#it's been so long I've posted something written

[daddydindjarin]

After Midnight

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Reader Rating: M- nothing in this post, but it'll get there, so we're going to mark all the shots as M. A/N: The way this show has sparked my imagination back into full gear is absolutely insane. I've not been able to get these characters out of my head, and the FMC feels like she jumped into life fully formed. If it wasn't for @lowlights and @write-and-buried I wouldn't have had the courage to write or post so I'm so thankful for them listening to my ramblings about these dorks. And as always, the dividers are by @firefly-graphics

---

PTMC Emergency Department, 2:13 a.m.

You’ve been at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for eight years, and the hospital hums in your bones by now. You started here as an intern, matched fresh out of UNC Chapel Hill, more nerves than skin. Somehow, you stayed—intern year, residency, boards, senior year peds elective that cracked something open in your chest. Now you’re two years into a pediatric emergency medicine fellowship, and you’re still covering every inch of the ER. Peds. Adults. Whatever rolls through the ambulance bay.

You’re good at it. Everyone says so.

It doesn’t make tonight easier.

The air smells like vomit and bleach, and the kid from North 2 coded in triage before you even touched him. Seized twice. You got him back, got him upstairs, but it took something out of you. Something you’re pretending you didn’t need.

The charting desk blurs in front of you, your fingers hovering uselessly over the keys. Your body is moving because it has to, but your brain…your brain’s somewhere else. Blank. Fuzzy. You’re wearing betadine on your sleeve like a medal, your hair’s half out of the tie, and your stomach’s been twisting empty for hours.

The paper coffee cup appears like a miracle.

You blink. Steam curls gently into the fluorescent light and you can smell the sugar before the coffee, and you know, one sugar, no cream- exactly the way you drink it when you’re too tired to argue with yourself. The hand that brought it disappears from your periphery, and when you glance sideways, Robby is already leaning against the counter.

He’s still in scrubs and a half-zipped jacket, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His hair is messy in that way that it only gets after he’s run both hands through it four times in a row. He signed out hours ago.

“You looked like you were about to fall off the stool,” he says, as if it explains anything about why he’s suddenly here.

He places something else on the desk, and the crinkly yellow packaging is immediately recognizable. It’s a granola bar- oats and honey, your favorite, and he doesn’t even say anything about it. Just places it on the counter like he does this every night.

You take it without thinking, not bothering with a thank you. You’ve known him too long for that. Since your intern year, when he used to watch your traumas like he was waiting for you to sink or swim. Robby never said much during those moments. Just handed you gloves, tied your gown for you when your hands were shaking. Once, when you were crying in the stairwell after a loss, he said, “You stayed. That mattered.” You think about that more than you should.

He was the first one you left a sticky note for.

You’d written a question on a chart you felt dumb about- basic trauma math, something you already knew but doubted yourself on anyway- and you drew a little cat beside it, giving a thumbs up. You meant it as a joke, a little self-directed kindness. You didn’t expect a reply.

Later that day, your chart came back with a short answer and a doodle of a matching cat, this one with a stethoscope.

You’ve been trading them ever since. He doesn’t know you save them all.

“You’re off shift,” you murmur around a bite of granola.

He shrugs. “Dropped something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You dropped something six hours ago and came back for it now?”

“Wasn’t important ‘til I realized it was gone.”

You snort. He doesn’t smile, but his mouth twitches at the corner. You sip the coffee (still hot, thankfully), and you try not to wonder how long he stood in the staff lounge waiting for it to finish brewing. How long he watched the monitor board before walking over.

His knee knocks yours under the desk, light, unthinking. He doesn’t move away. Neither do you.

“You finishing notes?” he asks.

You nod, resisting the urge to scrub your face. “Trying.”

“You want help?”

It’s a soft offer. He already knows the answer- you always finish your own charts. But you shake your head and smile anyway, just barely, because the question still matters.

You both go quiet. Not awkward, just familiar. There’s a hum to it, like a routine you’ve both walked into without planning. He doesn’t speak again, just leans on the counter beside you while you finish chewing and try not to let your hands shake on the keyboard.

And when you shift sideways, just barely, just enough for your arm to rest against his, you don’t say a word.

He doesn’t move away.

Five minutes later, the granola bar is gone, and so is the worst edge of your headache. You’re not okay, exactly, but the world feels a little more manageable with him nearby. A little less like it’s closing in on you from all sides.

You start typing slowly, your fingers still stiff, but moving now. The chart is basic enough- chest retractions, fever, positive RSV. You double-check your med orders, update the time of transfer to PICU, then hit sign and save. It only takes two minutes, maybe three, but he stays through all of it.

When you look up, his eyes are on you.

Not watching you work. Not judging. Just… there. Steady. Present.

You lick the granola dust off your fingers. “You really came back for something you dropped?”

He lifts a shoulder like it doesn’t matter. “Something like that.”

You let the silence stretch between you. There’s a smudge of blood on your sleeve you hadn’t noticed until now- faint, rust-colored, streaked across your cuff like it didn’t want to be remembered, and you tug it down over your wrist.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You need a break,” Robby says. It isn’t a question.

“I need to finish notes.”

“You’ve been sitting in the same spot for twenty minutes and finished one.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong. You’re only half here. The rest of you is still in that trauma bay, still hearing the mother’s voice break when her toddler stopped seizing and went limp in her arms.

He shifts closer, subtle but unmistakable. “Come on.”

“I’m on shift.”

“You’ve got five minutes. I’ll cover.”

You almost laugh. “You’re not even on tonight.”

“I think I can cover you in my ER for 5 minutes,” he says, already turning like he plans to guard the door if Jack comes looking.

You glance toward the break room. “You just want the last of the good coffee.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You saying you didn’t want the one I made you?”

You’re not sure how to answer that. The truth is, yes, you did want it. You always want things from him that you don’t know how to name.

You stand as if it were never even a question, following him towards the break room.

The hallway is dimmer here, further from trauma. The sound of suction and crying recedes behind you as you push open the door to the staff lounge. It smells like someone’s burned popcorn and someone else’s vanilla lotion. There’s a half-full pot of coffee on the warmer and a chair in the corner with your name on it. Not literally, but it’s the one you always take when your legs give out halfway through a double shift, and tonight is no different as you collapse into it.

Robby follows you in. He doesn’t sit, just leans against the counter and pours himself a cup- like it’s his personal kitchen, like this is just another shift you’re working together, not some strange middle-of-the-night orbit you’ve both chosen to fall into.

“How’s Abbott?” you ask, assuming correctly that Robby had stopped to see him before finding you. You’d seen him come in at 7 when you started your second half of your double, but not since, attesting to how busy the pit always stayed.

Robby sips. “Still teaching residents how not to kill people.”

You grin. “So angry, but effective.”

He nods. “And bored out of his mind. He said to tell you that if you don’t start bringing muffins for night shift again, he’s going to start baking his own, and no one wants that.”

You let your head fall back against the chair, choosing to ignore the fact that Jack knew Robby would find you. “I’ve created a monster.”

Robby snorts. “More like unleashed one. Abbott’s been talking about buying an apron. Pink. With ruffles.”

You laugh, sharp and sudden. “If that man bakes half as well as he burns through residents, I’ll be out of a hobby.”

Robby leans back, arms crossed. “Guess you better get back to baking, then.”

You grin. “Maybe I will.”

His eyes flicker down to your hands. He doesn’t say anything, but his mouth curves, just barely. It makes you feel warmer than it should.

He sets his cup down. “I’m gonna grab a blanket. Don’t move.”

You watch him go.

The moment he’s out of the room, your chest tightens like you’ve been holding your breath. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You never have, not around him. It’s been years, and still this soft ache in your chest hasn’t dulled. You told yourself it was a crush. Told yourself it would fade once you stopped needing his approval, once you finished residency, once you got your fellowship, once you found something real.

But he keeps showing up with coffee. Keeps remembering what you like. Keeps bringing granola bars without asking.

And you keep saving every damn sticky note he leaves you.

You’re still thinking about that when he comes back in, a thin fleece blanket in his hands, and he tosses it toward you. It smells like the linen closet. A little like him.

“Five minutes,” he says, settling into the chair beside yours. “Close your eyes.”

You do. Just for a minute. Maybe two.

And when you feel your head start to fall sideways, when you feel your temple brush his shoulder and he doesn’t shift away, you let it happen. Just for five minutes.

The blanket is thin and hospital-issued, scratchy in the corners, but it’s warm. You pull it tighter around your shoulders, feet tucked under yourself in the awful break room chair you’ve collapsed into a hundred times. Usually alone and vibrating from caffeine and cortisol. Tonight, your pulse is steady. You blame the granola bar.

Robby doesn’t speak. He doesn’t shift, just sits there beside you, long legs stretched out, hands folded loosely in his lap like this is something the two of you always do.

You wake up, god knows how much later, to the sound of someone knocking softly on the lounge door.

Robby stirs beside you. You shift from where you’ve fully slumped against him without realizing it, your cheek sliding off his shoulder. He doesn’t move away until you do.

Kim pokes her head in without waiting, gently calling your name. “Five-year-old with an asthma flare in South Three. She’s stable but climbing.”

You rub your eyes, belatedly realizing you were smearing your mascara. “On it.”

Her gaze flicks to Robby, eyebrows arched. She doesn’t say anything, but you can read her smirk like it’s printed on a chart. You’ve been on the receiving end of enough nurse gossip to know when you’ve just handed them material.

“Thanks, Kim,” you say, voice scratchy. She disappears, and you stand, stretching out your back, wincing at the pins and needles in your feet. Robby stands with you, slower.

You hand him the blanket. “Thanks. For this.”

He just shrugs. “Figured I owed you one.”

“For what?”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t answer.

You step out into the hall together. You should split off. He’s not on shift, you’ve got a patient waiting, but you hesitate for a second. There’s something about the quiet between you, the way it softens your jaw, makes the ache in your shoulders a little more bearable.

“Get home safe,” you say.

He says your last name like a secret kept between the two of you. “You too.”

He always calls you that when he doesn’t want to say something else.

You turn down the hallway toward South Three, and you don’t look back.

You’re halfway to the locker room when the day shift rolls in like a slow, caffeinated tide.

Princess is the first one through the bay doors, still in her coat, coffee thermos under one arm, muttering about traffic on the Fort Pitt bridge. She spots you immediately and tsks your last name like a disappointed aunt. “You look like death and poor decisions.”

You grunt. It’s the most language you’ve got left in you.

“Did you even eat?” she asks, already digging into her bag. She doesn’t wait for an answer, just slaps a protein bar into your palm and points a perfectly manicured finger at your chest. “You will eat this before you drive. Swear on my ovaries.”

“Your what now?” you mumble.

“Swear it.”

You nod, obedient and sleep-drunk.

Then Perlah breezes in behind her, laughing before she even hits the desk. “Don’t listen to her, ngulót, she gets dramatic when she skips breakfast.” She gently pinches your cheek on the way past. “You okay?”

“Pulled a double,” you say. “Still standing.”

“Barely,” she mutters, and reaches out to fix the collar of your fleece, hands warm and quick. “You going home or collapsing in the on-call room again?”

“Home. I think.”

“Good.” She leans close and whispers, “Jack left twenty minutes ago. Said if you didn’t get out soon, he was coming back to carry you.”

You snort. “Sounds like him.”

“Did you tell her what he called that kid in trauma last night?” Perlah asks Princess, eyes alight.

“Oh my god, yes. ‘Little bastard’s lungs are doing a samba.’ Right in front of the mom!”

You groan into your hand. “Why do we let him near people?”

“Because he saves them,” Dana answers from behind the triage desk, voice steady as always.

You turn, don’t even remember pivoting, and there she is. Reading the board like she can feel which rooms need her without walking in. Her eyes flick to you and hold.

“You’re still here?” she asks, not unkind.

“Just leaving.”

She nods once. No fuss. No scolding. “Go. Rest. You’re no good to me burnt out.”

It’s the closest she’ll come to I worry about you.

You clutch the protein bar a little tighter.

Then there’s a shift in the air.

You don’t hear his footsteps, but you feel him.

Robby’s voice calling your last name is somewhere behind you, low and easy: “Morning.”

You turn.

He’s in a clean set of scrubs, hair damp from a shower, badge clipped to his collar. He smells like eucalyptus shampoo and maybe cinnamon. You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you stuff them in your pockets.

“Morning,” you say.

He walks past you toward the desk, nodding at Dana, fist-bumping Perlah, stealing Princess’s coffee without asking. Everyone’s talking around you, but all you hear is the echo of your head on his shoulder. The weight of the blanket. The heat of the coffee cup in your hand.

Robby glances back just once, mouth quirking. “Go home before you end up unconscious in triage and really get the pit treatment.”

You should say something clever. Something funny. Something like I could be unconscious anywhere, really. The on-call room, my room…your room.

Instead, you watch him walk away.

It’s almost 6:45 a.m. by the time you leave the hospital. Pink is just bleeding into the sky over the Allegheny, and the wind cuts sharper than it did last week. You don’t have a hat, but you pull your coat tighter around you and keep walking toward your car, parked somewhere near the construction zone that’s been eating the south lot for months.

Your body is running on crumbs. You didn’t even realize how hungry you still were until you hit the air.

You unlock your car, slide inside, and grip the steering wheel with stiff fingers. You sit there for a long time just breathing. Thinking about the coffee. The granola bar. The way he didn’t even ask before handing it to you. Like he already knew.

You think about the first sticky note. The way he drew the little stethoscope on the cartoon cat. The way you stuck it in the pocket of your white coat and never took it out.

You think about his shoulder under your cheek. Solid. Warm. Unmoving.

You think about marching back into the ER where you know he’ll be clocking in soon, and asking him what he really came back for.

You don’t.

[doodlejoltik]

oh my GOSH you wrote a whole beautiful essay about this. seriously blushing rn, I'm going to fall over and then bounce around the room like an overexcited steam kettle (/very positive)

[everything else below the cut because i started rambling]

I actually really love looking at paintings, especially maritime ones! went to a maritime museum only about a month ago? and you're so right about paintings being able to capture Movement and Mood and Story in such a unique way. many of the paintings I saw were also quite old ones, before photography would've been portable or easy. they perhaps depicted wrecks and disasters that nobody would've photographed at the time. whether wholly imagined or from reference, they portrayed the experience of something.

which is why I'm so, so flattered that you're describing my Own painting that way. the way you've broken down the things you noticed, the little tweaks that make the screenshot redraw all worth it.

this was just - such a special experience for me in my playthrough. I spent so long there, just relaxing, taking photos, fully immersed in the game. and you're right, reflecting on this piece, i really wanted the viewer to feel how beautiful it was in the light of a new day... (though this screenshot is actually from sunset in-game! XD but sunrise fit the Feeling and the Story better so that's another change I made when captioning/describing)

I've always loved this particular shot, the best of all of them; I've even actually printed it out on photo paper! and I've always wanted to make something based on it, I've got a bunch of loosely-written self-indulgent drabbles set in that moment.

the original sketch of this was from October of last year, actually. I roughed out the composition, was quite happy with it, but it didn't add all that much yet - it was mostly just changing up Rei's position and the framing. I hadn't even thought about adding Lumineon. then I got busy and it got shelved, with me occasionally thinking about it.

until now, when I dug it back out again. and I'm glad I didn't rush it back then, and had that time to think, because I feel that I improved a lot art-wise, and was able to put that into this piece.

other fun fact, Lumineon was originally supposed to be a Mantine because those were the first 'mons I was enthralled by when I first rode Basculegion! but I later caught the Alpha Lumineon on a separate occasion and it was a phenomenal surprise. plus it's actually from the correct area and has better colouration/patterning to be backlit XD

this is a far more subdued piece of art, conceptually, than much of the art that you see posted online in fandom, I think. it's silhouetted, zoomed out, very focused on the environment, and even that is pared down to very simple elements. so it means the World to me that you (and so many other lovely people!) see my vision, and appreciate my paintings.

thank you so much <3

sunrise at seaside hollow

[reference, and context, below!]

screenshot redraw of this!

alpha Lumineon based off the one that swims around there in seagrass haven. caught that thing without battling it (sniped with jet balls!) majestic creature...

this captures a moment after quelling Lord Arcanine.

that quest started off with urgency because of the Miss Fortune Sisters; Rei first called Basculegion sometime in the evening or around sundown, and they all have to travel to Firespit in the night. things escalated. Irida arrived swiftly, they prepped the balms fast, and they didn't want Growlithe Arcanine to suffer any longer...

and so Rei quelled the new Lord. it wasn't easy. nothing at all like Kleavor and Lilligant.

exhausted and shaken, he took his leave. intended to go back to camp, at first, but ended up aimlessly wandering on Basculegion. saw the cave and decided to stay there. to catch his breath a while.

this is actually what i did in my playthrough... discovered this cave by chance, sat and looked out at the view and decompressed (after failing the noble battle Many Times aha).

he dozed off, at some point, and woke up to the sun rising.

despite everything, the Coastlands are still so beautiful...

[tryingahandinholdingapen]

I keep forgetting to type this up so this may not be as well written as I'd like but I feel like I gotta get it down before I forget about it

anyway

TCF AU in which the Henituse are in fact just as mad about inheritance as most other nobles, they just happen to approach it completely differently and therefore nobody (...outside of Henituse of territory) is aware of this

Side effects of this include the Henituse family generally getting along better + being tighter knit than in canon, and KRS!Cale not having to worry as much about doing anything out of character for og!Cale because others can make the actions fit <-sorry this doesn't really make sense before I've explained the rest of the AU I may be doing this out of order

UH okay so

I'm using the Stans and the Crossmans as my reference for what other nobles may be like in regards to inheritance btw, since I don't recall much information about how any others in the Roan Kingdom deal with it (yes I know the Crossmans are royalty not mere nobility, I'm doing the best I can with the info I got)

Anyway. My point is that most nobles in Roan might view inheritance something along the lines of

- There is one (1) position that matters and that is Leader Of The Territory, whether that be duke/count/king/whatever, that's the one position that matters

- Every potential heir is gunning for this one position, and generally (may be exceptions in some households or in extenuating circumstances) does not support each other at all. Every man for himself

- Whoever currently holds that Leader position probably doesn't care too much about what their potential heirs do to try and secure that position for their own future..

- ...which means that sabotage, violence, messing with each others' alliances or reputations as well as forming their own, and using even less scrupulous means (cough assassins cough) to try and secure their own position or fuck each other over are ALL very much on the table (your milage may vary depending on how nice your particular family is)

- Outsiders are more or less aware of the ongoing fight for whatever position, as well as how it's going for each party, and can+will take sides themselves in supporting a potential heir, dependent on how important the family is

- If you are a potential heir and you do not end up getting that One Position then depending on how nice your particular family is you'll end up somewhere between "brutally murdered" (...Stans I'm looking at you), "have to get a job + support yourself, with varying extents of help from whoever leads the territory", "okay cool no responsibilities but still some inherited wealth you get to do Fuckall Forever"

This post is getting way too long so I'm putting a read more before I put the Henituse rules and then I'll reblog this post to write about how I think this could affect the canon Henituse (Deruth as well as both his late wife and current wife, OG!Cale, KRS!Cale, Basen, Lily)

And then there's the Henituse who...don't follow any of those rules about inheritance. They have their own, entirely separate rules, for all this. Everyone else assumes they don't have any inheritance bullshit going on - and to be fair, in some generations, they don't! In some generations, it's all resolved very quickly and neatly and it's no big deal. Other times it's a massive mess or takes absolute eons to sort out but it's an INTERNAL AFFAIR that others don't hear of and also they're not anywhere near as hostile to each other so like...nobody knows this. This is how the Henituse have been running affairs for basically forever and it works very well so they've kind of just kept doing it

Um. Here's some rules for how inheritance works for the Henituse

1) The biggest difference to note is that the Henituse do not only have one position (Count, at the beginning of TCF, I guess that switches to Duke when they become a duchy though). Instead they have broken up every possible role into about as smaller pieces as they can, and made each of those a separate position, so that there's like...more than twenty

Some examples of these positions/roles/jobs:

- Count/Duke, obviously

- Knight/in charge of all knights

- Guard/in charge of all guards

- Information gathering (may or may not be separated into "civilian friendly", "welcome to the underworld" and "okay now you're getting involved in things outside of the Henituse territory (military, marrying out into other households, etc) and reporting back" versions)

- Information control (instead of gathering information they're controlling what information others get e.g. starting or spreading rumours, planting evidence, etc.) This one may or may not be further separated into like "this is legal and there will be no/minor problems if you get caught" and a "okay good luck dealing with the underworld" versions of the role

- Free good stuff for the territory/kingdom e.g. anything involved with charity or things that benefit the public at the expense of the Henituse. This probably includes anything to do with orphanages and some things to do with taxes maybe

- Ambiguous role thats in direct opposition to any crime/underworld in their territory

- Effective second in command to above role

- And an admin type role for the two aforementioned, if necessary

- Ambiguous role that minimises harm to their civilians by PERSONALLY running+controlling crime/underworld in their territory

- Effective second in command for above role

- and admin for the aforementioned two, if necessary

- Admin role to assist Count/Duke

- let's have our own personal mage

- let's have our own personal researcher for [insert topic that directly benefits territory here]

- consort/wife/husband type role to whoever is the current Count/Duke. In charge of hosting parties/events and networking with others in the equivalent role

You get the gist there's a lot of potential roles. It's impossible for them all to be filled by direct family members of the Henituse at any given time, which is the POINT. Ideally they want each potential heir to occupy a separate role from each other, and for each to choose something that they personally are interested in + would excel at. The remaining roles that aren't fulfilled by them are either left unfulfilled, if deemed unnecessary or if they don't have the people to fill 'em, or they're rolled together with other role(s) and one person then takes on the combined position of those, or they're given to trusted members of extended family and/or trusted subordinates. But like the point is that everyone gets a defined role and hopefully everyone gets a defined role that they specifically chose that suits them

You could also choose to marry/get adopted out of the Henituse and say "actually, I am prioritising my new family and will therefore not be working as much/at all for the Henituse anymore". In which case you're still expected to be working towards the betterment of the Roan Kingdom

Or you could get disowned. That works too

2) Directly related to there being so many roles...terms and conditions apply (there's age cutoffs and exceptions in case of illness or disability) but for the most part? If you're a Henituse you have to be working for the betterment of the Henituse territory and/or the Roan Kingdom, or if you're too young for that yet, you have to be actively working towards that goal. There is no option to slack off or coast off inherited wealth. Reports are required, either from you or about you from those around you, at least three times a year, with either "here's what I'm/they're doing" or "here's why I'm/they're not doing anything <- this is for illness, disability, or extenuating circumstances"

(I'm so sorry KRS!Cale. No slackers' life for you)

There's fairly strict rules about this. If you miss a report (there's a fairly long time you can submit them in! like at least 2-4 months. just get them to whoever currently runs the territory) then you get a limited time extension. If you miss that then you're suspended/put on default duty (more on what that is in a minute). If you miss a second report in a row (not counting the extension on the first report) then you risk getting disinherited. If you do fuckall for over a year without a single word about why (in other words if you miss 3 reports in a row AND there's no word from anybody else on what you're doing in that time frame that would excuse you) then fuck you you're getting disowned

(Again I am so sorry KRS!Cale)

3) Because there are multiple people and multiple roles in play, things can potentially get a whole lot more complicated than "I want to be Count and I want everyone else to NOT be the Count". Because theoretically every single person involved may have

- opinions on what role(s) they want for themself

- opinions on what role(s) they DO NOT want for themself

- opinions on what role(s) they want [insert another person] to have

- opinions on what role(s) they DO NOT want [insert another person] to have <- this may be because they think the other person isn't suited for it or because they personally want that role and therefore they don't want anyone else getting it because of the preference for everyone to get a separate role to each other

And then multiply that by approximately a thousand for the like 20+ roles there probably are, and then make it several times more complicated for every additional potential heir that is involved because that drastically increases the potential different combinations

It's a lot!!!

Anyway that means that in any generations that do have disagreements about inheritance things get SO fucking messy words cannot describe,,,I'm laughing just thinking about it oh my god

4) Therefore, as equal parts "necessary damage control" and "the Henituse are genuinely a lot nicer about inheritance + each other than most noble families" there are...rules. About the infighting. Jfbsjfbjdnf

Okay rule number one on that front is that you must not harm or cause genuine distress to any other family member or potential heir (no fucking assassins in this household thank you very much). Rule number two is that, ideally we want a family that loves and respects each other, but bare minimum you must look out for each other and have SOME small element of trust+mutual respect there. Rule number three is no involving outsiders. This is an internal matter about inheritance it's not a fucking civil war in the making (....I will forever be mildly puzzled about the whole,,,different factions supporting different princes thing. that seems like it had potential to escalate so badly if, yk, they didn't have much bigger problems cropping up) and therefore you WILL NOT have outsiders sabotage other heirs' chances at any given position, and any allies of yours should either be your ally or the Henituse's ally but NOT EVER an enemy of the Henituse as the whole or of the other potential heirs'. Rule number four is that no matter what else you do you MUST NOT disadvantage the Henituse as a whole nor the Roan Kingdom as a whole, under any circumstances

The fact that they can't harm each other or each others' chances for a position means that their options are to just work really hard to prove that THEY personally are a better fit for it, try to go convince the other themself that [blank] would be a better idea, or resort to psychological warfare (without tripping over the line of "harm or genuine distress"), or start doing elaborate social engineering + crafting their own and each others' reputation. No physical harm here only (limited) psychological/emotional/social harm <3

But again like there are limits to that. Not too much harm. If you're not still 100% happy thinking of the others as your family (even if only distant family) who you'd be glad + not too uncomfortable to eat a meal with, you fucked up. If you ever make a family member feel unsafe around you you definitely fucked up

[chaoticquill]

An Open Letter to the BSD Fandom

Long post incoming. TL;DR: fuck fandom bullying. Full stop.

Fellow BSDers,

I have been writing for the BSD fandom since August 2021, where I started to write my way out of my big traumas. Somehow, with one image in my head, I started the CAU with A Drop of Black Coffee in the Pot. I'm not entirely sure if that makes me a "big name" in the fandom or whether that gives what I'm about to say more "clout," but hey... it's worth a shot, yeah? Because maybe people will listen.

Maybe.

Since coming into this fandom, I've made a lot of friends through Discord, and I have had a blast creating for, with, and among them. Through Discord, I became a rare pair aficionado and gained a soft spot for Chuuatsu, ChuuRan, and others. The conversations I had with fans, in short, brought me more than peace from my traumas. I found myself among a community who, through shared interests in pretty anime characters based on historical authors, held me up as I faced more traumas, enjoyed more successes, and just... lived.

HOWEVER (emphasis), in the last year or so, three of who I would consider my closest Discord friends--three people I care deeply about--have been bullied out of the fandom for their unconventional ships or portrayal of characters or preference for dead dove content, and two more have been targets of cyberbullying.

In one case, I was also targeted by Dazai Anon (one of the cyberbullies mentioned above). My response to this is always simple: I laugh at the death threats because I'm already dead inside, I delete the comments, I block the posts, and I keep writing what brings me joy. Sometimes, that's ChuuAtsu. Sometimes, that's a more popular ship. And in all cases, that's totally fine.

But that's me. And not everyone is like me.

I've written this post a dozen times in my head. I contemplated, as the "adult" in the room, putting everyone in timeout or putting on my disappointed parent face. But instead, I settled on this.

BSD fandom, respectfully, what the actual fuck?

Let me be perfectly clear: there is no good reason to ever bully anyone, but ships, tropes, character preferences and readings? These are among the worst. And don't even get me started on what's "canon."

What I guess I'm really trying to say is this: the three people I know who stopped making BSD content did because certain members of the community took their fun away. And that's never okay. There is room in the fandom for the main ships and the rarepairs. There's room for the fluffmongers, angst fiends, and dead dove aficionados. In fact, many of the friends I mention write content I personally don't, nor do they tend to write fluff and explicit consent the way I tend to, but guess what? We appreciate each other's art. We share ideas. We hold each other up. And, most of all, we're friends, anyway.

So if I'm in any place to ask this fandom for anything, it's to keep your own space as a writer/creator without taking someone else's space away. It's to have fun creating content SKK, but stop taking fun away from the people who create DaRan or DazAtsu or KuniDazai or Kouyou x Dazai or whatever ship. Most important, be kind to one another, regardless of what characters, tropes, or ships we love because at the end of the day, we're not just pseuds or creators; behind the screen, we're human.

As people, I don't think we have anything to lose in this. We can still work around tags and tropes and ships and characters we don't enjoy. Plus, who knows? You might make a new friend, gain new perspective on a character dynamic you never thought about, exchange ideas and share excitement about the newest manga chapter... and that might bring joy to both of you.

I really hope this letter to be the start of something bigger, maybe something that will move through boundaries between fan communities. I've thought about events, challenges, movements... but my limited resources as a creator with 99 mental health issues mean that for now, those ideas will have to wait. This letter, inadequate as it feels, still says most of what I want it to say.

I often say I appreciate people taking the time to read my fics. I mean that for this letter, too. So thank you, truly.

And as always, don't forget to drink water.

Until my next update,

ChaoticQuill

[bleulikedaylight]

I Was Hoping You'd Say That

pairing: basketball captain! natasha romanoff x cheerleader captain! reader

synopsis: it always starts the same way — the squeak of rubber soles, the bounce of a ball, and your hopeless crush on basketball captain natasha romanoff. as AAU’s cheer captain, you swear it’s all “professional observation.” but when natasha starts noticing your disappearing act every time she’s near, she calls you out — and maybe, just maybe, calls you in.

warnings: none !! <3 | wc: 1.4k | genre: fluff >_<

note: this is my first time posting a fic here, so hi !! :) i've literally been simping so hard for basketball player! natasha romanoff — it’s embarrassing. like, i saw her in a loose jersey once (in my mind), and i haven’t known peace since.

It always started the same way — the squeak of rubber soles, the bounce of a ball, the swish of a clean shot.

Y/N L/N sat with her legs crossed on the bleachers, red-and-white pom poms resting beside her. The cheerleaders were taking a quick break from their routine, but Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the court — from her.

Every practice, Y/N swore she wouldn’t look. And yet, there she was again — legs curled up on the bleachers, pom poms forgotten at her side, eyes trained on the girl shooting hoops like the world wasn't watching.

Natasha Romanoff.

AAU's pride. Number 13. Basketball captain. And, unfortunately for Y/N, Yelena's older sister.

"You're drooling," Yelena deadpans beside you, sipping her soda.

You tear your eyes away from the court like you’d been caught committing a crime. "Excuse me? I’m just watching the game.”

“It’s practice.”

“I’m… analyzing her technique.” You sniff. “As a cheer captain.”

Yelena raises a brow. “Her technique?”

"Yes," you say, face heating. “Totally professional. Very strategic. Normal.”

Across the court, Natasha does a clean crossover, spins, and scores. Her ponytail bounces as she jogs backward, laughing with her teammates.

You sigh quietly.

Yelena rolls her eyes. “You always look at her like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re one Taylor Swift song away from writing her name in your wedding journal.”

You open your mouth to deny it. Then close it again. “...Shut up, Yelena.”

It’s been like this for months.

Crushes are supposed to fade — at least, that’s what your mom said when she caught you sighing at your phone for the fifth time during dinner.

But this? This isn’t fading.

This is sitting through every basketball game just to watch her sweat in slow mo level.

This is replaying every time Natasha calls you sweetheart like it didn’t shatter your brain chemistry.

This is slow, unbearable pining — made worse by the fact that Natasha is so effortlessly kind.

“Nice routine today,” Natasha would say, walking past the cheer squad.

Or, “You always do that little hair flip before you jump — it’s cute.”

Or, the worst one — the actual heartbreaker — “Your ribbon matches your eyes.”

Your ribbon matches your eyes.

You had written that down in the notes app under “Things That Made Me Float.”

One afternoon, after a long game and even longer practice, you stayed behind to help clean up the confetti from your halftime routine.

Everyone else had already left. Except—

"Need help?" Natasha’s voice makes you jump. She’s holding a broom and a water bottle, her jersey hanging loosely off one shoulder.

“Oh,” you squeak. “N-no. I’m good. I mean—yes? If you want? You don’t have to, but like—if you want to—”

Natasha laughs. “Breathe, cheerleader.”

You turn pink. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting—um. Thanks.”

You sweep in silence for a bit, just the two of you under the dim gym lights.

Then Natasha asks quietly, “Can I ask you something?”

You look up. “Yeah?”

“Why do you always avoid me?”

You freeze. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Natasha says, still gentle. “You’re always laughing with Yelena, but the second I show up, you go quiet. You stop making eye contact. You run off.”

You bite your lip. “I—I didn’t mean to. It’s not that I don’t like you, I just—”

You stop.

Natasha steps closer. “You just?”

You take a deep breath. “You’re Yelena’s sister. And you’re like, intimidatingly cool. And I didn’t want to make things weird. Or obvious.”

Natasha tilts her head. “Obvious?”

“I’ve kind of… liked you. For a while,” you whisper, cheeks on fire. “But you probably knew that already.”

There’s a pause.

Then Natasha smiles — slow, and soft, and heart-meltingly real.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

You blink. “What?”

“I like you too,” Natasha says simply. “Always have.”

You stare. “You’re joking.”

Natasha grins. “Nope. But I am going to ask if I can take you out. Like, for real.”

You nod too quickly. “Yes. I mean—yes. Like, absolutely. Just let me scream into my pillow first.”

Natasha laughs, shaking her head fondly. “You’re adorable.”

And as you stand under the gym lights, brooms forgotten, hearts louder than ever — it’s official.

You are no longer just the cheerleader with a crush.

You are the cheerleader who finally got the girl.

[mashriqiyyah]

Jin se roohein wabasta ho jayen, Un se dil bhara nahi kartey.

جن سے روحیں وابستہ ہو جائے، ان سے دِل بھرا نہیں کرتے.

One's heart does not get tired of the person when the soul is connected to them.

~ unknown

[lightnersdream-archive]

i've been thinking about exactly why people portraying one of the other crew members successfully killing Jimmy as a "for what you did to Anya" kind of thing rubs me the wrong way a bit and it's because like..... this is just another form of taking agency away from Anya, in a way. it's kind of framing her as some meek, shivery woman-thing who's entirely at the mercy of the men around her, either to hurt her or save her.

(i understand these are mostly for wish fulfillment on the audience's behalf because everyone would like to see Jimmy pay for his crimes. whether or not this is the intention of the person writing it isn't really relevant, characterization happens with or without intent. i feel like it misses the point by portraying it as an 'ideal ending'.)

because... Anya is a capable person. she takes things into her own hands when she can. it was partially(?) her idea to get into the cargo,

(before he interrupts her.. remember when she interrupted Curly in the dead pixel segment?)

it was her idea to get the code scanner from the cockpit,

it was her idea to get the medication from behind the foam.

(the chance to do these things herself is not given to her.)

she'd been keeping Curly alive for months in a critical state somehow, her psych evaluations at the start are only so useless because Jimmy refuses to take it/her seriously and Curly is obviously biased when he puts it into his own hands. he's known him a long time, like he said. "I'll just put good for that one."

there's not a lot of material to work with because of how the game is framed, but it's there. we are working with two very biased perspectives and neither one lends Anya what she deserves

there's significant changes in how she speaks post- and pre- crash, and depending on who she happens to be talking to. i recommend re-reading her dialogue, because the difference is drastic

she acts the way she does around Jimmy because he has tangibly done horrible things to her, is actively hostile, and physically could not escape him by any means. she can't take away Curly's agency herself, in my eyes. you have to remember that Especially in the post-crash segments of the game, it's entirely from Jimmy's POV, and he obviously does not (and has never) thought very highly of her or treated her with a shred of respect

i've seen a general idea that she can't bear to hurt other people for any reason, but that doesn't really track to me. this is the real point of the post by the way

it seems based on the parts where she says she struggles to give Curly medication. "It just hurts him so much, I can't stand the noise." "It makes me nauseous."

it's not really the same thing as, say, hurting someone in self defense

this sounds like she did want the gun itself. this never felt worded like someone who would refuse to, at very least, threaten Jimmy with a gun, with violence. if she had been given the agency to make that decision on her own. she wasn't though

she still tries to reclaim some of it even as she's denied it

by the end she's still trying to keep that gun out of his hands

i think some people overly soften her, for similar reasons the game itself is trying to comment on. she's not a tender victim who couldn't cause pain to another out of the softness of her soul, she's a person who's had every last bit of agency ripped from her repeatedly until she couldn't take it anymore. that's the point. that's why framing her that way, "needing" someone to save her, is odd to me

she didn't need Curly to save her, she needed him to take responsibility

she didn't want to escalate things, but she's not an idiot. self defense was absolutely on her mind

but who knows im just saying shit *smiles serenely*

[kenzan-brainrot-mp4]

talk more about the white whale/whale symbolism in general whatever thoughts you have on the whale stuff i want to hear it 👂

GRAHHHHH YEAH (This one got. Long (again lol) So be prepared (series-wide spoilers but I feel like that's a given atp))

First of all I just wanna say that I love how rgg drags the player along around the final chapter title. With how upfront the other chapter titles are in what they're referring to, you might end up wondering why they chose White Whale for the final chapter title once you see the title card (or at least I did). Of course, this could just be referring to the treasure that everyone's been looking for, but with how nonchalantly they react to the fact that the treasure isn't actually there, it doesn't seem to completely fit the bill.

But then you beat the game (and by this I mean beat the final boss) and lo and behold, there's an Actual white whale, and so you think "Oh! Duh, the chapter's called White Whale because there's a literal white whale and it pretty much just finished off the final boss!" But that still doesn't make that much sense. Why name the final chapter (arguably the most important one) after some whale that appears in the last like 15 minutes of the game? Like, take the final chapter name of (Kiryu) Gaiden, it's literally the name of the game (The Man Who Erased His Name) so it's gotta be something more significant than that, right? (But then of course take into the account that by this point the player is still convinced that nothing really in pyih is too deep/serious, so maybe it could just be something as simple as that).

Then you get to the credits, and they reveal that the "elixir"/the ambergris is found in the stomachs of whales. Damn, that's pretty crazy/cool, but once again, nobody that was actively seeking the treasure (Rodriguez, Jason/Noah, Spade Tucker, etc you know the drill) seems to hung up on the fact that they didn't find it, and they didn't even encounter the whale, so they wouldn't get that same sense that they just missed it either, again, it's not a big deal really, so why make that the final chapter title?

Of course, we all know what this builds up to: the big reveal, the fact that Majima, who we've been following along with this entire game, was looking for that elixir this entire time, was the only one to actually encounter a whale in the game, and then there's the insane line drop from Saejima.

"Kiryu Kazuma. You never could give up on that one."

Ironically, the final chapter title has nothing to do with that whale you saw earlier at all, rather it's a summary of what Majima's motivations/actions for this game, and the past. Almost every game, has meant for him. It's what Saejima spells out for us at the end of the game, but said in even fewer words.

An all-consuming obsession that only leads to your destruction. An impossibility, something that you can destroy yourself over but never achieve/obtain. This is what the white whale means, metaphorically. And it is this, exactly, that Kiryu is to Majima.

Kiryu is larger than life itself, to just about everyone. He's a legend, he's the one Majima has had his sights on since the very beginning, the legend he chases after game after game and also what he destroys himself over game after game.

(see:

Yakuza 1 -> Majima just straight up taking a full-on stab wound for Kiryu. Like, buddy, I literally saw one of my favorite characters die that way in another game, there was No guarantee you were surviving that.

Yakuza 2 -> Majima fights off an army of yakuza for Kiryu. That man was beat to total Shit (which is Not something that happens often) and we all saw it

Yakuza 3 -> Majima re-enters the Tojo Clan for Kiryu even though he is (extremely likely) aware that it is already entering its steady decline that we see throughout the rest of the series up until its dissolution. And while he's willing to do it for Kiryu, we can't exactly say that he's happy about the situation as a whole.

Yakuza 5 -> Majima's willingness to die for Haruka, specifically stated because "She means more to Kiryu-chan than life itself." Like, of course he wouldn't just let Haruka get killed, but to choose to mention Kiryu as part of his reasoning in that moment? Christ

While I (surprisingly) can't say anything particularly self-destructive happened in (Kiryu) Gaiden and Infinite Wealth, you could argue that Majima trying to more and more directly tell Kiryu not to leave ("No need to rush outta here yet... Alright?" -> "Don't leave! Don't you dare leave, Kiryu-chan!"), knowing that it's likely pointless, knowing Kiryu, is not doing himself any favors.

Pirate Yakuza -> *gestures at the entire game*

Also his reaction to encountering that giant squid ("Sure is a helluva way to die. I think I'm into it!"). Like, okay. I don't want to try and read too much into it because it was very likely just a one off line. But I'm still gonna side-eye it.

Honestly now that I think about it, if Majima Had died fighting that giant squid (that is such a way to begin a sentence thank you rgg), you could argue that that would've been his nail in the coffin for the white whale metaphor. If he had, it would've meant that his obsession for Kiryu is what got him dragged down into the literal depths of the ocean, and even if it wouldn't be Kiryu physically dragging Majima down like the white whale to Ahab, this is a situation that is completely, entirely, fueled by Majima's obsession towards him (Majima had no real interest in the nuclear waste cleanup project, after all, Kiryu was his one motivation this entire time), and it would've drowned him.

Guess that means he got real lucky with the last part, but we all know he sure as hell isn't beating the allegations.)

All this and yet Majima seems to fail to reaching Kiryu time and time again.

Majima does not obtain the Heart of the Dragon, found in the intestines of the literal whale. He does not obtain eternal life for Kiryu. And he (arguably, though the final scene of him walking to Kiryu's hospital room could oppose this) does not resolve the indefinite limbo that has been sitting between them throughout the entire series. What he gets at the end of the game is the acknowledgement (through Saejima, everybody thank him) that he has been obsessing over this, and perhaps the realization that Kiryu was, in fact, this white whale that he would never truly reach ("Well, still just a dream in the end.") Of course this is something he already knows/has acknowledged deep down, and it's a feeling that is hinted at in some of his dialogue in scattered moments, but this is the first time he ever says it in such an outright manner.

I guess in a way, you could say that Pirate Yakuza is a story about the newfound success of all the people Majima helped and supported in achieving their dreams, and the continued failure of Majima in pursuing his own (Kiryu), and him needing to acknowledge/accept that. And the post-credits begs the question of what he decides to do with the aftermath and what he has left. (An oversimplification definitely but still. augh. Augh)

Naming the final chapter White Whale was yet another crazy move on rgg's part. Its so unassuming, seemingly straightforward yet also seemingly insignificant, but once the realization dawns on you it slaps you right in the face, just like everything else about this game does. It's yet another instance of how rgg managed to pull its big reveal so well, with all the small details, all the reframing, all pointing back to the same topic that it had spent the entire rest of the game dancing around.

Majima recounting his story of how he went to Hawaii -> Majima recounts his story to Kiryu in the exact same way at the very end

The treasure everyone's been looking for/known about + Majima, the one guy who didn't have knowledge about any of this legend stuff prior? -> Wrong, he was after the treasure from the very start (before the amnesia at least). For Kiryu

Majima originally being on course for Hawaii so he could help with the nuclear waste cleanup even though he'd be bored as hell? -> Nah. For Kiryu (Ohhhhh you know what this is reminding me of some screenshots I took from near the beginning of the game)

(I'm sure this meant nothing of course. Lol. Lmao)

Majima's dream during pirate yakuza being to fulfill Other People's dreams -> Haha. Well, I think you get the point by now

Kiryu, Kiryu, Kiryu. It all goes back to Kiryu, every single time, without fail, in an obsessive loop that Majima has been dragging himself around over for Years. He is the white whale, seemingly untouchable, the constant object of Majima's attention and devotion in so many forms, his consistent weak point, that only seems to dig at him deeper as the games go on.

Like I said before, while the white whale metaphor is undeniable, and essentially spells doom for Majima, it's not over for him yet. Because, hey, he didn't drown at sea, or die on the beach. He was saved, and he's survived enough to retell that tale and reflect on it all with Saejima in the post-credits, brief as that reflection was. I mentioned before how he really only said one line of any actual substance during that specific part of the exchange, but the significance of it says so much.

"Well, still just a dream in the end"

As much as it hurts to here Majima address the hopelessness of it all, to hear him say something like that after Saejima basically just laid out his sheer devotion and refusal to give up on his dream for everyone to see, I think the bittersweetness is. Good, actually. Captain Ahab never gave up on that pursuit on the white whale, and it destroyed him; that whale dragged him down until he finally drowned, and it feels like all Majima has been doing over Kiryu since Yakuza 3 is drowning himself in him.

Don't get me wrong, I (for now at least) do not take that line as a complete admittance of defeat, or Majima finally giving up on Kiryu, on that dream he could never let go of. (Like I've been saying, it's an acknowledgement, not exactly a declaration.) I do not think it means he is just letting go, full-stop.

But I do hope it means he can stop himself from self-destructing completely. I hope it means that he can slow down with the wild chase, (and that he and Kiryu can just. Sit down and talk like fucking normal people. Which i guess they are doing in the post-credits, supposedly) and I hope it means that he won't drown completely, especially in the case of the worst possible scenario.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

[numbuh424]

I'm the one that you loathe

Mature | 3,380 words | read on AO3

Light wants satisfaction. There’s an easy fix for that; he could simply pick any person he wants among the many who want him and take them without even thinking. But that's too easy. It's all too easy. He wants a challenge. He wants L. And L is dead. In the midst of picturing L's hands on him, the thought of his latest adversary comes to mind. He refused to humor Light before; maybe he'll humor him now. Fuck it. Light decides to give him a call.

Took me a while to take this off anon 🫡 Read my fic where Light spends the night before the warehouse meetup missing L, deciding to call Near, and quickly realizing they're not the same. But enjoying it anyway 👍

[saedyne]

lowkey think dc should kill tim drake. and i'm only kinda joking

[mllekurtz]

Neve/Rook || M || 1.8k || complete || no archive warnings apply

After the end, there’s a new beginning. A couple of affection-starved women with a penchant for deflection try to figure it out.

[overly-verbose]

Seriously, bro's a professional yapper lmfao

Tbf it's not completely unprovoked and he does just want to at least try explaining some things, if in a roundabout way, to make people more at ease (if not in the moment then overall) but, well-

sometimes it has the opposite effect lmao 😂

Also like, it's absolutely hilarious how I thought

'oh but this is just, like three scenes - how long could this be'

but all the freaking talking and stuff that everyone's doing is making Part 8 the second longest in the series 😂😂😂��😂

(I fear for my poor brain, man - we've only just barely almost covered the Detention Center Arc

(and a little bit of the VS Mahito Arc Mahito Gets Curse PTSD Arc but I do wanna fill in some of the gaps between those)

and it's already gonna be over 40k words???

Why am I being so ambitious for my first ever proper writing project frrr *perishes a bit*

but I do hope to get it to the end - and beyond because there's no way I wouldn't constantly add to the post-main-plot shenanigans lol - however long that takes heh (just try to be patient with me pls I try my best here 😂) 👍)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[freshcut-chetney]

okay but what if I turned what was supposed to be a quick fic surrounding *one* of Neve's case into a 2 part (maybe more???) fic with at least two other interconnected cases and also add a lil of slow burn. as a treat

[mishkakagehishka]

Where's the shu quote that was like "i'm going to create my magnum opus and then promptly kill myself" he was so real for that