#DESPERATELY been wanting to add something more of value but this is just how my brain is.

[moe-broey]

GAH IDK HOW TO DO THIS ESP ASK ANSWERING WISE LMFAO SO I MAY JUST MAKE IT ITS OWN POST AND DUMP SOME THINGS HERE 😭

But back on Emblem Veronica's map bullshit! Check this out!

It seems Veronica's map is Heavily inspired by the Aether Keep! While also combining the summoning circle as a focal point, where Veronica herself is stationed.

Meanwhile...

It looks pretty different in FEH, huh?

This looks a bit closer, from Veronica's special animation where she uses her skill to summon heroes.

No real thoughts/conclusions here tbh, I just thought the direct comparisons could be interesting! Do with this what you will!

#fire emblem #feh #i am so sorry my head is so empty. #DESPERATELY been wanting to add something more of value but this is just how my brain is. #all or nothing. you're getting nothing rn. #still hope this is interesting! #fe veronica #askr ref #fe lore #fe engage

[pedrointofolklore]

This is me trying

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel hated you. he hated the risks you took, the danger you put yourself in, the total lack of value you had for your own life. he hated how much he worried about you. click here for part two.

warnings: detailed depictions of depression, heavily implied suicidal ideation, slight violence, angst with a sprinkle of fluff, no explicit smut but it does get very suggestive (minors do not interact), minor character death, enemies to lovers, poor communication, misunderstandings, these fools don’t know how to act, joel is an asshole but then he’s sweet, brief mention of drug use, lots of swearing, age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, boston era/ellie era.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: hey y’all. i just wanted to thank everyone who supported my last story rosebud (here’s a link if you want to read it). this story is a lot different and a lot sadder. i got the title from my favourite pop girlie taylor alison swift.

Joel hated you. It had to be his worst kept secret.

You hadn’t done anything to him. You used to think about it constantly, desperate to know what his reason was for despising you like he did, but you eventually accepted that he didn’t need a reason. He just didn’t like you. 

Joel wasn’t particularly likeable himself. He was rude and intimidating and one of the most morally bankrupt people you’d ever met, but you didn’t hate him the way he hated you. You were Tess’s lackey—Joel tolerated you, and you supposed he wasn’t obligated to do any more than that. Although, he didn’t do it very well.

You’d existed in each other’s orbit in the QZ for a while, and finally met one night in the boarded-up old mall when you’d gotten to a stash of painkillers just before them. Joel wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot you between the eyes if Tess hadn’t been there.

Tess saw something in you—not a friend, not a life worth sparing by virtue of humanity; a business investment.

And it was a smart investment. You were young, agile and clever, incredible at slipping by unnoticed and gathering information. You knew all the best routes, the best times to take them, and you could swindle anyone out of their rations just by batting your eyelashes. You were willing to take the lead, to be the first one in and out to make sure the coast was clear.

It wasn’t the threat of death or the promise of mercy that made you join them—it was the sense of purpose it gave you.

Joel was adamantly against it. Things worked fine the way they did them, and he saw no reason to add another person into it.

“Don’t need to fix something that ain’t broken,” was how he’d put it.

You didn’t dispute that. Joel and Tess had survived for years, and they were clearly more than capable of getting the job done, but what you lacked in experience, you made up for in stealth and speed—something their aging knees struggled with.

Tess convinced Joel, which you soon found out she was very good at. You also found out that his compliance didn’t mean hiding his resentment.

He thought you were a careless, impulsive loose cannon, and he’d told you so after a particularly dicey deal with a particularly dicey FEDRA agent.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days.” He followed you into your apartment uninvited. Tess made him walk you home, and you were sure he only did it because he wanted to berate you.

“Why do you care?” you asked, tossing your keys onto the counter. They slid off and hit the floor.

“You’re with us,” Joel replied. “You'll get us killed.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes—you knew that infuriated him. “Am I on crack or have you not doubled your profits since I showed up?”

“I think you’re dangerous,” Joel said, ignoring you. “Always sneakin’ around, goin’ places you shouldn’t, playin’ mind games with FEDRA. Your luck’s gonna run out sooner or later, and I just hope I’m not around when it does.”

Your face burned with red-hot anger as you tried to fight the stinging in your eyes and the blurring of your vision, but you were too far gone. The tears fell, and they were ceaseless. You felt pathetic, but you knew this would happen. You didn’t often cry from sadness or pain, but anger always managed to bring it out in you.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me that?” you hissed. “You’re saying you don’t sneak around? You’ve never scammed anyone? You’re a smuggler, Joel! Be fucking real with me.”

“It’s different,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“Why, because you’re older? Because you have more experience?”

“‘Cause I don’t think I’m fuckin’ special.”

If his words were the dagger, the pure contempt in his tone was what plunged it into your stomach, twisted it, and left a gaping hole for all of your despair to come pouring out of, leaving behind a puddle of melancholia for him to gaze at in all its miserable glory.

It was the only time you might have hated Joel as much as he hated you. Working with him and Tess wasn’t perfect, but it was all you had, and now he’d managed to make it all meaningless. Your help wasn’t helping.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat.

You should have quit then, and you thought about it. After pounding your fists into Joel’s chest and screaming at him to get the fuck out of your apartment, you sunk down onto the floor and cried. You cried until you ran out of tears and were left with a nothing but a throbbing headache. You took a pill, passed out, and woke up to you discover that you’d lost the energy to really care about any of it.

You didn’t quit. If anything, you became even more audacious, but you never confused it with courage or bravery. Bravery was perseverance in the face of terror. Joel and Tess were brave. You weren’t like them.

Joel laid off after that. He wasn’t anything close to nice, but whatever animosity he held towards you was only ever expressed as quiet seething, and you could live with that.

Any fulfilment you got out of working with Joel and Tess dissolved, but for what it was, it still worked.

Until it didn’t.

Tess was dead. The buffer between you and Joel was gone, and you had no choice but to work together and get the immune girl to Colorado.

You wondered if there was a silver-lining in this wreckage. You thought that circumstance might force Joel to finally get along with you, and so you did the one thing you never did—you tried. You tried to help him, tried to speak to him like he was someone you actually wanted to speak to, tried to rein in some of your more annoying traits so you wouldn’t get on his nerves.

None of it worked. All you could get out of Joel seemed to be irritated mumbles and blank stares, and you couldn’t even blame him after what happened to Tess.

You never really knew if Tess actually gave a shit about you, or if she only ever cared about having an extra pair of hands around. Either way, you cared about her.

So, once again, you tried. When Joel and Ellie were sleeping—or at least pretending to—you walked down to the stream and tried to cry for her, but you couldn’t muster the tears. You even tried to get angry, mentally cuss her out for leaving you behind, but your eyes were dry.

You stared into the water, gazing at the way it sparkled in the starlight, and thought that the world didn’t deserve such a pretty sight. You couldn’t cry, but a deep sadness overtook you, weighing you down like lead.

Joel didn’t hate you.

He just hated how impulsive and reckless you were. He hated that you were smart, intuitive, and so maddeningly beautiful. He hated the risks you took, the danger you put yourself in, the total lack of value you had for your own life. He hated how much he worried about you.

There was a time he had disliked you. He used to think it was arrogance—that you truly believed you were so special that you could get away with anything. It was when he called you out on it that he realised how wrong he was.

Your reaction was frightening. You cried and screamed at him, pushed him out of your space. He didn’t know you were capable of such a strong display of emotion, but he’d struck a nerve, and those were the repercussions.

He recalled how the blows to his chest didn’t hurt, like there was no force behind them. You weren’t weak at all, you just couldn’t find the willpower to really hurt him. He wished you had hurt him. Maybe getting it out of your system would have helped. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to feel so guilty.

It became so obvious to him what was happening, and he felt like an idiot for not understanding it sooner. It wasn’t that you thought you were special, or immune to the consequences—you just didn’t care what happened to you.

Now Tess was gone, and he had this horrible feeling that he was going to lose you too.

His way of dealing with it was to push you away even more. He told himself it would make things easier when you inevitably left him.

Things came to a head one night after the three of you left Lincoln. Joel had been driving all day, and he would be doing it again the next day. He was in desperate need of sleep, but as he stared out into the eerie darkness of the woods, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible would happen if he didn’t stay awake.

He heard the rustling of a sleeping bag sometime after midnight. He thought it was you just rolling over in your sleep—something you often did—but then he heard the faint sound of dead leaves crunching under feet, and you were by his side a moment later.

“What are you doing, Joel?” you asked in a soft, sleepy voice that made his chest ache.

“Keepin’ watch,” he replied bluntly.

“But you’re driving tomorrow,” you said. “You need sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve slept, so I can take over,” you offered.

“I just told you I’m fine.”

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

You backed off, hanging your head in shame, and he instantly felt horrible—you were being nice to him and he was still being a complete asshole.

Joel tried to tear his gaze away from you. He wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, that he hadn’t just done that, but his eyes stayed on you. He watched the shame dissolve and replace itself with indignation. You pulled your head up and glared at him with a fire in your eyes that threatened to burn right through him.

“I get it, okay? I’m sorry.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“I never meant for you to get stuck with me. I know it’s your worst fucking nightmare. If I could switch places with Tess—“

“Stop.” He wouldn’t hear that. He couldn’t. It would kill him. “That’s not—I’m not thinkin’ that. I’m glad you’re here, understand? I need you with me.”

You let out a bitter laugh. The sound hit his ears like a gunshot. “You just told me you didn’t. All you’ve done—all you’ve ever done—is act like I’m a fucking waste of space.”

Joel’s mouth when dry, his heart dropped to his stomach, and he thought he might vomit. It shouldn’t have shocked him like it did, but hearing you say it made him sick. He put the gun he’d been clutching down on the ground, disarming himself in more ways than one. “I don’t think that…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just—fuck—I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Are you gonna leave?”

“Leave this mission or this mortal coil?"

“Either, I guess.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Your voice was just a whisper, and it felt like you were ripping Joel’s heart out and crushing it in your hands.

Fuck no, he didn’t want you to leave, and that was what scared him the most; feeling attached to someone so detached (and yes, he was a hypocrite). He wouldn’t be able to take it if he woke up one day and you were gone.

But he couldn’t keep doing this to you. It was selfish and cowardly and it just made everything worse. He made everything worse.

“I can’t do this without you,” he told you. He hadn’t known how true it was until he said it.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.” He felt suddenly impassioned. “You can’t…if you…just don’t. Promise me you won’t.” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t let the words out of his mouth and into the universe. You both knew what he meant.

“I promise,” you said. You sounded oddly tranquil, but Joel was destroyed, even though he knew he didn’t have the right to be—this was entirely his fault.

“Can you let me keep watch so you can get some sleep?” you asked again.

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Just need to know where you are.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and glossy, and for a second he thought you might start crying. Before he could think of something to do or say, your hands were on either side of his face, pulling him down into an urgent kiss.

He didn’t know what was happening, what you were thinking, or what he was thinking, but it didn’t matter, he just knew he needed to kiss you back. One of his hands found your waist while the other splayed out across your back, pulling you flush against him.

It was nowhere near sweet. It was intense and unyielding—a frantic clashing of teeth and bruising of lips. It was intoxicating, earth-shattering, but felt so right, like it was always meant to happen—or needed to happen.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, somehow bringing him impossibly closer to you. You hiked a leg up around his hip and tugged his pelvis forward. He ran a hand down from your waist, brushing it over your ass and gripping your thigh.

You rolled your hips into his, eliciting a deep, involuntary groan from him. He was painfully hard. He knew he would regret this, but he set your leg down and managed to tear his mouth away from yours. 

He missed the feeling immediately, and he didn’t have the self-control to pull away completely. His hands were still on you, pressing you against him. You looked so pretty and ruined gazing back at him; breathless and flustered with pink, swollen lips.

Fuck.

You had just kissed Joel Miller, the man you hated. 

You didn’t hate him.

You kissed the man who hated you.

He didn’t hate you.

You kissed the only person you had left. You kissed him even though it made no sense. You kissed him because you wanted to.

You started it, but then he stopped it. His eyes were dark, his face was flushed, and the bulge in his jeans was not going away. He looked like he was in pain, struggling with his own conscience.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” He grinned softly and reached a hand up to tangle in your hair. It was an unexpectedly sweet gesture. “I liked it.”

Your heart melted. He was so lovely, so dear. You never imagined in your wildest dreams that Joel Miller could be like this.

“Just don’t wanna take advantage,” he said.

“You’re not. I kissed you,” you reminded him.

“I know, but you're upset, and you don’t like me much, and you’re tired. Don’t want you doing anything you don’t actually wanna do.”

You did want it, but you were also overwhelmed and exhausted, and more importantly, it would have been a majorly fucked up thing to do with a 14 year old sleeping 20 feet away.

“But if you still want it later”—he gave you another chaste kiss—“you can have it.”

You giggled, kissing him one more time. You didn’t know when you'd be able to again.

His gentle smile faded, and he looked into your eyes with devastating sincerity. “I got you now, okay?”

“I know, Joel.”

“Do you have me?” he asked.

“I’m trying.” You hoped that would be enough, because it was all you had.

“That’s all I need, sweetheart.”

a/n: so i wrote most of this when i was sick with the flu and i fully intended for it to be a one-shot, but i love this dynamic and i’m thinking of exploring it further. let me know if y’all would be interested in seeing more of these two. (edit: this a/n is now redundant bc i did in fact write the sequel).

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

[dotster001]

Headcanons of what if the reader accidentally called the staff members dad?

A/N: Gn! Reader. Hope this is what you're looking for, anon/hope you're still here cause I take forever on these 😂

"Azul asked me to bring you this paperwork," you said, handing him a stack of papers.

"Excellent, prefect. You've been incredibly helpful lately. In my generosity, I have decided to give you the next week off, and take you to a beach house!"

"Really? Thanks dad!"

Preens. You've made a huge mistake. Good luck to you. You will now be smothered by an overexcited crow.

He hasn't touched up his nest in a while. As headmaster he has no time to think about a family. But now that you called him dad, he is going home and touching up his nest so that his little chick will be comfy. Crow's like to keep their babies in the nest, some of them for years at a time. You're gonna have to tell him at some point that no, you will not be staying in a nest, you will be staying in Ramshackle to finish your education. (This will not stop him from subtly directing you in the direction of said nest)

He's picking at your hair, and straightening your outfit. He does that mom thing where he licks a handkerchief and tries to clean the dirt off your face. If you tell him to stop, he'll say something like, "now now, let papa help." God, I don't envy you.

He buys you shiny trinkets that have no value. But  he can't help his genetics. It's how he expresses affection.  You and Grim may trip over them sometimes, cause he just will drop them in the most random of places. (ex. The middle of the floor)

If you ever try to take it back, whether it's out of pure desperation or annoyance, he will sob. He will sob so hard. He's not trying to manipulate you. He just doesn't see what he did wrong.

He'd invited you over to dinner. 

"Yeah, I don't really have plans for the summer holiday yet, because, well, you know.."

He cut a piece of his steak, and said, "You can always stay with me. My daughter's are all grown, so they're rooms are empty. Plus they've been wanting to meet you." He gave you a soft smile, the kind of smile that made you feel safe.

"Sevens, that sounds great dad," you said with a sigh. Both of you froze.

He already knew you felt that way about him. But having you say it out loud fills him with fatherly pride.  It's been a while since his kids were young enough to spoil, and he's definitely missing it. Now that you've opened the box, he has all the permission he needs.

He'll act like everything's totally normal though. He still expects you to get your classwork in on time, and strongly discourages you from getting into trouble with your friends. But it somehow seems more insistent? Like when he sees you going to hang out with ADeuce, and he says to stay out of trouble, it sounds more like, "Dear god, please don't do anything stupid!"

He offers to help you with your homework a lot more often now. He had already offered from time to time before, but now it's a lot more often. Like calling him dad was giving him permission.

He gives you presents every once in a while. Expensive presents, wrapped in a neat box with a perfect bow. He acts like it's nothing. When he hands it to you he says how he just was passing through the store, and saw it, and thought it was something you needed. No biggie.

Lucius follows you around a lot now. You have no idea why…

"You were almost correct here. You need to add mustard seed, or it won't work," Crewel said as he looked over your homework with you. 

He definitely didn't have to go over your homework with you line by line, but you definitely appreciated it. 

"Oh, yeah! Thanks!" You made a note so that you wouldn't forget later.

"Not a problem. Anything for my favorite pup. Don't tell the others though," he gave you a playful wink.

"No problem, no one has to know, dad." 

Oops.

Oh? He might raise an eyebrow, or give you a smirk, but he won't say anything. It'll be like it never happened, and you can convince yourself he didn't hear it.

But he definitely did. He heard it. He goes home to his dogs that night, and picks them up, and cuddles them close, and keeps telling them, "they called me Dad!" 

Like I said, you can convince yourself he didn't hear it. But every once in a while he'll slip and do something that makes you wonder. Like he'll gently rub the top of your head. Or he'll tell you he understands if you don't get your homework in, just don't let it happen again. Or when your idiot friends drag you into a scheme, he'll get you an exemption from the detention that inevitably follows.

Crewel has a habit of adopting students already, without realizing it. Vil's your brother now, by the way.  He'll invite both of you to dinner in the guise of "checking up on my most studious pups" but it's really to just spend time with his little found family.

You won't know for sure he heard it, until after you graduate, when he offers to sponsor you through whatever you want to do. Cosign leases and loans, transportation to an interview, purchasing a uniform, letter of recommendation…. he'll do whatever you need, and when you're like, "Sir, I'm not sure how to repay you!" He'll say, "It's a dad's job to help out his pup." That's when the memory of that fateful day comes rushing back to you.

Sam let you work weekend shifts with him for extra cash. You didn't know how he always knew, but whenever the shop was closing, if you hadn't bought anything to eat that day, he'd get you something and have you eat it while he did closing tasks.

"I can eat this later, Sam. It's no trouble!" 

"You've done enough work, my little imp. You're no use to me if you starve to death," he laughed. "Plus your health is important to me, even outside of you working here."

"God, dad, you're just the best!" 

You've known him long enough to know that if he didn't hear it, his "friends" certainly did. No matter how embarrassed or flustered you are by the mistake, you know that he knows. And he won't easily forget it.

On the whole, your relationship doesn't change. To him, you saw him as Dad already. So that's that.  He doesn't need to change, and you don't need to change.

That said… now that the words have been said…he has his friends specifically watching you at all times. Just in case. If you've ever started to fall, and felt someone catch you, but when you turned around you saw no one there…that's not your guardian angel. That's your dad's shadow.

Okay…not everything stays the same. Merch from your favorite things are always in stock at the store from now on. Neither of you addresses it…but deep down you both know.

"You wanna be as tough as me, right? You need to do at least ten more pushups!"

"God, you're the worst, dad-"

Fuck.

Oh man. You've made a huge mistake. (Part two) the conversation will go as such. "Dad huh?" "Uh, I-" "Ha ha ha! Well,  you're gonna have to bulk up! Just trust your old man, he knows what's best! Fifty squats! Go!" God, you're fucked.

Wakes you up in the morning with a booming laugh, and a green smoothie of unknown origins. Once you chug the smoothie, with indiscernible flavor profile, it's time for your three mile jog. He'll go slow for you. If you complain he'll say, "Dad knows what's best for you! If you want to be as fit as me, this is only the beginning!" If you continue to complain,  he'll make you do a plank until you give in and join him on the run.

You can't look at this man and tell me he doesn't give the best hugs. Before you dropped the d word, his affection was expressed with a pat on the back. Now, when he sees you, he scoops you up in a bear hug. I don't care how tall or short you are, your feet are off the ground when he hugs you. 

Surprisingly? He's the most gung ho about who you want to date. Gym teachers see students at their worst and most desperate. He's seen Azul try to con his way out of flight class, Leona get flaky and take a nap, Cater attempting to split card his way out of laps…none of them are worthy of you! Besides, they can't even lift, bro! You're not from here, how are any of them supposed to protect your magicless, muscle less body? Now that he's dad, he's way more vocal about his opinions. Good luck.

#twisted wonderland #dire crowley #twst crowley #mozus trein #twst trein #divus crewel #twst crewel #twisted wonderland sam #twst sam #ashton vargas #twst vargas

[20-th-centurygirl]

showers

mason mount x fem!reader

warning: smut, disgustingly sweet fluff

summary: showering with Mason and doing skincare with him but he can't control himself so reader has to give him a handjob 🫣

a/n: what I would give to experience this. I was actually in two minds about including the smut in this just because it was so romantic and sweet but I decided to keep it in because it's only a little bit smutty 😉

Masterlist

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Mason was absolutely drained, there was no arguing that fact. He'd been working his arse off in training and you knew it was starting to become overwhelming for him. You were desperate to help him release some of the tension in anyway you could, but from being with Mason for so long you learnt that just your presence was enough to do that.

You sat on the sofa patiently waiting for your boyfriend to come home from training, wanting to smother him in your love and affection. You heard his car park on the drive before he opened the front door, and when you checked the time you realised he was home earlier than normal. "I'm home love" He said, smiling widely when he saw you. You walked over to him as he engulfed you in his arms. "You're back earlier than normal. Everything okay?" You nuzzled your head more into his chest as he rested his chin on top of it. "Yeah, I just wanted to come home to you. Skipped the shower and everything." You pulled your head away and held his face in your hands. "I can tell. Think you need to go and get in that shower right now." You pretended to pull a face of disgust that made Mason burst out laughing, a sound you hadn't properly heard in too long. "Oi watch it you." He pinched your bum lightly before turning on his heels towards the stairs. He reached out to grab your hand "come on then."

You smiled and took his hand as you both made your way to the bathroom. Showing together wasn't uncommon, physical touch was one of yours and Mason's main love languages, so the chance to share such intimate moments with each other was something that you both valued. Mason turned on the shower, making sure that it was hot, too hot for him but he knew that's how you liked them. You helped to undress each other, flashing grins everytime you both made eye contact. There was nothing sexual about it, instead a mutual need to be close to each other.

Once the shower was warm enough Mason held your hand and guided you both into the shower. Times like this made you eternally grateful at the size of his house, resulting in him having a large enough shower for you both to fit in comfortably. You both stood under the water, letting the steam consume you both as Mason had you wrapped in his arms. He pressed a few gentle kisses on top of your now wet hair before releasing his grip and grabbing your shampoo. "You don't have to do that Mase" you said softly as you watched him lather it up in his hands as he shook his head, "I want to." You smiled and closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his waist as he gently worked his hands through your hair. Once he was sure it was washed he tilted your head up by lifting your chin with his finger so he could rinse it out with water. Once he'd done than he applied conditioner in his hands and ran it through your hair before pulling away, knowing that you usually let your conditioner sit in your hair for a few minutes.

While you waited you grabbed Mason's shampoo, mirroring his actions as you leaned up on your tiptoes. Realising your discomfort he leaned his head down, moving his hands to cup your boobs and massage them lightly. "I'm so happy you don't use a 3-in-1 anymore. Can't believe you used to live like that before I met you." Mason chuckled into your shoulder. "You've converted me." "Mhm, still need to work on your skincare routine though. Head up please." You rinsed the shampoo out of his hair before putting conditioner in his, another thing you'd made him add to his routine. "What? I wash my face and moisturise. Just cause I don't use a million different products like you." He rolled his eyes but you caught the amusement in his voice. You pulled his hair gently as to not hurt him "watch it mount.". You pecked him on the lips as you washed the conditioner out, him doing the same to you.

You turned around, bending slightly to choose a shower gel and unintentionally turning Mason on. "Right, you can choose the smell. Vanilla or lavender? I think you should choose the lavender because it will help you relax." "Yeah right, you just wanna use that because it's your favourite." You turned around with the shower gel, faking a look of hurt "I would never." You noticed his semi but decided to leave him alone instead of doing your normal teasing.

You grabbed a loofah and gently began to wash down Mason's body, his eyes falling shut as he let out small hums of appreciation. "Turn around so I can wash your back darling." Mason turned without a word, before turning back once you told him you were done. You moved the loofah down both his arms before going down his chest and stomach.

You couldn't help but notice his dick pressing against your thigh. His eyes were still closed so you moved back slightly to spit on your hand before taking him in it. He let out a breathy moan and rested his head in the crook of your neck. You moved your hand up and down slowly. Not slowly enough to tease him but at the same time the right pace to help relax him. Your other hand stroked the back of his neck with your nails. Mason let out small whimpers, normally when he was tired he became more submissive and that was something you loved more than you would ever admit to him. His hands had found their way to your waist as they gripped it softly, his breath warn on your neck and it was growing heavier and faster by the second. You felt him twich in your hand and you knew he was close, so you pressed a light kiss to the side of his head "Are you close love" He simply nodded and he bucked his hips forward a few times before finishing over your hand and thigh, whimpering as he did. He stayed in that position for a bit, pressing open mouthed kisses of gratitude on your neck as you ran your nails up and down his back. After he'd caught his breath he pulled his head back to look at you, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "Thank you. Didn't realise how much I needed that." He let out a breathy laugh before pressing his lips to yours. In that moment you felt as though nothing else mattered. Mason was your entire world and he was yours.

"Let me clean you up then we can get settled in bed, it's too hot in here I'm going abit dizzy" He grabbed the loofah and ran it over your body and you found the fact that he was paying extra attention to your boobs was amusing to you. "You sure you're not dizzy because your girlfriend is absolutely legendary with her hands?" You teased and you raised your eyebrows at him. "I can't argue with that darling."

Once he'd finished he turned off the shower, wrapping you up in a towel and handing you one for your hair as he tied a towel over his waist. You both dried each other off, exchanging kisses in the middle. Mason handed you some underwear and one of his hoodies to wear as he pulled on some fresh boxers.

"babe, can we do one of your face masks tonight?" His voice was quiet, almost as if he was embarrassed to ask and his face was decorated with a light blush. "Course we can, let me just brush my hair and we can. Go wash your face n wait for me in the bathroom love." You flashed him a side smile that made his heart flip. It amazed him just how much he loved you, he would do absolutely anything for you and knowing you'd do the same made him happier than he could ever describe.

Mason made his way back into the bathroom, carefully following your instructions. Despite this now practically becoming a weekly ritual for Mason to join you on your skincare nights, he still got shy asking about it.

He smiled from ear to ear when you appeared behind him, quickly washing your face before you both made the hard decision to choose which face mask you were going to use. "Which one do you want? I chose the shower gel so you can choose the face mask." Mason pretended to think hard, but he always chose the same one every week, a cucumber face mask that he was especially fond of because it 'smells and feels nice'. You grabbed two matching headbands before you grabbed the face mask. "Close your eyes for me Mase" He said as you said as you carefully applied the mask. "'S cold" Mason couldn't help but partially open his eyes to be greeted with a sight he thought was downright adorable. You biting your lip as you were extremely focused on the task at hand. "Mase close your eyessss" you whined, tickling his side with your free hand. You finished applying the mask before putting it on yourself.

Mason stared at you intently, he felt like his heart was going to explode. "Stop staring" you whispered, staring to feel abit embarrassed. "Sorry. You're just so beautiful. Can't believe you're my girlfriend." You felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks. In your opinion this wasn't your best look, wet hair that made you look like a drowned rat in your eyes, an old oversized t-shirt of Mason's and your face covered in a green face mask but to Mason it wasn't about your physical appearance (despite him thinking that your face and body was the most beautiful thing he'd ever had the privilege to lay his eyes on) but your personality. You were the most generous, loving, selfless, caring woman he'd ever met in his entire life and he thanked whoever graced his life with your presence everytime he looked at you.

He was pulled out of his trance when the timer went off, signalling that you needed to wash the masks off. You grabbed a damp cloth and gently wiped it all away before applying moisturiser to Mason's face, pressing a light kiss to his lips before he did the same to you. "Thank you" you shot him a confused look, not really sure what he was thanking you for. "For everything tonight. The shower and this. This little routine had become one of my favourite ways to spend time with you. I love you so much." He pulled you into a hug and he kissed your temple "I love you too Mase, so so much." You leaned in and shared what felt like the most loving kiss you'd ever shared with him. "Bit weird that you didn't mention our shower antics in that speech." You teased. "Well I'd like to think that went without saying." He smiled before being interrupted by a loud yawn. "Come on, let's get to bed darling." But he shook his head lightly "I wanna thank you properly for everything."He pouted, clearly unimpressed. "Mase, you can tomorrow, you're exhausted and you need rest. Just cuddling with you tonight is enough, I promise." He simply grinned before taking your hand in his and guiding you both to bed. He pulled the covers up as you both climbed under them. "Can you cuddle me tonight?" He asked sheepishly, and you grinned ear to ear. "Course I can." You gently patted your chest "come here baby." Mason placed his head on your chest, one hand on your waist and the other travelling up your shirt to cup your boob. You wrapped one arm around his back and your other went to his head and massaged his scalp gently. "I love you so much baby. Goodnight" "I love you too Mase, forever"

#footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football one shot #mason mount imagine #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount x you #mason mount

[laugtherhyena]

Fuck you *categorizes your moonscorches*

Earlier today i was chatting with my friends and it made me think a lot about the moonscorched forms of the termina cast and what they represent, the conversation itself was about Daan and Elise's relationship and how i personally don't think we can use Stitches as an accurate way to read her character due to moonscorch.

Because the moonscorch forms are at their core a distorted version of someone, however the way in which they're distorted tends to vary a lot between characters to the point that in order to understand what way that is you need to know who they were as humans, which is something we can't do with Elise since she's a background character who we never interact or see when she was alive.

This made me want to look into and try to categories the termina participants moonscorch forms in the way i think the distortion potrays them as, which it's not accurate to them as people in most cases.

-Daan: "This isn't who i am"

There's nothing about Pocketcat that resembles Daan aside from his physical appearance and a couple odd lines (of which i feel like may happen because he is a fresh new body for Pocketcat? So he still has a few of Daan's memories and mannerisms but those will likely fade away the longer he stays in that body) because he's just a creature who took over his body, Pocketcat is not Daan and Daan is not Pocketcat. I personally don't even count this as a moonscorch form, but sources tend to group him with the others, so i might as well add him in this list.

-Abella and Marcoh: "This isn't who i am, but what the world percieves me as"

To look at the Chaugnar and conclude that Abella is a rude and violent person is just straight up wrong. Abella as a person is kind, sweet and caring, but not only is her profession something uncommon for women to have in that time period but she actively works for an organization that values her skills and not her as a person.

It's easy to percive her as something she isn't judging solely by appearance and/or an abridged description of her character. This is what the Chaugnar is, it's Abella being potrayed as the mindless brute she doesn't want to be seen as.

The same thing happens with Marcoh, his background, his connection to mobsters, his reputation as a street boxer, all of those things can paint the image of Marcoh as a dangerous and violent man when in reality he is genuinely a good person at heart.

-Levi, Marina and Olivia: "This isn't who i want to be"

These the most upsetting form of moonscorch in my opinion because the distress and agony the characters are going through it's incredibly apparent.

Levi despises wars, they took so much away from him and gave nothing but trauma and addiction in return. He hates being associate with them which is why Weeping scope cries as he relentlessly scratches the gun on his head, it's Levi desperately trying separate himself from wars and violence, unfortunately to no avail.

Following her father's footsteps is not something Marina wants nor does she feel like she has to, the idea that her life has been decided from the moment she was born by someone else is something she hates. Marina's moonscorch is her being forced into this role and being controled by another person, a parasite that has logged itself onto her body and now gives her orders on everything she has to do.

This last one may be a little more of a stretch, i don't know Olivia as well as i know the other two, but her moonscorch being a giant machine that continuously poisons you through the fight makes me think about how much Olivia hates feeling like she's a bother to others and that a group would do better without her to "slow them down". There's also the fact that she's a botanist and machines are pretty much the polar opposite of the nature she cares so much about.

-Tanaka and Henryk: "This is who i need to be"

Judgement is pretty much the embodiment of Tanaka's feelings about how as the head of his family and their main source of income he needs to keeping going regardless of his mental of physical state, it doesn't matter if he's hurt or exhausted he needs to continue working, he has to, the grind never stops! Because this is what he thinks will make him the perfect eldest son.

Now this other one is heavily tied with my personal interpretation of Henryk's character; which is a man who, coming from a career that's usually not seen as very "manly", wants to fit in and conform with society's expectations of how a man is supposed to be because he hates the feeling of rejection.

That's why the Gentleman is, well, a gentleman. It's the kind of person Henryk feels like he needs to be. He's big, strong and moreover he's a leader, the mayor or Prehevil, it makes me think a lot about how men are expected to grow into strong leading figures just for the sake of being a guy.

-Samarie and O'saa: "This is who i should be"

Truth be told O'saa is one of the characters in this game i know the least about, so i had to get some help from my friend Marco on this and at the end of the day we thought this category was the best to describe his moonscorch. O'saa doesn't live by anyone else's rules, be it the government, the gods, he doesn't even follow the rules of the yellow mages, the Mastermind may be a manifestation of his ego as in if he isn't following them then he surely must be above all of these forces? Hard to say.

Now Samarie is a weird one, i don't really know where to start? So i think I'll do it by the name lf her moonscorch form, Dysmorphia, which is when someone obsseses over one or more aspects of their body that they consider a flaw. From her lines i get the feeling that Samarie really doesn't like herself that much and reading her mind mostly shows her calling herself a fool or a fucking idiot, so it's plausible that this dislike towards herself also applies to physical appearance and not just her as a person.

My friend once pointed out that Dysmorphia looks like the opposite of Samarie and while he said it in a joke manner i do feel like there's some logic behind it; Samarie has long hair but Dysmorphia has none, Samarie is skinny and bony while Dysmorphia is big and round, Samarie is always with a tired and kinda sad expression while Dysmorphoria apears to be smiling. It could be that Samarie hates herself so much that she sees this monstrosity that's the opposite of her as "perfect form" of sorts? She does say that she's radiating as Dysmorphia, i guess it's food for thought.

Because really this entire section is mostly me theorizing/speculating because these two were the hardest characters for me to categorize on this.

-Karin and Caligura: "This is who i trully am"

This is one of the most interesting moonscorch categories because they're the only ones that accurately potray who these characters are despite being distortions of their human selves.

Karin is the Valkyrie, she genuinely believes she's doing a good thing with her work, that she's is imortalizing these fallen soldiers and giving them the recognition they deserve. At the same time she knows those who criticize her work have a point, she makes a living out talking about these tragedies like a vulture that feeds of a corpse on the side of the road, yet she sticks to her beliefs that what she does is good at the end of the day.

Meanwhile Caligura is undeniably a vile disgusting man, he is a monster inside and out. So seing him as a giant scrotum that stays submerged in gross sewer water does a good job at summarizing who he is as a person.

#my head hurts soooo bad but that won't stop me from writing all this shit down #i NEEDED to get this out of my system #fear and hunger #fear and hunger temrina #moonscorch #funger #f&h #long post #hyena ramblings

[catsfor2]

fem!artist!reader x ellie

<warnings> sexual ?tension ?, slight slight angst, swearing, UNEDITED!

i’ve been wanting to write some hcs/drabbles for a bit and am finally doing it!!. this is kinda self indulgent and i thought others might enjoy. i want to do fics, more hcs, and am CURRENTLY DOING REQUESTS/ASKS!!!!! so plssss interact/tell me what u think!!! —j

Ellie found value in her art mainly through its life and realism. Her sketchbook was merely snippets of her mind - the love, the fear, the humor, the darkness.

Aside from books she’s sparsely found, she hasn’t been exposed to much other forms of art.

When you appeared in Jackson, it barely took days for mentions of the new ‘town artist’ to reach her ears. Dina, fawning over a delicate set of earrings, “Ellie she makes them out of plants…or like…the sap? I don’t totally remember what she said but I swear she’s so freaking cool,”

Or when Jesse came strolling in, rambling about this tiny dagger ring he now has, made out of an old spoon.

“Look I didn’t even buy it alright? Dina won’t stop talking about this chick who makes like…jewelry..I guess? Now I’ve got probably the shortest range weapon known to man,” he finished, smiling.

The final straw was when Ellie came home from a patrol late one night, achy and worn, to a tiny box sitting on her mattress.

As she peered closer, she saw a note hastily taped to the side. It read:

“Hey its Dina. I saw something and it made me think of you. I may have blabbed about you to the artist and she knows who you are now. Oops. She said she wants to see your drawings. Don’t hate me.”

Ellie felt her body suddenly become more achy and more tired. Of course. She didn’t want to get involved in this bullshit, some newcomer wooing all her friends with useless junk. Although, the thought that Dina got her a gift blurred her annoyance to a degree.

Ellie’s fingers tore through the wrapping on the outside, flipping the lid to reveal a small, bone colored pendant strung with a brown braided cord. As she peered closer, the pendant became a moon;It’s face, immaculately tiny, smiling subtly.

The necklace was far too obstructive for Ellie to wear at all, honestly. Dina probably knew this when she got it. But the pendant truly is beautiful. An entirely different art form. A different show of care - of talent. The detail allows her to comfortably sit in her room and study it quietly for another ten minutes.

Ellie sat hunched the next morning, eating something bland for breakfast, only clad in a loose sports bra and some sweatpants.

A knock heightened her soggy mood.

“Are you fucking- I went out yesterday there’s no fucking reason to be knocking on my door at—”

Jesus. There is no mistaking it, Ellie thinks. This is you.

Your hair is intertwined with beads, some homemade and some foraged from the looks of it. Dozens of necklaces, layered and tangled around your neck. The same can be said for both of your wrists. Your ears, pierced up the sides and looped with beads, charms, and other metal pieces.

It was like you were a display for the things on your body. Except, no, Ellie thinks, your face stands out amongst it all. Somehow, with all of the things covering you, your beauty is the most noticeable.

It does nothing to quell how annoyed Ellie is, however.

“Who are you,” Ellie quips(knowing full well who you are). “and what do want.”

“I’m sorry- am I intruding? I really didn’t want to bother you or anything!” You rush, suddenly embarrassed.

“I’m y/n, I just moved here. Dina just said that you might have some extra pencils and stuff that I could borrow if I ran out?” You say, hoping desperately you can save this first impression.

“I mean…” Ellie uncrosses her arms and brushes some hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, you can use some shit. I have enough to share. I didn’t know Dina told you that, so. My bad. For being…rude.” She adds, opening the door even wider. You see her muscles flex as her arms extend and curse yourself for even noticing.

“Oh it’s fine, really!” You say, making sure to remember this about Dina. Also making sure to avert your eyes from the dangerously low cut of Ellie’s sweatpants. Her careless movements are really making you nervous.

Ellie gestures for you to enter, abruptly grasping your shoulder when you don’t move as fast as she would like. She begins to walk you farther into the room.

“You do realize it’s 6 a.m. right? What do you need pencils for at 6 a.m.?” She says, staring you directly in the eyes.

“Ah, well, I guess you’re not a morning type of creator?”

“No.” Ellie sternly remarks. “I’m not.”

She turns around to start walking away.

Starting to feel like a pest, you quickly try to think of something else to change the subject.

“Y’know…I think a ring would look really nice on your hands. Or fingers- I guess.”

That’s a nice compliment right? Or did I just say something fucking insane? You think.

Ellie straightens, slowing her pace a bit.

“I could make you a ring? Like as a trade? For the…pencils?” You say.

She turns.

“Yeah…Sure…” Her hands fall on her hips.

“How do you know how big to make it,” Ellie says. “The ring.”

“Well, what I’ve been doing is using this like, bendy piece of plastic to—well, hold on,” you pause, grabbing her hand to demonstrate.

Ellie’s eyes snap to yours in an instant, invisibly clouding your brain with something warm and fuzzy. You feel her hand flex in yours.

“uh…yeah, so I use this,” you reach into your pocket. “and I wrap it around whichever finger, like middle or ring finger.”

You instinctively wrap it around her ring finger, matching up the lines and moving your head in close to see which number lines up. You feel her figure move closer to you, almost hovering over you as you work.

“aaaand it looks like you’re a size….9” you mumble, running your hands along the base of her fingers before shyly retrieving yourself from touching her, remembering the situation.

Before you can move, Ellie snatches both of your wrists, bringing them in between the both of you. Her eyes intimately gloss over your rings.

“Hold up, could I try on one of yours?”

Your face colors. You couldn’t really explain, but something about the way she’s gripping your hands makes the blood in your body heat up.

“I…yeah, yes. But these are gonna be like…pinky rings for you.” You say, hands fumbling to take off one of your rings for Ellie to try on. Your palms are getting sweatier each time she touches you.

“What?”

“Your fingers are bigger than mine. So,” you take your ring and attempt to place it on her finger. “it only fits…” Ellie’s eyes track your hands. “…on your pinky. There. See? Pinky ring.”

“Oh.” She says. Her gaze still hasn’t left your hands, almost like she’s noticing them for the first time.

You misread her quietness as some sort of sadness.

“Hey, your hands aren’t that much bigger than mine- I know a lot of girls who just have bigger ring sizes. It’s not like- a thing. To feel bad about, or anything.”

Ellie says nothing. Her mouth twitches.

“Your hands are nice. I think..”

She looks up, a laugh bubbling out slightly. Finally, she stops you.

“I don’t mind having big hands.” She looks at you with something weird, something extra.

“They’re not really that big…” You joke, thankful that Ellie has seemed become less irritated with your presence. You notice the wirey veins tracing between her fingers and lining the backs of her hands.

“Yeah?” She questions. “Wanna compare?”

The way shes smiling at you puts a fiery ball in your stomach. It gets hotter as you realize she will not stop looking at you.

“Wow you really can’t take your eyes off my hands, huh? You really want to make me a ring that bad?” She says. Something in her tone makes you pulse between your thighs.

“Oh- I don’t mean to stare. I’m sorry.” You utter, trying to regain your composure.

This is not the Ellie you were taking to before. You felt…vulnerable, now. Your shirt felt thin, it had you rethinking your bralessness. Your shorts felt…short. It felt like the exposed parts of you were burning under the possibility of being seen by Ellie.

“No, I think you mean to.” She continues, “Because you’ve been staring this whole time.”

She’s found you out. You tried your best to be subtle about the yearning, the pull you felt, the way you’ve been just a little breathless ever since you’ve walked through the door.

But you failed.

“It’s really cute, the way you say you like my hands cause of the ring thing.”

She grabs your chin gently and rubs her thumb just under your mouth.

“…But. Be honest.” She stops. Her other hand starts to inch up your leg. You barely notice until her hand brushes the hem of your shorts.

“They just turn you on.”

Your eyes flip wide open, as does your mouth.

“You can pretend it’s some sort of artistic muse thing, but I think…” Ellie tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in closely near your neck. “you just want to be touched.”

Your silence is encouraging to her, it seems. The way your eyes have glossed over and cheeks gone red also let her continue,

“Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Have you been waiting for someone to ask you that?” Her eyes flit between your lips and the outline of your pebbled nipples under your shirt.

“For someone to give their fingers to you?”Ellie only grins. She’s pleased, excited, at your inexperience.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you sputter.

The hand on your thigh tightens, causing you to squeeze your legs ever so slightly. You focus on meeting Ellie’s gaze and not closing your eyes to relish in the contact.

“Do you want me to touch you?” She asks.

Her eyes gaze so heavily at your mouth, it’s difficult to remember to speak.

“Cause I really want to touch you. Please?” Both of her hands are now trailing up and down your thighs, almost frantically, tugging at the bottom of your shirt and messing with the hem.

You know that she can now see your bare breasts, pushing through the fabric of your top. Ellie’s hands grope your waist and your ass suddenly slides forward from the force, your breasts pressing up against hers in an instant. The heady exhale she groans out blows past your neck. The warmth gives you shivers.

“Yes, touch me.” You say,

hoping wholly to god that it won’t be the last time you say it.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams #tlou part 2 #ellie williams x reader #f reader #lesbian #x reader #abby anderson #tlou fic #ellie tlou #ellie fic #ellie williams fic #catsfor2

[whumpacabra]

Façade

Pain medication use, past trauma, headache, overwhelmed, vague recreational drug mention, prison and legal charges mention, briefly implied past noncon

[Follows Halfway]

Routine took hold and East couldn’t be more thrilled. He had daily tasks to complete - cleaning his own room, setting plates for meals, dusting the common area. And Nathan was generous enough to explain how each task could be successfully completed.

He knew the others were watching him. Talking about him. His implants still stung where they hummed behind his ears. Part of him felt relieved for it; like the cameras in the bunker it was part of the act, a piece of the show. So long as he was observed, he was safely East - the enigmatic, antisocial, but diligent new addition to the Holloway House.

It was the times alone that were difficult to bear, as much as he breathed a sigh of relief hearing Jacob, Ice, Mac, and Tav leave for their day jobs while Alister attended some ‘skill building’ seminar Nathan drove them to. The house was locked, but he wasn’t considered a flight risk. He was safely alone and could finally breakdown and cry out all this stress -

“Oi, East - you in there? Telly’s fizzled out and I’m bored outta my mind.”

East couldn’t help the glower on his face as he cracked open his bedroom door. “Not my fucking problem.”

“Chill man, I’m just asking if you want to play cards. Nothing serious just some fun.”

Fun?

Tierney must have seen the flicker of confused hesitance in his eyes. The kid pouted, batting his eyes.

“Please? I’m gonna go nuts just sitting down there by myself.“

East glanced behind himself, pill bottle on his desk. He hadn’t taken any of the pain medication he had been prescribed - ‘as needed’ didn’t mean much to him. But if this kid was going to be a pain, what harm could one dose do?

“One game. Then you shut up, leave me alone, and let me take a nap.”

“Yes!” The former inmate was showing his age as he restrained a fist pump in the air, racing ahead of East’s limping gait to the top of the stairs. “Let’s do something simple - you know how to play War? Maybe Rummy…or Garbage - ah but that’s only 10 rounds it ends so fast…“

“Dealer’s choice.” East wasn’t going to admit he didn’t know how to play the games Tierney was talking about. Or any card games for that matter. (Did he? He remembered cards - the suits, the face cards - but not their utility.)

“Oh then we’re definitely playing War - we probably won’t finish before the others get back.” Tierney sat at the kitchen table, shuffling a deck and dealing two piles. East didn’t sit down until he saw where Tierney was putting his cards. But he settled into the chair, mirroring Tierney as they began to play.

The first few rounds were informative, each flipping over one card at a time, the higher value card ‘winning’ and letting the player add both to the bottom of their deck. East could see how this game could last all day, but at least it didn’t involved any of the loud table slapping and shouting he had heard during other card games.

“So, what’s your deal man?”

“Hm?” East turned over an 8 of spades. Tierney took it with his queen of clubs.

“Nate told us the basic y’know - new guy, skittish, not a fan of crowds, but - y’know - I’m curious. You’re an immigrant right?”

East felt a frown crease his face, even as his 7 of hearts took Tierney’s 2 of diamonds.

(“Pity about the accent. I guess there’s always room for improvement.”)

“What of it?”

Tierney opened his mouth and almost spoke, a pinch of annoyance fading from his face.

“Never mind. You’re a prickly motherfucker you know that?”

“Yessir.”

“Sir? I could get used to the sound of that - ”

“Don’t.” Despite the seriousness in East’s voice Tierney chuckled, either ignoring or - blessedly - missing the thread of desperation in his voice. East took Tierney’s king of spades with an ace of diamonds.

“I’m just jokin’ - but you do call Nate ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a bit…uh, unique.”

“Hm. A polite way of putting it.”

“You know it’s weird and you do it anyways?”

“Force of habit.”

“Oh.” Tierney hesitantly took East’s king of hearts with his ace of spades. “You serve?”

Probably.

“Yessir.”

“How’d a solider end up on assault and burglary charges?”

“Tough luck.” East lost a queen of hearts to Tierney’s king of clubs. “How’d a kid fresh outta school end up with felony drug trafficking charges?”

“Ah, you must not have heard.” Tierney smirked, taking a 3 of clubs with a 4 of hearts. “I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t seem it.”

“Nah, I was just a dumbass kid. Acting out for mum and da’s attention, y’know?” East shrugged. He didn’t. But Tierney carried on. “Got a bit of a reputation to live up to in my house.”

“Really?”

“You don’t know, do ya?” The Irishman laughed. They had both turned over a pair of aces. He began to layer three cards below, and East mirrored him exactly. He was more focused on the cards than the conversation. “How the hell do you spend five years in Blackwater and not know what the O’Hares have been up to?”

Panic flared in East’s chest, burning up his throat. But the pain medication in his blood made his thoughts syrupy - easy to put on a charade of calm, easy to let something slip.

“Kept my head down and mouth shut.” East didn’t like how hyper aware of his own tongue he suddenly was. (“Head back, mouth open. And for fuck’s sake relax, bitch.”) He needed the echo in his skull to shut up, to talk over it until it did. “What? Your father a mob boss or something?”

“Or something…” Tierney pouted when he turned over a 7 of clubs, losing to East’s king of hearts. “Damn, you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

East swallowed a memory of iron and smoke on his tongue.

“Guess so.“ He stood, mind on getting a glass of water to wash away the phantom taste but his body sluggish, stumbling from the table.

“Hey, you good man?” There was the sound of a chair moving across the linoleum, a presence hovering closer, closer -

East caught Tierney’s hand before it reached his shoulder. He was mindful not to snatch the man’s fragile wrist with too much force, gently brushing it aside after a breath to steady himself.

“You talk too much.” He breathed through his mouth, if only to remind himself he could. East’s words were slow and clumsy on his tongue. “Headache. Mind if I close my eyes a few minutes? We can finish the game after, just - just need a minute.” There was a beat before Tierney hesitantly responded.

“Alright.” There was twinge of worry across the younger man’s freckled face. “Take the couch - no use heading back upstairs if ya want to finish the game.”

East nodded, pushing through the thickening fog around his thoughts. Couch. Lie down. Close his eyes. Just long enough to think clearly. Just long enough to feel rested and able to continue this charade of normalcy, this act -

But sleep was warm and dark and deep, and blessedly, dreamless.

[Before Nap]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath

#whump #recovery #pain medication #past trauma #headache #overwhelmed #recreational drug mention #prison mention #legal charges mention #implied past noncon #freelancers #this chapter is Messy but I’ve given myself a 3x rewrite limit. this ain’t a published novel if I’m editing more than writing out it goes

[savage-rhi]

Friends to Lovers prompt with who other than the Beloved Ardyn!

Sharing clothes in a friendly way.

If you Ardyn lovers say you haven't thought about stealing his coat and wearing it, you're lying. I have had so many people come to the same consensus. We all think about it, HA!

@sillylittlevulpine Okay...I indulged A LOT on this one (in my defense, I needed it as much as it was requested). Hope you like it!

Y/N had been staring at Ardyn’s long coat for what seemed like an eternity, debating with themself. The article should’ve been put up a while ago. Instead, the coat was laid out on the floor along with other garments that had been cleaned and mended. 

Curiosity and resentment had built up in Y/N ever since they were assigned to this task. Folding and tidying up the Chancellors' wardrobe was not what they signed up for. Come to think of it, Y/N believed Ardyn didn’t make the request in the first place. From previous conversations, he seemed to pride himself on taking care of most of his personal items. The only time Y/N had encountered behavior to the contrary, was when Ardyn wanted to indulge in food and wine, especially when he wasn’t in the mood to make anything himself. 

This had to be the Imperial Keepers' idea…Y/N thought bitterly to themself. It made sense the longer Y/N thought it through. If Y/N didn’t know better, the Imperial Keeper probably did it to add further insult to injury them, on account they had come down with a nasty cold during the week and had been slow with duties. There was also the spat that happened between Ardyn and the Keeper. The latter having been slighted, purposefully by Ardyn to prove a rather crude point to his colleagues. In all honesty, with the rotten attitude the Imperial Keeper had that day, Y/N thought he deserved it. 

“The jerk weaponized me as a biohazard to the Chancellor,” Y/N muttered to themself, letting their conclusion sink in. It made sense. Why else send an obviously sick attendant to take care of a higher-ups personal items even though it was out of character for those services to be requested? 

“I should leave. Have someone else do it. Screw points getting docked.” Y/N said aloud, but then they found themself back in the conundrum that had them stuck on Ardyn’s living room floor in the first place. The resentment had come and gone, now curiosity came flooding back. 

Y/N’s tired eyes combed over the material of the jacket, admiring the stitchwork and the different textures complimenting each other. They recalled Ardyn telling them long ago that it was customized just for him. He certainly wasn’t lying. The tiny details here and there was evidence that whoever made it had very careful hands and machine-like focus. 

The coat wasn’t the most expensive thing Y/N had come across while being in service to the empire, but the reputation it got from its owner was enough to make Y/N scared of ruining it by touch, even though the poor garment had seen better days. Y/N lost count of how many times Ardyn had to get the coat mended because he got into an altercation, or didn’t bother to take it off when going into hostile land. One would think he didn’t care much for it, but Y/N remembered Ardyn’s wrath when someone tried to pawn it off for gil after stealing it. He was stuck in his chambers for two whole days while people searched for the thief. It was quite the tantrum over a material good, however, Y/N figured it held some strong sentimental value. Plus, it looked warm and inviting. Something Y/N desperately needed at the moment. 

Y/N’s body shuddered from the fever they had been enduring. They hated this. How one moment their body would feel boiling hot, then would feel so cold it was as if Shiva herself resurrected and brought another age of ice upon Eos. The goosebumps down their arms felt like tiny mosquito bites, and they coughed into their arm horribly as their temps began to cool off once more. 

Ardyn and the rest of the Imperial Council were currently in session. Those meetings tended to last several hours. There were still two hours left before Y/N’s next assignment would be put in place by the Imperial Keeper, so they had plenty of downtime. Maybe…Y/N thought to themself. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt anything if they put it on for a bit, just to get warm again. 

“Gods be damned,” Y/N sighed, closing their eyes and bitterly huffed before grabbing the coat. 

Ardyn let out a deep breath when he approached the doors to his chambers, rubbing his eyes for a moment. After enduring a half hour of old men fighting over scraps when it came to the war budget, he promptly conjured a tall tale to get out of staying put. Somehow Aldercapt approved and he made a beeline for the doors.

“You are not leaving me alone with senile degenerates,” Verstael whispered with contention as Ardyn walked past his chair. The infighting was so loud, that no one paid the side conversation any mind. 

“My dear friend, you're an old-timer among the flock yourself!” Ardyn mused, putting a hand on his peer’s shoulder, earning a raised brow from Verstael as he looked up to meet Ardyn’s mischievous grin. “You might as well be insulting the years of wisdom that show decadently upon your wrinkled face!” 

“Hmpf,” Verstael narrowed his eyes, shaking his head and he slapped Ardyn’s hand away. His right eye twitched from the chuckle that escaped his colleague. “Funny you call me such a thing when you should be dust at this rate.” 

“True as that may be,” Ardyn began. “Between the two of us old men, I’m the better-looking one.” 

“You better leave before we not only have a mutiny among the council, but a homicide as well.” 

“And I’m off!” Ardyn chuckled, giving a sarcastic wave with his right hand before departing. 

The memory had Ardyn amused for a time in the present. It was enough to pull him out of his negative thoughts from before, now focusing on things that gave him pleasure. Taking a nap after nursing a bottle of wine was starting to become more enthralling by the second, and he wasted no time venturing into his abode. 

Ardyn had done this so many times, that he didn’t initially know he wasn’t by himself. He started going through his routine; taking off his vest and discarding it followed by his red scarf. He hung them up on a hook nearby, then started thinking about his jacket; wondering if it had been returned from the cleaners yet. That’s when Ardyn stopped midway taking off his hat, hearing a noise coming from his television set in his living room. He put his hat back on, and cautiously began to tiptoe toward the noise, bracing himself for the possibility of a fight. 

To Ardyn’s surprise and shock, he saw Y/N sitting on the couch, leaning forward toward the TV. His coat snugged around their body like an oversized blanket, as if he had never been its proper owner. To say he was speechless was an understatement. No one ever had the gall to get this comfortable in his personal quarters and he became greatly amused at the sight. 

Ardyn decided to let the silence play out for a little while, making observations while he ventured close without making a sound up until he cleared his throat. 

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” Ardyn sarcastically stated, making his presence known upon arriving at the back of the couch. 

“Shit!” Y/N exclaimed. They attempted to scramble off the couch, only to fall over themselves in a clumsy fashion, while quickly grabbing for the remote and turning the television off. Panting heavily, they quickly spun and looked up at Ardyn. Y/N watched him raise a brow, smiling like he caught someone red-handed while he crossed his arms. 

“I--can explain this,” Y/N gestured at the coat. “I promise I wasn’t going to steal--”

“My attire looks rather fetching on you,” Ardyn interrupted. His eyes scanned Y/N over and his smile grew. “I’m almost jealous you’re outperforming me.” 

“What?” Y/N flatly blurted and furrowed their brows.  “You’re not upset?” 

“Far from it,” Ardyn smirked. “Of all the things I could’ve come home to, I’d rather deal with an Imperial Help trying on my clothes for kicks than an assassin wanting to present my head to the King of Lucis. Although I’ve grown fond of our conversations, Y/N, I don’t recall requiring your services for the day. Come to think of it, I don’t believe we were to see one another until the weekend. Did you miss me that much?”

"You wish..." Y/N rolled their eyes playfully and sighed, feeling relief wash over them at the fact he wasn’t enraged. Had this been Verstael, or anyone else, the consequences would’ve been costly. 

“The Imperial Keeper said you needed help with your laundry today. I figured he was lying, but I came out of obligation.” Y/N shrugged. 

“How dutiful of you,” Ardyn quipped. He briefly glared, making a mental note to have a word with the Keeper at a later date. Ardyn focused suddenly on Y/N’s features, noting their color looked more dull than usual, followed by their body tremoring under his coat. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked, breaking Ardyn out of his observations. 

“You’re unwell.” 

“Am I that obvious?” Y/N teased, then sniffled and almost felt themself sneeze. 

“You’d certainly give a fresh corpse a run for its gil.” Ardyn chuckled darkly, enjoying the brief glare Y/N shot at him before they began coughing, and instinctively he took a step forward. Ardyn only stopped when Y/N gestured with their free hand for him to halt. 

“I don’t want to get you sick,” Y/N said in between fits. “I can take your coat to the cleaning center, and get it decontaminated.” 

“There’s no need for such hysterics,” Ardyn waved them off and approached Y/N’s personal space. He didn’t give them any time to react before he felt their forehead and then checked their pulse. “I don’t get sick easily like most. However, I am curious as to why the Imperial Keeper would send someone of your ailment my way. Feeling hot and cold?” 

“Uh huh,” Y/N nodded, recoiling a little from Ardyn’s touch due to sensitivity. “I think he wanted me to get you sick if I’m being honest. He didn't take too kindly to being thrown under a bus at the emperor's reception.” 

“Well, he’s going to be in for a rude awakening,” Ardyn said as a matter of fact. His tone was bordering between sinister and playful. He took note of Y/N’s fear, and his expression softened after he finished assessing. “Do you have other obligations today?” 

“I have a councilmen’s filing cabinet to clean out, and a few beds to make.” Y/N breathed. “Why do you ask?” 

“I must implore you to stay and rest here.” 

“Here?” 

“Why not? You seemed to be getting on quite well making use of my home for your own enjoyment.” Ardyn said playfully with a shrug. 

“The Imperial Keeper--” 

“Can kiss both our asses for all I care,” Ardyn finished, leaving Y/N speechless at his bold proclamation. “I’m not sending you away when you clearly have a fever. That wouldn’t sit well on my conscience.” 

“I thought you didn’t like people. You said so yourself a few days ago that company drains you.”  

“That remains true as ever, alas,” Ardyn paused and he smiled while his right hand cupped Y/N’s face. His thumb carefully stroked over their cold skin and his eyes sadly glanced over their features. “You are in no such category.” 

“Oh…” 

Dumbfounded didn’t quite capture how Y/N felt at the moment, but it was close. The only thing Y/N could really focus on was how warm his touch was, and how their pulse seemed to skyrocket at the act. As soon as it began, Ardyn retreated his hand away and took a step back, and Y/N foolishly found themself missing the contact. 

Their eyes focused on Ardyn as his right hand began rubbing at his chin. His gaze became scrutinizing as if he was judging a piece of art. Y/N didn’t know if they should’ve felt flattered or scared. Maybe both. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Ah, it’s nothing too drastic I assure you, but I am finding that although my coat suits you well, it’s missing something that ties it all together,” Ardyn said as a matter of fact. He wasted no effort in taking off his hat, and with care, he placed it on top of Y/N’s head.

“There we go! The wardrobe crisis has been averted!”  

The hat sunk a little on Y/N initially, and they used their left thumb to prop it back up. They laughed, feeling their face turning red at Ardyn’s action. He too chortled, looking impressed with himself up until Y/N appeared to be frightened. 

“You look as if the Gods will smite you at any second.” Ardyn pointed out. 

“You're more open minded to classes mingling than others. I think we both know had this been any other councilmen or the emperor, I wouldn’t be standing. Especially if I was caught trying on their clothes.” 

“True,” Ardyn nodded. “Yet here you are.” 

“Here I am.” 

A calm silence fell between Y/N and Ardyn as they fondly looked upon the other. It was only when Ardyn guided Y/N to the couch did both break away from the spell. He lay down and got comfortable, and calmly guided Y/N to lie against him. He could sense their apprehension and spoke up. 

“I can run cold unlike most people,” Ardyn paused, reminding himself not to get too comfortable revealing his secrets. “Between the coat and myself, you’ll have an easier time resting.”

“Isn’t this overstepping several boundaries?” Y/N murmured against his chest. Sure enough, he was true to his word: it was as if on cue, Ardyn had gone from feeling like a warm furnace to a cold sheet that had been left to dry in the bitter wind. It was eerie, the whole thing, but their mind and body were too tired and miserable to think any deeper about it. The exhaustion from the long day, on top of the excitement from earlier, had Y/N feeling drowsy.

“Yes as a matter of fact,” Ardyn murmured and closed his eyes. “Alas, no one’s here to bear witness so it doesn’t matter. What happens in my chambers, stays in my chambers. However, if you’re uncomfortable, you can retreat to my room. I won’t disturb you while I remain here. I was planning to take a nap anyway.” 

“I can’t hog your bed,” Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and closed. Their mind was being lulled to rest by how cool Ardyn felt, and how cozy his jacket felt against them. “What about the Imperial Keeper?” 

“I’ll deal with it. You won’t receive consequence, I assure you.” 

“What about--”

“Y/N,”

“Yes?”

“Be a dear and hush. You're not the only one who had a long and dreary day dealing with men who are vultures.” He commanded bluntly. 

Y/N’s eyes finally gave into the weight and shut, all the while their lips smiled so big from his remark it began to hurt for a time. The last thing they could recall before drifting off into unconsciousness, was the rumbling of Ardyn’s chest when he laughed at their weak chuckle.

As soon as Ardyn felt Y/N fall asleep, he opened his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Frustration graced his amber hues while his right arm wrapped around Y/N’s body. This little friendship wasn’t supposed to get to this point. Ardyn had a feeling Y/N thought the same thing. He wondered how much longer it would be before someone in court caught onto the special treatment he freely gave to them. He also wondered how long it would be before Y/N would discover what he really was. That made Ardyn more uneasy than the former and his mind began to travel. All it would take is one slip-up, one mistake to undo his mask.

It became clear that Ardyn wouldn’t get that nap he yearned for after all, and he resided himself to his fate. 

If you like my work and feel generous, feel free to donate to my ko-fi account or my cash app account!

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#drabbles #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn x reader #ardyn x gn reader #ffxv ardyn #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy xv ardyn #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #nonbinary reader #reader x canon #reader x character

[harisutheforestprincess]

Just a reminder, Nezumi is highly intelligent, and I can tell that he made acquiring knowledge a coping mechanism when he faced the aftermath of survival.

It's so powerful because Nezumi lost all reference to what life was when his tribe was burnt to ashes, yet in his genes, the need for culture is deeply printed, and he believes Shion could survive if he holds to this same need.

He was a traveler before the idea was put in his head by the musicians passing by West Block. Nezumi knew there was so much more to life than guilt or sorrow because he had already experienced it. It was on his bone, part of his skin. Something that neither trauma nor fire could take from him.

Forgetfulness wasn't his excuse to give up. Nezumi kept on living because there was a lot to learn, a lot to explore, a lot to understand, and a lot to experience. He shouted inwardly and held to: Life has meaning because another world is yet to be met.

He wasn't terrified but eager to discover, grasp, and walk on it. Whatever that meant, since he didn't have any other sight than cruelty, betrayal, and death. He hoped on the different worlds he found casually in a book or maybe looking at a beautiful flower blooming between rocks.

Due to this hope and his soul's nature that can not be washed away, not even by the stains of blood, Nezumi could build his own collective from scratch. He has the brains, the values, and a broad understanding of the morality spectrum to set rules and, eventually, laws. But first, he needs to get out there and meet people akin to his intellectual thirst and art hunger, which confirms my personal view that Nezumi is a social butterfly!

He enjoyed his conversations with Shion because someone could finally meet him, talk back, challenge him, and add on. Constantly, continuously. No one ever did that for him—with him. His Gran and Godfather just kept on babbling about vindication and revenge, not giving him the opportunity to estate an opinion. He was meant to take vendetta on the world, and that was it.

Then, when he was alone with no one influencing his thoughts, he was in a terrible place. In a society like West Block, knowledge might be considered a threat since muscles and how to defend your territory and yourself is the only thing that matters.

If Nezumi had wanted to express himself intellectually, he would have been beaten to humiliate and degrade him. While these aspects are not detailed in the novels, I can confidently say that if Nezumi had wanted to express himself femininely, he would have been abused. Through Rikiga, we can see that despite the acknowledgment of talent in his work as Eve, he was mainly sexualized. Nezumi understood the powers of his looks and called his own legs money maker because sex is a big business in the town, and for sure, everything is done through the lenses of desperation. Nothing healthy about it or that you could take pride on.

Nezumi didn't have anyone to share his interests with, and even attempting to discover if someone did, risked his life. Not precisely by losing it but by going through hell repeatedly, which equals being broiled alive again. We see that the idea of suffering for Nezumi roots in that experience, and it's wise he doesn't want to get closer to it by any means.

Nezumi was closed off from Shion because he learned that keeping himself to himself was the way to survive. He isn't an edgy teenager who wants to be cool by being mysterious; he is afraid being open would wound him or, even worse, would worsen the scar on his back.

Again, here we are, with the fact that when Shion got closer, either with questions or intuition, Nezumi would be irritated to the point that he'd be violent because he was defending himself as he would on the streets. As he would need to do with West Block and No. 6 citizens because both parties have chased him down one way or another. With no breaks. Really.

Ever since the genocide happened, Nezumi's soul has been screaming to see another world. It's very well deserved. However, Shion alone wouldn't break the layer Nezumi has been protecting himself with. Nezumi needs to interact with other societies, different cultures, and new lifestyles.

Those other realities aren't the wall-less No. 6. West Block resulted from No. 6 as No. 6 resulted from West Block. Even when there was a wall between them, both places were constantly influencing each other as the government knew the existence of both, and trying to put a blindfold on No. 6 citizens and an iron wield on West Block's citizens had an impact on how everyone was treated. To avoid a society like West Block, there was genocide. Again, to avoid a society like West Block, there was censorship and brainwashing.

If Nezumi had stayed, he would have been terribly limited, and the concept of freedom would have morphed into a strange necessity to fit in to achieve happiness. To dismiss years of cultural development that could be happening in other cities. In Beyond, we can see that the earth is starting to heal since he bathes in a river in the wild, and not too long ago, No. 6 was still using West Block to dispose of their trash.

No. 6 is still a ignorant city, behind so many alternatives, repeating the same mistakes, and it will take years until it reaches a point where Nezumi can feel content. He has high standards and should search for them, so he can comfortably fit in because he is happy where he's at. It's a dichotomy, but a dichotomy, in this case, is healthy for Nezumi.

He's a rebel, and a rebel needs to have a sharp mind, and you can only have a sharp mind if you educate yourself. He understood this from a young age, and it was about time his heart had that so-needed revolution.

Get out of there and be damn happy under your own concept of happiness!

I am rooting for him and will always applaud his decision to leave.

#no.6 novel #no6 #no. 6 #no 6 #nezumi #nezushi #shion

[plaguedcupid]

“shoot.”

(trigun maximum chapter 10 spoilers!)

a pathetic attempt of me basically retelling these panels BUT it’s written in a novel-esque sense (and it’s gayer /hj)

word count: 450

heads up! for: guns (duh), death threats, violence

“shoot.”

wolfwood’s stern words were followed by the way too familiar click of cold metal pressing against his vulnerable forehead. vash could only do so much, staring at the other man black-clad man in pure disbelief, poor mind too overwhelmed as he still tried to process what was exactly happening at the moment.

it was all too sudden, hands swiftly positioned split-second to point a gun at wolfwood’s head. the way vash almost seemed to coddle wolfwood, freezing up in place as if his body was really programmed to avoid casualties, made the priest even more infuriated.

“if you want to believe i’m wrong that desperately,” he states so casually, to the point the pang in his chest seems to throb and expand, “pull the trigger.” he emphasizes his words—he knows they’ll hurt, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from letting them slip. 

how could someone so powerful be so goddamn naive in such a filthy world? how many times has he been proved wrong that every damned soul can’t be saved? how can he still keep on going?

how long will he keep doing this? until he finally breaks?

and yet, as such cruel words, slip from wolfwood’s mouth, it was odd how the warmth of his hands seemed to seep through vash’s gloves and warm up his pale, calloused ones. a confused, surprised and panic-stricken grunt slips from the blonde, and wolfwood clicks his tongue in annoyance, grumbling at the lack of response. “my role as the devil will be handed to you, and you won’t hesitate to end the life of whoever man stands in your way next.

��i’ll gladly trade my measly life,” he stares at the blonde, gaze unwavering, “if it’d bring something like that outta you.” he adds, already imagining vash in a dark light, blood splattered everywhere and clinging onto his clothes like unsaid apologies of those evil people he still so desperately wanted to save. vash, kneeling aglow like some damned fallen angel, utterly ravaged with bottled-up rage, yet somehow still… breathtaking.

vash wouldn’t last long with his paradoxical values—he knows that too well—yet he’s come so far: and that infuriates him even further.

not that he could confirm it, the two were in a relationship that benefitted each other but at the same time, dragging chaos along with them like it were a mere toddler’s toy, often resulting in stabbing each other’s backs—ones they had just saved. vash might just be hiding the same dozen of information wolfwood has been keeping to himself, if not more, most likely ones that were of their gruesome pasts.

ones that were better off like their hypocritical beliefs: dead, rotting and buried six feet underground.

#fics #trigun #trigun maximum #trigun fanfiction #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #vashwood

[cfr749]

What do you think of Chenford breakup reasons? Just to add drama and indicate the honeymoon phase of their relationship ended. I felt they've been building to it since the season started. Or It's season 6, and some contract are up, and they want to have options if necessary. I mean, look at other characters' arcs, too.

Hi anon,

Thanks for the ask!

I know there are a lot of theories on this, but, from my perspective, I think it was 100% a creative storytelling decision, and though I wasn't expecting a breakup, it also didn't feel like it came from out of nowhere for me.

We saw cracks in their relationship very early on with how they both approached resolving the chain of command issues and then obviously began to move into the UC conflict. I do think there was a clear through line in terms of building up to this since the beginning of the season, though of course it could have been clearer.

This is pure speculation, but for me this season so far has stylistically felt very much like Alexi taking back the reins after stepping away to work on other projects the last few seasons. These versions of Tim and Lucy feel very much like who the characters were in Seasons 1-2.

And, IMO, the emotional intensity this season is very reflective of the types of things we've seen for storylines he was more heavily involved with previously (Tim & Isabel, John's S1 shooting, DOD, Tim's dad SL, etc.).

I know people also have mixed feelings about Tim's backstory, but for me this also felt like a character-driven storytelling decision vs. something that was inserted solely to break Chenford up (though of course that was also a major driver).

Learning why Tim felt so much guilt and shame over what happened in Mosul made his backstory click into place for me. I imagine that Tim found his place in the army -- he found something he was good at, that he was valued and appreciated for. He was promoted quickly up the ranks, and for someone with his background, it must have felt like all of the validation and affirmation he was desperate for, but never received as a child. And when Ray going rogue threatened that-- the one thing in the world he had that finally made him feel worthy -- I can absolutely understand the desperation and panic Tim must have felt to prevent having that ripped away from him.

We know that Tim is a good person. I have zero doubt that making the decision that led to his two squad mates died destroyed him and all of the beliefs he had about who he was. I have zero doubt that it took everything he had to crawl out of that pit of despair and try to keep going. He shoved it into a box because he had to in order to survive. And then suddenly, years later, with no warning, he was forced to confront the one thing he's never been able to face about himself.

I have always said all I've ever wanted for Chenford (and Lucy and Tim as individuals) was a good character-driven story, told with intention, so even though I'm actually incredibly sad over the breakup, I'll be okay if that is what we get moving forward.

#chenford #the rookie #see lana ramble #tim bradford #my asks

[lavendertowerarchives]

When I say I "can't talk to people," I mean many things. It's a gross oversimplification of a very complicated set of circumstances, some of which are not always present. I'm trying to rid my vernacular of it, but it seems to be what people (those less inclined to understand) understand best.

It would take many things going wrong for me to actively try not to talk to a friend. The extenuating circumstances required for me to not enjoy listening to a friend talk would be not fully understood by me, myself. For people I don't know well or at all, general nervousness about performing for them can get in the way of initiating, but I would only attempt escape from the conversation if I felt they were only talking to me out of courtesy. Of course, I could be wrong in my assessment, but that's always the case. At least I made a judgement, no matter how flawed.

When I say I "can't talk to people," I mean I lack the mental faculties (space, speed, depth of knowledge, experience) to adequately respond to their recent comments with comments of my own which move the conversation forward in a non-trivial manner. That's a mouthful, even for me. I would love to be this verbose, but even this statement "requires" clarification. Everything I say "requires" clarification, including this. By putting "requires" in quotes, I intend to instill a sense of self-percieved falsehood in the word. Whenever I give a statement about myself, I feel "required" to add to it, since I feel that if the listener has not only an inadequate view of me as a person, but could have garnered a wholly incorrect view, too. I value the listener's opinion too much to be "okay" with them having an opinion of me that could be built off misinterpretations.

When I'm nervous about my ability to perform (entertain, be useful, etc) for someone, I slip back into an unfortunate pattern of treating the conversation as turn-based combat. Every word they say becomes ammunition for the next thing i say. I struggle heavily to rekindle or start conversations, since my inspiration is simply extinct. It isn't a skill I have. I don't know where to start, I don't know to just... Think of something to say to them. If I say something random, purely random, that wouldn't work, because all I think about is either things I want to do that I dont think they'd enjoy or just straight up pleasing them. Even if I picked something from our surroundings to comment on, I fear I'll be seen as desperate (which I most definitely am). If I told them the whole truth of me being nervous and not knowing what to talk about since I just want them to like talking to me so that they talk to me more in the future... I dont know, I just don't know if the other person wants me to be that vulnerable to them. They didn't ask for it, and they sure as hell haven't been vulnerable to me.

All of this discordant ranting, just to explain why I'm not trying to talk to people. The view from outside shows someone isolating himself. The view from inside shows too much deliberation to come to an actual conclusion. This isolation isn't on purpose. It's like learning how to walk while your legs change shape ever couple seconds.

#lavender town #mental health #lavender tower #therapy #college #social anxiety #diary #diary entry #isolation #mentally tired #overthinking #overexplaining

[araneitela]

Notes on Kafka's trailer, "A Dramatic Irony", this'll include the obvious and the less so noticeable details. I'll be elaborating on and making use of these in the future, but for now— a little list for myself (and you?) on things I want to talk about. Oof, my dear girl, there is a lot to unpack about you and I still won't be done in a year from now: Edit: It ended up being long, but who's surprised, really?

— Background music. Entirely based on Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Most very accurately pick out 'Winter' as that's what it starts with and it's also immediately recognizable, but it actually transitions into 'Summer' just after about halfway through and beautifully ends in it. The inclusion of them both is one of HoYoverse's finest decisions musically.

— The usage of rose petals instead of blood. This one thrills me, because they add such an inherent romanticism to the concept of death, which is an ages old tale and concept (hey, do we want to tie in the beauty of how Blade craves its peace so desperately yet cannot obtain it and she cannot grant him it? I do), and it plays in beautifully to the concept of what 'fear' is usually most tied to, and how she doesn't feel it. Now what exactly are these petals of? If it's your regular red rose, then yes— it is likely referencing the intrinsic romanticism of death. I initially wondered if it could be the China rose, which would indicate longevity which could be hugely interesting but no. However, with the impending goal of 'seeking fear' and tying it directly into 'the value of life', I find the more traditional take of the red rose, a sign of intense passion/love, or a potential for the hope of passionate love, incredibly intriguing (my stance on the potentially implied ship with the MC is still where I stand, but another is creeping in through a lot of rationality and logic; because I do think that's how they plan on doing it— it's what makes most sense with implications made in her dialogue).

— Inspiration: Rorschach inkblot test. "What do you see?" It says at 0:15, and it threw me for a moment, until I looked around the text. The ink blot. Leave it paused for a second. What do you see? It's the Rorschach inkblot test. It hit me with the ferocity of a ton of bricks. For those not sure what I'm talking about, do a little search and you might have seen it used in television by some psychologists, it is a test to examine a person's personality characteristics and their emotional functioning, everyone may see something different in specific ink blots. When you leave it paused at 0:15 seconds in, that's the first card and it's called The Fear Card; intrinsically fitting, considering: "Elio said that I'm good at creating "fear", even though I don't know what it is." I didn't actually recognize the ink blot until I started typing this up and analyzed it again for the umpteenth time. I'm losing my mind, no, I've actually already lost it, because on further analyzing, I think the spider on the back of her coat also looks like it's been designed after the ink blot/card in question because it grows into a similar shape, though more so when it grows into the lines/threads of her Spirit Whisper that you see around the 1:13 mark. The entire sequence of ink blots at that timestamp give us an insight into what the guard sees that she's talking to, he sees his own death. /breathes very casually. God, I'm losing my mind, this might actually play so much more into her character. What do you see, she asks— Kafka, what do you see?

— She's so incredibly cultured. There are a lot of very classical but also archaic elements that play into the design of her character across the board. Classical music is so rarely used anymore, but it adds such a different level of sophistication to her character. Kafka stands out amidst most of the other characters, not because she's classier in general, but because they tie very old-fashioned and less used concepts into a very modern design and mold them into a perfect whole. The classical music and how she never foregoes this intense connection she has to it, the insane archaic katana versus the very modern uzis (ode to Devil May Cry, anyone? A pair of guns, one black and one white, and a katana? Along with having once worked as a 'demon hunter'? Capcom deserves the nods) and grenades, her attire especially between the coat, the high waist, the glasses and the dress shirt— but it's all beautifully put together in an incredibly modern outfit. She's so cultured, there's an intense class to her and I will not stop falling more in love with it with each passing day.

— Storytelling. 'Intermission', 'oneiric structure', 'MacGuffin', 'non- linear structure', 'fin', these are all firmly tied into the art of storytelling in film (and literature as well). Intermission is a pause in the midst of a performance. Oneiric structure refers to a structure of a tale that replicates something non-linear, so something relating to the dreamlike (oneiric comes from the Greek 'oeneiros', which means 'a dream'), think of... something surreal or distorted in reality, something that simply can't be real. MGuffin in a plot device that takes form of an a goal (an object, for instance) that is an important element in a story due to it being firmly tied to the story's characters, a driving force if you will (so for Kafka, you could see her pursuit of feeling fear). Non-lineaur simply means that a story does not follow an order of events that's necessarily chronological in terms of timeline. And 'fin' marks the end of a performance. I cannot stop being feral as to how consistent HoYoverse is with this. It isn't just referencing her trailer, or the overarching narrative of the game of Honkai: Star Rail, but also her character directly, terminology commonly used in film are in her trailer, she herself seems to be rather passionate about film (you receive a text from her regarding being alone in a movie theatre during the play of one, and she laments that there aren't more people there to watch), her eidolons being after musical terms tied to music that she thoroughly enjoys and is used time and time again to represent her. God. God.

— What some may note as being a clock counting down, is not a clock at all, but an elevator that represents a life counter. With each kill, the elevator descended one more level until it reached the ground floor. I've seen some make references to Inception and upon further glance, the reference can be intended. The 'floors' can be seen as being representative of the different levels or layers of a person's subconsciousness as she delves deeper and deeper, as she is inherently able to control and manipulate minds. God, Kafka, surely this isn't a power all from New Babylon have.

— Threads of silk; a Moirai reference tied in with the arachnid? "The silk is too fragile to be a threat, unless you're more fragile than the silk." We know she isn't fate itself, but we know, in essence, a puppeteer that ensures all sort of unfolds as Elio has foreseen, particularly with the Trailblazer, even if she trusts him/her to make the right decision. We know arachnids are far and wide associated with manipulation, which we know she's abundantly capable of and responsible for, but it goes infinitely further than that. Spiders spin webs of silk, threads of silk, threads of fate, destiny, this is an incredibly thorough and intricate character design that they settled on. Everything is so perfectly interconnected, it's absolutely unreal.

#[ ooc. ] don't try to make it logical or edit your soul according to the fashion. rather; follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly. #[ post-it. ] in a way; you are poetry material. you are full of cloudy subtleties i am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. #[ did i make a tag to use for myself to store references and to-dos? yes. yes i did. ] #[ franz kafka; you are a minefield of wonders. ] #[ ... there's more things swirling around in my head; like the reference to no country for old men. ] #[ the continuation of the arachnid motif-- granted you know this'll be a huge topic that i'll keep coming back to... ] #[ considering my url for her means '/her/ spider web'. i'll be touching on it but as i'm learning-- ] #[ it's tied into so much more than just the obvious. god. ] #[ just. god. ] #[ alright-- let's add... ] #[ mini study. ] she must have sought something extraordinary. everything she does comes at a great cost. #[ meta. ] the mara's tether is firmly in her grasp. she will not pull upon it before the designated time; nor shall she relinquish it.

[gag-magazine]

Protecting Your Peace, or Being a Pussy?

By Yellen Art by Raneem Iftekhar

Putting male comedians on a pedestal for so many years of my life was horrid for my mental health. I love their Jester’s privilege. Their pursuit of truth. Their ability to point out the negative realities people don't wish to acknowledge. True catalysts for justice. 

Comedy insidiously slips in revolutionary critique in an extremely palatable manner, due to the very nature of its entertainment. The jokes, these necessary reality checks, hold immense power in reframing thought, twisting taboo into norm. If it’s funny, it’s funny. Audience laughter is visceral. uncontrollable. reflects an acceptance of the underlying principle of the bit. The beginning of a somewhat unconscious questioning—a shift in ingrained ideology, although potentially initially uncomfortable.

I wanted to be like them, but I just grew into a menace, playing my favorite sadistic game whenever possible. This favorite pastime involved going out of my way to make my moral adversaries as uncomfortable as possible, verbalizing the unappetizing elephant in the room. I know what you did last summer. No care for pleasantries: let’s let the dirt rise to the surface. I won’t let this blow over. Cunt. You aren’t hidden. As long as I’m here. I will corner you. Trap you into confession. 

I was always searching for something or someone to trigger me so I can simulate judge and jury, desperately grasping to feel any sort of power or agency in guaranteeing justice. To instigate some revelation about their lacking morality. To catalyze their own self-reflection and potentially inspire real change. You don’t want to let them off hook, allow them to enjoy the party, same as you, living peacefully with what they’ve done. It feels so deeply wrong to settle with your own discomfort as perpetrators go free. Would you let Harvey Weinstein enjoy his meal at the table next to yours? 

But it’s a flawed strategy. On par with cancel culture’s delusion that it actually serves justice. The only one being punished is yourself as you deep dive into a black tar pit. Stuck. bogged down by their darkness. All you are doing is fucking up your nervous system, extending the timeline of your own anger, letting it cramp in your gut. P.S. Comedians are infamously known to be such happy people! Maybe comedy has always been a medium to complain about the things outside our control…to poke fun at our powerlessness. Maybe it’s not this revolutionary instrument of social change you think it is, but merely reaffirms people’s values. You just romanticize being a dick because that’s all you know. 

Protecting your peace isn’t overrated.  Karma will get them. Remind yourself that real change comes from a place of love. You didn’t even make it funny. You just put them in defense mode, clutching their comfort zone and validating their own worth as their humanity is attacked. The opposite of your “intentions.” Self-disillusionment, the process of confronting the violence of your own automatic assumptions and reframing them comes from within…But your anger is righteous and what’s the alternative? Ambivalence? Complacency? It’s a difficult balance.

I’m on a painstaking journey to deconstruct my perfectionism and shift my judgmental lens in the name of self love. I’m typically the biggest victim and the most common target of my seething hatred. In attempting to free my soul from this negativity, I try to remind myself that firstly, it’s ok to fuck up. And secondly, not every moment is a defining moment…But is it, though? Life has this magic essence to it, this circular mirroring of sorts, in which specific microcosms reflect greater patterns. Life is full of fractal reflections between small and large instances: no matter how deep you dig, you arrive on a fraction of the same thing. I usually collect people’s words like trinkets to add to a comprehensive psychological file I reserve in my brain. I’m addicted to retrieving more data to fill in my mental picture. Yes, that data says something. But not everything is a part of a greater pattern. Remember that they are so much more than what you see or hear. You aren’t engaging in critical thought, you are just critical. Keep telling yourself it was always about them and not some grand overcompensation for your own self-hatred. Everything is a mirror, after all. Stop projecting. 

Today it dawned on me how much I’ve really changed. I’ve been making an excruciating effort to be kinder to myself. But in turn, I’ve become a straight up pussy. Now we have arrived at the extremely stupid reason I wrote this piece: because of two petty instances of girls disrespecting me last week. One of them involved some frigid bitch rolling her eyes at me and then ignoring me when I introduced myself. I humbly asked for her name and ignored her cuntiness. The other involved some alt chick cutting me in line. I said under my breath with my head down, “Don’t you hate when people cut?” and the bitch really hit me back with a loud “Ya I fucking hate when people cut” as she cuts. Now, I just said nothing. I’ve never felt like such a narc loser in my entire adult life, even though the concept of a fucking line has to be one of the most basic forms of common curtosy to ever exist. But She won. Hands down. Honestly I can’t even blame her. I have to respect her and I kind of want an enemies to lovers arch for us. 

But anywho, my past self would have paid big money to be awarded any opportunity to deliver some seething comeback her way. But I stood in silence and it’s been haunting me. I can’t believe I’m…chill..now. I stopped subtweeting for the most part on my instagram story because my compulsive desire to put people on blast has gotten me in trouble many a time. I’m growing up, choosing my battles, developing my prefrontal cortex. But I am still riddled with a deep sense of regret over my silence in both these dumb situations. Maybe I should have made a scene. Bowed down to her excellency and profusely apologized for entering her space in medieval english prose. 

God, no one tells you that protecting your peace feels absurdly fucking lame. [redacted]

_________

The original ending to this piece involved me personally naming the bitches that briefly hurt my ego and telling them to go fuck themselves, ironically undermining the healing narrative I championed in this entire article thus far over such petty, insignificant situations cuz its semi-funnyish (at best) commentary on my tendency to revert back to my nasty id instincts no matter how much I try to self-help out of being a chronic hater. But ultimately, the clickbait title of this piece presents a false binary: silence or explicit aggression. But I’ve come to learn that protecting your peace doesn’t make you a pussy; it’s just the opposite.

Let’s take a look at your doomed track record thus far. You allow disrespect to tally up until you reach a breaking point that has almost nothing to do with the straw that breaks the camel's back. Then you continue to publicly pop off on an anonymous adversary on social media, with a shield of comedy and just enough vagueness to avoid communicating directly, promptly and vulnerably. Fighting behind a black screen without even really admitting you’re fighting. Championing plausible deniability to slither out of actually confronting the problem with the person head-on. Calling someone out for some dumb bullshit they probably don’t even remember in a published article where they cannot defend themselves…That’s what being a pussy looks like. Yes, I know: there are people in this world that deserve to be bullied, and yes, it’s a real shame they don’t experience debilitating shame on a daily basis like you do. But ever heard of the saying, “Misery loves company?” You are ohhh, sooo predictable—following the classic “bullied becomes the bully” character arc. So quick to condemn but someone calls you weird once and you crumble. Do you feel less weak now or more than ever? No, no, I’ve got it all wrong? You’re powerful? Extremely secure? Such conviction. Praise be.

#writing #prose #magazine #gag mag

[quinnonimp]

i cant stop thinking abt this so i have to take it to tumblr, but GODDDDDDDD this is SUCH a ctntduo song in the perspective of cquackity im collapsing to the ground and exploding into a million pieces

ive been a fan of this song for a very long time, but for some reason never realized how much of a ctntduo (well, mostly cquackity) song it is. i rly rly would love to write down ALLLL my thoughts on this bc im unreasonably brainrotting rn - but FUCK am i terrible at analysis, so ill just give some simple 1k word food for thought. feel very welcome to add on any more interpretations

these lyrics kinda speak for themselves i mean cmon

Catch my breath and hold it for me I'm wasting my time, trying to make up my mind

im not rly sure how to interpret the first line other than a kiss (especially shotgunning, with the mention of the cigarette later on n just general "catching my breath")? and im so sorry

but, if we are to commit to the kiss narrative; the second line would be cq trying to figure out as to whether hes in love with cwil, "wasting [his] time, trying to make up [his] mind". he sees this as a waste of time not only because it frustrates him and its smth so difficult to figure out compared to how miniscule it seems, but he knows cwilbur will just leave him eventually anyway, so why is he thinking so much about it?

also the "and hold it for me" line could be accentuated by cq wanting cwil to hold onto smth of his (in this case his breath ig lmao). coincidentally tying into his desperation for legacy - but in a much more personal and intimate way

I'm sitting here as the chandelier is whispering in my ear Saying, can I get a cigarette? No you'll never be mine

idunno how to interpret cwilbur as a chandelier (if i saw him as the sun of their dynamic then that would def be smth, but that title belongs to cq). if thought of broadly, could be cq viewing him as smth of value? his light? a holder of many candles? just a pretty object? fuck knows

but, nonetheless; the "chandelier" is cwilbur, whispering into cquackitys ear, either literally whispering into his ear, or just cwil trying to persuade him. could be some sort of silly mind game where he'll ask if he can get a cigarette, in his little cwilbur way, and somehow get smth out of it. like, he'll ask, and wether he does or doesnt get the cigarette, thatll insinuate smth. the "im sitting here" is just cq sitting in his office as cwilbur annoys him btw lol

cq then declines. he tells himself cwilbur will never be his, so he shouldnt try, its not worth it. (the line could be interpreted as a way of saying "we'll never be in such a peaceful setting where you can ask smth from me so casually", idunno)

and if we're going into the shotgunning side of things; cwilbur could be asking for a cigarette to do the same thing quackity did to him - resulting in the "no youll never be mine" as cquackitys (mental or vocal) response. like, "no, your breath will never be my possesion (mine)". AND AND if we're stretching this further; the "no youll never be mine" could mean cquackity not wanting to hold onto smth of cwilburs, not wanting to commit to a thing he knows will fall apart (or, also, evaporate haha). this can be seen competitively aswell

Can you come around tonight? And sing me a lullaby

even if cquackity tells cwil to get out of his country, and keeps pushing him away, he doesnt actually mean it. he wants cwil to come and he likes their competition, their dynamic, the attention, and he realizes hes lonely without it

the lullaby could either mean cq wanting cwil to sing him a song like at nikis bday party, or just wanting comfort from his rival. he could be yearning for their relationship to become softer, more vulnerable, less hateful, something so sweet as a lullaby, even if he knows its impossible

Just take my heart and break it Can you come around tonight?

cq again thinking falling in love is worthless, or wanting cwilbur to just get it over with and break his heart already so they dont have to keep the painful momentum lingering on. maybe give cq a final reason to truly hate this man

yet even when cquackity wants cwilbur to get it over with, his yearning persists, and he again just wants cwilbur to keep coming, keep pursuing him

its also a juxtaposition to the softness from the pair of lines above these, where cq knows he cant have the lullaby, so might aswell go for what he knows is possible - something harsh. what hes used to

I might be the enemy But nothing quite hits like you (No)

cq acknowledging their rivalry, understanding if cwilbur wouldnt wanna come over or stay with him .

but he also acknowledges the way "nothing quite hits like [cwilbur]", in the metaphorical sense of a drug. hes addicted to their rivalry, aswell as cwilbur as a person. if we wanna stretch this further, it can also funnily coincide with wilburs drug van beginnings, now cwilbur being the drug

the "(no)" in the end could be cq telling himself to stop feeling like this, stop wasting time on his rival, when hes got other things to do. to stop thinking of cwilbur as smth he cant let go of

SOOOOO FUCKING POGTOPIA ERA CORE WAAAAAAA

Take this pen and write for me Oh write me a song and I'll try to forget it

these first 2 lines can be interpreted as nikis bday party, singing and writing (parody) songs to each other. iirc cquackity would ask cwilbur for songs, but dont take my word for that lmao. also a thing to note is cq offering smth to cwilbur (a pen), to get smth in return (a song)

i have some thoughts on the "ill try to forget it" but no clue how to write them down tbh. sorry

Oh I'm standing there, as the man upstairs Comes crashing through the ceiling Saying where's my fucking cigarette? With fire in his eyes

the "man upstairs" is obv cschlatt, "crashing through the ceiling", "fire in his eyes" as hes being harsh and demanding, cq just standing there having to take it. "man upstairs" can be either interpreted as god (which we wont be interpreting as but might aswell mention lmao), or someone in power - which obviously cschlatt is. holding both legal and emotional power over cquackity

this could be either pre-nikis bday party (white house incident), post (the contract signing thing), or just cquackitys time with cschlatt in general

the bitterness of schlatt demanding "wheres my fucking cigarette?", which has him expecting cquackity to give him something, give him what he wants, because he knows he'll get it as cq has no other option - can be juxtaposed by the more gentle whispering request of "can i get a cigarette?" by cwilbur from earlier in the song, where depending on the tone theres a possibility itll have strings attached and be a manipulative tactic, or just be a simple casual request from a friend. if we're going for the softer route; then cwilbur doesnt know whether he'll get what he wants from cq, so he doesnt demand it. he just asks, takes his chance

Can you come around tonight And sing me a lullaby Just take my heart and break it When you come around tonight? I might be the enemy But nothing quite hits like you

my interpretations r the same, but this time, with the "when you come around tonight", he knows cwilbur is coming. its their routine. plus cq no longer has the "(no)" at the ending line, as hes accepted his feelings now

though what could accentuate that difference further is with the last set of lines

But as all my patience Starts to dry And my feet leave skids across the sand Then I'll know that you've won

cq could be growing impatient with cwilburs incompetence, or smth to do with him growing impatient at how theyre afraid of seeing each other after what happened in ho16. theres 100% potential for a better interpretation though

then we have the sands of las nevadas being skid ofc. this could be interpreted as cquackity kicking the sand in frustration at the prospect of wilbur winning or cq losing (haha) his patience. OR with the more proper definition of skidding; cq frantically searching for cwil as hes left for utah, leaving "skids across the sand" (<- and if we're going with this narrative; the "but as my patience starts to dry" applies to him searching for cwil but losing his patience, or losing his patience at how theyre afraid of seeing each other so he takes the first initiative, but not finding him)

he realizes their competition has ended, and while it doesnt particularly fit their characters to have any of them win - in cquackitys perspective it could either be cwil winning as hes gotten a happy ending, or having yet another person in his life leave him in the dust (or, well, sand)

And I'll run Back to where I came from

i actually dont rly know what to interpret this as if im gonna be honest

i guess at face value with the "cq searching for cwil" narrative, him going back to las nevadas, or more specifically his office, sitting down in defeat (also another possible case of cwilbur "winning", cq not being able to find him). could aswell be cq going to the lmanberg crater? if we're taking the "back to where i came from" more seriously. even though cq didnt come from lmanberg, i guess its the closest thing to where he came from in the dsmp in this sense, and ties more into cwilbur

"though what could accentuate that difference further is with the last set of lines"

now going to what i said a little earlier, what i mean by it is what makes cquackitys newfound acceptance more emotional is the way its immediately followed by cwilbur leaving him, his heart being taken and broken just as he asked, but not how he wanted. which makes the word "skid" a lot more potent, as hes frantic in his search for the man hed finally accepted his love for

------

and yknow whats the most fucked up if u havent actually listened to the song yet?? the slot machine noises in the bg. please this is such a cquackity song

also, as im almost done writing all this, i realize the genius page has a few parts of the lyrics wrong that were different in the official spotify lyrics thingy (like the "(no)" from the second set of lines just being an "oh", and the "no youll never be mine" actually being "i know youll never be mine" lmfao) - but i dont think they make much of a difference anyway, so who cares, this is abt psycho-competitive minecraft boys

ok. im done now. if u read it all then i may offer u a kiss. goodbye

#tntduo #c!tntduo #c!quackity #c!wilbur #c!schlatt #<- a little bit #long post #quinnotalk #tumblrimp #Spotify #rb

[cherrychipheart]

Update

Heya~ It’s been a while. 5 years

First off... I’m genuinely surprised that my dead blog still gets likes and reblogs occasionally. During the course of time, a lot of asks were sent, and I’m really sorry for having left you guys hanging. At that time, high school grades were a priority ;; Now that I’ve been free from all that for a while, at the very least, an update was necessary. 

1. Updating blog theme

There were concerns that the blog was hard to navigate and to add, also lead to external links. I’m incredibly sorry to those who experienced this. The blog has now reverted back to the vanilla tumblr theme. 

2. Back to being active?

I’m afraid that I have lost all motivation to continue this blog. There are 15 drafts/unposted theories that were left sitting there, and when I look at those posts, I think man, what was I thinking? As of right now, I’ve forgotten 80% of what my theories were originally about, that I’ve had to reread them over and over ; And it’s unlikely I’ll ever get back on track. So with that, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to answer all of the asks, since the part of my brain concerning itself with Cheritz has been collecting webs and dust 😞

3. The future of this blog    

I’ve considered deleting this blog for some time. It’s pretty much dead, but I’m still conflicted over whether I should or not. It’s actually my very first and only tumblr blog...  

4. Moving on

Part of what made this fun were some online friends I made along the way in creating these seemingly wild theories. I’ve lost touch with them overtime, but its a part of growing up in general, moving on with life. I’ve had so much fun also looking at others’ theories and looking at the asks. In fact, there were some that were like a revelation o.o, things that I had never considered. There was one ask which talked about how some of the organisations making contact with the RFA sounded like they were making desperate wishes 😮

Anyway, I’ve moved on. From Mystic Messenger. From Nameless, Dandelion. All of Cheritz I’m afraid. I was never interested in The Ssum from right when it was announced back in 2017, because first, it came out of nowhere, and I had doubt that it was connected to the previous games. Turns out... 

I’ll leave that there for you to figure out (don’t wanna risk spoilers haha).

But the biggest demotivator for dropping my blog has to be...

5. Cheritz’s declaration that the story of Mystic Messenger was up to interpretation

That particular post shook me. Starting from Nameless, Cheritz had established that their future games were truly something to look forward to, at least for me. It’s not just throwbacks or cameos, it’s within the same universe. The announcement of MysMe and introduction of Jumin’s character hooked me in right from the start. It was very exciting back in the past. But now, it’s just... eh. Cheritz appears to want to please everyone. Apparently, the Mysme fandom that hadn’t played Dandelion or Nameless were angry that they had to check out the two to understand the story of Mysme which was why Cheritz had made that post (don’t quote me, even I’m unsure of whether this is true or not 😶 But if Cheritz had to make a post like that, it must mean something)

Ultimately, I actually hadn’t even started V’s route nor got a satisfactory ending with Saeran. Their routes were a big surprise, and I felt it got messy quick. When I looked at the story of Mysme at face value (so looking at it independently without any connection to the other games) and paired with other people’s perspectives of Saeran’s and V’s routes based off screenshots, I found there were some inconsistencies regarding the characters and their point of views of events. And if that’s at face value, then there’s just no way I’ll be able to, well, make connections between the games. And the fact that Jumin’s got a route based off a bad ending... well, more profit is good I guess? They are a company after all  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Ultimately, if there are inconsistencies, paired with the fact that Cheritz says that the game is up to interpretation... what, then, is considered canon or a theory?  

If you’ve read this far... nah, there’s no way haha.

6. Just some rambling (my own thoughts, feel free to disagree of course)

I feel like Cheritz has made a mistake. By saying that Mysme can be interpreted in any way, only to connect the Ssum back to Mysme, and killing Lynn Project. Dandelion and Nameless had a clear direction. Lynn Project could’ve had a direction, who knows? Both Mysme (any additional content after the main story, new routes etc) and the Ssum don’t feel like they have a clear direction, with how they’ve had to develop these two within either a tight time frame, or lacking storytelling and anticipation. 

Anyway, I’m not sure if people are still interested in the theories surrounding Cheritz games. If so, it’s really impressive their brains haven’t fallen out. Mine fell out a long time ago. Looking back at my theories, I have now understood how crazy I must’ve sounded to others haha. 

7. So what am I doing now?

At the moment, it’s still unclear on whether I should keep this blog up or not. It all depends. Although I doubt there are others following this blog to begin with (like, is there even a discord server for Cheritz fans on theories and headcanons?)

I’ve moved onto other things at this point: working for a living, learning art, checking out other otome games, Kdramas, and so on.           

Peace~ 

-cherrychipheart   

#cheritztheories #cherrychipheart #mystic messenger #mysme #nameless #dandelion #cheritz