#this was my original idea for this prompt a year ago and it sucks as much now as it did then

[ugh-yoongi]

Jewel, I know your requests are closed but I desperately need to hear your thoughts on who in BTS would do this: https://www.tumblr.com/writing-prompt-s/739417828719034368/you-a-powerful-demoness-have-just-been-summoned

and why is it Namjoon (the potential for crack with this 148 IQ man who is also way more innocent than we think acc to one park jimin just takes me out)

i'm so sorry it took me so long to finish and post this but thank you so much for sending it bc i have been cackling about this scenario ever since.

the prompt: you, a powerful demoness, have just been summoned to earth. this man, this human, wants you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a few days so his parents will get off his back about it.

the gang summons a demon

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: supernatural au; crack warnings: reader is a demon and engages in demon behavior, swearing, namjoon makes mention of not being straight, heteronormative parental expectations, jk learns about arcane things on tumblr (which is not an original idea; i read a fic ages ago where taekook are tumblr witches but i cannot find it, so credit to that author or whoever came up with it first), unedited so any mistakes are mine. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 2k

It’s been years since you’ve been to Earth—even longer since you’ve been to South Korea.

“I haven’t been here since 1910,” you say, staring at the gobsmacked man across from you. He’s tall, with tanned skin and a bleached buzz cut; a smattering of tattoos dotting his toned arms—whites and rich hues of blue, imitations of some kind of ceramic art, you think; a golden hoop through his nose; cheeks with dimples so deep you’re sure they’ll crater. “People here definitely didn’t look like you back then, so I’m going to assume we’re pretty far into the future.”

“It’s 2024,” he answers, seemingly still a little dazed. He’s staring at you with wide eyes, jaw dropped. Normally it’s nice to be looked at like that, with all the reverence and awe you deserve, but Earth is not your favorite place to be. Doesn’t even crack the top fifty, if you’re being honest. “Did you say 1910? As in the beginning of the—”

You sigh. “Uh-huh. Hey, if you wouldn’t mind hurrying this up, I’ve got things to do.” The man continues staring. Could be a trick of the light, but you think he’s turning paler by the second.

Minutes tick by. Nothing but silence.

“Are you even listening to me?” you snarl, quickly losing patience you were never given. “I said I’ve got shit to do. My schedule’s booked solid for the next eight centuries, so I really don’t have time to be dilly-dallying in mundane human affairs. Your problems are always so boring.”

More silence.

Which is irksome, sure, but what’s worse is this stupid fucking circle you’re trapped in. Drawn crudely on the floor of (seemingly) this human man’s actual apartment, which would’ve told you all you’d needed to know, if you’d taken ten seconds to take in your surroundings upon first being summoned. This place has got books stacked floor to ceiling in every available inch of space, but you’re certain this person is a fucking idiot.

“Hello?”

The man shakes his head. “Oh, sorry, I just—I’m Namjoon? Kim Namjoon.”

“I don’t care.”

“Right, right.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Well, you’re probably wondering why I summoned you here today”—you roll your eyes—“and, uh.” Namjoon scratches at the back of his neck, anxiety oozing from every pore on his body. Definitely paler. “I am too, to be honest.”

“You what—”

“I didn’t mean to!” Namjoon hurriedly adds, all of that anxiety shifting quickly into pure panic. “It’s just—it was a joke! Mostly! Jeongguk said it as a joke, because everything he says is a joke, and I should’ve known that, but—I don’t know! I’ve tried everything else, and the longer its gone on the more desperate I’ve become, and suddenly what Jeongguk said as a joke didn’t sound so much like a joke anymore! I’m sorry! I didn’t think it’d actually work!”

It takes your brain a minute to translate and decipher the useless slush that just came out of his mouth, but when it does… oh, when it does, you feel absolutely murderous. “You summoned me as a joke?”

Namjoon must see it, too. There’s no way you’re looking cool, calm, and collected right now, because you’ve seen the faces of others that have witnessed your wrath, and they were almost always on the brink of (if not outright) shitting their pants. This stupid, clueless human in front of you doesn’t appear to be faring much better.

So you continue, just to watch him squirm. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Um,” comes his brilliant response. “Yes?”

“And who am I?”

He holds up his pointer finger and digs through the back pocket of his jeans. Pulls out a crumbled scrap of paper, nearly soiled from ass sweat and time, and his eyes squint as he tries to read it. “I—well, it’s probably not an accurate translation, you know, since—”

“What does that piece of parchment say, Kim Namjoon?”

“Nothing,” he lies. “I can’t read it anyway, so… a-haaa…”

Patience officially worn thin, you snap your fingers, delighting in the startled shriek that escapes him as the paper goes up in a plume of smoke. “I am going to give you one chance to be honest with me,” you explain slowly, leveling him with a look. “Who do you think I am, and why am I here?”

Namjoon pales further. Looks like he’s trying to melt right through the floor into a puddle of useless slush, and you’d be more than willing to speed up the process if it weren’t for this god forsaken demon trap.

“Can I—can I sit down for this?”

Kim Namjoon, you learn, has a friend named Jeon Jeongguk.

Jeon Jeongguk, you also come to learn, has learned magic from a website called Tumblr.

“There, uh. There are definitely blogs for that sort of thing,” Namjoon explains, tattooed fingers scratching at the back of his neck. He takes a very quick glance at you. “Clearly not very accurate ones.”

You hum. “That’s the only smart thing I’ve heard you say since I showed up in this shithole.”

Namjoon gawks. “Hey, my apartment isn’t a shithole! It’s the best I could afford, alright? There was just an article in The Business Times about how archaic of a system jeonse is—”

“Uh-huh. And this… website?”

Namjoon goes red. Coughs into his fist. “Oh, right, yeah. I’m gonna be honest with you—”

“I already said that—”

“—my parents are coming to visit from Ilsan in a few days and I need a girlfriend.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. Long enough to replace the rug that had been pulled from under you, because you’re pretty sure you heard this human man allude to having summoned you so you can pretend to be his girlfriend.

All things considered, you’re impressed by how calm you are. This is not a trait most demons have, you especially, and it makes you nostalgic for the days you used to rip men apart limb by limb for less.

“Are you insane?” you ask simply.

“In my defense,” he explains around a wince, “Jeongguk said it was a love spell.”

“A love spell.” Namjoon nods. “And you wound up summoning a demon.”

“It… appears I may have done that, yes.”

“And you want a demon to meet your parents?”

“I mean… when in Rome, right?”

“I’ve committed at least four-hundred and sixty-seven separate atrocities there, so no, probably not when in Rome.”

Namjoon’s jaw drops. He tucks his knees closer to his chest. “Christ, that’s a lot. How did you have the time?”

“I’m immortal,” you deadpan.

“Right, right. Anyway, to answer your question: yes.”

Your eyes narrow. “How bad are your parents that you’d want me to meet them?”

“They’re fine, mostly. I just… am not what they expected in a son? Like, I have the hair and the tattoos and I dropped out of my engineering program in university to pursue art and poetry, so the least I could do is find a wife and settle down and give them grandchildren, but I don’t even know if I want to ever settle down. I’m also not… heterosexual? Entirely? Do you see that a lot—”

You sigh. “Misconception. Not to launch you into some kind of existential crisis, but the gods really don’t give a shit who you humans sleep with.”

“Gods? As in plural?” You snap your fingers. Namjoon’s fingers immediately go to his temples. “Damn, I have a really bad migraine all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“What’d you do?”

“Made you forget something.”

“Oh. What’d I forget?” It takes a second. “Oh, right, yeah. Um. What was the last thing I said?”

“Your parents wanted you to be an engineer and have a ton of kids but you like art and also not-women, sometimes.”

He flushes again. “I—yes.”

You sigh, arms crossed over your chest. All you want to do is sit down, or open a window. This apartment smells far too strongly of patchouli. “Look, I haven’t been to this place in a long time, but surely you aren’t undesirable by your society’s standards.”

“Are you saying I’m attractive?”

You scowl. “No. I’m saying there had to have been easier ways of doing this, and also can you open a window?”

“It’s February.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“It’s really cold outside.”

“I’m literally from Hell. Go put on a sweater, then.”

With a roll of his eyes, Namjoon stands and moves to the window. Cracks it open a millimeter, just enough for the cold to seep in, before he’s stalking off toward—you’re assuming—his bedroom. You think he’s shoving a garment over his head when he calls out, “You know, you’re really fucking bossy for someone stuck in a trap.”

You vow to kill him as soon as you’re free.

It isn’t often you’re held hostage.

Usually you can spot a trick coming a thousand miles away, but since Namjoon hadn’t meant to summon you at all, you’d been caught unawares. Doomed to be stuck in a demon trap, just like he’d said, which meant you didn’t have a ton of bargaining power.

At least that’s what you’re telling yourself, because as you sit across from Namjoon’s parents at some fancy restaurant, you aren’t convinced he isn’t a crossroads demon himself.

“So,” his mother begins, turning her attention to you, “what do you do for work?”

Namjoon elbows you beneath the table, giving you a silent warning to stick to the script. You’re only here under threat of force—because Jeongguk had stopped by Namjoon’s apartment, saw you in the summoning circle, and nearly fainted before going back to Tumblr to find a binding spell.

Except that one wasn’t great, either, because it only bound you and Namjoon together for three days instead of forever. And, as penance for all the chaos you’ve sown across the universe, Namjoon’s parents’ visit fell within that time frame, so here you are.

Out to dinner. With humans.

You’re pretending to be someone’s girlfriend.

You’re in for the most embarrassing ribbing of your existence once you’re home.

“I work with idols,” you respond, as convincingly as possible, because Namjoon had thought it’d be really funny. Get it? he’d said. Like false idols? You hadn’t laughed. “It’s very secretive, of course, but—”

You don’t finish your thought, because Namjoon’s mother looks delighted: face lit up with mirth, smile blinding, eyes half-lidded under the weight of her happiness. “Oh, how exciting! Has he told you he used to do performances to old H.O.T songs? Namjoonie, what was that one song you liked—”

“Eomma, please—”

“Wasn’t it ‘Candy’?” Namjoon’s dad offers from behind his menu. It’s the first thing he’s said all evening.

Namjoon whimpers, foregoing all social decorum and lectures on posture to sink further in his chair.

You do not, under any circumstances, feel a hint of fondness.

(Which dissipates not even twenty-four hours later.

“The blog was deleted,” Jeongguk says, eyes wide as saucers. “I—the blog is gone, I don’t know how to—”

“What do you mean the blog is gone?” The poor kid is overcome with panic and fear, tries to stutter out a response that makes no sense to you at all through his sobs. “Jeon Jeongguk, what do you mean the blog is gone?”

“I—it’s—I had it bookmarked, I swear! Once the binding spell wore off I was gonna send it to Namjoon hyung so he could send you back, but the blog is gone so the post is gone, too. I don’t—what do I even search for—oh my god, please don’t kill me, I think I’m having a panic attack, I’m gonna—”

And then this human man vomits all over your feet. Namjoon sighs as he goes to fetch a bucket, and you think it’ll be a miracle if any of these people—yourself included—live to see the end of the week.)

#namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel writes #jewel answers

[cmmdrkote]

codywan reverse bang team #13: i should tell him i love him

The words fell away as Obi-Wan raised his head. He had been expecting another visit from Cetius only to find his Commander standing in the doorway. He blinked a few times, fearing he was merely hallucinating. “Cody?” “General.” The Commander stared for a moment, trying to think of what to say. I’m glad I found you in time. I’m glad you’re alive. I missed you. I was worried about you. I think I love you. “Did you need a rescue?” “Do you know, Commander?” Obi-Wan tried for a smile and a laugh that turned into a groan as his broken ribs made themselves known. “I just think I might.”

So, I'm unfortunately late (life and death happened) but here is 2/3 of my piece for CWRB '23! Obi-Wan has gotten himself into a situation, and Cody is annoyed and using that to cover up how worried he is.

i would like to thank the mods of @codywanreversebang Serie and Anon for their endless patience, my friends for getting me through a difficult time, and of course my amazing writers Kay @foreverchangingfandomsao3 and Mia who have written a fantastic story for this prompt that you can read here.

I'll see you all soon for Part 3....a Keldabe kiss is imminent 👀 Notes and close-ups sans shadows under the cut:

A consistent light source? Who? I've never heard of her in my entire life.

I swear I didn't mean for there to be Christ-like undertones (I'm not even Christian) but once I had Obi's pose laid out and the light focused on him, I was like "fuck I gotta commit to the space Jesus now".

I originally intended for this to have a much more cartoony style, but the shading on Cody's face got away from me and then I needed to match that level of realism for his whole body, which drastically increased the time taken and I had to scrap all my plans for Obi.

The pose/prompt and Obi's outfit are inspired by Crossfire by Brandon Flowers, a whumper's dream of a music video and also a bop. I had sketched something out about two years ago and ended up adapting it for this idea.

Obi is wearing suspenders and a dress shirt because 1. I hate drawing clothing and knew robes would suck 2. Brandon is wearing that outfit in the video which made an easier reference 3. Suspenders are hot 4. I needed to show the hairy chest

Clip Studio Paint can eat my ass, I'm never upgrading to their bs subscription model.

Ewan and Temuera are some of the most handsome men I've seen in my entire life and no I will not be taking questions.

Here are some close-ups because I want to show off what I did before covering it up with dramatic ass shadows:

#codywan #star wars #the clone wars #star wars art #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #obi wan whump #my art #my post #tw blood #tw implied torture #tw injury #i dedicate this art to the codywan reddit refugee and the user who called obi wan the pillow princess of warfare

[degloved]

the use of ai in fics genuinely makes me so sad. i can see with my own two eyes that the summary does not at all read as though it had been written by the fic's author (and verbiage aside, the usage of "coworker" in the main text versus "co-worker" in the summary is already telling enough.) idk. yeah "why should anyone bother reading what you didn't bother writing" and all, but it's more than that. we were all beginners at some point. we all sucked at some point. none of us could churn out the sort of perfection we strived towards from the get go—and this is ok. writing, especially when done for free and out of love for a book/show/movie/play/etc, should be an activity that is actively enjoyed; you're not writing solely for the final product, you're writing to write. when i first sat down nearly a decade ago now and put pen to paper (literally—i used to write by hand), it wasn't because i knew what i was gonna produce. it wasn't because i had some great grand idea that just had to be put out into the world. it was because there was something in me that made my fingers restless with the want to write. and naturally it's not always a walk in the park, and it's an activity that can frequently turn from pleasant to frustrating, but those are some hurdles you're meant to overcome by yourself. writer's block, burnout, not being able to make the words go right—we've all been there. it's part of the artistic process. because this is, at the end of the day, an art form—be it prose, poetry, original work, fic. and it just makes me really fucking sad that there's such an emphasis now on the finished product—the fact that it's even a 'product' to begin with—instead of... the entire journey. the honing of this skill—because it is very much a skill to master and continue perfecting. reading my work from 2017 (sadly do not have anything earlier) and seeing just how much i have improved in the last seven years is one of the most rewarding aspects of being a writer. knowing that what i do now i could never have done back then, and i would certainly never have learned if i hadn't constantly, continuously kept at it for those seven years. every bit of writing i do makes me better, more polished, represents a proverbial step closer to the mastery of this art form & becoming the kind of writer i want to be. i went from writing and very frequently being frustrated in those days that my piece couldn't compare to the fandom greats or the real life writers i looked up to, to now writing something and finding myself going back to it again and again, rereading it again and again because it's just that good. it's just that fucking good. and i got here all on my own, by putting in the time and the work, by pushing through the dissatisfaction and demoralization and self-doubt. it's a slow process, but so worth it. and some of these people will never have that, because there's a desire to achieve but no motivation to do the achieving. it's just so much easier to fire up chatgpt and have hours' or even days' worth of work in a couple of minutes after feeding the machine some prompts. "why should anyone bother reading what you didn't bother writing" and all that, but mostly, i just feel sad for what these kids are missing out on. because immediate satisfaction trumps a slow process, no matter how rewarding. i suppose

#n #ao3

[kissmetwicekissmedeadly]

4 years, 40 facts about me loving napo... let's go 🏃🏻‍♀️

...or as @leonscape called it, 40 "Mopoleon" facts?! (picrew link)

the date of our "anniversary", June 19th, is one day after the date of the battle of Waterloo 💀

both our given names are of Italian origin

we're both leo zodiac signs

our birthdays are 8 days apart, in the same month

he's my first otome route ever played

i've only played his route once, in July 2019

i've never seen his dramatic ending

my first impression of him on a teaser tweet of ikevamp EN was that he looks like an asshole, and I didn't like his looks either...

my falling for him was utterly illogical as despite these thoughts I put him on my phone wallpaper a few days later (still before the release of ikevamp EN)

as of right now ao3 says he appears in 59 of my posted works: the total number of fics I have published with him is higher as a few of those are stand-alones in a multichapter fic (napoleon bday prompts 2019 +9, yumeweek 2020 +5, mini requests +4, headcanons +11 ) ...he appears in about 1/3 of all my fics!

we share a hobby of reading biographies! the official ikevamp character sheets state it as his hobby

our height difference is 18 cm

the @xxsycamore blog exists solely because of him, as well as my passion for writing - I started this blog because I wanted to express my love in some kind of creative way, as previously (and for the longest time) I thought my medium would be art instead of writing

despite that, my first ever posted fic is not with him but with Arthur!

I've always loved languages but he had influence over my choice of learning especially french in uni. It's hell but I don't regret it at all

I have a playlist with sleepy-themed songs for him 🥺

birds are my favorite animals (any kind) and he has a pet eagle!!

our mbti personality types are a so-called perfect match! infp + enfj

I don't like black-haired, blue-eyed men because of him, it was my type before him too! (not many such ikemens around but I have a handful of faves like that from other media)

as the fictional napoleon bonaparte is light years away from the historical figure, I thought I wouldn't be interested in learning about him - until I ended up reading multiple books on him, the thickest of which 680 pages... while I don't mix the two in my head, the napoleonic era history (+ russian empire history) is still pretty cool to know imo!

there's hardly any writer around here who hasn't received a napoleon request from me at least once... I'm so sorry...

it is implied in the game that napo has kissed boys (they were taking turns waking him up and they all know of his habit......) which gives me enough reason to headcanon him as bi....like me 🥺

I really suck at completing the bday creation challenges I host for him, as last year I did 0 prompts and the year before that 2....but in 2019 I did 10!

I love making bday gifts. I love birthdays. I don't have the exact number but last year a lot of characters received a bday fic from me but not napo 💀 partly because I was shadowbanned back then!

the only real tradition I have when it comes to his bday is to make homemade crepes since it's his favorite food! but my favorite part is eating them...

I still haven't watched the movie "Napoleon & Me"...

I don't have much napo merch, but I do have the Naplushieon doll which is plenty

I was still in highschool (11th grade) when I fell for him 🥺🥺🥺 it feels like ages ago

I love the song written for the ikevamp stage play and sung by his voice actor Nobunaga Shimazaki, "Lucida", so much you can even find it and play it on my blog... recently some kind soul uploaded the whole version on youtube (I've been waiting for so long....) and I haven't been the same since

my dream napo merch is the clothes hanger with his neck and face so that I can hang my silly little sundresses on him (I'm going to make it on my own actually, just watch)

after having so many random fic ideas for him that will never see the light of day, I accepted the facts at last and now I feel so much better and more chill

I'm currently working on fanart series where I try to post one tablet-drawn art of him every month... I have trouble keeping them simple as desired sometimes but I'm having lots of fun while learning (I still consider myself fairly new to drawing with my tablet)

once I wrote a death anniversary fic for napo!

the best napo song i've discovered so far is Wings by Su!YoON!

I don't know. anything. about his sequel. i just know the cgs. not that is hard to avoid spoilers LMAO

my most favorite napo cg is the 5th bday one (where they're in a field of roses) (it was on my phone's background for a very long time)

my most favorite napo card...that's a trick question but I think the one that is on the left banner in my blog (desktop view)

yes, yes I do want to go to Corsica one day what about it. I have a lot of other dream trip destinations too!

yes, I do love Napoleon cake (It's a russian recipe) (it was my bday cake in 2020)... but so do I love a whole lot of other cakes...!

Fact number 40 is that I love Napoleon a normal amount 😇 nono listen!! I do talk a lot about him, and here I tried compilating facts that are not too cheesy: believe it or not there are days I don't think about him, ok! I never pressure myself to get all the event bonus stories, or to always have a fic ready for him... in a world where im a worrywart about anything and everything, he's my safe place? my chill place? And if I begin to think about the gigantic mass of things surrounding him that are exactly aligning with what I love, with what comforts me, with what traits im looking for in a person, i'm going to get dizzy. So let's end this here with me saying, ily so much Napoleon 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 im such a nunuche sometimes but im your nunuche ‼️‼️

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikevamp napoleon

[allylikethecat]

I would absolutely love to read your take on number 21 and 29, Matty and George (obviously) 😍

Yay!! Thank you for sending in these wonderful prompts! I decided to fill them as two separate responses. I hope that's okay! As always, I am having so much fun with these!

I also want to put a disclaimer / warning on #21 just in case. I decided to project my own body image issues onto Fictional!Matty (sorry Fictional!Matty) so, proceed with caution if that is something that any of you lovely people find upsetting 😊

❤️Ally

21. Kiss ... on a place of insecurity.

Matty felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs, he started sweating, panicking as he did another little shimmy hop, trying and failing to suck in his stomach. It was no use, there was still a good inch and a half between the button and the hole of his jeans, and no matter how he twisted, or contorted his body, he couldn’t get the pieces of fabric to overlap. Rationally, he knew he had gained weight over the last ten years. He had an arse now, a little bubble butt George liked to tease him while giving it a smack, but he hadn’t realized just how much weight he had gained.

The jeans he wore now,  the fabric clinging to his arse and thighs, unable to be buttoned, and digging into his sides had been too big for him when he left for rehab. His eyes welled with tears and he tried to blink them away. He knew he was being proper ridiculous. He was thirty four years old, he had gotten this particular pair of jeans when he was twenty four years old, a skeletal drug addicted child. Of course his body was going to change, of course they weren’t going to fit now. He took a deep breath. It just had never occurred to him he wouldn’t even be able to button them.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” George called, still sprawled out on the end of the bed, flipping through a music production magazine, right where Matty had left him. 

“Kinda,” Matty called back, wincing at the way his voice cracked. He turned to look at himself in the full length mirror, thankful for his bougie walk in closet, taking in the way the black fabric was stretched tight over the curve of his ass, the way the waistband dug into his sides giving him the appearance of love handles. The fans were going to be disappointed, he thought hysterically. 

He might claim to be off social media, but he had seen the tweets, he had seen the way they wanted him to wear “the jeans” and the Robbers shirt for Reading and Leeds. They were playing their debut album in full, they were using the old band logo to promote the appearance, the band’s social profiles were plastered with photos from that era. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, Matty knew he was a nostalgic fucker. Once he had seen the Tweet, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He wanted to wear the jeans and an old pair of Chelsea boots and while he might not have the Robbers shirt anymore, he still had an endless collection of slutty, gauzy, black button downs. 

He had lost the Robbers shirt ages ago. He was pretty sure he had actually thrown up on it in a parking lot in Arizona and George had left it on the curb, not wanting to bring it with them into the rental car as he tried to maneuver his semi conscious body into the vehicle. But he still had the jeans. They were in a plastic bin in the back of his walk in closet, packed away for safekeeping. It had felt weird to keep them, especially with the changing of times and the evolution of his personal style, but Matty hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with them, lugging them from Shoreditch to Hackney and now Queen’s Park. 

He wished he had donated them when he had the chance. He wished he hadn’t kept them. He wished he had lost the storage bin or left it at his mother’s house. He never would have made the trek up to Manchester for a pair of jeans. He would have ordered another pair online, in his current size, and he would have been none the wiser that the original pair no longer fit him. He wouldn’t be overcome with such an overwhelming wave of self consciousness. 

He still took his shirt off on stage, he still pranced  around with his shirt unbuttoned. Hell, half the time he was shirtless in his own home, they were having a heatwave in London and despite what he paid for his concrete sanctuary, the air was dodgy. His chest felt tight, and he wished he hadn’t left his phone on the bed next to George, tossed there when he announced he was going looking for the perfect outfit for Reading and Leeds. He needed to google what the fans were saying. He needed to check Twitter and Reddit, TikTok and Instagram and Tumblr, he needed to see if they had noticed. He was sure they had noticed, they noticed everything else about him. Of course they would have noticed that he gained weight. He just wondered why no one in his personal life had told him. He hadn’t even realized Patricia had been buying his trousers in a larger size until this particular moment. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” George said, stepping into the closet and leaning against the door frame to give Matty a leer, taking in the juicy curve of his arse. Matty turned away from the mirror and instantly burst into tears, wrapping his arms around himself to hide his stomach and the way he wasn’t able to button the jeans.

“Whoa,” said George, rushing forward, “Whoa, what’s wrong?” 

“Don’t touch me, I’m disgusting,” Matty said with a hiccup and George took a step back, blinking at him in confusion. 

“What?” he asked, bewilderment coloring his voice.

“They don’t fit,” he said, his voice small and wet as he looked up at George. 

“What doesn’t fit?” George asked, not following.

“My fucking jeans! The jeans! The ones the fans want me to wear! For Reading! Because we’re doing Self-Titled! They don’t fit anymore!” Matty said feeling hysterical. “I gained weight and now my fucking jeans don’t fit!”

“Matty,” said George softly, taking a step forward, to pull Matty into his arms. “Matty, love, those jeans are ten years old, I’d be worried if they did fit you still.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Matty asked, his voice muffled by George’s tee shirt, his tears staining the fabric with salt. 

“It means,” said George, pulling back to kiss Matty’s forehead. “That you were two stone underweight when you bought those jeans.” He pressed another kiss to Matty’s chest, in the center of his tattoo. “It means that I thought we were going to lose you in those jeans.” 

“Stop,” Said Matty, trying to squirm away, he didn’t want George to touch his stomach. He didn’t want George to look at it. 

“Nope,” said George, dropping to his knees to bring his lips lower. “It means that you’re healthy now, that you’re hot as fuck, and I can’t believe that out of all the beds in the world, you share one with me.” 

Matty flushed, cheeks and ears burning red as George kissed his stomach, licking along the waistband of the jeans where they were digging into his flesh, mouthing at the V between the two sides that wouldn’t button, nosing along the exposed waistband of his pants and nipping at his We are Kings tattoo. 

He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops and tugged, Matty wanted to die at the way they snagged over his arse, the stiff denim not wanting to yield to the curve, before they caught around his thighs. The discomfort and embarrassment killed the spark of arousal that George had been generating in his stomach. As if sensing that Matty wasn’t in the mood, was still feeling vulnerable, George rocked back onto his heels and looked up at Matty, his own arousal darkening his eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, before leaning forward again to bury his face against Matty’s stomach, and turning his head to kiss along the irritated, red indentation left on his side. Tentatively, Matty ran his fingers through George’s short buzzed hair. 

“I love you too,” he said softly.

29. Kiss…as a promise

It was raining. Because of course it was raining, they lived in London. It was always raining. But of course it was raining when Matty decided to show up on George’s doorstep, soaked to the bone, curls plastered to his forehead. Because despite being born and raised in the UK, despite having lived through more rainy days than sunny ones, Matty was always caught off guard by a rain shower. 

He was always surprised that it was raining. He would look up at the sky in confusion, the droplets sticking to his eye lashes like he couldn’t understand how the weather could possibly betray him in such a way. He had been sick constantly when they were children, always coming down with a cold after being caught in the rain.

It wasn’t that he didn’t own a rain jacket, it wasn’t that he didn’t own an umbrella or rain boots. He just never thought he would need it. He never thought to bring them. Despite his cloudy moods, it was always sunny in Matty’s mind. George wondered what his excuse was today, his justification. It had rained all night, and continued on into the morning. There was no way the rain was a surprise today. 

But it was only fitting then that it was raining now, that it was raining when he showed up on George’s doorstep like the hero out of a romance novel trying to win back the heroine. George wasn’t sure if he counted as a heroine. George wasn’t sure if wanted to be won back. (He wanted to be won back.) 

“What do you want, Matthew?” George asked, purposely keeping his voice flat and monotone, purposely not opening the door wide enough, purposely keeping Matty out in the cold rain, while he stood on the landing in a pair of basketball shorts and socks, the heat from his fireplace warming his back. 

He crossed his arms over his bare chest, watching Matty’s throat work as he swallowed hard, looking up at him from a few steps down. He blinked and shook his head, water dripped from his curls like a dog after a bath. George fought to keep from smiling at the mental image, it was like Matty as a naughty puppy having been caught chewing on his master’s shoe or having pissed on the carpet.

“Any time now,” George said again, he knew he was being an asshole, but he was getting a chill from the open door, and the water was inching closer to his socks. Everyone knew that wet socks were the worst feeling in the world. Matty was shivering, though he didn’t seem to be aware of the fact. The white button down he wore had gone translucent, showing off the distinct dark lines inked into his body. George could see his nipples dark pink and erect. He was sure to have been a sight to see on the tube ride. George wondered if he was here as Matty Healy, George’s oldest and closest friend, or Matty Healy the character on stage. 

George resisted the urge to tap his foot impatiently. If Matty was going to apologize, he needed to get it over with. Rolling his eyes, George went to shut the door, he wasn’t going to play this game anymore. He was tired, it was raining, he wanted to go back to his warm sitting room and continue watching Yellowstone. He was paying extra to stream it now that they were no longer in the states. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty said, his voice low and rough, something about his tone caused George to pause. 

“Excuse me?” he said, opening the door again. He had been waiting for an apology, but he hadn’t expected one.

Matty took a step forward, climbing the first step. “I’m sorry,” he said again as if he was testing the taste of the words on his tongue. “I’ve been a fucking twat and I’m sorry.” 

He ran his fingers through his curls, sending more water droplets flying as he took another step forward. There was only one brick step between them now. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I hurt you, I’m sorry that I embarrassed you, that I undermined everything that we stood for. I’m sorry that I’m so fucking selfish that I’m still standing here telling you I’m sorry because I love you more than I love breathing. I’m sorry that I put my foot in my mouth and I don’t think before I speak, and I make everything about me, and that I never learned how to take responsibility for my actions and-”

“Stop,” George said, running his own fingers through what little close cropped hair he had left, a nervous habit that he doubted he would ever break. “Please, just stop.” 

“But George-” Matty said, his voice taking on a breathless, desperate tone, he was crying George realized, he wondered if Matty had been crying the whole time. His saltwater tears mingled with the rain like the sky was crying with him. 

“Just stop.” said George, trying to make sense of the apology, trying to unravel it, trying to get to the bottom of it, trying to understand if that really was, what it was. He was stuck on the three words Matty had said, replaying in his mind like a scratched record on repeat. I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.

He stepped out of the doorway, down the step, so that he and Matty were now standing on even footing. It was still raining and his socks were getting wet. I love you.

“I love you too,” he said, surprising even himself with the way his voice cracked on the words. Matty looked up sharply, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I love you too.” George said again, reaching forward tentatively to brush Matty’s soaking hair out of his eyes. 

For someone that was filled with too many words, for once Matty was speechless as George leaned down and gently pressed his lips warm to Matty’s cold ones. It was their first kiss. It felt like a promise.

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #prompt fills #prompt fill #kiss prompts #drabbles #matty healy rpf #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 fanfic #matty x george #matty x george rpf #gatty #i hope i dont make anyone sad with the insecurity one #it is 100% based on me being upset about a pair of shorts from high school not fitting me #and then realizing those shorts were ten years old #and i have an ass now #and it would be more concerning if they DID fit

[sideburndanny]

You know, it sucks that the term “fake geek” is only ever used as a misogynistic slur against women in fandom spaces, created to feed the paranoid insecurities and victim complexes of socially stunted white men by fostering the idea that women are only pretending to share your interests to lead you on.

In my opinion, the “fake geek” label would be more accurately used against alt-righters who pretend to be part of certain fandoms just so they can create outrage and indoctrinate white male nerds into fighting their culture wars for them.

For example, I remember some time ago I said that the dude-bro hate campaign against the female-led Ghostbusters reboot was waged mostly by people who never really gave a fuck about Ghostbusters and just wanted an excuse to attack women. The same is true, I think, of other “white male nerd temper tantrums” of late.

The Star Wars sequels met with a years-long backlash of male nerds obnoxiously whining about how the new movies’ diversity was ruining the franchise they grew up with when the sequels really weren’t that much more diverse than the movies that came before, and whatever problems the sequels may have had are barely different from problems people have had with previous Star Wars installments. Of note is all the so-called fans calling Rey a Mary Sue whose existence goes against everything the franchise has been known for when she really doesn’t do anything Luke wasn’t capable of in the old movies. If I were a smug contrarian dickhead, I’d use this to assert that Luke was always a terrible character that the fans only like because of nostalgia, but since I still love the old Star Wars films and have mixed feelings about the newer ones, I think it’s more reasonable to conclude that neither character is perfect or irredeemable and the more rabid detractors only hate Rey because she has a vagina.

The insincerity behind these outrage-addicted fandom shit-stirrers only gets more transparent when the topic shifts to superhero movies and you have these self-proclaimed comic book diehards displaying a stunning ignorance of the subject they claim is so near and dear to them. Female-led superhero flicks are decried as products of modern “wokeness” and “political correctness gone mad” when the characters they’re decrying have been a huge part of the original comics for decades. The existence of the She-Hulk series prompted a tidal wave of fanboy outrage, whining that Marvel has “gone woke” and at one point saying that Stan Lee would be rolling in his grave… you know, the same Stan Lee who created She-Hulk back in the 70s! You’d think hardcore comic fans would know that Shulkie has been a major player in Marvel Comics for almost 50 years before finally getting any kind of significant outside exposure. Those who are really committed to the act will say that She-Hulk’s MCU counterpart is nothing like the original comics, but all the things they hate about her are also true of her comic counterpart.

It doesn’t get any better on DC’s side, as there were many fanboys who celebrated David Zaslav’s decision to cancel the Batgirl movie, saying that a female reboot of Batman would be an affront to comic fans everywhere… except anyone with even a passing familiarity with DC would know Batgirl was never “a female reboot of Batman”, but his sidekick and protege, a member of his extended family, and has been since she was created in the 1960s! I’m tempted to say “they would know that if they were REAL comic fans,” but Batgirl has appeared so many times in TV, movies, and video games that even people who have never picked up a comic book in their lives would be bound to know about her! Fucking hell, they can’t even claim their judgments are based on the leaked details about the movie-that-never-was, because even those scant details clearly explained that Batman still exists as a separate character in the movie’s continuity and they never intended to just retcon him into being a woman!

I think my point can best be summed up by taking a look at the alt-right sources that promoted GamerGate back in the day: a number of far-right people and websites had rallied male gamers into attacking feminists they accused of trying to destroy video games, all the while promising up and down that they would defend gamers with their very lives if male nerds just gave them power. Fast forward about half a decade later, and now those same far-right people and websites are saying that people who play video games are stupid filthy degenerates who are holding us back as a species — all the while more mainstream right-wing sources continue to repeat the age-old “video games cause mass shootings” myth. This proves, if nothing else, that GamerGate was never really about video games. It was about women having opinions and men not liking that.

[indecentpause]

Hi! I decided to check your stories on ao3 and see that you have 20?? original stories!

I am gonna start reading some but if you don't mind I have a question.

how you were able to write so much? and they seem to have similar themes but how can you write a whole different story 20 times?? that's pretty cool. I have not even written 1 yet but you inspired me now

Hello Anon!

So, the first answer didn’t come out right, and the second I accidentally deleted. Third time’s a charm? Heads up, I'm autistic and I overexplain things, so this is going to be kind of long.

Most of the stories labeled with Sheraton Academy, with the exception of two (one which is not finished yet), they were results of my wife @ohsugarfoot and I bouncing ideas back and forth on long drives. Most of those characters are from an old pbp rpg from decades ago, where we met through her character Josselin and my character Meara. We are two huge nerds who are not afraid to write self-indulgent self-fanfic! Something would remind us of a character, and we’d laugh about it, and sometimes that was it, but sometimes it would spark a conversation of ‘What if this happened? Then ‘what if this happened?’ And soon enough we have a bare bones plot, or at least some beats.

I highly recommend getting yourself a person like this! Whether you meet irl or just talk online, having a person willing to be a sounding board is SO helpful. Writing takes a long time, and it can get lonely! Having someone to cheer you on helps so much.

Some of others were often based on alternate scenarios with some of my characters (Stars in Our Hands was a genderbent ‘what if Darcey and Jordan were women, how would their lives be different in a similar setting and what would their relationship be like?) SOME were things I’d been mulling over since I was a teenager, and now I’m in my late thirties, so they’ve had plenty of time to marinate. (I wrote three chapters of the first Feeling Is First in high school, and then dropped it for fifteen years until I found an idea where the characters really worked). Most of the non-Sheraton stories were based on those initial characters and ideas, just bouncing around in my head for a decade or so! Most of them I kept to myself until they were finished, occasionally asking Sugar to look at things if I was stuck. Those were a little more lonely, but I loved the characters and telling there stories was really important to me.

In the meantime, I was sharing prompt-inspired short stories here on writeblr. I slammed them out three times a week. The first dozen or so got a lot of likes, but don’t let that fool you —most of them were people just saving the prompts I was using. I even had people reblog and delete my story so they had reblogged just the prompt (this was back when you could edit other people’s posts). It sucked! But I wrote them because I loved to write them, and I shared them here because I have a handful of friends who liked to read them. Again, look for the cheer-readers! Those are the people who will get you through the rough times.

Short stories and longform stories are totally different monsters, though, and writing something longform can take years. It’s a totally different skillset. It’s not like some other kind of art that take a few days or weeks to finish before you have something to share. That’s where things like writeblr come in! If you feel comfortable sharing works in progress, and you have a Tumblr, I’d highly suggest starting one of your own and sharing ideas! You can share excerpts, make playlists, if graphics are your thing you can make those! Involve yourself in tag games (there’s always someone making a list, and it’s a good way to meet people and make friends and acquaintances). Jump on the trends going around on Tumblr like the Comic Sans Powerpoint or the Netflix show template, off you’re able.

The internet is a big place. Eventually you will find your people. Knowing there are friends and followers and mutuals online who want to read your work is inspiring! Even if you’re a slow writer, knowing people are interested in your ideas helps so much. I know plenty of incredibly talented people who often just ramble about characters and worldbuilding ideas, too, and even that can be helpful. And it’s fun for you and for people who like your ideas to read! You can also maybe find a local writing group or discord group, although with those ymmv. There are a lot of crap ones. There are some great ones too, though! You just have to be patient and dig.

Also, keep in mind that despite the dates I posted them, I finished my first full length novel (Two Heartbeats on One Page) back in 2012. (Then of course there was beta-ing and editing and stuff, but that was when I finished the first draft.) And before that I wrote all the time in high school, even though I only finished one novel, and it wasn’t very good, haha. I had been storing these up for years (I didn’t post my first novel until 2016) and was hoarding them like dragon because I was plagiarized in high school, and I was so scared of it happening again. But then I realized that the community was worth the risk, so I jumped in.

AND THE MOST IMPORTANT THING HERE, I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH: I am unable to work a normal job due to physical and mental disability, and my wife is the breadwinner. While I am not always able to write, often because of those things, I still have more chances to pop out a paragraph here and there. If I can’t get out of bed that day I can jot down notes on my phone. When I was writing and working before all that, I wrote much much less. If you have to work, or go to school, or take care of someone, or take care of a property, it is much, MUCH harder. It’s totally doable! But it’s a difficult balancing act so it might very well take you longer than it would if you weren’t.

As for ideas, it sounds trite, but they can literally come from anywhere. Something you overhear on the train, the taste of a certain cookie from a coffee shop you visited for the first time, a song someone is playing too loud on the radio in the car next to yours, seeing something pretty at a park. Inspiration can come from not so happy places, too, bad events that happened to or around you or loved ones, things or people you’ve lost, ways your community is failing you. Not every story is happy or has to have a happy ending.

And most of all!!! Just WRITE. Write great stuff and good stuff and bad stuff and even worse stuff. Just write, and don’t delete anything. You might hate that one scene you wrote BUT perhaps it can serve some other person in a project later. I have so many bits and bats and scraps of writing saved up. Many I will probably never use! But every word you write is a good one, because you are practicing and getting better.

I’m so glad to have inspired you!! I know this was long, I hope you got to the end. ;-; And thank you for being interested in my stories. Good luck in your future endeavors, Anon!

#ask pause things #writeblr #writing is hard #writing advice #i don't know if it's good advice or not but i hope it helps #anonymous

[ninjago-bingo]

July Recap!

woot everyone!  another month just flying by, bringing with it this time 18 new pieces!  It’s been awesome to see everyone’s work so far, and I’m looking forward to what next month will bring :D

As always, if I’ve missed your piece, don’t hesitate to let me know!  This recap is in one post because I felt it more manageable than 50 XD

Art (low-res, click the link to go to the original post):

Bonds and trust by @emisnt2

Don’t trust Kai, Jay and Cole to cook together

Care by @jss-sucks

Out of all the ideas I could’ve chose, I chose “Little Lloyd in a box”

Golden by @eternityinfinitydivinity

Based on the “Golden Legend” short Ninjago put out on their 10th anniversary. By far my favourite of the shorts :DD

Habits and influence by @/emisnt2

When your little sister follows your swearing habit

Hugs by @/jss-sucks

“Haha! I love my little sister!”

Oni by @/eternityinfinitydivinity

I know that Golden Oni Lloyd probably has a mask, buuuuuut he looks much more awesome if he went full-on oni :D

Oni and blood by @destinymanticor

like a painful transformation? idk

Post-fight and impulsivity by @sebilini

After the battle the team searched for Zane’s body. They found it laying alone and destroyed among the rubble. But they had to leave it soon, as there were many citizens who urgently needed their help. They would grieve their friend’s impulsive decision for months to come

Return by @the9thghost

Same by @/emisnt2

Ninja but matching dino hoodies >:D

Fic

At Low Tide by @frozensoapbubble.  tumblr || ao3 || prompts: ocean and strength

A water dragon, living incarnation of the Endless Sea, saves the life of a young whale. The moment brings back memories – or rather, echoes of familiar words, fleeting images, shadows of sensations that the dragon had long thought forgotten.

If only she could remember what they meant.

Thank You, For Giving Me Wings by @weekend-whip​.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: care

Wu reflects on a question Zane asked him years ago, as only now can he comprehend the answer.

Ghost Story by @ace-of-spaces.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: ghost

After Cole’s turned into a ghost, he isn’t doing that well.

Jay’s decided to do something about that. Even if ‘something’ means an hour-long conversation.

Memorabilia by @/ace-of-spaces.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: merch

noun; A record of things worth remembering.

Or, Every so often, Lloyd and Kai would spend a day together in New Ninjago City laughing at how derpy the Ninja merch could be.

Nyctophobia by @/ace-of-spaces.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: lights

After the events of March of The Oni, Cole wakes up in the dark.

That is a recipe for a sure-fire disaster.

One Step At A Time by @unknownuncut.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: habits

Kai keeps noticing habits among his friends but one stuck out more than the others.

too fast / too slow by @21st-century-ninja.  tumblr || ao3 || prompts: bonds and trust

Soulbonds- soulbonds are special. They’re magical, even. They’re groups of people with souls so close that they strip down even the barriers of individuality, filtering impressions of thoughts and feelings between each member of the bond without even needing to speak aloud. Before a bond is completed, these impressions remain impressions. But once the last person in a bond comes of age and turns 16, all of the members gain total access to the others’ thoughts and the bond is complete.

Lloyd is 100 percent certain that Cole, Kai, Nya, Zane, and Jay are his bondmates.

Then his 16th birthday comes and goes with nothing to show for it.

You’ll Heal But You Won’t Be Fine by @/unknownuncut.  tumblr || ao3 || prompt: healing

It was kinda dumb now that Cole thought back to it.

@k1ngtok1​ @crappy-coffee​ @morro-owo @grollow​ @master-of-cosmos​@roantheboat​ @art-i-sticks​ @viioletpixels​ @miserable-flamango​ @ninjas-that-go @marsipain​ @redefine-your-identity​ @pangolinsandnewts17 @master-of-fluff​ @vampireautism @highfiveu-withaknife​ @peachyninjago​ @applecranberryjuice​ @mitzle​ @ice-emperor-zane​ @curious-corvius @ninjago4life​ @arellys-arts​ @kumamoo-hq​ 

#recap #ninbingo #ninjago #ninbingo 22

[concealeddarkness13]

Fictober Days 6, 26, and 29

I did all three prompts in one scene, so I hope that’s ok! 

This is original fiction from a new story that I haven’t talked about! So, there is a decent amount of exposition.

Content warning for language and mentions of past violence.

Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, and @drabbleitout!

“You love this, don’t you?”

I glanced over at the AI made from nanotech as he peeled partially off my shoulder and stared at me with as much indignance as his nanoparticles could. I had affectionately named him Steve, and he had agreed to the name. The nanotech was at my right shoulder. During a job gone wrong, I had a bad run in with a chainsaw, and my arm would have normally had to be amputated, but the nanotech held the arm and joint together and kept bacteria away from it. It also gave me a nice little AI who snitched on me whenever I used my magic to escape the holding facility. Yeah, I was stealing from a rich asshole’s residence, and of course, I had to go to the same place that someone was planning on assassinating the same rich asshole. And I didn’t get out in time to avoid the chainsaw or the cops. The cops weren’t terrible, honestly. They actually cared about people, but that meant they decided to send me to a place that was supposed to help me, but guess what? I fucking loved being a thief, so that place wasn’t helping at all.

I stood up from the rooftop that my portal had spit me out on. I had magic that allowed me to make portals. The only problem was I couldn’t control where I’d go if I tried a faraway jump, so I had no damn clue where I was. “Could you tell me where I am, since you totally already told the cops?”

Steve sat on my shoulder with a metallic huff. “I shouldn’t.” He paused dramatically, as he always did before smiling over at me. “But okay. I’ll tell you all about this place.”

I jumped off the roof and used a portal to jump into one of the buildings. It was quiet as I searched for a map. Steve started talking. “This city is called Fioria. It’s a couple countries over, so they won’t be finding you for a few hours at least. It is the capital of Shergin, and an important battle happened here just a few years ago. Shisto tried to conquer the country, and they got close, but the people of Fioria prayed to Fayr, and she responded and sent a malice after them, engulfing whoever wasn’t fast enough.” I glanced at him, and he stammered. “W-well, that’s what happened if you believe in the gods. For skeptics, it was probably more of a pandemic, and that’s why everyone is forcing a quarantine on Shisto.” He pouted a little. He was such a romantic. “If it was a pandemic, wouldn’t that mean everyone in that country is now dying? At least in my first idea, the malice stopped once the invading army left.”

“Then why is everyone enforcing a quarantine on Shisto? It’s not just because of the war.”

“Then everyone’s dying!”

I shrugged. “That fucking sucks. But I can’t believe those posturing bastards in that shining tower are actually gods.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. I didn’t need a map anymore, but I needed a good place to hide. Steve only sent them what city I was in. Might as well see how long it took before they found me. “Anything else I need to know about Fioria?”

“Oh! There’s an entrance to Arcadia here, close to this building, actually.” I hissed and walked back outside, looking around for the shining building and going the opposite direction. “I know you told me to tell you when there’s an entrance. But why?”

“No comment.” I looked around and found…the perfect place to hide and get some goods. A rich bastard’s home. If I stayed undetected, they wouldn’t let any cops barge into their home. Perfect.

Steve noticed where I was looking. “You are not going into a similar place to where you almost lost your arm.”

I grinned. “Of course. I’m doing it, shut up.”

He separated his whole form into his individual nanoparticles with a long-suffering sigh. “You’re so gonna get killed this time.”

“Nope.” I stomped my foot for the dramatic flair, and a portal appeared at my feet. I fell into a room that was rarely used and started searching around for goodies to steal. This was great! A quiet mansion with plenty of shit to steal! I could stay here for days, and no one would probably even notice me.

Steve stayed quiet to keep from alerting anyone, but there was no one around. I kept snooping around, stealing whatever I wanted for a few hours. Steve perked up and whispered, “They’re here.” I nodded and kept going, now looking for a place to hide.

Until I opened a door and a fucking shrine stared back at me. I froze at the depictions of the gods, my eyes falling on a particular one before I finally was able to move and immediately sent a portal up to the roof to get out of this fucking house.

Of course, that was right as the cops flew over the house. So, they definitely saw me. Fuck.

Steve glanced over at me as I sprinted across the rooftop, having to wait a few minutes until I could make another portal. The hovercraft flew right behind me, and I heard some stomping boots following me, so they were going on foot as well. Probably Jyn and Histi. They both loved the chase as much as I did.

And a smile was pulling at my lips as I jumped off the roof and into a portal, closing it before they could follow. I was now in the crowded market, and I slipped accessories away from people, and I even stole a jacket from a vendor and put it on, slipping through the crowd and hiding comfortably in them. The hovercraft flew overhead, and their footsteps followed. The hovercraft was scanning for me.

I whistled, and Steve sent some nanoparticles to cover my face as if he was a facemask to help stop facial recognition scanners. I kept walking, keeping my head down, but as I still kept aware of my surroundings, I realized that Histi was ahead of me, and Jyn was behind, and there was nowhere to go, so I made a small portal, but before I could fall all the way through and close it, Jyn grabbed my hand and fell through too. We ended up in a small area with cover from the sky, but he just smiled and kept hold of my hand. And I didn’t have the motivation to try to shake him off.

He laughed, his scarred face looking a lot less menacing with the smile. “Adaptable, I like that. Especially that trick with your AI. He must really like you.”

I sighed as Steve retreated back to his spot, and I couldn’t help but smile. If I was just always going to be caught anyway, at least I could keep trying to fool Jyn and Histi. They were fun, and I actually really liked them. “Fine. You caught me again.”

Histi ran up with a sigh. “You really had to go to the most difficult to get to spot?”

I grinned at her. “Of course! I have to make it at least a little hard for you. Can’t make it easy.”

Jyn laughed and ruffled my hair. “You gotta go back there, though. They’re trying to help, you know that, right?”

I shrugged. “It’s just a lot of stuffy people trying to tell me that they’ll make sure I won’t have to steal anymore. And that would be nice if I was stealing because I needed to, but I don’t need to, so there’s no reason to waste a spot on me.”

Histi even laughed at that, and Jyn shrugged. “We don’t make the rules. Since we’re here, I’ll buy you a snack first. They’ll probably lecture you for a while once we get back.”

#fictober 22 #writeblr #I don't even know the main character's name yet

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

If you try to be perfect for everyone else, it will destroy you inside.

Ah yes, combine the prompt that's about feeling guilty over faults in your decisions/actions even if you could've done very little (if anything) about it with the perfectionist character. That's totally not cliché or anything. This prompt fill had like 4 different attempts with other fandoms before my brain finally settled for the 5+4=9 possibility. Not sure if it's funny or sad. I usually try to be a bit more original than that, y'know? (Let's conveniently ignore I wrote "Working Through the Cold" with a case listed on TV Tropes for the trope and, three years ago, wrote "Broken Ribs" for Yu-Gi-Oh Arc-V's Shun Kurosaki as if that hadn't happened to the guy in canon. Original my ass lol).

Anyway, I don't even know why I like Subaki as much as I do. He's not even that good of a unit, even in Birthright, but I like him. His design is cool and a character like him is easy to torture (affectionate), I guess? The game gave me a good ol' "I'm arrogant because I need to seem perfect, so I brag about my own merits when they'll never be enough for my absurdly high standards", did you expect me not to slap my hands full of dirty fingers on it? Sakura's in here because 1. I like her she's cute 2. I actually like her support convo with Subaki. A lot of supports in this game outright suck ass, but theirs is fine, it actually gives a slimmer of a slimmer of personality to Subaki and confirms Sakura is, indeed, a very good person. Also, I have a soft spot for respectful, not-that-unbalanced subordinate-superior relationships, and liege-retainer is one of the least difficult to write, so... yeet.

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

A Stain of Camellia Oil

Summary: Perfection is an unreachable goal, an utopia of a state. By definition of being out of reach, it should be nothing but an ideal, absolutely not a way of life. Like everyone else, Subaki must've realized that some point - but not before it had poisoned him to the bone.

Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates (vague Revelation route)

Wordcount: 3K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​

AO3 version available here.

------

Disgraceful.

Utterly and disgustingly disgraceful.

Not to mention imperfect – but gods above, this really isn’t the time to ponder upon looking less than the ideal best a human could be.

 He’s better than that – Lady Sakura deserves better than that, better than a handler who can barely stand on his two feet, let alone one who’d mess up orders for a single, stupid calculating error. He, in fact, should’ve been much better than that. For her, for their army, for their people, for that other people with who they’ve gotten allied recently (and he won’t let anyone touch Lady Sakura among them, be they present as friend or foe, he’s seen too much not to doubt them, not to feel those urges to serve his liege to the death). In general, he could be better – should be better.

The idea bothers him more than it’d have bothered anyone else, if he’s to guess.

 Right foot, left foot. He has to stabilize himself on his naginata, his weapon of choice nothing more than a cane. He wonders, for a brief moment, where his mount has gone, then feels the taste of iron in his mouth and busies himself coughing. He should be better than looking like, being a defenceless child on the battlefield, lost among the corpses and the injured. He’s one of those two, at the moment, and may become the other if he doesn’t pull himself together – but gods above is he tired.

unbecomingly so

Every single fibre of his muscles aches, knees threatening to buckle every time he manages to put a foot forward. His vision is fraying at the edges, the floor twirling around him, blurry and dampened. The faraway cries of his allies and enemies alike melt together until the buzzing of his ears overwhelms everything, and iron continues pouring out. He has no idea where he is or who surrounds him.

disgracefully so

 The last thing he distinguishes in the ocean of black waters is a melodious voice with broken strings screaming a name simile.

Please forgive me, Lady Sakura.

  A blurry vision comes to him, first silent, then haunted by familiar sounds.

 Father looks at him with somewhat of a disappointed face. He, on the other hand, is scrambling to get back to his feet, albeit he tries to hide it. Everything hurts, from his head to his feet. His boots are soaked-through, his hair askew, his face covered in mud.

“Subaki, you need to get back up faster than this,” Father says. “Clean yourself up too.”

His knees are bleeding and he’s still dizzy from the hit he didn’t manage to avoid, yet he nods and straightens his legs, the rest of his hunched body following.

“Of course, Father.”

The man now wears less of a scowl and more of a moue.

“Good. You must be flawless to carry the legacy of our brilliant family. The royal family would not want anything else, would they?”

 Huh. What a weird thing to remember while on his deathbed.

  There are vague voices swimming through marshland around him, slowly making their way to him. Everything is monochrome, not quite black, a solid block of a colour he couldn’t possibly identify. He also can’t put a single name or word on the voices –the thumping inside his head is making it a very difficult task. It doesn’t exactly feel unsafe, even if the distinct smell of cherry blossom mixed with iron and sweat would’ve usually made him nauseous. It’s a wonder why his stomach hasn’t started churning yet.

He feels cold all around, every sense numbed as if he was buried in snow. He’s on the horizontal, yet there is something softer right under his neck – he finds he can’t move it, nor can he move most of his limbs, all heavier than lead. Even breathing has turned into a chore, the laboured sound of his own coming to him like a continuous admission of failure, all the while the feeling of fresh water on his skin slowly drags him away from the haze.

Wait. Something’s wrong here.

 He’s lying in bed.

There are people around him.

He doesn’t know any of their identities.

He must look beyond imperfect, like a raggedy doll dragged through the mud.

 Pushing himself on his limbs is a painful process; yet his efforts are only welcomed with hands on his chest pushing him back, and despite how soft the touch is (to the point he’s barely registering where they are), he’s unable to resist the urge to lie back down. This is somewhat of a humiliation – which shouldn’t be his main worry at the moment, but truth be told, being pinned to bed by what seems to him to be exhaustion is nothing new.

He can just fight it off much better than that, usually. Right about now, what worries him is the fact his eyelids are so heavy he can’t see who’s around him. He doesn’t seem to be in harm’s way, at least: if he had been, they’d have slayed him before he could’ve even attempted to wake up.

 A hand, almost too delicate to feel, lands on his right wrist, pressing a bandage against his skin with a silk-like delicacy. Only then does a voice finally makes sense to him.

“Please stay calm,” it says, a tinge of fear in its tremble. “You’re safe with us.”

“La…” His voice all but claws its way up his throat, coming out raw. “Lady… Sakura…?”

He finally manages to pry an eyelid open, revealing the edgeless face of his liege. To his chagrin and shame, he can’t read any expression on it.

“Indeed,” she replies, tone just as soft as her touch.

 There’s a lot weighing on his mind, most of it unanswered questions he can’t ask. How did he get here? Why is Lady Sakura here when surely she has a lot more duties to attend to? Why can’t he remember anything on the top of his mind, except for the nebulous feeling of warm liquid on his hands and dizziness? Why can’t he get up?

His sight clears up enough for him to finally distinguish where they are: a settlement their army has put up, inside of those tents which he was certain he’d never have the displeasure to see in his lifetime. The pedestal he spent so long building for himself has been more than shattered, which means the question is now to figure out how he’s going to gather the pieces and glue it back together…

 “You gave everyone quite a scare, Subaki,” Lady Sakura continues. Her face has now become clear enough for him to read her feelings (unfortunately, it’s another sign pointing to his failure as a retainer). “I… I thought you were going to…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence before she has recover her composure by controlling her unwoven breath.

“…to die, I assume…?”

He’s pretty much already dead in his legacy’s eyes, so may as well get this over with…

“Y-yes.”

She dries tears from her eyes again. The knife burrows even deeper in his chest.

“I’m… very sorry, milady…”

“Why… why would you apologize…?”

 The reasons pulse through his mind from the root of his hair to his aching eyes (only now does he notice a blob of fabric in half his nose, which would explain some of the pressure in his head), blinding like the direct sunlight. They come to him like drops of water in a lake, the waves they emit washing over him with shame and dishonour.

He has let down the army by falling to the enemy. His survival must’ve put in jeopardy some of his comrades. Lady Sakura has seen him unwoven, stripped to his bare basics, skin and feelings alike exposed for her eyes to see – and who’s to say someone else hasn’t seen him in such a shape? Oh, the shame, the dishonour of it all… and yet she doesn’t seem to understand.

Unfortunately, his voice can’t provide explanations nor the apology he owes her – he has neither the words nor the strength of tone for either.

 “Isn’t it… obvious…?”

“I’m afraid it’s very much not, Subaki…”

Why doesn’t she get it? Why won’t the words from properly in and out of his brain?

“I… should’ve been better… than that.”

Her face still isn’t clear, and his eyelids are being heavy again. No, no, he can’t let himself fall back asleep, that’d be unfitting…

“What do you mean…?” Lady Sakura’s voice is wavering even more now.

Why doesn’t she understand? Why isn’t it coming to her? And why can’t he properly explain?

“As both your retainer… and a member of your army…”

She doesn’t let him finish his reasoning.

“…you should rest, Subaki. I’m sorry for taking your time and energy like this…”

No, it’s… It’s not what he meant to make her do! He doesn’t need rest, that’s ridiculous; he needs to apologize and explain why he needs to apologize! Rest can come later – like it comes after logistics, preening his mount and working on his skills.

 The hand on his wrist leaves a cold wind behind it. Before the sound of furthering footsteps truly make sense in his mind, his eyelids have given out again, slightly lessening the pounding of his head, and he wonders why he shivers all over, why everything is so suddenly cold when earlier it was fine, if not a little warm.

Perhaps it’s the weight of his errors finally crashing down on him like the snow from the mountaintop.

  A conversation comes to him in a daze. Mother is staring down on him, discontentment in every pore of her skin, in every single line of her face. In her hands, a naginata with a reddened tip, a drop flowing down the metal and down to the ground.

 “Subaki! How come you are not fast enough?!”

“I am… I am trying my best, Mother,” he replies out of breath.

He can’t keep a coughing fit to himself. For a second, he’s worried about possibly spitting blood – yet he is blessed with nothing of the nature. At least, he thinks so. It’s been hard to think, lately.

“Trying is not enough! You must succeed, Subaki, not merely try!”

He staggers back to his feet. It takes all he has to remain upright, yet he puts on his best silent apology on.

“Of course, Mother.”

“You better be flawless in the near future. Your father nor I will tolerate any slump in your form and neither will the member of the royal family you are to serve.”

“I will be perfect, Mother.”

“As you should. Now, your preceptor has arrived to teach you in the military arts. Do not make him wait.”

 Oh, he remembers that day. He ended up fainting before he could make it to his lesson. Mother and Father rightfully set him back up on the correct path, reminded him the royals wouldn’t tolerate lateness, even less leaves of absence; so he got back up, plastered on a heavy smile, and listened to his vaguely-faced preceptor.

Unfortunately, he can’t remember the contents of the lesson – or why he had fainted in the first place.

  Waking up again is a far less difficult task than it was last time, fortunately. The fact he’s in his assigned quarters rather than the infirmary tent is rising a couple red flags he can’t ignore – let alone the shuffling noise to his right, which turns out to be Lady Sakura, her hands gently moving to stop him from moving.

He has no idea why she’s even here, but he’s a bit relieved he has regained some sort of energy, despite the pain and lethargy stubbornly clinging to his bones. He could ask, of course, especially since his throat is now less of a barren wasteland and more of a riverbank in the scorching summer… but would it be respectful to his liege? He has let her down enough as is.

 “I’m glad to see you awake, Subaki,” she tells him with a shy smile, her hands already rushing to the water pot in the corner of his eye. “You must be thirsty… I suppose so, at least.”

“It’s fine, milady, I can…”

Before he can even sit up, she’s already poured water into a cup.

“Let me help you, please.”

He freezes in his thoughts – and all of his habits turn into sand, slip through his fingers, leaving him ineloquent.

“W-what?”

She hands him the cup, which he takes with trembling hands (dammit, why he can’t he control that either…?), and it takes all of his self-restrain not to drink the entire thing in one go.

 His hair is down, every strand a shade of maroon shining hard against the sunlight peeking through the curtains. His skin is clammy, there are stains on the bandages he can see on his chest from where he is. His breathing is heavy and ragged. He’s barely even dressed in front of his liege.

Oh, this is a catastrophe.

 “I’ve been informed that you were already doing poorly before the battle even occurred,” Lady Sakura explains. “You’ve been sleeping very little, haven’t you?”

Pretend you’re perfect.

“I assure you, I sleep plenty for someone like me, milady…”

Dammit. This is way too weak! She’s never going to fall for this! Where’s your charisma…?

“You’re human just like all of us, Subaki… You need the same amount of rest as Hana or I do, yet I’ve been told you were only sleeping a couple hours a night. Despite that, you handle so many tasks and try to make it look easy on top of it…”

He’s trying to make it look effortless? Oh no…

“It may sound presumptuous, but I can assure you, Lady Sakura, I’m fine with it.”

The bigger the lie, the easier it is to swallow up, is it not how it works?

“I have a very difficult time believing this, unfortunately…” He shoulders slump. “Your body was begging you to slow down and let it rest. According to Hinoka, you got stabbed by an enemy soldier because you got a dizzy spell when he was about to strike… I’m afraid it wasn’t due to some tactical blunder.”

Subaki, you need to be much better than this.

“Words cannot express how sorry I am, Lady Sakura. This should’ve never happened.”

You better be flawless in the near future.

“Subaki, this isn’t… This isn’t what I’m trying to tell you…”

“Then… Then…” Control your breath, or else they’ll suspect you’re uneasy, and royals don’t want uneasy handlers, handlers have to remain cool and flawless in both their words and their form. “Then pray and tell, what is it, milady?”

“I’m just asking you to stop running yourself to the ground to seem perfect… There’s no need for that. Trying your best is more than enough. I’d rather have you make little mistakes than die on the battlefield because you’re too exhausted to properly fight…”

Your father nor I will tolerate any slump in your form and neither will the member of the royal family you are to serve.

“Well…”

He’s already lost the battle, hasn’t he? He’s shown a less than ideal form, one vulnerable enough to be struck by the first soldier headed his way. This is nothing short of the ultimate humiliation, isn’t it? Is there a need to keep face anymore, when it’s been poisoning his bones and drained every last bit of lifeforce from him for years?

“It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

 Lady Sakura looks down at her hands, then at the bandage on his right wrist. He hadn’t even realized he had a wound of some sort there. The fact he doesn’t even know tells more than words about whatever state he’s been able to sustain himself in for who knows how long… and it scares him more than he’ll ever admit to anyone, even himself.

Was that what his parents wanted from him, someone with a façade of perfection but none of the energy nor certitude? It’s left him with more cold-sweated fear and choking anxiety than it seems to be worth, at times, and now he’s facing the inevitable truth of the matter yet again.

 Perfection simply isn’t possible – only a mirage is, but now that the illusion is gone, he has no idea of how to proceed.

He simply isn’t the retainer his liege deserves, no matter what Lady Sakura may say.

 “I imagine it is,” she replies with a cautious tone. “For you to make yourself sick and pushing through it like you did, and for all the other things you’ve never let me or anyone else see… It must run deep.” She clutches her hands. “I suppose I’ll never understand. My siblings have always accepted me as I was, for who I was.”

“My parents merely set the bar high so I, as your retainer, could be the best reflection possible of you, a member of the royal family. Any mistake I make gets reflected on you and that I can’t allow.” He looks aside. “…couldn’t allow, I suppose.” He sighs, only to feel a burning pain strike him on the side. “I… I should’ve been better… than that…”

“Would… would you please stop saying that, Subaki?”

When he finally faces his liege again, he sees her face steeled with determination – this is the Lady Sakura of the battlefield, not the one Hana and he accompany in the castle or watch over during meetings with the royal family of Nohr.

“What’s done is done. I know better than anyone how hard you try and how much you work. If you’ve done your best, then you’ve done your best. Please… Please stop beating yourself over needing to sleep or getting injured! That’s just part of being human, Subaki!”

 He lets out a chuckle, puts a hand to the side of his chest that aches. He must’ve damaged some bones in there.

“Disgraceful. This is all so disgraceful… Being told by my liege to take it easy, of all things.”

“Subaki, I’m just looking out for you like you’re looking out for me…”

“I suppose that’s just how things are…”

He sighs, mindful of the state he’s put his bones in – and finally feels a smile coming on.

“Can you stop torturing yourself, from now on…?”

That smile, he gives it to her.

“I’ll do my best.”

 And with a levity he can only call relief, he lets himself lie back down, the sound of water poured and a bird chirping outside coming and leaving him.

#bad things happen bingo #fire emblem #fire emblem fates #subaki (fe14) #sakura (fe14) #i should have been better #bthb

[sarcasticfina]

I posted 2,616 times in 2022

18 posts created (1%)

2,598 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@absentlyabbie

@fullmetalfisting

@sarah-yyy

@holypiercednipplesbatman

I tagged 2,606 of my posts in 2022

#queue queue ca choo - 2,532 posts

#[text] - 746 posts

#series: 911 - 307 posts

#tv: 911 - 293 posts

#[twitter] - 229 posts

#otp - 225 posts

#eddie diaz - 181 posts

#evan buckley - 180 posts

#light of my life - 134 posts

#buddie - 107 posts

Longest Tag: 105 characters

#tho i find indigenous to be a very large umbrella depending on what country of origin we're talking about

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I wanted to congratulate you on quitting! I know it’s a scary thing to go through but you will be so much happier in the long run! And I really hope your next job is one you love 💛

ref post

thank you! <3

this is 5 months late, but i just wanted to let everyone know that quitting really was the best thing i've ever done. the sheer amount of relief i had at leaving an incredibly toxic working environment that was just filled with a lot of lateral violence and an abusive manager. i sometimes miss my coworkers and the clients, but how i felt 5 months ago, not just about my job but about life in general, is vastly different to how i feel today.

i found a wonderful job that i love, that i'm good at, and that has just embraced me whole-heartedly. it's supportive, the work is fulfilling, and my team of coworkers and management are all fantastic. it helps too that i got a $5 raise, which means that i can comfortably pay my bills, create a safety cushion, and send money to my sister who has been dealing with a lot of medical issues.

my head is clearer and i'm feeling so, so good about the transition. it was scary as hell to walk away from a job i'd been doing for 4.5 years but it was so worth it and i'm so grateful that i did.

20 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

#4

fic: i'm not yours (but i can be for a night) category: harry potter ship: hermione granger/james potter rating: explicit/nc-17 prompt: pictured above tags: marauders!era; friends with benefits; first time word count:  9,806

preview:

Hermione reached an elbow over and bumped his. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Uh…" A flush filled James' face. "It's kinda personal. I probably shouldn't."

Hermione's eyes narrowed curiously. "How personal?"

"Just… I guess I was wondering if I was the only one in our year that hasn't… That's still…" He glanced at her and then away. "Everyone I know has already had, uh…"

"Sex?" Hermione couldn't help a beat of surprise. "You haven't then?"

"Have you?" he blurted nervously.

Hermione watched the pink fusing his cheeks turn even darker. "No."

read more: ao3 ↳ please try to leave a comment / kudos!

23 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

#3

i've been on tumblr for like a decade or so now, and for the most part that's been a good experience. i stick to my fandoms and my mutuals and i write my fic. every once in a while, discourse wanders my way and i get to decide to engage or not. i have no interest in engaging currently. the very idea of arguing with people over something we either love or hate in opposing fashion sounds and is exhausting. so, i fully invite anyone who just doesn't like or agree with me to block me. it doesn't have to be deep. we like/think/want/feel different things and there's this nifty option to never see/hear from each other again that can only improve both of our lives. so like... do that. ✌️

36 notes - Posted August 27, 2022

#2

finally quit a job that was sucking the life out of me

62 notes - Posted February 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

this whole time i thought blorbo was another fandom ya’ll were in and not a term of endearment for characters you like. that word scrapes the soft tissue of my brain. it makes me think of minions and my feral little mind wants to ritualistically sacrifice it to a pagan god.

180 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #long post

[they2aproblem]

Post #005: Final Fantasy X

It's still not good. I am about 12 hours into Final Fantasy X and it's still not good. Final Fantasy X is one of the numerous titles that I originally thought that I had dog-piled because I wanted to mirror the sentiment of the "angry video game reviewers." I wish I could say that this game is better than I remembered when I first played it 10 years ago. It's not that I'm young either, I just played this game 10 years after it's release. This game came out in 2002, during my sophomore year of high school and I'm certain that 16-17 year old me would enjoyed this game. Time has not been fair to this game. I was hoping that I would be able to view Final Fantasy X in a more favorable light this time around like I did with Final Fantasy XIII earlier this year.

The problem with the characters is that they're stupid. Every single one of them. Tidus is supposed to be the reluctant hero. He's thrown into a situation that is unfamiliar, he wants nothing to do with it. He's thrown 1000 years into the future because Auron sucks. Yeah, I hate Auron, Auron is an irredeemable tool. Everything has to be explained to Tidus as a vehicle to explain things to the player. We're supposed to feel some sort of connection to Tidus, we're supposed to view ourselves as Tidus. The problem with that is Tidus sucks. Wakka is dumb as a post. Lulu is there so players can look at her ginormous spheres. Kimari would make a better protagonist for the sole reason he has little to no dialogue. Yuna is equally as useless as Tidus but at least there's a reason for her existence. In fact, maybe Yuna should have been the main characters. She's been sheltered for most of her life, has no idea of the outside world, needs the other party members to explain what's going on. Yuna is far and away a better choice as a main character than the emotionally stunted soccer player, Tidus. I've left out Rikku because I haven't gotten far enough to the point where she becomes a PERMANENT party member. From what I remember, Rikku was trying to find an alternate solution to the story.

The battle system is nothing more than just putting the correct shaped peg into the correct shaped hole. Each character is responsible for fighting against the corresponding enemy type. Tidus fights regular enemies, Lulu fights the magic enemies, Wakka fights the flying enemies, and Auron fights the enemies with shields. There is no complexity here; it's square peg goes in square hole, circle peg goes into circle hole, triangle peg goes in triangle hole.

I can't like this game. I have tried once before and I'm trying again now. It's just not a well made game. The characters are bad, the "plot twist" if you can call it that, makes for a very basic story, and the battle system feels like something a toddler would enjoy. A lot of times, there are games that do well when they are the first of its kind. Final Fantasy X was the first RPG on PS2. Going from the 32 bit look of Final Fantasy 7, 8, and 9 to a more cinematic look on the PS2 prompted this game to sell as well as it did. This game unfortunately punched above it's weight class and prompted Square to release a direct sequel. I am not looking forward to playing that game once I finish Final Fantasy X but I remember it being somehow worse. Final Fantasy X is just not worth the time.

[jackleg-penwright]

Jackleg Penwright

My name here is Jackleg Penwright. Technically, here there’s a hyphen and on AO3 there’s no space at all, but it boils down to my name here is Jackleg Penwright.

I had another name on AO3 before this one, and discovered that I had, in fact, created this tumblr under that name some months ago (I think I wanted to comment on the tumblr of a writer I’m a big fan of, and made this account for that purpose). But I never really liked the name I originally chose, so when I decided to dive into writing again, it seemed like a good time to choose a new name.

I’m not always great at picking names, but this felt somewhat right. I found "Jackleg" when I was looking up synonyms for “average” or even “mediocre,” because as I said in an earlier post, I am not a writer. 

I mean, I do want to be, and I think I’m working my way there - but I don’t want to raise expectations (especially my own) too high right now. The way to become really good at something isn’t to be born with talent (though it doesn’t hurt), it’s to spend many many hours “doing the work,” as my acting teacher loves to say. So that’s what I’m doing - I’m committing to a place where I consistently do the work. I make no promises regarding quality, though I do believe I have potential. But this is a place to explore with no pressure, to try things out knowing the results don’t have to dazzle. 

Why’d I choose Jackleg? Mostly, it’s a cool word. It’s also really old-fashioned, and I enjoy old fashioned things. When I was a kid (I’m forty now), I loved to watch The Woodwright’s Shop with my dad. This was a man who lived in Colonial Williamsburg, and had a tv show on PBS where he created things out of wood using methods that would have fit within the time period of his chosen hometown. He would have fit in just right on YouTube. (aside: on my one and only visit to Colonial Williamsburg, I found someone to tell me where his house was, but alas he was out of town).

That’s actually the main reason I chose Penwright. Well, the “wright” part of it. It means a creator, a crafter working in a particular medium. As I created this tumblr to be a place where I hone my craft in the medium of the pen, i.e. writing, it seemed a suitable title. 

That said, I’ve recently realized that “penwright” could have another meaning as well. A few years ago I participated in Inktober. As with writing, I don’t draw all the time, or even anything close to it. But I do think I have some talent, and I’d like to nurture that as well. 

So on this blog, I’ll be doing a few things. Sometimes, like today, I’ll be meta-ing - talking about my process or my ideas or just what the crap I’m doing on here. Other days, I’ll post stories I’ve written, mostly using the “random parameters” hashtag and listing the parameters at the top. And other days, I’ll share some of my pen-and-ink sketches. Mostly as I create them (though they’ll go in the queue I’m setting up, which means maybe it’ll be a few weeks from the day I do a sketch or write a story and the day you, faithful viewer (hopefully I’ll have a few of you eventually), get to see it), but occasionally I’ll go back to earlier works, which I will tag appropriately.

Some of those earlier works will, doubtless, be quite embarrassing. But maybe that’ll be encouraging to some others of you who are also doing the work and uncomfortable with being not very good. You can’t get good without going through the “not very good” stage, and sometimes it sucks but if you have a safe place to put your stuff out there without worrying that it’ll be torn to shreds, then you’ll be a lot more likely to keep going with it. 

So there you have it. 

I am Jackleg Penwright. It’s nice to meet you.

P.s. just for fun, here’s my Inktober 2020 drawing for the prompt “Coral”

#meta post #my name #refining my purpose #sketch #TARDIS #do the work

[alltheangstmygifttoyou]

So like, I knew that the last six or seven times I went to make a tumblr post something got me distracted and discarding the draft not liking where whatever I was saying was going (or just knowing that even i wouldn't be able to understand whatever the hell i was saying, which happens often unfortunately). But fuck mothers day feels like agggggeeeesss ago. So June. Turned 21. Still can't get an appointment with the cardiologist. Getting an mri to check for a pontenial miscrospic tumor in my pituitary gland. Boy that was stressful the week all I knew was maybe brain tumor is the problem. Apperantly even if it turns out I do have the microscopic tumor its fine, just check on it once year like my thyroid to make sure it stays tiny. Doctor said every 10 out of a hundred people have this (why she didn't simplify it to 1 in ten idk but im going to assume the doctor knows what they're saying more than I do.) And it normally doesn't grow. My strength and appetite are steadily improving, although bending over or squatting sucks the energy from me rapidly. Other than that there was a tiny amount of family drama but everything I witnessed was civil enough so that was cool. I have no creativity still, and stamina for any sort of writing/drawing is gone. Havent been able to make myself use my laptop in weeks once again. But I did find an app for my phone to have it read my own documents to me which is soothing and helps keep it all fresh in my mind. Been using prompt books to try and think about original fiction again. Don't know if I mentioned taking a summer class and then dropping it but that happened. I am starting to wonder if my repetitive days of mostly isolation and internet access is how seniors in nursing homes feel. Because I'm starting to understand why no one wants to go to one even if it means more help around. There's so much stuff I could be doing but my mind and body don't cooperate and its just my own thoughts and something else running something im not paying attention to. Normally taking refusge in my mind just means daydreaming, but no creativity = no daydreaming. All of this to say: here's what little I've gotten myself to do

Content warnings: skull imagery?

I've been playing with stamps and how I can mess with them. Also a little painting of a butterfly and cat. Drawing notes for class, new pen colors, and a story idea for a tau fic brainstormed and has not been touched since. Messing around with my washi tape. Want to start working on making collages and multimedia works to try and spark inspiration (and feel less guilty for barely touching hundreds of dollars in art supplies). Organizing is still a thing, need to hurry it up if I want the garage sale to happen mid July. There's just so much. Like, my toddler toy bin has been uncovered and I have to try hard not to be sentimental and keep a bunch of old toys that I will never touch again because memories. Anyway its almost one in the morning so im going to bed. I hope you all have been doing well (or as well as one can in these times...) and I wish you all motivation for your wips!

#art #life update #still unemployed #tw skull #health progress for me #it shouldn't have taken 45 minutes to write this post

[florenceisfalling]

"please don't leave me here" with jackie and anyone? 👀

i wish i had a record of when you sent this ask but im pretty sure it was over a year ago. anyway now that you have like zero investment in this fandom anymore, here's saidi/mantodea again

i literally watched like 15 videos abt electric locks for this but i didn't want to try to describe "bridging contact points" and shit in a tense scene so u got,, an attempt here. also i barely talk about jackie so to those who dont know: he's in a long fight against an ex-friend of his named daniel who owns a really shitty corrupt company. anyway

Jackie's heart is beating like a drum, like a hammer, like the hand he hears slamming against the door in front of him.

"Hoodie!" Mantodea's muffled voice screams, "I know you're there! Don't leave me in here, asshole!"

Smoke is rising all around him, knocked over shelves spilling out their contents on the grey concrete floor. It smells acrid in here, and it's getting hard to breathe; the heat presses as a vice on Jackie's face. Yet he hesitates, his gloved hand not quite grabbing the door handle. This could be a trick, couldn't it?

As if on cue, there's another bang from the other side of the door, followed by a yelp - it must be hot to the touch. The voice returns, most the rage sapped from it and replaced by panic, "Please don't leave me here!"

That settles it. JB reaches out, trying the door handle and being stopped by the metal click of the lock. Shit. It's electric, now-melting rubber buttons sticking out of it, and he doesn't have a code. He doesn't have time to get a code.

He decides on the age-old method of bashing the crap out of it with his baton.

The metal dents and bends under the pressure until a seam eventually splits and he can jam his fingers inside. He rips off the lock's cover plate and lets it clatter to the ground. The flames that dance across the book shelves and walls are licking at his back now, drawing closer on the floor and making it hard to see past the blurry tears in his eyes. He fumbles around in the maze of metal and wires for a minute until he manages to pull back the spring of the lock, yanking the door open before the metal pin can slide back in place to crush his fingers.

Mantodea stumbles forward, gasping in relief and grabbing his shoulders to keep herself stable. Cursing and shaking, she waves around an unmarked folder before she drops one side of it, letting every page fall out. "Blank! They're all fucking blank, it was a trap!"

She coughs and the folder is shoved into Jackie's chest, where it, too, slides to the ground. To keep her up, he wraps his arm around her and starts to move towards the exit; he feels a sudden burst of gratefulness for the masks they both wear over their mouths and noses.

While JB has his eyes set on getting out, Mantodea looks ready to kick and scream and snap someone's neck. "I - I can't believe I thought it'd be that easy- th-they nearly killed me! And it's all for nothing, the stupid pages are blank!"

The duo scrambles over broken pieces of furniture covered in flames, barely breathing through the smoke and barely keeping themselves from the scalding heat. Jackie swears he can feel blisters forming on the few exposed parts of his body, but finally they reach the door with the glowing EXIT sign, and they tumble into the street with raspy coughs and wheezes.

After a few minutes of catching their breath and dialing the fire and rescue service, Jackie finally and exhaustedly pipes up, "Why did you care about the pages? Wouldn't you... wouldn't you want those company files destroyed?"

Mantodea glares at him, some of her now-singed hair hanging in her eyes. "You... you think I'm on Daniel's side? Jesus, no. Whoever baited you here lied to me, too."

Jackie sighs with relief despite himself at the confirmation that she's on his side. She doesn't stand on enemy lines like he thought, oh, there's hope in the world.

But that leaves other problems.

"We have to get out of here," she says, a snarl marring her face.

"Wait, wh-why? The fire brigade will be here, and then-"

She shakes her head and raises her hand to stop him. "No, no, you don't understand. Daniel's been trying to smear you and me both, remember? Who do you think he's going to blame this arson on?"

A few moments of silence, followed by a short and simple "...Oh."

They leave the street in quite a hurry after that.

#i fucking hate this #this was my original idea for this prompt a year ago and it sucks as much now as it did then #i think im gonna change pretty much all of jackie's lore. because i hate it #and i dont like how i wrote this but FUCK IT i did not watch all those lockpicking videos for nothing #lmao anyway. yeah just wanted to get some of these old prompts out of my inbox #fic requests #my writing #my fics #my ego posts #my ego hcs #jackieboyman #jse egos

[9tzuyu]

closest to me

prompt: coming out to natasha as nonbinary

note: totally meant to write this months ago, but whateverrrr. and yes, i am aware that not all nb people use they/them, this was just my own little work :p.

warnings: being scared to come out to ur sexy redhead russian of a gf :[

i’d tag but i also don’t want to somehow trigger someone :[

thank u moli for proofreading i love u to the moon and back.

. . .

you’d come out to two of your close friends, ones you knew wouldn’t judge you. they’d taken it just as expected, but that was no surprise when you’d known them your entire life. your shared opinions and thoughts were what brought you together in the first place. 

your friends immediately began using your correct pronouns, and you’d never felt more right in your life. it was refreshing to hear yourself being referred by they/them rather than she/her. their constant support made you feel normal again. after so much struggling, things were finally being put into place.

but there was one person, one very important person whom you hadn’t come out to yet, and that was your girlfriend.

natasha.

the thought of having the conversation alone with her was terrifying. granted, you knew she’d never be anything but supportive, but all the what if’s came flooding through with each attempt you made. 

your fingers trembled as you fiddled with the silver chain around your neck, a nervous habit you’d seemed to form over the years of wearing it. 

god you wanted to tell her so bad.

but as you stood in the kitchen, natasha’s hands around your waist, you began to panic all over again. the familiar fear of judgment wrapped around your throat. 

you didn’t know natasha the majority of your life like you did with friends, so you weren’t really sure what her exact opinions on different pronouns were. sure, she was part of the lgbt community, and of course she was supportive of trans people, but it still made you wonder how she’d feel about pronouns that weren’t he/him or she/her. 

“what’s on your mind, baby? i can practically hear the gears turning in your head.” 

you sighed. natasha always knew when you were lying, so you couldn’t make something up off the top of your head. she wouldn’t force you to talk either though. she’d give a push, but nothing more until you were certain you were ready — or in some cases, when she knew it was becoming too much to bear on your own. 

“just dumb stuff. i’ll get over it soon.” 

natasha nodded against your back, containing her concern for now. “you know i’m here.” she whispered, taking one of your hands away from your necklace.

“want to go downtown? we can look at some of the new shops that just opened up” 

you smiled, “sure.”

for the next few weeks, you weren’t seeming to find any relief though, and natasha picked up on it. she tried her best to make things easier for you, but none of it seemed to work. 

time and time again you reassured her that nothing was wrong, that things would clear up on their own, but another month down the road and natasha could still sense that something was eating away at you.

it’d gotten a little more obvious now. you didn’t go out as much with her when she was with her friends. the constant referral to you as something, or someone, you weren’t was a steady reminder of how outcast you’d originally felt when coming to terms with who you are. 

“she/her” felt like a slap in the face every time you heard it. the words were exhausting, damn near agonizing to hear. but day after day you tried to suck it up out of fear of being rejected by one of the very special people you loved most. 

it wasn’t until one sunday night when natasha came home to you crying in your shared bed when she’d finally had enough. her worry was through the roof and seeing you struggle so much pained her. 

she dropped her keys on the nightstand and crawled into bed behind you, securing her arms tightly around your figure. 

“talk to me. whatever it is, i want to hear about it.”

but that only made you cry harder. you couldn’t help but feel more alienated than you already felt. why were you crying over such a stupid little thing? you could already hear the false words slip from natasha’s lips.

“hey, baby. shh, shh, you’re okay.”

you turned your body to face natasha, teary eyes looking into hers. “you might hate me, or think i’m weird, or a freak, or that i’m just confused.” 

your girlfriend gently combed through your hair with her nails. “i could never think those things about you. please tell me what this is about because i have no idea and i just want to help.”

her steady hand movement rubbing your arm while the other twirled your hand between her fingertips eventually brought you to a more reasonable state. 

“you know how trans people typically go by their opposing pronouns?”

“mhm.”

“well... i don’t- i just- god this is so frustrating!” you frowned, unconsciously grasping at the chain around your neck.

“are you trying to tell me you’re trans?”

“no, no, it’s not that. well, i don’t think so, depends on who you talk to. some people like me consider themselves to be classified under the trans umbrella, but not everyone.” 

natasha hummed once more while tracing small shapes against your skin. 

“what do you think of nonbinary people? like, you know, those who don’t use she/her or he/him?” 

she shrugged, and your heart sank for a brief second before she spoke. “i don’t have a problem with it. why?”

“i don’t like being referred to as she/her. my pronouns are they/them. i’m not a man and i’m not a woman... will that ever bother you?”

a smile broke out across the redhead’s face. “doesn’t bother me one single bit. i love you for you, y/n. not for who you think you’re supposed to be.” 

relief was all you could feel. as cliche as it sounded, the weight of the world felt like it had been lifted from your shoulders. you didn’t have to worry anymore, not while natasha was around.

“is this what’s been bothering you for so long?”

you reached over and grabbed a loose red strand, it was your turn to play with her hair. “yeah. i knew you wouldn’t judge, but-”

“what if.” she confirmed and you nodded. 

“does anyone else know?”

“just my two friends i grew up with.”

“no one else?” you shook your head, looping a red curl around your finger. “nope.”

“is that why you stopped hanging out with me, tony, clint and the rest of them? because everyone referred to you as she and her?”

“yeah, felt like a punch in the stomach every time i heard it. made me feel weird, not normal i guess.” you mumbled, almost embarrassed by the confession.

natasha placed a long kiss on the top of your head, rubbing your back for extra support. “they would never judge you, i’d cut them off in a heartbeat if they did. if it helps any, i can ask how they feel about it? poke around some and let you know what they say? then when they don’t have a problem with it, which they won’t, you can come out when you’re ready, yeah?”

you nodded again, although it was slightly hesitant. “sounds good.”

“forgive me if i mess up a couple of times. i’ll try not to make a big deal out of it and just correct myself.” another kiss was delivered to your head.

“oh! last question. promise.”

“yes?”

“when im around other people and you’re not with me do you want me to use they/them? i don’t want to out you when you’re not ready.”

“i swear you’re perfect,” you giggled. “but you can use they/them both when im with you and when i’m not. just try to keep it casual? please?”

“anything for you, sweetheart.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #black widow x reader #natasha x reader