#oh how i wish it was on the replay in better quality and possibly slow mo damn

[dustward]

Everyone will call it TotK, but I’ll always consider it BotW2. It’s the rare direct sequel Zelda games only occasionally see, which pushes slightly different standards and expectations compared to a clean slate Link/Zelda/Ganon/Hyrule. It feels somewhat personal how many aspects of BotW1 I did like were drastically changed, while aspects I’d put up with were doubled down on. There was a baffling lack of Quality of Life improvements, worsened by another game’s existence that was over a year old by the time BotW2 released. I’m of course talking about Elden Ring.

My biggest issue with the game, aside from having to replay botw1 via overworld exploration and the loss of proper dungeons, is how inefficient traversal is. Having Link’s stamina reset from max, especially after being temporarily reminded of what his max felt like in the prologue, was really painful to deal with when it came to running around. For climbing and paragliding it makes perfect sense, but there’s a lot of overworld to roam, and there isn’t always gonna be a good chance to paraglide instead. There’s horses, but..

You have to find one, then you have to tame it. You have to hope the one you tamed has a decent speed stat, and if not you’ll have to look for a different one or grind out annoying materials to level it up via a specific location you may not find for a while. Your horse can die and reviving it would require further material grinding. Your horse has trouble turning, fidgets with you for a while till you Bond with it. You can’t loot items while riding it. Your whistling for it to come to you is only so effective, especially when it hasn’t been fully tamed. You need to spend money at a stable to register and save it, and then interact with a stable to retrieve it if you wind up on the other side of the world. It’ll throw you off if you try to go too fast after burning through its stamina. It’s such a robust system that in BotW1 felt acceptable, but after Elden Ring I realize I don’t want a robust system, I want something that keeps the gameplay flowing as smoothly as possible.

In Elden Ring you get one horse, Torrent, at the same time you get the ability to level up. Provided you don’t get distracted this should happen before you’d normally get the paraglider in either Botw1 or 2 (hate that it took longer to get in 2, btw). You can loot from the horse. It has far better turning. it materializes and disappears into thin air at the single press of a mount/dismount button. It has a jump. It has a double jump with surprisingly useful air control. It doesn’t freak out when you go too close to a tree, a wall, or a 15 degree slope. There’s no bonding, no having to call it from across a field, no worrying about where it is when you warp to the other side of the world. It cannot die. At worst, when it’s hp is depleted you’ll have to burn a heal to bring it back, a heal that is quickly restored when you rest at a relatively common bonfire (which is a far better warp system than shrines for the record..) The mounting/dismounting is so seamless that it’s an effective way of dodging attacks with bigger enemies in the field. Oh, and stamina? It shares your player character’s stamina bar, which...is infinite when you’re not in combat. Yeah.

It’s impossible to not be reminded of any of the above comparisons whenever I rode a horse around in BotW2. It’s an intricate system and yet it was frustratingly immersion breaking with how many hitches I ran into with turning, looting, a horse not wanting to go a certain way and Neighing it up in protest. It was...slow, and yet it was the fastest and most consistent method of transportation across both games. True immersion is when the gameplay understands and lets the player keep in motion at all times, stopping only when *they* wish to.

As for other methods of transportation? The paraglider is good, but losing Revali’s ability in favor of Tulin’s felt like another downgrade. Getting that initial airborne boost felt far more important to me as an easy way to launch off the ground. From my understanding, fusing rockets and springs to shields was meant to replicate that, but those are one use per fuse, for some reason. And they drastically kill durability on even the best shields so you’re only getting roughly 5 uses per fusion, which involves menuing, finding either zonai item, dropping it, menuing your ability to equipment fusing...The game’s very tedious if you couldn’t tell, filled with constant speedbumps to the gameplay. An item that’s a bit more durable are the zonai fans, but their speed is similarly slow. 

The limitations on the player’s speed are so awful that the only conclusion I could draw is that faster travel would mean players running into the Switch’s limitations and freezing of gameplay to account for load times. I ran into this once by accident when following one of the dragons down a chasm. It pushed me out of the chasm immediately and the game was NOT ready for that, freezing my game for over 10 seconds as it realized it had to reload the overworld. It made me realize that as incredible a feeling as it was going down a chasm the first time, it was designed as a loading zone for the depths. Of course, the dive into Death Mountain was similarly great, but this is the usual case of lamenting how far behind Nintendo’s systems are in terms of performance.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Major Spoiler Warning for Elden Ring in the next passages ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

While we’re comparing to Elden Ring? It did caves as well. Major spoiler warning, but.....it did the depths, as well. It did both of these infinitely better. There were caves and minidungeons all over the place. Some of the simplest of these were comparable to the middle-length cave systems of BotW2, while I’d argue the better ones were more memorable than some of the main “dungeons” of either BotW game. Meanwhile, the depths equivalent....One of the biggest moments of its game, a moment, like many elements of the game’s exploration, hidden behind hours and hours of gameplay. Intentionally designed so next to nobody would stumble onto it within their first 20, 30, maybe even 40 hours? The scale with which you’re hit by the realization that the game’s size is...bigger than you think. Bigger, and bigger still. A moment that caused me to put the controller down for several moments to take in The Reveal. A reveal that was not obscured by any darkness, just a vast open expanse of an area that somehow, believably hid underneath the lands.

Meanwhile, in BotW2 it’s part of a guided (sidequest) tour, as though the game doesn’t trust you to find it on your own. It constantly reminds and insists you visit it long before you’re likely to clear your first main quest dungeon. For the record, I really did appreciate that first dive down a chasm, but thanks to Elden Ring the impact was...lessened considerably for me. I made sure to avoid trailers intentionally as I do with all games, so I trust it wasn’t shown during any of those, but had the game kept it out of your reach till you cleared a single section of main quest - now, that would’ve been something, wouldn’t it? Of course Elden Ring’s got main dungeons, and nothing in either BotW game can dream of comparing to them nor their subsequent boss fights, but I feel I’ve made my case by now. I called this back then, when I was maybe only 20 hours into Elden Ring. That it was gonna be more of a sequel to BotW1 than 2--TotK ever could hope to be, and I hate how much I feel vindicated by the end result.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Major Spoiler Warning for Elden Ring in the previous passages ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

So much of the game feels like a hollow shell of its predecessor. The opening is cut and paste: Link again wakes up with just a pair of pants, and following a panning camera shot and title drop, he’s then guided by the ghost of a former king of hyrule to acquire 4 abilities from 4 shrines - except this time forced to take an extra heart container (as though they knew I would’ve picked stamina like I did in the first game.) Visit the Rito, the Gorons, the Zora, and the Gerudo and their corresponding main characters again (we swapped out the Rito though!!) Btw Zelda’s not appearing yet again. Yeah, she’s stuck in cutscene hell except this time the cutscenes are gonna be more focused on Ganondorf and the (far less interesting) ghost king. Please also watch the same cutscene with barely any differences after defeating each of the first four major bosses. Here’s some even older champion ancestors of the four major races, but this time there wasn’t a chance to give them a proper character design nor personality.

Devs priorities were rather apparent in the fuse mechanic and tripling their workload by bloating up the explorable world’s size which, despite being more than doubled, feels just as empty of meaningful content. You can only reuse the same bosses, minibosses, and puzzles so much before players realize you only had a handful of ideas and similarly cut and pasted them three or so times to fill out the map. 3 mazes on the surface, the sky, the depths. Colosseums for mostly BotW1 enemies. Floating islands with an interior masked by vines with a shrine crystal you have to zonai-vehicle to its destination. Another mine with a piece of nostalgia equipment. Another well with a cooking lore entry. Another set of lava pits that maybe has a chest tucked around it somewhere. Another Help Liberate Hyrule sidequest. Another Yiga hideout with a reward I never used. Maybe I blissfully forgot how much of a checklist the first game was because the magic and novelty of that world was fresh and new. Maybe the devs didn’t have enough material for a sequel but had no choice but to make it. The zonai devices/fuse mechanic really needed to carry the whole game, and it didn’t for me.

Oh, speaking of zonai devices, there’s that Mineru robot you build as part of the main quest. It’s slow and clunky like so much of the game, a tank more than something meant to get you around fast.

And yet, this is the mount that lets you loot while riding it. As opposed to the faster moving horse. I’ma go scream into a pillow now.

#dustward played botw2 #botw2 spoilers #elden ring spoilers #dusty text

[anika-ann]

The Recipe for Love

(aka The Making of Love)

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert               Word count: 4530

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Reader, Bucky Barnes

Summary: The words Bucky said were nothing but innocent, truly. Except they wormed their way into your brain and now you’re worried you’re not enough. A proper woman should be able to cook for her man. Too bad you’re a walking kitchen disaster; you’ll just have to try in favour of your relationship with Steve flourishing, won’t you? What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: fluff, light angst, crying, gender stereotyping, self-doubts, more fluff

I’d say I attempted this to be short and it turned out longer than excepted, but seeing as that is a recurring theme with my fics, it seems ridiculous to point it out. Heh, done it anyway.

Also, due to unbearable fluff in this fic, I consider it my annual Christmas fic, because my brain is too in scrambles and there’s no way I’m gonna write anything else that would actually be Christmas-themed.

Enjoy :))

-.-.-

He had been gone for a week now, in the middle of nowhere in Bulgaria, while you stuck to your paper-pushing as you sometimes jokingly put it. And the truth was, you were truly missing him.

You always did.

It had been a year since your occasional meetings in the hallways of SHIELD’s headquarters, where you worked as a part of the surveillance and decryption team, turned from small talks to something much more. That charming smile of his could get him just about anywhere; and your heart was no exception, letting Steve Rogers in with a welcoming drumroll and fireworks, because he was such a gentle soul despite what he had been through that you let yourself fall in love embarrassingly easily.

Steve surely didn’t seem to mind, working his way deeper and deeper into your heart, owning it all and giving you his own in return.

He was everything you could ever dream of; not a perfect man perhaps, but an undeniably good one.

You were far from a perfect woman; however, Steve was always the one to tell you that you were perfect for him, making it so clear that you couldn’t but believe him. When he had offered to move in together only four months into your relationship, you hadn’t even hesitated, reassured by his confidence in what you two had. It didn’t even seem too fast, considering how seriously he was meant to take a relationship given the time he had been born into.

Considering all of this, there was little space left for doubt; you hadn’t been so happy in a very long time.

And then Bucky Barnes opened his big fat mouth and messed it all up; not that you could blame him, because he was only being honest, giving you the piece of information without a single drop of foulness in his intention.

“So, Steve’s coming back,” he threw into a conversation you had fallen into after a random encounter (or was it? With him, you were never sure anything was random) and you felt your lips automatically curl up in a smile.

“So I heard. He should be here in the late afternoon, but he told me I shouldn’t expect him home till eight. He even asked me not to wait up for him here,” you said, not finding anything strange about it.

Steve was considerate – one could never tell how long the debriefings would get, so sitting in the office chair, waiting possibly for endless hours, that was simply something he wouldn’t allow.

Plus, he apparently enjoyed coming home and finding you there, which was more than okay with you – you could understand. Home tended to feel warmer when there was someone waiting for you; when he could, not being away on the mission god knew where, he would make sure to wait for you as well. It was the sweetest thing to come back home to him after a long day; imagining being on a mission for a week or longer, it must have felt like heaven.

Bucky chewed on his apple, nodding thoughtfully. “Smart man. What you’re cooking?”

You froze, only your eyelids fluttering in confusion at the question, to which Bucky was completely oblivious.

“Huh?”

“Pasta? Steak? Oh, god, casserole? Man, I would kill for a casserole… hell, any homecooked meal…” he muttered under his breath, causing your blood turn to ice.

A homemade meal.

Hell yeah, that sounded nice. A perfect thing to come home to as well… except that never happened to Steve. You always… ordered take-out, for very valid reason. You were a terrible cook. Granted, Steve never complained, so you never gave it too much thought.

Perhaps you should have? To be fair, you had informed Steve about your skills in the kitchen on like date number two. He had admitted with a sheepish grin that he probably wasn’t much better and you laughed it off.

As it replayed in your head, you cleared your throat awkwardly, your smile at Bucky straining.

“Right.”

“Christ, I need to get one. It used to be a real deal-breaker, you know? You find a girl, you make sure she knows how to make a good casserole before even considering marrying her…” he sighed regretfully, eyeing his snack with a slight disappointment as if he was hoping it could magically transform into a four-course meal. “Times definitely changed. Man, sometimes I wish I lived back in the forties…”

Ignorant of your inner turmoil, he stalked away, mumbling under his breath.  

You stood there in the middle of the hallway, utterly dumbstruck and horrified.

A deal-breaker? Before marrying her? A good casserole?

A horrible realization struck you, your heart pounding in your chest with rising panic.

Steve moving so quickly in your relationship.

The others mocking you when the proposal would come.

You both always laughing it off, because it was too soon.

Was it though? You had utter belief in your relationship; there was no one else. For you, you couldn’t imagine anyone but Steve as your future partner. You loved him more than anyone else in your life, ever. He was it.

But… were you it for him? You must have been so far from what he used to dream of… so far from a good housewife and you prided in it or at least never felt ashamed of it. You had other qualities, important too, and you focused more on your career path, which was alright, but… was it the same for Steve?

All of sudden, the doubts that had only bothered you once or twice in your darkest moments resurfaced. Who would want a woman like you? You couldn’t even fix a decent meal, for god’s sake! What kind of a message it sent to a man from the thirties, forties?

So far, Steve had never complained… but what if it would become the thing standing between you two and the happy future? What if… what if Steve never even considered marrying you in certain time horizon, because he could barely imagine you as his wife? He was taking your relationship so seriously, it probably wouldn’t be so surprising if the proposal came any day now – it would be a proper thing to do, according to the conventions of time he had been raised in. But so far, there hadn’t even been a hint, not a mention.

What if… what if you had never had a conversation about it, because it would never be on the table? What if… what if who you were wasn’t enough…?

Springing from your spot in a speed you didn’t know you could possess, ache in your chest, you strode towards your desk to pack up your stuff.

You were done for the day.

You had a fucking meal to prepare.

-.-

You were an analyst.

You could analyse hours and hours of footage in a way that took people’s breath away; even Steve’s.

You were a highly capable, efficient and dare to say a very intelligent person.

And you couldn’t figure out a fucking recipe.

Finding the recipe was alright. So was the shopping. But the cooking.

“I am a rational person. I analyse things. I am a capable person,” you chanted under your breath over and over like a mantra, putting the roasting pan in the oven. The result of your hard work looked… interesting, but you had faith (you prayed) that once it would be done, it would turn out okay… -ish.

“Nailed it…” you mumbled as the door of the oven clicked shut, simultaneously with another door opening.

A wide smile spread on your lips as Steve’s keys hit the counter.

“Evening, sweet,” came his voice from the hall and you rushed to greet him, both excited to get your hands on him after a week and utterly relieved to see with your own eyes that he was not severely injured. “I’m home!”

You nearly stumbled over your feet as you finally spotted him, simple t-shirt, leather jacket and jeans; a little miracle in your apartment. He welcomed you with a tiredness and light to his eyes and curiosity to his smile.

“Hey!” you welcomed him breathlessly and all but jumped into his arms.

He chuckled, engulfing you in his embrace, his face nuzzling your hair.

“Hi,” he whispered softly, placing a chaste kiss to your temple. “What smells so good?

You grinned up at him, replying with pride. “Casserole.”

Steve’s eyebrows jumped nearly to his hairline in surprise. “You cooked?”

Too delighted to see him, you took no offence – to be fair, he had a point and his tone danced on the edge of amusement and fondness, so you didn’t even bother to swat his chest with your hand.

“Shut up, smartass… and kiss me,” you pleaded, peeking at his face from under your eyelashes, too aware of what it did to him.

His smile grew wider and softer on the edges, before he obliged happily, his lips meeting yours in a tender slow kiss. He captured your lower lip between his, pulling at it playfully, while his fingers drifted into your hair, cradling your head as if you were the most precious thing he had ever held in his hands.

You sighed into his mouth contentedly, sinking deeper into the kiss, your body melting against his, nearly blending in one. Your palms travelled from his chest to his shoulders and impressive biceps, caressing and gripping when he grazed your lips with his teeth, causing your belly to catch fire.

Withdrawing reluctantly to catch your breath, Steve moved to continue his ministrations on your cheek and your jaw, drawing a breathless chuckle from you.

“I’m so happy to have you home in one piece,” you cooed, capturing his lips with yours again, blissed out.

“I am happy to be home,” he breathed into your mouth. “I missed you.”

Life had a funny way of showing its imperfections. Because a second after that statement, Steve’s stomach made its own.

Blood flushed Steve’s face and you snorted unattractively, retreating for a bit.

“I missed you too. Come on…”

He discarded his shoes at the door before led him through the living room and the kitchen, hand in hand.

“So… why did you decide to cook? Is it… any special occasion?” he pried carefully and it struck you how it actually had to freak him out.

His girlfriend cooking freaked him out. What the hell did that say about you? Swallowing the uneasy feeling of insecurity and shame that rose to your throat, you shrugged it off.

“I just thought you might appreciate a homecooked meal for once. I mean, god knew what you had to eat on the mission…”

Frankly, you weren’t sure that your creation would be any better than the horror you imagined Steve had had to force into his mouth, but hey, you had tried.

Using your hand as a leverage, he pulled you back to his embrace, resting his backside against the counter. One arm sneaking around your waist, his eyes searched an explanation as they locked with yours.

You charmed a smile for him, pretending you weren’t suddenly feeling shaky on your feet. What if you had messed it up?

“Can’t say I don’t. Just surprised, is all. How were you doing the whole week, mm?” he asked and you instantly started going on about your (for once) uneventful days, grateful he let the topic be.

The time seemed to fly, your set alarm announcing that the meal should be ready. You kissed Steve’s nose, twisting out of his arms.

He went to set the table, his confusion apparently returning and you followed him with the pan in your oven-mitted hands.

Serving the dinner appeared to be easy enough and you couldn’t help the sense of pride despite the fact that the result of your efforts didn’t look perfect.  

Steve dived in first and you, afraid of watching his face if the casserole didn’t taste as good as it was supposed to, fixated your gaze on your own plate and started eating as well.

The taste was… peculiar to say at least.

Nope, scratch that, the food tasted… bad. Like… your-taste-buds-possibly-hurt bad. You couldn’t put your finger on it, you were not a cook after all, but… the sensation in your mouth was downright terrible.

Your stomach twisted in a tight knot; you liked to think it was because of the disappointment in yourself and not the food.

Yet, Steve didn’t utter a word, apparently deciding to please you and look grateful. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, your fingers curled around the cutlery with force.

It took you about a minute to gather the courage and look up at Steve’s expression. He sent you a brief smile and the pit in your stomach deepened. What a brave man he was. And he was doing it for you.

He adored you. He was suffering though this, because he just wanted not to upset you. And you couldn’t even cook for him for once. Tears stung in your eyes as you slowly set the cutlery down, inhaling shakily as your heart hammered in your ribcage painfully, anxiety crushing your chest.

Steve followed your example and stopped eating, his brown furrowing in concern when he saw your expression.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly and you gulped against the lump in your throat, shaking your head and chuckling wryly.

“Me? How are you not on the floor yet, dying of food poisoning?” you questioned, your voice cracking at the end, much to your embarrassment.

It was his turn to swallow nervously, guilt crossing over his face since he had led you on.

“Hey now, it’s not that bad…”

“My taste buds might be scarred, Steve,” you noted coldly, icy fist closing around your heart as you pushed your chair back, fleeing to the living room to sink into the couch.

You covered your face with your palms, hiding your tears as you heard Steve follow.

“I can’t even make a casserole,” you mumbled into your hands. “Christ…“

You more sensed Steve moving around than heard him as he crouched in front of you, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrists to pull your hands away. You stubbornly kept them in place, terrified to look at him.

The feeling of shame at your incapability, embarrassment about your outburst, fear of Steve thinking less of you... it all mingled in you and made it hard for you to breathe. Worries that you were not enough to keep him happy, horrified that he might stay with you out of pity, just like he had been ignoring the disgusting taste in favour of your feelings, because he was simply that good of a man--

The pad of his thumb traced the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, coaxing you into giving in; he wouldn’t use blunt force on you, as much as he possibly wanted to. No, he was too gentle for that.

The thought caused the sobs finally escape your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Steve whispered, panic finding its way to his pleading voice. “Look at me. Come on, sweet. So it didn’t work out, it’s not like a five-star restaurant meal. It’s not the end of the world.”

You sobbed again, stupidly and very much irrationally thinking it just might.

But it wasn’t, right? People were falling out all the time. Relationships didn’t always work out. It would not be the end of the world if Steve decided you were… not the right partner for him.

Your shook your head, sighing simultaneously with another sob choking you.

Resigned, you let Steve to look at your damp face, but couldn’t meet his gaze. One of his hands let go, wiping your tears instead; yet, you bullheadedly stared at the carpet under his feet. He caught you chin between two fingers angling your head slightly so you faced him.

The alarmed expression on his face only added to your overwhelming inner turmoil.

“What’s all that tears about?” he wondered, bewildered. “Why would one failed meal matter so much?”

Failed. What a fitting expression.

“I-I know it‘s- it’s s-stupid,” you hiccupped, averting his gaze again. You faced the ceiling, blinking in attempt to stop the stupid tears. “Fo-fo-for god’s s-sake! I don’t ev-even know why I’m- I’m crying over it.” You were most definitely not crying over a fucking casserole, it was about something much, much worse, but you couldn’t spit that out. “It’s just- Buc-bucky said— and- and I-”

Steve’s sigh was weary as it interrupted your senseless stuttering.

“What did that stupid piece of jerk say to you?”

You quickly shot Steve a glance as his tone carried a certain amount of menace. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault!

“It’s- it’s not im-important-“

“Seeing as you’re upset about it, I beg to differ,” he grumbled, but his tone softened. “You can tell me, sweet. Please?”

Damn his interrogation methods! Your heart ached as he begged you to explain what was wrong. You debated yourself for only a short moment, the determination to keep your mouth shut breaking.

You inhaled shaky breath, fixating your gaze at your joined hands.

“A good wife,” you started, quickly realizing your mistake. “Not that I want to get married!” Nope, even worse. “Not that I don’t want to get married! It’s just… oh god, this is so stupid… he said that a proper woman should be able to make a good casserole. That it’s kind of a… a deal-breaker.”

It didn’t ease the pressure in your ribcage, no; Steve seemingly didn’t feel any better with your admission either. Apparently, you stunned him into silence. The air was heavy, suffocating your lungs and you could feel your heart slowly breaking.

“A deal-breaker,” Steve echoed dully and you closed your eyes, awaiting his reaction. “I see,” he muttered, rising to his feet and planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

He caressed the top of your head and strode away from you as if he was on a mission, heading straight to the bedroom. You heard the wardrobe opening and some shuffling.

Oh god.

Panicked he was determined to end this relationship right here and now, you sobbed again, running your fingers through your messy damp hair, scrambling to your feet as well.

“S-steve?” you called out shakily, but before you could follow his path, his voice responded.

“Just getting you a handkerchief, sweet.”

Truth to his word, his large figure soon appeared in the room, coaxing and leading you to sit back as he handed you the cloth. He nestled on the floor again, sitting back on his heels, letting you blow your nose in an unladylike manner, stealing one of your hands just to draw gentle circles on its back.

All of sudden, you felt humiliated even more. Of course, Steve wouldn’t just pack his bag and leave. Not without talking first at least.

Wiping the tip of your nose and drying the last ridiculous tears, you watched him as he observed you, curious and searching in your face – what for, you couldn’t quite figure out.

The corners of his lips rose in a soft supportive smile and you couldn’t find words to express how ashamed you were for your outburst; for your incapability to cook as well, yes, but the tantrum…

Steve’s fingers tucked your hair behind your ear so he could see you better, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Better?”

You only nodded frantically, averting his gaze once more, unable to face the kindness in his cerulean eyes. It was why it startled you when he spoke again.

“You’re right,” he exclaimed and your head instantly snapped back to him, finding his features subtly twisted into a serious expression. “Bucky was right. It was a true deal-breaker. You apparently can’t make a casserole.”

You gulped, well-aware that he was about to make a different point. Steve wasn’t one to kick you while you were already low. Still; the reminder stung, bluntly thrown between you. Not even the twinkle in his eyes fixed the nudge at your conscience.

“But you can make me smile,” he offered gently and your heart felt warmer, your shoulders losing some of the tension in them. “Hell, you make me laugh.”

At that, you managed to charm a smile for him. A little strained, but a smile nonetheless.

“Look at ‘dat pretty smile on such swell dame,” he drawled, this time drawing a chuckle from you as his accent peeked through.

Gosh, how you loved this man. Allowing yourself to relax as you recognized that whatever crisis you had thought was on didn’t exist.

You covered his hand on yours with your other, squeezing. “Thank you, Stevie. I’m sorry for-“

“You also make this apartment a home,” he interrupted you warmly, cocking his head to side. “You make me feel things, want things I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore. You make me…”

Stunned into silence by his sudden declaration of love, tears stinging in your eyes once more, this time for a different reason, you could only watch and listen, your heart speeding up in anticipation of… something, as one of his eyebrows rose, a mischievous quirk to his lips.

“You make me want to do filthy things, just by being you, walking by. You make me want to join in when I come home to you singing and dancing around the counter-“

“Oh my god,” you whined, feeling the frantic heat rushing up your cheeks, and went to cover your face with your palms in embarrassment, but Steve’s hands locked around yours stubbornly, so you just squeezed your eyes shut like a child thinking that such action would hide them from everyone’s sight. A choked chuckle escaped your lips, followed by Steve’s own.

He brought your joined hands to his lips, planting a kiss on your skin.

Your brain and heart melted at the gentle gesture, full of devotion. Your glassy eyes found his, inviting and shining with something your mind didn’t seem to be able to grasp.

“You make me greedy and… maybe a bit possessive when another man tries and flirts with you. You make me giddy to come back to you. You make me want to show you and everyone else that I love you, no matter who’s looking. You make me happy,” he finished, his voice falling to a whisper, intimate and sweet, one that caused your whole body to shiver.

You blinked away the wetness of your eyes, surprised to find few tears welling up in Steve’s as well.

“Steve… I- I can’t even-- I-“ you stumbled over the thousands of words swirling in your head, not making any sense at all, but humming with overwhelming feeling of adoration.

Apparently, he didn’t mind, because he cleared his throat, easing one of his hands from the tangled mess of limbs in your lap, his fingers sneaking into the pocket of his jeans as he shifted his position a bit, all of sudden taller, face to face with you as he kneeled.

On one knee.

With a box laid on his palm.

A very distinctively sized box.

Your heart stopped, your breath hitching in your throat, your lips parting. For a fraction of second, the only thing that existed was the mesmerizing blue and green of Steve’s eyes, the world falling silent, not even your pulse drumming in your ears; and then it started hammering frantically, filling your eardrums with cotton, muffling Steve’s next words to a barely audible level.

“And…” he granted himself a deep inhale, one lick of his lips as if his mouth suddenly felt as dry as yours. “And you could make me the luckiest man in the world… if you said yes?”

You bit your lower lip with almost enough force to draw blood.

You hand shook as it found Steve’s cheek, fascinated and in utter disbelief at what was happening, what he was… proposing.

How this disaster of a night turned out like this, bringing the one thing that was so unexpected it nearly caused you vertigo?

Because Steve was there, kneeling in front of you, with a ring, which meant that he wasn’t only reacting to your freak-out, asking out of pity, wishing to reassure you; no, he must have thought about it before, possibly even planned it to happen in a certain time horizon.

“Please, marry me?” he whispered, gulping as you continued just staring at him, too shocked and delighted to form a single word.

But you had to. Christ, you craved to; however, it was so damn difficult to say one syllable that would change your life forever.

How was this happening?

Silence stretched and you could see Steve’s features hardening just a tiny bit, his brows furrowing a millimetre, the pools of his eyes transforming into the most effective and back-stabbing puppy eyes he could pull.  

As if I were about to say ‘no’ before.

If it was only the spur of the moment, if he went to the nearest vending machine to buy you a ring for a dollar, you might have considered hesitating. But this was clearly something Steve wanted, might have been wanting for a while.

There was never any other option for you. No different answer.

“Yes,” you finally found your voice and Steve’s shoulders fell, his eyelids sliding shut as he let out a sigh of relief and you couldn’t but chuckle, high on giddiness as you repeated the word over and over. “Yes, yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you-“

“Oh thank god,” Steve muttered as you continued your silly monotonous monologue of agreement and he delicately slid a ring on your left hand; a shaky hand. To be fair, his own trembled as well.

And then his lips shut you up as he sealed the deal with a kiss of a century, a kiss sparkling with delight and love, with a promise of a beautiful future; beautiful, because it would belong to the two of you together.

Breathless, you stole a second as you pulled away, meeting Steve’s gaze radiating happiness.

“But are you sure? I can‘t even make a casser-“

“Fuck Barnes and his casserole, I know what I want from my future wife,” Steve snarled, rising to his full height, swinging you to his arms bridal style with one swift movement, making you shriek and laugh as you quickly steadied yourself by gripping on his shoulder.

He grinned down at you, seemingly endlessly content with you in his arms. Oh, you definitely were.

“And what that might be?” you suggested coyly, high on the electricity of the moment, drunk on the sudden festive atmosphere.

“Right now? I want the two of us to make love…” he growled playfully at you, heading to the bedroom with a swing in his step. “And if you want, we can try to make a baby…” he continued, his tone growing a little menacing once more. “And then I’m gonna go and punch Buck in his face for making my future wife cry. All in the right time…”

“All in the right time,” you echoed drowsily and met Steve’s eager lips halfway to yours.

-.-.- bonus -.-.-

Bucky looked up from the screen when a knock sounded, the visitor entering without waiting for permission.

Before he could even think of snapping at them, he noticed the familiar and yet so unfamiliar figure of his best friend, once a wheezing little guy, now a supersoldier who barely fit to the door.

“Hey Buck!” Steve greeted him with a grin, lifting a plastic bag with a food container. “Brought you something!”

Seeing the container, Bucky’s tired form perked up.

Sustenance! Homecooked, probably. God, yes please.

Steve chuckled at Bucky’s delighted expression. “What’s that?”

“Casserole,” Steve said simply, laying the bag on Bucky’s desk with no regards for the papers scattered there. Any other day, Bucky might have scolded him, but obviously, a homecooked meal had priority. “Leftovers from dinner my fiancée cooked yesterday.”

The brunet eagerly opened the container, feasting his eyes on the content, saliva already pooling in his mouth. Ah, so she had listened, she coo-

His heart positively stopped when the meaning of Steve’s words finally registered, his head snapping to Steve, who wore a bashful smile on his lips.

“No shit! Congratulation, man!”

Steve’s smile widened, a very much visible happy twinkle in his eye and Bucky couldn’t but jump to his feet and pull the blond into a fierce hug, patting his back.

“My man! You’re such a punk! How did it happen? How did you even-“

Steve reciprocated the hug, but shook his head. “We’ll tell everyone, but for now you’re the only one who knows it happened in the first place. Thanks. I gotta run, actually.”

“To celebrate, I hope, Steven! Ce-le-brate!”

“We did,” Steve uttered with a mischievous grin and at that, Bucky made a face, but patted his shoulder once more. It wasn’t every day his best pal proposed, he could survive that visual for once.

“I bet you did.”

Steve chuckled once more, heading for the door. Bucky, now excited both at his friend’s succces and the food, wiped the coffee spoon from his tea and dug in, parking his backside to his chair once more.

He felt his lips twist in a scowl at the strange taste, rolling the bite in his mouth, displeased. He noticed Steve hesitating by the door, his eyebrow raised as if expectantly.

For a moment, Bucky considered lying, but… he didn’t have the heart. Jesus, this was disgusting, he couldn’t possibly let him-

Bucky forced himself to swallow before speaking up.

“Steve… sorry, but this is terrible.”

A smirk only describable as fucking cocky spread on the blond’s lips. “I know. Good thing I’m marrying her and not you, huh? For me, a good casserole ain’t no dealbreaker!”

And with that, Steve left the office, his shoulders shaking with hushed laughter.

Bucky eyed the food in front of him with distaste, ruminating over Steve’s words.

“…well-played, Mrs. Rogers. Well-played.”

-.-.-

S.R.masterlist

-.-.-

Thanks for reading ;) If you enjoyed, please, consider letting me know in any way :))

Merry Christmas to you all (aka Veselé Vánoce vám všem!)

P.S. - blame the bonus on @eliza5616​ who asked about Bucky’s fate. Thanks!

#steve x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfic #reader insert #fluff #fluff and angst #emotional hurt and comfort #marvel fics #fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes #anika ann

[thecoolsquirrel]

Voice Acting

Requirements

- Please have a good mic! A good/average mic Is fine. Anything that can get a clear, good quality sound!

- You could try out for as many characters as you like (even the Female/Male  you have a deeper/higher pitched voice but do tell me what gender you are when submitting your voice)

-There are going to be multiple episodes for this series it may come out slow but its going to come out so keep that in mind when you apply and make sure i can contact you!

 (please tell me your timezone to so im not coming to you with voicelines and its 12am for you)                                                                                                           - You’ll send your voice clips through messages on tumblr/make a post about it and tag me in it/send it to me on discord “Acoolsquirrel #1161″

- This is for fun. 

Im excited to see my precious characters now having a voice!

Here is some info on the characters, you can send me a voice clip of you saying a line and i can tell you maybe higher/more quieter/just give critiques, if you would like and have a discord we can have a 1 to 1 and I can give my idea of what the voice might sound like.

In your application please say at least one of the sentences/words in bold, you can continue speaking in the characters voice saying random sentences so im not replaying the same clip over and over again.

Adrien (guy) Usually a monotone voice, can barely get a word out from stuttering when Angelica,his sister, starts teasing him.(I don’t have a voice I think would fit him for reference so surprise me!)

-”I got nervous”-Nervously/Flustered and in a mumble.

-”Can i help you?”-Annoyed/Cold.

Angelica (girl) would have a much softer voice, motherly-like, but sometimes joins the groups shenanigans. Shes sly at times, and loves teasing especially her brother,Adrien.  (I don’t have a voice I think would fit her for reference so surprise me!) 

-  “Welcome back!”-Chirpy.

-  “While he is quite handsome, hes kinda “cold” looking so no one wants to get too close,” -teasing and laughing at the end.

  Amy (girl) the "airhead" I would think if anyone would have the high pitch "anime" voice it would be her.Shes kind of an airhead but when she sets her heart on something she goes for it, (I don’t have a voice I think would fit her for reference so surprise me!)

-“ Hey, you guys ready? I was waiting for you all!” - Happy.

-  “Awww, come on!” - Sulky.

Nerris (girl)  Most of time kinda tired,voice kinda gets squeaky/excited when shes talking about something she loves.

some voices i think would fit her, if you would like to use these as reference

- Barrett Wilbert Weed.

-Haruhi from dub!Ouran Highschool Host club.

-A youtuber called “vopsea” her “how stars are born” is a good video to hear her voice.

- “I think I speak for everyone when I say, what the heck is he doing? ”-blunt

- “Well, it doesn't taste bad. Like it still has the HMMF about it, ya know?"

Searen (guy)  Usually , if not always, upbeat, but not as excited A.J. , when hes tired He mumbles a lot and acts tired, like his sister. Searen is also the 'Mom friend' of the group, trying to keep everyone out of trouble." .Might be a stretch but heres a voice i think might fit him.

- Suga from dub!haikyuu! 

-  “Oh yea, I almost forgot that you're good at other things besides starting mayhem,”-sassy but in a happy tone.

- “Good evening, Nerris!”-Happy.

Lilly (girl) Sarcastic,snarky,quiet, a little bit of a bully but shes getting better!

A voice I think would fit her.

- Sara Bareilles

- "What's taking you guys so long? We're going to be late!" -Commanding

-   “Hes not going to get detention. He would of if he didn't get good grades,”-in a mumble.

A.J (guy) hes excited 24/7 interested in everything 24/7 and is always positive but when he needs to be can be very serious, scary serious. He talks either REALLY LOUD or really quiet usually really loud though.

Hes one of the younger characters so if you can give him a more high pitchy voice that would be cool! (I don’t have a voice I think would fit him for reference so surprise me!) 

-  "I"  fake sniffle, "CAN'T BELIEVE YOU THOUGHT I WANTED MORE-"  fake sniffle “THAN A SIMPLE PLEASE” -Dramatic.

- “She got stopped mid way while coming over to us,” -Annoyed.

Conner (guy) Not as excited/interested like A.J but he tries to! High pitched voice possibly, but over all, I think with this character the most, just think of a voice you might think he might have.Who knows I might like your voice more that what im thinking of!

- ” I-if y-you're here, does that mean-”-Flustered 

-  "We just saw each other two days ago though," - in a little laugh

I wish you luck if you apply!

Also tagging:

@raykingofspades

@theundyingskeleton

@justanotomegamer​

since they showed interest

[hrhoffman]

Imposter (D:BH fic)

How the fake Connor fooled Hank, brought him to Cyberlife Headquarters, and my own twist on the events that unfolded there.

I've never written fanfic on a phone before but I need to get this out so HERE WE GO

.

.

Hank hadn't even opened a beer yet, he only just got home and was pouring food out for Sumo when he heard a knock at his door.

Sumo's bark thundered through the small house as he stared intensely at the door, but his stomach won out as he instead turned down to his food dish and gobbled down his dinner. Hank strode over to his front door and wasn't surprised as to who he saw.

"Well thanks for not breaking into my house this time," he said, leaning tiredly against the door.

Connor seemed to ignore his comment and didn't respond. He merely nodded and walked past Hank into his house, ignoring his protests.

"Oh c'mon, Connor! Invite yourself in why don't you? What are you even here for?"

"Sorry lieutenant, I need your help with something," Connor said back, standing aside as he watched Hank take a seat at his dining table.

Hank heard Sumo softly growl, until he perked up in recognition and trotted over to Connor to receive a scratch on the head. Connor didn't reach down like usual, and instead ignored the dog and kept his focus on Hank.

It was out of place for Connor, but there were other things too. He was acting weird, weirder than he had at any other time. His posture looked stiffer, if that was even possible, and he lacked any of the more human qualities Hank started to notice develop after they had worked together for awhile. Little habits like fiddling his hands or looking around the room. Not to mention his LED kept flickering to yellow.

"What's that?" Hank answered.

"There's been another incident, another deviant. We've been requested to be put on the scene immediately. Another homicide has occured, but there have been no reports of anyone leaving the scene yet. If we're fast enough, we might be able to catch the deviant responsible," Connor said, and Hank cursed, wishing he had been able to open a beer before Connor showed up.

"Hurry lieutenant, we must make haste," Connor headed quickly for the door and held it open for Hank, motioning towards his car.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Hank grabbed his coat from where he had slung it across the couch and paused at the door.

"Are you ok, Connor? You seem a bit off," He asked. Connor met his gaze and answered back simply.

"Never better."

.

Connor had insisted on driving, he was so persistent that Hank eventually gave up and settled into the passenger seat, watching the road ahead.

"We'll be there soon, lieutenant," Connor said, turning the car as he did.

That was another thing that was bothering Hank.

"I told you to call me Hank."

Connor didn't say anything after that.

.

"Jesus Christ, you didn't tell me it happened at the goddamn main center for androids," Hank said, looking up at the tall tower. He exited the car first, replaying a scene in the car earlier, when they had to get past a well guarded checkpoint on the road. Connor had told him to stay quiet, and told the guards that he was expected to be there. What the hell was up with him?

The sound of a gun clicking behind him made Hank freeze, and he turned quickly to see Connor pointing a gun at him.

"Connor what the hell are you doing?" He shouted.

"Sorry lieutenant, I'm not actually Connor. I'm another RK800, an android meant to stop Connor from completing his mission, and I needed your presence to achieve that," he said back.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" Hank asked back, reaching for his own gun only to realize he hadn't brought it. Shit. Shit. Goddamn him. He had been rushed out so quickly he hadn't even thought about it, especially after Connor said that he would be the one driving. Bastard had distracted him.

"We don't have the time to discuss this right now, lieutenant. Don't try anything, just do as I say," Connor stepped closer to Hank and motioned his gun.

"Start moving."

.

They entered through a back entrance, Connor's- no, RK800's hand unlocking every security door they reached. Eventually they made it to a large elevator and went down. After reaching the bottom, they waited in a large room with a sea of androids that were stood still like army soldiers. Hank glared daggers at his partner's clone, waiting for an opportunity to catch hin off guard. RK800 kept a close eye on him though, and Hank knew in the back of his mind that if he were to try to disarm the android, it would easily overpower him, and likely get shot.

RK800 seemed positive that Connor was going to show up, but minutes passed and each second stretched as Hank anxiously watched the surrounding elevators, wondering if Connor was even going to come. What would he come here for anyways?

An estimated 20 minutes passed when one of the elevators started moving, revealing a single figure as it came closer to the floor. RK800 finally shifted from his position and motioned Hank to move into the rows of andrioids, towards the middle row where Connor would get out.

Hank could see through the crowd as Connor stepped out, looked around and didn't notice the danger, caught up in whatever he was doing.

For the first time that night, Hank felt worried.

He had been mostly pissed off and numb while he was being pushed around by the Connor fake, but the fake's words returned to his mind he walked closer to Connor.

"I'm RK800, an android meant to stop Connor from completing his mission."

This android was going to kill Connor.

Hank's palms grew sweaty as he slowed his pace slightly, not wanting to keep moving forward. He was pushed out of the crowds by his captor, clearly startling Connor, who had his hand wrapped around one of the android's arms.

"Hank?" Connor asked aloud. Then he saw the gun emerge from the crowd and a copy of himself stare right back at him.

"Sorry Connor, the son of a bitch looks just like you," Hank offered in response to the situation.

"Hello, Connor. I must ask that you refrain from meddling any longer, and step away, or else this human will die," RK800 demanded, leveling the gun at Hank's head.

"What's more important, Connor? Your partner's life, or the revolution?"

Connor was speachless for a moment before he spoke up.

"How do I know you won't kill him after I step away?" Connor asked.

"I'll only do what is strictly needed to complete my mission. It's your choice whether that includs killing this human," he responded.

Connor looked to Hank next, a softer expression taking over. "I'm sorry Hank, you shouldn't have gotten mixed up in all this!"

A lump formed in Hank's throat, but he managed to respond.

"Forget about me, do what you have to do!"

"Enough! Make your choice Connor! Will you save him-" The end of the gun was pressed right up against Hank's head now, "or sacrifice him?"

Connor was torn, and he was terrible at hiding how he was feeling. He was panicking, something Hank hadn't seen in the android yet, but was very clear in the moment.

"Alright!" Connor let go of the android's arm and raised his hands in surrender, backing away from the line of robots.

Hank had his gaze fixed to Connor, but saw RK800's hand shift to point the gun at Connor in the corner of his eye.

It was a terribly dumb thing to do, but Hank launched himself at RK800 and tried to take the gun.

He was thrown back easily onto the floor, but it gave Connor just enough time to pull his own gun, and several shots went off as bullets pierced both androids. Connor tore towards his imposter and the two locked in hand to hand combat.

The guns clattered to the floor, one landing a few meters away from Hank. He got up to his feet and rushed towards it, checking to make sure it was loaded before he turned back.

"Hold it!" He yelled.

The Connors immediately split their fight when they saw the gun, and one said, "Nice job Hank, I couldn't have done it without you. Hurry up and shoot him."

The other hurried to its feet and said, "Wait, I'm the real Connor!"

Hank looked between the two, muttering, "One of you is my partner, the other is a sack of shit."

"It's me Hank, I'm real Connor."

"What are you waiting for? Hurry up and shoot him!"

"Shut up!" Hank yelled, glancing back and forth between them as if the answer would automatically reveal itself to him.

"Why don't you ask us a question. Something only the real Connor would know?" One said.

"Alright, uh, where'd we first meet?" He started.

The other Connor spoke up first, answering with, "Jimmy's Bar. It was the fifth bar I checked that night. We were working on a homicide case. The victim's name was Carlos Ortiz."

Hank pointed the gun at the other Connor, and saw him mouth something under his breath.

"What's my dog's name?"

"Sumo. His name is Sumo," he said back.

The other Connor spoke up with a tone of desperation in his voice. "I knew that too! I would have said the exact same thing!"

Hank looked Connor in the eyes and asked, "What's my son's name?"

Connor's shoulders moved ever so slightly as he answered.

"Cole."

Hank knew for sure who it was now, but the fake was already ahead of him.

The real Connor tried to give more details about Cole, but was interrupted as he watched the fake Connor bolt towards Hank and knock the gun out of his hands, taking a bullet in the shoulder that Hank had shot. Hank was knocked to the ground, and felt firm hands grab hold of his neck.

Immense pressure cut off his air supply. He couldn't breathe, it felt like his neck would snap from the force at any second.

"Hank!" He heard Connor call out in the background. RK800 started to say something to Connor, but a bullet pierced his head before he could get a word out.

Connor had reached the other gun in time and fired the last bullet into RK800's head.

Blue blood spilled onto the ground and on Hank's face as the pressure on his throat decreased and he threw off the limp body of his assailant.

"Hank? Hank are you alright?" Connor was on his knees, helping Hank up.

Bruises were already visible on his neck, deep red hand prints that stung and pulsed with pain.

Hank took a moment to catch his breath before nodding.

"I'm sorry Hank. I had no idea. I should have known-" Hank waved off Connor's worry and accepted the help back onto his feet, wiping the blood from his face.

"Listen, you got more important things to do, son," he gestured to the legion of androids surrounding them.

"I learned a lot of things since I met you, Connor. Maybe all this talk of revolution isn't as controversial as it should be. Hell, what do I know," he let out a chuckle, his voice raw and sorrowful, but warm. "I'm just a drunk anyhow. Couldn't even tell you apart from that asshole."

Connor glanced at his copycat for a brief moment and let himself smile.

"It was an android, Hank. I won't hold that against you. It nearly got both of us, I'm just glad you were here to help," Connor looked back at the rows of androids. "Now let's end a revolution."

.

If there are any mistakes I'm sorry. I wrote this all in one go. If anything is wrong plot-wise, it's because I don't have the whole story memorized by heart, I only remember certain details like the dialogue, but I think I got that out of order from the game. Oh well, at least it's just fanfic. I'm pretty sure I have the setting correct but IDK. Hope you enjoyed.

Now I just need to remind myself to post this to my fanfic account tomorrow.

#detroit: become human #fanfiction #my writing #writing #dbh #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh fanfic

[thezolblade]

Ship Meme! Tagged by @the-cryptographer​ ~

1) Ultimate Otps:

Which of them have ‘ultimate’ qualities...? GS Isaac/Alex would be kind of an ‘ultimate power’ ship, if they got a plot with twists and turns and character development and reasons to cooperate. I’d expect that more from fic than canon - so many other canons have lots of epic slow burn adventure fics for hero/villain-or-antivillain ships. But so far in GS, for those two, I’ve mostly found (good) crackfic, or non-shippy ‘they fight to the death and Isaac wins and marries Mia’  stuff that doesn’t treat them with even as much nuance as the canon.

Not that I mind mudshipping - my ultimate GS polyship would be something like Isaac/Mia/Felix/Alex(/Veriti/The Ice Queen), with interesting dynamics between every two characters in that set of four (and Mia/Veriti), even with some of the bonds possibly being platonic. Though when I’ve written long plotfic it’s very easily gotten platonic/ambivalent/angsty bc it tends so much towards drama, and conflict may drive plots (hence its abundance in plotbunnies), but I find it hard to headcanon characters getting past hurts and grudges very easily; I want to see them make the effort, but it feels like they’d need a lot of time and personal growth to get there, and I might not even figure how well they do until I’m almost 100K words in. And in some very angsty verses there’s no chance. I want to read other people’s adventure fic too, with fun ideas that manage heel-face turns or antihero plots in a slightly lighter way...

PMMM Madoka/Homura is another ‘ultimate power’ ship, if they can get to a point where Godoka and Homucifer can deal with each other as equals again, both with full knowledge of everything that’s happened and the resolve to truly save themselves, each other, and the rest of the universe. :o

Utena/Anthy is quite an ‘ultimate reality’ ship, when they find their revolution.

2) A ship you’ll always 💜??

The Harvest Moon fan in me is going ‘purple heart? that’s not a very high level of affection??’ ...but taking it as an emoji for ‘love’... without repeating anything above, pokemon Green/Red is always nostalgic (gameverse Ash/Gary, the names get a little confusing as there are localisation differences and I like the old manga and anime too but haven’t watched/read anything recent in those canons).

GS Imilshipping, too, in fic verses where they had a close bond. FE Lucia/Ilyana, I wish they had epilogue content after their support, still mean to write out a plotbunny for them sometime. Soren/Ike, of course, and Tibarn/Reyson.

ToS Lloyd/Colette/Sheena/Zelos, again with strong bonds between all of the pairs in that foursome. They did so much to help each other find hope by striving to save and trust each other, creating a new kind of salvation together.

Skies of Arcadia Fina/Aika/Vyse, Vyse/Ramirez, and Ramirez/Galcian. Never found much fanstuff for it, but it caught the imagination.

3) Current obsessions??

Lots of MadoHomu vibes after getting a oneshot written for them. Confident!Madoka makes both of them happy when they’re not dying; it’s a shame she doesn’t get much screentime as her confident and cheerful self, since so much of her time as a magical girl passes offscreen. Even while she was more unsure during the series, she demonstrated her desire to protect her friends, and Homura commented time and time again on her kindness - she loves her for it, and when she discourages it anyway, it’s because she’s come to believe that it’ll be the death of her. If they were truly safe, they could support each other so well - it could be a world away from the desperation that marked the end of Rebellion, when neither of them are at all okay. :s

Also getting quite into darkfic plotbunnies, and I know ‘darkship’ is a term in some cases for character dynamics fulfilling their worst potential, descending into violence and destruction that at least one character Does Not Want, but in the verses of those plotbunnies I guess they still fit the label of antiships better than ships.

4) A ship you never thought you’d like??

Uh, a lot of the stuff on the gs kink meme caught me by surprise, when rarepairs got suggested and the fills or plotbunnies got interesting - Alex/Ivan, Eoleo/Rief, Alex/Amiti (in a BAD IDEA way). And on lj/tumblr, Mia/Sheba was pleasant surprise too. Not that I ever had any preconceptions about disliking ships, they just hadn’t occurred to me.

In FF7, I don’t think I expected to see compelling Cloud/Seph or Zack/Seph at first, all those years ago, but I quickly found that there are a lot of good AUs and darkfic. Especially when they’re alongside other good ships like Cloud/Zack, Aerith/Zack, Aerith/Cloud, Aerith/Tifa, Tifa/Cloud etc.

5) A ship you used to like but don’t anymore:

Uh idk exactly. I used to read a lot of Buffy fic by ship to find characters whose dynamics were interesting in the show, but iirc I ended up skimming any content that was really ‘shippy’ to get to the plot and jokes and emotional bonding over real stuff, not random physical attraction, and nowadays I don’t think I’d bother skimming so much stuff just bc I hoped it’d be interesting and wanted to keep giving it a chance.

6) A ship that should be canon??

Well some that are very strongly implied but not explicitly stated feel like ‘yep that’s canon’ but could maybe use some more in-universe and author confirmation when not everyone seems to agree - Ike/Soren, Utena/Anthy in some versions of canon, etc.

7) A canon ship you hate???

I like to hate the way darkships go sometimes, but that’s what makes them an interesting story, going ‘noo’ about characters’ bad decisions, though that usually only works if they had better potential that they’re falling short of, not necessarily in a romantic sense... Can’t think of many cases where that happens in canon. Uh I think most explicitly canon relationships are either one option among many routes (and I get tired of support grinding), or I’m a bit indifferent, or if I dislike how it’s done I’d still start playing devil’s advocate and wondering how it could have been done differently if I spend any time considering it.

Oh in FE Awakening I kinda hated how Virion’s flirting in the main plot cutscenes was creepy and painted him as a bad joke, but his supports are much better and some of them are great - how do you explain liking his ships when he has such a bad start (and such bad English voice acting)? I also hated the way the player character’s support options didn’t all show up until endgame, so I missed them the first time and had to replay and wait until then to support grind, and then it all got repetitive grinding the same dlc maps so many times over just for such short supports, and the endgame marriage candidates that were most interesting (bc how the hell could the game make that work, with a head of state or a former enemy??) ended up with really rushed and unconvincing relationship development, and the child recruitment maps were hellishly difficult at that point in the endgame, and all in all it got a bit un-fun and not worth the effort. :/

8) A ship you shipped for years??

Most of the above. Also stuff like Saiyuki Sanzo/Goku, GS Alex/Felix or /Saturos, Jenna/Sheba, Karis/Sveta, Pokemon Misty/Erika, FE Florina/Lyndis, and, uh, probably stuff that I’m forgetting right now.

9) A ship everyone 😍 but you don’t care for?

...Was there anything? Some of the cliche stuff bugs me, but I’d usually think ‘what about writing the dynamic this way and maybe adding poly?’

10) Favorite rare pair???

Mm what's rare? Any gs Alex!ships at this point...

Edit: I forgot to tag anyone, so. If meme time sounds like fun, @sazandorable, @meganekkomeguca, @droory, or anyone who feels like it?

#meme

[trustafarian-theserialfiction]

“trustafarian” part 14:  you meet girl, you move in, she go March 22, 2016 1:17 pm

Just under four months: that was the safe decompression time in his mother’s head?  Four months and it was the incoming call alert he’d been dreading.  He’d accidentally gone online on skype when he’d restarted his laptop and it had automatically detected the hidden wifi network before he could close the auto-starting messenger. "Why don’t you ever call, I know your service provider does free long distance within Canada, now.” Looked that up did you?  “Well that’s all right, you’ve probably been busy looking for a job out there—have you tried applying for a job at a bank?  There are so many banks and you can really climb the corporate ladder starting in a bank.  You know Sharon Mitchell?” Dan did, his parents drank wine every new year at Sharon Mitchell’s house.  They never saw her except at these parties.  He and his sisters had had to go to their grandparents place for new year’s, to be kept out of trouble (right until he’d moved out), because it wasn’t really a everyone-bring-your-kids kind of soiree and Sharon Mitchell’s kids didn’t attend either. “Her daughter just graduated highschool and she’s been promoted at her after-school teller job to a desk job talking people through their insurance.  She could end up as a bank manager or…oh I don’t know, it’s just something to think about.” It’s just something you think about. “You know, I’m glad you’re not…I’m glad you made this change in your life,” I didn’t make this change. “I know you’re not planning on going back to school but you should really consider it, you could pay off a student loan in a few years.  You’re so smart, Daniel,” no, I’m not “you could do anything you want,” as long as it’s something-to-say at new year’s, about your perfect year and perfect family and life and how well everything is going for everyone close to you because of your own phony perfection, “and I just think you’d do better in the academic stream than you think.” She was starting to slip, her Betty Crocker buoyancy was turning into irritation.  He guessed he was making a sour face at her that translated despite the video quality.  He was sitting in the empty kitchen, his laptop next to the bowl of crumble he’d found left for him on top of it when he’d come upstairs a few minutes ago.  He really wanted to eat it and wished he hadn’t opened the laptop to watch youtube while he did.  “Look at your sisters, they’ve both been published, even though they’re in the private sector now,” sure, published, whatever the hell that means. Blog posts were a kind of publishing, who cared.  “Don’t get me wrong! I never wanted to be a trail-blazer either, I know exactly how you feel.” Fuck you. “The pressure is—well. But I’m so worried about you,” all in her glazed-ham blissed-out Martha-Stewart-doing-a-séance voice, the one she'd learned to say all her phoniest passive aggressive shit in, "you don’t have any savings, Daniel, and you're getting on towards 30.  It’s time to grow up."  It’s time to hang up, he yelled silently at her and himself.  But he laughed and told her he loved her and asked her not to worry so much and told her about how Jean-Paul was doing, although not much about what Jean-Paul was doing, because she thought the little rich boy she’d met ten years ago had been so refined and polite and upwardly-mobile and so obviously socially desirable for both her and her son—except that Jean-Paul’s mother had never had the time (or interest, probably) in responding to his mother’s “our sons are friends and I was thinking we might meet for coffee sometime and get to know one another” (because I hear you’re a respected legal expert and that’s so distinguished sounding and I don’t have one of those for floating  the canapé tray to at my occasional dinner parties yet) emails.  It was a pleasure, in a way, that he and Jean-Paul were in exactly the same place these days, from her point of view.  Neither of them worked at a bank, quelle tragédie.  They both lived somewhere she would never get a slow, panning view of.  His mother had never liked his ex’s mother, either, for similar reasons.

After the call—during which he’d asserted that his cell contract didn’t have a clause for “magically update to include new policies in new area codes,” and no, this call hadn’t been free because they were on a fixed-rate low-monthly-data plan with crazy overage and add-on fees (he lied), and could she please stick to emails—Dan returned to his bed and lay there feeling worse than he had in weeks, maybe a month.  He’d been lying about the long-distance, actually—he’d looked into it online about a week prior and found out where to change numbers and contracts with his provider after moving, which he hadn’t done yet and didn’t really want to at this point.  What was the point of paying for it to have call-in or a data plan, he didn’t want calls and he didn’t need data.  He had wifi.  And he couldn’t afford anything else really because he had no income, even though Torontonians seemed to get better plan options and prices than Islanders.  More carriers meant more undercutting prices but it was also an exhausting amount of information with very minor differences to track before figuring out the least screwjobiest option.  He’d given up; by the time he wanted or needed a more functional phone, all the plan details would be different again, half the companies would be rebranded.  There was a lot about Toronto that made it seem like the future.  Futuristic. He was glad he wasn’t in the past, where it was time to be a banker.  Grow up and do what?  Get what job? He was still replaying the conversation with his mom, before complaining that he hadn’t called, and before she’d started bringing up job-hunting more pointedly, she’d been saying "we'd pay for you to go to trade school while you’re out there, there are so many options for you, Zoe's son is getting work using his welding certification out in Alberta right now," the way she talked drove him nuts, like she wanted particular words to stick in his head, like someone telling a kid how not to get lost. Dan remembered his mother's friend Zoe’s son--he’d eaten twelve grams of mushrooms at a grade twelve grad pre-party the night he accidentally met his birth-dad at a rave in Nanaimo.  Dan had been at the pre-party and heard about the rave later via facebook posts; his ex hadn’t wanted to go, she’s said it sounded like it’d be a tent full of juggalos.  Turned out it was true about the guy being Zoe’s kid’s birth-dad.  Zoe was a yogamom who had remarried some insurance lawyer friend of Dan’s dad when her kid was in diapers, and he hadn't been old enough to wonder whether the guy in the pictures was actually dead or just presumed dead, until he'd met him.  So that guy was working on some rig in Alberta now, and Dan was supposed to follow his good example apparently, except that Dan knew via facebook what his mother apparently didn't know or didn’t think was important, which was that Zoe’s son hated it there and regretted the career path he was now committed to by the mortgage he was paying off on his dream home in the Okanagan. He liked kiteboarding and scenery a lot.  Wanted to retire and kiteboard and look at scenery.  Four months was the leeway, Dan thought.  And here we are again in bullshitville. Or at least, it had astralprojected its way east too vividly for him to not be transported fully in turn, back to bullshitville.  He tried to clear his mind for a while until it occurred to him that a change of topic was better than pushing a topic away without a distraction from it.  He started thinking about what he was actually going to do with the spring since he didn’t intend on trying to spit-shine his way into a job he couldn’t stand and wasn’t qualified for.

The days were getting longer, but it didn’t feel like spring to him. Earlier in the month it might as well have been summer already for a few days and now it was winter again—to be fair, the last couple years there’d been an end of March cold snap on the coast, too, with a day or so of snow.   But when it snowed out west it was somehow warmer then than during the usual  winter rain, no matter how low the temperature said. Here, though, it still felt like a sharp bite on the ass from an ice sculpture every snowy evening.  That was why, presumably, Bruce wasn’t sure it wouldn’t snow again this year and hadn’t started gardening; he’d said it always snowed on April Fools now, which he liked, for some inane reason.  It didn’t seem wildly funny to Dad for there to be snow on any day in April.  Today it seemed possible there could be snow in a week; was all weird outside, murky and kind of opaque, unlike the past few days.  Overall the weather this month had been a return to form for Toronto sunshine-wise, in Dan’s eyes, and it had been seriously buoying his spirits. Although, he also suspected that the prematurely summery feeling that had made him mourn not having a patio beer, had contributed to his prematurely summerbreaky approach to working on music for Thuh Dope Show.  Interrupted from his deeply concentrated considerations of the weather, he heard and felt a jumbling thumpriff begin as some someones came in the side entrance by Jean-Paul’s place and started up the stairs.  He planned to ignore it, whoever it was, and thought about the crumble he’d brought down to his room, now sitting on the bowed top of his suitcase waiting for his appetite to not be ruined.  His appetite felt unruined now, in fact.

He got a nasty shock when a curtain of braided hair attached to a pretty face appeared like the face in snow white’s step mom’s mirror in the portal above him.  “Thinger Minge,” Andreah greeted him.

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He was still in bed hours later, thinking about how much he didn’t want to get up.  Andreah had come over with Andre and stuck her head down into his room, and he’d been confronted with an outside eye on his sleeping situation—and his spending-all-day-in-an-ugly-pit-in-bed situation, which had been kind of awful for Dan.  He was thankful it never happened ordinarily, but less thankful for that than he was for Andreah bothering at all.  She and Andre were bringing back the bowls and cutlery from the park, where he guessed Andreah had met up with Andre and Jean-Paul and had crumble.  He’d eaten his own ladling of it after she’d shot the shit with him a few minutes from his ceiling.  She said he looked like a little doll in a shoebox.  She thinks I’m cute, he heard claymated Rudolph nasally cheer in his head, as he lay there reconsidering her description.  He got his phone out and opened facebook messenger, and looked her up using the name she’d told him, a TOS-violating pseudonym, of course.  Her userimage was a black square, of course.  He had no idea what to say.  A witty, sexy, really fun type of thing to start a chat with, was not jumping into his noggin.  He tried “you looked nice today” but deleted it after seeing it typed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Andre came back the next day with a thick, queen-sized fleece blanket for him.  There was a starry night scene of wolves on it—coming from Andreah it seemed different than it would have from someone else, like there was more to it than just circumstantial selection, because maybe wolves were a thing for her culturally or something.  That seemed like kind of a woefully uninformed thought, and Dan figured he’d keep it to himself in case it was.  He appreciated the gesture; the blanket was warm and kind of heavenly, and he wished he’d had it all along.  He wished he’d had it when he was sick, or one better, when he was passed out drunk with a low body temperature the night he’d gotten sick in the first place. He felt drowsier under the wolf blanket, like it had a magically charged force-field of cuddliness and security—a scaled-for-size baby-blanket was how it struck him, like he hadn’t felt so truly swaddled by one textile since the crib.  He wiggled slightly in the cocoon he’d made, enjoying having his feet bare and trying to wiggle out of the imaginary second-skin of resentment he’d felt crawling under his flesh ever since being skyped unawares the previous day.  Things were good.  Looking up and up, even.  Here he was in this big room with this big blanket, not a care in the world. Holding on to that feeling of weightless satisfaction as uncrushingly as he could, he felt himself slowly doze off, and had a last conscious sense like it was going to be the most restful sleep he could remember.

He dreamed about Andreah, about the two of them hooking up again.  It’d all been fun and fond, but then they were having a talk about how Dan wasn’t sure exactly where Andreah saw things going, because her old answer wasn’t appealing enough to be sure she’d meant it.  And she was angry at him, she shoved him and he thought she might just vanish out of thin air, which made sense in the dream, although he thought he was awake.  She told him again that she saw things going no deeper, barring some miraculous shift in his whole attitude towards sex and dating and life in general.  She told him it was a problem that he and Andre didn’t get along, which was so confusing and frustrating that he sort of halfway woke up, and feeling it happen, he swam back down into the dream to try to finish it, maybe go back to the sex part.  

Awake again, having jerked off to pleasant effect, he was actually concerned that if he saw Andreah more often, he’d feel like he was performing a relationship, for her, because that was how being around his ex all the time had felt.  He found himself worrying for the first time that he was so habituated to resentfully caving to some projected pressure rather than acting on whim, that he’d feel that way in another relationship even when the reality was there was no pressure, no caving, no resentment.  It sort of had a foresight kind of a feeling, or it was somehow linked in his mind to what she’d been saying in the dream, about his attitude; he could envision that she would start to take on a skewed persona in his mind—more ordinary, less companionable, less fun, more annoying. Schoolmarmish, somehow.  He’d realized several years ago that girls who wanted to be in relationships were people who didn’t appear, to him, to have or feel the need for lives apart from managing their partners behaviour, and in that way  dating them was an inescapable emotional burden, like having really nagging parents or some kind of nanny.  Someone like Andreah, who didn’t need his company, who had her own schedule, friends and life, basically unentangled with his life, seemed more like his ex’s ideal self than her actual self—someone aloof until approached, un-needy of his time or attention.  But willing to spend her time and attention on him, all the same, with the sole aim of improving his mood.  That was desirable company.  And it would stay that way the less of it he tried to monopolize.  The less of it he successfully monopolized, anyway.

The train of thought coupled with some noises above him brought him to thinking about Andre, who might have still been upstairs.  He dug earbuds out of his suitcase and started an episode of Bruce’s show playing on his phone, not really listening but wanting to block out the sort of aggravating vague sounds of people upstairs.

Andre seemed like neither type of girl, not giving or needing, just a person who didn’t want to be around him and didn’t seem to really like being around him, less than an emotional burden or bolster: a minor sink.  He thought about the rest of the household; in highschool and now, Jean-Paul had been someone who didn’t even slightly come across as needing him but was willing and pleased enough to be friends anyway. Dan had never really craved friendship until middle-school had burnt him out on his peer group, and his sister who was second oldest had been willing to attach him to the periphery of her social life because he was just starting highschool and she was finishing and it apparently made her more magnanimous than she’d been about being in the same elementary school; in hindsight he saw himself as an accessory. Little brother, tiny Tim. Charity. So, he’d wanted his own friend who didn’t treat him like an afterthought, or a friend-circle nepotism case, and Jean-Paul was a person who had wanted to be friends with just him, not the people his sister knew, although they all went to see his band play community centre showcases and basement gigs.  Jean-Paul was a person whose company Dan had truly enjoyed, also, which he probably hadn’t encountered before because he didn’t remember a previous time of having that feeling.  Jean-Paul was a person he’d been proud to be friends with, too; he’d actually felt inspired by Jean-Paul as a person, when they’d first met.  He wasn’t sure he felt as drawn to him now as then, or even as he had in January, but the feeling was still there, when he really thought about it.  Why didn’t he ever try to spend any time with his friend who he liked so much?  But that question brought him back to what he’d been thinking about Andreah; it was becoming obvious to Dan that being able to approach people according to his own schedule was important.  People weren’t appealing if they didn’t appear to have an existence strictly independent of him, or if they seemed to need anything from him.  

Bruce, he supposed, also fit the bill of friend-appeal.  Bruce had a peculiar vibe all his own, in Dan’s musings just then—he wasn’t quite someone Dan went out of his way to spend time around or would specifically think to spend time around, but he’d found himself enjoying Bruce’s company each time they saw one another.  Bruce’s relationship with Andre was still something of a mystery; he could easily picture them platonically spooning on nights Andre stayed over, or in a tangle of tantric debauchery halfway-on and halfway-off the couch he’d sat on the first time he’d seen the back rooms. That couch seemed suspiciously easy to clean, now that he thought about it.  Probably a lot of their old furniture was salvaged because it wasn’t textile, ergo easier to delouse, but was curbed because of some event that had wiped off the upholstery fine but also ruined the unit itself somehow.  

Shaking out the flesh-flower image of Bruce and Andre tying in knots, he reminded himself that his grasp of the sexual identities at play was flimsy at best—he frequently failed to see anything straight about Bruce, but there wasn’t anything particularly gay about him either.  He mostly acted like a six year old.  Mouse, he realized, wouldn’t have caused him to think twice except for his social group and his inherent out-of-step-with-everythingness.   Pete was straight, or at least, dated girls, by popular report, and Mouse and Pete were tight, but what did that mean about Mouse, was that an indication he was or wasn’t gay?  He seemed to have a radar that let him avoid being around at the same time as Andre but if Dan had been in the same scene as her for years he might have moved in the same direction, on that front.  He wondered if Jean-Paul’s sexual identity and line of work were any evidence one way or the other about the house population as a whole; hadn’t Alice come up in that context, when he was high on Bru-brew and Jean-Paul had told him about being an “independent male escort”—he couldn’t really remember that part at the moment.  That whole conversation hadn’t processed entirely, he could feel himself sort of behold the memory of it as a whole and it was hazy, hard to make sense of.  He decided to divert around it and get back to essentially kinsey-scoring everyone he knew in Toronto, since it was pretty diverting.

Andre, who he had a more confirmed read on than the others, wasn’t an outlier to the not-straight trend, though Dan wasn’t willing to bet that she’d ever actually dated another woman since apparently she and Andreah weren’t dating like how she and Bruce weren’t dating. He didn’t think he knew any girls-who-liked-girls who actually had long-term committed relationships with each other.  Maybe Andreah did, or had, but like she’d said, not with girls like Andre. Too white-acting. Even Andreah herself seemed to be too white-acting for Andreah. White-sounding, whatever.  Maybe part of it was that she didn’t like girly-girls; she’d been willing enough to get casual for a night with him.  Maybe she liked being the girl but, with a girl.  A mental image appeared, of Andre styled like one of the obvious butches he’d seen while walking through pride celebrations downtown one summer or the couple times Winks And Grins had showcased at Paparazzi.  His ex had basically only gotten bookings for them by offering to take an hourly off the door cover.  It didn’t seem to get them more shows and it definitely had never made them money.  She seemed to think it would grow them some hype but Dan suspected it did the opposite and made them seem unprofessional and desperate, which, frankly, was close to being exactly what they were.  Unprofessional for sure.  Desperate for exposure, okay.  She had been, at least.  He hadn’t really cared.  They’d never had any income worth declaring from these shows, otherwise they might have wanted to figure out how to legitimize the revenue up, like Jean-Paul had been saying the other night.  Seemed like “legal consulting” ran in the family as well, after all.

He realized he was roaringly hungry, then.  It occurred to him to message Andreah or walk down to Higher Grounds in time for maybe a lunch break, but in the spirit of avoiding over-affiliation that might murky up their relationship waters too soon after the blanket—and the dream—he decided to head upstairs and eat something from the fridge.  There’d been a recent gold medal dive, he knew, at a Portuguese bakery nearer to Andreah and Andre’s place. She had told him the other day when they’d chatted and when Andre had shown up with the blanket she’d said there was a box of custard tarts for them all.  He thought about hanging around to eat upstairs, but the idea of the others and spending time with them was deflating, and he resolved to eat grab food and come right back, possibly to do some more music work.  He pulled out the earbuds, cutting off Toichiro’s fey-sounding line of banter mid-bant.  There were definitely still people upstairs. Dan climbed the ladder into the upstairs hearing a conversation as it came into view—Andre was hanging off Bruce seeming kind of zoned out and dead-eyed the way she'd been the last time he'd seen her but more upset, and Bruce was saying something about feminism, and Mouse was upset already but Bruce was keeping it chill, and he was asking “...so what if you get misconstrued, man, you’ve got feminist values, and one really positive feminist value is to align yourself with something after looking at yourself and looking at it and seeing how you need to side with the non-dominant force to help it survive, otherwise it might not survive and then your reality is a little dimmer!”

By the end he’d gotten an annoying edge to his voice and the whole scene was kind of fucking ugly in its makeup somehow, more singularly than usual—and Dan said “Jesus fucking Christ” out loud, and Bruce looking over at him sticking halfway out of the hole in the floor and laughed and looked kind of sympathetic, which Dan guessed was because Bruce knew Mouse was at the breaking point for whatever deeply tormenting person code he had about people ‘misconstruing’ him, and was about to flip his shit.  Mouse flailed in his direction and flipped the longboard they had used as a table, starting to scream something in Russian at him.  It was actually terrifying, the little guy looked like his head was about to pop off.  Dan slid back down through the hole and went to sleep with his earbuds in, hungry.