occasion, even though she understood growing up that it was achieved at great expense. However, when in a fight with him, it was greatly unnerving to speak with an unreactive wall of ice. A clench of the jaw was the most you could get out of him.

Y/n had learned how to deal with him and now it didn't bother her anymore, but still. Knowing how much shit she was in, she couldn't help but flinch at his tone. Even if it was directed at Alfie who, for the record, looked completely unbothered by it.

"Mr Shelby," he simply reciprocated the greeting as if he didn't hear the underlying question in Tommy's words. What the hell are you doing here?

"You were the last person I expected to find at my sister's bedside." But Tommy had never been one who shied away from confrontation, didn't lose any time and got right to it.

"Well, life is full of surprises, ain't it?" Topping his head a little further on his head so that he could clearly stare at him, Alfie gave him a smug smirk.

Tommy sat down on the other side of y/n's bed, his eyes never leaving Alfie engaging them in an unwavering contest.

Men.

"You should thank him." She found her voice even though she knew that Alfie didn't need her help and it probably meant for her to be caught in the crossfire. Better than having them shooting glares at each other.

Tommy's eyes snapped to her then, like she wasn't the one he'd come to see.

"You must already know what happened so that means that you're aware of his help." Making the most of his attention on her, she pleaded Alfie's cause.

"What I'm worried about is why he's involved in the first place." Taking a lighter and his pack of cigarette, he lit one.

"Like you don't know, Tommy," y/n snickered, "I know you've sent fucking Isaiah after me like a fucking dog." she huffed deeply annoyed at how his brother thought it was okay to have her controlled like she was a fucking baby. Not that Alfie would have let anything happen to her, anyway. But, above all, she knew how to take care of herself, thank you very much.

His jaw clenched - here it is- but he offered no response. No explanation, no apology. Not that y/n expected him to.

"S'alright Tommy. No need to thank me for protecting my favourite Shelby." Alfie butted in interrupting your siblings glaring. Y/n felt his hand wrap around hers, she didn't know if it was to emphasise his point or to offer her comfort. Either way, she welcomed it intertwining their fingers.

"Wisdom and a compliment both leaving your mouth all in under ten minutes. Fuck, the end of the world is fucking close indeed." Tightening her hold on him, y/n couldn't help but mock him. Not that it was a mystery how Alfie cared for her but he wasn't keen on verbal demonstrations, if it wasn't in the intimacy of a bedroom, so every time he did felt strange. In a good way though. Y/n truly appreciated it but she couldn't pass out on the chance to embarrass him. It was how their relationship was.

"Well, smelling death in the room will do that to ya," Alfie chirped back taking her jab in streak. Told you it was how they worked.

"Nice to know I need to die for you to be nice to me."

"You're not dead though, are ya?" His fed-up tone let on that he was almost regretting that she wasn't but his hold on her hand fooled no one. Well, just her since she was the only one aware of it.

"Still not too sure, to be honest." As holding up her head was proving to be a proving challenge, she rested it back on her pillow. Giving in, she also closed her eyes hoping it'll help.

"If you'd do as you're fucking told then you'd feel better," Alfie scowled.

"Can't you talk to your God or something and ask him to kiss my ouchies away?" She asked while her other hand went up to gently massage her forehead.

"Don't work it like that pet, right?" He somewhat growled at the insinuation no matter how ridiculous it was, "Can help you with that though if you want." And as if someone had flipped a switch, his tone turned suggestive.

"Thought you'd never ask." She smirked peeking at him through her lids.

It was then that Tommy cleared his throat, successfully snapping both of their attention to him.

"This is disgusting."  Disgust evident in his voice but it went unacknowledged by both y/n and Alfie.

"Glad to see you too, Tommy," was y/n's answer to his brother.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said eyes softening in the subtlest way when they landed on y/n. Then he turned to Alfie, " I won't forget this, Mr Solomons. Even though it changes nothing."

"Didn't think it would," Alfie answered while y/n simply rolled her eyes at them.

"I'll leave you to it, then." Pocketing the lighter he had been playing with, Tommy stood up and after lightly nodding at them he went to walk out of the room.

"See you soon, Tommy," Y/n called for him before he was out of the door but she knew that he had heard her.

"See you never," Alfie mumbled under his breath clearly of another opinion. Despite his intentions, y/n had heard him and went to smack him with whatever small energy she had left. Of course, her touch went almost unfelt but Alfie had the decency of feigning hurt.

"So, you know what this means." She spoke again after a while. She never much cared for silence.

"That you're brother's an ass, yeah. Already knew that, dove." Alfie pointed it out, leaning back in his chair, legs widening, his cane resting between them.

"That it's official," she smiled ignoring Alfie's jab at her brother, she looked at him smiling "you've met my family."

"Bloody hell, what did I get myself into." He grumbled hiding his face in his hands. Jokes on him though if he thought she was the difficult one between them.

"Oh shut up, I'm a fucking delight." Shifting around to get more comfortable, she closed her eyes again. It was time to get some rest.

"Yeah, in your sleep maybe." Knowing it to be true, y/n didn't feel the need to say anything, however, if her eyes had been opened she was sure to say anything about the fond smile on Alfie's lips. She secretly loved how much of a sap he really was. Not that she was ever going to tell him, of course.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x shelby!reader #alfie solomons one shot #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons imagines #alfie solomons fluff #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #shelby sister #peaky blinders imagines #tom hardy #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagines

[vrishchikawrites]

Hello, this is the prompt I wanted to send you.

WangXian fic set during the sunshot compaign after one of their famous fights. They stumble upon an array that shows the future and It activated when WWX touched it. The array started showing glimpses of married and in love WX going on dates (yunmeng date), night hunting together, kissing, pillowtalks and aftercare, adopting children, teaching at the CR... YLLZ! WWX feeling jealous and bitter and not understanding why. The reveal that LWJ's husband is WWX, his falling out with the Jiang sect and JC's role in his death. Basically a fic where YLLZ! WWX finds out that after all these hardships he is finally going to be happy, have his own family and be with the love of his life where he is loved, cared for, respected and appreciated. And longing to have that future with LWj.

It can be a fix it fic with a happy ending please.

Posted on Ao3 here

Alternating POV - Wei Wuxian - Lan Wangji - Wangxian - A bit angsty with happy ending - Mature. Betaed by Moonyju.

I hear your heart beating in your chest

Wei Wuxian isn't the one to dwell on the past or look towards the future. He lives every day as it comes and faces every challenge without carrying burdens forward.

He has never planned for his future, not really. Some vague dreams here and there, but nothing real. Wei Wuxian learned at the tender age of four that the future is unpredictable. One day you wake up to your mother's warm smile and your father's gentle words. The next day, you have lost those things forever. Life has proven this to him repeatedly.

Future is uncertain, present is the only certainty Wei Wuxian believes in.

So, when he and the illustrious Second Jade of Lan stumble into an array while rescuing a few civilians. An illusion of sorts surrounds him, obscuring the real world outside the array. He doesn’t pay much attention to what it reveals. Instead, he focuses his attention on the array itself, carefully examining its intricacies. A single glance is enough to tell it is some sort of temporal array, a shade of what cultivators use for preservation purposes. But it also seems to have some form of an illusionary element to it. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down to study it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, almost in warning but Wei Wuxian is content to ignore him for once. Lan Zhan has always drawn too much of his attention and it rankles now more than ever.

Another quarrel, another needless argument about Wei Wuxian not understanding the depth and implications of his actions. Sometimes he wonders if Lan Zhan intends to sound as dismissive or haughty as he does when he confronts him about Mo Dao. He likes to believe Lan Wangji is above such petty things, but the man’s dogged refusal to accept Wei Wuxian’s path and his relentless quest to fix something that can’t be fixed is getting on his last nerve.

“Wei Ying,” He looks up at the sharp tone, meeting a pair of golden eyes in question only to be arrested by something akin to embarrassment tinting Lan Zhan’s stoic features. He glances towards the illusion and stills, somewhat stunned by the scene before him.

It is Lan Zhan. Or a version of him. He’s broader, with more mature features and a much sharper gaze. But that’s not the most astonishing thing, no.

Lan Zhan is… kissing someone.

It is someone shorter than him, with long hair tied up and away from a fairly pretty face. Wei Wuxian eyes the way Lan Zhan cradles the face and guides it towards his kisses, gentle and full of affection.

It entrances him for a moment. He can’t help but stare at the scene, taking in how Lan Zhan seems to lean in again and again, to press closer like he can’t get enough. His heart races and he doesn’t really understand why it is suddenly so…

“Wei Ying!” He drags his eyes away from the illusion and looks at his Lan Zhan, who seems increasingly flustered despite the relatively calm expression on his face. His ears are bright red and he’s pointedly not looking in the illusion’s direction.

He smiles teasingly, “Aiya, Lan Zhan, it looks like the older version of you is more relaxed.”

“It is a trick.” Lan Zhan protests immediately but Wei Ying dips his eyes down to scan the array again and shakes his head. There are several clues that highlight the array’s purpose clearly. Lan Zhan is no less knowledgeable than he is so he must see it too.

The denial is already fading from the Second Jade’s features and Wei Wuxian stands up, brushing his knees absently. He glances at the illusion and feels something strange pool in his stomach, something like dread, when he sees the pair again. Lan Zhan is pressing the strange person to the tree behind them, pinning her- no-

He peers closer, swallowing when Lan Zhan’s hand disappears into the person’s robes. Lan Zhan’s… companion is clearly not a woman, that much was apparent at first glance. But it is even more apparent when those robes fall open under Lan Zhan’s questing fingers.

Somehow, that feels worse.

He struggles to maintain his composure and fixes a grin on his face, “Well-” The scene shifts abruptly and Wei Wuxian barely withholds a gasp, his eyes immediately drawn to the older Lan Zhan’s peaceful face. He’s sleeping, his arms wrapped loosely around the same companion from before. The room around them seems like it is in Cloud Recesses, perhaps Lan Wangji’s home?

His eyes turn back towards Lan Wangji and he takes a careful breath, heart aching for some reason. He pointedly doesn’t look at the man’s companion and silently turns to look at the array again. The time element is solid, undisturbed and clean. More than a simple illusion, a clear glimpse of the future.

But…

He looks up and the scene has changed again. Lan Wangji is with that man again. They stand side by side and the man is leaning against the Second Jade brazenly but Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to mind. He has his hand low on the man’s back, a gesture that reads distinctly possessive. The scene wouldn’t be out of place in any family. There’s a husband, there’s a wife, there’s a child clinging to the wife’s robes, and there’s a young man standing before them with a smile that speaks of affection.

The array seeks to show people a glimpse of their future. Lan Zhan is seeing his life as a settled man of a good family.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t exist.

He takes a careful breath as that thought settles in his mind. He has always known his path is treacherous but something in him burns to see life move on so peacefully without him.

The world has never had much space for him. When he was a child, no one had space to let him rest. As a youth, his place at the Lotus Pier was small, surrounded by thorns. The space keeps shrinking and shrinking ever since he stepped out of the Burial Mounds. He imagines at some point it will vanish altogether and Wei Wuxian will be forced to vanish with it.

Melancholy doesn’t suit him but the ache of it strikes him powerfully now.

The sight of Lan Zhan moving on – they’re not even friends, what does he need to move on from? – shatters something in him.

He can’t summon a smile.

Wei Wuxian locks his jaw and ignores his racing heart as the scene goes on. The young boy saying something to Lan Wangji’s partner and the partner grinning in response.

Lan Wangji’s expression is soaked in affection, despite how stoic it appears. The corners of his mouth are softer and there’s a fond light in those golden eyes. Wei Wuxian has never seen something so beautiful.

He watches as the young man leans down and plucks the child off the ground and carries him away, both of them waving to Lan Wangji and his partner until they’re out of sight.

Wei Wuxian’s heart shudders when Lan Wangji discreetly pulls his partner closer and buries his nose in his hair, expression content.

Suddenly, it is unbearable.

He brings his thumb to his mouth, ready to tear into his flesh and disrupt the seal with his blood. It would take very little to get them out of here safely. Lan Zhan has seen enough good things about his life, there’s no need to linger.

No need for him to find out that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t exist during this peaceful time. He knows the man cares about him enough to be upset if he is lost.

Just as he’s about to bite into his thumb, fingers wrap around his wrist tightly.

Wei Wuxian looks up to see Lan Zhan gazing at him with wide, stunned eyes.

```

Wangji accepts what is happening almost immediately after Wei Ying shakes his head. He has always had a more intuitive understanding of spells and talismans. It is rare for Wei Ying to be mistaken in such matters.

So, this is his future. A glimpse of things that will happen a few decades down the line. Wangji is uncertain what to make of it. His ears feel warm as he witnesses the intimacy between partners. There’s enough affection written on his older self’s face to know the relationship is real.

He looks at his… companion. He doesn’t lack beauty. A delicate countenance, inky black hair, and a pleasing form. He looks almost alarmingly similar to Wei Ying, with only small differences. There’s an echo of Wei Ying in his smile and even the way he tosses his head back and laughs reminds Wangji strongly of the man beside him.

Only Wei Ying has never looked at him like that. This man’s face is flushed with passion, lips bitten red by his partner’s kisses. There’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes that makes his breath still in his chest for a moment. It reminds him of the expression Wei Ying wore all those years ago when they ran across the rooftops in Cloud Recesses.

How… is it possible for this man to be so similar?

He glances down at the array, trying to decipher what it seeks to accomplish. Wangji has never seen anything like it but there are enough familiar elements in it to deduce its purpose. It is clearly designed to show them their future, to create a sort of mirror that reflects images of their future life into the past.

Wangji tears his eyes away and turns to Wei Ying, a few questions already forming in his mind.

Wei Ying’s expression arrests him.

Wangji stills, unable to move his gaze away from Wei Ying’s face. There’s something bitter about his grimace and flinty in his eyes. He watches the scene with an almost animal expression, lips pursed in displeasure – furious – Wangji realizes with an indrawn breath.

For a short, heartbreaking moment, he fears it is disapproval, disgust for a cutsleeve relationship.

That impression doesn’t last.

Wei Ying’s hand goes briefly to his chest and something very much like open, raw pain crosses his face, wiping away the anger. The expression… is nothing close to disgust.

It is a short, unguarded moment and it ensnares Wangji completely. His heart races in his chest as several realizations happen in an instant.

Wei Ying is an ever-smiling sprite, mischievous as they come. He rarely shows any true sorrow and Wangji has only seen him show true anger three times over their acquaintance. It is easy to become convinced that nothing can touch the formidable Wei Wuxian. But standing there, looking at Wangji’s future with a bitter expression, Wei Ying seems shattered.

The expression is devastatingly open. In that instant, Wangji has no problem understanding Wei Ying better than he has ever before.

Wei Ying’s expression twists before every inch of vulnerability is gone from his face. It is wiped clean and almost cold, colder than he has ever seen Wei Ying be. He locks his jaw and brings his hand to his mouth, his movements stiff and sharp.

Wangji shoots forward, wrapping his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist. He feels the pulse hammering under his fingers and his own heart races in an echo of it. Wei Ying’s eyes are sharp and defensive, hiding the pain that Wangji had glimpsed clearly before.

In contrast, Wangji feels almost breathless with elation, “Don’t,” he says, pulling Wei Ying’s hand away from his mouth. His hand doesn’t shake but he feels shaken. Wei Ying scowls at him, which is also something he has never done, “Don’t.”

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Ying says curtly, “This isn’t for me to see and we have seen enough. Let go.”

Wangji tightens his fingers, unwilling to let go. He studies Wei Ying’s face carefully, finding it unreadable once again. In fact, Wei Ying is uncharacteristically quiet, not teasing him about his future partner, not commenting on the cutsleeve relationship, not even mentioning his older self’s appearance.

The silence speaks loudly.

'Don't nurture foolish hope,' Wangji thinks to himself but it grows in him anyways. It is strange that a single glimpse of an unguarded emotion is enough to alter Wangji’s perspective so much, but it does and now he isn’t inclined to let the matter go.

“Don’t destroy the array,” He requests, “Something isn’t right.” Wei Ying should be present. The array shouldn’t focus on Wangji’s future only. He doesn’t know who the strange man is but he can’t imagine being with anyone but Wei Ying.

Is his heart so fickle? Can it stray from Wei Ying that easily?

It is unsettling to consider it.

“We can figure it out once we’re away from this illusion,” Wei Ying says, making a visible effort to muster his usual nonchallance but Wangji sees they way his eyes flicker away, looking at the couple in the illusion briefly before glancing down at the array like he can’t stand the sight of it.

“Wei Ying-”

“Aiya, er-gege, what are you doing to your poor Wei Ying?”

Wangji glances sharply at the illusion as Wei Ying stills, his arm going tense in his grasp.

The pair in the illusion are now closer and somehow their conversation is audible. The voice is strange but the cadence and rhythm is entirely Wei Ying, teasing, playful, pleasant.

Wangji’s grip tightens as he sees his future self pull his companion onto his lap, a spare Lan forehead ribbon in his grasp. It has the clan markings, it belongs to a clan member but Wangji’s ribbon is already on his forehead.

He swallows and feels the pulse beating against his fingers speed up as his future self wraps the ribbon around his partner’s forehead.

“Wei Ying must wear it for today’s ceremony,” His older self says and his Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath, his hand going lax in surprise, “Xiongzhang has requested it.”

“Well, if Xichen-ge has requested it, this one must obey,” Wei Ying sounds… happy. And it is Wei Ying. The face is different but the smile, full of mischief and life, is the same.

“What… is this?” His Wei Ying asks, baffled. He looks down to study the array more keenly, trying to determine why the illusion looks different.

Wangji is hearted to see the stiffness of his features melt into curiosity, “Lan Zhan, why would the array alter my appearance and not yours?” He asks, no longer attempting to pull away from Wangji.

The illusion is still playing in the background, showing what will happen several years down the line. But Wangji isn’t curious now. The present is so much more interesting.

Wei Ying is looking at the array, the conversation in the background is cheerful, full of intimacy and affection, the pulse against his fingers is still beating rapidly.

There’s a flush crawling up Wei Ying’s neck.

Wangji observes. He sees the blush crawl further and settle on Wei Ying’s cheeks. He sees teeth digging into soft lips, anxious. He sees eyes flicker towards him, towards the illusion, before moving away.

‘How can I bear it,’ He asks himself and gives in. He pulls the hand in his grasp to his mouth, pressing his lips against the center of Wei Ying’s palm and closing his eyes.

---

Wei Ying fears his heart will fail if this continues. The lively chatter of a couple in love surrounds them and his Lan Zhan is pressing his precious face against Wei Ying’s hand, cool but utterly content. The feel of his petal-soft lips against the rough skin of his palm is enough to drive him to distraction.

He doesn’t know how to react or what to say. He doesn’t want to pull his hand away but there’s a strange, almost unsettling sensation low in his stomach, not unpleasant, but very unfamiliar. Wei Ying has flirted with people before but he has never felt any true attraction towards them.

But the longer he remains inside this array, the more he learns about himself.

Lan Zhan moves, taking a step closer, dipping his lips lower to brush against Wei Ying’s exposed wrist.

His breath trembles as he gasps. The sensation is almost sharp, knife-like. He feels his entire body change and respond to it. He feels his fingers curl, his hair stand on end, and his body lean forward.

There’s a flash of teeth.

“Lan Zhan,” His voice is shamefully raw, everything he feels is written in the tone of it. Lan Zhan reacts immediately and Wei Ying goes, helpless against him. Lips slide over his and a warm, strong body presses close. The kiss is harsh, full of tongue and teeth. Desperate like Lan Zhan has been holding himself back and has finally been granted permission.

Wei Ying sways in place, lightheaded as a tongue slides over his and licks the roof of his mouth. ‘What is this,’ he wonders dazedly. There are strong fingers around his wrist and neck, showing no indication of every letting go. There’s a slight popping sound in his ears and he absently notes that the illusion has dispersed but Lan Zhan doesn’t give him time to think.

He yelps when Lan Zhan moves a hand down his back and grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up in a smooth movement. Next thing he knows, he’s pressed against a rough surface and his lips are captive again. His skin burns wherever Lan Zhan has touched it. His mouth feels raw and hot when they pull apart.

He stares when bright golden eyes look at him, edged with heat that he didn’t think Lan Zhan was capable of feeling.

It takes a moment for him to collect his thoughts under that direct gaze but he manages, his bruised lips curling into a teasing smile, “Er-gege, how shocking!” He leans forward, confident that Lan Zhan won’t drop him, “Look at what you’ve done to your poor Wei Ying!” He lifts the hand Lan Zhan had kept captive, showing off the redness he can feel around his wrist.

Lan Zhan glances at it but there’s no remorse in his expression, not even a hint of apology.

Wei Ying feels a delighted laughter bubble in his chest at this new revelation. The reserved and taciturn Hangjuang-jun is capable of such passion! “My, my, who would have thought you’d take advantage of me like this?” He drapes his hands around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing his lips close to a flushed red ear, “You didn’t even ask, just held me tight and took what you wanted. How bold! How shameless!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice is lined with warning but Wei Ying doesn’t care. He feels utterly safe, utterly content, for the first time in years. What can touch him when he is in Lan Wangji’s arms?

“Is it always going to be like this?” He teases, “Now that you know I am to be yours, probably your husband or will it be wife? Will you kiss me… maybe even fuck me, whenever you wish?”

“Be silent.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, how can I be silent now? You have awakened my curio-” Another fierce, biting kiss interrupts him and Wei Ying laughs, delighting in Lan Zhan’s eagerness. Everything fades, all serious and practical considerations hold no meaning. Later, when he is alone in his tent, he will think about how unreachable this dream is, but now he is happy to submit to Lan Zhan.

---

War progresses as it must. Wei Ying continues to remain on his cultivation path but his touch is a bit gentler now. He isn’t as ruthless as he used to be.

It takes effort and patience. It takes many bitten back reprimands and angry words. It takes months and months of careful questioning before Lan Wangji understands the incredible, breathtaking sacrifices his beloved has made. Not even Wei Ying can stop him from seeking out Wen Qing and asking for her assistance. Not even his brother can stop him from offering shelter to her family in exchange. Not even Jiang Wanyin’s bitterness can stop Wangji from protecting Wei Ying.

He does what he must because he understands. That Wei Wuxian, the one from the array, had endured terrible strife. More strife than Wangji can ever allow his Wei Ying to suffer.

Wei Ying will survive and thrive.

Wangji will make sure of it.

#short prompts #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #canon divergance #fix-it

[lizzie-tempest]

Can...can we get the paps of the yanderes SO finds out they are pregnant and manages to escape?

Nyehehe~

Undertale

Oh no.  If there’s one thing you’ve learned about the skeleton brothers, it’s that even though they’re both yanderes, Papyrus is the one you really need to worry about.  Sans may be the violent and manipulative one, but at least you can predict when he’s gonna strike.  But Papyrus?

Completely unstable.  There’s a reason why he usually gets what he wants.  No one wants to get on his bad side.  You don’t know what might happen if you do.  And once he finds out you’re pregnant, there’s no knowing what he’ll do to keep you with him.

You’re quick to leave.  You’re surprisingly lucky.  You find a place to settle down, find someone new to love who accepts your pregnant.  The months go on and as you get more and more heavily pregnant, you relax.  You think you’ve finally done it.  You’ve finally broken free!

There’s a knock on your door while your partner is at work.  You don’t think anything of it, until you open the door.  

Papyrus is standing there, grin crazed and eyes wild.  He’s covered in blood and you can see why.  Your partner’s body is lying on the floor, completely mangled beyond recognition and their decapitated head in Papyrus’ grasp.

“DEAREST!  I HAVE FINALLY FOUND YOU!  OH, YOU MUST LOVE ME VERY MUCH TO HAVE CRAFTED SUCH A BRILLIANT PUZZLE!  AND WITH A CHALLENGER AT THE END!  I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT!  OUR CHILD WILL BE SO SMART!”

He takes in your form, his hands stroking your belly and it’s then that Sans steps into sight, waving the pregnancy test and smirking.

“you didn’t think we’d let you go, did you?”

Underswap

You try and get away.  Really you do.  

But no matter who you try and turn to for help, they turn their backs on you.  Family?  Consider yourself disowned.  Friends?  All talking behind your back.  Everyone who you used to talk to, be friends with and care about before you started going out with Stretch, now wants nothing to do with you and you can’t understand why.

But it turns out, that Stretch has actually been rather busy.  He knows you’re pregnant.  He’s known for days that you’re trying to get away.  He could see it in your soul.  He can’t let you get away.   He loves you too much. 

So he started spreading rumours.  It’s amazing how the tiniest rumours spread among humans and can flare into a wild fire of nastiness and cruelty towards the one being talked about.  Stupid human idiots will believe everything.

You finally come back to him in tears, sobbing and genuinely upset about how your loved ones have treated you.  

He shushes you.  Stretch pulls you into his arms and dries your tears, allowing you to sob openly into his hoodie and telling him your woes.  

“shh.  it’s alright, honey.  they can’t really love you if they treat you like that, right?”

You nod.  He grins.  He’s got you right where he wants you.

“it’s okay.  you’ve got me.  i’ll always be here, i’ll never say such mean things about you.  you can count on me.  you don’t need anyone else.  wanna go upstairs and cuddle?”

You sniffle and mutter a quiet “Okay.”

Without you even knowing, he’s got you in his clutches again.  And this time, there’s no chance of escape.

Underfell

Naturally, he’s furious when he discovers you’re gone anyway.  Even more so when he finds the pregnancy test.  This just would not do at all.  Has he taught you nothing?

It really doesn’t take him that long to hunt you down, he’s rather experienced in hunting humans after all.  He doesn’t listen to your protests and unfortunately for you, no one jumps in to help you.  No one wants to confront the giant, scowling skeleton with razor sharp teeth.

When he gets you home, he tugs you in the direction of the basement and you start struggling and screaming even more.  You know from experience what will happen if you go down there.  

He’s going to punish you for leaving.  

Oh, but rest assured that the baby won’t be harmed.  He’ll make sure of that.  He just has to make sure that you realize what you did wrong and then he will restart the process of training you.

A good mate is an obedient one, after all.

Horrortale

Is completely delusional.  Your unsteady relationship with Crooks is based purely on the fact that you look a little like the main character on his favourite show.  He insists on you dressing, talking and acting like that person so that he can live out his fantasy of being with that character.  It makes you uneasy to begin with, but when you find out you’re pregnant you know that you can’t do this anymore.

You try and break it to him gently.  Besides the whole character worship thing, he’s been sweet and kind and you don’t want to break his heart.  You can still be friends and you want him to be involved with the child if he wishes to be.  If not, then you understand.  Not everyone wants to be parents.

He takes it surprisingly well and sends you on your way.  He...took it a little too well.

Crooks shows up at your work the next day, all smiles and holding a gift basket filled with goodies.  His obsession’s favourite snacks and treats.

When he calls you over, he’s not using your name.  He’s using their name.  You try and talk to him, try and explain that you’re no longer together and that you broke up the day before.  He just smiles sweetly, blinking.

“What are you talking about, my dear?  We had no such conversation!  Oh, you must be imagining things!  An effect of the pregnancy, no doubt!” He’s announced it so loudly that everyone is looking over now.  Crooks insists on taking you home and you reluctantly agree.

Except he doesn’t take you to your home.  He takes you back to his home.  When you try and protest he pouts and says that he has prepared a home-cooked meal for you.  He made it with love!  You’re aware of what the situation in the Underground was.  You can’t bring yourself to turn him down. 

When you step inside he locks the door.  You reluctantly eat the spaghetti he’s made, feeling more nervous with every mouthful.  Why isn’t he eating?

You feel drowsy.  You just about catch Crooks grinning with excitement before everything goes black.

You wake up in their basement, surrounded by pillows and blankets.  And dressed as the main character from his favourite show, hair styled in the same way and a chain around your ankle.

Swapfell

You left him?  You left?  How could you do this to him?  Don’t you realize how much he loves you?

Mutt hunts you down out of desperation.  He needs you.  He can’t live without your presence in his life.  Every moment that he’s without you increases his anxiety.

Are you safe?  Are you alive?  Are you happy?  These questions and more bounce around in his skull as he searches, growing more desperate and frustrated with each passing day.  He needs you, you’re his princess!  His goddess!  His very reason for staying alive!

He starts scratching at his bones.  It’s his fault you left.  He wasn’t good enough.  If he had been a better mate, if he had protected you from the outside world then you wouldn’t have left.

You’re a few months along when he finds you.  He takes you in, stares at your belly and the cogs start turning.  The dots connect.  It makes sense.  

You wanted this to be a surprise!  Oh what a wonderful mate you are!  So perfect!  He grabs you before you can run.

“i finally found you!  at long last, stars i was goin’ crazy without ya.” he presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You whimper, protesting and trying to get away and his expression turns crazed.

“no!  don’t leave me again!  please, i can’t live without you!  look!  look what i did!  i did this because you left me!  that kinda makes it your fault, haha!”

He’s shoved his wrists into your face and you take in the deep scratches.  The kind soul you are can’t help but inspect them, trying to make sure they’re not infected or hurting in any way and he purrs at the attention.

Mutt’s teleported you home without you even knowing it, having used his scratched wrists to distract you.  He pulls you even closer, placing his hand on your belly.

“now we can be together forever.”

I’m so sorry this took so long.  I got this ask really late at night, so I decided to leave it till morning.  But then I had to help Big Bro make a CV and THEN I got dragged out to walk Tilly dog and have only now just been able to get to it! >_> 

I hope it’s okay! 

#anon ask #ask #imagine #yandere papyrus #pregnant reader #undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #lizzie writes #lizzie imagines

[fatesdeepdive]

Entry 9: NO

Before doing anything else, I built a lottery house in the castle. The logistics of there being stores and gambling houses within my personal castle, that my soldiers work at, that don’t just give me whatever I want is kinda weird. The lottery gave me a radish I fed to Lilith.

Support: Hana/Subaki

C: Hana confronts Subaki about his tendency to refer to himself as perfect. He brushes it off, because he thinks that he genuinely is completely without fault. This angers Hana, who brings up a time Subaki fell off his horse and challenges him to a duel.

B: The duo begin their competition. Subaki, despite not actually having any sword skills, manages to defeat Hana by studying her fighting style over several months and messing with her head.

A: Hana takes the second round, beating Subaki in a horse race. Hana reveals that she doesn’t actually care about beating Subaki, just about serving Sakura, and the two decide to suspend their competition.

S: Subaki states that he hates when Hana brings up the time he fell off his horse because he embarrassed himself in front of Hana. Also the duo apparently love each other now.

Review: Decent set up, lackluster execution. I do like Hana’s feelings of inferiority in comparison to Subaki, and Subaki is wonderfully arrogant during this line, but the resolution comes from a revelation Hana had off screen and feels anti-climactic. I felt nothing during the marriage conversation.

Support: Hana/Sakura

C: Hana and Sakura discuss their childhood friendship and the fact that Hana has been protecting Sakura since even before she was a retainer. Sakura states that Hana’s stubbornness pairs nicely with her own introversion.

B: Hana reveals that Sakura’s kindness gave her a reason to dedicate herself to becoming a master samurai. Sakura reveals that she chose Hana as her retainer, in spite of her age and objections from others, because of...a reason explained in the next conversation. Gotta love cliffhangers.

A: Sakura chose Hana as her retainer because of all the times she protected her as a kid, so many times that Hana is covered in scars. Sakura feels guilty over Hana’s scars, but Hana brushes it off, stating that her scars are a badge of honor because they were earned protecting Sakura. Small character design note: Hana does not have any visible scars in this game. She does consistently have a scar in her arm in Heroes, and inconsistently has a scar on her left thigh, but neither of those scars are visible in game. Maybe the scars are hidden below her headband?

Review: First off, these two deserve an S-Rank conversation. They have more chemistry than most of the couples in this game. Setting that aside, I enjoy Hana and Sakura inspiring each other to be better. I love the idea of Hana protecting Sakura from feral dogs and Sakura repaying her by making her a retainer, going against royal officials to do so.

Support: Sakura/Subaki

C: Subaki yawns in front of Sakura then pretends it didn’t happen, because he is too perfect to get fatigued.

B: Subaki makes a tiny slip-up when filling out a form and has a complete meltdown, launching into a self-depreciating rant. Hana brings up that she’s seen him make mistakes before, which only makes things worse.

A: Sakura comforts Subaki and he reveals that his obsession with perfection stems from his childhood; his parents hammered in the idea that he must be perfect at all times as to not embarrass himself in front of royalty. He brings up the time he fell off his horse in front of Sakura right before she chose him as a retainer and reveals that he’s thought for years she chose him out of pity. Sakura comforts him, saying that he’s amazing and his slip-ups only make him more charming.

S: Subaki renews his vows as a retainer, promising to always fight for Sakura even if he cannot achieve total perfection. Sakura accepts, on the condition that Subaki marries her.

Review: I actually really enjoyed this one. The main gag with Subaki is that he’s arrogant and thinks of himself as perfect. This line deconstructs that, showing him fall apart at the idea that he isn’t good enough. It didn’t go fully into it, but this line suggests that Subaki may have some real mental health issues, possibly stemming from an abusive childhood. The romance isn’t perfect, but I do like the idea of Subaki ending up with Sakura because she helps him learn to accept himself. Also for all of Sakura’s supports I’m going to pretend that she isn’t like fourteen, because otherwise they’re all super creepy.

Support: Corrin/Sakura

C: Corrin asks if Sakura dislikes her and Sakura, who has never once visited any Fire Emblem or Smash Brothers forum, states that no one could ever dislike Corrin. Apparently, Sakura is awkward and shy around Corrin because she sucks at talking to people. Corrin offers to help her practice talking.

B: Corrin asks Sakura some basic questions and Sakura freezes up from anxiety and can’t answer anyone. Corrin theorizes that Sakura is easily intimidated by other people.

A: Sakura reveals that she’s always so anxious because she heard a rumor that Nohr actually wanted to kidnap her, not Nohr. This rumor was evidently false, because it makes absolutely no sense from a lore perspective. Also, I question the idea that this is the source of all of Sakura’s anxiety. Her anxiety around Corrin, maybe, but it’s odd that guilt over her sister’s kidnapping that she’s known for years wasn’t her fault would make her anxious around other people. I mean, it’s more pronounced around Corrin, but only in this support line. Whatever. Corrin swears to protect Sakura and I guess that means her anxiety is cured.

Review: This conversation is mediocre. Sakura getting anxiety because of something a maid said once is stupid, but Corrin trying to help her get over it is okay.

You’ll notice that I stopped this at the A rank. Well, you see, Corrin and Sakura only have three, conversations instead of four because, despite Corrin having a variable gender, Corrin and Sakura are siblings and Intelligent Systems would never include incest in a Fire Emblem game. They’d never do that because that would be terrible.

Wait. What’s that? Why does it say on the wiki that they have an S-Conversation? Surely this isn’t real.

Oh god it’s real.

No.

No no no.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

What the fuck, Intelligent Systems? Why did you include incestuous pedophilic marriage in your role-playing game? Seriously, what the actual fuck?

And, looking at Corrin’s support list, it’s not just Sakura. Every single Nohr and Hoshidan royal can date Corrin. I don’t know what’s worse, Corrin having sex with her stranger blood siblings or having sex with the people she thought were her blood siblings for years. Fine. Let’s just do the stupid conversation.

S: Sakura reveals that she’s been dreaming about the sibling she never knew for years, imagining what Corrin would grow up to be like. It’s actually a decent idea, albeit one hidden in the evil cursed S-Support that I hate. Corrin asks if they live up to expectations and Sakura states that they exceed them. Then Sakura says that she loves Corrin. Romantically. Corrin, being the sane person, objects, pointing out that they’re half-siblings. I don’t know where this half-sibling thing came from, as far as Corrin knows both of them are the children of Mikoto and Sumeragi. I mean, it is stated in Revelations that Mikoto isn’t actually the mother of anyone but Corrin, but Corrin doesn’t know that yet. Whatever. Sakura pulls out a letter from Mikoto that she only read a few minutes ago that says, psych! Corrin and Sakura aren’t actually related. At all. So it’s cool to bang. Corrin instantly gets over the whole “Don’t fuck your little sister” thing immediately and proposes to Sakura. What the actual fuck.

Review Continued: If ninety percent of the S-Rank conversation is convincing the audience that, no, this isn’t incest, you know it’s bad. And sure, it isn’t technically incest anymore, but who cares? Corrin and Sakura didn’t know that until ten seconds before they screwed each other. This is an incestuous marriage and it’s fucking gross. The writers clearly know it was gross, but they included it anyway.

And here’s the big problem with the Hoshidan sibling marriages: Birthright is built on the premise that this is Corrin’s real family, that Hoshido is her real home. It’s literally called Birthright. But if Corrin isn’t actually related to the Hoshidan Royals, all of that falls apart. They’re just strangers. The whole concept of the game doesn’t apply anymore. Because Intelligent Systems couldn’t release a game where the player insert doesn’t fuck literally every character. And, until we get to the point in Revelations where that is properly revealed, I’m going to pretend I don’t know it.

We got some new characters at the end of the last chapter, so let’s talk about them.

Silas

Silas is a cavalier who went turncloak for Corrin at the end of the last chapter because of a childhood friendship Corrin doesn’t remember. His personal skill makes him fight better when Corrin is injured. I’m starting to notice just how many of these skills specifically relate to Corrin, which makes sense but is still kinda weird. His design is fine, nothing objectionable there. I do think Silas’s forgotten childhood friend backstory is a bit odd, though. And I’m getting sick of characters who are obsessed with Corrin.

Saizo

Saizo is Kaze’s twin brother who looks like twenty years older than him. He’s the slower but tougher of the duo, judging from their stats. His personal skill Pyrotechnics is basically just him blowing shit up, which as far as I’m concerned is his solution to all problems. His mask is really weird looking, but at least he’s visually interesting. Personality wise, he seems like a dick, but in a good way. Our army needs some common sense and he brings it.

Orochi

Real talk: I forgot this character existed until she joined us. Orochi is a mage...er, diviner who has the personal skill Capture, which I’ll talk about later. Her design is decent; I like the sultry hair pulling in her portrait, it gives off a lot of personality. I don’t have much to say, I forgot she existed before the end of last chapter and have no clue what her personality will be.

Birthright Chapter 8: Fierce Winds

Team Corrin travels up the Eternal Staircase, a massive subterranean tunnel that leads to the Wind Tribe Village. Kaze notices that the group is being followed and a group of faceless pop out. Kaze and Corrin slaughter them with ease. Unfortunately, after the battle, the faceless turn into Wind Tribe civilians. Iago appears and explains that he disguised civilians as monsters using magic. He learned it from his favorite movie villain, the Joker from the Dark Knight, who Iago thinks is actually the good guy.

The gang reaches the Wind Tribe village. Corrin decides to just waltz in because sneaking past would be suspicious. Wind Tribe members attack. Not sure how they know about the whole slaughter thing. Maybe one of the fake faceless got away? Whatever.

Our three princesses apologize to the tribe members and they lead us to their chief, Fuga. Then the battle immediately begins. Guess negotiations didn’t go well.

Also here for some reason is Hinoka and her two retainers, Setsuna and Azama, both of whom are absolute morons. But, like, in a good way. Setsuna falls in quicksand, doesn’t care, and Azama immediately declares her dead. The fact that Hinoka has to basically babysit her two idiot bodyguards is amusing.

Setsuna

An Archer that works as Hinoka���s bodyguard. Her personal skill, Optimistic, makes her recover more when healed by a staff. A thing they do a lot in recent Fire Emblem games is to have characters that are based around specific gags or tropes. These are hit or miss, but Setsuna’s gag of constantly endangering herself and just not giving a shit sounds funny. The faced half-covered by hair initially makes her seem cool, but when paired with the dopey face and her personality it makes her look completely distracted. I like Setsuna, from what I’ve seen.

Azama

A monk who seems to be ridiculously optimistic and laid back. His personal skill, Divine Retribution, hurts opponents who attack him when he’s unarmed, which is a really cool idea. Azama doesn’t seem to be quite as funny as Setsuna, but still seems entertaining. I have mixed feelings on his design. I can’t tell if I like the closed eyes or not. The puffballs and wild hair are dumb though.

It’s worth noting that, because we move first, Corrin’s army attacks without provocation. Remember, they can’t see the red labels on enemies.

This map takes place in a desert. We can use the Dragon Veins to make it not a desert, which is good, because Fire Emblem deserts suck. Halfway through the battle, we finally talk to Fuga. He explains that we must earn the right to explain by killing all of his men. Bit of a dick move, chief.

We beat Fuga fairly easily. This chapter was fine, but just fine. Not bad, just unremarkable. Fuga explains that he was friends with Sumeragi and knows a lot about Yato. Apparently, us killing all of his men was a test to make us stronger so we can unlock Yato’s true power. Apparently, Yato can link something called the Sealed Flames and destroy the world. Neat.

Fuga accepts our explanation of the civilian murders. Which makes sense, it was kinda dumb. Actually, wait. Why did that have to be a plot point? Couldn’t this chapter just have been Fuga testing us?

Before we leave, Corrin and Azura discuss that there may be more blades like Yato out there. They don’t ask Fuga, because reasons. Also Fuga gives us his son. Neat.

#fire emblem fates #fe fates #fe 14 #corrin fe #sakura fe #corrin x sakura #setsuna fe #azama fe #subaki fe #sakura x subaki #subaki x hana #hana fe #silas f #saizo fe #orochi fe #fuga fe

[herondaleholly31]

The Book Swap  Chris Evans X Reader

Overview: You and Chris read your favourite books to each other 

A/N.....It’s been 84 years. No seriously it has been a LONG time since I’ve put something on here, but I’ve been taking a break writing imagines and I am beginning to love writing bigger projects. I’ve had lots of inspiration during lockdown however so those should start to come on here at some point. Thank you for continuing to show love to the rest of my imagines and I hope you like this one. If there’s any requests for both scenarios and people keep sending them to me and I’ll make sure to keep wokring through them :) 

Like and Reblog! 

Word Count: 2400

“Can we eat this in bed?” You jiggle the bowl of steaming pasta as you deliberately shuffle towards the bedroom. Chris looked up through his eyelashes and raised an eyebrow. 

“You want our bed to smell like meatballs?”

“But it will just make all of this perfect.” You pointed to the large windows which were dark and splattered with rain just as a flash of lightning lit up the skyline. Dodger whimpered nervously from his bed and gnawed further into the neck of his lion toy. “Dodger can hang out with us, and we can watch TV in bed and be nice and warm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Dodger?” You cooed and bent down to rub behind the dog’s ears, holding your food high so he couldn’t eat any of it. Dodger stretched and padded to Chris’ feet. Chris looked at you both and smiled with fake reluctance. “Okay, fine. Come on Bubba,” he picked up his bowl and slowly walked towards the door, making sure not to trip over Dodger’s bounding in delight. 

“Let’s just both promise we’re not going to spill anything,” Chris said jokingly, widening his eyes in a telling expression. 

You rolled your eyes. “It was one hot chocolate.” 

“And now there’s a stain that looks like someone pooed on one of the sheets.” Chris took your bowl and motioned his head for you the get into bed first. You turned on the fairy lights and lamps and dived underneath the puffy white duvet, wrapping it around your legs and hips while shifting it, so it was easy for him to get in too. Dodger sat at the end, his tail thwacking the air out of the duvet, eyes wide and staring at the food with longing. “No Bubba,” Chris warned as he gave you back your meal, “this isn’t for you. I’ve saved you some already.” 

“You made extra meatballs for the dog?” You shook your head in disbelief. Chris shrugged as if to to say of course I would and then gently pushed Dodgers sniffling nose away. You ate in silence watching the TV, the storm growing louder outside. As stomach full, you sank into the pillows, feeling so comfortable you never wanted to leave. Chris left only once to take the bowls away and bring in cups of coffee, but apart from that, he seemed to sink beside you.

“Is it alright If we turn off the TV?” You asked a little while later, “I’m in the mood to read.” 

“Yea, ‘course.” The TV went off, and you leaned over to your bedside table, shuffling further into the pillows as you got yourself comfortable to read. You had only read a few lines when Chris asked what you were reading. 

“A room with a view,” you showed him the cover. 

“Didn’t you read that at Christmas?” 

“Yea, but I was in the mood to reread it. Is that okay?” You jokingly confronted him, leaning closer to him feign intimidation. Chris copied you and gently pushed you on the forehead, so your head moved back. “I never understood the fun about classics.”

“Because they’re amazing stories.” 

“You can’t even understand them.” 

“Only smart people can.” 

“Oh, so are you saying I’m not smart?” 

“I don’t see your degree,” you pointed at your framed degree hung proudly by the bookshelf. 

“You mean the degree that’s next to my THREE shelves of awards?” Chris smiled cheekily as he pointed at the collection of statues glimmering in the soft light. “I don’t see your shelves there?” He laughed when you smacked him playfully with the book, leaning down to kiss you on the shoulder a couple of times. “We know you’re smarter than me.” 

“Thank you.” You moved closer to him, so he stayed propped up near you, breathing steadily as you went back to the story. He kept his head by your shoulder, sighing deliberately, so a gush of breath tickled the loose hairs around your neck. After a few minutes, you instinctively crumpled your ear into your shoulder, whinging at him to stop. 

“Sorry, sorry,” but his tone was edged with mirth. You tried to immerse yourself again, although this time Chris was starting to read lines out, intentionally dotting around the page, so your head began to swim. 

“…Was she was wrong in this, she asked herself, reviewing her conduct for the past week or two…” 

“Chris.”

“…she reflected, feeling rather sinister again, making Minta marry Paul…” 

“Please stop.” 

“….There was always a woman dying of cancer.” He frowned and shook his head. “This sounds so depressing.” You clapped a hand over his mouth, gritting your teeth as you smiled but muttering threats into his ear as he widened his eyes in phantom shock. “I swear you better shut up I’m trying to read.”

 “I love it when you talk dirty,” Chris mumbled behind your hand. 

“Are you going to stop?” You frowned. Chris nodded. Slowly, you pulled your hand away. Chris opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but with a quick “NO,” he closed it again. He halted for a moment, then spoke again. 

“What is it about this book that makes you love it so much?” 

“The writing is beautiful,” you sighed with content, “you don’t have to fully understand what E.M Forster’s saying because you FEEL what he’s saying through his words. He can perfectly describe a feeling which I’ve never been able to put into words. Like here,” you rapidly thumbed through the pages, stopping and jabbing at a line underlined in smudged pencil. “For that reason, knowing what was before them – love and ambition and being wretched alone on dreary places – she often had the feeling, why must they grow up and lose it all?” You shook the book in delight, expecting Chris to be just as excited. When he didn’t, your jaw slacked. “Isn’t that wonderful?” 

‘If you think it’s wonderful, then it must be,’ Chris shrugged. He pointed at the multitude of lines underlined in silver, gently moving underneath your hands to peer at the next few pages. “Why do you underline so much?” 

You bit the side of your cheek in an attempt to not sound embarrassed. “It depends. Sometimes it’s lines that are written really well or things that made me laugh; mostly it’s moments which make me love the book in particular. Like first kisses or when two people are reunited. Like here.’ Flipping the page, you read “‘this is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.’ Forster could’ve just said love is excellent, but this means so much more.”

“Uh, huh.” Chris was pretending to doze off on you, but when you retaliated by starting to shuffle away, he held you back. “Stop moving! you know I like how you pick up on those things.” He held his hand out as an invitation for the book, and when you handed it over, he flipped through the pages, reading the lines you’d memorised for so many years. “Is this how you feel? The way he writes?”

“Maybe not exactly. But I knew exactly what Forster meant by that last line because it made me think of you.” You enjoyed the way Chris’ face softened, the usually prominent bone structure hiding as his cheeks filled with a smile. 

“Maybe I should read it sometime if it means this much to you,” he mused, nodding slowly. “Even if it is all about ladies dying with cancer.” 

“Please do.” You half rolled over, your eyes drying out as you tried to look pleadingly at him. “I would die if you did that for me. I’ll read your favourite book if that persuades you.” You frowned. “I don’t even know what your favourite book is.” 

“Easy,” Chris said “Ferdinand the Bull.” 

“That’s a children’s book.” 

“So?”

“Well, it’s not exactly emotionally challenging.” 

“Hey, I cried at Ferdinand when I was a kid. Mom used to read it to us all the time. Didn’t you have Ferdinand in England?” 

“Probably, but my parents didn’t read loads to me.” 

“Aw man, you gotta read Ferdinand.” Chris swung out of bed, and half walked half skidded out of the room, Dodger tearing after him in excitement. You heard doors opening, lights being flicked on and bound books being dragged against wooden shelves, and then Chris came back down the corridor, turning to pick up the leg of Dodger’s stuffed lion and pulling both toy and dog back through the door. Dodger easily winning the tug of war sat underneath your vanity, chewing on his prize and Chris climbed back into bed, holding a battered picture book in triumph. It was obviously ancient. The red front cover had faded at the spine and at the edges due to sun exposure and a faint green stain which looked like paint coated the bottom. Chris still held it like it was a photo album and as he opened to the first page, he emitted a small gasp in wonder. 

“Oh my God, I haven’t read this in so long! Look, there’s my name.” He pointed at a scribble in the corner of the page, barely eligible. You smiled and nodded, not having the heart to tell him that he could’ve written a swear word and you wouldn’t have been able to tell. “It’s exactly how I remembered it,” Chris spoke fondly, and he adjusted the lamp by his head, so it shone brighter on the pages. “I’ve got to read this to Stella next time I see her,” at the mention of his niece he softened even more, and his expression went slightly gooey. 

“You can read it to me if you want,” you offered.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep reading your book?”

“Nah, I want to see what all the hype is about.” You gently closed A Room With A View and tapped on Chris’s arm, to which he lifted it up so you could lie between the pillow and his side. He shifted himself up so he could read and pushed your head to rest on his collarbone. “Can you see the pictures?” He spoke in a mocking baby voice but didn’t start until you’d stop shuffling and were comfy. Then he began to read, soft and slow at first but a couple of pages in he seemed to forget you were there. His voice started to rise and fall and get more expressive as he told the story of the bull who loved to smell flowers, and he laughed at the spindly drawings. You felt your eyes becoming droopy, and you shook your head to stay awake as he started to stroke your arm with the back of his hand, propping the book upon his knee so he could keep turning the pages. 

“…And for all, I know he is sitting there still, under his favourite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly.” Chris nodded once in satisfaction, and the story was over. Putting the book on the floor, Chris shifted you slightly to rest back into him, smiling. “Did you like it?” 

“I loved it,” you nodded, my head bobbling slightly as it bumped over his collarbone, “I especially loved your animated voice halfway through.”

“Stella insists on giving each person a different voice, even if none of them actually speak. Apparently, it helps her ‘become friends with them.’”

“That’s going to be fun when you start reading her Harry Potter.” 

“Eh, it’s good to practise.” 

“For what?”

“When I get to read it to my own kids.” He laughed at your widened eyes and lips which had now pouted out in surprised, “are you getting a little emotional thinking about me with children?”

“No,” you lied. 

“Sorry, not my kids, OUR kids,” Chris’ eyes twinkled mischievously. You had to turn away then as a wave of motherly instinct you didn’t know was there filled your stomach, and your breath caught momentarily. “With their little curly hair and Boston accents.” 

“I’m going to have to sleep after this.”

“And we can read to them loads and eat spaghetti with them…”

 “you’re really mean, you know that,” you scowled, but you couldn’t help but see these children, running around in your mind in that teetering away all toddlers do on their chubby legs. 

“You know what will be great too?” 

“I swear if what you’re about to say is going to taunt me in my dreams-“

“Disney-world trips.” 

“For God’s sake, Chris!”

“They’ll be so cute though!” 

“Yeah well, now I’m going to dream about that.” You rolled over as if to try and sleep, but Chris rolled with you so now you were spooning, his knuckles continuing to stroke your skin in half soothing, half taunting way. “Our kids will be adorable,” you mumbled as you smiled into your pillow, “and they’ll love Ferdinand.”

 “And I hope they see the world like you do,” Chris peppered a couple of kisses behind your ear and down your neck and then turned off the last light, so the room plunged into darkness. Dodger was finally settled and asleep, and there was a moment of creaking as Chris settled back into the spot he was lying in. For a moment, there were only the sounds of breathing, but you were now wide awake. You felt your mind whirring away, and you didn’t know if you wanted to punch the man next to you or kiss him. 

“Okay so technically,” you spoke into the dark “we don’t want to have kids for a while.” 

“Right.” Chris agreed. 

“But there’s nothing wrong with practising.” You felt the arm around you tense suddenly, and his shadow popped up like an excited dog.

“No!” He cleared his throat. “No, there isn’t at all.”

“You said the Disney comment on purpose didn’t you?” You held a finger out as he leaned forward. Chris shrugged unapologetically and grabbed your arm to pull you on top of him, his chest already rising and falling quickly with anticipation.

“I might have done.” 

“Ooo, maybe I should go sleep in the spare room then,” you teased and started to wriggle off him, but with a low laugh, Chris’ hand moved from your arm to the back of your legs.

 “You’re not going anywhere,” his voice was gravelly as you became lost in each other. 

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x #chris evans imagine #Chris Evans #chris #evans #steve rodgers x reader #steve x reader #Steve Rogers #masterlist #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x ofc #fluff #rogers x reader #imagine

[swissmissficrecs]

Favorite Sherlock (BBC) Fics of 2019

Once again, my hopes of getting through some of the very tantalizing fics that finished up in December are simply not going to materialize anytime soon, so rather than delay any longer, here are my personal picks for the fics I enjoyed the most last year.

Disclaimers: This list is obviously skewed toward my own personal preferences and reading habits. There are plenty of other fics that I enjoyed, and even more that I simply didn’t get around to reading (yet), so it’s not a judgment if your favorite (or one you wrote) isn’t on here. Think of this as a sampling rather than a definitive list. I hope this will help you to re-acquaint yourself with fics you loved, give a chance to others you may have skipped the first time round, and possibly discover something entirely new and astonishing.

And now, in descending order of length:

Voyages of the Bakerstreet (528,359 words) by fresne Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/OCs Summary: Starfleet never really intended to assemble a crew with a half trained doctor and an alpha Augment with authority issues. But they also didn't really intend for the Borg to make it quite as far as they did. And so...These are the Voyages of the USS Bakerstreet. Her five year mission (make that ten (okay fine twelve year mission + time travel)), to seek out new life and new civilizations. To go boldly.

Proving A Point (186,270 words) by J_Baillier, elldotsee Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Riptide Lover (114,090 words) by jinglebell Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: The year is 1866. When John becomes swept overboard, he never expects to encounter a living creature of myth. When the merman absconds with John, the lost sailor must use every tool at his disposal to convince Sherlock not to kill him. But it seems that killing John Watson is not what the deadly, beautiful creature has in mind at all... Victorian mermaid AU. Heed the tags.

By A Thousand Cuts (95,774 words) by 7PercentSolution, J_Baillier Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: It's hard to let go of the past, especially when going home for the holidays. An incident just before Christmas brings unpleasant memories to the surface, and the wounds Sherlock carries may take more than just time to heal.

Rebuilding Rome (94,000 words) by SilentAuror Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: When a case unexpectedly forces John to acknowledge some difficult truths about himself and his life, he spirals downward, leaving Sherlock to do his best to rescue him from his own darkness and somehow try to build something new on broken foundations.

Side Effects (86,730 words) by MissDavis Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Life is a lot better for Sherlock and John than it was a year ago. Yes, John still can't walk and Sherlock is still on antidepressants, but they're married now, and almost everything else is back to their version of normal. They have a dog. Sherlock's solving cases again. But when Moriarty learns of their marriage, he escapes from prison and takes it upon himself to make their lives miserable. Is Sherlock really up to the challenge of catching a criminal whose only goal is to make sure that he and John don't live happily ever after?

The Monument of Memory (79,663 words) by J_Baillier Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Repairing the Broken Things (75,151 words) by BakerTumblings Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Just to Hold You Close (70,841 words) by sussexbound Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

White Knight (69,840 words) by DiscordantWords Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

I'm coming home, John. -SH (67,247 words) by Ranowa Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: In the two years after Sherlock throws himself off the roof of St. Bart's, crunches into the pavement below, and dies in John's arms, John starts texting. He doesn't know that his text messages are being read.

The Low Road (57,327 words) by Jupiter_Ash Rating: Explicit Relationships:  Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Low Road - n. Behaviour or practice that is deceitful or immoral. The last thing Sherlock remembers is shooting up in his university room in Cambridge. Now he's miles away, in the middle of nowhere, trapped with a man who wants to have sex with him. Where is he? What's going on? And more importantly, who the hell is John Watson? The game is on. But what happens when the other player seems to know you better than you know yourself?

Isosceles (56,609 words) by SilentAuror Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Original Male Character(s) Summary: After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

The Alphabet Vignettes (49,141 words) by suitesamba Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Twenty-six vignettes featuring Sherlock and John's life after S4.  These begin just after E3 and continue into retirement in Sussex, but are presented in a non-linear fashion.

The Lying Doctor (44,285 words) by pagimag Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/Mary Morstan Summary: Sherlock and John's relationship is fragile after the events at Culverton Smith’s hospital. John struggles with guilt and anger issues. During a case he decides to visit his aunt, which leads to an unexpected development. He’s forced to reevaluate ingrained behaviours, confront long lasting issues and question how he leads his life.

Complete as a Human Being (41,661 words) by LollipopCop Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/Mary Morstan Summary: One week after Sherlock's birthday, Irene Adler is back in their lives, living at Baker Street and bringing up old wounds from the past while aggravating new ones. John is not pleased.

Reconcile (36,464 words) by illwick [plus all of the other installments of this terrific series] Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John views his past through a new lens when he finds his relationship with Sherlock on thin ice.

The Change (28,841 words) by Laur Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Sherlock and John struggle to accept the Wolf as they begin their new relationship.

A Quiet Life (25,176 words) by DiscordantWords Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

Haunted (22,369 words) by Vulpesmellifera Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Plagued by the past, John moves himself and his daughter to a new flat for a fresh start - and it's not 221B Baker Street. While he grapples with new knowledge and old guilt, he's confronted with odd neighbors and strange noises in the night. But is it the new flat, or is John Watson losing his grip on reality?

John Watson and the Three Spirits (aka A Ghost Story of Christmas) (18,788 words) by PipMer Rating: Teen Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John hadn’t planned on becoming a grumpy old man. Well, he wasn’t old quite yet. But he wasn’t getting any younger, and as he thought back on his life so far this Christmas Eve, he was coming up with a lot of regrets. He had been here before, at a crossroads. Feeling as if his life were over, only to have it turned around in the blink of an eye. Could it happen again? Or was it finally, truly, too late?

The Palmyra Atoll (16,069 words) by elwinglyre Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

stay (just a little bit longer) (15,155 words) by subtext-is-my-division Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John may not be an expert, but he's pretty sure that shagging your ex is a bloody awful idea. (Shame the sex is so good, though.)

Boat Chase! (14,314 words) by shamelessmash Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago Summary: Sherlock, John and Lestrade are on a case that lead them to Brooklyn, NY. Reluctantly, Sherlock accepts the 99th precincts offer to help with the legwork. Welcome to this Sherlock/Brooklyn 99 crossover, where everyone ships Johnlock, and the case doesn't matter.

The Death and Resurrection of a Beekeeper (12,923 words) by shiplocks_of_love Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Sherlock escapes London for a quiet, solitary life in Sussex, exhausted after the whirlwind of drama following Mary’s death. One day, a letter arrives.

In July of This Year (12,078 words) by yaycoffee Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: There is an oft-cited experiment discussed in classrooms and cocktail parties alike, a convenient analogy when one endeavors to make a point about not noticing the obvious until it is inevitable. Simply, if you place a frog on a hot plate, it will jump off immediately, but if you put that frog on a cool plate and turn up the heat slowly, slowly, it will simply burn. Or: How these two idiots melt together, finally.

Afraid of the Light (12,063 words) by hippocrates460 Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: After everything, comes a time of quiet. There's cases, and Baker Street, and really, life is good. It gives John time to work through something he's been struggling with.

Below Zero (10,912 words) by Calais_Reno Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: 10,000 miles south of London, John Watson sits in a research station in Antarctica. 210 miles above London, Sherlock Holmes is floating in a space station. They are Earth’s only survivors.

Bloodsicles and Bay Leaves (10,724 words) by Zingiber Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade Summary: When Sherlock struggles to ask for John's hand in marriage, he turns to the animal kingdom for inspiration. Biology may be the key to John's heart - or it may kill them both.

Inktober 2019 (31-panel comic) by thinkanddoodle-batch Rating: NSFW (only 1 panel) Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: None given but this is an utterly charming friends-to-lovers story centered on Sherlock’s bed… which he is desperately trying to get John into!

#rec list #best

[wordsandwickedthings]

Break my heart again

“kissed me half a decade later, that same perfume, those same sad eyes.”

Draco was Harry's first crush, and later his first kiss. their adolescent relationship full of repression and secrets - from the world, from each other; the tension between the two boys building and building. And inevitably tension must release or shatter. Harry just didn't know he could shatter twice.

inspired from break my heart again by Finneas. 

warnings: swearing? angst? 

a lot has happened since my last fic, and i cannot describe in words how fucking angry i am at the police and just the system in generals. if you have the means i encourage you to donate to the victims families and black lives matters charities.  

---

There are somethings in life we cannot escape; heartache is one of them. And heartache had a way of fallowing Harry through life like a ghost. No matter how far he ran, no matter how hard he fought – Harry Potter was haunted. And nothing haunted him quite like Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy. Harry’s first crush, whether his adolescent mind was willing to admit it at the time or not. He was snarky, sarcastic, and far too dramatic for young harry to deal with – and he was all the teen thought about at night.

Harry tried to keep the feelings that burned in him to himself. He knew there was a shame to it, not just because Draco was a boy, but because he was Draco. Shitty, self-absorbed, evil Draco. He was not someone who held a high status in the chosen boy’s head; but that didn’t stop the blonde from being in his head. all. The. Damned. Time.

The chosen boy tried so hard to keep his secret, but it came crashing down like Harry always knew it would. No secret can hold forever.

Draco had cornered him in an abandoned hallway and shoved him against a wall, wand pointed at him. His goons weren’t with him for once, the two nemeses were alone. Harry hated being alone with him, when they were alone, he couldn’t focus on anything else besides the blonde – the blonde who had murder in his eyes.

“you think your clever, potter?” Draco growled.

Harry tilted his head like a dog, “I’m cleverer than you.”

“I know it was you who told Dumbledore I was in the forbidden section.”

“how would I know you were in the forbidden section,” Harry challenged, “it’s forbidden.”

The marauder’s map came in handy sometimes, no matter how petty the cause.

Draco pushed him further into the wall, “you’re putrid.”

Harry ignored the flutter deep in his gut, and laughed, “and you’re vile, what’s your point?”

“Why do I put up with you?” the blonde practical screamed.

“I don’t know,” the chosen one yelled back, “why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“maybe I don’t want to!”

Both boys were silent after that, Harry’s heart racing as fast as his mind was.

He couldn’t think, so out of instinct he slammed his lips against the other boys, ignoring how Draco’s wand pressed into the vein in his neck. Harry didn’t know how long their lips touched. a second? Maybe two? Before Draco pushed him away, a look of shock on his face.

Fuck.

Harry closed his eyes as Draco ran away, he couldn’t breathe – fuck fuck fuck.

The two boys avoided each other for weeks after that, and the chosen boy almost preferred it that way, not matter how strange it felt. Harry waited for Draco to tell the whole school what happened in the hallway, too mock him, too sneer at him. It never came, though; Draco didn’t seem to acknowledge the fact that Harry existed at all. The chosen boy didn’t know how to feel about that. For so long he wanted Draco to just leave him alone, even if in the back of his mind he reveled in the attention he got from the other boy. But now, Draco’s eyes on him, Harry felt wrong – like a part of his world had crumbled away overnight.

Until one night when Harry was sneaking out to get some air. The weeks of Draco’s silence was getting to him, and no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, he missed Draco’s annoying presence every day.

Once again Draco found him in an abandoned hallway; It felt all too familiar when Draco pushed him up against the wall, but instead of pressing his wand to the chosen one’s neck, he pressed his mouth against Harry’s.

After that, the two boys kept a different secret. A secret that hid itself in towers and the room of requirement. A secret he shared with another through glances and inside jokes while the rest of the world watched – and when no one watched a secret the two boys reveled in.

It was a secret that burned differently from its former.

But it still burned.  

“what do you think your father would say if he could see us now?”

Draco didn’t look up from his parchment, “whatever curse he could think of first.”

“he hates me.” Harry fiddled with his fingers. He had completely abandoned his essay.

“I hate you.”

“you have a funny way of showing it.”

Draco put down his assignment, crawling up to harry until they were nose to nose. The chosen one lifted his head up to kiss him, but Draco pulled away before he could. There was a look in his eye that Harry couldn’t pinpoint, and harry didn’t like it. “don’t make this out to be something it’s not.”

Harry scrunched his nose, “what is it not?”

“Love,” Draco said, like it was nothing, “infatuation, tenderness, feelings.”

“feelings,” Harry echoed.

“we don’t have to dress this up and make it look nice.”

“why are you saying this shit?” harry pushed the other boy off him, standing up.

“what,” Draco frowned, “did you think we were doing?”

“I didn’t –“ harry wiped his palm over his face, trying to articulate himself. “I don’t think we’re doing anything, Draco. I just thought maybe we weren’t enemies anymore.”

Draco took a breath, closing his eyes, “that’s all we’ll ever be.”

Harry tried to keep his voice even when he said, “then what’s the fucking point of this?”

The chosen boy had a rule; no matter how far things went with Draco, no matter how deep the other boy took him – he would not hurt over him. He wouldn’t let Draco break him.

“why does there have to be a point?” the Slytherin furrowed his eyebrows. “why can’t we just forget for a while?”

“forget what?”

“all of it,” Draco whispered, moving so they were close again.

Harry nodded, “if you’re going to use me,” harry said, frowning, “at least have the decency to not remind me how much you despise me.”

“I’m a lot of things,” Draco reached out and tugged at one of Harry’s curls, the other boy didn’t like how his touch stung, “I’m not a liar.”

“I think that’s all you are.” Harry spat.

Draco pulled away, and the chosen boy felt triumph in the way his voice shook a bit, “we were stupid to do this.”

That wasn’t something harry expected.

“what?”

“I should have known this was a fucking bad idea,” Draco looked at him like he was nothing, and in that moment, Harry believed it. “and it’s over.”

Harry furrowed his brow, “yeah, uh, that’s probably for the best.”

 The chosen one looked back at that time with mixed feelings now that he was all grown up. The way hate and love burned in him with every touch the other boy gave him – everything the other boy took away.

The war was over, and despite how harry though it would play out, he was alive. He was alive and had no idea what he would do next; he didn’t think he would get this far. People wanted him to be an Auror – he was the savior of the wizarding world, of course people wanted him to be the one to protect them. Harry didn’t know if that was what he wanted though; he had spent his whole childhood fighting (even when he didn’t want to) he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life fighting too.

So, harry spent most of his nights at the hog’s head’s bar, drinking and trying to forget – even if it was just for a moment – what was expected of him.

And one-night Harry swore he saw a ghost.

It wasn’t a ghost though; it was Draco Malfoy. Harry didn’t expect to see him at Hogsmeade; harry didn’t expect to see him anywhere, really – the Malfoy’s had left England after the war, and after Lucius was put in Azkaban.

Harry ducked his head down; fuck, fuck, fuck.

He didn’t need confrontation now.

Draco saw him though, sliding into the chair next to him and whistling at the bar tender to get him a beer. Harry couldn’t breathe, he felt like he did when he was a child, downing his drink to give him something to do while his mind raged between his ears.

“scared, potter?” Draco finally said when he got his beer.

Harry chuckled, “you’re not very scary Draco.”

“could’ve fooled me by the way you’re shrinking into yourself.”

“figured it’s the polite thing to do,” harry said, pushing his glass forward to let the bartender fill it up. “neither of us need a reminder.”

Draco snorted, “well now we have one, so what’s the point of dancing around.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” Harry replied without thinking.

He could tell Draco wasn’t expecting that, taking a pregnant pause before saying, “so maybe we should dance around a few things.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Harry flexed his hands, “I mean, I am sorry. It’s just – I didn’t want,” he sighed, “I tried to help.”

Draco brought the drink to his mouth, “yeah, I heard. I also heard you’re the reason I’m a free man.”

The ex-chosen one shrugged, muttering, “you threw me my wand.”

“I threw you your wand and suddenly every monstrous act help with is suddenly forgiven.”

“Draco,” harry tried.

“Don’t,” Draco said, “don’t act like you fucking know me because we use to kiss when we were silly little kids.”

Harry leaned against the bar, not making eye contact with the blonde in front of him, “we won, Draco. We don’t have to fight anymore.”

“you won.”

“Draco you are not,” the ex-chosen one deflated.  

He didn’t answer, instead ordering a shot.

Harry fallowed suit, and soon the tension between the two boys faded into drunk reminiscing. They laughed and talked about Hogwarts and their lives before and after, until the bar rang its last call.

Harry rubbed at his eyes, “where are you staying?”

Draco smiled, “are you propositioning me, potter?”

“tragically,” harry slurred, pulling Draco out of his seat, “only for a com - companion on the walk.”

“mmm, yes, tragic.”

Draco didn’t actually tell Harry where they were going, just stumbled out of the pub and started walking down the street with the raven-haired boy fallowing him like a puppy.

When Draco started to stumble more and more, Harry wrapped his hand around the other boy’s bicep to steady him, tugging his sleeve up enough to see his mark. Harry shot his head up, the drunk haze of his mind racing as he tried to keep his mouth shut.

It didn’t work, it never worked.

“You still have your mark.”

Draco looked at him, clearly not all there. “yeah,” he mumbled, “turns out that kinda magic is hard to undo.”

“tell me about it,” Harry said, scratching at his forehead.

“do you remember when I got it?” the other boy said out of the blue. “I have never seen you… you angrier.”  

“I was hoping maybe I could convince you to be on my side instead.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed, his silence weighing.

He finally said, “I wish I’d let you save me.”

“you were just a kid, Draco. A kid who had his entire life decided for him by people he trusted, and you were brave enough to walk away.”

Draco stopped Harry from walking, using his shoulders to balance himself, “I should have fought with you,” he dug his fingers into the fabric of the other boy’s shirt, “I should have stayed with you.”

“it doesn’t matter anymore now,” harry whispered, without thinking pulled Draco closer, “what we did doesn’t matter anymore.”

“it’s so easy to say that when what you did was save the world.”

Harry tugged his bottom lip in between his teeth, “I couldn’t save everyone though.”

Draco nodded, closing the space so their foreheads were pressed together. Harry sucked in a breath, becoming to acutely aware how long its been since the two boys had been properly close to one another.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, “I’m sorry for everything I did.”

Harry didn’t get a chance to respond, Draco pressing his mouth to the other mans.

They didn’t kiss like teenagers anymore; both more aware of where to put their lips and their hands. The two men melded their actions together into a rhythm. They should be stumbling more, harry thought, they hadn’t done this in years – they shouldn’t fit together this well.

Draco pulled away to catch his breath, pulling harry into the inn with him.

 Harry woke alone that next morning; in a bed that wasn’t his, and a headache that was unbearable. Draco was no where to be found.

Harry dragged himself so he was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. He was trying to stay calm, but all of that was thrown out the window when harry twisted his head and saw a piece of paper placed delicately where Draco had been the night before.

All it said was sorry, potter.

The ex-chosen one locked his jaw.

Again, he thought, rubbing his hand against the stubble of his chin, he let that boy pull him in again just to shatter him.

“you had one rule, chosen boy.” He whispered to himself.

He apparated home.

#Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #harry x draco #drarry #drarry fanfic #My writing #angst #drarry angst

[r6s-imagines]

Hi💕 How members of rainbow would react to a new hot as hell operator. This woman scare the shit out of everyone. And she have a secret. She was professional assassin and very influential criminal figure. But now she's on a "good" side. So, how would react Jäger(who have a big crush on her) when her secret is revealed? Headcanon?

absolutely, anon! i wasn’t sure if you asked for every operator in a preference or just jäger in an imagine, so i created this with a heavier lean towards a particular german engineer. if this doesn’t satisfy you, please let me know and i’ll create another version to your liking!

i rewrote this about six times oh boy

•••

jäger x reader >> that’s kinda hot

•••

MASTERLIST

warnings: cursing, a really thirsty german man

•••

summary: jäger discovers your secret, and he doesn’t know if he’s afraid or turned on.

•••

“i’d let her step on my throat.”

ask marius about you, the orion, and that’s what flashes through his mind. what does he actually say, though?

“she’s fucking terrifying.”

he wasn’t wrong. you were less sociable than mute, stealthier than caveira, and more mysterious than nøkk. you were a jack of all trades if it came to keeping to yourself, and more often than not it saved your ass in your old jobs. these particular fields of work were only known between you and six, saving you from hours of uncomfortable confrontations from your coworkers.

most of your time went into the lab for independent studies, much to the disliking of the r&d director. if mira truly hated your presence, then you’d camp out in the firing range, testing new guns and perfecting the ones you’d learned previously. these exact locations caused many silent encounters, leading to wide eyes and uncomfortable excuses to departure. the isolation never bothered you, though, you’d rather have people know you for your looks instead of your past.

jäger was a perfect example of someone who only knew you at a base level. he tried to hard to put his foot in the door, but you always slammed it on him before he could get through. it was a game, a challenge to see who’d give in. it was the most competition you’ve had in years, and this little game you two have set up was something for the books, according to the gsg9. according to talk, marius doesn’t put this much effort into his cars or ads as much as he’s tried to get to know you.

one of your eyes was closed, the other was staring down an iron-sighted pistol. the target was long demolished; holes scattered throughout the board should have told you to stop, but you hadn’t found anywhere else to be where you could be productive. every echoing shot flashed a memory before your face.

BANG!

you shot a man to death who thought he’d bought you for sex.

BANG!

footage of a back alley bar shooting as the prime minister announced your ten million bounty on television.

BANG!

your parents watching you in fear as you raised the gun–

“y/n!”

you jumped, misfiring. you rolled your tongue across your teeth and lowered your weapon, balancing your weight on one leg.

“yes?” you asked, rolling your eyes. sure enough, marius was in front of you, wide-eyed. “something you need, streicher?”

he bounced on his heels, exhaling nervously through his teeth.

“i was looking for you, actually,” he said, red. “are you, erm, doing anything?”

“yes,” you replied immediately. “i was.”

“well, i can see that,” you watched his eyes dart around, avoiding your eyes. “are you doing anything later…?” you raised your eyebrows, suppressing a laugh and opting for a smirking reply instead.

“i suppose not.”

“fantastic! tell you what, your room tonight?”

“for?”

“i don’t know, maybe we could… get to know each other?” he looked ready to cry, or back out, or both. you must admit, though, marius was the only person you’ve known that was genuinely interesting to you. he had guts inviting you anywhere, let alone approaching you. eye contact was never broken as you stood in thought, watching him nervously scratch his scruffy chin. finally, you reacted to his advances, sticking out a hand. he reached forward and took it, shaking it once.

“deal.”

for the first time in years, you counted down to a somewhat desirable moment. you were admittedly dressed down with shorts and a graphic pullover. you whittled away at a block of wood, just barely being able to call it a dog when someone knocked on your doorframe. you looked up, meeting your gaze with a familiar blonde man. he waved a hand, chuckling airily.

“jäger.”

“orion.”

almost immediately, his eyes met the bookshelf, pinpointing several albums and manila folders.

“you read,” he said, awkwardly.

“i should hope i’m literate for a job like this,” you responded, nasally exhaling. you could practically read his mind at this point, and it was all alarms. secretly, you hoped he won’t leave. just as you’re stuck in the land of dreams, he pulls out the least desirable item on the shelf; your black folder.

“no—“ you could barely get out before marius hesitated at your sudden alertness, causing him to drop its contents. newspaper clippings, photos and entries were scattered across the floor and you placed your hands on your face, sighing. the blond man bent down and picked up a particular headline.

“das kopfgeld für den jägerin wird in millionenhöhe aufgebracht,” he read, eyes wide. ‘the bounty for the huntress is raised in the millions’... a photo of you was the cover image, standing in front of a typical prison height marker. “you’re—“

“i can explain,” you blurted, standing up. “listen, i was a bad person. i came here to save my name. sure, everyone else is afraid of me, but i had no choice. i needed the money and—

“that’s kinda hot,” marius interrupted, starstuck. “i—i mean, not the killing, but...” you raised a brow. nobody’s ever explained your past like that, you only heard that comment about your body. you laughed once.

“you’re into the predator versus prey thing?” you teased, biting your bottom lip to fight a shit-eating grin. “i see.”

“no! i mean— well— erm,” his hands moved frantically. “i’m not—“

“it’s okay, streicher,” you assured, placing a hand on his arm. “i won’t tell.”

“y/n?”

“uh, yeah?”

“i kinda want you to kiss me.”

“everyone does.”

you kissed him anyway.

he’s the only person on earth not afraid of you,

and that’s kinda cute.

#r6s #rainbow six siege #r6s imagine #siege #siege imagine #jager imagine #r6s jager x reader #r6s jager #r6s jäger #plague writes

[glorious-blackout]

Soooo @rock-n-roll-fantasy wanted me to write an essay on my self-indulgent theory that Muse’s ‘Simulation Theory’ and Arctic Monkeys’ ‘Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino’ are set in the same universe, and my brain rather predictably used this as an opportunity to develop a novel-length crossover fic instead. I’m starting to doubt that the full idea will ever get written purely because life has a habit of getting in the way, but here’s a bit of an overlong teaser in place of your essay! 😉🥰

*************************************

The trek from Room 521 to the ballroom is a long, monotonous one. Not that that particularly matters; even if Mark didn’t know every corridor like the back of his hand, he no doubt would have been guided to his destination regardless, simply by following the growing ruckus of banal chatter overlying soft musical notes. His own band won’t be the ones playing tonight – thank Christ seeing as he barely has the energy to hold a mic for two hours let alone sing into it – but the prospect of spending the evening alone in his room had hardly been tempting. He could have arranged to meet one of the lads for a drink, he supposes, but he hadn’t wanted to impose. They all have lives beyond the hotel after all, whereas he remains tied to its walls like an obedient dog on a leash.

High-ceilinged corridors eventually lure him towards a set of heavy oak doors, the only veil remaining between him and a horde of guests who by now are likely enjoying their third glass of champagne. Muffled conversations become crystal clear for a moment as one guest stumbles onto the corridor looking considerably worse for wear, but the noise is quickly silenced by an exaggerated slam. The guest sways on his feet for a moment, narrowed eyes struggling to maintain focus on Mark’s face, before he huffs and takes the first step of what promises to be an arduous journey back to his room. No doubt he’ll have collapsed in a pool of his own vomit before he’s even halfway there, adding one more job to the cleaners’ already overflowing pile in the process. Mark sighs, already regretting his decision to be sociable, and forces himself over the threshold before he can change his mind.

The ballroom does ignite a certain pride within his chest, he must admit. The spacious hall - resting beneath a curved ceiling kept afloat by granite columns - is a stark contrast to the narrow claustrophobic corridors leading up to it, and the size is adequate enough that the space never feels too crowded. Waiters flit back and forth between packed circular tables on the fringes, offering blessed champagne or scotch from a well-stocked bar, and an elevated platform at the far-end of the hall proudly showcases the evening’s entertainment.  

It would appear the choice of dance tonight is a simple waltz. Guests dressed to the nines in elegant frocks and sharp tuxedos glide effortlessly along the polished dancefloor; guided by lilting piano notes as they sway beneath the soft light of a glittering chandelier. As usual, Mark feels no particular inclination to join them. On occasion, he himself will be the one sat by the piano, enticing his guests to dance for him whenever the evening feels a little too stagnant, but it would appear that his influence is not needed tonight. Besides, the only thing enticing him for the moment is the bar.

Despite having to make his way through the masses in order to reach his destination, luck must be on his side for no-one takes the opportunity to disturb him. He must have timed his trip well enough that the drinks are already taking hold, to the point where the hotel owner himself has become an unnoteworthy presence. His short walk to the bar goes entirely without a hitch, so much so that it probably shouldn’t surprise him when he arrives to find that his luck has run dry.

There’s someone sitting in his usual spot. Logically he knows this isn’t an issue; there are plenty of free stools lined up against the horseshoe-shaped counter, but the sight gives him pause nonetheless. For as long as he can remember, that centerfold seat has been his and his alone, and the sight of someone new sitting there has unease coiling in his gut for reasons he cannot explain. If that were the strangest thing about this situation then he could have moved on and settled himself elsewhere without another thought, but what truly makes him gape is the appearance of the man who has seen fit to take his place.

In stark contrast to the stylish formalwear adorning the vast majority of guests, this man seems to have made it his mission to break every rule of fashion there is. The loud red jeans and shiny trainers would no doubt have been bad enough on their own, but in comparison to the gaudy nylon jacket and the lit neon sunglasses which remain fused to his face despite being indoors, the lower half of his body looks positively tame. Intricate circuitry is affixed to the front of the jacket, with wires snaking their way into a large pocket which no doubt houses a switch designed to make the jacket as loud as the sunglasses. Mark can’t help but wonder how this man hasn’t attracted any unwanted attention and has instead been left to cradle his glass of bourbon in relative peace. Perhaps this is the current fashion trend on Earth and someone has simply forgotten to give Mark that particular memo.

Shaking his head once and remembering his mother sternly telling him that staring is rude, Mark clears his throat and gestures to the free stool by his side when a pair of concealed eyes turn in his direction.  

“Mind if I take this seat?” he asks, well aware that he of all people shouldn’t need to ask permission.

A knowing smile graces the man’s thin face and he nods graciously, removing his glasses to reveal surprisingly gentle blue eyes. He appears more normal up close than Mark anticipated, barring a pair of impressively sharp cheekbones and a hairstyle so haphazard he doubts an intense combing session would tame it.

“Be my guest,” the man offers in an accent which turns out to be English, to Mark’s not unpleasant surprise. Besides the lads, he can’t remember the last time he encountered someone from home. “Though I imagine that’s usually your line.”

A surprised laugh escapes Mark at the lame joke, causing the stranger to grin proudly before taking another generous sip of bourbon. Mark considers calling the waiter over – the impressive display of booze resting before him is enough to make his mouth water – but the man in question appears to be preoccupied with an uptight elderly couple nearby, and besides, his curiosity is already threatening to consume him. The booze can wait.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” the man interjects before Mark can ask the question weighing on his mind. The words escape like a bullet, so rapidly that the compliment could easily be dismissed as flippant, but the stranger’s smile seems sincere enough. “You’ve got one hell of a mind, Turner.”

There’s a gravity to his tone that Mark can’t quite comprehend, but he doesn’t dwell on it.  

“How did you get here?” Mark asks, aiming for a conversational tone only to flinch when the words emerge as confrontational instead. In an attempt to save face, he adds, “I don’t remember greeting you at the station, is all.”

‘I would have remembered if I had’ goes unsaid, though the implication doesn’t appear to be lost on his new companion.

“Interdimensional portal,” he replies without missing a beat, bringing his glass to his lips once more as he gazes at Mark with mischief in his eyes and a challenge in his smirk.

The ensuing silence is broken almost immediately as Mark bursts out laughing again; an action which appears to serve as an invitation for the other man to join him. The high-pitched giggle is unexpected, but the sound of it is enough to melt some of Mark’s lingering unease.

“I doubt technology’s reached that stage yet,” Mark teases once he’s recovered his composure. “Not unless they’re keeping secrets from me back home.”  

“I wouldn’t sound so sure if I were you,” the man retaliates, that same challenge resting on his lips and a single brow quirked upwards with mocking intent. “How long has it been since you visited Earth?”

The lightness in Mark’s chest vanishes for a moment and his brows knit together as he ponders the question. Strange. Now that he thinks about it, he honestly can’t recall how long it’s been.

When it becomes clear that no answer is forthcoming, his companion simply shrugs before facing ahead once more, demolishing the rest of his drink with a single gulp. It’s impossible to tell how much he’s had already. His current glass barely seems to have touched him, unless his strange approach to conversation is merely the product of drunken ramblings. He makes no move to relinquish his seat however, nor does he signal to the now-free waiter for a refill, and Mark finds himself facing straight ahead as he contemplates the choice lying before him.

On the one hand, this man is clearly strange. The unease which continues to coil in his gut is proof enough of that, and Mark imagines that walking away now would spare him a world a confusion. His eyelids feel heavy enough as it is without his mind being weighed down as well.  

On the other hand, he honestly can’t remember the last time he had a conversation that was so... spontaneous. He’s grown accustomed to forced chats about hotel business and band rehearsals, to the point where he can’t remember the last time anyone made him laugh in pleasant surprise. Until tonight that is.  

And honestly, what is his alternative? Mingling with the guests and sweeping up compliments about the taqueria, or the pool, or the perfect view of Earth offered by the casino’s transparent ceiling? Having to listen to rich businessmen divulge their recent purchases of eye-wateringly expensive yachts or starships, while wives half their age hang onto their arm and pretend to look interested?

It isn’t really a contest in the end.

Decision made, Mark gestures to the waiter, who approaches with what he suspects is a put-on smile. To the man’s credit, said smile doesn’t falter even when he casts a sideways glance towards his boss’s unconventional choice of companion.

“Sixteen-year-old Lagavulin please, Andrew,” Mark orders with an easy smile of his own. “And one for my friend here as well.”

Andrew hesitates for only a moment before preparing the drinks with practiced ease, applying a crystallised ball of ice to Mark’s glass once both whiskies are poured. At his side, the mysterious stranger eyes Mark with what appears to be surprise at this unprompted display of generosity, but the smile returns soon enough as he takes his drink in hand and thanks Andrew with all the grace of a perfect gent.

“You trying to get me drunk, Turner?” he teases, though if he’s opposed to the idea he doesn’t show it.

“Just hoping for some interesting conversation,” Mark responds with a wry smirk of his own. “Scotch usually helps with that, I’ve found.”

Without further ado, he takes a sip and closes his eyes in satisfaction as the golden liquid instantly works its magic. A pleasant burn trails down his throat until warmth settles in his belly, and any lingering stress drifts away like smoke on a breeze.

“You can call me Mark by the way,” he says, raising his glass as an invitation. “It’s about time we introduced ourselves, don’t you think?”

A flicker of unidentifiable emotion crosses over his companion’s face, just for a second, before he returns Mark’s easy smile and brings their glasses together with a soft clink.

“Matthew,” he says, which strikes Mark as such an ordinary name for one committed to looking so extraordinary. “But you can call me Matt. Everyone else does.”

Mark nods in acknowledgement before returning to his drink, and they wile away the following minutes in companiable silence. The band appear to have moved on from classical waltzes and are now playing a smooth jazz number, the seductive groove of the double-bass soothing Mark into closing his eyes and forgetting the hundreds of guests gathered nearby. The chatter has died down slightly since his arrival, but the odd clink of a glass or drunken laugh is enough to assure him that he’s not entirely alone. Not as alone as he would have been had he remained in his room with only the hotel blueprints and a virtual reality mask for company.

In a few more moments he may even have found himself forgetting Matt’s presence, but it isn’t long before his reverie is broken by a now-familiar voice.

“What do you know of ‘Simulation Theory’?” Matt asks flippantly, as though it’s the most ordinary question in the world. The fact that Mark can only stare dumbly for several seconds is likely a sign that his scotch is already beginning to take hold, but he eventually forces himself to give a resigned shrug.

“Not much,” he admits. The name doesn’t sound familiar in the slightest, though he’ll admit that he isn’t known for scouring scientific journals. “I suspect that’s about to change though.”  

That statement seems to be invitation enough for Matt, who downs the rest of his drink without so much as a flinch before launching into what appears to be a well-practiced spiel.

Mark can only try to keep up between finishing one drink and ordering another, as Matt starts explaining the concept of computers advancing to the point where they can simulate the laws of physics, so much so that the future of interplanetary travel may end up being achieved via the means of simulated reality - unlimited by the demands of the fragile human body - rather than old-fashioned means such as starships or satellites as ancient sci-fi shows had predicted. The whole lecture is delivered in what must be Matt’s typical rapid-fire delivery; Mark would likely have been left with little breathing room even if he had been entirely sober, which he is becoming less and less so as the evening wears on. With his keen enthusiasm and eccentric hand movements, Mark reckons Matt would have made an excellent physics professor in another life if the concepts escaping his mind weren’t so utterly ridiculous.

“Which of course poses the question,” Matt concludes eventually, pausing to stop for breath. A pleasant buzz is coursing through Mark’s veins by this point, and he rests his head on one hand as he studies Matt with an amused smile. “If we conclude that it is feasibly possible for technology to exist which is capable of simulating reality so convincingly, who is to say that it hasn’t already happened? What if we’re all just cogs in a machine, believing our decisions are our own and that everything around us is real, when in actuality we’re being watched and studied and controlled? Like ants under a microscope?”

“Hmm,” Mark ponders the question as best he can, taking another sip despite knowing it won’t help. It strikes him that the whisky has already rendered him soft and sleepy, whereas Matt doesn’t appear to have been affected at all despite the fact that he’s clearly had more. As quick as his delivery is, Mark can’t even recall hearing a slur. “Like characters in a videogame or summat?”

“Something like that I suppose,” Matt concurs, though there’s a tension in his skinny frame that implies Mark has barely scratched the surface. “What do you reckon would happen if a videogame character realised they were trapped in a videogame? That their entire lives were a fiction and that someone else was in control?”

“I imagine they’d spiral into existential dread,” Mark concludes with a dismissive shrug, polishing off what must be his third glass and placing it face-down on the countertop. It would probably be best if he stops now, seeing as Matt appears to be in a philosophical mood. “Good thing they can’t think or feel anything then, isn’t it? They just do as they’re told.”

An amused smirk graces Matt’s face and there’s a glint in those blue eyes that implies he wants to add something, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut. For now at least. Mark uses this window of silence to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes before casting a glance around the ballroom. It’s still relatively busy. The band have given no indication that they’re approaching the end of their set, and so long as the drinks keep flowing, there will always be ample opportunity for dancing and conversation. He loses himself for a moment as he observes the movements of the guests gracing the dancefloor; everyone from beautiful newlyweds to elderly couples celebrating their golden anniversaries locked in intimate embraces, with eyes only for each other. Matt’s musings weave their way through his mind and he finds himself searching for flaws in the system; a hint that what he’s seeing isn’t all it appears to be. He scans the faces of the guests to see if he can find any duplication; eavesdrops on nearby conversations in search of generic, repetitive sentences. He feels the warm cotton of his suit and the cool condensation on his glass and the sticky sweat on the palm of his hand, only to conclude that it all must surely be real. He knows all-too-well what it’s like to wander lucidly through a dream, and this isn’t one.

Still, the possibility is fascinating. Ludicrous, but fascinating.  

“Let’s say you’re right,” he starts, taking a moment to select his next words carefully. He doesn’t usually feel the need to be so cautious in conversation, but Matt’s ability to spout ridiculous theories with the utmost confidence has left him feeling like he’s playing catch-up. “And let’s say that we’re the ones trapped in this game, or simulation, or whatever you want to call it.”

Matt turns to him as though shocked that Mark’s actually giving his ramblings any consideration, and he can’t help but wonder how many times he’s been shot down in the past. He pauses, half-expecting an interruption, but Matt’s only response is a smile followed by an encouraging nod.

“What if there’s a reason behind the fiction?” he proposes, more confidently now. “What if we’ve been trapped in a game because reality is terrible.”

“And therein lies our conundrum!” Matt says, eyes lighting up with childlike glee as he leans back and slams his hand on the counter. Tending to a guest a few seats away, Andrew side-eyes him warily, perhaps wondering if he’ll be forced to escort another drunk from the premises soon, but Mark’s total lack of concern seems to reassure him. “Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”

The hypothetical weight of the question stumps Mark for a moment. Any thoughts which had previously been running through his mind fragment like shattered glass, leaving only a warm fuzz in their place. He lets himself imagine what it would be like to have an all-powerful, all-seeing creature manipulate his thoughts - moulding them like clay - and despite the room’s pleasant warmth, he finds himself shivering. It’s not that he believes Matt’s theories – far from it – but pondering the question elicits the same uncertainty planted by movies like his beloved Blade Runner; makes him contemplate deep, existential ‘What-ifs’ until sleep eludes him and a shiver creeps up his spine.

When the power of speech finally returns to him, he finds the words spilling forth without having crossed his mind beforehand.

“I think we’re both a little too drunk for philosophical discussions, don’t you agree?” he says blankly, though upon hearing the words even he is left utterly unconvinced. He may already be able to anticipate the crushing headache that morning will bring, but he’s managed to remain somewhat lucid so far. Matt, damn him, doesn’t appear to have been affected by the alcohol at all. Nor does he seem willing to let Mark back down; instead he pointedly says nothing as his lips curl upwards in an unspoken challenge.  

Mark sighs, before forcing himself to answer the question with one of his own.

“If the fiction is so convincing that you could go from birth to death without realising it is a fiction, does it really make a difference?”

“A fair point,” Matt concedes with a shrug, though Mark doesn’t miss the way his expression darkens. A twitch in his jaw implies that his words have struck a nerve, only he can’t possibly see why that would be the case. He expects Matt to elaborate further – to quash his argument with a clever retaliation – but he simply turns back towards the wall of booze and signals to Andrew to bring him another glass of scotch. The temptation to tell him that he’ll need to be carried back to his room on a stretcher if he carries on like this is momentarily overwhelming, but the words remain glued to Mark’s tongue like resin. His mouth feels as dry as sandpaper and the flurry of unease which had been temporarily dispelled returns with a burning vengeance. All he can do is watch as Matt gratefully accepts what must be his fifth glass and gulps half of it down his throat without the slightest hint of hesitation.

Something stirs in the back of Mark’s mind. A distant memory perhaps; a vague flicker of recognition which had lain buried until this moment. He can honestly swear he has never laid eyes on Matt before today, but it strikes him that their camaraderie has been a little too easy tonight. Almost as though he should know Matt from his previous life on Earth.

But he doesn’t. He knows that for a fact, and any treacherous doubts suggesting otherwise are swiftly cast aside with an urgency he can’t explain.

It doesn’t take long for Matt to polish off his glass, setting it down on the counter with a finality which suggests it’ll be his last of the night. Just as well, Mark thinks. He can feel the evening beginning to wind down already, and he can feel fatigue settling into his bones.

Before he can offer to foot the bill, his companion finally decides to pipe up again. Any trace of his earlier bravado appears to have abandoned him, leaving him crouched and visibly exhausted, his voice impossibly small.

“If nothing is real – if everything around us truly is a fiction - then it stands to reason that there’s no underlying purpose to our existence. Our lives are there to serve as meaningless entertainment for something lurking in the shadows and nothing more. So everything we do or say, everyone we love...none of it matters in the end. Not really.”

He looks directly at Mark then, his once gentle blue eyes burning with an intensity that makes him want to shrink back like a frightened child. A silly notion really. Of all the words to describe Matt, ‘threatening’ doesn’t immediately come to mind, but the discomfort lingers regardless. Matt must notice, for he averts his eyes to the floor almost immediately and offers a small, apologetic smile as recompense.

“I just don’t think I could live with that,” he concludes with a certainty that has Mark’s chest tightening. “No matter how beautiful the lie is.”

A beat passes. Then another. Mark becomes all-too aware of his heart pounding in his chest, trying to assure him that he’s okay; that he’s solid and real. It occurs to him that he has forgotten how to breathe, and the discomfort in his chest outweighs the soothing burn the scotch had planted there earlier.  

Matt doesn’t say anything else. Instead he runs a hand through his wayward hair, before ultimately deciding that fidgeting with his discarded sunglasses would be a better use of his time. Against his better judgement, Mark allows the weight of his words to sink in and momentarily imagines an existence in which all of his actions are pre-determined, his thoughts carefully filtered. Where everyone he loves are simply figments of expertly-written code. Where any responsibilities he may have are ultimately unimportant.

A simpler existence perhaps, but a wholly purposeless one.  

“I don’t think I’d want to live like that either,” he admits quietly, so much so that he’s amazed Matt hears him. He must do however, for the words force him to look at Mark again, his expression unreadable besides a hint of sadness in deep blue eyes.  

There doesn’t appear to be anything more to say. Words escape him - even the simple courtesies which usually come so naturally - and yet he cannot bring himself to look away. Matt seems to be in the same predicament. For a moment it’s as though they’re both gazing into a supernova, unwilling to look away despite knowing full well that the sight will blind them.

For the first time all evening he finds himself missing his friends. His Matt would have told him to snap out of it by now and Jamie or Nick would have called him a twat for getting so worked up about meaningless theories, and while Mark may have retaliated with a pointed ‘fuck off’, he no doubt would have felt lighter in their presence.

In the end it’s Matt who breaks the spell first. His eyes are drawn from Mark’s face to something lurking in the background, and a palpable shift overcomes him as thin lips are pulled into a grim line. Beneath soft overhead lights, Matt visibly pales and his pupils dilate with what Mark can only presume is fear, and white fists clench so tightly around his glasses that it’s amazing they don’t shatter. Dread claws into Mark’s chest with no explanation, and before curiosity can swallow him whole, he turns his head to follow Matt’s eyeline.

It only takes a moment to locate what has grabbed his friend’s attention. The new arrivals have barely made an effort to blend in after all. Standing out among the throng of increasingly drunk guests, two men linger at the far end of the hall, eyes obscured by dark sunglasses and twin postures stiff and unyielding. Both are clad in leather jackets which are only slightly less conspicuous than Matt’s own, and once again a treacherous flicker of recognition ignites in Mark’s brain before sputtering into a puff of smoke. The taller man must be pushing six feet, his brown hair cropped short and a 5 o’clock shadow darkening his features as effectively as the scowl on his lips. The smaller man must be around Mark’s height and appears slightly less threatening for it, though from a distance he almost resembles Matt himself with the exception of his dirty-blond hair.  

For a moment Mark wonders if the two men are members of his own security team, seeking out Matt on grounds of a misdemeanor which Mark has been blissfully unaware of all night. Matt doesn’t necessarily look surprised to see them after all, though their presence certainly disturbs him. That thought is cast aside quickly, however. Mark has made an effort to familiarise himself with every member of his workforce, and even if these two are last-minute recruits, their outfits don’t resemble any worn by the rest of his staff.

The not-so-concealed carry lurking on their belts is hardly a feature of his security team either.

Blood freezing as two hidden pairs of eyes settle on the bar and its occupants, Mark turns to Matt in a panic; mouth open with the intention of voicing a warning, or demanding an explanation, or both, but Matt is already one step ahead of him. Those awful neon sunglasses are back on his face, albeit he has the good sense not to activate them this time, and he throws some crumpled notes onto the counter before turning to Mark with what is no doubt supposed to be a reassuring smile. It doesn’t work of course, though he imagines Matt is well-aware of that.  

As a gesture of goodwill, Matt places a firm hand on Mark’s shoulder and offers what sounds like a very final farewell.

“It was good to see you again, Alex.”

And then he’s off, wandering past the quickly emptying dining tables and mixing with the assorted bodies on the dancefloor. Fat lot of good it does; he has about as much chance of blending in here as a giraffe does hiding among a gang of meerkats. Casting a glance towards the mysterious arrivals, Mark spots them making their way towards the dancefloor, the only indication of urgency being the grim determination on their faces. They don’t seem to have any interest in him for the moment, but that prospect brings him little in the way of relief. Instead he simply feels nausea crawling up his throat, and as Matt threatens to escape his eyeline, a new madness takes hold and compels him to follow.  

Keeping Matt in his sights is more difficult than he’d hoped it would be. As much as he stands out among the crowd of dancers, once Mark finds himself trapped within that very crowd, his ability to focus on what’s directly ahead of him falters. The band has gone and a DJ has taken their place, enticing drunk youths to stumble to and fro under the guise of dancing, and Mark finds himself being roughly grabbed more than once by revelers inviting him to join in. One man pointedly tells him to “fuck off” when he manages to free his arm from his tight grip, before swanning off to harass some other poor sod, but Mark forces himself to recover quickly and carries on with his misguided pursuit. Later it will occur to him that he is not usually in the habit of hiring DJs, nor is the ballroom usually so crowded at this late hour as the casino tends to attract the night-owls, but for now all he can focus on is Matt’s retreating back sneaking onto one of the many corridors adjoining the hall.  

Mark follows him seconds later, having escaped the horde with his limbs intact; not daring to look back to check if their assailants have located them. It occurs to him that as hotel owner, he could abuse his status and stand in their way in order to buy time, but he’s not sure he trusts them to resist putting a bullet in his head for insubordination. He may not have the faintest idea of what’s going on, but it feels so much bigger than him somehow. Like he’s been handed solid proof that everything he’s achieved – the hotel, his band, his reputation – is meaningless in the grand scale of the universe.

He stumbles onto the corridor just in time to spot Matt turning right at the far end, and he follows as quickly as he dares. The next turn is a left, then another left, then a right... an endless maze of blinding white walls and hotel room doors, flanked by sprouting monstrosities emerging from intricately painted plant-pots. After a while it seems like Matt has deliberately chosen this route to tease him, and he begins to wonder if this entire evening has been a devilish ploy, but the thought has barely had a chance to take hold when he finally reaches the end of the line.  

There is no turning point at the end of this corridor. Only an unassuming wooden door leading into what appears to be a store cupboard. There aren’t even any hotel rooms remaining in this section; instead the route ahead is lined with marble columns sporting busts with expressionless faces.

Mark only manages one step forward before freezing, as icy fingers of dread crawl up his spine and clutch his heart in a fierce grip.  

No being in the universe knows this hotel better than he does. He knows every room, every corridor, every little nook and cranny as surely as he knows his own name. As well he should; he designed every inch of the place.

And yet, he can say with absolute certainty that he has never laid eyes on this corridor before. Not even in a passing dream.  

Before he can blame the obvious hallucination on the scotch, or even glance back in search of Matt’s pursuers, the silence is shattered by a blinding red light emanating from the cupboard door, illuminating the corridor in time with a sharp, mechanical whine. Mark raises a hand to his eyes as the light pulses in time with his heartbeat - giving untouched walls the appearance of being drenched in blood - and the accompanying noise slams against his eardrums with unrelenting ferocity. Against his better judgement, he presses onward, cowering as the assault on his senses intensifies with every step. No doubt he will be left with nothing but regret as a result of this choice, but he fears the lack of answers will drive him mad if he doesn’t see what lies beyond that door.  

Besides, Matt must be in there. There’s nowhere else he could have gone, and Mark has little desire to leave him for dead.  

The pulsating doesn’t stop until he reaches the door. Body trembling in the quiet aftermath, he takes a moment to recover as the light’s echo persists with every blink of his eyes and a sharp ringing assaults his ears. His breathing sounds painfully uneven in spite of his efforts to remain calm, and he can feel his heart hammering away in an attempt to break free from his chest. He finds himself wishing he could explain away these last ten minutes, but his mind feels numb with uncertainty and the alcohol certainly isn’t helping. Has it even been ten minutes since he’d been sitting at the bar? It simultaneously feels like it’s been mere seconds and several hours since he was enjoying his evening without a care in the world.

The cupboard door remains unopened, the handle a seductive enchantress promising answers he isn’t sure he wants. This new silence doesn’t bode well, and his lack of familiarity with this section of the hotel only increases his chances of running into danger on the way back. There is no doubt in his mind that he’s damned regardless of what he does however; he may as well sate his curiosity in the meantime.  

A cool trickle of sweat slides down his cheek as a trembling hand curls around the door handle, and he pulls sharply before sanity can take hold, expecting resistance but receiving none.  

It seems he will have to settle for not receiving answers either.

The cupboard is empty.

******************************

The details of how he stumbled back to Room 521 and wound up sprawled on his bed are a murky blur. Even as his drunken haze makes way for a pounding headache, he can only recall glimpses of dragging his feet back the way he came; wandering through an almost deserted ballroom followed by similarly empty corridors, before eventually collapsing into bed with a crushing exhaustion. Despite his fears, he never did end up encountering those two assailants on his way back, nor did he glean any further clues as to Matt’s whereabouts. All three men had vanished into the night as mysteriously as they’d appeared, and a numb regret settling over his mind is enough to assure him that he will never see Matt again.

That is, if he even existed in the first place. As the night wears on, he begins to feel more inclined to put the evening’s events down to the drunken hallucinations of a lonely mind. Perhaps if he calls Jamie in the morning, he can put his mind at ease and call him a silly twat, erasing the whole sorry ordeal in the space of one conversation. The urge to pick up the phone now is almost too tempting to resist, but he stays put for now. There’s no need to bother his friend with the drunken ramblings of a madman. Not at this hour anyway.  

Reassurance can wait. For now, he desperately needs sleep which is stubbornly unforthcoming.  

He misses the presence of moonlight. That notion is so strange that a weak rebellious smile tugs at his lips, before the bitter sting of tears replaces it. Homesickness is unlike him – he has never been inclined to hop on a rocket and return home no matter how easy it would be – but right now his yearning for Earth feels suffocating. He misses the moon’s comforting presence in the sky and the wonder it had elicited from him as a child. He misses it hanging overhead as he wandered along silent streets with friends and lovers, singing and kissing and stumbling drunkenly as joyous laughter broke through the relative peace. He misses waking up with his heart in his throat and a new lyric in his head, only to be soothed instantly by luminous streaks of light.  

All he has here is thick, empty darkness which seems intent on crushing him down to dust.

Those memories of home seem so distant now. Unreachable; locked away in a chest sporting a rusted padlock and buried deep beneath the realm of consciousness. Perhaps it would be best if they remained buried. Even if Mark were capable of digging them up and freeing them from their prison, the sheer weight of the memories within would surely drown him in an instant.    

Mark shakes his head and closes his eyes before bitter tears can trail down his cheeks. It would be best not to dwell on such things. His nights are sleepless enough as it is.  

It only occurs to him later, as unblinking eyes linger on the ceiling above, that Matt had casually referred to him as ‘Alex’ and that the thought of questioning it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

#writing #long post #simulation theory #tranquility base hotel and casino #muse #arctic monkeys #i am extremely rusty but honestly it's been nice to write something just for myself again #well...myself and @rock-n-roll-fantasy :P #my fic

[halfcharacter]

Rufus Shinra Analysis in FFVII Remake (2020) vs FFVII (1997)

taken from my original thread on twitter here.

[MASSIVE REMAKE AND OG GAME SPOILERS, you have been warned]

From what we’ve seen in Final Fantasy VII Remake so far, Rufus (in my opinion) is 100% more interesting than he was in the original Final Fantasy VII. In the original game, Sephiroth/JENOVA infiltrates the Shinra building and murders everyone inside. Then, Sephiroth/JENOVA stabs President Shinra and leaves his body at his desk with Masamune sticking out of his back. Palmer, who had witnessed the entire thing, calls Rufus (who is in Junon) for backup. Rufus responds by boarding a helicopter to come assume command of the company in the wake of his father’s death.

Rufus arrives just as the protagonists discover President Shinra’s body, and they rush out to confront him. Rufus doesn’t know who they are, so he asks. Each of the gang gives a brief one-liner of their “occupations”, and Rufus responds with “what a crew” which is A REALLY GOOD SNARKY LINE I’M SAD ISN’T IN THE REMAKE. In Final Fantasy VII Remake, the part where the party reveals their ‘occupations’ is instead given to Heidegger, and only Aerith, Barret and Red XIII are present.

An interesting major divergence from the original game then happens in Remake. In the original, Rufus begins his inauguration speech:

That’s right. I’ll let you hear my new appointment speech. ...My old man tried to control the world with money. It seems to have been working. The population thought that Shinra would protect them. Work at Shinra, get your pay. If a terrorist attacks, the Shinra army will help you. It looks perfect on the outside. But, I do things differently. I’ll control the world with fear. It takes too much to do it like my old man. A little fear will control the minds of the common people. There’s no reason to waste money on them. 

As Rufus begins by talking about how Shinra used to work, the player starts to think “Oh good, maybe things are about to change for the better. Maybe he’s a good guy!” WRONG.

Rufus then drops the bombshell that he has no intention of being ‘better’ than his father—in fact, he’s worse. While his father used money to rule, Rufus will instead rule with fear. I’m not sure why this speech was cut from the Remake, but my guess is that they’re going to keep it for a later instalment because it’s just a+ in terms of setting up just how cruel Rufus actually is.

In the original, Cloud then asks Barret to take Aerith and escape the building (present in Remake) because the revelation that Sephiroth is alive “is the true threat to the planet” (not present in Remake). when Rufus and Cloud are alone, Rufus asks, “why do you want to fight me?”

Cloud responds, “you seek the promised land and Sephiroth.” Rufus’ last line before the boss battle is “I see. I guess this means we won’t become friends.” THIS IS A REALLY INTERESTING LINE which is not in the Remake because OG!Rufus and Remake!Rufus are quite different.

In the original it is implied that Rufus was planning to team up with Cloud, or at least gain their support since they’re both going after Sephiroth. It’s only after Cloud refuses his offer that they fight, and the fight was more of a story fight than a true challenge.

HERE IS WHERE THE FINAL FANTASY VII REMAKE REALLY DIFFERS RE: RUFUS. Remake gives us a short scene with the Turks thinking back on their actions regarding the Sector 7 pillar, before Tseng gets a phone call from Rufus and says, “the VP needs us.” The Turks then leave. 

The first time Rufus is seen is when the AVALANCHE helicopter is shot down, and Reno asks, “you sure you want to do this personally, boss?” to which Rufus smirks. In the original, Rufus arrives at the Shinra HQ because he heard that his father had died. In the Remake, Rufus was already on his way to Midgar when his father dies. Why is this? An important clue comes from the Turk-centric game Before Crisis, as well as the actual boss battle vs Rufus himself.

Before Crisis reveals that Rufus had previously planned to assassinate his father with the help of AVALANCHE but was found out. This assassination attempt is confirmed to be canon within the Remake from one of Heidegger’s lines early in the Remake. President Shinra placed Rufus under house arrest, but still retained him as VP (even if in name only). While fighting Rufus in the Remake, he tosses two coins in the air and the camera gives us a closeup of them. The coins read “Shinra Inc.” and “A New Era”, among other things. 

Players of the original will know that “A New Age” is how Rufus brands his version of Shinra, particularly seen on his banners during his parade in Junon. Remake!Rufus has already managed to have his new currency minted BEFORE HIS FATHER EVEN DIES. So, what does this mean?

It means that what’s likely to be the case in Remake is that Rufus called Tseng to come pick him up because he’s either staging another coup/planning to take control right there and then. He just happened to have weird timing and arrived at the same time as Sephiroth/JENOVA and the protagonists, and his father had just died (at the hands of Sephiroth/JENOVA).

Rufus in the original didn’t show any sadness about his father dying, but Remake!Rufus appears to have taken that one step further in that he was preparing for another attempt, and had already had his new currency minted in preparation for his success and ascension.

It’s interesting also to compare President Shinra and Rufus. President Shinra is very much tied into the corporate structure—he rules using his wealth, he’s very business minded, and his closest allies are his execs. Rufus on the other hand prefers to use fear and black ops to get his way, which is shown by how he has a much stronger relationship with the Turks. The Remake showcases this internal conflict nicely with a brief scene near the end.

In this scene, Heidegger slips up and calls him “Mister Vice President”, which Rufus ignores. Tseng then walks in and says, “Mister President”, and Rufus replies, “that’s right.” Tseng smirks at Heidegger as they leave. This shows how Heidegger (and the other exec’s) control is being usurped by the Turks. I’m interested to see how the Shinra power struggles are going to be further explored in the Remake, because it’s one of my favourite parts of the whole game.

With regards to the actual boss battle itself, it’s very interesting how much stronger they’ve made Rufus in Remake. the original boss battle was very easy and was more of a story fight than a true fight. Rufus in the Remake is one of the hardest bosses because he just fucking counters EVERYTHING you do. he’s DESIGNED to be irritating as shit to the player, because he has a single attack that staggers him instantly, but the game doesn’t tell you what it is. Furthermore, the way Rufus fights is incredibly flashy—spins and twirls, shooting coins, etc. it’s all a dance to him. It’s very strongly implied that he must have been trained by the Turks, because he’s still a regular human, but he’s on a comparable level to Reno and Rude, if not even stronger.

In the original, Rufus fights Cloud because Cloud refuses to let him leave, Cloud having recognized him as a threat. In the Remake, Rufus HIMSELF chooses to fight Cloud. He willingly gets out of his helicopter to confront cloud BECAUSE HE WANTS TO. Reno even points out that Rufus doesn’t have to do it personally, but Rufus craves a fight with cloud. Rufus in the Remake fights cloud for sport and takes great pleasure in doing it as well.

In the Remake he comes off as a highly dangerous opponent who is both smart AND a capable fighter, giving Cloud a run for his money, while in the original he was pretty much just trust fund kid with shotgun and dog.

Remake!Rufus and Dark Nation/Darkstar combo off each other incessantly, implying that they’ve been fighting together for a very long time. Rufus also CONSISTENTLY taunts you throughout the entire fight, while Cloud (and the player) are getting really annoyed at him.

All of these elements set Rufus (and by extension, New Age!Shinra) up to be way stronger and more dangerous opponents than they were in the original game, where after the beginning Midgar portion they were pretty much just joke opponents vs the real threat, Sephiroth. 

Another extra thought: Why can Rufus seemingly see the whispers? 

The whispers are said in the Remake to be drawn to people who attempt to alter destiny’s course and ensure that they do not. Rufus seems to be able to see them, but Tseng cannot, and is confused by it. I’m assuming what this means is that Rufus’ actions have already defied fate in some way. Nothing of what he did on-screen really changed the original game’s timeline, so I think this means that he has done something off-screen that we the player hasn’t seen yet, but had timeline changing effects. Another idea is that in the original game Rufus and Shinra just “follow” sephiroth in the same way cloud and co. do. If the Remake is giving Rufus/Shinra more agency, as well as Cloud and co. themselves, it’s not hard to imagine that now Rufus himself can possibly pursue new timelines/events, rather than just following after Sephiroth. In the original, you have parties of people just following “Sephiroth” to the northern crater for the Reunion, but now all bets are off. Rufus also “dies” in the original and Advent Children retconned it, and I’m wondering if this means Rufus is also defying his fate to “die” on top of Shinra HQ near the endgame.

I'm REALLY interested in this re-imagining of Rufus and Shinra, and i can't wait to see more of them in remake. THANK YOU FOR READING ALL THESE MUSINGS ON MY FAVOURITE CHARACTER IN FFVII.

#Rufus Shinra #Final Fantasy VII #FFVII #Final Fantasy VII Remake #FFVIIR

[youghvaudough]

Rewatched Hannibal Recently...

... here are some random thoughts brain chips on the third season

watch out for a text wall it's a doozy down under

this rewatching I finally realized the first half of this season Hannibal was basically like “I’m touring Europe with Bedelia one last time before I check myself into jail so I can see my bf often”

Will must’ve been real good at arts and crafts. He made a whole ass butterfly?bee?dragonfly?firefly man display out of shattered wine bottles and garbage from a basement basically

Also how did he not cut his hands with the glass???? He had leather gloves sure but it’s not like those are cut resistant?????? Does he have cut-resistant leather gloves???????

In Hannibal Rising Chiyoh is Hanni’s aunt’s lady-in-waiting (?) and was described as being about his age; if we’re going by that, she’s the same age as him in the show, which, ughhhhhh, let’s just say really really plays into the idea of us Asians not raisining (not mad at all; Tao Okamoto is so beautiful im gay as HELL —)

Bedelia: you’re in love with Will Graham and also leave me alone plz can I stop finishing murders on your behalf now

Hannibal was remarkably off his killing game at the end of the second season (or just really on his planning game) like NO ONE except for poor Abigail is dead by the 3rd season

Thinking about the filming of some scenes is so funny like: 

the crew carrying leather arm chairs and fancy glass side tables into the middle of some woods for a single shot

Bryan Fuller being like “ughhhh can I get a membrane-like sheet over this macro lens so I can film it bring sliced open like its will’s stomach skin” 

“also I need three thousand gallons of fake blood for some cool reverse drip shots”

everyone: Will help us catch Hannibal you must hate him so much right???? Will: busy imagining alternate reality where he and Hannibal actually worked it out at the end of the 2nd season

Will: tries his damndest to ignore everyone telling him he and Hannibal are in love while being very much smitten

Mason: talks religious mumbo jumbo  Alana after her bi awakening: *choke stare

the only saving grace for Jack Crawford is how much he’s the “I love my wife” trope

Frederic: ...why does no one wanna help me with Hannibal hunting when I go a-knocking but when Will does it everyone’s with him????????? What’d I do

No one:     Bryan Fuller: I NEED SOME SNAIL FUCKING SHOTS HERE

Bedelia: i feel like I’m your diet Will Graham Hannibal: what? no *continues to talk about how special Will Graham is and how no one will be his equal basically

WOAH question on Chiyoh so did Hannibal ~literally~ taxidermy her in time with some cannibal magic & that’s why she looks about, I don’t know, in her twenties still ?????? /s

Bryan Fuller: NOW I NEED TO OPEN AN OLD PAYPHONE FOR AN INTERIOR SHOT

Chiyoh: he’s good looking but dumb about Hannibal so 

I’ll kiss him

then push him off the train

(hopefully dude’ll be warned but also finally learn how to gay)

Bryan Fuller: ARE YOU MISSING SOME SLOW MOTION SHOTS OF HUGH DANCY FLIPPING OF THE TRAIN IN YOUR LIFE? ALWAYS

how did Mason and Pazzi achieve high resolution uninterrupted overseas video chat with the front camera of Apple laptops????? the power of wealth????? whenever I call my mom my phone turns into a potato pretty much

the jack v hannibal fight was the ultimate “I luh my dead wife” man v “I just need to stay alive and go meet my boyfriend” man fight

Bedelia: I know what your goodbye is; I know what you wanna do to Will and you’re in love with the dude. No thanks I’ll yeet myself outta here

“waving your uterus around like a weapon” how iconic

Dolce will forever go down in cinematic history there I said it. Nothing tops the mirroring scars, the downright sensual romantic dialogue in front of a fucking Botticelli, this 水乳交融 of two minds (can’t find a good enough translation other than maybe “melding”), one of the weirdest most kaleidoscope-forward lesbian sex scene of all times, a lot of overlapping orgasm faces, reflexive hugs and pats of comfort, weirdly timed lip-lickings, etc etc

At least Mason recognizes how good looking Will’s is lmao even with all the burnt penis talk on the table

“He’s looking very dry a little moisturizer please” Mason your gay is showing

“It’s dangerous getting exactly what you want” yeah we got this season of Hannibal and then no more of it I’d say you’re right on the money Dr. Lecter

Alana and Margot helping Hannibal and Will: LGBT solidarity at its finest

dumbest thing mason did was probably pissing off Margot

So basically Chiyoh is made of a stable metal element between iron and silver that’s why she doesn’t age?????? /s

maybe “I found you in my mind palace” can be our “always”

I remember the first time I watched Digestivo and I was so worried Hannibal’s gonna finish eating Will or take off or continue into the book silence of the lamb arc or something after Will basically went “I won’t go looking for you at all bye bitch where my dogs at” so imagine my fucking delight ecstasy when Hannibal threw himself at the FBI just so Will can always find him. I cried buckets and became a devout Bryan Fuller STAN that day

Chiyoh: fuck this shit im out; don’t wanna protect this idiot boy with luv no mo

Molly: weirdly familiar sharp features, sand-blond hair, husky sultry deeper voice hmmmmmmmmm guess WHAT

...but she actually likes doggos so 

Bryan Fuller: HUGH DANCY. COVERED IN BLOOD. NAKED. UNDER THE MOONLIGHT. NOW

Will gives Bedelia SO MUCH SHIT about using Hannibal as a means to fame that he almost forgets how possessive  protective of Hanni this makes him look

Bedelia: calm yo ass do you know how many “Will is special you’ll never be him” talks I’ve been in with Hannibal as the main lecturer?????

Bedelia: did you go visit him Will: ...yeah Bedelia: whelp fuck my leg is about good as steak any day now

An odd detail I remember about this Will/Bedelia interaction was Bryan Fuller saying in some interview (probably) that this is basically wife confronting mistress; you know who’s which

when Reba was touching the tiger that vet guy must’ve stayed in the room right??? for safety and stuff??? guy must’ve had the weirdest time just seeing Francis freak the fuck out watching Reba

also Reba deserves all the nice things in the world; Francis though an overall shitty person can recognize beauty

...wait i take it back dude said Will was ugly (ok he said “not very handsome” but) like bitch where

for a series with pretty good sfx that teeth scene in 310 was fake as f---

will and bedelia taking shots at each other verbally cracks me tf up like is this the psychology people’s version of “you suck” “uno reverse”

i have to keep reminding myself that this is a crime show that actually aired on national tv bc these dialogues mama??? downright telenovela. Bryan Fuller has a point when he described them as wife and mistress

Bedelia: I would’ve preferred to be bluebeard’s last wife Will: challenge accepted

i cannot stress this enough REBA DESERVES BETTER she seems like the nicest, most well-meaning person ever and deserves to be cherished like so

it's so strange, getting everything that you want; take Will’s slow-burn-esque realization of Hannibal’s twisted affections for example

Bryan Fuller: NOW GIVE ME A CLOSE UP OF ICE SUCKING

So  basically Hannibal’s attitude is “if I can’t be a constant fixture in his life I’ll be on his mind”

Hannibal is always a sucker for some good will ehhhh

Hannibal, in a police vehicle: get in Will we’re going cliff-diving dragon hunting; no but the actual line is just as cheesy geez hanni u smooth man-eater

The Bloom-Vergers look straight out of some gothic family catalog (if those exist)

like i will spare y’all the contrived complements of the Wrath of the Lamb bc like fucking hells mate there's no straight explanation for this finale

that’s it thanks for reading mates hannigram forever also someday some wealthy person will revive this I'm sure and we’ll rejoice then

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannigram #will graham #chiyoh #brain chips #im sorry but also not #hannibal s3 #i really appreciate Bryan Fuller if you cant tell #thank you for your service mr fuller #me rambling #bedelia du maurier #jack crawford #reba mcclane #bryan fuller