#so trying to figure out what I should or wanna apply for the world of this fic has been chaos

[lupizora]

Why it is that in Urban Fantasy settings, the Vampires are always the ones perfectly accumulated into human society when Werewolves are shoe-horned into secret societies that live in the outskirts of the general population?

I am aware that Vampires have this image of aristocracy and prestige which in turns makes it easier to silence any offending elements that might get in the way.

But is it really so unthinkable for the modern version of "shifting at will" lycanthropy to be able to idk live somewhat peacefully among humanity or even, be somewhat forced when the opposite would be extinction?

There are several countries where the local wolf population has been majorly eradicated or has actually gone extinct. In this case, wolf sightings wouldn't only be suspicious, but they'd be downright impossible to explain (there are so many excuses authorities might make about escaped zoo animals imo). This does depend on whether supernatural creatures are common knowledge or not. Still, if they are, I don't see how human society wouldn't try to regulate lycanthropy and Werewolves so they won't indiscriminately kill people for prey. Like idk some form of domesticating process 🤔

[ama0310]

Bubblegum Bitch

Character: Aaron Hotchner

Requested: No

Type: Song Fic, Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch never thought he'd fall in love again—until he met Y/N.

Author's Note: Based on Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA

***************************

Meeting the Unit Chief should have been terrifying, but for you, it was exhilarating. Strauss had recently transferred you to the BAU from the Counter-Terrorism Division.

You suspected she added you to the team to ruffle the Unit Chief's feathers. It might have bothered you if it hadn’t come with a nice bump in your paycheck.

The moment Hotch saw you, he knew you were trouble. He just didn't realize how much trouble until your very first case.

Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

You stood before the mirror in a dingy motel bathroom, applying the finishing touches to your makeup. The skin-tight leather mini dress hugged every curve, transforming you into the perfect bait for the unsub who had been terrorizing local nightclubs.

Hotch's reflection appeared behind you, his face etched with worry. "Y/L/N, I really don't think you're ready for this."

You turned, cocking an eyebrow as you placed your hands on your hips. "And why is that, sir?"

Hotch's response was immediate and brutally honest. "You're still new, never been face-to-face with an unsub, let alone undercover. You're reckless, difficult to control, and frankly, a loose cannon. Need I go on?"

I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out

A smirk played at your lips as you sauntered towards him, invading his personal space. The scent of your perfume mingled with the tension in the air. "Look, Hotchie," you purred, noting how he stiffened at the nickname, "I was transferred here for a reason. I know what this job entails. So be my boss and let me do it."

You could see the internal struggle playing out behind Hotch's eyes. His professional concern warred with something else – an attraction he was clearly trying to suppress. You were a walking danger sign, and part of him was drawn to that fire.

"First," he said, his voice low and controlled, "don't call me that. Second, I'm not trying to offend you. I simply think Emily might be better suited for this operation. You can take points next time."

You scoffed, taking a step back. "Next time? With all due respect, sir, I fit the victimology perfectly, and you know it. I've spent the last hour transforming myself into exactly what this creep is looking for. If I don't do this, he'll likely claim another victim before we can catch him. So again, Hotchie," you emphasized the nickname, watching him bristle, "let me do my job. Don't make me have to disobey orders."

Without waiting for a response, you slipped on your stilettos and brushed past him, the warmth of your body tantalizingly close for a moment before you were gone.

Hotch watched you go, a mix of admiration and trepidation swirling in his gut. You were brilliant, fearless, and undeniably effective. But you were also unpredictable, pushing boundaries at every turn. As he followed you out, preparing to oversee the operation, one thought echoed in his mind:

Definitely trouble.

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored I'm the girl you'd die for

Over the past few months, you had become the team's radiant beacon of positivity, your presence a cure for the often-dark nature of their work. Even the usually stoic Hotch, though he'd never admit it aloud, had fallen under your spell.

It was impossible not to be drawn to your infectious energy. Each morning, you breezed into the bullpen, a whirlwind of warmth and enthusiasm. Your greetings were accompanied by compliments, tailored to brighten each team member's day. After particularly grueling cases, the aroma of your famous blueberry muffins would fill the office, a comforting reminder that there was still sweetness in the world. You even patiently endured Spencer's lengthy tangents, sparing the others from information overload.

As the team prepared to head out for a new case, you sprinted across the parking lot, your laughter echoing off the concrete walls. "Shotgun!" you called out triumphantly, playfully shoving past Spencer to claim the coveted front seat next to Hotch.

Your friendship with the young doctor had blossomed quickly, bonded by your shared status as the "kids" of the team. While the others sometimes found his endless stream of facts overwhelming, you delighted in his knowledge, often engaging him in spirited debates that left the rest of the team both amused and bewildered.

The unit chief's lips twitched, fighting back a smile as he watched your antics. Spencer, mock indignation coloring his voice, appealed to their leader. "Hotch, come on! She rode shotgun last time. It's my turn, isn't it?"

Hotch cleared his throat, his tone stern but his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "Y/N, you know the rules. It is indeed Reid's turn to sit up front."

You turned to face Hotch, unleashing the full power of your most irresistible puppy dog eyes. Your lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as you pleaded silently. Behind you, Spencer let out a resigned sigh, already knowing he'd lost this battle. Your ability to wrap Hotch around your finger was legendary among the team, even if the man himself was loath to acknowledge it.

Hotch held your gaze for a moment, visibly wavering. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he started the engine, tacitly allowing you to keep your place.

Victorious, you twisted in your seat to face Spencer, sticking out your tongue in a childish display of triumph.

"Y/N!" Hotch's voice held a note of warning, though it lacked any real heat.

You straightened immediately, your voice dripping with faux innocence. "Sorry, sir!"

The apology was hollow, and you both knew it. As Hotch pulled out of the parking lot, you caught the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your sunny persona had once again melted the ice around the unit chief's heart.

Oh, dear diary, I met a boy He made my doll heart light up with joy

The realization hit you like a thunderbolt – you were hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Aaron Hotchner. For the first time in your life, you felt a fear that chilled you to your core.

How could someone like him ever reciprocate such feelings? The cons seemed endless: a decade age gap, your extroverted nature clashing with his stoicism, your wild spirit at odds with his controlled demeanor. Not to mention the professional boundary – you were his employee, AND  he was still navigating the aftermath of his recent divorce.

Your newfound awareness of your feelings for Hotch led to a desperate attempt at avoidance. It was hard, given how intertwined your lives had become over the months. For a week, you'd been dodging his texts, offering only cursory greetings, and maintaining a physical distance that felt painfully unnatural.

Hotch noticed the change immediately, and it gnawed at him. Your vibrant presence had become a constant in his life, a source of warmth he hadn't realized he'd come to depend on until it was suddenly gone.

He found himself missing the little rituals that had naturally developed between you. The morning car rides, once a practical solution to your car troubles, had evolved into a cherished start to each day. Your habit of bringing him a piece of candy during lunch breaks, with the excuse of "sweetening up his day," never failed to bring a smile to his face. Most of all, he missed the casual physical contact – the way you'd unconsciously place your hand on his arm when standing close, a gesture that grounded him more than he cared to admit.

As the week progressed, Hotch's concern deepened. Had he unknowingly offended you? He wracked his brain, trying to pinpoint any misstep. Perhaps the latest case had affected you more than usual, or maybe you were simply exhausted. Whatever the reason, he was determined to lift your spirits.

During his lunch break, Hotch made his way to your favorite café. The aroma of freshly baked goods enveloped him as he ordered your usual – a ham and cheese croissant and your preferred coffee blend. Back at the office, he noticed your empty desk and quickly left the bag before retreating to his office.

When you returned from the restroom, steeling yourself for an afternoon of paperwork, the sight of the familiar bag on your desk stopped you in your tracks. With trembling hands, you opened it to find the still-warm croissant and perfectly prepared coffee. Atop the container, a piece of candy was taped to a note that read: "To sweeten your day up! – Hotch"

Your heart swelled, a mix of joy and ache flooding your chest. Looking up, you caught Hotch watching you from his office window. Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't help but offer him the radiant smile he'd come to cherish.

In that moment, the truth was undeniable. You were completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with Aaron Hotchner. As your eyes locked with his, a flicker of something – hope, perhaps? – passed between you, hinting that maybe, just maybe, these obstacles weren't quite so impossible after all.

Oh, dear diary, we fell apart Welcome to the life of Electra Heart

Aaron Hotchner never imagined falling in love after Haley left. His life revolved around his job and Jack. He didn't need anyone else. That is, until you entered his life.

You were the first to sense something was wrong when he didn't answer his phone. Racing to his apartment, you found it covered in blood. With Penelope's help, you tracked him to a hospital, learning he'd been stabbed nine times.

When he opened his eyes and saw you, Hotch thought he'd died and gone to heaven. You looked angelic - an angel he couldn't bear to see harmed.

So when George Foyet shot him in his own home, Hotch realized he needed to end whatever was blossoming between you before you got hurt.

But you made it difficult.

The moment he was released, you were there every day, before and after work. Groceries, cleaning, anything to ease his burden. You knew how hard it was for him to send Haley and Jack away, how alone he must feel. You were determined to show him the team - and you - were there for him. For anything.

Driving him home after the Darrin Call case, where he'd recklessly entered a house without backup, your anger finally boiled over.

"What the hell were you thinking, Aaron?" you demanded, following him into his apartment. "No gun, no vest, no backup. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Hotch turned, his face a mask of stone. "I knew the profile. I had it under control."

"Under control?" you scoffed. "If it were anyone else, you'd have suspended them! This isn't you, Aaron. What's going on?"

His eyes flashed. "What's going on is I'm the Unit Chief, and I don't answer to you. I think before I act, unlike some people."

The barb stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said coldly. "Just find it ironic you're lecturing me on recklessness."

"I've never walked into a hostage situation alone and unarmed!" you countered.

"I don't have to explain myself," Hotch snapped. "Especially not to you. Get out."

Your eyes widened. "No. We're talking about this. You're spiraling, Aaron. This obsession with Foyet-"

"Stop. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you're not alone in this!" you pleaded. "The team needs you. I need you."

Hotch laughed bitterly. "If you haven't noticed, I am alone. My son is gone. I have no one. And I won't rest until Foyet is dead."

Tears welled in your eyes. "You have us. You have me. We can figure this out together."

"There is no 'we,'" Hotch said, his voice cold and final. "There never was."

The words hit like a physical blow. "Don't say that. You know that's not true."

For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing the pain beneath. But then it was back, harder than ever. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

You stared at him, hurt turning to anger. "Go to hell, Hotchner," you spat, before storming out, leaving him alone with the wreckage of what might have been.

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

Your relationship with Aaron had crumbled to dust. Since that night you stormed out of his apartment, you'd made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. Difficult, considering he was your boss.

You understood he was facing unimaginable challenges - the loss of his ex-wife, becoming a single parent. Part of you ached to support him, but you both needed space.

That space stretched into a year.

You'd left transfer papers on his desk days ago. Despite your love for the team, staying had become impossible. It wasn't fair to you or Hotch. Counter Terrorism Division beckoned - a fresh start.

You hadn't told the team yet, dreading their reactions. You'd become their wild, sassy, overdramatic little sister. But tonight wasn't about goodbyes. It was Spencer's birthday, and Derek had chosen a club to celebrate. You wouldn't miss it for the world.

Arriving in a hot pink mini dress and matching heels, you spotted the team immediately.

"Happy birthday, Boy Genius!" you exclaimed, hugging Spencer tight.

"Please," he whispered, "get me out of here. Derek's trying to set me up with his friend."

You laughed, ruffling his hair. "No can do, Spence. It's your night. Go crazy. I promise not to film anything too embarrassing."

Turning to greet the others, you froze. Hotch was there. You hugged everyone but him, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Damn, girl! You're on fire!" Penelope gushed, clearly tipsy.

Emily nodded appreciatively. "I'm borrowing those heels."

"You know how to make a girl feel special," you winked. "First round's on me!"

An hour later, you were dancing with Penelope and Spencer, the alcohol buzzing through your veins. Suddenly, Spencer spun you – right into Hotch's arms. You glared at Spencer, who mouthed 'Karma' with a smirk.

The tension was strong as you and Hotch swayed silently. You wanted to escape, yet craved his touch.

"You requested a transfer," he stated, his voice low.

You quirked an eyebrow. "Did you sign it?"

"No."

You pulled back, stunned. "What do you mean, no?"

"We need to talk first."

Anger flared. "You're unbelievable," you spat, pushing past him and out of the club. He followed close behind.

"Y/N, please-"

You whirled to face him. "There's nothing to say. It's been a year, Hotch. Whatever we had is dead."

"You don't mean that," he insisted, his eyes burning into yours.

The alcohol amplified your emotions. "I do. I'm over it. Over you. There's nothing left to talk about."

"Then I'll talk, and you listen," he said firmly, gripping your shoulders. "There was a 'we'. Everything I said that night – it was a lie. To keep you safe from Foyet. He was targeting everyone I loved. I couldn't risk losing you."

Your heart stuttered. "You... loved me?"

"I still do," he breathed, cupping your face. "This past year has been hell. Not having you by my side – our carpool chats, sneaking candy, just... you. It was torture. I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

You wanted to resist, to make him suffer longer. But the alcohol, the longing, the raw emotion in his voice – it was too much. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

You both exhaled, tension melting away. It felt right. It felt like coming home.

"I love you too," you murmured, then pulled back with a stern look. "But you've got a lot of making up to do."

He pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. You deserve the world, Y/N, and I intend to give it to you."

Your lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, full of promise and the weight of a year apart.

As you parted, you whispered, "This doesn't mean I'm not still furious with you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch

Again, you were trouble. Even after two years together, you definitely kept him on his toes. Not transferring and working alongside your boyfriend made for an interesting way to live.

“What you did was stupid and reckless, Y/N.” Aaron's voice was stern as the team boarded the jet to head back home. The case had been a success, but it came at the cost of you getting into the unsub’s car without any weapons. Fortunately, you had your team.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Y/N. I’m serious.”

“Ooooo, Mom and Dad are fighting,” Spencer teased from across the jet.

“Shut up, Spencer,” you snapped, making him raise his hands in mock surrender. Then, you turned to Hotch. “You know damn well I needed to get into his car. If I didn’t and you caught him, he would’ve acted like he was just trying to get with me.”

Aaron rubbed the side of his head. Migraines. You gave him migraines. “The plan was for you to walk down the street, and the moment you were alone with him, we would get him. You went rogue.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Well, technically we were alone, and you did get him.”

He was about to argue again, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him your infamous puppy dog face. “Aaron, I’m okay. You know I did what I had to do to catch him. I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m not sorry for helping bring him in.”

He sighed, knowing you were right, and he could never stay mad at you. “I hated every second of it. My heart stopped the moment you got into that damn car.”

You smiled and pecked him on the lips. “Hey, you always said I was going to give you a heart attack.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes before he kissed you. “You have, and you most definitely will again.”

“Hey, that’s what you love about me.”

“That is true.”

[astraystayyh]

[1:14 a.m. valentine’s day]

nothing filled you with pride like seeing hyunjin on stage— he bloomed under the spotlight like a flower whose petals only unfurled under the caress of the sun.

yet, a bit selfishly, it is in moments like these that you liked him the most. bare faced, cheek slightly squished against your pillow, his black wispy bangs falling upon his eyes, ones you delicately remove from his eyesight each time, as you are doing now, tucking some strands of it behind the curve of his ear. he responds by wrapping his fingers around your wrist and bringing your hand to his mouth, brushing your fingertips against his lips slightly— the softest to the touch, before bestowing a kiss on each one of them, his eyes never leaving yours.

it is in moments like these that you liked hyunjin the most, when he didnt feel the need to perform for anyone, where he existed in his most natural state, and where he chose to love you, so much, in it.

“aren’t you sleepy?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper. you’d do anything to preserve the quiet, barricade the door to the outside world with all your might if you had to.

“no,” he replies, just as softly, his hand falling to rest upon your cheek. “are you?”

“no,” you echo, as a traitorous yawn overtakes your lips. he giggles sweetly, head tipped back, as if his entire being needed to translate the happiness in his heart.

“liar,” he grins, pecking your nose tenderly, “you should sleep.”

“but it’s valentine’s day.”

“isn’t it tomorrow?”

“it’s already past midnight,” you point out and he hums, licking his lips slowly. the gesture brings you to his mouth, and a tiktok you saw earlier crosses your mind. hyunjin spots the mischievous glint in your eyes before you speak.

“i saw a good valentine’s makeup earlier,” you say, pointer finger gently tracing the contours of his face. “want me to try it on you?”

“right now?”

“it’s easy, and you’re not sleepy.”

“but you are,” he pouts and you giggle, kissing his frown away— it dissolves like sugar in tea from your warmth.

“i wanna stay up with you. hold on,” you quickly leave the bed and hyunjin whines immediately, flailing his arms in the air as he calls out for you.

“i’ve literally–“ you words are muffled as he brings you to his chest immediately upon your return, “-being gone for five seconds.”

“five seconds too long,” he mumbles against your neck, you let out a strangled squeal. “baby i cant breathe,” you heave and he lets you go, eyebrows furrowed in worry as he cradles your face, moving it from left to right.

“are you okay? can you breathe fine? should i perform CPR?” he rambles dramatically, voice growing high-pitched with each frantic question. you dont have time to answer before he crashes his lips on yours, taking your breath away once again, for an entirely different reason.

“is the CPR working?” he whispers against your mouth, a cheeky smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“idiot,” you giggle, pulling away from him, painstakingly, your lips refusing to part from his.

“so,” you finally clear your throat, sitting crisscrossed atop the covers. he follows suit, your knees bumping into one another. “the valentine’s makeup is just kisses all over your face, with lipstick. it’s a trend on tiktok, we can film it too…” you trail out, fully aware of his aversion to trends on that app.

“sure.”

“just like that?”

“what my baby wants my baby gets,” he grins, “please proceed.”

“yes mr. hwang, thank you mr. hwang,” you snort, unscrewing the cap of your lipstick. you apply a coat of the vibrant red to your lips, making sure to go over your cupid bow. hyunjin’s eyes never leave your figure. he leans in to kiss you as soon as you’re done.

“not yet!” you yelp, avoiding his kiss and his eyes grow so wide they start to resemble a full moon.

“i didn’t know this trend had rules,” a frown takes over his face and you giggle, running your thumb softly over the curve of his eyebrows.

“patience, baby,” you set up your phone, pressing record before handing it to hyunjin. he grabs it from you, a string of complaints falling from his lips. “can we go back to you rejecting my kiss, i actually cant believe you did that, i think that’s against the law–“ a soft kiss lands on hyunjin’s lips and he closes his eyes promptly, sighing into your mouth in relief. he quiets down, any sight of (dramatic) discomfort gone from his face.

“there,” you smile, before pressing a kiss to his cheek, it is a lingering one, trickled with a smile that does not want to leave your face, nor hyunjin’s, who’s grinning like a fool at the camera, a glazed sheen coating his eyes. next is his temple, then his nose, the tender skin beneath his eyes and the high of his cheekbones. kiss after kiss after kiss, imprint after imprint after imprint.

it is not your first time kissing hyunjin, far from your last, but there are still giddy giggles escaping your lips, making your teeth clash against his skin, making his eyes turn to moon crescents, ones the sky must be secretly jealous of.

you place a fleeting kiss on his chin, moving upwards to the corner of his mouth, then finally, what your hearts have been aching for, his lips, sweet like sugar as they meet yours, waves of love crashing into one another. the kiss deepens, as your hand runs through his hair, and he suddenly drops the phone, no longer caring about filming.

he grabs your jaw, angling it closer so he’d press your lips onto yours more deeply, and yet the kiss remains as soft, perhaps because it isn’t stringed along by lust, but by a tenderness that only manifests at 1 a.m. when you refuse to sleep because it’ll lead you away from hyunjin.

“you look so cute,” you whisper, as you finally part, your hands finding his jaw instantly.

“thanks to you,” his voice is silky as it drapes across your soul. your eyes soften, your hold on his face faltering. he is yours to love, under the shining light and the dim one. yours.

“happy valentine’s day, my angel,” he tilts his head to bestow a tender kiss on your palm. “thank you for loving me today too.”

“no, thank you for being so easy to love.”

[silamander]

Every day, I realize more and more that people have forgotten about respect, like on a basic level. Love thy neighbor and all that. Because I've noticed that when someone disagrees with someone, they have an almost instinctive tendency to believe that they are their enemy, and they're inherently bad, and they need to be fought. But we have to respect others who make mistakes, or there will be no respect at all.

You can even hate someone, you can despise someone who has done horrible, awful things, but you still need to treat them with respect. And you might be thinking "How? If they're a horrible person, they deserve to be treated unfairly" and that's not the way we should live, and definitely not the way I want to live.

Because I believe that the golden rule, is the most important one. We need to treat people the way you want to be treated, with respect, with decency. We're all human, we're all just people trying to figure out who we are and what we wanna do. And we're all equal. Cause if we're ever gonna be better, we need to, at the most basic level respect each other. But it's hard, I know, cause it's so easy, to want revenge, or apply the "An eye for an eye" rule, or label someone as a simple word just to dismiss them.

It doesn't matter what the color of someone's skin is, what religion they believe in, where they've come from, or where they are now. All lives are precious, all lives are important, and I believe that everyone has the ability to do something amazing, or terrible. But that depends on others, on us, to take the high road, and be better, and have hope for what we can do to make this world a better place. And I'll defend that to the death.

So when it comes to discriminating or dehumanizing someone? Or anyone? I won't stand for that.

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 15: PAINFUL RE:BAKE - Episode 10: Best Shot Update

Taichi: Hmmm… Not again…

Taichi: (I figured it’d be, but… It sure is hard to get accepted….)

Taichi: (From Japanese mini theater movies, to local station mini dramas and graduate students’ films…)

Taichi: (I applied for the roles introduced to me by Sumeragi Agency and the ones I found by researching myself, but I failed all of them.)

Taichi: (... I knew I wouldn’t pass in one shot, obviously, and I haven’t lost heart just yet.)

Taichi: (My audition pilgrimage’s only just begun, I’ve gotta keep my spirits up.)

Taichi: When Mucchan failed his audition, he got even more motivated and improved his skills at the workshop…

Taichi: Instead of moping around, I should use these failures as motivation to keep goin’!

Taichi: Let’s go!

Taichi: (Maybe I should start by looking through my failed applications… Updating my profile pic might help…)

[Door opening]

Omi: …

Taichi: Hm? Welcome back, Omi-kun!

Omi: Y-Yeah, I’m back.

Taichi: (I wonder if he’s tired? He’s kinda spacing out...)

Taichi: Oh yeah! Omi-kun, you’re free tomorrow, right?

Omi: Yeah.

Taichi: I’ve got a favor to ask of you for my challenge…

Omi: Got it. You want me to take you somewhere? Around what time–

Taichi: At night, obviously!

-

[Motorcycle speeding]

Taichi: The wind feels so good! GO! GO! Yeah!

Omi: This reminds me of back when we did “Stranger”.

Taichi: The two of us toured like this back then too!

-

Taichi: So! We’ll be taking the ultimate updated profile pic with the ocean and sunrise as the background!

Omi: The seaside would be best, then. Try moving around over there a little.

Taichi: Ok! I wanna look like I’m the main character in a movie!

Omi: The splashing of the water adds some nice movement.

[Splash, splash]

Taichi: Like this!?

[Snap]

Omi: Yup. Looking good.

-

[Taichi steps out of the water]

Taichi: So? Did they turn out good?

Omi: This one’s the best shot.

Taichi: It’s so good! The sunrise’s light is also perfect! Only the best from you, Omi-kun!

Taichi: Oh, this one looks like the pic we took that day.

Omi: You’re right. Since the composition is similar, we can clearly see your growth by comparing them.

Taichi: If we take a pic like this every year, it’ll look like a record of my growth!

Omi: Haha, you’re right.

Taichi: I was able to get the perfect updated profile pic thanks to you, Omi-kun.

Taichi: Ah, I know that the world isn’t so kind that I’ll be accepted just ‘cause I’ve got such a good pic, of course~

Omi: Auditions, huh…

Taichi: Everything I’ve applied for has been a bust. I knew it’d be tough, but it still makes me kinda sad.

Taichi: So, thanks for coming with me today, even if it was just under the excuse of having my picture taken!

Omi: I’ll do this much for you any time. It helped cheer me up, too.

Taichi: But, y’know, after failing so much, it got me thinking…

Taichi: MANKAI Company’s the best, for letting all of us be lead actors as if it’s a given.

Taichi: It’s an important place I’ve got to cherish no matter what.

Taichi: That’s why, I’ve got to give back to the company and the Autumn Troupe twice as much as I’ve been given.

Taichi: If it’s to improve his popularity outside the troupe, attract more audience, and improve our ranking, Taichi Nanao will get up no matter how many times he falls!

Taichi: I’ll keep doing my best on my audition pilgrimage~!

Omi: … You’re amazing. Even after failing, you keep moving forward.

Taichi: … You still haven’t found a challenge for yourself, Omi-kun?

Omi: … Yeah. It’s not something I can talk to everyone about yet, but there’s something that’s been eating at me and I can’t focus on myself.

Omi: But don’t worry, we will be holding the workshop. The administrative position’s a nice change of pace that I’m grateful for.

Omi: Once things have settled a little, I’ll definitely find something to use as an opportunity to grow.

Omi: I can’t have you guys leaving me behind, after all.

Taichi: … You can take it slow. You won’t be late even if you end up behind us.

Omi: … Yeah, thanks.

Omi: For now, I’ll be praying all of you succeed from the bottom of my heart. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.

Taichi: I’ll do my best and lead the Autumn Troupe’s charge!

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[ryuichirou]

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Some replies about recent posts!

Anonymous asked:

Hello Ryu!!  I hope you're having a great...whatever time it is for you!  And I hope you're taking care of yourself!  Your posts are one of the highlights of my day!  No matter if they're art or replies.

And um, if it's ok, idk how we ask this, but would you put  that recent-ish Skully fanart on your Ko-fi please?  The one with the pumpkin?  I hope I'm not being rude.  I adore your fanart.  And Skully.  And Skully in your art style. 

Anyway you're one of my fave fanartists!  Have a great rest of the day!

Anon, this is so incredibly sweet, thank you so much! I am very happy to hear that you enjoy this blog and that it makes your day a little better. It truly means a lot.

To answer your question: YES, ABSOLUTELY, I just added it to the shop!! I am extremely happy to hear that you liked that drawing!

Also just in case: you are not being rude! I don’t update the shop very often because I am not sure if people are interested in new high-res pngs, so you expressing that you’d like to have it is super helpful. So if you ever want me to put anything else there, just let me know in any way you want – an ask, a DM, anything.

Anonymous asked:

OOh LOVE the new theme and pfp! 💚

I really adore how you do colors and lighting! So pretty~

Anonymous asked:

OH GOD! A LAYOUT CHANGE!

How Shocking, How Scandalizing... I fear I may never recover!

Hehe thank youuuu~ I’m glad to hear you like it! >:3c It’s Sebastian 2.0!

Katsu suddenly suggested to redraw the pfp, so I did it, and we updated the layout a little bit to match it. I don’t recognise myself in our feed anymore lol

Anonymous asked:

Thank you for answering my ask! For me personally it’s that past experiences has made my relationship with anything nsfw or sexual very very confusing and emotional, but I don’t wanna be like this forever. I think maybe art could be a good way to try and sort through it but it feels hard to start. I think part of what you said could be the start though, that it doesn’t have to be anything big or even show genitalia.

Thank you very much! -💜🌹

(this is related to this post)

No problem, Anon!

I understand what you mean; your past experiences could make you very hesitant to do things even if you really want to do them and they are not harmful to anyone, or to have bad associations and even triggers. Figuring out your level of comfort also could be more difficult if you are still influenced by the consequences of those past experiences… Still, I think it’s wonderful that you want to work on that and to make yourself feel better and more comfortable, to clear things up for yourself – I don’t doubt for a moment that you will be able to handle it, even if it takes time.

Starting with little steps is great I think, it’s like dipping your toes before diving in.

I wish you all the luck and patience in the world.

Anonymous asked:

Fem Azul is having a stroke at beach basketball Jamil.

(related to this Jamil drawing)

Yeah… a regular stroke and a heatstroke! That’s too much for a poor mermaid’s heart :”(

Anonymous asked:

I need Che'nya to screw Riddle til he's drooling and whining. A little fun to de-stress. I wish there was more stuff about them ;-;

Anon you are so right, there really is almost no stuff with these two!! Such a shame!!

Like you said, Che’nya would be great for Riddle in terms of de-stress. Sometimes this boy needs to get fucked until he can’t even stand and speak properly anymore…

I should draw them at some point, sigh.

Anonymous asked:

I read your most recent set of replies and got curious as to how Unsweetened Lemonade applies to Malleus and Lilia. Could you go into more depth about that, if you don't mind?

To be honest, Anon, I don’t really have a lot to say about it, I’m basing it off vibes for the most part lol

Bittersweetness + disappointment, the feeling of tiredness, of cheating death, “a winner but at what cost” type of feeling. I could be completely wrong, of course.

Once again, I am not the best person to tie songs with characters, or at least I never dive too deep into it and don’t usually analyse lyrics, just do the “well if you squint” thing.

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

Sure I'm a little tipsy I can do one more post about my Dungeon Meshi brainrot let's go with what I think the DnD generic stat bonuses would be for each race.

The most modern DnD seems to just be going by the rules "+2 to any one stat and +1 to another". Which is very cool and I like it a lot and use it in all my games but let's pretend it's release year of 5th edition and I'm a very cranky tabletop rpg dev who's trying her damndest to figure out how to game-ify Kui-sensei's world/ Okay? Okay let's go

Spoilers and stuff in some of my reasonin'

Tallmen: Are NOT just the human stand-in. No they get +2 Constitution and +1 Charisma. It's incredible how much stamina Laios and Kabru have, no matter how many times they're resurrected. And as we know, in Dungeon Meshi, being revived eats away at your constitution. Tallmen seem to have an easy time building fat and doing cardiovascular activities. Also Marcille tells us humans are uniquely talented in music and dance. Laios... Is not that so it's still largely based on personal skill so it's the +1 stat.

Elves: +2 to Intelligence and +1 to Dexterity. Elves are lithe and graceful if they're trained but their real strength is the sheer amount of time they can dedicate to study. It's absolutely endless and their control over spirits is exact as a result. It's very wizard-like, where they need to memorize formulae and prepare accordingly for the task at hand. It's part of the reason I think Marcille casts explosion so much, it's not cast with elven magic and really easy to just throw out there.

Dwarves: +2 to Strength and +1 to Intelligence. Dwarves are also long-lived, and apply that knowledge to their craft rather than magical study most of the time. They're also strong as FUCK. Laios is powerfully built for a Tallman and Undine threw him with just a shot. Namari and Senshi, though? They easily held up shields against a literal water jet. They might even be too strong, they get tired really easily if Laios' time in a dwarven body is any indication.

Half-foots (Half-feet?): +2 Dexterity and +1 Wisdom seems right to me. They're light, nimble, and often very aware of their surroundings. Honestly it's a little hard to decide if Wisdom of Dexterity should be the high score since both are so fundamental to what we learn. Half-foots are often VERY perceptive of their surroundings, whether they want to be or not. To the point where Marcille can't focus on her spells in the form of one because everything is so loud around her. But light of foot and nimble of sneaking and blessed of aim are also core to what we see throughout the series so... It really is a toss-up to me.

Gnome: Gotta go with the +2 Wisdom, the primary casting stat for faith-based casters. Gnomes put their beliefs into the spirits and entreat their help, which is very much like clerical casting and requires, I think, a lot of natural intuition in the world to know when a spirit will be helpful. For the other I'm going to say +1 Constitution. If you noticed, I have one physical and one mental stat for each race so I don't wanna say +1 Int and break my streak. But also I have no basis for +1 Con except for 5e Rock Gnome and the fact that they often probably have to deal with the consequences of unruly spirits. I'm just saying, if Falin and Marcille's teacher can be that calm about an EXPLODING DEATH JAR they probably have some extra oomph behind them. Probably my weakest reasoning honestly.

The others: Uh... Shit there are a ton I don't know I'm sleepy. Come comment what you think if you'd like to have some fun g'night everyone.

[dadsbongos]

chapter 4 - eat shit, eddie munson!

4.8K words

warnings - don't think any apply, let me know if i missed something!

prev. chapter / masterlist / next chapter

“Is Eddie coming?”

You pause, head snapping to where your little sister lingers in the bathroom doorway. Her body digs into the wood, face set firm in her question.

“Stop being obsessed with my boyfriend just ‘cuz yours is copying him.”

Eleven gapes and folds her arms over her chest, “I am not obsessed with your boyfriend!”

“Sure,” you swivel back around and stare at her through the mirror, “Whatever you say.”

“Papa!” for a moment, you worry she’s going to pull the tattletale tricks back out from middle school, but Eleven quickly follows it up with, “Can Mike and Eddie come to dinner?!”

The fabled Hopper-Byers weekly family dinner. Until Joyce and Jim can save enough to finally buy a house together, your families come together once a week. Like a bizarre council meeting.

Jim leans in, eyes narrowed at your sister, “I haven’t even properly met Eddie but you wanna possibly wither Joyce’s resources by inviting him to dinner? That’s an extra grown man to feed.”

He’s met Eddie improperly. A parking ticket and graffiti charge - and Eddie was eager to lampshade the handcuffs in his room by explaining that’s how he got them (“Just so you don’t think I’m trying anything.”). You almost hate how endearing the sentiment was.

“What about Mike?”

“‘What about Mike?’” you mimic, voice pitching dramatically higher and giggling when Eleven huffs.

Jim glares weakly at you through the mirror, “Mike can come if Eddie goes and Eddie can’t go unless Joyce says he can.”

And he backs away.

You glare through the mirror now, harsher, “You’re so cheap. I’m already seeing Eddie later.”

“You’re seeing him later? Tonight?” Eleven gasps like you’ve said something totally world-ending. The biggest gossip of the town rather than an average day in a boyfriend-girlfriend high school plot.

“Yeah,” you move to the side, allowing Eleven into the bathroom while you take her stand at the doorway, “That’s what happens when your boyfriend is a grown-up who has a car.”

She rolls her eyes, smacking your arm, “Papa! She’s being rude.”

A pause. The biggest, most exhausted-dad type of sigh you’ve ever heard. And finally, “Stop being rude to your sister!”

“All I said was Eddie can drive!”

Eleven sticks her tongue out at you and you’re mature enough to copy the action.

A final call from your father confirming that Joyce says both boys can come sends you and Eleven speeding off for the kitchen phone as soon as Jim hangs up.

Before you can so much as dial Eddie’s number, Jim stops you, “Make sure Munson knows to dress nice. Be on his best behavior.”

“Right,” there’s something in his eyes. Something undeniably concerned, and for a minute you think he might be more worried about you embarrassing yourself with an improper boy than anything actually about Eddie. But you refuse to admit that because it would lighten the color you’ve saddled him with in your ‘black and white’ narrative, “Because Eddie is gonna show up in a torn shirt and pajama pants and steal Joyce’s little porcelain baby figures.”

He used to lose his temper faster - before Eleven, of course. But no, now he just shakes his head and speaks quietly, “I never said that. I just… I’ve had to arrest him, and I’ve heard the rumors.”

On TV, the compassion of adults soothes angry teenagers - but in real life, it only angers you further. His insistence on being kinder and more patient and more worried about you after Eleven. You hate that. You hate being bitter. You hate that he makes you feel this way. You hate that he’s so determined.

“You of all people should know better than to believe rumors,” and because you’re your father’s daughter, you’re just as determined to prove yourself right, “Just because you took me in doesn’t make you a saint.”

Determined to prove that you’re just as hated as you’ve felt.

“Watch your mouth or you’re not going out for dinner at all,” and he’s doing his best with what you give him.

So you twist the knife deeper hoping he’ll validate all the hatred that’s built up from his drinking and bumbling and never being there.

“Fine by me,” you sing song.

He puts on a show of hesitating and huffing before moving on. He lets you go.

In a way, that’s nothing new.

Eleven hides away. As usual when it gets particularly rough between you and Jim.

And you dial Eddie’s number.

“You’ve been formally invited to dinner with me and my family.”

“Wow, the whole family?”

“I know you’re making fun of me, but it’ll be with the Byers, too. So, yeah, the whole family. And Mike.”

There’s silence, then. More people, more opportunities to screw up. Eddie sounds just as unsure as you now feel, “I dunno if that’s a super idea.”

“Yeah, I mean- “ you lower your voice, kicking into the hardwood floors and ignoring the way your chest caves, “I know it’s fast and whatever. It’s fine. It’ll be fine… if you don’t want to.”

“No,” Eddie changes his mind last minute, hearing the upset in your voice, “I wanna go. I do. You’ve met Wayne and all. Just…” he pauses again, he doesn’t want to admit to being nervous because he’s Eddie Munson.

And Eddie Munson is never nervous to meet anybody.

“I get it,” your tone cheeries instantaneously, “Thanks, Eds. These dinners are nice, I just - I feel awkward.”

It’ll be nice to have you around, you don’t say that. But you mean to.

Just like how Eddie means to say, I have something to tell you.

But he doesn’t - instead, he says, “I’ll dress special for the occasion, then. My finest leather.”

Your father’s voice peeks from the end of the cabin, “You need to hurry to the truck so- !” his beeper clogs your ears and you almost wish Eddie was there so you could share an eye roll, “Just get to the truck!”

“I’m assuming you need to go to the truck?” Eddie sighs, “I was just getting comfortable, too.”

“I know, right?”

Now Eleven shouts for you, “Let’s go!”

“Pick up Mike, okay? I don’t want Eleven biting my ear off when you show up first and Mike isn’t there.”

“Anything for you, sweet girl.”

That shouldn’t have made you swoon the way it did. But at least Eddie didn’t see it - that would’ve been truly embarrassing.

You sit on the steps leading up to the Byers’ home, knees cramped up into your chest as you wait for Eddie Munson’s rust bucket to pull up. Jim has peeled off since kicking you and Eleven out of the truck to return to his duty as town sheriff.

Thankfully, you don’t wait long before you’re shouting through the open, rickety house to your sister as Mike Wheeler baby-deer prattles his way out of your boyfriend’s van. He stumbles, ankle twisting and you pretend to not notice his hissy little grimace at the next step.

Eddie rushes you once his precious van is locked, arms wide and body springing low as you come to a stand. He tucks both arms tight around you, your lungs huffing out like a little plastic bag between a little child's hands from his grip.

He pulls back, eyes finally striking across your outfit and humming stiffly to himself, fingers tracing softly against the puffy floral sleeve, “Nice dress.”

You lift his head by the chin, tilting and angling him to your preference, and he easily lets you, “Thanks,” his compliance earns a cheek kiss, “It’s a lot like this Laura Ashley dress I’ve been wanting, but…”

But Jim Hopper’s cabin isn’t for show.

“I’ll get it for you,” it’s a solemn promise, one you don’t think would truly die if you refused, “Maybe for prom?”

You quirk a brow, smile more teasing than anything, “Oh, really?”

But despite that, you feel a little spark there - some twist and pop at his assumption that you two will still be dating by the time prom rolls around.

“Hell yeah,” Eddie pulls back, fingers still loosely tipping at your own, “And I’ll wear my nicest funeral pants,” he’s on the next quip before you can even react, “Where’s big Hopper?”

The eye roll is automatic and Eddie already regrets asking, especially with the groan that follows, “He’s too busy to spend time with his family…” your lips press firmly, taking his hand and tugging the lumbering lud up the Byers’ stoop, “As usual.”

Eleven and Mike have already skipped inside and been met with sweet welcomes and warm embraces.

“I’m kinda nervous to see Joyce,” Eddie admits, “I had a Summer job at Melvald’s and I dunno if she remembers me.”

“She will,” you lean in and pat his arm, dragging him close into your side as you both creep towards the house, “She got so excited when I mentioned you that I thought she was gonna fly through the fucking roof.”

You like talking to Joyce more than you like talking to Jim. She’s easier and more inviting and actually listens - with Jim, you think his ears have a specific setting that blocks out your voice.

And Joyce likes Eddie. Something about black cats and golden retrievers and breaking out of shells.

Jonathan is already bitching, voice a dragging whiny moan from his seat at the two tables pushed together in the middle of the kitchen/dining room, “I didn’t know we could all bring plus ones! This is crazy - I would’ve brought Nancy!”

“Shut up, Jonathan,” you smack his shoulder and plop yourself into the seat across from him, Eddie tumbling after.

In the last seat next to Jonathan is Mike, with Eleven across him and next to you. Across from Eddie and on Jonathan’s other side is Will. Next to Will is Joyce and across from Joyce is the ghost shell Jim Hopper is to take on.

“I, uh, officially started your yearbook,” Eddie nudges you.

You gasp histrionically, “This late? Slacker.”

“And what do you have done?”

“Nothing,” you shrug.

Eddie tsk, tsk, tsks, “Slacker.”

“Yeah, well…” something new tugs at the corner of your mind, “What type of shit are you putting in? Good things?”

“You know it.”

“I’ll put in good things, too, then.”

“I’d hope so.”

Eddie can hardly eat, he’s too busy trying to make up for a mistake you don’t even know he’s made. He’s telling you about his attempts at painting and how he needs you to grace his trailer with your presence and judge the canvas. Maybe he can clear out a shelf in his cramped closet or a drawer in his chipped dresser and let you make the empty room prettier with scrunchies and floral Laura Ashley knockoffs. A real visual artist’s touch.

“Why’d you invite him for dinner if you’re just gonna hog him the whole time?” Joyce clicks her tongue at your apparent offense over her accusation, grinning and kicking a leg as she lights a cigarette from her shirt pocket, “I haven’t seen Eddie since, God, ‘81?”

“‘80,” Eddie isn’t used to adults remembering things about him and he’s recalling how earnest and sunshine lovely the Byers matriarch has always been, “You were my favorite co-worker, you know?”

He isn’t usually so reserved.

“Stop!” Joyce ashes her cigarette in the tray Will made as a third-grade art project, painted in teals and white and blues and she loves it more than the house itself. She grins and waves off the praise in that cute mom way she always does.

Will beams up at Eddie, still doe-eyed and sparkling despite his age.

Joyce claps and leans forward in her chair, puffing off the cigarette before pointing it at you as she exhales, “Your little boyfriend,” Eddie sinks in his chair, face flushing, “was such a good kid! Only one wanting overtime and so hardworking!”

“Really, now?” you swivel around to face the long-haired, broad-shouldered metalhead now - his hands up and spindling over his face, eyes peeking between his bony, ringed fingers, “I didn’t know about that.”

“Oh, yeah!” Joyce isn’t usually so loud, either, but you suppose this is a truly special occasion, “Polite, too! And…” she stammers, snapping as different words float behind her eyes, “And earnest.”

Sometimes you imagine what life would be like if Joyce had adopted you instead of Jim and Diane. It’s improbable, what with the struggle to float with her two kids and one job and dipshit ex-husband, but a daydreamer does what it will. And when you can’t sleep, you like to imagine that life instead of the one you had.

“Right?” Mike’s arms are folded, growing hair curling down his back and legs stretched far under the table.

Eleven giggles, her own legs tucked under her chair to allow room for her boyfriend’s, hands entwined atop the table. Empty plates circle the scratched redwood, all in await for the arrival of one Jim Hopper.

You don’t think you could leave her alone, though. You’re upset that she pulled the father out of Jim that you never could, but it isn’t as though that’s her fault. And as Eddie’s warm hand slips into your colder one, you think a spirit slug was dissolved from your chest. Lighter and kinder and thinking of what a better sister you want to be, you squeeze Eddie’s hand in yours.

“I like Eddie, too,” Eleven’s good at being honest, for better or for worse - she’s very good at saying what’s on her mind, “I’m glad Mike hired him, now you’re actually happy together!”

And for better or for worse, she likes assuming the most logical answers - and until she sees you aren’t reacting, she doesn’t know that you weren’t told.

You cover your own face now, hot and mortified and thick with nausea. Hurriedly, you punch a hand against the table and Eddie throws himself into a stand as if to follow you whichever way you may roam. But with more viciousness and anger than he’s yet to see from you - you shove him into the table hard. The silverware jostles and plastic cups disguised to be fancier glass topple over and clank against the wood.

Joyce gives her eldest son a hard stare before rushing off to follow you as you run into the narrow hall.

Jonathan takes up the mantle as the overprotective muscle trope with Hopper absent, pushing himself up from his seat hesitantly. His fingers drum against the redwood, pressing his index finger into a particularly deep scratch from pumpkin carving gone wrong and sighing. Mike’s fingers are snagging into his jeans as Eleven’s eyes trace the folds of Jonathan’s shirt - desperate to avoid the shameful sting of eye contact. Will is, for the first time in a very, very long time, positively fuming at Mike Wheeler - full glares and curled fists as if he’s ever been in a real fight.

Eddie counts the spots on one of Joyce’s tables. Until -

“Hey,” Jonathan blinks, slow and tired, like a drowsy cat before it finally collapses - too exhausted to catch more fat rats, “please… Munson, don’t make me wrestle you out of my house,” Eddie feels like if he pinched himself his arm would fall off, “My brother looks up to you and my sisters love you- “ he throws up a hand in a half-hearted shrug, “Well, I dunno about that one. But you’ve done enough,” and finally, the tired eyes of Jonathan Byers meet some frightful caricature of Eddie Munson’s, “Don’t make me do worse.”

“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him,” you’re wrapped tight in the sinewy arms of Joyce Byers, who rocks you so tenderly and sweetly you wish you could’ve grown up between them, “He’s a horrible person, he got me to care about him for money!” she nods to your muttering, and so you’re left undeterred, “And I hate Mike and- and- I hate my fucking sister!”

That’s probably heard in the kitchen/dining room, but Joyce doesn’t try and tell you off. So her arms simply wind tighter and her mouth finds the crown of your head. Kisses and whispered promises are pressed softly.

“Whatever you say, sweetie,” she pats your back, voice soft as you wordlessly wail into her shoulder, “Whatever you say, it’s between you and me. Let it all out.”

And you do. And you don’t know how, but somehow you want more than a mom holding you so kindly.

“I want…” you want something you feel starved of, like some sick mirage in the Sahara, “I want Dad…”

Because somehow you think he’ll help.

And somehow you’re back in middle school, just one point away from getting your art project submitted to the state competition. Where you’re screaming into your pillow and impatiently waiting for Dad to come home so you can curl up in his chair with him and watch TV together. Where he’ll let you have ice cream for dinner and kiss your forehead every time the tears start coming back.

You sniffle terribly, hot in the face and hiccuping, “I want my dad,” you want to be back in elementary school now, when he would carry you to bed and actually bother hiding his vices, “I want Dad…”

Joyce nods and kisses your forehead and guides you out to the front porch, past a fiddling Eleven and two quiet Byers boys cleaning what was supposed to be a nice dinner.

“I’ll call Jim,” Joyce lays one final squeeze around your shoulders.

You hope he picks up.

You tuck your knees up close to your chest, arms curling around the shins and feeling that old childish hope you thought died in freshman year. The hope that maybe you can bring out the father in Jim Hopper that your younger sister once had.

You noticed that Mike has left. And so has Eddie’s creaky, beaten-up van. Yes, Eddie is long gone by now.

You cry on the stoop alone until there’s nothing left. Until there’s a vague throbbing behind your eyes and you’re exhausted. Until your dad’s truck is speeding into the driveway and he’s jumping out immediately after the thing stops.

And he’s brought back to the day before sixth grade, when you begged to go to the park and ended up with a massive scrape on your knee. When you looked up at him all teary and snotty and cried out a weak, “Papa!”

He didn’t have any bandaids on him that day, and he hopes his quickness to cradle you into his side on the steps makes up for it now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, nearly crushing your bones under his arms, “I’m so sorry, kid,” he sounds as though he believes it's his own fault, “I should’ve been here to beat that punk up myself.”

Your laugh is pathetic, it cracks in the middle and you cough out little tears and flem at the end, “Don’t beat him up, please.”

“Don’t tell me you still like that tool.”

You’re quiet and he squeezes you tighter, kissing your forehead as the tears threaten to resurface.

“You’re too good for him.”

You remain silent. He repeats his apologies.

“Do you hate me?” you whisper, earnestly hoping he didn’t hear you. Then you double down and continue, “For being so mean lately.”

You feel his head shake against you, certain and decisive. Just as he always has been, “If I hated you, you wouldn’t live with me. And I could never hate you because you’re you,” you feel guilt swallowing you whole, for always insisting he was evil, “You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

You laugh again, your voice still cracks at the end, but the sound is stronger than before, “Right.”

“No, it’s true,” he insists now - insists that you are good, kind, and sweet, “All these dads down at the station brag about big jobs and degrees, but I ask if their kid is actually cool - and they never have a response.”

“I’m sorry for being mean,” apologies to family are always harder because there’s always the chance it’ll just happen again. And you can’t promise that you’ll never be mean again. But something inside you wants him to know you hate yourself for every snide comment as much as he must.

But he continues to press. Jim shrugs slowly with you in his arms, “It’s part of growing up. Teenagers need to be dickheads when they feel wronged,” he pulls back when he’s sure you won’t immediately fall apart. Just enough to properly look at you, “I just wish you’d actually talk to me.”

Slowly, you nod, eyes pooling again - and he kisses your forehead. Mustache is just as scratchy as it’s been since you were little, “I promise I’ll talk to you properly… but I might need a little reminding.”

Again, he shrugs - as if the load you’re shoving onto him is no weight at all and it reminds you of the superhero you once drew him as when you were younger, “I will never give up on you, kid.”

And again you’re transported back. Before middle school art competitions and sixth grade and ice cream dinners and forehead kisses. Before Diane left. On the third night that you were with them, still struggling to bond and live up to the title of ‘daughter’.

When you were in the kitchen getting water and Jim found you searching for where they kept the cups. When you spilled your guts and he knelt down to look you in the eyes and say that. I will never give up on you, kid.

And before that, again. The day Diane and Jim were signing the papers to take you home. When the social worker was speaking with them. Warning them.

(“Major attitude issues. Trouble communicating. Generally… unwelcoming to most adults.”)

And again he said it. I will not give up.

“You can live with me after high school, you know?” he scootches back again to let you breathe fully, still close enough to scoop you up if the dam cracks, “As long as it takes for your art to get big,” he grins, just barely, “Just promise you don’t commit to being a deadbeat.”

You crawl closer now, hugging and clinging like he’s an old teddy bear, “Are you disappointed? That I’m not going to college.”

“Maybe at first,” he’s always honest, when he can be, you hate it most times, “but I got over it. I just want you to live a fulfilling life. And no matter how disappointed I get sometimes, I will never, never hold it against you.”

You want to tell him. You’re not like other kids in that you don’t just like men. You think it’d be safe enough. But you can’t decipher if that’s just the rush of emotions or genuine urge, so you keep that secret tight to your chest.

“Dad?” he hums, “Do you think I’ll ever get over what Eddie did?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Should I?”

He freezes up, it doesn’t happen often - but it’s more telling than words when it does, “That’s also up to you. Whatever the decision is, I’ll support you…” and because he’s your father and he knows you better than you know yourself at times, he can sense that you already want Eddie back in your life, “But I want to talk to him. Either way, I want to talk to him.”

“Okay,” the distraught turns into rage, slowly coiling into the rocky realization that you’ve been betrayed, “I wanna talk to El and Mike.”

Normally at the prospect of you and Eleven fighting, Jim would draw a very bold line. A no. But this time, he relents, “Okay. But for now, just relax,” he squeezes you again, “Let it out.”

A new wave of tears hit, as if you needed to be told it was okay to cry.

When your head throbs and your eyes especially ache, Joyce’s porch crunches under her footsteps - handing off a glass of water, she frowns gently at the humble offering, “Sorry, honey, not much other than water to drink.”

You shake your head and graciously take the clear cup, “It’s more than enough, thanks.”

Eleven steps out, head poking between the doorway, “Can I talk with you…?”

Alone, is what she means to add.

“Yeah,” you steel your voice, something burly and old like a vicious T.V villain you’re sure Eleven has seen, “You can.”

Jim and Joyce linger uncomfortably before shuffling inside.

“Can I…?” Eleven gestures down to the open spot beside you on the stair landing.

“Just sit, El,” you remember first meeting her - you always liked her and right now you’re sick of her. She’s always been a shy, sweet kid - and then she got comfortable and louder and you didn’t mind. If anything, you liked that she was comfortable, until now, “I can’t believe you would ever set me up like that.”

She wants to interrupt, she tries to, “No- “

“Just because you claim to be clueless and ignorant to common customs doesn’t give you a right to be so�� so selfish!”

“I- I’m sorry,” Eleven clings to your arm, pouting miserably, “I don’t know… I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea, but- “ but she just knows that it was with good intentions that she did it, “But I thought maybe you could be happy in a relationship too…”

“El, a relationship where someone has to get paid to be in it, isn’t a relationship at all, it's a business transaction.”

“I’m sorry,” you’re getting sick of her voice now too, “I never wanted you hurt…”

And you hope she can sense the vile poisons sleeping soundly inside you as you glare, “That was impossible as soon as you paid Eddie fucking Munson to take me out.”

“I’m sorry- “

“I’m sick of you saying you’re sorry, El!” you shoot up from your position on the top step, stomping up like a toddler throwing a tantrum, “You need to actually be nice now!”

Eleven stops completely, hands stiff at her sides and body rigid. She gnaws her bottom lip, nails biting into the skin of her palms, “Will we ever be okay?”

You take a moment to answer. You’d like to be dramatic and wail and make her throw herself to the floor in a sorrowful heap, but you nod, “Yeah. Eventually. But it’s gonna take a fucking while. You’re supposed to be my little sister and you really hurt me.”

Against what you’d just said, Eleven twiddles her thumbs and murmurs, “I’m sorry…”

“You also could’ve just told me to lie to Dad and I would have,” at her puzzled stare, you eye roll, “I don’t have to actually date someone to say I am, I would’ve lied so you didn’t have to pull some crazy shit.”

“But you always say you hate me dating Mike…”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you’re kids and he’s a dork, but I’m not pure evil.”

“Oh,” her face pulls a little frown, hands flying behind her back and fingers knotting together, “Sor- “ she silences herself at your glare, “Oops… do you think you’ll ever forgive him?”

You sink back onto the top step at her question, legs sprawling down splintering wood and arms lax at your side. You don’t answer.

She wants to tell you that she knows those feelings are genuine, from what she saw inside just moments ago. And she knows that you care about him.

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes drifting off to the side and figuring that it may be time to give up this fit and begin your yearbook. Report the truth like a real Nancy Drew.

From above you, Eleven juts out her hand and you reach out - jamming your palm into her gut and pushing yourself up on your own.

“I’m still mad at you.”

As soon as you’ve laid a foot back inside the Byers’ home, your midsection is crushed once again. A resounding ‘oof’ punching from your chest as the sensitive Will Byers stubbornly squishes himself to you.

Face sitting stern, you pat the boy’s back, “Thank you, Will.”

His grip loosens and Eleven inches out of the scene, off to find where Joyce and Jim have scurried in the wake of this new teenage drama. He sighs, whole-bodied, “I’ll drop out of Hellfire if you want,” he pauses just a moment, “But please don’t ask that lightly because I really don’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” you think about teasing him for being a traitor, but then consider that perhaps not enough time has passed to be joking like that, “As long as you kick Mike’s ass for me.”

Eddie is off the table for some horrifying reason you’re choosing to not dwell on - and later, you think you’ll lie to yourself and say it’s because of the age and size difference.

Will pulls back, visibly tense and you punch his shoulder, “Kidding… sort of.”

[cheesycokeart]

Rambling about scrapped projects so I don't feel like the work went to waste

I've only really made like, 3 little games. Which admittedly, I should be trying to make myself Finish more projects just so I can get more experience and be able to reliably work on something larger. Inbetween, I get the spark to make a buncha different ideas that usually don't get very far for one reason or another. I know this is a bad habit, and I'm tryin' to work on it.

Otherwise though, gonna talk about a few projects where I wanna show off what little work I did put in before deciding I was better off killing it, including a "follow-up" to Grenade Volley.

This is just some not-even-prototype-level stuff with myself rambling about things I wanted to do. So be warned before hitting read more!

Drivin' Breach

So this was started in part based on my desire to create something utilizing the Grenade Volley world with a more "safe" gameplay style. I absolutely love old distance games, like Learn to Fly, Kitten Cannon, Shopping Cart Hero, etc etc but I realized it wasn't a super common style of game these days so wanted to take a crack at making one.

I had the basics of it going and I was pretty proud of what I had artistically and in terms of tone. Ambitiously, I even wanted a fully animated opening cutscene, but in hindsight that might've been a bit much to try and pull off.

To try and set it apart, I imagined that one main hook would be having a wide variety of "special items" that you could used to propel yourself further, each one controlling differently for players that wanted some variety, and maybe even implementing individual upgrade lines for said special items. I wanted to make the "Magic Tail" item a buttplug tail.

After a bit of time of working I just realized things weren't coming together how I would've liked them to. Physics weren't quite satisfactory, I couldn't figure out how to implement gliders, and I wasn't super confident about balancing it to stretch the game out but also make it feel rewarding. Those combined with waning passion for the project just kinda killed it off. I was pretty proud of the art and stuff I did for it, though, and what I had going so far.

I also ended up applying some of the code (where the world moves around the player, allowing for infinite movement) to Downhill to Infinity!

(Also that shop music you here is Closed on Sundays by Mana Junkie, a CC3.0 track I found online)

Earth Servant Ms. Usagi

I was super enthusiastic about this one for a while!! I was stoked about the idea of making a game using Ms. Usagi because she was one of my many characters made with games in mind from the get-go. I ended up settling on this weird mix of Megaman-style, fast platforming, and stylish melee combat. Notice, though, the animations are not finished at ALL.

I wanted to push fun and snappy combat, encouraging the player to bounce between enemies while using environment and speed to their advantage. Think like a hectic anime fight where the main character is running around boppin' every bad guy while darting between them. A style meter was also applied, rewarding chained attacks.

To go over the moveset: Attacking from a standstill performs an uppercut, attacking in the air performs an air kick. If you only tap the attack button for the air kick, it stops Usagi in mid-air and keeps her close to the enemy. If you hold it, however, it will both put her current speed into the kick AND launch the enemy according to said speed. Holding down while attacking in the air will slam to the ground. She also has a blaster move that's especially good for continuing combos. For defense, I added dashing maneuvers and a block/parry inspired by MGR.

I still think this kick feels fuckin sick to pull off.

Few problems came up. First one was just plain ol' being scared of level design, but that one I coulda bruteforced through. More importantly at one point I took a break and went back to it later only to realize that it Wasn't Fun. Movement felt way too slippery, I wasn't making the fast momentum-based movement blend well with the fast combo-based combat. If I wanna do anything like this again, I'd have to figure out a better way to blend this.

Either way, I know for certain I'd LOVE to make a Ms. Usagi game in the future, I think she could make for something very fun and poppy and stylish.

BONUS

During one of the beta versions of Godot 4, I had short-lived thoughts of wanting to make a wave-based FPS to play with its 3D features. I wanted the game to have a gross, crusty aesthetic. It never got far at all, but I made a "gore harvester" machine for it and I still really like that thing. It was fun to draw such ugly textures.

[binalakai-archive]

hey im kai! you can also call me roach, if you already know a kai in your life because i know how many noncis mfs are named that

im a genderfluid filipino dyke (born 2002, figure it out) with she/he/it pronouns, i occasionally post my art on @binalakarchive , where all my OCs (at least as much as i show publicly) and fandom art/cleaned up discussions go there. i also do commissions sometimes, best to contact me through that blog!! my current OC blog currently resides at @huemanonearth, it's a project i've had for a while and i hope to one day make a personal-use pitch bible with it! i treat this blog like a neverending journal. i've grown up with it, and on god am i going to use it as such.

in a perfect world where i wouldn't need to establish boundaries, i would not even bother with a post like this, but the more people i follow/that follow me come across it's somewhat necessary soooo

DNI or like. BYF if you're not gonna listen to me anyway: (warning: it's long and text heavy. tldr; don't be weird to me, communicate with me like you would with a real life person because that's what i am, and we'll get along fine)

-basic dni huge bigot (racist, TERF/transphobic, homophobic, etc etc) stuff but if i catch that onto your blog anyway when you follow me i'll block you.

-if you believe in crab-bucket-mentality/are against mental health care in general, you best keep distance, honestly. its taken a long time for me to not open my wounds and delusions constantly towards the internet if it meant being valid in my mental illnesses. i'd rather not enter that era again.

-i dont get the whole "proship and antis" culture that happens, but for both sakes of people, if you identify with any of those things you might not like my blog too much. i love being critical and analytical of "problematic things", but i'll still discuss them openly n freely. dni if you'll be offended if i diss on ships/approaches to subjects that make me uncomfortable n find comfort in being critical abt it, and dni if you'll be offended if i diss on the idea that media with triggering topics should not have an outlet period.

-if you'll be offended if i block you out of the blue, doesn't apply to close friends/mutuals i just mean with randos who post takes i dont like or cause too much stress in tags i browse.

-if you're gonna get in huge trouble over seeing dirty jokes and crass humor in public you best not follow me. i try best to tag my stuff, but last thing i wanna do is have a stern talk about it.....which is why i also am wary about people under 18 following and will be a lot more liberal on blocking younger minors for their sake or people i assume won't vibe with me period

-if your parents have access to your social media and there's a chance i'll be DM'd by any of them. i dont wanna talk to any of your parents. if you have an issue with me, i'm more than happy to talk about things directly. (ESPECIALLY FOR BUSINESS RELATED REASONS LIKE COMMISSIONS. IT'S HAPPENED A LOT ALREADY DUE TO OTHER PARTY'S FAMILY CIRCUMSTANCES I CANNOT FUCKING CONTROL. STOP IT. ITS ANNOYING AND A PAIN TO HANDLE.)

-if you get too involved with online drama/disputes. i'm not going to reblog a callout for you. if you get even slightly bothered by that statement, do not get close to me period for the sake of boosting callouts.

-if you have specific niche triggers that need to be tagged. i try to do catch alls or basic ones, but i genuinely CANNOT keep track of all my mutual's blacklists. my mind will slip and id rather not put someone in danger/i wanna keep that risk very very low

okay thankies <3 sorry these are so specific, i just wanna be insane on the internet in the safest way possible

[willowmouse]

willow wednesday life update

hello kind denizens of tumblr. i still do not know how to use your website. i'm gonna try and use this website way more though for a whole bunch of reasons, including the following. twitter is hell and i probably need to move off there sooner rather than later, since it's kind of embarrassing when i have to tell people that's where i'm most active still. i also have a very unhealthy habit of making public diary entries on my shitty wix website, which is NOT the place for stuff like that really since that's where some of my more serious writing is too. finally, i just like how this place looks. i like the vibe. i like how i can add pictures and gifs and music and ramble for ages on these, and that's exactly what i'm gonna do!!! i feel kind of awkward talking to specific people about how my day is going or whatever because i have trouble figuring out the point at which i actually become someone's friend and not just an acquaintance or whatever, so here's how things are going for me right now in case you were interested!!!

oh and pls tell me about how ur day is going if you read this :3 i wanna know these things ok

the bad place

i'm going to begin by completely spoiling the tv show "the good place" so skip this bit if that's a thing you wanna watch or whatever. so you know how the whole idea of that show is that these people are shown this amazing afterlife world and are told they're in the good place and not the bad place, but it eventually becomes apparent that they ARE in the bad place and are being tortured in ways deeply specific to the ways that they sucked when they were alive? that's how tutorial sessions feel at university on this physics course. i feel like i'm being tortured for not putting my hand up in class more at school. what happens is that we're put into small groups - there are five of us in our tutorial group - and given weekly meetings with a tutor, then given questions to think about/answer which i guess will eventually depend on what we're covering in any given module.

it's the combination of having to think incredibly quickly about questions that require applied knowledge of stuff i've completely forgotten about having taken a year out of education, if they aren't trick questions anyway, and having to give a stuttered, probably wrong answer in front of other people who seem much more competent with these tasks than i am that makes these sessions feel like torture specifically for me. these are the kinds of questions i would revise for months and months to prepare myself for in an exam setting and would still get wrong. i've felt incredibly fucking stupid coming out of both sessions we've done so far and i can't imagine that will change going forward and it's completely humiliating. i've gone my entire life without being made to feel so stupid in any kind of maths or physics related environment and now that i'm at university you're telling me i have to feel every bit as humiliated as i did during the very worst drama or music at secondary school? fuck right off. fuck whoever came up with these.

no stickers (yet)

this is my laptop!!! it's very fancy and i'm extremely happy with it. i'm trying to figure out which, if any, of my stickers i should put on it. i have a progress flag sticker, a bunch from the new jamie xx record since they were giving those away in rough trade AND i was thinking of making my own stickers at some point too!!! they would probably be of my mouse sona though and it depends how thoroughly i want to out myself as a cringe transgender furry to everyone here and back at home since my family will also inevitably see them. we'll see i guess!!! god forbid a girl just want their OC design that represents how they see themselves in a way that makes them happy and affirms their concept of gender but in a way that might weird some people out because it's a cartoon mouse.

thanks to this thing, though, lectures have been going pretty okay so far. thankfully, unlike in tutorials, topics are being taken extremely slow in the lecture theatres at the moment. as someone who has forgotten literally everything and absolutely needs a few reminders about how to handle simple shit like polynomials and vectors, i could not be more thankful. unfortunately, the laptop didn't come with a stylus so notetaking has been exclusively on microsoft word and on paper so far. that should hopefully change by the end of the day, though!!! then i just need to figure out how onenote works and transfer all of my notes from word/paper onto onenote to have everything kind of in one place and THEN it'll be so over for everyone else because i will lock the fuck in.

my badges

i brought so many badges up here with me and i'm going to leave with even more. i got given one from the local camp for the liberation of palestine and found a couple for the physics department. the lanyard has ended up being incredibly heavy so i don't use it to carry my ID card anymore (i have an actual ID card now, which kind of sucks because i liked my homemade one more), but it remains my second most complimented piece of fashion after my fontaines d.c. shirt. it's entirely responsible for one of my new besties starting conversation with me, which i'm incredibly grateful. we talked for ages about how overwhelming we were finding the "meet your cohort" afternoon since it was basically several hours of forced socialisation, but we somehow ended up as part of a group of five people talking about tons of random bullshit. not too bad for a couple of complete introverts!!!

every now and then i have the nerve to wear my trans flag pin out in public. i will soon be wearing it a whole lot more. i wrote a huge thing about trans stuff over the past few days but decided not to make it public because i spent most of it grossly oversharing, so uhh. whoops. i can't thank the people who have helped me get to this point enough. i owe you my life and like a million hugs. i know i suck at initiating conversation and might not be the easiest person to be friends with, but if you think that we might be friends, i assure you that we totally are. i have no idea where the line is drawn but i am always more than happy to call whoever wants to be one a friend.

twin squeaks

gravity falls summer is over and night in the woods autumn is in full swing, but i was hoping to get some early reading in before twin peaks winter hits. my parents sent me up with this box set thing that they have, but the second disk is literally unplayable meaning that i can only get as far as the pilot. kind of sucks. someday i'll find a way to watch this show without the universe cursing me.

record stores make me so happy

a signed copy of guitar music by courting??? are you fucking kidding me??? am i seriously going to have to buy this record AGAIN??? (maybe :3)

book on a shelf

it's a worrying sign for my mental state that i'm getting back into bright eyes, let alone starting to get lifted. lifted has always been the one record in their discography that i've found to be a little overrated, just because people call this the best or one of the best records conor's made when it doesn't make the top 10 for me. right now, though, it is hitting. i've listened to make war directly into you will (etc.) most days this past week. i've also remembered how badly i want to be able to play guitar. if i could pick up an acoustic guitar right now and be able to play you will and just perform that song whenever it's something i need to get out of my system, or do the same for just about any bright eyes song i guess, i think i would feel a whole lot healthier.

fevers and mirrors still clears this record so fucking hard, though. i completely agree with what ian cohen wrote about it recently, that you don't really get anything new out of it once you've aged out of finding songs with titles like "the center of the world" relatable, but it's an incredible time capsule for a time when everything felt like it mattered way more than it actually did. i miss feeling things. i miss feeling the kind of misery that brought me to fevers and mirrors in the first place rather than everything just being a grey fog now.

light decorations

i put up a few posters. the weyes blood poster from my vinyl copy of hearts aglow, obviously, as well as the grian chatten poster i got from my former local record store and a foals tour poster i got as a gift. not just any foals tour, by the way - a 2016 what went down-era foals tour with none other than get to heaven-era everything everything supporting. back then, you could go to the same show to hear both blast doors and birch tree. fucking insane.

i haven't decorated much because for the past week i have been incredibly ill and i don't know when it will end. i haven't felt well enough to do lectures or lab work or any of the shit that i'm being expected to do, but i doubt anyone else is either and they're all showing up for the same reasons i am - it's the first week and you can't afford to miss out on this stuff. plus, i like seeing my new friends, even if their first and only impression of me is "person who looks like a guy who is constantly on the brink of death and doesn't say anything ever." i'm definitely not putting my best foot forward here so far. somehow, it's still led to me finding or being found by some of the loveliest people i've ever met, so that's something to be grateful for. i wish i could stop feeling like shit now though. i hate this so much. i think that i'm past the worst part, though, which would've been over the weekend when i kept convincing myself i was dead and had a huge breakdown over an apple juice dispenser dispensing water. It's (probably) only up from here.

this concludes willow wednesday here on tumblr dot com. let me know how incredibly relatable my many squeakings are in the comments below, remember to like and subscribe and hit the bell or something :3 love u!!! thanks for reading <3

[scenedenial]

Hey I just wanted to apologize for what I posted. I didn't mean to upset anyone. I just have never felt that Sydney leaving is the only way for Carmy to improve which was the point of my post. I didn't mean to imply she couldn't leave or should endure anything, but I think it doesn't have to be an either or and my bigger problem and the point of what I was trying to say is the idea that Carmy needs to be taught a lesson and Syd would be the appropriate way to learn that lesson. Honestly he needs to figure it all out completely separate from her. It was me venting about a personal situation through the lens of the characters which is why I didn't originally tag it to the bear and I had no intent for it to get any kind of attention most of my posts don't. There's no need for you to respond to this, I just wanted to provide some nuance of what my intent was and I'm sorry that this was our first interaction. I took the post down because I as I said didn't intend for it to be a Fandom post and it spread further than I ever planned. I understand your perspective and that is a harmful thing to put on someone especially a black woman in a position of inferiority, but my perspective was more about how she can choose to leave without it being about Carmy at all other than his behavior. Her leaving because it would teach him a lesson was what I inherently took issue with because that's to me not the way you treat someone you care or once cared about.

Hey! I appreciate you reaching out to give some nuance and for being so understanding about my position too. I also wanna apologize for reacting so strongly, especially because I didn’t realize your post wasn’t originally under the bear tag (I just happened to see it on my dash). I can totally understand interacting with media through a personal lens that isn’t meant to apply to the actual world of the show and I’m sorry ur post broke containment. Tbh my reaction had more to do with the larger fandom issue I have with Sydney’s character being diminished in relation to Carmy than with your post in particular, so I’m sorry for lashing out in ur mentions. Straw that broke the camel’s back etc. I also have complicated personal feelings about their dynamic based on times I have been Syd in my interpersonal relationships so it definitely touches a nerve. Thank you again for reaching out! Hugs

[1-up-chump]

Assorted fallout 4 companion opinions

Preston is not boring he's simple. He's just a guy trying his best to do good in a fucked world and he's hanging by a thread. It's not his fault bethesda radiant quests suck.

Strong is wasted potential as a character. He should have been more than a dumb brute companion with the only difference being "he's not aggressive to you" he should have been a rather "smarter than the average mutant" and know a lot of advanced words and how to properly apply them (but mispronouncing them terribly) due to his interest in literature.

A super mutant who does super mutant things but can wax poetic about his POV as a mutant would've been a great companion. I know the "milk of kindness" being taken literally is a joke but honestly i was expecting strong to eventually "get it" and figure out why human so strong is bc of compassion that helps them lead a group and not a show of brute strength (which is why strong thought fist was a terrible leader bc he didn't care about his brothers, but with his dialogue it seems like he only cares about your ability to kill as long as you dont say mean things?) and like, Maybe strong is a bit NICER to travel with and his opinions could change to thinking humans are decent at most.

Nick should have had more side quests involving him. More mysteries to solve, hell i had an idea for at least a mod quest that if you side with the institute a scientist who's interested in older tech to improve advanced tech offers to fix the holes in nick's synth skin bc C'mon we are traveling the god damn commonwealth full of trash, irradiated water, and bullets from who knows where like how has nick not gotten some radroaches trying to make a nest in his chest cavity. It would make for some great dialogue and philosophy of "are you content with yourself even if you could fix some problems? What are you willing to trade off?" And give players options while hearing out both sides.

Piper also should have more side quests involving interviews with certain characters, maybe after completing certain quests you can go back to them with piper and maybe get additional quests involving old ones to tie loose ends? Or the very least have an opportunity for your character to voice their opinion on the events

Maccready. WHERE IS HIS SON????? i DID ALL THAT FOR THE GUY JUST FOR HIM TO KEEP FUCKING AROUND WITH ME AND NOT GO TO HIS DAMN SON??? Now it sounds super awful to say but the only possible outcome for his story to conclude is, macready leaves the commonwealth for a few days, and in a few days daisy wants to talk to you and she says to talk to maccready in the third rail. Turns out when maccready left to ensure the cure gets to his son, it was too late. The man is in an awful state and you gotta pass a few charisma checks to keep him in the commonwealth as a companion.

Gage. It makes some sense for him to turn on you too when you open season the raider leaders. HOWEVER, the leaders were needy dicks anyways and YOU'RE the boss so why can't you: replace the gang leaders with someone else you personally like OR Tell gage "im the boss, you got me here, you deal with me. You're lucky i like you so much" and establish dominance and give gage a sexual awakening. Gage will hate you for a few moments but ultimately with everything he said to you about his views and personal code he has to agree that you really are better/worse than colter.

That or bully him into being not a raider by either saying "do you REALLY wanna fight me?" Or "being a raider sucks this is actually beneficial for everyone even assholes like you" like the whole of nuka world would've been cooler to be like an actual fleshed out raider and not generic "haha im mean" but a "if its kill or be killed then im gonna kill the status quo to become god"

Cait is perfect in every way ngl i have nothing else to say about her except i love her

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #163

How are you doing today? Like most any day, I miss you a lot, and I'm always on the lookout for any sign that you might be safe. Today, I found a nice picture that someone called @valentimmy drew of you. In this one, you're coming home from the grocery store to your three cats who love you and trust you so much that they've gathered around to try to figure out what you've brought home. Your lovely wing is out in this one, too, and in this one, it's just an ordinary part of you, like an arm or a leg or whatever else; I don't think it's portrayed as anything really special or strange or anything out of the ordinary in this one, and it feels really nice to see. Even with your wing, you can still be a normal guy doing normal guy things, like getting groceries.

Here's the picture I saw:

Incidentally, I came across it just moments after wishing I could find anything that would show me that you'd be okay. I'm gonna take this as a sign that after everything is over, you can have a normal life. I'll be over here cheering for you on your way to that normal life, at least until you don't need me to anymore. Though I'll probably still keep rooting for you long after that, hahaha…

…I really hope you'll be okay…

My body is losing a lot of resources today, and I'm in a lot of pain from that, too, so I decided to rest. As part of resting, I tried another sample packet from Adagio. Today was the jasmine dragon pearl tea. Here:

Dragon pearl tea is special in that it starts out crunched up in tiny little balls, and they unfurl when you apply hot water:

Naturally, I added a bit of honey and cream:

...But much like the others so far, even though it was fragrant, it wasn't very flavorful. I'm not sure how that can be. It's very confusing.

...Well, no matter. Today I made some new blends there, and really I'm just after the little tins that will have pictures of you on them. I have a collection of very wholesome pictures of you, in which you are doing ordinary things like drinking warm, delicious beverages, reading books, eating tasty snacks, and stuff of that sort. I thought you deserve to have your image associated with nice things like tea, instead of always being portrayed as this menacing, horrible thing that you're not.

...I just want that there can be good, kind, wholesome, and healing things for you. Like all humans, you deserve this. The world that I live in is really sad because the most deeply troubled of us don't usually get to have things like that. I came so close to never getting to have things like that, but then I got really lucky, and... Sephiroth, I'm not any better than you or anyone else. If anything, you are better than me, and I'm one of the weaker examples of a human being where I'm from, so most anyone else is better than me, too, and I don't really wanna live in a world where I get to be okay and you or others don't. It's not right. It's not fair... It's not right that I should be saved by you, and then you end up getting stuck forever in some forgotten hole at the bottom of the Northern fucking Crater. It's not right that I get to eat every day while there are children in my very same general geographic vicinity who don't get to have enough to eat, and I know that they exist because I used to be one of them, but it's already everything I can do just to make sure the people in my immediate circles are safe and cared for.

...It's not right that I get to be okay, but the rest of my biological family is stuck in dysfunction junction just because I'm not smart or skilled or charismatic enough to get them to hear me when I try to tell them that there's a better way of being than... all of this... if only they're willing to try a little to learn new things.

...The sheer number of starfish stranded on the beach sand at low tide... and I know that in the course of my life, I'll have the capacity to maybe toss a small handful of them back into the sea, because I am also a lost starfish. And of those, I know that a number of them will crawl back up on the beach and strand themselves again; I've seen it happen to some of the folks I've tried to help in the course of my living, and... it really doesn't have to be like this...

Sometimes I get really sad when I think too hard about how very little it seems I can do in the grand scheme of things.

...Am I too weak and unimportant to save anyone at all...?

...

Well. Like I said, I rested today. And I made some pretty good progress in my quest to stop the Grafted Scion from shredding my salad:

...M was kind enough to take pictures as I tried to teach this entity all about why failure to manage its lust for my blood is a bad idea. I wasn't successful today, but I'm getting better, slowly but surely.

...Like I said before in a previous letter, it is this entity that is in trouble, not me. This one leaps from a huge distance away just to try to julienne me, even though I am definitely NOT part of a balanced breakfast. This one could use some critical thinking skills or even some self-preservation skills to "nope" themself right the fuck away from me, but... alas. I will grow and change, but this one will not.

This one's insatiable desire for a human-flavored smoothie is going to be their own undoing, because I only need to succeed once, whereas this one will have to face a foe (who could be friend if only this one changed their attitude...) that becomes stronger after every single attempt. Human brains are learning machines; dyspraxic though I may be, it's only a matter of time and persistence before I get to see what's behind the sealed doorway.

While I worked on this, my friend R came over. R is perhaps one of the best bakers on my whole planet!! And he brought us some oatmeal cookies; some of them were chocolate chip, some were cranberry-walnut, and some were raisin. They were ABSOLUTELY DELECTABLE:

...I really, really, REALLY wish you could try some of R's baking. R is amazing, and he's one of the finest humans I know. I think you'd like him a lot of you could meet him; he's very generous, and he's very kind. He's the sort of person who cares about everyone, and he'll go out of his way to make someone smile. I'm very lucky to have his presence in my life. I'm glad that at this point, his relationship to my house is like family.

He came over and we just did our own activities without anyone worrying about entertaining anyone else. M and J did their activities, I played Elden Ring, and R played on his Nintendo Switch; it was a very relaxing time in which there was absolutely no pressure on anyone to mask or to perform socially, and it was beautiful. In exchange for his lovely cookies, I gave him 30 cups worth of the kaleidoscopically beautiful tea that I mixed with you in mind:

...This is what I mean when I say you can come to my house and no one would bother you. At my house, there is no pressure to be any which way, as long as you're not hurting anyone. You could just relax, and no one here would demand your time, energy, or effort. You could just... be. And I know that this isn't typical in most places, but you'll find spaces like mine scattered about; just look for gatherings of neurodivergent folk, and you'll find those spaces.

Sephiroth, you're not nearly as broken or weird as your brain would like you to think. You're not beyond turning around. You're not too far gone to make a different choice. You can still fit with others who love you; not everyone is selfish and horrible like the people who raised you, I promise! And you can still have a normal life no matter what you're made of; please look no further than all of the neurodivergent and disabled people in my world if you need proof, because there are SO MANY versions of "normal", and all of them are good enough. You can still find people who will accept you as-is. So come on. Keep trying. Be like a sunflower - keep your face turned to the light, okay?

I'll leave you with this; someone named Kate made it. Kate makes lots of stuff like this:

...Sephiroth, don't give up. Don't give up, because you inspire so many others to not give up. Don't give up, because even without that, you're worth not giving up on. You're worth your own effort. You're worth every word I write to you. You're worth all this, and so much more. You belong living that ordinary life you wanted, not merely living on in the memories of the people who care about you.

I love you. Please stay safe. Please make good, kind, and conscientious choices for yourself and for the people around you. I'll write again tomorrow; look forward to it.

Your friend, Lumine

[dk-wren]

A Letter to the Me I Was Four Years Ago Today

Hey Dakota,

Or, perhaps, I should address you as *****. I don't think we were Dakota quite yet.

In a few weeks, your whole life is gonna change. Okay, maybe a bit hyperbolic compared to the situations other people are also about to experience. But, take your time and enjoy today.

Its leap day, an extra day to do something, so take advantage of this supposedly "extra day of magic." I know you worked hard to get your homework under control so we could see the new Magic Happens parade on its opening weekend.

I remember the joy of getting to text our good friend "Happy birthday" on their actual birthday and not figure out if I should text them on the 28th or the 1st. The anticipation of waiting in a crowd of people to see this new parade, which could possibly run for the next decade like its predecessor. And sharing the specialty sundae at Gibson Girl and some of the dishes at this year's Food and Wine Festival with Dad. That chicken in a waffle taco was so good.

Smile and take your mind off of the pile of work you know you still have waiting at home, the APs you should be studying for, not to mention your upcoming SAT. That Coco float is more beautiful than anything you could have imagined and the Moana float is just beautiful.

You don't know it, but this will be your last trip to Disneyland as an annual passholder, or really your last normal day off for a while. In two weeks the world's gonna shut down, and no amount of optimism we try to muster will keep that initial two weeks as two weeks. But before that, take my advice, you should definitely apply to that Life is Strange fanzine you saw on Twitter. Then, you'll finally know who Dakota is. And who knows what else you may discover on this path.

Also, what took you so long to start writing for you? I know junior year of high school is not known for students having a lot any free time, but if this is what you wanna do for the rest of your life, you gotta start sooner than later. And hey, call me a hypocrite, I know I'm still trying to find a good work/life balance. But we're getting to use our free time in a way that makes us happy and productive. Just keep writing.

Over the next four, really two, years, you're gonna lose contact with a lot of friends. But the two who you do stay in contact with, let's just say you wouldn't wanna be (occasionally) texting with anyone else. They are gonna make you feel safe to be yourself and introduce you to some future obsessions. One of them will be the inspiration for the first piece you write truly for you and for fun. And they're gonna be so supportive when you tell them about what you've been up to/asking their help for.

There's gonna be a lot of rough nights and disappointments before you graduate. And the decision of what to do about college, let those tears fall. There's no need to keep holding those emotions in. It's a tough choice and while I'm still in the middle of it, who's to say I made the right decision. But, I can tell you this, you are gonna be so much happier when you start college. Maybe it's not the experience your sibling had or you dreamed of, but you are gonna fall in love with a whole new city with so much to do (and so little time!). And not to be narcissistic, but I know how proud you would be to see all the things I've done so far in my coursework.

Keep listening to that voice telling you to go for it. You're gonna start writing for some of your favorite fandoms (including ones that you'll meet down the line - I'm so excited for you to watch BD and TS for the first time). Then you're gonna join Tumblr, then AO3, and who knows what's next. Some incredibly sweet people will interact with the things you made (yes, you!) and you'll be introduced to so many talented writers and artists on here! Literally, every day I come across multiple fanarts and fics that I can't help but stare at cause they are sooo good!

I know I skipped over a lot of exciting (and not so exciting) things, but that's for you to discover and enjoy in the moment. Enjoy this moment of happiness, and don't let yourself get too consumed with all the things out of your control. I think the parade is just about to start over at It's a Small World. Take care. We'll meet again soon.

Love,

Dakota Wren 💜

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 16: Crossing Paths - Episode 17: The Script, The Actors, And...

Izumi: They should be here soon, right?

Tsuzuru: They should. They called saying they’d be a little early–

Tsumugi: Is someone coming?

Tsuzuru: Seems like the KICS kids want to tell us something…

Tsuzuru: We also gotta talk about their play, so we decided to hold a meeting at the dorm.

Tsumugi: Discussing a brand-new troupe’s debut, huh? That sounds like fun, can I sit and listen in?

Izumi: Of course.

[Doorbell ringing]

Tsuzuru: Oh, looks like they’re here.

-

Towa: We’ve been selected to be in the rookie bracket!! This is the notification email!!

Tsuzuru: Ohhh.

Izumi: That’s great!!

Tsumugi: You even got a message from Yukio-san.

Towa: In my reason for applying, I wrote that I was so inspired by a play that I started my own troupe and asked the play’s scriptwriter for a script.

Towa: Since I wrote that we’re all beginners and we want to learn everything, starting from the basics, he sent us some words of encouragement.

Izumi: He wrote here that he can relate to you.

Izumi: (I think my father also directly asked Hakkaku-san, so the part of Towa-kun that acts as soon as he thinks of something might’ve been relatable to him.)

Tsumugi: Good for you.

Tsuzuru: Yukio-san will be giving basic acting instructions as something like an advisor.

Izumi: Seeing as he’s also a member of the board of directors, it’s probably not allowed for him to be involved in directing.

Tsumugi: But I think this increases the scope of the things KICS will be capable of doing.

Tsuzuru: We talked about this before, but have you decided on what you’d like your play to be about?

Keiku: Virtual stuff.

Kureha: We got to talking about how it’d be good if our play had a point of view that switches between reality and a virtual world.

Ibuki: There are not a lot of troupes that take this direction, and we thought it might be a good fit for us.

Towa: We were talking about how we all have online friends, and that there’s not much of a difference between them and friends we have in real life.

Towa: So we thought it’d be nice if we created a play with that as its theme.

Ibuki: Also, we want it to be more than just a simple play by sprinkling some dance in.

Tsuzuru: Some dance?

Kureha: We thought it’d be more interesting for the audience that way, rather than just acting.

Keiku: Plus I’m good at this.

Tsuzuru: I see…

Towa: But, even though we’ve come up with so many ideas, we haven’t figured out how to realize them yet…

Izumi: That’s something you’ll have to think about along with the director, so let’s just gather ideas for now.

Tsumugi: Exactly. You should start by showing that this really is what you guys want to do. Especially because this is your debut.

Tsuzuru: I guess it’d be similar to SSR Family in terms of atmosphere.

Tsuzuru: Putting aside how far we can go for now, I’ve got an idea for the direction I wanna take, so I’ll try to put together a plot.

Towa: Thank you very much!

Izumi: All that being said, even with Tsuzuru-kun writing for you, a play needs more than actors and a script to be a complete performance.

Izumi: It’s time you started looking at the more technical side of things.

Kureha: Are there more things we need?

Izumi: For starters, there’s setting a budget, and you need to find a theater and staff to support you.

Izumi: Then, the director will need to decide on a production plan, and they’ll need to properly communicate with everyone involved…

Izumi: You’ll also need someone to coordinate your practice schedule and actually run your practice space…

Ibuki: Won’t your daddy do that for us?

Tsumugi: Yukio-san’s more of an advisor, that’s not exactly in his list of responsibilities.

Towa: Then, should I do it?

Tsuzuru: I think that’s gonna be difficult when you don’t know left from right.

Izumi: Hmmm, I’d be happy to help, but I’ve got the preparations for the Winter Troupe’s performance to take care of…

Tsumugi: We’d be the ones in trouble if you were to leave us, Director. But how about asking Banri-kun instead?

Tsumugi: He has experience thanks to working as the Director’s assistant, and, since it’s Banri-kun we’re talking about, I’m sure he’ll be able to adapt to all kinds of situations.

Tsuzuru: Ah, he was also an assistant for Hyakka’s performance a while ago. That’s a good idea.

Izumi: True, I think Banri-kun has gained enough experience to be entrusted with directing a production… And the virtual theme is also a perfect fit for him.

Izumi: We’ll have to hear what Banri-kun thinks too, but what do you guys think?

Towa: Banri-san from the Autumn Troupe, right!? I’d be SO happy if he accepted!

Ibuki: We met him at the workshop, didn’t we? Why not.

Keiku: He’s pretty strong, so I’m game.

Kureha: We’ll be in his care.

Izumi: Then, I’ll ask–

Towa: No, we should be making this request ourselves!

Tsuzuru: Woah… That pushiness of yours is great.

Tsumugi: Communication is key in theater, I think that’s a good idea.

Izumi: I’ll leave it to you guys, then.

Towa: Okay!

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