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yeojaa · 4 years

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the gatorade incident.

prompt: “exactly how drunk was i?”

ty anon for sending this (and a few others) in! enjoy these dumb college kids. 🥰

pairing. jjk x reader. rating. general. tags. fluff. mentions of alcohol/hangovers but generally just nerds being nerds. y’know. wc. 0.7k.

You’ve been up for the past three hours - which really isn’t all that long. It feels like an eternity though, in comparison to the comatose boy that’s made a goddamn tomb of your bed. He’s wrapped up in sheets yet hardly dressed, his shock of peach-pink hair stark against the white of your sheets. There’s a dribble of drool slipping past dry lips, a little puddle he’s going to to roll into the next time he moves. You shudder at the thought and huff another sigh into your half-empty cup of shitty no name coffee.

You could really do with some breakfast. Or was it lunch now?

A glance at the clock confirms it’d definitely be the latter. Maybe even afternoon tea, if the Hobbits were right. That came after elevenses, right? Was that before or luncheon? You can’t quite recall either. There’s still a fog from last night’s stupidity, one that feels like cotton balls in your ears and disgusting tequila on your tongue.

Still, you’re faring far better than your best friend.

RIP his favourite Carhartt shirt. It’d live a long and prosperous life in the garbage bin behind your dorm.

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnghh.” The sound spills out straight from a horror flick - a mummy come to life. Except he’s still pretty much dead, bleary-eyed and disoriented as he paws across the sheets, up over your bedside table, further and further until he’s reaching for nothing.

What’s he looking for, you wonder.

Your answer comes a moment later, hoarse and miserable. “Wahhhturrrrr.”

“How’s it going, Jeon?” You can’t help but grin at the sight. Your voice is needle-like, digging into the soft, smooth brain that currently rattles around in Jungkook’s skull. He writhes beneath your comforter, rolling his cheek right through his own drool, and groans even more loudly.

“Dude, my head.”

“Dude, your head,” you tease back, all minty-fresh breath and straight white teeth. This is one of your favourite pastimes: giving him hell when he’s hungover. You figure it’s what he deserves when you’re dragging his ass across campus at three in the morning. He’s not light, after all. That shit’s a workout.

“Waaaaaater.” It’s a bit more clear, quieted only behind the comfort of cotton. You pretend not to hear him, watching, counting, waiting until he pops up and makes the demand more loudly. He’s an impatient person as is but when he’s hungover, it’s almost comical.

(He almost choked once, chugging down a bottle of Gatorade. It would’ve been funny if he hadn’t sputtered all over your bed.)

You sip carefully at your coffee - god, you need to invest in something that isn’t just straight ass - and count to ten.

He’s pushing out of his cocoon on eight, looking as if he’s just run a marathon or been pulled out of the drunk tank. You snort, heavily, meeting his unfocused stare with a surprisingly chipper one of your own. “You alive?” He knows he isn’t (or, he thinks he isn’t - his head’s pounding too hard for him to surely say he knows anything).

“Exactly how drunk was I? Did I die jumping off a roof? Am I in hell?” Warbled out like a baby bird as he wipes the sleep (and ew, drool) from his eyes. You’re impressed - he’s never this articulate usually (and that includes when he’s sober).

“Bud, if you were in hell, I wouldn’t be here.”

That earns a half-hearted laugh, followed by the toppling of his entire frame. He drops back onto your bed like a bag of bricks, worming himself across it until he’s close enough to reach for you. A single hand grabs - a child seeking a toy - and you stare at the offending appendage with a raised brow.

“Can I help you?” Surely, Jungkook doesn’t think he’s getting even a sip of your garbage truck fuel.

“Water,” he repeats, pointing at the well-loved, chipped Batman mug in your hands. You scoff, holding it so tightly your knuckles go white against its darkly lacquered surface.

“This is coffee, my guy.”

“Water.”

“What’re you, reverse-Jesus?”

“Water!” You feel a little bad for him, especially when he winces, both at the sound and feeling of his own voice. You can’t imagine it feels very nice, dressed in last night’s hangover and stomach acid.

The two of you glower at each other, your expression far more reproachful than his - and then the bottle hits him straight in the chest, knocking the look clean off his face. There’s barely enough time to enjoy it - his little oof! and those big dumb Bambi eyes - before he’s unscrewing the lid and choking down water so quickly you’re mildly worried it might be The Gatorade Incident #2.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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rhabakoli · 4 years

Note

“I will ruin you, all you will be able to think about is me.” for Geralt & Jaskier pls?

Big thanks to @riviawitch3r for being such an amazing beta, thank you sooo much.

have fun, y’all.

Geralt was seething. The tavern was loud and full, patrons stacked to the roof, all coming to see the mighty White wolf. But being ogled wasn’t why Geralt was desperately trying to hold on to his sanity.

No.

It was that fucking bard.

That one bard, that had not only wormed his way through Geralt’s walls and didn’t take any of his moods seriously, but also managed to aggravate him by simply not being next to him, by his side. Which, is a yet unexplained phenomenon, as Geralt didn’t want anyone’s attention. He didn’t need anyone, and he was glad no one needed him.

No one, but that fucking bard. He turned everything around and now his skin itched and his fingers wanted to tousle his hair and find out if it was as soft as it looked. Geralt had whole dreams about his eyes, those deep blue seas that always seemed to see right through him.

That fucking bard, who was currently leaning against the bar, ale in one hand, grinning at the people around him, laughing with them. Enticing them, luring them, getting their fucking attention. Geralt’s blood was well on its way to boiling. How could Jaskier ignore him? He wanted to be the only one the bard looked at, ever. Not the blonde guy next to him whose hand smoothed down his arm nor the dark haired woman on his other side who looked at his bard as if he was prey.

How could he do that, how could Geralt accept the scene playing out in front of his eyes? Letting them touch him, their hands all over him, their eyes raking down his lithe body, hungry and lusting, their intentions clear as day and filthy as the dark alleys of this godforsaken town. It didn’t matter if it was a man or woman, Jaskier had them all in his pocket. And they loved to be there. At least until the first glamour wore off.

But that’s only where his best traits began. Jaskier was smart, kind, compassionate, and so soft. He was all Geralt wasn’t, kept all his best traits hidden from the world - and Geralt wanted to lay him open, strip him bare in every way possible. Wanted to learn his body and his soul, with his fingers, his lips, his cock. Geralt groaned at the thought of the small bard writhing on him, moaning and screaming. His voice had captured Geralt’s attention long before he was aware. He’d dreamt of it. He’d fantasized about the noises he could lure out of Jaskier, if the young man just let him. Had dreamt about how he’d take him, make him sing for his ears only.

His brain delivered the fitting pictures, and his sanity snapped like a twig in a storm.

Jaskier was enjoying himself and the attention he got – something he felt his travel companion failed to give him -, when a hand grabbed his coat and pulled. He lost his balance, tumbled back and sloshed ale everywhere; his adoring fans right in the middle of it.

Oh. Great.

The two of them looked pissed, ready to throw fists, when Jaskier realized who exactly had pulled him away. That was the exact moment his face drained of all blood and he gave them a tiny, nervous smile. He really hoped they wouldn’t start a fight; this wouldn’t end well and this tavern was one of those that actually served good ale and passable food. Would be a shame to get banned.

So he glanced at Geralt, whose hand was still fisted in the material of his jacket and – oh god. His eyes were aflame. There was no other way to call it. It was terrifying and so was the clench of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils. It looked like he was sniffing them out – well, if he did, he just had gotten a good whiff of Jaskiers nervous arousal.

“Move.”

Jaskier didn’t even try to suppress the shiver that ran through him at the gravelly voice; it was futile, really.

The bard had just barely gotten his feet to obey, when another hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Both Jaskier and Geralt looked down, heads snapping, eyes widening. But while Jaskier was astounded at such idiocy, Geralt was short of pulling out a weapon and cleaving that dude into the floor.

“Hey, we aren’t done having fun yet!”

Geralt took a step forward, his size and height intimidating on their own, but paired with the eyes and the hair and the reputation – Jaskier hadn’t seen him like this, ever before. This was whole new level of fury, of anger, the emotions radiating off him, broadcasting his intentions, if that fucker didn’t back off. Geralt was feral and Jaskier was trying not to piss himself. He wasn’t even target of Geralt’s anger. At least he thought so.

“Let. Go.”

“I think the little bard can speak for himself.”

There was a growl vibrating deep in the witcher’s chest, his free hand curled into a fist, the hand on Jaskiers back shifted to his neck; almost a possessive display? Jaskier wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t get to intervene or think about it any longer.

Geralt had had enough. With an ugly snarl, he took another step forward, shielded Jaskier and rammed his elbow into the other guys arm, broke the hold he had on the bard and then, no hesitation, let his fist collide with his jaw.

By the time the stranger had hit the floor, Geralt had grabbed Jaskier by the back of his neck again, and left the tavern.

“What were you thinking?”

Jaskier wanted to answer but he was too busy trying not to fall on his face, as he stumbled through the dark.

“Didn’t you notice they were trying to get to you?”

“Of course I did, I’m not stupid.”, he mumbled. And then he squeaked, as his body collided with a tree; Geralt shoving his back against it, to be able to face him.

“Please repeat that, I think I misheard.”

While Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t hurt him - beyond the occasional punch he probably deserved anyway - the look on his face and the pure fury in his voice had him worried.

“I’d rather not.”

Geralt was right in his face, the hand on his chest holding him in place.

“Did you not think of what could happen to you?”

Jaskier snorted. “Oh, trust me, I did.”

He licked his lips, manic smile stretching his face. Something in him had snapped. What did he care? Wasn’t like it affected him in any way. “Who told you I didn’t want it?”

Geralt reared back, quick enough to make the Bard flinch. His chest was heaving, his hands in fists at his side. With a grunt he turned on his heels, stomped away. Jaskier was breathing hard just the same, but didn’t really know if it was arousal, anger or fear. Maybe it was a bit of everything. His hand rubbed over the spot were Geralt has held him, his eyes on the floor. Of course he’d be disgusted. The bard knew that. Why did it still hurt then?

“No.”

Huh? Jaskier looked up, just in time to see Geralt descending upon him like a wild animal. Then there was lips on his, heat, slickness, a tongue teasing him. Hands were on his body, running down his sides, squeezing when they found his waist, moving to the small of his back and his cheek, to haul him closer. Geralt’s voice was like a thunderstorm – captivating, gravelly, electrifying, absolutely wild.

“No. You don’t get to do that.”

The hand on his back was sneaking down, grabbed his bum and pulled groans from both of them.

“You don’t get to come into my life, make me care about you, protect you,-“ a vicious nip to his lips, then his head was moved, turned to the side so Geralt could easily access his neck; continue his assault there.

“Fucking burrow your way into my brain, heart-“

Hips rolled against his, dick against dick. Jaskier thought he was dying. What in the world?

“-into my fucking dreams.”

Geralt pulled back, eyed Jaskiers clothes. With a grunt he reached for the jacket, pulled it off his bard and then there were hands on hips, fingers dipping into breeches and Jaskier thought he was gonna pass out. Maybe, just maybe, Geralt wasn’t exactly as disgusted as he’d first thought.

All the while, Geralt was groaning and moaning directly into his ear, with that fucking voice of his.

“You don’t get to.”

Geralt whirled Jaskier around, pressed a hand between his shoulder blades to make him bend at the waist.

“Brace yourself.”

If Jasker hadn’t popped a boner the very second his back had hit the tree, he would now, at the latest. He liked being manhandled by Geralt, the big bad witcher showing him so obviously, so blatantly, that he did care. That he did feel something for Jaskier.

So he followed his lead. Hands against the three, head low to watch the witcher’s legs, ogle those delicious goddamn thighs all he wanted. If he also arched his back and shoved his ass back into Geralt’s grip – who could blame him?

A groan, from behind him. A hand gliding from the back of his thigh up, dipping between his legs, just for a second. Hot breaths against his neck, a hotter body aligned with his own, blood rushing in his ears.

“Look at you.” A smack, then a bite at his shoulder, a soothing lick. Jaskier’s buttcheek stung, but he loved it. He was getting goddamn giddy with excitement, giddy at the possibility of Geralt being serious about this. And if not - he’ll get a couple good fucking orgasms out of this. He ignored how his insides churned at that, ignored the sting at the thought. He preferred to be in the here and now, enjoy whatever Geralt was ready to give.

Said man was pressed along the line of his body, hips nestled against his ass in a way that made the bard wish he was naked and ready, and possibly equipped with the ability to stop time forever.

The hands were wandering again. Up his legs, over his hips, slipping underneath his untucked shirt- Jaskier let out a breathy moan, let his hips move against the broad man currently driving him crazy. His nails scratched, fingers tippity-tapped, and then Geralt kissed right behind his ear and pinched his nipples. Which almost made Jaskiers knees buckle – fucking hell.

“You’re so infuriating. So fucking annoying, with your big pretty eyes, and those fucking lips.”

His right hand came up, wrapped around the bards throat, the thumb found his lips.

“So fucking soft, I bet they’ll feel great wrapped around my cock.”

Lips were brushing the shell of his ear as the witcher continued: “I know they’ll look fucking divine.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold back. He wouldn’t. “Geralt, please-“

“Shut up.”

The harsh, commanding tone had him weak, his dick twitching in his pants. The hand around his neck squeezed and then shifted, enough to grab Jaskier’s jaw - fuck, how huge were his hands? - and turn his head. Geralt captured his lips in a bruising kiss, noses bumping, neck straining but, oh royal fuck, this was Jaskier’s personal heavenly hell.

The hips pressed into his ass rolled, Geralt’s dick nestled against Jaskier’s ass – he could feel the size of him and holy fuck.

Geralt broke the kiss to bite his lower lip, then nip at his jaw and breathe a moan against his skin.

“Please.” Jaskier was out of his mind. He’d lost all orientation, body and mind hyperfocused on the bulking figure pressed against him, the man playing him like his favourite instrument. He loved it, loved how good it made him feel, how wanted, desired, cherished.

Geralt’s hand came back around his throat, the weight of it heady and promising. It was a total show of dominance and strength, and it warmed the bard from the inside out, burnt him, until he was begging for Geralt like a man dying.

“Please, Geralt, please.”

A growl, low enough for the bard to feel it.

“You want to say something?”

Geralt’s free hand undid the laces on the bards breeches, then found its way into them and cupped Jaskiers dick. “You want to be loud?”

The bard whimpered, pressed his eyes closed, completely lost in the sensations. “You want to sing?”

A hard tug, a bite to his neck, then Geralt’s lips against his ear. He sounded like a man driven mad, anger mixed with frustration, desire and the need to claim Jaskier, mark him as his and make sure the bard knew it.

“I will make you fucking sing. You will be so sore tomorrow, you’ll beg for some relief. You won’t be able to perform for a week, when I’m done with you.”

Jaskier was shivering now. He was barely able to stand, not with the heady mix of a rough hand in his pants and rougher voice in his ear, hot breath on his skin and hotter body against his. It was too much. It was too much and still he wanted more. He wanted this borderline feral man to take him and never let go again.

“When I’m done with you, you will be just as lost as me.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh, humourless and gave a sharp thrust against Jaskiers ass.

“When I’m done with you, you won’t know your own name. You will be mine, and no one will dare to ever touch you again.”

Jaskier’s eyes were rolling back, his dick straining against Geralt’s big, calloused hand. He was dripping precum, made a mess of his breeches. Geralt tutted at his whimper, bit the shell of his ear, lowered his voice to a lethal whisper.

“I will ruin you, all you will be able to think about is me. You. Are. Mine.”

#the witcher #Geralt x Jaskier #gaskier #Jeralt #possessive Geralt #longing Jaskier

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twilightknight17 · 4 years

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Forgetting to buy more SP patches before taking on the final boss was probably a mistake.

Forgetting to sell the items I can’t take into NG+ for cash that I can take into NG+ was probably a mistake.

Forgetting to get Arsene out of Lockdown so that I can record his awesome new stats for NG+ was probably a mistake.

In my defense, I was really excited. I wonder if the game will let me make a side trip while I’m out...buying flowers. Because that is what it has come to.

Buying flowers.

Shinya is a terrible brat and wasn’t in Akihabara at ALL until the day before the deadline. Thanks, Shinya. There goes my max confidants. Blugh. At least I got some other things done. Got the award for the maid cafe, so I don’t have to go back except once to open the Twins field trip. I still suck at batting even with third eye. But I am a champ at fishing, it only took me like five trips to the fishing pond to catch the Guardian! I could have done it in less if I’d figured out how to manage my bait properly sooner.

Smile, Akira, we’re awesome! ...still not even halfway to enough fish points for the award, though. :/

I am also awesome at the crane game in Akihabara, and by that I mean I am persistent and have enough yen that it doesn’t matter how many tries it takes.

Ryuji truly knows the way to my heart. <3 I missed two episodes of Featherman; one I forgot to check the TV, and the other I was laughing so hard at the title that I forgot to write it down. But I know where they are, so it’s something else for NG+. ^_^

So I romanced Sumire, and I’m...slightly off-put. Only slightly. Not because of her, but once again, because of the writing. Sumire is cute, but the game is singling her out as “special” again.

She is the only one who confesses to you, and you explicitly have the option to turn her down, rather than the implications of a confession that you can shoot down indirectly (Haru’s, Makoto’s, Futaba’s), or the absolute fucking galaxy-brain leap of logic that is Ann’s dialogue choices. X’D

If you ignore that, though, they’re stupidly cute. Akira’s a little shit, as usual. Sumire asks you to “look at her”, based on her whole confidant thing of realizing that having someone you care about watching you makes you want to do better.

And so Akira looks.

And looks closer.

Dorks. XDDD

They’re sweet. Not my favorite romance route; that still goes to Haru. I think in the end I still prefer Akira adding another member to his army of younger siblings. He’s gotta be better than Yu. XDDD

So I got Kasumi’s rank 10 and literally the next day was February 2nd, and I spent the afternoon getting her third-tier persona. So I didn’t even get to see...Vanadis? in battle. Vanadis matches a little too well to Arsene for my tastes, and Ella is pretty, but I’m not sure how I feel about it looking kind of bride-ish when Maruki’s running around in a wedding tux.

Anyway...what do we do the night before the meeting that will decide everything?

We make curry and we pretend everything isn’t about to go to hell.

So, Maruki. Let’s chat.

Does no one die in your world? Or move away? What if someone’s dream is to move abroad, and someone else’s dream is for that person to stay with them forever? If what we saw in your Palace is any indication, both of them would be tortured into accepting new dreams where they wouldn’t hurt each other. Dreams that you deemed acceptable. And that’s why you’re wrong.

So you’re giving up your happiness to make sure everyone else is happy? Why can’t you just use your powers to make her remember you, without the trauma? Are you not all-powerful?

Or are you running away from the person that reminds you how helpless you used to be? You’re not moving on, you’re dwelling, and using it as an excuse to be terrible. For all of your kindness, you know Akira is a threat. And benevolent or not, you’re being manipulative. You’re using Goro against him. You’re hoping that he makes the decision you didn’t, and chooses the person he cares about over the reality he wants.

Every time he says something like this, I feel exactly the way he says he didn’t want me to. Newsflash, asshole, that’s exactly what it seems like. If we break your reality, you’re heavily implying he won’t be here afterwards. And you’re gambling that it will be too much pain for Akira to bear, because you know how important they are to each other.

Goro, meanwhile, is both perfectly determined and perfectly stupid.

“Don’t tell me you think dangling my life before us is going to have any impact on our decision.”

Goro. Honey. Do you really think he cares so little that he wouldn’t hesitate for just a moment?

Akira practically throws the calling card at Maruki before he leaves, which I think sums up his feelings pretty well.

I appreciate that Morgana understands that this is something between them.

Goro doesn’t want to be controlled or manipulated ever again. Which... I get it. He’s never had a chance to have full control of his own life. But that doesn’t mean Akira isn’t going to be upset by the idea of him dying. Again.

Two out of three dialogue options are basically “hang on one fucking second, your life matters to me.”

“Don’t oversimplify this.”

“Oh, but it IS simple. Do you think I’d be happy with this? Being shown mercy now of all times? I don’t want to be pitied-- this isn’t something I’m debating with you! Your indecisiveness is essentially a betrayal of my wishes.”

It’s not pity, you stubborn, idiot boy. ...and I hate that you see it as a betrayal.

Maruki is...very confident. And very kind. And part of the reason he upsets me is because he isn’t wrong, in many cases. But he uses that to justify imposing his will on everyone.

And being kind doesn’t mean that you are free from sin. You can be kind and still be manipulative. And selfish. In the end, that’s what separates him and Akira. Akira, despite all of his hesitation, refuses to be selfish. Even when he has every right to be. He will not hurt someone else to prevent himself from being hurt.

He will not hurt Goro by refusing to fight Maruki, even if it will rip his own heart to pieces.

Oh, I like you. At first glance, the silhouette was very similar to one of Mordred’s original pieces of concept art, though, and I was ready to Yell before I looked closer. XD

And so, at 11:30pm, having completely forgotten the several things I needed to have done before the meeting with Maruki, we head in to steal the Treasure.

This man needs to stop. How dare he know how much I love Cool Stairs?

I find it very concerning that the core of Eden is a writhing mess of tentacles. The metaphorical worm in the apple? X’D We were so close to getting Nyarlathotep, but Azathoth is suitably intimidating. And I appreciate that he’s using the same concepts as the Thieves: his will to rebel against what he sees as an unfair reality, and removing his mask to summon his distorted persona. Thanks for validating all of my headcanon meta about Adachi and Palaces all in one go.

But...

I can’t do this. What the fuck are you wearing?

At least Azathoth is cool.

Somehow I managed to bring exactly the right team to get consistent four-person baton passes for the whole first round. That one was about half an hour.

...the second round was an hour and fifteen minutes because holy shit this thing was a tank and had entirely too many arms and really needed to stop healing.

The torch is very pretty, at least.

And then before we can completely book it out of there, he steals the torch back and literally forces his second awakening so he can keep going. And at that point...what is he even hoping to accomplish? What is he going to do? Are you really willing to kill us to maintain this illusion?

The answer is apparently yes because it was a surprisingly poetic battle as each teammate in turn got a chance to fling themselves in the way and stop it from crushing Joker to death with it’s big giant hand.

And THEN he goes even further and validates some canon meta and me all at once by fusing with his own persona in a continuing last-ditch effort to... I really think he’s trying to kill us. I think he’s that far gone. Or at least his persona is. Because after the fusion, it’s specifically called “Adam Kadmon”, not Maruki. The persona is in control. It’s canon that if you try to summon something stronger than you, it can overtake and possess you. I know Maruki seemed to willingly give up control, but it’s also possible that forcing his second awakening like that left him with a persona that was entirely too strong for him.

(Nevermind that him being that strong in the first place is kind of ridiculous. That’s a discussion for after the final credits. I’m just hyped that someone fusing with their persona was a thing that actually happened!)

He’s so big. Where’s Satanael so I can fuse with him and we can have a megazord fight in Collapsing Ideal Tokyo? XD

The kids up the Holy Shit Quotient by a mile by catching the giant fist all together so that Joker can deal the final blow.

And what a final blow it is.

I really like this, because I don’t know if it was deliberate, but I read it as a callback to Daybreakers. Which came out before the game, iirc, so the first real piece of content. It’s just on a bigger, grander scale.

Everything comes full-circle in the end.

I really like the Mona helicopter. XD I just wish it was a little bigger, because poor Goro squished into the bottom. And poor Akira not managing to make it into the helicopter.

And this asshole WILL NOT STAY DOWN.

What is the point of punching it out on top of the collapsing Palace? Are you trying to kill us both? Do you just want to keep going until neither of us can stand? Dude.

And of course Akira won’t let him die. I think the upsetting thing about this, though, is really that you don’t get the chance to say a proper goodbye to Goro. Or anyone, really, but mostly Goro. The Palace crumbles, Akira wakes up in jail, the Thieves wake up the next morning after fighting all night, and Goro is...gone.

At least the Thieves seem properly sad this time. Even if it’s only for one scene.

Lavenza calls it “ironic” that “your wish for other’s happiness prevailed over your own.” I just call it unfair. Once again, hasn’t he done enough? At least he was only technically in jail for nine days from his perspective, but that must have been a whiplash of an adjustment.

Out of jail, Sojiro acknowledges he was Terrible at the beginning of the year, it’s 2:30am, time to do Valentines and then go to bed before the final walkaround.

And then Valentines passes. I spent it with Sumire. They’re cute.

And then it was February 15th and all the rest of the girls gave me chocolate?? It was just a constant ambush of being given chocolate all day?

And then it was March 3rd, and the Thieves are all splitting up and moving away? Are we sure this isn’t Scramble’s timeline? I get it, narratively, they’re taking the opportunities to move forward that Maruki’s reality would have denied them, but it still hurts.

And then it was March 13th and I still can’t save and now it’s 3am and apparently we get to play out White Day and Sojiro is giving me advice for the perfect date because captain idiot here forgot to plan anything and what heckin’ restaurant is getting this flustered that just mentioning Sojiro’s name is enough to get a table when they’re fully booked and---

Now it’s the 14th and I have to go buy flowers for my dinner date and I have finally been given control and saved and I am free.

Now next time I play I have to see if I can go sell my leftover items, because I’ve got a couple-hundred-thousand yen worth, and also rescue Arsene from prison. X’D

More thoughts on Maruki and everything after I see the ending, most likely.

#Li plays P5R #long post #the Longest Post #2.5 hour boss fight O_o #last time I spent that long on a boss it made me so mad I put the game in question down for six months

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