#snippets: things left unsaid

[ramblingoak]

Stolen Frosting

Mushy May in Lucifer's Hollow: Day 2 - Late Night Snacks

Phantom x Swiss

This fic is set in an alternate universe in a town called Lucifer's Hollow. For Mushy May I'll be using the prompts to post little snippets of life for the humans and ghouls that live there 💙 Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together!

~ In Lucifer's Hollow Phantom owns a bakery, Sweets and Treats, and Swiss is the gym teacher at Lucifer's Hollow High School. ~

Warnings: fluff and that is all, sfw, 500 words (thank you to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!)

“I know this looks bad.”

Phantom remained still, continuing to stand in the doorway to his kitchen silently.  Swiss shifted his weight from foot to foot, his claws tapping the tile softly.  Behind him his tail swished rapidly back and forth as he waited for the other ghoul to do something, anything.  After another handful of seconds passed, Swiss just gave up, scooping another spoonful up of the absolute heaven he had found in Phantom’s fridge and shoving it in his mouth. 

“Really?!”

“I’m sorry!”  Swiss’s words were garbled with the spoon still in his mouth and he winced when his fangs clacked against the metal.  Quickly he yanked the spoon away, tossing it into the sink and then closed the container.  “I was starving and I found this and unholy shit it’s amazing.”

Swiss could tell Phantom was preening under the compliment but the quintessence ghoul was doing his best to hide it.  He pouted when Phantom came over and took the container out of his hands, shoving it back in the fridge.  

“Frosting isn’t food.”

“It is if I eat enough of it, lemme have the rest.”  Swiss attempted to get at the door handle but Phantom hip checked him.  “Where’d you buy that anyway?”

“I made it.”  Swiss froze in his attempts to get into the fridge, staring in disbelief at Phantom.  The ghoul suddenly became shy, his cheeks pinking up adorably.  “Did you forget what I do for a living?”

“No, of course not.”  How could he when Phantom smelled like sugar and cinnamon and a thousand other amazing things all the time?  “I guess I just didn’t think you’d make frosting from scratch.”

“I make everything from scratch.”  Lucifer, Phantom looked too damn cute standing there all proud of himself.  Swiss leaned in and quickly kissed him, enjoying the taste of frosting and Phantom on his lips.  When he pulled away the ghoul looked both surprised and pleased.  “What was that for?”

“Being adorable.”  The blush was back and Swiss couldn’t help but wrap an arm around Phantom’s waist to pull him closer.  “And the frosting, of course.”

“The stolen frosting.”  Swiss’s stomach chose that moment to growl and it was the multi ghoul’s turn to blush.  “Still hungry?”

“Famished.”

Their eyes met and something unsaid passed between them, something that had been brewing for days now.  Swiss lowered his head to kiss Phantom again, as gently as he could manage.  He was lucky Phantom had let him stay the night and he didn’t want to push him.  If all he could do was kiss Phantom in this kitchen for the rest of his days he’d be happy.  

“I could make you something?”  Phantom pulled away and grabbed an apron hanging off the wall quickly tying it around his waist.  “Cupcakes?”

“Marry me.”  Oh shit, Swiss's eyes widened and he immediately held his hands up,  “Sorry, I mea—“

“Let’s make them first.”  Phantom flashed him a smile and then wandered over with an apron for Swiss. As he walked around him to tie it at the back he leaned up close to Swiss's ear,  “You can decide if they’re worth marriage after trying one.”  

Swiss spun around, reaching up to gently hold Phantom's head in his hands.

"Baby, you had me at the frosting."

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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More fics in the Tales From Lucifer's Hollow masterpost

[peachdues]

me, writing some delicious tension and horrifically gut wrenching angst for all the things we left unsaid and then sharing w no one bc my number one sounding board is blacklisted from getting snippets of the fic

[cascade05]

MHA x OC Prologue

Warnings: Fire ig, just a lil snippet of the real thing, not full prologue btw

Tsukauchi found himself watching the limping hero instead. Then, his eyes went back to the fire. Something else exploded, and the inferno roared in response, echoing loudly into the siren-riddled night, reverberating a doubtless promise. The flames would not be dying out anytime soon. "What a nightmare," the man repeated.

"I have to agree."

Tsukauchi blinked in surprise before turning around. He only had a second to see the man before a badge blocked his view. "The Hero Commission?" he read stupidly.

'What's the commission doing here?' he wondered.Sure, it was a very intense situation, but representatives of the commission sent aid. They never came in person, not in Tsukauchi's experience. It would ruin their freshly pressed suits, the detective thought bitterly.

The relationship between the police force and the Hero Commission was tense. It had always been. The police wanted to solve cases and catch villains, whereas the commission seemed content to sweep incidents under the rug. Of course, they apprehended the villains responsible for the crimes–by whatever means necessary–but never let the police know who it was. That usually left the police with a severe lack of evidence and an abundance of cold cases. If that made the commission come to Tokyo, Tsukauchi wouldn't just sit back.

He carefully watched the man, taking in the plainness of his face and the neatness of his slicked-back brown hair. The professionalism of it matched his spotless black suit, the detective thought. The sunglasses were an odd touch. Tsukauchi chalked it up to a commission thing before extending a professional hand. The suit-wearing man glanced at the appendage with disgust before staring coldly at the detective. He retracted his hand, grateful the man hadn't taken it. 'Fine. I didn't want to touch you either.'

"My name is not important, and I'm already aware of yours," he said, voice just as plain as he was.

It seemed introducing oneself was another thing the commission wasn't fond of. 'See if I care.'

He did care.

The detective had always felt like he and the police force were under the commission's boot, and they always liked to remind him of that fact. They had always been that way. So eager to remind him how little he and the rest of the force mattered. Tsukauchi opened his mouth to retort, only to close it when Suit spoke. "I'm looking for someone," he stated plainly. Yet also, as if he expected Tsukauchi to care.

The detective was silent for a few beats before gesturing behind him. "Yeah, we all are. The one responsible for that can't stay on the streets."

'Even if the commission wants it under the rug,' went unsaid, but damn, Tsukauchi wanted to say it.

The suit didn't care, not even acknowledging Tsukauchi's words and what they implied. "She'll be in there somewhere," he nodded to the flames, "and you need to find her for me."

"She's–" Tsukauchi closed his mouth before opening it again, repeating the action a few times as he struggled to respond to the impossible order.

Did the sunglasses impair his vision or something? Tsukauchi looked at the absolute mess behind him. How was he supposed to find someone in that, exactly? Even if he could find one girl, the detective still needed to find the villain behind it all. He didn't have time to search for and identify a–most certainly–dead woman.

His face must've given all his thoughts away because the man from the commission sighed before–with great annoyance–putting one of Tsukauchi's main concerns to rest. "You don't need to worry about finding the culprit behind this. We know who it was and have already acted accordingly."

It wasn't a lie, the detective decided. Did it still piss him off? Yes. But he was more surprised than angry at the moment. Did they find the villain already? In the middle of all the chaos?

The suit didn't give Tsukauchi any time to linger on his confusion. He began speaking once again. "As for the one you'll be looking for–" guess he didn't have a choice, "–she's a small girl–four foot eleven inches, to be precise–with long black hair. However, her eyes are her most distinctive feature. They're a mix of blue, purple, and pink, quite difficult to get confused with someone else's."

"She'll be in or under the building somewhere," he added.

"She won't be alive," was the detective's immediate response, although it was regretful.

The man didn't flinch in the slightest. He was unbothered by the statement–more than expecting it, it seemed the suit almost wanted it that way–almost like he wanted her dead. It bothered Tsukauchi a little, but he pushed the feeling down, taking the man's card with a small sigh. It seemed he was going to be ignored once again.

"We don't need her alive."

Perhaps not. However, Tsukauchi began to wish the suit had just ignored him because the lack of concern behind that statement made his skin crawl.

"We just need to confirm where she is."

[tracingpatternswrites]

Rekindle | Wolfstar | HP Recipe Rec Fest

I am so excited to share my entry for the @hprecipe-recfest. This is the first fest I've ever co-hosted and it's been so much fun so far, and I'm looking forward to see even more entries coming up.

For now, however, please enjoy my little fic which features a personal HC of mine: that Remus fled the UK and travelled around the world while Sirius was in Azkaban and spent som time in Sweden (where he apparently learned to cook some Swedish food).

Title: Rekindle Pairing: Wolfstar Rating: T WC: 6k Summary: Things are tense between Sirius and Remus when they're pushed together in the derelict cottage that Remus calls home, waiting for Dumbledore's orders. So much is left unsaid, so many questions need answers.

Remus shares a small part of himself and opens a door to what he was doing during the years that Sirius spent locked up in Azkaban.

Read the whole thing on AO3.

Or a snippet below the cut:

Sirius wakes with a jolt, which is weird because he barely sleeps these days. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but that’s not unusual. It isn’t so much sleeping these days, as his body simply giving up, passing out when he couldn’t hold out any longer. Usually it happens when he’s curled up as Padfoot, the dog’s mind quieter than his own. He has spent so much time as Padfoot over the last few years that he feels more comfortable in the dog’s fur than his own skin.  

He had transformed back into his human form in his sleep, something that had happened increasingly more often in the past week. Sirius doesn’t know why, just yet another thing he can no longer control. He’s getting used to that feeling. Usually the nightmares wake him up, but not this time. He doesn’t know what did, the cottage seems to be quiet around him.

He had shown up on Remus’ doorstep a few days earlier, after he had followed Dumbledore’s orders to contact the old crowd to tell them about what Harry had seen. Remus had been surprised to see him, and Sirius still doesn’t know if it was for old friendship’s sake or just pity that made the other man open up his home.

Sirius looks around the sparse bedroom, the flimsy curtain that does little to keep out the sunlight. He keeps it closed at all times, but the room is still too bright, the sun is giving him a headache after the cold darkness of Azkaban. He mumbles a spell under his breath and he feels the magic coil inside of him, but the curtain barely moves.

There is a flare of something in his chest, anger or shame or frustration, he doesn’t know for sure. He used to be able to do wandless magic at the drop of a hat. Magic used to flow through him, pour out of him with no effort. Generations of powerful pureblood magic that responded to his every whim but now… now doing wandless magic is like pulling teeth. He needs his wand for the simplest spells, like a meek Muggle-born first-year who had never experienced true magic until they set foot inside Hogwarts.

He reaches for the wand on the bedside table, twirling it between his fingers before pointing it towards the window. He mumbles the incantation again and this time he feels it, the little tug of magic in his gut, the warmth at his fingertips as it flows through the wand. This time the curtain transforms into a heavier fabric, thicker, enough to block out some of the offending sunlight and he breathes a sigh of relief.

He had offered to stay on the sofa in the small living room downstairs since he didn’t sleep very well anyway, but Remus wouldn’t have it. Instead, he’d given up the cottage’s only bedroom for Sirius and taken the sofa for himself. It makes Sirius feel uncomfortable, knowing that he’s hogging the bed and the bedroom, especially as they are closing in on the full moon.

He will have to talk to Remus about it, he knows he can’t put it off for much longer. He drags himself out of bed, stretching before he starts to rummage around for something to wear. Not that he has a lot, only what Remus had loaned him when he had first shown up. 

Sirius had first insisted that he wouldn’t be able to wear it, he had always been broader and taller than Remus, but the other man had looked at him quietly and left the clothes on the bed for when Sirius was done with his shower.

Remus had been right, of course, that annoying habit of his hadn’t changed over the twelve years that Sirius had been away. Where Remus’ jumpers have always stretched tight over Sirius’ broad chest, they now hang loosely over his shoulders. He pulls the strings in Remus’ sweats tight so that they won’t fall down over his hips when he shuffles around the house.

He is grateful now that Remus doesn’t keep a lot of mirrors around. He would have covered them up if there were any in the bedroom, but luckily there aren’t. Sirius isn’t strong enough to face his own reflection more than absolutely necessary, it’s nothing but a painful reminder of the shadow of his former self that twelve years in Azkaban has reduced him into.

He can hear Remus move around downstairs and he knows he can’t hide away in the bedroom forever. He takes a deep breath as he stuffs his wand into his pocket, pushing the door open into the small hallway. He smells it almost immediately, Remus is cooking, and Sirius’ belly does a little rumble at the thought of food.

He slowly makes his way down the creaking stairs, stopping in the doorway leading into the kitchen. Remus is standing by the counter, his back against Sirius. He is slightly hunched over, the kitchen counter too low for him but for some reason, he hasn’t used magic to adjust it. It’s typical Remus, sometimes Sirius thinks he forgets he’s a wizard altogether.

There’s low music playing in the background, no doubt from their old record player that Remus had somehow managed to hold on to over the years. Most of the records were long gone, but Remus had told him that he had started to re-build his library. Sirius recognises the song that’s playing, but he can’t recall the name of the song or the band.

He's forgotten a lot of things, and the longer he spends outside in the real world, the more he realises it. It’s in the small things, an off-hand comment from Remus about something that happened when they were at school, a conversation they once had, something that Sirius had once claimed that he enjoyed doing or eating or drinking.

Sirius has forgotten most of it. He knows Remus can tell, even though the other man doesn’t comment on it. Sirius doesn’t want to talk about it either, there’s nothing to say about it anyway. Azkaban took a lot from him, the memories are only a small part of it all.

“Fucking hell– shit!”

The loud clatter and Remus’ voice are enough to yank Sirius out of his head, and he flinches at the sudden loud noise. The muscles in his back lock up, his heart makes a somersault in his chest, his pulse spiking as his first instinct is to transform into Padfoot. He can practically feel the ripple of the dog through him, but he manages to stop himself last second. He stares at Remus, eyes wide as he clings to his self-control.

“Shit,” Remus says again, and he looks a little frazzled as he bends down to pick up the pan he had dropped, setting it carefully on the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, I just didn’t see you standing there and then I turned around and– fuck. Are you alright?”

It takes a moment before Sirius can get his body to unlock, and he can see Remus’ worried gaze sweep over him. Some of the tension melts away at Sirius’ jerky half-nod though, and he manages a smile so weak that it barely reaches his eyes. Sirius feels his muscles relax though, and it’s not until then he realises he’s holding on to the doorframe tightly.

“Did you sleep okay?” Remus asks, which is ridiculous because they both know the answer to that already so Sirius doesn’t bother replying. It doesn’t seem as if Remus expects him to either, as he barely waits for Sirius to speak before he continues. “Want a cuppa?”

This doesn’t seem to require any sort of reply either, as Remus is already waving his wand towards the kettle which starts boiling immediately. Remus gestures towards the table by the window, and Sirius slowly lets go of the doorframe to straighten himself up.

He walks over to the table before sinking down on one of the rickety chairs, catching the cup of steaming hot tea that Remus sends floating in his direction with another flick of his wand. It’s strong and sweet, the way Sirius has always loved it. Remus always made the best tea; Sirius remembers that much.

“Thank you,” Sirius rasps, and then he clears his throat as Remus turns around to look at him. “For the tea, I mean.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus says, a slow smile spreading over his face and it lights up something behind his eyes.

Sirius feels his belly do a little swoop, like a faint pull of something long forgotten deep inside of him, but then Remus turns away again to return to what he’s doing. He’s working with his hands, Sirius can see, and he has realised over the past couple of days that Remus does that a lot.

Sirius doesn’t know if it’s because he learned to cook from his Muggle mother, or if Remus’ reluctance to use magic is something he picked up during the war. Sirius doesn’t remember, and that realisation settles heavily in his chest. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know the answer.

He watches as Remus puts a cabbage head into a pot of boiling water before checking on the other pot and humming to himself. He turns the oven on with a tap of his wand before summing an empty bowl, getting to work mixing something that looks like minced meat with spices.

Sirius doesn’t know a lot about cooking, he had never mastered it himself and during his childhood all cooking had been done by their wretched house-elf. Right now, he almost wishes he did know how to cook though; it looks relaxing, working with your hands like that. Sirius takes another sip from his tea. When Remus adds milk, cream, and boiled rice straight from the pot to the minced meat, however, he feels like he needs to ask.

“What… are you making?”

Continue on AO3.

[coolcattime]

AU Snippet December: Day One!

Mianite Post Timeline!

“No! I mean--! Just sometimes you look at me like…”

There were a thousand things left unsaid in the hesitant silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m not ready for this.”

“Capsize wait!”

Spark held his breath as the pirate rushed out the temple, hoping desperately not to be seen by her. He already knew far too much about her life without having eavesdropped on what was clearly a private conversation. He felt it best to let her at least remain oblivious to his being here.

Still, he truly considered going after her as he watched her rush off with far too familiar panic. 

Lady Ianite took only a few steps outside her temple. For a moment she stared after her messenger with a look that Spark recognised but had not worn himself in many years now. She nearly went after her, but in the end her hesitance won out and she just sighed as she stood in the now empty courtyard.

Spark took a step forward, though still remaining behind her. He was reluctant to speak and reveal his present, but also didn’t want to allow this to become another secret left to fester just in his own mind. Besides that, he had come here to discuss something with the goddess, there was little point putting such a task off. After all, it wasn’t precisely unconnected to what he witnessed.

So, though he was admittedly still hesitant to reveal himself, he cleared his throat.

Lady Ianite turned so suddenly that it looked almost as though she had teleported rather than physically turned. The panic on her features was only slightly subdued when she saw who was actually present.

There could be far worse people to have overheard all of that than him, she knew, but that it had been overheard at all was still less than ideal. How was she meant to explain any of it?

“Conway, how long have you been…?”

“Longer than either of us would like,” He replied with a sympathetic smile.

[qprstories]

Hey guys! So, I wrote a poem a while back that I think fits the theme of this blog :). It's called (queerplatonically) in love

(its uh, under the cut)

hey

i’ve done some thinking

and i think

i’m in love with you

love is a strange thing to be in

vast and unknowing, 

stretching beyond the carpets of our imagination

a neverending blanket of stars

(some bright, some dim) 

we draw lines between and mark  

to make our way in the world 

love is a thing to be studied

charted

mapped

scribbled in never-ending pages and woven with endless thread

a tapestry of stars

and freckles

of grilled cheese sandwiches and little moments

of peppermint ice cream and all the things left unsaid

i love you 

i want to map it

if the skies of the world above us is love

than i suppose i’m an astronomer 

deciphering it

writing it down

making sense of something i can’t even touch 

connecting snippets that aren’t even mine

love, you see, i weave it

i take those pieces and weave them together on my own 

and hope it will be enough 

is it enough? 

is it alright? 

i don’t know

i don’t know 

because one day 

the stars came down and said 

you are not like us, dear child 

the warmth we have will never touch your skin 

fill your heart 

you must make your own light, little one 

for the kind we make is not for you 

and then they left

and now i’m here

under their sky 

trying to make sense of it 

wondering if i’ll feel their light someday 

wondering if what i’ll make will ever be enough 

can i make it? 

can i make something? 

can it be enough? 

will it ever be enough?

enough

enough? 

enough? 

sometimes

i set my quilts aside 

and i wonder

is this real?

do i want this? 

do i want this, i wonder

to be blessed by the light the stars told me i could never have

to feel the things i could never feel 

to fill my heart the way it can never be filled

or is it just a dream, a fantasy?

what does that light even feel like? 

would i recognize it, one day

if it shone down upon me with all its strength

would i know it? would i feel it? would i want it? 

is it maybe

perhaps

maybe

what i feel for you? 

i’ve done some thinking

and i think i’m in love in with you

when we’re texting i smile so much my mouth hurts

my foot taps

i spin around in my chair

it makes me giddy, i think

like butterflies 

(that’s what they always say love is like) 

i want to map it 

i want to decipher it 

i want to decode it

i want to know if it’s the kind the stars told me i would never have 

i want to know if it’s real

i want to know what it means

but

maybe i don’t have to 

maybe i’ve made my own light

somehow

maybe it’s not from the stars or anywhere else

maybe it means only what it means to me

maybe i just love you

and that is enough of that

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Finally, finally, finally— in the next day or so (maybe tonight??) I’ll be posting the first chapter of the Wylan Whump Fic™️.

Until then: a snippet

“Jes, I… can we not talk about it right now? Can it wait?”

It hit him like a slap across the face.

“Can it—“ suddenly, he didn’t feel solid, like his fear shook his atoms loose. Every part of him was unsteady. “No, Wylan, it can’t wait, this is the second time in a week you’ve fully stopped breathing, and you—“

The pathway between his brain and his mouth seemed like a fucking labyrinth. Fumbling his words, Jes abruptly gave up and clicked his mouth shut— he didn’t know what to say or how to say it, but he needed to move. In the corner of his eye, Wylan’s slim, bony frame shrunk away from him. Like he was trying to disappear.

It hurt. These past months, he tried to not to take it all too personally— the evasion, the mystery, the things left unsaid. But, it had never been like this before.

What happened to you? He wanted to cry out. Why are you so afraid? Who hurt you?

It was just another question to add to the never ending mountain of them since he’d met Wylan. Where did you come from? How did a prince like you end up all the way down here? How do you know all the amazing things you know?

He used to ask every time the words popped into his head. It was so easy to let his mouth run, and Wylan was so easy to talk to— he should be easy to ask questions of, too. Right? Jesper said it all with awe and wonder, how do you know that? Or who taught you that? He hardly thought it would be… so unwelcome.

After Shu Han, he asked less. Wylan wouldn’t give more than a one or two word answer anyway— just a shrug, or duck his pretty face away from Jesper’s gaze.

Lately, it felt like he was standing in a blocked corridor with locked doors on all sides. Nowhere to go, and constantly knocking, calling for people who weren’t willing to answer— Da? How could he ever look his father in the eye again? Jesper had closed that proverbial door himself. Then there was Inej, Inej was gone. Nina wasn’t close enough. Kaz? Kaz didn’t let anyone in.

He expected it from Kaz— when had he ever gotten more than the bare minimum from him? Jes wasn’t blind, he knew what his value was to his best friend. He was a tool, easily manipulated. Kaz saw him as a child, and the worst part was that he wasn’t wrong. Jesper was childish.

His fingers twitched, the tips of them rubbing like he could feel chips between them.

He knew what he was to Kaz.

But, what was he to Wylan?

Another question for the pile, he thought bitterly. He knows what you are— you told him everything. He’s too smart to hang around much longer. He knows you’re unreliable, can’t keep your mouth shut or your kruge in your pocket, or—

The window was permanently stuck open, and the curtains fluttered with the chill of the autumn twilight. Jesper practically tripped over his feet to the fresh air, shaking his head to clear it.

“Jes? Jes, please—“ Wylan’s voice was so small. The sound of it solidified in his chest like jagged ice. He flexed his hands with the urge to go to him, to hold him.

But, his touch wasn’t welcome. It had only made it all worse, hadn’t it?

Tugging his curls until he was sure he looked a bit insane, Jesper forced himself to turn around and face that voice.

Saints.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

FIC UPDATE: Things We're All Too Young to Know

HI!!!!!!! Okay one more chapter that I've had the bones laid out for for months. After this, it's back to writing from scratch lol.

Summary:

After coming clean about their feelings, Buck and Eddie talk things out, and other stuff.

Snippet:

Buck leans forward, kisses him softly. Because he can. Because he gets to do that now. He didn’t miss his chance. He didn’t lose Eddie. 

“W-we’ve been stupid,” Buck says as he pulls away. “I’ve been stupid.”

Eddie pauses, hand still resting on Buck’s neck. “I… I didn’t know.”

Right.

Right, Eddie has been unpacking something Buck can’t really begin to imagine. It’s never had an impact on him. If he slept with someone he wasn’t attracted to, that was for a whole different set of reasons. 

“If… If I’d thought…” Buck doesn’t know how to explain himself. “Eddie, I would have waited forever. I swear, I thought…”

“I know,” Eddie nods. “I know .”

Buck thinks he is willing to be brave for the rest of his life, if being brave gets him even one more chance to kiss Eddie the way they’ve kissed tonight. 

“M-maybe we stop not saying what we’re feeling,” Buck stammers. 

Eddie takes a deep breath before nodding.

“Nothing left unsaid anymore.”

---

Tagging @epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @devonwritesstuff @diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz

[freevoidman]

Please talk about your P3 R cutscene issues cause I have issues with them too and I'm betting you have the same ones.

LMAO I am ALSO betting it's the same as mine but I'll go into it nonetheless.

For lack of a better way to word it: I think the changes made to cutscenes--either by cutting them entirely or changing them from 2D animation from the original to the in-engine 3D ones in P3R--makes the game lose a lot of its artistic direction and the general "vibe" that the original game had.

To avoid going into spoiler territory: let's look at the first cutscene from P3FES, and compare that to it's equivalent in P3R.

First thing of note here is its chaotic nature. There is rarely a single shot that lasts for more than a few seconds. Either we cut away entirely (such as Yukari transitioning to Makoto abruptly) or something interrupts the action (the running sink briefly having a moment of static). There is a sense of chaos, the inability to focus, and inherent confusion throughout the entire first cutscene. Even at the end, when we have a point of focus in Pharos and Mitsuru, the camera still cuts, dynamic action is happening, and--most importantly for Pharos--the more "unreal" actions seem more believable. We, the audience, don't see or fully understand how he teleports around the room, why the contract vanishes, the growing of shadows as he vanishes. These are deliberate shots that are really only believable in this animated cutscene style.

A lot of things are also left up for interpretation--where are we going? Why is this girl attempting to shoot herself? Why is there suddenly a butterfly, and why does our music get louder when we see it? Is this what the protagonist is imagining while he listens to music, or is it meant to be more metaphorical to the audience? These are questions that, most notably, are left unanswered and unsaid in this first cutscene. There's a level of trust with the conveyance of information: this is what you're seeing, right now, you'll learn more later.

All of this is also carried and conveyed impressively well with its sound design. The scenes in Iwatodai are chaotically loud, multiple voices overlapping--you can catch snippets of conversation, not the full picture. We occasionally have the opening verse of Burn My Dread - Last Battle interjecting as the protagonist walks through the streets, but it's muffled through his speakers. As Yukari gets closer and closer to pulling the trigger, we only hear the section of lyrics that says "burn my dread", a constantly repeating lyric that adds a palpable sensation of terror as we, an unaware audience, believe we're about to see a suicide as the city goes on, oblivious, outside the dorm. It's a terrifying scene that really makes you worried about what comes next, especially when the first person you meet in the dorm is Yukari, who nearly pulls that same gun on you at the end.

I also want to point out stylistic approach in terms of shading--or lackthereof. This is something that modern persona games decided to ditch (I guess with rising standards in animation? idk man) but I think it's insanely great in Persona 3. Having these flat colors with minimal, if any shading is a stand-out detail, it makes everything feel flat and unreal.

This cutscene is chaotic, it is uncanny, it is uncomfortable. And that's what makes it so great. Persona 3 plays with uncomfortable themes, imagery, and its whole premise is based on an hour of suspended time, where shadows roam Japan and cause havoc that no common person can explain or understand. It is the perfect way to convey that general feeling Persona 3 carries with it.

Now, let's look at the equivalent in Persona 3 Reload.

The first thing you'll notice is the length. The opening cutscene for P3R, despite containing the same general "stuff" as P3FES, is half the length of the prior game's. This is because, once you leave the train station, the game transitions into proper gameplay, giving you control as you walk through Iwatodai to reach the dorm. In other words, everything after the dark hour initiates in the original cutscene is completely scrapped. Pharos' introduction and general teleportation weirdness, your introduction to Yukari threatening you, Mitsuru's introduction--ALL OF THAT becomes in-engine 3D. That is much less engaging and interesting! You lose all the power of those crazy camera angles, Pharos' teleportation and odd behavior becomes really sloppily executed 3D nonsense that you SEE HAPPEN, and the panic Yukari (and you, the player) feel during your first meeting is robbed.

But I digress, what else is different? Well, for one thing, there's consistent through-lines throughout the cutscene. The moon transitions quickly into a tap real, which transitions into a crosswalk with you, the protagonist, as the only colorful dot to keep an eye on. There's no loud, pumping music to hype you up or freak you out anymore, in fact, Iwatodai and Tatsumi Port Island don't feel as chaotic and crowded as a populous city should. The conversations people are having are muffled and less distinct, the audio direction in general is a lot weaker and absolutely pulls its punches when it comes to building audience suspension. There's no sudden cut of music when the Dark Hour kicks in as your speakers die--the silence was already there, the station was already empty, nothing really feels changed except the lighting (which is accompanied by a goofy sound effect, come on). That same sense of confusion is completely lost.

Instead of brief still shots of everyone moving through a crowded space, there's plenty of room for the protagonist to move. That lack of connection doesn't feel misplaced because your in a crowded city, it instead feels like you're walking through a somewhat subdued city totally fine. It doesn't carry that same disconnected feeling--in fact, it feels absurdly normal when, in the original first cutscene, you felt out of place and wrong. Also, the new shots of pedestrians are boring. Why the hell am I watching a bunch of idiots crouched on the ground and one of them falls over while everyone laughs? Why am I looking at a dog walking lady? If you're going to include these kinds of shots, why not include, idk... some of the social link people here?

Then we have... Yukari. Oh dear Yukari they fucked you up. For one thing, no sudden cuts away to increase tension! We stick with her the whole time for a measly twenty seconds and see everything resolved in one go. They also, most damningly, made Yukari talk. Now, I have no problem with Yukari in general, but in the original we had no idea what her intent was with putting the evoker to her head. Obviously, we assume suicide, but there's a palpable tension to the action when there's nothing but her panting, alone, with a sink running in the background as we hear "BURN MY DREAD" repeated over and over as she gets closer and closer to pulling the trigger. Now, as she talks, that tension is robbed, especially during her last line. "No way, I can't do it!" is completely unnecessary when we see her fall to her knees.

After that though... there's really nothing to this cutscene. There's no music, no tension, it really feels like a lot of nothing--which is a MAJOR problem when this is your opening impression. P3FES says "come on, you're in for something crazy and unique" while throwing you into the deep end of interpretation and artistic weirdness. P3R is scared and has to hold your hand as it says "Come on, here's a normal introduction, the crazy comes later" while striping the original of its teeth. It's weaker and a lot less fun to watch.

There's really never been a stronger opening for Persona 3 than the original's cutscene--hell, I would argue Persona in general hasn't had a stronger opening cutscene since. Even 5's lacked palpable tension.

Which is super depressing? Like, seriously, I'm not going to touch upon later cutscenes (both bc spoilers and, come on, we'll be here all week if I get into it), but October is FILLED with problems on an artistic level. I think the P3FES's Orpheus/Thanatos awakening is far more graphic and terrifying than P3R's Maya engine cutscene. I can't even begin to understand why Mitsuru's dad got a dedicated 2D cutscene explaining what Kirijo Corp. was doing back in the day when, iirc, the original just had Mitsuru explaining it. Cutscene direction in P3R is, at best, lacking at multiple points when stacked against is predecessor or, at worst, just feel bad and empty and, arguably, sometimes unnecessary.

[sentientsky]

wip ask game

the rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous

let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have wips

hi @fearandhatred!!! <3 thank u for the tag! okay, so i only started writing fic when gomens 2 came out, so most of my stuff is unrelated and generally just my silly lil original stories i use to process my own trauma and sapphic angst lmao. i'll include them here, if you're curious good omens

what do we do when the power goes out?

a witness of wicked things

misc./original stories

Jugular

Bonemeal

Underbelly

All the Things Left Unsaid

no pressure tags: @captainswan618 @queer4cryptids @foolishlovers (brain is too tired to tag more, sorry)

[putuponpercy]

Hi I haven't written a fic for this fandom in over a year but I saw the first couple paragraphs in my drafts last night and went in a trance at 1am finishing it anyways here's a little snippet from The Early Days section of my They're Just People AU enjoy

-

Thomas glared at the small flock of seagulls a short distance away, fighting over the small scraps of food Edward threw in their direction. "You shouldn't feed them.”

His colleague merely shrugged. "A little won't do too much harm," he said, chucking another scrap towards the hungry birds.

"Nasty things," grumbled Thomas, shaking his head. "Lost many a decent meal to them back when I was on the streets.”

"Well you needn't have to worry about that now. You're plenty fed.”

A tut and an eye roll was Thomas' only response.

Come to think of it, the young’un had been in a particularly sour mood for the majority of the day. More so than usual. Reaching into his lunchbox, Edward pulled out half a sandwich then held it out to his companion. “Sarnie for your thoughts?”

Thomas wrinkled his nose. “Ain't tuna is it?”

“Chicken and sweetcorn.”

Satisfied Thomas plucked the sandwich from Edward’s grasp, wasting no time in scarfing it down while Edward waited patiently for his colleague to spill the beans. He didn't pressure Thomas, even after the young lad had finished eating and opted for fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater in silence. He knew Thomas would speak up in his own time. For whatever reason, ever since that fateful night the pair crossed paths at Barrow Central Thomas had chosen to put his full unwavering trust in Edward, although Edward wasn't exactly sure why. All he did was offer the lad a hot meal in exchange for getting him and his engine across the bridge.

“Reggie and Bart returned to the Main Land this morning.”

Speaking of.

Edward's brow raised in surprise. “Have they? Huh… that's the first I've heard of it.”

“And Alfie and Raymond are leaving this evening,” continued Thomas. “Isaac and Harry too.”

Humming, Edward grabbed the flask sitting next to his lunchbox. He unscrewed the cap and took a small sip of his tea. “Seems more and more are heading back by the day.” After another sip he gave a reassuring smile. “Worry not, I'm sure it'll be us soon.”

“And then what? What happens after we leave here?”

“Well… I suppose it's back to passenger trains and goods runs across the Furness line. Shame really. Not that I'm complaining, no. But Sodor’s been a breath of fresh air I suppose. Nice to feel useful after…” Edward trailed off, trying to shake off the memories of how his coworkers back on the Main Land often spoke down or belittled him. “Still, the Furness Railway is my home.”

The two lapsed into silence, though it wasn't comfortable, the air still felt as if something was left unsaid. Taking a quick peek at his pocket watch, Edward wasted no more time in packing up his lunchbox. “Right, come along you. Sir Topham Hatt wanted to see us before our goods train this afternoon.”

“Is’at right? What could the Fat Controller want to see us for?”

Edward tsked. “I do wish you wouldn't entertain the other's idea of such a demeaning nickname.”

Thomas waved him off. “Shove off will ya, it's not like we call him that to his face.”

“I dare wonder if that makes it even worse.” Shaking his head, Edward continued, “Regardless, we should make haste. Who knows, perhaps he'll tell us our loan period is up ‘an all. That this time tomorrow we'll be the ones crossing that bridge back to the Main Land!”

“Back to Furness Railway, you mean?” Thomas asked quietly, expression unreadable.

“Precisely.” Tilting his head to one side, Edward frowned. “Hadn't we just gone over that?”

Abruptly, Thomas stood, balling his fists at his sides. “But Edward- I don't work for Furness Railway, remember? You picked me up off the streets because you didn't have a fireman. What's going to happen to me once we go back? They'll kick me out the moment they realise I'm not one of them! I can't go back to living on the streets, Edward - I can't go - I don't want to go back there! I-”

Two warm hands gently clasped Thomas’ own that had found their way up to gripping his hair somewhere amidst his panic. “Thomas, I need you to breathe for me. Deep breaths now, in - and out. Good lad, and again.”

Thomas followed suit, taking a few shaky breaths. When had his breathing gotten out of control? When did he start crying for Christ's sake? His hands slowly lowered from his head, feeling Edward give them one last reassuring squeeze before pulling away. “...sorry,” he said pathetically.

“Don't be daft, you've got nothing to be sorry for,” Edward replied without a beat. His gaze softened. “I should apologise. I had no idea how distraught you had been feeling about all this. I just wished you had brought it up sooner rather than letting it build up like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said again. “It's just that, coming here - to Sodor - has been the best thing to ever happen to me, least from what I remember. I have a roof over me head, I don't have to worry about when my next meal will be, I have a job, and you- Edward you've been ever such a good friend to me.” He paused, batting a hand across his damp cheek. “I'm terrified to lose it all.”

Edward swallowed a lump in his throat at being called ‘friend’. He never had quite gotten along with his coworkers back home, so in a sense, Thomas was his first real friend since joining the railway. He placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “I wouldn't be such a good friend if I allowed you to go back to living on the streets, would I?”

Confused, Thomas asked, “But where else would I go?”

Edward shrugged. “Well, while my flat isn’t exactly grand in size I'm sure there's some room to squeeze you in.”

Blue eyes widened. “What? You're saying I can come live with you?”

“I mean- only if you'd like to-”

“Of course!” Thomas cried, leaping over to squeeze the other in a hug. “Thank Edward, thank you! I won't cause no bother I swear!”

Edward grinned. “No bother? That doesn't sound quite like you,” he teased, giving the other lad a pat on the back.

Pulling away, Thomas matched him with a cheeky smile of his own. “Well- within reason, of course.”

“Of course. And I'm sure we can try and get you work on their railway, although the chances are it won't be as my fireman, there are still plenty of opportunities. Even if it's something as giving Old Coppernob’s engine a good polish.”

“As long as it's nothing to do with stinky fish I'm up for anything!”

Chuckling at his enthusiasm, Edward took another glance at his pocket watch and almost gawked at the time. “Right, come along you, we're running late! Don't want to keep the Fat - I mean - Sir Topham Hatt waiting.”

Renewed with energy and anticipation for the future the pair climbed aboard their engine together ready to tackle the rest of the day ahead, unbeknownst to them that the Fat Controller was about to drop the bombshell that Furness Railway had expressed that they now had zero interest in having Edward, nor his engine, return home to them.

[on-sinkingships]

Ohh all your WIPs sound so intriguing!! But I'm especially curious about here we go kentucky (you're leaving me again), if you want to talk about it? :D

yay! i like this one a lot even though it's pretty angsty.

here we go kentucky follows loscar as logan finishes out his last season in f1 while oscar continues on in the aftermath. more than anything, it is about the things left unsaid between them and how oscar tries to cope.

the title comes from a hippo campus song that i adore!

and here's a little snippet, as a treat

There’s not a universe in which people imagine Oscar as anything other than ambivalent at best. It’s his brand now, according to the McClaren PR team. It’s like they’ve given him a new personality that he now must follow to a tee. Oscar Piastri: calm, cool, collected. Don’t diverge from this path, or we’ll have to think up a whole new plan. It’s true. Oscar doesn’t enjoy being a burden. In fact, he distinctly tries to be as bearable as possible for everyone around. He’s aware enough to realize the circus would continue with or without him, his role is to be a cog in the machine of McClaren, and in a bigger part, Formula One. What Oscar doesn’t get is why no one is talking about Logan.

[fuedalreesespieces]

i beg of you

Summary:

“Inuyasha?” she breathed.

His expression grew even more startled. “H-how do you know my name?” Before she could respond, he tried to dart past her legs, but she stepped in his view before he could. “Move it, lady! Or else I’ll-”

“-tear me apart with your claws, yes, yes, but answer me this...” she looked him in the eyes, resisting the urge to wipe the dirt off his cheeks, to sit him in her lap and give his hair a good, long brush. Her voice came out shaky. “How old are you?”

“The hell kinda question is that?” he spat. “Let me go, you crazy miko!”

or: a twelve year old inuyasha collides with post-canon kagome.

read full fic on ao3!

[this is an inukag snippet from the fic that I like, though the majority of the fic is focused on things other than romance...such as time travel hijinks]

.

.

.

The morning atmosphere was viscous enough to sink into forever - coverlets over his shoulders, the lilting sweetness of the porch-side flowers tickling his nose; sunlight streaming in through the window, painting his wife’s naked shoulder in buttery tones. Somewhere in the distance, the villagers were waking up, but within the confines of their hut, the air was crystallized and still - a painting awaiting life. 

In the fog of his mind, an irritating voice that sounded like Miroku cheekily reminded him that they had a demon extermination later that afternoon, and that he ought to get off his ass.  

“Damn him,” Inuyasha mumbled, sliding a hand down his face. Beside him, Kagome stirred. 

“Talking about other men in bed, anata?” she teased, leaning up on her elbows and yawning. She turned to face him, her grey eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“Hell,” he breathed out, repressing a grin, “where do you get your ideas, woman?” 

She let out an airy laugh, subdued by the sleepy slur in her speech. “And good morning to you, too,” she greeted, just as he craned his neck to meet her lips. 

During their three years apart, he’d dreamt of this moment a thousand times, and each time it was a little different. In some dreams, she would laugh before she kissed him, as though her every breath consisted only of joy. In others they were quiet, letting their kisses speak for themselves, allowing their hands to write scrawling, unsaid messages onto their skin. 

Fragments of those dreams would make their way into their real exchanges, but it was never the same. Her laugh was as genuine as the sunlight dancing across her collarbone, her smile just as radiant, and when she crawled into his embrace and leaned up to look at him, he knew this was no dream – it was home. 

He’d dreamt of homes before, back when he’d traversed the forest and claimed small caves nightly as temporary roosts. He’d dreamt of walls around him to trap the warmth that escaped so often from his vicinity; he’d dreamt of solid wood beneath his wary feet. 

But many things encompassed his definition of home now: waking up next to his lover, his best friend. Watching her pickle vegetables and mutter foreign songs under her breath. Hearing her curse awkwardly as she fell in a heap in their garden while trying to pull out stubborn weeds. Laying their meager clothes out on a line and coyly flicking each other with the soapy suds of water left in the wash tub. Exchanging bits of village gossip over lunch while they made up stories about wandering vagrants passing through the street. 

Home wasn’t as simple as having a constant fire in the pit, not without her there, struggling to start it herself. 

Every conversation they shared, from the menial, monosyllabic ones, to the ones that spun out like thread from a spool and spilled over into the following days, was the act of returning home. Before her, he’d never known one could maintain a conversation that long, or that he had so much to say.  

But he supposed she answered both of those questions. It was only with Kagome that could talk endlessly with, and it was only her that he could sit in serene silence with, and it was only her that gave him the temptation to ignore all his duties and stay under the coverlets forever, kissing her numb. 

Not that she, of course, ever let him get away with doing something like that – most of the time. “I thought you had a demon exorcism today?” She pulled away from their kiss to rest her chin on his chest, eyeing him questioningly.  

“Some offshoot village by the mountains,” he told her. “Damn, I forgot about that. Miroku’s probably ready by now.” 

“Then you have to hurry, Inuyasha! I’ll make you something to take with you while you get dressed.” Her eyebrows drew forward in thought. “I’m sure we have onigiri...somewhere.” 

“Any pickles?” 

She rolled her eyes. “You and your pickles.” 

“I can’t help it,” he said, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “You make them so well.” 

“A toddler could pickle food,” she muttered, though her tone betrayed a smile. He’d never been the type for empty flattery, and his blunt nature was the main driving force behind the quick improvement of her cooking skills - not that they had been bad to begin with. His obsession with the acrid taste of pickles was unexplainable, though, especially considering how acute his sense of taste was. Not that he particularly cared, because her pickles were, quite possibly, the shit. 

They made their way out of the bedroom and into the rest of the house. He’d built the place thinking of her, and many of its assets were inspired by the way she lived in the modern era, especially the bathing tub. He still remembered the exhausting market day he and Miroku had spent trying to find a wash tub suitable enough for human bathing, only for their search to grow convoluted as every other vendor declared that they had a larger tub than their competitors.  

It was all worth it, though, when he saw her walk past the reed mat in the evenings, drop her empty herb basket on the floor, and declare herself deserving of a nice, hot bath. She never played around with them, either, taking her time as she sang songs in a language he’d never heard of – English , she called it – and let him massage the stress out of her scalp and shoulders.  

Kagome tied up some onigiri in a cloth pouch while he put on his suikan. Holding back the reed mat, he saw a few men with shovels tossed over their backs talking in a secretive fashion as they made their way to the fields; children accompanying their mothers with heaving pails of stream water. From this vantage point, he could glimpse Miroku walking up the hill, the tinkling of shakujo rings announcing his impending arrival. 

“Here you go,” Kagome placed a cloth package in his hands. “Onigiri, a bamboo flask, a bit of fish-” 

“Pickles?” he asked hopefully. 

“-and your pickles,” she finished with an amused snort. “You know, my mother used to tell me if you ate too many pickles, you’d get all filled up with gas and float away, like a balloon.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Nope,” she said, popping the p. “I just made it up. But you’d make a cute balloon.” 

“Cheeky woman,” he muttered. “You goin’ over to Sango’s for breakfast?” 

“After I finish up the washing, yeah. And I have to clean up the tub since I didn’t do it last night. I’ll have to go say hello to Kaede-sama, of course, and while I’m there I’ll go check on those herbs in the storehouse I kept for tinctures-” 

“Kagome,” he cut in, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Breakfast?” 

“Breakfast,” she agreed, blushing.  

He arched an unconvinced eyebrow. He knew she liked the business of it all, and though there were moments where his wife simply didn’t feel up to it, her work was everything to her. It was worrying that sometimes she would simply forget to eat, too engrossed in her herbalist training and miko duties to remember that she had her own needs, but that was what he was there for – to remind her, and, if necessary, drag her from that damn shack near Kaede’s that reeked of a thousand different herbs and fix her a good meal. 

Now, if she would remember to do it on her own for next few days of his absence, that would be a miracle. 

“Do you want me to make you somethin’ real quick?” he asked, already facing the river. “I could fetch some water to steam rice with.” 

“I’ll be fine, Inuyasha,” she reassured, pressing his clawed hands between hers. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss Sango’s stew for the world.” 

“As would I, but duty calls, I’m afraid,” chimed a familiar voice from outside the house. The tell-tale scent of incense met Inuyasha’s nose – Miroku had just left the temple, it seemed. “Are you two decent?” 

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “Are you ever?” 

“Now, now, my friend. Let’s not go there.” 

Kagome smiled and swept the mat aside. “Do you want something to eat, too, Miroku-kun? I’ve got some onigiri and fish.” 

“If we wait any longer, it may take longer than anticipated to reach our destination, so I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” Miroku lamented. “Shall we head out, Inuyasha?” 

As usual, he carried nothing on his person, used to living off the land (the more appropriate term being stealing ) when it came to his travels. It was one of the qualities that made him such a good partner in the business – both he and Inuyasha had been vagrants for lengthy periods of their lives, so they made good time when on their missions. 

Regardless, Inuyasha didn’t particularly enjoy leaving his wife alone for so long. He knew she could take care of herself, but it didn’t change the fear that snagged him by the heart whenever he returned home; the way his shoulders would sink with relief when he saw golden firelight seeping out of their hut and the scent of something cooking over charring wood. 

He knew she could take care of herself – hell, he’d often come back to stories of her killing rogue demons, stories that had gone through the rumor mill and came out transformed into wild anecdotes she’d entertain him with over dinner. He was aware of her strength and precision. She'd refined her skill over the years, if the archery targets in the forest were any indication.  

But Inuyasha had lived with the knowledge that she was almost certainly safe in her world during those three years, and that hadn’t done a damn thing to ease his worry. If anything, it was a reminder of just how easy it was for the one good thing in his life to disappear.  

“Inuyasha?” came Kagome’s voice. She cocked her head. “Are you okay?” 

“’m fine,” he grunted. “Just waitin’ to get a move-on.” 

“Such a hurry,” she tutted, patting his chest, where the cloth of food rested in the folds of his suikan. Her head rested against him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Don’t worry about me, Inuyasha. I’ll be okay. I’ll head straight to Sango’s after you leave.” 

“Good,” he affirmed. “You ought to eat somethin.’ Don’t think I didn’t see you skip dinner last night.” 

“You were sleeping!” 

“I ain’t ever in a sleep deep enough for you to feel guilty about interrupting it.” 

“Hey,” she huffed. “You’re changing the subject.” Kagome met his gaze, hands rising to settle on either side of his face. Her thumbs caressed his cheekbones, her touch soft and reverent. “I promise to be safe, ‘kay? I’ve got my bow with me at all times.” She pecked his lips. “I won’t go and get myself eaten up by a demon. I’d leave you a note if that happened, though.” 

“Don’t even joke about that,” he warned, squeezing her waist. She laughed and kissed him again, pulling away only when they ran out of breath to share. “Do somethin’ boring like...laundry. Keep yourself out of trouble.” 

“What if there’s a demon catfish in the river?” she asked innocently. 

“Woman,” he said, staring her right in the eye, “I expect you to shoot the damn thing and have it for dinner.” 

[brumiramybeloathed]

They Both Leave Au Snippet #1

(AU where Bruno left the Encanto adter Mirabel’s gift ceremony and Mirabel left after Isabella’s engagement dinner)

Mirabel and Bruno sit side by side on their small couch. Dinner was finished and the dishes were cleaned and it was almost time for them to go their separate ways for the night.

Neither wanted to leave.

"How do you think the family is doing?" Mirabel asks softly.

They never mention the Madrigals by name, as if saying it could summon them and take them away from the peace they've found.

Bruno sighs. "I don't know. You know I don't use my gift anymore."

"I am well aware of that, Bruno," Mirabel says, glancing at him. "I asked what you thought, not what you saw."

Touche, Mirabel.

"They're probably fine. Probably don't mention either of us but... Mama is nothing if not persistent in making sure the family looks perfect."

They look fine, but likely aren't is what remained unsaid.

Even this far away from the Madrigals, Mirabel and Bruno know to keep certain things unsaid.

Mirabel leans her shoulder into Bruno's and Bruno leans back, for just a moment.

"It's time for me to go to bed if I am going to make it out of tomorrow with no injuries," Bruno says.

"Me too."

When he lays down for the night, his shoulder still tingles with residual heat and his heart aches for something Bruno cannot quite describe.

[revletter]

GENOvember Day 27: an entire frickin' AoE fanfic, why not?

Featuring Mario, Geno, and angst!

A dear friend of mine (who has known my writing for a long time) read some of my more slapstick short-form fanfics today and said "You know what I want to see you write more of? Pain."

PAIN, you say?! 🤩

It's been a really bad time for the party lately, and Geno thinks he's found a terrifying and personal reason why. But that's not the important part of this story. The important part is that, until now, Geno has never had any idea how much Mario has been leaning on him.

A vignette snippet fic of hidden tears, needs admitted, needs denied, too many things left unsaid... and the fear that if they knew, you'd only lose them faster.

[redfluffz]

It's been touched on a few times, but what is everyone's damage exactly (like Mike's perfectionism)? I know there's the little snippets in the scribbles of God telling them each how to be "better", but I feel like there's a lot left unsaid so far. Raph almost seems checked out half the time, and it breaks my heart to think of what little Ariel might be dealing with.

(Anon because I fear I'm just very dense and am missing the obvious.)

(Also, I love this AU, even if God is definitely not Heaven's Greatest Dad.)

First, you are NOT dense! Those are really good questions and I really love to answer them. ❤️

Second, thank you! Yeah God is definitely one of the worst dads in history. 🥲

The reason why there are so many unsaid things is that we didn't get to the point in the comic and I really wanna show it, because describing wouldn't give you a fully understanding. You know, the feelings, how things came to be, ...

And I really hope y'all aren't so shocked when you see God creating Gabriel. In that time Luc wasn't around to stop his father ...

Yeah Ariel is the youngest and the most quiet one. I would even say, sometimes people (even God) don't recognize she is even there. Oh and Joph is really bad to her. Always telling her that she's not good enough to be an archangel, she is not beautiful ... and so on.

Raph has so much to do. He can't even catch a break and when he's taking one, he is told to be lazy. But he surely is handling his issue better than the others.

So I hope we are reaching to that point where we can see them all. Chapter 3 will be about Michael and this i where the fun begins!

Anyway thanks for asking! ✨️