#i also realise a limitation of the new polls is that anyone could just answer but i'm sure nobody else cares enough

[angermango]

to my followers, so I'm curious:

[firefly--bright]

peeks and blinders (you know me)

jean kirstein x gender neutral! reader, modern au

summary : being loved required patience and time and hope. luckily, jean provided all of them, without hesitation.

warnings : feelings of being deeply alone, heavy, hurt/comfort but mostly hurt, reader might sort of have depression

a/n : aha. lol. lmao. uhmmm yeah this is incredibly self indulgent and a projection. if you relate to this please PLEASE know that you're a) not alone and also b) I'm here if you ever need anyone to talk to. i wrote this with an unhappy ending in mind but with the poll results (and let's be honest, the aot finale) I decided to make it a happy ending instead. don't worry, everything works out in the end. this fic might just be terrible if you're already sad, so reader discretion is advised! i dont expect anyone to read the whole thing!!! but if you do read it, I hope you like it because I spent way too long on it. the ending might've been a little rushed only because I wanted to get this out as soon as possible so I could move on with a new fic idea ;)

taglist : @mrsnobodynobody @holding-infinity-and-a-book @jeanscremebrulee (side note- thank you for the kind words in my taglist form's criticism/comments question. i truly, deeply appreciate it :) )

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ requests are open! ✿ likes and reblogs are appreciated! ✿ join my taglist ✿

✿ recommended playlist to listen to while reading ✿

living with someone meant showing yourself, something you weren't afraid of. well, not afraid, more just apprehensive. there was too much of a potential to fucking up a relationship; showing yourself too much in the one place you're allowed to be yourself without restrictions and limitations. you love your friends, you love jean, but sometimes the quietness of being alone was more than welcome because it had to be.

so when jean asked you with eyes that didn't meet your own if you wanted to move in with him, you didn't answer. quiet literally, you paused from eating the slice of pizza in your hand. he continued on with his nervous 'making-up-for-the-lack-of-response' ramble, explaining how you technically already lived together, how he liked finding your toothbrush next to his, and reluctantly admitted that he sometimes used your soap when he wanted to have a good day. a speech that warmed you despite your answer.

because no matter how comfortable you'd be with anyone, sharing the same space with them was a different kind quiet, unrelenting vulnerability. the fact that you existed and let someone percieve you without hinderance was...too much to think about. you had been alone your whole life, not in a pitiable way, but in a way where you didn't have a childhood best friend. you didn't have people stick around, like you were only at a corssroad of people's lives and greeted them with familiarity and comfort that they'd craved, despite your want and desire for it yourself. they'd continue on with their path while you would sit there, patiently, passing time.

jean admitted it to you. indirectly, he had confessed that he wanted to see you vulnerable and bare open in a way that people wouldn't know you normally. in a way where you were simply a locked window that noone had the key to. but there wasn't anything special to hide, no great overview of the city or the sea or rolling hills and valleys and large fields. no, just an unimpressive view of an unmowed backyard. untamed and messy - again, nothing special. just years of neglect while also being looked at. nothing special.

you didn't want him to see it. and technically, he asked you. you stopped spiralling just as he started his own, realising the effect your non verbal answer had on him, you simply said "I'll think about it." and tried to crack jokes along until the end of the night. because if nothing, then jean deserved some peace to balance out the turbulence that came with loving you.

in all honesty, you didn't know what you did. how you comitted the monsterous feat of getting him to love you. how he loved you in your entirety (or lack of it), how he woke up everyday and chose to love you despite everything that you took from him, drawing out his grumbling patience and gentleness because loving you meant waiting. loving you always, somehow, meant not loving you, because there was no way someone would know you, all your stories and opinions and ideas and still choose to love you.

living with you meant knowing your anatomy. not of your physical, breathing body, but the inside of your organs. it meant knowing that your stomach was filled with guilt, that your mouth could only utter whispers of people who once loved you and 'im sorries' to someone who won't know. it meant knowing that your hands were always aching to be held, that your skin was only ever warm when it was loved. it meant knowing that your chest was always heaving, yearning for a breath of relief that would never arrive. it meant knowing that your eyes always wandered off to the weighing scale kept at the back of your closet, always wandered off to find another pair of eyes that would look similar to yours. it meant knowing that your hair was always knotted with the doubts your mouth would never ask. it meant knowing so much about you, about the grey matter in your brain and about what flowed through your veins was nothing but pure doubt and discomfort with the unholy temple that was your body, the temple without a god, the temple that noone went back to. a body without a home.

he wouldn't want to know. he shouldn't want to know, and more importantly, he wouldn't like finding out. it would either be too much or too little, and his fingers would cramp up with the effort it took for him to pry you open, only for no prize to be met with. besides, you were okay just talking to yourself, no matter how insane it sounded. you got through so many years being self-sufficient, right? you didn't know how to handle it, handle someone actually loving you without doubt. you had lived long enough without it. someone loving you was new, something you didn't have a map for, something you didn't have any precautions against.

you and jean slept together that night. in the same bed, breathing the same air, under the same covers. you didn't share the same sleep, however, as his mind made dreams and yours went on like an unfinished painting - a list of unfullfilled answers, no meanings, trying and failing to come together. you found yourself watching him breathe; just his chest moving up and down and up and down, your hands twiching to rest on top of his but you didn't know if that's where they'd belong. if his body would wake itself up because of your touch - everyone was always surprised by how cold your fingers were. you were used to it.

maybe living with him wouldn't be that bad, right? as he said, you already shared the same space to a point where the pair of you felt comfortable enough to not care if your hair was groomed perfectly or if the colours and patterns of your outfit were clashing. but would he like it? would he like just how much more comfortable you could get? just how much you could ask for? just how long you could lock yourself up in the bathroom and try to cry? would he like to know just how long you sometimes spent on your bed, refusing to get up because your heart felt too heavy for your chest? for when your heart felt like it could fall through your back, punch a hole through the ground and bury itself in the earth until it could somehow bonify and fossilize and archeologists would recognise, instantly, that it didn't belong there.

he'd leave. that was something you knew for a fact. your love wouldn't be wasted, ofcourse not, neither would the time, but maybe he'd leave feeling like he'd wasted himself at your expense. or maybe he wouldn't think about you at all.

your night was spent with your brain spiralling - thoughts about how you didn't know how to handle being loved the way he loved you, about how you probably never had a childhood best friend that was still in your life because the phases of your life weren't meant for anyone but yourself to see, about how much your hair fell due to the stress of distracting yourself from overwhelming sadness by studying and creating while also being only slightly average at it. you fell asleep thinking about how the abundance of being alone, to you, meant being not alone at all, because there was no differenciation of company and lonlieness because there hadnt been any company to remind you of the lonliness at all- your eyes had fluttered closed and breathing evened.

jean always wondered if you were hiding something from him. not in a bad way, not in the way where he couldn't say he loves you, but in the way where you'd hesitate. and if he didn't love you as much, he probably wouldn't have even noticed. but fortunately, he did know you. a little too well.

he knew how much you loved the crunchy autumn leaves, so much so that you would alter your paths just to crunch one under your boot, a smile of satisfaction gracing your face after hearing the noise it made. he knew how much your fingers would reach out for his. he knew how much you tried - with everything. he knew of your unsaid struggles, knew when and what made your mood sour. and he loved it, he loved the fact that he knew all of those thing but more importantly, loved that he loved them.

loving you felt like it was a built-in feature.

but despite all of this, he didn't know why. he didn't know why you were the way you were. he knew you tried, but he didn't know why. he knew you struggled, but didn't know why. and it was driving him crazy, especially after last night. he couldn't help himself, even if he could see you, again, trying to diffuse the situation with lighthearted jokes, he couldn't help but think a little too much.

did you not want to? jean had always been honest about how much he struggled with being either too much or too little, about how much the words hurled by his friends when he was young hurt him, about how much his love proved to be uncomfortable and silent and resigned. maybe his honesty was too much for you. maybe you didn't like the burdens he came with, maybe you didn't like knowing how much his father's absence had affected him, or about how much his previous partner altered the way he saw himself to a miserable extent. you hadn't asked for all of this, all of him, all of his parts. maybe you were getting sick of it.

or maybe, if Jean's knowledge about you served right, you were being hesitant again.

he swears he doesn't mind it. you not wanting to move in with him wasn't a problem, but he just wished he knew why. the whole day, the only thing on his mind was how he could feel less hesitant towards him, god, anyone but him. he knew, firsthand, how it felt being so overwhelmed by inconsequencial doubt where he was left with so many regrettable unanswered questions engraved into the palm of his hands because he kept them hidden in his fist for too long, where he wishes, prays, and hopes for an answer that he knows will never arrive even if he doesn't look for it.

there are many things jean wishes and prays and hopes for. you're not one of them. but only because you're here. he doesn't need any other wish to be fulfilled or prayer to be answered or hope to sparkle. you are, inadvertently, all of them. a love without doubt, a wish without a cost, a prayer without a sacrifice, a hope without desperation. you're all of them. you're everything.

but he knows that if he's hesitant this time, if he doesn't reach out to grab you, if he doesn't do something, no matter how desperate, he will most ceratinly feel a deeper regret than he has ever felt before. and yes he may be exxagerating it, but he doesn't care. he'd learnt not to care when he was with you - he's learnt to be comfortable with you and around you. he wants to tell you that it's okay if you don't want to move in with him because his home is wherever you would be, his home is his hand on your thigh, his home is watching you blink in thought, his home is the sound of your footsteps. his home is anywhere with you. you are the only person who has the right to know that.

he makes his familiar way over to your apartment. you're not home yet, sasha informs him with a sleepy voice and messed up hair, "but you can wait in their room." she says because everyone knows that you wouldn't mind him waiting in your room. including him.

he does your routine - the one he's seen you do countless of times when you enter your room - take off his coat and hang it on the back of your door where one of the hooks is kept empty for him, shoulder his bag off and put it down on the spot next to your desk, turn on the desk lamp and the night lamp because you refused to turn the overhead lights on, because "they are so hideous why would I want to turn them on," according to you, and then finally occupy the space on your bed, laying his back down and his hands resting on his stomach as he waited for you.

staring at the cracking paint on the ceiling of your bedroom, jean thinks. from his pending homework that he's mentally figuring out how to schedule to how he's going to conduct this new group project with people he has never talked to before to how is it already the second last year of University because it felt like the first day was yesterday, until finally his thoughts landed on you. of course it would always lead to you.

it started from him thinking about University, then about how he met you on the second day, seeing you in one of his classes, sitting diagonaly across him, how you conducted yourself, slipping your bag off and checking your phone. then it turned to him seeing you at the freshers party where he saw his now ex-partner with someone he knew he shouldve questioned more. how he stormed off of the party with half tears of sadness and half of anger, catching a glimpse of you in the corner of the room, looking kind of lost. he saw you multiple times after that but never talked to you. he saw you at an ice-cream parlor once. he wanted to talk to you, but Connie had loudly confirmed the tickets to this new concert, which took away Jean's attention from you. but then he was introduced to you by Marco, because of course it would be Marco who had the pleasure to befriend amazing people. he met you then, properly, when you introduced yourself, and he nodded at you with little regard.

jean shook his head with a little smile. he had been so stupid, that day. he barely looked in your direction as you got acquainted with Marco, Connie and sasha, but he didn't disregard the fact that you looked less lost than you were at the party.

you had a way of sticking around, jean found out after that. he didn't realise when you had slipped into his life, hiding in plain sight. one night he found himself awake the same time as you and the next, he found himself saving a seat for you in the class you shared with him. soon enough, you knew him as well as he knew you, and there was softness in the recognition your eyes held when they met with his. the same appreciation of his existence, something he hadn't felt before. he couldn't say that he knew you as well as the back of his hand, because really, he knew you like the back of your hand, because he'd looked at your hands more than he'd ever looked at his, noticing all the little creases and scars and veins and hairs. he knew what warmth they held, he'd felt it after your hands made their way into his while walking back to your dorm on a cold night. a night jean would never forget because he had frantically knocked on your door right after leaving you there, because his senses had finally worked and he had finally found out that he wanted to kiss you. and he did, and you kissed back, and jean swore he had never been happier even while he could hear sasha and Connie and Marco cheering for the both of you. he kissed your forehead as a goodnight that night. you were in his shirt.

you were his home before he even knew what his home was, before he could find out for himself. you became an answer with a question.

he sighed, hearing your footsteps make their way through the tiny apartment, saying a small "hi," to sasha who was sleeping on the couch. the door to your room swung open just as jean sat up, his weight resting on his forearms on your mattress. you didn't seem surprised that he was there, just flashing a smile at him before removing your bag and placing it down, and jean felt his heart flutter with comfort as your presence filled the room.

his eyes trailed you as you did the same thing he did a few moments ago, plopping yourself down right next to him. your breathing evened out with his as the two of you lay in silent comfort before jean spoke.

his voice was a low hum. the words were barely different, but you understood them anyway. "yknow you can talk to me about anything, right? even if it's sad or not funny or not...I don't know, not remarkable. you can say it. i won't laugh unless you want me to." he says. it's a flimsy promise, but you know his words hold a meaning that you can't quiet grasp.

his palm lays on top of the back of your hand.

he's warm. scarily so, because why would someone hold so much warmth towards you? more importantly, jean extended his hand without even meaning to, like muscle memory, which was, again, terrifying, because loving you as habitual purpose was scarier than you having to prove yourself for it.

your shoulders relax almost instantly; habitually and with purpose. was the purpose of it to not have a purpose at all? was the meaning of your being to not have any meaning at all? was it just to love despite it?

you wanted to do good. not in a special or overly remarkable way, because you knew you would never reach that mark because you never had, but in the way where you'd be recognized. in crowded rooms, you'd be sought out for because of your "goodness" - be it reliability, comfort, all the things you usually associated with jean. which was ironic, because noone who didn't know him like you did would ever think of jean in that way.

"i.." you say, trailing off. you want to say that you know, but it'd be a lie. it'd be a false promise, and jean didn't need that any more than he needed you. so you say, "I'll keep that in mind."

jean doesn't buy it. his hand squeezes yours, stubbornly. "no, i don't want you to keep that in mind, I want you to want to do it." he says. his head turns towards you, watching the side of your face with an expression you know better than anything. the slight furrow of his brows, slightest scowl on his face that was masked by a layer of genuine concern.

"what I mean is.... you don't have to be so hesitant with me." he says. you want to blink back surprise, except that it's not really surprising. he's seen you, more so than anyone ever has, so it's not surprising that he'd see if one day was affecting you worse than the other days. it makes you want to scream because you don't know how to deal with it.

you close your eyes as if that would help. it wasn't like you were good at running away from affection, mostly because you never needed to. if anything, you were used to running towards it, desperately, just trying. but here it was, now, the resolution of it all, of all of the aches and creakings of your deepest yearnings, yet you couldn't seem to look at it. look at him - at jean, your best friend, someone you'd do anything for - with eyes that matched his.

you sigh. there's a deep silence, and jean isn't anticipating anything. his hand is still on yours and he feels you squeeze it tightly, but he isn't going anywhere for you to hold on to him. even if he wasn't tethered to you, he'd want to stay by your side, without any precautions or promise of a fruitful result. he'd stay with you regardless.

he isn't waiting for you to say anything, because being with you feels more than adequate, like it's instinct, like his shoulders relaxing when it's just the two of you, or like that tingly feeling in his chest when you kiss his cheek after a long day.

but when you do speak, it's with resignation and certain grief. "i dont think you'll like me. if I... if we move in together, I think, realistically, you won't like it."

"how can you be so sure?" he asks. it's not a serious question, but he thinks it's a start. you're doing it, you're being less hesitant, and atleast that's somewhere to begin.

"i just am." you say, shrugging. but it's not a fact, atleast, it shouldn't be. it isn't to jean. he's rolling his eyes now, but he's not annoyed or digusted. "how?" he presses, because he knows there's more, there always had been with you.

"i get too much. and then too little. like none of it is ever just right. and I'm scared that you'll see it and...I don't know, get frustrated at my lack of everything." you say. there's truth in every word even though you desperately wish there wasn't. you're still hesitating, but it's less so. your hand is still in his, still squeezing it. it was predictable - something you found yourself relying on - the warmth of his palm and the way his hand would also engulf yours with the same echoing softness it always had. even if his fingers were calloused and a little rough, it didn't matter. they still held you the same.

he's clinging onto every word you're saying, every small explanation, every twitch of your eyebrows. he knows what's going to come, he knows there's going to be an admission of guilt coming on soon enough but he also knows, more importantly, that he'll be there to tell you that no, he does not regret loving you, and yes, he will keep doing it over and over and over again.

"I've never been... wanted like this. or like anything, I guess. and I'm so scared," you breathe in deeply, keeping your tears at bay. jean pushed himself onto his forearm, looking at you in a way you've never been looked at before. "I'm so scared of disappointing you because I think that's all I've ever done. that's all I know how to do." the box is open now, and it's not forced or pried with effort. jean has always known how to open it, you think, you just didn't let him. he does it now, with the same hands you find comfort in, the same gentleness that his eyes have always held for you.

you're crying. you don't have anything else to add to your statements, and they hang in the air as if waiting for you to complete them, expecting you to do something. but you don't and you can't and jean is holding you, his hands are at your sides and your nose is buried into his shoulder and you think the words and the expectations can wait for now, or for however long jean is willing to take care of you.

your shoulders shake. jean is whispering into your ear, asking you to breathe. he's saying it so kindly that you feel the need to comply, and when your lungs finally calm, he rewards you with a kiss on your forehead.

you think if how much of a liability all of this is. about how much you weigh in emotions when you're this open and vulnerable. not even like an open, unhealing wound, but more like that feeling you get when you finally decide to read an unread text message that had been sitting there for a month, but you're the person who both sent the text and also the one replying to it and also the one who was watching it unfold. you caused this, you were the only one who was replying, and you were also the witness to all of this.

but now jean was here. it was unusal and strange - someone being there, actually, physically and mentally present instead of those placating "you'll get over its" that were repeated to you by the few people you decided to open up to.

the two of you are silent now, only broken up by deep, almost heaving breaths from you, something you wish you would stop doing. instead of you digging your nails into your palms like all the other times, your nails are clinging onto jeans clothes, and he doesn't seem to mind. instead of it being your blankets like all the other times, it was Jean's soft heat wrapped around you, moving with each breath you took until your chest didn't feel as heavy anymore.

"i know." he says, finally. he doesn't expect you to answer, ofcourse, but he knows you're listening because you shift slightly in his arms. "i know...too well, what it's like. i know that moving in means more to you than it means to people in general. i know that it's not even about moving in together. i.." he's being hesitant. finding the right words, but for once, Jean's happy about this trait of his. he's glad he rethinks decisions and the next time when he tries again, he's more sure of it. hes sure that he loves you, hes sure that he wasn't made to love you but he grew into it because there's that choosing again, the fact that yes, he did probably have a choice, but he would never even consider it. he doesn't want to consider it and maybe that's more important than there even being a choice. he wishes he could put it into words that would make sense.

instead, he opts to say, "I am so sorry you had to think all of this all alone for so long. but I'm...I'm here now. i know that won't solve everything instantly, ofcourse it won't, but I will be here until it will. i will wait."

there's promise in his voice, a conviction that you hadn't heard before. you trust him, you always have, but you don't know if you trust yourself with this. you don't trust yourself to be someone he loves. he's quick to quiet your concerns after yet another peck on your forehead.

"but don't you think I take too much?" you ask. its doubtful, the steps you're taking on the usually thick ice that has turned too thin too fast. you're afraid you're going to offend him, but you stand no chance against Jean's all-knowing sigh. it's not a tired sound, not one anyone gives before they're about to give up. you're not sure what kind of sigh it is, but jean doesn't let you figure it out for yourself because he's answering.

the ice turns into concrete. he's become your footing, the reason you're still standing and not under numerous feet of cold water. "i dont think you're taking. your....your love doesn't ask to take. you love despite everything, not because of it. everyone, including me, focuses on how to be loved, on how to be a perfect image that probably won't last for too long, but you..... you focus on shaping your love, the love you give. i dont know if you've noticed it, but you do. you don't take too much, you give without expectations. you give with hope. it's beautiful." he pauses. "you're beautiful." he says. he's not looking anywhere else but your eyes that are welling up with familiar tears.

you suck in a breath. "im not used to sweet words, jean," you say, the breath you held releasing with a bittersweet smile. "i dont know how to handle all of this love you're giving me. i think... i think you love me too much." another tear down your cheek and onto the mattress. jean wipes away it's remnants.

"i dont love you nearly enough." he says with the same laugh you had given him, "but you'll grow into it. just like how you grew into everything else, you'll grow into being loved. i grew into it too," he says. his forehead touches yours. the proximity makes you shiver. "i grew into just how much you love me. and I wanna keep growing into it because I love loving you. i love you loving me, as selfish as it sounds."

you take a moment to register his words. yes, you weren't used to being so vehemently and stubbornly loved and taken care of, but you could. you could get used to it, get used to crying in your beloved's arms, being fed spoonfuls of carefully heated up soup that would settle into your belly, being looked at for more than a split second. you couldn't fathom it now, sure, only because you could've never believed it before, but that could change. you could grow into loving love, into accepting it just as freely as you had given it.

jean wasn't holding you with a death grip because he knew that you wouldn't leave, atleast, he didn'tanymore. he would've done it, he had all the reasons to. if he were still fifeteen, he would've thought that he had to come beg and cling on to love to make it stay. he had to do something spectacular, something entirely not himself in order to prove that he was atleast worth giving a try but with you...he didn't have to beg. he didn't even have to ask. for a while it felt undeserved, all of this care you were giving his somehow beating heart, all of this ointment you were providing to his broken bones, but he somehow, miraculously, grew into it, because he let you in. he let you see him with the eyes that would rival the ones he was sure the gods had, he let you see him and all his unknown and unsaid sins and let you love him anyway because you wanted to, because you didn't see something in him - a potential of something greater - but you saw him as he was. as he is. and nothing in your smile changed. and if you could do that, then he'd be damned if he didn't love you the same.

no words were said after that, only Jean's heartbeat mingling with your own in your ear. both of your eyes were closed, his hands relaxed on your back, your chest no longer heaving, commanding you to pay attention to it.

you fell asleep in the silence of promise.

---

the promise continued even a week later, turning into two, turning into four, wherein jean kept loving you despite and because of, unafraid and unwavering and for the first time, without any hesitance.

you were keeping up on your promise too. trying to accept it - all of this affection, his affection - without hesitance. it was hard but mundane things usually are and you continued to grow and mend and try, above all else, which was more than jean hoped for.

he's passing you the brush he had slathered the perfect amount of toothpaste on, slipping into the comfort of the cool night warmed by the heat of your previously taken shower in your bathroom. you smile at him as a thanks, and he nods as a welcome, and no words are spoken. no words need to be spoken, and his right hand makes its way to the small of your back, his left brushing his teeth as you start brushing yours and you think that maybe everything is uncertain. everything always has been and always will be, and loving someone has always been uncertain, too. being loved has always come with doubt and guilt and shame. but the only difference was that now, both of you hoped. you hoped that everything would be alright in the end, jean hoped that he'd get to share the same bed as you in the end.

hope was flimsy and hopeless, too optimistic, but now it served as something you both shared. the shared sentiment of hoping that you'd have eachother till the end was more important than the uncertainty. it meant that both of you would keep trying. you don't need to be sitting, waiting patiently and hopelessly at the same crossroad now, because Jean's hand is on the small of your back, the watch on his wrist is still and unticking, and you're walking down the same road with the same landmarks and the same gravel because you want to. you've moved from your old spot on the pavement because you want to. you're learning how to love the sound of your own footsteps, how to love the action of one foot infront of the other, and the best part is, Jean's learning too.

loving isn't a reciprocal or a transaction or a grand 'aha!' it's an act of hope. hoping they'll see you the same. hoping they'll have the same hopes as you. hoping they'll want to be loved by you, because hope doesn't require anything grand, hoping doesn't require a god to pray to or a cost to pay. it requires soft, undettered, unsaid patience. something jean, persistently, had. something you, stubbornly, held.

you paused from brushing your teeth to look at your love. you were wearing his old t-shirt that had faint stains of ink and old paint on it, and he was donning the headband you had owned for years to keep his hair out of his face. he glances at you through the mirror, then turns to you, nodding to you, eyebrows arching in a question.

you spit out the toothpaste into the sink. looking back to him, you say, with all the conviction and hope you can muster up, "I want to move in with you."

jeans mouth turns upwards, still full of toothpaste. he doesn't say anything. he doesn't need to say anything.

everything's already been said, already been understood.

because he knows you. and he couldn't be more happier to.

(when you pick the curtains for your new home, you are held up by jean, who's hands grasp the ladder you're on. you're looking down on him after the work is done and he's smiling, and you're smiling, and at night you're using the same stove to make the same dinner that the two of you will share along with some old wine and old stories. he holds you when you fall asleep, and your arms are around his torso as he snores softly. your love is stored in the blood of his veins. his love is stored in the palm of your hands, and even if you don't hold it, it still stays there, unmoving, growing, attached.)

✿

[bedlamgames]

Q&A #94

Today we have various forms of removal, the new biomancy assignment, and corruption among others.

nh-maikochan said: Regarding the bimbo slave not being sold: Yes she did have bimboborn. Also, I think I may have sent a message like this before and have totally forgotten. If this is just a repeat, feel free to ignore it. 

Thanks that really did help solve the issue. Should be sorted now as of the current update. 

doof-ex-machina said: Hello! Could I ask some question about one particular problem I'm facing playing No Haven? The thing is, when I try to save a game and then load it, all the names of slavers and slaves in the boxes disappear, and that's just 'Slaver 1', 'Slaver 2' and so on that are visible in Inventory, Visible Characters and Room Objects boxes. I tried all the versions of RAGS available but none of them helped to solve the problem.

That’s a RAGS issue. Make sure you’re saving only when it is safe as detailed at the beginning of the game. Other than that if you finish day the names should update back to normal. 

Anonymous said: I cannot for the life of me figure out how to remove someone from a current role in the camp on No Haven.... would you be willing to tell me? I am probably missing it because it's stupid simple.

No problems. Same way as setting them to the role so Right click > Talk to > Assign to an Encampment Position > -None-.

There’s a couple of positions like second-in-command where slavers will resist giving up power and for them you’ll have to use more nefarious methods. 

Anonymous said: [NH 0.821] Bug / suggestion: My slaver has Dolled Up, and a ton of other corruptions, which is great, but the description is weird. Due to DU, it describers my slaver as having "dark crimson rubber skin[...]" and then "have eyes[...]covered up entirely", but the very next line describes my ponytail. Hair on red rubber is a weird mental image. Might I suggest that DU simply makes the skin rubbery rather than changing the color? That, and not replace the eyes? I miss my heterochromia. Thank you!

It is corrupted rubber of perversion and evil so is capable of having holes for hair :)

Also one of the risks with corruption is you can very much lose as well as win such is the risks of flirting with depravity for power be it traits, arms, or even your nice eyes. 

Anonymous said: [no haven 0.843] so I tried to do basic bimbo training with a slave that had advanced obedience, selected 2 slavers and noticed it needed 3 so I clicked on slavers and then it began the assignment blocking the slave slot but not starting the assignment AND removing the slave permanently, seems like it is also overflowing because I'm getting "not enough to defend the encampment" while I have 6 out of 8 slavers in the camp.

Thanks for letting me know and will sort it for the next update.

Anonymous said: Love the new update, though I have several questions. A: How does one start the quest to gain better Biomancy? B: Say I had a Second-in-command who was set as my characters former owner. This seems to give the character massive bonuses to respect checks. My character has Dominator and Thrallforge, but I still cant succeed Dominating to get him to go nude, etc. Is it currently possible to succeed at such a check? C: Is there currently no way to force a 2nd out of their role via the respect check system? Surely we should be able to dominate or trigger them into giving up the post? D: On a related note, why is there no option to dominate when trying to force a merc to join the camp? E: Is there some kind of block preventing me from shrinking an Amazon Futanari's cock with Biomancy? I tried dozens of times, and never had any results. Anyway, thats all I can think of for now. Look forward to your answers. If I remember more Ill ask. Again, love the game and update! 

The new assignment that will start the biomancy chain begins in the City of Aversol. It's a rare assignment, can be done by anyone with or without biomancy, and like bred to be broken you need a certain amount of gold in the stash to find it.

Theoretically I think? It’s going to be a long shot though unless you can mess with them like making them a bimbo through corruption or send them off on quick as you like.

Not currently. Will think about it. 

Dominating is a short term will overwhelm so once it’s done the merc would just be unhappy and leave.

Futanari for plot related reasons which I swear I’ll get to eventually can’t have their cocks shrunk by biomancy.

Anonymous said: Since we already have Recruiter customization options for brother/sister, any chance we'll see father/mother or son/daughter added as options? I'd love to see that feature expanded on in general, especially if it adds more options for incest.

I’ll think about it. Not super into incest as it is, and the parental versions even less so. Saying that next update will have some implication in regard to one of the assignments so it’s possible as long as it’s not that much of a focus.

madron-fc said: Had the following happen to me in 0.843 of NoHaven, not sure if it is intended behaviour: I went on the Mountains asignment to catch the male drow after which I did get the request to fullfill. After doing some training on the new slave, I realised that the opportunity was no longer listed amon the asignments. I thought it might have just timed out without me noticing, but way later into that same game I got a notice for that very opportunity to soon time out. my guess is that when I completetd the advanced Sissy Training and the Slave changed name, the asignment disappears, but I do not have a save of that time so I cannot test this.

Huh, okay. That opportunity is timed in regard to expiry, but that does sound off. Will check, thank you. 

And now some more from outside of the tumblr:

From Hypnopics: Is the demi Angel commission added to the game?

If you mean the four-winged Truly Divine one then that commission is being used for an assignment next update.

From Hypnopics: This game really needs a way to quickly and easily dismiss slavers and slaves you don't want. You should be able to immediately sell slaves taken as loot, even if only for 15-20 gold and able to R. click - dismiss slaves and slavers. I keep hitting a wall with content blocked because i have too many mediocre slaves/ slavers.

Update following the next one is going to be about having a more reliable way of freeing slaves than sending them to the whore makers. Slavers I always wanted to be one of your challenges to manage with more events coming involving them working to undermine your authority which is why you're limited to assignments like Sudden Betrayal. Saying that there likely will be more options to manipulate their morale/reputation to get them to bugger off coming in future. I'm also planning to introduce slave mines/farms/temples where you'll be able to parcel off a whole number of slaves and slavers at once for an ongoing bonus and the occasional choice/assignments to keep them going.

From TFGames: Loving the new update so far. I was playing with the slave mantras and really liking them, but had something happen. Had gotten two mantras on one slave, Obedience, which had fully embedded, and Sissy, which was at the advanced stage. I was planning on adding some more later, but wanted to finish his proper training first. I ended up getting a crit on Advanced Obedience training and giving him the Obedient trait (there's too many uses of the word Obedient in this paragraph). After that, I couldn't select him for hypnosis. I suspect because of the Obedient trait, it thinks that he has the Denial mantra embedded (which also gives the trait and blocks other mantras). Also, I haven't tried yet, but does the Bimbo mantra block Bimbo training? I had a couple odd situations in the previous version where traits gained outside of training blocked those associated trainings. Two main examples: Had a slave escape, recaptured with a crit, then escaped and recaptured with a crit again, giving them Obedient. However I couldn't do Advanced Obedience Training with them any more. Second was had a slave at Basic Sissy training stage and they got the Pretty Maid corruption result, switching them to the Sissy gender, but also blocking the Advanced Sissy training option. No I know these might be redundant, but the trainings alone add value to the slave, but then getting traits with shortcuts or luck could be a balancing factor, so it might be intentional. Anyway, this was in the last version so it might not be in the current one.

Those are both connected issues and kind of working as intended. If you get what the training/hypnosis is basically trying to achieve then that training/hypnosis becomes no longer available. Think about it as having different paths to the same result. Does mean that you don't get the same value bonuses, but I think I'm okay with that as it reflects how long you spent perfecting the slave and keeps them from being quite so similar in the long run. I do agree though that this can feel off and I'm open to other takes on this as it's feedback I've heard a few times now.

From TFGames: I voted Lamia because I feel like keeping track of all your slavers and all their traits is exhausting and starting with one fewer gives you a bit of time to get familiar with them before adding more.

There's also elitist and proactive under the full custom options if you want to start with less slavers. If you want to go full minimalist there's also the golem scenario where you start with only three slavers.

(This is in regard to the current poll running on the TFGames discussion thread)

From TFGames: Hello, I just spent about 20 hours playing this awesome game for the past 3 days!! It made me insane. I especially loved exploring the limits of corruption and biomancy. There is a lot of content with cum consumption, which is pretty cool =). There's one thing I didn't get: how to raise the encampment leader's tolerance for highly rated armors and clothes? I could wear a 55 rated item at most, but that's it. Oh and also, can the encampment leader get corrupted to the point of getting Babydoll? Or is that just for other players? I managed to inflict Babydoll on two slaves, but never on myself. Anyway, this game is awesome =D. Thank you for doing this.

Thank you, I'm glad you've been enjoying it! The clothing limit is in place to prevent you completely fucking your ability to lead by putting yourself in bondage. Then now the takeover options are included I may just remove it so you can see how long you can last while being in an armbinder and the like   Babydoll for now is limited to others. Will possibly change this again given the takeover options as such a naive and gullible leader is also not going to last long at all. Though for that I'd want to include more personalization for the player to properly reflect that corruption. 

[jaringdale]

Manspreading doesn’t end with seating

Maybe it’s just me, though I can’t think why. But more and more it seems like dudes just wanna be in my personal space. Especially standing in line. 

Seriously, like I’ll be standing in line, and suddenly there’s a presence behind me. Ok, cool, that’s how lines work, right?

Ten seconds later, the presence is suddenly closer. I can see them out of the corner of my eye every time they move. So I look behind me, I don’t know why I bother, I know it’s gonna be a dude.

I awkwardly scoot forward a couple centimetres, doing my best not to get into the space of the person in front of me, even if there’s so much room in the line that the dude behind could be a metre away and still not inconveniencing himself or anyone else. 

But here’s the thing, dude-who-will-not-take-a-fucking-hint now decides that me shuffling two centimetres away from him is a gold embossed invitation to step even closer to me. And every time the line moves forward he somehow ends up a little closer.

By this point, I can feel his body heat against my back. Seriously, what the fuck dude?

Now I’m not talking about a line a mile long in limited where everyone is doing their best to not be be shoved into compromising positions with their fellow linees.

I’m talking about when there’s two metres of space and the dude behind you feels the need to stand so close if he got a boner you’d feel it poking you in the back.

In some cases it’s culminated in dudes standing over my while I’m trying to enter the pin for my debit card, or crowding me so much I end up effectively being pushed out of the way, so that despite being in line behind me, they magically end up in front at the counter and get their business sorted first.

This happens so often I’ve developed little survival strategies

Before my loathing of strange dudes trying to rub their junk on my body overwhelmed my love of dancing, I used to go out at night. And I’d jump around to various percussive rhythms like I was trying to shake off a clingy badger, or practicing some esoteric martial art really badly. The reason? If I dance with my fists up and my elbows out, and I have long hair you can whip around, dudes creeping up on me for a little surreptitious sexual assaulting tend to come into contact with said fists, elbows or blinding-strands-of-fiery-death-known-as-my-hair before they come into contact with the rest of me.

So now when I encounter a dudebro who for some unknown reason doesn’t consider my personal space to be of any importance, I make a point to look over my shoulder at him, make eye contact, pointedly look at the small-to-non-existent amount of floor space in between us, and look away.

If that doesn’t work, I stand sideways, with my hands on my hips so my elbows are out. If dudebro wants to get in my space he’s going to have to manoeuvre around my unusually pointy elbows.

If I have a trolley or a basket, or better yet a male friend, I’ll put them in between douchebro and me. I haven’t taken an exit poll among the participants to find out whether douchebros find air cuddling other dudes or grocery store conveyance devices more or less pleasant than air cuddling me, but I can only hope they get the hint. The point is, I have a buffer, I have The Neutral Zone and those Romulan douchenozzles better respect it.

My last resort is to point it out to whatever staff members are around (I prefer not to because retail staff tend to have enough shit to deal with), as loudly as I feel safe to do so. Some of them will ask people in line to step back, others won’t.

I’ve been horribly tempted at times to just turn around and say “whoa, dude, personal space”, but I gotta be honest, I’ve never felt safe enough to do so.

And yes, I know, women probably do this too, but I’ve found they do it FAR less. As in I’ve noticed maybe a handful of women be rude about queues in my entire life. Dudebros in my space while waiting in line happens at least once a week, even when there’s literally three people in the entire store. And remember, I don’t go out all that much, I avoid it in fact. This is one of the reasons why.

Thoughts for individual dudes

When you’re next in line, or basically anywhere public, check how much space you’re giving others, especially women, and then consider if you could maybe give them a little more. A good test is, if she were to turn around suddenly, or stand sideways with her hands on her hips, would you come into physical contact? If the answer is yes, you’re too close, if the answer is maybe, you’re too close. If the answer is no, maybe give her tiny bit more room anyway.

Obviously you’re not always gonna have the option, sometimes lines are bigger than the places meant to contain them, but please make the effort, k?

Also, try to look out for it happening to other people. You would not believe how nice it is to have a dude offer to swap places in line with you if it puts them in between you and the creepo who’s close enough to smell your hair. Make it clear to the creeper that if he wants to cuddle then he should have brought enough for the whole class, not just the girls (that’s discrimination after all, how come dudes can’t have his awkward way-too-close-cuddles too?). When male friends have done this for me it’s helped a lot. And honestly, you’re not a bad person if you just do this absentmindedly, without realising, and you can continue to not be a bad person by trying to be more aware. I don’t want you to feel bad, I just want to not be all-but-cuddled by a stranger, unless that stranger is an animal of some kind; in which case please form an orderly line - all consenting animals will receive cuddles, pets, scritches, kisses, and whatever treats I have to hand.

If you’re aware (before or because of reading this) and you don’t care, or feel angry about the idea that you should respect a womans personal space, then you’re an piece of entitled shit and I hope you get bitten on the dong by something that makes it itch like the fire of a thousand suns.

Thoughts for businesses, events, and organisations

Step one: Take a look at your customers, clients, etc, while they’re in line, during busy times and quiet times, it’s amazing how often this happens when there’s only two people in line.

Step two: Try to assess how you manage your lines, do you actually need more space at busy times? Maybe open some more checkout lines, or sort out one of those weird zig zaggy lane things. Look for ways to make it harder for douchenozzles to creep on women who just want to pay for their socks and leave.

Step three: Chat with your staff about ways to manage lines, because ultimately if a chunk of your customers are being made to feel uncomfortable, they’re gonna want to go somewhere else. I stopped going to one pizza place entirely because the staff allowed some huge dude to basically push me out of line and reach right across me when I was trying to pay for my pizza. And let’s be clear about this; I love pizza. It takes a lot for me to give up a supply of pizza. Give staff some ideas on what’s acceptable and what’s not, and how to manage it. And then back them up.

Step four: Consider putting up some signs or something “We apologise for the inconvenience during busy times, but please try to respect others personal space” - The MTA did something like that for the New York subway system and it was welcomed by women all over the world because finally an organisation was acknowledging what a shitty thing this is.

Maybe I can set up a sort of mobile no mans land around myself. Get some barbed wire, trenches, a few mines for good measure. Maybe those tyre covers you see on the back of four wheel drives with variants on the phrase “back off” come in t shirt sizes...