#it’s so cool it’s so great it makes me want to kill myself :)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[seilon]

really actually makes me sick that my mother claims to be an lgbt friendly psychologist/counsellor and then deadnames and misgenders me on the phone to students constantly and purposefully even despite me being on testosterone for almost two years now and passing visibly and audibly

[loverboybrightsideghost]

they should invent a me that's good at everything i want to be good at. [thing from the addams family pokes out of a nearby box and hands me a piece of paper] thank you, thing. what's this...oh! why, it's a paper that says i have to be the one to do that for my future self! huh.

[digitaldiseas3]

i am god's strongest soldier for not killing OR maiming anybody

[obsesssedblerd]

“I told you to quit waiting on me. It’s late,” Suguru mumbles quietly, tossing his bag down with an exhausted sigh and sitting next to you on the couch. You sigh in relief, so thankful that he made it back okay. You didn’t mind staying up until midnight. “Satoru went to sleep, I assume?” 

“Yeah, he was so tired from today, and sorry, I couldn’t help it,” you mutter, resting your head on his shoulder. “Ever since Haibara…” You trail off, a lump clogging your throat as tears rise to your eyes. You swallow thickly to avoid them. “I just get so worried about you and Toru with all of these back-to-back missions. I can’t bear the thought of anyone else not making it back home.” You take a breath, then smile, turning to face him. “How was your mission, love? It was in a village, right? Not too much trouble?” 

Your boyfriend smiles sweetly. “It went great. My best mission yet, actually.” 

“Really? That’s amazing! What made it the best?” You’re excited. Lately, Suguru had been down, and he brushed it off every time you or your shared boyfriend, Satoru, asked him if he wanted to talk. To see him so happy about a mission brought you so much ease. It’ll be alright. The three of you will come back from Amanai, the large number of missions as special-grade sorcerers, and Haibara’s death. One day at a time.

“Just figured some things out about myself, really,” Suguru answers. “It feels good.”

“Ooh, about your technique? That’s so cool. Isn’t it amazing that even the strongest can get even stronger? I’m so, so proud of you. Congrats on a good mission.”

Suguru’s smile falters a bit, and you can tell that it’s because he’s so tired. His hand comes up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing gentle strokes against your cheek. “You’re so sweet, angel.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I love you.” 

“And I love you.” 

“No, I love you,” Suguru emphasizes with a slow, yet soft drawl of the word. “Both you and Satoru. It’s always, always going to be you two, no matter what. I love you so much.” He then leans forward, places a delicate kiss on your forehead, then hugs you close, resting his chin atop of your head.

Because of that, you don’t see the tears lining his eyes. 

— — — — — 

You’re finishing some reports at the school when you hear Satoru begin yelling from down the hall. It’s followed up with Yaga’s voice. Though you can’t hear what’s being said, you know it’s not good. When you hear fast, departing footsteps, you leave the room, walk down the corridor, and stop when you see your teacher. Yaga is facing the ground with his eyes squeezed shut. 

He’s trying not to cry. 

“What’s going on?” You demand, now extremely worried. “Where did Satoru just go? Why was he yelling?” 

Yaga inhales slowly, then meets your eyes. “Suguru’s latest mission.” 

Your brows knit together in confusion. “What about it?” 

“He killed everyone in that village.” 

Everything stops. Yaga’s mouth continues moving, but you don’t hear anything. You feel ill, dizzy, like you’re about to faint at any second. You think back to your last conversation—the relaxed, relieved look in his eyes when he spoke about his mission. 

“My best mission yet, actually. Just figured some things out about myself. It feels good.” 

Oh, god. 

“...He’s now a curse-user, and has been sentenced to death.” Yaga concludes, then places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you backwards so you can sit down on the chair behind you when you begin breathing heavier. How could you have been so stupid? 

“I love you. Both you and Satoru. It’s always, always going to be you two, no matter what. I love you so much.” 

That was Suguru’s way of saying goodbye.

[kedreeva]

A couple months back, my neighbor wanted to get some Spitzhauben hatching eggs for his wife, so he asked me for help finding some good ones, from a good breeder. So I dug around for a bit, since Spitz are a bit of a rare breed, and found a few options that looked decent. One of them happened to be in Michigan with us, maybe a little over an hour from us, so I arranged to go pick them up in person to avoid the stresses of shipping on the eggs.

I picked up a dozen (baker's dozen, she added a few extra just in case), and a half dozen of the Marans eggs for myself (she gave me a discount because fertility hadn't been tested yet, as long as I promised to report growth/hatch rate and update about what comes out) because she claimed to have good quality and her eggs looked to be decent quality. She was really nice, very chatty, and the eggs looked great in person, too.

12 of the spitz eggs hatched, and 3 of the BCM. The BCM chicks looked great but they were being stressed OUT by the quail chicks they were in with, so I snuck them into the brooder with the spitz when I closed up the neighbor's birds one evening while they were out.

I've visited them a few times since, and they've been looking good, but they're finally to an age where on the BCM you can tell sex- perfect ratio, one rooster, two hens.

Now, I used to keep and breed BCM a long time ago. I had wanted to get into showing (never got around to it for several reasons), and I'd dealt with several lines. My original line that I'd mixed from a couple different people always produced REALLY stellar roosters- big lads with sweet, docile personalities that were 100% ready to die for their ladies, whom they always treated well. For roosters, those are all REALLY important qualities. The ideal is a rooster that treats his ladies well, is willing to fight to the death to defend them if something comes after them BUT--- importantly can tell the difference between a predator and a human who is messing with the hens (picking up, moving, treating w/ meds, whatever). Ideally, if a hen makes a noise of distress, the rooster come BOLTING to her at top fucking speed ready to kick ass, but stops dead if he sees it's just a human. And I HAD that- I used to sell the roosters to folks (SELL them, I never had to give away a rooster) as flock protectors, and I would get people coming back to buy another after their guy died defending the girls while free ranging. It's sad, but it's also one of two reasons to have a rooster.

And I see all the time people posting about their mean roosters, about how to handle roosters that are mean to humans, or people telling others oh the rooster is just young and roosters are mean when they're young and they'll mellow out when they get older, just keep putting up with it. Power through.

NO! There is almost* NEVER a reason to tolerate a nasty rooster- one that's mean to the girls, or to humans. This BCM rooster is only a few months old, but you can already see the purpose that's been bred into him. I picked up one of his girls and she went :( and he came RUNNING over to see what was wrong, looked me up and down and went nah that's cool, and then checked on all the other girls. Just in case. I went to move them from their cage to the big play pen that's set up for them, and I thought oh this is going to be a circus, trying to catch them all. The Spitzhauben were acting insane, like I was trying to kill them by looking at them. I braced the carry bin on the edge of the door, expecting to reach in to (try to) grab each bird and put them in. But no. This rooster walked over, got in, called the others, and they all chilled right out, came over and jumped into the bin with him. He's in the playpen right now just watching over all the others. If someone gets into an argument, he runs over and gets between them, and then checks on them both after. When he lies down, the others come lie down with him. On him.

THIS is what a good rooster looks like. Not in a year, not in two years. Right from the getgo, the instincts are all there. Hormones shouldn't eliminate/supercede this behavior- they shouldn't turn a bird into an asshole. They should instigate a second set of rooster behaviors- dancing/courting, tidbitting, and mating attempts. Running girls ragged, pulling feathers, causing injury, attacking people- these are all poor breeding and/or handling problems. These are things that can (and SHOULD) be selected against when breeding fowl

*The "almost" never is that a breeder starting out may not have a choice when it comes to shitty personalities- they may find themselves having to tolerate the least shitty for a few generations, until the personalities show improvement. In this case, most (good) breeders know better than to dump the wash outs on the unsuspecting, and will instead do hard culls for food or sell to folks raising food or who are aware of the personality problems. In any case any tolerance should be an in-progress tolerance, not an endgame result.

[tubbytarchia]

Etho doodles in which I let my inner dinosaur nerd take over 😔 and also have no idea how to shade

Get it cause he's old and washed up haha... ok but actual raptor Etho hybrid justification below cut

To be honest the main reason was because I really wanted a hybrid in the mix who wasn't some furry creature and a reptile or amphibian or smth instead. Etho still ended up feathered but whatever it's close enough! But for ACTUAL reasoning:

He does feel damn ancient, like an old deity of the mcyt space that no one can dislike. Dinosaurs are the same!! They're old but still thought of with great fascination and fondness, everyone loves dinosaurs...

Dinosaurs are ever so mysterious, as many advancements as we make there's still so much we don't know. Just as we know jackshit about mister Kakashi skin man. Also, there are so many incomplete skeletons out there. I didn't have a particular species in mind for Etho, because where's the mystery in that? He can be one of those 5% skeleton 95% speculation dinosaurs like this guy!! Missing jaw and all

"I'm a runner, not a protector" - so, a raptor, or more specifically the Dromaeosauridae family, which literally has "running/runner" in its name

But! I'm always a fan of stuff going against its nature, especially in this case! Etho states he's not a runner yet protects his allies rather fiercely even in total silence. Eg refusing to kill Cleo in SL or to give away Tango's location during the LimL manhunt, same for Grian in SL. He was a bit flaky in 3L I think? And he only started to have genuine care for allies in LL with Bdubs? Though he is still very much a runner in many cases like during the LL Wither fight. Research also strongly suggests that most if not all raptors were solitary hunters, and the way I see Etho (through my shamefully limited watchtime of his POVs...) he feels a lot like someone who ultimately only trusts himself at the start even if he's pleasant and allying with others, and doesn't seem to think he can carry his weight in groups though he doesn't voice this a lot. That's just how Etho is, very composed, but it feels like there's an insecurity there, showcased especially in SL but again I haven't seen almost any of his POVs in full so maybe I'm talking out of my ass!! Sorry ethogirls I'm only a sidegig ethogirl myself... But yeah tldr to me he gives off the vibe of an otherwise solitary animal struggling to find 100% sure footing in a pack. In whichever ways he does go against his nature, its not usually made a show of

At the mention of a raptor, a lot of people will probably think of the glamourized Jurassic Park Velociraptors. But those awesome guys from the movies are actually the size of chickens. In general though, dinosaurs tend to be a bit.. exaggerated in media, despite how inherently fascinating they already are. And I think it fits Etho because we all know how the Lifers seem to fear and mancrush on him when he's just some dork with perfect capability to become pathetic at a moment's notice. Still, he's a clearly skilled player and still respected without question Etho's not some killer machine like some people make dinosaurs out to be. He's just a fellow creature fulfilling his role in the ecosystem 👍

dinosaurs are cool

The hook-like sickle claws on the feet... something something fishing rod

I swear I'm not turning all my Lifers into hybrids I'm not!! Still plenty normal humans in the mix I swear....... But Etho is such a radical dude, I really wanted to do something more for him. The whole Kitsune thing that I often see associated with him is really cool. I don't actually know the reasoning for it but I assume something something naruto, but also, him being this ancient mythical cryptid who people know so little about, you know? It makes SO much sense. So anyway I turned him into a dinosaur instead rawr

As a herbivore advocate I also considered stuff like the triceratops (known for how they protect themselves and their own) but nah the raptor symbolism...

[act-nat-ural]

First Sight

@dira333: what if you're related or friends with the Miya twins and they accidentally or not set you up with someone on the msby roster? Meian is really cute if you know the manga, but there's also Sakusa, Hinata or Bokuto

word count: 1782

Osamu had already closed Miya Onigiri for the day, yet his two favorite moochers were still sitting at a booth consuming his food for free. He sighs, having already locked the doors, and put the chairs on top of the tables. He takes a seat next to Atsumu and joins your guys’ conversation. “I’m just sayin’,” Atsumu starts, “If yer so lonely, go out an’ meet someone. It's not that hard.”He finishes his sentence by taking a gigantic bite. He nods to himself like he made a great point, though you and Osamu are giving him side eyes. 

“And how would ya know that? Ya haven’t gone on a date in over three months.” You point out.

Osamu snorts and adds, “Last relationship I remember you cryin’ like a baby, saying’ that ya would never love again.” 

Atsumu scoffs and mumbles a “Shuddup!” while you let out a deep sigh and rest your head on the cool surface of the table. “It's not fair.” You whine. “I've got like, no love life. Why don’t ya set me up with yer hot friends?” 

They share a look for a minute, then at the same time say “No.” You scoff and slam a hand on the table. 

“Why the hell not!” 

Osamu raises his hands in defense while Atsumu enters ‘big brother mode’. “Yer our only sister, and I love ya too much to set ya up with the idiots I call friends. Yer too good for them!” You roll your eyes but he continues. “Omi probably has some secret girlfriend already, Shoyo only thinks about volleyball, and Koutaro’s.. Well, he's.. I dunno. But I don’t trust them with ya!”

You groan and give Osamu a pleading look. “Please?” He gives you a deadpan look.

“It's a hard no. I’d have to kill Rintaro if he even looked at ya wrong.” You groan and throw your hands in the air.

“Gimme a break! I’m a grown woman, I can handle myself.” They both burst into laughter, so you kick Atsumu under the table.

“Owch! Hey!” 

–

You were watching a movie at home by yourself when you heard your phone start to buzz. You glance away from the screen to see ‘Samu’ in bold letters pop up on your phone. You pause the move and check the text he sent you.

Samu: Hey. You still looking for a date?

Your eyes widen and you start to squeal. “Yes! ‘Samu for the win.” You start to celebrate prematurely when your phone buzzes again. 

Samu: I have an idea but Tsumu wouldn’t like it lolol

Your smile drops and you grab the phone to respond.

You: what does that even mean…

Samu: Sooo have you ever met his team before?

You: no, I’ve met Kiyoomi but only briefly. why?? who are you thinking of?? Omg 

Samu: that desperation is exactly what made me think of him LMAO

You gasp in offense and angrily respond, 

You: WTF DOES THAT MEAN 

Samu: anyway! 🙂 I was thinking of inviting some of the team to my place for dinner or something, you wanna come? you can’t tell Tsumu you’re coming though or he'd throw a fit or smth.

You chew on your lip in thought. On one hand, you really want to meet someone. On the other, if it ends up not working out, it could really make things awkward for your brother and his friends. You pause. He’ll be fine.

You: I'll be there :) love you!

Meanwhile, Osamu sighs and leans back against the headboard. “She better not say I never do anything for her. Hmph.”

Samu: love you too 🙄

–

Osamu was drying his hands when he heard the doorbell ring. “Comin’.” He opens the door and there stands Atsumu, Kiyoomi, Shoyo, and Kotaro. Atsmu gives a cheeky grin, holding up a case of beer.

“I come bearing gifts.” Koutaro blinks in confusion.

“But I bought it-”

“Shush.”

Osamu moves aside so they can all come in. “No one else comin’?” Kiyoomi shakes his head.

“Shugo was going to but he got caught up with something. The rest all had other arrangements.” Osamu nods in understanding. Shoyo immediately beelines for the kitchen.

“What smells so good? I’m starving!”

Kiyoomi furrows his brows stating, “You ate the whole way here.”

Just then, the doorbell rings again. This time there is no need to open the door, because you just so happen to have a key. “Hello!” You stroll in like you own the place. Osamu has to fight to hold his laugh in when he sees the look on Atsumu’s face. 

“I didn’t know what to bring so I just brought cookies. I think I burnt them though.” You mumble. Kiyoomi gives you a nod in acknowledgment as you set the platter of charred baked goods on the counter. “Soo… are ya gonna introduce me?”

“Samu. What is she doing here?” Atsumu chokes out. You scoff.

 “I’m literally standing right here.”

“What? I can’t invite our own sister to my apartment?” Osamu gives an innocent shrug. 

“This was supposed to be a guys night!” Atsumu complains childishly. 

Shoyo pipes in, “I don’t mind! The more people the better. Right, Bokuto? ….Bokuto?”

–

If you had asked Koutaro then, he would have sworn he had never seen a more beautiful girl. The moment you walked in the door it was like he lost all of the air in his chest. He almost texted Keiji to ask what a heart attack felt like. His heart thumped in his chest and he could feel his hands start to get sweaty. Pretty girl. I’m not good around pretty girls. 

He didn’t even realize that he was being spoken to until Shoyo poked his arm. “Huh? Wha? Oh- Yes. Stay. Please.” Everyone just kind of stares at him for a moment before moving on. He accidentally stares at you while you get introduced to Shoyo, yet you don’t notice till Atsumu tries introducing him. You give a shy smile and a wave, and that's all he needs to see to know that he's a goner. 

–

You had never taken a good look at Koutaro Bokuto before this, and boy do you wish you had. Everything about him had you feeling weak in the knees. He was very built, taking up a large portion of the sofa that he was sitting on. You had snuck a glance at his back while walking in and Jesus. That man was built like a Greek god. His golden eyes seemed to never leave your figure, and he kept giving you a dopey smile. You give a small smile back and wave, hoping you don’t make a fool of yourself. Later, you swore you saw Osamu give you a thumbs up, but he denies it.

Everyone else flocks to the kitchen to start getting something to eat, yet you and Koutaro stay behind. You hesitantly sit down beside him, a few feet away. You both give sheepish smiles directed at the other, not sure what to say. Just then, Osamu comes back. “Darn. We’re out of soy sauce. Koutaro, (Name), do ya guys mind going to the market and grabbing some?” He says, not very convincingly. 

Shoyo gives him a confused look and starts, “But there was some-” 

“Shush.”

Koutaro immediately shoots up from his seat. “Yeah, we can get it!” He gives you a beaming smile and you can’t help but return in. He lends you a hand up from the sofa, practically bouncing with excitement. “We’ll be back soon.” Osamu gives you a wink and pats your back. 

“Take your time.”

You and Koutaro are silent for a while as you walk to the nearest market. You notice that while his strides are larger than yours, he slows his pace to match yours. He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a glance around

“So, what do you do for fun?” He turns and asks suddenly. You hum in thought.

 “I guess I hang out with my brothers a lot. I watch movies alone sometimes. Work has kept me busy recently, so I haven’t been doing much recently.” He nods in understanding.

He clears his throat before inquiring, “You don’t watch movies with your boyfriend?” 

You smile and shake your head, laughing. “No, I don’t have one.” He stops walking and gawks at you.

 “Seriously?! You're single?!” You raise your eyebrows in surprise and nod slowly. 

“Yeah.. why? Is it that surprising?” He shakes his head yes enthusiastically. 

“I totally thought you’d be married or something, you're so pretty.”

You go quiet. “Really?”

“Yes! Really! Man, I thought I had like no shot.” He adds. You both freeze and look at each other wide eyed.

 “Huh?”

 “What?”

You sputter and point at him. “Ya just- ya said ya thought-” 

“I- well-!” You both stand on the sidewalk, fidgeting with your hands. He scratches his head and blushes. “Are you free tomorrow?” 

You had never said yes faster in your life.

– 

You two were dying of laughter, wiping your eyes from tears. “Man, I wish I had sisters.” You say. 

“Yeah, they're pretty cool.” He says matter of factly. You both had gotten sidetracked and never ended up going to the market. Currently, he and you were sitting on a pair of swings at a local park. Your phone buzzes softly and you apologize to him before checking it. 

Tsumu: where tf did you go 

You: don’t cockblock me <3

Tsumu: PARDON?

You click your phone to silent before turning back to Koutaro. “Now, where were we?”

–

It only took a few dates before he asked you to be his girlfriend. You agreed, of course. You would've said yes if he had asked the night you met, if you were honest. Atsumu begrudgingly gave Koutaro his blessing to propose a couple years into dating. Osamu was a bit offended that he didn't ask him, considering he was responsible for you two meeting.

Koutaro was terrible at keeping secrets, so he ended up proposing the second he got home after ring shopping. You felt a bit ambushed, having been washing dishes in unwashed pajamas, but it was still a definite yes.

Currently, Atsumu was walking up to the mic to give a speech during your wedding. You rest your head on Koutaro’s shoulder, and he intertwines your fingers. Atsumu pokes the microphone and the feedback screeches, bothering everyone.

“Ahem. Now, if anyone knows me, they know I love my sister. That, and I only want what's best for her. That having been said, I would like a ‘thank you’ for this marriage, considering it was my idea to get ya together.”

“Liar!”

note: i just realized i keep writing the twins shushing people lol. Bokuto is so fun to write for 😭 he’s so silly

[ddejavvu]

pairing: james potter x reader

summary: your yule ball date goes south. James picks up the pieces

a/n: this is relatively close to a scene that's gonna be in a large marauders fic i've had as a WIP for forever so if you read that in a year and think hm that sounds vaguely familiar no it literally doesn't

You've never felt any strong kinship towards James Potter before, but now, shoulder to shoulder, equally stunned looks on your faces, you know you share an experience most don't.

"Well," James hums, dazedly, free from anger even if it should be present, "Alright then."

Neither of your should-be ball dates look up from where they're snogging each other in one of the utility closets covered up by paper streamers and an appetizer table, and you feel irritation begin blooming in your chest the way that they won't even look at you. Perhaps they can't hear you, perhaps there's fireworks in their heads and they're sharing one of those everything-else-melts-away moments.

Good for them.

You turn on your stiletto heel and head pointedly but casually towards the door to the balcony. You're eager for the cool night air on your skin- the crowd seems suffocating now. You snag a bottle of something you're sure was meant for the professors on the way out, keeping it tucked to your side to ensure no one sees you leave with it. It's amber in color and you'll figure out what it is later; right now your only concern is getting out.

You examine your feelings staring out over the grounds, moonlight bathing your skin and making the gems on your dress glimmer. You should be sad. Devastated, even, what with your date shacking up with some other girl when he should have been dancing with you. But you're not.

It's an unpleasant feeling, but it's betrayal more than heartbreak. You suppose you were never really head over heels for the boy you'd agreed to go with, it was just nice to be asked. To be wanted.

A wistful love song leaks out from the open doors to the ballroom, and you chew on its lyrics as you fit your mouth around the spout of your bottle. It warms you, your tongue suddenly heavy and tingling as you swallow a fair mouthful of the stuff.

"That was a sloppy grab," Someone calls from behind you, and you're surprisingly not tense when you recognize it as Potter's, "Someone could have seen you."

"We're not all mischief makers, Potter," You let the ghost of a smile cross your face as you stare out over the grounds, liquor residue leaving them sticky, "You should teach a class on smuggling things in and out of the school."

"I have thought about being a professor here," He admits, taking the place beside you and leaning out over the railing, "DADA if I could get it. Don't think Minnie's goin' anywhere or I'd go for Transfiguration."

"She'll be teaching our grandkids," You laugh, "And god save this school if you're ever hired."

"I'd be great." He assures you, a laugh in his eyes rather than his mouth, "So. Are you- ehm, okay?"

"Yeah." You shrug, your bare shoulders catching the slight breeze where your dress cuts them out, "It's- I'm fine. He wasn't the love of my life. Just sucks he lead me on is all."

"Right. Me too." James nods, "I- I wanted things to work with her. But I suppose in ten years I saw myself with someone else."

You attempt another sip of liquor after a bout of heavy silence, but James's hand holds the bottle away from your mouth, "Hey, slow down, killer! Liver failure is not a good method of revenge."

"Two sips won't kill me," You scoff, but you don't fight him when his large, warm hand takes the bottle from you, "You just want some for yourself."

"Yes and no." He grins, taking a swig of his own, "For courage, I s'pose. And dance moves."

You raise a brow at him, listening as the song changes from a ballad to a swinging one, something that makes you want to let loose and experiment with moves you've seen only middle-aged men showcase at weddings.

"Come on." He offers you a hand, setting the bottle aside and straightening off of the railing, "Come on, you've gotten dressed up to dance tonight, and there's no one else out on this balcony. Just you and me, let's do it."

"I got dressed up tonight to fuck," You clarify, but you're not sure if you really mean it- anything to ward away any good luck that comes to you before it sours like most things seem to be tonight.

"Well that can come after. I'm not fond of exhibitionism," James explains, hand still outstretched as you straighten your dress instead of taking it, "Come on. I'm about to lay out some truly heinous dance moves and I'll be making a fool out of myself if you don't join me."

The beat of the song really is tempting, an oldie but goodie that you'd danced to in your bedroom a thousand times before.

With a decisive huff you surge forwards, taking his hand and letting yourself relax into the rhythm the song sets for the pair of you. James is not wrong- he's a sight to behold while he's dancing, but you let him be your example and soon you're both choking on laughter as you swing each other across the balcony and dance circles around each other. The song dies down into another ballad and you let James press you politely against him, his hands never straying further than your waist as you hold his shoulders.

"I'm almost glad he ditched me," You muse, chest heaving slightly from exertion, "I don't think he would have danced with me like that."

"Mine was- uhm, she wasn't fantastic conversation." James admits, "I feel bad, but-"

"No, she's an airhead." You nod, knowing all too well that the girl James had escorted into the ballroom tonight did perhaps everything in her power to never have an intelligent thought, "It's harsh but it's true."

He nods, and your head comes to rest comfortably against his chest, cheek pressed into his dress robes.

"Thanks, James." You murmur, squeezing his shoulders gently. You feel more than hear his response, but the soft, suddenly tender, 'My pleasure, Y/N.' warms you more than the liquor had, the perfect antidote to the cool air out on the balcony as you sway in time with James.

[bunabi]

I finished Veilguard btw so here's my long thoughts (be warned I've been writing notes during my entire playthrough so this is very long) for folks who want it:

My favorite parts of DAV:

Best level design in any DA so far. The platforming grew on me, and I think the levels were well-thought out and mostly fun to navigate. Arlathan Forest was exhausting but other areas felt nicely balanced with branching paths, hidden rooms, etc. Exploration in smaller contained maps done right imo.

Mage combat is really satisfying at higher levels. Pure ranged combat is totally impossible unless you have Davrin and Taash popping taunts back to back, but dropping a massive AOE while fighting close-range feels good too.

Being able to auto-equip and compare new gear is great.

Same with the codex entries. Not having to hunt down whatever note I just picked up is a huge improvement.

Upgrading equipment via duplicates incentivized treasure chest hunting, which I would have otherwise skipped lol. It really helped me slow down and take time exploring areas, and I appreciated that.

The final act didn't make the previous 70+ hours feel better, my fault for spoiling most of it for myself, but it was neat. Cool set pieces, cool fights. I was worried Elgar'nan was gonna have the same moveset as the Regrets, but his final battle was great.

Oh, I forgot Felassan! His notes were a tragic delight. Such a good man. Funny too. They didn't need to kill Varric to make Solas less sympathetic...I think Felassan's betrayal(s) serve that purpose well already.

Rook & Their Faction:

Without rehashing what I've said over the past few weeks: this is my least favorite protagonist.

Being a funny and sarcastic and irreverent hero in a DA game is not new. Not having a choice in the matter is. The Inquisitor was pretty fixed in their tone too (cant even choose a personality for them in CC) but even they had better aggressive options available.

Folks say not to judge Rook's depth by a Lord of Fortune playthrough but since factions are asymmetrical on purpose here are my impressions:

The Lords of Fortune didn't contribute to my run in any meaningful way other than getting Emmrich hot which is not unique, as it turns out, to any particular background. In fact, learning Natalene was a galley slave as an aside detracted from my experience. Being a former galley slave, former Circle mage (again: Rivain doesn't have Circles), semi-Dalish city elf with DIY vallaslin is unreal. Especially as characters continuously imply Rook is a young 20-something. The fact this wasn't immediately caught and course-corrected shows -- to me -- how hectic and spread-thin DAV's development really was. :(

Story & Antagonists:

Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain have cackling witch disease. No motivations outside of power. That was a little disappointing. Was also hoping they'd at least comment on Rook/Davrin/Bellara's vallaslin but they're too busy plotting world domination to really notice. Love their designs though. I'd love to hear a deep dive on how they animated Ghil's tentacles.

Veilguard feels like an immediate follow-up to Trespasser, not the ten year timeskip it says it is. I wonder if that's a symptom of adapting the live service story (content that was likely meant to stretch, similar to Anthem and Destiny, over a decade) for single-player.

I miss the politically-motivated meddling. Every villain is allied with the Evanuris. We needed some that aren't. The Right and Left Hand of the Black Divine, corrupt brothers of the Imperial Chantry, the agents of the Archon, a Minrathous street gang, some Rivaini pirates, anything, anyone.

It's crazy how all elven resistance seemed to evaporate with the dissolution of the Dread Wolf Army. As much as I'd hate seeing them duped and betrayed by Solas…I prefer that to just pretending everything's fine now. I could easily see alienage elves and slaves take Cyrian's path, desperate for change no matter the source, especially since oppression is all they've known and there's no end to it in sight. Especially with their gods confirmed as the source of the blight. All downhill from here I fear.

The Butcher. Would. That voice and that frame....it purred I fear. But even he was not immune to cackling witch disease. Wish he stuck around longer for personal reasons. My South is under siege and I aint talking about Ferelden.

Combat:

I found myself switching builds a lot, which was nice and kept things fresh. That being said: DAV needed loadouts for skills and equipment and a menu showing active passive skills + enchantments. A QOL update for this stuff would have been amazing. I want to try an archer run, but I dread (🐺) fussing with skill tree nodes again.

After fighting Mythal (my first full dragon fight) I was disappointed how all dragons share her same attack patterns. They didn't have to reinvent the wheel or anything -- this was the case with dragon battles in DAI and I thought it was fine -- but Mythal of all enemies should have been unique.

High-level demons are limited to Rage and Pride. High-level darkspawn are limited to Ogres. I miss those little scrungly lookin' despair demons and nasty ass hurlock emissaries. After 60 hours I did get a little tired of the same handful of mobs over and over.

Companions & NPCs:

The Veilguardians feel like my kids. Except Emmrich who's absolutely convinced he's in an age-gap relationship with my older lady Rook. It's not that they're uniquely dependent or rudderless, it's that their struggles are solved with nurturing pep talks. Reaffirm their worth, give them a hug, and all that inner turmoil is cancelled. Rich coming from the 'I should have been able to influence my companions more in DAI' girl, but Rook's impact on the Veilguard, the way their doubts vanish completely via some life coaching, feels off.

Speculation: I think the companions were originally planned to be NPCs. Their written banter in some of the notes, their verbal banter throughout the Lighthouse, they feel like they're meant to stay in the hub and act as quest-givers in the live service game. Especially with how Rook is excluded. That's fine btw it just helps explains some things. (Just remembered something else: when you talk to quest NPCs out in the world and the camera focuses in on the conversation, you can't see your companions. They chime in with disembodied voices, always hidden out of frame. That also gives me the feeling they were added later. Not confirmed btw just my hunch!)

Torn about Taash. I love them for breaking the 'agreeable companion' monotony but hate the ~animalistic race~ tropes they were saddled with. I've had issues with Weekes' handling of race and culture in the past. I'm disappointed to see it continue a decade later. I'll leave it there. Sten cannot smell ovulating coochie!

I tried to kill Lucanis during the final assault. Had full faction strength but I didn't complete his personal quest. It didn't work. Sorry Zevran!

Shathann's VA was acting her ass off. Great performance. Absolute bars from Taash's VA during their scenes too.

I dreaded (🐺) opening the Lighthouse map to see who wanted to talk. I usually love chopping it up and getting to know my party; that's my favorite part of any DA game. But so many conversations were just spent restating the obvious (Bellara is worried about The Gods and her brother, Harding is worried about her powers and Solas, Davrin is worried about the griffons and Gloom Howler, you know like in case you forgot). Running person-to-person-to-person and feeling no sense of accomplishment or progress for it seriously drained me.

The Inquisitor… I assumed vowing to stop Solas would block my Lavellan from pining and questioning herself after a decade apart and two very clear rejections. She kept asking whether he could still be reasoned with even in the midst of the final operation. I'm disappointed how little that choice mattered in the end. The second-hand embarrassment was crazyyy.

Romance:

Now this part is a little unique. Sorry for what I'm about to say about Emmrich. If it helps: I found him the most fun of all the companions. He's handsome, thoughtful, and has a fascinating past. But I ended up being dissatisfied by the end, and not just because of being soft-locked into a May-December fling, cringe commentary from Rook, and feeling like I was straight-up harassing Emmrich in early flirting dialogue.

The main issue: I don't care for the Mourn Watch. I like the Mourn Watch characters, but the organization makes me crazy. We hear so little about how they function in the context of an Andrastian nation like Nevarra. Summoning the dead in a world that still believes souls join the Maker's side in the Fade is huge. I wanted to really dig into discussions on the afterlife but in the end I'm supposed to go 'waow cool skeletons' and forget that religion is such an important facet of Thedas. I was so bummed!

I made him a Lich because he didn't seem to care either way. Reuniting him with Manfred is morally good, turning him into an eternal protector of the Necropolis is morally good. Emmrich is happy with whatever, so I gave him whatever, and I said 'whatever' when it was all over. My god is that man cute, but the romance overall just didn't do it for me.

Should've known when I saw his rotunda lol Bioware you sly dogs you got me again!

Personal final thoughts:

Well? I don't think I'm sad anymore, but I am left with complicated feelings. Obviously things are a little different for me being an EA Partner and getting an idea of just how much work has gone into making the game exist period. And I think because I can't blame it all on one person, shit all over it, and move on that these feelings are just kinda churning with nowhere to go.

Things could have been handled better. Didn't like the attempt to hide the world states until launch, or the dismissive comments from writers about it. Didn't like the AMA answers. And this isn't really my business but I'll say it anyway: I feel like the community council was thrown to the wolves, having to base their DA4 impressions around the sliver of content they were allowed to see, and having a much more hands-off role than implied.

I hope DAV is taken as an opportunity to refocus, double-down on what makes Dragon Age so beloved, and lean into those strengths unapologetically. Easier said than done -- as much as I loved Swen's speech about creating games free of marketing expectations and mimicking the latest trends that's often times impossible -- but I want to believe it can be done in this case.

Anyway both Sabine & my antibiotics are complete and I'm overcoming my moodiness and getting back to work on commissions! I've cured the Blight in more ways than one! 😄

[inbabylontheywept]

i had my wisdom teeth out yesterday, and afterwards my friend came over to torment me (mutually agreed upon torment, we planned this beforehand because we thought it would be funny, and it was).

and he starts asking me calculus questions.

tell me why in my propofol-dazed state, when i couldn't understand how time kept passing, i was shocked by the existence of a Dunkin Donuts that's been by my house for the past two years, and i was amazed by how soft my face felt (i couldn't feel myself touching it, it was trippy), i was still able to get the integral of x^2

granted, i first gave him the derivative, and then i gave him the integral without adding the constant of integration C, and this is basic calculus

but HOW do brains work like this.

you get wheeled out of the dentist's office after saying "i love you" to the nurse, making whale sounds, jabbering about your mother having four eyes and there being wayyyy too many lightswitches on that wall, but you retain enough brain to do math???

I think it's kind of beautiful that, in our first stumbling efforts to make a model of a brain, the hard part has been getting it to stop hallucinating. That maybe the natural state of consciousness is this sort of dreamwalking.

I wasn't put under when I got my wisdom teeth removed, but my dad sedated the crap out of me. I can't even remember the cocktail I was on, but it was stupendous. Xanax and some other things. The dentist had to ask me to stop humming several times. After the third ask, I pointed to the drill he was using and said "OHHHH so it's okay when HE does it."

Afterwards, my parents said I seemed lucid, and I talked and I wasn't sluggish or uncoordinated. They knew I was high, but the first "oh, yeah, he's actually quite high" thing I did was I put an otter pop in the microwave to get it mushy, and then I put the time in, and then I reset the microwave, put the time in, reset, time in, over and over and over for about ten minutes. Eventually my little sister stepped in and asked what I was doing, and I explained that I was having a little bit of trouble converting from "normal time" to "microwave time". I'm still not sure what I meant by that, but I think it might have been a binary conversion because the time I'd set it for was 10:10:10

(I have killed more good microwaves that way.)

Brains are cool. You know? I like how much they do without being guided to. I describe the sensation of being me, sometimes, as riding an elephant. And the conscious brain is me, and it gets to watch and want things and make its case to the elephant. And sometimes, the elephant plays along and does some incredibly powerful elephant thing and that great, but other days, it decides to eat eggs. And to some extent, I really am just along for the ride.

i'm not sure where I'm going with this. Perhaps your elephant is quite good at math.

[happy74827]

Forced to Listen

[Dean Winchester x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Dean hated it when you hunted him down for advice, and he also hated that you knew exactly how to bait him into listening.

WC: 1082

Category: Fluff, Ranter!Reader, Mentions of Cheating, Sam being absolutely useless (iconic).

Can you believe that it’s been TWO WHOLE YEARS since I last wrote of him?? I’m so angry at myself 😭😭

『••✎••』

Dean could sense what was coming when he watched you stomp towards him with nothing but a small bottle of beer. The look on your face was one he had come to recognize over the years.

It was the one that said that you were about to coerce him into listening to your woes, and he had no other choice but to do it. The heat outside was unbearable, the kind that made Dean strip off his flannel and ditch the leather jacket, leaving him in his sweat-covered shirt.

But as he stood under the hood of the Impala, trying to get her to start, that bottle of beer was calling his name. The promise of the cool, carbonated drink sliding down his throat, relieving him from the dryness that had settled in his mouth, was something he desperately craved. And you knew that. That's why you were headed straight for him.

"Hey, Dean," you said innocently, the small bottle of beer dangling from your hand.

Dean sighed, his gloved hands pausing as he glanced up at you. He really wasn’t in the mood to listen to you whine about what was going on in your life, but that bottle of beer was too tempting to pass up. It was his favorite brand, too.

Goddamn it, you really were a temptress.

"Two minutes,” he grunted out, holding his hand out for the beer. "I'll give you two minutes."

You grinned, placing the bottle of beer in his open hand. In a matter of seconds, half the liquid was gone, and you were waiting impatiently for him to give you the sign to begin.

After another second, a sigh of content slipped from his mouth, and he nodded, signaling you to start.

You didn’t waste any time. "Do you think I'm a bitch?"

"I think you're a pain in my ass," Dean retorted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. It didn’t make much difference since his hand was already covered in dirt and grease, but it made him feel a little better. "Don’t tell me you came over here just to ask me that?"

"No, I'm serious, Dean," you insisted. "Do you actually think I'm a bitch?"

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

So, he just raised his eyebrows, silently telling you to go on while he took another sip of his beer.

"Dating's hard, Dean," you started, and he already felt a groan coming on. He did not want to have this conversation. "I just don't get it. Why am I not good enough for them? Why do I keep getting cheated on?"

You were pacing around the car as you spoke, and Dean kept his eyes on the beer. As you went on about everything that was bothering you, the more he regretted his decision to drink that damn thing.

"Am I not attractive? Am I not smart enough? What is it, Dean?" You looked at him, hoping for an answer. But when you realized he wasn't paying that much attention to what you were saying, you let out a scoff. "Great, so I'm not even good enough for you to listen to me? God, Dean, you are such a douche."

Dean rolled his eyes and finally looked up at you, the annoyance clearly visible. "Can I get back to fixing up my baby, now?"

"Would you date me?" You asked, suddenly, a hint of desperation in your voice. "Am I worth dating?"

God, you were killing him. He’d rather get heatstroke than continue this conversation, and he was sure Sammy would agree on his behalf.

He could actually see his baby brother from where he stood. He was a few yards away, sitting in the shade. A book in his hand, but his eyes were on the two of you.

Was he…? Oh hell no.

He was laughing.

Sammy was having a good time watching him squirm under your gaze, doing absolutely nothing despite avoiding the work Bobby needed help with.

Oh, was Dean pissed off. He’d get his payback soon, hopefully. It would be whenever he actually gets away from you and fixes up his car. Baby always comes first.

"I mean, c'mon, Dean," you pressed on. "Just give me some advice. You were with so many women, and they were all beautiful and perfect, so what's wrong with me?"

You were pouting, and Dean felt like throwing his beer bottle on the ground and stomping on it. This was the worst two minutes of his life.

"There’s nothing wrong with you,” he finally said, looking you in the eye. "You could be a pain in the ass, but unfortunately, I’m apparently the only one who has to deal with it, so... yeah. You're fine."

"Fine? I'm fine?"

"Yup," Dean replied. He turned back to the Impala, taking the last swig of his beer and tossing the empty bottle into your hands. "Thanks for the beer. Is that all?”

"I just feel… I don't know. I feel like I'm not good enough, ya know?" You said a sad look on your face. "Like there's something wrong with me. Something that's making everyone leave me."

"Listen," Dean started. He looked at you again, but all of his annoyance was gone. The two minutes were definitely up; he could quite literally kick you out of sight, but with the look you had on your face, he just couldn’t do it.

So, despite Sam’s utter lack of help, he was going to do his best to try to make you feel better.

"It's not you, alright?" He assured. "There's nothing wrong with you. If a guy can't see that, then he doesn't deserve you, okay? Trust me, you will have no problem finding someone else."

The corners of your lips twitched, turning into a small smile. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded, giving you a smirk. "If you want, I could always give out the ole hunter's special with your past one. Bobby could use a new rug for his living room."

A loud snort slipped past your mouth, and Dean was satisfied.

"Okay, Winchester," you said. "This is my sign to get the hell out of here."

And so you did, but before you could get even slightly close to the house, he called out to you.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, a small smile forming on his face. If you thought it was going to be wholesome, then you were sorely mistaken.

"Next time you come to me to talk about your feelings, at least have a damn pie."

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 15.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: curses, mentions of jk's unaliving attempt, explicit content: hickeys, fingering, they are so in love and can't stop saying it, unprotected sex, creampie

☆word count: 2.6k

☆a/n: i love them, and my bad if there are any typos this is heavily unedited haha let me know if you see any!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook feels anxious. Ever since Taehyung asked him to meet up to talk, he’s been feeling incredibly anxious, like his heart might explode in his chest. Even worse - he’s afraid he’ll run into you when he gets to the apartment, and after what you said on Thursday, he thinks he might break with no way to heal if he sees you.

He’s scheduled an appointment with his therapist later today. All he can do is hope that it’ll help. And that his conversation with Taehyung will help, too.

Taehyung is in the living room when Jungkook gets home, playing on the Switch. He pauses his game the second Jungkook walks in, and they both stare at each other for a time, an uneasy silence filling the apartment.

Taehyung breaks it first. “Hey.”

Jungkook takes off his shoes but keeps his coat on as he heads towards the living room. “Hey.”

“How have you been?” Taehyung asks.

It’s awkward, and Jungkook hates it. He’s been hating way too much stuff in his life lately.

“Fine,” Jungkook replies. 

He can’t bring himself to return the question, and he sits at the other extremity of the couch, as far away from Taehyung as he possibly can.

“Listen…” Taehyung says when he realizes Jungkook won’t say anything else. “I’m sorry I punched you.” He winces as his eyes go over the bruise and wound Jungkook knows adorn his cheek. “Shit, I actually got you good.”

“You did,” Jungkook coldly replies.

Taehyung eyes his knuckles, which have also turned red and purple from the blow. “I really am sorry for that. I don’t know why I punched you, and I’m a little disgusted with myself that I did.”

“You were mad. It makes sense.”

Taehyung shakes his head no. “It doesn’t make sense. But… man, why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“Because you told me you’d kill me if I did touch her?” Jungkook chuckles bitterly. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Yet you still went behind my back and fucked her,” Taehyung states, a hint of anger flashing behind the words.

“I didn’t fuck your sister,” Jungkook spits. “It’s never been like that with her.”

Taehyung remains silent for a few seconds and then sighs deeply. “Then how is it?”

His tone is cool, composed, and a lot nicer than Jungkook expected it to be. It calms down the anger that was starting to simmer in his blood better than a cold shower would have.

“Wha - what?” Jungkook lets out.

Taehyung offers him a smile that seems forced, yet Jungkook sees it for what it is - he’s trying to make an effort.

“How is it with Y/n?”

Jungkook gulps, gaze widening. “Huh… well…” he trails off, eyes falling to his hands, where he’s been mindlessly pulling at the calluses he gets from working out. “It’s… great. I know she’s your sister but fuck… she’s amazing.”

“She is,” Taehyung agrees.

“But I fucked everything up in Paris when I kissed Gabrielle.”

The silence that follows is heavy, interrupted by Taehyung’s sigh what feels like an eternity later.

“Were you guys together then?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook shrugs. “We weren’t together together. But yes we were.” He pauses, and his throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper when he tries to swallow. “We started on Valentine’s Day.”

Taehyung’s nose is scrunched up, much like you sometimes do, when Jungkook looks at him. “That’s… a long time ago.”

“We ended in Paris, though,” Jungkook adds. “Except last Thursday.”

“I thought you and Lisa…” Taehyung trails off.

“It happened once last month,” Jungkook immediately explains, probably far more defensive than necessary. “And Y/n actually caught us together so… I ended things with Lisa right away.”

“I remember Lisa being pissed about it,” Taehyung admits. “But then she said that it was because of another girl, and looking back I was stupid to think it was Gaby.”

Jungkook purses his lips. “I haven’t spoken to Gaby in person since Paris. We only texted a couple of times.”

Including that one time she’d given him shit for not telling you about his promise to her.

“Right…” Taehyung trails off. He sighs, sitting back on the couch, throwing Jungkook a look. “What do you want with my sister?”

Jungkook gulps around a sudden lump in his throat. What does he want with you? He already knows, but can he tell Taehyung? Can he tell your brother that he’s so irreversibly in love with you he thinks he’s been dying since you said it was a lapse of judgment on Thursday?

That he almost died in July after he lost you?

“You want the truth?” Jungkook asks, his heart rate spiking. “I’m in love with her. I just want her to be happy, and of course I wish she’d want to be happy with me, but I don’t think that’ll happen after last Thursday.”

“You’re in love with her?” Taehyung repeats.

Jungkook gulps. “Yes.”

Taehyung nods and, to Jungkook’s surprise, taps Jungkook’s shoulder. “Noted. Come home, Jungkook. You should talk to her.”

Jungkook is stunned silent, and he just stares at Taehyung, just stares at his best friend unblinkingly, not understanding where the conversation went.

“What?”

“Come home,” Taehyung repeats. “I’m not mad at you. I was mostly mad that you both hid it from me for months, but clearly I was wrong.” He pauses, chuckles lightly. “At least that’s what Ari said. She quite literally beat some sense into me.”

So… this is it? The biggest obstacle to you and him… wasn’t even an obstacle?

“She did?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung tilts his head to the side, gaze widening as if he’s reminiscing about what happened with Ariane. “She said that I was a dick for not letting you guys figure your shit out. I think Gaby told her about the two of you.”

That would make sense, considering that the two girls are best friends. 

“Oh,” is all Jungkook manages to say.

Taehyung surveys him for a few seconds, as Jungkook’s world crumbles down around him. It’s like the floor disappeared, and he’s plummeting towards the ground with no parachute to save him.

Taehyung is not opposed to your relationship.

If you want it, Jungkook can be with you.

“So come home,” Taehyung repeats. “Talk to Y/n. Fix shit with her.” Taehyung smiles, and this time it’s fully genuine. “I just want you both to be happy.”

Jungkook nods, and he has to take a deep breath to refrain from crying then and there. “Okay.” He nods again. “Okay, I will talk to her.”

There’s a moment of silence as Taehyung just carefully observes Jungkook. Jungkook wonders, can Taehyung hear the wild beats of his heart at the perspective of talking to you?

“Can I…” Taehyung starts, and then his eyes drop to his hands in his lap. “Can I ask you something?”

Jungkook’s heart seems to come to a full halt in his chest. “Yeah?”

“What happened last summer…” Taehyung trails off. “Is it related to Y/n?”

A bottle of wine crashing on the pavement comes to Jungkook’s mind. But he never told Taehyung - how would he know?

“What do you mean?” Jungkook replies, pulling on his piercings.

“In July.” Taehyung sighs, meeting Jungkook’s gaze for a few seconds. “Lisa told Sera, and she told me and Jimin.”

Jungkook hates it. He hates it so much, hating the vulnerability that it imposes him.

“Ah.” He gulps, and he thinks about you for a moment.

Thinks about the fact that you were the only thing on his mind when he was so close to ending it.

“It was partly caused by losing her, yes,” Jungkook finally answers, and he’s suddenly blinking back tears.

“Fuck, JK…” Taehyung trails off. “You really should have told me about her…”

“I didn’t think you’d be… open-minded,” Jungkook says, shrugging his shoulders. “And she’d already ended things with me then.”

Taehyung nods once, and then sighs again. “Please don’t keep everything to yourself now, okay? I really don’t want you to think you’re alone. And I really don’t want you to ever feel like… that is a solution. So please talk to me, talk to Jimin whenever you need help, okay?”

Jungkook can’t speak around the lump in his throat, so all he does is nod. Taehyung understands - they’re best friends after all.

“I love you, bro,” Taehyung adds. “Please talk to Y/n.”

“I will,” Jungkook answers, his voice choked up with emotion.

All he can hope for is for you to be open to the conversation, whenever it comes. 

*****

For the first time in months, Jungkook feels at peace.

You’re here with him, and for the first time, he knows he won’t have to let go. Maybe that’s why he’s kissing you slowly, softly - you have all of eternity stretched ahead of you. Yet it seems you want more. Your kisses grow deeper, and soon his blood is pulsing at his ears, shooting down to his dick, and Jungkook pushes his tongue in your mouth.

It’s like he’s discovering you for the first time. He marvels at your sight, at your taste, at the way you moan softly against his lips. He swallows your sounds, inhales your inebriating scent, and he climbs on top of you, gently parting your legs with his knee so that he can be as close to you as possible.

He has half a thought that Taehyung is somewhere in the apartment, but the way you wrap your legs around his waist makes him forget everything until there’s just you and him.

He leaves your mouth to find your neck, his tongue darting out to taste you. A second later he’s sucking a hickey on your skin, and you moan softly, hand pulling at his hair.

“Kook,” you breathe out.

He pauses, just content with being close to you. “I love you, peach.”

Your arms wrap tightly around him, and though you have to be aware of his erection pressing against you, you both just stay there for a moment. 

“Love you too, Kook. So, so much.”

It’s the way you say the words. Jungkook immediately feels the need to be inside you, to be surrounded by you, and he kneels between your legs so that he can take off his shirt. You run a hand on his body, awe in your eyes like you, too, can’t believe you made it in the end. He takes a moment to look at you, to take in the way your eyes sparkle with emotion - with love, lust and yearning.

He loves you. And the best part about it is, you love him too.

“Fuck, peach,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful.”

You sit up, taking off your shirt in one swift motion that reveals so much skin - you weren’t wearing a bra - and Jungkook thinks he’ll go insane. It’s like he forgot what you looked like despite seeing you just a few days ago - it feels like a whole lifetime ago.

You’ve gained muscles over the months apart. You’re leaner, and there’s a strength to your curves that makes Jungkook’s dick twitch in his pants. The tattoo on your ribs is all too attractive too, and Jungkook takes a moment to trace it as you lie back down under his watchful gaze.

The art is beautiful. Delicate, with fine lines that have sunk perfectly in your skin. Jungkook wonders who your artist is, if they’d be able to tattoo something on him too, something to remind him of you. But then you’re whining from lack of attention, and Jungkook leans down, kissing you deeply.

You run your hands on the skin of his back, nails lightly digging in his skin, and when he grunts softly, you whisper, “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

He goes fully insane. Insanely in love, perhaps. He undresses you, kissing every inch of skin revealed, and though he wants to taste you, to eat you out until you come undone on his tongue, his dick is throbbing too painfully for him to ignore it.

You’re glistening, your arousal evident the second his eyes land on you. He still takes a moment to slip two fingers inside of you as he kisses you again, swallowing your soft moans as they come. And when he thinks you’re ready, stretched enough for his dick, Jungkook takes off the rest of his clothes. His dick springs free, already rock hard like it always is with you, and he jerks himself off a couple of times as he watches you, as you watch him through half-lidded eyes.

“Condom?” he asks, though he hopes you’ll say no.

He wants to feel all of you again.

You shake your head no. “Please just fuck me already.”

“Fuck,” he curses, his dick hardening even more. “Fuck, peach, I love you.”

He comes closer, rubbing his tip on you, collecting your juices. It’s so sensitive without a condom, and he has to bite the tip of his tongue so that he doesn’t come right away. It doesn’t help that you’re so wet. That a moment later he’s slipping in, inch after inch, your walls sucking him in. 

It doesn’t help that you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as your eyebrows bunch together from the pleasure. You’re so hot like this, so sinfully beautiful, and some feral part of him just wants to pound into you, to fuck you until the whole neighbourhood knows that you’re his forever now.

But he tames himself, slowly pulls out before pushing all the way in again. 

“Kook,” you moan, and your hand finds one of his where it’s holding your waist. “Come close.”

You don’t have to ask twice, especially not as he wants you close, too. So he bends down, cages you between his forearms, and then he establishes a slow rhythm. Your hips lift to meet his, your walls tightening around him from the motion, and he knows he’ll come fast.

You’re too tight, too wet, for him to hold on for a long time. So he tells you how much he loves you. Whispers on your lips that he never wants to be separated from you again, that he thinks you’re the reason he’s alive. You confess your love back, tell him that he’s so worthy of your love, that you wouldn’t want anyone other than him. 

You tell him that you’ll love him when you’re old, which makes him laugh against your lips. There’s beauty in the thought, in the knowledge that he does have a lifetime with you.

“You’re…” he trails off, because he has no words to describe how amazing you are, and his dick is stealing most of the blood from his brain.

So he kisses you instead. Kisses you slow, kisses you deep, his motions growing faster until they turn sloppy, and then he pushes all the way in, his dick twitching as he unloads his cum deep inside of you. You hold him tight, pussy pulsating around him, and Jungkook’s high keeps going on and on, your lips muffling his groans and soft moans.

“I love you,” he says again when he starts being able to think once more.

He’ll never get tired of telling you.

“I love you too, Kook,” you whisper.

He’ll never get tired of hearing that, too.

Read chapter fifteen here!

☆☆☆☆☆

he is so in love with her please send help. Let me know what you think of the drabble!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[earlycuntsets]

“I CONSIDERED MYSELF TO BE MORE OF A GIRL”

A CONVERSATION WITH GERARD WAY from theboyzine.com 1/18/2015

"Gerard way is the renaissance-type singer songwriter // Goth prince frontman // comic book artist // proud father best known for both his solo music and his band My Chemical Romance. We got a chance to ask him a few questions in early January. Enjoy!

What is your favorite animal?

I would have to say an ape; for a long time I didn’t take the time to know the difference between primates, but my wife and I have been really into animals—apes are just very gentle creatures.

As an emotional professional, how do you feel when people tell you to man up?

You know, growing up as a boy you are always told not to show your emotions, that it is a sign of weakness. I have been lucky enough to lead a life where I can celebrate how I really feel—but there is still negative attention towards it and it is still considered weakness.

Is there a point, then, where one does need to (for lack of a better word) man up?

You know I really don’t like that phrase. “man up”, because it implies that emotional strength in rough times is a masculine trait, when in reality some of the strongest people I know are women. But yes, there are a lot of times when you should control your emotions–  times of crisis and need where you really can’t let them get involved. I have learned to pull my emotions out of a lot of big decisions.

You often make it a point to spread the message of gender equality in your shows. Could you describe that a little bit?

It is something I have been lucky enough to be educated about. I generally try to pay attention to it, make sure I get my facts from the best sources and whatnot, and I really relate to it. I never really subscribed to the archetype masculinity growing up, I had no interest in sports or anything like that. There was a time where I was called a girl so often that when I discovered the idea of transgenderism I considered myself to be more of a girl. So I identify with trans people and women a lot because I was a girl to a lot of people growing up. When I was doing MCR I think I finally got to display my femininity through the glam theatrical aspects of the band. It made me feel more hopeful, that I was allowed to be flamboyant. I want to make sure women and men and everyone in between feel safe and empowered.

Was there a person or thing that first sparked your interest in feminism?

When I was around 16 I became friends with these really cool girls, and that’s how I got exposed to Bikini Kill, Helium, Bratmobile—that was the real punk. All the other hardcore scenes at the time were a little bit hypermasculine and violent, which was totally unappealing to me. But here are these bands—Bikini Kill, et cetera that were actually talking about important things. That was real punk. Great bands.

What sort of advice can you offer to all of us boyz reading?

You have to surround yourself with ‘the others’. Whether they’re the creatives that you know or whatever it is. Because you guys will feed each other, that’s the nature of people. Find companions who will push you in the field you are in.

Do you hang onto traces of boyishness? Comics and digging up worms?

Well first off I don’t consider those things boyish. I am really happy that things like comics have become less marketed specifically toward boys—did you know that 50 percent of comic book readers are girls now? There is a really great picture I saw one time of a little girl with all the spiderman toys in a toy store clearly angry that they were in the ‘boys’ section. We need to let kids have more freedom of choice in who they want to be.

But answering your question, I have always been super into comic books. I didn’t really ever like sports, so I played dungeons and dragons a lot. That was a really important creative outlet for me. Of course I still love Star wars, and biking.

How do you find ways to stay positive?

Society is so interconnected these days, there is so much noise. It is really important I think to turn the noise down, to find ways to do so. Whether you’re in a creative field or not, you need to find a way to follow what is in your gut because that noise that is so obstructive is   creeping. Think about the art you make, the people you love.

My routine is really simple but important to me. I wake up every morning and my wife and I get our daughter ready for school and I drive her there. And that’s when work begins for me. I am lucky that one day I can be recording a new song and the next I am putting all of my energy into a comic.

Do you consider your marriage to be a partnership?

I am very glad you asked. I consider my whole family dynamic a three way partnership actually. My wife and I have been partners since day one, and now our daughter is the newest addition to the mix. Of course we have different duties to each other—my wife and my job is to educate my daughter  and make her feel great and teach her how to work hard, to let her choose what she loves. That’s very important to us. It is great coming home from the road because Lindsay (my wife) and I get to work together more.

Thank you so much for doing this interview, is there anything we haven’t touched that you want to say?

Don’t chase your dreams, let your dreams chase you

[butterbabyflapjack]

✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount (chapter 1): 5k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

This is ridiculous, horny, bloody, silly and dark (in essence, a very dark romantic comedy), so please heed the tags!

Starts after season 1, but with Brian escaping. Sorry if there’s any rough spots, I kinda rushed editing this.

ch.1 is from Brian’s POV, and the rest of the story is from yours. And there aren't nearly enough problematic female characters in the world so I'm making you one 😃

✧˖° chapter 1

Hello again, Miami. 

Didn’t think I’d see you again this soon.

What’s it been? Eight months? Since I was your most highly sought after criminal?

Guess I just couldn’t stay away.

Time flies when you’re laying low.

Guess I just missed you.

But really, my reason for coming back to dear old Miami–my home, both my real and spiritual birthplace–has a name, a life, and a face. Your name, if you’re really so curious. Your life. Your face. And I intend to leave what remains of all three of those things behind to the hungry bellies of gators before once more absconding stage left. 

But why, you might ask? Why do I want to kill you? Horrified, scandalized, even. For what reason had you to die by my skillful hand? And the answer to that is simple: death doesn’t need a reason. Death simply is, and I simply enjoy it. 

Though…

Regardless of that irrefutable fact…

I’ll admit. 

This particular death–your death–has a slightly more personal reason. And that reason, or at least its causation, was currently chit-chatting with me on the phone.

“Your plane lands at eight?” Dexter asked, and I didn’t waste time with a nod when he wouldn’t see it. Simply staring out across the coast of Costa Rica, the sunset reflected within the dark shadow of my gaze.

Costa Rica… and I’d really wanted to retire somewhere cold.

Not that this was retirement.

It was more of an… unplanned, involuntary vacation. Just until the heat from the feds cooled down.

Then again, I wasn’t waiting for the temp to drop before planning this little excursion back to Miami. But you’d sorta forced my hand in that regard, now hadn’t you?

“Hope you don’t mind if I crash on the couch,” I said, good-natured, and I knew he wouldn’t object. My brother couldn’t feel much–much more than myself–but I sensed a sort of guilt in him for how he’d previously driven me off those eight months ago. Choosing a fake sibling over a real one, one who actually knew who he was… I’d say the guilt had good cause.

I could hear him at his quaint living room/office combo’s computer, typing away at something. Perpetually Distracted Dexter.

“Yeah–yeah, that’d be great,” he said. 

I exhaled a little sigh whilst listening to the soft waves roll in beside me. “Why do I feel there’s a but coming?”

“No buts,” said Dexter. “I just, uh…” He seemed distracted, but not by whatever he typed. “I’ll just have a friend over tomorrow. She’ll probably be here when you arrive.”

Ah.

The friend.

The one I’d been silently wishing Dex would just kill himself. Grow suddenly bored of you.

Wishful thinking.

He seemed quite fond. 

He wouldn’t shut up about you. Always and forever droning on.

It wasn’t romantic, this interest, or so I’d come to suspect over all these past droning months. I didn’t exactly ask about that, though, half because I really didn’t care and half because of how much the subject of you annoyed me, raised over and over again and ugh, just give it a rest already. 

Dex shouldn’t have ‘friends’. The mere concept a fairytale, a mask to people like us. It should be just he and I, two hunters against the world, hunting whomever we like.

“Ah,” I voiced aloud, with the sugar-flaked pleasantry of someone who wasn’t at all picturing severing your aorta with an icepick. “Your little friend will be there to greet me. How nice.”

Dexter must have misread the edge of sarcasm as some sort of concern. “She already knows you’re coming. Don’t worry, she can be trusted.”

Just more proof that my do-good, misguided brother is far too trusting.

“Well,” I said, as though accepting this point as fact. You really can be trusted with my and my brother's secrets–such relief! “I look forward to finally meeting her.” And carving and slicing and dicing her.

I must have forgotten to include that last part out loud, and thus Dexter had no objection–even sounding strangely relieved by my show of good faith in at long last having this introduction.

“See you tomorrow night,” he said, and my lips formed a little smile–instinctual, without any warmth.

“See you then,” I said, then hung up.

And now; here I am. Back in the ever-enchanting sunshine state. My former playground of frozen, meticulously broken toys, and it feels much more like home to be back than I even expected, with just the small matter of ridding you from these sentimental, familial walls.

Walking the concrete pathway to Dex’s Palm Terrace place was nearly surreal, assaulting the walls of my person with waves of distant memories. I’d broken into his beachfront apartment so many times before. Snooping around, getting to know him. Leaving gifts tied up with little red bows. I was basically murderous Saint Claus.

I had only one bag, having traveled here light–a black leather crossbody, which I thumbed the broad strap of whilst knocking with mild knuckles against the door.

Silence. Then, footsteps. Then–

Dexter throws open the door, a smile formed ear to ear like a big, goofy animal. 

“Brian,” he says, and somehow it melts me. Chips slightly away at all that frigid, cold frost round my cruel, vacant heart. And his eyes dip over the state of me. The longer hair, dark curls well past my ears, now; just long enough to tuck back but not long enough to stay there. The dark scruff which coats my angled jawline in the absence of shaving for so long.

“Dig the beard,” Dexter says. “Quite the disguise. Bet the ladies love it.”

I smile at the compliment, though if he'd hated the look I'd feel much the same. “One does what one has to to effectively blend,” I return. And it’s hard not to feel somewhat warm, somewhat seen, understood, by my brother before me. The only person in this world who accepts who I am.

Well, not wholly.

Thanks for nothing, Debra.

Still. Since the death of our mother, Dex is the only place I’ve ever belonged, and seeing him now I’m abruptly struck with just how long it’s been.

I don’t wait for him to welcome me in–he’s probably too cordially stunted to properly welcome me, anyway. I just step right up and throw both my arms around him, my baby brother, my other half; cuffing him firmly on the back as I breathe him in.

“It’s been too long,” I say, holding him there for a moment, before pulling back.

Dexter’s expression is torn into a million indecipherable things, but amongst them is his affection for me. The brother who’ll always see him for who he really is. Who truly fathoms that insatiable beast inside him.

The bliss of our reunion’s forced to end, however, because this house has a rat problem. And as I hear a small, feminine throat being cleared from the fluorescent-lit depths behind my brother, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Time to finally put a face to the name I’ve been loathing for weeks.

And there you are. Standing before a metal-limbed armchair nuzzled inside the living room, like you’d sat there then stiffly stood up; uprooted at the sound of my knocking. Frozen, now; lingering. Like you’re caught in a trap you don’t know your way out of. Hands fidgeting as they twist at the hem of your shirt. 

It’s like you know you don’t belong here–that this moment is Dexter’s and mine–and for the cleverness of that, at least, I must inwardly applaud you. Though that’s decidedly where all my praise ends.

This is one of those social situations I’ve learned so well to navigate through life in the foster system, masking my aberrance. Awkwardness. Other people’s–not mine. And though I could so effortlessly put you at ease as you stand there fidgeting, I find it more entertaining to draw that part out. For a while, at least.

I must admit, I hadn’t pictured you at all in my head. What you’d look like. Not as anything more than an aggravating, compromising blip I’d soon snuff out the threat of. But if I had pictured you, I wouldn’t have imagined you looking, so…

…Well.

You’re not…

Unnatractive. 

I feel one dark brow slowly raising.

And you’re only a friend…?

Whatever must poor Rita think? Seeing the two of you together?

Dexter. You dog.

My eyes trace your expression as you awkwardly hover there in the length of my speculative pause. Myself perfectly content to allow you to hang there in a noose of discomfort all night, and then some. Though eventually I know one of us will have to say something.

This is our fated and much anticipated formal introduction, after all.

So at what feels like long last, I throw you the lifeline that is my smarmiest smile. Knowing full well you won’t know it’s not real. No one but Dex ever does.

“And you must be the friend I’ve heard so much about,” I greet you pleasantly, my deep voice threaded with warmth. Though, peculiarly, that unsure tension in you remains stubbornly in place. Seems if anything only to grow, despite my intent to disarm it. 

Huh.

Oh well–it doesn’t deter me. Killing you will be so much easier if you don’t see it coming, so I’m keen on you liking me, letting your guard down. Thus, I graciously continue:

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to finally having you right in front of me.”

Maybe a bit of truth will lube you up. And I watch as your lower lip’s sucked in between your teeth for just a moment whilst you eye me; the motion drawing my studious gaze like a shark’s to blood. 

“And why is that?” you ask, which admittedly I wasn’t expecting. Such a nervous mouse, yet you’d put me on the spot.

I can’t place your nerves. I’m perfectly charming. And yes, you’re aware I’m the notorious Ice Truck Killer, but I’m not sure why that would be alarming. Not with the company you keep; namely, my murderous brother. So it must be something else.

And I so hate not knowing things.

“So I can be introduced to you in person, of course,” I say, like it’s obvious, and it should be. Striding in past Dexter as he steps aside to allow me in, shutting and latching the door behind us all; a roomful of killers, or so I’ve been told.

Our eyes never stray in my steady approach; not yours, not mine. My height soon towering over yours, which isn’t unusual for me when meeting new people, nor when standing near almost anyone. Offering my hand and a smile I’ve been told is quite dashing. “Dex has had such wonderful things to say about you.” And I’m sure he has, I just couldn’t be bothered to remember any of them.

My smile could melt steel as if it was butter.

“I’m Brian.”

I won’t lie, I expected you to crumble. Most women love this move. The confidence, the approachable self-assurance. But you eye my outstretched hand as though I might pull you into the fires of hell with me were you to take it, before craning your neck to meet my gaze once more.

“Charmed,” is all you say; unmoving.

Something about that irks a small ripple up my nape, but I just allow my hand to drop graciously back to my side. All practiced, svelte charm still in place. It’d take a lot more than that to dischevel me.

“So,” I say, by all appearance unconcerned by the lack of civility in my brother’s ill choice of friends. “It almost feels like I already know you, what with the way Dexter’s gone on and on.”

Your gaze steals over to Dexter, hovering there in the distance behind us, before you smile up at me again in a way which feels forced. And I suppose you’re not the talkative sort, though why you keep glancing at Dexter as if waiting for something from him, as if he’ll swoop in and save you, I’m uncertain about.

In due time I’ll figure it out.

“But there’s still one thing I’m curious about,” I say, turning to make myself comfortable. It has been a long trip to get here, after all. 

I plop down like a wolf amongst sheep atop Dexter’s hideous couch, legs spread like I own the damn food chain. One arm draped out along the length of its backrest as I eye you somewhat expectantly, still rigid in how you stand. Imagining what you might look like strung upside down by your ankles with a lengthy strap of duct tape kissing those soft lips, holding them shut for me. 

The shadows beneath my eyes pinch.

It’s a lovely image.

Maybe you’ll see for yourself.

“And what’s that?” Dexter asks–bravo, Dexter–at least one of you’s courteous enough to ask. And I tilt my darkly curled head at him.

“How exactly did the two of you get to know one another?” I ask. Watching him. Eying you. Hoping my focus might rattle you–just a little. “I’m sure it’s an interesting tale.”

“I’ve already told you,” Dexter says, and he probably has, at least in his unabbreviated sense. “We work together at the precinct.” He dons his playful tone I often find so silly but right now I find I detest. “The lab geek and the cop~”

“Right. But that’s not what I mean,” I slice into his futile comedy routine, “What I mean, is: how did our friend here come to know you’re one of Miami’s most heinous, uncaught serial killers?”  

The other, of course, being myself; excepting the whole uncaught thing.

Dex is lucky I’m so forgiving.

I put it forth bluntly, with little room for either one of you to wiggle out of answering. And though my radiance of charisma remains, my intensity’s keen. ‘Cause I must admit; now that I’m here, I’m curious about you. Especially when you seem like such a rabbit in a household of jackals. Weren’t you supposed to be some like-minded killer or something? Perhaps I should have paid closer attention whenever the unwanted topic of you had come up in mine and Dexter’s conversations, instead of bitterly tuning you out. 

Strangely, Dexter doesn’t seem to know what to say, and neither do you. Like the story’s too long, too elaborate. As though there's pieces the two of you’d rather omit. 

Fascinating.

“She helped me out,” Dex says at last; monotonously shallow, like the words aren’t even his, like he's rehearsed this. “In a time of need.”

I quirk a subtly mocking brow at him from where I’m idly lounged on the couch. 

“Why do you sound like a generic thankyou card?” Why, indeed. “C’mon, baby brother–I want specifics. You can tell me.” My dusky gaze passes from him to his lovely, curious friend, hovered opposite the ugly coffee table before me. “We’re all friends here, right?”

It would seem that my smile unnerves you. Which might be annoying if it wasn’t so entertaining a thing to see.

Dexter sighs before trying a more human answer, leaning one bulky shoulder against his white, open-backed bookcase that separates his living room from the office attached. 

This whole effectively communicating thing is hard for him.

“It was sort of an accident,” he says, like that’s far more telling. The lacking details seeming to spur you to chime in. 

“It was really just me being in the wrong place at the right time,” you elaborate, with the passive front of one pretending the ice they walk on won’t at any moment begin to splinter. Folding your arms against that pensive look I toss you, which I tilt my head in silent question of. Why so nervous? I’m far from daunting, aren’t I? 

“I was called to check out an anonymous tip,” you continue, averting your gaze from me far more often than one normally does. “Some sort of suspicious activity at an abandoned storage shed near Palmetto. Myself and my parter.” 

You glance at Dex, as if he might continue the tale for you, might rescue you from this, but when he merely quirks a little smile with a similar shrug, you’re forced into proceeding.

“It was supposedly related to a case–which it wasn’t, not that that matters, but…” You let out a breath. Seeming to steady yourself, the recollection, though for all your nervous fidgeting your tone is surprisingly calm. “I walked into the storage shed, it was unlocked, and… And I saw Dexter. Sawing someone’s arm off. Someone who was strapped down to a table in a plastic fucking tutu.” 

You glance at Dex, as he detachedly watches you. 

“Someone I knew from a previous case,” you continue. “Someone who deserved whatever it was Dexter was doing, and much more than that, too. Which is exactly when I shut that fucking door and assured my partner there was nothing to see here, and we left. Left Dexter to do what he does, undisturbed.”

That’s the end of your story, and I picture the scene, all while some predatorily protective part of me insists on clarifying, “So… That’s it? You saw my brother chopping a man into pieces, and were immediately okay with it? Go Team Dexter? Just like that?”

I try very little to hide my disbelief, ‘cause I don’t buy it. In my experience with cops, and I’ve had plenty, you all tend to be such sticklers when it comes to casual bloodshed and carnage. What’s more, your uptick in nerves isn’t exactly selling me.

My lashes lower in my deliberate examination of you. “Why’d you really not turn my dear brother in?”

In lieu of answering, you once more eye Dex, and that look between you says something.

“It’s complicated,” you say at last. Like you’re waiting for Dexter to speak, but he’d rather wait on you.

The pair of you. Really. You’re like a couple of tongue-tied, helpless kittens. Must I string this conversation on for you?

“Enlighten me,” I say, with something of an edge.

Perhaps I should’ve kept the disarmingly fake smile, because if anything you thrust your guard up.

“Look, I don’t owe you a full explanation of what Dexter and I have been through, okay?”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” I viperously put forth, my pretense of pleasantry slipping. “Seeing as how you know so much about myself. And all without my express knowledge or permission.”

An impermanent issue. One I won't leave Miami without personally seeing resolved. You know far too much–you’re an issue. For Dexter’s sake and for mine, we must unfortunately bid you bon voyage.

“I’d say it’s only fair I know a little more about you,” I continue, cordiality slipped back in place. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The delicate line of your jaw tautens, eyes wavered with wariness and doubt. Refusing to spit out any more, though the longer you’re subject to my critical appraisal, the more the twine of your stubbornness unwinds.

“I… I need someone dead,” you admit at last.

Ah.

There it is.

“And, after seeing Dexter doing… what he does…” You bite your lower lip, as though struggling to recollect straying thoughts. “I need his help. I need his help to kill someone.”

I take my time mulling about your words. Piecing together the part you still aren't saying.

“So… You won’t turn Dexter in, so long as he helps you kill someone. Did I get that right?” 

You bite down harsher–immediately shake your head. “No, it’s–it’s more complicated than that!” 

But by now I’m barely listening. Turning instead to lift a wry brow at my brother, who’s watching this whole fiasco with a can-I-please-leave-yet look plastered upon his face.

“This is the friend you’ve been telling me about?” I wonder vaguely. “The cop who’s blackmailing you into helping her kill someone?”

“I’m a detective,” you cut in, like that matters, like I care, and I feel my eyes already rolling.

“Detective,” I sarcastically amend, with a scathing glance at you. “So sorry to offend, Detective Whoever-You-Are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m talking to my brother.”

When you mutter back your name under your breath, I make a show of ignoring it.

“So, what?” I instead ask my foolish, good-hearted kin. “You’re actually going to help her kill someone?” 

His lack of answer’s enough. And at his arms-folded silence, I ruminatively tut my tongue.

“Doesn’t seem like you, Dex… Not the edict-ruled brother I know.” I try not to let my tone grow too ingratiating whilst goading, “What about your beloved code?” 

Dexter exhales a stiff breath. Putting forth, “It’s more than that.”

“More?”

“Like she said, it’s complicated.”

“Has the word ‘complicated’ been redefined as ‘indescribably moronic and impossible to explain’ sometime in the last fifteen seconds?” I return, incredulously flat. Eying their strange and stilted silence with dwindling patience. “What aren’t the two of you telling me…?”

You’re biting your lip like you’re biting back words, and I watch, waiting, biding my time for those bit-back words to get the better of you–though surprisingly, it’s Dexter who breaks first. 

“It’s nothing about that, it’s…” He rubs the back of his sand-colored head, roughing his hair up with tense distraction. “Well, it is about that, in a sense. I didn’t know how to bring this up. I just… I have to leave town for the weekend,” he finally gets out. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’m headed out.”

I’m too nonplussed to hide the creeping edge of my bemusement.

That’s what he’s been having trouble saying?

He drops this like it’ll land like a bombshell on our entire reunion, before rushing at whatever my bland expression, “It’s just for a few days. I’ll be back Monday bright and early.”

To be honest, I’m mostly confused about why this seemed so hard for either one of you bumbling idiots to tell me. Or why you’re bumbling about it at all. Why should I care if he’ll be gone for forty-eight more measly hours after we've been separated for almost a year? And for many, many years before that? Does he actually expect me to mourn him till Monday?

“Big plans with the family?” I venture coolly, and Dexter’s broad shoulders bunch into a shrug, as though he’s cornered and a shrug is all that might save him.

“It’s a whole thing,” he explains. “Cody has a scouting trip, then Rita wanted to make a whole weekend out of it with the grandparents–I’ll spare you the details.”

Yes, thank you for that.

Dexter the family man. It’s so sweet it’s nauseating.

“So you’re taking your fake kids camping so you can keep playing domesticated dad to a woman and children who’d hate you if they knew who you really are?” My smile’s so feigned it hurts. “Sounds like a great time.”

My brother, the shrugger, shrugs once again. Doesn’t even try to defend my interpretive accusation. “I gotta be there.”

“Well have fun on your little adventure,” I muse; side-eying him. “Not sure why it took you this long to tell me. I’m sure I’ll find some way to busy myself in the meantime.”

You and Dexter exchange that look again. That look which betrays how you still haven’t shared whatever’s so lodged down your throats and wherever this is really going, and by this point it’s driving me toward wanting to just rip open your necks to drag whatever it is out, myself.

“Well, actually,” my brother begins, struggling once more with saying things. “I’ve already got an idea that’ll keep you busy in mind.”

I steady him in the crosshairs of my vision. Well. Now we might be getting somewhere. And I can’t deny my interest, much like my frustration, is piqued. 

“Oh?”

“A favor, really,” he adds, without elaborating, and I really am going to rip the words right out of him.

“Are you going to tell me what that favor is?” I’m finally forced to ask, before glancing exasperatedly at you. “Or perhaps I should defer to your translator?”

There you go, nervously rubbing that elbow again, though I find myself oddly mesmerized by the motion of it. I can’t say for what cause, other than I’m not blind, and you’re obviously attractive. Watching you anxiously stand there is becoming one of my favorite pastimes.

“I, um,” you mumble, so quietly I almost can’t hear you. A nervous mouse again, one my nature is stirred to chase. “Well. Dexter was going to help me with–you know… What I was saying before. We have everything planned for tomorrow, and it has to happen tomorrow.” You seem strangely adamant about this, and I don’t care enough to question the ‘why’, just as I don’t care for the ‘who’–I’ll take your word for it. “But, um, with Dexter out of town…”

Helpless, as if to say any more’s an impossible task, you glance to Dexter for support.

“Really, the two of you,” I lowly muse. Eyes glistening between the pair of you, alight with my wicked amusement. Stretching out more broadly on the throne of Dexter’s hideous couch. “You could almost put a full sentence together so long as you tag one another in after every breath.”

The taunt’s enough to unlodge wherever Dexter’s tongue’s at. 

“I need you to help her kill this guy while I’m gone,” he finally says bluntly. Arms folded, expression stern, yet hinted by what may as well be him begging me, which in itself, is…

Well. He’s never asked me for anything. Not like this. Though I certainly don’t owe him any favors…

“I know you know how to set up a proper kill room,” he states, and he should–he’s seen my imitation of his plastic-drenched kill room, firsthand. I’ve studied his work more than anyone. Emulated it to perfection, and all for a happily-ever-after he refused to take part of, spat cold in my face.

For a moment, I feel almost human in how I can’t seem to react or respond to this request. Though as I watch the mirrored hope in you both, as the idea of this slowly settles, I find that it doesn’t completely bore me…

My eyes drift to you. Singling you out. Stringing round your anxious expression. And you’ve mettle, at least, to not look away from the barbs of my musing intensity.

So. This is why you’ve been acting so sheepishly inept. You need big bad Brian’s help with something.

It’s laughably cute, the idea of you killing, and already I know I’m going to do it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make you sit in it a little. Take my time in toying with you, first.

“You want me to babysit your blackmailing little friend here,” I say to Dex, with raven-dark eyes still on you, “while she attempts–and correct me if I’m wrong here–her first kill?” 

I can tell you can feel how my gaze is dissecting you. Pulling apart, piecing together, assessing every piece and shape and shade of you. It makes you squirm, and I love it; sparing a moment to slide my tongue over the sharpness of my teeth as I feast on such a beautiful reaction. 

I turn back to Dex. “What makes you think she’s even capable?”

“I’m capable,” you insist, drawing my gaze again. And even through those nerves roused in my presence, you appear quite convinced of it. 

Interesting. 

“I can do this,” you again allege. With such frail confidence, but confidence nonetheless. “I just… need a little help.”

I tamp down the rearing head of my inquisitiveness. Ensure my interest remains vague in how I lackadaisically eye you. 

“Help with what, exactly?” I slowly ask. And it’s not a no, which I’m amused to see is so surprising.

You blink a few times, eyes growing wider, more determined–before you’re explaining, quickly, as though whatever luck this is may run out.

“Getting him to the kill site,” you say succinctly, with all the puffed-up bravado of a fluffy little rabbit pretending that they’ve slayed a fox before, and it really is amusing. “Moving the body. Clean-up.”

I let my watchful silence drag on. Held in supposed indecisive contemplation. Should I? Should I? Until, when I can nearly hear your fretting heartbeat, I feel one corner of my lips slowly quirk up. Watching every minor movement of you like a fox might a meal, might a rabbit, and find I really wouldn’t mind taking a bite. 

“Don’t need help doing the deed, then?” I subtly ask you.

Your eyebrows flicker to a knot. Lips pressing flat, before you shake your head at me. “No.”

“You sure?” I further goad, with silken smoothness. Loving those little cracks of hesitation along your lovely surface so much I’m inclined to hammer in even more of them. “‘Cause I won’t kill him for you. You have to do that, yourself. And what’s more, if you for any reason chicken out on me and can’t follow through with all this…” I calmly smile. “I’ll simply leave you there all alone with whatever maddened mess of whoever this man you’ve left behind.” The idea of it sparks a delicious flame somewhere deep below my cavernous lack of heart. “After ensuring he’s woken up, first, of course. Aware. Pissed off. Untied.” 

I smile my cheshire smile as that resolve in you flickers in place; the smallest glow, so nearly snuffed out already. 

“So?” I spur in your uncertain silence. “Do we have a deal, little killer?”

And still, you hesitate. Seeming to weigh my words with care, along with the cost of your own, which I certainly appreciate. You’re not as stupid as I’d originally believed, in any case.

At long last, you nod, but I don’t move, don’t even blink from how I wolfishly watch you from my throne of Dexter’s couch. Not until you say the words out loud. And you will, if you want my help. You have to.

If that’s a flash of resentment within those pretty eyes of yours, it only causes my broadening smirk.

“Fine,” you say at last, after thickly swallowing. “We have a deal.”

And surely light must dance in my entertained eyes as I bite back just how pleased I am by this answer. 

This should be fun.

✧˖° chapter 2

[angrykittybarbarian]

About that Dragon Age: The Veilguard audio web series

Thinking back about the marketing for DATV I now realize it was kind of deceptive.

No, it was not literal fraud. They did not make specific promises and then broke them, not explicitely and in a way you could hold them liable in court over. And I get when you are advertising your product you will of course highlight its most favorable aspects while not shoving its negative sides into everyone's noses.

However I do think that EA/Bioware did stretch out the boundaries between regular endorsement and fraud.

It started with the web series Vows and Vengeance they uploaded weekly on Youtube right before release. At that time I was still hopeful and excited for the game. And Vows and Vengeance all but encouraged that excitement.

You know why? Because, and this surprised me, it was genuinely good.

Vows and Vengeance functioned as an early introduction to the companions. While they were not the main characters they did play a key role in each episode. The plot was what could be typically expected from a regular DA installment. It had a dark, gripping story. The dialogue was well written. It dealt with mature themes, it actually discussed the classism of Tevinter.

Lucanis was a proper crow who killed a good man because he was hired to do so. He was positively morally grey. Davrin had actually strong opinions when the main character dropped the Dread Wolf's name. Bellara was interesting in that it became clear how she struggled with her ADHD without using infantile language, Scout Harding acted smart, mature and competent, Taash was a morally grey bad ass, fitting for a freelance treasure hunter and with smart and witty dialogue to go with it.

It was amazing, I found myself excited every week for a new episode. It got me interested in the companions. I already contemplated to romance Taash because they were so cool and charismatic in that series. I thought, if a FREE webseries that was made for advertisement was already this great then the game had to be nothing short of phenomenal.

And then it just...wasn't. There was nothing of the depth that came through in the web series. It was as if I was presented with a sample of a multilayered chocolate cake but got a dry brownie after I actually paid the full price for it.

The sheer audacity behind this course of action is still so inconcievable to me, I sometimes still wonder why they put effort into writing the free thing and not the product they demand payment for. I still don't get it. The only explanation is they purposefully put out a misleading sample to lure in the customers in the beginning to spend money, right?

This fraud adjacent behavior does not stop there.

Remember when we thought we would be importing our worldstates from our previous games? There wasn't even a question about it in the beginning because this is such an intrinsic Bioware feature. But then the info about the three choices in the character creator leaked.

Leaked!

Meaning they never intended for this information to be known pre-release. They fully intended to keep it secret until it would be too late. They also never said they wanted a soft reboot.

This is the conclusion the fandom has drawn after they destroyed their own lore and went scorched earth on the entire south of Thedas.

And the biggesr lie was when they said this was their best work. After all this!

This is the reason why DATV's shortcomings are so devastating. This is why so many feel like the game was a slap to their faces. EA/Bioware gaslit and manipulated us from the very beginning. We have been cheated and betrayed.

The last bit of trust I and many others had in Bioware, they mercilessly crushed.

I personally will never take even one thing they say at face value again. You can only trust their actions from now on.