#it was real but i structured it like a story

[unveiling-unguarding]

Let's fix the story of Dragon Age: The Veilguard pt. 1 - Prologue

I have spent the last week-ish just stewing and thinking about all the things that bugged me about Veilguard's story. Things I knew would bug me going in, having seen the gameplay reveal of the intro mission, but thought would fade as the game got over the hump of an awkward start. Nope.

This game, unfortunately, has such massive structural problems that I need to try to rework the basic skeleton of the narrative for my own sanity. So while my first instinct would quite frankly be to scrap the whole premise of what we got, I'll stick to doing some amateur developmental editing.

First things first, Bioware seems to not understand why people have wanted origins back in Dragon Age and are content to give lip service to various backstories without implementing the real reason people loved them - they mattered narratively, were intrinsic to the plot and various subplots, and provided solid character motivation at the very beginning of the story. For example, the human noble origin starts your warden's story off with the betrayal and murder of your parents at the hands of supposed close friend Arl Howe. So now you have very personal motivations to leave your home, become a Grey Warden, and be an active participant in the political landscape of Ferelden. Same goes for each of the origins you can play, each of which introduces the player to subcultures and subplots important to the setting.

Like Veilguard, Inquisition didn't do well with this, but it was fine since the real narrative hook for why the player's character becomes the protagonist is them gaining the anchor and stepping out of the fade in the wake of a world-altering calamity under uncertain circumstances. And most importantly, the game allows you to roleplay how your character feels about the whole thing. Rook, on the other hand (heh), is a character who only gets a short paragraph, functionally identical no matter the faction, about pissing off their higher ups before being recruited by Varric. Supposedly, Rook travels with Varric and Harding for the better part of a year before the game takes place, a timeframe we only learn a couple hours into the game.

This is all coupled with some painterly cutscenes where Varric gives us the lowdown on Solas and his plans. Which is fine, but does the bare minimum and gives our player character no personal stake in the story. We are left to infer our pre existing relationship with Varric (and Harding) and our Rook's reasons for stopping Solas. You can kind of define those reasons later on, but they are rather shallow and the game does not give them their due emphasis. Not to mention this comes at a point in the story I'd argue is way too late.

What should have happened to start the game was a mission that allows us to both define Rook's relationship with Varric and their stake in the story. You could conceivably come up with any number of specifics for this prologue mission, so I'll forgo getting too into the weeds, except to say that it should in some capacity involve Solas' agents that were seen and hinted at during Trespasser. Since the game insists on allowing Rook to be from one of six factions (a seeming holdover from the pivot away from a live service model for the game), the game should start off with a mission about narrowing Solas' ritual location down. Allow us to banter with Varric about the months leading up to that moment. Allow us to elucidate our feelings on what Solas plans and our taking leave from our faction. This would provide a great opportunity for have race or faction reactivity upon learning he was last seen in Minrathous, whether you're an elf or qunari hesitant to go to place that is generally hostile toward people like you or a shadow dragon eager to return home.

This would be a perfect lead in to contacting Neve Gallus for help and the existing opening mission, if you absolutely have to keep it in the game. I am still annoyed about John Epler stating that they wanted the beginning of this game to feel like the ending of a previous game. Why? That's the opposite of how a story should start. A story should start at the beginning, especially when one of their stated goals was to onboard new players to Dragon Age. It hamstrung them into leaving our main character's connection to Varric and the plot nebulous and undefined while they felt the need to shove in extremely awkward and on the nose exposition to tell the player about the veil, Solas, and ancient Elvhenan. Let the beginning of your story breathe, goddamn it.

Next up we'll talk about how the story handles Varric and why it's such a stupid fucking plot twist.

[ye4gerz]

escape room - lee haechan

‧˚⭒ pairing: ghost!haechan x afab!reader. mdni! adults only. ‧˚⭒ genre: thriller!au, strangers to lovers, soulmate!yandereau! angst, smut! ‧˚⭒ word count: 6.1k (sorry it’s long!) ‧˚⭒ warnings: voyeurism hc, fingering, oral(f receiving), dirty talk, slight nipple play, choking, multiple orgasms, swearing, obsessive hyuck, mentions of death, dom hc x sub reader. ‧˚⭒ starring: haechan, johnny, ten, mark, reader. ‧˚⭒ summary: when you and your friends sign up for an extreme escape room, you expect clever puzzles and a few jump scares– not real danger. as you navigate eerie traps, the game takes a turn, and suddenly you find yourself separated from the group, alone. at least that’s what you thought, unaware of the familiar shadow lurking besides you.

a/n: hiii everyone, i hope those who read enjoy! this is my first story in years so i’m sorry if it’s not as detailed as could be but hopefully i improve the more i continue to upload. as said before this story is for adults only if i find any minors on my account i will block you. i’m open to feedback or any ideas for future stories. enjoy!

The eerie notes from the piano grow louder, filling the cramped room with an unsettling melody. From the corner, an old record player spins on its own, crackling as it fills the air with static. The noise gradually morphs into a faint whisper, words barely audible over the static.

"Time has just begun."

A chill creeps up your spine. You glance at the others, who stand on edge, their eyes darting around the room as the unsettling atmosphere takes hold. You’d exited the car only minutes earlier, arriving at what was supposed to be an ordinary escape room. As you step toward the entrance, the air thickens with uncomfortable tension, the dim light only emphasizing the building's eerie charm. The old structure seems to exist outside of time, its walls drenched in shadow, barely touched by the weak glow of the single streetlight overhead.

"So this is it? It looks... ancient. You sure you got the address right?" Johnny asks, his voice laced with doubt as he studies the rundown building in front of him.

"Address checks out," Ten replies, glancing down at the map on his phone, then back up at the dark, decrepit building. "This is it, apparently."

Mark shivers, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. "Can we just go inside? My fingers are freezing off," he mutters, eyeing the doorway.

"Mark's right," Johnny chimes in, rubbing his hands together. "Let's just make sure it's still open."

Without further discussion, you all follow Johnny into the building. Inside, a dim, red-hued glow bathes the narrow hallway, where an old wine-colored carpet leads to a black wooden desk at the far end. A single lamp beside the desk casts long shadows against the walls, and the red, tilted lampshade gives the whole scene an otherworldly air.

Behind the desk stands a tall, gaunt man in a navy velvet suit, his frame sharp and dignified. His hair is slicked back with a single blonde strand hanging loose over his forehead. Black leather gloves cover his hands, and his eyes are blank and empty, as if devoid of emotion. He moves with precision, carefully placing a pen down on the desk before turning his attention to your group.

"May I help you?" he asks, his voice smooth, his smile revealing a dimple on his cheek as he flips open a worn booklet filled with room reservations.

Ten steps forward, excitement bright in his eyes. "What's the scariest room you've got here? Something not a lot of people have beaten."

The man's eyes glint with something that looks like amusement—or perhaps a warning. "Room 13," he replies. "It's... challenging. Few have managed to escape. Are you sure you want to proceed?"

You exchange glances with the others, an unspoken agreement passing between you all before Ten grins confidently and says, "Absolutely. We'll take the challenge."

The man inclines his head, pulling a large, iron key from a drawer. "As you wish," he murmurs, stepping from behind the desk. "Follow me."

He leads you down a narrow hallway lined with doors, each one different in design and shape, some small and round, others tall and rectangular. Your footsteps echo ominously as you walk, the creaks in the floor whispering warnings you can’t quite decipher. Finally, you reach the end of the hallway, where a massive, medieval-style door looms in front of you, its iron handle weathered and cold to the touch. The keyhole is unlike any you've ever seen.

The man unlocks the door with deliberate slowness, pausing to glance at each of you, his gaze assessing. "Are you certain you want to enter?" he asks, his voice almost mocking.

Ignoring his subtle warning, you nod along with the others, eager to continue.

Once inside, you find yourself in a dim, unsettling room. The walls are covered with crooked paintings, each one depicting strange, shadowy figures and bleak landscapes. A dusty piano sits in one corner, and a cracked baby doll lies slumped in an old rocking chair, one eye half-shut, its mouth slightly open as if caught mid-scream. The thick, worn red rug beneath your feet has frayed edges, adding to the room’s eerie atmosphere.

"This is beyond creepy," you mutter, glancing warily at Ten. "Your ideas are always a bit much, but this..."

"Before we begin," the man interrupts, capturing your attention, "there are rules to follow. You have ninety minutes to find your way out. Clues are hidden within the room, and they will lead you to your escape. Today's story follows a young man who lost his life in this room. If you free his spirit, he will grant you your escape."

He pauses, eyeing you all seriously. "If time runs out... well, then you've lost."

Ten scoffs, brushing it off. "So, we either win or lose. No big deal, we got this."

The man nods slowly, though you catch a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "One more thing: you get three hints, should you require assistance. If an emergency arises, call my name... Jaehyun."

Your eyes linger on him one last time. "Well, thank you for the rundown, Jaehyun," you say, forcing a smile, your arms crossing as Jaehyun steps back toward the door, the iron key in his hand.

Without another word, Jaehyun closes the door, and a distinct click echoes through the room as the lock engages.

“Wait… did he just lock us in?” Mark asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Relax, it’s just part of the setup,” Johnny replies, his voice casual. “It’ll unlock when we finish.”

Ten, brimming with excitement, claps his hands. “Alright, time’s ticking, guys. Let’s get to it!”

You exchange uncertain glances with the others but eventually begin searching the room, inspecting every corner and crevice. Dust settles on your clothes as you rifle through old books on the shelf, examine each creepy painting, and prod at the cracked doll.

After a few minutes, Johnny spots a series of letters framed on the wall, positioned slightly out of order. Squinting, he reads the faded words aloud:

"Entry 204, I found this nearby a sacred tree. A doll was looking out to the lake, the same lake she was last seen. Her body is gone, but her spirit will find its way back to me. —H.C"

A heavy silence settles over the group.

“Creepy,” Mark mutters, his voice uneasy. “But it’s gotta mean something, right?”

Ten nods, his eyes darting around the room. “Let’s check the doll. There might be a clue with it.”

You and the others gather around the broken doll, studying it closely. Just as you reach out to inspect it, the lights flicker, and the piano plays a single, haunting note, echoing through the room.

Your breaths hitch, unease creeping in as you realize this game might be far darker than any of you had anticipated.

Your breath caught as the note hung in the air, vibrating with a resonance that made the hair on your arms stand up. You exchanged a tense glance with the others, noting the flickers of doubt and unease on their faces.

"Did… did the piano just play on its own?" Mark asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny forced a laugh, though it sounded unsteady. "Probably just part of the scare tactics. They’re really going all out with the haunted vibe here."

You couldn’t shake the creeping dread seeping into your mind, and from the looks on their faces, your friends felt it too. What was supposed to be an ordinary escape room was starting to feel… wrong.

“Let’s just keep going,” Ten said, his voice more subdued now, as if he, too, was shaken. “We’re wasting time, and we’ve only got ninety minutes.”

Your attention returned to the cracked baby doll in the rocking chair, its glassy eyes staring blankly at nothing. Slowly, you leaned in closer, examining its face. One eye was half-open, almost lazily, while the other was wide and unblinking, giving it a disturbingly lifelike appearance. Gently, you lifted the doll, feeling something hard poke through a tear in its fabric.

“There’s something inside,” you murmured, glancing up at the others.

“What is it?” Mark asked, peering over your shoulder.

With a bit of effort, you pried open the small tear, pulling out a tiny brass key, its surface worn but unmistakably real. You held it up to show the group, the key catching a faint glint of the dim light.

“What’s this supposed to open?” Ten wondered, taking the key from your hand to inspect it.

“Maybe it’s for one of the drawers or the bookshelf?” Johnny suggested, already moving toward the old dresser across the room.

As the group tried the key on various locks, a low rumble echoed from somewhere behind the walls, making you shiver. The air felt colder, and the room seemed darker, as if the shadows themselves had thickened, pressing in around you.

After a few tense moments, Johnny tried the key on a drawer in the dresser, and it clicked open. Inside, he found a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age. Carefully, he unfolded it, squinting at the faded text before reading aloud:

"Look beneath the seat where nightmares rest, Where shadows linger and spirits test. The way is hidden, only for those, Who dare to face what fear bestows."

"Under the seat... where nightmares rest?" Ten repeated, glancing around the room. "What does that mean?"

"Maybe the rocking chair?" you suggested, nodding toward the doll’s seat. "It’s creepy enough to count as a ‘nightmare.’"

Mark crouched down beside the chair, reaching underneath it. His fingers brushed something solid—a loose panel. Slowly, he pried it open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was another key, this one larger and more worn, and a small, rolled-up map.

Johnny unrolled the map, and everyone crowded around, their faces growing tense as they took in the strange, labyrinthine layout sketched across the parchment. The map didn’t resemble anything you’d seen in the room so far. Instead, it showed a twisting series of rooms, corridors, and strange symbols that were foreign to all of you.

"Is this… part of the room?" Mark asked, glancing around, trying to align what you were seeing on the map with the space around you.

"There’s no way this room has more than one door," Ten said, frowning.

“Maybe there’s a hidden passage,” you suggested, though dread was gnawing at you. The idea of a secret path that led to who-knew-where made your skin crawl.

Ten, still undeterred, nodded. “Yeah, let’s look around. There might be more to this place than we thought.”

You and your friends spread out, examining every corner of the room, pushing against walls, lifting furniture, and inspecting every nook and cranny. Just as you ran your hands along the bookshelf, you felt a slight give beneath your fingers. You pressed harder, and with a slow, creaking sound, the entire bookshelf shifted, sliding aside to reveal a narrow, dark hallway beyond.

Everyone stared, a mixture of intrigue and unease settling over them.

“Okay,” Johnny breathed out, “this is beyond next-level escape room stuff.”

Mark hesitated, casting a wary look down the hallway. “Are we sure this is still part of the game?”

Ten, undeterred, gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “We’ve come this far. Let’s see where it leads.”

The group stepped into the passage, the narrow hallway closing in around you as the shadows seemed to deepen. The air was thick, almost stale, and the walls felt damp, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Your footsteps echoed through the silence, each one seeming to amplify the tension thrumming beneath your skin.

After a few minutes, you stopped, shining your flashlight down an unexpected fork in the path. “Which way?”

Before anyone could answer, a loud slam echoed behind you, making everyone jump. Spinning around, you saw that the passage behind had closed, sealing you in.

"No way," Mark whispered, running back to the door and pressing against it. But it didn’t budge.

“It’s probably just part of the game,” Ten said, though even he sounded uncertain.

“Left or right?” Johnny asked, glancing down each path. “Standing here isn’t going to help us.”

Without much choice, you picked the left path, leading the group deeper into the twisting hallways. But as you turned a corner, something unexpected happened—a force tugged you sharply by the arm, pulling you off balance. Before you could react, you found yourself separated from the others, pulled down a narrow side passage that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Guys!” you called out, panic rising in your voice.

You heard the faint sound of your friends calling back, their voices echoing, but they grew distant, fainter, until they vanished entirely. You were alone.

Your heart pounded as you steadied yourself, gripping your flashlight tightly. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The narrow corridor was cloaked in shadow, and you slowly raised your flashlight, scanning the dark space ahead. That’s when you saw him—a young man, standing just a few steps away, watching you with an intense gaze that sent a shiver down your spine.

He was tall, with dark, messy hair and sharp, striking features. His clothes were worn, his eyes shadowed and tired. Beyond the exhaustion, there was something else in his gaze—a quiet desperation, as though he’d been waiting for someone to find him.

"Are you… lost too?" you asked cautiously, not daring to step closer.

The man’s lips lifted in a small, weary smile. “You could say that. I’ve been here… longer than I can remember. It’s been a few days, give or take. I didn’t think I’d ever see another person again.”

Your pulse quickened. “Days? You’ve been trapped in here that long?”

He nodded, shadows dancing in his eyes. “One minute, I was here with some friends. The next, they were gone. Just like that.”

You swallowed, fear twisting in your gut. “My friends and I… we thought this was just an escape room, but nothing about this place feels right.”

He took a slow step closer, his gaze softening. “Maybe we should stick together. I’d hate for you to end up alone like me.”

You nodded slowly, relief flooding through you. “I’m Y/N.”

“Haechan,” he replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s find your friends and get out of here.”

With Haechan by your side, you ventured further into the maze of hallways, each step taking you deeper into the unknown. But as you walked, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that clung to you, a feeling that Haechan’s eyes held secrets he wasn’t willing to reveal.

All you can do is hope and pray you see your friends again.

The dim hallway stretches on in front of you, shadows clinging to the walls and making it difficult to see more than a few steps ahead. Every footstep feels heavy, the silence around you broken only by the occasional creak or groan from the aged structure. Haechan walks beside you, his presence oddly comforting amidst the overwhelming gloom, though something about him remains unsettling.

After a few minutes, you can’t help but ask, “So… how exactly did you get stuck here?”

Haechan lets out a small sigh, glancing over at you with a shadowed expression. “It’s a long story,” he replies. His voice is calm, almost too calm, and a shiver prickles at the back of your neck.

“We’ve got time,” you say softly, clutching your flashlight a little tighter. “If we’re going to find my friends and make it out, I should know what we’re dealing with and who I’m talking to.”

Haechan considers your words for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I was here with a group of friends, not unlike yours. We thought this was just an escape room—a haunted one, sure, but nothing dangerous. But once we entered, everything felt… wrong. Just like you’re probably feeling now.”

You nod, feeling a chill run down your spine. The thought that others had gone through the same confusion and fear unsettles you even more. “So what happened?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his voice dropping to a whisper. “At first, we tried to solve the puzzles, thinking it was all part of the game. But every clue we found led us deeper and deeper, to darker places that didn’t feel like they should exist. Eventually, we started getting separated. One by one, my friends disappeared… and I haven’t seen them since.”

His words hit you hard, your heart twisting with fear and sympathy. You imagine your own friends, separated from each other, wandering alone in these eerie, twisting hallways.

“Do you think… do you think your friends are okay?” you ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

Haechan is silent for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his tone is dark. “I don’t know, but this place… it’s haunted. It’s not a normal escape room. It’s something much worse.”

His words linger in the air, and a tight knot of fear forms in your chest. “Haunted? What do you mean?”

He glances at you, his eyes gleaming strangely in the dim light. “I’ve seen things here. Shadows that move on their own, voices that whisper in empty rooms… This isn’t a game. This place was created by people who wanted to watch others suffer, who find entertainment in fear and despair.”

A shiver runs through you as his words sink in. “So, they’re just… watching us? For their own sick entertainment?”

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “Exactly. They trap people here, turning their fear into a spectacle for whoever is watching. Once you’re here, it’s nearly impossible to leave, never able to see your loved ones ever again.”

You bite your lip, glancing around the dark hallway as anxiety gnaws at you. Your hands are shaking as you clasp them together, murmuring a silent prayer for your friends. The weight of your worry presses down on you, and you can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the hopelessness begins to creep in.

“Don’t worry too much, sweetheart,” Haechan says, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here with you. I’ll help you find your friends.”

You nod, giving him a small, shaky smile. His calm presence does ease some of your fear, though a part of you wonders how he can be so composed. But as you focus on his steady gaze, something flickers in his eyes, something you can’t quite place—a look of satisfaction, as though he’s pleased by your fear. For a moment, the corners of his mouth lift into a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

But when you blink, the expression is gone, replaced with a look of earnest concern.

You brush off the uneasy feeling, telling yourself it’s just the atmosphere of the place playing tricks on you. “So, you’ve really been here… for days?”

He nods, keeping his gaze trained on you. “More or less. Time feels different here. You start to lose track of it after a while. Some days, it feels like hours are slipping by in minutes, and other days, it feels like I’ve been wandering for centuries.”

You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. “That must be terrible. Being alone for so long… I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

His eyes soften, and he looks at you with a gentle intensity that sends warmth spreading through you. “It was… until now.”

You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, his words lingering in your mind. There’s something both comforting and unsettling about him, a duality that leaves you unsure of how to feel. He’s kind, attentive, a stranger nonetheless, but there’s a unusual shadow in his eyes, an intensity that you can’t quite shake.

As you walk further down the corridor, a sudden chill sweeps through the air, making you shiver. Haechan notices and steps closer to you, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re safe with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “I promise.”

But despite his comforting words, something about the way he says it feels… off. The reassurance feels too practiced, like he’s said it a thousand times before, knowing exactly how it would affect you. You glance at him, meeting his gaze, and you swear you catch another glint of amusement, almost like he’s enjoying your unease.

Shaking off the thought, you try to refocus on finding your friends. “Do you think… they’re okay? My friends, I mean.”

Haechan pauses, as if considering his answer. “Maybe. If they’re smart, they’ll find a way to keep moving, just like we are.” He gives you a comforting smile, but that flicker of darkness in his gaze hasn’t fully disappeared.

You murmur another silent prayer, hoping your friends are safe, wherever they are.

As you continue through the twisted corridors, a realization starts to dawn on you—something about Haechan’s demeanor doesn’t quite add up. The calmness, the knowing glances… It’s as though he’s hiding something, and each time you catch a glimpse of his eyes, it’s as if he’s letting a bit of the mask slip, showing you a side of him he’s trying to keep hidden.

Finally, unable to shake the uneasy feeling, you glance at him and ask, “You said you’ve been here for a long time… How have you managed to survive all this time? Isn’t there any way out?”

Haechan smiles, a strange, almost secretive smile that sends a new chill down your spine. “Oh, I’ve managed,” he replies vaguely. “I’ve learned a lot about this place. Enough to know that it’s better not to trust anyone. Not even me.”

You freeze, your heart racing as his words sink in. “What… what do you mean?”

He gives you a long, intense look, his expression unreadable. “I mean, you don’t know who or what you’re dealing with here. That’s part of what makes it so interesting, don’t you think?”

The realization hits you like a cold wave– you aren’t sure if Haechan is telling the truth, or if he’s been playing with you all along. But the look in his eyes, that glint of amusement and satisfaction as he watches your fear grow, leaves you with a terrifying suspicion.

This man, this stranger you’ve been trusting, isn’t lost like you are. He isn’t just another victim of this twisted game. He’s something else entirely, something far more dangerous– he's apart of the game.

As he steps closer, that smirk creeping onto his face once more, you realize that he doesn’t want to help you escape.

“What are you–” you begin, but Haechan shushes you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He leans in, his presence overwhelming as you find your back against the wall, and arms pressed above your head.

His smirk widens as he leans close, his voice soft but chilling. “This is your first challenge, sweetheart. Try to escape me.”

Your heart races, and without a second thought, you shove him off and sprint down the dark hallway, feeling his gaze burning into your back. At this point, you can’t focus on directions or clues; all you want is to find your friends and get back to safety.

From behind, his mocking voice echoes through the hallway, closer than you expected. “It’s too late, sweetheart. Your friends won’t be looking for you any time soon. You’re stuck with me, after years of being apart.”

Before you know it, his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you through a hidden door concealed by shadows. You stumble inside, disoriented by the sudden brightness. Unlike every room you’ve seen so far, this one is consumed by light, making you squint as your eyes adjust, your back resting on the padded floor.

Haechan’s smirk hasn’t faded. In the brightness, you take in his features more clearly—his sharp jawline, the glint in his dark eyes, the smirk playing at his lips. You hate to admit it, but his presence is overwhelming in an unsettling yet strangely magnetic way.

He hovers over you, his gaze locked onto you, his eyes roaming as though he’s savoring your unease. He leans in, brushing his lips close to your ear. “Don’t fight it,” he whispers. “This is where the real game begins.”

Before you know it, his lips are against yours, and you find yourself kissing him back. It feels insane, but something about him draws you in, almost as if you're under a spell, a force you can't resist.

He pulls away, his chest heaving, his eyes darker now, pupils wide with desire. "The moment I saw you, I knew," he murmurs, his voice thick with desperation as he cups your face in his hands. "I knew you were the one to set me free. I've been waiting lifetimes for you."

A shiver runs through you as his words sink in. Your brows knit together. "Who... who are you?" The question slips out more like a plea than anything else.

His lips curl into a smirk, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Everything you've been waiting for. There's a reason we're drawn to each other." He tuts softly, eyes gleaming.

"Who do you think led your spirit here?"

Your gaze flickers around the room, realizing he's still hovering over you, his body pressing you into the ground. When your eyes lock again, you feel it—a pulse of craving, dark and intense, matching the hunger in his gaze

Suddenly, nothing matters anymore. All that exists is the heat between you, the electric pull that holds you both in place, and the thrill of his body pressed so close to yours.

Your lips crash against his, this time initiated by you. He's momentarily stunned, taking a second to adjust, but before you can even let out a whine, he matches your movements.

His hands find their way to your waist– his thumb rubbing circles against your skin. “Is this what you want? To remind you of my touch?” His knee placing pressure against your core.

A faint moan escapes your lips, you know this was so wrong, but feels so right. Your hips buckling– trying to match his rhythm as you attempt to ride his knee. “Hae..chan….”

His name slipping through your thoughts causes his eyes to darken. He lifts your hips up, your leggings quickly being tugged off your skin.

It didn’t take him long enough to get you wet. His mouth practically drooling while admiring your core.

His face inching closer to you, very rapidly feeling his breath against your heat causing you to slightly lift your hips. “No teasing… please,” you whimper, unable to wait any longer for him.

Haechan lets out a slight laugh, sounding cynical. “I’m sorry baby, I just like to admire what’s mine.”

Before you can respond his fingers found their way to your clit, rubbing small slow circles over your underwear. His eyes nearly burning into your soul, the way he watches every single one of your reactions, feeding off of them.

Before you could plea for more, Haechan pulls your undergarment to aside, working his mouth against your core. His tongue lapping against your swollen clit, leading all the way down to where you were nearly dripping for him. He saw this as an opportunity to get rid of the last piece of clothing concealing your lower half, gripping your thighs, and yanking you closer to his mouth.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he moans against you, the vibrations of his voice to your body sending you in chills.

You had so many questions to ask him. You wanted to know who he really is, what he is really is. Yet, here you are having a stranger eat you out. What bothers you more is the immediate attraction and pull you feel toward him. You’ve had your fair share of one-night stands and exes, but none of them have ever affected you the way Haechan does.

The feeling was all too much for your body to handle, your eyes practically glued to the ceiling– seeing stars.

Haechan notices this, his mouth releasing from sucking at your clit. He slaps the side of your ass, causing you to jolt looking down to his eyes.

“Focus baby, I want you to watch how I fuck your pretty pussy– I mean look at this,” he slams two fingers into you, the sharp breath you intake being the only thing keeping you on alert.

He growls at the feeling of your insides squeezing desperately against his fingers, but before he gets ahead of himself he takes them out slowly. With his other hand, he grabs your face, looking directly into each other’s heavy eyes– he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking the mess you left on them.

A moan escapes your lips, “I need more…please…”

“What more do you need, princess? Is this not enough for you?” His fingers find their way back inside of you, thrusting hard but slow, his thumb matching the same rhythm on your clit.

“Are my fingers not enough for you? Are you worried your friends might find you like this?” Suddenly the door slams wide open as if it were by a gust of wind, assuming it was Haechan’s work.

By reflexes you attempt to shut your legs together, squirming beneath him. You know your friends are probably on the other side of the building right now looking for you– but the thought of them finding you being fucked by this ‘entity’ triggers a rush of excitement through your body.

He holds your legs apart with his free arm. Between Haechan’s teases, the pace against your core, and the pressure of his thumb– you were more than ready for your release.

“F-Fuck… I’m going to–”

“Do it, baby. Cum all over my fingers. Show the world how desperate you are to get your pussy fingered by me,” his pace fastens, his face desperate to watch you collapse on him.

“Haechan!” You scream his name as loud as possible, his fingers continuing to ride out your orgasm. It felt as if a life time of pleasure within the time of him slowing down his pace, to you finally catching your breath back as he slides right out of you.

The emptiness from inside you causes you to frown. You didn’t notice till this moment, Haechan had taken off his clothing while you were recovering, finally getting rid of the rest of yours.

“You did so good for me, princess,” his lips trailing from the side of your face to your neck, eventually to your breasts.

You take a deep breath, still not fully recovered from your previous high. “I’m still sensitive,” you murmur to him as his tongue flicks over your nipple, his spit already coating them.

He pushes himself off of you, repositioning you both so that this time, you’re on top of him. Your eyes face the still–open door ahead of you, while he faces the wall behind you. You look down as you two align yourselves together, practically teasing each other.

You couldn’t help but stare at his cock, cursing yourself as you didn’t notice how thick and big he is.

The thought of him being inside you sends a shiver down your spine and your lip quivering. “You’re so big... I need to feel you, I want to feel you inside of me please. No more games,” your face grows hot after realizing how pathetic you sound, but this only sends Haechan to laugh in response.

“You want it so bad? Well if that’s what you want–” before he finishes his sentence he grabs you by the waist slamming you down into him. “Then that’s what you fucking get,” he groans into your ear.

A few curses and moans left your lips as you watch his cock disappear into your insides. The sound of your wetness against his skin filling not only the room but echoing in the hallway as well. His thumb pressing over the indentation of his cock against your skin, whimpers escaping him due to the sight. This was everything and more than what he had been waiting for.

Your hands find their way to his dark hair, grabbing a good amount as you fuck yourself on him, grinding down to his own rhythm. His hands find their way to your throat, squeezing the right amount to have your eyes rolling back.

“That’s right baby, put on a show for everyone to see. Let’s show everyone how good I fuck you– how needy you get, begging to be filled up. I hope your pathetic friends walk by any second to watch as my cock fills you up… but I bet you would like that huh? Look at you, trying to escape my cock knowing how much you fucking want it,” He grunts, his hips lifting as he starts fucking himself deeper into you.

“Answer me when I speak to you,” he slaps your ass again, the stinging sensation bringing you back to the moment.

“Yes!” You scream.

“Yes what?”

“Yes! I want everyone to see how good you fuck me! I want them to see you fill me up!”

That famously known smirk appearing on his face for a last time before he flips you over on your back again, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder to bury himself deeper into you.

“I want you to say my name when you cum, baby. You think you’re capable of that, hm?” His pace fastens on you.

You body starting to shake from the pleasure as he starts hitting your sweet spot, his thrusts causing an additional burst of pleasure against your clit.

“Haechan! Haec..” you scream his name as if it were the only word you ever knew. Your insides throbbing tightly against him, he curses under his breath twitching inside you as you bring him to his release, letting his seed drip down your thigh.

You groan at the feeling of him leaving you, already missing the warmth he brought. The both of you finding yourselves back to reality and that’s when it all started hitting.

You just had sex with some sort of supernatural entity.

And you liked it.

You feel Haechan’s warm breath against your ear as his voice drops to a low whisper. “Your friends… they’re free to go. As for you, sweetheart…” His eyes lock with yours, and this time, they’re filled with something deeper, darker—a fierce longing mixed with possessiveness, a completion he’s longed for.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You don’t remember me,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours, “but we’ve been together before… lifetimes ago. We were meant to be, you and I.” He traces his thumb along your jaw, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “When you lost your life back then, I followed soon after. I’ve been stuck here ever since, a place where lost souls are tied to, searching. I’ve been waiting for your spirit to return back to me.”

A chill runs through you, your heart racing as his words sink in. Your mind scrambles to process what he’s saying, but you can’t deny the strange pull, the connection that seems to tether you to him. It feels… ancient, familiar in a way you can’t explain.

He leans in closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “You may not remember, but I know you feel it too. You’ve always been mine.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, both thrilling and unsettling, and for a moment, you feel yourself drawn into his world, his promise of an eternal bond. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his touch possessive yet filled with an almost aching tenderness. “Now that you’re here,” he whispers, “we can finally be together. Forever.”

Your stomach twists as his words linger in your mind. Slowly, the reality sets in—while your friends will walk free, you’re bound to stay. His smile is soft as he strokes your hair, but there’s something haunting in his eyes, something that makes it clear this is not a choice. He’s waited lifetimes for you, and he won’t let you go.

A chill of fear creeps in, breaking through the warmth of his embrace. You glance toward the exit, the realization hitting hard: you’re not meant to leave. You’re bound to this place, your spirit destined to remain here… forever with Haechan.

As he pulls you closer, his words echo in your mind, a promise and a sentence intertwined. And though his gaze is filled with love, a deep-rooted fear takes hold. You know that this, now, is your eternity—your soul forever tethered to his, within these walls.

[morallysuperiorlips]

Fanfiction Taught Me 90% of What I Know About Writing

That’s the gods honest truth. And I’m saying that as someone who has a literal college degree in writing.

I took SO MANY writing classes in college. All genres. Creative. Playwriting. Screenwriting. Editorial. Journalistic. Business. Technical. I’ve been writing since I could hold a pencil correctly, and really started to pursue it in 2nd grade when every teacher following gushed about my writing skills. I can confidently say I’ve been honing my craft for over two decades.

However, I didn’t really git gud at writing until I started really writing fanfiction. Like, joining a fandom and actively writing an ongoing fic for it.

Again, I’d taken years upon years of writing classes. I learned story structure, grammar, theming, POVs, tone, etc. all throughout school. I learned how to receive feedback and edit my work a little more down the road. I learned from professionals in the field. I worked with mentors.

However, none of that helped my skyrocket my skills like writing fanfiction did.

Fanfiction taught me how to actually write deep, nuanced, and compelling characters. I never once filled out a 200-question character sheet for any character I wrote on some silly school assignment. I never knew how to really know my characters until I was writing OCs for a fandom.

Fanfiction taught me the value of being concise. My schooling had drilled the concept of long, purple prose into me over time and in writing for a fandom for a children’s game, I unlearned that real quick.

Fanfiction really taught me the concept of “show, don’t tell.” I never really knew what a penchant I had for info dumping until somebody pointed out to me most of my headcanon’d lore drops happened in exposition and not in action.

Fanfiction taught me how to worldbuild. Eating the canon of my preferred fandom gave me a lot of time to strengthen my chops while I came up with my own answers to canon lore I hated.

Fanfiction taught me consistency. In school, I mostly wrote short stories. I hadn’t really bitten off a longer project until I started writing a longfic, and in doing so, I learned how to keep my characters, plot, and world consistent for a prolonged period of chapters.

Fanfiction gave me a close-knit community to consistently bounce my ideas off of, and give me feedback that actually served me in terms of bettering my skills and the story I was writing. Not just for the sake of meeting the measures of a grade or rubric given by a teacher.

I could go on and on, but tl;dr, I owe my current skillset and understanding of writing to writing fic. I wouldn’t be at the level I am without it. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be writing my current WIP without it.

So, to anyone who might have told you that fanfic is a waste of time, they are just objectively wrong. And if you’re reading this thinking for yourself that fanfic is a waste of time, well, you’re stupid and also objectively wrong :>

Fanfiction is valuable. Don’t underestimate it.

[genericpuff]

my unabridged thoughts on 278-279:

[fromtheseventhhell]

I also find it funny that fandom will only accept Lyanna being her non-conforming, wild self in the context of saying that Arya isn't meant to be pretty; Any other day we get back-to-back posts about how Lyanna is actually super traditionally feminine cause she sniffled at a song once, so she's actually more like Sansa. Instead of constantly speaking on Arya and Lyanna, how about you guys reflect on why your standards of beauty for women are attached to how well they perform feminity within the patriarchy?

[triglycercule]

idea. since askdusttale answered an ask about where dust got his determination from (because dust has SOME determination just so he can remember the timelines and keep going against the human) and said it was totally up to personal interpretation on how he got his determination. so so so like what if what if dusttale's player did something similar to something new's player and changed dust's code to give him determination??? so dust and killer COULD BOTH had their codes tampered with??? the parallels would be INSANE. they both started off as sans and got their codes tampered with by the player but dust and killer went on two opposite paths. dust out of his own voalition decided to go against the human but killer had to team up with the human no choice at all. the opposite parallels go CRAZY oh god im tweaking

killer doesn't know exactly (since i forgot whether or not he can see codes or something like that. i swear there was an image of him describing fell and swap's code and then his own) but he can SENSE that something's off. something's different about dust that he doesn't quite know about. maybe it gets him to ask a bunch of questions that dust is definitely not open to answering because jesus man mind your own damn business but the question that really sets killer off is the way dust answers when he asks "so if you have determination then how did you get it?" and dust just shrugs his shoulders and said that one day he suddenly remembered the resets and then that's when he got it (and then goes back to mumbling to phantom paps or wtvr) and killer's just like. zomg. a sudden change in behavior or mentality that seemingly has no apparent reason related to the human???? like like like when he suddenly had to agree with the player despite literally never wanting to????? killer is over thinking the implications behind this

meanwhile dust is just annoyed now because killer keeps on following him. he keeps asking him strange questions. wtf why is the guy asking to see his SOUL that's incredibly personal???? he just wants to be left alone man he has no idea what's going on

[yb-cringe]

if you dont know shubble btw she’s awesome :) also on tumblr under the same name. genuinely a very talented rp’er and excellent at making such good well contained stories with cohesive narratives.

also she usually has a Ton of character variation, so she doesnt always get stuck in one Spot or Character Type (ex. shrub from empires vs wcsmp shelby) also shes done a Lot of dnd so. she’s good at this shit LMAO

[utilitycaster]

Whenever people get mad about the literal discussion of narrative in the context of media analysis, there's always this undercurrent of "Oh? So you want a story with themes and structure and conflict and resolution instead of my booktok/fanfic-approved headcanons? Do you think you're better than me?" And I just want to clear something up: yes. Without a doubt.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Sword of Kaigen

standalone fantasy set in a rural mountain village at the edge of an empire that still holds traditional values, with families of powerful water/ice magic warriors

follows a powerful young heir who begins to question his beliefs about the empire when a new boy comes to his village from the city

and his mother, a housewife who has tried to forget her youth as a warrior and vigilante in the city since she moved back home to a loveless marriage

when there’s a violent attack on their village that they’re unprepared for, everything changes, and she has to embrace her old skills to protect her family and people

[legobiwan]

“Please don’t let me be alone.”

“I’m right here, okay?”

“You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” Mario and Luigi.

(Completely 100% platonic. That last one can be them talking about things changing for them in the romance department, and worrying that's going to pull them away from each other. Just as an example. )

I decided to take this in a slightly different direction, anon :)

So, a bit of context. This takes place pre-SPM, but there's some foreshadowing in there, so probably a month or two before that whole series of events goes down.

While I know Luigi and Mario talk, we have evidence that Luigi keeps some things from his brother, mostly related to his more negative emotions, as shown in the diary scenes of Paper Mario 64. I kind of run a little bit with this idea here.

As to what Luigi is looking for in terms of love...I'll let you all decide. I'll say upfront that this is written as a purely platonic relationship between Luigi and Mario, and I know exactly who I am thinking of in those last lines, but that's - literally - another story.

Very little editing has been done here, caveat lector and all that jazz.

Also, poor Morel. He's trying. Probably too hard. You'll meet him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Mario!”

The owner of the squeaky voice toddled up the path towards them, his small stature unbalanced by the large guitar strapped to his back, the neck of which seesawed with every step.

“Hi, there!” Mario greeted, the Toad letting out a small oomph as he half-collapsed against Mario’s side, hands on his knees, his ruby-red vest soaked with sweat.

Luigi really hoped the kid wouldn’t keel over this time. 

“Do - “ Morel panted, taking a large swallow before trying again. “Do you have a minute?”

At this point, it was part of their routine. He and his brother would decide to run an errand in the town, maybe check out one of their favorite spots. Let’s pick up some cherry juice from that cafe or Hey, how about we go to that market and see if the new sports equipment is in, his brother would say airily, as if it was going to be a quick thing, an easy jaunt into Mushroom Square and back home before the mail came.

These days, it was never a quick thing. Not with his brother around, at least. What had been maybe a weekly occurrence had exploded into a near-daily even, the denizens of the Mushroom Kingdom stopping to ask his brother for a picture, or an autograph, or even a piece of advice in relation to plumbing, mechanics, or even relationships. 

As if being the hero of the Mushroom Kingdom made Mario some kind of expert in psychology.

Of course, this meant everyday chores that would have taken no more than ten minutes in Brooklyn bloated into an all-day activity, his brother unable to turn down the beaming faces and adulation of the Mushroom citizenry. In the end, Luigi had taken full control over the majority of the domestic duties in their shared house, if for no other reason than the fact he could get to the market and back in a reasonable amount of time.

No one ever stopped Luigi to ask for advice. Not usually, and if they did, it was quick and usually in relation to either his brother or, oddly enough, King Boo, whose name had become as synonymous with Luigi’s as the whispered commentary of “coward” and “oddball” that trailed him like toilet paper stuck on a shoe.

Most of the time, the Toads wanted to know what it was like being trapped in the painting, what horrors he saw there, if it was the afterlife, or something similar. Luigi had given up on trying to correct them after the first few times, giving out uninspired answers like “dark and scary,” which seemed to both placate the Mushroom Kingdom residents’ thirst for grisly gossip and align with their internal schema for who they thought Luigi was. 

It didn’t matter, in the end. He had saved his brother. Twice. The health and safety of everyone involved was more important than his ego.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from occasionally daydreaming about King Boo attacking the Mushroom Kingdom, just so Luigi could prove a point

“You know, Morel,” Luigi said, shaking thoughts of Toads screaming for his help from his mind, “we were on our way to pick up some - “

“It’s okay, Lou,” Mario interrupted with a brisk wave. “Shop doesn’t close for another hour and I’m sure Morel won’t take too much of our time.

Luigi was sure the opposite would be true, but far be it from him to be the bad guy and tell Morel to come back later. His reputation in the Mushroom Kingdom was dicey enough as it was - he wasn’t to exacerbate things by being mean to a teen Toad.

As Morel and his brother talked, Luigi let his thoughts wander. He nixed their shopping list, weighing the pros and cons of raiding the back of the cupboard for whatever dregs of food they had left. He wondered if Mario even remembered who Morel was, watching his brother make the appropriate gestures and smiling widely, that glimmer of recognition absent in his brother’s expression. He couldn’t really blame Mario, not for that. How many times can you be asked for an autograph or advice before all those faces blurred together? Even Luigi couldn’t always keep them straight, and he had a lot more time to quietly observe and register his brother’s admirers. 

Morel, however, was not to be forgotten. The last time he had accosted them, he had wanted to show off one of his many creative endeavors, this time an hour-long, abstruse interpretative dance performance that was somehow supposed to help with diplomatic relations at an upcoming summit between the Mushroom Kingdom and the Yoshis. 

Five minutes in, Mario’s eyes had glazed over. Ten minutes in and three pirouetting Piranhas later, Luigi found himself mentally running over a table for standard thermodynamic values in select substances. Carbon was always the hard one. Way too many possibilities.

Luigi bit the inside of his cheek, bringing his attention back to the conversation.

“So Mario,” Morel unsheathed his guitar from his back, pulling a crumpled piece of paper with multiple strikeouts from his pocket. “Have you ever liked a girl? Like, liked like?”

Luigi choked down a laugh. The Romeo of Room 312. That’s what he had called his brother back in middle school, who pined after a different girl every week. Vanessa Tuccio, Jackie Galagio, Stephanie Rizzo. None of them gave his brother the time of day, Mario still being in that awkward stage where he hadn’t made up for his lack of height with an abundance of muscle, his voice teetering somewhere between squeaky laryngitis and the hoarse, nasal tenor of a common cold.

By the time they hit high school (and Mario’s voice had finally dropped), that all changed, his brother doing pretty well himself in the dating department, at least as far as Luigi could tell. They weren’t as close those years, with he and Mario at different schools, Luigi buried in a mountain of chemistry and physics textbooks while his brother hung out with his jock friends at a ratty gym on 86th Street. 

But he had taken a nice girl to prom. Had had a few breakups, some of them Mario’s fault. All what Luigi assumed was normal teenage stuff.

Not that he really knew.

Luigi had tried dating a few girls in high school, girls with long hair, glasses, and a religious devotion to the periodic table. Nothing ever went past the clammy hand-holding stage and one very awkward kiss over a smuggled bottle of cheap wine on the Coney Island boardwalk, each girl in question giving him a polite brush-off after a week or two, only to attach themselves to some other guy who somehow seemed to know how to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

Frankly, it was a miracle Luigi had lost his virginity at all by the time he graduated, his new-found, reckless courage bolstered by the death of his father and the whole shitstorm with the family business being ripped out from under their noses. He had barely finished senior year, whatever motivation he had once had to claw himself out of Bensonhurst and into Cooper Union whisked away once he was faced with the reality of being a seventeen year old orphan staring down a mountain of unpaid bills and a deceased father who may or may not have owed favors to the mob.

From that point onwards, he and Mario were focused on survival, on running a third-rate plumbing business out of a second-rate studio, Luigi elbows-deep in the guts of their father’s van more often than not, neither he nor Mario willing or able to shell out the cash for an actual mechanic. It was tenuous and relentless, and there was no way either of them had the energy or capacity to think about something as banal as dating when creditors and loan sharks were breathing down their neck every five days.

And then - their lives had been turned upside-down once again.

The concept of dating in the Mushroom Kingdom was laughable, and Luigi had resigned himself to a monastic existence while they figured out a way back to Brooklyn. There were so few humans around and it was clear from the outset that there something was going on between his brother and Peach, even if it had never advanced beyond hugs that lasted a few seconds too long to be called friendly and doe-eyed glances cast across the long tables of the the palace dining room.

Which left Luigi the odd man out, a situation he was overly-familiar with in this new world, his brother the famous hero of the Kingdom and Luigi himself an afterthought, at best. And sure, he had met a few other human women - smart, funny, beautiful human women who seemed to like talking with him, who, against all odds, found him genuinely interesting. 

But despite his brother egging him on, Luigi couldn’t quite find the motivation to try and turn that friendly flirting into anything more. Sure, Daisy was amazing and a force of nature. And Princess Eclair had been utterly captivating, to the point where Luigi wondered if she was some kind of enchantress. But for all of that, there was something missing, something he couldn’t quite make fit, a niggle in the back of his brain with his father’s voice, telling him to hit the gym, to put down his books and stop wearing those colorful socks or else he was going to get a reputation - the kind of reputation that ended with a fist in your face in a Brooklyn Heights Promenade bathroom.

There was something else, something more he wanted. But he was damned if was going to find it in the Mushroom Kingdom, and with the likelihood of them ever getting back to Brooklyn diminishing with each passing year - well, those monks didn’t have too bad a life, right?

“Okay, okay, are you guys ready?” Morel had sat himself on a small boulder, motioning for Luigi and Mario to follow suit. With his audience in place, the teen Toad strummed a few chords on his guitar, reaching up to adjust the tuning, then strumming again, then tuning, a process which took at least five minutes. Luigi was no musician, but even he was pretty sure Morel was just stalling at this point.

“Alright,” Morel sighed, breathy. “So, there’s this girl, right? And she’s really pretty. And I want to impress her, like, really impress her. She’s all into this band,” Morel’s face twisted, “Lion’s Mane and their front Toad is super cool and good-looking. I figure I can win her over if I show I can sing just as good as him, if I can write my own songs and everything! So here we go.”

Morel straightened, his small fingers digging into spaces above and below the frets. He took a large breath from his nose, held it, and then began play.

“Please don’t let me be alone.

I’ll talk to you on the phone.

I lose my spores,

When you walk on through those doors.

I’m right here, okay?

Right on the Mushroom Way.

It’s my time to say,

Chanterelle, you’re so swell!”

With a florid movement, Morel ran his thumb over the strings for the final chord, a broken set of notes that reminded Luigi of a dying carburetor he once tried to fix in his racing kart. Next to him, his brother’s smile was plastered on so tight Luigi thought his face might break in two if he tried any harder. 

“So what do you think, Mario? Do you think Chanterelle will date me?”

His brother’s eyes went wide, Mario’s smile growing even larger as he drummed his fingers on the knee of his pants. 

“I think,” Luigi offered, taking pity on his brother, “you put a lot of effort into this and Chanterelle will certainly be…surprised.”

Morel bounced up and down on his heels. “Do you think she’ll feel the love in this song?”

Luigi side-eyed his brother, who looked about one misplaced word away from bursting out in laughter. A small, vindictive part of Luigi wanted to pop the perfect persona his brother had cultivated, wanted the image of the hero be brought down to the level of the man he knew his brother was.

But looking at Morel’s shimmering eyes, the open admiration glowing from his small body - Luigi knew wasn’t going to do that to him. 

“You’ve certainly shown us what love can look like,” Luigi said, diplomatic. “And sound like.” Like you need a mechanic, he thought.

Morel punched the air. “Yes! Oh boy! Thank you! Thank you, Mario, you’re the best! I’m gonna go find Chanterelle right now!” The teen toad scrambled to get his guitar on his back, setting off in the direction of the Town Center, looking back every few seconds to give enthusiastic waves.

Mario let out a small laugh. “Thanks for the save, bro.”

“Eh,” Luigi shrugged. “I didn’t say anything untrue. He certainly demonstrated what love could be.”

“I just hope she lets him down easy. It’s a rough age for that stuff, human or Toad.”

Luigi hummed in response, looking out over the emerald-green hills that dotted the path to the Town Center. It was probably a rough age for that stuff at any age, trying to navigate love - to know another person and let them know you. 

“Hey Mario. While we’re on the topic, what about you and - “

“Still want to go to the market, Lou?” Mario asked, the slightest tremor of panic in his voice. Luigi had been trying, without success, to get his brother to open up about the whole situation with him and Peach had been trying to get him to shed the persona that was slowly taking over his everyday existence. Not that Mario was being mean or deliberately distant. He was still his brother, they still talked together, laughed together, occasionally cried together. But Luigi still couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed. Something about the way Mario’s focus drifted every time they met up in Rogueport, or how he had come out of that painting the second time, vigorously shaking Luigi’s hand like he was running for political office. 

Luigi gave a silent nod, picking up his tote bag from the ground before following his brother’s lead, starting off in the direction of the town

Then again, maybe it was for the best. If Mario didn’t have to tell Luigi about his private life, then Luigi wouldn’t have to share his, wouldn’t have to get into the creeping insecurities and resentment that clouded parts of his existence in the Mushroom Kingdom. Wouldn’t have to explain that he didn’t know what love looked like, at least not the love he thought he was seeking, the part of him that craved understanding, with being known, unconditionally.

He had his brother. They were alive, healthy, and together. It would have to be enough.

[tiffanybluesclues]

Every week someone makes a post about how annoying it is that Dick Grayson fans don't acknowledge his flaws, and every week someone replies with an explanation that the flaws OP listed are entirely fanon and inconsistent with canon as it actually happened and at this point I have to assume that none of those explanations are ever going to stick because clearly some people just want the fanon to be true.

Anyway, I'm just putting this here for me to edit and add relevant-to-the-topic links later so I'll have them nicely at hand to read and sooth my frustrations when it gets real bad out there. (Echo chambers are good when we use them to drown out character mischaracterizing fanon.)

[burning-academia-if]

Hi! What are the powers of each ro? what makes them "special" and mc?

I won't give a super detailed explanation since Rhea already went into all of it in Chapter 1 but a quick recap: You're either born with magic or you aren't.

If you are, you're a magician. There's three types; Soul magicians (magic comes from intentions/morals/beliefs, considered the most powerful, magic can have harmful effects on their body), Heart magicians (magic comes from emotions, less powerful, magic can visibly be seen in use), and Luck magicians (have magic in their veins but can't use it, since they still have magic the world seems to like them and 'lucky' things happen to them, hence the term).

BA has a pretty soft magic system, so you can theoretically do w/e you want with magic with certain limits. Soul magicians can't use magic at all if it goes against their beliefs + it can hurt their bodies. Heart magicians magic is as powerful as the emotions they're currently feeling. Heart magicians are also the only ones compatible with Death Creatures (ghosts, wraiths, poltergeists, etc), although that's pretty rare and no one knows why. With all that said:

Soul Magicians: Rook and Rhea

Heart Magicians: Beck and Lars

Luck Magician: Zoe

Not a magician: ??? and MC

Beck and Lars are both special because their magic is compatible with Death, but they're still Heart Magicians and so their magic is seen as weaker. Rook's magic...isn't strong, and Rhea's magic is average. ??? isn't a magician and can't use magic at all. What MC can do is up to you since there are a few options. You can find a magic item to use (making you a mage), you can get into necromancy, or you can pick the terrible decision to make a deal with something to use magic (making you a warlock). You can also not do any of that and remain without magic/death abilities. Each decision has their own unique consequences.

It should also be noted Death and Magic are opposites of each other, so necromancy isn't considered magic in this world. If anything, it's just blasphemy lol

[eightyuh]

wick's end co-editor & harry kin dani is being cheeky rn ... <3333 😊

[cakemoney]

ianthe 'false things have a piquancy which the real can never match' tridentarius and dulcinea 'oh, it was so beautiful! that drawing looked nothing like me' septimus

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

Hit FX sitcom It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia has genuinely compelled me to read and appreciate classic literature more than any of my many former years of school. I look at the silly rat show and am like I get it now, I'm gonna read Shakespeare, Beckett, Dostoyevsky, etc. and analyze the world for funsies, my grades 7-11 English teachers could NEVER.

[kazumasougi]

im gonna be real for a second. if fantasy can only be enjoyable to you when removed from any and all real world implications then is it even good