#as in like i figured it out on a random day halfway through the second painting

[littlemoonglow]

Warning: Long post?

—

Jason did not expect his ghost form to feel…like this.

(Oh, dealing with his body randomly phasing through the ground and smacking his face onto hard concrete was not fun, but Jason dealt with that just like with every other hurdle in his life. By being more stubborn than the problem itself.)

It felt like something… settled into place. That was the best way he could describe it.

He felt as if spite and anger were finally not the only things keeping him awake and running. 

He felt calm, almost. Stable, at least. Whatever pent up energy that was stuck in his chest cavity now flowed freely throughout his body, redistributed, instinctually easier to manage.

It's almost like he could breathe a little bit easier.

(After much… ranting that Jason decided to ignore for his own sanity, Danny said that his case ectoplasmic corruption was probably due to the fact that Death, as a concept, doesn’t let go of things easily, time shenanigans notwithstanding.)

(Becoming a half-ghost was seemingly the only working compromise.)

—

Danny once told him that broad strokes of a ghost’s personality could be guessed by looking at their physical appearance. 

Despite the cool powers, this was a slight downside. Jason dealing with the filth of the Earth meant that being to hide his emotions and who he is was kind of important. Life saving, even.

He realized later on that his ghost form was way too easy to read.

—

He looked at his arms covered in bandages, and got reminded of the amount of times he had to patch himself up in the last month.

His jacket was ripped in place he knew that would have been sewn together when he was a living breathing human (well, as much as he could be).

He always looked slightly on fire?

(Danny told him it's probably related to his... core?)

(He know he died in an explosion but really?)

And then, there was his… veil? Shroud? Cloak?

It looked really nice.

But on the other hand…

It drooped when he felt under the weather. It flicked and thrashed around when he’s either irritated or barely holding back his urge to headshot someone.

And—

(No Danny, my cloak was not fucking wagging when you brought me fresh ectoplasm last week, you’ll have to get your goddamn eyes checked—)

He'll deny it until the day he dies (a second time).

And then his cloak could sometimes just…grow bigger. He figured that it acted as an extension of his own body, and had a nice add-on of allowing him to sense things he couldn't see. Hell, he could even make a hand out of it (wacking Danny with it - gently - never gets old). Jason had to also admit it looked cool, with the wispy bits and with one of its sides becoming a bright yellow.

(It reminded him a bit of his time as Robin.)

—

Being a ghost had a lotta perks.

Dealing with targets was so much easier when no one could see you. Inflitration was so much simpler when walls became optional. Cameras will glitch out when he's around, he left no traces visible to the naked eye and, combined with his training, to say that it was useful would be an understatement.

But, sometimes, he feels like he’s changing as well the more he transforms. Not drastically, but enough for him to look back and notice.

He usually was someone who prided on being efficient and straight to the point.

But now he’s starting to… have fun.

He started using his claws whenever he could. Don't het him wrong, he still uses his guns plenty, but there was just something deeply satisfying about vaulting over things, scaling a wall or crawling on the ceiling with bare hands. 

(Punching people is still the most satisfying by far, though.)

That one time hunting down the Joker wannabes was fun too.

(Danny said he’d get along great with Skulker? Did Jason want to find out? No.)

Fading in and out of invisibility, he picked them off one by one, watching as panic and dread slowly but surely creeped up on the remaining ones.

(After all, he has no respect for those trying to emulate the dead clown.)

—

(Yeah, the Joker was dead.)

(Surprisingly, that has not been a good day.)

—

One of the favorite things he liked to do was rooftop parkour. The… bendability of gravity is… fun, not gonna lie.

(Not flying though. Jason is used to having feet in regular contact with solid ground, thank you very much. No offense, Danny.)

But he gets why ghosts love to fly. When he’s jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Gotham in the at night, watching the city light fly by, cloak spread behind him, it’s as if nothing else matters. 

(No Joker, no petty criminals to beat up, no avoiding the Bats so they don’t find out about his existence—)

He can just enjoy, even just for a little bit.

—

(Somehow the Demon Brat and Orphan could sense him. Will keep and eyes on those two, and also the more reasons to avoid them.)

(The real problem was the new Bat in town. Bruce, what the fuck, another one? Again?)

(The yellow one, Signal. No time to check his profile yet, but probably a meta or something.)

(First night out and the guy almost managed to actually fucking see him —looked at him straight in the eyes and all, then did a double take. Jason never phased into the pavement so fast in his entire fucking life.)

(And so far no Bats on his cloak tails yet.)

(He did help the guy incognito, just a couple of times.) 

(And he also did steal his escrima sticks for fun, and once the guy went out looking for them, he’d put them right back where they were.)

(Turns out, he discovered later, that being a little shit runs in the ghost community.)

—

(Sometimes he also wonders what happened to Danny before they met.)

(He wasn't a Gothamite, that was obvious. He doesn’t pry, but it doesn’t take a lot to piece two and two together.)

(He just wonders who he has to kill this time.)

—

(Jason could not believe he forgot and underestimated just how fucking persistent every single one of the Bats could be. Of course it had to run in the family.)

He gazed down, thought the agony, at the gaping wound under his right armpit.

(The Bats have been chasing him relentlessly for a while now. He got more injuries than he can count, especially from Bruce.)

(They know. Oh, they know.)

(It didn’t go well.)

(He knows the others are there surrounding him to prevent him from escaping, he knows that Dick is right behind him, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.)

It has been a long time since the last time he got shot.

(It felt like someone set his right side on fire.) 

What was flowing out in abundance was a neon, toxic green.

(The Pit Waters, ectoplasm, he didn’t even know that he could fucking bleed in ghost form—)

(Danny—)

He looked back up at Batman, holding a (frankly) ugly gun, white casing and highlights in the same shade of toxic green. 

(A gun that Danny warned him about. And everything behind it.)

Jason felt something in him... snap.

(Why did it have to be you, Bruce.) 

His mouth opened—

(waitsincewhenhecoulddothatthroughtthe mask—) 

(Jason could see the billows of neon green smoke—)

(He couldn’t see Bruce’s expression.)

(Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.)

— and wailed.

---------------------------------------------------

I am genuinely delighted that my last post got that much attention! Thank you so much, to all who liked, rebblogged and commented, it really does mean the most. 💕

This AU may be continued? No guarantees, tho.

For those interested: Part 01

@fandomnerd103 @phoenixdemonqueen @satisfactionbroughtmeback @ascetic-orange @apointlessbox @bathildaburp @fisticuffsatapplebees @aisforanonymity @phandomhyperfixationblog @help-i-need-a-cool-username @hashtagdrivebywrites @did-i-miss-anyone-tagging-is-a-monk's-job-first-time-doing-this-aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

#jason todd #red hood #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #halfa jason #halfa au #fanart #I may have subconsciously got myself inspired by spawn #as in like i figured it out on a random day halfway through the second painting #and went whooooooops i did it again #It took so long #cauz my perfectionism worked against me #a classic #*cries* #But thanks yall who read the tags #yall delightful #i guess art is a journey but im getting slapped by strong winds in the opposite direction #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp au #the inspiration to write only strikes at ungodly hours of the night i guess

[24hlevi]

— fatal attractions

lucy gray baird (tbosas) x gn!reader

genre: angst/fluff

summary: you always were there when lucy gray was performing. except the day you weren't.

warnings: language

wc: 2.2 k

did i binge read the book in two nights to write something for tbosas? well, yes!

every time lucy gray was performing, you were there. somewhere in the crowd whether it was big or small, you were always there to watch her sing. she spotted you easily every time you came, a fond smile growing on her face at the mere sight of you. the two of you were quite close, but not as close as she wished it was. she would be lying if she said her heart didn't speed up every night she saw you watching her in the crowd.

then one day, you didn't show up.

she immediately noticed when she walked on the stage with her guitar in her hands, for she would always search for you first thing every time. she scanned the crowd a few times, trying to spot you, but she couldn't. her eyebrows furrowed together for a split second, but no one seemed to notice. she felt a twinge of pain in her heart as she realized you really weren't there for once, but, as always, she put a smile on her face, and performed.

it wasn't noticeable to the crowd that she wasn't focused on her performance, but it was incredibly noticeable to her. her mind was wracking through reasons on why you wouldn't be here, but she couldn't figure out a good one. maybe you forgot? but, that wouldn't be possible because lucy had just reminded you yesterday. or you were running late? however, that thought was long gone after she was halfway done. what if you were with another girl? that’s the one that made her almost stutter and forget the next lyric to her song. surely, there was no way that was the answer. right?

as soon as lucy gray got off the stage, she let out a quiet sigh and tried her best to stop thinking about you. unfortunately, that was extremely difficult. she didn't want to think that you might be with some other random girl, but it wouldn't leave her brain. she walked away from the area, running her hand through her hair as she took a breather. she couldn't believe how she was feeling. the fact that she was jealous of the possibility that you were with someone else, it wasn't even confirmed. you were allowed to hang out with other people, to date other people. while lucy wasn't dating you, there were definitely times that made her question it by your actions and words.

“what's wrong, lucy gray? cat got your tongue?” you teased with a smile. you had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other resting on her cheek, gazing down at her flushed face.

“no,” she shook her head slightly, smiling back up at you. “you just have a way with words.”

“i know,” you replied. “but you like that.”

“whatever you say,” she put her hand on your chest to stop you from moving more closer to her.

she never admitted it, but she did like how you seemingly always knew how to fluster her. no one else could make her like that except you. she wished she was the only one you did that to, but she ended the night feeling like she wasn't.

it wouldn't be a surprise to her if you acted that way towards someone else. you did have a way with words, and any girl would jump at the chance to be that only girl. so she wouldn't be shocked if in the next few days you said you were dating someone. she just wished it was her instead. with a heavy heart, lucy gray found herself falling asleep with you not leaving her mind, not even in her dreams.

the next day, lucy gray awoke with that heavy feeling in her chest again. you were usually there by the time she woke up, but again, there was no sign of you. did you sleep at someone else’s home? you normally don't, claiming that sleeping next to a girl so beautiful like lucy gray would give you better dreams than if you slept alone. so then, why weren't you here?

she didn't want to think that you found someone else. she didn't want to believe that you were sleeping soundly with another girl in your arms. she didn't want to know that she wasn't important to you anymore. she physically shook her head at the thought as she stood up from her duvet. you probably just forgot or slept too much. but, you were never that careless when it came to lucy gray.

she walked out of her little hut that she called home, looking around as the sun was just peeking out over the horizon, hoping she would see you walking towards her, only to not see you. a small frown formed on her face, and she started walking in no particular direction.

the seam was her home, and to not see you walking around or talking to someone else for her to interrupt was odd. she missed you, despite having only not seen you for one night.

“lucy gray!”

she swiftly turned around, her dress flowing as she did so to see you jogging towards her. while she usually smiled as soon as she saw your face, her expression didn't change, which you noticed immediately.

“are you okay?” you asked once you reached her, panting slightly from running.

“where were you?” lucy gray shot back a question, ignoring yours.

your eyes widened subtly at her question and tone in her voice, one you hadn't seen nor heard in a while. you knew she was asking about last night, and you felt your throat dry up at the question. “what?” you chuckled nervously.

“you didn't show up last night,” she said. “where were you?”

“what? did you miss me or something?” you smiled, but she didn't. ‘fuck, she's serious’ you thought to yourself. you didn't blame her, though. you always showed up to watch her. but, you couldn't tell her the reason why. that the reason you weren't there was because of you trying to set something up for her. “i had to do something.”

“with someone else?” she questioned.

now you were getting confused. did she think you were with someone else? i mean, technically yes, but not in that kind of way. how the hell were you supposed to explain yourself without giving away the whole thing? “no,” you shook your head. “i was setting something up.”

lucy gray raised an eyebrow towards you. “you don't have to lie to me, you know.”

“i’m not lying,” you shook your head again. “i really was setting something up.”

“for who? a girl you like?”

you wanted to say yes, but you couldn't. if you did, she would immediately think it was someone else and not her. you were stuck. “kind of?” you answered in a confused voice. “but listen it's-”

“who is she?”

you froze in your spot. fuck, you were really stuck now. do you lie? no, that would make things 100x worse than they were now. do you tell the truth? but then it would ruin the whole thing. “well,” you started. “she's uhm someone you…know. like, really good. uhm, she uh, is really sweet, and truly the most beautiful girl i've ever seen. uhm she-”

“okay, i get it,” lucy gray waved her hands around to stop you from continuing. “whoever she is, i hope it was worth it.” she then turned and started to walk away.

“what? lucy gray!” you called out, following after her.

“stop following me, y/n!” she exclaimed. “i don't want to hear more about some girl!”

“it's not like that!” you raised your voice hoping she would listen. “lucy gray!”

“leave me alone!” she screamed, pushing you away from her with incredible force you didn't know she had.

you landed on the ground below her, staring up into her brown eyes as you opened your mouth, but only her name fell from your lips. she continued on walking away from you and you looked down at the ground, not moving. you put your face in your hands and sighed. that went much worse than you expected it to go. but, you did give terrible answers to avoid telling the truth.

you cursed to yourself as you eventually got up and dusted the dirt off of your pants. how were you supposed to fix this? you didn't know how to. so with another sigh, you turned around and went back to what you were setting up in your home.

that very night, you sat on the floor of your little home that only accompanied you inside. with no siblings or family left alive, you found yourself alone with a bottle of some liquor you’ve had for years. you stared at the door, the world spinning slightly as your thoughts were running a hundred miles an hour. you wanted to find lucy, and explain yourself the right way, but you weren't sure if she would be annoyed by the sight of you after your fuck up. you took a swig from the bottle and set it down, pushing yourself up off the ground and stumbling to the door.

the alcohol in your body was pushing you to move forward, opening the front door and walking out. you didn't know what time it was, but you didn't care at the same time. you needed to see her. you stumbled down the dirt road, your head spinning as you tried to focus your eyes to find her home. you almost tripped over your feet and steadied yourself as you found yourself in front of her door.

you raised your hand and knocked a few times on the door, swaying from side to side as you attempted to stand up straight. when she opened the door, her eyes widened at the disheveled sight of you.

“y/n? it's late, what are you doing?” she asked you.

“wanted to see you,” your words slurred together as you spoke.

she narrowed her eyes and leaned closer to you, smelling the alcohol and raising an eyebrow. “have you been drinking? how did you even get any?”

you ignored her questions, grabbing her hands with yours. “please just listen to me. i'm sorry for lying earlier.”

“lying?” she questioned, confused. “y/n, i really don't want to listen to you talk about some girl you like.”

you shook your head. “you don't understand. it's you.” you told her.

her eyes went wide at your words, her face turning red as she chuckled nervously. “what?”

“i was talking about you. i wasn't there last night because i was setting something up for you. it's you. it's always been you. i love you, lucy gray.” you proclaimed.

“you're drunk,” she shook her head, but didn't pull her hands away from yours.

“maybe,” you nodded. “but if you come with me i promise you it's the truth.” you said hopefully.

she hesitated before nodding. “okay.”

with her hand still holding yours, you walked her out of her home and made your way back to yours. it was silent the walk there, and you were unsure of how this would go. you were praying it would work out well.

once making it back to your home, you turned to face lucy gray and pulled your hand away. “close your eyes for me.”

“what?” she asked.

“please?” you said.

she just nodded and closed her eyes. you went into your home and grabbed what you were working on and walked back outside.

“okay, open your eyes,” you told her.

she opened her eyes and a gasp left her mouth at what was in your hands. a brand new guitar made from scratch, with her initials engraved in it. you waited for her to say something, suddenly growing nervous.

“did you make this?” she asked quietly, taking a step forward and letting her hand drag across the wood.

“yeah,” you nodded. “for a few months now.”

she looked up and could see the anxiety on your face. her hand moved to cup your cheek as she smiled. “i love it,” she whispered as she leaned in and kissed you.

your heart skipped the moment you felt her lips connect with yours, and you immediately reciprocated, smiling into the kiss. when she pulled away, you smiled down at her.

“i’m really glad you like it,” you said.

“of course i would. anything you make i would love,” she responded. “and, i love you too.”

your smile grew bigger at what she said. “really?”

“yes,” she nodded. “i’ve loved you for a while, now.”

“which is why you were jealous over someone who didn't exist,” you replied with a short chuckle.

“how was i supposed to know with the terrible answers you gave?” she jokingly asked.

“i know, i know,” you said. “do you want to sleep here tonight?”

“i wouldn't mind,” she answered, smiling up at you.

“and you’ll sing me a song?” you asked with hope.

“i suppose,” she laughed.

“sounds good to me,” you grinned, kissing her again.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #tbosas x reader #lucy gray x reader #tbosas imagine #lucy gray imagine #lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray baird imagine

[allthingsmpreg]

The Walk Home

“Hsss ah, guys calm down.” I said to my hugely pregnant belly, running my hands inside my shirt over my huge stomach. Another contraction had hit me, I sat at the bus stop waiting for my usual late bus. I was heading to my last class that I would be attending in person, the next week I was my expected due date.

I’m a college student, first year actually and I had already managed to get myself pregnant. I was definitely afraid when I found out, but I was determined to make this work and prove myself and everyone wrong. I was still attending classes, and had plans in motion in order to attend school still and take care of my babies.

There I was, nine months and hugely pregnant sitting at the bus still. I still made myself walk to the bus stop, a half a mile walk, it was something I had done my entire pregnancy. I hadn’t thought of anything different, despite waking up that morning with an contractions. I had been experiencing random ones for days now, I had figured they were Braxton hicks.

God, was I wrong.

“Oh, jeeez guys let’s stop. Oh wow.” I groaned as a strong contraction clenched through me. I took a deep breath, continued my breathing as I gripped onto ky backpack. The contractions were so intense, I clenched my bag, until finally it was over.

I gripped the seat and pulled myself up, my entire belly needing help. Sometimes I wondered how I was so small and still do, how my huge belly was supported by my small frame. Standing up I decided to pace around for few seconds, then I felt it.

“Oh not you have, ahhh.” I moaned in shock. My legs spread as I felt a large gust of water spill frok me and into my underwear, down my legs. My water had broken. “Nooo no no babies please, oooooo!” I gripped the bench as the next contraction ripped through me.

I was in labor

When the contraction ended, I pulled my phone and opened the Uber app. I never took Uber because I was saving money, however I felt that day could be the exception. To my horror it said that their was no available drivers at that moment, I cursed myself as I panicked. I had no choice but to walk home.

I started waddling myself back to the corner to cross the extremely busy intersection where I take the bus. Pressing the walk sign, I looked both ways frantically as I continued to press the button for it to change allow me to walk. I was trying to get home, or at least get a close as possible before my next contraction came.

‘Walk sign is on’ I heard and the walking sign appeared.

I stepped into the busy intersection, cars all around stopped as the hugely pregnant boy walked through the street. I placed my hand on my back as I waddled through the street. I had just passed halfway, then the pain of another contraction hit me.

“Ahhh.” I groaned as i gripped my bag again, my walking getting slower. The pains of the contraction made me want to all but stop. But I was so damn close and I knew I had to keep going. I turtle walked, eventually make it back onto the side walk on the other side. I gave in and leaned against a light post, breathing through that contraction. “MHMMMMMM!” I groaned.

When it was gone, I took deep breaths as I continued my walking. The rest of the walk was thankfully only straight down the street, I only needed to cross a small not busy street. I continued waddling, I was trying to walk as fast as I could. Which wasn’t that fast, but I was steadily walking my way home.

The next one, I knew that I needed to get home and fast.

“Ahhh, fuckk no.” I groaned, forced to lean over as a contraction came over me. However, it was different. I felt the strong pain change to an intense pressure in my stomach. My legs wanting to spread and push. “Ooooooo.” I cried as I had to try, with all of my might to sofp myself from pushing.

It stopped and I kept walking, frantic and desperate to get myself home. As I walked home, I felt like the babies were so low and going to fall out any damn second. My legs felt like they wanted to give out, my body wanted to lay down in the street and just push them out.

I struggled them made it to the next intersection, pressing the button as it immediately told me that I could walk. I walked and made it to the other side, the next contraction came though and I had to give in and stop walking.

“Ahhhhh!” I yelled as my attempt to stop myself stopped working. I leaned against the street light and my body started to make me push, my legs felt weak as I tried my best now to crouch down.

It subsided for, as I reached into my pants and felt my stretched hole. I gasped and whimpered in agony as I felt the the babies head.

I was crowning.

Thankfully I could see my apartment from there, I just needed to get there. I stood up again, take deep breaths as I pushed myself off the light post and kept walking again. I was forced to waddle even more to account for my extensor low stomach, and my legs have to be spread apart fathwr as I walked.

I made it into my complex, just in time as the next contraction came on. I screamed this time, denying my body from pushing. I leaned against a car, not caring if anyone saw or not.

When it subsided I waddled to my front door, i shoved my key so hard into the lock I thought it would break, I got in and Slammed the door behind me. I grabbed the over sized shirt and pulled it over my head, half of it covered in my sweat.

“Ah! Okay okay okay. OOOOO!”

The next one hit I didn’t hold back or try and stop it, I fully started pushing as the next contraction hit. I felt my hole stretched and burn, the baby passing though and stretching me out. Despite the pain, it almost felt like a relief in a sense because I was allowing myself to push.

I could feel my lose pants tenting in the back, I pulled them off carefully as I took a break. When I looked back in the mirror in the corner of the room I saw that the first babies head was completely out.

I waddled over to the area I set up for myself, silently thanking myself for setting it up days ago as well. As soon as I laid down on my back it was time, I gripped the blankets I laid on and started pushing. In a weird way it felt like a relief allowing myself to push. The pain almost subsiding as the rest of my first sons body slid out of me.

I placed him on my bare chest and held him, enjoying the few moments I had before I was forced to push again. The moment was short lived as I bore down and pushed once more, this time a lot easier then first then the first one. After only a few pushes my second son came out of me, I smiled placing him on my chest as well.

Just as I was enjoying the moment, it was ruined as another intense contraction came over me. “What the fuckk?!” I groaned as I was confused, I knew that it wasn’t an immediate process. I was confused still though because it still felt like I was giving birth. I groaned as I reach down, shoving fingers inside my gaping hole when I felt the top of another head.

I was having triplets.

“Oooo, ahhhhh!” I let out a low mild groan as I continued my pushing. I felt the baby go down my birth canal, I groaned and gripped tighter. The baby was even bigger then it’s two brothers, and this one was going to require more effort.

After pushing and pushing, I felt the baby crowning but still stuck in the same place as before. I set my babies down and managed to get myself to my knees. I lifted myself up a little, then began pushing harder this time then other two.

“Ahhhhh!” I groaned as I felt my asshole slowly being stretched by the babies head even further. I took a few moments to breath, before going back to pushing. Finally I felt his head completely come out fully, I moan in pleasure at the huge head being out of me. The rest of him falls out of me with only two pushes.

I laid back down, my three sons laying on my chest.

#male pregnancy #mpreg #mpreg fic #mpreg story #mpregnancy #mpreg kink #mpregblurb #mpreg birth

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

What do the M6 spent an exorbitant amount of money on? So much so that it could be considered an addiction? (Doesn't need to be expenses related to the MC, but could be.) I feel like for Lucio it would be Furry Comissions (regardless of whether or not you want to set the hc's in a modern AU or the regular story).

The Arcana HCs: M6 and their shopping weaknesses

~ a request from my wonderful fantastic mutual @helshollowhalls ? Anything for you, friend! Enjoy the madness - brainrot ~

Depending on how the two of you like to split your duties, it may be more or less frequent for you or your beloved to shop alone. Most of the time you don't have to worry too much, they're an adult! They know what they're doing.

Until they creep into your shared quarters one evening, oozing both excitement and guilt as they hide the results of their errands behind the door. "MC, you wouldn't believe what I saw for sale in the market today."

Julian

He's standing almost like a soldier, chest bared and feet braced for your reaction, arms folded under his cape behind his back

"What did you buy, Julian?"

He's not ready to answer your question. "I have it in good faith that it may one day prove essential to saving someone's life."

He's really getting into character now, and you're beginning to worry

"What did you buy, Julian?"

"A rare instrument necessary to my practice! A scientific breakthrough! Behold!"

And with a grand flourish, he pulls out a feat of engineering that seems to be an obscure medical instrument. Fair enough

"So what does it do?"

You watch him deflate like one of those car dealership tube men at the end of the day

"... I don't know."

"And how much did you spend on it?"

He clutches it to his chest protectively. "Does it matter? I'll figure out a way to use it eventually! Maybe it pairs well with leeches!"

Asra

You can't tell if they're grinning or grimacing, but their dimples are out and they're almost sparkling with excitement

"They had so many options, MC. I've never even heard of most of them before!"

He can see your eyes widening as Faust tips over the duffle-sized bag behind the door, slithering over the piles of packages that pour out across the floor

"How much did you spend, Asra!?"

"Not as much as I could have, and only my own money. They had sample packs!"

Now that their secret is out, they're excitedly unwrapping every bundle and disappearing in a mountain of paper and twine

Faust seeks refuge on your shoulder and the sheer diversity of smells filling the room are making both of you a little dizzy

Small bottles of perfumed oil, tiny pots of lotion, mini candles and twigs of incense cover every surface of the room

All the candles and incense are lit. Every tester is being applied in random patchwork

He got over 50 new scents and he is thriving

Nadia

She feels a little guilty for going without you, but she's so excited to have been part of your world like this

She went to the central marketplace

And she got everything suggested to her

Because who would know better than the people selling what she needed to get?

Two menservants are bringing in the multiple bags she brought back in the carriage while she goes over each thing with you, excitedly repeating their sales pitches

She's halfway through the second bag, telling you all about her new gilded mop holder when you finally interrupt

"Nadia, my love. How many things did you get?" You're holding your breath, hoping the question doesn't burst her bubble

"Oh, nothing extravagant. You should see the shipments that come in for palace events! We'll go back together, my darling, and we can do a proper shopping trip then."

You do go back together, and this time you steer clear of the salesmen taking advantage of her inexperience

Muriel

He's peeking around the door of the hut, and you can tell by the set of his eyebrows that he is embarrassed and has no regrets

You smile up at him, walking over to greet him after his trip into town

And the door swings a little further open to reveal his cloak, stuffed to the brim with something that keeps cheeping

He's got the squirming mass wrapped protectively in his arms, slowly kneeling to lower it to the ground

And from the depths of his clothing burst a tidal wave of baby chicks, spreading out to cover the yard and sending the chickens already present into a ruffle of squawks

"Muriel, how many are there?!"

" ... twenty-four. The pet shop had them with the kittens and puppies and," he pauses to peek at your face, "chickens are different. They wouldn't be happy in the city."

The ground is yellow. Inanna has turned into a sulky, wolf shaped jungle gymn. Muriel watches quietly. "Did I do the right thing?"

"Yes. But they are your responsibility."

Portia

You see the way Pepi perks up and Portia moves to guard the giant paper bags she's holding, and that's how you know it's food

You pick Pepi up to protect the goods and take a closer look. The two bags are each nearly the size of your beloved's torso

"Portia, what small army are we feeding!?"

She drops them on the table, flicks a stray crumb from her sleeve, and deflects Pepi's swipe at the pastry that tumbles out

"Ok so don't be mad, I may have overspent just a teeny little bit, but she was a traveling baker from up north! And I had to try some!"

"And then?"

"And then we started talking about baking, and she gave me a discount so I tried one of everything, but I didn't want you to miss out so I got two more of everything for us to eat together!"

You're not sure what to say. It's a lot of food

You end up inviting the Palace bakers to enjoy it with you (they'll be able to really appreciate the technique) and eating lentil stew for the rest of the week

Lucio

You're having flashbacks while he fidgets in the doorway. This used to happen every time you let him do the shopping alone

In his defense, nobody ever taught him to budget. His job was to hunt his food or eat his rations until the old Count took him in

But you two have been working on it together, and he's gotten pretty good at making and sticking to a list and limit

Which can only mean one thing:

"It was so shiny, MC. I know I made an oopsie, but look at it! It goes on my arm!"

It's a jewelry piece that he's clipped to the grooves on his gauntlet. It's not that big, so you can't see how it's an oopsie unless ...

"Is that an emerald? Is that real gold!?"

He nods excitedly. "Don't feel bad, MC, I got you one too! Now we match!"

It's beautiful, but, "Lucio, where did you get the money for this?"

"Next week's budget." He sees your face and grabs your hands. "But don't worry! I did the math, and I already found a job to cover it."

This man is going to be the death of you

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana shitpost #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[whltlock]

CHAPTER 1/10 ★ Masterlist ★ Subscribe on AO3

Pairing: Jason Todd/AFAB!NB Reader, Minor Wally West/Reader

Summary: Jason's dead, so how is he in front of you right now?

Tags: vague soulmates au, jason has temporary amnesia, Jason/Reader Endgame, Fluff and Angst, post-resurrection, Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Past Relationship.

WC: 2,154

You take the same route you do most days from work to home. It’s dusk and because of that, the street lights have only just begun to flicker. The ones that work, at least. Usually you tune into the sound of distant ongoings: dog barks, the flutter of bird wings, and the more unsightly ones like glass shatters, shouts, shots.

Tonight, though, those sounds are drowned out by something more pressing. You’re keenly aware that you’re being followed. Even if you can’t hear their footsteps or see their shadow, the goosebumps and raised hair on every limb confirms it. It gets your adrenaline up.

Your gaze sweeps the street as you decide how to tackle your pursuer. They maintain enough distance that you don’t feel them on your heels yet. While the apartments above have lights on, the road is pretty desolate. There’s no one but you and your new acquaintance.

You’re more annoyed than anything. You don’t want to deal with this. You’ve never understood why someone would bother to mug a random pedestrian. They’re not likely to have anymore than you do.

Desperate times, you suppose. Although every third day feels like a desperate time in Gotham.

You duck down a laneway to give them a chance to realise their mistake.

You stop halfway through and look up at the windows with bars above. It’s a painful fifteen seconds before the figure approaches. The first thing you spot is how appropriately dressed they are in the darkest of shades: black boots, black hoodie, black pants, black gloves.

“Man, c’mon,” you sigh to yourself as they advance. Louder this time, you tell them, “You’ve got one chance to rethink this.”

The person—who you assume is a man considering his imposing build—pauses only momentarily.

When he paces forward again, you ready yourself to just get it over and done with. The quicker you put the imbecile on his ass, the quicker your ass gets to bed.

However, the muscles in your legs freeze in place, no longer able to swoop his weight out from beneath him.

It’s his eyes.

Something swims in the sea-foam glass of them.

Recognition of a past life.

Although it’s hard to get a proper look because of the hood, you know his eyes stay on you. Calculating. Confused.

You choke quietly on the two syllables: “Jason.”

His head tilts like he doesn’t quite understand. The knit of his brows draws your attention to the scars that glimmer silver under the moonlight.

Your heart pangs at the ghost in front of you. He looks so different compared to the last time you saw him, no longer a scrawny kid just learning about the gym. You’re not the same height anymore. He’s wider, bulkier. He’d be terrifying if you didn’t know him.

But his eyes weren’t always so green tinted. It’s different. It’s not the only thing that’s different.

You say his name again, disorientated. You watch him as much as he watches you.

His voice cracks as he whispers, “Why am I… here?”

That’s his voice. Deeper, but just as scared.

It’s the meanest trick anyone’s ever played on you.

You look beyond him to the main road. The only thing that comes to mind is shit, you got knocked out back there. Maybe you’re dying in the street right now. Stupid. Stupid, stupid.

“You’re not here,” you say, more so to yourself. But you don’t want his apparition to go. You never wanted him to go. Missing him is entwined in the very fibres of your being.

“I’m not?”

You shake your head sadly. “You’re dead.” Your voice is barely audible, even in the vacant alley.

Jason’s eyes drop to his body. He surveys himself. A hand climbs towards his neck and he pulls at his clothes, uncomfortable.

You pat at your own skull, searching for a bloodied patch. “I wish you weren’t.”

His gaze snaps to you. “I don’t…”

He wants to say that he doesn’t remember. Anything. His mind’s fractured. Deep down, he thinks he knows you. He doesn’t know why. There’s flashes. One of them led him to you.

It hurts. There’s an ache in your chest as much as there’s one in his. His brain hurts, too. Like something hit him, hard.

Jason’s fists curl. You move closer and when his name rolls off your tongue, it slices into him. He steps back, troubled.

Jason must be his name, but he’s not sure he can trust it. Trust you. Even though his body yearns for your compassion.

You look sad. It makes him feel worse. You rub at your eyes, hoping the fog and fumes have just gotten to you. That when you blink your eyes open again, you’ll just have been passed out.

Jason’s still there when you do. Helplessly, he doesn’t know how to proceed. So he just turns and walks away.

You don’t stop him. Instead, you go straight home to bed.

You wait for the stupor to end; for the world to make sense again.

And you wait.

And you wait.

But nothing rights itself.

Jason waits, too.

And he waits.

But every morning he’s still drawn to you, tied to the hook at the end of an invisible fishing line.

You haven’t felt right since your encounter with Jason’s ghost, but you keep it to yourself. What’s anyone supposed to do, anyway? Everyone goes on with their days since his demise, so you have no other choice but to do the same.

You weren’t mugged because nothing was taken. You weren’t hurt, either. And yet, walking the same route makes you nauseous.

You do it anyway.

Despite how awful it feels, you’re compelled to stop in that damned laneway. It’s empty. Dark. Wet. Stinks of trash.

“Dead,” comes a voice from behind you. It makes you jump out of your skin, even though you know its owner. You whirl around. “I’m dead?”

Jason’s much closer this time. Only a foot apart. He wears the clothes you last saw him in.

It both is and isn’t a question. He doesn’t know. Fuck, he wants to know something.

He looks at you haplessly. As his eyes trace your skin from your temples to your collarbone, he feels the breeze of a faraway memory. Softness.

You swallow. “You were,” you whisper. “Don’t you remember?”

His voice is hoarse as he says, “No.” He’s scared, because while his mind might not remember, his body certainly does. Trauma’s laced into every cell at this point. He just can’t connect the dots. He thinks of death in colours: green and orange, black and blue.

Slowly, he raises a hand, palm out, gloved. An offer; another question. You look down. You meet him shakily as your fingers touch his. He’s there. Physical.

“Am I… real?” Jason asks. “Here?”

Dumbstruck once more, you graze over his palm. He holds the weight like a real person would. You prod at him to further test it. He rebounds easily.

“I think… you might be.”

It’s his turn to investigate. Your hands flip. He traces a vein to your forearm and feels your warm pulse. He can’t help but think I know you, even if it’s buried deep.

It’s when your fingertips slip under his sleeve and touch his bare skin that he jerks away like he’s been splashed with acid. He makes a choked sound. You chew on your bottom lip to keep the tears away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice strained. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. It’s raw, and this time it isn’t about the invasion. It’s about your failure. It unearths grief and love. “I missed you,” escapes, and it’s painful to hear and painful to say.

Jason’s head tilts. He swallows. The words keep him standing in front of you. He thinks you might mean it. It means something to him, at least.

When you look up, it’s with wet cheeks. He wants to cradle them and wipe them dry. The thought makes his own heat up.

“You don’t remember?”

He shakes his head stiffly. “None of it makes sense.” Admitting it makes him feel like a child even though he’s clearly aged since his last memories.

“Okay,” you say, deflated.

“I… I know you, don’t I?” he offers pitifully. He doesn’t want you to mourn him. “I feel like I do.”

You stare at him for a moment. You’re slow to nod. “You were my best friend.” You look at the ground unsurely before you say, “I can show you.”

Jason agrees. You take out your phone and scroll, then hand it to him. He finds an abundant digital album. He squints as he scrutinises each photo.

But he can’t deny what he sees. It’s him, and it’s you. Us.

A young version of you both. You don’t look as different as he does.

It’s when he scrolls too far that something more stirs in him. The image is compromising and vulnerable. A scan of a photobooth strip; a typical shoot that ends with an impassioned kiss, your hands indented into each other’s skin and tangled hair.

His thumb stays on the screen as he draws over it again and again.

“Oh,” is all he can say as he understands why he wants you above everything else when he’s fresh out of the grave. You’re home.

You’re nervous as you watch him. He looks up, gaze softer. Shockingly, his own nerves have eased, although he doesn’t know what to say.

Instead, you ask him, “Do you trust me?”

It gets caught in his throat on the way out but he says, “Yeah.”

“Come with me?”

“Where?”

“My apartment,” you say. Seeing him hesitate, you add, “You can shower. Or sleep. Eat.”

It’s both a win and overwhelming when he gives a rasped, “Alright.”

He follows you to your building, although he stays a few steps behind. You let him have the space. He probably needs it to absorb what he’s learned.

Jason refuses to shower or sleep but he does sit on the couch with you. You wrap a blanket around his shoulders so he can be more comfortable. It smells like you—like safety. He holds onto it tightly.

You feed him crackers and cheese and water. He nibbles, slowly, eyes moving between your face and the apartment. It’s well lived in. He thinks it must be a while since he’s been gone.

You talk to him in a soft tone like he’s fragile. He is, but it still hurts.

“Did you just… wake up one day?”

He looks at his fingernails. He’s washed the dirt and blood and grime from them time and time again, yet he continues to feel the stains. You notice and it puts a frown on your face.

“Yeah. Down there,” is what he says.

You have so many more questions, but you ask, “Where did you go after?”

Jason shrugs like it’s nothing. “Shelter,” he mumbles. “Old safehouse.”

You sigh, exhausted. Not because of him, of course, but the whole situation is a tragedy. You don’t know what to do. An inkling of doubt hides in the back of your mind: what if you really are imagining all this?

But you owe it to him to take it seriously. Help him. You loved him so damn much, after all. Even if it breaks you again.

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, sensing your anguish.

“Don’t be,” you’re quick to comfort. “I’m glad you found me, Jason.”

There it is again—Jason. He swallows. He likes when you say it. It helps him feel more secure.

You peek at him from under your eyelashes. “I… I just don’t know what to do,” you sigh. “I could call Dick?”

The name echoes in his mind. He dredges through cleaved memories to figure out who that is. He must look confused because your mouth forms around the answer, although he beats you to it. He blurts out, “Grayson?”

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “Do you remember him?”

His face scrunches and his head hurts from trying to recall the man. “A little,” Jason says. “He’s my… brother.” However, as he realises the problem at hand, it sets off panic. “Don’t tell him,” he stumbles, “Please. I don’t—”

“Okay,” you murmur. You place your hand near his.

He looks pained as he says, “Don’t tell my family.” He doesn’t know why yet, but he knows he doesn’t want to see them.

You nod. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.” His fingers brush yours. “I… I wish I could remember you properly.”

“Maybe it’ll come back with time and rest,” you tell him gently. You’re hopeful. Out comes a yawn. “Do you mind if I…?”

“S’fine,” he shrugs.

“Will you stay?”

“Guess so.”

You smile at him feebly. “I’ll be over there.” You point to your bedroom. “Wake me if you need me.”

He nods.

Jason does stay, if only to cut himself on your sobs that last well into the night.

A/N: Weekly updates!

😁 Going to do a one-time tag in the notes for people who have enjoyed my previous works ->->->->

#jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #wayne family adventures #jason todd smut #fic* #jtfic* #jtsolace*

[verecunda]

I think I could probably write an entire folk horror anthology just based on weird things I've encountered in the place where I walk the dog. These include:

The fact that the paths through the hawthorns never seem to be the same from one day to another.

The random hawthorn bush that the dog started barking at, right up on his back legs.

That time he was standing between the hawthorns and barking at thin air.

Just... those hawthorns.

The castle on the hill that appears more visible some days, but which you can hardly see on others - in a way that seems to have nothing to do with the quality of the light.

The bone that sat caught between some tree branches, about six feet off the ground, for about a week before disappearing.

The badger sett with a long branch stuck halfway down it, looking for all the world as if someone was trying to see what was down there, only to be... um... interrupted by something coming up from behind.

That time I thought I saw three hunched, raggedy figures waving at me in the distance... but on second glance turned out to be three bushes blown about in the wind. And clearly I've never managed to recreate the vantage point, because I've never been able to identify them since.

That one time I could absolutely swear I heard my dad calling me in the distance... except for the fact I knew he was at work, more than twenty miles away.

Plus today's one: the pattern of damp on the trunk one of the oak trees that I glimpsed out the corner of my eye, which for that fraction of a second looked for all the world like a man's face.

#out and about #spooks #(for lack of a better tag) #ghost story inspiration

[theknightmarket]

Okay, okay. Hear me out. Damien...during his college days. Long before the events of WKM. Maybe he didn't know what he wanted in life yet, maybe he did but was struggling to keep himself on track. That's where our dear reader/future DA comes in.

- Alexandrite

P. S. I appreciate the love! Hopefully I can start out on that project soon 💜

“What if I just sit here and die?”

In which Damien is plagued by indecision, and the only hope in sight is one confident stranger.   

[This is a two-parter, since this has been in my inbox for a while, and I really wanted to get something out. Here's the second part!]

TW: cursing, self-deprecation

Pages: 16 – Words: 6,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Mid-life crises were common in the university. So much so that you could expect every fifth lecture to be cancelled due to the professor’s collapsing mindset. Was this worth it? Would it lead to anything more? Or was the crumbling of the bridge catching up to you? These were questions that every member of staff asked themselves when they stepped foot onto the campus in the morning.

Mid-life crises were less common among the actual students. For one, most of them were not halfway through their lives, and, secondly, they had nothing to worry about. Half of them would have tracked down future employers, a quarter just waiting to get in on daddy’s company, and the final group filling out the few details on an army enrolment form. Really, crises weren’t only uncommon, they were near impossible to find, like tracking down a fish that didn’t know how to swim yet. Either they were rooted out at the very beginning of the year, or they learned to battle the tides – the only other option was drowning under assignments and expectations. 

And that was what made it so much worse for those select students. Their rarity left them completely alone in the educational world, fleeing from commitments as fast as they could make them. Another reason why they were hard to find was simply because they never left their rooms. They’d wake up, go to class, and then return to their homes while everyone else was out living life with the security of a life after this. It was horror to watch out the window, and torture to hear all of the pushing and nagging from the few friends they might have had. 

Damien was in this unusual group of students, and William was the friend. Go figure, they were in Damien’s dorm room, the man himself staring out the blue-stained glass at a distant football game, while Will tinkered with the knick-knacks on his shelf. If there was one detail that Damien did not fit into, it was that his friend was not pushing and nagging him. Instead, he seemed more interested in the random assortment of objects scattered around his room. 

Placing down a broken slingshot, Will sighed, “I don’t know why you’re so high-strung about this.” 

Damien could do nothing more than sigh; he wondered that too, more times than he could count on two hands. It was an unfortunate routine he had trapped himself in, one that left him in this very position after each and every lecture. He just… he found it hard to understand what everyone else found simple. The professor would say some mumbo-jumbo, a phrase he was sure the guy made up on the spot, and his classmates would nod along, like doing laps in a kiddy-pool. Meanwhile, he was left up a creak without a paddle. Eventually, it would get to be too much, and he’d flop down face first into his pillow and hope to wake up when he could get it. 

The only thing that he actually woke up to was William pounding on his door. He opened it, Will barged in, he asked what was wrong and, not long after, they were in this scenario. The third one this week, if Damien was counting correctly, but he couldn’t be sure that he was able to, at this point. 

“It’s only my entire future and wellbeing,” he replied, barely able to get the words out without straying into the fog of his thoughts. 

Will’s only response was a simple, “Exactly,” – and one that had him falling into the creaky chair beside him, still in view of the field but supported, as if thinking about this dilemma was taking a physical toll on him. 

“What if I just sit here and die?” he muttered. Really, it looked like a better option than worrying all the time. 

“Then you will be sorely missed.” 

William plucked a stack of cards from one of the shelves across the wall and flicked through it like a picture book. A few times they and their friends had gotten together for game nights, but Damien had only won once, and that was when half the group was drunk off their heads and the others too busy stopping them from hurting themselves to notice his crumbling poker-face. After that, he was the designated underdog in poker nights. 

So, gambling his way into fortune was out of the question. 

“It’s better than suffering here.”

The bed to his left dipped down as Will practically threw himself on top of it. The cards exploded out of his hands and across the sheets, as if he were spreading seeds throughout a garden. He was lucky that nothing fell on the floor, or Damien might have opened that window and thrown himself out of it. A bit of an overdramatic reaction, but what else was he supposed to do? There was only so much he could take, and anymore trouble was liable to push him over the edge, be it spilt cards, extra projects or students coming down the hall just slightly too loudly. 

Will didn’t seem bothered by it, though; he blew his moustache away from his mouth and started to collect the cards again. “Then you drop out,” he answered lackadaisically, “or you stay in, who cares? It’ll get you to stop worrying, at least.”

From his spot by the window, he watched as the university football team emptied onto the field. He didn’t know any of them personally, but, from where he was sitting, it looked like an easy life. Throw a ball, then get tackled for it - laugh along with your peers without a care in the world, except for who had the thing next. If only his days were that simple.

“I have to get this degree.” 

“Says who?”

“Every possible employer.”

Technically, this degree was a bit of a stretch. Most of the law offices just wanted any Bachelor’s, but Damien had already switched twice at the start of the year, experiences that had made him too scared to set foot near that block of offices again. He had landed on a Bachelor of Public Affairs and Policy Management, which was a mouthful, for one reason and one reason only. 

It was the one that his dart hit when he chucked it at the board. 

Finally having all the suits in one hand, Will huffed, “Ah, what do they know anyway? When I was your age, you only had to walk in with a smile and can-do attitude to get a job.”

Damien blinked. “You’re younger than me.” Not to mention that the only career that was possible in was, go figure, the military. Sometimes he questioned if his friend would be able to get any other profession, but there was no other choice than being a raging, gun-wielding madman willing to die for a badge.

“What I’m saying is,” Will shifted to sit up straighter on the mattress, “this degree should not decide your future, but you’re letting it.”

“No, I’m not,” Damien sighed back.

“Are, too!”

The image of William staring at him with a pointed figure, a bloodhound that had caught his unfortunate scent, was getting on his nerves the second it appeared. He wasn’t letting the degree decide anything, because he could barely make a decision, as is. If it were to make the choice for him, the better it would be for everyone. For him. 

Damien looked back to the football game.

“Either you get a grip on the situation, or you don’t.”

They seemed to be having fun.

“There are so many other jobs out there that you’re suited to.”

Sure, some of them were hurt, but the comradery seemed worth it.

“If you want to be stuffed in an office all day, you could be an accountant- ah, no, you’re terrible at math… Damien, are you hearing me?”

Maybe he should join the football team.

“Damien?”

God, no, he’d hate that. 

“Damien!”

He whipped his head to face Will, ready to give him a piece of his mind, but stopped short of letting it all out. He was only trying to help, he reasoned to himself, even if his ‘help’ was anything but at the moment. 

So, instead, he let his shoulders drop and eyes cast to the floor. “You wouldn’t understand, Will.”

He didn’t have the same reservations about snapping. “Like hell I wouldn’t!” William yelled, “I’ve listened to you go on and on about this course, I should think I know what you’re going through by now.” 

Now, Damien’s parents were always very hesitant to visit him, or get in touch with him in any other way – ever since he had moved out for university, they had preoccupied themselves with finding Celine a husband. He was empathetic, of course, but there was a larger part of him that was relieved for their attention being off of him. In this moment, however, he realized just how relieved he should have been. The hands on his side, the near scowl, the suspenders. Will looked like the poster boy for disappointed fathers, and Damien was not a fan of this role reversal. 

He shook his head and leaned forwards, lacing his hands over his mouth, “I’m the one talking, and I barely know what I’m going through.”

“Look,” Will pat his shoulder, “the worst thing you could do it drop out entirely, so why not stick with it, eh?”

“But what if it’s all a waste of time?”

“Then it’ll be a waste of time. Hell, you could always come join me in the military.”

This forced a laugh out of Damien, something he was thankful for, but confused at his sudden joke. Hadn’t he just been chewing him out? He chocked it up to wanting to change the mood. “Very funny, Will.” 

He didn’t laugh. 

“Are you serious?”

That’s when his cold façade wilted, and he pounced forward to grip his friend’s upper arms. That old smile was back, and a large grin paraded onto his mouth. There was practically the sparkle of a thousand stars in his eyes as he spoke with such enthusiasm that Damien would have thought he was recounting a moment of heroism. 

“Oh, think about it! We’d go into battle together, whip out our gats, and get shot in the chests by the enemy—” a wistful sigh escaped him, “—can’t you just imagine it?”

With a chuckle more nervous than before, Damien removed his friend’s hands and placed them back on Will’s hips. It was a weird movement that he was surprised he let happen, but the man was more focused on Damien’s words of, “I think I would prefer something… less life-threatening?”

A pout. “You’re no fun.” After he moved to return the playing cards to the shelf, giving Damien time to breath in his personal space again, he bounced back to the bed. “And a career in law isn’t life-threatening?” he partially joked. 

“Not any more than a battlefield.”

A deadpan look overcame Will, a slow blink, and then he counted on his fingers while replying, “Political violence, riots, assassinations…” 

Damien threw his head back with a groan, some of his hair coming askew.

“Ah. Sorry, friend.”

He really knew how to cheer a guy up, huh? Why he even called on him anymore was beyond him, but who else was free to listen to his lamentations. He was becoming a broken record, though he wasn’t happy with it, and he had all but exhausted the rest of his options. Mark gave up after his first crisis, and Celine told him the cut and dry without a second opinion, leaving William the only one to actually hear him out, even if his advice was less than good. After him, the only thing left was talking to the wall. 

Not that he needed to resort to that, because, seconds later, there was a knock at the door. Damien squinted at his friend, suspicious of some ambush he’d orchestrated, but he looked just as surprised to hear the sound as he was. So, while he watched, Will moved to swing the wood open. 

“Ah, Celine!”

God, no. 

“Is Damien in there?”

Why did she decide that now was the best time to check up on him? His inner complaints didn’t matter; at Will’s chipper reply of, “Yep,” she shouldered past him and glared down at her brother, even more disappointed than Will had been. 

Celine had always been an oddball, and he could say that, because he had spent the first sixteen years of his life tied to her hip. Whenever their parents told her to do something, she would ask why, and when they answered, she would ask why again. To the point, she was curious and determined, a combination that the locals thought discouraging for a woman. Of course, she didn’t care. The snide comments rolled off her like water on a duck’s back, and she went about her days doing whatever she wanted to. Even now, she had invested her life into the dark arts, one of the hobbies that separated her from the rest of her family, but Damien never saw reason to stop her. He was worried for her, granted, but that was only because of certain… events that proved it was a dangerous practice. He was just glad to have her in his life. 

Although, at that moment, he regretted sticking so close to her. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded the second she stopped within two inches of him, a glower clear on her face. 

“Wallowing.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.” 

Surmising the last half hour in two sentences put things into perspective, but that just made him fall deeper into the pit with how much time he had wasted. 

Celine, expression as blank as a mannequin’s, answered bluntly, “You’re going into the law sector.” 

Damien could do naught but sigh. That much was easy to get, it was just the next months that were going to be tough. “I know, but…” he trailed off, trying his best to avoid her scornful eyes.

“Not ‘but’. You’re going to do it, and that’s final.”

“How do I get through the year?”

Celine looked at him like he was dumb. “You do the work, take the exams, get the degree.”

“You say that like it’s simple.” 

He hadn’t realized that the ‘you really are stupid’ look on her face could intensify, but, apparently, it could. “It is.” 

Damien hated it when she looked down on him – literally and figuratively, and, this time, the combination of the two exchanged his sorrow for something else. The way she spoke boiled his blood, she hadn’t even gone to university, and there she was, talking to him with sure-fire confidence that was going to get her into trouble! Damien loved his sister, he really did, but there was only so much advice and simplification that he could handle. Will, who was standing idly in the corner with a notebook in one hand, had loaded him with the bags, while Celine added the last straw that broke his back. 

“You know what?” he huffed, shooting to stand up straight. His eyeline met Celine’s, passed by to glare at William, and then returned to his sister. If they really wanted to give out unnecessary opinions, they could commentate that football game. “Out.”

“Damien,” she spoke, simple but stern, but he wasn’t having it. 

“Not ‘Damien’—” he pushed at her shoulders and guided her towards the door again, Will standing to attention beside her, “—leave my dorm room. Go on, out you go.”

Halfway through the doorway, Celine called over her shoulder, “You’re going to have to decide sooner or later.”

“Oh, I thought you’d decided for me.”

“Dam—”

She was cut off by Damien yelling, “Goodbye!” and slamming the door behind the two of them. He felt slightly bad when one of his photos collapsed onto the floor from the shaking of the wall, but he himself was shaking too much to care. To ensure he wouldn’t be bothered again, he dragged the wooden chair away from the window and lodged it underneath the door handle, falling onto it within the next second. 

His group of friends were pushy, stressful and beyond annoying in the best of occasions – but they were his friends, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He just… wanted some time to talk through his knot of thoughts without comments or advice or anyone trying to convince him to do anything else. Yes, he realized that he had no clue what he was doing, but he didn’t need anyone coming in, uphauling his life and telling him what to do with it. He only wanted to be okay. 

That got incredibly harder to do when yet another hit against the door caught his attention. All of his thoughts of peace and calm smashed out the window like frantic doves, while Damien himself all but chucked the chair back where it came from. Not even a second into his break, and someone had to interrupt him! He swore that if it were Celine and William again, he would break something. 

“I told you—oh.”

Except it wasn’t them. In fact, it wasn’t anyone he had spoken to before in his life. 

You were practically a stranger to him. 

That was a regrettable fact, due in no small part to you having shared a class for the last year and a half. Despite Damien not speaking up in class a lot, there was the odd moment that he would hear you answering a question or posing a problem to the leading professor. They always had the ability to make him more secure in the knowledge that you asked about, but it didn’t help when you understood something completely. Hell, sometimes he’d be on the brink of walking up to you and getting the answer from you directly but chickening out at the last second was a fond habit of his. To conclude, he knew nothing of you and you nothing of him. So, that begged the question: why were you standing outside his door, fist still raised in the air and a shocked look in your eye?

“Uh, hi?”

“Hello.” 

You visibly swallowed. Had he made a bad impression already? What was he saying, of course, he had. 

“I’m, uh, I’m new- well, new to the campus, I mean,” you laughed lightly to stave off some of the awkwardness that permeated the space between you both, “I’ve been here a while, and I just wanted to introduce myself to the people around my dorm.” You sent a glance over his shoulder and, presumably, spotted the toppled chair. “Sorry if I disturbed you?”

Damien rushed to answer, “No, no, not at all. I just had some visitors.” He could feel the heat radiating off his face, no less sure that it was doused in a fire-hydrant red. 

Nodding slowly, a smile crept over your mouth. “Okay, well, I’m just down the hall in 53. I’ll be seeing you around?”

Damien, too, nodded, but with double the speed and triple the nervousness. He was terrible at socialising, and the icing on the cake was when he, barely conscious of his body, outstretched one hand. Etiquette training from his parents really paid off, huh? He’d made a fool of himself in the first minute of meeting someone, probably even less if you’d heard his yelling. Maybe this was a sign that he should switch university entirely, get away from this horrid introduction with one of the only people willing to be friendly with him. And, great, he must be flailing in the interaction because even his hand is blushing now!

Or going insane, if him forgetting that hands don’t blush was anything to go by; in reality, you were just shaking it back. 

Your hand was… warm. That was the first thing he noticed, the second being the style of your handshake – it was firm and definite, but not mean-spirited. Analysing it might have been weird, but it was the only thing he could do to stop himself from spiralling or squeezing too hard. 

The pressure left quickly, though, and while your mouth moved to say a formal goodbye, Damien didn’t hear a word of it. He was too focused on the possibility of someone to talk to who wasn’t a childhood friend. It both excited him and had him biting back panic. 

As calmly as he could, he closed the door after you’d moved down the hallway. God forbid you or anyone else see him such a mess. He made it a half-step in front of his bed before he collapsed dramatically overtop it. He would have to tread lightly in lectures now, even more than he had before, and that was not something he was looking forward to. 

That following morning, when he shuffled out of the floor of students and into the classroom, Damien was prepared. His plan was set in stone; to get to his desk, set out his books, avoid any and all eye contact with you or anyone associated with you until the class was over, and then leave, possibly to never return, but that was par for the course. He had just about completed the first part of his plan when you arrived, followed swiftly by a couple of your friends. 

Damien dared not look up from the wood as you situated yourself, in your usual seat and ready to get started. He appreciated your enthusiasm, but it didn’t stop at the requirements of electoral candidates. No, unfortunately for him and his steadily cracking stone, it extended to your social skills. 

Once your eyes caught his, you didn’t miss a beat in stalling your conversation with a friend to shoot him a smile and wave. Damien could feel his heart in his throat even after you had looked away. That spark in your eye – it was so mesmerizing, like a firefly that he wanted to put in a jar for safe-keeping. It was a weird feeling to suddenly want to learn about something, be engaged in the present, just because you were. It almost made him laugh; it took you two seconds to do what all of the guidance counsellors on the campus couldn’t do in two years. You really were something, huh? 

While Damien was busy flipping his brain on, you were barely awake. To be honest, you hadn’t slept well the night before, and a class as early as this one was bound to make you none the better. Upon stepping foot through the room’s door, you had been ready to call it quits right then and there – but who did you see but that guy, the one with the dark, combed back hair and alarmingly striking eyes, sitting on the opposite side of the room to you. Damien, if you remembered correctly from the first day on the course. Back then, you had sat at the back, and watched as everyone told the professor their name, his reactions, their reactions to those reactions, and so on, and so forth. It was an exercise in futility because you almost immediately forgot everything you had paid attention to. Or you thought you had, completely and utterly blown from your mind. 

But then there was Damien. Now, you hadn’t said a word to him in the time you’d been in a class together and you hadn’t even known he lived on campus until yesterday. It was a turn of fate that the room George Jacobs had vacated was down the hall from him, and that he was the only one still there to answer the door. 

Everyone else had been down watching that football game, cheering on their selected team. However, you had no sentimental attachments to anything yet, you didn’t care which team won or lost or got injured or called out unfairly by the referee. You were more concerned with the people who would be around you for the next couple months, though your worry went uncomforted because every door that you rapped upon was empty. Either that, or they heard you coming and vowed not to open up. 

You made your way down the hall, shined shoes reflecting the lights of torches on the wall. Even though it was only just getting into autumn, the nights were getting darker, and the days were getting shorter, and you were wondering if investing in fluffy jackets was the right thing to do. As you waltzed across the clean rug, you let your eyes wander. The decorations weren’t half bad; a bunch of old but pretty paintings spread across the walls, and plant pots lining certain doorways. A golden fire extinguisher hung worryingly used at the end, but before you could get to it, you stopped. 

From out one of the rooms, 61 or 62 from your point of view, two people exited. Exited was a general term, really, because they looked to be more shoved out than leaving on their own accord. They exchanged a few words before the darker haired one grabbed the other’s hand and dragged them down the corridor opposite you. Neither spared you a glance before they were out into the stairwell, but that was fine by you, because you were more focused on the door slamming closed after them. 

Anyone else might have been put off by such a clear sign of aggression, but you were far from anyone else. This, to you, only showed that someone was home, and that was someone you were going to introduce yourself to. Besides, you had come out here to see who you were going to live near, and a nameless student with at least two friends and anger issues was a hell of a way to start. 

So, with more of a bounce in your step than before, you jogged up to the door. It loomed in front of you, the peephole practically staring daggers into your soul, until you raised a fist and knocked a rhythm against the wood. Barely a second had gone by before a crash slipped around the hinges and the door whirled open. 

“I told you—oh.”

Your eyebrows jumped halfway up your forehead, registering a slightly familiar face and a completely unfamiliar reaction. It was unexpected and had you pressing your backfoot into the ground in surprise. You’d noticed Damien once or twice in the back of the class, the guy who was always present and presumably ready at the start of the lecture. Thinking back on it, you don’t think you’ve seen that classroom empty. He’d never taken a sick day or been late, and that left you with a somewhat skewed impression of him, not that you knew it was sorely incorrect. 

But all in all, you’d thought that the silent, collected bystander in the class would be the last one to burst out with such a tone. You were left subtly speechless while he looked on in apparent disbelief. 

“Uh, hi?”

“Hello.”

And the conversation continued – if you could call it that – in relative awkwardness. You tried to be nice, introduce yourself as your family had taught you to, but you couldn’t help but think that something was… off about the interaction. Maybe it was the timing, maybe it was you, or maybe it was just dumb luck that Damien didn’t look like he wanted to talk then. The interaction was quick and efficient, the worst combination for a good chat to be, in your opinion. It left you wondering if you should apologise and start again, maybe during work hours when you weren’t intruding on his personal time. 

While the whole moment was lacklustre, there was one take away that had you looking forward to the next day; Damien had shaken your hand, not something you had expected, but it gave you some information, all the same. A handshake was indicative of someone’s personality, and this time, you were very interested in the results. First of all, Damien had initiated it, so the leading theory was that he was confident when in his own space, when he had the most control. Second was something that contradicted it, though, since his barely-there pressure hinted that he was not sure in his social skills but that he still had them. Likely engrained in him from an early age – like singing a song, but not understanding the lyrics. Finally, and this was your thought as you began to walk back to your room, you were the one to let go. You weren’t a shrink, not by any means, however, you thought yourself good at reading people. It seemed that Damien’s impulse to shake your hand might have started from tradition but continued with the physical touch of your hand. That look in his eye was far-away, the pupils locked onto your handshake, and a faint scattering of red along his cheekbones. People in the university often desired closeness, and you had a feeling Damien was no different. You almost apologized when you let go. 

To conclude, Damien, confident in his area, well-taught but timid, impersonally romantic, and, although it was something you didn’t catch from his handshake, handsome to boot. To say you were intrigued would be an understatement. 

And that was exactly why you found yourself checking the clock and walking up to Damien’s desk. You had to manoeuvre around a lot of other tables, giving him plenty of time to notice you, but he was still staring distantly at his notebook when you came to a stop next to him. 

You cleared your throat. “Hey, there.”

The second that the first syllable made its way out of your mouth, he looked up in surprise, like you’d just told him the president had died. His expression was almost horrified, which wasn’t the way that you wanted to start this interaction, but you could adapt. 

To ground yourself, you leaned back on the desk behind you. The wooden legs creaked and bent under your weight, though they stayed upright while you collected your thoughts. You didn’t want to scare him, far from it, you just wanted to get to know him a little. You weren’t the best at making friends, most of the people you spend time with being the people from down your street when you were a child, so this was a new, but welcome, challenge. 

But first things first, you had to make sure he wasn’t going to run away at the first sign of you being anything but what was expected. 

“I’m sorry if I came off weird last night,” you started, edging your bets with a small chuckle. 

Damien’s eyes darted around your face, looking for something of which you had no clue, but it wasn’t long before they landed back on his notebook. “Yeah, no, it wasn’t… you’re fine.”

“Thanks, I’m, uh, not normally like that, I guess it was just weird being in a new place without any family.” 

“Well, that’s not always a bad thing.”

Your eyebrows furrowed with this new information. It was a comment you hadn’t expected from him, but you had a feeling that it had something to do with those people coming out of his dorm room. After all, thinking back on it, that first one had the same dark shade of hair as the man before you did. It wouldn’t hurt to take a chance.

“Were the people last night your family?”

This encounter was going swimmingly, since he, apparently, hadn’t expected that from you either. This was a lesson in not judging a book by its cover, huh? 

It took him a second to realise that he was still in a conversation, but Damien’s answer came a moment after. “One of them, yes. My sister, Celine, my twin, actually.” 

“Oh, is she at the university, too?”

“No, no, she isn’t a fan of mass educational environments. Will isn’t either, but that’s what make them a pair.”

“Will?” 

By this time, a fuzzy feeling was rising in your chest, the same kind that you’d get when you clutched a hot water bottle close to you on a cold night. This was a conversation – you were having an actual conversation with someone you’d just formally met! You would have pat yourself on the back had you not been in public, but you noted it down for future reference when you were alone again. 

“Yes, he’s my friend. I’ve known him for years, ever since he accidentally shot a slingshot through my bedroom window.”

That drew a laugh from you, one that surprised the both of you as it came out. Etiquette be damned, that was funny, so you let your true feelings show. 

Your sudden chuckling brought forth Damien’s own few mimics, only interrupted by you shifting your arm to gesture towards your own group of friends. 

“That one’s James,” you commented, ‘that one’ being a blond, more on the shorter side, guy, heavy-set with an ironed shirt that he was nearly bursting out of. You moved your hand to the left, now pointing at a laughing woman, who had an arm wrapped around another boy’s shoulders. You supplied, “Kate and Michael,” before nodding at the last person sitting around the conglomeration of desks, “and Edward.” 

“They seem, uh, nice.”

It hadn’t been a joke, and yet you laughed anyway. You stopped yourself before it attracted any more attention than you had already garnered, and muttered, “Yeah, they sure seem it.” 

“I mean it,” Damien replied, grasping for his pen in the wake of a steadily rising blush. 

“I know you do,” you replied, humour clear in your voice, “but just you wait until you meet them.” 

Meet them? Damien’s redness shot out of him like a bullet as his eyebrows furrowed. You wanted him to meet your friends, or did you mean in general? He weighed the options and found that he’d rather you introduced him, not even considering the fact that you would be introducing him. 

“Unless you don’t want to, of course,” you rushed to say when you noticed he looked almost conflicted.

“Oh, no, I do want to!” The words fled from him before he was aware that he was thinking them. It was only when he you smiled a bright, contagious smile, that he started to fiddle with the cap of his pen once more.

“Great!” You might’ve been embarrassed to admit that your heart beat slightly faster, your hands started to sweat, and the urge to scream tapped at the back of your throat. “We’ll get it set up, then, shall we? I was thinking maybe tomorrow at 12, or, if you’re busy, we—” 

“Can everyone take their seats?”

Your head snapped up on your shoulders, spine straightening, and your attention directed to the suddenly full classroom. Or, rather, not suddenly; you’d been too enthralled by getting Damien to talk to your friends that the students filing into the room flew under your radar – not even the person who normally sat in the seat you were occupying cared enough to ask you to move. They, notably, had set themself up where you normally would sit. 

The one time the class was actually full, and it was the time you were definitely going to embarrass yourself for it. 

Ignoring the brightening of your face and choking down an awkward laugh, you met the eyes of the professor at the front. He had this very specific look that you never thought you’d see directed at yourself, but there was a time for everything. It was almost smouldering to look at, and you weren’t sure if it was your face burning from your blush or from his glare.

“Oh, sir, I’m not—” you rushed to explain. 

The glare worsened. You swallowed. 

“Everyone, take your seats.”

You shuffled into the wooden chair of the desk you had been sitting on, confident in only one thing; that you’d made a fool of yourself. The impulse to slam your head through the table was strong, but you fought it if only to avoid further attention. Sheepishly, you cast a smile towards Damien, who offered back a smaller, but still genuine, grin of sympathy.

You could do this. Totally. Why wouldn’t you be able to? It was just sitting next to a potential new friend who had seen you mess up thrice now. 

What could go wrong?

 

[‘Hey, Alexandrite :D

Woah, two two-parters in a week?? Seriously though, apologies for the wait, exams have been kicking my ass. Also, this is a two-parter mainly because I think I just really like writing Damien’s dynamics with his friends. I’ll definitely be getting the second part out after exams all finish, though, so I hope it’ll be worth the wait]

#theknightmarket #markiplier egos #fanfiction #markiplier #markiplier egos x reader #writing #one shots #request #x reader #oneshot #damien x reader #Damien #wkm #da #da x damien #college-era

[ieatsmallorphansnamedtom]

Stardew Bachelor/Bachelorette Halloween Costumes!

In celebration of the start of spooky season, I compiled a list of what I think the Stardew bachelors and bachelorettes would wear for their trick or treating! I know they have Spirit's Eve, but I'm yet to see connections to that holiday and costume wearing (if someone does have anything do hit me up).



Bachelors:

Sam

He's either going as a video game character or something classic like a clown. Either way, he looks like he's just come back from a night of killing. Tons, and I mean TONS, of fake blood everywhere. It doesn't even look authentic at that point; it just looks like he's dipped himself in a bucket of red paint. He'd have to have a second costume for when Vincent is around, hence the video game character. He's a whole cupboard full of Prairie King merchandise and costumes.



Elliott

Some infamous historical figure/legend. Think Sweeney Todd. He's always dressed like he came straight from the Victorian era in London, so you best believe he's got some cool costumes he just wears on the regular. Also, the acting is dialed up to 100%. Some townies (mostly Alex) can't even understand what he's saying because he uses a combination of Shakespearian, cockney rhyming slang, and drunken slurs.



Sebastian

Vampire, skeleton, or both. Lots of effort was put into his, so it looks really good. It's mostly made of up cycled old costumes and random merchandise he has. He went to Emily for a lot of help with actually putting it together, and it paid off! He spends most of the night trying to sneak up on Sam and scare him (which he does well). Lots of fun Sebastian times and scared Sam times.



Harvey

His costume is pretty tame. Honestly, he's just a more stereotypical doctor. He's not all too creative with these things. But when the farmer comes along, he tries stepping it up with a pilot outfit! A more historical one, of course. He does not have the money to go out and buy a whole suit for these modern uniforms. Some of the stuff is a bit old, seeing as it was mostly outfits from many years ago, but he still looks cute.



Shane

If it weren't for Jas, he's going as a bedsheet ghost. Not even holes cut out for the eyes, just crudely scribbled on magic marker ink. But Jas wants to be a princess, so he's going to be her knight in shining cardboard armor. Jas and Emily spent hours making it, and for what it's worth with its mounds of silver glitter, it looks pretty good! Shane swapped out his sword for a glorified pool noodle and is hitting whoever annoys him under the excuse 'it fits his character.'



Alex

Gridball player, but zombie. Halfway through makeup with Haley she realised he was using actual paint, not face paint. Cue them both panicking and rushing to get it off his face. A little bit of paint got on her floor and now he's doing all her chores for a week. But for the costume, he took great care not to get paint on his helmet. If he could, he'd wait days until he's certain the paint has dried and most 'damage' it. He's having the time of his life in it, living out his literally dead dream (being a zombie and all).'



Bachelorettes:

Penny

Queen of the Junimos! It's got a very floral design and is pretty light. Bell-shaped skirt and sleeveless top. Lots of green, but also little bits of oranges and yellows to fit the season she'll be wearing it. Haley went crazy when she asked for help with her makeup and spent hours and hours making sure it looked perfect. She looks like she came straight out of a fairy tale.



Leah

Some sort of mythological forest being. Probably some sort of tree person. Either her outfit is lowkey high-key very revealing, or a straight up tree with a hole for her head. That, or something very weird and mixed media. She's trying to get the feel of a personification of her sculptures.



Abigail

Dead Red Riding Hood. Blood everywhere. It looks like someone murdered her violently in her sleep. She also has one of those fake knives that can retract into itself to make it look like she stabbed someone. That, or Sebastian hid some packets of fake blood in his jacket and Abi comes swinging at it with her sword. They both got in massive trouble and nearly killed Harvey, but it was worth it.



Maru

Alien! But hers is actually based off what aliens would look like under different planets with different environments. Each year is something new, and every time she looks amazing. She's even wired some electricity in some of them to make flashing lights or to equip a voice box inside. It's super stuffy though, so she's taking it off after a few hours for a break.



Emily

Her outfit is less of a costume more of her having fun making the most extreme clothing possible. Two-and-a-half rainbows of colours only visible to shrimp. She is the easiest to spot by far, having giant accessories. Each costume is based off a different animal, but her favourite is birds because she gets to use a ton of feathers.



Haley

A ghost! She's dressed in her best clothing; all white and grey. Her makeup took the whole day to do, and it paid off! She is by far the most beautiful townie and looks absolutely ethereal. She and Emily also came up with a fun backstory for her new ghost self, and when drunk Elliott hears it, he loses it entirely (in a good way). Little bits of glitter everywhere so she shines in the moonlight.

#sdv #sdv headcanons #sdv sam #sdv elliot #sdv sebastian #sdv harvey #sdv shane #sdv alex #sdv penny #sdv leah #sdv abigail #sdv maru #sdv emily #sdv haley #stardew valley #stardew valley headcanons #stardew valley sam #stardew valley elliott #stardew valley sebastian #stardew valley harvey #stardew valley shane #stardew valley alex #stardew valley penny #stardew valley leah #stardew valley abigail #stardew valley maru #stardew valley emily #stardew valley haley #ieatsmallorphansnamedtom

[bruh-anator3000]

HexCrunch

--------

Warning: absolutely the most random fic you'll ever read, based on this dream I had the other night. Slightly graphic descriptions of unbelievable hunger, and just uncomfortable feelings mostly the whole way through.

Summary: You're so, so hungry...

---------

The second you woke up, you knew something was wrong. Devastatingly so. You could tell by the way your stomach was screaming, your insides throwing a fit on being too empty. The acid was starting to eat away at the lining of your stomach, hitting against it, thump thump thump.

You were starving.

This was unusual. You ate dinner, a full meal before starting your night routine. You ate well the last few days. You couldn't figure out what was making you feel so ravenous, you just knew you had to fix it.

Unfurling from your curled position on your bed with a whine, pain sparking through you like electric shocks. You pulled yourself to your feet and almost toppled over from how weak you felt. There was no energy in you to do this. It was fueled by pure, raging hunger that wracked your body over and over, thump thump thump.

Like a siren song, you stumbled, wobbling to your kitchen and ripping your refrigerator door open. Almost off the hinges if you weren't careful. Tearing through your stock, you knew in an instant there was nothing here to satisfy this unending need for something.

Something! You need something!

But there was nothing in your fridge to help. It wasn't the something you needed. You clawed apart your kitchen, your cabinets, hell, even the couch for that something you craved so badly.

No, no, no! Nothing! There was nothing!

Not the meat on the counters. The vegetables thrown across the floor. Fruits mashed in your palms, juices bleeding down your arms as you screamed. Nothing was going to satisfy this hunger and you were losing it. Like your body was a forest and your hunger, a fire. Nothing to extinguish the rapid heat of these flames.

Flashes of blue and purple obstructed your gaze as you crashed into the kitchen island. Nothing keeping you up besides the cold marble counter under your arms. It pulsed through you. Thump. The colors mixed with random shapes, a whirring sound beckoning you closer. Thump. Promising it could help this pain. Thump.

You listened, begging it to soothe this ailment. Foot in front of the other, you stumbled. A moth to a flame, following the call as the rest of your world went dark. The only light, a bright blue one, beating like a heart.

Thump thump thump.

Nothing could stop you. This sweet promise of relief had you blinded. You couldn't see your hands in front of you as you used them to find your way towards your saving grace. It smelt so heavenly. A hard shell with a gooey inside, asking to be eaten. And you were the one to answer its request.

Something rough landed on your shoulder, halting you. "Y/n? What's... what is on your clothes?" You could make out the far away voice of Jayce Talis. He took a hold of your hands and pointed to the mix of reds on them, asking something. Or yelling. Or both, you couldn't tell.

It was all drowned out by that soothing thump thump thump. It was so much closer. Right in your reach.

"Oh- hey!" Your head almost collided with a screwdriver as Viktor turned to you, shoving you off him. "What has gotten into you? I'm working with dangerous items! You must-"

Your fingers latched under Viktor's stool, tearing him away from the desk, the wheels of it squeaking with protest as you ripped him away from your goal. The force you used sent him nearly halfway across the lab, Jayce having to run over to stop the stool and the scientist on it from crashing through their newest prototypes.

There it was. That thump thump thump you had been chasing this entire time. Under the water, about to break the surface. All you needed to do was take a bite.

A flurry of protests screamed out behind you as you dislodged the Hexcore from its spot, tugging on the wiring and cords Viktor had attached to monitor its magic. It burned your hands but this hunger burned brighter.

Teeth sank into the metal, the cold outward texture crunching into a soft and chewy middle. The center squelched into your mouth, the ocean blue juice sending jolts of electricity down your throat and straight into your empty stomach. It felt like peace on Earth as you pulled away, pieces of the unknown magic core tugging off the rest like soft, tender and raw meat. Pulling apart like tendons and snapping into your mouth.

Streams of blue dripping down your arms, tracing the outlines of your veins, replacing the paths the fruits had streaked earlier. You could feel it sinking into your skin, every pore opening up to consume as much of the Hexcore as humanly possible.

But this need wasn't human. And neither was the way you tore into it until you were choking on it.

You could feel the magic boil in your blood as the last thick piece of rune caught in your throat. You knew you should've been more panicked. You couldn't breathe, sight going short. But it tasted so unnatural, you had to keep eating.

Large arms wrapped around your torso and you were lifted into the air. Thump thump thump against your back, trying to get you to cough it back up. Even if you wanted to, it was too late.

The blue that overtook your blood flooded your brain. Like a blown fuse, a sharp spark shot through your brain and you went limp.

You heard your name being called. Your body hit the floor.

...

"Y/n!" You groaned, your head spinning as you felt a sharp pain hit your body. "Are you okay?" Viktor and Jayce stood above you, worry written all over their faces.

You pressed a hand to your forehead with a whine. "Am I dead?" You asked, voice hoarse and dry, as if you had coughed out your soul.

"No, you just fell asleep." Jayce sighed, hands pulling you up into a seated position by your shoulders.

"And then fell off your stool." Viktor handed you a cold rag. You dragged it across your face, feeling that odd burn melt away. "You okay? That fall did not look right."

"I dreamt I ate the hexcore." You slurred into the wet rag.

Jayce snorted. "You're starting to sound like Viktor." The scientist above him huffed. "That means you've spent too long staring at it. You're relieved for the night."

"But the hexcore-" Jayce hauled you to your feet. Viktor had to stand on your unattended side, helping him hold you upright.

"Bed time." Jayce slung your arm over his shoulder.

"Hex...crunch..." The men had to stifle their laughs as you made it as far as the nap couch. At least if you did wake up and try to eat the Hexcore, Viktor and Jayce would be there to stop you.

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

Check out my Masterlist!

#arcane #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor #viktor x reader #jayce arcane #jayce #arcane jayce #arcane x reader #jayce x reader #nightmare lol #hexcore #crack fic #crack arcane #eat the hexcore #munch

[mariacallous]

Five months ago, software engineer Shikhar Sachdev adopted a peculiar hobby. While his friends met for drinks or played FIFA 23 to unwind after work, he would come home, boot up his laptop, and spend hours filling out job applications, for sport.

Sachdev is content with his job at a San Francisco fintech company, but he writes a career blog in his spare time and had noticed a recurring sentiment: Job hunting these days is the worst. Friends described returning home from an exhausting day of work they hated, applying for new positions, and quickly growing discouraged by clunky application software and a low response rate. Research suggests the frustration is widespread: 92 percent of candidates abandon online job applications before completing them, according to the recruitment platform Appcast.

“You might hate your boss. But if you think that searching for jobs is worse, you're never going to change,” Sachdev says. “I wanted to try to put some data behind the claim that job hunting sucks.”

Sachdev set himself the challenge of applying to 500 software engineering jobs to observe exactly what made the endeavor more or less frustrating. Halfway through, however, he hit a snag. “I wanted to chop my head off,” Sachdev says. He scaled back his target to a still brain-melting 250 jobs across a range of industries and company sizes, chosen largely at random—companies he’d seen on billboards, for instance, or friends’ employers.

Sachdev timed each application from start to finish and for consistency always applied directly through a company’s career page—he ended up spending about 11 hours total filling applications. Since he wasn’t looking for a new position, he always stopped short of clicking “Submit” on a completed application, except for a few choice roles that piqued his interest. (He landed three interviews, but didn’t pursue the jobs.) He aimed to make each application serviceable, but wasn't as thorough as a truly ambitious or desperate job seeker would be, so he figures the times he logged are underestimates.

Sachdev found it took an average of 2 minutes and 42 seconds to fill out a job application—but that doesn’t include time spent identifying suitable roles, and the time could vary widely from job to job. The longest took more than 10 minutes, the shortest less than 20 seconds. Much of this variation sprang from the particularities of applicant tracking software.

Applying to work at a company that used Workday, for instance, took 128 percent longer than average for similarly sized companies in the same industry. Workday spokesperson Nina Oestlien called customer service a “core value” at the company and says that application timing is determined by how customers configure their applications. (Disclosure: WIRED owner Condé Nast uses Workday. Also, we’re hiring!)

Starting Over

Sachdev’s job hunting obsession was born partly from rejection. Originally from Geneva, Switzerland, he graduated from UC Berkeley in 2019 with a degree in environmental economics and philosophy. Most of his friends lived in the Bay Area, and career opportunities in the region abounded, so he resolved to stay.

As Sachdev’s senior year wound down, he began furiously applying for local jobs. But his heart sank each time he reached the portion of an application that asked if he needed visa sponsorship. Since he lacked US citizenship, he needed an employer to sponsor him, likely with a specialty H-1B worker visa. “When I would click the H-1B box, my application would go straight into the garbage,” he says. “I was getting rejections four minutes after I applied.”

But Sachdev has the tenacity to power through the uttermost tedium for months on end. And he discovered what looked like a loophole. Foreigners who earn STEM degrees from certain US institutions can work in the country for up to three years without a visa under a federal program called Optional Practical Training. “Who stays at their first job for more than three years?” he rationalized. So when the visa sponsorship question popped up in an application for a product manager role at a major tech company he wanted to work for, he clicked “no.”

After he landed an interview, Sachdev spent 40 hours scouring job sites for tips, cramming his notebook full of hypothetical questions and their responses, compiling a presentation the company required—and totally neglecting his coursework. Half a dozen interviews later, he got the job. His heart soared, but not for long. When he explained his immigration status to the recruiter, she rescinded the offer. Sachdev started over, eventually landing a job with a startup willing to sponsor his H-1B visa, and decided to parlay his experience into a career blog offering help to other hapless job questers.

Job hunters have long complained about the process, but it developed fresh annoyances after moving online starting in the mid-’90s, says Chris Russell, managing director of the recruitment consultancy RecTech Media. Online job boards like Monster and CareerBuilder flooded companies with candidates, giving rise to applicant tracking systems built to help recruiters manage the deluge.

These systems promised to save recruiters time by automatically ranking and filtering applicants based on keywords. From the perspective of applicants required to laboriously enter their information into the software, they felt like a new barrier. “These systems were built with the companies in mind,” says Russell. “They never really considered the user experience from the job seeker’s point of view.” A cottage industry sprang up of tools and résumé whisperers promising to help job seekers get past the automated scanners.

In recent years, new features like psychological assessments and “digital interviews,” in which applicants answer prepared questions into their webcams, only placed more barriers between candidates and human decisionmakers. Meanwhile, the fundamentals of hiring remain stuck in the past, says Scott Dobroski, a career trends expert at jobs platform Indeed. It takes three and a half months for most Indeed users to find a job, he says. “All the other parts of our lives have sped up. The hiring process has not caught up.”

Time Wasters

While job hunters have much to gripe about, from “ghost jobs” to the dreaded “résumé black hole,” Sachdev decided to focus his efforts on the initial application process. He identified three main factors that affected the time it took to apply: the size of a company, the industry it was part of, and the applicant tracking software it used.

Applicant tracking software was a major source of Sachdev’s frustration. The most common systems he encountered were Workday, Taleo, Greenhouse, Lever, and Phenom, which adds AI-powered features on top of systems like Workday. More established systems such as Workday and Taleo redirected him away from the careers page and made him create a separate account for each application, adding significant time and vexation. By the end of his 250 applications, he had 83 separate accounts.

Newer offerings such as Greenhouse and Lever spared him some of these frustrations. Applications through Lever, for instance, took 42 percent less time to complete than the average for similarly sized companies in the same industry.

Sachdev also spent many excruciating minutes retyping information he’d already uploaded on his résumé because software would misread it. Workday, for instance, would routinely populate the education field with “Munich Business School” even though Sachdev’s résumé clearly says he graduated from non-soundalike UC Berkeley. “Sometimes it's not even the time,” he says. “It's the mental fatigue of having to do it every single time.”

The longest application to fill out was for the US Postal Service, clocking in at 10 minutes and 12 seconds, while the shortest was that of hedge fund Renaissance Technologies, which requested only his name and résumé and consumed a mere 17 seconds. In general, Sachdev found that government applications took the longest—a trend that Indeed’s data backs up—followed by aerospace and consulting jobs. Younger industries such as online banks, AI firms, and crypto companies were amongst the least time-consuming. Legacy banks, for instance, took about four times longer to apply to than their newer online counterparts.

Sachdev also found applications to large companies more time-consuming than for smaller firms. In general, a doubling of company size added 5 percent to the average application time.

While the process was largely an exercise in repetition, Sachdev encountered a few creative takes on a musty old format. Plaid, a fintech company that provides APIs to connect software with bank accounts, invited applicants to apply via API. (Sachdev opted for the old-fashioned route, for consistency.) The gaming company Roblox let candidates apply in-game.

While hiring software has historically been stacked in employers’ favor, more job seekers are using their own forms of automation. Bots and tools like LazyApply use text-generation technology like that behind ChatGPT to automatically mass apply to jobs, to the likely chagrin of overwhelmed recruiters. When Sachdev posted his results on discussion site Hacker News, one commenter claimed to use bots to fill out job applications and ChatGPT to write cover letters and correspond with recruiters, fully taking over only at the interview stage. “Can you blame him?” Sachdev says. “Because the companies are doing it too. Their résumé parsers, their application tracking software, and their tools are also using AI. So it's almost as if the applicant now has this weapon they can use against the companies.”

An AI arms race that floods the job market with unserious applicants and insurmountable filtering tools is in nobody’s interest, however. Indeed’s Dobroski says some platforms, including his own, have begun rolling out a new approach that aims to save time on both sides, albeit also by leaning on algorithms. Instead of sending hundreds of résumés into the void and hoping for the best—“spray and pray” he calls it—candidates can list their skills, qualifications, and preferences and let AI suggest suitable jobs to apply for. “The matching really speeds up the hiring process, and it connects the candidate with employers that they otherwise may not even have considered,” he says.

Sachdev has his own ideas for what would make job applications more productive for both seekers and recruiters. First off, he advises applicants to save time and mental anguish by prioritizing employers that use simpler software like Lever and Greenhouse. For jobs he’s really serious about, he’ll try to make a human connection with the hiring manager on LinkedIn.

There’s a saying Sachdev likes, from computer science professor Randy Pausch: The brick walls are there for a reason. Facing and surmounting hurdles can help a person discover how much they want something. But if an employer erects too many barriers, “is an applicant really going to think, ‘That brick wall is there for a reason?’ Or is the applicant going to exit out of your website and go apply somewhere else?” Sachdev says. “I think it's the latter.”

[alexthecapri]

I'M CALLING YOU - kate bishop x gn! reader

author’s note: unrelated, but i have a gigantic crush on kate bishop, and i think we’d be great girlfriends.

alternative title: stop calling and show up.

:. 705 words, PART TWO

You heard the telltale sound of the line disconnecting, but still couldn’t drag the phone away from your ear. 

Kate had just told you what she had been up to during the last weekend, when she couldn’t see you because she was halfway across the country. 

It didn’t hurt, at first. The rain checks for the only days you could spend together, Saturday and Sunday, were taken in stride. She was pursuing her dream, and you couldn’t be happier for her. Truly. 

But as time went by, she relied so heavily on your support that Kate didn’t even apologize anymore. She called only to let you know, and not to ask. 

And it was alright, considering it was her life. She shouldn’t have to ask for your permission to make plans. 

But you stopped being a part of them a little too quickly, and you couldn’t help but grasp at the memory of her joking around, saying that you’d share an apartment and adopt two cats by the time you had your degrees. 

Now she stopped university altogether, and you were two months away from graduation. 

No plans of moving in sight and probably catless for the near future. And Fridays became very bitter days, bringing with it anxiety over what would happen this weekend. Hoping against hope that she’d suddenly miss you.

You cradled the phone against your chest, curling your legs even tighter against yourself and burrowing deeper into the couch. 

So much you had wanted to say, to share. 

But she was busy. 

Before, Kate knew how to draw you out. She knew you had difficulty sharing, but she only needed to give you one look to get you to talk. She made you feel that comfortable, so much so that you rarely ever second guessed anything around her. 

Kate could only offer you superficial concern now. A random “how’s uni?” followed by either a “you’re way too smart for me”, if you shared good news, or a “I know you’ll figure it out in no time” if they were bad. 

More than needing her help, you needed your girlfriend back. The one who you’d take on spontaneous dates, and who would surprise you with pizza any night of the week she knew you were free. Who cooked terribly, but knew how to pick good drinks. A girl that made your heart race, instead of making it sink and disappear back into your body. 

Who didn’t make you feel ashamed of needing her love as much as you did, and who didn’t make you feel as if you were the only one left in the relationship.

You hadn’t seen Kate in over two months, and she hadn’t even noticed. Let it slip, once, about how she’d make it up to you for canceling at the last minute, because something came up, but that she was glad she at least got to see you last weekend. By then, she hadn’t seen you in three weeks. 

And it hurt to become someone taken for granted, someone she didn’t worry over losing. At first it felt good, to be that source of comfort for her, deeply ingrained in her routine and never a setback, but as you’ve come to learn, time gives space for change, and not all of them are good.

Such as feeling as if you’re disposable, as if the moment you stop picking up her phone calls, she won’t even notice. Not for a while, at least. And then she’ll question you, and you’ll tell her how you feel, and she’ll say it’s nothing like that. That she still loves you, she’s just… busy.

Busy making a life you have no part in.

You’ve never had it happen to you before, just as you’ve never loved someone as much as you do her, but times are tough and you find yourself with no one to turn to. Parents trying to meet end-of-the-semester quotas, friends rushing through the last weeks until the completion of their degrees, classmates drowning in assignments and final terms. And your girlfriend out there, fighting crime.

Something dripped on your hand, and you noticed you were crying.

Guess you’d just have to hold on until the next phone call.

#kate x reader #kate bishop #hawkeye series #kate bishop x reader #mcu x reader #kate x y/n #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #mcu x y/n #mcu x you #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #marvel x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader fanfiction #gender neutral insert #gender neutral fanfic #gn reader #kate bishop x gender neutral reader #marvel x gender neutral reader #marvel x gn reader

[wisteria-blooms]

long hair & tattoos (bill weasley & reader) (9/15)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY. Also, I'm going to ask for forgiveness for any errors, though I did proofread it twice... As always, your kind comments make my day. :) CHAPTER 9: A family tradition brings Bill back into your life. (5k words) TAG LIST MOVED TO THE BOTTOM. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged & if I missed you!

CHAPTER 9: ALL GROWN UP

As tolerable as the first month was, the second month of living with Fred and George was nearing unbearable. Under the layer of them being your best friends, it was easy to see that they were just boys. Boys that weren’t ready for any other roommates than themselves.

For example, on the rare occasion the two wanted a meal at home, you’d find their plates and scraps in the sink, sorely forgotten until an unforgivable scent began creeping up in the air. The living room was always littered with shirts and socks missing their other half. You did the honours of collecting them and taking them to the laundry room which was in the corridor. Every time you did try to do laundry, the machine was full of wet clothes from days ago. You couldn’t blame Fred and George for forgetting their laundered clothes, but you were getting irritated having to remove everything from their damp trousers to undergarments if you wanted your own clothes cleaned. Eventually, you gave up and sent everything to Malkin’s and would collect them the next day.  

Through an unwanted discovery, you learned that the room adjacent to the laundry room was an experiment room. Though innocuous-sounding at first, it took three ruined reports for you to discover that you hated its existence. Every random and sudden explosion at all hours of the day took you by surprise, jerked your hand, and caused a jilted line that maimed whatever report you were writing. You lost countless hours re-writing them.

You discovered that Fred liked late night showers while George preferred early morning ones. You thought a silencing charm would do the trick but they were only perfectly silencing until the only things you could hear were your own thoughts. And you hated that because you couldn’t shake off Bill even in your deepest sleep at night. Yes, you had come to terms that you were infatuated with him. He’d be there, hand extended towards you, standing outside of Shell Cottage in the summer breeze. Unfortunately, this was on the tamer side of things. Sometimes, he’d be waiting on a bed when you returned home from work. There would be a smouldering expression on his face and his shirt would be halfway undone. Your dreams never got further than that, and you would wake when your head hit the one of the walls that sandwiched your bed. Regardless, one little dream was enough for Bill to linger in your head the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, there was no cold shower cure to rid yourself of Bill Weasley.

In terms of other issues, the only money you had in your bank account were your savings and the difference between your father’s stipend and Bill’s rent. Figuring out your finances combined with the downgrade in your living conditions left you sleep-deprived and demotivated. Your pride, though, kept you from going home. Residing at the manor would be admitting defeat, and Malfoys simply didn’t lose. The slightest thought of your father’s contemptuous smirk incited rage and gave you motivation to stay at the flat.

You were going to stay, no matter how thin the thread you were hanging onto was.

“Ow!”

You kicked your feet up from behind you and plucked out what looked like a sharp plastic fragment from your sock. “What is this?”

“Something we’re working on,” Fred said, running towards you and retrieving the lost piece of his invention from your hand. “Sorry, (Y/N).”

“Could you keep it off the floor?” you hissed. You limped awkwardly to your room and grabbed your purse that was hanging on the door.

“No promises,” Fred responded with a shrug.  

“I’d like to see this shoved up your—,” you began, but Fred had already disappeared, likely to get back to the experiment room.

You exited the complex and out of the empty shop before it opened. Today, you decided to redirect your interests to something else. Work and reports kept your weekends at bay, but you vowed to get out of the flat today. Seriously, nothing good could come out of being around Fred and George on a Saturday.

After a walk around town, you decided on perusing the aisles of Flourish and Blotts. As you entered the store, you caught the attention of a young woman standing near the magazine rack. You swerved around who you distinctly knew as Pansy Parkinson. She was flanked by two friends, but she was quick to pick up on you.

“Well, well, well,” she said with a raise of her thin eyebrow. She lowered her magazine to get a better look at you. “If it isn’t (Y/N).”

“Stellar observation, Parkinson,” you responded.

Her eyes trailed upward to your eyes. “You’re looking tired,” she quipped.

“And you’re still looking single.”

Pansy’s face dropped. Her friends quickly turned around, concealing their laughter. She scowled at them.

Pansy had always harboured a grudge against you because your younger brother rejected her advances back in school. Pansy, being a total coward, used you as a scapegoat. You didn’t mind it because you didn’t care for her, and it took a load off Draco’s back. You reckoned she was still madly in love with him and clung onto every hope that Astoria wasn’t the one for him. But it was futile because as much as you thought your brother was a git, he was rather kind to Astoria. And you’d rather have Astoria, nice but a bit boring, over Pansy any day.

“And Draco’s doing well, if you were going to ask. Think he’ll make it official with Astoria soon enough.” You walked away quickly, looping through shelves until she was out of sight.

You naturally gravitated towards the lifestyle section of the bookstore. You were certain you’d read every Madame Millicent publication in the annals. Well, all except one. Over the weeks, you became intensely curious about what your mother’s friends were reading, that book about pleasing a husband. Though you found the concept wretched and backwards, the idea of having a lover was the ultimate temptation. You scoped your surroundings to ensure that no one was around. Then slowly, you pulled the book out from the shelf: Madame Millicent’s Guide for the Docile Witch: Pleasing the Patriarch.

You skimmed the table of contents. It was divided into different sections. Some were benign: childrearing, housekeeping, cooking, gardening, and so forth. Others were more controversial:  self-preservation, subservience, and… what? You did an one-over. Sex, it read.

The three letters ignited a moral dilemma inside of you. Should you? Should you not? You shut your eyes, fighting with the devil and angel on your shoulders.

Just a peek into the ‘forbidden’ section shouldn’t hurt – you were more than of age. And you really should know more. Your mother never went over any of this with you as she assumed asking you to wait until marriage was enough. It was unjust and terrible; the men of the family were never expected to follow this backward rule. Anything you did know was through anecdotes and wildly inappropriate muggle shows and movies through a television that Fred had pilfered from his father. Your family friends and their upper-crust circle were too uptight to even broach the subject.

Really, to spare yourself the trouble, you should’ve just bought the book and read it in the comfort of your own room. But that would be putting money into Millicent’s pocket and encouraging her to write more about worshipping the patriarchy.

Quickly, your fingers flicked the pages until you were on page 289. Then, you began to read.

Your husband’s pleasure is paramount and is the key to a happy marriage. In this chapter, I will explore tried and true methods to increase his satisfaction in the bedroom. I say this can be divvied up into two categories: physical and emotional…

Heat rose to your cheeks as you skimmed through Madame Millicent’s advice, especially her advice on enhancing physical pleasure. When you realized the images she decided to incorporate were lifelike, you felt the warmth on your face intensify but you just couldn’t pull away. You wondered how Bill’s calloused hands would feel as they firmly gripped your bare waist. Or how his body would feel as you writhed underneath him—

“(Y/N)?”

You looked up so quickly that gave yourself whiplash. 

It was the ever-so discernible voice of Molly Weasley. Oh, crap. You felt a part of you die as you met her kind brown eyes.

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley.” You quickly snapped the book shut and held it behind you. You weren’t sure if she’d gotten a peek of the images you were looking at. Slowly, you slid it on the shelf behind you like you’d never taken it out in the first place.

“Fancy seeing you here. Are you looking for some new books too?” she asked, gazing up at the section you were in. She had a basket looped around her arms, loaded with groceries that probably meant this was her last stop.  

“You could say that, yes,” you responded.

Molly eyed the gap where you’d taken the book from. 

“If you’re looking for housekeeping tips, I have better recommendations. I find that Millicent’s tips are good for immediate satisfaction, but there are better authors for quality spells. Oh, but the board you made for dinner was really lovely indeed. I could tell it was Millicent you read based off the swirl pattern of the meats.”

“I quite agree,” you responded. “It was easy to follow.”

She pursed her lips in thought and trailed her fingers over the spines of a row of books until she landed on one. “Ah, I do enjoy Viola Vickery’s Vital Tips for the Kitchen.” She gracefully pulled the book out and put it in your hands.  “Roxanne Reinhart’s Rights for a Righteous Home is a fantastic one, too. But,” she paused, “only if this is what you’re looking for.”

“Exactly what I came here for,” you affirmed. “Thank you.”

A chime sounded from her watch.

“Goodness, is it three already?” she exclaimed. “I must be getting home. Bill is stopping by today.”

“Oh?” She’d certainly piqued your interest with the mention of his name.

“He says he has important news and I should be the first to know.”

Who knew Molly Weasley was so good at throwing sucker punches too?

“Then you must get going, Mrs. Weasley,” you said with a polite smile. “I’ll be sure to read your recommendations.”

“Well, feel free to stop by anytime, dear. I have most of these books at home that are yours to borrow.”

You nodded, watching as Molly paid for her book and then hastily walk out the door. It seemed that there was no escaping Bill wherever you went. Feeling mortified that Bill’s mother of all people had caught you reading about unholy acts, you sped home in record time. The overhead sun, mingled with hot embarrassment, beat down on you. You also wondered what news could be so urgent that Bill had to tell his mother first.

“Letter for you, (Y/N)!” George called from across the room when he heard the bell chime. He gestured towards the cash register.

You eyed the unfurled parchment beside you. “Did you open it already?” you asked.

“Your family’s owl sure is persistent,” Fred said, coming up from behind you. He raised his hand which had a red peck mark in front of your face as proof. “Wouldn’t go until we read it. So, I’ll do the honours of reading it again.”

Before you could protest, Fred had grabbed the letter and held it above his head. You pouted, persisting with your hands, but Fred simply laughed. It was a futile effort given his height. You gave up and prepared yourself for the inevitable.

“Dearest (Y/N).” Fred imitated your mother, a posh, uptight accent coating his voice. His smile then morphed into a scowl. “I would appreciate it if you responded to my dinner invitations. Nonetheless, I hope you and Bill will join us in our annual trip to the French Riviera. You know how important this trip is to our family. Regards, Narcissa.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Fred quirked an eyebrow. “That’s all?”

“I forgot,” you exhaled sharply, “about the trip.” You’d been so focussed on keeping your life and sanity together that this summer trip was the last thing on your mind.

“The one where you mysteriously disappear for weeks?” he questioned.

“I don’t mysteriously disappear!” you retorted, snatching your mother’s letter from Fred now that he had it at your level. You skimmed it over and was disheartened to find Fred had read it word-for-word. “I’ve been going to France every summer since I was born.”

Fred sniggered. “Looks like you won’t be alone this time.”

“Why’s that?”

“Aren’t you going to invite Bill?” George asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

In your eyes, you and Bill were a done deal. But Fred and George were none-the-wiser, and now Fred was eyeing you strangely.

“What’s going on with you?” Fred inquired, leaning in to inspect your person to make sure someone hadn’t taken Polyjuice Potion and had been impersonating you. “You look dreary, haven’t been yourself lately either. You’re more eager than usual to bark at me like you did this morning.”

Your tolerance for Fred was dwindling every second he stuck his face way too close to yours. What angered you the most was how little awareness he had that it was him causing you to be so dreary, as he’d put it. You wanted to scream that it was him ruining any hope of a good sleep with his late showers, singing, and random experiments.

But you bit back everything you wanted to spew. “I have to start packing.” You quickly retreated upstairs to avoid causing a scene.

When you were back in your room, you opened your closet. It dawned on you that you’d sent all your nice clothes in a suitcase for Bill to keep when you were packing with your mother. Sighing, you closed the doors and took a step back. As you turned, your reflection in the mirror caught your eye.

You felt like you were staring at a stranger. Your eyes were sullen and a deep frown pulled at your lips. You hated what you saw, too, this gloomy apparition of an usually happy girl. Despite your mother’s constant criticisms, you were always made to feel beautiful and important. You were good enough for the world, just never good enough for your family’s standards. Now you were in front of the mirror, picking apart your every feature. You even tried to straighten your back like how you saw the French woman, who you kindly dubbed as Bill’s paramour, was standing in the bank. You wondered if you looked as intelligent and graceful as she did. You mussed and ran your fingers through your hair, wondering how to get it to flow so delicately.

Normally, you spoke your mind without a care for propriety. Now, you’d lost your edge and was reduced to a stuttering fool in front of Bill and his family, all because you were worried about what they’d think of you.

You really hated feeling like this.

You waited until Tuesday to ask Bill if he was free to have a chat. Tuesday, as you deemed it, was the perfect day. Even if he said no (which you were certain he would), you could just do mindless work at the Ministry instead of simmering in embarrassment over the weekend. If Bill Weasley were a warranty then you were long past the guaranteed date.

To your surprise, Bill had written back by the evening, suggesting you stop by the penthouse tomorrow after work. Your palms turned clammy when you realized he was inviting you over. Not to the café, or the shop, but to his place where you would be alone.  

On Wednesday afternoon, you found yourself cowering with apprehension at the entrance of a building erected by Lennox Gardens. Standing in the centre of a circular pavilion, you willed yourself to regain composure. You had to strut in confidently to fool the stout concierge behind the desk who was looking at you with shifty eyes.

“Excuse me!” he called out, pushing himself off a chair that was too high for him. He walked over with a slight wobble. “Where are you going?”

It took you grit to get this out. “I’m (Y/N) Malfoy, Bill Weasley’s girlfriend,” you responded.

“Haven’t seen you come in with him,” he mumbled as he pushed his round glasses up, still unimpressed with your response.

“Then you must not be doing your job well,” you remarked, looking down at him. “We live together. Most of the time I come back in the late evenings when you’re dozing off.”

Your turned to your left and pushed a button. “Bill, I forgot my keys,” you spoke into the intercom. “Would you let me in?”

Without another word, you could hear the lift coming down.

“You are aware that my father, Lucius Malfoy, owns the unit, aren’t you?” you asked before the doors closed. “Don’t make me advise him of your failing to do your job.”

You fell back on the wall of the lift when the doors finally shut. The last thing you saw was the concierge’s frightened face. Leveraging your father was only fun the first few times around, now it just felt risky, and you felt bad for the poor chap just trying to do his job. The nausea in your stomach hastened with each floor that you whizzed by. Eleven, twelve, thirteen… When you landed on the 25th floor with a smooth stop, the gated doors began to open.

Your mouth fell agape; the penthouse was spacious and breath-taking. So, this was what you could’ve had. Your eyes first landed on the kitchen island, made of tonnes of glossy white marble. The eight white leather barstools were worlds above the battered ones that Fred and George had. There was a full kitchen complete with a stocked wine closet enclosing the area. Bill had tastefully hung up some paintings to brighten up the neutral tones. There were multiple sectionals sofas on a carpet right of the island, the longest of the three facing the ceiling-high windows.

You walked closer, watching your reflection in the glass move with you. The views outside the window were shrouded by clouds. From so high above, you could see the entire city, and blurred bits of muggle London in the skyline.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Bill said as he jogged down the stairs from the second floor. He sported slacks and a loose white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “How are you? Haven’t seen you since the concert.”

“Right,” you responded, nerves still abundant. You withdrew your hands from your back and clapped them together. “I’m well. How was it?”

“You haven’t heard?” Bill quirked an eyebrow. “I thought Fred would’ve ratted me out already.”

“No, he hasn’t.” To be honest, you hadn’t prodded at all. You were scared that Fred would tell you that Bill hadn’t come home that night, setting your wicked imagination off.

“Charlie and I came home in quite the state,” he said with a chuckle. “Had a couple drinks too many. We were acting more like boys rather than men, and mum threw a fit, asked us if we were thirty or thirteen. Charlie said thirteen, but he was a little drunk.”

You laughed. At least there was some relief that Bill hadn’t spent the night in another woman’s bed.

“But anyway,” Bill said as he walked over to grab a glass from the rack in the kitchen. “What brings you here? Sounded urgent.”

“Well.”

You looked at him nervously.

“Do you remember when I said my family goes to France every summer?” you asked.

“Yes, I do,” Bill responded. “Drink?” he asked, holding a glass towards you.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

You stuck out an arm and offered him your mother’s letter instead. He took it and began to read. You tried to meet Bill’s focussed eyes, but there was a shock of heat that prickled your skin every time you tried. You couldn’t deny that he looked ever so handsome, the lights above casting shadows on his well-structured face.

“It’s almost August now, so,” you added gently. “Yearly tradition and all that.”

“I see.” Bill drummed his fingers on the marble counter while reading.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve explored every other avenue,” you continued. “I tossed all my mother’s dinner and tea invitations. And I can tell them you’re busy, even if they’re persistent, which I know they will be.”

“That’s quite alright,” Bill consoled. He set the letter down and took a swig of ice water, as if that’d help him come to a decision. “When are you going, again?”

“The second week of August.”

“I’ll check my calendar,” he said. “It’s in my office.” He pushed himself off the chair and eyed you when you didn’t move. “Would you like a tour of the place?”

You perked up immediately. “Yes.”

“I mean, it’s half yours too, don’t forget that,” he reminded. As Bill led you out of the living room and up the stairs, he turned back to face you. “It just dawned on me that the owner of 1 Lennox doesn’t even visit her own property,” he teased with a sigh. “You’re exactly the kind of homeowner Kingsley’s new property bill would tax heavily.”

“Then he should tax my father, not me,” you said with a grin, catching up to his long strides. “I didn’t choose to live here.”

The second floor of the penthouse housed the bedrooms and the den which served as Bill’s office. You entered the room with Bill. It was a neat space kept simple with a desk, filing cabinet, bookshelf and a swivel chair. You noted that Bill kept pyramid-shaped paperweights on his desk. You could take the boy out of Egypt, but you couldn’t take the Egypt out of the boy, you supposed.

Bill picked up his calendar and traced the next few weeks with the back of a quill. He came to a stop after a few moments. He scrunched his nose and exhaled. “Got a meeting with the department head that week.”

Ah, shit.

“But I can always arrange for that to be moved to the week after,” Bill mused to himself as he scribbled on the paper. “Given our workload, it’s absurd to think we could’ve met that deadline, anyway.”

“Right.”

“So, that’ll free up the second week of August,” Bill said. He threw the calendar down on his desk and looked at you. “How’s that for an answer, (Y/N)?”

You stilled.

“What?”

“What?” Bill repeated. He leaned over the desk and took an inquisitive glance, in a similar manner Fred had last weekend, at you. It seemed he was expecting more of an enthusiastic response out of you. You quickly looked down, unable to bear the intensity of his blue eyes boring into yours.

“No, that’s wonderful,” you whispered, focussed on the sticky notes on Bill’s desk. “Thank you.”

“You were chattier when we first met,” he remarked, pulling away. “Anything on your mind?”

“Not much,” you responded. “I’m just tired.”  You rubbed at your eyes and stifled a yawn.

Bill hummed in an understanding manner. “Yeah, Fred and George will cause quite the ruckus, won’t they? I don't get why they take showers at the opposite ends of the day, given they’re twins and all.”

“That’s exactly it,” you said with more vigour. “The moment I fall asleep after Fred’s shower, I’m wakened by George’s.”

“If you need somewhere to get some shut-eye, then I’ll show you to the guest room,” he suggested.

“Won’t I be bothering you?” you asked hesitantly.

“Not at all,” he affirmed. “As I’ve said, this place is too big for just myself. The only thing I can hear most days are my own thoughts.”

Well, you at least had that in common. But you were sure Bill didn’t have dirty dreams about you.

You walked down the wide hall with Bill before stopping at one of the doors. He pushed it open to reveal a modestly-sized (relative to the penthouse) room with a bed and a nightstand. Your mind went somewhere different this time. You wondered if Bill was bringing anyone, particularly women, back to this place. The idea of him being with anyone else under these pure white covers was too much to bear, and not knowing made you miserable. So, you decided to gauge, with very, very gentle pressure, where Bill stood in his romantic life.

“I know we’ve said we’d end this,” you gestured back and forth between you and him, “after two dinners, so I really do appreciate you agreeing to come along to France, but do you think anything could’ve given us away?”

Bill crossed his arms as a pensive look shadowed his face. “I don’t reckon I could’ve,” he said. “What makes you think that?”

“Percy talked to me about the penthouse last time, when I was over for dinner.” You hoped Bill wouldn’t call your bluff; it really wasn’t Percy you were concerned about.

Bill looked taken aback. “Did he?”

You weren’t looking to badmouth Percy in front of Bill, so you quelled your feelings and plainly stated, “he was surprised you’d live here.”

“Well, he wanted to help me move in,” Bill recalled. “Even assembled the bookshelf here and helped me hang some paintings. He must’ve made the connection to you somehow.”

“He didn’t sound too chuffed.”

Bill stifled a laugh into his fist. “Percy has been on the edge since years ago.”

“Hasn’t he always been like that?”

Bill shook his head. “He’ll kill me if I told you this, so don’t tell him I did.”

“What?” You unconsciously leaned in, terribly curious. Your wide eyes beckoned Bill to tell you what he knew.

“Okay.” Bill was easily persuadable, it seemed. He leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice, as if Percy was floating around to witness your conversation. “There was a security breach at the Ministry around the time he started there, and he was relaying confidential information in letters to who he thought was Barty Crouch,” Bill said with a grin. “Got in loads of trouble for it. So, he’s compensating a little,” he brought his thumb and index finger closer together, “trying to tie together things if there’s the slightest hint.”

An amused expression overtook your face. “Percy couldn’t possibly have done that.”

“But he did.” Bill’s face lightened up handsomely. “So, don’t worry about him. He means well even if it doesn’t come off that way.”

“I understand.”

Bill walked over to the closet and opened it. “I still have the suitcase you gave me here.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” you said. There was a tingle of pleasure that jolted up from your hand to your heart as Bill’s hands met yours for the briefest of moments when he passed the suitcase to you. “I’m going to need some things in here.”

“Well, I’ve got a little more work to do, but make yourself at home.”

A sudden thought came to your mind. “Bill?” you called. “I can try to make dinner tonight, if you’re busy working.”

“Would you really?” he asked with a tone of surprise. The conversation was reminiscent of the one you had months ago when you were trying to learn every nook and cranny of each other in less than an hour.

“I’ve been reading and practicing.”

“The kitchen is all yours, then,” he said with a smile before exiting the room. “But take it easy, don’t wear yourself out.”

When Bill left, you kneeled and unzipped your suitcase. Your eyes instantly met the beautiful, neatly-folded dresses you packed months ago. Your fingers fished out a photograph tucked in between the layers and layers of pastel silk and satin. Sometime in your teenage years, you took out the family portrait in the photo frame on your nightstand and replaced it with a picture of you, Fred, and George making silly faces in front of the Big Ben. It aggravated your parents to no end; one, for the unsavoury friends you’d made; two, for perusing muggle London; and three, for losing the family portrait.

The family portrait that you thought was long gone was taken when you were three. You were standing on the front step of the manor, holding onto Draco. If you remembered clearly, he was just beginning to learn how to walk, so you were doing most of the heavy work, bracing him from behind to keep him standing. Narcissa and Lucius stood proudly with their two young children in front of their well-maintained estate.

You missed the simpler times before politics took a stronghold in your family. That wrecked everything. Not you or the friends you chose.

You supposed you’d get some shuteye before you attempted anything in Bill’s kitchen. Slowly, you lifted the white covers off the bed. As you crawled in, you sighed in relief. The mattress literally moulded to the shape of your body. It was also so lovely and quiet in this suite – no explosions, running water, singing, slamming doors, or rambunctious laughter. The only audible sounds were Bill’s quill scratching on the parchment and his inviting low hums that floated in from the other room. It was so pleasant that you felt like you could stay here forever. You were still in Bill’s good graces, and though you couldn’t ascertain if he loved anyone else, he was coming with you to France.

Things were really looking up for the better.

 As you felt your body relax for the first time in weeks, you figured a short fifteen-minute nap would be enough for recuperate. Just fifteen, you promised, before drifting off to slumber.

>> NEXT CHAPTER

<<CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @inpraizeof @milkiane @lovesanimals0000 @alisslahey @milfodyssey @itscheybaby @lookingthroughmirrors @stiles-argent24@aki-ham @my-current-fandom-is @salvatoremuse @nimue-lady-of-the-lake @agathne @benbarnesismybaby@bangbaang @venus-d-vinyl @lexxxtacyyy @pink-hufflepuff @unicornicopia1@itsrhyann@awesomeowlbook @bamboozledflamplant @howpeculier​ @jaix-8102 @vilentia​ @sophneedsfandoms ​@dontbesuspiciousss @sugarrush-blush

#bill weasley x you #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley x y/n

[strideofpride]

ooooh I'd love to hear anything you got on your modern LW fic(s)!

safe travels <333

Thank you, love! 💕

Okay yesssss!! There’s so Much Detail I put into that fic that I don’t know if people didn’t catch or just didn’t comment on but I’d love to talk about lololol!!! And basically just be like “look what I did” hahahaha

-for starters, I did put quite a bit of myself into it, such as: Jo hating AirPods (I think they’re so dumb) and Jo & Amy being really really into Duolingo and often doing friend quests together (literally me and my friend lololol we’re obsessed). A Cinderella Story and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants were big movies for me growing up (I added Bend it Like Beckham for Jo cause duh). I even had John’s sinus surgery Meg references lol and Amy’s prized stuffed frog named Froggy is a reference to my prized stuffed bunny my mom named…Bunny. Like Jo, I think it’s horribly uncreative.

-I also used this fic as an excuse to dump my headcanons of who the March sisters would be as present day late 20-somethings (well Meg is 30 - Jo is 29, Beth is 27, and Amy is 26 (I think this matches their age gaps in the books) - I tried to subtly acknowledge all of their ages in the fic. Meg & John have been together half their lives since they were 15 - that’s also a little reference to George & Lemon from Hart of Dixie albeit more positive lol. Multiple references are made of Jo being almost 30. Jo makes reference to Beth not joining the 27 Club just yet. And Amy’s “revenge” of erasing all of Jo’s stories occurred when she was 13 & now she’s “twice that age”)

-Also getting to figure out who they would be in girlhood in the late 90s/2000s was a lot of fun as well! Like of course Amy had a Justin Bieber phase and Meg was a swiftie

-the March sisters group chat: I was very cognizant of how each sister would type. Meg types with perfect capitalization, grammar, and punctuation. Beth is looser but still has auto caps on. Meanwhile, Jo & Amy both have auto caps off (another shared similarity of course) (and Meg’s comment about Amy loading the car is a reference to Beth being sick)

-Meg buying her coffee from Blue Bottle (“basic and overpriced” to quote Jo) is my little reference to that scene where Meg buys the fabric she can’t afford in the 2019 movie. (Believe it or not, my only familiarity with the story is the 2019 movie which I’ve seen twice and read the script once) Basically, there’s still that girl who craves luxury deep inside her somewhere

-cancer obviously seemed like the natural modern equivalent to scarlet fever but a big part of why I’m reluctant to go deeper into this universe is that it bums me out to think of Beth dying but also…Beth is dying in this universe in the next few months or so. That is very very much a key element of Little Women I think, that Beth dies and the family has to find a way to go on living even in their grief, so no, Beth is not going to make some miracle recovery. She will die and that’s sad but it’s supposed to be. It wouldn’t be Little Women without grief.

-the headphones! When Jo makes her comment about not having headphones, she’s talking about herself, but Amy thinks she’s talking about Laurie! Which is why she reacts the way she does because she thinks Jo knows for a half second there

-Laurie grabbing an earlier flight was sooo cause of Amy. Also just want to point out that the third person narration only refers to him as Teddy cause it’s Jo’s POV and that’s what she calls him :)

-Amy of course refuses to meet Jo’s eye or hug Laurie for long because she’s trying to hide their relationship (as mentioned in the Laurie POV)

-the Bear article in Vulture about the one take episode is a real article published on July 29, 2022

-I decided halfway through writing it that the Marches would have a shit ton of cats they had taken in over the years but there was no natural way to fit a scene in about it so I just went back and started making a bunch of random small references to the cats whenever I could lol

-the avant garde letters bit is just a Julio Torres joke I stole lol

-this is very specifically set in August 2022 and as someone who still wears a face mask today, it was very important to me that I specify that they’re wearing face masks anytime they’re indoors in a public space (except only Beth is wearing one when they’re out at the strip club, because she’s immuno-comprised and can’t take a night off as Jo points out) also the rehearsal dinner takes place on the restaurants outdoor patio for that reason as well

-there wasn’t a lot of Marmee in this fic but anytime someone does a service for the family (tailors Meg’s dress, hosts the rehearsal dinner) you see her compliment them profusely which felt very in line with her character to me

-Beth is wearing a baseball cap at the Apple store…both to cover her bald head but also because as she mentioned earlier she burns easily

-of course, Laurie does not love the dig Jo makes at Amy because he’s in love with Amy!

-also, as discussed later on and in the Laurie POV, Laurie wants to talk to Jo to tell her about Amy

-also as mentioned in the Laurie POV, Jo is so surprised by the ooc bachelorette party Amy plans because it wasn’t her idea! It was Laurie’s!

-during their little fight at the rehearsal dinner, Jo thinks Laurie is noticing her sisters watching them fight, but really he was specifically seeking out Amy (and as you see in the Laurie POV, Amy did not walk home, she went out with Laurie)

-that part about Jo’s art consuming her in the big scene with Jo & Meg is very much inspired by Judd Hirsch’s scene in The Fabelmans

-heading over to the Laurie POV for a sec, the “very long intense conversation” they had about Amy having had a crush on Laurie growing up is of course a reference to the “I’ve been second to Jo my whole life” scene!

-the Marches having a backyard treehouse is a reference to my favorite Bones fanfic series Roots & Wings (specifically this scene)

-and finally, the ending: it’s of course a reference to the scene in the 2019 movie where Amy tells Jo to write something domestic. But it was also my attempt to be as meta as the end of the film was. “Who would want to read about that?” Well, millions and millions of girls over the past 150+ years have 🥹 And more personally, the reader of this fanfic just did as well ;)

fanfic director’s cut

#little women #laurie x amy #jo march #laurie laurence #meg march #beth march #amy march #modern little women #little women 2019 #my fics #terrainofheartfelt #strideofprideanswers

[gay-jesus-probably]

So I haven’t really done any serious writing in years - turns out a significant part of my writing process was ‘writing fanfic while bored in class’, and being done with school ruined my whole system lmao. I had an idea for a fic last week and did a bit of writing for it. It was honestly just a handful of random scenes I wanted to get out of my head, I figured there was no way in hell I’d ever put them together into a coherent narrative.

Buuut then I got a little confused about the sequence of events, so I did a bit of brainstorming on the overall plot, and had to write it down to sort things out, and I automatically broke that up into chapters as I went. I do this with a lot of ideas though, so that still didn’t mean I was making a complete fic.

Aaand then inspiration slapped me in the face a few days ago, I wound up completely reworking a section I’d gotten stuck on, and then the second take worked absolutely perfectly, I was able to connect it to the very first scene I’d written for the fic, and then before I knew it I had a chapter that was completed, revised, and it turned out SO GOOD. The scene I was struggling with came out perfectly, I realized my problem was trying to drag it out for too long so I cut it down to being just what was supposed to be the first half and it flew from there, I even wound up realizing I’d set up some damn good symbolism and contrast between characters and it worked so well it’s going to be a recurring theme for the rest of the fic. I fucking love the chapter so much, I absolutely want to post it right now for people to read...

The only problem is that I finished writing chapter 2.

And not only is the first chapter not done, but also like the entire first half of the fic is pretty dark, so I really don’t want to end up abandoning the fic halfway through if I do post it, I want the recovery arc to be there too. So not only do I need to finish the first chapter to start posting it, I want to have the other chapters done too so I can make sure it gets finished. At the very least I want to have a scene ready for each chapter before I start posting. So that’s... a lot of writing ahead of me. And, as previously mentioned, my old writing system is lost to me.

So I’ve wound up breaking out the ol’ NaNo rules for myself. I’ve got the whole fic in my head, I just need to start typing it and let things happen. I’ve got the whole thing in a single google doc so I can just scroll to work on random parts, and I’ve been aiming for 2k+ words a day. Going well so far! It definitely helps that now I’m on a keyboard that isn’t completely fucked; trying to write on my old laptop after the backspace started sticking was Not Great, so I’m glad that’s over with lmaoo

#the real punchline to all this is that the fic is for a pretty niche fandom lmaoo #well okay not that nice i mean its a zelda game #...specfically a manga of a zelda game #cough four swords adventure cough #unfortunately the purple boy betrayal arc brainworms have consumed me #i have so many thoughts and they're gonna be everyones problem #also i may need to trans some genders #just cause im sick of literally every character using he/him #its not gonna be red tho i dont like how many ppl write him as a trans girl #he's the gentle emotional one so everyone making him the only girl is. a bit sus #let the rest of the colours have transed genders sharing is caring people

[jbk405]

I just watched Spontaneous, and holy shit this movie is intense.  I mean intense.  Halfway through I was begging it to end, begging, not because I didn’t like it but because I didn’t think I could handle any more.  I got a phone call in the middle and paused the movie to pick it up, and I was shocked to realize I was only an hour in.

The premise is bizarre but simple: One day, at this random American high school, members of the senior class begin spontaneously exploding.  Not with explosives or any kind of outside force, they just...pop.  And nobody has any idea why.

It’s grotesquely funny in the beginning, as once the other students get over the initial shock they try to cope in their own ways (Main character Mara gets high on shrooms for the first time).  The boy who’s had a crush on Mara gets up the courage to confess because he figures he may die tomorrow, so why not?  In the course of investigating what’s happening the government considers that maybe it’s the drugs that the students are smoking, so Mara is sent (With full government permission and reimbursement) to buy all the drugs that the student deals have stockpiled.  But as it progresses the humor disappears and the terror becomes all-enveloping.

When the first student pops we got a voiceover from Mara giving her own perspective on her as a person, along with a glimpse of her yearbook picture being taken.  When the second student pops we also get the yearbook photo session, and a shorter voiceover from Mara.  When the next two pop we still get the photo session, but no voiceover at all (they were minor characters so at least we-the-audience still know their names).  Then the next one it’s a quicker glimpse of the photo session, then a quicker one next time, and then it doesn’t even bother.  There’s so many that it blurs together into a recurring, constant mourning.

It’s partially a metaphor for school shooting’s in the USA, but only partially.  You mainly see it in the way the students receive so many empty platitudes from authority figures who can’t give them any actual explanation for what’s happening, and can’t convince them that they’ll be able to stop it.  When one of them even utters the phrase “thoughts and the prayers” the students collectively lose it on him.

The parents are worried that every time their kids leave home to go to school, they may never come home again.  The depression of “Why study and graduate, or plan for college, if I’m not even going to survive?” begins to grind all the kids down.

..::SPOILER::..

They never do figure out what’s causing it.  They never do solve it.  The popping just...stops.  Just as mysteriously as it began.  The government comes out with a medication that they say has fixed it, but there’s no faith or confidence here since they said the same thing before and then they had the biggest mass popping anyway.  So maybe it is the pills, or maybe it’s something else, and they have to live with this hanging over their heads for the rest of their lives.

In a last-minute swing away from the totally depressing ending, Mara decides that she is going to break out of her ennui from the back half of the film and enjoy her life out of spite.  Fuck You Spite.  She may pop tomorrow, but then again you may die tomorrow anyway, so she is going to give as best she can until the end.

I haven’t been this enthralled in a move in a while.  Provided you can handle limited-gore (Most of the poppings are offscreen, you just see red splash over the set and characters, but some of them are head-on) give it a try.

#Spontaneous #Movies #Film #Blood #cw Blood #Gore #cw Gore

[cherinoix]

Merciless || Wip Update #1

Long time no update, but that's because I've been cracking away at the art side of things, and plotting-- which I can officially call done for the most part! :D

I've already started drafting the first chapter, in which Alva details a rather visceral experience with his first mortal. Can't say it's a light hearted start to the story, but definitely one that I feel encapsulates the overall themes while introducing one of the main conflicts.

Though I can't get into the details yet, I figured I would discuss my strenuous plotting process instead. As much as I'd like to be a pantser, by nature of writing a "high fantasy meets cosmic horror" comic series, I've found plotting to be the best course of action to keep all my metaphorical ducks in order.

The very first thing I have to do is characterization; knowing whose stories are being told and what they entail, along with who I'm working with shapes the entire story. (I'm not sure if that's a common first step, but this is what works for me!) My predicament with Merciless in particular is that I already had these ancient characters set in an environment for a story (Mercy) that takes place in a present timeline-- one that didn't do them justice or give them space to develop at all, but they were also tied to important historical events. So really, my main goal was to flesh out the characters I already had and make sure their stories "accurately" lead up to the events that will happen later on. New characters were created for sub plots and such, but the majority of the characterization I did was directed towards the older characters and finding them a place to settle in Merciless.

Next, I made a list of every major event that 100% needs to happen for the story to be told. Luckily, due to having developed Mercy first, I already knew the ending to Merciless. And in having some past characters with significant backstories also gave me a few middle scenes too. The real struggle then should have been the beginning, but... seeing as I had plans early on to turn this into a comic, well, I could really start anywhere I saw fit! In tandem with this, I also tackled some of the worldbuilding. I really just try to flesh out which countries, civilizations, and kingdoms are most significant or interesting. Knowing where events happen in the world is pretty important, and I also want to make sure there is variety in the cultures and faces that are present in Merciless!

Following that, I made a list of every minor event that I wanted to at the bare minimum attempt to include. Interactions between certain characters who didn't yet have a reason to meet, fight scenes, and just novel little myths and happenings for individual characters. This part of my plotting process is lowkey an ongoing step, as anytime I get random ideas while going through my day, I add them to this list. (I also have like... 30ish + characters to work with?)

The second to last step in my plotting phase is to create a timeline, except... I kind of sort of have 4 timelines... ahaha... OK to explain myself--

I have a timeline for Merciless and its chronological events in order...

And one for every event out of order, as in the order in which the story will be presented/written for an audience.

One timeline is meant for strictly for side plots, and is a running timeline in that I develop it as I write to make sure its position in the book/comic makes sense and has some form of contingency and relevance.

The final timeline is a special one, featuring any event that will be directly referenced in Mercy. I added this one halfway through because I started losing track of which plots need to be known in both series, and which ones can be kept in Merciless.

Timelines always take up the most of my time, but with Merciless, I really had to look out for inconsistencies and plot holes, considering there is another story to predate or follow it. Figuring out solutions to plot holes is typically my final step; I make a list a problems in the form of questions, and then I answer them the best I can.

So... yeah! That's my plotting process for the most part. I didn't include the obligatory "stare into space and wait for a solution to grace me from the void", but it's certainly something I do a lot. I'm really looking forward to sharing character art and writing introductions for them too! I'll most likely make another update when I actually test write something to share, so until then, thanks for reading! And if you're working on a project yourself-- happy writing~

(also sorry for any typos-- proof reading is not my strong suit, but I usually try to go back and edit as I catch them overtime~ ;w;)

Taglist: @cryptid-s-wips

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

#merciless #merciless update #cherinoix #writing update #wip #wip update #writing #writing on tumblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writblr #creative writing #fantasy #high fantasy #comic #comic wip #plotting #outlining #I hope this is interesting?? #I kind of just... rambled #but I also have no actual writing to share #so this is the second best I can do #updates