#plus you can use things like your background to give you a feel akin to a different class

[red-dragon-archfiend]

I don't have enough time or experienced with enough classes to write a detailed multiclassing guide, but for D&D players, especially new players, wondering if they should multiclass, the simple answer is "probably not". Multiclassing is, in general, bad. The game was not balanced with it in mind, and it's very easy to muck up your character if you don't know what you're doing. I'm not just talking from an optimization perspective, either; it's difficult to justify it narratively in a way that doesn't cheapen the significance of what class levels represent. You don't become a Bard by practicing the lute for a week. You can't become a Wizard without years of study. If you plan to multiclass, my advice would be to find some way of tying it narratively into your primary class somehow; an Eldritch Knight becoming a Wizard is sensible, because they already have an understanding of how to work arcane magic, they just need to spend some time focusing on that over improving their martial abilities to learn enough to start filling out a spellbook. Of course, that still takes a long time, but the Eldritch Knight's previous experiences mean they already know how to cast multiple spells already. If you want to multiclass for story reasons, ask yourself two questions: Is multiclassing really the best way to convey this change in my character, and, if so, do they have the adequate time, experiences, and resources to practice the skills necessary (physical training, study, spiritual attunement, etc.) to even START being that class? The reason I put so much weight into class levels is because the Player's Handbook itself makes a point to clarify what sets a member of each class apart from others who seem similar on the surface; not every soldier in a given army is a Fighter, chances are most of them aren't. And Paladins are even rarer! To achieve even one class level is a strong indication of skill and effort, and I as your DM would expect you to consider how your character achieves levels in a second class. My campaign features a Fighter/Warlock multiclass, and her patron is both the supplier of her occult magic, and her instructor, personally training her in her dreams, so she can level up in either class and it'll make sense. My favorite combination, Paladin/Sorcerer, can be explained by latent powers emerging in response to their experiences and the holy power they channel within themselves, perhaps a gift from their deity or the result of them or their ancestor slaying a creature like a dragon or vampire whose blood imbued the Paladin's bloodline with arcane magic. Maybe a Monk/Cleric comes from a monastery that reveres a specific deity, and that Monk caught their deity's attention, choosing the Monk for a holy mission. If multiclassing is part of your character's backstory or projected future, having a plan for it is key to making them still feel like a cohesive, singular character.

#musings #dungeons and dragons #take my advice with a grain of salt since not all groups will put the same weight into class levels as i do #but the reason most wizards are depicted as elderly is because wizardry is extremely difficult and takes a long time to master #class levels being rare or hard to achieve is kind of necessary from a worldbuilding perspective #if becoming a wizard was possible after what amounts to a college course there'd be wizards everywhere #and the players wouldn't be as important because their own abilities wouldn't be anything special for a long time #i didn't talk about optimization very much since i think most d&d players don't care about that as much as roleplay and thematics #but if you're questioning if multiclassing would be good for you #look at the benefits you'd get from even one level of another class and ask if that's worth setting your main class back permanently #even one bad multiclass level can become a problem with initiative is rolled and you're functionally one level lower than you should be #it's also why timing when to multiclass is important! #it's tempting to multiclass as soon as you hit level 2 but unless you're starting as your secondary class you should really wait #until you're at least level 5 or so because that's a big power spike #and once you achieve that it doesn't hurt as much to delay levels in your main class in favor of another #that's variation in this of course #if you're a paladin who plans to take just one level of hexblade you really should do it at level 2 if you dumped strength #you don't want to be relying on 13 strength for weapon attacks any longer than you have to #and if you're only interested in the thematic elements of a class remember that flavor is free! #plus you can use things like your background to give you a feel akin to a different class #a warlock entertainer who makes a deal with the devil to save their music career is a cool way to get bard flavor without multiclassing #especially since if you manage to become a true bard you probably don't need the devil's help anyway

[mcyt-imagines]

Hey, can you do a dream x fem!reader where the chat hears the reader mumble to herself in the background of dreams stream and he introduces her to his fans. I hope this is ok, thanks in advance xx

Thanks so much for the request! I hope you enjoy :) Also, I’ve used she/her pronouns, as requested!

Once A Silent Bystander

Dream’s quick rise to popularity left little space for you to believe that introducing yourself beside him in the limelight was ever going to be a good idea. Part of you thought that you wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of so many eyes being on you at all times. You’d seen firsthand the highs and lows that came with internet fame, you had shared countless sleepless nights with Dream in the early days. His popularity was still rising but now his drama and controversy had begun to plateau nicely, leaving him far more mental energy to focus on bigger and better projects to further his channel. One of these ‘projects’ was a commitment to stick to a concrete streaming schedule for as long as he could.

This had led to Dream frequently texting you whenever he would start streaming, knowing you could come into his streaming room unaware of him being live. However, Dream is merely human and quite forgetful if he’s distracted, and he is easily distracted. Dream hadn’t planned on streaming for at least a few more hours but upon receiving several messages from George and Sapnap pestering him to join them in a discord VC he gladly joins them, going live as he does so. This spur of the moment stream decision is what allows you to slip from his mind as his friends’ laughter reaches his ears upon his arrival into the VC.

“Hey, babe! I ordered your usual from the Chinese place, is that okay?” Your voice pours into the room, Dream’s door now wide open as you look up from our phone to realise the damage you had just caused. Your eyes lock onto the microphone sat on his desk the little red ‘on’ button tauntingly blinking at you, silently mocking you. Dream stills for a moment when you initially enter, looking over to you.

He presses something on his stream board, you assume he’s muted his mic. “I’m streaming, and they definitely heard you. And yeah, my usual is fine.” He motions for you to join him at his desk as you groan. “You’re sure they heard?” You shuffle over to him, when you grow close, he happily pulls you onto his lap. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around your middle. “Look at the chat.” You tentatively cast your gaze onto Dream’s second monitor; the chat is running a mile a minute and you can only make out a few phrases. Most of them being a mixture of, ‘WHO WAS THAT?’, ‘IS THAT A GIRL?’ or ‘DREAM HAS A GIRLFRIEND??’

You both knew this day was going to come eventually, keeping it a secret, unfortunately, couldn’t last forever. “What do you think we should do?” You peel your eyes away from chat to watch your boyfriend hum thoughtfully, he’s spent a decent chunk of his time online dealing with controversies and drama. So surely, he has some idea on where we should start with this whole thing, or if we should just refuse to open that can of worms at all. He can always just lie and say it was a tv in the background, or someone passing by a nearby open window.

His suggestion catches you off guard, “Why don’t we just tell them? You don’t have to come on stream or anything but there’s no real point in denying it now. They heard you clear as day babe.” He offers a hopeful look, hand moving to intertwine with one of your own and squeezing. “But it’s entirely up to you. I’ll follow your lead.” Dream presses a soft kiss to your forehead watching as panic continues to flash behind your eyes, his eyebrows are drawn together in worry. “I wouldn’t have been able to survive without you in the early days of my channel. You know I will always return the favour. I’m here for you sweetheart.” His tone lightens at the cheeky pet name, giving your waist a soft squeeze.

With a deep breath, you make your decision. “We’ll tell them. You’re right, there’s no point denying it. I mean, we were gonna tell them eventually anyway.” You shrug a little trying to relax your tense shoulders, he notices and places his cheek against one of your shoulders. “Exactly, this is just a natural progression! Plus, the guys have been asking me for ages about playing with you on stream.” He chuckles, “But we’ll only do that when you start to feel more comfortable obviously.” Dream adds pressing soft kisses to your neck, you feel his grin against your skin as you giggle at the ticklish sensation. “Alright, I’ve been muted long enough. You ready angel?” You nod with mock confidence.

Dream presses a blinking button on his stream board, “Sorry for the short break guys! But I’m back and with a special guest.” Dreams tone lightens as he looks to you expectantly, “Hi chat.” Your voice sounds foreign when you speak mouth feeling as if it was filled with cotton. You watch as the chat explodes with messages, “To all of you who guessed she was my girlfriend, give yourselves a little pat on the back.” 

He mocks knowing that the whole chat was begging for that outcome, “Now be nice or I’ll end the stream. Yes, that is a threat.” He smirks as you blush, “Baaaabe.” You smile softly shaking your head exasperatedly, somehow the chat runs by even quicker. “Sorry mods, I’d planned on giving you guys a heads up for when we were gonna announce this but uh, not everything always goes to plan.” Dream chuckles his own eyes widening a little at the sheer number of people who are tuning into the stream, obviously, news has already gotten around Twitter.

Dream leans forward to type furiously on his second monitor trying to control chat as you stammer through your personal introduction, refusing to use your real name of course. Chat runs by with nicknames to call you akin to the naming conventions of ‘Drista’ “Drearlfriend? Like dream and girlfriend? Is that really something I just read in chat?” You laugh, Dream watching as your shoulders relax and a soft smile grace your face. “C’mon chat you guys can do better than that! I was hyping you guys up earlier and this is the reception my angel gets?” 

Dream looks to you happily gauging your reaction as you blush and stammer, “Baaaaaaabe.” You groan, trying to cover your face with one of your hands. “Oh no, I want to see that blushing face.” He grins, “Hey! Not on stream!” You cry, face only growing a darker shade of red. He continues to grin but backs off to stop pestering you, your phone buzzes. “Okaaaay. But you’ve gotta stay and keep chat company, because I need to go and grab the Chinese.” He is quick to hop up from the seat, placing you gently back down where he had been. “Wait don’t leave me here!” You cry as he waves with a cheeky grin and disappears from your view.

You audibly gulp before looking back at Dream’s screen pulling on his headphones, “Now that he’s gone put in chat what kind of embarrassing stories you guys want me to spill before he gets back.” You giggle lightly watching chat explode with cheers and suggestions.

Dream returns in a few minutes to see you interacting with chat and laughing along with their jokes like a natural. He simply stands in the doorway for a few moments dumbfounded over how lucky he is to be able to call you his.

#dream x reader #dream #minecraft dream #mcyt #minecraft youtubers #x reader #mcyt x reader

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 

#jungkook fic #btsghostiebingo #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader

[shadyteacup]

If you’re still doing requestsssssss how about a hcs of Dazai x fem! Reader who is like Midari from Kakegurui 😌

Ooh thats a nice one! Yes love, I'm still doing requestss

And I'm so sorry, this is so late... also it's very long n I'm not exaggerating. It's not even funny I'm so sorry

I'm Crazy, But I'm Free

Dazai x Fem!reader who is like Midari

• You and Dazai probably met during his days at the port mafia.

• I can imagine the mafia capturing you because of how much trouble you were causing in a casino.

• UK, when big businesses pay gangsters for security?? Yeah, similarly the casino you were playing at, has paid the mafia.

• You were already banned from many other casinos, as your games either end with you gaining a lot of money, or begin with a dangerous condition.

• Many people were quite afraid of you, and wanted to avoid even being in the same room as you, as they couldn't handle the severity of the danger you pose with every game.

• Anyways, so you were warned by a few members of the mafia twice, but you, being the fearless adventurer you are, flipped them off and continued to seek a life threatening game.

• So then the mafia decided to use violence, and cornered you in a dark alley. You pulled out your beloved gun.

"Well, well, well! Do you boys want a fight!?", you excitedly point the gun at them.

"Put your weapon down, Ms. L/N. We are here to warn you for the final time. Stay away from this casino. Further misbehavior will lead to dangerous consequences."

You hum, thinking up a plan.

"How about this. My revolver has 5 bullets. And there are five of us. How about we all take turns to shoot blindfolded!"

You excitedly shove them in a circular arrangement.

"I'll go first! The rules are that every person gets a chance to shoot from the center of the circle. If the bullet misses, everyone takes a step ahead, closer to the center."

You explain, grinning at the men clad in all black.

"If a bullet hits me, I'll agree to your terms. If it hits one of you lot, then you can't stop me anymore. What do you say?!"

The mafiosi were weirded out by this. What if you had a good aim, or an ability that allowed you to shoot them with your eyes closed? They didn't have much intel on you, and only knew you to be a girl from a rich background, who had come to Yokohama for higher studies.

"That's enough. Grab her-"

• Thats when our boy showed up. Dazai was curious when he overheard some of the men talk about some 'fearless girl that had flipped them off even after two rather threatening warnings.'

• So he had decided to tag along, staying in the shadows, until now.

• "I think it will be a wonderful idea. Play along, gentlemen. I want to see where this goes."

• You shot, and missed. So did the other guy. Then the other one. Now, the circle had shrunk really small. You were almost in the line of fire at this point. There was an 80% chance of getting shot.

• "That's enough." ,Dazai said, as he walked to stand in front of you.

• "You are daring, aren't you. You're not afraid of death."

• Staring into his eyes, you saw a reflection of yourself. A dark, lost soul stared back at you.

• "In fact, you arranged this little game to ensure that you got hurt. You perfectly planned it out, and ensured that as the circle gets smaller, you would be in the direct line of fire."

• "You missed the first shot on purpose, didn't you?"

• He had seen right through your game.

'What's this guy's deal?', you thought.

"Why would you stop the game when it was at its peak? Hah? Whats wrong with you, man?!", you angrily grab his collar. "I was just beginning to have fun, and here you are, ruinjng it!"

• Taken aback by your bravery, he just blinked at you.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, obviously, idiot. But that doesn't give you any right to interrupt our game."

"Oh? So who do you think I am."

You give him a 'baka janiono?' look.

"You are their leader. Probably an executive of the mafia, judging by your expensive suit. Why?"

The thoughts running through Dazai's head were along the lines of :

'Just who is this girl? How does she know about the mafia? Surely my men weren't dumb enough to tell her who they work for. How does she know about my position? She surely didn't just guess that, right?? And why the fuck does a student have a gun? Does her family have connections within the underworld? She obviously doesn't fear death. Will she be a good addition to the mafia?'

• "What are you thinking about, baka? Answer me."

• He smiled sweetly at you, and firmly gripped your wrist, pushing it off his collar.

"There's someone who would like to meet you"

Before you can retort back, he continues,"You seek adventure, do you not? You want to feel something worthwhile. Something akin to facing death, something that will give you an adrenaline rush. I can give you all of that. If you come with me, that is."

• Mori was shocked when he heard about what had happened. He agreed with Dazai's decision to make you join the ranks. He needed such fearless crackheads in his organization.

• He paired you up with the double black, making you an executive too. You hadn't quite agreed to his terms, but he had offered you to just accompany the ginger and the brunette on a mission. And had let you make the final decision .

• You three had to go to an abandoned warehouse, where some people were tampering with the mafia goods. There, you saw how sadistic Dazai was. How manipulative and bad he was. It made you fall for him. Hard. Plus, you realized the risk of being a mafiosi. It was quite thrilling.

• When you got back, you had screamed at mori to let you join. Quite literally begged. And he, ofcourse, agreed. You hadn't even given him a chance to threaten your life, which was the usual norm, when a valuable asset wasn't willing to join the ranks of the feared organization.

• You trained with dazai. And purposely got hit. It turned you on. But you never mentioned anything, in fear of being rejected.

• Dazai, ofcourse, noticed this, and one fine day, confronted you about it. You told him just how much you love him. He was always intrigued by your sadistic side. He saw a part of himself in you. The daring, brave, smart side of yours was something so similar to himself, yet unique. You were seeking the same thing that he was, that is to feel something. He felt sadness, and loneliness, and he never had a purpose in life. You, someone who had it all, a good family, a great marksheet, and a pre set goal in life, were willing to give it away, just to feel something. He, someone who was stripped off of a normal childhood, was never given the opportunity to choose. He used to think that maybe he was to blame. Maybe if he had had better luck, he would have gotten a good childhood, a purpose. But now that he knows you, a genius, smart person, who had it all, but threw it away, he realized that maybe life really is worthless. Maybe, he wasn't to be blamed. And that, oddly enough, made him feel better. To know that no matter how much lady luck favors him, life would still be fucked up, and that it wasn't his fault, made him hate himself less.

• And so, you two became a thing.

• Let's just say, that both of you are equally freaky.

• You want him to dom u, and he gladly accepts

• You guys try it all... I mean, especially with guns.

• I can imagine you both sitting at a boring meeting, when you decide to edge him on, and you're not even touching him. Your gun is.

• You both claim atleast one spare room on every floor of the building, for your.... activities.

• You are like his praise queen.

• He loves that.

• Always rough. Always. And you guys are into spicing it up.

• Anyways, you both never decide to commit double suicide.

• Thats because dazai wants a beautiful way out, while you want to feel the thrill of facing death. You don't really want to die, you just want to know the feeling of almost dying. You want to feel something exhilarating.

• When Dazai decides to leave the mafia, you are all for it. As long as you get to stay by his side, you were ok with it.

• Like Midari, you are a very perceptive person, and can easily guess what's going on in someone's mind. Dazai was easy to read for you, as his thoughts were pretty similar to your own.

• You were smart, cunning, and could read peoples mind with ease. So it was pretty easy for you to guess what's going on in Dazai's mind, sometimes even predicting his next moves.

• You really fit in with the ada, coz that place is filled with crackheads, and you and dazai are no exception lol

• Also, you get along with Yosano really well.

• Like, if you weren't so loyal to dazai, you would have become Yosanos slave. So would i ngl

• Anyways, you and dazai always mess with kunikida. You two prank him till the breaking point. You two are such a menace in the office. Always skipping work, slacking off, but really shining when it comes to actual detective work, like solving mysteries.

• You are a valuable asset to the ada, coz 1. You are smart and 2. You can intimidate the enemy into giving in, thanks to your sadistic games.

• You are also a very good companion. You can easily understand what the other is feeling, and end up comforting the gang.

• I can imagine you roasting Kunikida for being such a nerd, but at the same time giving him accurate and well needed advice .

• You do the same for your bf, and the two of you have many late night convos about topic that Dazai had never discussed with anyone before. Because no one had quite understood him the way you did.

• Midari is actually a pretty deep character, and just like her, you have many layers. There's the sadistic side, the goofy side, the careless side, the intelligent side and the insightful nature.

• You would be his perfect partner, as you'd support his crazy, reckless ideas, but at the same time keep him afloat, and prevent him from drowning in his own thoughts.

#teacup writes #☕ #☕ says #bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bsd x reader #kunikida doppo #bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd dazai #dazai bungou stray dogs #dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai+x+reader #dazai x you #dazai san #dazai layouts #dazai x chuuya #bungou stray dogs imagine #bungou sd #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd akutagawa #bsd dazai x reader #bsd dazai osamu x reader #midari icons #kakegurui midari #yumeko x midari

[smutty-ki113r]

I woke up to my alarm tellin me to get out of bed and so naturally I checked your tumblr and I'm,,, concerned

There's a small anon war over what hoodie smells like and I have no sense of smell whatsoever so I'm not contributin, but, leafs.

Petition to change the plural of leaf to leafs instead of leaves. Leaves is an ugly ass word. Leafs just rolls of the tongue, its nicer, its what the people want

Also the same with sheep like what, why is the plural the same, I refer to them as sheeps cuz it makes me happy

Also I don't like the y/n either because "y/n" is usually a whole ass person all in itself. And they're usually a girl in most fanfic, along with the fact that they are the Mariest Sue That Ever Mary Sue'd.

I've been considerin why LJ is my favourite and I think it's purely because if any of the more sane (Masky, Toby, Slenderman, etc) took one fuckin GLANCE they would run away. I have hope that clown boy is too far gone to care about my mental state too much.

If you squint real hard my braincell count looks like a normal amount

I'm so exhausted I'm gonna talk to you, my favourite online human, because the blue light from my phone keeps me awake.

But I think my favourite dynamic ever is Rivals to Lovers™. Not enemies to lovers, cuz enemies have two different goals in mind; whereas rivals compete for the same thing.

I'm a sucker for medieval shit so,, a scene that's been annoying me all day is~

you're invited to a Royal Ball (because isn't that how all romances start these days, just roll with it brother) and you go, finding out it's a masquerade ball. You get there, you dance, being passed from person to person in a never ending loop of jewel-embeded skirts that were swept across the marble floor of the (obscenely) bedazzled castle, and suits that seemed more expensive than you were.

Regret never came because the wine chased it away; it flowed in waterfalls into your glass, the scent of it filling the room but not enough to drown out the everlasting smell of expensive perfume. Sometimes the odor of it clung to the women of the ball tighter than their corsets. The massive drapes were pulled back, latching to the wall in attempt to keep them from falling and blocking the view–of which captured your gaze immediately. The doors were swung open to let the air in, and ensuring that no glass got in the way of what lay beyond; the moon, full and impossibly heavy hung, stranded in the crisp night air. The moon was the only one that didn't judge the events that took place in the ballroom that night, the only thing watching the crowd of people with a pure, impassive gaze.

Because later that night, after multiple drinks had been passed around and a cacophony of laughter, dancing, and food had been consumed–after many glasses of wine had passed your lips and your body– of which was feeling tingly and impishly confident–had wandered to a far corner, darkened by the domed ceiling, seemingly on its own accord. In that moment you would give everything to stay in the Palace, to twirl until your feet blistered and you withered away into old gnarled bones and ashes that could still dance with the wind.

"I do hope that you know well what you wish for; not for clarity of the concept, my dear, but for clarity of consequence." The voice that spoke in your ear was deep, low, and held even darker undertones. It siezed your attention and captured it in both hands, strangling the curiosity out of you. It had come from your right, even further into the pitch-black corner, but as soon as you moved all the thoughts in your head sloshed about, banging against the interior of your head. It was either equivelant to that or a sledge hammer, one of the two. The wine was probably just twisting the voice's around you, making them appear. You tried to convince yourself but alas, even you deemed it vastly unlikely.

Turning around was more difficult then you planned. Just when you thought you would see the owner of the voice, nobody was there. Yep, probably just the abundance of alcohol making you dizzy.

Shifting back to dancing wasn't hard; it was as if you were floating down along a stream, merely following wherever the river took you. Voices pressed against you on all sides, soon becoming a background noise too, a faint buzzing sound. It rose and fell like the waves, ever-changing in volume.

You started to lose a grip on reality; eyes fluttering closed as you danced, just taking a breath of air, letting the delicate night wash away your worries, who you wer–

What the fuck!?

You did a double take, eyes now wide fucking open, because outside you spied someone that had to be atleast a foot taller than anyone else in the ball. The darkness seemed to congregate behind it, flourishing, and the only thing you could see was a wide smile and a pair of eyes.

It seemed that you couldn't get enough air into your lungs, couldn't focus; the voice's that used to be hazy surround sound was now piercingly loud the people were just too much, everywhere at once. Your breathing only picked up even more as you gripped your chest.

The.. Demon had disappeared by the time you glanced upward, you you scurried outside, barely making it before you collapsed on a golden railing. There were fine drops of rain scattered about, eluding to the fact it had rained earlier. Your masquerade costume was getting wet, leaning against the railing, but you were so dizzy you didn't care.

It was the wine, it had to be. Nobody could be that tall, it–it was humanly impossible. Moving was now akin to attempting to romp through thick syrup; a stagnant pace, uncoordinated, unsteady. Then it stopped. There was a hand on your shoulder.

You skimmed the person; they had a dark blue suit that sparkled with the occasional gold highlights, with a blue mask covering their face–it seemed that it covered all of their face, and didn't quite match what a masquarade mask should look like, but you didn't care. The support was welcomed.

"You seemed as if you required help, my Lady," He said, his voice deep and low, so much so that you questioned if you would even be able to hear him over the music blaring in the ballroom if the two of you were to venture back inside.

You looked back to where you saw the tall being, with its eyes and smile that seemed wrong, and wrong in a terrible, dangerous way.

"Care to dance with me?" You asked, relieved when he slipped his arm with yours and led you inside. The music had slowed to a waltz, nothing like the big parade of dancers that came in flurries of colour and left just as fast. His arms were solid and a comfort, welcome as the breeze on a sunny day. It felt like he protected you from everything that might have caught you off guard, in a way. Plus, he kept you from falling flat on my face, which is always a good thing.

The song changed and you were about to ask him for something else; his name, maybe, but fate had other plans. Both of you were bumped and somebody else had picked you up in their arms, hands landing on your waist as the dance consumed you. Your mystery man in blue was gone, it seemed, and you sighed. Being safe was a hard thing to ask. Instead, above you now was a man dressed in dark browns and yellows– he had a rather strange mask that curled around his mouth and eyes, leaving the centre free. His brown locks looked ruffled and messy and he jerked every once in a while, moving sporadically. It didn't stop and he didn't seem to be able to control it so you didn't mind. The slight jolts emitting from him caused you to wake up more, which was always welcome.

"Are you okay?" You asked, after his gaze had wandered elsewhere. It came back to you in a heartbeat, and you sensed be was smiling under the mask.

He twirled you, spinning you gracefully. "Of course I am," he said, coming in close again. "For now, I'm winning."

The night surged on quickly and you found yourself caught between multiple strangle figures; a woman with silky black hair and a mask that made her eyes appear the same colour, that offered you a drink that wasn't wine. A man that had offered you wine, that stood next to the big buffet table with a full glass and a white mask. He had stood with a black-masked man, but he weaved through the crowd until he was another string in a pile of wool. Your blue mystery man made another appearance, but not with you–he was talking in low tones with another man (you didn't mind that they were mostly men; seemingly just because it never occurred to you that they might be connected) who had black hair, like the other woman, and pale white skin. The palest you'd seen in a long time. However, at that moment, he had looked up and seen you staring, only for you to catch scars at the ends of his mouth. You crossed it down to makeup or a deformity of some kind. Through all this, you were atleast grateful you didn't see the tall being again.

And everything carried on. Until it didn't. Blood stained the carpet black and the screams were too loud to ever fade away, seeming to shake the walls. You had tried to run from it, from them, but you tripled in a hallway and couldn't even get up because of your many glasses of alcohol. Struggling was futile and someone easily pulled you back.

With horror you realised it was one of the men from before; you recognised the scruffy brown hair and occasional movements. He held you there, between life and death a moment more, a moment where all the men you'd seen that night, and the woman, came around the corner. Their voices were distorted to your damaged ears but your eyes focused on the tall being; he was real, and black and white, with hands that weren't normal and a nose that was even less so. They're all abnormal, your consciousness whispered to you, and you believed it. The man on top of you grinned, happy that he had caught you. Your stomach turned.

"Bring them to the Mansion," a voice ring out in your head. Your 'companions' seemed to hear it too. "And bring them alive."

As you can see I've never written anythin in my life so this is shit lmfao but I don't care an im just here to brainstorm anyways

Have my little scene, take it, because it was fun to do. It's not spellchecked, I've not read through it, because I can't be bothered, so if anythin is wrong laugh and move on brother. Also tryin to write without cuttin off the g from my words and shortenin them was so hard so halfway through I didn't bother lmao

I think this is my longest message yet so, sorry about that Red

Cheers if you actually made it this far.

–Kieran.

I agree. Leafs is better. SHEEPS- thats the cutest thing I’ve ever heard and I love it.

Y/n is a stereotype in itself so I agree, it’s usually ya know, the whole “im different” kind of chick who can do everything and anything (basically bella from twilight), when in reality the reader is human and humans have imperfections. Lots of ‘m …LJ is my fav for a lot of reasons, at this point he’s a comfort to me. Plus, I (oml) relate to him so much, and I can do a post about this- if someone cares or asks. And I have similar traumaaa

Oh geez, I’m your favorite online human, AGH my heart, again, its burning. I agree, RIVALS TO LOVERS SOUNDS SO SOSOSOOSO GOOD I LOVE IT. (I would say my fav trope is “lovers who ache to be together but due to circumstance one starts to lose feeling for the other and it’s an agonizing pain to the other” or maybe that’s just me because I find completion in sadness, which is horrific. But I really itch to angst.)

Here’s me reading your scene and also talking about it at the same time. ‘Regret never came because the wine chased it away’…that’s a good line, thats a good line. The way you just take one thing and mash it with another aspect like wow. Like as each idea were droplets of water on a leafs and you happen to tilt it, connecting them so effortlessly. I’m jealous. The descriptions are amazing, and how you make it the reader’s thought process-damn. I WANNA WRITE THIS GOOD, YALL OUTSHINE ME. And then you say this was shit. *slaps you* DONT YOU DARE UNDESESTIMATE YOURSELF MISTER

Also the way you just subconsciously cut off the g’s is spectacular. I try to, but it’s hard for me. SORRY? SORRY?! Nononono thank you, because the longer the message the better. Apart from the fact that long messages make me happy, especially from you, it means you put time into talking to me! Which makes me super happy too. Heheheh. Thank you love! This made my morning, along with that drawing submission from cam anon, you should check it out! It’s really good.

#creepypasta #🔊 #slenderman #masky #masky creepypasta #creepypasta masky #jeff the killer headcanons #jeff the killer creepypasta #Jeff the killer #📩 #toby cp #toby creepypasta #ticci toby #ticcy toby #Jane the killer #jane the killer creepypasta #eyeless jack cp #eyeless jack headcanon

[sapphiics]

Didn’t we almost have it

a/n: I heavily suggest listening to Dammit by Jana Kramer while reading this, it is where I got the entire plot from.

dt: to my dear @morcias because who else just loves morcia so much. plus I asked her a million questions to help me figure out details for this.

word count: 3k

content warning: it’s angsty(?) and quite sad but with a very happy ending.

-----

God did Penelope hate driving through Illinois.

The only reason she was coming back was for the bridal shower of a girlfriend from college, otherwise she would’ve stayed in California, where she was at least a good thousand miles away from this place.

All it did was make her nostalgic, almost painfully so. The entire state serving as a physical reminder of her old life. One she had not a chance in hell of getting back.

The urge to race her car to the nearest ‘Leaving Illinois’ sign coming over her yet again, Penelope makes a right turn onto Commonwealth avenue. Christina’s house was only five minutes from where she was.

It was the walkway that first drew her eye. A stone path, small flowers lining it. She could almost hear his heavy footsteps getting louder as he jogs to greet her, meeting Penelope in the middle with a chaste kiss as she hauls grocery bags under her arms, enough food for four. 

As she nears closer, her eyes travel up the length of the two-story building, it’s utter perfectness painfully pressing into her like a stab to the gut. It took every ounce of restraint that she possessed not to slam the brakes and just gawk at the vision in front of her.

That was the house.

The dream house. The one the two of them fantasized about back in college. Penelope can practically see the late nights they spent in her dorm, cramped together on her twin bed, their fingers intertwined. His free hand running over her head, pushing her hair back behind her ear and tilting her into his shoulder. Hushed planning of their happily ever after. She can hear his voice whispering in her ear, about how they would have two perfect daughters. He would be a FBI agent, and she would work for a nonprofit organization. He’d cook, she’d clean, he would take care of the lawn, she’d do the laundry.

That was the plan. Their own special, simple, linear plan.

Until real life happened, essentially taking those plans and throwing it off a cliff. That’s all it was now, a pretty daydream to keep Penelope from having to accept the fact that nothing in her life is going like she hoped, and she’s probably going to end up alone.

None of that stopped her from turning into the lot of the house, the door slightly cracked open. A large ‘For Sale’ sign hung on it. 

Giving her the perfect opportunity to see what she could’ve had. To spend a few fleeting moments dreaming of the life she would’ve had with him.

Finally found that dream house, and yet the dream guy was long gone.

Her hands shakier than she would’ve liked, Penelope slowly steps out of her car, the two story home everything she ever envisioned.

The path up to the house was lined with daffodils, she could see as she passed them. The front door was a smooth dark brown. Solid wood, contrasting with the otherwise creme exterior of the house.

That would’ve been his touch. He always liked that building and renovating stuff, she could almost hear him begging her to let him remodel the place. To really ‘make it their home.’

The entrance didn’t nothing to deter her, the arching ceilings and oak floors straight out of her most vivid dreams. The arches reminded her of college. Charles Deering Memorial Library, to be specific. She had always liked the gothic architecture, and even he could admit that the towering building’s medieval influence was well executed. And that chill day in March, the ninth, to be exact, when they first met. She was working there part-time, and he needed something from the football archives.

It was his smile that drew her in, his eyes drawn up real small as he flashed her two rows of perfect teeth. 

What she would give for one of those smiles right about now.

An embarrassingly loud gasp left her mouth as she walked in further. Ahead of her were a pair of large black couches, perpendicular to each other. A grand fireplace in front of them, an open space perfect for a nice big flat screen.

Hockey. That’s what would be playing. He was huge on the sport, and her mind drifted to an image of the two of them sitting on the couch. Him in a worn out jersey and his lucky socks, her in his beat leather jacket, feet propped up in his lap. She has headphones and her knitting, he has a beer she steals sips of and has a loose grip on her ankle, his fingers pressing against the small tattoo she got the day she turned eighteen. Just like old times.

Without even glimpsing at the side door that led to the kitchen, Penelope could already visualize him sitting on the counter. A soft white tee and some sweatpants, strumming on her ukulele and singing some old 90s ballad off key while she chopped vegetables. Later that night, after their girls went to bed, the two of them dancing together to her parents’ old record player. An old Bee Gees song softly in the background as they sway.

Her mind racing, she’s already thinking of summer barbecues. Her and JJ drinking margaritas in the shade, their children’s laughter bringing a grin to her face. Him talking it up with Rossi about god knows what as he mans the grill. The sun setting as he takes a seat next to her, tugging her into his side and placing a small kiss on the side of her head.

The overwhelming realization that Penelope is never going to get that future, never going to have the future she so desperately wanted with him, hit her harder than ever in that moment.

And next thing she knows she can feel tears running down her cheeks. Alone, in the middle of an open house in the one state, the one city she vowed to never return to, and she’s sobbing like a baby.

“Well Hello Miss!” ,a kind old woman steps out, shocking Penelope back to reality, “You here for the house?”

 “Yes,“ she says softly, hastily wiping at her face,  “Yes I am. Just a quick look around.” Her hands swipe at her dress, trying to regain even a semblance of composure, “You have a beautiful home.”

The woman casts her a sympathetic smile,

“Thank you. Me and Sarah have lived here for over forty years. We raised our five children in these very walls,” the lady beams, a smile coming over her face as she looks around the room, 

“We figured that with them all gone and us not getting any younger, we could downsize just a bit.”

Penelope let out a polite laugh, but stayed silent otherwise.

“You stay for as long as you like! My name’s Carolyn by the way. Let me know if you need anything!”

“Penelope, and thank you,” she smiles at her, Carolyn returning to the back of the house.

Penelope’s eyes catch onto the grand staircase, passing over the perfect crème walls and carpet flooring.

Her feet moved towards it, the view before her so accurate to her vision that it was like somebody reached into her brain and pulled out the design themselves. She needed to have this place.

Right before she can take a step on the stairs, she sees Carolyn return, a dimmed smile on her face.

“I’d like to buy the house,” Penelope states confidently. She couldn’t possibly leave here without having it.

It didn’t matter that she lived across the country, with decent enough friends and a steady job. This was the house, and if she had the chance to get at least one part of the dream, she damn sure was going to take the opportunity.

Carolyn winces, a regretful look on her face. “I’m so sorry Penelope, we just had somebody place an offer for it.”

“Oh,” Penelope’s eyes widen slightly, and she can feel the tears pushing their way to the surface. For just a second, she let herself get entranced by the home, and it hurt more than she was willing to admit that she couldn’t have it.

“Are you looking for a similar house ? There’s one just in Fullerton Road, and I believe it is on sale.”

“No I… I just got caught up,” Penelope waves her hand around the side of her head, her cheeks turning red, “It’s okay, an amazing family deserves this home.”

“Actually, the young man who purchased the place is with Sarah in the back right now. He’s already thinking of renovating the place.”

“Sounds great,” Penelope mused, wanting to be anywhere but here. At least a loving family is getting this house. She just hoped they were as happy as she once imagined she would be.

“Here they are,“  Carolyn announces, adding to Penelope’s discomfort. She had to leave, and fast. The last thing she wanted to see was the happy husband who bought this place to catch her, essentially a random stranger, crying in his kitchen.

“Is your family nearby? Why didn’t they come?” A woman, Penelope could only assume was Sarah, Carolyn’s wife, was talking to the new owner of the house. Penelope stiffened, the awkwardness of the situation palpable.

A deep laugh comes from the other person, and she could hear the two people approaching. “Nope, I’m a single man.”

“What the hell did you need such a big house for then?” Sarah quips.

“Just,” the guy takes a resigned breath, “Just wishful thinking I guess.“

Penelope could hear her heartbeats, the sound thrumming loudly in her ears. She shut her eyes, squeezing them to the point of something akin to pain. This couldn’t be happening. This could just be a terrible dream, and when she opened them, she would be waking up in her apartment. Back home, where she was away from her old life here. Safely away from the love of her life, whose voice she just heard for the first time in five years.

“Sarah, this is Penelope. She just stopped by to look at the house.”

Penelope reluctantly turns, peeling her eyes open. To her disappointment, she was still standing in the swept sold house. Still back in her college town.

Still right in front of her ex-fiancé, one she’s just as irrevocably in love with as she was the day he proposed.

“Derek,” she lets out quietly, drinking in everything about him. He’s only gotten better-looking, and Penelope has always been attracted to him.

It was his face, his eyes to be specific, that captured her in this moment.

Because instead of the resentment and anger she had expected, she had deserved, all that was there was a small shimmer of hope. A sliver of hope that she almost cried tears of relief at seeing. Hope she had given up on ever having until she saw it in his face. The same look reflected in her own eyes.

“Penelope.” 

His voice usually stern, she can hear the small waver in his tone. Like he’s just as affected by her as she is him.

Even after all these years, she can’t help but melt when it comes to Derek. It was like her innermost self just knew him, recognized that he, no matter how far apart they were, was always going to have a part of her heart. A power over her that she would never give to any other person.

Yet looking into Derek’s eyes, the only man to ever capture her heart, Penelope could’ve sworn he was feeling the same way she did.

“So, um, we’ll just leave you two for now,”  Carolyn’s eyes clearly wide as she drags her wife outside of the kitchen, leaving the pair alone together.

Derek walks a couple steps closer to her, the smell of nice cologne wafting to her nose as he moves near.

He opened his mouth, almost as if he were about to start speaking, but Penelope catches his small sigh and the twitch of his hands.

They were so close, closer than they had been in years, yet that short distance felt wider than the thousands of miles she had made sure to have between them for the past half a decade.

The lack of touch. That’s what was halting them.

They were always touching one another. It was an unspoken language, just for the two of them to understand. 

To be so close yet not touching, it felt so inorganic to Penelope, so abnormal.

Penelope looks just a little off to the right of him, his presence too overwhelming. He was examining her, and the quiet was anxious.

“Why didn’t you take the ring?” Derek spits out, his low voice subdued by the hurt she could just hear in his voice. “ I could handle how you left, no note or calls. But you left me your ring Penelope.”

She thought she was prepared for this, the anger he would have for her. But hearing the words in real time, from Derek himself, made her stomach turn. A ball of nausea tossed in her stomach, Derek’s pain something that never failed to physically wound Penelope.

“Derek...,” her heart breaking at how much she affected him.

“Did I,” he pauses, sucking in a shallow breath, “Did we mean that little to you?”

“No.” She locks onto his eyes at that, holding his stare. “You- us, that was everything to me.” A fierceness was in her voice that shocked her, and at the look of his slightly widened stare, she wasn’t the only one. The idea that Derek for a second could fathom the idea that he wasn’t the love of her life, her soulmate, was a stake to the heart.

“Was it marriage? Was it not wanting to be married? Because you could’ve told me.”

Surprising her own self, she moves in a half-step, her hands enclosing one of Derek’s clenched ones. Her fingers act on instinct, sliding through his, rubbing her thumb on the back of his index finger. Five years and his fingers still naturally close around hers .

Her teeth firmly sunk into the flesh on the back of her lip, she peers up at Derek, his expression unreadable. He was always better at the reading people thing, it was like second nature to him.

“I promise you, Derek Morgan, there is nothing I have ever wanted more than to marry you.”

Feeling his hand tighten around hers, glancing up to see his brows pulling together, she pushes on, needing to express to him her every feeling. “ You didn’t deserve what I did, and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by when I didn’t feel like the luckiest person in the world to have such an amazing guy.”

“ I am so,” words that she’s been practicing for years suddenly getting clogged in her throat, making every word come out like a croak, “ so sorry for ever hurting you.”

Tears burning behind her eyes, nothing stuns her more than when Derek cups her face, his large palm enclosing her cheek as he runs his fingers lightly through her hair. 

“Is it the house?”

Taken aback, Penelope jolts her head upward. “What?”

His hand now on her shoulder, he turns her to the right, giving her a wider view of the home.

“Is it the right house?”

“It’s the perfect house.” Her voice trailing off at the end.

She faces Derek, his lips pressed together like he’s trying not to say something.

“We could- we could still have it.” His eyes looking at their hands, in a way that was so unlike him, Penelope didn’t dare try to assume anything about what his words meant.

“Have what?” her attempt to keep her voice even failing miserably. Averting his stare, her eyes land on his neck, where a thin gold chain rests.

A chain that had something that looked dangerously similar to a ring hidden under his shirt.

He looks to where she’s staring, a bald-faced look on her face, and his fingers pull out the necklace to reveal a gold wedding band. The one she bought for him, with the special engraving on the inside.

Through the tears rapidly coming to her eyes, she could see Derek’s face. And the vulnerability and love that shined from him to her 

Because he kept it. Even in his clear anger and hurt, the heartbreak she put him in, he kept her ring. 

“The plan.” Derek reaches behind his neck, his fingers reaching to the clasp of the necklace. “The big wedding, the two girls,” He slides the ring off of the chain, twirling it round in his hand. “Our dream.” He finally places the ring in her hands, gently closing her fingers around it.

Her mouth falling slightly open, Penelope slowly blinks three times. The words that just came out of his mouth so unbelievable that her brain was taking some time to catch up. She pulls her lip sideways into her mouth, too nervous to say anything.

His hands come up on each side of her face, a tender clasp that lets him turn her head up towards him.

“I never gave up on you, on us.” He lets out a sad laugh, “ Hell, I’m here about to buy a house just to try and get a piece of that dream.”

Penelope bobs her head slightly back, the shock of what’s happening still getting to her. “You really still want it?”

And Derek, bless his sweet soul, just looks at her with a small smile resting on his lips. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing babygirl,” the sound of his old nickname for her better than anything she’s heard the last few years, “that I want more than to be with you for the rest of my life.”

A matching smile coming to her mouth, she brings Derek’s left hand down to her own, and slides the wedding band on to his ring finger.

A soft cry breaks from her lips, and she feels nothing other than pure joy when he leans down, taking her lips in a sweet kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, they can have it after all.

————

taglist: @alexandrablake @lavenderbau @suburban--gothic @altsvu @rem-ariiana @vhsrights @spelleaway @willlemonheadsupremacy @ssaevie @literatekayla @criminalswifts @hotchshoney @moreidsdaughter @reidtheprettyboy

#morcia #derek morgan #penelope garcia #penelope garcia fanfiction #derek morgan fanfiction #criminal minds #cm #grace writes #morcia fanfiction #fic rec #userchips #useryash #userjemilyology #userluthor #userablake

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Color lovers will love this- using color as therapy. Meet Michelle from “The Beige Blues” blog. This is the exterior of her “Thanks for ruining the neighborhood” house. Michelle says, “It's my freak flag and I'll fly it if I want to.”

Michelle’s story: “ My name is Michelle Carder. I am a recovering insurance lawyer and breast cancer survivor. Explosive colour, the compulsive painting (and re-painting) of every square inch of our house, and decorative floofing, futzing and faffing with exuberant flourish are my chosen therapies.”

This is the kitchen and everything is entirely DIY. Michelle does the painting and her husband Mike builds. Michelle says she has no background or training in interior design, architecture, or anything relevant to the creation of an interior space. In fact, I have no idea what I’m doing, but that’s half the reason my blog is funny.

Our entry hall, staircase, and upper hall are painted brilliant Lapis Lazuli (Behr). I chose this colour because the natural light in these areas is fickle, tending towards dark and shadowy, and I thought the bright, punchy blue would take things up a notch. Which it did.

The Study/Home Office:  This is a fabulously quirky room. It was light blue and I promised Mike I wouldn’t repaint “just this one room.” That changed after I discovered Farrow and Ball’s Middleton Pink and put a sample splotch on the wall. The colour was too magnificent to resist. It almost made me cry. So up it went.

The Master Bedroom: I repainted this room twice. The lesson I learned is this: No matter how much you love your spouse, if you are the alpha in the décor arena, DO NOT COMPROMISE on paint colour for walls or furniture.

The Den: The home’s original dining room. It has stunning, dark-stained oak wainscoting. We wanted to spend as much time in the room as possible, so we commandeered it as a TV room/den. The walls are painted a colour called Raging Bull by Behr (Toro! Toro!), which gives the space a wonderful, small theatre feel.

Guest Room: The wall colour is Farrow and Ball’s St. Giles Blue, which the company advertises as a “striking blue hue” that “cannot fail to make you smile and will hold its own even in the darkest of places.” True that. I smile every time I walk into this room, or even past it on the way down the hall.

The Turret Room: This tiny room is in the cupola (turret room). The star attraction is the giant red leather and black gloss throne.  Because the walls here are black, they recede, and because of that, we can get away with big statement pieces in a small space.

Parlour/Dining Room: Our parlour currently serves parlour purposes, plus it is our temporary dining space. Currently, I’m exploring other colour options to change the mood of this room into something more akin to a dramatic secret underground cocktail lounge.

The Powder Room: With the kitchen remodel, we also ripped out a horrible adjacent bath. The plan was to make it white w/Carrara marble. However, the walls and ceiling were in pitiful condition, and we wanted a shortcut solution, so we painted it Timeless Ruby (Behr). Now the room feels like a pre-Bolshevik Russian jewel box and we love it. I think decorating is excellent therapy. too!

https://www.thegirlwiththegreensofa.com/home/2019/1/2/the-beige-blues-colourful-maximalist-home

#decor as therapy #decorating therapy #color therapy #colorful decor #bold home design

[winebrightruby]

Would you be comfortable sharing any wisdom and/or revelations you’ve had since becoming a mother? As someone trying to break generational trauma, motherhood...excites and terrifies me.

Motherhood (parenthood, I’m assured, but I don’t want to speak beyond my own experience here) is full of revelations but idk about wisdom. A lot of it is revelations about yourself, because unless you’ve been held in a POW camp, there just isn’t much comparable experience to the amount of pressure that caring full-time for a newborn will inflict on you. “You’ll be tired” is true but it doesn’t come near capturing the scope of how tired and what that will mean in daily life/your basic ability to function.

When you’re put under tons of stress, your most deeply ingrained instincts and reflexes come to the fore. If you come from a background of abuse, neglect, or even just poor communication/bad interpersonal skills, all of that will come roaring to the surface. Things you thought you had worked past or managed not to internalize or seen your parents/caretakers do but always known that it was bad so you would never do it yourself - all of those things are waiting for their shot, and that shot will absolutely come. 

The best advice I can give anyone who knows they come from a family situation that they don’t wish to replicate is to get yourself in therapy or counseling before you have a kid. That may sound a little bleak, but I really think that it’s the best possible approach. I also strongly feel that new mothers would all benefit from regular counseling sessions - I realize this is almost impossible in a lot of cases because our society just doesn’t support mothers with the resources they need (plus the physical toll of trying to get to appointments while having a three week old baby ... ugh, I don’t even wanna think about it). But it would help so much. 

I’m sorry; I know I’ve been sitting on this ask for almost two weeks. I wish I had something insightful or useful to say; I feel like this topic is so vast and at the same time so under-discussed. Being a parent is an opportunity to be the best version of yourself. Being a parent is also akin to being subject to months or years of literal war crimes while everyone around you tells you how blessed/lucky you are to be having this experience, and for people who give birth, it’s (broadly speaking) the most hormonally turbulent time you’ll ever experience. It’s very hard to be even a passably good version of yourself under those circumstances, but for those of us trying to break away from toxic or outright abusive family histories, the stakes feel higher than anything we’ve ever done. 

I think I’m just going to go ahead and post this, even though it’s a rambling and messy response, because it doesn’t seem to be getting any better the more I work on it. Thank you for your question, anon, even though I don’t feel I’ve done a very good job answering it x.x

#askbox #parenting #Anonymous

[svynakee]

mulan (2020) and chi, a mystical misrepresentation

Disney’s research on chi (气) suggests that early on they fang qi (放弃). Mulan live action makes me want to fang pi (放屁). Long explanation on my gripes with this cultural 'representation’ which ends up backfiring into making Chinese culture look bad, plus why including the ~exotic Asian mysticism~ of qi ruins Mulan (2020). 

*Translations of the words below cut

Part 1: Crouching Representation, Hidden Insult

Firstly, the accepted pinyin is qi, so I have no idea why they’re using chi. I’m no expert on Chinese medicine or spirituality, but I did grow up watching wuxia and having a mother who insisted I change my diet to balance the heat/cold/dry. The concept of qi is not a mystical one to me. I associate it with action movies and aunties who believe in alternative medicine – superstitious, but in that familiar, domestic way. Part of my tradition. Part of my culture. Part of my life.

Qi is not a magical outside force. Qi is your own personal energy. In stories, while you can seal other people’s qi or damage it, it’s not like some life force in nature where you can tap into a flower’s qi to gain plant powers. Mastery of qi is akin to an Olympic athlete who hones their body and self-control to peak physical performance. While their abilities may seem superhuman, they are not divine or innately magical.

In a wuxia setting, people can train until they get enhanced reflexes, strength, senses, motor skills and possibly healing abilities. These are all ‘normal’ human abilities that have simply been pushed to unrealistic levels. Even walking/running on water, running up vertical slopes and ‘flying’ can be explained as being really fast or…jumping really, really far. Outrageous? Yes. But importantly, not magical. This is why a wuxia hero can still be freaked out by the supernatural. In a wuxia setting, using qi is normal and anyone can become the strongest qi user. Some use it for fighting, others to be doctors (enhanced senses + acupressure), or solve crime (there’s quite a few wuxia detective stories out there).

In xianxia, there are more fantasy elements. Those who hone qi are usually cultivators, who do so with the end goal of becoming immortal. This is not a unique trait; the setting often has several (sometimes even hundreds) of flying, super strong, immortal people who have some degree of fame. There can even be establishments that teach cultivation. Or multiple sects full of cultivators who have honed their skills in qi. Entire armies of people who can cast spells and telepathically control their sword. One could argue that immortality is just the mundane ability to remain healthy pushed to the extreme, but xianxia is where monsters and demons and gods roam about.

There are further differences between the genre, but I only want to point out their similarities concerning the concept of qi.

Everyone is born with qi. Nobody is born with the skills to utilise their qi. Qi must be honed through training, usually in a balanced manner (both physical strength and mental acuity, along with some spiritual growth). Even heroes who have parents with strong qi start off weak, because if you can’t use you qi then you’re just a normal person, because everyone has qi. Being born with unusually long legs and large lung capacity might make you a good sprinter, but you won’t go to the Olympics without training, even if both your parents are gold medallists. It takes self-discipline, a good coach and a mastery of your body to reach that potential.

This is one of my gripes against Disney’s idea of ‘chi’ in Mulan. The other one is-

Qi is not gender restricted. In fact, feminine qi is associated with yin, the black part of the yinyang symbol. Not a new concept. There have been female martial artists and heroes in Chinese works for a long time. I hate how Disney is taking a gender-neutral concept, one which already has a degree of progressiveness in Chinese culture and deciding that “chi is not for women” just to push their girl power moral. For a long time, wuxia has had women warriors. Women MASTERS. Yeah, not every kung fu master is an old man with a long white beard. There are female-only sects. There are badass female warriors who participate in hand-to-hand combat and rack up kills. They’re not regulated to being healers and archers and that one ‘Amazon warrior princess’ using a whip. Growing up, I saw more strong, heroic female warriors in Chinese media than Western when I watched action films.

This is my main problem with Disney’s horrendous cultural appropriation. Instead of properly representing the culture, instead of doing research, instead of just NOT GOING FOR EXOTIC ASIAN MYSTICISM, they actually make Chinese culture look worse than it is. To. Support. Feminism.

Part 2: The Chi-asy Way Out

In addition to butchering the core concept of the thing they’re appropriating, Mulan (2020)’s baffling inclusion of qi, whoops, chi makes the story worse overall. Mulan being born with strong chi makes her a master warrior from childhood. However, society doesn’t like it when women have chi, so she is shunned and her parents worry for her. As a soldier, though, chi powers make her an asset to the army, so she becomes respected. In the end she is a hero.

Oh, and remember when Disney said removing Mushu was because they wanted a more accurate adaptation of the original poem?

MULAN WAS A NORMAL PERSON AND NEVER FOUGHT ANY BIRD WITCHES.

The problem is that this means nothing Mulan accomplishes is due to her own actions. How is this an uplifting feminist story? This is the message: “If you’re a girl who fails to conform, you will be ostracized. Don’t worry though – so long as you’re born super special and strong, make the right heroic choices and use your strength for good, you will find acceptance!”

WHO. IS. THIS. EMPOWERING.

Isn’t this just another ‘not like other girls’ story? Mulan likes something that only boys are allowed to do, so men don’t like her, until she proves she’s better than them at that thing, so they accept her? That’s not feminism! Women don’t need to prove anything to be allowed to pursue their passions or feel proud of their identity. And they don’t need to be the best at something to be allowed to do it!

In Mulan (1998), she lacks the raw physical strength of the men. This actually makes sense – she’s the daughter of a wealthy family (hence the marriage arrangement, the nice estate) – so she’s weaker. This weakness leads to her getting bullied. Mulan realises she can’t succeed if she tries to match them in brute strength. She then uses her brains to succeed. There’s a brief training montage where she becomes stronger which admittedly doesn’t explain why she suddenly gets swole, but it’s reasonable that she was always capable to being as strong as the men and merely lacked their background of physical labour (even Po, as monks are expected to maintain their temple).

In Mulan (2020), she just stops hiding her superpowers. After a personal pep talk from her commander, which she gets…because he knew her war veteran father.

Ah yes, magic and nepotism, the inspiration that little girls need! Feminism!

It gets worse. Mulan’s chi not only allows her to excel in the army, but it leads to the main villainess/anti-villain to fixate on her. Xian is a witch, a woman who used chi but fell to darkness. Her goal is to make a world where, uh, women born with strong chi aren’t oppressed. She immediately recognises Mulan as a woman with chi and inexplicably gives her chi tips while in battle. She then repeatedly leads Mulan to each plot point, culminating in her sacrificing herself to save Mulan because she sees Mulan as the kind of person she wanted to be, but couldn’t due to oppression.

Chi is the reason why Mulan is a hero. Chi is how Mulan arrived on time to save the Emperor. Chi is why she is respected. Chi makes her special. Chi makes her a hero.

The addition of chi takes away so much of Mulan’s character growth, her struggles and subsequently her triumphs. Did she join the army for her father’s sake, or because she knew her only chance to succeed was on the battlefield, where chi is a powerful weapon? Is the emperor offering her a position on his staff out of respect for her abilities, or fear that shunning her will turn her into another Xian (who almost singlehandedly gave Bori Khan victory and ALSO was responsible for foiling his plans because her abuse led to her betrayal)? Even the love interest doesn’t befriend Mulan until she shows off her chi and beats him in combat.

Chi gave Mulan everything. And with this poor addition of ‘chi’, Disney took everything from Mulan.

气 - qi, ‘air’ 放弃 - give up 放屁 - fart

#mulan #mulan 2020 #mulan film 2020 #mulan live action #disney #fuck off the west already thinks china is backwards and needs enlightenment #mulan rant

[hopelesshawks]

Official Accounts Part 35 (Bakugo Route)- Whole Again SFW Version

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Masterlist

You have willingly fallen off many a building since you first began the ‘think fast’ tradition. First was the UA dorms and since then you’ve also fallen off every apartment building you’ve lived in at least once. All of this to say that you know what it’s like to fall and you know what senses and feelings you like to focus on when you’re in free fall. Typically if you’re falling someplace new you’ll stare at the surrounding buildings as they streak past. More familiar places you typically just close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of falling.

Falling with Katsuki is different.

You pay no mind to the buildings rushing past the two of you. You dare not close your eyes. Instead you focus on the feelings of his warm arms wrapped around you as you look down into beautiful crimson eyes. The eyes of one of your best friends. The eyes of the first person to break your heart. The eyes of your first love. “Hold on tight,” he tells you with a soft smirk. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck and then wrap your legs around his waist as well. He brings one hand to caress your cheek briefly, his look so incredibly soft, before dropping both his hands behind him to send the both of you flying back upwards. He helps you slide around so you’re piggybacked on him with an ease developed from years of doing this ritual. Then he starts directing the two of you further and further away from the venue. “Where are you taking me explosion boy?” you ask in his ear. “It’s a surprise dumbass, just wait and see,” he insists. Eventually you leave the downtown area and move further out to the suburbs and soon enough you start to recognize some of the streets. Bakugo touches down at a public park with an old playset only a few minutes walk from UA’s campus. He carefully lets you back down onto the ground as you take in the space around you. “You brought me to our park,” you say in wonder as you move towards the rusty swingset nearby. “I did,” Bakugo confirms with a smile as each of you takes a seat on one of the swings.

You and Bakugo used to sneak off campus to come here on a regular basis. There’s a dent in the jungle gym where you’d lashed out at it with your quirk one day when one of your classmates had pissed you off. There’s a hole in one of the tunnels that Bakugo had created after a particularly contentious fight with Midoriya. If you looked long enough you’d probably even find where you and Katsuki had carved your initials the night of graduation. The park was filled with memories of the two of you together and this is your first time back since the two of you had broken up. “We used to stay out here for hours when we could sneak away,” you recall wistfully. “Those were some of my favorite memories from the UA days,” Bakugo admits. “Really?” “Obviously,” Bakugo scoffs but then he stops, thinking for a moment. You watch him curiously as he takes a deep breath, staring determinedly ahead as he continues in a softer tone “it’s the place I promised you forever.”

You know exactly what night he’s referring to. It was about a week before graduation and the reality of high school being over and your careers beginning was hitting Katsuki hard, so the two of you had decided to escape out to the park. You both sat on the swings then just like you are now and you looked at the stars and talked about the future. “I remember. You said there was no future you imagined for yourself without me in it,” you admit quietly. “I meant it,” he replies. “I know.” “I still mean it.” “What?” “I said what I said.” The two of you briefly lapse back into silence as you mull over his words. You gently swing a little as you gather your thoughts. “I’m so-“ “Don’t apologize dumbass you did the right thing. Plus I didn’t bring you here to guilt trip you about the past,” Bakugo interrupts you. “Why did you bring me here?” you ask curiously. “Well... This is where I confessed to you the first time and that seemed to go well. Guess I was hoping it would give me good luck again.” “Katsuki, I... What exactly are you saying?” you ask breathlessly. “I love you, (y/n). I never stopped loving you,” Bakugo finally confesses, dragging his eyes away from the ground so he can look you in yours as he says it. “Even after all this time?” you ask. “Especially after all this time.” “I love you too Katsuki,” you reply before you lean across the short distance between the two swings to press your lips to his.

Katsuki’s reaction is immediate, one of his hands moving to caress your face as he deepens the kiss, pouring every unspoken ‘I love you’ from the past 5 years into it. God he’s missed this. All this time he’s been resigned to never feeling your lips on his again, never feeling your love again, and yet here he is feeling it all in the very spot where it first began. He pulls away slightly to mumble “come here,” against your lips, and you happily let him tug you towards him and into his lap. Your arms wrap around each other as he presses a kiss to each of your cheeks and the tip of your nose before returning to your lips. With each peck Bakugo feels a sweet relief akin to diving into cold water on the hottest day of the year. He had forgotten what it was like to not be heartbroken until this very moment with you once again in his arms. For the first time in five years he is whole again.

Author’s Note: This actually came out shorter than I anticipated but I liked it and didn’t want to try and force something longer. I’ve been pleasantly surprised with how much fun it’s been to write the Bakugo Route so I hope that even though it feels short this was satisfying as we get close to the end now. Just like with the Hawks route there will also be a NSFW version of this one posted soon

Taglist [open]: @maltese-sparrow @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @captaincyberqueen @ladyzayismultifandom @pixelwisp @cathy8taffy @itskindofafairything @larkspyrr @thatonegeekchick @thesleepysphinx

#hopelessoa #bakugo smau #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

like that | ii

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

Genre: fluff, t i n y bit of angst if your squint

Tags: roommate!mark, fakedate!mark

Warnings: none

day 20 of 30 days of NCT

Synopsis: in which your fake date shows you how to really slow dance 

// you give me butterflies when I simply just look at you // (x)

--

[22:28]

How had you ended up here, trapped oh so delicately in his arms, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, swaying to the beat of an unnamed love song? Mark pulled away to rest his forehead against yours, something akin to the fluttery feeling in your stomach dancing about in the deep darkness of his irises.

Surely it wasn’t the alcohol that caused the rapid beating of your heart in your chest. Surely it wasn't the romantic atmosphere of another wedding reception that had you yearning for something more than friendship with the handsome man before you. Could it have been- No. This wasn’t because you asked him to be your plus one tonight. No. It couldn’t be that. Anyone could have asked their attractive roommate to be their plus one to their cousin’s wedding. Closing your eyes, you thought back to the night before... Surely last night had some significance. 

“So, tell me, Y/N,” Mark hummed. Dark eyes followed your figure as you bustled about the kitchen in one of his hoodies and a wistful sigh left the smile painted over his face. He knew you were only inviting him to the wedding because you were roommates, but as you scowled down into the water, using a forearm to brush the hair out of your eyes... he couldn’t help but wish you were asking because of something else. Resting his chin in his hand, Mark blinked the silly thoughts from his mind, watching from the counter as you spared him a quick glance from your place behind the sink. “Should we come up with some elaborate story about how we started ‘dating’ for your cousin’s wedding tomorrow? Or is that too extra?” 

“Sounds kind of ridiculous,” you scoffed down at the soapy dish water, submerging three different plates into your tattered reflection, scrubbing the ceramic much harder than necessary. You had lost rock, paper, scissors this evening which meant you had to wash all the dishes while Mark got to sit back and watch you. 

The angelic smile on his lips immediately flipped into a frown. “Come on, Y/N. No one’s gonna believe us if we don’t have a dumb, cliche story about how I found you, my dream girl, you realize that right?” 

“Well-” turning off the water, you paused in your scrubbing to squint up at your roommate. “I mean, we can, but if it’s really cliche, you might as well stay home because my mom’s not dumb. Like, if you pulled up to her and said something like, ‘Hi Y/N’s mom, I’m her boyfriend, Mark Lee… Yes, it’s lovely to meet you as well… I met your daughter one afternoon after accidentally spilling coffee down her white shirt and offered to pay for dry cleaning and another coffee, but she refused, saying that my number would be sufficient payment’... she’d immediately smack me for trying to mess with her.” The brunette in front of you sighed and pushed himself off the stool to pace about the dining room. 

“Damn, here I was thinking I could say something along those lines and fool everyone.” With his eyes downcast, eyebrows furrowed, and bottom lip tucked in between his teeth, Mark went quiet, trying to think up another somewhat believable story of how the two of you met. Having forgotten the chores for the time being, you let your gaze wash over your handsome roommate. 

Not a single part of you wanted to admit you had fallen for Mark long ago. Because if you had to pinpoint the moment you fell for him, it was a month after you moved in together. You could remember that evening clearly; he had been blasting music in the kitchen, banging all the pots and pans with drumsticks made out of the wooden spoons you had just bought while belting out the lyrics to Chris Brown’s song ‘With You’. And you… you had been trying in vain to finish an essay due that evening. Furious and fed up with his ‘music’, you burst out of your room and stomped towards the kitchen, full rant sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

However, all the frustration festered up inside you died the moment he turned around, the widest smile appearing across his face when he saw you. Still humming to the lyrics, Mark transferred both of the spoons into one hand, stretching his other hand out to you. “Wanna dance?” 

A light giggle fell from your mouth at the memory until you remember that same roommate was making you wash the dishes. Said roommate’s head perked up at the sound. 

“What’s up? Did you figure out a different background story for us?” Within seconds, he was at the edge of the counter. You forced your gaze away from the way his bangs settled just above his eyes, away from the curve of his jaw, away from the soft pink of his lips and back down to the remainder of the dishes in the sink. 

Shaking your head ‘no’, you shrugged silently, pushing the precious memory back to the recesses of your mind. He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t believe you…”

“What? Why?” 

From his perch on the kitchen counter, Mark reached out - eyes narrowed in faux suspicion - to bop the tip of your nose. “Because you’re smiling like you just thought of something good.” 

Oh. Rolling your eyes playfully, you flicked a handful of soap suds in his direction. You hadn’t realized the smile your memories had brought still remained on your lips. Again, you shrugged. “Nah, that’s just the face I make when I think about you.” 

--

Still a day later, the words you had spoken the night before had yet to leave your mind. You downed another shot, trying with all your might to forget the sober truth you had admitted to your roommate even without an ounce of alcohol coursing through your veins. But alas, even after the initial burn of the drink had subsided, there lingered still the way his lips parted in disbelief the moment the words exited your mouth. 

Mark didn’t say anything after that. Just shut his mouth, offered you an unsteady smile, and excused himself. 

Earlier this afternoon as you were getting ready, it was as if the conversation from the night before hadn’t even taken place. You sat in front of your vanity, already in your cocktail dress, make-up half done and curling iron held taut above your head when he knocked. A mere second later, he entered and you nearly dropped your iron. 

Mark, the boy you had frequent and spontaneous midnight dance parties with… Mark, the tired college undergrad who lived eternally in large sweatshirts and ripped jeans… Mark, the young man your heartbeat sped up exponentially for... Though you had been living with him for 2 years, never before did you have the chance to see just how good he looked in a suit. His long, muscular legs were wrapped in a pair of black dress slacks and a dark button-down covered his lean torso. A matching tie hung loose around his neck and his hair was combed back, revealing his piercing eyes. 

He just smiled, greeting you with a steaming cup of coffee and a simple “you look beautiful.” 

For the nth time that evening, you released a small sigh, eyes once again resting on your date and the way he laughed, chatting casually with your family. Your mother had been immediately smitten with your handsome roommate. Polite and charming as always, he spoke earnestly - one hand resting around your waist - about all the things he ‘loved’ about you. If only your relationship was real, if only he meant all the things he had told your cousin, all the things he told your mom, all the solemn lies he promised your childhood friend.

Glaring deep into the empty shot glass, you nearly jumped when he appeared, right beside you. 

“Y/N, my love,” Mark whispered. The nickname sent a shiver down your spine and you looked up at him helplessly. How could he do this to your heart? How could he say those words so casually and smile so easily when you were hurting so visibly? “This is the second time tonight you’ve left me for the bar, I’m beginning to get jealous.” 

“Oh shut up, Mark,” you groaned. When you spoke, your words slurred ever so slightly, eliciting an amused grin from your date. “I’m just trying to forget I saw my childhood friend - my best friend in high school, mind you - staring at your ass. I mean, come on, Mina, this is my date and only I can stare at his butt.” 

“Jealous or something, baby?” Mark snickered mischievously. The sweet chill of the evening air was quickly replaced with the warmth of his firm body as he snuck his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I promise I’ll spend the rest of the night with you.” 

When you said nothing, he sighed, pulling away only to tug the empty glass out of your hand. You turned to frown at him, parting your lips to say something, to dismiss the butterflies flooding your system from the way his heavy gaze drank you in. But before you could say anything, the soft melody of a slow love song played out of the speakers and the voice of the bride came on the microphone, inviting all the couples to the dance floor.  

Perhaps it was the way the lights hung around the outdoor venue, highlighting all the best parts of your roommate or the way his touch sent tingles of excitement through your body... Or maybe it was the way he pulled you close for the second time that evening or the way the stars shone brightly in his eyes… Whatever it was that sent your heart racing and your mind reeling, you knew right then and there, there was no chance you were going to let that feeling go. 

Mark tilted his head to look down at you. In his gaze swam a tender desire that made you more than weak in the knees. “Dance with me, again?” 

In mere seconds, Mark pulled you back out onto the dance floor. Earlier in the night, he had brought you out during a rap song. Not a very good opportunity for slow dancing. But now, as the beat played out, relaxed and the tiniest bit sensual, a thrill ran through your body. Perhaps now you could get that slow dance you had been waiting all night for. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you were reminded of all the romance movies you’d watched. According to those movies, this was the moment where his hands were supposed to find their way to your hips and yours, his neck. Once you were situated, his eyes would meet yours and the two of you would lean closer until your lips touched in a groundbreaking kiss. 

However… his hands never fell past your ribcage. Instead, Mark placed a hand under your left shoulder blade, tugging your left hand up to rest on his bicep. With his free hand, he grabbed yours, clasping them together without intertwining your fingers. And rather than swaying back and forth like everyone else was doing, Mark began to dance. One step forward, side - together, closed. A step back, side - together, closed. The confusion must have settled visibly in your eyes and your date released a low laugh. 

“What’s wrong, love?” 

“N-nothing,” you stuttered, both in your speech and your step. “I just… this isn’t how you slow dance?” 

Mark chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement. “You’re right, this isn’t how you slow dance.” 

“Then what is this?”  

For a moment, he said nothing. Just stepped in time to the music, nodding his head along to the lyrics. But I just could not figure out why you give me butterflies when I, simply just look at you…

“This-” he said, tugging you closer ever so slightly. The affection in his smile was dizzying, yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away from it. “-is me looking at the only girl I’ve ever felt this strongly for.” 

Just like that, your breath caught in your throat. Mark leaned closer, a flush covering his cheeks and nothing but honestly in his voice as he continued. “This is me, holding the girl of my dreams in my arms and trying to tell her how much I care.” 

He lifted his arm, sending you under for a slow turn. After eight counts, he brought you back into his embrace, lowering his lips to your cheek in the softest kiss imaginable. “This, my love, is a waltz.” 

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #nct #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct oneshot #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream #nct mark #nct mark scenarios #nct mark imagines #nct mark fluff #nct mark x reader #nct mark lee #mark lee #mark lee scenarios #mark lee oneshot #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #mark lee fluff #mark lee x reader #nct angst #nct mark angst #mark lee angst #nct soft hours #soft hours

[armorsleevedsinglehit]

PLEASE go wild about the falconry in naruto. Tell us everything. Go wild.

WOW okay. i wasn’t really planning on doing this, but let me give a little bit of irl background about myself before i begin so that you can see where i’m coming from. i am a bird scientist and a youth worker (so you can see where some of madara’s posts come from), though i am reluctant to call myself an ornithologist because there are people out there who know LOADS more than me; i just am deeply interested in birds.

there are people within my organization, especially those who work directly with birds of prey for educational purposes, who are opposed to falconry. and i can somewhat understand where they’re coming from. there’s this notion entertained by some of them that you have to literally starve the bird in order to convince it to come back to you (or else you can end up just losing your bird). i can understand this concern, but frankly i’m not the best person to refute this, so here are the words of jim roush instead:

“when the moult is completed and it is desired to bring the hawk into hunting trim, her ration should be cut down. when the hawk shows signs of being very hungry, yet does not show any signs of weakness and emaciation, she may be trained or retrained for hunting. the weight of the hawk should be recorded at this time. the hawk should then always be hunted at this ‘fighting weight.’ a few ounces heavier than this and she probably will not hunt and she may even fly away. a few ounces lighter and she will probably be too weak.”

so it isn’t necessarily a cruel thing, just a…calibration thing. it’s more akin to a carefully timed diet than abject starvation. i’ll admit, personally, that i’m not totally comfortable with the idea, but that has more to do with my feelings on the concept of falconry in general than the actual mechanics of these “bird diets” or whatever you want to call them. HOWEVER, having done a bit of falconry myself, i can tell you that falconers have the UTMOST respect for their birds. plus falconry isn’t just a nobleman’s sport anymore; it has real-world, practical applications (i know a guy who trains kestrels to get sparrows out of airports- how cool is that).

at the end of the day, i’d much rather see a hawk in the wild than get up close and personal with a trained one, and i try to convey that in madara’s posts. to me, there is something so deeply important and almost…prehistoric about seeing a hawk in its natural habitat, moving about completely on its own terms, and that awe (for me anyway) is lessened slightly when i encounter a trained hawk. and i’m a bit biased- i don’t have pets or anything, and i am very lucky to get to spend time outdoors actually looking at these wild birds- not everybody has that privilege.

ANYWAY, falconry. falconry in the naruto universe, i think, is fundamentally similar to ours. it’s the same equipment, the same training methods, etc. but we also see that hawks are used to send coded messages between villages, which is utterly impossible in the real world, which leads me to believe that hawks (or at least “ninja hawks” or however you want to call them) are capable of understanding language on a deeper level than our hawks, kind of like the way ninneko are portrayed. but it seems that the hawks’ main purpose in canon is to pass on information between different governments; they’re not used in battle or anything like that.

in the early days of the leaf village, before the rest of the villages come into being, falconry is a much quieter sport. madara’s birds tend to just come and go as they please, and are able to communicate with him on a deeper level than, say, falcons and hawks irl. plus i imagine there are certain contracts out there linking humans and birds of prey (like sasuke and garuda) that madara uses on the daily. madara does hunt with his birds on occasion, usually when he wants to spend some time alone and disappear into the mountains for a while, but he also does a lot of raptor rehab and bird banding. he maintains the kestrel boxes and keeps a running tally of nest sites in and around the village- even for birds who are very secretive and wouldn’t dare reveal the location of their nests to just anybody. they recognize him as one of their own, in a way. 

madara does have his own aviary but he spends some time at the konoha one as well, as it’s still under construction. it houses mostly pigeons at this point.

#headcanon #meta #misc #long post #Anonymous

[stellar-imagines]

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝malaise pt 2.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Bakugou Katsuki ]

「 After supposedly leaving Bakugou alone in the apartment, you holed yourself up in your office. You distracted yourself by working instead of asking questions about whether what you did was right or wrong. On the other hand, Bakugou regrets everything and is too ashamed to even face you. Until an opportunity arises.」

Angst ahead!

[ Part 1 || Part 3 ]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

"You know that eating all that isn't good for your health, right?" 

There were boxes of takeout around your table, some still had its contents while the others were empty. Your colleague, Irino, bend down to pick up the plastic bags that had nothing but trash in them. The office had became your home now after running away from your shared apartment. Ever since you left, you made the office into your temporary home. It had a kitchen and to be honest, it was spacious enough since there were only a few people using the space. The girls you worked with didn't seem too bothered by it. In fact, they were really concerned when you greet them in the building in your pajamas. When you left the apartment, you considered crashing at one of your friend's place but you didn't want to bother anyone so you ended up at your office.

You had cried through the entire ride to the office. It was on a day off that you decided to leave and the office was vacant. There were already a lot of facilities available for you. And so, you spent an entire day buying the necessary items to make this place into a place you could live in. There was a couch that you could use, a clothes rack that you often use to hang random items. Not to mention, you have a coffee machine, water dispenser and a stove. It's also a plus for you because you don't have to worry about coming late to work.

"It's just temporary, Irino! There's a few things I need to fix and I need to get it done by tomorrow." you replied, putting aside the mochi you had been eating the entire time. The girl sighed, making her way over to her own work desk and began her own work of sorting files. The other employees were already present, busying themselves with their own task. She seemed a bit bothered by how you were living right now.

Now, Irino didn't know much about your relationship with Bakugou Katsuki, a well known Pro Hero. She has only seen him come by the office a couple of times and mostly saw him through the screen when the news was centered around him. From her observation, he was a guy who doesn't do well with the press and she highly doubted that he could properly stay in a relationship for a very long time. She wasn't one to judge people by their looks too. Seeing you always talked about him as if he was the best man on Earth, she could tell that he wasn't what she thought he was like. Then again, she still couldn't believe what happened between the two of you. For a few days, you looked pretty much like a zombie.

"You're so forgiving, [First Name]-chan." 

"Well, if you've known Bakugou Katsuki for a long time you'd understand why I forgive him. Even though I said I forgive him, he completely lost my trust after what he did." you mumbled, lifting the mug of hot chocolate to your lips. Your eyes studied the liquid sitting in the mug. It was still warm, proven by the feeling it gave your fingers.

"If I were you, I wouldn't be able to forgive him."

"Yeah, yeah, never mind all that. Where are the blueprints that you wanted to give me, Irino-chan?" you extended your right hand while you munched on some mochi that you were holding onto with your left hand. Irino could never understand how you were feeling but she knew that she was in no position to tell you what she thinks. All she can do was support you.

"Once you're done, let's so eat some yakiniku together." she offered with a smile.

You nodded, giving your okay before going back to work. The television was on and there was news about the most recent villain attack. You turned your attention towards the television, stopping your work. There was Kirishima, Bakugou, Ashido and even Midoriya was there. Four of the former students of UA who you're acquainted with were in the news. You wonder what Bakugou could be doing at this time of day.

"Hey, Bakugou! How are you doing these days?"

"Shut up, Shitty Hair. I don't have time to fucking chat." Bakugou grumbled angrily, scribbling down a few things on the sheet he was given. Kirishima put down a cup of coffee in front of the ash blonde. He raised his head, eyes landing at the cup before grabbing the handle and taking a sip.

"I know that you got a lot in your mind and you know, I'm here if you need to talk about it." Kirishima's eyes soften a little. Bakugou frowns and it wasn't the usual frown, there was sadness behind it. The ash blonde had heard from Ashido who heard from you about what happened between the two of you. Kirishima strongly believed that Bakugou was a loyal man and a bit relieved when he didn't hear that they had an affair or actually had sex. But in the end, the damage is done and this was what the two of you settled with.

It was a few minutes after the two stopped talking that the phone rang. Being the closest to it, Bakugou picked it up.

"What?" he mumbled. His voice was hoarse and gruff, but the voice from the other side is clear and loud, accompanied by loud noises in the background which were akin to explosions.

"Ground Zero. We need you and Red Riot on the field right now. We've got 3 heroes on the field, there's civilians in the area that need to be evacuated."

"We're on our way."

When the two arrived the scene, everything seemed to be in chaos. A building was on fire and the civilians were panicking and making their escape. Sirens were heard in the distance, followed by the sounds of metal screeching and people screaming. Bakugou and Kirishima went further where the smoke was thicker. Both were used to the thick smell of ash from smoke but the limited visibility that comes with it always proved to be a hindrance. The two waved the smoke until they reached closer to the building. There stood the hero who had gave Bakugou a call.

It's when he saw you that he stopped.

The smoke made it hard for him to identify people but he can't really forget how you look and it only took a second for him to recognize you. After all, it isn't easy to forget the person you love. You were still oblivious to his presence, helping the injured civilians and providing them with breathing masks that were specially made for this very situation. You finally noticed him once the hero carried the people you were tending to away. Your eyes landed on Bakugou and your lips twitched a bit. You wondered what was the right thing to say now. It had been days since you last saw each other and it was a bit awkward to be meeting in such circumstances.

"Hey." you almost want to slap yourself but coming out with just that. No matter how many times you saw him appear in the television, it's nothing compared to seeing him in real life. He inhales, how long has it been since he heard your voice. Bakugou avoids your gaze, looking a bit ashamed after what he had done. He wanted to say that he was sorry again, tell you to come back but a loud explosion caught both your attention. It came from another building that was further away.

"I want to talk.....later." he mumbled.

"Just the two of us." he added.

"Yeah, I'll be waiting." you nod.

Throughout his entire battle with the villain and evacuating the civilians, all he could think was you. What should he say to you? Would you even come back to him if he asked? 

"This is Alpha from Position 1, we've captured all villains and evacuated everyone. How's things in Position 2?" a nearby Hero spoke through the communicating device in their ear.

"The building is starting to crumble and we need more heroes to help the injured civilians. We need back up! As much as possible and as fast as possible!" Bakugou could pick of the conversation since he was also equipped with the device. He pressed a hand over the small earbud, picking up the conversation.

"Shit, we deployed a lot of heroes here since the villain appeared.....Who's doing the evacuation at the moment?" 

"Most of them are already back except for [Last Name]-san! She went in to assist with evacuation and hasn't come back. We need someone to go—"

"This is Ground Zero. I'm on my fucking way." Bakugou rose to his feet and moved faster than anybody and used his quirk to get to the crumbling building.

The smoke had already cleared but the building had crumbled down. You did all you could to evacuate everyone and even went to do a check. But you got caught between the rubble. It crushed your legs and your body was bleeding from the sharp stones that pierced through your clothing. You could barely register the pain. There was no feeling in your legs and you didn't have energy to get out. Your communicating device had fallen out of your reach. And you were sure that you'd die alone.

His eyes grew wide and he makes his way over, pushing aside all the rubble and pulling you out. He laid your head on his lap and looked at your legs. Biting his lip and cursing out loud, he blamed himself for not coming faster.

"Katsuki.....?" your voice sounded strained and fragile as if you'd break.

"Fuck, your legs need to be tended to in a hospital....." Bakugou shrugged off the cloak that he had been given earlier, ripping the material carelessly. He was panicking. There was so much blood and you were breathing heavily.

"I feel sleepy." you muttered breathlessly.

"Shit, shit! You gotta fucking stay awake! You hear me!? Talk, say something!" Bakugou pleaded, seeing how the light was starting to face from your eyes. You gazed up at him, he looked desperate and scared. You had never seen such an expression before but when you recalled the day he left you—you thought to yourself, it was the same. He was scared of losing you.

"I missed you....."

"You know.....Even though I knew, I was a coward and didn't want to say anything......! Because even though you were with that woman, you still came back home so I clung onto that, thinking that you still love me. Did you stay with me because you pitied me?" your eyes were drooping and it was almost hard to focus on his face anymore. Bakugou who was supposed to do whatever he could to stop the bleeding, had stopped to listen. He shook his head, ripping parts of his cloak to cover your wounds.

"Anyway, I hope your life with her is good.....Well, I saw her picture when she messaged you by accident......She's really pretty, prettier than me, that's for cure. She makes you happier than I do right? Ah.....does she make your favorite food? I was always struggle—" you broke into a fits of coughs, blood spilling from your lips and coating your costume.

"Enough, stop talking already!" his lips trembled, watching as you wince in pain. He never contacted with that woman anymore, too busy wallowing in regret. Bakugou meant it when he was sorry. He was fucking asshole and he didn't deserve you but he wants you so desperately.

"You know, if you wanted someone else, you could've just ended our relationship."

His eyes sagged and he felt his heart clenching painfully. Bakugou cursed out loud, telling himself that he was so fucking stupid. He can feel the pain and betrayal in your words and seeing you in this state made him suffocate. He really didn't deserve you at all. Yes, he did miss you so fucking bad. Waking up alone on the king sized bed that the two of you had picked was so damn painful. Eating breakfast without hearing your excited chatter in the morning was just unbearable. Coming home to a pitch dark apartment with no warmth and no one there was just excruciating.

All of a sudden, he remembers all of it. How you praised him on the day he was accepted to dream agency, when he rose to the top. The way you kiss him, make his favorite dinner, massage his muscles after a long day at work. Every single time you cuddled him, listening to his angry rants about his annoying co-workers. He was blessed to have such a caring, patient person like who you put up with his bullshit.

"But if you're happy then it's okay. I want what's best for you. Even if it's a future without me in it, because you're actually a nice person."

"What are you saying!? I'm not a nice person and you can't fucking die before me! You're the nice one! I was a fucking asshole......! You're all I need!" he screamed.

"Tha....nk you.....Katsu....."

Your entire body relaxed and your eyes fell shut. It was as if your entire body shut down to get sleep. Tears streamed down his face, crying in anguish and screaming at the top of his lungs. Midoriya was first to find him, with a few doctors following him and running over towards where Bakugou was. The ash blonde kept his hold on you, being extremely protective and even refused to hand you over to the paramedics.

"Deku-san, do something about this! We need to get her to the machine to stabilize her heartbeat, there's a chance that she's still alive." one of the paramedics announced. Midoriya somehow managed to pry you off Bakugou's arms and hand you over to the paramedics.

"Kacchan, calm down!" Midoriya grabbed hold of the ash blonde's arms, making sure he wouldn't go on a rampage. Droplets of tears started to pour down onto the ground. Bakugou's vision was blurry with tears but he could see the lights of the ambulance and barely make out the figure of paramedics carrying your body into the car.

Once again, you slipped from his grasp. The first time you did, he wished he could pull you back, plead you to stay and not leave him behind. He regretted it so much. And so, just like the first time he saw you slip away from him, he could only cry in anguish.

Total: 2439 words Published: 12.11.2019

Thank you for requesting! *｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و*｡ Hello, please don’t kill us me for making it so angsty. Malaise is back by a popular demand! A lot of people actually replied saying if it was a part 2 and here ya go, our lovely, beautiful amazing and absolute beautiful reader! It’s just the beginning of my second year and honestly, it feels like the end of the year.  (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ We hope you enjoyed it!  ― author Hibiki/LouThank you for requesting! So we didn’t really decide whether we wanted to end with angst or not? And honestly, it depends on the request and our mood. Lou was the one who originally wrote Malaise and this time I was in charge of Malaise pt 2. Lou was the one who made the ending and clearly, she’s stressed and overwhelmed. Because she texts me at 4am asking me if she could live with only 3 hours of sleep. Okay, let’s end the boring story about us. We hope you liked it. ― author Natsuki

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

#stellar-imagines #scenario #bnha:bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #BNHA Headcanons #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia scenarios #boku no hero academia headcanons #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia x reader #mha #mha imagines #mha oc #mha scenarios #mha headcanons #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia scenarios #my hero academia headcanons #reader insert #fanfic

[typewriterghcst]

Title: A Very Small Wish Fandom: The Cat Returns Characters: Baron, Muta, Toto, Haru, plus some OCs Rating: PGish maybe?? Words: 4724 Summary: A pleading request from a parent whose daughter has been cursed by a resentful witch is nothing truly out of the ordinary for the Cat Bureau— in fact, it might be so common so as to be routine— so why does something feel inherently off about this particular one? Notes: Third chapter of six of a Secret Santa gift for @deedee-sunflowers. It’s about here that the chapters start getting a bit long hhh. Tho I think they end up a little shorter again eventually Anyway, the first task. A lot of different influences went into these parts of the story, and I hope they’re not too blatant or distracting, aha ;;  Also, I forgot! I drew a very small doodle of the little patchwork creatures which feature in this chapter, if anyone’s interested `~`;;

                                    Ch. 3: The Sown Forest

The Sown Forest is near deathly silent, or… perhaps at least it feels that it should be, but the crunching of the snow under their collective feet and an ever-present rumbling ambiance akin to a distant earthquake means there’s little true silence to be had. And even without that unexpected ambient background, something about the place doesn’t feel quite right. In every direction grow thin, white trees, scattered haphazardly and yet also in just the right formation to make the forest seem far too organized, tidy. Patterned. 

No matter where they look, the horizon stretches out over an immeasurable distance, and the white of the sky and that of the level, milky ground meld into one. Only the wispy, bare branches of the trees break up the monotony of the landscape.

“Well,” Baron finally thinks to remark, “The bright red of a holly berry is likely to stick out like a rather sore thumb in this environment, isn’t it?”

“Sure, if you can find the one dumb enough to grow right now,” Muta grumbles, burying his nose into the warmth of the scarf wrapped around his neck and grumpily huddling further into his coat.

“Now, let’s not lose faith so early, Muta. Should we remain positive and keep a cool head about this, we’re sure to succeed.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say…” More grousing.

“We have only a limited amount of time to triumph over all three of these challenges, and I believe we’ll cover more ground if we split up into groups. Muta, Miss Haru— the two of you start in that direction. Mr. Vanya and I shall take the opposite. Toto, see if you can discern anything from the sky.”

“A berry— even a patch of berries, might be difficult to spot from an aerial view,” Toto responds as a gentle caution. “Even in such a uniform environment.”

“I know, but there’s no harm in trying anyhow.”

Toto nods. Then, more firmly than before, “And how do you propose we find this spot again to inevitably reconvene?”

Ah, bless Toto again, Haru thinks to herself briefly, because Baron looks rather comically bemused by this question, and she and Muta and Toto (if possibly even Vanya, the newcomer that he is) know that this very important piece of information had not occurred to him while putting together his impromptu plan. He gives a pensive noise, one hand going to his chin as the other is planted on his hip.

Eventually, he glances at the trees surrounding them, appearing to have been struck by inspiration, and then removes his hat.

Wordlessly, he hangs it on one of the nearest branches, positioning it just so so it won’t slip off or blow away (though there’s not been even the slightest whisper of wind since they’d arrived). 

“Here we are. We’ll all meet back here in an hour— keep an eye on your own footprints. They’re all four of them different, and they should help to distinguish our separate paths.”

Something in Vanya’s gaze gleams as he looks to Baron’s hanging hat, though he ultimately turns away from it to rejoin the group. Instead, he hops like a particularly excited toddler to Haru and Muta (well, Haru, to be more truthful). In one of his paws is what appears to be a skewered snake or worm, which he wastes no time in handing sloppily to the teen, much to her dismay.

“For good luck! This is a traditional Oostal charm good for finding tricky things. And we need all the good luck we can get!”

Haru looks swiftly to Muta for assistance, but the cat is leaning away from her with an expression that speaks to no less than utter baffled disgust. Well. Strained gratitude it is, then, it seems.

“O-Ohh… You’re right, that’s a good idea— th-thank you.”

Vanya beams in a manner eerily reminiscent of the Cat King before scampering back over to his place beside Baron (and it’s only through their long shared history with the cat figurine that Toto and Muta both glean the subtle apprehension in his own expression, that he is mutely waiting in terror for the fox to hand him one of these traditional charms as well). Vanya neglects to do so, however, and Baron’s subdued trepidation is gone almost as soon as it’d revealed itself.

“Remember— one hour. If all else fails, Toto at least should be able to reunite us.”

With that decided, they start off in their opposite directions, Toto taking wing into the sky.

                                                          &&&

It’s terribly easy to become disoriented in the Sown Forest, Haru and Muta quickly find out. If not for their own footprints, they swiftly agree they’d have long since been wandering in tight circles and not even realized it. The seamless boundary between land and sky and tree has Haru occasionally feeling rather like she’s walking on a spinning top which also wobbles across the table.

She eventually places the skewered… animal Vanya had given her down beneath a tree, shooting Muta an injured look when he comments on it.

“Looking a gift horse in the mouth, chicky? Didn’t think you had it in ya,” he cracks with a sardonic laugh.

“I’ll pick it back up before we head back to the others! He’ll never even know. B-Because there’s no reason for me to actually carry it with me the whole time we’re looking…”

“I’m just picking on ya. You dropping that thing is gonna do wonders for my nose. Smells like a spoiled fish.” Then, with an annoyed huff, he continues, “I woulda thrown it at him— try to give me some stinky dead thing on a stick—”

“Come on, he’s not that bad,” Haru tries, but she knows she doesn’t sound all that convinced herself. And Muta’s not about to let it go without comment, either.

“You don’t sound so sure to me, kid.”

Haru turns in her spot on her heel, feeling lost and restless in a hard-to-define way. The Sown Forest is devoid of rocks and bushes entirely; it’s nothing but thin scraggly trees, and she would never have imagined before now that to scour such a nebulous landscape might prove to be so exasperating. Where does one search for a pop of color when there are no hiding places? 

“...do you get… kind of a weird feeling from Vanya..?”

“Yeah,” Muta doesn’t hesitate to respond sourly. “He’s a tiny, annoying puffball with a bad laugh.”

“N— No, I mean— like an uneasy feeling. Like something is… um, off.”

“Probably ‘cause something is off about him. I don’t trust that puffball.”

The relief Haru gains from such a simple sentence is near indeterminable. She almost leaps in victory.

“I knew it couldn’t be just me! Well, and Toto, maybe, but he was more mum on the whole thing. You know how he is.”

“A gargoyle of few words, yeah, I guess. Real annoying, if you ask me. It’d be a lot easier if everyone just said what they mean instead of hanging on to secrets to keep the peace.”

Distantly, Haru gets the distinct impression this complaint has roots beyond the borders of the current situation, and she’s not sure what to say to it.

Muta, also, seems similarly surprised at himself, and in the end, he chooses to bulldoze past it, circling a few trees in the silence and eventually speaking up, “...Anyway, this Vanya creature pipsqueak is fishy, an’ I don’t like him. I don’t know what he is. Something old. And this place is, too.”

“What about Baron? Do you think he’s being careful enough? He’s wandering around alone with Vanya right now…”

“Eh, Baron’s kind of a soft-hearted ham sometimes, but he’s no peabrain. He’ll be fine.”

“Is that really the best you can do to reassure me..?”

“What? I dunno what to tell you, chicky, it’s the truth.” 

“Yeah, but a little more optimism wouldn’t have hurt,” Haru mumbles plaintively.

“If you want, ya could bust on to the scene and rescue him from the puffball to pay him back. Hey, maybe he’ll start crushing on you, then.”

Oh, that calls for a heated blush. Haru stares down at the snow-covered ground of the Sown Forest, hands balled loosely into fists at her sides, though she’s trying desperately to play it all cool. Unfortunately, she’s never been much of an actor.

“He’s my friend— of course I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Muta’s response of the beginnings of a chaffing laugh is not well-received; Haru spins around to protest, but— 

Something comes shuffling into their space from behind a nearby tree. And something is all Haru can think to describe it as— smaller even than Vanya and Siree, with a long, snuffling snout and a soft, bean bag body. The tiny creature lacks arms or wings of any kind, giving it an awkward, waddling gait. Missing also are eyes and any noticeable ears.

Yet the strangest thing is that it appears to have been sewn together out of scraps of colorfully-patterned fabric, much like a quilt. (It triggers a memory of her mother’s handiwork, in fact, and the very idea of her mother back at home, in the real world, throws Oostal’s alienness into stark relief. She’s so terribly far from home.)

Muta and Haru watch the little thing waddle between them and then down the way from them in silence before looking back to each other.

“What is it, Muta?” Haru asks. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“What, you never had a stuffed animal before?”

“Stuffed animals don’t walk, Muta,” Haru responds with a huff.

“Eh, shows what you know.”

Whatever response Haru might have had to this lazy red herring abruptly trails off, because the funny little creature, having paused for a brief moment, now drops its floppy snout onto the ground and continues on in a faintly opposite direction, snorting softly the whole way.

“It must be one of the rumored inhabitants of the Sown Forest, right?”

“Yeh. Bet it’ll lead us to those rumored holly berries, too, if we’re careful about it.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Baron.”

Muta darts out from beside her with a faint derisive groan. “Remind me to scratch you later for that one.”

                                                          &&&

Following a colorful (albeit very small) waddling quilt animal through an otherwise blinding array of white snow and sky proves to be astonishingly more difficult than either Muta or Haru would have expected. More than once they somehow lose sight of the thing, only to have to stop and strain their ears for its characteristic snuffling breaths. 

“It has two little stick legs and waddles like a sedated duck,” Muta complains at one point when they’ve lost it again. “How do we keep losin’ track of it?!”

“Hold on— Muta, I hear it again. It sounds really close.” Then, after a few seconds spent listening, she adds, “...Actually, it… sounds a little like it’s eating something, doesn’t it?”

This is all Muta seems to need to hear before turning on his heel and starting the opposite way.

“Where are you going?” Haru calls after him.

“I’m out!” He hollers back. “Nothing good comes outta anything that involves weird creatures feasting on stuff, I don’t care what it’s actually— woah!!”

“What is it— Muta, what’s wrong?” Haru dashes in the direction of his voice, fearing the worst. Yet she finds him with little difficulty, and in one piece, poised in the same horrified position a housewife might take were she confronted with a trail of muddy footprints across a formerly pristine linoleum floor.

At his feet, so close he could stretch out a paw and tip the little thing over were he so inclined, is the patchwork animal they’d been struggling to track… and the good luck charm Haru had abandoned earlier, which appears a little worse for the wear.

Muta dashes behind her with an unsteady gait, complaining the entire way. “Ughh, it’s even worse than what I was thinking—!”

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Haru tries, even as she takes a repulsed step back at the faint sound of tearing meat and flinches. “...it’s still pretty bad, though.”

It’s as they’re watching from a couple paces away that the little thing lifts its ostensible head to… well, scrutinize them, Haru supposes, though it lacks the eyes to do so. Perhaps there is another, hidden sense that allows it to see in a less traditional manner.

Your trade is acceptable.

Haru can’t quite place it, how she Knows that this is what the creature before Muta and her is communicating, as it hadn’t spoken aloud, nor does she hear the words echoing in her mind as one might expect of a bizarre display of telepathy. Yet, still, the resounding statement is clear.

“O-Oh—” She starts, and her voice is like an echoing gunshot in the silence of the forest, which leads her to whisper her next words, “We’re, um, glad you like it.”

Then, as they watch, it drops its head again and continues tearing delicate slivers off the charm, seemingly oblivious to their presence again.

“Well, now what?” Muta says at her feet. He’s still eyeing the patchwork creature with no small measure of antipathy, but he’s at least not subtly hiding behind Haru anymore.

“I guess we… wait for it to finish..?”

“Great.” Muta sits down with an annoyed huff. “Doesn’t it know we’re on a tight schedule here?”

Haru laughs, but it’s tinged with a speck of nervousness.

If not for the unmistakable noise of flapping wings over the ever present hum of the forest, the resultant wind would certainly give Toto’s arrival away— there’s been not even the barest hint of a breeze since they’ve been searching. The crow perches atop a nearby tangle of branches, cocking his head in a distinctly avian fashion at the creature they’ve run across.

“Ha, looks like you’ve found one of the inhabitants.”

“What was your first clue?”

“The quilt creature down there, mostly.”

Muta, again feeling indirectly bested, only grumbles lowly to himself and crosses his arms. Instead, Haru speaks up.

“It’s taking this good luck charm as a trade for the berry. At least, that’s what it sounded like to me. I guess it’ll… um, show us the way once it’s finished..? I’m not sure how it works.”

“Sounds plausible to me. Baron and Vanya are some ways off in that direction,” Toto also adds, gesturing with his wing. “I’ll go to let them know they can stop searching, and bring them here. Be right back!”

Haru and Muta watch him take off, and for a little while until he’s too far in the distance for them to make out, before turning back to their… companions. It seems in their distraction, more of the little quilt animals had arrived, attracted no doubt by the scent of the ‘good luck charm’ Haru had laid down before the tree.

“They really like this icky stuff, don’t they?” Haru muses in an almost-laugh.

Muta pokes one of them on the top of its soft head, causing it to lose its balance and fall to the side. Grudgingly, he sets it rightside up again. “...Guess that little pipsqueak knew what he was talking about, after all.”

                                                        &&&

Elsewhere, Toto’s return trip hits an unforeseen, somewhat bizarre snag.

“The Very Pretty Vanya Creature does not fly through the air like an unsolicited blown kiss!” 

Baron and Toto share a puzzled, if slightly frazzled, look between them.

“Mr. Vanya, I sympathize if it’s a matter of a… ah, disdain for heights, but the time limit with which we’ve been burdened is perpetually ticking down, and we ought to do all we can to minimize wasted time,” Baron first tries.

“I’m a very careful flier, too. I promise you’ll have your feet on solid ground in no time at all,” Toto also adds.

But Vanya only shakes his head. “It is no matter of fear!” He begins in a manner that says fear is exactly the matter. “It is the principle! Pretty Vanya has no wings. He was meant to stay on the ground.”

It seemed there would be no convincing him. Baron turns to Toto.

“Toto, do you think then that you could fly a little ways overhead and guide us to the others? If we hurry, perhaps we’ll still make good time.”

Before them, Vanya wrings his paws fretfully before finally throwing one arm across his eyes and crying out, “Pretty Vanya must be left behind! He is the millstone dragging everyone else down!”

“N-Now— Mr. Vanya, please, don’t despair—”

“The Most Helpful Bureau must leave me behind,” Vanya insists again, this time without his face hidden, fixing Baron with a determined look. “I said it before, didn’t I? The Pretty Vanya Creature will meet you there in no time, because he is very fast.”

Faced with Vanya’s clear obstinate refusal and the added stress of a ticking clock, it doesn’t take long for Baron to give in, though the veneer of reluctance lingers over him still.

“V… Very well, Mr. Vanya. If you do insist. We’ll go on without you.”

"You will. But there's no reason to worry. It'll be all okay!"

"...Yes. Of course. Be careful."

As they’re flying away, Toto speaks up. “Do you think he’ll make it?”

Baron seems reluctant to answer, gaze distant and unfocused. Coupled with his stilted posture, it gives him the look of someone who is quite diligently trying to avoid jumping to an unpleasant conclusion.

“...It doesn’t matter,” he eventually responds quietly. “I suppose it’s not something which overtly needs his presence.”

“What about covertly?”

“Then we shall hope for the best.”

                                                          &&&

True to Toto’s ultimately fruitless attempts at reassurance, it seems only a matter of seconds when they have their feet back on solid ground, spotting Muta and Haru from the air easily enough and touching down just shy of them in the hopes of not startling the by now bristling crowd of tiny quilted animals surrounding the other two.

“Eh? Where’s the pipsqueak?”

“He chose to find his own way to our location,” Baron first explains in his impeccable manner.

“Scared of heights,” is Toto’s more honest addition.

Muta turns back to the quilt animals with an unimpressed scowl. “Figures. Just make us do all the dirty work.”

“Now, Muta, a genuine fear of heights is nothing to brush off.”

“Yeah, if it’s genuine…” Mumbled under his breath, but distinct enough for them all to hear, and that Baron (nor the other two) step in to offer a defense is telling… but also serves at least to inform them all that they’re all four on the same page.

“What about these little guys? Have they brought up the trade or the berry again?”

“No. I think they wanted to finish off the, um… trade first,” Haru says, looking from Baron and Toto to the gathering of quilt animals scattered about before them. She sits crouched on her haunches with her elbows on her thighs, gazing out at their odd companions with the same detached but amiable curiosity one might reserve for a child’s play.

“Can they really stretch out that one sticky charm enough for this many to have a bite of it?” She eventually notes with some incredulous amusement.

“They’re sure gonna try,” Muta snorts.

Finally, as they watch, in the distance it looks as if there are languid waves in the sea of brightly-colored patchwork, divots in the throng that speak to the movement of only a few individuals while the others part to let them pass.

It doesn’t take long; they soon find themselves approached for an apparent audience with a… particularly diminutive individual which separates from the group, one which also appears to have been adorned with a tattered shawl thrown over its body, which trails like a leaden weight after it (though upon closer inspection, this threadbare train is simply part of the little thing’s frame).

Some of the seams on its patchwork appear to be coming undone. Distantly, Haru wonders what will happen should they truly do so, and— quite swiftly derails her own thoughts before they can wander down distressing paths.

Strikingly, also, unlike the others, this one has been endowed with an eye— a single coffee-colored iris in startlingly familiar, human-shaped white sclera. Situated somewhat strangely off-centered atop its tapered, drooping head, it stares vacantly ahead, half-lidded.

The four of them feel themselves scrutinized by this seeming elder; even Muta has no complaint to offer in an attempt to hurry the process along.

Only one.

Haru can’t quite place it, how she Knows that this is what the little creature before them all is communicating, as it hadn’t spoken aloud, nor does she hear the words echoing in her mind as one might expect of a bizarre display of telepathy. Yet, still, the resounding caveat is clear.

Baron nods stiffly, appearing to have been caught off-guard in the same way the rest of them had. “Yes. Just the one.”

The quilt-like creature responds with some erratic, floppy movements that vaguely resemble an affirmative nod before placing the tapered end of its cloth snout into Baron’s hands, where it drops a single round, bright red berry. It’s about the size of a particularly plump blueberry, though it seems quite larger in Baron’s gloved hands. Seemingly satisfied, the little animal turns then, and begins to waddle away.

“Thank you,” Haru thinks to call after it.

Not too far into the future, they will all four find themselves remembering this particular phrase and wonder furiously why such an innocuous one seemed to have such a profound effect upon the Sown Forest’s minuscule inhabitants. For now, however, it’s little more than a curiosity, when the creature abruptly stops with an accompanying jerk, and then goes quite still.

The others surrounding them, too, copy this one’s motions.

“Uhh, I don’t like the look of that—” Muta starts, but he’s rather abruptly cut off by a hoarse, low-pitched bark which echoes through their surroundings. The four of them instinctively back up in alarm, a sentiment which only grows upon witnessing the little things begin convulsing, tossing their heads into the air and then back down, all the while emitting those same short roars like a baleful staccato.

“That’s loud—”

“I think it’s time we took our leave,” Baron says (he makes a motion to steady his hat, only to belatedly realize he’d left it behind). He’d liked that hat.

No sooner have they turned on their collective tails and fled that the Sown Forest’s inhabitants scuttle and crawl after them in whatever way they can, and despite their obvious disadvantages, the little things are startlingly adept at keeping up with them. Haru doesn’t have the nerve to give their pursuers the thorough, lingering look she wants, too intent on making sure her pounding steps remain even and sound, but the tight-knit mob’s thunderous pursuit is impossible to mistake. It’s not long before panicked discouragement sets in. To everyone’s surprise, it’s Baron who speaks up first.

“We won’t be outrunning them on foot—”

“Good thing we have a gargoyle chicken, then, isn’t it?!” Muta snaps, then calls to said ‘gargoyle chicken,’ “Hey, birdbrain—!”

“Toto’s many good and admirable things, Muta, but I doubt even he is strong enough to carry a full-grown human—”

Haru, overhearing this, burns with the inclination to wildly apologize, all too aware of the cracks of the trees and the deafening crunch of packed snow behind them. She bows her head in remorse, feeling fervently in this moment that her decision to tag along really had been a mistake. She’s so close to contemplating how far she might get should she separate from the group and divert the creatures away… when she notices something rather strange.

“Wait—” Haru gasps, glancing down to herself in a bewildered fashion, so much so that for a fleeting second she stops in her tracks and has to be tugged along by Baron. “I’m not the same size I was— when did I get this small—?!”

Baron sounds just as bewildered when he answers, though he at least moves past it, “Let’s not kick a gift horse, now— Toto!”

“Got it!”

If Toto at all struggles with the effort to carry all three of them, even if Haru has been unexplainably shrunken, then he’s quite gifted with hiding it. He takes off into the air with them, far above the swarming quilt creatures, with no less agility than he usually does, and Baron and Haru spend the next few moments surveying the horde raptly.

“Ya just had to thank them, didn’t you?” Comes Muta’s complaint from his not altogether eager spot in Toto’s talons.

“I was just trying to be polite!” Haru counters just as plaintively, but even she sounds at least a little remorseful. “What kind of place takes words of gratitude as an offense..?”

“They don’t show any signs of slowing down,” Baron notes.

“Are they really gonna chase us all the way to the border?! They barely have the legs to run! You really steamed them with that gratitude BS, chicky.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Haru laments.

“We know you didn’t, Haru, “ Toto tries to reassure.

“Ah, it’s Vanya,” Baron says with a nod in the fox’s direction; he looks quite small (smaller than usual, that is) from their height, rapidly looking between them in the air and the horde of… well, what look to be furious blankets swarming the forest below them. He’s motioning frantically to them to come closer, to land as quickly as they can.

“Is he crazy?! There’s no way we’re landing that close to the forest— if he doesn’t make a break for it, he’s gonna get smothered, too,” Muta says.

Seemingly as an exasperated response to their stubbornness, Vanya points to the forest behind them with an agitated zealousness, or, perhaps more specifically, the perimeter which is teeming with untold numbers of the tiny quilt creatures. The vast majority of them pace behind the line of trees, fretful and overwrought; the unfortunate few that have accidentally tumbled beyond it lie scattered and twitching on the snow-covered ground like marooned fish.

“What’s wrong with them..?”

“Looks like they can’t go beyond the trees,” Toto guesses.

When they land, still uneasy from the agitated mass of patchwork continuing to obsessively tread back and forth just a scant stone’s throw away, Vanya is swift to bound over to them, practically throwing himself at Baron and wrapping his arms around the Creation. If Baron had appeared disconcerted at the mere possibility of being given one of Vanya’s messy luck charms, he’s downright alarmed when being in no uncertain terms ‘glomped’ by the same creature.

“You made it! Pretty Vanya was worried!”

“What’s wrong with the forest’s inhabitants, Vanya?”

Vanya lets Baron go (much to his evident relief) and cants his head in thought.  “The Sown Forest exists as a powerful transformative milieu. Stay too long and one becomes part of it. The inhabitants can’t leave it.”

“What will happen to the ones that accidentally fell out of bounds?” Haru asks, glancing to the small number of quilt animals still lying pitifully just out of reach of the border of trees.

“They will die,” Vanya answers with a shrug. “Eventually.”

“But that’s awful! Can’t we just push them back into the forest..? Will they go back to normal then?”

“Yes.” Vanya sounds confused.

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Haru says, starting for the border with a marked lack of hesitation. “There aren’t that many— it shouldn’t take long, should it?”

“Even less with assistance,” Baron agrees shortly, following after her.

“I guess we’re doing this now.” Muta, as well, trails after the two with a sullen grumble.

“Cheer up, kitty, exercise is good for you.”

“Don’t make me cook you.”

Behind them, Vanya, still holding Baron’s hat as if it were a priceless artifact, watches them leave with a hard to define look, moving just a foot or two from side to side (but never so much as a half-step forward). His tail twitches and flutters in a manner quite reminiscent of an inquisitive squirrel, with the searching mien to accompany it, but he ultimately says nothing and seems to content himself with killing time.

#the cat returns #secret santa

[blackestnight]

7, 8, aaaaand 13, please. :3c

7. - What annoys them the most about their partner? Would they change it if they could?

general complaints about workaholic tendencies and disregard for personal wellbeing aside? it grates on aymeric, occasionally, that hanami is so touchy when it comes to verbal displays of affection. he’s never doubted that she loves him, but it’s something she shows, not says, and it would be nice if she would use her damn words more than once in a blue moon. for him, words are a big part of how he shows his affection, and sometimes he wishes he could use pet names without having to pretend they’re a joke. he probably wouldn’t change it if he could--hanami’s surliness is part of what he finds so charming, and she comes from a very different cultural background where displays of affection are concerned, and he respects that even if it means he feels like he’s playing pda jenga sometimes.

hanami gets irritated by the fact that aymeric tends to brush aside or bottle up things that upset him if he deems them unworthy of attention, either because he thinks he’s too busy or because he thinks she is. getting him to admit seriously that he’s bothered by something, regardless of whether it’s related to her and her (self-admittedly) boorish tendencies or not, is like pulling teeth. she’s tempted sometimes to nail a sign to his forehead that says YOUR PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL NEEDS ARE NOT A BURDEN TO ME, YOU IDIOT, I KNOW WHAT I SIGNED UP FOR. she’s working it, even if it’s slow going without a handy illustrative self-care demon to teach you about the dangers of repressing shit.

8.  - What do the like best about their partner?

hanami loves aymeric’s patience (how many people would willingly put up with her bullshit?), his dedication (he’s helping to rebuild a government from the ground up and she gets tired just thinking about it), and his compassion (he loves his home, and he loves his people, and sometimes he talks about the ishgard he wants to see with such fervor that she can see it too, even knowing its vilest parts as well as she does).

aymeric loves hanami’s conviction (there’s a whole fic i could write about the emphasis he places on words, deeds, and beliefs, and how she refuses to compromise on any of them), her forthrightness (being with her never feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop; for her he’s not means to an end but the end itself), and her passion (he still doesn’t know how people can meet her and walk away calling her cold, or heartless, but assumes it’s a sort of blindness akin to staring at the sun and then trying to see a candle flame--she loves so much and so strongly that it leaves dark spots when you look away). 

as for the, uh, baser pleasures in life, hanami thinks that aymeric’s so hot it’s almost offensive, frankly, and she never really understood the thing where people called something they liked sinful but...well. there were definitely a couple times where she half expected halone to show up and strike her down because when aymeric really gets going on a topic he’s excited about his voice makes her want to do filthy things. aymeric is still not entirely convinced that hanami isn’t some sort of deity, because (pun entirely intended) goddamn, and it turns out that when she says she’s going to carry him to bed she is entirely able--and willing--to follow through. the fact that she can be convinced to give up on his going straight to sleep is a very fun bonus.

13.  - What do they do for fun? Do they have a favorite activity or do they like to switch things up?

answered here, but as a humble offering to the queen of food porn: cooking! hanami can cook, and does it for herself all the time, but she usually doesn’t take the time to make anything fancy; aymeric doesn’t get the chance to cook for himself as much but when he does he likes to go a little overboard. plus, i joke a lot about food being aymeric’s love language, but the fact that hanami is intolerant of or allergic to a lot of coerthan dietary staples (dairy, sesame, fennel) means that he has to go out of his way to find substitutions or dishes that don’t require any of those things, and his putting that much effort into her having a good few minutes makes hanami misty-eyed. and he’s equally enthusiastic about learning to make foods from her childhood; not only does it give her an excuse to go back and bother her mother for recipes, but it means that when she’s feeling homesick she can always get a taste of it, even if he’s still mastering the art of cooking rice without burning it on the bottom of the pot.

#ask #ask meme #final fantasy xiv #dragons-bones #THANK YOU DT! #oc: hanami hagane #s: a minor justice #aymeric de borel #once again i have Emotions about hanami and food

[lordcharles01]

D&D Diversity Ramblings

I guess I'll open this by saying if I upset anybody with anything, that’s definitely not the intention. More intended to just be a ramble into the void on my thoughts about some of what was posted recently. (that probably sounds more ominous than it is, as overall I agree with the sentiment.)

So dropping the one big thing I’ll argue against, is the change to orcs and drow across the board. Naturally time will tell on if any of this is relevant but I like these two as they are. I like that there are versions of orcs that are just brutal combat driven religious fanatics, and I like there are versions that have all the complexity that one otherwise expects from a Shakespearean play. Similarly with drow, they range from just another variety of elf to a matriarchal society living underground with a deeps seeded hatred of the world above with undying dedication to their god Lolth. As a DM i feel both of these things have their place. There’s a lot to be said for having an enemy in your toolbox that needs no reason to be a terror on the roads during travel, and one that can be built with ranks, a hierarchy and be played strategically.

When it comes to drow, that’s actually one I’m kinda confused about. Drow society has been fleshed out significantly over the years with many characters of differing alignments coming from that species so that leaves me with a bit of confusion. I know there is an argument that has basis in these races being caricatures and stereotypes of real world people and because of that these need to change and that’s a very valid point. I also think it’s worth considering what changes have been made over the years, and when we can look at fantasy creatures as something of make believe. It’s not a be-all-end-all person x is right and person y is wrong, it’s a conversation.

The racial bonus controversy is one I overall don’t get. I’ve always felt this is just a component of the game and that it provides additional incentive to try another race out as opposed to just having it be a flavored meat sack I wear. Plus D&D is usually less, this one’s the black one, this is the white one, this one is in-between, and more like different species.  I’ll reserve judgement for my thoughts on how it’s done, if it’s good or bad until this is released. I will just say i hope it’s something to add mechanically as a background as opposed to outright replacement. being able to say that a character has their hill dwarf stats and studied at a far away arcane sanctum to master the arts and gets a +2 to intelligence in addition strikes me as far more interesting than something to just saying pick a stat to get +2 in and pick a stat to get +1 in. I can already do that by talking to the dm without dropping 50 bucks on your newest rule book, thank-you. Side note to not bitch about something, can we all just be happy for the briefest of moments that it sounds like we’re finally getting something akin to Xanathar’s guide 2.0? We need more of that, like a lot more of that.

Going down the list otherwise, fixing insensitive language is a yup, like... I’m not sure how one argues that. If ya do then... well you’re kinda an asshole. The whole Vistani thing is kinda a meh to me... I won’t argue against the change, if it’s upsetting to people then yeah, let’s make it better. I kinda wanna see the changes they’re hinting at before I drop anything on if I like the new material better than the old, as far as a gameplay and fictional culture goes. I think what a lot of people won’t get is the term gypsy is a slur when referring to Romani people specifically, and not just the general aesthetic that comes to mind of someone who has had to watch the Disney version of Hunchback of Notre Dame one too many times. (The fact the text editor recognizes the slur and not the proper nationality I feel is proof of the disconnect. Seriously, can i go on a minor disconnected tangent about how Romani is suggested to be Romaine. I’m talking about people from a specific country and the editor wants me to talk about salad. This fucker is also insistent that that shit be capitalized, like that one type of salad component is very very important. Piss off text editor, I like iceberg better!!!)

So um... yeah if you stuck through that till the end, um... thanks for giving me a read. I don’t normally like posting things like this because it’s way too easy to give the wrong impression or for the tone to be off when reading as opposed to as-intended during writing. I like conversation so if i upset anyone feel free to uh... well strike up the conversation on the topic. I’m fairly certain most of us want the same thing, we just have different ideas of how to get there, and really this is just an idiot rambling... like an idiot.

TLDR: I think orcs and drow are in a good place currently with multiple interpretations across different worlds being able to be more in depth and “human” characters as well as having a more brutal version for DM’s to pull from in the arsenal and outright removal of either of these is less beneficial overall. I think racial bonuses should be added on to and not replaced outright, but we’ll see how that goes before bitching like a whining child again. I want a term that gets the pop-culture aesthetic that gypsy conjures without the racial connotation. It’s good that we’re bringing on proper support from within communities when accuracy is desired. I’m an idiot rambling on the internet like he actually matters for anything, and regardless a fuck ton of people in metric quantity will still be pissed at me for one reason or another, and I thank you for reading this massive fucking wall of text.

#D&D #Random Babbling #language is weird