#not getting why that's not cool to do to someone

[wonderjanga]

I May be a Kid but I’m not a Kid Kid.

When Billy’s secret identity was revealed, he started getting treated like a little kid. It really annoys him whenever these guys try to baby him.

Supes: “Billy, uhm… we were wondering if you would like to be moved to the Teen Titans.”

Marvel: “What…?” *sounds absolutely horrified at the thought of that* “Why?”

Supes: “You’d around kids your age.”

Marvel: *stares and blinks rapidly* “Are you saying you’re gonna demote me to the Teen Titans of all things? No offense.”

Supes: “Billy, it’s not a demotion.”

Marvel: “But it is. I’ve been on this team for what? Four years- almost five. You guys are acting like my age automatically means I can’t be a good hero anymore.”

Supes: “We’re not saying that. We just think it’d be good if you were on a team of heroes around your age.”

Marvel: “But you are. You’re literally all but saying it. I like those kids but not enough to want to be on a team with them.” *doesn’t know if he’d like listening to Robin’s condescension in more than small doses* “I prefer you guys. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Supes: “Of course!” *happy Billy is still somewhat comfortable around them*

Marvel: “Good.” *smiles* “Besides, I do hang out with kids around my age. Mary and I are the same age while Junior’s a year older than us.”

Supes: “He’s the oldest?”

This conversation got them to back off about kicking him off the team. That didn’t stop them from poking their stupid adult noses into other parts of Billy’s heroics though.

Marvel: *helping someone at like 2am because he patrols as much as he can*

Supes: “Captain! Whatcha doing up this late, champ?”

Marvel: *makes a face that being called champ, but doesn’t say anything about it* “Uh… patrolling? *finishes helping the person*

Supes: “Patrolling? It’s a little late- er early for that. Isn’t it?”

Marvel: “I guess…? I still have a couple more hours.”

Supes: “Shouldn’t you be turning in earlier?”

Marvel: “No…?”

Supes: “Aren’t you tired though? Kids need plenty of sleep.”

Marvel: *a little irked at being called a kid but brushes it off* “Stamina of Atlas, remember?”

Supes: “Oh.” *silence* “Well, maybe you could still turn in earlier?”

Marvel: *looks around for any hidden cameras* “No.”

Supes: “Oh okay…” *doesn’t really want to seem controlling so he just sulks while flying back to Metropolis*

Don’t worry, Superman trying to give him a curfew isn’t the only thing a nosy adult tried to do.

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir? Are the new long term mission signs up sheets out yet?”

Batman: “Ah, yes.” *hands him the sign up tablet* “There are three new ones.”

Marvel: “Great! Any potential overlaps?”

Batman: “Only these two.” *points to two missions*

Marvel: “How long would these two last?” *points to one of the overlapping missions and the one that doesn’t overlap*

Batman: “Together would be about a month and a half or longer.”

Marvel: “Cool.” *is about to sign up for them*

Batman: *remembers school exists* “And school?”

Marvel: *pauses so he can look at Bruce confused* “What about it?”

Batman: “If you sign up for these, you’ll miss at least a month or two. You’d be stuck catching up.”

Marvel: *laughs* “You say that if I actually go to school.”

Batman: “You don’t?”

Marvel: “No.”

Batman: “I see.” *takes the tablet away before Billy can sign* “Well, you’ll go now then.”

Marvel: *thinks he’s joking* “What?”

Batman: “I’ll enroll you in a school in Fawcett.”

Marvel: *stares for a solid minute* “Mr. Batman Sir, you’re not sending me to school.”

Batman: “Yes, I am. William-”

Marvel: “Don’t call me that.”

Batman: *sighs* “Billy, education is important. You shouldn’t put it off for heroics. Even Robin goes to school.”

Marvel: “Okay? I’m not a Robin though. And that only works because you guys patrol at night. If I go to school I’ll miss my day-patrol.”

Batman: “I’m sure there are plenty of other heroes in Fawcett who patrol during the day. Why not leave it to one of them?”

Marvel: “Because I don’t want to. I like saving people. The more heroes who are out in Fawcett, the less likely somebody might get glossed over and hurt because a hero wasn’t there in time to save them. I don’t wanna be the person that failed them just because I was busy with school or because I went to bed early… I say that last part because no matter what Supes thinks, he’s not subtle about wanting me to have a darn curfew.”

Batman: *stares in silence because he now feels a little bad and also empathizes with that “what if I’m not there mentality*

Marvel: *thinks that silence is Bruce still not understanding him* “Look, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say, imagine if someone came into Gotham and tried pushing you out of the superhero business just because they thought you unfit to be hero. That’s how I feel in this situation. I don’t tell you guys how to your jobs, so why are you trying to tell me?” *reaches over to grab the tablet a sign up for the two missions he wanted to take*

Yeah… Batman started treating him normally after that. Supes also did because his superhearing caught the convo.

Then, there’s his relationship with Flash and GL. They’d taken to treating him like a little kid or nephew even though Billy doesn’t want that.

Marvel: “Could you guys uh- stop treating me like a kid?” *sounds disappointed them*

Flash: *somehow still feels dread at the disappointment even though, NO, this guy is younger than him, why does Barry still feel like he disappointed his dad?* “You are a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but you didn’t used to do this before.”

GL: *also dislikes that he’s bothered by the Dad Disappointment™️ radiating off of Marvel* “That was before we knew you were a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well I don’t care. I don’t need you to act like this. I don’t want you to act like this. I want friends, not chaperones or parental figures or anything stupid like that. I don’t like that you’re treating me differently now.” *sounds bitter* “You guys seem to forget that I’ve been doing this since before most of you were even, excuse my language, sperm cells. And sure, there was suspendium, but I fought Nazis, commies, and my own villains on top of that, all without being treated like a defenseless little kid and I ended up just fine. So I don’t need any of you acting like I’m a stupid little baby.”

That shut them up. It didn’t make any of the relationships between Billy and them go back to normal though. Not completely anyways. At least it was somewhat better though.

By the way, Billy, throughout all of this, just sounds bitter about being treated like this. He misses his friends guys :(.

[iatrophilosophos]

I hate to burst ur bubble bc this does sound like a very cool life!!! but that is not unthinkably far my friend. The appalachian trail is over 2,000 miles and ppl regularly make it on foot in abt 5 months. Now, most ppl who hike the appalachain trail are not coming up with food on the journey; so i assume a prehistoric trip is gonna take longer, and/but/also i feel like it is entirely feasible to spend, say, ur early 20s wandering around, hanging out with different people and living different places, and cover that much distance in a few years without even really feeling like you made an exceptional journey (at least just on the walking front) cuz like...I can't fully back this up but I'd be shocked if prehistoric hunter gatherers weren't walking hundreds of miles a year even w/o traveling great distances; just in the course of Living Life.

Lots of modern people live traveling long distances and hopping from place to place and while we're never gonna know exactly why someone did what they did thousands of years ago, I tend to think the reasons stay pretty similar. I remember reading a while ago abt how it's actually been really common in tons of cultures across time--including lots and lots of places without aided transport--for young adults to leave their families, locations, & even local culture of origin to go do Something Else with their lives... I'm sure this person was not the Only person to make a journey like this in her time and she probably heard stories from others and decided she wanted to try it out. Some people are Road People, today, back then, and every time and place in between.

Edit: i also think its unlikely that, like someone in the notes is suggesting, her family/home of origin Never Heard From Her Again. This happens all the time and is definitely possible but, even without phones or organized information sharing networks, even with modern population sizes! you might be surprised abt how easy it can be to get news abt a loved one/ex/enemy/etc you ain't seen in years from a traveler who happened upon both them and you. Its a small world, after all, and I think its more fun and lovely to remember that humanity has always been capable of navigating it.

I often think about the remains of a Neolithic woman found at a Prehistoric site in Scotland who was isotope tested and found to have been born in southern England and lived there for a significant portion of her life before relocating to northern Scotland. Her life predated the introduction of horses to Britain so she would have had to walk 700+ miles during her life to get to the place she was ultimately buried. What motivated her to do that? What drove her from her home and to a colder and harsher climate? Was it conflict? Was it wanderlust? Was it love? I can’t remember the name of the site but I think I remember other nearby remains in the group tomb had been tested and found to have been lifelong locals so she was probably an outlier in her new community.

[helpimstuckposting]

From Santa

Prompt: Magic | Rating: G | Wordcount: 2,957 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Steve was seven when he found out that Santa did not exist. He tried, once, the whole ‘Santa’ thing. After hearing the stories from kids at school, he ran over to Melvald’s and bought a tin of cookies with his allowance before skipping excitedly home. Some of the kids mentioned feeding the magic deer, because flying took a lot out of them obviously, and Steve wasn’t quite sure what magic deer ate, but he left out a few carrots in the yard just in case.

He was so excited, setting out the cookies in front of the big tree in the living room and hoping he’d wake up to find a present underneath, just for him. Maybe it would be a cool Hess Truck like Tommy wanted, or maybe it would be an action figure, or comic books, or maybe his parents would come home. The other kids said Santa was magic, that he could do anything, so Steve wasn’t picky.

He went to bed excited and could barely close his eyes to sleep, but the other kids said Santa didn’t come if you were awake so Steve tried his very best. He finally fell asleep with the taste of ginger snaps on his tongue (there was a whole tin, and Santa had hundreds, maybe thousands of cookies every night, so he didn’t think Santa would mind one less).

He woke up to a spotless and quiet house, no puddles from snow on Santa’s boots, no bites out of the cookies, and no present under the tree. No parents either. Steve didn’t have any more cookies that day. He couldn’t bear it.

When his parents arrived a week later, Steve was greeted not by hugs and exclamations of how much his parents missed him, but by his mother loudly and forcefully demanding answers to why her yard was scattered with gross old carrots, drying and cracking and covered in mud from the melted snow. So he told her. He told her about Santa and how he wanted him to come, how he went to bed early like a good boy, and waited all night. How he didn’t show up.

She laughed.

It was cold and icy, like the shards still hanging from the gutters on their roof. She told him he shouldn’t be impatient for his presents — they were in the car like always — and really, Steven, it doesn’t look good for a boy to be so demanding, and the presents certainly weren’t from Santa because the man did not exist.

Santa didn’t exist.

So yes, Steve knew from a young age that the jolly man in the coat and hat was simply a lie — told to children to excite them and give them something to look forward to. He didn’t really get it at first; were the presents not enough? Was the week off from school not exciting? Did they not look forward to Christmas morning without the story of a man sneaking down the chimney? But he’d also fallen for it. He was so excited, he liked the idea of feeding the magic deer, and leaving a treat out for someone delivering gifts out of kindness. He liked the story, that a man with so much power wanted to use it to make children happy. He liked being thought of, liked being remembered by someone he didn’t even know, liked that it was a reward for being nice throughout the year.

But it wasn’t true. And that was fine, Steve tried to convince himself. He still got the presents, and he still got his parents, even if they were a week late. He still got a hug from his nanny, and his mom let him have the rest of the ginger snaps, and he didn’t even have to clean up the carrots from the yard.

His parents left again, and school started again, and it was fine.

It was fine, until Tommy came barreling through the door with his Hess Truck held high and the praise of Santa spewing from his lips, and Steve noticed that not everyone shared in Tommy’s delight. Most of them did, and a lot of them brought their favorite toy to school just like Tommy, but a few kids (maybe three) sat still in their chairs — like they could avoid any questions if they blended into the background. They ducked their heads and they sank in their seats, and Steve wondered if they also found out Santa wasn’t real.

But Tommy singled one kid out at recess. He dragged him out, to the center of the playground, and told everyone that Santa didn’t go to trailer parks, that the kids in Forest Hills didn’t get presents from Santa, because only good kids got presents, and how could they be good if they lived in a junk yard. Those words didn’t sound like Tommy, but he was always repeating things his dad said, copying him and taking his word as gospel.

The kid, scrawny with a shaved head and angry brown eyes, sank into his shoes. Not in retreat, not in a cowering way. He sank into his shoes like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure his footing was firm and steady, and he shoved Tommy right into the ground.

Of course, only then did a teacher interject, and only the boy Steve didn’t know the name of was dragged away to the office. Tommy angrily scrambled to his feet and spat at the ground where the kid had stood, remarking that he was right and the Forrest Hills kids were definitely on the naughty list, Steve, wasn’t he right? Did he see that? What a freak that kids was.

Steve rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything. He knew interrupting Tommy was just more hassle than it was worth, and Tommy was wrong anyway because Santa wasn’t real. He’d figure it out eventually, Steve supposed, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

It was his walk home that gave him an idea. He saw the bus pass by as he trudged along, down the road and off in the direction of Forrest Hills trailer park. He wondered if that kid from recess was there, if he saw Steve out the window as he passed, if he really didn’t get any presents. He thought about all the gifts his parents gave him that were still packaged up in his closet because he had too many and he didn’t really like them all. And he thought about how much he wanted someone to think about him on Christmas, with no other purpose or desire but to make him happy.

So, with an inkling of an idea creeping its way through his head, he ran the rest of the way home and pulled out the phone book from the hallway table, as well as his yearbook from the previous year. There weren’t many numbers from Forrest Hills, but he did find the three kids from his class and a couple from the year above. He picked out which of his unopened presents he thought they’d like the most, and he wrapped them crudely in leftover paper he found in the study. He ripped off a few pages from the note pad by the phone, and wrote out in his best writing:

From Santa, sorry I was late

And then:

P.S. my elf wrote this

Because his best writing was still pretty bad.

It took him a couple days to plan and gather things, but in the dead of night — after his neighbors clicked off their porch lights — he piled all five presents into a little red wagon and tied the wagon to the end of his bike. He took off toward Forrest Hills, a little list of names and addresses crinkled in his pocket. He tip-toed around the dirt paths, freezing in fear every time his little wagon’s wheels squeaked, and placed the presents and the notes from ‘Santa’ on the doorsteps that matched his little list. He checked it twice, just for fun.

He felt lighter on the ride back home, and not just because his wagon was empty.

Steve was seven when he decided to become Santa himself.

It wasn’t obvious, the next day at school, and Steve didn’t do it just to listen to kids whisper about Santa visiting Forrest Hills a week late, but he did notice something. The three kids who had sunk low in their seats the first day back, who avoided talking to the others to brag about their presents, were no longer trying to blend into the background. They sat comfortably in their seats, and whispered among themselves, eyes twinkling a little more than they had a few days ago. Steve was ecstatic. He sat, buzzing silently with excitement as he tried to keep his face blank and neutral. Santa had to be kept secret, after all.

He did it again the next year, adding the newest kids to his list from the years below him, and saved up his allowance to get some cuter presents for the girls; some nail polish and art supplies, some coloring books and beads. This time he wasn’t late, and his handwriting had improved a lot from the year before (though he still blamed the elves for his wonky letters).

He had fun, learning how to wrap the paper around each gift, saving up his money to pick out presents he hoped the other kids would like, wondering what their faces looked like when they opened the door to find a present on their front step.

He was a little worried that the kids would be concerned Santa hadn’t made it inside, being magic and all, but he also noticed that none of the trailers had chimneys so maybe that was okay. He also learned that most of the kids in Forrest Hills did get presents, and he felt a little stupid for assuming they didn’t just from Tommy’s dumb comments, but he also knew they weren’t the fancy presents other kids got like bikes and new games.

He tried making his Santa presents a little more extravagant. After all, why would Santa give Tommy a brand new Lego set, but give Willie across town a pack of baseball cards? Steve just wanted to even the playing field a bit, knock Tommy down a peg or two when he tried humiliating another kid on the playground and that kid said Actually Tommy, I got the new Hess Truck from Santa, too! And Steve remembered wrapping it up, much neater this time, and almost getting caught on the stoop when a dog started barking at him. He muffled a giggle into his hand when Tommy floundered for something to say, coming up empty handed.

As the years passed and the kids in his grade stopped believing in Santa, he scratched their names off his list. He kept adding to it as well, though. He paid attention to the new kids in each grade, noticed if they had a little less than those around them, noticed if they were on the outskirts or if they looked a little nervous as the holidays drew nearer and nearer. He left presents for the Byers one year when he heard that Jon’s mom lost her job after his dad left. He left presents almost all over town, had the phone book highlighted with every address he wrote down in his notebook — a much needed upgrade from the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. He wrote a list, he checked it twice, and he made sure to slip through the dark like a shadow, avoiding anything that might give him away.

He was always surprised when no adults tried to stop him. Surely, the stoop presents were well known throughout town by the time Steve reached high school, but maybe they didn’t want to know who was behind it. Maybe they wanted to keep the magic alive, too. Either way, Steve played a successful Santa for nearly two decades before anyone found out.

It was Eddie.

It was always Eddie.

Eddie, the boy who knocked Tommy clear to the ground that first winter. Eddie, the boy who made Steve want to help. Eddie, the boy who received the first ever gift from Hawkin’s own Santa, though Steve kind of hoped that was a secret he could keep.

They were putting up the tree in their apartment, the first Christmas they were spending together. Eddie had brought several old ornaments from the trailer, ones that he stole from right under Wayne’s nose because lord knows the man wouldn’t want to part with them if he didn’t have to — a collector, that man was. Steve picked up one that, at first, had been unassuming, a clear bauble filled with glitter. Hanging it on the sad twiggy branch of their Charlie Brown tree, however, he noticed a little piece of paper inside. It was aged and a bit crumpled, but not too shabby for how old it was.

From Santa, sorry I was late, it read in squiggled, messy handwriting, the wonky letters leaning to one side more than the other.

P.S. my elf wrote this

Steve stared at it for entirely too long, catching Eddie’s attention as he hung the last ornament.

“Wayne made that one, if you can believe it,” Eddie said, tapping the plastic bauble with the nail of his pointer finger. “I mean, not the note,” he clarified, “that was Santa.” He whispered the last part conspiratorially, as if letting Steve in on a huge secret. Steve felt like he was going to cry, suddenly, the tears pricking behind his eyes. With a start he realized, selfishly, that he didn’t want Eddie to know. He wanted to keep this mystery alive for just a little longer, like a parent too sad to let their child grow out of the world of magic and wonder, like it was too soon though the secret had been brewing for nearly twenty years.

Eddie wrapped a cautious arm around Steve’s shoulders, unsure of where his sudden teary-eyed expression came from. Instead of facing his questioning look, Steve tucked his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck and listened as the man regaled him with the story of his first ever gift from the Santa Claus.

That year, Wayne had lost his job as a trucker because Eddie had fallen into his lap. He couldn’t leave the kid all alone, had to stay and take care of him, and he was between jobs until the holiday snuck right up on them both. They had a tree, just as shabby and sparse as the one they currently stood in front of, but there was no money to spare for gifts. Wayne had apologized, and Eddie had been very understanding for an eight year old — after all, he had been learning not to rely on adults, anyway.

He’d gotten in trouble when the school year resumed, however, for shoving an insufferable Tommy Hagan to the ground during recess. Of course Tommy hadn’t gotten in trouble, since vigilantism was an under appreciated form of justice, Eddie declared. Steve snorted into Eddie’s neck, just imagining the ranting tirade the skinny boy with a shaved head must have gone on, trying to defend himself to the principal.

Eddie was furious as he got back home, pissed off at Hagan, pissed off at his parents, pissed off at the world. And then — what to his wondering eyes did appear — two days later, Wayne had opened the door to the shittiest wrapped present he’d ever seen. Steve bit his tongue. It was for Eddie, according to the name scribbled onto the wrapping paper, and the little note declared it was a lost gift from Santa.

“Like magic,” Eddie smiled.

Steve had no idea that was his first Christmas at Wayne’s, and he had no clue what that first shove on the playground could lead to. He could still picture Eddie’s scrunched brow as he glared daggers at Tommy, could still remember the way he sank into his shoes and grounded himself for a fight, like he was used to it, like he knew what was coming. He wished he could picture Eddie’s face as he realized Santa hadn’t forgotten about him.

“Anyway,” he said, startling Steve from his thoughts, still tucked away in Eddie’s neck, “Wayne kept that note, and I think he’s got the one from the next year, too. He’d saved enough money for a couple presents that year, but I think he was grateful for a little extra help.”

Steve pictured himself, a tiny little thing, curled up in the living room, all alone on Christmas Eve as he wrapped up presents and wrote out his Santa letters. He remembered feeling less alone for the first Christmas in forever, because he was too busy sticking too much tape onto glittery wrapping paper and worrying about not getting caught to care that his parents weren’t home again.

He thought about the bag full of presents, tucked away in the back of the closet so Eddie wouldn’t find them, and his list of kids he collected from the library’s giving tree. He had planned on sneaking out, planned to slip away from Eddie’s prone form and deliver the gifts alone, like always, but Eddie squeezed his shoulder and kissed the top of his head and he realized that he didn’t have to be alone anymore. Maybe this year there could be two Santas, delivering gifts to the children of Hawkins in the dead of night. Maybe this year he could have some help. Maybe this year, there could be twice as much magic as the year before.

—

Bingo Prompts

[lizzy019]

𝒲𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝑀𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓃.

Dallas Winston x Inexperienced!Fem!Reader

Word Count -> 3K

cw -> BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE, lots of cursing from dally >:(, movie Dally (not book Dally), kinda ooc but eh, mentions of wet dreams (for plot mwahaha), dirty talk from Dal, eepy reader, side fucking, ooo he falls asleep with his dick inside, lazy ending :C

Don’tcha just love him? I do :DDD It's so lazily done, I'm so sorry but pls do enjoy!

The hollering was loud as you rushed out of your home with just a backpack of belongings.

You hadn’t expected a fight to go this far. Yes, your parents weren’t the nicest, but kicked out until you “mature up”? You had never experienced this, nor were you ready to take a walk of shame over to Dally’s place for the evening.

You and Dally were practically siblings with how well you two knew each other. Bonded at the hips since you were both little, and it never changed. You had grown accustomed to his way of expressing friendship, through playful attacks and sharing of belongings. 

Dally may have been a bit tough when expressing his affections towards the people he cared for, but he still cared regardless. He believed tough love was the way to go.

The walk was pitiful, your feet were almost scraping the ground out of genuine disbelief. Thank God it was sunset, you still had some sunlight left to get you to Buck’s place so you could find Dally. Maybe he wouldn’t mind you staying over, a hangout, as he called it.

In just a throw sweatshirt and joggers, you hustled along the sidewalks to get to your destination a bit faster. The cool evening breeze wasn’t pleasant, but it kept you awake and kept you pacing.

The light of Buck’s building had finally come into view after you had walked a few more blocks, and the loud boisterous music hit your ears not long after the lights hit your eyes. You were relieved you had made it before the sun had fully gone down, heaven forbid men would know how to keep anything in their pants.

Scampering up to the front door took enough courage out of you, a lady like you in a wretched neighbourhood like this wasn’t fitting at all. But you were desperate, you were in need and Dally was your only go-to. Well, you could’ve gone to the Curtis’ household, but it was a bit more uncomfortable there because you knew less people.

Knocking with cold and clammy hands against the old door, you hesitantly awaited the arrival of Buck or someone else who heard your knock. Luckily the wait wasn’t long, after a few mere seconds the door was opened. A drunk man, not at all Buck, gave you the snarkiest expression you’ve ever witnessed and let you in. Graciously, you hurried inside.

The bustling people bothered you, especially so when you could see two people literally doing it on a pool table. Disgusting, you thought as you rushed through the swarms of chattering and dancing folk to the stairs that led to Dally’s apartment.

Shoes clomping against the wooden floorboards of the stairs, you found yourself questioning what his apartment room was. Was it the one on the left? No, it was the one on the right. Right? You flipped through your memories like files, and confirmed that it was on the left. Silly you. But you were still polite, knocking on the door quietly.

The door had swung open, and you were met with a waft of cheap tobacco and a wet Dally. Oh, he’d just gotten out of the shower. What a surprise, you thought he never showered.

“The fuck are you doin’ here? Why didn’t you call me? It’s fuckin’ dark outside, you dipshit.” He berated you even if it had no meaning, ushering you into his apartment and closing the door behind him.

His body glistened with water droplets that were scattered all along his shoulders and back, even his chest as the droplets were caught by the towel seated at his hips. Jesus, a sculpted body too. Wait, why the hell were you staring? That was too inappropriate! You mentally chastised yourself while kicking off your shoes and throwing your bag to the unswept floor.

The weight of the fact that your parents had actually kicked you out started to sink in, and the way your shoulders sank wasn’t really that hard to spot when Dally looked at you. Something was wrong if you had brought a bag and a saddened expression over to his place.

“The fuck happened? You good, or is somethin’ buggin’ ya?” He asked you, gesturing vaguely for you to sit on his aged mattress. You listened, of course you would, and sat consciously on his bed. He really didn’t mind changing in front of you, he just made sure his back was facing you so you didn’t see... the parts where the sun doesn’t shine. 

“Parents kicked me out, didn’t wanna go to Johnny’s or Darry’s...” You mumbled under your breath, holding in your breath as you looked at the floor to give him some privacy. After all, he was kind enough to let you into his place.

Dally gave a hum of acknowledgement, which may have been seen as rude, but it was really just him thinking. Going over to Johnny’s place didn’t make sense considering the fact that his parents were a bit too bitchy and cruel around people, and Darry wasn’t exactly fond of people sleeping over at his house. Sure, people staying for a while was more than welcome, but everyone knew that Darry was strict about sleepovers. 

“You’re such an idiot. What did you even do to get kicked out? Your parents are the chillest compared to all of ours.” Dally huffed, pulling on his joggers and drying his dark chocolate hair lazily with his towel.

“Dunno, they just said I had to leave until I “mature up” or somethin’.” You grumbled a bit angrily, not directed at him obviously, you were just confused and frustrated at your parents.

Dally nodded, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray and plopping his body beside you, smiling a bit as if to reassure you.

“Ah, whatever. You don’t need your parents when you got me, yeah? Now, what clothes did you bring? I doubt sleeping in tights is gonna be comfy.. especially considering how much you roll around.” He teased, knowing you needed at least a bit of humour to boost your mood.

And it worked. You smiled a bit, lightly punching his chest out of playful irritation from his comment. But you really couldn’t deny it, you could be a very active sleeper when you were stressed or angry. Frustration and sleep just didn’t mix for you.

“I brought some pajamas just in case, should I change now? It’s only 8.” You chuckled as he winced dramatically at your punch. Pfft, like you actually did him damage.

“Well, I’m tired now. So either you change and we can take a nap, or you can deal with me complaining about not sleeping until you decide to sleep.” Dally huffed, looking at you with a sleepy expression.

The words he spoke were about the only serene thing you’d heard all evening. No yelling, no obnoxious cars, just faint party music and Dally’s dulcet yet gruff voice. It was odd how comforting something as silly as that could be.

“Ugh, fine, you’re no fun.” You stuck your tongue out at him, earning you a playful slap to your arm as you hurried off of his bed to get your bag.

The bag sat limply against the wall near the door of his apartment, and you opened it swiftly to find your pajamas, but quite literally let your facial expression drop to utter disbelief. No, you surely hadn’t forgotten something as important as your night shirt! You scavenged disdainfully through the mess of stuffed clothes and beauty supplies in your bag in hopes of finding the shirt you thought you’d packed, but ended up looking at Dally with a sorrowful expression.

Dally looked at you with eyes displaying annoyed confusion, but seeing that little mopey frown on your face told him all he needed to know. You either forgot something, or remembered something important.

“What is it?” He questioned instinctively, looking at you through half lidded eyes as he propped himself up with one arm.

“I forgot a night shirt.. you think I could borrow one for t’night? Promise I’ll give it back.” You muttered, a bit embarrassed by your carelessness and forgetfulness. But nonetheless Dally chuckled a bit and nodded.

“Fuckin’ idiot. Yeah, the closet should have a few shirts. Don’t touch my leather.” He huffed, flopping onto his back and letting himself soak up some much needed rest.

You nodded and headed over to the closet, feet softly hitting the floor as you found his small closet. Already ajar thanks to his laziness, you searched through the hung clothes and stumbled upon a relatively clean looking shirt. A white one, not a stain on it either.

Taking your only pair of night shorts and the shirt you gratefully borrowed from Dally into his bathroom to change, you found yourself eyeing the soft fabric with gentle intent. Dally was kind enough to let you borrow something of his...

You pushed that thought down, instead focusing on getting out of the uncomfortable clothes you wore to look decent on the sidewalks. Taking off your pants to replace them with your night shorts, and taking off your top and bra to cover up with Dally’s shirt. It smelled like him, and it smelled strangely nice.

You took your leftover clothes out with you, chucking them mindlessly near your bag somewhere on the floor near the bed before plopping down dramatically beside him. The weight of you on the bed made it sink, and Dally was a bit startled out of his sleep when you did so.

Dally looked at you with a stink expression, but it was all playful.

“Good, now hush so I can sleep.” He muttered, throwing the blanket over the top of you two and sighing contentedly.

You just smiled and nodded, lying comfortably on your back to sleep just because you felt a little stiff in his mattress. But it was comfortable in all honesty, being warm and close to someone so close to you.

You were slowly jostled out of your sleep by a hand shaking at your shoulder. While you didn’t really want to move from out of your spot since you were oh so comfy under the warm sheets, the vigour in the shaking of your shoulder didn’t cease.

So begrudgingly, you gave a hum of acknowledgement to show that you were at least somewhat awake, and Dally’s voice was all you heard for a moment.

“Sweetheart, please... had a dream ‘bout you. Got me fuckin’ hard as shit. I’m askin’ nice.” Dally murmured, voice gruff and scratchy from the lack of use as he slept. You were almost awake, the mention of him having a dream about you didn’t spur much of a reaction from you.

“Mmh.. ‘m tired, Dal. Go to bed.” You huffed, rolling from your back to your side, back facing his front as you smushed your cheek into the pillow. 

But your words didn’t really help him, nor did it encourage him to stop. In a way, you turning to your side was meant to tease him. To egg him forward and see what he’d do. Dally wasn’t stupid, he knew you well enough to know a trick or two of yours would always come after a chastise.

So Dally’s hand came to softly hold your waist, caressing the skin as the shirt you borrowed from him rode up a little. Goddamn, those little bottoms you wore showing just the tiniest bit of your asscheek, the flesh threatening to drive him mad. How could you look so precious without even trying?

“Oh sweetheart.. you’re so perfect, so pretty. God, lemme take ‘em offa ya. Please? I’m askin’ nice.” Dally almost begged you, almost pleaded. While you didn’t expect him to ask so kindly, he was just doing it so you didn’t make him repeat himself. He was a smart man, thinking ahead the way he did. 

So you nodded, still happily sprawled on the mattress without a care in the world. And your nod was all it took for Dally’s hands to scoop under the elastic waistband of your sleepwear, and yank it down to your knees while pulling your underwear with it. The sudden coolness of his frigid fingers had you waking up a bit more, giving you some alertness as his hands freely squished the globes of your rear.

“Never knew under all the clothes, you’d look so pretty. Fuckin’ shit, you’re doin’ things to me that I don’t like.” A lie. Dally was happy diving into the feelings of admiration and want, the lustful desire to have your body, but also the soft blooming of love and adoration that even led him to this point.

“Mmh.. like what you see, Dal?” You questioned him teasingly, giggling sleepily.

“That’s a stupid question. ‘Course I do, now scoot closer. Too goddamn far away from me to do shit.” He grumbled a bit, moving his hand from your asscheek to slip between your legs and right next to your aching core.

You weren’t necessarily wet, you were tired and obviously weren’t in the right mood for this, but Dally was determined to make you feel good somehow. So his fingers gently spread your labia, and his index finger started twirling excitedly around the soft bud of your clit.

A soft sigh of contentment escaped you as his hand worked its magic on you. Now, you knew very well that Dally was an adventurous guy. Lots of his nights were spent with flings, or at the bars touching on the ladies that threw themselves onto him. Of course he would have experience, much more than you anyway. But how would he even feel if you told him you’d never done it? Would he reconsider?

But Dally was gentle with you, smoothing over your clit in repetitive circles as if trying to dizzy your clit. And it worked, really. Your hips, probably tired and sore, were meeting the soft ruts of his hand, enjoying how soft and sensual his movements were.

He was treating you like porcelain. 

“Feelin’ alright, sweetheart? Got my fingers soaked, think she’s gonna let me in yet?” He murmured exasperatedly into your ear, the warm air making your skin tingle with delight.

You smiled, eyes lazily fluttering open as you turned your head over to look at him a bit. How cute, pink cheeks and puffy lips paired with desperate eyes and furrowed brows. How could someone look so cute when they were so focused?

You giggled a bit when he called your pussy a she, but you nodded slowly.

“But Dal.. this is my first time. Y’sure you wanna take it?” You asked so softly, so serenely as you laid wrapped in his arms.

So soft, so gorgeous. Dally never felt such a tender feeling before.

Without any hesitation, Dally nodded his head vigorously and smiled a bit. The sweet crinkles of his eyes make you smile too.

“Alright then, just be careful, yeah? I trust you..” You mumbled, letting him take his hand away from in between your legs.

He moved his arm to wrap around you, lazily inserting his fingers into your mouth as if silently telling you to clean the mess you made while his other hand arranged his cock with your pretty pussy. He was just mere millimeters away from claiming you as his, forever staining your pussy as used.

But when you gently bumped your hips to his, like a silent way of urging him to continue, he did so. His tip was slowly guided to your perfect cunt, the warmth of its inviting juices nearly having him in a chokehold. And in one small rut, the tip of his hot and heavy cock was plunged into your precious cunt, innocence stripped from it as you made the softest croon around his fingers.

It wasn’t long until Dally started to rut his hips against yours, flesh clashing against flesh to make the unholiest clapping sounds. Thank the heavens he thought to put his fingers in your mouth, an inexperienced and lovely thing like you was sure to make a bit too much noise.

But Dally was gentle as he banged out the first round with you.

Muffled moans and groans from the both of you filled the small apartment, and the scent of sex was pungent as your hand found Dally’s forearm. Nails digging into the soft flesh as the nerves in between your legs started to burn, a hot and searing sizzle that had your already tired brain going bonkers.

“Dal- Dal..” You muttered, muffled cries of his name being silenced by the fingers plugging your mouth. How were you supposed to tell him it felt weird? 

Maybe it was just overstimulation, but your legs were shaky, your abdomen felt tight, and your head was growing fuzzy. Not at all in an unpleasurable way, you were having the time of your life. But, it was a little discomforting from how overwhelming it was considering how you had just had your first proper climax given to you.

But Dally didn’t stop, no. He was too far gone in the flutters of your cunny’s walls, too engulfed in the pleasure of hearing your sounds and feeling your body pressed right up against his. You were so precious, so perfect. How could he not just let himself mould into you?

And sure enough, the overstimulation left your poor cunt reaching another peak, legs beginning to twitch as you simmered down. Thankfully, Dally seemed to be done too, as he ceased his movements and just held you tight.

You bathed in the afterglow of such an intimate moment, letting Dally’s body heat soak into you as you both rested contentedly.

There’d just be a hell of a mess, a noise complaint, and a lot of explaining to do awaiting you two.

[goopgirlie813]

Fair, I guess. I see where you are coming from. 

From my perspective, the reason serial criminals like Dahmer get brought up is because it is the situation where prisons seem the most necessary. Like, at least temporarily, if someone is killing and raping other people they should be separated from society so they can't access victims, right? Even if just until they finish some form of rehab. And in my mind, none of the things you proposed seemed like they would actually deny serial criminals access to victims. Forceful detention, even just temporarily, seems in my mind like the most reliable way to keep someone like Dahmer from having an opportunity to reoffend. That's the key, opportunity to reoffend. I find it terrifying to imagine a society where someone can be caught and convicted and sentenced for horrific crimes and still have the opportunity to access victims if they want. I think that's what most people are trying to do with that argument. Not an infinite loop but an (admittedly poorly executed) expression of the fear that without prison people like Dahmer could just continue killing. Intuitively it seems like these people won't stop unless they are incapable of continuing and prison is an easy to understand way to make their reoffenses impossible. Its scary to imagine taking that away and reintroducing that possibility. 

That said, now that I've cooled off a bit I think I can better see why you are frustrated. You have been answering to the best of your ability but there have been layers of uncommunicated assumptions beneath the questions we were asking that we (or I, at least) didn't even realize were there. I thought I was being more straightforward than I was because I took for granted the ways your perspective differed from what I am familiar with. 

I assumed that it was a given that Serial Criminals need a forceful denial of access to victims in order to be adequately addressed and I also assumed that it was a given that prisons are the only way to guarantee that. The way it has always been presented to me, prisons are the definitive method of stopping a crime and those crimes can only continue harming the public if the perpetrator is outside of the prison. So follow that logic train, if someone won't stop reoffending you need to be able to draw a line somewhere by putting them in prison or else it will never end. Therefore, if you abolish prisons, some criminals will never and can never be stopped so we will be forced to accept the fact that we may be murdered or raped or whatever at any random point and there will be nothing anyone can do to stop them. (Except extrajudicial violence, of course, but that's really no way to run a stable society.)

And I'm sure you will see some glaring issues with that train of thought that aren't so obvious to me, but hopefully that makes it make a little more sense.

The key problem here, I think, is that we believe that some form of detention is the only way to definitively stop certain people from re-offending. Specifically for the scenarios where the crime is a serious danger to others, like rape and murder. We want a definitive solution to exist somewhere because if it doesn't then the mere existence of Dahmer types evokes a feeling of terrified helplessness, "what if we can't change them? What if there's nothing we can do to be safe?" 

Detention seems like the only truly definitive answer (or at least, the most definitive available) so what's really being asked is, "is there a point in which you will allow prison in emergencies or do you have a different, equally definitive way to stop them?" and no number of rehabilitation or reduction options listed will ever satisfy that question. There needs to be something that can forcefully prevent killers who want to kill from killing (or raping or stealing or whatever) in that time period between conviction and reform, or else we will never find complete prison abolition an acceptable option, no matter how much we support rehabilitation as the primary approach (as I do. I only argue for detention as an emergency back up plan for repeat offenders of horrific crimes, to keep them from hurting people if or until they can be successfully rehabilitated). Without that, it seems like a gaping hole, an oversight, a blind spot, a loophole for the worst of the worst to terrorize us without adequate consequence or barriers.

I was getting really frustrated that you were treating the "what if they reoffend?" question like a rhetorical trick because in my mind it was asking, "How do we prevent people who want and intend to kill us from actually being able to kill us?" (big fear for those in marginalized groups who face frequent hate and threats) but to you it seems it sounded like "how can we trick you into supporting prisons and admitting you're wrong?" And while you seem to have been trying to say, "I'm not budging on my opinion unless you can convince me that prisons are valuable," it sounded to us like, "so what if they kill people? Prisons fail too much anyway so letting them go on murder sprees really isn't any worse if you think about it. Allowing a little murder and rape here and there is just the price of a fair and just society." And while that probably sounds bonkers to you I hope it explains why you're getting the reactions you are. I mean, imagine how you would react if you thought someone was telling you that, if they couldn't just talk him into being a good person, they would have shrugged it off and willingly let Jeffery fucking Dahmer continue roaming free for the sake of "improvement" and dismissed his victims as collatoral damage. Not what you were saying, but the miscommunication sure as hell made it sound that way. In reality, we are all talking past each other and having two separate conversations and the same time without realizing it. 

(Hope I understood what you were trying to say correctly.) 

so yeah I apologize for making you pull out your hair, I've been doing the same. Hopefully this helps at least a little bit. Even if you still think we're being irrational and foolish for this position I hope it gives you a little more clarity moving forward.

Pretty sure @needabetternamelater has reblogged like 5 of my posts and then blocked me. So that's funny. But, just in case it's just a glitch that won't let me reblog those replies.

What do we do with rapists in a prisonless society? Well, 1. Fewer than 1% of rapists go to prison, so holding up prison as the standard that any other solution has to beat isn't hard. What do with do with rapists in a society with prisons? For 99+%? Not prison.

2. Prisons do not reduce the amount of rapes that happen. So again, prison fails pretty handedly at being both a prevention and a punishment. (It's a bit like arguing 'without the death penalty, what will we do with shop lifters?")

3. I've explain many times, on posts you've responded to, the variety of responses a justice system can have to any crime, including sexual assault. Mandatory counseling, restraining orders, restorative/reparation hearings, housing and employment restrictions, fines, caseworker check ins, mental health consults, and vocational training are all possible responses, and which would would have the best chance of preventing recidivism would depend on the specifics of that person and the risk factors in them reoffending.

In the past, we locked people in pillories and cut off their hands for crimes. Phasing out a cruel and ineffective punishment doesn't mean there's free reign for crime.

[caspiansinclair]

TRK KANDREW QUOTES:

- "Andrew twisted and punched the wall hard enough to split the skin along his knuckles. Kevin took a quick step forward, hand out like he could stop Andrew from landing a second blow"

- "You shouldn't be outside if you're coming down with something," Kevin said. "Such concern." Andrew grinned at Kevin's cool tone. "Don't cry, Kevin. It's nothing a nap and some vitamin C can't fix."

- Kevin had a knee hugged to his chest and his face hidden in the fold of his arm. His knuckles were white where his hand was clenched into a fist. Neil didn't think it was the bus that was making Kevin shake like that. "Look at me," Andrew said. "It'll be fine. You believe me, yes?" "I believe you," Kevin said, muffled but noticeably strained.

- "Andrew has neither purpose nor ambition," Kevin said. "I was the first person who ever looked at Andrew and told him he was worth something. When he comes off these drugs and has nothing else to hold him up I will give him something to build his life around." (my fav quote)

- Kevin had eyes only for Andrew as he crouched in front of the downed goalkeeper. "So," Kevin said, "did you have fun?" Andrew was too tired to put any heat in his words. "You are despicable, Kevin Day. I don't know why I keep you around."

- Kevin only smiled, slow and sure and pleased, and offered Andrew a hand. Andrew looked at it, then at Kevin, and let Kevin haul him to his feet.

- "Why do you have his drugs?" "I hold onto them when he's adjusting his schedule," Kevin answered. "Game nights or nights like tonight when he wants to go into withdrawal, it's better if someone else keeps the bottle. If he has his pills he'll take them. He won't be able to help himself."

- "When I said I wasn't Andrew's type, I meant it. It's not about my looks or faith. It's that I'm a woman." Neil heard her words but was slow to understand them. He blinked at her in confusion, blinked again when it clicked, and said a little too loudly, "Oh. Then Andrew and Kevin—"

- "Andrew won't agree to this," Abby said, a last-ditch effort to change their minds. "Going means leaving Kevin behind. They haven't had more than a campus between them since Andrew took Kevin under his wing."

- "Kevin," Andrew called from out of sight. Kevin nearly knocked the chair over in his hurry to answer. Neil watched from the doorway as Andrew stopped almost right up against Kevin. Andrew pat Kevin down for imaginary injuries and Kevin stood motionless until he was done."

- "Look at that face, Bee. He wants me sober more than almost anyone does, but only if the timing's right. I warned you, didn't I? Who will take care of Kevin if I'm gone? I can't trust him wandering around here by himself, and Coach can't be with him all the time. Kevin's kind of a full-time job."

- "I can't believe you're sending Andrew away," Kevin said, a little sharply.

- "She shouldn't have taken Andrew away," Kevin said in a low voice.

- Kevin is not like us; he is valuable but he is not property in the same sense. He escaped because he had family to run to." "Andrew?" Neil guessed.

- “Kevin had spent the better part of a year trying to get through to Andrew. He wanted Exy to mean something; he wanted Andrew’s best preformance like a dying man wanted one last breath of air. Andrew knew it, and he refused to play along.”

- (this one’s long:) "So you'll try," Kevin said through gritted teeth, "because Coach asked you to."

Andrew folded his arms across his knees, tilted his head back, and smiled up at Kevin.

"Careful, Kevin. Your jealous streak is showing."

"For eight months you've told me no. In eight seconds you told him yes. Why?"

"Oh, that's easy." Andrew stuffed the last of his gear into his bag and zipped it shut. He slung the bag over his shoulders and got to his feet, standing up so close to Kevin he almost knocked Kevin back a step.

"It's just more fun to tell you no. That's what you wanted, right? You wanted me to have fun. I am. Aren't you?"

For someone so small, Andrew made a lot of noise when shoved into the lockers. Andrew was laughing as he crashed into the orange metal. Neil didn't know what amused Andrew more: Kevin's violence or the splash of blood that now stained the front of Kevin's shirt. Neil hadn't even seen Andrew take a knife out, but it was in his hand in the air between them. Kevin retreated from Andrew with a sharp curse.

"Jesus, Andrew!" Matt said. "Kevin, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Kevin put a hand to his chest as if checking the truth of his words. Neil was at the far end of the lockers from them, so he couldn't see very well, but the relative lack of blood made him think the cut was shallow. It was long, but it wasn't serious. It was going to sting when Kevin put heavy armor overtop it tonight, though.

Andrew stepped away from the lockers and got in Kevin's space again. He put the edge of the blade against Kevin's chest over his heart and peered up into Kevin's face. Kevin looked more angry than intimidated as he stared back. Matt started toward them, maybe thinking he had to break up round two of their fight. Kevin didn't look away from Andrew when he motioned at Matt to back off.”

[scripts4dreamers]

Me and my one (1) friend who has also had their brain corrupted by the blight (dragon age) have been fighting about this for two days but I’m so sure I’m right, so I humbly present my thesis to you lovely people.

1. After the events of the Veilguard, if Rook and Neve ended up together, Neve tries to leave you.

LET ME EXPLAIN! (Spoilers for the Veilguard ending)

I love Neve. She’s my favorite romance from Veilguard, she’s an incredible character and she does not deserve all the hate she gets. Having said that, she does 1000% try and leave Rook.

The one thing we know about Neve, almost from the moment we meet her, is that she is not a believer. She doesn’t believe Solas is a god, at first, she doesn’t believe anyone will have her back, she doesn’t believe Minrathous will improve and she doesn’t believe she’s going to survive this job. But still she fights on, not out of a genuine belief that she can win, but because she has a soft spot for lost causes.

Neve has devoted her life to being the champion of lost causes. She tells Rook that, even if this job doesn’t get her, one of them will. She risks her life, day in and day out, in service of a city that has done nothing but hurt her. Neve believes she’s a dead woman walking, and all she wants to do is go down protecting the people of Dock Town because someone has to. Someone has to.

And then she meets Rook and Harding and now gods are real, and they’re destroying the world and oh well everything was always going to go down in flames, so why not help out? She’s always been a magnet for bad news, for bad luck, for the worst of humanity, so why not spend her last days fighting for what little good is left?

She tries to fight falling for Rook, but they’re everything she wishes the world could be. They’re the lifeline she’s been waiting for since before the world forced her to stop believing. They’re good and kind and full of life and how can she do anything but love them for that? But she’s already dead, they’re both already dead and she can’t survive another loss.

She throws herself into loving them only after she lost them to the Fade. Only after Harding/Davrin died. After her world already ended, because that’s when she really realizes how quickly it can all end and how much time she wasted pushing people away. The goddamn WORLD IS ENDING and the person you love is THERE and they’re REAL and they WANT YOU, so why not? What is there to lose? It’s easy to love someone when the world is ending. It’s easy to love someone when you’re both already doomed.

But then the world doesn’t end. The sun rises on a blighted Minrathous and they’re both still alive, and now she’s faced with rebuilding. There’s so much work to be done, she’s a bloody, scarred mess and the job she was brought in for is over, isn’t it? She’s not a cool noir detective who died saving the world anymore, she’s someone’s partner, someone’s friend and lover and those aren’t jobs she had ever prepared herself to take.

Suddenly, without the haze of panic and the urgency of stopping the gods, things look different. She needs a new apartment. Minrathous needs a detective. Life goes back to normal and Neve still isn’t a believer.

Of course, everyone says they’ll stay in touch. Bonds formed that can never be broken and all that, but Neve knows better. You don’t hang around once the party is over. You don’t give the world more ways to hurt you, more people to take. You don’t give people a chance to leave you.

So she leaves first.

She regrets it. She hates herself for it. She cries herself to sleep wondering how she could be such a coward, but she leaves. She packs a bag, writes a goodbye letter and leaves before morning.

Now, do I think her and Rook get back together? Absolutely I do. I just think that, with all the events of Veilguard happening in such a short time, there’s going to be some major questions for all the companions once the dust settles, and leaving before you can be left is Neve Gallus’ answer to those questions.

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: After Sunday spoiled your 'not-date' with Aventurine, he feels he still has to warn you about some things. wc: 1.6k - this is nsfw! cw for dubcon! fondling, masturbation, sexual fantasy a/n: The guillemets «» are still used to indicate Sunday's telepathy!

part 5 / part 6 (nsfw) --- You insisted that Aventurine not walk you back home—It was hard to articulate one sole reason why. Sunday's confrontation was a large factor, though. It didn't feel right to throw him into more trouble like that—let him get the sweep, as he put it. You could brave the streets back to your apartment by yourself without much hassle, anyways. Very little of Golden Hour was left unlit, after all. You turn to look behind you. The feeling of still being watched crawls up your back like a creeping fungus, a sense of unease clinging to your spine all the way until it reaches your throat. But in the cacophony in golden light and bustling figures, you can't make anything out. You know who it is that's following you. You just pretend he's not there, and simply press on.

« But something tells you that you have to take another route. » You're not sure why...? So you stop, you steady yourself, and you try to figure out where you are and how long it is until you're on Glaux Avenue. « Something tells you that you have to walk behind the food truck and into the passageway between that jewelry store and that automobile dealer. » Hesitant, you trust the strange feeling, slipping behind the truck and into a dark passageway, two impenetrable walls of brick squeezing the thin line of the alley together, bins of waste and discarded belongings littering both sides. You don't understand what makes you think this will be a shortcut to Glaux Avenue. 

« But something tells you that if you just take a few more steps, just barely enough to no longer be in the light, just a few more, one more step... » You get the notion that someone familiar is behind you. You freeze in place, recognizing the exact sound of the footsteps calmly approaching you in great clarity. You turn a quarter of the way around, not yet enough to meet his eyes before— Sunday clasps a hand over your face. You feel your lips smushed under his palm, your front teeth against the cool cotton fabric of his white glove. "Listen to me for a moment," he commands. "Don't speak." You stay silent, eyes locked on the wall in front of you. You assume you'd be terrified out of your mind if you had it within yourself to be that way. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the surprise. Besides, you were sure making a fuss wouldn't do anything good. "No matter how I or any member of The Family may act around that man in public, I cannot stress to you how little you should trust him. From this moment forward, do not answer any questions he asks, do not accept anything he offers you, and by Xipe, do not ever let me find you fraternizing with him ever again." Oh. You swear you could almost break out laughing. This- This wasn't Sunday. Sunday had been unusual at times, sure, but it was all innocent (if uncomfortable) behavior. It's almost comical, you assure yourself, to hear such harsh threats come out of his mouth! That explains why you can barely believe what he's saying, after all. Nothing to do with being terrified of your employer—nothing of the sort. "...Awlrigh...?" "Are you not taking me seriously, [Y/N]?" You take in a sharp breath, even if it's stunted by Sunday's hand in your face. Frantically, you shake your head no. "Good. I'm glad you have returned to being reasonable." His hand lifts off your mouth, an awkward thread of saliva connecting your bottom lip to the damp stain of breath on the palm of his glove. Sunday closes his hand, almost as if he's tenderly holding the spot on his glove for safe keeping, before bringing it down to hold on to your waist. "[Y/N], you are one of the most important people in the entire Family. What you decide to do with your time impacts not just you, but the entirely of Penacony. Do you remember what I said about upholding our reputations?" "Yes, sir." "I meant every word of it." Both of his hands are now holding your sides, bringing you in to press your back up against him. "You must understand what the good people of Penacony would think of me if I let my dear assistant run off with a member of the IPC." Sunday takes in another breath as if he means to say more, but stops himself. You can almost feel his composure slip for a moment, and as you turn your head back to see what the matter is, you notice him looking around warily—Checking for witnesses. His right hand slowly and hesitantly ascends, wrapping his fingers around your breast, creasing the cloth of your blazer underneath his grip. Sunday barely stifles a groan, his other hand squeezing your side fiercely as if to steady himself. "I w- I would not consider myself a vengeful man, [Y/N]," he stammers, lightheaded with his own desire as he fondles you. "Nor would I consider myself a man who is jealous beyond reasonable means. It is not covetous nor avaricious merely to insist upon what is already mine." His last sentence is tugged almost into a hoarse cry, and he bites his tongue to suppress another groan.

Though he would be remiss to admit it to you at a time like this, Sunday understands what he is doing is unconscionable, and he hated himself for it. But there is simply no other recourse. In matters of temptation, his behavior only seems sinful on the imperfect surface. For temptation is the fledgling form of greed, of gluttony and corruption, but the source of that which drove him to take you in his hands and tortured him night after night with thoughts of defiling you was instead responsibility.

Sunday has an obligation to make his possession of you known to himself, to you, and most importantly, to others. Others like that Avgin scum who dared to try and steal you from him behind his back. More were bound to attempt similar foolish things if Sunday did not reassert his authority with proper haste. You feel Sunday's breath curl down the back of your neck as he moves your hair to one shoulder. He plants a kiss on the soft flesh of your neck, right where it meets the edge of your jaw, and you shudder at the feelings of his lips against your skin. "If I can't trust you to make wise choices with your time off, I might not be able to give you time off at all," Sunday whispers lowly in your ear, his tone dreadfully serious. "We don't want to worry about you getting in trouble, do we?" He pauses for a moment, before adding "I certainly don't." And just as his hands remove themselves from your body, you turn around and Sunday has vanished. ... ... ... ...

Sunday is able to think about little else once he reaches his quarters, and he shuts his door emphatically the moment he enters.

To alleviate his own misdeeds, it is imperative that he approach it in an orderly fashion. Sunday takes off his coat properly and hangs it on the third spoke of his coat rack. With his dorsal wings free to open, Sunday takes off his vest one arm at a time, folding it neatly and setting it on his dresser. Sunday rolls up the bottom hem of his shirt until it reaches his torso, then pulls the neck over his head, then extends his arms out to pull it off his body entirely—The shirt then folded neatly as well, and set next to the folded vest. As one last precaution, Sunday scans his quarters. Not a blind has been left undrawn, nor a door left cracked open, nor an object out of its usual place. Sunday listens to the sound of his own breathing for a moment, as it is his only company: It is labored, heavy with desperation, tortured with knowledge of Sunday's unfulfilled responsibilities. Sunday sits himself on the side of his bed, facing away from the door, and undoes his belt. Xipe will forgive him. Xipe will forgive him. That which torments him is much more than wanton impulse. The infraction of him spitting in his own palm and satisfying his own carnal urges is infinitesimal to the weight of Penacony's corruption. With no person to confess to but himself, Bronze Melodia of Xipe, Sunday has full authority to absolve himself of guilt. For a cause like his, his actions are no transgression. With the stories he's listened to, Sunday knows the habits of lesser men, and lesser men do worse daily without even a second thought. Sunday brings his other hand up to massage his face, his head rolling back from the feeling of his own hand stroking him. In due time, it would be your hand, soft and gentle and perfumed and perfect in ways he could barely fathom, the rhythm of your delicate fingers brushing against his smoldering-hot skin euphoric beyond his wildest imagination. Sunday falls back onto his own bed, one foot lifting to dig its heel into the mattress as his movements grow more fervid at the thought of your face, your voice, the kind look in your eyes. Nothing short of taking you entirely could satiate him, and he knew it; There would be no other way to fulfill his responsibilities towards you. He bites his tongue, holding back grunts a more sinful man would make carelessly, and dares not to buck his hips into his own hand like some sort of uncouth aberrant. Still, even as his tongue is held, your name is repeated in his thoughts like a desperate prayer. With the invocation of your name, he begs for mercy from this torture. With your name, he begs for release. [Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N].

--- a/n: tumblr was fighting with me this whole fucking time and I finally figured out it was because of it that third sunday mind control sentence and for the life of me I could not tell you what was so bad about it so prevent me from posting this feedback is always appreciated! tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd @8x9d @ruruize @herrscherofprocrastination

[moominvalley-state-of-mind]

Some additions :D

"Hey mm row residents - left for a week and now there's a giant factory??? I mean it looks cool but I didn't see any construction when I left??"

"Anyone on here live in by the base of cyberpunk city? Are you guys doing okay?

Idk man I've got an apartment facing that way and woke up to this - [photo of the 'free us' sign] ???"

"Day 30/??: that fisher guy is still on the dock, no one really wants to go up and ask him what he's fishing for. People who have tried report 'shaking limbs' and 'a stare that looks like it's been through war'. In other news, cod population seems to be diminishing"

"I'm all for scientific progress but I've heard a few to many zaps from that lab on the edge of town"

"Anyone know how to get rid of snails??? Urgent question time plsensi5ivr"

"proud to be a citizen of a town where the mayor litterally WENT TO COURT

AND HE FUCKING WON!!!!!

if you count becoming the server's maid for a week winning lmao -

Didnt the other lawyer come in a maid dress?"

"water is tasting weird can I take legal action against the lab?

coming from a lawyer- do it our legal system is fucked already"

"I am going to kms [gem's sea monster]"

"DOSE *ANYONE* KNOW HOW TO GET AROUND THIS FUCKASS CITY"

"[photo of 'free us' sign] guys i think that's blood"

"actually loving the new laws with graffiti - it's definitely making me feel closer to the neighboring cities!!

it's so nice seeing evreyone expand their artistic expression! So fun seeing them on my way to work"

"[photo of veiw from sand shop, looking down on shopping district] capitalism has never looked so pretty"

"taking a trip to the shopping graveyard - anyone need anything?"

"[photo of grian's mending shrine] Fell down a hole and ended up here ??? Someone help i swear the eyes of those stone cod are following me

Oh wait ain't that the fucker the news has been reporting on??

Yea!!!! The guy who never left the docs!

Guys help i don't want to die in here"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE PERMIT OFFICE IS ONLY OPEN ON FUCKING SUNDAYS"

"Why are there animals in boats in the middle of a feild"

"cause finals r coming up i *highly* recommend sitting in the middle of that farmland/national park - whoever owns it dosnt even care and they actually gave me some carrots last time I wandered over"

"my mom is a big fan of mapping things so to anyone who's new the the cyberpunk city here's a few layers of maps [maps attached]

OP YOU ARE A GODSEND"

In game social media for the magic mountain npcs like "living it up at the local cyberpunk horse murder bar" and "bruh I hate living in mm row tf is this [pic of the Contamination]" and "saw an old fisher bear go in the hut, and a youthful office twink emerge... I'm convinced he's two ppl" and "WHY ARE THERE SNAIL TRAILS THROUGH MY GARDEN WE DONT HAVE SNAILS??"

[duachai]

HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT - BANG CHAN | STRAY KIDS

Loneliness is such a sad affair, and I can hardly wait to be with you again

♱ PAIRING : BANG CHAN X MALE READER

♱ SYNOPSIS : M/n, a university junior, secretly dates Bang Chan. When the group performs at his campus, their hidden relationship is exposed.

♱ CONTENT WARNING : This writing contains explicit sexual content and mature themes.

♱ AUTHOR'S NOTE : Merry Christmas my lovelies! I can't wait to show you what I have in store next year! I will see you in 2025.

LINKS : Wattpad | Kofi

The sun cast a warm glow over the university lawn, where M/n and his two best friends, Jiho and Minseo, sat cross-legged on the grass. Their lunchboxes laid open, and the air was filled with laughter and the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby food cart. It was a Thursday afternoon, and the group of friends had just met up for the first time this week for lunch.

“Did you finish Professor Kim’s reading?” Minseo asked, biting into a rice ball.

“Nope, fuck that seriously,” M/n replied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “He assigns way too much for one week.”

Minseo hummed. “True dat.”

Jiho, scrolling on his phone, suddenly let out a loud gasp, aggressively slapping M/n’s shoulder in excitement. “Oh my God! No way!”

Both M/n and Minseo turned toward him, startled.

“What, you psycho bitch?” Minseo asked, her curiosity piqued yet annoyed at how loud Jiho was shrieking like he had no home training.

Jiho shoved his phone in their faces, the screen displaying a social media post with bold letters: Surprise! Stray Kids will be performing at Hanseong University today at 3 PM.

M/n froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He quickly schooled his expression, pretending to be indifferent. “That’s cool, I guess,” he said with a shrug, taking a sip of his drink.

“Cool?” Jiho exclaimed, nearly spilling his coffee to slap the back of M/n’s head. “Bitch, are you sick? This is Stray Kids! Do you not understand the seriousness of this ordeal?”

Minseo chuckled. “Ain’t never used ‘ordeal’ in your life, scholar.” Jiho sucked his teeth at Minseo.

M/n forced a smile, his thoughts racing. Why didn’t he tell me? Chan, his boyfriend and the leader of Stray Kids, had conveniently left out this major detail during their last phone call.

“We have to go early!” Jiho said, already packing up his lunch. “I want to get a good spot.”

“I guess I’ll go too,” Minseo added. “M/n, you’re coming, right?”

M/n hesitated. “Uh, yeah, I gotta go to the bathroom first.”

Jiho and Minseo groaned in unison. “Go piss, girl,” Minseo teased.

“We’ll try and save you a seat, but I can’t promise if Seungmin wants it first. Or maybe he can sit in my lap…” Jiho pondered, biting his lip in a weird, horny kinda way.

M/n laughed nervously, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. “I’ll catch up.”

Quickly, M/n rushed off. His mind was spinning. He wasn’t mad that Chan hadn’t told him, and he understood the need for secrecy, but being blindsided like this made his heart race with anxiety. What if his friends put two and two together? What if someone saw them?

Reaching the side door of the main building, M/n glanced over his shoulder. The campus was alive with energy as students gathered in clusters, buzzing with excitement for the upcoming performance.

Inside, the hallways were quieter, the faint hum of conversation drifting from nearby rooms. M/n spotted a staff member carrying a clipboard and quickly ducked behind a pillar, holding his breath until the coast was clear.

He made his way toward the room labeled Stray Kids in bold black letters on a laminated sign. His hand hesitated on the doorknob before he knocked softly.

“Come in,” came a familiar voice.

M/n stepped inside, shutting the door quickly behind him. The room was small and bustling with energy, racks of clothes lined one wall, and makeup cases were strewn across a long table. But in the middle of it all stood Chan, wearing a casual yet stylish outfit, his hair perfectly styled, and a look of surprise spreading across his face.

“M/n?” Chan crossed the room in two quick strides, his tone a mix of confusion and joy. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” M/n replied, his voice low but tinged with a little nervousness as he looked around at the people passing by. “You didn’t think to warn me you’d be performing at my fuckin’ university? What if we get caught here?”

Chan quickly whisked M/n away, placing his hands on his shoulders and guiding him to a smaller room in the back. This space was more private, with only a counter and a few chairs.

M/n leaned against the dressing room counter with his arms crossed in a pout.

Chan put his hands on both sides of M/n’s hips, his thumbs circling gently on the little bit of exposed skin between his shirt and jeans. “It was supposed to be a surprise. Management didn’t finalize it until yesterday, and I figured you’d find out anyway.”

“Well, surprise,” M/n said, his voice clearly more scared about getting caught than about blaming Chan for not saying anything. “Now I’m here freaking out, trying to make sure none of my friends figure out I’m dating you.”

Chan softened, his hand reaching out to gently touch M/n’s cheek. “Baby, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean to stress you out. I just… wanted to see you.”

M/n sighed, his irritation melting under Chan’s warm gaze. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Chan grinned. “I know.”

Chan’s grin softened as he leaned in closer, his forehead gently pressing against M/n’s. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” M/n felt his heart flutter in his chest, the warmth of Chan’s breath fanning against his lips. Despite his nerves, he couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto his face.

“You just saw me last week, drama queen.”

Chan chuckled, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “A week feels like forever when it comes to you.”

Before M/n could respond, Chan closed the distance, capturing his lips in a kiss that sent a rush of heat coursing through his body. It started gentle, as if Chan was savoring the moment, but the longing between them quickly took over.

Chan’s hands slid from M/n’s hips to wrap securely around his waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush against each other. M/n’s hands found their way to Chan’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he kissed back with equal fervor.

The world outside the small dressing room seemed to melt away. The muffled voices and distant chatter from the hallway faded, leaving only the sound of their breaths and the soft hum of their hearts racing in tandem.

Chan tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands roaming up and down M/n’s back in soothing yet possessive strokes. M/n’s resolve crumbled, and he let out a quiet, involuntary whimper against Chan’s lips.

That sound seemed to ignite something in Chan. He pressed M/n back gently against the counter, his lips moving with a desperation that spoke of every moment they’d spent apart. His fingers tangled in M/n’s hair, tilting his head to gain better access, and M/n melted into him completely.

When they finally broke apart for air, their foreheads rested together, both of them breathing heavily. Chan’s gaze was intense, his eyes dark with affection and want.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but steady. “I don’t care where we are or who’s around. I’ll always want to kiss you like that.”

M/n felt his cheeks flush, his hands still clutching Chan’s shirt. “You’re so corny,” he mumbled, but the soft smile on his face betrayed the truth, he loved every second of it.

Chan grinned, his thumb brushing against M/n’s bottom lip. “And you love it.”

M/n didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled Chan down for another kiss, this one slow and tender, a promise of all the stolen moments they’d share, no matter how complicated their situation might be.

M/n felt the heat rising between them as Chan leaned back into him, his lips finding their way to the corner of M/n’s mouth, then down along his jawline. Each touch sent a spark through M/n, his breath hitching as Chan’s lips traveled to his neck, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses that grew bolder with each press.

“Channie,” M/n whispered that nickname that always made Chan weak, his voice trembling with both urgency and affection.

Chan hummed against his skin, the vibration sending shivers down M/n’s spine. “Hmm?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below M/n’s ear.

“You’re going to leave a mark,” M/n warned, though his voice lacked any real conviction.

Chan chuckled softly, the sound low and sultry. “Would that be such a bad thing?” he teased, his hands tightening on M/n’s waist.

M/n pushed at his chest lightly, his cheeks flushed. “Yes, it would! My friends would definitely notice.”

Chan pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection. “Fine, no marks… not right now at least,” he conceded with a cheeky grin, leaning in for another kiss that was slower, deeper, and impossibly more intoxicating.

M/n sighed into the kiss, his hands sliding up to Chan’s shoulders, gripping them tightly as if to anchor himself. Chan tilted his head, his lips moving against M/n’s with a rhythm that felt natural, effortless, like they’d been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grew hungrier, more desperate, as if the limited time they had together only fueled the need to make every second count. Chan’s hands slid down M/n’s back, resting just above his hips as he pressed them even closer together, their bodies fitting like pieces of a puzzle.

M/n felt the counter digging into his back, but he didn’t care. All he could focus on was the way Chan’s lips moved against his, the way his hands explored his body with a careful yet insistent touch, the way his entire being seemed to drown in Chan’s presence.

Their kiss broke only when the need for air became too great, but even then, Chan stayed close, their noses brushing as their breaths mingled.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide,” Chan said softly, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability.

M/n’s heart clenched at the admission. He reached up to cup Chan’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently against his skin. “Me too,” he admitted. “But as long as I have you, I can deal with the rest.”

Chan smiled, leaning into M/n’s touch. “You’re too good to me.”

“And don’t you forget it,” M/n replied with a teasing grin, though his tone was filled with affection.

Chan chuckled, stealing one last lingering kiss before finally pulling back, though his arms stayed wrapped securely around M/n’s waist. “I guess I should let you go before your friends send out a search party.”

M/n groaned, reluctant to step away. “Yeah, I guess… but this isn’t over.”

Chan smirked, his gaze full of promise. “Not even close.”

M/n reluctantly pulled away, smoothing his shirt and adjusting his glasses as he tried to compose himself. His heart was still racing, and his lips tingled from Chan’s kisses, but he needed to act normal—at least normal enough to fool Jiho and Minseo.

“You’ll be watching, right?” Chan asked, his voice softer now.

M/n hesitated, biting his lip. “I’ll try. Jiho and Minseo are expecting me to sit with them, so I can’t make it obvious.”

Chan nodded, understanding written all over his face. “Just… stay close if you can,” he said, reaching out to squeeze M/n’s hand briefly. “It’ll be nice knowing you’re there.”

M/n smiled despite his nerves. “I’ll be there. Just don’t get too distracted by my handsome face.”

Chan laughed quietly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “No promises.”

With one last lingering glance, M/n slipped out of the makeshift dressing room, carefully closing the door behind him. The hallway was still relatively empty, though the muffled sound of voices and footsteps indicated that students were already gathering for the performance.

M/n took a deep breath, his hand lingering on the doorknob for a moment before he stepped away. He couldn’t afford to look suspicious.

As he walked back toward the outdoor venue, the hum of excitement grew louder. Groups of students were chatting animatedly, and some were already seated near the stage, phones in hand, ready to record every moment.

Spotting Jiho and Minseo wasn’t hard as they were near the middle of the crowd, Jiho waving his arms wildly to flag M/n down.

“There you are!” Jiho exclaimed as M/n approached. “Took you long enough. What, did you fall in?”

“Something like that,” M/n replied with a shrug, slipping into the spot they’d saved for him.

Minseo handed him a bottle of water, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You okay? You look kind of flustered.”

“I’m fine,” M/n said quickly, taking a sip of water to cover his nerves. “It’s just hot out here.”

Jiho fanned himself dramatically with his hand. “Girl, same. But who cares? We’re about to see Stray Kids! Can you believe it? Like, right here! This is history in the making. Maybe our school isn’t so shit after all.”

M/n forced a laugh, his stomach flipping at the thought of seeing Chan on stage while sitting among his friends, who had no idea about their relationship.

As the minutes ticked by, the crowd grew larger, and the excitement became palpable. When the emcee finally took the stage to introduce Stray Kids, the cheers were deafening. M/n felt his pulse quicken as he prepared for what was about to happen.

The lights dimmed slightly, and the opening beats of a familiar song filled the air. Then, there they were… Stray Kids, stepping onto the stage with the kind of confidence and charisma that could command any crowd.

M/n’s eyes immediately found Chan, who stood at the center, his presence magnetic. Chan’s gaze briefly scanned the crowd, and though M/n knew it was impossible for him to pick him out among so many people, he still felt a jolt when their eyes seemed to meet for a split second.

Jiho was screaming next to him, clutching Minseo’s arm in excitement. “Oh my God, look at Bang Chan! He’s so fucking hot!”

M/n bit his lip to suppress a smile, his cheeks heating up. If only Jiho knew.

As the performance continued, M/n couldn’t help but admire Chan. He was in his element, his movements fluid and precise, his voice commanding and powerful. It was a side of him M/n didn’t often get to see up close, and it made him fall for him all over again.

But amidst the thrill of the performance, M/n couldn’t shake the anxiety bubbling under the surface. What if someone noticed the way Chan looked at him? What if someone figured out their connection?

He forced himself to focus on the music, clapping and cheering along with his friends. For now, he just had to get through the show without raising any suspicion.

The campus was still buzzing with excitement from Stray Kids’ performance. Students milled about in groups, their chatter echoing across the quad. M/n kept his head down, weaving through the crowd as casually as he could. His heart pounded in his chest, not from excitement but from nerves.

When he reached the side gate leading to the quiet garden behind the art building, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. The garden was one of the most secluded spots on campus, a hidden oasis with benches tucked under canopies of leafy trees.

Chan was already there, leaning against the trunk of a tree, his hoodie pulled low over his face. Even in the dim light, M/n could see the tension in his posture.

“Chan,” M/n called softly, stepping closer.

Chan’s head snapped up, and a relieved smile broke across his face. “M/n.”

Before M/n could say anything, Chan closed the distance between them, pulling him into a tight hug. The world seemed to fade away as Chan’s familiar warmth surrounded him, grounding him in the moment.

“That was the hardest thing I’ve had to do in my life,” Chan murmured against M/n’s hair. “I don’t like pretending I don’t know you.”

M/n pulled back just enough to look up at him, his brows furrowed. “It was just for a moment, we’re all good now”

Chan cupped M/n’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over his cheeks. “I know. I didn’t think it through, and I’m sorry. I just… wanted to see you. It’s been weeks, and when this opportunity came up, I couldn’t pass it up.”

M/n sighed, his irritation softening under Chan’s earnest gaze. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Chan chuckled softly. “I’ve been told.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet garden, the distant hum of campus life fading into the background. Chan’s hands slid down to M/n’s shoulders, his touch light but grounding.

“I missed you,” Chan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

M/n’s heart softened. He reached up, his hand resting over Chan’s on his shoulder. “I missed you too.”

Chan leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to M/n’s forehead, lingering there for a moment. “You’ve been on my mind every day,” he murmured. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but I’m grateful. For you, for us.”

M/n felt a lump rise in his throat. He tilted his head to meet Chan’s gaze, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Just… don’t surprise me like this again, okay?”

Chan grinned, his dimples showing even in the low light. “Promise. No more surprises.”

They shared a soft laugh, the tension melting away as the moment stretched between them. M/n felt a sense of calm wash over him, the chaos of the day fading into the background.

“Stay for a bit?” Chan asked, his voice hopeful.

M/n glanced toward the path leading back to the main campus, then back at Chan. “A little longer,” he said, his voice quiet but sure.

And for the first time that day, M/n allowed himself to relax, leaning into Chan’s embrace as the world outside the garden faded away. The peaceful silence of the garden was abruptly shattered by the sound of approaching voices. M/n froze, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized the unmistakable laughter of Minseo and Jiho.

“Didn’t you say you saw him come this way?” Jiho’s voice rang out, closer than M/n would have liked.

“I swear he’s hiding something,” Minseo replied. “He bolted like his ass was on fire.”

Chan tensed, his hands still on M/n’s shoulders. “Who is that?” he whispered.

“My friends,” M/n hissed, panic lacing his voice. He grabbed Chan’s arm, pulling him toward a thicker cluster of trees. “Hide!”

But before they could move far, Minseo’s sharp eyes caught them. “M/n? Is that you?”

M/n’s stomach dropped as both Minseo and Jiho rounded the corner of the garden path, their expressions shifting from confusion to wide-eyed shock.

“M/n,” Jiho started, his gaze flicking between M/n and the man standing too close to him. “Why does that guy look exactly like—”

“Bang Chan?!” Minseo practically shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger.

M/n’s brain short-circuited as he stood frozen, caught red-handed. Chan, to his credit, didn’t flinch. Instead, he straightened up and offered a sheepish smile.

“Uh, hi,” Chan said, scratching the back of his neck.

Jiho gawked at him, his jaw practically on the ground. “What the fuck is happening right now?!”

Minseo’s eyes narrowed, zeroing in on M/n. “You’ve been sneaking around with Bang Chan? THE Bang Chan?!”

“I—uh—” M/n stammered, his face burning.

“Wait, are you two like… dating?” Jiho asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and giddy excitement.

M/n opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He felt like a deer caught in headlights.

Chan stepped in, his voice calm and steady. “Yes. We are.”

Minseo’s jaw dropped. Jiho let out an audible gasp, covering his mouth like he’d just heard the juiciest gossip of the year.

“You mean to tell me,” Minseo started, her hands on her hips, “that you’ve been dating Bang Chan this whole time, and you didn’t say a damn word?”

“It’s complicated,” M/n mumbled, avoiding their gazes.

Jiho burst into laughter, startling everyone. “Complicated? That’s the understatement of the century! Dude, you’re dating a literal K-pop idol!”

Minseo, on the other hand, was still processing. “I’m just mad you didn’t tell us. We’re your best friends, M/n.”

“I couldn’t,” M/n said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not just my secret to tell.”

Minseo softened slightly, her expression shifting from anger to understanding. “I get it. But you should’ve trusted us.”

Chan stepped closer to M/n, his hand brushing against his arm in silent reassurance. “I asked him to keep it private,” he explained. “We’re trying to protect what we have. It’s not easy with my career.”

Jiho looked at them both, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know what? I ship it. Power couple vibes. But you owe us details, M/n.”

Minseo rolled her eyes but smiled. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re having a long talk about this later.”

M/n exhaled in relief, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, guys.”

Minseo nodded. “Just… be careful. And Chan? You better treat him right.”

Chan grinned, his dimples on full display. “Always.”

The tension eased as the group exchanged a few more words, and M/n realized that while his secret was out, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing after all.

As Minseo and Jiho walked off, their voices fading into the distance, M/n let out a long, exasperated sigh, leaning against the tree. He covered his face with his hands, his ears still burning from embarrassment.

“That was awkward,” M/n muttered.

Chan chuckled softly, stepping closer and nudging M/n’s shoulder. “Awkward, sure, but your friends are pretty great.”

M/n peeked at him through his fingers. “Great? Jiho almost fainted, and Minseo was ready to kill me.”

Chan grinned, his dimples making a playful appearance. “Yeah, but they care about you. That much is obvious. And I like that about them.”

M/n lowered his hands, a reluctant smile creeping onto his face. “You’re just saying that because they didn’t hate your guts.”

“Maybe.” Chan’s voice softened, his eyes locking onto M/n’s. His expression shifted, the playful glint replaced with something deeper, more tender. “But seriously, they’re good people. And they love you.”

M/n felt his heart flutter under Chan’s gaze, the intensity of it making his stomach flip. He looked away, biting his lip to suppress a shy grin.

Chan tilted his head, stepping even closer until their faces were mere inches apart. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from M/n’s forehead. “Well, since we don’t have to hide anymore…”

M/n barely had time to process the words before Chan leaned in, capturing his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. Unlike before, this wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was deep and consuming, filled with all the emotions they’d had to suppress for so long.

Chan’s hands found M/n’s waist, pulling him closer, while M/n’s fingers instinctively gripped the front of Chan’s hoodie. The world around them melted away—the garden, the university, the lingering nerves—all replaced by the warmth of each other.

M/n sighed into the kiss, his body relaxing as he leaned into Chan. He felt the gentle pressure of Chan’s hands sliding up his back, holding him securely as if he never wanted to let go.

When they finally broke apart, both were slightly breathless, their foreheads resting together. Chan smiled, his thumb gently stroking M/n’s side. “I’ve been wanting to do that without worrying who’s watching.”

M/n laughed softly, his voice shaky but filled with warmth. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

Chan’s grin widened. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

M/n nodded, his cheeks flushed but his heart full. “Together.”

They stood there for a moment longer, lost in their own little world, before the sound of distant chatter reminded them of where they were.

Chan smirked, taking M/n’s hand in his. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before your friends come back for round two.”

M/n rolled his eyes but didn’t let go of Chan’s hand, following him out of the garden with a newfound sense of freedom.

[ughsecondblogsdontwork]

I don't watch a whole lot of television, so maybe I'm missing some perspective, but I've never seen a TV show where the Main Character was a fat gay man (or person in general, I'm not crazy enough to think they'd ever try to pull this with a fat lesbian for instance) where neither his sexuality or fatness were 1. An overt problem in the narrative or 2. The butt of routine or mean-spirited jokes. What We Do In the Shadows was awesome in so many ways, but it was also awesome because I got to see a gay and fat person do all kinds of shit as a main character without being constantly questioned or degraded for being fat! I really, really love Guillermo. He's a vampire slayer! An action hero! He looks cool, cute and sexy all at once in his action scenes- I love watching him grow as a character and stand up for himself, I love his jokes, he's really such a great character! So this final season sucked, right. Like this final season was total shit ass, I'm sorry. I'm so disappointed. I feel so let down. There are a million reasons why it sucked, but right now I just feel sad because of how everything turns out for Guillermo and the queer and fat representation in the show. First of all, it really threw me for a loop when the show opened with crazy fat jokes about Colin Robinson. That obviously did not land for me at all and why would it land for wwdits viewers? We are following a show where we are emotionally invested in a fat MC and we don't have a *problem* with fatness- so why would I think it's funny that Colin Robinson "got fat"??? Make it make sense lmao.

And I don't know why the fuck Nandor and Guillermo's entire relationship was abandoned. Did every single writer jump ship and get replaced by someone who's never seen the show or??? Well, it feels like a punch in the gut for a few reasons:

This show is supposedly "queer". Every known vampire is queer and Guillermo is gay. But the only consistent relationship is Nadja and Lazslo, which isn't a problem obviously we love them, but would it kill the show for there to be...? More visibly queer relationships? It's a show that insists its gay over and over again in word but not action. I don't care if Nandor and Lazslo like to fuck each other silly offscreen, and Nadja is also supposedly queer in some way, off screen- everything is conveniently off screen. Nandor and Guillermo did not *need* to get together, but the lack of explicit acknowledgement is weird. It just is.

Also, it would just be nice! Like am I crazy? Is it too much to ask for? To see a fat MC be in love and in a relationship not in spite of their appearance but just bc the other person likes them? I feel like every show with gay couples as main characters is a romance based show that is mostly About them getting together. Wwdits is so much fun because it's about so many things! But why couldn't this be *one* of those things? Can you think of a single show in the world right now where a fat queer main character is in a relationship and their looks or their sexuality are not the key point of conversation about the relationship? I can't! This was the perfect opportunity! Nandor and Guillermo fell into a well established relationship trope that had nothing to do with appearance or sexuality, and people who like that trope were naturally drawn to it. Why did they just spit on the whole thing? It makes no fucking sense.

Any response like "well sometimes unrequited love is a good plot" "X needed to grow and Y relationship was bad" "It's better this way because of XYZ" "It would have been toxic" this is a silly tv show about murderous vampires. Guillermo is also a murderer. There is just no possible way that a relationship between Guillermo and Nandor would have ruined the show lmao. It would have been fun! Remember when TV comedies were about being fun! I sure do! Apparently asking for a fun gay relationship between the queer main characters of the "queer TV show" is just too much to ask- better luck next time! Honestly, I feel so bitter lol. Bitter and sad. A show this fun and a cast this good deserved a waaaaay better ending all around. This post isn't even touching all the other weird shit and quite a lot of objectively bad shit that was wrong with the season

Before anyone gets all weird about my use of the word fat if you're not familiar with that, I am fat and I think fat is a neutral word and am trying to normalize the usage of it instead of substituting it with shit like "plus size". Fat is not an insult in the context of my words lol

[cripplecharacters]

hi! there is a character in a dnd campaign i play who has fd. his current only ambition (as far as i know because he’s not my character) is to Get Revenge on the people who gave him his fd. he already hits a few bad tropes but i scoured your posts on fd and couldn’t really find anything about this specifically. is it a bad trope?

Hi, yes I'd say that it is a bad trope.

Is having a facial difference really that bad to the point your only goal in life is to [insert action] on whoever caused it? That's not only sad as hell but also no one does this. Even people who got their disabilities in traumatic events still have things going on for themselves.

Why does having a visible difference always have to be a metaphor for some event and never just a disability that real people have? One can be bitter and/or traumatized by what caused their FD and not be a villain archetype. It's literally like the first panel in this comic.

As a writer who has a facial difference I just think this is an incredibly bad motivation anyway. I get if they would want revenge because they lost a loved one in the attack that also disabled them or whatever, but who feels so much hatred over getting a scar to be doing all this? This is my perspective but it feels absurd.

Can't they want revenge over getting maltreated or something? Abused? Or whatever else was the Event? Anything that doesn't equate facial difference with something that it isn't? Facial difference is a part of your face. To me my facial asymmetry is as much a part of it as eyebrows are for abled people. If I obsessed over it or my slowly progressed paralysis to the extent that the average OC with FD does I wouldn't be able to function.

Would the character also become obsessed with revenge if the Bad People caused them to lose their hair or is it just that facial difference specifically is so bad you have no other choice but to make it your life's mission to avenge this Worst Thing that could happen to someone?

There's not much for me to say since it's not your character, but I'd advise putting some characters with facial differences who aren't walking tropes who hate their disability and have their existence revolve around it. An NPC who has a burn scar or was born with frontonasal dysplasia (or both, why not) and doesn't make it their entire personality would be cool.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[thathomestar]

played through the black mesa blue shift mod, up through the xen chapter since that's all they've released so far. the mod aims to remake the entirety of blue shift in the style of black mesa, and boy howdy does it deliver on that, for better and for worse.

they actually establish a couple supporting characters, more security guards and scientists, which is nice. in the original game it was basically just dr rosenberg, so more named characters is a good change imo. feels like you're actually rallying people together to fight your way out of black mesa.

a weird thing this mod does is take away player control sometimes. i can understand it for specific sequences, like when the elevator crashes at the beginning or when you first teleport into xen, but it also does it for some mundane things too, like inserting a keycard into a switch. why? half-life's whole thing is letting the player be in control the whole time.

the first few chapters are well paced, but it starts feeling like its padding a bit when you go off to find dr rosenberg. you have to do this whole song and dance moving a train back and forth and turning it around properly on turntables to bust him out. they could have cut out some of the tedium there a little.

my problems really start when it comes to the xen chapter. the original blue shift xen chapter lasts for roughly 30-40 minutes for a first time player, though someone like me was able to speed through it in under 15. with the black mesa mod, they have stretched out the runtime of this chapter to 3 hours.

it starts off pretty strong, you're making your way through xen, taking in the sights and finding all the stuff the previous science teams have left behind. about 90 minutes in i was wondering when i'm gonna get to the focal point relay thing, the whole reason calhoun goes to xen in the first place.

but instead you keep detouring through black mesa outposts and alien factory things and it just gets so long in the tooth. it'd be one thing if you get to one of these places and you're there for 5-10 minutes at most, but you typically spend over 20, sometimes even 30 minutes at these places.

there's one bit where you inexplicably decide to jump on the back of one of the giant flying manta rays and it flies around for like 15 minutes like an autoscroller section until it gets shot down by alien railguns, and then you spend 30 minutes making your way over to and destroying the railguns. and the whole time i'm just like... when are we getting to the focal point thing.

so finally you get to the focal point relay and turn it on but it gets jammed by a signal so you spend another 40 minutes blazing through ANOTHER alien factory so you can blow it up and you make your way back to the focal point thing and the portal's open but alien controllers keep telekinetically grabbing you and yanking you away from it... and it's just so exhausting. i got burned out.

not to mention the weirdness with how they handle vortigaunts. so in black mesa they do this whole thing in xen to show that the vorts are slaves and don't actually want to fight you, but calhoun never encounters any of that stuff. for the first 2/3rds of xen in this mod, vortigaunts are constantly trying to kill you non-stop. then all of a sudden they don't attack you anymore. why? because i, the player know they're not really bad? why would calhoun know that? it doesn't really make sense to me.

xen is cool. i like xen. if you told me "we're adding more xen to blue shift" i'd be like alright that's cool. but 6-8 times more? that's way too much. xen in blue shift was never meant to be a long trip. calhoun was supposed to get in, find the focal point relay, align it, and leave, not go on a grand alien gallivanting adventure. that's for gordon to do.

[creweemmaeec11]

Just a Sense

This is my secret santa snippet I wrote for @chaoticgoodthief. Their Prompt was:  "how about the joke villain going ballistic when someone hurts their designated hero?"

I really hope you like it!!!

"Alright, party's over," Hero's voice echoed through the empty halls of the museum.

Villain didn't bother turning around immediately, continuing to admire the painting they were looking at before casually turning to face their guest, "I'd have to disagree," They mused, hopping down from the ledge, "Now that you're here, the party can finally start,"

The Hero grinned, pulling their dagger out and twirling it between their fingers, "Alright, if you're looking for a dance partner-"

"Awe, come on!" The criminal interrupted, "We haven't even gotten to enjoy the museum yet!" they twirled with their arms out to gesture to everything around them, "We have the place to ourselves tonight! We can even go past the guard ropes, don't worry, I won't tell,"

The Hero raised an amused eyebrow, "You don't think I have better things to do?"

The Villain shot them a cheshire, all too knowing smile, "I think we both know you do, and we both know that's exactly why you're here in the first place,"

It was a distraction, for both of them. A game of cat and mouse that repeated like clockwork, comforting in its predictability. They were both safe here, in a weird way. They knew each other, knew the stakes, knew it wasn't actually a fight to the death, that no matter what, Villain would slip away at the end of the night, so they could do it all over again.

The Hero blushed, but rolled their eyes, failing to keep the slight smile off their face, "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,"

"Put that butter knife away; we both know you're not actually going to stab me with it,"

"Oh yeah? I do have an actual job to do here, you know?" The Hero countered, crossing their arms.

"Oh my god, are you two done flirting yet?" A new voice cut in mockingly,  as a figure came out from behind one of the museum's pillar supports.

"Supervillain?!" both parties cried in unison.

Hero instinctively reached for their communicator, but Supervillain flicked a hand. The device shot out of Hero's grasp, shattering against the far wall.

"Now, now," Supervillain drawled, their voice cool and condescending, almost like disciplining a misbehaving child, "Calling for backup would ruin the whole point of me going through the effort of getting you alone, wouldn't it?"

"Supervillain, what are you doing here?" Villain asked, a cautious edge creeping into their usually carefree tone.

Supervillain glanced over to them, surprise flashing in their eyes, like they were shocked the Villain had even dared to speak to them.

"Leave." They commanded, "This doesn't concern you anymore," turning back toward the Hero, who was slowly backing away.

Villain saw the Hero glance at them, the fear, the silent plea for help in their eyes. They clenched their fists at their sides.

"Back off, I was here first,"

The Supervillain spun around at that, eyebrows fully raised, shock morphing into an almost... impressed expression.

"Oh, you're cute," they replied, lips curling into a smirk. "I don't believe we've met face to face, have we? Small fries don't usually cause much of a blip on my radar I'm afraid. But don't worry, tonight I'm actually doing you a favour,"

"A favour?" The Villain replied skeptically, narrowing their eyes.

"Well, I'm about to take this little nuisance behind us out of the way for you-"

Suddenly, the Hero behind them made a dash for it, but it was no use, as they were immediately flung backwards, crashing through a wall and an expensive painting along with it.

"Seriously, Hero? Running? You should know better by now."

"Get away from them!" Villain shot back, running toward the Hero who was struggling in the rubble.

"All right, your entertainment value has expired. I needed them without their backup, which they never need with you. You've served your purpose, now get out of my way," the Supervillain gestured at the Villain, as if to send them flying, but to their surprise, nothing happened, "what-"

Suddenly the Supervillain's world seemed to be spinning, running laps around their skull as they could no longer tell up from down. It was like vertigo from all directions at once. It was only then the horrifying realization hit them that their vision was fading.

"What the hell are you-!"

"Sensory manipulation," Villain said calmly, striding toward them, watching as the Supervillain came crashing down to the floor. "A little something I haven't had to use in a long time."

"You insolent little-!"

"Sense of sight, balance, motion... kind of hard to function when they suddenly get thrown into a blender huh? Proprioception really is a wonderful thing."

Supervillain was very quickly beginning to feel sick.

"Certain senses are more fun than others..." the Villain mused, crouching down next to them, "Nociception... the sense of pain... for example"

A gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, animalistic scream suddenly erupted from the Supervillain on the floor.

The pain only lasted for a second, but that was one second too long.

They were flailing, trying desperately to get away, to get a sense of anything. They couldn't tell where they were. Were they on the ground? Were they stuck to the ceiling? Were they floating in water? Even worse, they felt like they were losing a sense of not only where they were, but what and even who they were.

Supervillain didn't even realize they were shaking. They could feel panic flooding their system.

"Interoception is probably my favourite, though," Villain mused, their voice almost playful. "The sense of internal body states. Hunger, thirst.... panic... fear...." The Villain mused, tilting their head in thought, "How high do you think your heart rate can get before it gives out? Shall we find out?"

The Supervillain tried to speak, they really did, but it felt like the couldn't get enough oxygen into their lungs. They couldn't- hyperventilating- their body was-

It was like their body couldn't tell how fast their heart was already beating, yet it felt in desperate need to beat faster.

Then, like a sudden plunge into icy water, everything in their body seemed to balance. Their head was spinning, but they could see their vision beginning to come back. They could make out a blurry figure standing above them that was starting to move away.

"If I ever see you anywhere close to my hero again, I'll get the answer to my question," they warned as they went back over to the Hero in question.

There was a flash behind them, and the Supervillain vanished as they crouched down, "Are you okay?"

"What-.... what the hell was-..."

"Where does it hurt?" the Villain asked instead.

"Everywhere?" The hero huffed, dropping their head to the marble floor below.

The Villain closed their eyes for a moment, and suddenly, the hero could feel the pain melting away.

"Better?"

"How the hell did you-"

"Let's just say I always go easy on my favourite hero," they stood up, extending a hand down to the Hero, "Come on, I'll stop the heist if I get to take you out to dinner, on me,"

"Only if it comes with a side of explanations." The Hero rebuked.

"Deal,"

With that, the Villain helped the hero to their feet. They may have had a lot of explaining to do. But they also had a steak to order, and they had their priorities in order.

[moonmaiden1996]

Bound by Fate Chapter 10

The Red Force cut through the waters, its sails billowing in the wind as the island grew distant behind it. The crew had returned, battered and weary, their steps slow but determined as they moved with practiced precision to prepare the ship for its next journey. But there was no time to rest, no moment to mourn what had happened. Shanks had already given the order for departure, and as the ship surged forward, so too did your thoughts.

You found yourself alone in the captain’s cabin, the cool sea breeze drifting through the open window, its chill biting at your skin. The endless stretch of ocean lay before you, vast and unchanging, yet it felt as if the world had shifted beneath your feet. The tension inside you, the weight of everything you had learned, pressed heavily on your chest, and you couldn’t escape the gnawing feeling that things were only going to get worse from here.

Your mind replayed the events of the marketplace—the lifeless body of the man whose death had started this strange chain of events, the confusion that clouded your thoughts, and the conversation you’d had with the mysterious old man in the café. His words, cryptic and foreboding, echoed in your mind, relentless and impossible to forget. The pollen. The bond. The belief that you and Shanks were somehow destined to be together, something great.

From the far corner of the cabin, you could hear the quiet murmurs of Shanks and Beckman as they spoke in hushed tones, their voices barely audible over the sound of the ship’s creaking timbers. Beckman’s calm, measured words cut through the silence. “The Navy won’t be far behind. Not that they can do much, but we can’t ignore the possibility they’re involved somehow. We don’t know what they know.”

Shanks, his red hair even more wild than usual, stood with his back to the room, his jaw clenched tight, his usual grin nowhere to be seen. He nodded, his tone taut with an unspoken worry. “We head to our island. We’ll rest there and assess the situation. Given what we’ve learned, we need time to plan.”

Beckman said nothing, his sharp eyes watching Shanks with a silent concern that only seemed to deepen as the minutes passed.

You stood by the window, your hands tightly gripping the edge of the polished wood. You couldn’t escape the weight of what you had to say, but the words stuck in your throat. The old man in the café had told you too much, and the bond between you and Shanks was undeniable now. It had been awakened, whether either of you were ready for it or not.

For a moment, you considered keeping the secret to yourself. The truth seemed too overwhelming, too dangerous to share. But you couldn’t carry the weight alone any longer. You had to tell them.

The man in the café had been clear: He had set all of this in motion, awakened something deep inside you, something that connected you to Shanks in a way you couldn’t fully comprehend. And now, it seemed that this strange bond was not just a result of circumstance, but something much more deliberate—a force that might change everything.

Shanks was a pirate, but he was no villain. He could have manipulated you. He could have forced you to stay, to follow his every command. But he hadn’t. If anything, he had treated you with kindness, respect, and more care than you ever expected from someone like him. Yet, as you looked at him now, you couldn’t help but wonder what this bond meant. What was its purpose? And why did it feel so... real now?

The ship creaked as the waves crashed against it, and you felt the familiar presence of Shanks as he turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. You couldn’t hide any longer.

“Something on your mind?” His voice was soft, but there was a quiet edge to it, as if he sensed the weight of your thoughts without needing to be told.

For a moment, you hesitated, the words stuck in your throat. You had to speak, but how? How could you explain the impossible bond that had been forced upon you both? Finally, the truth came spilling out.

“Shanks,” you began, your voice trembling despite your best efforts, “there’s something I need to tell you... something that happened in the café... the one they left me at, during the battle.”

Shanks’s expression shifted instantly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “They left you?” His voice sharpened. “What happened?”

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you recalled the conversation. “There was an old man... He told me something about the pollen. The Devil Fruit pollen.” You hesitated, the words feeling heavier than you had imagined. “He said he released it, and he was sorry he never saw how it actually worked. He said it was never forced. That the bond between us... it was always there. It was just…. awakened.”

Shanks’s face tightened, his jaw clenching, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. He stepped closer to you, his gaze piercing. “What are you talking about?”

You took a deep breath, fighting to control the surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. “He said that the pollen was supposed to forge a bond between us—something unbreakable. He thought it would bring balance to the world... that we were meant to be the ones to change things.”

Beckman, who had been quietly observing the conversation, spoke up then, his voice sharp, a mixture of disbelief and concern. “And you’re just telling us this now?”

“I didn’t understand at first,” you stammered, your heart racing as you tried to piece it all together. “But after everything, it makes sense. He said the world is breaking. It’s choking on greed and despair. And that love—real, unshakable love—could inspire change. That we were meant to be the heroes.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The weight of your words hung in the air like a storm cloud, pressing down on everyone in the room. Shanks stood motionless, his face unreadable, but there was a flicker of something dark in his eyes.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and strained. “And what do you think? Is that bond real?”

You met his gaze, the connection between you undeniable despite the confusion. “I don’t know. But it feels real.”

Shanks stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly, though the storm within him still raged. “We’ll figure it out,” he said with quiet conviction, as if he had already made up his mind about the course of action.

Beckman sighed sharply, his eyes flicking between you and Shanks. “If that’s true... we have a lot of work ahead of us. But for now, we need to focus on getting to our island.”

As Beckman turned to leave, the sounds of the crew preparing for the journey filled the air. The ship surged forward, its bow cutting through the endless expanse of water. You stood by the porthole, staring out at the vast horizon as the port receded, fading into the blue. The weight of everything—the truth, the bond, the future—pressed down on you, suffocating in its intensity. And then, you felt it. Shanks’s presence behind you. Without warning, his chest pressed against your back, his strong arm curling around your waist. The warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the cold air that swept through the cabin, but his embrace felt grounding, secure.

Before, you might have pulled away, startled by the intimacy of the moment. You might have shouted at him, demanded answers, or tried to push him away. But now, in the wake of everything you had learned, you found yourself leaning into him, allowing his embrace to anchor you. His large hand splayed across your waist, holding you tightly, securely, his body curling protectively around you. The air between you and Shanks was thick with unspoken tension. His chest was warm and solid against your back, his arm still curled around your waist. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to savor the sensation, but your mind couldn’t rest.

Shanks’s voice broke through your swirling thoughts like the low rumble of a storm just on the horizon, deep and rough, his lips brushing close to your ear. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine as he whispered, “Are you okay?” There was a softness in his tone, a genuine concern that made it impossible to ignore the weight of the moment.

You nodded slowly, though your breath hitched in your throat, and the pounding of your heart drowned out any coherent thought. “Hmmm,” you managed, barely a sound, but it was enough to let him know you’d heard him.

Your eyes drifted, almost without thought, to the bed tucked in the corner of the room. And then you saw it—your clothes, scattered haphazardly across the blankets as if they belonged there. The sight snapped you out of the haze of emotions that had consumed you, irritation flickering to life as your brows knit together. 

“Is that… Are those my clothes?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended as you gestured toward the garments.

Shanks leaned back just enough to give you space, though he didn’t release his hold entirely. His grin spread slowly, unrepentant and maddeningly charming. “Yeah,” he said, dragging out the word, his voice infused with a teasing lilt. “In my defense, your scent is just so alluring, I really couldn’t help myself.” He leaned closer again, his voice dipping into a rich, almost sinful purr. “It was either that, or steal you away into my bed every night. This seemed like the safer bet—for both of us.”

Your jaw dropped, and disbelief surged, hot and sharp. You wanted to snap at him, slap him, call him out for being the absolute scoundrel that he was, but the words tangled in your throat, refusing to come. Instead, unbidden flashes of memory flickered to life—Shanks, losing control, his raw power leaving devastation in its wake. The reminder sent a shiver through you, the line between frustration and fear blurring.

Your gaze shifted back to the clothes, landing on faint stains on one of the items. You pointed, your voice laced with incredulity. “The stains are…?”

Shanks’s grin widened, an infuriating mixture of sheepishness and smugness that only he could pull off. “Yeah,” he said again, his tone carrying a faint thread of amusement that made your cheeks burn.

“Oh…” The word slipped out before you could stop it, followed by a pause as your mind caught up with the implication. Heat flared across your face, and you tried again, your voice rising slightly. “Ohhh…” And then, without thinking, you blurted out, “Well, was it good at least?”

The question hung in the air, absurd yet oddly fitting, and you felt the tension shift. Shanks’s expression changed, the playful façade melting away as his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

“The best,” he said, his voice low and unwavering. His eyes searched yours, unflinchingly honest. “Even just the thought of you couldn’t compare to anyone else.”

The weight of his words hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs. The room seemed to contract, the world outside fading until it was just the two of you. His smoldering eyes bore into yours, the tension between you simmering, heavy and electric, as though the air itself had become charged. You felt the wetness coat the inside of your thighs, and you watched as his nostrils flared, dragging in your scent. 

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as you fought to hold his gaze. The connection between you—the pull that neither of you could deny—seemed to hum, a palpable thing that defied explanation. Half of you hoped and half of you dreaded what he would do.

“Shanks…” you began, but your voice faltered, your courage wavering under the intensity of his stare. You didn’t know what you were going to say, but it hardly seemed to matter. His hand shifted, his fingers pressing gently against your waist, his touch sent a spark skittering through your nerves.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice like a low rumble of thunder, full of promise and restraint. “But I need you to know… this is it for me.”

For a man like Shanks—so often carefree, untouchable, and larger than life—to expose himself in this way left you reeling. Vulnerability radiated from him, raw and unguarded, and it made your chest ache.

Your heart thundered as you stepped back, putting a small but significant distance between you. His hand dropped away reluctantly, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze, even as your thoughts scrambled for coherence.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The words trembled as they left your lips. “I am scared… it’s more than I was ready for.”

Shanks nodded slowly, his expression softening as he took in your words. “I get it,” he said simply, his tone gentle yet resolute. “But I’m here for you, whatever it takes. I can’t tell you I’ll be perfect, but I will try. I can control this urge if you stop fighting me.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a fresh wave of warmth through you, easing some of the tension that had coiled tight in your chest. You took a hesitant step forward, letting him close the distance as he opened his arm to you. For the first time, you let yourself lean into his embrace, your cheek pressing against the firm breadth of his chest. His arm enveloped you, strong and steady, and you let yourself curl into the warmth of him.

The scent of spice and sea clung to him, wrapping around you as you closed your eyes. In that moment, you allowed yourself to let go—just a little—and trust that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as terrifying as it seemed. For now, his steady heartbeat beneath your ear was enough.

Merry Christmas Eve Everyone! I hope you are having a great day whether you celebrate or not. If you are struggling please reach out!

As always I would love to hear from you.

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST.

@commanderfreethatdust @hauntedluna

[undertalecookingwithkindness]

A Very Merry Christmas from The Eclipse!

It's that time of the year again! A time of merriment, jolliness and generosity! A time of hot cocoa, candy canes and gingerbread! A time of KINDNESS! It's Christmas!!!!

The staff at The Eclipse is getting everything ready for a big celebration, as you can see! The Christmas cheer is really flowing, though someone should probably go help Luna untangle themself from the Christmas lights... Still, why don't we have a look under the tree and at the gifts... Oh! It looks like one of them has your name on it! I wonder what it is?

Surprise! It's an update on Undertale Cooking With Kindness!

(Hmm, you don't look very surprised, were you shaking the gift box to figure out what was in it?)

UPDATE

It feels like we've been pretty quiet since the Halloween Update, huh? And that's for a good reason. As many of you may be intimately familiar with, the first chunk of December tends to be a time not of holly jolly cheer, but of hellish torture. Yes, I'm of course talking about

EXAM SEASON!!!

Indeed, many of our team members, myself included, were focusing on exams and schoolwork all of December and much of November, so very little progress has been made. Still, that doesn't mean no progress was made. We've got a lot to how off for you all today, but first, we've got a new team member to introduce you to.

Welcome our new artist and spriter: LightMoonCream! They drew Sunny in the Christmas illustration! You may be familiar with them from their work on Nighfell, but they've decided to hop on board the wild ride that is bringing The Eclipse to life! In the spirit of Christmas, let's all give them a very merry welcome to the team!

Speaking of very merry welcomes... It appears there's someone else that needs some introducing, I'm sure you've noticed him in the illustration or in the previous post that teased him, but it's finally time to properly introduce you to...

Courier!

Courier will be helping out with deliveries in the Eclipse. After all, everyone in the underground deserves a taste of the food at the Eclipse no matter how close or far they may live. Mawzz understood the potential in incorporating a delivery service into the business, so he called up one of his debtors goons employees. Courier will be flying you all across the Underground to help you deliver orders put in by customers.

According to Mawzz, and to his uniform, he used to work for the Underground Postal Service, but was fired for unknown reasons. He doesn’t talk about why that happened, but his firing does create a very shady gap in his resume...

Courier is a very outwardly serious and brooding monster. He’s here for business, not to make friends. However… he does have quite a few things that break through that cold exterior. He’s a little embarrassed about it, but he just can’t resist the allure of a shiny coin or of some sweet treat. Give him what he wants, and he may just open up a little bit. Just a bit though. The mask of coolness may be a façade, and perhaps not exactly a convincing one, but it’s one he’s committed to, damn it!

I suppose we should take a small aside to introduce deliveries. Staying in one place in the underground is cozy and all, but don't you feel like you're missing out on some fun exploration? Well, in deliveries, you'll leave the Eclipse and head off to familiar areas of the Underground to try and give a loyal customer their food. Sounds simple, right? What could possibly go wrong!

Do keep in mind, though, deliveries aren't planned to be included in the first demo. Still, that doesn't mean we have nothing to show off related to them.

You know what time it is? Get your carolling books out, because it's time for the

MUSIC SECTION

One of the areas you'll be making an excursion into for deliveries is the quaint and quiet Snowdin Town. The town is even smaller than the one you know in Undertale, so the new remix is even simpler sounding to match. A homely snow-filled paradise where everyone knows each other and is merry... It's quite appropriate, don't you think? It really fits the vibe of the season.

It's cold out there alone... The wind cuts into you and won't let you forget how small you are, won't let you forget the pain of the path you chose for yourself. You had a choice between comfort and the cold, and now your only company is the chill of the flurry.

UPDATED TRACKS!

An updated version of the intro theme courtesy of Venn November (or is December?) It's not an immediately noticeable difference, but once you listen to the old version and the new version back to back, it's clear to see. Close your eyes and imagine the epic intro that could be attached to this song...

Ok, now open them again, we've got one more updated track to show off:

At last, Customer Approaching is finally out of the draft stage and is complete! I hope you enjoy this theme, cause as you work your daily shifts at The Eclipse, you'll become very familiar with this song. Hey, would you rather listen to this on loop for a couple of minutes or the same Christmas playlist on loop for weeks? You gotta give our real retail workers their flowers!

Ok, that's enough music talk for now, it's time to actually talk about the progress on the game!

GAME PROGRESS

As I said before, progress was stunted somewhat during the past few months, but that doesn't mean we haven't done anything. In fact... It is with great pride and joy that I announce that the cooking system is almost complete! Yes, the bones of the cooking system have been all mostly put in place and stress-tested. You can almost complete a full day of work at The Eclipse. We've implemented the timer, customer waves, the functional COOK button, and a handful of minigames. We're currently hard at work implementing the final piece of the foundation of our unique gameplay: Recipes and Reputation/Prestige! To talk more in depth about this, please welcome our resident back-end coding and implementation expert: Moist!

"The primary 'battle' system is underpinned by a custom-built module that tracks Sunny's progress as they prepare a meal for a customer of The Eclipse, keeps a repository of all the recipes sunny is capable of making stored nice and safe their head, and calculates how well they've done afterward. In the final release, You may be able to cook more complex recipes in later days. As it stands, early recipes will be less complex, but the handler seems fairly stable in its current state!"

— moist

There you have it, in the coming weeks we'll finish implementing this final piece, and at that point the cooking system will be complete! From there, it's just a matter of creating the encounters and waves, stress-testing and polishing, and voilá! We'll be able to show off entirely finalized days of cooking, and from there we'll be all set up to start proper work on the demo.

But what about beyond cooking? What's progress looking like on the overworld, cutscenes and etc.?

Well, we've got a lot of the maps from the demo, well, not done, but set up for integration as we move our focus into cutscene and scene creation. In fact, ignoring some unfinished cutscenes, the map for the game's intro area is complete! Hopefully with some elbow grease from me and the rest of the team in the coming months, those cutscenes will be completed, and the demo maps we're still missing will be set up.

In short, while we were slowed down for the past few months, it seems as if these next few months are going to be very productive for us. Everything seems to be coming up Sunny!

One final thing before we sign off... I'm sure everybody's clamouring for some sort of release date for the demo, but despite all the work we've done, we can't promise an exact date. All we know is that we're hoping to be able to release the first demo in late 2025, but we can't confidently assure you that that will happen. As always, though, if you think you can help that happen, do send me a DM on Discord (shadowofroserade) with an application to join the team.

However, we would still like to announce a planned release date for something else. If all goes according to plan the reveal trailer for Undertale Cooking with Kindness should come out in January*, so stay seated everybody! We've got an appetizer to die for coming up!

*while that is the current plan, it is quite possible that it will be delayed into February depending on future circumstances.

Until then...

Kind Regards,

The Eclipse.