#sorry about the lack of a cut I wrote this whole thing on mobile
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Aight aight here’s what I got:
(I’ve not watched season 15 cause I was queerbaited by the gay Angel confession, but from what I’ve gathered there wasn’t a lot to work with in the first place)
First off, keep the final villain ig, this plan works with any (altho it would be a lot more satisfying if it was built up but this is what we have) vampire clowns or whatever. Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Dean doesn’t die. He gets injured, severely injured, and ends up permanently disabled.
This prompts Sam to suggest retirement, which Dean is resistant to. They put it off for a while, go on hunts, during one of which Sam reconnects with Eileen. They get serious and Sam brings up retirement again, and Dean finally relents.
They buy separate houses right next to each other. Sam and Eileen get married, have a daughter named Mary Maura Winchester. Dean is the fun uncle, always teaching Mary tricks and things her father doesn’t allow. Like shooting a gun, which Dean considers essential, but Sam is firm that she doesn’t need to learn that yet. This actually causes a conflict for a while until they inevitably make up.
They both have some form of PTSD after all their fucking trauma. Sam’s manifests as night terrors. Constantly waking up in the night, hallucinating his father or his brother or Lucifer or Jack or the hundred other people that have died because of him, have hurt him. Eileen has grown used to this - she’s not without her own traumas after all - and they learn to navigate this together.
Dean’s manifests as paranoia. He keeps a police scanner in his house and constantly listens to the chatter. He keeps a log of unusual sightings that never result in anything. Once, he got drunk at a bar and became convinced the bouncer was a shapeshifter - “laser-eyes,” he told Sam, who dragged him out before a fight could start. Never mind Sam shook his hand with his silver wedding band, which prompted no reaction (a handy thing really - Eileen’s idea).
Dean really tries. He tries to pick up hobbies - he became briefly infatuated with wood carving, which Mary kept a few of his early pieces on a shelf above her bed - then after that coaching Mary’s Little League team, but he resigned after one year for being too rough on the kids - and he finally settled for bartending, and kept that for far longer than anyone thought he would, including his boss.
Dean really tried, but even after years of forcing domesticity, he still kept track of the color of the sky or natural disasters, still keeping a log of murders and missing persons, still on guard for the next apocalypse, the next big-bad that will try to kill them or kill the world or both. Even after all these years, he has to do something.
After Mary manages to recite the Latin exorcism verse back to him and successfully shoot a bottle from a stone’s throw away, Sam gives him an earful that reminds them both awfully of their father. I dont want Mary to worry about that, Sam said. I don’t want Mary to be like us.
How is she going to protect herself when you’re not there, then? In this world?
We made this world safe, Sam had said. We did it for a reason. For her.
And later, Dean nurses a glass of something cheap that smells of gasoline while thumbing the well-loved photo from an unused FBI ID, one that’s printed with a false name and a familiar face, and he wonders how this is supposed to be their happy ending when something is so desperately missing.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise then, when Sam goes to check on Dean a few quiet days later and finds his brother’s very few precious possessions gone, impala included. He tells Mary some excuse that her uncle’s gone traveling and, secretly, privately, quizzes her on the exorcism verses and their matching signs.
(He didn’t go after Dean because - well, it should be obvious. They’re older. Sam found out a month prior he could keel over from a heart attack any day now. Eileen is eight weeks pregnant. He can’t be responsible for his brother anymore, not when he has his girls, his family, to look out for now.)
They have a boy. They name him Dean, out of remembrance, since Sam is sure the next time he’ll see his brother is a John Doe in the newspaper, and give him the middle name Edward-John out of obligation.
Dean is approaching his first birthday when their neighbors are murdered.
Nice people, the Ashleys, if overbearing in their unwaveringly friendly personalities. They seemed to try very hard to get everyone in the neighborhood to like them, which made it even more shocking to discover Adam Ashley’s body strung like a kabob on the power lines between their houses.
Sam didn’t jump the gun, which was reasonable in a small town where, for the last fifteen years, nothing at all insinuous has happened, but it was the protective father and skilled hunter in him that double checked the locked doors at night, poured salt beneath the windows, and kept a loaded shotgun beside the bed.
Only days later, the Bishop’s girl, Vanessa, was subjected to the same fate. That hit Mary the hardest; Vanessa was on her Little League team, and it’s not a great thing to deal with for a pre-teen just entering high school.
For the first time in over a decade, Sam took inventory of his arsenal while Mary was at school and Dean was asleep. He cleaned and reloaded his guns, sharpened his daggers, restocked the salt bags. Carved stakes, shined silver, and flipped through his old log book to hopefully find whatever the fuck is tormenting the kids in his domain.
Eileen walks in and watches him from the doorway for a while. Then she claims the spot beside him and starts reloading the pistols, her fingers still deft and quick. Quicker than he is, and she gives him a smug smirk as she takes the next one, and Sam huffs a laugh and carry on like they aren’t preparing for the worst to hit their picturesque homescape.
You know we can’t take it on alone, she says.
We have before, he tells her.
We were younger then. Less kids. She says this with a smile, but he knows the second birth took its toll on her and they’re still struggling with that loss.
We might be the only ones who can help, he says instead.
Your heart can’t take it.
I’ve survived worse.
She isn’t happy with his answer, especially when he looks away and she can’t read his lips.
Before this can lead to an argument, a series of heavy knocks come to their door. They glance at each other, and only in the way of a long marriage they communicate through couple’s telepathy. Sam tucks a glock in his pants as he approaches the front door while Eileen takes care of the mess of unregistered guns hidden beneath their family room’s floor.
Crafting a smile, Sam answers the door. He means to open with a friendly, Hey, how are ya? Followed by a fatherly pat on the back at whichever neighbor decided to drop by with condolences or gossip. Instead, he finds himself reeling at the visitors.
Two young woman stand just outside their front door, chests puffed, suits that are too wide on the shoulders and hang too low on their fingertips, hands holding out FBI badges, they spew a rehearsed speech about investigating the local murders.
Sam waits for them to finish before giving them a lopsided, more familiar grin, as he asks for their boss’ number.
The girls give each other a quick glance, one of internal panic and the other of external. The prior one digs out a business card with a number professionally printed on it, and Sam digs his cell phone out of his pocket and dials the number.
It rings, and rings, and Sam wonders if maybe he miscalculated, maybe he was wrong - and then a click.
Director Harris speaking.
Sam stifles a laugh. The gruff voice on the other end asks who’s calling and threatens to hang up. Sam pulls himself together long enough to speak.
Hey, Dean.
A long pause. Sam waits. The girls’ eyes are wide and they seem to be trying to communicate to each other through eyes only. Then,
Hi, Sammy.
Now I would end it there except I want more Castiel content and I know you do too, so, after this, the screen fades to black and we think the credits are gonna roll. But then, in the Empty, there’s a muffled voice saying something we can’t make out yet. There’s some static in the background that quiets and quiets and continues until, very clearly, we hear:
“Cas. Hey, Cas! Wake up!”
Cut to black, credits roll.
#an open ending is all I hoped for and they couldn’t get that right#supernatural#destiel#spn#spn s15#spn spoilers#Ig? idk#markiboss talks#markiboss writes#rewrites#sorry about the lack of a cut I wrote this whole thing on mobile
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I signed up for this
TITLE: I signed up for this.
CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot
AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump
ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.
RATING: T
NOTES/WARNINGS: Decided to challenge myself to a speed run. Wrote this in under an hour. So, be weary of any issues with continuity. I hope you enjoy it, anyway!
Based on an Imagine by @imagine-loki.
=
Loki let out a weary sigh as he fell backwards onto the creaky, uncomfortable single bed. His feet peeked more than a few inches off the bottom, though his head was nearly flush to the headboard. In another life, he would have grumbled about the furnishings not being lush enough, the bed not cradling him in near weightlessness. Right now, he was just happy it was supporting his weight after that hasty repair last week.
It was no matter; he slept in a ball anyway. If he slept.
“I actually might tonight,” he muttered to himself.
The more he rested, the more he became aware of the ache in his fingers and the sting of his raw knuckles. Though years ago those injuries might have befallen him from battle, or a spar, today his pains came from scrubbing a floor clean on his hands and knees. Loki was no longer that god burdened with glorious purpose. He was just another mortal with a couple of thousand years head-start on life. After Odin’s swift (but not entirely merciful) judgement following the disaster in New York, he had been stripped of nearly every morsel of magic in his veins and hand-delivered to Neighborhood Pals, an organization designed to do tasks for those in need.
Carl had been his first assignee, helping him around the rec room of the community center. The man, bent in his old age had not been much of a fuss. In fact, Loki found that he liked talking to old codger, as irritatingly perceptive as he was.
Which was why when he went to drop off some groceries after not seeing him in the community center for a few days, and seen the lived-in grime of the floors, rotten food in the pantry and soiled linens stacked high, Loki had nearly snapped. He demanded to know why his family was not taking care of him better. Carl said that his daughter used to take care of him, but trailed off before he had relayed a full explanation. It had not taken Loki more a minute to piece it together. His daughter was dead and it was his fault. And so, he took his frustration and rage on every square inch of the property until it gleamed.
The trilling mobile in his pocket made Loki groaned. Fishing through the pocket of his trousers, he pulled the damn thing out and answered without glancing at the ID. Only one person ever called him.
“Yes?”
“Hello to you, too, Sourpuss.”
Loki groaned once more. Having Stark as liaison between Odin and the tasks he was assigned was hell. He supposed it was even more irritating because Stark had not even had the decency to be short with him this entire time and that annoyed Loki to no end. It was hard to find hatred when you were given nothing to work with. Loki sighed, sitting up and running his free hand over his shortened locks–a parting gift from some Asgardian guards that Frigga had to fix, later. The little tuft of hair at the top was reminiscent of when he was much younger.
“I was just going to inform you that Carl left a really nice review on your work today. What did you do, take him to see the hot babes?”
“Got him drunk and high. I’m surprised he didn’t die of an overdose,” he replied after a long while. Tony guffawed down the line. Loki nowadays was all bark and no bite, he would say.
“Well, I have your schedule for tomorrow. I’m going to send you an address and you will be there at 9 am, sharp.”
“And after?”
“Nope, she’s your whole day. Name’s Charlie and she is blind, so be extra careful with sudden movements.” Loki hummed his assent and hung up. Sometime later, sleep overtook him.
…
It was 8:59a when he rapped on the door. “Neighborhood pal.” He felt ridiculous every time he announced his presence that way, but it was required of him, per Tony’s rules. A lot of the time people were convalescent, and couldn’t physically get the doors themselves They needed a warning before Loki simply let himself inside.
Just beyond the door, there was movement and quiet muttering. Loki waited with bated breath for the sounds to come nearer, and instead was rewarded by a large crash and a muffled goddammit. Loki tried the doorknob to find it unlocked, and he pushed the door in, immediately gasping.
On the floor, surrounded by glass was a woman, on her knees. She was wearing mismatching purple jeans with an orange top that seemed to be inside out. Her feet were bare and it looked like she attempted a plait on her long brown hair and grew frustrated, halfway through. Next to her was an overturned coffee table from where the glass had come from and she tried to find purchase for her hands on the floor to leverage herself up and succeeding only in getting shards stuck in her palms.
“Stop!” Loki’s voice barely traveled over the sound of her gasping sobs. “Stop, I’ll help you up.” He stepped over some larger pieces of what he thought was a vase and put his hand on her shoulder, where she immediately flinched away.
“Get off me!”
Loki fought the urge to step backwards. He wanted to leave, somehow convince himself that it was in everyone’s best interest… but there was glass all around and she looked small and helpless.
“Sorry. Sorry. Should’ve warned you. I’m going to pull you up. Do not plant your feet.” Loki wrapped an arm around her torso and plucked her straight off the ground. His strength came in handy sometimes, and with a few short steps, he had deposited her on a soft grey sofa. “Don’t touch your face. You have glass in your hands. Let me clean this up and I’ll pull it out in a moment.”
He noticed she was struggling to stop her empty gaze on where she thought he might be. They were a beautiful shade of hazel, he also noted, that wouldn’t see another single sunset because of him. Tears ran tracks down her tanned skin, though she had stopped sobbing. Now, she only looked irritated? Disgusted? Angry?
“Do all monsters have such soft voices?”
Loki’s breath hitched. Definitely angry. And so skilled at finding the wound and prodding. “I’ll be back to pull the glass, Charlie.”
Wordlessly, he retreated. After a little digging, he found a broom and swept up the broken glass, righted the coffee table and tidied up the area, every so often glancing over his shoulder to look at Charlie. She seemed uncertain about moving from the spot he dropped her in, fearing another accident if she ventured further. She did, however, fiddle with her hands, grasping bits of crystal and pulling them from her skin.
“I found the Aiding kit,” he announced quietly, coming to kneel before her. “You shouldn’t pick at your hands. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Charlie scoffed. “What? Will I put my eye out? Will I be reduced to a whimpering child who can’t remember where her coffee table is anymore? Will I be forced to live off of Tony Stark’s charity because I can’t work anymore? Stop me when you hear the right reason, by the way.”
He stuttered dumbly before he found his words. “I-I am sorry.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m magically cured!” She gestured her surroundings. “All I needed was the most insincere apology on Earth from the vilest creature to have ever roamed it. Now I’m all good!”
The words and her tone stung, he had to admit. Most people avoided talking to Loki about the attack–it seemed to be human nature to avoid the pain of conflict. One or two people were angry and gave Loki an earful before he was allowed to do his work, but Charlie had been the first to actually hurt him. He was a monster. This wasn’t enough. He didn’t know how to fix it.
Loki thanked his lucky stars for one small miracle: her lack of vision meant she couldn’t see the tears that beaded onto his eyelashes. He cleared his throat, reaching for her hands. To her credit, she didn’t even flinch and he turned them palm-side up on her lap to pull jagged pieces of transparent glass out of the shallow scratches with a pair of tweezers. Her eyes had finally (though possibly not on purpose) fallen onto him and her blank gaze stayed unerringly glued to his form as if she were cataloguing him. He felt strangely pinned down by her stare.
After wiping down her palms with an antiseptic wipe, he allowed Charlie pull her hands away from his grip. The barest corner of her mouth curled in a half-snarl, clearly annoyed about having had to rely on her own personal demon for help.
“I apologize for the rough introduction–”
“Rough introduction was when you soared over the city in a battle cruiser with the hopes to enslave us. I don’t think a smile and good customer service would do much to change that, Loki.” Loki opened his mouth to interject a defense, but was cut off before any words formed. “I had a life and a job and a boyfriend. I could fucking see! You are only here because Stark insisted I do this, but how you can think that doing a few chores will ever amount to the damage you did is beyond me! Save your goddamn apologies. I don’t want them.”
The muscles on the back on his thighs were screaming from being kept in that squatting position for so long. Loki, however, found he could not move; scared stiff, as it were. The only thing he could do was stare helplessly into the wide-eyed anger before him, taking care not to distract himself on the freckles over her nose, and blink away the fresh wave of tears brewing at the corners of his eyes. Loki sniffed and her brow furrowed into a deep frown.
“Are you crying?” Charlie’s tone was halfway between irritation and disbelief.
“No, of course not.”
Her fingers jabbed him indelicately on his cheekbone. A little more traveling and they were skimming his closed eyes. He sighed as she drew them away, dampened in tears. “Oh, it has feelings.”
“Yes, it has been a surprise to everyone, including myself,” he riposted somewhat sarcastically, shoving the gnawing guilt to the back of his mind. Charlie chuckled under her breath despite herself. “Let me help you.” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. Order the monster around.“ She seemed hesitant at his turn of phrase, though it had been her who had used the name, in the first place. "Have you eaten yet? How about we start there?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stood and made for the kitchen. It was organized, though showed signs of misuse, as well as a small scorch mark on one of the counters. Apparently Charlie had tried to cook before giving up on the endeavor all together. Loki put some coffee on, and bread in the toaster, before fetching butter and jam from the refrigerator. He made a face at the contents–he would need to clean it out and buy new groceries before the day was out; something she could quickly consume.
Charlie shuffling off the couch pulled his attention. He watched as she stumbled around the coffee table again. That would need a new place to live. She seemed unsure of her steps, but was doing well to keeping to the clear space of the living room and kitchen. A growl sprang forth from her lips as she pawed the air, likely looking for the kitchen island just ahead.
“Three steps forward, two steps left,” Loki supplied, not wanting to interfere. If she was going to live on her own, she was going to have to learn the lay of the land. “Mind your feet, there’ll be a barstool right when you reach the countertop.”
“This is exhausting.”
“I think we just need to clear out some of the hurdles. You’ve got lovely knickknacks, but you need open space where you’re not afraid to run into anything.” He buttered the perfectly toasted bread and smeared a thin layer of raspberry jam atop. He lay the slices on a plate and slid it in front of Charlie while he poured coffee. “Arms’ reach. How do you take your coffee?”
“Black,” she replied, distractedly. Charlie placed her hands on the counter and slid them gently over the surface until they bumped against the plate. When she held the toast and took a bite, she made a sound like she was starving. It took the noise for Loki to see the slightly sunken quality of her face.
“Charlie, when’s the last time you ate?”
She slowed down her chewing, jaw tensing at the question. “I’m doing fine on my own.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” There was no response from across the counter, and so Loki dug his hand into his trouser pocket to find his mobile. The other end of the line picked up immediately. “Stark, I need a favor.” He covered the mouthpiece on his phone and leaned forward. “I’ll be right back. Mind the coffee, it is still very hot.”
…
“Charlotte Camden, what the ever-living fuck!?” Tony had just burst in through the front door of Charlie’s apartment. Loki had just finished putting away a boatload of glass and porcelain decorations into a box in Charlie’s closet. He had pushed furniture to the sides and organized her closet by colors, to avoid being mismatched.
Charlie, who had been sitting on the floor “supervising”, turned towards Loki with eerie precision and glared. “You snitched on me?”
“This isn’t about Reindeer Games, Charlie. Have you or have you not refused the last three food deliveries sent to you?”
“Tony–”
“Have you or have you not? It’s a yes or no question.”
Her fists opened and closed with restraint. It was clear she wanted the option to storm out, but lacked the ability. “I didn’t want to do this stupid program in the first place!”
Tony scoffed. “Great! So what was the plan? Starve to death? Get hit by a car trying to get to the corner bodega?”
“Yes!” Tony instinctively stepped backwards at the roar. “I don’t want to live like this, Stark. How would having him here be of any help?”
Loki felt his skin crawl as Tony turned his attentive eyes towards him. His own jade orbs were fixated on a spot on the hardwood that was slightly discolored compared to the rest. The same thoughts echoed in his head. He was a monster. This wasn’t enough. He didn’t know how to fix it.
“Tony, he’s a monster." He was a monster. "This will never be enough." This wasn’t enough. "There’s no way to fix this." He didn’t know how to fix it.
"Come on, Charlie. He’s trying his best here,” Tony whispered, taking a knee in front of her. “He’s been working really hard to try to make up for what he’s done.” Charlie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. “Let me call Ben. Maybe he can reason with you.”
“Ben left, Tony.” There was something broken about the way she said those three words.
“What do you mean? When?”
“Three weeks ago. It’s OK. He left a note. Because I can read that, right?” Her head turned towards Loki’s general vicinity. “It’s on my bedside table, if you’re curious.”
Slipping quietly backward, he went into Charlie’s bedroom. On the bedside table a piece of paper looked as if it had been folded and unfolded several dozen times. It was crinkled and smudged, as if constantly stroked. His fingers snatched it off the table and he brought it up to his eyes.
Charlie,
I don’t know how you do this. I don’t know how, after everything that’s happened, you can even think of taking his side. Loki is a monster and he doesn’t deserve a single iota of kindness or consideration you’ve shown him. You should have demanded his death, not his rehabilitation. He’s ruined yours and countless others’ lives and you just walk around with your “we don’t know the whole story”.
Well, I know my story. And I love you, but this life wasn’t what I signed up for. We had plans and they’ve all gone up in smoke. I can’t do this anymore.
Goodbye.
Ben
Rage roiled in the pit of his stomach, equal measures for this Ben person as it was for himself. He had well and truly fucked this woman’s life. And she had defended him. And it cost her everything.
Loki caught his breath, though he hadn’t noticed when he started panting. Forcing himself back into the living room, he watched Stark glance up in his direction before scowling. The man had patted Charlie on the shoulder and got to his feet, intent on meeting Loki in the middle. Instead, Loki shoved the note into Stark’s chest and continued over to where Charlie sat.
Sensing his presence, she raised her face to him, eyes struggling for a place to focus upon. His hands rested on her shoulders and she tensed, fists clenching. When he pulled her into his chest, her hands occupied themselves with beating at his chest, his stomach, his arms–anywhere she could reach. He remained still, teeth clenched against the pain. He welcomed the sting and the bruises that would inevitably follow. Anything if it took away her pain.
“Keep going. I know you have more in you,” he whispered. Charlie hesitated, tears starting to leak out of the corner of her clenched eyes before punching him again. “Go on. I signed up for this.” A breathless sob jarred her chest and echoed into his own. Her arms, tired and aching, twined around his middle and squeezed for all she was worth. “I promise you, I signed up for this.”
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Something Blue
She’d tried to make it work… she really had. But it was hopeless.
Oh, the angst! Not my usual thing, but Ellis_Hendricks and I were discussing the end of Molly’s notorious engagement and I was inspired to write this short piece on the subject. This could be considered the prequel to Visiting Hours, the first Sherlock piece I ever wrote, three years ago now. How time flies. Many thanks to Ellis_Hendricks for looking this over for me.
They hadn’t spoken a word on the drive back to London. There had been nothing left to say.
In the beige and grey of their hotel room, she’d told Tom the whole -- or most of it. The basic facts, at least. Though it had turned out that these merely confirmed suspicions he’d done his best to ignore, right up to the moment when she’d stabbed him in the hand with her fork.
“So,” he’d said, his voice as dull as the room’s appointments. “You are in love with him.”
She’d sighed, weary with emotion, champagne, and the long day, but had not voiced confirmation of the statement. After all, what was the point?
They’d packed their bags in silence, checked out of the DoubleTree with a minimum of fuss, and returned to London, arriving at her flat in the small hours of a starless night.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” she’d said, bleak and dry-eyed as she’d watched him set her suitcase on the pavement beside her.
“I’m sorry, too,” he had replied, a bitter note in his voice. A brief pause, then, “Goodbye, Molly.”
And that was that.
It was the inevitable conclusion of a process that had begun months before, on the day she’d opened the door of her locker to find Sherlock reflected in the inadequate mirror, a quizzical, almost tender smile on his lips and in his eyes. She’d whirled to face him with a small gasp, and there he was, towering over her, warm and alive. The happiness, the blessed relief…
And then she’d remembered.
“You’re back,” she’d managed to say, and then frowned. “Have you been in a fight?”
“John was less pleased at my return than you appear to be.”
“Oh.”
She hadn’t seen John for a long time. It had been too awkward, and now, she’d thought, it would be more awkward still. Mycroft Holmes had told her she’d nothing to worry about, legally speaking; he would see to that. But nothing would alter the fact that she’d deceived Sherlock’s closest friends for over two years.
So many lies.
In the end they’d understood, and forgiven, even John, knowing it had all been part of the game -- a very serious game.
But she hadn’t told Tom much of it at all, until that night at the hotel, after John and Mary’s wedding and that nerve-wracking reception. And by then it was too late.
Though maybe it always had been too late.
*
A month later, Sherlock was standing in her lab looking both dissipated and coldly indifferent as she ran the drugs panel and she could not help wondering what insanity had prompted her to throw over Tom for this. Like the Watsons, she hadn’t seen Sherlock in weeks, but the shock she’d felt when they’d first dragged him in had rapidly turned to fury as she worked, a fury that was well able to vie with John’s, and, when she had the final results, surpassed it. There was no way she could have kept from stripping off her gloves, marching over to her bloody, wasted Nemesis, and giving him just a taste of what he so richly deserved.
She felt a moment’s satisfaction at having hit hard enough to penetrate that seeming detachment, and followed up her assault with a demand that he apologize. But of course, even out of his skull on opiates, Sherlock was more than capable of a cutting riposte.
“Sorry your engagement’s over -- though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.”
After which all she had been able to come up with was, “Stop it! Just stop it!”
*
How she managed to work the rest of that day she had no idea, but she was a professional and she did it.
A couple of her co-workers had somehow heard about what happened and begged her to come out for a drink when her shift ended. There was nothing she wanted less.
She made her way home, angry at Sherlock, livid with herself. Idiot was the word of the day, and when she got home even Toby sensed that she’d snapped, retreating under the bed in the guest room after she’d slammed her front door upon the world.
No matter.
She fetched the bottle of good white wine she’d been saving for a special occasion (oh, the irony!), poured herself the first of several enormous glasses, put Toby’s dish of wet food out where he would eventually dare to find it, and flopped down on her couch to watch crap telly. God knew she needed the distraction.
*
It was several hours later when she woke to a dull sense of depression, lingering inebriation, and the sound of her mobile phone noisily vibrating and blaring its current ringtone (‘Happy’ of all things. Irony upon irony). She grabbed the phone to shut it off, but saw that it was John and accepted the call.
“Hi, John,” she said, her voice rough.
“Molly? Are you okay?”
“Yes. Of course. What is it? Sherlock again?”
“Molly… yeah, it’s Sherlock. We were on a case and… Molly, he’s been shot.”
“What?” she blurted, sitting bolt upright, her head swimming.
Bad… chest… surgery… not sure…
She could barely take it in.
But John’s last words were, “... will you come? I mean, there’s not much we can do until he’s out of surgery -- if he makes it. But I thought…”
“I’ll come. I’ll be there,” Molly said, firmly.
“Good. Yes, that’s good. See you soon.”
John ended the call.
And Molly, hopeless idiot that she was, collapsed against the sofa cushions and began to sob.
~.~
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so i’m writing/creating my own btd murderer character.
i’m still fleshing out his details and story, but i wrote an introduction for him and mc? if anyone wants to give it a read or whatever.
i’ll post the link but also post it here
link
also posting below here in case the link doesnt work or something
it looks better in the doc bc of the fonts and shit but yknow
Happenstance
( mc pov )
Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt―.
Hearing the ever familiar whirring, eyelids gradually opened, staring blankly at the white wall of their dorm room. Judging from how lit the room was, it could be surmised that it was already morning. Releasing a puff of air, eyes returned to their shut state, burrowing further into the case that sheathed the pillow embraced within their arms. It was far too early to be awake…
Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt―.
Having forgot about the continuous vibrations, a grunt was released, shifting in bed as hands blindly attempted to find the source beneath the mass of sheets. Why was the phone unable to just stay in one place throughout the night?
Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt―.
Annoyance further pressed, their body lurched upwards, haphazardly throwing the sheets back to expose the bed. No phone. Reaching towards their surplus of pillows, each one would be raised, searching for the damned phone. Still, no phone. What the hell?
Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt. Vzzt―.
Eyes slowly went towards the foot of the bed, arms sliding beneath the previously thrown sheets. After a moment of blindly swinging their arms around, the back of their hand finally hit a glass surface. Victorious, fingers clutched around the mobile device and yanked it free. How did this happen so frequently. Vibrating in their clutches, eyes stared at the now lit up screen, finger sliding across the screen to shut the alarm off. Once gone, only one thing remained: time.
9:45 AM.
❝ ―Fuck! I’m gonna be late! ❞
Flinging themselves out of bed, their usual morning routine would be cut in half. Throwing on a simple hoodie would have to do. After running a quick brush through their bed head and brushing their teeth, they returned to their work desk, tossing their school books in, all while attempting to stuff their feet inside their shoes. Laces be damned.
Slinging the book back over their shoulder, they briskly exited the dorm room. It was mid-winter, a brisk, cool wild hitting their face as they sped walked across campus. Did they look rather silly? Perhaps, but after being consistently late for this class twice this week already, it had been a personal goal to arrive on time―early, even. So much for that. College campuses were essentially set up to doom any and all late comers with how spacious they were.
Approaching the quad, a chilled hand reached within the pocket of their hoodie and pulled out their cell phone.
9:56 AM.
❝ Of course... ❞
An exasperated sigh pushed its way through their airway, eyes gazing towards the building which held the cafeteria. ...Well, if they were going to be late already, what was a few extra minutes? With how this day had started, a pick-me-up would surely be needed, and coffee was a tremendous ally. Changing course, they now had a new mission.
Pulling the door towards them, warm air melting the frigid layer that encompassed their skin. After observing that the length of the line wasn’t too horrid, they approached, standing in spot, waiting to approach the barista to place their order.
The wait hadn’t been too awful, and it was worth it, especially to feel the heat radiating off of the styrofoam cup, feeling the sensation seep into their fingers. It was almost to the point of burning them, but it was a comforting feeling. Swiftly turning around, their heart stopped momentarily, narrowly managing to dodge running into someone. That would have been bad―especially considering how scolding hot the coffee was. It could have seriously burnt this man.
❝ Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay? ❞
The tone seemed less than sincere, if only because no damage had actually been done. Not to mention, they were on a bit of a time crunch. There was no more time to waste, otherwise they would be extra late.
The aforementioned male’s―actually, would it be more appropriate to call him a giant?―aloof countenance ebbed away any true concern, the corners of his mouth raising slightly into the tell-tale signs of a smile. Was he trying to make them feel better, or was it for himself? It was hard to read, for some reason.
❝ I’m fine, no harm done. You should be more careful, next time. ❞
While his words seemed a bit condescending, his tone was anything but that. It was almost as if he held more concern for them rather than his own self. Almost as if the coffee would have spilled on him, he would still be the one apologizing for some reason. While tall, he also appeared lanky in stature, maintaining a rather poor posture. Hair longer than most, it also curled around the ends, bangs parted in such a way to cover the left part of his face. His whole appearance gave off a rather ‘edgy’ vibe, but he pulled it off fairly well. His appearance didn’t seem to match his seemingly quiet and tender personality. Granted these were all assumptions they were making of a stranger…
Wait, shit. They had a class to get to.
❝ Right, I will be. I have a class to get to, though. I’m super late. Sorry, again. Uh―later. ❞
Well, as lame as an exit as that was, there was no time to dwell on it. Turning away, they exited the cafeteria, once more continuing their rushed pace towards the art building. Why did they need an art credit, anyway? Well, it wasn’t like they had really chosen a major yet, so dipping their toes in every field was what the adviser had suggested, but…
Art was something you were born good at, right? Drawing something as simple as a stick figure came out completely awful for them. Oh well, it was just for a semester. Maybe the teacher would have pity on them…
Judging by the disapproving glare they received upon entering late for the third time this week, they highly doubted it. Attempting to be as quiet as possible, they tiptoed around portfolios and book bags, getting to their table and taking a seat. With the semester just starting, class mainly consisted of simple vocabulary terms and slight history regarding class assignments and projects that would be accomplished through the semester.
Paying attention proved to be difficult, especially as the classroom door opened once more, and a familiar face walked through. It was that guy―coffee guy. He was taking this art class, too? Why had they never noticed him before? He was sort of hard to miss. After a brief verbal disapproval from the teacher, and having him take his time to arrive at his table and seat, the lecture continued. However, most of it was tuned out, staring at the mysterious, edgy tall boy. Various questions swarmed their mind: What was his reason for taking the class? Had he known it was him at the cafeteria? Why did he not say anything?
Apparently they had been staring too hard, because suddenly their eyes were locked together. Breath caught momentarily in their throat, they felt like a deer caught in headlights. He was staring so intensely...was he just returning the gaze? Had they been staring that hard? Seemingly amused, he smirked, the back of his hand pressing against his cheek, head facing back forward towards the board, zoning back into the lecture.
With their gaze broken, their regular breathing returned, but their heart rate was another story. It was beating rather hard against their chest...from being caught in the act of staring, maybe? Damn, what if they looked like a freak? Maybe it was pretty freaky, though…
❝ ...and so you will need a partner for this assignment. To keep things fun, I’ve put the number of students in this class inside of a hat. Pass it around, and draw a number. I’ll put the number pairs up here on the projector. ❞
What? How lame was that? Not only did partner and group projects suck, but being partnered with a stranger was so awkward...though, maybe it would be a chance to make a new friend. That was something they were lacking thus far in the ‘college experience’. Once the black top hat finally arrived, they reached in, fishing around for a scrap of paper. Pulling it out, they slowly unfolded it, revealing a hastily written number: 13.
Glancing up at the projector, their eyes scanned for the paired number: 8. So, whoever had the number eight was their partner, right? Noticing that the pairs were already beginning to meet up, their eyes scanned to room for any loners, assuming that by the process of elimination, that would be their partner. Once more, their eyes locked with his―coffee guy. Did...that mean that they were partners? Seriously? Why was life so against them today?
Slowly pushing them self out of the chair, they maneuvered around the room, until they were standing directly in front of the nameless classmate. Once more, their lungs seemed to constrict, making breathing a tad difficult. What were they so nervous for? There was no reason. He was just a normal guy―a classmate.
❝ You have number eight, I’m guessing? ❞
Fetching the paper that was resting on top of his closed notebook, he held it up between his pointer and middle finger, showcasing the number.
❝ Yeah, I do. ❞
❝ It’s a pretty bizarre coincidence, wouldn’t you say? ❞
They let out a nervous laugh, eyes diverting elsewhere. God, way to be even more of a loser in front of the guy. However, he didn’t seem to mind. Rather, a smile twitched on his lips, chuckling lightly as blue-grey eyes gazing up towards my face.
❝ A coincidence, or fate? ❞
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2018 Megaman Valentine’s Day Contest Results Thread!
Thank you all for your patience this year! I know this is a little later after the holiday than I would like, but one day is simply not enough to contain all this love! Once again, it’s always wonderful to have an assortment of both familiar faces participating, as well as many newcomers.
As always, this will be a rather massive thread, so bear with me. Most of it will be hidden after the break, so please do take a peek at all these wonderful entries!
Due to the size and sheer quantity of comic entries, there are plenty of images to view. For that reason, I’m sticking to thumbnails for now. Please click to view the entry in it’s full glory!
Also, my thanks to @jaybird-c for the help with judging this year. I’ll have some of his commentary with my own below.
The three raffle prize winners will be noted by their alias, as well.
For your reminder, there were two categories, broken down into Humor and Talent. There were 6 total Humor entries, and 14 Talent entries. So, to start off, we’ll begin with the category with the least entrants, and to fit with my tie-in promo art.
*EDIT* OK, now I think everything is good. So long thumbnails, to keep this shorter.
Once again, for an easy link to all the images in a single gallery, please go here: https://imgbox.com/g/uAbXkTDaot
Otherwise, I’ve tested it again on both mobile and desktop, and everything should link to a full image. It still does on my end.
*/EDIT*
For Humor, this year’s theme was “Beauty and the Beastman.EXE.” The goal was to illustrate a mismatched Megaman couple, one in a monsterous, beastly form, with another more beautiful character that falls for them. Any allusions to the popular tale of Beauty and the Beast were welcome, but not a requirement.
Here are your top 3, followed by the remaining entries in alphabetical order by alias:
1.) @prar-draws: (*Prar wins $100 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)
Jaybird wrote: Prar's comic has the absolute best execution of a joke, increasing the tension until the last panel when it masterfully throws the audience for a loop. Prar's style complements the story very well by making each individual moment easy to digest, and the last panel also just happens to be really funny to look at on its own. Just thinking about it makes me crack up.
Miyabi wrote: While this piece really contains more tension and drama until the final panel, I agree that the build is what helps bring the big laugh at the end. You can also see the temperature rising for Ciel, as her cheeks get redder and redder as the panels move along. I felt it tied in to the Beauty and the Beast storyline nicely, and your chosen characters fit well to pull off the connection. Very cute, and well constructed comic!
2.) @amiable-apparition: (*a-a wins $50 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)
Jaybird wrote: I don't remember this scene from the Star Force anime. Must've been cut from the final release. Clever use of trickery regarding who the real "monster" is; poor Damian appears to have misjudged the situation something fierce. Good idea and use of twist.
Miyabi wrote: I guess Sam was the one who was ‘Hungry Like the Wolf,’ after all! I too enjoyed the spin at the end, it was a funny deviation on how her character was portrayed in the anime. Subject choice was strong here too, connecting the theme with a couple characters who fit well with the concept. Nice work with the variety of panels you created to set things up.
3.) @frankenchio: (*frankenchio wins $25 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)
Jaybird wrote: Ah, the Princess and the Toad Man. Frankenchio's piece is a clever little reference to the classic fable, but most of the humor is in how Roll apparently didn't know what kind of prince was on the other end of that frog. Clever, pretty to look at.
Miyabi wrote: I like that you thought outside of the box with the theme, and used a totally different classic tale, but still connected it very well. Ice Man sure lucked out this time, after whoever cursed him into Toad form. While a simple few panels, your style is just adorable. Those jewels on the crown look really detailed!
Close, but not quite ~
Dark Dullahan:
Jaybird wrote: Dark Dullahan has the idea of recreating an actual Disney scene with Iris and (Zoanoroid?) Zero, which is very sweet. It took me a few repeat looks to digest what was going on here but it's amusing to see Zero protecting his wounds from the fierce and terrible Iris. Because she's obviously the worst thing that can happen to him. Cute, amusing scene.
Miyabi wrote: Sorry, I don’t know why this upload defaults to a side view, when I don’t even have it at that orientation. It automatically glitches that way, no matter how I upload it. :/ Anyhow, a clever spin using the EXE versions of Zero and Iris, living in a world where only reploids...no wait, they don’t exist here. This Beastly ZoanoZero will open up to her over time, I’m sure. But first, he needs to heal up. Again, good use of parodying the scene.
@drewblossom:
Jaybird wrote: The sheer concept of Rock-Belle made me wonder if they were going to throw in an FMA reference somewhere, but Drew's picture doesn't need it. They make good use of the Disney-classic-gone-wrong idea -- Oil Man and Time Man as Lumiere and Cogsworth are nearly inspired --though I think they didn't quite go far enough and should have rounded out the piece with a more feminine version of the suit; Rock-Belle changing into Mega *Man* raises questions about whether the main character's an actual girl or just a cross-dresser, which distracts from the joke.
Miyabi wrote: I guess Rock is both the beauty and the beast, for totally destroying those poor innocent talking inanimate object bots! While I had a good laugh at the quick-change blast, the character reactions, and the overall parody of the classic scene, sadly I did feel it just didn’t quite have the couple contrast/Valentine’s theme as well as others.
@erekisaiko: (*RAFFLE PRIZE WINNER* Captain N Height Chart)
Jaybird wrote: I feel like I'm missing a reference to something else. As amusing as the concept of JunkMan's and Meddy's unsanitary hospital sounds, the picture doesn't present us with enough information to make sense of what actually happened (i.e. why was JunkMan wearing a cardboard Falzer costume in the first place?), and [=ClockMan's=] joke lacks the punch it ought to have because the punchline has no set up. (Unless of course this is all just an incredibly obvious reference to something I've never been exposed to that would fill in all the missing context). Amusing concept in punchline, it's fun to think about how this situation could've arisen.
Miyabi wrote: Meddy’s not oblivious, she just has a big heart ready to heal any messy, junky slob! Cute and different idea having more of a ‘fake’ beast, although I think Junk still would count as a beastly character on his own, in some respects. Very well-drawn, and appreciate all the detail you put into your internet background.
For the talent category, the theme was “If You Like It, You Should Put a Ring Boomerang On It.” This category was all about proposal scenes. And I am shocked there was not a single Jewel Man! XD
Here are your top 3, followed by the remaining entries in alphabetical order by alias:
1.) @wintesm: (*wint wins $100 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)
Jaybird wrote: Jeez. Unrelenting Style. Your children's book painting is incredible as ever; your figures, your colors, your atmosphere, just about everything. I ran into a problem with your composition, though; the stark black page divider clashes with the predominantly horizontal-mirror structure and makes it hard to wrap your head around the story as its meant to be told. It was less of a problem once I trained myself to ignore it, and you use the divider very effectively in the second-to-last section, but it still made it harder to enjoy the work. Masterful technique, colors, perspective, expression.
Miyabi wrote: With your subjects, I felt this composition was a very clever way to tell the story, and kinda mirror their separate, but similar tales side-by side. As mentioned, you have such a fitting children’s storybook style, from colors to shapes, that shines once again! It’s a cute tale for such evil characters!
2.) @peach35: (*peach wins $50 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)
Jaybird wrote: Peach deserves a lot of credit for her mastery of figure-drawing and perspective. That's something a lot of people struggle with, and accomplishment in these matters should be recognized. Another good choice of simple background to highlight the main moment, and awesome use of colors and lighting to suggest 3D -- I'm far more fascinated by Gate's nose than I should be. Incredible faces, hands, colors, and general shading.
Miyabi wrote: The sense of confused shock on Alia’s face is a different reaction that most, as it’s apparent Gate is slipping that ring on in total surprise. Clean lines and soft lighting helped this piece stand out.
3.) @tianura: (*tianura wins $25 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)
Jaybird wrote: Tianura's style is difficult to read; the line quality can be inconsistent from panel to panel, some attempts to convey 3D positioning could use polish, and the panels never stray very far from simple torso and head shots. That said, the expressions are exceptionally clear (again, look to the eyes) and convey lots of emotion, and the page-by-page composition is very good. Very expressive faces, judicious use of colors for effect.
Miyabi wrote: I thought this was a creative parallel for life-long partners in using Netto and Enzan. You did a nice job keeping Netto’s goofy charm intact, with quite a few humorous lines. The ending was totally fitting for him, older or not. XD While I’m sure you would have liked to color the whole thing, I liked the differing use of screentone shading. And the watercolor look of the color pieces did give it some storybook charm as well.
Close, but not quite ~
@borockman:
Jaybird wrote: It's such a shame this isn't a humor category, because this deserves major points for funny (the Nana-Sigma romance anime that the fandom doesn't want, but nonetheless deserves). The linework itself is pretty good. Expressive, good use of background for mood. Also, Sigma, the ring goes on the ring finger.
Miyabi wrote: It’s a dream. It’s always a dream! Siggy puts the ring on her pinky because Nana’s his ‘lil pinky-poo... ;p With the tears running down her face, I really did like the emotional feel of the moment.
@digitallyfanged:
Jaybird wrote: In terms of sheer atmosphere, this is one of the best pieces. It looks like a still from some fairy tale picture-book. The forest scenery, the background, the flower-swing, the misting breath, the quality of the outfits and the details on the dress and sword all make this exquisite. Unfortunately the characters aren't quite as expressive as they ought to be -- this is very clearly a fairy-tale love scene of some kind, but what kind? Laika is clearly being emotional towards the princess, but what is he saying? "Who are you"? "You're beautiful"? "I love you"? "Be mine forever"? It's gorgeous, but it's a little too vague to tell whether it's on topic or not.
Miyabi wrote: Gorgeous scene that felt a bit like another Disney-ish tale, moreso of the Frozen variety. They may just be easy-to-use Clip Studio effects, but I really thought it was quite creative how you pulled off the swing design. The watercolor forest background is beautiful, as is Pride’s snow princess outfit. Pretty, pretty picture!
@drewblossom:
Jaybird wrote: I'm glad I saw Drew's title, because it took me a minute to figure out exactly what was going on -- for a moment I thought Geminiman was trying to propose to himself with that (fittingly) gaudy diamond. The linework is pretty good, and I like the lighting effects on Gemini's crystals and the translucence of his chest plate. I'll give them points for an ambitious concept, but the best mirror art looks at a scene from two different directions, and Gemini's reflection is simply a reverse of the main view. Good colors and lighting, elegantly simple background that does a good job of highlighting the main action.
Miyabi wrote: No better way to practice a proposal than to recite it in front of your self. Of course, if he is proposing to his clone, then I think with his nonchalant actions, he’s got this down already. XD Clever, and unique!
@hyperbole1729:
Jaybird wrote: This piece is another mix. It has some very nice things -- the colors are spot on, the composition is very nice (you take cues from the 18th century Romantic movement by having the whole world revolve around the subject), you clearly pay attention to character details, and your field of flowers is great.
Miyabi wrote: Another set of net-battling partners who seem like a great choice for being together forever. The background is a fitting place for Sal to do it, because I don’t quite see Miyu being the one to speak up and propose. That might be more of a frightening proposition. LOL Cute, traditional scene.
@iris-sempi:
Jaybird wrote: Iris-sempi's got style. The colors are interesting, the subject is clear, the linework pops out because it's -also- part of the colors, the cartoony elements fit in very nicely, and the presentation as a literature/manga cover is well-done. The technique is some of the best I've seen. That said, I have to ask, if you were going to go through all the trouble of creating such a cool cover, I think it's only fair to point out the title is blocked by the artwork, which defeats the purpose, especially on something's Volume 1.
Miyabi wrote: Just to clarify for everyone, the Japanese characters for this piece say "Let's Get Married" and "Sea Salt Honey." I thought it was a really clever mag cover format, where the characters really pop out against the pink background. With the waves, it really does feel like Splashy leapt out of the ocean to smack some salty sugar on Honey/Vesper Woman. Her vibrating antennae give some nice movement and comedic effect, too. Love it, but felt it just didn’t quite have the proposal feel as strongly as others.
@jb-artist: (*RAFFLE PRIZE WINNER* - Megaman 8 cel)
Jaybird wrote: JB's picture is very cute, and we don't have much actual oekaki here, so props. While you deserve even more props for how direct you are to get to the point, it's difficult to judge how we're supposed to interpret this -- is Alouette precociously misunderstanding the nature of a marriage proposal or is it an actual proposal to her older sister figure? The perspective rocks, the colors and lighting are good, and there are lots of little details that portray lots of love for the Zero series.
Miyabi wrote: Zero’s such the silent, brooding type, that he sends Alouette to do the proposal for him. I’m just not sure if that will help or hurt his rank in this stage! XD It is honestly really cute, especially when you see her doodles on the resistance base’s wall. I think that makes the piece more than anything, and was a clever callback to the game. I like how you set up the scene with the background, and those are some really nice mountains back there, too.
@lightlabs:
Jaybird wrote: Now this is pretty. Great composition to direct us through the piece (-nice touch- on giving the ring some bling) and rocking use of paint swatches for style. The art does a great job of directing us into the center, and the warm colors in the center do a lot to convey mood. Zero, you smug jerk, stop showing the rest of us poor schlubs up.
Miyabi wrote: Yes, this is happening. There is a reason for me to go on. What...what am I using this line foooorr? The warm colors and sparkles give it a unique glow, for what seems to be a night scene. The brush strokes give it a neat paint brush look, for your coloring, too. Nice work conveying their emotions with their expressions as well.
@pandapanic0:
Jaybird wrote: In terms of actual skill, the coloring is good and clear, the piece is composed well, the lighting effects are fairly elegant. If it were the actual humor category, the Ring Man's appropriately outlandish bid and Mega Man's exceptionally feminine reaction would gain the piece lots of laugh-out-loud points.
Miyabi wrote: Thank you for taking the title of this category literally and going for the humorous visual of a giant ring Ring Boomerang! Even if he says no, once he tries to get rid of that ring, it’ll just come right back. XD Rock’s blushing expression is cute. Nice crisp coloring and bold lines.
@shikai-the-storyteller: (*RAFFLE PRIZE WINNER* - Archie Worlds Unite Page)
Jaybird wrote: On a panel-by-panel basis, the art is very good: crisp lines; good color and lighting; good technique with hands and faces; great use of background and expression to convey mood -- you got more mileage out of your backgrounds than probably anyone else here.
Miyabi wrote: Another nice job of mixing humor into your piece, while still keeping it a tender, sweet moment. Nice way of showing that things don’t always go as planned for a proposal, but sometimes it’s the thought and effort that counts. As always, your lines, colors and penmanship are smooth and flawless.
Superbasket5:
Jaybird wrote: Aww. If I've got this right, it looks like X is so nervous about giving Alia a valentine that he doesn't realize Berkana is giving Alia encouragement as well. I think. I have to wonder what Marty is doing here -- research tells me she has a crush on X, which seems like it would get in the way, and if that's the case, this impending trainwreck will be something worth watching. That said, the piece is still in its rough stages, especially your setting and perspective; I can't really tell where the characters are (outside at a park?), and Alia's hip is in front of X's arm.
Miyabi wrote: Alia has her support group, but I don’t know if she’s going to be able to pop the question to X with a crowd around her, either. XD Cute expressions, showing her nerves, while X is probably not quite expecting what’s hiding behind her back. I kinda wish we would get that visual of what she’s hiding as a cutaway, much like how you gave X a thought bubble for what’s going on in his head.
@yugiohlesbian:
Jaybird wrote: Good job! I'd like to compliment you on how versatile your figures are and how you use that to make them very expressive; your use of perspective and individual panel compositions are both very versatile. While there isn't any color, the nighttime scenes do a good job with the lighting. Your style is pleasantly simple, but sometimes the panels seem to be oversimplified; more developed backgrounds would be welcome in several places.
Miyabi wrote: Totally different subject, but Zero, none of us understand taxes, either. I like how you illustrated the struggle of a reploid trying to understand human logic and traditions, and yet in the end, it still being something Zero didn’t truly need to grasp in that logical sense. While I know you wish you would have had more time to continue perfecting these panels, I agree that the night scenes stand out and give a good contrast between Zero’s computer research scenes.
Thanks once again to all who participated! I will be contacting the winners soon enough. Work will probably keep me from replying to everyone immediately, but if you don’t hear from me today, I will send a message about prizes hopefully within the next day.
For those awaiting the secret contest results...sorry, for another slight delay. Between finishing my promo art for this thread, and typing this, it took up too much time and I’ve gotta head to work. I will have those posted overnight, into Sunday morning, as it won’t be quite as intensive to write up. My apologies, but I hope you can all hang on for another 20 hours or less. ^^;
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meet the writer tag
Thanks @the-best-of-the-geeks
Rules: answer 10 questions, create 10 new questions, and then tag 10 people
Gonna skip tagging people only because I don’t want to write 10 new questions, but anyone is welcome to answer these ones to keep the game going!
Answers under the cut, babes. Sorry mobile users.
1. Handwriting or typing?
2. Which of your OCs would you go ice-skating with?
3. Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what kind?
4. Favourite genre to write?
5. What’s the last thing you saw/read/experienced that made you want to go and write?
6. How do you choose your character names?
7. Favourite thing you’ve ever written? (quote, short-story, description…)
8. Tea or coffee?
9. What do you do when you get writer’s block?
10. What or who motivates you to keep writing?
1. Handwriting or typing?
I like both. I go for handwriting when I’m stuck because then I throw notes in the margins and generally make a mess of my thoughts, and then sort them out as I type it up. Typing is good though when I want to skip thinking and just write.
2. Which of your OCs would you go ice-skating with?
Omg so many women to choose from!! Uh, Lumberjack or Mags because they’d catch me when I inevitably fall. Moose because he’s super fun and wouldn’t mock me for my lack of coordination. Idk honestly everyone except my sad and angsty children from Tealight would be chill hangout buddies.
3. Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what kind?
Not usually. If I do, I have to pause it or I can’t focus. Unless I go for instrumental music, which I generally don’t.
4. Favourite genre to write?
Urban fantasy but I always get really down on my worldbuilding, so maybe it doesn’t count. And while angst isn’t really a genre, that’s my definite favorite thing to write. Only because it’s all the sweeter when the tension breaks.
5. What’s the last thing you saw/read/experienced that made you want to go and write?
When I watched To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before I got some ideas I never followed through on (but someday might!) about what my characters would write to all the people they’ve loved before. That’d be a really cute challenge actually.
6. How do you choose your character names?
Instinct mostly. I tend to refer to characters by their function in the story or in relation to an MC until the name just comes to me. But sometimes, I browse baby name sites, as writers do. I used to keep a list of names I like but idk what happened to it.
7. Favourite thing you’ve ever written? (quote, short-story, description…)
I feel like when I was writing fanfiction, I was inspired by literally everything and writing unselfconsciously, and my work was better for it. I once wrote this whole meditation on what it means to love someone in actions rather than words because of a song I heard, and it’s still one of my favorite works. But I’m learning to have fun again so I’ll get there with my original stuff.
8. Tea or coffee?
Hot tea, iced coffee.
9. What do you do when you get writer’s block?
Declare myself a failure and settle in for a netflix binge. Uhhhhh basically just let it sit a couple days, then come back to it. Or jump into a different WIP.
10. What or who motivates you to keep writing?
My OCs?? Like I want to know them so badly and see them fully realized and that only happens if I pull myself together and write their damn stories! So I guess I’m ultimately the source of my own motivation. I want more gay lit out there and I have the power to contribute so I’m driven by that.
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Excerpt from a work in progress: do you get the joke here, dear readers?
If you don’t, I’m going to finally discard this story, which has been giving me no end of trouble, and move on to the next one.
Here’s a hint: this is a slightly complicated bit of crossover with another series, one that is no longer being produced. (No, not Home Fires.) What character is referred to, though not seen, in what follows, and to whom does a new acquaintance bear a noticeable physical resemblance?
The Third Officer’s eyes flick to just behind Sam, where someone else, a Second Officer, has joined the queue.
‘Ma’am,’ Third Officer Menzies says to the new arrival, ‘this is Miss Samantha Stewart, one of our guests this evening. Miss Stewart, this is -’
‘Betty Blake,’ the Second Officer says firmly, with a smile and a faint, rather habitual air of noblesse oblige, as she proffers her hand to shake.
Betty Blake is a stunner: slim and a bit taller than Sam, perhaps a year or two older, with a flawless complexion, beautifully modeled features and almond-shaped brown eyes set in an almost perfectly oval face, broken only by a slightly angular jaw. Her dark hair is expensively cut and set – she’ll have to go at least as far as Arundel to keep that up, Sam thinks – and what there is of her make-up is applied with an expert hand. Her posture is perfect and she wears, quite beautifully, what is clearly a bespoke specimen of the Wrens’ uniform. Her smile, which is genuine if a trifle weary, is of the sort that Sam can imagine turning brittle and cold in an instant.
She looks, really, to be precisely the sort of girl who Sam still worries, once in a great while, could easily take Andrew away from... There now, don’t be such an idiot – you’ll only make yourself miserable, she scolds herself. And the Second Officer wears a wedding band, she sees, along with a most impressive engagement ring.
‘Welcome to Lyminster,’ Sam offers.
‘Thank you,’ Betty Blake replies with real warmth. ‘I’ve only just got here – truly, it’s been five hours, if that – but I have to say that I feel privileged to serve amongst real people fighting the real war – not cooped up with... well, I’m not meant to discuss my old assignment, but the point is that I really do feel that I’ll be much more a part of things now! I’m only sorry not to be billeted in the village somewhere!’ she goes on, glancing about Lyminster House’s comfortable upper story with faint air of distaste.
‘Is your husband in the Navy as well?’ Sam asks.
‘He is – a desk job at a land establishment at his age, thank God! I married a bit of an older chap,’ she explains. ‘Quite a bit older, I suppose. He served in the last war, in fact – he went to sea then, on a dreadnought. Well, when this war began, it really felt to us like more of the same – another war for empire, not a war against Fascism, you know. But of course one thinks – one must think – in terms of the concrete situation that exists, and when the Nazis did invade Russia it became our war.’
Sam shifts her weight slightly from one foot to the other, whether from physical or mental unease she can’t quite say.
‘And so my husband volunteered,’ Second Officer Blake goes on. ‘I really do think that he thought he’d be turned away – on account of his age, you see – but they did find a place for him. And they sent him all the way to Fife! I must admit that at times I do wonder what the point of it all is. How Russia suffers – and one has to wonder whether the government doesn’t still see Russia as the real enemy. But at any rate, the women’s call-up was in the air by then, so I thought I’d try my luck with the Wrens – and here I am. Really, though, I’m talking far too much about myself!’ She looks Sam up and down, evidently taking in her lack of a uniform, a wedding band or work-worn hands. Then she asks tentatively, ‘Are you... in munitions work? I don’t recall being told of a works in this area.’
‘Oh – no. Lyminster is my home village – that is, my parents are here.’
‘Ah, I see! Are they smallholders?’ Betty responds with enthusiasm.
‘No – my father is vicar of St Stephen’s, at the far end of the lane,’ Sam explains, and watches as, sure enough, a hint of coolness begins to creep into Betty’s face. ‘At any rate, I’m stationed in Hastings – I’m on leave this week. I’ve started to wish that I’d brought my uniform, really,’ Sam confides. ‘I’m in the Mechanised Transport Corps.’
The Second Officer’s smile fades quickly into confusion, or perhaps consternation is the proper word, Sam thinks. Or disgust, Oh, dear.
‘I thought that... outfit was abolished when the call-up began!’ she exclaims. ‘I thought that they all went into the A.T.S. – where they could do something useful!’
‘Only the ones who were found to be mobile,’ says Sam, being careful to keep her voice even. ‘I suppose that I might well have been, but the gentleman I work for wrote to the Labour Ministry and told them that my knowledge and skills made me essential to the district we serve.’
Betty appears to consider this for a moment. She still looks puzzled, but a bit less as though she has just encountered an unpleasant smell.
‘You drive an ambulance, I suppose?’ she asks, sounding very much as though she were searching earnestly for something to find praiseworthy. ‘Or a fire engine?’
‘No – although I am sometimes called upon to administer first aid! That part of my training has been very useful. But no, I’m seconded to the Hastings Police,’ Sam explains.
Clearly, this is the limit; just as clearly, Betty is far too well bred to lose her temper entirely.
‘Where’ve you been all this time?’ Andrew asks, adding, ‘The only thing left to drink is barley water.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Sam tells him. ‘There was a queue, and someone buttonholed me, as well. You won’t credit the conversation I’ve just had,’ she continues. ‘A very genteel Wren Second Officer – in a bespoke uniform and wearing the largest diamond I’ve ever seen on her finger – introduced herself, decided that I was the salt of the earth, then changed her mind when I mentioned that my father is a vicar, and when I told her what I do she proceeded to give me the Daily Mirror’s line on the MTC, point for point! She was about the tell me what she thinks of the police, I suspect, when my turn came for the WC.’
‘Cripes! Look here, Sam, why don’t we make our excuses and go back after we’ve drunk up? I’d call this evening a mixed success, on the whole.’
‘Yes, I think that that’s rather a good idea, really. On top of everything else,’ Sam continues, ‘as I was coming down the staircase just now I heard someone introduce her as Second Officer Lady Blake! Can you imagine?’
Andrew laughs softly.
‘I can, in fact,’ he tells her. ‘She sounds just like that crowd I got mixed up with for a bit at Oxford. D’you remember me telling you about that?’
Sam nods. She drains her glass, then looks at Andrew just in time to see his gaze shift to somewhere behind her. His smile fades, replaced by a look not so much of surprise as of shock. Ashen is the word Sam would use, she thinks, to describe his face at the moment.
‘Andrew,’ she hears a woman’s voice, not unfamiliar, say before she can turn around to see who or what is there. ‘What a surprise.’
‘Hullo, Elizabeth,’ Andrew says dully.
And there is Betty Blake standing behind Sam and looking very surprised indeed - but it strikes Sam as a mean, pleased-with-itself sort of surprise. There is suddenly a hard gleam in Lady Blake’s eyes.
#foyle's war fan fiction#works in progress#sam/andrew au#longish#the daily mirror#was relentlessly critical of the MTC#and called at least once for it to be disbanded
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And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 38)
I wrote a massive, self-indulgent Magical Girl episode that probably wouldn’t be safe for Earth kids, but totally fit for Remnant kids, considering that they allow marital training at extremely young ages to slaughter Grimm.
The good news is, I have the basis for yet another LWA/RWBY AU, or an original series of my own.
The bad news is, I felt it was WAY too self-indulgent to show you guys, and completely got out of any of the plot or the characterization of the show, along with being too self-congratulatory to my writing skills, however my audience will take the self-indulgent trash I wrote.
The other good news is, I figured out a completely different way to write this chapter that won’t alienate people or feel like desperate, self-praising filler.
I hope, at least.
“I must say, I’m rather impressed the creators took the time to weave such complex, coordinated, and physically-involved fights into the show!” Diana said during the credits of another episode of Starlight Crusaders: Solar Eclipse. “Most other examples I’ve ever seen of this genre always seem content to have the characters blast their foes with an obscene amount of visual effects from a distance, and have the monsters just writhe and cry out before they’re defeated.”
“Not Starlight Crusaders!” Weiss said, hugging one of her pillows to her chest as she sat up and watched. “Man, there’s so many things I love about this franchise, but the way all the fights just leave stick with me long after the credits are a huge part of it...”
“Hah, remember when we used spent the entire week between each episode trying to recreate them in the training grounds?” Akko asked.
“How could I forget?!” Weiss replied, laughing. “It’s why I wanted to become a huntress in the first place!”
“You decided to go into this dangerous career because you wanted to reenact scenes from a children’s show...?” Diana asked.
Weiss smiled at her. “Relax: I’ve added a whole lot of other mature, deep reasons to it since… but as they say, every aspiring hunter had to get that passion from somewhere. I guess it didn’t hurt that grandpa and grandma could actually make it a reality, to a certain extent.”
Ruby blinked, before her eyes brightened. “Are there giant robot monster parts stored in your house somewhere?!” she asked excitedly.
“Sorry, Ruby, just giant monster costume pieces, made to be worn by Schnee Grimm summons,” Weiss replied.
Ruby frowned, the light in her eyes fading. “Aww…”
“I suppose that’s why your house’s training grounds were so complex and modular?” Diana asked.
“Mhmm!” Weiss said. “Could basically reenact the mechanics of any sort of Starlight Crusader fight, save for those while falling out of the sky, underwater, in low-orbit, or the Shiny Chariot special crossover special for Luna Nova.”
“What was the problem with that last one?” Ruby asked. “Maybe I could help solve it.”
“I appreciate the offer, Ruby, but it was entirely with the cast,” Weiss replied. “Lack of a Shiny Rod and what means Chariot used to transform it into so many different forms aside, she had both my speed and agility PLUS Akko’s strength and endurance; whenever either of us tried to play her, we’d either end up exhausted before the ‘episode’ was even halfway done, or didn’t have the necessary finesse and grace to even try to pull off her acrobatics.
“Looking back on it, she probably needed to be that strong and skilled to even use the damned thing without breaking every bone in her body after each show...” she finished, casting a glance at the Shiny Rod.
“More like ‘definitely needed!’” Akko added, before she sighed. “I always knew Chariot was awesome and incredible and way beyond my level, but I’m only realizing by just how much right now… I’m conflicted, you guys:
“On the one hand, she’s like, 500% more awesome, and given how amazingly spectacular she was already, that’s a huge increase in raw Coolness Factor!
“On the other hand, now the difference between us is even bigger than before and I’m not sure if I can even reach that, period...” Akko finished, now moping in her bed.
“… Maybe I can still help with that...” Ruby said.
The next episode of Starlight Crusaders was about to begin, Weiss paused it. “What do you mean…?”
“Ah, how do I explain this… back at the Bunker, it was generally a given that someone would be heavily reliant on tech to compensate for something when they first get in. If it wasn’t prostheses to replace original parts, it was accessibility technology, like a sound-sensitive pair of glasses with a heads-up display for a student with hearing impairments, or Battle Saddles.”
“Pardon me: Battle-what-now…?” Weiss asked.
“Battle Saddles!” Ruby repeated. “It’s what we called wheelchairs and other mobility devices, generally after we motorized, armoured, and armed them. They even have specializations called ‘Battalions’--my favourite was Rolling Thunder, the heavy weapons, artillery, and explosives specialists.
“Anyway, we were always making, adapting, and developing new tech to compensate for impairments and handicaps, and I could definitely do the same here, like develop shock absorbers for Shooting Star so the reaction from all the raw force the Shiny Rod is capable of won’t break our bones and send us flying off again.”
“May I interrupt you, Ruby?” Diana asked. When Ruby gave her the go ahead, she continued, “I know it might be rather irrational and biased given my experiences, but it feels like we might end up over-relying on your tech, which has its own consequences...” she said, looking down at herself.
Ruby nodded. “And you’re right to be worried about that, Diana, but you didn’t let me finish: once we were done getting someone up to the standard levels of performance, we started thinking about how we could go BEYOND that.
“Heck, that was actually a huge part of my developing Crescent Rose! At first, I didn’t have the balance, the coordination, or the strength to even swing her properly, let alone all the essential combat techniques, so I built a giant robot helping arm to provide raw strength and control for me.
“Then, when I could swing it and stop it without its help, I started thinking how I could start using all that momentum and weight to my advantage. And after a LOT of experimenting and redesigning, I started using it to amp up the force of my attacks like back with the grave lord, and all the other times I’ve cut something when I wouldn’t normally have enough raw power to do so.”
“So… what, you’re suggesting we make training wheels for the Shiny Rod…?” Weiss asked.
Ruby thought about it for a moment. “… Yeah!” she said. “I guess I do want to try and build training wheels for the Shiny Rod, if those training wheels happened to get cannibalized later as components for magnetic-levitation wheels to help your bike go even faster!”
She got a thoughtful look on her face, before her eyes started scanning the others, too. “… And come to think of it, I could make improvements to all our other weapons, too, especially Gwragged Annwn...”
Diana frowned. “Ruby, I’m not entirely sure I want you experimenting on my spear… it’s a prized family heirloom, totally irreplaceable!”
“Oh, then I promise I won’t!” Ruby said, smiling. “I respect the weapon’s owner more than my desire to improve and experiment on said weapon. Or I guess in the Shiny Rod’s case, the weapon itself. How about you guys, though…?”
“Count me in!” Akko said.
“The designers called Myrtenaster the peak of multi action dust rapiers, but that’s what they called her predecessor, too—feel free to experiment” Weiss replied, nodding.
“Awesome, thanks!” Ruby replied. “That’s going to be for when we’re all out of the hospital, though—back to the anime!”
Weiss picked up the remote and began to unpause the video.
“WAIT!” Akko cried. “I forgot something!”
Weiss flinched. “What is it...?” she asked, the others turning to look at her.
“What happened to the giant robot helping arm?” Akko asked.
“Oh! It’s probably in the storage room along with all the other robot helping arms, waiting for someone to either study it to make their own, or borrow it for their experiments,” Ruby replied. “They still take it out to the cafeteria sometimes to try and arm wrestle with it—still unbeaten in the ‘Giants League’ without disqualifying damage to the apparatus!” she said, beaming.
“Nice!” Akko said. “High—oh wait, sorry...”
“We’ll high five in spirit!” Ruby cried. “High five!” she said, cast-covered limbs still immobilized.
“Up top!” Akko replied, her cast-covered arms still by her sides.
Diana and Weiss both burst out laughing. “You two are ridiculous...” Diana said, shaking her head.
“You haven’t seen the worst of it, trust me,” Weiss added, smiling. “Unpausing now!”
The four of them went back to watching Starlight Crusaders. Whenever there was another fight scene and weapons started getting brought out, however, Ruby didn’t seem to be enjoying herself quite as much as she did earlier.
They eventually made it to the last few episodes, tensions ramping up, story arcs coming to a close, the Crusaders tearing their way through the main villain’s ranks until the inevitable final confrontation.
One of the nurses knocked and opened the door, Weiss reluctantly paused the video again as a nurse popped his head in. “Excuse me, Ms. Schnee, your family has come to visit you.”
“We brought umeboshi and blueberry froyo!” Whitley called out from outside.
Weiss and Akko both brightened up. “Let them in, let them in!” Weiss said.
Snowie stepped in with a shopping bag filled with the promised treats, among others. “Hey there, sorry we took so long, we couldn’t really—“ her eyes widened. “--Oh my gosh, is that Solar Eclipse?”
“It is, it is!” Whitley said, giddily rushing into the room and taking the seat beside Weiss, Snowie and Winter sitting or perching by Akko’s side. “Play it, play it!” Whitley said, beaming as he leaned forward with his chin in his hands.
Weiss didn’t hesitate. The nurse looked at them, patients and visitors alike all completely enamored with the show, smiled, and began to close the door. Then, he felt someone put a hand on his shoulder, turned around, and knocked again.
“Excuse me again!” the nurse said. “Ms. Rose, your father’s come to visit you.”
Ruby’s eyes brightened up as she took her eyes off her screen. “Dad! Come in, come in!”
The nurse turned back to Taiyang, and opened the door with a flourish, he happily stepped in with a silly swagger and a huge smile on me face. “Hey there, dear daughter of mine! How’re you doing?” he asked as he came over to Ruby’s bed.
“All four limbs still broken, dear dad of mine!” Ruby chirped. “I’m getting better, though, especially since Weiss can use the remote for all of us.”
“That’s good to hear!” Taiyang said as he carefully hugged her, she tried to nuzzle her head into his shoulder. “So, what are you guys watching?” he said as he settled into the chair next to her bed. “No, no, wait, don’t tell me! It’s... Starlight Crusaders, and this season’s, this season’s, ah...”
“It’s--” Whitley, Weiss, Winter, Snowie, and Akko began.
“No, no, don’t! I’ve got this!” Taiyang said, peering intently at the screen, sweat forming on his brow as he concentrated, listening carefully to the names of the characters and their Crusader titles as they fought each other, willing forth the answer from deep within his mind...
“NEW MOON ORDER!” he cried, nearly launching out of his seat. “It’s New Moon Order, right?” he said, nodding and smiling, proud of himself.
Whitley, Weiss, Winter, Snowie, and Akko spared a few moments from the show, and all shared looks with each other; after a silent vote, Snowie got the duty of breaking the news to him. “Ah, Mr. Xiao Long? It’s actually Solar Eclipse; New Moon Order was one of the movies.”
“Call me Taiyang or Tai, please. Anyway, it’s based off this season, at least...?” Taiyang asked hopefully.
Snowie smiled politely, slowly shook her head, and went back to watching with the others.
Taiyang sighed. “At least I got the franchise right this time...” he muttered to himself.
The episode ended in suitably dramatic fashion, the girls and Whitley all cheered. Weiss paused the video as the credits started rolling, and turned to Snowie. “You mentioned blueberry froyo earlier?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
Snowie dug out a tub from the bag, and handed it over.
Weiss took it in both hands, and cradled it to her chest. “Thanks mom, you’re the best,” she whispered, before she opened it and started digging in with the spoon attached to the side.
“You’re welcome, Weiss,” Snowie hummed, looking proud of herself. “We even got treats for all your other friends!” she said as she dug into the bag again.
Akko cried out in delight as she pulled up a jar of umeboshi, Ruby eyed a pack of chocolate chip cookies hungrily. “I didn’t really know whatever it was the rest of you liked, so I just sorta got a little bit of everything from a convenience store on the way here.”
“She really does mean everything,” Whitley added as he took the jar of pickled plums, opened it up for Akko. “You should have seen her back at the aisles, trying to figure out if she should grab any special varieties, or just stick with the original flavours.”
“Hey, it’s not MY fault someone decided there needed to be like, 500 different flavours of Kari-Kari!” Snowie cried as Winter took to the bag of snacks over to the other side of the room. “I swear, that store had basically everything on the shelves!”
“There’s 317 total, and only 47 in that store, mother, I looked it up and I counted while we were there,” Whitley said as he started feeding pickled plums to an eagerly awaiting Akko.
“Still too many damn flavours of candy coated wafers...” Snowie grumbled. She blinked, looked around, and sighed. “Aw, crap—anyone seen my snowball?”
“It’s right here, mom!” Winter called out, pulling up a ball tightly wrapped in plastic, colourful packets taped to it.
Snowie held her hands up. “I’m open!”
Winter tossed it, Snowie missed it, it hit her in the face. She winced, caught it before it could fall to the floor, and started unwrapping it, revealing a ball of shaved ice.
“Well, haven’t seen those in a very long while...” Diana said as Snowie ripped open the syrup packets with her teeth, poured the blue liquid onto her snowball.
“Probably because it’s not as good as what you’ll find from the shops that really care, or the kind you could make at my da—father’s office, but you know, the mass produced stuff isn’t half-bad,” Snowie said, before she gleefully chomped down on her snowball.
“Anything you’d like in particular?” Winter asked as she showed off the rest of the bag over to Diana.
Diana looked uneasily at the sea of junk food, then back up at Winter with a frown.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s something healthy in here…” Winter said as she sat down and really dug into the mess.
“There’s a handful of sandwiches and a salad in there!” Whitley called out. “Don’t take both the egg sandwiches, one of them’s mine!”
“Found them, thanks, little brother!” Winter said as she dug them out. “Any catch your eye?” she asked as she held them out to Diana.
Diana looked at the plastic wrappers, and the proud labels of Mistral’s ubiquitous “Sari-Sari” convenience store franchise, and said, “I suppose I’ll take the strawberry cream…”
“Good choice!” Winter said, putting the rest back into the bag.
“I’m really rather sorry for inconveniencing you like this,” Diana said as Winter unwrapped the sandwich.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Winter replied. “Though if it bothers you that much, I suppose I could just wedge a tray on your chest to your chin, let you try and eat this with just your mouth?” she asked, smiling.
“… I’m not that sorry.”
Winter chuckled, and started feeding her.
“So!” Snowie started. “Diana, your family planning on flying over from Vale to visit any time soon?”
“No, actually,” Diana replied, before she took a dainty, careful bite out of her sandwich, started humming shortly after she started chewing.
“Aww, that’s sad,” Snowie said. “You want our help making a video to send to them, while they can’t come? I found that always helped when my parents were still going off on expeditions.”
Diana’s chewing slowed down, before she swallowed, and smiled politely. “The gesture is appreciated, Ms. Schnee… but I’d really rather not.”
Snowie paused for a moment, before she nodded, and went back to her snowball.
“Anyone else want more?” Winter called out after empty containers were thrown into the trash, or resealed for later. “Plenty of snacks still left in here,” she said, gently shaking the bag.
Whitley took his sandwich, and Taiyang grabbed some “to go” for himself, but otherwise everyone answered in the negative.
“So, anything else we can do for you guys while we’re here?” Snowie asked.
“We were just planning on going back to watching Starlight Crusaders, thanks,” Weiss said as she picked up the remote, Whitley hurriedly unwrapped his sandwich in preparation. “There’s really not much else we can do when I’m the only one with a working pair of arms.”
“I could recommend some pretty cool voice-recording apps we use at the Bunker!” Taiyang offered. “Free of charge, too, though getting support if something goes wrong can be a little… iffy, because they’re all experimental.”
“The offer is appreciated, Mr. Xiao Long, but Blake and Lotte have been doing an excellent job of transcribing from our diction,” Diana replied.
“I just wish Constanze wasn’t so busy with the mind palace machines and her own projects, though,” Ruby said. “She’s basically the only person that can help me take down weapons engineering notes.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to get right back to it soon enough, Ruby,” Taiyang said, ruffling her hair.
“Maybe I could try helping with that?” Snowie said. “I take a lot of notes and dictation for my parents when they’re busy, I could probably do it.”
Taiyang chuckled. “Now I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I have to warn you: my daughter’s thought process when she designs or studies weapons is a giant, jumbled mess of jargon, doodles, and schematics flying everywhere all at once.”
Snowie snorted. “And you’ve just basically described what my brain is like 24/7! I’ve got this, probably,” she said as she stood up.
“I’ve seen parts of Ruby’s journal when she sent me info on the Shiny Rod, mom, he’s really not kidding!” Winter said.
“Be my guest, though!” Taiyang said as he stood up, and gestured to the chair he was sitting in.
“You sure about this, Snowie?” Ruby asked as Snowie sat down beside her.
“Positive!” Snowie replied. “Jumping headlong into things without being entirely sure what I’m doing is kind of my thing! I mean... it doesn’t always work as well I think it will, but I work best when I’m figuring things out as I’m going along!” she said as she pulled out her scroll, complete with her own quill.
“Alrighty then!” Ruby said.
Whitley nudged Weiss to resume playing Starlight Crusaders, she did, and the others went back to watching the show. She found herself frequently looking away from the screen and listening in to Ruby and Snowie’s conversation, however.
“So, what exactly are you thinking of here?” Snowie asked as she got her quill at the ready.
“Well, I was thinking about trying to make some sort of recoil buffer for Shooting Star, hopefully one that will also work when it fuses with the Shiny Rod to become Shining Star,” Ruby started.
“There’s just WAY too much force that thing is capable of whenever Akko chops with it, and short of starting to learn how to throw it; let go just before each impact, and hope it doesn’t hit her or anyone else when it inevitably flies off in the opposite direction as soon as all that aura force is discharged; or chop really, really, really gently with it, we need to drastically increase her upper body strength, muscle mass, and possibly even aura reserves if we’re ever going to be able to use Shining Star without ending up in the hospital, or causing more excessive, collateral damage if we try to use the firearm component.
“It’s really bad because we can’t really use any of my momentum harnessing and/or controlling techniques and tech I use with Crescent Rose because Shining Star’s a shotgun-axe, and it’s a lot less aerodynamic.
“On the plus side, I might be able to just freely attach them to the weapon thanks to the already bulky design, but then that might necessitate Akko having to get used to the entirely new balance and weight of it.
“But do the buffers need to be on Shooting Star itself?” Snowie countered as she continued scribbling without much effort. “My daddy’s robot limbs have a lot of internal buffers and servos to amplify and compensate for all the stress, damage, and physical labour he puts himself through, not to mention all the upgrades he made specifically for surpassing his biological limbs’ limits, or making it a better option than using his originals.
“He prefers punching Grimm in the face with his robot hand for a very good reason! You know, aside from the fact that it’s easier and less painful to repair if it breaks, than his flesh-and-bone hand.”
Ruby blinked. “Huh. That’ll definitely be much more expensive, and I’ll have to call some friends back at the Bunker who specialized in exoskeletal enhancement rigs, but yeah, it could be better in the long-run!
“Maybe we could even go past recoil absorption, and go straight into power amplification, with all the extra leeway.”
“Thermoelectric generator to charge and power servos, make the second chop hurt much more than the first?” Snowie offered. “Though we’ll have to limit how much energy they can actually store, or else we’ll probably blow Akko’s arms off from the reaction...”
“And even if they do stay on, they’ll likely shatter all her bones, probably beyond repair this time...” Ruby muttered.
The two of them furrowed their brows as they considered a way around of this problem, before two metaphorical lightbulbs went off in their heads at the same time.
“Her semblance!” Ruby and Snowie said at the same time, their eyes shining with a similar glow.
“Temporary invincibility, plus a strength boost from the inhibition of her pain receptors, right?” Ruby asked.
“Exactly!” Snowie said, furiously scribbling now. “If we can train Akko to activate it JUST before it comes into contact, every single time, she can probably decimate whatever she’s attacking without completely fucking herself up!” The light in her eyes faded, her writing slowed down. “… And probably everyone around and behind her, too, because the reaction will likely send her spinning, or flying off at an angle like a missile, and then we better hope there isn’t anything hard and solid that she’ll hit while she still has high velocity, because her semblance would be deactivated and recharging by then, so...
She sighed and looked down. “… Never mind, it’s a terrible idea...” she mumbled as she put her quill down.
“Hey, don’t feel bad, we’re brainstorming!” Ruby said. “It’s a feature, not a bug! And besides, I got a great idea for how we can redirect all that force away from her arms, inspiration thanks to Diana’s semblance...”
Snowie blinked, looked at Ruby in a mix of wariness and fear, before she hesitantly took her quill back up. “Okay…? I’m listening…!”
Whitley gently nudged Weiss on the shoulder. “Don’t worry: I’m certain it’s simply just the two of them platonically nerd-bonding, nothing more,” he said teasingly.
Weiss blinked, and looked at him. “What are you talking about…?”
Whitley he looked at Ruby and Snowie deep in conversation once more, then back at Weiss’ confused expression. “Oh... oh, I see how it is,” he said, nodding and looking satisfied.
Weiss’ eyes widened. “Are you--?!” Her cheeks turned red. “Look here, you little shit: this isn’t one of your yuri manga or fanfics when the team full of girls eventually hook up with each other!” she hissed. “This is real life, Ruby is just my teammate and my friend, and if I may remind you again, I swore to hold off on the romance ever since Aqua...!”
“I believe you!” Whitley said, holding up his free hand. “Calm down, I believe you, Weiss!”
Weiss glared at him, before she sulked and went back to watching Starlight Crusaders.
“Here’s to hoping it goes better than it did with Aqua...” Whitley thought as he turned back to the screen, a small smile spreading on his face.
Yes, the Bunker also has a storage room full of robot helping legs, giant or otherwise. The other body parts and non-human limbs share a series of rooms together, because they’re not nearly as numerous enough to justify having their own dedicated storage.
No, Weiss is DEFINITELY not afraid her mother is going to attempt to make a move on Ruby, it’s more a “I’m jealous I can’t do this thing that my new, good friend clearly enjoys so much and needs at the moment because her arms are broken, and realize I could have learned to do it if I bothered to learn more about mechanical engineering when I was younger, and now I can’t even concentrate on my favourite show because I really kinda hate myself right now for not being here to help my teammate.” sort of feeling.
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Sentinel Wars (4/?)
I actually.... wrote some fic... *crying tears of joy*
(Anyone seeing this for the first time, be warned: I ship Obi/Rex and I’m not ashamed to admit it.)
On AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4:
The next two days are… an experience.
Rex has to pull Kenobi aside a total of four times on the first day to settle his senses. It works beautifully every time, and leaves Rex feeling high as a skybird when all the accumulated tension drains out of his body in the span of a few minutes. Kenobi’s schedule is hectic at best, but every time, he drops whatever he’s doing when Rex tips an eyebrow at him in a silent request. Rex doesn’t even have to say a word - Kenobi reads him with remarkable ease. It must be that link Kenobi was talking about, sensing what Rex’s mind feels like. The fourth time, Rex doesn’t even have to signal him before Kenobi is excusing himself from the briefing on the hyperdrive repairs, and they find a quiet corner to re-sync without having to discuss it. Rex still isn’t quite sure how he feels about that level of connection, but he has to admit, it’s damned useful.
[mobile users, there’s a cut here]
Their first major stumble is at the end of that first day, and Rex doesn’t even realize it’s a problem because he’s so Sith-damned tired. He follows Kenobi back to his quarters in a haze of exhaustion, and Kenobi doesn’t say anything about his continued presence until they’re both standing at the hatch of the General’s berth.
“Captain?” Kenobi asks, glancing from the closed hatch to Rex, one eyebrow raised.
“...yes?” Rex suppresses a yawn. It’s been a long, long day, and he dearly wants to climb into a rack and turn off his brain for a few hours. Stupid karking instincts won’t let him, but a guy can dream. He blinks at Kenobi, who blinks back at him for a long minute.
“I never asked anyone to assign you quarters,” Kenobi says, with an air of realization. “I suppose I thought Cody-”
“What?” Rex asks stupidly. “Um, what quarters?”
Kenobi stares at him.
Oh - of course. Obviously Kenobi only has one sleeping rack in his quarters. And it won’t be the double rack designed for partnered Sentinels. Stupid.
“Don’t worry about a rack for me, I can take the floor until we figure something out.” Rex clenches his teeth around another yawn and breathes deeply through his nose, automatically dialling down his senses until all he can smell is the standard disinfectant in the hallway.
“I suppose we have more to discuss than I realized,” Kenobi murmurs, touching the control panel to open the hatch. “Please come in, Captain.”
Rex nods and follows Kenobi inside. It’s a typical layout for a high-ranked officer’s quarters, and Kenobi waves Rex to sit down at the small built-in table while he clatters around in the tiny personal kitchenette.
Rex settles into the left-hand bench and props his chin in his hands, feeling the scrape of stubble across his palms. He closes his eyes and inhales - the air is permeated with all the smells he’s come to associate with his Guide, plants and cloth and paper and the scents from his soap, lingering on Kenobi’s skin and in his hair. He drifts in the scent for a while, somewhere between sleeping and zoned out.
A soft touch on his shoulder makes itself known, along with steam wafting up from the table carrying the scent of more plants. Rex blinks awake to find Kenobi standing beside him and a cup of something hot set in front of him.
“Sorry- I’m up, sorry,” he grunts, wrapping his hands around the drink. Warm. “Mmm, thanks.”
“It’s no trouble,” Kenobi assures him, sitting down across from Rex with his own mug in hand. “I find a cup of tea helps me wind down after a long day, especially when there’s things to talk about.”
“Talking, right.” Rex inhales the steam from his cup, cataloguing scents, and then looks up to meet Kenobi’s calm gaze. “What are we talking about?”
“Well, sleeping arrangements for one.” Kenobi smiles a bit, taking the awkwardness out of the statement. “Also the empathic connection between us, and anything you might have noted today that you’d like to discuss. Communication is going to be essential, Captain. It won’t be easy, but all good relationships take work.”
Rex nods, biting the inside of his lip. He knows the taste of arousal on Kenobi’s skin. Too soon for that discussion.
“The first one is simple enough. I’m probably not going to sleep tonight so much as zone in on you for the next… five hours,” Rex calculates, pulling up his chrono. Little gods, Kenobi’s schedule is a mess. “So I need to rack up wherever you���re sleeping. In the same room. Actually, I’ll probably have to do that most nights that we’re around each other. As a general rule.” Ha. General rule for Generals. Damn, he’s tired.
Kenobi blinks at him, and then takes a big gulp of his tea. “Alright. We can do that.”
Rex breathes deeply, trying to stay awake. He takes a sip of his own tea, and that helps, feeling the heat of the steam on his face and concentrating on the new flavors over his tongue. “That empathic connection you mentioned, then. Let’s go over that.”
Kenobi nods, and starts talking.
Rex is surprised at how comfortable he is with the idea that Kenobi can feel what he’s feeling, and get a sense of his intentions. Kenobi promises he isn’t able to read Rex’s mind, which is probably true, given some of the… rather inappropriate thoughts Rex has had over the course of the day. Thank all the little gods for that.
It ought to make him uncomfortable, that connection, but the more they discuss it the more Rex finds he doesn’t mind. He can’t actually feel anything - it’s all on Kenobi’s end - and he can’t deny the benefits. Something as simple as waking up from a zone-out is already a completely new experience.
Sharing his mind with a Jedi doesn’t seem so bad. On the other hand, sharing space with his Jedi is incredibly awkward.
After they hash out the whole Jedi mind link, Rex ‘goes to sleep’ (in other words, he falls into a full sensory zone-out) on a bedroll on the floor in Kenobi’s quarters, with one hand wrapped around Kenobi’s wrist where it dangles over the side of the bunk. A little over four hours later, he wakes up in the General’s bed, curled up around his touchstone, nose buried in the fall of copper hair at the back of Kenobi’s neck… with their bodies pressed together all the way down to their knees.
Kenobi very politely shifts away as Rex unwinds his limbs from their death grip around Kenobi’s smaller body, and both of them studiously ignore Rex’s morning erection as they climb out of the bunk. Rex is mortified - and then he realizes Kenobi can probably feel his embarrassment. Still. He should say something.
“Sorry,” Rex finally croaks. He rubs a hand over his face, too uncomfortable to actually look at the other man.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kenobi replies, his normally smooth voice rough with sleep. He steps sideways around Rex - the cabin isn’t exactly spacious - and shuts himself into the tiny attached ‘fresher.
Rex leans back against the bulkhead beside the bunk and thunks his head into the wall. Instantaneous connections be damned - their relationship is careening along far ahead of his ability to cope with things, and if yesterday was a typical schedule for Kenobi, they aren’t going to have nearly as much time to discuss things as they should.
It hasn’t even been 24 hours since they synced. That’s way too soon to talk about… certain aspects.
~
Despite the awkward start to the morning, Day Two is a vast improvement. Rex is doing a hell of a lot better in terms of his need to zone on General Kenobi. Four hours and change of being locked onto his Guide has done wonders for his control, even if he’s kriffing exhausted from lack of sleep. Sound and scent are completely tamped down; touch and vision are manageable. Rex is still having trouble with his sense of taste, but it’s always been his weakest sense, and the easiest to control. He lets that urge ride on the input from his nose and manages to keep it together enough that he feels comfortable leaving Kenobi’s side for half of their (first) shift.
Rex spends a few hours at a workstation in the officers’ lounge, catching up on his datafiles and messages from the 501st, and then he indulges in some time on the firing range, blasting targets to bits. He’s working on a cross-draw for his two favorite blasters, and it’s taking a bit more work than he’d thought to get the hang of it and keep his accuracy up; the practice time is a treat, and it helps him relax a little. After the range, he cleans up himself and his pistols, grabs lunch in the officers’ mess, and happily congratulates himself on not having a single moment of sensory distraction in the whole of first shift. He sent a few messages to Kenobi throughout the day cycle, letting the General know as he moved around the ship, but that’s it - no contact, no loss of control. The morning is a complete success.
That doesn’t stop Cody from checking on him, of course.
“I’m fine, I promise, stop hovering,” Rex grunts subvocally, when Cody deliberately catches his eye from the other side of the command deck.
“You haven’t even seen hovering,” Cody murmurs. Rex thinks it’s frankly unfair how Cody can be so quiet and still sound so threatening.
“I’m not a newly-woken shiny,” he hisses back, taking the long way around to the middle of the room. “I’ve been active for four years and I don’t need a minder.” One of the troopers at the comms station overhears them - he glances up at Cody, then at Rex, eyebrow up in a silent question. Rex shakes his head, and the trooper goes back to listening for Separatist signals.
Rex walks up behind Kenobi, as silently as a trooper can in armor, so as not to disrupt the discussion between the General and Admiral Yularen. They’re still trying to track down Grievous, making frequent brief stops on their way to Kamino in hopes of collecting further intel on the enemy’s latest movements. As Rex approaches, Kenobi shifts his stance without breaking the flow of conversation, automatically making space at his side for Rex to slot into place.
On the other side of the holotable, Cody throws one last glance at Rex, and then flicks his eyes significantly towards General Kenobi. “It’s him I’m worried about, not you,” Cody murmurs, his lips barely twitching. “Did you two talk at all last night? How’s he taking it?”
Rex has his first moment of unsteadiness for the day as his hearing tries to compensate for the disparity in volume, simultaneously tracking Cody’s subvocal words and the conversation happening at standard volume right next to them. Needing a touchstone, Rex reaches out with his ungloved hand, going for the bare skin of Kenobi’s wrist - and Kenobi shifts to meet him halfway, quickly tugging off his gauntlet and clasping their hands together.
“Alright?” Kenobi asks quietly, glancing at Rex and waiting for him to nod before he resumes his conversation with Admiral Yularen.
Kenobi’s hand is warm. Rex feels the pulse of blood flowing beneath the skin, the minute flex of his muscles as their fingers intertwine, the rub of callouses on Kenobi’s palm and fingers. One of his knuckles is a bit bumpier than the others, probably broken and not healed exactly right. Sound oscillates in Rex’s head, going from fuzzy to balanced to individual words jumping out at him from across the bridge. He rubs his thumb over the back of Kenobi’s hand and sinks into the sensation of it, feeling the silk of fine hairs under this fingertips. Everything else goes quiet and still.
A bubble rises to the surface of a still pool of water, gently popping, and Rex wakes up. He automatically takes a deep breath, blinking as everything comes back into focus. Kenobi is still talking with Yularen, not looking at him - they’re still reviewing the last location of Grievous. Rex can’t have been out for more than a few seconds. Cody frowns at him, lifting one eyebrow.
“We’re good,” Rex murmurs to Cody. He squeezes Kenobi’s hand in wordless thanks and then lets go, focusing on the discussion. It’s time to get back to work.
~
Obi-Wan is honestly grateful when Rex asks to go with Cody on a series of outpost inspections, jumping from system to system to check the monitoring stations around Kamino. It's a good first attempt to separate - not quite a controlled environment, but even if something goes wrong at one of the outposts, the all-Sentinel ground teams stationed at each location should be enough backup for Rex and Cody to handle anything short of Grievous himself. And if Grievous does show up, they can always call for help from the outpost.
It’s not like they’re completely disconnected, either. With help from the comms specialists (and a little extra support from Anakin), Obi-Wan now has a direct connection to the comm frequency in Rex’s helmet. The signal can bounce through the shuttle’s onboard comms, or the comm system of each outpost, connecting Rex directly to Obi-Wan on the flagship of the 7th Sky Corps. On top of that, their empathic connection means Obi-Wan can keep track of the emotional state of his Sentinel through the Force.
It'll be fine. Rex can take care of himself; this is just going to prove it so he can rejoin the 501st Legion with no hesitation.
And maybe Obi-Wan can relax from the high-strung state he's been in for the last two and a half days.
Or not. Hyperspace travel makes their empathic link grow faint, almost non-existent, which causes an entirely new kind of tension as Obi-Wan finds himself constantly reaching down that corridor in his mind. The link isn’t yet three days old, and he worries at it like a loose tooth, poking at its weak points and hoping it won’t break apart. Separated by a distance of light-years, all Obi-Wan can sense is a general assurance of Rex’s continued well-being, and the barest edges of his emotions.
After a few minutes, Obi-Wan forcibly puts the connection to the back of his mind. He quickly gets caught up in his duties: battle preparations if they have to come in hot on Kamino, hashing out possible hiding places for Grievous, and debating what potential planets the droid general might target next. The empathic link with Rex - and the accompanying complications to his personal life - fade from his immediate attention.
That doesn't mean he doesn't notice when an echo of shock and adrenaline reverberates from that part of his mind. Rex doesn’t seem to be in pain, and the all-clear beacon at their next scheduled stop is still active, so it can’t be anything too terrible. When they can’t raise Cody and Rex on comms, Obi-Wan is undeniably worried, but there’s nothing he can do about it now, except trust that the two clones can handle themselves.
Still. When Anakin assigns the communications officer to continuously monitor signal traffic from the Rishi Moon Station, Obi-Wan adds his authorization to the order. The moment they hear something, he wants to know about it.
~ to be continued ~
#sentinel wars#obirex#the sentinel#star wars#the clone wars#obi wan kenobi#obi-wan kenobi#captain rex#my fic
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Tumblr-Girl (Part 2)
Tumblr – Girl (Series)
Part 1
Part 3
Masterlist
Pairing: Misha Collins x reader
Summary: the day after the first conversation
Word Count: 1.913
Warnings: panic attack, angst, depression, mental illness, self doubt
Notes: it is my first ever fanfic and I am not a English native speaker so please don’t hate me, I hope you like the idea, there at least some more parts to come. :)
IMPORTANT: I’m looking for someone like a beta-reader (since I’m not an English-native-speaker there are (probably) loads of mistakes in my texts as well as some ideas seem better in my mind than in the text, so you know what a beta-reader does, don’t you? Just shoot me a message if you want to help me with my texts
Now enjoy the second chapter ;)
Your POV
The next day you woke up, your body in pain and extremely tired, you swore you would never again trust a single human being who wants to help and certainly not some guy on tumblr. Yesterday you thought this guy really cared, that you have finally found someone to get this weight from your shoulders, but as everyone else he just let you down. Just wanted to play a knight until he read this few lines and recognized your unappealing character, until the game got boring, as it always does when you were involved.
You decided to get a long, hot shower to please your body and after that you checked the cuts on your wrist, they weren’t very deep, it would just take a few days for them to heal, they probably wouldn’t even leave scars. Good. You hated the scars on your wrist, where too many people could see them, there were a lot more scars above your elbow and on your tights because hiding them there was a lot easier. You just cut on your wrist when you didn’t really think about what you did. When you just urged to feel your body, when your mind completely shuts down.
You put on your favourite hoodie and some jogging pants and thought about checking your tumblr inbox. No. You just promised yourself not to do this again, maybe you should just delete that app from your mobile phone. But you couldn’t get yourself to do it, not yet, so you just went to your phone settings and switched off the tumblr-notifications. You don’t want to hear anything of that guy anymore, you thought.
Mishas POV
As I woke up in the morning I wasn’t as tired as I thought I would be, I looked at the time and jumped out of my bed shocked. Shit. It was nearly 10, filming started at quarter to 10. I put on a pair of comfortable jeans and a simple T-shirt, then I rushed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth while fixing my messy hair. Why wasn’t there any alarm? Oh, my mobile was still off because of the lack of battery. Shit. In my car I plugged in the portable charger and instantly messages came in. I quickly looked at it and hoped for a message of the tumblr-girl from the night before but as I unlocked the screen there were just seven texts and two missed calls from Jensen.
Morning, I’m going a bit earlier today, want me to pick you up? -Jensen
I’m leaving in 10, if you want me to pick you up, tell me. –Jensen
Okay, I’m leaving now. I guess I’ll see you on set in 30 minutes. – J
Where are you, buddy? Late night yesterday? ;)
Hey Misha, where are you? They are looking for you, shooting starts in 20
Mish, where are you? Forgot your job, huh?
Misha?
I shook my head. Shit. They are gonna hate me. I quickly wrote a text to Jensen
Hey buddy, I overslept, I’m sorry will be there asap – Misha
I got on set just 20 minutes later, although everyone was ready and waiting for me, I was a bit embarrassed and tried to get ready very quickly so we could start filming. When I sat down at the make-up table, Sarah, the make-up artist looked at me shocked. “Is something wrong?” I asked her confused. She stared at me and pointed at my eyes “Did you stayed up the whole night?” she asked blankly. I looked at me in the mirror and recognized the dark shadows below my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I said “but you can fix this, can’t you?” I replied with a little smile. She sighed “It will be a lot of work, but I think I can.” I nodded and let her start applying loads of make-up to my face.
I was tired the whole day, every now and then my mind went off to the tumblr-girl which hasn’t responded since last night. I was messing up constantly and at some point Jensen talked to the director to get some time for a break. Then he came back and looked at me “Everything okay, buddy?” he asked and I nodded instantly “It’s just because you are absent the whole time, what’s going on?” he kept going. I sighed quietly, not sure if I should tell him about the situation going on but then you nodded “See, I was on tumblr yesterday-“ – “What?” he stared at my perplexed “You were on tumblr? What did you do, read fanfictions about us?” he laughed, but as he saw my concerned face he got serious again and just said “go on.”
“Yeah, I just like to see what people are doing to each other, there are incredible supporting and helpful people out there. I really love to see how they are a family just as we are.” I smiled but then I got back to the subject “but yesterday I met this girl on tumblr, she sounded really desperate and more or less asked the community for support.” I looked at him and he nodded slowly and I kept going. “I- I don’t know, there was nobody responding so I just shot her a message with some nice lines, you know. I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.” I looked at my feet “She responded somewhere in the middle of the night, I was still awake, maybe because I was a bit worried about her, she sounded desperate, like she had nobody to talk, we wrote a short time, maybe two or three messages and then my phone battery went out, I had to look for my charger but didn’t find it so some minutes passed and when I finally sent her a message from my laptop she didn’t respond. I heard nothing from her since then. I- I’m just worried, Jensen.” I finished.
Jensen nodded again and gave me a gentle hug. “I understand.” He smiled “You are simply too precious for this world, buddy, but I understand. I hope she is responding soon, maybe she is just as tired as you are and overslept as well, or she needs just a little time, I’m sure she is okay.” He patted my shoulder and I gave him a weak smile. “I hope so.” I said “Okay, let’s get back to work and wrap the thing for today.”
Your POV
Since you had your day off every Friday you had no duties to do today, you just stayed at home and listened to some music, did your laundry, tried to keep yourself busy. But you couldn’t forget about this guy. Every now and then you started crying, your head felt like it would burst any second and you just couldn’t anymore. You thought a long time about killing yourself, you wouldn’t be a burden for anybody anymore, but you couldn’t get yourself to do it. Instead you took a pill against your headache and grabbed the bottle of white wine from the fridge. Of course you knew that medication and alcohol weren’t a good combination, but who cares, if you die you die. At least it would be over then. So you sipped at the bottle turned on the TV and started watching Supernatural, again.
Short time later the warm feeling of the alcohol in your blood helped you to relax a bit, you got more emotional and you started crying at some points of the TV-show. You really loved the characters, you loved the connection between the brothers and between Dean and Cass, how they did everything for another and you were sad that you had no friend, no family, to rely on just as they do.
When your thoughts beat you up again and you forced yourself to breathe slowly, when you tried to calm yourself down you took your mobile and opened the tumblr app without thinking. Your eyes focussed immediately on the little symbol above the inbox-sign. Two new messages. You were shivering as you opened your inbox and the chat with oldbonesgoingdown, you read the message, which arrived maybe half an hour after your message yesterday, when you were too freaked out to watch your phone.
“Don’t think like that, Y/N. I don’t know you that well (now), but I think you are an interesting person, you seem like there are a lot of interesting things to know about you and I would like to get to know them all.
Oh my dear, I hope you are better now, I feel with you, I know this feeling when your head puts up some cruel ideas and you can’t do anything but believing it, I really know it, but it will pass, at least for a while. And remember, I am here, girl, I am.
Love, oldbonesgoingdown
PS.: And I don’t think Y/N is an normal, boring name, like you said, I think it sounds very light, adorable and lovely, I don’t know anybody who is called Y/N. I really like the sound of it.
You had to read the message multiple times, tears rushing down your face, struggling for air, but then a soft smile reached your face. When you scrolled down to the second message, also from oldbonesgoingdown the smile vanished as fast as it appeared.
Hey Y/N,
I haven’t heard from you all day, so I decided to ask once again if you are okay. I hope I said nothing that could have intimidated you, if I did, I’m so sorry. I just need to know how you are doing.
Please, just shoot me a short message.
Love, oldbonesgoingdown
Ps. If I said something that annoyed you, or if you just want me to stop messaging, just say it, I don’t want to force you to anything, I just care about you.
There once was a person who cared and you managed to disappoint him in under a day, you aren’t worth getting the care of a person as nice as this guy seemed. In spite of you knowing you weren’t worth his attention you wrote a short message, to tell him you were still alive, because you couldn’t do the favour to the world and kill yourself.
Hey stranger – I still just know your tumblr-id?
I’m alive is maybe the best I can say after today. I’m far from alright although I’m drunk and crying while watching the boys kill monsters, but your message gave me a smile. I didn’t want to make you wait for my complaints and for sure I didn’t want to make you worry.
I know (no, I don’t understand it, but you told me) you care about me and you want to hear things about me and for the moment you know some things about me (My name is Y/N, I’m good at disappointing people, getting myself into trouble and being a burden for others and I’m a huge SPN fan as I’m in the family) but I just want to know some things about you, at least I name, please.
And of course I don’t want you to stop writing, but I know who I am, so if you want me to stop, yeah, just tell me, I guess.
Greetings, Y/N
The fact that you were drunk made you write things you hadn’t told anybody if you were sober, anybody. You wrote as you thought, don’t beat around the bush.
Part 3
#spn#spnfamily#spnfandom#misha x reader#misha collins#misha#jensen ackles#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic
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Stark Raving Mad
Chapter Six of that Tony Stark/Victor Von Doom fic that nobody asked for...
To Victor goes the Spoils | A Stark Reminder | Doom’s Day Scenario | Stark Truth | Doom and Despair
Drinking didn’t help.
Tony had known it wouldn’t, it never had. But sometimes in the bottom of the bottle, Tony had found a little forgetfulness, a little numbness.
Not this time; no amount of single-malt cut the pain. There was no fog or relief with an empty glass. There were some pretty epic hangovers, however. Sometimes he could disguise the anguish in his chest in a throbbing headache and muscle spasms. Dealing with a brain that wanted to shrink to the size of a walnut and hide under the bed was easier than thinking.
He started living for those few moments in between dreaming and waking, when he felt strong, warm arms around him. Heard a lightly accented voice in his ear, telling him everything was going to be all right.
And then he would slide his hand across the cool sheets, seeking a warm, familiar shape, pretending that his lover was just out of reach, instead of half the world away. Half the world and an impenetrable wall of lies and misunderstandings away.
At least night was only half the time.
Tony couldn’t decide if sleep was the enemy or his best solace. Sleeping eased the pain; in sleep he could forget, and even if his dreams were haunted, or he’d wake up hard and aching and reaching, he wasn’t in agony while sleeping. On the other hand, during his waking hours, he got… used to it. The pain didn’t lessen, he didn’t feel better, but he did grow accustomed to it. By the time he was awake for eighteen hours, he could better carry the load. Sleep… reset his tolerance.
Waking up was the worst. The constant hangover probably didn’t help, but he couldn’t give any of it up.
I wish I could quit you.
[Mobile readers, ware the readmore line, or catch the whole story at A03 [x] ]
He’d thought walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. It wasn’t. Staying away, now that was hard, and each day, each hour, it was a decision he had to make all over again, because it wouldn’t take that long, or even that much effort, to be in the suit, across the sea, and on his fucking knees in front of Victor Von Doom, begging to be taken back.
He’s the one who should apologize.
Didn’t matter, in the end. This was something Tony could not have.
“Your boyfriend’s in the papers again,” Clint said, one morning -- well, actually it was more like early evening, but fuck it, if it was Tony’s first goddamn cup of coffee, it was morning.
“What?” The coffee slopped over the edge of the mug, searing Tony’s fingers. He hissed, stuck his fingers in his mouth out of instinct and that was even more painful. Eventually he got himself together enough to run his hand under some cold water. “What are you even talking about, Barton?”
No one knew. No one could ever know.
“Doom,” Clint said. He brandished the paper at Tony. “Didn’t he kidnap you recently?”
“Tony’s been kidnapped so many times, it kinda slips his mind,” Natasha pointed out.
“I’m not really susceptible to Stockholm Syndrome,” Tony managed, heart beating in his throat. Why was Victor in the papers. “If I was, there’d be a lot more Ten Rings fanatics in the world.”
“Well, thank God for that,” Steve said. He was buttering an English muffin and smearing more jam on it than any five people should have been able to eat.
Why was everyone else eating breakfast at… Tony checked the clock. Oh. It actually was six-thirty in the morning. He was getting his days and nights all backward, trying to stay awake as long as possible and then falling on his face from exhaustion, only to crawl out of bed unrested and weary. Had he ever been awake at this time of day on purpose before in his life? Probably, but he couldn’t remember why he’d want to do that.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Everyone had just continued on with their day as if nothing earth shattering was happening at all.
Tony counted prime numbers backward from ten thousand. “Why is Doom in the papers?”
“Oh, some pappas managed to get a pic of his face,” Clint said. “Can you believe it? I thought that guy was supposed to be all scared up and hideous.”
What? “What?” Tony snatched the paper up and spread it out on the table. “That can’t be real.”
Doom Unmasked
Actually a series of photographs; Doom’s hands at his throat, unhooking the mask. Sitting at a desk, face covered by his hands, as if weary. Or grieving. A final shot, a little blurry, but recognizable.
Victor.
“I didn’t think a photographer would get close enough to Castle Doom to get a picture,” Steve said. “Doesn’t he shoot foreigners on sight? Him and those Doombots.”
“I think it’s a fake,” Sam said. “The real Doom would have strung up a photographer on the nearest spike and let his guts spill out.”
He’s not like that, Tony wanted to protest. At least not anymore.
“That’s lovely breakfast conversation,” Tony snarked, his tone a little more hostile than he’d meant it to be. He folded up the paper and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll be in the shop. If anyone needs me… too fucking bad.”
“What was your involvement in the Latveria conflict, Mr. Stark?” Christine Everhart smiled at him, her teeth looking like a shark’s grin rather than anything like a human expression.
“I accompanied the Fantastic Four, on rumors of stolen Stark Industries weapons tech being obtained by the Latverian government,” Tony said. He had a whole handful of printed cards; but you’d think Pepper would stop handing him that kind of bullshit, because he was never going to deliver a speech based on what some PR buffoon wrote down. If she wanted the spin to go her way, she needed to give the goddamn speech herself and leave him out of it. It didn’t even matter that the reporters wanted Iron Man, it’s not like she hadn’t made excuses on his behalf before.
“But that’s not what you found?”
“I’m sure you already know the answer to that,” Stark said, giving her his best cheeky grin. He’d always been good at playing the press, smiling on the outside, but this was the first time his press smile actually physically hurt his face, plastering it on there.
“Our intelligence was somewhat lacking,” Tony said. “Indeed, Latveria had acquired Stark Industries tech, but it was for energy and not a weaponized system.”
“But isn’t the arc-reactor capable of immense destruction?”
“As we saw,” Tony said. “As a result of --”
“Von Doom’s issued a public statement,” another reporter, Ben Urich called out. Christine gave him a death glare, but it didn’t shut Urich up at all. Now that was an investigative reporter. “Were you aware, Mr. Stark, that he claimed both that the reactor meltdown was an accident and that you -- acting as Iron Man -- saved his country?”
“Well, I’d say that’s pretty much true,” Tony responded, a little stunned. The current emotions surrounding the event had been pretty hostile and Tony was expecting reparations to be demanded, at the very least. Not to mention the expectations that Johnny Storm might be accused of war crimes.
“Do you consider yourself to be working with Dr. Doom?” Christine butted in.
“In the case of saving the world, then yes, ma’am,” Tony said. He knew she hated it when he called her ma’am. He made a point to do so as often as possible. “I’m pretty much willing to work with just about anyone for that goal.”
That seemed like a good line to walk out on, so Tony did.
“No,” Cap said. Tony could tell it was Cap and not Steve talking because Steve usually leaned in doorways when he was mad, contemplative, or just being a pain in Tony’s ass.
Cap, on the other hand, was all six-foot three-inches worth of patriotic self-righteousness, and someone had taught him, decades before Tony was born, that hands on the hips was a good leadership look. Cap had learned that lesson pretty well. It always made Tony sort of want to do the Macarena, but whatever.
“Well, I didn’t ask you to the spring dance or anything so --”
“Tony, just stop,” Steve said, and it was all Steve again, and really, the personality changes were going to give Tony whiplash if it kept happening. “You’re drunk, you’re erratic, and I’m not letting you go on this call.”
“You’re not the director of me,” Tony said. He wasn’t that drunk. Was he? Not like he hadn’t done the superhero shtick fucked up drunk on a couple of occasions. One of those occasions was how Rhodey ended up with War Machine. He thought that was planned, but maybe Rhodey did, actually, kick Tony’s ass. Tony couldn’t quite remember anymore, and that was weird because usually Tony’s memory was pretty damn good.
“Maybe not,” Steve said, “but I am the leader of this team, and as such, I’m not going to let you endanger them, yourself, or civilians by operating a battle suit under the influence.”
“Don’t really see how you can stop me, Stars and Bars,” Tony snapped. “I was doing the superhero gig while you were still getting your beauty sleep.”
There was a sharp prick at the base of his neck. “Aaand I was in spy school before you built your first suit with tin cans and paper clips, Tony. I’m sorry, but Steve’s right.” Natasha said. “You’re a hazard right now.” The world got a little… bendy around the edges.
“I’m not so very… drunk… Melly,” Tony said.
Steve blinked a few times. “Hey, I understood that reference,” he said. He shook his head. “Sorry, Tony. Not this time. JARVIS, shut him down. I want a legal BAC before you let him fly anywhere.”
“I understand, Captain,” JARVIS said.
Well, that was interesting. Understanding was not the same as obeying. Tony waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing Captain Stick-up-his-ass.
The Quinjet was up and gone by the time Tony managed to stagger off the landing platform. JARVIS obeying Steve or not, Tony couldn’t fly in these conditions. What the fuck had Nat injected him with anyway, ketamine?
“Sir,” JARVIS said, “Much as it pains me to agree with the Captain under these circumstances…”
“Yeah, I gotcha, buddy,” Tony said. He stumbled and if JARVIS hadn’t been holding the suit in his control like a toddler, Tony would have gone straight onto his face and probably broken his nose while he was at it. “No superheroing while under the influence…”
“If you don’t mind a suggestion, sir,” JARVIS said, “you might find some peace of mind if you will allow me --”
The bendy edges of the world went… bendier. Was that even possible? He was going to kill Nat. Or at least, use a bleach-filled water pistol on all her clothes. “Sure, buddy,” Tony said. “Whatever… you… want.”
JARVIS closed the faceplate. “Just sleep, sir,” JARVIS said, sympathetic. That was nice. Tony could use some sympathy these days, since all he was getting from his team was sarcasm and resentment. “I’ll wake you when we arrive.”
“Sure….” Tony closed his eyes. JARVIS could fly. JARVIS was his co-pilot.
“Is there some particular reason you decided to camp me out halfway up a tree in… where the fuck are we?” Tony demanded. Waking up in bed with a hangover was bad enough, really. He needed to get right on programing JARVIS with pain receptors or something, because honestly, this was a little too much…
“There were patrols,” JARVIS explained. “And I did not wish to engage with Latverian forces at this time, sir.”
Latveria. “Latveria? JARVIS, why the fuck did --”
“Sir, while I do not claim to understand human sexual relationships, I cannot help but observe that you have been suffering through the fallout of the events here, not that terribly long ago.” JARVIS overrode him.
“It wasn’t that long ago,” Tony protested. “I think I’m allowed to grieve.”
“I don’t disagree, sir,” JARVIS said. “But perhaps some observation might give you some closure.”
“I don’t think stalking the evil dictator of a fascist nation is what they mean by closure,” Tony said.
“I don’t believe evil dictator of a fascist nation is what you mean by Victor Von Doom,” JARVIS responded.
“I did not program you to be a relationship counselor,” Tony noted. “Scrap heap. Teaching math to third graders.”
“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said. “I have long since yearned to help younger minds who are not quite so set in their ways.”
Ow.
“That was hurtful, buddy,” Tony said.
“In point of fact, sir, I do not intend for you to stalk your lover,” JARVIS said. “I merely thought you might wish to look at what’s become of the country that you saved.”
Oh. Well, that might be okay. He could see what Doom had done in the last few months, go back to hating him, and everything would be fine. The world and reality would return to what he knew and maybe he could get on with forgetting a few nights of passion. And, really, that’s all it was. In the grand scheme of things, the twenty-three days that they’d actually spent together were tiny, less than 0.002% of Tony’s entire life. And even if one recalculated for the time they weren’t in the same bed, but, at least for Tony, Victor had been almost the entirety of his thoughts… he was still only talking about 0.06%. Hardly worth the heartache.
Except that you love him.
Tony skimmed around the countryside, stopping from time to time to observe village life. All the cities and towns were named Doom-something. Doomburg, Doommanor, Doomsville. Doom’s ancestors were hardly the creative types. (He was ignoring Starkphones and the Starktower and… yeah, okay, so he wasn’t ignoring it, and maybe he didn’t have any room to judge.)
It… wasn’t what he’d expected.
The work that he’d seen laid out in the warehouse was continuing. Slower, perhaps. The loss of the arc-reactor for power had made other plans necessary. Huge swaths of forest were tagged for removal, to set up solar panel projects. All of the new buildings had hydro-power or solar panels set up. Clean, renewable energy.
Latveria had always had a generally lower jobless rate than other countries, but now, Tony was seeing more and more social improvements. Latveria was moving out of the wealthy middle ages and into the middle-class modern age.
It was… intriguing.
“Compile news reports of Von Doom’s activities, since the incident,” Tony said. “Summarize.”
“If you will accept my analysis, sir,” JARVIS said, “Von Doom has changed. I believe his renunciation of world conquering to be sincere. His most recent efforts, dating, I dare say, from his first encounter with you at the Van Dyne masquerade ball, have been to bettering the lives of his people.”
“Could it be a trick?” Tony wanted to believe that, but at the same time, what actually the hell? Victor changing, for what? For Tony Stark? Ridiculous. Tony was what absolutely no one would call a role model. In fact, his teammates would probably rupture something, laughing, if anyone suggested it.
“Years of associating with humans have left me with few illusions, sir,” JARVIS said. “Anything could be a trick, or a trap. But you might ask yourself, a trap for whom? And why? Von Doom is going through rather a lot of effort, and if you’ll forgive me for saying it, what wouldn’t result in much benefit to anyone, if it was an ambush.”
What gain a man the world, only to lose his soul?
Well, it would gain a man the world. But Victor seemed to have turned his back on the world… to regain a soul, perhaps. That wasn’t an unworthy goal.
“All right,” Tony said. “Let’s see what he does with a little help.”
“Sir?”
“Replace the arc-reactor,” Tony said. “Call it a gift, or a tax-deduction. Let’s see what he actually does with one, if he’s got it.”
“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said. “I’ll place the order at once.”
“You owe me,” Tony said. He planted one hand on the kitchen table. “And don’t try to wiggle out of it, either.”
“I --”
“You’ve stabbed me in the neck more than once now,” Tony pointed out, “and I have yet to repulsor you in the face, no matter how much I’d really like to.”
“What is it you want me to do?”
“Go to Latveria. Be a tourist or something. He’s allowing tourists, these days.”
“And while I’m there?”
“Get a feel for the land. See what the people think. Do an analysis on the government, the economy.”
“To bring it down?” Natasha asked, brightening.
“No. Just report it. And leave your bias at the door. I want to know what Doom’s really up to.”
“And what will you be doing for the next few months, while I put this together?”
“Drying out,” Tony admitted. “I need to check in to rehab, otherwise, I’d do it myself.”
Natasha softened at that. She actually put her hand out and touched his wrist. “Are you going to tell anyone what happened?”
“Yes,” Tony said. “Just not you. Tony Stark, not recommended. Remember?”
Natasha winced. “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”
“I honestly don’t know what I’d do with that, Ginger Snaps,” Tony said. “No one ever says they’re sorry to me.”
Natasha’s report was thorough. Favorable. If it was a trap, Doom as doing an awful lot of upgrades to his country in a non-military fashion. If it was a trap… the world might benefit from such a leader.
Tony thought about getting a hotel.
Going back to where they started, maybe. He had fond memories of that hotel.
But no, if they were going to move forward, it was time to actually move forward. Start new, fresh. No more lies. No more hiding.
“Send the package, J,” Tony said.
There were, Tony thought, several possibilities.
Dozens of scenarios and reasons. But it boiled down to a Schrodinger’s cat scenario. Either Victor would come.
Or he wouldn’t.
Either there was love. Or there wasn’t.
Tony didn’t bother to dress up; he wasn’t going to wait around like some modern day Miss Havisham. Comfortable pants and a tee were good enough for the Avengers; a sport coat sometimes if he was leaving the building. His sneakers. And if he had engine grease on his face, so be it. Tinkering in the workshop passed the time.
He wasn’t going to be anyone else anymore. No more masks. No more lies.
Okay, so he was totally waiting around.
Shut up, okay?
“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted his thoughts. “Victor Von Doom is inboard to the Tower. Two minute warning.”
Tony’s heart rate increased and he had to swallow a sudden bout of nerves. “Where’s he landing?”
“Current trajectory indicates penthouse landing platform, sir,” JARVIS said.
“Let him in.” Tony didn’t have to move. He could just stay right there he was, on the sofa, drinking his sparkling water and pretending that he wasn’t a recovering alcoholic. Pretending to be casual. Pretending the outcome of this meeting wasn’t going to change his life, perhaps even more drastically than Afghanistan had.
Von Doom came down on the platform in a superhero™ landing. Good thing the floor there was reinforced to take the full weight of the Hulkbuster, otherwise he might have cracked the pavement. Green cloak billowed out behind him, dramatic.
Von Doom raised one hand and touched the stud under his jaw, removed his mask. With a negligent flick of the wrist, he threw it aside where it clattered up against the rails. Pushed back his hood.
He was so beautiful.
Tony had meant to stay where he was. Calm. Cool. Collected. Fuck it. The glass of water spilled, unheeded, to the floor. He was on his feet and practically running to the door. He managed to get himself under control when his hand was on the knob, but still, he threw the door open.
“I see you found the address,” Tony said, letting a sly smirk touch his mouth.
“Tony, I --”
“Victor,” Tony said, and the sound of Victor’s name on his tongue stilled both of them for a long, long moment. They stared at each other. Drank in the sight. God, this was… I love him. And I am never going to love anyone else again. “We… need to talk.”
Victor nodded, slow. He reached out a hand, peeled off his armored gauntlet and offered Tony his hand. “We should,” he said. “Thank you, for inviting me.”
Tony touched Victor’s hand and the warm reality of it nearly drove him to his knees. Iron. Stark men are iron. If the talk went well, there would be plenty of time for him to be on his knees later. If it went poorly… well, he would like to skip the embarrassment of remembering how badly he wanted this. “You’re welcome.”
And he meant more than simple acknowledgement of thanks, he meant… you are welcome. In my home. In my life. In my heart. “Please. Come inside.”
#IronDoom#Tony Stark#victor von doom#tony x victor#that fic no one wanted#but a lot of people seem to like#Iron Man#Doctor Doom
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