#it's nice some of us are because I AM NOT

[prlssprfctn]

Jason, being a semi-canonic common hallucination in the family after his death, could lead to the stupidest AU ever.

Imagine everyone seeing him — Bruce, half of the time, Dick non-stop, Tim more often than not, and eventually even Alfred starts seeing little boy's silhouette in the corner of his eye, but he never admits it, because someone needs to stay sane in this family.

It is a lot like real-life cases when cult families start to see collective hallucination, and it somehow syncronises in their minds, so they hear and see the same things, you know?

So, yeah, everyone sees Jaybin around.

Everyone but Damian. Damian is a normal one. He also knows his Akhi is alive and well, so whatever. And it takes him some time to figure out that his family is bat-shit insane, but when he does, he decides to use it on his advantage.

Damian, calling Jason: Akhi, you should visit me. It is getting awfully boring here.

Jason, frowning: You know I can't. They think I am dead, and I can't risk my plan, especially now, when Red Hood is gaining-

Damian: We will pretend you are a hallucination.

Jason: ...What?

Damian: So, there is a plan...

So, a few days after this call, Jason arrives at the Wayne Manor. He still thinks his brother's plan sucks, but gaslighting is one of his many talents, so surely, they will figure something out. He can lie his way through this meeting.

Expect, he doesn't even need to lie. His family is actually insane.

Bruce, bumping in Jason:

Jason, staring back: Uh-

Bruce: Wow. You look so grown-up. And we look so alike. Nice one, brain.

Jason: ?..

Tim, leaving his room: Hi, B, hi- Oh, damn. Hi, Jaybin. Nice leather jacket.

Bruce: Right? I guess his ghost just grows up with us now.

Jason: ????

Alfred, nodding along, out of nowhere: Master Dick will hate it. He looks taller now.

All of them: (peacefully leave the room)

Jason: What. The. Fuck.

Jason waits for the moment of clarity to happen as he chats with Damian in the kitchen, but... nothing changes. They really, really think he is a hallucination. So... he starts hanging out around more. Both because Damian is getting angsty, and because it is kinda... amusing.

Tim, stuck on the same case for a few nights, non-stop: Oh, it is really just me and you in this, Jason.

Jason, playing Mario Cart on the table by his side: Maybe take a nap, dude.

Tim: No, I need to figure out this case with-

Jason, rolling his eyes: Red Hood had already dealt with it. Go to sleep.

Tim: ...You are such a good self-care kind of hallucination.

Jason: ...

Damian: Your bets, when will they realise that you are a real person?

Jason: At this point, I am not sure that they will, even if I start screaming that I am real.

Damian: Fair. I bet a year would do.

Jason: ...A year and a half.

Dick visits the Manor. He cooes at Jason, muttering something about "of course, he would have grown up in a punk," and Jason almost breaks his role to hit him on the head.

Jason, arms folded on his chest: You know, you need serious help, dad.

Bruce, blinking at him slowly: Probably. You know what else I need?

Jason: Sleep? Retirement? To stop adopting strays? The list is endless, man.

Bruce: ...Coffee. I need more coffee.

Jason, groaning: What the fuck!!!

Alfred figures out that Jason is real, eventually. Solely because he catches him sneaking a few extra cookies, and hallucinations are not supposed to eat. He plays along with him and Damian until the very end, anyway.

(Damian ends up winning the bet because Jason loses it once and pushes Bruce down the stairs, when he starts reciting some precautionary tale about him. Everyone is flabbergasted.)

[jegmegoganne]

For us with a chronic illness, the middle of the night IS WHEN WE GET SHIT DONE. I have Hashimoto’s, with some scary symptoms - my neighbor has MS with her scary symptoms. When I open my window at 3 am, her lights are still on as she’s cleaning the house - my lights are on because I’m either crocheting or stretching my body. I think it’s nice that we have sort of a similar routine.

Anyway, my point is: we usually get extra energy at night because our hormones or something else is in imbalance. This makes it hard for us to sleep so we use the energy we have to take care of ourselves. My personal favourite is to take a shower.

(It’s 03:58 as I type this)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No More

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch. 

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch. 

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were. 

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily. 

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?” 

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen. 

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise. 

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried. 

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth. 

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be. 

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there. 

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet,  and never let yourself look back. 

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up. 

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you. 

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean. 

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll. 

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“ 

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement. 

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish

[corseque]

I honestly just wanted one single plot step that I could not predict given the 10 year wait. More behind the cut, I talk about Emet too, and I'm comparing his writing favorably to Solas' writing and why it worked better for me personally, but I am just talking about the writing skill that went into the games and not the dudes themselves, I love them both dearly of course. idk this is a mess and I am not going to edit it for clarity

For me, the game was a series of me saying

"ok I knew that. cool."

"oh yeah, I knew that. I guess it's good that the larger fandom knows about that now."

"nice, but yeah I already knew that too"

"that was something we've been talking about a lot for years"

"this thing they are acting like is a huge enormous reveal that the characters could not possibly have deduced through simply thinking about it in depth over the 10 years... the fans easily figured out by thinking about it in depth 10 years ago. So you would think his girlfriend would be able to figure it out more easily than we did. Like, why couldn't the game have been like 'oh lavellan already figured that out a while ago' it would have cost them nothing"

"this is something I've been thinking about for years, and now that it's being revealed, the companions' reactions to it are very irritating and jarring and unnecessary and I really dislike the experience I'm having right now, in this, the hour of my greatest triumph"

"this thing that is happening on my screen right now is something that I wrote an essay about 2 years ago describing how it would be a letdown if it happened without the correct setup"

"this way that they're characterizing Solas makes him less likable and less interesting than I have been finding him for all these years, and I have had people tell me 'no, he's simpler than you think' for years but I guess I was wrong, he really is simpler than I thought, so that fucking sucks. I wish I could take that information out of my brain."

"this thing is a retcon of information I have been thinking about for 10 years, and so I don't know how to follow along with this new direction, and I'm not sure if I even want to because it's not particularly interesting anyway"

"aw that was sweet"

"why is it like, so very impossible to have an honest back-and-forth with my favorite character about the dilemma that was most interesting to me about the previous game"

and then, as soon as, like, the other fans had caught up to the Solas lore that was really obvious from the other games, the game was.... over without anything surprising happening, or introducing a new element or plot point or perspective, or a real true twist (or two, or three) for those of us who have thought about it too hard for too long. It was very simple and easy, much, much, much, much easier than I was imagining. It all felt sort of like that Nicholson quote:

The thing was, the whole story was so interesting to think about because in 10 years, I couldn't figure out a good solution to it!!!!! It's why I was never able to write post-game fanfic about it. So I was stoked to find out some reveal we never knew about, some new information, in maybe a SERIES of steps of new information, that made the situation more complicated but also something that could be navigated by everyone involved. I know it was asking for a lot, but they had TEN YEARS, and they seemingly had set up the things they did in DAI on purpose, so surely they had some idea of a complex and satisfying narrative that would reconcile everyone.

The reason why I was expecting this is because FFXIV did a very similar story arc, which was started AND concluded WITHIN those 10 years (so it took the FFXIV team far less time to deliver as well). And the conclusion to the story in FFXIV did what I was expecting Dragon Age to do. So I thought, "holy shit, if this is the FFXIV version of this plot, how much more complicated is DA4 going to be!?!?" The DA devs also PLAYED FFXIV so they were completely aware, several years ago, of a satisfying story ending that was pretty darn similar.

People are probably going to think "oh, well Chelsea was disappointed because she spent too much time building it up in her head" but that's exactly it - I actually speculated and thought about FFXIV's story IN DEPTH NONSTOP for a year+ before its ending came out, and the ending absolutely blew me away. FFXIV Endwalker managed to introduce information and new story elements that I was not able to figure out in the YEAR I spent speculating on the ending of FFXIV's story. It took a complicated situation and revealed several several more facets to it that I was not able to predict, but were very interesting and thematically compelling, and took us all to surprising and climactic places that we could not have predicted.

Endwalker ("end" is in the title on purpose) too, was written to be THE ULTIMATE SATISFYING ENDING for a very long-running story in the exactly way that Veilguard SHOULD HAVE for Dragon Age, so while this complexity is being explored, FFXIV also gave catharsis to many different plot threads that have been built up through the previous expansions, until finally it ends with a bang. The story is desperately good to me, I loved it, it gave me closure for Dragon Age long before Veilguard was even revealed, and going back and looking at its story has made this whole thing far less painful for me.

So, I actually did not have a picture in my mind for how things SHOULD go. I just had the thought "I hope it's complicated and there are points of view or facts that we haven't before been exposed to, and the situation is resolved respectfully for Solas, not making him look like a fucking idiot (lol, the only thing I asked for). I don't even care what happens to Solas and Lavellan, I just need the story to be complicated and interesting to think about. Please, god, don't let it be "solas is wrong and he just needs to be convinced" because that's like the simplest story you could tell with this setup"

(btw they managed to tell Emet-Selch's story without making him seem like he's being an idiot on purpose or can never get anything right, and in fact the more the story goes on, the more you think of him as smart and capable and cool, so it is possible to write.... I wasn't asking for the entire moon)

And I played it and... yeah. Most of the story beats were more simple than I wanted them to be, a lot of them didn't make sense in my heart given the writing from Inquisition. (This is another essay, but if Solas' thematic story arc was always about him needing to let go of regrets, why was his personal quest the way it was? After that quest, doesn't he end up regretting not doing more....? Why did he never really talk about regret during Inquisition? If he was so trapped by regret, why was he able to do so many actions? It doesn't mesh well to me. The whole regret thing was very quarter-baked to me, I don't even like thinking about it.) His story never seemed like one that was as simple as being about one man's regrets, but then, I guess, it was always just about one man's regrets.

Emet-Selch's personal storyline (and the way it interacts with and affects the larger story) is very similar but much more cohesive and satisfying to me. It would be difficult to explain why without the aforementioned 5-hour essay. Emet-Selch's story IS about grief and anguish on a world-shaping scale in a similar way that Solas' was apparently always about letting go of regret, but Emet's story was also very pointedly and beautifully about that one theme for the entirety of his story from every tiny detail, from beginning to end - meanwhile, it seemed to me that they tried to introduce 'regret' as the main thrust of Solas' story only in the short story with the Regret demon onward.

From Inquisition just by itself, the closest I personally could get to a story theme for Solas was his inability to trust others hurting him and the world, but his trusting others in DA4 wasn't really addressed to my satisfaction. He is never required to trust anyone before the ending, he never opens up or makes himself vulnerable at all. People find out information about him, he never really dynamically opens himself. So the personal story I thought he had was never addressed at all, while a new one about regret was introduced that never made a ton of sense to me. And I don't think this is just because of my expectations - my reaction to FFXIV proves that I am able to meet good writing where it goes in surprising directions, as long as it's interesting and thoughtful and clear.

And I think this might be part of what people felt was off about the ending - Solas is sort of uninvolved in the revelations that are about him, and doesn't do much to be part of his own ending. Part of what I loved about Solas in Inquisition is that he is not controlled by you in any way, and so he feels like his own person with a very strong sense of character.

Anyway, Emet-Selch, in a very comparable and arguably more extreme plot position, is very involved in the revelations about himself, he always feels like a very strong character who cannot be affected by the player, and the whole situation is handled with deft emotion and care and delicacy. The story is comparatively very uninterested in litigating Emet-Selch or putting him on trial - the story allows you to simply feel the way that you feel in an organic way, and Emet's story spends that energy instead actually exploring his thematic material about grief and legacy, and the larger story theme of existentialism instead, in a way that is very refreshing and interesting. I've seen a lot of western stories tie themselves in knots over "redemption" and frankly it's almost never been interesting at all. Who cares about any of that. lol

(Now, I guess this is a matter of preference, because some people really like being able to shape a character's story, but idk I rewatched the ending of FFXIV and even though there wasn't a choice with Emet, because it isn't a branching story, his story felt more satisfying to me, maybe because there isn't a patronizing choice to be made for him. He is who he is, and he fulfills a very beautiful narrative role and purpose that no other character could in the story.)

I don't know how this could have been improved to me and still allowed players to choose Solas' ending for him, but I can actually think of a few different methods, none of which involve Rook condescendingly and patronizingly lecturing Solas as if Solas had never thought about a single aspect of this horrible situation he's in before that very moment that Rook lectures him lmfao.

All this to say... idk I'm writing this and I am not going back to edit it so it's stream-of-consciousness. But yeah

I just wanted the story to be complicated on a few more levels than I could have predicted. I genuinely don't care what happened, but I thought of a few twists like the Veil coming down and yeah, I was expecting A Single Twist or reveal to happen. In a Dragon Age game.

I wanted Solas to seem cool and capable and noble and smart, and actually feel like he was as old and experienced as he is.

I wanted a clear theme I could sink my teeth into

Like notice I didn't even say anything about Solavellan. Like I never in 100 years thought they were getting a happy ending where they were both alive in bodies, and I like that we got that, but I would honestly trade it for a more complicated story. To me, if a story is sad you can always write fanfic, but if a story isn't COMPLICATED, that's a much more urgent issue.

These 3 things DA4 didn't give me in a way that satisfied me but FFXIV did. anyway idk the way my hyperfixations work, I completely switch to a new subject so talking about Dragon Age is actually hard for me right now.

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Mature, 18+, suggestive tones.

→ DATE POSTED: January 30, 2025.

→ NARRATED AUDIO:

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

→ A/N: So. Listen. I was out there, freezing my ass off at the bus stop, cursing my life choices because why am I even going to the gym at ungodly hours??? And then—THEN—the bus just had the audacity to drive right past me. Love that. Amazing. Naturally, I did what any rational person would do: opened my notes app and started writing instead of using those 45 minutes to, idk, reconsider my entire existence. And thus, Off-Labels was born. This drabble? It’s about the kind of man who is dangerous in the most insidious way—intelligent, competent, and hiding behind a veneer of plausible deniability like it’s a damn art form. You know he knows what he’s doing to you. You know he’s aware of the effect he has. But can you prove it? No. Because he’s just so nice. So helpful. So unintentionally devastating to your nervous system. It’s honestly sick and twisted and exactly my type. Am I a menace? Absolutely. First installment in what might become a series because apparently I can't stop writing about competent men in medical settings using anatomical terms as foreplay. Will I be taking criticism? Absolutely not. ❤️‍🩹🩺

You don’t believe in stories like in books.

Sure, you like to read them—disappear into them, let them pull you under like a riptide until you forget about deadlines and midterms and the existential dread of being a twenty-something who still doesn’t know what they’re doing.

But that’s all they are.

Stories.

Fantasies about tragic, fated loves and brooding billionaires and dangerous men with wings. You like them because they’re not real. Because it’s fun to pretend, for a little while, that you’re the kind of girl who’s got a winged fae warrior at her feet. Or a CEO husband who calls her darling in an office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Or—God forbid—her hot math teacher, who lets her stay after class for extra lessons.

Or your brother’s best friend’s secret hookup.

Not that you’re thinking about that one.

Not that it would even be your case.

You shift on the couch, burying yourself deeper into the cocoon of your brother’s old hoodie. It’s massive on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the faded fabric smelling like dust and detergent.

Perfect. The ideal uniform for an evening of doing absolutely nothing.

Your e-reader is dead, so you’ve resorted to flipping through some random paperback you found wedged under the coffee table, something with an aggressively shirtless man on the cover. You’re only half-paying attention, your eyes skimming over the words without really absorbing them.

Caleb should be home soon. Probably. He has class—or he says he has class, but you’re not entirely convinced. He’s in that phase of university where it’s mostly networking and group projects and going out more than actually studying.

Not that you care. He does his thing, you do yours.

A sharp knock at the door pulls you out of your haze.

You ignore it. Caleb has keys. If he forgot them, that’s his problem.

The knock comes again. Then the doorbell rings.

You groan, untangling yourself from the blanket and shuffling toward the door with all the grace of a sleep-deprived goblin. Your hair is a mess, your socks don’t match, and you’re fairly certain you have crumbs on your face from earlier. Good. Whoever’s on the other side can suffer.

Except—

It’s not Caleb.

It’s Hoseok.

Oh.

You freeze, hand still gripping the doorknob, brain buffering at the sight of him standing there, all easy confidence and warm eyes and—why does he always look so put together? It’s unfair. He’s in jeans and a hoodie, nothing special, but it fits him just right, and his hair is slightly tousled, like he just ran a hand through it, and—

Stop.

You force yourself to blink, to breathe, to act like a normal human person.

“Uh,” you say, which is a stellar start.

Hoseok smiles. “Hey.”

He has the kind of voice that makes people listen, rich and smooth, the kind that carries even when he’s speaking softly. Which he is now, like he knows you spook easily.

“Caleb’s not here,” you blurt out.

He tilts his head, amused. “Yeah, I figured.”

Right. Obviously. Because if Caleb were here, he’d be the one answering the door.

You scramble for something else to say, but your brain is blank, completely derailed by the fact that he’s here. In your doorway. Looking at you. And you must look insane—your hair sticking up in weird directions, drowning in a hoodie that is definitely not yours.

And he’s still smiling. Patient. Like he has all the time in the world.

You clear your throat, gripping the edge of the door. “Um. Did you—need something?”

Hoseok shifts, rocking back on his heels. “I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by, see if Caleb was around.” A pause. “And you, too.”

Your brain does an emergency reboot.

You, too.

You, too.

You swallow. “Oh. Right. Cool. That’s—cool.”

His smile twitches, like he’s holding back a laugh.

You want to throw yourself into traffic.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, ever-polite, ever-easygoing.

You should say no. Caleb’s not here, and even though Hoseok is Caleb’s best friend—and a genuinely nice person, thoughtful and reliable and the kind of guy who remembers your favorite coffee order—something about being alone with him makes your stomach twist.

But saying no would be weird.

So you step back. “Yeah, uh, sure.”

He steps inside, and suddenly the room feels smaller. Or maybe you’re just too aware of him—his presence, the faint scent of clean laundry and something warmer, something mellow. He’s always been like this, always drawn your attention whether you wanted him to or not.

You watch as he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair like he’s been here a hundred times before. And he has, technically, but not like this. Not without Caleb.

Hoseok glances at the book on the coffee table. “Good?”

You stare at it, momentarily forgetting what book it even is. “Uh. Yeah.”

His eyes flick to the cover. His smile turns amused.

Heat floods your face.

"Interesting choice.”

You freeze. A slow, creeping horror slithers up your spine. Because you didn’t even look at the book before picking it up—you just grabbed whatever you had lying around, assuming it was something boring, something safe—

And now Hoseok is holding a novel titled My Professor’s Secret Temptation.

Oh.

Oh, you actually might be sick.

You scramble for something—anything—to say, but the words wedge themselves somewhere between your throat and your rapidly spiraling embarrassment.

Hoseok flips the book over, scanning the back cover with a curious hum. “Didn’t take you for the forbidden romance type.”

You want the ground to open up. You want to disintegrate.

“I—I didn’t even read it!” you blurt out, a little too fast, a little too desperate. “I wasn’t paying attention, I just grabbed something random, and—and it’s not—”

Hoseok glances at you, amused but not in a mean way, just…interested? "Oh, yeah?”

You nod. Aggressively. “Yes.”

His mouth presses into something thoughtful, like he believes you, but there’s still a flicker of amusement in his expression, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with this new information.

“Huh.” He flips through a few pages idly, head tilting. “He’s pretty bold, huh?”

Your stomach drops. “Who?”

“The professor.”

Your soul leaves your body.

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

Hoseok just nods, easy, unbothered. “Some of these lines are intense,” he muses, flipping another page. “Do real professors talk like this?”

You are going to die. Right here. On the floor.

“I—” Your voice cracks. “I don’t know.”

He hums again, like he’s genuinely considering it, then—just as casually as everything else—he looks up and says, “You think he’s hot?”

Your heart stops.

Not in a teasing way. Not in a mean way. Just…like it’s a normal question. Like this is just an easy, natural conversation between two people who absolutely do not need to be having this conversation.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Hoseok’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smirk, not a knowing smile—just quiet amusement, like this whole situation is genuinely kind of funny, and he doesn’t think it’s a big deal at all.

“Relax,” he says, closing the book with a soft thump. “I won’t tell Caleb.”

It’s so casual. So reassuring.

Like he really, really isn’t trying to mess with you.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Hoseok sets the book down with deliberate care, spine aligned parallel to the edge of the coffee table like he’s arranging museum artifacts. Your traitorous eyes track the flex of tendons in his wrist—medical intern hands, steady and precise, the kind that’ve probably held beating hearts in ORs. You bite the inside of your cheek until copper blooms.

He glances at the sofa.

You glance at the sofa.

Three cushions. Two throw pillows. Seventy-two inches of fabric that suddenly feels like the Grand Canyon between acceptable and catastrophic.

“Mind if I…?” He gestures to the spot beside your abandoned blanket nest, already moving before you nod.

The springs creak faintly as he sinks into the middle cushion, thighs spreading in that effortless way men do—knees wide, elbows propped, phone balanced on his lap. You sit next to him—two cushions away—and watch his thumb scroll through messages, the screen’s blue light catching the silver ring he always wears on his index finger. Surgical steel, he’d told you once when you’d asked. Sterile. Practical.

Practical.

Practical like the way his left knee now brushes the edge of your blanket. Practical like the faint cedar-and-disinfectant scent of his cologne. Practical like the half-inch of skin exposed when his hoodie rides up as he stretches his arms behind his head.

Don’t look.

You look.

Stop looking.

He shifts, a subtle roll of his hips that has no business being this distracting. The movement pulls the denim taut across his thighs, and you try—really, genuinely try—to keep your eyes anywhere else. The ceiling. The floor. The stack of medical textbooks by the TV. Anything but the way his thumb now absently traces the inner seam of his jeans.

“Told Caleb I’d wait,” he says, tilting his head toward you. The motion makes his throat work—Adam’s apple bobbing, chin catching gold in the lamplight. “Movie night. You’re welcome to join, if you want.”

Your tongue feels like it’s been replaced with felt. “I—I have… readings.”

“Readings.” His mouth shapes the word like it’s fascinating.

“For… neuroanatomy.” You gesture vaguely toward your backpack slumped by the TV stand, half-buried under a sweatshirt you’ve been using as a pillow. “Midterm next week.”

He hums, low and considering. “Limbic system?”

“Hippocampus. Amygdala. All the… emotional bits.”

“Ah.” His smile softens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “The parts that make you want to throw textbooks at walls.”

You blink. “You… remember?”

“Your first-year meltdown over the cranial nerves? Yeah.” He chuckles, warm and rasping. “You called them ‘twelve little traitors’ and threatened to switch to art history.”

Heat crawls up your neck. You’d forgotten he’d been there that night—Caleb dragging him along for a pizza run, finding you knee-deep in flashcards and tears. Hoseok had quietly made tea while Caleb joked about selling your cadaver lab notes on eBay.

“Still think about it sometimes,” you mutter, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “Art history sounds peaceful. No one dies in art history.”

“No,” he agrees. “But you’d miss this.”

“Miss what? The sleep deprivation? The existential dread?”

“The way your nose scrunches when you’re trying to memorize Brodmann areas.”

Your hands freeze.

He’s looking at you now—not the performative eye contact of someone making conversation, but the kind that pins you in place. Clinical. Observant. Like he’s cataloging your reaction.

“I don’t… scrunch,” you say weakly.

“You do.” His knee nudges the blanket again. Accidentally. Probably. “It’s cute.”

The air conditioner kicks on. You count the vents in the ceiling. Eight. Eight is a safe number. Eight is not the number of times you’ve imagined him saying that word in different contexts.

Cute.

Cute.

Cute.

Your lungs forget how to oxygenate.

Hoseok’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, then sighs. “Caleb’s running late. Some study group thing.”

“Oh.”

“You hungry?”

“What?”

He’s already standing, rolling his shoulders in a stretch that pulls his hoodie taut across his chest. “I’ll make ramyeon. You like the kimchi kind, right?”

You stare.

He’s in your kitchen now, rummaging through cabinets with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times. Which he has—game nights, birthday parties, that one time Caleb got food poisoning and Hoseok stayed over to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit.

But this is different.

This is him pulling two bowls from the shelf you can’t reach without a step stool. This is him filling the kettle with exactly 500ml of water because he knows your stove runs hot. This is him glancing over his shoulder to ask, “Soft or firm noodles?” like it’s a question that matters.

“Soft,” you croak.

He nods, turning back to the counter. You watch his hands—capable, unhurried—tearing seasoning packets with his teeth. The steam fogs his glasses when he leans over the pot, and he pushes them up into his hair, revealing the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

Bike accident, he’d said when you’d asked. Twelve years old. Thought he could jump the curb like X-Games.

You’d dreamed about that scar for weeks afterward.

“Here.” He sets the bowl in front of you, chopsticks balanced across the rim. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You murmur thanks, staring at the swirling red broth. He sits closer this time—one cushion away instead of two. His knee brushes yours when he leans forward to blow on his noodles.

Accident, you tell yourself. Always accidents.

The TV murmurs in the background, some nature documentary about deep-sea creatures. Hoseok asks about your classes, and you answer in staccato sentences, hyper-aware of the way his sleeve brushes your arm when he reaches for the water glass.

“—and Dr. Park’s lectures are killing me,” you hear yourself say, chopsticks hovering over uneaten noodles. “She goes so fast, and the diagrams…”

“Want me to quiz you?”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye—the same one he gets when Caleb challenges him to Mario Kart. “I aced neuro last year. Could walk you through the basal ganglia.”

“You’re… busy.”

“Not really.” He sets his bowl aside, rolling up his sleeves. Your pulse thrums at the reveal of his forearms—dusting of dark hair, veins mapping paths you shouldn’t be tracing. “C’mon. Hit me with your worst.”

It’s a mistake.

You know it’s a mistake even as you fetch your notes, even as he pats the space beside him. Even as his shoulder presses against yours, radiating heat through three layers of fabric.

“Okay.” He scans your color-coded flashcards. “First question. What structure connects the hippocampus to the mammillary bodies?”

“F-fornix,” you stammer.

“Good.” His finger taps the next card. “Main neurotransmitter in the substantia nigra?”

“Dopamine.”

“And loss of dopamine here causes…”

“Parkinson’s.”

“Nice.” He shifts, knee pressing into yours. “Now point to your amygdala.”

You freeze. “What?”

“On your head. Show me where it is.”

“I—it’s—it’s medial temporal lobe, so…” You hover a hand near your right temple, acutely aware of his gaze tracking the movement. “Here? Ish?”

His chuckle vibrates through the couch. “Ish.”

“Shut up, I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

You glare at him. He grins back, all white teeth and crinkled eyes, and something in your chest cracks open.

“Medial,” he says softly, reaching over to adjust your hand. His fingers graze your wrist—brief, clinical, devastating. “Deeper. Protected.”

You stop breathing.

The documentary narrator drones on about bioluminescent jellyfish. Hoseok’s thumb brushes your pulse point.

Accident.

Always accidents.

Then his phone rings.

You jerk back like you’ve been shocked. Hoseok answers with a calm, “Yeah?” while you stare at your knees, pretending your entire nervous system isn’t short-circuiting.

“Caleb’s downstairs,” he says, standing. “Forgot his keys again.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

He pauses, head tilted. For a horrifying moment, you think he’ll call you out—on the shaking hands, the flushed cheeks, the way you’re clinging to a pillow like it’s a life raft.

But he just smiles. Gentle. Endless. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

You collapse sideways onto the couch, pressing your face into the cushion that still holds the warmth of him. Somewhere in the hallway, the elevator dings. Laughter floats up from the parking lot.

Four years.

Four years of this.

Four years of almosts and maybes and don’t be stupid, he’s just being nice.

Your phone buzzes. A text from Caleb:

𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐?? 𝙽𝚎𝚛𝚍. 𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊. 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎?

You type no with trembling fingers.

The couch creaks as you curl into yourself, knees to chest, forehead pressed against the spot where his ring had left a faint indentation in the upholstery.

Deeper.

Protected.

Somewhere in your medial temporal lobe, dopamine fires for all the wrong reasons.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[uncleasriel]

I would argue that those modern editions still struggle to deliver on 'narrative' in the same way that, say, a robust 'narrativist' (Ugh, old Forge speak) game of Fate RPG would - or better yet, a game like Kagematsu would.

Looking at 5e D&D - it does make the characters more survivable, so you can create your won little OC and have them act out their own little stories. (A smart-ass comment story I once told a was "I min-maxed my character so they could survive combats long enough to talk about their feelings".) But that very survivability dilutes what earlier editions were good at, and doesn't add many mechanics in concert with it.

But when you look at any other mechanics, they're kind of haphazard - a Background might grant Skill bonuses, or starting equipment, or some Bonds, or even a Special Feature to push (When the Folk Hero uses Rustic Hospitality, the player can get a Safe Place to rest among the Common Folk). But while those are nicely grafted on, how often are they employed? How often do all of these function mechanically? Realistically, how often do folks use Backgrounds for anything other than Skill Proficiencies? Wouldn't it be more narratively compelling if the Bonds had some mechanical benefit (Gain a Hero Point/XP/etc if they cause problem for the character or the GM uses them to Compel the player or Intrude on their plans?)? Wouldn't D&D reward that kind of play more if the Dungeon Master's Guide had a guide on how to effectively set those up? Would is still 'feel' like D&D if it did?

I question whether it was Older D&D Editions proper, or some soft of variation on the Six Cultures of Play that cropped up over time. I think OSR in particular has embrace the 'naturalism' of the environment over concerns like game balance, and reinterpreted into new approaches using older versions of the rulesets (or remixes thereof).

I would personally say that ThyDungeonGal is mostly complaining about how the loudest voices in ttrpg culture of the past 10 years have been through D&D, that most people assume D&D (and its ilk) are the be-all, end-all of TTRPGs and struggle to conceive of ways of playing that aren't implicitly colored by the quietly assume "D&D-isms" like Combat Balance, having to do Lore/Perception/Skill checks to accomplish a thing (instead of just getting the information from the GM), prioritizing mechanical invocation over creative description of actions ("I want to make a perception check for footprints" vs "I check scan the room to look for hidden signs of the suspect's passage"), or the like.

D&D, especially under the age of Streaming Actual Plays, have tried to sell itself as "The Play Pretend With Your Friends Story Vehicle", when the mechanical support for them really isn't as robust as it ought to be. I would argue from as far back as the 2000s (when I got into D&D) folks tried to play it that same way because "it was the game for that" - a core assumption shaped by the availability of what titles you could find at the local game story, most of whose options were either d20 3.5 sourcebooks or White Wolf supplements. Where I am living now, most folks tried to do the same with with Palladium books - forcing them into the shape of "play pretend games" and using some kludges of half-assed homebrew the best brains in the highschool AV club could cobble together.

The point I'm slowly circling is that there are so many more diverse diverse RPG titles and game systems that can emulate specific genres or modes of play, and folks just aren't discovering them because D&D'smarket dominance sucks up all oxygen in the room. There are titles that can do so many more wild and crazy things, from violent crime thrillers like Hollowpoint to playable love stories like The Romance Trilogy to presteige TV simulators like Dramasystem or Prime Time Adventures. There are settings and systems that cover things like Victorian Monster Hunters, Humanistic Occult Horror, Victorian Pulp Adventurers, 1930s Pulp Heroes of various sorts, space opera ... and still so many people entering the TTRPG Space can only ever concieve of things through the lens of D&D. Even half the titles I listed still have many "trad" gaming assumptions, and don't really push what the genre can do.

At the risk of coming off like a grumpy old Marxist...D&D is a cultural hegemony that quietly places limits on what "playing pretend with made-up rules" can be, and most folks don't really question it, or know how to question it.

Well, that's my long, rambling, unformed answer. I hope that was coherent and not too asinine!

One of the funnier manifestations of gleeblor is Pathfinder players: I'll make a post about how D&D will color people's expectations of what RPGs can be like and create a very narrow set of expectations about the medium, and inevitably some Pathfinder player will be like "haha yeah those D&D players should really broaden their horizons, Pathfinder fixes all of their issues," and my friend. I'm sorry to say this but you are not immune to gleeblor and in many regards where it comes to expectations of playstyle created by the game, your favorite game is in fact just another company copying D&D's homework and slightly altering the wording.

[scream4toji]

ooo what about soft morning sex with Toji ?

+18 only/smut

You can feel some shuffling beside you and his warm breath heavy against your ear. He was late coming home last night and you were too exhausted to wait on him. But now he wants to make up for that missed time.

“Hey…hey…”, he breaths into your ear as you lay on your back, cozied under the blanket. His warm body was pressed against your side, making you aware that he was quite ‘awake’. 

You open your eyes and turn your back against him, staring at the alarm clock that only reads 6:30 am. You grab your blanket and toss it over your head, sinking under it, silently begging for another hour of sleep. 

And he tries again while softly spooning you from behind. “Hey….hey…” This time something really hard pokes into your rear.

“Toji…please let me sleep”, you groan in your sleep.

But Toji doesn’t listen. Toji does what Toji wants. And right now he wanted some morning sex because his morning glory was begging for your pussy.

Toji submerges his face under the blanket and presses his nose against the back of your head, taking a nice long inhale of your herbal shampoo.

“Come on doll. Just a quick one to start my day”, he whispers into your ear. 

“My day hasn’t started. Just one more hour”, you beg. 

He purposefully let out a low moan into your ear, thrusting his hips forward so you wouldn’t be able to ignore his problem that was growing by the minute.

“My dick ain’t waiting for another hour. Come on babe. We haven't had sex because of your damn period. And I know you are done with that shit”. He began to grind his hips into your pajama bottoms, confirming his suspicion as he didn’t feel any extra padding. 

You are defeated by Toji’s stubbornness. 

“Alright alright”, you sigh and try to turn onto your back but he doesn't let you move. 

His hand rests on the side of your pelvis and he hooks his thumb into the elastic of your pajamas. 

“Toji! Let’s do this properly if you want sex”, you demand but he is already pulling your bottoms down to expose your round ass to his clothed erection.

“Nah. Too cold to get outta the blankets”, he refused and snaked his hand around your hips and towards your crotch. “Put out ya’r ass”, he ordered.

You are too tired to argue and shuffle forward to give your ass some space to stretch back and spread open for him. 

His fingers crawl towards your soft clit, giving it a few pokes, poking it awake just like he poked you awake. You rest your hand on top of his, guiding him to rub a little faster.

“Gettin’ into the mood now?”, he hummed with pride, feeling your clit come alive under his fingertips.

You grab his hand by the wrist and push it off your hardened clit. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow and was about to protest but stopped when he found you shuffling around to turn and face him instead. 

“What? Missed my smug face?”, he grinned. 

You do a little kick with your legs, wiggling out of your pajamas and kicking them off your ankles while still taking shelter under the blanket. You place your top leg over his, his own hands pulling down his boxers to release his achy cock. 

Kissing came later. Not until he had secured his spot deep inside your walls. You let out a soft whimper of a moan as he slowly but eagerly stretched you out. No matter how many times you did it with him, you could never get used to his fat cock. He certainly filled you up from all directions. 

He began thrusting his hips forward, kissing you on the lips, thanking you for opening your legs for his greedy cock. Gentle morning sex was nothing like the heated wild evening sex. Those two were like sex with different couples. 

You prefer the sweet morning cuddles while he tenderly fucked your hole at a gentle pace, careful not to shock you as you slowly wake up from your slumber.

“Working from home today?”, he asked after finishing off inside you, still lodged and locked, careful not to make a mess of the bedsheets beneath.

“Yea”, you reply. Of course his dick hardens and twitches as he gears up for round two.

(Toji requests are open for shorts/imagines/headcanon)

[corviiids]

hello! how do you find consistent friends in fandom? as in, how do you find people who stick with you through different fandoms and listen and read your work. also, how long have you been writing for and how long did it take you to get so good at writing and character analysis.... your work is such an inspiration to me, genuinely one of my top 3 authors across ao3. i hope the writing goes well!

hey! this is really sweet, thank you very much for your lovely kind words. 💖

re: friendship: i don't mean to be a downer about this so i hope it doesn't come across this way, but i do think the concept of friends where you follow each other through all your fandoms and continue to read each other's work etc kind of... either doesn't exist or is just a rare phenomenon and not a 'type' of friend per se more than it is something that just happens out of luck. i am lucky enough to have friendships which have persisted through all of us changing fandoms, but the reason those friendships last is actually because we found connections that went beyond common interests. i think sharing a fandom/interest is great as an initial point of connection and a way to meet, but for a relationship to last, you need to have a deeper bond than both being into the same thing--so contrary to what you've asked about (oops sorry) those friendships im speaking of only last because we didn't follow each other into different fandoms, really. we didn't have to. along the same vein, i'd respectfully argue that it wouldn't be productive or fair of me to group 'reading my work' in as an element of friendship, so to speak--i definitely don't expect my friends to read my fic and vice versa, we all understand that we can support each other in our creative pursuits and lives in general / in the abstract without needing to be a fan of the same things or even necessarily being fans of each other's work (although of course it's always nice). i know this doesn't really answer your specific question but i hope it doesn't come across as pessimistic as it might sound. i truly and genuinely believe it's a positive thing that the idealised friendgroup traipsing through fandoms together doesn't really exist (or if it does exist, it's luck and not something to shoot for in itself), because this just tells me to look out for these great opportunities to form bonds that last beyond superficial interests.

in terms of how to make those friendships to begin with, im honestly even less help. my friendships kind of just happened to me. im actually quite terrible at reaching out to people and i am notoriously difficult to reach myself hahaha so honestly all the credit for my friendships goes to my friends for being patient and sticking with me despite that. i am honestly just very lucky in that i've been able to talk out loud into the void and have had wonderful people reach out to me because of it, but that's hardly a reliable strategy... i guess i'd encourage you to be more like my friends, who are the anime protagonists wielding the power of friendship to my prickly antagonist, or whatever. oh another thing to remember i guess is that some friendships just don't last this way and will stay within fandoms and may peter out, and that's ok. i don't consider those relationships less real or valuable for being less lasting.

re: writing: i want to caveat that i don't think i'm fairly able to say (or comfortable saying) that i'm particularly good at writing or character analysis, certainly not to an extent that i'd be willing to hold myself up as an example of it, but i really appreciate that you feel that way about my work and am incredibly honoured to be considered an inspiration in any capacity!!

with that disclaimer made, i'll do my best to answer for whatever it's worth. i've liked writing ever since i was a very little kid, but i will credit any actual progress i've made in developing the skill to writing fanfic because i think that being able to focus on building character and logical flow in plot progression over other things like creating characters, worldbuilding, inventing plots wholesale, etc--which has allowed me to sort of expedite those skills in particular and which i think are helpful in writing more broadly. (this also answers the 'character analysis' part specifically--when you don't have to/get to invent a character, you have to spend more time taking them apart.) anyway, i started writing fic about twelve or thirteen years ago, and there have been periods within that where i've progressed faster or slower depending what's going on in my life haha. i do think time played a massive role in any skill developments i've made, but i also know people take less time or more time to make similar progress (caveat again: progression is subjective, this is very approximate), so i think the other key ingredient besides time is engagement. if it's helpful, i went into that a little bit more here, but as stated i have a lot more to learn and would never present myself as an expert lol

[cheshireliam]

"Growing Feelings Poured Into Chocolate" Collection Event

Nica Schwartz

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

If you're not new to Nica, you'd know that he calls MC (Kate) "Robin" in German, instead of the usual Komadori. Since I see that the fandom has generally accepted "Spatzi" as the German translation for it, I'll be using that as well and typing it in italics so it's clear he's not saying it in English.

???: Spatzi.

Kate: Whoa!

While I was walking down the corridor, an arm suddenly wrapped around my abdomen from behind.

Nica: You didn't notice when someone's sneaking up on you. You're seriously lacking in awareness, don't you think?

Kate: Please let go of me.

I struggled and flailed about, but—

Kate: Ah!

Nica: What's this?

Nice snatched the box I was holding and examined it curiously.

Nica: Are these sweets? Handmade, perhaps?

Kate: They're chocolates.

Nica: Chocolates?

Nica: Is this a Valentine's thing?

Kate: That's right, but…

(I kind of didn't expect that reaction.)

With how knowledgeable Nica usually was, I didn't expect him to look that puzzled about a big occasion like Valentine's Day.

Nica: You must be thinking my reaction's unexpected, aren't you?

Kate: Yes, I assumed you took the chocolates knowing exactly what they were.

Nica: Valentine's Day isn't a thing in Germany, so can you really blame me?

Kate: Really?

Finally letting go of me, Nica leaned against the wall with his gaze fixed on me.

Nica: I know about Valentine's Day as a concept.

Nica: But since it doesn't exist in Germany, it never felt like something familiar.

The unexpected revelation surprised me.

I reached for the box, but he dodged me effortlessly.

Nica: You get gifts for a special someone on Valentine's Day, right?

Kate: That's correct, but uhh…

He grinned widely and spoke.

Nica: So, Spatzi , who were you planning to give these chocolates to?

Kate: That's—

For some reason, Nica's face was the first one I could think of when I was making the chocolates—

(But we're neither lovers nor family.)

Our relationship was Crown's Fairytale Keeper and her guest, Nica, from Germany.

(Besides, I think someone like him would receive plenty of chocolates from other women.)

Even as I tried to rationalise my thoughts, knowing how popular he was with women, I couldn't find the courage to give him the chocolates.

I decided to just eat them myself instead, and that was when—

He suddenly grabbed my arm.

When I looked up at him, I was met with his grinning face.

Nica: I asked who you were planning to them to if not me.

The pressure in his words made my breath hitch in my throat, leaving me at a loss for words.

Seeing this, he gave me an awfully cold look.

Nica: Forget it if you're not going to answer.

He released my arm and started walking away, but I hurriedly went after him.

Kate: — I was going to give them to you, Nica!

Nica stopped in his tracks at the end of the corridor and turned back to face me.

Nica: Should've said so from the start, Kate.

The moment he flashed me that sweet smile of his, it hit me.

Kate: … You knew all along and did that on purpose, didn't you?

Nica: Of course I did. It's because I knew no matter how long I waited, you wouldn't say you made them for me.

Looking thoroughly satisfied, he picked up one of the chocolates from the box.

Nica: Can I eat one?

Kate: … I'm not sure if it'll suit your tastes, though.

Nica: Don't mind if I do.

I watched nervously as he popped the chocolate into his mouth—

Nica: Mm, it's delicious.

Kate: Really?

Nica: Why don't you try one yourself if you don't believe me?

I reached for a piece at his suggestion—

Nica: Nope, you can't do that. Because you've given them to me.

Kate: Then how am I supposed to—

Nica: Like this.

Nica wiped the chocolate from his lips and smeared it onto mine.

Nica: Go on, taste it.

Leaning in close to my ear, he let out a soft chuckle.

Nica: But if you lick it… it'll be an indirect kiss.

The sweet scent of chocolate, his teasing whisper, and the heat spreading from where he touched me on the lips blended together.

Nica: What will you do, Kate?

Before the chocolate on my lips melted, I felt like I might melt because of him first instead.

[threebea]

Tiny Obi-Wan and Yoda just sat down somewhere having extremely Old Man conversations.

Mace: ....

Obi-Wan: you cannot imagine the things I can eat. No problem. No stomach upset. The fact Dex hasn't opened his diner yet is a travisty.

Yoda: Decades in exile subsisting on frogs I have been.

Obi-Wan: Yes, but those are good for you.

Yoda: Desire cake I do. One hundred years too late for it we are. Rubbing it in you are.

Obi-Wan: Well there must be some silver linings. The knees are nice too, but I can't reach anything.

Yoda: hmph, perspective you have gained perhaps?

Obi-Wan: not at this height.

Yoda: (laughs and gives him gentle whack with his cane) lost your cheek you have not, Master Kenobi

⭐

Obi-Wan: (notices Mace) oh, Master, please join us.

Mace: ... (Sits down)

Obi-Wan: (Sighs like an old man) I must say I'm glad not to be on the council at the moment. Have you read my proposal on Hutt investments portfolios? I know you're busy with Xanatos' nonsense, but if we move soon we could prevent Jabba from gaining ground in thirty years.

Mace: you should be learning how to mix colours with paint, not sending me paperwork in the middle of the night, Master Kenobi.

Obi-Wan: (gestures to neat paint pallet with colours mixed) I already know how to do that.

Yoda: doubt that I do. Knowing is not understanding.

Obi-Wan: that doesn't even mean anything. You can't tease me just because I'm small now.

Yoda: size matters not. Tease you I always will.

Obi-Wan: well that's true (eye roll)

Mace: I have enough paperwork Kenobi. Stop sending me paperwork.

Obi-Wan: well I would send it to another Master, but you're the only one that knows of my predicament and you won't let me use your name, and Master Yoda has always been awful with written proposals, no one would believe it.

Yoda (has brought out the paints Obi-Wan had with him and has started mixing colours)

Mace: Master you can't just mix paint on the tile!

Yoda: fear the mess it will make, hmm?

Obi-Wan: you're impossible. (Starts doing it as well) I never enjoyed making a mess, even at this age.

Yoda: fear of the future that is.

Obi-Wan: here he goes.

Yoda: to live in the moment, without fear of the mess of the future, that is the way of a Jedi.

Mace: (watches the two of them paint pictures on the ground. It's a complete mess)

Obi-Wan: I don't fear the future.

Yoda: hah!

Obi-Wan: I'm stressed! Stressed isn't the same thing as fear.

Yoda: come from fear stress does. Anxiety. Make a cloud you should.

Obi-Wan: (examines his tile of art work, adds a cloud)

Yoda: stress Master Mace has trouble with too. (Pointedly looking at Mace who is just watching the mess unfold)

Mace: (sighs, takes the hint, sits on the floor and dips his finger in the purple Obi-Wan mixed) I have many things to do.

Yoda: but right now you are painting.

Mace: I can't tell if you're both being serious or messing with me.

Obi-Wan: it can be both, Master. (Makes a face) I'm going to have blue hands for a week.

Mace: have you always been anxious, Master Kenobi? You always seem very confident and composed. It was eerie when we first met, seeing a child so poised.

Obi-Wan: yes, well I don't want anyone to know I'm anxious. Too many people rely on me.

Yoda: like someone else that is.

Mace: well... Right now you're at an age you don't need to be so independent.

Obi-Wan: I'm older than you are, Master. My crude matter doesn't reflect who I am inside. I can't just turn off my worries. It was easier in the end. In the desert... But it's hard to grasp now. I found my balance and peace, but in the here and now I find myself at odds with my knowledge. Every stray thought and memory of something that could be changed for the better.

Mace: changing the future is dangerous.

Obi-Wan: not changing it is more dangerous.

Mace: if you become obsessed you risk losing yourself. You need an anchor.

Obi-Wan: I know. (Focuses back on his painting) The future is always in motion. I am not changing anything. I am simply existing in the now. The ripples for good or ill can rarely be controlled or focused. However is it not my duty to follow where the Force has led me and do good?

Mace: ... (I feel very young suddenly)

Yoda: talk too much you do, Master Kenobi.

Obi-Wan: well it's been awhile since anyone has been kind enough to listen, Master Yoda. Force knows you don't have the attention for it.

Yoda: accuse me of senility do you? Focused I am on the present (gestures at his paint mess). Rambling on the old days you are.

Obi-Wan: who is the more senile? The old man or the old man that tries to talk to him?

Mace: (looking at the five year old who just said that. He has a splotch of blue paint on his cheek) no more proposals in the middle of the night, Kenobi. You'll get an ulcer at six.

Obi-Wan: (prim and proper) and when exactly did you get your first stress ulcer Master Windu?

Yoda: (laughs) twenty-two he was.

Mace: just paint.

Terrible Fic Ideas #3: Re-Entry, but make it Obi-Wan and Yoda

If you've not noticed by now, I'm the biggest sucker for Time Travel Fix-Its that ever existed, and one of my absolute favorites is the Re-Entry series by the ever-wonderful flamethrower. In that series, post-RotJ Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent back to 4 years before TPM to save the Republic, and it's an absolutely wonderful ride. But one thing I've always wanted is Yoda to be thrown back in time in one of these fix-its.

Imagine it:

Yoda is the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. He has the ability to make lasting changes to the order in a way that young Padawan or newly knighted Obi-Wan alone couldn't. He's also had ~25 years alone in a swamp without even the passing human contact Obi-Wan got on Tatooine to reflect on all the things that went wrong, and stuck around as a Force Ghost at least until TLJ.

Not that I imagine TLJ happening in this AU - to kick it off I imagine Luke not managing to make it off the second Death Star after Anakin dies, and Anakin and Leia's anguish in the Force managing to hurl the watching Force ghosts into the pasts, where they can keep Luke's death from ever happening.

And so you have Yoda and Obi-Wan being thrown back to, say, 52 BBY. Obi-Wan, now only five years old, wakes his crechemate's up with a "vision", and for decades afterwards the younglings swear that on certain nights you can year an echo of absolute and complete anguish in the Force.

But the end result is the same: 5 year old Obi-Want has his memories of the next 52 years alive and 4 additional years of being a Force ghost. The transition is somewhat less abrupt for Yoda, who is 800+ at this time.

Unlike Re-Entry, the only one Yoda and Obi-Wan tell (at least at first) that they've traveled through time is Mace - and only then because Obi-Wan is very obviously not a normal 5 year old anymore. (And even then it's more of an accident Mace finds out. Instead Yoda just sort of pushes Mace at Obi-Wan "to help him get a handle on his visions and train him in the ways of the Force", and in the end Mace finally puts two and two together after sort of assuming he's just going crazy or being punked.)

Actually, confused!babysitter Mace is half the drive for this plot bunny. He's so confused and Yoda is being even more of a troll than usual, and he's not prepared at all to deal with such a small child, but honestly half the time it feels like Obi-Wan is the one taking care of him, and just so much confusion.

Together, between Yoda being the Grandmaster and Obi-Wan's weaponized cuteness as a youngling, they are able to prevent some things that contribute to the fall of the Republic. (Galidraan et al).

Obi-Wan is taken as Mace's Padawan fairly young, and no one really considers it too be too odd how good he is so young given that Mace was his Master and Yoda's been his mentor since the creche, but he's definitely considered to be an odd child. As one might expect of a ~60 year old being suddenly stuffed into his 5 year old body. When it eventually comes out that he's a time traveler, it answers a lot things people didn't realize they were questioning.

But mostly confused!babysitter Mace, troll!Yoda, and baby!Obi-Wan.

As always, feel free to adopt the bunny. Just link if you end up doing anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[pancake404]

Thoughts on Chapter 4 of Poppy Playtime

This isn't a drawing like I usually do but since I managed to play Chapter 4 blind without any spoilers, I felt inclined to share my thoughts about Chapter 4.

Right after I first played it, I, of course, a fan of the game, thought it was the best chapter in the series. But after the excitement died down a little, I put some more thought into it and read others' reviews on Chapter 4.

So here are my totally serious opinions you should absolutely think are facts as I am never wrong.

Insane Spoiler Alert for Chapter 4!

Pretty much the Chapter:

The Doctor bullies you and everyone else throughout the whole chapter.

Doey, the ally turned enemy as he tweaks out after we might've caused the Save Haven to blow up.

Every Smiling/Nightmare Critter watched JJK apparently because all they do is JUMP YOU.

We continue the trend of almost every toy we've encountered dying indirectly or directly by the player.

Prototype makes fun of everyone as he pulls the most epic prank and reveals he's been Ollie for presumingly a long time now(who would've guessed) so every plan Poppy discussed should be thrown out the window because he already knows about it.

Huggy is back to give us a warm reunion hug after we kind of unintentionally dropped him fifty stories.

Now starting with the central characters:

Player Character:

At this point, they are without a doubt, questioning their existence as all they came for(presumingly, I'll get to later) was to see if their coworkers were still in the factory by an unknown, vague note. Now, they're tied up in a conflict between the toys and they're helping out Poppy(semi-forcefully as there weren't many options) by killing the Prototype and freeing the..."still alive" human Orphans(X to Doubt) kept asleep by the Prototype.

Their name is still unofficial, where they worked in the factory is still not confirmed though hinted to be one with the lab coats, and even Dr. Sawyer is questioning why they even returned.

I do like how the Doctor questions the player's morals and reasons for coming back since these questions have been lingering in some people's heads as well. It's also been explicitly clear that there's something different about the capabilities of this unknown employee as the Doctor states that he was trying to figure out what made the player so different.

Speaking of the Doctor, Harley Sawyer.

I liked him.

He was a really cool villain with interesting dialogue and his views on the Player as he constantly tests them. His voice, the TVs, his behavior, it all made him terrifying and strangely attractive to certain people in the fanbase.

However, I do agree that there could've been a little more done with the Doctor and the concept they went with. The TVs could function like cameras alerting Yarnaby if we get spotted such as the trailer of Yarnaby implied, we can have optional dialogue from Harley depending on our actions throughout the game(or just more of it), or we could have one main controlled TV robot that Harley uses to defend the system holding his consciousness.

I also do agree that his death was a little sudden and underwhelming compared to the chase leading up to it. You just press a button after running a bit and he screams. Then no more.

But overall, a nice addition.

Yarnaby:

I like Yarnaby as well, it was a shame he died halfway through the game as I would've liked to see Yarnaby try to defend Harley when we tried to shut him down rather than him getting caught/stuck/bit on some chains and randomly combusting into fire...I think we may need some more visual clarity on how that happened unless I wasn't looking closely enough.

But the way he moved and functioned always put me on edge and it fit well to what he was described in the ARG.

Is it bad that I wished the Doctor killed Yarnaby instead to mirror the Prototype killing Catnap?

Pianosaurus:

Dude got cheated so hard.

Like actually, it's kind of funny.

I can see why people were disappointed when his one shot in the trailer was literally his whole screen time before Doey killed him a second later. I think most, myself included, would've preferred if Pianosaurus, someone they've hyped up to be an antagonist for Chapter 4, had an area where we have to survive from him and when he backs us up in a corner, then Doey would've saved us from death. Similar to Miss Delight except Doey is the executioner instead of the player.

Doey:

He was decent.

I have to admit, I don't often get attached to characters such as allies like Dogday, Kissy, Poppy(absolutely not), and Doey is no exception. In other words, I didn't care much when he died.

His story was objectively tragic and he was overall a cool character with cool concepts. The fact that he became hostile to the Player by snapping after the Save Haven was wiped out was also an interesting and yet another tragic twist where the only option now is to kill Doey.

Not surprised he died. I did notice that like Dogday, a lot of the fanbase wished to save Doey as well and some may have been angry about this turn out on him. My response to that would be...it's a horror game, killing characters you like would be the go-to move to ensure it is tragic, disturbing, and scary. It would also show that you can't hope for the best in anything because the game can kill anybody.

Advice: If you like a character in a game like this, just expect them to die...or make a fanfic of saving them as coping.

Baba Chops and the Nightmare Critters:

Clearly, they have a vendetta against the Player if they're this. Fucking. Hostile.

There are hardly any moments with them when they're not just jumping you. But I think a nice edition since you have to use the flare gun more. I had a neat idea where they climb on top of each other into a large mass like a hivemind to make a big monster made up of mini critters but that could still work with Chapter 5, we'll just have to see.

Kissy Missy:

I was kind of surprised she was alive but I do like how despite her survival, she was still badly injured and couldn't help much...not that she helped much in the previous chapters without injuries. But she did try to help the player proving her to be generally a good person trying to help us.

Then again, that also relates to how good of a person the Player is and/or something we don’t know about her.

I'm expecting her to die in Chapter 5.

But first, I was to see a fight between an injured Huggy and an injured Kissy.

Poppy:

So....she wasn't that helpful. She pretty much told us what to do, we did it, then we get blamed for it by Doey because someone(Prototype) screwed over the explosives, he tried to kill us, and we killed him, Poppy then blames us for things we both did and didn't do, Prototype call, and she runs off.

I think in one of the VHS tapes(there are two about Poppy), we see a conversation between her and Ollie which shows us directly that she isn't exactly a cunning, evil betrayer but more of a scared experiment like the rest of the orphans with a very... tunnel-visioned plan and mindset. Or very, very desperate to blow stuff up.

She does run off and abandons the player and Kissy because the case must've sucked that badly which is weird because I would rather prefer being asleep in the case than being anywhere outside of it where toys could rip me to shreds. But hey, it's her opinion I suppose.

I am surprised not a single character had not mentioned or tried to drop-kick her. Killing her shouldn't be that hard...right?

Right...I'm guessing the reason why is because she doesn't stick around enough near the player to even encounter any of the big villains.

Ollie/Prototype:

Let's face it. We all knew it. The only person who was surprised was Poppy herself.

I actually enjoyed the reveal though, I think it was intense but very funny on how it was done.

Poppy blames us and then Ollie calls, the first thing he does is do the Playtime Equivalent of doxxing our location. Dude might as well just said our address over a COD lobby.

Then he pretty much makes fun of Poppy by telling her she needs to stop pretending to be stronger than she actually is(which is true).

Then he makes fun of the player by saying, "I got the bombs, thanks for getting them for me BTW!" as we hear beeping sounds below us.

Does a whole speech before Poppy bolts, abandoning us and he proceeds to make fun of that.

Then the floor explodes and we're in the Labs now.

Either the Prototype is a (10/10) funny character or maybe my humor is broken.

Long Story Short:

It's an improvement in many ways from previous chapters but I, like many others, think there could've been just a couple of additions to make it Peak but there were some good moments. Some good lore drops and information that may or may not have screwed over a couple of Au's(depending on who's in it) but it could be worked around.

They dived way deeper into how terrible Playtime Co. in the inside from both the perspectives of the workers as well as the toys. I love that.

I will still say that Chapter 3 is my favorite even with all of this considered(Because I love Catnap) but I do hope that they truly take their complete time on Chapter 5 to make it the best possible.

Anyhow, I can't wait for Chapter 5 to bring back Catnap(yes, I AM coping), totally bring him back, if Huggy could survive a fifty-story fall, Catnap could either be shocked back alive and/or survive a stab to the head. These toys were able to tank bullets in tapes, they could survive a bit of brain damage(or piercing) and burns.

Man...the Player might not be an "angel”.

[fshfish]

could you share how you paint hair and skin? your art is so nice to look at

thank you so much!

maybe one day I'll make a more detailed post with screenshots as I render... but honestly my painting process is really pretty simple. I usually use a textured brush or something with hue jitter turned up 1-2% to put down base colours, and then I go in with a medium hard airbrush for shadows and for adding warmer colours where blood flows (nose, ears, cheek, around mouth sometimes, eyes).

after that i merge all my layers and basically draw on top of everything. bunch of refining details and texture and LOTS of cross hatching. hatching is a really good way to transition between colours i find!!

(another tip I use for skin rendering is adding gradients within shadows, anddd ofc I add hatching when I do that too)

I wish I could offer more technical advice but I really don't know what I'm doing in the slightest I just throw colours on there and hope for the best😭 I guess other good things to keep in mind for skin are the planes of the face (im rly bad at this one, but basically just look up planes of the face on pinterest and use that as a guide for shadows and form) as well as hard vs soft shadows!!

im also. Not good at this one. So don't take my word for it but i guess it's good to have a variety of shadows that end harshly vs shadows that are softer and blend in more? if that makes sense? you just need to think about 1. what is casting my shadow 2. what is it being cast on (or idk maybe its not. that's just kinda what I do) and render from there!

I like to outline my harsher shadows but thats rly just cause I love to outline everything. OOH THATS ANOTHER THING. use harmonious colours and outline shit it looks soooo good.

i do that shit all the time.Like don't be shy about grabbing colours that don't make sense being in your drawing. it's a drawing who gaf if vi arcane's hair is outlined in turquoise. NOBODY! and it looks fire!

for hair I just bullshit it and add hatching I really don't have a clue how to draw hair. I guess figure out where the hair strands are coming from and then draw them coming out from there (This is some real expert advice here damn) and then add shadows underneath the hair tuft clump things ?? no clue. someone make a tutorial for me im kinda the one that needs it in this situation.

uh I hope that helped at all!! Please watch YouTube videos and stuff by actual professionals take everything I say with a grain of salt because seriously I don't know how to do any of this I probably should study art more but I am LAZY

[frogsinflannel]

call me by my real name (call me baby) 9-1-1: bucktommy | rated T | 874 words | prompt: non-sexual intimacy

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary - read below or at ao3

♡ ♡ ♡

"Hey.  Can I ask a favor?"  Buck looked up from where he'd been meal-prepping, two neat lines of clear glass containers sitting on the counter in front of him.  Tommy's brows raised and a bemused smile curled up his mouth.  "You doing lunch for us?  What's on the menu this week?"

"Rainbow salad," Buck said, beaming.  He pointed to the piles of chopped vegetables scattered on the two cutting boards.  "We've got, uh, bell pepper for red and yellow. Carrots.  Cucumbers, because I thought, uh, three colors of bell pepper was too much.  Or edamame, for green.  I probably have some other options, too, if you want something else.  And then we've got some riced purple cauliflower, and some strips of grilled chicken."

"Evan."  Buck flushed.  No one else said his name like that, with the same loose-weave softness, cool and easy and comfortable.  Tommy grinned and walked over to him.  He pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.  "Thank you, baby," he said, speaking against the skin.

His voice was warm and his mouth was a little damp and Buck's vibrating, wanting-- Well.  Just wanting.  Anything from Tommy he could get.  "You're welcome," he breathed.

"So."  Tommy leans against the counter, feet crossed at the ankle.  He holds up the wrist with the brace on it.  "About that favor?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course.  What did you need?"

Tommy grimaced and then gestured with his left hand to the bottom half of his face.  "I could probably shave myself even with the brace," he said.  "But I thought maybe I'd ask you to do it."  His expression changed, smile sly and his eyes dark, and Buck felt a little curl of heat in his gut.  "I'm sure you wouldn't mind getting all close and personal, huh?  Lathering me up.  Bet you have a steady hand."  Tommy tilted his head because he's a tease and a flirt - and kind of an asshole, too, because he knew what he's doing to Buck.  Which might be a bad thing, if Buck didn't like it so goddamn much.

"I can...  Uh, I can help, yeah."  He swallowed.  "Of course."

Tommy grinned and bumped his shoulder with his good hand.  "Perfect.  Let's get these lunches put together and then get rid of this shitty almost-beard."

They finished the meal-prep for the week and then Buck followed Tommy into the bathroom.  He pulled out a nice safety razor and some moisturizing shaving cream, then leant back against the skin.  "I'm all yours," he murmured.

"S-so I should..."  Tommy's posture was relaxed, his whole big body so at ease.  He tilted his chin up and Buck sketched out the strong, lovely line of his throat.  His mouth went dry.  "The shaving cream?"

Tommy's eyes closed and his mouth curved up warm and crooked and fond.  "Yes," he said.  "You should the shaving cream."

"Don't tease me," Buck said, but he didn't really mean it.  He grabbed the shaving cream and squeezed out a dollop into his hand.  Tommy's waiting, and it seemed silly to ask for permission, so.  He reached out and spread it smoothly over Tommy's skin.

"Ahh," Tommy said.  His lips parted and Buck's gaze was drawn to the line of his open mouth.  "Thank you, baby.  That feels nice."

Buck cleared his throat. It was almost harder to talk to Tommy like this, with his eyes gently closed and the line of his neck long and bare. “Well?” Tommy’s eyes fluttered under thin lids and he wore a smirk, teasing and still so, so fond. “Am I getting shaved or aren’t I?” “Sorry,” Buck said. “I was just… uh. Just thinking?” “Mmm.” Buck’s hand tightened in the razor and his body swayed forward, leaning into Tommy’s. He was pulled, constantly, like a magnetic in his chest with Tommy as the opposite pole. How did he yearn so much for something, he wondered - something right here. Something he already had. One eye popped open. “Thinking about what?”

“Ha.” He looked down, let out a breath. “It’s… Well. I-I like it. That’s what I was thinking. I like it when you say, uh. When you call me baby.” Tommy’s smirk shifted into something softer.  One big hand landed on Buck’s waist and then slid to the small of his back, tugging him forward. “Yeah? You like it?” He pressed a kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth. Then he leaned closer, nuzzling into the soft skin under Buck’s ear. “Good. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it?” His voice was whisper soft, a warmth ghosting across Buck’s neck. “Tell me, Evan. Tell me what you are.” He groaned, one hand gripping Tommy’s bicep as the other came up to cup the back of his head. His head tilted back and his got one glimpse of the soft yellow light of his bathroom ceiling as his eyes drifted closed. Tommy’s mouth pressed kisses onto him like promises, moving across his throat from one side to the other. He’d remember. He’d wear it like a necklace, the jeweled presses of Tommy’s rough, perfect mouth. “I am,” he said, voice tight. It hurt to speak, the words were so heavy. It felt like a relief to finally get them out. “I’m your baby.”

♡ ♡ ♡

(I wrote half of this in present tense before I realized that I'd started in past. I think I got it all fixed and consistent !!! Also I think Buck would have a dressing or sauce for their rainbow salads but I forget to mention it! It haunts me!)

[ozwriterchick]

Back to Us - Chapter 10 (Final)

Summary: Y/n wakes after an accident to her Avengers team-mates. But something isn't quite right and only Steve and Tony can see it.

Characters/Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Other Avengers Characters

Content warnings: Mentions of an accident (no details yet); If I missed any, let me know

A/N: If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own. I don't write smut, but there are allusions to smut in my stories.

Back to Us Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 2055 (approx.)

64.media.tumblr.com

GIF by dazedandkaitfused

Later that afternoon, Wanda & Nat help you get ready for your date with Steve.  They do your hair and makeup and help you pick a dress that will knock Steve’s socks off.

The red dress you found in your closet just called to you when you flicked through everything and Nat and Wanda exchanged glances when you sighed and said “This is the one.”

At exactly 6pm, there’s a knock on the door and all of a sudden you have a stomach full of butterflies.  You open the door to Steve standing there in a navy suit with a tie that is very close to matching the blue of his eyes.

“Well, Captain Rogers, you look very handsome.  I love the suit.  Maybe we should have met downstairs, cause I might not want to go anywhere right now.” You say, blushing and thanking your lucky stars that Nat & Wanda are no longer with you.  They would have teased you mercilessly for a long time over that one.

Steve laughs “I agree sweetheart, you look simply ravishing and I really would love nothing better than to see that dress on the floor, but we have reservations, so we have to get going.”

You laugh and kiss him before turning and walking in front of him down the stairs, swinging your hips as you go.

After about a half hour drive, you pull up outside a vaguely familiar restaurant.

“Steve, we’ve been here before, haven’t we?” you asked as he holds the car door open for you and offers you his hand to help you out.

“That we have gorgeous.  In fact, it’s one of our favourite places for a nice dinner out.”

You walk in and the hostess greets you like old friends.  You try to remember her but can’t quite place her in your head yet.  She leads you to a seat in the back that is fairly secluded and lit up with lots of candles.  There’s a bunch of red roses on the table and you look at Steve.

“Are these for me?” He nods. “They’re gorgeous.  How did I get so lucky?”

“I think I’m the lucky one, honey.  Sit, sit.  First course will be out shortly.”

Dinner is incredible, you wish you remembered this place but hope that the memories will come back to you like all the others. 

The conversation flows nicely and you feel like Steve is trying to make you remember some of the smaller stuff by bringing up stories from your relationship.

When dinner is done, Steve suggests going for a walk before you head home.  You agree quickly because it’s beautiful clear weather, and you really don’t want the night to end.

You head towards a local park nearby, hand in hand and Steve goes very quiet. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Cap?”

Steve stops and turns to face you, he grabs your hands and lifts one and presses a kiss on the back of your hand.

“I got very lucky the day you agreed to be mine.  Over the past couple of months I thought I’d lost you totally, and my heart couldn’t have been happier than when you remembered us.”

He leads you around the corner for you to see the small jetty in the park, over a lake that is twinkling in the starlight, all lit up with fairy lights and more roses.

“Steve, when did you do this?”

“Y/n, I love you with all my heart, with everything I am and everything I have.”

He gets down on one knee and pulls a box out of his pocket.  Opening the box you see a gorgeous diamond ring.

“I got lucky once, but I would be the luckiest guy in the world to be able to do this twice with the same woman.

Y/n, will you be my wife, will you be mine for the rest of our lives?”

You realise you are crying, as is Steve, but your answer is obvious “Yes Steve, of course. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather do this with twice.”  You both laugh, through your tears.

He stands up and puts the ring on your finger and you kiss.  Just then you hear a commotion and look up to see Nat & Wanda heading across the park crying with happiness and demanding to see the ring - even though they already knew what it looked like.

You realise they would have helped Steve out with this, and keeping an eye on it while you had dinner.

All of a sudden a memory hits you and you gasp.

“Y/n, sweetheart is everything ok?” Steve asks, hoping you aren’t changing your mind.

“Oh Steve, this is exactly how you planned our first engagement isn’t it.  I just remembered.”

“Only the best for you my gorgeous girl.  It was perfect the first time, and if you never remembered it, I wanted you to have it as the memory of our engagement.”

You start crying again at his sweetness and thoughtfulness to give you this amazing memory the exact same as the first time.  You throw your arms around his neck and smash your lips to his, to which he immediately kisses you back, putting his hand on the back of your head.

A few minutes later, you hear a clearing of a throat and remember that Nat & Wanda are here with you, so you apologise and suggest you all head back to the compound.

Tony is waiting as you enter the common room the next morning. “Hey you lovebirds, how are things, any progress on the rest of the memories?”

“Not much more than last night I’m afraid.” You say sadly. “But we’ve been enjoying ‘getting to know each other’ again.”

Tony laughs “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Shut up old man.” You laugh at his statement as if he is double your age.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Tony asked.

“Y/n wanted me to tell her about Noah, she remembered me mentioning him and my reaction when she didn’t remember him yesterday.  We wanted to see what your thoughts were on that one - we don’t want to jeopardise any progress Y/n’s already made.” Steve explained to Tony.

Tony calls Bruce in to get his input on this one.

“Well, given she has most of her memories back except this one, maybe it’s not too big a leap?” Bruce suggests.

“Right, well, I need to go do something,” Steve says. “I’ll be back soon and we’ll talk then, ok Y/n?”

“Oh, ok, are you sure you need to leave now?  Like, right now?”

“Yes, Sweetheart, but I’ll be back as soon as quickly as I can.”

Steve leaves and you look at Tony & Bruce who shrug.  They both know where he’s going and what he’s doing but they don’t want to spoil anything.

“Well, if he’s going somewhere, I’m going to go for a run to clear my head and hopefully he’ll be back before, or just after I am.”  You head up to your room to change and head out into the compound gardens, following the running path that Tony had installed so you could all exercise outside in the fresh air.

The breeze in your face grounds you and makes you happy, but not as happy as knowing that Steve never cheated on his fiancé with you, that you are his fiancé, and all is now right with the world and that soon, you would find out about Noah.

Steve returns to the compound a little while later with Noah.

“Tony, where’s Y/n?” he asks.

“She went for a run Steve, hopefully won’t be too long.  Hey mini Cap, you wanna come with me and get something to eat?” he asks Noah.

Noah looks excitedly to Steve.  Apart from you, Steve and his honorary aunts and uncles, food is one of his favourite things.

“Thanks Tony,” Steve answers. “Hey Buddy, how about you go with Uncle Tony and we will see you soon.”

Noah nods and Tony takes his hand and leads him to the kitchen.  Steve sits in the lounge with Bruce, waiting for Y/n to come back from her run.

Tony re-enters the lounge and looks around “Isn’t she back yet?  I don’t think I can fit any more food into this kid.”  Noah is now sitting at the coffee table, drawing and colouring.

“What time did she go for her run,” Steve asks them. “It’s a couple of hours since I left to get Noah, she should be back by now.”

Steve starts freaking out, hoping she hasn’t left again, or worse.  He tries to hide his worry from Noah, because he doesn’t need to see that right now.

Tony asks Friday to call everyone together.

FRIDAY: All Avengers, please meet in the lounge immediately

The Avengers assemble in the lounge and Tony tells them Y/n went for a run about 2.5 hours ago and hasn’t returned. 

“Noah is here, waiting to see Y/n for the first time in months, so we need to find her.  Let’s all spread out and look.  Stay on Comms and let me know if you see anything.” Tony explains.

The Avengers spread out and searched the compound grounds for you.  After about half an hour, they all came back to the lounge, no sign of you at all.

Steve is getting anxious so he starts Noah’s night-time routine to distract himself.

“Steve, is her phone here?” Bruce asks him.

“I can’t see it, but hang on let me ring it.” Steve dials your number and listens to it ring.. and ring.. and ring. “It’s ringing, she’s not answering, but it’s ringing.”

Tony sighs. “Ok, maybe we can track it - I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before.  Sorry Steve.”

“Just find her Tony, I can’t lose her, Noah can’t lose her.”

All of a sudden, a commotion downstairs interrupts their conversation.  They look at each other and Tony runs downstairs.  Nat comes up and tells Steve to go, she’ll keep an eye on Noah for now.

Steve runs downstairs to see you on one of the beds in the lab.

“What the hell happened?” Steve demanded.

“Language Steve.” Bucky laughed, trying to cut the tension with a little humour.

“Now is not the time Buck.  What happened to her?”

Bucky explains “I found her, she’d fallen and was unconscious when I got to her, I hope this doesn’t put her memory recovery back, can you tell if she hit her head yet?”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Bruce answers. “It could just be the shock of the fall.  But we’ll have to wait for her to wake up.”

“I can’t do this again.  What if she doesn’t wake up this time.” Steve worries.

The Avengers all try to comfort Steve, not knowing what else to do.

Time jump - 2 Days have passed and you are still unconscious. 

Even Tony is worried at this point. “We might have to transfer her to the hospital if she doesn’t wake up today.”

“Geez are you two ladies all right, no hospital, ok?” you try to joke.

“Y/n, you’re awake, how are you feeling?” Tony asks you, hopeful that your memory hadn’t gone backwards.

“A little groggy and a splitting headache, but ok otherwise I think.  What happened?  I remember Steve left to get Noah and I went for a run.”

Steve’s eyes went wide as he looked at you and took in what you said.  “Wait, you knew I went to get Noah?”

You laugh at his shock “Well, where else would you have gone, he wasn’t here and he needs his Mum & Dad.  Where is he? I need to see him.”

“Oh my gosh sweetheart, I’ll go get him.”

Steve runs upstairs and returns with Noah who gets super excited to see his Mummy.  You hold your hands out to him and he practically jumps out of Steve’s arms into yours, giggling the whole time.

“Mummy, I miss you. Don’ go ‘way ‘gen, ‘k?” Noah asks flashing you his big blue-green puppy-dog eyes, exactly like his Dad’s.

“I won’t bubba, I’m here to stay forever.” You reply to him.

“My family is back together” Steve says incredulously.

THE END. Maybe…

Tag List: @wolfbeanpotion @vioplay19 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @crazyunsexycool @zaraomarrogers @bitchy-bi-trash @mrsnikstan @harrysnovia @salemslostwitch

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Sailor Moon AU)

Adam ran through the hallways of a palace like every dream he had recently. He looked outside at the surface of the moon outside. The palace was an area of the moon that thrived and had life. But he continued to run passing by his reflection that was of a beautiful woman with flowing long brown hair and in a gown that was white and gold. On his forehead was a crescent moon mark of gold. He found what he was looking for, he Prince, his one true love. But a woman hidden in the shadows stabbed him through the chest.

Adam: NOOOOOO!!!!!!

The crystal in his hands pulsed with power around him, but before he could see what happened next he woke up in bed. Adam stumbled out of bed. He was a tall and attractive teenager with short brown hair and honey brown eyes. He pulled on his school uniform and went down stairs. His mother Rosie was setting up breakfast for him and his younger brother Abel.

Rosie: Good luck on the exam today sweetie.

Abel: He is going to fail.

As much as Adam loved him, Abel could be annoying. As a response Adam stuck out his tongue. After breakfast he ran through the streets and saw a group of kids harassing a cat.

Adam: Hey you little shitheads, stop it.

Adam ran over and picked up the cat. There was a bandage on the cat’s head and he removed it to see a crescent moon marking. But what really caught his attention was the teenager that ran to him. He had to be a year or two older than Adam with golden blonde hair and blue eyes. His uniform was from a very exclusive high school for the gifted.

Lucifer: Hey is everything alright, I saw those kids harassing that cat and came to help, my name is Lucifer Morningstar by the way.

Adam: My name is Adam Kadmon.

Adam was sure he was blushing up a storm at this very handsome young man. But the cat jumped out of Adam’s arms and onto a fence, the cat looked at Adam and ran away.

Lucifer: My school is close to where your school is, do you mind if I walk with you?

Adam: Not at all.

Lucifer watched the beautiful young man walking with him. He remembered his dreams of a Princess that lived on the moon. This Adam felt so much like her in spite of the fact that Adam was a man. If it wasn’t for his nightly activities he would have asked Adam if he wanted to hang out with him. Once they made it to Adam’s school, Adam smiled and waved at Lucifer before walking towards the school building. Just then Adam’s childhood friend, Angel walked up to him. In spite of the fact that Angel was a boy he always wore the girls school uniform because he said it was cuter.

Angel: So who was that hottie with you?

Adam: His name is Lucifer, I am sure that he was walking with me to be nice.

Angel: With the way he was looking, I don’t think that was the case. He is definitely attracted to you.

For the rest of the day his mind kept drifting to Lucifer.

There was just something about him that drew Adam in, maybe it was his kind blue eyes or the way he smiled before going to his own classes for the day.

Whatever it was, Adam was smitten with Lucifer and hoped to see him again and soon.

When he got home from school he went to his room to do his homework, sitting at his desk there was a scratching at his window. It was the kitty from before with the moon crest on its forehead.

Adam: Oh, hello kitty kitty.

He opened the window letting her in, he gave her a few pats.

Kitty: Adam?

Adam screamed and fell over: DEVIL CAT!!

Kitty: Shhh! My name is Luna and I've been looking for you.

Adam: What?

Luna: Yes, I need to tell you your purpose and why I'm here to help you. You're Sailor Moon, you're meant to protect the world from evil.

Adam watched in awe as this kitty used some magic to make a wand appear, it had a moon crest design on it, the handle black and gold.

Luna: To activate your power, just hold the wand up and say "Moon Prisim Power".

Adam was skeptical and wondering if he was dreaming. Carefully he picked up the wand and held it, it was smooth and not too heavy.

Here goes nothing.

Adam held it up: Moon Prisim Power!

A colorful light came out and surrounded him, he was covered in ribbons that changed into different clothes.

He now wore red knee high boots, white elbow length gloves, a blue and white sailor top with a large red bow and a mini red skirt. And to top it off he had a good tiara in his hair.

He looked good.

Adam: ..... Why am I dressed like a chick?

Luna: I can't tell you that, you have to figure that out for yourself.

Adam sighed, at least he made it look good. Kind of reminded him of his dream.

[shurup-overt]

don't ever let go of what's beloved

these bastards made me cry! THRICE!!

@mari-lair I wanna thank you from the bottom of my heart, also this will be LONG. I'm sorry skdjkls

SPOILERS UP TO CH27 BELOW

(not super detailed but still can ruin the experience)

I'VE FINALLY read ycit after half a year of putting it off it just because I "didn't like the idea of akane being dead&doomed" skslsks I was wayy too superstitious. anyway I'm glad I stopped being stubborn

IT WAS HELL OF A RIDE (positive) and I finished it (27 chapters at that moment) looking like nene in ch107

I'm not even joking

where do I even begin.

the amount of research and thought and love poured into the fic is INSANE. it's always so nice to feel the author's passion through the work and this one overflows with it.

am I being too sappy? I dunno, I speak what's on my mind lol!!

as I said, it's noticeable that it's written with so so much love to the characters and this love is INFECTIOUS!! I didn't know I'd get attached to aka, so fast too. it's like my thought process was almost the same as teru's all the way through chapters 0-20 lmaoo

a small digression from the main topic - the thing is, what I wait for the most in tbhk is a flashback about terukane's first meeting & how the glasses were made. ofc there's always a possibility they were made by teru just for fun and as a way to make akane owe him (although this might be ooc) but the possibility of it is thankfully really really small because teru looks at them and handles the topic very gently. too gently for it to be just a forced prank. also akane has been keeping them with him on his bead near his head while sleeping (not even the bedside table or smth! who the hell keeps their glasses with them on the bed at night?? <- comes from a glasses person)

so, especially because of teru's wording ("he said he wanted to live his life like he used to"), I've been STRESSING over the possibility of akane BEGGING teru for help there, like what if he was struggling with switching forms at first and hence wasn't seen by students? what if the clock keepers didn't explain him almost anything about the supernatural world and so he was scared and confused? what if teru cornered him there and he had to prove he's human? (by the warmth of a touch?) what if he cried? what if teru comforted him? (or tried to lol) what if there were more struggles??

and so I was soo glad to see this topic being expanded!! I know it's an au and all (and the contract's gone worse here) but what I mean is, I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks about it!! reading akane's backstory was Painful As Heck but really Good.

my godd I wish the boy had some comfort. I can't look at ycit akane because I start tearing up immediately.

"I hope akane managed to use the bill" "I hope the seals helped at least a bit" I HOPE SO TOO. JESUS. THE POOR BOY WAS LEFT ALL ALONE WITH A TERRIFYING KNOWLEDGE AND THE TWO DIDN'T EVEN SAY GOODBYE TO EACH OTHER PROPERLY

and his backstory hasn't even been fully revealed yet. I feel like I'll die when that time comes. shaking

alright I don't wanna whine here too much now moving on-

this idiot. /affectionate

the attention to the smallest details!!!!

the amount of canon things implemented?? HELLO? I mean it's natural to expect a canon character act according to canon but it's the first time (I think??) I've noticed SO MUCH small facts THOUGHT THROUGH and carefully weaven into the fic to fit the narrative perfectly. sometimes they're really small and almost insignificant but it's like finding easter eggs!!! it fills me with so much joy to feel the love to the kids through the writing (I repeat it again ahahaha). teru's complicated (VERY MUCH SO) feelings towards his father, akane liking raspberry sweets, akane (and aka) liking when pride of a certain someone ( ^^ ) shatters in front of them and their facade falls, teru itching to jump headfirst into research as soon as there's a reason to mess with exorcist tools and invent something (oh I so adore this in canon I can probably ramble about this a lot), teru being eager to play in the snow, teru covering his face when he cries!!!! and that's just the things I remember right now THERE WAS A LOT MORE

it all makes me point at the screen with an "AH!!" expression and think "YES THAT'S MY BOY/GIRL!!"

YAKO AND TSUCHIGOMORI TOO!! I was so glad to see yako being involved so much and her character handled perfectly with all her traits and quirks and sillyness /affectionate hehe I love her so much and although tsuchigomori hasn't showed up as much, reading the scenes with him was a delight as well

also when I said about the passion, I meant not only the love to the fic's main cast, but also the passion to analyze the og medium itself as a whole. (am I making sense? I don't want to sound too creepy) explaining myself: take aka: his character, his quirks, his abilities, his drama, worries and experiences - for it all to be as deep and believable ( = excellent) as it is, it was necessary to take all the smallest bits about ghosts' and supernaturals' mindset we have in canon, be it hanako or sousuke or mitsuba etc, analyze it, and make aka one of their kind but still very much unique and closer to akane than to them, even though he doesn't remember being him. even if you didn't do what I said entirely on purpose, I'm just amazed by how aka is written. it's awesome

squeezes him.

thank you for being the extremely stubborn "leech" you are. mwah

aidairo sadly have given us very little info about exorcism and supernaturals in general (I'm biting the table as we speak) and the way you still took the crumbs, thought them through, added bits here and there, and made it all work perfectly is just amazing. I was overjoyed to read about mimics, other kinds of supernaturals, how spiritual energy feels, how touching a ghost feels in detail, weakening seals, blood pacts, boundaries, etc etc. it's like it's all canon, it doesn't make the reader question it whatsoever, so well-made. I'm clapping.

the description says you've never written a teru pov before and I'd say you nailed it from the very beginning!! you understand his mindset so deeply, reading your works is the best experience. the picky bitch in my ear never goes "he would not say that" and instead is just as amazed as I am

the first chapters before the bonding are HEAVY as heck. they're extremely hard to binge read but I mean this as a good thing. they're extremely painful by just how realistically they are written, so good you can't help but sync with teru and feel the same emotions as he does. And his life is SHIT at that moment so I was SUFFERING with him both the first and the second going through the chapters :'D again though, it's not bad, it's the opposite - it makes the happy moments thrice as good and the overall bonding brings A LOT of warmth. I feel like it healed me in a way after punching me in the stomach 10 chapters in a row

also I love it so much just how much the fic focuses on teru's everyday life before the manga's main plot. I mean, well yeah, it's a 14-15yo teru pov, but still. so detailed, filled me with warmth.

*slaps roof of ycit* this bad boy can fit SO MUCh fun ideas and good concepts in it

seriously, the range is insane. a questionnaire, a quarrel (multiple), siblings talk, beach episode, dancing, hugging, both crying, possession?? hello?? BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! summer festival, sleeping on the other, fighting for the other, fighting together, even working in food service together (aka the thing I'd expect out of a trkn fic the least lol). the list goes on. and despite how bizarre and random it sounds out of context, nothing from it feels like a filler, everything fits into the plot perfectly. I have no words mari how are you doing that

ever since I've read the bloodpact chapter, I was worried about how encounters with mimics will go from now on because now aka can go anywhere and, how it was stated before, aka's and a mimic's energy feel the same… the boys will need to come up with a strategy of some sort (which is tricky if mimics learn from the memories) ourghh makes my head hurt! but in a good way. or will mimics struggle picking a target between aka and teru now? what if they're weaker when faced by multiple opponents because of that? that would be fortunate. anyway! mimics leap at the target eventually, so that eases the task. and whether the boys encounter them or not, they will have each other's backs, and it warms my heart.

I've wanderend off the main topic again, oops. as you see, the fic made me think of all sorts of things lol and it's an incredibly good sign.

what if teru did take a picture of the swing set in ch13…..... ourghh I don't even know if it'd be better or worse...... it's over now though, so I'm glad either way

and ch27 has destroyed and rebuilt me several times I think .

I drew this before ch28 but then it came out and oh boy. I don't even know what to say. Good for them. so proud of them

I HAD SEVERAL SONGS FOR THIS but I don't want to make this too overwhelming so I've tried to pick the faves among faves (still kind of failed so . no pressure)

Bullet by Saint Motel (lyrics) for teruaka

The Song with Five Names a.k.a. Soapbox Tao a.k.a. Checkmate Atheists! a.k.a. Neospace Government (A.K.A. You Can Never Know) by Will Wood and the Tapeworms (lyrics) for aka - this one may be too extreme. it kinda clicked for me but I might be delusional

quiet room by ewe (has eng subtitles) for teruaka - makes me feel things similar to the ones 'therefore you and me' does

Yakusoku no Overture by Toki Shunichi (akane's VA hehe) - I haven't found a full version of this arrangement on youtube but it should be on spotify? or other streaming platforms I'm pretty sure? sadly, I've only found a russian translation (as unusual as it is lol) so I've tried to adapt it in english here, hope it looks right!

I might be delusional here sdslkds but what's certain is that I enjoyed the fic all the way from the start. thank you for creating this, truly

p.s.: please let me know if I made you in any way uncomfortable. I myself didn't expect to write so much; I only wanted to express my gratitude but this might be overwhelming. (I'm a very anxious person so I felt like I needed to say this sdskldj) you aren't obliged to respond in any way and this isn't me asking you to continue working on the fic. just saying thank you for the things you've made

that's it! wishing you a great day :)