#i got so swept up in the idea of it changing my entire life

[raes-writing-space]

Ruggie Purring Headcanons

A/N: I’ve had absolute brainrot for Ruggie since I got my grubby little hands on this game awhile back, and he has consumed my very life and become a comfort character for me. So here are some purring headcanons that I just... can’t fucking get out of my head.

Warnings: None that I know of.

- Yeah so apparently hyenas can purr? So my brain absolutely took that idea and ran with it.

- Ruggie, who doesn’t understand that he has a crush on you at first, and is actually confused why he’s purring, as it can be both a subconscious and conscious thing. However, as soon as it happens and he’s aware of it, he immediately stops it and covers it up with a blush on his face and a teasing jab at you to change the subject entirely.

- Ruggie, who after he starts dating you, and is that “honeymoon phase” of his excitement, can’t stop purring in your presence sometimes, especially when the two of you are alone.

- Ruggie, who, when he’s stressed out beyond belief, hurt, or just upset, purrs to self-soothe himself.

- Ruggie, who, notices whenever you’re stressed out beyond belief, hurt, or upset, will purr to soothe you. He’ll wrap you up in his arms and purr so loudly that you can almost “feel” his chest vibrating against yours in a way. Sometimes he might not be good with words, but he does show that he cares in the instinctive ways he knows how.

- Ruggie, who, absolutely would be teased by anyone if he was gushing about you in some way, and accidentally starts purring because he’s thinking of you. His grandma in particular thinks it’s very adorable that you have that kind of effect on him.

Anyway I have an absolute obsession with this dude and I wholeheartedly blame him from stealing my heart. To think I started this whole game because I saw Idia and needed to know more about him, even picked his card when I started the game, only to be absolutely SIDE SWEPT by this little hyena dude and fall on my ass in love with him.

[merakiui]

PLEASE. please. if you would be so kind to give us some more stalker ex scara... the first time I saw it it just changed my brain chemistry, and I desperately need more </3

>:D thinking a lot about stalker ex Scara, but you get really drunk and he's the only one left to look after you......

(cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, alcohol/intoxication, toxic ex scara, modern college au, connected to the previous stalker ex scara concept)

Just,,, the fact that he's been so good and sweet ever since he casually slid himself into your friend group and you're not sure if you can trust him, yet here you are being completely, utterly, stupidly vulnerable in front of your very unstable ex. orz

Kuni's not one for parties; in fact, he'd much rather spend his precious time doing quiet, comfortable things with you (cuddling is so much healthier than drinking, after all! <3). Unfortunately, you allow your foolish friends to talk you into attending these brain-rotting parties so you can get drunk off your ass, and he can't let you attend them by yourself because there are too many risks. If you got too comfortable with Venti or Kazuha or even Tighnari while drunk, Kuni would never forgive you. >:( he's worked too hard cultivating this friendly image for himself, and he isn't going to let you or anyone else ruin it.

But right now everyone else is too inebriated to do much of anything, and he hasn't touched the drinks ever since he arrived, instead choosing to anchor himself to some forgotten corner of the room. He sulks and broods in silence, a scowl plastered to his face. He's just barely tolerating it for your sake. It's because he loves you that he's doing any of this. Soon you won't even need any of these troublesome friends. Soon you'll just have him, and he's all you really need. It was like that when you were growing up, after all. Even though, as painful as it is, you don't seem so codependent, so swept up in romance... You're so independent now, no longer the shy, fearful thing from the final few months of your relationship with him. He'd be impressed if he wasn't trying so hard to isolate you from each of your friends. It's a challenge when he's trying to tiptoe around Heizou's sharp, witty perception or Venti's proclivity for knowing everything about everyone despite no one knowing much about him.

But he endures. He's gone years without you; this is nothing.

If you were smarter, you'd know not to trust a word he says. That kind, soft smile he's perfected for this act is not to be believed, especially not when he's using it to assure your friends that he'll bring you home safe and sound. Heizou has his doubts because it's late and you can hardly walk a straight line, but he's tipsy just like the others and it's hard to deliberate like this. Besides, when has Kuni ever let the group down? :)

He takes you back to his dorm instead because Albedo's not home and he has the entire room to himself. While you meander clumsily over to his bed, kicking your shoes off and shucking your jacket in the process, he watches. You have no idea how much he depends on you, how much he admires you, so much so that it surpasses love and lust entirely. Without you, he's nothing. Or that's what he thinks because for the majority of his life he's felt empty and sub-human and so alone. But now you're here, and you can fill those empty spaces in his heart and give him a reason to keep living.

You don't seem particularly fazed when the bed dips under his weight. Rather, you blink sleepily up at him when he leans over you, gingerly reaching to help you out of your sweater. You're too drunk to protest or struggle, and you feel so dizzy every time you open your eyes. It's difficult to remain fully conscious when sleep is tugging at your body, pulling you under. You don't even realize he's fit his mouth on yours until his tongue is pushing past your lips. You manage to place your hands against his chest, intending to push him away, but you're so exhausted and tired. They fall to your sides, useless.

Kuni sits up and smiles at you. He says something about you being dumb and cute... or something about how your friends are fools. You don't really catch all of his obsessive murmurings when your attention is waning. Clothes are torn off; he kisses you a lot. You're not sure if you're reciprocating, but it certainly sounds that way when you're whining beneath him, arching against sodden sheets, your breaths coming in pants and huffs each time he ruts into you.

He doesn't have to worry about anything. Right now, it's just you and him in a corner of the world, locked away from everyone who might try to take you away from him. It's not like you'll remember much come morning. You don't need to anyway. It's better if you're lost and bewildered. That way he'll be able to craft a story to suit his fancy. You'll believe it. You'll have no choice, and Kuni knows how to tell very believable tales.

[temtamtom]

Please ignore the fact I accidentally posted this and then deleted it okay anyways

These two have had a myriad of personal conflicts over the years. They had a difficult relationship as children and then spent the rest of their adolescence and early adulthood separately. They interacted, of course, and they saw each other as brothers, but that was it. We are related by blood, but I don’t see you as FAMILY family. If that makes sense. But if I had to pick their biggest fight, it would be:

Tl;Dr: Emotions were running high and unchecked after Italian unification, leading to a blow-out fight when Romano announced that he was moving to America for a little while.

I need to provide some context and explain my headcanons, so this might be a long one kjdfgk I hope it makes sense! Also, a warning because my Feli isn't all that canon-compliant ;; but I think he's a bit more accurate to the northern attitudes of the time

There's a common headcanon within the fandom that Romano was entirely against unification and resisted it from the start. I think this is a bit of an inaccurate and an over-simplified perspective. By the early and mid 1800s, there were many instances of uprisings against absolutism in Southern Italy, which strove for more liberal ideals. The revolutionaries wanted a constitutional monarchy, or even a republic. Through their uprisings and the creation of a secret, revolutionary network across the peninsula, revolutionary ideals began to spread throughout and inspire others.

This is of course a gross oversimplification of the history, but I’m bringing this all up to illustrate the idea that Romano was starting to grow tired of the “status quo”, and was desperate for a change. Unification wasn’t necessarily what he had in mind at first, especially when we consider that he and Feliciano were pretty distant at this point in time. However he soon got swept up in the fervor and optimism of the patriots, and he began to believe in their vision. He believed in a future where he could finally be truly independent- free to call the shots and live his life freely without the worry of being tossed around and claimed by other European powers. He believed in a future where, maybe, he could have a family again. To fix what was broken between him and Feliciano. Romano may come across as quite crude, but he’s a very passionate man. Someone who loves and craves so deeply, to the point where his heart/imagination can far outrun him.

So imagine the betrayal felt when he realized that unification wasn’t working in his favour. He was practically discarded, and seen as “lesser than” his northern brother. His brother, who treated him as an oddity, and had an air of moral superiority over Romano. They kept each other at arm's length, as though they were roommates forced to endure the other, rather than two brothers sharing a home. Disillusioned and hurt, Romano felt like a fool for believing in a dream that didn’t come true. 

Feliciano struggled with many emotional grievances, which Romano wasn’t privy to. He lost his long-time husband/partner just a few decades prior, and instead of taking the time to confront the grief, he picked himself back up and turned his attention towards independence and unification. He threw himself head first into uprisings, wars, political negotiations, and rallies- all to achieve this patriotic goal of forming “Italy”, and perhaps to distract himself from the loss (though he won’t admit it). He also thought, maybe foolishly, that his life would get better after unifying with his brother. That he would have a family again, that he wouldn’t feel so alone, that he would love and be loved and they could hold hands and skip happily into a field of sunshine and rainbows and everything would be okay– 

What should have brought them together, they both realized, seemed to drive a deeper wedge between them. The reality was that they were incompatible. They couldn’t stand each other. To Feliciano, Romano was nothing but an uncivilized brute who only complained and never wanted to work, and lived to insult him every day. To Romano, Feliciano was a pompous, stuck-up elite asshole who refused to acknowledge the very real pain and disillusionment of his new, southern citizens. Both brothers felt as though everything- all the blood, sweat, and tears- was just a massive waste.

As you can imagine, it was a VERY tense and unhappy household for many reasons. They began to argue. A LOT. Fights that were far uglier than the scraps they had as children. It got to a point where they couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as each other.

It all came to a head, however, when Romano announced that he was leaving. He had his motives, reasonable ones too, but Feliciano didn’t see that. All he saw was his no-good, lazy brother abandoning him and their country after all the effort they put into creating it, leaving him with all the stress and work while he galavants off to America. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The announcement devolved into an explosive fight. Things were said that, to this day, haven’t been fully forgiven. With all the anger and tension, they probably threw in a few good punches as well. Romano eventually left, and Feliciano thought to himself “Good riddance”. However as time wore on, they couldn’t help but think about the other, wonder how they were doing, and reflect on how they parted ways. 

Things were still a bit tense when Romano returned, and they didn’t acknowledge the fight for a while. However, they began putting a bit more effort into rekindling their relationship. It took some time, and it wasn’t an easy journey, but they’re in a much healthier place now than before. They’re glued at the hip, they share everything, they know every little quirk and detail about the other, and they’ve begun to love each other as family (though teasing and head-butting is a common occurrence). 

If you asked them back then if they would go through unification, they would be incredibly iffy. But if you asked them now, they would likely say yes. They wouldn't trade their brother for anything in the world.

[good-soupmens]

Apply this to Aziraphale how you will, but as an autistic person, I REALLY fell for Metatron's kind old man act. I didn't notice the subtle manipulation, like giving Aziraphale coffee and saying "I've ingested things in my time" to show that he's different from the food-hating, earth-hating angels. I didn't notice him taking on Aziraphale's speech mannerisms before turning away and scowling. It was only after reading meta and rewatching twice that I was like WOAH I didn't even see that.

I can see that heaven's system is screwed up, but I literally thought "Metatron's not like the other angels." I trusted his kindness, especially given that he wanted Aziraphale to run heaven, obviously the best angel for the job. I didn't consider that he wanted to appoint him because he knows Aziraphale is powerful and has stopped heaven and hell before.

I was right along with Aziraphale when all of this went down, agreeing with him when he didn't want the job ("where would I get my coffee?") and then seeing the appeal when Metatron said he could run heaven from earth WITH Crowley. They get to keep living the life they carved out for each other AND Aziraphale can fix the corruption in heaven? I love seeing kind-hearted characters fixing broken things, and I wanted him to fix the system.

As for Crowley becoming an angel again, I didn't really think of it as changing him. He's just Crowley, and he'd keep being Crowley. He's good already. I saw it as heaven offering to right their wrong because he never deserved to fall in the first place, and they wouldn't let someone they believed is evil back in, right? I trusted their judgment of Aziraphale and Crowley. I didn't consider that of COURSE Crowley wouldn't want to go back there. Why would he??

So when Aziraphale finally told him about the offer, I was hoping he would agree. It's important, they could change things! Metatron is claiming to give Aziraphale the reins. Crowley and Aziraphale for once are allowed to be together, and Aziraphale was so ready to not hold back in their relationship. There'd be no reason to deny it or go slow, it's obvious that their love is mutual.

It wasn't a surprise that Crowley said no, and deep down, Aziraphale knew why, but he didn't understand. Crowley and Aziraphale weren't seeing how the other saw it (that Aziraphale WANTS to be together. He wants to make heaven a better place, but Crowley believes it'll never happen, and heaven means to manipulate him). They truly would be the perfect team if they were in charge.

But the problem: that's not what Metatron or heaven intends. "Give me coffee or give me death" meant that if Aziraphale didn't accept the offer, he would've been destroyed. Metatron knew he'd accept, and based on the glare he gave Crowley, I don't think Crowley was ever really in his plan. Metatron will try to use Aziraphale and his power to end the world, and he has no idea he's a pawn. He fell for Metatron's apparent kindness and got swept away with the idea that he and Crowley wouldn't have to hide.

It's heartbreaking because I AM frustrated with Aziraphale, but I know why he chose heaven. There's trauma underlying his actions as well, and he didn't need MAGIC coffee (sorry, I'm mean about coffee theory) to fall hook, line, and sinker for what Metatron was selling. He loves Crowley so much, but if his plans to change heaven worked, he'd be saving the entire world from destruction.

People are still like "NO NO NO, how could he leave Crowley? He must've been hypnotized" when he is putting the WORLD first. That's not to say he won't regret it immediately, miss Crowley the entire time, or even change his mind, but it all happened so fast, and Crowley seemingly gave out on him. He refused, said "good luck", and started to leave. They didn't communicate with each other. I don't think Aziraphale was leaving him forever, but he thought "I HAVE to do this". Crowley is right, but Aziraphale can't see it another way.

Now he has to try his best to change heaven. In the end, he'll see the mistake he made and owe an apology to Crowley, but he has to figure it out on his own. After it's all said and done, it could be the last time they hold back from each other. Going through an angst arc of THIS magnitude would be worth it, and Neil Gaiman is a genius

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

The Fire

Note: this started as a pwp, but I guess I fucked up and it has some heart now. requested by @foxyanon! I changed the idea a little and I hope you'll like it.

Warnings: 18+!! smut.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You met a handsome Dane on a cruise ship.

wordcount: 2,7k

Masterlist

Sihtric had been watching you in awe from the very first second he saw you step on stage. The way you danced so scarcely dressed, surrounded by bright orange flames burning all around you and your fellow dancers. It was pleasantly intoxicating to Sihtric, seeing you spin those lit torches around so smoothly before you swallowed the flames. But it was the finale of your performance that almost knocked him out; seeing you bend backwards to breathe fire, a flame so large and bright and hot that it lit a spark inside of him and then exploded. Sihtric felt dazed and lightheaded, completely swept off his feet and he couldn't stop gaping at you until Uhtred and Finan both elbowed him, shaking him out of his infatuated state.

The Dane was on a cruise ship with his friends, a royal retreat arranged by the company they worked for. Like you, the fire dancer he had become enchanted by that first night aboard, he would be on the Carribean cruise for the whole trip. Seven days and seven nights the ship would be the source for entertainment in between the several day trips to explore the islands en route. It was your first time working on a cruise, and as it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for you, you were going to enjoy every second of the journey.

When you are performing you are fully focused. Being a fire dancer requires you to be completely in the moment without distractions. However, you are definitely aware of your surroundings while dancing and you hadn't been blind to the handsome man who had been gazing at you the entire time with his jaw dropped. He wasn't the only man who watched you as if he was under a spell, but he was the only man who had caught your eye in return. His half shaved haircut, the many silver rings around his fingers and the intensity his eyes had captured your interest. And you sure had caught a glimpse of his insanely toned biceps too in that black sleeveless shirt he was wearing. He was definitely the most beautiful man on that ship, if not the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your life. But despite being on a cruise ship together, you weren't sure if you'd see him again after your performance was over, as you were only two people out of five thousand aboard. Before you had left the stage you had given him a playful wink, which earned you a sly smile from him with hungry eyes.

You couldn't get the nameless man out of your head for hours after your performance. You had showered and got dressed in a short evening dress, roaming the ship for a long time in the hopes to find the handsome stranger. The night's warm breeze and the full moon kept you company during your wandering, but after a while you decided it was hopeless to search for him. Maybe he had already forgotten about you or maybe he was married to someone. With a heavy sigh you decided to go to the bar, enjoying one last drink on your own before you'd call it a night. You figured that maybe you'd see him again tomorrow, as you were to perform every evening.

However, it seemed that luck was on your side, for the handsome man stepped into the bar later that night when most people had already retreated to their beds, and his eyes immediately found yours from across the rather quiet room. You gave him an inviting smile, which he gladly accepted and stalked towards you. He looked even more handsome up close, and the sound of his voice simply melted you when he introduced himself and bought you a drink.

'I saw you in the crowd,' you smiled, 'you seemed… impressed.'

'I was,' Sihtric said, 'and still am.'

His mismatched eyes looked you up and down, and he made no attempt to hide his interest in you.

'Impressed by my performance or my looks?' you asked with a cocky smile.

'Both,' he hummed, his eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and your lips, 'your performance was captivating.'

'Oh yeah? What was your favourite part?' you tried him.

'The end, when you swallowed a flame and breathed the fire,' Sihtric said, and he ran his tongue across his lower lip before he bit down on it, leaning in, 'made me wonder what else you'd swallow,' he almost whispered.

'Wouldn't you like to find out?' you grinned and finished your drink.

'I would,' he confirmed, 'unless you are spoken for.'

'Would I be here talking to you if I wasn't single?'

'Would you?'

'I wouldn't. Would you?'

'I wouldn't either, lady.'

Sihtric finished his drink and invited you for a walk along the upper deck. It was a warm night, the sky clear with thousands of stars visible as far as the eye could see, while the ocean was calm and making for a soothing sound in the background. You strolled past the various closed bars and empty swimming pools, slowly being pulled closer towards each other like magnets. Soon you felt his hand on your lower back as you walked over the cosily lit top deck, talking and laughing about whatever came to mind. Sihtric then stopped, taking your hand and pulling you towards him as he leaned back against the metal railing. His tattooed fingers found your chin, gently pushing your face up to his with his fingertips to capture you in a sweet and short kiss.

'You've lit a spark in me, lady,' he breathed against your lips and grabbed your waist pleasantly firm, 'and the fire keeps spreading.'

'Then I suppose we should fix that,' you smiled and curled your fingers around the neck of his shirt, 'and I'm dying to know what you're hiding under that shirt.'

Your lips crashed into each other for a fiery yet clumsy kiss. You both stumbled over the deserted top deck as your lips were locked and you impatiently pulled at each other's clothes. You tripped and almost fell backwards onto a sunbed at the side of the pool, but Sihtric managed to catch you in time and broke the fall, lowering you down gently before he climbed on top of you. You removed his sleeveless shirt, finally discovering what he looked like shirtless and it did not disappoint. You ran your hands over his muscular torso, feeling numerous scars beneath your fingertips as you explored the surface of his warm skin.

'Are you a dangerous boy?' you whispered and looked up at him, lightly tracing the scar on his cheek as you gave him a cheeky smile.

'I might be,' Sihtric teased with a sly smile as his hands moved up your bare thighs, 'but I can be anything you want me to be,' he whispered and leaned in until his lips touched yours, 'I can be as dangerous as you want me to be, my lady of fire.'

'Oh, really?' you smirked, slowly moving one hand down to teasingly rub his arousal, which tightened his black swimming trunks.

'Really,' he sighed, his eyes became heavy under your touch and a dazed smile tugged at his lips, 'keep doing that and I'll take you right here.'

'Do what?' you batted your lashes innocently and squeezed his hardened length lightly to which he groaned.

'That's what you want then?' Sihtric took your hands and pinned them above your head, 'is this dangerous enough for you? Knowing we could get caught? Knowing someone could be watching while I fuck you?'

You nodded with a grin, and he kept your arms pinned while he moved one hand, trailing down your sides and dragging his fingertips teasingly over your panties, feeling your excitement while he kissed you and continued to tease you through your panties.

'So that's what you've been thinking of when you watched me dance,' you murmured against his lips, 'fucking me?'

'I wasn't thinking at all when I watched you dance, sweetheart,' Sihtric chuckled and pulled your panties to the side, teasing your wet folds, 'but it seems like that's what you've been thinking of.'

'Only once I saw you at the bar,' you gasped at his light touches, 'so stop wasting time, you know what I want.'

He laughed darkly and kissed your neck soppily as he pushed two fingers inside you with ease. He kept your arms pinned above your head while his fingers pumped in and out of you, slowly at first but faster once you became needier. You moaned into his mouth while he made you a pathetic and begging mess for him, fucking you with his fingers and watching you with dazed eyes as you made the prettiest noises for him.

'You like that?' he breathed heavily in your ear, 'want me to go deeper? Hm? You want more?'

'Please,' you whined and squirmed at his touch.

'Hm? What is it?' he smiled and looked into your eyes while he slowed his movements on you, 'what do you want?'

'Need you to just fuck me,' you groaned, frustrated when he pulled his fingers out.

He sat back and removed his swimming trunks, then grabbed your face and kissed you deeply while he lined himself up and teased you with the tip of his cock, coating your folds with his precum. You moved your hands up to his head, trailing your fingers along the silver beads in his hair while you grabbed his curls with your other hand, pulling hard once he entered you and began to fuck you, giving you what you had begged for moments earlier. A loud moan escaped your mouth and he placed his hand over your lips to quiet you as he rutted against you, desperately biting down his own moans at the same time.

'You feel so fucking tight,' he growled and bit your earlobe, only to kiss down your neck again and sink his teeth in your skin to quiet his heavy moans.

You giggled in response and mumbled against his shoulder, begging him to never stop, begging him to fill you up, begging him to fuck you until you couldn't take it anymore. And all your desperate pleas made him reach his climax, changing the angle he fucked you in just slightly so you'd finish along with him. He collapsed on top of you, out of breath, and wrapped his arms around you. He picked you up as he tried to catch his breath and switched positions, pulling you to lay onto his chest and grabbing a pool towel that was draped over the pool bed next to you. He helped you clean up and once you were both dressed decently again he offered to walk you back to your hut, which you accepted. You held hands while you felt your knees were still trembling as you walked, and halfway to your hut he suddenly asked if you had enjoyed it.

'I did,' you reassured him, 'did you?'

'Of course I did,' Sihtric smiled shyly, 'it was just a bit random, I guess. Wasn't expecting this to happen when I stepped on board this morning.'

'Me neither,' you chuckled.

Once you arrived at your hut you looked up at him, both knowing this was where your ways would part. Sihtric cupped your cheeks and pecked your lips lightly.

'Will I see you again?' you whispered, your hands on his waist, not quite wanting to let him go like that.

'Maybe,' he shrugged, 'we're on the same ship.'

'It's a big ship.'

'It is,' Sihtric agreed, and suddenly something changed in his eyes as he looked into yours, as if a vulnerability kicked in and his face turned almost deprived of emotions.

'Do… you… maybe want to exchange numbers?' you asked hesitantly.

Sihtric looked at you for a few long seconds, and he then took a step back, letting go of you.

'I don't think that's a good idea,' he said softly.

'Oh,' you said, visibly disappointed, 'o-okay.'

You gave him a weak smile and he took your chin when you looked away, directing your eyes back to his.

'I… it's not that I don't want to,' he whispered, 'but I just… I know you already have the ability to completely crush my heart. And we're on a cruise ship,' he sighed and let go of you again, 'we already know how this will end. We'll never see each other again, will we?'

You nodded silently, figuring he was right. This was just a fling, a one night stand. You were a fire dancer and he was on a business retreat, what chance could you possibly have?

'Good night, fire goddess,' Sihtric whispered and kissed your cheek, then reluctantly stepped back and walked away, to his own hut.

—-

The next morning you felt hungover, not because you had too much to drink but because of the way that steamy night had ended so coldly. You weren't against one night stands, but you just didn't want it to be one and you wanted to see Sihtric again. You wanted to go and look for him, hoping to find him, but he had made his point clear the night before so you knew you'd only get yourself hurt in the process. You sucked it up and got dressed, then made your way to the breakfast buffet.

You filled your plate and grabbed a coffee and, as you turned to find a table, you suddenly locked eyes with Sihtric, who looked just as miserable as you as he sat in a corner with his friends. You choked up but managed to give him a small smile, which he returned, but the pain on both your faces was evident. You sat down at a lone table and tried to enjoy your food as much as possible, while your mind couldn't stop replaying the events of the night before. You had fallen for a complete stranger by the way he had kissed you and fucked you, somehow making you feel safe and cared for while you barely knew each other. You tried to shake the thoughts and gulped down your coffee, then got up and went back to your hut again, where you'd either cry in bed or try to pull yourself back together and go out on the excursion that was planned for the afternoon, as you'd reach one of the islands.

As you put the key in your door you heard footsteps rapidly approaching around the corner, and when you looked up you found Sihtric running down the long hallway. He stopped once he locked eyes with you, and you scoffed at him.

'I thought you didn't want to see me again,' you mumbled and opened your door.

Sihtric came closer, he looked pale and tired, with wide eyes and his voice trembled when he spoke.

'W-wait,' he said, almost distraught, 'I… I know what I said. And I'm sorry. It was just a mistake.'

'I was a mistake? Wow, thanks-'

'No! No, that's not what I meant,' he took your arm, 'please, just… wait.'

You decided to give him a chance, clearly seeing he wasn't feeling much better than you.

'Fine,' you muttered.

'I just… I… here,' he said and hastily searched the pockets of his swimming trunks, taking out a napkin, 'my- my number,' he swallowed hard and pushed the white piece of paper in your hands while his own hands trembled, 'I- I'm sorry for being so cold afterwards last night, I'm sorry. I- I wanted to ask if you wanted to, maybe, join me today… on the, eh, the excursion.'

You looked at the numbers on the napkin and contemplated his offer for a moment, leaving him to wait anxiously for your answer.

'Are you going to be a dick again afterwards?'

'No, I promise I won't,' Sihtric sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, 'I just… I got scared. I think… I mean I fell for you, and it scared me. I've never felt like this before with someone I just met. I just panicked… and… and I'm scared.'

'Well,' you whispered, 'I'm scared too.'

'Well, then… maybe we should, you know,' Sihtric shrugged, 'be scared together and see where it takes us?'

'You know what,' you smiled faintly and sighed, 'I'd love that, actually. I'll go with you today, but I have to be back in time for my performance tonight.'

'I know,' Sihtric smiled and took your hand, 'and I wouldn't want to miss it, my fire goddess.'

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[unicornpopcorn14]

1, 8, or 32 for skk (from the hug prompts) 🥹👉🏻👈🏻

bestie you can’t do this to me i will request all of them

THEY'RE ALL SUCH GOOD PROMPTS I AGREEEE

Hug prompts

Decided to go for 1- "Are you cold? You look like you're freezing."

Additionally, for @dazaibirthdayweek2024 Day 3: Good Intentions + Masks

Words: 3.3k. Hope you like it, Essie!! :D

Rings a Bell

You’d think being stuck with your former partner/enemy in a confined space is the worst thing that can happen to a person…

But no, it can get worse, when said confined space happens to be a fucking freezer room.

Yeah, Chuuya has no idea what led them to this. Well, he does, but thinking about it too hard might cause his fifth aneurism today, and, less importantly, dissipate his already fickle energy.

A snicker resounds from beside him, “Chuuya’s growling like a dog again!”

“Shut the fuck up before I hang you from that meat hook myself…” He tries to give his usual bite, but it falls short as his stomach lurches again, feeling awful in all sorts of places.

Great news: he can’t see shit. Mostly blurry shapes and wavering colors, but never past that. It doesn’t help that he has the fattest migraine of the century, accompanied by an urge to vomit he honestly doesn’t know how he managed to fight against this long. Arahabaki, the damn scoundrel, decides to stay standstill and let him handle this one on his own. Fucking fantastic.

He had been told what poison he’s been injected with, but he can’t for the life of him remember the name right now.

And who’s to blame for all of this? You guessed it.

“Chuuya!!” Dazai claps with a higher-than-normal-pitch, which successfully sends stronger-than-usual-ringing to his ears, “How did you know the new method I was planning to try out?! And you’re offering to help me?! My, you should get poisoned more often!”

“You’re lucky I currently am, piece of shit…” God, he wanted to sound harsher than that– perhaps come up with a more creative thing to retort with, but that all gets swept away by low groans and helpless eye rolls…

Chuuya doesn’t know why he even bothers with looking out for that bastard when all he does is become a pain in the ass afterwards. Every time he tells himself he would wholly ignore his former partner the next joint mission, something like this happens which throws all of his vows to the curb:

Dazai was probably distracted, probably not, but Chuuya grabbed him aside anyways, rendering him without an ability for just a second.

And right then a needle buried in his neck.

They got their asses handed to them immediately afterwards, because of course, and the fuckers decided to add onto their frozen meat collection today of all days– thus, their predicament.

Which consists of opposite organization members seated in a freezer room against an icy wall, the mafia member certainly looking more limp and uncoordinated than the other. Chuuya doesn’t know how Dazai’s seated, but he’s 90% sure he isn’t staying still for the life of him, so guessing that would be impossible.

“Think Koyou-san will send a search party after you?” The question comes out as slyly as you’d think a Dazai-question would come out.

“This fast? No… She knows I can handle myself…” Dazai should already know this, as nothing has changed much in the last four years. Chuuya groans out, breathing coming in difficult, “I’d have to be gone for an entire week before she gets worried.”

“Hm, same with the Agency. But not that long. Just a day at most…” He hears shifting from beside him once again, overly wary of his surroundings since his sight is on hold, “So we’re stuck here until the poison symptoms wear off. Alone. Together. Great.” Dazai concludes like it wasn’t fucking obvious.

“At least you have the blessing of seeing in front of you.” Chuuya closes his eyes to stop his spinning vision, as perhaps that can help keep the migraine at bay, “Do you realize… how nerve-racking it is to stay this close to you while blind?! You might try anything…!”

“That’s right!” Dazai chirps, his enthusiasm successfully making Chuuya’s nerves prickle, “Chuuya better use his ultra-deduction-instincts if he wishes to stand a chance!”

He grimaces while thumping his head back, wanting to re-demand the other to shut up for how splitting his voice rings in his skull, but Dazai would probably take that as an opportunity to scream, so he resorts to: “God, I hate you…”

From (unfortunate) experience, and seeing how high on the awful-feeling scale this falls, Arahabaki will stay asleep for twenty more minutes -adding to the fifteen he already suffered through-, until he finally feels the need to fucking do something and starts kicking his freaky immune system to life.

His breath comes out as condensed clouds, each intake of breath colder than the last. The shitty smell of raw meat doesn’t help with the nausea, and he has half a mind to sleep all of this off, but leaving the suicidal freak alone with metal hooks all around is probably a wildly stupid idea. He’s still weighing his options-

“I’m booooored!!” Dazai suddenly whines, high pitched and grating. Chuuya jolts, opening his eyes in order to send the other a scowl out of habit.

Only various shades of brown meet his vision, swimming before him. The migraine remerges tenfold,  “Wh-”

“Chuuya, entertain me!” Dazai leans onto him, shoulder to shoulder, so roughly that the clench of his stomach tightens. Chuuya barely has the energy to push the bastard back, said bastard surely aware of that, “Be my jester! Now, now!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that? Hey-”

Just as Dazai straightens on his own, Chuuya feels his fedora getting snatched, followed by low chuckles and murmurs of “Disgusting hat, I’mma burn you when we’re out of here…”

If Chuuya were to sound crazy, he’d have told you that Dazai is purposely being extra obnoxious right now– ridiculously so, but four years of separation might have granted him the blessing of forgetting how annoying Dazai could truly get, thus doesn’t humor that thought…

“You have two seconds before I start calling for grantors of dark disgrace and level this whole room over your head.” He warns, and doubts this is a good idea at all (Forcing Arahabaki awake is never a good idea). But he’s seriously getting tipped over the edge and the drug rushing in his veins isn’t helping in the slightest, “Give it, now.”

Dazai stays silent for a few seconds. A few seconds too long. Catching a glimpse of his face threatens to empty out the contents in his stomach, so Chuuya just decides to close his eyes again and relish this brief moment of piece, brushing the flicker of confusion aside.

Then the grating is back, “Fiiiine…”

It’s weird how Dazai takes his already outstretched hand and places the fedora on top of it, even lingering the hold on his gloved fingers for a second before letting go. Weird, but not concerning.

“Smart choice.”  He plants his belonging back on his head, sighing lowly. The option of sleeping sounds like a dream right now– would save him the trouble of handling the two constant problems in his life at once. But nothing ever feels as good as it sounds in Chuuya’s case– sometimes his comfort comes with a heavy price, even.

Suffering through this it is, then.

“Ne, you really still can’t see?” Dazai leans onto him again– not as roughly, but certainly making Chuuya lose his balance all the same, “What about the headache? Is it getting any better? Is it? I’m bored- can you see yet? Can y-”

“No I fucking can’t, that’s why we’re still here!” Chuuya exclaims, successfully shoving him off, unable to handle Dazai’s toddler whining a second longer, “You think I wouldn’t have kicked the door down the second I regained my ability?!”

“Eh, you’re right. The air smells so bad when a dog is sharing it with me.” Dazai taunts, and must be leaning back onto the wall now, legs overly outstretched before him (probably rocking his heels back and forth) because God forbid he ever sit normally, “Too bad the door is too sturdy to budge with my kicks.”

“Cuz you’re a wuss.”

“Cuz it’s sturdy.” The other stresses, then it’s silent for a few minutes. The moment the headache begins to dissipate into a buzzing sting, rather than pounding ache, Dazai decides he should resume the torture session,

“Chuuya should cut his hair.”

That’s… so random. Even by Dazai standards. “What the he- Are you touching it?!”

Fingers tug on the longer end of his hair, brushing it, “Need scissors.”

Chuuya wishes he could recoil back in disgust, he really does, “Keep your grubby fingers to yourself, piece of shit! You know how much product I use?!” He tries to smack the hand away, never lands on it, “They’re worth your damn hands.”

Dazai blows a raspberry, and the fingers meekly abort, “My bad for trying to make a slug look a hundred times better.”

“This is neither the time nor place for it, freak.”

“Oh, so you agree to cutting it later? Consent granted!”

Chuuya springs up from the wall, “THAT’T NOT WHAT I-” At the violent lurch he receives in his abdomen, he gags mid-sentence, but thankfully doesn’t fully throw up. Or unthankfully. He isn’t sure what’s better for him at the moment. He tries to breathe through the acid in his throat, “Fuck…”

He hears shifting from beside him, peeking to deduce Dazai hugging his knees now– rocking back and forth? He closes his eyes again, wishing time wasn’t a slow bitch at the moment. One arm presses to his abdomen, right where it’s angry and upset, the other stays numb on the floor beside him. Several clouds form in front of his lips, with him somehow sweating midst the freezing room, the water cooling on his burning skin terrifyingly fast. Perhaps a minute more and they’d turn solid.

“Can your trusty dusty chaos God wake up any faster?” Oh, right. Dazai isn’t dead yet, so peace for him isn’t an option, “Does turning him off and on again works?”

Chuuya rigids once something that feels like ice pokes his cheek,

“Fucking hell, when did you find an ice cube?” He uncoordinatedly smacks the thing away, which turns out to be a hand. Huh. “You already know the answer to that, bastard. Why are you even trying?”

“Worth it…” He giggles, something breathy about it, off. Chuuya pauses, sharpening his hearing instantly, because anything off regarding Dazai is always a bad sign, and his sense about this never lies. Call it a sixth sense, if you will. “Besides, pestering Chuuya when he’s weak is fun! You think I won’t take my chances? You really don’t know me at all!”

At that his concentrated frown dissipates, immediately replaced by one of assessment.

“Wait a second…” He keeps his head hanged and eyes closed, but his tone rumbles all the same, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Whatever you mean, sluggy poo?”

Chuuya doesn’t fall for the bait, sharpening his hearing even more, “I thought you were being annoying just for the sake of it, but now you’re outright telling me you’re being annoying?” He lifts his head to look at the direction of the other, sending a glare with closed eyes, “You’re trying to hide something. Out with it.”

“Pfff, paranoid much, aren’t we?”

And just like that, Chuuya catches it.

The shivers in the other’s breathing, that automatically translate to shudders in his speech, are so subdued, desperately trying to stay hidden from him, trying to get concealed behind loud pitches and provoking fronts.

It’s a testament to how far gone his mind is in order for that to escape him.

“You’re-” Without asking for verbal confirmation that he wouldn’t get, Chuuya hurriedly takes off his gloves, “Gimme that- where is it?” He blindly wanders till he finds a bandaged wrist and grasps it. The stiffen of the other gets ignored as his hands travel to the only bare parts in Dazai’s body– his fingers and face. The fingers are frigid to the point where he can’t hold them for more than a few seconds, while the moment he clumsily smacks the face in order to cup it with both hands, it’s like all his body heat rushes to it– the skin cold, hungry and craving any kind of warmth, “What the hell- you’re fucking freezing!”

“Wow, what an astute observation, Chuuya.” He hears the roll of the other’s eyes, as Dazai’s quivering fingers hold onto both of Chuuya’s wrists, trying to push them away from his face but not putting that much effort into it, “It’s not like we’re literally in a freezer room.”

“No- this isn’t normal.” Chuuya declares, squeezing the cheeks in. How come cold skin can burn so much? “We’ve only been here for like…”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Exactly. Doesn’t it take about… way longer for hypothermia to kick in?”

“That’s you! You’re the abnormal one!” Dazai exclaims, sounding more genuine than he has been since they’ve been thrown in here. Scratch that– since he’d known him, “You think all people come with a built-in heater? I thought you realized that that’s not the case during your mission in Siberia. And you call me a fish.”

Chuuya pauses promptly. Oh, right. Sometimes he forgets that he isn’t the only one who occasionally wakes up to screams coming from within, or feels unprecedented urge to unleash chaos in stressful situations, or even runs way warmer than others. These are constants in his life. Constants he has to remind himself that no other person experiences…

And even if Arahabaki is asleep, the remnants of his abnormally high temperature is still very much intact. Chuuya doesn’t feel much past the chills of the poison itself, other than that? Coolness at best at his extremists. He’d need to stay here thirty minutes longer for the real frigidness to kick in…

Though Chuuya is equally aware that while his core temperature is abnormally high, Dazai’s core temperature is, funnily enough, abnormally low. Leave him out in the snow for a few minutes and you’d get a hypothermic mackerel popsicle in no time.

Chuuya grimaces. Stupid, stupid.

How could he forget that? His mind defends him, tells him it must have been the poison, that it must have played a part in brushing that fact aside. Chuuya wants to curse it out. He’s retained many random facts about Dazai by heart– so, so many, some even entirely useless; but when it comes to important stuff he somehow has to be reminded of them the hard way. What is wrong with him?

Well, time to make up for that. Harshly, because the bastard deserves it.

“I’m perfectly normal, thank you very much.” He lies through his teeth, but his voice is almost soft, fingers still intact with the skin cosplaying an ice wall, “You’re the one with a terrible immune system that is eager to kill you at the first given chance.”

Dazai chuckles, breathily once again. Shakily, the accurate word for it. “Dying by hypothermia i-isn’t too bad, actually!”

“Just- fucking drop it, will you? You don’t need to do that shit.” Once again he grits out softer than intended, finally cutting the contact. If he had his eyes working, he’d have seen the way Dazai chases the hands for a second before collecting himself and drawing back, “Come closer before I snatch you by the hair.”

“Chuuya wouldn’t have the energy to, anyway…” Dazai finally sounds as slurred and exhausted as he should, and Chuuya’s thankful he can even move– numbness probably there but hasn’t fully settled in.

“You remember our code?”

“Code white? O-Of course I do. Have many fond memories with it.” He hears the rustle of fabric, which means that Dazai is taking off his coat. Chuuya does the same, if a little slower.

“Stage?”

“Mild.”

Chuuya exhales, “Thank fuck, I wasn’t looking forward to sharing body heat with you properly.”

There is a pause, then, “…Severe, then.” He sees the smirk in the Dazai’s face without the need to see at all.

“That so? I’ll bash your head against that metal wall, then.” He knocks behind him twice, just as he senses Dazai drawing near, “Seems like it would do the trick nicely.”  

“No thanks, I-I change my mind. I’d like the mild-stage treatment.”

“Just as I thought.”

Chuuya suddenly feels a weight on his lap, and acts. He takes both of their coats and wraps them with it as make-shift blankets, just as Dazai gets comfortably seated, ear over Chuuya’s heart, knees tucked close. The redhead presses his lips on the hair beneath him before he can help it, feeling the frost that has settled there. One arm supports the taller’s shoulder and back, while the other wraps around Dazai’s midsection, keeping him caged in.

Now without the need to hide anything, Dazai’s shivers turn to trembles, rocking him to his core and rocking Chuuya along with it. The brunette wraps the coats tighter around himself, pulse audibly rapid and panicking, trying to compensate the body for the heat it lost apace.

Chuuya’s migraine begins dissipating a little, and he dares open his eyes, to find the variety of colors taking the form of actual shapes, now. He relaxes, just as he feels Dazai do the same– their positioning, strange as it may come for them, somehow feeling utterly natural…

“Gosh, I almost forgot your stupid tendency to never speak up in situations like this.” The mafioso chastises midst the curls, “What? Were you trying to make up for the fact that I got drugged cuz of you?” Chuuya is sure there might be a number of other reasons, like the fact that Dazai could have simply been waiting to die like that– to pass out from the cold and never feel it when Chuuya tries to wake him up again.

But Dazai’s silence grants him an abundance of answers, one of them that confirms his verbal question, and he tskes in displeasure.

“Goody-two-shoes act that makes me sick...” He rasps, his upset stomach comforted with the added pressure to it.

Dazai huffs, finding the energy to nuzzle his cheek to Chuuya’s chest exactly like a freaking cat, “My personal heater…”

At how weirdly endearing that sounds, Chuuya bristles, “I’m not your fucking-”

“Along with being my dog? Too many jobs for your brain to handle, Chibi…!” Dazai’s slurred speech sounds funny, but the words themselves cause the shorter to growl, “You’ll overwork yourself!”

“Your neck is in a perfect position to get snapped. Watch your words.”

“Hm…” Dazai takes the threat in stride, one of his hands that was lost under the blanket coming up to hold onto Chuuya’s shoulder, “The air still smells bad, by the way.”

“Then I’ll keep you trapped in it for longer.” Chuuya counters, sharing his former partner’s frigidness without mind or care. He meekly feels the forehead concealed under brown bangs, to find it minutely warmer than before. Good, great.

“How much longer are we staying here again…?” Dazai asks.

Chuuya blinks, cozy, “Not much. I can see better now.”

“Mm, then all your strength will be back in ten minutes at most…”

“Of course you still memorize the exact cooldown duration of my ability.” Chuuya would have rolled his eyes if it weren’t for his splitting headache, “Why am I not surprised?”

Dazai keeps quiet, head hanging as he mumbles, “Chuuya’s the one with a bad memory…”

The redhead pauses, unable to deny the present truth before him, “Maybe…” He mumbles back, then huffs, “But at least you’re a thorn in my side that annoyingly reminds me of the kind of stuff I eagerly want forgotten…”

“If it’ll make Chuuya miserable,” Dazai tilts his head up. Chuuya sees the smile so clear, bright and giddy. Blurry at the edges but real. “I’ll always be a thorn in his side that will always keep annoyingly reminding him…”

Something leaps in his heart at the connotation embedded in these words, of his former partner vowing to never leave again, to forever be a part of the mafioso’s life despite what life has done them, despite the circumstances. And Chuuya himself vows to never forget how such a simple word almost sent him in a haze of emotions so deep and human. The word always.

His hold tightens, and he hides his face before mumbling, “Of course it will make me miserable, bastard…”

~~~~

Hc for context: I’m a ‘Chuuya has amnesia as a trauma response’ believer. Like yeah he remembers some details regarding missions but otherwise blocks out anything his mind deems too stressful to deal with. “Your mission in Siberia” Actually had most of his subordinates die because they stayed for the cold too long. :’) Obviously, some missions with Dazai are in that chunk as well, along with the entirety of Stormbringer cuz I said so jnrgjrn.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! This wasn’t my best work so forgive me, Essie! I’ll try my best to edit and tweak some things in here when I have the energy. <33

[thewiglesswonder]

I'd be hard pressed to say I don't enjoy collector at all (I have merch of him after all). But my feelings towards him are complicated, he was great in s2, but in s3 I couldn't help but feel like the crew felt like they couldn't redeem him as is. That they felt they needed to absolve him of doing anything actually wrong so all his potential crimes are either nonexistent, blamed on other collectors/belos, or pretty much swept under the rug.

When we saw that collector back in KKKOHD it was like " Oooo this is intriguing, who is this and whats their deal?". Dana even showed off her half of collector's face during the charity event and saying "you've technically already met them" . So it was like "oooo the collector who caught the owl beast!".

And then it keeps ramping up, we have Philip find him, he's introduced as childish but sinister, he has a murder cult who worships him, he slams belos into a wall and angrily forces king to stay with him from luz.

And then-

Nah, he's unaware of death, misunderstood, hates said cult, and not even the same collector we met who caught the owl beast.

It felt like we were building up a very different kind of collector then what we got. This child who played with his food and didn't care who got hurt unless he was having fun, who caused the curse and pissed off the titan so much he hid his son away, and then everything that made him more grey just.... was not his fault at all.

And then on top of this there are just things between ep2 and 3 that don't make sense or are dropped, he doesn't understand death but crosses out a whole chapter in his book explicitly about genocide, which implies he does understand death? Belos tricks him into thinking King wants him dead and collector litterally gets over it by the next episode that i kinda don't see what the point was? He is shown to feel jealous over luz and angry about her arrival, but by the next episode he litterally starts the episode claiming to want to be her friend? How does he know about the cult but not know about death given they KILL titans?

Heck, FTF ends on him sinisterly saying he wants to play a new game, but WAD claims the dream sequence was belos's idea, not his, so its extremely misleading.

I'm not even opposed to the idea of a character being built up to be sinister only to reveal they never actually were and it was just a lie built on misunderstandings and paranoia. But it didn't feel nearly as well built up as it could've been.

And then on top of this, collector cries over luz dying as if its the first time he's felt this way, despite knowing her as a friend for a few hours max? He's never cried before? Not when the titans who were his friends were killed or when he got locked up? And then despite this being here to teach him about death being permanent, luz basically instantly comes back.

And after all of this, after what he did to the people on the isles, he just....leaves. he doesn't stay to help repair the isles that he partially damaged, and despite the show having a found family message and collector not wanting to be alone....he leaves....to be alone. So his redemption rests on a few hours of life lessons with luz, luz's not permanent death, and then thats enough to change his whole world view so its perfectly fine if he goes off on his own now I guess.

Collector pretty much goes out entirely unpunished for anything, the isles shows no lasting anger to him, he keeps his friendship with king, luz didn't actually die, so there's really no strong consequences for what he did. He feels bad for the draining spell and stuff but thats really it, he doesn’t stay to repent or anything. I know he's a child but he might be the child character who got off the easiest for his actions this entire series, and what he was responsible for wasn't light either.

I like the idea behind collector, but I don't understand entirely the love surrounding him because the writing surrounding him and his arc is confusing and it read to me like they were bending over backwards to erase any trace of him doing anything bad of his own violation or just not taking it as seriously as they should of.

Trying to redeem a collector who did intentionally hurt others , who does work hard to repent, and who learns over a longer period of time, would of felt more satisfying and would've been more interesting.

I hardly have anything to add to this, you've summed up pretty much every issue I take with the little guy! I'm not denying that he's a bad concept or a bad character, the execution of his supposed arc and intensely conflicting information we were given about him through the course of the last half of the show, coupled with the fact that he's always kind of felt like he appeared out of nowhere to me, I hate to say it, but he really hurts the narrative more than he helps it as-is. More energy, time, and really thought put into him would soothe a lot of these issues.

[shortpplfedup]

My School President Episode 10: The real Hot Wave was the friends we made along the way

The Hot Wave final is finally here, but in a strange way the outcome doesn't even matter anymore. That's why they ended the episode without telling us who won, because win or lose, what ended up mattering was the journey and the people they went on that journey with. This was an episode of revelations: of everything hidden coming to light, of everything confusing becoming clear, and of everyone realising what's really important. Everything else mostly falls away to focus on Tinn, Gun and the moms as we move into the series' endgame.

Verse: Life is what happens while you're making other plans

So put your arms around me And then stay there forever Let it always be this way You and me together

Natasha Bedingfield | Put Your Arms Around Me (2007)

Chekhov's gun finally went off in this episode as the source of Gun's mom's fainting spells is finally revealed and...it's rough. It feels so unfair to put Gun through more sadness and worry than he's already lived with, but they didn't shy away for the sake of keeping things light. I understand why they did it and what the story gained from it, but it made my tummy hurt so bad and I'm relieved it's not hanging over our heads anymore. But I guess that was the point right? We don't know who won Hot Wave, but we know Gun's mom is going to be ok, and that's what's actually important. I loved that she refused to make the promises that Gun begged her to make. It's her job to prepare Gun for his life to eventually go on without her, that's the job of every parent. She feels the pain of even the idea of potentially leaving Gun, but she knows intimately that life is entirely unpredictable.

Chorus: The song in the heart

No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips

Natasha Bedingfield | Unwritten (2004)

Gun struggling to write the song, and then struggling to put the emotions he felt while writing it into his performance felt so real. He has been so focused on winning Hot Wave as the goal, he's developed a kind of tunnel vision. The pressure he puts on himself to succeed, everything it could mean not just for him but for his mom...all he can think about is getting it right. But he wrote the song he wrote for a reason. When he looked inside himself, what he felt more than anything else was gratitude. Back in episode 8, he told Tinn what musicians like me want most...it's the audience, especially the one we want to perform for. The song in his heart is the things he wants to say, to his friends, to his mom, to Tinn. He can't win Hot Wave by trying to win Hot Wave, as odd as that sounds. He's got to let it go and just express the things he wants to express to the people he loves.

Bridge: A deeper love

These words are my own From my heart flow I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

Natasha Bedingfield | These Words (2004)

For all that Gun and Tinn have been clear how they feel, for all that they've been calling each other boyfriend, for all that they've been flirting nonstop...those non-kisses last week were unambiguous. Tinn's still overwhelmed by the enormity of his feelings, and Gun still doesn't quite understand why Tinn keeps sticking around. If you hit on someone else, you'd already have a lover by now, he's said to Tinn over and over. I don't want to hit on anyone else, Tinn's been responding, but Gun doesn't know the devotion behind those words, the lengths to which Tinn's gone for him. So when his mom tells him the things Tinn spilled to her, Gun is awed, he's humbled, he's swept off his goddamn feet. I'm grateful. I'm sorry. I love you. It's my absolute favourite romantic sentiment.

Outro: Truth will out

What are we supposed to do When everyone's afraid of changing?

Natasha Bedingfield | Hey Papa (2019)

So Tinn's mom finally knows. She'd already started putting the pieces together after her run in with Ms. Gim: finding out Tinn has been spending all this time at Gun's, realising he lied to her to go on the beach trip that Gun is clearly also on. Then she starts observing Tinn, testing him: raising the subject of girlfriends, watching him interact with the girls at school. And then she sees that 'Chinzhilla Baby ❤️' caller ID and that photo, that adorable photo that absolutely screams 'cute selfie I sent my boyfriend' and there's no more doubt. And I honestly think her overwhelming emotion is sadness, both that she didn't see it herself, and that Tinn, her baby, felt like he couldn't tell her. That Gun's mom must have known. That Tinn felt open enough with her, essentially a stranger, but not with his own mom. I don't think Ms. Potjanee is a bad person, and I don't think she's a bad mother. But I think she's going to feel like she is. She's in for a mountain of self-reflection, and I think that when she finally has that talk with Tinn there won't be any anger or recrimination about all the lies, she won't be upset about his sexuality, there won't be any animus against Gun. I think the words out of her mouth are going to be 'I'm sorry'.

Ad Libs

I'm really glad Ms. Potjanee didn't actually snoop in Tinn's phone, and I'm equally glad she hasn't confronted Tinn about what she now knows. It makes me confident that she's going to do right by her son here.

I had a feeling they'd have new credits for these final three eps and I was hoping the song from the trailer which I think is the final OST would be part of them, so when the closing credits started I started weeping. It's really almost over folks.

I understand from a storytelling perspective why they made Ms. Gim so seriously ill, I really do, but I'm still very upset about it.

They're following the Bad Buddy structure again of episodes 10 and 11 being revelation/climax and fallout and it's honestly such a comforting rhythm, way better than the 'episode 11 curse' structure.

How did Tinn become the guardian of the Holy Chinchilla?🤣

[reinathevocaloid]

My KinnPorsche Fic Rec List

(aka an ongoing list of my favorite fics)

take me back to the light by kurtstiel

Porsche is left reeling and in need of direction after the shooting. Kinn notices.

i'd probably still adore you (with your arms around my neck) by kurtstiel (and the entire i'm the one for your fire series)

Porsche experiences a drop after Kinn choked him to save him from the minor family. Kinn helps him through it.

all of me (is all for you) by kurtstiel

While Kinn is away on a business trip, Porsche gets his nipples pierced as a surprise for their anniversary. Kinn comes home earlier than Porsche expected.

the things i would do to you by kurtstiel

Porsche discovers what it means to have a size kink.

i see nobody, nobody but you by kurtstiel

Kinn catches Porsche arriving home on Vegas' motorcycle in Episode 5.

angiogenesis by captainkit

In which Porsche and Pete get a last chance at a normal life, Vegas gets another chance to prove himself, Tankhun gets justice and love and Korn dies. Maybe in that order.

landing on your paws by captainkit

Catboy vigilante Porsche, the fic

Intent to Cherish by iffervescent

A mouthy beta runs off with Kinn's watch. He goes to get it back.

A thousand jasmine blossoms bloom by iffervescent

The alpha warlord Kinn has swept down from the north, conquering every land in his path. There is only one way for Prince Porsche to guarantee his people's safety.

love on the water, love underwater by butterflylungs

A day off, a surprise trip, and the dreams they've had to let go.

tear out all of your tenderness by butterflylungs

Porsche wakes up blindfolded, bound to a chair and with the telltale signs of an oncoming heat simmering low in his belly.

fell in love with the fire long ago by butterflylungs

Porsche decides to play a game of teasing while Kinn is away on a business trip; it leads to very fun consequences.

you put a fever inside me by butterflylungs

Porsche riles Kinn up during a work meeting, and Kinn teaches him a lesson.

closer than your shadow by butterflylungs

Kinn doesn't like when other people touch what's his.

stuck when you get sweet by butterflylungs

Kinn takes Porsche home to continue what they started.

diesel is desire, you were playing with fire by butterflylungs

When Kinn is dosed with a strange drug, Porsche steps up to help.

haunt me when you're not around by butterflylungs

He turns his head back around and he comes to a sudden stop, so fast he almost trips face first into the gun pointed at him. Fear explodes in his chest before Porsche shoves it down, because he can’t afford to be scared. Because Kinn, standing in front of him right now, would smell the fear and jump on it. “Got you,” Kinn says, finger on the trigger.

All That for Just a License? by nuwildcat

Porsche really thought the titanium mag-lock cuffs were a good idea. Sure, Chay had lectured him at the price, but he swore they would come in handy on the job. To be fair they did...he just really wished he hadn't dropped the key.

Echoes in My Dreams by nuwildcat

It's been 10 years since the first Kaiju attack, humanity built the Jaeger program to fight them, and Kinn Annakin Theerapanyakun is one of the top Jaeger Pilots in the world. There's just one problem, none of his co-pilots have lasted past a year with him. Enter Porsche Pachara Kittisawat. Somehow this disaster of a bartender with no Drift experience shakes Kinn's understand of the Drift and changes humanity's fate at the same time. Well as long as Kinn doesn't kill him first.

mine to keep by nuwildcat

Porsche has dealt with almost every type of customer. The demanding ones, the rude ones, even the charmingly polite ones, but Kinn Theerapanyakul stands out from the rest. Trapped in a tiny plane, 80,000 feet above the Earth, Kinn’s attention is overwhelming. Eyes follow him like Kinn wants to devour Porsche. This time, Porsche might just let him.

How I Know You by nuwildcat

The looming shadow of the Dragon Throne has long been on Porsche's mind. The empire has swept closer and closer to his lands, snatching up smaller kingdoms and grinding them under its boots, all at the hand of one man: Prince Kinn. Now that army is on Porsche's doorstep, and he has a choice to make. He can't fight off the army, but he can protect his country if he consents to become Kinn's. For his kingdom, for his people, Porsche will sacrifice anything, but the real question is, what does he have to gain?

The Fangs of Frost by nuwildcat

Porsche was raised on tales of the sidhe by his mother, told faerie stories at night before bed about Kings and magic spears and a whole different world in the Underground. But they were meant to be stories, lessons in packages children could understand and listen to. This is not a story. One of these days, Porsche is going to have to learn not to be so damn curious. Not if the world is filled with beasts like this.

Cleaning Spells by nuwildcat

Porsche is a completely average magic user. He's great at cleaning up the bar quickly, drying dishes, and picking up after his brother. He's twenty-five and still hasn't manifested a Familiar, something he tries not to ruminate on. He's accepted the fact that maybe he will never Bond, no matter what Yok and Chay keep telling him. Porsche is just going about another completely average day... Until the fucking dragon shows up in his kitchen.

Silvered Perceptions by nuwildcat

Mama told Kinn about the Pull when he was little, weaving a tale of romance and destiny and putting a sparkle in his eye for the mystical shot at meeting someone perfect for him. For the longest time Kinn thought he wouldn't be lucky enough to know what that was like, till he crashed into a piss-soaked alley while running for his life. Things haven't gone quite like Mama said. There's a whole lot more attitude than Kinn expected, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued. Things aren't always what they appear to be at first sight… Now, if he plays his cards right, Kinn has a shot at getting the happiness his mother described. Kinn's always excelled at poker, but this game will test even his skills.

Beneath Black Sails by ahdriking

Long ago, Porsche's mother had left in search of a dream, never to return. Following in her footsteps, Porsche sets sail for the West Indies, nothing but a map in his pocket and hope in his heart to make a better life for himself and his brother. And then his ship is attacked by pirates.

Running From The Daylight by ahdriking

Stuck in the forest, handcuffed together, Kinn goes into rut.

Beautiful by ahdriking

“Do you see yourself?” Kinn whispers into his ear, so intimately it makes Porsche’s hair stand on end. “Do you see how beautiful you are?” Porsche closes his eyes and turns his head away once more. “Kinn–” “No,” Kinn says, his voice firm. He turns Porsche’s face back towards his reflection, his grip on Porsche’s chin unyielding. “Look. I want you to see. I want you to see what I see.”

Happy Birthday by ahdriking

Porsche is determined to bake Kinn a cake, no matter how many botched batters and burned bases happen along the way. He isn't expecting Kinn to come home early, catching him in the middle of entertaining himself while he waits for his latest attempt to rise in the oven. One thing leads to another, and Porsche ends up back at square one, forced to start the process from scratch. Only this time, Kinn is determined to make his life as difficult as possible.

Perfect Strangers by ahdriking

Porsche meets Kinn on a commercial flight. The airplane bathroom will never be the same.

Bad Behavior by ahdriking

“Why did you do that?” Kinn’s voice was thick. Kinn's hand tightened reflexively around Porsche’s throat when he wrapped his fingers around Kinn’s wrist, quickly finding the pulse point there. It hammered under his touch, a dizzying rhythm that matched Porsche’s own. It betrayed him, betrayed them both, their bodies unable to lie to each other. Porsche met Kinn’s eyes. “You know why.”

Consequences by ahdriking

"Put your hands behind your back." Porsche swallows around the lump that's formed in his throat, eyes darting up from the floor to meet Kinn's. Kinn stands before him with his arms firmly crossed over his chest, the expression on his face carefully neutral, though the black pits of his eyes burn with an intensity that makes Porsche shift uncomfortably. "I won't repeat myself." Porsche sets his jaw, curls his hands into fists, and forces a nasty smile onto his face. "Or what?"

got me hopin' you'll save me by mirrorofprinces (and the entire KinnPorsche: The Series (La Fortissimo) series)

Porsche clears his throat. “Khun Kinn, if that’s all, can I be dismissed?” “No,” Kinn says with a slight tilt of his head. “That was some of the worst shooting I’ve ever seen. It shouldn’t take my head bodyguard six tries to hit an easy target.” He glances over at his friends. “I’ll meet you in the living room. Porsche needs a gun handling lesson.”

smoke on your skin by mirrorofprinces

There is a small, dark part of Kinn that considers pinching Porsche’s nose shut and fucking his face to completion. Instead, he reaches for the crystal whiskey glass on his desk and takes a fortifying sip. “Enough.”

didn't know that you were cold 'til you felt my fire by mirrorofprinces

“You’ve done well,” Kinn adds, and the words warm Porsche through to his bones. “I just need one more thing from you,” he says, red eyes bright and luminous. “Anything,” Porsche hears himself say. The corners of Kinn’s mouth curl up into a smile, but nothing about it feels friendly.

squeeze a little, tease a little more by mirrorofprinces

Porsche knows he’s tucked up well under the desk, theoretically completely hidden, but all it would take is an accidental noise to give him away, or for a pair of wandering eyes at the exact right angle to catch a glimpse of his socked feet. The idea doesn’t entirely put him off.

our little remedy by mirrorofprinces

Porsche hesitates. Kinn snorts, grabbing a fresh towel off the rack behind him. “You let me shoot an apple off your head, but this is too scary? Get over here. I’ll do it myself.”

Good Enough to Breed by rainbowcolored7

Now this, almost a year into their relationship, Porsche was discovering one more unexpected thing about himself thanks to none other than his infuriating and handsome boyfriend. One more thing he needed to chew on and deconstruct before he brought it up to Kinn. Because self-preservation and pride aside, this new thing couldn’t be resolved without Kinn, if it was something that could even be resolved at all. Porsche had no idea.

you've got to beg to be proud by starstrung

Kinn and Porsche have a rule. Their work may take them to dangerous places. They might have to make hard decisions, be threatening, be charming, or a deadly mixture of the two. They always come home to each other.

'Know you're a gambling man by trevorishy

Kinn and Porsche make a bet.

The King’s Tree by LuckyDragon

Kinn was seven when he woke up one morning to discover a small silver circle on the back of his left wrist.

Even If Oblivion Be the Cost, Gladly Shall I Pay by LuckyDragon

The being waits patiently for the humans to bring him what he needs. He waits for the premium opportunity, the ideal candidate. Reality ebbs and flows around him, like the waves of the ocean, and time pours out endlessly in all directions.

Assumptions about you by Sirvaria

Porsche secretly likes it when Kinn manhandles him into submission, not that he would ever admit to that.

it’s my desire that you feed, you know just what i need (you got power over me) by vincerets

the one where Porsche gets hurt and Kinn loses his mind.

when it comes to that emotion by orphan_account

Porsche is used to taking care of himself, small scrapes and bruises are nothing, a gun to his head, lightly being hit by a car, he can handle it. He doesn’t need to call Kinn over every small infraction, especially when Kinn is so busy. Kinn would disagree.

imitating your seasons by orphan_account (sequel to when it comes to that emotion)

As soon as Kinn hears the words, ‘hurt,’ and, ‘Porsche,’ together, his world stops moving, his mind becomes fire, and his hands shake with the force of violent vengeful notions. But for Porsche, his touch is only ever tender.

You can make the blue sky blush by anonymous

Porsche is staring again. He can’t help it. It’s not news, really. Porsche’s obsession with Kinn’s hands. On a steering wheel, swirling a glass of bourbon, grabbing Porsche’s waist— Still, there’s something special, he’s starting to realize, about Kinn’s hands… holding a gun.

(I will add more to this list as I continue to gain more favs!)

[livelovesimallways]

"The Weekend...." Pt. 2

(Previous)

When Sean decided to barge his way in here, the last thing I expected was for things between us to end up how they started. Although it may not seem like it, sleeping with my sister’s man was something I never thought I was capable of. I swear if he was anybody else, this wouldn’t be happening. But he’s not, and that’s a choice I have to live with. From the outside looking in, it seems like I’m a villain…A jealous, bitter, hater that’s hell bent on ruining her sister’s relationship. In reality, I’m not. Our history goes much deeper than anyone could imagine. Dana thinks I met Sean when she first introduced him. The truth is, I knew him before they laid eyes on each other.

We met at a small “get together” during my freshman year in college. He was there celebrating our school’s first March Madness Playoff victory since he once played. Initially I figured he came over to secure his, "Ho" for the night, so I casually brushed him off. His tune changed real quick after that, with him trying to assure me that wasn't the case. I let it slide and after a nice conversation, we exchanged numbers. To be honest, I didn’t expect much to come from it…Dana always told me that men like him were not going to give me the relationship I wanted. But shit, in the weeks following, that man swept me off my feet. Even though he asked me to keep everything private, I never felt like a secret. We spent that summer vacationing all over…From Sunlit Tides to Monte Vista, we went everywhere. He made damn good use of that NBA contract. Sean was it for me. He was my first real situation and what felt like my first love. Things were great until he started pulling away. Soon after that he told me we were done. I was hurt, but thankfully had school to keep me distracted. I stayed on campus most of my sophomore year, including winter and spring break. Going home consisted of Dana gushing over her new Boo and that was something I couldn’t handle. As the school year ended, they finally decided they were ready to go public. After all, it was his birthday and what’s a lavish party without a trophy standing by your side? She wanted me to meet him first so I reluctantly came home. As she was ready to leave he popped in to say hello. Humph, I tried so hard to hide the shock, embarrassment, and disgust from my face when I realized who was extending his hand. I swear, Sean had some mothafuckin nerve. Unfazed though, he continued as if he never knew me. Everything happened so fast that I could barely get a word out and before I knew it, they were gone. He eventually tried to explain, claiming that he didn't know we were sisters until earlier that day. Although it was believable with Dana's over protectiveness, absence on social media, and the fact that I hated talking about my family, the entire situation didn't sit right with me. I didn't know how to or if telling Dana was a good idea so I left it alone. Seeing them together hurt, especially with the way Sean ended things. But with school creating a nice distance, I was able to move on.

Everything was good. I had my life and they had theirs. Although Sean's place was our new home, I managed to keep myself separate from them for a while. But once they started having problems, humph, shit got messy. After arguments he came to me. It went from venting, to apologizing, to having regrets, to making his way to my bed. It's been three years since we first crossed that line. I don't get any joy from doing this behind my sisters back. And like I said, if he was anyone else. I fell in love with Sean first and as much as I tried to forget him, it never worked. Yesterday he finally admitted what I knew all these years...He loves me too. With Dana on verge of leaving, I don't know what will happen between us. One thing's for sure though...I'm about to put this lingerie set to good use.

"Well damn, you were just sleeping." *walking up closer* "You know, you don't have to get dressed. Security stays upstairs and outside."

"I know...I ain't worried about them."

"Okay?...Then why are you getting dressed? You leavin?"

"I don't want to but..."

"Then don't. If you turn around you'll have a good reason to stay."

It was impossible for him to hide his excitement when he saw what I had on. His smile, his dimples and his beat red face told me everything I needed to know. He was just as enamored as I was. Regardless of any conflicting feelings he had, there was no denying how he felt about me. I gave him a kiss that led to his hands planted firmly on his favorite spot. Shit, he needed that reminder. As things were progressing, with me unbuckling his pants, his phone started ringing. He ignored it, but after getting a text, he gave up, slowly pulling away.

"Just put it on silent Boo..." I said, gently stroking his dick.

"You know I can't..." *moves my hand*

"This is so fuckin stupid! Its only been two days since she found out about Julia and she's already calling. And you?...You don't make any sense! You finally admit that you love me but now you're doing this? You ain't have a problem fuckin me all over this room. What Changed?"

*Briefly closed his eyes* "I don't wanna hurt you Dee..."

"Well, it's too fuckin late for that! I don't get it. What happened to all your regrets? How you wish it was me? How long you've been in love with me? Be a man and stand on that shit! Dana will be fine, its not like you've been the best to her anyway. I can be your secret until you're ready. I clearly don't have a problem with it. Hell, you can keep doing your thing on the side too. Bitches like Julia don't scare me because you know where home is."

"Look, I would love nothing more than to have that with you but I can't. It's too risky and you know it. I'm a starter now and I'm trying to secure my biggest contract yet. That shit is gonna change my life, Dee. If it got out that we're together, it would be over. Controversy only works on tv and social media. I'm sorry."

"You always say that, yet you've risked it all every time we messed around. Moses knows. He hates me and definitely wasn't okay with it. What if he let it slip?" I said, as his phone rang again. "Oh my god, is she stalking you now?"

"No. She's waiting for me. I already talked to her when you were in the shower."

"So that's it? You're ready to spend the rest of your life with someone you barely love?"

"Don't do that. I never said no shit like that and you know it. You really think I put damn near six years into this without truly loving her? Come on now. She may not be the ideal choice, but it works. We can't always get what we want." *looks at his phone* "I gotta go. And yeah, about this...It ain't happening again. I fucked up, I'm sorry."

I hoped he'd turned around and realize the mistake he was making. Humph, but once that front door closed, I knew he wasn't coming back.

Just like the end of summer, freshman year, I was left heartbroken by his ass. I had been suppressing a lot while we went back and forth, only to have it all resurface yesterday. This love shit really feels different when its reciprocated...Damn it's not fair. After crying my eyes out, I grew angry. How does he get to play in our faces like this? I know I was wrong, but him?? I can't do these mental gymnastics again. I don't want to lose my sister but at this point it's gone too far. He did say "we all can't get what we want". She needs to know and he needs to pay. I'll find the right time to do it...Definitely before their wedding. Since I can't talk to anyone about him, music usually helps calm me down.

"Alexa, play Kill Bill by Sza..."

To Be Continued.......

Next

[snoutbleed]

THE EARTH SPITS WHAT SHOULD BE RETURNED

A chapter story for LAID TO WASTE, an occult setting. Mature content ahead.

"Something is in the dirt...unfortunately, it's not my enemies."

Chapter I ❯ THE SPRINT Chapter II ❯ THE RESPITE Chapter III ❯ ✫ Chapter IV ❯ Coming Soon Chapter V ❯ Coming Soon

III - THE MESSAGE

(1.3k words)

Maddox crumbled onto the bed and smothered himself with a pillow. He melted into the sheets, reveling in the newfound comfort that wasn’t a bed of leaves and concrete. It was good to act like he wasn’t on the run, but reality was always on the psyche. His chest raced as fast as his brain.

The dog’s mind continued, speaking to himself—speaking like it had a mind of its own. This time it wasn't even the pains. He couldn't force his brain to stop thinking about biting back if he tried. It automatically carded through thoughts regarding his next steps. And yet, all he could imagine was the road. Certainly, his captors began tracing a path, and a change in strategy was due.

His foot tapped impatiently as if could tempt new ideas on altering his path. He defaulted to thinking about the faces of those who demanded his head, relentlessly combing the woods for him—they were all led along by the rumors about the “mad dog that got run out of town.”

There was anonymity afforded by country, but once secrets worm in, they contaminate the locale like a disease. It didn’t matter where his new reputation originated once his name spread into local legend. All roads lead to the same place, it seems.

When Maddox looked up from his unsuccessful contemplation session, his eyes met the bathroom and the mirror hidden behind the door. He couldn’t shake off how he looked in the vending machine, and the reception’s description of a hoodlum didn’t help. Curious, he got up for the bathroom.

The mirror made eye contact with a peachy hound with eyes sunken into mottled sockets. His bony face was buried in groves of oily hair long due for a comb, let alone a shower. He swept some strands aside, identifying nicks on his cheek dealt by his tumble in the woods. He approached himself with weary eyes staring back at him, judging his every move. His heart tensed under an emotional microscope. The eyes were his but he couldn’t shake off his self-deprecation: his thuggish likeness was textbook. Those eyes contained no hints of friendliness, an emotional void occupied by the carnal instincts to endure and survive. His natural staring daggers were the very knives he brandished to keep strangers at arm’s length.

His skull pulsed. He winced away the ruminations. “Better standing,” the pain prompted him to murmur. The headache relented.

Maddox’s coat slid off his arms and fell to the ground. He proceeded to wriggle his arms out of his sweater, his gut reverberating at the kiss of cool air that previously wore on his expression.

Half of his abdomen was wrapped in bandages. The exposed skin was pocked with apricot tissue from wounds long forgotten. There were circles, lines, patchwork squares—a kaleidoscope of shapes that served as a tapestry to combat. At this point, Maddox knew the scars better than the fights he obtained them; he’d gotten into enough brawls to forget where most of these scars came from. He paused to contemplate a thick gash traveling right above his navel, going almost the entire length of his abdomen.

It was hard to remember how he got that in the first place—the most he recalled was a searing pain. Every wound represented a scuffle he entered with someone like himself, unfortunate enough to cross his path and pay with their life. They reminded him of survival at costs putting him deeper into moral bankruptcy. What a joke, he thought, declaring there came a point where the debt became so tremendous he was incapable of repaying it in a lifetime.

For once, thinking about the blood set his heart into a race—it tried to outpace the guilt. His conscience strained until a sudden pulse forced the bad thoughts into the back of his head. His little friend never failed to overpower his inner voice. Aloud, he thanked them for prolonging his ignorant bliss. He couldn’t keep convincing himself that the beaten road gave him actual reason to keep going. Too sworn to voices that weren’t his.

Tired eyes exchanged glances with Maddox, then swapped to a pair of tweezers on the counter. He couldn’t complain about who he was indebted to. And as far as he could tell, this was the only master who offered any semblance of guidance. He required more directions than a map could give—he needed those tweezers.

As Maddox raised the tool to the side of his head, he focused on the disheveled mutt that barely resembled him. Stringy hair hung over a tense expression devoid of everything but guilt.

The dog’s heart jumped. He couldn’t calm himself no matter how many times he did this, but he needed to.

Maddox shoved the tweezers into his ear. Pains in his mind screamed for answers as much as his chest screamed for him to stop. He didn’t. The canal narrowed around the steel, eliciting a grimace as he felt discomforted by exploring himself. When the tweezers dug in fully, he waved the apparatus in a circle. Maddox bit down on his teeth hard enough to make his gums sore. He tapped a bud and colors flashed in the corner of his vision. These were the answers he desperately needed.

The tweezers bit down. Maddox’s mind screamed: his migraine burst to the edges of his skull. He kept biting down, braving the pain with lips strained to his corners as he gently, slowly fished wetness from his canal. His surroundings switched between flashing colors all the while, as if his mind struggled to overwrite the part of his brain he pulled out.

To his left, the flashes of color darkened into a vignette—and to his right, his vision calmed.

A red tendril came to fruition, and so did the bony tip of a deer's snout to his left. The more Maddox fished the leech out of his head, the skull pulled closer, revealing skeletal contours, sigils carved into those same crevices, and more closely, a million teeth.

He puppeteered the entity right up to his left ear, the jaws of death an inch away from his face. There, he held the worm in place. It wriggled in the air.

The pain calmed and Maddox could give his undivided attention to that specter in the glass. Its reflection surpassed the mirror. When he batted an eye—past the titanic skull—he saw that side of the room shrouded in void.

“Give me my next steps,” Maddox demanded, reestablishing eye contact with himself. “After this, what next?”

The maws of the skull didn’t open. Rather, a voice croaked in Maddox’s mind: it answered, “the road goes in one direction,” in a ghastly croak that bellowed off the walls.

Maddox’s brow narrowed. The dog shook his head, batting frustrated eyes. Some friend you are.

“I want to be keen on this process,” he replied firmly. “Everywhere I’ve gone is hell. Now give me an idea of where I’ve been going all this time.”

“The estuaries.”

He grumbled, “so…the coast…that’s going to be a walk.”

“The road goes in one direction,” the entity croaked.

Maddox’s brow narrowed. He opened his mouth to bark but the entity’s voice overpowered the one in his head.

“Steer yourself forward,” the skull rumbled. “There’s no other direction for everyone on this path. Their only deviances are the time they take to arrive at their conclusions. Faster you go, faster you can mend this.”

“More time for me to prepare putting them in the ground.”

A guttural laugh echoed. Maddox's breath bounced, but he hid the intimidation behind a stony expression.

“End of the line for you, but it’ll bring the hunters into your fire.”

Maddox sighed. He batted his eyes at the skull, even though he was uncertain in dispelling the odd future. “Onward, then.”

He released the tweezers and the worm reeled back into his ear - it squelched right back into his brain. The dog grimaced, still not used to the discomfort of his new friend slithering around his skull.

“I don’t care if you win, so long as the Devereuxs lose,” Maddox added.

A pulse rang through his skull - his friend’s way of acknowledging the message. He couldn't think about pulling the leech out entirely and freeing himself from those irritating aches.

The leeches are feasting on CHAPTER IV, check back when they're full...

[morvantmortuary]

Heyy, I just wanted to ask you this question because it’s been bothering me for a long time. Do you think the Morvants would love still love their reader if they were ugly? I know that ugly is a word that is thrown around a lot but I mean it. Someone who is not conventionally attractive at all, who is not the desired version of plus size. Someone who has a big tummy, big thighs but not a round ass. Someone who is fat not thick. Someone who is not wanted by anyone. Would the Morvants still love them? Someone like me? I’m sorry if this is depressing I just can’t get out of my head and I hate the thought of my comfort people not loving me. Either way thank you for bringing them to life and letting us read about them ❤️❤️

I'm sorry this took me so long, sweetheart -- I've been caught between coordinating ongoing events at work with a whole learning curve, dissertation prep, and then a migraine swept my feet out from under me this morning, so I've just been trying to get my shit back together lmao. but I've been thinking about it since you sent it in. <3 I almost wanted to save this to be part of something I'm going to try to do coming up, (*knocking loudly on wood*), but I didn't want to leave you hanging.

short answer first to alleviate any anxiety: yes, absolutely, 100% without a doubt. once you're their person, you are their person, and nothing will change that -- not aging, or weight shifting, or any of the things that come with having a body and being mortal, okay?

I'll put the rest under a cut, because you got me talking a little on something I'm kind of sensitive about too <3

allow me a quick digression: from a doylist perspective, I'm writing the Morvants as someone who's definitely also on the curved stomach/big thighs/plush upper arms/saggy boobs side of things, along with some really frustrating skin that's prone to breakouts at the drop of a hat and other things about myself that lowkey stress me out on the daily. and we are just as worthy of love and desire and affection as anyone else, I promise you. <3 you do not have to be society's idea of beautiful to be worthy of love, or to be a good person. I'm sure you already know this, but I'm repeating it specifically just so you hear it, okay?

"ugly" is entirely subjective -- I'm also someone who isn't conventionally attractive, shall we say -- but I know we are our own meanest critics. I won't fight you on the word if it's one you've embraced, as I know everyone has a different relationship with it, but I will say I bet you're not giving yourself enough credit, honey. people do not have to be conventionally pretty to be worthy of love or a good life, I cannot emphasize that enough. we both deserve that, and we’re gonna get it, goddammit.

and you know something else? conventionally pretty changes every couple decades, and imho usually kind of sucks anyway. I think of being "ugly" as being memorable, distinct. we will never be duplicated, or in danger of looking like everyone else in our time. we're both a manifestation of history's crooked smiles and crows' feet and noses in interesting shapes. that's the kind of shit artists would want to sketch, baby, that's the fun part of being alive.

and circling back to that shifting standards bit -- I promise you there's a lot more classical statues that look like you and me than a lot of what you see on the image/video-dependent apps nowadays, okay? don't forget that. we've been the models for divinity for centuries now, as hard as it is to remember when the waistband of your jeans leaves a mark behind when you take them off like a regular mortal.

plus, there's the old saying about how your features are actually proof that people have loved people who looked like you for generations now. or the myth that your face was actually the face of the person you loved the most in your last life. on the days I'm feeling exceptionally self-critical, I find that one helps: that I've been left with the stewardship of the face of the person I adored more than anything, who meant so much to me in another lifetime that I might not still remember their name, or the sound of their laugh, but they imprinted onto me still, and I owe it to them to take care of it even if I can't bring myself to do it for me.

('rae you're delusional.' I might be. but here we are at the romantic necromancer blog, so it had to come from somewhere!!)

but anyway, you're not here for all that, you're here for the necromancers, so I'll get to those. thanks for humoring me, though ;3 and I hope it helped at least a little, maybe!

If you remember from the October Arc, a lot of Maxi and his Reader falling in love are them finding someone who feels just as out-of-place in the world as they do. When he meets you, he relishes the idea that he finally has someone he can be completely open with — not having to hide his dark sense of humor for the sake of propriety, someone who won’t think he’s weird or gross for being as fascinated by death and the horrible, beautiful parts of it as he is in his position. (A lot of morticians he knows will quickly say they’re not a morbid weirdo obsessed with death, just a normal person who does a job — he is definitely the aforementioned weirdo they’d like to distance themselves from. Who wouldn’t be, with his upbringing?) When he first falls for you, it’s because he’s realizing that after a lifetime of thinking he could only ever be alone (both due to his powers and his particular grimly sunny disposition), there was finally, really, someone who understood. Someone who doesn’t shy away from him in his more vicious turns, who isn’t going to pull back at the last minute when they see beneath the suit and the calmly professional exterior he shows to the rest of the town. It’s exhilarating. He never wants to lose that, and he’d do anything to keep you — to keep you his, and to keep you whole, healthy, and happy. He’s in love first and foremost with the person he knows to be his literal soulmate, the person he trusts with his heart after so long, and your body is precious to him because it keeps you both on the mortal plane. However you choose to adorn it, ornament it, or whatever designs are written into your genetics, it’s something he’s going to adore. But even outside of that — he would love you in any form you took, any change you decided to make, because it’s you. It’s always going to be you, and you’re his. And if he’s being totally honest, he hand to god has a thing for bigger people. It’s partly due to his specialization with flesh, compared to Rora’s bone and Hex’s ectoplasm, but also because he just finds it really, really attractive when someone has some extra pounds. He’s spent a lifetime around bodies that offered no comfort - be it very little warmth or affection from his living family, the cooling bodies of the mortuary in various states of decay, or the warped, broken horrors of the things still half-alive in the basement. His own body has been a source of stress (being lanky and soft in places at the same time all his life), of pain (growing up is hard enough, growing into a body that shapes itself to the needs of a demon doesn’t help), or of bitterness on his part (we’re going to learn more about why he re-opened the scar on his chest at some point). Your body, for whatever flaws you find with it, is something he associates completely with sweetness. He finds comfort in its shape, the way it moves, the way it feels under his hands. You’re entirely alive; your body works to keep you so. It’s a creature dedicated to keeping you here with him, so how could he not be devoted to it? He’s fascinated by all the parts of yourself you’re most concerned about, because it not only makes you something one of a kind (something he thinks of as his and his alone, in his darker, more possessive moments), but he’s also terribly taken with the softer parts of you. In your more intimate moments, he relishes the contrast between the pair of you - you’re unmistakably there, you take up space and ground him with the reality of your presence. (He gets a little carried away being clingy sometimes: whether it’s his hands over every inch of skin he can touch, squeezing the flesh he so adores, biting a little too eagerly at the softest parts of you where you’ll feel the marks later and remember him. Especially your thighs. He’s a thigh man at heart, always.) You’re always his darling, and he looks forward to watching you grow into your old age with him, however you change. Change means life, and he wants to linger on this side of the Veil with you as long as both of you possibly can stay. Watching you gain wrinkles, go gray, your weight shift around — it’s a privilege, and he treats it as such. You’ll have forever on the other side, he knows that. He’s not worried about that. It’s that the two of you can only do this part once, and he wants to make sure you enjoy it as much as possible. Until both your bones are in the family crypt, or ashes are mingled in the same secret place, he’ll love you and whatever your body looks like.

Hex doesn’t love in half-measures. When he’s into you, he’s all in. As we’ll see in his arc, he can’t always put his finger on what initially draws him to someone. But usually, he saw something in the most interior parts of yourself, your very soul’s essence, first. A glimmer of it caught his eye somehow — its color, its light, some facet of you that’s sewn through the entire fabric of your being. Whatever the sign was, he would follow it until he found you… And when he found you, saw you for the first time, your looks would be a matter of interest, certainly. But he wouldn’t be searching you for any kind of lack. He has no mental version of you to compare the real you with, no expectations. Your body is you, through and through, but what you are only complements what he’s already seen. He’s only looking at you to see the things he already knows he’s going to fall in love with. He sees your body as the backdrop onto which your Self is projected. (He would love Judith Butler if he read them ever lmao.) He’s fascinated with the little ways you manifest in your physicality: your geometry of your teeth, and how they’re arranged in your smile; how light plays on the fullness of your face; the precise way your belly moves when you laugh. The way you dress, walk, what you do with your hands when you talk. The way you move through the world is pageantry to him when it’s instinct to you. It’s something to be savored, because it only happens once. Hex knows what it’s like to be shy about certain things; he’s never been very confident in words alone, because people can say anything, only their actions will speak true. But looks, to him, are part of the factual, real world he can see. (Ironically, he’s one of those guys who very much believes in what he sees in front of him — he can just see way, way more than most people can.) You can make changes, or stay exactly as you are, and he will automatically accept that as part of the truth that is You. He also knows what it’s like to not be the blueprint that everyone else wants to look like, but he feels like there’s no point in stressing about that. Does your body bring you comfort when you sleep next to him, or when you eat the food he makes for you? Do you feel happy and free when you dance together? Do you like it when he touches you (there, and there, and…)? If the answer to all of these is yes, he figures, then why worry when you don’t have to? That’s easier said than done, though, he knows. But he will remind you, in a thousand ways, how he loves you for exactly how you look now. Your shape is the shape you were always going to come into his life with, he sees no reason to think about you in another. Your hair was always going to look that way in the light, your eyes were always going to be that color. Why would he ask one of the ancient oak trees outside to change the arrangement of its branches? Why would he ask the sun to be a different color when it sets? You are just as constant as that, to him. You don’t have to be beautiful by everyone else’s standards to be a force of nature that shapes his days. Whenever you cut your hair or switch your clothes or anything else, it’s just like the golden or blue hours to him — something he counts himself lucky to witness. Of the trio, he’s the ass guy, sure, but that means he’s smitten with what’s there. You are most attractive to him when you’re happy, and he only wants to make you happier when he holds you, and shows you exactly how you make him feel, with his hands or his lips or his tongue or— even, yes, the inconstancy of words. He doesn’t want you to think about how you look when the two of you are together, he only wants you to think about how you feel, and how good he feels with you. But he will do his best, always, to make you understand how much he loves your mortal self and everything it encompasses, until the pair of you cross through the Veil and shed your corporeal forms. (He can kind of do that now, tbh, and he’s more than happy to put it to use in some… very interesting ways if you’d be down with it.)

Rora makes it no secret that she loves that you’re not just another doll in a world that demands them. She has a hard, angry relationship with the idea of beauty standards in that she wishes she could set all phone cameras on fire at the same time. She thinks the modern world is mad for what it did to itself, how people have just made it that much harder for everyone to just exist, and it was already hard enough before she accidentally opened her own throat. She is indeed lovely in a nightshade kind of way, and she will acknowledge this when you both are sharing hard feelings, but the idea of beauty and desirability caused her nothing but pain when she was young. She’s a lot like you in the sense that she only sees what she’s missing: she was never the blonde, buxom type. She was never the southern belle that her parents had hoped for, or the perfectly feminine little mini-me that Mathilde had dreamed of for decades (and made no effort to hide her disappointment when Rora didn’t turn into that girl overnight). She wasn’t pretty in the right way her father needed to see her as an effective bargaining chip. She spent her entire first life feeling like she was made all wrong for what was expected of her. She has a loose relationship at times with her own gender, both because she’s doing things again in a borrowed mortal shell, and because she feels at times more like a creature than anything else. But she loves you. She loved you from the minute she first saw you — she loved your skin with any marks that might be there, the particular set of your mouth under your nose, the parts of you that move whenever you aren’t thinking about them. From your hair follicles to your fingernail beds, you were something she found wholly lovely in just how singular you are. You are the only version of you she’s ever seen. You are a rarity. Even in the most common parts of yourself, they’re a combination she hasn’t seen on anyone else her entire life. You look real to her. You look whole, and alive, and like a person who is allowed to just be. You move through the world as yourself, one of a kind, and there’s a part of her that, even now that she’s gained her independence, desperately envies that. Rora’s love is the kind of obsessive where she almost wants to set you on a stool like an artist’s model and study you up close. She wants to make notes about the places where your skin changes color, she wants to look at how your flesh settles into itself. You got folds, or rolls? She wants to get as close to them as she can, look at them like how soft-serve ice cream swirls into itself or a nautilus shell curls around. She wants to look at every bruise or old scar or stretch mark and take in the patterns of your life that has written yourself there. She wants to look at you naked like you would count the rings of a tree to see what the weather was like each year of its life, or like a big cat lounging in the sun. You are just as wild to her, and natural, and beautiful. …And then she wants to throw aside her notebook where she’s cataloguing every piece of you and eat you alive, but just in the fun way. Rora is the boob person of the three, and she is obsessed with yours if you have them/like people touching them. It doesn’t matter what size they are, if they sag, where your nipples point, she’s going to spend an absurd amount of time with her face in them whenever you’re shirtless. She’s just as bad about getting overexcited as her twin, and might bite or suck a little too hard at times, but she’s just enchanted by you. You are the earth itself made manifest to enjoy the sunshine and the breeze in the garden, and you have given her the supreme gift of deciding you like her too. She couldn’t not be in love with you if she tried. She understands our relationships with our bodies are complicated, but she is always on your side. She’d blind the entire town with a butter knife if it meant you felt more comfortable just sitting in the cafe with her. But she understands that the prison time for that is pretty hefty, so she’ll settle for refusing to let you talk bad about yourself.

I know this took a minute, and I’m sorry again love, but I hope it gives you what you needed. <3 Just know that I’m right there with you, but I would still rather us look like you and me than anyone else. Fuck the people trying to sell us something, we’re marvels as we are.

[mothdapple]

hi!! i just finished reading cold bloodlines and am curious to hear more!! answer as many or as little of my questions as you'd like; no pressure!

how did you come up with this story? how has it developed and changed since its inception?

what does the future hold for lizardstrike, dampfang, newtkit/mistkit, &/or pineshade?

do you have any scenes that were scrapped? little fun bits or plotlines you couldn't fit in?

how did you think of the old shadowclan traditions?

any fun bits of trivia you have about the characters?

Thanks so much for reading and for the questions!! I'll try to answer as much as I can :)

(For anyone reading this who hasn't read or finished my Warriors fanfiction Cold Bloodlines, this answer contains various SPOILERS for the entire fic.)

how did you come up with this story?

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the very first idea that inspired this story centered on Frostmask and Paledusk's relationship. Basically, I wanted the main antagonist to be the main character's father, who was toxic and manipulative, and the story would end with the main character realizing the truth of his nature and defeating him.

Other key ideas I had from the beginning included Swoopstrike as Frost's mentor, and their improving relationship up until his ultimate death. The Autumn/Frost romance and the family they have together was also in the plans from the get-go to act as a parallel/foil to Frostmask's relationship with Paledusk. (Comparing their healthy and supportive love to Paledusk's conditional and manipulative "love.")

The other really central idea I had starting out was just that I wanted this story to ultimately be about finding a home/community/family.

how has it developed and changed since its inception?

Oof a lot lol. While the core of the story I mentioned above remained intact, so many more ideas grew out of it. For example, characters like Pepper and Salt didn't exist in my very first outline, and other characters like Pineshade had much more minor roles.

Initially, I'd conceived of this fic as being a much shorter story, but I definitely got swept away by these characters, their web of relationships, and all the side plots that built up to the main one. That's how this fic that I'd thought would be less than 100k words turned into a 450k word trilogy.

what does the future hold for lizardstrike, dampfang, newtkit/mistkit, &/or pineshade?

(Note that while these are my thoughts, I don't necessarily consider them "canon" since they aren't written in the fic. So you are more than free to imagine something different if you prefer!)

Lizardstrike has a long and happy life as a warrior, eventually becoming mates with his long-time friend Cedarfur :)

In the days after Dampfang leaves ShadowClan, he is pretty beat-up, which leaves him very injured in the unclaimed land in the space between ShadowClan territory and Highstones. Some kind loners/rogues that live in a barn in the area stumble upon him and pity on him. Despite his hostilities to them, he is too weak to resist their assistance, and their charity ultimately saves his life.

Afterward, Dampfang attempts to live on his own for a bit, but he finds it difficult both for practical reasons and because he'd spent his entire life living with other cats and is lonely. He ends up living with the small loner group. His experience as a rogue/with these rogues forces him to develop some empathy for them, and he slowly lets go of his hatred.

After he goes through this growth, him rejoining ShadowClan at some point down the line isn't completely out of the question, although I doubt it would happen while Sedgestar was still leader.

Newtkit and Mistkit's warrior names are Newtspots and Mistpool, but I honestly don't have a ton of thoughts at this moment about their futures specifically.

Pineshade and Murmurstep do officially become mates, and when Sedgestar loses his last life a few years after the end of the fic, Pineshade becomes Pinestar. Pinestar asks Frostmask if she will be her deputy, and after having spent several years as a normal warrior, Frostmask is ready to take on that responsibility again and support her friend, so she accepts. They make a very good team leading ShadowClan for many more years, but when Frostmask passes, it is ultimately Dawnstar (the leader of ShadowClan when SkyClan is exiled from the forest. She is not born by the time the fic ends) who becomes deputy and succeeds Pinestar.

do you have any scenes that were scrapped? little fun bits or plotlines you couldn't fit in?

Hmm there were several little things that I ended up scrapping, but the thing that is immediately coming to mind is the prophecy/vision given to Clearstream at the very start of the fic.

"I was walking through an unfamiliar forest covered in snow. I could not hear or scent any other cat," Clearstream said. "Suddenly, a large, white owl swooped over my head. I could tell it was hunting, and I was frightened for a moment since I was alone, and it could easily decide I was prey. But then I heard a voice speak 'ShadowClan does not need to fear the snow,’ and suddenly my pelt was warmed. All our clan-mates were clustered around me. We were keeping each other warm and safe, and the owl flew away."

Originally, that was going to be a bigger deal about Frostmask and her role in aiding ShadowClan by defeating Paledusk. The wording of the prophecy used to be more obviously about an individual cat (Frostmask,) saying 'ShadowClan does not need to fear the snow. From the cold, great strength soars.'

But when I decided that I wanted to keep StarClan's involvement in this story to a minimum, the vision became a much more minor plot point that was mostly about ShadowClan supporting each other through this difficult time, with only some vague hints about StarClan approving of ShadowClan accepting Frostmask ("ShadowClan does not need to fear the snow [aka: the frost]".) And, a bit of foreshadowing about Paledusk's threat. (At different points throughout the story, Paledusk is compared in the narration to a white owl, like the owl hunting Clearstream in the vision.)

Ultimately, I'm glad that I ended up changing this since like I said, I wanted very little StarClan shenanigans in this story. But, I also didn't want Cold Bloodline's premise to feel too much like Firestar's, with the outsider joining a Clan, along with a prophecy that they will end up saving it.

how did you think of the old shadowclan traditions?

As I mentioned above, it was important to me that ShadowClan felt like a rich, living, tight-knit community, so that's what first prompted me to try to think of more traditions to do that.

The traditions I came up with mostly came from me just trying to dig a little deeper into aspects of Clan culture which already exist in canon. For example, the Clans love having ceremonies about everything, so why shouldn't there be a more structured death ceremony/funeral, rather than simply just a vigil? I also thought a lot about the ShadowClan stereotypes, like being stealthy and independent, and tried to think of traditions that reflected those values. That's how I came up with things like the apprentice's night-time assessment, which is kept a secret from the young cats of the Clan so that it's a genuine surprise/test for them.

any fun bits of trivia you have about the characters?

Bingo, the kittypet who helps Frostmask navigate the twoleg-place, is a tribute to my childhood cat Bingo! The real Bingo was the most patient cat I've ever met in my life. He'd act grumpy, swishing his tail, while my siblings and I as very little kids pet/bothered him, but he never bit or scratched us. I tried to reflect his personality in the fic, with him seeming at times a bit grumpy and reluctant, but still being kind and immensely helpful for Frostmask.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Ask the Blorbos! Healthcare edition

@silvercaptain24 @factorialsfandoms

Wind: I’ll go first! I wanted to be a pirate when I was a kid. That way I could take all the bad guys out on my ship and steal their stuff! >:)

Legend: Pirates are the bad guys, genius.

Wind: That depends entirely upon your point of view. Anyway, I still haven’t given up on that dream.

Wild: You gonna be a respiratory therapist that steals things?

Wind: Only from the bad surgeons.

Time:

Wind:…Which you are not.

Warriors: I wanted to be whatever it took to get out of the foster system.

Sky, sheepishly: Same. But I always loved the idea of flying, so being a pilot was a big deal to me. I’m glad I got to do that.

Hyrule: I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be, just something that allowed me to travel wherever and feel free.

Legend: I wanted to be a mechanic like my uncle.

Hyrule: What changed?

Legend: Eh, long story. Somebody died, somebody got hurt blah blah I nursed them back to health and was like “yeah ok I like this too.” And when I looked up the possibilities, nursing had the most promising path. So many different opportunities and the like.

Warriors: Somebody died?? There’s a lot you’re glossing over in this story!

Legend: We don’t have to all spill our secrets, you know.

Everyone:

Time: I wanted to be a fairy when I was a kid.

Warriors: …? How does that work?

Time, smiling fondly: My father told me stories about the forest fairies, and I always loved the idea of spending my time in the woods away from the rest of the world, in an enchanted land where everything was safe. But reality came soon enough. After that I wanted to be the person who protected others, whatever that meant.

Wind: So then you became a surgeon!

Time:….Something like that.

Four: I considered going into biomedical engineering, but I decided that I wanted to be more directly involved in patient care. Feel like I’m making more of a difference this way. But I am still very interested in how the medical tools are made. Maybe someday I can blend the two together and work for a biomedical tech company or something?

Twilight, smiling fondly: Honestly, I wanted to just work on the family ranch.

Wild: Why didn’t you?

Twi: I did. But life has a way of sweeping you into things, and I got… swept.

Wind: Do you… do you want to go back to the ranch?

Twi: I miss it, yeah, but this is way too much fun to go back. Besides, things change, and… yeah. I love my family but after everything I’ve seen and done I’m not ready to just go back and settle, you know?

Everyone: *stares at Wild expectantly*

Wild: *sweating* Uhhh… I—when I was a kid…. *glanced at me* spoilers??

Legend: Oh, brother, how did you get specific questions?

Warriors, smirking: Because I’m just that popular.

Twi, rolling his eyes: Attention is the last thing you need.

Warriors: Well, you can be as jealous as you like. Anyway! Favorite book. Hmm. I honestly like history books a great deal, especially war history. I think my war periods differ from yours, though, so I’ll settle for something else and say that my favorite non history book to read was The Hobbit. I used to read it to Wind during the war.

Wind: I love that book! :D

Sky: Me too! Though I don’t think I ever got through the whole thing…

Wind: You didn’t, because you went AWOL!

Time: We’ll have to rectify that.

Warriors: Yes, we will. As for favorite patient, I don’t know if I have a specific favorite patient so much as a favorite type. Namely, the kind of patient that fits two conditions. One, they have a legitimate reason to be in my ER and two, they’re polite and don’t lie to me.

Hyrule: Honestly, you can get away with just about anything if you’re polite and appreciative about it.

Warriors: True. Though wastes of resources still get on my nerves. But anyway, third question. My least favorite piece of equipment is the vocera.

Legend: YES

Hyrule: Oh, those phone things that hang on you like a badge?

Warriors: Yes. These little monsters are supposed to make your life easier. You press a button and you can call anyone in the department. But they never freaking understand what you’re saying, so they’re pointless.

Legend: Last time I tried to use it I said “call ED Charge Nurse” and she tried to call some random transplant coordinator from a clinic.

Warriors: Like I said. Pointless.

Four: My favorite thing to do with vocera is tell it to log off and it can’t even get that right.

Wild, laughing: He was ready to throw it across the nurse’s station trying to log out the other day.

[desultory-suggestions]

it's been hard for some time for me. Weeks, months, the past 3 years. I am not finding any reason to hold on, to hang in there and it's so fucking hard. People say 'it was meant to be' and that feels like a knife, i don't know if all this pain, this intense struggle is meant for me, im 18 years old, I have an exam in 2 days, which is going to decide my entire life and I'm crying here trying to find reason to simply stay in this goddamn planet and coming up with nothing and it's so fucking hard . Above all I want to do well in this test, desperately, but my mind is so fucked up right now it's honestly so hard to simply stay right here, and I feel like I'm going to mess up my life by myself and isn't that so fucking unfair because I want this so MUCH and everything decides to go shit right now when it matters

I'm so sorry for unloading all this on you

Hello, love. Thank you for reaching out. I know in times like this things can feel so hopeless, and it can become completely overwhelming to handle without some reassurance and support. First things first, no matter what happens with your test your worth will not change. You are a whole being, you are loved and you are important. You deserve joy in your life, and I know beyond this difficult period of your life there is so much love waiting to be found.

I'm going to assume this is an educational test, but please let me know if I am wrong. As someone with extremely specific goals that I want to achieve, I know how you can be swept up into how this is your purpose, how it is all that matters, and how any deviation from the plan will ruin it. I can also tell you that none of that has to be true. I planned my college education to a T. I knew exactly where to go, what degree, what specific field, and what timeline. That didn't happen. At first, it did, but life gets in the way and I got thrown off my track. I felt like my world was ending. If I couldn't do this, why should I even be here? But after all of that panic, I'm doing better than I ever was before. I still have the same goals, and while I am disappointed at times that my plan didn't work out I also have so many opportunities to appreciate that I never would have had otherwise. This is where it is so vital to separate your worth from one goal. If you fail the first time, you can try again, you can take a new route, and have a much better experience! But if your worth is based on how well you can do this specific thing, any hiccup will throw you for a loop. You are worth more than your accomplishments. You have your own unique experience, ideas, and interests. You have hobbies, friends, and personal goals. You are only 18, and you have so much life ahead of you to decide to do anything you want. You will grow and change in ways you can't even imagine today, and that is a beautiful thing.

But all of this aside, one thing is the most important. Your life matters, and if you are struggling with feeling depressed or even suicidal the most important thing is not any tests or achievements but getting the help you need. If you aren't healthy it will be infinitely harder to get through what otherwise you could do with enjoyment. Therapy is a vital tool for those struggling with depression, especially if there are factors such as adverse life events or traumatic experiences that may exacerbate the issue. Support groups are also a good option for those who need emotional support throughout their life, and often you can find a group for a very specific niche. I know that at this point it probably feels like it will never get better, but I promise that is not the case. With support and patience healing is possible. Reach out to those you are close with and explain honestly how you are feeling. Having comfort from those we love may not erase our struggles, but it can offer a space to breathe and feel safe. Little things will help you get through the bad days, and that's okay. Staying alive for your pet, your plant, that new show, a tasty food, or anything at all is a good reason.

You have a bright and happy future ahead of you. No one test will take away the years of wonderful experiences and love you will have. Please feel free to reach out for support at any time, whether it's for emotional support or educational advice. You are loved, you are important, and you will get through these difficult times.

-Evan

[staring-at-my-keyboard]

Rambling about my OCs!

Disclaimer: I may update/change a few things here on occasion

Brief rundown

Thomas and Atlas are romantic partners living in Fallen London, which is basically Victorian London: cosmic horror edition and also underground (from the browser game of the same name. You should give it a try)!

For those familiar, Atlas is based off my player character and Thomas is a combination of the Exquisite Beauty and the Master Jewel Thief with my own ideas thrown in.

They live in a shared apartment and pay rent through Atlas' artistic commissions and Thomas' only somewhat modest family wealth, along with his more illicit hobby of theft.

The setting, Fallen London

Like I said before, it's a slightly more horrific Victorian London, taking place specifically in 1899. It was stolen underground by bats over 30 years beforehand, and has since adapted to its new surroundings and rulers. The city and what surrounds it- the Unterzee, the scattered islands therein, the Elder Continent...- are in the Neath, which operates by different rules than the Surface when it comes to more abstract concepts like death and sanity. That is to say, they have a rather more transient nature.

Also, the Empress decreed London shall never pass into the 20th century, so it is always 1899.

I only comprehend about 1/5 of the lore and have only had this game for a year so please don't expect complete accuracy to the Neathverse in my writing.

Atlas

Pronouns: he/they

Gender:

Age: definitely somewhere North of 25, most likely somewhere South of 30 (he lost track)

Story: Not native to the Neath, he originally made his way downwards seeking to avenge the death of his brother, whose murderer he pursued to Fallen London. As he got swept up into chaotic city life, while hunting his brother’s killer he discovered his love for archaeology and investigation, along with a keen interest in the Correspondence. His studies and interests and occasional PI work, not to mention his entire reason for entering the Neath, lets little time for social conventions. His odd demeanor and questionable ability to properly dress for formal occasions leaves him with few friends and little tolerance from the wealthy. Nevertheless, he wound up firmly entrenched within the throngs of the upper echelons of the population rather on accident-- his self-published writings caught the attention of the right people, and his commissioned works kept it. Seen as a genius (and sometimes even believing it), writing novels and plays or composing orchestras for the Empress' Court becomes a large source of his income. However, he still never finds himself attaining the complete respect of high society— when independent, he is as likely to publish a remarkable philosophical contemplation as he is to write a collection of sensational penny-dreadfuls, and his ability to navigate the labyrinthine tribulations known as polite conversation tends to randomly swing from breathtakingly charming to staggeringly uncouth, and everywhere in-between. He misses wind and Sunlight and flowers and rain, but refuses to regret his decision- he has already died and came back in the Neath, he cannot return to the Surface now.

Miscellaneous: he has incredibly frequent nightmares coupled by occasional lapses in reality. some call them "the burden of genius," he calls them "a bloody irritating ordeal of little meaning".

He has been stabbed 3 separate times for 3 separate reasons: once by an academic rival, once in a mugging gone wrong, and once by a serial killer.

Due to his studies of the Correspondence, a forbidden language that literally and figuratively burns, his hands are covered in scars.

Thomas

Pronouns: he/him

Gender: cis male

Age: 31

Story: Born in London less than a decade after the Fall, his family was perfectly content with the city's new situation and he, therefore, never experienced much interest in the Surface he had never experienced. A beloved socialite and heir to a fortune, he has been surrounded by the privileged and proper his entire life. As a result of this he is incredibly charismatic, often hiding his true opinions and feelings beneath a toothy smile and flattering remark. In reality he is quite fickle, and it is rare for him to come across someone whose company he genuinely enjoys. He garners frequent attention from the Empress' Court, his looks and comportment earning him the title of 'Alluring Scion' (formerly 'Acclaimed Beauty'). Growing bored of trivial Court politics, sick of constant scrutiny, and having read one too many crime thrillers, he found himself becoming an occasional jewel thief. Said pastime is also a method to exercise his intelligence in a manner more thrilling than inconsequential academic debate against those attempting to seem smarter than they are. He has little need for extra wealth, and only commits his acts of larceny for the sake of testing himself or pettiness-- whether that be by knocking jewelers he dislikes down a peg or assessing his capabilities against museums' security. He has little knowledge of the world beyond consuming art and innumerable banquets, fêtes, and soirées, having never had any need to emerge from his sheltered life.

Miscellaneous: he has insomnia, and an insatiable love of penny-dreadfuls, much to the scorn of his peers. So, most nights he finds himself up until the wee hours of the morning reading something with a questionably designed cover and even more questionable plot, and stacks of them are a lasting presence on his nightstand. Every street vendor knows him by name.

His parents having made him learn fisticuffs throughout his entire childhood combined with his current life means he is deceptively dangerous, and that despite his mien he can be impulsive to a physical degree when it comes to matters he cares about.

His parents also sold their souls before he was born for the sake of wealth and good standing with the powerful faction of Hell.