#realistically these things take time i know but at some point i have GOT to resist the urge to just scrap all the stuff ive done

[kirabasai]

beautiful additions. don't hide them in the tags i love them. i was actually discussing w my friend king (he doesn't have a tumblr sadly ik but he has ao3) more abt this earlier so i'm gonna dump some things we've discussed/brainrotted so far.

on the hair, lilia's pink/red streaks are actually dyed LMAO so that might not be a marker. i initially said the marker is the eyes, yuu and lilia's eyes are VERY similar, but king made me see the light by proposing lilia's little ear tufts that look like bat wings.

malleus and silver see it and INSTANTLY make the connection. they actually look similar enough that ppl look at them and go huh, must be cousins and never mention it around them because it never comes up. cousins because who would assume that a third year is a first year's bio dad? nobody! except malleus and silver. they Know. they have the horrifying realization that they're father has bred like oh my god, he actually at some point got someone pregnant. they do NOT wanna think of their dad in that context. they didn't even consider he was capable of it. poor silver has struggle sleeping.

but like, lilia was fucking WILD at some pt man. it's a miracle he doesn't have 20 bastard children running around and this yuu is the only one. he has decades of child support to pay lmao.

we were thinking this yuu was born sometime after malleus hatched (a very rough time in lilia's life), so that time period between malleus hatching and silver being found. accidental fulfillment of the forgotten middle child prophecy lmaoo. but yeah statistically it's most likely for yuu to be a full fae so that's what i decided. king and i had a brief thing where we weren't sure abt the genetics of it, but in the end we decided the bat fae gene is recessive (based on a couple things) so rlly yuu ending up bat fae was luck of the draw and fate fucking w lilia once more. we also decided on her being 142 because that's a nice even number, and based on our eyeballing and at-a-glimpse math of how bat faes age that would make her abt 14 in human years. she got to nrc early because she's good at magic. so technically she is simultaneously the youngest and the middle child if u think abt it lolol

as for yuu's mom, she doesn't give a fuck abt lilia! or anyone/anything tbh. she's out chilling in the twst maldives with a glass of wine in her hand while her only daughter (we at this pt decided this yuu was she based on vibes) was off at school. she doesn't care abt if yuu meets or finds her father because tbf yuu's mom doesn't even know herself— could have been anyone really.

king also suggested giving yuu a neglectful childhood from an alcoholic parent for angst and i loved that. we love angst here. king said its incentive for yuu to be taken in by her bio dad and u know what that's fair. i was already on board before he even said that because i love making my characters be angsty.

this yuu sorta gives me "so self sufficient never even considered there was neglect" vibes. like that's just their normal. in her head it's like, all families are different. and besides ppl cook the meals at home instead of their parents all the time, doesn't see an issue w the fact she started to do this younger than most because her mom occasionally forgot to cook for both of them. she's probably kind of casual about her home life too because she thinks it's normal.

riddle's overblot is probably a culture shock to her because to well adjusted ppl they look and go, oh his mom is a helicopter parent and abusive and probably a bit crazy. YUU however looks at riddle and is thinking is this guy in jail or smth, because she literally can not perceive a parent being like that. literal opposites.

taking the whole school year to find out WOULD be funny, maybe as an offshoot oneshot moment instead of the actual fic though. because sadly and realistically the chances of sebek not being in the room whenever yuu and lilia are with each other until the end of the school year are slim. that, and lilia knows his boys are hiding something from him (malleus & silver still do not know if they should tell him, let alone how to broach the topic)

when lilia is officially introducing malleus and silver to her as her brothers lilia would probably also say something like "hmm, though i suppose if you were to go into technicalities, malleus would be your third-brother" (like half-brother. i strongly hc lilia/reven/maleanor and we also don't know how dragon reproduction works so for all we know malleus could have 2 bio dads. just saying). and it'll b a ??????? moment for all 3 siblings because they do not have the context to know that lilia means third brother as in yuu and malleus share ⅓ dna from him. realistically they all might consider that there's another brother they don't know about, or does lilia mean sebek?? they do not know. honestly it's probably like dad lore.

twst au where yuu is lilia's illegitimate child. lilia had a rough time you know, had a lot of one night stands, doesn't even remember over half of them. totally reasonable. so yuu turns up to nrc and lilia is oblivious because the notion of having a bio child has never occurred to him. but malleus and silver notice. they're staring at yuu suspiciously and then looking at each other like... you see it, right..... that person looks a LOT like dad, right.... like A LOT a lot..... yeah. and yuu is also oblivious!!! yuu's never considered who their father may be. they see lilia and are like oh cool another bat fae, don't see too many of those.

lilia snd yuu unironically bonding over both of them being bat faes w/o ever realizing they're father and child.

silver and malleus are in conspiratorial whispers like. DO WE TELL THEM.

in the end it's sebek who tells them but it's like, complete accident. like oh lilia-sama!!! i was not aware you had a blood child!!! and they're both like. ???? what — but then it processes and they're like, wait. pause. squints at each other. looks in a mirror. PAUSE.

[explodingchantry]

A review of Veilguard from a long time, die hard fan of Dragon Age

When the review embargo on Veilgurd was lifted, I found it hard to take any review at face value. Dragon Age is unfortunately the one series I am very pretentious about, and I can’t trust reviews from people who aren’t huge Dragon Age fans like I am and who don’t hold the same views as me -- those views being, to keep it short, that Anders was right and justified, that he is one of the most tragic characters in the entire series, that he is a hero, that Bioware’s writing can be shockingly biased at times in the wrong ways, and that Inquisition is really not that good at all. These opinions have a lot of weight in whether I will listen to someone about Dragon Age matters. And I haven’t see a proper review from someone like this -- though granted as soon as the game came out I locked down and refused to look at anything in fear of spoilers lol. 

This review will be spoilers free, and there will be an addition at some point with all the spoilers and what I think about specific story details, because I have so much to say. 

The TL;DR? It’s a good game. If you like Dragon Age like I do, you’ll like it. If you open your heart to it, you’ll love it. It was made with love. 

This will be divided in section based on people’s biggest worries about the game and how much I have to say about each of them.

The art direction

Honestly I was a defender of the art style as soon as the trailers started coming out and my opinion has not changed lol. Dragon Age was never exactly known for its graphics - Origins and DA2 look… okay. And Inquisition was fine for its time but has aged like the most rotten milk you could find. Its environments are still pretty, but its characters, man… I’m sorry, it just hasn’t aged well. Frostbite engine did not help Bioware in this case. They’ve spoken about how it was a new engine for them and how they struggled with it and it shows. 

This game? Oh boy, yeah, no, I can believe they got a handle of Frostbite now. It is breathtaking. The environments are crafted so meticulously and with so much love, the lighting is beautiful and that’s even without RTX (because I’m in the AMD gang and can’t splurge on Nvidia lol). Many many times I would stop and go into photo mode either to take screenshots or to just admire the world around me. I’d spam screenshot in cutscenes, too. The character animations are good, especially the facial expressions -- though the body animations remain a tad stiff, like everyone’s got a broom up their ass and forgot their spine can bend and move. It’s not that big of a deal, but I did notice it a couple times. 

You can tell Bioware had fun both with character design and with the environments, now that they’re free of Ferelden’s basic medieval england looking ass. You grow attached to the beautiful and lively environments. Treviso has got to be my favorite, but there’s a lot for everyone in there. 

And no, the smoother art style does not make the game less dark. If anything, some of the enemy redesigns really help make the game scarier. The first time I was faced with the blight in game, even though I’d seen it in all of the promotional screenshots and trailers -- I was horrified and sickened by just how gross they made it look (and sound.). I promise you, you shouldn’t be scared of that. 

The emotional moments sold well even “in spite of” the art style. I don’t know, it’s hard for me to even understand people’s worries about that. Not everything’s got to be hyper-realistic, ya’ll. 

The combat system

That IS one thing I was a tad worried about, when we first saw it. It looked good, but it was definitely a departure from what we were used to. 

Honestly, to sell my point, we have to look at the previous games’ combat system. I don’t actually know if there’s a specific name for this style aside from, idk, “CRPG combat” lol. I like to refer to it as MMORPG combat because you mostly see it in MMOs now, I feel. Your character cycles through a bunch of basic combat animations for basic attacks, and has a lot of abilities to throw in combat which can synergise which each other. DAO had the best system, but DA2 felt best to play due to the updated and dynamic animations and faster paced combat. DAI had the weakest both due to the way they overhauled the classes (especially mages) and made us lose fan-favorite specialisations (spirit healer and blood mage) with not much in exchange. It was simplified and a bit sluggish, in my opinion. It missed the strategy imposed by DAO as well as the punch from DA2. 

And of course, there’s the battle tactics. You get to basically program companion AIs and can chain some really, really good combos with them. It’s really fun once you get the hang of it, but let’s be real: very few people did. Very few people actually used them, as good of a system as it was. 

This combat system… has aged a tad, unfortunately. It doesn’t fit today’s gaming landscape, but even if it did… It would need more to land, I think, if they kept it as it was. Something to make it feel less sluggish, more intense, more involved. Make the attacks FEEL like they land and hit and hurt the enemy. Because the harsh truth is, although DAO has the most in depth combat system of all of the games -- it also has numerous popular mods to skip combat entirely. 

Combat in Veilguard feels really, really good. When I first started I often found myself grinning, going “oh HELL yeah” at the screen, because it felt so good. I almost raised the difficulty a few times because I wanted combat to last longer because it just felt so damn good. I do wish it was a bit deeper, especially in the case of combos, but it remained nonetheless fun to cycle through abilities and companions depending on the area and type of enemies I was fighting. It feels more action-y, but it isn’t a damn hack n slash like I’ve seen people say lol. Have none of these people ever heard of the term action RPG or what. Because that’s what Veilguard is. It’s an action RPG and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

I think Bioware always kind of wanted to move towards this, as well. Since DAO, Dragon Age felt like it kept its combat system not because it was the most fitting for the games Bioware wanted to make, but because they “had to”. Because it was right for the genre. Because it’s what players expect. Because they’d get backlash if they didn’t. But they finally decided to change it, and I think it’s right, for Veilguard. I think Bioware had fun making this system, and it is very much extremely fun to play. 

My only wish is for spirit healer and blood mage specialisation to come back, and for companion leveling up to have been deeper and more varied. They basically have set abilities that you level up and though you can change some aspects of them, that’s it. But it remains a good system. I liked it. I genuinely have really enjoyed fighting in this game and will be exploring all classes and specialisations thoroughly in my next replays, as well as exploring every difficulty. 

The writing

It’s fine. It’s brilliant, at times. Cringy, at others. And you want to know a secret?

You could say that about every god damn Dragon Age game, lol.

I’ve recently -- as in, very recently -- replayed the whole series in preparations for Veilguard. Not only did it have cringe-worthy moments in all games, but some even made me grimaces. DAO is staggeringly misogynistic both for its time and for its setting: You are told in the character creator that men and women are equal in Thedas only to constantly face outward sexism at every turn. It’s shocking. As for DA2, it’s weirdly mean spirited. It calls a lot of its characters crazy and makes fun of them for the meanest fucking reasons. It has a character who fights for his people’s freedom approve of you when you give another character over to a slaver, for fuck’s sake lol. It is very mean. This one is the most “product of its time” of all three, because DAO was misogynistic even for its time lol. And DAI… well, DAI is bland and lacks depth and feeling ina almost everything lmfao. 

Veilguard holds your hand a lot, especially in the beginning, and kind of babies you at times. It also suffers from painful expository moments. Thing is, I feel for Bioware: They have three games and dozens of side media’s worth of lore to explain to you, and have to keep in mind not only that some players will have never heard of Dragon Age, or that some have only played the games and never touched the side media, or that they played the games a whole DECADE ago and can’t remember shit. It’s hard. I would’ve done better lol but it IS difficult. I feel for them. 

Some things are a little less excusable, like the game REALLY holding your hand through a couple puzzles and through the fact that you need to focus on companions and do their quests etc. A part of me wonders if it came out of playtesting, or something. It definitely took me out of it a little bit, not gonna lie. It felt quite jarring. 

There’s a couple other things, like having far too much telling in places. I’d also have liked to do some of the cool stuff my Rook does in cutscenes within actual gameplay, lol. And there were beats where I was left thinking “... that’s it?”, which is never good. 

The codex entries are great and interesting though. Only game in the franchise where I read every single codex entries I found (AND I FOUND ALMOST ALL OF THEM!!!!). A lot of them are fascinating, but more are just very sweet or funny, and they help build the characters and the world. 

And my god, those characters are ALIVE. I truly understand when Bioware said they really put emphasis on the companions. There are so many cute banters, a lot of which you can catch in the lighthouse, as well as little scenes that mostly serve to humanise the companions and make them feel alive. Not only that, but you also get attached to a lot of NPCs -- and I do mean a lot. Each faction has NPCs I cared for deeply, and you always just get to visit them and talk to them, even if it’s just them saying a line or two of dialogue at you. It still helps to build a relationship with them, and care for them. And your companions interact with them sometimes, too! And they have history! It makes the world genuinely feel so much more alive and makes you feel so much more involved than you were in DAI! They manage to transform from pixels on a screen there to give you quests to actual characters with rich lives and feelings that you want to see succeed.

I romanced Lucanis and he is by far my favorite of the companions, but I love all of them. This means it’s the first game in the series where I genuinely really love all the companions. There was always one, maybe two, in each game whom I didn’t care much about or which pissed me off -- but they’re all immensely likeable here, and I care so much about not only my Rook’s relationship to them, but their relationships to each other. And there’s so many little banters, notes, and codex entries which helps further their bond and makes them feel like roommates. It’s very sweet and enjoyable.

I also love my Rook a lot. I played mostly as a sarcastic Rook who was very impulsive and wasn’t afraid to speak their feelings out. There are times you can express genuine fear, hurt, or anger at certain NPCs or situations, and the line delivery really carries it. They felt alive and involved, so much more than the Inquisitor ever did. My Rook has a personality, and not only that, but the way the factions were integrated was really nice. I played as an elven mage grey warden, and each of those bits came up a lot. I’m a bit miffed that you don’t get to choose whether you were dalish or city elf, and more miffed that the game/npcs try to explain dalish lore at you even when you put a wholeass vallaslin on your character, but aside from that I’m rather pleased with the integration of the faction. I imagine some factions (lords of fortune) got the shorter end of the stick - but playing as a grey warden was deeply rewarding in this game. Rook can make comment about it in dialogue, in banter, and other characters mention it too. I got to discuss the joining with another warden, and my Rook commented a few things about their time in the order. And it made my friendship with Davrin mean so much more, too. It also made every plot point involving the wardens hit like a TRUCK. 

And my god, do some of the missions in this game hit like a truck. The villains are believably terrifying. This isn’t Corypheus 2.0. I hadn’t felt this level of dread in Dragon Age since DAO. Some missions especially have rocked me to my core, and some of them I consider to be absolute masterpieces (Weisshaupt, my god Weisshaupt. My favorite mission in any Bioware game, period.) I wish the last boss had been scarier and stronger, though. I felt it did fall short in regards to that. Funny enough a lot of the side bosses were harder than main bosses. That was a bit sad. But yes, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain feel like gods that you are facing. It is so much better than DAI in that regard.

The game does make you care deeply about everything happening, I can promise you that. And it manages to make even vehement Solas haters like him. I used to be a Solas hater back in 2014/2015, though I did mellow out over my replays. By my last Inquisition replay I did come around to him and was just mildly annoyed at how popular he was because I still found him overhyped, mostly because he suffered from DAI’s bland writing. But Veilguard makes you care for him, and elicits a lot of strong reactions towards him. He’s made me cheer, and also made me feel extreme anger, and then a lot of sympathy. He’s a marvelously complex character and one of Bioware’s best. He went from being one of my least favorite characters to one of my favorites - potentially even top 10 material. This is high praise for me lol. 

The matter of bringing choices in is…. Well, not gonna lie, a few events I was like “hm, no this wouldn’t happen in my world state” or “oh I wish they took in account past choices for this scene/plot point”. It remains an extremely baffling choice from Bioware and I remain really pissed off about it, lol. 

The Inquisitor was fine. I’m not attached to the Inquisitor, so I’m not able to make many comments about them. I’ve seen other people who ARE attached feel happy about their inclusion, so I’d go with that. There were a few nice moments. 

Act 3 is absolutemy amazing, also. It's engaging and terrifying and broke my heart several times. I do not cry easily but I was left sobbing and whimpering at Bioware lmfao. Granted, it was my first playthrough, and my emotions were heightened by having a new Dragon Age game after so long. But I do think Act 3 is just... really, really good. It gets the point of the game across very well, too.

The lore

This… is where the game falls short the most, for me. 

Don’t get me wrong: we get a LOT of new lore and a lot of it is insanely satisfying when you’ve been in the trenches for a decade and had tons of theories. A lot of discoveries left me buzzing with thoughts, new theories, ideas, and excitement. It was exhilarating. 

But there’s many points where, as a guy who just casually reads the lore books for fun, I was left saying “uh, no, that’s not true” to “that doesn’t make any fucking sense”. Mostly, a lot of my issues comes with the integration of the politics of the game. Dragon age has always been a political series, in the sense that the politics of Thedas are just as important as any threat we face in the game. And for like 15 years, the north was built up in a certain way -- and in many aspects, Veilguard does deliver. In others, it feels like it glosses over very important lore, or just tries to gaslight you into thinking you were wrong all along. Some of it is clever recontextualising that I did appreciate, considering all the lore we DO know is in universe, which means biased by the areas we learn the lore from. But there are a few times where the lore breaks took me out of the game and felt very immersion breaking.

Unfortunately I can’t go to much further into this without spoiling anything, but it’s definitely where I was the most disappointed. It’s small things, it’s always small things, but it’s definitely made me either raise my eyebrows or be very disappointed at times. I’ve already spoken about a bit of it in previous posts, and need to write something lengthy about magic specifically. Just beware that if you are insane about the lore, it is where the game will fall short at points. But it will also offer you amazing lore in turn, so you know. It’s a balancing act. 

It feels like the writing has mellowed out in this aspect. It makes me wonder how different the past games would be, if written by these people. How different this game would've been, if it was written by past writers. Only game where I've gone "wait why am I not getting hate crimed right now".

Also the secret post credit scene sucks entire ass and ruins everything lmfao I am ignoring it entirely.

There’s obviously a lot more I want to say about many things. I want to talk about Lucanis, about Taash, about Emmrich, about Harding -- about everyone, really. But that’ll be for further, spoiler-full posts. 

I’ll also save some more in depth review for a later post because I wanna go play dolls in the character creator again.

[mathewton-cl]

As An IzuOcha Shipper…

…them not ending up together isn’t the problem.

Horikoshi taking the “leave it up to interpretation” approach and then proceeding to COMPLETELY AVOID ADDRESSING their relationship status is the problem.

Horikoshi failing to tie up that one last loose end for Uraraka’s character arc (not closing off her feelings) is the problem.

Again, I ship IzuOcha. Still do, because I’m stubborn. Would I have liked for them to end up together, even if it was only a somewhat blatant implication that could be handwaved? Obviously. But you know what? Maybe I would be upset if the story went out of its way to explicitly de-confirm any chance of Midoriya and Uraraka being a romantic pairing, but I’d at least respect it and understand it a lot more if the story let Midoriya and Uraraka actually talk about this, or at the very least SHOWED US them talking about this. I’d understand if Uraraka completed her character arc by having a heart to heart with Midoriya and telling him that her feelings have changed, her priorities have changed, and Midoriya understands and they remain good friends. Let’s be real, romance isn’t Horikoshi’s strong suit, despite his many attempts to leave romantic implications throughout the series. I’d completely understand if he just had Midoriya and Uraraka talk and they didn’t end up together, because at least then it still provides both of their characters with closure.

But no, that’s too simple. Let’s just “leave it up to interpretation,” because it clearly wasn’t that important, right?

Well, as many people on the internet have already brought up, if it wasn’t so important, why did you spend so much time putting emphasis on it? Why did you have Uraraka, up until the FINAL WAR, have her crush on Midoriya be a crucial part of her character (it wasn’t her only character trait, mind you, but it was still important)? Why did the penultimate chapter have the class come to comfort Uraraka and tell her that they can talk to her… and then come the next chapter, Uraraka apparently hasn’t done anything regarding her supposed crush on Midoriya? For literal YEARS!?

…see, this isn’t even a shipping problem anymore. This is a character problem.

Horikoshi, for whatever reason, chose not to include a romance for the main character and his supposed love interest. And again, that’s fine, not every story needs to be a romance. Two problems with it here though (well, one problem and an observation):

1) Choosing to not at least address the romantic subplot with a “I think we’re better off as friends” encounter, thus actually concluding the subplot and providing a sense of closure, not only leaves the result feeling underwhelming and frustrating, but also actively damages Uraraka’s character arc. We can have her address the problem that caused people like Toga to exist, but heaven forbid she talks about romance with Midoriya.

2) Despite his supposed aversion to romance, Horikoshi still went out of his way to give Gentle and La Brava wedding rings… he’s willing to establish a side romantic pairing without bringing too much attention to it, but he can’t be bothered to do something similar for the arguable MAIN pairing? It’s the “Togata has special clothes so he doesn’t end up buck naked, but Hagakure’s still gotta go commando” debacle again…

I’ma go ahead and wrap this up ‘cause I don’t wanna keep y’all much longer, but like… being optimistic, this ending was… functional. I’ve got my problems with it, obviously, I don’t think it was BAD bad… but it certainly wasn’t good. It works. Barely. And it’s ‘cause of stuff like this.

Midoriya and Uraraka didn’t need to end up together, truly. All Horikoshi had to do was put the smallest amount of effort and give us something of substance, something with closure. Instead, we got what we got.

I get that he was exhausted and wanted the manga to be over… but that excuse only holds up for so long.

[princekirijo]

World's most frustrating feeling: having multiple ideas and character designs but despite working on the thing for nearly 5 YEARS still being nowhere close to having a coherent plot 💀

[wearesorcerer]

But as I am not a Brit and do not commit drive-by argument -- or rather, since I started this, I'm going to continue it. Mwahahaha. Cut for length.

That would check out if we didn't roll for stats (you're a kitty cat? then you get Dexterity 16, no variations), or if everyone in the world rolled for stats, PCs and NPCs and monsters (so the +2 to the Dexterity of all kitty cats will result in statistically more dexterous kitty cats in comparison to, say, orcs in the general population of the campaign setting).

Although I do kinda see the appeal of the first one as far as stat generation goes, the second one is spurious: the only reason we don't roll for stats for everyone is because it's too time consuming on a DM's part to stat every single NPC as an individual. It's something that has gradually been phased out: in OD&D, BECMI, and at least AD&D 1e (possibly 2e), you did roll each creature's HD to determine HP -- and in many cases they didn't have ability scores listed, which makes me wonder if those just didn't exist for them (they were only their combat block) or if you rolled for those, as well. (My experience with editions before 3rd is too incomplete for me to know one way or the other, which I find to be a failure on my part.)

For the longest time, rolling stats was presented as an option for minor NPCs (and there was a whole stat array in older DMGs for semi-randomized stats for NPC adventurer-types by class to meet in the middle).

We roll PCs that way because, originally, they weren't guaranteed to be heroic in stature: it gave a way of potentially representing anyone. (This is also no doubt the origin of the Prime Requisite: you had to be this tall [have a stat this high] to enter [take the class] and you got a bonus to XP if you were so much over that threshold because the stats didn't give bonuses and penalties as frequently as they have since 3rd edition.) Or, at least, we did: I've found that dice rolling is the least preferred method of character generation in 5e both in presentation and in play. Mostly, we use the "Standard Array" (Elite Array in 3.x; standard was 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8) or a point buy setup that is meant to generate the same results and utilizes the same caps (8 - 15).

I'ma split things up a bit for your next paragraph.

If you get a +2 to Dexterity from your species, the combination of what you rolled and where you're assigning each roll could still result in a clumsy, Dex 6 kitty cat. (Which should not be impossible! Not all kitty cats are the same! And even if a tiny minority of them are clumsy, people are allowed to be special, and adventurers are expected to be special.) So if the stat adjustment from your species doesn't guarantee you'll end up in the average of your species, what's even its point? It has no point, if you ask me.

That literally is the point.

The best example I saw of this was Baggi the Half-Orc Barbarian, a character a friend of mine played in undergrad. Baggi had an Int of 3. Since I was taking a linguistics course at the time, I had found out that animals like chimps (in 3.x, capped at Int 2) had vocabularies of about 300 words and related this to Baggi's player, which she used as guideline's for Baggi's speech: she knew some words in Common and some in Orc. Even though her Wisdom was decent, she had to be directed a lot and caused problems for the party -- realistic ones, as the player in question had worked with mentally disabled people (especially kids) long enough to pull this off.

And everyone loved it. Baggi was the most memorable of the characters in that particular campaign. The incidents other players got into were memorable, but Baggi was by far the most interesting and memorable purely as a character.

(I'll come back to racial Int penalties, which is where this whole thing started, later.)

Raistlin Majere's notoriously poor Constitution also comes to mind. He managed to work in setting despite his frailty, frequently as a plot point. Hell, my first "Rogue" (it wasn't a Rogue, but it pretended to be one) had a Strength and Con of 3 and 4 (no, I don't remember which was which).

I can't think of an instance where a character has used a racial bonus to offset an extremely low roll, but it's not an outlandish idea. Hell, it's fairly strategic: if you roll well on most stats but have one that's really low, matching it with your racial bonus aids in the extreme. I've done it numerous times with low but not horrible rolls.

I hatehatehate this notion that you have to have high stats to work in the game. Perhaps adventurers need high stats to survive, realistically speaking. Perhaps they don't: people with disabilities have lived and even thrived in communities of humans since there were humans. There's a wheelchair user in the middle of splash art in the new PHB! (Doing nothing but posing in a situation-inappropriate accommodation, I might add: it's clear the character is probably an Artificer, despite that class not appearing in the book, and yet the chair doesn't have mechanical legs or a levitation device or whatever.)

But of course that's how 5e works: there are no racial penalties and the preferred methods of stat generation aren't rolling dice, but choosing an array or point buy, neither of which can give you a stat below 8 (and now nothing higher than 15, so whatever).

I've seen people talk about removing the abilities altogether since at least 3rd and more often now because they're not really used and no one has a low score. I think that's a shame, as having meaningful drawbacks that come up a lot is a great source of characterization. But I've said that already.

That's the logic which gave women a strength penalty in older editions.

The notorious Strength cap for women in 1st edition AD&D isn't the same logic at all. It flat out ignored that the different races didn't necessarily have the same underlying biology, for one, since caps applied to all races, and had nothing to do with stereotype. Which we're getting to.

(Next couple of paragraphs were continuation of the same thoughts I've already discussed. Moving further.)

Benefits: pick a +2 and a +1 stat boost OR or 3 +1 stat boosts, an origin feat, two skill proficiencies, and one tool proficiency, take 50 gold, off you go. Isn't that liberating?

I like that idea in practice, but y'know what that is? The same thing as giving each character a non-class progression with a bonus feat at 1st level and every level divisible by X (3 in 3.x, 4 in 5e) and assigning points or whatnot to skills. Like in 3rd edition. Which the backgrounds wanted to avoid by being packages and giving RP advice.

But more importantly, those bonuses? That's already represented in game by assigning your ability scores to fit your class. You are a Rogue with a high Dex because of backstory reasons, which is why you assigned your high roll to Dex. I'm not against the notion of class (or background) giving you ability boosts also so as to mitigate the problem of insufficiency in the stat generation mechanics, but taking it away from something that also has justification (biology) and has more justification to be static than upbringing doesn't make sense.

I'm not going to belabor the issues of racism in D&D. They are manifold and beside the point. But I will point this out: the logic behind having races give ability score bonuses is the same logic as having races provide racial features. It's biological determinism. And having an elf get +2 Dex fits with how elves work, whereas having your background give you +2 Dex is just "hey, I have more points from my point buy!" But I said that already.

As things currently stand (2024), race accounts for your size (almost always Medium, with being Small not mattering all that much), speed (pretty much 30), aging rate (purely cosmetic), whether or not you have Darkvision or resistance to something (which you can and will get, either outright or an equivalent thereof, via items), and something analogous to an origin feat that doesn't quite match (Elf Lineage vs. Magic Initiate, Halfling Luck vs. Lucky, etc.). Or, to go down to what's left that separates one from the next, a not-quite-feat and cosmetics. That's not just boring, that's irrelevant. And as far as biology goes, it's unrealistic. 5e had already downgraded so many races to a point like this already; now it's an extra step in character creation that exists because LotR had a fandom. It's to the point that the leading game in a genre that works really well for xenofiction cannot actually do xenofiction anymore: approaching racial personality traits gets questionable very quickly and biology seldom matters. At least the racial bonuses (and penalties!) made your choice of race material.

Undecided about D&D 5.5 and the 2024 rules

Pros:

Weapon Mastery

Cunning Strike

stat boosts and skills moving from Species to Backgrounds

the PHB rules glossary and the DMG toolkit (for ease of use)

origin feats, and general feats giving +1 to a stat

easier to homebrew player-facing rules (because feats and subclasses are more streamlined)

some big changes, some minor tweaks

Cons:

power creep (full assessment pending until the MM comes out)

uneven power creep

stealth makes no sense

they fully bailed on the skill system

strains suspension of disbelief even more

less support for homebrewed monsters

some big changes, some minor tweaks

The CR system needs playtesting with the new Monster Manual, so assessment pending. We're probably gonna see much more dangerous monsters: Cure Wounds straight up doubled the hp it heals, and healing in general is a lot more generous. I don't know if that bloat was necessary, or motivated by anything other than "players can do MOAR damage now, buy our new books to be COOLER!", followed by a domino effect.

At this point, I'm torn between incorporating a few 5.5 rules to 5e, or a few 5e rules to 5.5, or whole other subsystems to either (I'm looking at the skill system of Level Up a.k.a. Advanced 5th Edition, it's interesting), or abandoning D&D altogether (because I'm tired, not because it's that bad). But I'm pretty sure I won't adopt 5.5 as is.

Assessment pending.

[righteousliar]

not to be sad on main but I miss my mom

[pa-pa-plasma]

so this post is definitely about me lol & i just wanna say that

me only having mental illness is a really big assumption

the experiences i talked about were my own & some friends i'd had while going to an alternate school, they weren't secondhand or made up

idk what is wrong with this person but they are super fucking ableist, & going through their blog, it's clear they love to accuse everyone of faking being disabled or needing accommodation for some reason & are obsessed with interacting in bad faith.

just gonna assume they're constantly having a really bad day every day but man if you're gonna make multiple blogs dedicated to speaking about disabled issues, maybe don't alienate a majority of the community & accuse them of not being "disabled enough" for you to fucking listen to them

[strawbuddy-luv]

Trans Tim off handedly mentioning random things that just confuse people more and more because he never told them he was trans (only Bruce and Alfred know)

Tim: "For the mission I'm thinking I'll go undercover, but it'll take some work to hide the bruises I got earlier. They're everywhere"

Dick: "Oh I think Steph is free right now!"

Tim: "...Ok?"

Dick: "Don't worry I'm sure she'll help you out with this! "

Tim: "That's awesome but I don't think I'll need help. I know how to use makeup."

Dick: "Really-? Ohhh, yeah your public image is like, way more public than ours. That must be tiring, having to hide the bruises all the time."

Tim: "Well yeah but I knew how to use makeup before that. For like, galas as a kid and stuff"

Dick: "...yeah..."

-----

Steph: -Complaining about a man- "And then he said "Oh you should smile more" like "you look like you don't want to be here" like what- what the fuck-??? Maybe I fucking don't dude."

Tim: "Oh yeah I hate when they do that. Like you've spent the entire time bitching about the consistency of snails, I can close my mouth for a few seconds."

Steph: "..."

Tim: "...What-?"

Steph: "Well- I mean yeah but- you know I have to deal with it like...way more, and it's just a bit weird that like, you as a guy are, I dunno, trying to relate? I mean you don't have to deal with it litreally everyday"

Tim: "Well yeah not anymore, but, you know...I still did."

Steph: :...What-"

-----

Tim: -Resting against one of the rooftop ledges-

Jason: "Woah, I can't believe it, Red Robin, slacking. What would Bruce do if he saw this!"

Tim: "Fuck off, it's just period cramps." -Jumps off the edge of the building-

Jason: "Yeah whatever Timblina...

Your fucking what-"

-----

Bruce: "And for this mission, we'll be needing someone for the Caroline disguise, but we already know who that is so-"

Dick: "Wait does Steph actually know how to fight in heels-??"

Bruce: "...N-"

Steph: "Yeah Bruce, I mean, you could at least actually ask me before volunteering me to go fight crime in that dress."

Bruce: "You-"

Jason: "I mean no offense, but literally who else would do it? Cass isn't here right now and I don't think any of us are willing to get a boob job for the mission"

Bruce: "No one's getting a boob job-"

Steph: "Yeah! This is bat tech, Bruce probably has ultra realistic titties in everyone's color and size! Jason you wouldn't even need an attachment."

Jason: "I don't think Caroline Hills has fifty gun shot wounds and muscles the size of most those guys heads."

Steph: "Yeah bu-"

Bruce: "None of that will be necessary because none of you" -Pointing at the right side of the table- "Will be going. No one at this table will be needing any prosthetics...Or boob jobs."

Steph: "...Ok but who the fuck is going then-"

Bruce: "Tim."

The entire table: "..."

Steph: "Tim are you really willing to put on boobs for this-"

Dick: "I don't think that's the best idea-"

Jason: "You just said no prosthetics- Oh this'll be fucking rich"

Tim: "...

I...wouldn't need a boob job?? Or prosthetics?"

Jason: "Timbo, that dress is a pretty low cut, and, no offense, your training hasn't given you that many enhancements."

Tim: "...Thank you for the binding compliment?"

Dick: "The what-"

Tim: "Guys I- I already have boobs-"

The Table: "..."

Steph: "WHAT-"

Dick: "You do-?!"

Jason: "Bruce if you made Tim get boobs for some weird mission-"

Tim: "What- No! No one made me get boobs??? Besides, I don't know, biology I guess??? Genetics maybe???"

Dick: "...I'm extremely confused"

Steph: "WHO GAVE YOU BOOBS-???"

Tim: "I'm not really sure seeing as I was born with them"

Dick: "...

OHHHHHH-"

Steph: "What- is this like a birth defect or something???"

Dick: "Tim- Tim I think you're just gonna have to-"

Tim: "I'm trans."

Jason: "...That's-

Yeah

Ok yeah no that- that explains...a lot."

Steph: "..." -Head in hands- "I am such a fucking idiot"

[euthymiya]

“What’s got you so grumpy?”

Sukuna dodges your finger. It fails to meet its destination of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, earning a frown from you before you huff and try again.

He looks up from his phone with an irritated glance when your fingertip digs into his face.

“What are you talking about?” He grunts.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about. Normal Sukuna is irritable enough—grumpy Sukuna is about as bad tempered as a hornet who’s had its nest kicked. (Which is to say: he’s pretty fucking unfriendly at the moment.)

“You’re sulking,” you point out—and that statement earns a sharp glare from him as you seat yourself on his lap. (Still, he makes room easily for you, leaning back on the couch and putting his phone down to the side so his hands can rest on your hips. Grumpy Sukuna is never grumpy enough to push your body away—if anything, it’s the one way to get him less agitated).

“I’m not fucking sulking,” he says. It’s almost petulant, but you have enough grace to spare his dignity and not point it out. “I don’t sulk.”

“Are you sure?” You raise a disbelieving brow—he clicks his teeth at the way you choose to question him, but it softens considerably when your lips peck his jaw delicately. “You look pretty sulky to me.”

“Get your eyes checked.”

“Can’t. Then I might see you for all your ugliness. We wouldn’t want to throw years down the drain once I come to my senses do we?”

It’s his turn to raise a brow, sarcastically snorting as you give him a cheeky wink. “If you wanna try ‘n be a smart ass, at least be realistic about it. Saw you checking me out just this morning through the mirror.”

“Maybe you need your eyes checked,” you huff, “I was not checking you out.”

“Pretty sure you were,” he smirks, lips pulling into a haughty grin. Getting under your skin with his smugness is about the only way to cheer him up, it seems, because he looks rather pleased when he adds, “it’s okay. Don’t blame ya for bein’ possessed by my impressive physique.”

“Too bad your personality isn’t as dazzling,” you quip back easily.

It’s meant to be lighthearted, of course—but it seems to be the wrong thing to say. Quite wrong, in fact, because as soon as the words escape you, he tenses before locking his jaw.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in Sukuna’s face—doubt. It’s a little odd, in all realness. Sukuna is not a doubtful person. He’s confident, and he’s confident enough that it’s almost to a fault. He’s cocky and smug and sometimes a little too self-assured for it to be considered good for his health.

It’s a bit unsettling to see his face almost fall at something you say, especially when you just say it for the sake of light banter.

“Yeah?” He chuckles dryly. It sounds dangerously self-deprecating—enough that it makes you frown. “Good thing I have my abs to keep you glued to my side then, huh?”

“Well, it’s not just your abs,” you hum, one hand smoothing over his shirt to feel the ridges of his muscles through the shirt. “Your boobs are pretty great, too.”

To prove your point, you give his left pectoral a gentle squeeze. He scowls before shoving your hand away as blush creeps along the back of his neck.

“You fucking freak,” he mutters.

Something is bothering him. You know you can’t directly ask it out of him, otherwise he’ll deny it left and right, but something is bothering him. Sukuna is not good with words or emotions. In fact, he’s pretty awful at anything that has to do with anyone’s feelings. (He’s better about yours more than other’s, but he’s pretty far from good.)

You don’t mind. There’s something oddly charming about witnessing the way he navigates softening up for you—it’s like watching a baby take their first steps. Wobbly. Slow. Unsure. Pretty badly executed, but endearingly rewarding all at the same.

Except, this time, it’s not your emotions he’s navigating. For some reason, yours are easy than his own. Navigating yours means he doesn’t have to try. He knows you better than he knows himself. Knows when your feelings are hurt by the twitch of your brows alone. Knows you’re sad by the dimness in your eyes. Knows you’re pretending joy when your laugh is quieter than usual. Knows you’re faking it when your smile is a much more tight lipped and a less bright version.

But his own feelings are complicated. A lot more than he cares to try and understand them for. In true Sukuna fashion, he always aims to ignore his problems until they seemingly disappear.

But you’re too difficult to let that slide. He brushes things under the rug, and you pull the rug from under his feet and make him fall face first into his problems.

“Hey,” you nudge him, cupping his face with your hand gently, “what’s gotten into you? It’s weird when you’re not pissing me off a couple of times every hour.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He challenges, like your words seem to tick him off more, “what are you sittin’ here for if I’m always pissing you off?”

Oh, you think. So that’s what it is.

You smile, humming before you gently tilt his face up. Something vulnerable is attached to that frown of his. Like he’s waiting for your answer because he needs something to hold onto. Some metaphorical lifeline where your feelings are attached to his own, just to keep you chained together. Where you’re always somewhere that he also is. Where he doesn’t have to care about his emotions because what you feel is what he feels, too, and as long as you’re okay, so is he.

But you care. You seem to care a pretty great deal because you lean in and brush your nose against his as you kiss his lips softly.

“Who cares if you piss me off?” You snort, “I piss you off better. I’m pretty good at it.”

“You are,” he agrees instantly.

You give him a fleeting huff against his mouth as you mumble, “you don’t have to agree so fast.”

It pulls a small laugh from him, making his arms snake around your waist and tug your body closer. Chest to chest, heartbeat thumping in two, synchronized rhythms.

“What happens when I’m all old and expiring and my abs are gone?” He raises a brow. You hum, stroking a thumb along his cheek as you smile and admire him.

“We’ll still be pissing each other off, I bet.”

“That’s supposed to be good?” He repeats, this time much more unsure. Anyone else could hardly catch the air of hesitance in his words, but you catch it instantly.

“Why not?” You shrug, “it always worked for us, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “that’s until it doesn’t.” He spits the words out, not meeting your eyes. It’s like they taste acrid is mouth and he can’t bring himself swallow them down.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you lean in and just press a line of kisses from his chin to the corner of his lips, purposely dodging his mouth and littering small, delicate pecks along his cheek. And then his forehead. And then the bridge of his nose.

Never his lips, though. And he gets increasingly frustrated by it.

“What are you waiting for?” He grumbles, eyeing you with a look that screams: quit fucking around.

You fight back an amused smile. “Does it piss you off?”

“Course it does. Kiss me properly or back off my face—”

“Cause you love me right?” You ask cheekily. He pauses, thinking on it for a moment before slumping wearily.

“And if I do?”

“You piss me off too. Because I love you too,” you whisper, forehead against his as your hands cradle his cheeks. Because you do.

When he texts late, and makes your blood boil, it’s only because you love him. When he’s brutally honest and doesn’t say what you want to hear, you’re only mad because you care what he thinks so much. When he’s stubborn and refuses to meet you halfway, you’re only angry because there’s no one else you’d rather cross the bridge with than him.

He pisses you off. You care enough to be pissed because it’s him. And when you piss him off too, he cares enough to deal with it because it’s you.

It’s a funny, twisted little way to love and be loved, but it works. For some odd reason, it does. It’s a seamless, smooth, crackless road.

You don’t ever fix something that’s not broken.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he sighs, resigning himself to your weird, roundabout explanation. You laugh, pinching his cheek as you grin brightly.

“That’s because you’re a bit dim.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually. I love you.”

He pauses. Swallows for a moment before his arms tighten their grip on your hips just a smidge before burying his face into your neck and mumbling, “me too. Love you so much, it pisses me off.”

“I like to get under your skin like that,” you stroke his hair, beaming as you add, “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

His lips stretch into a small grin before a low, rumbling chuckle breathes itself against your skin. “Guess so.”

————————

a/n: insecure modern! au sukuna who doesn’t admit it and refuses to acknowledge that he’s aware he’s difficult to love and can’t understand why you love him but he also doesn’t want to question it for fear of scaring you away is very near and dear to me and i’ll be talking about it from my grave still. you’ll just hear my ghostly voice spooking you through the night talking about how he’s a softie deep down under all the layers. like an ogre okay? ogres have LAYERS.

[flowersforbucky]

moth to a flame

bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader

"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

word count: 4.9k

summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only

“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”

You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.

The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.

It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.

Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.

Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.

You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.

Useless.

You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.

Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.

“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”

“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.

“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.

If only things had been as simple as he had expected.

You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”

“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”

Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.

“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”

Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.

“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”

“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”

You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.

Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.

“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.

And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.

Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.

“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.

“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”

“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”

The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.

You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.

You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.

Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -

Benign. Homecoming. One.

You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.

Freight car.

You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.

Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.

It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.

He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.

Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.

Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.

The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.

You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”

“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”

“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.

“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”

A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.

You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.

“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.

“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”

You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.

“You look–”

“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.

“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?

“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.

You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.

“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”

She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.

“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.

“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.

“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”

“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.

Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.

“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.

You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.

Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.

Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.

They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.

They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.

You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.

Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.

“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”

“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”

“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.

You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.

Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.

Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.

Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.

You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -

You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.

I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–

There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.

Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..

You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.

Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.

“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”

Silence. No hint of any further movement.

You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”

Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.

Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.

You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.

Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.

It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.

“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.

He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.

“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.

“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.

His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.

Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.

The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.

His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.

“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”

You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.

Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.

“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.

You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.

You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.

“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.

You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.

Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.

The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.

He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.

You have to trust that.

He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.

You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.

When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.

He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.

Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.

And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.

Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.

“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.

You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.

You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.

You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.

You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.

He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.

Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.

Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.

He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.

His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.

You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.

He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.

He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.

He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.

“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.

You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.

Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.

You don't know which you find hotter.

You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.

You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.

He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.

His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.

He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.

You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.

Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.

You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.

He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.

You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.

“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.

“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”

He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.

Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.

He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.

He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.

You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.

"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

[clockwayswrites]

So far this file is called 'birdritch'. Those of you who follow my art tumblr might know where this is going. I needed something light to write, been a low day. There has been zero editing or reading through and it is past 2am, sorry and enjoy! (Don't need any typos pointed out, ty.)

---

“You are supposed to be home.”

Danny blinked up from his work to find Lucius Fox standing in the doorway of the lab. The man had the sport of expression one wore around a child who had just done something disappointing.

(Danny was used to the look, even if it had been a long time since he'd been a kid. Or seen his parents, for that mater.)

“Okay, but,” Danny started, “we agreed that I could start at ten and take my eight hours and one for lunch—”

“A mandatory one hour for lunch away from your desk,” Lucius interrupted.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been doing that! I’ve been eating out on the rooftop garden or even leaving the building and eating out or taking lunch to the park. I’ve been behaving, Lucius, I promise.”

Lucius raised a judgmental brow. “It’s after eight, Danny.”

“What? No. I have an alarm on my phone and everything… okay, well, that only works if my phone is charged.” Danny jabbed uselessly at his phone screen. He followed the charger, which was plugged in, all the way to the wall. He resisted the urge to let his head fall against the wall. “I guess Leslie fried the outlet again or something. I’m sorry, Lucius.”

“It’s fine, Danny,” Lucius said, “but only because, one, I know you have been trying, and two, I am going to buy you the most embarrassing alarm clock I can find and mount it to something in this lab. Now it is late and I am going home and so are you, Mr. Fenton.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Fox,” Danny said and made an exaggerate show of packing up his backpack, dead phone and all.

Lucius gave a little snort at the antics, but left with a ‘get home safe, Danny’. After his boss was gone, Danny took the time to actually make sure everything was in his bag and secure. He still didn’t get why he couldn’t just work late, but apparently WE had something of an insistence of work life balance. According to Lucius, Danny crossed the line too often and so was being kept in line. (Danny didn’t think mention he didn’t have much of a life, literally and otherwise, would help his case.)

Still, Danny mused as he stepped inside the empty elevator, the rules did keep him from becoming his parents. And that was a very, very good thing! Being a mad scientist in Gotham usually ended up landing someone in Arkham. It was just that after the chaos that Danny grew up with, going back to his empty apartment was depressing. It wasn’t as if Danny never got out and did things, it was just that all those things were mostly on the weekend. Most days he just didn’t have a reason to go back to his place.

There was no getting out of it tonight, the great and powerful Fox had spoken and Danny knew better than to try and sneak back up. He lifted his hands over his head, stretching as the elevator descended the last few floors. Oh well, at least it was before ten. He could still grab something on the way home and have a full, warm meal to take his pain meds on. By the pull along his forearm he would need them.

“Night, Bill,” Danny said as he passed the security guard who was on the evening shift. He got another ‘get home safe’ in response and gave a little wave in reply over his shoulder.

Even after the few years in Gotham, it still amused Danny how much everyone wished everyone else some sort of safe travels here. As much as Gotham was a city of hardened realists, there still was so much hope about it. Hope people got home safely, that the Bats would get where they were need in time, that the city would rebuild again and again and again. The undercurrent of hope was so strong that Danny could practically feel it moving through the city like a river.

It had been one of the reasons Danny had taken the job.

He could use hope.

He also had been very careful not to look too closely into it all. While Danny’s early life may have been dominated by the occult, he tried to stay away from it these days outside of the necessary visits to the Realm for his health. As much as the Far Frozen was full of ghost yetis, Frostbite was still a being of science and being there felt more like a cold vacation to his weird relatives than anything else those days.

Danny was actually worried that he was getting close to needing another visit. He shouldn’t, not yet. He wasn’t actually due back for another three months, but the thought of visiting Frostbite had been pulling at the back of Danny’s mind. The most annoying part of it all, is that there wasn’t any concrete reason that Danny felt he needed to go, just a lot of little things: the ache was deeper in his bones, he’d been missing noticing little things, his near constant vertigo was worse, and, oddest of all, he had been feeling chilled.

Maybe he should just take a long weekend and go for a quick visit.

Lucius would undoubtedly approve of the break.

Tomorrow, Danny would ask tomorrow.

(As long as he remembered.)

[thebibliosphere]

I was just playing gotham knights again and noticed some passive dialog regarding Babs having a back brace, which is at least acknowledging that there was damage done, but I'm a little sad for the loss of some really cool disability representation. What are your feelings on her (and on a similar note Batman's) miraculous recovery from paralysis in DC?

I think Gotham Knights handled her disability fairly well, considering this is a universe where magic, nanobots, and puddles of evil green goo that can heal the dead exist. All things considered, it would have been very easy for them to either erase it entirely or just handwave and say, "She worked really hard and got better," as previous iterations of the canon have done.

Because she did work hard and get better, but the hard work is ongoing because they depict her issues as chronic.

She's got a limp (it's the most obvious in her Talon suit with no cape in the way), which means she can't rely on speed or high kicks like the others can (I mean, she can kick, but it's her slowest motion, and until you max out her suit, it's the most liable to get her thrown to the ground), so she falls back on precision and her tech.

Jason punches for maximum pain, Dick moves with dizzying speed, and Tim's gonna sneak up on you and drop you like a rock, but Babs is going for the pressure points with ruthless precision. Not to mention her drones.

The conversation with Tim, realizing she might need help boosting her suit to compensate for her pain/strength issues, is a nice little way of making the player aware that she's got these ongoing problems because, honestly, a casual observer could mistake her back brace for athleisure wear if they didn't recognize the shape of it. It's also a good way of throwing in some exposition about how she's still going to physical rehab and that her PT would like her to "wean off" her back brace, but because her PT doesn't know her actual job as a vigilante, Barbara admits she can't and is essentially finding ways to manage her own care and create her own accommodations. Accommodations which they are all shown to be willing to help with.

It's a nice little touch when superhero narratives tend to revolve around self-sacrifice to the point of self-destruction. Alfred giving Dick into trouble for pushing himself too far and hiding injuries is a nice touch, too, even if it's like trying to bail water on the Titanic with a teacup.

I also like that not only do you see her wheelchair lurking around the Belfry—along with the disability adaptations they put in place, like the ramps, the wheelchair elevator, and the desks that move up and down to wheelchair height—but that she also still uses her chair from time to time.

[ID a screenshot from Gotham Knights showing the Belfry. Light streams in through a giant clockface, showcasing a bank of computer screens. In front of the screen, Barbara Gordon is using her wheelchair as Dick Grayson stands behind her, probably making a bad pun.]

Whether she's using it because she's tired or simply because it's more comfortable than the computer chair is never revealed. Nor is it brought up or commented on. It's just something that's normal for Barbara to do, and I like that. I like that it's normal. It's not a part of herself she's trying to erase. She works with it, not against it.

Is it perfect? No. Do they outright erase her disability like so many of the comics are guilty of? Also, no. I'd argue that, in fact, they kept her disability. They just changed the nature of it.

Barbara now has a dynamic disability, one which fluctuates and requires different management based on her day-to-day (or night) activity. She's in active treatment for it and will be for the rest of her life. Are some of the physical feats she achieves realistic for someone with an injury of her nature? Not really, but again, this is a world where nobody stays dead, and there are zombie assassins coming out of the walls. I'll take the attention to detail and care they put into her story any day over the "Willpower Fixed My Spine" narrative we could have gotten.

As for Bruce getting healed by magic, again, it's Batman. Comic book logic is wibbly-wobbly at the best of times, and realistically speaking, they couldn't leave Batman paralyzed. His whole deal revolves around being stealthy and punching the shit out of people. He wouldn't be Batman anymore, and frankly, I don't trust the comic writers as far as I could throw them to handle that right.

By contrast, the Gotham Knights writers handled Barbara with much more care and nuance than I ever expected. And I'm thankful for that.

---

*I also like that both Dick and Barbara are often shown wearing joint braces. Dick's are especially reminiscent of the way gymnasts and people with hypermobility tape their joints to reduce pain and prevent injuries. It's a nice little touch. They're not invincible. Their bodies hurt. They're just like me but with money and much bigger problems like giant killer robots and zombie assassins.

[thatdeadaquarius]

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

[risuola]

III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.

contents: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words

a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.

It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.

Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.

Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.

“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.

“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.

“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.

You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.

But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.

“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.

“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”

“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.

“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”

“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”

Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.

“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”

“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.

“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.

Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.

Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.

The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.

“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.

“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”

“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.

Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.

White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?

taglist: @yihona-san06 @tiredscavengerskeleton @son4aras @vixorell @cecesharktales @isleqt @thickmacandcheese @captainchrisstan @bbylime @sad-darksoul @shartnart1 @kiki17483 @grimreaqueer @phoenix-eclipses @fan-of-encouragement @valleydoll @aleeeeeeees-stuff @marifujioka @going-to-californiaxx @just-pure-trash @edenofeve @impulsivethoughtsat2am @thigh-o-saur @heyohalie @matchat3a @bubblearts @littlemisspropaganda @aconstructofamind @lawislife18 @rzcnlb @sunukissed

[luveline]

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

[writer-logbook]

How to get back into writing: a 5-steps guide

As someone who hasn't written anything in a decade, this is what I did to get back into writing seriously.

Identify which archetype of writer fits me better. You may have heard George R.R. Martin saying there are two types of writers: gardeners and architects. Whether you believe in that statement or not isn't relevant per se, but the actual meaning behind that point is that you need to get to know yourself as a writer, how you work, what you need, etc., so you can adapt your environment to achieve your goals. Speaking of which…Gentle reminder : you're a person not a robot. You are allowed to work the way you want to, and not to follow whatever pieces of advice that are linked to these archetypes.

Set a realistic word count/session I can stick to over the long term. When you're a 9-6 office employee, it's not always easy to find time to write and sometime our day at work got the very best of us. Having that in mind, I set my word count up to 200-500 words per session or 1 chapter per week (they're rather small in my case). Gentle reminder : babysteps are better than no-step at all.

If I'm not writing, fine, I'll do some research or anything else. Your story will always require something from you. When I'm not in the mood for writing, there are two options : forcing myself or doing what I call para-writing. For instance it's : reading articles or books about improving my writing style, improving my worldbuilding, drawing a map of my city etc. This are not things that would appear in the novel but it would guide me throughout the process the way a walking-stick would do for an injured man. Gentle reminder : you always find something useful to do but at the end of the day, you still have to write.

Have a general idea of what I want to tell. I won't lie, I've plotted my entire novel from the very beginning to the very end, which means I know exactly what to write and when. If you're against having a defined plot, I'm no one to judge, but having at least the key events or the major points will definitely help you. Like a lighthouse, it will help you navigate through the mists of confusion or hesitation. Gentle reminder : It's better to know where to go even if you end up losing yourself along the journey. Having the map doesn't mean you have to follow it, but rather when you can allow yourself to take a step to the side.

Write something I enjoy. A bit cliché I admit, but it's the best advice I could give. You'll spend hours, days, weeks - even years !- on that story so better buckle up to something you really want to write. Otherwise the risk is to abandon that hard-work you've done halfway through the process. No one needs that frustration and that self-doubting questionnings. No one. Not you. Not even me. Gentle reminder : it's okay to want readers and reviews but I promise you, your writing will be really different on something you trully want to share...Remember how pissful it was to write an essay for class you didn't want to ?