#ITS OKAY ITS THE WRITING PROCESS

[ddeongies]

chapter 14 finally moving????

[crybaby-bkg]

Trainer Bakugou who you're a little terrified of the first day you're paired with him. when asking for a trainer at the gym, you had expected the friendly redhead who always looked so sweet and encouraging and cut as hell. you weren't expecting his grumpy looking blond counterpart, who was all glares and shouts for his clients to keep pushing themselves.

you were hesitant at first, before you quickly realized that it was all a ruse, for the most part. he pushed those who needed that extra encouragement, but was more lenient to people like you who simply wanted a professionals guidance. so, after a few weeks, you liked him for the most part, and his looks damn sure made it easier to cozy up to the big guy.

the only issue you've been having with Bakugou though are the...coregasms, as you've seen them been named on social media, that you keep experiencing. the first time, you weren't sure what it was, why your stomach and pelvis kept tightening up. you couldn't have...climaxed, or anything. you hadn't even been touched!

but, as the weeks go by, and the workouts get more strenuous, they've become harder and harder to subside and ignore, and so had Bakugou's commands to keep going when you suddenly stopped. you can only lie and say its cramps so many times before he realizes that something is up.

you're midway through a good morning, when that familiar feeling starts tightening in the pit of your gut. you clench your eyes shut, shaking your head a little, as if you could ward off the impending feeling. bakugou notices though, frowning at your almost pained expression in the mirror, walking up behind you to stop you as you pull yourself back up. his hands are on your waist, and as you come up, you feel his bulge glide over the curve of your ass, and something in you snaps.

you gasp, buckling over, one hand on your knee as the other reaches back for bakugou's hand to keep you up as your thighs shake. you can feel yourself spasming, clenching and unclenching around nothing, secretly wishing you had something that could fill you up, something that you felt throb against you as bakugou leaned over your form.

"Another coregasm, huh?" he asks you lowly, his lips brushing your ear as you bite your bottom lip to hold back your moan. your eyes buck open though, when his words sink in, head tipping back to look at him in the mirror, only to find his gaze already on you.

"You knew every time?" you ask quietly, panting now that its finally starting to pass over you. but bakugou doesn't let you up from this position, especially since the area you're in seems to be desolate for now.

"It's hard to ignore how pretty you look when you cum, sweetheart." Bakugou seals his words with a firm press to your ass, his cock rubbing the seam, and you can practically feel the heat and veins of it through your thin bottoms. you groan under your breath, getting lost in the feeling of him grinding against you, when he suddenly speaks again.

"You still feel it?" he asks, voice low as he looks at you through his lashes. you nod, biting at your bottom lip as you meet the steady rock of his hips, watching how he smiles before slotting his lips against your ear.

"Want me to help make it go away?" and he does, in the employee locker room after hours. he makes it go away, and rebuild, and go away again and again until you're hoarse and your legs are weaker than they typically are on leg day. bakugou helps the ache go away, but not for that sweet redheaded coworker of his, whose fists have fucked his cock the entire time of watching bakugou rail you over the locker room bench again and again.

[seagull-scribbles]

The Lesbians doing each-others make-up meme but its these two idiots!

This also inspired a one shot, which you can read on AO3 [here] by @veritas-dolos 💖

[lovesickeros]

☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

[szaryherbatnik]

2 days since i finished once upon a witchlight. 2 days since i last saw kremy. Kremy withdrawal is starting, and it hurts. Like a kremy hangover (which no is not connected with my actual hangover). Kremy means so much to me. In fact kremy means SO much to me i have a deep desire to get like a badge or a diploma for being a part of kremy nation. I would like to be perceived above all else- as a kremy girlie. WITNESS ME AS I TALK ABOUT KREMY LECROUX. contact me if you want to talk about kremy lecroux, i need to verify the info. When i die and my brain gets cut in half, all the wrinkles are shaped like kremy. And if one sunny day, running late somewhere, with a single slice of toast in my mouth, i bump into richie god damn gilder i will with no hesitation fall on the ground and thank him for creating kremy. And he will think wow shes so cool and normal, from his backpack he will produce a purple book. I gasp. Oh my god what is that. He says szare you are so cool you should have this its a book that contains every single fact about kremy ive been writing it for years. I will say thank you how can i ever show my gratitude. And he will say dw abt it bestie.

Every wednesday kremy nation shall gather as i will read a page from the kremy book.

[deoidesign]

Hii! I have been recently getting more and more obsessed with your art and webcomic and was wondering if I could use your art as like a profile picture? (With credit!!) If not that's perfectly fine! :)

yeah you can use my art for whatever as long as you're not stealing it or selling it

I don't mind if people print my art out for themselves either. I do sell prints, but it doesn't bother me either way

In general I don't post anything that I haven't made my peace with all that comes with sharing my art publicly! So feel free to use it as you please pretty much.

Giving me credit for the things I've made is respectful and helps me in my career, and I would hope that most people intend to respect my work... And the people who don't respect my work were never going to whether I asked or not.

I make my work for other people to enjoy it, I want you to enjoy it!

[marcsnuffy]

as the tumblr's resident snuffy expert I have to ask you what you think snuffy and lorenzo's actual legal relationship is (like did he take on the role of his guardian or is he technically more of a sponsor) and furthermore what you think their dynamic is like behind the scenes. like even if you accept the idea that snuffy is more of a father figure to lorenzo than an employer there's no way that this guy who was a homeless orphan until he was a teenager and the man who took him in *on the basis that he be athletically successful* have like. a normal unremarkable parent-child dynamic

Thanks for the question, sorry about the yapping

I'm torn on how to answer the legal relationship question. To me, it depends on how old you think Lorenzo is during the flashback. I always thought he was around 15-16, so I rarely consider an option where Snuffy isn't his legal guardian. However I could see some PIFA fuckery involved to avoid any legal trouble in the case he didn't have a legal guardian involved before becoming an adult legally.

Even then the process for getting gold teeth takes more than one day (all the visits you need to get your teeth properly checked for the procedure, the healing process takes months and more visits, etc) and he was near death so I'd like to think he was taken care/supervised of by Snuffy during that time (which is why Lorenzo's so attached to him). (the amount of care is up to interpretation bc it's hc territory anyway)

After that, when Lorenzo started playing football, *then* it's more of a sponsor/employer/advisor?/mentor? situation that occasionally bleeds into guardian-adopteé territory but never completely. I think they had something similar to how Ray Dark ended up dropping Kaiser at the BM dorms, except I think Snuffy directly had a hand in training/teaching Lorenzo before and still kept somewhat in contact during. I also like to think he got him a tutor or something, but this is more so I can sleep well at night. Snuffy IS the "what will you do when football's no longer an option" guy anyway so it's not unrealistic.

I need to add somewhere in this post that I believe/know in my heart that Snuffy picking up Lorenzo happened a bit after Mick died (months, maybe a year max) and specifically because of it. Comparing dead Mick & almost dying Lorenzo was super common when ch. 229 came out so I won't elaborate much on it, I just wanted to mention it.

Dynamics wise... There's too much going on for them to be in a normal boss and employee situation, Snuffy isn't fazed by Lorenzo's antics at all, Lorenzo goes up to Barou* to convince him to succeed Snuffy while also bringing up Snuffy's promise to Mick and also just everything about Lorenzo's reaction to Snuffy going back on his retirement, he literally told Barou he loved him & offered him a gold tooth. I don't think he says that to anyone yknow

*and by the way this interaction always stands out to me, since the timeline of events is not clear at all. all bc the fucking blue lock building is built like a prison and idk what time it is. I think Snuffy&Barou´s conversation happened at least some hours or a day after the Ubers introduction bit. During Lorenzo's backstory dump they're wearing pajamas but then Snuffy tells them it's time to train, so I assume it's the morning after that. Anyway I wonder if Snuffy just told him about it or if he directly asked him to talk to Barou. I feel like it's the former (given their reactions to Barou accepting Snuffy's deal) but the setup kinda makes it feel like the latter. whatever it was I think it's evidence for me to say that Snuffy trusts Lorenzo.

And I feel like there's nothing direct I can point to to say they're close enough to have a regular parent and child relationship. Still I feel like just by having Lorenzo be a NG11 and the fact that he enjoys football and doesn't scream cry and throw up when he loses or when he is inconvenienced (THE BAR IS ON HELL) makes me think Snuffy is mostly a positive influence on him. I like to think Snuffy does care a lot about him but he's the type of guy that shows it by meddling (kinda like Reo or younger Sae (who wasn't much of a meddler iirc. this makes sense in my mind)) and just isn't that visibly affectionate with anyone anymore.

More about the father and son thing. This is also headcanon territory I'm sorry. I don't think they, like, go out fishing as a bonding thing or anything like that. but I do think they don't go a week w/out talking bc I think Snuffy's a bit neurotic about how the people he cares about are doing because of reasons and Lorenzo loves talking people's ears off about everything and nothing. I think Lorenzo tried giving him an expensive gift with one of his first paychecks and mentioned "paying back his debt bit by bit" as a joke that wasn't really a joke and Snuffy's face twisted & he said something along the lines of Lorenzo not owing him anything and it was awkward between them for a while after that. I think its fucking WEIRD but they care abt each other and that's what matters

TL;DR: I think there had to be a point where Snuffy was his legal guardian or at least acted like it to some degree. In regards to their dynamic behind the scenes, that is not a father that is a grieving tutor-guardian-mentor-advisor-employer-professional football player and his renowned domesticated possum employee/adopteé who is soooooooo normal about worth.

[a-libra-writes]

I absolutely love all of your Mordecai stories! Could you write one where reader is specifically male and how that would affect the relationship? Or a more general scenario where Mordecai makes a habit of fixing reader’s appearance for symmetry, definitely not because he wants an excuse to stand so close to them.

hhhhhh okay i had to prioritize this because i just. i have so much brainrot about this stupid hitman esp with a male partner in particular !!! This will be adjacent to the part 3 of Romantic HC's with him (and I included ur cute symmetry idea in that one instead!) I have a lot of thoughts..

First off, I HC him as gay ace, and that is what I tend to go off whenever I write him. These are my own thoughts and obvs yall can have something totally different! With that said...

He would be slightly more open and have an easier time getting to know a man, simply because of the socialization and gender expectations in the 20's. With women he's always been uneasy because of the unspoken, unknown "expectation" of interacting with them. (though if she wasn't ladylike at all and toted around a gun or dressed masc he'd probs feel otherwise, see him interacting fine with Serafine). Again, 1920's socializing acting as if women are an entirely different creature from men and should be treated as such. So, he'd be a little more accepting of touches and attention from a man because that's more familiar, but we're talking 10% more. Not a huge jump.

As stated in the previous HC's, this is still years of building trust between the two of you before he's willing to acknowledge any feelings. If you're openly gay or bi during this time, he's never been judgmental about it like some might be. Actually, Mordecai doesn't think about your potential love life in the slightest, at least until you two begin to get closer. Then suddenly he's thinking about it.

Attraction has never been something he's experienced, at least not in the way he's heard men talk about women (which, ew, that kind of talk is disgusting). But as you two become closer, he develops emotional and physical attraction toward you; both are confounding and frustrating. It's less sexual attraction and more a very intense physical admiration, even if that person doesn't have conventionally attractive features.

(Personally I think he'd be very attracted to either a very tall and muscular type - similar to Viktor - or a smaller, slender more "pretty" kind of guy. Two opposites on a spectrum, which he admires for different reasons.)

Regardless, it's awful, Mordecai has no idea why this is hitting him just now in his mid-fucking-20s after a whole adolescence of not seeing people that way. The physical admiration comes and goes, but the emotional attraction always hits him like a train when you're both together.

This is probably Totally Normal for close friends who are also comrades that murder people together. This is fine.

Note it's possible you have plenty of other admirers, which gives him even more agitated and conflicting feelings. If it's women fawning over you - even if you aren't interested - that's easy for Mordecai to deal with. Women have bothered him plenty of times, at least until they realize how cold and awkward he is and give up. He doesn't understand why you have to smile and flirt back, but, well, at least that doesn't upset them ....

Men flirting with you is a bit of a different story, especially if you've always been open and comfortable with your own sexuality. The women seem harmless, the men do not. You have this ease and freedom with them that Mordecai doesn't understand and somewhat envies. He can't brush off their attention as being "silly" like the women are; they don't just want to dance with you. It agitates him so much and he struggles to fully articulate why. Maybe a small voice in his head tells him that if he were more normal, maybe you might be just as attentive to him. That you have expressed your trust and affection to him, but he struggles in returning it, so it's no wonder you might seek it elsewhere.

In this time period, there's incredibly little understanding around the concept of asexuality (and even then, it's written as though it's a disease or mental failure). Mordecai has certainly never heard of such things, and he's never struggled with his lack of sexual attraction until his feelings began developing for you. This is why he becomes so jealous if you're free with your love and attention to others. Before you both were ever a real "thing" (but the feelings were very much there, hanging unspoken between you), Mordecai would start huge arguments about whoever you'd be sleeping around with. He hadn't cared for years, and now he does? Seriously, if you smell like another man Mordecai goes from 0 to 100 and barks at you to wash up. You point out that Viktor always smells like sawdust and oil but Mordecai doesn't shove him into the bathroom.

Viktor thinks whatever you two have going on with these spats is just weird. More than once he's yanked you both by the neck and tossed you out of the garage for being so noisy.

(Note if you're someone whose on a similar wavelength as Mordecai, or you simply don't enjoy sleeping around with strangers and prefer close connections, that jealousy simmers down considerably. No, these are not healthy reactions or feelings he has. He has never been a well-adjusted individual. )

Once you both are more of an established ""couple"" (if thats what this strange long-term pining and angsting and yearning that's finally become something of a real Thing can be called), Mordecai still wouldn't consider himself "like that". Not because of shame of being gay, but because he genuinely hasn't felt this way toward anyone, man or woman. You're his exception. He likes you.

All the drama aside... Because of the odd nature of you and Mordecai's relationship, plus his closed-off personality and the odd hours you two keep, no one actually suspects the relationship is romantic for a very long time. Mitzi and maybe Atlas have caught onto something, especially if you're open about your attraction to men, but they assume it's a one-sided crush on your part. Viktor is the only one who picks up that Mordecai might feel the same, and only because he's around you both so often and he sees the odd looks and lingering touches - and notably, how you two interact with him is very different with how you interact with each other. Not his business, but he'd protect you both in a heartbeat. Viktor never says it out loud, but he's aware of other associates or employees who may not be accepting of you two and could be a potential threat. He watches them very carefully.

(And related to that - Atlas doesn't think twice about taking you in and treats you with just as much respect as his other employees, which would be remarkable for a known gay man in the 20's. That's probably how he got you signed onto being a triggerman...)

And related to any threats, Mordecai will go fucking feral on anyone who tries to threaten or hurt you for your sexuality. It doesn't matter if you're playing it cool or ignoring them, he's already got his gun out. Viktor will join in too, but he at least asks if you want to kill them or "just" scare them shitless.

So, in closing ... Yes, the relationship would be a little more complicated with a masc person vs a femme because of the time period and the lack of vocabulary+understanding of Mordecai's own identity. A person whose experienced and very comfortable in their own skin would help him out a lot, whether they're asexual or allosexual, someone whose willing to just sit and talk these things out (even if sometimes he's mortified to even bring it up). If the person is just as questioning and confused, well, it might end up more chaotic, hah.

[distant-velleity]

"hypocrite"

Summary: Sometimes, people who are too similar will also clash. Word count: 2.2k+ Warnings: violence A/N: Wheeew. Chrysos and Yu hours again. I'm not going to comment on the quality of this one for reasons, but I'll just post it anyway. Here you guys go. (I'll also reblog this on my sideblog so you guys can see some additional thoughts and such.)

~

Dammit. Where did it all go wrong?

Yu doesn’t necessarily storm out of the infirmary, but it’s something close to it.

With the longest, swiftest strides he can muster, he intends to head back to Ramshackle—to rest, to collect his thoughts, and to figure out where the hell Vil’s blot stone went.

It hadn’t been anywhere in the infirmary or on his person, even though it was right in his palm when he passed out the night before. He didn’t have any memory of waking up another time between blacking out and ending up in the infirmary, either. 

But if either the nurse or Crewel or Crowley had confiscated it, then they hadn’t addressed the issue at all when they had every reason to as highly-qualified staff members collectively responsible for the school’s safety.

So somehow, it disappeared right out of his hands. Somehow, a very potent crystallization of dangerous magical waste has disappeared and Yu needs to find it. 

Maybe, just maybe, it ended up somewhere where no one will find it before me—

“There you are, Wei.”

It’s a gentle but accusatory voice.

Yu blinks and stops, emerging from his thoughts. Thanks to the fair, the hallway is empty except for him—him and a certain Octavinelle student.

“Chrysos,” Yu says pleasantly, waving to him. Speaking as if nothing out of the usual had happened at all, as if he isn’t high-strung with nerves. “Headed somewhere?”

“I meant to visit the infirmary to find you,” admits Chrysos, “but… it looks like you’ve already been discharged.”

Yu’s mouth curves into a small smile, a mask of politeness, since he doesn’t really feel like smiling. “Yeah. It was probably a cause for concern for some, but I’m fine. An overnight stay in the nurse’s office was treatment enough.”

“Oh?” Chrysos tilts his head. “That’s fast. If I might ask… what were you in there for, then?”

The inevitable question, of course. Thankfully, he’d prepared for this.

“Stress-induced sickness, I guess? It got to the point where I fainted.” Yu laughs softly. Habitually, he adds in a dash of something pitiable: “I’m about as weak as people expect me to be.”

Chrysos narrows his eyes ever so slightly, lashes dipping—as if the half-lie about the fainting spell is a dried-out organism he’s about to viciously dissect. 

“I see,” he replies after a moment, instead of the expected accusations. “You’re sure you feel fine now, then?”

“Yep. Thanks for being worried, though.” Yu doesn’t mention that he pretty much blackmailed the nurse into letting him out, the second time in less than 24 hours. After all, it was better if no one noticed and questioned his abrupt admittance to the infirmary from last night…

…Yu frowns.

“Wait a minute—” he starts quietly, at the same time Chrysos says, “That’s good to hear.”

They look at each other, only one of them stunned into silence; and it isn’t Chrysos, who—ever composed—wordlessly and expectantly gestures for Yu to speak.

“How…” Yu hesitates, and then cautiously continues, “How did you even know I was in the infirmary?” After all, no one—absolutely no one besides the staff—should have been aware. It was far too early in the day for them to have told anyone…

Chrysos crosses his arms, an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to take a guess?”

“No. Just tell me outright, please.”

“In that case…”  

Almost innocently, Chrysos gives a slight sideways incline of his head again.

“I was the one who brought you to the infirmary to begin with.”

As if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell of a realization on Yu, the ever-polite and ever-observant freshman waits for a reaction with a perfectly neutral expression. Or, Yu reflects, maybe it’s because he understands the significance that he watches so calmly. 

It wouldn’t be surprising in the least.

Of course, still, Yu is filled to bursting with questions; opening his mouth to ask after a moment’s delay—then, what about the blot stone? Why were you out there in the dead of night like I was? Why did no one mention you to me? Why, and how—only to realize he can’t ask any of them. He can’t without giving up the little lie he’d made up for this conversation. 

Even Chrysos, composed and paradoxically reckless Chrysos, can’t be told the truth lest he try to stop Yu.

So Yu closes his mouth and then puts on another smile, a soft laugh. “Seriously? Well… Thank you a lot, then. I owe you one.” 

And, then— 

“But I’m kind of in a hurry, so maybe we can talk about that later.”

Yu turns his back, then, and starts walking off in his original direction at what he hopes seems like a normal pace. It’s rude, and he knows it, but he doesn’t have any alternatives that will end well for him. Or, rather, he simply just doesn’t want to consider or choose those alternatives. 

He doesn’t get to go very far before he’s stopped. 

“Yuhua.” His given name sounds strange coming from Chrysos’ mouth. “Do you know what I’d appreciate in exchange? An explanation.”

“For what?” he asks, turning around again but refusing to meet Chrysos’ eyes.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Yu’s mouth feels so, so dry. Still, he musters all the false sincerity he can, letting it bleed deep into his voice as he replies, “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

The heels of Chrysos’ shoes click, clack against the floor with startling emphasis. “I don’t appreciate you continuing to lie to my face,” he says, voice dangerously soft. “I found you unconscious at the Purple Stage last night, holding onto something you shouldn’t have looked for. Do you want to deny it any further?”

Holding onto something I shouldn’t have looked for? That’s rich.

“Maybe I should ask what you were doing there,” Yu deflects. “Isn’t your convenient presence equally as suspicious?”

“The Film Research Club was debriefing late into the night. You can ask anyone about it.” Chrysos narrows his eyes further. “That’s when I saw you. To be frank, it’s more of an alibi than yours.”

“Well—”

“And,” Chrysos interrupts, now that he’s found a weak point, “that’s not all. Don’t think I don’t know about the other blot stones you’ve been hiding.”

Yu freezes, struck with the overwhelming feeling of he definitely shouldn’t know that. That this has gone very, very wrong—or that this conversation wasn’t really within his control from the very beginning. 

Of course, it isn’t that he hid those dangerous crystals for malicious purposes—just that someone has to do something about them, but now he has no idea what would happen if everyone found out. 

And at this point, he’s already too far in over his head to stop.

“...How do you know that?” he asks, trying to school his expression back into place.

Chrysos basically scoffs. “It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. You’re lucky I’m the only one who’s noticed.”

Yu is and he knows it. That doesn’t mean he likes it at all.

“You—” Yu shuts his mouth, and feels his nails digging into the palm of his fists. “Thanks for your concern, but seriously, this isn’t any of your business. I don’t need any help.”

“Actually, I feel a little inclined to intervene. Do you even know what effects continuous blot exposure has on a normal human?” asks Chrysos incredulously.

“Does it matter if I’m just keeping them safely locked up?”

“Contrary to what you might think, you’re not invincible.”

What a disgustingly know-it-all response, one that he would have given himself if their roles were reversed. 

It’s unbearable.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this. Remember when you almost Overblotted because you overused your signature spell?”

“And so I’ve stopped using it.” Chrysos looks at Yu with what seems to be disdain. “Can you say the same for yourself?”

“What am I supposed to do? Leave the stones somewhere and hope they’ll just despawn without affecting anyone?!” Yu throws up his hands in exasperation. “Seven, I wish it was that easy.”

“Did you consider your other options?” wonders Chrysos. He lays the facts in a sickeningly rational manner: “You could have told someone. Anyone. Maybe not us students, but I’m genuinely surprised you didn’t at the very least call on one of the teachers or the headmage to safely dispose of it.”

The possibility had crossed Yu’s mind at some point. But Crowley had always been too irresponsible, and as awful as it feels to admit it, Yu doesn’t truly trust any of the adults at Night Raven College. He doesn’t trust a lot of people, come to think of it.

“It’s because I thought about it that I came to the conclusion I should just handle it myself. Are you going to stop being a hypocrite now? I mean, having other options never kept you from going off on your own—like with the anemones.” 

That seems to be the spark that makes Chrysos bristle, shaking his scathingly polite Octavinelle exterior. “If you must know—”

“I’m dying to hear your excuses,” Yu drawls, “because the last I remember, you would go off and pursue debt-evading or rebellious students on your own—you would go off and ‘handle’ them yourself.” 

His mouth is running faster than his mind now, but he can’t be bothered to stop it. 

“Don’t you remember that, too? I’m sure it must have been so satisfying in the moment when you were beating Ace up—him, magicless and defenseless, and you with all the power, feeling like you were in the right because no one else was there to govern your actions—”

“Yu.” Something has snapped. Chrysos’ voice is low and deadly, now brimming with palpable anger. “Are you willing to shut your mouth, or should I shut it for you?”

Yu lets himself laugh cynically. “Funny, because I’ve been wanting to ask you the same thing. Can’t take what you dish out either, huh—”

——?!

He almost falls backwards from the force of being struck. Pain erupts on his left cheek and under the hand he instinctively brings up to feel at it. 

It hurts, but one look at the almost feral anger in Chrysos’ eyes and a sick part of Yu feels satisfied, like he’s in control again. 

Still, Yu knows he’s going to regret this later. They probably both will. 

Not that it makes a difference. 

When Chrysos aggressively grabs him by the front of his shirt, Yu can’t help but smirk, even when disoriented from being punched in the face. He reaches a hand up to dig his nails into the flesh of Chrysos’ arm. “Resorting to violence because you have no other arguments?”

“Resorting to deflection because you’re obviously in the wrong?” Chrysos retorts, bearing the expression of one who knows he’s being provoked but still wants to give in to it. As a matter of fact, he probably has the strength to kill Yu right here and now. His unwavering death grip is proof enough of that.

But Yu pays it little mind, refusing to give in to his fear, swallowing it down—he’s been at other people’s mercy in this world since the start, it’s nothing new. “Like that’s your place to decide?”

A derisive scoff escapes him.

“Why don’t you keep doing what you do for everyone else, and mind your own damn business?”

He shifts his weight and kicks Chrysos’ shin as hard as he can, not above targeting a merman’s weakness. 

Chrysos grimaces, stumbling, and his grip lessens. Yu takes advantage of it to try and thrash out of his hold, but Chrysos’ reaction time is far faster: he reaches to grab fistfuls of Yu’s shirt again, making sure the TA can’t run away like he planned.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Chrysos hisses, everything about him in disarray: strands of hair falling out of their perfect arrangement, polite diction discarded. “You can get what I’m saying through your head, but you keep choosing not to.”

“And?—”

There’s another cruel, quick response right on the tip of Yu’s tongue, but it never leaves his mouth. He stays defiantly silent, watching Chrysos’ shoulders shakily rise and fall with simmering anger. Watching Chrysos inhale sharply and draw back his fist—

The next thing Yu knows, he’s on his side, an inelegant heap on the floor. The same part of his face aches, a burst of pain that makes it hard to see. 

As he sits up, Chrysos approaches him.

“You—... I—...” 

For a few seconds, Chrysos starts and stops, trying to find something to say amid the obviously enraged haze of his mind. 

“...Sometimes, I can’t believe you,” he finally says, letting a resigned venom seep into his words. “Preaching all these things and never putting them into practice with yourself.”

Yu waits—for him to say something else, to do something else—but nothing comes.

Chrysos just walks away, and then there’s no one else left in the hallway. It’s an anticlimactic ending, if he could even call it that. A fight that fizzled into nothing but dead silence.

…Only then, once left to his own devices again, does the bitter adrenaline wear off; and Yu shamefully concedes to no one but himself—

Maybe, just maybe, there was more validity to Chrysos’ words than he was willing to admit.

[deathfavor]

@yeonban said: “I’ve got you” I can't possibly gloss over JGY and XY when this meme's downright perfect for them ^_^

send "I've got you" to help my muse wash blood off their body

Xue Yang slinks out of the shadows like a nightmare made flesh ; a monster come back to welcomed company. He even has the accompanied accents of streaks of blood and freezing rain water clinging to him. Meng Yao Jin Guangyao is in the spotlight so often these days in dazzling golden robes. He can have the light for all Xue Yang cares ; Xue Yang will be the dagger hidden in the fold of clothing and sleeves, the beast to be sicced on enemies under oppressive darkness in the blackest night. Perhaps thankfully, tonight he brings back no organs or body parts as some morbid gesture of caring. ( It's hard to say with Xue Yang WHAT the exact reason is and he never tells, only offers a cheerful smile and playful teasing in stark contrast to the violence of his eyes. )

" A-Yao before you go on a lecture, I'll get cleaned up I promise ~ " Also because he's cold. " And everything went perfectly before you ask. " He certain that holds more weight to his friend than anything else. Xue Yang doesn't mind whereas other people might be OFFENDED if only their results mattered.

His body language is relaxed despite the blood and rain on him when he shifts towards the basin. Such is often the case; Xue Yang moves like a shark surrounded by minnows - confident and unbothered. Except his eyes. No matter how relaxed his shoulders are, his eyes track ever movement with a predator's instincts. Too many years on the street. Survival of the fittest, or something like that. The world slaughtered any goodness and kindness Xue Yang might have been ; it rummaged around the shattered pieces of a broken boy and built him into terrifying killer instead, all violence and cruelty and the thrill of the kill stitched into his soul. So it's only natural his crimson eyes watch Jin Guangyao with a guarded wariness under the playful spark and boyish smile.

. . . What?

" Huh? "

It's hard to catch Xue Yang by surprise. Even in his sleep he's coiled and ready to attack or defend himself at the slightest detection of a threat. Yet Jin Guangyao's words manage to do exactly that. Confident eyes waver subtly, a twitch at the corner of his lips when he sees the other approach with a warm rag. The muscles in his legs tense but he doesn't run - he LOATHES the idea of fleeing from anything. It's funny, really. Xue Yang laughs in the face of pain with his terrifyingly high pain tolerance and never backs down from a fight no matter the odds, but the subtlest of gentle gestures makes him want to flee. No matter how much he craves it.

Xue Yang sucks in a brief, sharp breath when he feels the warm cloth pressed to his cheek and wipe away at some of the blood that's dried against his skin. He's not surprised at how meticulous the other seems to be about it either considering that attitude seems to apply to EVERYTHING Jin Guangyao does. But Xue Yang doesn't quite know what to do in the face of the very kindness he seeks deep down. He knows how to bite, how to kill, how to torture, how to make people bleed and scream and cry. He DOESN'T know what to do with gentleness, with someone caring FOR him. Try as he might to figure out what game or scheme might benefit from this, Xue Yang comes up with nothing.

The slow, meticulous approach pays off. Xue Yang's shoulders slowly relax again and dark lashes flutter down so his eyes are half-lidded even as he washes the blood from his forearms and watches the water in the basin take a reddish hue. Fitting. He leaves a trail of red wherever he goes. Meng Yao knows this ; but they both do in a way, don't they? Xue Yang thinks Meng Yao finds some kind of relief in a shared ugly side even if he wants to pretend otherwise with his fancy robes and mannerisms. That's fine too. Who else would be insane enough to sit here helping Xue Yang wipe away blood? He's even been nice to use warm water! How nice. ( He doesn't quite know how to palate it. )

" A-Yao. " Xue Yang starts to say something and then thinks better. " Mm, never mind actually. "

[scionshtola]

from the touch prompts: 12. on a scar; or 18. because you are dying :>

ty azia!! this one really sent me on a spiral this week adkfd

the pain of perception

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 1292 | read on ao3 notes: i went with 18. because you are dying. 5.0 spoilers!

Y’shtola has always found Corisande difficult to look away from, some inexorable pull between them perpetually drawing her gaze. She turned toward them as a blossom sought the sun, unfurling in their light and basking in the warmth of it. Even when Y’shtola lost her sight and the world lost its color, Corisande’s familiar aether was more than enough to draw her in, their countenance so dear to her that it hardly took any effort at all to pick out their features.

In the grand entrance hall of Emet-Selch’s recreated Capitol building, the light Corisande emanates is not the kind Y’shtola wants to bask in. They are a beacon of aether, so bright they blur the forms of the other Scions gathered around them. So bright the light lingers even when she closes her eyes, a ghostly blur haunting the back of her eyelids.

She watches them as they take their leave of the others and turn toward her, seeking her out as surely as she sought them. They cross the hall, the soft click of their boots growing louder as they approach. 

“The others are nearly ready. Ryne only wants to charge a few more cartridges for Thancred before we start on our way,” Corisande says, gesturing at the others over her shoulder, gathered by the door that leads deeper into the building. She lifts her hand, starting to reach for Y’shtola, but stops herself halfway, arm falling stiffly to her side. ‘Tis difficult to make out, but Y’shtola thinks she might be clenching her fist. “I came to see how you fared.” 

Y’shtola holds back a sigh, her jaw clenched against the sharp pain in her chest at the aborted gesture. In the three years she’d spent without them on the First, she had so missed the easy physical affection between them. A reassuring squeeze of her wrist, a gentle hand on the small of her back, a soft brush of their thumb across her cheek. Touches she had at times wished Corisande would not make, if only to spare Y’shtola the misery of her endlessly growing feelings. 

But she’d been wrong to think it would spare her any pain. Since their reunion—that near disastrous moment when Y’shtola had mistaken them for a sin eater—Corisande has, for the most part, kept a careful physical distance between them. Every deliberate step back, every halted reach for her hand, left her far more hurt and confused than any touch that had ever led her to hope for more. 

That they keep their distance even now, when losing themself to the light is becoming less a potential threat and more a rapidly approaching reality with every passing moment, is more than she can bear. She reaches for their hand in their stead, pressing their cool palm to hers. “l have no preparations to make. I will be ready when you are.”

Corisande tips their chin, head tilting down in the direction of their joined hands. Y’shtola holds fast, hope swooping through her stomach, her breath caught in her chest as she waits. But rather than pull away, they squeeze her hand, and the ache in Y’shtola’s chest is eased as she finally exhales. 

Corisande lifts her head in Y’shtola’s direction, her familiar features—the heart shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, her downturned eyes—just as obfuscated by the light as the rest of her body. There was a time that Y’shtola could have known what Corisande was thinking just by a simple shared glance. Now, though she could make her best guess, she could never be sure what was written in their expression. What Y’shtola might give to see the curve of Corisande’s gentle smile once more, before they venture toward a battle that could change her forever. 

Y’shtola glances down at their hands, still pressed palm to palm between them. Corisande had not shied from one touch—perhaps she would not shy from another. 

Do as your heart decrees, Y’shtola had told them, only moments ago. Without hesitation or regret. 

Y’shtola raises her free hand to Corisande’s cheek, heartbeat a loud, steady rhythm as she moves. They lean down ever so slightly to meet her, their hair falling over her arm, the ends of it brushing lightly against her sleeve. She stills when their fingers wrap gently around her wrist, thinking they mean to tug her hand away, but they simply hold on.

“Is it difficult? To look at me? To—” Corisande’s grip on her wrist tightens. Their voice is soft, almost fragile to Y’shtola’s ears. “I know the toll a surfeit of aether takes on you. It must be exhausting just to have me near.”

“‘Tis not easy,” Y’shtola admits, though it pains her to say it. Corisande knows the truth already—the abundance of their aether is difficult for Y’shtola to process with her aether-fueled sight—and Y’shtola would not lie to her besides. 

Worse than the harsh glare of their aether, though, is the damage the light has wrought on their soul, battered and bruised as it struggles to contain the light. For all the distance that Corisande has kept between them these past few weeks, they could not hide the depth of the wound from Y’shtola. While she knew Corisande would prefer it, Y’shtola saw no kindness in pretending otherwise—she would not turn from them when they were in pain, no matter how much it hurt to see. 

Y’shtola sweeps her thumb across the swell of Corisande’s cheek, and hopes she’s looking her in the eye when she speaks again. “But I would no sooner look away than I would leave you to face what lies ahead alone.”

Corisande’s smile blooms under Y’shtola’s palm—cheek curving upward, the quirk in the corner of their lips where they’ve turned into her touch, the crinkle of skin around their eyes—and she answers with a warm smile of her own. Corisande sweeps a finger across the inside of her wrist, and after weeks—years—of so little contact between them, the deliberate touch feels monumental, as much a relief to the longing inside her as it is a catalyst for a desperate desire for more. 

“Shtola,” they say, the newly restored warmth in their voice reigniting that flame of hope in her. The one that made her long for Corisande’s soft touches, that made her think Corisande has always felt about her the way she feels about them, the one that never quite went out. “I—”

They cut off with a soft whimper of pain, lurching forward with a grimace. Their grip clamps down sharply where they hold Y’shtola, fingers digging into her wrist and the back of her hand, and she feels the hold as if it were a vice around her heart, pressed under the weight of their pain. The light inside them surges, brightening and straining against their soul as Corisande struggles to stay on their feet, and then it fades.

“Are you all right?” Y’shtola asks, keeping her tone neutral though she feels anything but, unable to even blink away the image of the surging light. Corisande straightens, her expression smoothing beneath Y’shtola’s hand. 

“Well enough,” she answers between breaths, her voice thin. She squeezes Y’shtola’s wrist, then gently tugs her hand away from her face, though she does not completely release her. “Perhaps we had better be on our way.”

“Of course.” Y’shtola expects Corisande to drop her hands, but they hold on to one as they pivot, placing themself at her side. 

The door that will lead them to Emet-Selch looms before them, the others still gathered in front of it. Whatever they face beyond it, whatever Corisande’s heart decrees, Y’shtola would not turn her gaze. They would face it together—perhaps not hand in hand, but side by side.

[pandora15]

life is cruel.

it's tragic, horrific, and unfair. it gives us the worst of things, causes us to feel and experience things that are so unspeakably painful that sometimes I can't even. I can't even.

and it seems even more cruel in those moments of pain and grief and loss when you see something beautiful, like fall colors, or the color of the sky at sunset, or how the holidays typically are meant to bring joy to people but all you can think about now is that every year when this time of year comes, you'll just think about how tragic it is.

and cruel.

and horrific.

and unfair.

and beautiful.

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[deoidesign]

Can you make a tutorial on how you world build and make ocs? I can't seem to make any people in my brain, but then when I try to come up with environments jobs, beliefs and little details to slowly come up with someone, I think: well I don't really know how people have influenced the world- it's a weird loop

To be honest, I don't think I can! Writing is an extremely personal process. The way I write is directly related to how I process things, what I find important in stories, years of my own analysis of my and other's writing, etc... The way you write will be unique to you, as well. But I can explain how I personally think of it.

The short answer:

Write. Write anything and everything, it's a tool to explore your ideas. Analyze your own writing, and write more. Then, as you discover which ideas you want to develop, write more to explore them more. You won't know what you want otherwise!

The long answer:

I think this kind of loop is common. It's easy to feel like everything needs to be done "at once," because our job as writers is to make elements logically fit with each other for our readers. But as you've discovered, developing multiple elements simultaneously isn't really possible, or at least is extremely difficult.

Personally, when I think of writing, I break it into three major elements; characters, world, and plot. As much as possible every scene explores one or more of these, and as much as possible these three things tie back into what I personally consider most important: theme.

Everything I do is in service of the themes I want to present. Without them my events feel aimless. It can take a while to discover them, but they're the core of my work. You will have to discover what you feel is the core of yours. Analyzing other media helps with this too.

Concepts in your brain exist in a state of infinite potential. But when you start writing you have to start making choices, which removes potential as you move forward... But you have to move forward anyways. If there's ideas you want to explore later, you can always explore them later.

What this ends up meaning, to answer your question, is that I don't think of my characters as "people in my brain" or my worlds as something people have influenced... Not at their core, at least. They are tools that I use to represent specific ideas. Obviously they're also my blorbos, but mostly they're serving a specific narrative purpose.

So above all else... Write. Write, and discover what you're writing about, and then start over and write with that in mind. Keep doing this. But you have to write!

[youredreamingofroo]

in other positive news guys. I cut my hair again 😇

here's a little peeky at it

[samarecharm]

Random question about the “they should make persona for people who like good games” post. Do people think the persona series is that bad? I know they aren’t perfect but I wouldn’t call them bad games.

I had a wholeass essay written out before i realized im too tired to make it sound coherent. AND my only experience is p 4 and 5, so my opinion on it means jack shit. All i can say is that the most recent titles suffer from bad writing. (And repetitive gameplay, but thats a different issue). Be it poorly written characters and dialogue, or poorly written interactions and plot, it is hard to take some of the stuff in the more recent games at face value. One could argue that that just means the game is subpar, not necessarily bad, but thats subjective; bad means different things to different people. And i say this as someone who thinks this game is Not the best but still found it incredibly engaging and entertaining.