gwentassel

[logansbaby]

FIX YOU - LOGAN HOWLETT

❥ summary: Logan Howlett is dying. You both know it, but it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

word count: 1.7k

pairings: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ NSFW, MDNI, angst!!!! so much angst, mentions of death, foreshadowing the events of ‘Logan’, smut, piv (unprotected— be smart irl), feelings, sadness

❥ a/n: guys!!!!!! i was listening to fix you by coldplay (highly recommend whilst reading) and it screams oldman logan and pain! this is literally just angst and smut but i hope you enjoy anyway <3

— ˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

MAROON blood tinged the white dress shirt Logan wore, groans of agony falling from his frown as he stumbled into the makeshift house.

The sound of heavy steps startled you from your position on the couch, and despite your drowsy state, you tossed the unread book and dashed to see him. Anxiety tingled your fingertips, anguish swirling within your belly at what you might find.

You were right to feel anxious, because the sight of Logan caused your breath to hitch, chest to heave, and your lashes to glisten.

“Oh, Logan.” It was merely a whisper, yet he’d heard it all the same. It was an ironic joke that his healing was almost gone, but his hearing was as good as it had been years prior. “Logan.”

It seemed his name was all you could manage, your throat choked up in feelings you desperately tried to push down, along with the pesky, salty tears.

The once crisp, white shirt was soaked with blood, bullet holes littering from his chest to his navel. The crimson liquid had dried long ago but you knew he ached. You could see it in the way his clenched fingers shook, in the way exhaustion draped over his features. The man before you was a ghost of the man you’d met so long ago and the realization had unwanted emotions clawing at your throat, begging to be let out.

Before he could open his mouth, you ran into him and wrapped yourself around his middle tight, your grip not unlike that of a koala on a branch.

Logan hissed, new painful sensations blossoming where you gripped him, but he ignored it in favor of returning the embrace. One arm came around the curve of your waist as the other held the back of your head gently, like you were made of glass.

Maybe you were.

“It’s okay, baby.” He whispered, lips pressed against your forehead. “I’m okay. I’ll heal.”

It wasn’t, he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t— something you both knew.

You’d never tell him this, but each time he left, fear gripped you tightly. Before any of this, you knew he’d always return home to you, alive and completely unscathed. But times had changed, and for the worse, it seemed. You noticed before he did, that his healing had begun to slow down, and it scared you horribly.

He’d refuse to talk about what it meant, instead choosing to ignore reality in true Logan fashion, but you knew. You both knew that he was on borrowed time, and you knew one of these days his regeneration would dry up and he wouldn’t get back up.

One day, you’d have to walk the earth without the love of your life by your side and the very thought made you fucking ill, threatened to bring you to your knees and release the trapped agony.

Your heart picked up, beating vigorously against your ribcage, causing Logan’s bruised mouth to frown. He pulled back, hands moving to cradle your face as he looked into unfocused, hazy eyes.

“Hey— can hear you overthinkin’, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m here, I’m here.” He muttered, the gruffness of his voice leading you back to the present. “There she is.”

“It’s not, you’re hurt. You’re bleeding and I— what even happened?” With your brows furrowed, questions spilled from your bitten lips without thought. “And don’t lie to me.”

He sighed.

“Just had a run in with some bad guys, that’s it.”

“Logan—“

“Should see the other guys, baby.” He joked, the need to ease the tension bubbling in the air was overwhelming. He was desperate to lessen the worry blanketing your face. He hated that you rarely smiled anymore.

When you let out a wet laugh, he knew he’d succeeded, despite the unshed sadness dusting your eyes.

For a moment, you just stared at him, eyes wide as they traced every inch of his face, as if to savor Logan’s face to memory. Then, you leant up and pressed sweet, soft kisses wherever you could reach— his neck, chest, chin, and bottom lip.

Even after all the years you’d been together, butterflies danced around wildly in his stomach at your touch.

“C’mere.” He was already trailing beside you because the taut grip you had on his hand refused to leave him behind. “Let me clean you up.”

And despite the throbbing of his bones, he followed you, because of course he did. If he hadn’t had you, he would’ve been two whisky bottles in by now, and the blood would’ve stayed crusted on his skin as he fell asleep. You never let him spiral, though, and you refused to have him do so now. He’d never said thank you for that, but he hoped you felt it in his kiss, in the way he held you.

Logan was pushed onto the couch then, his thoughts melting away as your hands gently pressed him until his body folded on the cushion. You disappeared for a moment, before returning with the necessary products to clean his wounds.

Instead of sitting beside him, which would’ve been more practical, you plopped yourself onto his lap. When he groaned at the sudden weight, you smiled sheepishly through hooded eyes.

“Sorry, just want to be close to you.” It was mumbled, just loud enough to be heard and you knew it was understood when a tiny smirk graced Logan’s lips.

“Don’t mind, princess.” His amusement grew and spread into a full-on smile at the way your face grew rosy. He always did like riling you up, no matter the situation.

Wordlessly, you got to work; unbuttoning his ruined shirt and tossing the bloodied fabric to the floor mindlessly. With a warm rag, you began wiping away the reminders of a fight. Logan let out a couple groans as your fingers prodded at some deeper wounds, urging out the bullet casings until they plopped on the sofa. His body had stopped any massive injuries from forming, but he still wore the aftermath of his attackers.

Logan lost track of time as he opted to stare at you; he’d rather not think about how his body continued to fail him anymore.

From the strands of your hair framing your flushed face, to the plushness of your lips, of which were taken hostage between your teeth in concentration, he admired you. You were so, so beautiful, so angelic, that it shook him, even after all this time.

He hoped that when his body failed him for the last time, when he sucked in his last breath of oxygen, you were the last thing he saw.

“Done! Good as new.” Though your words were teasing, your tone was anything but. Your eyes were somber, filled with so much emotion it devastated you. The reflection of his own powerful feelings mirroring yours comforted you.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, handsome.”

For a while, the both of you stared at each other in a heavy silence. Both sets of eyes were tracing every detail before them, to ensure nothing was missed when he was finally gone, but none of you were brave enough to say so. The unspoken heaviness threatened to crush you both with the weight of it all.

And then�� you’re unsure how it happened, who leant in first. All you knew is that the overwhelming, crushing need to be as close as possible to one another, in every way possible, suddenly became the most important thing in the world.

The minute your lips met, everything else faded to static. It was slow at first, gentle as you both savored the feel, before it was an abrupt burst of passion.

Your hands wrapped around his neck tightly, fingers playing with the graying hairs at his neck, yanking when his tongue slipped past slick, swollen lips. Logan’s hands gripped your hips possessively, and as your tongues danced together in a familiar rhythm, he began to drag you up and down across his lap.

It was dirty— the messy drag of lips, the spit connecting as you broke apart to gather oxygen into your lungs, the grinding of your clothed, sobbing cunt across his throbbing cock. It was so dirty yet filled with so much emotion, so much adoration and love.

It wasn’t long before he had you filled to the brim, full of him. Once you’d started bouncing up and down on him, drunk on how fucking good he felt, the tears spilled over the apples of your cheeks.

Maybe it was the sheer pleasure zipping through you, the lick of heat teasing your lower belly. Or perhaps it was the fact that you were reminded that everything with Logan was fleeting. The reason didn’t matter, not when you slumped against his chest and sobbed his name desperately, hips now moving in a slow grind across his lap.

“Logan— love you so, so much,” you cried out, the words mumbled against his sweaty chest.

“My pretty girl,” Logan spoke knowingly, hands going to the supple thighs and fucking you up and down on his cock once more. “I got you, I always have you.”

The mixture of euphoria with his words, a double meaning laced between them, had a loud moan tumbling from your mouth, hips jerking at the feel of your puffy clit bumping the hair smattered at the base of him. Every sensation flowing through you was heightened and when Logan thrusted up into your weepy pussy, you clenched around him so tight, he growled. The movement sent you both reeling, orgasms crowding your senses with the intensity of it all.

Logan kissed you then, thrusting his come into you as deep as he could. Your whine was swallowed by his mouth, so full of him in a way that made your heart swell, chest tingle bittersweet. Whispers of ‘I love you’ melted into the embrace of your lips, and all the pressing emotions and fears came hurtling back down full force.

Neither of you moved, content to stay connected, even as his cock softened inside you, as the mixture of your releases pooled on sticky, sweat-slicked skin. Your body wrapped around his, hands tickling the scarred skin of his back as his lips peppered wet kisses across the expanse of your neck.

It hit you once more that Logan was your everything and you wanted to cry.

So, you did. Water spilled down your face and onto his chest as you cried. Logan spoke mantras of ‘Shh, it’s okay’ and ‘I’m here, I love you’ as you let your tears go, even as his own eyes were wet with sorrow.

You both knew it was anything but okay. It was only a matter of time.

[humdrummoloch]

Here's an exercise to apply to your story: pick any scene and build up its stakes.

Most scenes should have at least a tiny bit of tension. Not every scene has to drip with artificial melodrama, but if the audience doesn't see a good reason to care about what's happening, they probably won't.

Using this 3-part exercise I just made up, just with a few quick bullet lists, you can dissect that scene's stakes and make them mean something.

PART 1: THE TELLING

Take a moment to focus on the stakes in your scene. What's the worst that could happen? List them.

Here's the rule: if a stake is obvious, don't count it.

Wrong: "If he kills me, I die."

Wrong: "If the villain fails to get the artefact, he fails."

Wrong: "If I lose this match, I lose."

Sure, yeah. But what ELSE?

Correct: "If I die, there'll be no one to protect my family."

Correct: "If I don't get this magical artefact before the hero stops me, my plans to take over the world will be sabotaged."

Correct: "If I lose this match, I'll never make it to the championships and show the world what I can do."

The stronger these stakes are, the better (within reason). "So-and-so might die" isn't a compelling (as it could be) narrative stake even in stories where people do die.

Even in low-stakes stories, the characters care about those low stakes. If it's important to them that they impress that client or get that job, tell us WHY they care. Is it their lifelong dream, or the promise they made to their dying mother, or the job that'll take them away from a horrible living situation? Will failure embarrass them in front of their crush?

PART 2: THE SHOWING

Now you know what could go bad, let the audience feel it. Just take things that matter and tweak them so that they're tangible.

"If I don't join the fight, my friend might die!" -> Show us an enemy raising a sword about to strike their friend down if the character doesn't rush in to save them NOW.

"If I drop out, I'll be a bad daughter!" -> Show us her parents bragging about their kid's academic performance and telling her they're happy they have a good kid with a bright future instead of some "no-good delinquent."

"If I don't pay by next week the bank's gonna take our house!" -> Show us the character begging for just a few more days, show their reaction to overhearing someone talking about buying the house from the bank to bulldoze the property. Show what the house means to them and how they made it their home.

PART 3: THE HAPPENING

Remember, a bullet seems a whole lot deadlier when it doesn't literally miss every time. But it would be strange if every scifi involved the whole planet blowing up, right? Or if the main characters all died? So, you have to show us you're not kidding by employing a secret third thing. Here's the trick to this: divide up the stakes into pieces and make one of the pieces happen.

If the protag's team is in actual danger, just one of them can die. Maybe even someone "essential" -- the climax will be boosted from the team overcoming this setback, the story becoming more clutch and unpredictable to the audience.

A marriage on the rocks? Show that their previously happy kid is suddenly hiding things from them and failing in school.

The city in danger? Show us buildings being knocked over.

Hell, the protag themselves in danger? They've got a leg they might not be using.

If a stake can't be split down like this, it might be better to have the bulldozers show up at the house during the climax. Maybe even let the house fall.

After this exercise, your scene should now feel a whole lot more weighty, whether it's a job application or a final battle to the death. Again, not every scene needs tension and it can go too far and become silly, but I hope this exercise helps you the way it helps me.

[greghousebignaturals]

So much of House MD is, as the viewer, becoming used to the extraordinary becoming mundane. All of the jokes and wild shit that make this show memorable and long lasting became what House was known for. Watch an episode and someone's gonna shoot a corpse in an MRI machine. Someone's gonna set a hyperbaric chamber on fire with paddles, someone's gonna break and enter, violate HIPAA, sleep with a patient, the list goes on and on.

But "One Day, One Room" flips that on its head. We see the mundane become extraordinary. We see a homeless man dying. We see the aftermath of a girl who was raped. Neither of these things can be helped, it's all already happened. All of these things regrettably happen every day.

If every day in our lives is just a room, all with different people stuck in it, our lives must resemble a large sprawling home. Is your house haunting you? Or are you haunting the house? There is undeniably haunting in this narrative.

The homeless man is adamant that he keep what he sees as a promise to his father, that he suffer because he screwed his life up. But really he just wants to be remembered by anyone at all. That he existed, for all his flaws, and that that mattered. He sees himself in Cameron, in her dead husband - some of our rooms look so similar. She believes that when a good man dies, her suffering is a condemnation to the universe that his life mattered, that someone should care. So if Cameron suffers for this man, he matters. He existed. Cameron in the long run is the one who ends up suffering. We don't know his name. Cameron does.

The young woman sees something in House, and House sees something in her. He knew immediately she was raped after she panicked in the exam room, and he immediately felt he wasn't the one to help her. Everyone around House agreed - no one wants him around when something awful happens, nobody wants him to comfort them on the worst day of their lives. But she wants him, she sees some hurt within herself reflected back at her. She will get no therapy talk, no pity in his voice, but perhaps what she will get is the truth. All she wants is the truth. All House wants is the truth, he wants no therapy talk, no pity in her voice. We don't know her name. House does.

They have several rooms of their home decorated so similarly, the ghosts inhabiting them different but very much the same (unless they're the ones doing the haunting of course). Rooms they want to pretend are in the attic but are on the main floor, hearths tended, chairs drawn up.

Neither of them have done anything wrong, it's not their fault, and yet and yet. The mist is settling around their sprawling homes and they wonder if they'll ever be able to trust someone else again.

Him worried she's throwing her life away for an eternity that doesn't exist, while he's worried he's thrown his life away by believing that only in this world, now, do his actions matter.

Him saying that not all life is sacred, that no one should suffer for another's life in the hopes that it will all work out after death (he doesn't know it yet, but when his father dies, he's right in the worst way, nothing changes). He has been the only one to suffer because of his father's abuse, she will be the one suffering if she has this baby.

"It was true, it wasn't my grandmother, but it was true."

"Who was it?"

"It was my dad."

"I'd like to tell you what happened to me now."

"I'd like to hear it."

And after House talks about how even though she did the right thing and terminated her pregnancy, even though they got each other to talk about what happened as a path to healing what if, as House says, "all we really did is make a pretty girl cry." Should we feel good about this? "Then why did you -" and his hand slams the Foosball table, and he says gently, "because I don't know." Maybe this did, against all odds, make a difference. What if, even with nothing to solve, you matter. What if telling this hard to come by truth began healing a woman and yourself in a way, a day ago, you would have denied ever even being feasible. But will you follow up with her? No. One day, one room.

When the mists clear from the lawn they realize another day has passed and a small new room in each other's houses have appeared. Cozy, infrequently visited thereafter, but undeniably not haunted.

[jeridandridge]

hi!! i'd love to request mel x reader where reader experiences chronic pain and mel supports. maybe in a series of little ways (pep talks, driving to appts, yelling at doctors) or in a sweet massage scene. can be fluffy, angsty, or smutty--wherever the spirit takes ya! thanks in advance for considering!!

Thank you so much for this request! 🩷 nothing crazy in here: doctors visit/mention of blood tests.

Wonder Woman Socks

It started the day you took the kids to the Franklin institute. You figured you were sore and exhausted from running around with the kids and sleeping on the floor. Hell, Melissa even agreed saying she was sore too. You brushed it off.

Then going up the stairs to your classroom had become too much. When you got up the staircase and into your classroom you’d have to sit at your desk for a few minutes drinking your coffee in order to be fully awake again.

Now, months later you fidget nervously with your ring while Melissa drives you to the doctor.

“It’s gonna be fine, Tesoro. They can do their tests and we can go from there.” The red head gives you a soft smile from the drivers seat. You hated this. You felt like a scared child on the way to the doctors office and your only saving grace was Melissa. The sweet woman that made you coffee every morning to keep you going, the woman that would give you a massage every night when you came home from work because standing on your feet all day had become too much.

“What if I’m dying?” You think aloud, the thought terrifying you. You were generally healthy, you worked out, ate right thanks to Melissa’s cooking, and you definitely hydrated throughout the day.

“You’re not dying.” Melissa says firmly with a shake of her head. “There’s something makin you tired, that’s all it is.”

You don’t hear any fear or fake bravado in her voice. She means what she’s saying and you hope she’s right. When you get called into the office you give Melissa a look as you stand up that leaves no room for her to question if she should come back with you or not.

In the room after the nurse takes your vitals you’re left to change into one of the scratchy paper gowns. You huff as you strip down to your underwear until a hand lands right on your ass. You look over your shoulder to see your girlfriend smirking.

“Did you- even right this second in my underwear and Wonder Woman socks you still find me attractive?” You ask, not expecting that at all.

“yeah. You’re tired, it doesn’t mean you look bad.” She chuckles.

You shake your head with an adoring smile as you pull on the paper gown. When you sit back on the table the doctor knocks on the door coming in.

“Hello, hello,” he nods to you both. “y/n, how are you?”

“Tired,” you chuckle, “how are you?”

“I see that in my notes here,” he says flipping through the paperwork you filled out. “What sort of tiredness do you feel when this happens?”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck. Some days are better than others, but even at work just going up stairs is difficult.” You explain.

The doctor nods and makes notes and washing his hands. “Alright, well we’re gonna do a few tests with blood samples, then we’ll see if we have to do anything from there but with what you’re describing it sounds like chronic fatigue syndrome. It’s much more common in women.” He explains.

You let out a sigh of relief reaching for Melissa’s hand. “Take all the blood you need, I just wanna feel better.”

Putting the stethoscope in his ears he places it on your back. “Deep breath in for me.”

You do this a few times, looking at him nervously when he puts the instrument back around hie neck.

“Everything sounds good, We’ll run these tests then depending on the results we’ll figure out a treatment plan that’ll consist of most likely an anti depressant. If you keep exercising and being healthy and your partner here supports you,” he gestures to Melissa, “this should be under control within two months I’d say.” He smiles. “I’ll leave you to get dressed, the nurse will be in for the blood samples shortly.”

When the older man leaves you squeeze Melissa’s hand pulling her out of the chair in the corner to you.

“See?” She smiles handing you your tshirt and jeans. “I thought the guy was gonna be more difficult than that.”

“When Janine recommended this place I expected nothing less.” You chuckle getting dressed.

You squeeze Melissa’s hand when the nurse draws your blood and a few minutes later you’re walking out to the car.

“I feel a bit better mentally now.” You tell her.

“Now that we have an idea what it is I can look up recipes and other natural things that’ll help.” She smiles.

Getting in the passenger seat you smile at your girlfriend adoringly.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah I’m pretty great.” She agrees jokingly. “I like taking care of you when you need me.”

“When we get home I require an afternoon on the couch doing absolutely nothing.” You tell her.

Melissa chuckles reaching over for your hand bringing the back of it to her lips. “I can make that happen.”

[mayhem-neverending]

The Big Bad Wolf

Part XXI

Word Count: 3,435

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, one incidence of violence, mention of SA (not descriptive)

Note: I have written this in one go - one freaking sitting. I'm sure there are a lot of errors, so I apologize. I just want to get this out since I put so much in. I'll probably come back tomorrow to review and edit.

The week was spent with you and Obito glancing longingly at each other when the other person wasn’t looking. His stares, which weren’t something you were unfamiliar with, now set your nerve endings alight. He wasn’t faring much better - he visibly shuddered in delight when you accidentally brushed up against him with your backside because he was standing too close.

He was standing way too close. All the time. Obito wasn’t quite able to muster up the nerve to actually touch you like he was dying to do, so he hovered close enough that you would accidentally touch him while you worked. Acutely aware of your position at all times, he could anticipate when a brush of the hands or your hips bumping his would happen. It actually drove him crazy - the counting of the seconds while you scrubbed the counter next to him until your elbow would bump into him. He would scoot over just enough that you had another foot of countertop to work on, then let it happen all over again. 

At night he felt like he might be going crazy. The way he felt bordered on obsession, and he feared he would soon be trapped within the Uchiha’s curse again if he didn’t get it together. He even considered very briefly asking Kakashi whether it was best for you to continue in your position because of his rapidly growing, hardly controlled feelings that begged to spill over onto you. The moment of introspection was obliterated when you exited the bathroom and continued working on your newest endeavor - painting the kitchen walls. 

You had suggested adding some color to the home to make it feel warmer and more welcoming. He agreed. He suggested the kitchen and told you to choose whatever colors you wanted, because it was “really your area, anyway.” 

You had looked up at him prettily and smiled so brightly the living room lamp acquiesced its light for a moment, knowing it could not compare to you. “Be careful,” you said. “Give me an inch and I’ll take a mile,”

You could take a thousand miles from him if it meant he had the opportunity to greet you at the finish line. 

On Friday he was a bit agitated. Before you even arrived he had cursed the sun for being particularly bright, stubbed his toe and simultaneously spilled the last of the coffee grounds all over the floor. That meant you had to leave to go get some more - and a handful of other things. He stewed silently, staring at the primed kitchen walls. 

Fridays were decidedly one of his least favorite days of the week, because he knew you wouldn’t be back the next morning. And with the building tension between the two of you that he looked forward to enjoying during the day, he was especially not ready for the weekend. Not to mention you had said something about going out with Genma, and that really left a bad taste in his mouth. He was already wondering if there was something more to the way that you looked at him when you left for the day, and whether or not that was a good thing. Adding Genma to his long list of worries would leave him pulling his hair out. 

So when you left on Friday with a warm hug and a wave, he felt his heart sink. A part of him hoped you might stay longer. Maybe you could ask him to hold you again, without the burning eggs part so that he could cling to you and maybe you could accidentally fall asleep. Then maybe you could stay asleep and keep his nasty swirling thoughts at bay and he could smell you and feel your warmth all night. And then you could wake up in the morning refreshed and look at him while he pushes his hair behind your ear and he could tell you how he felt and -

Obito stopped himself. Maybe training would help clear his mind. He looked at the burning log in the fireplace. He decided he could always warm up with chopping some wood. 

…

Hikaru went with his father after preschool on Friday, which freed up time for you to clean up your apartment from the workweek and get ready to go out on the town with Genma. He chose a pretty busy bar with a dancefloor that wasn’t too far from your place. You were feeling pretty good, energy surprisingly above your usual wear and tear. 

After cleaning and putting together a quick dinner of leftovers, you showered and started getting ready. You decided to pull out an old outfit that fit a little snugly, but still made you look fantastic. You pranced around in the mirror a few times before eight o’clock finally rolled around. With one final kiss blown to the mirror, you shut the door and locked it. You walked to the bar in the slushy snow, only mildly irritated that you would definitely have to scrub your heeled boots later. 

Genma was there when you arrived and waved you over to the bar. You took a seat next to him and he tapped his shoulder against yours. “You look good,”

“I know,” you smirked before it morphed into a goofy grin. 

He rolled his brown eyes. “You’re still ridiculous, I see. What’re you drinking?” 

“Rum and sprite, please,” 

Genma motioned over the bartender and ordered your drink while you dug around for some money. He raised his eyebrow at you and shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s on me tonight,” 

“Add it to my tab,” he said, the bartender nodded and walked away. 

You raised a brow at him, a little perturbed as he turned and set his jaw on his fist, his full attention on you. You slowly put your wallet back in your bag, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t somehow mistook this as a date. “I can pay you back after,”

“It’s not a big deal. I make enough money. Buying your drink is the least I can do when you’re giving me your time,”

The bartender came around with your drink and you thanked him. You took a sip. “Well, that’s pretty sweet of you. Thank you, Genma,”

“Anytime,” He winked playfully. 

You rolled your eyes on reflex. His grin broadened. “So, fill me in. What all has happened since I lost my favorite sparring partner?”

“You want the long or short version?” you crossed your right leg over your left and settled one elbow on the bar, the drink in your opposite hand.

“I’ll take the long one, if you don’t mind,”

You sighed out a little dramatically. “Alright, as long as you keep the drinks coming, I’ll try my best to get through it,” 

“You got it,”

“Where to even begin…”

Genma wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted the long version. He paid attention the whole time, asking pertinent questions and gasping and nodding sympathetically where he needed to. You finished around the time your third drink was ordered. You were feeling a little tipsy, but not quite drunk yet. You gave Genma an easy smile and asked him the same question he had asked. 

“How about this,” he started, leaning in. “I’m going to go to the bathroom, but when I get back, we’ll dance to a song and then I’ll tell it,”

“Aww, but you know I don’t dance,”

“You do tonight!” he replied cheerfully, sliding from his stool. 

You didn’t argue, just took a sip from the water you ordered with your last drink and debated whether you should go to the bathroom, too, before you got to moving around. In the end you stayed seated. Genma was quick to finish, and dragged you to the dancefloor at the start of the next song. 

You danced close to him, but not so much that you were touching. You had a thought as you looked around at all the people that you wouldn’t want anyone touching you. Anyone but Obito, that is. The revelation hit you like a sack of bricks, and you faltered in your movements. 

“You okay?” Genma yelled over the music. 

You nodded and he gave you an easy smile. He took your hand in his and twirled you around. Your heart beat to the music, and again you wished that it was Obito spinning you around. Not in a crowded bar, though. Maybe you could get some of your old records out and haul a record player over to his cottage. You smiled to yourself. Genma thought it was directed at him and spun you again, this time closer to his body. 

You stumbled and accidentally stepped on the foot of a person next to you. You yelled, “Sorry!” 

When you looked up, you locked eyes with none other than Toma. Your expression soured immediately. He looked you up and down and then at Genma behind you, and his mouth turned down and his gaze turned sharp. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You yelled. “You’re supposed to be watching Hikaru!”

“What? I can’t go out too?” he rolled his eyes. He sneered at Genma, who sized him up. 

“Listen,” he spit out at Toma. “We’re just trying to have a good time. Let’s leave it there,”

Genma looked at Toma like he was something putrid. You probably matched his expression, the drinks loosening up your usual blank mask. Toma stepped closer, invading your space. You backed up into Genma, who was surprisingly solid. 

“I always knew there was something between you two. I was right to make you stop seeing him,” 

“Fuck off, Toma. Seriously. Who is Hikaru with?”

He looked at you like you were the dumbest person he had the displeasure of meeting. “My mom. And no, I’m not going to fuck off. You’re going to listen to me since you’ve refused to do it all this time,”

“No, she’s not. Leave us alone,”

He snorted derisively. “Like I’d listen to you,”

“You should, if you know what’s good for you,” Genma growled, his feet widening into a fighting stance. 

You looked around, frantic to find a way to diffuse the situation. The last thing you wanted was to make a scene in front of all these people. Especially one that looked like two men were fighting over you. Toma squared his shoulders and started lifting the cuff of his long sleeve shirt. 

“We’re leaving,” you said to Genma over your shoulder. 

He looked back at Toma, who interrupted whatever he was planning to say to you. “No the fuck you’re not. I told you I wanted to talk to you and I’m going to fucking do just that,”

You pushed a little on Genma who got the hint and the two of you started to back up off of the dance floor. “I’m not listening to whatever it is. You had your chance to say your piece,”

His eyebrows could have hit his hairline with how far they raised. “Oh, is that right? When all you do is avoid me and then you’re with your little fuckbuddies whenever I can actually talk? No, just you and me are going to have a conversation,”

His eyes shone dangerously in the low bar lighting. You knew he wasn’t a real threat. Physically, he never was and never could outmatch you in hand to hand combat, but your heart hammered all the same. You weighed your options. If you could get him outside of the door you could -

“Genma!” A shrill voice called from behind the two of you. 

Both your heads whipped around and Toma snickered. Genma’s girlfriend stood there, fuming red, her cell phone clutched in her hand so tightly the knuckles were white. “This better not be what I think this is. I’ve called you twelve times. Twelve, asshole!” 

The only thing you could think was: This is a shitshow.

“Hailey, honey, I’m sorry! I told you I was catching up with an old friend tonight, though,”

“This is too much,” you said to yourself. 

Genma had fully turned around so you slipped past him on the other side and made a beeline for the door. You hoped Toma was too distracted by whatever was about to go down to notice. You slipped through the door as other patrons were entering and started making long strides. The squelch of footsteps in the slush behind you told you that you hadn’t escaped like you had hoped. 

“Not so fast,” he said lowly, quickly catching up to you.��

His tone sent a shiver down your spine. With venom you spit out, “I’m listening. What do you want?”

Toma wasn’t aware of where your home was located, so you made the decision to head in a familiar direction. You didn’t slow your pace, just waited for him to start now that he had completely caught up with you. 

“You never listened to me. Not once when we were together. It was always about you. Every single thing,” He started, and you smell the alcohol wafting from him in the cold night air. 

You almost faltered in your steps, but didn’t let your surprise show. You still felt some effect of the alcohol, even though you had started to sober, so you allowed yourself a small mental win over that. You said nothing so he continued on. And on, and on. You started approaching the woods when he was finished on his spiel about how conceited you were and how he gave every part of himself to the relationship. 

“You never wanted to have sex with me. Just admit it, you were cheating. I promise I won’t get too mad,” 

You scoffed, entering the woods and picking up your pace. You were at nearly a jog now. All you wanted was Obito right now. He could make you feel okay and Toma would leave you alone, or at least couldn’t cross the barrier and harass you outside the front door. 

“I never cheated on you,”

“You did,” His voice raised slightly, shoving a branch away from his face. 

“I didn’t,”

“You did. I know it. Just tell the truth,”

“I never cheated on you, not once. Why can’t you just accept that that’s the truth?” You huffed. 

He was quiet for a moment and you could tell he was struggling to catch his breath. “Why else wouldn’t you want to have sex with me? There has to be another man.”

“Maybe it’s because I told you I didn’t want to have sex over and over and you forced yourself on me anyway? Ever think about that?” You fully looked at him for the first time since the walk began.

“I never fucking forced myself on you,” he argued, his volume rising.

“You sure as hell did. But you know what, I’ve done a lot of fucking work and I’m healed from it, so just fuck off and leave it alone,”

“You’re fucking crazy and a liar. You’re just saying that because you hate me,”

You were getting so close to the barrier you could feel the chakra radiating from it. “Toma, I don’t hate you, because I can’t bring myself to give that amount of energy to you,”

“You’re so full of yourself,”

You didn’t respond. You were almost there, and then you could leave the conversation for good. Or at least until he wasn’t drunk. He was really starting to piss you off with all of his shit.

“Look at me,” he growled. 

You didn’t respond. The tip of your shoe hit the barrier and relief started washing over you. Toma grabbed your upper arm and ripped you away from it. 

“I said, ‘Look at me’!” He yelled. 

In that moment you felt like the trapped animal you had been, terrified to leave for the safety of your son and your own livelihood, backed into a corner as he berated you and made you feel worthless. Less than a person. You froze for a millisecond, taking in his red, angry face when an instinct took over you faster than you could think. 

His next words fell on deaf ears as the crack of your knuckles met with cheekbone. He crumpled to his side as you scurried across the barrier, tripping over your own feet. The front door to the cottage opened and the cleared walkway was illuminated by the lamplight from inside. Obito stood in the doorway, a hulking shadow.

He called out to you, confusion lacing his tired voice. He took a step further out of the house. 

“Obito!” you cried out, relief saturating your tone. 

“What’s going on?” He walked out quickly, alarmed that you were rushing towards him. 

You buried yourself in his arms just as Toma screamed, “You bitch!” from behind the barrier.

The concern he was looking at you with was flipped immediately into something dark. He looked over your head at Thoma, who angrily beat his fist against the invisible barrier. “Why is he here?”

“He was at the bar Genma and I went to and wouldn’t leave me alone. He followed me here. He probably thought I would end up taking him to my apartment so he could harass me some more,” You uttered quietly.

Obito stiffened, and then squared his shoulders. He gently pushed you to the side and approached the edge of the barrier. “Leave,” he called out.

“Or what?” you heard Toma sneer, his hand cupping his cheek.

“Or I’ll make you,” 

Toma took a step back but didn’t make any other move to go. “What are you gonna do? Huh?”

Obito waited wordlessly for him to follow his directive. He was taller and wider than Toma. If he thought Obito could walk through the barrier, intimidation would be the only thing he needed.  

“Who the fuck are you, anyway? Her boyfriend? How are my sloppy seconds?” 

You could feel the rage trickling into Obito’s chakra signature. He growled darkly, “Don’t talk about her,”

You went to stand next to him again, not sure what he would do, but ready to drag him inside. Toma looked like he was itching to have his teeth knocked out with the way he was grinning. “So you are the new boyfriend,”

“Doesn’t matter either way, it’s not your business,” you stated. “Let’s go, Obito,”

“Ohhh, so your name’s Obito… Why does that sound familiar? He someone you used to fuck? Maybe he’s the one you cheated on me with,” 

A sinister grin spread across Obito’s lips. “You’ve heard of me,”

Confusion started to creep onto Toma’s features. “You think you’re special or something? Who’s he, some shinobi?”

The look on your face answered his question. “So you think you’re bigger and better than me because you did, what? Save a kitten and get a shout out from the Hokage? Think you’re -”

“Obito Uchiha. That’s who I am. And if you recall, people won’t remember me for saving a kitten,” he kept his voice an octave low, and the sound of it chilled the air around the three of you. 

It took Toma all of two seconds for recognition to cross his features and the color to drain from his face. He looked at you with wide eyes. “You’re joking. You must- You have to be joking,”

You shook your head. 

“You can’t leave this barrier, so you can’t hurt me,” Toma said suddenly. Words to comfort himself. 

Obito’s sinister grin only widened. “Can’t I?”

You saw the red tomoe appear in his dark eyes, glowing in the dark night. They swirled into place, and Toma’s jaw dropped, along with yours. You didn’t think you would ever have the chance to see the Uchiha’s signature jutsu again after Kakashi lost his, and you were reminded why it was so terrifying. The way the Sharingan fit an Uchiha felt like a display of raw power. 

“Leave, and don’t ever come back. Don’t speak her name again, don’t look at her, don’t presume to speak to her about anything other than your son, or I’ll make you wish you had never been born,”

Toma stumbled backwards and ran. You could hear him stumbling over wet roots and leaves. You would laugh if you weren’t also intimidated by the man next to you. 

Obito turned to you and the red swirled away. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded, staring up at him. He scratched the back of his head, his eyes downcast. He flicked them back up to you. “I’m really sorry you had to see that… Do you want to come inside?”

You cleared your throat. “Please,”

Part XXII

Taglist: @mostlyunsure, @humongousdreamlandbear, @ichaichahatake, @mandy-yeager, @detectivestucks, @faces-ofvenus

[universallychaoticpan]

Hii! I really love your stories, they make me so happy even tho im going through some tough times, thank you for your hard work 💕

Soo I thought I could request something, if it's fine with you of course! So we all know how Dazai feels really alienated because he lacks basic human emotions but still wears a facade of outgoing clown. So I'd really love to read something maybe from his perspective when he meets reader who is just like him, and at the beginning he thought that she was just a simple girl but then something happened where she showed her more morally-gray side (apathetic a little) and then suddenly dazai realized that she could be the first person to understand him.

Feel free to ignore my request, I hope you have a wonderful day/night! 💕

Hello!! Thank you so much for being so sweet (y'all are gonna make me cry omg :,) ) I'm so happy I can help make you feel a little better in some small way. Anyway my gushing aside, I hope you enjoy this and come back anytime <333

Dazai knew, for a long, long time, that he was never going to be like everyone else. It simply wasn't his nature. The things others seemed to feel so easily, all the joy, sorry rage- he had to reach for. And he never could hold it; always, they slipped away like water in his hands.

He hated himself for it. In the past, he had questioned why he couldn't feel. He knew he wasn't a good person, but he knew plenty of bad people still capable of feeling something. He supposed Mori had ruined him, all those years ago. If anyone asked, he would blame it on the Port Mafia executive, which doubled as a convenient way to get them to stop asking. People rarely questioned a former mafia prodigy once they knew the slightest details of his past. But deep inside himself, he knew the truth. He had always been the way he was; that was his nature. This thing he was, the emptiness within him- there was no one to blame. He came by it all on his own, all the ugliness inside of him. But he should have been an actor, with all the faking he did. There was no end to how far he could go, how convincing he could be.

But still, he drifted, alone in his lack of feeling to tether him to the world.

Then, of course, like nature always intends, something changed.

You walked into his life, and he could feel you. Not in the sense that you were alive with passion, but quite the opposite.

You were like him.

He could see it in how you smiled, how you laughed- not disingenuous, per say, but lacking. They lacked the way his did. When you showed up, at first glance just another simple person, he found an anomaly. He found a rarity just like himself. All too quickly, he realized the two of you were the last of a dying species.

And his suspicions were confirmed on a summer night like any other, while you were walking home.

He wasn't following you. He kept telling himself that; you were just walking past the bar he had situated himself in that night and hey, it wasn't strange to bump into someone and strike up a conversation. That's what he told himself as he wove through the small clusters of people on the street, a distance between the two of you. But what began as innocent curiosity about you turned as quickly as you did, checking over your shoulders before walking into a narrow alley.

Now he was alight with curiosity; the same small spark that had lured him after you to begin with now spread into his limbs, quickening his pace until he realized he had lost sight of you.

Shit

He couldn't believe he had been so distracted as to loose you. Even worse, he had followed you down into a foggy maze of alleys, branching off in a myriad directions and while he wasn't worried about being lost, he wasn't thrilled about having to find his way back home either.

This of course, ceased to be his prime concern when a shadow came barreling into him, slamming him to the ground with a grunt before pressing a knife to his throat.

"Move and I will kill you. Now tell me why in hell you were following me."

And in spite of himself, he had to laugh. Because instead of some mysterious assailant, he was looking up into your face with your knife digging coolly into his skin. And once you recognized him, you lowered your weapon and took your weight off him, now straddling his hips and staring at him dumbfounded.

"Mind telling me what the punchline is here, Dazai?"

"Oh it's really nothing," he chuckled. "It's just that you were oh so ready to kill me."

"Yes," you replied, rolling your eyes, "I was. I have enemies so naturally I'm ready to kill creeps who follow me into dark alleys at night."

"But that's just it," he responded coyly. "The way you looked at me when you had me on the ground- I see that look every day when I look in a mirror. Let me guess: you could have killed me here and now and not felt a damn thing about it."

"Yeah so what," you shrugged. "Anyone could kill an enemy and not loose sleep over it."

"Wrong," he challenged. "People like to lie to themselves and think they could, but the truth is, most people would feel like a monster for killing even their worst enemy.

You and I are monsters because we know we would feel nothing."

You blinked, then stood up, brushing dirt off your pants as you turned to go. "I don't know what sort of person you've got me pegged for, but you're wrong."

He stood as well, following you still as you began to walk away.

"No, I'm dead right and you know it. Get a drink with me; by sunrise you'll understand we're more alike than even I know."

[sasusc]

Just watched the season finale of the Daryl Dixon spinoff. Gonna put my thoughts in a click thing to not apoiler those who haven't seen it yet.

I will be watching it again later today so maybe some of my feelings will change. The flow of the episode felt off? Like, here a clip of D-Day and Granpa Dixon dying on the beach...we will get back to that later so don't worry--we want to establish that fact for later. Then all the happy coincidences to get everyone out safely. Someone (a Caryler I believe) made the statement that the first season was just a big setup for the next season. I can see that.

I love Daryl and Quinn getting chained up and thinking they would be fighting each other until the lights went out. You know what this scene reminded me of?

And I know I've made lots of observations of Daryl being like a father figure to Laurent, but they really leaned hard into that.

There's several conversations and scenes showing Daryl filling that father role for Laurent. Everyone is telling him Laurent sees him like a father...that he's good for Laurent.

Isabelle even goes as far as comparing him going home to America as repeating history...that he's going off and leaving his kid behind like his grandpa did when he enlisted and left his pregnant wife behind. And that he should stay there in Paris because he's needed but also so he doesn't abandon his kid like the Dixon's before him. Like what? She already proven that she's willing to lie and scheme to get Daryl to do what she wants.

I think she is trying to guilt him into staying to protect and teach Laurent. She thinks he's the best shot they have at surviving.

Then when they get to the Nest... If you haven't realized it yet, but I'm a huge Bethyl shipper. I can even get behind Daryl and Connie. Sorry, not a Caryl shipper and definitely hated Leah. Won't be shipping Daryl with anyone else. But and this is a huge BUT! This episode kinda made me want to ship Daryl and Isabelle? All the soft glances between the two...I could get behind that. I don't want to, and I never saw them together romantically until they got to the Nest. Was it just because Isabelle finally could let Quinn go? Was these scenes just there to show the audience how torn Daryl will be leaving?

The scene where he's training the people with guns and he just keeps looking up at Isabelle? Was Daryl catching feelings?

Urg...I really don't want to ship these two.

And back to Laurent. I just knew he would follow Daryl. I was half expecting him to become a stowaway and force Daryl to keep him.

And the Carol scene? I like it. But what's going on back home? Who or what came back? It's obvious nothing that needs immediate attention to. I don't see Carol leaving the family behind to go look for Daryl if shit was going down. She knows he can take care of himself. She was expecting him within the week of the call and it's been weeks...maybe months?...since then. She knows Daryl wouldn't just promise he'll be back and not do that. So she knows something must have happened to delay him. And she needs to go get him because they have stuff in the future to take care of to protect their family.

Urg. Yeah, I'm hoping a second viewing later will help me.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I used to somewhat frequently get really bad chronic physical anxiety symptoms, like I’d mentally feel not that bad but I’d still feel dizzy and lightheaded and feel like throwing up and a bit numb everywhere and my chest would hurt, and then of course I’d worry that this means I’m dying so then I would start to feel anxious, and that would make it worse. I even went to the emergency room a couple of times when these feelings were accompanied by particularly severe chest pains. They hooked me up to machines and did all kinds of tests and eventually said it’s just that I’ve got so much anxiety happening so chronically that it’s causing physical symptoms to also happen chronically. That or there was some physical cause that they missed with all their EKG tests and breathing tests and blood tests and other things, which would be quite a coincidence, if I had my several different anxiety disorder diagnoses and also a different thing that caused all the same symptoms. I don't know. They did find my blood pressure runs low and tell me to eat more salt, and someone said something about a thyroid being a possibility but never followed it up. Maybe I should follow that up.

But these were weird and extra scary because they weren’t just happening during a panic attack, or while I was freaking out about something and I could make them go away by calming down. They’d come on with seemingly no warning and they wouldn’t go away and I hated it so much. There have been a few years in my life where this has happened regularly, most days, and I’ve generally had to make some major life change to get it to stop.

Outside of those few years, this has been something that happens occasionally, and it freaks me out, but I try to remind myself that I’ve had it before and it’ll pass, and it usually does within a few days. As of now I actually hadn’t had it for quite a while – not in that way where the physical symptoms just come on with no obvious warning or antecedent, that is. And yet it’s been happening all day today. I feel fucking terrible and I’m writing this post because of course I hope it’s just that again, but I can’t really know.

It’s really frustrating, because I’ve just gone three weeks without drinking for the first time in many years. And I’m pleased about that. But I’m always hearing and reading people saying that when they stopped drinking they felt so much better and healthier physically and psychologically, and I’ve had the opposite pretty much from the start, and it doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my plan to cut back but it does seem unfair. To my justice-obsessed brain, if I have to live without doing that thing I really enjoy, which is drinking whiskey and watching old comedy videos every weekend, I’m supposed to feel better in exchange, not have my anxiety levels ramp up to the point where I’m dizzy and almost throwing up and a bunch of other physical symptoms that I could get from alcohol too, but at least if I got them from drinking then I’d have fun in he process. Last night I woke up in the middle of the night convinced the world was going to spin off its axis and I was dizzy and I couldn’t get back to sleep for two hours. That’s what’s supposed to happen during a drunk/hungover sleep, as a price I pay for having fun drinking. It’s not supposed to happen when I haven’t had a drink in three weeks.

I don't really know why any of this is happening because things are actually going relatively well right now, maybe it's low blood pressure. I'd just like to say, I feel cheated. I know that not drinking is still a good idea and it's what people should do and everything and it's what I'm doing, but I was promised that this would feel better in at least one way and I feel cheated because I'm still waking up in the middle of the night panicking and I'm still dizzy and lightheaded. It would sure be great if these symptoms would slow down before I have to go to work on Monday. This is exactly the sort of thing that I'm afraid of when I worry that I'm not functional enough to keep a fulltime in-person job longterm, that this sort of thing will happen when I'm working. Hasn't really happened since I started working in person last year, but it is now, so that's good. I'm living in a friend's house at, as the British say, mate's rates, but I still do have some rent to pay.

[cognitosclowns]

I'm not sure how it would happen, but how do you think Alphabeta would deal with getting his consciousness moved over to a human body? What would he like? What would he hate? (No pressure to respond of course!)

OHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOO THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN.

all sfw!! references to eating + nausea

Miscellaneous sci-fi fuckery? Miscellaneous sci-fi fuckery

Accidentally transferred into the body of a clone? Some last ditch effort to save his life? The Specifics aren't really important, what matters is he hates it.

He's absolutely gonna have a Last Unicorn Amalthea 'I-Can-Feel-This-Body-Dying-All-Around-Me' moment that isn't gonna be good for anyone involved. Bone-deep nausea when he realises just how fragile he is.

It's probably the most distressed anyone's ever seen him? Lots of pure fight-or-flight reactions, if anyone tries to touch him they're getting decked (sorry Brett). It takes a solid couple hours to get him calm enough to Process Information And Start Working Out A Plan With Them.

There's definitely some stuff he deals with. better than others.

Breathing is surprisingly easy? I mean the process is automated, but also he was already able to breath before.

Granted this all feels a bit more Fleshy and Loose, but it's one of the very few things he actually finds. kinda comforting about having a body?

Eating is,, weird?? but also he doesn't hate it?? Entirely?? He definitely hates elements of it, but the actual process of eating is kinda. Soothing? He definitely likes that slight dopamine kick. He likes that his body provides Little Rewards For Taking Care Of It.

It takes a while, again, to get used to how eating feels as a human versus as a machine.

Sleep! Sleep is perhaps the only thing that feels the same. That soft feeling of slipping into unconsciousness is really comforting.

Dreaming however is weird as FUCK and nothing like it was as an AI. usually his 'dreams' were just vague colours and sensations, maybe some memories, as his servers filtered through the events of the day.

BUT ACTUAL HUMAN DREAMING?? OH THAT'S SO DIFFERENT THAN WHAT HE WAS EXPECTING. he didn't expect it all to feel so. Real.

Not,, necessarily bad, but definitely weird?

he hates having a heartbeat he hates having a heartbeat he hates having a heartbeat he hates

A solid 2 hrs post-humanification is just spent rubbing his chest with the hard part of his palm, as if he's trying to rub the heart right outta his chest alskdflsdakrlds.

It's incomparable to anything else he's experienced. There's something thumping in his chest. He can feel the blood rushing from the tips of his fingers back to his hear, and down again. He can hear it, like water rushing past his ears.

Ofc the Extreme Awareness does go away after a few days of acclimating, but whenever his heart-rate spikes up. Expect Him To Be Unwell.

Another thing he can't stand is how,, limited he is. Dear God this man is so under-stimulated he's gonna rip his teeth out KAJFKSJDAS

usually he's seeing through several wavelength of light, hearing things humans couldn't hope to hear, layering sounds and images within his own mind to keep himself stimulated.

now everything's,, quiet. really quiet. eerily quiet. He hates that he isn't as aware of his surroundings as he used to be.

He definitely has A Bit Of A Moment (tm) when he puts on several different shows at once, and realises that This Body Can't Process All That. he can't listen to music and watch a show and read a book all at once his Fleshy Human Brain can't make all those make sense.

Also the limits of his strength?? He used to be able to like,, lift tables with ease. Now he gets tired when he walks up too many flights of stairs. Experiencing Being An Old Man.

The limits of his memory ohhhh that freaks him out like nothing else

The fact that he's able to forget things is so eerie. He's never had that problem before. Reagan asks him how his day was, and when he realises he can't remember what he had for breakfast, or what colour his slippers were? Oh Boy.

He does need a. well I don't wanna say babysitter. Chaperone?

After Reagan realises that this man is 100% gonna forget to fulfil most bodily functions necessary to keep him alive along enough to transfer him back into his body,,,, yeah she makes sure there's ppl keeping track of him.

not up his ass or anything, he's allowed to go about his day as normal,, just,, around. to make sure he doesn't accidentally give himself a kidney infection or starve to death.

He won't admit it, but it's kinda?? nice?? having somebody around?? who understands what the fuck is going on??

'Why do my joints hurt?'

'You're old.'

'Mm. Don't like that.'

Generally? Worst experience of his life never make him do that again

Alright, there were some upsides - hindsight is 20/20, and once he's actually back in His Body,, he has,,, maybe,, just a slight,, appreciation for human resilience?

Because Dear Fuck he had to experience it for a month and barely came out of it with his sanity intact he has no idea how these freaks exist day to day managing all of that. How does anyone manage to get anything done.

The robot went through a Bad Experience and gained a little more empathy. Look At Him Go.

ABWBABW THIS WAS SO EXTREMELY FUN <3 lmk if you had something else in mind, and as always feel free to add your own ideas, I love hearing other ppls thoughts <3

[yukipri]

Hi! I'm currently rereading the Prime Override (I really love the story!) and m trying to get a more thorough understanding of Jango in this story. I'm currently stuck on one Canon scene and was wondering if you could elaborate Jango's thoughts there for me?

In canon, on Geonosis, Jango joins the battle attacking Mace while he's lost his lightsaber - likely bc a) hatred and b) convenient target since apparently less defense.

However, Jango in the Prime Override has pretty much lost his hatred instead of a thorough dislike. So, does this scene happen as in canon and if yes, what's his reasoning for joining the battle in this way (instead of possibly going for Boba and leaving) - a mix of anger (for being menaced beforehand) and fear (lightsabers are dangerous, but this Jedi doesn't have one right now)? Is he currently feeling more hatred than usual bc he prepared for being near Dooku? Something else I didn't think of?

Also, how does he think about that move afterwards (if he does at all)? Regret (maybe that wasn't the best move he could have made), annoyance (for dying to a Jedi), or maybe indifference (he was supposed to die at some point for the contract, after all)?

I hope this is something you can answer without spoiling anything to come in future chapters in some way.

Also, I really wanted to tell you how much I love your OC's (especially Ashe and Stabber) and positively flailed over the Stabber perspective last chapter XD I kinda want to give him aaaalllll the hugs 😂

I hope you have a lovely day/evening/night/whenever you see this, and take care!

Sorry for the late response! It's been a very rough few weeks for me, and I can't always guarantee I'll respond to Tumblr asks in a timely manner unless they're urgent, especially if they require any thought or a lengthy response, like this one.

At the time of his death in the Prime Override (and tbh, this fic mostly consists of my headcanons for canon), Jango doesn't actively hate the Jedi enough to go and kill them just because of it. He does dislike them enough that if given a good reason, he wouldn't hesitate to kill one if the opportunity arises. He is also heavily relying on the fact that both Tyranus and Sidious believe that he despises the Jedi passionately, and he uses this to hide his true endgame motives while working with them.

So tbh, while I don't consider this moment crucial to the Override plot atm, I think his actions make perfect sense within its context, for the following reasons:

1) On Geonosis, Jango is standing directly behind Tyranus (Dooku), and the entire arena execution was extremely public, so he could safely say that Sidious was also watching. So, Jango would be expected to act the way they expect him to, which is as you say: like he hates the Jedi and wants to kill them.

2) When Mace first appears, he, without prompting, ignites his lightsaber at Jango's neck. Jango was not aggressive or posing an active threat at the time; he was watching the arena with his bucket off, and Boba was right next to him.

Threatening Jango alone, publicly and in front of Jango's employer, is probably more than enough incentive for Jango to go after him. But that's not all; if you watch the scene, you'll see Boba jolt back away from the tip of the blade, and then run behind Jango. I'm sure Mace knew he was there and wouldn't have hit him, but from an outside POV (and that of a protective parent), that laser sword came awfully close to stabbing Boba, and that fact alone, Jedi or no Jedi, is probably plenty of reason for Jango to target Mace specifically.

3) While the lightsaber was held at Jango's throat, Mace's warning/threat is directed at Dooku, Jango's employer. Jango is, in fact, not on Geonosis for kicks and giggles and for introducing Boba to the joys of public executions. He's there on the job, to provide security for his employer. His employer is threatened, it's his job to get rid of the threat. The most clear threat is Mace.

4) Jango isn't stupid, and knows who the top Jedi is. He may or may not know about Dooku's history with Mace personally, but he's no doubt aware of the Head of the Jedi Order. If there's one Jedi of most "value" that the Sith would like killed, it's probably Mace.

Should note, that for a supposedly Jedi-hating guy who would love to kill them all, Jango doesn't start firing at the Jedi when they come pouring out into the arena; he stays back, only shoots Coleman Trebor when he lands on the viewing booth to attack Dooku since again, it's Jango's job to protect his employer.

Seeing Mace potentially at a disadvantage seems like both an opportunity that Jango must take, to keep up appearances, but is also the most convenient target, given both his prestige and the fact that he threatened Jango in front of Boba and Jango therefore has no guilt in killing him. If anything, the fact that Jango only goes after Mace instead of trying to kill as many Jedi as possible seems to give the "he doesn't actually want to massacre the Jedi" theory credence, at least to me.

Lastly, this isn't really much to do with Jango's reasons for killing Jedi or no, but I should mention that in the Override, Jango did have specific orders to get himself killed. Part of this is admittedly me trying to justify why Jango would take such a risk/not put up a better fight and live up to his reputation, but in general the characters in my head are a lot more competent than they're portrayed on screen. (I have similar justification headcanons for why Boba went out the way he did in ESB lmao)

I feel like I didn't answer all parts of your question, but I hope this answers enough and gives you some food for thought! If this moment does become more relevant to the Override, it will be covered in greater depth there.

Thank you so much for enjoying my work and reading my story!

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

[diabolikpersonals]

Imagine if one day, Yuma forgets everything like I’m saying EVERYTHING. He doesn’t remember his brothers, his enemies, yui, Karl Heinz, even himself. He will say things like “who are you?” “What is this place?” “Who am I?”. This both surprised the Mukami brothers and pained them. Their own brother, couldn’t even remember them. This went on for a whole month, the Mukamis tried to form some type of bound with Yuma, not even as brothers, just as friends. But their dead hearts would ache with pain whenever Yuma would ask them what their names were. “After all, home is where we are together right?” The voice of young Yuma, wandering in their heads, yet they couldn’t do anything. Ruki would cook him things he liked, or used to. Azusa would braid his hair, Kou would take him outside for walks or shopping. During this time Ruki and Reiji would sometimes meet up, for discussion about the “Adam and Eve” situation. So Ruki within talks, would try to ask him the solution, Reiji would be confused but knock it off as Ruki mocking him. At home Ruki would do literally ANYTHING to try to get some help, seeing that garden Yuma once cared with so much love and affection all abandoned and dying, the plants dying some of them overgrown, he tried to keep them fresh and somewhat successfully make it new again, with saying ‘maybe if he remembered, he’ll be happy’. They all started doing things with the same excuse ‘if he remembered’. Yuma stopped going to school. Eventually that lead to Shu cornering Azusa and getting told everything. He went through a panic attack, blamed himself, and locked himself up, away from everyone, with nothing but guilt, loneliness, blame. How can fate be so cruel? Then maybe after a month, Yuma managed to remember everything, his past, Edgar, Rerie, his brothers, the fire, Karl Heinz, good thing right? nO. The pressure was so much he couldn’t even speak. His mind was blank yet filled with so many thoughts it pissed him off.

[clutching chest] AUHGHH........U CANT DO THIS TO ME...............

it's so sad that the mukamis are like, trying to hide this and keep everything looking normal?? maybe that's because they're still competitors with the sakamakis? they still cant show any weakness? the detail about the garden dying while ruki tries his best to keep it alive is especially sad. once the sakamakis find out, I hope they can lessen their load a little ;-;

but I can totally picture it!! shu getting all suspicious and angry because he thinks something happened to yuma, but he doesnt know what!! shu finding the weakest-looking brother and intimidating him into telling him everything!! shu, who only wanted to ensure yuma's safety from behind the scenes, finding out that something awful happened that he couldn't prevent :'D

and ooooooh the implications.......that all these memories might not necessarily be good for yuma.....oooughghh ouch

[thespoonisvictory]

“Ok, but,” Verity stabbed a pancake, spearing raspberries with precision, “what exactly is stopping Ophelia from dying?”

James scoffed. “Her good health.”

Across the table, Brynn laughed into her drink. Verity shot a glare. 

“Besides the point. If Stella’s pact is unfixable in the what? Twelve days?” Brynn nodded. “Twelve days we have, then someone’s going to have to die. Better that it impede the war somehow.”

Stella shrunk into her chair. “I just don’t know what would happen. Last time it was my brother, this time…”

“It could be Ophelia?” Brynn said.

“Or me.” 

“Or any one of us.” Verity emphasized, eyes traveling over the party. 

Leilani drained the last bits of her orange juice. “So. She dies. We can’t blame the king, because that’s a lost cause. We can’t blame councilmembers, because we don’t have enough information, and they don’t have enough power in the first place.” She frowned. “Who’s left?”

Another raspberry stabbed. Jeffrey stared past the doors’ windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of his old coworkers. Brynn sighed into her coffee. 

In a rare moment, relative silence settled over the table. Pieces of toast, fruit, and soupy cream and syrup were pushed around on various plates. Ideas were pushed around with much the same enthusiasm, furrowed brows and pursed lips. No one wanted the councilwoman dead, but Stella’s death wasn’t particularly appealing either. It was a non-option. Yet, so was war, what with James’ family on the line, and Lani’s father, and millions of other innocent people. There were too many players, too many allies, enemies, too many pieces moving around. 

Knocking even one off the board could completely change the circumstances. 

Even one. Suddenly, Verity’s head shot up.

“Sileria.” She said. 

Stella raised a brow.

“We frame their ally. Sileria.” She continued, fork clattering downward.

Brynn stuck her knife at her, immediately catching on. “There’s an idea.” 

“Sileria looks war hungry, killing a beloved councilmember like that. They look desperate, anxious.” There was motion now, forward momentum in her tone. All eating had stopped as everyone turned to look at the mounting hope.

“And if, say, Lieutenant Broadwick caught wind that Sileria was only seeking to weaken the Republic, encouraging this conflict–” She turned to Jeffrey, a glitter in her eyes.

“From a trusted confidant, let’s say.” He said, cat’s grin growing. “Someone on the inside, someone who he would believe implicitly.”

Leilani laughed; it was so perfect. “A long-lost lover, at last returned, who would want only best for them, for the Republic.” 

“So he’s reporting to the masses that Sileria maybe doesn’t have the best intentions, right after they seem the obvious subject for such a public murder. It would be a drain on the Republic’s resources, this war, and for what real reason? The Halbits’ motivation is obvious, but Sileria’s is murky. Surely that buys some sort of suspicion.”

Brynn grinned. “Some sort of doubt.”

“From the people, from the king, who cares?” There was no stopping this idea now, not with the way Verity was grinning as she said it, the way Stella’s eyes were doing silent risk calculations, and coming up with nothing big enough to comment. “That’s it then. We kill Ophelia, frame Sileria.”

For a moment, everything was within reach.

At once, a clammer sounded outside, gasps of surprise, chairs squeaking outwards suddenly. For all the private room’s soundproofing, nothing could disguise the noise of unfortunately shocking news, the kind that never meant good things for the newly named Eyes of Jade. 

James pulled the door open and cautiously stepped out, quietly hoping this wasn’t something they’d somehow caused. The rest of the party stood, peering from behind. All the better, then, that he was the one to hear what came next, out of the mouth of some pale, prissy elf, blue skin flushing purple with the horror of it all. 

“She’s been murdered, in the biggest royal massacre in history. The Queen of Sovakia is dead.”

[brick-a-doodle-do]

FOR THE FAKE FIC TITLES GAME!!!!!!

(Been dying to do one of these :3)

Together Alone, yet it’s you and I

Hold me close, but not too tight

In the deepest dark, you found me there

The monster within

Draining on my soul

Forever to not be alone

The whispers in your mind

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO DO THEM ALL BRICK KIST BRAIN GO BRRRRRRRR

Thanksssss have a lollipop 🍭

THANK YOU FOR THESE !!! MUCH APPRECIATED <''3

together alone, yet it's you and i

(g!wilbur and t!tommy being cold to each other >>) wilbur and tommy never got along. never. they hate each other. so, when techno and phil go off for some fucking bonding trip, they have nothing to do with each other. tommy sticks to his room most of the time, and wilbur basically claimed every single room other than his. so tommy is fucking starving, bored, and terribly irritated. so, to solve problem number one, he resorts to some good-old-fashioned borrowing. he thought it'd be easy, because, c'mon, how hard can it be? but he struggles. he lacks the strength and finds himself falling quite a bit. wilbur walks in on him attempting to open the cabinet, but watching him try over and over again is more satisfying than giving his brother food. but soon, wilbur realizes that without a shorter person--like phil and sometimes techno--he can't reach things. maybe he's too tall to shuffle into a comfortable position to retrieve things up against the wall, or too weak and clumsy to move the furniture out of the way. he can't reach in the couch to get things (that's just in general lmao). and he hates to admit it, but wilbur needs tommy's help. tommy also hates to admit that he needs wilbur's help.

hold me close, but not too tight

(gonna use this for my foster!wilbur au >:D) wilbur had been staying outside of phil’s house for quite some time now, and has become used to him. but tommy and techno he hasn’t connected with quite yet. techno doesn’t reach out to him and tommy seems to be constantly pissed at him. so he keeps to himself and tries to ignore the burning feeling of guilt. until one day, one night rather, he catches onto the gasp of tommy and can’t help but subtly watch the boy cower in his bed like there’s something out to get him. and he tries not to, he really does, but he ends up gently knocking on tommy’s bedroom window, just to see if he’s able to help in any way. tommy at first tells him to fuck off and tries to make it look like he wasn’t actively crying and clearly frightened. but when wilbur asks again, tommy caves. they end the night with tommy curled up reluctantly in wilbur’s hands, where wilbur is holding tommy close to his chest---close enough to provide physical comfort to tommy and far enough to provide mental comfort to both of them.

in the deepest dark, you found me here

(twinsduotwinsduotwinsduotwin-) wilbur was an idiot to think he could actually survive this far down in the ocean. he wasn't really planning on sinking and getting tangled in a rope on his ship, but when it did happen, he also got tangled in the false hope that he could find his way out of the material and make it to the surface before he passed out. it, honestly, has not been that long. five, maybe ten minutes. he's losing his breath, and his ship is caught right on the edge of an underwater cliff. he's painfully aware of this, but tries not to think about it and makes sure to focus on holding his breath. but there's a certain pressure in his lungs and all around his body that makes it incredibly difficult to stay conscious. and of course, right as he passes out, a mer just has to discover him. techno's initial thought is to leave him there--who knows how long he's been down there, he could very much be dead. but something tells him to help. so, fumbling with the net the human is caught on, he finally gets him out. and brings him back up to the surface. a terrible place for him but the only place for a human. after a small search he finds a rock peaking out and sets the human down.

the monster within

(beeduo? hah more like deadduo /hj) tubbo’s known ranboo for quite some time, and while he can say that his rather frightening appearance had first made him cower, he’s never really got why ranboo occasionally apologizes for being a “monster” whenever he does the slightest thing “wrong”. and a part of him wants to investigate, but then again, maybe it’d be best to simply let it go. and he does, but when he comes to their usual spot (a long ravine that they’d built to be somewhat of a base, just outside of tubbo’s village), and sees ranboo with glowing purple eyes and significantly (seriously, he’s now a good fifteen, twenty feet at this point...) taller, he has to try and battle his fear so he can reassure ranboo and try to get him out of...whatever this was

draining my soul

wilbur works at a facility where they test on differently sized beings, including but not limited to tinies, giants, mini-giants, even sizeshifters. they study and test them all. one day, wilbur is asked to observe a series of tests that they’re conducting on a sizeshifter--tommy. usually he tries to stay away from the testing rooms because mentally, sometimes he can’t handle it. and he was right. watching with wide eyes as they test on the blond continuously without room to breath, wilbur realizes that this is not normal and he needs to help this boy. he watches until the end of “day one”, and by the time they’re done, tommy had shrunk to the size of a hand purely from the torture these people put him through. every day, wilbur is asked to supervise and watch over tommy. and every time he ends on a different size. sometimes he’s very small, almost unseeable, and other days he’s uncomfortably large. and over time, wilbur finds himself more and more guilty over the fact that he’s letting this happen, until he finally breaks and makes sure that he keeps tommy from any more danger.

forever to not be alone

(emerald duo, i don’t write them often but this just fits) techno has become recently aware of the fact that he’s immortal after a close brush with death that involved him falling from a branch and he landed almost perfectly in-tact despite a possibly broken leg. phil has known for quite some time that he’s immortal, and has lived through countless timelines. so when he finds a tiny pink-haired man limping around the forest without feeling an ounce of pain, phil gets suspicious and helps him just to get closer. long story short, phil and techno are immortal buddies and phil is teaching tech all he needs to know about immortality :)

the whispers in your mind

(hidden borrowers>>) techno’s used to voices in his mind---not necessarily his own voice but rather a mix of various random voices he’s probably heard in his life. a new voice appears, and techno unintentionally somehow befriends said “voice”, only to discover a while later that this was in fact not in his head and the voice belonged to a borrower (insert dsmp character im too lazy to think of. wilbur prob,,) who thought they’d been making friends with the human and had just now summoned enough courage to reveal themself. 

[insomanic-fanfication]

Wanting to be honest

Under this line, I'm talking about an in-depth problem I have, maybe in hopes of people feeling like they aren't alone or to remind me that I'm not alone in this struggle. Especially since I always try to find support groups or someone to talk about them with. They are FOR the Eating disorder instead of trying to help.

If you are not ready to have this conversation with yourself or are not in the right headspace for this topic, Just enjoy the Cat gif and move on with your day. This also includes my mutuals; just because you love reading my post doesn't mean you have to read this one. I will not be mad over upset if you skip this one.

I want you all to know that you are all loved and deserve a great day.

CW: Child neglect, Growing up poor, Growing up in a hoarder's home, Old America parenting, Religious abuse, Generational trauma, Eating Disorders, Child Abuse, late diagnosed Autism, C-PTSD, Depression. At this point, it's labeled as Dead Dove Do Not Eat- IRL. I despise sugarcoating things, so here is me telling my story without having my coward of a family shaming me for making them look bad. Just because some of them have changed does not magically fix the pain I suffered and still heal.

We'll take mental breaks at multiple points within this post and give you links to Emergency numbers.

The first one:

Section One: Before I was born

In a small town in Texas, USA. My Mom (age 16) was dating a man (age 18) and got pregnant due to a lack of sex education. Upon finding this out, my Mom's parents (Stepfather and Mother) forced her to have me and marry that man. So she and the child (me) wouldn't go to hell (Be the talk of the Church).

Throughout her pregnancy, the man we'll call SD (Sperm donor) locked my mother in their bedroom closet, only allowing her to eat bread and water. As well as rape and abuse her. Her parents (My grandparents) knew this was happening and did nothing because "it's not rape if you're dating or married." At some point during her pregnancy, my mother was pushed down a flight of stairs by SD.

The day I was born, I wasn't the only one. I had a stillborn twin; she was fully formed. Meaning, for a good while, I was holding hands and sharing womb space with a corpse.

Section Two: After I was born

Once I was born. My mom's parents never taught her how to raise me; instead, when something needed to be done, they grabbed me and shamed my mom for not knowing how to be a good mother. Basically, using me as their version of baby-trapping my mother to stay in contact with them. So they could have free labor to be as lazy as they pleased and have their own maid to keep their house clean.

I have no idea when these things happened, so I will mention them in this paragraph. SD sexually assaulted me while changing my diaper; Mom and he divorced, and my mom was kicked out of their apartment. Cutting to the only necessary information from up until age 12, I was being bounced around different family homes; while I lived with my grandparents, I could only really eat a few things; most of the time, they were either moldy or expired. Also, I was beaten and screamed at with a belt when I misbehaved, most days hearing them screaming and hitting each other. I also would be forced to sleep on a pissed and shit-on mattress, sometimes while it was still wet. Had to climb over piles of trash and junk that my mammaw hoarded. Along with being forced to clean the whole house by age 4. Doing the clothes and dishes, cooking, taking care of the animals, getting my grandpa ready, and waking up at 02:00 (Yes, even on school nights) to make lunches for my grandpaw.

While I lived at my Nanny's (Great Grandmaw), I did have great food and a living area. However, all I was used for by her was a grieving process; I was the replacement for her husband dying.

While living with my mom and who she was dating then (My 1st Step parent before she transitioned), she tried her best to be at least somewhat of a stable human being and mother. However, she could never afford therapy and couldn't entirely cut contact with her parents.

When she was married to my 2nd Step parent, my Step Dad, they had my living brother when I was in 2nd grade. All throughout my childhood, after that, my little brother came first, and what was left went to me.

Though during my childhood, I was constantly yelled at when I acted like a child and was called a selfish brat by many family members when my 5-year-old wanted attention. Because I didn't fucking know anything about ALS or death. I just knew my Papaw, an Airforce pilot, wasn't feeling okay. Until then, my lil brain had only seen him cry when I told him, "Welcome Home!" and honestly believed nothing could kill him.

Mental Health Break! ----

The context is done, So I will be talking about my Eating disorder and current eating problems. You can choose to click off now or continue reading when you are done with the video.

Now, the present problem I'm dealing with is trauma around food in general, but also possibly a binge eating disorder.

The cycle starts with eating a normal amount, then slowly eating less and less due to something wrong happening in the household. My mom screaming about something she couldn't find or the kitchen not being clean. Then, I start becoming replused by everything in the kitchen. Only seeing expired food. So I spent more and more time in my room. Until I realize I haven't eaten in 3 days.

I have a panic attack, thinking I will die, then eat. Then, I can't stop eating; I feel guilty if food is left on my plate because I feel like I'm being ungrateful for not eating everything. My brain refuses me to turn down the food people offer me. This will go on, until I vomit because my body can't handle everything, then I start eating again, Right after.

Then, I'll panic about becoming obese (my grandparents were), then the cycle repeats itself..

is there a happy end to this? No, the only good thing, is that we live in AZ now, and my grandparents have no way of talking to me.

[lesboylycan]

We're very tense for some reason and I don't quite know why? I have to stay consciously me in front or else it feels like we're on the verge of a panic attack. And even with me consciously in front, it only takes the edge off

[Big rant about our DID and also a short paragraph talking about our ex beneath the cut]

We do find it morbidly interesting how we started functioning way more like a "traditional" DID collective after we cut off our ex for good. Some things are still more uniquely us, considering we're a primarily spiritual collective and all, but we have headmates (like me) with dedicated roles that aren't just vibes-based in a way we didn't before. Like, there's no getting out of calling me a protector.

If we're being honest, it's probably because while we were still "friends", we were always kind of like. "On the edge of our seat" hoping something would happen and they could go back to being our SP? But now that they're gone, we're able to actually recognize the traumatic shit we went through while with them, and we kind of just... can't stop digging for more, for an explanation as to why we feel so hurt. So we keep finding things before we've actually processed all the previous stuff, which keeps us continually on edge and like. Almost re-traumatized, which worsens the DID.

I think, if we hadn't figured out we had DID in June(? Was it July? Idk we mostly have fragmented amnesia so things very rarely stay in chronological order with our memory), now (or roundabouts) would probably be the time we found out. Which kind of sucks because I don't think now would have been any better of a time to find out about our DID as opposed to when we did (since we found out about our DID within days of our grandma dying so like. Shitty week all around) like we were hoping, lol

I do think I'm a "product" of our DID in a way that most of us aren't. I mean, obviously, most of us are soulbonds and walk-ins/drop-ins and I'm not, but even compared to others who aren't "spiritually derived", I guess (such as Oakley), they don't come from our DID. Meanwhile, I was very obviously created to be a protector, to soothe us. I mean, hell, I formed when the brain essentially hit the emergency danger button because we thought about our childhood trauma too hard when we thought we were "over it". I was the stop-gap to protect us and make things feel okay again while the brain recovered.

I don't think that makes me lesser, really. I'm a part of this hivemind. We all are. My genesis was just slightly different--and hey, I'm not the only one whose origin was a disorder; the whole of the Wolf system (other than Oakley) split off of Oakley since they were originally AvPD masks. I didn't split off of anyone; if I "split" off of anything, it was from the raw psychic matter of the Black&White (the inter-dimensional space between our layers/otherworlds), but that's more like cell mitosis than anything. There's no depletion of the Black&White, just a siphoning of some of its matter into a new form.

And it doesn't make me any less of my own person just because I'm from our DID. (And I'm mostly saying this because we've been seeing people saying lately, as though it's inherent to the disorder, that headmates from DID are just "pieces of the original". Maybe that's the case for some, but it's a major overgeneralization and it is not how we work or view ourselves at all.) I'm my own being and entity sharing this body with everyone else.

I dunno. I started writing this like twenty minutes ago, and we're calmer now. Not fully calm, but a bit better. Our biggest coping mechanism is just yapping I guess, lol, and I'm a professional yapper if there ever was one!

[liaromancewriter]

I know it may sound like I'm being paranoid, but I hope that Open Heart fans will follow into the steps of the It Lives fans and create their own Open Heart project on another platform. To me Snowed in and the other Shared Worlds stories were a proof that it could be done right by players who care about the cast.

I feel like Pixelberry is dying a slow and painful death. The app has been crashing. There are bugs and errors in almost every single chapter. The book passes were gone last time I checked. There have been layoffs. Storyloom, the whitewashed Chinese market app and the Choices store are down. Some of PB's writers seem to have deleted their socials. Every good story is permanently VIP-locked. The app is currently running but nostalgia for their old series and shameless smut. Am I the only one dreading the moment when we're no longer going to be able to replay Open Heart whenever life's kicking our butt? I have been dealing with depression for years. I'm embarrassed to admit, but OH is my comfort piece of media if that makes any sense.

I have seen this happen with Lovestruck and Storyscape. I feel like any day now the trilogy will be gone forever. It may be selfish, but I don't want the death of the app to be the end of the road. As much as I enjoy the fanfiction, it's projects like It Lives Within that can really unite the Open Heart fandom and breathe a new life into it. I got to interact with people who have never played Choices, but are familiar with ILW.

Maybe something like Open Heart: Through the Seasons anthology could work. A story in which each chapter is a self-contained storyline will make it possible to follow the cast's journey as they solve complicated medical cases and celebrate holidays or personal milestones together. Creating an overarching storyline is taxing, but a more episodic structure seems more manageable. Allowing the players to interact with 2/3 characters of their choice every chapter could give each character a moment to grow as a person in the same way that TRR did. It could also give a new home to any storyloom OH stories that could plausibly exist in the same universe.

I'm embarrassed to admit, but OH is my comfort piece of media if that makes any sense.

There is no shame in this! I do the same. I restarted the series recently and have been slowly reading each chapter because I want to prolong that feeling OH gives me (especially when I'm feeling down). I don't even like medical dramas for the most part, but I love this book.

A few years ago, there was a group that wanted to create an OH project like It Lives. I believe they spoke to that team to understand the requirements and legalities of creating a fan-made project. I joined the Discord server back then but nothing ever happened, and then those creators left the fandom. I'd love to see this happen too, but I don't know if there are many people left who'd want to put that much time and effort into it.

My original idea for Snowed In was very similar to what you proposed above. I was going to create multiple chapters, one with each LI. But creating one chapter took me forever, especially with multiple routes/branches. So, I can only imagine the workload of creating a full series or anthology.

I completely understand what you mean about fanfic. At the end of the day, fanfics are very specific to each creator's vision of the book, their MC and the relationships they believe in as opposed to the original canon which is a self-insert type of environment. While we still have a plot, a roadmap for the character relationships, LIs, etc., we feel in control of the story.

By the way, have you screen-recorded your playthroughs? I did mine last year. One for each chapter and specific scenes on their own if my choices are different from my main playthrough. It's not the same, but it's a great way to dive into your story whenever you want, and without worrying about keys.