#we're in the end game now folks

[14dayswithyou]

Some long-term followers may have noticed this subtle shift already (especially those who are in the 14DWY Discord server or have read this post), but I figured I'd make it official.

I'm no longer associating myself with the yandere VN community.

The TLDR is that the energy here really fuckin SUCKS!! And I don't want to be part of something so hostile and needlessly competitive.

The constant infighting and epicaricacy between communities is deeply upsetting, and it's very disheartening to see aspiring developers cancel their projects because of the unwarranted backlash and harassment they face.

Some entitled folks on here reeeeally need to understand that constantly harassing others for updates, encouraging developers to belittle others to make themselves/their project look better, complaining about a project not meeting the expectations you specifically put in place, attacking other communities because of the parasocial relationship you share with another developer, getting mad that you chose to ignore important PSAs or warnings and faced the repercussions, or even sending in hate messages on anon because you're bored are not things you should be doing — let alone be proud of.

I try to avoid bringing up these topics as it's not the vibe I want to have on this blog (nor do I want to negatively contribute to the Streisand Effect and blow things out of proportion), but I'm genuinely getting tired of being on the receiving end of all this harassment and negativity, seeing it happen to others, and watching other indie developers encourage such vile behaviour. I'm done.

For those wondering what this means for "14 Days With You": for the most part, everything will still continue like usual. I've said this from the very beginning, but 14DWY is just a passion project I pursue whenever I feel like it. It's something I do for fun as a hobby — not because I want to publish a well-known game or turn it into a career. I've been on Tumblr for over thirteen years now, and it's taught me how to grow thick skin, so everything that I'm yapping and yammering about won't stop me from working on 14DWY.

However, this does mean that I won't be as interactive with other developers or their communities anymore; many ill-natured people have ruined this for me.

Because of them, I'm no longer able to voice my opinion on other games without some opinionated rat whispering in my ear about how the developer is "problematic" or that I could get cancelled for simply following them on Twitter. I can't interact with certain games without its parasocial community becoming hostile or gatekeepy towards anyone they don't like. I've seen communities belittle and devalue promising demos because in their eyes, nothing can compare to their favourite game (or their favourite developer). I have been harassed, bullied, and doxxed by other communities and have seen the same thing happen to others as well. I've heard about the developers who weaponise their community's loyalty to attack and drive out their competition. And I've witnessed more than enough developers expressing how badly they want to take a hiatus due to how much unwarranted negativity they receive, but don't want to disappoint their community by doing so.

By saying all of this, you can understand why I dislike being here so much, as well as why I no longer find any enjoyment in interacting with the yandere VN community.

Many people here — fans and developers alike — are so needlessly pushy about their standards and personal opinions being the norm, and if anyone else goes against them, they'll purposefully try to ostracise and bully them out of the community. This place isn't as laid-back or inclusive as it used to be, and I don't want to be associated with a community that acts so hostile and aggressive towards anyone who shares a differing opinion — nor do I want to be part of a space that caters towards developers who'll tear down others in order to have a moment of relevancy.

We're all doing our own thing and making our own games; it shouldn't be a competition. But if you see it as such, then I urge you to take a moment to stop and rethink your actions — or, at the very least, understand how it's affecting you and others around you.

So until there's a reasonable change and people can go back to being less... demanding, hypercritical, and gatekeepy about who interacts with what, I'll be stepping away and continuing to stay in my own bubble, as I have for the past two years now. I've already unfollowed everyone associated with the yandere community many months ago, but I think I'll just unfollow everyone entirely now for my own peace of mind. I will also no longer be interacting with any yandere VN communities (aside from close friends), nor will I be as public with my interests from this moment on. Everything on this blog will be strictly related to 14DWY like usual, and I will continue to block and report any spiteful "anons"/burner accounts sent my way and delete their messages.

Again, this isn't really much of an announcement — it's more so just paragraphs of me bitchin and moanin 🫶 — but I wanted to get this all out there instead of leaving things unsaid and having people come to their own conclusions as to why I've suddenly become less active, less optimistic, and why I've stopped engaging with a majority of the yandere community in the last two years.

So, yeah... ^^; If there's anything I want y'all to take away from this entire post, it's to be kind, open, and understanding towards everyone — developers and communities alike — and to spread support rather than negativity. It's what I want my own community to be known for, so please be mindful of how you treat others online.

And if you find yourself being surrounded by constant toxicity and negativity (be it from friends, mutuals, or even other developers or communities), please don't feel ashamed to step away or cut them off entirely. Put yourself and your mental health first. I also think it'll be good for me to leave all this negative energy behind and continue to kick off 2025 in a better light, so if y'all need to let out any frustrations of your own, feel free to go ham in the replies (obviously, be kind and civil though jghsjg T_T)

[tritoch]

i have seen people be like "if you think what the dawntrail protagonists do in zone six is valid you have to conceded emet's approach/perspective was valid, what you do is basically what he does" and it's like...nah. it's obviously intentionally very similar ("it's like poetry, it rhymes") but there's some key differences:

emet is disgusted by sundered life, which he sees as inhuman, and longs to return to the unrecoverable past. so he does seven(ish) planet-wide genocides. the endless aren't new life, their ability to grow and learn is specifically in question (at the very least they are fundamentally incapable of taking in new sensory experience of certain forms), they're shades from the unrecoverable past, and you are destroying them in favor of those still alive.

also, we aren't disgusted by them nor do we think anything is fundamentally justified if done to them (everyone pretty much no-sells cahciua "we aren't alive so it doesn't matter if you kill us :)," in fact). we don't have like 12,000 years and the most advanced magic known to anyone alive. we are forced by serious exigency to destroy them due to a political impasse with their leadership's policy re: resource extraction. this tonal difference is in fact extremely important.

the endless themselves seem pretty ambivalent about the whole deal. they're bored or they're wary of the way their world keeps shrinking, and it's very explicitly neither a functioning society by any recognizable human terms nor a paradise.

related to the above, basically every named endless turns to the person most relevant to them (cahciua to erenville, krile's parents to her, namikka to wuk lamat, otis to you) and is like, huh, i really appreciate having this moment of grace at the end of my journey to see that it was all worthwhile and to resolve my lasting regrets, but i understand what you're here to do and yeah, it's probably time for us to go. (does the writing put a finger on the scale by doing this? sure, but the writers also designed and built the scales and everything they're weighing on them, so i find it hard to discredit any one aspect for being the writers' invention.)

finally uh no one in the party has kids with the endless or lives a full human lifetime as one of them lol.

it's important to remember that emet was definitely at least somewhat lying about not seeing the sundered as real people. the fact that he has "lived a thousand thousand of your lives . . . broken bread with you, fought with you, grown ill, grown old, sired children and yes, welcomed death’s sweet embrace" makes everything he did soooooo much crazier than what you do. if i managed to convince an endless to fall in love with me and i had a kid with them and i loved that kid so much that their death threw me into a permanent grief spiral then like. yeah i guess i would have to be like "well hats off to emet, folks." but luckily the game doesn't make you do that.

even if you insist everyone in living memory was a full living person that we killed, you're still weighing like a city of people versus 7+ planet-wide mass murders. you do not under any circumstances got to hand it to him.

living memory absolutely is evocative of everything that happens in shadowbringers. but rather than placing us in emet's shoes, it forces us to relive what we already did, to really fully face up to what we have done by promising to remember emet's culture after destroying any chance of its return. after two games going hard on the hope part of the game's central theme of hope arising from grief, now we're doing grief. we are forced to see the past of our memories not as a cold, ghostly art deco cubus-plagued socratic method hellscape but as the most beautiful technicolor theme park where everyone's happy and no one's sad and there's parades every day and your parents are alive and they love you so much. and then the game's conclusion is, yeah, you were still right to let go. in fact, you were and are morally obliged to let go. the living were and are worth more than the dead. our grief in letting go of them may be immense and turns our world to bleak nothingness for a time, and that is important to recognize, but at the end of the day our most pressing duty is to those we can yet save, not those we have lost.

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 2. the journal

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Your memories still remain out of reach, so you ask Joel to tell you a bit about yourself, and with the help of a journal you kept, you begin to learn more about the person you became in the past ten years, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Chapter Warnings: language, eating, alcohol use, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia

WC: 6.3K

Series Masterlist

"Did'ya get any sleep?"

You glanced up at Joel as you walked side by side towards the dining hall.

"No," you admitted, looking straight ahead again.

After Joel left you in his - your - bedroom, instructing you to rest on his way out, you found you could do anything but. Your mind was spinning with all of the information you had just learned, and you weren't sure which topic consumed you more: the end of the world or the supposed love of your life.

The longer his words set in, the more you were finding it difficult to look at him. It was such a strange feeling, having this large, burly, gruff man proclaim his love for you, to say he would stop at nothing to make you feel the same way, to insist you were meant for each other. It seemed so out of character, though you hardly felt like you knew him. But even now as you walked down the street, you noticed how some of the people in town glanced at him. Moving quickly out of his way.

It wasn't just you who found him intimidating.

You were distracted as you walked, curiously peering into storefronts and repurposed buildings when a group of children playing a game of tag nearly ran into you. At the last moment, Joel tugged your arm, pulling you into his side just in time. The children seemed to realize their mistake because their laughter quickly stopped and the smiles fell from their faces as they looked up at him.

"We're sorry, Mr. Miller," a young boy no more than eight years old said.

Miller. You never even bothered to ask his last name.

Joel just grunted and they scurried away, no doubt eager to escape his glare. You chanced a look at him, studying his stern expression when you realized he was still holding you against him. He was warm. Warmer than you expected. And solid. You cleared your throat and stepped away from his grasp, muttering your thanks and glancing around the busy street to avoid the disappointed look in his eye when it became clear you weren't comfortable with him touching you.

You shoved your hands in the pockets of your jeans and continued to walk in silence down the main road. A few people shot you curious looks or did double takes as they walked by, and you had to assume if Ellie heard the news about your accident, then others had, as well.

The Tipsy Bison came into view at the corner of the street, made obvious by the large crowds of people gathered outside.

"Does everyone have to eat here or are you allowed to have food in your homes?" you asked him, and he looked down at you, surprised by the question.

"We got food. It's not like a prison or somethin'," he said with a chuckle. "Most folks like to come here to socialize, but sometimes we cook dinner at home," he stopped short when he realized he never asked you what you preferred. "Did'ya wanna stay home instead?"

"No, this is fine," you told him over your shoulder.

"You sure? Maybe it's too much right now," he replied, jogging a bit to keep up.

"I'm sure. You won't leave me, right?" you asked, looking at him nervously.

"'Course not," he said, trying to hide his grin. He liked that you wanted him around, even if it was only because you didn't know anybody else. It was a start.

When Joel swung the door open, holding it wide so you could enter first, it might have been your imagination but you thought the loud chatter simultaneously died down for a split second. Then Joel stepped in beside you and the volume rose once again.

You wanted to look around and take in the rustic atmosphere but you could feel the eyes on you as Joel led you through the crowd, the scrutiny making you feel extremely out of place, so you kept your gaze pinned straight ahead. Following dutifully behind, you watched as people automatically moved out of his way, like he was Moses parting the Red Sea, until he reached a table in a somewhat quiet corner of the dining hall. He pulled out a chair and stood behind it, his hand still resting on the back, and it took you a second to realize he was waiting for you to sit so he could push it in. You quietly thanked him then finally looked around the room.

The dining room had tables scattered around, and as far as you could see, they all appeared to be taken. People were standing in groups, drinking and laughing and eating and you wondered how in the world your table wasn't taken. You were about to turn and ask when an older man approached your table.

"Hey guys," he said, pulling out a pad of paper from his pocket. "What'll it be?"

You went wide eyed for a moment, looking around trying to figure out what your choices were when, much to your relief, Joel spoke for you both.

"Still got any of that stew left?"

"Sure do. Few guys got lucky earlier today, too. Got two deer, so we'll be havin' more soon," he replied, jotting something down on his paper. "Two whiskies?"

Joel was about to nod when you spoke up for the first time.

"Just water for me, thanks," you said, and the man nodded his head.

"Thanks, Seth," Joel said as he walked away.

You glanced at Joel quickly, awkwardly catching his eye. It felt too much like a date. Dropping your gaze to the table, you tried to think of something to say.

"Probably a good idea, skippin' alcohol," he said. "Didn't even think about it, what with your head and all."

"Yeah," you said, your hand coming up to gently touch the stitches. "Besides, I don't like whiskey, anyway," you added. Joel laughed softly as he watched you shift nervously in your chair.

"What?" you asked with a frown.

"Nothin'," he replied, still staring at you in disbelief. "Just ever since you got here you've been tossin' back whiskey better than most of the men. You must've gotten a taste for it at some point."

"There's no way," you said, scrunching your nose when Seth put down Joel's glass in front of him. He stared down at it wistfully, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, lost in thought.

"Whiskey's how we first met," he said softly, still staring at the glass. You tilted your head towards him, waiting for him to continue. "When you first arrived, you were like a caged animal. You came here lookin' to blow off steam," he said with a distant smile. "It was a slow night. Just you and me and a handful of others. You were tossin' that shit back like it was nothin'."

You watched him as he reminisced. His eyes shone brightly and a small smile played on his lips, it almost felt like you were intruding on something special.

"When me and Ellie first arrived, no one really went outta their way to talk to me. I preferred it that way. Was used to bein' on my own," he continued, looking up at you now. "But that night, you sat down next to me at the bar like you had been waitin' for me or somethin'. You asked me if I was drinkin' for fun or drinkin' to forget. Those were the very first words you said to me."

You were completely silent as he spoke. The way he told it, it felt like you could see the scene playing out right before you, the way he remembered every detail left you in awe.

"What did you say?" you asked a little breathlessly.

The corner of his mouth twitched and he looked down at the table.

"Drinkin' to forget."

You waited for him to elaborate, but when it became apparent he wasn't going to, you asked him another question.

"Then what happened?"

He raised his eyebrows and hummed, a slow smile stretching across his face before he answered.

"You told me you could help me have fun and help me forget," he said, and you could feel the heat instantly flush your cheeks.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, covering your mouth, utterly mortified. "Please tell me you're joking."

He shook his head, still smiling at the memory. You glanced around the room, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"So then, did we...?" you trailed off, gaze still fixed on a spot on the wall.

"Oh, yeah. 'Course we did. I'm no saint," he chuckled.

"Jesus Christ," you said, burying your face in your hands. "That doesn't sound like me at all."

"It's not. Well, not anymore. You had an edge to you when you first arrived. Most do. Survivin' out there does that to you," he said, taking his first sip of whiskey.

You sat in silence for another minute, contemplating asking him what he knew about your life before you met him, but ultimately deciding against it. Maybe another time.

"Where's the bathroom?" you asked him, and he pointed down a small hallway near the bar. You thanked him, his eyes trailing after you as you made your way through the crowds, only dropping his gaze once you were no longer in view. It was a strange thing, recounting stories for you like that. At first, the memories made him smile, but once he saw the lost look on your face he felt the sadness creep back up, settling deep in his chest, and he wondered if he would ever get you back.

You knew you were in the bathroom too long. You knew he would likely be worried, but you just couldn't stop staring at your reflection in the mirror after you washed your hands. Who was this person staring back at you? She looked older and weathered and tired. Your fingertip gently prodded at the bags under your eyes and then a small scar on your chin. What happened to you out there to make you the person Joel was describing? What did you have to do to survive? And did you really want to know the answer?

The door swung open, startling you as three girls around your age entered the bathroom. Their giggles stopped when they saw you and you watched them exchange glances in the mirror before a pretty girl with long, blonde hair greeted you by name. Turning around, you gave her a smile, hoping they would go about their business so you could slip out of there, but of course the pretty girl wanted to talk.

"We heard you had an accident, are you okay?" she asked, and she sounded sincere, but something about her smile made you think twice.

"Yeah, got a few stitches but it should be fine," you said, your eyes flicking to the other two girls, giving them each a smile. They looked at each other and smirked before heading towards the bathroom stalls, leaving you with just the blonde.

"So, is it true? Did you really lose your memory?" she asked, her voice low as if it were a secret, and finally you were able to pick up the vibe. You had been to high school before the outbreak. You had encounters with these types of girls before. Friendly to your face, vicious behind your back.

"Uh, yeah," you admitted, and she gasped as if she felt bad, but you saw the way her eyes lit up.

"So you don't remember, like, anything?"

"Well, I remember before everything went to hell," you told her, "but I don't remember this place, no."

"Oh, wow," she said, and you heard the toilets flush before the other two girls exited the stalls, grinning conspiratorially at the blonde. "So you don't know anybody here?"

You shook your head, feeling uncomfortable with the line of questioning at this point. What was she really getting at?

"That must mean you don't remember Joel, right?" one of the girls at the sink piped up. You looked at her briefly over your shoulder and shook your head, turning back to the blonde but not before you caught the look in her eye.

"Oh, that's too bad," she said, giving you a pout. "Does that mean you aren't together anymore, or-"

Suddenly, the door swung open and Ellie stormed in. Her hard gaze drifted around to the three girls and she gave them a look of disgust.

"Scram, vultures," she told them, and the blonde made a face at her before flipping her hair over her shoulder and heading to one of the stalls. Ellie called your name and you scurried over, allowing her to lead you back out into the dining room but not before she gave the other two girls a few choice words.

"Don't talk to them, they're nasty," she told you as you weaved your way through the crowd. Joel's eyes instantly found you once you were in view and you saw him straighten up in his chair.

"You okay?" he asked, and you could see the genuine concern in his face as you sat down. You were about to answer when Ellie plopped down on the other side of him and spoke first.

"Angie and her little sidekicks cornered her in there," she explained, rolling her eyes. "Already sniffing around for scraps."

"What do you mean?" you asked her, but just then Seth arrived with your meals and you never got an answer.

"Stew again?" Ellie asked, scrunching up her nose.

"It's good," Joel told her before taking a bite. You looked down at the bowl and you were inclined to agree with Ellie, but you swallowed the food down anyway, just grateful for something to eat after such a long day.

"Aren't you going to eat?" you asked her, noticing she hadn't ordered anything and instead was busy sketching in a journal.

"Nah, I'm going to Dina's later, I'll eat there," she explained without looking up.

"Who's Dina?"

"Oh, my girlfriend," Ellie explained, glancing up at you briefly. "Sorry. I still can't get used to this. It's so weird you don't remember."

"Don't be out too late. You got school tomorrow," Joel reminded her. Even though he wasn't Ellie's father, he seemed to have quite the knack for being a dad.

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically, giving him a weak, two-fingered salute before hunching back over her journal. You heard some familiar giggles coming from somewhere behind you, and when you turned to look, you locked eyes with the blonde girl from the bathroom - Angie - who was holding some drink in her hand, her two friends flanking her sides as she strolled past your table. Her eyes drifted briefly to Joel before she passed by, then turned her attention to her friends, disappearing into the crowd.

"Who is that?" you asked, realizing you never really got much of an explanation. Joel and Ellie responded at the same time.

"Nobody."

"Joel's ex."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as Joel glared at Ellie.

"What? She woulda found out eventually," Ellie protested.

"She ain't even an ex," he said, turning to you now. "Just a mistake I made one time before you even got here," he insisted. The tone in his voice made it sound like he was trying to reassure you there was nothing to worry about, but of course, the information didn't phase you.

"Okay," you replied with a shrug. He examined your blank stare for a moment, searching for a glimmer of recognition. The disappointment in his expression every time something like this happened was becoming too much to bear, so you dragged your eyes off him to glance around the crowded room once again. You found Tommy leaning against the bar and you stood up.

"Where are you goin'?"

"I need to ask Tommy something," you said. "I'll be right back."

His eyes followed you as you pushed your way towards the bar, his heart feeling like it was going to break. He wasn't exactly looking for you to have an overly jealous reaction to hearing about another woman from his past, but your casual indifference hurt more than he expected. When you first found out about Angie, you insisted you weren't jealous but the way you sneered at her going forward, combined with giving him the best sex of his life later that night told him a different story.

"You think she'll ever get her memory back?" Ellie asked, still focusing on her drawing. Joel sighed and dragged his hands down his face.

"I don't know, kid."

"What'd you need to talk to Tommy for?" Joel asked once you both arrived back to his - your - home. You had wandered into the kitchen, Joel hot on your trail.

"Oh, I just had a question about something I saw when we were out there today," you explained, and he raised an eyebrow for you to continue. "There were dead bodies when I came to. They looked all decayed and... subhuman. Now that you told me about the infection, I wanted to ask."

Joel watched you open and close cupboards until you found the glasses, then picked one out to fill with water.

"So you ran into some runners," he said, and you nodded. "Did he happen to mention how you hit your head?"

Your hand froze, your glass halfway to your lips as you considered his question.

"Actually, no, he didn't," you said, setting down the glass and looking up at him.

"Yeah, he didn't really tell me, either," he replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "When he told me you hit your head and you were havin' trouble remeberin' things, I just came runnin'."

Guilt washed over you yet again as you thought about Joel being told the news and how panicked he must have been. He practically ripped all the exam room doors off their hinges to find you, only to be met with a stranger when he finally did.

"Well, I can ask him tomorrow," you finally said, putting your glass in the sink to avoid looking at him.

"Yeah," he replied, trailing off a bit. He was still lost in thought, trying to remember Tommy's exact words when you walked past him towards the stairs.

"You're tired?"

"Well, it's been a long day," you told him, pausing on a stair to look back down at him.

"Right, 'course," he said, shaking his head and following you up. When you got to the doorway of his bedroom you paused, looking up at him. It seemed like he was struggling to say something, his mind working hard to find the words, but instead he just gazed down at you, brown eyes all wide and soft.

"Don't suppose anythin's comin' back to you yet?" he finally asked, and you hated seeing that look. That same hopeful look you kept seeing right before you opened your mouth and crushed him. This was hard for him, you knew that, but the way he kept looking at you was making things so much worse. The pressure you felt to become this person he was expecting you to be was overwhelming. You opted to drop your gaze to the floor and slowly shake your head.

"That's okay," he said, and you dragged your eyes back up to him. "Maybe tomorrow."

You gave him a small smile. "Yeah, maybe."

He sighed and glanced at the door to the spare room.

"You need anythin', I'm right next door," he said, hitching his thumb to the side and giving you a lopsided grin, but you could still see it in his eyes. The disappointment. The sadness. The yearning. And it was making you feel sick.

Just as he turned to head towards the spare room, you spoke. "Joel?"

And he eagerly swiveled back around.

"I'm gonna try really hard to remember," you said earnestly, looking deep into his eyes.

"I know," he replied with a sad smile. He gave you one more look before heading into the spare room and softly closing the door behind him.

Joel slept like shit.

No surprise there, really. He hadn't slept without you in years. He had hoped the whiskey would have helped, but he was wrong. His mind was racing as he tossed and turned, and by morning he had foolishly convinced himself that you would be back to normal after a good night's rest. He got up early and made coffee for the two of you, like he always did, then tended to the fire in the living room. The nights and early mornings were frigid, but the days were warm. The first sign that fall was approaching fast. He was just putting the poker back when he heard the bedroom door creak open upstairs and his heart jumped into his throat excitedly, but when you descended the stairs and locked eyes with him, he knew nothing had changed. He didn't even bother to ask. You didn't look at him the same way you used to. You used to smile and gravitate towards him, your hands always seeking out his, your eyes playful and loving, but now you looked at him like he was a complete stranger. Devoid of all affection, the only thing that remained was a forced politeness.

You said good morning and headed into the kitchen and Joel wondered how long it would take for you to come around. Less than a day ago, you looked at him in fear, but now you seemed at least comfortable in his presence. That had to count for something.

He must have looked like shit because when he joined you in the kitchen, you eyed him up and down curiously.

"Have you been up for a while?"

He shook his head and picked up his mug, taking a sip and hoping the caffeine would bring him back to life.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"Not great," you admitted, pouring your own cup of coffee. "It really hurts. I think whatever meds the doctor gave me yesterday wore off."

Without even thinking, Joel quickly closed the distance between you to examine your injury. You startled a bit when he came up behind you and lifted your hair, but for his benefit, you tamped down your reaction. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he gripped the nape of your neck to angle your head downwards in order to get a better look. You closed your eyes and held your breath as you focused on his fingertips pressing tenderly into your skin. You heard him murmur to himself, the sound coming from deep within his chest, and you realized just how close he really was. Aside from pulling you out of the way so the kids playing tag wouldn't knock you down, it was the first time he had really touched you, and he was so much softer than you expected.

"Don't think it's infected but let's go see the doc, just to be sure," he said, his hand still on your neck, his other hand pushing your hair away.

"Okay," you said quietly, finally allowing yourself to take in a shaky breath as you waited for him to release you.

As if he realized what he was doing, he let your hair fall back into place and let go of your neck, his fingertips lightly trailing down your spine before falling to his side, making you shiver and step away.

"Sorry," he said. "Should've asked to look first."

"It's fine," you told him, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on your neck his fingers just touched.

As you walked side by side to the infirmary, his stony expression slid back into place. Gone was the softness you witnessed in his home. His hardened gaze drifted around the street, then to the watch towers, taking everything in. Studying. Calculating. And that was when you realized there were two Joel Millers: the one who the rest of the town viewed as gruff and callous, and the one you saw in the kitchen that morning, soft and gentle.

You wondered how many people got to see the latter version.

Nick examined you again in the same room as before, but this time, Joel was there watching his every move like a hawk. You could practically see the tension radiating off Nick's shoulders as he moved around the room. He examined your cut carefully, Joel's eyes never once leaving his hands, confirming that it was not infected before parceling out ten little white tablets of extra strength Tylenol into a small baggie and advising you to use them sparingly as inventory was low.

"That's it?" Joel asked incredulously.

"You know how it is, Joel," Nick said, but you heard his voice waver when Joel stood up from his chair. "Meds are hard to come by, we gotta be smart-"

"She hit her goddamn head so fuckin' hard she's lucky she remembers her own name and you're givin' her Tylenol?" he seethed, and you could see his neck growing flush with anger again.

"Joel, calm down, it's fine," you said, sliding off the table. Turning to Nick, you were about to voice your thanks when Joel cut you off.

"It ain't fine. What's it gotta take to get somethin' that actually works?" he huffed, taking a step forward and making Nick shift his weight nervously. "She gotta be missin' an arm? Maybe if she hit her head hard enough to forget what fuckin' planet she's on?"

"Joel, that's enough!" you snapped with a frown, and much to Nick's relief, Joel instantly backed off. He turned and paced around the small room, his hand rubbing over his mouth as he tried to calm down.

"What about my memory? Is it a bad sign I haven't remembered anything yet?" you asked Nick, and Joel paused somewhere behind you to listen to his answer.

"Well, the brain is a tricky thing," he began, his eyes darting over your shoulder briefly. "It could be weeks, could be months. Without any imaging, I wouldn't be able to tell you much more than that." You nodded and swallowed nervously before asking your next question.

"Or never, right?"

Nick took a deep breath and looked at Joel over your shoulder again before responding.

"It's possible."

You heard Joel's boots squeak against the linoleum floor and without even looking, you knew he was anxiously pacing around again.

"Alright, thank you. We'll get out of your hair now," you said, turning to corral Joel towards the door.

"Regardless, I'd like to see you again in a few days so I can take a look at those stitches," Nick said, and you agreed while pushing a muttering Joel back out into the hallway.

"I'll get you better meds," he said as you both walked out of the infirmary. "I got patrol tomorrow mornin', but I can go out after. There's a small cluster of houses we never did a full sweep on. Maybe-"

"The Tylenol is fine, don't go through the trouble. You could get hurt," you said, shoving the baggie of pills into your pocket.

"Tylenol ain't gonna do shit. I don't want you bein' in pain if there's somethin' we can do about it."

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, trying to temporarily relieve the ache in your head until you could get home and take one of the pills. You gave Joel a sideways glance, studying him as you walked together. He was brash and rude and aggressive, but you were learning that side of him came out when he was being protective over the ones he loved.

Or when he was trying to hide who he really was.

"So, everyone pitches in around here, right?" you asked, trying to change the subject. "You do patrol. What do I do?"

You paused at a crossroads, trying to remember which way to go, when Joel's hand on your elbow guided you in the right direction.

"You work patrol, too, but you ain't doin' that anymore," he said, letting go of your elbow after holding on for a moment too long.

"Well, obviously. I don't even know how to ride a horse," you said with a snort. "So I guess I need to find a new job, right? Who do I talk to?"

"Why don't you slow down a minute?" Joel said with a chuckle. "Let that pretty little head of yours heal up before you go lookin' for work."

You weren't going to say anything about his comment. Although it took you off guard, you realized he had habits that were going to be hard to ignore and you didn't expect that to happen overnight, but he seemed to realize what he said on his own and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he said softly.

"It's okay. I know this is difficult for you," you said, shooting him a sympathetic glance as you climbed his porch steps. He swung open the door and followed you inside, where you made a beeline for a glass of water so you could take one of the pills.

"We got a lotta history, you and me. It's hard to start over," he said as he watched you toss back the Tylenol with a wince. You examined his face closely and pulled out one of the stools to sit down. You leaned forward, forearms resting on the cool countertop before replying.

"Tell me a story."

He raised an eyebrow at you but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up a bit.

"What kinda story?"

"A story about us. You just said we have a lot of history together. Let's hear some of it," you replied with an encouraging smile.

"You sure? Thought you'd wanna go lay down," he said, but he eagerly pulled up a stool across from you.

"I think I can handle one little story," you told him, then watched as he stared down at his hands on top of the counter, deep in thought. When he thought of one, a slow smile spread across his face and his dark brown eyes flicked up to meet yours and you saw that softer side of him again.

"Alright," he said, settling back a bit. "So I told'ya last night how we met."

You cringed, remembering the story of a much bolder and seductive version of yourself, and nodded.

"Well, after that night we started seein' each other for a few weeks. It was just casual, nothin' serious," he said, looking down at his hands again. "I convinced you to sneak around so no one would catch on, and you grew tired of that. Rightfully so. I was bein' an asshole."

You watched him pull at a loose thread on the cuff of his flannel shirt, his eyes still cast down and you were beginning to realize it was due to shame.

"So anyway. One day you came over to, y'know..." he said, and you felt the heat in your cheeks again. "And you confronted me about it head on. Demanded to know why I wanted to keep you a secret. Thought I was ashamed of you - which I wasn't," he said quickly, his eyes finally meeting yours again. "But I had been through a lot of shit and I just didn't think I could give myself to someone like that again."

"What kind of shit?" you asked quietly, but he just lightly shook his head.

"One story at a time," he told you with a sad smile. You chewed on your lower lip as you waited for him to continue, his focus back on the loose string while he collected his thoughts.

"So I explained I had a hard time lettin' people in, that I wasn't capable of carin' 'bout anyone like that anymore, and you said to me, 'I know who you are, Joel Miller. Don't give me that bullshit, you're just scared.'"

He stared into your eyes, letting what he said land and hoping to see a flicker of the woman who spoke those words, but you just continued to look at him, waiting for him to finish the story like it was about somebody else entirely.

"Well, you were right, obviously. You always are," he continued with a smirk. "It knocked me on my ass. And I didn't know what was more difficult to believe: that you knew me better than I knew myself, or someone like you wanted anythin' to do with me in the first place."

You smiled and dropped your gaze to the counter, suddenly feeling shy.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, but so far, these stories don't sound like me at all," you admitted.

He took a deep breath and finally stopped fidgeting with his sleeve.

"A lot's happened in ten years. Stuff that changes people. But I don't care what version of you's here, I love all of you."

You kept your eyes glued to his hands. You wished you could say it back. You knew he wanted to hear it. Maybe one day.

He tapped his finger on the counter, pulling your attention up so you were forced to look him in the eye.

"You fought for me that night, now I'm gonna fight for you, okay?" he said, eyebrows raised as he waited for you to acknowledge him. When you nodded sheepishly, his shoulders relaxed.

"So you're saying I fell in love with you because you were an asshole?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood, and it worked. Joel laughed heartily and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nah, you didn't love me then," he said, still smiling.

"So how did I fall in love with you?" you asked, and his tongue clicked against his teeth.

"You're gonna have to wait to find out," he replied with a wink.

It wasn't his fault, but the rest of the day you could feel Joel looking at you. He was examining you, waiting to see the woman he fell in love with, and the pressure was beginning to be too much, so you made up an excuse to go lay down in his bedroom. He had mentioned he had patrol in the morning. Maybe some time away from him would help you relax.

You stared up at the white ceiling. The distant sound of children laughing outside through the closed window and then the door to the garage swinging open and shut acted as a soundtrack to your overactive thoughts. You almost had to laugh. It felt like your mind was constantly working, churning up information and digesting it only to always come up empty.

Absolutely nothing seemed familiar. Nothing about this place or these people felt like home.

You wished so badly you could remember something. Anything to make you feel like you belonged there. One little shred of hope was all you were looking for.

And then you remembered the journal.

Sitting up in bed, you tucked your legs underneath you and reached over for the black book. You fingers hesitated for a moment on the cover. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but how could that be when it was your own?

Taking a deep breath, you flipped open the journal and began at the beginning.

Right away, you could tell you wrote the entries. There was no doubt in your mind. Aside from your handwriting, your typical disorganization shone through like a beacon on every page. You occasionally remembered to notate in the margin the date, or your best guess at the date, but more often than not you were left with very little context for each small paragraph you read.

You were disappointed to realize the journal seemed to begin after you had met Joel. A big part of you was very eager to learn more about the person you were before finding Jackson, but it seemed as though you would have to depend on others to tell you stories you hopefully had relayed to them in the past.

The first page looked to be a list of items you had jotted down that didn't make much sense, but maybe when you first found the notebook, you hadn't intended to use it as a journal.

Socks, colored pencils, sunflower seeds, cards.

Flipping the page, you skimmed a short paragraph about a cabin you stumbled upon when on patrol. Again, it was more notes than anything of any substance. A description of approximately where it was in relation to Jackson along with a note to 'mention it at the next town hall meeting'.

Finally something interesting on the next page, you read a short paragraph about someone named Maria having a baby girl, and you frowned when you read the line Joel handled it better than I expected.

Continuing on, you read an entry about Christmas: Joel found me the softest sweater, it almost felt brand new. I really don't know how he managed to find it and I described the house I grew up in to Ellie and she drew it perfectly, I can't believe how talented she is.

One paragraph in particular grabbed your attention. It was about two people, and based on the context, it sounded like you were close friends. For the first time since we got here, I had the same day off as Ben and Lisa. We went fishing together and brought a lunch. It felt just like old times. As weird as it sounds, sometimes I miss being out there with them. We made a good team.

Maybe this Ben and Lisa would be able to answer some questions you had about yourself. Based on what you just read, it sounded like they knew you before Jackson.

There was a lot more to read, but the next page stopped you dead in your tracks. Your heart began to beat faster as you stared at the four words. Just one sentence, no explanation. A shiver slowly trickled down your spine as you sat there, unmoving, as your vision narrowed on the page: Joel lied to me.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[prokopetz]

i remember you writing a list of something in some fucking context (i remember nothing), and on that list there was a lesbian ttrpg that really stuck out to me that i didn't save. It was a real edgy one about being lesbian violent and mean (i think), which isn't really much to go off. Where i'm going to is, would you be interested in just listing every lesbain indie ttrpg you know of? Its fine if you dont wanna, of course.

You're probably thinking of this thread here, though you're quite correct that "mean violent lesbians" isn't sufficient to pick out a specific entry – several of the titles plugged in that thread would easily qualify!

As for "listing every lesbian indie ttrpg [i] know of", that's a trickier demarcation problem than you might imagine. What is a lesbian tabletop RPG? Is it one where the player characters are obligatorily lesbians? (If so, we end up excluding games which are explicitly about the lesbian experience, but feature some other type of character.) Is it one written, at least in part, by lesbians? (If so, we bump into the problem that not all indie tabletop RPGs are autobiographical, the maunderings of certain self-appointed critics notwithstanding.) Is it one where the game itself is a lesbian? (Not an impossible brief, but now we're catering exclusively to folks who are into meta bullshit.)

Ultimately I'm going to pass the problem down the line and just ask folks in the notes to name the first game that comes to mind when they think of the phrase "lesbian indie ttrpg". Let's see what sort of consensus evolves.

[evilminji]

Broadway :3c

And I hear ya. (Insert spooky joke here) There is a sprawling WEB of central hubs, for The Arts. For trade. For getting drunk and having a good time. The Zone is large and it is endless. You'll NEVER reach the far end. It can never reach you.

All things, in gentle sweeping waves, across eternity.

So when folks want to have "a market" or "a movie theater" or "the waterpark"? You gotta PICK a point on the endless map. Figure if you are close or far enough away for others like it, to make it worth the effort to build.

You might even be the first to do it for GALAXIES in any direction! People might fly for WEEKS to come to your place! Move their Lairs to be closer too it. Like dust gathered by gravity, slowly creating planets and stars. A mega Lair. A CITY.

They rise, they fall, the Zone shifts all the while.

But!

Does the dead starlet stop singing? Does getting gunned down, stop the show?? I think NOT! Where is her STAGE? What musicals? What dramas? What operas and tragedies and forms unknown to human kind??! Ballet dancers who CAN defy gravity! Singers who have no NEED for air! The haunting blend of instruments, that could never in life have met! From empires long turned to ASH!

The greatest show in DEATH!

Ember was a world wide hit. Yes, her voice was hypnotic. But that could be FOUGHT. It was SKILL that carried the game. And she was hardly "I was Literally The Greatest My Planet Ever Produced" skilled. She was good, great even. Not "I was Born For Greatness" Excellence.

And like?

.....eventually? Danny's gonna ask after "cultural-y" Culture stuff. Clothes and food. Music and the arts. To help his parents get used to the whole "our son is half-dead" thing. To show he's not some mindless monster now.

And? Ghostwriter? Probably an absolute legend. Does he know where you can find some CULTURE? Oh THANK ZONE! He thought you'd NEVER ask! You unsophisticated-! *fist fight in a library* Still a dick, though. Always and forever.

And just? Imagine Broadway stretched out into a floating city. That never sleeps. Never stops. Shows ever changing. Some on a cycle, some only once. Dream-like. Beautiful. Eye catching.

And yeah, Danny didn't think he LIKED musicals. It was more of a Jazz thing. But? This was important! Gotta get the whole family in the Speeder. We're going to see a play, guys! We'll pick when we get there! Family road trip! Educational! We can make notes!

His parents are trying to be supportive. Big, fixed, strained grins. Trying to pretend to be excited. But they... DO seem reluctantly intrigued? And Jazz is all but vibrating in her seat. It's basically her "before you go away to college" present. And she is THRILLED.

The longer she excitedly speculates? The more into it she gets their folks. This IS gonna be new! Exciting! Never before seen Ghost Culture! Music! As a FAMILY! Think we could find souvenirs? Ooooh, wonder if they sell CDs??!

Then? They GET there. And it's... it's like seeing the Las Vegas strip for the first time, except multiplied into a city. Made of even MORE styles and eras. At angles gravity would never allow.

The air filled with laughter and excitement, people rushing to shows or humming bits of tunes. Street stalls. Fountains. Flowers growing everywhere.

They could stay for months and not even reach a fraction of these buildings. His parents are taking countless photos. His sister squeeling with joy as she races for an information kiosk like they just arrived at Disneyland. He, at least, remembers to lock up the Speeder. Grab their day bags.

When did HE become the responsible one?

The argue over shows. Obviously. Wouldn't be Fenton's otherwise. HE wants to see the alien one. It's from mars! But it's his sister's trip, as his dad points out, so she gets to choose. She picks a musical set during the Fall of Krpton. He's... reluctantly kinda interested. I mean, EVERYBODY likes Superman, right?

It's... it's amazing. Terrible, but amazing. I mean? A coming of age story cut tragically short? Oof. Hello, massively projecting then getting FEELS about it! Yeah, sure, rip my heart out why don't you? He's fine. No, really! Just drowning in his own emotions over here. The refrain of "A Life Well Lived"? *gargling dying whale noises* he's FINE. Not grappling with anything! Go on without him!

Thankfully?

They DO sell CDs.

He... he may end up, kinda, getting a bit of a collection. Going on the weekends, hoping show to show. Wandering to whichever catches his eye in the moment. Buying the CDs for one's he likes. Which? Honestly is a lot of them. Even though there's all sorts of genres and languages. Cause it... it RESONATES you know?

The grief. The anger. The "I have died but I wasn't FINISHED. It isn't FAIR.". And? Something about ghost speak flows so BEAUTIFULLY in song? It's hard to explain. But he... he needs them.

A pair of headphones, a CD, and a clear night sky? Nothing touches it. It's like a trance made of light. Like he can just drift.

The problem? Is the CDs are kinda... Zone made? They're radioactive, for one. Nothing a Fenton CD player can't handle. But... they? Also? Kinda fuckin GLOW? Like... very, very noticeably. And not in a "ha ha, cool glow in the dark paint!" Sorta way.

.........but like FUCK is he leaving his music behind when he goes to college. Gotham will have to deal. It's already a burning shit-nado, it can handle this. Probably. He'll put um in a lead lined box. Actually, speaking OF.... he needs to get a few more of those... *goes back to packing*

Which? Is how? The Bats are treated to some of the most HAUNTING music they've ever heard, belted and crooned from Some Guy's speakers, out an open window, on the "stop for a mid-patrol drink of water and a snack" building. It's one of the intersections of their patrol routes. And THAT? That is some dude listening to a Romani ballad about death and the circus. Now it's a musical about the trenches of an obscure war.

Okay, that was DEFINITELY Kryptonian. Like... coherent Krypto- *Bruce gets a call from Clark on his "work" number DEMANDING to know where that is coming from. Who is that voice Bruce?!* huh.... Well Then.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @spidori @mutable-manifestation @the-witchhunter

[killerforthepies]

i once did a 2 hour long blaseball explanation presentation and by the end of it my friends still did not know it was a website.

Round 1

Note: before voting for the first option please leave a detailed explanation of what Blaseball even is in the notes, cause I have no idea. Also votes for the first option count for Jaylen Hotdogfingers

Propaganda Under The Cut

Jaylen Hotdogfingers:

The greatest came-back-wrong character ever. She's the mayor of Seattle. She's was the best pitcher in the league. She was murdered by an umpire in an act of divine retribution for the fanbase's transgression. The fanbase exploited game mechanics to bring her back to life. Immediately she murdered 12 people. She died again and got revived a second time as part of a team of undead players that killed god. She's a really awful batter. She has, like, 16 songs written about her and they're all really good. I thought about her every single day for a period of six consecutive months. I love her.

I'll be real. I'm an outsider to the Blaseball fandom. I don't understand it. I think they've crowdfunded characters from fictionalized fucked-up Baseball stats and a dream. I love seeing what the fuck they're doing in their eldritch sandbox just so much.

Bruce Wayne (Batman):

he's babygirl your honour! single father of 6 (ish), world's least likable manwhore, he's obsessive and mean and cares a lot and is an asshole

he’s a whore. he’s batman. he’s terrified of bats. he’ll fuck villains he’ll fuck heroes he’ll fuck any consenting adult. he’s a dad. he’s traumatised. he beats the shit out of people. he can do anything with enough prep time. he creeps people out on purpose. he lives and dies by the bit. he is everything to me. truly the character of all time

[loveafterdeath-if]

Update (more like me rambling than an actual update, tbh)

Hope y'all are doing alright! I saw my inbox filled with asks and kind words (y'all are the best, as always), and I'll start answering everything once I wrap up Chap 2, Part 2. I want to focus fully on writing so I can get you the whole chapter before March at least, haha.

I'm gonna start correcting what I've written so far to avoid ending up with 100k words to fix all at once. We're about 50% through Chap 2, Part 2 (38k words, but it'll probably hit 40k with corrections). There are branches that have messed with my brain because I wanted to include scenes for each RO, but I don't regret it. I love games with lots of replayability (is that how we say it?), so I want mine to offer that too.

Chap 2, Part 2 will have a ton of branches for each RO, plus the option if you're not pursuing anyone, so it might take a while to get that full chapter out. I honestly don't know how other authors keep track of so many branches! I've always respected them as a reader/player, but being the one writing makes me wanna hand my future kids over to those incredible authors…

On top of that, I'm dealing with another issue. I've been writing so much that I think I'm slowly slipping into that "They gaze at her and say," "They take the paper and it falls" vibe (is that even a thing? Idk). You know, the kind of writing with no real description. I find myself double-checking everything to make sure the descriptions are 'good,' and I think I'll just play some IFs when I got time, to help me regain my groove without turning phrases all weird (I hate reading books, that's why I'm gonna play IFs). This is making me slow down a bit.

I've been pushing myself to write at least 4-5k words each day for the past 3 (4?) months, and I think I shouldn’t have done that. I'm putting pressure on myself without even realizing it. It's only when I end up with 'only' 3k words that I start feeling upset and push through to hit minimum 4k. I'm feeling good for now and don't mind writing that much, but I really don't want to wake up one day and boom—burnout. A Ko-fi member and some folks in my inbox have kindly reminded me to take breaks and take my time, so I think I'll slow down a bit. Like, maybe aim for 3k words?

I've been writing for years, (started on Wattpad in French, and yeah, it was… something) so no worries about the game going on hiatus or anything. I love writing, especially interactive stuff—so basically IFs, haha. Just wanted to keep you in the loop!

Anyway, this ended up way longer than I intended. Stay safe, don't forget to eat your greens, stay hydrated, and all that! <3

[4yearsofhopeproject]

4 Years of Hope

Hi there! We're 4 Years of Hope, aiming to bring you a mission of creativity, community and a little light in the darkness throughout whatever the next 4 years brings you. We know things are looking to be hard for a lot of folks right now, and we want to help a little in our own small, creative ways.

What will we be doing?

Each year, we'll be publishing an eZine featuring writing and art from around the globe in this wonderful writing community we've forged, aiming to help folks out there appreciate the joy of creativity. Each project will have a different theme specifically relating to hope. There will also be voluntary donations towards a charity supporting causes close to our heart in these difficult times.

Who are we?

We're run by a small team of community artists, just hoping to make a little bit of a difference.

Via is an author, theatre maker and workshop leader who supports folks to be the most creative version of themselves. They aim to inspire, empower and enfranchise through their work, and love to explore challenging and educational themes. They love cats, and if they could be any kitchen implement they would be a spatula.

Alex is a Canadian artist, musician, and YA author. When they’re not at the keyboard, you can find them hosting tabletop game night, working on illustrations, or at their other keyboard composing music. Their life’s work is to connect with queer youth who feel as lost and hopeless as they once did and provide a little bit of hope for the future, be that through writing, music, or comedy.

Em is a poet, parent, and artist specializing in sculptures. She loves to see what beauty comes from creativity and community and has a non-trivial obsession with turtles.

What's next?

We're still getting things set up on our end, but please keep an eye out over the next few weeks for announcements about our first Zine theme, and our first charity!

[heartfullofleeches]

[+18]

V and fuckboy playboy/wingman male Darling-

Hear me out-

Darling is the son of some other loaded family that has close ties with V's. The two cross paths at a gathering and their parents urge them to make friends. Darling plays video games. V plays video games. They exchange numbers with some persuasion from their folks and set up a time to play something together although begrudgingly on V's end. V ends up having a better time than he expected, but right before he really starts to enjoy his time with Darling - he tells V he has to head out.

"Nice meeting you, dude. We gotta do this again. I got a girl coming over and I gotta bounce."

And just like that V's hopes are crushed. He's still learning about his attraction towards guys, but - Darling was sorta cute....

"oh....so you have a girlfriend."

Darling laughs.

"Nah, man. Haven't found the right girl...or guy to tie me down yet, plus I'm just enjoying the single life for now.... I can send pics after we're done if you want. She's totally chill and likes when I show her off."

Pictures?.... V agrees - thinking not much of it. He goes back to playing and eventually it slips from his mind. Hours later he receives photos of what looks to be a topless girl in a dimly lit room. She smiles big at the camera - eyes and upper face blocked from sight by the shaft of the bastard with her cheek pressed to his inner thigh. He still had on the same pair of sweats V had seen him in earlier that day. He only met this guy not even twenty-four hours ago and now he's seen his dick. Even worse - there's a pretty girl with her lipstick and spit all over it in the same picture. V's pissed - yet the image magically appears in one of his porn holders later on."

"what the hell...."

"My bad! I thought you might like it. You don't seem like a guy who gets a lot of action... If you ever want to meet someone, just give me a call. I know a lot of people who'd be interested in a rich brat like you."

This guy.... he acts like he's any different. V thinks Darling is a freak to put things lightly, but its not like he has other people to hang out with. As the two hang out V sees that Darling isn't as bad as he first seemed. He's still a horny, inconsiderate prick most days - but he's still the best thing V has to a friend and cares for V in his own way..... Still sends V dick pics he sweats were for someone els.

Darling is genuinely surprised that V has never been with someone. Sure, he doesn't seem like he gets that much attention, but he was sure V had at least kissed someone once. The topic comes up when Darling tries for the hundredth time to hook with up with one of his flings. He's always sending V evidence of the nights he spent with strangers. Oddly enough - V only ever complains about the videos and photos when they don't have darling in them as well.

"Damn.... I know you're a pain in the ass sometimes, but you're cute I thought somebody would've looked past that.....

V hates with Darling says shit like that. He's not used to people flirting with him and... and it gives him false hope. "Shut up....

"So, think she's cute? I can give her your number~"

"I don't want it."

This sucks.... By now, V's fully aware of his crush on Darling - and he fucking hates the bastard for what he's doing to him. If Darling is so concerned about him seeing people why doesn't he just take V out instead. He jerks off to everything Darling sends him wondering when he'll get his turn. V has some solace in the fact Darling rare sees any of his partners twice. V has been with him and always will be with him longer than any of them have. He just has to be patient.....and ruin any chances Darling has of being with anyone else.

V nearly jumps out of his skin reading one of Darling's numerous drunken texts.

"Hey, man. Totally speaking out my ass here, but would you ever be down to have a threesome sometime ;)"

[professorlaytonarchive]

THE ORIGINAL DEATHLY MIRROR HAS BEEN FOUND.

This is not a drill. All 6 chapters of MotDM's original version are found and playable through emulation right now, thanks to the brilliant folks over at KeitaiWiki!

Now, remember this is the original version, not the ReMix, and the whole thing is in Japanese (yes, we're working on a translation) - but this is an amazing find for several reasons.

One, of course, is preservation. Having this game accessible and available is a fantastic thing for a multitude of reasons I don't feel the need to explain here.

Two, it's amazing news for our remake, too. There were a few missing pieces that we were not sure what to do about. That worry has been solved entirely, and all of these things can now be incorporated into the remake. Like what, you may ask?

For starters, there's 15 new puzzles that we can now localise and incorporate. Some are a bit more difficult to work with (there's a few based on specific uses of Japanese grammar), but we feel confident we'll be able to deliver fun and interesting interpretations of these new puzzles. For those of you keeping count, yes, that ups the minimum total of new puzzles in our remake to 60.

Another thing we're very happy to have recovered is the minigames, and the diary entries they reward you. There's one minigame in Chapters 1-3, and another in Chapters 4-6, for which we did not have any gameplay, assets, or even rules. While the loss of the second mingame could have been overcome by simply giving the first minigame more levels, the diary entries they reward you would have needed a lot more work and imagination, with our writers having to try to create new entries that would follow the original vision. This is now no longer an issue, and we can bring the original vision for these diary entries into the remake as they are.

On top of that, there were a few characterisations and storylines that were different between the original and the remix, where we would have had to pick the remix version by default, because the back half of the original was missing - this recovery gives us far more wiggle room to combine and reconcile these versions and make this game the most interesting version of itself. (Also, at the back end, having access to the original assets makes our recreation department very, very happy.)

So, all in all, a fantastic morning for the Layton fandom!

And then, what? Well, it might be a bit quiet on the update side of things for the time being, given that our job right now is to translate and localise about a million different things - and that just isn't a super interesting process to be sharing. We may have more to tell you once we've unpacked and analysed the files (we've only just got our hands on them, that's how fast this whole thing has gone), and we definitely have some other fun stuff we're working on that we can't wait to share, but after this massive update (maybe the biggest we'll ever do, because, wow), we'll need some time to work.

So for now, keep on keeping on, keep an eye on this subreddit and our youtube channel, and go check out the incredible work KeitaiWiki is doing. This whole thing, from the beginning, would not have been possible without them. (Seriously - they've been with us since the start of it all.)

Thank you.

-Nordic

from Team Enigma and Team Professor Layton Archive

[gnohomotho]

Just a game (part 2) 𝄞⨾

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Pairing: Hwang In-ho / The Frontman x fem!reader

Summary: We're getting there, folks. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜) Mostly fluff, need, imagination, fantasy, slow burn. Focus on the f!reader, because you deserve nice things. She's home, receiving odd gifts, some sweet, some...quite the not sweet, the game and plot and trouser legs thicken (I'm so sorry, it's literally 2 a.m. here). In-ho definitely isn't obsessing over you, hatching elaborate plans, thinking of you so hard he'll break another turtleneck. Not saying the f!reader has any specific issues, but if you recognize any, I hope to be nothing but respectful. ♥ Oh, and we have a dream sequence, Freud would be proud.

(This was mainly meant as a "put your feet up and be cozy, read about yourself and feel good" read, the action will come later. Among other things. I'm so sorry, my thesis is driving me mad.)

Warnings: It's the god damn Front Man The usual Squid Game warnings, mdni, stalking, spying, voyeurism, touching, self-touching, sexual themes, sexual almost-intercourse, descriptions of anatomy and body parts, blood, yearning, some terrible references and Slavic folklore. Privacy? In my fic? It's less likely than you think.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to previous Link to next

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A cup of tea. A cup. You were watching the cup. Steam rises from it and folds into nothing. Your stomach is churning. Is it stress? You ponder. Seeing the liquid close in on itself as you stir it. Again and again.

"It'll get cold." You say, to no one. You try to breathe. Heart pounding. Head a bit spinny. You look around your room. Dimly lit, warm orange light from a salt lamp. You check your blinds - still closed, still safe. Noise from other people you try to filter out. Why do you jump at every single sound? Why does white noise blaring its head off make for the only atmosphere you can stand? You wonder. You get up. The world spins. The phone lies on your bed. As it has for the last three hours. Unchecked. Your sound is off. It always is. You turned off everything this time. It's just black. You try to think, ground yourself, poems float through your pounding head. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the tall mirrors of your wardrobe. An oddly shaped form stares back at you.

"Jesus Christ…I look…like shit." The mirrored lips curl around your words - but it might as well have been a stranger speaking back at you. You don't recognize yourself, and what you do, you dislike. Like a funhouse mirror. Without the fun. Your long hair falls across your shoulders, curling towards the ends. Your exposed skin is cold and giving a nice exposé of every vein under your neck, driving rivers of blue across your collarbones, your shoulders, your chest. You won't look further. They seem to be drawn to your middle, pooling across your skin. People often referred to you as pale, no matter your actual skin tone. When things got a tad too heavy, you became transparent. It was calming, sometimes. Calming that so much was trying to keep you alive to the point of exhausting itself and sending highways of signals through every vein to keep at it. Your head spins again. More poems. Try to drink the tea.

"Light your candle, one, two, there's a moth…" You know the rest. But the lips fail to speak. You pick up the phone. And almost knock over your tea. Then proceed to fight an urge to fling it into a wall and watch the stains roll down like fresh blood.

Seventeen missed calls from a blocked number - your now ex-companion. A worried message from your friend, no doubt spurred by said ex-companion with an entirely different story to reality. Frowning, you adjust your dressing gown and tie it down to hold everything in and hold you together.

"Hey, Y/N…I know you probably don't want to talk, but I'm sorry things went so badly. I'm here."

You hate yourself a little more. Clara has always been a darling, you…cared for her. A lot. You wish to say "loved", you squint your eyes and wish to say you love her. People are kind. People are always so very kind. And you can't drink a cup of tea. Nor reply. There's also an email. From a set of numbers, no name. You open it, against your better judgement. No subject, only a photograph. Of your door. Your door inside your flat. Which is locked. You didn't ring anyone in. You, of all people, didn't hear any steps on the stairs. You live at the very top floor. And still?! What is wrong with you lately, now of all times?

And still, there is a photograph of your door. With…things? Your shoes were gently placed beside your mat.

"Um…" You knock on your housemate's door - how grateful you are for the economic situation which doesn't permit you to live alone now, you think bitterly as his steps approach.

"Oh, Y/N, how are you? What can I do you for?" Ever the cheerful voice and visage stands before you, half dressed, always flooded with work and hobbies. The room behind him is full of papers and candles, manuals and scripts, and information that probably shouldn't be lying around covered in bird photography snaps. It calms you a tad. You breathe out and uncross your arms. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he's always so entranced with.

"I'm getting there, thank you, Lubo." Your chest falls a tad, you really do feel a bit better, but very on edge. You fidget with your fingers as you speak. "Would it be alright to ask if you could open the main door with me? Something is there and I've been listening to too many IRA anthems to trust it." Because making a joke out of a very serious situation never failed you yet.

"Sure!"

You notice one of the birds on the ground behind him. Gazing at one photograph a little longer, you smile at the birdie and its soft grey feathers, little black dash across its little eyes...you realise you're looking at a shrike. The universe really is sending her best.

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You open the door as Lubo endeavours to rummage through the things on your doorstep. It seems to be a very neatly wrapped black box with a pink bow. With a little token of a crow embossed on its side. Heavy, by the looks of it. You half expect your ex-companion's limbs to be soaking its insides.

"I'll take it indoors and disinfect it, ok? Just so it doesn't feel like you've contaminated the flat." You nod, thank him over and over, and feel very grateful for him remembering your slight fights with obsessive cleanliness and parasites. But this looks…clean. You take a knife from your room, the knife that's been under your pillow for good reason. Kneeling, you gently unwrap the box altogether and distance yourself from the thing for a little bit. Breathe. It's just a box. Those never go wrong.

It's…full of…gifts?

Your…favourite flowers, perfectly preserved. No one knows your favourite flowers that well. Under them, resting under jewels of crimson poppies, lies a book of poems, the ones you use to calm yourself down; the ones that make you feel less alone. In the correct languge, even. Next to the poppies, hot water bottles, wrapped, fluffy, still warm. Under them yet, medication you couldn't get from your doctor for the entire month due to disagreements and never being heard, half of them aren't even sold in the country. Bath salts, dark chocolate, tea…there seems to be so much. Your face is caught in a mixture of attempting to frown, being swept off your feet, and deeply uncomfortable with what is basically an encyclopedia of you in a box. You carefully lay the items to the side and begin to notice things you truly need your housemate to not see. You lose your breath for a moment and blush so hard you almost forget both the kindness and terror of the rest of the package. It seems to be divided into care for you and…some other forms of urges. As if. As fucking if.

"Google, remind me to photograph this tomorrow in good light," you say to nothing, "to use as evidence either after this person manages to kill me or before, if the courts move faster than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping."

Against your better judgement, you carry the box to your room and watch it for a while, as you do other things, but can never quite relax. Surely he can't be serious. Your name isn't Shirley.

There was also a note you now keep flinging on your table and crunching in your hands, neatly written, with no name.

"Dear Y/N,

should you wish to meet someone qualified to help with the attached records, it has been arranged. Be at the coordinates listed between the red and white gift and you will be taken care of. No harm will come to you. You are safe. As right as rain."

Right as rain…that's a part of a poem, that absolute…dear God, fuck, the thoughts in your head are tumbling down at you and you collapse onto the bed, staring at your knees. It's a good thing he somehow didn't include your most loved flowers, since they're all poisonous. One of them you like specifically because it is elegant, sharp, snowy, and beautiful - and all of her body, leaves, and seed pouches scream "don't fucking touch me, if you do, you will die and wish for death the entire time you are doing so". You would very much like to be the flower now. Make someone else hallucinate.

You search the box again and find the beautiful gown, in red, and the gentle white lace undergarments - as kind and gentle and revealing as they are elegant. A little QR code is nestled between the lace.

"Nope. Nope nope NOPE. Absolutely not," you say out loud. Fighting the fact that the nightgown under the two other garments is cozy and light and so very beautiful. And it smells…oddly familiar. With a hint of something else. As if someone knew you loved scents of sweetness, vanilla, caramel, honey, and skin combined with darker, heavier tones that don't usually mix with feminine perfumes. Something lovely and gentle to draw you in, with something far more potent, enveloping, and enthralling to drag you down the lake to drown. And yet. Still. Something else. Something more. You decide to put on the gown and stare into a little crow's eyes. Such a pretty little statue, you don't even remember where you got it from.

"I'm going to be alright. Water is fine. This is just water. We've been here, we've been in the mud up to our noses." You are whispering to yourself, trying to sooth your mind. Metaphores, poems, sooth sooth sooth. You close your eyes, think of beautiful women, barefoot, in the dark of a forest. Glistening lights in their long hair, lights in their gorgeous eyes. Light on their feet, as they dance upon the water and through the marsh. You cannot drown a forest spirit of a woman scorned. They will mesmerize you, dance you, dance you to the end of your love and tether, and pull you into the depths. Then kiss you as you gasp for air.

You undress, eyes still closed, holding the long white gown. You slowly slide into the fabric, which clings to your skin as a lover's touch at the first sign of morning light. Still trying to be as unbothered and confident as a forest Rusalka. You aren't. But the gown smells nice. And it's quite light. Long sleeves, fabric that reveals but doesn't scream. Lace around your chest and stomach, falling down your hips and thighs.

…Kiss you as you gasp for air.

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In-ho was pleased with his gift. Not only the gift, but the message. Upon message. Upon message. He wondered, quite hopeful - yet reserved - if you understood them all. No matter.

You will. Oh, you will. Every word. Even if he has to cling them to your skin, one by one, with his own lips.

To the surprise of absolutely no one except you, perhaps, the small bird brought him all the feedback he could desire. Rather low quality feedback, he thought, as he watched you ponder, watched you crunch up the note, and watched you dress. Instinctively, he looked away as you began to slide your own clothes down. He glimpsed perhaps a strap, perhaps more skin than he first saw…light reflecting off you, sliding down, further down, caressing your tenderness…yet he looked away, calmly resolute to not look back. His gaze remained firmly in the corner of the room, he certainly wasn't fighting - or imagining himself being the photons of light resting on your supple skin. No. It would be unbecoming to watch a lady undress, so vulnerable, so unknowing. Never mind the rest. If you looked up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, In-ho's face wouldn't be next to it. It would be on the next page, because he would never be caught. As he looked back, you were dressed, not looking at yourself.

In-ho frowns for a moment, before he sees the rest of you. Even though it's just a phone screen and the picture quality truly isn't doing you justice, his breath is caught. He shifts and looks around instinctively, only a flicker of the eyes and a small movement of the neck. But he's nervous, nervous to be so exposed. He chuckles to himself just as unnoticeably - he's spying on you yet he's the one feeling exposed..was the chuckle to ease tension? This is just a game to him and you are nothing, after all. No one. He shifts once more and uncrosses his legs, one hand slowly combing his hair firmly away from of his forehead. Nothing. Just as it is nothing that is making the jacket around his neck feel tight. He sees you stand, further away now. He sees your entirety in the white flowing fabric, the lace, the…entirety…of you. His coat needs to come off, and is discarded to the side in haste. The remaining turtleneck isn't much help, but he goes in, now fully enthralled. Positioning himself, he endeavours to enjoy you. Slowly. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet, remaining fully in control, admiring, never taking, never grabbing. Never…needing. But as he moves down your face, your cheeks, your chin, along your neck all the way to your hair resting on your now exposed shoulders, back to your mouth and lips - he leans into the screen - those supple yet reserved, tender lips whispering gently and curling around words as if speaking to a sleeping lover in the night who is caught in a bad dream, the eyes - damn the picture quality - the eyes that glint, yet resemble dark pools amid features that are…that mean…his heart is fast. His eyes pools of reckless abandon. They flicker to the movement of your hips and tick fast, fast back up top, stopping at the almond curve the nightgown begets your breasts - In-ho's hands twitch as his fingers yearn with a mind of their own, to hear you gasp and squirm and melt under their touch as he teases, cups, and caresses in the gown's place. Tender flowers, waiting to be kissed. As you move, for him, for his eyes only, his mind floods through its inhibitions and begins racing on instinct - yet does so wrapped in cotton; barely subdued. Algorithms, scenarios, plans - ten a second - gather in his mind - resting on nothing but your features, spurred into existence by you, your lips, your form, your movement. He's watching the last flame dance before him in a sea of suffocating darkness, and it is his. Tension grips The Frontman's trousers as he digs his fingers in to feel something, anything, as if to drag himself back, painfully if need be - all this…for a low quality moving picture of you.

You. Your self before him. No adjective does it justice to In-ho, no painter could stroke its surface, nobody could own this moment. Nobody but him. And he cannot reach, reach through the screen, for you, for you mean…you in your entirety, before him, vulnerable, bare, unknowing, both a deity to be worshipped and a form to be devoured and left pleading, barely breathing under him, his grasp, his hot breath, you, you mean…

…nothing to him. In-ho leans back again. He breathes a bit faster, containing himself. As his breath slows and features fall back into place, he straightens the trouser leg and exhales. Your name is on his lips as he does so; he whispers it to himself. A name that doesn't seem to leave his tongue, no matter how many times it wraps around every syllable.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you are nothing."

He turns off the screen with one click. "Nothing." He gets up, leaving the phone behind. He is back to his true self - unbothered, cold, empty. A statue of stone. It was fun while it lasted, but the shell he wears gets tired of the falsity imbued in it during these little sidesteps. Little adventures to ease the monotony. Your records lie on the table, next to his glass of dark liquer. He walks over slowly, cradles it, sipping with restraint, and puts it down just as slowly in the exact same place. He goes on with his evening, thinking, it must be said, of nothing. He continues his work, thinking of nothing. Nothing replaces the drabble of his underlings as they update him on the latest games. Nothing is on his mind as he showers, nothing is in the water that glides down his own body. Nothing is in the warmth that he doesn't imagine being replaced nor coming from a different source. The voice of nothing is in the hiss and humm of the shower, nothing sings to him sweetly as it envelops his form. Nothing is woven into his satin sheets, nothing still smells of the perfume he picked for you, nothing is in his bed and pillows and nothing is slowly, invariably, fatally invading his mind. The cologne he uses, the same cologne he rubbed upon certain parts of the gown you now rest in, isn't combining and wildly interweaving with your gentle, warm, sweet, yet heavy scent. Nothing is everywhere and nothing is driving him absolutely stark, staring mad as he lays there - naked, exposed, amid satin sheets, it is nothing that invades his dreams and wraps him in sensations he can still only dream of.

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Barren lands and dusk. No flowers. No life. In-ho is alone. As far as the eye can see lies nothing. He cannot feel his mask. A shape is in front of him, laying there, incredulous. Unfitting its surroundings. As if guided by an unseen hand, he walks up to her slowly and kneels beside her. She is dressed in white fabric, falling across her skin, exposing more than is becoming of such a form. Her hand is resting next to her head, her other at her side. She is peacefully asleep. A gentle humm escapes her lips - she must be dreaming. In-ho glides the back of his hand everso carefully across her cheek, guiding it down her neck and stopping at her collarbones. Her chest lifts in a slow rhythm as her skin touches his. She is his. Is she not? He could...open his hand, and his hand opens. He could place it around her neck, and he does. As he feels her warmth and blood pumping into his hand, he thinks he could squeeze and hold down. He doesn't. The form reacts to his intentions, seemingly, her face frowning in the most unnoticeable way, lips falling from their previous peaceful expression to a worried frown. As if caught in a bad dream.

No, no, no.

In-ho releases the pressure and merely rests his hand on her neck, pushing errant strands of hair away from her skin. They fall around her shoulders and between the fingers of his other hand, which lifts instinctively to cradle her head. Her expression relaxes, and he smiles almost on instinct. Suddenly, her eyes flutter open and gaze into his own, almost unblinking and holding his gaze. The pools of comforting darkness set in an innocent visage drive electrical current through his entire body and In-ho almost has to steady himself against the ground where his hand is holding her head, still. She isn't scared, she only gazes and studies, lays, and rests in his own dark eyes. Her smile mirrors his. As if the two of them were already familiar, already far beyond anything novel. She whispers to him.

"Darling, this isn't your place."

In-ho doesn't think, he knows the voice. The gentle, slow, melodic whisper that he wishes to hear before he goes to sleep himself. Putting more strength into his grip, he places his dominant palm in hers as it still lays beside her head. He squeezes her down. Without thought, his body shifts to move above hers, holding her gaze, now directly on top of her, without touching her body with his. His hands no longer gentle, but firmly holding down. His thumb caresses her cheek as his other hand pushes her palm into the ground.

"It doesn't need to be."

As the sentence barely left his lips, he connects them with her neck, firmly kissing the skin and pulling her into his bite. The taste is intoxicating, and beckons for more. Sweet, tender, pure, intoxicating. Down her neck he plants kisses and barely restrained bites, gliding his touch, gripping her hand and moving his other to her neck once more. He hears gasps and timid moans, and he moves down, lips brushing against her chest and resting upon it. He lets go of her hand and finally grips her, under the small of her back, caressing and squeezing her waist, lifting her body into his. Now he feels her. Now he feels her being react and pressure and squirm, now he feels the pulse of her body directly under his and melting into him. Every movement, every gasp, every beat of her heart - in his control, under him, sinking into him. Her waist lifts against his and he eagerly helps it up, feeling his need against her body, finally, all he needs to do is tear off the gown, take her, make her fully his and hear her cries and moans as he takes what is his. Still in control of himself, he fully recognizes his itch, his need, his voracious hunger. He recognizes it and fully gives into it.

But the dream does not let him.

Something is wrong. The body is colder now, her breathing is slow, her voice no longer caressing him, her being no longer reacting to his touch. The current fizzled out. Pulling away, he sees the damage done - even as her eyes are wistful and her smile still there, it is sorrowful and soft, gazing down at him although broken under him. He sees her neck and chest, her breasts exposed, her skin red with bite marks, red with his signatures. Lines where his grip failed to falter rest on her tender flesh, her pallor a canvas for his need and depravity. For his destruction. He does not want this, he does not want her like this, his mind races and tries to get back in control but cannot. The canvas before him begins to soak through in crimson, blood pools into the white fabric where he lay and pushed and tried to take her. As he watches the gown cling to her stomach with blood, fear drives cold daggers through his back. He is no longer the Front Man, he is himself. Himself before a Front Man ever was. And he is...scared. Still her voice reaches him, doing nothing to alleviate his state, doing nothing to destroy the damn invisible barrier that keeps him from holding her close, holding her together, holding him together.

"Not like this darling, not like this again."

How is she still smiling? How does she seem so cold yet encompassing an utter lack of proximity? Holding her now seems like the most sacriligeous, repugnant thing he could do. His hands shiver lightly, how is he afraid to touch her now? After all that? She is his, his, this is all so incredibly wrong! He doesn't care, he doesn't have feelings for such frivolities, she is a dime a dozen, she is worth nothing, and she is nothing to him; nothing.

And she's still smiling, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she can hear his inner turmoil and has seen it thrice before.

"Taking what you want, never what you need."

In-ho looks down at his own body, which begins to feel cold and wrong. As if missing something vital. He smells copper, his hand feels hot as he touches his chest yet his body grows colder. The last thing he remembers before waking up in a freezing sweat is looking down at his own body, now filled with open chasms wherever it touched hers - gaping empty holes that can be filled with nothing, bleeding him into the ground as she watches on.

In-ho gasps, springs up into a seated position and touches his chest, his stomach - and breathes in relief. As he is composing himself, a new manner of play begins to form in his mind. Between hurried breaths and elevated pulse beats, he plans a new way to play this game and win.

[xiaq]

Would you ever write a story or book about Kuzy? I need more of himmmm ❤️ one of the few characters I'd read MF for though I feel like if anyone would be chill about finding out he was bi and going with it, it'd be Kuzy lol #yeshomo

@rainbowsandcoconut

I don't currently have any substantive plans for a Kuzy story, but if you want some of my brainworms about him/his eventual romance, here you go:

He lives right next to a firehouse and there's a cute, kickass firewoman (cis, leans androgynous) named Nicole "call me Nic" with whom he has occasional banter-moments (I used to live next to a firehouse and if they were out front they'd always chat with me when I walked the dog; I loved that community dynamic).

One night after a rough game, Kuzy is going for a walk and Nic is sitting out on a lawn chair in front of the house processing a rough call, and they have a moment of shared vulnerability together, looking up at the stars. She's the child of immigrants and they bond over how stupid the English language is. Kuzy tells her about Eli/Hawk and she mentions that she loves dogs but can't have one with her work schedule.

Over the next few days, Kuzy can't stop thinking about her. He wants an excuse to see her more often that doesn't feel creepy, so he goes to the shelter nearby and offers to exercise dogs. Now, he has a perfectly good reason to walk past the firehouse (sometimes multiple times a day!) on the off-chance the firefighters are out and he can politely offer a dog's brief company for Nic's enjoyment.

Except he's not super smooth about it because the rest of the folks at the house realize pretty quickly that the giant Russian walking dogs only happens to walk dogs on the days that Nic is on shift.

Convenient.

This continues for longer than it probably should. Until Kuzy is hosting some of the Hounds and one of the rookies does something stupid. Not sure what. I'm thinking gets his hand stuck in an expensive vase. Or maybe his head. And Kuzy very sheepishly has to walk him over to the firehouse like, "hello, this baby is my responsibility, can you please rescue him?" And they eventually get the thing cut off of his hand/head/whatever but one of Nic's bros pulls Kuzy aside and says, "maybe you should just ask her out instead of coming up with increasingly more creative excuses to talk to her—at this rate someone is going to get hurt" and Kuzy is like, “ok, this was 100% not contrived and while I would like to go out with her, she is a goddess who saves lives and I am but a goofy athlete, undeserving of her attentions," and Firefighter Bro like, "you know, I think she'd settle for you."

So, spurred on by this bit of hope, he's like, "I need to do this right, this can't just be some hookup, I like her." And he starts Operation Woo Nic.

And the whole time Nic is like, "would you just fucking take me home, I would like to bang you," but he's trying so hard to be a gentleman about it that she lets him for a while. She's never been woo'ed before. Might be fun. Eventually she gets fed up and when he's dropping off cookies or whatever on his daily dog-walk she's like, "hey, do you want to be my boyfriend? Yeah? Great. We should have sex about that. My shift ends in three hours, what's your address?"

It is possibly the best day of Kuzy's life.

Anyway. As usual, there's no real plot, just vibes. But he is Smitten. And she is hopelessly endeared. And she's certified as a paramedic, so she's constantly ragging him for his little injuries and keeping him honest about PT. At some point she gets injured in the line of duty and he gets to be suitably dramatic and probably make declarations at her hospital bedside. He dotes on her for a while during her recovery.

And eventually he convinces her to move in with him so she can be close to work and she's like, "yeah? That's the only reason? For the ease of my commute?" And he says, "well that but also because I love you more than I thought was possible and when we're not together I miss you like a limb and our schedules are shit enough as it is, I'm greedy for every second I can have with you," and she's like, "yeah, fair enough."

So. Not really sure how it would end, but uh. There you go! Kuzy and his Firefighter Lady. Also he definitely foster-fails multiple times and hires a full-time nanny to take care of all his and Nic's dogs when she's on shift and he's traveling. It's great.

AND I imagine some very funny cultural confusion moments when her family (Japanese) interacts with his family (Russian) but they all generally bond over their shared love of fermented foods and dumplings. And alcohol. There are hijinks.

Ok. The End!

[lunememes]

🌙 * ― 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐓 ( a collection of sentence starters from season one of amazon's fallout show. feel free to adjust the wording and pronouns as needed! do not add to the list. )

❛  and in that respect, he could be a cannibal or just like, crammed full of tumours. ❜ ❛  flesh is weak but steel endures. ❜ ❛  unless you know what to find and preserve, you're more useful as a corpse. ❜ ❛  how do we know they're not feral? ❜ ❛  well what makes you think i give a good goddamn about that? ❜ ❛  well what the fuck would you know 'bout where i'm from? ❜ ❛  but for me, well, i do this shit for the love of the game. ❜ ❛  you come from a place of rules, of laws. this place is indifferent to all of that. ❜ ❛  question is, will you still want the same things when you have become a different animal altogether? ❜ ❛  you earn the suit through acts of bravery. this is an act of bravery. ❜ ❛  and i'm telling you you're gonna go through a whole lot worse if you stay 'round here. trust me. ❜ ❛  clean hair. nice teeth. and all ten fingers. must be nice. ❜ ❛  the vaults were nothing more than a hole in the ground for rich folks to hide in while the rest of the world burned. ❜ ❛  you know your kind ain't welcome here. ❜ ❛  you gotta be fucking kidding me. ❜ ❛  you'll be lucky if you can make it to fucking breakfast. ❜ ❛  i'm sorry for yellin', been shot in the leg. ❜ ❛  do you have anyone else you can trust in this town? ❜ ❛  do i really have to kill him? ❜ ❛  well, if you like the taste of lavender, why not just drink a bottle of perfume? ❜ ❛  that's the worst thing i've ever put in my mouth. that's horrible. ❜ ❛  do unto others as you would have done unto you. ❜ ❛  thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time. ❜ ❛  water water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. ❜ ❛  where do you think you're going? you ain't going nowhere. ❜ ❛  there you are, you little killer. ❜ ❛  no! what a disgusting idea. i'm simply going to harvest your organs. ❜ ❛  i may end up looking like you, but i'll never be like you. ❜ ❛  i really wanna believe you but practically every person i've met up here has tried to kill me. ❜ ❛  listen, hey. you don't get this medicine, you're gonna pass out, okay? and if you lose consciousness, we're both gonna die. ❜ ❛  i've seen these in old engineering manuals but never in real life. ❜ ❛  now, seeing as everyone on earth seems to be after that thing, i'm guessing that's what you're looking for too? ❜ ❛  and you could've killed me when i collapsed back there and you didn't. ❜ ❛  i get that trust doesn't come easily up here. but you can trust me. ❜ ❛  i hate it up here. ❜ ❛  the things i'm willing to do for you never cease to amaze me. ❜ ❛  hey, hey, hey. come here. i'm sorry. i know you always try to do the right thing. that's what i love about you. ❜ ❛  trust doesn't come easily to those of us with a guilty conscience. ❜ ❛  in my experience, the apple tends not to fall too far from the tree. is that true in your case? ❜ ❛  these people are hiding something from us, and i'm gonna prove it to you, okay? ❜ ❛  there's always some new little faction, ain't there? brand new team of believers with their own dumbass ideas about how they gonna save the world. ❜ ❛  so what d'you think [name]? am i really walking out of here today, or are you gonna try and draw on me for what i did? ❜ ❛  a good bad guy doesn't see themselves as the bad guy. ❜ ❛  and yet power is taken, not given. a lesson you seem to have learned. ❜ ❛  war never changes. ❜ ❛  you look out at this wasteland, looks like chaos. but there's always somebody behind the wheel. and that's who i wanna talk to. ❜ ❛  maybe you can stop them. maybe you can't. maybe all you can do is try. ❜

[cerebralisis]

I decided to make my analysis of So High School into a separate post, because I can’t help but think of this song every time I see photos of Taylor at the games. And sure, it sounds like a love song on the surface until you remember that Taylor was bullied in high school and start to dig a little deeper. Feeling "so high school" is not something a 34 year old woman wants to feel.

Let’s look at the lyrics.

"I'm sinking, our fingers entwined, cheeks pink in the twinkling lights" = To me this sounds like drowning, embarrassment, and diving in with the sharks

"Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me" = You mean her first Chiefs appearance when they 'slid off in the getaway car' at the end? Nothing good starts in a getaway car, babes.

"I'll drink what you think and I'm high from smoking your jokes all damn night" = I mean...

“I'm watching American Pie with you on a Saturday night" = What do we know about this movie? We know that it is renowned for its high school immaturity and misogyny. It’s about a bunch of horny boneheaded men who treat women like sex objects instead of people. Sounds a lot like football culture to me.

"Your friends are around so be quiet. I'm trying to stifle my sighs." = I'm in the box with your friends and family. I need to hold it together so I don't offend them, but I legit hate this.

"Cause I feel so high school" = SHE HATES THIS.

"Bittersweet 16 suddenly" = I don't think she was a fan of high school, you guys.

"Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? It's just a game but really, I'm betting on all 3." = A clear reference to that kiss/marry/kill interview with Travis, while also saying "we're gonna get together, put on a show for everyone, and I'm going to slowly die inside until we're done."

"Get my car door, isn't that sweet. Now pull me to the backseat" = All I hear with this is Movie Director Taylor giving instructions to her leading man so they can get a good reaction from the audience.

"You know how to ball, I know Aristotle." = You're a jock. I'm a nerd. We are not compatible.

"Touch me while your bros play grand theft auto." = The official song lyrics on Spotify put grand theft auto in lowercase the first time and capitalized the second time. The capitalized GTA could refer to Travis's friends playing the video game, sure. But also - you know who was arrested in August 2023 for grand theft auto? Bashaud Breeland, a cornerback for the Kansas City Chiefs who played with Travis in the 2020 Super Bowl.

"It's true, swear, Scout's Honor" = Look it up, I dare you.

And my absolute favorite:

"On the brink of a wrinkle in time" = This is TTPD, folks. Of course there's going to be a literary reference. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle. The main character is a girl named Meg who is incredibly bright but struggles in school because she doesn't fit in with the other kids. After meeting a trio of badass witchy women, Meg travels to far-off worlds (a sort of deep portal time travel, you might say) where she joins the battle of light vs. darkness. What do we know about Taylor’s usage of light and darkness throughout her discography? It's giving… Reputation vs. Daylight? Shrouded in secrecy vs. out in the open? Based on everything else that Taylor has been hinting at through TTPD (not to mention Evermore and Midnights), it sounds like she is on the verge of diving into a much larger battle. And if I had to guess, I would bet that this battle will start during the Reputation re-release. Around Halloween. 🎃 When exile ends. Almost exactly 2 years after the Bejeweled music video was released. Maybe the old Taylor can't come to the phone right now cause she's dead?

I'm just speculating, but I will add that the 3rd book in the Time series is called A Swiftly Tilting Planet. There is a poem referenced through the book that goes like this:

With Ananda in this fateful hour, I place all Heaven with its power, And the sun with its brightness, And the snow with its whiteness, And the fire with all the strength it hath, And the lightning with its rapid wrath, And the winds with their swiftness along its path, And the sea with its deepness, And the rocks with their steepness, And the Earth with its starkness, All these I place with God's almighty help and grace between myself and the powers of darkness.

The word ‘Ananda’ mentioned above is the name of a character in the book, which is significant to the story because it’s a Sanskrit word that describes the eternal bliss that accompanies the ending of the rebirth cycle. If this series is what Taylor is referencing then it’s sounding more and more like she’s going to kill off Taylor TM and be done with the games, done with the reinvention. The plot summary of A Swiftly Tilting Planet says that it’s a book about "going back in time and changing might-have-beens." What decisions would she have made differently if she could do it all over again?

I don't know, friends. Take from this what you will. All I know is, this woman and all her brilliant duality is going to send me to a padded room. ✌🏻

[thinking-emoji]

While we're at it. Here's the Radio Adelaide interview!

Transcript under the cut!

Interviewer: What's been going on with me earlier today was I spoke with Dan and Phil, who are on their Terrible Influence tour at the moment. I think they're in Sydney right now. Even though I had to call them on the phone via England, they're going to be on at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next week, Monday the 16th of December. And these guys, they're a British internet- YouTube- radio hosts. They're critics of games. They're book authors. Dan and Phil, they're currently in Australia having their Terrible Influence tour which lands in Adelaide at the Entertainment Centre next week. And it's attempting to take back what the internet took from them. So it's allegedly a screamingly hilarious live stage show. I have no doubt that it is hilarious. They're older, gayer. Phil's gone blonde evidently and nothing is off limits. Now I was brought to the attention of them by some younger folk, who asked me to ask them some certain questions and throw some sort of slightly strange questions at them. And I haven't got time to include all of those questions. And also I had a call after the interview from one of the duo suggesting that “ehh, you might get trolled if you ask a question like that and people misinterpret it” because I was asking- I believe they've become a couple. I'm not sure if they've got married but they may have got married or they may just be, like, going steady but they're a terrific pair of comic lads. In the- in the vein of Kenny Everett, sort of. They don't have a TV show as such. They were both YouTubers, which means that they had little YouTube shows and then they started guesting on each other's show and then they eventually started doing stuff together. Very interesting lads. And I just really want to play the interview now.

Dan: I've got a mullet now that I'm in Australia because apparently that's what the people do. I just think Australians have more fun. So I wanted to appropriate a bit of the culture while we’re here doing the show.

Phil: I think it's more of a micro mullet, Dan, though. You know, you haven't gone full mullet, it's more of a micro…

Dan: It's a mullet without the T. It's just a mull-e.

Interviewer: (laughs) Mull-e. All right. Just with that sort of hard...

Dan: Without the T, yeah.

Interviewer: Hard E on the end. How has your tour been going so far, gentlemen?

Dan: It's been amazing to be in Australia. No offence. We loved having a great time in America. But we're very happy to be in Australia. Although – I know it's summer. Why is it so hot? Nowhere on Earth it should be this warm.

Interviewer: You haven't reached Adelaide yet, have you?

Dan: No, God. Don't tell me it's warmer.

Interviewer: Yes, yes. We're in the middle of a very dry, arid area. Very isolated. A long way from anywhere. But there's only about maybe 30 or 40 tickets left at your gig here.

Dan: We're happy for the people of Adelaide. You know, they're out here in that dry, arid desert. And there's nothing to do but come to the Dan and Phil show. And we love them for that. They're all making responsible financial decisions. So we're very grateful for all the people that are coming to the show.

Phil: And if there's 40 people listening, come hang out with us. It's going to be a fun time.

Dan: Yeah. What else are you doing on that night?

Phil: We're going to be pumping the air con out.

Dan: Yeah, just come to have somewhere cool to sit in the theatre. You know what I mean?

Phil: Yeah.

Interviewer: Are you collecting things from your hangouts that you're going to discuss at the next show? Like before a show, if people hang out with you, give you a piece of artwork or a little letter or a note, something like that. Do you then discuss it in front of the next...

Dan: Oh, a big trendy thing these days. Yeah. Taylor Swift has started this trend of the bracelets that people spell out things on. So people would make like a little bracelet that says Dan or Phil in beads. And the other day I had someone that gave me a bracelet that said Vegemite on it. (Interviewer laughs) And I was like, what the heck? And they said, you don't understand. This is incredibly culturally important. So I was like, okay, thank you. I will cherish this Vegemite bracelet.

Phil: Yeah. I got one that said Koala Daddy. I'm not sure what that meant, but-

Interviewer: Koala Daddy?

Phil: Yeah. I think that's what they were calling me.

Interviewer: Have you actually dipped your tongue into any Vegemite as yet?

Phil: I have. I would have to say it was one of the most horrific experiences of my life. I'm sorry.

Dan: What, Phil, you don't like a yeast-based condiment?

Phil: No.

Dan: How dare you.

Phil: Dan loves it though. He's a bit of a…

Dan: I'm just a yeasty kind of guy.

Interviewer: Yeah. It's kind of up there with Marmite, isn't it?

Phil: It is, but I only eat sweet things, so I couldn't handle it. But Dan was eating his second portion of toast this morning. He loved it.

Interviewer: Yeah, yeah. It's good for you.

Phil: And last time we were in Adelaide, we did a vlog where we explored the town, didn't we? We got some Tim Tams. We did a Tim Tam slam.

Interviewer: Fun!

Dan: Yeah, the national sport.

Interviewer: The national sport, sucking coffee through a Tim Tam.

Dan: Hell yeah.

Phil: I can get down with that.

Interviewer: Yeah yeah. It's a lot of fun to do. You realise that our Premier is the one who started the ball rolling with the social media ban for under 16-year-olds? You're lucky that you're here now at this stage of your career rather than at the beginning of your career because there's a lot of young people who have grown with you who will be able to come and see your show.

Dan: Yeah, absolutely.

Interviewer: Are you relying on them sort of moving forward with you?

Dan: People have been with us for a long time and people tell us some things and it's very disturbing.

Phil: Yeah, we've had some people meet us that are like, I watched you 10 years ago, I'm still watching you now. I've got a whole child now and it's like, what is happening? (Interviewer laughs) Time isn’t real.

Interviewer: It's kind of a historic moment. You're probably the first English lads to have linked in to YouTube and the internet and gone off the way that you have.

Dan: No, we were, well, we come from an early generation. Phil has been doing it so long that you couldn't even make a career off YouTube yet. There was no monetisation. He was just doing it out of boredom. That's how terrifying it is.

Phil: I'm a YouTube dinosaur, so yeah, I think definitely I was one of the first ones to do it. And it's crazy that we're still doing it now, 15 years later.

Interviewer: It's basically become a career for you, hasn't it?

Dan: Absolutely. And none of it was planned. It's been a constant, you know, runaway train since day one. And the emergency brake’s gone off a long time ago.

Interviewer: What kind of experiences are you getting to have in your downtime while you're in Australia this time around?

Dan: Well, I wanted to go to the beach and then Phil said there's a high chance we're going to get eaten by a shark. And I was like, a high chance? I don't know about that. And then we asked a guy and he was like, oh, no, they're out there. I see them every week, so...

Phil: I'm hoping to look into the eyes of a wombat and have an emotional connection.

Dan: A deep spiritual moment, ok.

Phil: My favourite animal.

Interviewer: A wombat?

Phil: Yeah, I love a wombat.

Dan: Underrated.

Interviewer: Do you like the hairy-nosed wombat or just the plain old brown one?

Phil: I'm not sure of the difference. Maybe I need to find that out. Maybe that's going to be my quest in Adelaide.

Dan: You need to meet both and make a decision.

Phil: Yeah I will.

Interviewer: Yeah, if you come face-to-face or nose-to-nose even with a hairy-nosed wombat, he's more likely to roll over and let you cuddle his tummy. The other ones have got a wet nose -

Phil: Okay, good to know.

Interviewer: -and they're a little bit more aggressive.

Phil: Okay.

Dan: Sounds like me.

(Interviewer laughs)

Interviewer: Have the audiences been laughing at all the right spots so far?

Dan: Definitely. And they've been laughing at all the inappropriate spots where they're not supposed to as well. So we'll take it. You either have an audience that laughs all the time, even at inappropriate moments, or a quiet one. And I don't want a quiet one.

Phil: Also, the good thing about our show is we try to give everyone a recap of everything that's happened in the last 15 years. So if you're like, oh, I used to watch Dan and Phil a while ago, you can still come along and you're going to get right up to speed.

Dan: We know that people are dragging their husbands, their mothers, their older sisters to the show. And these people are like, what the heck is going on? So don't worry, we covered the base.

Interviewer: Sounds pretty darn good to me. I hope you have a fantastic time in Adelaide and you continue to enjoy yourselves.

Dan: Thank you.

Interviewer: Ride the wave. Don't worry about sharks.

Phil: Excellent. Well, yeah, we're looking forward to it. Thanks. Nice to speak to you.

Interviewer: You too. Cheers, lads. Dan and Phil.

Phil: Cheers!

Dan: Bye.

Interviewer: They'll be at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next Monday coming on the 16th. So if you are keen to see them do their thing live on stage, go and join the masses that have already bought their tickets. Get in while you can.

@dnp-described

[24hlevi]

Can i please have a Ashlyn x fem reader??🥺 were the Sbg group does the pocky challenge and manages to get Ashlyn to agree to join, and so everyone has a turn with each other (Except for the siblings and cousins ofc) and Ashlyn keeps on backing out every 1-3 bites. While fem reader beats everyone. But then it finally came to Ashlyn and Fem readers round, and surprisingly Ashlyn didn’t back out and they both get really close to each other and finally the reader backs out blushing and Ashlyn wins. (SORRY IF THIS IS A VERY LONG DESC, ive requested this multiple times but i dont think anyone has done or approved of it yet im despratee🤧)

this is actually so cute wtf....thank you for the req! 🫶🫶

— POCKY CHALLENGE!

ashlyn banner (school bus graveyard) x fem!reader

warnings/tags: fluff, mild language, mutual pining, confessions!!

"this is so dumb."

"oh, don't be a downer, ashlyn!" aiden retorts, opening the pocky box, struggling to open the actual package. "this is gonna be so fun!"

"yeah!" taylor nods from her spot on the couch. "we're all friends, it won't be weird or anything. celebrities do this all the time!"

"this isn't a variety show like those kpop idols you watch, taylor," tyler rolls his eyes.

"don't disrespect them!" taylor points a finger at her brother.

"anyways," you say loud enough for them all to hear. "who should go first?"

"i want to!" both taylor and aiden raise their hands excitedly.

"alrighty then," you nod. ben takes the package from aiden who was still struggling and opens it before handing it to you. "taylor hernandez, in the right corner!" you announce as you stand up. "aiden clark, in the left corner!" you fail to notice a pair of eyes on you as you stand between taylor and aiden, taking a pocky out of the package. "okay, i'm going to give you guys one of these, both of you will have each end in your mouth and you'll get closer and closer until one chickens out. this is basically a fun game of chicken. remember, we're all friends! if anything happens, i doubt it'll do anything. are you two ready?" you glance between the two.

"ready!" they say and nod.

"awesome," you grin, handing the pocky to aiden. "round one, start!"

you sit back down on the couch next to ashlyn watching the next few rounds go on. you were grinning from ear to ear every time it was your turn, winning each time you competed. ben was keeping score for fun, and you were easily winning with aiden trailing close behind, only losing cause he backed out at the same time ashlyn did when they did theirs.

now, it was ashlyn and tyler, the second to last round before it was you and ashlyn. taylor was sitting beside you while watching aiden announce the start of the round.

"y'know, i think she's nervous," taylor says to you in a hushed voice.

"hm? i'm surprised she even agreed," you reply, looking over at taylor. "i mean, this was aiden's idea so."

"that's not what i mean," taylor shakes her head. "i mean clearly she's getting more nervous because you're the last round." she says, trying to subtly hint at you ashlyn's feelings towards you.

now you look at her with confusion. "why? cause i keep winning?" you question.

taylor stares at you with a deadpan expression. you're serious. jesus christ. "no," she says slowly. "because-"

"and tyler wins!" aiden exclaims, clapping his hands. "and another loss for ashlyn." he says with a sigh. "anyways! for the final round we have yn and ashlyn! yn, get your ass over here!" aiden grins.

you get up from your spot on the couch and stand in front of ashlyn, smiling lightly as aiden hands you the pocky.

"alright, this is the last round, folks!" aiden says. "if yn wins, she wins the whole thing! if ashlyn somehow manages to win...i guess she also wins the whole thing cause yn is undefeated! are you two ready?" he looks at you two.

"yep," you nod, grinning as you put one end of the pocky in your mouth.

"i guess," ashlyn mutters with a nod, taking a step closer and putting the other end of the pocky in her mouth.

"amazing! let the final round start!" aiden yells, taking a few steps back and sitting on the couch next to ben.

ashlyn's eyes don't meet yours as you take a bite off the pocky, inching closer to her. she can't believe she agreed to do this stupid thing. but, when she finally does look at you, a sudden wave of confidence hits her, and she's determined to win. whether that be making you back out or getting to the end and kissing you. she takes two bites off the pocky, getting much closer than you anticipated causing your breath to hitch in your throat, a small blush forming on your face as you peer back at her.

she's taking you serious, and you couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. she had backed out within the first three bites with everyone else, and she just bite off more than you did first in all the other rounds. you try to keep your hands from shaking too much, shoving them in the pockets of your jacket so no one can see, starting to panic slightly as you take another bite.

one of ashlyn's eyebrows raise seeing you visibly tense up as you took another bite. you're nervous. that's new considering how well you were doing beforehand. a small smirk makes its way onto her face as she takes another bite, her lips inches away from yours.

you freeze as ashlyn takes another bite, thinking she would back out by now. there was maybe two inches left of the pocky, and you could feel her breath hitting your lips from how close you were. you're not sure if you're breathing at this point, seeing the smirk form on her face and realizing she knows you're nervous. shit, when did she suddenly look so pretty? your face heats up more as your thoughts run around, and you find yourself cursing and pulling your face away from her.

everyone's jaws drop as soon as you take a few steps back, staring in shock as you quickly turn and look away.

"holy shit..." aiden lets out, standing up. "ashlyn has won!" he exclaims, clapping his hands. "great job, ash! as for you yn, i'm disappointed! what the hell happened?!" he looks at you.

"nothing," you quickly shake your head, not being able to look at anyone knowing how much you were blushing. "i need something to drink," you say, speedily walking away into the kitchen.

leaning your back against the kitchen island, you cover your face with your hands, groaning quietly in embarrassment. "such a dumb idea," you murmur into your hands.

"that's my line, y'know,"

you jump in surprise at the voice, removing your hands from your face to see ashlyn standing in front of you, fairly close. your eyes widen slightly as she takes a step closer to you, your mouth feeling dry as you look at her.

"why were you so nervous?" she questions. "with me, i mean," she adds.

"what?" you try to play it off, very obviously lying. "i wasn't nervous."

"uh-huh," ashlyn nods, leaning closer to you and seeing your eyes go wider. "see, you're nervous again. i can hear your breathing hitch. so why?"

shit, that didn't work. you don't know what to do now. you either admit the feelings you had and hope it doesn't blow up in your face, or lie again and hope it works. with a quiet, hushed voice, you manage to get words out. "i-i like you,"

a small smile forms on ashlyn's face at your confession. "good, cause i feel the same," she says in the same voice as yours. "now, can i kiss you since your dumbass chickened out before i could?"

all you do is nod your head, leaning closer as she does, your lips connecting with hers. it was short, pulling away quickly to not get caught by the others. you smile at her fondly, reaching for her hand and grabbing it. "see? this wasn't that dumb of an idea."

"yeah, i guess," ashlyn nods, a tiny smile on her face. "i'm not doing it again, though.

"even if it meant you would get a free pass to kiss me?" you tease.

"maybe not."