#dipping the toes in irony there

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Okay. Honestly not as drastic as a change as I anticipated, but my pinned post and carrd are both now all touched up, I think I added a handful to my carrd, my pinned post edits was mostly just clarifying some things! I might come back later and add dividers and maybe some more colored text to my pinned post like I mentioned previously, but the main important information has all been plastered around there. Might go back and add a few things to the little section in my pinned where I rattle on about things I like, just because I like people being able to get a flavor of who I am.

Okay, here we are. Little Kane turning point that the big wide world is getting to witness. Square one but it is square one of a separate chapter. All my stuff is here now!!! All of it.! No more. Separate blogs(aside from. Things that actually qualify as separate blogs like my main and the daily selfship questions one). I think I will try and chalk up some selfship tags for the F/Os that don't have ones yet and I know that I will be talking about(the rest can be done as I mention them) just so I can satiate the part of me that still demands some sort of organization. Truthfully, this might actually have me talking a little extra about some of the sillies from other casted away blogs that I haven't mentioned in awhile because it isn't me posting on some barren land of a blog now. I will probably also go into my carrd and things and list out all the F/O tags that I will at least for now have and update them as I go. I might just stick with my name and heart emoji theme, I'll worry about revamping those some other day if I ever decide to.

Going to. Try and push myself to an extra extremity of not hiding away on my own blog, truthfully I almost ponder if anyone at all will actually notice a difference in my posting or what I'm saying, which I will find super funny if I'm like "ahh!! I have been posting so much and revealing so much more and being more unfiltered.." and everyone here is just like "What. Are you talking about this is just your usual." And by being more unfiltered and revealing more I am entirely referring to having about five more tags at the end of each post where I mumble some incoherent things and saying an added extra two or so sentences on my posts where I let myself be publicly romancey sappy and mumble some cheesy sorts of comments of praise or compliments about my F/Os publicly.

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part one]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: a very sweet story of paige and azzi from best friends to lovers 🥰

a/n: lowkey came up with this on a whim bc yall know how much i love angsty pazzi…probably gonna make this into a short series so lmk if you all want another part :)

word count: 1.4k

masterlist

“Ella said she’s worried about you.”

As Paige hovers over her, propped up by a pillow on one side, Azzi thinks that Ella might not have been as dumb as she’d thought. Here she is, with her best friend, in only a sports bra and sweats so low that they’re barely clinging onto her hips. The best friend in question is leaning on her elbow, one hand splayed across Azzi’s bare abdomen, a smirk on her face as soft strands of blonde hair tickle the younger girl’s face.

Azzi slots her leg in between Paige’s, drawing her impossibly closer. “Why would she ever say that?” She asks teasingly, the corner of her lips tugging up.

Paige’s smirk grows dangerous. Her eyes drag down Azzi’s body, doing a slow perusal of Azzi’s chest. “This doesn’t look close to you?”

Azzi tilts her head, batting her big brown eyes under her full eyelashes. “Who cares? I mean, it’s not like you two are dating or anything.” But knowing Paige’s tendency to hide sensitive topics from her until the last moment, her tone drops. “Are you?”

“No.” Paige laughs. “Just fucking around.” Her hands slide lower down Azzi’s stomach, until her thumb is caressing the dip of her V-line.

Azzi holds her breath, trying to ignore the fire uncurling in her stomach. “Does it mean anything to you?”

“I don’t know.” Paige withdraws her hand, replacing it with her head as she settles on Azzi’s chest with a sigh. The action is so casual, so familiar that it makes Azzi’s heart hurt. Sex with Paige is one thing. Intimacy like this, where she can feel her bare skin against Paige’s, feel Paige’s heartbeat, as they lie together, legs intertwined and breaths in sync? That’s a whole other ballpark.

“I don’t even know what we’re doing,” Paige admits, her voice slightly muffled as she speaks into Azzi’s chest. “She confuses me.”

Azzi almost scoffs out loud at the irony. Paige hs always been hot and cold, flirting with Azzi one moment and giving her a look that Azzi swears is only reserved for her, but chatting it up with another girl at the bar the next. It feels like a constant back and forth with her best friend. Sometimes it feels like Paige has her heart on a pendulum, has been since she was 16, yet lately it’s felt like it’s been ricocheting out of control, the string slowly turning into a thread.

“I think she thinks I’m in love with you or some shit.” Paige has been yapping for the last few minutes as Azzi’s lost herself in her thoughts, but it’s this sentence, thrown out so callously, that freezes her blood. “Which is, like ridiculous, you know?”

Azzi struggles to catch her next breath. But Paige has turned her head and is looking at her now, expecting her to say something, so she forces out a dry laugh. “Yeah,” she mutters. Clearing her throat, she forces herself to steady her voice. “No yeah, that’s crazy.” Azzi is confident - she knows she’s drop dead gorgeous, knows she could mess around with as many guys or girls as she’d want. And she knows full well the effect she has on Paige, how the older girl always goes speechless whenever she’s in that pink lingerie set, unable to keep her hands off her ass even when she’s covered head to toe in an unflattering sweat suit. Yet something about her has never been good enough for Paige, for her to want to call Azzi hers.

Seemingly pleased with her answer, Paige plops back down. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” she says decisively.

Azzi lies there for a second before checking her phone. The only notification she has is from PT. She needs to come earlier than usual tomorrow for another progress test. Azzi swallows. “It’s getting pretty late,” she says.

“What?” Paige checks her own phone. “It’s only ten.”

“I know, but it’s been a long day. My knee hurts.”

Paige’s bright blue eyes round in concern as she quickly gets off her best friend, scrambling to sit criss cross on the bed. “Was I hurting it? Lying on you? Shit, Az, you should’ve told me.”

“No,” Azzi waves her best friend off. “It’s just throbbing. I think I just need to take some meds and sleep.”

Paige frowns. “Okay.” She pads out of the room, returning a few moments later with a bag of frozen peas and Azzi’s pink Stanley. “Here. And I moved the Advil to the top drawer of your bedside table right there.”

“Thank you.”

Paige falters. Usually Azzi asks her to stay, to scratch her back until she falls asleep or just hold her as she grits through the pain. “Do you need anything else?”

Azzi doesn’t even look at her. Sliding on her headphones, she shakes her head.

“Okay.” Azzi ignores the hurt and confusion in Paige’s voice. The blonde wears her heart on her sleeve. “Night.”

“See you.”

Paige turns off the lights and shuts the door, and Azzi feels the darkness like never before.

••

8:15 pm, January 8 2024

P: yooo

P: we talked for like hours and i think we’re going somewhere

P: i think im gonna ask her to be my gf

A: oh shit Paige

A: that’s great

A: happy for you 💗

P: i’ll be over in 20 min

P: have you eaten? i had dinner w ella but i can pick up some food for you if you’re hungry?

A: can’t do movie night tonight P

A: knee’s hurting

A: next week?

P: oh okay

P: i hope it feels better

P: don’t forget to use your compression sleeve

P: i doordashed you some food from chikfila, lmk if you want anything else

A: thanks paige

5:27 am, January 14 2024

A: hey where are you?

5:32 am

A: we gotta leave soon or i’ll be late

5:40 am

A: Paige???

Missed call from Azzi💗

Missed call from Azzi💗

A: nvm i’ll just take an uber

8:15 am

P: shit Azzi

P: i’m so sorry

P: i told aubrey to tell you that i couldn’t take you to rehab but she must’ve forgotten

P: i should’ve just texted you

A: it’s good

A: where you at?

P: impromptu trip to nyc

P: ella wanted to go to the knicks game

A: nice

A: hope you had fun

P: how was rehab?

P: any updates?

1 pm

P: dude look

Attachment: 1 Image

P: reminds me of belarus

P: i remember you were so fucking wasted lmfaoo

5:45 pm

P: are you ghosting me now

P: jk

P: but fr

P: you good??

6:45 pm

A: sorry still at pt

A: there’s an issue with the healing in my tissue or something they said

P: i’ll be there to take you to your next appointment i swear

A: actually i was thinking

A: it’s probably better if i just take an uber from now on

A: it’s a four hour round trip and you’re stuck waiting for me during the appointment too

P: it’s not an inconvenience

P: i like talking to your doctors

P: janelle was just getting to the part where she broke up with her bf

A: paige

A: i overheard ella complaining about it the other day

A: you’re getting up at 5 am every saturday to spend 7 hrs with your ex fwb

A: it’s not fair to either of you guys to take up your time like that

P: well when you word it like that ..

P: but you’re still my best friend

P. and ubers are expensive as hell

P: you’re seriously not gonna let me take you?

A: you’re gonna be thanking me once you realize how nice it is to sleep in on saturdays

P: i like spending time with you more than sleeping

Read 6:58 pm

9:40 pm, January 23 2024

P: hey sorry i meant to stop by yours before ted’s but ella needed to change

P: we’re in the back near the pool tables

9:55 pm

P: you’re coming right?

10:40 pm

A: don’t feel too good

A: i’ll just stay in and watch a movie or smthn

A: go have fun

P: bro

P: don’t be boring

P: u haven’t gone out with us in so long

P: i never even see u anymore

A: you can’t be serious rn

A: drinking with everyone after another win i couldn’t even contribute to is the last fucking thing i wanna do tonight

A: i thought you of all people would understand

A: but apparently not

P: I’m sorry

P: I didn’t mean to say that

5 minutes later

P: I miss you

P: Can I come over right now?

A: it’s fine

A: didn’t mean to snap im just tired

A: you’re with your gf and the team you deserve to celebrate

A: you did great tonight i’m proud of you

A: don’t worry ab me

P: i always worry about you

Read 11 pm

12:40 am

P: dude idk what the fuck happened but you’re so weird all the time now

P: do you hate me

P: am i stupid

P: jk

P: think i took too many shots

P: was tryna keep up with nika

P: i miss youuuuuuu

P: so much

P: i wish you’d let me come over

P: don’t tell ella but i kinda miss how things used to be

P: when we were just fucking around

P: now she’s so uptight ab me and you

P: but it’s whatever

P: shit i’m sorry az

P: i was hella drunk last night lmfao

P: ignore everything i said

Read 11 am

[strawberrysainz]

racing in the street. charles leclerc.

“ it’s a dream that has surpassed many others in both of your lives. to win the monaco grand prix - it had evaded him for many years. this year felt different. ”

charles leclerc x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, suggestive themes.

this is a love letter to his win - years and years in the making. ❤���‍🔥

The first time you had known Charles would win in Monaco one day was when you were both seven, in the back of his dad’s car on the way to a friend’s party.

You had passed Mirabeau, and Charles had pointed out the red and white on the ground as you whizzed past.

“One day if I get to-“

“When,” his father had corrected from the front, and Charles had rolled his eyes playfully.

“-when I get to Formula 1, this is going to be very cool to pass by,”

You had nodded briefly - a seven year old’s attention span could only focus on something abstract for so long - and you had paused. “You can win it, right Cha?”

He had shrugged modestly. It was terribly annoying how modest he had been, even back then.

“You can. You win everything you want to win.” You were certain of this, even so many years ago.

Hervé had laughed loudly and you had blushed crimson.

Charles had smiled then, looking out the window, eyes shining with the hope of it all. The look in his eyes had startled you, one of wisdom only an adult could have.

One day in 2017 Lorenzo called you and Charles had staggered out of the hotel bathroom, face white. He had sat there next to you on the bed.

“I lied.”

“What?”

“I told him a few weeks ago I got to F1. So he would be happy knowing I achieved our dream. And I haven’t.”

Tears burned in your eyes.

He had fallen into your embrace, sobs shaking his whole body.

Standing on the top step in Baku three days later, you had stood there below him, crying, his mother on the phone.

You were eating sushi you’d ordered in at his place a few months later, and he’d had a sneakily happy look on his face the whole day.

“What’s up with you?” You’d said with a mouth full of california roll.

“Sauber is giving me a seat for next year.”

You’d broken a glass jumping up and soy sauce had stained both of your shirts as you screamed.

That first Monaco race day in 2018 had been a magical affair, up until the sixth-last lap, when his brakes had failed, spinning him into Brendan Hartley as they approached the Nouvelle Chicane.

You had winced in the garage, and he’d been dejected when he approached you a few hours afterward.

You’d thought of that day passing Mirabeau when you saw him. “Was it as cool as you thought doing it in F1?” You’d said quietly.

Tears had shone in his eyes. “I got to race it. Dad knew I could race it in F1.”

You had nearly choked months later when he’d told you over a glass of wine dipping your toes in the sea that he’d been called by Ferrari.

Shivers had run through you as you thought of Jules, and of Hervé. All they all had ever wanted.

“You know, your dad would have not been prouder. He would have dragged you to Rampoldi to celebrate.”

“Shall we go?” He had asked, and you’d both made the trip back to Monte-Carlo and when you phoned the restaurant in the back of the Uber, they’d said it was full with a little bit of regret.

But when they’d heard Charles was going to be there - oh, they’d all loved him from the beginning - they’d gotten a table for you both near closing time, when everyone was dispersing.

You’d both laughed and cried over the plates of his dad’s favourite ravioli.

Monaco had felt different in 2019, more eyes on him.

He’d started P15. Then on lap 16 - the irony - his puncture due to contact had called him back to the garage.

Pure grief had decorated his face as he got out of the car, shaking his head. Finding you after the Grand Prix, you saw the light dimming from his eyes and gave him the biggest hug you could.

That night you’d both cycled back to his place and sat all night in his kitchen, the dim light doing little to hide his sadness.

2021 was even worse; he’d had no chance to even start, and this time he was angry.

You hadn’t even seen him and had gone to bed when he called up at 2am, drunk, asking for a lift home.

You had gone in your pajama shorts and glasses, and he had sat in the back seat and asked why he always had worser luck here than anywhere else.

You didn’t really have an answer. “I just know one day it’s going to work out for you,” you said softly.

2022 had been spent in his friend’s apartment, watching from their balcony with a cocktail in hand, watching his girlfriend smile on the television.

You’d watched on as disaster had struck, Ferrari making an awful call, sacrificing his P1 for a measly P4.

You’d seen him two days later, out for breakfast, and he had just sighed. “Fucking stupid,” he’d murmured. “I think we have to accept I might never get this.”

That belief of your seven year old self was still strong, cemented in your soul when you shook your head.

In 2023, he’d just been annoyed at sixth place once he came back from the stewards. You’d left the paddock and he’d just gone home, bidding you a good night. As you walked to your apartment, you’d thought of all the nights as teenagers racing on bicycles in the streets.

Monaco would love him back as much as he did it one day. You knew it - deep down, he knew it too.

Well, Saturday in Monaco this year had felt different. He’d oozed confidence all weekend. And you felt different about him.

After he’d broken up with his girlfriend, all you’d been thinking about was him. He had been making unnecessary trips to see you, inviting you to more races than usual.

It had culminated a few months ago in Miami, where things were just different; he had come on the podium, and you had kissed his cheek when you saw him an hour later. You swore he almost moved his face to meet your lips.

You’d both spent the night partying with Lando, the drinks making you both different, dancing sensually, eyes dark. He had kissed your neck, and you’d both realised what the hell you were doing, moving back.

The next time you saw him you both pretended it had never happened.

You hadn’t seen him again until last Sunday, at your place. He’d come for your birthday dinner, handing you a present and flowers with two kisses to your cheeks. You’d blushed amongst all your friends, champagne flowing.

On Wednesday night after a long day of press, he’d come over again. “I have a feeling about the race this year.” You nodded, silently inviting him to expand.

“It feels different. Like I can definitely do it.”

You smiled. “I know you can do it. And you’ve been really strong this year.”

“I was cycling last month through Mirabeau and I really remembered one day when we were walking around there or driving when we were young and you told me you knew I could win.”

“It was when we were driving with your dad.” He’d let out a little sigh.

“I can do it this year for him. And me and Jules and you.”

You’d gotten emotional all of sudden. “I know you can do it, Cha. I’ve always known.”

He hugged you, his body soft and warm against yours in the dark room. You’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

Well, he’d got on pole on Saturday, reinforcing his determination and confidence. You’d seen how calm and collected he looked and it had been noticed by nearly everyone. You’d given him a fist bump and he’d grabbed you, hugging you, the smell of his sweat a testament to how badly he wanted it.

You’d gone home after a dinner with the Leclercs (minus him, he had sponsorship engagements to fulfill) and there was the quiet knowledge amongst all of them that this was the year.

Your mom had phoned on Sunday morning, and you spoke about your lives, then about Charles. “I hope he knows how loved he is by all of us. And I know Hervé and Jules are watching on today with the utmost pride.”

You nodded. “I think he does know, mama.”

You had picked out a red dress, short and flowing to accommodate the welcome heat. As you did your makeup, you thought of all the years that had come before, previous versions of yourself that had wanted him so badly to win.

The entire race you’d had stubborn tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. The last two laps you could barely look, too emotional at the thought of even seeing this happen.

Joris had gently guided you up to look again in the room and you just knew Charles was crying too on that last lap. The thought of the little boy in the car staring out at these streets made you wonder how he must be feeling.

All these years of this dream.

He had crossed the finish line and you had erupted into tears, turning into Lorenzo’s chest to take a breath. Later, you’d seen the camera footage of your teary eyes and the glimmer of hope in them as you looked back.

Then everyone had run down to the podium and you were in the second row, all of his team in the front. You saw him jump in slow motion into the air from his car and saw the joy in his steps.

He had jumped into the roar, and didn’t manage to see you but you could tell he was looking. Then he’d done the post race interview and him talking about his dad made you burst out crying again.

Someone had found you and dragged you to the front of the barrier underneath the podium. You must have looked awful. As he walked to the cool down room he cast a look back and your eyes caught his for a fraction of a second before he disappeared.

You had used the five minutes to take big deep breaths, multiple hands grasping you.

Then he’d walked out onto the podium and you saw how Prince Albert had gripped him like a son, tears in his own eyes. And Charles had held up his flag, full of hopes and dreams.

And then you all sang the anthems and then he was given the trophy and you were taking videos and photos as if in a dream.

He’d not seen you again, scanning, but gave up when the attentions of everyone else were cast on him.

You hadn’t caught sight of him again until you were hanging around in the paddock, wondering. Your phone rang and your heart skipped a beat.

“Hello?”

He was breathless and you couldn’t hear him, really, over the sound of the wind.

“Wh-“

“I’m cycling home…”

You had snorted. “Alone?”

“Yeah.”

You had paused.

“I wanted to just think of all the years and moments I raced and rode these streets and prayed I would win here one day. It felt right.”

You had laughed. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah… meet me at home? Then we go out?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He ended the call. You saw videos of him on TikTok later on the bike on speakerphone and he had grinned as the people drove past him.

You had stopped at your place first, freshening up, and grabbed a bag and a power bank and downed a shot of vodka (to ease the nerves). Putting on heels with the red dress this time, you ordered an Uber to his place. You had used your key to get in and music was blaring when you opened the door. He was shirtless, trying to find an appropriate one.

“Hi,” you smiled.

He had forgotten what he was doing to basically run over and hug you, the force of it nearly knocking you over.

You were in tears again when he pulled away. “Love you,” you whispered, and he smiled. “I’m so proud. I keep thinking of little you.”

“I could never be here without you throughout the years. Never. You have picked me up and glued me back together so many times.”

You let out a small sound of emotion.

“I thought so much of all of you the last laps. I couldn’t see I was so emotional.” He laughed.

“And just all the times you told me you just knew I could do it. And my dad. And Jules. And my mom and brothers. Oh, I want to cry even now!”

You laughed as he ran back to his room to get a shirt.

“But-” he called from the room- “now we have to party like crazy!”

The next morning, you woke up at Arthur’s apartment with a pounding headache and a few missed calls and texts.

Charles 🕺 4:37

Let me know if you got back okay?

Charles 🕺 5:13

I think I’m going home now

Charles 🕺 10:52

I’m going to come pick you up I think Arthur won’t wake until 3pm

You checked the time. 11:04. Getting up from the couch and groaning, you went to the bathroom and pulled your hair into a ponytail, trying to wipe the makeup and finding a disposable toothbrush in his drawer to brush your teeth and the stale smell of tequila away.

You heard his car horn outside and you pulled on your heels that had been thrown on the ground a few meters from the couch. Leaving and letting the door close quietly you walked down the stairs, wincing at every loud noise your high heels made.

He was in his car and thank God there was no one around because you looked crazy. “Hiii,” you said, and he handed you a pair of sunglasses you thought you lost (but clearly just left in his car).

“How’s the race winner doing?” You said, and slid into the seat.

“Incredible,” he said dramatically and his voice was raspy, nearly gone. You laughed and then grasped your head.

Coming out of your bedroom with your hair wrapped in a towel and a crop top and sweatpants, he was making coffee for you both. Finding leftover pasta from Saturday night that Pascale had sent you home with, you heated it up and offered him some. He shook his head.

When you turned around from the microwave with the pasta in hand, he kissed you.

Your eyes widened. He set down the pasta, not breaking the kiss, and hoisted you onto the kitchen counter. You let him open you up, your body leaning into his. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his hand rested underneath your shirt.

“You make me feel so lucky,” he whispered.

Your mouth fell open slightly. “Well, you deserve all of it.”

He did. He did.

omg i just started crying over this stupid fic for the third time. i feel like this encompasses all i feel for him. i hope you feel it. ❤️‍🔥

[ahappydnp]

I need all your thoughts on the shoe thing now

echoing a lot of what i said at the time (x) but the fact that dan had to make that post officially cancelling the iceland show (which we know he was so upset about) but instead of reverting to his old patterns of going into hiding/self flagellating out of guilt, he went out with phil and had a good time AND shared it with us!! that was such a massive step

also like everyone has said for two years, the intimacy of it all. the way it's such a subtle "hey i'm here" move that there was NO REASON to photograph other than it must have made them happy in the moment

it felt like a new level of truly not giving a shit what people (especially us) think or say about them because we have to remember just a few years prior dan was mockingly telling a story about wearing phil's coat on the off chance someone had seen him and mistook it for sincerity or vulnerability. posting a candid photo of the two of them without layers of irony or sarcasm was huge and tbh it's still feels huge?

something something shoe pic was dipping a toe into a new era

[criminallyyoursvn]

What inspired you to create Criminally Yours, and do you plan in the future to create more yandere games?

Ooo thank you for the ask!

Well, I’ve always wanted to write a superhero story I had a lot of ideas growing up.

What inspired Criminally Yours was the Yandere Jam itself, and somehow thinking of what would be an interesting spin on the Yandere genre was something a little more light hearted since I didn’t feel especially confident with writing darker stories. So I figured it would be a way to dip a toe into it, but still keep it fun and light hearted.

So Yandere supervillain was born. (Which was the name of the project before I came up with Criminally Yours).

While outlining with Grey (my co creative director and programmer) we realized it was adult Miraculous Ladybug. I really love dramatic irony and thought it would help our project stand out having a more grounded and comedic Yandere entry. Having the double life thing helped with Nik’s character just as much if not more than the Mc showcasing how two faced and manipulative he could be.

Also I was able to have an enemies to lovers story as well as a mutual pining office romance as well. I was able to do a lot with very little and honestly it sort of wrote itself 💖 

Also in regards to more Yandere stories. Yes! Nik wasn’t my first Yandere (or even first blonde Yandere 🤣) my dating sim “Rectifier: In Bloom” has a Yandere priest named Percy- @rectifier-vn if you’re curious.

Grey and I have a dating sim planned for next year’s Yandere Jam 2026 where you can date 3 Yanderes in a gothic/dark fantasy

[itsreallynotriri]

Forever you

Lee is cursed with immortality, and he finds Y/N's reincarnation every time.

Vampire!Lee x Reincarnation!Reader

words: 3.5k

warning: mentions of death, blood, m*rder, reincarnation, abuse , war (brief)

note: school is taking up my time. Unedited

find more here: masterlist

It was the year 1060, the village sat on the edge of a dense forest, untouched by war but not by whispers of creatures that lurked in the dark. Lee had no business here, yet he found himself drawn to the small stone hut at the heart of it.

A storm had rolled in, and with it, the gnawing hunger he had grown to hate. He needed to leave before he did something unforgivable. But then, the door to the hut creaked open, and she stood there—Y/N, her lantern’s glow illuminating wide, cautious eyes.

“You look half-dead,” she remarked, stepping forward.

He nearly laughed at the irony. “I suppose I do.”

“Come inside before you freeze.”

She wasn’t afraid of him—not when he stumbled in with wounds that should have killed any normal man, nor when his skin remained ice-cold even by the fire. She asked no questions, only tending to him as her mother once had for wounded knights.

Over the weeks, Lee stayed close. He helped gather wood, watched her mix herbs, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in him. Y/N was kind, but sharp-witted, never failing to call out his silences.

“You always look like you’re carrying a burden.”

He glanced at her, stirring the pot over the fire. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” she huffed, leaning against the table. “You should set it down every once in a while.”

It happened by the river. The sun was dipping below the trees, setting the sky on fire. Y/N stood barefoot on the bank, watching the water swirl between her toes.

“You’re staring.”

Lee blinked. “Am I?”

She turned to face him fully, something unreadable in her gaze. “You always do.”

Before he could think, she reached for him, fingers curling in the fabric of his tunic. When she kissed him, it was nothing like the hesitant, fleeting gestures of courtly lovers. It was warmth, life, the taste of honey and herbs.

For the first time in centuries, Lee felt human again.

The night was still, but Lee knew danger when he felt it. He woke to the scent of blood, not Y/N’s, but the slaughtered lamb outside the hut. A warning.

He knew he couldn’t keep this from her any longer.

That night, he found her sitting by the fire, waiting for him. Her eyes followed him as he paced, struggling with the words.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice low.

She curled a brow. “Oh? You’re secretly a nobleman? Or—gods forbid—a bard?”

He almost smiled, but the weight of the truth held him back. “I’m not… like you, Y/N. I haven’t been for a long time.”

She tilted her head, curious but unafraid. “Go on.”

He took a breath, then met her gaze. “I don’t age. I don’t die—not in the way humans do. I… survive on blood.”

The silence stretched between them. Then, to his utter shock, she smirked. “You’re not about to tell me you sparkle in the sunlight, are you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know,” she waved. “Shimmering skin, brooding forever, that sort of thing.”

Despite himself, a laugh escaped him. “No. I avoid the sun because it weakens me, not because I… glisten.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “So, are you going to eat me?”

His amusement faded. “Never.”

She studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Good. Then I see no reason to be afraid.”

“You should be,” he murmured. “You don’t understand what I am.”

“I understand enough,” she said, softer this time. “You’re Lee. You help me gather wood, you listen to my terrible singing, and you burn the stew when I let you cook. That’s enough for me.”

They stayed together after that. Y/N made jokes about his brooding and inhuman coldness, but she never feared him. They danced under the moonlight, shared whispered stories between breaths, and Lee let himself love without fear for the first time in his immortal life.

But time was cruel.

Sickness took her slowly. Lee tried everything; fetched herbs, stole medicines, pleaded to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing stopped the inevitable.

“Stay,” she whispered, voice weak in the flickering candlelight.

Lee clutched her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “Every time.”

And as her last breath left her lips, Lee sat in silence, knowing this was only the beginning of his endless search for her.

He wandered for years, waiting for the pull, for the feeling deep in his bones that would lead him back to her. And then he found her again. Different life, different name—but it was her. It was always her.

He never told her, not at first. He let her fall in love with him the way she always did—slowly, sweetly, as if for the first time. But the truth always came out. Sometimes she laughed when she learned what he was. Sometimes she was afraid. But always, in every life, she stayed.

And always, in every life, she left him in the end.

And still, he searched.

The year was 1300s and this time he found her in the bustling market square, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air, the chatter of merchants blending into a steady hum. But it was her laughter that cut through the noise, clear and familiar, sending a shiver down his spine.

He knew her the moment he saw her. He always did.

For two days, he followed at a careful distance, watching the way she moved, how she spoke with ease, and how she tossed a playful remark to the baker’s apprentice. He wanted to approach, but how could he? How did one explain centuries of longing?

It was she who finally ended his hesitation. Spinning on her heel in a narrow alleyway, she caught him lingering in her shadow.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Her sharp stare knocked the breath from his lungs. It was her, through and through—that stubborn courage, that fire he had loved before.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” Lee admitted, voice low, almost reverent.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then speak.”

And somehow, he found himself walking her home that evening, conversation flowing as if they had known each other forever. In a way, they had.

Lee learned that Y/N was headstrong, witty, and too clever for her good. She spoke of faraway places with longing, of adventure and stories that she dreamed of living by herself. She was restless in this life, much like she had been before, though she didn’t yet know why.

He became her shadow, not out of fear but out of need. He couldn’t leave her, not again. He helped carry baskets when she let him, stole apples from carts to hear her gasp in feigned disapproval, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in his chest.

“You don’t talk much,” she mused one evening as they sat by the river.

“I talk when it matters.”

“And when does it matter?”

He looked at her then, the last light of the sun catching in her hair. “When it’s with you.”

The spring festival soon came with laughter, dancing, and the scent of blooming flowers. Y/N had dragged him into the square despite his protests, her hand warm in his as she spun them into the crowd. The music was fast, the world around them a blur, but Lee only saw her—her flushed cheeks, the way she bit her lip when she laughed.

When the dancing ended, they stumbled out of the crowd, breathless. Lanterns glowed above them, flickering light casting golden patterns on her face. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and kissed him.

It was sudden, impulsive, her laughter still on her lips when she kissed him again.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her mouth.

She grinned. “Then why are you still here?”

Because I always am, he thought, but he only kissed her in response.

Summer turned to autumn, and as the leaves fell, so did the last of his resolve. He had to tell her. He owed her that much.

They sat by the fire in her family’s home, the warmth doing nothing for the chill in his bones. Y/N watched him, something unreadable in her gaze, as if she already knew.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he began. His hands clenched into fists. “Something about what I am.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You say that like you’re about to confess to murder.”

His silence stretched too long.

She blinked. “Lee?”

“I’m not human.” The words felt heavy, final. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

She studied him, quiet for a moment, before crossing her arms. “You’re not about to tell me you’re some kind of… what do they call them—creature of the night, are you?”

He let out a breath. “Something like that.”

To his utter shock, she only smirked. “You’re not going to start lurking in dark corners and calling me ‘mortal one,’ are you?”

He stared. “What?”

“I mean, if you start hissing at garlic, I might reconsider our whole relationship.”

Despite himself, he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” he said, softer this time. “I do.”

She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Good. Because I know who you are now. And I don’t care.”

They spent that autumn wrapped in each other, in whispered words and secret smiles. She asked him endless questions—what it was like to live forever, if he had met kings, if he missed the taste of food.

“I don’t remember the taste,” he admitted one night, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder.

“That’s tragic,” she murmured. “I’d die if I couldn’t have honey cakes.”

He chuckled. “You say that as if you haven’t eaten five today.”

She gasped, shoving him playfully. “How dare you keep count?”

“I can’t help it. You get this look—like a fox that just stole from the henhouse.”

She laughed, burying her face against his chest. “Maybe in my next life, I’ll be a baker.”

He smiled, but the words sat heavy in his heart. There would always be a next life. And she would always leave him behind.

The winter was cruel.

She fell ill not long after the first snowfall. It started with a cough, then a fever that wouldn’t break. Lee tried everything; stole medicine, bribed healers, prayed to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing worked.

He held her through the fevered nights, whispering stories she had loved, pressing cool clothes to her burning skin. He stayed when her strength faded, when her voice turned to a whisper.

One morning, just before dawn, she stirred. Her fingers curled weakly around his, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Lee?”

“I’m here.”

Her lips parted in the faintest of smiles. Her eyes softened, full of something deep, something knowing. “You’ll find me again,” she murmured.

Tears burned his eyes. He kissed her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “Always.”

And with a final, shuddering breath, she was gone.

Lee sat in silence, holding her long after her body turned cold.

The cycle would begin again. It always did.

And when it did, he would find her.

Because he always did.

It was the 1800s and in this life, she was a noblewoman.

Y/N.

Distant. Unreachable. A vision draped in silks and adorned with jewels, moving through candlelit halls as though she belonged to another world entirely. But Lee had seen her in every world, in every life. And even if she did not remember him, he knew her. He always did.

She was wed to another. A man of power, of wealth, of status. Someone safe. Someone human. Lee had seen him once, standing beside Y/N at a lavish banquet, fingers pressed possessively against the small of her back. It should have been him. It had always been him. But in this life, she did not belong to him.

So he watched from afar.

For months, he lingered in the shadows of her world, a ghost haunting the edges of candlelight. He caught glimpses of her in the garden at dusk, her face turned toward the dying sun. He listened to the sound of her laughter carried on the wind, a cruel reminder of all he had lost before. He kept his distance, even when the ache in his chest became unbearable.

And then he saw the bruises.

Dark, blooming things hidden beneath the high collar of her gown. The way she flinched when her husband reached for her at the next banquet. The hollow look in her eyes that had never been there before.

Lee had always told himself he would never interfere. That she deserved to live these lives as they came, untouched by the monster that lurked in the dark.

But this time, he couldn’t stay away.

He followed the man through the winding streets of the city, footsteps silent on the cobblestone. The nobleman was drunk, swaying as he staggered down a deserted alley, humming a tune that grated on Lee’s nerves. He reeked of wine, of expensive perfume, of cruelty. The kind of man who took pleasure in his power. The kind of man who believed himself untouchable.

Lee stepped out of the shadows.

"Who’s there?" the nobleman slurred, squinting into the darkness.

Lee didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch, watching as unease flickered across the man’s face. Then he moved.

It was over in seconds. A hand around the nobleman's throat, squeezing just hard enough to feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. The man barely had time to gasp before Lee struck, fangs piercing flesh, warm blood spilling over his tongue. It had been so long since he had fed. He had denied himself for so long.

But this kill was not for hunger.

It was for her.

When the man finally went limp, Lee let his body crumple to the ground, blood staining the stone beneath them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the coppery taste lingered. The taste of vengeance. Of justice.

Then he looked up—and saw her.

Y/N stood at the mouth of the alley, candlelight from the street casting a golden halo around her. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on the lifeless body at Lee’s feet. Then, slowly, she met his gaze.

"You killed him," she murmured.

Lee swallowed, his throat thick with something he couldn’t name. "He hurt you."

She stepped closer, unafraid. "You’re dangerous."

"I am."

She should have run. She should have screamed for the guards. Instead, she looked down at the man who had tormented her for months, the man she had been forced to smile for, to obey, to endure. And then she exhaled a long, shuddering breath, as if some unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When she looked back at Lee, her eyes were softer. "But you’ve saved me more times than I can count."

Weeks passed, and the rumors of her husband's mysterious disappearance faded into whispers. Y/N remained in the estate, and Lee remained in the shadows, always near, never too far. But this time, he did not watch from a distance.

One evening, beneath a sky heavy with rain, she found him waiting on the balcony of her chambers. The city stretched below them, lanterns flickering against the darkness. The air smelled of wet stone, of lavender, of her.

She stepped closer, the silk of her nightgown whispering against the cool night air. "You always find me."

"Always."

She reached for him then, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, as if memorizing him for the first time. And then, slowly, deliberately, she kissed him.

It was not rushed, not desperate like their first kisses in other lives. It was steady, filled with understanding. As if she had known him for years rather than weeks. As if, deep down, she had always known.

Lee stayed with her.

As the years passed, he remained by her side, a silent guardian in a world that did not know what he was. He held her at night, pressing kisses to her skin as she murmured dreams of other lives. He traced the lines of her face, memorizing every expression, knowing one day, he would lose her again.

And when time finally caught up to her, when the silver in her hair outnumbered the gold, he never left.

He sat at her bedside when she grew frail, holding her hand, whispering stories from their past. Some she remembered. Some she did not. But she listened all the same, her fingers curled around his, as if afraid to let go.

One night, as the fire burned low in the hearth, she turned to him, eyes heavy with sleep. "Will you find me again?"

Lee pressed his lips to her knuckles, breathing in the last traces of her warmth. "Always."

And when she passed, he kissed her brow one final time before slipping away into the night, the cycle beginning once more.

It was now the 21st century and Lee hadn’t meant to talk to her. He had spent months ensuring that their paths never truly crossed, keeping his distance like he always did.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

It was late, the city washed in a misty drizzle, the glow of neon signs reflecting off the wet pavement. He had been trailing her like always, keeping a careful distance.

Then, without warning, she turned around.

Lee barely had time to react before she was standing before him, eyes bright with something unreadable.

“Hello, Lee.”

His breath caught.

No.

She couldn’t have just—

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The world tilted.

It took everything in him to stay still, to keep his expression unreadable even as his mind reeled. His name. She had said his name.

She remembered.

For centuries, it had been the other way around—him searching, him finding, him remembering while she moved through life unaware of their past.

But now…

Now, she was the one who had been looking for him.

Lee’s pulse pounded in his ears, though he knew it was just a phantom sensation, a habit leftover from when he had been human.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching for some sign that he had misheard. That this was just some cruel coincidence.

But her expression held no doubt. No hesitation. Only quiet certainty.

She knew him.

Truly knew him.

“Say something,” she teased, tilting her head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He let out a shaky breath, barely managing a smirk. “Funny. That’s usually my line.”

Her lips quivered in amusement, but her eyes remained steady, waiting.

“How?” Lee finally asked, voice hoarse. “How do you remember?”

She hummed, crossing her arms. “Not all at once. It started as dreams—flashes of things that didn’t belong to this life. You were always there, though.” She smiled softly, like she had finally solved a puzzle that had been plaguing her for years. “Your face was the clearest thing.”

He couldn’t breathe.

For so long, he had carried their past alone. Shouldered the weight of lifetimes of love and loss, knowing she would never share the burden.

But now…

Now, she was standing in front of him, looking at him like she had been waiting for him just as desperately as he had been waiting for her.

“You were watching me,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Every night. Weren’t you?”

Lee stiffened.

Caught.

He should lie. Should tell her she was mistaken. But what was the point? She already knew.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I was.”

She didn’t look surprised.

“Why?”

Lee swallowed, debating how much of the truth he was willing to give her.

Because I couldn’t help myself. Because I’ve lost you too many times. Because I swore I wouldn’t get close, and yet I can’t seem to let you go.

Instead, he settled for, “Old habits die hard.”

Her gaze softened, seeing right through him.

Lee hated how easily she had always been able to do that.

“Will you keep running?” she asked.

The question settled between them, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Lee had run for centuries—run from getting too close, from the pain of losing her, from the cruel hand of fate that always wrenched them apart.

But this time was different.

This time, she remembered.

And she had been the one searching for him.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

Y/N reached out then, her fingers curling around his in a way that felt so natural, so achingly familiar, that it nearly unraveled him.

“Then let me find you,” she said, her grip steady. “For once, let me be the one who stays.”

Lee looked down at their joined hands, at the warmth seeping into his skin.

For the first time in lifetimes, she wasn’t slipping away.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let go.

[electricalhuzzah]

One day I will find more Billford friends and stop annoying you *but* I was rereading Chapter 8 and just. The Stan and Bill interaction was so chef’s kiss. I need them to enter their besties era and Ford to be in the back like “um? Stop stealing my man Stanley wtf?"

(Also every time Dipper says “at least I have Ford!” and we jump cut to Billford *railing* I cackle. It’s a joke that never gets old)

my brother in christ in case you can’t tell by the entire fanfic i wrote i am a big billford yapper. ALWAYS annoy me with billford.

that being said, ford SO WOULD. i think ford probably views stan as the rugged-charmer-ladies-man type, and the conversation would probably go something to the effect of “stanley. you could have any lady, gent, or individual in between whom you so desired. let me have this ONE THING. just the ONE.” and stan would be like “ignoring the fact that you’re insane. i don’t want your ugly reincarnated boyfriend. he’s all yours, all 180 degrees of ‘im.”

^ in this conversation ford has like bloodshot eyes from tear suppression and is shaking. y’all remember that part in tbob when fords like “where was [bill]?? off INSPIRING some other scientist???” hes so insecure and jealous and im so excited to explore that.

I AM SO GLAD EVERYONE ELSE FINDS THE DIPPER THING FUCKING HILARIOUS BC EVERY TIME I WRITE IT I GIGGLE A LIL TO MYSELF LIKE “hehe dramatic irony >:)”

pertaining to this, may or may not be working on a (very very short) animatic about dipper being a bill hater. im slowly dipping my toes back into the art waters after doing no drawin whatsoever for a while.

OK THANK YOU FOR ALL UR INTERACTION HOME BRO ‼️‼️ UR SO FUCKIN COOL

[chris-continues]

Only for me..

A Jennifer’s Body AU w/ Uncanny Vash

SUMMARY: in which Vash is your part demon boyfriend.. who has a rather interesting diet.

TW: mentions of murder, corpses, cannibalism, blood, light gore, slightly suggestive (you kiss and get close to one another w/ some suggestive touches), mentions of not eating (nothing too heavy)

NOTES: Ray said smth along the lines of “I need to kiss him when he’s covered in blood” and I felt that. Jennifer’s body is one of my fav movies ever (and while I was watching it w Ray and a few other friends he was like “…so uncanny vash-“ AND I WAS LIKE “YES.”) so take this thingy hehe

TAGS: @h4venpha @vashfantasy @lune010 @captaintweet @millionsvash @beanibon

“..I hate that you have to- to lure them in like this.” You were well aware of how beautiful and captivating your boyfriend was, charisma rolling off of him in waves.

He was inhuman.

“..I know mayfly, I’m sorry..” his gaze drifted towards the ground, swinging the corpse around like a rag doll sheepishly. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Blood covered him, head to toe, splattered across his cheeks and even the lens of his glasses.

You stood, arms crossed on one side of the room pouting. “Mm.. ok.” Your foot tapped on the ground of the abandoned house- you’d made it habit to meet with him afterwards, terrified at first but soon warming up to it. He didn’t enjoy it either.

There were days you had to convince him to find food. Starving himself, for the sake of others- which was selfless, and perhaps it wasn’t morally correct of you to cast others aside but you needed him alive. So you compromised. He wouldn’t do this alone. He was eternally grateful for that, really. He much preferred his other, more temporary way of feeding. When the.. incubi part of him gave way to you. He’d never bring himself to hurt you- god no! But you seemed to have your own allure, feeding him in waves. In some irony, you were the dessert he fed from after a meal from one unfortunate victim.

He gently lays the body down on the couch for others to discover later, making his way toward you. His pupils contract unnaturally, stomach probably making room for it’s assumed second course now. A rumble erupts from his stomach, hungry, depraved, even. It's a bit scary to you still, even more so when you'd first found out about his little secret. That the likable tennis nerd in your bio class was secretly a serial killer- not by choice. He was such a sweetheart, despite the feral look glinting in his eyes he held you tenderly against the walls of the rickety house at the edge of town.

"..'m only yours.." He murmured against your neck, nipping gently. His jaw creaked, bones rearranging from the previous tearing of flesh with his teeth. "All mine.." You smiled into his hair, stained a slight pink. "Mm, you gotta shower." Your hand found its way into the strands, ruffling his hair affectionately. The hum he released was rather otherwordly in pitch, content chirps growing closer and closer until-

"Clean your mouth first, uh uh."

Of course you made him use mouthwash before kissing you, duh. Cross contamination was a thing. You truly wonder if that applied to your situation, however either way you weren't too fond of the idea of having his leftovers between your teeth.

He whined, tossing his head back and rummaging throughout his pockets. "Fine, fine..." a cute pout settled on his lips. One you couldn't wait to kiss off. "Hurry up.." you tapped your foot impatiently, "Had to wait so long earlier." "You act like you're the one getting fed!" Ah, the irony. Amusement dripped from his tone as he hurriedly spat the mouthwash out the half opened window. "I'm a very lucky person to be feeding you. Now c'mere." You slung your arms over his shoulders once more, his neck craning down as he dipped you playfully, pressing you to the wall once again. His lips met yours briefly- a warning for what was to come- before he groaned. The demon in him had yet to be satiated.

Vash craved you immensely, and would go to extreme lengths to truly prove it to you. So dutiful. Devoted to you.

Warmth emanated from him, as if he were a heated, weighted blanket. Everything about him made your head spin- although that may be apart of his quite literal otherwordly charm and aphrodisiac. Well, that, and the fact you were head over heels in love with him. "Love you mayfly," he groaned, "Only you. 'm sorry, 'm so sorry.." He whimpered, message to you broken between kisses. Oh god, he was so sweet.

"You're the only one for me." He continued, pressing into you further. His breath mixed with your own, his arms encasing you. He was your safe haven, yours. And he'd do anything for you. Blood trickled onto your shirt, chest pressed to his front. Crimson tinged every article of clothing he wore when feeding, you both had to make routine trips to the thrift store in town nowadays. It made for cute dates out, though, so you weren't complaining. "Love you too.." You breathed out, barely able to get a word out as he kissed you deeper, and deeper, inhuman tongue plunging into your mouth. He seemed to always crave more of you, the taste of you intoxicating. He hummed, hands rubbing up and down your biceps before tightening around you once more. Everything about him was exhilarating, always giving you so much it almost felt overwhelming in the best possible way. A coppery taste still made its way into your mouth, but you'd grown to not mind the taste. Not if it was Vash, the boy who'd cherish you through and through. Who would bite at your bottom lip, practically devouring you with such need as he continued to cling to you in full.

You'd love him through and through, making this all work. You had so much love to give him, pressing back against him in an attempt to match his feverish need in your kiss.

He was yours. And in return? You were his, unapologetically, unconditionally, and that would remain unchanging.

[ghostmartyr]

I don’t really think Ymir went back on anything her arc built up to, I think her goal was to live a life that she could be proud of, and by saving r&b she followed her principles. It’s tragic but that’s the irony of Ymir, she always wanted to be selfish but couldn’t escape her nature of being a good person. Historia on the other hand…yeah her arc is fucking infuriating

I'm breaking my own commitment to not dip my toes into this, because impulse control what impulse control.

Here's my starting point problem with that:

Ymir does not save Reiner and Bertolt.

At best, her actions get them a pat on the head by their oppressors. They continue to live out being child soldiers for a society that considers them devils. Bertolt dies in their service almost immediately after. Reiner is a suicidal mess whose will to live is bound up in other child soldiers he's responsible for.

No one is saved.

That's a fair tragedy, with someone trying to repay a debt only for it to amount to nothing because the cycles they're all caught up in are larger than any one personal act of altruism. Even trying to good can't undo the harm of systemic cruelty. It's a valid plot for a story like this.

Except Ymir is one of the few characters who realizes how fucked the world is. She's a better person than she ever wants to be, because being good gets you jack shit and she knows that -- but she can't help but lend people the hand she was never given. On its face, that makes her a good candidate for a hopeless sacrifice that saves no one.

The core problem is that, again, Ymir knows how fucked the world is.

You’re going to kill yourself, the ultimate act of submission. Is that how much you want to please the people who treated you like a nuisance?! Ymir, Chapter 40

Ymir kills herself for Reiner and Bertolt, providing the people who left her with decades of living a nightmare a weapon.

Doing stupid shit to help Reiner and Bertolt out tracks. If they hadn't shown up, she'd still be in that nightmare, and she killed their friend.

But she specifically kills herself in a way that aids people who violated her, who will continue to abuse Reiner and Bertolt, and continue to launch offensives that put Historia's life at risk. Ymir has the knowledge to understand that she's not saving anyone from anything here.

There are many potential layers of story that could have been approached with this, but the bottom line for me is that Ymir's most solid convictions are all ignored when she goes with Reiner and Bertolt. There are facets you can examine to make it make sense, just as there are all kinds of things you can examine with Historia's reversal of her arc. It's always a tragedy when someone fails their principles so stunningly. It's the Bad End coming as was dreaded.

It's just that the story does not examine any of it. It's taken as a given that Ymir goes through with this, leaving us with Ymir killing herself for people who hate her in order to give Reiner and Bertolt a temporary reprieve that only condemns them to a familiar suffering.

Even then, you could make a case for characters doing stupid things if the story at least admitted that it was a ridiculously bad idea on all fronts. Our protagonist's arc is built on that. Eren makes bad choice after bad choice after bad choice and every character in his vicinity rightly goes "what." Characters can utterly fail the best of themselves and it can still be a compelling story.

With Ymir, there simply is no story. She chooses to die, and it's taken as inevitable that a character who is so anti-fate and so anti-dickheads would die in a way that benefits a "fate" she rejected and a bunch of dickheads.

Ymir kills herself, and it makes Marley happy and saves no one. She knows enough about the world to understand that.

I do not personally think that the story should get credit for tragic irony that amounts to "what if everything went to hell" without actually bothering to come up with a why for everything going to hell.

Eren's a tragic disaster; Ymir's a dropped thread.

[unseemingowl]

I realise the irony of me finally dipping my toes into Dragon Age: Inquisition when EA is nuking Bioware, but my god, this really is an absolutely excellent game.

Like, I've already accidentally killed my entire party by going, 'oooh, a dragon, let me look', not realising it was gonna fully murder me. lol.

And the lore! The fucking lore man. Thoroughly enjoying that they're putting emphasis on spycraft and diplomacy as well as military might.

Also I've been flirting with everyone, I didn't expect you could do it this early for some reason. And I'm delighted.

Years of seeing Solas as a tumblr sexy man is making me partial to him though. I know enough to know that something is up with him, but I'm trying to avoid spoilers and I'm trying to go in as blind on everything as possible.

[a-random-fandom-friend]

As a french person who followed Antoine Daniel since his youtube carreer in 2012 and has seen him play with Etoile and Baghera for several years,but is only now dipping their toes into qsmp... it's fascinating how international people, who only know him from qsmp, percieve these three.

Like. It... both endears and frustrates me how much people take them literally. Those people (especially Etoiles and Antoine, ESPECIALLY Antoine) use so much sarcasm and irony that it's impossible to take anything they say seriously. They use haters arguments against them that they've read on twitter as memes in everyday conversation (like Antoine "Je suis vieux" or Etoiles "It's only pixels, bro"), enought that it becomes a speech pattern, enough that breaking that pattern becomes funny (for example, Antoine responding to etoiles in a "fun fact" voice : "Ah, not for me ! If i die in game i die irl. Yeah it's a condition, i have not told you before because i didnt want people to take advantage of that" and then just continuing doing whatever he was doing). It's fun and exhausting all at once, like when a friend always does a bad pun when you say a specific world , or keeps up a bit so past its relevency that "doing the bit" becomes in itself a bit.

Saying insane shit (because of five levels of sarcasm) with a straight face is their bit. Antoine even keeps it up when people in his chat ask 'is this a bit', and usually adds one more layer of sarcasm. He doesnt care. And seeing people care SO MUCH about what he says is so frustrating but so endearing.

Anyway keep up the good work you qsmp lore digger. With a bit of luck it will some day loop back to being unintentionnally reavealing,

[ashfae]

A03 meme

A03 meme time, except I've been writing and posting fanfic to the internet since before A03. And before fanfiction.net. And before Geocities. And before the World Wide Web. There's fic of mine with ASCII doodle illustrations somewhere out there where the wild BBSes once roamed…I was tagged by @moveslikebucky; thanks Buckie, here goes. <3

how many works do you have on Ao3? 54. (and yes if we added in all the fanfic outside of A03 it'd be a larger number but I can't be bothered to consolidate it all)

what’s your total Ao3 word count? 341,744, which is better than I was expecting, yay.

what fandoms do you write for? At the moment it's just Good Omens, but there's been a lot of Dragon Age, some Lord of the Rings, and way back in the day there was Harry Potter and a lot of anime. I am toying with dipping my toe back in LotR, there's a thing I wrote ages ago that's entirely finished and just needs editing and I've been meaning to get it out there for ages. It's long though, so that'd be a commitment.

what are your top five fics by kudos? What Custom Strictly Divided (507) Like an Echo Far Away (415) (this one wasn't in the top five last week when I first started writing this post! So I think @mielpetite gets all the credit for boosting it with amazing fanart) What Comes From Your Hand (402) Give Me Your Illusions (346) Nightswimming (307)

do you respond to comments? Yep! Sometimes just with "Thanks!" or hearts but I try to. Though they get away from me sometimes and then I do a bunch all at once.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Definitely Warmaiden, which is my "What if Éowyn got the One Ring?" fic, from an idea that occurred to me one day and wouldn't leave. Clearly that doesn't end well for her, or anyone. From GO fandom it's probably Silent Night, which I still want to expand into a larger fic to be a set with Give Me Your Illusions. Someday, someday.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of them! But for the happiest I'd say Swan Lake Revised, cowritten with @mostlyjustgoose. And if we ever get part three up it'll be even more happy. And smutty. Very smutty.

Do you get hate on fics? Very rarely. I've been lucky there.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Oh here's the irony. I used to do a lot a lot a LOT of online roleplaying and mygod I wrote smut. So much. So. Much. I don't do as much rp these days but even so the threads I have going are still frequently pure filth. But in fic, much less so, even though I want to. Why it all gets channeled into rp and not as much into my fanfic I do not know. Honestly I want to write a lot more of it. Smut forever!!

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Sometimes, when I have a good idea. But the craziest one I ever wrote, ages ago, was a pure crackfic for my 21st birthday, where I imagined a bizarre party for myself in which LOADS of fictional characters (mostly from anime) showed up so I could make them interact in wacky ways. It was utterly ridiculous but amused me. Making all the characters voiced by Megumi "She's Everywhere!!" Hayashabara meet up and wonder why they all sound alike, for example. Also I wish I'd written an Artemis Fowl breaks into Gringotts to rob it fic before I became so disillusioned with both Artemis Fowl and Harry Potter. Heigh ho.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yep. It was impressive how lazy the person was about it too, they stole all the html as well. Someone brought it to my attention pretty quickly.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Twice, yes. Into Portuguese, as I remember.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Hi @mostlyjustgoose, I adore you, please co-write things with me forever. <3 Our baby is Unusual Strings, a reverse omens AU love story, and it's SO. CLOSE. to being done. So close. Aughhhh. I love our angel!Crowley and demon!Aziraphale so, so much.

What’s your all time favorite ship? Aziraphale and Crowley, Faramir and Éowyn, Hiccup and Astrid. Don't make me choose between those three, my head will explode.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Shut up shut up I will finish all of them ALL OF THEM I SAY…sigh. Beauty and the Battousai. Though I should probably mention A Demon in the Dreaming and The Queen Bee. (they're plotted and outlined and parts are written aaahhh come on ADHD meds help me out here)

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, definitely. I'm good at putting humour into things. Got compared to Patricia Wrede once and honestly, life goal achieved there. I can do memorable phrases and descriptions and edit well.

What are your writing weaknesses? What is plot. Why does it hate me. Why are my original characters one-dimensional cardboard. What is worldbuilding and how do I do it without getting stalled into paralysis. Baaaah. This is why my original novel will never be finished and I keep running back to fanfic instead.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Hoo boy contentious subject! I love reading it so long as it's translated somewhere in the footnotes, I'd be happy to write it if I knew other languages, the question of whether it should be italicized or not has apparently Officially been settled by The Publishing Industry on the side of Not.

First fandom you wrote for? Oh gosh I think it was the Dragonlance books by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. The first that ever got shown to other people was Ranma 1/2 though.

Favorite fic you’ve written? It's still What Custom Strictly Divided. Though Unusual Strings comes very close.

Gaaah I'm always worried I'll tag people who don't want to be tagged so, erk, um...if they're willing, @racketghost, @indieninja92, and @holycatsandrabbits! And you, if you're reading and want to do this, please say I tagged you. I meant to really, honest. ;)

[teddywesworl]

oh, same boat as the other anon! honestly I love your writing so much I'd probably be willing to get into anything you plug for all of the rest of time

but I've never played a video game in my life that wasn't on the gameboy so it's been an entire minute lmao, any last word of advice for me before I dip my toe into this big scary very unknown world?

ps are video games like small indie writers where trying to get them through illegal means is Bad, should I really give them actual money or?

AGH thank you guys, you're gonna make me cry

my number one advice for new dragon age players is try not to look at the fandom toooooo closely before you form your own opinion about the story. the discourse is going on 26 years old, and in many cases, it is impressively rancid. there are of course many wonderful artists and authors and communities, but it is inevitable, as you embark on this journey, that you will see somebody say with their whole chest some of the buck wildest shit you can imagine, and you will take psychic damage from it. that's just fandom life though ig.

second piece of advice is play the games in whatever order you want. you can start with origins for the Complete Linear Experience, but you will probably need this mod to prevent grandma from constantly crashing. origins is also dated in a lot of jarring little ways that you might expect from a video game from 2009. behold:

but yeah you can also just play Veilguard first and then go back after if you decide the dragon age world is your jam. Veilguard drops a LOT of lore that was only ever hinted at in previous games, but honestly the dramatic irony of playing Origins, 2, and Inquisition AFTER Veilguard would be really fucking fun.

as for the piracy question, veilguard is currently half off on steam for $30, and if you were inclined to dig deep into dragon age, DA: Origins ultimate edition (including all dlc) is on sale for six entire dollars. tbh fuck EA and get the games however you want, the devs have already been screwed out of their jobs, but six bucks is pretty good lmfao

buy Eternal Strands, though. ES was made by an indie team, and they rely on sale numbers to be able to keep doing what they're doing, so the purchase makes a big difference. ES is also currently on sale for $30!!! I am holding everyone at knifepoint until you buy it. :)

[reclist]

i cant tell hell and limbo apart

    (maybe im blowing it up out of proportion. i knew better. from second 0 my fingers bled on a nothing i so desperately held onto. and i love to feel so intensely i cant see two steps ahead of me)

i could be your plaything if you dont mind showing me your toys. and they used to be your skin and your hair and your jokes and now i will consider myself lucky if i catch a glimpse of your laughter

    (im adding new verses. im sorry they sound so much worse)

clock hit midnight. death returns to nothing

i guess this means i couldve shown you my version of heaven and it wouldn't have changed a thing. regret is a strong word. it wouldve been nice not to hear it from you. at least now i know

    (i didnt hear it. i had to read it. you couldnt even do that)

i want to be in your bloodstream. i want me to spill from your mouth and choke you and i want you to swallow it back up so i get to stay inside you for a while like you're staying inside me for a while

i would've never loved you and you never would've seen me as i saw you. that one moment frozen in time is cracking my skin and my blood stopped burning the second you let go of me. i had so much empty space and you dipped your toes in me i thought you were gonna fill it i thought i should let you

i thought i wished i knew i hoped i begged

flip the picture. oh the irony. the image in the mirror. i dont think i like bleeding the way ive made them bleed. you sucked me in for a change (do i taste as good as those before me. oh yeah. at least now i know)

heaven looked so pretty but now the sun is blinding me. and i knew you so well but now i know you better. i thought myself better too. i took the leap and look where it got me. i threw myself headfirst fully knowing because i wanted it so bad but you never wanted me at all

when i die it wont be you who i see anymore

i cant believe i was so terrified of you regretting it and i was right

[dianight]

I'm never wrong basically.

I saw this video mentioned and the only reason I decided to check it out were a couple of warnings, paraphrasing: "if you started transitioning recently you shouldn't watch this" that made me curious more than anything else. What can you possibly talk about that requires that sort of content warning?

Imagine my disappointment (mostly) when the entire point of the video is how easy it is as a trans woman to be disposed of and how that reality will affect how you live your life. General transmisogyny shit.

It's an ok video make no mistake, surely someone can get something valuable out of it but that someone is not me that's for sure. I do have a few criticisms of it but because one of them is above all others and more relevant as I've mentioned before, well, it's the one I want to talk about. And it's the "warning" itself.

Isn't it extremely ironic that the women who could benefit the most from understanding how we are treated, before they learn it from first hand experience, are the ones that shouldn't watch the video? It is grim of course, but even though the video mentions suicide, class and how disadvantaged we are regarding jobs and housing (the most important there) I still get the feeling that the video itself is not even close to how it feels to just talking with other women about their experiences and reading about them (read HAL if you haven't) when it comes to how bad it actually is.

Perhaps things are different 4 years later (<- they are not) and that's why the warning is there? It's the nsfw label on a trans woman post that she puts herself because she knows her body is viewed as inherently sexual. It's alluded to in the video itself when she talks about how she is not her "authentic self" but rather a palatable version that won't cause controversies by existing as herself. It's the irony (once again) of oppression getting worse when you try to talk about it.

Not shitting on this woman obviously, but what I got out of it is that she got lucky. Perhaps envy(?) that she got to a point where she has a supportive community and her life is stable. I was also disappointed that there isn't a conclusion but that is hardly her fault. What can you even say?

Very basic transfeminine stuff with little to say. Maybe I'm too demanding. Maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe it's because it feels targeted to tme people, both directly ("don't watch if you are newly transitioned") and indirectly (the general atmosphere, perhaps I'm wrong (no, I'm never wrong)). Maybe I'm too jaded and can't really see how the severety of such a heavy topic could affect others. Likely. Maybe something else.

To sum it up: I'm disappointed that a video that barely dips its toes talking about transmisogyny has such warnings while not daring to dig any deeper into it. The paths we walk are separeted by a chasm I fear.

[opheliajupiter99]

My Bloody Valentine

Lately, Gricko couldn't shake the palpable feeling of being watched. Then again, he supposed they always were in the Feywild; especially now that they'd made a deal with Bavlorna. It was probably the toad hag's gaze he felt...

Though, the trip to the hag's hut certainly hadn't been -all- bad, he thought, as he sat by the campfire late that night, looking down at the rusty cleaver in his grasp. She was certainly something - a dangerous something, but something, nonetheless. He hadn't actually used it, hell it was -way- too rusted to cut anything anyways, but he'd kept it.

He didn't know a lot about Redcaps, but he could tell giving it was a show of affection. What was so special about rust, he wondered. Perhaps because it's so irony, like blood, that it turns a similar color to the crimson liquid when the rust gets really intense. Perhaps it was a metaphor for rot, just as the corpses scattered in a Redcaps wake rotted.

He was snapped from his thoughts, ironically, by the sound of snapping twigs. He swung around to look over his shoulder, just barely catching a metallic glint reflected from the fire's flames as whatever it was dipped back into the darkness. He got up and headed into the thick brush, still holding the cleaver at his side.

The figure was remarkably quick for how heavy their footfall sounded. He already had a feeling who it was, but as he grew deeper into the thicket, a scent caught his nose, which confirmed his suspicion - blood. The scent of blood however only grew stronger, and by the time he'd reached the source, it was downright violent, now mixed with the scent of gore.

Heaps of viscera lay discarded all around the base of a tall, thick tree, difficult to even make out what it'd all been with how violent it was all torn apart. If it weren't for a stray, webbed limb half hidden by tall reeds, he'd likely have never known it was the remnants of a Bullywug. He gasped, backing up with wide eyes, gaze darting around the tree's base, before he finally looked up, and looked at its trunk.

In the bark of the tree, an image had been carved crudely with a cleaver, said image 'colored in' with a hefty amount of blood, decorated around the edges with what appeared to be rib bones. It was a cartoonish heart, written in the center the letters 'GG + BT'. He blinked twice, still trying to process all of this.

"Do ya like it?" Came Bloody Toe's voice behind him, making him nearly jump out of his skin as he turned around. There indeed was the Redcap, covered from head to toe in blood, her boots completely dyed crimson, a wide grin on her face and eyes even wider. He struggled to find words, backing up a bit as she approached. He wasn't exactly -scared- of her, but he was a bit worried what Redcaps considered 'affection'.

She looked him over, her expression brightening ever further. "Ah! Ya kept my cleaver! Hehe, I knew ah picked right." He smiled rather sheepishly, chuckling. "Heh...well I...I-I knew it meant a lot to you." He began to calm down a bit, now that he was fairly certain he wasn't gonna take his heart for a keepsake or something. She chuckled in turn. "It sure does. When a Redcap gives a cleaver -that- rusty, that means they ain't lettin' ya outta there sight, even when ya lose track of em for a bit."

"So, like I was sayin' ya like it?" She said, gesturing her blood-soaked cleaver to the 'art' she'd created. He blinked, fiddling with his fingers, not quite sure how to respond to that. "Well, it's certainly very sweet of ya, yeah. Though uh...couldn't ya have used like, normal frogs?" She let out a hearty laugh, as if the mere concept was a farce. "Why would I be killin' normal frogs? Normal frogs don't be beggin' and pleadin' when ya cuttin' em!"

She tapped her cleaved to her chin in thought. "Thought, if I was a fancy druid like ya, I bet I -could- hear a normal frog beggin'! Ah, ya real lucky, ya know that?" She chuckled again, him chuckling nervously in return. Is this what Kremy was talking about when he said not to stick his dick in crazy? But heck, he hadn't even done -that- yet!

She noticed how skittish he'd gotten soon enough, huffing. "Ah, come on, don't be such a sissy. Look, I ain't just killin' for pleasure - oh ho, believe me, I be gettin' -plenty- pleasure outta my lil' games. But I'd still be killin' even if I didn't; know why?" He shook his head timidly. "It's cause if I go too long without bloodyin' my cap, I'll goddamn -DIE-, like ya folk would if ya went without food or water."

Gricko's eyes widened at that. That indeed changed things significantly. I mean, he still wasn't much beyond quietly concerned before that, but still. Much like the monsters he so attentively cared for, she did what she needed to survive - even if, as she said, she did enjoy it as well. Hell, if you -had- to, there wasn't much option other than to enjoy it, he supposed.

"I...I-I'm sorry Ms. Etoes, I-I didn't know." Her smile quickly returned, reaching out a bloodied, clawed hand to pinch his cheek. "Oh, I know ya didn't. Now run along back to bed, Ms. Etoes gotta do some more huntin'." He stared to move forward, then looked over his shoulder towards her. "You...wanna come back to camp?" She smirked, waving a hand. "I'll be there before ya know it, just gotta finish this up."

He nodded, heading back to camp. He snuggled up in his sleeping bag, sitting up and staring out towards the woods for a moment, before he laid back down, still clutching the cleaver.