#for some reason this one deserves its own post

[logicpng]

thinking about those tapes from the multiplayer set. i love them so much lol

[ganondoodle]

okay now, im a little pissed off- i wont be reblogging the post bc its and old shitpost and i dont want to attract more notes on it but

i am so fucking, and i mean FUCKING, tired of all the shit ass excuses some people try to make to defend ganondorf being a nothing burger character

this dumb ass comment really goes all in too, and here i painfully see how much damage skyward sword has done to him bc people cant fuking think i guess "as of skysw he doesnt have an true motivation of his own- hes evil just bc he is there nothing else to it" shut the fuck up man oh my god, you dont think thats a problem? you just accept that? no no OOT also already showed hes nothing but evil tm uwu he doesnt have a reason - AND THATS A PROBLEM YOU ABSOLUTE BUFFOON

if you think that giving ganondorf a miniscule amount of ANY sort of sensical reason to do what he does, a backstory, fucking anything 'changes him into a different character'- HOW in the FUCK do you not see the problem here

and my favorite (refernceing a different character) "If hes evil, like ganondorf, which means an absolute evil, then his backstory wouldn't matter a lick" HELLO??? HELL FUCKING O???? "absolute evil" do you know how you sound like??? also EVERYTHING MATTERS oh my god, but no no of course it wouldnt matter and make no difference if you knew more about a character, no, actually, knowing less of a character is better even! why even write anything tbh? you just give them a label of good or evil and then you dont need anythign else heehoo i cannot believe this shit is now hanging on one of my posts, im struggeling to even dismantle it bc its just so goddamn stupid what do you mean it woudnt matter???????? if i knew ganondorf had a personality (especially totk bc its the worst case), if i knew he had loved ones once upon a time, he laughed and was allowed to feel like a person, whatever made him go down a bad path to end up making you defeat him would mAKE IT ALL HAVE MORE OF AN IMPACT (this is assuming that whatever path it is leads him to oppose you but also .. it doesnt have to mean hes evil or done all bad deeds, guess what, you the player could also be playing the real "villain", wouldnt that be a change of pace .. or it wouldnt, depending on how you look at it (oh NO shift of perspective???) it already is, even if i personally prefer it ALL being a spectrum and not just a label of good and bad and just rolling with this badly definable bunch of words)

do you know why i didnt give a flying fuck about the final battle in totk?? bc its all fucking NOTHING, ganondorf is a goal post with a face that got "BAD GUY" written on it in big red letters stapled on it and nothign more, you cant care about nothing and the point of any story at all is to fucking CARE

honestly a reason why i hate both "redeemable" and the good and evil descriptor is that its so ... limiting, redeemable, what does that even mean really?? it just sounds like you are applying some weirdo christian sins to make up for with good deeds shit onto characters that are, or should be, meant to make you feel something and be a pinnacle of jesus instead, like a checkbox, a scoreboard, and now its being mainly used as a negative word to dismiss legitimate criticism of boring or shitty writing bc giving any character any depth at all now automatically means you want to redeem them and thus absolve them of their sins or some shit, make them uwu perfect little good guys which is not the point (even if there are people like that, sicne guess what, theres lots of different ideas of things all around, inlcuding this hellhole- and yes there are shitty ways to give a character depth! the problem then isnt the motivation to give them depth, its the WRITING of it)

the whole good and evil thing also is just so darn limiting, what does evil even mean, who defines it matters alot, what does good mean, the definition is also really really bendable- link kills more living things than ganondorf ever has yet he isnt evil (bc hes on the side of hyrule, the designated good gouys uwu which means anythign they do is okay), the royal family having a torture dungeon and persecuting the shiekah into submission doesnt make them evil uwu but the gerudo have to suffer for the "crime" of having birthed ganondorf at some point for all eternity i guess

(as well as the very very obviously stupid turns and things ganondorf does and doesnt do literally just bc they needed him to do soemthign you could call bad even if it makes no sense at all, why would he attack his own fucking people out of nowhere, why destroy everything, literally what for, why give himself up if he wants to rule its jsut as stupidly nonsensical as the dumb magic pebbles that just gives random powers out just to force the outcome they wanted to happen)

redeemable, saveable, whatever, giving a character depth doesnt have to mean you want them to join the good tm guys either and im so fucking tired of this way of thinking, EVEN considering that hey ... it would be cool actually to have a ganondorf as the main guy, but we all should know that would only happen if he is a servant of hyrule, which i would consider to be more out of character than ... GIVIING HIM ANY SORT OF DEPTH??? to sympthaize, be conflicted or see the guy you need to defeat has a point is like, not a bad thing?? you can make someone be the most sympathetic guy of all time and still make you fight him ??? and i will repeat again, ganondorf being a nothing burger (espeically in totk) hurts EVERYTHING, everything suffers from shitty writing and lack of writing, the thing that link and zelda are almost just as flat istn .. isnt good either?? its also bad but hes got it way worse (and the racism oh bOI)!!! (there is a reason why ww ganondorf is widely seen as the best one and itse literally bc he says ONE or two lines that may make you think omg .. he is person.... he might FEEL OoO- man the bar really is below the ground isnt it)

and they dont even care to try to make him actually be dislikable, he doesnt tease zelda with killing her father or soemthing, he doesnt have any sort of connection to any of them, every line he says (in totk) is like a prepackaged microwave villain line, you could apply it to anyone, even rauru and it wouldnt seem out of place tbh (which is BAD), more depth would have connected him to the story, the world the literal everything which means people care which means a better story i dont know how to explain to you that you should be able to care about characters??????? he gets the stamp of "evil guy" on his head and they expect you to be happy with that, accept any stupid thing they make him do and others say about him without question? do you NOT feel at least a little insulted???

and like, this is still written, this is a piece of fiction, they had to sit down and write all that, or .. well, NOT write it, they decided to do it like this, despite the ocean of potential in front of them, you could do so many itneresting thigns with this world and they jsut dont and then theres people like this that are so entrechned into this boring ass writing they think that its the point, liek the point is its bad hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

"but hes not meant to be a person he jsut ev-" SHUT the hell up, nevermind the whole curse thing is an englsih trnaslation thing and also perhaps not meant to be taken literally, you think that makes it ok? that well there was a demon once (who also doesnt get any sort of depth btw!!! problem shoved one place over but still the same problem!) so that means hes not actually a person but idk a demon puppet or soemthing- doesnt change anything imo, are you not bored? are you not tired? are you happy with not thinking? not being engaged with at all? to see chaarcters to utterly flavorless you fall asleep and choke on them? i am not, i love thinking, im addicted to it even, i think every day even, right now too, they got a convenient excuse to put not even the barest fucking minimum of writing care into a character and you are jsut going with it!! where are your tastebuds buddy??

[ducktracy]

woke up with this stuck in my head... it's really difficult to overstate the sheer charm in Stan Freberg's vocals. at all times, but his role as Cecil especially! i feel i toss around words like "undiscovered" or "underrated" around too much but Time for Beany really is a gem i would love to see get more love

[p1psqueaks]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — YOU HAVE A BREAKDOWN AND HE’S THERE TO CATCH YOU

a/n: after everything that’s been revealed about mc, she deserves to have a valid crashout. also i’ve made lots of fluff posts recently so it’s time for some delicious hurt/comfort

ZAYNE

You don’t remember pulling the weapon — only the sound of your own breathing, harsh and ragged in your ears, and the way everyone else suddenly froze.

The air is too thin. The world is too loud.

You stand in the center of the room with your hand trembling, knuckles white around the grip. The others have backed away, eyes wide, uncertain whether to speak or run. They're shadows now, irrelevant.

It’s not them you see.

It’s everything else.

Every choice.

Every failure.

Every moment you told yourself it was fine when it wasn’t.

Your vision blurs at the edges, a red haze creeping in, your heart thundering behind your ribs like it’s trying to break out. You can’t tell if you’re furious or terrified. Maybe both.

“Hey.”

His voice cuts through the fog — not sharp, not demanding, but steady.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Zayne.

He doesn’t raise his hands. He doesn’t step back. If anything, he moves a fraction closer, gaze never leaving yours. He’s the only one not afraid of you right now — and somehow that makes it worse.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly.

You flinch, eyes flicking to the weapon in your hand as if you’ve only just remembered it’s there. It shouldn’t be there. It was never meant to be.

“They don’t get it,” you whisper. Your voice cracks in the middle. “They don’t know what it’s like. Everything’s on me. Every time. I screw up once, and it all falls apart.”

You grip tighter, muscles locked like a storm is passing through you and trying to tear you in two.

“I know,” Zayne says. “I know it’s too much. But this isn’t you. This — this is the fear talking.”

Your hand shakes harder. Your throat feels like it’s caving in on itself.

“I can’t — Zayne, I can’t breathe. I can’t fix it. I don’t know how.”

He finally takes a slow step forward. You don’t stop him.

“You don’t have to fix everything alone,” he says gently. “Not with me here. Okay?”

His voice is like a balm — low, patient, warm even in the middle of all this wreckage. It presses into the chaos in your head and makes a little space where you can breathe. Just barely.

“I don’t want to be like this,” you whisper

“I know,” he says. “Then let it go.”

Your grip loosens. First your fingers twitch, then uncurl, the weapon slipping from your hand to the floor with a dull clatter that sounds far too loud.

And then — then it all crashes in.

The sob starts in your chest and works its way out like a scream that never makes it past your teeth. You collapse before you can stop yourself, knees hitting the floor. Arms around your stomach like you can hold the broken pieces inside if you squeeze hard enough.

Zayne is there before you can fall all the way.

He catches you, strong arms wrapping around your frame like they were always meant to be there. He doesn’t say anything at first — just holds you, steady and still, while you shatter.

You bury your face in his shoulder, fingers clutching at his shirt, and cry like the world ended.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice warm against your ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And somehow, even in all the wreckage — you believe him.

XAVIER

You don’t mean to aim it.

You’re not even sure when you drew it. All you know is that the weight in your hand feels both alien and familiar, and everyone’s gone still—like time has snapped tight around you and won’t let anyone move until something breaks.

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts. Cold sweat trickles down your spine.

They're talking, maybe. Someone's trying to reason with you, but their voice is too far away, like it’s muffled through water. Your heart is pounding so hard it drowns out everything else.

You didn’t want to hurt anyone.

You just wanted it all to stop.

“Put it down,” someone says — but not sharply. Not fearfully.

Xavier.

Your eyes snap to him. He’s standing still, calm but alert, his eyes locked on yours — not on the weapon.

He doesn’t flinch.

“You don’t want to do this,” he says, quiet and even. “You’re not this person.”

Your throat tightens, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. You want to scream, to run, to disappear. Anything but this. Anything but them all staring at you like you’re a loaded bomb.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” you choke out.

“I know,” he replies softly. “That’s why I’m here.”

You shake your head, vision blurring, hands trembling. “I keep breaking things. Hurting people. I can’t think straight — I can’t breathe— I can’t—” You bite off the rest before it comes out as a sob.

Xavier doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t rush you. He just looks at you, with that steady, unreadable expression of his — but his eyes… his eyes are soft. Almost sad.

“You’ve been holding yourself together with thread and wire,” he says gently. “And pretending it’s fine because you thought no one would stay if they saw you unravel.”

You say nothing. You can’t.

“But I see you,” he continues, and there’s something deeper in his voice now — low, almost reverent. “Not just the anger. Not just the fear. I see you. Even like this. Especially like this.”

Your hands shake harder. The weapon feels impossibly heavy.

He takes one step closer. Still not reaching. Still giving you the choice.

“You don’t need to keep fighting everyone. You don’t need to fight me.”

You let out a broken, fragile sound that’s not quite a sob, not quite a breath.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Xavier’s voice lowers to a hush, like he’s saying it only for you:

“There is nothing wrong with you that makes you unlovable.”

Something in you cracks. Shatters.

Your fingers uncurl, and the weapon falls with a soft clatter to the floor. A breath rushes out of you like you’ve been holding it for hours, and your knees give out.

He’s there instantly — arms catching you before you hit the ground, pulling you close. You don’t resist. You can’t. The tears come too fast now, hot and silent, soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face against him.

Xavier says nothing at first. Just holds you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm on your spine like he’s anchoring you to the earth.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs against your temple. “You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever again.”

You sob harder at that, clutching him like a lifeline.

“And if the world’s too much,” he adds, brushing his fingers through your hair with exquisite gentleness, “then let me carry some of it with you.”

RAFAYEL

One moment you were arguing — no, begging— to be left alone, and the next, your hand was up, aimed with shaking precision. The room froze. Every voice died. Eyes widened. A collective intake of breath, like the whole world was teetering on a ledge with you.

Someone took a cautious step back.

Another reached slowly for their communicator.

Fear bled into the air.

But not from him.

“Hey,” Rafayel says — and it’s not the voice you expect. Not teasing, not smug. Not flippant. Not him, the way he usually is.

No quips. No grin.

Just… quiet.

Serious.

You flick your gaze to him without moving the weapon. He’s standing a few feet away, arms relaxed at his sides, eyes fixed on yours — not in judgment, not in fear, but something deeper.

Understanding.

“You’re not okay,” he says softly.

The words hit harder than any accusation. Not because they’re harsh, but because they’re true. You feel them like a tremor in your chest.

“I said stay back,” you snap, voice cracking in the middle.

He doesn't move. Doesn’t flinch.

“I know what this looks like,” he says, calm and steady. “But I also know you. And this?” He gestures gently toward the weapon. “This isn’t you. This is what pain looks like when it finally gets too loud to hide.”

Your fingers twitch.

“I wasn’t trying to—” You stop. You can’t even explain it. Not to them. Not to yourself.

Your vision is spinning. Your hands won’t stop trembling.

“Everyone always says ‘you’re strong,’” you mutter, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “But what if I’m not? What if I’ve been lying to them — to me — this whole time?”

For a moment, silence.

And then — Rafayel speaks, and it’s the softest you’ve ever heard him.

“Then you’re human,” he says. “Not weak. Not broken. Just… tired. Tired of carrying too much with too little help.”

You look at him, really look, and for the first time, he’s not wrapped in theatrics or ego. There’s no sparkle in his eye, no dramatic hand on his chest. Just him — open, present, serious in a way that makes your throat tighten.

“I always joke because it’s easier than saying what I really feel,” he says. “But I’m not joking now. I see you. I see what this is. And I’m not afraid of it.”

Tears slip past your lashes.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says gently. “But it’s okay to scare people sometimes if it means someone finally notices you’re hurting.”

The weapon in your hand feels like it’s burning now.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Rafayel continues. “You never did. You just didn’t think anyone would stay if they saw the real you.”

His voice drops to a hush, steady and warm.

“But I’m here. I’m not leaving. Not now. Not when it actually matters.”

Your fingers let go. The weapon clatters to the floor like a gavel calling your sentence to an end.

And then it hits you.

The weight. The shame. The grief. The unbearable pressure you’ve carried too long.

You sink to your knees before you even realize it. The sobs come fast and raw, unstoppable, and the air feels too thick to breathe.

Rafayel is there in an instant — no flourish, no bravado. Just him. He kneels beside you and pulls you into his arms, holding you like something fragile and precious all at once.

His hand moves slowly along your back. The other cradles your head as you bury your face in his shoulder and cry like the world cracked open.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, quiet and firm. “I’m not going anywhere. Let it out. I’ll stay until you’re ready to stand again.”

No mask. No performance. Just truth.

Just Rafayel — more real than you’ve ever seen him.

SYLUS

A part of you is outside your body, watching the barrel shake in your grip, watching the way everyone else freezes — afraid, unsure, waiting for someone else to say something.

Your heart’s a war drum in your chest. Your lungs won’t expand. Your fingers are clenched so tight your knuckles scream.

You don’t want to hurt anyone.

You just want it all to stop.

The pressure. The silence. The weight.

They’re talking — too many voices, too many hands hovering, eyes wide and frightened.

And then one voice cuts through all of it like gravel underfoot.

“Enough.”

You whip toward him.

Sylus.

His eyes are locked on yours — sharp, grounded, and not a trace of fear in them. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He just looks at you, like he’s trying to will you into stillness.

“Put it down,” he says, low and firm.

You shake your head, throat burning. “You don’t get it.”

“I do,” he snaps — not cruel, but sharp enough to slice through the panic clawing at your brain. “I get it more than you think.”

You swallow hard. “It’s too much. I can’t keep holding everything together — I’m trying, but I’m not — I'm not enough.”

Sylus steps forward, slow but deliberate. “Bullshit.”

You blink. “What?”

“You heard me,” he growls. “That voice in your head lying to you? Telling you you’re a problem, a burden, too weak? That’s not truth. That’s fear. And fear’s a goddamn liar.”

You try to keep the weapon steady, but your hand’s shaking now. “Don’t talk to me like you know what I’m—”

“I do know,” he cuts in, voice rough but close now. “I’ve seen you bleed for people who never said thank you. I’ve watched you fight when you had nothing left. Don’t stand there and tell me you’re not enough.”

Your lip trembles. Your chest feels like it’s collapsing inward.

“I’m tired, Sylus,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to keep going.”

And then — he softens. Just barely. A shift in his voice. The steel’s still there, but wrapped in something quieter. Something meant just for you.

“You don’t have to keep going alone,” he says, his voice dropping, steady and real. “You don’t have to carry it all. Not with me here.”

He takes one last step, eyes never leaving yours.

“Put the damn weapon down,” he says gently. “Let someone see you for once.”

You stare at him, chest heaving.

And then you drop it.

The sound it makes as it hits the ground is louder than it should be. Like a final breath being released.

Your knees give out with it.

He catches you before you can fall all the way. His arms are strong and solid, pulling you into him without hesitation, like he was waiting for this — for you — to finally break.

You cry like you haven’t let yourself in years. Ugly, shaking, desperate sobs that tear out of your throat like your body can’t hold them anymore.

And Sylus just holds you.

One hand in your hair, the other around your back, firm and grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, breath warm against your ear. “Even when you’re a goddamn mess. Especially then.”

You grip his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you on earth.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Tough,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t just get the pretty parts of love. You get the storm too. And I’m not leaving because it’s raining.”

You shudder against him.

He stays. He holds. He doesn’t let go.

CALEB

You hear someone call your name, but it’s distant — muffled, like it’s coming from the other side of glass.

Your hand’s shaking. The weapon’s raised.

You can’t remember drawing it. You don’t even know who you’re pointing it at anymore. Maybe everyone. Maybe no one. Maybe just the noise in your head that won’t shut up.

Too much. Too fast. Too loud.

All of them standing there, watching. Not seeing. Never really seeing.

And then — his voice.

“Pips, please… put it down.”

You don’t turn, but your body goes still. Everything tightens.

Caleb sounds wrecked. Like something in him is breaking just from looking at you.

“I can’t,” you whisper. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You hear his footsteps — slow, cautious, like he’s approaching something wounded. Dangerous.

“I didn’t see it,” he says, his voice rough. “God, I should’ve seen it.”

You glance toward him, just for a second—and your breath catches.

He’s not angry. Not scared.

He looks destroyed.

“I thought I was helping,” he says. “I thought you were okay. I wanted to believe you were okay.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and your grip on the weapon falters for a split second.

“I didn’t want you to know,” you rasp. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” he cuts in, voice cracking. “You are not a burden. You’re—”

He stops himself. Swallows hard. Takes a breath.

“You’re someone I was supposed to protect. And I missed it. I missed you. And now you’re standing there like you’re at the edge of something you can’t come back from.”

You look down at the weapon. Your hands are trembling so hard now it’s nearly slipping from your fingers.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper. “It hurts all the time. And I feel like I’m disappearing and no one even notices.”

“I notice,” Caleb says, voice low and raw. “I see you. I always have. Even when I didn’t know what I was looking at.”

He takes one step forward.

“I know you’re drowning. I know it’s dark. But I’m right here, okay? I’m not letting you go under. Not tonight.”

The tears break loose before you can stop them.

You let the weapon fall. It hits the floor with a soft thud.

Then you’re sinking, knees hitting the ground, sobs tearing out of you like something’s broken loose inside.

Caleb’s there before you can even blink.

He doesn’t say anything at first — just pulls you into his arms, holds you tight to his chest like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your hair. “I should’ve had you sooner, but I’ve got you now.”

You cling to him, crying hard and silent into his shoulder. And still he holds you, arms strong, steady, warm.

“I’m sorry,” you sob. “I didn’t mean to — I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for hurting,” he whispers. “Just don’t ever think you have to hurt alone.”

His hand cradles the back of your head, his other arm curled around your back like he’s shielding you from the world.

“You’re not too much,” he says. “You’re not too far gone. You’re mine, and I’m staying.”

And with your face buried in his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you finally, finally let yourself fall apart — because this time, someone’s there to hold the pieces.

[traumaone]

Immature

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 1.8k

warnings: angst, reader is purposefully petty, mentions of robby being an asshole, age gap, mentions of injury (care pile up, car crash), mentions of death

synopsis: Robby loses his temper on you, and you're not quick to forgive, then tragedy strikes, and Robby's not answering his phone

note: some of you may notice that I took down the smut drabble I posted yesterday, I wasn't happy with it, so I took it down, but please accept this in its place. there will be a part two!!

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

I’m your attending, and you’re my resident. Act like it.

Robby had spoken those words over a week ago.

It had been in the middle of a close to mass casualty event, a blood soaked emergency room crowded with victims from one of the worst car pile ups you’d ever seen.

You had never performed an emergency c-section before, especially not on someone who had been actively bleeding out. It would’ve taken too long to call an attending in for help, so OB walked you through it over the phone, Garcia assisted, and both the mother and the baby had made it through (relatively) safe and sound. It had been a victory, a save worthy of celebration in the form of too many cocktails, until Robby found out.

He’d given you the grace of scolding you away from prying ears, but that hadn’t lessened the burn. 

Robby had been too harsh, way too harsh.

You lacked discipline, didn’t respect the chain of command, didn’t respect him. When it came down to it, you were too much of a cowboy, too flexible with the rules of medicine. You were ‘too much like Abbot in the worst ways’.

Tears had threatened to spill, burning and insistent, but you’d blinked them back. 

You had avoided his eyes when you’d told him that you had saved more patients today than any other doctor, that you had been the one to pick up the slack when others had faltered, that he had no right to pick and choose when he thought you were qualified enough to handle things on your own.

You had successfully avoided him for the rest of your shift.

Day One

Meet me out front before your shift. Please.

The message comes through just as you leave your apartment building. 

You scare the living daylights out of a flock of pigeons with how hard you slam your door.

You don’t respond to his messages, but you do wait outside the doors to the ED, ten minutes early to your shift, pacing back and forth like a mad woman.

Robby walks up five minutes later, headphones in and sunglasses on. Usually that sight would make your heart flutter, but in this moment, it infuriates you.

“Do you need something, Dr. Robinavitch?” You keep your voice clip, painfully professional.

He flinches, but tucks his sunglasses into the front of his hoodie. “I owe you an apology.”

“Yes, you do.”

Robby sighs. “Tensions were high, I was struggling to keep it together, and I took it out on you. It was completely unfair, and I’m sorry.”

It’s completely genuine, almost heartbreakingly sincere. Somehow, you still don’t completely forgive him.

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.” Not really. “I guess I’ll see you inside.”

You brush past him before he can get another word in.

Robby follows you through the ER, hot on your heels, but you don’t turn around. You ignore the strange look from Lupe, let the door almost smack him in the face on the way through, skip past your usual morning debrief with Dana and head right towards the nearest patient.

You should forgive him, you know you should. It’s not reasonable to stay so angry about something that had been spoken in the middle of a crisis, but in this moment, you don't care.

You were beyond capable, better than most that had come through this program. Abbot had known that the moment he’d met you, and you thought Robby knew, but maybe he didn’t. He deserved to be ignored, shown the error of his ways, at least for the rest of your shift.

Maybe it’s cruel, but you’re feeling cruel today.

Day Three

He walks through the door with two coffee’s. One completely black, his order, and one with two creams and two sugars, your order.

“Abbot told me you came in early this morning, figured you didn’t have time for a coffee.” It’s a casual lie, an excuse to talk. You never drink coffee before noon.

“Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch.” You don’t take the cup from his hand, don’t even look him in the eye.

Once again, it’s cruel. But you’re still feeling hurt, inadequate. 

Robby pushed his way between you and your desk, nudging your chair back just far enough to step between your knees.

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness?” His eyes are unbelievably warm, and it’s almost enough to make you crack.

“You’re forgiven.” You shrug, reaching around him to grab your coffee. “I’m just working on my ‘respect problem’ you had so much to say about.”

“Buttercup, I-”

“It’s Doctor,” You interrupt, pushing up from your chair till the two of you are almost nose to nose. “or my first name, or nothing. Respect goes both ways”

Robby doesn’t back down, and neither do you. It’s tense, probably awkward for many of the nearby bystanders, but it’s the closest he’s been to you in days. He smells incredible, spices, leather, and the slightest hint of antiseptic . He always smells good, but something about being upset with him seems to elevate it.

“Pull it together, you two.” Dana calls out, a phone pinned between her ear and shoulder. “Incoming trauma, two minutes out.”

“On it.” Robby responds, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Buttercup’s leading.”

You all but stomp towards the ambulance bay, annoyance weighing down your shoulders.

“Am I actually leading this, or are you going to take over the minute the patient comes through?”

“Oh, this is all you.” Robby hands are harsh as they tie the back of your gown. “I’m not even gloving up.”

“Let's see how long that lasts.”

Robby, surprisingly, stays true to his word. He hovers by the door, hands behind his back, and doesn't question your decisions. You stabilize the patient in record time, handing them off to the nurses with a strange sense of satisfaction boiling in your stomach.

You turn towards Robby, a cocky smirk on your lips as you tear off your gloves. “See how incredible I am when I’m not being pestered by questions?”

Robby laughs, rough and deep. 

“Believe me,” He whispers under his breath, his eyes locked on you as you practically strut out of the trauma room. “I’m well aware of how incredible you are.”

Day Five

“I’m covering Parker on the night shift for the next couple days.”

Robby pauses. “And who’s going to be covering you?”

“You have Langdon, Collins, Mckay, and Mohan, not to mention King, Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker. You don’t need me here.”

“Sure, but I want you here.”

You frown. “No you don’t. I’m not being nice to you this week.”

“No, you’re not,” Robby agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I want you gone.”

“I appreciate that,” You do, really. “But I want to be gone for a little bit.”

“If Abbot were here he’d be telling us to talk out our problems.”

You laugh. “Then let’s be glad he’s not.”

Day Seven

Two days later, you’re somehow back where you started, covered in blood, surrounded by patients in need of treatment, but Robby’s not there, unreachable, actually, and it’s driving you insane.

Abbot tells you a transport crashed through a nearby cafe, decimated the entire building and grievously injured around thirty people. You ask the name of the cafe out of pure curiosity, and Abbot says The Filter. It’s ridiculously overpriced for drinks that aren’t even that good, but it’s Robby’s favorite.

Every sunday night since you met him, Robby has sat in one of the window seats of that cafe, drinking a cup of expensive tea, and decompressing before heading home. And tonight is sunday night, Robby  just handed his patients over to Abbot, and bid you both goodbye before heading for the same cafe that had just been taken out by a transport, and he’s not answering his phone.

You’ve been unbelievably immature all week, taken out your frustrations on him, and now he might be gone. He might’ve died thinking you hated him.

Medical work is done through deep breaths and the threat of tears. You check every patient's face for too long, hoping not to recognise his features beneath the blood and debrief. He doesn’t come through the ambulance bay, and he doesn’t call.

Once all the patients are stable, Abbot sends you out for air and you don’t fight him. You shed your gown and gloves, slipping your sweater back on, and wander through the maze of gurneys till the fresh air hits your face.

Your throat is so tight you can hardly breath, and still, the screen of your phone is blank. No missed calls, no texts, not even an email.

You can hear the sound of feet scuffing on pavement, but you don’t look up. It’s probably a paramedic returning to their rig, a nurse coming out for a smoke break, a-

“Did you guys get everything handled, or do you still need help in there?”

It’s Robby’s voice, rough, and warm, and so familiar it makes you want to cry, and you do.

“You’re…” Your voice breaks. He’s in front of you, standing tall and completely intact, his brows furrowed in concern and confusion when he catches sight of the tears streaming down your face.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

You can only respond in sobs, your chest aching as the tears you’d been forcing back all night finally come free. Robby pulls you against him, his face buried in your hair as he whispers quiet hushes. You cling to him, press your head to his chest and cry even harder when you hear the steady beat of his heart.

“I thought you were dead.” Your words come out in a hoarse whisper, muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

“Why would I be dead?”

“The transport crashed through the cafe you go to every Sunday, and you weren’t answering your phone.” You choke back another sob, desperate to get your words out. “I thought you were going to die thinking I was mad at you.”

“Oh… Oh, I'm so sorry.” He holds you tighter, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to calm you, but it only makes you worse.

“You have nothing to apologise for, I was being ridiculous.” You pull away, wiping your nose on your sleeve.

“That’s not ridiculous, I would’ve gone down the same road.” Robby keeps his hands on your shoulders, reluctant to let go of you.

You look up at him, tears brimming your eyes, but you blink them away. “I’m sorry.”

Robby smiles, far too fondly for how you’re guessing you look right now. “I know.”

You stare at each other in a few seconds of comfortable silence before speaking again. “Everything’s mostly handled inside, we just have to get our shit together and prepare for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll come inside and help.” 

“You don’t need to.” You try to argue, but it’s half-hearted.

“I know,” Robby nods, his hand lifting to wipe a few stray tears from your cheek. “But I want to.”

[meowse]

That AMA marks the end of Dragon Age.

In my opinion.

I'll start by saying that I have played all 3 of the previous games repeatedly, I've loved the series for 15 years, more than half my life. These games inspired me to become a writer and they've shaped a lot of my tastes and interests in shows and writing -- to say they were formative is kind of an understatement. Don't want to go on and on about how much I loved them, that's not the point here.

I didn't care for Veilguard for pretty much all of the reasons people have already discussed at length on Reddit and Tumblr. The writing is comprehensively bad, the romances are easily the worst Bioware has written by pure virtue of having the most cookie-cutter pacing and shallow characterization I've seen across their games, the lore has been shafted in every direction, and the nuanced storytelling and roleplay I came to expect from the series has been taken out back and shot in the head.

All, apparently, in the name of a "clean slate". It seems to me that, rather than familiarizing himself with the existing lore of the game he took the creative reins on, Epler clearly had a vision for Dragon Age (or perhaps a different IP entirely) in his head that he decided to transplant into the game (and possibly Trick? But they've said so little beyond defending their work that I can hardly theorize what direction they were coming from). That being a sanitized, wildly self-contradicting, morally absolute shitshow focused on distancing itself from the previous games as much as possible. Now, I know it's unrealistic to blame one person entirely, and I don't blame him entirely. Corinne was there. Trick was there.

But if it wasn't already evident from the numerous interviews Epler's given on the game as well as his participation in the Q&A's (while the actual lead writer of the game has been completely absent in not just the marketing, but in most fan-related interaction pre and post-launch outside of BSKY), this AMA seems to have confirmed, more than anything else, that Epler doesn't understand the game nor does he understand its audience. Neither does Corinne Busche, who despite being Game Director for only the last two years of development, has been answering lore questions a) like she has any fucking clue and b) like she thinks Dragon Age is a cozy-gamer IP, meant to appeal to people that want uplifting stories with uncontroversial characters, morally upright heroes, and unquestionably evil villains.

So as of today's AMA, I think I've finally had enough. We're just outright retconning the lore in Reddit AMA's now, I guess. Among other things. I'll provide a few examples, just so we're all on the same page.

This was part of Epler's response to why Solas didn't have his cult following in the game (insert "We Kind of Forgot" meme here):

Solas' experience leading the rebellion against the Evanuris turned him against the idea of being a leader. You see it in the memories - the entire experience of being in charge ate at him and, ultimately, convinced him he needed to do this on his own. And his own motivations were very different from the motivations of those who wanted to follow him - he had no real regard for their lives or their goals. So at some point between Trespasser and DATV, he severed that connection with his 'followers' and went back to being a lone wolf.

The fact that this (the not caring bit) directly contradicts the writing in the actual game is absolutely INSANE to me, moreso than the lack of Solas's spy network (which he apparently carried with him for 10 years only to conveniently drop right before the ritual? Because he clearly had them research Rook?). But in regards to the not caring -- here's a line from Solas's memory of killing Mythal in Veilguard, which. I'll get to Mythal in a minute:

Why should I not tear down the Veil, and bring back immortality to all the elven people? They deserve it!

Which is it? Does Solas care about the people he's saving (the venn diagram of people he's saving vs. the people following him is surely a circle, i.e. elves) or not? Does he even care about the spirits trapped behind the Veil anymore or is it just convenient to abandon them and have him only care about elves, now? What happened to saving The People? What happened to him not identifying as an elf in his conversations with a Dalish Inquisitor? And what the absolute fuck happened to him wanting to bring back the magical marvels (that the ancient elves did in fact achieve) that were greater than anything we see in Thedas today? Here's what Epler has to say about elven magic, now:

I do agree that the elves have had their place in the sun at this point. [...] The thing about the Evanuris is that, ultimately, they were able to take a very specific type of magic and shape it into doing what they wanted. But even their understanding of magic was only skin deep [...] Even the magic that Tevinter wields, the magic of the Southern mages, is different from what the Evanuris used. The magic of the Evanuris is powerful but it's sterile, and it's constrained. So while the Evanuris have made magic work in a way that's more predictable and understandable, it's not the only kind of magic out there, and even then, I'd say they understood it at a very surface level. People were confidently describing how the natural world worked back in the 16th century. Very few of them were right.

First of all, Tevinter has been stated in previous games to have clumsily adapted ancient elven magic for their own, but they did adapt it. To the point where even Solas is surprised that Corypheus achieved effective immortality -- by binding himself to a dragon the same way the Evanuris did. So, cool, more contradicting the lore here. "They understood it at a very surface level" you mean when all of the magic of the Fade wasn't locked behind the Veil? You mean when magic flowed freely through the world? What do you mean, Surface Fucking Level? The entire point of the Dalish elf culture is what they lost; this wasn't the ancient elves thinking the sun revolved around the earth, the Veil was their fucking Library of Alexandria burning. Oh my god. I still cannot believe he said this.

And how have the elves had their day in the sun? I'm sorry, was Arlathan not given to... the Veil Jumpers? Instead of the Dalish? What happened to all the Dalish clans in the south, who had no infrastructure when the world was apparently blighted to hell? I guess they're just gone now! They've had their day! The story of the Dalish and the Evanuris is over (also confirmed in this AMA), and it apparently ends with the final snuff of the candle that is their culture. Congratulations, Chantry, you've won! Only took two genocides and a double blight, but we're done with the Dalish now! We get your mind-numbingly superficial factions instead!

What happened to Mythal, by the way? What happened to "She was betrayed as I was betrayed, as the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged!" What happened to the reckoning that will shake the very heavens? John's answer to this:

People grow and change over time. Mythal's essence - and in particular, the fragment of her spirit that Morrigan carries, that she got from Flemeth - is not the same Mythal who he knew millennia ago. Centuries of living in this world and being around the kinds of people Flemeth found herself around - the Hero of Ferelden, Hawke, the Inquisitor - changed her views, and made her realize her own culpability in turning Solas into the kind of person he is now.

Oh, right, okay. So she was pissed for like a thousand years, got her big speech about the impending "reckoning" out 10 years ago, and then she just chilled out because the last 3 heroes were neat people. What a fucking joke. And yes, here is the confirmation that the Evanuris story is over --

The story of the Evanuris is done - the gods are dead (or imprisoned) and Thedas is in a state of flux and uncertainty. I imagine that whatever happens next is going to be a surprise to everyone, including the people of Thedas."

So I guess Mythal's reckoning is never coming. One of the most fascinating characters in the series, shrouded in mystery for those first 3 games, PROMISING US a blaze of glory, only to fizzle out in this one. Again, and I can't emphasize this enough, for Epler's clean fucking slate. And we've not just tied up her story, but also the Veil and the Blight:

When Solas bound himself (or, depending on your ending, was forcibly bound) to the Veil, it severed the connection that the Blight had to the waking world. The reality is that the Veil has been leaking ever since the Magisters first entered the Black City, and the dreams of the Titans gave it its terrible and awesome power. Now that the Veil is fully repaired, the Blight lacks that motive force, and being so close to the epicenter of that change has stripped the Blight in Minrathous of its vitality. It's calcified now - dead - and Bellara/Neve no longer suffer its effects. If they'd been anywhere else, further from that epicenter, it would've likely been different and they still would be looking for a cure.

So the Veil is permanently fixed now because our half-dead Dread Wolf bound himself to it (a decision I still don't understand) and that somehow fixed every single hole ever poked in it. Fully repaired. No more holes, no more "Veil is thin here" because tons of people died in the same spot, nope, we're washing our hands and leaving it (and the spirits) behind us because we've wrapped up both the series-long Veil storyline and the blight storyline in a big red bow.

And Epler tells us Solas not only bound himself to the Veil but fixed it entirely in one fell swoop, no ritual required, just a little slice to the hand. Again, all in the name of a clean slate, so any future installments or media centered around Thedas can turn away from this story.

Then there's this. What we can expect from future installments, I freaking guess. The aforementioned roleplay getting taken out back and shot:

Q: "What lead you to the decision to step away from active conversations with the companions as in previous Bioware games, where you can initiate them at any moment and ask exhaustive questions?"

John: "For us, because of tech limitations, it became a choice between exhaustive investigate conversations, or letting the companions move more freely around the Lighthouse. With the kind of experience we were going for, one where seeing the team grow around you is paramount, we felt that seeing them interact in common spaces (and in each other's rooms) made more sense."

Literally confirmed that they chose companions moving freely about the cabin over ... interacting with them outside the handful of cutscenes we got. Who in their right mind would think this was a good call in a Dragon Age game? A series that quite literally prides itself on complex character interactions and storytelling? So they could... sit in different places? Are you kidding me?

They don't see an issue with the game's reception. They don't have any interest in addressing or responding to criticism. They're either happy with their choices or EA's got a gun pointed at their heads, I'm honestly not sure anymore. I used to believe the latter was true, but looking at both Epler's and Busche's responses today, I'm inclined to believe the former.

So I think that's it for the series. Not that I thought it was going to get another game after this, but on the absolute off chance it did, what would be the point? The best stories were ruined. Anything left they have to tell is going to read a lot like Veilguard -- superficial, morally absolute, flagrantly disrespectful to the lore, and delivered in a very poorly written package.

[coffeepaintwater]

shen yuan, luo binghe and shen jiu the most explosive trio to ever trio i fear (there are two duos in these trio and hint hint both of them feature sy lol)

also this is basically fanart for Shen Yuan of No Relation on ao3 by Gemi bc i'm binge reading/listening to it and it's so good!!! the characterisation is so on point it dragged me back into the svsss fandom by my hair. the character study tag 100% deserves its' place there.

notes, bc how could there not be??:

i saw a post that said that any svsss fanwork's inaccuracy to history can be attributed to airplane's lazy pidw world-building and. yeah. basically.

i was thinking what would the disciple robes look like to both seem regal to the commoners (as described in 99% xianxia novels) and good to train in and i realized that there shouldn't probably be more than two layers anyways because it isn't even really accurate. also, i like the interpretation that each disciple has a subtly different uniform, but i just can't picture how that would work???? 100% the rich kids and older disciples who can actually earn some money would add accesories to their robes, but for shen yuan and luo binghe, i just couldn't imagine where they'd get anything like that, besides the hair pins ning yingying made/gave them (sry if i mix some shit up, i've read 20 chapters in 2 days okey have mercy). plus, with a world that focuses on social standing as much as pidw/svsss does, i think that the sects would naturally aim to recreate that hierarchy in their own society.

with the example of cang qiong mountain, yue qingyuan would have the highest rank, and (as syonr showed!!!) probably boast the biggest estate on the peak, inheriting all the wealth the previous sect leaders had accumulated. and while from what i understand, being a sect-affilated cultivator means your payment is basically getting fed, clothed and having a roof over your head in the sect instead of idk, coin, yue qingyuan would still have monetary means because of, surprise surprise, inheriting it. so, clothes just on the better side from the other peak lords perhaps

next in the food chain would be the other peak lords, except that we see that even the peaks have different 'rankings'. so, while on the outside each peak lord carries the same authority, shen jiu would have been able to be as he was in canon (MASSIVE side eye btw) and no one would have been really in a place to kick him in the gut and say he was a fucking asshole, for example, besides yue qingyuan. that is, from a purely theoretical stand-point, bc all hierarchical order is sometimes broken but that's besides the pointttt. the point is, they would have freedom to dress however they wish and while i believe the disciple robes remain unchanged since the founding of the sect (bc svsss universe is implied to be a largely unadvancing society, regarding anything besides cultivation), the peak lords most likely don't have one set uniform, besides each peak being color-coded apparently??

there was a post i was inspired by (https://www.tumblr.com/svsssfanonarchive/736782613008809984?source=share) that confirmed that the peaks (or at least three of them, but we don't get much of the others anyways) do in fact have the disciples wear robes of one color. qing jing favors greens and teals (see the post for more details pls pls pls it's so good) BUT i love adding white to my art bc i feel like a fabric this vibrant and light would fit the scholars there. also, white seems like the furthest one could get from the gutter to me, bc while it is the color of mourning, it's also the color of purity and shen jiu would take the chance to put one more barrier between shen qingqiu the peak lord and shen jiu the slave. don't ask why i put shen yuan in better robes; there's no reason other to make him more like a mini shen qingqiu lol

the head disciples could probably get modified uniforms or a layer more, to make them really stand out. and i'm not touching on the hall masters and senior disciples bc NOPE. not my problem for now

last thing, fu yue my love, my beauty, my life force, WHICH CHARACTER ARE WE TALKING ABOUT FOR FU?????? i decided on these ones bc there were the closest i could get to the meaning Gemi intended but :(( i have a gut feeling the first character is wronggg

[maxlarens]

CL: guess the heat drives people crazy

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you’re not used to having a boyfriend, let alone having a famous one. though you’d like to think you’re taking your new found status as a wag in your stride. charles certainly thinks so. [smau] [part 2 to this fic]

fc: faceless and some alexandra saint mleux

a/n: sorry this took so long! i was honestly kinda unsure how i wanted to do this. i wasn’t sure if i wanted to do a little storyline but i basically ended up just doing a bunch of little snapshots of their relationship 😇

@ynusername just posted…

liked by @rowan, @charlesleclerc and others

ynusername wildflowers, the waves where we met, on the way to our first dinner

chloegarelli i did that!☝🏻☝🏻

⤷ ynusername okay 😐 dont get too big for ur britches

user1 is that……..?

⤷ user2 CHARLES RIGHT?

⤷ user1 yes wtf!?

⤷ user3 you are delusional you can only see his hands

⤷ user2 AND?? he is in her likes

rowan we did it joe‼️

⤷ chloegarelli four years in the making iktr

⤷ chloegarelli i’d like to thank the american people and i’d like to thank democracy for this win

⤷ ynusername we are MONEGASQUE?

⤷ ynusername anyway u guys are the most insane couple i have ever met

⤷ rowan and you’re stuck with us foreverrrr

user4 no one is talking about how adorable this is. the waves where we met like UR KIDDING!

⤷ user5 if she is actually dating charles then he is literally the luckiest man alive

@f1wagupdates just posted…

tagged @ynusername @charlesleclerc

liked by @chloegarelli, @ynusername and others

f1wagupdates ‼️🚨 new wag alert 🚨‼️ monegasque painter yn yln has been spotted getting cozy with charles on his yacht. it’s believed they met while on holiday in italy several months ago🥺

user1 fell to my knees in the grocery store

⤷ user1 THAT SHOULD BE ME

⤷ user1 but if it had to be anyone else im glad its her

user2 oh i KNEW that was him on her instagram three months ago. vindication.

user3 stop she is so pretty

⤷ user4 like attracts like

rowan cats out of the bag @chloegarelli

⤷ chloegarelli WE DID THIS EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU

⤷ user5 thank you oh my god

⤷ user6 THANK YOU

⤷ charlesleclerc thank you😁

[❤️ by f1wagupdates]

user7 need to see them together at a race

⤷ user8 CHARLES GET HER ON THE PADDOCK

⤷ charlesleclerc 🫡

ynusername oh my god. not the picture of him pushing me into the water😐

⤷ user9 OH i love her ur honour

⤷ f1wagupdates I’M SORRY!

⤷ rowan don’t apologise its so perfect

⤷ charlesleclerc Stop I tripped!!!!!!!!! I told you!!!!!

⤷ ynusername u did NOT trip!!!!

⤷ user10 they are my everything wtf

@ynusername just posted…

tagged @charlesleclerc

liked by @charlesleclerc @f1 @scuderiaferrari and others

ynusername charles, the week we met we talked about what the monaco gp meant to you. the place your dreams took root, the one race you wanted so badly it hurt, the city you wanted to love you back. i could feel your yearning for that win as deeply as i feel for my own ambitions. i knew then that we understood each other like i have never understood anyone else in my life. and i knew, somehow i knew, that you would be on the top step of that podium. charles, i am endlessly proud of you and all the hard work you did to get here. you deserve this. i love you. and monaco loves you.

user1 charles monaco gp win you are everything to me

user2 they’re in love in love!!! WTFFFF

scuderiaferrari ❤️

user3 god let me have what they have i cant handle this

chloegarelli im tearing up yall are like my babies

user4 HE DID IT!!!!

charlesleclerc oh I love you I love you I love you

⤷ charlesleclerc How would I have done this without you?

⤷ ynusername I am so proud of you baby. I love you ❤️

⤷ user5 this interaction changed lives

⤷ user6 how do i reasonably find love after this. how am i supposed to be satisfied with anything less???

🎨 i just KNOW her caption would make the rounds on tumblr

[anim-ttrpgs]

If any of y'all had tips for aspiring TTRPG creators, what would they be? I'm hosting a "How to Make your own TTRPG" panel at a con this weekend, and anything to show folks from a fellow indie studio would be great!

Yeah a bunch. Each one of these could basically be its own post, but here are the condensed versions.

Social Media

You need social media. No one will ever hear of your game without a strong social media presence. And as much as it sucks, your best bet is probably tumblr. It’s the only populated social media site that allows your posts to be widely circulated without you having to pay, and also long form enough to actually include information. I dedicate one day a week entirely to social media and that’s just about the only reason we make any money at all.

Also, when using tumblr, the first five tags you put on a post are the most important, those are the tags that make it show up on people’s dashboards. The first twenty tags are the ones that make it show up in search results. Don’t put the name of your game in the first five tags generally, because if no one has heard of it yet, no one is following those tags.

Don’t Paywall Your Game

You deserve to be paid for your work if you indeed did any work at all (we’ll get to that), but that just isn’t the world we live in. Unless you have an advertising budget to essentially trick people into buying a game that might end up being crap, you need something to prove that your game is worth spending money on. Without an advertising budget, that proof has to be your game. Setting your game to pay-what-you-want, or providing “community copies,” lets people try your game before they buy. Plenty of people will buy up-front when given the option, and others who can’t afford it at that moment will download it for free then come back and pay later. Some people will never pay, but what that means for you is that they either never experience your game, or they pirate it. People experiencing your game, showing it to their friends, and talking about it is one of the most valuable pieces of advertisement you can ever have. It will ultimately lead to more people who are willing and able to pay learning about your game.

Start Small but Not Too Small

Do not make a one-page game for your first game. Do not be like us and make a 700-page game for your first game. Try to aim for something between 20 and 200 pages, especially if you’re one person or a small team.

Play and Read a lot of RPGs or Your Game Will Suck

Would you watch a movie by a director who had only ever watched one movie? Would you read a book by an author who had only ever read one book? Hell no, those would suck.

Read many rpg rulebooks, from many different genres and decades, play as many of them as you can (by the rules) to understand how the rules work and why they’re there. This will give you the creative tools you need to make something that isn’t just a weaker version of the last RPG you played. No, listening to "actual plays" does not count.

Most actual plays stray significantly from presenting a regular gameplay experience in favor of an experience that is entertaining for an audience. If you want to learn martial arts, you should be watching martial arts tournaments, not WWE.

If you want an actual play podcast that has my “actually mostly presents a real gameplay experience” approval, try Tiny Table.

If you say you don’t have time to read rulebooks, then you don’t have time to design a good game. Studying is part of the process of creating. If you don't, you won't even know about gleeblor.

This will let you know whether your "innovation" is more like "Cars don't need to run on gasoline!" or "Cars don't need crumple zones and airbags!"

The Rules Matter, So Design with Intent

The rules matter the rules fucking matter holy shit what you actually write down on the page matters I can’t believe this is actually the seemingly most needed piece of advice on this list. The. rules. matter.

Design your game to be played in the way you designed it. The rules affect the tone and genre of your game, they affect the type of people PCs can be and the kind of stories that will result from gameplay. Bonuses encourage PC behaviors, penalties discourage PC behaviors.

Do not fall for the trap of “oh well people will just play it their own way based on vibes anyway so it doesn’t matter what I write the rules to be.” Write that you wrote this game to be played by the rules and that significant changes to the rules mean that players are no-longer playing the game you made. Write like you deserve for your art to be acknowledged by its audience. If you don’t, then there is no point in anyone playing the game you made, because if the person who wrote it doesn’t even care what the rules say, why should anyone? The people whose “playing” of TTRPGs consists of never opening the rulebook and improving based on “vibes” will still do that no matter what, but the people who would have actually tried to engage with your game will find that it sucks if you don’t even care what the rules are yourself.

Playtest

You need to playtest your game if you want it to work as intended. You need multiple sets of eyes on it. If you don’t have the opportunity personally to do so, just release your game anyway with the acknowledgement that it’s unfinished. Call it an alpha or a beta version, and ask for people that do play it to give feedback, then update and fix the game based on that feedback.

Ignore Feedback

Most people do not have any game design credibility, perhaps least of all TTRPG players. You do not, in fact, have to listen to everything people say about your game. Once you ask for feedback, people will come to you with the most deranged, asinine, bad-faith “feedback” you can imagine, and then get really mad at you when you don’t fall to your knees and kiss their feet about it. You do not need to take this feedback at face value, instead you need to learn to read between the lines and find out which parts of the rules text are being misinterpreted by players, and which incorrect assumptions players are making about your game. Then, you update and improve the game by clearing those up. Only like 30% of “feedback” you receive will actually be a directly helpful suggestion in its own right at face value.

You can’t please everyone, and shouldn’t, so appeal to the people who actually like your game for being what it is, not the people who don’t.

Read Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Yeah this one sounds self-serving but hear me out. Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is as much a treatise on TTRPG game design as it is a game itself. When it presents mechanics and rules, it tells you what they are, why they are, how they are, and what you’re intended to do with them. This makes it an excellent example to read for anyone wanting to get serious about game design and learn how TTRPGs tick under the hood, and an excellent example of a TTRPG that expects players to play it the way it was written to be played, and why that is a good thing. Also you can download it for free.

[star-5truck]

A letter to you

Sypnosis:The final letter Dabi Touya sent you before the final battle.

Pairing :T. Todoroki x Reader

Two posts in a day? Its a miracle lowk

Dear [Name],

    By the time this letter reaches you, I’ll probably be dead. I plan on making sure this arrives unscathed at your side, since I’m aware you’d still be in a coma when it arrives. I’m a little disappointed I won’t get to see your pretty face on the battlefield, but it’s better than you getting hurt. To start off, I ask you to forgive me for everything. I know I wasn’t the one who put you in your state, but I still apologize for that nonetheless.

Now, this letter isn’t for me to apologize like some beggar. I just want you to know my thoughts. I’d rather I not die without giving you a clear conscience. I know when I left that night without a word it hurt you. You really shouldn’t forgive an asshole like me, I hurt you in ways words can’t describe when you’ve been nothing but understanding towards me. So, I hope that through this letter, you get to understand me more. Because in the one hundred thirty-six days, three minutes, and five seconds we’ve known each other, I never really opened up to you.

The first time I met you, I thought you were a lunatic. I was injured, on the brink of death, and about to pass in peace but then I saw you. I thought that ‘this is it; I die to the hands of some hero without putting up a fight.’ Yet my demise never came. You took care of my injuries, brought me to your home and treated me like a human being.

What hero tries to talk it out with a villain? Newsflash, you, apparently. I’d like to inform you that you have not changed my views on heroes at all. I still believe they are all self-serving assholes that don’t care about anything other than themselves. I loathe them all… except you. If anyone is going to make the hero society a better place, it’s going to be you.

I don’t think the hero commission took it well when they found out we were having rendezvous’, eh? I always told ya we’d get caught one day. I knew that if I stayed, you’d be in bigger trouble than you already were. I truly believe it was for the better good when I left you that night. Yet with that being said, I’ll never regret meeting up with you every now and then.

You were definitely one of the good things in this hell. I haven’t found myself enjoying someone’s company in a long time. You’re some sort of blessing- to me and the world. I’m not super religious myself, but if there is some God out there, I’m real grateful they made you a part of my life. I haven’t been good enough for the God’s to respond to me, but for some reason they sent me you and I don’t plan on letting you go.

But that’s a lie and we both know it. Technically- I am letting you go. I’ve done it multiple times, actually. Kept pushing you away again and again but you kept coming back. Why is that?

I don’t deserve a soul as kind as yours. You were my light in the darkness, or however the saying goes. I think somewhere along the way I dimmed that light. There are times where not even the brightest of lights work. It’s not your fault, anyway. Because you did get rid of the emptiness I’ve always felt. I ruined myself on my own terms. I’ve always been fucked from the start.

You almost succeeded with your goal on changing me. When you told me to hide away with you? I almost caved in. To tell you the truth, I could never say no to you. You’re everything to me, minus the L.O.V, but they aren’t important right now. You are the one place I’d call home.

It is incredibly selfish for me to say that I’d like to keep you at my side forever. I bring pain wherever I go, and you- dear hero, are too kind to be treating a villain like this. I’d rather you hate me than going off and trying to save me. We both know I’m too far gone. Nonetheless, I appreciate the fact you thought I was capable of change. At some point, you made me believe it, too.

You’ll be the only thing I’m going to miss after I’m gone- that and crashing at your place. The time I’ve spent with you is something I’ll cherish, which we know is rare coming from me. You’d be the seven minutes before my death. I would’ve loved to run away and hide with you, [Name]. You saved me in every way possible. But I am driven by hate that even I can’t escape. I will do anything it takes to take down Endeavor, even if it means bringing down myself with him.

So, for the first and the last time, I love you, [Name].

Love, Touya Todoroki.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Playing with fire's only gonna get you burned. Unless you're, like, into that kinda thing.

kai parker x reader

summary: things have been disappearing from your room lately, but never would you think kai is the one to blame.

tags: 1994 prison world, friends to lovers, snooping (it's very 'fuck around and find out'), mild argument, sexual tension, touch starved, kissing, touching, playful sex, teasing, fingering, vaginal sex, relatively mild smut, overstimulation, cuddling

word count: 5.5k

a/n: this fic is sponsored by wellbutrin... kidding. but that's the only reason i've actually been able to sit down and focus / write lately. this was requested eons ago, and with the greatest guilt, i'm just now posting it. also, i wrote it in a day. as in, today. i hope it's okay. <3

It started out innocently. A curious snoop in a big, almost-empty mansion, inhabited by two abandoned people left here by their families. 

He hadn’t expected her to go digging around in his stuff, and she didn’t think he’d come home early. Both were wrong. And as the thin material slips from beneath her fingertips in shock, he gives her an indescribable look. His nails rap on the wood of the doorframe and she stands, speechless. 

“Uh…”

“Hey, princess. Like what you see?”

-------------------------------------------------

The Salvatore Boarding House is where you found him. You wandered for some time before running into him and finding his company relieving. 

Of course, getting to trust Kai took some time. You found common ground in the fact that you both were hated by the Gemini Coven. Both had been sent here by them; Kai, sixteen years ago, you, only one, and both had been frowned upon by their families. But while you shared the same enemy, you were afraid for a while that Kai would be an enemy, too, considering what he did to be sent to the prison world. Apparently, as reported by his own tongue and the daily paper, he had slaughtered four of his siblings in an attempt to kill the youngest two. He didn’t feel much sorrow, nor regret, over his actions, and explained his methods of killing with a rather monotone voice. When asked if he’d kill you, he shrugged. 

“No point in doing that, really. It’s not like you can die, anyway.”

And that was that. 

For weeks, you feared him, but he got better as the days passed. Kai’s actually pretty funny and can cook well. And though you’ve never said it out loud, he’s pretty cute, too. Over time, your companionship turns into a friendship. You swap stories about your past and come to understand each other better. As cold as life has made him, you don’t think he wasn’t always that way. The more you grow to trust him, you start to see a side you’re not sure he’s even seen in himself for years. Sometimes you forget you’re all alone in a prison together, save for the fact you’re the only ones there. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like a sentence for a punishment you both may or may not deserve. 

But lately, something’s been off.

It’s not that anything’s changed about Kai, but more so that it just feels… different. The young witch is the same playful, unserious boy you’ve known for months, but a few times, you’ve caught a glimmer in his eye you can’t quite decipher. He’s a troublemaker for sure, and though you’ve never seen malicious behavior, your head is filling with questions if he’s capable of some other kind of behavior you haven’t considered. 

Basically, things have been disappearing from your closet. Your favorite bracelets, a few lip balms, and clothes, even some you know you threw in the laundry bin. For a bit of time, you blame it on the same-day repeating thing. Maybe the gloss you stole from the department store has just been returned to its original spot to be sold. Maybe yesterday’s pair of underwear went back to the bottom of your drawer. Maybe the shirt you wore when you entered the prison world got swept through some portal back to the real world, because you hadn’t worn it here yet, so it must not be able to exist. 

One morning, ruminating thoughts swirl in your mind as you try to mentally explain the disappearances. It’s a rather new thing - within the last few weeks - and nothing like this had happened in the first couple months you were still roaming the empty earth. 

At the kitchen counter, you must seem lost in thought, because Kai shuffles a pancake off his spatula and onto your plate then nods. “What’s up?”

“My clothes are disappearing.”

“What?”

“Have you ever had that happen to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Out of my room. I’ll toss a shirt in my hamper, and it’s gone. My favorite chapstick isn’t in my nightstand drawer anymore.”

“Weird.”

“You’ve never lost anything?”

“I mean… misplaced things, yeah. But I know I just put them somewhere where I can’t remember where I put them, y’know? Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe.” You take a bite of the food and smile up at him. “Ooh, perfect! Thank you.”

He returns the smile with a wink that makes you shyly look down. You eat in a comfortable silence, omit the CD player beside you being just barely audible; Billie Joe Armstrong whispers uncharacteristically rather than shouting into your ear at nine in the morning. 

He starts to speak again while gathering the dishes. “Hey, I need to take a quick trip to the store today, want to come?”

“Wait, why? We just went?” You ask, frowning. 

“That house down the street had a cookbook I’m borrowing-” you chuckle at the word choice, “-and I’m gonna try one of the recipes in it, but we need, like, half the things in it.”

You think about it. Going grocery shopping with him is always an entertaining experience, but you were planning on flipping your room inside out to look for your stuff instead. The most recent thing to disappear was one of your favorite underwear sets, and if you don’t find it, it’ll drive you crazy. Explaining this, though, sounds ridiculous, so you make an excuse. With a shrug, “don’t really feel like being cold today.” Despite no one around to operate it, Bell’s refrigerator section stays cold. 

“You have a jacket. Or you can borrow one.”

“You always take, like, ten years in there, and the cold seeps through eventually.”

He gives you a sassy look, but it’s true, so he knows he can’t really argue. “Alright.”

“Plus if you’re trying a new recipe, it’s going to take even longer for you to find everything you need. And then the recipe won’t have enough detail, so you’ll sit there for five minutes, debating if you should use brown sugar or light brown sugar.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point!” You smile in satisfaction. “I’ll go by myself. Won’t take more than an hour.”

“Two, maybe.”

He glares at you, but you only laugh. Kai, by now, is harmless to you. You can poke and prod him all you want and know he won’t hurt you. Maybe if his family put a little trust in him, they would’ve known that, too. 

“I’m leaving in ten.”

“Okay. Be safe from any vortexes that could contain aliens coming to invade our planet.”

He stares at you, then gives a playful roll of his eyes. You laugh. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t make sense. You’ve flipped your room about a thousand times in the last hour and nothing, not a single one of your lost items have appeared. It’s actually driving you insane. On second thought, you might be going insane. You know internally that stuff doesn’t just disappear in this world. Some things might return to the way they were before - the Dookie album annoyingly starts at “Burnout” every morning that Kai presses play; the grocery store is always fully stocked, no matter how many bags of chips you take in a single day - but things don’t just get lost. The prison world has structure, in its own extremely aggravating way. If something’s missing, you lost it. 

But you’ve flipped your room three times to no avail. If something’s missing, it must not be in your room at all. You sigh, sitting in the middle of your now-messy room, and think. It is possible that they got mixed up in the laundry with Kai’s stuff and neither of you noticed. Of course, that doesn’t account for your two missing chapsticks, but maybe those were in pockets that ended up in the laundry, too. You crinkle your nose at the thought. If that’s the case, that chapstick and the hoodie it’s in are definitely ruined. 

With the new idea in your mind, you head to the laundry room to check it out. It’s a rather long walk down the hall and to your left, making you wonder, again, whose house - sorry, mansion - this is in the present day, and could they be living here now, in the real world? You and Kai have talked about it before, made bets on the residents’ identities and personalities. Kai thinks it’s the mayor’s, and that he’s some oldish rich guy with a trophy wife, who needed to live far away from his “village” to exude “dominance,” as if this were the middle ages. That, or a thousand year old witch who moved out here to never be bothered. You swear it’s vampires, but he always shakes his head, “that’s not a thing.” You think otherwise.

But regardless of who lives in the house, you can both agree it’s an insane amount of house for anyone. Though, neither can complain about the dungeon in the basement. It’s a nice touch. In fact, every house should have one. 

The laundry room checks out to be clean. There’s not a single sign of anything missing or out of place, and by this point, you just feel like giving up. Maybe the laundry ate them in the way it always seems to eat one sock. Oh well, because the constant search is only stressing you out. You stand there bored for a moment while trying to think of something to do. You could read; the library downstairs must have a thousand different books. Or, you could snoop the mansion. Kai’s shown you tons of stuff he’s found over the years: diaries, letters, secrets. Whoever lived here has quite the story to tell, but those things aren’t always easily found. The letters had been hidden in books, and between closely stacked books, and the most telling diary he’s found was in the floorboard of the furthest room on the right. Surely there’s more that Kai hasn’t discovered yet. 

You decide, then, that the best entertainment will be to snoop around the old Victorian home, because… why not? You can’t settle down enough to read, and when has anyone not had fun digging into other people’s business? After all, that’s what got you sent to the prison world in the first place. 

A part of you is most curious about the dungeon, so you decide to start there when something in the corner of your eye makes you pause. A lock, uncharacteristically on Kai’s bedroom door. It’s odd, considering the openness between you two; you’ve never felt the need to hide things from each other, and you’re not sure when he started feeling differently. You stare at it, curious and a bit hurt, before inserting your nail into the hole on the bottom. Again, you ended up here by pissing off one Parker, what’s stopping you from egging on another? And what would Kai possibly do to you that would hurt you? Like you told yourself earlier, towards you, he’s completely harmless. 

In a couple minutes’ time, you finally free the lock of its duty and push the door open. Inside, it looks normal. He’s always been clean and his room is no exception. You’ve seen it before, when he didn’t feel the need to put a suspicious lock on it, and it looks the same then as it does now. Still… that little weasel is hiding something, and you’ll be damned if you don’t at least peek. You step further inside, leaving the door wide open so you can hear if he comes back. 

To your displeasure, a five minute search yields no secrets. You’ve looked under his bed, in his drawers, and everywhere else that’s definitely invading his privacy, but hey, you were under the impression that there was no privacy in the prison world. You start your way back to the door, but then open the closet you had previously ignored, just in case. It checks as normal, but then… up high, in the corner, sits a little box out of reach. And by out of reach, you mean even for Kai, who’s rather tall, meaning even he would need a stool to retrieve it. Curiosity quickly gets the better of you and you fetch the nearest stool to grab it. Something this well hidden must be fun. And who knows, maybe it’s the residents’ mystery box, and Kai doesn’t even know it’s there? At least, that’s what you tell yourself to excuse your nosiness. 

Though, immediately upon opening it, that’s proven to definitely not be the case. 

A whiff of perfume floods your nose the moment you take off the lid. It’s familiar, and warm, and quickly, you realize it’s yours. Then, your heart drops at the first thing inside - something he should not have, and frankly, shouldn’t even exist -  which is a polaroid of you. Specifically, of you on your side, asleep, bare chested, with your comforter just barely covering your hips. Your spine is the main focus of the shot, but a little bit of your exposed breast shows. You drop it with a gasp. It flutters down and lands in a different place than where you had picked it up, revealing more. Each polaroid in the stack shows more and more of your body in every shot. Sometimes, your breasts are covered by a thin, lacy piece, but more often than not, your top is completely bare. Your comforter, luckily, stays at your hips, and the one or two times it slips further, you’re covered in your favorite floral set, but then you pause. That particular set disappeared a while ago, and now, you think you know why. 

Dropping the polaroid, you remove all the photos from the box to reveal what’s hidden underneath, and oh, does it shock you. Instantly, you eye your favorite set, causing you to swallow hard. Your perfume’s also in the box, alongside all your missing items: your chapsticks, bracelets, and three more pieces of your clothes. That rat. He’s been taking your things the whole time! Then giving no more than a shrug when you bring it up. Kai has been sneaking into your room at night, taking pictures of you and stealing your things, then acting none the wiser in the day. You try to feel angry, but you’re more shocked than anything. 

Hesitantly, you pick up a pair of your underwear, inspecting it as if you can’t believe it’s really there. You roll your eyes in disbelief as it slips off your finger, back down into the incriminating box. 

A knock raps on the doorframe. You freeze; you hadn’t heard anyone come in.

“Hey, princess,” Kai says, standing there, “like what you see?”

Your mouth falls open, a thousand words rising up your throat, but none of them coming out. You were shocked before, but then his sudden entrance and his laidback reaction makes you angry, and when he stands there, waiting for your response, you only find yourself shocked again. Surprised, that he’s found you digging through your stuff, yet doesn’t seem to care. 

That is, unless, the anger is bubbling underneath his fond smile. You know that Kai has an unpredictable edge to him. Sometimes, he’s quiet in his anger and lets it stew before exploding. You’ve only been on the receiving end of it once, ages ago, when you were still getting used to each others’ routines and you got too much in his way. You’ve seen it since then, but not directed at you: his father, mostly; his lack of magic; his misguidance about the world. But sometimes, oftentimes, he’s short in patience and snappy in reaction. He responds to disruption the same way his father does: suddenly, mercilessly. It’s all he knows, after all. 

But the Kai standing in front of you now, watching you, is neither of those things. He doesn’t seem angry or agitated. Caught off guard, certainly, but while that look is interpreted through his eyes, a small smile counters it. You stare a bit longer. Amused is more like it. He’s amused by your reaction. By you finding your clothes in his room and having no idea how to react to it. Initially, his posture held some indignation, probably because you were going through his stuff and had picked the quite secure lock to do so, but any ill feeling dissipates at the look on your face you’re sure is amusing to him. 

You try to replace your shocked look with a stern one. He only laughs. 

“Want to tell me why my stuff is in a box in your room, which was locked, by the way, not sure if you’re aware. Since when do we lock our rooms, Kai?”

He looks surprised by your sudden snap. Good. Unfortunately, he recovers quickly. 

“Want to tell me why you’re going through my stuff in the first place?”

You scoff. “I think the more pressing matter is the fact that you’ve been stealing my clothes! And- and- not only stealing, but look at this-” you toss a polaroid at him as if he hasn’t seen, taken, them himself- “how long have you been lurking in my room while I’m asleep?! Taking pictures of me sleeping? Not caring if I’m literally nude in half of them?!”

“I’d argue the nude ones are the best ones,” he says with a shrug. 

You scoff again. “What would possess you to do this? Why are you taking my stuff?”

“Y’know, princess… What’s funny to me is that your questions are just questions.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re asking questions simply to know the answers. A playful curiosity. There’s no anger in your tone, no spite in your words.”

“Oh, I’m angry, Kai. I’m pretty fucking pissed off right now.”

He only chuckles. “Still not hearing it. See, I know anger. Anger’s my father, who has a harsh bark but a nastier bite. You, my angel,” he crouches down in front of you now, “have no bite.”

“Fuck you.” You push his shoulder. He barely sways, but you were kind of hoping to knock him over. You wait a moment, then try again. 

Kai, though, easily predicts your actions and grabs your wrist as soon as it comes within his reach. He holds on with a tight grip and you almost lose your balance. 

“Let go,” you grumble, raising your other fist. It only makes it halfway before he grabs that one, too. “Kai.” You struggle in his hands. “What the fuck? Let go of me.”

“Ah, ah.” He tilts his head to the side, a look that means nothing but trouble. “You were a bad girl to go through my stuff.”

“It’s my stuff, actually.”

“It became mine the minute it crossed the threshold of this house. You became mine.”

“What the fuck does that mean? This isn’t even your house!”

“But it is my prison world. Built for me when I committed a crime so heinous, they felt the need to lock me up. But you… what are you in here for? Stealing a book?”

“It was a grimoire, you fuck. Your father’s. So clearly my crime was equally heinous and they sent me here, too. The moment I got dropped here, this no longer became just your world.”

“You raise a good point. But still, I was here first. And I’m the oldest of my siblings, so I can tell you what to do.”

“You have a twin,” you counter, “who’s probably older than you by now, considering neither of us have aged, and you’ve been here sixteen years already. She’s probably… thirty-eight by now? Probably married, has some kids, a nice house.”

“Stop talking,” he snaps, tightening his grip on your wrists. They burn, but it doesn’t bother you. Egging him on is more fun. The tight cord of his control is breaking. 

“I’m just saying. Oh, and your younger twins, the two you didn’t get to kill. They’re, uh, twenty, now, I think. I saw them, actually, when I broke into your father’s house. They’re both blonde, wherever that gene came from.”

“Y/N-”

“Jo wasn’t there. Not sure where she went. Probably does have a house somewhere. Somewhere far, far, away from fucking Portland. Good for her, that place is a shithole.”

His grip tightens, his body almost shaking with anger now. “Stop. Talking.”

“Or what? Are you gonna attack me?” You put on your best puppy eyes. “Show me your bite’s worse than your bark? Because I’m just proving to you that I can bite. Don’t like it, do you? Yeah, well, I didn’t like finding my lingerie in a box in your room, but I guess we all can’t get what we want.”

Whether it was your words or the sass in your tone, he finally breaks. With a sudden force, Kai pushes your fists into your own chest, knocking you to the floor. You gasp a little as your head hits the wood, but you have no time to dwell on it as he climbs on top of you, pinning your fists now over your head. 

“You want to see me bite, is that it? Don’t think I have it in me because you’ve never seen it for yourself? I can be ruthless, Y/N, I can make you regret-” he pauses, jaw dropping as he realizes you’re giggling. 

“Regret what?” You urge. “Were you saying something?”

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N.” His eyes are dark, but not in a way that scares you. Instead, his pupils are dilated so much they look dark. He stares into you desperately, gaze fighting between your lips and your neck, as if unsure where to attack first. 

“And yet I’m just a girl, laying under a boy, asking to get burned.”

He doesn’t get the quote. It’s after his time. But the message is clear: you’re under him and you’re not fighting to get up; you provoked him enough just to send him off the edge; you were never really that mad about the pictures or the clothes. 

He pauses. Okay, maybe you were a little mad about it. He did go out of his own way to creep across your boundaries. But still… had he not, you would’ve never ended up in this position. You should probably thank him for that. 

You swallow, with difficulty because of the way you’re laying, and his eyes drop to the bob in your throat. He snaps out of a daze. 

It happens before you know it, his lips on yours. He starts soft, waiting for you to reciprocate, and the moment you do, he gets rougher, more confident, as if this is something he’s always wanted, but he’s so unfamiliar with being able to touch, that he holds back at first. 

You’re much less hesitant, though. You offer kindness to him through your words, but you’ve never touched him much, knowing how foreign it is to him. You’ve wanted to give in, to hug and hold him and kiss his cheek before you go to bed, but you were never sure how to bring it up. He’s guarded in his emotions. They’re there, but they’re locked away with a key you haven’t been able to pick. But this, maybe, is the first step. 

You’re not sure when you stood up, or if he picked you up, but in a second, you’re off the wood and plopped down on his bed. The pillow beneath you smells like your perfume and you raise an eyebrow at him. He tilts his head again - no comment. He’s kissing you again before you can say anything, effectively distracting you from the whole thing. One hand props himself up over you, while the other lightly grasps your neck. Both of your hands are tangled in his hair, scratching and pulling gently. You break the kiss, out of breath, and he trails his lips down your neck instead. Your back arches instinctively, and a giggle escapes your throat at a sweet spot. In a matter of seconds, he sucks a bruise into your skin before moving down further. Your shirt, very much in the way, is pulled up and off, followed by your shorts. You copy the action, pulling his own off him and immediately letting your hands explore his chest. It’s only fair, you think, considering all the times he’s welcomed himself to the sight of your body. 

Distracted, you miss him pulling off your underwear until they’re dangling on one finger in your face. You tilt her own head in confusion, then feel your jaw drop as he throws them in the box. 

“Mine.” He winks.

“No! Kai-”

You’re cut off by your own moan, provoked by the feeling of his touch on your bare body. He smiles, clearly pleased with himself, and touches again. 

“Those are mine,” you try to argue. 

“Are they?”

With a new bite, you lunge forward and surprise him, bringing him pause. You take control for thirty seconds, unbuckling his belt and sliding off his jeans and boxers. A gasp escapes his throat, the cold air hitting his cold, now exposed body, in addition to you seeing him for the first time. 

“These are mine then.” You toss his jeans on the floor, but keep his boxers like a prize in your hands. 

His look is unimpressed. “You wish.” He tackles you easily, prying the material out of your hands to ball up and throw, laying you back down, crawling over your body, licking his lips, eyeing you like prey. It happens too fast for you to react, and before you know it, you’re forced back into submission, him dominating easily. 

“Y’know, for someone not used to touch,” you pant, relishing in the feeling of his lips around your nipple, “you sure seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Instinct, baby.” 

“Oh, really?” 

He shuts up any further remark by meeting his body to yours, erect cock rubbing against your clit in a way that turns your brain to mush. “Yeah, really.” You don’t fight back this time. “So easy to please,” he mutters, his fingers moving to your clit at the feeling of precum rising up. 

“Stop teasing,” you whine, growing desperate. 

“Not teasing, princess. Just getting you ready.”

Pressure builds like a coil low in your stomach. You squirm, arching your back and shivering in pleasure, at the same time you mutter, “don’t stop.”

“Don’t move, then, baby.”

You try your hardest to listen, but it’s almost impossible with the way he’s touching you. The long fingers you’ve always admired rubbing in perfect circles. The lust in his eyes as he draws you closer and closer. The wetness on your thigh where his aching cock drips with its own need. 

“Kai-” you cry for a second as he stops. He spits on your clit, then laps it up with his tongue, sucking now, while his fingers open you up below. “Fuck.”

“You okay, princess?”

“Mhm,” you nod weakly. 

The coil’s so close to snapping. You won’t survive much longer, not with the way his tongue works so beautifully against the sensitive spot, and especially not when he looks up at you from his position, eyes still dark with lust, yet focused, as if this is the most important thing in the world. 

“Kai-”

“Mhm?” He asks without detaching. The vibration that it causes is what finally breaks you. With an eager moan, you finally come, the force of it shaking your legs and core. Kai sucks you through it and only lets up when you start begging, “please, please, please, I can’t-”

He ceases, and immediately crashes his lips onto yours, letting you taste yourself in his mouth. 

“You okay?” He asks between wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mhm.”

“Alright, good girl. Ready?”

“Please.” 

Of course he can’t deny you when you ask so politely. 

With a deep kiss, he distracts you enough to push in. You take him well until you’re almost full, gasping into his mouth and sinking into the mattress. You squirm a bit more, body reacting to the sudden intrusion, but settle around him soon enough. 

“We’re good?”

“Good.”

“Let me know if you need to stop.”

He starts slowly, pulling out a little ways and pushing back in, kissing you sweetly as he does. But then as your body adjusts and clenches around him, he picks up the pace to an even speed. His mouth drops from your lips to your neck, sucking more bruises into your delicate skin. You keep your hands tangled in his hair, pulling, grasping, moaning more as the pressure starts to build again. 

“Y’know,” you stutter, trying to speak as he thrusts. “Making me come once isn’t going to make up for you stealing my underwear.”

You can feel his smile grow against your skin. “Oh really?” He presses a kiss to your neck. “How about twice? Three times? Four?”

The color drains from your face at the thought of coming four times in one day. You really need to learn to stop challenging him. “I-”

“Yeah, four sounds good. Let’s try for that.”

He has slowed down a little to make conversation, but as soon as his mind is made, he picks his pace back up. His troublemaking smirk stares into you, waiting to see if you’ll challenge him again, then falls back on your neck once he sees he’s won. 

In the end, Kai holds true to his promise and coaxes three more orgasms out of you before his hips stutter. He pulls out and releases on your stomach, panting hard. You lay beside each other, completely exhausted and overstimulated, until he finally drags you up and into the bathroom. In a way, you do win, because he dresses you in his own clothes - boxers and a hoodie - before pulling you downstairs with him. You’re still determined to get your clothes back somehow, but as your eyes flutter sleepily still, you decide to table that for another day. 

That evening, when you settle down for your usual nightly movie, you find yourself laying against his chest with his arm around your waist. He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, and the noticeable difference makes you smile. 

“If you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just asked,” you half-tease. 

“Hm.”

“I like you, too, y’know.” He finally looks away from the tv, eyes dropping to you instead. “Way before all of this. I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Fear of losing you?” You shrug. “Not only are we the only people here, but… you’re also the only person I’ve felt ever close to in my life. I didn’t want to do something that would make you uncomfortable, or make you hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” he admits. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “And I think I’m the one who crossed the ‘uncomfortable’ boundary.”

You laugh. “Yeah, you did. You crossed a very big boundary.” You tilt your head and run your tongue across your lips. “But… it doesn’t make me uncomfortable with you. Nor angry. Maybe in the moment, but certainly not now. Actually… it’s kinda hot, now that I think about it.”

Despite his passing nervousness, he can’t help but laugh. “I did say you’d be playing with fire.”

“Guess I should’ve headed the warning.”

You curl closer into him, adoring the way he responds so quickly, running a hand through your hair and dancing his fingers on your skin. It’s easier than ever to relax around him. Right now, this prison world feels like anything but a prison. 

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night, you sneak into his room, polaroid in hand. It’s rather easy, the lock is gone now and his door is cracked open, practically inviting you in. You tiptoe up to his bed, focusing the camera on Kai’s shirtless form and snap a quick photo, snickering to yourself. But then, as the old machine whirrs in action, your target opens an eye. You back up, glancing between the boy in the bed and the door. He groans, laughing on the tail end of the tired sound. 

“Whatcha doing?”

“Karma, baby.”

“Mhm, good try.” He eyes you in a way that sends a shiver up your spine. “Y’know… the way I got so many of you is because I was quiet.” 

“Uh-” You look at the door again - big mistake. The moment your eyes are off him, his arms around your waist. “Ah, Kai!” You screech, head hitting his pillow for the second time that day. 

He positions himself on top of you, practically sitting on you, and takes the camera from your hands. “Tip number one, snap the picture and leave before the camera starts to sputter.” He sets it on the nightstand. “Tip number two, stalk someone who’s a little less obsessed with you. That way, they might not be able to hear your every move.” Before you can reply, he’s kissing you again, with as much passion as he had only hours ago. 

[barcapix]

since ur taking requests for pedri right now can u write one where reader looks after him and comforts him for having to miss the match since he’s been sick the past couple days 🤍

✮ (Heart)ache - Pedri González

pedri gonzález x fem!reader

sy: sometimes it’s hard for your boyfriend to admit he needs help, but your always there to provide him it when he needs.

a/n: my heart breaks for him i swr and he still deserves his 2022 hype + the reason i have time to write fics now is that im lEGIT bedbound.. not ideal?

warnings: noo.

seven to one. that was the score.

as pedri lay nestled in the darkness of his bedroom, the soft glow of the television illuminated his face, which bore traces of fatigue and weariness.

the jubilant cheers from barça’s victory reverberated gently in the background, but his absence from the pitch left a void in his heart.

you entered his room quietly, carrying fresh chamomile tea and his favourite steamed vegetable soup. placing it carefully on the nightstand, you climbed into bed next to him, draping the blanket around both of you.

instinctively, you brought the back of your hand to his forehead, as his temperature was gaining intensity by the minute. you sympathetically frowned, guiding his head to rest on your chest.

“hey baby, i made you something to eat,” you said, whilst combing through his untamed hair. “you actually like it this time.”

he offered a weak smile, “thanks.”

you brushed your thumb along his cheek, noticing how pale he looked. his lips were dehydrated and pasty, his eyes carrying indigo circles beneath them.

normally in times like this, he wouldn’t think twice about chewing your ear off, yapping about how his day had been and informing you on every detail he could remember. yet tonight, his silence spoke more than he ever could, which made your stomach churn with dismayment.

pedri hesitated for a moment, the words slowly forming on his tongue. “you don’t have to stay here with me you know,” he murmured, his tone laced with guilt, “you probably have things to do and i don’t wanna make you sick.”

you shook your head, exhaling softly. “pedri, im not leaving you here alone.”

he shifted uncomfortably, his voice now slightly shaky as he cleared down the lump in his throat. you could sense the overwhelming guilt he had gnawing away at him; he hated the thought of you prioritising him over yourself, but how could you not?

you couldn’t bring yourself to leave when he needed you the most, no matter what he said.

“seriously,” he began, his fingers tentatively reaching for your own, “im gross right now, and i’ve kept you here all day. all i’ve done is lay here and you shouldn’t—”

“shh cariño,” you interjected with a small laugh, tilting his chin up so he could look at you. “you speak some nonsense sometimes p, you know that?”

he blinked at you, his eyes tender but unsure.

“do you think i care about that?” you asked, a sincere grin curling at your lips. “about you being sick or not entertaining me? im doing this because i love you. and i care about you. you deserve to be looked after guapo, because your always the one looking after everyone else.”

if you weren’t completely exhausted, you could of sworn that his eyes were brimming with a certain gloss—tears.

pedri parted his lips to speak, as if to protest but you cut him off by pressing your hand against his feverish skin. “i know you hate this,” you continued. “being stuck bed-bound whilst the team is out there; i know for sure it’s eating you up.”

“…i know you’ll never admit it, but you need someone right now. so let me take care of you sí? im here for you.” you whispered at last, tinged with a softening soothingness.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was the beating of the air-con machine, and raphinha’s post match interview radiating from the tv. then, he closed his eyes like the fatigue had finally won its battle—the tension in his muscles giving way as he melted into you.

“i just don’t want to be a burden.” pedri admitted, his head dropping into the crevice of your neck.

“you could never be a burden amor,” you whispered, “not to me.”

even if he was contagious right now, that didn’t stop you from littering kisses all over his temple.

as if your words had a significant impact, he stayed silent after that final reassurance. he would never admit it, but sometimes that’s all he wanted: reassurance. his breathing rate became slower, more even, as you began to rub his back.

“i’d be so lost without you y/n,” he confessed, his words muffled by your shirt. “i don’t know what i’d do.”

a yawn escaped his lips, his grip on your waist tightening with every shooting pain in his stomach that hit him. you cradled him against you like he was the most precious thing in the world—because to you, he was.

“you’ll never have to find out,” you replied, seizing your arms around his body a little tighter. “te quiero mucho, pedri.”

“te quiero más,” he mustered up something of a sentence, clasping his hand around yours. he found solace in the tiniest things with you, which is why you couldn’t love him any less.

the ache of missing the match was dulled by the comforting warmth of your embrace.

[thescarlettbitch]

Honoring Forgotten Gods

I made a post about Gods Lost To Time, and a couple people expressed how sad it made them, how it feels bad, how they wish they could worship forgotten Gods.

You can. I do, here is how I do it. (A reminder: I am not a priest or a priestess, I am by no means an expert. I myself have only recently started worshipping and honoring these Deities.)

But first, I will say this once and not again

This is an incredibly intuitive practice. If you are going to comment "how do you know you're not working with demons faking being gods to steal your soul?" Your comment assumes two things. 1) that I believe in demons 2) that I believe demons are inherently malicious. I don't believe demons are inherently malicious. My mother believes I was possessed by one when I was a child, but I don't. I believe they are a spirit in this world like everything else and that they deserve respect. If they want to come to my altar, that is fine by me. As long as they are respectful to me and my Gods, all are welcome.

Next,

What are the Forgotten Gods?

Forgotten Deities are the Deities that existed in ancient times who's names and practices have been lost to time. Could be from a not-yet discovered civilization, or maybe they're older than the written word, or even older than humans as we know them, or maybe they were lesser-worshipped in known civilizations. There is no way to know for sure if these Deities did or did not exist, we have no way to ask Neanderthals if they had a God. Their names haven't been spoken in centuries. They haven't been honored in centuries. But if we, as humans, have always had some sort of religion, it's not a far stretch to assume that pre-humans did as well. ("How do you even find out about a forgotten God?")

Prayer

Obviously the prayer is going to be a little different from how you pray to your main deities. We don't know the names of these Gods. We don't know what they represent, or anything about them. I usually start the prayer with "To all who have been lost to time" and go on to my appreciation. "Thank you for keeping our ancestors safe. For teaching them how to farm and how to use the land. For giving them fire and animals and plants to nourish their bodies." Etc etc. Then I give them an offering and say a final thank you, or I express my condolences for them having been lost, say a final thank you, and give an offering.

Building an Altar

My altarspace is currently a mess as I'm prepping to move (not moving yet, still finding a place) so I haven't "built" one yet, but I have a few ideas.

I'd start with a space, obviously, set up a place for offerings, and a candle. It could be on your major altar, or it could be its own space. I'd keep it simple, at least while starting out. Maybe something for the elements, but nothing too big or flashy. As you build relationships with these Deities, you can add and change and remove items at will.

Offerings

I do libations, the act of pouring a liquid directly on the ground, but if I had the means I would 100% burn the offerings. Leaving offerings on your alter space is also a good idea.

Here are some ideas!

Water - water has been around as far back as we can tell. Seems like a pretty neutral and safe offering idea to me.

Fruit - figs are the oldest fruit, but anything. Food is important to life, and for all we know, these Deities are the reason we have them.

Berries and nuts - see above - vegetation was an important part of the diet in ancient evolutionary periods.

Flowers - natural, neutral in my mind.

Wine/Mead/Beer - wines, beers, and meads have been around for lots of years, humans have always been fermenting foods to get drunk.

Bread and cheese - also been around for a very long time

As you grow and build relationships with these Deities, you'll learn to differentiate their energies, you'll learn who likes what, who identifies with masculine or feminine pronouns, you may even be able to give them a nickname to differentiate them from the others.

My Own Worship

Currently, my worship with Forgotten Gods does not stray far from a simple thank you, I'm sorry, and a libation. I don't work closely with any one specifically but rather the idea of them as a whole. I try to say a thank you to them once a day.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Now I have to ask- WHY do you hate Pacific Rim?

Okay, fair warning, this is about as bitter and salty and small-minded as day-old caviar. But. My bitter, salty (probably fishy) opinion:

Pacific Rim is only a good movie because it's a well-written story about robots punching monsters.

That's it. That's all there is to the movie.

I started out merely disappointed by Pacific Rim. We went gaga for the preview materials that promised these unique well-rounded character pairs and trios with these idiosyncratic robots from all these different Pacific nations... And then the movie itself is about some bland white American guy who pilots a robot named a racial slur, the second most fleshed-out team is bland white Australian guys, and the Chinese team is there, kind of, in the background, but don't worry they're going to die first. The "character-driven story" turned out to be "various characters take turns punching aliens" but, sure, whatever, I love the MCU so why not.

The day I went from "Pacific Rim is overrated" to "Pacific Rim is the worst thing that has ever happened to human civilization, I'm extremely normal about this" was the day I saw a Tumblr post suggesting we replace the Bechdel test with the Mako Mori test. Because Mako Mori has her own plot and doesn't kiss North Carolina at the end, making her a whole new type of feminist icon.

To which I was like:

We are talking about the same movie here, right? The Pacific Rim that can't even pass the Bechdel test? The Pacific Rim that's all about might-makes-right, the Pacific Rim that has ONE speaking role for ONE female character in its (from IMDB) 50-person cast? The Pacific Rim that repeatedly puts its only female character in danger and has her rescued by first Idris Elba then North Carolina? THAT Pacific Rim?

Is there a different Mako Mori I haven't met? Because the one I've seen a) has a character arc driven by deciding whether to obey her father or follow her heart, which is as inoffensive and stale as an unblessed communion wafer, b) does nothing that Ellen Ripley didn't do 30 years earlier, but with about 5% of the character depth Ripley got, and c) stands there in silence looking sad as two men punch each other over the question of her virtue.

Any post assuming this movie invented the idea of "small Asian woman kicks monster ass" needs to learn its damn history. Especially the ones acting like her being physically small is somehow a feminist bonus. There's something embarrassingly ahistorical about the whole thing.

And look. I get how we got here. I know how easily Tumblr backs you into a rhetorical corner of "calling a story Good can never mean merely 'enjoyable'; calling a story Good must mean 'virtuous'". Until next thing you know you're arguing that actually, shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is a net good for all of society, because gay divorced middle-aged tyrants who use supplemental oxygen and murdered their exes in a custody dispute over the one kid (out of two) they actually care about deserve to see themselves in sci fi too! You only end up in that corner because half the time you're arguing against someone who says that shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is literally the same thing as supporting father-son incest, so your real reasons for shipping them (1. foe yay, 2. old man yaoi) seem wildly insufficient.

Much of what I see about Pacific Rim seems neck-deep in the "it's not allowed to be a Good Movie unless it single-handedly dismantles the patriarchy" fallacy. There's nothing progressive about shipping two dudes best known for chopping off each other's body parts with laser swords. And there's nothing progressive about a movie having its only female character hug the male protagonist at the end instead of kissing him. You're allowed to like a thing just because it's well-made, without acting like a bog-standard normatively-broey action flick somehow invented a new form of feminism. Anyway, "Pacific Rim is a perfectly fine movie" is the hill I will die upon, heretical though it may be.

[fallenaither]

It is! Even when I first played BF it made the most sense to me with his name being Hawk and him working in the Hive.

Bugtober 2024- Day 30: Costume

Apollyon may not understand all of Bugaria's traditions, but at the very least they're accidentally still dressed for the occasion!

[xclowniex]

Seen a few posts going around either celebrating or thinking that it's a good thing that the family of the boulder Colorado attacker Mohamed Soliman, were detained because they "hate jews" and honestly, could we just not do that

Like its genuinely fucked that I am having to say this right now.

Firstly, to the current knowledge, we do not know that his family have done anything to warrant deportation. The only "crime" in the public eye, is being related to or married to Soliman. Which isn't a crime.

What potentially may warrent ICE detention is if they had their own asylum applications or if they were included on Soliman's. If they were on Soliman's, then yeah ICE can legally detain them. Which I personally think is morally wrong but it is legal. If they had their own asylum claim then ICE shouldn't have detained them. If they were in violation of a Visa and didn't make an asylum claim either, then yeah its warranted for ICE to detain them.

But the point is, we, the public, do not know what the situation is regarding their status.

Secondly, we also do not know if they A) agree with his actions or B) if they're also antisemitic.

And guess what!!!! Even if his family are antisemitic, that still doesn't mean they deserve to be deported!!!!

Would it suck major arse and be bad and not good if they were antisemitic? 100% yes and I cannot stress enough that it would be bad. Still doesn't mean they should be deported.

And I especially hate when people assume that Soliman's family share his opinions simply because they're family because I do not share my own family's opinion on most topics and would hate if people thought i did solely on the basis of being related. Like even growing up, before I moved out, I did not agree with my father on a lot of topics. My own mother doesn't agree with my father on a lot of topics yet she is married to him.

One of his children is literally 4 years old. A 4 year old is in no capacity to be able to make informed political opinions.

What made me make this post was someone posting about one of Soliman's children studying to be a nurse or some other medical professional. And someone likened it to those antisemitic nurses in Australia and said that it was good that she wouldn't be able to pull the same shit those nurses claimed to do to jewish patients to Amercian Jews. And like, my brother in Hashem, we do not know her personal opinion on jews, why the fuck are you assuming she will be just as bad as those nurses from Australia?????

And I want to be clear. If there was genuine legal reason for ICE to detain Soliman's family, then as long as they had due process, it's warranted for ICE to do so.

My main issue is with people A) assuming the opinions of his family based on his crime and B) people cheering on what could potentially be a violation of their rights (as the public doesn't know their immigration status) simply because Soliman attacked jews.

Also last disclaimer, I am not trying to say that Solimans family is confirmed not antisemitic. They very well could be. I am just against making assumptions