#it’s not explained in the nightmare levels either

[apricustar]

hii jd! in your kitchen scene post you mention that buck and eddie are incompatible on how they handle emotions and communicate and stuff which on some level i understand because we’ve seen how their conflicts play out but i was hoping you could maybe explain? no pressure you just explain things in a way that makes sense to me ❤️

hi nonnie <3 thank you so much for this—i’m really touched you asked, and i’m happy to explain! (the og post for anyone wanting to read)

when i say buck and eddie are “incompatible” in how they handle emotions and communicate, i don’t mean that in a hopeless or negative way. it’s not that they can’t work—it’s that they move differently, shaped by their respective pasts, and sometimes that causes them to be emotionally out of sync.

buck is an internalizer; this is where we see people misunderstanding and mislabeling him as selfish. he turns inward and attributes whatever is happening around him to something he did wrong. even when it’s not about him, he makes it about him—not out of ego, but because that’s what he was conditioned to do. a good example of this is in season 5, when chimney leaves to find maddie. buck is grappling with several layers of guilt, fear, and self-blame:

he’s holding residual guilt over maddie leaving—he knows exactly why she left, but he's telling himself: i should have seen it sooner. i could have done more. i could have prevented this.

he’s also feeling responsible for chim leaving—not because anyone says it’s his fault, but he’s the one sitting in the firehouse absorbing the silence, the grief, the shift in dynamic. and because buck reads emotional atmosphere like weather, he interprets that silence as blame.

and underneath all of it is the deeper fear—one that’s lived in him for years—that he’s the problem. again. that his presence hurts the people he loves. that he ruins things just by being there.

so no, buck doesn’t think he made maddie or chim leave, but he feels like he failed to stop it. like he should’ve known, should’ve fixed it, should’ve held things together better than he did—and because he couldn’t, he assumes everyone resents him for it. no one says it’s his fault—but buck feels it like it is. because blame—even misplaced—gives him something to hold. it gives him a reason, a narrative, a way to make sense of loss. if it’s his fault, then maybe there’s something he can do to fix it. maybe next time, he can be enough to stop it from happening again.

eddie is buck’s opposite: he externalizes. when something hurts, he pushes it outward. he doesn’t always know how to sit with his emotions, doesn’t always have the language to explain them—so it comes out sideways. it comes out as frustration and misdirection.

buck takes on other people’s emotions and makes them his fault; eddie takes his own emotions and filters them through the people around him. buck internalizes distress. eddie displaces it. buck thinks, “what did i do?” eddie doesn’t say it outright—but what slips through is, “why aren’t you showing up for me the way i need?” and neither of them knows how to say that out loud.

so when eddie lashes out, it’s not usually about the thing he’s saying. he’s not lying, exactly—but he’s not telling the full truth either. the fight in the grocery store during the lawsuit arc? when he says,“you’re exhausting”—that’s not really about buck. that’s eddie talking about himself. he’s exhausted: christopher is having nightmares about the tsunami and shannon, eddie’s been arrested, and above all—buck hasn’t been around. eddie's been holding everything together by himself and it’s too much, but he doesn’t know how to say that, so he says something cruel instead.

same with sob stories this season where he tells buck if he's going to make him choose between chris or him, he'll lose every time. buck never asked him to choose. never implied that was the case. but that’s what eddie feels like he’s choosing between: buck, LA, the life he’s tried to rebuild—and the terrifying pull of leaving it behind to fix what’s fractured between him and his son. eddie’s not mad at buck—he’s overwhelmed and scared. and once again, it comes out wrong.

and the thing is—they both mean well. they’re both doing their best with the tools they have, shaped by upbringings that didn’t teach them how to be vulnerable safely. buck wants to be enough. eddie wants to be understood. but the way they express those needs can make them miss each other entirely. they love differently. they cope differently. they react differently.

but what makes their relationship so beautiful is that despite these differences, they keep trying. they don’t give up on understanding each other—even when it’s hard, even when it hurts. where one falters, the other finds footing. where one pulls away, the other stays close. they meet each other—perhaps not perfectly or cleanly, but truly.

love is not easy; it’s not effortless. it’s something that requires work—something that asks for patience, grace, and the willingness to try. you keep choosing your partner, again and again and again, even when its hard. and that’s what buck and eddie do. in all their messiness, all their misfires—they keep choosing each other, keep trying with one another, keep showing up—because even when they miss each other in the moment, they never stop trying to find their way back.

[bad-artist-kira]

My headcanons/musings about Caleb, his role as the One that Binds and adjacent stuff:

After defeating Tchernobog, Caleb not only inherited his powers, but also His memories. All of them, starting from the time He first emerged aeons ago. Caleb is afraid that Tchernobog’s essence and memories will overwhelm his own and he will lose himself, becoming merely one of His “masks”. To cope with this Caleb goes into full denial, refusing to use his new powers or acknowledging he has them for a hundred years and lets the world fall apart around him.

There seems to be some sort of condition that needs to be fulfilled for Tchernobog to possess someone, thus the need for a dedicated group of people to choose a new vessel from and the whole dumbass “make your strongest and most loyal follower hate you and make him even stronger” plan. Tchernobog’s skeleton form from the first game might also be a result of a failed attempt to make a more sturdy vessel for His essence, a meat mecha so to speak. It’s also mentioned that some incarnations have altered His personality. It specifically says “altered” and “colored”, not “overwrote” like Caleb did.

My hc for that all the previous incarnations voluntarily let themselves be possessed, preparing themselves for this role for a long time; sometimes the traces of their personalities remained, but it was never enough to completely supersede the One that Binds.

Caleb, on the other hand, absolutely did not want to be possessed. He wanted his old god dead, so he was able to resist the initial flood of Tchernobog’s memories and avoid complete possession, but now he has billions of years worth of memories compared to which his own life is less than a blip, so now he’s not quite sure who he is now and whether he ever was “Caleb” to begin with, or is he Tchernobog that deluded himself into thinking he’s Caleb.

I think that’s how Revelations(Blood 2’s thankfully cancelled expansion) could work: instead of Caleb being possessed the whole time he slowly succumbs to the possession, and by the end his will and personality get entirely overwritten by Tchernobog’s(or he accepts that he is Tchernobog and sheds his “Caleb” identity), maybe have him show cracks as early as the base second game(maybe have a conflict between his desire to just keep doing whatever he was doing for a century in the world that’s falling apart and Tchernobog’s goal to take over the world like He originally intended to).

The whole theme of identity and memories could even be expanded to the other Chosen: Ophelia’s sorority girl memory might be from the body she ended up in, for example, Gabriella is reborn as a woman so the connection is obvious. Not sure how Ishmael ties into it tho.

Thanks for reading my “trying to fix Blood 2 #2837484847” post

[benevolenterrancy]

@little-meowyao a naive and temporary sense of belonging u.u

[neo--queen--serenity]

This episode really highlighted how close Marcille, Laios, and Chilchuck actually are.

The viewer is used to seeing our main characters behave like coworkers up to this point—even friends—and they express normal, understandable levels of concern and fear when their other party members are in danger. But when the nightmare attacked Marcille, it brought out sides of Laios and Chilchuck that the viewer hadn’t seen before.

Laios immediately notices when something is wrong with Marcille, and he tells the others as soon as he’s sure of the problem. Chilchuck and Senshi then follow Laios’ lead as it becomes clear that he intends to make her get some rest.

We see Chilchuck’s hands lay out the bedroll and Senshi’s hands set up the pillow, working in almost perfect tandem as Laios physically wrangles Marcille into bed.

Senshi is in a similar perspective as the viewer, and mostly sits and watches the ordeal unfold. He doesn’t have a shared history, like these three do, so he helps in little ways, but mostly waits on standby for direction.

From here on out, it’s mostly Laios and Chilchuck who take over in planning how to help her.

It’s uncommon for Chilchuck to openly show such distress and worry for one of his party members. He’s used to Marcille being able to defend herself; he’s used to her being capable and strong. He immediately defers to Laios for instruction, (rightly) assuming he will know what to do.

This actually produces a reaction close to real fear from Chilchuck, who outright SMACKS her in a panic to wake her up before getting any further information.

Laios has to quickly stop him, explaining that he could truly hurt her if he interrupts the attack this way. He tells them how he’s going to wake her, and he doesn’t hesitate. He jumps straight in, explaining what he’s doing for the others so that they (Chilchuck) won’t be afraid.

Chilchuck doesn’t question him once. He just does what he can to hurry along the process. He tucks Laios in with his blanket as soon as he lays onto Marcille—an unnecessary action that betrays how much he cares for both of them.

And Laios succeeds in helping Marcille out of the nightmare’s grasp. While trapped in her mind, he reassures her, protects her, tells her how much she’s valued and appreciated. He isn’t embarrassed or sheepish about it, either; he openly declares these things like it’s the most normal and obvious thing in the world.

He gets her out, he saves her. He did the exact thing he set out to do, even though he’d never done it before, and only had Falin’s secondhand information to work with.

Once he wakes, Chilchuck immediately checks on him to see if he’s alright. Chilchuck is clearly still rattled, displeased with having to wait while both of his close friends were unconscious, fighting a battle neither he nor Senshi could see or help with.

Marcille wakes up shortly after Laios, but Chilchuck is still on edge, worrying that she’ll fall back asleep. Laios, too, has a moment of alarm when he makes sure she won’t close her eyes again.

Once he takes the subdued nightmares out of Marcille’s pillow, only then do Laios and Chilchuck relax.

Laios, for his part, remained calm and collected almost the entire time. He did not show panic or fear when it became clear that Marcille was being attacked, nor when he told the rest of the party what he’d be doing to help her. And once the nightmares had been collected from her bedroll, he gently explained what happened, to everyone else’s horror.

Seeing this, it’s not a huge surprise that the Touden party is so successful. We’ve seen Laios handle danger with a level head; we know he’s capable.

But it’s an entirely different kind of talent to face a threat that’s targeting one of your closest friends—which can make even the most competent fighter sloppy out of fear of losing them—one that requires a high-risk, specific rescue style that none of you have ever tried before. And then pull it off flawlessly. Like damn, these guys are lucky to have him.

[olderthannetfic]

I hear this so often, including from people doing seriously high-level crochet, so there's clearly something going on here.

A youtuber commented recently that she thinks she's cracked it: crochet gets ever more complicated, so crocheters find the first learning curve of knitting hard and assume it's going to be a nightmare from there on out... except knitting isn't like that. It's a little difficult to figure out which hand goes where while you're learning the basic knit and purl stitches, but after that, it's all the same stuff forever. There's another little hump if you're learning stranded colorwork or cables or brioche or whatever, but lots of patterns don't use those, and each is still just that initial little learning curve and then downhill thereafter.

TBH, I don't crochet enough to know if it just gets harder and harder, but that's what this person thought, and it's an interesting theory.

Another issue is that knitting notation varies pattern-to-pattern. There should be a key in the beginning of a decent pattern, and youtube has a lot of tutorials explaining different stitches and techniques.

--

If you want to learn to knit, pull up any youtube tutorial on the basic stitches, then go make this:

Yeah, it's a chunky weight sweater, which I'm not a huge fan of, but seriously, just go make a sweater. It will probably take you a month max if you spend a lot of time on it.

--

If you want to make that dragon cloak everyone's been reblogging from me lately, I haven't given it a try yet, but I remember looking at the description, and the designer says it's technically a lace pattern, but without visible holes. Lace isn't easy, but it isn't all that hard either.

Go knit one of these:

Or one of these:

[decadeofjoy-au]

This is an AU blog about The Decade Of Joy AU

In this AU, instead of killing off all of the scientist and carrying them to the lower levels of the building, The Prototype instead decides to give them a taste of their own medicine and switches the roles of Toys and Scientist. Now, Scientist are experimented on and are forced to do whatever the Toys say while Toys now work in different parts of the building with their main goal being to have all the orphans be adopted.(by the way, in this AU all the toys are adults though have moments of bein incredibly immature or childish due to not being able to properly develop.)

As more and more people come to adopt a child, the Toys are thrown more and more questions. “where are the adults?” “Is that a costume?” “What is that?”

There are Four Leaders in this AU who follow the Prototype’s orders. All four of them having their own Second-In-Command.

🫂Huggy Wuggy(Representing Strength and Weakness) -Boxy Boo🎁

🕸️Mommy Long Legs(Representing Family and Lonliness) -Bunzo Bunny🔊

🌙Catnap(Representing Dreams and Nightmares) -Miss Delight🍎

🤝Doey the Doughman(Representing Trust and Doubt) -Dogday☀️

Story Voting System explained: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779166172924018688/tdoj-au-voting-system-in-the-story-the-voting

On this blog, you can ask ANY question to either the Toys, Scientist or Me.

🪽RULES🪽

NO WEIRD QUESTIONS: Meaning, don’t ask strange things like “pls marry me” or “can I date you?”

Keep Questions To A Minimum: Please keep questions to a minimum and ask as little characters as you can, I STILL have to answer other people’s questions!

Keep Swearing To A Minimum: You CAN swear, just no heavy curse words.

Please Be Specific About The Questuons: If it’s something like “can I give you a cookie?” then there’s a high chance it will NOT be answered. On top of this, if I don’t understand a specific question then I most likely won’t answer it

Be PATIENT: If I don’t answer your question, don’t DM me about it or repeatedly ask the question. There’s a high chance I saw it and I’m getting to it. And I’m just one person running this blog!

Be NICE Please: No being incredibly nasty or problematic. Such as no racist, creepy, homophobic, transphobic or any other rude comments to other people’s questions.

Have Fun: Overall, just have fun and ask away.

MORE AU INFO

Roles

Canon Characters are Purple

My OCs are Green

Other People’s OCs are Orange - with the owner’s name

Author Notes and More are Pink

Caretakers: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777581472007815168/caretakers

Medics: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777581690134642688/medics

Security: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777582085374361600/security-huggy-wuggy-boxy-boo-scout

Scientists: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777582190000308224/scientists

Cooks: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777582444123652096/cooks

Engineers: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777582759306723329/engineers

Multiple Roles: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777583256117837824/multiple-roles

Other Roles: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777583462392758272/other

Experiments(Usually Adults): https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777579769017548800/experiments

Orphans: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777583819626823680/orphans

Canonically Deceased characters: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780301077076656128/canonically-deceased-characters

TOY BRANDS

Sweet Treats!: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778671265144766464/introducing-a-toy-brand-for-the-au

Dough and Co.: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779663998788517888/dough-and-co

Toon-y Terrors: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780747209251700736/toon-y-terrors-brand-name-by

The Festivarodies: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/781273356059246593/holiday-toy-brand-name-pending-rules-1-4-toys

Deerie Me: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/781502657799061504/deerie-me-brand

TOY TYPES

Mini Handymen: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779942895660744704/how-to-make-a-mini-handyman-a-reliable-guide <- LIVING

SnuggleBugs: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779860850358026240/post-explaining-snugglebugs-further-and-rules-for <- NON-LIVING

———

🫂 Huggy Wuggy: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777774552071782400/huggy-wuggy-info-for-the-decade-of-joy-au

🕸️ Mommy Long Legs:

🌙 CatNap: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/776498029016580096/the-smiling-critters-info-for-the-decade-of-joy-au

🤝 Doey The Doughman: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779599769395920896/doey-the-doughman-info-for-the-decade-of-joy

-

🎁 Boxy Boo:

🔊 Bunzo Bunny:

🍎 Miss Delight:

☀️ Dogday: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/776498029016580096/the-smiling-critters-info-for-the-decade-of-joy-au + https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778044634480951296/dogday-design-for-tdoj

CANON HEIGHTS= https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779577147514863616/tdoj-characters-heights

CANON SHOWS= https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780215886012465152/canon-toy-shows-in-tdoj-hixel-pixels-show

(EDIT: I should clarify that ALL adults were taken to be experimented on during The “Hour” Of Joy! Not just the Scientists.)

People can submit their OWN OCs to be in the AU with a few rules! - https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/775308026372653056/rules-include

SIDE STORIES

Handyman Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777233438238474240/mini-handyman-side-story - Narrow Mindedness

Doey The Doughman + Frosty The Yeti Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777685330875858944/doey-and-frosty-side-story - Frigid Friendship?

Doey The Doughman + Frosty The Yeti Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777759064867405824/doey-and-frosty-side-storywith-some-mommy-and - Frigid Friendship?: Part 2: Frozen Findings

Mr Sandman Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777945364489797632/mr-sandman-side-story - Of Fears & Ferocity

Antsy Antilope Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778188143586328576/antsy-antilope-side-story - On Loop…

A.I. + Huggy Wuggy Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778213761709408256/ai-and-huggy-wuggy-side-story - Busy Bodies

Mr Sandman Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778318326292185088/mr-sandman-side-story - Hidden In The Sand

Maury Serge Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778324277894184960/maury-serge-side-story - HAPPY BIRTHDAY!…

Hexabug(Maury Serge + Hixel Pixel) Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778391334322126849/hexabug-side-story - Artificial Awakening

Hexabug(Maury Serge + Hixel Pixel) Joke Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778393913626148864/hexabug-joke-fic - Puppet Show

Random Short Joke Stories: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778417365807398912/random-short-joke-stories-some-are-based-on - Manic Monday.

Short Joke Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778490757130665984/tdoj-short-joke-story - A Man’s Meeting

Calvin Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/calvinconstrut-a-bot/778560894890393600/decade-of-joy-au-calvins-side-story-the - Tow The Line

Calvin Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/calvinconstrut-a-bot/780192994418638848/calvin-side-story-part-2 - Stop This Train(Tow The Line. Part 2.)

Calvin Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/calvinconstrut-a-bot/781244348220260352/calvin-side-story-part-3-the-final-part - Curtain Fall (Tow The Line: Part 3)

Handyman + Doodle The Stretchy Mime Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778595790754086912/handyman-and-doodle-the-stretchy-mime-side-story - Perfect Little Angel

Azure Nilson Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778602070005743616/azure-nilson-side-story - Looking Upwards.

Hexabug(Maury Serge + Hixel Pixel) Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778648755020955648/hexabugmaury-serge-hixel-pixel - Artificial Awakening: Part 2:

Antsy Antilope + Hysteria Hyena Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778650754975219712/antsy-antilope-hystera-hyena-side-story - Always Near

Handyman + Clarance The Clayman Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778757581706592256/handyman-and-clarance-the-clayman-side-story - Early Introductions

Hixel Pixel Short Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778766993505533952/hixel-pixel-short-story - Pranks A lot

Handyman/Angel Creek Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778815150888255488/handymanangel-creek-side-story - Angelic Origins…

Figaro + Coo-Coo The Dog Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779038056268398592/figaro-and-coo-coo-the-dog-side-story - Oh Figaro~

Hixel Pixel Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779207312754835456/hixel-pixel-short-story - Reputations…

Clarance The Clayman Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779357143996530688/clarance-the-clayman-side-story - Forced Divorce

Meringue Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/asktheocsmybeloved/779382519329128448/meringues-side-story - Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

Toys + Experiments Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779479059090587648/experimentstoys-side-story - “okay WHOSE idea was it for group therapy?! I just wanna know.” cocks double barrel

Rosalie + Dupin Lupin + Buddy Putty Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779833524731691008/rosalie-dupin-lupin-and-buddy-putty-side-story - INTRUDER ALERT!

Mr Shortcake Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779833527970725888/mr-shortcake-side-story - Hixel Hunt

Rusty Myth Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779844702686052352/rusty-myth-short-story - The man. The myth. The not quite a legend…

Buddy Putty Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780005032475213824/buddy-putty-side-story - Dude. What the hell.

Joke Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780005035647074304/joke-side-story - All Bets are Off

Joke Side Story part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780615801555337216/joke-side-story-part-2 - All Bets are Off: Part 2: Doughy Demolition

Aether F. Beaumus/Playcare Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/781029851283030016/aether-f-beaumusplaycare-side-story - Rebellion

I.D.I.O.T. + Motza Cheese Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/781126607278637056/idiot-and-motza-cheese-side-story - umm... hello.

Joke Side Stories: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/781127268346068992/joke-side-stories - Unexpected Moments

Lonnie + Zacker Side Story Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/wildsparrows/781150467896049664/lonnie-and-zacker-side-story-part-1 - Kapag Ang Dagat Ay Tahimik...

Lonnie + Zacker Side Story: Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/wildsparrows/781232131495051264/lonnie-and-zacker-side-story-part-2 - Asahan Mo At Malalim...

Lonnie + Zacker Side Story: Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/wildsparrows/781859111818133504/lonnie-and-zacker-side-story-part-3 - Shadows Neath The Great Deep

Rosalie Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/corelex/782079270227935232/a-roses-beauty - A Rose’s Beauty

Maria Harper Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/782081379721789440/maria-harper-side-story - New Arrival

Vile Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/icanexplainwhythisnameisbad/782109155984064512/vile-side-story-upstaged-on-stage - Upstaged On Stage

Deilani Torres + Edward Lester(Mr Shortcake) Side Story: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/782487379312361472/deilani-torres-and-edward-lester-side-story -

Azure & A.I.: Alternate Adventure (or AAA:AA)

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778411468908560384/azure-ai-alternate-adventure-or-aaaaa-part - Left Behind…

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778825576814444544/azure-and-ai-alternate-adventureor-aaaaa - Chance Encounter

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/779659066776666112/azure-and-ai-alternate-adventureor-aaaaa - Level Start!

Part 4: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780399203886268416/azure-and-ai-alternate-adventureor-aaaaa - Like a Deer in the headlights… or not-

Part 5: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780933101666844672/azure-and-ai-alternate-adventureor-aaaaa - Just Down the Hall

Part 6: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/781031258199293952/azure-and-al-alternate-adventureor-aaaaa - Deadly Dash

CANON STORY

(all chapter titles made by icanexplainwhythisnameisbad)

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/776920501597749248/tdoj-story-part-1 - Up We Go: Part 1: Our Story Begins

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/776942253990150144/part-two-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Up We Go: Part 2: Of Games & Escapism

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/776958445399261184/part-3-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Eye See You.

Part 4: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777039601386864640/part-4-of-the-decade-of-joy-story-part-1 - Need A Hand?

Part 5: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777059028533641216/part-5-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Hallway Stalkers

Part 6: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777126585941835776/part-6-of-the-decade-of-joy-story-part-1 - Clay in my Hands.

Part 7: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777176561217617920/part-7-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Security’s Breached

Part 8: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777220151330422784/part-8-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Cold Conversations

Part 9: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777259729248485376/part-9-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Personal Revelations

Part 10: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777343150794620928/part-10-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Moving Forwards

Part 11: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/777956345689276416/part-11-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Unexpected Interruptions

Part 12: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778094126559346688/part-12-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Immoral Ramifications

Part 13: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778116253788274688/part-13-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Atychiphobia

Part 14: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778133469769433088/part-14-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Fatal Follies

Part 15: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778180547111518208/part-15-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - The Doctor is In.

Part 16: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778307819675025408/part-16-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Sickening Salvage

Part 17: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778388790632939521/part-17-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Sounds of Silence

Part 18: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778581981721214976/part-17-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Masks you Wear.

Part 19: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778960628687699968/part-19-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Head(s) of the Problem

Part 20: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/780730244656250880/part-20-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Baked Clay

Part 21: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/781962684695461888/part-21-of-the-decade-of-joy-story - Explosive Aftershocks

My TDOJ character Voices: https://www.tumblr.com/decadeofjoy-au/778194994194481152/i-was-originally-going-to-pick-it-myself-but-then

DESIGNS FOR THE AU(to be edited)

[noxturnalmoth]

What Could Have Been

Summary: Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which his adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?

Warnings:

Word Count: 6,397

Masterlist: here

Chapter 2 - Alone

"You have five seconds to explain what happened before I snap your neck."

Was gruffly said in your ear, ragged breath fanning the side of your neck and hair as the wet rag around your throat was pulled tighter. Although you knew very well he could and would kill you if given the opportunity, you refused to give in to your base instinct of attack, fight engraved in each cell in your body instead of flight.

"Can't do much if I can't talk." Was wheezed out as you managed to elbow him in the ribs. The attack could lead to either Slico dropping the rag to cradle his fresh wounds or him dragging you down while the rag choked you further, you were relieved that it was the former. Taking a gulp of fresh air, you turn quickly on the bed and ignoring your ankle's painful straining, straddled the man's waist, your legs hooked around his thighs while you pinned his hands above his hands. His teal eye was narrowed viciously, the teal a biting cold that clawed at you as his disfigured eye burnt you down, charring you to nothing by a simple rageful look. The black of its sclera seeming darker while the orange of the iris was shining bright like an inferno, a a much more different look than the calm yet restless dullness of it when Silco was unconscious. "And if you can't stop trying to kill me I'll have to leave us in this very uncomfortable position for the forseeable future. You're gravely wounded, barely stabilized, and if you try anything not only would it be easy to subdue you but if you managed to escape you'd be dead meat, no matter how strong you are. So can you please not?"

Nightmare fresh on your mind, still appearing behind each blink, exhaustion having sucked up all you had even after a small rest and pain making your voice clipped. His good eye widened slightly in surprise, probably not used to being talked to in such a way or physically handled for quite some time. His lips were pulled back in a sneer but when he tried to escape your grip and blood seeped from his wounds, pain shot through his and cut the action short by making him go limp and groan.

"Fine."

Is huffed from beneath you before you peel yourself away and softly appologizing for your action under your breath, action that also seems to astonish the man as if he had never expected his "captor" to show any ounce of humanity. And you had to rectify that horrible misunderstanding, if not for your pride, for his clarity of mind and relief.

You start the introduction by saying your name as you unwrapped his bandages.

"I found you in a building pretty well hidden between the fringes and the entresol level. I had been there for personal matter regarding a Chem Baron meeting." Silco takes a sharp breath, as sharp as the daggers he had hidden on his person when you first brought him home, aswell as the glare he was currently shooting you while you were cleaning and checking his wounds. "I know, it sounds suspicious, and it was. Those are worse sump rats than I am, because they don't even harbor any loyalty or cause but their own, not even to our people, to Zaun as a whole. I heard from the grape vine that you'd already have an attempt on your life done by Finn, so when I learned he was organizing a little clandestine takeover I had to know what it was about. Plus there's always good extra information to get, they're not careful enough with how they speak and act, it reveals all their cards to the one who actually has a mind and uses it properly."

He scoffs, tensing as your hands touch his skin but biting back any comment or insult he may have for you, knowing better than to bite the hand that heals.

"I was about to hide in the building you were detained in until the meeting started, and heard a whole lot of ruckus. Turns out a family reunion was happening, and i may have not seen anything but I heard enough to know someone got hurt. Even after I saw it was you I couldn't stop myself from running home, I had witnessed manslaughter and I was not about to let a fellow Zaunite die if I could help it. So what if it was you? I would have done it if it was anyone else of our people, even if it was a Piltie. But like hell I, as a trencher, was gonna let one of my own die if I had a say in it."

Your voice resounded in the curtain walled room, the rounded window letting the fluorescent lights filter through the mezzanine, as your hands applied ointment softly to the puckering scars. None had to be restitched but the movements he had performed earlier would make them more sore than they would have been had he not done that. Yet you understood, the man who had all the cards and control in Zaun dying, then finding himself in bed with a stranger was bound to activate fight or flight. And just like you, rebellion was carved deep within his soul.

"What do you want?" His voice had asked so roughly, like angry, rolling thunder hidden behind a curtain of dark, inky clouds.

"Nothing. I want nothing but your health and safety at the moment." Is what you humed back, your hands grazing him gently as you wrapped his chest and stomach. A hiss was heard, and as you looked at Silco you found him analyzing you, mouth downturned as if your mere existence displeased him, and it may have but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You were doing what you thought was right, you were helping one of your own and that's all that mattered.

"I'll ask again." He all but growls out. "What do you want?" Is clipped from behind clenched teeth, his hands going for youe throat. "I don't believe in good samaritans."

"You shouldn't. Everybody has something they want." My hand catches his wrists and his snarl grows deeper, carving his face with a grave expression. "My condition is you taking it easy to not make it any harder on either of us, and to just let me do this. Because I don't know if you've noticed but you've come back from near death Silco. Gone are the Eye of Zaun and the Industrialist, it's been a week and the world goes on without you. You've been old news since you got shot."

His breath hitches and his weak grasp on your throat tightens, eyes looking between each of yours, trying to find something, anything. Turns out, even if you're Silco, near death by the hands of a loved one is enough to make all your walls tumble down like a house of cards. So you bring my other hand up, enclosing both his wrists between your palms.

"I've admired you since I was a kid, Silco." You begin, speaking softly, your eyes looking onto his. "Somewhere along the way you lost yourself and you lost sight of what mattered the most, Zaun. You were obsessed with the idea of it and did all that you did for it, but in the end all you've done was for the semblance of a dream of youth. All you did was for revenge against Piltover, you were fuelled by hatred and now your dream and your empire both have toppled because you've grown overzealous."

"In the pursuit of great, you failed to do good, Silco." His hands clench again, your breathing slightly altered yet not enough to make you take action, his eyes looking at you, drowning and flaying you with their dual violence. "I wanted to save you not for the man you are and what he possesses, but for the man you once were that raised hell to Piltover's enforcers, the man that was a founding member of the Children of Zaun, the idealist who wished for all of his people to finally be free and happy, the child who fought tooth and nail in those mines to survive, the co-founder of the Lanes who helped us generate some of our own profit without Piltover, the man on whom the bridge attack's responsibility fell who then disappeared and came back a monster."

You grab his wrists tighter as he brings his face closer to yours, breath still smelling like tobacco even days after.

"I am not that man anymore, he has died."

"And so have you." You push his wrists away, getting out of the bed and pulling the chair back up from its position on the ground, sitting on it to rewrap your ankle. "So who will you be now Silco?"

Is the last thing uttered from your lips as you take the basin downstairs with your tray on top of it, emptying the cold water and preparing food for two for the first time since you crawled up from the deepest, darkest and most lawless parts of the sump you grew up in. Figments of memories still clinging to you as you hum to occupy the silence, to occupy your busy, loud mind, your gramophone too far for you to want to drag your exhausted body to it. Later, with the tray and basin filled with food and water respectively, you climb back up the stairs, careful not to hurt yourself more.

And opening the curtains you're surprised to see the man still awake, yet a part of you isn't, it feels like the coma he was in for the week was the most sleep he's gotten in years, and that saddened you as you knew exactly how it felt. He was sitting up on your bed, back on the wall, legs stretched as his eyes looked in front of him absentmindedly, lost in thoughts you could only guess were dreary.

"I have to work today, I've been gone for six days and people need me." You say as you set the tray on the bed, his eyes snapping to you as if he only just noticed you were there. "I'll be back later on, please don't try anything. If not for my sake, for your own. If there are still things you wish to accomplish in this life, rest." And those were the last words uttered between you that day as you left right after eating your breakfast.

Down in Zaun in this time of year the weather was bitingly cold, the metal storing the cool from the wind, rain and snow and distributing it to the whole of the Undercity, the bite getting worse the lower you got. But that was no matter for you, the forge was always warm, the hearth burning brightly and illuminating the shop in a soft orange glow as you fixed appliances and made tools, day in and day out helping your community. It felt good, cathartic even, to hit something in order to help someone instead of hurting them, and it felt good when people needed you because you were good at fixing and creating, not destroying. And everyday that Janna let you breathe, you'd thank yourself for working so hard towards achieving something worth being proud of with no one's help but your own and your community's. People who had taken you in their arms and offered a new chance at life seven years ago and for whom you worked incessantly for to balance out the ledger, to repay your debt. And as you arrived at your shop, started the flame and opened up, you saw people pouring in, faces old and new, but all of them you could help and you would, for in Zaun everyone knows the one rule: "we never give our own people away".

But everyone forgets its second part: "we always help our brothers and sisters if we can".

You didn't, and it was the one motto you lived by, day by day, muscles flexing and clenching, sweating at the flame's heat as you fixed, as you created, and today wasn't an exception, and neither was the next week. Silco seldom talked to you, his stomach healing slowly but surely as he begrudgingly followed your advice of staying in bed while you wondered what he was thinking about that had his eyes glaze over, staring into the nothingness and his ears deaf until you metaphorically shook him awake. You took on no new mission of your own, your mind not up to sabotaging the Piltie pigs or the Sump leeches while the man you now shared your life with was still healing, although while his stomach was getting along quite well, the rest of his body seemed to degenerate. You had told about him to your landlord, telling him and his family how you've come to have an unwilling roommate and revealing who he was, knowing that you didn't have to plead for them to keep their mouths shut and you couldn't be more glad to be a Zaunite.

News in Zaun could travel as fast as lightning or as slow as the rolling of the clouds bringing it forth. It had taken two weeks for you to hear from a client that Piltover's council building had been attacked the night you saved Silco, and that three councilor had died, Councilor Hoskel, Councilor Kiramman and Councilor Bolbok, aswell as Viktor, a fellow Zaunite and one of the brilliant minds behind hextech which revolutionized technology on topside. Your heart grew heavy as you were revealed the Perpetrator: Jinx, Silco's daughter and the one who nearly killed the man she called her father. The rest of your day was spent pondering how you could break the news to the man, his daughter had probably been so guilt stricken she destroyed the world and herself alongside it, yet you couldn't lie to him, even less if it's about the only person he loves. So that night, you pass by a food stall, getting food that you bring upstairs with you to Silco, stubble had filled his face, the marred side patchy and irregular. His eyes were tired and glossy, and when you sat down on your chair next to your bed and placed the warm bag on the bed, they dragged lazily to you instead of snapping as usual. His shivering curled up form on the bed, his jaw locked tight as if in immeasurable pain, he wrapped himself deeper in your blanket, trying to maintain a cold façade even after everything.

He was ashamed and you knew it, ashamed of his near death at the hands of his daughter, ashamed at his weakness in this whole ordeal, control slipping between his fingers like sand. But it looked like something else was at play, he was flushed, sweaty and sensitive to sound, touch and light since the day he woke up, the condition getting worse as time passed, and you knew you would never be able to get information as to why if you didn't drive a good bargain, so sighing you straighten up.

"I have knews of your daughter." Was what had him sit up, doubling over in pain yet it wasn't his stomach that he held but his eye. "But I will only tell you if you tell me what's going on."

"So you've finally decided to execute your power over me?" His voice wavered as he tried to force it to unleash venom, spittering and acidic against your skin as he got close to your face, his tired eyes looking particularly frenzied, the braziers of hell flickering dangerously in a way that had you narrowing your eyes in confusion.

"No, but there is something you're not telling me that's ailing you and I can't help if you don't let me."

"Why would I?"

"Because you want to know about Jinx." Cut through the fast paced hissing tone he had set for the conversation. "Don't you?" You tilt your head, secretly hoping that in his exhaustion he'll bite, because as much as you wanted him healthy you also knew of how comandeering and stubborn he was. And if his rough sigh, partly sounding like a growl, was anything to go by? You had won your bet against yourself.

"My eye. It's a source of constant pain, migraines, blurry vision at times, others it's depth perception being messed with. Those I can deal with usually, but this.." He stops, taking a deep breath, hand covering his bad eye. "I get episodes. My skin is rotting, so are my nerves, slowly but surely. I usually have a medication for it, but I have not the injector nor the serum."

There it was, and as you observed just how bad his condition was now, you knew he had been hiding his pain better than anyone else could have in his situation. Skin looking so much paler and its flush so much redder, the sweat gleaming all over his flesh, the marring across his left cheek running deeper, the gray flesh looking darker and like it was conquering more of the sickly territory of his face. That's when you realized that the flickering of his eye was a very persistant and visible pulsing of the organ. His flesh had been rotting before your eyes and you have no idea on how to help.

"What serum?" Your voice rushes, eyes looking at him as your hands measured the temperature of his forehead, burning.

"Shimmer." His voice croaked, no longer the energy for an angry growl. You take a sharp breath

"And the injector?"

"Made to deliver the shimmer directly in my pupil, it had a circular tubing around it to help place it around the eye." He pants a bit, closing his good eye to try to focus on anything but the pain. "I normally need one injection per day" And at that you were back up, telling him to eat without you.

"You still havent told me about-" He starts, scrambling on the bed to reach you, his voice breaking, tears clinging to his lower lashes, yet you cut him off.

"I'm not letting you know news about your daughter while you're agonizing, I'm not a monster. But just know that for now, she's a fugitive."

Closing the door behind you, you rush as much as your twisted ankle can permit you, stinging pain eating at every single one of your steps while youcut through town, goin to see an old connection of yours. Samira was a pharmacian, one of the rare ones down here in the Undercity, her pharmacy more akin to an apothecary shop yet her products were proven to help and provided whatever relief you seeked. If anyone had to have proper uncut shimmer, it was her. And you were right, as you explained your conundrum to Samira she nodded and handed you a dozen of vials. "Free of charge" as the eye of Zaun had died, she had said huffing out a laugh at the Irony, but as you shoved them in your coat pockets hurriedly she asked if you were alright.

"I'm managing." Was all you answered before high tailing it for your shop, leaving her in the dust.

The hearth was burning bright as you lit it, pondering how to go about making his injector. You couldn't make one from scratch, it would take too long and you shivered as you thought back of the fact he had hidden the fact his flesh was rotting away. He had been in horrible pain, adding up day after day, effects piling up as he curled up on his own. And you felt for this man, although it was misplaced pride he was still clinging to the last thing allowing him control: himself. And there, in your bed, weak and helpless albeit still fighting for the last shred of his integrity, you had recognized the man you admired as a child, the look in his eyes as you mentionned his daughter had been fiery. Even if he was in pain he was still doing all he could, although he couldn't move, he was still holding on. And as you picked spare parts in the back of the shop and set them on the anvil, you decided that as long as he was with you, you'd provide him with all the help he needed. Even if he never came back to the young revolutionary he once was, even if he remained the stubborn mean bastard he was now, even if he left, what you saw today was a lonely man. His eyes, his voice, you knew that look more than anyone. It's the one you had, surrounded by people yet never truly feeling like you fit in no matter what you did.

So as you heated up the metal parts and assembled them together you allowed yourself to think back to that loneliness. The one that makes everything feels transactional, like you can only be loved if you provide, the crippling pain of seeing others have friends and family while companionship of any kind terrifies you to the core, like it was a starved beast ready to gnaw you alive, from your skin to your flesh and even your bones. It's that loneliness that mixes with the sleepless nights, haunted by visions of horror as if you were in a fancy Piltovan cinema, locked in a theater of your own demons while the film rolled indefinitely. The one that leaves your throat and skin raw as you scream and claw at your skin, hoping to wash and expell away any ounce of pain you feel, but it's never enough, so you never scream again and encase your heart in molted iron, letting it cool into a spiked shell. The look Silco had in his eyes, the tone in his voice, you felt for him because you were the same, and you knew he'd reject you, but you were willing to try to help him. It was selfish, you knew as much, but you had been someone good for others for almost a decade, shaping yourself into someone accepted and beloved yet nothing could bring you close enough to your people no matter how much you loved them and how much they loved you. Because there was always a part of yourself you hid, an ugly past that you didn't wish to unhearth in fear of your house of cards crumbling down. Yet the need for emotional closeness intrinsic to human beings ate at you day after day. And maybe it was foolish to think that by helping Silco you could help yourself too, and it disgusted you to think that you had maybe expected something from him after all even if unknowingly, but you were willing to try, even if he was the only one benefitting from it at the end.

A couple of hours had passed by the time you finished the injector, rushing back home ignoring your own pain again in favor for helping the man in your appartment, as you have done for the past two weeks. Door slamming open and shut as you hurried your limping form upstairs, Silco crumpled on the bed, curled up on himself. And when you touch his shoulder he reels back, as if your touch had branded him. His eyes were angry, confused and pained, cheeks painted with bitter sweat and salty tears as blood dripped from his bitten lips, his arms and ribs marked with half moons. He had been hurting himself, to forget the pain you wager, of his condition and of how in the span of so little time all he has worked towards for crumbled to dust. And as one of your hands goes to your coat pocket to retrieve the injector and one tube of shimmer.

"I did all I could, do you want me to let you do it on your own?" You say softly, hand caressing his before raking some of his sweaty, messy bangs back to the crown of his head and away from his eyes. As my hand leaves his burning face he grabs it and sits up.

"What happened to Jinx?"

"Silc-"

"What happened to her?!" A gasp escapes him at his own raised voice as he falls back on the pillow, writhing in pain yet tensing to not let it appear quite as much, the concern and anger in his tone and mannerisms still very present.

"She..Shot the Council, three councilors dead, a Zaunite civilian aswell, the co-creator of Hextech I believe, she's now considered an enemy of Piltover and will be hunted down. It happened the day you nearly died." I sigh, my hand turning in his, entertwining our fingers and squeezing, hoping to bring any measure of comfort. "Silco you're torturing yourself, take the shi-"

"I need to go back to Jinx, she needs me." His voice cracked, his waning strength pushing you away as he stood up, knees buckling under him before you caught him in your arms, his extra weight making you taste the violent crack in your ankle.

"Haven't you done enough Silco?" You ask gently as you set him back down. "That girl is already haunted enough as it is, don't you think it's better to not appear to her again, that it's time to let her go? You'd be another ghost to her, and in the state you're in now you'd die in front of her again by the time you got to her."

"You don't know what's best for-"

"I may not know what's the best for your daughter but you do, and you know as well as I do that coming back will only hurt her further. You have nothing anymore Silco, how can you expect to be someone she falls back to? How can you expect to be a good father if you're not even the man she knew?" His anger is evident on his face, and you're understanding of why, it wasn't the lack of refusals towards him in the past few years that provoked his rage, no it was that he realized how the little control he believed he still held had been gone, and that the words you uttered were nothing but the unfortunate truth.

"I don't mean to hurt you, all I want is for you to be back up and running, and happy if that's even possible, but let me ask you that. Is your past life really worth you rushing back to? The senseless violence and drugs you dealt to your own people, an empire brought forth by our brothers and sisters you've subdued, greedy, stupid and distrustful collegues that wait for any occasion to stab you in the back no matter how loyal they may seem. We've all heard of Jinx, if we haven't dealt with her first hand, do you really believe a good father would have weaponized his daughter, Silco? Had you been a good father, would she have even been there and done what she's done? You've been the best father you could be, but blinded by your own trauma and ambition you've used the girl's affection to further your own agenda. Look at yourself, alone and destitute, and no one brought it upon you other than yourself, Silco."

"We've grown up in a world were there was never enough for everyone. I was trying to pull us out of the depths Piltover dragged us in but I don't expect you to understand, child." He all but spits.

You sigh, placing the injector and shimmer on your desk, sitting on the bed next to Silco who was shaking, rage and a maelstrom of other feelings emanating from him, swirling like a destructive tornado as his eyes ripped you apart.

"We've grown up in a world where there wasn't enough to go 'round for everyone, but have you made it any better? Or have you just capitalized on our pain, profitted on the fear and violence you brought forth? All you've done was make Zaun an enterprise and still saying it was for all of us, but you lost all of that years ago haven't you, you fought for all of us even when you've lost the plot. You're a lonely, terrified and pained man hiding behind a façade of control you've carefully built over the years, but that pain only grew hasn't it? So you tried to make yourself into the monster every Piltie sees in all of us so their attention is diverted to you, you shouldered all of the responsabilities in Zaun, you've raised a child, and you've still failed in all of those! Your façade terrifies even your own people, your empire toppled over and your child's crazy! You make everything worst by clinging to it, trust me, sometimes it's better to just let go. "

You breathe heavily, gulping as your hands gripped the bed, sheets crumpled in between your fingers. A thud resounds through the room and looking behind you, you see Silco sitting up with his back against the wall, his bi colored eyes looking to the copper tool and the glowing purple vial. The rage softening slowly, the chipped teeth showing from his angry snarl now hidden behind the curtain of his lips. He breathes heavy and shivers, pain mixing with emotions he seems too overwhelmed to even try to understand. But then his good eye opened a bit more, no longer hiding the tumultuous ocean within his teal iris as it looks from you to the table on which are placed the objects he needed. A silent invitation, you decypher. And so you nod, your lungs heaving as you bring the shimmer and injector to the poor man beside you. Your eyes meeting his again, all the energy and the fight had left him, there sat Silco in what you surmised was his purest form, tears flowing down his cheeks, eyes so pained you felt like you were about to double over. His jaw was clenched and his lips pulled in a sneer, the usual rage nowhere to be seen, it was something more visceral this time. And as you went to give him the material he shook his head, his arms crossing across his chest, nails digging to the sides of his arms.

So you approached slowly to not agitate him any further, he looked troubled enough as is. You looked at him every step of the preparation, putting the vial in the contraption, unlocking the needle cap, and placing the cylindrical apparatus to his eye to stabilize your hand, giving him a chance to back down everytime. But he never did, and once you injected the product, his form crumpling in pain, you realize just how vulnerable he had allowed himself to be. Your thumb wiping away a purple tear, the same purple tainting the burning orange of his ruined eye, before he slaps it away and turns his back to you, laying down. His body was no longer shivering and from what you had seen neither was the unblinking black and orange gem adorning the left side of his face. Understanding he needed space after that, you left the vials and injector and went downstairs, showering before you crumpled in the couch you've been sleeping in for the past two weeks, curling up on yourself.

The days are long after that, no more words uttered between you two, a tense and overwhelming silence taking over your appartment, he still only ate whenever you were away and you grew more restless but you understood. He needed time, to digest the hard truths, to take a good look at himself and wonder what he was doing to himself, what he had done to himself, and what he would do with himself later on. You knew that confusion better than anyone, and as you remember the feel of your bruised and ruined hands, the sounds of screams and cheering, the stench of corpses, booze and sweat, the taste of blood and tears. You've become someone good, helpful and, you hoped, worth knowing. But in whichever future you imagined it was always lonely, no one waiting for you at home, no friends close enough to you to know everything, a void still ripping your chest apart. He had lost himself for some reason, but you could only imagine the crippling loneliness he felt was why he clung to his dream so hard even after diverging from it, why he clung to the comandeering façade he had created, why he clung to his daughter like a lifeline. Because they were the only thing that reminded him he was alive and human at all. Just like helping people no matter the cost has been what kept you going.

One day after work, your body heavy and dragging as you moved, you brought up his dinner as always, expecting him to barely look at you, chilling eyes sizing you up as you left. But when you began to retire his hand caught your wrist, dragging you to the bed, tray discarded on your desk.

"Would letting her go truly be the only good thing I can do?"

His voice, rough from unuse, breaks the silence. Its low rumbling leaving a crackle of electricity behind it.

"I believe so." Is the simple answer you give.

"I would have nothing left."

You shake your head, freeing your wrist and laying your hand upon it on the bedsheets. "You'd still be alive, there's a chance for you to build something. You've forgotten yourself Silco, you've locked who you truly are away for too long. I think it's time for you to redescover yourself."

"Do you know who you are?" And at that you chuckle and shake your head again a soft "no" escaping your lips, your eyes gently raking over his form which was much healthier now that he had his medicine. "Then how do you-"

You interrupt his angry inquiry. "Because I know what I'm not. Do you?" And he freezes, his scowl softening as do his eyebrows, his eyes looking past you and through you to see something you cannot.

"The Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, they're gone." He breathes out roughly, one hand dragging through ink black and soft silver, and when arrived at the back of his head the hand tugs as if to bring his focus back. You nod, they had died a month ago, both of them, and as his eyes looked down to your linked hands you feel like that realization finally weighs in on him.

"You asked me when you woke up what I wanted from you. I've said that I only wanted you healthy, but I suppose I can't in good conscience continue to lie." He freezes and his eyes snap back to yours, hand gripping yours in a vice, not in anger, in something deeper, more all consuming. And you know that from the way the air shifts and his face twitches, like a child terrified of getting struck. "I did want your health to return to you, but I suppose I also didn't want to be alone anymore. People suffer in Zaun, that much is a fact for all of us, but I have seen things and done things, I've lived through events that molded me against my will. Events that most would not understand no matter how much they care. So I remain surrounded but alone, never truly myself with anyone. I guess, knowing parts of what happened to you, deep down...I hoped we could be friends. So I decided to be good to you no matter how bad you could be to me, as I always do, and even if you end up leaving I'll be glad if you at least felt cared for. Because I believe that no matter how well you hide it, you feel alone too."

Eyes lock and his hand relaxes, his eyebrows twitch and his eyes flutter around your face, digging for any hidden viciousness, for any burried intentions, but he finds none. You can see it in the drop of his tense shoulders, in the slow breath coming out of you.

"And you think I'd understand?" He drawls softly.

"I know you would, whether you want to or not. But you have a choice to stay or leave, I will never keep you against your will. As soon as you're good to go, feel free to do whatever you want."

"I'm not a good man."

"People can change, the question is whether they're willing to or not."

Silence ticks by, food untouched as you shift on the bed thinking the conversation is over, yet Silco's hand drags you back down.

"And you're willing to try?"

"Of course."

"It would be rotten work." The words spill from his lips before he can even think of a less emotive answer and your head shakes yet again. You set yourself next to him on the bed, enjoying the plushness of the mattress for the first time in weeks.

"Never to me. It's my job to fix things after all, no matter how battered, broken and unusable, no matter if the process is long, complex, or if I get hurt in the end."

Your hand quits his as it and its twin burrow in your pockets, procuring a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You place two rolls of paper and tobacco between your lips, lighting them with a flick of the thumb, opening the silver rectangle which provided a large flickering flame. You take one cigarette between two fingers and show it to Silco, asking for a truce of sorts. His hand hesitates, yet shivering fingers find your question and accept its terms, the filter that had previously surrounded by your lips now enclosed between his.

"I don't think I ever had a friend." Your voice softly says, expelling smoke as you broke the comfortable silence, eyes looking up at the ceiling. You see him nod from your peripherals, his head leaning back to do the same as you.

Everyone needs to be drunk on something to stay alive.

And albeit differently, for the both of you it was affection.

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[hxney-lemcn]

Worst to best characters to be friends with if you have anxiety

this is all based off of me and my personal anxiety. Obvi other people are anxious about different things and on different levels (not to mention my biases towards characters).

WORST

Kalim: sorry. As much as I love him I don’t think I could handle it. It’s not just the parties, it’s like…everything. My anxiety stems from a fear of not being in control (haha) so the fact that he’s so carefree would actually kill me.

Floyd: I like him a lot too but he’s a nightmare. I’d be so scared around him 😭 I wouldn’t want to accidentally set him off so I’d always be on edge and once again, his carefree ‘let’s skip class’ nature would kill me.

Rook: he’s scary. Like honestly. If this was real life and he was actually following me I would actually be in a constant panic. No thanks. And when he’s dramatic it brings more attention on him and you by default for being by him so no thanks.

Lilia: I could not handle him. I don’t think our humor would match and I’d get very awkward. Not to mention how outgoing he is, sorry it’s a bit much for me.

Sebek: he’s constantly screaming about his waka-sama. Do you know how embarrassing that would be? To not only be yelled at but by a fanboy?? I think I’d just wither on the spot. I can’t handle all those eyes on me.

Leona: so he’s actually kind of high, but that’s cus he’s so mean if he doesn’t know you 😭 I think I’d actually cry cus I’d feel so anxious if he were to say something to me. I swear I’m not sensitive Leona just kinda doesn’t hold back and I can’t handle all that.

Vil: Gah he’s one of my favs but he’d intimidate me so badly. I’d be so quiet around him hoping he doesn’t notice my existence 😭 I couldn’t handle his criticism either, I do not have the right mindset for that (it would get me stressed so quickly).

Cater: another fav, but sadly, I’d be easily embarrassed if he filmed himself in public. Or if he tried to post stuff of me cus like…he’s got a good amount of followers. Yeah no thanks. I don’t like being perceived. But his bubbly personality would help me calm down.

Azul: idk how to explain this one. Like he pretends to be this nice guy but then swindles you. He’d be on my watch list which means I’ll be more on guard around him. I’d probably just avoid him if anything.

Ruggie: idk, he’s the character I understand the least, so I’d probs just be awkward around him. His humor is different than mine so I would do that awkward laugh and it’s just not a good scenario. No thanks.

Epel: he keeps trying to fight people. No way is that good for my heart 😭 I’d be so embarrassed trying to pretend like I don’t know him 💀

Jade: he’d intimidate me a lot at first, but then we could talk about mushrooms and marine life and I think we could be chill. I can have a more morbid sense of humor so his ‘threats’ (I don’t think he’s actually lethally poisoned anyone) would seem more like jokes to me.

Ace: so he literally insults Yuu right off the bat. He’d probs do the same to me. So yeah, not a fan. Make me feel like shit. But once your friends it’s better, but all the shit he gets into…not my style. (He would be a good friend tho, maybe just a bit dense about anxiety stuff and accidentally say something really mean/condescending)

Jamil: love this guy, but he would scare me at first (ok tbf any person I don’t know scares me…). Like he’s got this responsible aura and I wouldn’t wanna mess him up and he’d probs be a bit cold shouldered. But I think we would get along over time, and he’d be considerate of me so he’s closer to the middle.

Jack: don’t get me wrong, dude is super nice and has a kind heart (reason why he’s closer to the best), but he’s a total tsundere. The quietness and the whole ‘but it’s not cus I like you’ thing would just make me feel awkward.

Idia: ik, surprising he isn’t the best with all the stuff I’ve been writing about him, but let’s be honest. First meeting and neither of us are talking. And it will probs be like that for a while, so he’s a bit high on my list. Ofc once you get to know each other it’s a lot better cus y’all can be emotional support buddies but yeah.

Deuce: bro has a homey vibe. He’s a bit dense and used to be a delinquent, but if I’m meeting him at NRC then I think we’d get along well. He’s a sweetheart and that would make me like him quickly and not be so anxious lol

Riddle: ok so he’s so close to the best BECAUSE!!! My anxiety about not having control? He 100% relates and we’d probably bond over it 😭 plus I love having rules to follow so I know I’m not doing anything wrong…yeah I relate to Riddle a bit too much (just on a much, much lower level. It’s not that bad I swear)

Malleus: why is he so close to best? Well…he is really warm when he first meets Yuu. I think that he is a bit intimidating, but his personality would quickly win me over and make me feel safe with him.

Ortho: hello? The sweetest person at NRC? Need I say more?

Silver: literally the chillest man alive. AND he has animals following him? Say less. Not to mention how nice he’d be if you told him you were anxious. He’d always look out for you and try to find a solution.

Trey: wow. Ngl, I’m not a huge fan of him (nothing wrong with him he just never caught my eye), but even I gotta admit Trey is probably one of the most level headed there is. He handled Riddle really well (for a teen) and ik he’d be a really good person to be friends with. Def a guy you want in your corner if crowds get to be too much.

BEST

Leave a comment about who you think would be best or worst. Just pls don’t start fighting 😭

[descendant-of-truth]

Actually I think we need to be talking about Darkside more. Why have we as a fandom (as well as myself specifically) been neglecting Darkside when it's the most consistently recurring boss in the whole franchise

Literally the first boss we fight and it's this thing that rises up out of Sora's shadow in his dreams, and that still looks like Sora for a few seconds before it transforms into the version we fight:

This is Sora's dark side, quite literally. And what just so happens to be there at the destruction of Destiny Islands?

Man, with a thing that big and powerful, it's probably responsible for most of the damage to the islands all by itself.

Hey, what was that thing Zexion said to Riku, again? "It was you who destroyed your home"? Boy I sure am glad that the truth is what we hear and not what we see with our eyes--

Oh. Hm. That's a rather pointed dream sequence for you to be having, Xion.

Guys, I don't know why it took me so long to put these specific pieces together, but I'm pretty sure Sora's darkness was what actually destroyed the Destiny Islands. Whoever opened the door to darkness is still responsible for letting it out - it seemed otherwise occupied in Sora's dreams - and that's an interesting puzzle, too, because we're told that Riku did that even though Kairi was the one closest to the door, but that's not a mystery this post is here to solve.

My question is, what the HECK was going on with Sora for him to have a darkness so potent that it manifested outside of him before he had even been on any adventures? The guy's got insecurities for sure, but at this point in the series, they're kinda... normal ones. Feeling overshadowed and jealous of his best friend who's always better at everything than him, always stronger and cooler, it's not nothing but it doesn't make sense for it to be that. If Sora was going to have a darkness that strong, I'd expect it to come from a later point in the series, maybe around KH3 when the number of Terrible Things that have happened to or around him has reached truly insane levels.

But... the Darkside comes from the Realm of Darkness, right? Where time doesn't exist, and if you walk through it, you can be hit with people's emotions from the future?

So, I dunno, maybe it's a conglomeration of Sora's darkness from various points in time, though it still doesn't explain why his in particular gets to become something so giant. But it's definitely a Sora thing, because in Coded, the record of Sora's Heartless develops into a Darkside, as well.

But how can it be Sora-exclusive when there's so many of them down there??

Well, it might not be... but I'm not ruling out the possibility of time loop shenanigans, either. If Sora can live through the Keyblade Graveyard stuff at least four times (five if you consider the theory of KH3 in its entirety being a second loop from the get-go), then who's to say that doesn't double up on the number of Darksides in the Realm of Darkness?

Sora's already got a narrative history of reliving his past, after all. CoM has him going through his memories of his first adventure (albeit altered), Coded has another version of Sora going through his first adventure (altered again), even DDD has him revisiting Traverse Town and re-meeting his friends (in different ways than he originally did but it still counts).

I'm just saying, the heart remembers what the mind doesn't, and that can surface in a lot of ways. A Sora that's been time-looping a bunch but doesn't remember it probably would be having weird prophetic nightmares and thoughts about whether any of this is "for real" or not.

But honestly, even with the time loop theory I ended up going with in this post, the main thing I wanted to get at is that the Darkside is weird and unexplained but suspiciously tied to Sora in the narrative. These are just the connections I've put together on my own, but there could be a lot that I'm missing! I want to know what this thing's deal is, and I welcome anyone who wants to share their take on the matter.

[fuctacles]

What goes up, needs assistance coming down

For @steddiemicrofic "top" | 510 | G | no cw | established relationship | if you saw me post this earlier and delete it bc i pasted the wrong version, pretend you didn't | Ao3

Sometimes, when Eddie writes a particularly delicious twist in his campaign, he wonders how in hell he had repeated senior year two times.

But then this shit happens.

Because he's been in this exact situation before, and smart people are supposed to learn from their mistakes. Thankfully, Steve is supposed to get back from work any time now. Maybe he loves him too much to make fun of him. After Eddie bears the humiliation of calling out for him because there's no way he'll figure out Eddie's out here.

As soon as he hears the car pull in and the door slam closed, he yells out,

"Steve!"

The steps crunch on the gravel, rounding the house, and his worst nightmare comes true. Because he hears more than one pair of footsteps. Double humiliation it is.

"Eddie?"

Aaand that's Henderson. The last person he'd want to see right now.

"Hey, man. What's up?" he asks nonchalantly his favourite kid, who grins up at him.

"How about you tell me, huh?"

"Oh, because I'm on a tree?" Eddie scoffs at him. "Har har, Henderson, very clever."

His rescuer isn't looking very rescue-y either. He's just standing behind Dustin with a bemused expression, eyeing the ladder lying prone below the tree.

"Why?" is all he asks.

Eddie sighs and points to the coils of fairy lights he had dropped to the ground in his panic after the ladder fell.

"This so doesn't answer my question." Steve raises his eyebrows disapprovingly. "Henderson, put the groceries away, help yourself to the fridge. Your dads need to talk."

"Gross." Dustin makes a face but snatches the grocery bag from Steve. He turns back to Eddie while walking away. "Good luck!" He gives him a toothy grin. Eddie flips him off, but his eyes are focused on Steve, who's setting the ladder back up. Soon, they're at eye level, as Steve leans on the top of it.

"Why?" he asks again. "Why would you do that again?"

Eddie looks away, hoping Steve will postpone this interrogation until after his feet are back on the ground.

"I had this, okay? It's not as bad as the roof. If the ladder didn't fall—"

Suddenly, Steve's face appears in his periphery. His eyes are stern.

"You should have waited for me," he points out.

Eddie makes a face. Okay, here he goes.

"I wanted to surprise you. I saw how you liked the lights around the Wheelers' garden," he explains, hoping the heat over his cheeks is imaginary. Henderson was way too close for him to be humiliated like that.

Steve's face softens.

"Baby," he coos, leaning into his space.

"Please don't—"

Steve ignores him, landing a soft kiss on his lips.

"My sweet boy," he murmurs, and now Eddie's positive his face is red.

"Can you put me on the ground first, please?"

Steve gives him a boyish grin but helps him climb down the ladder without further teasing.

"Thank you—" he barely makes out before Steve's on him, peppering his face with kisses.

"The cutest metalhead in Indiana."

[uneducated-author]

Something that has been rotating in my head for a hot minute is how trapped Lu Guang is in Season 1.

From his nightmare sequence in Season 2, we know that Cheng Xiaoshi is murdered at some point after the case of the missing child, but before they help Xu Shanshan, right? And all I can think about is, their Earthquake case was one of their last cases together.

Lu Guang in the first timeline breathed out, because they were okay, they were friends again, he was forgiven and then-

Cheng Xiaoshi is dying in his arms and he's lost everything. And a part of him realises what it is to have your whole world crushing you, to feel the person you love most slip away, and he goes 'oh. Oh I wouldn't forgive myself either.'

And then, he's back.

The first time I watched Season 1 of Link Click I LOVED the way they handled the fallout of the Earthquake arc. Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi are a little older than typical protagonists and their maturity really shows. Cheng Xiaoshi has a clear anger, Lu Guang explains his reasoning, but Cheng Xiaoshi's aggression isn't met with Lu Guang justifying his choices or even retaliating to match his temperament. I also liked the fallout. Neither character is so caught up in their own feelings that they loose sight of how much they value their shared relationship, but they also do feel the hit, and give each other space to heal and recover privately. We don't get forced dramatic tension and an overemotional reconciliation, we get a careful healing and understanding that people have different values and contradictory priorities.

If you rewatch the scene where Cheng Xiaoshi punches him, Lu Guang's expression isn't sorrowful, or even surprised, it's so purely neutral. I think a lot of us thought it seemed apathetic, but now, it feels more resigned.

If anything, all throughout season 1 we hear the public opinion of Lu Guang being that he's very mature, calm and unlikely to panic. And with the season 2 revelation we know why, because he's replaying the levels. He's made these mistakes before, he's learned these lessons. He's borne Cheng Xiaoshi's anger before and he has to put him through that pain again because he can't keep Cheng Xiaoshi safe without the certainty of the timeline. So he gives Cheng Xiaoshi the trauma he knows that they'll heal from to protect him from the bullet that he won't.

That's why the next season is going to be so compelling. Lu Guang has run out of foresight. He doesn't have to keep to a path because he burnt it behind him. For the first time, his autonomy isn't determined and he'll have to face the consequences of his decisions, not his actions. New game, new rules.

Is that a blessing? Or a curse?

[nglgfics]

Rules

(Based on an anonymous request for Noel being a friend with benefits)

(18+)

Masterlist

Noel had been on your couch for twelve days.

Not that either of you were counting. But his socks had started turning up in your laundry basket, and the flat had that subtle lived-in shift—extra mugs left out, two sets of footsteps instead of one, and a low buzz of guitar most evenings when he didn’t bother plugging into the amp.

He’d shown up unannounced. No call. Just a knock at your door at half past ten on a Tuesday night, holding a duffel bag, a guitar case, and a slightly overstuffed Tesco carrier full of neatly rolled socks and three carefully folded shirts.

“Thanks for letting me stay over.” he said. Flat.

You stepped aside. “Kettle’s on.”

That was it. He took the couch. You didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t explain. That’s how it worked between you—low-effort, no fuss, no theatre.

He was technically your brother’s mate. That’s how it started. But by now he was yours too. You’d known him since you were sixteen—always hovering in the background, rolling cigarettes at the kitchen table, half-listening to music on headphones while everyone else shouted over each other. He worked as a roadie for the Inspirals. He was never around for long, but when he was, he was constant. Fixed. Not loud, but solid.

Over time, the friendship became yours—not through any big moment, but through years of shared fags, late-night takeaways, and those weirdly sharp conversations that happened once in a blue moon and never got mentioned again. He didn’t pry. You didn’t hover. You knew how to be quiet together. That counted for more than you liked to admit.

You called him a moody bastard. He called you a nightmare. There was real affection in both.

No flirting. Not really. You weren’t each other’s type, or so you said. But you got on. You trusted each other. You knew when to speak and when to leave it.

And now, freshly dumped and back from an Inspirals tour, he was on your sofa.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Living together, even short-term, hadn’t changed the rhythm.

He washed up without being asked. You didn’t hog the shower. He left his guitar leads in neat coils on the floor. You let him have first pick of the telly if he was already on the couch. There was no tension. No pretending. Just shared space and tired companionship.

You’d both had recent break-ups—his messier, yours quieter. Neither of you felt like getting into it. You didn’t have to. He saw the empty wine bottles in the bin. You clocked the deep crease between his eyebrows that hadn’t left since the night he arrived.

It was fine.

Functional.

Normal.

—-

It had been a shit day. Not a disaster. Just long and crowded and stupid. The kind where your whole body buzzes with low-level rage and your brain starts fantasising about quitting everything to go work in landscaping.

When you got home, Noel was already on the couch, half-sunk into the cushions like furniture. One sock on, one off. Beer bottle resting on his stomach. The telly was on but too low to follow.

You shut the door with more force than necessary and dropped your bag with a thud.

He didn’t even glance up. “Good day?”

You gave him a long look and sat heavily on the other end of the sofa.

Silence stretched between you. Comfortable, but brittle around the edges. Your shoulders ached. He exhaled.

Then, without fanfare, he said, “We could just fuck.”

You turned your head, stared. “Sorry?”

He finally looked over, casual as anything. “I mean. We’re both tense. Worked up. Could take the edge off.”

You squinted at him. “That’s your pitch?”

“It’s not a pitch. Just an option.”

“You want to blow off steam,” you said, slowly, “by shagging your flatmate.”

“My mate,” he corrected. “Temporarily flat-bound. And yeah.”

You watched him. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t fidget. Just waited.

You leaned back. “Alright. Ground rules.”

His mouth twitched. “Go on.”

You counted them off on your fingers.

“One: no kissing.”

He nodded. “Fine. Keep your mouth to yourself.”

“Two: no acting weird. No sulking. No tension. We’re not changing how we are.”

“Brutal,” he said. “Alright.”

“Three: no staying in bed. You sleep on the couch. Always.”

“Done. Your bed’s too small anyway.”

“Four: no talking about it. We don’t make it a thing.”

He shrugged. “Not a talker.”

You paused. Held his eyes. “Five: no feelings.”

He didn’t blink. Just said, “Obviously.”

A beat.

Then he added, “And if it’s shit, we never speak of it again.”

You stood. “Bedroom’s warmer.”

He followed without comment.

Neither of you rushed. You peeled off your shirt and joggers and knickers He pulled his tee over his head, undid his joggers, but didn’t take them off yet.

He stepped close, hands settling briefly at your hips. Then one slid down, between your thighs. His fingers pressed into the heat of you through the fabric, slow and certain.

“Already?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. Amused.

You gave him a look. “You’re very confident.”

He smirked. “You’re still standing here.”

You didn’t bother responding—just slipped your hand into the waistband of his joggers and wrapped around him.

He groaned, low and honest, his hips twitching forward. “Yeah. Thought so.”

You dropped onto the bed. “Come on, then.”

You straddled him first. Legs braced, hands flat on his chest as you lined him up and sank down in one slow, tight slide. You were soaked. He filled you easily.

His breath punched out of him. “Fuck…”

You found your rhythm quickly—hips rolling, bouncing, grinding when you wanted it deeper. He didn’t say much. Just watched, breath ragged, hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave thumbprints.

It was good. Better than good.

No tension, no pretending, no pressure to be anything but in it.

You rode him hard, back arching as you chased your release, breath catching as it hit—sharp, fast, full-body. You moaned, didn’t care how loud.

He didn’t stop you. Just grabbed your waist and breathed, “Turn around.”

You slid off, hands already bracing you on all fours as he knelt behind you and slid back in with one hard thrust.

You gasped—deep, perfect angle. He started moving fast, relentless, fingers digging into your hips as his thighs slapped yours.

The sound of it was obscene. So was the feeling.

“Christ..”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. You were sore already, but you wanted it. All of it. The pace. The pressure. The way it felt like he was pulling something out of you with every thrust.

He came hard, hips stuttering, groan ripped from his throat as he pulsed inside you.

Then stillness. Just heat and breath and the weight of what you’d both just done.

He pulled out slowly, let his hand trail down your back as he stood and reached for his joggers.

You rolled onto your back. “Couch,” you reminded him.

“I remember.”

He smirked, tugging his shirt over his head.

The door clicked shut behind him.

You lay there for a while, catching your breath, legs still warm, the ache already settling in. Shouldn’t have felt this easy.

But it did.

—

It didn’t happen the next night. Or the one after that.

But by the end of the week, it happened again.

You were both stretched thin—he’d come in late from some rehearsal with a new band, you’d barely spoken all day, and the flat had that quiet, insulated feel like the walls were absorbing everything.

You sat through an entire film neither of you cared about. He passed you the last crisp. You handed him the remote. Then, after a stretch of silence, he said—just loud enough to be heard over the credits—

“Same again?”

You didn’t look over.

You just stood up and said, “Yeah. Alright.”

And that was how it started.

It wasn’t every night. But it didn’t need to be.

Sometimes you initiated it. A glance, a shrug, a half-tilted doorway.

Sometimes he did. A nod. A muttered, “Could use the release.”

No fireworks. No anticipation. Just a steady rhythm.

He’d show up late, barefoot, T-shirt creased like he’d pulled it from the floor. You’d already be under the covers, half-asleep or not trying very hard to be.

You’d fuck.

Quick sometimes. Lazy others. Always good.

Then he’d leave, shutting the door gently, and the flat would settle again.

No words. No checking in. No pretending it hadn’t happened.

After a few weeks the sex was getting better.

It wasn’t just instinct. It was knowledge.

He knew how you liked to be touched—when to grip your thighs, when to slow down, when to let you do all the work.

You knew how to grind on him in a way that made him swear under his breath, one hand fisting the sheet. You learned quickly what got him off fast and what made him hang on a bit longer.

You found positions that worked best when you were too tired to move much.

Cowgirl for control.

Doggy for silence.

Spooned from behind, once, after a bottle of wine, when neither of you wanted to open your eyes.

You’d always get off. Then dress, or not. Say something dry. Make tea. Or just go to sleep in separate rooms.

The rest of it, the in-between, also fell into a rhythm.

Mugs left to soak in the sink. Groceries bought in halves—his cereal, your milk. He’d sit on the kitchen counter while you made toast, legs swinging like he lived there. You shared towels without thinking. Learned each other’s shower schedules. He stopped knocking when the bathroom door was open, and you stopped closing it when you brushed your teeth.

You didn’t talk about any of it.

Didn’t define it.

It just became normal.

Sometimes he got back before you. Other nights, you’d come in and find him fast asleep on the couch—remote slipped to one side, mouth open, hair a mess.

You never woke him.

He snored when he was on his back. Soft. Barely there.

You never mentioned it.

But it made you smile

—-

The day everything changed had been a long one.

Not loud or dramatic, just relentless. The kind that settled under your skin, made your limbs ache and your patience run out two hours before you could leave. You hadn’t said much since getting home—just dropped your bag, peeled out of your jeans, and crashed onto the couch in your oversized shirt and knickers.

Noel was already there. Same spot, same joggers, same stretched T-shirt. Legs wide. Bottle half-finished on the floor.

The telly was on but forgotten.

You lay still. Let the silence build. Let the heat from the flat settle into your skin and make you restless.

Then, flatly:

“I need to get off”

Noel turned his head, one brow raised. “Yeah?”

“Can’t be arsed with the whole thing,” you said. “We could just… do it here.”

A beat passed. He didn’t smile. Just looked at you.

Then, simply: “Alright.”

You didn’t give yourself time to second guess it.

Your hand slid under your shirt, knuckles catching on the hem. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your knickers and shimmied them off in one smooth motion. You kicked them to the floor, leaned back into the cushions, and spread your legs with a little more ease than you expected.

One knee angled up. The other draped off the side of the couch. You didn’t adjust your shirt. It had ridden up already, and you didn’t care.

You let your fingers slide between your thighs. The heat was immediate, sharp and welcome. You gasped softly under your breath as you found yourself already slick, already warm, your body ready to get rid of everything the day had left behind.

Across from you, Noel hadn’t moved. But his gaze had shifted.

He was watching you now. Really watching. Not just a glance from the side. His shoulders were still slouched, but his whole body was angled toward you. His eyes moved with your hand. Followed your breath. The way your mouth parted when you moaned.

Your fingers moved slow. Small circles at first. Testing. Then deeper. Hungrier.

You let out a quiet sound. Meant it.

That did it.

His hand dropped lower. He pressed his palm against the front of his joggers again—firmer now. Not just checking, but holding. A slow grind of his heel into himself as his hips shifted slightly under it.

He stayed like that for a beat. Then pressed harder. His eyes were glued to your fingers. The shape of your thighs. The flush blooming across your chest.

He rubbed over the fabric, back and forth, the friction obvious even through the cotton. You could see the outline now—thick, straining against the waistband. His knuckles flexed with restraint.

Still, he didn’t push them down.

Just kept palming.

Slow. Focused. Building.

And that’s when you saw it—a faint, wet patch at the tip, darkening the fabric just below the waistband. Just a small blur of proof. His arousal was leaking through his joggers. He hadn’t even touched his skin yet.

Your pulse jumped.

He stayed right there, hand over it, pressing in again, like he didn’t want to lose the moment. Like he wanted to feel the ache. You could see how tight his jaw was. How his hips shifted, barely-there movements, trying to draw out every second of this.

He was holding off. But only just.

He rubbed himself again, this time with his whole hand, back and forth across the damp spot, slower, as if he needed to memorize the friction before giving in.

You moaned again—louder, wrecked—and that finally broke him.

He pushed his joggers down, slow but sure, and freed himself. His cock sprang up—flushed red at the tip, painfully hard. He leaned back, and it lay heavy against his stomach for a beat before his hand wrapped around the base.

You watched him. Didn’t look away.

He started stroking—long, tight pulls, slow and controlled. Matching your rhythm without meaning to.

You moaned again, louder this time. Your other hand gripped the edge of the cushion. Your thighs twitched. Your breath was growing uneven, stuttering in your chest.

Noel’s eyes were locked to your hand, your stomach, your parted legs. But then they moved—traced back up to your face. He looked at you fully now. Held your gaze as he jerked himself slowly.

The room felt hot. Heavy.

The only sounds were your breath, the slick pulse of your fingers, and the wet rhythm of his strokes.

You couldn’t stop looking at him.

At the way his hand moved over his cock—slow, practiced, hungry. At the way his head tipped back, then forward again so he could keep watching you. His mouth was slack. His eyes were half-lidded and completely wrecked, drinking you in like he couldn’t get enough. And he looked—fuck, he looked beautiful like that. Flushed. Exposed. Gone. You hadn’t thought about him like that before—not this clearly. But now, with his cock in his hand and his gaze locked to your body, you felt it. Heat rising so fast it almost choked you. You were soaked. Dripping. Every part of you lit up from just watching him. Just knowing he was watching you.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered, voice hoarse, rough at the edges. “Don’t stop. Let me watch you.”

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You weren’t putting on a show, but you wanted him to see all of it. It wasn’t just being watched—it was his gaze. Heavy. Unblinking. Hungry. Like he couldn’t look away, like he didn’t want to. It stripped you bare in a way that wasn’t humiliating—it was electrifying. Like he was seeing every part of you and still wanting more. It made your skin buzz. It turned you on more than the touch itself. Made you ache for it. For him.

Your legs spread wider. You moved your fingers faster. He moved his hand to match.

His jaw clenched. His hips started to lift slightly off the cushion, pushing into his fist. His breathing turned ragged. Eyes never left you.

“I can’t take this—fuck—look at you.” he said breathlessly.

Your head fell back for a second, then snapped forward again. You were right on the edge.

The muscles in your stomach tightened. Your thighs began to shake. You could hear your own moans now, sharp and uneven, one after the other, louder with each second.

He was close too. His strokes were desperate now. His hips rocked harder, hand working fast. Every sound you made pushed him closer. Every movement. Every look.

It was too much.

The heat. The noise. The way he was watching you.

And then, suddenly, his voice broke again.

Rough. Barely more than a gasp.

“Come here.”

His voice was low. Strained. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud but couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Your breath caught. You looked at him properly then.

His joggers were bunched low on his thighs, cock in his hand, flushed dark, tip shining in the low light. His chest rose and fell beneath a shirt that was clinging with sweat. His eyes were glassy—half-lidded and wrecked. And all of it was for you.

You moved without answering.

Slid off the couch and stepped between his legs. Your shirt hung loose around your thighs, your knickers still somewhere behind you. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just looked up at you like he was already lost.

You straddled him slowly. One knee on the couch. Then the other. Your thighs pressed against his as you lowered yourself into his lap, your body skimming against his, the heat between you immediate. His hands came up fast—first to your waist, then your hips, gripping like he needed the contact to ground himself.

You reached between your bodies, took him in your hand and lined him up. You hovered for a beat. Just enough to feel the heat of him against you. Then you sank down. Inch by inch.

He groaned.

Loud. Guttural. Head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut.

“Fucking hell—”

The stretch made you gasp and your hands braced on his chest for balance. You rocked your hips once, small and slow, just to adjust—and his breath caught in his throat like you’d punched it out of him.

You sat fully down on him and paused. Just to feel it. The pressure. The closeness. The depth.

His hands were everywhere now—gripping your thighs, dragging up your sides, sliding under your shirt. His fingertips skimmed your skin like he didn’t know where to land.

“You feel —Jesus —” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

You didn’t give him a chance to.

You started moving.

Slow at first. Just rolling your hips, letting your body take its time finding a rhythm. But the moment you did, he responded—his hips bucking up into you, hands holding you tighter.

His cock dragged deep with every motion.

The wet sound of you riding him filled the room.

He swore under his breath. His fingers dug into your arse as you rocked faster, chasing friction. Your shirt was riding up again. He pushed it further—over your hips, over your ribs—until it bunched under your arms.

You didn’t bother fixing it.

His eyes were on your chest now, on your mouth, on the way your body flexed every time you came down on him. And you were watching him too—his jaw tight, throat flushed, hair damp with sweat. His eyes were wide now, no longer lazy or controlled. Just full of desire.

Hunger. Awe. Need.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed. “Look at you. Look at what you’re doing to me.”

You reached between your legs without thinking, rubbing fast, the pressure immediate and sharp.

Noel’s breath broke. He watched you touch yourself while riding him, and it wrecked him.

His voice cracked again. “That’s it. Fuck—keep going—”

You moaned, loud and raw. Your body shook. You were nearly there. Your whole body pulling tight, hips jerking.

Then—he kissed you.

Hard. Open. Desperate.

Like he couldn’t hold back another second. Like you’d pushed him past some invisible edge.

You kissed him back—hungry, messy, your teeth catching his lower lip. One hand fisted the front of his shirt. The other stayed between your thighs, working yourself through it.

Your orgasm hit fast and brutal. You came hard around him, moaning into his mouth, thighs trembling, chest flushed. Your whole body folded into his as you rode it out.

“Noel—”

It slipped out in a gasp, half-moan, half-shudder, like his name was the only thing your mouth could remember.

And he followed.

The moment he felt you tighten around him, he groaned—deep, low, broken—and came inside you with a sharp jerk of his hips.

He moaned our name—rough, hoarse, barely more than a gasp— and it hit the space between you like a jolt.

You didn’t move. Not right away.

You stayed in his lap, catching your breath, the room thick with heat and sweat and the echo of what you’d just done.

His hands slid up your back, loose now. Yours dropped to your thighs. Both of you were still.

He exhaled slowly.

“That was…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Just let the rest sit there, heavy and unspoken.

You climbed off him carefully, legs a little shaky. Pulled your shirt down. Reached for your knickers. He adjusted himself, tucked himself back into his joggers, wiped a hand over his mouth like he was trying to gather the pieces of whatever just happened.

Still, neither of you said anything else.

You didn’t look at each other as you walked off toward your room.

But the feel of him stayed with you.

Pressed inside you.

His breath on your mouth.

The sound of your name breaking on his tongue.

You weren’t supposed to kiss.

—-

The next morning was normal.

Too normal.

You made tea. He grabbed a towel and muttered something about needing a shower. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

There was no mention of the night before.

Not the way your thighs still ached.

Not the damp knickers at the bottom of the laundry pile.

Not the kiss. Or the way he’d moaned your name.

You’d thought you’d feel fine. That it would sit in your body like any other great fuck—satisfying, forgettable, maybe something to laugh about later. But your skin still felt warm where he’d touched you. And the kiss—God, the kiss—kept flashing behind your eyes like it hadn’t finished. Like it was still happening. You didn’t want to ask yourself why it stuck like that. So you didn’t.

The telly was back on by midday. Some repeat. Volume low. You sat where you always sat. So did he.

But the space between you felt wider.

Like it was holding something neither of you wanted to name.

Later, he said he might go out for a pint.

You said, “Cool,” without looking up.

He didn’t ask if you wanted to come.

And you didn’t ask where.

⸻

A few days passed like nothing had happened.

Noel didn’t bring it up. Neither did you.

Things were back to normal—

or pretending to be.

Then your brother’s birthday rolled around.

Just a pub night—nothing major. A few pints, a dozen people jammed into the corner by the fruit machine, cheap music off a Bluetooth speaker. You showed up a little late, got swept into the noise, kissed cheeks, accepted drinks. You didn’t think twice about it.

Noel was there too.

Of course he was. He’d known your brother longer than you had.

You hadn’t come together. You didn’t sit together. But you were in the same space, orbiting. Laughing at the same stories, nodding along to the same bad jokes, occasionally brushing shoulders in passing.

You hadn’t spoken yet, but you could feel him—close, then not. Then closer again.

You caught his eye once, across the room. A quick flicker. Nothing said.

Then one of your brother’s mates came over. Friendly enough. Smiling. Bought you a drink without asking, leaned in to say something over the music, let his hand rest on your arm a little longer than it needed to.

You didn’t lean away.

You weren’t flirting, exactly. But you didn’t stop him, either.

Across the pub, you felt it.

A shift.

Not in the room—in you. Subtle. Low-grade. Like pressure dropping before a storm.

You hadn’t meant to look.

But when you did, Noel was already watching.

One shoulder against the wall, pint half-finished, eyes steady. Not smiling. Not surprised to be caught. Just… there.

Holding your gaze.

It wasn’t anger. Not exactly.

Not jealousy, either.

But it was something.

Sharp. Measured. Close.

You felt it land in your chest. Not hard—but deep. A thud you didn’t know what to do with.

You looked away first. Back to your drink. Took a slow sip.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t rise to it.

But your pulse kicked up anyway.

Your thoughts wandered—without permission, without warning. Back to his mouth, his hands, the kiss you weren’t supposed to remember but couldn’t stop replaying.

You filed it away like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

You weren’t supposed to act weird.

You definitely weren’t supposed to catch feelings.

—-

He got back before you did.

The pub had emptied out in waves, and you’d stayed behind a little longer—laughing, chatting, maybe on purpose. It was easier, staying in that noise. Easier than walking back into whatever this had become.

By the time you walked in, Noel was already on the couch. Joggers, no shirt. One leg stretched out, beer in hand. Telly on mute. He didn’t look up.

You kicked off your boots harder than necessary. Dropped your bag by the door.

“Alright?” you said.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still fixed on the screen. “You?”

“Fine.”

You walked into the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Shut it again. The silence in the flat had weight. The kind that gathered between walls, between people who used to move around each other easily. Now it clung. Unspoken, close.

You came back out and leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

He glanced over, like you’d nudged him awake. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

“It was my brother’s birthday.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

You watched him. “Looked like I was having a good time?”

He didn’t answer. Just took another drink. And that was answer enough.

Your chest tightened. “Right,” you said. “So you were watching.”

“Didn’t have to try hard,” he said. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

That snapped something.

“Excuse me?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. “I’m just saying. You let him.”

It landed hard. Hot. Sharp.

“You don’t get to say that.”

“Why not?”

You stared at him. “Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shrugged again. “Didn’t say you did.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said, stepping into the room now. “But you’re making it clear you think I did.”

He didn’t flinch. “I saw his hand on your arm.”

“So?” you snapped. “It was a drink, Noel.”

“And you leaned in.”

“To hear him. Over the music. Christ.”

He set the bottle down with a quiet clink. “You looked like you liked it.”

“And now what?” you said. “That makes me what—easy? Available?”

The air went still.

His eyes narrowed, but not in anger. More like he was waiting. For you to back off. For you to soften.

You didn’t.

“You don’t get to be pissed off about someone else touching me,” you said, your voice lower now. “Not when you kissed me.”

That finally made him shift. Just a bit. His posture changed. Like something hit.

You didn’t stop.

“You kissed me, Noel. You’re the one who broke the first rule. And now you’re watching me across a pub like I’ve cheated on you.”

He didn’t speak.

And suddenly, your own words were ringing in your ears. Louder than the pub. Louder than the silence.

Because the truth was: the kiss had stayed with you. In your skin. In your mouth. In the way your breath caught when he walked into a room and didn’t say your name.

And maybe you’d wanted him to bring it up. Even now.

Maybe part of you wanted a reason to push this.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you said again. Quieter. “But you’re acting like I did.”

He ran a hand over his face. Still didn’t answer.

You stepped back. “Forget it.”

“I’m not—” he started, but the words didn’t land.

“Then what are you?” you asked. “Because this whole thing—tonight, the silence, this—” You gestured between you. “It’s not what we said it would be.”

He looked up at you. Something unreadable in his face. Not anger. Not guilt. But something.

“I didn’t plan the kiss,” he said finally. “It just—happened.”

You blinked. That was the first time he’d acknowledged it.

And it wasn’t enough.

You turned. Walked past the couch, past the soft blue light of the telly that no one was watching. You were done. Or at least trying to be.

Then—his hand closed around your wrist.

Not hard. Not urgent.

Just… definite.

You stopped.

He didn’t pull you back.

Your pulse thudded at the base of your throat.

Because whatever this was now, it wasn’t just a bit of fun.

And you weren’t sure you could keep pretending it was.

You didn’t move at first.

Just stood there, wrist caught in his hand, your breath stuck somewhere between your ribs. He didn’t pull. He didn’t say anything. Just held on. Like letting you walk away would mean losing something he wasn’t ready to name.

You looked down at him. His face was unreadable—but his grip was steady. Warm.

And you couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t want him.

Still.

Even after everything.

So you stepped in. Just a pace. Close enough to feel the heat off his skin.

He watched you, barely breathing.

You leaned down.

Not slow. Not hesitant. Just enough to close the gap. Your fingers curled into the back of the couch for balance, and then your mouth was on his—rough, breathless, without any of the rules you’d built before. His hand slid from your wrist to your hip, and he kissed you back like he’d been waiting to.

When you pulled back, just a breath between you, he didn’t speak. Just stared like he wasn’t sure it was real.

You didn’t give him time to second-guess it.

You climbed into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs, straddling him fully. Your shirt slipped up as you settled, and his hands slid to your waist, holding you there—like he didn’t want to let you go again.

Your mouths crashed back together.

This time, slower. Deeper. His hands dragged up your spine, holding you close, anchoring you against him like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

You moved against him deliberately, rocking your hips once—slow friction through layers of clothing—and felt him throb hard beneath you.

He groaned into your mouth, and it hit you all over again: how much you still wanted him.

How much you’d been wanting this. Not just sex. Him.

You moved against him again, slow and deliberate, pressing down hard against his lap. Even through the layers, you felt everything—the twitch of him beneath you, the tension in his thighs, the restraint in his hands where they held your hips like he didn’t trust himself to pull you closer. The friction made you gasp, hips rocking instinctively, and his breath hitched hard against your neck.

Then he stilled.

“We can’t do this here,” he muttered, voice hoarse. Tight.

You didn’t argue. Just stepped off his lap with your pulse thudding everywhere.

“Bedroom.”

You didn’t look back.

He followed.

By the time you reached the edge of the bed, his hands were already back on you. Hot. Needing. They slid under your shirt, palms open like he was trying to feel every inch of your skin. You pulled the fabric off over your head and tossed it blindly across the room. His mouth followed your collarbone, your shoulder, your breast—every kiss open-mouthed, claiming, more breath than lips.

You turned, reached for the waistband of his joggers. He stepped out of them without ceremony. His cock was already hard, flushed, heavy against his stomach. You stared for a moment, not because you hadn’t seen it before—but because this was different. You were naked, and so was he. Not just skin. The weight between you. The heat.

Your knickers fell next.

You climbed onto the bed and lay back—not spread for him, not performing, just open. Honest. Wanting. Waiting. His eyes dragged down your body and stayed there. There was no teasing this time. No smugness. Just hunger, and something quieter under it. Something like reverence.

He crawled over you slowly, one hand sliding up your thigh as he settled between your legs, his cock dragging along your entrance. You were soaked. Warm. Ready. He knew it too. His breath hitched as the tip caught, and then he pushed in—one long, devastating slide.

Your head dropped back.

The stretch knocked the breath out of you. Full. Deep. Everything. Your thighs trembled around his waist as he bottomed out, and the sound you made wasn’t just pleasure—it was surrender.

His body pressed fully to yours. Skin on skin. No space left. He kissed you again—messy, open, all mouth and need—and then began to move.

Slow at first. Controlled. But every thrust hit something in you that undid you from the inside. His hips rolled deeper, grinding on the outstroke. The rhythm had weight. Not just friction. Meaning.

You held onto his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. He braced a hand beside your head and looked down at you while he fucked you. Really looked. No distance. No disguise. Just his eyes on yours, burning.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered.

You didn’t breathe for a second.

You didn’t look away.

Your fingers slid to his jaw, grounding there. “Me neither.”

The shift happened then—subtle, seismic. His next thrust wasn’t harder, but deeper. More deliberate. He kissed you again, this time slow, like he needed to feel everything your mouth gave him.

His hand slid under your back. Pulled you closer. Your breasts pressed to his chest. Your bodies locked together like you were trying to erase the space you’d once insisted on keeping.

He moved faster now, your name breaking from his lips like he couldn’t stop it.

The sound of it wrecked you. Not because it was new—but because of the way he said it. Like it meant everything.

Your legs tightened around him. Your hands pressed into his back. You whispered his name too—into his ear, against his cheek, into his mouth. He moaned when you did, hips stuttering, breath falling apart.

You reached down, found your clit, rubbed quick, messy circles. He didn’t stop you. He watched you, wide-eyed and undone, fucking into you through it.

You came fast—sharp, hot, full-body. Your cry cracked in your throat. Your back arched and your thighs clenched around him as you pulsed hard around his cock.

He didn’t last a second longer.

He came with a guttural sound, a low, desperate moan into your shoulder, his whole body tensing as he spilled into you, hips jerking through it, gasping your name again like he’d forgotten how to say anything else.

He stayed inside you.

Collapsed, breathless, body heavy, heart racing against yours.

You didn’t speak.

Not for a long moment.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you against him—not tight, but firm. You held on too, cheek against his damp shoulder, your body still buzzing.

Eventually, he shifted with a low breath, pulling out carefully. You both winced, just a little, but didn’t comment on it. He settled back beside you, one arm still resting along your side like he hadn’t decided whether to let go.

He stared at the ceiling for a long beat. Then, flatly:

“Well. That’s the casual thing fucked.”

You snorted, still half on top of him. “Yeah. Proper job.”

Another pause.

Then, under his breath, like he was just thinking out loud:

“Should probably update the terms.”

You turned your head toward him. “What, like a contract?”

“Dunno. Just saying. Might need a clause for whatever the fuck that was.”

You laughed into his shoulder.

The rules were shot. Torn up, trampled, and probably still smouldering.

And you weren’t in any hurry to put them back together.

[vinivinovna]

Kakashi Hatake as your husband and the father of your child

─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─

Kakashi is the type of man who seems like he would never be ready for family life, but if you put him in that situation, he will be the best.

Just believe that you will catch countless envious glances when you arrive for yet another gynecological check-up during your pregnancy. It doesn't matter if it's a routine screening or just a check for your blood sugar levels. He won't even think about sending you alone.

His care is exceptional and unconditional, so it doesn't matter what you're doing because he won't let you do literally anything. You won't be cooking, and damn it, you'll really have to plead with him just to make yourself a cup of tea, and you can forget about getting near the washing machine.

"I swear, if I hear anything about laundry one more time, I'm going to throw that machine out and start taking our clothes to the dry cleaners."

The best thing you can do for him is to be healthy and cheerful because that's all he strives for, and I'm sure the period of your morning sickness still haunts Kakashi in his worst nightmares.

Just trust him and let him take care of you in the way only he knows how. Be patient and explain all the complexities of pregnancy to him because the books he's read are clearly not enough.

Kakashi learns quickly when he truly wants to. He has no idea what a real family should look like, but for you, he is willing to try (even if he sometimes overdoes it).

He’s the type of man who puts his wife on a pedestal and is literally ready to kiss every inch of her body, and since he found out about the pregnancy, be prepared to multiply that love by at least five.

Kakashi is definitely the kind of dad who can't say "no" to his child, and at some point, this might become a problem when parenting turns into a game of "Bad Cop – Good Cop," and you're clearly at a disadvantage. Because you’re the strict mom who doesn’t allow a chocolate bar for breakfast, while dad is so cool that he lets you lick the swings in -15°C.

But there are things he takes far too seriously. It doesn't matter if you have a boy or a girl (Kakashi will be happy with either outcome); you can be sure he will dote on that child like crazy, and he will do everything he can to teach them to stand up for themselves and their safety. So get ready for endless calls from school about fights and brawls your child has gotten into, and don’t expect Kakashi to think for a moment about punishing them.

[marudyne]

Your art is a bone and I am KNAWING

Your choice of colours is MWAH chefs kiss I want to know how you do it please

Thank you!

I have no idea how helpful this will be...

To be honest, there isnt really that much thought behind how I pick the colours. At this point, I fully go off vibes since I've been at it for a while. I tend to go for a red-orange and then offset it with an unsaturated blue-ish or grey tone. Greys tend to come across green when with a saturated red so you gotta keep in mind to back off on the green saturation. I gravitate to those because of how fleshy most things I draw are and that's a good combo for that without having to add in others.

The greenish colour in this remnant of filths drawing is really just an unpure grey, and fully relying on the hot pink/red for the green tone.

(I draw on CSP but i was too lazy to open it instead of ms paint. Though I wont lie... I have finished some drawings on ms paint) I try to have one saturated colour and then the rest are just there as support or to help it pop out more by either being a similar value unsaturated colour or unsaturated darker value colour. Saturated colours tend to pop out more when accompanied by greyer colours, and a drawing tends to look more harmonious that way (though like when you know what youre doing you can fully full saturation on all colours. Then it's more a matter of shape and how much of each you use). Oh, and I use a brush in which you input two colours and it auto blends it depending on the pen pressure. If you use CSP, maybe this could help you find where that function is, though note that my settings are in spanish.

I also like using that brush because it makes it easier to incorporate some bounce off from other colours into others or to bleed colours into each other. A lot of drawing is figuring out how to make those colours have a harsh contrast or a soft blended one. Also, I just have colours I like with certain characters (ex: green+pink for arginanas (but watch out because I often use yellows in place of greens - esp greyed yellow when mixed with pink or red- see below:))

But, I do sometimes just use random colour generators where either like values or sat levels appear in multiple colours. Then the gist is really just figuring out how much of each you add and that will really depend on what youre drawing, its mood, how you feel like, etc etc. Colouring is a nightmare so at this point in my life i tend to go through vibes only.

You can grey scale drawings too to see if what you're doing is working. I personally never do because I like being unhelpful to myself. This is the first time I actually see how close the pale blue and hot pink were in value lol.

That's also the other reason why I tend to pick an un sat colour and a sat colour of very visible different values- I use them to blob out the pose and 3d of it directly.

James Gurney's Color and Light: A Guide for the Realist Painter book would be a million times the help I could give in a general ask. He explains a lot of colour concepts and how colours affect each other by just being besides each other way better than I ever could. It's really good and dense packed with information for ambient lighting, optical illusions examples and pretty much everything one would like to know is a thing when colouring.

[murderdogwater]

How I think the Bachelors and Bachelorettes act when their sick:

Haley: A menace. The type to spit medicine at you like a camel, she'd whine about feeling awful but refuse to take any kind of medication. Don't even try to hide pills in things. She will find them and pick them out. Probably also the type to fake being sick when she was younger just to get princess treatment.

Maru: The type to not tell you she doesn't feel well, and you only find out when Harvey has to carry her back to the farm because she passed out at the clinic. She's probably pretty chill about medicine, but she'll get restless and want something to do while she's on bedrest. But keep an eye on her, or she'll be up trying to make another robot ai nurse or something.

Leah: One of the few who's probably being serious when she says she doesn't get sick. If she does, she'll be pretty chill and will stay in bed, probably sketching, until she's better. If she's sick, she won't stay that way for long, unless it's a real injury, then she's also pretty chill.

Penny: She's probably pretty self-sufficient. She can't exactly taste with how stuffed up she is, so she doesn't know how bad her food tastes. She'll probably eat and sleep a lot and explain it away, saying that Pam left her alone a lot as a kid, so she took care of herself. She'll probably cry if you take care of her.

Emily: She says she doesn't get sick, don't listen to her. Maybe worse than Haley about medication, because she insists that she needs natural methods to heal. She probably gets really delirious and tries to fix it with crystals and burning sage. Just make sure she gets what she needs and give her something to do in bed, and she'll wear herself out.

Abigail: Another one who says they don't get sick and is actually right, more likely to get injured or get food poisoning from her weird diet. Either way she’s pretty chill, and the biggest problem she'll have is boredom. Give her some soup, medicine, and attention, and she'll be fine. Probably plays video games until she feels better.

Sebastian: A BABY. Maximum level baby boy. His two favorite things are soup and tea. He gets sick often and stays that way often. And I feel like Robin is the type to baby him to shit, so he's pouty and needy for attention. Honestly, it will probably get worse if you keep him in bed, so it might be better to make him go outside if possible so he can actually get some sun.

Elliott: He's dramatic but very grateful if you take care of him. If he's really bad, then he'll start talking in Limericks that don't make sense until he falls asleep. Not exactly a baby, but certainly a drama queen. Will complain about his hair being messed up while he's in bed. Might feel better if he goes back to his cabin like a dying woman in a Victorian novel.a

Shane: Oh god, if you think Maru is bad about not telling you when she feels bad, then Shane is 10000 times worse. This man will be throwing up, coughing his lungs out, sneezing loud enough to wake the dead, and still tell you he's fine. You gotta call Jas and have her beg him (from a distance) to lay down and take care of himself. After that, he's chill about everything except his diet, is pissed he can't eat pizza all day but will eat soup and some vegetables if you tell him to.

Alex: Doesn't get sick and is right, but if he gets injured, then he wants princess treatment. He needs his pillows fluffed, his meals hot and on time, and DEMANDS cookies and attention. Evelyn probably spoiled him a little bit as a kid because it was so rare for him to get sick. The only bright side is that he'll gladly take medication without complaint as long as it's followed by a cookie.

Sam: Rarely gets sick, when he does he's a self regulater. If he's really sick, he'll sing softly to himself. His colds come with nightmares, and he'll probably wake up a lot. Cuddle him and make sure he's okay after, and he'll be okay.

Harvey: You'd think that either Harvey would be the type to not get sick or be a big baby. And you're wrong either way. Harvey is sickly and is a horrible self regulator, but he's very grateful for you taking care of him and will be the most cooperative patient ever. Will make dad jokes the whole time. Is very sweet.

[k9protocol]

I need to ramble about this so bad!! Please be aware that this blog contains spoilers to poppy playtime chapter 4.

The way we unironically relate to chapter 4 in a different kind of level? It’s hard to explain but we kinda do. Although I’d like to talk about Doey! He’s such a system coded character and we really like how well written he is. Despite his sad story, they really show the struggle of dealing with identity after scientists basically murged the 3 kids into one dough body. Those kids are Matthew, Kevin and Jack! You can also see that on his body there are hands of different colors. Orange being Matthew, Yellow being Jack, and Red being Kevin. Throughout the game their tone of voice kinda changes and you can SORTA tell who’s talking.

You can also tell the difference in personalities too and how sometimes it feels like they’re fighting themselves. Matthew is the understanding one who’s really protective of his family, Kevin is more angry and cold, Jack is more emotional.

On another part of the game too, it’s almost like a switch front situation where there’s confusion as if one kid came out and is lost about what’s going on. And in a different part when Doey is mad at the player you can tell that the crying part could be Jack (or all of them), the anger is clearly Kevin, and Matthew is trying to remain calm. I do generally love though that again they still show that they are children dealing with this nightmare. Overall we just really relate to the identity struggle and confusion that is present in Doey’s character! Chapter 4 was really good!

Reminder we are aware Doey does not have DID/OSDD, it’s just how his character is that feels system coded but we don’t think he has either disorders.

-K9