#so like I'd want it to be temporary & maybe a means to an end?

[maraskywalkers]

I want more Givenson fic with jealous Raylan but not the possessive kind more like he didn't realize he has feelings for Tim & doesn't know how to handle it type thing

and it could be because of anything like an OMC or whatever but I'm also digging the idea of a temporary Boyd/Tim thing whether it's just a flirtatious thing or an enemies with benefits hookup thing or something IDK but Boyd is so smooth & charismatic & also can be manipulative & just the idea of him getting under Tim's skin??

and like I'm a sucker for low key jealous/insecure Tim (who definitely has feelings for Raylan & knows it) especially in regards to Raylan's history with Boyd & like Boyd maybe playing on that a bit but the idea of him also being able to get under Raylan's skin about Tim??

basically I guess I want an endgame Givenson fic in which Boyd is an instigator with all the jealousy miscommunication hurt/comfort romance mutual pining Raylan/Tim goodness?

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Sugar, Spice and a Tempting Vice (1)

VA! MC x OM! Characters

TW: Eh it's more fluffy than smutty I'd say, but minors DNI. Loads of random lore for the sake of immersion. Now to brainstorm the rest of the characters.

INTRO

Tagging: @romaissa @eliciana @your-favorite-god @april-notthemonth69 @ikevampharem @k8tznd8wgz @futureittomain @m-majoko @the-auguer @yurinayumi @i-am-empress-irish @deepazur @rippedbutnotamasterpiece @pomegranateboba @ra1ns70rm @anjodedesgostoeerros @sammywo @annoyingbiscuitathleteland-blog @ourfinalisation @creativecupcake @snowthatareblack @angelofbooksworld

"After a freak accident, you and a group of 5 people get teleported into a fantastical world together. Who will you team up with to try and leave this place? Or will they convince you to stay and have a new life with them here instead? Or will you stumble across the biggest secret that this new world holds...?"

You read out the summary for them at a group dinner at Diavolo's castle. Apparently, it was to celebrate your debut as a VA. They all clapped and bombarded you with questions. You tried to answer as many as you could without any spoilers.

They were supposed to have already started playing the game but the game servers got a little overwhelmed and had to go under maintenance with so many people downloading and making accounts at the same time. So Diavolo hosted this party instead.

"So how many endings can you get with a single character?" Simeon inquired.

"Well on an average there's around 12 endings per character, but there's a varying number of endings depending on the character you choose. I'm not sure I remember for all of them-"

"We just want to know yours." Belphie smirked.

"Oi come on, it makes it sound like you're all just going to play my character, don't do that! The other characters are also incredibly well written!"

The sheepish grins and side glances told you that they were clearly going ignore your last advice.

"Honestly you guys, one of the characters here has a teleportation ability, one can read minds, and another one has insane fighting skills - the only thing you know about my character is that I don't have a name!"

"Omg this means they are definitely building you upto to have the most OP ability of them all!" Levi exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh yes that's usually how it goes in these tropes. The most unassuming character ends up giving you the secret ending." Solomon nodded in agreement.

"Both of you, shush! Just play the game normally okay?! You will get to interact with all the characters anyway until the second phase." You reprimanded, sighing, knowing no one would listen anyway.

Lucifer - Saved by the Belle

"Before Tyla takes us home tomorrow, would you like to spend your last day here with me, Lucifer?"

Lucifer and you worked with loyalty and rigor under Tyla, an old world Sorceror. It was because of you two specifically that Tyla's magic was powerful enough to create a portal back home. Your character was so much like you - it felt like he completed this whole journey of freedom with you, and not just an image on screen.

> "Of course, MC. In fact...I would like to spend the night with you too."

MC blushed on screen, looking away and nodding. "Oh? Well then... I'll look forward to it."

He enjoys this way more than he thought he would. He visits for the last time, all the places you both had been together. The first tavern, the first forest path, the first temporary abode - the HumbleBee Inn.

> "It's late. Should we go back here again, for old times sake?"

"Why not? Maybe they'll accidentally put us in the same room again and get overbooked so we have no other choice. Maybe this time it'll be a bit more...eventful." You said with a sly and knowing smile as you skipped ahead.

Lucifer's knee jerked upwards, hitting the table. Just what kind of lines are these? And what are those expressions? Who else was in there listening to you when you recorded this? The way your voice sounded, Lucifer was convinced you were thinking about someone special. If only you saw the effect you were having on him.

> "I've been holding back all day. Forgive me if I'm too rough."

Lucifer pushes you against the wall, caging your body. You blush in the dark, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. It was driving him insane. He could feel his pants getting tighter at the crotch.

Last time he endured the sexual tension of sharing the bed with you, constantly trying avoid your body even though he was desperate to feel it's warmth. This time there wasn't any reason to deprive himself.

"It's okay...I can take it. Please don't hold back..."

Oh hell, you were about to be the death of him. These...are these really the sounds you'd make in bed? Godamnit you are ruining his mind. He can't relax until he's jerked off now. And it's all your fault.

The next couple days, you notice Lucifer hesitates to keep eye contact with you. In fact, he has a rather visceral reaction every time you simply call his name, standing at his door. Only he knows how badly he wants to pull you into his bed to ravage you - practice your lines with him, why don't you?

Mammon - Stranded Together

"Guess they didn't want either of us huh, Mammon?"

Nah Mammon was mad at this ending. He gets why the group left him behind - he made too many questionable choices like stealing the last reserves of food or money (so you never went hungry), running away from the monsters instead of staying and fighting with the group(with you ofc so you wouldn't be in any danger), finding new shelter and not telling anyone (except you).

> "I'm so sorry...it's because of me that they left you too. You did nothing wrong yet...no this will not stand! I'll go threaten them into taking you too!"

"Mammon wait- no don't! Alright fine I was lying! They didn't leave me...I chose not to go!"

Mammon was stunned. He stared at your character blushing and looking elsewhere while holding onto his arm. His heart beat just a little bit faster.

> "Wait...what? But you wanted to...don't you want to go back and keep looking for your family?!"

"Who knows if the family I was looking for even exists?! But you...you are real. And you are so kind to me, and so great. So..."

Your character moved in closer and closer to him. Mammon leaned back too far from the screen, falling backwards on the floor. He was not ready for what was about to come.

"If I really want a family that bad...I can just make one here...with you. But only if you wanted that too ..."

> "I do! Of course I do! We can both find work and home in the kingdom now that big monsters are all dead! I'll be yours and you'll be mine!"

Mammon pressed it on instinct, not knowing his character was gonna grab yours and pin them to the ground. His face burnt up in excitement seeing you all cornered like this. You blushed and whispered as you leaned in to kiss him.

"Hehe...Mammon...I'm all yours already. But there's others ways you can claim me if you like..."

Your sleeves fell loose, and off your shoulders and his hands began to wander. Mammon almost screamed the house down, grabbing at his sheets, humping his pillows, struggling to look away from the screen. But he couldn't stop.

How the fuck was he supposed to face you tomorrow at the breakfast table?! Yet, Mammon re-played that part at least 30 times. And now every time you whispered to him in class, Mammon had to grip his knees and stop himself from imagining the unholiest things.

Leviathan - Power of Friend-ship??

"We did it! We actually did it, Levi! Can you believe it?! Look even the people are cheering for us!"

Levi punched the air in glee, he definitely must have gotten the best ending right?! That was such an intense combat scene - he almost cried when he thought you got swallowed by the Giant of The Depths, then he watched you burst out of its stomach with all the other victims while he slashed through its neck. You and him - the two underdogs dealt the final blow. At this point, every other character was shipping you two together.

> "Let's go Army of the Third Lord!"

MC cheered and high fived him from the screen, while the rest of the group danced in celebration! Ah MC had already become one of his favourite characters of all time. He had already preordered the action figures, posters and a body pillow (yes the ecchi one).

"Come on Levi, won't you join the celebration feast!? Everyone is calling for you!"

Oh no this was Levi's nightmare. Loud and crowded parties - but it was you asking him to go, what if he missed out on an important secret ending. Just to be safe he chose a neutral option to see what you would prefer.

> ... I'm not too sure.

"Then...would you like to celebrate in private with me? I know a quiet place with a good view."

Levi almost fell out of his seat. It's happening. This is where he unlocks the hidden erotic ending. The blush on your face, the way you held out your hand for him to take - biting down on his knuckles in excitement.

> I'd really prefer that! Thank you!

You smile and nod, leading him by the hand to a nearby pond. The moonlight shimmered on the water, the reflections dancing on your skin as you both lay down next to each other. Levi could feel himself falling for you all over again.

"Look Levi, in the pond! The Gloriees are back! Aren't they beautiful?"

Levi looked at the pond in awe, glowing orange fishes swam around in the waters, jumping in and out. He watched the fishes swim around the hand you put in the water. It was like you and hundred Henries in the water.

> "So beautiful..."

"They are my absolute favorite....they have the same color as your eyes..."

Your hands reach up to touch his face, pulling him closer and Levi feels all his self restraint jump out the window. He tried to grab and kiss you but ended falling in the water with you instead.

"Oh? I didn't know I excite you so much... don't worry, it makes me really happy..."

You rose from the water, laughing and coughing slightly, your entire body now laid bare through the transparent white cloth. And if that wasn't already bad enough, he heard your moans as his character started going at it with you in the lake. You were so professional, so skilled at it...he thought he was prepared for it but he clearly wasn't.

Levi couldn't resist jerking himself off there and then, soiling his computer screen with light ropes of his cum. Now every time you announced you were going to shower, this image just popped into his mind, giving him instant boners at the most unfortunate times. And god forbid he sees you walk out of the shower with your hair wet - he'll have to rush to his room to hide that he's creamed his pants.

Satan - Bridge to Televithyia

"Satan, I will be waiting for you always. I know if fate wills it, I'll definitely get to see you again."

Satan cursed himself for this ending, almost chucking his phone at the wall. His magical powers no longer worked since the portal now connected him to his own world. And while you could use all your magic here, it would lose all power in his world. With both worlds needing help after a long and destructive battle, you both knew it was selfish to abandon your either of them - especially since you two were the only Great Guardians left.

> "I will find a permanent path between our worlds. I swear upon my life, MC."

Damnit this game had better not cut his story short. He was willing to keep going, trying to fix the playthrough so he could make a good ending out of this. Just you wait MC, he's not letting you go. A part of him wanted to go into your room and hug you, just to make sure you're there atleast in real life.

Satan rubbed furiously at his eyes as you waved him goodbye. His total playtime could rival Levi's. After gathering enough resources and magical knowledge - he could finally get started on creating the bridge. But to his pleasant surprise, he only needed to build half of the bridge, because there you were standing on the other - building your own path towards him too.

"Satan...is this a dream? Are you really back? Or is this another magical illusion again...?"

Satan blushed as you rushed to hug him peppering kisses all over his face. He had to physically get away from the game, walk around, and silently scream into his hands before he could calm himself down. Because he knew even better things were yet to come.

> "It's really me, MC. I'm sorry did I make you wait too long? I missed you so terribly...I have so many things to tell you about..."

"Come with me, we've been rebuilding our town. I know a place we can catch up...it's a special place I helped build with you in mind."

Satan follows you, your arms intertwined. You point out places to him - old renovations and newer projects. You tell him about everything that's been happening since he left.

How some endangered species came back to life, how the remaining smaller beasts were tamed and how the cursed were given peace. You stopped suddenly in front of a quaint little cottage.

"Welcome to my humble abode. I'm sorry I didn't prepare a separate room for you...because I thought you wouldn't mind sharing a bed with me..."

He blushes and grips your hand as you open the door to your room. He sees pictures of both of you on the wall and next to the bed.

> "You already built a home...with me in mind. *Smiles* Yet...the bed looks in it hasn't been slept in for a while? Did you get no sleep for the past few days?"

"Actually I haven't slept in the bed yet. I sleep on the sofa - I know it's silly but I really don't like sleeping alone in a place of two..."

Satan grips the phone tighter, as he makes his character push you on the bed. How sweet - you both get to enjoy it together for the first time. He climbs after you, trapping you underneath him.

> "Good thing I'm here now, MC."

He cups your face and trails his hands downwards, undoing some buttons on your clothes. You kiss his palms and tug down his collar.

"It's a pity though...I don't think we'll be using the bed for sleeping tonight afterall..."

He watched the screen, slack-jawed as I heard your sultry voice echoing through his room. He fell back on his pillow, hurriedly attaching his earphones. It proved to be more lethal. He could almost imagine you in his bed right now, kissing your way down his chest, while he fondles your bottom.

When you approached him later asking if he liked your work in the game, he had to cover half his face to hide the redness. He couldn't possibly tell you that he had downloaded snippets of all your moans and saved them to a secret folder. Or that he listened to them quite frequently.

[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

[thr0wnawayy]

Dissecting the Jaku General Hospital Disaster and MHA's failures with complexity

Ahhh, The Jaku Hospital Raid. The point where MHA's story went from it's ever increasing decline to throwing itself right off a cliff.

(boooring)

I think most can agree this event was a travesty writing/plot wise, but how about all of those in regards to MHA's setting. Well that's what I'd like to discuss.

Point 1: A Goal Without a Plan is a Dream

The plan summed up is "fuck around and find out".

The heroes came in to uncharted enemy territory relying soley on brute force, broke a bunch of equipment that did God knows what (for all they knew, it could have been lethal*).

Then they proceed to shoot themselves in the foot by getting too cocky, despite knowing that Shigaraki was undergoing some sort of procedure. X-less shoots a machine that for all he knew could have been a bomb or generator. Why?, because he had a "bad feeling".

* I'm talking potential toxic fumes, gas leaks, accidental combustion, etc

Now let's focus on the evacuation effort...

Oh.

Oh FUCK!

That's it!?. A couple hundred dozen heroes and a select handful of first and third year's.

One of whom, mind you, is strictly combat oriented by the (extremely niche) capabilities of his quirk. What can Bakugo actually do here?, in the worst case scenario (being Shigaraki's awakening) he's limited to one arm and two legs (maybe his mouth?). That will further drag him down due to his quirk relying on both hands to be viable.

And we see this!

Moving along.

Another thing they didn't count on was outside help. The moment Gigantomechia arrives, it throws another curve ball. With the only reason for their survival being Dues-Ex-Machina Best "Dirty laundry" Jeanist.

They failed in the end anyways because a large portion of the LOV+ the MLA escaped.

Point 2: Organisms Used for Nefarious Means

I will keep this section brief

Nomu are in my opinion one of the biggest wastes of potential MHA produced. Going from being unnatural goliaths capable of striking dread into the hearts of even the long standing No1 Hero, to being undead cannonfodder that heroes can beat up so the audience doesn't question their ethics or (lack of) morality.

It is a sheer miracle that the Nomu didn't leave the heroes worse for wear. This is again more due to Hori relying too heavily on "convince" and not enough on in-world solutions, but I digress.

The Nomu should have been the biggest threat and again, the heroes failed to account for this. They had no way of knowing, sure.

But they should have accounted this early on. What about the civilians, evacuating them isn't enough as seen in Hosu. I mean they were walking into a lab and they had dealt with Nomu facilties before (Kamino)

Were there inpatients during the raid? and if so were they evacuated or did the Heroes say "fuck it." Given what eas allowed at Central Hospital I wouldn't put it past them.

Point 3: A civilians point of view.

I want you to imagine for a moment: You're a civilian and your whole life, you've been told how wonderful heroes are and how they'll always be there, after all they're heroes.

Sure, they may dictate what quirks are "in" and maaaybe they have a tad to much influence over your average person but they're licensed and your not.

Why question it?

Then one day everyone and everything you've known is just blown away. Heroes barge into your house and begin scrambling to get you and your family out of your house before something happens, they dont tell you what.

It is a sloppy and hurried effort, your life's belongings tucked into a small carryon if you're lucky and some plastic bags if you're not. They tell you it's probably only temporary and you'll be back to normal shortly.

Then the nearby Hospital blows up. You and your family can only watch as heroes flee from the scene, some rising into the sky, others sprinting like hell. You barely make it out alive yourselves.

Within minutes everything is gone and it's not until the fightings iver that you hear it. You hear people (you think it's your neighbors) pleading in pain underneath the rubble, a little girl can be heard sobbing somewhere in the torn landscape.

Everything's been torn upside down.

And the heroes, the poeple you've depended on your whole life...

They quit. They say they need to find another line of work.

Is that what you are to them!?. Just another line of work, a number on a tally!?.

Worse still. The NUMBER ONE HERO has just been exposed by his presumed to be dead son for being a child beating, wife trafficking, eugenist with an implication that some, if not all of his children were made against the mother's will.

The current Number 2 murdered a man for the "greater good" (what even is "good" anymore).

The people who were supposed to protect you are quitting in droves, leaving vast portions of city to fall to villains and are refusing to take any responsibility for their negligence and poor planning that made an already bad situation worse.

Oh, also the single most dangerous villain in history has broken out of Tartarus and multiple prisons have been destroyed leading to further destruction.

This is then followed by a "blackout" period. Heroes give zero insight into what they're doing or what their plan is. Mutant discrimination is running wild, support gear is flooding the streets and any protests are being silenced.

So I'll ask you again, how do you react?.

Point 4: Hubris

Over all the entire operation was a complete and utter failure. I see alot of people giving the civilians flack for their strong reactions, but honestly I can't blame 'em.

The issue is Hori paints the narrative to minimize the damage towards the heroes. (For example he characterizes one of Enji's critics as a snobby shut-in surrounded by trash bags). We only ever see the worst aspects of the civilians because Hori has consistently failed to delve into anything beyond surface level emotion/themes.

Eri is a good example, she should be a very different character. She should be allowed to show her trauma and all the "ugly" emotions and baggage that come with that, we as the audience should see the lasting impact being killed repeatedly has had on her.

For example, Eri should be very adverse to touch. A problem that started with her father and was worsened by Kai.

She should be expressing her trauma through play (think reenacting her "surgeries" on dolls)

She should be distrustful and even cold (especially after Mirio abadoned her).

Her inability to smile might stem from a lack of viewing her self as equal to others, viewing herself as more of an object than human being.

But do we ever see this. No.

Because Hori doesn't let us. He simply as a writer, cannot appropriately handle or even seem to grasp complexity and every part of the story suffers because of it.

With the civilians it's no different and as a result Hori whether intentionally or not, twists the narrative to make them seem unreasonable.

This doesn't help when from what we've seen a shocking amount of MHA's main cast are drenched in hypocrisy. The only experiences we've had with the civilian population is through Shigaraki's backstory (bad) Toga's parents (very bad).

It's just not a good look.

Conclusion:

Over-all, the Raid and by extention the war was a mess in every aspect and I personally think the story would have been better off doing something else.

The time wasted here could have gone to any number of things (how about fleshing out the non existant world building) but I honestly believe that it would have been subpar regardless, it's all to apparent Hori had no idea where he wanted the story to go. That can be seen as far back as everything post MVA.

Just, what a mess.

[hybbart]

Hi! I absolutely adore your work, I was wondering if you have any advice on getting your ideas and au's out there? Sometimes it feels like no matter how much you post/try to connect with others it's impossible for any posts to break out of the little tumblr interaction bubble

Well, I'm not really the person to ask this, cause any popularity I have at any point is almost entirely dependant on my current hyperfixation, and I'm not one to care much about it.

Mostly I have a good enough appealing and safe art style and good enough sense of humour that's easy for people to like even if they don't especially care about the content, and draw often enough that I don't get forgotten.

My current stuff is fanworks, which have a built in audience, so you're always going to be seen as long as you tag it properly. Especially if you're actively participating in the fandom. I also have the benefit of being obsessed with a rather popular duo like ranchers.

Basically, the notes I get are very predictable and temporary, and not really based on any intentional work. I'm good enough for casual followers to pay attention to as long as it's stuff they recognize. I'd say like 80% of my notes are from casual engagement who aren't really going to do much besides a like and maybe reblog just because they were told they have to reblog artists or they're using the site wrong.

I guess what I mean to say is, having those notes is nice and appreciated but at the end of the day I also have a pretty small little bubble. There's just a wall of passers-by around it making it seem bigger than it actually is. It very quickly dissipates when I draw anything out of the ordinary that I can't put a bunch of popular tags on. So, I'm not really the person to ask about that sort of thing.

That said, I guess all that might sound a bit cynical to most people even though it isn't meant to be, so I guess some actual tips might be in order.

Skill. Art's about communication and expression, which like anything is better done with a larger toolkit and knowledge. And also especially casual engagement just enjoys things of higher quality. Raw ideas aren't usually enough to get people to understand or care unless they care about you. To be blunt, sometimes people just aren't good enough or are too niche for a general audience. That's nothing to be self-conscious or miserable about, it's just something you have to be self-aware about enough to accept that you're not gonna attract people who aren't invested in you. If that's something you want to change by becoming better then you have to intentionally do so, talent is a lie.

Passion. It's obvious when your heart isn't in it regardless of skill level because art is about communication. And passion's what drives us to do better, it's hard to develop and spend time on work you don't really want to do. If you're enthusiastic other people will be more likely to join you in your enthusiasm. If you don't care or are burnt out people will notice. If you're doing things just to get attention people will notice. You have to want to create what you're creating.

Good ideas. To be blunt a good idea that interests people is just going to be more popular than a bad one that doesn't. Sometimes something that interests you doesn't interest a lot of other people, that's why you gotta make peace with caring more about quality interaction over quantity, and being more self-aware.

Making friends. Finding people who are as enthusiastic as you about something is going to go a long way, and people who aren't as enthusiastic are more likely to become enthusiastic or support you if you're friends and you can annoy them in their DMs with 3 hour tangents about your favourite thing. Honestly once you have someone you can do this to you stop caring about the other stuff. Art's about communication, like I said. Participating in events is a great way to make friends, but so is just reaching out to people you like.

Being friendly. This one's pretty simple. If you're a dick people aren't going to take the time to get invested in your project even if it interests them.

Being accessible. This covers anything from literal accessibility to having clean directories and tags, to anchoring/themed extra engagement. 'Do you have any questions about [character]' is going to get more engagement than 'feel free to ask me anything about my au' even if there's less questions to ask because it's less broad and puts less of a burden on the asker to come up with a prompt. It's easier to be broader later on when you have already put out a lot of information and people are more invested.

Being concise: Basically very few people are going to read this goliath of a post compared to a short, information dense, clear post. When I post art I try to avoid too much text, because I want the art to be the focus of the post. When I post writing I put it under a cut so it doesn't consume someone's dash and write something clearer above. The reason writing is going to get less engagement is because it takes more time and effort to engage with than a picture. People who aren't already invested aren't going to sift through 10 paragraphs of loose info. This goes for art, too. One piece is going to catch the eye easier than 10 unrelated sketches or a long form comic. This doesn't mean don't make this content, but be smarter about how you present it to take into account how it engages people.

Tagging things. Don't abuse tags or put irrelevant tags, but finding out what tags are frequented that apply to your art helps. There is definitely still an inconsistent limit of tags that tumblr's search actually pays attention to, so put the most important ones first. I usually put warnings first and foremost and put personal categorization tags last. Being consistent with tags lets people find stuff on your blog easier and makes you show up in a search more frequently, so you're easier to find for people who use tumblr in different ways.

Time of day. This one's finicky to figure out and can change but if you post when there's more people online... well, more people are likely to see it. Apparently other people follow like hundreds or even thousands of blogs and don't even look at everything on their dash, so for those types of people posts might as well not exist unless it's at the top of their dash. This also helps when popping up in more popular tags' most recent when people are actually looking them up. This doesn't affect posts as much as people think but it does enough to be visible. I frequently post things at like 1 am when no one's on so it doesn't get notes until later on and through notifications.

anyways, i hope something in there helps. If not, well... crap.

[animatedjen]

What's some stuff you're really hoping to see in Jedi 3 (either narratively or gameplay wise)?

Oh I'm so glad you asked this 🙌 Because I have THOUGHTS.

Gonna put everything under the cut so this doesn't clog up the feed with a wall of text (whoops.) Some of these ideas I hope to create concept art for, after I replace/fix my very cranky thirteen-year-old tablet. Anyway let’s start with gameplay!

Gameplay!

Maintaining Cal's abilities: Survivor handled this beautifully by keeping many of the skills learned in Fallen Order, instead of undoing Cal's growth from the first game. I think it'll be trickier to keep this momentum into Jedi 3 (the skill tree has gotten so large!) but story reasons could push Cal towards new types of abilities instead of bloating the current options.

More synergy between the lightsaber stances: I like all the stances in Survivor and it'd be A) disappointing to lose any of them, but B) overwhelming to add MORE combat styles. Being able to flow between the stances more fluidly would be fun though, with specific combos unlocked depending on which two are active together. Now if Merrin lets Cal borrow her knife-staff and he puts his lightsaber on the end... MAGICK SABER PIKE GO.

New or adapted movement mechanics: Maybe the ascension cable is replaced with a force ability (Force Ascend or Force Leap for an extra vertical boost?) or is "upgraded" to connect between two anchors, letting Cal create his own temporary ziplines.

Replayable missions: This could be explained in-game with a Force Tear or Cal's own interactive echoes. But I'd love the option to experience story missions and boss fights again post-game.

Customization!

This is a bonus section because Merrin should get new outfits. Haven't decided how to make it part of gameplay yet, stay tuned.

Cal's cosmetics in Survivor are mostly cool, some just funny, but overall a huge improvement from Fallen Order (yes, even though we miss all the poncho designs). For Jedi 3 I'd love to see more story-centric cosmetics that tie into the communities and people Cal has met along his journey. A Legacy outfit (incorporating pieces from his three Jedi masters), an Anchorite-inspired outfit (with arm tattoos), a bounty hunter outfit (the prize after defeating the Brood), etc. Maybe a Bogling outfit? No not made from Boglings; it looks like a Bogling. Hang on lemme fix my tablet—

Narrative + Gameplay!

Explore Tanalorr: Right now this sparkly, strong-in-the-Force, temple-carved planet is a huge mystery box for Jedi 3. There's a few directions it could go - more High Republic history, another civilization (the Nihil? someone new?) lurking in the shadows, or Force-related secrets hiding below the surface. Each Jedi game has followed Cal's exploration of an ancient culture, and I think Tanalorr can be a focal point in that journey.

Defeat Sorc Tormo and the Haxion Brood: I mentioned this in an ask earlier this week, but I so want a resolution to this fight against the Brood. Especially since roaming bounty hunters would threaten the Hidden Path. Maybe Cal breaks back into Ordo Eris, or hunts down Sorc Tormo on another planet. Maybe there's a Force-only stealth section?? Maybe a big multi-wave boss fight? Maybe Caij is there??? (no she doesn't get an invite to Tanalorr)

Dark Side Force Slow: The fact that Cal's Force Slow ability kept its red-stained aura, even in the Survivor post-game, is great. I love lasting consequences and ludonarrative harmony, yes yes yes. Really hope this isn't fully resolved by the start of Jedi 3 (potential timeskip makes it tricky but whatever) and the ability receives some sort of healing through Cal finding his way out of the darkness.

Narrative!

Timeskip?: I vote no, but I think Jedi 3 will vote yes, likely to age up Kata and allow Tanalorr to be more developed. But that also means Cal and the Mantis Crew goes through character development without us (boo) or remains emotionally stunted until we get there (also boo?). I'm more comfortable with the five year gap between FO and Survivor than I used to be though, despite "missing out" on big character moments, so maybe it'll be okay. Maybe. 👀

The Hidden Path builds a home on Tanalorr: This works until it doesn't, whether from outside pressure or the threat of a spy within. I don't think Bode's fears should necessarily be validated, but I do think the risk will keep Cal on edge and hurt his ability to trust (both others and himself.) It'll drive decisions that strain his relationships and be a source of conflict for part of the game.

The Mantis gets semi-retired and then reinstated: I just love the mental picture of the Mantis parked somewhere cozy and decorated with cloth and lights and a hideout for Kata. It's become too small and high profile to use for gathering the Path, but when the plot gets going, they're gonna need her back in action.

Three main antagonists: The Empire, an unrelated third-party with their own goals (Nihil or someone else), and Cal's own demons. The first two drive the external conflict, the third drives Cal's inner conflict and the story's themes. More on that at the end.

A memorial garden: It's designed by Pili and filled with native Tanalorrian plants and trees, from which the Anchorites hang cords and windchimes and bits of colored glass. Cere's saber was buried beneath the largest tree. Cal plays her hallikset here when he's too troubled to meditate. If we want to be mean, this place gets damaged during a battle in Act 3. If we want to be less mean, this is the place that doesn't get damaged during a battle.

Kata has some sort of student-teacher relationship with Cal: I'm torn on her being Force sensitive: this is a story about Jedi and "guide her through the darkness" is pretty telling given Cal's own darkness at the end of Survivor. But Cal helping Kata (and Kata helping Cal) can happen regardless of her Force sensitivity - it would just look different. This is a soft answer because I'm still exploring ideas around it BUT admittedly the angst levels would be higher if she is sensitive.

A battle against the shadow self: Look this one is cliche. I don't care. I want a huge cavern in the depths of Tanalorr where Cal gets to fight a dark version of himself that switches between all his former enemies. If we're making a video game here let's physically beat up our darkness. Let's have it not work. Let's bring Cal to rock bottom to remind him that he is more than his darkness and he doesn't have to do this alone. Let's go back to that same fight later and then we finally win.

There's more to explore story-wise and I will eventually, but I'm overall not concerned about Jedi 3's narrative. Respawn has been very intentional with their writing of Cal Kestis and the Jedi series so far (despite some last minute changes to Survivor) and I love this character and this story because of all the great work they've created. I really hope they finish this journey the way they want to. That being said—

How should Jedi 3 end? Should Cal die?

No: I'll argue Cal dying at the end of the trilogy completely undermines the entire lesson of Survivor.

Cal wouldn't stop fighting the Empire: The Cal we meet at the beginning of Survivor definitely wouldn't. That Cal also watched countless friends die to that same fight and saw two different Jedi fall to their passions-turned-obsessions that led them to the dark side. He may wrestle with remnant obligation or a bitter apathy, but he's definitely not as single-minded as he was before.

Cal would sacrifice himself to save the Path: Yeah, he probably would. Cere did exactly that during the Siege of Jedha when all else failed. But maybe the Path could be protected without Cal needing to be a Weapon - a lesson Cere also wanted him to learn.

Another way: I think the Koboh abyss (that separates Tanalorr from the rest of the galaxy) could be destroyed. I don't know if Cal would choose to destroy it, but I think the Empire would: if they can't reach Tanalorr it's the next best thing.

Now Cal has to make a choice: Leave (continuing the fight alone) or Stay (shepherding the Path for an unknown future.) It doesn't mean they never find a way back to the known galaxy, but it'll take time. Enough time for a New Hope to appear.

Whatever your opinion of the Sequel Trilogy, the line: "That’s how we’re gonna win. Not fighting what we hate. Saving what we love." is not only a complete thesis of Star Wars, but fits really well with Cal's journey. He's become very good at fighting. He wants to save everyone in Fallen Order, and he can't. He still wants to save everyone in Survivor, and they refuse him. His Fight has made a difference (again, Cere says as much) but it's clear this can't be Cal's final answer.

Choosing to protect the Path, choosing to trust the Force, choosing a home. That's what he's been fighting for. I love Cal Kestis because he isn't the chosen one and he isn't going to save the galaxy. But for his family and his community, he saved their galaxy. It's cheesy but I don't care, and you know Greez and BD would agree with me.

-

Okay this got so, so much longer than I expected. Bonus points if you made it all the way down here haha. I've had a weird assortment of concepts and ideas over the past year but never wrote them down in one place - until now. I've said it before but part of my hyperfixation with the Jedi series is because it isn't finished yet and Survivor ends on such a gut-wrenching cliffhanger. Whatever happens to this series, I'm slowly finding some sort of catharsis through all the edits and photomode shots and half-baked concepts. Thanks for tagging along ✌️

[ilguna]

Before I get in on the fun, I'd like to say 1. the theme of your celebration is flawless an 2. You deserve 3k and so much more, congrats!!

Now if it's not too much to ask I'd love to request a Finnick one, with a platonic reader where they're each others favorite person since their young age. Instead Annie the Capitol decides to take reader and try to get infos out of her that could be used against the 'rebels'. When the rescue mission takes place, they're capable to free her as well but she's not stable at all (not mentally though). Every detail as well as the ending is up to you. Thank you!

(I hope I didn't go against your rules with this one)

If you decide not to write this, not a problem at all, love all your works either way.<3

☼ see you again (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, needle, torture, blood mention.

wc; 2k

—

When Finnick finds out that you let the Capitol torture you in order to keep some information from them about the rebels, you think that he’ll kill you himself. Especially since you promised him that you wouldn’t let it get to this point, in the chance that you weren’t able to get rescued.

It wasn’t supposed to be a possibility, though. 

The day of the reaping, Finnick stopped you before the two of you were meant to be on the stage in front of the Justice Building. He took your hands, squeezed them, and said, “Mags is going to volunteer, and you are not going to do anything about it.”

It was an order, and if it weren’t for his tone and the look on his face, you would’ve thought he was joking to some degree. He watched the way your mouth opened, and then shut. What could you say to that?

“She wants to protect you and Annie.” He clarified, thumbs rubbing over the back of your hands. “This is her sacrifice. Librae has agreed to be the female mentor, too. I want you to stay here, and be safe.”

“When have I ever purposely put myself into danger?” You’d asked him. 

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” He pressed his lips together. “Once we get taken out of the arena, we’ll come for you. And on the chance we can’t, you do whatever you have to do to stay alive.”

At the time, it seemed ridiculous that he felt the need to tell you this. Obviously, you would do whatever it takes to get back to him. You can’t live without Finnick, and he can’t go more than a few hours at a time without checking in on you. He’s your best friend, and he has been your entire life.

It took a lot of convincing from Mags to get him behind the idea of keeping you in District Four, where you were going to be safe. Rather than in an arena with a bunch of victors that would stop at nothing to go home to their own families. He didn’t like the thought of separating the two of you so he could go into the Quarter Quell.

Once she got it into his head that it was going to be a temporary problem that would be fixed as soon as the arena went down, he could support the idea… a little. That didn’t mean he liked it.

Still, he promised that it wouldn’t be long, and you promised that you’d save yourself at every cost. It’s funny how you both have become liars without ever intending to. 

It would be easier to tell the Capitol what they want to know now, considering that half of the plans have already been executed. If it weren’t for the fact that you know every detail there could possibly be to know. If you let one thing slip, the doctors will be all over you, and they won’t stop until they’re sure they’ve milked you dry.

It won’t be that different from what they’re doing at the moment. They’ve been extremely persistent, up until today. You’re not sure what made them stop, but the schedule they had was specific and well thought out. They’d come by every hour of the day to do something to you. Whether it be questioning, injections or plain torture, they would not leave the room.

You’ve been thinking that they’re resetting. Maybe they’re trying to give you a false sense of security by letting you assume that you’re safe and they’re not going to come back. And then later, when you’re sleeping, they’ll come by with worse instruments than they had before.

You won’t crack.

The details you know about the rebellion could make or break it. The tactics on how District Four were going to interrupt and fight back against the Peacekeepers are delicate. In order to spread it to the other districts to make them successful, they selected a few trained individuals to send beyond the fences as a messenger. 

The combined information between you and Finnick about the Capitol Officials could tear their image and plant doubt in the citizen’s minds. If they can’t trust the important people to protect them, then who's to say they’re any better than the rebels? They can’t. It could convince them to switch sides from the inside.

You know all the spies from inside of the Capitol, giving out their names could be catastrophic. You know all the places the rebels were planning on targeting and how that would help them later on. Hell, if you tell the doctors that you know their own battle strategies and have passed it onto District Thirteen, they might just slaughter you on the spot.

So, while you could tell Finnick that you’d save yourself first, you’d never actually do it, it’s an impossible task. If you did, it’ll cost thousands of people their lives and their freedom. As opposed to just you, acting as a sacrifice, knowing full well that you’re circling the drain and it’s only a matter of time.

You can’t go yet, you have to see Finnick one more time.

The lights suddenly flicker. Your face twists, dragging your eyes from the white tile to the ceiling. It’s bright, hard to look at for more than a couple seconds. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the Capitol’s power malfunction before.

You place your head back on the pillow, and watch in stunned silence as the lights flicker, struggling to stay on, before they fail altogether. The room falls into darkness, the hum of electricity gone. You stare into the black, hands reaching for the bed railing, hearing the metal of your handcuffs clink against it.

A few feet away, the door to your room unlocks.

Your breathing picks up, bracing yourself for anyone that might come in. This is it, the trick that they’ve been winding up to play on you. Why else would the lights go out? Now you can’t see them coming.

You’re not sure how long you sit there for, waiting for them to open the door and come out of the blue. It’s got to be more than an hour, and by then, you’ve calmed down a bit. It’s not going to be any different from the last hundred times. You can hold on.

The sound of boots on tile makes you sit up, beams of light shining through your door’s window, only to be taken away. There’s hushed voices, as if they’re afraid of being too loud to attract attention. You watch as the light returns, a shadow of a figure appearing in front of the window, before your door slowly begins to open.

You swallow thickly.

You’re blinded instantly by the beams of light. You go to raise your hand to block your eyes, the cuffs digging harshly into your raw wounds. You have to turn your head away, cheek pressed against your chest.

“We’ve got one!” A man shouts.

The brightness isn’t directly pointed at you anymore, so you’re able to open your eyes to see what’s happening. The room has become crowded, with several people dressed in military gear holding guns. You stare at them wordlessly, not knowing whether or not this is a trap.

Another one comes to the doorway, the barrel pointed toward the floor. “(Y/n) (L/n)?” 

Your eyebrows twitch. “Yes?”

He nods, “Let’s get her uncuffed and ready to be transported to the hovercraft. (Y/n), do you know where the other victors are being kept?”

You shake your head slightly. “No, they could be anywhere in this building.”

He doesn’t say anything, leaving the room. The ones that are left come to try and get you free, but every time they adjust the cuffs for better leverage, you begin to bleed again. The cuts and sores that litter your skin are easy bleeders. It’s because they haven’t been allowed to heal.

They realize this quickly, trying to be gentle. You have to tell them that what they’re doing doesn’t even compare to the amount of pain you’re put in each time you have to move. This makes them stop altogether.

“Are you able to walk?”

“Barely.” You murmur, “I can’t do it for long periods of time.”

“Gale, will you stay with her while we—?”

“Yes.”

They leave the room, but they don’t go very far. With neither of you talking, you can hear every word they say out there. You look like shit, you’re covered in wet and dried blood alike. And you should be dead by now.

“Is he safe?” Your voice is scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is FInnick safe?”

“Yes, he’s in District Thirteen.” Gale tells you.

You hum, sitting back. That’s all you’ve wanted to hear since the feed showing the Quarter Quell went down. They cut the districts off right around the time Katniss shot the arrow into the forcefield. You didn’t see anyone get rescued from there, so you thought that they were here with you, in the Capitol.

“I want to see him again.” You say. “That’s all I want.”

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything back, as the others come into the room. You watch as they pull out a collapsible stretcher. You grind your teeth, imagining all the pain you’re about to be in.

—

“Just hold on, (Y/n).” The nurse tells you, prodding at your elbow. “We’ve got to find a vein.”

You throw your head back against the pillow as she presses her thumb into the skin, tears appearing at the corners of your eyes. You thought that the journey getting here was unbearable, you didn’t think you’d have a team of doctors waiting to help you in District Thirteen.

They’re already talking to you about taking skin and blood samples to run tests. They think that surgery might be a good idea for you, and the physical therapy you’re going to need to be able to walk properly again. It’s like a merry-go-round that you can’t get off of.

First it was causing damage, and now it’s trying to fix it.

“Where’s Finnick?” You groan out between your teeth. “I want Finnick.”

“He’s on his way, I need you to sit still.” She tells you. 

“It hurts.” You cry, tears running down the sides of your cheeks. “I can’t—”

“Can we get morphling, please?” The nurse calls, “We’re going to do everything we can right now to make you feel comfortable, (Y/n). Until then, we need you to relax.”

The idea of relaxing is so ridiculous that you can’t help the pained laughter that bubbles out of you. It’s not funny for long, it dissolves into sobs that aches your chest and makes it difficult for you to breathe. For a second, you think that it’d be easier if you were dead.

“(Y/n)!” A voice shouts.

Your eyes pop open as you fly into an upward position to see who the voice belongs to. It’s coming from the other end of the room, but you’re not able to see with the nurse being in the way. The needle is pushed through your skin, she lets out a sigh of relief and moves to the side.

On the other side of the room, you see him. You see Finnick, his bronze hair tangled at the top of his head, dressed in the same grey jumpsuit that everyone but the medical staff is wearing. 

“Finnick!” You shout.

He begins to run to you, arms out in your direction. The nurse has to jerk in front of him at the last second. “Carefully. Her condition is delicate.”

She moves out of the way, Finnick takes your hand in his, squeezing tightly. The tears begin to blur your eyes again, bottom lip trembling. 

“What did they do to you?” He whispers.

“I couldn’t tell them the truth.” You say. “I couldn’t ruin it for the rebels.”

“So you would let them kill you?” 

“No, not if it meant I would never see you again.” You look away. “But I can’t be the reason why more children go inside of an arena.”

“You wouldn’t have been.”

You look him in the eyes again. “I couldn’t take that chance.”

—

this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on October 31st, at midnight!!

+ thank you anon!!

[secretobsessionstuff]

Okay - here's a Riley request! Is he still emetophobic? I know he's been trying to overcome it, at least with respect to being able to take care of Madix, and I'd love to see Madix motion sick or something similar where the illness is temporary and not contagious, and Riley deciding that he really wants to sit with him through the entire episode, taking care of him. And he's just holding it together and holding down his anxiety until the end, and he's both proud of himself but also emotionally drained from keeping his emotions in check for so long. So hopefully this works with where they are right now - thank you!

Thank you Lis! This was totally inspiring! It did take me a long time to get the motivation to post it though lol. I wrote this like a day after you sent the idea!

--------------------

“Do you think we’ll see a real polar bear on this trip?” Riley asked excitedly as he boarded the train with a misleading name. Madix chuckled and followed along behind his giddy boyfriend, shaking his head. 

The Polar Bear Express—though unlikely to show passengers a glimpse of the white-furred animal—was still a wonder to experience especially during Christmas time. The evergreens sparkled with frost and the sky wore the colours of crystals. Unfortunately, Christmas was also the busiest time, meaning their tickets placed them in one of the last train cars. In hindsight, Riley should have known that the train ride through Northern Ontario held the risk of upsetting his boyfriend’s delicate constitution when it came to travel. 

Madix had successfully gotten sick from cars, planes, and boats; why not add a fourth mode of transportation. Neither he nor Riley thought to consider the consequences. They heard about a romantic Christmas train ride and jumped on board.  

Riley squeezed past other passengers to get to their seats. “I call the window seat!” He planted himself happily in the blue velvet-lined chair. The interior of the car was simple and spacious. It dared not distract from the beauty of nature. “Maybe we can switch on the way back.” 

The train began with a lurch, reminding the boys of the coffee they drank to wake themselves up that morning. Beginning at 8am, the ride took them past mountains and frozen waterfalls, ending where they began at 8pm that night. 

“We’ll probably see moose,” Madix remarked, taking the pamphlet from the pocket of the seat in front of him. There was plenty of leg room, though he still chose to press his knee against Riley’s thigh. All morning, Riley had not let go of his hand. They were stuck together like packing snow. 

The boys shrugged off their jackets and settled in. For the first two hours, they were content to look out the large window. The landscape was crisp and sharp, that was until everything began to blur together. The icy blues melted into a monotone white as the locomotive sped by. 

Their bodies swayed lightly from the movement. Riley found the train relaxing. He liked its gentle hum, the faint clicking sounds of the wheels on the track, and the soft rocking as they traversed the snowy area. They still hadn’t seen a moose, but he kept his eyes locked on the outdoors. 

Madix could not say he felt the same. The train’s friendly interior lulled him into a false sense of safety. But soon he had no trouble remembering that he was inside a giant, chugging, metal box. Perhaps a moose or a beaver did in fact wave to them, but he would never know. Everything became a blur. His eyes could not keep up with the speeding sights. He swallowed a bout of nausea and closed his eyes. 

Riley perked up when they came upon a flowing river. The water looked frigid, but pleasant enough apparently for the black bear that stood with all four paws in the stream. It wasn’t white, but it was still a freakin bear! He tapped Madix’s arm. “Babe, look, look! A bear! Did you see it?” He looked back at Madix with a massive smile. 

Madix jumped out of his queasy daze. He peeled his eyes open, squinting from the light that bounced off the snow. “Mmh?” he mumbled. He was startled just fast enough to see a micro expression of disappointment on Riley’s face. 

“A bear…it���s gone now.” Riley pouted. “Were you sleeping?” 

Madix sat up straighter and blinked hard. “No, I just had to close my eyes for a second.” The lump in his throat told him that he wasn’t going to be able to hide this. His palms were clammy, and his head ached. The breakfast he’d eaten hours ago churned in his belly. “I’m feeling a bit nauseous.”

“Oh.” Riley took his hand off his boyfriend’s arm and pressed himself up against the window. 

Madix swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, honey.” 

“N—No, no don’t be,” Riley stuttered. He brushed a strand of Madix’s hair behind his ear. “You’re pale. What can I do?” 

“Nothing. I’ll probably go find an empty chair and wait it out.” 

Riley hated that answer. Nothing. There was nothing he could do? And Madix’s plan was to weather out the nausea alone? He couldn’t let this happen again. After all he had done for Madix in his time of need, this was easy, right? 

He grabbed Madix’s hand before he could leave their seats. “No, stay. Please. It’ll be okay. I want to help.” 

“Are you sure?” Madix scanned Riley’s expression, looking for cracks. “Because that was bullshit about waiting it out.” He exhaled shakily. “I really think I’m gonna be sick.” 

As if to test Riley’s resolve, Madix burped into his hand. He let out a groan and folded in on himself. He swore he could feel the wind rocking the train car, threatening to push it off the tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t even open them when he felt Riley’s hand on his back. 

“I’m staying right here.” 

Madix hiccupped, causing his shoulders to jolt. “Ugh…you don’t have to, love.” 

“Hush now,” Riley said firmly. He reached into the seat pocket to grab a bag. “Look, they even provided a barf bag for just such an occasion.” 

Madix chuckled and took the bag from his boyfriend. He opened it, making the loudest crinkling noises that let all the other passengers know he was sick. “This is not the scenic trip you were hoping to have.” 

“Maybe not, but at least I’m by your side.” 

“Is your plan to be so cheesy that I throw up immediately and get this over with?” 

“Is it working?” Riley regretted his reply when Madix belched wetly into the bag. Strings of saliva dripped from his open mouth. “Shit, baby.” 

“I’m okay.” Madix did not look up from the depths of the hellish barf bag. “Just keep talking. I think it’ll help us both.” 

Riley’s heart chugged in his chest, like a train struggling up a mountain side. “Oh gosh, Mads. I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “This is like when you ask me to talk dirty and I say something stupid about underwear.” 

Madix would have laughed at the specific memory that Riley was referring to, but his tongue was flooded with bile. He gagged and filled the bag with stringy ropes of vomit. The train car spun in his peripheral vision, but Riley’s voice remained constant and strong. 

“Oh dear, babe.” Riley rubbed his boyfriend’s back, unaware of the bite force he exerted on his teeth or the bouncing of his leg. “Deer! I hope we see some of those on this trip. Once you stop puking, of course. I can’t believe you missed the fucking bear. Isn’t your family from the east coast? You’re supposed to have fishermen blood in your veins. What is this motion sickness nonsense? I think you’re faking it.” 

A gush of sour vomit surged past Madix’s lips. This wasn’t so bad, he thought. Riley could be a comedian. He could almost enjoy the senseless drabble if it wasn’t for the gut churning sensation in his belly. 

“Speaking of underwear!” Riley said, still in his hushed whisper. This wasn’t so bad, he thought. Madix was looking better with every heave. “I wore the ones with otters on them today. Seemed like the closest thing to polar bears. Except, they’re wearing astronaut suits because, you know, otter space.”

Finally, Madix could give him a real laugh. The vomiting tapered off. He sniffled and chuckled at the same time, forcing him to clear his throat and wipe the tears from his eyes. “God, Ry. I needed that.” 

“Yeah, that was a lot of puke. Good job.” 

“No, I mean you.” Madix crumpled the top of the bag in his hands to keep the contents inside. “Thanks for making me feel better. You did a good job as well.” 

One of the train workers came by with a garbage bin for Madix to toss the used bag. They gave him water and tissues. His eyes were teary from vomiting, but he looked much better than before.

Riley was only just coming down from the adrenaline rush. His hands were shaking, and a cold sweat was drying beneath his shirt. He slumped back in the chair and let out a wavering exhale. “I think it’s my turn to close my eyes for a second.” 

“Yes, honey, rest,” Madix said softly. “You did good.” 

They fell asleep with their bodies falling onto one another. Madix’s head found the spot between Riley’s ear and collar bone, and Riley’s head came to rest on top. 

[i-heart-hxh]

So I can see Gon wanting to reunite with Killua but feeling too guilty to initiate the reunion. As for Killua, as much as I'd love to believe he wants to be with Gon again, a part of me feels like he's letting go of their promise to stay together in exchange for staying with Alluka because she needs him more. We as the audience know it's temporary, but do you think Killua feels the same way? Maybe I've read too many fics of him trying to move on and leave his feelings for Gon behind (literally every reunion fic is Killua actively avoiding Gon and Gon has to go out of his way to find him and make up it's sad)

Hi!

First off, in canon I think it's likely they'll end up reuniting as a result of the plot bringing them back together, so in that case I don't think either of them will have to initiate it, necessarily, or if one of them does it'll be because they have a good reason to.

Putting that aside, I agree that Gon likely let Killua go with the idea that Killua will get to decide when they reunite (because Killua was likely the one who initiated the separation/had more reasons to separate and because of Gon's guilt about what happened between them), and that Killua may try to push himself to move on from his strong attachment to Gon. I think he'll fail at that over the longer term, though, especially once he heals from what happened a little more and finds pushing those feelings away isn't as simple as he hoped. (I also don't think he'd ever want to move on from his friendship with Gon, it's more the deeper feelings that I can see him trying to run from.)

If we're assuming the plot doesn't bring them back together, I could see them staying in contact lightly throughout being separated--and then gradually, as they both heal and think over what happened, increasing contact and missing each other more as they talk more until one of them finally is ready to initiate reuniting in spite of the anxiety around it. I also could see them eventually needing to be in the same place for some reason (Hunter-related event or something with their mutual friends, perhaps) and that kind of forcing a reunion--kinda similar to my "plot reasons" idea, but more mundane.

I do legitimately think both of them think of the separation as temporary, though, with the caveat that Killua knows he and Alluka are in danger from Illumi and he's devoted to protecting Alluka from that, so naturally that adds some uncertainty on his end. Even with all the emotional complications under the surface, the way they left off was pretty light outwardly and emphasized seeing each other later and staying in touch, and even with everything that happened I truly don't think either of them are done with the other even internally.

There would likely be some awkwardness/anxiety around initiating a reunion and how to time that (though again, I think canon might forgo that by giving them a plot reason to be together again), but that doesn't mean it wouldn't happen. I think they'll miss each other a lot during the separation and eventually something would push them over into initiating something even without any plot forcing them.

I do think it's Gon's "turn" to show Killua again how much he values him (and thus give Killua a chance to finally open up about his feelings), but I also don't think it's fair to see it as super one-sided. Even with all the pain and not being sure what to do because of the uncertainty in their relationship, I believe Killua wants to be with Gon, and his reasons for avoiding him would be more about not feeling ready than legitimately not wanting to see Gon.

[thranduil-aran-edhil]

OK, so. Finished my first run. Gotta admit I'm not 100% satisfied with some endings. BUT NO BIGGIE, THAT'S WHAT HEADCANONS ARE FOR, DON'T WORRY I GOT A PERMIT (i'm a Dungeon Master) SO LET'S GO, HC TIME D&D STYLE BC WE STILL GOT 8 LEVELS TO GO: (spoilers for BG3 and Descent Into Avernus going forward)

They'd all stay together and continue to go on adventures, the 9 of them, Tav, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Gale, Astarion, Wyll, Karlach, Halsin and Minthara. Found Families stay together. (I do enjoy the polyship aspect too, so just throwing it out there)

There's an exchange you can have ingame with an NPC in the Guild and Tav will say the party's name is Wormskulls and I love it. I do also love Tadfools. Maybe they are Wormskulls to the general public and Tadfools to their close friends and allies lol. After the tadpoles are gone I think it would be very useful for them to commission earrings enchanted with Rary's Telepathic Bond. Less invasive than a mindflayer tadpole and just as useful. Also symbolic for Gale. I think the earring would have a pendant of a skull with a serpent coming out of its eye and being bitten by the teeth.

OK SO, my girl Karlach. I haven't romanced her yet, gonna do a run for that. But she's not dying on my watch. She's going back to Avernus, BUT YOU CAN BE SO SURE THAT THE MOMENT THE WHOLE PARTY IS READY WE'RE KICKING DOWN ZARIEL'S DOOR AND KICKING HER ASS. Or giving her her sword back and possibly turning her back into an Angel, something that whatever party of adventurers that managed to save BG and Elturel in Descent Into Avernus CLEARLY didn't do, it would probably not only nullify Mizora's contract with Wyll bc Zariel is now a completely different entity, if you decided to redo Wyll's contract with her, but also would give us a better chance of Zariel taking the infernal engine out of Karlach herself. Maybe turning Wyll into a Devotion Paladin? (more details about Zariel here)

I'd ask Jaheira and Minsc to take care of Scratch and Albie (owlbear cub) because the Hells is no place for pets. Even very brave ones. Maybe Halsin's "ending" fits here, taking care of the pets and the kids while everyone goes to Avernus, they leave him with a Sending Stone. And when they are back he's there waiting for them. 🥺

If we saved Duke Ravengard and broke Wyll's contract. (or didn't but are hcing that we broke his contract by defeating/unmaking Zariel) what does that mean to Wyll? I think it be super cool to go more in depth about it. How does he reconsile with his father? Does he accept to be reinstated as heir and becomes the Duke right away or does he think it's best for his father to continue his role a bit longer? Does he even want to be Duke or does he think he can serve the people of the Sword Coast better as an adventurer? If he turns into a Duke, what sort of benefit does that give an adventuring party?

Finding something to make Astarion able to walk in the sun again I've seen people talk about the Ring of the Sun-Walker as if it's from the 5e books, it's not, it's homebrew. HOWEVER, any freaking DM with a heart would create something similar for their player to continue playing without being afraid of dying instantly bc of the sun. The Cloak of Dragomir is canon to the Baldur's Gate videogame universe, so it be a good tie in, but it would be a temporary solution at best since it penalizes the player quite harshly, Strength: -6, Dexterity: -4, Intelligence: -2, Wisdom: -2, Charisma: -4 and Vampire Regeneration divided by 3, to 1 HP per 3 rounds. That being said, I wouldn't make it TOO easy to obtain as there are other ways for Astarion to be safe, like the Darkness spell. It would be interesting to see him (and Tav) struggle a little bit more, really feel the sacrifice Astarion made by rejecting the Ascendance even after they find something to combat the Sunlight Hypersensitivity.

Astarion's biological family would be something very interesting to explore in the future. They would be Elves themselves and are most likely still alive, we even have a surname thanks to people analyzing the shit out of that tombstone: Ancunín. As a DM I wouldn't wait for a player to decide to search for these people, I'd throw them at the players! Strolling through the Upper City in a quick shopping trip? You hear a loud gasp, things clattering and bumping into the ground, hurried desperate steps and then someone sobbing "Astarion?? Astarion is that you?!" What do you do?

Visiting Waterdeep and Morena Dekarios. This woman deserves to see her son again, and Gale deserves to finally go back home and see his mom without the burden of an ancient artifact lodged in his chest and a goddess wanting him to kill himself. Would he stay? I'm not sure, he went through an entire Odissey and maybe now home, although pleasant, is not as comforting anymore. Waterdeep is the element of Gale of Waterdeep and he's not him anymore. I think this would be a great premise for a roleplay focused arc. Gale is invited to the Blackstaff Ball for the first time since Mystra shunned him, the Wormskulls are famous now, The New Heros of Baldur's Gate (Gala Episode anyone? All of them SLAYIN with their fits? Poor Halsin totally out of his element). He's once again welcomed into the society of the Lord Mage of Waterdeep and his peers seem to have all but forgotten he was ever a pariah. Is that what he wants?

And Waterdeep has many opportunities for more adventure.

A paranoid Beholder underground anyone?

Kill the Lich Queen (CLASSIC D&D). Vlaakith IS FINISHED. TIME TO SPELLJAM AND BE SPACE PIRATES YALL. Lae'zel deserves to see this through to the END.

Shadowheart goes through another journey to find out if she wants to truly embrace Selûne or maybe become another thing entirely. Selûne should reach out or Isobel and Dame Aylin would help her out. Or maybe Shadowheart is tired of being a Cleric and following a god. But change and inconsistency is something that is under Selûne's portfolio, she's often followed by those who are lost, so I think she'd find more than fitting for Shadowheart to be a cautious and weary follower of her.

Your Tav's personal stuff. The Dark Urge sounds amazing and I can't wait to do a run with them, but I think most of us got very attached to our Original Characters Do No Steal. So I'm excited to see what people come up with for their Tavs. Otessa, my Tav, doesn't know her dad was a pirate, he never told her, so I expect that his past will come bite him in the ass and she'll have to help him out of that pickle.

When the party has reached level 17, Gale has access to the Wish spell. And I really do think they'd use it to get rid of Astarion's undeath. As a DM I wouldn't let Gale simply get the spell outright, he'd have to research it. Not only that, I don't think Astarion would be totally free of undeath, some remnant of it would linger, he'd probably turn into an Elf that needs blood to survive and is forever locked out of the Call of Arvandor or something. But he'd be mortal and would be able to walk in the sun without that ring, cross bodies of water, wouldn't instadie from pointy wood objects in the chest etc. (i'm writing a little one-shot about this, should post it soon)

[barcaluvv]

Lamine yamal x reader You and Yamal, the bond of friendship, which no one could ever separate, whether together or not at all, but as they say, a man can only kill his happiness because of feelings, but this time they both separated their wires that held many years of friendship.

One night, everything snapped and huge feelings came out of you both.

You were talking, you were sitting on the very bench, talking about irrelevant things, because you were both thinking the same thing, and if only you knew that, everything would be different. Yamal was teasing you with the book he was holding tight in his slender arms,grabbing your pens away as you were just out of class, second shift, laughing loudly and not caring about what others thought but yet not a single soul was seen. You felt like the while city was sleeping, as your paths will slowly diverge any moment from now. When you calmed down a bit Lamine said something condescending, his voice shaking not from cold but from fear "Can I tell you something?but dont be mad okay?" He was admiring your hair slowly but precisely fluttering in the wind, he looked at every line that your smile leaves, all that persuaded him to say what he was going to say now. "Listen y/n" he grabbed you by your palms, creasing your hair, tucking every strain of hair behind your ear, slowly and softly. He clings to you, his voice barely above a whisper "I feel so guilty sometimes... like I'm such a burden on you. I want to be perfect for you." he sniffles, looking down at the leaves falling from the branch.

"What are you trying to say?" U get worried. Tears form in his eyes as he continues "I'm scared too, ... scared of losing you. You mean everything to me." he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself "I just want to make you proud and happy, but i cant continue like this, i wake up everyday thinking about how my emotions tremble against your will, not being enough to express them to you, i love you y/n, u have every right to be mad at me and leave, and end our conversation forever but you cant run from the feeling of guilt" he sobs uncontrollably, burying his face in the cold current wind, that was trying to remove a tear from his cheeks ... I need you so much. he clings to you tightly, his entire body shaking from the intensity of his emotions "I don't want to lose you."

"Now maybe i did threw 7 years of friendship away in 5 minutes of speech but, ive waited for these few minutes my entire life now I'd have to break our contact." Said lamine with tear drops falling off his eyes, down to his sweatshirt. This all happened too fast, you're literally out of words but this sentence felt powerful. "Maybe we are soulmates after all".

Lamine wipes off his tears, trying to act tough not understanding your words. "What? What do you mean?".

Lamine, u lean closer feeling his heartbeat acrobat as u get to him.

"The truth is, ive been meaning to tell you that too, but also many thing more such as that my family is moving back to Portugal, this is my last goodbye my love". He sits in shock, feeling his empty-handed heart break in pieces, watching it flow like ashes.

He stands up, kisses your forehead soflty, not leaving any hope after it.

He pulls you tightly,holding you for seconds, treating them like years not wasting any of them, atleast that's not wasted besides the love potential we had.

He pulls away, giving you a bracelet, which says "Why not this universe"

that was written on the black buttons, like he was prepared for this. "Let this be a remember, it might be temporary but my love for you wasn't." He starts walking away, the streets carried him off, and poof suddenly our love too. Two months later, you found out he burned himself down. You were devastated, it took you so many months to put yourself together after this. 6 months passed, you heard a loud knocking on your door, it's better if you didn't open them, just like that I found out that the police was holding a paper, that was apparently held by Yamal when he died. The letter said "when you quietly told me that I won't be able to do without you. X your Lamine." That was supposed to be shifted the same night to Portugal. With a bracelet next to it.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

The concept of Chuuya getting involved in Shin Soukoku is such a good one because we’d get insight into how Akutagawa interacts with characters outside of Dazai,Gin,and Atsushi but also it would be an opportune moment for Asagiri to really cash in on those ChuuyaAtsusi parallels and give us a lot more of the literal main character of the manga than before. What would be some things you’d want to happen if we ever got a Chuuya-Sskk storyline?

Hello!

Honestly, it would be such a long time coming that I don't know if there's anything specific that I'd want! I guess an actual introduction between Chuuya and Atsushi would be nice - Atsushi actually has seen Chuuya before; he was at the forefront of the Mafia's attempts to secure the city when it was overrun by Q's ability - which means that Chuuya's actions was at least part of his decision to go to Fukuzawa about a temporary alliance. I always figured they could kind of have an uneasy mutual respect, where Atsushi is intimidated but a little admiring, and Chuuya begrudgingly wonders a little about what the big deal is with this weretiger... but I also heavily vibe with @whathorselegs' post where Chuuya sees Atsushi as a worthy adversary. I think it will depend on what circumstances they eventually meet under. Either way, I think Chuuya would eventually teach Atsushi a little more about combat - not in a formal training way, but where he kind of points out a couple things without much thought when he sees them. But yeah, if any interaction were to occur, I think it would make their similarities more apparent! Maybe during a future arc that focuses back on the Mafia - I still suspect the Mafia's history and whatever happened with the old boss will receive some focus later on.

As for Akutagawa, I would appreciate any interactions between him and other characters! I think it is hinted that Chuuya is a superior he respects though, and there's a drama cd that actually has the two of them interact! It's the Port Mafia onsen drama cd; there's a link here if you want to listen. They actually have quite the heartwarming conversation... it always sounded to me like Chuuya trying his best to give advice even though Akutagawa's perspective isn't one he really understands. It's very sweet, anyhow. I'd love to see more of their interactions - I think it could be very cool if Akutagawa's development could be reflected a little or more insight was given to it through Chuuya's perspective.

Essentially, I'm hoping for another Mafia focused arc! And I think it would be great if Chuuya was something of a supporting/unofficial mentor-ish role for sskk. But that would only happen if somehow Dazai wasn't in the picture. So I figure we'll have to get an interaction with them at some point, but it probably will end up nothing like this.

Oh well. Like I said, I'd just be happy to see them interact at all.

[i-am-beckyu]

One Small Gift

HELLO! I TOLD YOU I'D POST ONE MORE FIC THIS YEAR! And I am very proud of myself for making it a Christmas centered fic! I can't believe it's actually been a year since I last posted a Christmas fic. Like where did the time go and how did this thing spawn?

I'm gonna ramble a bit more at the bottom of this fic about me and the community but lets not hold you up any longer so I give you: The Christmas Fic- One Small Gift :3

cw: fear, death mention (but no actual death), lying, panic and anxiety, fluff- Like, ALOT of Fluff, hidden identity and of course happy endings. You know, the usual angst/fluffy Beckyu fic :3 word count: 8351

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

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Cold

Why did the walls always have to be so damn cold? 

Tommy’s mind couldn’t help but linger on the thought, as the Borrower shivered making his way through the maze that was the inside the house walls.

Human Beans invented heaters AGES ago for the insides of their houses to keep warm, so how was it that the inside of the walls were still always so flippen freezing? 

Would it kill them to think of the little guy freezing their butt off just once?

Well no, maybe not. But it certainly would Tommy. 

As much as the young blonde would love to cuss at the home owner for not giving him a proper source of heat, the Borrowers code quite literally FORBID them from ever telling a Human of their existence. Not to forget the fact that it would mean doom for a borrower if they ever did. All the horror stories of Borrowers being squished or experimented on from the elders to go off being proof enough.

Death by Human Beans?

HA! Absolutely NOT!

That’s exactly the reason why he is trying to get supplies for the Winter to warm himself up, before it gets even colder! 

Tommy grumbled to himself as he ducked and weaved past forgotten cobwebs about how it was such a pain to be in this position in the first place. He’d had a perfectly fine home in a tree nook in the forest that had always remained nice and cosy warm during the colder months. 

Even if that meant he’d been living on his own, Tommy had been happy living as an Outie borrower for as long as he could remember. Well at least he had, before some tall, pretentious brunette freak decided his home would be the perfect tree to cut down and drag all the way back to his stupid freezing cold house. 

But it gets better, because even though the main part of his home was actually still intact under the now stump, the Bean still took the top half of the tree- 

With Tommy still inside it! 

They flippen took HIS house and wrapped it in a net; effectively trapping the poor borrower and then strapped it to the top of their car and drove hours and hours to a Human Town with him hanging on for dear life.

And that’s not even the worst part because not only did the flippen Bean steal part of his house, but then they had the audacity to cover the tree's dying corpse in fancy decorations and shining lights. 

Like seriously WTF?!

A Bean kidnaps him from the only place he’s ever really known and covers his once thriving residence all merrily in ornaments, while he’s forced to flee his only real known place of safety with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the few supplies he did have stored in the upper levels of his now dying home. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but it was the only choice he really had. 

Stay in the tree and get caught, or try and survive in the Beans' walls until Winter passes.

He chose the latter of course- (It’s not like staying would have helped him anyways) 

Getting down from the top of the tree had been, well- less than a fun time for the Borrower. The big purple bruises across his back were a throbbing reminder from his impact on the floor at times, but he managed. 

Instead, Tommy had started to navigate his temporary ‘soon to be home’ in the walls getting an idea of the layout and where the best places were to borrow from. He just had to make it through the Winter and then he could go home. Trying to get back to his nook now would be impossible with all the snow cover on the ground, but he’d get back to the forest even if it killed him.

Which might be the case soon if he doesn’t get some new clothes and heat source quick.

That was the main issue with being kidnapped after all. You only have what’s on your back and well, Tommy hadn’t exactly been expecting to get yoinked away in his scrappy T-Shirt and shorts. He had proudly made them himself with the few scraps of fabric he’d managed to find from some Beans that had been passing through years ago on a camping trip, but the fabric was light, and not made to be worn in such cold conditions. 

He’d only meant to go up and check what the heck the loud thumping outside his tree was like any normal person. He was expecting a deer or maybe a bear using it as a scratching post, not a Bean cutting their house down and taking him along with it. You don’t exactly have time to think about putting on proper clothing when your everything is at stake.

So that was step one: Find some material and make some clothes- a jacket the top priority.

Tommy is very thankful that he had his borrowing bag on him, that he still has his self made needle and some old thread so he at least didn’t have to start from nothing. Finding the material hadn’t been too difficult to locate either. When he first scouted the place, he discovered pretty quickly that the Bean had a habit of leaving stuff all over the place, so borrowing supplies hadn’t been difficult to do without being noticed. It’s how he found the most perfect fluffy woollen red sock to make a coat and blanket from. He would already have it now though if the Bean hadn’t come back before he could swipe it.

The Borrower had tried to come back for it later, but the Bean had decided it was time to clean their room up because he had some guests coming for this thing called ‘Chris-mass’- whatever that was- and the sock was gone.

So instead he grabbed what he could and made his way back to the walls with just enough fabric to make a new pair of pants and some crackers for dinner.

But it still didn’t fix the whole freezing situation.

What Tommy really needed was a candle. 

To a Human Bean it may seem to be an insignificant source of light, but to a Borrower it could literally be the difference between a warm nights sleep and becoming a Borrower popsicle! But that was easier said then done because all the usual spots Beans would normally keep candles, were replaced with flippen electric ones!!!! 

What’s wrong with fire on candles!? Why would you want a fake candle that just flickers and produces less light than a real one?

That or something for a bed. At least that way he’d have a comfortable place to sleep and trap his own body heat.

He really wishes he could have taken those socks…

As if this Bean wasn’t bad enough, not only did they lack the materials Tommy so desperately needed, but they wouldn’t shut up talking into the black box (a fone he thinks it’s called from memory) to other Beans with how excited they were about them coming to stay for the Hole-lid-days and spend time huddled together by the fire or something dumb. 

“Come on Dad! Let me host. If you let me host, I’ve got the coolest surprise planned for you and Techno I swear!! Plus don’t you want to come and see me?” 

Lucky prick. Got a Dad and a brother…

Now don’t get him wrong, Tommy is a big man, if not the biggest man to ever exist and he doesn’t need anyone. But he also couldn’t help but long for someone to share the cold season with like the Beans did. It had been so long since he’d seen another Borrower like himself and though he’d never admit it, living alone did get a little bit lonely sometimes. It would be nice if just once he could share a night cuddled up close to a loved one, and just bask in each other’s company. 

But Tommy didn’t have time to be sentimental about things he’d likely never have.

He needed to find a way to stay warm and get warm now.

But the universe decidedly hated Tommy because, tonight was apparently December 24th-

Chrisymiss Eve.

Tommy had been here about a week or so and in his short stay still wasn’t 100% sure what this whole Khrislermas was, but it appeared to be a BIG deal to the Beans. 

Apparently, all the Beans get together whether it’s family or friends to spend time together and exchange gifts. It’s about being thankful for what you have or whatever and something about showing how much you love someone by giving and receiving presents. 

Tommy thought it was actually quite a nice thing the Beans did and wished that Borrowers had something similar themselves in their culture. However, there was one thing he still didn’t quite understand about this whole holiday thing.

Who the heck is Santa Claus?

He’d been taking some more crackers the Bean had left out from the kitchen while this ‘tv show’ played on the Bean's big Black box that was talking about this Santa guy. Apparently, he was some elusive, big fat man, dressed all in red with a big white bushy beard, who climbed down the Beans chimneys, and left gifts for all the little boys and girls of the world. He had this list too that knew if you’d been naughty or nice and would leave the good children gifts and the bad children coal in their stockings. 

Children could write letters to Santa or he’d visit and children could sit on his knee and ask him for a gift they would like and he would deliver the toys to children all over the world on Christmas eve when everyone was sleeping, only to have disappeared by daybreak.

Tommy hadn’t thought much of this Santa at first- not when it was just another Bean to avoid. That was until he learned two very important details.

1- Santa delivered presents to ALL children of the world. 

And 2- Santa wasn’t meant to be seen by Humans either.

So not only did this Santa guy literally just give out free gifts, but Tommy literally had a way to get exactly what he needed for the winter!

All he needed to do was talk to Santa and he’d be saved! 

Now you might be thinking: But Tommy, you said it yourself. Santa isn’t meant to be seen by anyone so what makes you the exception? 

Simple.

Borrowers aren’t meant to be seen by Beans and neither is Santa.

Which means just like Borrowers, Santa must not want to be caught (which if he thinks too hard about it makes sense since he literally breaks into houses but anyways) and unlike with Beans, there is no rule that says Borrowers can’t see Santa!

All he has to do is wait for Santa to visit Crystamas eve, and then he can ask for his gift! Santa probably even knows what he wants, being made of magic and all! He just never knew Santa existed so he’s never asked for his gift before! 

If he were a more greedy Borrower, he could ask for so much more to make up for all the years he never got a gift, but that would probably put him on Santa’s naughty list. And while coal would be good, Tommy doesn’t exactly want to burn the house down with him inside it. So this was his best shot to get exactly what he needed. 

The hard bit though, was waiting for Santa to arrive. That meant not only having to be out in the living room where the fireplace was, but also meant he had to wait for the Bean to fall asleep. Which really meant that it would be AGES before Santa would come because the Bean of the house was terrible at sleeping at night. 

The man literally had no sleep schedule and would stay up till terrible times in the morning before drifting off. Normally that wasn’t much of an issue for the Borrower having observed this early on, but right now it was very much a hindrance because it could be hours before they went to bed. 

It also seemed that they wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, because the amount of energy and excitement the Bean had displayed the whole day about his family coming home was overwhelming. He’d come home at one stage with this big bag of stuff talking on the black box about how his super cool surprise was coming along and how it would be awesome since they let him host Chrimpmas- whatever that meant. 

Tommy had hoped with the excitement of the holiday they’d have been ready to pass out by now, but he couldn’t be more wrong with the amount of commotion he could hear from down the hall- and that’s through the walls. 

At least he could observe everything going on from his place on the bookshelf. It was right next to a small crack in the wall he could just squeeze through, but it gave him a good view of the living room but also enough cover from prying eyes unless he made his presence known. However, being out of the walls had one difference the blonde hadn’t accounted for.

Heat.

The fire had been lit and was keeping the whole room nice and toasty warm compared to the harsh bite the walls somehow managed to keep. The whole atmosphere made him almost want to curl up and fall asleep. It had been so long since he’d been able to just enjoy the warmth in the air and not be shivering to keep alive.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if he had a nap before Santa arrived.

Just a quick one….

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Tommy was awoken to a rather loud THUNK as the Borrower shot up from where he had fallen asleep atop the shelf. 

It took the blonde a moment to realise where he was and not panic about being out in the open before his eyes settled upon a figure. 

Sprawled out across the floor in a heap of red and white was the jolly big man himself.

Santa Claus.

The one and only.

“Santa!” Tommy yelled excitedly as he hurriedly manoeuvred to stand. “Santa you came!”

Santa’s head snapped up from the floor alarmed, as they pushed themselves to stand and take a defensive stance.

“Who said that?!” they shouted, looking around wildly panicked. “Show yourself!”

Tommy giggled to himself. Santa was so silly. 

“Up here Santa! I’ve been waiting for you.” The blonde waved as the man's head turned and their eyes fell onto his small form. 

Tommy grinned at the magical man taking him all in. 

Just like the figure on the big black box, Santa wore a big red coat with white fluff lining the ends of his sleeves. A big black belt was strapped around their waist, fastened with a fancy golden buckle and sturdy black boots on their feet to keep out the snow. Their head was adorned with an oversized big red hat, with a giant white fluffy pom pom on the end, and they had a long white beard that travelled down their chest. And last but not least was a pair of gold rimmed glasses perched on the tip of their rosy red nose which accentuated their big brown eyes that were staring at him in wonder. 

Huh. 

He could have sworn that Santa's eyes were blue.

“I can’t believe you came! I wasn’t sure if you would since I never sent a letter but you must have known anyway cause here you are!” The little borrower stated excitedly as Santa removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. 

“I’m so glad you’re here! I really need my Crimpmess present.” 

“I’m sorry you’re what?” the man’s eyes furrowed in confusion as they processed what the younger had said.

“My present!.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “You know, the whole reason why you’re here.”

Santa didn’t exactly seem like he knew what was going on. Right now all he was doing was staring and Tommy was getting a bit annoyed. 

Was that not why Santa was here? To deliver his present like the show had said?

Tommy huffed annoyed he had to explain all this. Wasn’t this like his job? He should know!

“I’m sorry,” Santa began slowly as if trying to process. “I didn’t actually know you were here.”

“Why else would you have come then?” Tommy crossed his arms unimpressed. “I’m the only kid here, but don’t tell anyone else I said that. I’m a big man! The biggest ever!”

This finally seemed to warrant a different reaction from the older, as they looked the boy up and down unimpressed by this so-called ‘fact’.

“A big man huh? You look more like a child. What are you- 12?”

Tommy feigned a gasp, grasping his chest offendedly. “I’ll have you know I’m 14 and the biggest man alive! I’m only a child for the purpose of getting my gift tonight and tonight only!”

Santa couldn’t stifle a laugh as he watched as the small child stomped his foot in a mini tantrum at being called 12. It was endearing in a way but he still wasn’t sure how to proceed with a tiny child standing on their bookshelf.

“Well whatever you say I guess, but I still I didn’t know you were here.”

The blonde shrugged before moving closer to the shelfs edge. “Ah well it doesn’t matter. You’re here now so I’d like my gift please! You have it right?” 

“If I didn’t know you were here, then how would I have your present with me?” Santa asked.

Well he did make a good point. It’s not like he sent Santa a letter and he hadn't met him to tell him like other human bean children had until now. 

“Oh right. Guess I better come sit on your knee and tell you what I’d like than.” Tommy stated matter of factly, as the small Borrower moved to the edge of the shelf and stabbed his hook into the wood, quickly jumping off to descend on his rope to the ground.

“Wait, DON’T DO THAT!” 

The blonde yelped in surprise, moving instinctually to protect his ears at the sheer volume the man shouted, in turn losing his grip on his rope, quickly plummeting down to the ground below. Santa lunged forward with an outstretched hand as the boy slipped down the rope at a rapid speed, catching him before any real harm could be done. He semi slammed into the wall, clutching his hand to his chest as they did so before quickly unfurling their hand.

“Oh my prime! Kid- kid are you alright?” Santa said frantically checking over the boy he now held in his palm. 

Tommy shook his head, dizzy from the sudden force that had rammed into him only moments ago. He tried to steady himself grabbing, onto the nearest thing his hand could find as he begun to regain his bearings.

Oh he was going to ache tomorrow…

“As soon as the world stops spinning, yeah.”

Santa sighed in relief as Tommy allowed himself to regain focus. It was then that he really took note of where he was. 

Normally, if a Borrower was sitting in the hand of someone almost 100x his size, he would be kicking and screeching to get away. But this was Santa Claus’s hand and Tommy felt only wonder. 

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The thing he had grabbed onto was apparently Santa’s thumb and it was almost as big as his head! Even if it was a bit weird sitting on the leathery texture of their skin, the warmth radiating beneath him was heavenly, and the way the man’s fingers curled slightly over him protectively felt nothing but comforting. 

Santa hadn’t moved since he caught Tommy mid air, and was staring at Tommy as if they would disappear. They seemed stuck on what to do next, but also amazed he was sitting there at all.

“You alright there big man?” Tommy raised a brow confused at why the man would act this way. Santa was literally made of magic and had flying reindeer for goodness sake! A borrower existing surely was no cause for such amazement? There were surely way more interesting magical things to see than a lowly Borrower like him. 

(But then again, he was a pretty poggers Borrower if he did so say that himself, so staring could be justified for that reason)

This finally snapped the old man out of their wondrous stupor, as they squinted their eyes open and shut with a quick shake of their head. 

“Uh yep. All good um. Let's- go sit down. Yeah- yeah, let's do that.” Santa said, confirming more to themself than Tommy.

Santa brought the boy protectively to their chest to brace them before they moved away from the book shelf, smoothly walking over to the couch where the old man sat down ever so slowly to not jostle their small passenger. The second they were bending down to sit though, Tommy was launching himself off Santa’s palm for his knee as the bearded man frantically tried to stop them in their escapade.

“Kid, would you stop doing that? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Pfft please. This is nothing compared to how I got down from that tree over there.” The boy grinned as they pointed to the far corner of the living room.

The man's head followed to where the boy was pointing, the Christmas tree displayed proudly in a large pot tied with a red bow, small lights flickering on and off in changing patterns.

“Tree? You mean the Christmas tree?”

“Yep!” Tommy stood proudly popping the p. “I had to get down somehow and my hook would have gotten stuck in amongst the branches if I had tried to abseil down. So I did what any logical Borrower would do and jumped.”

“You jumped?!” Santa’s eyes widened, as he looked back and forth between the boy and the top of the brightly decorated tree. He grimaced, imagining the boy throwing themselves from the upper branches like they had done only moments before onto his knee. 

What was with this kid and being so reckless?!

“You jumped from the top of the Christmas tree!? Why were you even there in the first place?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, crossing their arms in front of their chest. 

“It’s all that stupid Beans fault.”He huffed annoyed. “He just came waltzing into MY forest, decided to be very rude and put their grubby hands all over MY house wrapping it up in some ugly net, only to cut it down with me still in it!”

Tommy didn’t notice the way Santa’s brows furrowed and their expression changed to one of horror as he continued to ramble on.

“They literally kidnapped me, Santa! They’re so lucky that the main part of my house is under the tree’s trunk and not the higher branches because I swear I would have murdered that Bean in their sleep by now if they had!”

Tommy was very pleased to have finally gotten to vent some of his frustrations to someone other than his internal self, but now he was finished he had a good chance to register the other’s reaction.

Santa looked horrified.

His eyes seemed glossed over as if he was holding back tears, and one hand slapped over their mouth, the other gripping their wrist tightly in an attempt to ground themselves. 

Uh shit. He hadn’t meant for that to happen…

“Uh but don’t worry Santa!” Tommy was quick to add. “ I wouldn’t actually do that. That would be a bad thing to do and put me on the Naughty list! I promise I won’t actually murder anyone!” 

Phew, that was a close one. He couldn’t jeopardise his only hope with a silly joke!

Santas’ face had yet to change and Tommy subconsciously started to fidget feeling nervous to how the older was reacting. Maybe he had blown it and now he was on the naughty list. Another glance at the old man's face seemed to confirm those fears.

He’d blown it.

His one shot at survival and he practically threw it all away with a vent. No wonder he ended up all alone.

“Please don’t put me on the Naughty list Santa. I need my gift.” Tommy spoke timidly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I- no. No you’re not on the Naughty list.” Santa dragged his hands over his eyes a few times strained. “I'm just trying to process. It’s more of the whole kidnapping thing. ” 

If Tommy had been paying better attention, he may have noticed the few stray brown curls poking out from under the man's hat, but he was more thrown by their following question as the magical man continued on.

“If you were in the tree, why didn’t you say anything?”

Tommy drew a deep breath, before sighing as the boy shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Because Santa, Beans aren’t supposed to know that Borrowers like me even exist.”

“Beans?”

“Human Beans Santa. You know, big people like you, but not magical and stuff.” The Borrower explained. “There’s no way I could tell the dumb Bean he was cutting my house down! Do you know what Beans do to Borrowers like me?” 

“Um no?” Santa fiddled with his hands as he looked away, eyes downcast to avoid the youngers gaze as they continued.

“They get rid of us. To them we’re just pests or things to be used.”

Tommy hugged himself tightly, anxiety pooling in his chest for the first time that night. He wished it wasn’t true, but Beans just held far too much power for their own good. Their greed often outweighing their need to do good without reward. 

“I’d rather risk jumping out of a tree than ever fall into the clutches of a Bean.” 

“But how do you know that?” Santa suddenly said, muscles tensing as they clenched their hand into fists. 

Tommy flinched at the sight of hands so close. Closed so tightly that he couldn’t help let slip the thought of himself in the mercy of their grasp, begging to be freed like all the stories had said of the Borrowers trapped in agonising pain. The man noticed his discomfort, and immediately loosened their fists, moving their hands away and under their thighs so as to not startle the boy any further than they already had.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Santa said with a sense of guilt.  “But I just- How do you know that though? Who says that they would have hurt you if you had just made your presence known? You wouldn’t have had to jump or gotten hurt.”

Santa turned away sheepishly, whispering sadly. “They could have helped you.” 

Tommy swallowed hard, his shoulders sagging as he observed the sad look Santa had as they stared at the Christmas tree. It was obvious they were blaming themself for what had happened. He was far too kind for that.

“Santa, it’s not your fault.” the boy sighed, “Every borrower is taught this from birth. It’s a known fact that Beans are all cruel, power hungry beings. They always want more and just take, take, take.”  

“But what if this ‘Bean’ didn’t know.” Santa shot back, causing the Borrower to falter. “What if you had said something? They would have stopped and left you and your house alone? How do you know they wouldn’t have helped you?”

“Because Santa,” Tommy turned and faced the man head on. “That’s just how Beans are. To them, we're just another thing to take and control.” 

Tommy wanted to believe Santa, he really did, but it was hard to just ignore years of being brought up to beware Human Beans and their cruelty. He’d seen it even from when Beans had once come into the forest with their fire sticks, and took down a friendly deer. It was unnecessarily cruel and was all the convincing Tommy needed to deem all Humans bad.

Santa nodded sadly in some kind of understanding, but Tommy couldn’t understand why Santa looked so hurt. It wasn’t his fault the Bean took him and his home, but he seemed so convinced that hiding and not asking for help had been the wrong thing to do. 

He thought they were the same, that if Beans caught him on Christmas Eve, then something bad would happen to him like it would for Borrowers. That’s why they had to stay a secret. Why no one could know they were here. 

But Santa wasn’t a Borrower who lived in hiding unknown. The Beans knew about the jolly, present giving man that only appeared in December. 

He could live among the Beans and it would be fine if he asked for help. Everyone liked Santa. He didn’t take things just to survive. He gave toys and gifts so he would have no worries about the repercussions of taking a paperclip just to get around. He wouldn’t have to worry about Beans hurting him if something went wrong. He would just use his magic and be fine.

It was Santa’s choice to stay hidden as an extra precaution to protect that same magic. 

“But you’re different from the Beans Santa.” The boy perked up instantly remembering why he was doing this in the first place. “You only come out of hiding at Christmas and everyone knows who you are! You only hide to keep your magic safe from Beans so they can’t have that too!” 

The man gave a small smile as the boy continued to ramble, pacing back and forth on his thigh as he did so.

“But I don’t understand why you give children presents when they already have so much!” Tommy stopped, his lips pursed together as his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Unlike me.” He confessed quietly, lifting his head to meet Santa’s sympathetic gaze. 

Santa was staring at the young boy again, leaned forward in concern listening as the blonde  continued to share his story.

“It's why I need my gift Santa.” Tommy wringed his hands together with a nervous glance to see Santa’s reaction who nodded in approval, gesturing for him to continue. 

Tommy steadied himself.

Now or never.

“I was brought here with basically nothing. Forced to move into the Beans walls or risk being seen. I’ve barely been able to get anything for basic survival and the walls are freezing!” 

Tommy shivered remembering the way the air had nipped at his nose as he struggled to keep warm. Clutching himself tightly in a poor attempt to retain any kind of body heat. The one time he went up stairs without his coat and of course he gets kidnapped.

He needed this. 

More than anything.

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Wilbur had just wanted to have the perfect Christmas.

It was his first time hosting and had decided he HAD to go all out.

More decorations than his little house needed both inside and out, homemade hot chocolate from scratch and had promised his Father and brother a very special Christmas surprise if they let him host.

Their first ever living Christmas tree and a surprise visit from the Big man himself- Santa Claus.

He’d done a bunch or research into the best spots to go where he could get a tree and quickly had been recommended from several sites about the fir trees in Logstedshire, and quickly made the trip out to find a tree.

What the websites failed to mention, was that said fir trees might be inhabited and the home of tiny people that are terrified of Human Beings. 

So if you asked: No, Wilbur was not having a good night realising he had kidnapped a child that was deathly afraid of him and only okay right now because he thought he was the real Santa Claus. 

In a way, it was a good thing the kid hadn’t realised yet, because if Wilbur had never dressed up in this silly costume, he probably would have never known about the child freezing to death in his walls.

The child was so cold despite their lively spirit when he’d caught them after they launched themself off the top of the shelf. The fact it wasn’t the first time they’d thrown themself from such a height made Wilbur sick knowing had they not been lucky, could very well not have made the long fall. But the fact the kid had been struggling, terrified and afraid in his walls when he could have helped had the guilt eating him away as the boy rambled on.

They were so sure of themselves with the cruelty of humanity too that they had him so on edge. If the blonde knew he was really the guy that had cut his tree down, he very much doubted they would be this enthusiastic. He was talking about how much he needed his gift- the gift he still had no clue what it was, but just hearing the little blondes tale, and seeing how thin his clothes were had Wilbur making a very long list of things he needed to get to help the kid out. 

A kid which he still doesn’t know the name of.

The boy's eyes had brightened, as he bounded up and down on the balls of his feet eagerly, talking about what this gift would mean for him. He was actually quite endearing despite their seemingly dire situation.

“If I tell you my gift, then you can give it to me now and I’ll actually have a chance to survive the Winter!” He explained excitedly, grining.

Wilbur pushed down his anxiousness for the boys well-being. They had already suffered enough from his mistakes. He didn’t want them to suffer any longer than they had by them accidentally discovering the truth.

“What’s your name kid?” Wilbur mentally slapped himself  that he hadn’t asked sooner.

The tiny boy chuckled to himself as they crossed their arms. “Oh come on Santa, you know my name don’t you? You have a list with every child's name on it.”

Ah- right. Santa did have that Naughty and Nice list didn’t he? Curse Santa for having to live up to magical standards.

“Uh- I came here in such a rush, I um- ah must have left my list back at the North Pole.”

“So?” The boy argued, raising a brow. “You’re magic. Don’t you just know?”

Did he say endearing earlier? How about difficult for making him use his brain at 9pm at night. (Shut up. Don’t judge him for it)

“Well you know there’s like 2 Billion kids in this world and I see them all in one night. You don’t expect me to remember every name without my list do you?”

The kid hadn’t seemed to account for this, and thought it over before shrugging in agreement. 

Oh thank goodness for kids being young and naive. 

“I guess that’s fair. But you’ve got a s*** memory in that case Big Man. Getting old.” 

Actually, make that an annoying gremlin.

“I think if someone wants their present, they should be more careful about insulting their elders.” Wilbur teased with a chuckle. The boy rolled his eyes with a groan. 

Okay, an endearing gremlin then.

“Fiiiiiiiiine.” they drawled letting their arms drop to their sides before extending their hand up in greeting. “The name’s Tommy.”

Wilbur carefully lifted his arm up and slowly extended his pinky finger out for the boy to take in an oversized handshake. 

“Nice to meet you Tommy.” His finger dwarfed the boy entirely, his pinky finger only slightly shorter than the boy's total height, but nevertheless, Tommy took the tip and shook it lightly.

“Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me what it is you’d like for Christmas?”

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile at the little boy excitedly sharing in exact detail what he wanted. What the Borrower wanted wasn’t even that difficult to get, and he knew exactly where to find it. Tommy continued to ramble on for a bit longer about what he had been doing since coming here and Wilbur made mental notes of the few places where Tommy talked about entrances in out of the walls for future reference.

He was going to have to look out for Tommy from now on and if he wanted a shred of hope in getting him to trust him as Wilbur, he was going to need a plan.

“So could I have my gift now? I would really love it now and you still have a lot of other houses to visit tonight right?” Tommy asked innocently.

Wilbur really didn’t want to stop talking to Tommy. Tommy trusted the magical Santa Claus; not regular Human Being Wilbur Soot. He knew that if he let Tommy go now, it was unlikely he would see the kid again, but if he didn’t leave as Santa now, they would most likely get suspicious, realising he was a fake and panic. 

Wilbur sighed as he brushed a stray hair of fake beard from under his cheek.

“I- yeah I guess so. Best get you to bed then too.” 

“Awwww but I’m not sleepy yet!” The blonde pouted. “This is normally when I’m awake so it would be a crime to make me sleep now.”

“Well good little girls and boys go to bed when they’re told if they want to stay on the nice list.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Tommy stuck his tongue out in defiance and Wilbur had to bite his to stop himself from bursting out loud laughing. 

This kid was going to be the death of him he swears.

Wilbur extended his hand to the Borrower, keeping it steady as he waited for Tommy to climb on. He’s still a little huffy at first realising there was no room for argument, but climbs on anyway, sitting down in the middle of Wilbur’s palm bracing themself before he moves.

The brunette curls his fingers over the boy slightly, bringing his hand to his chest protectively. He tries not to linger too long at how it felt to hold an entire person in one hand for the second time tonight before moving to stand. 

Steadily, Wilbur makes his way over to the book shelf and cautiously raises his hand up for Tommy to climb off of. He sets his hand down on the wooden surface and Tommy takes no time in hoping off to stand, waiting expectantly for his promised present.  

“Okay I need you to close your eyes just for a second.” Wilbur asks the boy who quickly covers his eyes with his hands, only to peak out from behind his fingers seconds later.

“I mean it Tommy. Keep them closed.”

“Ugggghhhhh Fineee!” the boy said huffing, but relented nevertheless. 

Wilbur quickly whirled around and crouched down beneath the Christmas tree, snagging a gift from the floor and hastily tearing the gift tag labelled- Technoblade; from the gift before setting it next to the small borrower child. 

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” 

Tommy removed his hands and squealed in delight, quickly reaching down to hug the gift. 

“Oh thank you Santa! You really are the most poggers man ever!!!” Tommy spoke rapidly, smiling so much his cheeks hurt. “Well after me of course, but only by a little bit!” 

Wilbur chuckled as he gazed affectionately at the blonde hunched over the brightly wrapped gift. “You’re welcome Tommy. I’m glad you like it.”

The boy quickly stood, and started hauling the gift to the crack in the wall, as they tried to shove the gift through. Unfortunately while the crack had been enough for Tommy to squeeze through, it wasn’t quite wide enough to let the present go in without getting a tad scrunched up and paper torn. 

“Um, Tommy? Is there perhaps a bigger entrance I could take this too?” Wilbur suggested, cringing slightly as the boy gave another hard shove on the gift, intent on getting it through no matter what.

“It’ll fit. Just gotta keep pushing it in.” 

After a few more attempts, the boy did in fact give up and relented their efforts allowing Wilbur to pull the now crumpled present back out from the crack, instructing him to take it to the kitchen and place it behind the toaster, assuring him he would get it before the Bean woke up explaining how the electrical socket actually came off as a secret entrance.

He offered to take Tommy over to it too, but the stubborn boy refused, insisting that he had done enough and needed to hurry up and deliver presents to the other children before the night was over.

Taking one more long look at the boy, Wilbur watched as Tommy disappeared through the crack into the walls, the sound of tiny footsteps pitter pattering away before Wilbur himself quietly crept back to his room before he removed the Santa costume and flopped down onto his bed. 

He’d just met a tiny child.

A tiny child trying to survive in his walls.

That was deathly afraid of him.

Quickly Wilbur shot up from his bed snatching his phone from the night stand; a plan forming in his mind. The screen read 9:31 pm before he hastily unlocked it and dove into his contacts, quickly stopping on a profile of a girl with light pink hair, dialling their number shortly after.

The phone rang twice before a woman answered on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Niki? Hey! How’s the holidays going?” Wilbur asked as he grabbed his coat and gloves from the wardrobe.

“So I need a favour…”

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy awoke warm for the first time that week.

He opened his eyes blearily, almost willing himself to fall back into dream land before his eyes snapped fully open. Tommy rubbed his eyes a few times, eyes going wide trying to comprehend that this was real and not just a dream as the thoughts of the previous night played through his head.

He was in his Christmas present: A brand new pair of bright red, fluffy woollen socks- the most perfect bed ever and exactly what Tommy had asked for. He had basically run to get his gift as fast as possible, before hauling it back through the walls to a space close by the bookshelf; the space seemingly much more homely after last night's introductions. 

He hugged the woollen fabric tightly, smiling as he remembered the soft smile Santa had as he watched him go and how kind and gentle he had been with him the entire time.

The Borrower was so pleased and grateful that he had been able to meet the Santa Claus, and would cherish the magical night forever.

He stayed snuggled in his new bed for a little while longer before his stomach grumbled in protest that he should go and have something to eat. Albeit a little grumbly, his hunger eventually won out and Tommy made his way through the walls back to the kitchen so he could gather some food before the Bean woke up.

Stealthily, he removed the electrical socket, expecting to make it a quick supply run; stepping out into the open before freezing in surprise.

Laid out in a neat pile behind the toaster was a small stack of brightly wrapped gifts all wrapped in different coloured and patterned paper, and right in the middle, an envelope with his name written in gold cursive. Tommy smiled brightly, as he eagerly ran forward to the awaiting stack of gifts, quickly grabbing a gift reading the label. 

To: Tommy From: Santa

Tommy denies that he cried that day. 

That he took each gift home and opened each one oh so delicately, afraid if he didn’t they might just disappear, happy tears trailing down his cheek as he opened a gift revealing a beautiful, blue knitted sweater- and in just his size. 

His tears didn’t cease as he opened the other gifts revealing several new pairs of warm winter clothes, new rope and hooks for climbing, some tea candles with a tiny piece of flint and steel to light them, and the tiniest iced cookies he had ever seen. He could actually hold this in one hand like humans did and he had a whole bag of them!!! His prayers had been answered and he couldn’t be more thankful.

Soon, the only thing that remained was the envelope.

He dried his face as best he could, doing his best to not smear any tears or snot onto the pristine surface as he opened the envelope, revealing a card with a picture of glitter candy canes decorating the front. 

Settled back into his new bed, Tommy opened the card and read the message inside.

Dear Tommy, It was lovely meeting you and getting to know your story. I figured you might  like some extra gifts as well to help you be more comfortable in Wilbur’s walls. I think you should try talking to him.  You might be surprised. Sincerely, Santa Claus

P.S- He’s not as scary as you think.

Tommy’s smile became puzzled as he reread the last few lines.

Who the heck was Wilbur?

Was that the name of the Bean that lived here?

Oh come on, that's not fair! How come Santa knew Wilbur’s name but not his!

He grumbled a little bit at the thought, but his mind kept drawing back to the last line of the card.

‘He’s not as scary as you think.’

“Hmpf, you keep saying that.” Tommy grumbled. 

What was with Santa’s insistence on this?

As much as he wanted to be annoyed at Santa for putting forward such a ridiculous idea, Tommy decided to drag himself out of bed and to the book shelf crack. The Bean had gotten up not long after Tommy had made it back to his new home, but he’d been a tad too distracted to really care about how slow and heavy they had been trudging about this morning unlike their usually poised self.

Currently, said Bean was sitting on the couch, the exact same spot he and Santa had been last night, absentmindedly staring at his hand.

How could Santa think this guy was any good? They had kidnapped him unknowingly, almost let him die from hypothermia unknowingly, destroyed the top of his home unknowingly and Santa still thinks they won’t hurt him?

Okay so maybe it wasn’t their fault all those things happened just because they didn’t know he was there, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still very capable of hurting him for having to do all those things. But then again, Santa knew who was naughty or nice. And he wouldn’t ask him to do something that would endanger his safety if this ‘Wilbur’ guy wasn’t a good person right?

Tommy observed the Bean a little longer, as they ran their thumb over their palm. Their normally neat curly hair was all over the place and he could have sworn there were black bags under their eyes from lack of sleep. They suddenly turned their head and were staring straight at his crack by the book shelf. The Borrower was certain they couldn’t see him from the couch, but ducked back just slightly in case.

The Bean simply sighed as a small smile graced their features. Tommy was right about the black bags. Bean did not look like they had slept at all. 

He thought back to what Santa had said. 

I think you should try talking to him.

They certainly didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe they really weren’t bad like the Jolly man said?

But was it really worth taking the risk and talking to this guy?

Before he could dwell on it for much longer, the door bell sounded and Wilbur snapped his head to the sound before standing and stretching; their limbs popping and cracking slightly from their limited use. Before he left the living room, the man stopped and stared at his crack once more. Tommy didn’t dare breathe as they simply smiled and shook their head, before exiting and headed towards the front door.

Tommy allowed himself to exhale as the sound of footsteps got further away.

“Weirdo.” Tommy muttered to himself as he pushed himself back from the crack and began to head back to his bed for a well deserved rest.

He’d think about what Santa said, and just maybe he’d talk to this- Wilbur. If not, he hoped he'd meet Santa again so he could thank them in person.

Once he was back in his bed, Tommy quickly slipped in snuggling down, allowing himself to drift off to the chatter of beings much larger than himself from beyond the walls.

“Wil! So good to see you! It’s been ages!”

“Hi Dad, thanks for letting me host. I’m so glad you and Techno could make it!

“So are we, but you look like shit mate. Up late again? Wouldn't be related to that surprise you were telling us about?”

“You could say that…” 

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy never did meet Santa Claus again.

The card proudly on display in his new home, a secret hope he would one day and a constant reminder of what Santa had asked him to try.

And maybe one day, Tommy would finally take up the old man's advice and go and speak to Wilbur, and discover perhaps they may have been right.

Maybe then he’d finally have a friend to keep him warm during the holiday seasons and to rely on like he had wished. 

One that seemed to always know just what he needed despite never telling them, and was very insistent about never wearing Santa costumes.

No matter how many times a little boy begged….

 ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗   ༺𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂༻༺𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼༻  ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That was a lot of words....

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING TO THE END! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it and it means a lot you read all the way through <3

Tag List: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10

And cue rant: Honestly you guys have no idea just how much you all mean to me an in this community and the impact you've had on me in the last year alone. I could not be more thankful for being apart of this and getting to know you guys. Getting so back into writing has been really good for me and rekindled something I love so I can't thank you enough.

And even though I know I've been a little quieter online, I'm still here lurking about and working on projects. A lot has happened in the last few months alone and I'm quite happy that I'm limiting myself to be a bit more healthier with my online habits.

Anyways thanks so much if you read this far!

Thanks to my Beta readers @a-xyz-s squishy and munchkin for reading this for me, and I wish you all a very safe and wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!

-Beckyu ❤️

[7ndipity]

Timebomb

Non-specified Member x Reader

Summary: A fight with your boyfriend leads you to reflect on whether or not you're right for each other.

Warnings, angst, swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thank you to anon for this request! Thought I'd try out something slightly different, so there's no specified member for this. Also I wrote it with a slightly hopeful ending, cause I don't like sad endings.

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"Would you just drop it? It's not like you would understand anyway."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're acting like a stupid kid!"

It was a throw-away comment said in the middle of a stupid fight, but his words kept reverberating round in your head as you walked along the riverfront, hands stuffed deep down in the pockets of your jacket in an attempt to try and quell their shaking; whether from cold or what, you weren't sure.

"This is exactly what the guys had warned me about." He'd muttered, dragging a hand over his face in frustration.

It didn't surprise you that his groupmates had concerns over your relationship, especially considering how close-knit they were, but hearing him use their worries against you had stung more than you cared to admit.

While it was true the age gap between you wasn't exactly small, you had never really seen that as an issue, or so you'd thought.

You were still college, working to find your direction in life, while he was more than well established in his career and trying to navigate the near frantic pace of an industry that constantly demanded more.

The differences were there, but you'd always been able to work through them before. But lately, the arguments had gotten more frequent with less and less resolution, leaving you with a deep, unsettling feeling, as if the two of you were sitting on a ticking time bomb.

So you'd left, even though it was late and you were alone in city you still didn't know that well, and maybe it was childish to run away, but right then all you had wanted was to be on your own so you could think. Which led to where you were now; perched on a wall by the river, watching as the water rolled past, unconcerned with the petty and temporary nature of humanity.

"What are you doing out here?"

You didn't bother looking up as you heard him approach, keeping you eyes locked straight ahead.

"Being a stupid kid." You replied flatly. "Apparently, I'm really good at it."

He took a seat next to you, not quite touching but close enough to catch the scent of his cologne. "I didn't mean that."

"You still said it."

"I shouldn't have, though." He said quietly, letting out a deep exhale. "I was upset and irritated, and I know that's no excuse..." You felt him slump in defeat, seeming at a loss for words for once. "I'm sorry."

"It's more than that though." You said, finally looking up at him, taking in his pensive expression as his eyes worriedly scanned your own. "Your life's not exactly normal, you know that. You can't just expect me to immediately understand what's going on, you have to talk to me."

"I know, you're right." He agreed.

It was quiet for a moment, before you felt his hand hesitantly reach for yours, his face only beginning to relax when you let your fingers interweave with his.

"Can we go home?" He asked.

"In a minute."

You wanted to stay here just a little longer before you went back to reality, stalling the clock for a bit, just in case it ever did hit zero.

[raindropren]

!!!!!! Secret Life Episode 9 Spoilers !!!!!!

THIS SEASON IS SO FUCKING GOOD HELL YA

I LOVE THIS

I LOVE SECRET LIFE

IT'S SO GOOD

I'M

SIIJOHFSIHFJSNF

LETS GO, SCAR!! WOO HOO

I GENUINELY LOVE THIS SO MUCH AAA

ALSO WHY IS PEARL SO CRACKED AT THIS GAME!?!?!

So she was i think 3rd in last life, Won in double life, I think 4th or 5th in limited life, and now, 2nd in Secret life!!

What the F u c k

I love it so much

It really helps all my headcanons tbh, it makes me so happy.

Also why does pearl always survive longer then her allies/teammates(Unless they win)

and by always i mean like, 2 times? 2 and a half? if u count tilly maybe? i do... 2.5 :]

I really do wish joel or bdubs won, mostly joel because it would've been so good but I deffo think scar deserved this win.

I think it wouldve been kind of funny if in the 1v1 battle between scar and pearl.. pearl won... and it's just, awkward cause she... didn't want that. at all.

She wanted scar to win after bdubs and joel died, she wanted to sacrifice her life to scar in the end because she wanted her allies to win.

I also think shiny duo is a tragedy in the end. I really hope someone makes a fanfic about them in secret life cause they just, they, they just, <3 <3 <3

I love them alot

I'm making a theory that Gem might, win the next life seires.

Shiny duo winning their second season, please please please /hj /lh

I've already really loved the pearl fanfics from this season cause omg but I just, i just <3 <3 can't wait to see more!! aaa :D

if i get the motivation i fucking will make a fic about gem and pearl coming back into hermitcraft. They have very similar vibes in the life series(they're fucking crazy, don't mess with them, but also you'd rather be on their side then not(I haven't watched gems life series so if i'm wrong on this one, oopsie) cause they are more loyal then most) and I think it'd be fun to see them coming back and talking to eachother about the season ngl.

Murder camel my beloved, shiny duo my beloved

I also think(if I get the motivation) i'd want to make a fic with Pearl and Bdubs, in hermitcraft, afterwards.

ooo so many ideas, so many ideas so little time and motivation.

i wanna know what would happen if pearl accidentally won, despite not wanting too, if she hit scar just alittle to hard and now she was alone, as the sole 2 time winner. I think AU!pearl would have a mental fucking breakdown but i also think it'd be a fun concept aaaa

I want a fic about Pearl just after Bdubs and Joel died, just crying. like tears down her cheeks when she meets back up with scar and aaaa <3

All these would be my au obviously cause i'm way to obsessed with it but my au is set in canon, mostly. or at least alittle, i'm trying LOL

I'm proud of scar :]

like, i'm proud of all the winners but, i really do feel like scar deserved this win

I might watch his pov at some point, i can't wait for people to tear the angst from scars episodes, they already have alittle but with him winning, I can't fucking wait, omg <3

I'm just so excited now

aaaa

i'm nhjgofubkhgfubkjhdfjl eee

I really hope gem and pearl team next season instead of just being temporary allies because they are so fun omg

I really hope there's another season cause god they are so good /nf

I can't get enough of life series pearl in my au

which is why i keep mentioning her, i've basically only watched her pov cause I have a hard time watching others. I wanna watch gem, lizzies(it's ies right? i'm bad with spelling names aa), and now scars. stars above, i love this series

aaaaaaaaaaaaa

secret is probably my new favorite season, idk why, maybe it's because of shiny duo alittle, but y'know :]

There's so much i wish i wanna talk about

like how Pearl said "Always Watching" to BigB

Or just any moment with Pearl and Scott, I miss their last life dynamic alot /pos /notneg

Cleo and Pearls pupper alliance breaking and Pearl saying she really wanted to be allies with Cleo, like I need fics of that so much guys omg (Big MoonRot fan!! ee)

Anytime Gem, Impulse, and Pearl were in a trio together, like omg, It's Soup Group!!! Guys!!! it's them!!! omg!!!!!!!! guys!!

Pearl walking the Warden around like a pro, i love that so much LOL

there's deffo more, but i've typed way to much LOL i just love this so much, it's insane.

[goggles-mcgee]

What killed the show for you?

A lot, actually. But it wasn't all at once. It was like slowly creeping in, and then the rest hit me in the face with a loud, resounding BAM.

It started off with noticing how Marinette was being treated. Like I said before, she was being punished for basically everything she did. She could sneeze at the wrong moment and the show would 'punish' her for that behavior and basically show everyone that by sneezing she ruined the ambiance of whatever was going on.

She had to apologize for things that weren't her fault but it was painted out like she was.

Made her crush/love for Adrien seem super creepy as opposed to his love for Ladybug.

Marinette has basically only been allowed temporary happiness. She had to see a future when the world ended all because she wanted to do something for Adrien and 'abused' her power as Ladybug... if that were an actual rule you would think that Gabriel would have been slapped in the face down into a grave with how he used his Miraculous.

From there is got worse, then other characters started to get terrible writing when Lila arrived. She was an interesting antagonist, but like they hammed her up so much. She would be on screen and the writing for the surrounding characters got worse. It was odd and it didn't make watching enjoyable anymore. It was frustrating! Like you mean to tell me no one else caught on to her ridiculous lies besides Marinette and Marinette only knows because of her creepy crush making her stalk Adrien? Wack.

And like the whole class fell for it? Nah, there would be some who don't, and the fact they decided no, everyone will believe her except Marinette is lazy and ridiculous. Maybe if her lies were more believable I'd tolerate it but from that point on the show just frustrated me.

There was nothing to look forward to despite me desperately clutching at the show and begging it to catch my attention and affection once more.

There's also the fact that the show has like no to little continuity. Even shows meant for younger audiences have SOME. And I know because my nephew watches so many shows, he is currently 5, so I think you can guess the kind of shows he watches. Even they have some levels of continuity and it make sense!

ML doesn't have that or didn't before I stopped watching.

They have a romance they are desperately trying to sell as true love.

They have a villain they tried to get you to see has doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.

A villain they also tried to sell loved his son but it couldn't be more obvious that he doesn't.

They have the notion of friendship concurs all, but it's not really sticking, much like undercooked pasta to a wall.

And other reasons.

But hey, these are my reasons, and I am in no way saying other fans should stop watching. If they can still find things about the show enjoyable, then I'm happy for them! I hope they have a great time following the show as it continues.

It's just not for me anymore.