#everything feels like it’s just piling up from now since 2020

[alaskan-wallflower]

holy shit i’m going through an absolute whirlwind of emotions

[frvnkcastles]

hi, sorry if I wrote something wrong, this is the first time I make a request... well, I've been dealing with OCD since 2020 (not with organization, but with having to touch something repeatedly or turning the light on and off among other things, and if I don't do something bad happens) and I saw that you're accepting ideas, so here's mine if you want :) Frank Castle x Reader who has had OCD for years but it has gotten worse and she has a panic attack because she doesn't want to deal with it anymore but she just can't stop

I’LL KEEP YOU LIKE AN OATH ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: Stuck in a compulsion, you need Frank’s help and support more than ever.

Warnings: Reader has OCD, panic attack, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.4k

Author’s note: I’ve actually been assessed for OCD because I display some traits but I’m fortunate to say they’re not that severe, so I can’t say I fully know the experience I was writing about here. But I hope it meets your expectations, anon! You’re so strong and I hope you’re doing well <3 I feel like Frank would 100000% learn everything he can about his partner’s disorders and go to doctor’s appointments and make sure there’s no skipping meds. Tell me I’m wrong!! Anyway, enjoy :)

You didn’t know what happened to make your symptoms worse, what caused the turn towards a decline in your control over your compulsions but it happened, anyway. You thought you were doing so well, but slowly and surely, your steady management of your disorder crumbled and you soon found yourself in an evil loop that you didn’t quite know how to break out of.

Frank quickly picked up on it getting worse. He could read you like an open book and he was perfectly attuned to your moods and especially the anxiety that had begun to rear its head more often, so it was easy for him to figure out you were struggling. You had been together long enough for him to know exactly how your symptoms manifested and what he could do to help, but he couldn’t deny his heart broke for you after you had made so much progress in the past year.

He caught you standing by the light switch one evening, and he immediately knew what was going on. ”Hey, sweetheart. Wanna take a walk with me or somethin’? Get your mind off of it?” he asked softly, placing a hand on your arm to gently retrieve you from the switch, but you stood firmly and pried his grip off of you.

”I can’t do that. I—I just can’t”, you insisted, flicking the lights on and then back off, which earned a frown from Frank. You had told him before about the immense fear of something bad happening if you didn’t follow the compulsions, and while he knew he couldn’t fix what was going on in your head, he always tried to soothe your circling thoughts.

”It’s aight, baby. I promise, nothin’s gonna happen. I know I’m just some asshole sayin’ it but I swear, it’ll be okay”, he reassured you, stepping in front of you to tear your burning stare away from the light switch and towards him. ”Remember what the doctor said, huh? Sometimes you gotta refuse to engage, yeah? C’mon, sit with me for a while, sweetheart”, he reminded you, and reluctantly, you had to admit he was right. You had agreed to give exposure therapy a go, and when you didn’t feel strong enough on your own, Frank had promised to be right by your side to help you sit with the anxiety.

Frank extended his hand to you, and with a sigh, you took it. ”Attagirl”, he commended you before leading you to the living room couch. You fidgeted but sat down, regardless, and he hauled you into his arms, creating a pile of cuddles on the cushions. Throughout the time you had been together, you had discovered that he could be very affectionate — at least when the right person had come along, and usually, you enjoyed it deeply. But right now, you couldn’t help but ruminate on the damn light switch.

”I gotchu. Wanna tell me about your day tomorrow?” Frank tried to steer your mind toward something else, and exhaling shakily, you nodded. You really wanted to try, make an effort for him and give him a reason to be proud of you. You were certainly weary of your compulsions, so you couldn’t exactly blame Frank if he was starting to feel the same way.

”Yeah, I—I, uh… I’m seeing a friend for lunch and—”, you started, but lost track of your own sentence quickly enough. You couldn’t stop thinking about the light switch, couldn’t help but feel the imminent doom looming over you if you dared to step away from the compulsion, and it was driving you mad.

”I’m listenin’, pretty girl. Which friend we talkin’ about?” Frank tried to keep you going, so thoughtful and attentive, but it wasn’t working. You knew he was really trying for you — he had attended every doctor’s appointment as per your wish and he had made sure to ask what he could do to help, how he could take off some of the burden you were carrying by yourself. And he routinely checked in with you to ensure he hadn’t crossed any boundaries and that his gentle pushing was still helping, and most days, you were happy to report that he was your saving grace.

But right now, it just wasn’t enough.

”I’m sorry, I can’t do this”, you stammered, rushing to climb out of Frank’s arms. You hurried to the light switch and began flicking it on and off, the urge to do it a specific amount of times overcoming your senses. You stood by it like a moth drawn to a flame, and Frank felt a horrible pit in his stomach for being unable to ease your mind.

He followed you from the living room, just in time to catch sight of you bringing your hands to your forehead in despair. You promptly burst into tears, feeling sickened and nervous and out of control, and as you shakily dropped your hands to cover your face, Frank rushed to your side. He placed his palm flat on your back and he crouched over to your level as you doubled over and your breathing grew shallow and panicked.

”Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, sweetheart”, he tried, his gruff voice full of worry as he watched you sink deeper into the panic attack.

”I just want it to stop”, you sobbed, feeling so hopeless and defeated. You didn’t want to get stuck in these loops anymore, but you were incapable of stopping, and it was sending you into a downward spiral right there and then.

But Frank was determined to save you from it. ”I know, baby, I know. It’s real shitty. I wish I could make it stop, y’know I would in a heartbeat”, he spoke with sincere sympathy. ”Breathe f’me, yeah? Look at me. Focus on just me, nothin’ else”, he instructed, soft but demanding enough to be a guiding light, and trying your best, you followed his example of breathing in and out steadily.

Your head was still spinning and your chest felt constricted, but you managed to slow down your breathing. Feeling completely overwhelmed, you slumped down to the floor and sat down against the wall with ragged breaths and trembling hands. Frank followed you down, squatting in front of you to remain in your eyeline, and his hand rested on your propped-up knee.

”There you go, keep goin’”, he encouraged you in a way that helped you calm down. He kept you grounded and as minutes ticked by, you were able to pull yourself back from the void of the sheer panic. You dropped your head between your arms, and observing you with the burning desire to do more to help, Frank sighed.

”I know this fuckin’ sucks, baby. You don’t deserve any of it”, he spoke up, sitting down fully. ”But you know I’m always here, aight? I ain’t givin’ up or lettin’ you do it, either. We’ll get you therapy or meds or whatever it is you wanna do”, he went on, and feeling embarrassed for spinning out of control the way you had, you looked up at him.

”I’m sorry. I wish I wasn’t this way”, you lamented, and in response, Frank just shook his head, refusing to let you go down that path of self-hatred.

”It’s not who you are, ya hear me? They’re your symptoms. It’s a disorder. It’s got nothin’ to do with the kind of person you are, which, by the way, I fuckin’ adore and love no matter what. You’re my girl, and I’m here for you even when you think you’re at your worst”, he claimed with a serious tone. It wasn’t something he was going to argue about — to him, you were perfect. You just happened to struggle sometimes, but that didn’t make you any less beautiful or amazing to him. In fact, it just convinced him that you were so, so strong.

Smiling weakly, you took his hand. ”Thank you, Frankie. I love you, too”, you whispered in gratitude. The compulsion hadn’t left your mind yet, and you suspected it was going to stick with you for a while, but you felt a little better knowing Frank wasn’t going anywhere nor was he going to judge you.

”C’mere, girl”, he gestured for you to crawl into his arms, and you happily obliged. You did exactly that, shuffling on the floor until you were sitting between his legs and your head rested against his chest, the warmth of his firm body bringing you immense comfort.

For the night, Frank was focused on helping you alleviate the anxiety, but the next day, he was driven to find you some help. When it came to your well-being, he did not procrastinate, and so, he was determined to do whatever he could, just for you.

[fairyniceyeah]

⌛🐣Day 20: "I can handle it."

Scrape/Panic-Attack/Neglected

@juneofdoom

Day 19: "This can't be happening."

Summary: It’s October 2020 and Mingi is not doing well.

CW: hospital

Whumpee: Mingi

Caretaker: Yunho  

They were having a good time. A really, really good time. It had been so long since it had just been them, just Yunho and Mingi.

It might have been pre-debut if Mingi thought about it. Even as they were starting to establish themselves in the industry slowly, though very much slowed down by the global pandemic, all ATEEZ members were living out of each other's pockets. Even with having his own room to himself, Mingi did not really have the chance much to spend time one on one with his best friend.

But now? 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa were out for dinner, as the two oldest always did at least once a month to “escape the children” as they called it. Yeosang and Wooyoung went to visit TXT’s dorm to spend time with their friends. Jongho had invited San along to go out with his parents. 

So yeah, Mingi and Yunho had the dorm to themselves, piles of food on the TV table in front of them and watching an episode of one of the animes they had discovered during being locked up at home. 

By all means, Mingi was supposed to be happy.

Yet, there was a tight knot in his chest, leaving him feeling off and slightly breathless. He wasn’t sure if Yunho had noticed. While his best friend could be very observant he also managed to totally lose himself in TV shows if given the opportunity. 

MIngi squirmed, adjusting the blanket over his legs again. It felt weird. Too light but too suffocating at the same time. 

It was scary, a bit.

He just didn't feel good and Mingi couldn't put a finger on why he was so … off.

All he knew was that he didn't like how he was feeling at all. Was the breathlessness getting worse?

Something definitely was wrong. Wrong with him. Why was he so antsy, so worried? Nothing was wrong. Mingi was actually having the perfect ending to a nice day. So was Yunho.

Yunho deserved to relax.

Yeah, he couldn’t let Yunho know how he was feeling. 

What if…?

What if Yunho hated him?

Here they were, just the two of them, and Mingi wasn’t feeling safe? But instead scared?

Was he scared of Yunho? 

Not really.

Scared that Yunho would hate him if he realized that MIngi wasn’t feeling safe with him?

Totally.

What if Yunho hated him even outside of that?

MIngi tried to tell himself that Yunho did not hate him. Of course he didn’t. Yunho was his best friend. Had been for years. Yunho had run to a different school to eat lunch with Mingi every day for years. Yunho who knew all of Mingi’s secrets and had let Mingi in on his own. But what if Yunho didn’t actually trust him?

“I, uh, I …”, Mingi stuttered out before he could stop himself. He threw the blanket off of himself and stood.

“Are you okay?”, Yunho asked, his attention snapping up to him. He looked worried.

Surely that was just a trick? A lie?

It probably was.

Maybe Yunho’s worry when Mingi had fallen earlier during their last practice for The Black Cat Nero - which was going to be soon filmed as a Halloween special - had also been a lie.

Was Mingi even good enough to be in an idol group?

It was like a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over his head. Where had that thought come from? Suddenly everything hit him at once.

The fear.

The trouble breathing.

The overwhelming feeling of doom.

Was he shaking? 

He flinched as a hand touched his shoulder. Yunho was kneeling in front of him suddenly. When had Mingi fallen to the ground? 

“...gi-yah? Mingi-yah?” Yunho’s voice seemed so far away. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Mingi nodded frantically. 

He wasn’t okay. 

But Yunho had been having such a nice day. Mingi couldn’t be the reason that day turned sour.

“I’m okay. I can handle it”, he whispered. 

“Mingi? Handle what? What is going on?”, Yunho asked, sounding so worried. “Talk to me.”

Mingi shook his head and clutched at his chest. It hurt. He was so scared. He didn’t think he had ever been so scared in his life.

But he didn’t want to be a burden.

His thoughts were flying apart. 

He couldn’t remember much except for the fear and the crying. He thought that Hongjoong-hyung was there but that couldn’t be, could it? Wasn’t he with Seonghwa?

MIngi blinked open his eyes and found himself in a dark room. There were some beeping sounds and some lights. He couldn’t place it. Where was he?

Another wave of fear crashed over him but before it could get worse, a tired voice asked: “Mingi-yah? You awake?”

“Yeah”, Mingi rasped out, his voice barely there. He cleared his throat and repeated: “Yeah.”

A light-switch was turned and Mingi recognized where he was. Well, not really but he immediately knew he was in a hospital room. He didn’t quite remember how he had come to be there.

“Yunho?”, he asked quietly and lifted his eyes to look at his best friend, who was slumped in a chair next to the bed, holding Mingi’s hand and looked very, very tired. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember, princess?”, his best friend asked worriedly. Yunho really looked like shit up close. Pale, frazzled and half-asleep.

Mingi shook his head. “I only remember … I was scared? Why was I scared? Did something happen?”

“I was hoping you could tell me”, Yunho said and stood up. For a second Mingi feared he would leave but then he sat down on the bed beside Mingi. “We were watching TV when you … I had to call an ambulance because you didn’t breathe right, were hyperventilating, and then passed out. Don’t do that to me again. I don’t think I ever want to tell Hongjoong-hyung a member is in hospital again, he was so scared. I was so scared.”

“I … oh.” That was all Mingi managed to say. His memory was kinda hazy. “Did the doctors say why I … well?”

Yunho ran his hand through his hair, as he always did when nervous.

Was something seriously wrong with Mingi? Something Yunho didn’t want to tell him?

“They said you had a panic attack”, Yunho finally said.

“A … what?”

“A panic attack. Anxiety attack. Whatever you want to call it. It’s basically a short amount of time where your mind experiences insane levels of fear and the body goes into overdrive, making you have physical reactions to the fear”, Yunho explained, kind of like reading out of a medical book. Maybe he was. Yunho was known for looking up everything he didn’t know. Especially if it concerned Mingi.

“But … what was I so scared of?” Mingi chewed on his lower lip. He really didn’t know. Why had he been so afraid? He’d just been with Yunho. 

Shit. Yunho. Why was he here? Didn’t he hate Mingi now, knowing that his presence wasn’t enough to keep Mingi from panicking?

“Yunho? Do you … do you hate me now?” The questions burst out of him before Yunho even had the chance to answer his previous one. The dancer seemed so startled that he nearly fell off the bed.

“Me? Hate you? Why would you think that, baby?”, Yunho asked, his eyes wide and frightened, “Did I do something to make you think that? I’m sorry. I promise, I was so worried about you. So worried.”

Oh. Yunho was worried. He didn’t hate Mingi. At least he said so. It was enough for Mingi now, to believe him. Yunho wouldn’t ever lie to him.

“Mingi? Why would you think I’d hate you? You’re my best friend”, Yunho repeated quietly, after Mingi started to fiddle with his blanket instead of answering him.

“I had a panic attack”, Mingi started, then faltered.

“Yeah”, Yunho agreed, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“I had a panic attack while I was with you. I was just with you, my best friend. Why would I have a panic attack when I was just hanging out with my best friend? There was nothing that triggered it. We were having fun. Do you really not hate me? I don’t hate you, I promise”, Mingi choked out.

Yunho immediately shook his head: “Of course I know you don’t hate me, Mingi. I don’t think you are even capable of hating anybody. Don’t go thinking that. Really, I was so worried for you. I love you. So do the others. So does Atiny. Having a panic attack doesn’t have to be triggered by anything, you know. It can just happen.”

There was silence for a while as Mingi tried to process all the events. Finally it was Yunho who spoke up again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Huh?”

“You said you felt scared. You couldn’t breathe. Why did you say you could handle it?”, Yunho asked. He seemed to be trying very hard to keep the hurt out of his voice.

Oh no. Mingi hadn’t wanted to hurt him.

“I … I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t enjoying our time together. Lately everything has been so stressful. I’ve been on edge so much, we all have. With the pandemic but in general … everything had felt so awful. We were having a nice evening. Just us. I didn’t want to worry you. I wanted you to enjoy it. I really thought I could handle it”, he whispered.

“You don’t have to handle it though. We’re all here for you, we want to help. I am your best friend, Mingi. Don’t close yourself off.” Yunho sounded really scared again. Mingi couldn’t fault him; he’d feel the same way if the roles were reversed. “I want to help if it happens again. Do you trust me?”

Mingi nodded. Yeah, he trusted Yunho more than anybody. Yunho would never do anything to hurt MIngi and he always wanted the best for him. He was kind of ashamed he had doubted that.

Then Yunho’s words struck him.

“Oh”, Mingi said quietly. “Is it going to happen again?”

“I hope not. But I don’t know.” There definitely was helplessness in the older’s voice.

With a sigh, Mingi leaned forward to let himself fall into Yunho’s warm embrace. They both needed that hug.

He was safe.

Yunho loved him.

He was okay.

He would be okay as long as he had his members.

Mingi just hoped he’d never have to experience anything so terrifying ever again.

Day 21: "Let's play a game"

Masterlist link: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's June of Doom 2024

Notes: We obviously know it’s not the last of it… sorry…

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Okay, this is probably the only au for X-Men Evolution I'll make that isn't a reboot/reimagining. This idea, which I'm sure plenty of people have had, is this:

What if someone from our world/a darker version of our world ended up in the show?

Somehow the reader, who is from what I will call Earth 2020, ends up in X-Men Evolution, possibly dying on Earth 2020 and somehow being dropped into the series proper. And for the reader, they're a mix of emotions, but one stands out the most: Sheer, utter PANIC. They're likely dead, aren't anywhere they've been before, don't have any papers or documents, and are in a world set in 2000 where superpowers are real and adults try to kill kids on a near daily basis. Bby is going through a panic attack as they check what's with them, finding that the good news is they had all their saved money with them in their satchel, but nothing else of much use besides a calligraphy pen, pepper spray, and a ticket with a date that hasn't even happened in this world.

Reader knows they could try to get involved, could pretty much do whatever they wanted, help or hurt or anything they want with the knowledge they have... But... they'd rather do the right thing. They compile notes, writing down every major event of the series for both the X-Men and Brotherhood, warning them about things like Apocalypse, Sentinels, Hydra, Weapon X being back in commission, pointing out the things that should be avoided, such as brainwashing your daughter, tossing children off of cliffs, threatening a bunch of teenagers, manipulating everyone, etc. ... but reader also mentions ways they can change the worst of it from happening and begging them to help Laura and the Morlocks. And then adds final notes, the bad things that could happen throughout the next twenty years, from 9/11, the wars in Europe and the Middle East, the pandemic of Covid, the wildfires in North America and Australia, terrorist attacks in different parts of the globe, tsunamis and hurricanes and tornadoes, pretty much every disaster, they list it, when it was supposed to happen, and pleads to stop it, or alert someone who could... By the time reader is done writing down every disaster and crisis that they remember, they have piles of notes, even some with theories. And finally, the reader sends the notes, praying for the best. Then they promptly go to hide out in some small town far away from everything, because they fear what happens if someone finds out how they know everything and where they're from... If it doesn't end well for other people, who's to say it would end well for reader?

The X-Men and Brotherhood get the notes, and are more or less shocked, because what they have is about twenty years worth of disasters listed, with notes about what specifically happens regarding them. But, for some reason, they decide to listen, wondering if perhaps the writer of the notes was like Destiny, a mutant who could see the future... And somehow, things go better. Less tossing kids around and off of things, helping the Morlocks find a safer place to live, freeing Laura, and destroying the Sentinels before they are finished, it all happens, and everyone is relieved to know that they've avoided whatever was supposed to happen. Yet... where is the person who warned them? So begins the search for reader...

And reader ends up in Bayville, somehow. Apparently they're now in the foster system, developed a mutation (they wonder how that's possible, how would that work, they aren't from that world- ) and so far have been doing their best to get by. It helped that they lived through what was basically a dystopian world, since they know useful tricks for their survival, and with a mutation, hopefully that can keep them alive for just a bit longer.. They end up in the highschool, having to do everything in their power not to feel tense and have a break down. They're in the town where everyone else is in, they only have themself to rely on, and they have too much knowledge of everything around them, plus an ability that could alert others of them. They're glad they helped, elated even, but... anxiety still worms its way inside them. They don't know how to deal with their own thoughts and the world around them, every bit of knowledge sending them spiraling. Because if someone finds out it was them... then what? When do people ever take things like that well, that someone knew, that they're from a whole other world, and that they haven't done much else to do anything? Reader stays alert and tired, but keeps going. Besides all the crushing fear and loneliness, the 2000s are a lot better than 2020: lower cost of living, lower prices on food, less gun violence, less rioting, less noise...

Then, I guess with the help of Caliban or Jean, maybe even Xavier, the reader is discovered. And the two groups have to take a minute. The person who wrote the notes... is some scrawny teenager who trembles whenever someone talks to them, and jumps at the slightest noise? It's confusing. They were expecting someone older, maybe a time traveler, not... whoever this is. And the moment any of them try to approach, the kid just gets wide eyes and tries to get lost, avoiding anyone in the school like the plague. But, they finally are able to corner them and talk... And what they find is... terrifying.

From what they're able to find out from the reader, who's trembling like a leaf and trying not to cry, they're not from around there, they saw things happen, bad things, and thought if they gave a warning, it might help. And what Jean and/or Xavier can read from their mind is downright nightmarish, images of violence and memories of hate, of people hurting them, of destroying others, of a world filled with violence ad wars and plagues running rampant, anything and everything seemingly out to end their survival... Even how they ended up there, a hazy, near-forgotten memory of water and silt in their lungs and the world fading to black, a hand holding forcing them under... And all they can feel for them is sympathy, empathy in some cases, horror at what absolute H*ll they lived through... They offer aid, thanking them for helping them...

And the reader is just... relieved, that no one wants them dead. Hoping that this world truly doesn't want them dead, that they can breathe and not fear for their life...

The characters are glad that the reader is on their side, and isn't some evil genius bent on the destruction of mutants... but it isn't easy to know that the person who helped them lived in a world that sounded and looked like H*ll, and then eventually died, in one of the worst ways to go... And they can't help but feel a little protective of them, a little worried. Sure, their new ally is also a mutant, but they also barely know anything about their powers or how to handle normalcy, used to fighting for themself among peers... Not to mention that their new friend had to explain the reasons they kept a calligraphy pen with them, and the reason scared them, because who knew a fancy ink pen could be so dangerous-

Over time, they all grow to be platonic yandere-ish, if not fully platonic yandere. Reader helped them, it's only fair they repay that kindness. And they don't have to worry about them going back to the h*llscape they called home. It's not like they were going to let them go back, even if they could. Best to not think too deep on leaving, though. They aren't leaving, ever...

(I've been wondering about this idea for awhile now, and I plan to make a playlist for this au, simply because why not? Expect plenty of Panic! At The Disco, and a song from Lemon Demon😊💛🧡)

Bonus:

Reader, staring at the handful of adults for the Brotherhood: For Best Parent of the Brotherhood, at least in the original timeline, I think?, I nominate... Lance

Adults: What? Why him? He's a teenager!

Reader: Well, originally, Mr. Lehnsherr seems to only showed up when he wants something, instead of being there to help his kids, let alone everyone else, and leaves the kids on their own, Mystique had threatened them, left them on their own with no supervision, and tried to toss children off of cliffs, and Mr. Victor doesn't have kids as far as I know, but if he is related to Mr. Logan, I'm not sure he had been a good parent or brother or whatever he is, due to capturing him for the person who put a control chip in his head, and also trying to kill him. So, that leaves the other acolytes. Who are never here. And also tried to kill the kids. Yeah, so, that leaves the actual Broterhood teens. And the only one who has acted anywhere near enough to keeping them alive and taking care of the group's needs is... Lance. So, by default, if not by actual execution, the winner of Best Brotherhood Parent is Lance. Good job👍

Adult Brotherhood Members: Wait, we did WHAT?!

Acolytes: Thank heavens we aren't parents

Erik: I did WHAT to Wanda?!

Mystique: I tricked my own daughter, and lost both her and Kurt?!

...

Victor: Wait, I'm Logan's what now?!

Reader: That might only be a theory, I'm not sure...

One DNA test later...

Test: positive

Victor:😳☹👀

Reader: Well... in my defense, I only thought it was a theory... Um... Should I say sorry, or congratulations?

Extra Bonus:

Reader, presenting each character with a gift: This is hand-made, so I did my best. I'm sorry if you don't like it🎁

Everyone: It can't be that bad opens their gifts

Everyone:

Reader: Do you like it? I'm not the best at this stuff, but, I did read three different books a few months ago... And spent the last three weeks working on these...

Everyone, holding an oddly-made crocheted scarf with their theme/colors: trying not to cry Its... nice puts it on🧣😭

Also them: Don't ever leave, please🥺☹

Reader: Um... I wasn't planning on it

Everyone: Good... because we aren't joking. If you leave, we will find you

Reader, realizing that maybe something might have just changed: Um... that's... sweet... worrying now if they're in danger😟

Everyone: 😊🥰😍💖

[hyper-fixates]

Nightcrawler

Bruce Wayne/Batman x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: descriptions of blood/injury, angst, allusions to sex, groping/touching, descriptions of medical treatment (suturing), fingering/pussy play, explicit language, unrequited feelings (let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: Bruce confronts his feelings after you put him back together. Again.

Notes: wrote this all the way back in 2020 right after the first trailer came out…found it sitting in my computer files and figured i shouldn’t let it go to waste! since it was written before the movie came out, please excuse/forgive any inaccuracies regarding the batsuit, terminology, setting, and characterization (and the painfully amateur writing) 😣 

The cave is always a little too frigid for your liking. 

Especially when it’s already well into the late hours of the night—a time you definitely shouldn’t be awake. The long fluorescents buzz and highlight the metallic sheen of everything, while still piercing through any inch of unguarded darkness in the gloomy room.  

A light breeze swirls around your huddled figure every so often, and the rhythmic sound of water continuously dripping onto floor somewhere echoes throughout the quiet, isolated space. There’s still some changes and additions that need to be made to the current set-up he has, but it does the job for now. You don’t bother taking note of what needs to get done—you’ll probably forget it all an hour from now anyway.  

You let your head roll back onto the chairs headrest, and your eyes skim over the time at the bottom of one of the monitors screens. 

3:43am. It’s been almost four hours—you always wait. 

You wait even though he tells you not to, and even though you know you maybe shouldn’t sometimes. But you can’t help it. It’s habit at this point. You’re down here at 10pm on the dot. Daily. 

You don’t need to be, but you are; it’s tradition for you to be part of his prep and routine before the nightly endeavour out into Gotham, even if you just sit and watch as he slowly works his way into the suit piece-by-piece, fiddling with various tech accessories that you don’t even know the names of yet.

You try to pass the time by organizing and sorting his skewed files, papers, and small pieces of armour that have been damaged beyond repair—meticulously placing them in their rightful spots on the seemingly never-ending line of desktops, shelves, and hidden drawers. 

But mindlessly arranging anything and everything only lasts for so long before there’s nothing left to do but sit. And think. And then sit some more.

Not knowing how long you’ll be rolling around in one of the padded office chairs for is one of the prices you have to pay for caring too much, and he reprimands you for it, even as you furiously dump an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol onto his body, and he never shows that it affects him in the least. 

He’s stubborn. He’s stupid. 

Your eyes wander along the blank stone walls as you slouch further into the chair, stopping when you see the time again: 3:47am. 

You let out a heavy breath through your nose as you repeatedly click the tip of a pen in and out. You push yourself around in slow circles with the toe of your foot, letting the spinning room distract you for just a few moments just to pass another minute at least.

This isn’t necessarily part of your job. He knows that, and you definitely know that. A lot of things have changed with your workplace duties, clearly, as you notice some earlier pieces of his armour piled in one corner of the room.

Unsurprisingly, things have…happened here and there. It’s becoming a more common occurrence, but it feels circumstantial and…convenient. Maybe it’s all meant to happen at this point. You think about it often enough—too often. Enough to make things awkward for yourself sometimes.

Another anxious glance at the leering clock: 3:51am. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you reason with yourself, getting up from the chair and tossing the pen on the desk. 

You resort to pacing around the grand floor space, now closely watching the entrance and exit as you circle by. All you can do is wait—

And just as you turn your back to the computer displays and monitors, the clocks turn to 3:59am. 

You cut back sharply to begin another circle, and there he is. Four hours later. Alive.

The broad shadow makes your heart stop for a split second, but the only physical reaction you have is your knees locking, keeping you in place and giving you no choice but to stare at the familiar, broad outline of him.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Bruce.” It slips out, a little rushed and aggressive, but you mean it. He knows you well enough to not take any literal offence from it.

Your harsh acknowledgement prompts him to walk in further.

“Yeah, you said that last time,” he points out casually, sauntering into the blinding lights with calm steps, coming around to the front of the desks.

You observe his gait with a hard stare—you take notice of how he hesitantly bends and twists at the hip when he leans back to rest against the edge of the metal desk, rolling his head back until his neck pops with a relieved grunt. 

He’s already got the cowl, cape, and gloves off, so whatever the problem is, it must be worse than what he’s playing off, as usual.

And then you see the issue. “Do you need help with that?” You point at his stomach and drop back into the chair, deflating with concern. 

Your alert eyes study the suit, looking at the damage. 

“With what?” he counters, seeming unaware—avoiding; yet his dark eyes confidently meet yours as he rests back on his hands, trying to find some comfort and seem unbothered by whatever desperately needs your attention underneath the sturdy armour. 

A very thin layer of blood has seeped through a small displacement in the suits plating, soaking into the tri-weave fibers that cover the titanium. You roll your eyes and scoot back to a shelf where a med-kit sits, one that you put together specifically for nights like these, which is every night.  

Positioning yourself back in front of him, the chair brings you to the perfect height to get a good look at the impairment. You can already tell it’s a knife wound just by the location. It’s at the perfect height. It cut perfectly in-between the overlapped layers of plating, perhaps the biggest flaw the suit has. You’re sure he’s aware of that now.

You inspect it briefly, tugging up on the bent piece slightly to see the amount of blood beneath. He takes a deep breath as the dense pressure is relieved from the tender area. 

“Shit—” he breathes in relief. You’ve only heard that clipped tone slip out of his mouth on very few occasions, one of which was barely a week ago, yet you still tense at the vivid memory that you never really want to let go of.  

He’s not one for reminiscing, but unfortunately, you are.       

“It’ll only be a few stitches,” you say gently, letting the plate mold back into place softly. You tap the hard armour pointedly. “Take it off.”

You flick your eyes up to his—the black paint has smeared around just a bit more compared to when he smudged it on with no real technique earlier.

You’ll help him get it off later.

He brings a quick hand through his damp hair and starts unclipping the few clasps hidden on his shoulders and chest. One by one, the durable pieces are detached, and you carefully place them off to your right as he hands them over.

“Can you get the one in the back?” He motions over his shoulder. You nod and mumble a thoughtful ‘mhm’ as you both push yourself onto your feet again.

He turns his back to you, leaning forward on his palms and presenting the last clasp that sits in the middle of his spine. You know he can reach it, you’ve seen him do it before. You flick the clip, carefully pulling away the last plate. He physically relaxes his already tense muscles as soon as the extra weight is removed.

“I don’t know why you do this every night. It’s not worth it,” you confess while rummaging through the med-kit for a needle, surgical thread, topical antiseptic, a gauze pad, and a self-adherent bandage wrap to hopefully hold it all together.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as you carefully lay out the supplies next to him on the desk.

“I have to…” he whispers, trailing off, but you catch it, shaking your head as you thread and ready the needle with severe concentration. 

“Turn around, please.” He shifts back to where he originally was without a word, leaning back against the cool steel with hesitation once again.

You grab the bottle of antiseptic and apply a generous amount onto the pad, delicately holding it as you take a seat in front of him once again.

“Are you sure you wanna stand for this?” you grimace. The hot sting of a sterile compress isn’t the most enjoyable sensation to experience, especially while bearing weight.

He looks down at you, looking rather uninvolved with the priority. Dazed and distracted; something that could be mistaken for the potential amount blood loss, but the gash isn’t big enough for that possibility. 

This is something you’ve seen more often than you’d like to.

“Just get it done,” he starts, “You know I can handle it.” He dismisses the option, letting his head roll back with a deep inhale as he waits for you to start.

You say nothing in return. Carefully balancing the compress in one hand, your other cautiously pinches the soft, spandex material of his base-layer shirt. It fits comfortably, hugging tightly around the curvature and muscle of his body, improving his movement in the suit.

The shirt is slowly pulled away from his stomach. The thick blood sticks around the tear in the fabric, making it peel away instead. You drag it halfway over the rest of his lower abdomen, pulling and letting it bunch up tightly, staying isolated from the torn skin below.

You stare at the ugly cut for barely a second before you quickly dab the antiseptic around, patting it into the irritated, puffy flesh and watching it fizzle with each pull back.

Sometimes, you feel like he likes the pain. Like he purposefully seeks out the discomfort of an incapacitating injury in hopes of suppressing the turmoil of concern…worry…love… 

It gives him something else to focus on instead of the sorrowful emotions that avoiding you doesn’t seem to fix. It’s only been making it worse, and things are beyond saving now.

Your free hand gently rests against the burning skin of his waist, and his head drops forward at the surprising contact.

“Calm down. It keeps me steady,” you chuckle, shaking your head lightly.

He hums thoughtlessly in response, unconvinced with your excuse, maybe. 

There’s that sudden anxious tension in the room from nothing but a fleeting graze of fingertips. The uncertainty of who’s going to make the first move this time.

You do one more press and then pull the soaked pad away, examining your progress before discarding the bloody material.

“It might only be four sutures or so,” you determine while gently squeezing the inflamed edges closer together to try and gauge the amount of work needed.

He inhales sharply, tightly gripping the rim of the desktop. “Well, the faster you stitch it, the faster I’ll be able to—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” You cut him off with a harsh but accidental hard squeeze of the torn flesh, making his words die in his throat with a groan.  

That wasn’t something you really needed to hear right now, let alone think about as if he wasn’t just bleeding out in front of you only minutes ago. 

You know how that sentence ends; you’ve heard him say it more times than you’d like to admit, but you can’t let him have his way tonight.  

You glare at each other for a moment. Your eyes hold a tired frustration behind them, but his hold a different kind…something that is able to get you to do whatever he says, something that makes you giddy with anticipation, and something that makes you feel just a little more alienated afterwards.

“You can’t lie to yourself anymore,” he says instead.

You laugh coldly. “Well, neither can you. I’ve stopped doing that a long time ago. You should try it sometime,” you counter, snatching the threaded needle with anger while maintaining your unimpressed gaze.

He sighs, messing with his drying hair again as you begin suturing quickly—not so you can get to what he was alluding to, but the opposite. 

For once, you don’t want that, and you don’t want the burden of sadness that comes with it.

But it’s so…tempting.

He gave himself away. You haven’t. And of course he’s leaning against the very spot you were pinned down against a week ago, feeling the contrast to the emotions you’re feeling now: excitement, passion, comfort, love—

It puts you into a conscious daydream for a moment. But you’re awoken from it when you feel his body jolt suddenly. You see the needle poking into the tough muscle of his side instead of the spongey cut.

“Shit— sorry,” you mumble, shifting your focus back to the final suture and looping it through itself securely in a rush.

Seven stitches in total, you notice. You were close.

You grab the bandage wrap and press it firmly over the closed wound before snaking it around his back. You’re able to get two layers from it; the pressure should stop any possible bleeding, but he always manages to tear it open anyway. Sometimes you think he does it on purpose just so he has a good excuse to see you.

“Done,” you sigh, packing up the med-kit and rolling back to its shelf.

You stand from the chair and go to make your way to the exit without another word, not interested in any other interaction tonight. Well, that’s what you hope for, but you’ve learned that he will never let you go peacefully.

You go to pass by him mindlessly as he’s carefully pulling his shirt back down, but he manages to grab ahold of your sleeve quickly when he sees your destination. The effortless pull makes you skid to a stop, twisting back towards him with your inverted momentum, almost smashing your face in his chest, but you stop yourself with your forearm.

He holds onto you tightly, with a purpose, as you share a moment of mutual hurt and resentment. His dark eyes, the opaque paint making them look just as black in the hazy lighting, search your conflicted ones desperately.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” he asks quietly. There’s no demand behind it, seemingly afraid it’ll scare you away. 

His face softens, perhaps relief from asking. He’s never had to before.

You furrow your brows together in shock, dumbfounded at his apparent stupidity in this continuous situation. You scoff lightly at his rather domestic request. “Why? So we can just dance around the truth like always?” Your voice never raises in volume, but your tone gets harsher as you continue.

“So I can hope that maybe you’ll come to your senses and fucking realize that I lo—”

The hand he had wrapped around your arm moves to the back of your neck before you can even say the word or finish your passionate rant. He promptly pulls you right to him, his deft lips quickly doing the much-needed apologizing in that moment. 

It’s feverish and assertive, seeming out of place in the cloud of desolation and melancholia…yet you don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

He knows you’ve needed this. Not the rushed, messy, convoluted kisses that come from your desperate fucking after a hard night or a close call, the ones that seem to happen almost by accident, by pure circumstance. There’s just always something missing…

Fervour. That’s what you feel now—that’s what you’ve wanted from him every single time he took control of you with ease for the night. You’re never able to make it back up to the manor either.

You shudder slightly when his hand moves to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he slides his mouth against yours consumingly, sucking your lips gently and teasing your tongue with his cautiously. You moan when he deepens the kiss further, letting his tongue fully overlap yours with a practiced versatility. It subdues you, inviting him to give and take as he pleases. 

Several whimpers fall against his lips as you stretch onto your toes to meet his height as best as you can, trying to get more even though he’s already giving you plenty. It’s pensive. Each movement thought out and executed with a purpose, something that you can feel has a very clear destination in his mind.

You let him maintain authority, let him kiss you with a force that could bruise if he didn’t soothe the pressure with his soft tongue occasionally, dipping it back into your mouth quickly after. Your taste seems insatiable to his starved soul.

It all draws you in further, and your hands find themselves grasping at his shoulders instinctually when a forceful hand snakes through your hair to gain better control of you.

Your mouth feels a little numb and swollen from the welcome force, and he pulls away hesitantly when he feels your soft touch finally rest at his collar delicately. He barely lets more than an inch get between your lips, and you can feel the reluctancy in his movements as he pulls back. 

You open your eyes slowly and see his sombre expression—more sombre than usual. The sorrow in his eyes and the agony on his brow is enough to force you to speak up first.

“I wish you told me months ago,” you whisper, lightly resting your forehead against his own as you wrap your arms around his neck, confident that he won’t pull away like he has before.

He looks longingly into your forgiving eyes, taking his hands and sliding them down to your hips in solace; an abrupt switch from from their dominant spot around your face. You understand the conflicts he has to live with. Most of them are caused by his vigilant habits in the night, yet you expected everything outside of that to still be easy for him. 

Unfortunately, trauma picks and chooses its victims at random.

You find yourself looking for words. Maybe for the moment you realized he was different, when he changed.  

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you, Bruce.” You try to comfort him, provide some ease for his always anxious mind.

He squeezes your hip, silently reassuring you that it’ll be fine, that it won’t kill him.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you,” he retorts in an indignant tone, irritated with himself. 

He regrets all of it. Most of all, he regrets making you feel unloved. The nights where he used you as a release, when he would act like nothing happened, when he would unconsciously ignore you, and when he ultimately closed himself off in the end.

“It wasn’t fair. It was…selfish,” he finishes forcefully, taking a quick breath to regain some composure.

“I just don’t want you to be part of that life,” he admits tentatively. 

You can see he’s telling the truth. The way he doesn’t meet your gaze again. He does it to avoid the confrontation that comes with honesty.

You pause to take in his confession, closing your eyes for a moment with relief, but his tone is like a bullet to the heart. The dejected feeling of you possibly not wanting to be here with him in this moment.    

“‘That life’?…You mean your life?” you reason, sounding surprised with his absurd claim. 

You’d think that having done this religiously with him for a year would make him think otherwise, regardless of your acts together. You always showed up no matter the circumstances or emotions.

He pushes against your hips lightly, making some space between your bodies, and you shuffle back without hesitation. You let your arms fall away from his shoulders, and he does the same as you distance yourself.

“My life is your life,” he explains. “What happens to me affects you, why can’t you see that?” His face falls slightly. The realization of you not knowing you’re significant enough to be considered part of his life is…heartbreaking. 

There’s so much you could say to that.

You let the silence linger briefly. “Maybe I’d be able to see that if you weren’t afraid to be in the same room as me,” you say, voice quiet as you test your reasoning.

You don’t want to start a fight. You just want to understand. You want to know why.

You notice how he hesitates when around you, and not in a flattering or complimentary way. It’s avoidant, scared, and even worried. Worry of confrontation.

He takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around his stomach in comfort, carefully avoiding the fresh bandage. 

“I…I’m not…scared. I’m—” Batman doesn’t get scared from feelings, but maybe Bruce Wayne does.

“You’re unsure,” you finish for him. His eyes meet yours with a sense of hope that you’re understanding.

“I just…don’t know how to go about…all of this,” he motions between you with a flick of his hand. 

All of this…meaning—

“Love?” you try, making it more of a rhetorical question.

He presses his lips together in surprise before offering a firm nod. He doesn’t trust himself to say it. It’s hard to wrap your head around. It couldn’t just be that, it had to be something more problematic? Complicated? 

But yet, it all makes sense because he’s him—he doesn’t necessarily do romance; there’s no time. You know that. You’ve seen how he is, nothing but a fleeting moment in the night to most, even to you. 

It all clicks, and you rub your face in relief and exasperation. You can’t blame him for it all. You can for some, of course, but a relationship needs communication from both. It can’t be a one-person effort, but that’s what it ended up being.

He was just trying to protect you. That’s all someone can really ask for, but the execution wasn’t right. He abandoned you emotionally to protect you physically, and that’s not the right balance.  

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth at the beginning? So I wouldn’t spend all this time thinking I was doing something wrong,” you pleaded, stepping closer to him again to pull an answer from his huddled form.

The closer you get, the higher you have to tilt your head to hold his gaze.

He looks right back, overwhelmed. “I didn’t know how to say it…I didn’t know if you felt that way. When I realized you did, I thought it was just…too late,” he admits, stuttering briefly at the end.

It was clearly hard for him, too. But was it not apparent that you were waiting? For him. For anything.

You look down, nodding your head in understanding. “I don’t think I could’ve made it any more obvious, but lust can be confused for love, so I understand.” You were serious, but some sarcasm slipped through at the end.

Lust is deadly; it will bait you, hook you, and then drag you under it’s pleasurable and irresistible cloud of euphoria, disguised as the domineering man in front of you.

“At least you know now,” he says, matching your tone. 

He straightens his posture and locks his cold stare onto yours momentarily, searching for something he still can’t seem to find. 

Giving up, he turns to collect each piece of armour you set aside, and he busy’s himself with meticulously putting it back in its rightful spot for tomorrow.

You watch him with surprise, but there’s no anger at his dismissal. You feel relieved. Relieved that you know. You don’t expect things to be normal right away, not with him. 

You know he’ll come around, but you can’t help but ask a prying question just to entertain your already validated thoughts. And to keep him talking. There’s still so much you want to know.

“So…” you start lightly. “You said you weren’t sure if I was interested at the beginning,” you say carefully.

He stops moving the instant he hears the curiosity in your tone. He turns back to you slowly, an amused expression on his face. Shit—

You hesitate when you catch his look, but continue cooly. “So, if you didn’t know…then why did you keep, uh…” You lose your words, too afraid to be so blunt and direct about your past endeavours.

It seems taboo to discuss it while not in the moment itself. Sometimes you wonder if it’s just a dream. Too good to be true.

He raises his brows knowingly as you trail off, entertained with your hesitation and embarrassment.

“Why did you— why did we continue…”

“Fucking?” he finishes for you bluntly, a small smile playing on his lips, yet it’s devoid of genuine humour. It screams danger.

He chuckles when you nod your head wordlessly. “Like you said, lust is confusing. You can never seem to get enough, and I don’t think I wanted to.” He pulls the sleeves of his tight-fitting shirt over his forearms, watching you carefully as you consider his words.

His tone was suddenly light, confident. He could feel that you were walking the fine line of giving in or leaving without another word. 

“I’m not trying to persuade you into doing anything, if that’s what you’re thinking about,” he clarifies softly when he sees your eyes dance across the floor rapidly.

You laugh lightly, glancing at him reluctantly. “I’m not, but you wouldn’t have to, anyway,”

That makes him narrow his gaze in question. 

You raise a brow in response. “What?”

He glances over his shoulder at a monitor, very obviously reading the time: 4:29am.

And you realize exactly what he’s doing. Why would time matter unless you were to suddenly become busy. Tonight was on the shorter end of time spent putting him back together, and you never fall asleep quickly or peacefully anyway…that’s if you were to attempt it or even make it that far.

You watch him speculatively, still mindful that he’s injured, and probably very, very sleep deprived at this point, even though you can never say for sure.

He doesn’t sleep much. You seem to be his biggest distraction.

He twists a dry strand of hair between his fingers as it’s brushed back from his face, black eyes full of self-assurance as he turns to you for what will be the last time tonight.

“You think we can make it back to the manor?” His relaxed yet serious tone startles you, making you consider the options quickly.

Hard and cold floor, small and cold desktop, small rolling chair—none are ideal, but you’ve made all work before…when he didn’t offer another option, mind you. It was never momentous enough to have taken place outside of the cave. But the manor is…farther. There’s a buffer you don’t think will be beneficial. 

Who fucking cares—

“Here seems to work just fine,” you quip nervously. You haven’t taken notice of how your legs have gotten…shaky. 

There’s a burning heat between your thighs, an ache that blazes bright from anticipation and just him. Just knowing what’s to come. It feels like you’ve done everything imaginable at this point, but that doesn’t lessen your excitement. 

He gives a small smirk that fades just as fast. “Figured you’d say that,” he finalizes. 

Stepping back to you with graceful movements, you’re chest-to-chest again in an instant. He glides a delicate finger up your neck, hooking it under your chin and tilting your gaze to his intimidating one.

“Tell me what you want.”

You desperately want to say ‘anything’, but you know he won’t settle for that. 

You get lost in your thoughts, thinking of the possibilities you can choose from, and he waits for your answer patiently.

“A week ago…when you came back with a torn rotator cuff in y-your shoulder—” you stumble through the sentence but never break from his studious eyes.

“You, uh, didn’t pay any mind to it even though you definitely should’ve, and you had me down against the desk,” your voice turns to a whisper as you recount the events—as vague as possible to save you the embarrassment of being too vulgar in, perhaps, an irreplaceable moment.

As soon as you finish, you swear you see a flame flicker in his eyes. The same one you feel grow stronger in your cunt at the same time. Your knees almost buckle from anticipation, and he can only make it worse from here.

“That’s…a good choice, even though it was kind of impersonal,” he ponders, clearly running through the events of that night.

He’s not wrong. He kept your chest pinned tightly to the surface of the frigid desk, taking you from behind. No hand-holding, no kissing, no eye-contact, no nothing. 

You went on to figure that it was better—easier for him that way. You never seemed to mind anyway.

“That’s nothing I can’t fix,” he mutters, finishing the thought; already set on an alternative for both of you.

Your brows pinch together, curious of what he means exactly. But you don’t have much time to think about it.

His hands quickly curve around your jaw, keeping you still as he swiftly interlocks your deprived lips again. It’s zealous and luring, pulling you even further under the crashing wave of temptation and craving.

The soft joining of your mouths makes your stomach jump with exhilaration and eagerness, clawing your hands into his hair with a gasp of bliss as he grabs your waist just as hard in response. You let out a soft sigh of relief, feeling brave enough to gently bite at his bottom lip as his warm, encompassing hands slide under your shirt.

He barely lets you break for air, delving back into your mouth just as fast as he left it to reposition. The intensity of the heavenly moment builds its tempo, and you find yourself pushing against his chest. Not to pull away, but to try and push him towards the cold, awaiting desk behind his wide shoulders.

You manage to get a single word out in between the consuming and now sloppy kisses he offers. “Bruce—”

He hums contently as he swallows your thoughts, connecting your tingling lips forcibly. He’s too fixated on the passion. He wants it to last forever, but there are more demanding impulses that will be tended to first.

“Bruce,” you gasp when you break apart again reluctantly. He notices the calm assertion in your voice, and only slows the onslaught of kisses enough to reply.

“I know,” he soothes your neediness, now delicately pressing his greedy lips to yours repeatedly in understanding. The heartfelt action controlled by nothing but spirited lust.

His hands glide back up to your jaw, cradling your face in comfort as you twirl the long strands of hair at his neck between your fingers. Heavy breaths cloud your already tangled thoughts, leaving him to take the lead again. 

He gives you one last intense taste of him, stroking his tongue teasingly over yours, firmly capturing your lips together in the process with a pleased moan. You’re almost chest-to-chest, a minute sliver of space keeping your bodies just distanced enough to not completely lose what little control both of you have left.

He’s taken note of how tight your thighs have been pressed together, and how your breaths are becoming shaky with each passing second he uses to dominate your mouth.

You’ve taken note of how his tactical pants, in fact, can’t hide his very prominent arousal for you, and how you can feel the warmth finally releasing from his exerted and thoroughly worked muscles. The heat seeps through his shirt and goes directly to your body, making you shudder when you feel the change in temperature.

You draw in a breath when he finally pulls away. His obsidian eyes wild with excitement and dominion. You’ve seen this look a lot, and you’re ready to hop on the desk without another word.

He floats his eyes down your body observationally, but you don’t notice. All of this is a lot slower than you’re used to. Well-paced. If it were any other night, you’d be on round two by now at least. You’d be whining with pleasure, shaking from release and overstimulation, dripping around his cock as he buries himself as deep as your cunt will allow, over and over until he simply feels better. 

He was always generous with what he gave you.

You press a hand against his chest again, and he moves this time. Taking a  long stride back, he tries to conceal an amused smile as you push him toward the desk. Your eyes light up when you see the knowing and teasing look on his face.

A quiet laugh rumbles against your hand. “This isn’t how it usually goes…” He smiles lightly.

You smile with him. “I never said it’s gonna stay this way,” you challenge, your eyes twinkling with mischief. 

You never take charge. You never dominate. He’s more well-versed with it, and you won’t dare to try to match his competence. 

The backs of his thighs bump the rounded edge of the desk, and your stomach jumps with elation when his index finger instantly hooks into the waistband of your pants, pulling you just a little closer.

But he leaves it there. He slides it side-to-side along the hem, gently caressing the sensitive skin of your lower stomach playfully. You look into his eyes as he casually continues the slow motions. 

Your eyes flick down to his hand instinctually, out of pure reflex, and you watch his finger disappear further as he smoothly twists his wrist, palm resting against your lower stomach momentarily before his shoulder shifts too…angling his hand to travel down. 

His fingers graze lower, creeping to a spot that so easily welcomes him. 

One of your hands grabs onto his shoulder, simultaneously steadying yourself with a gasp as you bring your faces closer again. He gives a fleeting, comforting kiss, not leaving much behind.

His towering height makes it easier for his hand to reach its destination all too quickly. And when a careful and precise finger slips in-between your folds, your eyes close in anticipation and with the thought of relief.

Your minor reaction makes him smirk. Thankfully, for him, you don’t see it.

It’s sad just how wet you already are, but it spurs him on. He let’s his fingers explore, alternating between rubbing you and slipping a single digit inside, only doing so to gather your arousal to rub across your clit smoothly. 

A quiet moan gets caught in your throat as he repeats that process a few times, building you up and teasing you onto the edge continuously. 

“Mm— please, f-fuck—” you whimper, fisting the shirt in your grip on his shoulder. 

You don’t need to finish that sentence for him to know exactly what you mean. He needs it, too. His tactical pants have become increasingly uncomfortable.

Your plea makes him apply more pressure to the slow strokes he gives your throbbing cunt. You all but drip onto the two fingers that glide over your aching clit and back to your slick entrance, occasionally giving you what you want. 

He pulls them slowly in and out of you, making sure you feel them nice and deep before he drags them against something that makes you pant with desperation. Your eyes remain shut, brows pulled together tightly as you focus on the sensation of his intent touches, but he watches your face appreciatively, analyzing your pleasure with each movement he makes.

A particularly harder jolt of his fingers up into you makes you choke, caught between a gasp and a whiny moan. That makes his eyes drop to where his hand disappears.

He hums in satisfaction. “Is that the spot?” he questions with a mocking tone, knowing full well what the answer would be. “I think it is…” 

You nod your head quickly, eyes reopening ever so slowly to meet his. 

His eyes are full with devilish aspirations, and your knees almost give out when he roughly thrusts his fingers back in again for a final time. You let out a small cry of bliss and dissatisfaction when he slips them out of you, wiping them off on his pants carelessly. 

You were decently wet before, and you are definitely abundantly wet now.

“I think you need to lie down.” He sounds concerned, but you know it’s just for show to make your heart pound harder.

He takes your hand from his shoulder, holding it securely as he shuffles your bodies around, putting you in his place and himself in yours. Now your thighs rest against the desk, and he crowds you against it.

“Lift your arms,” he says cooly, observing your dazed expression with care.

You raise them, and he pinches the hem of your shirt, delicately dragging it up your torso and over your head with caution. He tosses it on the chair off to the side.

Your eyes catch the mangled slash at the bottom of his shirt again, and you quickly reach for the thin material. 

He doesn’t question your intentions, letting you maneuver the thin fabric over the bandage, his chest, and extend onto your toes to pull it over his shoulders. He peels it from his arms, and your hands can’t help but wander across the firm muscles that stretch around his entire body. 

The power he holds within him—the Batman—is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen. It was terrifying. It was unbelievable, the things you’ve seen his body do. And he would continue to push his limits.

[voxofthevoid]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by my one and only Jesus @eusuntgratie

I recently cleared out all the ask/tag games in my drafts because I realized I'd reached the pile-up stage of putting things in there and not doing shit. Thanks to everyone who's tagged me in those the last couple of months and sorry I didn't get to any!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

148

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

2,005,606 (crossed the 2 million milestone recently and am still buzzing about it)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I'm only writing for Jujutsu Kaisen, but I'm posting for Jujutsu Kaisen, Bleach, and MCU.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

I was so sure it was going to be all MCU, but nope, it's a mix of MCU and Hannibal. God, that was my first Ao3 fandom, and my Hannibal fics are from 2014. It's surreal people are still reading/enjoying them.

if you're looking for jesus (then get on your knees)—MCU

i'm a ghost, you're an angel (one and the same)—MCU

A darkness seen and shared—Hannibal

Ways and Means—Hannibal

the hand you want to hold is a weapon (and you're nothing but skin)—MCU

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I enjoy the interactions and discussions. Plus, since I'm not a Discord (or group spaces) person, it's how I find fellow fans to chat with, especially during my initial foray into a particular fandom. I do have a huge backlog of some 1.1k comments from 2020 to mid-2021 because I didn't have much time for fandom in that period. I'm chipping away at it slowly, but I'm pretty prompt about replying to everything on my post-2021 fics.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm, this Hannibal fic, I'd say: Till the bitter end

Let's just say I predicted the series finale in some weird way.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of mine end happily—a few are ambiguous, while others are dark.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Oh yeah. It's only happened with MCU and Jujutsu Kaisen, and they're mostly cases of overgrown children unhappy that I didn't write the ships or dynamics they want.

9. Do you write smut?

It's my specialty now 😎

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nah. I've done fusion-style AUs, but full-on crossovers aren't something I'd like to write. I'll read them, but I'm picky.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Multiple times (MCU and YoI, iirc), both within Ao3 and offsite.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Multiple times, for multiple fandoms! It's always a delight.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I did write one(1) fic that way, but it got yeeted into the void when my co-author deleted her entire Ao3 account. I have a copy, I think.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I'm the kind of person who's most devoted to whatever is eating my brain at the time, so right now, it's Yuuji/Gojou from Jujutsu Kaisen.

15. What’s a wip you want to finish but probably won’t?

My writing superpower is that if I lose interest in a WIP, I also lose all desire to finish it and any guilt about it. And these days, I tend to start a fic and work on just that till it's done. So the answer is—none.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I write some smokin' hot porn, and I'm pretty good at threading character study through it. The porn is the plot, in most cases. I also enjoy doing background worldbuilding that serves to give the narrative a sense of depth despite the focus being on characters and relationships.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Fight scenes, ensemble casts, and sustained plotty plots.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Ah, I can feel my Hannibal-era Google-translate Lithuanian judging me.

In general, I avoid it, but when I write for anime set in Japan, I tend to work in honorifics. My mother tongue has those too, so I know from experience that there are no English equivalents that capture the same vibe.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Hunter x Hunter, I think. That account no longer exists. On Ao3, it's Hannibal.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I tend to be biased toward my newer works, so this keeps changing. At the moment, it's (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered (JJK, goyuu).

Tagging (no pressure) 20 people because why the hell not: @possibleplatypus, @actualalligator, @joeys-piano, @cursedvibes, @backwardshirt, @m34gs, @naamah-beherit, @dragongirlg-fics, @crossroadswrite, @spacebuck, @jenroses, @calamitouskings, @knivash, @lo-55, @bookwyrmling, @sorrythatwasamistake, @ddelline, @lilyfarseer, @roughkiss and @deunan306

[mdhwrites]

Thank you so much for saying that a piece of media is allowed to just be average. A lot of fans (not just TOH fandom) should write it on their foreheads as an important reminder.

While I'm definitely not gonna claim that you shouldn't have standards for media you consume, I feel like nowadays people tend to sort all media into two boxes - it's either the greatest masterpiece ever created or a pile of shit that doesn't deserve a flicker of your attention. And that is such a black-and-white and preschooler-reading-level outlook to have that also heavily limits your ability to enjoy the piece of media.

You are allowed to be critical of the piece of media you like.

You are allowed to subjectively like something average or even bad without doing mental gymnastics to explain why it's the greatest thing in the world.

I liked The Owl House. I thought it was a fun show and I applaud Dana for creating Lumity. But the fans who act like it's the second coming of Christ and thus are unwilling to accept criticism, despite some very blatant flaws of the show, really irritate me.

So this answer is going to be a bit odd from me. I'm going to start by talking about the potential sociological reasons for this change but I also have a deeply personal story from over 8 years ago about my own change in attitude towards this. This is partially because of the sociological and how it can play into those who might most closely defend a work.

First I think we all just need to agree that Twitter is a fucking hellscape. While many of the elements I'm going to talk about always existed, people usually agree that Twitter ended up managing to exacerbate a lot of problems. After all, it is a platform literally AGAINST well thought out opinions. It instead wants you to say something inflammatory and then walk away.

This has in general led to a lot of hyperbole. Since you can't be nuanced, now you have to be extreme to get your point across. Also because of Twitter REALLY popularizing the 'villain of the day' mentality, things are also drawn more on moral lines and I've talked in the past how that fucked over fandoms. Now you don't just have to defend if a work is good, it being bad would be a moral failing on your part and morality in general has come into the conversation of media, even from a casual perspective, WAY more. All of this leads to more extreme opinions and way more defensiveness about your work.

But there's also simply the fact that the loudest voices in any fandom are usually those most seeking praise. Who want to be loved for everything they do. This includes the media they consume or the media they create. So suddenly, with the more extreme opinions everyone has, being into the next cultural touchstone feels more important. It can also make you popular and beloved and fill the void that's missing by a lack of connection.

I do wonder for TOH if part of how extreme the fandom is is because it is a product of the quarantine. It was one of the few BIG cartoon break out shows of 2020. When no one could be with each other and everyone was stuck inside. All you have is your thoughts and your hobbies and just trying to pass the time. Most of how you will pass that time will feel meaningless (trust me, as someone on disability, endless free time is NOT the blessing people think it is) so that which feels more important, more worthwhile, is going to hit harder.

Edit: My Discord made a good argument that this has been going on longer than this and the specific form for TOH's fandom probably comes from what I've theorized before: That the show constantly stating it's the best, unique and special causes problems for fans of it if it's not.

So where does all of this come into play with me? Well, it's from the creator side more than it is the consumer side. After all, I'll never tell someone that things like SpyxFamily, Randy Cunningham, Kaguya-sama, Star Rail and Amphibia are perfect. I think a lot of those shows are GREAT but I can tell you why they aren't for everyone or some of their flaws, even if to me they're small. I have never been that precious about the media I consume.

The media I create though?

I was almost 18 when I began writing. Within six months of starting to write, I would be no longer in High School. That fall I would be working 24 hours at Walmart each weekend and a full time student working on an accounting degree. All while finally having gotten into his first fandom.

I have never been anyone's favorite person though. Without a reason for people to see me, they forgot about me. No one called, no reached out and I didn't even see my family much while I still lived with my parents. I vividly remember that Christmas season, Ice Age 4's DVD menu playing on loop in the break room at Walmart and the song it played over and over again being "We are family," and one night it just fucking BROKE ME because of how lonely and depressed I was.

During that time, I stopped even referring to myself as Michael. I was Jumbled as my online handle at the time was Jumbled Thought. I was more used to being addressed by that name on Skype than I was my actual name. It didn't do healthy things to me and that fracturing of my identity and how cold it left me feeling is part of why I won't ever use a pen name for my books, even if female names will often make someone trust their work on romance more.

Btw, for those who have never put it together: My current handle is literally just my initials and my job. Michael D. Hudson Writes. It was inspired originally by someone who used their first name and "plays" for their lets play channel that I haven't watched in YEARS.

Anyways.

I was the loneliest I've ever been and easily the most desperate for validation and I NUKED the vast majority of friends I had made in the MLP fandom by the end of February. I was an insufferable asshole after all who considered his works to be of REAL quality, especially his smut versus the garbage that others got into the featured box for. Only I knew the truth when it came to analysis and others had to agree with me or be ready to deal with me for the next couple HOURS. I was awful and the need to be right, the need to be the best, was making me go nuts as I got increasingly upset about each work that was ignored and this was WELL before I ever made money off of my writing!

I needed that validation though. I needed some way to still feel special, even as college kicked my ass and it felt increasingly like no one cared about me. I needed some part of my life to be special. For a lot of people, with how the world is, with how everyone feels like they're going nowhere but down, the only option they have for that is that the media they consume is special. Doubly so if it's the only piece of media that you feel represents you like TOH does for so many young LGBTQIA+ viewers.

I eventually hit rock bottom though and realized I was just becoming a terrible human being like this. I literally stopped being a part of public Skype or Discord groups until 2020, about FIVE YEARS later, because I didn't want to keep fighting. I didn't want to keep having to knockdown others and fighting just to feel more special. It was making me feel worse and thus was making quite literally no one's life better. It's part of why I try not to attack in my blogs and why in my own Discord, I'll start apologizing pretty quickly when I get too aggressive on a topic, even if it's just passion and not actual aggression. I don't want to become the inferno I once was.

I don't wish to become an angry young man once again.

And right now, we have fandoms with pockets of intense firestorms. Fires burn out though and all that is left behind are scars. I only hope that those in the fandoms who were like me learn the lessons I did, learn to try and cool down, before they are forever consumed by it and are only left with those who share their blazing fury and desperation.

I still don't know how I wasn't, even to this day.

======+++++======

Talking about how desperate I was a decade ago while this last week has been some of the loneliest I've felt in a long time was a time. *sigh*

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[miminiac]

Oikawa sits on Iwaizumi's bed, watching his phone buzz and light up with the hundreds of messages Suga and Akaashi were sending him even though it was 5AM in Japan (meaning the pair woke up early or never went to bed – Oikawa suspected the latter).

Suga: B*tch, if you don't confess to Iwaizumi in the next day, we are telling him ourselves

Akaashi: You better f*cking confess or I'm throwing out your f*ck sh*t hair products

Suga: We spent a lot of money getting you to California, we expect for it to be worth it.

Oikawa rolls his eyes. He debates replying, re-informing them that it had actually been Akaashi's parents who had bought the ticket since they had used Akaashi's emergency credit card. But, that would only fuel the pair into harassing him even more, so he tucks his in his bag.

Iwaizumi returns to the room, carrying various snacks and a couple bottles of water in his arms. After dumping everything onto the opposite end of the bed from where Oikawa was sitting, Iwaizumi quickly glances at his own phone before placing it on the dresser behind him.

"Your friends are a little annoying."

"They are your friends too, Iwa-chan~"

"They are only my friends because they are your friends. An unfortunate circumstance of the transitive property."

Iwaizumi plops down onto his bed and opens a bag of chips. In the silence, they hear the faint buzz of both their phones going off. Oikawa attempts to shake off the curiosity of what his friends might be texting Iwaizumi by scolding him.

"What a terrible host you are, Iwa-chan~. Not even offering me some chips when you opened the bag."

"Okay, but you don't even like these chips."

"It's a matter of principle," Oikawa teases, turning his body to face his friend.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and holds out the bag of chips. "Would you like some chips?"

"No thank you, I don't like them, but I will take that cookie."

Oikawa points to a wrapped chocolate chip cookie in the pile of junk food on Iwaizumi's bed.

"You're an adult, grab it yourself."

Oikawa pouts, crossing him arms and staring at Iwaizumi, who still refuses to budge. Faint buzzing fills the silence once more.

"Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi hums, signaling Oikawa to continue. "Do you remember last year when you visited Tokyo?"

Iwaizumi doesn't say anything, but Oikawa can tell he remembers and knows exactly what he is talking about – the kiss they had shared in the kitchen in the middle of the night.

"How would you feel about doing that more often?" Oikawa asks, staring at the pattern in Iwaizumi's comforter.

He hears the rustle of the chip bag and feels Iwaizumi's weight shift on the bed. Before Oikawa can recognize what is happening, Iwaizumi's hand gently grips his chin.

He tugs Oikawa's head up, pulling him in so their lips meet. The kiss is soft, chaste. It reminds Oikawa of finally releasing a long held breath. When they pull apart, they stay close – foreheads touching.

"Just to be clear, I like you and that is why I want to kiss more."

Iwaizumi chuckles, "Yeah, I understood that dumbass." A pause, Oikawa waiting for a returned confession, a pout slowly forming on his lips. "I like you too, Shittykawa."

Oikawa leans forward, kissing Iwaizumi fervently. They continue exchanging kisses for the next hour until they tire and Oikawa settles his head onto Iwaizumi's chest as they cuddle – Iwaizumi's fingers absently playing his with hair. The calm is broken once again by Iwaizumi's phone buzzing on the dresser.

"Do you think you can tell your friends now so they can stop harassing me?"

"Absolutely not," Oikawa says. "They will not be informed until at least a month from now. I need to make them suffer for meddling... Plus, I can't allow them to know they were right – at least not right away."

Iwaizumi sighs. He knows there is no logic when it comes to the trio.

// originally posted October 27th, 2020

Read the full story in the setter fic.

[kiisuuumii]

some introspection this morning abt a feeling from last night abt social interactions, letting ppl in, fear of everything coming to a sour end, and hope

up until this past february, i hadnt allowed a completely new person into my life, like really into my life, for quite a long while; the last person was an old coworker, who id met two years ago now. and ive always been the sort to struggle w social interactions and connections of all types, so when i made my first blog and decided to start posting poetry there, i had prepped myself mentally somewhat to interact w others (last time i put myself out onto the internet was in 2020 lol), but i dont think i was as emotionally ready as i shouldve been, to the point of letting my emotions get the better of me and hurting myself and others twice now since march

its safe to say that im scared, of letting ppl in, of my emotions taking over, of hurting someone else again. its safe to say that i dont trust myself to not let any of this happen again. and maybe its a control issue thing. i know that nobody's perfect, let alone me, and yet i find it difficult to extend the sort of grace id give to others, to myself.

so when someone reached out to me last night to tell me that theyre there if id like a friend (and hello friend if youre reading this sorry im making an example of you), it brought up the question of whether i felt i /could/ let someone new in. and ik that its not like i have to be vulnerable, spewing every little thing abt myself, right from the start, and ik that how connections progress varies from one to another. i think the question really becomes whether i trust myself to know how navigate new connections in ways that are not only true to myself, but also with my highest good in mind, and whether im willing to take the risk that someone's presence in my life wont last forever

thats another thing with me; when i grow fond of someone, i want them to always have a presence in my life to some degree, because i love them, and i want to not only be apart of their lives, but also them apart of mine. but thats not what happens every time; people come and go, thats just how it is, and i struggle horribly with letting go, even since i was a kid

but i dont want to let the fear of losing someone keep me from letting people into my life. i crave connection, i crave understanding. i cant have those things without letting someone in and letting them try, and letting myself try.

i want to live this life with as few regrets as i can. yet it seems like ive just been piling them up over the past four months. am i just going to regret letting other people in going forward, too?

theres only one real way to find out. and im terrified. genuinely terrified. bc im sick of hurting others. im sick of beating myself up. but you have to do the thing scared. you have to. or else you wont do it at all. you'll keep making excuses for yourself, saying you arent ready, but when will that be? are we ever truly ready for anything, let alone change?

you have to hope that the next time'll be different. statistically, its not impossible. you have to hope. how else can things change if you dont have hope that they will?

hope doesnt have to mean trusting yourself completely. it just has to mean believing in the small part of you that wants things to change to do what they can with what they have to bring about that change.

i'll always believe that so long as i have the hope that i can change, i'll be able to find whats the best decision for me, in whatever moment i find myself in. that, that hope will eventually usher in the change im striving for, someday, one way, or another.

[redhillconfetti]

Blog post 03-02-2023 - Sickness

When you decide to run a small business, the freedom it gives you to run your own schedule is always a huge draw when compared to being an employee of someone else’s business, however whilst things look great all the perks of self employment and flexible schedules can mean for a while you are looking through rose tinted glasses, but with all planning for fun and good things, you also need to plan for the bad and boring.

When I first quit my corporate job to go self employed full time, I had to look at my outgoing expenses each month, with the first being my pension. I had to reduce my monthly payment, but over time I've increased this gradually. This is something I was able to plan for and incorporate into each year’s projections. I also decided to pull off 20% of each week's earnings and just store them in an instant access savings account. It barely makes any interest, but my initial idea for this was to be a pot of instant money should I have any large expenses.

What this actually meant is I had a backup for when I was too sick to work. 

If the last three years has taught us anything, it's that a bad virus or illness can appear out of nowhere and throw everything on its head with regards to running a business. You can’t predict when you will be ill, and it can always come at the most inconvenient time. Unfortunately that’s what happened to me this week.

We’re now at the first few days of February, but since the start of January I had been feeling run down and had a slight tickle of a cough. As January is always a quiet month I have been able to reduce my working hours in order to get some rest and hopefully let my body restore itself. However, after a very busy two days last weekend, this Monday that cough rapidly deteriorated. I had a dry cough that would empty my lungs at any given point, every single bone and joint in my body ached beyond belief, migraine, nausea, elevated temperature, photosensitivity to light and also noise. I had definitely developed something far more severe than just a simple tickly cough. After testing for Covid and that thankfully coming up negative, a call to the NHS 111 service determined it was likely to be the RSV virus, something that has been prevalent in our area for the last few weeks.

I had little choice but to take the week ‘off’. I’m thankful my husband was able to arrange to work from home and thus take our son to and from school, and for the better part of the week I've been able to do little more than sip water whilst wrapped in a blanket and binge watch Criminal Minds on Disney+. What hasn’t helped my recovery is the lack of medicated cold & flu medications that pharmacies locally haven’t been able to source, but that lack of supply is more down to Brexit. But this isn’t a Brexit blog post so we’ll touch on that in the future.

With having a week off, I had to decide whether or not to shut the shops or not. In the end I decided to keep them on, and just allow the natural flow of orders to come in. I completely ignored social media this week, the admin has piled up, no new listing or manufacturing. Instead I packed what orders did come in then left them for 24 hours after sanitising them. If 2020 taught us anything, it's how to protect others and stop the spread of any viruses. After 24 hours and full sanitisation, my husband took the parcels to their drop off points meaning i didn’t have to leave the house.

Through all this I was thankful that I had that small reserve in savings. I could take my time this week to just get better without having the added pressure and worry that I still had to bring in a full week’s wage. My pension payment was able to be covered and this week’s bills have been paid.

Here in the UK if you are employed by a company, most of the time they will offer a certain amount of sick days where you get paid full pay, or a high percentage of full pay (in the past it’s usually been 12 days at companies i’ve worked for). After that the company can draw from the government what’s called SSP - statutory sick pay - which is just under £100 per week, payable for up to 28 weeks. It is only applicable if you are employed by a company. You cannot claim this if you are self employed.

I’m sorry if this week’s blog post is a little disjointed, i’m still in a bit of a fog of flu meds and lack of sleep, but hopefully next weeks post will be something a little more upbeat and fluffy!

Simone

x

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Reality/Non-AU (6) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part seven, part eight

a haze on the horizon (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Phil finds something on Dan's camera roll after tour that has him thinking some frustrating thoughts.

A Nun and A Priest: You Get Me Closer to God (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: When Dan dresses up as a sexy nun for Halloween in America, he finds himself longing for a sexy priest.

A Very Lester Christmas (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: Upon their arrival to the Lester family home for Christmas, Kath has special gifts ready for her sons.

a warm heart (ao3) - okaydoomer

Summary: On new year's eve Dan is thinking about the year he's had. He's the happiest he's ever been and he can't put his feelings into words but Phil is there to listen and he knows what feeling this is. Pride.

all of these small things (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: It’s Dan’s first day back from his American tour, and Phil can’t believe how much he’s missed him.

and the house becomes a home again (ao3) - BLUEGREYKIM

Summary: Dan’s plane lands at one-thirty-two AM (he’s been tracking the flight since it took off, and his stomach’s been flipping with jitters since Dan’s phone switched to aeroplane mode and his texts stopped going through).

Two and a half months, since Dan's been home, and Phil has been going crazy.

(also known as the dan comes home fic)

banging on a heart of tin (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Dan has a little crush.

(Spoiler: It's on his boyfriend of thirteen years.)

Dan and Phil vs the Pantomime (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: Phil surprises Dan with tickets to a Christmas pantomime.

end this chapter (ao3) - brookwrites

Summary: it’s been years since dan and phil planned the changes they’re about to make, and they’ve been preparing for them since they got home from tour. dan’s more than ready, but when it comes time to announce it, phil has some doubts. is it really time to end this chapter?

envelop the lonely places (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Dan in his arms is like remembering how to breathe.

(reunion fic, dec '22)

Here’s some faves from my camera roll this year (ao3) - natigail

Summary: 1 birthday tweet. 4 photos. 4 domestic memories. 1 smiling Phil. 1 fond Dan.

home for the holidays (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan and Phil take a moment to themselves while hosting Dan’s family for Christmas.

I can't help falling in love with you (again) (ao3) - Findus26

Summary: It's 2020, the world is falling apart and Dan can't help thinking back to October 2009 when everything was new and exciting. Phil finds a way to recreate the feeling

keep your brittle heart warm (ao3) - theloveofbees

Summary: this summer is strange. but its warm. and theres wine. and theres music. and maybe things will be okay.

Kind Of Similar (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: It’s kind of like 2009, they are apart again and spending hours staring through cameras at each other - just that Skype is as dead as the fringes and Dan is touring the world - but apart from that, practically identical.

made for you (ao3) - BLUEGREYKIM

Summary: Phil, in all the years he's known Dan, can tell what he's thinking with a glance, a lock of eyes. Dan, in all the years he's known Phil, is the same.

aka the fic where they have a super psychic connection and insane communicative skills (real life)

Merry-Go-Round (ao3) - thestreaklives

Summary: Martyn and Cornelia’s babysitter cancels last minute

pancakes + syrup (ao3) - indistinct_echo

Summary: “Are my nostrils deceiving me?” Phil asks, still out of Dan’s line of sight.

Dan blinks, looks down at the pancakes, now almost ready to be flipped, and then back at the Phil-less space. “No?”

pretty (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: The boxes sit piled in a jumble in the corner of Dan’s closet for weeks. Phil starts getting notifications for them in the days after Nashville, alerts of purchases off the credit card they don’t use often and then the packages themselves, one by one at the door.

(little dresses and fishnet stockings, 2022)

Santa Buddy (ao3) - TehInternetHomo

Summary: In which the boys host joint family Christmas in their forever home

Based on the Michael Bublé Santa Baby cover

solitary spark (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Truth or dare and tequila really don't mix well for Dan.

the one that I belong to (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Phil comes home after the glue incident.

Together Again (ao3) - LivingVicarioslyThroughDaydreams

Summary: This is Dan’s moment, and Phil is more than happy to let him have this time. So when Dan calls every night, gushing with energy and excitement, Phil doesn’t tell him how he wants to be with him, how he misses him so much. He only smiles and laughs along and tells Dan how proud of him he is.

But now Dan is coming home, back to him. He almost feels selfish with how excited he is. Today though, he’ll allow it. Dan has had his time to find himself, but today: today will be just for them. Together again.

(Phil's perspective on missing Dan and being reunited with him)

Uncle Dan (ao3) - Ragopamplina

Summary: Dan is a Lester. He knows it, but still, he enjoys little reminders.

Welcome home! (never leave that long again) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Dan comes home from tour and stumbles right into Phil’s arms. He is more touch starved than he’d realised.

when... (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: A fic about hypothetical future dogs.

when we were younger. (ao3) - dylaesthetics

Summary: dan is seriously in need of a breather after the difficult year he's had, and finds home in no one other than phil

would it be okay if i came home to you (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: dan comes home after the US leg of his tour

[fullregalia]

i don’t know about you.

Another year, another round up that I felt obligated to write since I basically abandoned this whole thing in 2020. As we are on the cusp of ‘23--I wanted to share some of the things that made ‘22 worth living. Personally speaking, I’m saving about 90% of this year for my memoir; it was a weird one filled with a lot of firsts! Culturally speaking, Will Smith slapped Chris Rock, I finally watched Heat, and we all learned the word polycule.

Let’s get down to business, what did I read, listen to, watch, and generally consume that was noteworthy this year. 

Books

I didn’t read as much as I wanted to this year, but two noteworthy novels I finally got to were Mating by Normal Rush and Happiness, As Such by Natalia Ginzburg. Of contemporary fiction, I was happy for the return of Selin in Either/Or and bookended my year of Emily St. John Mandel with Sea of Tranquility. 

Music

Do I even need to say that my most listened to artists of 2023 were Paul Simon, Niia, John Coltrane, Prokofiev, and Steely Dan? However I did also enjoy the new Beach House, of course I listened to Benito and Steve Lacy, there’s too much Antanoff out there but The 1975 seemed to tamp down his worst impulses, and after REAISSANCE came out I stopped playing Break My Soul on repeat and now am a Virgo’s Groove bitch. 

Movies

As I noted up top, I plugged a lot of holes in my viewing history this year. Shout out to Blank Check and the Big Pic pods for keeping me in the loop. Movie content and analysis for 2022 is abundant (just see: Fran Mag’s 2022 wrap up), so all I am going to say is, “Hi, I’m Petra’s father.” Oh also: Jenny is the MVP of Banshees or Inisherin, and Eyes Wide Shut. 

Podcasts

How Long Gone... How Long Gone? How Long Gone. It turns out I’m exactly that insufferable. I didn’t buy any merch, and I didn’t see them live--but I thought about it, which is bad enough. Besides that I started listening to Celebrity Book Club and I did go to a live taping of Odd Lots. I shed a ton of crooked podcasts (and it feels great). Sorry, but I need smooth brain. 

TV

Speaking of smooth brain, White Lotus season two was the perfect mix of stupid and interesting to keep me totally absorbed. Shout out to my GOAT F. Murray Abraham and perfect Italian American Man Michael Imperioli. Both were underutilized. Industry season two was the fish t-shirt representation I needed. The Bear was exactly how I cook, so that’s cool. I finally caught up on Barry; my friend and I binged The Dropout during a bomb cyclone while we were in North Adams; and just like that... we got an SATC sequel (remember that?! It was terrible). 

Odds & Ends

By far the most notable point of the year in culture for me was Opulent Tips, Rachel Tashjin Wise’s invite-only newsletter (*flips hair*). Her perspective on style and library of references are neither snobby nor abstruse. She loves self-expression and is generous with her advice. Blackbird Spyplane finally helped me to understand WHY EVERYTHING LOOKS LIKE PUTTY NOW. If you’re not getting your croissants at Brauð & Co in Reykjavik, what are you even doing there? I made a few art acquisitions (quite possibly a cheap Picasso lithograph and a limited edition poster from The Paris Review) my exposed brick looks so Brooklyn it hurts. Out for 2023? West Elm everything ... In for 2023? Taper candles, mercury glass vases, continuing to pile up the LRBs.

That was honestly just a small fraction of the year... but like every year, it’s impossible to pinpoint when the vibe shift happens. It was a weird year! I hope the one to come is filled with even more adventures (I’m going to Switzerland!), fantastic meals (did I mention I got to buy out Laser Wolf for a work event?!), and grailed acquisitions (I FINALLY got a Mimi Vang Olsen x NY Humane Society t-shirt!!!!) for all. I’ll leave with one final note for 2023, we’ll see if any of it comes true.

[popculturebuffet]

Next up for Disney TVA, who is your favorite character from the cartoons in the 90s half of the Disney One Saturday Morning era: Doug (Disney seasons), Jungle Cubs, Nightmare Ned, 101 Dalmatians the Series, Recess, Pepper Ann, Hercules the Animated Series, and Mickey Mouse Works?

Okay so weeding the field, I haven't seen Jungle Cubs, Nightmare Ned, or 101 Dalmations and haven't seen herc recently enough to actually judge it. Like LMM it's just vauge memories. Thankfully I looked ahead and while there will be gaps LATER the next era i've seen pretty much everything. Can't say I'l lhave the deepest opinons or a faviorite characters, but it won't be nearly as sparse as these last two and had I realized that I woudl've had you just cram both together. For now though Disney's Doug: Not sure as I haven't rewatched these lately, but since i'm not sure I named one in the disney section , Mr Dink with Skeeetr a close second: he's funny, goofy and while advice despensing neighbor wasn't exactly new ground, he helped spice it up by being human: he's goofy as hell, up to some down to earth domestic shenanigan. He's basically the american version of red green. (The red green show is great and if you haven't heard of it.. your welcome)

I remember liking this version. While there are a bunch of changes.. none feel bad. A lot of the additions work: Doug having a little sister opens new ground, the rank up to middle school makes sense as they finished elementary last series, and continuing miss dink as mayor and having Bebe's dad become school principal. It also helps one of my faviorite episodes and the only one from this run I clearly remember is here, where Patti finds out her dad is dating her teacher and dosen't take it well. Disney's Doug isn't a super sharp upgrade, it's still pretty standard slice of life but it dosen't SEEM like the downgrade it gets painted as.

Recess: Gus. I thought this would be hard but no, my relatable pov baby boy is still my faviorite. I like Gus in part because on paper he should stop working after a bit.. but unlike other pov everyman characters there for exposition, he has enough outside it, his insecurity, panicky nature, and genuine kindness, to help. I also like the portrayal of a military kid, who his moves around a lot nature was due to that and it makes his friendship with the kids and fight to be seen not just as "the new kid" that more pognaint. They give him just enough depth to make you fully understand why, despite usually being the voice of reason, he sticks around and yet don't have him be a total stick in the mud either. He's usually all for the heists, he's just one of the first to panic about it and even then Gretchen and Mikey just as often chime in.

As you can probably guess... I love recess. It's one of Disney's best shows period, made my top 10 list for Disney TVA"s 10th annviersary (Also a reminder to not forget clerks in these asks) for a reason and is only not at the top of the pile because the network had some of the best shows in recent memory in the late 2010's early 2020's and even with that this still stacks up with the best of them.

Recess captures how it felt to be a kid well, the larger than life worlds we created, how parts of the playground were carved up, how the teachers felt useless or actively malicoius, yet grounds it in reality: both miss finster and principal prickly are slowly revealed to be people. Like Hey Arnold around the same time, but in it's own way, it provides plenty of one offs for the various other clicks and kids, while giving our main sextet a ton of depth, focus and spotlight. The series has a swiss army knife quality to it, ala batman the animated series (A comparrison I never though tof but i've been binging a lot of serum lake on youtube lately. ) but it's one that fits: like BTAS, Recess can pivot between awwkard stories of growing up like mikey's voice changing, a chilling psychological drama like the box, or a simple exploration of language or how adults take shit too seriously like the whomps or trial episodes. The series goes all the hell over the map from heists to mediations on death to using a pokemon stand in to teach economics. I can't say enough about this show. A true masterpiece like almost nothing else and I only say that because it got the perfect spiritual succcesor in craig of the creek and disney woudln't greenlight the revivial because their stupid.

Pepper Ann: Don't have a faviorite as I didn't watch the show that much but what I saw I like and I should revisit it. I got jazzed when it got added to D+ then.. forgot. Which happens often.

Mickey Mouse Works; This is a weird ask as.. iv'e never seen mickey mouse works.. but i've seen the shorts on house of mouse? As such i'll save the discussion for house of mouse for the most part but the shorts are pretty good. There's a few awful ones, the quality coudl vary wildly, but when it hits it hits

[chcrrybcmbs]

the  BUCKLEY  family  .

ORIGIN  :  liberty county , georgia , united states of america .  

"  i  grew  up  in  a  family  of  love  not  obligation  .  we  spent  time  together  because  it  is  where  we  chose  to  be  .  not  because  it  was  where  we  were  expected  to  be  .  "  

JERRY BUCKLEY  (  ben  stiller  )  :  father  ,  age  59  .  occupation  :  third generation farm rancher  .

TRAVIS BUCKLEY  (  scott  eastwood / young brad pitt  )  :  himself  ,  age  37  .  occupation  :  actor and country star  .

LAUREN BUCKLEY - FOWLER  (  lindsay  lohan  )  :  sister  ,  age  33  .  occupation  :  entrepreneur  .

ANNABELLE  BUCKLEY  nee  DAWSON  (  brooke  shields  )  :  mother  ,  deceased , passed in 2020 at age 55  .  occupation  :  formerly a hairdresser  .  

best  QUOTES  :  

JERRY  :  "  tripp just tripped into a pile of shit outside the barn , someone call the cavalry , this boys about to go off the handle  .  "    

LAUREN  :  "  i saw the way girls were screaming in the crowd ... i wonder if they know the guy they're fangirling over used to rip one on my pillow before bed time , real classy man .  "

ANNABELLE  :  "  i make people look beautiful for a living but the most beautiful thing i've ever created was my children , golly , their my pride and joy  .  "

FAMILY dynamic  :

jerry  and  annabelle  ,  grew  up  just  down  the  road  from  one  another  in  hinesville  ,  georgia  .  an  inseparable  pair  throughout  their  adolescence  and  then  when  they  were  old  enough  to  understand  their  feelings  they  started  dating  .  much  more  than  highschool  sweethearts  ,  they  took  being  life  partners  to  an  all  new  height  .  the  life  they  created  for  themselves  was  quaint  but  neither  one  would  have  had  it  any  other  way  .  when  they  had  travis  and  lauren  ,  they'd  created  built  in  best  friends  for  themselves  .  lauren  and  jerry  were  so  alike  it  was  scary  at  times  ,  while  travis  and  annabelle  were  attached  to  the  hip  .  the  buckley  house  was  one  full  of  music  and  laughter  .  a  family  that  genuinely  loved  the  company  of  one  another  .  from  a  young  age  travis  took  a  particular  liking  to  the  record  player  (  thanks  to  his  mom  )  in  the  family  room  ,  playing  music  whenever  he  could  get  away  with  it  .  before  his  sister  could  so  much  as  walk  he  was  teaching  her  the  words  to  all  the  best  country  songs  from  the  80s  .  togetherness  was  a  main  staple  within  their  family  ,  they  did  nearly  everything  together  .  whether  it  be  helping  out  on  the  ranch  or  travis  and  lauren  going  to  the  salon  after  school  to  help  their  mom  with  paper  work  .  the  biggest  heartbreak  came  in  2020  .  they'd  lost  the  northern  star  of  the  family  ,  annabelle  passed  of  a  terminal  sickness  and  her  absence  was  felt  by  her  husband  and  children  more  than  any  of  them  could  express  . she was the families lifeline .  promise  made  to  each other  that  her  joy  wouldn't  fade  out  with  her  passing  .  making  a  point  to  keep  her  memory  alive  in  anyway  they  could  , especially during family gatherings .  losing  annabelle  ,  only  brought  them  closer  because  they  all  knew  the  last  thing  she'd  ever  allow  or  want  would  be  for  them  to  sink  into  a  certain  loneliness  because  she  was  no  longer  there  .  jerry  remains  widowed  ,  since  the  passing  of  his  wife  ,  claiming  "  she  was  my  life  ,  i've  never  looked  at  another  woman  and  i'm  not  gonna  start  now  …  she  left  me  the  kids  as  a  daily  reminder  that  we'll  see  each  other  again  .  "              

EXTENDED family :

ERNEST  BUCKLEY  (  clint  eastwood  )  :  paternal  grandfather  ,  age  90  .  occupation  :  retired farm rancher  .

ALICE  BUCKLEY  nee  SHELTON  (  dolly  parton  )  :  paternal  grandmother  ,  age  82  .  occupation  :  retired midwife  .

NOAH  BUCKLEY  (  tom  cruise  )  :  paternal  uncle  ,  age  58  .  occupation  :  pilot for the us air force  .

TRACE  DAWSON  (  robert redford  )  :  maternal  grandfather  ,  age  85  .  occupation  :  retired  dive bar owner  .

ELIZABETH  DAWSON  nee  COLE  (  sophia  loren  )  :  maternal  grandmother  ,  age  84  .  occupation  :  retired receptionist  .      

RUTH  WATERS nee DAWSON  (  mariska  hargitay  )  :  maternal  aunt  ,  age  57  .  occupation  :  district attorney  .

[insertdisc5]

SASASAP POSTMORTEM TIME

I've heard real game devs do something called a POSTMORTEM. They allow themselves to talk about a game they released and stuff.

I'm a real game devs. My video game START AGAIN: a prologue has been released for a year on itch.io. Six months on Steam. As of yesterday it's now available in Japanese. Wow. POSTMORTEM TIME

Gigantic pile of text below about what I think worked about the game and what I think didn't, and other musings. You don’t need to read it. But you can. Spoilers for my game SASASAP which you can get here on itch.io and here on Steam!!! And the artbook for it is here, also, why not!!!

In case you're new, START AGAIN START AGAIN START AGAIN: a prologue (or START AGAIN: a prologue) (or SASASAP) is a story-driven RPG I released back in February 2021. It's been a year now, which is wild. I started making it back in July 2020, but it has a bit more history before that.

Back in 2017, I created this little comic just called "Yes >No". Just a little RPG character, a little fella (now Siffrin, the main character), stuck in a new game+ forever. I ended up liking the concept of a character knowing they're stuck in a video game time loop so much I made a few more small comics about it throughout the years. And then 2020 happened, and I was working from home, and I was bored, and I thought "well I could make a game." . . .

"Well no", I thought, "I can't make a whole RPG right away. That'd be stupid, that's just asking for trouble, I don't even know how to code. I'll make a demo for that RPG first, to learn how RPGMaker MV, the software I'm using to make it, works, and then I can make the actual game. But demo first." And that demo grew wings and is now SASASAP, which I released seven months later on itch.io, and on Steam 6 months later that (Steam's hard to figure out okay!!!). I'm currently working very hard on the next game along with my publisher Armor Games Studios, so stay tuned for news sooner rather than later, tee hee.

Ok intro over POSTMORTEM TIME

WHAT WORKED: -Great news! The game worked (more or less)

-Really glad i decided to use assets on this one. I used assets for many things in the game, like for icons, attack animations, many of the pixel environments, and more. I edited pretty much all of them if only to make them in black and white. Again: very glad i used assets, because making things from scratch is hard. USE ASSETS THEYRE GOOD.

-Working with no real release date in mind was nice. Didn't have the stress of "I have to finish this before this date!!!" (not to say I didn't have other stresses.) But that allowed me to just. Do whatever. Freedom!

-Overall I was worried about the story of the prologue not being enough, even though I forced myself to make something I might like playing, but apparently making something I'd like makes… a pretty darn good game? People really enjoyed the story and it made them feel things and many friends messaged me with a very upset "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME" once they finished playing so I'm very very very glad.

-Also surprisingly the True Ending (Note: SASASAP has 3.5 ways the loop can go, so 3.5 "endings") didn't seem hard to find for people??? I remember being very stressed out about whether people would find it, since i added the different endings in like. the last month of development probably. The way to get the True Ending is by getting enough "Weird Points" in a single loop, and there's two different ways to do so: either go straight for the keys to open the dungeon without looking at anything beforehand (which prompts your allies to go "hey how come you knew where the key was………"), or keep interacting with the environment and make choices that are Weird ("haha Siffrin you usually love puns and you just picked the "Don't go for the pun" choice, everything okay?"). Going for every single key right away gives you enough Weird Points to access the True Ending, and acting weird gives you a little at a time. I was worried about players seeing themselves as Siffrin and so they wouldn't take certain actions, but nah they clearly saw themselves as players separate from Sif and it was easy for them to go "Alright let's make Sif act a certain way so their friends notice." From the few streams I've seen, people managed by going straight for the keys for half of the keys, and getting over the ending threshold by acting weird. Woohoo!

-Speaking of the True Ending path, I did love seeing a few streamers see the Researcher go "…" in suspicion when you talk to her at the end of the first loop, and streamers went "OH FUCK SHE CAN FIGURE OUT WE'RE LOOPING OR AT LEAST THAT SOMETHING'S PROBABLY- TIME TO ACT WEIRD" yesssss this was on purpose I did good game design I succeeded

-Related: people did find most little secrets except ONE (or at least I haven't seen people mention it teehee (its not that big)). Anyway, I was worried about the number of little details/interactions I added because oh god I've heard people don’t like to read! And maybe they won't check things more than once!!! Maybe they won't care?!?? But the game did end up getting praised a bunch for its attention to details because of how much personality it added. Which makes me very happy!!!! And even if people don't find all the little things, someone else might and you get a cool "WOW I DIDN’T SEE THIS HOW DID YOU GET THIS?!??" moment. (This also meant some people's expectations SKYROCKETED like "oh if I do this will the game notice???" no sorry. Players mostly weren't mad about it though so WHATEVER)

-I made sure to leave a few hints of things to come, which means it has been very funny and interesting to hear people's theories. Thank you for thinking about the game. Genuinely one of the big highlights of making a story in multiple installments, not gonna lie

-I've seen a few people say they replayed the game a bunch to see everything? And some people didn't replay it a la Undertale because they were satisfied with the ending? WOW?!??!? The way people treat save files is so fascinating to me

-Also (I point at myself in the mirror) @ self I was right people liked the open ending. I think if the game is too long, an open/sad ending makes people mad. But if it's a short game it's like ah! Gotcha! Are you sad?!???! HA!!!!! SUCCESS and people aren't mad about it. Thanks for coming to my sad endings ted talk

-People also really liked the gameplay!!!! Wow!!!! Unexpected!!! The battle system was the thing I was the shakiest about. The Rock Paper Scissors weaknesses is simple enough but you still have to think about strategy… The skill to give away your turn was pretty inspired too if I do say so myself. (I'M GLAD THE BATTLES WEREN'T TOO BORING)

-The characters are all queer it's not important to the story you just need to know BUT TURNS OUT! I've gotten a few messages from people saying they were so glad one character was aroace, or that Siffrin using he/they pronouns made them realize they were nonbinary. IT IS: IMPORTANT, REPRESENTATION: MATTERS

WHAT DIDN'T WORK:

-GOD, THE STRESS AT RELEASE. GENUINELY ONE OF THE MOST STRESSFUL DAYS OF MY VERY YOUNG LIFE. I released the game on a weekend, and had to take a day off from work to rest from the stress, and I didn't even rest, and it DEFINITELY wasn't enough time off. Self, remember two days off is NOT enough to release a game. I would've said 4 at the very least, to do some marketing, answer ppl, fix bugs, etc. I did order a lot of takeout and was very gentle with myself. Thank you splatoon 2 for helping me take my mind off things -God I should've made way more people beta test it. Some pretty big and pretty easy to find bugs weren't caught. I know it's scary to show the game to people but you gotta do it for the beta test, for the QA, self!!! Be strong!!! (Well this doesn’t apply for the next game since I have a publisher now teehee. But remember for later.)

-The different endings and how to get them/what even constitutes as an ending was confusing. People got to the True Ending and wondered if they was more to it. I thought adding credits to it would make people understand it was the end, but nope! Not the case. People saw the other endings (aka: how a loop ends) less as actual endings and more as, uh, the way it's supposed to go I guess? Anyway I did end up adding items that you unlock after each ending that tell you which ending you got, but it was still confusing. That's my bad! Oops!

-I need to add more comments to my coding. Sometimes I look at old scenes and I'm like how did I even do this.

-Also, self, remember bug reports are NOT a reflection of how the poster hated the game, but more often actually a reflection of how they loved the game and want it to be even better. It's a sign of people loving the game. So dont stress out about it

-Hey self some bugs can't be fixed and you need to let it go. Reader, sorry if you fell on a bug I didn't manage to fix. At this point I don't know how to fix it and I'm sorry!!!

-Not that it "didn't work", but maybe I should've talked about the game more often to build hype. I managed to get a reasonable amount of hype by talking and showing screenshots a month before release, but talking about it for the whole 7 months could've been good, instead of being a hermit game dev. Yeah. (Is still a hermit game dev)

OTHER THOUGHTS: -I didn't add many tutorials because I'm a hashtag Gamer, but tbh more tutorials/reminders are better than none. I noticed a few streamers didn't remember SHIFT is to run, or how to open the menu. REMIND PLAYERS HOW TO PLAY EVERY SO OFTEN!!!! THEY HAVE TINY BRAINS!!!! ITS NOT THEIR FAULT!!!!!!

-Some people said "weh weh game price too high!!!" but consider this: it's not. 12$CAD for a 3-4h game seems good for me, because I always compare it to movie tickets… A movie is like 10$, for 2 hours, so that's 5$ per hour. Bang for your buck if you ask me!!! And also people in the video game industry told me they were happy I put it at that price bc it might make other indies price their own games higher, so. (I wink at the camera)

-This is very small but seeing people play has taught me to plan for every eventuality because some players like to do things just because they can. I know one player switched every weapon around, giving the housemaiden the researcher's weapon for example, to see what would happen (so you cant do that anymore now!!! locked!!!) and someone else grinded levels until level goddamn 99 (you start at lvl 45), just to see if they'd be able to beat the King on the first loop by being strong enough (you can't!), so like. Some gamers are unhinged (affectionate). I'm definitely keeping that in mind for the next game, so hopefully if you go unhinged the game either won't let you do it or will go "what the FUCK dude". Unhinged players: I love you thank you for playing

Postmortem done. Thank you for reading! Thank you for playing! Thank you for being here! The response to the game has been absolutely wild to me and I'm so thankful to anyone who played the game, drew fanart about the game, wrote theories about the game!!! Thank you so much!!!!!!!!! BYE

[quanticowrites]

Insecurity (Gibbs x Reader)

•• Can you believe when I looked at the Gibbs fic's on my masterlist that my last one was back in 2020?? Time flies! Anyway, this one's for an anon who asked for the reader to be insecure about not having red hair! Sorry it took so long, but I kept your ask because I knew I'd eventually get to it! This is getting long now, please enjoy! ••

Dating as federal agents was complicated, whether you were both on the force or dating someone outside the agency. In your case, you were dating the most infamous agent at NCIS to date. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. It’s been about six months since that first date at the diner. You didn’t go out in the field often, so you were made the honorary desk jockey of the team. That was fine with you. You’d rather dig through piles of paperwork constantly than physically chase down a suspect. With constant access to case files, it allowed you to look up Gibbs. You often wondered why he decided to date you. It’s not like you had special assassin training or were good with knives. There was also the fact that you weren’t a redhead like almost all of his previous relationships on file seemed to have been. He had a type, that was obvious, so why you? He had a family before. Why would he want you when he’d already given all the love he could give? You sighed, you needed to find out if this relationship was purely out of pity for your loneliness. You’ll confront him when he gets back from the current case in Iraq. It’s something you couldn’t do over video-com.

Once the case was wrapped up and everyone got the all-clear to head home, you and Gibbs were the only two to go to the elevator. Everyone else went to the stairs. They must have sensed something. The doors closed and it was two floors of awkward silence before you found yourself reaching in front of Gibbs to pull his most famous move, Shut down the elevator. Suddenly that burst of boldness was gone, and you stood there, just looking at him. Your mouth was dry and your lips chapped. He blinked.

“Well? You have something to say, say it.” Come on! This was supposed to be your moment of truth. You couldn’t chicken out now. Your days of restless thoughts would be over, no matter what he said.

“I want to know why you decided to date me.” You reached up and pulled at your hair. “I’m not a redhead! I’m not as skilled as you!” You were yelling now. You wondered if anyone that may have been waiting for the elevator could hear you? “Do you pity me?” The way he moved on top of you in the blink of an eye and took your face in his hands, inadvertently pushing you back against the side of the elevator as he pushed a hard kiss against your lips. He pulled back and you had to take a breath.

“I don’t pity you, (Y/n), and I sure as hell don’t give a damn about what color your hair is.” He put his hand over your heart. Could he feel it racing? “I care about the person in there. The one who always puts others first and does whatever it takes to get the job done.” He went and turned the elevator back on. He put his arm around your shoulder as you exited the elevator into the lobby. You looked toward the stairwell and smiled seeing that McGee, Bishop, and Tony had stayed to see what happened. You gave them a thumbs up and they all returned it to you with smiles. You leaned your head against his shoulder before exiting the building.

“Thank you, Jethro.” Calling him by his middle name to show him you were serious. “For finding your way to reassure me.” He brought a kiss down onto the top of your head.

“Your welcome, Blondie.” You laughed. Maybe you’d dye your hair red just to mess with him one day

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