#and don't get me started on the paragraphs being their own elements thing)

[twinroomies]

i really like the bits of your personal style that show in the twin runes style issue! ^^

Thanks! It's, interesting adapting the art style, I should talk about that a bit! So, yeah, this isn't verbatim Twin Runes, I'm not following the model sheets 1 to 1... but I used to ALL the time. For those of you who don't know, I started the journey which is currently at this point with a dub of Twin Runes itself! In that dub, I needed to add a few elements, remove a few things to have them appear at different times, etc, etc. Then, I started getting more creative. Then I started adding new expressions, then I drew my thumbnail for the compilation of the first 50 dubs... and then I just kept drawing them. A lot. I ended up drawing them so much I can draw a lot of Twin Runes characters completely from memory, and most of them partially (characters like Susie , while I love them, I don't draw often enough). Now we're here! And, somewhere along that line, when you draw characters a lot and commit things to memory or when you learn a style... some stuff changes eventually because you're doing it from the hip so to speak. All you people that want to work in animation, take notes: you're rarely going to be drawing in your own style. In fact, I don't HAVE my own style, if you sat me down and said "draw something in your own unique style" I'd probably just come up with something on the spot, and a week later if you asked me the same thing it could be completely different! I have things I like, but I don't have a style, because I'm NOT an illustrator, I'm an animator... BUT that doesn't mean I don't end up with variations:

On the left are sketches of me following more closely how Akane draws the goobers at current, and on the right is me drawing the goobers from the ol' dome noggin. Akane's versions of the Roomies are a lot more refined, in a sense. The features are smaller, the shapes are a lot less cluttered, and they ooze design choice, they remind me of Sanrio or something by "Bob Holt" (that's the Hoops and Yoyo guy for those of you old enough to remember them)! My versions of the doofuses, however, are very scrappy. My Chara uses a lot less angular shapes, taking on the appearance of something closer to Kris from around issue 30 of Twin Runes (where I started drawing for my dub, actually). They have wider bangs, a more squished face, and their jaw is gone. If Akane's Chara is the Cheshire Cat, mine is Garfield. Speaking of cartoon characters, my Asriel is actually closer to how he was drawn in the very first comic to STAR both of those characters, though even in that regard I'd say my Asriel is still even more "cartoon-y". I built his face, in a sense, to be funny. He's got a lot of that "Joseph Holt" (Mickey Mouse Shorts Circa 2013) energy, he's gotta do a lot of the facial expression work for the comic since Chara's not one to really emote that much, now are they? While some of these are VERY DELIBERATE CHANGES, to be honest, some of these are just... how I draw compared to Akane! I grew up doodling Sonic, Spongebob, and OG Dragon Ball, and I feel like it really shows in what I gravitate towards. But, regardless of what I change, the goal always is, and will continue to remain, being true to Twin Runes itself! That was a long ramble, wasn't it? I'm really sorry, I'm still getting used to running one of these, I'm sure most of you had your eyes glaze over by paragraph 2! I hope someone finds it interesting, however, and thank you for your question!

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 2) • l.s.m.

How did a legendary bounty promised for turning in the wasteland's most infamous outlaw transform into a sick, little inside betting joke amongst your traveling companions? Though you have no idea why they're doing it… you sure as hell don't want that very same gunslinger comrade worth sixty billion double dollars to know anything about it either — but oops — looks like he already does! Damn you and your temper, some unhelpful lip-loosening alcohol, and one no-good, sorry excuse of a preacher you sometimes think of as a friend.

Pairing: outlaw!lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), trigun!au, action!au, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic!au, space western!au, slight enemies to comrades to ??? !au, angst, fluff, they're dumbasses your honor 🙏 Warnings: swearing, blood, guns, injuries, medical tingz, destruction, mentions of knives, violence, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, tame-ish alien/monster/plant sex (????? listen it'll make sense - think of him like howl's bird form on steroids idk), mating, possessiveness!, marking, bruising, jealousy, smelling/scent kink???, wet messy sex uwu, wing kink (??? listen i was gonna explore it more but decided not to ok??), BITING (bc it's me), mechanical/robotic fingering???, gagging, bulge kink, oral sex (explicit male receiving and brief fem. receiving), seokmin's dick is like SLOPPY TOPPY LORGE w/ a mind of it's own, lowkey forgot how to write smut sorry </3 WC: 13.2k of 32.7k | Part 1 | Read on AO3 A/N: this is for the Now that's 90's - A Seventeen collab and loosely based off/inspired by the Trigun anime/manga! You do not need to know it as I manipulated a whole lot of elements for my own narrative but beware of various spoilers if you do go ahead and check out the series after reading!! I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️PS, I know nothing abt chess lmaooooo but let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!! This part might get a little confusing because of a flashback!! (starts right after the italicized paragraph and ends with "...in this moment...")

The silence is palpable.

"Does it hurt more to get stabbed in the back or shot?"

Only the continual rustling sound answers your philosophical question. Not that you actually care because you weren't really expecting a reply.

So, you keep talking.

"I think it would be more painful to get stabbed… but it would take longer to heal from a gunshot wound."

There's a brief pause in the motions behind you. But the quiet resumes, though the practiced skill of a needle threading through your skin quickens. While the local anesthetics Tonim's doctor supplied is doing its job for the most part, you swear you can still feel the tug of flesh being sewn together.

Or maybe you're just thinking too hard.

"Look. I'm… I'm sorry."

If tension could personify itself right at this moment, it would do so with ease, given how heavy its presence currently sits in the room. A low voice finally speaks up, gravely and roughened after such a long period of silence and the hairs on your neck rise.

"Are you really?"

"… Yes."

A heavy sigh — one burdened with all the worries of the world — follows. You wince and then tremble, wishing you could turn around. It's easy to guess what he's thinking but god, do you wish you could see his face to confirm. The fear of the unknown paralyzes you.

"I seriously am."

"Doubtful. I know you only asked me that question to subtly say you'll be okay and heal just fine but it's not that simple."

The callousness in his tone and the sharp way he says your first name makes you want to shrink down, shrivel up, and quite frankly die on the spot. Gritting your teeth, you succumb to the apparent silent treatment until the snip of scissors signifies your surgeon has finished treating you.

You think twice about your options upon hearing the click-clack of medical supplies being put back into the first aid kit. Then you think, "fuck it!", and use your good arm to keep the fabric of a spare t-shirt pressed against your chest and shift so you can face the man who just rather aggressively threw a handful of unused alcohol prep pads back into their designated slot.

"I'm super duper, utterly, and truly apologetic, Seok."

The gunslinger heaves another grand exhale of irritation. He doesn't even so much as glance at you, frowning sourly down at the roll of gauze in his hands instead. The temptation to reach out and touch him — soothe him — is strong but you decide against that (for various reasons) and resort to huffily pouting instead. Amazingly it seems to work, because he notices right away and folds way too easily without much of your sway, finally facing you with a reluctant but serious expression.

"Then what did you learn?"

Your gaze lowers, eyelashes fluttering while you drown in your feelings of shame and wrack your brain. The urge to toy with the silver chain around your neck is strong though you resist the tick and hesitantly answer instead.

"Um, that I need to fortify my mental block better?"

"Try again."

"Uh…"

"How about the way you're not supposed to play the hero?"

The tin of the trauma kit rattles as Seokmin slams his left hand down on the bed, leaning menacingly toward you. Though narrowed, his eyes seem to glow. You can't help but whimper at the intense ire dancing in those irises paired with his sharp tone. Like the desert's suns, it simmers and radiates off of him with rays of heat that you can easily feel given how close he is.

"I'm, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not," he states sharply though the rigidness in his body relaxes after your squeak of another apology. "You almost died!"

You'd defiantly cross your arms if you could. "Between the two of us, you were most at risk of dying."

"Was not! And we both know my chances of injury are much, much lower than yours."

"You can't lecture me and flex your stupid powers this time! It's different 'cause Jihooon was fuckin' with my mind."

The harsh bitterness is more so directed at yourself and the damned Crimsonnail than Seokmin. But as usual, you vent all your frustrated emotions out on him, especially whenever he brings up the fragility of your mortality. You both stare stubbornly into each other's eyes, thinking back to what happened and what could've happened.

Lina's protected. The Tonim residents were all immobilized. Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are in good spirits. You are safe.

A burst of air rushes into Seokmin's lungs, relief filling him as he idly scans your figure for injuries. Casually reloading his revolver just in case, he beams as you approach. The mirrored expression of victory on your face accompanied by a hand reaching out causes his whole body to shudder in pleasure. There's nothing he'd like more than to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Instead, he settles for returning your enthusiastic fist bump. Nudging his shoulder against yours, Seokmin chirps out, "Good job, partner!"

"Partner?"

"Yeah, partners."

You shake your head like you can't believe him, amusement tilting up the corners of your lips. He wants to tell you everything, all of it. But his ears catch the faint click of a contraption behind him and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Jihoon's crossbow assemble.

Joshua looks mightily displeased but makes no effort to put a stop to the Crimsonnail's actions. Seokmin can only thank his lucky stars that Soonyoung remains in a catatonic state. Dealing with a ginormous worm so soon after being in its stomach a couple days ago was not appealing in the slightest.

The fingers of his prosthesis splay out, cybernetic arm lowered and extended outwards in front of you as you turn around as well. He knows you hate unwarranted protection but you'll have to forgive his instincts this time. Nevertheless, he trusts you. And as Jihoon opens fire, Seokmin leaps into action, expecting you to do the same — only to do a double-take when you don't move despite a flurry of nails breaching the air.

Your eyes remain unfocused. Glazed over and cloudy, posture tense but still. He sneaks observatory looks your way from afar while firing Geranium. Round after round, breaking nail after nail to prevent any harm befalling you. A maniacal laughter rings out and Seokmin freezes, putting two and two together.

Then he snarls.

Jihoon must've sicced his killing intent — a nasty ability to project and create illusions of destruction in someone and break their will — on you. Cursing, he starts making his way closer to you, inwardly reaching out to you and begging that you'll break free of the blonde-haired man's clutch on your psyche.

You're obviously more than capable. He knows this. But your movements are sluggish, slowly releasing Sirocco from your grasp. The empty pistol lands on the sand with a muffled thud and Seokmin's pretty sure his heart mimics it. A look of terror and horror spreads across your facial features, surely subject to something awful within the confines of your own mind.

And while you're experiencing visions of things you fear coming true, he's stuck in the vivid reality where they do.

You spin around with a wild look in your eyes — full of rage and anguish. He stumbles back as you teeter one foot at a time toward him and in the distraction, a nail pierces right below your shoulder blade.

Someone wails behind him.

You scream.

Seokmin rushes forward. But he's tackled suddenly to the ground and ends up flat on his back. Completely winded and left with his vision smarting, blinking in confusion at the blurry double halos that definitely shouldn't be around the duo of suns in the sky.

Then your face comes into focus. And god, forget the suns — in all your glory and in all your fierceness, you shine brighter than them all combined — hallucinations be damned.

It takes a bit of wrangling around, given how you try to wrestle and pin the man down. The clunky gun you're waving around goes off several times, harmlessly lodging bullet holes into the sand cushioning around Seokmin's head.

"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

Moving and lashing out like a wild animal before it's fully sedated, his words don't come through the hellish haze Jihoon's trapped you in. You pull the trigger with no regard for the injury to your shooting arm.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

He dutifully counts each round fired, multitasking between that and the effort it takes to contain your struggling movements. Once again, thanks to the overpowered strength of his prosthetic, the man's finally able to sit up with you secured in his arms to cease any further movement.

"Lovely, lovely mayfly," he murmurs. The stable cybernetic hand gently feels around the impaled shoulder while a trembling thumb rubs your abnormally chilled cheek. "C'mon and snap out of it, pretty."

Not a spot of recognition in your blank glare. His eyebrows furrow as cold metal presses in between them. Seungcheol is cursing, Mingyu and Seungkwan are shouting loudly. Jihoon gloats.

But none of that matters. Seokmin drowns all of it out by diving in the pooling depths of your empty irises. Searching, calling, begging. Biting his lip, he delivers a quick slap and pleads, "Come back to me, love."

And like a mist that rises after dawn, you return to him. Your stunned grip on the gun falters, the final bullet rattling in its chambers. The pained expression on your face slices open his own heart but its shredded form takes flight in utter relief.

You're back. You're going to be okay — he'll make sure of it. And even if you don't know it, you're his and he's yours.

"Y-you're dead," you choke out and all he can do is smile despite feeling like he's on the verge of crying. Elation, anger, guilt, hope, longing, worry, joy — all of it turns and tosses within him like a rustling flurry of winged creatures struggling to break free.

So, he smiles at you and grasps the barrel of the old pistol aimed at his forehead. "I know, mayfly."

Jihoon howls in fury. Joshua finally steps forward, striking a military pose with his hands behind his back. Composed as ever, his voice remains its deceptively sweet self compared to the harsh jerking movements he's subjected upon the gray-eyed man via telepathy.

"You've crossed the line, lost number thirteen."

"Don't call me that!"

It's no surprise that the pecking order in Dokyeom's henchmen sowed seeds of dissent. Though Joshua was simply a right-hand man, he remained the only unnumbered member, proving the lack of disposability DK saw in him versus the others.

"Know your place."

"Which has always been at the top! But because of you — !"

" — The top of those already at the bottom, perhaps. Respect your superiors and your orders, Crimsonnail. You were not to lay a hand upon Master Dokyeom's brother. Ever."

"I didn't!"

"Or a member of his little group." His indifferent gaze swept over Seokmin protectively cradling your body. "This voids our involvement and nullifies any further implementations of the game."

Joshua would thank his lucky stars that the humanoid typhoon is letting them leave scotch-free if he was a decent man. Unfortunately, he's not — already considering what punishment to enact upon Jihoon per his master's orders. The Crimsonnail feels a shiver down his spine, further enhanced by Joshua's frosty, disdainful look of disapproval as he telepathically drags Jihoon to the car.

Still, it's a good thing Seokmin's a pacifist by nature, that he's more preoccupied by your well being than anything else. Your brow begins to bead with sweat, the pain of your wound finally sinking in past the adrenaline rush wearing off. Black circles dance in your blurring vision, the gun falling from your grasp as you droop forward and rely on the unerring sureness of his support and the safety within in it.

Seokmin knows he needs to get you medical help right away, and it's the only thing he can focus on. There's no time for exchanging a blow with a blow nor the faintest idea of revenge.

Not yet. Not now. Maybe never if it means putting you in harm's way.

Was he really going to give up following the bloody trail to hold his brother accountable for the unspeakable crimes he's committed? Throw away the blank ticket Rem spoke about? All for one person?

The questions all swirl around in his head like a nebulous mass. And like a newborn star — one that's been long in the making — the answer is crystal clear and shining bright as you sit in front of him now looking devastatingly beautiful to him despite all that's happened. Most importantly, you're safe.

But all he can say in this moment aloud is, "I'm sorry."

For a multitude of reasons. So many of them. You seem to spot something in his eyes, frowning ever so slightly.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm fine."

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"…I know. And I'm so fuckin' glad."

Seokmin runs his fingers in a distressed manner through dusty, matted strands of reddish-brown strands. Immediately drawing attention to the dirt, grime, and dried blood coating and dulling the cybernetic's buzzing glow.

"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to clean."

He appreciates the subject change, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, tell me 'bout it."

"Let me help."

You get up before he can protest. A tactical way to coerce him into worrying about helping you rather than arguing. The coy part of yourself is applauding the method, especially when the calloused flesh of his palm splays against the bare skin of your lower back in the name of support as you both walk to the bathroom.

That same part whispers naughty temptations to drop the t-shirt covering your chest, press up against him, and see his reaction. But your reasonable, reserved side is too held up on various other matters to give in.

Sadly, you find out you can't offer as much assistance as you would've liked. But Seokmin seems heartened by just seeing you up and about and close to him. Plus, you make use of your idleness while he washes in the sink by reaching for the few stocked amenities you can reach with your good shoulder above it when he asks for them. And you receive a heartfelt smile in return.

"I probably should've just showered."

You shrug. "You still could."

"Nah, it's fine, I can do it later. What about you, though? You're going to need help with those stitches."

"What a roundabout way to say you want to bathe together, Seok. You could've just asked."

Maybe you expected him to splutter nervously or protest fiercely at the tease. You certainly don't expect him to just shake his head — silver earring flashing in the vanity's dull lighting — and chuckle.

"I'm being serious, goof. Besides, it's not the first time I've seen you in the tub."

"What?" you squawk and his grin doesn't falter. In fact, it turns into a smirk.

"I'll go get Sherry. Lina's gonna want to see you too, she wouldn't stop crying about her pretty savior getting hurt."

You frown. Was he still going to dodge The Talk™? And did he think you were really just going to him out of your clutches that quickly?

"We still need to chat. You promised."

His eyes flash. "… And you don't like promises."

Yes, that was exactly why. He knew your history. Still, you refused to back down.

"No, I don't. But I like you… and, and most of all, I trust you. I just want the truth, Seok. Even if you think it'll hurt me, at least be honest. Trust me back. I promise it'll make it less painful if you tell me why you thought I wasn't serious. So, please…"

Don't let me down.

It's unspoken, but he can clearly hear it in your tone. A battle-worn sigh escapes so you try to lead him and finish with a question where he can give a more straightforward answer.

"… How long have you known? About the bet, I mean."

Despite wavering between semi-alertness and bordering the edge of losing consciousness, you're aware of Sheryl's presence as she bustles around with Seungkwan and Mingyu to clear out an empty room above the saloon temporarily used for patients. Seungcheol waits outside the door with you two, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.

When Sheryl leaves, she sneaks a peek at the way your face buries into Seokmin's neck, how the man carefully assesses the rest of your body for injuries. His touch is gentle, the cybernetic arm coated in blood as it holds the nail in you steady. He'd been adamant about being the one — the best one — to treat you. Smiling, she hands Seungcheol a couple of double dollars and the pastor raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"For that little game of yours," the woman whispers knowingly and gestures to the two who just exited the room and Seokmin hurriedly heads inside. "They told me all about it."

You lift your head to glare at Seungcheol and then your other comrades as you pass, wondering if this was some sick form of revenge for pulling one on him and if Sheryl was so keen to set you up with someone in the same way pompously done for her. But your shoulder feels like it's on fire so rather than reprimand your stupid, back-stabbing friends and slump back wearily against Seokmin.

He's a simple man who certainly can't hide a silly smile at the unconventional snuggling. Lifting his chin, he then tilts his head questioningly to the money in Seungcheol's hands. "You're still doing that bet?"

"Haf'ta win the lasses 'n hopeless romantics over 'n have 'em rootin' fer ya."

"Y-you know about the bet?"

Seokmin hushes you with a low murmur, words muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of your head. You can't make out what he says, but the timbre is soothing enough that your eyes close.

"Gotta make that sixty billion somehow if we're not turnin' ya ass in."

"Fair enough!" The wanted man laughs and closes the door with his foot.

His cheerful demeanor then dropped to focus on the proper procedures to treat your wound and that's when the silence settles in, soon followed by the weighing air of unresolved tension between you. And now, you're continuing the determined path to fully speed-run ahead and break it, though he shrugs nonchalantly at the question.

"Known for a while, to be honest."

"Seriously? I thought it was a secret!"

"C'mon, you know how bad Cheol is at keeping them."

"Yeah, right," you roll your eyes. "That man takes things to the grave — literally!"

"You're too hard on him." Seokmin leans toward you, bracing himself with an arm supported by the sink and brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Think about how much you've learned about him."

"Against my will, too much…"

"Which means I'm right."

"… I guess you do make a fair point."

"Of course. He's a completely open book once you peel back that damn protective hardcover of his."

Still, you sniff disdainfully and frown. "I swear, you're the only one who sees him like that."

"Like what?"

"Like…. unafraid, unconcerned, unbothered by all that he is, all that he's done, et cetera."

"Why not? He's done the same for me. Besides, I've said it before but he has those eyes, you know. Kind."

Ah, and that's what gets you to resign with a small grin. It's just like Seokmin to see only the good in people.

"And you're not all that different," he continues with a broad, knowing smile. Immediately you bristle and he clarifies, "from me." Some part of you momentarily wonders if you spoke your thoughts aloud or if he just simply knows them that well. "As loath as you are to admit it, you care for him. Most importantly, you trust him."

Though your face sours at the thought, you don't retort right away. Sure, Seungcheol is a trusted ally. And maybe the motivation to free Jeonghan from the control of the Eye of Joshua wasn't solely because it was simply the right thing to do. But also because it might brighten the dull spark and leave one less bloodstain on the hand of a man who bore the burdensome weight of all sins like a cross on his shoulders.

Then you wave away those thoughts for now. "So, is that why you thought I wasn't serious on how I feel about you. 'Cause of the bet?"

"No, because I never knew the full extent of it. But… if you're saying it had to do with your feelings, then I would have to say yes — though I find it hard to believe any bet's worth my bounty."

"Oh." Your cheeks heat at unwittingly giving it away.

Seokmin smirks when you avoid his gaze, and he moves in even closer. "No one has sixty billion double dollars just lying around, mayfly."

"You're just saying that so no one turns you over to July."

"Well, you won't do it, will you?"

"You don't know that," you fire back, intending to heighten your defenses that only weakly falter because you're still not looking at him.

"But I do."

"Yeah? Prove it!"

Ooh, a challenge.

And one more step closer.

"Because you care too much about the man you like to put him behind bars."

Your eyes dart back to meet his, ready to squint reproachfully only to widen at how the gunslinger's face is only a breadth away from yours. Breath hitching, you desperately want to whine out in irritation but it comes out in a low whimper. Seokmin's canines flash in the bathroom's dim lighting.

"That's not, that's not fair." The wall pressing into your bare back keeps you from retreating and the hand keeping the t-shirt covering your chest feels how your heartbeat speeds up. Your skin is on fire, only the cool temperature of your locket and its chain preventing you from utterly exploding after the plaintive admission of, "You already know everything. But…"

"But…?"

The unconscious action of biting into your lower lip only gets realized by the way it keenly draws Seokmin's eyes. Electric blue flashes against brown irises yet they darken to almost black with the sudden thrill of desire that rises to the surface. He's so close, you can feel his breath caress your face, and you swear you hear it deepen into a low grunt before he raises a brow for you to continue.

"But… b-but I don't know…a single… thing."

Seokmin has forever believed Rem's take regarding the ticket to the future always being blank. For him, it's always been an unknown path forward that he's let lead him wherever and to whatever destination.

He holds himself back, just enough to utter the (practically what should be unneeded) words of reassurance, "It could only ever be you — and it's always been only you — that I could be in love with so much, mayfly," and then he's eliminating the meager distance between the two of you. For the first time, he stamps that blank ticket with an assuredness of the future and outcome he's never had before — with a kiss.

Cradling the back of your head with his cybernetic prosthesis, the other cups your cheek and then trails down to your collarbones — but no further than appropriate. His mouth, though, disregards the very notion. A teasing tongue repeatedly runs across your bottom lip to smooth out the indents caused earlier by your teeth then naughtily pokes and prods its way between, eliciting a sweet gasp from you he absolutely devours.

Your whole body shudders with happiness, eagerly surrendering to the man's wild, possessive fervor as he passionately steals the breath out of your lungs and stakes his claim on you by leaving behind shiny kiss-bitten lips. Seokmin only draws away, panting, to admire his handiwork, light-headed and dizzy with delight.

"I love you," he reconfirms with his forehead resting against yours and nose tickling your own, "… partner."

Breathlessly, you joke back after placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Love you too, partner."

And that was that.

With your shoulder injury on the mend and the other members of your little ragtag group nursing their own bumps and bruises, you all decided to spend one more night in Tonim — much to Lina's delight. While she merrily bounced from one 'hero' to the next, you playfully reminded Wonwoo that he still owed you some free drinks. You were eager to take advantage of the fact and he was more than willing to accommodate.

The tavern that originally held a subdued, slightly hostile air to it when you first arrived was now filled with an unfettered joyous harmony. You're so easily swept up in the ambiance of such high spirits and jubilant townsfolk as mug ales filled to the brim get passed around and clinked together, you fail to notice Seokmin's sudden withdrawn nature.

Not until the next morning do you first realize something's off.

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, no. Not you too, Seok."

You'd already flipped off and shoved away a complaining, terribly hungover Seungcheol and finally got rid of the watchful, fretting gazes of Seungkwan and Mingyu. The duo had been hovering around you with concern ever since you downed a full glass of alcohol last night. While you generally just let them be and were quite thankful not to wake up with a pounding headache, you certainly weren't above crushing all of Mingyu's pudding cups if he meekly asked one more time if you were okay or needed help.

Seokmin leans against the open door frame as you pack. The pulsating glow of lost technology flickers in your peripheral and keeps you aware of his quiet presence. Part of you had always wondered if the ever-running currents of lighting synced with the flow of blood through the rest of his body.

The gunslinger doesn't speak, and you wonder why. And though you'd like to flatter yourself and entertain the notion that he's watching you — while other times that may be true — you don't feel the weight of his eyes trained on your motions. It wasn't like there was much to stuff in your bag, the satchel's leather cracked, faded, and well-worn after all these years of use through the desert and everything you truly value remains strapped some way to your body. So once you're finished, you inquisitively peek over in his direction.

Brown eyes are trained on the clunky gun on the mattress — the same one you'd pressed against his head. It's also the exact same pistol Chan had spent his adolescence restoring and repairing. Left unnamed unlike the honorary grave Seokmin had helped you prep before leaving the ruins of Ivywood behind. Meanwhile, his gaze darts to linger in contemplation on the chain around your neck before his eyebrows furrow, emphasizing the drawn out features and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You look tired, you doing okay?"

"Yeah, just haven't been… sleeping well."

Frowning, you step toward him. Although he doesn't back away, his entire posture stiffens. "Will you be able to make the journey?"

He snorts, gesturing to your shoulder you're trying not to move too much. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be asking you?"

"I'll feel better at the border."

Seokmin nods understandingly. "The weather will align well."

Within the sandstorms that relentlessly swirl near the Melca Border Sea of Sand, hides the only SEEDS floating ship that survived the Great Fall and you have to get the timing just right to reach it. It's home to a large community of humans, and most importantly, it's what you would consider a true home to you and Seokmin. Already, your energy restores — excited at the prospect of getting to relax in a place you trust and people you truly enjoy being around.

"Jun can take a look at my shoulder."

"That's true, it would be good for him to do."

"And I'm sure Hao's going to want to check your arm, maybe fashion some fabric that's not only bulletproof but also nail-proof."

"He's gonna give us both a scolding."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You share a look of fond chagrin. Even though Seokmin's well over a century older than Juhui and Minghao, they were direct Earth descendants aboard a ship full of lost technology and geniuses in their own right. Those facts alone gave them all the confidence and utter audacity to more often than not, act like fretting toma mothers over the two of you.

Nonetheless, you appreciated them with all that's remaining of your heart.

The trip to the Melca Border wasn't a straight shot from Tonim but it wasn't as far as you thought. A bittersweet farewell to Wonwoo, Lina, Sherry, and the rest of the townsfolk was to be expected. Though their sorrow weighed you down, the knowledge that you were parting from them with good memories and the expectations to visit again kept your steps light-footed.

Seokmin remains zoned out the entire time. You bulk it up to his normal reaction whenever something emotional was on the horizon. Returning to Melca held a grand spread of wonderful, warm memories with a scattering of dreadfully sad ones too. Though the floating ship's defenses have been bolstered to the max over the years, the terrible events weren't easy to forget.

But they were incidents in the past and it's thanks to the intellect of the two who greet you at the entrance of the ship that their defenses continue to improve. Luida proudly stands behind them, accompanied by Brad and his wife.

"Greetings, weary travelers."

"We're no strangers, Luida," Seokmin protests against her formality.

The elderly leader's playful grin smooths out the wrinkles lining her wise face. "Welcome home, children."

It's a simple phrase but one that fills you with inexplicable warmth. Hansol might be the son born of her own body, but no one is immune from her maternal instinct. She beckons for everyone to come inside where the main quarters lie and the growing crew population will certainly be enthusiastic upon hearing about your return.

Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan trail after without fuss, also elated to be aboard the familiar floating ship. You smile with genuine delight and step forward to follow while Minghao takes one look over his wire-rimmed glasses to survey Seokmin's dusty figure and elegantly tilts his head knowingly in the hallway leading to the technology laboratory. Glittery, colorful beads woven through the long strands of his two-toned hair clink in time with the movement.

It's hard to hide the snicker that escapes as you watch Seokmin trudge after Minghao like a scolded puppy. Your glee at someone else's suffering doesn't last long when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder. Wincing at the pain, you meet Junhui's puzzled look before his eyes narrow.

"You're hurt," he says, disappointed but not surprised, and leads you away to the med bay. It's exactly what you expected, in fact, the main reason behind why you're here — and yet, you sulk and whine petulantly just because you can.

"Not my fault that the only way to get here is by timing everything right to jump into a sandstorm and then onto a flying platform."

After instructing you to lie down on the medical bed and cutting the fabric of your shirt without fanfare, Junhui clicks his tongue. "You only come to visit when you're hurt."

"Not true!"

He concentrates on disinfecting and resewing the torn stitches in the tender flesh around the parts of your wound that are still healing. His tone borders on slight resentment but the concern weighing in it smoothes it all over.

"And yet most of our time spent together is only when you visit so I can patch you up."

"It's not like that."

"I know… but I would've met you elsewhere."

"Boring."

"Can't you courteously pretend to care about yourself out of consideration for those who worry?"

"You'll go gray at such a very young age if you stress all the time, Jun."

He shakes away silver bangs that threaten to impede his vision, unamused. "And you'll end up buried under the sand next time."

"Sounds cozy."

"I swear —"

You wave his growing ire away. "Seok takes care of me just fine."

"Yes," Junhui's cat-like smile causes your metaphorical hackles to raise. "He does care deeply about you."

"I'll punt you into the fifth moon and give it a second crater with your body."

"Now, now… violence is never the answer."

"Violence is the only reason you have a job!"

If you weren't as close as you were, perhaps he'd be offended by your claim. Instead, he kicks you out (after ensuring you're indeed in relatively good health), leaving you to laugh victoriously. Then, you set off to the technology lab in good spirits, hoping to catch Seokmin and commiserate with him.

Instead, you find a lone Minghao sitting refinedly amongst all the tech with grace and poise. He was in his element. Fiddling with and poking at a well-worn, familiar cybernetic tech with a thin silver instrument, he simply raises an eyebrow to acknowledge your presence.

"Did you fit Seok with a new arm?"

"But of course," the man sighs wearily, "despite my best efforts, my darlings always return home to their father with quite a beating."

"… Then you'll hate what I'm about to tell you."

"No, I cannot fashion you a pierce-proof trench coat. However, I will acquire some stronger material… but there better not be a next time."

You purse your lips and pout. It often seemed like Minghao worried more about his inventions than the people using them, though you knew that to ultimately not be true.

"So, he already told you what happened."

"Oh, yes… he told me everything." Heterochromatic eyes suddenly meet yours, sharp with a spark of amusement. "See, I almost didn't want to give him the latest modification but…"

"But…" You repeat warily.

Junhui was always mischievous, though most of it only ended with harmless pranks. On the other hand, Minghao's sarcasm-filled humor rarely made an appearance, and when it did, it usually delighted in the sickest of satisfactions.

Yet, he simply shrugs, evasive as always. "I think you'll like its improvements."

There's something foreboding about that statement, but he ushers you away under the pretense that he needs to concentrate. And shortly, you find yourself stopped by curious passersby or familiar faces in the hallways to the main quarters. Since your last visit, a multitude of passengers have a lot to share and update you on. By the time you reach your own pod, you're socially exhausted.

Sleep came easy but finding Seokmin did not. The SEEDS ship was already big in the first place and additional construction enlarged it further. An itchy, achy feeling pooled inside your gut on the second evening you'd been unable to catch sight of him. Finally, you acknowledged the bitter truth — he was avoiding you.

You had to come to terms with how delusional it was to think that once everything was out in the open, the scattered puzzle pieces would magically fall together in their rightful places. It should be easy, right? It's what happened in those cheap novels Junhui dug out of an abandoned pod in Melca back in the day. He'd given them to you as a birthday joke — Minghao sighing and handing over your real present (the first bullet-proof trench coat) — but you'd actually read through all the cheesy, steamy piles of romantic drivel.

Seungkwan, ever the cynic, and Seungcheol — who's naturally a heathen — quickly destroyed the slim spark of hope of ever hoping to feel those flutters in your gut. Meanwhile, Mingyu was someone precious and wholesome with a romantic outlook on life underneath the great muscular physique he'd gained from carrying that heavy concussion gun around.

You often wondered why they never tormented him like they did to you. But despite his indomitable stature, the emotionally soft man's tears were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Even if he didn't quite realize it, his comrades certainly were aware.

And Seokmin… well, if you knew how Seokmin felt about romance, you wouldn't be stuck in the position of wondering why the fuck he was avoiding you.

Again.

"Where is he?"

"Good morning," Mingyu greets the following morning, cheerful as ever. "If you're still hunting Seokmin for sport, he said he's feelin' a little sick!"

"Sure."

"No, he really is." Seungkwan refutes your aggressive eye roll with a gentle shake of his head. "Loverboy hasn't come out of his room for days and when I almost knocked the door in earlier, he finally responded only to sound like a dying toma."

Your face contorts into a morbid combination of concern and irritation, shifting between the two expressions. "Probably 'cause he stayed out all last night!"

And with a dramatic huff, you glower at the pastor seated in the cramped corner of the floating ship's kitchen area. Seungcheol deemed it was cooler, darker, and the farthest spot in the enclosed space from any of your misplaced wrath. He smiles, the white stick between whiter teeth jollily flicking up and down at you, taunting.

He reveled in the knowledge of being safe since he'd been the only one able to provide any information on the humanoid typhoon's whereabouts. The pastor — who still enjoyed a late-night smoke to cure some of his insomnia — considered it his saving grace to catch sight of the fellow gunslinger slinking through the shadows in the halls. Apparently, Seokmin had been sneaking outside the past few nights and remained resolutely ever-elusive during the day.

"Should go see 'im. Yer all antsy and 'm bettin' he's missin' his… mayfly."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," you snarl and storm out, missing the man's bark of laughter before he continues contemplating the best way to siphon money during a confessional.

The unfaltering stomp of your combat boots is the background beat on your walk to Seokmin's pod. His halls aren't far from the kitchen area and yet each footfall feels like a step into the unknown, the lights above seeming to grow dimmer the closer you get.

Why was he acting like this?

Did he regret everything that happened between you?

Was something wrong?

Would he shut himself away from you?

Worry and anger swirl together, mirroring the vortex of sand you had to pass through to get here. Seokmin's never shut you completely out before but you're familiar with his reclusive acts when things get too much. Too close. Too emotional. And you're afraid to be the catalyst to another spiral.

So, you knock. Harsh, loud, and ultimately unforgiving if ignored.

"Seokmin, open up! I know you're alive!"

A mutter of "Barely," carries through the door before he clearly answers with a curt, "I'm not feeling well but I'll be fine."

"Open the door."

Silence.

"Please."

The silence continues — and your temper flares. "Don't make me go get my bag and grab my lock-picking set!"

You can hear sounds of cursing and some rustling around before the door slowly and reluctantly opens, Seokmin hiding in the shadow it casts.

"As you can see, I'm quite fi —"

Both a coughing jag and the firm push of your shoe interrupts his confident statement. "Sure hope you weren't about to say you're fine!"

A faint smoky scent permeates the pod. You cough and pause to let your vision adjust to the darkness. The first hint toward Seokmin's unusual behavior because he thrived in the sunlight, no matter how weak the sunrays that reached the floating ship were. Then second, you blink in wonderment at the black heaps littering the bed and floor.

Feathers. Everywhere.

Reminiscent of the time you'd broken Seungcheol's ridiculously expensive pillow against Mingyu's bulky bicep during a good-natured fight with Seungkwan's assistance. But instead of an explosion of brown and aqua toma plumage causing you all to sneeze, these were inky dark like the night sky and resembled piles of soot against the pod's stark white backdrop.

You whirl around to find Seokmin retreating to the corner of the room, hands slamming on top of the dresser for support. His back is to you with two thin wings jutting out from it. Feathers rustle as he pants, shoulders coinciding up and down with the motion of the wings.

"Seok, how did… how did this happen?"

It's not fear that causes your voice to tremble but worry. The appearance of his natural Plant form is no longer shocking. In fact, the more you see it, the more you find it eerily beautiful. Probably similar to those who believe them to be messengers of a higher power. But he's only ever transformed in dire situations — either due to stress or the rare exhaustion of his superhuman abilities against stronger foes.

He doesn't reply so you take a cautious step forward. An animalistic growl erupts from his throat, followed by a pained groan. You gasp as he shakes, protrusions rupturing from the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Two more wings burst out and unfurl below the trembling ones already quivering on his back.

So that's how they hide and reappear.

"Is it 'cause you're sick? Choi said you've been staying out all night. You could've caught a cold or something's in the air. Never know what's floating around here." You babble as you frantically search for signs in the mirror above the dresser for any hints to what's caused this.

Seokmin's bent over and you note what should be brunette roots of hair are now pitch-black too. Closer and closer you creep until you can make out each bead of perspiration trickling down his neck and how they coat every bare part of his body in a sheen of sweat.

Then his head snaps up. An eye — unshielded by the black fringe of his red-brown tipped bangs — narrows to glare into your widened ones. A tempest of electric blue rages within it. Like the hottest type of fire, it burns more than you could ever expect in a vortex of one prominent emotion.

Desire.

An involuntary shudder overtakes your whole body, and you unconsciously bite your lip. Seokmin slumps back down, granting respite from that ardent azure glow.

"Sick," he snarls and laughs, strained. "Sick in the head, that's for sure."

"How… how can I help? What can I do for you?"

"Get out."

"Seok —"

"I'm serious, mayfly. For your own good. Leave."

"My own good?"

"I'll, hah, I'll explain… explain it later."

Your arms cross. "Oh, really? Or will you avoid me again? Like you have been for the past several days?"

"I haven't —"

"Don't you dare feign indifference! I'm not stupid — we talk about our feelings and then you retreat. Just be honest with me… please."

You promised.

He sucks in a very deep inhale through clenched teeth, seeming to regret it instantly because his grip on the edge of the dresser is hard enough to crack the strong material. Glowering at your reflection again — not daring to acknowledge your very real and extremely close presence in the room — Seokmin bares his sharpened and widened incisors in a snarl.

"We will talk, mayfly, please believe me. Now's… hah… just not great timing with… with what's happening."

Irritation easily gives way back to worry. "At least tell me what I can do for you. Should I get Jun?"

"He can't do anything. Gotta just… work it out of my system."

"Work what?" You frown, knowing how rare it is for the medical specialist to be stumped.

"It's not for certain…" Four different wings flutter in agitation at various speeds. "Not a lot's known about Plant physiology," his mouth turns downward, "even I don't have a thorough understanding."

"Is it a disease?"

"Wish it was that simple."

"You're talking in riddles and running verbal circles, Seok."

"… Dokyeom and I are independent Plants. Likely the only ones, well, you know — still functioning. Alive. When Rem found us, research was obviously done."

You know the story very well and nod. "And had been conducted before."

"'Course thanks to Rem, it wasn't as invasive but there were, hah, occasional talks. Theories. And then, of course, before us twins, there was…"

"… Tesla."

A Plant with a lifespan of only two-hundred and thirty days.

Seokmin swallows. "Tesla. Yes. I recall bits and pieces. Hypothesized with Luida and company… Outside of Dokyeom following the unethical methods humans sometimes conduct for experimentation," he snorts at the irony, "it's thought that Plants… can copulate… with a mate… of their, hah, choosing."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raise, intrigued. "That's a brilliant discovery!" Then they furrow. "Wait, are you saying that this," you wave your hand to gesture at his current form, "is because… you're, er, ready to… mate?"

He holds his head. "… Yes."

"Oh, okay. So, you need like… relief? A mate? Should I…?"

Your questions hang uncertainly in the air, unfinished because you're really not sure what you're supposed to even offer. A sarcastic smirk graces Seokmin's lips, condescending in the sort of way that's aimed more at himself.

"What kind of man do you think I am, mayfly?"

"A very, uh, Planty one for sure."

"Better than leafy, I suppose."

"Though you are quite… feathery."

Finally, he turns toward you, a wry and defeated smile on his weary face. His wings stretch outward and curl back in, elegantly waving toward you as if drawn in your direction. You can't help but smile at the object hanging from a cord around his neck.

"You still keep that old thing around?"

He looks at the golden cartridge and chuckles. "It's special."

"Me holding a gun to your head was special?""Meeting you will always remain a treasured memory, no matter the manner of how it happened." Seokmin falls quiet, lost in thought before hesitantly asking, "Did I not mention Plants mate for life? Well, at the very least, I know I do."

"Oh." Your astonishment reveals itself in a breathless gasp. There's no escaping that all-consuming, fiery cerulean gaze. "So is this the first time you've been… ready to, uh, mate?"

"No, I'm used to the way these cycles come and go. But this for sure is the worst bout yet."

"… Why?"

You hold your breath. He takes a step forward. Then another.

He's so close, if you leaned the slightest bit forward you'd press up against each other. Somehow, with an overwhelming sense of shyness guessing the underlying thoughts and what his answer will be, your eyes roam his bare upper chest and torso.

If you could caress him you would. All the shiny black feathers adorning his wings and the occasional ones sprouting along his forearms pointing to his Plant abilities. Each scar along with every bit of metal or his body's naturally grown wood that replaces chunks of lost flesh. He's kept them as reminders of when he's failed humans, though you've seen them only as when they've failed him. He shivers, like he can feel it, as if he knows what you're thinking and you questioningly re-meet his burning stare as he shoots you a wane smile.

Sheepishly, he rubs where the cybernetic arm attaches to his shoulder. Many have turned away in disgust or mock pity at the disfigurements. Yet despite the true abomination he looks like right now, there's only ever been pure empathy and acceptance he doesn't deserve — all from you.

"Conscious consent and reciprocation."

Your lips turn upward, joy causing your soul to unwittingly sing. "Does that mean… I'm your mate?"

"No."

It's like Gunsmoke completely collapses, and you're left twirling without footing in space. Seokmin matches your fallen expression with one of his own.

"What? Wh-why?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's —"

"I swear if you say 'It's me, not you'…"

He rather adorably tilts his head. "How did you know?"

"It's a typical cliche," you roll your eyes, "just give it to me straight, Seokmin. Is it 'cause I'm human?"

"… It's not that simple, and this isn't something trivial. It's — hah — it's a huge commitment." The use of your given name indicates his seriousness. "A lifetime one. For me, it's only ever been you… and it will always be you for as long as I live, which could be your whole lifespan! And I don't, hah, I don't know — hell, it's taking everything I can not to tear a dead man apart, let alone what I'd do if you'd change your mind, want something — someone else."

"You're doing it again, projecting and underestimating my feelings for you."

"It could be the effect of my pheromones, mayfly. We don't know every —"

"That's right! We don't know! So we have to trust each other and see."

"It's —"

"Let's not subject ourselves to the hypothetical. And what do you mean by dead man?"

Seokmin's jaw tenses, fingernails digging into numb skin. His wings waver, like they're considering cocooning around him for protection. But their tips simply flutter as if soothed by an unseen force, preventing them from enclosing completely.

Teasingly, you lean toward him and squint. "What else aren't you telling me, Seok? You pick a side hustle up that involves the deceased like Choi?"

He snorts at the audacity and doesn't take the bait. Instead, unfamiliar but still achingly familiar irises dart to your neck, tracing the silver chain laying against your skin. A dull sort of sadness fizzles out those blue fires and you clasp the shape of the locket beneath your shirt in realization.

"He was a boy, Seok. A boy I grew up with for a short period, one that felt like a brother to me."

"… You said you loved him."

"When?"

"… To Cheol. After you first met him."

"That would've been so long ago? How do you even remember that?"

He sighs, heavily. "It's not easy to forget. Your voice was so warm, so gentle, so in love when you admitted it."

"Love can mean different things! And I assure you, my feelings for you differ greatly from how I felt about him. And… he's… he's long gone, Seok."

Guilt burns in his eyes. "I know. Which makes me all the worse."

"No, it doesn't." You shake your head, a resigned smile resting on your lips, and hold your arms out. "'Cause I understand and forgive you. And most importantly, I love you."

It's uncertain if those words break or restore him, but the hard rigidness in his body melts away, sagging in a semblance of relief. Then he rushes forward into your waiting embrace, wings helping to propel him forward until they wrap around and press you to him tight, tickling areas where his arms aren't squeezing around you.

"And I adore you, my lovely mayfly."

You groan. "When will you stop calling me that?"

"Never," he snickers and you feel the curve of his lips as he comfortably nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "For as long as you're mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine."

"Sucker."

A chaste kiss brushes the lower tip of your ear. So ticklish and unexpected, you pull back with a giggle and playfully swat his shoulder. And just as he's about to dive forward and prove your little comment correct in retaliation, you burst into full-on laughter that leaves Seokmin to settle his hands on your waist with confusion crinkling his brow.

"What?"

"So that's why you were always having a deathly staring match between my childhood memorabilia?"

"… Was not."

"You — the most sentimental loser ever — definitely were!"

He pouts momentarily, the cute jut out of his lower lip quickly transforming to a devious smirk. "You'd bet on it?"

"Totally." You place your arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer again and matching the charge of electricity with a clever tilt of your lips. "I'd win, too."

"And what's on the table?"

"Sixty billion double dollars, of course."

"That so?"

"Mhm, and it seems like someone's bounty matches that worth."

Seokmin quirks a brow. "Seems like you want me on the table."

"Winner takes all?"

"Mayfly, I've always been yours."

"Sap," you laugh again.

A bright grin certainly declares your delight in victory, though your partner in crime uses the distraction as an advantage for his earlier loss and wastes no time. Diving in, a sharpened canine grazes your pulse point, automatically causing your head to tilt to offer easier access. Two left wings sweetly swoop down for support, feathered tips tenderly brushing your forehead.

The heat of his tongue placates the dragging scratch of his fangs. Though it sears you alive, heating your entire body from the tips of your toes, swirling in your core, and concentrating beneath Seokmin's lips on your skin.

When reaching that cold, familiar necklace you treasure so much and he can't help but loathe, it's seized between his teeth before he registers the action. Tugging it away from your neck like a dog, you wonder if he'll even shake it like one. His eyes follow the length of the chain, focusing on where the locket pops out above your chest.

You raise a questioning brow. "You gonna just play with my jewelry or take my clothes off?"

"Oh," Seokmin whispers, jaw dropping, and suddenly stands stiffly at attention.

You watch, entranced by the bob of his Adam's apple as he visibly gulps. Large, calloused hands — so practiced in undressing you for baths and patching up wounds — falter as they skim along your sides in a fleeting touch. Smiling encouragingly, you intertwine your fingers with those of his prosthetic while leading the other one beneath your shirt, the rough flesh of his palm blisteringly hot against your stomach.

"Is this okay? Can it help calm your Plant powers?"

"Yes… but that means… giving yourself to me… forever."

"Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

Confident, you trail kisses up his jaw to his cheek, stopping near his ear. Playfully tugging at the earring hoop as you pull away. Then you break away and bend over, shimmying off your shorts in one smooth motion. Stepping out of them, next goes your top. As each fabric hits the floor, Seokmin's eyes become more lidded, heavy with want. Smoldering. Desiring.

Four black wings fan out and stay as rigid as his stance. As if they're waiting with bated breath. And when you finally stand bare before him, he sheepishly drags his gaze to the floor with a flustered smile.

"I'm the one naked and you're embarrassed?" you tease and his posture relaxes.

"Because you're a vision to behold."

"Says the one who looks like an angel."

You back up until your knees hit the side of the bed. Like those morbid tales that depict curious listeners following a luring call to their demise, Seokmin's only a step behind you. He doesn't dare let his eyes stray further from your own, a goofy grin on his face.

"Consider this my fall from grace then, mayfly."

Gingerly, you sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his next move. He towers over you in this position. Formidable in appearance yet oh-so-gentle when picking up your left hand to kiss your knuckles and rub his thumb across its faded scar. Another smooch gets placed to your inner wrist and you hold your breath at the passion in those blazing cyan depths that refuse to look away. Then, a cautious touch to your shoulder urges you onto your back. Obediently, you lay down and a bunch of stray loose feathers fly up into the air upon impact.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

The clothed knee resting between your legs helps his arm support the weight of his body hovering above you. A tentative hand slides down from your shoulder to your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing every scar, memorizing each color and swirl of ink decorating your skin, and erasing any insecurities or blemishes you see in yourself. Cold digits draw whimsical shapes and tickle your abdomen, stopping above your pelvic bone.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Seokmin rejoices in your consent by littering your collarbone with love bites. And his touches move lower, tender despite their mechanical nature. Warmth blossoms and flows under every surface of your skin Seokmin's traced, coiling and settling in a pulsating — almost painful — heat rupturing between your legs.

Only he can be the one to relieve this ache which he precisely aims to do. A simple, single brush across sensitive folds instantly has your breath hitching, shaking beneath him.

"Are you alright?"

"Mhm… yes."

He audibly gulps at your unexpected whimper of ecstasy, reluctantly tearing away from watching amorous bliss overtake your facial expression to the wet heat detected by his pointer finger's sensors. A feral growl rumbles in his chest at the debauched sight of desire beginning to dampen your thighs — the trace of what he's been smelling from you now overloading every single one of his senses as he coaxes more to flow from you. Seokmin's more than thankful for his enhanced vision and the glow of cybernetic technology baring your most intimate parts to him.

Guided by an instinctual impulse, he eases a finger inside. Your back automatically arches off the bed, eliciting a sweet gasp of delight. The cool touch of the digit seized tightly by the pulsating walls of your cunt slowly warms as it adjusts to the welcome intrusion. He soothingly brushes the knuckle of his middle finger across the soft outer flesh of your pussy to relax its grip. Eventually it lets up enough to let him explore further and deeper than your own have ever reached.

"I'm… I'm not sure how best to please you," Seokmin admits, drinking in your every reaction to his curious ministrations. "But there's this urge, this need, to make you feel good. Prep you properly for my… my entry."

By pure accident, he strokes a rough patch of nerves that makes your eyes roll back, hips lifting at the sensation of wanting more of whatever that feeling was, and your quiet noises melt into a loud, needy moan.

"More," you plead, "touch me more, Seok."

He eases his other finger inside without question, grunting at the squeeze that almost prevents him from moving to where you want him the most. But unlike the rest of his quivering body, the prosthesis remains steady, still, and patient. Waiting until it can bully itself and a third finger past your entrance's vice-like clench.

You start pulling on your breasts, trying to alleviate the tingling in them. Seokmin observes with a keen eye and a toothy, fanged grin. After a bit, he leans down to let his tongue trace the underside of one mound, leaving behind a saliva trail shining in the unconventional lighting as he tends to the next. Alternating with playful nips and naughty tugs to your nipples whenever your grip on them falters from the overwhelming pleasure.

So attentive and eager, soon you're writhing beneath him as you hit your peak. One hand grips your hip tightly, surely to leave a bruise with the way it cramps. His other doesn't let up, well-oiled mechanisms continuing to pump in and out of your trembling pussy until you whine from the overstimulation.

His wings fold protectively around both of you like a canopy as you share a tender kiss. Dazed and happy, you tenderly brush back black bangs and play with one of the feathers that's sprouted near the hairline above his ear. He shivers.

"Let me take care of you too."

"Are you sure? What about your shoulder?"

"That's the least of my concerns right now."

"I can still…"

"Later. First, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Seokmin's shy again, flushed cheeks darkening. "I… I think I'm a little different… down there so it's okay if you don't want to… or get scared."

"It's not like I've seen enough dicks to compare whether what you're packing is normal."

The both of you share a goofy laugh that eases the presumed awkwardness. He sits back to unbutton his pants but you stop him.

"May I?"

You might as well have knocked the air out of his lungs. He stares at you wide-eyed and then emphatically nods, finally clearing his throat to squeak out, "Sure."

Ignoring the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, you sit up and kneel in front of him. Intent on a few minor distractions, your mouth and hands start at his shoulders to work their way down. Imagining you have the power to heal the damage dealt to his body and soul through tender touches.

You see a sad sense of beauty and justice in the patchwork of metal bolts and bark. And as you apply marks of love that bruise and blossom between them, he lets out a content warble. You're quick to undo the button of his pants, both of you gasping at the utterly wet mess seeping through the material when you tug the zipper down with your teeth.

He lifts his hips to help and once he's just as naked as you do you take him in. Anatomy was meagerly touched upon during your days at the convent, so truthfully all you're aware of at the sight of his heavy cock is the need to be filled with it.

And the closest thing to take him is your mouth, jaw already aching before you even open it. Almost reverently, your hands wrap around to stabilize it. Seokmin hisses pleasantly at the contact.

"You don't have to —"

He's cut off by a groan as you inquisitively suckle the tip. The copious amounts of slick smearing from it and down the base taste sweeter than Seungcheol's lollipops and you moan heartily, causing his thighs beneath your elbows to tense at the vibrations.

"Oh, mayfly."

A wing caresses your cheek that bulges as you take more and more of him, Seokmin's hands tearing at the sheets. The tip of another wing tantalizingly drags down your bare back. Your hands begin to explore, finding the puffy edges around the slit from which the thick cock emerges from. His hips jolt upwards at the contact to sensitive tissues, causing you to gag.

"Ah, 'm sorry!"

While he whispers repeated apologies, you're only compelled to take him further. Slowly you get used to the stretch, but no matter how much more you're able to squeeze down your throat there's still enough of his length for both of your hands to play with. It gets easier the more aggressive you get, his cock seeming to respond to your vigor in tandem. Soon you're lost to the haze of whether you're bobbing your head up and down or it's swirling languidly in your mouth on its own accord.

Seokmin's hips stutter but you feel the tremor first pulse against the inner walls of your throat. His cock throbs as you pull off of it, hollowing your cheeks and parting with deliberately powerful suction. A loud pop releases its tip and your hand supports its weighty girth falling forward. You dig the nails of your free hand into the muscle of his quaking thigh, ducking down to teethe at the puffy slit from where his cock must emerge.

Moving on to licking and dragging the point of your tongue along the sizable vein lining the underside causes Seokmin's low groans to turn into a high-pitched trill. Once you reach the swollen, leaking head and nibble on the hard glans, it spasms wildly and finally erupts. From the top slit seeps sweet syrupy fluid that readily overflows into your awaiting, open mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbers.

You'd reply that there's no need for gratitude, perhaps you'd thank him, but the viscous release keeps spilling out. Rivulets trickle well past your lips and coat your chest. Although still in a euphoric daze, his eyes flash with sharp satisfaction. Instantly possessive at the sight of your bare body decorated so erotically.

His wings snap open — filled with purpose — and your face is pressed down into the mattress. Surrounded in a smoky musk as the angelic monstrosity it belongs to and destined to be your mate hovers above.

Your voice comes out hoarse as you raise up onto your elbows and spitefully spit out a black feather. "Do those wings of yours prevent you from being topped or something?"

"I'll let you find out another time, partner," Seokmin huffs, laughter evident despite his apparent breathlessness. He steals a tender kiss, pleased grunting at how your lips — shiny and swollen — taste of him. "But for now…"

Like an anchor, the tech material warmed by your shared body heat and passion winds underneath your hips, keeping them raised. A calloused, ticklish touch roams traces your spine. He draws an occasional spiral here and there as he goes, mindful of your wound, until firmly pinning the nape of your neck to the side, creating the perfect arch of your back.

"I think you'll like this," Seokmin says as if he isn't liking the view below him.

But for you, straight ahead lies the dresser's mirror. It reflects the full manifestation of an independent Plant poised to devour a human in the most intimate sense. The fearsome size of his cock lies heavy on top of your ass, leaking droplets of arousal all over your backside.

"Will it fit?"

"Of course, you are mine to claim and take." His hips just forward and you both moan. "I think we're both wet enough to try."

"I trust you."

"Let me know if it hurts in any way and we'll stop right away, mayfly."

Many troupes of desert-traveling dancers have mesmerized you before. Yet even they can't compare to the graceful and smooth motion of Seokmin releasing your neck to align his tip with the entrance of your cunt and slowly bullying his way in.

Tears of pain mixing to unfathomable pleasure blur the vision of your mouth widening to let out whines and moans. "Seokkie…"

"Mhm, mayfly… my love… my mate."

Finally, the front of his thighs are flush against yours. Hips pressed tight against your ass. Fully sheathed inside your tight hole, neither of you have ever felt such intensity before. He surrenders his body weight on top of yours, hands braced outside of yours clenching loose feathers and silk sheets. The outer heaviness matches the intensity of what your pussy struggles to accommodate.

"Mine."

Seokmin's hips swirl at a slow pace. Rather than thrust, he massages the sensitive glands at the base of his cock with the soft flesh of your ass. His length seems to shrink and grow and writhe with a mind of its own, filling and teasing you nonstop. Leaving no surface of your inner walls untouched or untended to for too long.

"Yours."

You shudder in blissed-out delirium and Seokmin lights up — literally.

Fluorescent lines glow in distinct patterns across skin, brightening the more he starts to pant and build up your shared pleasure. Sharp canines prick into the skin of your unmarked shoulder as he wraps his prosthesis under your stomach to raise your hips, the new position driving you faster to that rapidly approaching edge. You cry out with a lurch, blurrily making out his glowing form that shudders above.

Though the view in the mirror gets hidden by black wings stroking your entire body. Teasing the underside of your tits and tenderly brushing away the stings of his teeth marks.

"I-I love you," Seokmin rasps.

"Love…" You manage to enunciate the words, mind emptying and drool wetting the bed as your second peak approaches. "Love you too."

Pain and pleasure draw forth an onslaught of your apparent arousal that lecherously mixes with the frothy mess dribbling from his cock. Claws appear on Seokmin's right hand, another addition to the bestial Plant features emerging in the throes of passion. He's not completely lost to the primal thrall though, able to resist from breaking skin.

Delicately scratching your waist without drawing blood, then using the finely pointed tips to pluck and tease effortlessly at your clit. You cry out, body shaking as waves of euphoria crash against the shoreline of imminent pleasure.

Seokmin helps ride out your peak with a couple of speedy thrusts. The feeling of his hips slamming into you has you seeing more stars than Gunsmoke's galaxy contains. And just as you're overcome with too much stimulation, he lets go with a particularly strong bite into the top of your shoulder.

His cock softens and its heavy weight like a blanket along with the continual pump of his warm, soothing release. The feeling of it leaving none of your inner walls untouched feels as sweet as it tasted on your tongue and helps ease the ache inside your cunt. Still joined together and slick with stickiness, he collapses onto his side and gently assists you with rolling over so you can face him.

"Hey, you."

"Hello there yourself, lovely mayfly."

Your nose wrinkles but gets smoothed out by feather tips playing with the ends of your hair. Seokmin smiles as you snuggle closer into his chest so two of his wings can cocoon around you as the heated fervor from prior activities cools.

"Did that help?"

"… Yes," he says though his tone wavers with hesitance.

You raise your chin and see the electric blue luster hasn't faded yet from his gaze. Sheepishly, the corner of his mouth raises and you shiver, feeling the swell of his cock stretch out your pussy. The bulge it creates brushes against Seokmin's abdomen and he twitches.

"Sorry, it's… I'm gonna be kinda insatiable now that I've had a taste…" He trails off, wings snapping behind him. Slowly, he pulls his hips away and you both hiss as his cock is dragged out.

"What are you —"

You're cut off by the animalistic glimmer in his gaze, catching the feral smirk that he attempts to hide by licking his palm. Quick as lightning, Seokmin fleetingly swipes the outer lips of your cunt and brings his fingers, tonguing at them. Body set aflame again, neither of your break eye contact as he moans headily.

"But not of this," he rasps.

Before you know it, you're staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling with your mate between your legs. His wings trail along your calves, their flexible ends curling near your inner thighs, encouraging them to spread and stay open, pinning them in place.

"Oh, aren't you a beauty?"

He moans shamelessly at the sight of your messy, glistening pussy. You squirm at the ticklish sensation of his feathers and that smoldering, ravenous look. If only he knew what it was like to see him devour you with his mouth.

Delicious.

Just like the feeling of his tongue working its way inside and licking up the shared essence of your releases.

Your fingers weave between strands of hair as black as night, tugging lightly and accidentally snagging one of his ear feathers. He moans eagerly, and the vibration has you shuddering, already quickly nearing another mind-shattering orgasm. But you don't let him carry you there too fast, smooth brain muscles trying to form a question.

"How… long… how long do these cycles last?"

Seokmin presses a loving kiss to your twitching clit and blows, entranced by how you clench around nothing. Then he smirks, elongated teeth shining in the darkness like a predatory warning though you have nothing to fear.

"As much as you can handle but… we're really only just getting started, mayfly."

The motion light kicks on as Seungcheol shifts his boots in the direction of the unlit kitchen area. Junhui and Minghao's entrance awaken the rest of the lights and they frown at the makeshift bunker set up.

"What are you three doing in here?"

Seungkwan sleepily mumbles a curse word and next to him, Mingyu blearily rubs his eyes. A scattering of empty pudding cups and bottles lie around them as well as a disorganized array of poker cards.

"We're afraid to venture out of here."

Junhui shares a secretive look with his closest friend at Seungkwan's cryptic words. "Ah, so that's happened. Or happening."

"'Bout time y'all came 'round. Time for ya to pay up!"

"Pay up for what?"

"Compensation. 'M the one who got the closest to bein' right knowin' they'd fuck after confessin'."

"If anyone needs compensation, it's me for the mental damage of having to make one of my lovelies into an enhanced sex toy."

Seungcheol guffaws. "Ya didn't! Ya lil cheatin', schemin' scientist!"

Meanwhile, Mingyu looks mighty concerned. "Does that mean Seokmin has a dildo for an arm?!"

Minghao crosses his arms with a steely glare. "No."

"Oh good. I don't think I could look at him the same."

"I don't think any of us will ever look at him the same again."

Junhui eagerly rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. "Do you think they discovered all the functions and benefits of it yet?"

"Should be our next bettin' round."

"No more bets. I don't care if it's half a double dollar to go in, I refuse to go through this again."

Mingyu elbows his raven-haired companion. "C'mon, your heart's warmed by this!"

"Warmed and consumed by the rage and fury of hellfire, yes."

Giggling, the tall man smiles widely and holds his hand out. "Alright, I win then!"

"Win what? Thought you didn't remember your bet."

Mingyu purses his lips. "Only because none of you took me seriously and joked with a bunch of gross innuendos when I said they'd find their home in one another!" He then sighs dreamily. "But if I'm right, we'll know by tomorrow morning."

"Who says it'll be tomorrow mornin'. Might take weeks. Months even, I reckon'."

"I'll kick you all out before it comes to that," Minghao threatens and runs a hand through the few strands of hair without a bead. He tosses a wad of money in front of Mingyu. "Never involve me in this again."

Despite all the grumbling, everyone has a sense of lightness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friends finally getting together. And the happiest of them all is Mingyu, who cheerily gathers his prized double dollars, dreaming of all the pudding he can buy.

A lone figure stands on the edge of the valley of the Melca Border. The Sea of Sand, aptly named, can change tide and turn vicious at any second. Their cloak billows in the sandy winds that whip around them, though even the steadfast hood can't hide the satisfied smile on their face.

"You did well," they commend and the name that falls from their lips is one some might consider lost to the sands of time.

"Saintess." Another figure materializes out of the sand gusts in response to the praise. "It is to be done as you said."

"Very well. Shall we go now?"

Whether it's the mysterious sands that swirl around and whisk them away or the lost technology cube that transports them, no one will ever know for no one ever saw them. Like ghosts, they disappear and find themselves outside the real ghost town — where it all began.

A toma croaks in the distance. Brave travelers dare cross the ruined wasteland and the saintess meditating atop one of the largest rocks hidden in the shadows opens her gray eyes tinted by lilac in the glow of the moons to observe. Despite all of her traveling, the white robes wrapped around her body remain in pristine condition.

She turns behind to look at the man standing over a scattering of stones, staring intently at one of them. With poise and purpose, she dusts off her clothes and strides over to him.

"Chan."

Brown eyes tear away from his own name carved into the headstone in front of him to look at the one who's said it aloud.

"Yes, Saintess?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Never."

"Good," she states, satisfied with his response. With a grand sweep of her hood to cover short, dark hair, she gestures to the east. "We will set up camp one more night before returning to the Saint in the morning before he speaks with our Master."

Chan mutely nods, following the saintess back into the desert where she confidently leads him to a cave that will shield them from the unpredictable nature of Gunsmoke's wastelands. He thinks of you, the girl he must keep safe and two brothers. One with wings as pure white despite his continual revelry with hate-filled darkness, the other bearing ones the complete opposite color of his twin — a wild card.

He reminisces over the Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood, the convent and all the orphans that lived there. Pondering Sister Meryl's role, who stands before him now as the revered Saintess, leader for the Eye of Joshua and second only to the Bishop of the cult named after himself. She moves curious little statues back and forth across the surface of a large flat rock and the young man can't help but ask her a question in the unnerving silence.

"Do you think this will work?"

Meryl smiles elusively, as always. She picks up the smallest one with a deliberate flourish, placing it on a blackened space close to the last row of alternating squares carved into the stone's surface.

"Have you ever played chess before?"

"No, what is it?"

"An Earthern board game. It is quite complicated." Gesturing to the piece she just moved, she continues. "This is a pawn, the weakest of all chess pieces."

Chan bristles. "But strength comes in numbers, no? There are eight of each color, surely the right side can find a way to win."

Unfazed by his agitation, the saintess nods placatingly. "With the right strategy, even a pawn may become a queen — the most powerful. Unpredictable." She points to a white figurine with a cross on top of it. "Enough to checkmate a king."

Entranced, Chan watches as she rearranges and repositions various pieces across the faux chessboard. Soon, the pawn that took on the mantle of a Black Queen captures the White King. His eyes roam what's left on the battlefield at the end of the match, pointing to one that looks like a tower.

"What's that one?"

"A rook. It best supports an allied pawn towards promotion from behind the scenes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "It's most powerful during the end of the game, as you can see."

Chan gulps, holding his breath for a moment, and clears his throat. "Then I'm ready."

"Wonderful," Meryl nods, "we'll depart for Master Dokyeom's stronghold in the morning. I'm sure Joshua, our dear Saint, will be… pleased upon our return."

"To the glory of the Black King's rise."

"And to the glory of our so-called queen."

Keep him safe, Chan thinks to himself as he settles on the ground. And yourself. One day we'll reunite in the most joyous of occasions…

He pulls out a faded wanted poster with the infamous outlaw worth sixty billion double dollars, donning a wishful smile before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I'd even bet this impossible amount on it."

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[valeisaslut]

You kissed her back like you were drowning. As if you held her close enough, tight enough, the moment wouldn’t end. Your fingers dug into the fabric of her shirt, trying to anchor her, trying to anchor yourself.

But the clock didn’t stop.

The world didn’t wait.

It never had.

It didn’t pause for heartbreak, didn’t soften for grief, didn’t flinch at the sound of something beautiful breaking.

It just kept spinning—indifferent, relentless—dragging you both forwards whether you were ready or not.

when i read those specific lines, i thought about the countless times in which you highlighted how their moments of intimacy were a break from everything that the outside held. how, when they kissed, it was a whisper amidst the destructive chaos. we all fell for the same lie, our protagonists included; everything can slow down for the popstar and the rockstar! everything can stop for a little while!

truthfully, no, it can't, and that's just real life. no matter how it feels, the world keeps spinning mercilessly and time doesn't stop. we're constantly victims of our own deceitful minds looking for protection from what we know can hurt us. the previous chapters were like a silent warning, whether you intended it or not (actually, at this point i believe everything i notice and geek about from this series was already plotted inside your head for a long time) and this whole concept was beautifully depicted with the way ellie and reader had only so many minutes to use in which they had to recap whatever the hell that past month had been, process their own current emotions plus the emotional baggage they'd been dealing with, decipher what to choose from the little options they had left even if they meant their doom and ultimately state what they were going to do with their relationship despite it being both the greatest and the most destructive thing they ever experienced. (i wouldn't bet on it being the most destructive one but i'm sure you get me; love can be kinda destructive). all of that. in a few minutes. equation for disaster considering they both need years worth of therapy.

so, yeah, i'm stunned. i swear, because you're an absolutely wonderful being and so incredibly gifted. i might not be very skilled with words, but believe me when i say i don't think i've ever read something like this before. i don't think i've ever seen someone portray so many feelings, crushing emotions, complex elements and characters such as these in a lenguage THAT'S NOT EVEN THEIR FIRST. or maybe i did, but never, ever in such breathtaking way. i genuinely sat back almost every paragraph and wondered 'okay, so... how did val come up with this comparison?' or 'what was the thing that inspired this thought depth?'

your mind is so lovely, val, and so intriguing. i will forever admire you for that. gosh, i know i sound really weird when i say this because i truly am just obsessed with a law student from my own country and my own age that literally just sits down drinking wine and proceeds to write the masterpieces i cry about but— you have no idea how much i would like for fanfiction like this to actually be famous so i can get like interviews from you and all that to break down bit by bit the process of creating this series. am i exaggerating? what does exaggeration even mean? that's just a word invented by the goverment and boring people. next.

sorry for the rambling, i've never been quite good at being brief and concise, but i hope to accompany you in many more of your works and your whole journey as a writer in here. just to let you know! we all adore you for you, with collide we found you, and that's only the start (even if none of us want the start to end!).

dicho esto, gracias por venir a mi charla ted. 🚬

(¡y descansa! porque es de madrugada y sé que fue una noche larga llena de emociones 🤕)

i don’t even know where to begin because BIBI, what you just wrote is, without exaggeration, one of the most beautiful, honest, and deeply felt things i’ve ever read. i’m saying this with my whole chest: your message left me shaking. with emotion, with gratitude, with that strange, raw mix of feeling both vulnerable and completely held by someone who truly saw every layer, every wound, every quiet lie passed between two people who love each other badly—but love each other with their entire souls.

you have no idea how much it means to me that you read that specific passage and didn’t just absorb the words, but understood the weight behind them. because yes, that silent lie has always been there—this idea that here, in their closeness, they’re safe. that if they kiss hard enough, hold each other long enough, the world will just stop for them. the world will make an exception. they really believed that. we believed that. and it was always an illusion. and the fact that you noticed, that you felt the crash of reality against that illusion, means you heard what i was trying to whisper beneath the chaos.

and yes. the minutes to say everything they haven’t said. to process things they haven’t even admitted to themselves. to try and piece together a relationship built on too much love and not enough space to hold it. it was an equation for disaster. and that’s what i wanted it to feel like: the desperate absurdity of trying to save everything with too little time and too much damage.

you say you’re not good with words, but here i am, reading your message with tears in my eyes, thinking “how the hell am i ever going to get over this?”you didn’t just see me as a writer—you saw me as a person. as the girl who sits with a glass of wine, exhausted and overwhelmed but alive with ideas, writing like her whole heart might fall out through her fingers. and you wrote to me like you were in the room with me, reading every paragraph and going, “val, this is coming from your soul, isn’t it?”

and yes. yes it is. all of collide is coming from my soul. and sometimes it hurts to keep writing and i still go through with it. because i know someone like you is reading. i know there are eyes like yours that look past the drama, past the sex and chaos—eyes that see the trauma, the addiction, the abandonment, the unbearable pressure, the desperate attempts to hold onto something that might already be gone. and that’s everything.

what you said about interviews and breakdowns and wanting to get inside the creative process??? THANK YOU. sometimes writing this feels really lonely. but this message reminded me i’m not alone. that on the other side of the screen, there are people who want to understand. who want to walk with me through every painful, beautiful, gut-wrenching beat of it.

and if this is “exaggeration”? then god, i hope people exaggerate like you forever.

and the fact that we’re from the same country, the same age, maybe living wildly different lives but still somehow finding each other through this story??? that makes me emotional in a whole new way. i want to walk with you too. not just as a writer, but as someone who’s just really, really grateful you exist.

gracias. de verdad. por esta carta. por tu corazón. por quedarte despierta hasta la madrugada sintiendo conmigo.

esto no es el final. esto es apenas el prólogo de todo lo que se viene. te abrazo para siempre. 🚬💗

hermanas argentinas jamas seran vencidas.

[canary-song]

Due to what little on-screen interactions we see between Noir Peter (Pete) and Peni in ITSV, it's no surprise that a lot of people have agreed upon the popular fanon of them being a sort of father-daughter duo (or, for those who subscribe a bit more to Pete being younger due to the comics, a sibling-like relationship). It's cute so I support it, but it got me thinking about the two in comparison to eachother, specifically in terms of corrupt systems and how they're handled in their stories. I think the two have a bit more a contrast than just the surface level stuff, so let's look into it!

(Essay + comic panel evidence beneath the cut)

From the very start of Peni's (unfortunately short) comics, she's shown as very resigned to her fate - when brought in to discuss her father and her future "career" in the SP//DR program, she's upfront and blunt; My father is dead, and I'm the only one who can replace him, so I will. It's a foregone conclusion, and one she doesn't shy away from.

Furthermore, even though we see how, throughout the comics, she's basically given no life beyond her work, and even her school hours are eaten into, she's told again and again that all of this cost means something.

She has to sacrifice everything, because there's no other choice. Her own Guardians, her Uncle Ben and Aunt May, work for the very organization that her father did, and persist to remind her of the importance of the job, even if they do try to remind her that she can't handle this alone. Very telling, when faced with threats to the multiverse, she briefly asks her Uncle Ben if she should stay with him, only for him to tell her to go.

Duty calls.

This isn't the point of this, but of course she joined Spider HQ and went along with what Miguel was telling her - she's grown up surrounded by very like-minded, sacrifice-willing adults. Of course she has to do this. What other option is there?

On the other end, Pete is quite the opposite of Peni's story. Yes, 100%, like all Spiderpeople, there's the element of responsibility, that looming recognition that not doing what you can gets people hurt, but while Peni's story is set up so that she's fighting for her system of authority, Pete is unsurprisingly against his. At any point that he can, even pre-spiderbite, he's picking fights and trying to fix things. He's so set in his beliefs and outspoken that he makes his own mentor question his actions, constantly in pursuit of a better world.

It's the responsibility of the people to give a shit, and Pete cares so much that it drives him a bit mad, I think.

Where Peni is told that this is the way things work, Pete is demanding that it change, asking questions. Peni was raised to accept her responsibility, whereas Pete was raised to fight against the expected status quo.

AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THEIR RESPECTIVE BENS.

I'll try keeping this fragment of a thought short because we're already clocking in 6 paragraphs pre-edits and I need to feed the dogs their dinner soon, but the TLDR is that Uncle Ben is the last surviving legal Guardian of Peni, and though distant, he tries his best to support her while she's in the SP//DR program. Pete's Uncle Ben is, by no such surprise, dead, but specifically, he was a WWI veteran, decorated but guilty.

Uncle Ben is, in the Noir comics, yet another symbol of how doing what you're told can haunt you. He was very vocally against the war machine he was a part of, while Peni's Ben has known nothing else but his work.

This is how completely dead opposite they are in so many regards. They contrast eachother!! It's really interesting! Honestly, I could see Pete getting into an argument with Peni's Ben over how she's been treated, even if it probably wouldn't go well. He cares too much to keep his mouth shut, often.

[4lph4kidz]

i don't have it in me to really produce any kind of a robust post on the subject, it but something i find particularly interesting to think over is the hope aspect's relation to narrative and fiction, and specifically fantasy as a genre - we've got associations with the aesthetic trappings of magic and wizards via eridan but broadly speaking 'fantastical' also covers jake's media interests in adventure and action movies and cape comics. the usual incoherent rambles under cut

i know i'm probably reaching here but i'm not really interested in adhering to the idea of classpects as a perfect, strictly defined and systemetized approach to narrative - or rather, i find it interesting but limited, i think there have to be some bleeding edges to the thing.

anyway when i talk about hope and fantasy it definitely also crosses over into 'comforting fantasy' and escapism (tavros is one of those bleeding edges, engrossed in games and daydreaming about flying and magical fairies) but i don't think 'escapism' really covers the entirety of i'm trying to get at here

sure, on the story level hope is almost certainly an aspect related to beliefs the characters have about the world - including notably coping mechanisms - but what about on a metaphysical/metanarrative level? if the aspects are building blocks of a narrative-as-reality, as i'm inclined to look at them - what narrative element does Hope describe? is it the tone or emotional gist of the story or is hope something to do with the audience and their beliefs about the story? how does that comport with the 'fantasy genre' stuff i gestured at earlier? what even IS the core of the fantasy genre, anyway - is it about magic and dragons and swords or is it about existence having some intrinsic narrative weight or meaning?

cue an extremely circular and navel gazey soliloquoy wherin i remark upon my own relationship with fiction and reasons for being preoccupied with this particular media object, during which the floor opens beneath me into a yawning void to which i am apparently oblivious. look, i know i'm polluting a lot of this with a bunch of other random shit i happen to think or find interesting about fiction, but in a story like homestuck which to some degree asks 'what does it mean to be part of a narrative' - the aspect that i might argue potentially suspension of disbelief/investment in the narrative SEEMS like something worth turning over a few times

and now comes the time where i gesture at gamzee, rage, whistles and psycholonials without any of the voculabary which which to discuss those things. i don't quite understand the ongoing clown motif - or rather i feel like it has depths which i do not understand, but that's okay. anyway; what's the instrinsic opposite of hope as belief in a meaningful existence? might just be finding out that everything you thought meant anything was just the setup for a punchline you didn't see coming. all along you were just a really stupid joke.

... or maybe it's you, the audience, who were stupid for caring? no, i don't really buy the ultra-cyncial reading a lot of embittered former fans bring to homestuck, and it definitely doesn't line up with hussie's stated positive position on fan-work, but there's some palpable element of cynicism to the story. if you're already not happy with it apparently not delivering on what it you feel like it 'promised' and then it starts poking and prodding at you even more directly and comparing you to a character as unflattering as caliborn - i get it. and the epilogues are even more blatant about asking the audience what they expect from the media they interact with, and in that case i do understand the feeling that it is directly challenging or even insulting the reader for being invested in the fiction in the first place, even if i make no such assertion about that being the actual intent.

i got so far off-topic with the last paragraph and now i'm too out of steam to pull it back into aspect theme territory. i typed and deleted a dozen disclaimers about what i'm trying to say here but really i'm just wondering out loud! feel free to tear me apart if you read this far i guess.

[the-clay-quarters]

Okay this took me three days bcus I spent Way too long thinking about it but! here's my guys in @t6fs' template!

The only bit of this that was left blank for non character reasons is the dreams- I avoid all the dream cards in game to avoid nightmares, so I don't really know the vibes oops. Oh, and the key items are distinctive things they carry regularly, excluding things they'd own at home. Otherwise, detail bits under the cut! I ended up with a lot of notes and wanted to ramble, it's really fuckin long <3

Silverstein

"His" pet is Pembroke's Half-Wild Mandrake (from bag a legend). They both agree that it is still hers, it's just hard to take care of in the middle of the city so it lives out with him. Otherwise, he keeps no pets.

Apathetic but also opinionated: On most things, he's very apathetic, simply agreeing with other people's decisions. On the other hand, though, he is strongly revolutionary and aiming for a lot of change... Not that he'd tell you that, not that you should know.

Dreams: It's canon that clay men can't dream :( No rights

Habitat: He likes being out and about, he spends most of his day out in the streets. He does a lot of "low skill" but high strength work, like moving services or construction.

Both hot/cold and coffee/tea are Neither for clay man reasons: Very high and cold temperatures cause him issues in different, equally annoying ways, and he can't eat/taste either, so no preference on food or drink.

Items: The gloves are clay stained, actually, and primarily on the inside. He started collecting first city coins for heart's desire and just has a habit of keeping some on him now. Horse head amulet... fear of death and uncertainty about the particulars of clay men :)

Flower, white rose: Did you know all the funky coloured roses (ie blue or rainbow) are made by dying white ones? :)c

Animal, saint bernard: Big but fairly gentle and lazy, would be a guard dog if asked but is mostly content to just sit

Element, rock slide: Change! Upheaval! Rocks :3

Pembroke:

The pet is her hunting dog, lovely lil thing <3 She doesn't keep many pets as she's a very busy person (and wouldn't want to put that on her poor housekeeper) but a good dog is always useful.

Rude-polite range is because she defaults to, and is usually, quite polite but often is also overcome with the need to be an absolute lil shit. Duality of man <3

Lodgings: Rooms above an ex-bookshop, now her tailoring shop!

Enemies: See: habit of being a chaotic lil shit. Apparently people don't like it when you think their party is too boring and try to spice it up smh

Items: A wedding ring with no match. A pocket watch to keep a tight schedule. A weapon of some sort, picked from a diverse collection. A travel sewing kit for rogue buttons and popped stitches. A hat pin, back up weapon :)

Flower, green dahlia: .......This one's mostly a pun off of Delia ngl

Animal, borzoi: Fancy and elegant looking, but still a hunting dog. Pretty but vicious~

Vincent:

The pet listed is a frost-moth but they have so. many. bugs. The phosphorescent scarabs are also pets. They have spiders. They keep any and every type of bug to either study or have as a pet. Please never visit their flat if you don't like bugs.

Gender: Bureaucratic misunderstanding. They filled out various forms wrong when they were first travelling to the neath, rolled with the neutral pronouns, realised they like it more than they probably should, and simply refused to think about that at all

Logic-emotion range is them trying to lead with logic but also having high anxiety

Lawful-chaotic and apathetic-opinionated are also anxiety, honestly. Though, for the latter, they are just quiet about their more out-there opinions, especially in the realm of politics. It's a culture thing kinda sorta, if I get into that here it'll add like 3 paragraphs at least.

Cultural identity: Catalan! Very proud of that! But won't default to that and will usually say they're Spanish. I can't get into that for the exact same reasons as the last point oops

Allies: This guy ☝ is depressed and isolating themself

Remember vs forget: When you're this far from home, your culture comes just from your own memories that you can't afford to lose. But also fuck wouldn't it be nice to simply forget the things causing you anxiety.

Items: Big round glasses to counter their shortsightedness. Bugs. Anti spider goggles that aren't prescription, both because they were originally lent and because they don't usually need to see very far with them on. Catholic rosary, worn under their shirt. Bugs. Surface currency, specifically Spanish pesetas, sent from their parents. Bugs. Bugs. More bugs.

Flower, forget me nots: Blue, anxiety coded, pretty <3

Animal, mantis: Awkward looking, vibes <3 Also, specifically hierodula papua bcus it's blue!

[mushr00mfriend]

hi!! i have a question about how you have the motivation to write? ive been trying to write my own slenderverse fic and sometimes i just find myself feeling so discouraged because the fandom isnt as active anymore, and i was wondering if youve ever felt that way and how you actively get the motivation to write?

Hello! This is a fantastic question; I'm going to preface my answer by saying that this is my own outlook/opinion as well as mindset, and that it may not work for everyone. Take what you need and leave what you don't.

(also, this got incredibly long. If there's anything I love to do, it's ramble- thus, a readmore)

For direct motivation, here's a few things I do to get in the groove:

- Chapter summaries. Write a paragraph (4-6 sentences) about what you want to see happen in a chapter. Character interactions, thematic elements, foreshadowing, plot movement, etc. Don't go over a paragraph, however, or you'll end up feeling like you've already written it without, you know, writing it. If there's something tasty, reference it rather than write it all out. You'll remember it each time you read the reference and it'll make you want to get it out in its entirety.

- Bounce around. Write some of the first chapter, some of the twentieth. Finish the sixth before the fourth. Don't feel like you have to write it in the order it's gonna be read in; you have all the power as the author to do whatever you want. If you want to write the ending before you've even got the beginning penned, do it.

- Make a list of 'delicious scenes'. These are scenes that are incredibly vivid in your mind, the ones that you really really want to see in your story. Write them down and think about them often. When you feel de-motivated, start on them. 

- In that vein, daydream about what's not being shown in a chapter, or imagine the characters in different situations. They're blorbo from your shows!! Play with them like dolls!! Make em kiss!

- Keep a project on the backburner. When I feel like I don't want to write for one project, I turn to another and work on that one for a bit instead. It keeps me from burning out entirely, but also keeps me writing, which is the most important thing.

You are correct in saying that the fandom isn't super active anymore. It was already simmering down when I had been working through the legacy draft of Delirium, and compared to the monolith it had once been, the community can seem nonexistent in this day and age. I definitely can relate to the discouragement you're feeling - I felt it all the way up until I was just under three-quarters of the way through Delirium, when there were enough consistent readers that I felt I had finally gotten somewhere, carved out my little niche of a community. Looking at the numbers now, you probably wouldn't believe that I suffered a lot with discouragement and de-motivation...

But I did, especially because I tied my self-worth and confidence in my story to how many views and comments it got. I still feel this, especially with other projects, and especially especially if they don't stack up to Delirium. If I were in the same mindset I was at the beginning, I'd even wonder if making Delusion was really a thing I should do, because there's definitely readers who won't be interested in it anymore.

But the thing is, I'm not making it for the readers. I'm making it for me. 

Delirium started out as an homage to the Creepypasta fics I read as a teen, and somewhere along the way became a way for me to vent my frustrations and trauma regarding my personal experiences with the fandom. The most important part of the story is why you're writing it- what are you trying to say? What are you trying to impart? Who are you trying to reach, and what are you trying to tell them?

You have to sit with yourself, and with the concept of the story in your head, and you have to know that you can't make it for anyone but yourself, because you are the most important part of it. You, your feelings about the setting, the characters, the themes and motifs. Your personal reflection of the situations, opinions about the arcs and plot. And yeah, not everyone will vibe with it, but making yourself palatable to everyone will make your work tasteless and unsatisfying. Even if you write for yourself, there will be other's who appreciate it. I promise. The Creepypasta community is diminished, but not gone. Take a scroll through the tags, follow a bunch of creators. There's still people drawing, people writing, and people reading. Your dash will fill up with others who still like it.

If there's one thing I can say right now, if there's one thing you take away from my words, it's that there isn't a number that will make you feel fulfilled. I promise you that the mental ceiling will only increase. You will not find a love for the story in the views, in the favourites, nor in the comments. You need to love the story first- you need to believe in it first. No one else can write the story you want to tell, and no one can write it the way you will.

I'd also say sit with it for a looooooong while. Like, figure out how it ends, find the major plot beats, bullet point the snippets you really want to see, write it halfway, sit on that for a month, then reread and edit it. Delirium is- I just checked it, over eight years in the making, including that legacy draft (which was more of a false start, if anything). You don't necessarily have to take that long- I'm just slow- but make sure you have 80% of it figured out before you go on and post it. If there's anything that kills motivation, it's internalized deadlines when you have no backlog to fall back on. Several of the months-long hiatus' between chapters were because of this. It's also the reason why Delusion isn't being published until next year.

Anyway, this got ramble-y, but I also want you to know that you got this!! I believe in you!! And if/when you ever publish it, please give me a link, I'd love to read it :]

[district4loading]

I know your not the account but can you give me some writers tips to get better, my recent story low key flopped.

Hmmm, a lot of times when I read a fic, I get cringed out so bad that I find the story unreadable. So for me, I avoid putting elements of the things that make me cringe in my own fics.

Never rush the story or skip too many details. Immerse the reader by describing how the characters are feeling and what they’re thinking.

Please also try not to switch between past and present tense. Personally it throws me off when I notice it in a fic. I mostly write in present tense and sometimes i even find myself writing “asked” instead of “asks” etc. That’s why it’s important to proofread.

If you find yourself repeating certain words or phrases, find synonyms to replace them with. Idk why but I also try not to start off a paragraph with the same word too many times, it feels too repetitive and cringe.

When I write smut, something that I prevent myself from doing is making the characters say things in all caps. If I need to make it apparent that they are raising their voice or screaming or moaning loudly, I use an exclamation point and after the quote.

Speaking of quotes, don't put "You/he/she says/said" Too much, again it often gets repetitive and cringe and boring very fast. Instead use "She questions" "She announces" "she grunts" "she spits" "she laughs" etc..

I am not a professional writer, nor do I claim to be. I’m aware that my writing could also use a lot work as well.

With that being said if you want me to really help you further than this, i'd suggest that you shoot me a dm so I can go read your story from there. Then I'll be able to give you better tips cause these are really broad.

[cynicalraccoon]

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

The Picture Of Dorian Gray was something. Never thought I could dislike characters so much, but I do.

At first, I thought this book was about some guy who got offered a deal by the devil disguised as a painter or a something similar, but no! It was just about a spoiled little twink who got corrupted because he wanted to keep his youth. And with the way they go on about Dorian, you'd think he'd be this typical, delicate, dew eyed BL character(if you know the type, you know).

I didn't like anybody in this book, except maybe James Vane. He didn't do anything wrong honestly in the short time he appeared.

Henry thinks he's smart. He's not. I honestly can't find the words to describe him because he makes me mad. Cold-hearted, arrogant, cynical, ect. I actually thought there was going to be a plot twist that he was a supernatural creature there to lead Dorian to sin because of how he was hyping the guy on throughout the whole book. Nope. That's just how Henry is. And I wanted someone to bring him off his high horse so badly. You have no idea. He didn't care that Basil died. And I bet money he would've dropped Dorian too if he wasn't interesting or looked attractive.

Basil was no better. He was blinded by Dorian's beauty. He knew what Henry was like and his influence. He should've spoken up, but he didn't. I get that he has his own life, and that he didn't want to upset his crush, but as a friend you have to speak up sometimes when they do stupid things. Basil failed. Plain and simple. And that's what got him killed in the end. He didn't know his true friends. If he had any other friends than Henry and Dorian.

Dorian...don't get me started on this whiny child. He didn't have an remorse at all. Even in the end, he didn't care about Sybil, Basil, Alan, or the other girl. He only cared about himself and his supposed "woes", that he brought on to himself. How dare he blame Basil for planting his picture when he made the wish to stay young while the painting grew old in the first place? And yeah,, Basil might've contributed to the supernatural part because he might've put his all into said painting, but still. People can be pretty on the outside, but ugly on the inside. That perfectly sums up Dorian Grey.

Don't let it get to your head because the faster you rise, the harder you fall.

I didn't feel sorry for Dorian's death. He got what was coming to him.

Besides the characters, one other thing that I couldn't get over was the flipping of POV tenses that sometimes appeared in the book. It was kind of out of place to me, but that's just my opinion. Also I can see why this book is philosophical. A lot of questions and paragraphs about life, beauty, and human nature. And by paragraphs, I mean these characters will talk pages sometimes.

Description was beautiful though. I could imagine the scenes as I read. I could imagine being in the locations at times.

Lastly, I'm glad it was a short book. Not a lot of supernatural elements, but it was a good read to pass the time.

[silvercap]

Do you have any tips for new writers?

Also is there a way to not get too caught up in engagement and stats? I'm kinda having this problem and it is taking the motivation out of things a bit 😭

That's a good question! This post got a little long, so I'm implementing a break lol

I don't exactly have specific rules, but I think my biggest tip for someone writing for the first time is to go easy on yourself and give yourself time to get better. I struggle a lot with perfectionism and the nasty habit of being harder on myself than anyone else ever will be, but it's important to acknowledge that we are our own worst critics and that improvement is only measurable by practicing through the early stuff. I encourage a lot of experimenting, especially when you're starting out--try new things and ways of writing and slowly collect the ones that work for you. I've taken plenty of classes on the logistics of writing and technical tips, but those aren't necessarily helpful for everyone to focus on when they're starting out. I think in first drafts and initial writing, it's better to write from whatever urge possesses you to do so and not get caught up in the technicalities. Those are often more helpful when editing, but it really depends on the way your brain works!

Over time, you'll start to build up a sense of flow and style and the general rhythm of writing engaging paragraphs, which brings me to my next point--reading. It's been said before, but I'll say it again: Reading is one of the best ways to develop a sense of rhythm and effective imagery/idiom/etc. I've also spent plenty of classes analyzing the effectiveness of (I forget the exact word) elements like metaphor or allegory or symbolism or anaphora or any other technical term you can think of that is commonly used to convey specific literary concepts. Reading, on its own, is a great tool for subconsciously noticing the flow of writing and getting a sense for it, but sometimes just taking notice of certain paragraphs that feel right to you or just hit in the right way can allow you to analyze them more deeply and find out what exactly it is about the words that works. Everyone has their own preferences! That might seem daunting, but often the best resources we as writers have is each other, and everyone is inspired by someone else at some point. I'm totally here to take asks and answer any questions I may have brought up because I'm rambling a little bit and like I said: technical aspects aren't necessarily helpful to focus on all at once, and I recommend trying one out at a time to see how it works for you. If that makes sense!

My biggest piece of advice is to have fun with it! Experiment. Put in that weird little thing you think nobody else will like, because often those are the best parts of writing. Do what you feel sounds right! Not to Wayne Gretzky you, but you can only get better or 'succeed' by trying it out and seeing where it takes you. We write because we have ideas we want to share or explore for ourselves, and trying to force yourself to write something you're not passionate about is rarely lucrative.

As for engagement and stats--now, that's a whole other beast. We all want to be noticed and appreciated and commented on, and it's hard sometimes to post a fic and have less engagement than you hoped, but I have a couple things I like to keep in mind for this. It's discouraging, for sure, but people on ao3 or similar sites don't always show their appreciation even if they read and liked your fic. The only way we can fix this as a collective community is to lead by example and comment/kudos/share the fics we read in the hopes that it will catch on and to spread the love to everyone else. I also find it helpful to think about the people who do leave kudos--even if there are only one or two of them--as not just random usernames, but actual living, breathing people who read your fic and enjoyed it. There's that post somewhere about ten likes not seeming like much in the scheme of social media and the influence that virality has had on the internet in recent years, but to have ten people standing in a room with you giving you a thumbs up? That's a lot of people. Even if you get very little engagement, that is not a reflection of you as a person or even necessarily your skill. I know that this can be draining, but the only way to try and build an audience is to post. Sometimes it takes a long time for fics to be noticed. Sometimes things fail. It's up to you how you want to take that, and I can't tell you any of this for certain. I just know from my personal experience that finding a community is only accomplishable by interacting and posting and sharing and existing, and often someone will come along when you don't expect it.

None of this is guaranteed. Hell, take everything I say with a critical eye and more than a few grains of salt, because this is only my experience and god am I still learning. These are things that help me, and I hope some of this is helpful to you, too! What I can tell you for certain is that I encourage you to write and pursue it as far as you want to, and even farther than that. It takes hard work. It can feel like nobody is listening. And ughhhhh the writer's block suuuuuucks. But, you're not alone in this. Anything you've felt is something another writer has felt before, and I think, at least, that there's comfort in knowing you're following in the footsteps of even the writers we consider to be great in both their success and flaws. Maybe I'm being a little lofty ahaha, but it comes down to whether or not you want to write. You can only decide how this goes, and it takes time to work through the barriers of both skill and the anxious fear of not being seen. I see you! And I'm here in the asks anytime you want :)

And even if you fail and give up--you're no less of a writer for it, because you tried, and I think that matters. The lovely thing about being alive and being writers is that we can change and grow, and there will always be a place for you among creators if you choose to join them, no matter how amateur you feel or how long you do it for.

[shivunin]

For the character meme, you know I gotta do Zevran but is it cheating to say Wen and Revka too??

hehehehe well it works out cus I wanted to do Zev c: I did my best with Wen, but I think it's a little fuzzy when she's mine.

(Character Ask thing)

Zevran:

First impression: Ohhhh this is the elf guy! The one everyone is always talking about! ...wait, hold up, I think I just killed him 😬 am I supposed to be able to do that???

Impression now: My fucked up assassin beloved. I have tried to romance others but I was always thinkin bout you. Also:

Favorite moment: "You don't want the earring, you don't get the earring." Lol. But actually, I think the moment during the confrontation with Taliesen where he chooses to defend the Warden is extremely well-written. There is such a genuine regret in his voice when he accepts that telling Taliesen no means that he will have to kill him, and it makes me wonder so much about what the two of them were like before.

Idea for a story: I have literally two whole pages in my fic idea book for Zev haha. But two favorites I haven't started yet are one where Wen is passing judgment as the Arlessa and he is just hanging out behind her throne (ostensibly as a bodyguard) making snarky remarks between hearings so she doesn't snap. Also, a time loop fic, but the concept is still vague (shhh don't look at me holding onto my "one half of the pair watches the other one die a bunch" trope again)

Unpopular opinion: this is technically an opinion on the fandom, and I think others have said it better, but the way people make Zev hypersexual all the time/the way people write and draw him a sex object makes me really uncomfortable. There is an element of the "sexy Latin lover" stereotype in his writing that I...don't think a large section of the fandom is really interested in unpacking or understanding. I think his relationship with sex is actually really fascinating and sad (I wrote my Salshira before I knew much about Zev, but the two of them have a lot in common with the way they feel about/act toward intimacy despite having very different backgrounds) but I don't think it's as clear-cut as "Zevran has a very high libido and constantly wants sex/wants to seduce people." (I wrote like....two more paragraphs of this but I will leave it there I think haha. I don't want to go too hard too early here and I have so many thoughts.)

Favorite relationship: Alistair? It's hard to choose because I think Zev has really interesting dialogue with most of them, but I especially enjoy the dynamic between Zev and Alistair. They have such drastically different views of the world and I think (biased because I always romance him but) Alistair's dialogue with him if the Warden is romancing Zev says a lot about both of them. I also enjoy Leliana and Zev (I like that she is just. not really here for his nonsense) but he and Alistair make me laugh more c:

Favorite headcanon: I feel like they all just flew out of my head. Oops. I do like the headcanon that Zev gives at least some of the others tattoos/he did some of his own tattoos. I think it could be a really interesting thing about reclaiming bodily autonomy for Zev to tattoo himself. Also that he's a bottle blond (but I'm weak for fanart of Zev w dark hair).

Arianwen:

First impression: I first knew who she was going to be when I played through the very beginning of the origin. She was covered in that poor girl's blood and I thought "oh I would snap. All these assholes are dead" and the rest is history!

Impression now: My sweet, murderous baby girl. She is allowed to kill whomever she wants, as a treat.

Favorite moment: Hmm I haven't posted it, but there's a moment when she wakes up with Zevran for the first time (well into their relationship) and she realizes that she...actually wants to live. That she likes being alive, and that she likes that he's a part of her life, and that she doesn't want to have already died anymore. And I think it's really lovely (especially when she continues to be like "But We Don't Have Time to Unpack All of That" for several months)

Idea for a story: Again, so many lol. My favorite unwritten one is her battle with Loghain, because I think choosing to fight him is a turning point for her.

Unpopular opinion: Uhhhhh.....I think by virtue of her being mine, all of my Wen opinions are popular opinions. I guess: it's fucked up that she can't write to her family and tell them she didn't die at Ostagar, because I think at minimum she would have told Shianni. Alas, I also like the idea of them holding a funeral for her, so it will just have to remain fucked up.

Favorite relationship: Torn bw her and Ali and her and Morrigan. Haven't shared any of the latter, but I like their "we are going to sit in complete silence and that is fine with both of us" early-game vibes. Wen misses Morrigan a lot when she takes off, and I think the intensity of the loss took her by surprise.

Favorite headcanon: It's all headcanon c: But I think she visits Soris a lot after he leaves the alienage and she is just the Cool Aunt to his many children. It's one of the few places she is only herself, not the Hero of Ferelden or the Arlessa or anything else. She teaches them how to pick locks and fight, of course, to Soris's chagrin (though he comes to admit it's practical in time)

Revka:

First impression: Oooh pretty! 👀

Impression now: I am holding her gently in my hands, absolute wife material, nobody talk to me

Favorite moment: Her tearing through the Circle Tower to find Ceral is *chef's kiss* one of my favorite tropes! I love how much she loves him.

Idea for a story: Wen and Rev begrudgingly trading off Warden-Commander duties. I think it would be funny and they could always try to bribe each other to get out of things, which offers an absolute wealth of story opportunities.

Unpopular opinion: hmmmm I feel like this doesn't apply?

Favorite relationship: I haven't seen much of her dynamic with the rest of the party, but I like the dynamic you've built between her and Ceral (and of course Wen and Revka's friends to lovers pining thing in our throuple au, but it felt like cheating to say so first c:)

Favorite headcanon: Secret bookshelf room with all her smut in Vigil's Keep. Secret smut library with nice comfy couch and nice convenient fireplace.

[bitegore]

🍄♻️🤔

🍄Describe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “_ + =__”

okay for the sake of my fucking sanity i am NOT going to presume I get any real wiggle room here. or i will do another 400 line proof. because it is fun but oh my god it takes so long.

((Felyx + Taran)(Rex + Haven + Taran) + fake dating)^spite = fireworks

♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP(s)

not sure it qualifies as a "wip" because I haven't actually decided to pull it out of the graveyard of abandoned-works out-of-progress yet - call it a wip-aspirational or something lol - but the more I poke at Haven and Taran's actual story the more fun I have thinking about siccing Rex on the two of them. In like 2020 or 2021, so, a good while ago at this point and at a time I'd describe myself as "rusty" I started working on whatever the worst version of a meetcute is (ending in the equation above) lol. If I recall correctly my endgame then was that the three of them would fall into a stable orbit. I think that's kind of silly now. They're not that kind of people.

other scrapped idea, same story: Rex and Taran were meant to get along. That's not happening. It's a lot funnier if Rex and Haven (both deeply, deeply difficult people to get along with who hate accommodating for other people) can find a way to coexist pleasantly but Taran, resident NormalGuy who is extremely accustomed to unpleasant asshole bullshit, genuinely cannot get over Rex's various fuckeries beyond, like, the civility of "I recognize that you are living in my house now because the other person who lives here really likes you, and I don't want to have a screaming match in my own fucking kitchen." I tend to make Rex tolerable to speak to when I write him on his own because it's narratively difficult to use a protagonist who will just spit anything handed to him in someone else's face, but in this particular setup he is actively attempting to get Taran's genuine actual hatred on purpose because he's under the impression that's the goal and he's having fun with it also, so it lets me just make him a huge cunt asshole too which is more fun than having him show any scraps of humanity anyway :D

ok let me come up with something you have actual interest in lol

The Rex & Casey conversation fic I was working on ran into an unrecoverable roadblock (I decided the premise needed work) and has to be restarted in a different place with a slightly different version of Casey (tragic!), so one of the things I had to scrap to keep it rolling is Rex commenting on the color of the sky. It's really sad for me because I always think it's funny when you have a guy In a hell dimension like "damn... this place is weird.... the sky isn't bright red, it's eerie". But I can't justify The Story bringing Rex into The Real World as a Plot Element now that I know more about how it works, so I

......

Aha. Well. Actually. I can't justify Alan using The Story to bring Rex into The Real World, because I know how he works. Might have fixed my opinion on my own premise.

We'll see, I'll sleep on it. It needs to cook longer anyway. I also realized (aw2 spoilers) (for serious) (skip this paragraph now if you havent at least finished the first run of the game) if it happens in The Story In The Real World it's got to be situated between Saga's first time going through the loop with Alan and the Final Draft, but I still haven't found enough time to watch t full playthrough of Final Draft, so I'm sure when I hit Zane's part in there and then endgame I'll know a bit more about the direction I want to take.

🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet

Anything like that I have, either it's so busy being a concept I cannot write it yet, or I've started it just to make sure I won't forget it XD so it's hard to come up with. And most of the concepts are less "this is the kind of story I want to write", so much as "this is the kind of effect I want it to have". You know. I want to write something ~mind-bending~ or I want to ~do talking animals but cool~ or whatever.

A lot of words to say I'm drawing a huge blank on this question.

I think - and this is something I keep approaching with different stories but not leaning into, because, frankly, I'm the first line of concept-check for myself, and i get bored - I'd really like to try a story that works as one extended record-scratch. You start at the very end, in a scene that means basically nothing to anyone, and then in the events of reading the entire rest of the story you get more and more context until the very end of the book is the exact same scene as the first part, like, down to the description, and then it just loops infinitely. Something you could read spiral-binding style so it doesn't really have a "start" or an "end", just points between chapters with cardboard so you can close it anywhere, if it's a physical book. you know, some experimental shit.

Unfortunately I find time loops boring as hell to write. This would be ONE loop, so it'd maybe be better, but I'm still kind of burnt on being willing to touch another timeloop from how badly I did not enjoy the one I wrote for an exchange like two full calendar years ago. And also I do have other things to be doing.

That's also not a story! That's a plot structure! I might as well say I want to write The Hero's Journey for all it really tells you 😂 at my heart I'm a parodist, I'm going to need to see someone do it wrong and decide to do a better job than they did to really get a fire lit for an actual narrative here. I do love me some themes of insurmountable stupid bullshit you put yourself into on purpose because you decided you could surmount it and then discovered you couldn't, and some futile attempts at some stupid shit for retroactively-really-dumb reasons that weren't worth it, so it'll have that. as seasoning. because what is a permanent stable timeloop but one person committing suicide over and over? I'm only really able to approach the properly frozen-in-sequence ones as either Hand Of God (boring) or Sunk Cost Fallacy On Steroids (fun! interesting! miserable in a slightly unusual way!) so...

....well, it's going to have to keep simmering, because I like what I've got in the broth, but there's no meat in there yet, only spices. It would make a terrible meal right now. But it answers the question, I think.

[emptymanuscript]

I totally want some kind of gameplay element like Chants of Sennar in Tripoke.

Like, you see a sign:

It's yours to do with as you please. You can ignore it. That's fine.

OR

You can collect the symbols and contexts and figure out what they say and mean.

Up to you.

And if you figure them out correctly they're clues to other things to go and do. Which you might stumble on anyway. And figuring them out wrong might lead you to other places to experience other things.

The real STRUCTURAL heart of what I want to with Tripoke is to not have a MetaPLOT but to have a MetaLOCATION.

The idea is a shifting hexcrawl, for lack of a better term. There's a Huge world with lots of STUFF in it, and the PCs don't know how big the world is and how much stuff is there or how it works. They go to a location (again, hex for lack of a better word, even though I'm not actually using a hex map) for one reason or another and simply deal with what's there. They can map it out or not, again, doesn't matter. They can interact with it or not (though the stuff in each hex may have its own ideas and forcibly interact with them).

That's my exception I'm making for the "starting" hex. You have to start here for the "tutorial" (read: the GM is still figuring all this out, too, so let's start where it is safe and easy to fail AND easy to just get back on board) level stuff. These people in this hex are relatively low level and actively seeking people to help them move from one hex to another because they need to do so. Once everyone knows what they're doing well enough, I'll be loosey goosey on where to start characters from, as well. If someone says, "Hey, I was really interested in Hex 183 back there but didn't feel it was appropriate, can I have a character going there for some reason?" "Sure, we'll follow that up. Who's the character? Why are they going there? And when you've got their scores, I'd like you to deal a hand for me."

The big "In Character" secret, which I'm just giving up in my attempt to turn my preconceptions and narratives on their head for my own mental health, is that the hexes shift (again, for lack of better terminology). While you might take a route through a canyon in Hex 5 (arbitrary #, like I said, I'm not actually using hexes at the moment, I might change my mind later if needs demand it) on your way from the desperately impoverished Faurgwerner (Shoemaker/Cobbler/Sutter - Faur -foot - Gwen - to, clothe -> Faurgwen - shoe - r(Final consonant)er - possessor of the state of being of the rest of the word >_< because I'm dumb and obsessive and it's Hesswarner and not German, which MUST be totes different >_< someone stop me, please, it's a different world and literally nobody but me cares AND even I won't care in an hour >_< I do not need to make my Cowboys & Dinosaurs Weird West RPG have lingusitic merit at all)

Ahem, that paragraph got away from me.

Better:

Even if you accompany the Dinosaur Drive from the desperately poor Faurgwerner Triceratops Ranch to a market in the burgeoning 20 year old city Farriver through a canyon in Hex 5 , even if you retrace your steps exactly from Farriver to the Ranch, so you're walking over what should be your own footsteps, you won't necessarily find the canyon because Hex 5 might have shifted into Hex 300, so you find what's in Hex 300 instead of what you expect in Hex 5.

The world in the game and the characters that inhabit it have not figured out that the Long Wild (what I intend to be the majority of the game's setting) does this. It is the missing explanation for how untamable the vast plains are and what happened to all the people that there seems to be plenty of signs lived there.

And it's intentionally meant to be a complicated enough mechanic inside the fiction that me simply rolling / drawing / randomizing the results will do for game purposes. If the player wants their character to figure out the pattern. They can have the CHARACTER figure it out and treat it like a normal skill thing. The CHARACTER can say, "Eureka, I've got it! If we observe [Technical Nonsense that the CHARACTER understands but we don't] and cross reference it with [Technical Nonsense that the CHARACTER understands but we don't] then we can calculate via [Technical Nonsense that the CHARACTER understands but we don't] that [Feature the CHARACTER is trying to anticipate] will appear at [Time/location to appropriately match the CHARACTER's needs which is necessary for them to know but we'll just make it happen because the details don't actually matter to us, just what happens when we get there]." And the scientist NPC character will nod in approved amazement. "By the stars and mountains, you're right! It's [Technical Nonsense that the CHARACTER understands but we don't] but how did you ever figure it out? That would take [Some amazing Character Merit you paid points for, described from the in world point of view]!" "Lucky, for us, I was up to the task. Hurry, we've barely enough time, allowing for inevitable inconveniences, to make it before [Time they care about but we don't]."

Because, again, I don't want metaplot. I want the plot to simply be whatever emerges. Just quests available to be found and engaged with or not, more or less at desire.

I just think it would be neat to have some kind of simple puzzle solving mechanic quest (find this nonsense and its meaning) the other way where character's can get clues on how to try and make certain shifts occur at their own will.

Essentially, giving a mini-game way to explain why the monster's dungeon is right next to town. Who would build next to a monster dungeon?? No one. But if the PCs can learn to shift the land right outside of town into the dungeon they want to raid (and hopefully then back again) then the proximity is suddenly explicable. The dungeon is there because the PCs put it there magically. The PCs learned this bit of magic and can summon this bit of area and interact with it. It also opens up the tactical advantage of trying to shift areas as a solution to difficulties.

If the PCs happen to learn of a hex full of water and learn how to summon that hex to where they are. Not necessarily useful most of the time but if they then end up in a hex full of fire elementals, they suddenly have a viable tactical advantage against the fire elementals WITHOUT actually engaging in combat with the elementals if they can figure out how to survive being dropped in the middle of a lake also.

Technically, I wouldn't even need to make a real language or anything. Not even real symbols. I could do the exact same thing as the dialogue. You see a rune, make a check, ok, you are now able to deduce that this is the rune that will summon that hex with a lake in it.

The advantages of giving the players the ability to fiddle in a puzzle way with the runes is that it caps the speed of advancement to what we can actually follow and it allows the players to come up with a combination that I haven't even remotely thought of or prepared for. And things can be fun when they go off the rails.

And I need to stop talking about and prepping for this game and actually just F*ing Play. Oy!!

My brain >_<

[strixcattus]

You know what? Babel Text.

I've been working on the conlang Yvelse for... a couple years now, I think? I wouldn't call it a stellar piece of work or a beast or anything, but it's decent-sized and I feel like talking about it, so. No proper gloss as I am tired (this text is straight from the Google Doc, which also does not have a proper gloss, merely a retranslation where I leave the grammar as-is), but I'll annotate. A lot.

SEN. Sa yɾe soɾalnol sen ocremyln meɾen.

Nothing of interest here unless you're really into (completely regular) plural forms. Sentence structure is a firm SOV. Worth noting before we get in any deeper, I am deeply inconsistent with the IPA. "C" is /k/. Vowels are completely regular, except "Y" is /ji/ at the start of a word and /i/ otherwise. All other consonants are as they'd be in English, or if they don't appear in English, in IPA.

LEVY. Sa srēc honym-hoplen sϕu lotseɾen ryn srēc suntly Shynar shu cereln ny evsɾen mansɾen, sa srēc melum ny cyveɾen.

Bit more to unpack here. "Srēc" is a neutral third-person pronoun—long vowels only appear in compound words and pronouns. "Honym-hoplen" translates as "east," but a more literal rendition would be "northeast-southeast" or, better yet, "airward-fireward." Why would anyone do this???

Let's talk history for a moment. From within my writing and notes, there are two very old languages on Deus, created directly by the gods, named Elder and Ancient. These two languages are Latin and Old English respectively, as there were words from both languages sprinkled through the worldbuilding before I ever dreamed Yvelse would be a proper conlang. Elder was clearly named after it went extinct, as when it was created it would have been the only language in existence and thus not needed a name. Ditto for Ancient, no doubt—maybe their original names have been lost to time?

Elder and Ancient blended together and had a kid, Old Dean. Old Dean was pretty much an evolution of Elder with significant Ancient influence. Old Dean gave way to modern Dean, and there we are today.

At least one, maybe both, of Elder and Ancient had nice little direction words based on how the gods saw the world from above, as a square with four sides. These words survived to modern Dean. Yvelse... didn't get that. Its speakers had to make their own direction words, and at the time, the four sides of their flat world were not the most obvious basis for such a thing. Instead, they turned to the four primordial elemental seas, which cover the corners of the world. Hence, such a strange construct for "east."

CON. Sa srēc, sen soɾal nevy nysoɾal, “Eɾan ocurnaɾan βeppōm, sa otēc lumē ansecom” vysɾen. Sa srēc anseɾa ocurnaɾan meɾen.

Not much new here, but we get to see all three kinds of long vowels! There's the return of srēc and a new pronoun, tēc (third-person inanimate plural), as well as the verb βeppe being conjugated with an affix (future tense, -om) that changes its final vowel and makes it long. Lastly, lumē is the adverb form of lume, "whole." Adverbs are formed by lengthening the final vowel.

Kind of nice to get verbs in a tense that isn't distant past (that's why everything ends in -ɾen or -sɾen).

TANTSUTU. Sa srēc, “Eɾan uββer osoɾaly sa ōntme, tsyce shu aϕen tsen ny βōm, nohumom, sa eɾan oweta nylornom, vem oweɾan cerelnol usse hyshelcaɾo taβōm,” vysɾen.

Me βo translates as "to be." Me taβo would be "not to be." I like how English handles infinitives and I wanted to make use of it. There are no infinitives in this text and this paragraph was supposed to be pointing out the negative prefix.

"Shu," which has popped up a couple times and will pop up a couple more, indicates possessiveness.

VLY. Sa tsenvo yɾe uββer osoɾaly sa yɾe ōntme, ϕe yɾe soɾalec nohuɾen, peɾen.

"Tsenvo" specifically means elder god—"tsyvvo" is a lesser god. The guy being ticked off at this tower is a Big Deal. Also, "pyhec" is a new third-person plural pronoun! This one is used only for children. I love how many ways I can translate a word that's only ever "they" in English.

HEVA. Sa yɾe tsenvo, “Shoper, yɾe soɾalnol sen βo, sa pyhecol sen ocremyln men, sa pyhec ceɾorshy, sa syl operc nypyhec emeɾoɾo sɾor fyn βōm, fen pyhec otem sylve,” vysren.

Worth mention at this point that o- is a prefix for direct objects and ny- a prefix for indirect objects. "Yɾe," which has shown up a lot, is a definite article.

POL. Sa βontrun, “En cereln sɾo lunom, sa pyhec shu ocremyln melum ny neϕerom, vem pyhec nevy soɾalec shu hetseɾa tatsushonom,” vysren.

βontrun is the first singular pronoun we get to see. (The plural is βontec.) This one is of course also third-person, and applies to someone of a higher social status than the speaker. In this case, the one of a higher social status is an elder god. (And it's also "they" when retranslated into English, because we can't tell the god's gender from this text! Dang!)

SHONCU. Vem yɾe tsenvo yɾe osoɾalec cerelnol usse hysheloɾa.

The numerical system is very regular in terms of syllables: the word for one is one syllable, the word for two is two syllables, the word for three is one again, the word for four is three... the ABACABA pattern (ABACABAB?) makes it easy for me to guarantee I don't miss a line. It's also a base-eight system (while we humans form our base from our ten fingers, Velsen take theirs from the eight phases of the moon).

SHONSEN. Vem yɾe ōntme wetaɾo Papel βo, βereshe yɾe tsenvo yɾe soɾalec shu hetseɾa melum ny neϕeɾen, sa osrēc cerelnol usse hysheloɾa.

With no B in Yvelse, Babel had to be changed to Papel, because the next closest option was βaβel, and that is clearly suboptimal. "Shonsen" is "shon(cu)" (8) + "sen" (1), or 9, or 11 as it'd be written. Yvelse has its own numerals (and is probably the world's source of a 0, as the other language in play is Latin, leaving the only other possibility to be that Roman numerals are in modern use on Deus, an idea too horrendous to comprehend) to go with its own writing system, but neither is supported by Tumblr. Yet.

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Review: Last Seen Online by Lauren James

There is something about thrillers with an online element that I find really intriguing. With the internet being as wild as it is, it often feels like anything is possible here -even things you previously thought unbelievable. Add the insane energy that fandoms contain and it's the perfect mix for a twisty, shocking thriller.

Aspiring, young actress Delilah has a nightmare audition for her school play but it sees her paired up with Sawyer, whose mother starred in a very popular TV show decades before. A show that ended when one co-star apparently murdered the other. But Delilah has come across some mysterious blog posts from back then, written by an online persona called gottiewrites, who appears to know things about the actors' personal lives. Before long, Delilah is immersed in a world of conspiracy, obsession and the fact that the truth of what happened may still be hidden.

From the very first paragraph, we are clearly supposed to think of Delilah as relatable and 'just a normal girl'. She worries about the same minor imperfections that we do and so, it's obvious that she is us in the story. Having a character who serves as the reader's eyes in the story is a really great device but I'm not sure I should have been able to 'see' the workings of this in the writing. I probably would have liked Delilah just as much as I did without being immediately told that she worries about bad breath or her period showing.

I really liked how the story was told in various forms of media and that we were introduced to the scandal as it unfolded in the press. It meant that we were given evidence to come to our own conclusions as Delilah was piecing things together and that made for a really satisfying read. I also felt like I got to know the show, despite it never being an actual show. I don't know whether Lauren James has any experience with the makings of a TV show but it felt very well researched.

Of course, we also get gottiewrites' blog posts to read through. I really believed in gottiewrites as an obsessed online fan but sometimes some of the choice of words made me think 'hmm, was this how we spoke in 2014?'. As someone who was heavily involved in online communities in 2014 and before, some of the language that gottie and their commenters use felt far too contemporary. For example, I don't remember us talking about 'receipts' 10 years ago. It's a minor thing that I know some readers won't even notice but it did take me out of things temporarily.

The way the comments spiral was really well done and read really authentically. I could believe that these were copied and pasted from a real Tumblr post. I could almost hear all the different voices chiming in with their thoughts and I definitely forgot that James wrote all of these bits too. It's a real art to come up with all of these tiny character appearances, so I really commend them for that.

Delilah's characterisation as an obsessive friend also felt really authentic. She displays more than a few neurodiverse traits and I'd believe it if the author confirmed that she's undiagnosed but certainly autistic. Her intensity frightens her friend Nida and this is something that many autistic people come up against. I've not seen it displayed quite as explicitly as James does it here, so I really appreciated that.

Last Seen Online is definitely a page-turner. The nature of the format (the blog and comments make up quite a lot of words) slows down the pacing but the fact that I wanted to keep reading it means that it is worth diving into. I can see how some readers might find the plot convoluted but as I said at the start of this post, it's believeable if you know anything about the craziness of online fandoms. If you like YA stories that explore celebrity culture, scandals and fandom investigations, you'll love it.

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

You know what's a crazy aspect of being human? As you move through the world and interact with people, you start to learn that not even "neurotypical" brains all work the same. You want an example? No? Tough.

So for the entirety of my life, I've had traits that made me puzzled by some things about other people.... til I realized that not everyone's brain [or even most brains] do that.

Once I read a book, even just once, if I pick it up a decade later I will remember the entire book after reading the first paragraph or so. [I have to REALLY love a book to re-read or own it.] I genuinely didn't understand how people could say that they remembered reading a book awhile back but don't remember anything about it so are re-reading it as though it is the first go.

I don't have that ability for anything, really. In the first 5 or 10 mins of a movie or show, I can tell you if I've seen it, when, and the entire plot/arch. As opposed to me watching a movie with my dad, him saying he's not seen it, and me slow turning to look at him incredulously before I tell him that we watched it together not one year ago. He has zero memory of anything he's ever watched that isn't LOTR, Star Trek, or Python. It's baffling and frankly I'm envious. [Note: my partner does this, too, but he has debilitating levels of ADHD.]

It's pretty well known that after hearing a song a couple times, I will know most lyrical content, compositional elements, and somehow also know the title, band, album, and sometimes approx release year. There's also a tab in my brain that is constantly open and running a Shazam adjacent program that scans for song lyrics in any context, and upon finding some... or any it autocompletes the song in my head. Or if i'm tired/not paying attention, it does this out loud. My partner started playing a game without telling me. He will spontaneously start playing a song from youtube on his phone and if I name the band and song before the chorus I win. He recently upped this by tossing random song lyrics into conversation to see if I continue the song from that lyric. I only figured out what he was doing because living here I also learned that not everyone listens to music like I do.... almost constantly. He and the kids watch/listen to youtubers of various types, so him playing music was out of the ordinary and I asked about it.

[Less fun automatic brain function is that I am hyperaware of my surroundings along with the people in them and my brain unconsciously stores the behavior patterns of people I spend time with allowing me to seem like I can predict the future via knowing what they are looking for without them saying anything or showing up with a cup of tea when they are about to make one. This one is less fun because sometimes it creeps people out and also my brain is like this from spending my first 1.5 decades raised by hateful narcissistic people who also had personality/mood disorders. it was a survival skill. ]

The last weird thing is that when asked if I've seen an object, my brain basically pulls up an image of the object, then slowly zooms out to reveal the context in which I last saw it. Doesn't matter how long it's been, the photo in my brain is very detailed and exact. It can also summon other memories in a similar fashion. It has become slightly less reliable as the unrelenting pain of existing during my 39 years on earth with my Unbreakable Ancestral Curse has impacted my brain in ways I wasn't prepared for. IE it fucks up my memory, some motor function, and sometimes just gives me static for a couple days. 0/10 stars for the curse. Then again, I live with 4 people who all have severe ADHD and 3 of whom are kids, so stuff gets moved for no reason a bunch making my recall less reliable simply because shit is no longer as static as I'm accustomed to.

ANYWAY, it was just an interesting thing I was musing on after my partner walking in to me petting the dogs to the drumline of a Slipknot song, looking confused and asking "Didn't you play bass because your parents wouldn't let you play drums?" Which... yeah. That's 100% true. But my brain is a weird sponge and I love music, especially shit with great drums. I've been listening to a lot of Gojira lately. You should too if you are into metal or just really talented drummers.

It's nice to know that my OS still confounds my partner despite being besties for 10 yrs and living together for 2.

[note: before you comment/ask, yes I've been assessed by neuropsych and various run of the mill psychs repeatedly over the years. medically neurotypical and mentally sound, just real fucking weird for numerous reasons.]