#I’m sure this exists as a fanfic somewhere
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Cant wait for Alecto where Harrow fixes Gideon’s Chunt in a scene that parallels the bone-arm reconstruction scene with Ianthe, except it will be so achingly emotional. With Ianthe Harrow is satisfied because she reclaims part of her agency in proving that she’s still a master of her art. With Gideon, Gideon is the one that will be given agency and by Harrow. It will be a deconstruction of their relationship prior - Gideon who only ever wanted to give and Harrow who could only take. Gideon as martyr. It will be symbolic and it will be painful because Harrow doesn’t only know the bone, Harrow knows Gideon. It will be like the first time they fought alongside each other, except quieter, closer. They’ve both lost something of themselves and this is an action, a symbol of recovery and of connection. Of potential rebirth.
#I’m sure this exists as a fanfic somewhere#but I’m having Thoughts.#the locked tomb#meta#griddlehark#jp musings
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CHAPTER 3
Ghost x Reader x Konig
Neighbor!au and Roommate!au
About me | Masterlist |
Author's note: Hey hey hey! It's been a while hahahs I actually have chapter 4 and chapter 5 planned out but i havent got the energy to write them :') All i can say is that everything in this story has been going too well right now... >:)
(Also if you have any fanfic ideas/ asks feel free to send an ask or dm me :D)
You’re waiting once again for Simon to pick you up from work. It’s now become an almost daily thing for a month now, the two of you. You’d finish work, Simon would show up in his pickup truck and occasionally the two of you would eat dinner together.
Okay, you do partially feel as if you’re cheating on Konig in some way by having dinner with your neighbor (Konig said he had a work emergency and he was going to be gone for a month or two), but your roommate wasn’t here to keep you company anymore and you weren’t willing to eat dinner alone after being so accustomed to the company you had.
Today, the atmosphere in the car seems a little different than the rest. Just a little, though. You decide not to comment on it and buckle your seatbelt before he starts driving. “How was work?” Simon would ask the usual question. “Fine,” you would reply tiredly with a sigh. The two of you would fall into a domestic routine in such a short time, yet neither of you ever really questioned it.
The patter of rain provided a relaxing white noise as the two of you sit in comfortable silence, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. The streetlamps glisten and you turn to see Simon in his balaclava that he wears only when going on missions.
“I’m going to be deployed. Tonight.” He finally breaks it to you. “Oh.” You reply, but you can’t be sure if it sounded sad or understanding. Maybe both. “Do you know when you’re coming back?” He shrugs, eyes still fixated on the road. “I’m thinkin’ 2 months at least.”
There’s another silence that follows, but this time around it’s filled with a lot of unsaid words waiting to be spoken into existence. Simon turns to look at you. God, he wishes he didn’t because the red from the traffic light paints your features in the best way, and he doesn’t think he could forget this moment anytime soon. “You’ll be fine without me yeah?” Simon finally asks. You feel like there’s a secret message lying hidden somewhere in the question by the way he looks at you, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
---
You spend your days without Simon and Konig counting. Counting how many days it’s been since they’ve been gone, and the times you accidentally cook food for two. Today marks the 2 month mark, and to be honest, you still haven’t gotten used to your apartment engulfed in darkness when you get back from work. You sigh.
---
Simon spends his days counting unconsciously. He takes another long drag from his cigarette and watches the smoke slowly disappear into the night sky outside of a bar the team decided to celebrate their victory at. It’s a little chilly. Winter is approaching, and he hopes you’re warm and tucked into your apartment right about now. Soap stands beside him, accompanying him. “You goin’ home for Christmas, L.T?” he says. Soap expects Ghost to say no, or to say something along the lines of spending the holiday alone.
Ghost gazes at the stars which is something he doesn’t really do since he was a kid and god, he swears he still sees your face as the stars twinkle. He hums. “Got a Christmas gift for someone. Gotta give it to ‘em somehow.” Soap’s taken aback at his answer but chooses not to pry too much into his private life. Not this time at least. Suddenly the bar cheers with happiness and the clinking of beer bottles. “Happy for ya, L.T.” Soap says as a small knowing smile spreads on his lips.
---
Ghost spends the time taken for the trip back to his civilian life decompressing and when he reaches home, he wants nothing more than the dinners the two of you had before he left for the mission. But he decides the moment his duffel bag hits the floor, that he really, really needs to sleep first. That doesn’t stop him from thinking about you though, cause he dreams of the moment when he picked you up from work in his pickup truck.
You’re ecstatic when Simon tells you he’s back. You prepare dinner, finally making food for two (or three, with how much this guy eats). And you’re basically skipping when Simon knocks on your door.
Dinner with Simon is calm yet filled with excitement and happiness. You both catch up on each other’s lives, and you tell him about everything he’s missed out on since he left. You tell him about the stray orange cat that found its way into your apartment once (you still have no clue how) and has now become a visitor occasionally — you leave out the part where you subconsciously named it after him.
You’re washing the dishes and Simon’s keeping the leftovers for your lunch tomorrow when the topic of long distance relationships get brought up. “I mean, it must be hard to maintain relationships, right? Especially since you don’t get to see each other for ages.” Ghost hums in agreement, a sign that you’ve learnt to understand that he’s listening to you intently. “I can’t imagine working in the military is any easier. Hell, I felt a little sad when you left too, I can’t imagine what your girlfriend would be feeling.”
“Don’t have one.” He says. And you smile a little. “Yeah, but imagine if you did. It’ll be like one of those old war movies.” You giggle at the thought and Simon joins you in washing the dishes. “Oh, my darling,” you say in an exaggerated voice of a lover. “I don’t think I could love you anymore. The pain is too much to bear!”
Your theatrics tugs the corner of Simon’s lips upwards and he looks at you softly, arching his brow. “Y’ love me?” his voice rumbles, and it sounds something akin to the taste of vanilla ice cream with caramel drizzled on top which is weird, because you’ve never really liked the taste of caramel. Well, not until now.
There’s a certain softness in this moment, you tell yourself. There’s this feeling that you don’t think you could forget this look on his face. You blink and he’s taken the soapy cutlery from your hand and starts to wash the soap off them. “I forget how much I miss my soft bed when I come back. And being able to sleep in a little longer.” He sighs and it’s your turn to hum along. “And I missed your cooking.” He says a little softer this time, eyes focusing on the bubbles as they get washed away from the water. I missed this, you think.
Taglist:
@gojo-mochi
#ghost x reader#konig x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader x konig#konig x you#könig x reader#call of duty x reader#ghost cod#ghost x you#konig cod#simon riley x reader#simon riley
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The Sekoto Peak Tournament
It’s kinda funny how My Hero Academia is pretty much told through the lens of Midoriya’s perspective to the point where all other professions that have a fan following: athletes, actors, singers, etc. just go completely by the wayside. Just once, it would have been great to have Kirishima or someone mention a household name and Midoriya’s all, “…..?”
“Y’know, [insert name here?] Legendary boxing champion?”
My point is, other professions outside of hero still exist and are probably just as popular as they’ve always been, so here’s the ‘Young Rei used to snowboard competitively’ headcanon. This started as a piece I did for Inktober with a, ‘Rei’s a refridgerated character. Don’t love that,’ attitude. Because aside from finally making an attempt to fight for her family (a little late, sure, but I’m not here to do a character analysis right now,) Rei doesn’t have much characterization beyond being the victimized mother in Shouto’s story.
So two things to consider:
1.) Snowboarding is a high-intensity activity. High intensity activities are known to reduce stress, anxiety and depression. So Rei having this career before marriage (and possibly a little after) would have had a very positive impact on her mental health. But after having four children, something this intense would be difficult to restart and being in her late twenties when Natsuo and Shouto were born, her professional career would have been effectively over. Being cut off from snowboarding and its mental health benefits would have definitely contributed to her downward spiral in a more significant way than if she had never done it. In its own way, this is also a reflection of Touya having all his energy and ambition and nowhere to put it, contributing to his own mental break.
2.) In both my Inktober post and this piece, Rei won gold and she’s wearing a different jacket, showing these were separate competitions. Winning gold wasn’t a one-off moment; she was relatively successful and that may have served as some unspoken tension/resentment between her and Endeavor if she was one of the top competitors in her profession while her husband never made it past second place until over two decades into his.
I like the idea of this background for her. I want to explore it further possibly as a one-shot, but I have a lot of ongoing projects right now (plus I’d need to do a little more research on how professional snowboarding competitions work,) so it’s a little up in the air whether or not an actual fic will happen. For now, I hope you enjoy the artwork.
…
I also referenced Touya’s freaky smile for these, albeit not quite as intense. He got that from someone, and my money is on Mom. Mostly because I am entertained by the idea of a much younger Rei rocketing down a mountainside and terrifying other snowboarders with the same ecstatic, unhinged smile her son has. And that footage probably exists online somewhere, someone in Class 1A is going to find it, and be all, “Uh, Todoroki, I think I found a video of your mom.”
…
And just in case anyone asks: Yes, that is Korra in the back. I like to sneak crossover cameos into both my fanart and fanfics, and when thinking of characters, I remembered a behind the scenes LOK fact that Korra’s character design was partially inspired by female snowboarders.
The third snowboarder is also a cameo from a more obscure, nostalgia cartoon: Suzy Lu from Storm Hawks.
#my hero academia#rei todoroki#rei himura#young rei#touya todoroki#boku no hero academia#my hero academy fanart#bnha#mha#avatar legend of korra#storm hawks#reference#cameo#fanart#headcanons#snowboarding
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Could you please do a fanfic about Bruce and Brandi? I’ve always been in love with married couples and now I’m just in love with them and no one talks about them! It’s killing me! Maybe how they met or something but it’s okay if you can’t. ☺️
Sure thing! I like this ship, too :)
Meeting You (a Trolls fanfic)
Slowly, but surely, Spruce came back into consciousness.
He hadn’t quite remembered when he had been knocked out, and was still not in the right mindset to remember exactly how, either. His head was fuzzy, throbbing with a dull but persistent aching, and his whole body felt like someone had beaten him senseless. He willed himself to move, but was unable to find the energy to do so just yet. Everything seemed heavy, his muscles burning with soreness and protesting against anything that would require him to shift his position.
Suddenly, somewhere in his mind, he had a dreadful thought. Maybe I'm… dead.
But his conscience was adamant to not believe that. He couldn't be dead! The life he'd had was a short one, barely two decades worth of existence, and it would be unthinkable that it could end so soon.
Straining to search for any sign that it wasn't true, Spruce honed in on his senses, trying to pick out anything indicative that he was not, perhaps, actually dead yet. It took a second, but soon he heard it - the sound of a voice, worried at that, and a little muffled, coming from nearby. And, as his hearing equalized back to its normal level of sharpness, he came to note that it was, in actuality, coming from right above him.
"Come on... wake up..."
He felt what seemed to be a large hand pressing down on his chest, pumping rhythmically up and down against his sternum.
"Come on," it came again, in a desperate whisper this time. The pumping continued and, with the building of pressure within him, Spruce felt a substance rise in his throat, salty and acidic, and finally a violent cough sputtered out of him. He gasped for air, hacking hard for a few moments before it finally subsided. Then, slowly, he forced open his heavy eyelids. His vision swam for a moment before focusing enough to make out the basic shapes composing a face. A tall, blurry, indistinct figure hovered over him, outlined by a stunning halo glow that, if possible, made him feel even more breathless than he already was. Hoarsely, he managed to find the ability to speak.
"Am... am I in heaven?"
A light, feminine laughter met him. "No... but I guess this place comes as a pretty close second."
This place? Spruce rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times to adjust to the harsh, bright lighting, and squinted. Now that he could see clearer, he made out the powdery white sand underneath his body, and the thick jungle-like foliage some distance behind him. Blue waves crashed at a shoreline several yards away from where he lay, in the company of whom he presumed to have been his rescuer from whatever the accident was that he'd endured. She was not a Troll, that much was clear, but what creature she was, he couldn't say he had a clue. But, even with the intriguing felt texture of her skin, stringy yarned hair, and puppet-like features that devised her characteristics, there was still something awfully alluring about her.
She was staring down at him with large, dark eyes, her expression filled with concern. "I was worried I'd have to do CPR. Are you okay?" she asked.
Suddenly, even in his withered state, Spruce felt the need to turn up the charm. "Better, now that I'm with you," he purred seductively. Or, as seductively as he could. It was difficult to sound an ounce attractive when his voice sounded like it had been put through a meat grinder. Oh well. At least his abs would fill in where his words couldn't. He turned to lay fully on his back, so that the firm, pectoral muscles were very much visible, and continued. "But just to be sure, I wouldn't mind you performing some of that mouth-to-mouth." He winked and pursed his lips, waiting to see how she'd react.
There seemed to be a sparkling look in her eyes, like one of enchantment, and Spruce believed his captivating spell to be working... until she spoke.
"Hmm. I dunno, you seem pretty fine to me."
He took it in stride. "Oh, I am fine, baby. And so are you." Spruce smiled at her, and gave another quick wink. She laughed softly, rolling her eyes at him with obvious affection, and leaned over to gently pat him on the cheek. Spruce felt his insides flutter, though he remained outwardly cool. He didn't want to appear too eager - there was a certain method to his madness, after all.
A method, it seemed, that she wasn't going to so easily be played by.
"Nice try," she whispered, getting back up on her feet and starting to head off.
Spruce was surprised to see her go so quickly. "Wait! Miss, uhh... um..." He trailed off, not actually knowing what to call her.
"Brandy," she responded.
"Miss Brandy," he repeated smoothly, wondering if her lips tasted as subtly sweet as the drink that was her namesake, "you wouldn't just leave a gorgeous, hunk of man laying in the middle of the wilderness, would you?"
Brandy paused in her steps and turned to look back at him. She tilted her head and smirked. "Maybe," she said coyly, "if he was uninjured and more than capable of walking back to town after a few minutes of rest."
Shoot, Spruce groaned inwardly. While feeling a tad bit bruised from the rough waters that had tossed him in the first place, he sported no major traumas on his body. He'd be more than capable of doing what she'd said without so much as a problem. A tad exasperated that this was not going the way he'd wanted it to, Spruce sighed. "Come on, girl, I'm trying here!"
Brandy chuckled. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to try a little bit harder then, huh?"
Spruce watched her saunter towards the trees, a small grin stretching across his features as he remained mesmerized by the slight sway her hips made with every sashaying step she took. After a few moments, she called over her shoulder.
"You're welcome for saving your life, by the way!"
And with those parting words, she slipped into the treeline, leaving him alone to stammer one meager, lovestruck reply.
"Th-thanks!"
#trolls#trolls 3#trolls band together#spruce trolls#brandy trolls#sprandy#dreamworks#fanfiction#kittyball writes#thanks for the ask!#kittyball answers
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Artist of the Week!
So last weekend, I announced that I'd like to feature an artist every weekend for both new fandom joinees who might not have seen some of this art and older fans who like the nostalgia. This week's artist is Ash @aha-my-villainous-thoughts 💖 who also, wonderful that they are, agreed to answer a few questions for me!
Which App Do You Use To Draw
When I’m at my big set up I use Clip Studio Paint, I love it so much. It’s very straight forward to dip straight in, has all of the bells and whistles you need from an elite drawing program, and the community elements where you can see assets and brushes is a lot of fun - although I still to this day have no idea how to earn coins to buy assets?!
I use a XPPen Artist 15.6 Pro Graphics Tablet to draw into the program, although my best tip with graphics tablets is to get a screen protector, mine got covered in marks before I noticed.
Recently I also got an iPad 10.9 to use as a digital sketchbook I can carry around, and while I am enjoying Procreate, I think CSP is a better art program overall.
Fave Brushes?
On iPad I stick to the technical pen, studio pen and the soft airbrush, along with the textures and the light pen. I don’t think Procreate has great ‘painting’ brushes, whereas on CSP I would marry the Gouache brushes, I love how they blend and texture as you work.
Your favourite piece you’ve drawn?
I’m a super self indulgent artist, I try to draw the kind of stuff I like to look at, so it’s a lot of colour, a lot of fabric and details. My fave piece for detail is the one I did for the OFMD RBB last year - Crescente Devotione, there’s a blushing sentient stool in it!
For colour I’m in love with this sleepy time Ed in a lil negligee and a Holly Golightly eyemask, he's my lock screen because I'm trash.
Who harder to draw: Ed or Stede?
Oh for sure Stede. I love Rhys Darby, but the man has like no lips. I stand by this meltdown.
One essential tip for beginner artists?
Comparison is the thief of joy, don’t measure yourself against others - particularly when you’re finding your groove. Be self indulgent af. Also get a screen protector for whatever digital screen you draw on, and BACK. THINGS. UP. Whether in an online account, or on an external harddrive - or both?! BACK THAT SHIT UP.
Why OFMD?
I’ve been in a few fandoms in the past, always as a pretty passive enjoyer, little fanart here or there, little fanfic sprinkled around, but there’s just something about the way this fandom feels? It feels like a group of friends who’ve got their own lives and their goals, but they still exist in each other's orbit, it’s like this feeling of returning home to somewhere you’re always welcome. There’s so many good moments in the show for both comedy and some gut wrenching pathos. Sign up for the hot guy in leather and get got by this beautiful delicate little love story. It’s something about queer joy of thriving, not just surviving. Something about finding love and romance no matter your age or what’s past before. Something about found family, and unlikely friendships, and community and silliness. I was already a goner when Taika put on the wig, but then when he teared up in a blanket fort while trying not to die? Excuse me sir, I did not need feelings that powerful. It was literally waking me up at night thinking about his last shot weeping in the nook - like are you kidding me?! I’m supposed to finish watching and be normal after that??
#artist of the week#everyone go follow ash and gear up for all the amazing art that would now be posted heheh
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I’m having too many thoughts about about Trigun Stampede and it’s probably nothing, but here we go (beware some very heavy handed religious comparisons/symbolism)
This is somewhere between actual meta/character analysis and fanfic, but whatever:
Nai
You are a child and to the best of your knowledge you are one of the only two beings like you in existence. You are a child and you are told that your creation was miraculous, that you are perfect and the future itself. You are neither Human nor Alien, you are simply Other. You are better than either. Unflawed. You are a child and you see the species from which you were created, a species that was artificially created as a means to an end, live out their entire lives in captivity, in servitude. You are taught they are non-sapient, perhaps even non-sentient, and without free will. You exist to serve too, but you resent this. You resent that you are meant to be like the humans, to pretend that you are one of them. You find humanity contemptible and resent their endless wars and conquest and enslavements and pain (you have had a relatively painless childhood). And you read their scriptures and feel confident in your knowledge of humanity’s failures and inherent depravity. Their religious histories are teeming with injustice, with pain, and war and famine. You are a child, but you are intelligent. If this is what they believe in, what can you do? What Good can they really do? You begin to Doubt.
You discover another of your kind, a third, and she has been taken apart and studied by these humans. You are being raised to love them. You don’t. They love you like a dog loves a bone. You can only destroy them before they destroy you. You are intelligent and full of what can only be righteous fury, and you make them Fall. Your brother resents you, resents the deaths, is terrified and hurt and you have to Save Both of You.
Some of the humans survive. You twist them into their own downfall. You take their scriptures and turn words to weapons. It is an honor to serve you, you are an angel, a god, salvation and creation at your fingertips. Death, too. You are owed this for the depravity you and your kind have been subjected to. (You don’t realize, or maybe you no longer care, what you are subjecting them to.) If your brother will not join you on your mission he will die for it. For the greater good. (Who will survive your greater good?)
Wolfwood
You are a child and you aren’t raised to be nice, but you try to be kind. You protect your little brother. You are smart and strong and independent and you care too much. You are raised to believe in a very present god. No one tells you if he is a loving god or not. His angels and priests take you away and it is an honor to be chosen, to be god’s child of blessing. (It is a relief to be taken so no one else will be.)
You go through hell, you live in purgatory. Maybe it is still hell, your skin no longer feels like your own and your hands are bloodstained and fit only around the grip of a gun. You are not allowed to die. You find out your little brother isn’t either. He’s in hell too, but not with you. The god you serve is not a loving god, nor are his angels kind. You are god’s righteous man and you bear a cross and all of the weight of the blood spilled on it, by it.
You are a weapon and any morals you might have grown into are collateral damage. You would do anything for your family. You have done Everything for your family. They don’t mourn or look for you, the blessed chosen one.
You have free will. There is also a gun to your and everyone you’ve ever loved’s heads.
You aren’t sure if you’re a person anymore. (What greater good requires monsters like you? What god would create demons?)
You follow orders. You don’t believe in anything. You could fill oceans with the blood you have spilled. You are told if you follow this last order you will be free and your family will be safe. You aren’t even supposed to kill him, just lead him to his death. You’ve done so many horrible things, this pales in comparison. And you’re already in hell.
You find him. He’s the kindest person you’ve ever met and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He takes on as much hurt as he can, sometimes more. He saves your family without even knowing, and he saves them again when you sell him out. He doesn’t hold it against you.
The first thing you do as a free man is try to save someone. You have decided you care enough to try, just this once. The world still ends. And you still aren’t allowed to die. Better people have already died for you. For your sins.
Vash
You are a child and you love your family very much. You aren’t as special as your brother, as useful, but you love learning and exploring and people. You see the good in everyone. You are terrified when you discover another being like you and your brother, terrified by how she has been treated, by her being a secret, by what else the person you see as a parent might be hiding from you. But you trust her and love her and inevitably mourn her. You are taught to love and serve humans and it is your life’s work.
Your brother makes your world end and says you helped. Everyone you’ve ever cared about except him is dead. You are terrified and you spend the next century atoning for not knowing better. For loving, to continue loving. You are not loved in return.
You do your best to help everyone you can regardless of species. You are special too, it turns out, and bring hope and peace to your people and to the humans, at least for a little while. And you try not to be dangerous. You want to be harmless and you never quite pull it off. You don’t tell anyone the whole truth, but the secrets aren’t enough to keep you safe forever.
You make friends and you don’t have long together. You think you must be bad luck, and you forgive your friend for leading you to your biggest fear. You have to confront it anyways, it’s not his fault. He’s cares about you, but it’s not his job to protect you.
You confront your brother. He destroys everything again and he uses you to hurt people. Again. Your people, humans, what could survive his greater good? You fight back, you win. Kind of. Maybe. A Pyrrhic victory. You are alone and the world hates you for the destruction you tried to prevent. They always do. Why are you the devil when you just want to help?
#trigun stampede#tristamp#trigun stampede character analysis#trigun meta#kind of#trigun stampede meta#trigun#vash the stampede#nicholas d. wolfwood#millions knives#this is very specifically trigun stampede#not the ‘98 anime or the manga#trigun stampede spoilers#trigun rambles#feverdreamsandlucidnightmares
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Season two isn’t (fully) real, it’s a peaceful, fragile existence
The more I rewatch the show and read different theories, the more convinced I get that S2 is some sort of elaborate dream sequence or a distraction or memory alteration attempt (Neil’s chaotic angsty ineffable husbands fanfic?). But not all of it.
(This gets kind of rambly so if you want my true hook, scroll down to the Michael Sheen Staged gif.)
Let me make this perfectly clear on the outset: I don’t think all of it is a dream, and I certainly don’t think the final 15/kiss is or is going to be discounted (and not only because there would be literal riots in the street, because there absolutely would be, but also I’m putting trust in Neil and the team wholeheartedly). I think that could actually be the domino that brings them out of it. I read somewhere recently something along the lines of “something loved can never be truly forgotten” and I think that fits my theory perfectly. I’m also making no claims (yet) as to what I think is real and what I think is “enhanced”.
Also I apparently am either too far deep or cannot work the tumblr search function with any modicum of usefulness, so please link me to the posts I’m alluding to if you think it’s the right one. I will edit them in and sincerely apologize to the brilliant minds that exist outside the confines of the search function.
Now, On with the show:
You can be in charge of the biscuits
Maggie and Nina: Look, I get that recasts happen, they change the actor playing the character because of scheduling conflicts, etc. But to cast the actor/actress that is immediately recognizable from a prior interaction (whether with the characters or the audience) is not something you see. FFS Maggie DIED in S1, and Nina was pivotal (maybe too strong a word, but enough to be memorable surely) to the storyline. It’s like someone said “Hey, they’ll work, bring em in, no I don’t care that they were in S1. It’ll be a test of how well our facade is working. If they (A&C) notice, then the gig is up and we’ll know it.”
Also why in the world is the owner of a coffee shop offering Eccles cakes to calm down, when camomile tea is right there? (Resists the urge to go off on a tangent on how Eccles cakes were used to celebrate the “Eccles wakes” at the feast of St. Mary (yes that Mary) and how that ties into the second coming plot.) Do Eccles cakes count as biscuits? Ugh another thought for another day I suppose.
It has come to my attention during writing that Shax is the same actress as Madame Tracy. I have less of an affront to this knowledge since I’m 2 months deep and countless rewatches in and only just noticed. But I’m going to pop it in this header anyway. Are you really trying to tell me that a show that apparently has demon entrances happening precisely on the 6s really didn’t think these choices out very deliberately? (Edit 3: https://www.tumblr.com/noneorother/735823422626709504/the-secret-timeline-inside-of-good-omens-season-2 JFC why can I never find the blogs when I want to insert them? It was a breakdown about how all of the demon entrances happen at a 00:00 that ends in a 6.)
Yours very faithfully, Maggie
Text to mail disconnect: There’s been a theory pop up (at the time one writing this at least (edit 2: https://www.tumblr.com/azariah-z-fell/743434274903048192/it-is-extra-weird-because-it-is-on-the-record) that Maggie actually texted Aziraphale her request to talk, and it was magically translated into a physical form, and the spelling error (that so many people are shouting DEMON at) was just an autocorrect typo. But, surely Maggie would know he doesn’t text if she knew him for several years at least. We’ve never seen either of our boys text, only call. Seems like someone doesn’t know how phones work, but wanted to get the message received? See also: currency, below.
You ever think, what’s the point?
Numerous people have pointed out the same obvious background people. There are theories about the guy in the Hawaiian shirt being the second coming or something similar. I wonder if it’s some sort of play on a badly executed attempt to make Wickber Street seem “normal” in an alternate reality, an elaborate distraction, but they have to keep using the same character models because their imagination is just slightly better than Shadwells’ (Oh gfdi how did I miss Mrs. sandwich right there). I’m not saying we haven’t done a “oh oops silly me I forgot something” but that isn’t usually done in the middle of a sidewalk. When Aziraphale is initially talking to Jim with the blanket, there’s a guy just chugging his arms outside the window, not walking. Another one in E3 when Shax show up outside the shop, a guy in an orange sweatshirt passes in the background, then passes again, and not close enough in time/area to just be the continuation of the walk. Especially in the early episodes, there are veritable conveyer belts of people, straight lines, no trying to pass, etc. I’m trying to look at the background in S1 and while there are still tons of people, the background is… livelier. People passing, shoving past, actually going places.
“I’m looking at the statue of Gabriel.” “Oh, good job?”
Aziraphale basically learns fuck-all when he makes the trip to Edinburgh. Granted, I do believe most of that was to make the Bentley “our car”, but so many things are out of character. The no drink, the over-the-top “investigation” (as awkward as he is, Aziraphale knows how to act more normally than that with humans), the background on the drive up there…
All the others were taken (random collective thoughts)
Somehow ALL the businesses on the street are different from Season 1?
A normal person would have moved out of the rain instead of just lolling there letting raid splatter their glasses, yeah? (As a person with glasses I can confirm).
“We have all the hosts of hell searching for him” cue Crowley looking around like then why the fuck are there still demons around me?
The cross disappearing from the Gabriel statue between shots.
“I’m a bit out of miracles” and “that’s not how miracles work” from the guy who got written up for too many frivolous miracles.
I have here a sixpence and a farthing There’s always money in the banana stand
The lack of (accurate?) paid transactions seems like whoever is pulling the strings has no concept of earthly money and how it’s supposed to work, just that it exists. Crowley and Aziraphale talk bluntly about poverty and know that money is needed and used in current society (“Give her the money, Angel”, Rome, Globe Theatre, 1941 magic shop, etc.). Could be a “let’s not get lost in the trivialities” thing but it does strike me as odd. Caveat: Aziraphale forgiving the rent doesn’t quite fit, but cost of the record is obscenely low.
But this does give me hope about the 3rd 1941 flashback, because they were using money accurately there, which hopefully means the flashbacks and memories aren’t being altered, just “present day”.
We’re real people
One of the overarching themes in Season 2 (and S1 now I think of it) is “stop interfering in the lives of other people”. Maggie and Nina, Job, Elspeth, the entire dance party, Warlock, the book of prophecy. It would be a shame if someone were to make sure I failed to be messing about in their own lives.
I had brothers, you don’t scare me
Something happened just before Maggie told them to “Come in here and say that to my face.” Another demonic turn potential here, but also kind of like someone’s saying “FFS get on with the plot”.
The book of love has music in it
This post https://www.tumblr.com/noneorother/731977308306636800/all-the-music-you-didnt-hear-the-good-omens (finally, one I can find!) popped up, and there’s another one that purports to have noticed that there’s music lines missing from the opening sequence (edit 1: Found it!: https://www.tumblr.com/dadesu/726651737165938688/anyone-noticed-the-missing-half-bar-in-good-omens ). Possibly Clueing us in that there’s something that’s missing elsewhere (I mean obviously, that’s the whole point of this season, is it not?).
So where do we go from here?
As much as I’d love to say “Alright so the kiss breaks the spell whoever was put over them because of ✨the power of love✨, the ruse will be revealed, and they’re not talking because they don’t have to”
I don’t know, my thoughts are just the overarching patterns I’ve noticed over many, many rewatches and probably reading a few too many magic trick theories and/or fanfics. I don’t intentionally make my theory posts open-ended, but in the end that’s the fun of it. Nothing has to be mutually exclusive (yes I’m referencing my “Is Crowley already the new Supreme Archangel” post, I think I’m allowed that much). I’m happy to be proven wrong, and probably will be.
Lots of things are wrong right now
But I will leave you with one parting thought: Crowley knows. He knows there’s furniture missing. (That’s why he keeps just tossing things everywhere, because he know it doesn’t matter.)
And he. Does not. Care. For it.
How many theories that I myself hate can I dig into?
I’m a demon, I lied:
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I wasn't sure where you stood on fanfiction of some of your original characters from your "Everything Needs a Deaf" series, so I thought I'd just ask up front.
I spent an enjoyable lunch break outlining a possible plot/scenes/themes/etc for Ophelio, the queer deaf prince. Given that Ophelio's narrative and setting aren't someone elses IP you're playing in like a sandbox like the Addams/Indiana Jones/Mummy triplets, or many of the others, I thought perhaps you might prefer if we didn't share fanworks of Ophelio with you.
Then again, it may just be a sandbox you're playing in and you would be delighted. Or somewhere in the middle of these extremes. I certainly don't know so I'm asking: may I share what I've written with you, or would you rather I didn't?
This is very lovely, but I do not want any fanfic of Ophelio because he’s not connected any existing IP.
This is because I’m writing a script (and planning a proper tiktok series with at least one other actor) and it could put me in a difficult position if I have to argue he’s mine because there’s other pieces out there with him in it.
All the other characters (except Spindle and Tadhg) are a big sandbox I’m playing in so obviously you’re welcome to play too if you so desire, but Ophelio’s mine and I’m not too keen on other people using him as a doll until I’ve gotten to.
Thank you for asking though.
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Crosshair X Fem!Reader FanFic
It Started with a Vacation
Main Master List
Story Master List
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Four
You wake up early and throw on some casual clothes before meeting up with Sans in the courtyard. He’d asked the day before to join you in picking up Cyar’ika from Mrs. Dure since Codo had to take Tayah off somewhere, and you of course agreed. He’s wearing comfortable clothes that accentuate his physique, and his skin glows beautifully in the early morning light. He turns to you when he hears your approach, and his smile is warm as he takes you in. “Good morning, Queen Monako,” he says, “are you ready to be escorted to pick up your daughter?”
You huff and roll your eyes at his formality, a smile breaking across your lips. “Of course, Commander Sans. Thank you for waking up so early to ensure my safe travels.”
He takes your hand into his and pulls you slightly closer by it. “I’d wake up any time to ensure your safety,” he replies with a kiss to the top of your hand, “and I’d do anything for you.” You can’t help but fluster at his words, his flirting giving you a new feeling since Crosshair left you broken hearted. His hands brushing against your cheek doesn’t help, either. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” you reply, “a bit fitful because I’m nervous about today. I realized half of these games, if not all of them, aren’t really fit for someone Cyar’ika’s age,” you admit.
“I’m sure she’ll still enjoy being there,” he replies, “all her uncles will be spoiling her, so it can’t get much better than that.”
“Well, not all of them,” you correct with a laugh, “there’s about two million more of you that don’t even know of her existence.”
“Alright then, her favorite uncles,” he clarifies teasingly, “since you want to be so accurate.”
“Hey now, I was just correcting you,” you defend with a giggle.
He huffs and folds his arms sassily, saying “whatever,” like a teenager would. You nudge his side playfully before deciding to take off, surprising him before he runs after you. “I can’t protect you if you run from me!” he calls after you, and you just laugh loudly as you enjoy the feeling of the early morning breeze whipping around you.
When you finally stop, you're breathing hard, but your body feels like it’s buzzing. You haven’t had that much fun in a while, even if it’s just playfully running from Sans. When he catches up to you, you’re surprised that he wraps his arms around you and picks you up. You let out a yelp before laughing some more as he twirls you around, holding you up in the air and watching you with his own laughs falling out endlessly.
In the moment, the entire galaxy falls away from you. You forget about the war. You forget about Dohbar. You forget about Crosshair and Cyar’ika. In that moment, it’s just you and Sans, and you feel whole. Your heart swells with love and you want to stay in this moment forever, just you and Sans.
Before you know what’s happening, Sans’s lips meet yours, and your eyes subconsciously flutter closed at the contact. Your lips move in tandem with his, and your hand tangles into his curls. A sigh leaves you as his hands rest on your waist, pulling you gently closer to press into his chest. When he pulls away, his eyes sparkle with so much love, and you can’t help but melt into his hand that is now resting on your cheek.
“Y/n…I love you…so much.”
You blush, the words making a smile paint your face. “I…I know, Sans,” you reply before looking down and swallowing hard. “And…I love y-”
Suddenly, it seems as though time has skipped and you’ve just woken up again to find yourself at Mrs. Dure’s place. The smell of fresh bread baking fills the air as Sans opens the door for you, and when you walk in, giggles meet your ears. “Mama!” Cyar’ika calls out in her small voice, a toothy grin lighting up her face.
“How is my little Cyar’ika?” you ask while walking over and going to pick her up. She notices Sans, however, and bolts away from you to run to him.
“Up!” she commands, and Sans chuckles before reaching down and picking her up, setting her onto his shoulders. “Woo!” she cheers, and Sans begins jogging around the inside, making her giggle even more. Your heart swells again as you watch the two of them, hearing their laughs and the absolute joy on their faces. When he comes to a stop, Cyar’ika’s face is glowing from her laughs, and you can’t help but wish she could laugh like that every day.
“Mama?” she says, turning to face you while holding onto Sans’s head, “can Sans be my papa?”
You gasp slightly, eyes darting to the man who is now staring at you. His eyes are wide and he blinks at you a few times before chuckling and turning to gaze at Cyar’ika. “Cyare, you already have a papa,” he says with a chuckle.
She pouts, her bottom lip sticking out before she shakes her head. “I don’t want that papa, I want you!”
Your heart breaks and you can’t decide how to feel. You love Sans, you truly do, but you can’t take Cyar’ika away from Crosshair more than you already have. She hasn’t even met him yet.
Sans looks to you, his eyes gently asking for help. “Cyar’ika,” you say, “Sans is your uncle, but he can be the best uncle there is. You can view him as a father figure, like how I view Codo as one. Would you be happy with that?”
“I guess,” she huffs, dropping her chin onto Sans’s head.
“Cheer up, Cyare,” Sans says, “I’ll buy you a treat. It is your birthday, after all, and you’re my little birthday princess!”
She giggles again and points over to the counter where the tasty treats are sitting behind glass. Sans kneels down to let her get a better look, and you smile softly as you watch them.
“You really should consider this one,” Mrs. Dure says as she sweeps the floor behind you, “he’s a good man, and a good soldier. He could provide well for the two of you,” she adds while glancing at Cyar’ika giggling in his arms. You look at them as well, and watch as their noses boop together, bright smiles covering both of their faces. The sun gleams in, making them almost glow as they dance around the place, their laughter the most beautiful song to you-
BEEP! Wake up! BEEP! Wake up!
You jump awake, heart pounding as your alarm scares you. You stare up at the ceiling for a moment before you groan into your hands, reaching over and shutting the alarm off. Sighing, you shiver out of bed and immediately change into warm clothes before going to get ready for the day. You don’t notice the flash of lightning outside of your room, but you definitely hear the sound of the thunder as it shakes the palace.
“Oh, for karks sake,” you grumble, knowing that no one will be wanting to have an entire birthday party in the pouring rain. Your troopers deal with the elements enough as it is, plus you don’t need anyone getting sick. And Cyar’ika doesn’t need to track mud through the palace again, you received an angry transmission from Kwol about it the last time.
A knock at your door startles you and you head to answer it as your toothbrush hangs from your mouth. “Morning, sleeping beauty,” Sans says as he grins cheekily at you, “ready to go get Cyar’ika?”
“Does it look like I’m ready?” you mumble around the toothbrush, and he shrugs while chuckling softly.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you brushed your teeth on the way. Though, we might want to make it quick, the rain was sudden and it doesn’t look like it’ll let up any time soon.”
“Perfect,” you reply before going to the bathroom to spit. You rinse your mouth briefly before leaving the bathroom to put on a pair of boots. “I have no idea what to do now. Everything’s pretty much ruined.”
“We’ll come up with something, don’t worry,” Sans says, “the boys are already on it.”
“Thanks,” you sigh in relief, knowing that they’ll come up with something perfect. You huff, remembering a bit of the dream you’d had. You look at Sans as you walk together, and you wish you could see what dream you saw. Or maybe you do, maybe it’s just too soon after Crosshair.
“Y/n?” Sans asks, waving his hand in front of your face. “Hello?”
“Huh?” you say, shaking your head and turning away as your face heats up with embarrassment.
“You were staring at me as if I was the sun,” he chuckles, “did you finally have a moment of realization that I am your true love?”
“Something like that,” you mumble, “I had a dream where you were. We were in love, it was kinda nice.”
“Wanna try it out sometime?” he says, slinking his arm around your waist.
You huff, pushing his arm off of you and smirking at him. “Yeah, just give me about sixty more years.”
Sans lets out a dramatic sigh and flails his arms up. “You’re killing me, y/n,” he says. You just giggle to yourself as he continues to joke around, and when you reach the doors you sigh as the rain pours outside. “Do you have anything to cover up with?” Sans asks, and you nod before heading to a closet to grab a couple umbrellas, making sure to bring the small one for Cyar’ika as well as a pair of rubber boots for her.
The city is empty as you walk to Mrs. Dures and lightning strikes in the distance. Water splashes onto your shoes and you hurry through the rain to make it to the desert part of the city. You can feel the air getting more dry as you get closer, and soon enough sand is mixing in with the grass.
“I’ve always wondered how your planet changes biomes so quickly,” Sans thinks aloud, “it just doesn’t feel natural to me.”
“Dohbar has a lot of secrets that many people will never know or understand,” you reply, “I can’t say I truly understand it either.”
“Really? Not even the queen knows all of her planet's secrets?” Sans teases while nudging your side.
“Nope,” you respond casually, shaking off your umbrella when you’re finally clear of the rain. “Science isn’t really my thing anyway. I’m stuck with boring politics.”
“Would you be into science if you had a choice?”
You think for a moment, considering all the things you had learned in school as a child. You never paid too much attention to anything other than politics and Dohbars history, since you had grown up with your parents pounding into your head that you were the future of the kingdom. “I don’t really know,” you finally respond, “I’d have to go back to school and learn about everything again to know what I’d truly want to do. That is, given I wasn't a queen or Jedi.”
“I think you’d be a lovely model,” Sans says cheekily.
“I know you do,” you reply with an amused huff. “No flirting with me in front of my daughter, she might think that you’re going to become her stepdad.”
“Aww, would that really be so terrible?” Sans questions while throwing his arm around your shoulder.
You jokingly shove his arm off and grin at him. “Yes, yes it would be,” you tease before sticking your tongue out and sprinting off toward Mrs. Dure’s. Sans doesn’t take long to catch up, and soon it’s a race to the destination.
When you reach Mrs. Dure’s, sweat is trickling down you and Sans’ faces. You laugh breathlessly as you both try to catch your breath. “Y’know, you’re the only woman who has ever run from me,” Sans chuckles when he can make words again.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the only woman you’ve ever tried to catch,” you snicker back.
“I suppose you’re not wrong there,” Sans agrees before holding the door open for you, “after you, my Queen.”
You walk in with a playful eye roll, the delicious smells floating to your nose. Cyar’ika’s giggles come from the kitchen, and you walk over to the counter and ring the bell to get her and Mrs. Dure’s attention. Cyar’ika waddles out with a tiny apron and chef's hat on, and you giggle sweetly at the adorable sight as she climbs onto a stool. “What do you want?” she asks in a friendly tone, and you put a finger to your lip, pretending to look at the menu.
“I think I’ll have a birthday cake for a special birthday girl,” you reply with a grin. She jumps down, racing to the back, her hat bouncing in her head as she goes.
“She really is adorable,” Sans says with a chuckle, “she definitely gets her cuteness from you.”
“Really? I’m so surprised that you would think that,” you laugh. You hear some movement and look around the corner as Mrs. Dure comes out carrying Cyar’ika’s birthday cake.
“The little princess helped me design it,” she says sweetly while presenting it to you. “I think you have a little artist on your hands.”
You and Sans both look at it in wonder, amazed at how well she had done for such a young age. “Have you been practicing art, ‘Rika?”
“Mhmm,” she nods quickly, “uncle Kwol teach me.”
“Well then, I suppose we’ll have to show him how well you’ve done,” you reply with a smile before looking at Sans. “I wonder if his art lessons are why I’ve always got so much paperwork to do.”
“Maybe,” he says, “I would say it does look like it. I never knew he was an artist, though.”
“All the paintings in the palace were done by him,” you explain, “even original portraits of long dead royals were done by him. Granted, he did copy them with the originals as his subject.”
“Well, I guess there’s more secrets to Dohbar than I realized,” Sans comments before looking down at Cyar’ika. She’s standing at his feet, arms up while doing grabby-hands. “Does my little angel want up?” he chuckles before bending over to hold her on his hip.
“No! Up more!” Cyar’ika says.
Sans chuckles again before setting her down and turning her back to him. “Ready?” he asks, and she nods before he lifts her up and places her on his shoulders.
She cheers and claps before grabbing his ears. “Home!” she says while pulling slightly. Sans winces quietly and nods his head.
“You alright with the cake?” he asks you, and you nod while taking it from Mrs. Dure.
“Thank you for making her cake, and watching over her,” you say to her. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the party? We can cover for the profit you miss out on.”
“I would love to, my queen, but you know me,” Mrs. Dure chuckles, “besides, I can’t let my customers miss me. Unless that one handsome clone will be there.”
“Of course I will,” Sans replies with a wink, and Mrs. Dure playfully whacks him with a towel.
“She’s talking about Hunter,” you giggle, “and no. Unfortunately he won’t be there.”
“Ah, well, next time they come to visit, let me know,” she says with a wink, “I’d like to see that fine piece of man again before it’s my time.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Dure,” you say, “you’ll see him plenty more times. We should get going, now, but thank you again!”
“It was my pleasure,” she smiles before waving as the three of you head out.
On the way back to the palace, Sans sings and jokes around with Cyar’ika, making her giggle almost every second of the way. When you reach the rainy area, he slips her rain boots on, even though he’s still carrying her, and holds the umbrella up over them both, with her help, of course.
You can’t help but catch glimpses of them from the corner of your eye and feel a deep sadness. Deep in your heart, you wish you could have fallen for Sans and had a family with him. You know he would be a great father, and a great lover as well. But you’d fallen for another man, and now Sans can only be an uncle to your daughter.
When you get inside, you hurry up and take the cake to the dining area for Ahnimaka to set up with everything else. “Wow! That is amazing!” she says as she admires it, “she really did that herself?”
“Well, at least part of it,” you say while sneaking a roll while she’s distracted. “She told us that Kwol has been giving her art lessons. I didn’t know that.”
“Well, it was supposed to be a surprise for you, eventually,” Ahni says while counting over the rolls and giving you a quick glare. “We wanted her to be able to do something quite amazing for you when she was older and have it be a big surprise.”
“You still could, I mean it’s not like I’ll know what it’s of,” you say while stuffing a cookie in your pocket. “I’ll go tell all the boys to come look at the cake, in turns so that you’re not overwhelmed with all of them,” you laugh.
“It’s too bad that there’s not enough for everyone,” she says before a helper comes in.
“Queen Monako, Senator Caree,” she says, “Mrs. Dure has arrived with a…cart full of cake.” You and Ahni exchange a look before rushing outside to see what she meant. It was exactly as she said, there was Mrs. Dure, a bright and happy smile on her face, with plenty more cakes for all of your troopers to enjoy.
“Mrs. Dure,” you say in shock, “when did-how?? Who paid for this?”
“It was a little surprise present for my favorite little niece,” Kwol says while stepping from around the cart. “And of course, I had to make sure all the guests were provided for.”
You look at the amount of cakes in wonder, slowly shaking your head as you do. “Well, let’s get them inside before the rain ruins them,” you say after a few moments. Kwol nods and continues to push the cart inside, and Mrs. Dure walks with you and Ahni to the kitchen. “You two need to stop spoiling Cyar’ika so much,” you tsk at Ahni, “I don’t want her getting used to not working for her earning.”
“That’s a bit bold coming from a queen,” Ahni giggles, “especially when you can give her pretty much anything she wants.”
“Well you know how I grew up,” you reply smoothly, “the king and queen always made me work for everything. Sure, they were not good parents to me, but it did teach me to work for my rewards. I don’t want Cyar’ika to grow up and think that she can just be handed everything. Especially as queen, she’ll have to actually put some work in to rule this kingdom.”
“Y/n,” Ahni says softly while placing her hand on your shoulder, “she’s only one. She can be spoiled at this young age. She can grow out of it, with reduction of the spoils. Let her have a good childhood.”
“I’m not saying she can’t have a good childhood,” you reply, “I’m just saying that she doesn’t need to be handed everything, especially things that she probably doesn’t need. I don’t even remember you doing this for the twins.”
Ahni sighs, moving to grab a plate and start to put some pastries on it. “You’re right. Maybe I’m trying to justify it because we didn’t get to spoil them enough before Ringo was taken to train as a Jedi. And maybe we do it because we don’t want Cyar’ika to miss out on having parents that love her and want to give her the world.”
You pause, letting the words settle and process in your mind. You tighten your fist at your side briefly before releasing it. “Are you saying I’m not doing good enough? That I don’t love her enough? I want to give her more than the world. I want to give her more than this galaxy. It’s not my fault that I am a Jedi and a general, and that I have many different duties on top of being a mother.”
“Being a mother should come first,” Ahni bites back, a rare hint of anger in her tone. “You can leave the Jedi. You can leave the war. You can come back here and be only a mother and queen, but you choose day after day to put Cyar’ika and your kingdom second, behind fighting a petty war.”
“This war is far from petty!” you say harshly, “I didn’t lose Bomber to stand here and listen to you say it’s just petty. I’ve lost so many soldiers and Jedi friends. I’ve seen Masters have to watch their Padawans get slain by the Separatists. I’ve seen clones looking in horror as they realize they’re the only survivor of the squad they had been a part of since Kamino. It’s only petty because it hasn’t reached Dohbar yet. You, Senator Caree, should know the true reach and importance of this war. I hope the day never comes that it reaches us, but if it does, maybe you and Kwol will finally understand what I have to live through every day.” When you finish, you turn and walk from the room, not giving Ahni a second to reply.
You head out to find Jawa squad, wanting to know the plans that they’ve come up with to save the party. When you try to go into the room, however, Uma stops you and shakes his head. “Not allowed in there yet,” he says with a grin, “it’s a surprise for you and for Cyar’ika. Don’t worry, we cleared it with Hex.”
“Well, if Hex approves, then I’m sure I will,” you say with a smile. “Can I get a hint at least?”
Uma opens his mouth to respond, but a hand reaches out of the door and pulls him close. You see Lightweight whisper something into his ear, to which Uma nods in response. “Steele is on his way with Cyar’ika! Just wait here for them, I have to go get into position. No peeking!” Uma says before slipping inside.
You huff and roll your eyes, letting a small smirk cover your lips as you wait for Steele and Cyar’ika. Soon enough, you see them coming down the hall. Cyar’ika has a small look of boredom on her face that causes you to giggle when you look at how tired Steele seems to be. “Did someone wear you out?” you laugh as Steele and Cyar’ika stand in front of you.
“Yeah, she took off her socks and shoes and wouldn’t let me put them back on without a game of catch me if you can,” Steele sighs, and you can see his exhaustion more clearly. “She definitely likes to run away like her mother.”
“I don’t run away, I run towards the danger,” you correct.
“Yeah, away from us.”
“That’s just because I know you’ll be following along right behind me,” you laugh, nudging him in the side before taking Cyar’ika’s hand. “Are you ready for your birthday surprise from your uncles?” you ask, and she grins while nodding excitedly. You head over to the door and Steele holds it open for the both of you. Your mouth drops and Cyar’ika lets out a small surprised gasp of her own. “How did you all get this done in so little time?” you question quietly.
“Kwol let us know last night after you went to bed that the weather wasn’t going to be nice today. Other squads had been taking turns with setting up, and so we got up and took over.” He brings up a hand to stifle a yawn, and you look at him with a bit of concern.
“Did you get enough sleep?” you ask, furrowing your brows slightly. “You can go rest if you need to.”
“I was fine until the little squirt here wore me out,” he chuckles, “I’ll be alright, I promise, y/n.” You nod and head in proper, looking at the massive ball pit that practically filled the entire room. There was a little slide, and then a bigger one that you had to crawl through some weird playhouse or child's rope course type thing to get to. “Oh, this is also just the first of many rooms,” Steele says with a grin, “I can show you the others and then let you play around if you want,” he says while squatting to be closer to Cyar’ika’s height.
She looks up at you and grabs your hand, pulling on it and pointing to the ball pit. “You wanna go play there first?” you ask, and she nods with a grin. “Alright, I’ll be over here keeping an eye out, but you should go play with your uncles,” you say with a slight giggle, looking up to see all the troopers already having their fun.
“Steele!” she says, and he looks at her with a gentle smile, “I wanna do a slide with you!”
“Which one would you like?” he questions while reaching down and taking her hand. She points to the big one, and he chuckles as she tries to run off and pull him along with her. You smile warmly at them, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell as all the other troopers seem to pause and greet her as she runs by.
“She really is something special to all of us,” Sans says, startling you for a moment. “Sorry,” he chuckles, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” you reply with a smile, “and yeah, I can tell. I just hope that everyone she meets will see how special she is.”
“I’m sure they will,” Sans says assuringly, “especially Crosshair,” he adds with a soft smile. “I know everything will work out for the best between the two of you. And she’ll meet her father one day, and he’ll love her more than anything.”
“I hope so,” you sigh, and Sans slips an arm around your waist and pulls you closer.
“I promise you, it will,” he says gently, reaching up and brushing your cheek lightly. His smile is warm, and his eyes are soft. Everything about him radiates love, happiness, comfort, and care. You can’t help but lean into him, letting these feelings completely surround you. Looking up to see his expression again, you’re met with slight surprise at your reciprocation of affection. You give Sans a reassuring smile, and he smiles back happily. You move your head to look away, but his hand stops you from turning fully. “You don’t have to turn away from me every time,” Sans says softly as his thumb brushes against your cheek. “It hurts, you know.”
“I know,” you reply, “it hurts me too.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because,” you sigh, “I…my heart…”
“Is for someone else,” he sighs, and he starts to pull his hand away, but you stop it with your own. You look at him for a moment, scanning his eyes to figure out all the emotions swirling in them.
You don’t even realize you’re kissing him until your mind starts wondering if it’s right to do. You don’t even know why you did it, but you can’t stop it now. Your lips move in sync with his as you debate if you do love him somewhere deep down. You press a bit harder against his lips, trying to dig down to that love and free it.
But you know it won’t work. You don’t love him that way, you never have. And you have just been dumped by your actual love, leaving an empty space that you’re desperately trying to fill. You want to feel something like that love again, but you want it to be real. This feeling isn’t real, it’s forced, fake, a shadow of what you do want. A shadow of what you had.
You pull away from Sans and meet his eye for a second before diverting your own gaze. You take a breath, steadying yourself and holding the tears back. “I-I’m sorry-”
“Don’t say that,” he begs quietly, “please, y/n. Let me believe you meant this. That…even just for a moment, you loved me back the way I love you.”
“I can’t,” you say while shaking your head, “I…don’t want you to look back and think that I was just using you to get over my own grief.”
“Is that what you did?”
“I don’t know,” you reply honestly, “all I know is that…I’m desperately heartbroken and lonely without Crosshair. I still love him, and I want to feel that love again.”
“But you didn’t feel it with me.” Sans’s voice is hollow, and you wish you could give him some sort of comfort.
“I wish I had,” you mumble as tears fall down your cheeks. In an instant, his arms are around you, holding you gently as he always has when you’re like this around him. He lets you nuzzle your face into his neck, crying quietly as you do.
“It’s okay,” he promises, “I will still always love you, y/n. You are the only person in the universe for me.”
“I’m sorry, so sorry, Sans,” you whisper as you pull back to look up at him. He smiles gently and wipes your tears away.
“Don’t be. The heart wants who the heart wants. I know you can’t help it.”
“I wish I could,” you sigh while giving him a small smile. You notice his eyes divert from yours to look at something behind you, and he smiles at you again before nodding.
“Queen Monako,” one of the helpers says as they approach, “there is another ship that has just landed in the palace hangar. I believe it is your special guest.”
“Thank you, Nex,” you say while giving them a warm smile, “I will go greet him now.” Nex nods and gives a slight bow before walking away.
You take a deep breath and Sans moves to stand next to you, nudging you slightly with his elbow. “It’ll all be okay,” he says with a tone of reassurance, “Tech will love her. And I know the rest of that marauding bunch will love her as well when they get the chance to meet her.”
“I just hope that will be sometime soon,” you reply before looking at him again. “I really am sorry, Sans. I had this wonderful dream last night where we-”
“Y/n, my love,” he says, grabbing your hand softly while giving you a loving smile, “I would rather not know. I would prefer to keep my yearning to myself, and not have it fueled by your dreams. It is enough to know that you love me the same in your dreams as I wish you loved me here. Now, go get Tech so little Cyar’ika can meet her geeky uncle,” he says with a chuckle before bringing your hand up to kiss, “I’ll be joining the rest of Jawa squad.”
You nod and head towards the hangar, opening the door just as Tech reaches the top of the steps. “Oh, you did not forget me as I had supposed,” he says as he looks up from his datapad. “Is everything alright?”
“For the most part,” you say while giving him a smile. You look at his arms and notice a present tucked under one while the other holds his datapad. “I’d give you a hug, but…”
“Shall I leave my datapad somewhere else? I would prefer to know it is not in danger of being misplaced among the other guests.”
“Sure, on your ship would be best,” you suggest. He nods and quickly takes it back before heading right back over to you. He sets the gift down and wraps his arms around you, surprising you at the fact that he was the one to pull you in for a hug.
“I…am sorry for, well, my brother’s actions,” he says before pulling back, “I know this won’t mean much, but he did not truly mean what he said. He was simply-”
“I don’t need to hear this from you, Tech,” you say to cut him off, “and I’m not quite ready to forgive him. I still need some time.”
He’s quiet for a moment before he nods, picking up the gift again and giving you a smile before you turn to open the door. “I don’t quite understand your emotions,” he says casually, “I understand them on the chemical level and how they are created by your brain and the chemistry of it, and I understand how they work, but I don’t think I quite know what they feel like. I am mostly aware of them from the descriptions I get from others.”
“That’s okay,” you reply, “some of us are different in that way.”
“You don’t think I am somehow…less than?” he asks, and you pause to look at him, confused by his genuine tone.
“Why would I view you as less than?” you question back, “you’re sentient, are you not? You’re a living and thinking creature. Just because your mind is different, it doesn’t make you less than. Being neurodivergent is not something that is wrong, it is just a certain difference that you have. You’re still amazing, smart, and incredibly knowledgeable. But in your case, you simply don’t feel or understand emotions in the same way as others, and that’s perfectly okay. If anyone tells you differently, send them my way, and I’ll teach them a lesson with the deadly end of my lightsaber.”
“Thank you, y/n,” he says after a few moments of silence, “I am glad that I am still viewed as an equal to you.”
“Everyone should view you as an equal, because we’re all really the same when it comes down to our core. Well, maybe not exactly, but we’re all sentient beings just trying to make our way in the galaxy. Our paths may be different, but I think we all have the same goal–to be happy and content with ourselves.”
“I believe you may be correct in your thinking,” he says as you stop in front of a room.
You open the door and lead him inside. Piles of gifts line the floor, and you do a classic Obi-wan thinking pose as you look for a spot to put the one he brought for her. “I think you can put that over there,” you say, pointing to a somewhat sturdy looking spot.
“I would rather hold onto this so that I can give it to her myself,” he replies, “it is a customized gift.”
“Oh?” you question, “well would you like me to go get her or have Steele bring her here for us?”
“I would like to wait here for Steele to bring her. If the others of Jawa squad would like to join as well, they are welcome.”
“Alright, I’ll have them meet us here and then afterwards I’ll let her tear into all her other gifts,” you say before comming the squad.
Within a few minutes, Jawa squad, Quin, and Trix are in the room with you and Tech. Cyar’ika immediately runs to your side and you pick her up, smiling before turning to let her get a look at Tech. “Cyar’ika,” you say gently, “this is your uncle, Tech. He is your father’s brother.”
“Father?” she questions while looking at him, and he shakes his head while giving her a soft smile.
“Uncle,” he replies while placing a hand on his chest. “Uncle Tech.”
“Uncle Steele!” she says happily as she points at Steele, “uncle Hex! Uncle Aid! Uncle Sans! Uncle Pie!”
Steele snickers and nudges Hex when he hears Cyar’ika yet again mess up Tie’s name. “And to think it’s one of the easier ones.”
“I can hear ya, ya moron,” Tie harshly whispers back. Quin sets a calming hand on his husband’s knee, and Trix just raises a questioning brow at her dad.
“Uncle Tech,” Cyar’ika says somewhat uncertainly after she finishes going around the room.
“Yes, that is correct,” he replies with a smile.
Cyar’ika grins before wiggling around in your arms, signaling that she would like to be put down. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she quickly walks over to Tech and makes a pouty face up at him before sticking her arms up at him. “Up!” she demands, and Tech looks at you briefly, a slight look of fear on his face. “I uh…I have never picked up a child before,” he admits while looking back down at her. “I am worried that-”
“Oh, don’t be afraid of hurting that little rascal,” Steele says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “she’ll scrape up her knees and run it off as if it’s just a little bit of dirt on her pants.”
Tech looks at you again for reassurance and you nod with a soft smile. He gulps before reaching down and awkwardly picking her up. He holds her out in front of him, looking at her from eye level. She giggles as his fingers seem to tickle her, and her feet kick out into the air.
“Do ship fly!” she demands, and Tech looks at you in confusion.
“She wants you to make her ‘fly like a ship’,” you explain with a small giggle. Tech thinks for a second before nodding, adjusting his grip slightly before taking off to run around the room with her held out in front of him. Cyar’ika’s shrieks and giggles of joy fill the room, and soon everyone is laughing along with her as she enjoys her fun with her uncle Tech.
“Alright, put’er down b’fore she gets sick,” Tie says when he catches his breath, “y/n will be awfully angry with ya if she has to take care of a sick daughter on that daughter’s birthday.”
“That’s right,” you laugh in agreement. Tech stops and lets her down, immediately catching her as she loses her balance. “We’ll give her a minute to calm down before we let her open her other gifts,” you tell the others, and they nod in agreement while Hex gives out the comm to all the others.
The rest of the night and celebrations went by quickly from there. After you all had watched Cyar’ika open her gifts, it had been time to eat. After Cyar’ika, you, Kwol, Ahni, Quin, and Trix had gotten your food, Jawa squad and the rest of the 17th dug into the rest. There were no leftovers, and everyone had eaten to satisfaction. The cakes attracted everyone’s appraisal and compliments as they studied the amazing designs that Cyar’ika had done for her age.
Even Tech seemed to be completely enamored with his niece. He could not stop mentioning her silver hair that was exactly like her fathers. He said he even noticed a bit of his snark in her attitude, which elicited a humored snort from you. “Yeah, it’s a lot worse when she doesn’t want to do something,” you had replied after he pointed it out.
“I am sure she is only ever an angel,” he replied back while bouncing her on his knee. To your surprise, he knew how to braid hair, and after she calmed down and was able to sit still for more than 30 seconds, he managed to loosely braid her hair.
“That looks amazin’,” Quin commented when he’d seen it, “I’d like to do somethin’ like that for my lil girl Trix, but she says it’s a part of her Mirialan culture to not let others see her hair.”
“That is correct,” Tech stated before going on a ramble about Mirialan culture, which was intriguing for everyone except Cyar’ika, who ended up hopping off of his knee and wandering over to another group of uncles eager to get their time to talk to and giggle with their little niece.
By the end of the night, the palace was a mess, but no one seemed to mind as they all filed into rooms to rest in. Tech slept in the same room he and the rest of the batch had stayed in on their visits, with Cyar’ika begging to stay and spend the night in the room with him. You allowed her to, since the other night she’d been stuck with Mrs. Dure. Of course, Jawa squad, as well as the rest of the 17th, was jealous of her seemingly new favorite uncle.
When you wake up, Tech is eating breakfast with the 17th and Cyar’ika. Ahni and Kwol are helping the helpers with cleaning, and you decide to join them in hopes that the extra hands, with force sensitivity, would help clean up faster.
“Shouldn’t you be eating with your daughter?” Kwol asks while trying to toss a ball of trash into the trash can. He frowns when it misses.
“I thought you guys might like some help,” you reply while using the force to pick it up and throw it away properly.
“Well, we do,” he starts, “but you do have a limited amount of time with her.”
“I know,” you sigh, “I feel bad and all as well, but…I don’t know. I want to put her first, but with all my obligations…”
“It’s hard,” Ahni offers with a smile. “I understand now, a bit. When the twins were born, I had the hardest time balancing taking care of them and being around them with my senatorial work, but I took every second that was given to me. It’s the best that you can do, besides making it possible to take care of your obligations while being around her.”
“I don’t know how well I could focus on paperwork or official monarchy or government things if I have her in the room distracting me,” you admit with a smile.
“But you can go eat breakfast with her,” Ahni replies with an encouraging grin. “Now go, we can take care of this. Besides, if we need help, we’ll get the cleanup crew on it. There’s two specific squads of troopers who are responsible for most of this.”
“Let me guess, Sans, Hex, Steele, Aid, Tie, and then Uma, Bullseye, Ripple, Skipper, and Lightweight?”
“Precisely,” she confirms with a small giggle, and you roll your eyes while letting your own small giggle slip out.
“I’ll go tell them when I get there,” you say before turning to leave the room. Once you get there, you tell the boys their orders and watch as they groan and complain, well, that is Sans, Steele, and Tie do, before they drag themselves out and go help to clean up the mess. Everyone else slowly ends up leaving once they have their share, and soon it’s just you, Tech, and Cyar’ika left.
“Are you liking your uncle Tech,” you ask her with a smile. She nods vigorously, clinging onto him tightly.
“Stay,” she says, and Tech chuckles softly while running a hand over her hair.
“I am afraid I cannot fulfill your request at the moment,” he tells her, and she looks at him as if he’s speaking another language.
“He said he can’t stay,” you explain in simpler terms for her. She immediately frowns and starts kicking her feet aggressively, and you tell her off gently to get her to stop.
“I will come visit you again soon,” he offers to her, and she immediately lights up and becomes happy again.
“Tomorrow?” she asks, and Tech chuckles again while shaking his head.
“I am afraid I do not exactly know when, but it will be soon,” he promises her. She pouts for a second before he offers her his pinky finger. “I promise,” he says, and she grins while wrapping her tiny pinky around his. You relish in their smiles and giggles, feeling as though a part of your heart that you hadn’t known was empty has suddenly been filled.
***
“Thank you again for coming to meet her,” you say as you walk out to the hangar with Tech. The 17th is loading up onto the Venator, and once you and Tech say goodbye, you’ll be boarding your respective ships and flying out for missions. “It meant a lot to her, and me.”
“Anything for the two of you,” he says with a gentle smile. “Take care, y/n. I hope I will see you soon.”
“Probably sooner than we know it,” you laugh before heading in for a hug. You both take a moment to bask in one another’s warmth before you step away.
“Good luck, y/n, and stay safe out there. Your daughter needs a good mother like you to come back to her, alive.”
“I will do my best,” you reply, “and you as well. She needs all of you guys. May the force be with you,” you say before pulling the hood of your Jedi robe up. You walk over to the Venator, glancing back to watch as Tech flies out, before you continue your ascent up the boarding ramp. Within minutes, you and the 17th are off back to Coruscant, awaiting and preparing for your next mission.
if you enjoyed this, comments, reblogs, and messages are greatly appreciated!
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#star wars#the clone wars#clone wars#the bad batch#jinn the storyteller🤍🤍#star wars the clone wars#tcw#star wars: the clone wars#clone trooper#clone troopers#it started with a vacation#crosshair#tbb crosshair#bad batch crosshair#clone trooper crosshair#crosshair x fem! reader fanfic it started with a vacation#crosshair bad batch#crosshair x reader#crosshair x you#the bad batch crosshair#crosshair x fem! reader fanfic it started with a vacation chapter thirty four
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Hi I'm really new to this but may I please ask for Fuegoleon with wife s/o who gets rill to make a a family portrait of them along with Leopold and marroleona and she hangs it up and shows fue when he comes back home? Fue sees there's a little space between him and s/o or like a blotchy empty something idk and asks about it and s/o tells him that she's pregnant and that's the spot for the baby that rill will add in later once they're born? Idk I thought it would be a really cute way of s/o breaking it to fue that he's going to be a father
Hiya~! ^^
No worries, we all start requesting from somewhere. And I love soft, dad Fue, so I'd be more than happy to have this request come to life. I do hope that you like it as much as I do~
Pairing: Fuegoleon x f!reader
Fanfic type: Oneshot
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: reader is pregnant
Length: ~0.8k
It was one of those long days. Gruelling workdays that had seemed to go on forever. Fuegoleon could barely believe that it was it was only evening, and not late night. The soreness of his bones told him otherwise.
But it was all worth coming home to you. Though it wasn’t his work earning you in any shape or form.
You had walked into his life for other reasons. Because you loved him, simple as that.
A faint smile rose to his lips with the thought of you, waiting for him in your shared bedroom. And soon, he could only hope, there would be children waiting for him as well. For their father to come home.
It was a soft, lulling wish that existed in the confines of his head. Of course, you had talked about it, and you both had wished for it out loud, but there was still something so… sacred about the notion that he didn’t want to wear it out, out of some foolish fear of it not coming true if he said it too many times.
It was a foolish notion, he knew as much. The rational man that he was, knew as much. But still his heart whispered otherwise.
Just in case. For now. Speak of it in only whispers; or at least sparingly.
However, the smile lingered on his face. It had found home on him as he walked down the corridors. It stayed still as he opened the door, and entered the room. And it remained as he searched for you in the dimly lit room.
You weren’t there, but something else was.
A painting.
You had hung it to the back of the room, near the armchairs where you spent time on your days off; just talked or listened to the rain. The quiet, tranquil space of the room.
Even from across the room he could recognise you and him, along with Mereoleona and Leopold. A kind of a family portrait, because Mereo and Leo had welcomed you into the family. But as he got closer, his mind focused on something else; on how the painting wasn’t… quite right.
It wasn’t about anyone not looking like themselves, or alien, but rather how… divided they seemed. It was as if there was something… missing, in the middle of it. It wasn’t perhaps quite as obvious, and he could simply have remarked it as a style choice, but such a style choice between him and you, as if separating you, and your entire extended family in the painting, in two.
That bothered him. Made him frown. Such an odd choice.
“You like it?” You asked, coming into the room and walking up to him as he stood in front of the painting.
He let out a hum, and greeted you with a kiss onto your forehead. “I do, but…”
“But?” You asked with a hint of curiosity under your smile.
“We seem divided in the painting. Perhaps we ought to commission the artist again,” he suggested.
“Hmmm… I think Rill did a wonderful job,” you argued with a thoughtful hum of your own.
“Oh?” He asked with a quirked eyebrow and a frown.
“Mhm,” you nodded as your smile widened, turned into an almost smirk. “Because the space will be filled.”
“My love, I’m afraid that I’m… not quite sure what you mean,” he admitted, treading lightly as he was trying to understand what you meant.
“The space will be filled,” you repeated. “Because there’s going to be an addition into the family.”
A pause, as his brain tried to comprehend if he was hearing right.
“I know you’ll be a wonderful father,” your voice was soft, and careful. But what sealed it for him was the way you placed your hand onto your stomach.
“I’ll.. be a father…?” The question was uttered with a whisper, so silent that you almost didn’t hear it.
But as you nodded, and thus confirmed the question, you were swept into his arms. His hug was tight, as tight as he dared it to be. Warm… welcoming… Happy.
No, it was more than happy. More than overjoyed. More than blessed.
That hug felt like a lot of things, but all of them were wonderful, light, grounding feelings. All of them made you feel like home, right there, in his arms. And they were combined with the whispers, testimonies of how utterly happy he was. Repeating the words over and over again, as if still trying to believe them to be true.
He had really wanted this, to have a family with you.
And now you had it. A family. A loving spouse. You both had it.
#fuegoleon x reader#fuegoleon vermillion x reader#black clover x you#black clover fanfiction#black clover oneshot
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Here’s my headcanon fanfic I came up with.
Candace actually busted Phineas and Ferb, she’s overjoyed at first, but is disappointed to learn what happens next. A bunch of council members from different colleges around the world, called Linda and Lawrence. They said their sons are geniuses and that they have many different colleges to choose after they graduate high school.
Female College counselor : Your sons have many colleges to choose, but we’re sure they’ll pick the right now
Linda : Oh, I'm so proud of you two!
Phineas and Ferb: Thanks Mom!
Male college counselor : Your sons have a bright future ahead of you, they might graduate into becoming famous aerospace engineers, professors or teachers for the gifted children
Ferb: Why, thank you
However, their father Lawrence wonders about something, no someone
Lawrence: But what about our daughter Candace?
Another male counselor: Her? Well I’m sure she’ll graduate high school and get a job somewhere in Danville. Your sons are goin' places. But hey, look on the bright side: at least you'll have one child here in Danville forever.
Unknown to them, Candace Sits down sadly outside the door after eavesdropping on the conversation. She wanted her brothers to get busted, but didn’t think it’ll mean she’ll become the most unimportant member in the family.
The next day a bunch reporters came, asking Linda and Lawrence how they raised such gifted boys, their comment made them blush, much to Candace annoyance. The next, next day Candace just got off the shower and much to her shock she sees in the tv, about Linda and Lawrence Fletcher and their 2 genius sons, much to her annoyance again. As they days, weeks, goes on Linda, Lawrence, Phineas, and Ferb became known as the genius family (except the paparazzi cut off Candace from the picture).
Candace is at Stacy’s house, she expresses how she’s glad that her brothers got busted, but now that their famous, mom and dad seemed to have forgot that she exists, and everyone else seems just to focus on them, and she’s just the untalented kid, who shouldn’t be in the picture. Before, Stacy can say anything, there’s a knock on the door.
That’s all I have so far,
What do you think! Do you like it? Should I continue?
Hi, Anon!
I think the idea is really interesting!
A good 'what if' for a fic!
I do like it, and you should totally continue if that's something you want to do! 🙂
If you do, good luck, and feel free to send it to me if you want! 💕 ✏️
#(thank you for the ask!)#ask#asks#anon#anonymous#candace flynn#phineas flynn#ferb fletcher#headcanon#headcanons#writing#not my writing
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Snippet *Sunday
Or, well. Technically snippet Monday now. Tagged by @bleumanouche, thank you Bleu!
No pressure tags: @druidgroves @hotwifeluigi @bigfan-fanfic
Grabbed this snippet from a scene in which Wes and Avery are 19 & 18 and in the aftermath of a falling out with each other. Both of them cope with their emotions poorly at this age. Avery does it more violently. Wes is the patron saint of repression. I have a lot of fun writing scenes while these two are younger because it really shows how much they've grown by the time they're 30.
And as always Wes belongs to @hotwifeluigi
And so Avery gets himself a shot. And another, and another, and another.
The more Avery drinks the louder he gets, the louder he gets the more other bar patrons want to drink with him. It’s all jovial celebration but it’s a thinly veiled vicious cycle, smiles and laughter encourage poisoning the well. A cheap excuse to justify the means of self-medication, still, to everyone but Avery he’s having a lovely night. And who could blame them? It’s New Years, ain’t no threat in having a good time.
The momentum carries up to a finite point; Avery exists in a state of perpetually teetering over a ledge. All it takes is one nudge and he’ll tumble, push finds its shove when a man built like a bull decides faggot is a good way to describe the way Avery talks.
One black eye, a busted lip and two sets of bloodied knuckles later, Avery finds himself on the curb outside. His saving grace was the firm belief that fighting dirty is fair game if an opponent really deserves it, dropping slurs in a bar meets that qualifier. They both got kicked out of the bar when it really came down to it, but Avery’s content with knowing that motherfucker took a boot heel to the balls.
Avery spits to his side, saliva marbled with blood colors a small spot in the dirt. He grunts, sighs from behind his teeth and lifts a cigarette to his lips. The orange glow briefly fills the dark night air, Avery perks up when he hears the door open behind him.
“What the hell were you thinkin’ pullin’ a stunt like that?” Even while drunker than a cow on a diet of fermented corn he’d recognize Wes’s voice. Oh, so now he can tolerate being near Avery.
“Dude had it comin’,” Avery says with all the nonchalance in the world.
Wes stands over him with his hands on his hips. Avery tilts his head up and back to stare at him, he can’t help but smirk a little when he gets a good look at that pursed-lip, low-browed expression. He carries a similar cadence to a horse with his ears all pinned back. Careful, he might kick.
“How d’you figure he had it comin’? I watched the whole damn thing from the other side’a the bar, far as I know he mighta just looked atcha wrong and you took a swing,” Wes uses one hand to make frustrated, vague gestures as he talks, “Which, if I’m bein’ quite honest, Mr. Moreno, I wouldn’t put such a thing past you.”
Avery takes another slow inhale off his cigarette. Flicks the ashes into the dirt, mixing with his spit like gold flakes in resin. “Call me a faggot, get your teeth busted out. It’s as simple as that.”
“Oh,” Wes breathes as his expression cools to something a grade calmer. He stands there statuesque for a short spell, evidently unsure just what to say. He clears his throat and adds, “I guess it’s for the best then that you uh, you stood up for yourself.”
Standing over Avery while he’s sat there on the curb, Avery decides he should invite Wes to do anything other than loom. “Want a smoke?” He says as he pulls one from the pack he has in his coat pocket.
“No, that’s a’right,” Wes declines and Avery isn’t sure if the feeling cropping up in his chest immolates or if it’s so cold that it burns, somewhere in the back of his head he’d hoped Wes would sit with him out here. “I had somebody waitin’ for me back inside. Just wanted to see what’d happened with you.”
Avery finds that he has nothing to say, silence lingers between them until Wes opens his mouth again.
“You plan on comin’ back in anytime?” Wes asks.
“Nope,” Avery responds simply, cigarette held up to his mouth.
“A’right. You make it back to the room safe then, okay?” Wes’s voice sounds so strained that Avery could almost mistake his tone for guilt. He makes it a few feet closer to the door before he pauses— again— hesitating seems to be a skill he’s gotten good at. “Want me to walk back with you?”
“Nope,” he lies through his teeth.
#ive been going through editing and came across this scene again yesterday#ah... 19 year olds and their poor emotional regulation skills...#avery#wesley
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I am doing very minor revisions of Daemon’s Handbook (mostly formatting and continuity errors), and I wanted to do some behind-the-scenes commentary before too much time passes and I forget my original thoughts. Here’s Chapter 11!
(Note that these commentaries aren’t canon to the verse until/unless the author writes them into the series. I might change my mind on a few points later, but these are the thoughts I had while writing.)
In my early outline, the big scandal in the last chapter was supposed to be Luce and Aemond getting caught in flagrante by somebody aligned to Otto (the servants’ passages scene in Chapter 9 didn’t happen in this version). I was writing it as a parallel to the Episode 4 brothel scene, so I was going to have it take place in the city somewhere, and there was going to be a lot of drama with Luce and Aemond being forcibly separated while Daemon searches for Luce. But the pacing was off and the necessary sequence of events was too contrived, so we got the version that currently exists in the fic.
I kept wondering if it was plausible Clement Celtigar to be stupid enough to unwittingly act as Otto’s lackey. I decided the answer is yes. I try not to character bash, but the Celtigars make it too easy. 😭 Seriously, read about them on the ASOIAF wiki (and look at Edwell and Bartimos’s pages).
I imagine that Otto pretended to be more familiar with Rhaenyra’s side of the family than he actually is, and he dropped some hints (without outright saying it, because like Daemon thinks in this chapter, young men want to believe they come up with their own ideas) that Luce favors Clement, and that she enjoys visiting the library late at night. Then Otto had the note forged in Aemond’s handwriting and left it for Luce. I’m sure this scheme was a lot smoother and sneakier than my bullet points can convey.
I picked the library as the setting so I could play with the trope in a lot of Aemond/OC fanfics (which I really enjoy! But I also enjoy flipping tropes) where Aemond and his love interest rendezvous in the library.
ASOIAF has names for hours of the day (eg hour of ghosts), but GRRM hasn’t revealed all the names. So I extrapolated names for all 24 hours of the day. “Hour of the cat” in the forged note is 11PM.
I spent a while debating how badly Luce injures Clement. I considered making it a lot more grievous (with a knife involved, as a redux of Driftmark), but that would have drastically darkened the story’s tone and changed the fallout from the event. So Clement gets away with a bit of testicular torsion, which Dr Google tells me *can* be serious if not quickly given medical treatment.
Bartimos comes close to calling Luce a whore. If he said it, Daemon would probably have given him the Episode 8 Vaemond treatment. Again, that would’ve been a very dark tonal shift, so Barty stays quiet.
Clement wants 8 sons and 2 daughters because a crab (his house sigil) has ten legs total, two of them being pincers. But Luce doesn’t care about the symbolism, and she ain’t having that many kids.
Normally Luce would have sneaked off alone to meet Aemond in the library. But she brings Rhaena because the argument with Daemon is still fresh, and she’s smarting from his (reasonably accurate) accusation that she doesn’t think enough with her upper brain. So in a strange way, Daemon’s diatribe benefited Luce because if she’d gone alone, there wouldn’t be any witnesses to defend her.
Daemon’s snooping around the girls’ letters is also proving to be surprisingly helpful several years later! If he hasn’t read Aemond’s letters to Luce, Daemon wouldn’t notice the handwriting discrepancy.
Daemon spends the entire fic paranoid about Hightower schemes, and he’s FINALLY right! He finally gets validation! 😂 But he also has zero evidence, literally just gut feelings and vibes.
Baela has been having a great time with Cregan Stark (who canonically has a thing for bisexual tomboys). The Northerners are staying around longer than most wedding guests because the distance is so far, so Baela has plenty of time to keep seducing him. By the time Cregan leaves, I imagine he’s going to make an offer to Baela, but she’s going to put him off for a while longer; she’ll *probably* accept him eventually, but she’s not sure Moondancer will like the cold.
After Daemon confronts Aemond, Aemond goes to the Tower of the Hand to confront Otto. I’m not sure what exactly they say to each other, but afterwards, Aemond tears his room apart looking for the present he planned to give Luce three years ago. I don’t know where he eventually finds it, but it’s probably a laughably obvious spot he totally overlooks at first.
Jace has already been setting up a gossip/whisper network in the Red Keep, so she’s able to hear first thing the next morning about the library incident.
I like Paddy Considine’s take that Viserys *does* have the “blood of the dragon,” he just forces himself to control his temper because he’s trying to be a good king. Also, when he’s a walking corpse in Episode 8, he has the wherewithal to draw his dagger and threaten to cut out Vaemond’s tongue. Viserys would 100% call for Clement to be gelded and gossipers to be silenced. So, for once, Viserys strongly approves of Daemon’s violent streak. 😇
I spent a while debating Clement’s punishment. He kissed Luce when she didn’t want it, which, for most girls, would unfortunately be swept under the rug since he’s the heir to a notable house. But things are different with the royal family. Luce doesn’t want an unnecessarily cruel punishment; she was friendly with Clement until recently, and in Chapter 7, she’s restraining Aemond from violence against Ulf. Even though she’s quick to defend herself by any means necessary, she’s by no means a sadist. She was also deeply affected when Aemond lost his eye (which she partially blames herself for), which leads to her resisting punishments that involve maiming.
Jace also advocates for less violence, but not because she’s a softie. She prefers the diplomatic route, which is harder if you’re trigger-happy to forcibly amputate your vassals. But she knows a monarch has to make hard decisions sometimes, and she’s willing to do what it takes. For example, if Clement had done worse than kiss Luce, Jace *would* want him to be gelded, and she’d have no qualms about it.
Helaena did not have a vision or prophecy about Aemond and the book. She just saw him panicking in his room and figured out what he was up to, because she’s his sister and she knows him. 😂 And because she knows him (and Luce) so well, she can deduce they’re probably going to patch things up, so she packs his bags for him.
No God’s Eye duel in this verse, but I couldn’t resist slipping in a reference about Luce jumping into Vhagar’s saddle 😭
ASOIAF book readers can probably deduce what Joff’s candle is. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it until we get Joff’s POV. 👀
Joff kisses Daeron’s cheek purely to distract Daemon from asking more questions about the candle. Daeron is now very confused. I like to imagine he runs off to Jace and Aegon’s room screaming “Aegon, Joff kissed me, what do I do????” But Jace and Aegon are newlyweds so Aegon isn’t going to appreciate Daeron’s interruption 😂😂😂
That’s it for the Handbook commentaries! Fingers crossed that I have an update this weekend about my next fic in this AU-verse. 🤞
#my writing#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#meta#hotd fic#house of the dragon fanfic#daemon’s handbook
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The Vault
A JSE Fanfic
SepticHeroes AU: Part 26
First Part | Previous Part
This turned out so much longer than I expected. But I really like this chapter so I don't mind as much and I hope you guys don't either XD It's about 7500 words, though, so be prepared for a long haul. Jackie tries to figure out what to do with the tape the guys found in JJ's apartment, and Marvin stops by with something that might help. Meanwhile, JJ is in prison. Yaaaaay :( This Vault place is a lot weirder than he expected, but at least he's not alone in there. Have fun reading :)
===============
Jackie had never tried calling the police on the Red Line before. He’d never tried calling any number on the Red Line that wasn’t to someone else in the League. But Lorelai told him that police stations could identify a Red Line when it called in and would treat him like a Hero. Even so, he was nervous as he dialed the police’s non-emergency number. Maybe it was because of this new villain. They could clearly access normal phone lines. But surely they couldn’t access the Red Line as well.
Someone picked up on the other end. “Daindover Police,” they said. It sounded like a young man.
Jackie swallowed his nerves. “This is Windstorm,” he said, sounding much more confident than he actually was. “I need to speak to whoever’s in charge of the Puppeteer case.”
A long pause. “Uhhhh... one second sir,” the voice said. And then music started playing.
They put him on hold? What the hell? Jackie didn’t even know police stations could do that. Well, he could wait. This operator was probably trying to call over a supervisor to ask what to do. Which, if the police call center was anything like the call center Jackie used to work at, would take a while.
He tried to relax while the hold music played. He sat down at his computer and looked through the games on there, but nothing really appealed to him. He tried social media, but nothing appealed to him there, either. He opened up some of his comic books but found they just made him nervous. The battles between Heroes and villains in them were once exciting, but now he just thought about how different they were from the events happening right now in his life. The comics never talked about a Hero’s friend being revealed to be a villain, and then that friend’s sister being revealed to be a hero who the friend was just trying to save.
... You know, maybe the comics were bullshit. With all he’d learned about the League recently, he wouldn’t be surprised to hear they’d taken some liberties with the fights Heroes had.
Finally, the hold music stopped. Jackie had left the Red Line on speaker so he noticed it right away, and quickly lunged over to scoop it up again. “Hello? Windstorm?” a voice was saying.
“Ace? Is that you?” Jackie asked.
“Huh, so it is you. Yep, it’s me, kid.”
“You’re in charge of the Puppeteer case?”
“Well no, but I am on the case. The guys know that you and I have a rapport, so I’m gonna be relaying whatever you said to Detective Michaelson. He’s the lead on this.” Ace paused. “So. Last I saw you, you were really hung up on the trial thing. Is this about that?”
“Kind of,” Jackie said slowly. “I think I’ve found some evidence that the Puppeteer wasn’t... That there’s more to this whole thing than just the Puppeteer.”
“You mean... an accomplice?”
“I-if anything, it points to the Puppeteer being an accomplice. There’s someone else in charge, a, uh—a mastermind behind this. And I don’t think the Puppeteer was entirely willing.”
“Huh. That sounds like some damn good evidence.” Ace was clearly impressed. “So are you calling to make some arrangements for dropping it off, or...?”
“Uh—not yet,” Jackie said slowly. “I-I want to make a backup of it first. But I needed to let you guys know that it exists. This mastermind villain—I-I think they’re called Anti-Virus—might go after it.”
“Kid, if they’re gonna go after it, you need to get it somewhere safe as soon as possible,” Ace explained. “Nowhere safer than the police station.”
“Villains have broken in there before. And Anti-Virus isn’t limited by, uh, physical space. I think—I think they’re a technopath,” Jackie whispered that last part, glancing at his phone and computer as he did so. “A-and this could be... i-it’s risky. I need to make sure there’s backups.”
Ace was silent for a while. Then he sighed. “I’ll see what I can do with what you’ve said. But until you hand this evidence over, the police aren’t gonna act. You understand that, right?”
“That’s fine,” Jackie said. “I-I just want to establish that I have it.” Then, from down the hall, Jackie heard someone knock on the apartment door. Chase shouted something, probably telling whoever it was to wait a minute. “I have to go now,” Jackie said.
“Alright. See you around, kid. Good luck.”
“You too.” And Jackie hung up.
Just in time, too. Chase shouted down the hall, “Jackie! Marvin is here!”
Jackie was surprised for a moment before he remembered that he’d given Marvin permission to come to his apartment to reach him. That was just the day before yesterday, but it seemed so long ago. “I’m coming!” Jackie shouted, putting the Red Line on the dresser and rushing down the hallway.
It was weird seeing Marvin in his apartment. He was standing there awkwardly, shifting from side to side, one gloved hand messing with the zipper on his jacket. Chase was sitting on the sofa nearby. Frosty had clearly been the one to open and close the apartment door, as he was standing next to it and wagging his tail excitedly. Chase whistled, and Frosty trotted over to him, where he received many scratches behind the ears.
“There you are,” Marvin said, eyes locking on Jackie. “I have something for you.”
“Iiiis it in that bag?” Jackie pointed at the bag Marvin had slung over his shoulder. It was gray and made of canvas, completely featureless.
“Yep.”
“Alright, put it down on the coffee table, then.”
Marvin nodded and walked over, Jackie right behind him. He set the bag down on the coffee table and took a couple things out. A black rectangular box, a plastic bag full of cables (or maybe just one?) and a cloth laptop case that clearly had a laptop inside—one of the bigger ones. “Whoa, what’s all this?” Chase asked.
“This is everything you need to copy that tape we found at JJ’s place,” Marvin explained.
“A laptop?” Jackie said doubtfully. “Uh... I thought we were trying to keep it away from digital spaces where Anti-Virus might be able to access it.”
“You’ve just decided to latch onto that name, huh?” Marvin muttered.
“Hey, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Don’t change the subject.”
“Heh.” Marvin grinned. “Don’t worry, the laptop’s been modified. I got all this from the Dismantler and her family. She personally went in and removed the camera, the microphone, and the parts it needs to access the internet. It can play and record video, but that video can’t be accessed through wireless means. The hard drive was also wiped, so there’s no chance of anything already being on there.”
“Hmm.” Jackie raised an eyebrow. “She’s very thorough. Or did you and your paranoia ask her to do all that?”
“Both. And I’ll point out that my paranoia is very well-founded.” Marvin shook his head. “I... realized recently that... Anti-Virus might know who I am. Not the identity I have now, I mean... who I used to be.”
“You mean your rogue Hero shit?” Chase asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well fuck. That’s bad.”
Marvin laughed. “Putting it lightly, yeah. But this bitch made Jameson control me. They made Jameson do a lot. And they have Timekeeper. I’m willing to risk my identity if it means... making things right for the two of them.”
Jackie wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d never seen Spitfire Cat act so... selfless. Maybe this is closer to who he used to be. “I didn’t know you cared so much about Timekeeper,” Jackie whispered.
“I always thought he—she seemed like a real hero,” Marvin said slowly. Then he laughed. “And she clearly doesn’t like the League, so points for her in my book.”
Jackie rolled his eyes. “Okay, yeah, sure. Anyway, how do I work all this?”
“Dismantler included instructions,” Marvin said, unzipping the laptop case and reaching inside. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, just confirming that it’s there, and then put it back. “She also told me, but I don’t remember off the top of my head. I think you basically have to connect the VHS player to the computer with this special cable and then, uh... record it. And then you can... transfer it to another tape?”
“I’ll figure it out,” Jackie said. “I’m good with video software.”
“He really is, I ask him to edit my YouTube videos all the time,” Chase confirmed. “Also, uh... who’s the Dismantler? Should I know them?”
“No, uh, you guys have never met and I didn’t really talk about her,” Jackie said. “She’s a, uh... vvvvillain?” Uncertainty made that last word longer than it usually would’ve been.
“I don’t think what she and her family does counts as villainy, just crime,” Marvin said. “Besides, she’s only involved because it’s her family, so I don’t think she should count.”
“Isn’t her uncle Pathos?” Jackie asked.
Marvin started, surprised. “Don’t just say that!”
“Oh yeah, Pathos was that big villain, wasn’t he?” Chase asked.
“Yeah, til I whooped his ass and put him in prison.” Jackie grinned. “That was probably my first big battle as a hero. I mean, it was sort of easy, actually, but he had a reputation! That put Windstorm’s name out there. And all the villains I fought after that, holy shit there was a big spree that time last year.”
Marvin rolled his eyes. “There was a spree because you took out a ‘big villain’. When an organization like Pathos’s falls, two types of people appear. Those who want to be the next big thing, and those who were too scared of the local organized crime to cause chaos until it was gone.”
“...oh.” Jackie blinked.
“You seriously didn’t realize that until now?” Marvin snorted.
“Hey shut the fuck up.” Jackie put his hands on his hips. “It’s calmed down now! I handled it.”
“You did do that,” Marvin muttered reluctantly. “Anyway. Gw—the Dismantler also wanted to remind you about the Puppeteer’s mask. Do you still have that?”
“Uh... yeah,” Jackie said slowly. “I mean, after figuring out this guy was a technopath, I wrapped up the mask in a bunch of my spare clothes so they couldn’t really use the cameras or microphones in it.”
“Nice.” Marvin grinned. “Anyway. Dismantler pointed out that the mask could also be a piece of evidence. You just need to get someone else to notice the weird stuff that she did.”
“The weird stuff that pointed to it being controlled remotely?” Jackie nodded. “Yeah... I should take it back to Dr. McLoughlin for another scan.”
Marvin’s expression darkened. “You’re going to... you’re going to take it back to the guy... who messed up the scan in the first place. Even though he should have noticed it. You... you do realize how suspicious it is that he told you the mask was normal, right?”
“It could have been an honest mistake,” Jackie pointed out.
“Or it could be something else.”
“Don’t be so judgemental, bro,” Chase said, speaking up for the first time in a while. “Aren’t people innocent until proven guilty?”
“I—” Marvin was so surprised at Chase calling him out instead of Jackie that he didn’t have a comeback.
“Look, I get it, it’s weird,” Jackie said. “I agree. But I’m not going to go around being suspicious of everyone. I’ll keep it in mind that he did the scan wrong, but until I find proof that he’s... I don’t even know what you’re accusing him of—”
“I’m saying that he’s probably in cahoots with this Anti-Virus,” Marvin interrupted. “Or maybe he even is him.”
Jackie’s eyebrows shot into the air. “Ooookay. That’s a pretty serious accusation. And it’s one that I’m gonna keep in mind, but I’m not gonna jump to conclusions, okay? I’m gonna give McLoughlin a chance to explain what went wrong. He deserves a chance to do that, at least.”
“Not if he keeps tricking you,” Marvin muttered.
“I’d rather be tricked than go around doubting everyone!” Jackie snapped.
“Yeah, clearly.”
“I’m just saying there’s a line!” Jackie shouted. “I can’t think the worst of everyone, okay? If I thought the worst of everyone, we never would’ve found the tape! Because I would’ve written JJ off as secretly evil the whole time instead of talking to him! But he’s not evil, and he doesn’t deserve to be in jail! So I’m not gonna throw someone else in there based on what could’ve been a mistake!” He stopped, breathing heavily. Marvin and Chase were staring at him, gaping. Even Frosty was staring at him.
“Wow... never seen you go off like that, Jackie,” Chase said.
“I guess this whole situation is... getting to me a little,” Jackie muttered.
“That’s... fine,” Marvin said awkwardly. “Um... understandable. Y-yeah. I’m not... I’ll do my thing, you do your thing. I’m not gonna stop you. Uh... you can keep all this.” He gestured at the stuff on the coffee table. “But this is mine.” And he grabbed the bag. “I’ll... come by if anything happens.”
“Y-yeah.” Jackie nodded. “See you around, then.”
“See you.” And with that, Marvin walked over to the door and left.
Jackie sighed. The apartment seemed strangely quiet.
“Hey, uh... Jackie?” Chase said. “I get it about the JJ thing.”
“I just... I-I hope he’s okay,” Jackie said. “He’s tougher than he looks. But they sent him to the Vault. There’s a whole bunch of dangerous villains in there. That’s where they send the biggest threats. I hope he’s okay.”
Chase nodded. “Like you said, he’s tougher than he looks. I’m sure he can hold on until we’re able to get him out.”
“Yeah... yeah.” Jackie would believe that. He had to.
===============
Jameson didn’t remember much of the journey. He knew they traveled across land for a while, and then they traveled across the sea for a bit longer, but the car and boat didn’t have any windows, and so he quickly grew bored. Even though it was uncomfortable to sit straight up with tight handcuffs on, and slightly disconcerting to have people watching him, the lack of stimulation meant he soon fell asleep.
Was he really worth all this security? He hadn’t caused any trouble while in the police station. Did he really need four different people watching his movements at all times? He thought that, but then he remembered what he’d done, and he understood their caution. A villain who controlled so many people for so long should not be given any leeway.
“Hey. Get up.” Someone shook JJ’s shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked at them. It was one of the League Safety members—people without powers, or with very minor powers, who took care of all the everyday internal threats that Heroes were too busy for. Things like protecting League facilities... or overseeing the transportation of imprisoned supervillains. The LS people wore black uniforms with yellow highlights. Said uniforms included helmets with mirrored visors, bulletproof vests, and utility belts—where their main weapon, a neutrinalin dart gun, hung. But that particular weapon wasn’t necessary. JJ had already been injected before leaving the police station.
“We’re here,” the LS person said. “Get up.”
Jameson nodded, standing up. The LS person grabbed him by the arm, guiding him out of the boat.
So. This was it. Byrthon Vault.
The Vault was situated on a man-made island in the Irish Sea. It was closer to the UK than Ireland but big enough to hold villains from both places. All supers in this part of the world knew about the Vault. They’d heard about its towers and the tall, eight-sided wall surrounding the whole compound. But it was different to see it in person. The wall was a fifty-feet tall barrier of smooth metal, and the towers within rose into the sky like pillars of black rock. Jameson felt dread just looking at it.
A concrete path led from the docks to the wall’s singular gate, sloping up a slight hill as it went. Jameson let the LS person pull him up the way. Another LS guard walked on his other side, and there were two behind him. As they approached the gate—a pair of ten-feet-tall sliding doors with red lights in the center of each—Jameson almost froze up. Actually being here was giving him doubts. The whole thing felt so final. If he walked through that gate, he knew he would never be coming out again. He’d known that the whole time, but the reality of it was hitting him all at once now.
But he didn’t really have a choice, did he?
If you ever fail and get captured, you are not to say anything about me. You are to accept the full blame and take whatever punishment the law and the League give you. Likely, you will be sent to Byrthon Vault. If you protest this at all, I will terminate her. But if you are caught, I promise you no harm will come to her, and I will work to reverse her condition.
None of his messages with the blackmailer ever stayed on his phone for longer than an hour, but that one had been sealed in his memory from the moment he read it.
They stopped at the gate. One of the LS guards waved at a camera in the corner—or, that’s what JJ assumed that red light was. A panel slid open on the wall. The LS person pressed a keycard to it, followed up by a quick series of taps on a number pad. The camera’s red light turned green, and they went inside.
The area they walked into looked surprisingly normal after the imposing exterior. There was short gray carpet on the floor and white paint on the walls, and a woman sat behind a counter—though the counter was protected by bulletproof glass. “Hi, state your business?” she said pleasantly.
“Transfer from Daindover, Britain,” the LS person holding Jameson’s arm said.
“Right, we’ve been expecting you. Enter your access code there.” She gestured to another number pad sitting on the counter. One of the LS people walked up and tapped in another sequence. The woman typed something on a keyboard, staring at a computer screen. Jameson wondered if that computer was connected to the internet.
He wondered if they knew he was here.
“Alright,” the woman said. “Jameson Jackson, alias, the Puppeteer?” JJ jumped a little when she said his name.
“Yes, that’s it,” the LS person said.
“Great. Wait here for a moment.”
About thirty seconds passed in awkward silence before a door slid open next to the counter. Two people walked out, wearing uniforms similar to the LS uniforms, though with blue highlights instead and missing the helmets. With them was an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard. Tha man looked at Jameson. “This is him?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” the LS person replied.
“Alrigh’ then. You, Jackson, follow us.”
Jameson hesitated, then walked over.
“Cooperative,” the man grunted. “Good. I’m Daly, I’m in charge here. I hope you’ll understan’ quickly that whatever power you had out there, it’s useless in here.”
Jameson nodded. He felt the urge to laugh for a brief moment before it was suppressed by heavy anxiety. Power? What power?
They walked through a short hallway to a square room with nothing but two doors and a table that had a handful of items on it. One of the blue-uniformed people—prison guards, assumedly—picked something up from the table. Another neutrinalin injection gun. “Hold out your arms,” Daly commanded. Jameson did so, and the guard rolled up his sleeve and injected him right in the crook of the elbow. Made sense. His last dose had probably worn off.
The other guard picked something else up from the table. A black wand, also similar to something you’d see in an airport. The first put the neutrinalin gun down and took a set of keys from their belt, unlocking Jameson’s handcuffs. “Stand with your arms out,” Daly said. “Don’ make any sudden moves.” Jameson wasn’t planning to. He stayed perfectly still while the guard ran the wand over him.
After that was over with, the first guard picked up a bundle of cloth from the table and shoved it at Jameson. “Get changed in there.” Daly pointed to one of the doors, the one to the left. “I’m told you can’t talk, so knock on the door when you’re done and we’ll start the decontamination process. If you take longer than five minutes... well, don’t take longer than that.”
Jameson nodded. He took the cloth and headed into the other room, a space the size of a closet. He changed quickly into this new outfit—a white shirt, a pale green jumpsuit, and flimsy slip-on shoes—then knocked on the wall.
“Decontamination starting in three... two... one.”
JJ gasped, then quickly recovered when he realized that the robotic voice saying that wasn’t the same robotic voice he’d get phone calls from. But he gasped again when holes slid open in the walls of the room he was in. Jets of mist burst out, smelling vaguely medicinal, and droplets of liquid settled on his skin and clothes. Then a loud WHRRRR started as fans appeared and dried everything. Once the fans calmed down, one of the guards opened the door. “Step out,” Daly called from the room.
From there, the group headed through the room’s other door, down a long set of hallways, until they reached the main area of the prison. The cell blocks. Two of the Vault’s towers were dedicated to them, one for male and one for female. Obviously, this was the male block. It was... bigger than expected. The space was wide open, rows of cells stacked on top of each other, with catwalks reaching the higher cells. JJ counted six floors of cells. Everything was made of metal and plastic, all of it sleek and new-looking. And it was... quiet. So quiet. Pretty much the only sounds were JJ’s and the guards’ footsteps. That... must have been because it was early. Even so, the quiet made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
They took a lift up to the fifth floor and Jameson got a closer look at the cells. The walls were mostly solid metal, with the only exception being the door, which was made of a clear, bulletproof plastic. He glanced into the cells as they passed, but they were all too dark to see inside. It must’ve been lights out. But even so, was no one awake? Or curious about what was happening?
Soon, they stopped at a cell with a number plate reading 525. One of the guards took a key card from their belt and pressed it to a panel underneath that number. The door slid open. Jameson started to step inside, but Daly said, “One moment, 3117.”
Jameson tensed. Oh. Right. The jumpsuit had the number 3117 on the back and lapel. That must be him. He turned to look at Daly, tilting his head curiously. Instinctively he raised a hand to ask What is it? but then realized Daly probably didn’t know BSL.
“Hold out your hands,” Daly said. Confused, Jameson did so—and suddenly Daly snapped something around his wrists. Jameson started and pulled his hands back. These weren’t handcuffs. There was no chain connecting them. But they were two bands of metal now wrapped around his wrists, each about an inch wide but only a centimeter thick. “Congratulations,” Daly drawled. “You get some extra precautions. Those are magnetic pow-sup bracelets. When powered, that purple ligh’ across the middle will turn on, activatin’ power suppression and snappin’ the bracelets together. So don’ try anything, okay?”
Jameson nodded slowly.
“Good. Now, go on. It’s lights on soon enough, so you won’ get much time to rest before the roll call.” Daly made a dismissive go-ahead type gesture.
And with only a moment’s hesitation, Jameson turned around and stepped into the cell.
The door slid closed behind him. It was dark, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out the cell’s features. It wasn’t too different from the holding cell back in the police station. The walls were metal. There was a single cot to sleep on, along with a toilet and sink to use. There was a small metal shelf jutting out from the wall close to the ground. Some sort of... table? To use while you’re sitting on the floor? Or was it supposed to be a chair? Maybe both?
Well... there wasn’t much to do in here. So even though Jameson had spent the whole journey here sleeping, he lied down on the cot and tried to sleep some more.
But he couldn’t. Now that he was actually here, the despair he felt was too much. This was really it, wasn’t it? Surely the others would have found the tape in his apartment by now. Surely, if it could be useful, it would have been used by now. Right? No. No, he shouldn’t think like that. Maybe the process was just slow. Everything would work out eventually. He just had to be patient.
But it was hard to hold onto optimism like that in the face of this new reality.
===============
Over the next two days, JJ got used to his new routine. The lights came on in the morning, and then about thirty minutes later there was an announcement over the intercom for roll call. They happened floor by floor, lasting five minutes each. When your floor was called, you had to hurry over to the central meeting area of your floor—which ended up being a suspended platform for floors two through six. Jameson was glad he wasn’t afraid of heights.
After your floor’s roll call, everyone there moved to breakfast. The cafeteria was in a different tower, connected to the two cell block towers by narrow hallways. The food wasn’t much to talk about. Bland, with a weird plasticky aftertaste. Forks and knives were not allowed. After eating, there was a short period where you had to either go back to your cell or go take a shower. Then a maddeningly long period of time later, it was lunch, which was almost exactly like breakfast.
But after that, you were finally allowed to go somewhere other than your cell or the cafeteria. The afternoon was a sort of free period—though it wasn’t really free at all if guards were watching your every move—where you could go to the courtyard, do chores like laundry and cleaning, or go back to your cell. Jameson wasn’t allowed to do chores, as security on him was still too high, but he could do the other two things. After the afternoon, there was another roll call, dinner, another chance to shower, and then, an hour later, lights out.
The routine didn’t bother JJ. Honestly, even the guards didn’t bother him too much. Sure, they were constantly watching him, but he was being watched all the time before this, anyway. Just through cameras instead of in person.
No, what really bothered him were the other prisoners.
Not because they were intimidating or scary in any way. In fact... it was kind of the opposite. Byrthon Vault was home to some of the most dangerous supervillains in this part of the world. Jameson recognized a good number of them, either from hearing about them on the news or from helping her on her superhero patrols. These people were supposed to be ruthless, merciless monsters. Either lifelong criminals or people who’d done one thing so terrible that they got sent here right away.
So... why were they all so... quiet?
He’d noticed it from the start. The other prisoners barely talked. Only when answering a guard’s question or mumbling to their neighbors during meal times. And once he noticed that, he began noticing other things. They were all so pale—even paler than expected for someone trapped indoors almost all of the time. Many of them had dark circles under their eyes. And others were very thin, basically skin and bones. Some of them swayed while they stood. Some of them slumped onto the tables during meal times. All of them stared at him, but none of them talked to him.
Jameson didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but he knew he didn’t like it.
He spent the free period of the first two days in his cell, but by the third he was so confused and curious about what was going on with the other prisoners—not to mention extremely bored and tired of napping so much—that on the third day, he finally visited the courtyard.
This was a wide open space, octagonal like the walls around the Vault. A mesh net stretched over the entire top of the courtyard—presumably to deter flying villains from swooping in and rescuing prisoners. The middle of the courtyard was dedicated to various sports and exercises. Around the edges were benches and tables for people to sit at. Everything was concrete, metal, and plastic.
Jameson looked around. Like the cafeteria, the courtyard connected to both cell blocks, so some prisoners from the female block were here, too. He’d noticed that they were just as pale and lethargic as the prisoners in his block. So whatever this was, it wasn’t just affecting them.
There were some prisoners playing basketball or trying out the exercise equipment. But it was only a fraction of the people out here. Maybe a quarter of them. Or less. And even then, only a quarter of those people were really enjoying the activity. Most of them were just going through the motions. Sometimes stopping what they were doing to stand there, or even to sit down.
This was really freaking him out. His plan was to go over and ask the friendliest-looking person what the hell was going on, but he wasn’t sure they’d be able to tell him anything. Not to mention how unlikely it was that someone here would know BSL. So, overwhelmed by the strangeness of this situation, he walked over to a bench and sat down.
He was tired. He wasn’t usually this tired. Maybe something about being stuck in one place and bored all the time made him tired. Sighing, JJ tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a moment—
“Hey!”
Then he jumped and opened them again. That was the first shout he’d heard in here outside of roll call. He looked around—and saw someone approaching him. A woman with dark, wavy hair. Not a guard, as he expected. But another prisoner. She had dark circles under her eyes but was otherwise moving with more purpose than he’d seen most others move with. Slowly, he raised his hand and waved at her, unsure what to do.
The woman stopped in front of him. “You’re from Daindover, right? In Britain?”
JJ nodded.
“Did Windstorm lock you up?”
He nodded again.
The woman scowled. “That bitch. Hope someone puts him in his place one day.” She punched her palm. “So. What did you do? Did it hurt him?”
JJ hesitated. Can you understand me? he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “What is that? Are you making fun of me?”
He hurriedly shook his head. And then he patted his throat, trying to indicate his lack of voice.
“What? What is that?!” She leaned over him, scowling.
This wasn’t working! Jameson tried to show her the scar on his neck, tracing its faint line with a finger.
“Oh, now you’re threatening me?!” The woman grabbed his wrist. “Listen, I don’t know what kind of fucking bigshot you think you are, but these mean you can’t do shit in here.” She shook his arm, indicating the cuffs on his wrists.
He shook his head hard, started to sign I’m sorry but then remembered how poorly signing had gone before and scrambled for a new idea—
“Angela.”
The woman—Angela, apparently—jerked backwards. While she’d been getting up in Jameson’s face, someone else had appeared. Another prisoner. A man this time, wearing the jacket of his jumpsuit unbuttoned and sliding off his shoulders. He had bright red hair, cut close on his right but longer on his left, and—and purple eyes. Jameson stared at them for a second, at first processing their existence and then admiring their dark shade and how it contrasted the man’s brighter hair—and then he snapped back to his senses. Who was this guy? He looked vaguely familiar. “Soren,” Angela said curtly.
“What’re you doing?” Soren asked calmly.
“This bitch was threatening me!” Angela glared at JJ.
“You mean him doing this?” Soren mimicked the motion JJ had made to indicate his scar—which, JJ is now realizing, looked like the ‘I’ll slit your throat’ gesture people made to threaten others. “I think he was trying to show you that scar of his.”
Angela looked back at JJ, staring at him closely. “Well before that he was making all sorts of hand signals! Probably being fucking rude—”
“He asked if you could understand him,” Soren interrupted.
“How do you know that?!”
“Because I know British Sign Language when I see it. I could translate for you, if you let go of his hand so he can talk.”
Angela looked at JJ... and reluctantly let go of his hand.
“Right!” Soren said cheerfully. “So what was the conversation?”
“Asked him what he was in for,” Angela mumbled, sounding almost embarrassed.
Soren looked at JJ, who quickly started signing, I ended up taking control of a couple hundred people in my city and got them to commit various crimes. Including storming several buildings belonging to a tech company.
“Jesus, this takes forever,” Angela muttered.
Soren, meanwhile, looked intrigued. “Oh. So you’re the mind controller who came in from Daindover, huh? Is Windstorm still the hero there?” JJ nodded. “Hmm. Wonder if he’s gotten any better. He had the power, but was pretty new to it when I was there.”
Angela’s eyes widened. “Wait. Wait, he’s the—the string guy? Puppets guy?”
Jameson looked down, hiding the guilt on his face, and nodded.
“Oh. Oh, holy shit. I guess I should’ve, uh, realized. Uh—” Angela stood there for a moment, then abruptly turned around and left.
Soren watched her go, then looked back at JJ. “Don’t take it personally,” he said. “Angela isn’t dealing with this well. She’s always had a temper, and now being stuck here and feeling shitty all the time has made it worse. And I think she’s not used to feeling vulnerable. After all, Angela Lewis is the invulnerable Titanium.” He chuckled a bit, then sat down next to JJ. Now that he was closer, he could see how thin and pale he was—pale to the point of being practically paper white.
How do you two know about me? Jameson asked.
“We’re both from Daindover too. Word gets around about new arrivals, and people always listen up for their city.” Soren looked at him and smiled tiredly. “Anyway. What’s your name? Not your alias, I know that. It’s okay to spell it out.”
JJ did so, introducing himself as Jameson Jackson.
“Alliteration. Fun.” Soren held out a hand for a shake. “Soren Moizone. Nice to meet you.”
...oh.
Jameson suddenly realized why he looked familiar. He’d been on the news quite a lot. And that’s not all. A memory flashed through his head, vivid and real, of a past conversation.
I don’t get it. You could easily take down Pathos, Dahlia. Why don’t you?
“Because as long as people like us keep him in line, things are better.”
I still don’t get it.
“If you suddenly take out the head of a big organization like that, the power vacuum can be worse than they were, y’know? See it all the time in comics about Heroes’ early careers. Everyone rises up to take their place.”
So you’d rather fight him every month?
“It’s not really a fight most of the time, I just show up and look intimidating and he’s like ‘pack it up, you lot, we’ve gone too far.’”
Soren Moizone. The supervillain known as Pathos. The man who’d held crime in Daindover and the surrounding area in his grip—until a year ago when Jackie defeated him.
“Ah. There’s the look.” Soren’s easy smile faded a bit. “The realization. Listen, I can’t really do much in here, unfortunately. Neither can you. Or anyone, really. I think we’re all the same in the Vault. But up to you if you want to be on speaking terms.”
JJ hesitated. Then he reached out and shook Soren’s hand.
Soren laughed. “You have balls, Jameson Jackson. Though I guess that’s evident, from what you just said you did. Daindover really has a problem with mind-controlling villains.”
It’s not really mind control, JJ said. My powers, I mean. It’s... body control.
Soren tilted his head. “Hmm? What’s the difference?”
I don’t hypnotize people, JJ explained. When the strings wrap around their wrists, I can move their bodies with my thoughts. They’re still aware. And it doesn’t just work on people. Anything shaped like a human can be controlled. I used them on dolls when I was a kid. His parents had been mildly surprised the first time they walked in on him putting on a show for his twin. But not too surprised. It ran in the family, after all.
“Fascinating. You’re right, that’s not really mind control, is it?” Soren mused. “But to be fair, mine aren’t, either.”
JJ blinked. Can’t you make people think the way you want them to?
“Common misconception. I don’t influence their thoughts, just their feelings. It’s not the same thing at all, no matter how much people on the news told you it was.” Soren chuckled.
JJ raises an eyebrow. That doesn’t make it any less dangerous. Another brief snippet of a conversation flickered in his mind.
“I swear, James, I’d never felt so scared in my fucking life before. If the feeling hadn’t stopped when I paused things I would’ve been frozen. But instead everyone else was frozen, ayyy. I suppose powers like that don’t work on me when I’m out of time.”
“Well you’re one to talk, aren’t you, Puppeteer?” Soren pointed out. “I overheard some guards chatting about what happened in Daindover. They were shocked. Though it sounds like the rumors were a bit exaggerated.”
JJ tried to laugh in agreement, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Silence fell between them. Jameson turned his attention to the rest of the courtyard and tried not to think about the fact that Pathos—a lifelong villain who she often fought—was sitting next to him. Though as he looked around, it did remind him of why he was out there. Can I ask you something?
“You can ask me, can’t promise I’ll answer.”
Everyone here is so...quiet, JJ said. And... tired. I don’t know how to describe it. But that can’t be normal, can it? Or is this just what it’s like in all prisons?
“What were you expecting?” Soren asked. “Did you think there’d be a riot every day? Like a TV drama?”
I thought there’d be conversation, at least.
“No, you’re right.” Soren’s face turned very serious. “This isn’t normal. How long have you been here, Jameson? A couple days?”
Three days, JJ said.
“So you’re going to start feeling it soon, then.” Soren leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “Have you noticed that weird taste in all the food? It’s a sort of... artificial taste, like someone put plastic shavings in everything. That’s neutrinalin. It can be injected or consumed. All the food for the prisoners has heavy doses of it.”
JJ nodded slowly. He’d been wondering that. Nobody had pulled him aside to give him a neutrinalin injection since he arrived. And yet, he still felt his powers out of reach when he tried to find them. Not to use them, just to see if he could.
“Now, neutrinalin is all fine for the short term,” Soren continued. “But if it’s in your system for too long, say three or four days straight, you start feeling a bit sick. Like a bad cold. And until the neut is out, that feeling will just keep getting worse.”
Dread pooled in JJ’s stomach. And yet, he still had to ask, Did you say N-E-W-T?
Soren laughed. “It does sound like that, doesn’t it? No, ‘neut’ as in short for ‘neutrinalin.’ It’s slang. Sometimes people call it ‘the muffler’ too, or ‘the League’s best friend.’ Guess you’re not in those circles, huh?”
JJ shook his head.
“Anyway. The reason why all these great and powerful villains are walking around like zombies is because they feel like shit all the time. Some of them for years straight. I think Havoc Cry has been in here the longest, you don’t see her around often cause she’s too tired to leave her cell most of the time. Which—look, I’m not gonna say she doesn’t deserve it after she basically destroyed London, but... no, I’m gonna say that. She doesn’t deserve it. She deserved to stay here for the rest of her life, just like Avalanche, Dr. Rundown, Death Angel, the Mutilator—” Soren pointed out each villain as he said their name. Jameson had heard of all of them, but he wouldn’t have recognized them like this. “—and most of the others, but the drugging is a bit much.”
Jameson covered his mouth, hiding the horror on his face. All these people... Sure, criminals and villains, the worst of them, but... he couldn’t help but feel terrible about it as he saw them all in this state. Does the League know about the side effects? he asked, looking back at Soren.
“Dunno.” Soren shrugged. “You don’t hear people discussing it, not even in the underworld. Some people in here mutter that the League made it that way on purpose, but I don’t think so. I think they just never thought about it during development. And if they know what’s happening in here, they don’t think fixing it is worth it.”
Jameson shook his head slowly. This was awful. People must not know. If they knew, they’d be horrified.
Soren looked doubtful. “Would they?”
Of course! Even the Heroes would be horrified. Or at least... Jackie would.
“Maybe.”
Jameson scowled. He made to stand up—but stumbled as a wave of dizziness overcame him. He started to fall, but Soren quickly stood up and caught him before he hit the ground. Thank you, he signed shakily.
“Don’t thank me, it’s not needed.” Soren helped him stand upright again. “Let me guess. Everything started spinning?”
That must have been one of the side effects. JJ went pale as he realized that everything was just going to get worse from here on. He nodded slowly. Why are you handling this sickness better than anyone else in here? he asked.
“That’s not something I’m keen to share.” Soren smiled, a bit of mystery to his expression. “Now. If you’re standing up, I’m guessing you’re leaving?”
JJ nodded slowly.
“Try to come to the courtyard as often as you can. Sunlight and fresh air’s good for you. Makes you feel a little better. I’m here most days. Or we could try to meet during meal times—if you want to meet, that is, but I’d love to hear from you some more. Talk about how things have changed in Daindover.”
That would be nice, JJ said. He knew he had to take this chance. Talking was a lot less boring than napping, but not many people in the Vault would be able to understand him. Soren knew BSL. And even though he was a supervillain, so was everyone else in here. So was Jameson. Soren seemed nice, at least. And... he liked the way he smiled.
“Great. I can try to find you. What floor are you on?”
Floor five, Cell 525.
Soren raised an eyebrow. “They put you up high. The higher your floor is, the more dangerous they consider you. I’m on floor three, in 316. So it sounds like I’ll have to wait for you in the cafeteria.”
I don’t know if I’m flattered or not that they think I’m so dangerous, JJ said, frowning.
“I’d be flattered. But they’ll probably move you down later if you don’t cause trouble.” Soren smiled tiredly. “In any case. Later, then?”
Later. I’ll see you around?
“Certainly. Goodbye for now.”
JJ waved a goodbye as well, then turned and left the courtyard. He hadn’t spent much time there, but he needed to be alone. He needed to think about everything that just happened. About what he found out.
He was still hoping that somehow the others outside would figure out a way to get him out of here. But that hope was starting to waver. Especially knowing what was to come with the neutrinalin side effects. But... at least he wouldn’t be alone in here.
At least there was that.
#jacksepticeye#jacksepticeye fanfiction#jacksepticegos#septic egos#septic egos au#jacksepticeye au#jackieboy man#chase brody#marvin the magnificent#jameson jackson#brigid writes fanfiction#septicheroesau
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WELCOME TO…
random shit that most of this fandom collectively deluded into being canon, regardless of if it a) wasn’t explicitly stated in the show, b) contradicts actual lore, or c) was just straight up made up with no real basis! Also half of the bullet points end in rants; there are no words to describe this phenomenon but I’m a fanfic writer so that sure as hell didn’t stop me from trying
Ghost cores—not only the different types but also just their existence in general apparently—was pretty much entirely invented by the fandom. Like bro that’s the entire basis of ghost biology, how tf were we supposed to believe it worked in the show??
To expand on that, ghost biology.
Someone just decided Danny has freckles and that they glow in ghost form and we were all like. yeah.
Wesley Weston’s entire character. Nuff said.
Jack and/or Maddie always seemed to have grown up on a farm? Although I suppose with Maddie’s sister that could maybe be considered an educated guess
All the townsfolk refer to Danny’s ghost form as just ‘Phantom’ - oh wait, no they don’t.
Valerie’s alter ego is called the ‘Red Huntress’ - oh wait, no it’s not.
That one’s especially funny cause originally this list just included “Phantom calls Valerie ‘Red’” but then I learned the whole title was fanon and now I question everything I’ve ever thought beknownst to me.
Amity Park is a small town (not according to the background shots in the actual show).
I don’t remember how much of ghostly obsessions/Danny’s specifically was pulled out of the fandom’s ass but I imagine a fair amount of it considering the show wasn’t big on world building.
Phantom’s voice is echoey and/or staticky.
Danny smells like ozone and possibly citrus?
This one might just have to do with number psychology, but everyone seems to agree Phantom is a “level 7” on all of the arbitrary ghost rating systems invented by the Fentons?? Which were also made up tbf cause the Fentons never even invented that.
Danny bleeds both blood and ectoplasm, usually dependent on form, has a low heart rate and body temperature in human form, and possibly fangs. Aside from the latter these are mostly just logical inferences but it felt like they belonged here anyway.
Blob ghosts maybe?? I only think they might’ve been made up because I couldn’t find a proper photo reference of them one time and like I said, I question everything now. Maybe Jazz was never even real and the fandom just made her up so Danny could have one tiny thread of stability to support the massive load of trauma that we also dumped on him. Who the hell knows anymore, this fandom was the original Goncharov.
Accident with a capital A.
As far as I can tell, ectoblasts aren’t actually referred to as such. Admittedly I didn’t rewatch the whole show just to confirm, but according to the wiki, they’re actually called ghost rays.
Danny’s signature nervous tick is rubbing the back of his neck. I honest to god accidentally picked this habit up from reading fanfic and it is marginally embarrassing.
Danny blushes green in ghost form (admittedly this is a relatively obvious leap from “bleeds ectoplasm”.)
Ghost speak.
Danny’s middle name is James and Lancer’s first name is William (or maybe Edward.)
In all the AU’s I’ve read that involve Danny moving to Amity from somewhere else, it’s always Chicago. Admittedly I’ve only read two, but to paraphrase Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, it’s still weird that it happened twice.
Ghost ice doesn’t melt? Was that a thing? I don’t think so(?) This fandom is so bad at distinguishing canon from fanon and that does not exclude me, I haven’t seen the show in three years.
What else do y’all got? I’m sure there’s plenty more to go around
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20 Questions for Fic Writers
Thank you to @recurring-polynya my beloved for the tag!
I tag everyone who writes fanfic who hasn't done it yet! because I love reading these kinds of things
1) How many works do you have on AO3?
203, 11 under bleachbleachbleach.
2) What's your total AO3 word count?
827,868
3) What fandoms do you write for?
I currently write for Bleach!
4) Top 5 fics by kudos?
I use a site skin that hides kudos/comment count/bookmark/hit data on all of the fics on AO3, because they make me feel bad about myself.
5) Do you respond to comments?
Yes! I post my fanfic on the Internet because I want to talk to people about these characters and these stories. Of course I’m going to take the opportunity. If someone comments on a fic of mine, chances are I’ve probably re-read the whole fic before replying, because, again, I’m going to TAKE that opportunity.
6) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
All my fics are fairly dour the entire time, but I don’t think they tend to end badly. I’m most interested in the afterwards of something having ended badly (and/or something that is probably going to end badly, but hasn’t yet and maybe it won’t).
7) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
All my fics are fairly dour the entire time (she says, again), but happiest overall and happiest ending is probably Some Things, because nothing hard is obviously about to happen right after it ends (e.g. Aizen, the Winter War, the rest of TYBW, etc.).
8) Do you get hate on fics?
Hate, not usually. Passive-aggressive dismissiveness or unsolicited critique, yes.
9) Do you write smut?
I’ve written sexual content, but idk if it’s technically smut? In that the point of it is often not arousal. Like, I’m not expecting anyone to want to read it because it promises to be sexually satisfying and scorching hot. Usually the characters are Going Through It and either the sex is incidental or it makes everything worse. I love either an inconsequential bathroom fuck or sex that exists somewhere on the spectrum of Weird. All of which can be kink in itself, yes! But I’ve never written anything and thought, "yeah, THIS, this is gonna make someone nut."
10) Do you write crossovers?
No, but if I did it would be about Iba being great friends with King from Run with the Wind. This is THE crossover canon of all time, mark me.
11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not as far as I know.
12) Have you ever had a fic translated?
I’m not sure? I’ve had people offer, usually never to be heard from again, but I think it may have happened once, a long time ago.
13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Yes, but I didn’t really enjoy the process. Or didn’t *get* it? I guess I don’t really understand how it works? I barely understand how RP could work, lol.
Obviously we run this blog in tandem, and have co-written posts. I regularly hop into docs with multiple authors for things like abstracts, copy, organizational statements, etc. But fanfic is, to me, a completely different creature. That’s between you and the characters.
14) What's your all-time favorite ship?
I don’t think I’ve ever thought about a ship in this way. This is not about fandom or fanfic, but I will say I’ve reliably cried about David/Patrick’s wedding (and entire courtship) EVERY time I’ve watched Schitt’s Creek. S-tier.
15) What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?
I used to be someone of many fics and many WIPs, but in Bleach I am someone with one WIP and a selection of other posted fics, all of which have been pinched off of my one WIP, like little spider plants.
16) What are your writing strengths?
My strength is that I enjoy the process of writing fanfic. Like, obviously it’s frustrating when something isn’t coming together, or is just bad (though sometimes it’s still enjoyable even when I know the product itself is bad). Sure, it’s often DISTINCTLY UN-FUN if this is happening while the fic is on deadline, but overall I like writing fanfic, and I find I don’t relate to most "writers avoiding writing" memes I see. (Well, with work writing, I find them highly relatable. I’ve heard there are people in my profession who enjoy work writing. COULDN’T BE ME.) By god, I did not wrest away this time to write fanfic, only to NOT enjoy it!!
Product-wise, my strength is that I know my taste, at least, so I usually like the things I post, even if I don’t think they did everything well. Craft-wise, my personal favorite trait of my own writing is the rhythm and repetition, and the layering of metaphor that results.
17) What are your writing weaknesses?
How badly I want to hear from people after I have shared something. My father once told me (not about fanfic lol) that "not everything requires a response" but man, if I’m going to put my heart on the line, my heart requires one, regardless of whether the greater balance of the universe does.
Craft-wise, I think my weakness is sometimes leaving too much to implication (and the opposite, overwriting or overmechanizing, executed out of fear of leaving too much to implication).
18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?
For Bleach, I consider all dialogue as already in-translation, even though the only language these fics exist in is English. Depending no how important I think the dialogue is or how well-versed I am in how the character speaks in Japanese, I will sometimes spend a lot of time thinking about how the scene would go in Japanese, and what the best translation would be for that in English. I’m nowhere near fluent in Japanese; I just really like translation theory. In practice, the way this works is like, I’ll have a certain grammatical construction in mind, or an order of phrases in mind, and then I spend a lot of time deciding if what I want for the scene is a "Nabokov does Onegin" translation (literal, "pure," estranging), or a "Pushkin does Shakespeare" translation (in the artistic idiom of the target language). This kind of playground is one of the things I love most about Bleach, and one of the reasons I started writing for Bleach in the first place. I really enjoy it!
I am not fluent enough in any language other than English to want to write dialogue in it. I think all of you who write fanfic outside of your primary language(s) are phenomenal.
19) First fandom you wrote for?
Online and disseminated to others? Inuyasha, back when you had to also build the website to host it. (We discovered FFN later, lol.)
20) Favorite fic you've ever written?
I really like most of the fic I’ve written, to be honest. I think that’s probably less true of things pre-2009, but probably some of that stuff, too. Some are more take or leave, but of everything I’ve written in the last five years, there’s only one where I looked at the title just now and thought 'ehhhh.'
On this blog, I try to avoid talking in the specific about things I’ve made that aren’t for Bleach, but How Many Thousands is my top favorite. It was written for one of my best friends in the world, before we were actually friends. I consider it my love letter to her.
For Bleach, it’s probably my East Rukongai Soul Train fanfic, which I have read more times than the entire rest of the planet combined. I have read it many times. Thank you to those of you who also read to the end, because you are one of the highlights of my entire 2023!
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