#and I got. so sick. it was literally just like I was a machine running down

[kintatsujo]

anyways the fact that I can't go more than a few days without meat before I start to feel like my body is slowly breaking down is part of why I'm so vehement that any movement that insists on one diet for everyone is inherently ableist

not everyone CAN eat meat

some people absolutely need to

[pvnsie]

i am going to commit unimaginable acts of violence

[maxlarens]

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely. 

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

[sicksadgames]

As the Sun Forever Sets - Terror in the time of the Telegraph

It’s nuts I’ve been working on this game for over 4 years at this point. As the Sun Forever Sets is for sure my biggest and most capital G Game. It even has a publisher and everything. It’s also my first game! Wow! It's been tough, though. We'll get into it!

Britain, 1899

As the Sun Forever Sets is a survival horror sandbox based on the War of the Worlds, utilises the Forged in the Dark ruleset, and is about ordinary people surviving a Martian invasion of Victorian era Britain. We play to find out how they rise to meet the storm of destruction, the ways in which it shapes them, and if they survive to see a new world emerge, or die amidst the rubble of the old.

In the last years of Queen Victoria’s reign, the British Empire stretches across a quarter of the globe, and under the guise of genteel progress and civilisation, it commits theft and murder on a global scale. Britain itself is on the verge of the modern era, the Second Industrial Revolution pushing people into the cities to drive the factories and forges owned by the greedy industrialist class. But beyond the common causes of humanity and unbeknownst to the men who impose their rule over it, vast wheels have begun their inexorable turning. Across 40 million miles of void, the Martian invasion hurtles Earthward. Screaming across the stars, instruments of annihilation unlike anything believed possible lie ready for assembly, alongside the Martians themselves. They are truly inscrutable beings, but their intent is as clear as it is terrible – they will suck the literal and figurative blood from the Earth, and nothing less than the complete and utter subjugation of humanity will be enough.

If this sounds cool to you... well, you gotta wait, it’s not done yet. Sorry! But you can come and hang out in the Sick Sad Games discord, where I post excerpts and occasionally organise playtests.

The Hard Times of (Old) England

Be warned, this is a long one - over 4000 words (if you don't have a Tumblr account, you won't get to the end before it starts bugging you to register one, so go read this on Medium instead.) It turns out when you work on a game for a long time, you have a lot to say about it. Strap in, grab your gin and laudanum, and let’s destroy an evil empire just by existing.

Thanks to the wonderful @hendrik-ten-napel for taking a look over my disorganised thoughts.

(Potential) Spoilers for: The Bear, The War of the Worlds, The Last of Us, Children of Men, Threads, When the Wind Blows, Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs, The Thing.

Roleplay in the Pre-Post-Apocalypse

TTRPGs love a good post apocalypse. It's understandable - gas up and ride glorious on the legally distinct fury road, run a commune of like minded weirdos in the ashes of the old world, go digging through retro-futuristic ruins to find retro-futuristic treasures. Who wouldn't want to do any of these? But As the Sun Forever Sets is about an apocalypse as it begins, not after it’s over. 

There's a lot of crossover, of course. There’s a focus on similar things - disaster and spectacle, relationships and trust, scavenging and survival. But the bonus of the world not yet being over, is that we get to roleplay out dealing with that terrible, inexorable reality.

HG Wells wrote a book about blowing up all the places he used to live, and it's a banger. I was surprised to find there wasn't a TTRPG based on the War of the Worlds, being the tantalisingly public domain ur-alien invasion story it is. As the Sun Forever Sets is very explicitly an adaption of it, to the point that before I came up with the name it almost got released as The War of the Worlds: The Roleplaying Game (lol). I'm glad I didn't, doing my own thing has meant both me and the people playing are way more free to fuck around without the expectation that it must adhere to a canon.

The book is good, strikingly modern feeling in parts, and obviously massively influential - so much science fiction can be traced back to our nameless Narrators tormentuous trek across the south of England. But Wells’ prose is typical Victorian - overly wordy and florid (any book that contains the word “ejaculating” meaning “to shout” might be difficult for readers who aren’t used to the style), so when it comes to recommending an actual adaptation, there’s only one true king. Whenever I bring up Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds, the usual reaction from anyone outside of the UK is to say "... they made a what?"

My mom was very keen to get me into musicals, but nothing really stuck until she tried this, the secret best War of the Worlds adaption (sorry Steven Spielberg, but you were doomed from the start.) It's the bombast and drama you'd expect from a disaster film, the horror and pathos of Wells’ classic, all expressed through vivid narration and sick nasty prog rock - wailing guitar and crunchy 70's synths operating at full effect. It's not completely faithful to the book, it doesn't matter. It’s the best.

Ah yes, the film bro's favourite mid 2000's film. Did you see that sick oner? That’s six minutes without a cut, that means the film’s good right? Children of Men is a slow burn apocalypse, dressed up like a world that’s already ended. Plenty has been written about all the little ways the film is prescient about the state of the UK - the slow belly-crawl into facism and nationalist fervour, the particularly British decay and class divide exacerbated by the desperate times, even the willful ignorance and the explicit sense that everyone’s just given up, it’s all here.

All that thematic stuff seems like it’d be really relevant to As the Sun Forever Sets, right?

Unfortunately, we are in fact here to talk about the long takes. The unbroken moment-to-moment action scenes evoke The War of the Worlds to a tee. Theo navigates danger with the same fraught tactical tension as War of the World's Narrator - dashing between doorways, groping for an axe handle in the darkness, desperately trying to start a car as assailants sprint towards him. What’s the best way out of this situation? How do I get from here to where I need to be? He lives his life in rolling, fleeting 5 second intervals, because he’s forgotten what it means to think in the long term - about the future, and what it might hold.

I was always fascinated and terrified by the idea of nuclear war. I guess it comes from watching a lot of 90’s disaster movies, but those are often ultimately fun romps where the day gets saved at the end, or at least the main characters find themselves alive and well at the end of the saga of destruction. Instead, As the Sun Forever Sets asks you to reflect on the horror and sadness present at the end of the world. Things are going to change forever, and change is always hard.

There’s not many clips of Threads and When the Wind Blows online, so it’s a little hard to demonstrate their particular nuclear inflected pitch black darkness. They’re grim - Grave of the Fireflies grim - differing in focus but united in their horrible impact.

When the Wind Blows is a story of an elderly couple living in rural England when the bombs drop, based on the comic by Raymond Briggs. Yes, The Snowman’s Raymond Briggs made a film about 2 lovely grandparents dying of acute radiation poisoning. Jim and Hilda are completely unprepared for what’s to come, their only reference is the Blitz - terrible in its own way, but not a patch on the scale of death they’re about to experience.

They survive the blast and wait for the good old British Government to arrive to save them, as it did in the 40’s. Slowly liquifying in the nuclear fallout, they hold onto each other and keep their spirits up, eventually making the decision to clamber into the paper sacks they mistakenly believed might protect them from the blast. Clutching their medical cards and birth certificates (for the ambulance, sure to be along any minute now), Jim mumbles painfully through a final prayer that morphs into a misremembered Charge of the Light Brigade, and they slip into a perpetual slumber together.

The most tragic part is Jim and Hilda’s unshakeable faith that their government is there for them - ready to catch them when they fall - borne out of Britain’s post WW2 renewal but absent in the 1980’s of the film’s plot, and the Britain of today. It’s a masterful film, shockingly sad, but the shock is the point.

Instead of aiming for your heart, Threads aims for the head. It’s a drama that aims to be as accurate as possible to government research into what a nuclear war might look like, plainly and forensically setting it out without any thought of softening these hard facts for its audience. Rather than focusing on a personal story, Threads flits around several groups of characters - minor government figures and ordinary families. Like Jim and Hilda, they too are woefully unprepared for the end of the world, and those in charge know there’s no way the UK could ever be ready for such a thing.

As mundane life is quietly intruded upon by news updates detailing far off geopolitics and the subsequent escalation that leads to war, the tension rises subtly then suddenly, like a spacecraft on the launchpad. People we’ve seen pottering about their normal lives are maimed and evaporated in the subsequent shocking nuclear exchange, whilst stark statistics flash on the screen - the hundreds of thousands instantly killed, how long the millions more fatally irradiated have left to live, the woefully inadequate tonnage of stockpiled food to feed those who survive. Each zero hits like a gutpunch.

And when you think the film must nearly be over, it keeps going. 1 week later. 1 year later. Threads grinds to an excruciating halt 13 years after the bombs fall, after year upon year of failed harvests from a destroyed earth barely able to support a population level equivalent to medieval Britain. At one point, mute children watch a warped and scratchy VHS of classic kids educational programme Words and Pictures on a TV powered by a steam generator.

The friendly presenter spells out the word “cat” through the thick veil of static, accompanied by a picture of one - an animal the children watching will likely never see. As they watch with blank, emotionless faces, the image of the cat fades to one of its skeletal form. “A cat’s skeleton” the presenter enthusiastically intones. The unrelenting bleakness might feel like a punishment, but Threads doesn’t mean it to be. This is just what would happen, after all.

Love in the time of the Heat-ray

In fact, someone in a Reddit thread said As the Sun Forever Sets “wasn’t just endless misery” and I’m glad that comes across. I wanted there to be moments of tenderness, quiet joy, anger, frustration, love and loss to punctuate the action and the horror.

People are messy and complicated even at the best of times. Under pressure, this is amplified a thousandfold - a little crush becomes a whirlwind romance, small disagreements become full blown fights, and not fully understanding someone might transform them into an enemy in your head.

The little town Bill conspires to be left alone in ends up comparatively untouched by the horrors going on elsewhere, as untouched as anywhere can be in The Last of Us. He hated the world anyways - so he isolates himself as he prepares for it to end, and it makes sense that his life only really begins as the show does. When Frank arrives, Bill is forced not to just engage with the broader world outside of his little enclave, but in the act of truly living in it.

There’s no prepper’s guide to romance. A human heart can’t be field stripped for maintenance. By choosing to exist as a vulnerable, emotional being, Bill opens himself up to a different kind of apocalypse. Frank becomes the flowering vines that slowly crack the flat concrete wall of a world that Bill created, and when those vines die, the wall can only crumble. It’s so fraught and lovely, delicately yet absolutely gut wrenching. At least their apocalypse was one they decided to have together.

“I’m old. I’m satisfied. And you… were my purpose.” - "Long Long Time”, The Last of Us

While several of my TTRPG writing friends were gushing about how great The Bear is, Em Acosta, author of the wonderfully inspirational Exile pointed out something super interesting - a lot of the show is about how you deal with people you’ve found yourself stuck with. No matter how much they piss you off, or whatever they do wrong, there’s something that means you can’t ever let them truly exit your life. They’re there, like it or not, until the bitter end.

Turns out this is very similar to how As the Sun Forever Sets handles Player Character relationships. In both it and The Bear, nothing’s ever truly resolved between characters - every relationship is like a cooking pot perpetually simmering. You might’ve apologised, made a truce, or just ignored your issues for so long that they seem to disappear, but no matter what, you’ve got to keep your eye on that pot.

Because suddenly a crisis will hit, and someone says something, or a diceroll comes up bad and all of a sudden the pot boils over and things are once again fucked. You storm out, start screaming, throw a fork. Even in the worst case scenario where a Character leaves because they’re absolutely sick of the rest of the group, they might show up at the end of the game for one last scene. Who knows how you’ll all feel at the end - nothing is ever truly fixed, and only the dead are truly broken. 

“I quit, chef, is what’s going on. You are an excellent chef. You are also a piece of shit. This isn’t on me. Goodbye." - “The Review”, The Bear

I’ve talked about The Thing a little before, John Carpenters sweaty, paranoid antarctic masterpiece. Along with the incredible effects and the (mostly) restrained use of action and bombast, the thing that makes... The Thing work is that the staff of the stricken research base lack any and all emotional intelligence.

It’s sort of the ultimate reverse Dudes Rock movie. Nobody knows anything about each other, so when their bodies and minds are colonised by the titular chameleon from outer space, they’re just another stranger to the rest of the crew. I’d ask you a question only you would know the answer to, but uh.. I don’t know anything about you. Whoops!

Over the course of the film, the whole operation falls apart as they try their best to work together to deal with the alien interloper, but their complete lack of ability to trust or relate to each other - present even before the crisis they find themselves in - is their ultimate downfall.

That final excellent shot of MacReady and Childs sat in the snow at the end of the film as their compound burns around them is the subject of a lot of unnecessary theorycrafting youtube videos, which kind of misses the point. Each suspects the other, but ultimately it doesn’t matter if one of them’s a Thing. One stranger is the same as another. Why bother getting to know each other now?

“Well...What do we do?” “Why don't we just... wait here for a little while? See what happens.” - Childs and Macready, The Thing

Science Fiction Revenge Fantasy

I’m not a historian, but the parallels between 1899 and now are pretty plain to see. Increasing class disparity, a lack of political will to help those in need, rampant cronyism and profiteering. As long as you’re in the place for it, roleplaying in a fictionalised version of the past to air out the issues of the present can be super fun and cathartic. You’re not expected to get a degree in British history to make it work, either.

The title is a play on the phrase “The Sun Never Set on the British Empire”, and it’s plainly stated in the book that Britains Empire acted as a mechanism of genocidal oppression, and that the Martians are here to end it - intentionally or not. It’s appealing as a premise on the face of it, but it goes a little deeper. Memories of Empire echo across time in Britain like the ringing of a malevolent bell, a cause celebre for braying Tories and fascistic right wing cunts (two very close circles in the venn diagram.)

We used to be a great country before this woke nonsense. Things were better back in the old days. The DEI contingent is trying to destroy our noble past. Yada yada yada, fuck offff. I’m sure someone somewhere will accuse me of “wokewashing” the past for including explicitly trans and queer characters as part of the book, along with the historical facts around how we fit into the oppressive Victorian conception of sex and gender. Unfortunately for them, we’ve always been here.

To be a little pretentious about it, every game of As the Sun Forever Sets reaches back into the past and cuts the myth of a glorious and benevolent Empire, and the good old days enjoyed within it off at the neck, purely in the act of beginning one. That sparks a little joy for me. Destroying a racists dream is fun, even if it’s only in the abstract.

A horror game about the most literalist Victorian industrialist imaginable hearing the phrase “Eat the rich” and getting right on that. I’ve not played Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs despite fond (??) memories of playing The Dark Descent in a room full of jumpy friends, and seeing Dear Esther played live on stage, with a live orchestra and narrator - an exquisite way to experience that game.

The mechanical chops of Frictional Games mixed with the narrative verve of The Chinese Room, how could this game be anything less than incredible?

After The Dark Descent I fell off’ve the “scary guy chases you around” genre of game until Alien: Isolation revitalised it, and the reviews of A Machine for Pigs were mixed - kind of boring, middling gameplay, too dark - so I never went back. I was planning on writing a little about its vibe - dark, gothic Victoriana that rhymes nicely with As the Sun Forever Sets - but after a bit of research, Mandus’ quest for his missing sons strikes an unexpectedly resonant and terrible chord.

The writing and voice acting is phenomenal, Mandus’ split consciousness - the self you play and the other half of him that’s seen the horrors of the forthcoming 20th Century and is compelled to act, imbued into the myopic machine he built - is extremely compelling. He feels compassion for the poor and wants to save them, but they fill him with fear and disgust. He knows the industrialist class is killing the world, but feels a deep shame in the fact that he counts himself amongst them. So his machine grinds the rich into meat for the poor, who it distorts into grotesque pig homunculi and forces them to operate the machine’s inscrutable workings.

It’s Mandus’ twisted way of saving the world - kill the rich for their crimes, enslave the poor for their own good, all hail the new machine/god/manager of the 20th century. It’s a neat reflection of the way modern politicians contort themselves to the whims of big business and AI snake oil salesmen to avoid doing the simple and obvious things that’d better the world. It’s a nightmarish refutation of Victorian Liberalism, that only the upper class know how to fix the problems of the lower class. It’s brilliant, and we should play it. 

"Do you hear me Mandus? This is what you planned! This world is a machine! A Machine for Pigs! Fit only for the slaughtering of pigs! Whores, beggars, orphans, filthy degenerates. Pigs all. But I will purify the streets, cleanse this city, set the great industry free. I will clean the world, make it pure." - The Machine, A Machine for Pigs

Song of the Year, of the Century

Not long after I came out as trans, I was asked what (in an ideal world) would make transition easier. I replied - never having to leave the house. One day I'd shut the front door as a man and another day, months or years later, I'd open it again as a woman, neatly sidestepping the terror of being perceived in a notoriously transphobic Britain.

In 2020 I shut that door and didn't open it for 4 months. At work, I remember calling the nearby shelter to donate our excess hand sanitizer and toilet roll, figuring out at the last second how support workers could take calls from their already isolated clients via their mobile phones, and fixating on the steady stream of scared coworkers leaving early. Tearfully, I felt the urge to hug those that remained as we locked up, before we remembered we probably shouldn't.

I've never been more aware of the minutia of moving through a space on the way home - How many people had their hands on this handrail? Have I touched my mouth or eyes without realising? Is anyone in the office already sick? Or on this train? How many more people are going to die? - My heart was in my chest, I heard the blood whoosh through my head to the beat of my steps on the pavement. At home, I realised my boyfriend had to go into work the next day. After he went to sleep, terrified he might die, I cried.

"I remember I felt an extraordinary persuasion that I was being played with, that presently, when I was upon the very verge of safety, this mysterious death—as swift as the passage of light—would leap after me from the pit about the cylinder, and strike me down." - "The Heat Ray", The War of the Worlds

Writing As the Sun Forever Sets was my way of coping with the disconnect with the world I felt, the fear of both Covid and the rising transphobia kept me inside even as the lockdowns eased. That feeling of throbbing death creeping at the window took a long time to wrestle under control, and getting deeply obsessed with a big project became part of that process. It seems incredibly maudlin to make a TTRPG dealing with darkness and death during a pandemic that killed (and continues to kill) millions of people, but I suppose I’m kind of a maudlin person.

“I haven't written a song in a month, So I'm playing the same chords again. I know I need to get lost in the moment, But I get lost before it begins. Fingers stretching out into space. Reaching as a thought slips away.”

It also burnt me the fuck out. After years of constant work and testing (beginning long before Evil Hat picked up the game), I ran out of steam. I spent the months after Evil Hat’s public playtest ended not really able to write anything ATSFS related at all. The game kind of froze - I knew what I wanted to change or fix or add, but the moment the google doc opened I couldn’t make myself start typing. It was incredibly frustrating to have the switch flip from endless obsessive writing to constant nothing, and I don’t think I truly recognised the burnout I was feeling until recently. It turns out spending years staying up past midnight writing is bad, who know!

A lot of Forged in the Dark games don’t get finished (or more accurately, get stuck in perpetual development), something that the excellent and dearly missed +1 Forward podcast recognised in their episode collecting their thoughts on the FITD games they looked at back in 2021. I think that’s because, at least to me, writing a Forged in the Dark game is like trying to hold a plate of spaghetti without the plate. It’s deceptively simple at its heart, but the system squirms when you poke at it - write one thing and it affects 3 other things. Tug one piece of pasta out and you lose a meatball without realising it.

When I listened to that episode, I took it as a challenge. Part of me now wonders if it was a curse. I'm being hyperbolic, of course. But a little part of me did think it might be better to give the game up.

That’s not going to be As the Sun Forever Sets' fate, thankfully. Evil Hat has been there to support me when I’ve felt guilty about shifting another deadline or replying to a check-in email with another late “Not much progress this month, sorry!” The frozen writers block is thawing, and I’m so tantalisingly close to finishing the final text. This blog is part of that process, another chip in the icy dam.

The wheels of dread Martian terror turn once again, and it feels good. Part of that is down to not beating myself up about a lack of progress. The more important part came when I realised I felt able to return to the world again - living in it, not hiding from it. Staying connected to it, even when there's times I'm not able to inhabit it physically. Covid, Britains particular brand of transphobic brainworms, and the shadow of Empire all continue to exist, and so do I - a weird maudlin transsexual woman - in spite of them all.

“The day seemed, by contrast with my recent confinement, dazzlingly bright, the sky a glowing blue. A gentle breeze kept the red weed that covered every scrap of unoccupied ground gently swaying. And oh! the sweetness of the air!” - “The Stillness”, The War of the Worlds

You made it!

Thanks for sticking with my messy thoughts. If what I talked about here sounds cool to you, please stop by the Discord, we'd love to have you. Look forward to seeing As the Sun Forever Sets come to a crowdfunding platform of Evil Hat's choice (I assume backerkit) at some point in the future ♥.

[ihaznoclue]

Could I request grace, Nicole and Ellen reaction to they s/o went messing for a month but came out alive " bruse and beat up but still breathing"

Pairings -> Grace Howard, Nichole Demara, Ellen Joe x Reader

Warnings -> Injuries, near death experience?, you basically bruised and beaten

Note -> Reader comes back alive after being missing for a while for being in a hollow for too long as they come back bruised and beaten

Genre -> Angst to Fluff

Grace Howard

A month was when she last seen you

She didn't rest until she found you and hell she was even worried about you if you died

Maybe you were stuck in a hollow or something

Or maybe you were kidnapped by hollow raiders

Or maybe got turned into an Ethereal

All her thoughts swam her mind with so many thoughts of what could of happened to you

That was until today

She was in her little area as she tried to get her mind off by doing some tests of her machines

But little did she know that a certain someone has came back from a terrible experience

Grace hear a groan as she turned around that made her eyes widen in fear

You were terribly beaten, cuts, bruises all over your body

"Name what in earth happened to you, you were gone for so long and how did you get these injuries"

You explained to her in full explaintion

Now you were covered in bandages as she stayed by your side not letting you go out until you were fully rested

Nichole Demara

Nicole was worried for you but she knew you were strong and tough out there

That is until it turned into a month of you being missing

That's when things got out of hand as Nicole got more and more worried as she totally forgot what you looked like

This girl would be all over the place as she makes a board to try and find you

She would also get her team to look in every single area you have been to

Like literally this girl would not stop until she finds you

But you came back to the base hang out where Nicole was talking to herself

You could hear her mumbling so you tried to get her attack by only one arm to throw something because your other hand was sprained, broken? you didn't even know

So you threw something at her, something small

She turned around to yell at the person that she might of thought it was Billy but instead she saw you

"NAME!"

She yelled, running to you but stopped once she saw your beaten up body

You were in a horrible state

"What happened to you!?"

She checked every injury that you have on your body

(She would maybe go into mum mode or something)

She would make you rest until you were fully healed

Ellen Joe

Ellen wouldn't think much of it

Ellen would go on her original duty's thinking you were maybe sick or something that you didn't go to work

A month stuck and that was when Ellen started to worry about you

She would go to your house to see if you were there but she was met with nothing

Just an empty house with no-one in it

She would tell her boss Lycaon that something might of happened to you so they all started searching for you

She would look for days

She wouldn't sleep until she found you

One day she was nervously sitting on a chair in Lycaon's mansion

Thinking of what could've happened to you

That was until she heard a voice call out

"Ellen? Anyone?"

A familiar voice that sounded just like you so she quickly stood up and went out of the door

Face-to-face with you

Her face frowned as she saw the amount of injured that was covering your body

She immediately sent you to lay down and then get Lycaon

Lycaon bandaged you and walked out he was relief you were alive

Ellen was also in relief you were alive but she couldn't bare to see you like this

So Ellen stayed with you, letting you rest in peace

She could finally sleep knowing that you were alive and right beside her

All she needs to do is wait until your fully healed

-A<3

[purerae]

teehee first ask thing :3c

i work at a movie theater and it sucks, literally the only thing that keeps me going is pretending someone going to see movies just to interact with me. tbh whenever i scan someone ticket and they’re cute, i’ll try to be at their theater whenever the movie end just to tell them “have a nice day!”

do what you'll want with this, i just wanna share my delusions ^^

hihi omg this is so cute, i wrote a little something about it !!

(i wrote this at like four am on a googles doc and didn’t proof read — pls forgive me for the kinda lame writing ;;;)

You’re tired. Extremely tired. If you got a coin for how many times somebody had asked you a stupid question — you’d be able to quit your job by now.

The smell of popcorn and off brand candy lingers in the air; you feel sick to your stomach as you look at the clock. 3 more hours of your shift left, god, you close your eyes for a solid minute — imagining yourself in your nice warm bed away from all the noise, smell and buzzing food machines.

Fortunately, it seems as the flurry amount of people had dispersed after the screenings of the new trending movie had stopped at a certain time. You hum a sigh under your breath, the theater was almost empty, You prayed to whatever was listening to you that a group of teenagers wouldn’t just burst in and charge towards your counter.

You decide to pass off some time by restocking the candy shelves by your desk, grimacing at the overpriced labels when you suddenly hear a small cough.

Looking up, you notice a very familiar customer beaming at you with a big smile. Their eyes light up, and you can't help but change your tired expression to one that matches theirs.

“Hey! How’s your shift going Y/N?” The man smiles, fidgeting with his hands as he eagerly looks at you.

“Good as a shift can get Matteo, how’s your day going? This is the third time you came this week — Must’ really like movies.. new world record huh?”

You respond back, with no malice in your tone, exchanging banter with your favourite customer. He comes so often to the theatre, that you guys are already on first name basis.

Honestly, the only reason he was your favourite customer was because of how how nice and pleasant he was to chat too.

Matteo would arrive with a warm smile, always making a beeline for whichever counter you were working at. You guys would chat about the latest releases, obscure indie films, and laugh over the messiness of children running around.

You’d remember the first time he came into the movies with his friends, his eyes would linger on you every now and again whilst ordering — you never really paid any mind to it.

Matteo raises his eyebrows as you question him. “…Really like movies?” A pause between the two of you as you nod awkwardly, before his eyes widen in realisation.

“Oh yeah— yeah! I love movies hahaha…! Movies are great.. awesome, spectacular, so fun!!” He says laughing, wiping his eyebrow and grinning extremely wide.

Rapidly changing the subject, Matteo places one of his arms on the counter. “The movie you recommended to me two days ago was so funny! I loved it, anything new for me today?”

To be frank, you could not recall what movie you told him to watch, and you doubt you even watched it yourself! However, seeing the gleam in his face — you didn’t have the heart to tell him so.

You shift your head slightly to see behind Matteos head, the small list of movies that were going to play soon. Selecting the most cool sounding one, you look back at him.

“There’s a movie called ‘Argan Gate’ that came out recently in theatre 3?”

His smile becomes even more radiant (which you didn’t know could be possible) as he looks through his bag, “Sounds perfect! I’ll take a ticket!”

Matteo hands you his money, your fingers brushed slightly, The man freezes as he just stares at your hands for a solid few seconds before zoning back in with flushed cheeks.

“…I’ll tell you how the movie was after, see you at your next shift?” He says with a flustered look. You mutter a small okay with a wave as he walks to the movie screening.

You wonder for a second on how he’d know when your next shift is, and why he watches every single thing you recommend him. Pausing as you stare at his back with a narrowed gaze before you shrug your shoulders, going back to restocking the shelves

‘He must just really really love movies.’

[kaeso4ka]

You were kidnapped by a truck

Pairing: yandere! Optimus Prime x human reader

Space was squeezing you. It literally flattened you against the seats and made you gulp air noisily, like a beached fish. Until that moment, you didn't realize you were so afraid of confined spaces. No, not of them. It's who you're forced to be alone with.

Jesus... Why did you get in that damn truck? Why did you do something so stupid that not even a six-year-old would do? I wish you'd just been kidnapped by humans.

"My Spark," Optimus' voice came from everywhere and nowhere in particular, "please calm down. Breathe with me, on the count, okay? One - inhale..."

There was absorbent cotton in my ears. You could barely make out Prime's words. You wanted to go out into the open, but the doors were blocked.

"Breathe," you wheezed, "let me out... Let me..." you foolishly slammed your palm on the door, trying to fumble for the handle. But there was no handle. Optimus controlled every part of his body with ridiculous ease.

"We've been over this before. You try to run away without paying attention to the plugs twisting your arms," Optimus sounded moralizing. "It's okay. I'm right here with you. You don't have anything to worry about. Do you want me to put on some music?"

No, you didn't want to. Music would remind you that there was a whole world outside the cab of the damn truck. A normal world. With normal people. Normal cars. A world no longer available to you.

Somehow, in one universe, there were many races. Different, peculiar. But a separate alien race of cars, airplanes and other machinery?

A technophile's paradise. It's a technophile's paradise.

You never wanted to fuck a machine, but the machine wants to fuck you.

"I'm sick," a pitiful gurgle came out of somewhere in her throat. You couldn't even tell if you were saying it, "Optimus…?"

"I'm here, my Spark."

Here. Everywhere. Everywhere.

Optimus became literally everything to you. It surrounded you. You slept on it, sat on it, sat in it… It was hard to comprehend. Sometimes you'd forget, you'd sink into the seat and cry. And then you'd flinch. It was like you were crying into Prime's shoulder. That's how he saw it. The plugs stroked you then, soothing you. Prime's gentle voice promised you everything. Except freedom.

Optimus loved you, I think. He showed it in ways that an intelligent machine from another planet could.

For example, he fed you. What did he feed you? Fixing you with plugs, making you stop twitching; unclenching your jaw. You were afraid of pain, so at this stage you hardly resisted.

Then the plug with a peculiar nozzle slipped inside and pumped jelly-like slurry. At first you often choked, and Optimus didn't know how to feed people. Then each of them got the hang of it. You to swallow, and Optimus…

After the feeding session, it was oral sex. Prime didn't call it that, of course. It was pretty obvious to you. The truck's plugs were an erogenous zone, and Optimus liked your mouth a lot. That's why he fucked you in it every time he ate.

You almost learned how to give a throat blow job. You'd do better if you didn't throw up after every session.

And sometimes you did throw up. Not just throw up, but urinate. And you did a lot of other things that people do every day.

For you, even that routine was an extraordinary stage of humiliation.

No matter how much you talked about how people didn't do these things in front of others; no matter how much you begged to be forced to do it while indoors... Optimus wasn't listening. He was fine with everything.

And to his credit, there was a reason for that: the smells in the cabin didn't linger for long. The alien ventilation was working properly.

This was getting a little ridiculous. The rear seats slid apart to form a sort of toilet. You'd also lock yourself in and Optimus always made a mess of it. Reduced it to sex. And you could almost believe that he didn't really understand. That everything was normal to him.

To bring you to orgasm by pressing on your urethra and stimulating your clitoris to make you cum and relieve yourself? Every day! Several times a day.

It was humiliating, and you really didn't like to be humiliated. Optimus was forcing you to put up with something that was breaking you.

But after everything - everything! - Prime had real penetrative sex with you. And that was what he called "conniption."

How could a goddamn truck have a metal dick that extended over the same back seats...? You didn't know and didn't want to know, even though Optimus was actively educating Cybertronians about anatomy.

And that's where Optimus's fantasy played out to perfection. He'd put you on top of the connector with the stylus, he'd lay you sideways and the connector would slide in like a goddamn piston… To Optimus's credit, he really did care about you cumming on him. As he himself admitted, it was the liquid he liked best.

That's how you lived… How long? A month, two, three? Time passed too quickly, too slowly. When asked directly about the date, Prime was thoughtfully silent.

The only plus and outlet for you was music and... The view outside the window. Optimus traveled on Earth on public roads, and you enjoyed the freedom outside the tinted window.

"I love you," Optimus' voice made you wince. Your chest clenched in anticipation of another panic attack.

[toomiieimagiines]

hi hi there! sooooo, how about some Tsukasa cuddling headcanons? Feel free to ignore if you’ve got better ones! Have a super awesome day! >:D

YOU ALL ARE A BUNCH OF DIRTY DIRTY TSUKASA LOVERS!! WHAT IS WITH HIM THAT YOU LOVE SO MUCH! ToT love a good cuddle hc…. was honestly excited to see it… (can we address how he dresses sometime? what a cutie pie…. honestly, i didn’t really favor kasa before i started writing for him!! he’s so darling!!!>_<) AND SORRY FOR THE MINI HIATUS!! life’s been kinda hard recently!! ^_^||| sorry for it being kinda short!

EDIT: i forgot to add tags like a scatterbrain…. -.- i hope people can still see this…

Tsukasa Tenma cuddling hc’s (+ more!)

Too hot to handle… (LITERALLY)

So so warm, an actual walking furnace, YET HES FREEZING!

“Honey, it’s so so cold please…” (whiny (HOW SURPRISING))

“‘Kasa, baby, I’m sweating…”

LOVES and I mean LOVES to cuddle

Who would believe me if I told them he’d pounce on you at any given opportunity? (OMG wuttt??? that’s soooo unlike him!!)

“Sweeetheart, I just miss you!”

“Honey, please when do I ever ask you for anything??”

Trust if he’s sick he makes it your problem too, like pls unsick me!!

Smells like shortbread

You honestly don’t know why because the only time he wears cologne is if he’s going somewhere fancy, and it’s never sweet

Maybe it’s Sakis weird love for baking, maybe it’s a little fairy who likes to sprinkle him with it while he sleeps, he doesn’t really know.

Favorite positions are ones where you’re facing eachother

Doesn’t really like spooning, he doesn’t find it as satisfying

ALSO VERY PARTIAL TO HIM LAYING HIS HEAD ON YOUR CHEST

He likes your heartbeat!!! Is that a crime?

Will genuinely NEVER let you get back up after

He will fight you… Its infuriating

WRAPS HIS ARMS SO TIGHT AROUND YOU, HES LIKE A TON OF BRICKS

Didn’t know I signed up for cuddling sheetmetal, thanks for the warning!

Honestly, he’s so boyfriend tho it’s insane…. like yes yes of course you’re my boyfriend!

AGHHHA HES SO CUTIEEE!!! i enjoy leaving these drabbles after my hcs!! it makes me feel like i actually did something! keep requesting, sorry if i haven’t gotten to yours yet!! there’s been so many! thank you so much!^w^

Rehearsal sucks, anyone who’s ever done anything knows it, and so does Tsukasa. He’s exhausted, and he knows the one thing that’ll recharge him.

You.

He sends you a text akin to “please let me come over before I die and it’ll be your fault”, and who could say no to that!? That’s how you ended up with a mildly sweaty Tsukasa laying on top of your previously perfectly made bed…

“You’re too warm! I can lay with you, but this is ridiculous!” You squirm, trying to pry the boy off of you. When did he get so heavy?! It’s like a bag of bricks is holding you down!

“Please sweetheart, when do I ever ask you for anything?!” He whines, wrapping his arms even tighter around you.

“Five minutes ago you asked me to scratch your back, you asked me for a drink from the vending machine because you didn’t wanna get your wallet-“

“Never mind!” He cuts you off, covering your mouth. “It’s the last time, I swear! I promise that I won’t ever again!-”

You look up at him, unimpressed.

“For the..” he looks away dejectedly, taking his hand off your mouth, “rest of the time I’m here…”

You snicker at his sudden sheepishness, “what happened to the passion, ‘Kasa?” Your fingers run through his blonde hair, twisting it around your fingers.

“You put the fire out… If you could see my eyes right now, you’d see they’re gray and dull….”

You smack his head playfully, “don’t bite the hands that scratch your back.”

He just sighs, burying his head deeper into your neck. He’s warm, REALLY warm, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind anymore. It really is times like these that make you appreciate him the most. He’s not performing, he’s not playing, he’s just kinda there, and you’re kinda there too. Everything can be so much, but life feels mundane and boring when you two are like this - in a good way! It feels domestic.

“I love you, Tsukasa. Y’know that?” You lift his head up, looking into his eyes. Damnit, he’s looks kinda sweet. It almost makes you feel bad for teasing him… Almost.

He leans into the touch, eyes closing again. His voice is uncharacteristically soft when he replies, “I do. I love you too, a lot.”

A beat passes,

“I’m aloud to fall asleep, right?”

“Tsukasa!”

[coolnameloading]

Lute x Fem! Reader Part 2

Part 2 of Lute x Sinner Reader story yaaaay

Over the last few months, the hotel has been in what you can only describe as organized chaos. The hotel gained a new resident in Sir Pentious who was a spy for the Vee’s and then wasn’t or something. Charlie reassured you constantly that Pentious was not working for the Vee’s anymore and you had nothing to worry about.

But those sick fucks have been chasing you for longer than any of the other overlords so you’d rather be more safe than sorry. 

After that particular event, you started to feel less safe in the hotel. 

You heard Vox, he tried to infiltrate the only place where you’ve felt safe since you got to the literal hell hole and he tried to send in a fucking spy who Charlie just let walk in instantly after he had attacked the hotel twice.

Who knows what would have happened to you….all of you if Angel Dust hadn’t seen him planting those stupid cameras? 

You love Charlie, she’s nice and she gave you a place to stay. Being mad at her is like being mad at a puppy but all you could keep thinking about for the rest of the month was wondering if Vox saw you.

If the Vee’s know where you are.

If they’ll come looking for you.

What they might do to you if they do catch you.

You had a close call with Velvette one time and one time was enough for the rest of your afterlife. Bitch tried to color-match your fucking fur! You’re pretty sure the only reason you got away was because she was drunk off her British ass.

Vaggie could tell right away that there was something wrong with you and tried to reassure you.

“He didn’t see you Chesh”

She whispered approaching you slowly. 

“You don’t know that boss! What if he did? He could be on his way right now with the other two and he already beat the radio demon once! I need to lea-”

Vaggie cut off your rant by placing her hand on your shoulder gently and pushing you down to sit on the couch.

“Charlie and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. We promised when you started staying here that we’d keep you safe and we will. You don’t need to run.”

“Thanks, boss… I’m sorry for freaking out. It just really shook me up, I guess.”

You mumbled out, blushing at how pathetic you sound. 

You may not remember much about your life but you’re pretty sure you died sometime in your 20’s. Yet here you are whimpering pathetically and having to get comforted over a fucking video camera. 

After that incident you became more jumpy, every sound put you on edge, and it was worse whenever you were around any form of technology that didn’t look like it was from before the 1980s.

The others tried their best to calm you down in their own ways. Angel Dust started leaving his phone in his room because you’d flinch every time he got a text or phone call from Valentino. 

“Don’t make a big deal outa it, he was annoying me too.”

Husk would keep your favorite booze on standby at all times, when you’d thank him he’d simply grin at you and say, 

“Us feline demons got to stick together.”

Alastor was happy to throw out any and every piece of technology that would make you tense up even slightly, which included most of Pentious’ weapons and very nearly his airship. 

He obviously wasn’t doing it for you but it still felt nice.

“Don’t worry my friend! I’ll happily get rid of these infernal contraptions! I’ve always believed they lacked class anyway.”

Pentious recognized his part in your new-found anxiety and tried to gain your trust by handing his machines to Alastor with many, many, many tears.

“I am more than happy to…give up my arsenal as an apology for invading your persssssonal boundariessss.” He’d hissed out while trying to hold his tears back.

You couldn’t really be mad at him after that.

Nifty even volunteered to go out and ‘hunt phones’ for you.

You said no but that didn’t stop her from bringing you the….remains of some people’s phones.

 “Sometimes I kill mother phones in front of their children as a warning to the other phones!”

“Niffty phones don’t have mothers.”

“Hehe, not anymore…”

Charlie was actually very happy to see how the others stepped in to help you and she was very proud of them even if their methods were…unorthodox.

But that lead her into a spiral. She was desperately trying to figure out why the hotel wasn’t working even though everybody showed considerable improvement.

This leads to her talking with her dad, which somehow leads to you being here in heaven.

“Um, boss why exactly am I here?”

You ask Vaggie nervously, glancing around at the pastel clouds around you. God you haven’t seen pastels in years.

Vaggie looks over at you and sighs, “Well Charlie figured you wouldn’t want to go out with the others and you wouldn’t like to stay in the hotel alone so this was the best option.”

You nod, understanding her point but on the other hand.

“And the…exorcists?”

Vaggie’s shoulders tense for a moment before she looks away from you and mumbles, “I have a feeling they won’t do anything even if we do run into them.”

You want to ask more questions but decide against it, today was stressful enough as it is without you asking stupid questions. 

“Whatever you say, boss.”

You whisper following behind Vaggie and Charlie as they enter the gates of heaven after another fucking song. 

Is it just you? Are you the weird one? Should you be singing more often?

The three of you follow behind the two seraphim, Emily and Sera, while they give you a tour of heaven. Charlie looks completely enamored by the place but Vaggie looks annoyed, as if the pastel clouds had offended her personally.

And you…well honestly you feel a little underwhelmed.

Heaven looks like a glorified mall so far, a mall with strippers because there are way more people walking around shirtless than you thought there would be. 

So you keep trailing behind Vaggie, Charlie, and the angels when you see someone who looks familiar.

She’s a cat demon like you, same color pallet and everything, except she seems much shorter and has a pair of pastel-blue angel wings coming out of her back.

You end up drifting away from the group and start following the small cat angel through the crowds. 

Eventually, you get close enough to reach out and tap her but when you’re about to get her attention you feel a firm hand on your shoulder and you get pulled away roughly and pinned to one of the walls.

You’re completely disoriented for a moment and then you hear a familiar annoying voice.

“Well, well, well look what the cat dragged in.”

You look up to see Adam and Lute, Adam has a wide smirk on his face and Lute looks….wow.

She’s not wearing her helmet so this time you get to admire her completely.

You’d probably be happier about her pinning you to a wall if she wasn’t also holding a giant spear to your neck.

Then again…-

Yeah, it’s still pretty hot.

[redaliveviolation]

SPOILERS FOR BATMAN 148!!

Am I a bad person for laughing when I heard that Jason got killed off again? No, here’s why and how I think he should die instead:

This is gonna be a long one so strap in folks. I have sort of been cherry picking this whole run just because the writing has been so wishy washy, so much so that it’s genuinely made me lose an interest in DC. Comics lately have been pulling the weirdest things just for shock value, because they can’t write a half decent story line or character anymore. Their characters will have some growth and then it immediately gets destroyed a couple of issues later.

I’m sure you’ve heard it before (because we all agree) but there’s no real consequences in comics anymore. Characters get killed off at the end of an issue just for them to be revived within a few issues or if we’re going with Batman 148, literally the next one. There’s no legitimate stakes because everything that happens gets “fixed.” Tim gets shot through the throat? Eh he’ll be fine, he can walk it off and be up and running within an issue or two. Bruce starts acting erratic/insane (again)? Oh don’t worry it’s not actually Bruce it’s his alternate personality Zur-En-Arrh. Which, side note, is the stupidest fucking name/concept I’ve seen in a while, truly baffling.

Honestly, the only part of the run that I’ve seen so far that’s even a little bit interesting is Bruce literally changing Jason’s brain chemistry so that whenever adrenaline hits he has a fear response so bad it shuts him down. Let’s start off with, hey Bruce what the fuck? If he’s had a machine that can legitimately rewire a person’s brain in that way to make him incapable of killing, why in the world would you not use it on the rogues? And yes, I understand that some of them either don’t react to fear, embrace it, don’t care etc etc but if you have the technology to change their brain whos to say you can’t make that machine do whatever you want? It doesn’t have to be specifically fear. Maybe force their motor neurons to not respond whenever they experience an adrenaline rush so they physically cannot move and kill their prey. Moralistically, it’s not the most correct, obviously, but that’s just an example of an extreme. There’s a lot more acceptable things it could be used for and Batman never does. Having that as a plot point makes no sense logically when applying it to Bruce in any way. Even though he’s been written as straight up brain dead these last few years based on his decisions, Bruce is a very smart man and could absolutely find both a morally correct and smart/safe option using the machine. It doesn’t even make sense for him to have it seeing as he would have used it already and cut down on about half of his Gotham related problems. “Oh, but red! That would mean that we’d have to get rid of the Joker because the machine would have taken care of him.” GOOD, I’m sick of his ass, there are so many better rogues to pick from as a new arch enemy. The Joker is bland, predictable, and I could not give less of a fuck about him, he’s not compelling in any way.

Secondly, as fucked up as it is it could actually (unfortunately, I don’t like giving them any credit nowadays) be an insanely good way to kill off Jason and make it stick. Or, at least I think they should make it stick because again, actions have consequences and comics need to go back to that. Anyways, to sum it up it would most likely send Jason into cardiac arrest. The sympathetic nervous system (SNS) controls both the adrenaline and fear responses the machine would be “regulating.” The SNS triggers the fight/flight response and sends epinephrine (adrenaline) throughout the body, elevating heart rate and blood pressure. As soon as higher levels of epinephrine are produced the machine will kick on the fear response to “suppress” this, but instead of shutting off the flow of epinephrine and/or producing acetylcholine to lower heart rate, when the fear response is kicked into motion even more epinephrine will flood the system. It becomes a never ending cycle fueling itself, never ending fear. Your heart working that hard and fast for such an extended period of time would absolutely give out on you.

Personally, I think that would be an insane wake up call to everyone but for this he would need to stay dead and to stay dead for a while. As in several years at least. As stated earlier, long term consequences do not exist in DC (or at least Batman) comics anymore, everything gets turned around with not great writing or retconned or generally not accepted as canon. But a death like this would mean something. It wouldn’t just be death for shock value, it would be Jason Todd, one of Batman’s alleged greatest mistakes being put down like a dog and Bruce having to live with it. How would Bruce’s morals shift and change because of his death? Would he reconsider how he deals with rogues, would he retire, would he leave? How would his children react and retaliate? How would the rogues react seeing Batman inadvertently cause the death of his child in his pursuit of Justice?

The effect of Jason’s death was extremely significant on many characters and their development the first time it occurred, would it be more or less so this time? So many routes to pursue, it’s a horrifying concept when you think about how it would actually affect Jason which is why they’re never going to do anything about it. If you’re going to use a character death as a plot point it has to actually mean something, not a mindless death that’ll be cured quickly and with an incredibly inane line of “I’ve had practice dying.” Wow, you’re so original. I’m pretty sure I read that in some b-rated fic by a 14 year old two years ago. Also, maybe stop acting like Jason is the only one who has died and that he’s the most special because of it? Outside of Tim (because he’s never legit died in canon, only offshoots) practically everyone else in the family has died at one point. His personality is not just his death. It’s irritating and it’s poor writing.

TLDR: I’m right, DC’s wrong and their writing is shit. If Jason dies it needs to have an actual literary purpose and it needs to stick for it to mean anything.

[weebsinstash]

I keep thinking about Reader getting sick of YT's shit, physically fighting them (Totally, totally not projecting my own feelings at YT into that, whatcha talkin about? <<') and that being what leads to Miguel kicking them out of the Spider Society. Like, for the sake of this we'll say Reader made plans to meet up with the core group and properly set things straight- They've got a powerpoint ready, they've been running through a hypothetical dialogue tree all morning, they even got crayons too if someone's really not getting it. But most importantly, they've managed to scrape together proof of everything. So they rock up ready to plead their case, only to find YT already there doing the 'same'. YT somehow found out about this little meeting and decided to see if they could spin it in their' favour. At first Reader tries to explain what's really happening and that if they just look at the receipts they'd see that they're wrong, but the core group's just not having it. Peter's not having it, Gwen, Pav, fuck even Hobie, and Miguel's certainly not entertaining this anymore. They've had enough of 'their' lies and it's time they went home. At first Reader's devastated, weakly trying to tell them that they have no where to go back to, that they have no home that isn't here. But YT can't help but open their big fuckin mouth- low-key taunting them without giving anything away to the rest of the group- but YT and Reader know exactly what they're talking about. In that moment, something boils over in Reader. They can't stop themself from throwing the fattest punch at YT, and If this meeting started small it certainly won't be for long as Reader and YT's fight takes them all over. Hell, even spilling out into the rest of Nueva York. I'll spare you the rest of my ideas cause this is already getting long- But it certainly won't look good for Reader, now would it? :)c

That's the TRUE antagonist of the You vs YouTwo saga: making through this entire thing without absolutely beating the shit out of your doppelganger

It's all set up so perfectly. YT knows you're basically at your absolute breaking point and all but goads you into attacking them. YouTwo is standing there seeming like such the innocent little victim, having convinced all your closest friends that you're a fake, and you just absolutely explode

"I'll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking CUNT!!"

Punch them? They're lucky if that's all they get! The punch is essentially just to knock them down before you start trying to smack their head into the floor or straight up literally actually strangle them, and here come "your friends" to YouTwo's rescue. Pavitr's fighting style used to be a lot more cool to you before you got a solid gold bracelet cracking into the side of your head. You used to wish you could ask Gwen to teach you to be a little more graceful at gymnastics until she kicks right off of your face. You never realized how serious Hobie was when he told you he doesn't pull his punches until you're literally hitting a wall so hard it cracks underneath you because his guitar just slammed into your stomach. You never fully put two and two together on how Miguel's claws could CUT.

YouTwo may have gotten a little scuffed up but here you are, black eyes, busted lip, more than just a couple sprains and outright fractures as all of the people you considered your family, your FAMILY look at you with disgust. And suddenly you realize, with the biggest fucking pit in your stomach, that they just plan to open a portal to YouTwo's dimension and simply throw you through, completely unaware that you'll just slowly suffer and die after one of them swiped your watch during the scuffle. You'll have nothing to hold yourself together and tether you down, you'll just deteoriate and die and the thought fucking terrifies you. So you do the only thing you can think of, and you start absolutely running for your life for the Go Home Machine, because you either make it to that machine and prove you're the Real You, or you'll slowly suffer and die in another universe

The scene where Gwen gets sent home really does make the Go Home Machine look menacing. The way it can grab your arms and legs and drags you through the air kicking and screaming, holding you down at all costs, entrapping you in a bubble. You're just standing on the edge of the control deck with the gap and the machine behind you, still bleeding from wounds, and you're half wondering if Miguel is just going to kill you as he looks down at you with the coldest expression you've ever seen him make as he all but spits at you, "since you want to be the center of attention so bad, fine. Go home. Don't ever come back"

And you're being dragged back, left standing there on that platform feeling the most rage and sorrow and betrayal you've ever felt, you didn't even feel this fucking bad when your entire universe just suddenly poofed away, and all these people you thought of as your friends and family and coworkers are standing around, jeering at you, telling you you're not welcome there, some of them with your blood still on their hands.

The moment you're waiting for finally comes, the moment where the Go Home Machine finally goes to scan you, to throw you out like some anomaly, and it stops. It stops powering up as Spider Byte looks at the monitor in horror. Miguel is all but fuming as he storms over, "what are you doing?! Get them OUT OF HERE" and he freezes when he sees the same exact message Margo sees: 'NO DIMENSIONAL MATCH FOUND'.

Your vindication is finally here and you're so hurt by all of this that it honestly doesn't even matter. At this point you don't give a single fuck YouTwo stole your friends, because, they aren't your friends any more. You don't know any of these people like you thought you did, and apparently, they never really knew you either. They all get to stand there and feel bad for themselves as you stand there with your bruises and broken heart, starting to wonder where you're going to move now that you hate all of them and living in the Society is kind of traumatic now. They all try apologizing and talking to you, but you won't hear it. You're apathetic to it all, if not angered by it. NOW they want to be sorry?

They're trying to apologize, explain themselves, hug you, but you aren't having any of it. You've just got quiet tears streaming down your cheeks as you all but stumble your way back to your apartment, refusing medical treatment, refusing conversation, shutting the front door on all of them and finally crawling into your bed as a little voice inside of you says that you should hide yourself under the covers and never come back out

[yanderestarangel]

☆ Yandere Edward Richtofen x FTM reader ☆

Tw: Sex, unprotected sex,afab reader, fem anatomy, sub!edward, bottom!reader, smut, light yander themes.

He's sick for you, like, sick as fuck.

He worships you as if you had some kind of power over him, at first he thought you were even a being from another dimension to have that power with him.

But not.

You were just a boy lost amid hordes of zombies like him.

In addition to having been exposed for a long time to the compound

Edward wasn't very sane since college, which made his yandere tendencies worse with you.

You weren't allowed to leave his side, he would be a mess, a mix of whiny puppy and sarcastic madman with everyone around him.

Even the others knew that the best thing to do was to let you close to Edward so he could work well.

Edward met you when you accidentally fell into some kind of portal to your reality.

He offered you help in exchange for sending you home again.

You just needed to scare away zombies along the way.

Edward was enchanted by you, you were the most beautiful boy he had ever met in his life.

He was even thinking of never letting you go.

And he did.

But before he got to know you as a normal human being.

Edward will try to court you normally.

He will get to know you, your likes, flaws, what you love or hate, and mentally write them down.

He will also flirt with you, but it's so bad it comes off as a joke, Edward knows this and does it to make you smile.

If you tell him about being a trans kid he acts indifferent.

His reaction is literally:

"-That's cool... Where were we?"- and goes back to talking about the machine he's repairing.

He'll also give you little touches if you use a breast bandage.

He is a doctor he knows very well the effects and damage that all that can cause.

The others don't stay close to you because of your guard dog Edward.

He even threatened to break the machine just because you and Nikolai were laughing together.

He is extremely possessive.

He and you would have some kind of relationship.

Something like a friendship with benefits maybe.

Yandere Edward! It is of the Yandere mousse type, that is, it is a soft Yandere but more dangerous when it wants to be.

He can give you the whole world if you ask him to, he would literally kneel at your feet and serve you with anyone's head, you just ask.

But he also takes it from you if you're not good with him or try to run away.

Yandere Edward! Is submissive with you on all scales, he is most comfortable with you on top of him.

Either on top of your dick or sitting on your face.

He asks you to put all his weight on it and sit on it like a chair.

He's a masochist too, he loves it when you deprive him of cum or use ropes to tie him up and do bondage.

He is a giver.

He loves to butt heads with you.

You are Yandere's one and only! Edward.

If you've already had a partner, he'll be even more possessive.

In sex he will beg while he eats you from behind for you to say it's only him while squeezing your hips.

If you say it he shakes and falls on top of you babbling words in German.

"-I-I-I adore you so much...I would literally rip my heart out and give it to you, kneel at your feet and kiss the ground you walk on."

I would literally do anything for you.

Anything."

He would talk while shaking and feeling you cry underneath him.

He is also delusional.

So if you plan on just sex he would be pretty pissed off locking you in some shed safe and sound.

If you fought he would tie you to a chair and stare with piercing, sick blue eyes:

"-I really would hate to hurt you but you don't give me any other choice darling."

He would brand you too, maybe a few scars for every tantrum you throw.

[toaarcan]

I think Fiona's betrayal makes way more sense and fits into the narrative better if you simply bump it to after the destruction of Knothole.

Like, in the actual comic it kinda comes out of nowhere, and it's heavily tied into the romance plot tumours and Issue 150. Fiona's actual character is barely important, she just disappears for five issues and comes back with a new personality, her old trauma in high gear again (but girl, if you're mad at Sonic for abandoning you, why the feck are you running off with Second Sonic Who Is Worse?), and an ideology that makes zero sense with her history ("You can't count on anybody" says character who has literally never been independent and will never become independent).

And the fallout is incredibly understated and after literally two issues nobody cares any more except Tails. And he's done caring after 179 closes.

Betrayal is supposed to be impactful.

But if you shuffle the order of the stories around, don't even change the actual content, then the whole thing becomes a buttery-smooth consistent arc and Fiona's character development, while not a good thing in the long run (Scourge literally would've killed her in 196 if his plan had succeeded, she traded the stunningly mediocre partner that was Sonic for a literal monster), actually makes sense and is front and centre in her story, instead of what we got, which is "Fiona ascends from background character to weird love interest to an accessory for Scourge who is defined entirely by Scourge."

Fiona being driven by her trauma to hate Sonic for leaving her behind is a reasonable angle, it's where she started in the Knuckles comic, but it's been so long since that was relevant to her character that dredging it up years after the fact in a different book would only ever be jarring. Unless, say, history repeated itself and all those wounds got opened up again.

Eggman drops out of the sky, razes her home to the ground, and shoves her in a prison to be used as fodder for one of his sick creations, just like Robotnik did all those years ago. Only this time, the prison is so small that she can barely even move, and the machine she's going to be fed into is much worse. It'll kill her, twice over, draining her life-force to power Eggman's machinery and wiping her mind for no reason other than "Eggman's a sadistic asshole."

She gets to see the effects up-close too, via Charmy's brain damage.

And while it's unnecessary, as I think the actual plot of the issues needs no alterations to make sense, you could nonetheless add a small scene during the rescue where Sonic saves Fiona from the Egg Grapes and says he won't make that mistake again. A small hope spot before it all comes crashing down.

Because it does! The arc ends with the Freedom Fighters standing triumphant over a wrecked Egg Beater. They could easily grab Eggman and drag him into the brand-new prison that Nicole put Mogul, Naugus, and the Hooligans in. They have turned their darkest hour into an opportunity to win the war... and they don't take it.

Eggman flies off, clinging to an Egg Flapper and doing the "I'll get you next time, Gadget! Next tiiiiiime!" bit, and the heroes just... stand there.

And that's where the (hypothetical) hope spot gets dashed. Fiona, already uncertain of her place in the team after 160-1, loses faith in them completely. She just lived through the worst experience of her life again and the heroes of this world are doing nothing to prevent another repeat.

It even makes her "You can't count on anybody" line actually have some weight. She genuinely feels like she's been failed by them, that she put her trust in these people and they still turned on her at a moment's notice, and they're not doing enough to actually save the world. It's like Scourge says in 172- she "wishes [Sonic] had a backbone."

And then, after all that, there's the big Fiona Betrayal Issue except now it's actually about Fiona and not just about giving Scourge a girlfriend, and that's followed immediately by the Sonic vs. Tails issues. There's no time to process what just happened, everyone's emotions are still extremely raw, and it boils over into a fight between brothers that's more about venting all those nasty emotions they've been holding in for a while now. Sonic has been through a lot lately, he just lost his home and repeated one of his few failures, and he's not long lost Tommy too. Tails is dealing with emotions that he's not mature enough to process properly and healthily, he grew up too fast, but not evenly. And at the end of the day, they're both still just kids.

I still think 179's ending is an overall horrible way to to resolve that plot thread, and further reduces Fiona to an object to be fought over, but I'm not heavily changing the content of the issues, only the context.

I've never been a fan of villain!Fiona, I've made that clear in the past. I like it as a step on a journey that results in her healing, but I found its start confusing and messy and the rest of the arc lacklustre and far too focused on Scourge, rather than Fiona herself. But I think putting it in this order makes it flow a lot better for me.

If I write Sonic stuff again, I'll probably do it with this as a headcanon of what went down in the 170s.

[heyitsme1040]

Swing By [spider-man]

summary : Reader just finished her shift at the coffee shop near campus. Wanting nothing more than to nap in her dorm before her study session, she walks home. Being pulled into an alley by two muggers wasn’t on her to-do list for the day. Neither was being saved by New York’s very own friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Swung to safety, she thanks her masked savior. With the promise of not leaving her until she’s home safe, Spider-Man gets a kiss on the cheek as goodbye minutes before Peter arrives to study for the exam with his lab partner. 

pairings : TASM!Spider-Man/Reader 

warnings : Swearing (I think it’s literally one word), mention of a knife, attempted mugging, mention of feeling the need to be sick (it doesn’t happen), and I think that’s it.  (If I forgot any please let me know!)

word count : 1,980

AO3 (x)

a/n : Day one of Comfortember is here! The prompt was ‘safe’.  

With a tired sigh, I wipe down the counter around the espresso machine one final time. Tossing the rag back into the bucket filled with soapy water, I begin to untie my apron. Finally finished with the closing process, I was ready to be back at my dorm so I could take a quick nap before studying for my biophysics exam with my lab partner. Hanging my apron on the hook I claimed in the back, I emerged from behind the counter with my backpack and headphones for the final time today. Turning the lights off, I finally close the door behind me and lock it.

I began the quiet walk to campus instead of waiting on the bus today. The sun is starting to set as I weave my way through the crowds of people on the sidewalk. Passing a quiet alley, I’m suddenly pulled into it. A hand covers my mouth before I can shout, and two more hands hold my arms against my side. 

“You’re going to stay quiet,” a rumbling voice tells me. “No need to disturb those nice people’s day,” the man pointed at the opening to the alley with a knife, “don’t you agree?”

All I can do is nod, hoping that if I cooperate they’ll let me go faster. 

“I’m so glad you agree,” his voice mocks me. “Now, I’m going to keep an eye on you while he takes your bag. Got it?”

Before I can nod again, my backpack is ripped off my shoulders. I look past the man holding the knife toward the mouth of the alley, debating if I can make it back into the crowd before he could catch me. 

“This shit’s useless,” the guy behind me grumbles. “It’s just binders and textbooks,” he complains as I hear my things being dropped to the ground. “This kid has nothing.”

“Well she’s gotta have something,” the man in front of me slowly drags his eyes over me. “Empty your pockets or we’ll–”

He cuts himself off while looking over my shoulder. I hear a faint thwip followed by a choked shout. As the man in front of me turns to run I see webs stick to his feet and the ground. 

“What, can't you stick around?” A voice comes from above me. 

I stay frozen in place, unsure what to do. In a streak of red and blue, Spider-Man lands in front of me. He quickly webs the knife to the wall before trapping the man’s hands to himself. 

“Are you okay?” He automatically asks while turning to face me. 

My tongue feels like lead. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Obviously I knew of Spider-Man, but never thought I’d need to be saved by him. I was stunned by this hero, that he happened to notice what was happening in the alley. 

“Hey, it’s alright. You’re safe now, did they hurt you?” His tone softens. 

I can’t see past the white lenses of his mask, but I feel his eyes searching me for some kind of injury. The thought of having his attention focused on me snaps me out of my shocked trance. 

“I’m fine,” I blurted out, “thank you. I, uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

I nod to myself while mentally slapping myself over the word vomit that just escaped me. Looking down, I suddenly remember my bag dumped behind me. I turn around, hoping to hide the embarrassed flush on my face, and crouch to grab my textbooks. Shoving them into my bag, I pick up my binder. As soon as it leaves the ground all my notes start to float out of it into the wind. 

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter while rushing to grab the papers. 

“Here,” Spider-Man offers me some pages. 

“Thanks,” I squeak out. 

“No problem.” 

Finally zipping my bag shut, I hear sirens approaching. The flash of red and blue lights reflect at the mouth of the alley. 

“Did you let them know they needed to come here?” I groan once again, not wanting to deal with the police.

“I, uh, it’s just–you were being mugged.” I was shocked to hear Spider-Man fumbling over his words. “I reported it before I stopped it. Don’t want these two mugging more people. Y’know the whole ‘friendly neighborhood’ thing isn’t just to describe me.”

I sigh heavily, “I get it. I just don’t want to deal with the cops today. I need to get home soon and don’t have the time to deal with this.”

“The cops don’t like me–”

“Then why did you–”

“So I can swing you home before they arrive.”

Spider-Man holds an arm out to me. I don’t have much time to think as I hear the sirens get louder. Slinging my backpack on, I step closer to him. He wraps his arm around my waist. 

Keeping me facing him he warns, “Close your eyes and hold on as tight as you want,” before he leaps us into the air. 

I quickly bury my face into where I have my arms wrapped around his neck. The rush of us swinging through the air has my head spinning and my stomach dropping. Within minutes I feel him stand on steady ground, my feet landing moments after his. I don’t move yet as my head continues to swim. I feel a warm touch against my hands as he gently pries my hands away from behind his neck. He doesn’t move to push me away from my hiding place in his neck, but he does slowly guide us to sit on the ground. 

“You’re okay,” he reassures. “The head rush is intense the first few times. Putting your head between your knees helps with the dizziness.”

I nod at his guidance, not moving yet. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

“That’s normal, too. Putting your head between your knees also helps with that.”

I slowly unbury myself from him and carefully place my head between my knees. The spinning sensation lets up a little, but I still can’t move from my position. I look at the gravel beneath my shoes, focusing on the pebbles to keep my vision steady. 

“Thank you,” I whisper out, barely audible.

“No problem,” Spider-Man chuckles, “just part of being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re on top of the Saratoga children’s museum.” 

“How?” I incredulously demand. “That’s like a mile from the coffee shop. And it’s been only, what, a couple of minutes?”

Spider-Man shrugged, but I heard his amused snort. “It’s the same as if you would have driven here.”

I shook my head in disbelief, finally lifting my head to look at him. I couldn’t believe the nonchalance of his answer. He casually swings through the city at like forty miles an hour. And he acts as though that’s nothing. 

“Where do you need to go? Spider-Cab can drop you off wherever you want to go in New York. Free of charge,” he jokes around his offer. 

“Empire State college. Back toward the coffee shop. Then another half mile and you’ll be at the dorms there,” I explain. “But I can get a cab there. You’ve already saved me, and I’m sure someone else out there could use the assistance.”

“I can take you. It’s part of the job. Saving them from danger and keeping them safe. If that means taking you to your dorm, then I promise to keep you safe until then.”

“Alright,” I concede. “Do you have to swing that fast though? I don’t think I can take it.”

Spider-Man stands and offers me a hand, “I’ll go slower this time.”

Taking his hand, Spider-Man pulls me to my feet before pulling away. He turns his back toward me this time and squats down a little. 

“What are you doing?” I tilt my head. 

“Hop on,” he looks over his shoulder. “It won’t be as bad if you’re facing where we swing.”

I hesitate a moment longer before putting my arms around him. His hands grab behind my knees and he shrugs me higher onto his back. He moves one hand to my ankle and crosses it around his waist. Understanding what he’s suggesting, I wrap the other around him. 

“Hold on tight. We’re going to be slower, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hold on tight. I’ve got you, but it’s a bit trickier with someone on my back. Are you okay with this?” He places his hand on top of mine across his chest. 

“I trust you,” I admit. 

I barely hear him say, “I’m glad,” as he stands on the ledge. “Here we go!” He shouts.

And just like that we’re swinging through the city again. I squint against the rushing wind, but keep my eyes open. The city looks so different like this. We’re soaring through the air, people below us unaware we’re here. The sounds of traffic can’t be heard over the wind. It’s peaceful. 

All too soon it comes to an end. Spider-Man swings us past the coffee shop again, and soon we’re at the college campus. I shout over the wind which dorm building is mine and laugh as he gently lowers us to the roof. I feel adrenaline rushing through me alongside the excitement of having swung through the city. 

“Here we are,” Spider-Man announces. 

“I don’t think I can move,” I giggle out. 

I feel him laugh more than I hear it. He once again carefully pries my off of him, unwrapping my legs from his waist before turning in my hold. I don’t feel as dizzy this time, but with how close he is my head is spinning for a different reason. 

“Home safe and sound,” he murmurs. “Just like I promised you.”

“Thank you,” I sigh. 

I finally release my hold from around him, but he doesn’t move. Remaining close to me, I try to imagine what he’s doing behind the mask. If his eyes are searching me the way mine are him. With a lot of courage (and reckless abandon) I kiss him on the cheek. 

“Good night, Spider-Man,” I whisper against his cheek. “Thank you again for saving me.”

I turn away before he can respond, opening the door to the roof access. 

“Good night,” he calls after me. 

I turn to look at him. He hasn’t moved from his spot, but now his hand rests over his cheek. I wave as the door shuts behind me. I feel like I’m floating as I make my way down the stairs to my floor. Unlocking my door, I flop onto my bed with a sigh. Looking at the alarm clock near my head, I see the lights blinking ‘5:45 PM’. I smile in relief that I made it back before my study session at six. I lay still as the feeling of excitement fades away with the adrenaline. Soon, I hear a knock on my door through the haze of a nap creeping into my mind. I look at the clock again to see it’s only been five minutes. Getting up, I crack the door open to see who it is. Recognizing Peter, I quickly close the door and remove the chain before opening it up all the way. 

“Hi,” Peter cheerily greets. 

“Hey,” I smile, “you’re early for a change.”

“I’m usually on time. I’m just chronically late to classes,” he jokes. 

I laugh at his comment. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. You ready to cram for this exam?”

“This professor’s exams are the worst. At least I brought snacks this time,” he groans. 

I close the door as he enters and lock it. Turning on my laptop I opened the study guide the professor emailed us. As we study, I turn the radio on low, smiling as the voice of J. Jonah Jameson starts to bark on about the most recent Spider-Man sighting earlier tonight. 

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.

©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.

[macravishedbymactavish]

Hesh and Logan Head-Canons?

This was too fun to write. And a tad self indulgent (with no shame)

| Blog HQ | Ghosts Masterlist | Merrick's Version | Price's Version |

Pros and Cons of Dating Hesh and Logan Walker

Hesh

Pros

He is incredibly sentimental

"What's this?" You smiled one afternoon, noticing a small Polaroid and note on his nightstand. Upon closer inspection you saw yourself staring back, a picture he had taken one afternoon years ago when you two had first started dating.

Humming in response, he glanced away from the game he was playing to look. A smile breaking out on his face.

"That is the first picture I have of you since we started dating. Underneath is the first letter I wrote you, but never sent" 

His ears turned varying shades of red when you asked to read it, curious as to what his lovestruck brain came up with.

That night ended with you using his lap as a pillow while he continued gaming. Giving you the occasional kiss or running a hand over your hair between matches; while you read the words written in his boyish writing over and over.

Acts of service KING; and incredibly thoughtful about it too

You're cold and having a hot shower to warm up? He's grabbing your pjs and towel to throw them in the dryer to keep you nice and toasty after you get out.

He's also sitting in the bathroom with a bag of chips and a pop hoping to catch a glimpse of your soapy body if you'd be so kind.

Feeling sick? Mama Hesh at your service. Making sure you have tissues, a garbage can, home-cooked meals and the proper medication.

Feeling overwhelmed by responsibilities? How can he help, what can he do? At the very least he's right there beside you, offering ways to break down the big overwhelming tasks into smaller, more manageable ones.

His brain holds an endless supply of fun facts, most of which you'll likely never use

Most of these relate to the world wars, or cars he grew up around. But every so often he'll throw out a random:

"The end of a shoelace is called an aglet" just to keep you on your toes

Cons

Dead silent when half asleep. Combine this with his inability to sleep well without you? Good luck.

You were standing in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. The house was shut down for the night, lights (outside of the bathroom) off, doors locked, all that was left was your nightly routine then cuddling with your boyfriend. 

Who had fallen asleep hours before you, exhausted from work this morning.

Which would explain why you jumped and almost choked on the toothpaste in your mouth when you heard him softly speak from the doorway.

Incoherent mumbles about missing you, not getting the same sleep when you're not there to cuddle, and when are you coming to bed?

Spitting the foam out of your mouth, you responded with a "I need to tie a bell around your neck or something. Let me finish up here and we'll go to bed"

Spontaneous in a not great way.

It's not unheard of for your text chains to look like:

I was thinking, we could get a house goat. Theyr great little weed machines, cute, maybe cuddly if we train them right

David, you live 5 minutes from the pier. You barely have a lawn, and the goat would eat the underwear you leave on the bathroom floor.

You didn't have to use my full name, ouchhhhh.

--

Logan and I are going on a snack run, well pick you up in 10.

Wait wait wait, who said I'm awake for starters. It's literally 3:47 in the morning

Omw.

--

What would you do if I wore ONLY an apron and was standing at the oven cooking when you got home :D <3?

Assuming you didn't burn your dick off, I'd turn around and walk out.

For some reason, he's a cougar magnet (and has grown to hate it)

Let's use the first time it happened as an example...

"I can't wait" you smiled over at your boyfriend, the two of you sitting in an arena waiting for the main act to come on.

As he was about to respond, a voice from his right spoke up. Asking if he's seen this band before, and if he would be dancing when they come on. The woman, possibly tipsy but clearly closer to Keegan or Ajax's age smiled over at your boyfriend. Finding quite a bit of interest in his answers.

Hesh being, well Hesh fell into easy conversation. Politely entertaining her questions as you let yourself fade into the background. That was until you heard:

"You're such a baby! That explains the babyface" eyebrows raising as she laughed a bit too hard at this. Glancing over, you smiled and discreetly placed your hand on his. 

Eyes bouncing between the two of you, her jaw fell slack as she realized. With a quick apology she ended the conversation and left you two alone for the night.

Hesh later asked if you got the same strange vibes from the nice lady. You had to take a minute before answering, as you were laughing so hard.

Logan

Pros

Very creative and open to date ideas. Anything is an adventure when you're together.

Dates including, but not limited to:

1). A rage room

"You taught that toaster who's boss. Is it just me or do you feel lighter now? Like things are balanced in the world.

2). A themed movie night (right down to the snacks)

It was his idea, but you insisted that you both make the snacks. Cue icing being smeared on each other's faces and other chaos throughout the kitchen. Hearts full and bellies sore from laughter.

3). A target/shop date night challenge

"And a fun snack!" You pulled out a the bags of bizzarw candy you bought for your boyfriend. Surprised when he merely held up one finger and turned on the TV.

"The name of the skin is Snack, and I know you play as this character"

4). Nerf gun battles around your house

You two may or may not have played strip nerf battle once or twice.

A sponge for information (especially about people) - which proves to be very helpful for birthdays and holidays

Holiday shopping is incredibly easy, the two of you walk hand in hand while Logan has the list he's compiled on his phone.

Hesh has been talking about maybe getting Riley a proper grooming one day -- but can't justify the price when he easily does it at home. He mentioned this back in April, but Logan made a note and bought him a gift certificate for a free dog grooming this December.

Keegan mentioned that he really should update his headphones (partially due to Kick testing the limits of what noise canceling truly is). Logan kept this information until his birthday when he bought him a new pair.

Anything you'd mention liking, or thinking of he takes extra special note of. Any occasion, if he can either buy or bring you to something that makes you smile he feels like he's in his own personal paradise.

An incredible eye for decorating

For a younger guy living on his own, it was fairly unexpected. Appreciated, but unexpected.

He keeps his space tidy, organized and all around aesthetically pleasing. It's especially surprising since he doesn't care too much about a theme. Every part of his personality (and yours) he finds a way to blend into the masterpiece you call home.

He can totally look at a inspiration photo and change the theme and aesthetic to your home up with ease though.

Cons

Will get too focused on his task at hand sometimes (gaming especially) and forget to message back. He feels pretty bad about it though and does everything he can to make it up to you

Eyes scanning the screen, smirk widening as the message of victory flashed across the screen. Another mission complete. 

Reaching forward to grab a sip of the drink he had open, he froze for a brief second. 

It's been three hours. 

Grimacing, he flipped his phone to see your messages, unknowingly left unanswered. Some asking if he wanted to join you for dinner tonight. Dinner that was an hour and a half ago.

Game now forgotten, he dialed your number and laughed awkwardly when you responded. Knowing exactly what happened, again.

"I'll make it up to you, I'll make you dinner tomorrow night. Something nice"

If you're spending any time at his house, you need to go grocery shopping first. His fridge is 95% empty (minus energy drinks and pop), and his freezer is half pizza rolls.

Eyebrow raising as you noticed the barren state of his fridge, closing the door slowly you called out to him.

"Do you just not eat?" You laughed, gesturing toward the wasteland he was calling a fridge. Watching as he raised an amused eyebrow.

"Of course I eat" freezer door now open, the boxes of pizza rolls and pre-made meals staring back at you. A sigh escaping your lips as you reached over to close the freezer door, then grab the keys to his front door. "What's going on?"

"We need to go grocery shopping, Lo. For real food"

So laid back and open about things he sometimes lacks an opinion (totally not calling myself out with this as well). While he truly doesn't mind any option, he also isn't keen on choosing

"Where do you want to eat?" You asked, fingers laced with your boyfriends as the two of you walked down the street. 

"I'm open to just about anything" he shrugged, "whatever you want"

Stopping dead in the road you looked over at him, repeating your question once more. Only to sigh when you received the same answer.

"I really don't mind where we eat, I'll find something I like on any menu" he lightly chuckled.

Eyebrows raised, you continued slowly blinking at him until he offered your favourite restaurant with a shrug. 

"Good, thank you for choosing"

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[canirove]

Rúben Dias Imagine | two

Author’s note: Had this sitting on my drafts for a while, and thought, why not post it today that he finally played again? 😅 It’s something very random inspired by a prompt I saw here on Tumblr about jokingly catcalling someone in a different language, and not knowing they can understand that language. Hope you like it and thank you for reading! 💜

Masterlist

"Ok, ok. Repeat it again. Slowly."

"Te daba... Como cajón... Que no cierra."

"I think I got it. And it means?"

"Basically that you want to fuck him." 

"I mean literally, Sam" I say, rolling my eyes.

"Well, you know when you can't close a drawer and you start hitting it with your hips or your bum?"

"Oh..."

"Exactly. Which is what you want to do to Rúben. Or him to you" Sam says, elbowing me in the ribs.

"Yeah, yeah. But I can't tell him that, I'm not crazy."

"You'll have to be very drunk to say it, and we can't get drunk at a work party."

"We cannot."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Rúben!" I giggle, walking towards him. "Hello."

"Hello. Enjoying the party?"

"Very much. You?"

"It's ok."

"I have something to tell you" I whisper.

"You do?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Yep. Te daba cajón cierra. Wait, no. That wasn't it" I laugh. "Give me a second... Ok, got it. Te daba como cajón que no cierra."

"I beg your pardon?"

"¡Te daba como cajón que no cierra!" I repeat, giggling like an idiot.

"Do you... Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah, Sam told me."

"But the literal translation or...?"

"I know what it means, Rúben. Do you?" I ask, trying to give him a mischievous smile.

"I do, yes."

"Oh... I thought you were Portuguese!"

"I am, but I also speak Spanish. It isn't that different from Portuguese, and my longest relationship was with a Spaniard, I learnt the language while we were together."

"Hot and intelligent" I snort. 

"Thank you?" he chuckles.

"And probably taken. A guy like you is definitely taken. Like, who am I kidding?"

"I'm single."

"And I'm the Queen of England!" I laugh. "Wait, no, she's dead. And I'm not dead. I am alive. Very alive!"

"And drunk. Very drunk" Rúben laughs.

"Don't tell our boss, please."

"It'll be our secret" he winks. "But you should stop drinking."

"And go for a wee."

"Do you know where..." 

But I don't hear what else he says. I'm already running towards the bathroom, feeling like I'm going to explode.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Morning."

"Hm" I grunt.

"Or should I say buenos días?"

"What?" I say, looking up from my coffee and meeting Rúben's eyes. He's talking... To me?

"How is the hangover?"

"The worst ever" I say, focusing again on the coffee machine and trying to process that Rúben knows I exist.

"Did you drink more after going to the bathroom? I didn't see you again."

"Wait, what? We... We spoke last night?" I ask, looking at him again. He looks so fresh and handsome while I look and feel... So ugly. Disgustingly ugly.

"You don't remember?"

"I... Maybe?"

"Dear God" he laughs. "Wait, too loud?"

"Yeah" I hiss.

"I'm sorry" he says with an apologetic smile. "But yes, we spoke last night. You shared with me your knowledge of the Spanish language."

"No!" I say, everything around me starting to move.

"Wow, careful there" he says, grabbing me by the arm and making me sit down. "Are you ok? You just went so pale..."

"I'm fine, I just..."

"You should have stayed home, call in sick."

"I thought I had dreamt that."

"What?" Rúben asks. He's sitting in front of me with his hand still on my arm, his thumb making small circles that instead of soothing me, are making me feel more dizzy. Though I don't want him to stop, to be honest.

"Me saying that in Spanish... I thought I had dreamt it. Did I... Did I also kiss you?"

"No, you didn't" he chuckles. "That was part of your dream."

"Oh, thank God" I sigh. "Not that kissing you is something bad, it's the total opposite. I guess. I don't know. I should stop talking, shouldn't I?"

"What you should do is eat something, you still look very pale."

"I'm not hungry."

"But if you don't eat, you may faint, this time properly, and I may not be there to catch you. You must eat something."

"Ok..." I whisper, trying not to think too much about his arms around me.

"Wait here, I have some energy bars on my desk."

"You don't have to, Rúben."

"I insist" he says, getting up from his chair and letting go of my arm, already making me miss his touch. "Just promise me you won't run away anywhere like you did last night."

"I won't, I promise."

"Chocolate or apple?"

"What?"

"Nothing, I'll bring both" he laughs before disappearing through the door, leaving me thinking that besides being hot and intelligent, now I also know that he is extremely cute and caring, which means that my crush has gone from 10 to 100. Great.