#like its been a full decade since i last played it I think

[honeybard]

we're so back (<- is playing through the Layton series again)

[heich0e]

suna's parents divorced when he was eight.

he doesn't remember a lot of the finer details as he's gotten older, mostly just that there used to be a lot of yelling, but he does remember the two piles of belongings that stacked up in the empty living room of his childhood home: one consisting of his father's and his own, and the other comprised of his mother's and his little sister's. their entire life, their entire family, packed up into cardboard and then divided down the middle.

the apartment he moved into with his father was always too quiet. it was in aichi, far enough away from where he spent the first decade of his life that he didn't have to be reminded of it every time he left the house, but since his father worked so much it still left him with plenty of time to think. to grieve. though maybe he didn't recognize it as that at the time. he played video games his father bought for him after school. ate convenience store bentos or whatever leftovers were set aside for him in the fridge for dinner. he put himself to bed at night. it wasn't a bad life, though maybe a bit lonely.

he was scouted to play for inarizaki when he was 14.

the lonely apartment turned into a lively dorm. he had new friends (his teammates) to play video games with. his convenience store bentos were replaced with hot meals from the meal hall. the loneliness of the apartment in aichi was a distant memory, but still lingered.

"i'm home."

rintarou drops his training bag in the genkan as he toes off his shoes, calling into the apartment to announce his return.

"welcome home!" you call back from further in the apartment, and the sound makes him smirk a little to himself.

you've been coming over to his place a lot lately, ever since he gave you his spare key. he's not upset about this in the slightest, but it doesn't mean he won't take every possible opportunity to tease you for it. he plans how he's going to make fun of you as he pads into his home towards the sound of your voice. he almost has it all planned out—his delivery on the very tip of his tongue—when he falters to a stop.

"how was your day?" you ask him without looking up from what you're doing.

and suddenly, anything rintarou may have wanted to say—joke or otherwise—is beyond him.

he watches as you set a plate of food down on the already full table just off his little kitchen. the food that covers the surface is still hot enough that steam curls up into the air above it, its preparation perfectly timed to his arrival home. his apartment is warm, and smells good, and there's music playing from your cellphone on the other side of the room that you must have been listening to while you cooked.

his chest feels tight.

you turn to look at him when he doesn't respond to your question.

"rin?" you ask again, a lilt of worry in your tone. "you okay?"

"what's all this?" he manages to ask, nodding towards the table where the meal you prepared is still waiting.

"oh, i've been craving my mom's recipe for the past few days, i just thought i'd make it for dinner," you say, tugging at your fingers nervously. your entire countenance is a bit different now, strained like you're worried you've done something wrong. "hope that's okay?" your words lift at the end like a question.

rintarou's never seen so much food on his table. can't remember the last time he even sat there to eat a meal—let alone a home cooked one. his face feels hot, and his eyes sting, and he just can't bring himself to look at you.

"yeah," he says, and if you notice how his voice is a bit croaky, you're nice enough not to tease him about it. "'course it's okay."

you smile, and you look relieved. "wash your hands then, it's getting cold."

you eat your dinner together and talk about your days. you take a shower while he cleans up the dishes. you fall asleep tangled up together on the couch with a movie playing in the background.

his home isn't quiet anymore. he isn't lonely.

and it's thanks to you.

[wososcripts]

Face to Face (Part 1)

Fridolina Rolfö x reader

Summary: After months of a toxic back and forth with Frido, things reach a breaking point.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I know it's been forever but that's what being a full time uni student will do! I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I do, its been a wip for a while now!

As usual this is all fiction and in good fun! Nothing is meant to represent reality. All italicized dialogue is in a language other than English, and I promise... things will get better in this fic eventually.

Warnings⚠️: unhealthy situationship lol, injury, light medical description

"Get out!" You screamed, repeating it over and over until you were alone in your bedroom.

You hated yelling. Absolutely hated it. You couldn't remember the last time before today that you had actually yelled in someone's face. Plenty of people in your sport lost their tempers and shouted on the pitch—whether at a ref or another player—but it wasn’t your style. You always managed to keep your cool. It was your sport, yes, but not your life.

You'd been yelled at too much as a child to think it had any productive effect on a situation, which may have been part of why you immediately felt horrible once Fridolina left the room. You pulled your comforter around your half-naked form, wishing you were less exposed.

This was the end. Whatever you and Fridolina had, it was over. Finally.

You'd been trying to build up the will to make this happen for weeks, and yet your heart felt like it was being strangled with every moment you sat here alone. The worst part was, you knew Fridolina didn't care. She was probably angry, sure, but she was not feeling the heartbreak you were.

You weren't sure how you were going to make it through the next few days. You had to fly to Germany tomorrow for national camp—and then on Friday you were playing Sweden in a friendly. It was hard to imagine that you had been excited to get the news about the friendly last month. It meant you got to be around Frido more, got to see a few of your old teammates from Chelsea like Magda and Zećira, and you genuinely enjoyed being around the German girls. It was still home to you, there, even if you hadn't played for a German league in nearly a decade.

Now you just wanted to stay in Barcelona while Frido left. You wanted to call Alexia, or Patri, and ask them to come over and comfort you. You wanted Patri’s jokes and Alexia’s solid presence, but you were afraid of the questions they might ask. Your eyes were red now, tears running down your face, and your room was a mess. Everything had a trace of Frido, and you hated it.

Ingrid and Mapí, who you would usually call if you wanted to get your mind off of things, weren’t an option either. Though you were fairly certain they wouldn’t ask any pressing questions, Ingrid was Frido’s best friend. And that made her off limits for now, for anything regarding this.

You just had to make it through the night, and the next morning. Then you could collapse into the familiar arms of your national teammates, your family, your language, and try to forget all about this.

—

Your mother knew something was off the second you appeared on her doorstep, Laura in tow.

She wrapped her arms firmly around you, holding you tight for a minute. It had been three months since you were home for Christmas, and you hadn’t seen each other since then. You melted into her, wanting nothing more than the comfort of her protective embrace after all that had been swimming around your head lately.

Your mother greeted Laura next, and you were instructed to bring your bags up to the guest room. You’d have to share, but it wasn’t all that big of an issue. You and Laura often shared rooms when you were at national camp anyway, so this wouldn’t be much different.

“Wie ist Barcelona? Gefällt es? ” Laura asked you quietly that night, rolling over in the bed to face you.

It was late, too late to still be up. Tomorrow you’d have to be at training bright and early.

“I love it there.”

Something about your voice must have been off, because Laura stayed silent. You knew she fretted over you. She was protective too, something you experienced first hand when people were rough with you on the field—Laura hated most of your exes too. You’d known each other since secondary school, when you were barely tall enough to reach the top of your lockers.

“I’ve always wondered if it’s difficult, fitting in with the Spanish girls…”

“And I’m shy, which doesn’t make it easier.”

Laura laughed lightly.

“Well I wasn’t going to say anything!”

You poked her side playfully, and smiled.

“They’re all very welcoming. It can be intimidating when you don’t speak Spanish at first, but I’m pretty good now so I don’t have many issues.”

Laura began playing with strands of your long hair, putting it in small braids.

“What is it, Lau?”

“I can tell something is bothering you. In your texts, the way you looked when I picked you up at the airport, something is off.”

You weren't sure what to say. Laura didn't know anything about you and Frido. Nobody did. You'd have to explain the whole thing, start to finish. You'd have to explain why you stayed even when she treated you like garbage. Why you made excuses for her, compromised things you told yourself you wouldn't.

"It's hard to explain…" you mumbled.

Laura continued to play with your hair, pushing a few wisps back from your forehead.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

You needed an ally in this, you realized. Desperately.

"Just be prepared, it's kind of a long story."

And so you launched into how you and Frido had been attracted to each other immediately when she was playing at Bayern and you were at Frankfurt. How you had danced around each other when you were signed in Barcelona. How she kissed you one day after a game, before she was even out of her relationship, and then ignored you for weeks—a pattern you didn't realize was going to dominate your life for the next year.

By the end you were crying. You hadn't cried in so long it felt foreign. Everything had been building up for months and nobody had been there to help you carry the weight of it until that moment.

Laura pulled you into her arms, rubbing your back in soothing circles as you sobbed into her neck.

"It's okay, you're okay," she whispered.

"I feel like a fucking idiot."

"She's the idiot for treating you like that, not you. Not you at all." Laura looked at you sternly. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that all by yourself…"

You snuggled closer to her and kept quiet.

"If you need someone to accidentally slide tackle her on Monday let me know…" Laura teased.

You giggled into her hair, and she couldn't help but smile in return.

-

You were nervous. Typically friendlies didn't worry you much, but you didn't want to see Fridolina. You had been playing well in training sessions, but your teammates could tell something was on your mind.

"Hey—" Sara's voice broke you out of your thoughts. The two of you had played together at Frankfurt for a little while, and she was like an older sister to you. She placed both her hands on your cheeks and pressed her forehead to yours. "Whatever it is, put it out of your mind. Leave it here and just play. Just for a few hours."

You closed your eyes and listened to her, letting her voice ground you. You squeezed her hands and nodded. Just a few hours. Then you could avoid Frido for an entire week before you had to fly back to Barcelona.

You assumed your position on the pitch, the roar of the German fans filling your ears. That was the benefit of playing at home. You spotted a few of the Swedish girls you knew: Magda, Zećira, Stina, and Rebecca. All of whom gave you small smiles.

In the few seconds before the match began you closed your eyes, counting down from seven as you always did before a match. Then the whistle blew and you began.

It was a tough match between the two teams. Where the Germans were weak the Swedish girls pounced, and vice versa. You were constantly fighting for the ball, the defenders packed onto you. Stina was the first to score, slipping the ball into the box amidst a chaotic mess just the way she was good at.

From there on out you were determined to score. You were playing all out, more than necessary really. It was a throwaway game, but you just had to get a point on the board.

When your quick pass to Lena had the ball soaring into the back of the net you thought you might explode from joy. You jumped into her arms, letting her twirl you around, laughing. In your head you might as well have won the Olympics.

At halftime it was still 1-1. Your heart was pounding. Laura made you drink some of your water, massaging your shoulders in an effort to get you to calm down. Popp was side eyeing you, considering pulling you out. This behavior wasn't like you.

The second half was considerably more intense than the first. Both teams wanted to score, and the more physical players on both sides were pushing hard. It was a miracle nobody had been carded.

And then suddenly you had the ball at your feet. There was a golden opportunity in front of you. Eyes facing forward, you raced down the pitch, completely blindsided to the weight that slammed into from the side. Suddenly the world went sideways and you were slamming into the ground, not enough time to even think about trying to catch yourself. Your hip and shoulder took most of the initial impact, but something about how you'd been standing, or how you'd been hit, meant your head followed, hitting the ground with a resounding thud.

You came to a few seconds later. Someone was kneeling next to your head, and their hands were on your cheeks.

Fuck. Everything hurt. You kept your eyes closed, thinking maybe that would lessen the next wave of pain you knew was coming. At first you weren't sure what had happened.

"Are you okay?" You heard Zećira's voice in your ear.

"Zećira?" You mumbled. "What happened?"

"You went down and hit your head."

You had gone down near the goal, that was right. Things were a bit blurry. You figured it was a bad idea to move your neck, what with the severe headache you could feel blossoming, and opening your eyes seemed to run the 50/50 chance of you vomiting.

"Do you remember that now? Do you feel okay?"

So you gave her a weak thumbs up, hoping it was clear you needed the medics.

After a moment in which you gathered your resolve and swallowed your nausea, you opened your eyes. There was Zećira looking worriedly down at you. She glanced upwards, probably at the medical team that was surely coming.

"Fuck, fuck…" you heard another voice, those of your German teammates beginning to filter into your awareness. And further away, the sharp sound of yelling.

The medical team finally arrived, clearing the space around you. Your hand shot out, grabbing onto Zećira's you gave her a look that said it all. Fear and panic met in equal amounts as she squeezed your hand lightly.

"You're gonna be okay, älskling, everything is gonna be alright." If anything, her tone scared you even more. You knew Zećira, and she wasn't someone you would describe as warm and cuddly. For her to be using that tone with you meant something had gone wrong.

"Okay, we're gonna sit you up now." The medic warned you, and you felt two pairs of hands rest on your body, one on the back of your neck, slowly pull you upright.

Your nausea came back in full swing, and you fought to keep your breakfast in.

"Can you hear me?" You nodded.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?" You nodded again, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Can you squeeze my hand?" You squeezed his hand tightly.

"Okay, I'm gonna shine this light in your eyes for a moment, can you try and follow it for me?" You did your best, but it wasn't easy.

"Okay," he put the light away and you thanked whatever God in the universe for that. "We think it's likely you have a pretty bad concussion. We'll have to run a few more tests to be sure, but she definitely has to come off."

He must've been talking to your coach at that point, because the next thing you knew Zećira and the medic were helping you up to your feet, the man supporting you heavily with your arms draped across his shoulders.

"I'll visit you after the match, okay?" You heard Zećira assure you, to which you gave another thumbs up.

You cringed slightly at the sound of the crowd cheering you off.

[astrologysaysno]

I think about the fact that Shen Yuan was transmigrated. Mostly because that, despite Shang Qinghua already isekai'd into the world, the pivotal changes were made by Shen Qingqiu.

It makes me wonder. Why did the system need to bring another transmigrator when there was one already? One that, in comparison to Shang Qinghua, who was born there, was brought relatively late into the full timeline.

Personally, I have the theory of the system messing up.

For all that we know of Shang Qinghua in the main series, not once does he seem to deviate in any way shape or form. Now, this could just be that Shen QingQiu wasn't paying attention as well as the fact that I haven't actually read the novel and am learning everything through osmosis, but in a lot of the scenes before they realize who they were, Shang Qinghua seems like he never deviated from the role, especially if you had only the conceptions SQQ had of pre-reveal SQH.

So my Theory is that when SQH transmigrated here, the system didn't properly ensured that there was room FOR change.

In my understanding of the story, the system seems to have the goal of changing and improving the narrative of PIDW. It seemed to prefer the ending SQQ made rather than the original narrative. So my confusion lies in that, combined with what I talked about with Shang Qinghua playing the role to a T, why did SQH never cause anything similar? He had decades on time before Shen Yuan arrived and became SQQ, and yet nothing visible seemed to have occurred. He didn't even seem to be given the option of an OOC unlock from what I could remember.

My hypothesis why is that when SQH was given the system, it was hyper strict in its requirements to ensure that he could be in a position to have any power to change the plot. Become a disciple of Cang Qiong, Become Peak Lord. All of that seemed to be necessary. But with such emphasis for this to occur, the personal decisions and feelings of SQH had to be overrided. This in turn created a problem

The system had become too strict, too exacting, no room or chance to be OOC. It would impose quests and it would be done with more or less accurate results. But in doing so, it had accidentally blocked itself of its most important goal, to change the plotline into something better.

Years of stamping out any rebellion or disobedience in SQH through punishment have molded his personality to not take chances to change anything. And when the system gave the possibility of killing Mobei-jun to SQH, it was also to see if SQH was still willing to change the plot. When SQH spared MBJ, it was the sign of the system to give up using him as an instrument for change.

The system had essentially trapped itself into a cycle that ensured the person who was supposed to make everything better as a second chance to write the story he initially wanted was stripped of every capability and desire to do so.

This was why Shen Yuan was pulled into PIDW.

To rectify for its own mistake, the system needed to pull someone who wanted to change the story of PIDW, or at least had the knowledge and passion to make things better. SQH had been that pick since he would have known so much of the stories behind each character, but they ruined that chance so they made a last ditch effort by dragging the next best person who could have a probable chance of influencing the plot.

[It's the middle of the night as I type this. Cause like all thoughts, they keep me awake at night.]

[conejitomareador]

what made you wanna write the story for bitchless?

this question is so important to me... so i'll do my best to answer in full detail okay !!

i've been on and off in the south park fandom since i was in grade school, posting art on deviantart, alright? i love south park and i consume a lot of fan content. it's the autism, definitely. i got diagnosed during my second year of art school.

but i think that if art school gives you a specific mindset it's one of questioning visual art in all its forms. so, after my last comeback to these spaces in february 2022 i came to the conclusion that i don't like a few things that i see in fanart:

(this is not me saying that you shouldn't. if you or anyone reading this like them it's totally cool!! tropes and ships are popular for a reason, you know?)

1- i don't like stan's characterization. cishet (and in denial), popular, jock stan was a very common headcanon/trope that i grew up with, especially during the last decade. it made a lot of sense when the show started, but as we watch the current seasons, we see stan evolve into this nerdy kid who is obsessed with board games, quotes anime and enjoys metal music. we see him pay little to no attention to his girlfriend and growing more and more fixated towards his male best friend, he's always been curious about gender to the point of imitating big gay al. we see him literally question his own gender in bathroom doors. we barely see him play sports at this point? i don't think that the stan we currently have is headed to the direction the fandom had pointed towards him. so i started drawing him like a nerd. moving on.

2- i don't like how weirdly protective people are about canon ships (a.k.a. if someone made me date my grade school boyfriend right now i would hate it so much). stendy, creek and tolchole (to a lesser degree) are often kind of treated like a monolith- they're unquestionable and unmovable and always there, "because it's canon". i know how important was for creek to become canon, i was there. but after watching post-covid... man. does it give me a weird aftertaste that these two ten year olds who were forced into a relationship ended up married and these other two ten year olds who have lived in the same town for decades are now in a weird situationship. they should date other people at least for a little bit, develop emotional maturity and decide if they wanna stick together at least lol. and with stendy, i'd stay first love should be a first love and that's it (i was talking with pom about that!!), making it endgame after such a long time of seeing that stan barely cares makes me feel weird. people being super weird about creek or style to the degree of calling themselves purists and DNI'ing whoever ships other things threw me off immensely as well. i'm sorry. this is just a me thing probably.

3- this is very similar, but i like to see different dynamics and how they play out!! after almost 30 years of existing, south park fan content often falls in the same common places. nothing wrong with that of course!! but i wanna see things playing out in ways i don't see often.

4- this is just a pet peeve of mine and it's not as common nowadays but why are we giving older designs of characters a big version of their childhood outfits. i don't know a single person who still wears or even keeps the winter hat they wore as a kid. the characters should be recognizable through their outfits!! there's so many possibilities, we should make it fun you know!!

edit: i believe it’s important to add that i really enjoy not only being a contrarian and venting about not liking these things, but i also wanted to make this sort of essay about loneliness experienced in different ways and how it affects your personal relationships. for stan it’s realizing when depression takes over and you’re missing out on everything your loved ones are doing— the world is moving, time is passing and you’ve been in bed the whole time. for everyone else? well, we’ll see.

i started out just drawing these guys, but i felt like making a full story would be more compelling. i love doujinshi and fancomics and i believe that we should always question the quality of the content we consume- and if we don't like it we should just make our own interpretations and stories. that's the beauty of fan content!! reflection and creation, not just mindless consumption. canon is not a guarantee that things are good!! so many things don't even make it to the final cut, the original content gets digested by networks and companies and sponsors and political interests before we even get to see it!! making a comic is rough (and i've spent three years of my life creating this material about characters i don't even own legally), but a start is a start and well. i like this, i've always liked graphic novels and i always wanted to make one. i kind of owed it to myself too.

in conclusion, i just wanted to make something that i found fun and new and i could share with my south park fandom friends after my autism diagnosis (it was rough, but i was medically cringe and thus i felt very justified to be obsessed with my childhood special interest)!! i'm very lucky to be able to complement and elaborate on some of my choices with theory about art and media analysis that i get at uni, and i'm even luckier that so many people have taken a liking to it as well!!

so thank you for enjoying my comic so far <3 and thank you for showing interest in it. thank you so much!!

[notsocooljess]

something small

Katniss and Peeta exchange surprise gifts on a cozy Christmas morning.

“Spiked eggnog?” Peeta asked.

“This early?” Katniss responded with a grimace.

“Why the face? It’s your favorite.”

“Not at nine in the morning.”

“That’s not what you said last year,” Peeta chuckled, but he put the pitcher away and set a kettle of water on the stove instead.

Christmas celebrations came about after the war, when New Panem hired historians to look up traditions from the past to help bring morale back to the nation. It took a few years to really take hold – frivolous gifts had never been big in the districts, where money had always been better spent on items needed to survive.

But, in time they learned that gifts were not the only thing people loved about the holiday. Coming together over great food, drink, and dance with neighbors had always been loved here. What harm is caused by celebrating old traditions with those you love? With well over a decade since the war ended, people were faring far better than the previous generation could have hoped for, so the cause for celebration had firmly planted its place in society once again.

So, now on the day, they bake and sing and dine and drink. The past few years, Delly, Thom, their two boys, and Haymitch have stopped by in the evening to eat a feast Peeta spent hours cooking up while Katniss pretended to help and nibbled on the scraps. The mornings, however, are reserved for the two of them. Lounging about, playing games, and reliving memories, both happy and sad.

Katniss straightened out a bow on their tree while Peeta attended to the whistling kettle. When they first set up a tree years ago, she wasn’t sure how she felt about cutting it down just for decoration. She hated damaging her woods. She remembered how Peeta had begged her to have it inside and finally convinced her by telling her they would cut the tree apart for firewood after the holiday, and she chuckled at the memory.

A hand waving in front of her face made her jump back.

“Whoa!” Peeta exclaimed, taking a step back to avoid spilling the contents of the steaming mugs in his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Did you hear me calling you?” Peeta asked, and Katniss shook her head. “Peppermint or cinnamon tea?”

She plucked the peppermint tea from his hand and went over to sit on their couch. Peeta was not far behind her with his mug in one hand and a tray of speculoos cookies they baked together in the other. He placed the tray in front of them and sat beside her, and Katniss tucked her cold feet under his warm flannel-clad thigh.

He took a sip of his tea and looked at her, his eyebrow arched as his mug made its way to and from his lips. He looked at her like he was waiting for her to confess something.

“What?” Katniss asked defensively.

“You feeling okay? I don’t think I’ve ever snuck up on you in my life.”

Katniss dipped her cookie in her tea and swirled it around. Bits of cookie broke off as it became saturated, spinning in the mini whirlpool inside her mug. This morning, her stomach didn’t seem open to much more than the tea.

She forced a smile and said, “I’m fine. Just thinking.” And she really was just thinking, but Peeta nodded in response as if he knew what she meant. Almost all the time he did, but she doubted he did right now.

They sat in the silence of thought and memory. Snow was flurrying outside, a calm before the heavy storm that was supposed to come later in the week. Katniss was thinking, yes, but she didn’t want Peeta to think it was over something sad. She wanted to make sure their day was full of joy with their found family.

She drank from her mug and gave a content sigh, catching Peeta’s attention as she laid her head against the back of the couch. He mimicked her movements, and smiled at her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said to her, and even with years and years of getting compliments like these from Peeta, Katniss still wasn’t used to how casually he was able to say it, and she felt heat rush her cheeks as she smiled back at him.

Looking at him in their home, happy and healthy and hers, she felt a sudden wave of emotion start to overtake her. Again, she didn’t want Peeta to think she was sad, quite the contrary, and she needed to change the topic before he became worried.

“So remind me of our menu tonight?”

Peeta went on to describe the feast he had planned, which Katniss was already familiar with since she had helped gather much of the items. Roasted duck, brussel sprouts, mashed potatoes. Cheese buns and spinach pastries. Too many cookies and apple pie. Normally, Katniss’s mouth would be watering just from the conversation. Currently, the only thing that sounded appetizing was the cheese buns.

“Well if we’re gonna feed the town tonight, shouldn’t we get started?” Katniss asked.

“Soon, but not yet,” Peeta responded. “First,” Peeta started, and he leaned over the side of the couch, “I want to give you this,” he finished, presenting Katniss with a small box. She looked at him with surprise.

“It’s just something small, but…” his voice trailed off as he bit his bottom lip, suppressing a smile.

They’d never been Christmas gift givers. A calm morning off from the bakery and a break from hunting were usually how they celebrated. Small gifts on the day-to-day just helped further cement their love for one another, and for Katniss and Peeta, grand gestures had always come off the most sincere when they were unexpected. Of course, since they did not typically give gifts on Christmas, Katniss supposed this would now be considered unexpected.

Peeta placed the small box in her hands, perfectly wrapped by his skilled hands. When Katniss opened the box, she found a gold ring, expertly shaped to look like a primrose flower with a small diamond in the center. She gasped, and tears brimmed her eyes almost immediately, but she couldn’t take them away from the ring.

Since she couldn’t speak, Peeta filled the silence. “It just hit fifteen years, and I thought this would be a good way to remember her. I reached out to Effie, and she got me in touch with someone Cinna and Portia used to work with. I sent her probably fifty sketches of my idea. I was so nervous she wouldn’t be able to do it how I envisioned it, but I should’ve known that if she worked with Cinna and Portia, she’d be able to do practically anything.”

So, Peeta got her a gift, and not a gift he just went and bought. He designed it. With Cinna and Portia and Prim in mind. Any words she could come up with right now would not be enough.

With Katniss choked up, Peeta’s anxious words continued like an endlessly flowing river. “And I know we toasted so long ago, but we never really did the ring thing, and I never even really asked you if that was something you wanted because it's always been such a Capitol thing, but then I thought maybe you felt like you were missing out on it. I also thought a ring might be the easiest piece of jewelry because it’s small and it won’t get caught in your hair like a necklace would, and you can still use your bow with it since I had a probably very impractical thought that a bracelet could get in the way of that and you’d get hurt somehow.”

Katniss looked up and met his blue eyes, which were wide with anxiety and observing her every move.

“Do you like it?” Peeta finally asked, eyes searching her face as if the answer would be written there.

An idea hit her before she could properly respond. “I’ll be right back,” Katniss blurted out suddenly, and jumped from the couch, darting up the stairs.

If her brain hadn’t been in such a fog these past few days, she would have made sure to stay behind briefly to tell Peeta how much she loved it. She would’ve told him how wonderful and thoughtful this gift was, how hopeful this gift made her feel. At the very least, she would’ve warned him that she wasn’t running away because she was sad, thinking of hurtful memories from their past. But in her current state, once she remembered something, she needed to act on it before she lost the idea entirely.

Not that her gift to him was ever something she could forget. She was just going to wait to tell him. She wanted to make a special moment for it so it could be perfect, at a time when she felt more ready for it. But, she knew if it was her and Peeta, it would be perfect either way.

When she bolted back down the stairs, winded and smiling with her hands behind her back, Peeta presented her with a smile of his own, eyes still wide with confusion and shock and now joy to match her own.

“I have something small for you, too,” Katniss said. She stood in front of him on the couch and placed her gift to him, clumsily wrapped in only tissue paper, in his hands.

Peeta shot her another curious look before tearing the paper away. His eyes went wide when he saw what was in his hands.

“Katniss?” Peeta breathed, her name bearing a question, an answer, a lifeline. “Is this real?”

She barely gave him a nod before he jumped off the couch, laughing and sweeping her into his arms, kissing her face anywhere he could, tears now brimming both of their eyes. Because in his hand he clutched the greatest gift of all: a small plastic test clearly adorned with a dark blue plus sign.

[invis-o-william]

Day 6: Immortal AU

Danny leaned back in the grass, the wind brushing his white gravity defying hair back away from his forehead, and sighed. Amity Park had changed a lot over the years. What had once been a fair sized growing metropolis was now a sprawling city blending urban technological feats of science with older infrastructure that had been in place for over a hundred years.

One thing that hadn’t changed too much though, was its main cemetery. Others had cropped up on the outskirts of the booming city, but this one, the original burial ground, stayed intact even though no new burials had occurred there in decades.

“Sorry for not visiting sooner,” Danny said, “the Realms have kept me on my toes lately. Clocky has had it with the Observants and is trying to get rid of them as a whole. Good riddance I say.”

He chuckled at the last sentence. “I know you were never a fan of how much they interfered when I first took the throne, so I figured you’d be happy to hear that at least.”

Danny’s eyes followed a pair of children nearby happily playing on the sidewalk with gliders that seemed so similar to the Red Huntress’. Danny frowned. So much had changed over the years, and he was starting to feel like he couldn’t keep up anymore.

“I had something I wanted to tell you about too..” He trailed off and turned to look at the headstone next to him. While it was old, as was every grave in this section, this one had been well cared for. Cleared of creeping plant life and with any and all dirt meticulously brushed off. The inscription read:

Dr. Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton

B. March 31, 1988 D. May 6, 2070

Beloved Mother, Sister, and Professor

“I decided to stay in the Infinite Realms full time now. With my duties as King, and the whole new zone developing there I just don’t have the time to patrol Amity Park anymore. Not that there’s a need to anymore.” He sighed the last words. It was true, after a few decades of kingship, Danny had figured out how to balance the limits that ghosts could venture to the mortal plane and the damage they could cause there.

His role on Earth as Phantom had long been redundant now, and there was no one here for him anymore. All his friends had long since died, as were even Jazz’s grandchildren. On Earth, Danny felt truly and utterly alone.

“Of course I’m going to still come and visit you guys,” Danny said, “other than that though, I think that’s it. People around here are starting to think I’m a fairy tale anyway.” He didn’t think he would ever stop visiting the resting places of his family, his friends. They had meant too much to him not to, and he never wanted to forget them, never wanted to forget who he was.

Danny stood from the grave he had been sitting in front of, glancing at its inscription. It was worn and harder to make out than Jazz’s, but it still clearly read;

Daniel “Danny” Fenton

B. February 12, 1989 D. July 17, 2031

Gone too Soon

Danny still smirked at the irony of it. A grave for a halfa that would never truly die. He had stayed physically stuck in his thirties for centuries now, and wasn’t sure that would ever change. Looking back to his sister’s headstone, he knelt down and placed a rose encapsulated in ghostly blue ice at its base.

“Happy death-day Jazz.” he said with a smile, “I’ll come visit you soon.” With that he turned and with a wave of his hand opened a portal to the Infinite Realms. A familiar woman with a mop of long white hair peeked out of it.

“Thanks for the privacy Dani. Do you want to go see Sam and Tucker now?” he asked his clone. She grinned with enthusiasm before jumping out of the portal to join her “older brother”. Once the portal was closed, they both changed from ghost to human and set off down the rows of graves to visit their departed friends.

[kittttycakes]

I'll take Dreamling with #8 in secrecy because i'm curious of where that could go 👀

Please enjoy this vaguely heist-y AU!

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Hob said with a smile, aiming for charming and casual and only succeeding on one count. He leaned against the bar next to Dream, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, if only for something to do with his hands. Something about the other man made him nervous, threw his decades of professional experience out the nearest window so that it lay, writhing, on the sidewalk, far from him.

Dream, as stunning as ever in a sleek black-on-black suit, took a drink of his wine before setting the near full glass down. He thought he saw the hint of a smile, hiding at the edges of his lips. “Have we met before?” he asked instead, that all too familiar, somnolent voice too close to Hob’s ear to be strictly polite.

If that was the game he wanted to play, Hob could go along with him. “Only in my dreams,” he replied with a wink. That earned him something that might have been a laugh, if Dream had let it develop. As it was, Hob recognized an amused huff of air when he heard one, especially when it came from Dream.

He startled slightly when Dream took his elbow, steering him away from the open bar and back towards the floor of the exhibit hall. It had taken more than a few strings pulled for Hob’s name to be added to the guest list; the museum had increased security since the last time he had set foot in it, and it had taken rather more of Johanna’s skills than it had before, but she had pulled it off: Hob’s name appeared on the guest list as one of the highest tier donors of the year. It was only natural that he should be invited. In three hours, all records of his chosen pseudonym for the evening would disappear. He would never have existed. For the moment, however—

Dream was pulling him through the hall, walking at a pace that would not arouse any kind of suspicion: two men, having a friendly walk through the exhibit, the light refracting through an inconceivable amount of gemstones and gold, platinum, and silver. He took a sharp turn, taking Hob with him, disappearing behind a column and then down a corridor that Hob had mentally designated as a possible exit route if his first four choices failed.

It was only when they were out of earshot of anyone else, and decidedly out of range of any cameras, firmly hidden in a dead spot that Johanna had specifically noted for him, that Dream spoke to him again.

“I’m afraid you and I are after the same target,” he said in that same steady, even tone. “I would advise you to pick a new one.”

Hob nearly laughed. As if it were that simple. He had a buyer lined up for specific pieces, which Dream undoubtedly knew. He was in the same position, although Hob could never be sure of just how much their particular circumstances overlapped.

“And what target would that be?” he asked lightly, watching Dream’s face in the dim light of the service hallway.

“I do not care what else you spirit away, but that ruby is mine.”

He hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious, and he nearly said as much before thinking better of it.

“Ask me for anything else and it’s yours, love, but that’s the one thing I cannot do,” Hob replied, not without genuine regret. His job was regrettably lonely, his only real point of contact Johanna, and whoever pulled her strings was a complete mystery to him. Being a contract for hire specialist had its advantages and disadvantages, and the solitary nature of the work was both at once. It was a miracle that he had ever even met Dream, let alone run into him on more than one occasion. It should not have happened at all, and yet they kept colliding, showing up where the other least expected it. He didn’t even know if Dream was, like himself, working for someone else, or if this was all for his own gain. He could picture him, surrounded by beautiful things like a dragon in its hoard.

When Dream did not respond, Hob continued, recklessly, “This is it for me. I’m out of the game after this, getting too old for it. Can’t botch the last run, can I?”

“You’re retiring?” Dream asked, amusement coloring his voice.

“Something like that. Need to lay low for awhile, might go on holiday. I’d invite you to join me, but—”

“Men like you do not simply give up, Hob Gadling,” Dream said, and Hob froze. He had never, not once, told the other man his actual name, not even during the very memorable weekend they had spent in a penthouse suite in Paris after having independently taken more than €1 million worth of art from a well established and taste making gallery. A relatively low take for both of them, but it had been rather fun. Johanna didn’t even know his name, and certainly not his nickname.

“Seems a little unfair that you have my name and I don’t have yours.” He had little doubt that Dream was an alias, and had never minded that he didn’t know what he might be called otherwise, until that very moment.

Dream smiled slightly. “Perhaps I might give it to you in exchange for your assurance that you will not attempt to take what is mine.”

“It isn’t quite yours yet, though, is it? Really, Dream, I would love to, but the buyer that’s lined up for it is rather keen on it and nothing else, if you take my meaning.”

“I am afraid your buyer must prepare to be disappointed.”

“We’ll see,” Hob said lightly, smoothing one hand down the front of Dream’s lapel. “Lovely seeing you again. I’m sure we’ll do this again soon?”

“Sooner than you might imagine.” As quickly as he had led Hob away, Dream disappeared, slipping further down the hall into the less lit shadows. He thought briefly of going after him before dismissing it; he had his own concerns, and the clock was starting very soon.

-

Hob did not see Dream when he stepped quietly out into the now empty exhibit hall. He had a finite window in which the entire camera system would be run on a loop: Johanna had promised him three minutes, and he was confident he could manage it in two and a half. She had assured him that the alarm system would be temporarily disabled during this window, but Hob never took such things for granted. He had mapped out no less than seven potential exit routes, should he be interrupted, and had timed each to ensure he knew which would be fastest.

His secondary targets could wait. Best to start with the biggest and work his way down. The ruby sat in its own case, nestled in a bed of black velvet. It was uncut, the dull color of dried blood, and as large as his fist. When he carefully picked it up, it flashed with a hidden fire: it could be stunning, in the hands of the right jeweler, crafted to exquisite perfection. Hob dropped it in one of many silk lined pockets, and moved on.

He had added two paired sapphires and a pigeon egg sized opal to his take when he saw the first hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. Hob turned, alert, only to see Dream, still dressed in his suit from the gala, leaning against the empty display case and watching him intently.

His voice echoed in the empty hall. “You’re certain I cannot convince you to part with that ruby?”

Hob had one minute and forty-five seconds left. “I’m sure you’re very convincing, love. But I’m afraid not.”

“A pity,” Dream said, standing up. “I would very much have liked to try. And I don’t imagine I’ll see you again?”

One minute and thirty-two seconds. Hob smiled, a little sadly. He would have rather liked to see him again. “I don’t imagine you will.”

“In that case,” Dream began, crossing the little space between them with a speed and grace that Hob should have expected, but somehow never did.

One minute and twenty-seven seconds. This was somehow both the most exposed and the most private place that they had ever kissed. Hob could mentally catalogue them all: pressed against the wall on a darkened side street in Madrid, laying back against the ridiculous sheets of the king size bed in the Paris penthouse, in the back room of a club in Monte Carlo—this was different. It felt different; it felt like the most important thing in the world, a moment just for the two of them, in secret, in the middle of the museum floor.

Hob had lost count of the time by the time Dream’s mouth left his. For a moment, that had been all that mattered. He would be sad to see him go.

Abruptly, three very important things happened in quick succession: there was a faint shuffling, the sound of feet in non-slip shoes walking down a tiled hallway and the distant thud of a door swinging closed on its own; Dream nearly disappeared, passing through the room like a shadow in a direction that Hob had never considered and idly wondered how exactly he planned to leave by it; and a soft red light began flashing in the case nearest to him as the system armed itself once again. It was past time to go.

Hob was, he could admit, very, very good at his job. He exited the museum entirely without incident, making it back to the flat he was currently using as his home base without being seen or followed. After ensuring that the rooms were still secure, he at last allowed himself to relax, only slightly. He sat at the table, and began to empty his pockets. The opal had survived in perfect condition; he had been concerned that it could be damaged, as relatively soft as it was, but it caught the low light of the flat in its smooth surface, perfectly whole. The sapphires, unsurprisingly, were also intact; he knew he would see them dangling from the earlobes of some minor princess or billionaire’s wife within a month, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

He had deliberately left the ruby for last; everything else, even missing the yellow diamond he was meant to have taken, was infinitesimally small compared to it. He withdrew it, and nearly laughed.

In his palm sat a paperweight of the approximate size and shape of the ruby, along with a small, folded piece of paper. He hadn’t even noticed Dream’s hand move, hadn’t felt a thing as he had, clearly, made the exchange. He set the paperweight down, and unfolded the note.

Hob had not been expecting an apology. What he received was a command: Burn after reading. What followed, in sharp, spidery handwriting, was an address in, of all places, Wales. The note was signed with a capital M. It wasn’t quite a name, but it would do.

He stood, leaving the gemstones on the table. He had so much to do: a bag to pack, travel plans to make, a note to burn. Hob had wanted to go on holiday. He was certain Wales would be lovely.

Send me a kiss prompt!

[heartsmadeofbooks]

[New Story]: Through Crooked Aim.

Hi everyone! Hope you're all doing great.

I wanted to share with you the preview of my upcoming Klaine fic, Through Crooked Aim, which will start next week, Thursday December 12th.

This is a story that I've wanted to write for a while now, and I'm excited to finally get to share it with you all. I hope to see you next week for the first chapter.

Hope you like this little snippet. Story is beta'd by @christinejaneanderson and the picture for the preview was made by @nerdishedits.

See you on the 12th for a new adventure!

The sun was hinting its presence in the horizon as the car took the last turn. The radio was playing softly in the background, the weather man of the usual show he listened to as he got his day started predicting a lovely April day, Spring in full swing, perhaps a bit chillier as the night returned to cover Lima, Ohio. But until then, it would be a warm, beautiful day – it made Kurt smile as he parked the car in his usual spot.

The diner looked good. They had given the exterior a new coat of paint just last month. The only thing that showed just how long it had been there was the sign on the roof, the one Kurt refused to change because it had been picked by his father, many, many years ago: the second m on Hummel’s was dimmer than the other letters. Kurt knew it could be easily fixed or replaced, but he refused to. Sometimes it was okay to choose history over esthetics.

And there was so, so much history here.

Hummel’s had been around for decades. It was the go-to diner for most of the residents of Lima, founded by his own father when he was barely out of high school. It had had a bumpy start – Kurt had heard the story ever since he could remember, how his father had turned years of savings and some money he’d gotten from his family after graduation, into his livelihood. It had been hard at first, doing everything himself because he couldn’t afford to hire any help, a few friends popping over here and there to help flip pancakes or make small repairs as Burt did everything else. Eventually, though, it began to grow, and Burt had enough money for new furniture, for a better grill, for a couple of waitresses. The business grew, and there had been plenty of sweat, tears and sleepless nights invested in it until it did. But Burt Hummel had been a proud man, and when things got hard, he worked harder, until he beat all the odds that had been against him.

“I didn’t have many choices after high school,” Burt had told his son on more than one occasion. “I knew I had to start my own business – I wasn’t exactly book smart, I’ve never been. For a while I entertained playing football in college, but then I got hurt during my senior year in high school so that was out. My dad owned a garage back then, and I thought about following in his footsteps, but there was enough competition in town that my dad was already struggling and going to work with him would have been a terrible idea. It was also probably a terrible idea to open my own diner – I didn’t even know how to cook, for god’s sake. I don’t even know where I got the idea to begin with. But I just knew I wanted my own business. And we all used to drive all the way to Kenton or even Dayton on the weekends for a good dating spot. There was nowhere decent to have a meal with your friends or your girlfriend here. I know you still call Lima a small town, but it certainly was small back then…”

For a younger Kurt, who dreamed of big cities filled with skyscrapers, Lima was certainly small – small-minded, too. He couldn’t imagine anything smaller than that.

Nowadays, Kurt wouldn’t think of Hummel’s as a dating spot, but he guessed back then it had been a pretty decent option, before places like Breadstix opened when he was a teenager, or even the Lima Bean, the local coffee shop that Kurt had loved when he was still in high school. Slowly, Hummel’s had become everyone’s go-to choice for a quick breakfast before school or work, or even a dinner stop at the end of a long day. Everyone had loved Burt Hummel – he had been a bit gruff, but always decent and kind and he would always sneak an extra scoop of ice-cream on every kid’s order of waffles.

A couple of years ago, that thought had sent a pang through Kurt, ache and grief mixing to make everything in him feel tight, tight, tight. Now, it had dulled into a manageable ache, and he was able to smile whenever one of the patrons shared a memory of his father with him. He still missed him – what he wouldn’t give to get one more hug, one more piece of advice, to hear his laughter once again – but it didn’t take his breath away, as it used to.

Kurt unlocked the door and went into the diner, turning every light on as he went. First order of business, every morning, was to turn the coffee machine on, so he went straight to it on the counter and got it started before he went into the office to leave his bag. As the scent of freshly brewed coffee began to fill the empty diner, he started to take the chairs down from the tables, getting everything ready for the first few customers, who would surely be here soon.

The inside of Hummel’s had a classic American diner vibe. In recent years, Kurt had only allowed himself to change a few things in the décor, mostly those that were too worn with age. He kept all the framed photographs that filled one of the walls, though, the ones that showed the history of his family with this place. He had only added a few, marking the moment he had taken over the diner after his father got sick and eventually passed away. Now, alongside pictures of his parents in their 20s, you could find pictures of Kurt’s twin daughters sitting side by side on the counter, or of his husband, Ryan, helping to fix a leak in the kitchen sink. His chest filled with pride as he stared at them, as he did each morning – he had never imagined they would end up here, and yet now… well, he couldn’t picture himself elsewhere.

The little bell above the door twinkled as it opened. Kurt turned and smiled at Marley, the morning shift waitress, as she came in. She was already wearing the dark blue uniform, her hair pulled up in a pony tail. She was also a recent addition to Hummel’s. Kurt liked her – she was kind and quick and responsible, and she was never late. Whenever he had to hire someone new, he wondered whether his father would approve. He thought he had nailed it with Marley.

About a minute after she had arrived, the door opened again and Blaine Anderson walked in.

[halfhoursonearth-writes]

Hiiiii I love your writing so much. I thought I'd let you know. I was so excited when I saw that you had started a new fic but I hope you don't mind me asking if you have any plans for "I Asked You First"?

Thank you so so much for your kind words and for taking the time to reach out and ask. I'm also especially glad to be asked about I Asked You First. 

I can't believe it's been nearly two years since I last wrote a chapter on that story. I’m sorry about the long pause, and I'm honored that it matters to readers still; that story is pretty important to me. And the short answer to your question is, yes, I do have plans for it. 

The longer answer ended up meandering a bit, but if you're interested in some self-reflection on writing process, the nature of fanfiction and goals, then please read on.

Some thoughts on fanfiction and IAYF in particular

When I started writing I Asked You First in 2020, that story, and the practice of creating fanfic in general, helped heal my relationship with writing. 

I believe that every author (or artist of any kind, really) needs to create from where they find energy. I guess that sounds kind of floaty. What I mean is that to write something captivating, you need to be captivated yourself—you must find what animates, agitates or obsesses you. And that’s where you must start. 

I think this is part of what makes fanfiction special and communal. How wonderful is it that in a story like ATLA, there remain places with such potent concentrations of unrealized potential that a community can feast in art and  writing and animations and edits for decades? 

When I inhaled the series in 2020, I found it so good, immersive and powerful in so many ways, with such strong characters with amazing arcs. And yet, leaving Zutara unexplored — after all of the narrative groundwork the story laid — left behind such a shining pool of untapped narrative power that I just…couldn’t let it go. So I didn’t. I found this community. I read fanfic voraciously. There were so many wonderful stories. 

And yet my imagination wouldn’t quiet. There was a very particular way I wanted their story to go, so I started playing it out in my mind. Then I did that so many times that I began to feel I must write it down in order to keep laying its path. And once I started writing, it grew into something more. That was how I Asked You First started. And I was able to come back to it even after hiatuses for health and family.  After all, there was still energy there.

I Asked You First absolutely thrived on Ember Island, rewiring small elements alongside the existing narrative. It strove to find a way to make ZK resonant while maintaining the beauty of the canon finale… It wanted to find a happy place to settle the characters I loved. And then it wanted to end. And yet, as I kept writing, I discovered that the story on the page…well, it wasn’t quite wrapped up when I reached the end of what initially obsessed me. There were new challenges and ideas at play—that needed resolution before I could let it close. But I also needed a break for IRL reasons. I absolutely could not write fanfiction and plan a wedding while working full time. Kudos if you can. Not me. And by the time I came back to it, I’d lost track of some of the threads I was weaving, and I’d lost some of the animating why. So I needed to find a way back in. 

Some ZK authors find inspiration in the immense potential of palace intrigue, in writing through the herculean challenges Zuko faces in his early years as Fire Lord, and in exploring what it looks like for Katara to come into her own against the grain of a canon that left her potential behind. I love reading these kinds of stories. But…none of these places are where my particular inspiration/energy for this comes from. Or at least, that was true when I was working actively on IAYF. I came back to it with ideas, but my drafts for the next chapter felt flat. I found myself writing scenes that I wasn’t interested in. And so how could I expect readers to be?

And when I first started writing But Who’s Counting?, the idea was actually to write something short (lol @ me) to help me find a way back into I Asked You First. The untapped potential of these two characters alone in Fire Nation in the time immediately after the Agni Kai felt so so rich to me. And so I thought: could I fall in love with the Fire Nation Palace/coronation/immediate post-war setting if I got to write their love story again? 

The answer was absolutely yes, and now 75,000 words later, I think I have found enough to excite me about that setting that I could bring some new energy to I Asked You First. I know what happens in the next chapter—I know where the story ends—and now I think I can probably do it justice, give it life.

I do want to finish But Who’s Counting first. I think I need to show myself I can, and there, I have the homeward wind in my sails. But I do plan to give the same love to I Asked You First. I’d like to do that sooner than later. When I have concrete updates, I’ll offer them here.

One more bittersweet musing….

I have absolutely loved writing Zutara stories. And as I mentioned earlier, I really love fanfic in general. I’ve read it since I first dialed up on AOL in the 2000s. I admire fandom community and supportiveness it can build—I really appreciate the people I’ve met virtually through this. And I truly love the way the practice of writing this way grows from a kind of pure love of storytelling and characters and setting. We’re not making money here, and we’re not elbowing for prestige. I’m not saying fanfiction writers don’t deserve those things, just that for me, it meant a lot to be able to step away from that mindset. After a writing block that lasted years, and some disillusionment about what the “literary world” (ugh @ me) has to offer, finding this outlet gave me more than I can possibly give back. 

But I also have been feeling very called to turn my attention to original projects. I still have aspirations in that direction, and I think writing fanfiction has really helped me understand what I could do on my own. 

I’m not saying that I’m done writing Zutara once these stories are done. How could one ever be done with these two? But as I’ve watched IRL friends publish novels and such in the past few years, I also have some wistfulness about the hidden life of it all. 

And yet I must say, I’ve found myself in many different types of creative community in my life, and this one is so special. I’m not even as actively engaged as I’d liked to me and I’ve found so much encouragement. Encouragement like this!

Apologies, @selfawaremaniac — you asked a straightforward question and I gave you several only semi-related paragraphs. But I thought I might appreciate this kind of transparency from a writer whose work I like, and it was helpful to put it into words, and so I offer it here to you.

I always welcome asks. Thank you again for this one.

Until the next chapter—

<3

[delirium1217]

There's no need to hide

Word count: 1009 words James/Regulus. First wizarding war AU (they're both stuck together in the same safe house)

⋆｡°✩˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⋆｡°✩

“No, this won’t do.” James stands up, “We are not spending today of all days moping.”

“We’re not moping, we’re just talking.” Regulus replies, slightly indignant.

“All we ever talk about are big, sad, mushy feelings.” James dramatically flails his hands around, almost as if shooing the sentiment away.

“Big, mushy, feelings.” Regulus repeats, he tries to sound offended but the tug on his lips says otherwise.

“Well yeah, everyone you know thinks you’re dead, terribly sorry we can’t do anything about that by the way. And me, well, where the fuck do we start, you know?”

Regulus looks back at him, slowly blinking. the sickly yellow lightbulb casting down its shadows.

He doesn’t need to think about that right now.

He just needs something to fill the noise.

The air was filled with the sense of slight delirium. Nothing felt real. Nothing had consequence. James felt like he could run away, sprint off into the fields and pretend the last twenty two years of his life were a lapse of chemicals his mind made up in a haze.

The depression that hung over him all week threatened to spill into hysterical exuberance. But James didn’t care, it’s been so long since he had someone near him, someone that wasn’t decades older than him. Someone that talked to him, not just through him. Someone that didn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t.

He’ll let himself get drunk on whatever endorphins his body, for whatever reason, was dishing out.

He just needs something to fill the noise.

“Look James, maybe we should call it a night-“

“Nonsense! It’s your birthday, we’re staying up. We’re transforming some stale bread into equally stale cake. We’re playing music your obnoxious little self wouldn’t be caught dead listening to, and we’re dancing.”

He taps his wand. The tinny radio spluttered to life. The glittery synths were scratchy and soft. It filled the room instantly.

Regulus looks back horrified, his eyes widened.

He stretches his hand out for Regulus to take.

Regulus stares down at it, then back at James’ face “Oh no, absolutely not.”

“Oh c’mon, I used to do this all the time with Peter.”

“Is that all what you four did all day? dance around with each other?”

“Mostly, amongst other things. The worst of us was Remus, man had two left feet and fingernails like talons.” he fondly remembers the way Remus’ grip dug into his shoulders and ‘Moony, can you for the love of everything try and be less rigid’ while everyone else in the common room cheered them on, well, mostly Sirius.

Regulus snorts, “I should’ve known. And to think of all the time I wondered what on earth you people did.”

“Well, we had to, the marauders couldn’t embarrass themselves in front of the ladies.”

James’ hand was still outstretched. He wiggled his fingers again, “Come on. Can’t you just humor me?”

“You know it’s my birthday, you should be humoring me.” Still, something in his expression softens - he sighs, unfolds his arms, and carefully places his hand into James’ own.

The soft music and layered vocals had filtered throughout the room. The noise of it seemingly amplified in the tiny living room.

James slowly put his hand on Regulus’ shoulder - the unexpected warmth that rushed through him made him pause. He realizes, this was the first time he’s touched another person in months.

(Eight months to be exact, the last time he saw Marlene, drenched in black hoods at an Order meeting. She gave him a full body hug and squeezed all the oxygen out of him.)

Still, he slides his other hand across Regulus’ palm. The song playing was by a muggle band he didn’t recognize - a ditzy little number, all dreamy sounds and far away vocals. The shimmering effect the night held seemed to surge as they swayed.

It was awkward at first, as it always is. Clutching to each other’s shoulders in a frigid way that even Remus would realize was painful. That was until James, in his delirious state of glee started adding twists and turns left and right, loosening both of them up.

Regulus followed his every move, surprisingly fluid and confident in a way his posture never was. They both slowly started to laugh with every unnecessary kick or turn they flourished as they moved across the kitchen floor. This wasn’t a formal dance in any sense of the word, bouncing around like fools across the linoleum tiles.

It’s been a long time since he felt like this. Young, stupid, and full of bravado. Of course, now it was tinged with the haziness of all what’s broken his heart over and over, night after night. But it was still there, a flickering light in the dark. On and off. He silently pleaded with whoever was handling it to not click it off just yet.

“Okay, you have to stop before I start to vomit,” Regulus raises his voice over the bellowing music, a woman singing about hot stuff.

“We’ve both had nothing all day, nice try though!”

“Have you ever seen a cat dry heave?”

James laughs. He slows his tempo down back to a sway.

“Alright, we’re slowing down, only because it’s your birthday. Otherwise we would’ve been spinning off the patio,”

Regulus promptly ignores him. “Wasn’t there a promise of cake during your little speech?”

“Stale cake.” James corrects. “and i can only manage sweetened white bread, with bits of frosting.”

“I’ve had worse meals,” Regulus replies

“I bet you did,” James smiles back.

They come to a stop as the last seconds of the song play, another already fading in.

They both found themselves a few moments later hunched over a piece of incredibly stale, possibly moldy bread. Both throwing every bit of transfiguration spell they had in their arsenal. The result was a dried-out, but surprisingly pretty piece of yellow sponge cake. James had taken bits of milk and transfigured it into real looking icing, which coated the sides in swirls and peaks.

[satoshi-mochida]

Xenosaga: Pied Piper Preserved By Fans, Full Translation Patch In The Works-Noisy Pixel

Xeno franchise fans can now rejoice as the canonical Xenosaga phone game, Xenosaga: Pied Piper, has been preserved. This news is quite momentous because not only was the title trapped on mobile devices in Japanese, but it was also the series’ last missing game.

YouTuber ValakTurtle announced this major news on their YouTube channel and credited the following key contributors for this monumental collective effort via video description.

Firstly, I cannot express enough gratitude to the Keitai Wiki Discord (https://discord.gg/tWUYbF3N9F) enough for the many months of hard work and dedication they’ve put towards preserving this game. I’d especially like to thank MemoryHunter for starting the whole Keitai preservation movement, xyz for being the lead reverse engineer for the phone that had the game (he seriously did some wizardry to dump it), LNRC for keeping us constantly informed about the status of the project and chip dumping several phones to help us better understand the phone’s hardware, cuebus for also assisting in the chip dumping of phones, RockmanCosmo for being a pillar of the Keitai community, and everyone else who contributed to our cause. I’m also eternally grateful for the anonymous donor who was willing to dump the game for us.

Now, a full translation patch for the game is in the works, using ValakTurtle’s fully English-captioned playthrough as the basis. This process is expected to take “at least a few months.”

UPDATE: Links updated:

You can download Xenosaga: Pied Piper via the team’s MEGA link. Emulation instructions can be viewed here.

About Xenosaga: Pied Piper

For those unaware, Xenosaga: Pied Piper is a canonical entry in the series that is essentially required reading to fully understand and appreciate the events of Xenosaga Episode III. Given the title’s exclusive presence on mobile phones plus its lack of official localization, it’s not really known by those who haven’t played the Xenosaga games. In fact, while it has been over a decade since I last played Xenosaga, I (think?) I remember Episode III trying to recap the events of Piped Piper because they are actually significant. As a result, it’s recommended to check out Pied Piper after playing Xenosaga Episode II, despite it taking place roughly a century before the events of the first game.

[leahsgf]

omg could u write adult lottie x reader?? maybe w lottie js comforting reader or something? theres such a lack in lottie fics its heartbreaking :((

an instant cure

pairings. adult!lottie x reader

i actually wrote two different versions of this! the other is a little more heavy so i’ll post this one first, thank you so much for the req! and i agree i wish there was more fics out there for lottie :(

-

“honey are you coming?” lottie’s voice sounded from the other side of the bathroom door, so soft and full of love that you could almost melt.

“yeah, yeah. just a second!” you shook off the threatening tears as you glanced over your appearance in the mirror. it’d been one of those days that had just been off. nothing particularly out of the ordinary had happened, just the usual jobs and classes around the compound, but since you had woken up you had felt like you had a brick sat on your chest, refusing to shift.

you were desperately clinging to the logical side of your brain, trying to convince yourself that it was all in your head and to not let your thoughts completely overwhelm you. however nothing could quite quell the crummy feeling lingering in your gut.

you’d been delaying leaving the bathroom and joining your wife in bed because you didn’t want to dampen her mood. she was a constant beam of light, and spent her days helping people navigate their feelings purely out of the goodness of her own heart, and the last thing you wanted to do was to taint her high spirit and put her back into work mode when she should be relaxing. maybe, you thought, spending a second longer getting ready would be able to shake that off you - but, you were mistaken. so with a deep breath you opened the door, heading towards your shared bedroom.

your entrance instantly caught lottie’s attention, her eyes softening as she saw you, instantly plastering a smile across your features. “come on.” she demaned lightheartedly, holding up the sheets. “get over here.” you laughed and waltzed over, snuggling down next to her, inhaling her scent and instantly feeling comforted, and lighter.

the fuzzy feeling surrounding you reminded you of the first time you’d had the pleasure of being taken out on a date by her, decades ago, before the thought of nationals, before the crash, before switzerland, before everything. the pair of you had genuinely been through it all, and had always had each-other.

you’d met lottie when you were six. you were the terrified, shy new kid, and had refused to speak to anybody for the entirety of your first day. until she had toddled over, plonking herself down next to you and wordlessly started braiding your hair, beaming at you with her gappy smile.

her playing with your hair had always been a huge comfort to you - from the playground decades ago, to now, wrapped in her embrace from as she pressed kisses to the crook of your neck every now and again.

alongside her ability to love beyond belief, one of the things you loved the most about lottie was how observant she was, the little things that would fall unnoticed to most being the things that she would notice the most. she quite literally knew you inside and out, and was in touch with your emotions just as much, if not more than her own.

her fingers branched out from your hair, feathering over your cheeks ever so slightly, pulling you back into reality.

“what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?” she quizzed, her eyes studying your expression.

“just thinking about you.” you replied, so softly it was barely audible. “about the first day we met.”

“oh yeah?” she raised an eyebrow, the very same smile from that day spread across her cheeks. “you were so cute. i think i knew i loved you from the second my eyes set on you that day.” your eyes glazed over once more as your cheeks heated in response to her words.

after a moment of silence that fell between you, she nudged you slightly, an expectant look across her features, sighing softly as you met it with confusion.

“i don’t help people navigate their feelings everyday for nothing you know. what’s actually going on?”

“nothing,” you mumbled, “honestly, it was just a weird day.”

“weird?” her eyebrows furrowed as she scolded herself internally for busying herself today to the point of missing that you weren’t a hundred percent.

“yeah. just off. you know those days that just feel wrong, even though you don’t really know why?”

“absolutely baby.” she assured. “please always tell me or just give me a signal when you’re feeling like this. you are my top priority, always.” she pulled you into her arms further, caressing your back as she pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“thank you lot. i’m honestly feeling much better now. it’s quietened down a lot.”

“you sure? i don’t want you feeling icky before bed. i know it can take a while for it to let you relax sometimes. i could make you a smoothie? one of the ones you really like? o-or i could run us a bubble bath? or give you-“ she rambled, her brain scrambling for every possible way to comfort you, not realising that she is comfort enough.

“hey, hey.” you stopped her, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. “all i need is you, right here with me. i promise.”

lottie grinned over at you, pausing her train of very enticing ideas. “as long as you’re sure. i can very much do that. i’m not going anywhere.” she shifted your position so your head lay on her chest, her arms securely around your frame, almost cradling you. butterflies erupted within you, like they always had done at the slightest touch from her. she had had this effect on you for as long as you had known her.

“i love you so much.” you whispered, sleep now fully prepared to overcome you.

“i love you more sweetheart. don’t hesitate to wake me if you need me.” she soothed, gently squeezing you as your lips met hers to say goodnight.

lottie had always been like an instant cure to every negative emotion you had ever experienced. it seemed to again of worked effectively, as you drifted off to sleep happier than you’d been all day, knowing that you could get through anything as long as you had your love.

[pixel7777]

The First Worshipper: Ch. 5

The naughty version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

If you want to read from the beginning, searching my blog for #myfic will bring up all my fanfic posts. Link for Chapter 1. Link for art discussion post.

Read this chapter below the break here or on AO3!

77 years AB

My darling, too-distant Tav,

Seventy-seven years. Has it really been that long since we saved the world? The numbers mock me—seven decades without you, ten times longer than we had together. And yet I remember that night in the parlor as clearly as if it were yesterday...

You'd dragged me home from that dreadful party at the Silvershield estate, practically bouncing with unspent energy. Before I could even remove my coat, you grabbed my hands and pulled me into a dance. No music, just you humming that ridiculous tavern song about the polymorphed prince. I protested, of course—someone had to maintain standards—but you just laughed and spun faster until I gave in.

We waltzed between the furniture, knocking over that hideous vase your Harper friends gave us. (I never told you I broke it on purpose.) You stepped on my toes at least twice, and I pretended to be more annoyed than I was. The candlelight caught in your hair, and for a moment, I forgot about everything else—Cazador, the tadpole, all of it. Just us, dancing like fools in our own home.

Karlach's gone now. Last week. She lived exactly as she wanted—loud, bright, burning hot right until the end. Dammon is... well. He has the children and grandchildren to distract him. The great-grandchildren too, though keeping track of all their names is becoming quite the task.

I'm trying very hard not to be bitter that she got so many more more years than you did, that she got to see her children grow up and grow old themselves. She filled every moment with that insufferable joy of hers, just like you always did. I assume you're not in the same place—your souls were rather differently aligned—but I'd like to think you'd both approve of how I've looked after her family.

Even Gale is slipping away now. The gods are taking him, bit by bit. Our little chats grow shorter, his visits more distant. Soon I'll be truly alone with all these memories, unless I do something typically dramatic about it.

Don't worry, darling. I learned from the best how to make an entrance.

Forever yours,

Astarion

[A continuation of the letter, in a hastier, more agitated script]

P.S. Before you start haunting me with that disapproving look of yours—yes, I know there are still seven spawn out there who helped orchestrate everything. But they're not going anywhere, are they? Immortality has its advantages. I can take my time planning something truly... special for them.

Besides, someone needs to be here for Dammon. And Shadowheart's garden isn't going to tend itself. Even that sad little bush you insisted on planting is still alive, if you can believe it. I've kept every single one of your ridiculous plants breathing.

So there. I'm being responsible. Aren't you proud?

P.P.S. Speaking of responsibility—what I'm planning next... well. You wouldn't approve. At all. But since you're not here to play my accomplice, I suppose you'll just have to live with it.

Or not live with it, as the case may be.

Though if you'd like to change that particular situation, I'm sure our skeletal friend would be delighted to assist. No?

Well then, darling—don't judge what you're not here to fix.

* * *

From the celestial plane, Gale tried to focus on the delicate task of weaving divine energy into a new constellation. The intricate work demanded his full attention, yet Astarion's persistent prayers kept pulling at his consciousness like an insistent child tugging a sleeve. The man wouldn't stop calling his name.

With an exasperated sigh that rippled through the cosmic ether, Gale finally gave up. He manifested in Astarion's bedchamber, ready to address whatever theatrical crisis his high priest had conjured this time.

The scene that greeted him made him wish he'd stayed focused on his stars.

Blue and silver clerical robes lay scattered across the marble floors, and Astarion was on the bed, tangled in the sheets with a woman. Her legs were wrapped around his waist as he moved against her with an almost predatory grace. Gale caught a glimpse of Astarion's lips against her neck, leaving a trail of kisses that elicited a series of moans from her.

No, not just moans. Not generic, harmless moans.  She was moaning Gale's name.  And so was Astarion.  That was what had called him here.

"Really, Astarion?" Gale pinched the bridge of his nose, averting his gaze from the tableau before him. He tried to ignore the heat that flared within him at the sight of Astarion's lean form, slick with sweat and straining with exertion.

Astarion's grin was positively wicked as he broke away from his lover's neck, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Ah, there you are! We were just discussing proper forms of worship."

The woman lifted her head and looked Gale up and down. “Is that… Gale Dekarios? Our God of Ambition himself?!”

“Why, yes. Isn’t it thrilling? Divine blessings on demand, darling.” Astarion continued rolling his hips but his eyes were laser focused on Gale. "I told you sleeping your way to the top was a valid form of ambition for our generous deity."

"Oh, Gale, your divine presence honors us! Astarion, I should never have doubted you!"

"Sister Elena," Gale recognized with dismay. "Aren't you supposed to be leading the novice prayer circle right now."

"Oh, she's leading something." Astarion's expression grew even more pleased with himself as he adjusted his angle and Sister Elena moaned again, “Oh, Gale! Oh, Gale, yes! Yes, like that!”

Gale spent his days on a plane of existence that regularly defied reality as mortals knew it, and yet this was the the most surreal moment Gale could recall experiencing. "But why are you calling out my name?  Astarion, did you tell her you were me?"

"Like anyone could confuse the two of us." Astarion grinned at the Sister who giggled in response.

Gale turned his back, then tried and failed to regain his composure. "Then…why?"

"Well, who else am I supposed to cry out for? ‘Oh, god’? That’s so generic. ‘Oh, Gale’ has a much nicer ring to it. Plus you have to admit as prayers go these are much less boring than the usual pleas for promotion or profit.”

“This is the last time I answer one of your ridiculous ‘prayers,’ Astarion. Find a better expletive!”

Gale could hear the pout in Astarion's voice. “But you’re my favorite.”

“I am not your personal plaything.”

Astarion laughed low, that register he used to flirt. “A shame. You’d be so good at it.”

"I'm leaving," Gale announced flatly. "And we will never speak of this again. If I ever speak to you again."

Astarion sighed heavily. "Elena, darling, I'm going need to deal with this. We can pick this up later.  I'll make it up to you very generously."

Gale listened as Elena giggled, gathered up her clothes, and scurried from the room.

Once Elena's footsteps faded, Gale whirled to face Astarion, who was now lounging against the headboard with a sheet draped artfully across his hips.

"This has to stop." Divine energy crackled around Gale's form. "You've turned prayer into a mockery, my worship into a joke."

"Come now, darling. I've built you the grandest temple in Baldur's Gate."

"A temple you use to host orgies and scheme against your enemies! You're not my high priest - you're using my name as a shield while you entertain yourself at my expense." What would Tav think? Utterly unacceptable to bring her into it, but the words were threatening to burst out anyway.  I mean, I wanted him to move on, but…

Astarion's smirk faltered. "I've given you followers, influence-"

"Followers who think I'm some sort of divine matchmaker! Who pray to me for bedroom advice!" Gale's voice rose as centuries of frustration burst forth. "You've never truly supported my role. Everything - the statues, the ceremonies, even this ridiculous display - it's all been about you."

"What did you expect?" Astarion sat up, eyes flashing. "That I'd spend eternity singing hymns and burning incense? That's not who I am."

"No, you're just the vampire who hijacked my divinity to distract himself from his own life."

"At least I'm still here!" Astarion's voice cracked. "While you float around in your celestial plane, playing with stars and ignoring everything below. You abandoned us - abandoned me - the moment you got your precious godhood."

"That's not-"

"Oh, but it is. Too busy with divine duties to attend Karlach's funeral. Too occupied with cosmic balance to help track down Tav's killers." Astarion's facade crumbled, revealing raw pain. "You chose your ambition over our friendship, Gale. Don't pretend otherwise.  You only ever show up anymore if I provoke you into it."  Astarion gestured dramatically at the bed and his own form. "For example…"

The accusation hit Gale like a physical blow.

Gale's divine sight had shown him too much - Astarion's late nights hunched over parchment, the tears falling onto ink, the ritual of burning letters that never reached their intended recipient. The weight of that knowledge pressed against his chest.

"You accuse me of abandonment?" Gale's voice carried the resonance of divinity despite his efforts to temper it. "While you write letters to a ghost and push away everyone who tries to reach you?"

Astarion went very still. "You've been spying on me?"

"I see everything my followers do, remember? Including your nightly correspondence with someone who can't write back."

"That's private." Astarion's words came out as a hiss.

"You go through the motions of moving forward - the parties, the schemes, even the temple. But you're not really here. You haven't been since Tav died."

"Oh, spare me the divine wisdom." Astarion pulled the sheet around himself like armor. "Is this jealousy speaking? Worried your first worshipper's devotion isn't pure enough?"

"This isn't about worship. This is about you demanding I be constantly present while you're only ever half here yourself." Gale stepped closer, power crackling around him.  A marble tile between Gale's feet cracked in three places.  Gale took a deep breath and tried to control himself. "When was the last time you had a real conversation with anyone? Let someone actually know you're hurting?"

"Please." Astarion's smile was sharp as the broken glass. "As if you'd understand, floating above it all in your cosmic perfection. Some of us are still stuck down here in the mess of mortality."

"I understand more than you think. I see you, Astarion. Every letter. Every tear. Every time you push someone away before they can get close enough to matter."

"Get out." Astarion's voice was deadly quiet.

"You can't keep living like this-"

"I said get out!" Astarion hurled a crystal goblet. It passed harmlessly through Gale's divine form and shattered against the wall. "Leave me to my mess of mortality, since you're so above it all now."

The raw anguish in Astarion's voice tore at something in Gale's chest. Even as a god, he felt the weight of his friend's pain like a physical thing. The bedroom's oppressive silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of crystal shards settling on marble.

Astarion had turned away, his shoulders rigid beneath the sheet he'd pulled around himself like armor. The casual sensuality and teasing provocation from moments ago had vanished, replaced by something brittle and sharp-edged.

"Astarion..." Gale reached out, then let his hand drop. What could he possibly say now? He'd pushed too far, torn open wounds his friend wasn't ready to face. But when would he be ready? "You think I don’t miss her too? You think this—" He gestured at himself, divine light flickering, "makes it easier? Every time you write to her, I wonder if I should be the one to deliver the message. But she’s not coming back, Astarion. She chose to leave us behind."

"I believe I told you to leave." Astarion's voice was flat, emptied of its usual wit and charm. He didn't turn around.

Gale observed the tense line of Astarion's spine, the way his fingers gripped the sheet until his knuckles went white. The vampire spawn's usual masks had crumbled, leaving something raw and wounded exposed beneath.

"I shouldn't have—" Gale started.

"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Just go back to your stars, Gale. That's what you're good at."

The dismissal stung, but Gale knew he deserved it. He'd violated his friend's privacy, thrown Tav's memory in his face like a weapon. Some wounds weren't meant to be prodded, even by gods, no matter how much time had passed.

With a heavy heart, Gale let his divine form fade. The last thing he saw was Astarion's silhouette against the window, still as a statue, waiting for him to go.

From his celestial vantage, Gale watched Astarion's unnatural stillness persist long after his departure. No breath stirred his chest, no subtle shifts of weight betrayed discomfort. Just that statue-like pose that screamed of suppressed emotion.

The memory of their argument twisted in Gale's chest. He'd pushed too hard, said too much. But watching his friend spiral through increasingly outrageous distractions had become unbearable.

When he'd first convinced Astarion to abandon his Underdark revenge quest, Gale had thought proximity to their remaining companions would help. Karlach's warmth, Wyll's steadfast friendship, even Shadowheart's sharp-edged concern—surely these connections would anchor him.

Instead, Astarion had transformed the cathedral into an endless parade of excess. Each celebration more elaborate than the last, each ritual more irreverent, each "prayer service" more scandalous. The parties grew wilder, the jokes more pointed, the provocations more desperate.

Yet beneath it all, that terrible stillness waited. Gale saw it in the quiet moments between performances - when Astarion thought no one was watching. The way his smile dropped the instant his audience turned away. The mechanical precision with which he went through the motions of living.

Seven decades had passed since Tav's death. Time enough, Gale thought, to heal his wounds. But Astarion remained frozen in that moment of loss, preserved in grief like an insect in amber.

Gale's divine sight revealed the letter already taking shape on Astarion's desk—another missive to join the ashes of countless others. Another conversation with a ghost who couldn't answer.

If only Tav were here—she'd known exactly how to handle Astarion's moods. She'd always had that gift for reading people, for seeing past their defenses to the truth beneath.

But Tav's soul remained frustratingly beyond his reach, even as a god. He'd searched the planes, traced the paths of departed spirits, but found nothing. Whatever choice she'd made in death, it had taken her somewhere even divine sight couldn't penetrate.  Or least his. Withers would know, but Withers would never tell.

The irony wasn't lost on him. Here he was, a god with the power to shape reality, and he couldn't even help his best friend or find the one person who could. Should he maintain his distance, let Astarion work through his grief without divine intervention? Or would that just drive him further into isolation?

Tav would have known. She'd always understood the delicate balance between support and space, when to offer comfort and when to step back. But she wasn't here to guide either of them anymore. Perhaps he was never meant to guide Astarion out of his pain. Tav had done that once, and without her... Gale’s chest tightened. No amount of divinity could replace what they’d lost.

Gale sighed.  His presence wasn't helping.  Maybe it was time to try removing himself as a crutch and force Astarion to turn to someone else, someone who could spend every day at his side and coax him truly into the world again.  Someone who lived in the same world.

Gale closed his eyes as his heart clenched painfully in his chest.  He didn't know if he could actually refuse to answer when Astarion called.  He ignored a thousand idiotic prayers every day, all prompted by his wayward high priest, but he had a terrible record when it came to ignoring the high priest himself.  He would have to find the strength.  It would be for the best.

* * *

My too-patient Tav,

I've been terribly remiss, haven't I? Playing at being a priest, throwing parties, entertaining nobles who wouldn't have spat on me two centuries ago. What would you say if you could see me now? Actually, don't answer that. I can picture your expression perfectly—that little half-smile that always meant I was being ridiculous. It used to irritate me, that knowing look of yours. Now I’d give anything to see it again. Anything.

I've let myself get distracted by these... entertainments. Meanwhile, those responsible for taking you from me are still standing. Three down was a good start, but seven remain. Did you know they've scattered like rats through the Underdark? Smart of them, really. Makes hunting them so much more interesting.

Gale's been positively insufferable about it all. "Think about what you're doing, Astarion." "This isn't what Tav would want." As if he has any right to speak for you now. He barely shows his divine face anymore and when he does he's insufferable.

The thing is, love... I'm bored. These walls feel like they're closing in, all polish and propriety. No, it’s more than that. Gale’s sanctimonious little visit reminded me of something: I’m not made for this. I’m not you. I can’t pretend the world is a kinder place than it is. Blood is what I know. Blood is what I’m owed. I need to feel something real. And what could be more real than finishing what I started?

So I'm going hunting. Proper hunting this time. No more of these "accidents" that keep Gale marginally appeased. Let him sulk in his celestial plane—I don't need his approval or his protection.

You always said I had a flair for the dramatic. Well, darling, you haven't seen anything yet.

Yours in bloody revenge,

A.

[plague-karm]

Holy shit more takes about stuff that I like? More likely than you think

•JPEGMAFIA >>>>>>>>>> Playboi Carti

•Land Of The Lustrous season 2 is never getting released at this rate. I would love to be proven wrong (the moon arc in particular would look gorgeous in Studio Orange’s art style), but it’s almost been a decade since the first season got made. I don’t know how much copium I can huff anymore man I’m tired.

•I’m fine with Donkey Kong having a new model, I’m a Kirby fan, I’m used to seeing model changes (referring to Dedede specifically). Also whoever decided to make him a girldad needs to get a raise idk why but that just fits him really well.

•I don’t care about how much content a game has, anything above £60 for a single video game is fucking extortionate and thank god that people are calling out Nintendo for those prices because what the hell man.

•Wrath is my least favourite layer in Ultrakill, I still like it, but 5-2 is genuinely miserable to play through the Ferryman fight carried it HARD (even after the update the Leviathan is still my least favourite end layer boss in the game its design is sick but that’s all I can really say).

•Hellaverse dickriders and extreme detractors are just as insufferable as each other, harassing people for not liking the shows and harassing people for enjoying them is really immature. My opinions on both Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss may have soured over the years but enjoying or disliking aspects of it shouldn’t be seen as crimes against humanity (the way the detractors talk about Elijah and Morgan in particular is absolutely vile btw what the fuck is wrong with you people).

•Referring to Morpho Knight as she/her is incredibly based because same

•Now that Sinsmas is out and a lot of people are dropping the show I want to expand on what I said about Octavia the last time I did one of these. As someone who relates to Octavia because her storyline reflects what I’ve gone through in my personal life, the way people talk about her choosing to put herself first instead of constantly waiting on her neglectful dad as a heinous, selfish act genuinely upsets me. She’s been heavily sheltered from the outside world for her ENTIRE LIFE of course she’s going to make decisions that might seem impulsive on the surface why are you demonising a child born out of necessity instead of the parents who neglect and use her on a daily basis get real.

•Some people in the Glitch fanbase are hellbent on pitting their shows against one another and I don’t know why like bro you’re allowed to like more than one show don’t act pissy when a studio shines light on its other shows lmao.

•Panic! At The Disco’s fall off genuinely makes me really sad but come on, TWTLTRTD was NOT the start of it, Collar Full and Casual Affair are both amazing songs for completely different reasons and the whole album’s a nighttime vibe to me it’s good ya’ll are just mean.

•The Craft’s final act should’ve included that deleted scene where Nancy confronted everyone, it makes the whole thing make a lot more sense as to why Bonnie and Rochelle would decide to stay with her and they didn’t keep it in? WHY???.

•The NiGHTS series NEEDS to have a third instalment to complete the trilogy, give Reala a redemption arc please he needs it

•People taking an issue with how Sebastian is characterised in later updates of Pressure is kind of insane to me because when you look at his lore his behaviour makes perfect sense? He had his entire LIFE stolen from him and was forcefully mutated into something that barely resembled his old self he had every reason to crash out. Him being snarky and heavily touch averse makes perfect sense and it makes his character more interesting to me imo he’s cool I like him I’ll support him if he gets worse (oh and to the five people who consistently read Hadalpelagic Zone up to its latest chapter I’m so sorry but it’s on hiatus until I can be arsed to continue it, some people in the Pressure community are miserable as fuck and I don’t wanna engage with that anymore 😭).

•Please can we give someone else a chance on the Sanrio Character Ranking I don’t even hate Cinnamoroll I’m just sick of him winning every year lmao

•Monaca is the best villain in Danganronpa imo, yes Junko is undoubtedly iconic and entertaining to watch but Monana is the only character in that series that genuinely unsettles me. The way she used Kotoko’s trigger word to get her back in line might be the most disturbing scene in any of the games (the fact that “Gentle” became a fandom in joke for a while is still crazy to me what the fuck is wrong with you people).

•Looking back on the Mario Movie is weird because “teehee Peaches is a funnie song” is still a valid statement but god we were ROBBED of a badass Bowser rock opera number. Can you IMAGINE how hard that would’ve gone

•I can’t say for certain since nothing’s been said by Part Time Seagull but I think the reason it took a while for The Gaslight District’s pilot to get made was because an art style change happened at some point during production (likely when Glitch got involved). If you look at old snippets from a few months back it looked a LOT more cell shaded and 2D-3D hybrid like and its look is more akin to stop motion and early 2000s game cutscenes. And honestly? I prefer the change, the colours pop a lot more and I LOVE the extra detail of the character models having little smudges on them

•Needy Streamer Overload/Needy Girl Overdose simultaneously has one of the best portrayals of Internet culture and mentally ill people I’ve ever seen but the actual gameplay is kinda mid. I have high praise for everything in that game except for that (I got the breakup ending too many times okay I rage quit lmao).

•G3 Ivy design > G1 Ivy design

•I’m genuinely upset that G3 of Monster High is coming to a close because it really felt like they were finally finding their footing with the later redesigns. Ivy’s design is peak (one of mine and many other people’s biggest critiques with G3’s designs is how a lot of them steered away from alternative aesthetics even though that was the main appeal of the series so the fact that they made her more punk inspired was cool) and they actually gave Catty some fire outfits when she got brought in (thank god because Abby and Iris’ outfits still make me cry because what do you MEAN you gave her a crop top with a snowflake on it where’s the fur at? 😭). Imagine what Elissabat and Operetta would’ve looked like I genuinely think the character designers would’ve cooked, but oh well.

•Francis wasn’t innocent lmao the entire point of the Greek Clique was that they were all highly classist and easily malleable as it’s heavily implied that they got groomed by Julian (him isolating them from everyone else and appointing himself as their councillor was gross as hell didjdjdj, and that scene with Henry still weirds me out). Richard sucks, EVERYONE in that group sucks, the entire point was not to romanticise their situation because although they tried to come off as elusive and cool (which Richard definitely thought so, one of the biggest closet bisexuals I’ve ever seen btw), they were dweebs who thought they were better than everyone else to make themselves feel better about their own unfortunate circumstances. And even THAT’S proven wrong in the end because Judy (y’know, the one that constantly gets looked down on by the others) is the only one that gets a happy ending. You can feel bad for the Greek Clique to a point (seeing Francis getting married off against his will DID upset me ngl) but if you romanticise the toxic dynamics they all had with each other you missed the point of The Secret History entirely.

•Also, if the movie rights ever DID go through, DO NOT LET EMERALD FENNELL DIRECT IT PLEASE NO THIS BOOK IS MISINTERPRETED ENOUGH AS IT IS 😭

Anyway that’s it for now I’m tired

[alfiereot]

my top 5 video games of all time (w/ recommendations)

Deus Ex Human Revolution

Why I like it

I fell in love with the world of Deus Ex back in 2011. The cyberpunk immersive story of Adam Jensen and his growing involvement against a high elite group illustrated a vision of world based on distrust and control of information. Human Revolution creates an extremely believable future which is inspired and grounded, with an enormous selection for approaching combat. This is probably my most replayed game of all time, and I cannot fathom the hours I’ve spent just reading every single piece of lore the game ever offered me. The immersive sim genre, of which Human Revolution belongs to, is one of the most underrepresented in the industry. I cannot come with an answer of why this is the case, but I think it is widely rewarded that Human Revolution, the successor of one of the genre originators, is a true to name sequel that should be experience at least once.

Other games like it

Deus Ex Mankind Divided: The sequel to Adam Jensen’s story, this is a contender for my favourite game of all time. There are two major reasons on why this has not dethroned Human Revolution as my favourite. The first one is the nostalgia Human Revolution has, as it was one of my first PS3 games. For the second one, you can tell the story presented in Mankind Divided is incomplete. A sequel was under-works but has so far been cancelled by Eidos Montreal new owners. But Mankind Divided is a great game by itself that improves on every system its predecessor introduced, while boasting an incredible city hub that is still lauded to this day.

Prey: I have so far only played the first couple of hours of one Arkane Austin’s most acclaimed games, but even I can tell how much magic the title boosts. The game offers deep combat rooted in the immersive sim genre and created an environment full of secrets to find. Additionally, I have also heard Prey’s DLC, Mooncrash is probably one of the best expansions ever done for a video game. It is quite a shame the game sold so little copies.

God of War: Ragnarök

Why I like it

Originally, I had God of War (2018) as the entry on this list. Over the last couple of months, I have been able to experience the sequel meticulously crafted by Sony Santa Monica, and I can honestly say it surpasses the original in every single way possible. I know one of its gripes is the story is not singularly focused as the one found in 2018, but I honestly believe it is for the better. Every single twist and turn offered by Ragnarök kept me on the edge of my seat, and it reinforced my believe that video games are the best media for storytelling. Maybe it’s the fact you get to experience the story first hand, or that you get to feel Kratos AND Atreus’ struggle firsthand, or just that the medium inherently has more room to breathe, but I do believe my 53 hours experience with Ragnarök, and Valhalla, reflects the best the medium has to offer. My favourite parts of the game are just taking a opportunity to reflect on the events of the story as me, Kratos, Atreus and Mimir told stories to provide a sense of safety and levity.

Other games like it

God of War (2018): If you like Ragnarök you evidently are going to enjoy God of War (2018). I do think it is meant to be enjoyed before Ragnarök, as it was clearly envisioned as a two-part story. This way you get to fall in love with the recurring characters, and you complete the character journey of Kratos and Atreus.

Portal 2: It’s been over a decade since I got a chance to experience Portal 2, so I really need to go back and replay the title. However, I do believe Portal 2 and Ragnarök share some DNA, specially where it comes to dialogue and writing. The first is inherently shorter than Ragnarök, but every single minute is packed with a sense of wonder which is enhanced with the incredible character writing. Whether it is GLADOS coming up with a joke at your expense or Mimir telling a captivating story, I do believe fans can find enjoyment in each one.

Sly Cooper Series

Why I like it

I officially started my gaming life back in the PS2 era of games and, among the plethora of game mascots Sony created for this console generation, I was only able to meet Sly in his first foray into the video game world. As I grown older (and became acquainted with what Ratchet and Jax had to offer) I can say this was one of the best happenstances in my life. The Sly Cooper series (not including Thieves in Time as I haven’t played it) has personally become synonymous with what a great video game should be. Everything from character to level design is immaculately crafted to be its very best, and I have little to no complains about these games. I do hope Sly gets a chance to make a comeback much as like Rachet and Clank have over the years.

Other games like it

SpongeBob SquarePants Battle for Bikini Bottom Rehydrated: My favourite out of the platformer and collectathon games from the SpongeBob franchise is SpongeBob SquarePants The Movie video game, and I am not holding my breathe for it to be remaster, as it is probably a licencing hell which they probably don’t want to deal with. It is for this reason I recommend Battle for Bikini Bottom Rehydrated. Purple Lamp’s immaculate remake has crafted a compelling gameplay experience which exemplifies what this genre needs. If you are a fan of Sly Cooper, especially Thievius Raccoonous, I think you will enjoy SpongeBob BBR as well.

Catherine & Catherine Full Body

Why I like it

I was debating whether to include Persona 5 Royal or Catherine within this list, but I ultimately chose the latter. My nostalgia googles are right and burning for P-Studio’s 2011 puzzle game, and it has been ever since I laid my eyes on the gameplay. Back then, I enamoured with the simple, yet detailed, character animation, as Vincent and the gang felt as ever real every time I logged on to the Stray Sheep. Whilst the story is not groundbreaking, the gameplay is where Catherine, and its remaster, work their magic. To this day, I haven’t been able to find a game where the puzzle system has engrossed me to this degree. Its system is hard to master but incredibly rewarding, and my main reason for wanting a sequel to this underrated gem is basically because I want to move more blocks. Alongside its incredible atmosphere, I wholeheartedly recommend to any puzzle game afficionado this tale of love, magic and blocks.

Other games like it

Persona 5 Royal: There are no other games like Catherine. I could recommend puzzle games the likes of Portal, or a recent favourite like Carto, but there is no other I have played which can offer the experience found on Catherine. So, if you like the other elements which also make Catherine a great game, I recommend Persona 5 Royal. The atmosphere and character writing its P-Studio at its best (still haven’t played P3 Reload), and they were clearly able to take everything they learned in Catherine to create the king of vibes in video games. I personally enjoy the vanilla ending to P5 better than Royal, but I would be foul of me to omit the variety of improvements to the gameplay which makes it sincerely better than the original.

Citizen Sleeper

Why I like it

My history with gaming is mostly relegated to consoles, with some exceptions such as Team Fortress 2. CRPGs has been a genre which has eluded me, and this does, to this day, however, it came to me as a gracious surprise that in 2023, a year boosted by a cornucopia of excellent games, Citizen Sleeper was my favourite game of the year. I generally enjoy sci-fi settings more than fantasy and, within its theme, Citizen Sleeper is superb. I was immediately drawn into the story, on how you are a cyborg* quickly becoming obsolete thanks to your own sense of independence. Its world is extremely beautiful and harsh, and becoming independent in a collapse capitalistic society was an experience of extreme joy and tension. Parallel to this, the game boosts a beautiful soundtrack and marvellous art direction, which makes Citizen Sleeper an easy game to recommend.

*Cyborg is an oversimplification of the arrangement of human conscious and artificial body tale found in Citizen Sleeper.  

Other games like it

Tacoma: Tacoma is a beautiful first-person sci-fi narrative game in which you find yourself reliving what happened to the crew of an orbital station with its namesake. The highlight of the video game is its presentation, as it was able to make a believable abandoned space station that definitely felt lived-in, and both the usage of in-game augmented reality and sign language is supremely captivating. With extremely believable sci-fi, both Tacoma and Citizen Sleeper offer a glimpse into their dystopian societies whilst elevating their stories they are trying to tell. Fans of sci-fi will find something to like in either.