#are you sensing a pattern perchance

[phoebesspikytitties]

🌸 your last fic holy shit that was insane (in the best way possible) this will be living in my brain for the next several hours

TEEHEHEHEHEHEHE YAAYYY THANK YOU SO MUCHH!! I always aim for insane and unforgettable so this is the highest of compliments, I really really appreciate it<33

- 🌸

[gunnrblze]

Very random Kick headcannons

➤ owns cassette tapes somewhere. cassette player? perchance, but he definitely owns the tapes from when he was a kid

➤ favorite Gatorade flavor is lemon lime

➤ sleeps with his neck all :/@‘?;&$/!;$/& and then wonders why it hurts when he wakes up

➤ owns those funky socks with random patterns on them. some have a pair of matching boxers

➤ avid sims enjoyer

➤ genuinely believes there is truth behind the Loch Ness Monster/Nessie story. tries to convince the others Ghosts that “it just makes sense”

➤ same with aliens, except he actually has a better argument for that

➤ loves Tetris and is pretty good at it. Ajax is better though and it annoys him to death

➤ veryyyy good at math

➤ can recite the abc’s backwards very quickly. sober

➤synth/new wave/post punk/vapor/techno/electronic/goth/alternative rock/pop listener

➤unless he’s the one participating (and he often is), he’s such an enabler when it comes to bets/dares. the mf in the back yelling “you won’t!”

➤has used those cheesy one liners when flirting and they actually work cause he’s weirdly charming about it. anybody else using them you’d be like “…” but he makes it work

➤a bit of an unconventional flirt in general. is a little weirdo, but not in a way that makes you question your safety lmao he’s just a lil silly

➤doesn’t have guilty pleasures. very open about the stuff he likes and doesn’t really feel embarrassed about it

➤that being said^ he takes teasing in stride very well. unbothered king

➤knows the best technology to buy, very well versed with product quality and stuff like that

➤is a cutie patootie

[ravers8fantasy]

🎶Disco kid headcanon's!!🪩

Honestly, one of the realest ones in all the circuits I fear...

ALSO HE IS 20 AND 6'3??? I thought he was 19...

Okay so turns out bro is 20 so I think he joined when he was 18 or 19

Sings proper flipping loudly in the shower, its a good thing he's good at singing

Will listen to anything, he is more of a melody person than a lyrics person

Has a drawer full of listening devices, he has like 5 pairs of headphones and so many speakers

Had a swag era in highschool (is still kinda in his swag era but remix)

Sometimes shows up to W.B.V.A meetings in full on 70s attire for fun. Im talking silk shirt and high waisted l bell bottoms

Usually catches everyone off guard as well since they are used to seeing him in more modern outfits (im basing these hcs around 2009 and perchance 2010s idk they change on my mood)

Can handle spicy food pretty well.... Even though he ate a singular taki one time and perished

I saw in his contender mode intro cutscene that his licence plate is custom made (its DISCO-1) which made me think he decorates his car

Like he has a pair of fuzzy dice hanging off the mirror in the front, has like stickers on the dashboard and has like custom made seats-

Also theres this nice looking house in the background with this music note gate, either he is rich or his parents are rich

Or is that normal for people in America to have a house like that, I live in an old af house in Scotland so I defo wouldnt know💀

His favourite color is blue, or pink, or mabye yellow and orange but then again he is a sucker for kitsch patterns-

He loves colour. Ik his ass would HATE to see maximalist antique homes turned into an all white sleek mininalist abyss

Is a beast at roller skating, has a pair of blue and yellow ones with little stars all over.

Hates roller blading tho he says 3 he cant dance properly in them which makes him sad

His hair is originally brown, saw someone at a party with buzzed bleached hair and thought it was so cool he decided to get the same thing

Does calisthenics, has been asked a bunch of questions by other boxers asking him how tf he does it

HATES furbies, had one when he was younger and he put it in a draw in his bedroom after it didnt shut up.

He woke up in the middle of the night to a voice asking to be fed and started crying, turns out it was the flippin furby inside the draw

Has the most perfect comedic timing ever, there is never a dull moment when your with Disco kid

Suprsingly doesnt mind horror films, his fave genre list would probably go 1.horror/thriller 2.Action 3.drama/romance

He was a tumbler in his high school's cheer team and did ballroom for a bit, has a bunch of trophies from cheer and competitive ballroom dancing

Loves going down to a deli and getting a sandwich, usually gets a new filling combination everytime he goes

Has the most amazing wardrobe out of all the boxers, I like to think he is like the 'lewis hamilton' of the W.B.V.A (in terms of style not boxing bless also YALL LEWIS HAMILTONS FASHION SENSE IS SO😼😼😼)

The type of guy who never shuts up when watching a film, he literally ends up narrating the whole thing

Literally never stops moving, if he is standing on the spot he will be tapping his foot or move his head to whatever beat is playing in his head

Also like as no beef or issues with any of the other boxers, some of them (Aran... Wait and perchance idk Soda and stuff yknow) might insult him and would just dance and say "ok! Thats your opinion, Not mine though I think im fabulous anyway"

Chat im giggling at this gif anyway if you see any mistakes in grammer please embarass me and call me out and I will correct it with the utmost haste😼

OK HOPE YALL ENJOYED GOODNIGHT (or good morning or uh good day or evening depending on where u are)

[rainbowchaox]

hi rainbowwww

SPACE AU QUESTIONS

-Phil can't speak english right? (I think you said this at one point but I cannot remember for the life of me if I just made this up)

so communication would be through bug noises

would that be like crickets and grasshoppers making noises or like clicks just coming out of Phil's mouth (a different language of sorts rather than a completely different way of communicating)

-BUGZA he's got a scorpion-like tail. Is there any cure to the venom?

-Can Phil use his wings to fly or are they more for attracting a mate (like a moth's wings are pretty and all patterned to scare off predators, blend into the environment, but also to attract a mate (my friend has a hyper fixation on moths lmao))

-I like to imagine that bugza has eyes that blink sideways so the eyes lids blink left to right rather than up and down idk random tidbit I thought I'd add

-Missa eats too many poisonous plants and bugza has to nurse him back to health this is cannon to me <3

-Are chayanne and tallulah in this au perchance (i love my lil egg children lmao)

1. Phil does eventually learn to speak English as Vitari do have vocal cords. Vocally they make like cicada like screams. Trills and Clicks as well. Their wings also vibrate and make noises (like a cricket rubbing the legs together or bee buzzing). Vitari have a full language it’s just full of bug like noises and vocalizations.

2. Vitari do have venom in its tail. And said venom can be used to make an anti venom. Though usually the venom acts as paralyzing agent than actual like painful venom.

3. Phil and Vitari can fly but do use their wings to show off for courting purposes. But do make their wings pretty to attract prospective mates (Phil with his dark and iridescent green wings are esspeically pretty)

4. I’m taking that as canon. Let him be full creature.

5. Literally Canon. Missa is literally Laios (Delicious in Dungeon reference) and will eat everything despite common sense saying DONT EAT THE COLORFUL MUSHROOM or MAYBE DONT EAT RANDOM ALIEN ANIMALS.

6. Yes Tallulah and Chayanne are Vitari Hatchlings. Vitari have like an adoption like culture. The eggs sorta get chosen by whatever Vitari when said Vitari wants to adopt. Phil chose to hatch two eggs and those are Tallulah and Chayanne.

[spngirlpolls]

Would you consider Bobby a bad father? (I mean for the record imo even tho he's textual understood to be a father Figure I never get the sense that the boys are his responsibility even in the time when he would want that do he's like. An uncle at best. But yeah I'm rlly curious how u think Bobby fits into that bad dad paradigm

good question, long post sorry.

yeah the show loved to retcon how involved bobby was in the winchester childhood. s1 they're like "he's the only hunter we know and he babysat sometimes" and by his death in s7 bobby's like "i raised them!" i think he acts as a father figure/mentor in their adult lives but questionably so in their actual childhoods, i think we conflate fanon/canon there a lot.

regardless, i think the show's overall argument for bobby is he is a rare "good" father exception because he has broken the cycle of abuse. his father was abusive, bobby actively chose not to have kids as to avoid perpetuating the cycle.

bobby acts as an anti-john, someone who lived through a similar tragedy and chose a different path. john pushes people away, acts alone, which ultimately puts people in danger (harvelles, his own kids, etc) while bobby uses what he's learn to build a community: he's running the phone scams, he's operating a backwoods occult library, he's checking in on people.

(there's other misc messy character things like ghost bobby, bobby being in hell?? etc but overall the idea is that he's the glue of the community)

so yes, the show posits he is supposed to be a good father. i think there's some wonky advice/character stuff but within the supernatural mythos bobby is what passes for a good father, perchance the best example of "fatherhood". or maybe more accurately, bobby is the only character that is even capable of potentially being a good father bc he has broken the cycle of abuse, regardless of how good is parenting actually is. john (and sam and dean and all the other bad fathers) are incapable of being good fathers (in the rules of the supernatural writer's room) because they literally never break the holding pattern of abuse in their tragic fucked up lives. that's the crux of the supernatural story IMO, whether that's morally right/wrong or even interesting, that's the question the story is structured around for all 15 seasons: am i my father am i my father am i my father.

(as an aside) notably, when bobby dies, the winchesters don't take up the mantle of being pillars of the community. they don't run the phones or make sure ppl come back from hunts. they totally abandon that part of bobby's legacy, the most important part of his character, his literal life's work. garth is the one that carries that torch. salmondean never really make themselves part of the community, even though it would make sense for sam to be doing that while dean is in purgatory. they live in monster hunters HQ and they don't share those books or tools or anything with ANYONE. at no point does any grief or trauma sam and dean endure prompt them to cultivate community, which is very john, which is repeating the cycle.

[thalialunacy]

(back to rec index) (pt 1) (pt 2) (pt 3) (pt 4) (pt 5)

P

Packing Heat by songlin

The Painted Man by jinglebell

Paparazzi by SilentAuror

Paperback Writer by Teddy

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror

Penitence by amaruuk

Perchance to Dream by scribblesinthebyline

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson

Planet Sherlock by pir8fancier

Points by lifeonmars

Post-Reichenbach by orphan_account

A Preference for Texting by LostGirl

Precipice by PoppyAlexander

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat

Q

Questions and Answers by PipMer

R

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea

The Red Roses by SilentAuror

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings

Retrace by DiscordantWords

The River Variations by withoutawish

A River Without Banks by Chryse

S

Santa Knows by Itsallfine

Scrutiny by lifeonmars

Second Chance by SilentAuror

The Secret by weeesi

See Recipe for Details by pandoras_chaos

Sehnsucht by unicornpoe

Sell Out by Unloyal_Olio

A Sense of Propriety by orphan_account

Seventeen Letters by out_there

The Sexual Awakening of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson by suitesamba

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind

The Short But Illustrious Babysitting Career of Sherlock Holmes, as Recounted by the Man Himself by Dee_Laundry

Shrivelfigs by lifespossible

Silent Treatment by peevee

Six Dates by avawtsn

The Six Steps of Courtship by emptycel

A Smart-Arse Consulting Detective Is For Life, Not Just For Christmas by Berty

The Smashed Stradivarius by sunnyrea

Sociopathy and Other Fibs by kinklock

Some Nights by SailorChibi

Someone Else's Heart by thisprettywren

Sometimes When We Touch by kedgeree

Spaces Between by aubkae

Speaker for the Bees by antietamfalls

State of Flux by Atiki

Stay by msdisdain

Stay for Me by Itsallfine

The Strait of Juan de Fuca by mightypog

Stranded by BeautifulFiction

Strings by EstherShapiro

A Study in Sentiment by ManicMoose

Supernova by buttcat

Survival Instinct by shirleyholmes

Swallow the Night by ArwaMachine

Sweet William by Joules Mer

Swift, Fierce & Obscene by J_Baillier

T

Take My Breath Away by quesarara

Tease You Till You Come by EnchantedPhoenix

A Terrific Soporific by antietamfalls

that thing you like by misspamela

Their Great Reward by BeautifulFiction

There's A First Time For Everything by TakePenAndInk

There's Always Three of Us by Itsallfine

There I Saw You, Night by esplanade

Thermodynamics by entanglednow

The Things You Hide by verityburns

Thirst by bittergreens

This Year by DiscordantWords

Three New Messages by earlgreytea68

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b

The Tip Over Into The Inevitable by ivyblossom

To a Friend Who Sent Me Roses by AlgySwinburne

To Quote Malcolm Tucker; or, Get The Fuck In or Fuck The Fuck Off by kim47

Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname

The Trouble With Being Subtle. by VictoryCadescence

The Truth In All Its Glory by SailorChibi

Turbulence in the Sky by esplanade

(pt 1) (pt 2) (pt 3) (pt 4) (pt 5) (back to rec index)

[faundlydreaming]

Sweetly Wicked Dreams

Ao3 Link

Characters: Spawn!Astarion x Named Tav (Fi, female) Rating: Mature Warnings: Mental Illness, Psychosis (Tav), angst, psychological hurt/comfort, trauma, tragic romance Word count: 1978

Summary: What happens when you finally find the love of your entire soul and you both are finally happy? Sure, things may not be perfect, but what's important is that you both have found home in one another. That, in itself, is a form of freedom, isn't it? What happens when that happiness slowly slips away in the form of mental illness, when your love no longer recognizes you, and neither of you can do anything about it? Author's Notes: This takes place about 10 years post game :) Spawn!Astarion and Fi have been together since then, but unfortunately they're not out of the woods yet with Astarion still not being able to walk in the sun and Fianna slowly losing her sense of self.

“Fianna?”

“Hm?”

Fi sat on their shared bed, unaware of the hours she spent staring into the elaborate patterns painstakingly sculpted into the ceiling of their room. Astarion’s voice sounded hard, eager, with a sorrow-filled hint of desperation that was beginning to become all too common. It sliced through her delirium like a blade through smoke, but just like smoke, it settled back into place with nary a sign of ever having been disturbed.

Once again, her brain was filled with a fog that made the world slow, her head pulsing with something akin to a headache without the pain, but all of the disorientation included in it. The world was dream-like this time, the light within their bedroom too bright and haze-filled, and the shadows clear without the usual haunts that pushed her into absolute terror. For now, the silver moonlight that danced with the flickering orange of candlelight poured through the window and bathed the pair, adding to the unearthly realm that Fi’s weary mind resided in.

 Beside of her, Sasha slept on the bed, Fi’s hand finding perchance in the lupine’s soft, creamy fur in an unconscious attempt to ground herself to this reality. Fianna’s eyes slid to Astarion slow and curious, the white-haired elf a beautiful relic of their history that at the moment, she did not remember. As her vision focused on the stranger, the realization of his presence cumbersomely caught up to her and a cavernous fear struck through her like a mace to a skull. 

Things weren’t so slow anymore. 

The tiefling’s body tensed, her eyes once soft and ethereal now stoney and rabid. She dipped her chin into her chest, shoulders hunching as her tipped ears lowered like the familiar animal she slipped into when her mind lapsed like this. 

 A longer than typical whip-like tail slashed behind her as she crouched on the bed, baring her sharpened teeth at Astarion with a growing rage that switched instantly from her previous hazy state. Her thin, white chemise clung to her body like a vice that she dragged her claws across to tear through with how restricting it was, anything to bring down the threat that stood fearfully in front of her with his muscles equally tensed and a jaw set tight. 

“Fi!” He yelled. “It’s me, it’s Astarion. Please, darling.” 

Her snarl roiled into a low growl. She didn’t move, but she didn't relent either. Astarion’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow as he waited by the door, his fingers gripping the frame so tightly that his knuckles went white. This stranger knew when to back away from a predator. Smart. Her legs ached with how long she crouched on the soft mattress and glared her victim down. The murkiness of her mind grew into a storm of confusion, of animal instinct, that same instinct screaming at her to attack this being if she could not chase him away. There was no thought aside from a creature’s analytical prowess in order to survive. No clarity in her mind told her that she recognized this man, that they had traveled and loved and suffered with one another for years now. 

That he was the love of her entire being.

“My love,” he said. His voice was a quiet caress onto a wild beast that held no effect other than for her to tilt her head at him quizzically. “Please, snap out of it. You’re home, you’re safe. I’m here. I’m real.”

For just a moment she paused, her wide, disk-like eyes regarding him with a confusion that held a flicker of recognition as she raised to stand clumsily on the bed. 

A trick. She crouched again as her fingers gripped the bedsheets, ready to snap, ready to lunge at this man who claimed lies, who tried to fool her in order to capture her. She would not be fooled, he would not detain her. She would rend flesh from muscle and bone and claw and bite and scream and rage and-

“Ah!” She hissed as the pain struck like lightning through her hand. Blood began to bead on the back of her hand and on her palm as the pain of the bite mark grew with rushing heat. She snapped her eyes onto Sasha who raised her lips in a snarl, ears pinned back while the whites of her eyes overtook her amber irises. She too was balanced on the mattress with an awkward stance, her four legs spread unevenly as the claws of her paws dug into the softness below her. Sasha’s face was not one of threat, but of eyes wide with fear, her head low and tail lashing. She let loose a whine of anguish with blood that decorated her ivory teeth.

“Mother?” It was a simple question in the wolf’s singular utterance. Was Fianna there? Or was she somewhere else lost in a hells of utter terror? 

Fianna fell back onto her legs as she kneeled. The fire of her hand turned into a dull ache as lines of red trailed down her fingers and onto the white sheets of their bed. She stared at the starkness of the crimson liquid against downy alabaster sheets, so different from one another, just like the shattered sides of herself. She nursed her wound absentmindedly with her other hand as she tried to force sense into the situation. 

One moment she was in the spiraling dream that clutched her mind and lured her into a state of unreality. The next moment, it was the living nightmare as something vicious within her mind whispered sick and terrible lies. It was a wicked poison under the guise of a promise to ease her mind, to lose herself to full on psychosis. It was a promise that however horrid the consequences were, she wished she could guzzle that poison and finally end these episodes that often hurt her and the ones she loved the most. Like Kilbern and Sasha, who had no concept of what was going on. Like Astarion, who had lived through his own unrelenting madness for centuries before the pair met. Now he had to live through hers.

She did this to them. She forced them to walk as carefully as one would on ice as thin and as final as a wooden plank over the depths of the ocean. If it weren’t for her, they’d be free of her mental ailments that caused her to see things that weren’t there and threats that weren’t real. They would be free of her. She could finally stop the war between cognition and the mire of false dreams.

“Are you here, darling?” The vampire spawn’s voice was soft, trembling as he kept his distance while his fingers untensed. He stretched them open and closed to ease the ache that undoubtedly built up from the intensity of the moment. These were moments that were all too common, now. In her childhood, the lack of lucidity was a familiar and deceitful friend. At the apex of her thirties, it had come back with a hungry vengeance. 

Her world switched once again and the fog disappeared, leaving her alone with Astarion, Sasha, and her cursed self. The torrential rain of emotions followed after.

“...Stary?” Something within her filled with the warmth of relief and the keening anguish of regret. It was Astarion, her Stary. The moon-glow of his hair, the scent of  bergamot and brandy, his porcelain skin, the graceful way he carried himself like a prince or a feline. Both, really. It was all him. The recognition was a squeezing chain around her slender throat as the relief spilled into a confused whirlpool of terror and pain.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so-” Fi broke into body-wracking sobs as she curled in on herself and continued to mutter her apologies. Her tail curled tightly around her like a shield filled with shame as the knowledge of her once again losing herself came hand in hand with the returning of her normalized reality. Sasha adjusted to lean herself tightly against her tiefling mother, her long, wet kisses wiping away the blood on Fi’s hand. If it were not for Sasha, Fi didn’t know what she would have done to Astarion. She knew the elf would have allowed it, if it meant that his beloved would return to him. 

Strong arms wrapped around Fianna by her waist and pulled her into his strong chest. Astarion whispered the sweetest of words into her frizzled hair, as he always did when her life pulled these wicked twists and jests. She buried herself into him, wishing that she could meld with his unbeating heart and lose herself forever within him, into the safety of his beautiful mind and out of her own.

 She was poisoned, spoiled, rotten, and broken. 

But he was here with her, and she believed her beloved’s promises of remaining by her side despite being so useless.

“There, there, my sweet. It’s over. Sasha’s here, I am here, and everything will be alright. I promise you.” Astarion pulled her even tighter against him as he lowered himself onto the bed, laying on his side and pulling her to fit her small body against his own. She cried into his chest, her hands balling into the crisp, white cloth of his shirt as she shrunk herself into a ball and this time, lost herself into the baneful sorrow that still yet plagued her well into her adulthood. 

“It won’t stop. It’s just getting worse! I can’t live like this, Stary. I can’t put you all through this.” The words came out like a chortling stream filled with choked intonations and ragged gasps between.

“Darling, I choose this. I choose you. Weren’t you the one who stubbornly said that you wouldn’t leave my side for any reason? A pest like you wouldn’t even allow me to use the chamber pot in peace.”

“But I am leaving you. And I can’t control it. My mind is slipping, I’m forgetting days, forgetting who I am. Forgetting you. I can’t bear it any longer. Please, you’re not the only one who is losing someone. My children see this,” she motioned to herself and patted the back of Sasha’s back, who had laid down and nuzzled into her other side, “and don’t understand what is happening to me. And if you lose me, I lose you too.”

The silence was thick and heavy with the grief that played at their door. Astarion said nothing, a grimace on his face as he clenched the back of Fi’s head and planted kisses on the white of her crown. She felt the even strokes of his elegant fingers slipping through the locks of her hair, now grown from the nape of her neck down to the middle of her back. The strands splayed out behind her like fronds, mixing with the cream-white of Sasha’s fur as the wolf’s tail curled around the top of Fi’s head, Sasha’s own pointed towards their feet. 

“I love you, my heart,” Astarion said, at last bending the silence between them. “We’ll find a way out of this, just like you’ve promised me that I’ll step in the sun again someday. I promise you, we’ll be happy. We’ve come too far for our little family to fall now. Besides, Karlach would never forgive me if I failed you. Us.” Words vanished from her mouth as soon as she pushed for them to spill. Instead, she nodded into the cold of his chest, rubbing her cheek against the tear-stained front of his shirt. Her tail curled around them both, and her mind spun with webs and webs of ideas, solutions, plans, anything at all that could help them both escape from the cruel fox’s trap their life had surrendered them to.

[a-tehta]

Writing Patterns “Tag” Game

Rules: post the last sentence from your 10 most recently posted fics (less if you don't have 10 is also fine).

Nobody tagged me, and I hereby tag EVERYONE WHO READS THIS. I decided to do this because I remember doing very similar analyses on LJ ten years ago. (I am going to do opening lines in the near future, be warned.) Buuuut.... if anyone ends up doing this because of my post, perhaps they could tag me *then*? I would be very interested in seeing others' patterns.

So have I learned anything here? Hmm. I guess I really like ending close-third-person fics with dialogue, or failing that, internal monologue. Not a surprise, since I find those easy to write, but “zooming out” at the end is also a very valid technique I might try using more, for variety.

......

The Glorfindel/Ecthelion ficlet I posted in June:

“I want to surprise you, as you have surprised me. For that, I will need time. And inspiration. And, clearly, witnesses.”

to sleep perchance to dream:

“Do you need me to take the rear-guard again?”

Fall of Gondolin, Balrog POV:

And so did all his hopes.

The Merchant of Valinor (Chapter Three):

No, I shall join Lord Findaráto, who has riches but no business sense, and who has leave to enter Doriath, a kingdom closed to low-born Telerin merchants.

The (He)art Recalls: Doing both chapters because I think these lines are a call-and-response pair, in a way!

Chapter One: “I am sure you will like each other,” said Laurefindil.

Chapter Two:  So, in all, it really did seem that Laurefindil had been right, about most things.

A New New Home:

“One moment.” Egalmoth uncorked the bottle. “Before we begin, let us drink a toast to our new new home.”

The Origin of Love: How can those two be compelled to love each other, if not for the enchantment of the forest, starlight, and nightingales?

A Rude Reunion: It had been the right thing to do, he was sure. The virtuous thing to do. So why did he feel like a cad and a coward?

Endurance (Reprise):

“Good thing you remember that endurance Song so well.”

Endurance:

And Laurefindil felt himself smile, and keep smiling, as he raced back towards his duty. He had a report to deliver, jokes to make. Not to mention, perhaps, a few words to share about camp morale, and the importance of art. Or artists. 

[hungrydolphin91]

So. Dolphin. Tell me about these little guys :3 (Persona edition) What are they like? What are their names? Backstory perchance? Mwehehe

Bonus:

*johnny yong bosch voice* PERSONA! thanks for getting me into this franchise btw, though my knowledge is still limited to the 60 hours we've played of P4 Golden so far and the bits you've shared about 3 and 5. Thus I can say with tenuous confidence that these guys aren't from those games at least? 😅

So who are they? Well first there's Psychic Chie aka, uh, Rosalind. I can see her filling a similar role as Chie though, being sorta loud and easily flustered and probably has a mad crush on whoever the protagonist is. She's got those Leia Rolando/Lynne from Ghost Trick vibes of being very cheerful and trying her best but oops! Problems instead! And maybe trauma!

I like the floating heart shaped beads around her, I hope she uses them as her weapon 💓 She's probably like "teehee I'm gonna beat you with cuteness!" and then it's like 'oh no Rosalind, you made the Shadows fall in love with you instead!' 'Oopsies!!' *canned laughter*

Next is a character whose art style looks like Q or Q2, and the pattern on their skirt suggests they go to Yasogmai High too? So either this is from a social link I didn't do (I never did join the drama club did I 😅) or they're a Q-exclusive character who is part of the same world as the P4 guys.

But that's all I got for the Naoto-esque deductions, time to make stuff up. This is Linette, a level-headed but quiet sophomore. She's not shy, she just doesn't speak much unless prompted. She probably has all of the braincells of the group, unless corndogs are involved, and then all sense goes out the window (I'm assuming you chose this picture for a reason and it's not just a coinidence she's eating one 😅).

She's probably an NPC who like helps you measure your social links or something, but occassionally she also shows up during plot events to say a couple helpful lines and then dip so the player cans solve the problem themselves. Or maybe she is a social link herself in a community garden or something, she does have a powerful (and adorable) flower motif going. Very cute. I think I'd like this character. Is she romanceable?

And then finally we have this sexy evil looking guy. I'm not sure if he's actually bad or just likes to look morose and debonair but I'm gonna say he's an antagonist at least, probably not the final boss though. You're not important enough for that.

Since he's bad he probably has a name like Eddelgard or Evangelion or something that starts with an 'E' because all bad guys have 'E' names, right Pav? ;) EXCEPT in Persona, where they all have 'A' names instead, so naturally this guy's name is Avangelion.

[It has occurred to me that Persona games usually give their characters Japanese names so I have a 0 percent chance of getting these names right. oh well.]

So Avangelion here has the swept back hair and the corsage because he wants to look like a ladies man and all the NPCS love him BUT the protagonist and party know his true nature, that he's actually manipulative and cunning (I'm probably slandering this guy sorry hope he's not your favorite ��). He has some grand egotistical schemes where he's in charge of everything because he should be because he's better than everyone else and he says this aloud and somehow the NPCs are still like 'aw isn't he such a gentleman??💗'

It's either that, or he's a perfectly normal party character who like. Uses swords and magic and stuff. That's a possibility too.

And that's them! Thanks for letting me ruin these characters, I had heaps of fun making shit up 😂 feel free to send more if you'd like! Also feel free to take this chance to infodump the truth in the notes.

(Oh, and the bonus, Crazy Dancin' Mark. We all know and love him, beloved character of the Dancing All Night spinoffs.)

[lonelypond]

NozoEli, Love Live, 562 words, 4/4 (but the second chapter)

Eli panics about her future choices.

Volare

Volare…to fly, to soar…perchance to wander, to take a leap.

People who weren't Ayase Eli took chances. Eli's actions were by the book, predictable, designed to support what others needed and expected of her. Team Status Quo. Cute and clever Elichika. Once, twice, she had deviated from the flight plan, done the unexpected, surprised herself. Which had gotten her here. Poised for a third leap. Flying, literally, more excited than terrified, back to Tokyo to cement the relationship that gave her the solid foundation to leap, to take a chance, to soar. Prepared to commit totally, one hundred, no one hundred thousand percent to the one relationship that freed her.

Eli sighed. If Nozomi said yes. If. If Nozomi wasn't put off by Eli's sudden decision to change her career course, overthrow their professional plans. If Nozomi still believed Eli could create a home, a life for them and the family they'd dreamed about. Still believed in their future.

During their visit to Russia, Alisa had caught Eli with papers and thoughts scattered everywhere, unorganized. Nothing orderly; random pictures of dancers, stages, cities with some budgets and proposal printouts adding an illusion of practicality. The offer letter centered. Eli didn't know why she'd applied…

Eli stopped herself. That was a lie. Law school, government internships, research fellowships; they had all been easy for her, poised, polished, the perfect student prepping for a pragmatic future. Too easy. Like the fake warmth that comes with hypothermia. She'd been a perfect student before, all doubts buried, numbness hiding the real danger, pressure melting ice into tears. She didn't want to go back to that Eli, the one who'd cried her way through most of high school.

"Did you talk to Nozomi?" Alisa had asked as she read through the printouts.

Eli shook her head.

"Anyone?"

Another headshake.

"You can always talk to me. And Babulya."

Eli bit her lip. Alisa always saw through Eli's facades. But her support never wavered.

Alisa placed the pictures on top of the offer letter. "No more law school?"

"Maybe part time. Later. But not until after the Milan residency."

Eli had only one real worry, not the multiple minor ones she pricked her self confidence with.

"What if Nozomi doesn't want to…"

Eli knew the look Alisa was giving her. Alisa was too kind to call her stupid and too honest for her eyes to say anything else.

"Nozomi will go anywhere you are."

Eli nodded. She agreed with that. But still a doubt lingered, "Should I…"

"I thought you left this mood behind in high school." Alisa grabbed Eli's phone. "Do I have to call Umi? Or Nico? Do they need to shake the sense out of you?"

Eli grabbed her phone back. "Nozomi would never forgive me if they found out first."

"Then tell Nozomi."

I need to see her face, Eli thought, then it'll be all right. Mischievous, intelligent, wonder filled eyes twinkling at her, all knowledge, all acceptance. Eli's truth.

"She probably already knows."

Flying. Not caught up in old, plodding patterns, old habits. Taking a chance. New destinations. Starting with this first step. Rehearsing the words in her head again, Eli pulled out the box, brilliant diamond set in a well loved platinum band, her grandmother's engagement ring, ready to engage the loving hand that held everything in Eli's life together: Nozomi's.

A/N: Forgot to post this one. End of Oct/beginning of November too busy. If you're in the US, you know why. Take care of yourselves.

[cruelprincae]

The briefest of gasp from Cordelia's lips is met with a curl of his own, a smile small and considerate, meant to reassure rather than scold as he would most often do when Beatrice was younger and misbehaving on the mere whim of proving she could be as callous and calculating as her mother appeared to be. Beringed and delicate digits ― long and with four joints instead of three as most of their kin possess ― caress a soft, invisible pattern upon his daughter's tender cheek; olive, as inherited by Jude herself, and tinted with a rosy blush of shame that only grows whilst she goes on to explain the motive behind her actions and how such came to be. Although the further she delves into the story, Cardan cannot say he is surprised to discover that the reason behind such cruelty is none other than his brother ― he should have expected as much, considering his influence ( as well as Dain's, alas, Cordelia did not grow to know him as someone other than a fleeting shadow in his and Balekin's life ) was the one that set him on his own path of cruelty.

Her story is all too familiar ― so familiar, in fact, that the High King cannot help but recall a time in his life when he was the one inflicting cruelty on others for it would please his brother, as per the time of the time a revel was held into the Palace of Elfhame in which he had shredded a Pixie's wing for the sole purpose that he had not bowed before him; an act at exhibiting a sense of power he otherwise lacked, as well as pleasing Balekin, whose silver eyes were glued upon the scenery and glimmered with a sense of wicked satisfaction. Although a fair number of decades had passed since that incident, Cardan cannot forget the surge of pride puffing at his chest nor the sense of accomplishment that a mere glance cast upon his brother's praising glare would make him feel. And yet, wearing his brother's cruelty felt like a coat ten sizes too big for him, like a skin far too loose to stay on without wrinkling and withering only to reveal cracks of what was truly lying beneath ― and that was a boy with a heart of fire, burning away at everything he touched, including his own self.

There are certain moments even to this day when he is sure that, even though the majority of that fire has been put out, there are still embers burning away at the coals of its health, merely waiting for the right opportunity to ignite yet again and burn everything he has struggled to build to ash. Perchance, those embers would never truly be put out no matter how hard he tries ― Perchance, the fire would still linger, forever burning away at his torso. Perchance, the pieces of what is left of a once heart of glass are far too scattered to be put back together.

Alas, such does not mean he will not attempt to put Cordelia's pieces together. And even if such an attempt bears no fruits, it does not mean that he will not love all her fractures and cracks.

Listening to the tale of how Balekin would mistreat her, of how he would beat her were she not to fall in line with his wicked ways of treating everyone he deemed inferior to himself, is difficult and the urge to swallow the stone-hard lump that has begun forming within his throat, to look away, is overwhelming ― alas, despite such need to face away from the reflection of his past, Cardan's gaze remains fixed on Cordelia's slitted eyes, unyielding and unmoving, for he would never face away from her. He sees her, he hears her, and he would be damned were he to ever give her a reason to believe that, even for a fleeting second, he is ashamed of her.

He is not. He would never be mad nor ashamed of her for merely surviving someone who leaves nought but wreckage and ruin in his path. And sometimes not even that.

❛ I am neither angered with you nor disappointed, ❜ States the High King with a curt nod of his head, his voice light as though to not have her flinching away. His thumb which was just mere moments prior caressing invisible patterns upon her cheeks reaches to wipe away the tear that traces a wet path down a red cheek before reaching out to wrap his hold around her head ― as he did per the times that she was still a child in need of someone to hold her ― and pull her close for a tight embrace. Granted, she is taller and more grown now, but such does not take from the fact that she is in desperate need of someone to hold her the way he is certain she has not been held for years on an end.

❛ No one in this Palace is angered at you; not your mother or I. We both know what it is like to go against a nature thrust upon you that, at times, it would seem such is all that you are ― and, although she has not quite known Balekin the way you and I do, she understands enough to not hold judgement against you. I understand it is a lot to ask of you this fresh from the hurt of it all, alas, It would be greatly appreciated should you refrain from punishing Tatterfell for nought but the crime that I merely asked of her to take care of you, ❜ A sympathetic glance is cast at the Imp, whose ink-drop black eyes first dart between the High King and the Princess before bowing deep at the floor and taking the basket of dirty clothes in her grasp whilst making her way out. ❛ If you wish for time, I can give it to you. If you wish for space to contemplate, I shall grant it to you. But be aware that Balekin's cruelty is now how we operate in this palace. At least, not to each other. Not to family. ❜

@cruelprincae continued from here

The stolen princess gasped almost silently at the gentle touch, staring at her father with eyes that were suddenly wide and innocent, for once looking like the child she was, the way she hadn't since returning from Balekin's care. For over a decade, such a touch would've been accompanied by a honeyed tone that made poisonous words easier to swallow. Reminders of her place, of how she was protected only by the grace of her guardian.

But her father only sought to comfort and reassure her. She sighed shakily as her cheek pressed into the touch, despite her uncle's voice seemingly whispering in her ear about it being a pitiful, childish act.

I love you, no matter what. Nevermind that their people were incapable of lies; it was the steadfastness of his tone that conveyed his sincerity. Balekin had never said such things to her. His love--or at least his affection--had always been conditional, and Cordelia had always known she had to strive every minute of every day to earn it. Yet now, when she'd clearly behaved in a manner disappointing to her father and king, he assured her that she was loved.

"Uncle would be. . .cross. . .if I didn't punish the servants who displeased me," she said in a soft, trembling voice. "I hated it. I hated hurting them." Her eyes filled with tears and her hands shook. "As a child, when I refused, he'd whip them himself while I watched, then he'd whip me. . . I started hitting them myself to please him, and I--" She made herself used to the cruelty, so much so that even when there was no longer a threat of a whip's sting on her own back, Cordelia still had lashed out at one of her father's servants. She hadn't even thought twice, she'd just done it. "Please don't be angry with me," she begged as the tears fell.

[dangermousie]

Goodbye, Case File Compendium - it was fun until it wasn’t

If someone told me I’d ever ditch a Meatbun novel - if someone even told me I’d ditch CFC two months ago, I would have thought they had a screw loose.

And yet here we are. Chapter 215 is the last one I read and I do not intend to read any more. I will leave auto-purchase on because I would love to give Meatbun ungodly amounts of money for masterpieces that are 2ha and Yuwu (yes I bought them back way when, but she deserves more for those novels, honest!) but in terms of reading this horrible mess - Mousie out.

I was more and more unhappy with this novel since He Yu came back from whateversville (chapter 203 alone is something that I want to scrub from my brain) but hanging on like grim death, in hopes that maybe just maybe, the characters and plot will start making sense.

Chapter 215 has put an end to all that hope. Xie Qing Cheng’s lost dead parents apparently had their consciousness transplanted into killer robots, as we and XQC found out and then they died all within 214 as HY showed up on a flying horse as one does. At that point, I was holding to this novel by my fingernails.

And then 215 kindly came and peeled my fingernails off that window sill.

He Yu’s biological mother is also alive. Fingernail peeled off.

He Yu owns the Dreambreakers (how can he own/run police org?) Fingernail peeled off.

XQC has figured it out before. Fingernail peeled off.

XQC asks if HY hates him. Good bye all the remaining fingernails off into abyss we go.

You know what this means? Other than the plot has now jumped enough sharks to make Shark Week envious?

IT MEANS THAT WHEN HE YU VIOLENTLY RAPED XQC - HUMILIATING HIM BEYOND MEASURE, BREAKING HIM, HELL PISSING INSIDE HIM, AND THEN KIDNAPPED HIM AND KEPT FORCING SEX ON HIM HE WAS NOT MIND-CONTROLLED OR CHEMICALLY ALTERED OR WHATEVER, HE WAS PURELY HIMSELF. Just jealous and pissed off and dumb and unable to think through the most common sense connections.

That is not a character I can root for, comprehend or even continue to read about as supposed protagonist who deserves happiness.

Because after all these years, He Yu’s go-to method when he’s angry is rape and violence and humiliation. Only worse each time, classic abuser pattern. It’s innate in him and he sees nothing wrong in that. Because only he matters, the rest XQC included are vessels and tools. A tool has no volition or wishes or selfhood.

HE YU IS A FUCKING MONSTER AND ALL I WANT IS FOR HIM TO DIE PAINFULLY BUT HE’S GONNA GET A HAPPY ENDING...I CAN’T!

And XQC after this asks if He Yu hates him? THE FUCK WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!! “Oh, I am so sorry I hurt your feelings, my beloved abuser! Please forgive me - do you need a bathroom perchance?” XQC needs to exit the plot and get serious hardcore therapy for what is massively, horrifically wrong with him. I can pity him, but I cannot understand him nor can I root for a disgusting, abusive relationship between two people one of whom should be in a maximum security prison and the other in serious psychiatric treatment.

You know what - after this novel, I don’t think I will be reading any Meatbun novel in the future unless it’s both complete and people I trust tell me it’s good.

Because I find this novel’s arc not just bad but it also makes me feel utterly disgusted and if I want to be disgusted, I don’t need to jump through jjwxc hoops, I can just read the news.

[attollogame]

46. "Angry kisses" for DW por favor :D

Yesss babes

The first step to control is being able to control oneself. If you have no grasp over your own thoughts, feelings, and actions, then it's highly unlikely that you'll be able to control those of the people around you. He prides himself greatly on his control. He can present himself with many faces, hardly makes a wrong move, and very rarely gets emotional.

Key words: very, and rarely.

This moment right now is one of those outlier moments; the dots that are askew from the slope of his emotional pattern. Hot, molten emotion courses through his body and burns in his lower stomach as he stares at the other person in the room, their body pinned perfectly still by his rage. His nails are digging so deep into the wood of his desk that he's absolutely certain there will be marks on it later on.

That's not his concern right now, though.

"Explain yourself." Even his words are like knife blades as the other person tilts their chin up. Their eyes burn with determination, despite the swollen cut on their lip and the dark bruises forming under their eyes. When they raise their hands, their knuckles are scraped.

"We thought it would be better to just deal with the problem directly instead of letting it permeate," they begin, their voice far calmer than his. It's a trait of theirs that he usually admires, their level-headedness, but right now it only stokes the fires in his blood. "So Sylvester and I did just that."

"Do you, perchance, have a death wish?" He drags his nails down the desk as he retracts his hands, letting a horrible, gritty scratching noise fill the air. His companion winces but doesn't break their stare. Even as he stalks around his desk and towards them, each step deliberate and full of barely restrained anger, they don't look away.

When he comes to stop in front of them and his hand shoots up to harshly grasp at their chin, their brow only furrows slightly.

"You intentionally went against my orders," he hisses, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. His companion raises an eyebrow in turn. "You intentionally endangered yourself and others."

"I did what I thought was best at the time. Telling everyone to hold back and wait would only let the rats breed further; someone once told me that the best way to deal with an infestation is to crush their heads beneath your heels. So I did."

He knows who said that to them. He knows it was that ignorant so-called "leader" of the Arcs, and the fact that they bring him up in conversation only further pushes his already dangerous state of mind.

He pulls their head closer to himself and leans down. He doesn't know why he's doing this—it's so so rarely that he loses control—but defiance of his orders, coupled with the audacity to bring up Gasper in conversation, seems to be the final straw. He crushes his lips against theirs in an almost animalistic fashion. It isn't cool or detached like his kisses usually are. This kiss is raw and hateful; his teeth clack against theirs as he forces his tongue into their mouth, as though his only goal is to utterly consume them both in a metaphorical and literal sense.

Then his grip on their jaw tightens once more before he abruptly pulls back.

They look at him, wide-eyed and taken aback by the gesture. Their breathing is erratic and he already knows that his is as well.

He lets go of their face, pushing them back before turning away himself. He inhales deeply and fixes his stare on the stag skull that hangs above his desk.

He needs to be alone. He needs to regain control.

"Get out of my office. It seems you've given me yet another mess to fix."

[marvel-ousnesss]

Unrequited (Valerio x reader)

Warnings: angst, use of drugs, alcohol, cursing, cheating, breakup, mentions of Valerio x Lucrecia 

Word count: 2000-ish

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I hadn't been motivated to write anything until recently. As always, I love to hear comments, thoughts and feedback. Also, thank you so much for supporting my work, hope you enjoy 💜

Masterlist

Request

“Stop it, Valerio.” You abruptly close the book you're holding, eyeing the teacher as you place it on the desk. “They won't even let me get out of the house.”

He had been nagging you all week long about some party he was dying to go to, and you wanted to, really. The only problem was that, a few days ago, the two of you had dragged Guzman on a nightly adventure to the beach, which seemed right at the moment, since he had spent the whole summer sulking. Your dad practically had to drag you home by an ear, and, to say the least, your family didn’t wanna hear a beat about parties or your friends any time soon.

He scoffs, “seriously? Your parents are like the chillest people ever, they weren’t even that mad.”

Incredulous, you look at him up and down, betrayed by the amused grin that flicks on the corner of your lips. “Just checking, were you there on Thursday? One step out of line, and I'll be walking around with an ankle monitor.”

“Y/N, Valerio, is my class, perchance, interrupting your conversation? Should I take it elsewhere?”

With a quick apology and a glare at your boyfriend, cutting the conversation was cut short. However, it was naive to think he'd just settle for the answer you had given him.

“Whatever, Y/N," he grumbles. "I’m sure They'll let you if I,” he frames his face and smiles coyly, “am the one who asks.”

"Geez, why didn't I think of that!". Turning the page of your textbook, you deadpan. "Oh, right, dick-in-a-sock incident.”

Valerio lowers himself on his seat as his face embraces a new tone of crimson. After a second, he recovers. “Can't believe you brought up that teeny-tiny mistake of mine. Low, Y/L/N, even for you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the bell rings.

When it stops, you continue, “Seriously, V, they've been all over me these last few days, it's a long shot.”

Both of you get out of the classroom and begin to make your way to the lockers. “Just tell them Polo’s gonna be there, don’t they love Polo?”

You sigh, checking the time on your phone. You only have fifteen minutes before your next class began, and, honestly, lack the energy to spend them trying to knock some sense into your mule of a boyfriend.

“Fine,” you settle. “I’ll call them in a minute. But, don’t get your hopes up.”

“Too late.” With a captivating smile, he leans in and pecks your cheek.

After you agreed to at least call your parents, Valerio's mood improved considerably the rest of the day. The rest of the classes went by uneventfully; before you knew it, you found yourself in the car, duffle in hand, on your way to the Montesinos'.

You arrive at their house and let yourself inside, leaving your stuff at the door and heading straight to the kitchen, looking for something to drink. When you turn around to face the stairs, Lu’s making her way down.

"So, how did you manage to dodge your sentence this time?"

"Haggled my freedom, sort of." You place a glass on the table and open the fridge to fetch a bottle of sparkling water.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, exasperated. "A call from my dad would’ve done it".

"Thanks, but it wasn’t that bad, really, " you assure, pouring some water into the glass then cutting a lemon in half. "Just have to take my brother to some birthday party next week and, in exchange, they gave me their blessing for Valerio's thing, and let me stay at yours after."

"God, Y/N, you complain about my brother 24/7 and, in the end, the two of you are just as stubborn."She grabs an apple and takes a bite. "You could've saved yourself the trouble completely."

"Oh, well."You take a seat by the kitchen bar. "Guess it takes one to know one."

"Anyway, what are you wearing tonight?"

You unlock your phone and browse through the gallery. When you find the picture, you stop and point a finger at her. "You're gonna hate me. " You show her the screen smiling from ear to ear.

"Oh, my fucking god, Y/N! How- I- is that the Valentino you were drooling over the other day?"

You just grin.

"You, bitch, how did you get your hands on that?"

"Aunt Millicent."

"Of course," she huffs.

"Turns out that there were a few perks of her going off to Milan." You shrug. "But that's not important right now, what are you gonna wear?"

With that. she drags you up the stairs and into her room. You spend the rest of the afternoon immersed in makeup experiments and debates about fashion until Valerio and Guzman shout your names to start pregaming.

You enter the party together and go straight to the most vacant area of the VIP zone. After grabbing the first round, you join the others at the table and sit down with Polo and Carla for a few drinks. The group remains wrapped in conversation until Ander walks up to his friends and drags them to the bar, probably to tell them about his most recent disagreement with Omar. Soon after, Lucrecia makes eye contact with Nadia, muttering something about her daring to come, and standing up with a huff. Knowing she's physically incapable of keeping herself out of trouble, Carla stands up with a roll of her eyes and follows her.

Valerio lets his arm fall around you and chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. "And then, there were two."

“Wanna get high?" You don't wait for him to answer verbally. Instead, you grab his hands and pull the two of you to stand up.

He laughs, grabbing a bottle of whatever was on the table beside yours.

The two of you sprinted to the nearest restroom in a fit of giggles and lock the door behind you. He puts the bottle on the counter and reaches his pockets, freezing as soon as he lifts his gaze. You dig into your clutch and shake a small bag in his face.

"My treat," you grin, resembling a kid in a candy store.

"Oh, my, little miss Y/LN!" he gasps in fake horror. "What happened to the ankle monitor you were telling me about."

"I won’t tell if you won’t."You smirk, carefully arranging the lines.

The party comes to an end a few minutes before sunrise. You reunite with Lucrecia and Guzman by the entrance of the club and the four of you get in the Montesinos' car. Your head rests on Valerio's chest and he traces lazy patterns on the skin of your arm and shoulder.

When you make it to the house, Lucrecia doesn't waste a minute to drag a tipsy Guzman upstairs, waving a quick goodbye on her way. You giggle, well aware of your friends' plans for the night. Then, you head to the kitchen for a snack.

"Confess it." Your boyfriend stares at you from the stairs, arms crossed over his chest. "The only reason you ever visit is that we have a better pantry."

"To be honest, I thought you already knew that." You grab a pack of chips and walk toward his bedroom, passing by him and kissing his nose softly.

You don't fall asleep that night, writhing in Valerio's arms and debating whether or not to go find something for the hangover that was already beginning to haunt you. When you open your eyes, the first rays of sunlight are already peeking through the window. You decide to get out of bed. You throw the blanket off you and turn, expecting to see your boyfriend, but only find a mess of his blankets instead. You check the time on your cell phone: 8:22 a.m.

Seeing no point in continuing your attempts to get some sleep, you put on the shirt that was laying on Valerio's desk chair and leave the room. As you're crossing the hall to the pool, you hear noises coming through Lucrecia's door. For a moment, you think it may be her and Guzman, but remember hearing him say that he had to go home at dawn to get to a swimming competition.

You try to ignore the noise and convince yourself it's none of your business; but, when you continue to walk away, your ears are invaded by a voice you knew quite well. "It couldn't, they can't-, they're...", a million thoughts invade you. You take a deep breath and to open the door.

There are no words to describe the feeling of your heart being ripped in the blink of an eye. Your legs threaten to collapse and blood rushes to your head, making you dizzy for a brief moment. Not only do you find your boyfriend in the bed, with an unreadable expression coating his face, but you find your best friend redhanded, looking right at you like a deer in headlights.

You don't even try to digest the scene; instead, you run out of the house, suddenly not caring about your current apparel. Part of you wanted to shout what you had seen, to ruin them, but they meant too most to you. You couldn't do it, no matter how much you wanted to get it off your chest.

Luckily, your house was empty. You went straight upstairs and locked yourself in your room for the rest of the morning. You did whatever you could to take your head off what you had seen, but nothing worked. In the end, you wrote it down, desperate to get it out somehow. You hadn't opened your diary since you were twelve, but it was relieving; a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

You spend the remaining of the day so deep in thought, that you didn't even notice your family arriving from the park. You drifted off to sleep after working on some homework, only to be woken up by our brother's voice.

"Y/N, your boyfriend's here!" Hearing the word sends a jab of pain through your body. However, you reply, "I'll be down in a second."

You put on a hoodie, some shoes and leave the fort that was your room. Your parents are focused on a movie, so you take the opportunity to step into the backyard with Valerio.

You face him, trying to appear emotionless, even if your bloodshot eyes give you away.The childish gleam in his face is nowhere to be found, his shoulders are more drooping than normal, and his eyes are almost as red as yours. You wonder if it's because of the crying or the cocaine.

“How long?”

“Before I went abroad.”

You attempt to walk back into the house, but he grabs and pulls your arm, begging you to stay and listen.

You sigh. “I won't say anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He stays silent for a few seconds, bringing himself to believe that your thoughts on him were actually that low. Then he mumbles, “I don’t care about that, I know it’s unorthodox, and that you’re probably gonna stop talking to us now, and-“

You didn’t have the energy to hear him ramble. “Look, yes, I’m really shaken, to say the least, it's the first time I’ve seen something like that.” You grimaced. “But, the point is you betrayed my trust, V! Completely!” Your voice shakes, you try to clear your throat but it comes out as a sob. “I- even if it hadn’t been her, you hurt me. You promised you’d never do it, but you did!

He takes your hands, and, even if you don’t resist, feels how tense that makes you. Hours prior, it would’ve been comforting. “And I’m sorry, really. I did it without thinking, Y/N/N, it won’t happen again.”

You pull your hands out of his. “Please, V, it’s been happening for more than a year, half of the time we’ve been dating.”

He stays quiet.

You quietly question, “do you still love me?”

This time, his bottom lip quivers and his voice cracks when he answers. “I care about you, a lot, you know that.”

That’s the last you bear to hear. You avert your eyes from him. “I forgive you. You can go now.”

“Y/N/N…” He moves closer to you, but you shake your head, stopping him.

“Please,” you croak.

[ladyespera]

First Lines

Request: List the first ten lines of the last ten stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends.

Nobody tagged me in this but I saw @sakasakiii doing it and wanted to pass it on to my frens. and well uhhhhh after looking at this i can certainly say that boy i just love dropping people right into present action with ZERO context and also i love to be general and abstract!!!!!! who needs concrete background 😌😌😌 weird mix of generic essay openings vibes and surrealism my beloved?????? also I've just realized that people just stand and stare and overthink and PanicTM a lot in my fics ehehe I wonder where they get thAT-

perchance

Commodore Karyn Faro stands on the bridge of the Chimaera, hands neatly cinched behind her back, her eyes looking out past the viewport at the swirling vortex of hyperspace. The atmosphere is silent, almost calm; despite the urgency of their dispatch back to Lothal and the fiasco of the gralloc mission, for now, nothing can be done to either speed or slow their journey. Her eyes focus back on her faint, pale reflection in the viewport. “This is a dream,” she whispers to her other self.

bright star (cheated on this one by 1 line 🤫)

There is a moment, in the middle of the chaos, when Maedhros suddenly senses the faint scream of danger. He cannot place it, cannot discern why, and yet... He dodges a shower of stones as the entire mountain trembles, the roar of the sack of Angband nearly too great for mortal ears. The Silmarils. If the Valar are too occupied with Morgoth, he must get to them first—he must be getting close to the entrance. A cry close by, past a pile of bodies, and in amongst the shadow of the mountain, he glimpses a flash of white hair emerging, wavering—and then a familiar dark-headed figure, running to help, extending a hand—

than never to have loved

So many say he has the gift of foresight. But it is not always a gift. Some days, it is a curse, a smog of uncertainty that clouds his thoughts and shadows his soul with horrible possibility. When Elrond throws everything he has into working towards good, into protecting the best in people, into saving what he can of Middle-Earth, it is also because he has seen the worst. So when he dedicates his heart and soul to this one cause, this one Hope, he also knows what his payment might be.

to have loved and lost

“Do you have a father?” Elrond looks up from his parchment stiffly, startled. The child is fixing him with a piercing gaze of curiosity that reminds him briefly of a younger self; stamping down the brief spark of pain at the thought, he smiles graciously instead. Today is the anniversary of their coming to Rivendell, of what Aragorn probably associates with Arathorn’s death; of course he might have thoughts. “Yes, Estel, I have a father.” “But is he still in Middle Earth?”

the tides of the heart

“Sometimes people don’t want to be saved. Sometimes it’s time to die. ” . The summer air is warm when Grace Holloway steps out the door on her way to work, but humid too, with a hint of fog, like the grey sea air is already planning to roll in before the day is out. Grace doesn’t mind the fog—she likes it, even, the mystery of it—but she hates the humidity. It makes her hair frizzy.

greatest privilege

Commodore Karyn Faro had just had the longest 96 hours of her entire life, and she hadn’t slept for any of them. From escape pod to emergency evacuation craft to med bay to debriefings to more debriefings to waiting in hallways to finally being released into this bland Navy office. On Coruscant. Where she’d intended to be anyway - just not quite this hectically. Now she was sitting, her eyes fixed on the empty space in front of her as her mind buzzed lazily. Not even recollecting anymore. Or regretting. Just...empty. “Commodore Faro?” a voice called from behind the desk.

just a phone call away

The Doctor stands in the train station and stares at the ringing phone. He isn’t going to answer it. Of course he isn’t. His mind has already done the mental calculations a thousand times this day, the hypotheticals, the guesswork, comparing his lists of goodbyes to his lists of losses, finding that section of the Venn diagram within which fall the people who have left him and whom he never said goodbye to and-- He can’t not. His fingers tremble slightly as he pushes the little accept call button.

forget me not

Every morning, he wakes up and wonders whether it’s going to be a good day. Of course, that all depends on a few key metrics. First things first. He opens his eyes. Does he ache? Sometimes there is nothing at all. Sometimes sitting up immediately reminds him that ouch, he had better be careful today. Sometimes it’s just something odd, like the aftertaste of bile on his tongue or a weird lingering sensation in his blood, as if his antibodies are trying to yell at his brain like “ Hey! Red flag, idiot! Stop doing what you’re doing !”

breathing space

Liv had said that all the emotion before must have drained him dry now, left him with only a hopeful energy. After all, there’s not much lower to go emotionally than weeping on a street, too pained to even crawl. Here, there’s no ravenous monsters or maniac Timelords. No end of the world to worry about. It’s only up from here. Only up. The rain flecks his face. Only up…

uhhhhh tagging @fortes-fortuna-iogurtum @as-dreamers-do @swinging-stars-from-satellites @lilac-vode but really anyone plz feel free to have at it! :)

[utilitycaster]

So, to keep dunking on Pathfinder/3.5e and also for lack of a better term...indie, looser systems, I do have a handful of reasons why the systems themselves don't sound like things I'm into but more generally the reason I keep making cheap jokes is because the way people sell these systems is so antithetical to what I want out of TTRPGs. Which doesn't mean they're not good, or that they're not right for other people! But god...you are not superior for liking something other than D&D 5e, you are just a person who isn't into that particular experience and if you want to get people to play other games...learn to fucking sell it.

The crunch of pathfinder has some appeal, because I do love math and rules, but it always feels like the arguments go like this.

"I can't figure out how DCs in 5e get set!"

"well, the DM sets it based on a rough estimate of difficulty, using their brain; the DM's Guide gives a scale broken down by 5-point increments that you can use."

"What? You mean I, an inveterate metagamer cannot find it by adding up 8 numbers based on the weather, my class, my feats, active spells, and the migration patterns of nearby birds in a process that brings the narrative to a screeching halt?"

Or else it goes like this (this is a literal screenshot from a reply on a shitpost I made about paladin archetypes):

Well, in 5e you are allowed to ride things without being good at dex on the grounds that the average normal person in a pre-industrial society would probably be able to sit on a horse (animal handling is also an option). You can play a halfling paladin by playing a halfling whose class is paladin, and if you cast summon steed a reasonable DM will allow you to flavor said steed as a celestial wardog. You do not need special abilities to...turn around? in 5e? damn you lived like this? and sure, you can have a spear or lance as your weapon. I guess charging doesn't do much in 5e (the charger feat exists but isn't amazing) but like, you could do it.

Like, seriously, so many posts are like "I don't see a ruleset for how I can confirm I was able to drink my coffee without dropping it on the floor? 5e seems bad" and in general 3.5e/Pathfinder appear to treat your character as a Sim or something, where if the ladder disappears from the pool you're just like "guess I'll die" [note: I haven't played either 3.5e, Pathfinder, nor the Sims but like. I'm right.] And if you want to play this that's fine! Crunch can be very fun! but god it's unnecessary and it seems like there are too many rules for the sake of just like, having rules.

Moving on to the looser systems, the "just a d100" or "just a d6" ones that "foster more RP": so many of these "foster more RP" by having systems that actively corral the conversation, or PC emotions, instead of just...letting people talk. I actually find things like Monsterhearts "turn someone on" mechanic or the sanity mechanics in Call of Cthulhu really off-putting! I'd rather be allowed to respond to things genuinely, in character.

"But M," you say "that's kind of the point of Call of Cthulhu, the sanity slippage." And you know what? You're absolutely right! Because that is where my point is leading:

The TTRPG game you pick should be mostly based on the kind of story you want to tell, and anyone who ignores that in their considerations can themselves be ignored.

I happen to enjoy Dungeons & Dragons because I enjoy that particular form of fantasy in a quasi-early renaissance* setting, and I would, perchance, like to explore a dungeon and maybe even fight a dragon. I do not want to be dealing with horrors beyond comprehension**, except in the sense that I'd like to smite/disintegrate/viciously mock them. I do not want to pretend I am in high school again, under literally any circumstances, even if I can hex people. I like fantasy combat because I am both simmering with incandescent range basically always and yet I cannot typically act on it*** and I'd like to be able to save the world through hitting things with a sweet-ass sword or casting. Hyping up a system because it lacks combat is absolutely the wrong tack with me.

And if you don't like that it's fine! But I have yet to see someone actually make an argument, to me specifically, for a different system, that actually accounted for even a whiff of my own personal preference and honestly at this point the damage, while not irreversible, is pretty severe; my attitude towards anyone trying to steer me from D&D 5e is pretty cynical.****

*look I will pick many battles on any hills wagering that ultimately I will only die on one and this is on the list. Anyway if printed books are available and gunpowder has reached your vaguely European-in-flavor society? It's Renaissance.

**always thought this quote was from Lovecraft but it's from Tesla, objectively a much better dude despite a shitty dude using his name to sell cars.

***Yes. I am an eldest daughter. Why do you ask.

****This is also the root cause of why I adamantly refuse to watch either Titanic or Finding Nemo.