#tenses problem

[lovlidollie]

Can we get a prequel to how Rafe Cameron and Crybaby reader met and got together? Please 🙏

of course !! i’m so sorry it took so long 😓 also i personally think crybaby!reader can be either kook or pogue, but for this she’s a pogue <3 not proof read ^^

cw crybaby flinches when a character raises his hand but nothing happens, slightly pervy rafe ;)

the first time rafe saw crybaby!reader was when she was working up at the little cafe inside the country club, eyes red ‘n face wet as an older man yelled at her. she was wearing an apron over a brown short-sleeved top that looked one size too small, with hair tied up using white ribbons, and a pair of roughed up sneakers on her feet. her skirt isn’t that short, perfectly acceptable for workplaces, but it has rafe wondering what her panties look like. he was sure he would have noticed the pretty little thing long before, so he assumed she was a new hire. automatically rafe knew she was one of the pogues. everyone on figure 8 knew each other, had grown up around one another from the very beginning. but she didn’t look like she belonged on the cut. no, she had the face of a kook, someone who should have more money than they can count, someone who deserved to live in luxury.

it’s like some sort of instinct comes over him, vision blurring around the edges as he watches her shrink further into herself, head shaking as she spews out stuttered apologies he’s too far to hear properly. when the man’s hands come up in frustration and she flinches back, rafe can’t stop his feet from marching towards the guy, chest puffed out ‘n shoulders squared. “hey man. what’s uh — what’s goin’ on?” his voice is gritty, barely restrained, as he looks him up and down.

“she messed up my order!” the man — bob, rafe recognises as a regular — snarls, lip upturned as he looks at her with utter disgust. “been coming here every single weekend for the past ten years and not once have i ever been given the wrong thing. disgraceful is what it is!”

rafe spares a glance down at the little thing next to him, heart flaring at the way her eyes widen and fill with fresh tears. “i-i- ‘m real sorry — sir — it - it was a mistake ‘m really sorry!” her voice is all blubbery, airy and high the way someone talks when they’re trying not to burst into sobs. it makes rafe dizzy with desire, makes him furious.

he gestures between the two, “i mean, shit man — she looks like a freshie, ‘s probably her first shift,” rafe drawls out, charming smirk on his face. “cut her some slack, yeah? if you don’t want her servin’ you then tha’s fine. we’ll go get someone else for you, a’ight?” she’s shaking like a leaf and it’s taking all of him not to reach out and clasp her shoulders, to get down on his knees and talk her out of it.

“yeah whatever. fuckin’ pogues can’t never do shit right..” bob mutters, eyeing crybaby distastefully once more before strutting away, barking at another waitress to get him a drink.

rafe sighs, rubbing a hand across his mouth, tongue poking his cheek as he thinks about whether or not it would be worth beating him up. he’s brought back to earth when he hears the distressed sniffles next to him. she’s wrapped her arms around herself, right thumb placed suspiciously close to her mouth crybaby’s eyes are all bloodshot, mascara smudged around her puffy lids, ‘n she’s bitten through her lips so hard that rafe can see the previous indentations. with a furrowed brow, he notices that she’s biting on the tip of her thumb, pink tongue peeking every now and then. (rafe tries not to groan at the sight.) he gently, ever so slowly reaches out with his larger hand, pauses when she jerks slightly, and continues to softly pull her hand away from her mouth.

“‘s not a nice man is he, huh?” rafe says quietly, trying to ignore the way her mouth chases the finger he’s pulling away. the action sends a jolt of heat through to his stomach, mind going straight to the gutter. the sane part of him understands it must be some sort of self-soothing technique, but the images it plants in his head are anything but innocent.

crybaby shakes her head roughly, eyes on her scuffed shoes. “‘m sorry — i - i really am,” she stutters, voice so soft rafe almost doesn’t hear it over the noise in the background. his jaw tightens as he tries to focus on anything but how close she is, how nice she smells. “y’don’t gotta ‘pologise to me,” he says almost affronted. “not your fault he’s an asshole.”

rafe takes a step closer, eyes flickering down to her chest where the tiny little name badge was pinned. “you — uh — you come here often?” he says her name ‘n it feels so right on his tongue. he tries to joke and it looks like it works, crybaby’s eyes blinking rapidly at his question. “i- um — yeah. jus’ started today..” her glassy eyes reflect his face in them as they begin watering again moments after. “… ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry - i —.” her lips look so fucking delectable in that little pout, he just wants to shove — rafe shakes his head and reaches out before he can stop himself. “look at me,” he says, voice firmer than before as he tilts her chin up. her skin is so soft and smooth he’s almost too distracted by it to talk. “it is okay,” he enunciates for her. “alright? jus’ — uhh — take a deep breath — yeah, do that. no more sorry’s, yeah? i got you.”

rafe’s never been good at handling emotions — his or anyone else’s — but there’s something about her that wills him into being just a smidge more patient. he feels the urge to say something comforting, something to make her feel better, but the only thing that comes out is, “y’too pretty to be crying over some dickhead.”

it’s not the most appropriate thing to say — this being their first meeting and all — but he can’t help himself. it seems to do the trick though, so he can’t really complain can he? the way her cheeks warm at his words, the way her eyes grow wider — it’s almost too much. she’s so innocent, so naïve, and he knows he shouldn’t be thinking about her on her knees for him, but he just can’t stop.

“y’doing just fine. first day’s always rough, mistakes happen. you’ll get the hang of it.” not that he’d know, rafe’s never had to work a day in his life. the reassurance soothes crybaby enough for her to nod her head jerkily, teeth catching the flesh of her lips again. rafe has to look away for a second, pretending to glance around the cafe so he doesn’t do something stupid like drag her into the back room and let his hands roam. “y-you really think so?” she asks softly, voice all small ‘n shaky, like she needs his answer in order to believe it.

“i know so,” he responds, full of confidence. “how ‘bout this. anyone gives you any trouble — ‘n i mean any — you come find me ‘n i’ll deal with it.”

crybaby looks up at him starstruck, almost honoured that he’d be willing to do that for her. “that— tha’s so nice of you,” she mouths, sniffling. shyly, with her fingers rubbing away the drying tears on her cheeks, she adds, “wh-what should i call you? like — like what’s your name?” she seems flustered, embarrassed for even asking.

rafe smirks, shit eating grin on his face as he steps back and crosses his arms. oh there were plenty of things she could call him he sucks his teeth and arches a brow at her. “name’s rafe. rafe cameron.” he assumes that because she’s a pogue, she at the very least has some sort of idea of who he is, of his reputation. he knows johnb and co have nothing better to do than shittalk, but when she gives him a tentative smile instead of shrinking away in disgust, rafe knows he’s got her.

“r-rafe,” she repeats, like she’s committing it to memory, and it does something to him, hearing his name on her lips like that. he wants to hear more. needs it more than air and it should scare him how quickly he’s developed a fixation on her. “mmh — don’t you forget it.”

crybaby’s clearly not used to this sort of attention, with the way she can’t keep her eyes on him, the way she fiddles with her fingers ‘n can’t stay still. it only makes rafe want to push further, but he forces himself to reel it in. there was plenty of time to explore this later, to see how far he could take it before she broke.

“i - uh - gotta go,” rafe says, voice a little scratchier. “boys are waitin’ f’me on the green. but i’ll uh — see you ‘round, yeah?” she wipes her hands against her apron, nodding again with the tiniest, cutest smile on her lips.

he spares her one last look before he pushes through to the golf course, already making up reasons to blow of top ‘n kelce so he can instead find out as much as he can about crybaby. immediately, rafe’s thinking of excuses to come see her again tomorrow.

[sulphur-and-honey]

is there still an inside no 9 fandom on tumblr. I know it used to be really active but recent seasons kinda killed it. Can anyone hear me. Please god the new season is fucking incredible. I genuinely think it’s some of their best work. I need to cry about this.

[tennessoui]

Hey I hope you're having a good day! I'm sure you've already got a handful of prompts but how about *shakes magic 8-ball* number 17, meeting at a party whilst drunk au!

hello thank you for sending this in!! i'm still working down my list of prompts, and this one is: meeting at a party whilst drunk

i took some liberties with the prompt here though, so really this is meeting (again after a long time) at a party whilst drunk

(2.8k) (gffa, anakin leaves the order after the war au)

Usually, Obi-Wan is better about this sort of thing. It is, after all, a matter of utmost importance. It’s a matter of survival. 

Usually, when he receives an invitation to an event, he does not commit himself to going until he can complete some reconnaissance about the other guests invited. Until he knows beyond a reasonable doubt that Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi and current husband to Senator Amidala, will not be in attendance.

It is much better this way. For everyone involved, really, but especially for Obi-Wan and his poor fool’s heart. It is much better if they keep an entire planet between themselves these days—preferably multiple planets. Preferably half a galaxy.

But this is a retirement party for Bail, and Obi-Wan cannot miss it. His old friend deserves better than that, better than Obi-Wan’s cowardice getting in the way of a celebration of his decades-long career in the Senate.

So he accepts the invitation without researching the guest list. He thinks—he hopes—that in the past nine years, Anakin Skywalker’s intense dislike of Bail Organa has not waned. Anakin, when Obi-Wan knew him, when he was Obi-Wan’s—Obi-Wan’s padawan—had a tendency to make a snap judgement about someone and never change his opinion. 

His hatred had been like an impenetrable wall, unchanging and immovable.

His love had ebbed and flowed, drowned out by his anger or his irritation, coming in great waves when he was in a fine mood and resembling a desert’s drought when he was upset.

But his hatred had always been unshakable once assigned. The very first time Obi-Wan saw it in Anakin’s eyes when he looked at him, a year after he left the Order and the last time they'd seen each other, he’d known for a fact that he’d lost him. That the love had dried up and gone and that it would never return. It’d felt like watching Anakin leave the Temple all over again, like a hand clenched around his heart squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

So he hopes that Anakin has chosen not to attend Bail’s retirement party. Oh, he knows that Anakin’s wife is here, and he has already downed two flutes of sparkling wine to prepare himself for the sight of her looking resplendent across the ballroom, but he hopes that Anakin has chosen to stay home instead of wasting an evening fawning over a man he never liked in the first place.

Besides, someone should look after the children. They’re nine now, Obi-Wan knows. If they are anything like Anakin was at that age, they must need constant supervision. And he has already seen Senator Amidala once tonight from afar, knows that she is here amongst the party-goers.

He tightens his grip on his fourth flute of wine and turns his attention back to his conversation partner. 

It is rather rude to be so preoccupied in the midst of a conversation with another, but Obi-Wan is an old man now and a war hero. He’s allowed to get away with much more these days than he could in the past.

“Yes, I admit the Jedi Order still has far to go in order to rebuild itself,” he says, mind torn between the small talk and the drink in his hand. These sorts of conversations are easy to have. Yes, the war took a lot out of the Jedi Order. Yes, we are still working through the damages and the trauma. Yes, it’s been ten years since, but sometimes it feels as if it was only yesterday. Yes, sometimes it feels as if I am still fighting.

And then—

Then the woman he is talking to grows bold. She rests her hand on his forearm, the one that is holding the flute of wine, and steps closer.

And in the Force, there is a rumbling of pure, visceral hatred, the sort Obi-Wan has only ever felt in the air a few times.

The sort that is achingly, distressingly familiar.

He turns his head, even though he knows he should not look. He knows looking will take him out at the knees. He knows he may never recover if he looks.

He turns his head and he looks anyway. There, across the room, standing to the left of a load bearing pillar is the drawn and furious face of Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi, ex-padawan.

Obi-Wan’s first thought is that he looks older, though he realizes a moment later how absolutely inane that is. Of course he looks older. It has been nine years since he really talked to him, eight years since he last saw him, and he has tried to avoid any news or photos about the man at all. In his mind, he is still as he was in those days and months following the end of the war. But logically, he knows that the time has passed, that not even the Chosen One is immune to aging.

Anakin’s hair is streaked with shoots of silver. It’s short now, cropped close to his head though still curling as much as he lets it. His face is worn, wrinkled in different, unfamiliar places. He is wearing finery befitting that of a senator’s husband, the color of a midnight sky.

It is strangely comforting to see him dressed in the same colors he has worn since he was a youngling in Obi-Wan’s care. If he were wearing white or, or green or pink, then Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’d be able to recognize him at all.

“Are you quite alright, Master Kenobi?” the woman asks, words filtering in through the static noise in Obi-Wan’s head. 

No. Of course he is not alright.

Yes. He is better than alright. He feels as if his head has broken the surface of the water he’s been trapped under for the past nine years. He feels as if the sight of Anakin Skywalker is a sip of water when he’s on the brink of dehydration.

“You know actually I am not sure,” he tells her, which is overly personal and not at all what he’d meant to say. But that is what the sight of Anakin Skywalker does these days. It throws him off, makes him loose-tongued and off-centered.

Fuck, he thinks once, viciously. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he tells her, carefully separating himself from her touch and taking a step away. She looks disappointed almost immediately, and Obi-Wan should care about the image he’s making, how impolite he is being, but he has bigger concerns right now. 

Anakin Skywalker is here. 

“Enjoy your evening,” he adds as he raises his flute of wine to his lips and drains it in one go. “Unfortunately, I’m going to go get incredibly drunk.”

“Uh,” the woman says, but Obi-Wan is already gone. He can’t—he can’t stay. Not in this room, not under the weight of Anakin Skywalker’s stare.

Thank the Force he started the night by giving his congratulations and warm regard to Bail. If things turn sour, he’ll be able to slip away with only minimal rudeness.

And, if he’s being quite honest, things have already soured beyond the point of salvation.

But instead of leaving—instead of slipping out the room and running back to the Temple, tail between his legs, he stays. Inexplicably, he grabs another flute of wine from a passing server and retreats to a balcony.

Fresh air will sober him up, he thinks, even as he downs half the flute. 

He should leave, he thinks, even as he stays.

He should leave—but he cannot bring himself to. Anakin is here and it’s Obi-Wan’s worst nightmare and it’s the only thing he’s desired for the past nine years.

Barely a minute passes before the balcony door opens behind him. Obi-Wan keeps his eyes pinned to the city-scape around them.

“Occupied,” he says, even though he knows who it is. Even though he knows the word is useless. Anakin will not leave until he wants to.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says. Just his name, just three syllables.

Obi-Wan downs the rest of the flute. “Anakin,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself before he turns to look at him.

Oh, he wishes he could blame the alcohol for how beautiful he finds him, but he knows that’s just some dark and twisted part of himself, some sinful and perverted aspect of his soul he has never been able to scrub clean.

“How are you?” He says, because he cannot let Anakin speak first. If he lets Anakin speak first, there will be a diplomatic incident, surely. If he lets Anakin speak first, Anakin will control the conversation—Anakin will tear through all of his shields and land on his sorest, most vulnerable spots. “How are the children?” “Do you even know their names?” Anakin spits back, eyebrows drawn dark and heavy over his expression. His face is flushed. He must have been drinking as well. “How old they are? Do not ask after my children as if you care about them at all, Obi-Wan—I know you don’t!”

“Luke,” Obi-Wan says. “Leia.”

Oh, he wishes Anakin were right. He wishes he didn’t know a damn thing about them, about him, about the life he lives now. One completely separate and void of Obi-Wan. 

Anakin probably does not notice his absence. After all, he has a wife, two children. A part-time job, if Bail can be believed. He wonders if he still meditates facing the wrong way, back to the sun, and suddenly his heart feels so tight he can hardly breathe through the pain.

Anakin sneers. “Whatever,” he says and reaches into the folds of his robes to pull out a silver flask. He raises it to his lips and takes a swig, rubbing a hand over his mouth when he’s done, capping it and sliding back into his robes.

It is the alcohol that loosens his tongue, Obi-Wan knows it. Obi-Wan understands that he has had too much to drink tonight to be standing before Anakin Skywalker now, that anything that comes out of his mouth will be something he regrets in the morning.

But does it really matter? How could it matter? Anakin Skywalker was his whole life for a decade and a few years, and then he left. And now a decade has passed. In five years, he will have spent longer missing him than he spent loving him. What does a few words matter now?

Obi-Wan has already lost everything. He is already made of regret.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so hatefully,” he says. “You left.”

He means, of course, that if anyone should hate anyone here, it is Obi-Wan’s right to hate Anakin.

Impossible, as it were, but his right. Anakin left.

Obi-Wan asked him to stay.

“You kissed me,” Anakin spits back.

And yes, alright. He kissed him as well.

His fingers itch for another flute of wine. Perhaps a swallow of the flask in Anakin’s robes. Anything. Anything to dull the white-hot ache of this conversation. Anything to escape these consequences.

“Nine years ago,” he says, quietly. “It’s been nine years, Anakin.”

Let it go.

He hadn’t—he really hadn’t meant to kiss him. It had been—a foolish mistake, something that had happened late at night, a few months after the end of the war, and they had been in Obi-Wan’s quarters, drinking and talking and Anakin had said something about leaving the Order, and Obi-Wan had said something about him staying, and Anakin had said, Padmé is pregnant, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan had kissed him.

A foolish mistake, made only survivable by the way that, for a handful of precious seconds, Anakin had kissed him back.

Before the yelling, the hatred, the anger. The leaving. Before all of that, Anakin had kissed him back.

“I have already apologized, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, exhausted, and his eyes cut away from Anakin, turn back to the city. “I have thought of that moment countless times–-and I cannot begin to explain what came over me, what I was thinking at the time.”

He just—he hadn’t wanted Anakin to leave. Had thought that perhaps if he could—if he could give Anakin himself in all the ways one person could devote themselves to another, then maybe it would be enough. Maybe he would stay.

A foolish hope, one that Obi-Wan should have known better than to entertain even for a moment.

“I have thought of it too,” Anakin says. He clears his throat. He lurches forward, unsteady on his feet. His hand comes into contact with Obi-Wan’s arm, glove on sleeve. Thank the Force for the layers still in between them.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and the truth is that he means it as much as he does not. He is sorry for taking the brotherhood and friendship between them and shattering it. He is sorry that he kissed Anakin, that he hastened his leave.

But he is not sorry for knowing how his lips felt against his own. How he tasted.

Obi-Wan is a lonely old man, despite the family he has surrounded himself with at the Temple. Despite his new padawan that he has been training for the past eight years. Despite the trips he takes to see his retired men, Cody and the 212th scattered across the galaxy. Despite all the ways he fills his days, all the people he meets and talks to and trains with, he is still lonely. There is still a hole in his heart, a space that Anakin used to occupy.

“I have thought of it every day since,” Anakin says, repeating himself in that way drunkards do when they have forgotten they already started the same sentence a moment before.

“I’m—”

“It has haunted me,” Anakin says. His voice is sharp and angry and Obi-Wan wants to close his eyes and shy away from it. Obi-Wan, who has faced down Separatists and sith lords and blaster fire, wants to turn tail and hide. Retreat. Retreat.

Anakin’s voice turns—darker, wilder. His hand tightens and he tugs, just hard enough that it overbalances Obi-Wan. “I am haunted by the kiss you never should have given me.”

“Had I known you were married, I never would have—”

“You ruined it,” Anakin snaps. “You ruined my marriage!”

“I…” Obi-Wan’s throat clicks, words drying out. “What?”

“We filed for separation months ago,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark; he is holding his arm so tightly that it hurts. “Joint custody of the children, but a formal divorce. Amicable.”

Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he can speak at all.

“It wouldn’t have been amicable if she knew though,” Anakin says. He takes a step forward. Obi-Wan gives ground. He does not know how else to fight Anakin. “If she knew what I thought about when I retreated from her touch. If she knew what—who—drove me from our bed every night to walk through our house like a ghost wandering the halls.”

“If your marriage ended over a kiss I gave you nine years ago, then it is hardly my fault,” Obi-Wan says, putting his hand on Anakin’s chest to keep distance between them. When did they become so close? This is much too close. Obi-Wan can smell Anakin’s soap, his sweat. The alcohol on his breath.

“But it is,” Anakin insists, unable still it seems to take his share of the blame and make his peace with it. “It is, because I spent half my life in love with you, then I finally commit to someone else—allow myself to look and love and appreciate someone else’s beauty—and then you kiss me, as if I have not already sworn loyalty to another! As if I could be yours to kiss! As if I still was!”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, unable to do more. “It was a kiss, Anakin, it was—I assure you, I am not such a good kisser that I can be blamed for your failed marriage when it was nine years ago!”

“Then you do not remember it as well as I do,” Anakin murmurs, and now—now the rage has turned darker, heady. His eyes catch and hold onto Obi-Wan’s lips. His eyes are more black than blue. His face is flushed. He is—so handsome. So beautiful still, after all of these years. “Let me refresh your memory,” he says, and Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan is weak when it comes to Anakin. He always has been. He is so weak. And he needs—he needs so much. He makes a sound, something embarrassingly small and desperate, and then Anakin is kissing him and it feels like being sliced open and like coming home, all at the same time. 

Like how it felt when he returned to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon after his master had died—a homecoming, but at what cost? A death and a birth, all at the same time. He had lingered in the doorway that first time, unable to push himself across and into quarters that felt both strange and familiar. 

It had been Anakin, a small boy still, who had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.

Still now, even all these years later, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and allows himself to follow Anakin’s lead. 

[bonefall]

I'm not in 100 years reading wind, so what's the nightstar stuff as well as the harelight execution scene?

The Nightstar Stuff is that they're constantly making it clear they KNOW that cats can lie about getting the 9 lives, they KNOW that a murderer can receive the lives, and they KNOW that StarClan has never rejected an evil cat before... but then they handwave it away because they don't wanna do anything.

Nightstar/Nightpelt gets namedropped six times and vaguely alluded to a dozen more, but it means nothing to the story. You could have just forgotten him entirely and the plot would happen the same way.

Most of this book is the leaders finding excuses to sit on their butts, but I really only need to share one exchange to demonstrate just HOW stupid this is,

"I'd like to think that the ancestors would speak up." A+ logic Squirrelflight. Just believe that reality won't happen. If you cover your eyes it makes the maneating lion bowling towards your face go away. Soblem prolved.

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.

[trainingdummyrabbit]

i cant be doing this right now i cant stand these dork ass motherfuckers

[theloveinc]

SHINSOU MAN, like really makes me feral thinkin like.. mans is SO nervous around you, you've been dating for a little while but hes still scared to breathe too hard around you. You both go to a mutual friends birthday and you're getting a drink for you and your mans, only to come back and he's literally in the middle of a fistfight, the other guy gets him in the jaw and he practically EATS it like its nothing, its only when you grab his white shirt with blood all over it and pull him off the other guy that you find out the guy said something SLIGHTLY disrespectful about you in your dress. And you have to try not to fuck him right there and help him clean the blood off his chin.

Under the awfully-yellow sting of the bathroom's florescent lights, it's the third time in a row you've tried to dab at Shinso's lip with an alcohol soaked cotton ball, trying (but mostly failing) to staunch the flow of blood which continues to pool and crack at the left corner of his mouth.

The split is only one of the two real injuries he came away from the fight with (aside from the potential concussion he might have no matter how fast he recovered from being punched between the eyes), but every time you try to press into the wound and wipe up the mess that was left behind, Shinso leans away as if to weaken the effect of your touch.

"Shinso, let me try. Please,” you beg. "You’ve gotta stop acting like this."

"This?" he finally responds, surprisingly egregious in tone for someone of his usually-very-cool temperament, eyebrows going halfway up his actively-bruising forehead as he snaps his head to face you. The sudden movement causes your hand to go skidding across his cheek, leaving a long red stain straight up to the swollen temple he's currently holding a bag of melting ice against. "The guy said he’d—”

"I know what he said," you cut him off, throwing down the now-soggy puff onto the porcelain countertop as you step back and glare. "I'm talking about the fact you're barely letting me help clean you up."

Shinso rolls his eyes. "You think I asked for help dealing with this?”

“It’s not fair for you to hurt yourself if I’m just meant to sit there and watch. We’re supposed to be dating. Are we?”

"What,” you can tell he’s trying not to raise his voice, especially as you reach out to trace your fingers down his arms, “do you think?"

"Hitoshi," he finally looks at you straight when you say that name, his body instantly going still. “I am being dead serious. Either you were standing up for me, or you just wanted to pick a fight. Which is it?"

If possible, the man's frown deepens even further, though you can feel the way his muscles begins to relax as he tries to calm himself under your touch.

He pauses a minutes to swallow. And to stare. And then, “you,” he finally says, unblinking. "I was doing it for you."

You lean back in finally, tenderly, pulling him into a soft kiss where his lips fit perfectly against yours and the taste of blood the last thing on your mind.

"Good," you pull back, only slightly, near breathless. "So let me help you. At least before I thank you.”

-

(someone get this man some ginseng… sorry i went insane anon!! shinso just makes me a lil wet. I hope this was okay)

[compacflt]

can i just say that I'm haunted by the image of Ice wearing "one of Mavericks cheapest rolexes". One because of the mental immage of Maverick being the kind of men who not only owns multiple watches but also Rolex, which is absolutely delightful, because oh the quiet vanity of that. And two because of the implied and groundbreaking (to me) domesticity (and defiance of the not talking/acknowledging the thing between the 2 of them) of wearing another person watch. I'm screaming into the void about your brilliance. So I need to ask, do they do that on purpose (before the mission) in a sort if roundabout way of acknowledging each other presence in their life? What would Mav wear that belongs to Ice (apart from that USNA ring eheh)?

pilots/sailors/doctors etc who do high-level specialized work with their hands tend to really be Watch Guys. and “cheap” rolexes (sub $7k ish) are actually pretty affordable if you’re making >$150k a year and want to treat yourself every fifth christmas or something. source: know several sailors & doctors. ALSO the watch ice is wearing in his famous gay plane photoshoot is actually a rolex. So theres some evidence ice at least is (annoying, ostentatious, bad with money, and) a Watch Guy. Maverick’s also wearing a kickass chronograph in TGM so i think he’s also probably a Watch Guy. also… you know, status symbol, honor, et cetera et cetera…

they probably wear each other’s socks because in-regs socks all look the same and they’re both men so who cares. i also hc that they’ve always worn the same size in shirts so each other’s t-shirts are also free game. and was very confusing at the start of their relationship when trying to figure out whose shirt was whose after a midnight rendezvous. lots of accidental shirt mixups. and, yeah, each other’s watches, because most people only see the status and don’t see the detail, and most people aren’t around both ice and mav enough to recognize that “omg last month adm kazansky was wearing the same omega chronometer capt mitchell is wearing today!! theyre totally together!!!” so if ice buys a new watch and maverick salivates over it, sure he can borrow it, whatever. and i think there’s a scene in wwgattai when maverick wears ice’s pj pants hold up lemme find it

“in bare feet.” now wtf does that mean. that could use a rewrite.

ice also wears mavericks leather jacket when they’re on their baseball date in debriefing. at some point when you live with someone long enough your stuff becomes their stuff which was the point of this graf

thinking about it… trying to decide if they’d wear each other’s cologne. that seems like a little much. no i don’t think so.

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all, weird question time again! Is there anyway to word "I appreciate how unintimidating and unthreatening you are being" as a compliment that does not sound at all like an insult? One of my doctors is the absolute best at it, and I genuinely think it must be a skill he's deliberately cultivated, but I cannot figure out how to word it in a way that doesn't sound slightly insulting. Like, it's a good thing! A very good thing, especially in a doctor! But I cannot figure out how to word it in a way that conveys that

[mollywog]

Trying to write something in past tense to match previous chapters, and… I kinda hate it.

[cipheramnesia]

If you looked at the covers of the original French Inside and the USA Inside remake, and you hadn't also seen this post, I think you wouldn't be able to guess which one was which, or which one of them was the embarrassingly bad, artistically bankrupt version versus the heartfelt and emotionally gut wrenching version.

[camembertlythere]

Reading The Terror and just reached this hysterical passage re: The Creature

'It can't climb the mainmast, thought Blanky. [...] At least it can't climb the mainmast. Nothing that size can climb. No white bear --if it is a white bear-- has experience climbing.

The thing began climbing the attenuated mainmast.'

[damnation-if]

Hi, I just played the demo and I loved it! I was wondering if you could give us an estimate of when the next update is coming?👉👈 (Or link a relevant post, if you already talked about and I just didn't scroll down far enough to see it 😆)

Also, I wanted to check, can you be in a romantic relationship with more than one character, and not just a sexual one? Because I might be in love with every single character in this game 🤭

hi, thank you! i'm glad you're enjoying the game :) i've answered the question about romancing multiple characters a couple of times in a couple of different asks but the posts all kind of link back to each other so you should be able to find all the info by. following the various links in each ask i think, starting here XD

i'm going to put the answer to your other question under a cut because some of it is quite emotional for me

i did Sort Of talk about this at the time when it happened, by which i mean that rather than making a post, i talked about it in the tags of an unrelated post i was using to distract myself (i think it was character playlists and how i'm not sure if it's a good idea to do them or not if i recall), but earlier this year while i was already going through a really rough time, my laptop died and i lost a lot of work on the game.

i knew my laptop was old and that this was possibly approaching so i made regular backups and the good news is that because i write in a separate word document and keep backups of those also i didn't actually lose any Writing. however. my twine has a problem in that every second or third game file that i publish from the build is Haunted - it contains passages i removed weeks ago, or writing that i deleted long before publishing it, that kind of weird annoying shit. (other authors have seen my files do this lmfao) and i just have to hope that the backups i make either won't be needed or aren't haunted. anyway... because hope is futile, the last backup i made was indeed haunted, and utterly useless to me as a recovery file. because it's just twine, i still have all the writing, as i mentioned... but i would have to re-code the entire chapter and put it all back together again because of how much the file did not export, which is a complicated and daunting process.

so i made a rambling explanation of this in the tags of a post and decided to take maybe a couple of days off and cool down from this specific disaster before getting into it.

i wake up the next morning to find the IF community absolutely plastered all over with Helpful Informative PSA posts about how Silly it is not to make backups and how if you just make backups you'll never have problems again and you should know better than to not make backups.

now. i'm not a catastrophist. i know for a fact that nobody was making or spreading these posts out of cruelty or a desire to make me feel bad. i also know that it's not particularly realistic to expect people who don't even know me to hunt down the source of a piece of hearsay that's like "i heard from someone that someone said that an author lost a bunch of their files and is really upset about it" to find out what the situation is and whether or not it's what they imagine. i don't even think the vast majority of people knew who it was that was the author involved, or who i am either.

but to already be going through an extremely stressful time and then lose my laptop on top of that and then be obliquely referenced by people i thought of as my peers as kind of just a big silly bumbling goose who didn't know how to manage my files and a "don't be like this person" attitude really, really hurt me. i can't express just how deeply it hurt me. one particular author was openly laughing at me and saying it was my own fault for being too stupid to make backups using a certain twine peripheral program.

so. there was a period of time where i could have found the motivation to just restart the whole chapter myself and re-code it in a frenzy because i wanted to get right back into writing it because. like a lot of authors, i LOVE writing. that's why i do this even when it's difficult. but that potential recovery was sandblasted away by the reactions of people that i thought of as my colleagues in some sense (even though i understand that they didn't do it with bad intentions, in most cases). and i hope people can understand that it greatly lengthened the amount of time i needed to spend away from the game recovering emotionally, despite being a Very Small issue to most people. i'm literally upset again just typing out this answer lmfao

however one other small piece of good news is that my laptop seemingly just lost the ability to turn itself on (because of its age) so i Think the hard drive is intact. meaning that i think i can get someone to pull all the files off it and just have them back fine once i do. the other piece of bad news is that my life is a trainwreck! and i cannot afford that right now. which is why i sort of pivoted to writing the 2000 follower celebration sidegame as a way to enjoy myself while i hurtle through hell sdjgbdfhfdgh

shortly after this thing with the laptop the house i was living in was sold out from underneath me, even though it wasn't supposed to be, and i had to find somewhere to live with my 18 year old cat, but the city i lived in had zero places that would allow cats (they're totally fine with Dogs though of course) so i had to move to an entirely new city on my own while worrying about her health. and right now i spend every fortnight desperately trying to scrape together enough to survive the next fortnight. there were entire months where i had no access to internet! it's been pretty Bad!!

so i get that people really want updates, and i'm really flattered that people do and it makes me happy that people like the game so much. but i am currently expending so much time and energy trying not to die lmfao, and i need to save up the money to get my files back around that. i truly cannot tell you when the next update will be, but i promise you that it Haunts me, probably more than you can imagine XD the sidegame will Definitely come out before it though, if that's something you're looking forward to.

thank you again for your message, and i'm sorry that i don't have good news for you. but i am trying, constantly. every day.

[longagoitwastuesday]

I am liking Jujutsu Kaisen, way more than I imagined I would, but I foresee it will let me down and it's keeping me from enjoying this as much as I could haha

I think the characters and dynamics are well set, and I think many of them have an incredibly good and deep potential, but I would be willing to bet they'll not get a proper development, enough for them to really hit. A well assembled set of gears is not enough to make the movement go, you have to wind the clockwork.

I think Gojo and Megumi have a fascinating and very complex dynamic, but I doubt it will be given the time and care that imo it needs to actually work. And it is going well enough for now! One could see the intimacy between them was deeper than the one Gojo had with, say, Yuji and Nobara ever since the very first few episodes despite the fact Fushiguro too was a first year. But the pieces forming what they have are extremely complex, and it just wouldn't be realistic if it doesn't show, even if in a not showing way, or if it doesn't have consequences or implications.

It's one of those dynamics that shape one's life, the way one regards the world, the way one establishes or not relationships with other people. It's one of those dynamics that could be full of fondness, gratitude, resentment, admiration, trust, and that imply intimacy, the good kind or the bad, even if in just the knowledge of someone who's been a constant through your life. It could, and would, imply a myriad of feelings, and probably in such a mix it could imply contradictory feelings too. Even the nothingness would weight, even the nothingness would be significant and meaningful.

Gojo took Megumi and his sister under his wing, the son of a man who murdered him, because of both selfish and selfless reasons. Megumi looks like Toji. What does Gojo feel about this? How does Gojo deal with this? How does Gojo go about taking care of Megumi? Would he walk him to school? Make him breakfast? Celebrate his birthdays making him blow candles? Did he take him to the zoo? Does the relationship between them feel professional or is it something more? Gojo appreciates his students, but is Megumi to him just another student? When Gojo faces Sukuna in Megumi's body, did he see the kid he raised, or does he just see Sukuna in one of his students' body? Did he have one faint wavering instant? And how does Megumi feel about this? Is he resentful of him? Resentful of the situation? Of the selfishness behind his actions? Does he feel like a pawn? Is he grateful? Does he resent feeling grateful? Would he rather not? Does he love Gojo? Does he feel nothing about him other than what he could feel about a teacher that sort of annoys him but knows he's reliable in his strength? Does he think it unfair, cruel or unfeeling that Gojo is close, closer perhaps, with Yuuji or Yuta, considering their story? When Sukuna slices Gojo in two, does the remnants of Megumi's soul tremble?

And not just Megumi and Gojo. Yuuji and Nanami, Gojo and Nanami, Yuuji and Fushiguro, Nobara and the boys, or Nobara and Maki, Todo and Yuuji or Yuta, Gojo and Yuta, Megumi and his sister. Gojo and Geto, even! If the pieces are well set, the dynamics are intriguing, interesting, and have potential to be deep, but then the characters have like two plot relevant scenes that punch you hard, but little more, it's not nearly enough. Especially not nearly enough for the enormity that is shonen dynamics and situations. And the potential existing at all, and then not delivering, makes it all the more frustrating when you're left with something mediocre that could have been so good.

The development of dynamics through not only a few plot relevant gut wrenching moving scenes, but also the smallness of life, is important. The friend who recommended this to me said that those things were just unnecessary filler, but I disagree. I think there's a big difference between a large amount of anime-only filler episodes whose existence is based on the fact they had run out of manga chapters to animate, and moments of quietness. The low stakes character-driven moments of quietness can be so telling and so insightful, and they are so satisfactory when brought back later in higher stakes situations. My friend teased me there was no scene of Gojo making breakfast to Megumi, that it would be an idiotic idea, but it would be so telling. How he makes breakfast, what they eat, if he tries hard or if it's all mechanised, if they have personal bowls or if they use whatever, if he just buys them some pastry on the way to school, if the way they have breakfast changes through the years, or if he doesn't make them breakfast at all! All that would be very insightful on their dynamic and its evolution. All that would give a glimpse on how they regard each other and why, even in the present. All that could become meaningful in tense situations and high stakes scenes.

These moments also let the plot breath; if a lot is happening all the time, if every character is always experiencing trauma after trauma, the entire story is so emotionally draining that at some point you don't even care all that much. Besides, these nothing moments or low stakes plot arcs, besides deepening and developing dynamics, also let some in-world time pass, which would make the intimacy and bond between characters more believable imo; between Yuuji eating Sukuna's finger and their last confrontation in December how much time has passed? A few months? Am I truly to believe these characters are so everything to each other in only a few months?

Without some smallness, some repetition, some daily life, some low stakes not plot-centric development, the dynamics don't hit, they don't truly feel fleshed out, and dynamics as complex as the ones Megumi and Gojo have, or as supposedly meaningful as the one Megumi has with Yuuji or his sister, should be fleshed out if they're going to exist at all. Otherwise they'd risk making the writing feel awkward and fake. Besides, if the dynamics felt well fleshed out and realistic, they would shape the way the characters interact and act, and how they deal with situations, thus being plot relevant.

The shonen genre has so much happening all the time, the stakes are so high, the dynamics are so rooted in big events and the relationships carry enormous weight and implications. Yet they barely get developed, and it feels so stupid, so plain, the absence of something so important noticeable like a constant void, a shapeless nothingness present in every scene. It makes the characters feel like cardboard figures. Jujutsu Kaisen is already getting a better job than many, but I doubt it will do enough for what I've heard, and I fear I am bound to feel let down, and bound to feel unmoved.

After all, if not enough time and care has been given to develop a dynamic, I am not going to feel pressured by the high stakes; if not enough time and care has been given to develop the dynamic between Megumi and Yuuji, as good potential as it has I am bound to feel little for this last confrontation between Sukuna and Itadori, and his effort in getting Megumi back.

[daisywords]

one of the pitfalls for me of writing in first person present tense (beloved!) is that I forget that I can just timeskip

[painted-bees]

okee good morning...answering this for real now lmao

Required reading for context first!:

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/714138097261150208/lark-wren-lark-needs-to-drag-her-focus-kicking

https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/713687883290214400/thinkin-more-about-magritte-and-rafael-because-of

Raf and Magritte, before meeting Cortes, had become pretty iron clad as a pair. As skittish/paranoid as Raf can be, Magritte had proven time and time again that she adores Raf for being Raf, and not what he can be used for nor what she imagines he should be. He’s no longer waiting for that other shoe to drop with her, like he’s usually waiting on with literally anyone else. Magritte’s love, so far as he can tell--and deliberately elects to believe in--is completely unconditional. Raf has only ever had three...four people he trusts to see him as himself and do well by him: his grandmother, his uncle, Magritte, and Cortes.

Magritte, of course, genuinely does adore Raf, thinks he’s very sweet--thinks he’s got a -lot- of baggage and needs some proper patience and a gentle kind of love. But he’s very patient with her, doesn’t yell at her for forgetting things or forgetting to -do- things, and just seems to genuinely love having her around, and doesn’t get annoyed when she’s excited about stuff and it’s just...so refreshing.

Needless to say, Raf and Magritte are ride or die for each other. Raf is extremely protective of Magritte’s infectious enthusiasm, optimism, and her overall penchant to see the best in every situation and every person. Magritte just wants to see Raf have an easier time of things and find joy in the stuff that is joyful again.

Raf and Magritte met Cortes...strangely: https://www.tumblr.com/painted-bees/715850323888160768/the-water-between-the-discovery-islands-off-the

Cortes is their...adopted cryptid gf, they kinda have this inherent understanding that Cortes is more a force of nature than anything else. She comes and goes as she pleases, is wholly aloof to the world around her outside of Raf and Magritte (whom are the clear objects of her affection during her little ‘human-kind’ cosplay adventure). Sometimes Cortes is gone for a month or so at a time, with no indication of where she went or what she’s doing. But Magritte and Raf both inherently kinda...know...she’ll be back and she’s fine. 

Raf and Cortes have a very quiet, chill kind of relationship--very low energy in the comforting way. The relationship version of “lowfi beats to study to” lmao. 

Magritte and Cortes have a very playful, mischievous relationship and Cortes encourages Magritte’s childish impulses--both good and peevish lmao they are a chaotic duo...but they somehow always get away with what ever trouble they end up finding themselves in together. 

Neither Magritte nor Raf (nor anyone, really) find anything unsettlingly strange or off putting about Cortes--she’s not even all that weird, really. Just a unique kind of charisma.