#yotp january | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

antlerjaw · 1 month ago

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year of the otp

January Prompt: First Kiss

Featuring: Julian Valentine x Will McBride

Word Count: 4,322

Julian lives in a trailer at the end of a half-mile driveway, nestled at an odd angle amongst a white grove of flowering dogwood trees. The gravel drive is crumbling at the edges, spilling in a rocky fall into piles upon piles of bracken and leaf-litter.

Will’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel of the cruiser, gravel crunching beneath the tires as she coasts to a stop in front of the house. The atmosphere within the cruiser is eerie and still – she can just hear the faint breaths of the man sitting behind her, seemingly hell-bent on wearing a Julian-shaped indent into the backseat of this SUV.

She waits a few moments, turning to glance over her shoulder at him. He’s hard to make out in the darkness of the backseat, but there’s enough light from the headlights to show Will what she needs to see – he’s slumped against the door, forehead pressed to the window.

His breaths fog the glass in a surprisingly steady rhythm, hands curled into loose fists in his lap where he’s anchored. Julian’s eyes are closed, though Will gets the sneaking suspicion that he’s wide awake.

She lets the cruiser idle as she unbuckles herself and hops out, circling around to pull open the rear door. Julian at least has the wherewithal to catch himself before he spills outward onto the ground, tethered to the floor of the cruiser by the steel chain looped around his handcuffs.

“We’re here,” Will says, careful to keep her voice measured. In the light of the moon, Julian’s lashes cast long shadows along his cheekbones as he adjusts his posture.

He’s uncomfortable, that’s obvious.

“You brought me home,” he observes, more a statement than a question. He peers over her shoulder, scanning the old trailer before returning his attention to her.

Will fishes the keys to the handcuffs out of her pocket. “Yes,” she says, dispassionate. “I did.”

She can’t bring herself to meet his gaze as his brow wrinkles, his hands lifting mechanically to meet her own. What is this, now – the fourth or fifth time he’s been arrested? Detained? How much of this is nothing more than muscle memory to him?

Will takes the keys and fits them into the cuffs. His knuckles, where they brush her own, are rough, chapped, boasting the last straggling remnants of thrice-washed engine oil. The cuffs release with a metallic click and then Julian’s moving, shifting his legs, stepping one foot onto the gravel and then the next as he slips past Will.

There’s an odd sort of grace to the way he moves – like this is a dance he’s practiced hundreds of times, and now he’s performing, a ballerina putting on a show. He rubs the place where the cuffs sat with a thumb, pursing his lips.

“Why?” He finally asks, the word lingering on the edge of his tongue.

Why, indeed? He’d been counting cards at the casino again; dressed in different clothes, hair styled in a different way. She doesn’t know how he keeps slipping past security. Perhaps he’s some sort of shapeshifter.

“Did you want me to take you to holding?” She wonders. She thought he’d be happy to come home.

He stares at her, brow furrowed, head cocked at an off-kilter angle. His thinking face, as she’s come to know – that face he makes when he’s sizing up a mark, or in Will’s case, trying to understand something that can’t be explained.

After a while, he exhales. “Not particularly.” He straightens a bit, as if he’d found the answer he was looking for just by watching the wind pulling fingers through her hair, by watching the blood rise in her cheeks.

“Go inside,” says Will, jerking her thumb at the trailer. “The next time I catch you at the tables I’m going to arrest you, for real. You’re out of chances, Valentine.”

Julian steps forward wordlessly and she shuts the cruiser door behind him. His shoes crunch through the gravel as he begins to slink towards the trailer, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

Will watches him leave, eyes pinned to the space between his shoulders – willing him, begging him not to say anything. Not to turn around, or ask more questions, or –

Her efforts are futile as he presses the tab above the door handle that releases the latch. He turns over the opposite shoulder, lips pressed into a contemplative line. “Do you want to come in?” He asks, tilting his chin at the door.

Julian pushes it open, and the interior is dark. Every nerve and academic cell in Will’s body lights up with suspicion – never go into the domicile of a detainee without radioing dispatch.

But dispatch doesn’t know she’s here, do they?

Dispatch doesn’t even know she brought him home.

Will swallows roughly and studies Julian’s face; or, what little of it she can see in the moonlight that pushes urgently through the upper canopy of dogwood trees. He seems sincere, a bloom of color kissing the edges of his freckled cheeks.

Her thumb brushes the handle of the pistol holstered at her belt, a familiar weight in an unfamiliar situation. She can’t say a criminal has ever invited her inside after spending several hours in the back of her cruiser – but Julian isn’t an ordinary criminal, is he? He never has been.

Several moments of impermeable silence pass before Will finds her feet carrying her forward, following the same path Julian took to his door, as if she’s nothing more than an ant following the marching order.

He steps aside as she nears, holding the door open for her. Such an odd thing – to laud Julian Valentine, of all people, as a gentleman. Surely it’s nothing more than the manners he’d been raised with.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He asks behind her, a sturdy presence that causes the back of her neck to prickle as he shuts the door and fumbles in the dark for a light switch.

“I don’t drink,” she says automatically, stepping forward aimlessly to remove herself from his path. He grunts noncommittally, the flat of his palm brushing her shoulder as he anchors himself to the wall.

Finally, the overhead light springs on, flickering once before shining in earnest. Will squints as her eyes adjust to the newfound brightness.

“I don’t mean that,” Julian amends, and when she turns to look at him, he’s perched near the doorway, nearly lifted onto the balls of his feet. He seems nervous. “Water, or tea. I have coffee, too.”

Will’s picked Julian up for public intoxication enough times to assume that he’d have little more in his home than cheap beer. Blinking at him, she tests the waters, cautious – “What kind of tea?”

Her icy demeanor has not yet begun to thaw, though it seems as if Julian can’t bring himself to care.

His brows shoot up, as if he’s surprised she’s even entertaining the idea. “Sweet tea. Black tea.” He turns abruptly to pull open a cupboard, peering inside. “Ginger turmeric. Delicious, but it turns your mouth yellow.”

Julian holds up the box of ginger tea, shaking it a little as if to emphasize his point. He watches Will for a second, and then the corner of his mouth turns up in the beginning of a smile.

There’s no trace of the drunkard she’d hauled out of the casino by the scruff of his neck. Come to think of it, she isn’t convinced he’d ever been drunk at all. Most times, she can barely think around the noxious cloud of fermented yeast and hops that trail him; infused into his clothes, his sweat, the breath coasting through his teeth.

Tonight, he seems bright – aware, even. Had it all been an act?

“Black tea,” she finally says, shifting on her feet.

Abruptly, she thinks back to the last time he’d sat behind her in that cruiser, handcuffed, forehead pressed to the cold glass. He’d asked her on a date – and she’d told him no.

But it had been conditional, hadn’t it? No, if.

If he stops drinking. If he gets his act together. If he applies himself to things beyond fraud and theft.

He couldn’t possibly have… right?

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, the rumbling tenor of his voice cutting through the fog of Will’s thoughts. She’s still standing in the doorway, she realizes, coat zipped up to her chin. Julian putters around in the kitchen, placing a kettle on the efficiency stove.

Will cautiously reaches for the zipper of her standard-issue coat, easing the metal tab down until it disconnects at her waist.

This affords her a moment to look around; to gain her bearings. To squeeze some control out of this situation, like squeezing blood from a stone. The trailer is immaculately tidy, not a speck of dust in sight. Books are stacked neatly on the central coffee table next to a blank-faced journal and an expensive-looking silver pen perfectly aligned with the table’s glass seam.

There’s a television in the corner, looking as if it’d sat in that very spot since the trailer was built in the… 80s? 90s? The whole thing is hard to place, as anachronistic as Julian himself.

Perhaps the most jarring discovery is that there’s a notable lack of… decoration. No personal effects, no posters, no lights, no framed photos. The walls, like most of the trailer, are depressingly barren. The furniture looks store-bought and hand-assembled, as impersonal as the eggshell walls.

“Honey?” Comes Julian’s voice from the kitchen, and something urgent shoots up Will’s spine. She looks across her shoulder at him, not sure what to expect, some sort of traitorous flush painting her neck. He’s holding up a plastic bear full of shimmering gold, then does it again – shakes it side to side, brows lifted, as if to emphasize his intentions.

Will swallows. “Sure,” she concedes, before ducking her head to busy herself with more idle observation.

Julian’s method of decorating seems odd for someone whose mind works so quickly. She doesn’t know him well, but she knows him well enough to understand that his mind, like a machine, is always working. Always. Perhaps the blank walls and the unappealing gray couch is a reprieve from the noise. Utter boring-ness to counteract the wild whims of his overactive imagination.

The stillness of the trailer is almost too much to bear, and then –

“Are you nervous?” Comes Julian’s voice, just as she’s moving to seat herself at the small kitchen table.

The question gives her pause. She shrugs out of her coat, letting the arms drape over the back of the chair she’d chosen. Julian walks towards her, fingers hooked through the handle of a steaming white mug. It looks like one of those standard-issue mugs that hotels give out, all thick white ceramic and heavy as a brick.

“No,” she finally says, meeting his eyes. There’s a warmth there that wasn’t there before – not when she’d wrangled him into handcuffs, not when she’d pressed her hand to the top of his head as he ducked into the backseat of her cruiser. “Should I be?”

He sets the mug down in front of her with a dull thud. His jaw is set, and she wonders if she’s upset him.

“I wouldn’t have invited you in if I didn’t want you here,” he finally says after a considerable stretch of silence. He drags the other kitchen chair out from where it’d been tucked beneath the table and settles down in it, his eyes scanning her features.

He looks at her as if he’s working to defuse a bomb, brazenly trying to determine which wire to snip to avoid a bloody detonation.

What an odd answer.

“I know your shift is over at midnight,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. He’s since shed his own coat, which had been draped over the back of the couch.

Will wordlessly lifts the mug to her lips, blowing some of the steam off the top. It warms her face, dampens her eyelashes. Julian isn’t good at hiding his intentions, not to her. It all seems very obvious to Will – the steady jolt of his knee as it bounces beneath the table, the restless tapping of his fingers against his bicep. “It’s 11:46.”

He’s nervous.

Is that what this is? Some awkward, convoluted method of cornering her? Furthermore, why is it working?

Certainly he must’ve slipped something into her tea. There’s a fuzziness around the edges of her resolve, which seems to be splintering under his idle scrutiny.

“Okay,” Will hedges, meeting his gaze over the edge of her cup. “Your observation skills are unmatched.” Her half-smile is toying, twitching into something vaguely fond. She likes the way color rises into his cheeks, painting the freckles beneath his eyes.

Something must be seriously wrong with her. Is she actually entertaining this?

Julian sputters indignantly and leans back in his chair, picking idly at the hem of his black t-shirt. “No, I ju- I just mean that–”

Will peers into her mug. “You didn’t drug me, did you?”

Her interruption is fast, like the calculated snap of a viper. She sets the mug down, halfway drained. Leans forward, resting both hands atop the table.

Julian sits forward abruptly, eyes wide. That fuzzy feeling prickles at the back of her neck as he moves, rapidly closing the space between them. This table isn’t that big, and –

“No, of course not.”

If Will didn’t know better, she’d think he was offended. Hurt his feelings, had she? She’s spent the better part of a calendar year locking and unlocking cuffs around his wrists, a faithful routine that even she’s come to count on as some sort of odd comfort.

She’s spent a long time watching Julian Valentine, waiting for him to slip up – waiting for him to show his hand, so she can spill forward and lock him away and forget he ever existed to begin with. He’s a card-counting drunk who picks fights he can’t win, but…

Will’s gut tells her that he’s far too smart to try anything dangerous. Her gun is holstered at her hip, her radio tuned to dispatch’s ever-busy frequency. Even now, voices chatter just below earshot; fire departments, emergency medical services, and even state police mutter commands and codes through the airwaves while Will sits at Julian’s table.

“I’m just saying,” he tries again, looking at her once more in that bomb-defusing sort of way. “It’s New Year’s Eve.” They’re close enough that she can watch the way his jaw feathers against his temple, can smell the faint cologne impressed into the fabric of his shirt.

It’s all very distracting, the way her mind trips over itself with possibilities. Treacherous, traitorous possibilities. The full curve of his tentative smile, the endless black of his eyes. “And you want me to stay,” she finishes, thudding a fist against the table to break the tension.

No point in dancing around the truth any longer than they have to.

Will already knows his intentions – but there’s control in knowing that he can’t figure out hers. “Stay and do what, exactly?” She prods, brows lifting in something of a challenge. She won’t settle for anything less than absolute honesty – he owes her that much, at least.

Julian leans back again, as if whatever invisible thread that had suddenly pulled him forward was suddenly snipped. “I don’t know,” he admits, shrugging. “I guess I’ve never celebrated the new year before. This is the first time I…” he pauses, and she wonders how many times he’s rehearsed this in his head.

“Haven’t been alone.”

Will picks up the mug again, unable to shake the warmth spreading in her chest. She takes a sip of the still-hot tea, if only to shield the way her treasonous mouth curls up fondly at the expression that’s laid plain across his features.

He’s hopeful. More than that, he’s being honest. For someone who’s spent an inordinate amount of time in detainment for lying to people, it almost means more to know that he’s being sincere.

He wants her to stay, more than anything. It’s not hard to read Julian Valentine; it’s as simple and thoughtless as scanning the pages of a beloved novel. He has a funny way of dismantling her objectivity, even now. Especially now.

What could fifteen minutes hurt?

Will can feel the way her stride breaks, the way her determination falters. There’s something buried there, in the way he’s watching her, in the way he’s drumming his fingers against his knee in a repetitive, predictable rhythm.

She glances at the digital clock that blinks above the stove.

11:50.

What are they going to do for the next ten minutes?

The silence that stretches long between them isn’t uncomfortable, not really, but Will finds herself itching to break it. “Julian,” she finally says, and she doesn’t miss the sharp inhale he takes through his nose at the sound of his first name. “How long has it been since you had a drink?”

No use in beating around the bush.

Interestingly enough, the question doesn’t seem to take him off guard. He lifts and then drops his shoulders in a shrug. “Two months,” he says quietly, averting his gaze.

It’s not what she’d been expecting him to say.

Two months ago, she’d arrested him for picking a fight at a nearby bar. He’d climbed dutifully into the back of her cruiser, cheekbone purpling with bruises, his lip bloody and fat and split straight down the middle.

Two months ago, he’d slurred his way through a question she can’t – won’t – forget.

“You wanna go out sometime?”

She’d laughed and shaken her head, taken by surprise. She’d responded instinctually, without thinking.

“Sober up, Valentine. We’ll see.”

Now, he watches her expectantly. Sober, bright-eyed, not a bruise in sight. A dog waiting for praise, a meaty bone, a tender scratch behind the ears. So different from the smooth-talking confidence man who handles a deck of cards as easily as manipulating a limb.

“Two months,” she parrots, and he nods in assurance.

She doesn’t hide her smile behind the mug again. Her tea is gone, now a faint warmth lingering in her throat, her belly.

Another glance at the clock. 11:55.

Julian follows her gaze, then looks back at her. “Five minutes,” he rumbles, scooting his chair out. “I don’t have any champagne,” he mutters as he rises. “Sorry.”

Will waves a hand at him. “I wouldn’t be here if you did,” she says, mirroring his movements. The legs of her chair scrape along the floor as she pushes out, then drags the chair back to where it had been tucked beneath the table.

Julian stands perfectly still for a moment, and Will can practically see the gears turning in his mind. Always thinking, he is. He seems to be stuck there, trapped within his mind, and when he looks at her again, there’s a shimmer of panic glistening in the black depths of his eyes.

A sigh coasts past her lips. “Come over here,” she says, taking a pointed step towards the small living area. She uses her knees to nudge the coffee table out of its spot, opening the floor up for movement. The coffee table has been in that exact spot for so long that it leaves indents in the carpet where the feet had pressed into the ground.

Julian follows obediently, as if her words have unrooted him from his place. Will gestures at the open floor. “You got any music?”

His cheeks flush pink as a daylily as he’s nodding automatically, turning on his heel and disappearing further into the trailer. He comes back moments later, an ancient antennae radio clutched between his hands. It’s dusty; the sort of radio with a tuning dial and a switch to swap between frequencies.

Julian’s expression is one of utmost concentration as he plants the radio on the countertop, switching it on. To Will’s surprise, it’s already tuned to the classical music station, the tinny sound of violins and pianos and surging cellos pouring from the ancient speakers.

And then he’s frozen again, standing completely still, a deer staring down a moving car. He’s terrified to make a move, she thinks, lest it be the wrong one. All he needs is guidance. A steady hand – someone to steer him in the right direction.

Will reaches for him, fingers extended. “Do you know how to dance?”

His eyes flick down to her hand, then back to her face, and then he’s stepping around the couch, sliding his palm across hers with a tenderness that nearly has Will choking on her own ego.

She wraps her fingers around his own and gives him a little tug, urging him closer. “I’m not going to bite you,” she says, the words emerging on the back of something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

His shoulders loosen as he draws nearer to her, frowning. His free hand settles on her waist, heavy and steadying. Will drapes an arm over his shoulder, thinking back to the ballroom lessons she’d taken as a teenager. After a moment, the lessons and steps begin to come back to her, one by one, dutiful as soldiers.

She sways a little. “What’s the time?” She asks. Will adjusts the arm around his shoulder, shifting just enough that she can circle her palm around the back of his neck. The skin there is hot, yet riddled with goosebumps.

Julian’s gaze is averted, watching the clock. “11:58,” he announces, sounding somewhat breathless. His voice crumples as she tests her limits, pushing the ends of her fingers into the dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck.

She hums. There’s something wonderful about the way he’s bending low, leaning closer. Will closes her eyes, swaying to the music, kicking his foot here and there to encourage him to move. He has a habit of rooting himself in place, she’s discovered, as if holding still will ease his worry.

But there’s nothing for him to worry about, is there?

She releases his other hand and mirrors her arms, draping each around his shoulders. “Are you nervous?” She asks, turning his question from earlier back on him.

His eyes drift around to meet her own. They’re close enough now that she can count his eyelashes, can feel the rapid pulse of his heart just below his jaw as it thuds beneath her thumb.

“It’s almost midnight,” is his response, his voice low and measured. His hand tightens at her waist, and now he’s holding her in place, anchoring her to his hips as if he’s afraid she’ll jump away from him at any second.

His feet have gone still again, and Will nudges him with the toe of her boot. Unlike before, he doesn’t begin to move again, now frozen, eyes searching, skin ever-warm beneath her hands.

“12:01,” she says finally, threading a palm up into his hair in earnest.

“What about it?” His voice is strained, tight, like he’s keeping something held at bay behind his teeth.

“That’s when I’m off the clock, Valentine.”

One swelling orchestra fades into the next as the song on the radio changes, the tempo slowing. The digital clock above the stove beeps once, a commanding, urgent tone. Midnight.

Julian looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin, though to his credit, remains stalwart and still. “Julian,” is all he says after a moment, eyes affixed to the clock. “You can call me Julian, you know.” He looks back at her, jaw tight.

Will’s grin is unmistakable as the clock blinks again. “Seems a bit personal, doesn’t it?”

This seems to break some of his tension. “More personal than dancing with me in my living room on New Year’s Eve?” There’s humor in his voice.

Will draws her fingers in idle circles along the back of his neck. “Guess not.”

And then she rises onto her toes and kisses him, quick and chaste and earnest. Nothing serious – just a new year’s kiss. For tradition. She’s off the clock, now, anyway.

When she opens her eyes, he’s staring at her, hands clamped around her hips, totally speechless. His mouth opens and closes, unable to find words, and then he’s sputtering her name, acting for all intents and purposes like his mind is waking up from a factory reset. “Will-” he starts, hoarse.

“Shut up,” she tells him, frowning. “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” he breathes, as natural a response as any. She’s shockingly aware of the way they’re pressed flush into one another, the way the temperature of his body is skyrocketing under her hands. Even now, he’s uncertain, floundering, eyes ever-searching for answers that she will not give him.

She can tell that he wants something. Needs something.

For once, Will thinks she can give it to him.

Closing the distance between them is as natural and thoughtless as breathing, she finds, and when she kisses him for the second time, she knows that there’s far more behind this endeavor than some sort of innocent new-year’s greeting.

He makes a noise in his throat, crumpling against her. His arms, which had been stiff at her waist, lift and curl and suddenly he’s crushing her against his front, acting as if it’s all he can do to get her closer.

Will smiles under his mouth.

When he finally releases her enough for her to pull back, she presses her thumb to the center of his lip, precisely where it had been split that night two months ago. “Don’t get comfortable,” she tells him, only slightly breathless. “You’re still going to have to work for this.”

Julian nods dutifully. “Anything,” he says.

And she believes him.

#yotp 2025 #yotp: january #oc: julian #oc: will #j.txt

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dumbsack · 2 months ago

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/61980889

Oh lookie I finally found the content warning tab. Many apologies...

So I guess I'm gonna do YOTP 2025. I turned the innocent prompt of sharing clothes into a smut. This is a Trials of Mana fic with Duran/Angela, because I love them.

Angela steals Duran's old shirt, so he punishes her by eating her out then bending her over his bed and fucking her. Hey, wait... Is that a punishment?

#yotp 2025 #yotp25 #trials of mana #duran/angela #smut #january yotp 2025 #sharing clothes #fanfiction #seiken densetsu 3

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autumnslance · 30 days ago

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YOTP 2025: January - May I Have This Dance?

The immediate aftermath of the battle for Ala Mhigo had been the usual weariness of such clashes. Aymeric was reminded of the final battle against Nidhogg, the relief and joy tempered by the work needed to care for the wounded and tend to the dead, to clear away the rubble of battle to allow passage and respite, proper rebuilding to come in the following months.

But also the impromptu celebrations, that relieved joy welling up until it could no longer be contained despite the losses, the freedom from fear an intoxicating sensation after so long. He smiled as he watched the Ala Mhigans find those feelings now, accompanied by their Eorzean cousins.

What began as military chow time turned into a feast, as locals joined in with what little they had, accepting relief packs from the Alliance even while sharing their stores of illegally hunted game, carefully hidden crops, dishes of surreptitiously collected salt, and of course, bottles of arak. It was a day of thanksgiving, excess could be excused.

A Gridanian Bard lifted a fiddle, joined by comrades across the Companies and a few of the community with a variety of instruments. Soon enough dancing began.

The Scions were spread throughout the crowds, working as tirelessly as ever, but someone pressed meals into Arenvald and the twins' hands, and gave Y'shtola and Urianger drinks. Aymeric heard Krile laugh, some of the strain of her own horrific experience lifting.

It took a moment to find a specific Scion, in emotional conversation with Lyse. Aeryn did not seem weary despite her exertions the day before—there had been a concerted effort to ensure their champion obtained several hours of sleep, and now she seemed alight with excitement as their talk moved from teary eyes to laughter, shoulders relaxing and toes tapping in time with the music.

Aymeric walked through the crowd with intent, but just before he arrived, another figure stepped up to the women. Aeryn's face lit like the sun as Thancred held out his hand. "May I have this dance?" he asked. He seemed far less assured than usual. Almost giddy, in fact, his expression mirroring Aeryn's.

She nodded in answer, and they skipped out to join the others gamboling in the open spaces.

A number of things clicked in Aymeric's mind at once. Of course. He was a tinge disappointed, perhaps, but it was understandable. Yet he couldn't help a smile at his friends' happiness.

"Thank the Twelve," Lyse said. "They may have finally figured themselves out. I was about ready to shove them both in a closet until they talked."

Aymeric laughed. "And 'tis likely you would have had help. Still, we cannot allow them to have all the fun. Commander?"

"Just the one," she said, taking his hand. "I've had a few other offers."

They joined the dancers, victory and freedom fueling their motions, while everyone pretended not to notice how two particular Scions danced liked there was no one else in the world.

#final fantasy xiv #YOTP 25 #Lyn Writing #Stormblood #Ala Mhigo #Aymeric de Borel #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #wolcred #shippy nonsense #Aeryn Striker #outside perspective

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icejinlov3r · 21 days ago

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I’m really excited for the next YOTP oneshot! I’ve been planning it since January, and it’s turning out really well!

It’s almost done! I’m hoping to finish it today or tomorrow. Bet you can’t guess which prompt I picked~

#random post #fanfic #i hope you guys end up liking it

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marshvlovestv · 2 months ago

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Now seems like a great time to officially announce the big project I’m doing in 2025! I will be attempting the Year of the OTP challenge ( @yearoftheotpevent ), which encourages you to write twelve new fics for a ship you love over the course of the year based on the prompts for each month. Because I have so many OTPs that I’m currently insane about, I’m of course being overly ambitious with it and will attempting to write 24 fics split between three ships:

My biggest obsession currently is Psychonauts and the poly ship of Fred/Boyd/Edgar/Gloria (the Thorney Four, I call them for short), and I’ll be writing 12 fics for them, one per month.

Six of the fics will be for Zero Escape, and my favorite rarepair of Dio/Kyle. And don’t worry, because this year is all about Kylio, I will be revitalizing my longfic, Laugh with the Sinners, Cry with the Saints, and working on it whenever I have a break from the YOTP stuff.

The remaining six months, I will be writing Kaneeka/Reese, my two favorite Scarlet Hollow love interests who I ship with each other as much as if not more than with the MC. Maybe I will find somewhere to also fit in my OC who I ship with them as a poly ship, but no promises.

For the most part, I’ve planned which prompts I’ll be using already. Some choices may change (especially the Scarlet Hollow ones as the early chapter updates and release of Chapter 5 will likely give me new ideas) but there are a lot of plot bunnies here I’m already in love with. And yes, I will be using a fair few of the smut prompts (or even making something smutty from neutral prompts). I ain’t embarrassed.

So yeah that’s my announcement! The two January fics are already far along and should both be posted within the first week of the month. The only thing I have to decide is whether to put them in one series on AO3 or three separate series, one for each ship. They’ll all be going in the event collection, of course, but for my own organization, should I put my entire attempt together or do I want to make it easier for someone who, say, only cares about the Zero Escape fics to not have to comb through a bunch of Psychonauts stuff to find them?

#yotp 2025 #psychonauts #zero escape #scarlet hollow #I’m really excited :)

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sca3a · 2 months ago

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YOTP: First Kiss - Lucanis Dellamorte x Rook

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62050432

Part of the Year of the OTP prompt event 2025, First Kiss for January.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #rook #rookanis #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #yotp 2025 #yotp25

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petiolata · 2 months ago

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Why am I writing catboy Tim Drake when it's going to be the year of the snake and I could be writing naga Tim Drake...

I'm planning on doing my YOTP 2025 for Timber. Tim gets turned into a catboy hybrid against his will, and escapes only to be found and cared for by Bernard, who has no clue (at first) that it's Tim.

I suppose it doesn't officially change to 🐍 year til the end of January so I can be excused. Also I don't have any ideas for snakeboy!Tim. I just like to think of him and his cute shiny scales. He's too distracting to come up with ideas for.

#tim drake #timber #timbern #writing #writeblr #petiolata writes #op #anthroverse #bernard dowd #I'm going to attempt two seperate YOTPs #filling all the prompts for Timber and working them into this catboy verse #and then filling all the prompts again for a pairing (Mapletea) from a different fandom #snippets #fic ideas

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shrinkthisviolet · 1 month ago

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Belated Six Sentence Sunday, coming at you!

I’ve made some headway on the 1x15/1x16 fic:

“Have you told anyone else yet?” “Just Tina. Caitlin and Cisco later, but…” she sighed. “I don’t want Dad finding out yet, that’s the thing. And if I ask them to keep it a secret…” “They might get worried about you and mention to him that something’s up.” “Yeah.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Plus, I have a feeling you’d come up in conversation. And I do not wanna deal with that.” “Hey,” he said softly, “don’t go excusing me like that, Mo. I might not hate you now, but I deserve their anger for being so stupid about things before.” “Agree to disagree.” Maybe Hartley was right, maybe Barry was her blindspot, but she didn’t much care. Just because she didn’t like how he talked about Dad didn’t mean she hated him or blamed him for what he’d done. He was her brother, she loved him, and she knew he loved her.

(ofc I’ve written a little more than this, but this is my favorite 6 sentences of what I've written :D)

some good news: the prelude of this fic is officially over, and we’re moving into the actual plot of 1x15 now! So things are about to get very exciting (and hopefully they’ll start moving a little faster 😅)

also ofc, frantically working on the Westallen wedding fic:

After the devastating 6 months following, after the past 2 months of DeVoe putting them through the wringer… “I’ve always been yours.” It was finally here. She was about to finally become Iris West-Allen. “Knock knock.” Caitlin, her amazing maid of honor, peeked her head in. “May we come in?” We. Because, miracle of miracles, Felicity had been able to make it…and so had Linda. Wally had been adorably happy about Linda being back in Central, and Iris didn’t miss the way her friend’s eyes had lit up upon reuniting with him. (If she’d intentionally arranged things so that he would be the groomsman walking next to bridesmaid Linda Park…well, that was no one’s business but hers, Barry’s, and the wedding planner’s. Wally hadn’t been the same since Jesse had inexplicably broken up with him, and Iris was determined to keep her baby brother smiling today.)

Peep the Wallinda tease and expanding Iris’s bridal party! Most especially, including Linda, which the show didn't but should’ve 💀 also, reminder that this is a fic where everything goes smoothly for them. So Oliver didn’t attempt to propose to Felicity during Westallen’s rehearsal dinner, and Westallen’s wedding will not be crashed (the Earth-X stuff doesn’t happen)

I’m determined to finish this in the next few days so I can post it in Jan...since ofc this is the January YOTP fic 😅 one way or another, it will be finished in 4 days or less

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @raith-way @vexic929 @ironverseocs

@thechaoticfanartist @tempests-of-hope @negative-speedforce @starstruckpurpledragon @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

#tagging is ofc for the top fic since it's a morgan au fic!#six sentence sunday #brotp: i know my hero #oc: morgan wells #barry allen #morgan wells au #westallen #iris west #iris west allen #caitlin snow #the flash

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yearoftheotpevent · 2 years ago

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We are officially ONE HALF of the way through with our first ever Year of the OTP! A huge congratulations to everyone who's kept up with the event so far -- and a huge burst of motivation toward anyone who's worried they're falling behind

Creating is *hard* sometimes, but you all are absolutely killing it! Serendipity is alive and well and the world, and as of this very moment, we have exactly ONE THOUSAND (that's 1,000!!!!!) works submitted to our collection! An idea that started in a Batman fanfic centered discord server has grown to include over 300 fandoms in this massive and incredible enterprise. You lot are amazing; keep up the good work <3

Our standard friendly reminders: - The official collection is open and unmoderated! If you're submitting to a moderated collection, then it is the wrong one - YOTP will *not* be making a repeat performance in 2024, for the sake of leaving the collection and prompts open available for another year in case anyone is joining us late or needs more time. (Or got so consumed by an idea from January's prompts that you've fallen a little behind).

July's prompts are: Vacation together, Power Swap, Enemies to Lovers, "Batman won't like this", stars, and Coffeeshop AU

#1000 entries!#yotp 2023 #writing event #art event #year of the otp #prompt event #ao3 stuff #fanfiction #yotp #prompt list #fanwork event

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bakerstreetbasilisk · 1 year ago

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YOTP 2023: January [Mystrade]

THE CHAMPION

Rating: Mature

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms

Relationship: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade

Additional Tags: Year of the OTP Prompt Event 2023, Year of the OTP Prompt Event January, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Ancient Greece, Non-Graphic Violence Drinking, Fade to Black

Language: English

Summary: Mycroft, a nobleman, has never been very interested in the Olympics until he witnesses the feats of one silver-haired Corinthian wrestler.

This is not the first time Mycroft has attended the games in Olympia. His uncle has been a strong supporter of several athletes of Corinth and as his heir, Mycroft’s presence has been more or less obligatory. He had often wondered what his uncle, with whom he shares many interests, finds so interesting in the games, he himself being indifferent to sports in general. Mycroft simply couldn’t share his enthusiasm.

Not until today.

Not until he’d watched the Corinthian silver-haired champion heave his opponent off the ground, throw him down and choke him until he yielded.

Continue on AO3

#mystrade #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #yotp 2023 #january prompt #alternate universe- historical #alternate universe- ancient greece #alternate universe- olympics #fanfic #mystrade fanfic #basiliskwrites

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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year ago

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YOTP - January

So, let's start this off with Farawyn. It's a continuation of this story!

So, that kicks off YOTP...Stay tuned for February!

Pairing: Faramir x Éowyn

Prompts: First Kiss, Mission Fic, Fake Dating, Historical AU, Snow, "Whenever I look at you"

Words: 2 050

Warnings: /

Éowyn knew that something was the matter as soon as Faramir entered the room they shared—his cheeks turned bright red as soon as he saw her sitting there, darning her own socks, evidently lying in wait for him.

“Did you get your grades?” she asked breathlessly and threw her handiwork to the floor to wave a thick piece of paper in front of his widening eyes. “I did very well.”

“Of course, you did,” he replied warmly. The enthusiastic joy in her voice thawed him instantly, and he gave a long, weary sigh. “You have never given me any reason to regret breaking I don’t know how many laws.”

“You know exactly how many.” Leaning back against the wall, Éowyn motioned at the cold supper their landlords had brought up and cocked her head. “What ails you, friend?”

“Nothing that should preoccupy you,” he said hastily and turned to the old table to pretend to fix himself a plate.

With a soft snort of affectionate derision, Éowyn sprang to her feet and gave his shoulder an encouraging push. “You’ve made my dearest wish come true—I am in your debt.” When his tense posture did not relent, she made a small cooing sound.

“Jest aside, Faramir. You can tell me what weighs on you—if at all possible, I shall endeavour to help you!”

“You cannot,” he groaned. “I’ve just received a letter from my father, informing me that I am to attend the Winter Ball in Minas Tirith. I don’t understand why he’d want me there—I’ll only embarrass him by awkwardly lurking in a corner.”

As he spoke, he gestured with a piece of soft bread, and—taunted by the repetitive motion and the alluring smell—Éowyn simply took a bite out of it.

Chewing in pensive silence, she looked on helplessly as Faramir became increasingly agitated.

“And he’ll certainly expect me to dance with all the eligible ladies who will then make faces at me because they actually wanted to dance with my brother instead…”

“I can come with you!”

In the sudden, deafening silence, one would have been able to hear a single pin drop to the impeccably swept floor.

“I beg your pardon?” Faramir gaped at her in evident disbelief.

“Every day, we pretend—with much success if I may say so myself—that I am a young gentleman. You treat me as a cherished friend, and it is your acceptance and encouragement that keep our wicked ruse alive,” Éowyn explained in a voice that was ripe with self-evident smugness. “I would not do this for a lesser friend, but—for you and in return for your endless kindness—I shall change my costume and pretend to be an accomplished lady.”

Faramir then realised that he had never investigated where the enchantingly versatile creature with whom he shared his room, his studies, and his secrets came from exactly.

“Don’t stare at me so,” she exclaimed, cackling wildly. “I can wear my frilliest dress and sit prettily. After all these months, you’d still doubt my abilities as an actor?”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Faramir replied vehemently, but they both knew that he was lying. While he did not put her skills as a scholar, sportsman, or satirist into question, he was not entirely certain whether the same fey changeling who had infiltrated the seminary would be able to sit through a whole dinner during which people much less smart and educated than her would patronise her cruelly.

“Then it’s decided,” Éowyn declared. “I will make it my solemn mission to convince your father of the fact that I am on the verge of ruining my name and my reputation for your admiration and affection!”

Aghast, he threw the remnant of his bread at her. “Do not! He’d never believe that!”

“That, my friend, remains to be seen!”

Faramir paced nervously through the hallway; even if they were to leave right away, they’d be fashionably late for the grand opening of his father’s cherished ball.

“You can blame me,” a soft, sensual voice resounded behind him, and he instantly whirled around. “How do I look? Convincing?”

Swallowing thickly, the young scholar ran a trembling hand across his suddenly uncomfortably numb lips.

He had known Éowyn for months—they had shared many a joke and had brooded over partially incomprehensible texts side by side. A mere five minutes ago, he would have boldly and unwaveringly claimed that he was intimately familiar with every facet of her being.

This, as it turned out, was not so.

Before him, bathed in the soft glow of the forgotten lamp on their shared desk, stood a young lady.

“You’ll have to carry me to the carriage,” Éowyn laughed and pointed at the delicate silken shoes she was wearing, revealing slender ankles clad in a powdery, translucent layer of impossibly thin fabric that made Faramir’s heart skip a beat. “Henceforth, you might be able to better appreciate why I avoid conforming to the farce that is ‘appropriate’, ladylike garb too often—it’s laughably unpractical.”

Extending his arms, Faramir was presently not convinced that he’d be able to support the weight of a feather, let alone this wondrous creature gleaming with self-satisfied triumph.

“I clean up nicely, don’t you think?” she teased and patted the complicated updo into which she had wrestled her stubborn, flaxen hair through some impressive display of hitherto unrevealed masterfulness.

“You look stunning,” Faramir whispered, utterly awed.

“Ah!” Frowning, she walked past him and down the stairs, her head held high and her chin jutting out petulantly. “Am I to surmise then that you’re no better than my uncle’s most duplicitous courtiers?”

Despite her forcibly teasing tone, Faramir could tell that she was genuinely hurt.

“I do not know the good men,” he replied cautiously. “Nevertheless, I merely sought to compliment you on yet another wonderfully executed disguise.”

Huffing, she threw open the front door and grimaced at the thin, slick layer of snow that would delay them even further.

“Milady,” Faramir invited coyly and assumed the necessary posture once more to lift her into his arms and ferry her over to the waiting carriage without creasing her dress or damaging any other adornment overmuch.

He had to suppress another tremor of unidentifiable unease—Éowyn felt soft and supple in his arms, and a discreet smell of wild lilacs and river grass tickled his nose.

In truth, all his senses were entirely taken over by the complex beauty of the one he was holding as if she was made of glass and ice crystals, and yet he couldn’t deny the surge of instinctive reluctance taking hold of his heart.

“I wish you didn’t have to do this,” he whispered dejectedly as they started rumbling along the merciless, frozen path in jolting fits and bursts.

“Béma—we would have made better time on horseback without—”

“Not in that dress, dear,” Faramir interrupted gently. “Anyhow, I doubt that anyone is expecting my arrival anxiously.”

“Fools,” Éowyn declared haughtily and pushed a stray pin back into her ornate coiffure. “Having had the pleasure of your company for many a night now, I can vouch for your excellence as a conversation and study partner!”

Despite suspecting that she was lying to assuage his mounting anxiousness, Faramir felt considerably heartened by her words and smiled at her gratefully.

The rest of their journey was spent in companionable silence; each was mentally preparing for the great unknown that was awaiting them.

When the carriage came to a sliding halt and a young man with impeccably polished buttons and fastenings opened the door to help the latecomers alight, Éowyn nodded at Faramir encouragingly. “Same as before.”

It was undignified to have to be carried thus, but Éowyn was nothing if not steadfast in her resolutions and brave in the name of duty and loyalty—looking up at Faramir’s tense, pale face, leisurely, she was reminded once more of how unobtrusively handsome her roommate was.

Of course, she usually did not waste any time or thoughts on his countless qualities—the man was her most trusted confidant, he not only knew about her devious charade, no, he actively facilitated and endorsed it.

Surely, he would never see her as anything other than a rebellious, reckless fool.

At times, Éowyn earnestly regretted the fact that the only man she had ever liked enough to consider him as a romantic partner had been made irreversibly inaccessible by her achieving her most cherished dream,

She sighed softly. Her uncle was right—she was a selfish creature, and she had sacrificed the matrimonial bliss she owed to her name, her family, and her sex on the altar of her personal fulfilment.

“We’re almost inside,” Faramir whispered, hastening his steps. He had mistaken her shivering exhalation as an expression of dismay on account of the blistering cold air and felt bad for her.

Indeed, while he was wrapped in a thick coat, Éowyn had only been able to conjure up a woefully flimsy shawl.

“You’re right,” he admitted as he set her down carefully inside the brightly lit foyer. “These clothes are ludicrous! I shall give you my coat for the ride home! You’ll catch your death in that!”

“It matches the dress,” she shot back defensively, fussing with the delicate fabric ostentatiously.

“Humbug!”

Chuckling, Éowyn allowed herself the treacherous indulgence of touching her cheek to his shoulder briefly—then, the doors swung open, and they stepped into a lavish ballroom.

“Oh no,” Éowyn whispered, gripping Faramir’s arm with unladylike strength and vehemence. “My brother is here!”

He turned his head a fraction to glimpse a tall, broad-shouldered paragon of strength, smiling at them.

“I was under the impression that you were devoted to him—why are you upset?” Faramir pointedly avoided looking at her face—flushed from the heat and radiant with virginal fairness—as she insisted on mooning at him in a shamelessly exaggerated display of admiration and unspoken affection.

At least, he thought her demeanour to be hardly credible—his father and brother, on the other hand, had smirked at him and clapped congratulatory hands onto his stiff shoulders.

In his heart of hearts, he was dismayed and disgruntled by the discovery that—while his academic prowess and the deep, meaningful friendship he had established with the authentic Éowyn meant nothing to them—the simple act of parading a handsome maiden at a lavish feast seemed to suffice to gain their approval.

“I do love him,” Éowyn replied in a hushed hiss. “But his being here means that I’ll have to up the ante if I want to be believed.”

“You don’t have to—”

“You’ve once told me that we were in this together,” she said softly and cupped Faramir’s burning cheek tenderly. “Allow me to reciprocate that sentiment and battle cry.”

Pushing herself up on her tiptoes, she cocked her head to the side, her hair glistening like pure spun gold in the flickering light of the sconces. “Can you pretend for a moment that I am pretty? No doubt, my valiant effort in the defence of your reputation would earn me so minor a boon?”

“There shall be no need to pretend. I marvel at your beauty whenever I look at you,” Faramir answered before his mind could censor his tongue, loosened by the glowing atmosphere of the room and the double-edged victory of the night.

Éowyn blinked. “Whenever?” she then asked demurely, colour flaring in her cheeks.

“You look stunning tonight,” Faramir grinned, elated that he got the opportunity to set right his previous misstep. “The dress compliments your smile. Nevertheless, I would be a poor friend and a despicably shallow nincompoop if such caparison was needed to alert me to the rare beauty of one I see every day in all her glory.”

Shining brighter than all the gold in the room, Éowyn brushed her now flawlessly clean thumbs against his bearded jaw to tilt his head back.

“I was right,” she crooned. “You are the most precious! I’ll have you know that I love being right!”

Before Faramir could assure her that he was well-aware of that fact, she had drawn herself up further and pressed her lips against his in a kiss that spoke of deep trust, enduring loyalty, and nascent love.

My very dear readers; I hope this has been enjoyable!

-> Masterlist

#og post #Fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #jrrt #Tolkien fanfiction #YOTP #yotp 2023 prompts #Farawyn #Faramir #Éowyn #Snow #Historial AU #First Kiss #Fake Dating #Whenever I see you #Mission fic

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rpf-bat · 1 year ago

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THE YEAR OF NIKOLEKSI

At the beginning of 2023, I decided to participate in The Year Of The OTP: 12 prompts. 12 months. One ship. I chose Niko/Aleksi because, well, in Niko’s own words, they’re soulmates. 🤷‍♀️

I have a very bad habit of starting a writing challenge and then giving up halfway through. (Sorry, Whumptober and Whumpuary mods. 😅) But I actually completed YOTP, and I’m very proud of myself!! So, I’ve compiled all 12 fics into one masterpost:

January: DU LÜGST

Prompt: Historical AU

Word Count: 969

Summary: Vienna, Austria. 1794 A.D.

Niko has been studying abroad for a few years now, learning the art of music from a master composer. One day, he hears about a new, handsome face in town. A fellow Finn - and a fellow musician.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, 18th Century, Flirting, Pre-Relationship, Short Oneshot

🖤

February: I’M A SHIPWRECK

Prompt: Mermaid AU

Word Count: 1,378

Summary: After a lover breaks his heart, Niko decides he doesn't want to live anymore, and dives into the sea. But, a mysterious savior drags him out of the water, back to shore. Niko isn't sure what shocks him more. That someone saved his life - or that that someone isn't human.

Tags: Suicide Attempt, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Drowning, Near Death Experiences, Mouth-to-Mouth

🖤

March: TOWELS

Prompt: “Make Me.”

Word Count: 584

Summary: Aleksi is hogging all the towels in their shared hotel room, and Niko is annoyed.

Tags: Arguing, Flirting, Nudity, Implied Sexual Content

🖤

APRIL: WHAT ARE YOU DOING NEW YEAR’S EVE?

Prompt: “No, I’m Not Dating Your Brother!”

Word Count: 963

Summary: It's Christmas, and Niko is in Oulu, visiting his family. Aleksi is in a different city, but he decides to give Niko a video call, and wish him a happy holiday.

Joona can see the obvious crush Aleksi has on his brother, and decides to meddle a little.

Tags: Christmas Presents, Webcams, Fluff

🖤

MAY: MY CUTE HAMSTER

Prompt: Pet/Child Acquisition

Word Count: 546

Summary: Aleksi and Niko have been dating for about a year now. They already have Rilla, but they decide they're ready to adopt a second pet together.

Tags: Established Relationship, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

🖤

JUNE: IT WAS HATE AT FIRST SIGHT FOR US, DARLING

Prompt: Soulmate AU

Word Count: 801

Summary: Everyone has the first words that their soulmate will ever speak to them, written on the inside of their wrist.

But, there's just one problem. The words on Aleksi's wrist are "fuck you."

Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate Identifying Marks, Enemies To Lovers, Short Oneshot

🖤

July: LET’S SEE HOW FAR WE’VE COME

Prompt: Vacation Together

Word Count: 518

Summary: Two years after their performance at Eurovision, Niko and Aleksi return to Rotterdam for a romantic vacation.

Aleksi is feeling a bit nostalgic.

Tags: Established Relationship, Vacation, Short & Sweet, Fluff

🖤

August: ENGLISH SUMMER RAIN

Prompt: Storm

Word Count: 538

Summary: Niko and Aleksi share a hotel room, the night before a festival gig. Aleksi discovers that Niko has a phobia of thunder.

Tags: Thunderstorms, Astraphobia, Sharing A Bed, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Short & Sweet

🖤

September: FIFTEEN LOVE

Prompt: Meeting The Family

Word Count: 1,374

Summary: Aleksi travels to Oulu, to meet Niko’s little sister, and cheer her on at her tennis match.

Tags: Established Relationship, Meeting The Family, Tennis, Fluff, Minor Injuries

🖤

October: PLAYING COPS & ROBBERS

Prompt: Couple’s Costume

Word Count: 1,056

Summary: On the final night of the Warrior Souls Tour, Nyamjantsan - better known as “Jaya” - from The Hu invites Niko and Aleksi to a Halloween party.

Niko really wants to wear a costume that matches Aleksi - but the DJ isn’t really sure why.

Tags: Halloween, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Fluff

🖤

November: THE WORST WISH

Prompt: “Be Careful What You Wish For”

Word Count: 1,489

Summary: Aleksi is in love with Niko. But, Niko is in a relationship with Joonas.

When he spots a shooting star in the sky, Aleksi wishes - for one, selfish second - that Joonas would disappear, so that Niko could be his. Immediately, he regrets it. But, when Joonas gets into a terrible accident the next day, Aleksi is consumed with guilt. He can’t help but think this is all his fault.

Tags: Car Accidents, Major Character Injury, Hospitals, Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Angst With A Happy Ending, Polyamory

🖤

December: ROSES ARE DEAD, VIOLETS ARE DOOMED

Prompt: Tattoo Parlor/Flower Shop AU

Word Count: 2,242

Summary: Aleksi is on the bus, headed to his part-time job at his aunt’s flower shop, when he meets a young tattoo apprentice named Niko.

Aleksi is only sixteen, and it only takes a day for Niko to become his first crush. But, Niko appears to have his eye on someone else.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Teen Romance, First Crush, Light Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, First Kiss

#blind channel rpf #niko vilhelm x aleksi kaunisvesi #yotp 2023 #let’s ignore that 7 of them were under 1k words #and that only 4 of them got posted in the actual month they were supposed to be posted #I got to write so many flavors of love - sweet and angsty and even a little bit spicy!#I had fun participating in this project. thank you event mods for a fun 2023 :)

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