#that it makes some sort of sense to you? It doesn't make any sense to me. You know; I was there.'

[crushedsweets]

CREEPED VISUAL NOVEL Link, tutorial, extra art, Q&A, some chatter

The CREEPED Prologue is completely free and browser-ready. Gameplay is about 10 minutes. Please read the "tutorial" and notes before playing!

Follow Y/N and their dog, Max, through their grandparents' farm and a mysterious forest filled with...less than fortunate people!

PLAY HERE; works best on PC

This visual novel is powered by GOOGLE SLIDES! It has 0 programming and was created by one person in a little over a month, so please bear with any "bugs" and clunkiness!

TUTORIAL

>Click using mouse/trackpad >Go slowly to not break game >Do not use arrow or space keys

EXTRA NOTES:

>Works best on PC/Browser, I haven't tested the full game on mobile yet >In general, clicking the PNGs on the textbox (Apple, Teddy Bear, Hatchet, etc) will lead you to the right page >If you land on a page that tells you to "go back," that's when you should click the back-arrow key. If your cursor disappears, it doesn't register the click correctly >I recommend moving your cursor periodically to avoid it disappearing and sending you to the wrong page

EXTRA ART

some WIPS and the original sprite-style i was gonna choose LOOOOOOOL

Q&A

Q: Is this an x reader? A: This is a reader-insert, but it's not romantic and I try to keep it as neutral and unidentifiable as possible! Q: What's the plot? A: GENERALLY AND WITHOUT SPOILERS, your dog gets you into trouble and you're just looking to help him!

Q: Who is in the prologue? A: Tim, Brian, Toby, and Kate! More will be added in future chapters.

Q: When will future chapters be posted? A: Not sure! This took me about a month to do, and half was spent over winter break. I will try to get chapter 1 posted before summer, but I am a full-time student, employed, have extracurriculars, etc etc

ok thats all i only remember 4 questions feel free to ask more LMAO

CHATTER(because you know i can talk forever)

ok i just wanted to be able to talk about how the process was with this and how i feel about the results and whatnot...

ive been wanting to make a google slides visual novel since i was like 13 LOL it hit the point where i was repeatedly told i should just learn to code but i was like NOOOOO ITS GOTTA BE GOOGLE SLIDESSSS which is totally stupid but hey. i think that gives it some sort of simple charm that reminds me of being 16 and doing little projects in my room LOL i like working with the easiest tools . my bad

anyway. im just very happy LOL. it's not perfect but i feel like i came full circle in a sense?!?! i've been into creepypasta since i was 9 and it comforted me when things were really hard, and when i was 18 i was going through a really hard time and got back into creepypasta as a way to distract myself. i've always had a habit of throwing myself into fiction for escapism when things suuucked.

i'm 20 now but i've met SO many amazing people, had so many fun awesome exciting projects with friends, created tons of stuff im proud of, felt more motivated to create since i was like 13, have been inspired by so many amazing artists/authors on here, etc. just so so so lucky to find community in such a tight-knit cute fandom that thrives off of creativity and playing around! i hope i can keep the momentum and make a couple more chapters this year, but im kinda busy with school and work...LOL . i'm just excited to have this posted so i can have more discussion about it T_T

anyway thank you if you read this far and thank you if you played etc etc yaahhhhhh omg ok BYE THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING im just so grateful to be in this fandom

[dduane]

Hi DD! I'm about mid-way through the most complex writing project I've ever done (several stories with some red thread storylines progressing in the background, so a sort of interwoven structure). I have an outline of the major plot beats, but the problem is, I've gotten about 2/3 of the way through, and this is where I've started to have trouble bringing my many threads together. The further I go, the the harder keeping it all clear and elegant becomes. Any advice for working at this stage?

It may seem counterintuitive, but once I'd found myself in a situation like this, I would immediately start working backwards.

It's difficult to describe what I mean here except semi-graphically—sort of in terms of one of those strings-pinned-to-the-wall diagrams so familiar to a lot of us from the various evidence-wall memes.

If we're imagining your present as-yet-unconnected threads as more or less progressing left to right, I would "stick pins in them" at their current furthest range and then move straight out to the far right side of the diagram.

For each thread I would then get busy establishing a detailed "end state" for the work: meaning a sense of what you want each of those through-line of plot to look like when you're done in terms of characters, situations, etc. I'd make very sure that all the major through-lines were covered, and (in passing) take a long look at how they'll stand in relationship to one another when all the action's finished.

Then I would start working back along each line toward the center of the matrix—looking to see what the next-to-last thing was that needed to happen to produce the final result on a given through-line. And then the third-to-last. ...And so forth.

I would try to work through the whole set of through-lines for each given step or stage before progressing any further backwards—unless, of course, some leap of logic occurs that makes an obvious connection between two different through-lines, or an earlier stage in the same TL that hadn't been obvious before.

(Is this making sense? God, I hope so.)

My experience with this kind of situation in the past is that it doesn't take too long before, on one or two of the lines you're constructing backwards, you'll hit something fairly major that somehow hadn't come up for consideration previously, or had simply slipped or fallen off the structural "radar" because so much other stuff had been going on around it. That event or piece of data, once perceived, will very often either immediately connect itself back to one or more of the "pinned" through-lines, or promote one of the other incomplete ones into growing connections to other adjacent lines of plot material. It's a little like watching neural tissue developing alternate pathways for itself after an injury.

...Anyway, give this approach a shot and see how it works for you. There are times when simply the act of reversing direction on the plot build will shake something loose in the business surrounding the building-it-forward part. It's worth a try to see what happens.

Hope this helps!

[celtrist]

RADIOAPPLE BAD END ROUTE

In these endings, it's more or less assumed Alastor has gotten out of his deal (if the route doesn't involve his owner)

Lucifer finally snaps. Growing quite tired (and honestly pretty bored) with his and Alastor's game of "cat and mouse", Lucifer moves in to make Alastor his. So using his raw power, Lucifer overpowers Alastor and tells him they'll be finally getting married. It was a quick, and quite frankly embarrassing fight on Alastor's end. Alastor, while disliking the short king, supposed giving into the king of hell wasn't the most embarrassing loss he could truly have. Of course, with the escalation of their relationship came more problems than he thought there'd be.

Lucifer expects a devoted partner out of Alastor, and Alastor gives more of a "bare minimum" sort of effort. An ever-doting, jealous, and possessive husband Lucifer makes it difficult for Alastor to be out of his sight. Let alone attempting a conversation with anyone aside from Lucifer. Alastor is more or less stuck wherever Lucifer is, that is wherever he's staying sleeping-wise. And when he's not, Lucifer makes sure he's with Alastor whether as his normal self or a snake on his shoulder or a fly on the wall that Alastor isn't aware is there.

Lucifer's stalking is far less subtle than what it was before, and he still "guilt trips" Alastor for things like kisses and cuddles (the guilt trips and lying never work, but Alastor just gives up and "goes with it"). However, Lucifer will sometimes just do these things without Alastor's permission. A sudden kiss on the cheek, Alastor sleeping in bed and Lucifer just getting in to cuddle without letting him know, that sort of thing.

Post-engagement, Lucifer is less than tolerant of Alastor being an "aloof" partner. So with a flick of his wrist, Lucifer will sometimes conjure up an apple or even medicine infused with magic to make Alastor lose his autonomy and become the "perfect partner". Only responding and doing as he's told. This only lasts as long as Alastor gives him, the first time being a bit of a simple punishment and warning for Alastor to become "more committed" to their relationship, lest he wants to just be out of control of his own body. This does coerce Alastor to being more active reluctantly, but there are still a few times that this punishment ends up enacted.

Now this next part is a bit more give or take with this route, but Lucifer "baby trapping" Alastor seems like something he'd do. Whether that's Lucifer getting pregnant, Alastor getting pregnant (without permission), or both of them being pregnant. While I personally am not much of a fan of the whole "mpreg" thing, Lucifer desiring another child with Alastor makes sense in "completing the family" or really nailing in the coffin that Alastor is his.

This part of the route is certainly more optional than concrete as it IS a bit strange haha Using pregnancy to coerce Alastor into staying and being a more active partner seems like a thing Obsessed!Lucifer would be interested in doing. At the very least, he could lowkey threaten doing that sort of thing.

This pregnant situation (whichever way) could've been the way Lucifer more or less forced Alastor into marriage.

The pregnancy would be the final straw (if you choose to go that route) for Alastor. Either way, at some point he just grows tired and no longer wants to be the one in control. So Alastor requests Lucifer to give him some more "medicine", which Lucifer obliges with an upgrade so that Alastor doesn't require any sort of orders to move, but all autonomy will still be thrown out in favor of a different persona that blindly loves Lucifer. With the temptation to no longer think for himself, Alastor becomes Lucifer's perfect husband. So long as he remembers to take his medicine!

[steddiehyperfixation]

holding out for a hero

@steddiebingo prompts: superhero au + fly | 1.8k words | rated T

Eddie doesn't believe in superheroes. He may live most of his life in fantasy, playing fantasy games and reading fantasy books, but contrary to popular belief, he does still know the difference between reality and fiction. And some superhuman wonderboy flying through the streets of small town Indiana sniffing out crimes to stop is definitely fiction, no matter what the local news stations have been saying lately. 

It's all just some angle, some sort of propaganda. “Something to make the ne’er-do-wells scared and the do-gooders feel safer,” as he'd put it in his lunchtime rant earlier this afternoon, stomping atop the high school cafeteria tables and laughing at everyone who jeered at him. He was being dramatic and theatrical, but the point still stands that these stories of a superhero in Hawkins are utter bullshit. Especially since the only evidence the news has been able to cough up on the contrary is a couple of fantastical eyewitness accounts and one singular blurry, grainy, heavily shadowed photo of a random guy jumping over a fence. 

Eddie believes in what he can see, and if there really is a superhero running around Hawkins, he’s fairly fucking certain he would’ve seen it by now. He commits crimes on the daily and no one’s ever stopped him. No masked vigilante has ever interrupted a drug deal. No wonderboy has ever busted him for petty theft. They're small crimes, sure, but it's not like there's too many others doing too much worse around here. To that end, no one’s ever saved him either, when a deal goes south or a bully gets physical, but that’s a weaker argument. Eddie knows he’s not the kind of person most people would care to save.

He certainly doesn't expect to be saved now as he finds himself at a meeting that’s quickly shaping up to be more of an ambush. It was already shady to start with, the details of the deal set up through anonymous notes left in his locker that led him here to wait outside of an abandoned building in the middle of the night, but then the guy marches up with three extra goons behind him, guns on their belts, and it’s only getting shadier. Eddie straightens up from the wall he’d been leaning on, every muscle in his body tensing warily. 

The guy in front gives him a derisive once over. “So you’re Al Munson’s kid, huh?” he sneers, and that’s when Eddie knows he’s really in trouble. 

“Shit.” Eddie raises his hands and starts backing away. “Man, whatever beef you got with Al, it’s got nothing to do with me, alright? I don’t want any trouble.” 

“Right…” The main thug’s lip curls up sarcastically as he advances. His goons advance with him, and as they step out of the shadows Eddie realizes that while two of the goons are respectably big and scary, the other one is just some fucking kid, no more than a few years younger than him. In fact, he’s pretty damn sure he’s passed him in the hallways at school before. That must’ve been who was leaving the notes. 

“Oh, eugh.” Eddie wrinkles his nose in distaste, his stupid mouth running off in reaction to his moral disgust before his brain has the sense to stop it, “Did you seriously rope your fucking kid into this shit? You know the more you get him involved the more it could just as easily end up being him in a situation like this instead of me.” 

He's answered, predictably, by Main Thug slamming a fist into his face. “Are you threatening my son?!”

“No!” Eddie yelps, cowering away as the pain blooms across his face from what is most likely going to become a black eye. “I’m just saying-”  

“Well, stop sayin’.” Main Thug swings again and Eddie tries to dodge out of the way, even throwing up his hands in an attempt to block, but the blow still lands and it stings like hell. His momentary disorientation from being punched again gives Main Thug even more of an advantage, which he uses to grab Eddie by the collar to keep him from moving. “Stop sayin’ and start listenin’. I’d hate to have to kill you before you can make up for what your daddy owes us.” 

“Okay!” Eddie raises his hands once more in surrender. “Okay. Take it easy.” 

Clearly, fighting his way out of this is not an option. These aren’t some high school bullies he can scare away with a single show of self defense and a well-timed weird face; these, with the exception of the random kid, are full grown men at least twice his size who are hellbent on achieving either Eddie’s death or his compliance, and they aren’t picky which. Surrounded and outnumbered, shutting up and staying still seems like his best bet for the moment. Although, he’s not too sure he wants to find out what exactly they want to make him do to pay off his douchebag dad’s debt either. 

He waits until Main Thug is satisfied enough with his surrender to let go of his shirt, and then, in a split-second impulse, Eddie turns and bolts. The half-second advantage of surprise allows him to slip through the circle of goons around him, but after that his luck dries up. His assailants recover too quickly, immediately swearing and chasing after him, and Eddie’s not fast enough to outrun them. He’s caught within moments, one of the big goons grabbing onto him and redirecting his momentum to throw him into a wall. 

“Ow, fuck!” Eddie’s shoulder slams into the wall first, then his back; and even his head gets a good thump against the brick too. The wind knocked out of him, all he can do is brace himself for another hit. But it never comes. 

Instead, the fucking Hero of Hawkins himself comes flying in out of nowhere to barrel down his attackers, very efficiently taking the heat off of Eddie as the thugs are now far more preoccupied with fighting off a goddamn superhero.

“What the fuck?” Eddie blinks the lingering blur of pain from his eyes, squinting to make sure he’s seeing things right. It’s dark and wonderboy’s wearing a mask, but Eddie would recognize that perfectly coiffed hair anywhere. “Steve Harrington?” 

Obviously caught off guard by being recognized, Wonderboy/Steve falters for one fatal second. His startled pause is tiny and brief, all things considered, but it gives the thugs just enough time to regain their footing and draw their weapons. 

“Shit.” Steve reacts in an instant. Within the blink of an eye, he dives towards Eddie, scoops him up bridal style, and launches into flight just before the first gunshot rings out. 

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps, clinging onto Steve’s neck as they rocket into the sky. “Take me out to dinner first!” 

Steve, clearly, does not find this amusing. “We are literally being shot at,” he hisses. 

“Yeah, and that’s very scary, so I’m cracking jokes to cope,” Eddie retorts over the sound of his racing heartbeat and the wind in his ears. “Sue me, Harrington.” 

“I don’t know why you keep calling me that,” Steve lies, evasive gaze trained straight ahead as they stop flying up and start flying forward. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not-” 

“What, not Steve Harrington?” Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Suuuuure. You know, the mask is good and all, but if you really don’t want people to know who you are, you might want to consider wearing a hat or something too. You have very recognizable hair,” he informs him. “And moles,” he adds in an afterthought, continuing to study Steve’s face with the utmost attention. It’s a nice distraction, better than looking down or looking back. “And jawline…and eyes… So really you should probably just wear a whole paper bag over your head, actually,” Eddie decides. “But then I guess that would kill the whole dashing hero vibe you’ve got going, huh?” 

To his surprise, that's what succeeds in making Steve laugh. “Oh wow.” Steve finally looks at him, eyebrows raised in amusement. “You seem intimately familiar with this Harrington guy’s facial structure. Does he know how much you've been looking at him?” 

“What, no, I look a normal amount,” Eddie protests indignantly. “Those are all totally normal things to notice. Especially since they are, like I said, very recognizable features.” 

“Sure. Which is why no one else has ever accused me of having the same jawline as Steve Harrington.” 

“Are you seriously going to keep denying it?”

“I think you got hit just a little too hard tonight,” Steve says, simultaneously dismissing the validity of Eddie’s accusation and redirecting the conversation with such smooth and genuine concern Eddie almost misses the implied insult to his current mental capabilities. “Is your head okay?” 

Eddie chooses not to be offended in favor of responding with a smirk and quip, “I’ve yet to receive a bad review.” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers more soberly. “Just a little bruised, nothing serious. I’ll live.” 

“Good.” 

After a minute, Steve’s flying slows and he starts making a gradual descent. Eddie finally risks a glance down, watching the entrance to Forest Hills Trailer Park rise up to meet them. Steve's taken him home. 

“Aw man, is the ride over?” 

“Yeah. Go home, take it easy, get some ice on those bruises,” Steve says as he lands gently and sets Eddie back on his feet. “I’m gonna go make sure those guys won’t mess with you again.” 

In the moment where his feet have just settled steadily on the ground but his arms are still around Steve’s neck, Eddie can’t help but press a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek before letting go and swaying out of his space. “Thanks.” 

“Uh- yeah.” Steve stutters for a barely noticeable second before he recovers, nodding in a sort of farewell salute as he starts backing up to leave. “Stay out of trouble.” 

“And pass up the chance to be your damsel in distress again?” Eddie grins. “I don’t think so.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Munson.” 

With that, he turns and launches into the air. Eddie watches as he arcs gracefully through the sky and fades into the distance. He stands there staring after Steve even after he’s lost sight of him, the far away silhouette of him disappearing into the night. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters, blinking and shaking himself out of this trance. It still hasn’t quite settled in yet that any of what happened tonight was actually real, but what has settled in is that he’s exhausted and his face hurts. Everything else he can process in the morning. 

He drags himself around and makes his way back to his trailer where he collapses onto his bed and passes out within minutes, sinking into dreams of flying.

[ambrosiaflower]

I was listening to "I Don't Smoke" by Mitski and I couldn't help but think about Thomas Hewitt. There's something about that song that makes me think of him. Especially the lines:

Just don't leave me alone wondering where you are

I am stronger than you give me credit for

I feel that this can be taken in 2 ways. 1) his fear of losing his family of 2) how he'd feel if he had a S/O.

Thomas has been a victim of bullying and of his own mind. He has insecurities about his face, his mental state, and you could make the argument that he could also be insecure about his size. (Considering he towers over almost everyone he comes across. Its another thing that makes him different from most people.) He has to be strong and he knows he is. He also knows that he is the only able bodied member of his family. He knows they rely on him for a lot of things. If something happened to him the family would suffer. He'd be as strong as he could for them, if they asked him to be stronger then he'd find a way to be stronger for them.

If Thomas had a S/O he'd be terrified of the idea of them leaving. He probably need a lot of reassurance from his partner that he is good enough, that he is worthy of love, that he's not some brute. While I don't know if he'd try to keep his partner in the house locked away in the Hewitt house, assuming that he had met his partner through his job or somewhere in town, I do believe he'd want his partner within his line of sight. Once again, I feel like he would need a lot of reassurance from his partner. He'd need to be both told and shown that he is good enough as he is. I don't think that verbal reassurance would be enough for him. He'd been called all sorts of nasty things both to his face and behind his back. As his partner you'd have to dedicate time to show him that he is worthy of love.

Maybe I'm just relating too much to him and maybe slightly projecting onto him but I feel like over all I'm pretty spot on.

The lines:

If you need to be mean

Be mean to me

I can take it and put it inside of me

This section of the song makes me think about when he was being fired form the slaughter house. When that one guy called him a "dumb animal" he chose not to attack that guy. He seemed to have hesitated and contemplated hurting the man before putting the knife down and walked away. It was only when his boss insulted his family when he acted out violently. He killed the man not because the boss insulted him, but he insulted his family.

I think about Thomas a lot... I'm sure that is obvious with how much Tommy content I have been reposting lately. I see some of myself in him, obviously not the cannibalistic murderer part but in how he interacts with the world and some of his other characteristics.

I'm sorry if this seems disjointed or if it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I just needed to get this out of my head. Let me know if ya'll agree with me or if ya'll have any differing opinions in the comments. :)

[babsworlds]

PROTECT YOU.

pairing. Tangerine x fem! reader

synopsis. Tangerine’s biggest task is to protect you.

warnings. nothing? I’m sorry i’m bad at giving warnings lol.

THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICED WHEN YOU WOKE UP was the relentless pounding in your head, like the echo of a distant storm. Your vision blurred, and the world around you seemed to spin, making it difficult to focus on anything. You felt disoriented, a strange fog clouding your mind. The last twenty-four hours were a mystery, a blank canvas with no clues to help you remember what had transpired.

As your eyes began to adjust to the dim light, you realized you were in an unfamiliar environment. You glanced around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The seats were lined up in rows, with modest cushions and overhead storage compartments. It dawned on you that you were in the economy class of a train. How had you ended up here?

In front of you, two men caught your attention. One was dangerously handsome, with a cheesy mustache that seemed out of place on his otherwise striking face. The other man, who sat directly across from you, had a more rugged appearance. Both men looked at you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Where am I?" you asked, your voice shaky as you switched your gaze between the two men. The headache that plagued you made it hard to think clearly, and you could hardly process what was happening.

"Don't worry, you're safe now," the man next to you said reassuringly. "Your father sent us." His words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the mention of your father. It had been years since you last saw him. He had never shown any interest in your life, so why was he suddenly so concerned?

The man beside you continued, "I'm Tangerine. He's Lemon," he introduced themselves, his voice carrying a catchy British accent.

You stared at him, baffled by the unusual names. Was this some sort of joke? "Like the fruit?" you asked, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the absurdity of the situation.

Lemon, as he was called, shot an annoyed look at Tangerine before addressing you. "You ever watched Thomas the Tank Engine?" he inquired, his tone serious.

"Here we go again," Tangerine muttered, clearly exasperated.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued and slightly amused. These men seemed like a pair of peculiar characters, and you couldn't help but wonder what kind of weirdos had kidnapped you. "Everything I learned about people, I learned from Thomas," Lemon explained, pulling a sheet of stickers from his pocket and holding them up for you to see.

"Look at Tangerine. He's Gordon," Lemon said, pointing to a blue train on the sticker sheet. You listened, even though you didn't understand a word. You didn't want to interrupt him. "Gordon is the strongest, the most important," Lemon continued, glancing at Tangerine, "but he doesn't always listen to others."

Lemon began to describe other characters as people, his passion for the subject evident. "Some people are diesels," he said, his lips curling in disgust, "Fuck em."

He turned his attention to you, studying you intently. "You, though," he paused, considering his words carefully, "You seem like a Percy," he concluded, selecting a sticker from the sheet. "Young and sweet." Lemon leaned across the table, gently placing the sticker on your forehead.

You chuckled sarcastically, "I think this would suit you better," you said, removing the sticker from your forehead and handing it to Tangerine.

You wanted to get up, hoping to go to the toilet and possibly find a way to get out of there. As you started to rise, Tangerine grabbed you by the wrist, his touch gentle yet firm. “Where do you think you are going, love?” he asked, his voice both casual and authoritative. Your heart pounded at the contact, and the nickname he used sent a shiver down your spine.

“To the toilet?” you replied with a smile, trying to sound casual. His raised eyebrows told you he wasn’t buying it. “I’m going with you,” he said firmly.

You laughed a bit, trying to lighten the mood. “I think I can manage going to the toilet on my own.”

“I’m paid to look after you,” he reminded you, his expression serious. You rolled your eyes, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement.

Tangerine's grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. “I don’t want your daddy to murder me so you’re coming with me,” he insisted.

You sighed, realizing there was no way you were getting out of this one. “Fine,” you said, trying to mask your irritation. “Let’s go then.”

With Tangerine still holding onto your wrist, you made your way through the train carriage. Lemon watched the two of you with a smirk, clearly amused by the situation. As you passed by other passengers, you couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious, but Tangerine’s unwavering presence beside you provided a strange sense of comfort.

As you reached the small, cramped bathroom, Tangerine finally released his grip. “I’ll be right outside,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Don’t take too long.”

You locked yourself in the bathroom, finally having a moment to yourself. The both of the men were really weird. One of them had a weird obsession with a kids' show, and the other...

The other...

Was weirdly attractive.

As you leaned against the small sink, you tried to process the whirlwind of events. Tangerine and Lemon. Their names alone were enough to make you question your reality, but their eccentric personalities added another layer of intrigue. Lemon's fixation on Thomas the Tank Engine was oddly endearing, but it was Tangerine's presence that left you feeling unsettled in a different way.

His firm grip on your wrist, the way he called you "love,” and his unwavering determination to protect you—there was something undeniably magnetic about him. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his touch, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Despite the confusion and the uncertainty, you couldn't ignore the pull you felt towards Tangerine. His attractiveness was more than just physical; it was the confidence and the air of mystery that surrounded him.

You took a deep breath, ready to open the door, but Tangerine’s voice stopped you. “Yeah, we got her,” you heard him say through the door. He was probably telephoning with someone. Your father.

“Why? She’s with me,” he said, sounding a bit furious. You leaned your ear to the door, trying to catch every word. “Nothing will happen if she’s with me,” he said. In different words— I’ll protect her.

And in very different words— I’ll kill everyone who touches her.

You slightly opened the door, seeing Tangerine turned around with his back to you. This was your chance to escape. You felt the adrenaline surge through your body, your heart pounding in your chest.

But did you really want to escape?

You hesitated, the thought of running away conflicting with the strange sense of safety you felt with Tangerine and Lemon. You decided to try slipping past him, hoping to make it out unnoticed.

Just as you were about to move, Tangerine’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist with that all-too-familiar touch. “Don’t even try, love,” he said firmly, his voice low and unwavering.

Your heart skipped a beat, the intensity of his grip and the sternness of his voice sending shivers down your spine. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his.

“We need to get off at the next station,” Tangerine explained to you. Your confusion deepened. “Your father's buddies want to check on you.”

Panic began to rise within you. You knew all too well what your father did for a living, and your childhood hadn’t exactly been a fairy tale because of it. “No, no, what if they hurt—” you began, your voice shaking.

You were interrupted by Tangerine’s large palms gently cupping your cheeks, grounding you. “Hey, they won’t do anything to you since I’m with you,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours.

The warmth and sincerity in his gaze steadied you somewhat. Despite the chaos and fear swirling in your mind, Tangerine’s touch and reassuring words provided a small island of calm. You took a shaky breath, trying to focus on his presence and the promise he made.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he continued, his voice low and determined. “You have my word.”

As the train slowed down at the station, your panic began to rise. Tangerine led you off the train, his grip on your arm firm but reassuring. You followed slightly behind him, trying to steady your racing heart.

“So here she is in all her beauty,” Tangerine said as you exchanged glances with the men your father had sent. They stood out with their odd punk clothing and baseball bats slung over their shoulders. The sight of them only added to your anxiety.

“Hello, Y/n. Remember me?” one of the men asked, his voice dripping with familiarity. You honestly didn’t know who it was, and you were too scared to even choke out a word.

Tangerine noticed your discomfort and quickly stepped in. “See, she’s okay,” he said, his tone firm and protective. “Looks like we have ten seconds till the train is leaving,” he added, checking his watch.

Without warning, he scooped you up in a bridal style, making all the men's eyes widen in surprise. “Have a great day,” he announced, his voice unwavering as he held you securely. The unexpected gesture left you both flustered and oddly comforted.

As he carried you back towards the train, you couldn’t help but glance at the men your father had sent, their expressions a mix of shock and irritation. Despite the chaos and confusion, you felt a strange sense of safety in Tangerine’s arms.

The train’s departure signal sounded, and Tangerine quickly boarded with you still in his arms. He set you down gently once you were inside, giving you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got this,” he said, his confidence unwavering. “I will always protect you.”

Despite knowing Tangerine for such a short time, you found yourself undeniably attracted to him. It wasn't just his striking looks and the confident way he carried himself; there was something deeper that drew you in.

You couldn't help but feel safe when you were with him. Despite the whirlwind of confusion and danger, Tangerine's strong presence and unwavering determination to protect you provided a sense of comfort you hadn't felt in a long time.

[gaiahypothesims]

449

Ashley- Watch and learn little one. I shall make like an outdoorsman and sweep the floor with your elderly carcass.

Evelyn- Your shit talking doesn't even make sense, you're not good at it.

Ashley- Quiet now, Daddy is concentrating.

Evelyn- AGGRESSIVELY NON-SEXUAL ASHLEY! Don't call yourself 'Daddy'. It makes me want to throw up.

Ashley- Watch the master.... AH SHIT! SHIT FUCK.

Evelyn- Gutter ball. Seems like 'Daddy' doesn't have the accuracy that he thinks he does. Somewhat similar reason as to why you broke your ... vienna sausage.

Ashley- I agree that hearing you call me 'Daddy' is nauseating. MY accuracy is impeccable, its YOU who has a oddly angled lady cave much like this obviously amateurly made bowling lane.

Evelyn- <aghast> ODDLY angled?! I've never had any complaints about my ... my... bowling alley! In fact, you're the ONLY one who seems to have ever had a problem navigating a straight line. It is NOT my fault it broke!

Ashley- It wasn't broken! Just bent a little, its straight as an arrow now! I can show you! Just.. don't look at me while I prepare it for your viewing pleasure. Your shrewish visage is sure to cause the poor fellow to experience some sort of post traumatic response.

Evelyn- WHY are we talking about this?! I said no-sexual chit chat!

Ashley- This has gone beyond sexual chit chat. You are insulting a very prized member of my body, and also my skills in bowling.

Evelyn- You don't have any skills in bowling or anything else. Let ME, the real master, show you how its done. Sort of like how you should have let me show you how to do it before you BROKE your penis.

Ashley- <glaring> Bent it. Bring it on then, let's see what you've got.

[ivoyzzz]

𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒

Chapter 2

synopsis: two girls the same age meet on a train and both have the same destination. while the obvious similarities, the two of you are polar opposites. you, the lively, outgoing, pink-loving girl. saebyeok, the stoic, layed-back, and serene girl. does it turn into friends, best friends, or something else?

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

warnings: none !

a/n: rewatching squid game, and why would they kill fine shyt wtf </3 anyways lmk any ideas bc im not too sure how i want this to end xoxo ivy

When Saebyeok stepped out of the train station, she felt the crisp against her skin. She was happy to be off that stuffy train and away from the overly-hyper girl sitting next to her. Saebyeok didn’t want to tell you, but she was also headed to Seoul for college, she was a music major.

Saebyeok shoved her things in and then hopped in a cab. She was headed to her dorm for the first time. She hoped her roommate wouldn’t be loud, annoying, or nosy. Someone more like herself. Someone who would just let her be.

When she stepped on the college campus, she felt an odd sense of something she couldn’t identify. Nerves? Excitement? Maybe both? Either way, it was real and it was happening.

Saebyeok unlocked the door, opening it up to see two empty beds and a bare room. Maybe she lucked out and didn’t have a roommate. She gives a soft hum looking around, it was nice. She’d better get used to it since she would be living here for the next 9 months.

She walked to the bed on the left, and set her stuff down next to it. Saebyeok kicks off her boots somewhere around the room, sitting on her bed. Just when she’s about to close her eyes and get much needed sleep, she hears the keys in the keyhole.

Saebyeok’s eyes shoot open. Why would her roommate also get here this late? But, what catches her by surprise, is you. She watched you drag your heavy pink suitcase in disbelief. Was this some kind of prank? Out of everyone that could’ve been her roommate, it had to be her?

The perky girl from the train, the one who wouldn’t let her sleep, you. Saebyeok had gotten a loud, annoying and nosy roommate. It felt like the universe was against her. What did she do to deserve this? Or maybe she was just really unlucky?

You hadn’t seen her yet, still tugging on your suitcase to get it to budge out of the doorway. When you finally make it into the room, you look up seeing the girl from the train, Saebyeok. Instead of the blank face she wore on the train, she wore a frustrated scowl.

“Mystery girl! It’s me from the train, remember?.” You say as if it was an option for her to forget you. Trust her, if it was an option she would forget.

“I remember.” She grumbles, leaning her head back against the wall.

You can practically feel the tension rolling off of her, the kind of vibe that says "I did not sign up for this." Her arms cross tightly over her chest as she glances over at you, clearly not thrilled with the situation. You can tell she’s trying her best to stay composed, but the eye roll she gives says enough about how she feels.

“Well, I guess this is it, huh?” you say with a bright, almost teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood. It’s clear she’s not into the idea of small talk, but you’re determined to make this situation a little less awkward. Your determined to make Saebyeok like you, even just tolerate you.

She doesn't respond at first, just sort of watches you struggle with your suitcase for a second before she finally speaks up.

“Why are you so... loud?” Saebyeok mutters under her breath, though it’s loud enough for you to hear. The bluntness catches you off guard, but you’re not backing down that easily. She’s obviously irritated, but maybe—just maybe—you can crack that shell she’s got going on.

You take a deep breath, giving her a grin that’s borderline obnoxious but good-natured. “Guess I’m just built this way. Some people are magnets for trouble. Lucky for you, I’m stuck here with you.”

She narrows her eyes at you, but there’s no real malice behind it—just exhaustion and frustration. "Great," she replies sarcastically, her voice dripping with a kind of dry humor that surprises you a little. "Just what I needed."

“Just keep the noise down,” she warns, though there’s a trace of something softer in her tone.

“Promise,” you say, holding up a hand like a mock oath. “No loud music, no random deep conversations at 3 a.m. I’ll be your silent, non-annoying roommate.”

Her eyebrows furrow as you said that, were you even capable of being silent? “Better be,” she mutters, leaning back into her spot against the wall again. But this time, the scowl seems a little less intense, maybe even a little more resigned.

“Come on, this is totally a sign that we have to be friends.” you laugh, moving to set your suitcase down on the bed. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you're starting to like me already.” You say, in an almost a teasing way.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, this isn’t a sign. This is just me being unlucky.” Saebyeok grumbles, obviously not too happy with the situation.

“We’ll see, I have a way of making people like me.” You say, smiling sitting on your bed to sleep.

Saebyeok doesn’t respond, but at least she doesn’t seem actively plotting how to escape either. It’s a start.

[skiagraphe0]

The correct response to that anon is to say, "It's really awful that you view lesbians as so far removed from the average, everyday human experience that only they can write F/F. I personally view lesbians as people just like anyone else, and therefore think anyone can write them, as they are relatable people and not radically different than you and I are. I hope you overcome your bigotry moving forward."

Seriously, I cannot think of a reason why someone shouldn't write F/F if they want to. My dad is cis, bi and married to a woman, but he ships Seven of Nine/Janeway from Star Trek Voyager because "they would make sense together" and "they would be happy together". My mom is a cishet woman and she ships Elsa/Merida because "they wouldn't put pressure on each other to be something they're not, and that's what a good relationship is founded on". I'm a pansexual trans man and I ship Marinette/Kagami because I love these two, I want them to be happy, and I think they vibe well with each other. Are any of us doing anything that hurts lesbians when we have these thoughts? Are these thoughts actually damaging anyone's lives? If we were to write fic for these ships, would that take away from some lesbian's lived experience somewhere?

The reality is that reading queer romances when she was a teen opened my Deep Southern mom's eyes to the reality that queer people are people just like anyone else. The reality is that reading queer Star Trek fanfic unlocked for my dad the idea that bisexuality was an option that existed at all and he wasn't a confused gay man or a confused straight man. The reality is that my growing up thinking of this as normal is an extremely recent luxury and that for most of history, there's been so little accessible queer fiction for most people that this "you're the wrong sort of person, how dare you write this" attitude would've gotten you laughed out of the room in most eras. TV shows are still so regularly burying their out characters that any time they don't, people are hyped. You'll notice that they doesn't chastise each other, "don't be hyped about the happy ending, it wasn't written by a lesbian".

Lesbians are not alien entities, unknowable and unthinkable, impossible to fathom or to write unless you are one. They're people. You can write them, because you are also a person. You have the same kinds of day-to-day problems like communication, schedule management, budgets, etc. You have the same desires like for your annoying coworker to get off of your back, for your rent not to rise and for traffic not to suck, etc. Lesbians have the same debate in their head between 'I want to buy that' and 'I could make that cheaper myself at home' when looking at cookie dough or lasagna that we all do.

Honestly this kind of anon jackass that this anon is describing feels, to me, like they're probably fairly against F/F and lesbians specifically at that. You don't run around discouraging people from writing lesbians specifically and acting like they're eldritch creatures unless you've got some serious lesbophobia going on.

I’m sure february will be over by the time this posts but :{ I’m rlly frustrated by a trend in the miraculous ladybug fandom rn :{

Theres these two posters who are doing f/f events for february in the miraculous fandom. Ones an account who’s done a sfw “femslash february” every year for years. The account says nsfw is allowed but that account just wont share it. The other one is the poster who runs the miraculous kinkmeme. This year she made a special section for f/f prompts for femslash february.

Then in january someone started sending mean anons to people about the nsfw account saying the person wasn’t a lesbian. When the person running the sfw event replied to one and said that didn’t matter the anons started harassing anyone making f/f for the sfw event too. According to anon only lesbians get to make f/f.

I rlly hate it because even though miraculous is one of the biggest m/f ships on ao3 rn we have a great f/f fandom and I don’t want that to go anywhere because of this :{

--

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Special angst. Featuring touch-starved Special, homemade quintessence fuckery and lore, basically Special can't touch anyone or they die, Omega and Delta try to help.

CW : Angst, like pretty heavy angst I think, Hurt/comfort, talk of death

Ghouls are social creatures. Not all to the same extend, not all in the same way, but the fact remains : ghouls thrive in eachother's company, in the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is waiting for them, ready to welcome them.

And, ghouls are physically affectionate, as a result of this need to be close and feel surrounded by loved ones. Of course, it's a generic rule, and it doesn't applie the same way to each individuals, but, most of the time, ghouls live off of casual touch, hand holding, hugs, cuddles, clasps on the shoulders, arms slung around waists, tails intertwining.

It's Satan's best joke, really, that Special can't even have that.

That he's so fucked up that not only no one bears to be in his presence, but he could also kill the poor ghoul who'd pity him enough to try and give him a hug.

Because Special's elements are all pulling him in different direction, trying to evade the too tight confine of his body, weak fire sorrowfuly begging to be smothered out, destructive quintessence furiously grasping at every bits of vital energy it can find, literaly sucking the life out of anyone stupid enough to have any kind of skin-to-skin contact with Special.

At least it's vaguely less awfull now that he managed to contain the devastating effect of his quintessence to his body - the screams of agony of the people who tried to approach him after his summoning, Omega's pained grunts as he backed away, the soft blanket he had held out for Special falling at his feet, the sheer terror on the ancient ghoul's face as he watched the humans unfortunate enough to be in Special's quintessence's range dropping like fly, oh, Special remembers it all so well.

Six Siblings died that way, simply because they were standing too close to him. Omega was, too, and is only alive because of his highly resistant nature, allowing him to stumble back in time.

It took weeks of sitting across from Omega, safe distance between them, training relentlessly to try and tame his quintessence, before Special could evolve around people without draining them. But it worked.

Provided he stays dressed head to toe, not a silver of skin showing, of course.

Special could, theoretically, be on the recieving end of ghoul's typical affection, the soft nudges, pats and caresses rythming their lives, long as no one makes contact with his skin, long as all those displays take place through a layer of clothing.

But then again, Special can't blame them for being wary, and prefering to stay away altogether. They're right, after all. You never know what might happen, if Special won't suddenly lose control and kill everyone in a three meters radius just by existing.

Special hasn't see anyone in days. Omega said he'd come by, but he hasn't yet. Special vaguely remembers something about Delta the...water ghoul, right ? Well, one of them anyway. There's a lot of those around, Special keeps forgetting who's who, doesn't see them enough to properly remember. He sticks to the dark corners, only goes out in the dead of the night, only watches the other ghouls from afar, except maybe for Omega.

But Omega's not here, hasn't been here for too long, busy taking care of Delta, whatever that means. Special wonders if he'll come back. Special wonders why he needs Omega to come to his room, why he can't bring himself to get up and go find the quint by himself. It's not like it's forbidden or anything. He just can't do it, the thought of opening his bedroom door in the middle of the day strictly unfathomable.

No, Special, at least during the day, needs someone to open it, someone to drag him outside if he really is needed, like for interviews, because apparently he's the only fucker who agreed to do them when neither Papa nor Omega are free.

A third choice, that would probably be even further down the list of candidates if it wasn't for his uncanny ability to entertain humans, with jokes and crudes, snarky remarks masking the cracks of his shattered soul.

So Special waits, sitting motionless in the middle of his bed. He hasn't seen anyone in days. He hasn't been touched since forever. No, that's not true. Omega cupped the back of his head the last time he was here, protected by the mask and balaclava Special always has to wears, and pressed a kiss to the metal covering his forehead.

It had nearly unraveld him.

Special doesn't know why Omega still bothers with him, what sick sense of responsability pushes the quint to visit Special as often as he can bear, why he insist on being so patient, so gentle, smiling with sadness in his eyes.

Special doesn't want pity. But he could never tell Omega not to come back.

His hair is getting too long. It's itchy in the back of his neck, keeps getting stuck in folds of fabric. Special shifts uncomfortably, thinking about stealing a pair of scissors and chopping it off himself. It's always a delicate task, cutting his hair : he's not good at it himself, but whenever Omega's doing it, he has to be extra cautious, avoiding any contact with Special's scalp, not even able to properly run his fingers through it. Special's hair is never perfect, always a bit messy, as a result, but now it's even worse.

He really needs Omega to come back.

It hits Special like a freight train.

He needs Omega to come back. He needs to hear his voice, to see the lines and creases on his face, the tired slope of his broad shoulders, the softness of his eyes. Special needs his tentative, fleeting touches, needs to talk to him, needs to be carefully held, even if it's all tainted with Omega's guilt, obligation and pity.

He needs to know Omega hasn't moved on, hasn't chalked him up as a lost cause, that Special hasn't lost the only comfort life ever granted him.

A knock startles him out of his thoughts, his whole being shaking with relief at the familiar pattern.

"Spesh ? Can I come in ?"

Special nearly sobs. His voice scratches in his throat.

"Yes."

Omega slips in the room. He's maskless, and Special drinks him in like a ghoul starved. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in days, but. He's smiling. Omega is smiling, wide an bright, eyes gleaming. It makes Special's own lips pull in an unfamiliar direction, up up up, until concealed under the mask, his mouth weakly mimics Omega's.

"I have good news for you, Spesh. Really good news. Would you let me bring someone else in here ?"

Special visibly flinches, though still half frozen, cossed-legged on the bed. Omega's face softens in that way Special yearns for.

"It's okay, it'll be fine. I promise. Do you trust me ?"

Special doesn't need to think about the answer, nodding with more conviction than he ever displayed before. It gets a soft chuff out of Omega.

"Attaboy."

The quint moves with a grace Special envies, reaching for the door and opening it like it's the easiest thing in the world. Maybe, to him, it is.

The ghoul that steps in looks just as tired as Omega, if not more, but is also sporting a smile, hair an absolute mess, looking like it got chopped with absolutely no regard for the aesthetical result, as uneven as it is unruly.

"Spesh, this is Delta, remember ? Delta, this is Special."

Special blinks, unmoving as a statue, as he often is. Sometimes, he thinks that if he keeps perfectly still, the universe will forget that he is supposed to be, and simply let him stop existing.

Delta. Yes Special remembers. He doesn't smell like most water ghouls, though, it's quite disarming.

"Hello, Special," Delta breathes, barely above a whisper, "it's nice to officially meet you."

Unsure of what to do with that soft tone, with how genuine Delta apparently is, Special looks toward Omega, silently begging for guidance. The quint goes to sit next to him, one hand brushing his back ever so slightly. Special has to bite his tongue to contain a relieved whimper.

"He's here because we discovered something, and I have a theory," Omega explains.

Delta is standing straight, hands folded behind his back, withstanding Special's wary scrunity with an easy smile. Something about him is...off, Special notes. It's not necessarily bad, but it intrigues him.

Delta looks like a water ghoul. Blueish tint to his grey skin, gills, needle sharp fangs, webbed fingers, a few fish-like scales visible on his forearms. And yet...

Special doesn't realize he's leaning forward until Delta tilts his head in amusement. He leans back immediately, clasping his gloved hands tighter on his lap.

"I think," Omega goes on, "that he might be able to touch you without consequences."

It's instinctive, the way Special stiffens, shaking his head desperately at Omega, clearing his throat to find his voice again.

"No, no, no, Megs, it'll end up badly-"

"Listen- listen to me, Spesh, listen," Omega interrupts his panicked babbling, craddling his masked face between two big hands, "i'm not pulling this out of my ass, okay ? Delta here, well, we needed a new quintessence ghoul, at least for a little while, until we could summon a new one, and...Delta volunteer for an...elemental transition of some kind."

Special blinks, shaking in Omega's grip. Well, that explains the funny feeling, the strange scent.

"But...Delta's still water," Special rasps. Omega hums, nodding.

"Yes, but not exclusively. He's not...quintessence either. It's more like...he became a vessel quintessence can pass through. He can channel it from the outside, dig it from the source rather than something within him like us quintessence ghoul do, quite literaly pull it from thin air, let it flow through him, and release it."

Special frowns, trying to wrap his mind around all this.

"But...raw quintessence, the one that is everywhere, is impossible to access to unless you are a quint, because your quintessence connects you to it, opens you a door. Right ?"

It's more words than he's spoken in weeks outside of interviews, but excitement suddenly buzzes in his body, brain finally feeded something to think about, to analyse, to study. Special is a cerebral creature, no matter what people might thing, and such an incredible discovery makes him feel almost alive.

Omega laughs, a breathless, amazed little thing.

"I know. But, apparently, we managed to crack that door open for Delta. He doesn't have much control over the quintessence he releases, but it's enough for the Clergy, for now."

Special glances toward Delta from the corner of his eyes.

"That's...you wrote it down, right ? Records of this could be incredibly useful-"

The smile he gets makes Special's heart miss a beat. Omega looks so fond, so full of love, it's almost painful.

"I did. I'll hand you my notes. But, back to you. What your quintessence does, is devouring energy out of living things-"

Special hangs his head down, shame creeping up his spine, wrapping around his throat.

"Hey, none of that, Spesh," Omega soothes, pulling his head up by the metal point of the mask's chin, "let me finish. What if someone was full of an energy they can fully dispose of ? If someone could let your quintessence take without it harming them, that means they could touch you. Delta could touch you."

Special blinks.

"But...you can't touch me."

"Because your quintessence takes the one at my core - drains me dry of a source of power so entangled in my being that losing it would mean losing me. But Delta's quintessence doesn't come from him."

Slowly, Delta comes closer, kneeling by the bed, offering his bare hand to Special, smiling, and Special- can't understand why. Why anyone would willingly take such risks - first the attempted elemental transition, now this.

Omega brushes Special's shoulder.

"Please, try it. I know...how hard isolation is for you. Please, sparkle, try. If anything goes wrong i'll pull Delta away before any real damages can be done, I promise."

The coppery taste of blood hits Special's tongue, and it's the only reason he's aware he's biting his lip. Then Delta talks.

"I volunteered, Special. I know this is going to work. I trust Omega's theory, and. I think I can trust you, too."

This time Special does sob.

"If I hurt you..."

"You won't. Give me your hand, Special, it'll be okay."

And Special is terrified. Terrified that it won't work, that he'll hurt Delta, who seems the nicest ghoul you could ever wish for. Terrified that it'll work, that the one time he manages to touch someone without killing them will kill him, that all it would take would be a brush of skin against his own to destroy him.

Despite all that, Special slowly, oh so slowly takes one glove off, revealing too-pale skin and twitchy fingers. Delta' smile widens, then the air shifts a bit, starts blurring around him. One of his eyes turns purple, his skin shimering slightly.

"It's a bit like holding my breath," the water (?) ghoul explains, "i can't keep it for too long, maybe a couple of minutes, after, i have to release it. Open the valves, kind of. But, if I just keep them open, just let quintessence flow in and out freely, like this-"

Another shift in the air. The shimer on Delta's skin dims, his features relaxing.

"Then I can keep it that way as long as i like, effortlessly for the most part. That's how we can touch. I'm ready when you are."

He's going to do this. Special is going to do this. His hand is shaky when he wraps it loosely around Delta's - ready to pull away at any moment - but the second their skin makes contact, he gasps and can't help tightening it.

Delta doesn't flinch. His skin glints a bit more, but that's it. Special's quintessence is hungrily drinking in the one flowing though Delta, but he doesn't need it. He can let Special take it.

Salt. Salt on his tongue, now. Special is crying. Holding onto Delta's hand for dear life, shoulders shaking, Special is crying, the water ghoul shushing him softly, thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand.

Omega helps unclasping the mask, watching with tears of his own as Special takes it off, throws it somewhere, who cares, where the balaclava and second glove quickly follow.

Delta opens his arm, still not letting go. Special sobs so hard he's sure it's going to turn him inside out, slidding off the bed and into Delta's firm, tender embrace, burrying his face in the water ghoul's neck, finally able to touch, to feel, truly feel.

He can't see it, but Omega's crying in earnest now, Delta fighting tears as well.

Special isn't okay. Special might never be okay, Delta might be the only person he'll ever get to touch, it might stop working at some point, there might be a catch, but oh, Special doesn't care.

He'd trade his infernal eterinity for this moment in time, folded in arms that hold him like something precious.

[sangfielle]

would love your take on the saarebas as a part of DA canon (until recently i guess lmao) because they're a piece of qunari worldbuilding that i am oddly besotted with, but they also feel to me like another one of those details added to make qunari seem more "barbaric", which was then given some cursory nuance to try and make it not look as uniquely bad (for example, you can draw a comparison between the abuses circle mages suffer in kirkwall and the plight of saarebas, but the visual language of one group being confined to barracks and the other being chained and collared like animals is still going to have someone engaging with the work associating some very fraught traits to an arvaarad that they then wouldn't to a templar). i don't really know how to work with them in a fanon context for my own enjoyment that doesn't feel like uncritically leaning into the most racist parts of how the qun is presented, but deleting them the way DATV did feels worse. what do you think?

also you made a post abt them all being Government-Assigned Nonbinary that gelled with my interpretation of them lol

i sat with this for a little while, because i wanted to have something better to say than "i basically agree with you about all of this", but the problem is that i basically just agree with you and there's not that much you can say about saarebas that you can derive from the actual text of the games. they're categorically denied depth and we're refused any insight into qunari society and, like, the non-antaam qunari mind (sten and the da2 arishok, specifically, i guess -- inquisition doesn't want you to consider iron bull qunari so i won't, tallis is semi-useful as an insight into the position viddathari are forced into when speaking to those outside the qun but that's it [just in da2, i thought about revisiting redemption in case it would provide any insight but i feel pretty confident every character in that show is one-note without re-watching it], i guess you can have that one conversation with ketojan before it* kills itself?) (tevinter nights would have been a great place to put a story from the perspective of a saarebas but that didn't happen, so whatever).

i don't know how much help i can be of in terms of "how do i engage with this in a non-racist (etc) fashion", because i think the answer might be that you can't? i think that for basically everything surrounding the qunari, it's very difficult to not play into the bigoted stuff baked into them without doing a ground-up rewrite of the entire society. you're right that totally ignoring the bigoted writing and just hoping that works like vg does isn't really a solution either though. my suggestion would be to just go into whatever you're doing aware of the politics of the depiction of the saarebas and be mindful to not act like their treatment is uniquely barbaric relative to circles. if the thing you're doing isn't solely focused on qunari, spend some time looking at andrastian treatment of mages and make a point of comparison? if you're writing, make an effort to treat any saarebas and arvaarad as, like, people with interiority in the same fashion as you would templars and mages? if you're an artist, uh. it is much harder to get away from the imagery. i don't actually know what to tell you about that.

that's very basic advice but i don't have much specific rewrite advice besides "probably be mindful of and utilize the fact that in-universe it's implied that ketojan's treatment was extreme and not the typical way saarebas are handled (the specific visual language of the stitched lips are supposed to be a second-to-last resort handling method, not typical practice. i will say that i really deeply dislike the stitching scars that people love to put on their tal-vashoth mage ocs. that's probably more personal preference and me being anal about minor lore notes, but it feels to me like it leans into the idea that qunari treatment of mages is worse and more damaging than andrastian methods, especially when people don't really treat tranquility with the same weight despite that being... worse, probably). iirc saarebas (redemption) was treated notably harshly throughout its* life in the qun but didn't bear any specific visual markers besides the collars that would imply that it was held on a particularly tight leash. again, didn't rewatch redemption for this and it's a pretty vauge memory in my head, so i'm less sure about saarebas (da:r) than i am about ketojan and hissera (and i admittedly don't know jack shit about saarath, but there's very little to know, it seems like?). hissera and saarath have the stitches, but i'm pretty sure that's because they wanted to maintain a visual continuity with the saarebas more than anything else, because hissera isn't noted as being a mage that needs to have a close eye kept on it*, on account of... it's allowed to travel around thedas by itself under its own supervision. so i guess that's another thing worth keeping in mind, that a few saarebas are trusted to just be by themselves and do whatever, like wynne is with the circles? actually probably the most straightforward comparison in terms of level of treatment of the typical saarebas would be to fereldan circle mages specifically. if you want something to use as a yardstick for their treatment (similarly to andrastian circle mages, though the chantry will less readily admit it than the qun, is that the primary role of a mage is being a tool of war). also worth being aware of the fact that unlike thedosian cultures, saarebas are specifically noted as being revered in the qun to some extent. people don't... hate them, probably. the qun is too much about anti-individualism and living as a part of a whole for that to be the mindset about people who are occupying a very restrictive role

*i mean, you saw my post about it. i feel like the -bas suffix denotes a set of pronouns and a gendered role.

[icewindandboringhorror]

examining a seemingly normal image only to slowly realize the clear signs of AI generated art.... i know what you are... you cannot hide your true nature from me... go back where you came from... out of my sight with haste, wretched and vile husk

[yujeong]

Yes Korn and Faisai have known eo for years - they’re cousins (Fasai’s father is Korn’s uncle). Why isn’t anyone talking about this ?😭 or is there any other interpretation ?

Haha anon, I don't know how to tell you this, but they're not actually cousins. "Uncle" isn't only used as a word to describe a relative, but also as a kind of honorific title - someone you respect, who's also older than you in age.

(That's how I've understood it, pls correct me if I'm wrong)

I don't blame you, I had fallen for that at first, too. I kind of wished it were true, because it'd make Korn's family a little more fucked up in a delicious way 😌 I clearly craved a little bit of KinnVegas energy in 4 Minutes I guess haha.

But yeah, they're not actually cousins. And in case you'd like further proof:

I'm pretty sure Fasai wouldn't suggest to Korn they do something that isn't practically possible now, would she?

[r0semultiverse]

What We Do in the Land of Ooo

🧛‍♂️ What We Do in the Shadows x Adventure Time crossover AU! ⚔

Finn Mertens in place of Guillermo de la Cruz

Marceline Abadeer in place of Nadja of Antipaxos

Bonnibel Bubblegum in place of Laszlo Cravensworth

Jake the dog in place of Colin Robinson

Vampire King in place of Nandor The Relentless

Betty Grof in place of The Guide

The Lich in place of Baron Afanas

Peppermint Butler in place of Wallace the Necromacer

Simon Petrikov in place of Derek

BMO in place of Nadja Doll (her old consciousness uploaded or something was an idea I had)

Marshall Lee & Gary Gumball/Prince in place of Sean & Charmaine

[july-19th-club]

favorite type of villanous characters are the ones whose motivations boil down to

like they dont even have to have any stakes in the broader situation. they just have take pleasure in destruction

[ectonurites]

almost 4am can't stop thinking about the meaning of the idiom 'to have blood on [someone's] hands'—to be responsible for a person's death—combined with the fact that Zach is the one we are specifically shown with Daryl's actual blood on his hands (once for real and once in a dream)... Not Josh who had been holding the sword Daryl fell onto, but Zach who took the sword out.