#and the worst times are when I become self aware and that really breaks my focus but I know I’ve got to keep going

[flygonscales]

2 weeks at uni and I’ve already reached peak procrastination. I found masking tape and somehow decided that the best use of my time was to make a tiny Belphemon-sleep.

[teaboot]

Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?

My earliest memory of what I would call self-awareness occurred spontaneously in the middle of my fourth birthday party, where I suddenly became alert to my existence as a separate entity surrounded by other conscious beings.

This presented to me as not dissimilar to simply being brushed along the flow of a river- experiencing life as a serious of flashbang moments and instants and sensations, like meditating to music until the individual notes break into sounds that follow no rhythm and are only noise- no past or future, only now- and then suddenly finding yourself holding a paddle in the belly of a boat with no idea what to do next.

I remember running to the body that felt safest, who I did not recognize as anything else, and asking it who all the strangers around us were. The person that I learned was my mother told me they were my aunties and uncles, and I was being silly because I KNEW them, and why was I so shy all of a sudden?

Learning to articulate myself after that instant, I remember, was immensely frustrating. Learning your first language, as I remember it, is wuite a bit like how Ive been told recovering from brain damage feels like.

YOU know what you mean. YOU know what you're saying. But there are holes where you reach for something you know MUST be there and find nothing, and must find a way to communicate using only what you have at hand. Except there are always faces looking at you, talking down to you, asking you to do tricks for them to prove you really are a real human person.

I loved art, and I'm very good at it, but GETTING good at it was the worst. I'm told I started with scribbles at six months or so, before I could walk, and at three and four I remember being immensely frustrated that I could see in my head exactly what I wanted to produce, and I didn't know how to PRODUCE it.

And simple shit, like drawing shapes and circles, developing fine motor skills. You FULLY UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT, but your hands are soft and wobbly and don't cooperate. Getting your mouth and body to obey your directions is hellish, especially when all the appliances and furniture and installations around you are built for someone easily triple your size.

Chairs are hard to sit in when you're small and cant touch the ground. Your legs dangle and you cant scoot closer to the table, and the backrest is so far back you cant use it for support, and the table comes up past your chest so your chin is amost in your plate and your dumb clumsy hands cant hold a big spoon or fork in a way that feels natural or elegant so you end up smearing shit EVERYWHERE and getting yapped at for having your elbows on the counter.

Reading people was interesting. Most people are condescending and plastic when you're small, and you can tell when they're being saccharine and fake, but you're told the polite thing is to believe what they say and be polite back. I used to try using big sentences on purpose just to het them to leave me alone. "What a pretty girl! Can you say Hello?" was the most common ask I can recall. Id answer with the floweriest thing I could think of, usually, "I'm very well, thank you for asking, how are you?", because people only ask you interesting questions after you do well enough on their tests to prove you're people.

Being small was very tiring, and very frustrating, and becoming aware of myself in my own head probably made everything a lot worse overall.

No regrets, though. From what I can recall, life is far more enjoyable when you're aware of it occurring. Time can't slow down until you know it's there, I think

Being a baby full of instincts felt like living as a live grenade. Being a child was far harder, but more Full. More Human. A LOT more like adulthood than infancy, and I was very determined to remember that.

If any of that makes sense

[frostbitebakery]

A Disturbed State Of The Natural Environment, Gods-Fucking-Dammit

A Pada-Wan Story

for @lttrsfrmlnrrgby

“Obi— Commander Kenobi-“

“You can call me Obi-Wan, Cody,” the kid huffs. “Neither you nor I will suddenly combust into a ball of fire if you do.”

You don’t know that, Cody thinks, not liking how his voice sounds in his mind.

Four days since the incident - or, “The Incident,” how Boil and Waxer like to say in unison with the bucket lights under their chins -, two since the 104th of all Battalions received their signal and towed the 212th fleet to the nearest station within the Republic that would allow them to overhaul the ships’ electronics.

It has been exactly two point five hours since Wolffe stopped wheezing at Cody over comms. Nearly as much time as the kid had vanished from under Cody’s paranoid nose.

“Councilor Kenobi is safe and sound,” General Koon had assured him while Wolffe stood at perfect parade rest a step behind, shriek-laughing his armor off.

The kid sighs. “You have come here for a reason?” he asks, stubborn and prim. “Or is Wooley babysitting me not enough?” He points a thumb over his shoulder to Wooley popping up several yards away, waving.

“If you haven’t noticed Hook, Line, and Sinker also keeping an eye on you, my trepidations are justified.”

The kid rolls his eyes, gesturing to three empty looking spots in the distance. “I am well aware Master Koon is in league with you.”

Cody will not explain safety precautions again. He’s saving that for when the kid really sets out to stomp on any and all walls Cody had to hastily and thoroughly built when his General, his partner, suddenly turned into a child at the worst possible development stage for Cody’s sanity.

The kid studies him while Cody is trying to come up with a legitimate reason for looking for him. Direct admittance to personal concern would backfire on Cody in multiple, entertaining ways, and he frankly doesn’t want to deal with that. From the kid being smug that Cody cares about him very much so keeping his distance must mean something more. To accusations of not trusting Obi-Wan (which, correct, Cody doesn’t know him after all), seeing him as a kid (also true) when he’s sixteen and basically a stone’s throw away from becoming a geezer.

Sixteen. Cody shudders. He remembers very well that half year when he was that developmental age. He shudders again. Gods, the mood swings alone.

“I am reasonably paranoid about your welfare,” he says at last. Wooden which makes him cringe but he’s never lied to Obi-Wan and he’s not starting now.

The kid stares at him for a while. One corner of his mouth quirks up with a shrug and a shuttered look in his eyes Cody desperately wants to make better. “It’s different when they really are out to get you, isn’t it.” The Council had explained how precarious his older self’s safety was at the best of times. Cody had only seen the aftermath and the accompanying ranting about life choices with the occasional visibly happy understanding that Obi-Wan could, actually, grow a non-patchy beard when he’s got a few more years on him.

“May I sit with you?” Cody asks. Shoveling his own metaphorical grave is so much easier with mixed signals after all. But he misses the older Obi-Wan. It’s not fair of him but he needs this.

The expected blush blooms on freckled cheeks. “Yes, of course!” is the eager reply, followed by more blushing.

It’s endearingly cute and Cody would like to chew on his bucket now.

The kid scoots over, wide eyed and expectant.

Gingerly, Cody lowers himself, ignoring the armor digging into his ass and thighs. And lets the silence stretch.

This, really, is what he came here for. A self-indulgent little break to catch his breath. The High General of a Systems Army is compromised and that fact has to remain eyes only to an exclusive handful of people. Only the Jedi Council knows out of obvious necessity. So it’s up to Cody to keep everything else running, keeping the admiralty in the dark because even teenaged Obi-Wan had said he’s got a bad feeling if they were to tell the brass. So they haven’t.

Usually, when flimsiwork and war horrors keep stacking up and expand into an avalanche, Obi-Wan and Cody sit together in silence, sharing a precious cup of real tea, being together and lending support and strength they can’t find for themselves but can always, always find for each other.

Selfishly he wants that strength from Obi-Wan now, the warmth of his body nearby. He’s already breathing easier.

The kid is looking at him curiously, but Cody chooses not to say anything. Instead he turns forward once more, watching the busy night markets of the station and the stars behind it. After a moment the kid does the same.

Shoulders slowly relax and the silence becomes comfortable.

[carame1bunny]

Hi!:D

Wanted to ask if you mind writing smth smth heavy angst for Jayce? Some mental breakdown maybe with hints of self-hatred, cause so far all the fiction I saw was about Viktor having bad time, but I really want to see my bbgirl Jayce suffer:(

Bonus points if Viktor actually finds him like that for the first time and is scared as hell but helps the golden boy (JayVik for life yeeeah)

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭! 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭!<3

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞��𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭(𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟), 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

It was all becoming too much. The invisible grasp wrapped around his heart was becoming tighter and tighter.

His days were spent trying to please everyone, while losing himself more. Every expectation from him chipped at his will to live. As the days became weeks, he realized that he just couldn’t please someone without hurting another. The more he tried to make good, the more he spoiled and complicated things.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he slept soundly, the cogs in his mind never stopped.

Hextech, the Council, the question of Zaun’s independence—they never left his mind.

He was absolutely sure that if it wasn’t for his sleeping pills guaranteeing him a good night’s sleep, he could have easily ended up in the hospital.

However, it all changed when you popped into his life.

To him, you were a breath of fresh air, a safe place he could always hide away in.

You were the electric impulse that kept his heart beating.

When with you, he felt like nothing was impossible.

Your gentle petting made him sleep like a bear. That good, dreamless sleep that he desperately craved.

For more than a year, you kept him from going insane. However—nothing lasts forever.

One day, it all came back to him.

His own mind constantly torturing him. The pressure.

Again, he could only rely on those little blue pills, which only added to his guilt. He was so lucky to have you, and he still depended on them.

Before, when he passed by a mirror, all he could see was a successful and brilliant, and a fool endlessly in love.

Now, all he could see were the heavy bags under his eyes, the constant line between his eyebrows, the everlasting frown on his lips, the slump of his shoulders and the worst of all…

That dull empty look in his eyes. Gone was the young scientist with big dreams. For a while, it was affection that held him together, but he lost sight of what was important along the way. The person in the mirror made him want to shatter it into tiny pieces. His insecurities soon found their way to him. Jayce felt ugly, like a beast, on the outside and the inside. He hated the scars on his face, the gap in his tooth, the pudge on the bottom of his stomach.

He hated himself.

Even your touch couldn’t soothe him, and those were big words. Your presence didn’t brighten his day like before. He was still deeply in love with you, it was his declining mental health at fault, not as if he saw it that way. He couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you. He would rather bash in his own skull with a hammer, than breaking your darling heart.

He thought that no one saw his suffering. Not the people of Piltover, not the Council, and not even you. He mastered the art of acting like he was happy, even you believed it. You had no idea how many tears he shed while holding you in his arms.

However, you happened to notice that you saw him less and less. Rainchecks started occurring more often than not. While it saddened you, you knew how hard he worked and tried to accept that. And you were more than aware that trying to talk to him about it was no good. Whenever the topic of his mental health came up, he shut down. He either became mute or angry, at himself, of course.

But, since he barely saw you, Viktor was the one seeing his declining mental state. He, too, tried talking to Jayce, but got the same behaviour. The scientist figured that it was a phase that would pass by. Boy… how wrong he was.

It happened on a rainy night. Viktor just couldn’t fall asleep for the life of him, especially after working on a calculation all day, with no direct answer. Once he laid in his bed, an idea popped into his head, a potential answer to the rune combination that nagged him the whole day. He quickly got dressed and made his way back into the lab. As he got closer, he could hear it. It was so unexpected that, for a second, he was sure it was his exhaustion. A moment later, he heard it again.

The sound of Jayce Talis sobbing.

He peeked in and his eyes widened. The decorative mirror in their lab was shattered to pieces, and Jayce was kneeling before it. His sobs made his whole body shake, his knuckles were bloody.

Viktor knew that he couldn’t do anything, he wasn’t what Jayce needed at the moment. He couldn’t provide the gentleness that the golden boy needed, but one other person could.

He rushed back to his room and dialed your number.

After a bit, you were nearly tearing the lab door down.

You ran all the way to the Academy, fearing that if you got there later, Jayce would harm himself. As you stepped in, your heart tightened. Your sweet boy was looking up at you, but he wasn’t the Councilor Talis that Piltover knew… No, he was a scared boy, whose walls finally came tumbling down.

There wasn’t a second wasted, you fell on your knees beside him and immediately cradled him into your arms. In a flash, a pair of strong arms were clinging on to you, the head buried in your chest seeking comfort. Your shirt got wetter and wetter, due to his tears that were refusing to stop even for a second.

“Oh, my darling…” Your fingers caressed his hair. Just the loving and gentle touch he needed.

“I…I—Please, forgive me…” he half-said and half-sobbed.

“It’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“It’s just… all of it. This… pressure.” His body grew more limp and tired with every cry. “I never asked for this!”

You held his face in your hands and lifted it, so his puppy eyes could meet this. You smiled gently at him, which caused his expression to slightly relax. “I know. I cannot imagine being in your shoes. But admitting that this pressure is making you crack… makes you the strongest person I know. No one else could do what you do, and take pride in that. Also, take pride of the fact that you are a person, and as a person, you are allowed to feel like everything is too much. It’s not shameful to take a break. It. Does. Not. Make. You. Weak.”

After some silence, he spoke.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Come on.” You helped him up from the ground. “Let’s get you home.

Once you were home, you cleaned up the cuts on his knuckles, and helped him into bed. Eventually, his cries stopped. His body left the tension behind. Finally, he could let himself rest, the world could wait.

As he laid in your arms, felt that healing touch of yours, he could only think about one thing.

It was all going to okay.

[slippinninque]

🥤Taking Five 🥪

Alex Cross x blackfemreader

In which Alex lends a hand

Warnings: None! Fluff and a reminder to us all to take a lil break!

You went to make a move towards the door before I was opened but you froze when Alex's eyes popped wide at the sight of your frenzied state, slowly setting down what looks like the pizza you had delivered and a bag that held in the squeaks of Styrofoam containers.

"'Heeey, baby...what are you up to?"

Alex's weak attempt at a greeting made you laugh, fretting as you ran a hand over the scarf covering your hair. You knew how you looked--like someone who hasn't taken a break since the previous work day.

"This isn't what it looks like! ...Maybe."

Alex raised a brow at you and turned dramatically to show all the files, steno-pads, and prints littering your living room floor. You were at the center still sitting cross-cross as you looked up at Alex's approaching form.

"You forgot I had a key?"

"....lil' bit? Uh, you came over really fast."

"Sounded like you needed back up. All I heard was turning pages and that squeaky ass highlighter you use."

"Aye, ease up on my bestie, okay? We're two weeks strong at this point!"

Alex watched you stand and winced at the series of pops and cracks you let out but had no reaction to. Had you really sat there since he called you damn near 5 hours ago? Alex went over to put lunch onto the kitchens table. Glancing around, he saw a single bowl and mug in dishwater. Another glance to the top of your fridge confirmed that, thanks to the open top of your Apple Jacks, you had a very distracted breakfast and nothing else.

"Put. It. Down."

You rose a brow at Alex, looking up from the phone you took from it charger as you wandered into the kitchen. He rose both of his and tilted his head, making you pucker your lips and follow his directions.

You watched as Alex went through your space. You were so close to having figured out the timeline of break throughs of an ice-cold case, all traces of your body's needs fled in the face of the hamster wheel that's your brain has become.

Standing there in the middle of your madness, Alex finally turned to you and gave a little sigh. He held out his hands and the smile he gave you had you coming closer.

Alex kissed your cheeks warmly and your toes wriggled in your fuzzy socks, even as you tried to give him a suspicious look.

"I think it's time for a break, beautiful."

The worst words you could have heard at the moment. When you went to look at the manila folder still open to the curious fibers of velvet left behind---

A hand settled on your cheek and you whined in protest, "Baby..."

"I don't want to eat alone." Alex said over your whine before he brought you closer with his free hand, "An I'm ready to eat."

Well, that sent a tingle right down between your legs. You were suddenly aware of all the ink stains on your hands and your mismatched lounge wear. With a mumble, you tried to excuse yourself but Alex caught you around the waist.

He pulled you closer, smiled slowly, and kissed you deep. Your arms lifted up on their own to curl around his neck, swaying into him as you suddenly felt every hour you sat curled up around your notes.

"There we go," Alex's wide hands massaged your cheeks and down the side of your neck to watch your eyes flutter close, "That's it. C'mon, take your pretty self over there and grab some plates. You got any juice? I can go for some juice..."

You did as he asked, grabbing two plates and two mugs as well. Alex nodded you over to the couch after taking your load away. You couldn't help but to feel fuzzy at the sight of Alex going to fill your plays and fetch drinks.

It's not that you didn't like to be up under Alex, it's just you knew he had responsibilities. Real life shit that included two, brilliant little lives that needed care and attention. You didn't mind waiting your turn, it was what you were used too.

Alex sang a little tune as he came bearing two plates filled with a hodgepodge of food. Pizza and fries along with apple juice, your stomach roared and Alex 'tsked' at you as he joined you.

The pizza was still warm and you sighed as you took the first few bites. Alex watched you as if he could see the food going down into your stomach. One hand holding your cup, the other dodging your teeth-- you wriggled as you swore you felt the nutrients hit your system. Alex chuckled at your huff-eat-puff- rhythm and you laughed as best as you could, cheeks puffed as Alex reached out to swipe pizza sauce from your lip.

"I haven't heard from you until this morning and I gotta say, I don't like that one bit." Alex said pointedly.

"I know, I know--I got wrapped up. That's my fault."

"No fault needed. I just want to make sure you're eating something more than all that damned candy you got on your shelves."

You rolled your eyes and scrunched your features at him as you popped the pizza crust into your mouth. Alex was putting another slice into your plate, stealing a fry on his way out.

The two of you ate in silence until half the pizza and the entire batch of fries were gone. Alex took off his shoes and you found the remote to switch your jazz back on. You stretched out with a satisfied little coo before deflating onto the couch.

You felt more present than you did in the last 24 hours, finally outside of your head and note margins. Your hands felt lighter without the weight of files or your cellphone.

Alex clearing his throat caught your attention. He had long ago moved away his plate and instead leaned back against the couch, thighs spreading as he guested you closer. You eyed the space between his legs before grabbing the throw from behind you, sliding up against him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his own leaning back against the couch as his eyes closed. His arms were firm and he smelled so good. Maybe you can bargain for him to be your personal teddy for all the breaks you needed to take...

"I don't want to run you. I just want to take care of you." He said softly, "Take a little break every once in a while. For me? No more playing the living statue, right?"

"Right."

That got you a tight hug, Alex hum reverberating through you as you tucked yourself into a little ball. Alex pulled his long self up onto the couch and turned himself into the perfect body pillow. If your senses weren't so focused on relaxing, you'd probably be absolutely giddy. Any other time you were more motivated by those delicious thighs of his but being cradled by the man had you feeling a bit fuzzy headed.

"I took an hour. Think we can squeeze in a quick nap?"

Your answer was to tuck your face into his neck with a hush. His laugh was somehow just as warm as the hands wandering up and down your back. All thoughts of what had to be done went to the back of your mind as all you could think about was how comfortable you were.

Taking 5 wouldn't hurt a bit....

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✨ending notes: ✨Alex visited me in the middle of a loooong work day and what a wonderful daydream that was 😌💕✨TYSM for reading!! Tell me what you think, reblog and comment pretty please!

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[thesophistiicate]

hey im 20 year old female. recently i have recognised that i practice negative self talk a lot. any advices how could i stop or atleast reduce it?

how to cure negative self talk 🤍💭

the way we speak to ourselves can majorly impact our self worth and ability to reach our goals. i remember when i first tuned into my inner monologue… i was shocked and disgusted at how horribly i was speaking to myself all day every day. i had no idea! so i began researching how to stop it and implementing as much as i could. it definitely takes a lot of active work but i’m happy to say that years later i currently hardly ever have negative thoughts about myself (or others) anymore, and when i do it’s really easy to catch and deal with.

1. tune into your thoughts

it’s common for negative thoughts to run wild through our minds without us actually even noticing. the first step is to take some time to tune in and really notice what you’re thinking. the best time to do this is in “trigger” moments, like when you’re stressed, facing something challenging, looking at yourself, reflecting on a social interaction etc. how you talk to yourself in these moments will be very revealing.

2. actively reframe negative thoughts

flip any negative thought you have into an opposite, positive thought and/or speak to yourself with compassion and nurture. a common one for me when i was stressed while working and feeling stuck was “ugh i’m so stupid!” i changed it to “i’m smart and capable of solving problems”. it will feel silly at first but the more you do it, the more natural it becomes. with time you won’t have the negative thoughts at all.

3. journalling/writing morning pages

morning pages are from “the artist’s way”, which i recommend everyone read and try at least once in their life. but you write 3 pages of free flowing thoughts first thing in the morning (ideally). no self editing, anything that crosses your mind goes down. this is where a lot of your deep negative thoughts tend to spew out, and this allows you to see them, confront them, and view them as the silly little thoughts they are. your negative thoughts are from shame and fear; you need to express them and get them out. shame thrives in darkness but will shrivel under the light.

4. practice mindfulness and staying present in the moment

so often we spiral into negativity due to overwhelm. guided meditations helped me a lot (you can find them on YouTube, Spotify, insight timer etc). you’re essentially trying to re-wire your automatic brain response so you need to be able to stop running on autopilot and actually tune into what’s happening inside by gaining some control over your thoughts. it’s literally like training a muscle so is difficult at first, but you get better at it the more you do.

5. eliminate distractions and consider a dopamine detox

we numb and distract ourselves in a variety of ways. whether it’s constantly surrounding ourselves with people, scrolling social media, binge watching tv, over-using substances or other indulgences etc… these things are fine in moderation (and actually can be necessary to overall wellbeing, i think being constantly self aware can also drive you crazy and you’re allowed to have a break) but take note of how often you are actually numbing yourself out and promoting disconnection with your mind. you need to be able to face your thoughts.

6. notice how you think about others, too

i’ve mentioned before one of my worst qualities to overcome was the fact i could be very judgemental and arrogant. i actually found this was directly related to my negative self perception - after all, what we think about others is usually actually just a projection of how we feel about ourselves, our insecurities, our fears. so i also made an effort to stop judging others and instead find positives to focus on. this worked so well to overall retrain my mind toward positivity (and also started attracting much more healthy and positive relationships into my life too).

and consider tailored support if necessary

if you struggle with any of the steps on your own, a therapist, counsellor, coach, or other professional may able to be help with more personalised guidance 🤍

[various-things]

garak: best ending and worst ending

Thank you for the ask!!

As an ASIT-enjoyer, Andy's writing influences my strongest post-canon opinions (and is also always a strong influence on my general feelings about Garak as a character re: various motivations but! I don't think that conflicts with or undermines canon discussion). I suppose in the long fic I'll eventually finish I'll explore my take on a "best ending" of sorts for Garak within that additional non-canon series of events, but in my answer here I'm going to stick to the show's events as what's "known."

In the show itself, I'm pretty satisfied with Garak's ending. He gets multiple things he has wanted for years at immense personal cost. Threads of his story are closed off and new questions are raised, more recent trauma is created, possible futures are inferable. Surely, after he leaves us in that control room, he'll be trying to help Cardassia in some way; being useful is something he understands as such a core need for himself. When I think of a worst ending for Garak in some After beyond the closing of the show, I see some degree of continuation of what we saw in the final season: his actions directly leading to immense loss. In the show, his code-breaking leads to attacks on Cardassian planets. He loses his last family member because he came to her for shelter. Two million people were murdered in Lakarian City in a direct retaliation for acts of sabotage carried out by a rebellion he was involved in leading. All of it visibly devastates him. The Dominion is ultimately stopped and he knew the cost to Cardassia could/would be great, but how he processes that trauma in the future is yet to be determined. In a worst ending, I see him trying to help Cardassia recover in some way and his actions continually resulting in more death, more harm, more suffering, without accomplishing the things he is trying for. He wants so badly to help. He thinks he has skills and knowledge to offer, but his presence only seems to result in more horrible things. Maybe sometimes it couldn't have been predicted—some awful bit of bad luck or chance that didn't work out. Maybe sometimes he made a genuine mistake with a horrible cost. What does he do then? Has this series of tragedies alienated him from other Cardassians even further? More isolation but where now he feels it is profoundly and fundamentally because of himself? But I think the continued loss he'd caused, the harm he'd done, would be the worst thing to live with—even if the potential solace of revenge may no longer be an avenue he could explore, not with this. In a best ending, I'd hope he'd be far removed from the potential to do so much damage, if he could let himself have a life like that. I think he would need to know of other leaders that he believed in. He'd need to become aware of others he felt some degree of trust in as far as their ability to help a people (because Cardassia really is the people and romanticized culture for him) he loves so much. I'd hope he could lead a life where he felt useful, and where he could help others, where the stakes are not so dire and the fulfillment would remain profound. I think he has a great (insufficiently self-acknowledged) need for a lot of healing ahead of him. He would get time and space for that, a life with comfort and softness, and small frequent pleasures. And of course, Julian would be there. The person Garak loves so much and who has played the biggest role in the ways he's changed. For Julian, I think something other than a life with Garak would need to unblock Julian on pursuing that. We've seen various stuff get them together in fic as far as something like that—him staying on Cardassia because he's a doctor and he can't leave the hurt people who need help now, or ways his relationship with Ezri doesn't work out, etc. But in Garak's best ending, Julian is also there. I really enjoyed answering this, thank you again for the prompt! <3

[space-matt]

always there for you

matt.sturniolo x fem.reader

summary: They’re not easy days for you, especially when you’re in your dark ones. But luckily you have someone by your side who can make you smile

cw: fluff, mentions of depression, anxiety and hint of cheating

author note: hi all! this is my first story here so pls be kind! I really hope that you’ll like it 

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English is not my first language, if you see grammar and typing mistakes, I apologize in advance! I just ask you not to be rude to me ♡

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revised

"You've gone through the worst time you've ever had."

You’ve always dealt with situations differently than others, and when you’ve been diagnosed with depression, you’ve had confirmation.

It wasn't easy, but thanks to the support of your parents, you slowly got out. You started to live better even when you moved a couple of hours from home to university, only for the first year.

You had everything you could want: good grades, a group of dependable friends, and a boyfriend. But fate dealt you a cruel blow when you caught him in bed with the one friend you trusted.

The city of New York can often leave one feeling trapped and in need of escape. After much contemplation, you decide to embark on a journey of self-discovery, leaving behind a part of yourself in the city that has been your home. With your bags packed and heart filled with anticipation, you prepare to step out into the unknown and embrace new adventures in Los Angeles.

You had managed to find a small apartment and a job at a bar, but despite that, you still had an uneasy feeling at the end of each day. This feeling kept you uncomfortable and you couldn't sleep all night. On top of that you had a lot of work to do, which only added to your anxiety about managing everything.

As you were getting ready to start your shift at the bar, you suddenly saw a man walking towards you with three large glasses in his hand. You tried to move out of the way, but unfortunately, he ended up spilling the drinks all over you. The man, later introduced as Matthew, or Matt for short, was clearly apologetic and offered to help clean you up.

After a few minutes of awkward laughter and wiping the drink off your clothes, Matt suggested that he take you out that same evening to make up for his mistake. Despite the unexpected situation, you agreed to his offer and exchanged phone numbers with him. You couldn't help but feel intrigued by this fallen angel from heaven.

As you spent more and more time together, you found yourself becoming increasingly drawn to him. At first, it was just a casual friendship, but as you got to know him better, you began to see him in a different light. You found yourself admiring his sense of humor, his intelligence, and his kindness.

And as the days went by, you realized that you had developed genuine feelings for him. And it seemed that he felt the same way. The two of you spent more time together, going on long walks, sharing meals, and talking late into the night. It was as if you had found your perfect match, and you couldn't imagine spending your days without him. 

As things seemed to be settling down, your depression episodes grew more intense, keeping you in bed for days.

Your employer had prior knowledge of the situation, but they were understanding enough to grant you a few days of leave without any consequences or negative impact on your job. They recognized the importance of your well-being and the need for you to take time off to deal with the matter at hand, and therefore, they supported your decision to take a break from work. This allowed you to address the issue with a clear mind and return to work feeling refreshed and focused.

Matt was aware of the different medications you had to take in order to alleviate the disturbing thoughts and he was always there for you, supporting you no matter what. However, one thing that bothered you was that no one could see you in that condition, and the fear that one day he might become exhausted made you sink even deeper into the pillow.

For four consecutive days, you found yourself unable to get out of bed. You only left your bed to relieve yourself in the bathroom or to drink water which you had kept on the bedside table. Matt, who was concerned about you, tried to visit you by using the duplicate keys. However, you were not comfortable with the idea of him seeing you in such a vulnerable state, and you refused to let him in.

Despite your love for Matt, you couldn't help but feel guilty and ashamed of the state you were in. You couldn't understand how he could love someone like you who was unable to get out of bed for days. You tried to search for answers, but your mind was foggy, and you couldn't come up with any.

It seems that Matt's accidental spillage of glasses on you may have actually been a blessing in disguise. According to him, having you in his life is one of the best things that has ever happened to him. Your presence and the joy you bring him make him feel incredibly fortunate. Your smile, the touch of your hands, and the way you gaze at him with love and affection leave him spellbound every time.

In fact, if anyone were to ask him if he had any grievances or dislikes about you, he would be at a loss for words because he adores every single part of you, inside and out.

At this very moment, he is putting effort to find something for you, despite knowing that it might not be an ideal time. He wishes for you to comprehend that your appearance does not matter to him. Whether you have been wearing the same pair of pajamas for days, or your hair is messy and you have no make-up on, his only desire is to support you during these difficult times and be there for you every single second.

As you hear the sound of the keys fitting into the lock of the door, you quickly turn your head in the opposite direction. You notice the alarm clock on the bedside table and see that it marks 9:28 in the morning. You realize that you must have passed out last night without even realizing it, and now you are waking up to a brand new day.

In the meantime, Matt straightens up the house and knocks on your door. To his delight, it opens to reveal you lying under a white duvet. He slowly approaches. "Hey, babe, you're awake" he says. You turn around without meeting his gaze, but you can pull yourself up, noticing your favorite red roses on the bed.

You gaze into your partner's eyes, who says "Babe, look at me" Your voice is hoarse from not having spoken in days, but with longing shine in your eyes you say "I missed you"

Matt sits down on the bed beside you and pulls you into a tight embrace. You feel his strong arms wrap around you, and you lean into his chest, feeling safe and loved.

As he holds you, he whispers softly, "I missed you a lot too" Matt tilts his head down and kisses the top of your head, making you feel even more loved and cherished. The warmth of his embrace and the softness of his lips on your head make you feel like all is right in the world again. You take a deep breath and smile, grateful to be reunited with the one you love.

As you hold onto him, you can feel the weight of your emotions bearing down on your shoulders. You know you pushed him away, but you couldn't help it. Looking up into his eyes, you try to explain. "I'm sorry I pushed you away, but you know how I get when I'm in this state" you say softly, hoping he'll understand.

He stops and looks straight into your eyes, his gaze unwavering. "You don't have to worry" he says, reassuringly. "You need your time, and I respect that. You don't have to face this alone. Just know that I'm always here for you. Don't forget it" he adds, his voice gentle and comforting.

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. The weight on your shoulders slowly begins to lift. He leans in and kisses you tenderly, and you feel the warmth of his love surround you. "I love you" he whispers. "Love you too" you reply, feeling grateful for his understanding and support.

That's what you missed, him. Matt is the person you have been longing for and he has the ability to make you feel good.

[katyahina]

Gascoigne's beast form stuff (ask reply)

@ anon I decided to respond in this blog instead of my personal/rambles one, hope this is ok!

(Model ripped by tokami-fuko on dA ( x ))

I think this is a fair suggestion that his transformation might go even further, especially considering the fact that he not only barely has any fur, but also his skin keeps its color! Beasthood has a consistent trend of making skin that unnatural grey color:

(LOVE that they bothered to give bestial hunter's normal form unnatural skin color too despite the fact that we can't see it in game! Sometimes their attention to detail is just.. something)

Amelia is probably the biggest pointer as we are clearly shown her human skin color on her hands in a cutscene.. In fact, arguably, Gascoigne is doing a bit better than average Huntsmen, or even better than the fellow Old Hunters (look at hostile Old Hunter mob and 'true' form of Bestial Hunter). He has been losing himself to the hunt and paranoia for a while now and finally lost it, but he doesn't have that much fur, his skin color didn't alter. (He also doesn't have horns unlike Cleric Beasts, Abhorrent Beasts and even Large Huntsmen, but these are not for all beasts so we don't have to count them!)

I think that Huntsmen are transforming gradually over time, consumed by blood and aggression, and their 'final' form is Scourge Beast type, when they become completely animalistic:

I think it is valid to believe that Gascoigne could transform even further, there are enough reasons to think so! He is still too humanoid, all things considered! I will just move onto my personal interpretation now!

The thing about Cleric Beast-leaning Gascoigne is a really great topic of discussion! He already was a 'Father' (as in, religious figure) in his homeland, so, a cleric! As for Yharnam life, not only he was with the Healing Church once and quit it, but also his transformation happens extremely abruptly, that we only saw with Amelia!

(Interviews: ( x ))

The thing about Cleric Beasts is that they're so horrible because they've been holding back for so long. I can imagine Gascoigne being the same, as someone struggling to hold back so much for his family. We just happen to meet him when he finally breaks, but the guy must have had a huge will power to last as much as he did. +Also, please correct me if this was debunked, but as someone who always uses hunter summons to examine their patterns I've noticed that Gascoigne is the only one who never even once uses Blood Vials? If this is intentional, it could be a further evidence of his self-restraint: avoiding consuming the blood being aware of its addicting properties!

But here is why personally I do not headcanon that Gascoigne could transform even further! Unlike average people that are turning gradually, with strongly self-restraining people whatever form they take when they finally break IS their inner beast, it its truest form! This IS already his "cleric beast" form.... And it is not all that big and scary or impressive, because HE didn't have as much evil to hold back as average clerics in Healing Church. One person's very worst won't be the same as another person's very worst, but I also think it psychologically "helped" him to waste some aggression in the hunt - something Laurence and Amelia didn't have!

He murdered and part of the dark urges would escape through it, but he did not hunt in the same unhinged way as Ludwig either, so he is not transforming into someone as big and scary as him. He is just helping people! Not to mention Viola helping him to calm down with the music box when he was forgetting himself in the hunt. Just the right balance between what impulses to restrain and what to unleash!

My personal headcanon is that he cut the ties with the Healing Church over its corruption and wish to self-isolate and abandon the hunt (with the exception of its own walls), leaving the citizens to fend for themselves and defaming Oedon Chapel to bury the "proper" hunt as a concept. He was a honest man with a sense of justice and could not stand resorting to safety and not doing anything to help... But he still had religious principles of self-restrain and patience internalized; if not Healing Church ones, then those of the Church in whatever country he came from! It is also why whereas I believe that Cheric Beast of the Bridge was a Healing Church hunter too, since he drops Sword Hunter badge, he certainly avoided the hunt except for maybe defending Amelia, and mostly participated indirectly as the commander. (Honorable mention: Henriett that did the same, because her clothes imitate Old Hunters' set and she is a summon against Healing Church bosses, but she has Church weapons).

_____________________

Thank you very much for an ask, it was interesting to think about and it helped me to shape my interpretation of the character better! He definitely has something in common with Cleric Beasts, but I just personally like to think that as a 'hold back and snap' kind of beast rather than 'gradually transforming' kind of beast, this IS his "worst"- Still very strong and fearsome, but far from how much evil the corrupt clerics held back! He is just a good boy!

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [1/?]

hello!! I've been wanting to write a longer h/c fic for awhile. This is the exposition/first installment to that (4.8k words).

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written for these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

“A wedding,” Vincent repeats.

“Yes,” Yves says. “A wedding.”

It’s his cousin Aimee’s wedding—she’s four years older than he is. Back when he’d gone with his family back to France over the summers, she’d been one of the people he’d grown quickly to look up to—someone who knew the ins and outs, it seemed, to every stage of life he was in the process of stumbling through.

Yves has always been used to being looked up to—one of the natural consequences, perhaps, of being the eldest in his immediate family—and he likes to think that he’s good at giving off the impression that he has things figured out. But he’d grown close to Aimee at their family reunions precisely because she was everything he tried to be: strong-willed and resilient, self-sufficient even in the face of hardship.

Aimee’s getting married to Genevieve—someone who Yves has only met a couple times, but who manages to be one of the sweetest people he’s ever met. All in all, it’s a wedding he wouldn’t miss under any circumstances.

Leon, his brother, and Victoire, his sister, will be there, along with Aimee’s friends and the rest of his extended family. The problem is that Leon keeps in touch with Mikhail. Mikhail let slip that Yves has been seeing Vincent. Leon told Victoire, who told Aimee. And now Aimee is offering to pay for Vincent’s plane ticket to their wedding in France in the spring—a bit of a last minute arrangement, but she’d sounded so excited at the prospect that Yves was finally seeing someone new (“I’d love to meet him,” she’d said over the phone, “would it be too much to ask him to take a couple days off work? Oh my gosh, please give me his contact details, I’ll send him an invitation,” and she’d sounded so excited about it that he hadn’t had it in him to turn her down).

“It’s very last minute,” he says, “but my cousin’s getting married, and she really wants to meet you. It’ll be some time in early March, in Provence. She says she’ll pay for your flight, if you want to go, but you’d probably have to take a couple days off.”

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking at him. “And you want me to be there?”

“Of course I do,” Yves says. “I think it’s more a question of whether you want to be there.”

Vincent looks back at him, his expression carefully blank. “Are you sure you want to introduce me to your family? That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that you’d take lightly.”

“They want to meet you,” Yves says. “And I wouldn’t mind introducing you. I think they would really like you.”

“It would be a waste of your time,” Vincent says, quietly, “to introduce me as someone you’re serious about if we’re just planning to break things off.”

Yves is well aware of the fact. This arrangement with Vincent—the trust he places in Vincent; the practiced familiarity, the feigned intimacy—has an expiration date. The fact that he doesn’t know when the expiration date is doesn’t change the fact that it will, inevitably, end—when Erika gets the point, or fades from Yves’s life entirely; when Vincent finds someone he considers worthy of pursuing in actuality; when either of them become interested in dating again. Whatever it is that ends up ending things, Yves knows: what he has with Vincent right now is strictly temporary. 

Perhaps it would be disingenuous to lie to his family about who exactly Vincent is to him. But then again, Yves thinks it isn’t much worse than any other relationship, with all of its ups and downs, all its hopes and uncertainties. It’s not like he can ever guarantee that a relationship is certain to work out, no matter how serious he feels about it in the moment. So is there really any harm to introducing Vincent as his current partner—as someone he feels certain about now, but maybe not always—and to leave it at that?

“It’s not really going to be my day, in the first place,” Yves says. “My relationship status is more of a conversation starter than anything. And even if you go by the timeline we told Erika, we haven’t even been together for a year. I don’t think my family will think much of it other than, like, a small and noncommittal window into what I’ve been up to. So it’s really up to you.”

“I think it would be fun,” Vincent says, “though only if you’re sure about having me there.”

“Great. I’m sure,” Yves says. “Everyone will love you.” He does think it’s true. Something about Vincent tends to have that effect, he thinks.

—

The fact that he and Vincent are traveling together is not exactly a secret.

Vincent agrees it’s best shared on a need-to-know basis—they won’t be the ones to bring it up, but if someone asks about it, they’ll answer honestly. It would be more work, Yves thinks, to have to coordinate lies about this.

But he runs into trouble not even two weeks later.

“So you and Vincent are taking the week off,” Cara says to him carefully, over lunch.

“Yes,” Yves says.

“Any plans?”

“I’m actually flying to France,” Yves tells her, uncertain about whether or not he should mention Vincent’s involvement—if Vincent has talked to Cara about this already, there’s no point in hiding anything, but he should be careful with the information he discloses otherwise. “One of my cousins is getting married there.”

“Oh,” Cara says, all too knowingly. “What a coincidence. Vincent told me he’s also planning on going to France.”

“I… heard,” Yves says, slowly. “He’s told me as much.”

“I didn’t realize France was such a popular tourist destination for march,” Cara says, smiling at him. “I thought most people went over the summer.”

“You know what they say,” Yves says. “France’s beauty knows no seasons.” 

“You should ask Vincent which part of France he’s visiting,” Cara says, with a smirk. “Maybe you guys can book a hotel together.”

Yves is positive he’s being laughed at. “It’s the third largest country in Europe,” he says. “I’m sure the chance of us ending up in the same region is statistically very low.”

“I think Cara knows we’re fake dating,” he laments to Vincent later, in the break room. “I mean, the dating part, not the fake part.”

Vincent blinks at him. “Did you tell her?”

“No,” Yves says. He doesn’t think they’ve been that obvious about it. “I just told her I was going to France. She made some undue assumptions.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I told her I was attending a wedding there.”

An impromptu trip to France, over the same week at the tail end of busy season, to attend a wedding. Separately. Yves is starting to understand where Cara's suspicions might’ve come from.

“That would do it,” he says.

Perhaps they really need to coordinate what a need-to-know basis means. Cara is, thankfully, not the type of person to gossip, from what Yves has gathered, but if their coworkers know, that could complicate things. “I don’t think she’ll say anything,” he says. “But I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d assume.”

Vincent seems to consider this. “It’s fine,” he says. “Though it might prove troublesome when we decide to end things.”

“We can figure that out when it happens,” Yves says.  

At some point in the foreseeable future, everything will go back to how it’s always been. Yves had been fine on his own for a long time before he’d met Erika. He’s sure he’ll be prepared for it when it happens.

—

The entire drive to the airport feels surreal.

Mikhail drives them. They leave at the crack of dawn—4am, on the dot. Victoire’s in the passenger seat, dozing off, and Leon, Vincent, and Yves are crammed into the backseat. 

Yves sits in the middle—there’s not much leg room to go around in the first place, but he tries to take up as little space as possible, mostly for Vincent’s sake. He and Leon have been crammed into far smaller cars on far longer road trips.

Leon says, “This is the earliest in the morning I’ve ever third wheeled.”

Victoire, who has her eyes shut, says, “It’s very nice to meet you, Vincent.”

“Likewise,” Vincent says. 

“Yves has told us all about you,” Leon says.

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking. “What has he said about me?”

“Mostly that you’re super hot,” Leon says. Yves, who is in a perfect position to elbow him, elbows him for that.

“You make me sound so shallow,” Yves says.

“But also that you’re really good at your job,” Leon continues, patting Yves on the leg. “Did you know Yves likes people who he’s slightly intimidated by?”

“I never said that,” Yves says.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Mikhail says. 

“You guys are conspiring against me,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs. 

Leon launches into a series of questions—about how they met, about who asked who out first, about what it’s like at work, about what kinds of things Vincent does for fun.

“No wonder Yves is totally whipped,” Leon says, after Vincent finishes telling a story about how he’d given a presentation at a conference in place of his then-boss, who had—due to unforeseen flight delays—found out last minute that she wouldn’t have been able to make it on time. Yves hasn’t heard this story before, but it doesn’t surprise him that Vincent would be able to pull that sort of thing off, even with such paralyzingly short notice. “You’re exactly his type.”

Just great. If anyone could dig a nice, fitting grave for him over the span of one conversation, Yves thinks, it would be younger brother. 

“I can’t believe he hasn’t invited you over for dinner yet,” Victoire says, her eyes still closed. How much of this conversation she’s actually been awake for, Yves can’t say.

She makes Yves promise that, after their trip to France, Vincent will be over for dinner. (“Sure,” Vincent says. “Just tell me the date in advance. I’ll clear my schedule.” Yves will have to apologize to him after this—for some reason, Vincent has an uncanny talent for ending up invited to half the things Yves is personally involved in.)

Yves is awake enough to hold a conversation, but he finds himself yawning mid-sentence on more than a few occasions. Vincent doesn’t so much as yawn at all over the entirety of the car ride. Yves has no idea if he’s always up this early, or if he’s just naturally immune to tiredness—another signature of his good genetics, next to the fact that he looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot, or the fact that he manages to look good in everything he wears. Some people just win the genetic lottery, Yves supposes.

For some reason, he finds he feels a little more tired than usual. Waking up early is never easy, but usually he’d be distinctly more alert by now. There’s a strange, uncharacteristic heaviness to his limbs—it’s the kind of grogginess he only experiences when he hasn’t been getting enough sleep for awhile.

It’s fine. They have an eight hour flight ahead of them—they’ll be flying into Marseille, and then being driven up to Provence, where the wedding will be taking place. He can catch up on sleep over the flight.

As they’re unloading the suitcases from the back trunk, Vincent says, “Your family’s nice.”

Yves laughs. “I’m relieved they haven’t scared you off yet. Sorry for the… well, interrogation, by the way.”

“I can tell you’re close to them,” Vincent says, a little more quietly.

When Yves looks over, something about Vincent’s smile looks almost wistful. Yves wonders, briefly, how well Vincent has kept up with his own family. If he’d ever been packed into the backseat of a small car, back when he’d lived in Korea; if over some long road trip, he’d ever had to come up with increasingly inventive ways to pass the time. If his relatives ever teased him, then, about the crushes he’d had when he was younger, or anything else. If the ocean that was suddenly between them came with another, less tangible kind of distance, the kind that even phone calls and international flights can never quite bridge.

Yves doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know how he’d go about asking if he wanted to know. How is it that sometimes, he feels like he knows so much about Vincent, but other times, he feels like he knows almost nothing at all?

—

Aimee has booked him a seat next to Vincent. 

They’re a few rows away from the others—I wanted to seat everyone together, Aimee had texted him a few weeks back, but when I was booking Vincent’s ticket, the seats up front were all sold out, so I just moved you so you’d be sitting next to him. 

Now, he watches as Vincent pushes his briefcase gingerly into the overhead compartment.

“You must not be new to flying,” he says.

Vincent nods. “I’m not.”

“Eight more hours,” Yves says, taking the middle seat so that Vincent doesn’t have to. “It’ll be over in no time, especially if you take a nap.”

“I have some work to get done,” Vincent says. “Only after the plane takes off, though.”

Right—no electronics larger than a cell phone until they’re 30,000 feet in the air. “I thought this was supposed to be your week off.”

“It is,” Vincent says. “I just want to make sure everything’s still in one piece by the time I get back.”

Yves has never quite been comfortable on planes. It’s not that he’s afraid of flying, or that the turbulence bothers him—it’s more just the cramped space, the noise, the anticipation, the discomfort—all of it compounds. It’s usually difficult to get to sleep, but he’s so tired right now that maybe this flight will be an exception.

There’s just one problem: whoever is in charge of the air conditioning in the airplane cabin really hates him. Compared to Provence, New York’s climate is generally more extreme—colder in the winters, hotter in the summers—so all he has on him right now is a thin jacket. It’d be perfectly reasonable attire in most situations, except for the fact that this airplane in particular is unusually frigid. It’s definitely cold enough to be distinctly uncomfortable, especially considering that he’s just sitting in place. Yves crosses his arms, suppressing a shiver.

“Do you think Aimee will be convinced?” Vincent asks.

“Convinced?”

“That we’re together.”

“I’m sure she has better things to do than play detective over the state of my relationships,” Yves says, with a laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“It’s why you invited me,” Vincent says, “is it not?”

“Pardon?”

“To show the rest of your family that you’re not still hung up over Erika.”

“I invited you for a lot of reasons,” Yves says. “For one, you’re good company.”

“So are all your friends.”

“I thought we could both use a week off,” Yves adds. “It’s France, in the springtime. What could be better?”

Vincent says, “I need you to tell me what to do.”

“What?”

“Your cousin paid for my flight,” he lists, counting off his fingers. “Your family is paying for the hotel. Your best friend drove me to the airport.” He says these things as if he’s listing off all the ways in which he’s indebted to them. “It’d be easiest for both of us if you told me how to make a good impression. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

Yves blinks. “I don’t think you’d need my help to make a good impression.”

“You could’ve taken anyone with you, but you’re taking me,” Vincent presses. “There has to be something you need me for.”

If there was nothing, you wouldn’t have invited me. The sentiment hangs between them, unspoken. But Yves can see it in Vincent’s expression. 

“My favorite cousin is getting married,” Yves says, fervently. “To her fiancee—who is also super cool, by the way. My whole family is going to be there. Do you think I’d choose to endure an eight hour plane ride sitting next to someone I didn’t like?”

“Maybe,” Vincent says.

Yves shakes his head. “It’s true that my family wants to meet you. But if I didn’t want you to come to France with me, I could’ve come up with an excuse.”

He twists around in his seat so that he’s facing Vincent directly. Narrowly resists the urge to reach out and grab Vincent’s hand. “I like spending time with you. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t. You don’t have to do anything out of the ordinary—if you have fun on this trip, that’s more than enough.”

Vincent stares back at him, his eyes wide. 

Yves has a feeling he’s said too much. It isn’t Vincent’s fault for assuming this is all just for show, considering everything that’s come before. Part of it is, but another part of him just really wants Vincent to have fun—to take in the sights at the gorgeous venue Aimee’s sent him pictures of, to have a week off in one of the most picturesque countrysides in the world (Yves may be slightly biased, but still) and not have to think too hard about impressing everyone. 

“Is that… okay with you?” Yves asks.

“Yes,” Vincent says. “It’s just unexpected.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Oh. Well. I’m sorry if I misled you, or anything.”

“You didn’t.” This time, Vincent really does smile—a sly, quicksilver thing. “For the record, I am very excited to go to your cousin’s wedding.”

“Thank god,” Yves says. “That’s good. I was beginning to think I was holding you hostage.”

He leans back into his seat, suppressing another shiver. Something about the changing pressure in the airplane cabin is making his head start to ache. It’s probably the elevation. Perhaps he should try to sleep just so that he doesn’t have to sit for eight hours with a headache brewing.

He shuts his eyes and tries. It’s no use. He’s tired, and the cabin is quiet enough, but it’s too cold to get to sleep—it feels impossible to get comfortable like this.

So he picks up a novel he’d been meaning to get to—something suspenseful, to offset the monotony of the flight.

When the seatbelt sign flickers off, Vincent unclips his seatbelt so that he can retrieve his briefcase from one of the overhead compartments, and spends the next half hour paging through multiple documents and leaving notes in the margins at a dizzying pace. Yves slinks down lower into his seat, trying hard not to shiver. 

“Is it just me, or is it kind of cold in here?” 

Vincent frowns at him in a concerned way that seems to suggest that it really is just him. Then again, Vincent is unfazed by New York’s cold winters, so Yves isn’t sure he’s the best point of reference.

“Do you need my jacket?” he asks.

“No,” Yves says quickly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “If you’re certain.”

He turns his attention back to the screen, and Yves resigns himself to reading—or, more accurately, trying and failing to read. It’s mercilessly cold, and his head hurts enough to make focusing on any one thing an uncomfortable task. He gets through another couple chapters, finds himself rereading the same passage over and over again, and—finally, defeated—dog-ears the page and slides the book into the pocket attached to the seat in front of him.

The next time the flight attendants come around, Vincent says something to one of them Yves can’t quite make out. Yves asks for orange juice—it’s not supposed to be symbolic, or anything, but on the off-chance that this headache ends up being a precursor to something more unpleasant, he thinks it might be wise.

The flight attendant pours him the orange juice he’s asked for—no ice (right now, something ice cold is the last thing he needs)—and sets it down on the tray table in front of him. Yves stares down at it, blinking. He hasn’t eaten all day, but strangely, he doesn’t have much of an appetite.

He doesn’t register the flight attendant from before—the one Vincent talked to—is back until he hears Vincent’s quiet “thanks” to his left.

Something brushes against his arm.

He looks up. It’s one of those travel blankets they sometimes carry, neatly folded, though this flight hadn’t given them out to everyone at the start. They must be reserved—given only upon request, maybe. 

“You said you were cold,” Vincent—who’s holding out the blanket for him—says, by way of explanation.

Yves blinks at him. He’s about to reassure Vincent, instinctively, that it’s not that cold—that he would’ve been fine without the blanket, that Vincent didn’t have to go out of his way to ask for one.

But his head hurts. He hasn’t been warm all flight. To say that the blanket is a relief would be a massive understatement.

“Thanks,” he says, taking it. “This is perfect. I won’t be cold with this.”

He ends up wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tightly around him—like a cloak, or like the jacket that he might have brought with him if he’d had the foresight to anticipate feeling this cold on a commercial flight.

It’s nice. He’s still a little cold, with the blanket, but it’s enough to keep him from openly shivering.

He should really try to get some sleep, he thinks. It’s going to be evening in France when they land. A seat away from him, the window shutters are pulled up, but he can see, from the crevices around the window, that it’s light out.

“I’m going to try to nap,” he tells Vincent. “But wake me up if I need anything—elbow me if you have to. I’m not usually a heavy sleeper.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “I’ll try not to wake you.”

“You can wake me whenever,” Yves says, muffling a yawn into his hand. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent smiles at him, the kind of smile that implies he thinks he’s working exactly as hard as he should be. “No promises.”

It’s not easy to get to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He lays there for a while, his eyes shut—it’s certainly warmer with the blanket, but for some reason, he feels strangely restless. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of being here, with his family, with Vincent—on the way to see one of the most important people in his life get married. Maybe it’s the cup of black coffee he’d downed this morning to be awake enough to help Mikhail navigate and, subsequently, awake enough to actually be useful at the airport.

In the end, he falls asleep to the static hum of the aircraft, to the sound of Vincent hammering away at his keyboard next to him, incessant and comforting.

—

Yves wakes to someone tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m up.”

“A ‘light sleeper,’ you said,” Vincent says. “We just landed.”

Yves says, “I’m wide awake.” The yawn that he hides behind one hand is apparently not subtle enough, because when Vincent looks away from him in favor of staring straight ahead, it looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Vincent’s stowed away his laptop already—Yves hopes that’s a sign that he’s done with work for the duration of this trip, but more likely he just had to put it away for landing.

“How was the flight for you?” Yves says.

Vincent looks at him. “Uneventful,” he says, at last.

“Not enthralled by all the financial records you had to go through?”

“They were very enthralling. How was your nap?”

“Good,” Yves says, even though he doesn’t feel particularly rested. He’s just groggy, probably, and the headache is just as bad as it was, if not worse. He’s sure once he gets off the plane and gets some fresh air, he’ll feel much better. “I probably needed it.” His breath hitches, unexpectedly, he turns to the side, raising his arm to his face to shield the oncoming—

“hH-’IZscHH’iew!” 

The sneeze is loud, embarrassingly, and it scrapes unpleasantly against his throat, which feels… off.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, frowning. He looks more concerned than he has any right to be.

Yves flashes Vincent a distracted smile. “Thanks.”

Everything—from the moment they step off the plane—is exhaustingly hectic. 

The hotel in Provence is more than an hour away from the airport they’ve landed at. They have a bus to catch, which means that after they regroup with the others, it’s international customs, baggage claim, and then they’re headed, maneuvering multiple suitcases each, onto the bus. He sits next to Vincent, though on the aisle side, so that he can lean over and interject whenever Leon and Victoire say something that’s worth commenting on.

Other than that, he talks with Vincent, mostly—about Aimee, about how she’s been in his life for longer than he’s known how to write his name, back when his parents would take him back to France once or twice a year. (“She was practically an older sister to me,” he says, “except we never fought,” to which Vincent says, “You make it sound like not getting along is a requirement to be siblings,” to which Yves says, “It definitely is.”)

His parents flew into France yesterday, so they should be settled in already—they’ll catch up with them at the hotel tonight, if it’s not too late. He probably won’t see Aimee and Genevieve until tomorrow morning, at breakfast—and even then, that depends on how busy they are with the various wedding preparations Aimee’s been telling him about.

The roads nearing the hotel are uneven and winding. Halfway through the drive, Yves registers, faintly, that he isn’t really feeling any better from before. His head is still hurting from the flight, and when he swallows, he finds his throat feels perhaps the slightest bit sore.

He’s cold, too, in the sort of uncomfortable, persistent way that’s difficult to alleviate, even with extra layers or with a warm drink. He’s starting to suspect that maybe the airplane cabin hadn’t been the problem after all.

None of that is particularly visible to any of the others—that is, until he finds himself tensing up halfway through a sentence, burying his head into the crook of his elbow as his eyes squeeze shut—

“God, sorry, I— hh-! hHehh’iiZZSCHh’iiEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent, Victoire, and Leon say to him, all at once.

“You’d better not be getting sick,” Leon says, turning to him, with the sort of tone that implies that he’s joking. “That would really be the worst timing.”

“I’m not,” Yves says, swallowing against the soreness in his throat. “I promise.” Or, perhaps more accurately—he can’t be.

It will be the perfect wedding, he thinks. Aimee has planned it out meticulously, and she’s one of the most thorough people he knows. The weather forecast says this week will be sunny and temperate. He’s here, in France. Tomorrow, he’ll be surrounded by his extended family, and in the afternoon he and Vincent will head off to the welcome party, and he’ll get to give Aimee the gifts he’s gotten for her and introduce Vincent to everyone formally. Everything will go as planned—the welcome party, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and on Saturday, the wedding and the vows.

It will be perfect, because it has to be. Yves will be present, and attentive, and he’ll give the speech he has prepared at Aimee’s wedding, and they’ll all remember this week fondly. Even considering the small, almost negligible chance that he’s coming down with something, there are more important things he has to worry about right now, which is to say: Yves is going to do this right.

He’s going to make sure of it. 

[ Part 2 ]

[utilitycaster]

So to answer why I went with Treviso instead of Minrathous: I went in knowing the following.

You must choose to save either Minrathous or Treviso

This will cause either Neve or Lucanis, depending on your choice, to become upset with you and leave the group for a while, and when they return they will be harder to please and will not use their healing abilities anymore.

Romancing Lucanis is permanently blocked if you save Minrathous, but romancing Neve is NOT blocked if you save Treviso, though it’s harder

If you are a Crow or Shadow Dragon and save the other city the faction and the character will be particularly angry.

Lucanis and Neve will, if you don’t romance either of them, enter a relationship with each other, which intrigued me.

I also had read Tevinter Nights (has Neve and Lucanis stories in it) and listened to Vows and Vengeance so I had like, an outline of them as people, and I was aware of Spite as a concept.

Anyway. You see both Minrathous and Treviso before the attack, and at the time I did prefer Treviso (Minrathous city of fucking ladders) though I liked both. Because I knew Lucanis was far more broken up about the loss of Treviso than Neve would be of Dock Town, I had already decided on Treviso. I also do find Lucanis's argument more compelling, ie, Treviso will fall without help whereas Dock Town has people to fight.

I also, despite some things I've said in the past, don't dislike angst provided it comes with real tragedy as well, and so on some level it was very much a situation of "oh, I'm finding Neve EVEN MORE COMPELLING than originally stated, which was very? let me put her through the wringer." Like, again, hardened Neve is much less brittle - she doesn't break like Lucanis apparently does, she just grows colder, and she feels, for a long while, more justified in her cynicism. (I also think that women in fiction are increasingly allowed to explore anger or insecurity or self-loathing- and Harding and Bellara's stories are both very much about those - but rarely are women allowed to be both heroic and bitter. Again, I joke about all those plucky gingers with swords from my childhood and how formative they were, and they were! But a lot of the uglier emotions like bitterness and cynicism are still frequently not granted to heroic female characters, and letting Neve immerse herself fully in that for a while feels very refreshing.

As for specifically why it makes a better story, just to move this from the post where I initially mentioned it, I think it's a much more satisfying story for Neve to initially have her worst fears/beliefs proven (you can only rely on yourself, people will let you down, your work will never matter) and then slowly and patiently disproven. I think her notable softening after you work for her trust again hits better if you had lost it. Whereas for Lucanis it never really comes back (also, I cannot stress enough how good Inner Demons is; I believe the corresponding Neve quest you lose with the choice is The Soul of A City and I can't speak to it but Inner Demons is truly incredible).

I'll also note, as I spent more time in Dock Town post-dragon I fell in love with it. The influences are heavily Black Sea region, which has been a longtime personal interest (architecture and vibe is somewhat Istanbul; Neve mentions a Georgian dish, khachapuri) and it also kind of reminds me through the detective story elements and the broad region of The City and the City by China Mieville, a novel I love dearly which takes place in a fictional pair of overlapping cities that are vaguely Black Sea/Balkans coded. But also it's taken a heavy hit but it's nowhere near as bad, from what I understand, as blighted Treviso - Minrathous takes a heavy hit but the result is Venatori crackdown on the Shadow Dragons and increased hold on the city whereas Treviso just kind of collapses. It's much more interesting to have a devastating setback but not hopelessness, and the vibe of post-dragon Dock Town is fascinating (and, to be honest, kind of a big mood). Also the Viper trying to take down as many Venatori as he can before the Blight gets him is fucking metal and a great Mercer role in a game with three great Mercer roles.

So yeah, hard to compare since I've only seen one option and I'm mid-game, but so far the narrative of saving Treviso in terms of the stories of the cities, factions, and characters involved feels much more satisfying.

[screams-in-writing]

Wanna share w/ you the idea of Mr Puzzles turning off Reader's vacuum cleaner because it's "too loud" and he has to think about his movie ideas in peace

I was trying to answer from the reader pov and it wasn’t working, so I did 1st pov mr puzzles. He decided he wanted to be dramatic, then have cuddles and one on one attention. So this is fluff, with a lil end paragraph of possible future angst.

Silence could be a wonderful thing when one wanted to be focused on a task at hand, or it could be the worst thing in the world that was so soul-crushing one could find no focus or inspiration at all. 

It was my luck that it was the former, and I was delighted that you’d invited me over to your house to make use of your dining room table to work both on my own movie ideas, and the scripts of upcoming podcasts for you and your…coworkers/acquaintances. While I still believed these audio-based scripts could be better used in a television format, I wanted to be in your good graces after the…little incident in town, where I may have let slip my eventual plan I wanted for this charming place.

Through the movie script I was currently working on was, in fact, a rather charming little romance greatly inspired by those constantly running Hallmark movies. And as I’d informed your roommates, it was not a ‘blatant ripoff.’

(I would have to go through numerous drafts to make it so; curse those self-made critics picking apart my perfectly fine shows!)

In a compromise about my movie idea about your town, and the cafe as the centerpiece, I didn’t take any more townspeople into one of the many show settings within my mind that played out different scenarios of the script before me on the table (I may have not confessed to the latest batch of new actors but I would let them out soon, lest I be assured of kidnapping again; really, it didn’t harm anyone and made for great television and even better, I received great input of what did it didn’t work). 

But enough of that. 

Now that my perfect not-ripoff romance script was in decent shape, it was now the podcast scripts that were to be inspected. These scripts desperately needed my attention and my attention I would give them. 

I made remarks and suggestions on the margins, fixed grammatical errors, and even made some suggestions on an attached sheet of what could be used for references and who would be best to deliver the information for best reception. There were even a few lines that I came across made me experience grudging admiration. Even I had to admit to some things being left unchanged as it made it unique in its own way of delivering the information being spoken of within the topic of the podcast.

What I hadn’t realized at the time of accepting your invitation to do our own work within the house was that your work happened to be household chores while I worked my magic over these…decent scripts. I’d become aware of how those chores were split between you and your roommates. 

But must you really vacuum right now?

The noise was grating. 

The repetitiousness of the sound, shifting now and again as you moved that terrible contraction, drilled into my head with a ferocity that was slowly causing me to lose focus on the task at hand. 

What to do, what to do. 

I tapped my free hand in the table in thought before I perked up with an ‘ah-ha!’

Perfect!

I could use an excuse of having us both take a little break. Not only would that allow me to avoid having to listen to that dratted vacuum, but I’d get to spend time with you, without our focus on work and chores!

Taking a brief moment to arrange the papers on the dining room table (ensuring I’d be able to easily get back into it) I rose up out of the chair, stretching out my limbs, and pulling on what little muscle was still at my shoulders and thighs. 

Slumping in brief relief over the relaxation of those muscles attached to machinery, if a little achy, I made my way to the living room with a little hop in my step. 

And there you were, your back conveniently turned as you nudged a box out of the way to vacuum beneath it. 

Stealthily, I crept up behind you, before sweeping in with barely a sound as I wrapped my arms around your waist and carefully rested my head on yours, taking the opportunity to nuzzle with the underside of my head, careful to not press down to hard so as to not cause my neck too much discomfort, as tender as it was as of late.

“Hello, my dear!” I greeted while slyly turning you away from the vacuum while I turned it off. As I did, the noise dissipated, and wonderful silence took the place of the noise. “I think it’s time to take a break before we get too tired to discuss your possible participation it a show idea of mine.” I laid it on thick with dramatic flare, even turning you lightly to witness my face change to a sighing expression as I laid a free hand backward against my face. “And with that, I’d like to ask if you’d care to spend that beak time with me.” I was incredibly pleased by the face that you’d agreed with a shake of your head over my theatrics, but I was practically vibrating with excitement over getting to spend some quiet time with you without your coworkers or roommates around. 

“You’re always cuddling me, so I want to this time.”

I practically tripped over my own feet as I led you to the sofa, surprised yet flattered upon hearing your words. 

“Puzzles?”

“…I would like that.” I said, quieter than before. 

More genuine than I tended to allow for. 

After you sat down on the sofa on one side, I promptly sprawled my lower half out over the unoccupied part, carefully leaning back and smiling lighting up my face with what was likely several different technicolor shapes conveying this and my digital eyes no doubt closing partly when one of your arms went sprint my back while the other rested over my chest. Waiting for you to be comfortable, I carefully lay out over your lap the rest of the way, resting my head on the pillows you’d thoughtfully arranged. 

“You’re so lanky.”

Instead of a response, a static noise issued out of me when you lifted the hand resting on my chest to pet my head, teasing me by avoiding giving my antenna any attention but I was mollified when I felt your fingers slip beneath my hat to caress the usually unseen top of my head. It was embarrassing how quickly my entire body went limp as I sluggishly half-turned over to face you, while being mindful to keep my neck cushioned by the pillows, right before a particularly nice press to my casing caused my screen to fuzz out in the equivalent of eyes closing. 

This was a great idea.

No horrible vacuuming noise plaguing me, and being paid attention to. 

A win-win, in my option. 

And when there was light petting across my face, I would assume that my face allowed for a flicker of a content, multi-colored smile across the bottom of my screen. 

“I’ll make sure I clear my fingerprints off your screen before we get back to work.”

I let out a sigh of appreciation, experiencing quite mushy, complicated feelings over such attention being paid to my habits of a clean screen, due to the fact that this meant you’d been watching him closely enough to notice. 

“You’re not going to go to sleep, are you?”

“Only if you’re going to be the star of the dream.” I muttered, paying more heed to the sensations I was experiencing and not what was coming out of my mouth. Or rather, out of my speakers. 

There was a pause in your fingertips on my screen, before you resumed the touch.

I sank into the attention, appreciating the closeness to another. 

I was so lucky that I’d found someone who’d dote upon me and indulge me in what was likely a different kind of touch than one would normally think of. The fact that you’d touch me head so gently, and avoid poking into the vents on the side, made it nicer and more relaxing. More importantly, it was refreshing for you to be so tolerant and perhaps, (dare I say it?), fond of my presence, despite my past actions.

I could get used to this. 

But of course, it was unfortunately determined by powers outside my control that I wasn’t allowed to have anything nice in my life for once, as word of my misdeeds, both in town and on the world parallels to this one, began to come to light over the next few weeks.

[monsterlimbs]

I really like the idea of Durge's... you know Urges, and how to write them.

For Mordriel, I like writing them in a way that pulls from multiple sources. 1), sort of intrusive thoughts that come up much more when he's anxious, 2), their own disapproval of his soft actions, 3), embodiment of his frustration/anger, 4), a river of how Mordriel views Bhaal's thoughts and wants for him

MAJOR oc ramble ahead

So the Urges, in the way I write him, are their own voice, but he influences them HEAVILY, if not entirely. He has no control over what they say, but they are still completely influenced by him.

For 1) and 2), they often get the worst when he's being "gentle" or "loving". This is mostly because he gets anxious when he's acting like that. When he's cuddling or he's physically close to someone he cares about, he's overly aware of his movements, weight, claws, etc. He was created to kill, which makes even the simplest acts dangerous, and so he's VERY careful. Especially with Astarion, who he deems... well, physically weak. Once they get together, Mordriel would NEVER call him weak, and often comments about how "strong" he is (which he means mentally, he DOES find Astarion's willpower and stubbornness quite impressive, which is what drew him in), but he has a level of "I need to be extra gentle with him" and that makes him anxious because he's naturally a very intense person. Which gives way to the Urges. Which makes him even more anxious. Which makes the Urges louder. And when resisting, causes him MORE physical pain on top of his chronic pain. Which leads to reason 3). Which makes the Urges loud. Which- you get the point.

When he's cuddling and NOT overly cautious of himself (which is rare, he's gotta be drunk or EXHAUSTED, or somehow inebriated pretty much), the Urges aren't really... there. He's just peaceful. Because he's just relaxing, he's not thinking "What if I hurt Astarion?", he's only thinking about how nice it is, to be able to hold someone. He's a very physically affectionate guy, so when he CAN relax while cuddling, it's the only thing he wants to do.

Though, Astarion's constant noise (his sighs, content moans, etc, I view Astarion to be CONSTANTLY making some sort of sound, whether annoyed or happy) soothes Mordriel a bit, and sort of... "talks over" the Urges, is the way Mordriel talks about it. The Urges are there, but Astarion often talks so much that they're quieted down. So sometimes, even not inebriated in some way, SOMETIMES, Astarion can just... talk so damn much that Mordriel's just sitting there with heart eyes listening, the Urges finally quiet. Not silent, but quiet.

And for 4), pre-tadpole, or post embracing Bhaal (again), the religious shame and disapproval comes into play. He often makes remarks to Astarion that he's "A Murder Lord's Chosen, and he's cuddling".

He finds it embarrassing, on some level. Much MUCH less embarrassing the second time around, and only really embarrassing in the Temple (or in front of Bhaal's eyes in some way), but it IS still embarrassing. But more so, scary. He tries to break up with Astarion multiple times in an attempt to protect him from... well, him, but Astarion has a firm "you don't get to take away MY choice, you're not leaving me because you're worried about ME. that's MY decision, if you're going to leave me, find your own reason." view on it. And funnily enough, he only became Bhaal's Chosen again to PROTECT Astarion and Neil (his sister). Even his past self, who "chimes in" here and there with vague feelings, didn't WANT to return to servitude. He WANTED to be free of Bhaal, for good. But if he didn't have the Slayer, how else could he keep his dear ones safe? But in becoming the Slayer for good, he's locked himself into a total fear of himself, which Sceleritas despises.

And as for 3), he's... a very intense guy, and gets frustrated easily. He's not much of a yeller or screamer or whatever, but he gets frustrated and angry easily. And when he's upset, the Urges are HAPPY to take over whatever remaining logical side he has. Which leads to very stupid, impulsive, violent decisions that he's often shamed by Neil/others over lol

Speaking of Neil, she's the only one to make the Urges actually silent for the most part, because as children he injured her unintentionally and made it his purpose to never do that again and got really good at converting the Urges. He doesn't really realize it was his own doing though, and he has no idea how to recreate that with Astarion unfortunately. They both relax him in different ways, but Neil's presence actually really helps the Urges to kinda... go away.

And also, for the most part, his Urges are difficult to resist. Out of the siblings, he's the most violent I'd say. That might also be because he doesn't really care about anyone but himself and his loved ones, but y'know lol. And when they're one of the more intense urges (the kind Bhaal himself sends Mordriel's way, aka "kill your lover because I told you so") and they are resisted, it's very physically painful for him. It starts with just slight discomfort, but eventually it gets REALLY bad. He's already more growly than talky because his voice often hurts a bit, but when the Urges are bad, he hardly talks at all, even to Astarion. He doesn't want to be around anyone, he REALLY doesn't want to be touched, and he HATES talking. Any quick movements, touches, etc will almost immediately set him off when he's feeling like that.

And also, sometimes, even when resisting them, he can't. Or in the very beginning when he doesn't recognize the Urges for what they are and doesn't really wanna do whatever the Urges are calling him to do, his body can kinda... just do it anyway without his acknowledgement, realization, or desire, and then all of a sudden he's standing over Alfira's dead body, who he was actually looking forward to adventuring with. He wasn't all that hurt or guilty over her death, but he DID want to travel with her and didn't intend on hurting her any.

Also, when I'm writing the Urges' voice, I have them EXTRA eye-catching. Like this, isn't this kinda eye catching? Especially if I start repeating it like this like this like thislikethislikethis right? It's also kind of irritating hm? Rightrightrightrightright? Yeah. Mordriel's internal voice is like this, just simple italics, while the Urges get bolded and everything and when I'm drawing they get turned red! Making them EXTRA eye-catching and also. it hurts my eyes. which is perfect for the way I wanna portray em. Isn't this color so eye-straining? It sucks in a big text like this don't it?

Anyways I fucking love talking about Mordriel, and just general Durges urges. I think BG3 did a wonderful job at creating Durge and everything, it's lovely. I loved how easily you can build onto the way the Urges work and everything

[starsstuddedsky]

Lingering

reader x seokmin

summary: sunrise at the beach with a crush

genre: fluff this is just self-indulgent fluff

warnings: none!

wc: 1k

a/n: while looking up references of his smile i nearly died

The sun hides just under the horizon, the world holding its breath while waiting for the warmth to return. You study the sky, the twinkling stars that are too far away to survive the sun, going into hiding until the next night. But for now, you can still pick them out, see the ghost of constellations you knew when you were still a child. 

The sand digs between your toes, cold and grainy without the sun to warm them. You like watching the waves roll and crash in the half-light of dawn, the thundering crashes of water breaking on the beach mesmerizing. No matter how many times you sit here, it’s magical. Something about the calming power of extreme violence. 

A voice calls to you, inaudible over the waves, though it still makes you jump. When you turn around, Seokmin is crossing the beach toward you. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” He repeats, close enough this time to be heard over the crashing waves. He stands over you, hands on his hips. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” You counter. 

He shrugs. “I heard someone wandering around at five in the morning, so I was making sure we weren’t being robbed. Then I figured I should make sure no one was sleep-walking into the ocean.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t go getting an inflated ego; I’d do this for anyone.” 

“Really? You’d sneak out at dawn for Seungkwan?” 

Seokmin pauses. “Fine, it is special treatment. You only.” 

It’s silly to get this happy over an answer you forced out of him, but it’s fun to pretend you’re special to him. That’s the worst part about having a crush on your friend. It’s not hunting for feelings when none exist, but knowing exactly how desperate you are. Like how your heart races when he sits next to you, kicking his sandals off and burying his feet in the sand to match you. 

“Oh my god, it’s so cold,” he says, shaking his shoulders to emphasize his point. You shake your head, and pretend like you aren’t hyper-aware of his sweatshirt brushing against yours. He’s quiet with you, a rare quality for Seokmin. You’re used to hearing him joke around with Seungkwan and Mingyu, or do everything he can to annoy Minghao. He’s a friend of a friend that’s turned you into a cliché. God, you can’t even think straight around him. 

“You never answered my question,” he says, staring out across the water. The tiny line where the water ends and the sky begins is starting to grow more definite, the sky above just a shade lighter. “You don’t have to,” he quickly adds, “I know we’re not really that close, well, not yet. I’m not saying that we have to be either, I just mean that—” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m saying I’m here. If you want.” And he smiles. 

A thousand metaphors run through your head, each more cliché than the last, but his smile really is brighter than the sun, warming you from the inside out. You want to tell him… you don’t know what, anything that keeps him smiling at you like that. 

“I like your smile.” You cover your mouth as soon as you say it but Seokmin laughs, smile widening even more. With every heartbeat, his face becomes more clear, the rising sun growing more courageous with each inch. 

“Thank you,” Seokmin says, though he can’t quite look you in the eye. Great, you’ve made it awkward. What can you say to fix this? Taking it back feels even more awkward, and even though it was painful, at least it was true. 

You bury your head in your arms. Maybe he’ll just leave and eventually the tide will rise and wash you away. You could turn into a mermaid, or maybe a jellyfish. You try to remember what you know about jellyfish. They have no brains and no muscles so they just float around the ocean; they have one hole for food to go in and out of; they have tentacles that sting. That could be cool, to be a sting-y jellyfish. Or maybe one of the glowy ones in the deep sea, bioluminescent. 

“You know, I like your smile too,” Seokmin says. You don’t dare lift your head. 

“It’s really cute,” he continues, “like, you always at least smile at my jokes, even when they’re really bad. You never make fun of me with the rest of the guys, and you made a cake for my birthday even though we barely knew each other.” He pauses again, taking a deep breath. All you hear is the crashing of waves on the shore. “What I’m trying to say is I like you. More than a friend.” 

He likes you.

You try to find your brain but you’ve already started to become a jellyfish. There’s nothing in your head except he likes you. 

“Hey,” he taps your shoulder gently. “Can you lift your head?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head, just in case he can’t hear you. 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s five in the morning and my hair is a mess and I think it’s been way too long since I brushed my teeth and I’m covered in sand, and I like you so much I’m a jellyfish.” You pull your knees in even tighter, determined to remain in this ball of safety. 

“You’re missing the sunrise,” Seokmin says. 

You peek out, blinking at the horizon. Everything is pink and blue, from the sky to the water. The water farther out is as bright as the sky itself but the waves that crash against the shore are white. It’s the beautiful scene that you snuck out for. 

“Beautiful,” you whisper. 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Seokmin says but when you turn to face him, he isn’t looking at the sunrise. He’s looking at you. 

He’s still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “That was cheesy, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “It was terrible.” You press your shoulder against his, and you don’t think you’re imagining the warmth seeping from him. “I still like you.” 

“I like you, too,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Even as… a jellyfish?” 

You groan. “I panicked! I’m still panicking, I wasn’t expecting you to just blurt out that you like me!” 

Seokmin just laughs, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. You bury your face again, but this time against his chest, and it’s infinitely better than before. You listen to his heartbeat and you understand the stars in the sky, lingering in a moment that won’t last forever. 

Just one more heartbeat. You watch the sunrise and smile. 

[raevenlywrote]

Cat Nap

Summary:

Turquoise is trapped in a nightmare of her past while sleeping in the courtyard with Jaguar during Midnight Predator. Content warning for trauma nightmare, implication of sexual abuse, and descriptions of pain and knives/scarification

Trapped in a nightmare. One of the worst I’ve had in a long time. I’m used to the running, calculating while my pulse pounds, fleeing through the tight geometric lines of indifferent streets. No one ever comes to help me. Even my dream self has learned to stop asking. Just keep moving, even as the logic of dreams and city planning corral me back to the starting point.

I don’t even cry out when I’m caught again. The familiar, too big hands seizing by the shoulders, jerking me down from the fence I’m failing to climb with a strength I could never hope to resist. So I don’t try. I just let him take me, and save my fight for a moment when it might actually make a difference.

I don’t smell in dreams, but I taste. The sour metallic knife of his tongue always tastes of death, no matter how faint. The inhuman strength of his hands and the rotting taste of blood always reminds me that he is Hunter, and I am Prey.

I taste, and I feel. Every excruciating inch as he lifts my nightgown, a small, lacy thing that I would never wear of my own accord. I try to use that disconnect to distance myself, to remember that this is a dream, and it isn’t really happening. It doesn’t help. Because it may be only a dream now, but it did happen. Over and over and over again.

“You’re mine.” His breath against my neck is hot and fetid, turning my stomach. His fingers find that spot on my ribs, right side, two up from the bottom, hardly the size of a quarter. But-

Pain

A hot shriek lances through my entire side as he presses his thumb into that one spot, tender and never allowed to heal. Even when I’m awake, even when I’m years older, it still hurts. Whatever he did to it, whatever he’s doing to it, it changes me forever. I will never not carry that aching weakpoint.

I struggle. I can’t help it. It hurts and there’s only so much discipline available to my young-- to my sleeping brain. I am not trapped back there again. I am only dreaming. This is only a night terror. If only that would help me wake up.

His body is a long, heavy line against my back, one arm an inescapable band across both of mine. He’s too big, too strong, I can’t stop this-

“You will always be mine. You will always bear my marks.”

The pattern of it flashes before my eyes, dream logic putting us before a mirror. Better than my childhood bedroom. I look into the reflection and try to see myself as the adult I know I’ve become-- strong, hard-muscled – taller than he ever was, as strange as that is to think. The dissonance isn’t enough to break the dream, but it is enough to remind me of the shape of my actual body, and distantly, I start to become aware of that, too.

It is also being held down.

That’s not so surprising. I can’t bear to sleep uncovered – far too vulnerable – but heat always makes the nightmares worse. Doubtless I have spun myself into a stupid cocoon of sheets and sweat. Hot, so hot. Can’t get away. Grip too tight.

The first trace of the knife bites into my skin and I scream. I can feel it building up in my real throat, feel how hot and dry my mouth has become. I long for a cup of hot coffee, the bitter wet rush of morning. It will take time to brew, time I will have to be alone in my skin, locked in this stupid nightmare half-world as I wait for my panic to drain from me. But at least I am not in a Bruja house, where a fellow hunter could learn of my weakness. No one knows about my night terrors but me, and--

“Look at me!”

His voice has lost its polish, rage revealing the monster underneath the elegance. Costumes and niceties can never cover up that they’re all monsters, but they all love to drape themselves in the pageantry of them anyways. He is always “Lord” or “Master”. Always with capital letters. He can hear it in my voice if I don’t. Just as he could see in my eyes that I was somehow slipping away, slipping his grip. That won’t do. He is teaching me a lesson. I must be present.

The pattern of his mark flows over my shoulder, electric fire where it passes over my bones. Like the spot on my ribs, the mark burns, like liquid metal being poured over my skin. Branded. The marks on my wrist – incidental remnants of past lessons, not deliberate like this – mark me as his to any who know his work. But this mark, this flowing, looping line, is his signature. He is an artist, and an artist always signs their work.

I struggle again, willing my dream self to wrench free. I know my phone is nearby, if I could just wake up enough to move, to call someone--

Who would I even call? I don’t have any friends.

Cathy had friends.

I will never let myself be Cathy again.

I won’t be her, but I can’t be me. Too trapped in the past to remember how to twist, how to use my meager strength effectively--

Something I have never felt before rasps over the back of my neck. It is rough, and wet, but somehow also soft and dry. It isn’t soothing, but it is rhythmic, and it is different, so it is welcome. I focus all my thoughts on that steady, strange rasp, trying to use my figuring it out to wrench myself from the dream.

I am still held down. I am still trapped by a body so much stronger than my own.

A body.

I always sleep alone.

The rasping is joined by a strange rumble, deep and gravely. I feel tiny rocks against my skin, the grit of the outdoors. Did I fall while on a job? Do I have a concussion? Am I dying? There’s grass, the foreign green smell of growing things, and a musk that makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

A neck that is being licked.

By a jaguar.

I don’t even know if he’s actually a jaguar. Neither of my lives had any real reason to know the difference between all the various big cats. He could be a panther or a leopard or even some kind of maneless jungle lion I’ve never heard of before for all I know of the family Felidae. Class? Doesn’t matter. It’s such a Not Daryl thought it breaks me free, and I am finally starting to wake up.

Starting to. Mortal bodies are treacherous things, and they don’t like to change gears well. In a vain effort to protect me from myself, my body has flooded itself with whatever chemicals keep me still and motionless in my deepest sleep. Today – and it is wild to realize that it is today and not tonight – it has probably saved my life. If I tried to fight back against my new master, even in my sleep, it would doubtless not have gone well. No matter how kind he has so far seemed.

I don’t know why he’s in cat form, and I don’t care. I don’t think I could have stopped myself from fighting if I’d woke to him as a man. As a vampire. I can’t let myself fall into the trap of thinking of him as a man. I know far too well how good they are at wearing that gentle mask.

But his tongue on the back of my neck feels good, and there’s no denying that it saved me. The purring-- purring, that’s what that weird rumble is-- is also alien, like the tongue, and all these novel sensations allow me to fully separate from the past. The dusty, cave-like smell of vampire mixes with green and sun-warmed fur smells of Jaguar, giving my brain new context for old danger signals. I hate that on him it smells good, complimenting the muskiness of his cat self. Hopefully on his human-shaped form it will smell like vampire and only vampire.

Why am I so obsessed with smells? Because it is the one sense that never fails me. Even in the dark, I have learned to smell danger, tapping into wealth of information that human kind has long abandoned. And again, in my dreams, I never smell. So I know I am awake, like touching the glossy screen of my smartphone usually wakes me, an anachronistic sensation to my pre new millennium childhood brain.

I don’t have a phone right now. I have a big cat.

He licks and purrs, clearly trying to soothe me. Is he awake, or is this just some feline instinct, common to all kitties no matter their size? I don’t care. I need the comfort, and the novel sensations, so right now, just for an instant, I allow myself to relax back into it. Into him.

Later, there will be questions. Later, there will be discussions of how I came to him, what his plans for me really are, negotiations that are merely part of the game for their kind. I am weak, and could never hope to enforce any contract they no longer wished to keep. I am weak, but I am no longer Prey. I know how to think, know how to fight, know how to run. I know how to wait. So I let his rasping cat tongue lick away the sweat of my nightmares, wondering if they change how it taste. I will use the comfort he’s offering me to ground myself, and I will learn what I can of this new place. I am not Safe, but I am not back there, either. It’s a start.

[ikkiokuma]

just finished mgs2 and i have nowhere else to take my thoughts so i’ll just dump them hear for my little internet vacuum:

> the AI/simulation plot twist is really interesting but at the same time doesn’t feel like it was resolved in the best way? outside of the patriots being a typical shady organization controlling literally everything, the explanation the AI colonel gives about human mind control feels at least a tiny bit more unique that your typical 1984 premise and excuse…i only have to wonder the aftermath of raiden and rose’s relationship with such a huge rift torn between them through the course of this game (which feels like it goes largely unaddressed considering raiden basically proposes to her after their reunion?) i think his character has a lot of good potential and their connection could have undergone some kind slow burn rebuild to make it more satisfying (it’s not like i didn’t root for them sometimes! tho im aware they are actually quite toxic tho)

> i’m also thinking of the people on twitter engaging in discourse about whether mgs2 is anti-AI to which i think it’s pretty clear that kojima encourages us to exercise our free will and critical thinking in this digital age…though raiden doesn’t outright say “fuck the patriots”—who are ostensibly using such a program to try and keep the masses ignorant, complacent, and dependent—in this game, his decision to pick his future for himself entirely goes against the AI colonel’s impression that everything in the simulation could decide the kind of person raiden becomes. to me mgs2 (along with being more explicitly about life in the digital age) takes the idea of free will or destiny from the first game up a notch with the question of: hey, what if it your future wasn’t just programmed for you by birth but by a simulation which you regard as the truth? it’s interesting to see this blend of themes (that the persona franchise decided to create two separate games based on, funny enough) work together in a new context

> sitting with the full weight of otacon’s backstory is kind of crushing. i know it’s not the worst thing ever but something about his tragedy feels all the more pointed when you think about how vulnerable he was…how he was basically abused and groomed and still blames himself to this day because he doesn’t know any better at all? it’s just such a heavy burden for someone so young to bear—an illicit affair and the death of your father because of your actions would mess anyone up in the head (im genuinely surprised he’s not worse than he is right now). his loneliness is so interesting because to a certain extent it’s self imposed by his own inaction (waiting to be loved instead of seeking it out for himself—some kind of self-esteem problem, maybe?) and for the first time in years solid snake manages to break down his walls and they form this beautiful mutual connection that i think holds so much more weight than any potential female relationship the games try to force him into (also with the fact that he seems into women that would only be somewhat unhealthy/toxic for him something something childhood trauma something something twisted conception of romance tragic doomed heterosexuality but he could find everything he looked for and more in the man who’s stayed beside him this whole time but i digress) otasune is so beautiful to me and i’ve been thinking more about how it really is only them against the world and burying my head in my hands i think im going to develop heartburn because of these fools and if anyone has good fic recs i would love for them to be sent my way im going to start writing essays about them again ffs. also something something otacon really is at his best self when he’s around snake—confident, in control, and a little sassy when he wants to be—which honestly makes him that more attractive … snake truly brought the best out of this nerd god bless

> pliskin is sooooooo gorgeous in this game i wish snake wore his hair down more i genuinely think i grinned like a maniac every time i saw his beautiful face on my screen 🤤🤤

> gameplay wise the game honestly doesn’t feel as bad as the first one (i was fucking struggling in the original)…fingers crossed the rest of the games will be somewhat similar difficulty to get through

now on to mgs3!! i’m so excited for snake eater yayyyyy