#wish that you could see what i see || magic mechanic

[shiny-jr]

Hi! I noticed that your requests were open and I love the way you write Malleus so I was hoping you would do yandere malleus x reader. where the reader knows twisted wonderland is a game (but not imposter au pls) and after they got isekia'd are trying to stop the overblots from happening and malleus is just terrified for them. Idk just an idea I've had for awhile but never found a fanfic like lol. Obviously it's totally fine if you don't want to do it or if I accidentally broke a rule. Anyway remember to drink some water and take a break if needed! Have a amazing rest of your day/night!!

Warning: Yandere (not really, not at all). Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Malleus Draconia.

Summary: MC sees affection meters and it's not good.

Note: These are mainly thoughts and random words my mind spewed out.  

How did one claim victory at a game? Well, it entirely depended on the game, the mechanics and the options. It should've been impossible to lose a mobile game that was primarily composed of the gacha mechanism and visual novels.

When you suddenly found yourself in the series of twisted villains in a prestigious school of magic, you found that it was much more complex than it appeared on screen. Especially when only you could see these small bars occasionally floating above people's heads. Bars which you recognized as affection meters, nearly all of them stagnant at a dull gray 0% when you first arrived. This was the hurdle blocking your way to an easy victory. Because how else were you to escape the game, other than complete it?

Situations became messier, when you didn't have a dialogue options between two mere choices. Add making good impressions and keeping a character's favor, to the list of quests alongside avoiding death by inky overblotted characters. By some miracle, you had increased the affection of the characters you met and interacted with to a healthy 5% or 10%, sometimes more. At any cost you wished to avoid getting in the negatives, because you did not want to find out what would happen then.

Sometimes, the numbers would drop dangerously close to zero, mainly when an overblot was occuring. Never had you realized how the visual novel failed spectacularly at portraying the utter horror of the overblotted in all their wicked glory. The black inky darkness leaking from them like tears or blood with those crazed unhinged looks in their eyes–– was the stuff of pure nightmares.

And yet the one whose overblot you had been dreading the most, the dorm leader of Diasomnia, was surprisingly docile as you dealt with others. However, you knew even when conversing with him, that you would one day witness him overblot and look like some ethereal but deadly fallen angel. So mentally you prepared yourself, while taking on the task of keeping up appearances.

Malleus' affection meter, was a good 20% and a friendly pink shade, quite the accomplishment you were proud of, considering the majority of the cast wasn't even at 15%. The Draconia heir was certainly someone you never wanted to see reach below zero, so you did your absolute best to appeal to him, even if he was quite intimidating at first with the way he stoically watched you complain about the least of your worries, homework and classes.

By the time you spoke to him about your troubles with the Ramshackle dorm and Azul, during what you knew was the Octavinelle arc, the prince's affection had sprouted to a 22%. When you went into more detail of the potential loss you could face, it went to 23%.

The next time you saw him, you were weary and antsy since witnessing Azul's break-down. If the blot of his tears had the magic to gather, it would've been enough to drown, you were sure of it. Even by that maniac look in his eyes, you're sure he would've purposely drowned you if he got close enough.

Throughout that charlatan's chapter, his affection meter had slowly been rising, dropping during the overblot like the tides only to rise once again by the end to a good 45%. This was good!

But no matter how much you may have pondered, strategized, or try to predict each next action, you could've never guessed that the next time you saw Malleus after Azul's overblot, his expression taut with concern, his affection meter had made a jump to 55% and turned red. This entire time you had been avoiding the negatives, but you never once worried of the dangers and implications a red affection meter above 50% would mean for you. Or heaven forbid, anything close to 100%.

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #malleus draconia #twst malleus #yandere malleus draconia

[nicksbestie]

Hiii could i request a Johnnie Guilbert x gn reader where johnnie has a giant crush on reader and reader flirts w him and flusters him

Yes!!! This was so fun to write bc it's my first fic for this fanbase, so pls give me feedback!! and send in more reqs!! <3

Hallway Crush

word count : 1909

no warnings!

pairing : johnnie guilbert x reader

enjoy! <3

School had never really been Johnnie’s thing.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t good enough to pursue an incredible education, it was just that he didn’t normally have the motivation. He wasn’t dumb, he was incredibly intelligent, but he just didn’t have the energy to push to show it most days. He was the kid who always passed, very average but not stellar grades, but every now and then shocked his teachers and classmates with pulling out a top of the class grade. He would laugh and call it his magic trick if you ever asked him about it. However, music was his thing, and because of that, he took every musical arts related class that he could during his years in high school. 

He was a quieter kid, with a much more alternative style of dress, and because of both of these factors, he was a bit of a loner. He wasn’t disliked, per say, but he wasn’t popular, and he didn’t go out of his way to attempt to gain a large group of friends. He had a few friends his age who went to other schools that he saw quite often, and those were good enough for him. He didn’t see a point in trying to put himself out there, so to speak, when he was quite comfortable where he was. Quality over quantity, right? That, of course, didn’t mean that there weren’t times in his life where he wished that more people adored him like they do for a lot of the popular teenagers. 

Sometimes it helped to be more on the outcast-y side. He could get away with silent observation, learning things that nobody had any idea that he knew about. He was a kid people talked so much around, but not to. They weren’t worried that their secrets would be spilled or spread around in any sort of way because they didn’t believe that he had anyone to tell them to, or that anyone would believe him in the first place. But other times, he wished he had more of the school, or at least his grade’s, support. Like now, when he had a massive crush on the most popular student in the entire school. Maybe, if he did, he would have more of a chance. 

He tried not to think about it a whole lot. It wasn’t good for him to dwell on things, as he had learned early in life. It caused his mental health to struggle if he stewed on a specific negative topic for too long, and even though the topic of a crush isn’t inherently negative, the fact that he didn’t feel like it would ever go anywhere was. Being that he didn’t have a lot of friends at the school he was at, he wasn’t a stranger to staring looks and laughing sometimes. He wasn’t exactly bullied or picked on, but when people ran out of new, fresh, drama to talk about, it was easy for them to turn to the kid who was never really speaking to many people. 

He used music to escape his own head, and he always had. It had been a coping mechanism of his for so many years, before he was even old enough to realize what it was, or what had caused him to need it more and more. He was incredibly musically gifted, a natural talent within the dexterity of his fingers for guitar, and it was always a calming thing for him to partake in. Sometimes he wrote his own music, but most times when he just needed a quick release, he would pick a song that he had been resonating with lately and strum through it a couple times. He would get lost in the feeling of the music and the feeling of the strings underneath his fingertips. It was always a thing that caused him to completely lose track of time, and he loved it. It was always a perfect thing to enjoy something you were also so good at. It kept that passion for it alive.

The music room was where he went during his free time. He couldn’t drive, and luckily, his free periods lined up with the music free periods, so he could always be found in that room, playing something on his guitar in the back corner. He also went there during lunch, preferring to spend the time doing something productive for his music. He really wanted to go into a career in music, and he was working so hard to achieve that despite many of the struggles he was facing at the same time. He poured his heart and soul into every song, every piece, that he wrote, and even when he didn’t like the music very much, he was proud of his ability to be vulnerable and put it onto the pages. That had taken a lot of personal growth for him to realize that to put good songs and things that he was proud of into the world, he would have to bare parts of himself for view.

It was during this part of his day, lunch time, when he was sitting in the music room, playing on his guitar. He was the only one in the room, and like usual, he was sitting in the back, not wanting to disturb anyone who could potentially choose to walk in. And after about ten minutes of the lunch period going by, there was someone who walked in, and Johnnie wanted to curse all ancestors before him for this type of bad luck. It would be the one person that he wanted to see more than anyone else in the school, but at the same time, he wouldn’t have been able to really talk to without humiliating himself. Only his luck. 

He didn’t speak to you when you walked in, but he did offer a kind smile when you looked up and made eye contact, before looking back down at his guitar and continuing to work on his own music. You had stopped by the music room because you had a music project that had to be completed, but you weren’t very musically inclined, so you felt very grateful that you didn’t have to present it, only had to turn it in. However, you did still have to make an effort, but you didn’t have a guitar at home, so you were stopping by to use the ones in the music room. You only knew a couple of chords, but it was the most that you knew on any instrument, so it was your best option. All you had to do was come up with a simple melody, a short strumming pattern, and that would pretty much be it, but for someone who wasn’t great at music, that was harder than it sounded. 

And it sounded pretty bad. Johnnie would never have said that directly to your face, but if you had turned around and watched him in the back corner, you would have been able to see him slightly grimacing whenever a chord sounded particularly bad. He wasn’t judging, necessarily, he remembered very well when he had been playing the exact same way, and if he felt anything, it would just be sorry for you because he could see on your face how frustrating the chords sounding incorrect were for you. After about ten more minutes of this, he stopped playing his own guitar, quietly watching and listening to the chords you were attempting to play. He listened to a couple shaky renditions of them, and attempted to play them on his own instrument. 

As soon as he did, you turned around, noticing how he froze as soon as your eyes were on him. 

“No, go on. Please. That’s exactly what I wanted it to sound like. How did you do that?” 

Taking a leap of faith, he got up to move across the room, pulling a chair up next to you and reaching his hands out. 

“May I?” 

You handed him the guitar, nodding, intently watching the way that he adjusted it on his lap before beginning to play it again. 

“You’re not pushing the strings down hard enough, and your fingers are too far away from the fret. That’s why it sounds so… that’s what you need to fix for it to sound a lot better.” 

You laughed, gently taking the guitar back. 

“Sounds so bad, it’s okay, you can say it.” 

He smiled, a blush gently dusting his face. 

“I wasn’t going to say bad. I was going to say buzzy but I felt that might be slightly insulting.” 

You shook your head, taking his advice and focusing on repositioning your fingers the way he had instructed. Strumming downwards, a smile broke out on your face when the first chord sounded so much better. Confidence boosted, you moved to the next one, wincing when it sounded worse than the original. His kind expression didn’t disappear, and instead he moved closer, a question in his eyes before he spoke it. You attempted to hand the guitar back to him, assuming he was going to ask to hold it again for a demonstration, but he quickly cut you off.

“No, keep everything where you are. Can I touch you?” 

You couldn’t deny the fact that your heart was racing. Despite your opposite styles and aesthetics, you had always found the style that Johnnie wore incredibly attractive. It wouldn’t fit you the way that it did him, but it looked so damn good on him, and apparently, he was oblivious to that fact. You wouldn’t have called it a crush at first assumption, but maybe that’s exactly what it was. You hide those feelings, throwing on a cocky look and smiling at him. 

“What exactly are you asking for?” 

He stammered in defense before noticing that you were smiling at him, and the dusty pink that had been on his face now turned a much darker red, and he just shook his head, looking back down at the guitar, refocusing. However, you thought if you were going to be getting closer to finishing this project, you were at least going to have a little fun while you were at it, especially with such a pretty boy right in front of you. 

“Don’t worry, I’m just messing with you. I’d say yes regardless, though.” 

His head snapped back up, an unbelieving laugh slipping out of his lips. 

“You can’t just say things like that.” 

You smiled at him, motioning for him to continue what he was doing, and he did. He moved around behind you to adjust his arm on the guitar as well, and gently moved and applied pressure to your fingertips before telling you to try strumming it now. 

“Why not?” 

He shook his head, instructing you to test out the chord again before replying. 

“You just can’t.” 

The chord sounded wonderful in comparison to what it had sounded like thirty minutes prior, and you were so grateful for all of Johnnie’s help. His head was right next to yours, a gentle smile on his face, a little bit of pride, and a lot of blushing prompted your next question.

“Can I kiss you instead?” 

He turned his head to stare at you, nearly wide-eyed, shocked with the realization that this wasn’t a dream, it was actually happening. This time, he didn’t hesitate to reply. 

“Yes. That you can do.”

#johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fanfic #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert fic #johnnie guilbert fanfiction #johnnie and jake #fanfic #jake webber fluff #jake webber fanfic #jake webber fanfiction #jake webber #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert smut #johnnie guilbert fluff #the tinas

[crudely-drawn-ben]

Introducing Trilogy

Yesterday I released Trilogy, a new tabletop RPG crafted to support you in having grand adventures in worlds of your own making.

There are several reasons I started writing Trilogy, but the biggest one is that I ran a Dungeon World podcast called Crudely Drawn Swords for seven years and that was a lot of time to think about what we were playing. To a degree Trilogy is the game I wish that we could have had to run the podcast.

Starting from the question "what would a purely PbtA game for epic fantasy look like?" I started thinking more widely - what do I want from a fantasy game? And the truth is that I want a game that supports the structure of characters and their interactions but doesn't tie itself to a specific setting.

Trilogy begins with The Appendices - conventionally in epic fantasy these are at the end and document information about the wider world that might not have made it into the story, but here it is where you sit down as a group and decide what tone you want your game to have, and your world looks like. What kind of place is it? What magic is there? What is religion like? What are the major cultures where the story begins? How would it feel to be in this world? Trilogy doesn't tell you any of these things, it gives you the tools to think through how you want your world to look.

This creates a secondary challenge - without knowing what the world looks like, how could I design character classes for this type of game? Trilogy answers this by going back to the fundamentals - instead of a conventional character class, the playbooks in Trilogy represent a narrative arc. Some of them, like The Fighter, The Priest, or The Magus, look like familiar classes. Others, such as The Volunteer, The Mentor, The Weapon, or The Defeated, are a little different. Character arcs have a set of turning points, story beats that allow you to advance along your arc after you have collected a certain amount of experience. Some are positive and others negative, you choose which ones you want to hit and when, but every character's story has its highs and lows and to get the most from the game you need to lean into both. A character can pass through three arcs as they grow and change, like the three volumes of a trilogy.

The aim of the game is to create a slower but satisfying sense of progression - instead of hit points characters take Stress and Harm like in other Powered by the Apocalypse games that can have both mechanical and narrative effects. That makes combat feel dangerous, but the game also offers more ways to solve problems without getting into combat - I have played games where the player characters never got into a fight, instead resolving confrontations through an ingenious selection of alternative strategies including "lying" and "vomiting magic ink all over the floor." I'm genuinely enthusiastic about this game - I think I would be as excited about it if somebody else had written it. It leans hard into the joy of discovery and the excitement of adventure - you can play it as spooky and whimsical or gritty and hard-edged and anywhere in between.

Because I was writing it I even got to make most of the examples of play roll out as the story of someone's game, something I always appreciate when I read it. It also contains every technique I use as a GM in the hope that even before people get the chance to play it (heaven forbid any TTRPG afficionado have books we haven't got around to playing yet!) people who read it will still be able to use that advice in their other games. So that's Trilogy, the game I've been working on for the last few years. I think it's pretty great and I hope you will too:

Obviously it's a full-priced game and that's a big gamble from an unfamiliar creator - if you want an idea of what it's like in practice we've got the CDS team back together and we're starting a streamed campaign so you have a chance to see it in action. You can find that over on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxpXacko9Nc

The first episode includes me notably failing to use OBS at both the beginning and end, and I can't make any promises things will improve in that regard, but it should be a good opportunity to see how the game shapes up from this start and with this crew I know it's going to be funny and take some wild swings. If you're interested in reviewing Trilogy or you really want to give it a try but you can't afford it, drop me a message

#ttrpgs #indie ttrpg #pbta #epic fantasy #fantasy

[etheries1015]

Adult (20+) MC finally figures out how to properly make money, BESIDES working for Azul. Become not only the prefect and be a student, but an on the call designated therapist!

"Crowley, really. I'm far older than the other students, it is not my fault the mirror has brought you a full grown adult rather than another proper student! I finished all of my schooling where I am from, I do not wish to repeat it along side these....kids!" You had complained to him. Well, what was he to do? The mirror had obviously chosen you to be at that school, you had no other merits at the time to offer him, and to simply put it...without a way to go home, what else could possibly occupy your time in a world in which you know nothing about, than gather intel by throwing yourself into the most prestigious of schools? The answer seemed obvious at the time, until you realized just how bad it was.

Teenagers are still teenagers, after all. Especially a bunch of teenage boys surrounded by...well... Other teenage boys. Magic or not, they were still going through any other mental struggles as any normal human. However, putting magic into the mix had surely caused you some...extra unprecedented grief you had never needed to worry about in your world. After what, three? Four? Overblots and life endagerment exibitions, you had an epiphany. With extensive knowledge of the human brain system, life experience, and a plothera of coping mechanisms under your belt, what better way to open the door than to become none other than the designated student body therapist?

With some rather convincing techniques, you had managed to convince Crowley to, as you put it...

"Let me take this off of your plate! You are so busy being such an amazing head master running this school as perfectly as you are, I understand the durasic increase of overblots have your hands tied behind your back! As you know, I am an adult with ample experience in the field of mental health. Although I don't have the documents to prove it as much at this time seeing as they are back in my world....I just know you will not regret hiring me as a therapist."

A few more convincing lines (and perhaps a week of pestering, begging, manipulating-- I mean convincing , he had eventually hired you as the school therapist! With, of course, the expectation that you had to take an additional class to further certify you were able to properly do such a job. (You were kind of mad a bout that, seeing as you knew you were qualified, but hey. Pick and choose your battles I guess. At least you managed to get by with a couple additional classes, instead of a million years of schooling.)

You had a personal office in ramshackle, an empty dorm becoming suitable with your own personal desk, computer, book shelf, and another necessities. You had a location in the main building, the room connected to the nurses office had been refurnished as your main office. Book shelves of self care, items for fiddling with, bean bags, posters with encouraging words, and a desk full of papers, along with other needed items graciously funded by the school (you threatened Crowley at one point, accusing him of not caring of his students.) Of course, being on call meant students may drop by the dorm at any given time for your aid and expertise, so the ramshackle dorm lounge was also redecorated suited for sessions that were a bit more casual.

But of course, you also managed to juggle your studies as a student, wanting to continue to learn about magic. Working on the call was nice, keeping your phone on and excusing yourself whenever official work called for you. Unless you rather not be a student, that is fine, too. Full time therapist work may be the job for you!

Helping students heal one tragic back story at a time seemed perfectly fitting. (You just wanted to finally get paid and recognized for what you were already doing.)

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #twst MC #twisted wonderland mc #yuu #twst yuu

[hanibalistic]

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 12.0k+

warning | car crash / not edited since the first time i posted this story

note | bye-bye baby, i love you baby. more than that body pillow drabble at least.​

parts | one, two, three

After the doctor bandaged your hands and did some checkup on you to make sure you had sustained no more damage from the fall, you were glad to hear that they would take up the responsibility to call Minho’s parents instead.

You could not find the energy to talk to anyone about anything—perhaps you would give Yuna an earful about what happened, but she was gone by the time you got picked up by others around the scene. Tears kept falling down your face when you were getting treated, and the doctor in charge stopped asking you if she was hurting you anymore. It was obvious that your concern lay on someone else.

How did this happen? You always thought you would be so agile and smart during emergencies. The cold water of truth once again splashed down on you, reminding you that just because you think you’d be cool doesn’t mean you would be when your thoughts turn into reality. This isn’t the law of attraction, you can’t manifest the car away and you sure as well can’t manifest peace.

You sighed, your lashes wet and your under-eye pained from all the rubbing. It had to happen this way, didn’t it? The car crash was, unfortunately, essential in your drama. If it wasn’t the kidnapping, it if wasn’t the psychotic mother, if it wasn’t even the love triangle, then it would be the goddamn car crash. And as usual, it was infuriating and you wished it hadn’t happened.

It wasn’t that you minded the car crash (you would like to not see it as a plot device so often, though). You just hoped it hadn’t been Minho who got hit because he cared enough to save you from it. And now you were left here, sitting in the hospital lobby and being haunted by all the gut-wrenching components of a drama car crash.

Broken hands, broken legs, brain dead, blindness, mute, deaf, paralyzed, coma, a sudden discovery of cancer, a sudden discovery of related bloodlines, a sudden discovery of a terminal illness. You squealed under your breath as you went down the list, approaching the most common trait of them all—amnesia.

Sure, dramas usually have this rule where all you needed to endure was one to two months of hardships where Minho would revert to hating your guts, and then he would either fall in love with you again or you would give him the magical kiss of memory revival and he would suddenly remember your past together.

But those are often so unpredictable! You have watched hundreds of dramas that spin down several different lanes, and all of them have left you heartbroken one way or another. And by now you have learned how much different it would be for you to have to experience such events by yourself! If you could cry so hard because of what those pixelated people are going through, how would you begin to cope with experiencing it yourself?

A sob forced itself up to your throat, your chest sustained the pain of holding it in for too long it felt like you swallowed too many things at once, it felt like you were suffocating. You were afraid. So far, you have skated through every event with a very humorous coping mechanism, one that never does any long-term help. But this was different, this could last forever.

No, this wasn’t supposed to be the forever you experience. You two have just begun, you two were just starting to love each other loudly and happily. You haven’t had enough yet, you wanted more time! The gate to Heaven shouldn’t be allowed to close itself at people’s faces!

“Hello? Excuse me?”

You looked up at the doctor standing in front of you and immediately stood up, wiping your eyes on cue even though you had passed the point of crying and ceasing the chaos in your head. “Yes! How–how is Minho?”

“Good. He only got a few fractured ribs, a bad concussion, and a badly scraped forehead. He didn’t suffer any damage to his internal organs and there are no signs of internal bleeding,” the doctor explained. “He just needs to rest for now, but I estimate that he will wake up sooner than expected. You can wait in his room if you want to.”

You heard everything she said crystal clear. You even went so far as to repeat it in your head. Fractured ribs and concussion, ouchie but at least there wasn’t any internal damage that always sounded so life-threatening. This should be great news, but why did it sound so suspicious to you?

“Really? You are sure, doctor?” you asked, “He didn’t like…lost his eyesight or paralyzed or… I don’t know, cancer? Amnesia?”

“This is a car crash, I don’t think it will cause him cancer,” she replied calmly. If she was annoyed at your stupid questions, she was trained well not to show it on her face. “And no, we did all the scans. There is nothing else, I assure you.”

“But I swear I saw blood back then, what does that mean?”

“He scraped his forehead when he fell. We did sutures on the wound, which is going to leave him a scar but we can try to minimize it as best as we can,” she said.

Huh, bummer. Maybe I should order another car crash.

Yeah, now wasn’t the time. My apologies.

You thanked the doctor quickly then, wanting to do nothing more than to see him. But before you could leave, she held you back and shifted through her pocket for something she intended to give you.

"The paramedic stopped me and told me to give this back to Mr.Lee when you guys went in, but I assume it is yours?” she said as she pulled out a dark blue velvet box and handed it to you.

It was a ring box, with your ring stored securely in it. You felt a rush of tears piling at your eyes again but you held them down and nodded. “Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s still for me.”

“Pretty sure it will. He wouldn’t buy you a ring if he didn’t care enough to jump in front of a car for you.” She shrugged. “His room is right around the corner, you can ask the nurses around.”

You bid her goodbye then, watching her rush away as her pager beeped. Then you returned your attention to the ring. You took it out of the box and slipped it on, admiring the way it still fits perfectly around your finger. You became his and you would always be from now on; wearing the ring is an act of taking a physical vow. Clasping the box shut, you put it in your pocket carefully before heading to where the doctor pointed you.

This was painstakingly familiar, Minho thought as he opened his eyes once again to welcome the flood of nausea and ugly ceiling lights. He hasn’t been in the hospital for a long time but he could tell he was in one from the saturated smell of alcohol and the overall sickly atmosphere. Shutting his eyes immediately after waking up, he groaned hoarsely as he recalled what events led up to this moment and realized he would have to be bedridden once more.

What a shame, you would have to take care of him again—hey, hold on a second! Where were you?

Minho snapped his eyes open, panic overwhelming the revolting weight laid atop of his body and brain. He did push you out of the way, right? He remembered he did, but he couldn’t be sure if you both were lucky enough to not have a second careless driver grace the crossroad. Or what if you bumped your head too hard on the ground and got a bad concussion? Or what if he didn’t push you far away enough for the car not to hit you?

He turned his head over to the door, wanting to call for a nurse and ask them millions of unprepared questions, but he stopped in his tracks abruptly when his gaze shivered downwards and he found you sleeping with your head on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t even registered the feeling of his hand being held by yours, the pulse oximeter and the IV on his left arm had taken away most of his sense of touch.

Calming down, Minho relaxed against the pillows and exhaled in relief. He would much rather have you here and sleeping in an uncomfortable position than laying on a bed with a heart monitor beeping next to your bed. Lowering his head so he could look at you, he softened at the way your cheek was squeezed against your forearm and the fading redness visible under your once tearful eyes. Oh, how he longed to reach out and touch you right now, the desire was immeasurable.

His mellow eyes trailed over to your hand, the one laying on the side of his legs, and he frowned slightly at the heavy white gauze wrapped around your lower palm. Getting a scrape when he pushed you away like that is likely inevitable; it got the job done, thankfully, he hoped it didn’t hurt you too much. He was promoted to move his hand when he saw yours, the one you had your own pinned down on the bed softly, and it was then when he felt the roughness of the gauze rubbing against his skin as well.

With a grimace, he looked over to where your hands were stacked on top of each other, and he held his breath when he finally noticed the shining diamond sitting prettily on your finger.

You put the ring back on.

The box must have flown out of his pocket when he got hit. He had been taking it with him everywhere recently just in case the perfect timing to give it back to you turns out to be a place where he couldn’t have access to it immediately. Besides, holding the box in his hand had always reminded him of you, and he liked being reminded of you from time to time throughout the day.

It made him feel less jittery, less annoyed at the general things, and it got him excited to return home at the end of the day.

Minho couldn’t think about anything else at the moment; all that flooded his mind was how much more fulfilling it was to see the ring on your finger rather than in the box, how things should have been this way all along, and what it all meant now that you’ve worn it back.

Forgiveness for his aloofness in the past, a firm acceptance of this marriage, and that he has become someone who can be loved by you.

His shaky eyes were filled with droplets, creating a glassy sight in his already glittery eyes. Feeling you stir on your spot, he slowly moved his head up so he could watch you wake from your slumber. Your grogginess went away as soon as you met eyes with him, and instead of an excited squeal or a surprised gasp, the only thing that glossed over you was an immense relief.

Looking at you, Minho breathed out a quiet laugh, one that even you couldn’t hear. He felt your hand around him still, but your grip more secure now. In an attempt to chase the tears away from your eyes, he joked, “Stop frowning. Your face is gonna get stuck.”

“I’m glad you still remember that,” you laughed, lightly shoving his leg as your voice echoed the room. He gave you a knowing hum as if telling you it would be impossible for him to ever forget the unfunny jokes you liked to tell around the house so much, they were practically engraved in his mind.

Sitting up straighter now, your entire demeanor became gentler. Your senses less alert, your mouth quirked into a permanent smirk, and your fluffy gaze paying a constant focus on Minho. 

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” you asked slowly, propping yourself up on your intertwined hands and smiling brightly up at him.

“No,” he replied.

“Who am I?”

“You are [Name]. You have bad humor, you forced pizza down my throat once, and you made me like soap opera,” he said, finding his voice back as more words gradually left his lips. And then he paused for a moment, a dramatic moment where he eyed you lovingly, watching as your brows raised in anticipation. “And I think I might be your husband.”

A joyous sob came in the form of giggle and Minho whined at the strands of tears that danced down your cheeks. He reached out to you, wanting to wipe your tears away for you, but you stopped him and told him not to move. Instead, you got up from the chair and scooted closer to the edge of the bed so you two could be closer at face level.

You slipped your arm under this head and the other reached to cup his jaw. You kissed his forehead, once and twice, then you pulled away just enough for you to look at him fully. Ah, you were so filled to the brim with affection for him; it was so new to you but so real the same time that you were not afraid of diving headfirst into it.

“I think you are my husband,” you whispered with a small nod.

He smiled. “Thank you for having me again.”

You gave him a smile before leaning down to kiss him again. This time you didn’t stop at his forehead. Your soft lips trailed down his eyes, his nose, his cupid’s bow, and before you could kiss him on the lips as you had always wished, you pulled away with a puff of nervous breath. You stared into his eyes, feeling the same longing in the way his hand found your wrist and he held onto you.

What are you waiting for? For permission? For him to get better? Go on, kiss him.

You two will be fine, you won’t hurt each other.

Pressing your lips against his tentatively, you felt a rush of adrenaline racing around your lungs. It made you feel hypersensitive, like a supernatural who could hear and see and feel beyond the human spectrum—the forced nudge of your noses, the beating in your ears, the softness of his lips, your quickened breathes, his soft locks flowing between your fingers, his grip on your wrists tightening to keep you with him.

It was all so overwhelming, the intimacy and the desperation. The emotions came in tiny waves, similar to the way the ocean feels when you stepped your feet on the shore. It drowns you out, it lets you breathe, it drowns you out again. You kiss, you breathe, and you kiss him again. No matter how many times the cycle continues, no matter how many times the seawater brushes past your skin, you get surprised by it and you keep yearning for more.

Your heart was hanging by a thread, any minute now it would leave your chest and land itself straight into Minho’s palms.

Hesitantly pulling away, you kept your mouths close enough for him to still feel you against his lips. He leaned in a little, breathing out a whine that made you realize your heart was already in his hands long ago. Swallowing down a breath, you whispered, “Do you remember, that I love you?”

He nodded, his lashes fluttering as he glanced down at your lips again and back up at your eyes, “I will now.”

Minho’s heart was yours too, long ago, and you’ve learned that.

You jolted awake in the middle of the night. Heavy breaths left your lips as you sat up against the arm of the couch. Your heart was beating quickly like you had just run a mile around the track field.

It was nothing like the way you used to be yanked out of sleep. It wasn’t like your head hitting against your desk in a boring lecture, or when you brutally died in a bad dream. This one was different. You were not falling asleep and you weren’t dreaming. It was different in a way that all you saw during your ‘consciousness’ was blackness, paired with a familiar voice you never thought you would hear again.

“Mom?” you whispered as you quickly scanned your surroundings, looking for the sight of your mother.

But you were still in the hospital room. You were sitting on the couch located at the corner of the room, with your phone and leftover takeaway food resting on top of the small table before you. The moon has gone up and the sky has turned darker than night, you glanced over and found Minho sleeping on the bed as he should.

You were back in where you were supposed to be, but your mother’s voice felt genuinely real during your supposed dream. Sitting up straighter and putting your feet down on the ground, you ran your hands through your hair to force yourself into concentration. Why did you jolt awake at your mother’s voice? There should be no reason for you to find her a threat unless you felt like you were being pulled out of this world.

Like you were falling, like you were falling out of this place, like you were leaving this world and back to reality.

“Oh god,” you gasped as you snapped your head up, your eyes wide.

Great, you were finally piecing the puzzle together, [Name]. I’m glad. 

You have exhausted your one near-death experience when you almost got hit by a car yesterday. If Minho hadn’t pushed you to the side and you got hit then things would have been different; you’d be hit by the car, got sent to a hospital to get fixed, and nothing would have happened. Alas, Minho did push you out of the way, and now you have reached the limit, which was only one. If you remember clearly, the way you arrived to this world was by waking, so when you return home, you would find yourself waking up as well. 

Except this time, you would be alone, and Minho never existed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeated under your breath, biting your nails in an attempt to ease out the spiraling anxiety permanent in your head. It was all hitting you too quickly—the near-death theory, the memories you have of your real life, or the lack thereof, feeling like you were being pulled out of your own body, going back to reality, leaving Minho here.

I reckon this would be better for you, actually. The anxiety keeps you awake, and the pacing around keeps you active and forces your eyes open. It would be sooner or later, though, when you find yourself dozing off due to the inability to stay awake any longer. That’s when things get bad for you because as soon as you fall asleep, you will wake up in a whole different place. A familiar place, but different, nonetheless. 

Oh, but how could this be? You have just worn the ring, you two have just kissed for the first time. You couldn’t fathom the idea of being separated from Minho and you didn’t want to leave him yet! You never want to leave him ever! There was still so much for you two to do! You needed more time. You both needed more time!

“[Name]?”

“Huh–oh, hey, Minho.” You moved over to him with a smile. “Did I wake you?”

He could see the panic in your eyes and he frowned. “Are you okay? You look tired. Maybe you should get some sleep–”

“Oh, I–” Your bottom lips quivered.

How long would you be able to hide it before he finds out? How long could you stay awake and act normal for? How would you be able to explain why you always look so exhausted? Minho should know the truth, he deserved to know that you have been hiding something important from him the whole time. Besides, it would be such a shame if you leave him unprepared for your departure. He’s the one who has to remember, after all. 

“I’m not leaving!”

Oh, yell at me, why don’t you?

“Hey,” Minho grabbed a hold of your hand, his brows furrowed up at you, “what is going on?”

You stayed still to pull yourself together for a few seconds, breathing slowly, and then you looked back at him. “I have something to tell you.”

He could sense the solemnity in your voice and it terrified him. You had shown him a large range of your emotions before, from playful to angry to loving, but he has never seen you look so helpless. Tugging at your hand, he kissed your knuckles softly and nodded. “What is it?”

And you told him everything, struggling to make your story coherent despite only having the absolute truth escaping your lips. You told him from the very moment when you found yourself waking up next to him, and then when you were still figuring out what to do with ‘your’ past broken relationship, to adapting quickly and blending into this world. Everything up until this point, when you were so close to forgetting where you came from only to have reality force itself back into your head again.

It was taking Minho a long time to comprehend all the information thrown at him. When it seemed like he was finally done, he moved his eyes over to you and he tilted his head with a sigh. “That is a very deliberate joke.”

Right, you should have anticipated a reaction like that. It would be too easy if he brought it immediately. You pulled a face. “It’s not a joke, Minho.”

“Oh, so you are trying to tell me you aren’t from this universe and you aren’t even who you are before you came here?” he said, confusion evident on his tired face and his voice rising as he went on. “You are basically suggesting parallel universes exist?”

“No–I mean, yeah? It could be true?” You shrugged, and then you shook your head. “The point is–I can feel myself leaving this place and I am pretty sure as soon as I fall asleep, my time will be up. I just felt like I should tell you because you deserve to know.”

Despite how serious you sounded throughout your entire explanation, he just couldn’t bring himself to take you seriously. It was too absurd, the whole concept of waking up in another place. Sure, you did suddenly change overnight and you did feel much different than you did before, and there had been certain very subtle hints that could back your point up, but it was not enough for Minho to believe in what you just told him.

“You should go to sleep, [Name]. You’ve been really tired,” he said again, trying to persuade you into going back to bed.

Disappointment flashed before your eyes. Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you looked away, unsure what else you could do to convince him. The only thing you were sure about was that you absolutely could not fall asleep, no matter how tired you were. You planned to hang on for as long as you could, and hopefully, Minho would come around and believe you by then.

“I am just gonna go take a walk and come back,” you said, smiling faintly. “You should go back to sleep though.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “You can sleep with me on the bed if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

“You know I can’t,“ you said. Leaning down to kiss his forehead, you moved away from the bed slowly. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up with breakfast tomorrow morning.”

You closed the door, leaving him alone in the darkroom. Minho pouted, he was thinking too much to be able to just fall asleep now. The fact that he couldn’t just sleep sort of gave him a sense that he was leaning towards believing it and he was just in the stage of denial. If he really thought it was a joke then he should have no problem brushing it off, right?

He leaned back against the pillow, his fingers grasping at the air and his head filled.

Would you really leave? Just like that? More importantly, would he be able to tell if you left?

"Did you sleep?”

“They did not,” Changbin replied casually as he slammed a plastic bag on top of the table. Leaning down and proceeding to take out the takeaway food, he handed you a small box of food and looked up at Minho again. “They were up the whole night.”

“Did you seriously stay up the whole night?” Minho asked, brows furrowed at the unexpected visit by Changbin. He wanted to ask why he decided to tag along with you, but he figured it was much more important to know what happened with you last night.

“I did,” you sighed, shoving the chicken into your mouth and moaning at its delicious taste.

After realizing it would be almost impossible for you to stay awake on your own, which was such bullshit because you swore you used to have the ability to pull all-nighters like it was nothing, you ended up calling your last resort—Seo Changbin. Feeling bad that you had to wake him up in the middle of the night, you gave him the same explanation you gave Minho, and like your husband, he was extremely reluctant to accept it.

But you weren’t sleeping at all. And while Changbin had the suspicion that you were just taking this 'joke’ a little too far, he decided to humor you for the night and stayed up with you. And you spent the night over at his home, doing anything and everything to keep yourselves from falling asleep.

“Didn’t they tell you about the story?” Changbin asked, popping open a can of soda and looking at Minho as he drank. “I still don’t believe it but they were so hell-bent on not sleeping, I might just let them have it.”

“What–Changbin, I thought you believed me!” you whined, punching his behind and shoving him to the side.

“If I come over and tell you I’m not actually me and I came from another dimension, would you have believed me?” Changbin retorted, rubbing the spilled drink off his chin.

“I don’t have to because first of all, I met you for the first time at the shopping mall and I know nothing about you,” you pointed out. “Second of all, I am going through it right now. I am telling you, if I fall asleep, you will never see me again.”

“You don’t have proof that you aren’t you, [Name],” Minho chimed in, sighing in defeat as he slumped back against the bed.

Changbin pointed at you with wide eyes then, nodding in agreement. Sitting up from the couch, you turned your head to find Minho grimacing at you, and you heave a sigh. Proof. Where the hell would you find the proof to explain that you are who you are? Identity isn’t a tangible thing, no amount of paperwork can shape it for you.

“Look, I am telling the truth, alright? Or at least I am saying what I know,” you said as you grabbed a box and headed over to the bed. You handed the food to Minho, who refrained from throwing a mini tantrum the way he did before due to Changbin’s presence. Sitting down on the chair you had also pulled over, you sighed. “Who knows? Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t want to take the risk and sleep.”

You looked at Minho, your brows raising slowly to display a vulnerably honest expression. No malice was hidden behind your eyes, your gaze only directed at him. “I don’t want to leave you, Minho.”

His munching halted. He could feel a hint of unease at the bottom of his stomach, possibly due to what you said and the soft way you said it. As if you were afraid, cautious. Lowering his hand, he inhaled, kind of wishing his inner voice would kick him in the head and give him a little nudge to the right path.

But really, what more was there left to say, Minho? [Name] has said all they could.

“You are not going leave me,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “Not consciously, no.”

Minho pursed his lips. Think carefully; for him to convince himself of what you said, he has to nitpick the past and the present, like separating different colored peas with chopsticks.

Starting from the day you met him, you said you have no idea what his name is and you woke up in his bed even though he had this terrible rule of not sleeping together. That was one. Then you forgot about the marriage; you were surprised by the ring on your hand so much that you even asked him for the price. That was two. You went into his closet, even when you were banned from touching certain things that were his. That was three. These were all rules to be broken, but the old you never had the guts to do that. It didn’t make sense for the courage to suddenly appear.

Asking for a divorce and acting like you didn’t know it was arranged, forgetting that your parents were dead, completely unbothered by Yuna’s presence, suddenly knowing how to cook up a whole meal, eating lots of greasy food, profoundly cursing, being playful enough to give him nicknames and make bad jokes.

Aside from that, he could physically tell, now that he thought about it with a clearer head. You were less timid and much louder. Sure, you have your moments of tenderness, but overall you felt much more energized and much happier than before. It was a difference in your presence—you didn’t use to light up the room when you walk into one, but now all Minho could see was you whenever you come into his line of sight. And that was before he fell so in love with you.

The pieces were adding up to an unbelievable story. 

Minho looked up at Changbin, his gaze hardened. “Can you leave us alone for a moment?”

You widened your eyes at his troubled look, then you turned around and urged your best friend away as well, promising to find him later when your private talk ends. Changbin rolled his eyes and unwillingly left, and then it was finally just you and him.

Minho started without waiting. “Let me recap everything. You came here not knowing who I am or what this place is?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “does this mean you believe me now?”

“Wait–why didn’t you tell me before then?” he asked.

“I thought I would leave soon and return to where I came from. I didn’t expect to stay so long,” you said. “Also, drama taught me it is better to keep my identity hidden.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “So, you suspect that the way for you to go back is through a near-death experience?”

“And falling asleep later,” you hummed. “This one I learned out of instinct, but I’m sure it’s happened before on some show.”

Minho scoffed, “You can’t trust dramas all the time. They’re made up.”

“Yeah, but this feels too much like one for me to ignore it! I mean, look at this!” You pointed at him, smiling bitterly. “Look at you! I would have never been able to snatch a guy like you if I was back in my world. I was a huge loner. All I did was work and have fleeting crushes.”

He watched as you lowered your arm, your smile dimming significantly. “Honestly, I don’t even know if you love me or who used to be me.” You shrugged, not looking at him. “I am a new person to you now, right?”

Minho licked his lower lip. That problem has never crossed his mind before since it was so obvious that he loved you. His affection was never there, it wasn’t affection for you before. But then he started developing feelings of his own for you, steaming from a threatening turn where he might lose the care and obedience he was used to receiving. He just used to like being loved by 'you’, now he liked loving you; he liked the mutual feelings you two shared.

If all were true, then there was a whole world behind you he’s never known. You previous life, your friends, your fleeting crushes.

“Come here,” he said, patting the spot next to him.

You stood up from the chair and carefully climbed onto the spot next to him. You back hit against the side rail, preventing you from falling off, while Minho pushed his hand against your waist to keep you close to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder, a sigh leaving your lips quietly.

“You know, I thought you were funny, back when you first came here,” he said. “A little infuriating, yes, but amusing nonetheless.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you commented, giggling when he cleared his throat and nudged the top of your head with his jaw.

“You could have totally snatched me up even if we are not in this setting,” he said. “You aren’t like other people. You treat me differently.”

Ah, and the iconic line finally decided to make its appearance. I was hoping it’d at least happen once for you to hear it because you would only be able to hear it from Minho’s mouth.

“What do you mean different? I treat you the same way everyone treats you!” you said, suppressing a chuckle. You weren’t sure if that line had boosted your ego but it sure did make you feel quite special, as cliché as it was, but honestly? As a society, we should all establish that clichés don’t matter.

“No, you were so casual and honest. I think you are the only person who has given me nicknames aside from my old friends back in high school.” He nodded with a shaky laugh. He patted your waist in a beckoning motion, seeming excited. “And you’re even more different than others now because you are the only person I love, in that special kind of way.”

“What are you, five? Special kind of way–that’s lame!” you exclaimed, laughter escaping in between. When you quieted down, you pressed yourself closer to him and looked up.

He only glanced down when he felt your lips at the side of his jaw. And he kissed you then, leaning his head down eagerly to capture your lips. You were careful with moving around, your hand going up to stop at the nape of his neck, rubbing comfortingly as your mouths danced with each other sensually.

This could never be enough. Minho wanted more than this, he thought as he tugged you closer to him, feeling your chest against his side. This could never be enough. He wanted to do more than kissing you in a hospital bed. He wanted to kiss you under the moon, to kiss you at home, to kiss you during a spontaneous snack run at midnight. He wanted to eat junk food and get emotional about fictional characters with you; he wanted to see you read books while he worked on the side.

Minho wants you with him, always.

You pulled away, gasping a little at how teary his eyes had suddenly become. You didn’t need to ask why. You could already tell. “Do you believe me now?”

“I can’t. I don’t want to.” Minho let out a shaky breath. “If I do then I will have to accept the fact that you might leave me soon.”

A sobbing noise spiked from the back of your throat as you reached up to peck his lips. “I will try my best to stay awake for as long as I can, Minho.”

He nodded, even though the fact alone broke him, the fact that you two have to settle for 'as long as you can.’

You jolted awake again, this time in Minho’s workroom with a new book held loose in your hands.

You kept the lights on for the sake of having an awake atmosphere even though you knew very well that would do nothing to help your exhaustion. Looking up from the couch, you found it hard to just squint at the clock hanging above your head, but you saw that it was long past midnight already.

You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch as you kicked your legs in frustration. You were officially three days in, all three days you went without a lick of sleep. And you put in lots and lots of effort to accomplish that, such as eating, doing yoga, shopping, scrolling the internet, and indulging yourself in many new shows filled with more than seven seasons of emotions.

It was painful. Your body felt heavy and your eye bags were probably getting bigger as you went on. Your mind was slow, you zone out too much and you kept dozing off. The only thing keeping you from falling into slumber was the sickening feeling of you astral projecting out of this place.

You didn’t want to cry though. Not only would it make you feel even more exhausted, but it would also make you feel weak, and you didn’t want to feel pathetic that way if you were doing this so you could stay with the love of your life.

Huffing out a groan, you got off the couch and left the room. You were much more familiar with the house by now, you could practically walk anywhere with your eyes closed as long as you knew where you started. You walked down the hallway and stopped abruptly before a pair of doors.

Minho’s closet was as you remembered it was. Black and white, very minimalistic, with clothing racks lining up against the wall. One thing has changed, though, he has opened up a space for clothes you got him from time to time. The ones you thought he would look good in and he occasionally wears around in the house when he didn’t need to be in formal attire.

You flipped through the clothes, remembering where each one of them came from with a smile. It was quite funny as well, to see how the clothes gradually grew to be more accurate in his size with the more you brought.

Pulling a sweater off the rack, you admired the soft material by kneading it between your fingers, then you hugged it close to your chest. You brought the fabric close to your face, inhaling the warm scent you’ve gotten used to smelling on your own clothes as well.

You never tried to look into what detergent the housekeeper used to wash your clothes, but you always thought it had an artificial smell of some type of flower you have never smelt the actual scent of before. It stopped mattering now that you have gotten so accustomed to the smell. It just has the scent of a home, and home is Minho for you.

You inhaled deeply and exhaled out to control your quickened breathing. A sob threatened to break out but you muffled it with his sweater, clinging onto it like it was your life-line.

It has been so difficult for you. Staying awake beyond your limit and trying to smile with everyone else; you couldn’t even tell Minho how you felt when he asked if you were okay because a part of you dreaded that he’d let you go. You felt alone, worrying and fearing for the day you would leave this place.

Standing in his closet and having his scent so close to you pushed you past the breaking point. All you knew was that you wanted to stay with Minho, and knowing how sleep would be inevitable made you cry.

The past three days have only been about that. You couldn’t afford to think about anything else.

You stood there alone and sobbed for as long as your body allowed. When you were done, you dropped the sweater on the rack and took off your own just so you would wear it.

It felt warm, big and warm, just like Minho.

You felt another sob bubbling up.

Minho could tell you have been crying when you arrived to visit him for the night.

It has become increasingly difficult for him not to notice how worn out you were, not to mention having to neglect it and pretend as if nothing was happening. Although you were the one who was so determined to keep yourself in this place, and of course, he too wanted you to stay here, he couldn’t help the gruesome guilt that rips through his veins whenever he sees that defeated state of yours.

You were dozing off on the couch again. He could somehow feel it whenever you’ve got your eyes closed, it was like a tingly sense that shoots down his spine. Even then, he always looks over to check if you are, and you were this time, your chin squished against the base of your palm with your elbow propped up against the armrest of the couch. You were dozing and waking, an indefinite cycle that would only stop until you reach the point of insanity, he supposed.

When this first happened, when he first saw you with your eyes closed and unresponsive, he used to have this knot in his stomach that would tighten harshly in a way that makes him hallucinate pain. The fear used to make him want to throw up, it used to make his face go red and his fist curl until the nails dig deep into his skin. It feigns an anxiety attack for him, and God knows how to properly handle those.

“[Name]!” he repeatedly called for you, feeling the knot inside of him release its chokehold slowly the longer he has to call for you. But you woke up eventually, your body falling to the side and the sudden impact yanking you out to sleepiness.

You looked around and heaved a sigh, whether it was a relieved one was uncertain to everyone, including you. Turning over to look at Minho, you tilted your head and asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

Your posture was terrible, like usual but much worse now that your shoulders were hunched all over and your neck cranked in longing to take a decent break. Your body was fidgety, a habit you picked up to keep yourself active in movement so you wouldn’t fall asleep. The dark circles under your eyes were starting to get more visible than the smile Minho had always paid more attention, and there was no light in your eyes, just a pit of shadowy doom.

Maybe you were trying your best, but you couldn’t look at him like you love him anymore; your eyes physically could not manifest the affection you felt.

This was his fault. Maybe it wasn’t, you certainly would never blame him for this, but Minho still felt like he was the one putting you through all of this. And he hated seeing you so out of place because you haven’t slept in days, and for what? To get a few more days with him? Honest to God, your mind was barely with him these days anyway.

Minho pursed his lips into a thin line, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. And he shook his head. “You should go to sleep. This is killing you.”

You were quick to turn down his suggestion. “No.”

“Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” you said. “I don’t want to go.”

“Well, you are going to have to go either way so why not make that earlier?” he asked, raising his voice, causing your defenses to build up quickly.

You stood up from your seat, your eyes wide in a glare for the first time in days. “What is your problem, Minho? Do you want me to leave so bad?”

“I don’t–“ he breathed out a sigh, closing his eyes to keep his temper low now that yours have been shorter than usual. “I don’t want you to leave. If I get to choose, I will always choose to have you stay here with me, but look at yourself!”

You raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re tired, you are so tired. You have been crying, you eat slow, your temper is short, you barely react to anything anybody says. Even the nurse who came in to check up on me this afternoon asked if you are okay because you don’t look okay!” he exclaimed. Then, sucking in a breath as if gargling his words, he exhaled through a soft huff before he whispered, “I love you, [Name], so much. But not like this. Not when you are so miserable because of me.”

If his existence is causing you pain then he’d rather not have it. As selfish as he wanted to be, he would choose to let you go.

Your arms dropped to your side and you rolled your eyes up. You have told him the same thing before. God, you felt like one of those female leads who cry every single episode, it was so enraging. Everything you have sought to not become, you’ve become it.

Minho moved to the side on his bed, leaving you a spot, and he called out, “Come here.”

You looked back down at him, your sight blurred at the thought of what he meant to do. You were going to walk over, he would wrap you in his arms, and you would fall asleep to his warmth. He would still be here but you would be somewhere else. It would be quick, it would happen before you even know it.

“Come here, please?” he asked again, softly. “Let me hold you.”

You rubbed your eyes and moved over slowly. He helped you as you climbed onto the bed, snuggling up next to his side with your head laid on his shoulder and his arms securely around your torso. He squeezed your arm and breathed out a joking giggle, mentioning something about you getting chubbier and earning a hit on the chest in return.

His fingers shifted through your hair when you looked up at him, and he smiled down at you like nothing was going wrong. Eyeing his lips once, you didn’t hesitate to reach up for a long, loving kiss, one where your tears were mixed with the taste of his mouth.

When you pulled away, you said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “This is actually pretty funny. I am the one who got injured but here we are, crying over you leaving instead.”

You laughed silently, bringing him closer to you. Minho has steady breathing but his heart beat quickly. It rattled against your ears, reminding you that he was as nervous as you were about losing each other. Your senses were shutting down slowly, ready to go into rest when you finally gain the sleep your body has been screaming at you to get.

“I’m sleepy, Minho,” you muttered, adjusting your head.

“I know. You can sleep, it’s okay,” Minho hummed. “You can go. I’m gonna be fine.”

You licked your lower lip, the dryness giving you a sticky sensation. “Love them as much as you love me, alright?”

He couldn’t do that. But he wouldn’t tell you, he wanted you to go without any troubles lingering in your head. He wanted you to leave happily, or as happy as you could be.

Kissing your forehead, he felt your breathing ease up. His hand rubbed your back soothingly as he asked, “Will you remember that I love you?”

You didn’t answer.

Minho stirred uncomfortably in the single hospital bed. As his sense slowly returned to him, he tightened his grip on you, keeping you from falling off. It was nighttime outside, and he supposed a nurse dropped by and turned the lights off when he saw you both sleeping. He could barely remember what happened before he was knocked out.

You shifted slightly by him, head nuzzling against his chest before looking up to find the owner of the body you were cuddling.

“[Name]?” Minho called.

The person jolted from their place. Feet landing coldly on the floor, they fixed their hair and took a wide step away from the bed. “Minho! I’m sorry!” 

His heart dropped. There was his answer: he could tell.

Same face. Same body. Same voice. 

Not you.

Your eyes snapped open and you groaned at the pain oozing at your side. What the hell happened? You could see that you were back in your room, which was weird because the last time you checked, you were on your way to work. You remembered waking up late and rushing out of your apartment, and then everything simply went blank from there.

“Oh, you’re awake! I thought you died or something!”

You sat up on your bed and furrowed your brows at your brown-haired friend. Rubbing your eyes, you yawned and scanned your room, taking in its unfamiliarity with intense suspicion before you turned back to your smiley friend and asked, “Did you move my shit?”

“I just got here like five minutes ago after your mom called me,” he deadpanned. “I was cooking you chicken porridge! She said you blacked out and slept for three days straight, you sleepyhead!”

“Three days–Chan what?” You got off your bed and headed over to your desk where your phone was. You weren’t sure why you needed to check the time, it held no significance to how you were in deep trouble with your boss for ditching work for three days. “Why did no one wake me?”

He handed you a glass of water first, seeing how frantic you appeared right after waking up in the middle of the day. You received it—snatched it—and quickly gulped down the liquid, feeling a sense of relief rush through you when the water hit your throat.

“We tried but you were knocked out cold.” He shrugged. “If you are worried about work, don’t. I talked to our manager for you already. I even exaggerated the part where you almost got in a car crash and died so you needed time to recover from it.”

The water spilled from the glass when you choked in shock. Your brows furrowed harshly as you pulled the glass away, causing more water to flow out of the cup, and you yelled at Chan, “What? I almost got in a car crash?”

He gave you a slow laugh, more concerned than annoyed that you’ve made a mess and yelled at him in the past five seconds. “You almost got hit by a car the other day when you left for work. You were looking at your phone and not paying attention. I had to pull you away from the road! Did you forget all of that?”

You placed the glass of water down on your desk, rubbing your mouth with your forearm harshly. As you brought your hand closer to your mouth, a painful scratch eliciting a yelp from you. Moving your hand away from your face, your eyes trailed up your arm and they widened when you saw the diamond ring located on your fourth finger. You cursed out loud, gaining Chan’s attention, and when his eyes moved towards what you were looking, he too mirrored your confused look.

“What is this!” you asked, looking at him.

“What is what–woah! Did you drunk buy this?” he asked, moving closer to examine the ring on your hand. “You need to return it. You’re crazy. You can’t afford this!”

“I know I can’t afford this,” you exclaimed, glaring at him in defeat. “But I swear I don’t remember ever buying this! Did you see me wearing this when I almost got hit by a car?”

Chan paused for a moment to think. He hadn’t really noticed back then, he was too busy trying to keep your phone-obsessed ass from dying. But if you didn’t have it back then, there should be no way for you to have it now. You have been bedridden, you could not have possibly gotten drunk within the last couple of days, and you would never buy a ring like that when you were sober.

“Did you steal it from someone?” he suggested, feeling the wrath of your impatience as he stepped away from you in precaution. “Oh but you couldn’t–“ 

“No! I don’t know where this ring came from, Chan,” you exclaimed, showing him your hands and grimacing at how perfectly it fit around your finger. “Also, can’t you humor the idea that maybe someone proposed to me?”

“Someone with the money to buy that ring? Uh, no,” he said honestly, putting his hands on his hips in a comical way.

Brushing him off, you slumped back onto your bed with your arm covering your eye. “Whatever. I’ll find out where I got it from somehow.”

“Or you can sell it,” Chan suggested.

You chuckled at the thought. Imagine the amount of money you could get from selling that ring. You did not know about diamonds but you could tell when one looks expensive. Bringing your hand up above your face, you shifted your hand to observe the ring more carefully. A weird sense of comfort rushed through you, making you relax further into your mattress. Coming after the comfort was a very bad sense of nostalgia, one that makes your heart ache for something you couldn’t remember.

“Actually, maybe I’ll keep it,” you muttered, eyes hazy the more you stared at the ring. “I think I want to keep it.”

“Okay.” Chan shrugged at the side. Moving over to your desk, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Are you gonna be okay? I need to go back to work. Lunch is over for me already.”

“Thank you,” you hummed from the bed, nodding. “I’ll come back to work as soon as I can.” 

“Before you get fired, at least.” He eyed you carefully. You laid motionless on your bed, completely out of it. He nudged your feet with his own to catch your attention. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I am fine, Chan.” You rolled your eyes. “Stop nagging.”

He scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright?”

The nostalgia hit like a rush this time and you held down a flinch. For some reason, Chan didn’t sound so much like him when he said that, but you couldn’t tell whose voice that was. When you turned your head to look at him, your gaze shifted in rapid sequences, like frames changing on a television screen. Chan’s silhouette shifted in blurry motion into a man of slightly smaller but more visibly muscular stature. You felt your body jolt in recognition. 

Recognition? Pause. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Let me rewind it. 

Chan scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay.”

You sniffed away a potential sneeze, hearing Chan’s giggle from your ridiculous expression. Throwing your head back against your bed, you waved your hand at him. “Just go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said. “Call me if you need anything.”

You hummed loudly in response, not bothering to look up at him. When you heard the front door lock, you groaned out a frustrated sigh and turned to your side. It has been a weird couple of minutes; you almost got in a car crash but you forgot, you slept for three days and you had no idea, you got a diamond ring on your hand which you have no recollection of ever getting. 

You brought your hand up and frowned. The ring was heavy on your hand and it would most likely disrupt your sleep. But there was something else—the nostalgia that was lapping at your chest one wave after another. A feeling beyond your imagination, resting against your heart carefully yet it rattles you like nothing ever has.

“Where did you come from?” you whispered to the diamond ring sitting perfectly on your finger. 

You decided not to take it off.

Never in a million years did Minho think he’d end up relying on Changbin, but he has no other option due to knowing a shared secret. 

“How are you feeling?” Changbin asked after he plopped down on the study room couch. 

Scatters of paperwork piled on the table were deliberately placed messily to distract Minho from his worries. If his eyes were occupied, his mind may be too. Turning the chair, he eyed Changbin nonchalantly by the desk. “My spouse left me.”

“Not good. Noted!” Changbin exclaimed with a single clap of his hands. He ended up awkwardly rubbing them as they laid themselves on his thighs. 

Silence emerged, much like every other time they’ve hung out together. If he could call it anything different, Changbin would consider these moments more mandatory emotional check-ups than hanging out with good friends. Not only was Minho not a good friend, not even with such a golden opportunity, but Minho was never in the mood for anything anymore. In some ways, he has reverted to his grumpy personality, only this time he knew how to be nice about it. He learned it from you. 

“Do you think they’ll ever come back?” 

Changbin looked up from his fiddling thumbs. Minho’s thousand-yard stare burnt holes through the ceiling, but Changbin wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the particular question he voiced. He’s done his fair share of deep-diving about parallel universes and whatnot. Understanding the theories was one thing; accepting that it has been carried out was another. It still felt impossible. Changbin was holding onto the fact that you have never jumped anywhere, and it was a figment of your imagination that you somehow could portray excellently. 

A character change only takes a good performer or someone fully convinced they’re somebody else. 

The light glimmered as if to add glamour to the rigid atmosphere. Changbin let his neck rest on the back of the couch, and he shrugged. “If they do, you’ll be the first person they look for.”

Light returned to Minho’s eyes. He dreamt about that day. He wondered how it would go. Perhaps seamlessly as the day you first arrived. There won’t be chances of him missing your presence; not only would you make yourself seen, but he was more than sure he would know. A radar within himself would begin blaring sirens—he would just know if you were around again. And it would be a typical day. You would be at home, and he would return home. You would have dinner, you would go to bed together. 

It would finally be a normal day when you come back. 

For now, the glimmer in his eyes fades.

Weeks have passed with the same weight on your shoulders. You have come around to learn how to ignore it. You have learned to distract yourself from it. You work, hang out with people, and entertain yourself with the media. But even then, the grave mistake you made to not take that promise ring off your finger kept reminding you of the shaking sentiment that often shines at the end of the day.

You have looked through different online shops to find out where you could have gotten the ring from. It was a long stretch. You knew it would take ages to find the actual shop, but the promise of long-term confusion somehow assured you that you would have an excuse to keep it with you longer.

It has been weeks, though, and your hope was thinning. You could not find any matches, even after you personally headed over to the shops and asked the staff to take a closer look. You even went so far as to search for the lesser-known brands that would still make rings with diamonds as sparkly and extravagant as the one you got. Nothing, it was like the ring was custom-made, and that made you feel worse about having it.

It must have been really important to the owner, you reckon. It should not be in your hands.

“I feel bad for keeping it,” you spoke to the phone, where Chan sighed on the other side, most likely from irritation. The ring was all you talked about these weeks, aside from occasional work problems and drunken confessions you weren’t afraid to make to him.

“Then sell it.”

“But I don’t want to sell it.”

“Then what do you want to do? I keep giving you suggestions, and you keep shooting me down,” he complained with a helpless whine.

“I want you to tell me what to do!” you exclaimed.

“I say sell it,” he said.

“I don’t want to sell it.”

“I’m hanging up. I can’t take this abuse anymore,” Chan threatened with a yell of frustration. You could imagine him leaning against his chair and pushing it away from his desk, his eyes squinted into moon-shaped smiles, and his nose scrunched up in defeat.

“It’s just… this stupid ring is giving me weird vibes!” You stopped before the road and glanced down at the ring. “I feel sad but also happy when I look at it! Like some sort of deja vu!”

“It’s deja vu. Everyone feels like once in a while,” he said. “Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is.”

You frowned. Chan was no help at all. From your peripheral vision, you could see that people had started to cross the street, so you followed suit quickly, intending to not block the road and be yelled at by some caffeine-deprived stranger who hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep yet.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road thoroughly, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears.

A stranger reached their hand out to grab a fistful of your shirt so they could yank you back to safety. The pull was strong and panicky, like back when you were younger, how your mother would smack you after you did something wrong, but much harder than that. Your gaze wobbled when your head hit a slight whiplash at the force, the sky welcoming your view. Tears unnaturally welled in your eyes as your hands waited for the impact of the ground. 

“No,” you whispered, the blur of a car crash disappearing from your memories. “Minho–“

Minho? Again? Hold on. Let me rewind again. 

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street, as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road thoroughly, you could only take one step before the sight of incoming cars made you freeze. 

A stranger reached their hand out to—

No, [Name]! Wrong! Nothing happens to you! How did you manage to get yourself stuck in a near-death situation twice in a row? What is this, some kind of manifestation theory? Don’t joke around. Let me rewind!

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You jumped out of the way with a scream, missing the car by a few inches. It scraped past you, causing your body to fall back. Instead of catching yourself in the slow fall, you let your body flail about in the air as more cars slowly closed the distance between themselves and you. Pedestrians standing on the road couldn’t do anything out of sheer intimidation, born from the cars speeding toward you. You looked toward where the honking came from.

I can’t keep doing this. It’s your muscle memory, isn’t it? Damn biology. I really–let me rewind. 

“It’s deja vu. Everyone feels like once in a while. Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is,” Chan said. “Look, you’ve been thinking about this too much. How about we go get a drink tonight? 

“I don’t know, Chan,” you muttered with a sigh. “I’ve been feeling really depressed lately.”

“I’m surprised you don’t think I can tell,” he said. “How about this–I’ll buy some drinks, and we’ll hang out at yours. Beats heading outside, right?”

You closed your eyes. That could work. One of the biggest reasons the outside was so unappealing was that you had to step foot into it. Even now, with the sun shining down on your head, you’re quickening your pace so you can go home. If Chan was willing to go through the trouble of paying for drinks and hauling them to your apartment, you’ve got no complaints. It might be an excellent way to forget about this whole deja vu situation, too.

“Deal,” you confirmed with a soft smile. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

Chan giggled from the other side, but he didn’t say anything. 

Wait, why didn’t he say anything?

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

What? What happened? Why is this sequence repeating itself? I scratched that off the document!

You snapped your head up from looking at the ground. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you—stop! Pause! Pause!—Should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road entirely, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears—why are you trying to kill yourself? Can’t you just let me continue with this, [Name]? 

You could see the cars coming, but your feet wouldn’t move. Your eyes stared through the danger into a beacon laid far away, the illusion of a man’s face you should have forgotten. His name echoed silently through your mind, but his warmth remained on your body, in the shape of your arms and the weight on your finger. 

I cannot… I do not have the power to erase what your body—your heart—chooses to remember, only that of your mind. If your first instinct is to go home and return to Lee Minho, I’m afraid I have no power to stop you besides rewinding time and hoping for a change. 

Let me… let me rewind. 

May you two have a joyous reunion… and… thank you for this lesson. 

“Woah! Hey! Watch the road!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light, and you gasped. You swore you saw someone move next to you; you should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street, as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears. Scared, your knees gave away, and you fell backward.

The screams of others and the urgent car honks were blocked out from your ears. You turned your head to the side and saw a truck running down the road towards you. This one would kill you, you would close your eyes, and you would leave this place. Your lips quirked uncontrollably. 

You would go back to him.

The mesh curtains stayed the same, useless against the sun but pretty with it. The bedsheet was as you felt it the first time, soft and silky yet thick and warm, the ones that make you sleep like you were in a goddamn coma. And Minho was the same as you last remembered seeing him—fluttery lashes, soft brown locks, and naturally pouty lips.

You remembered. 

You pursed your lips into a tight smile to keep a laughing sob from bubbling up your throat. Staring at him, you realize he made you feel the same as you last remembered, and immeasurable affection pulled at your fingertips, longing for a touch of his gentle skin and to feel him close to you. And you did, unapologetically, caressed his face with the back of your fingers.

Perhaps it was a deliberate plan to wake him up, but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself.

Minho stirred in his sleep at the touch. His brows furrowed before he opened his eyes, and when he saw you, his frown only deepened. You (or, well, ‘you’) have never tried to attempt this before, nor has he ever asked for love from them. His mind was occupied by somebody else, someone he thought would never come back to him ever again. Feeling this, having his cheek tenderly stroked in the morning, was surprising and weird.

“Hey, Minho,” you whispered, pinching his cheek slightly.

A shiver so strong it felt like a lightning zap ran down his body. His eyes widened slowly in recognition. He would know. He would just know. Through looking at you, through the feeling of your skin, through the way you space out your words, through the way you control your tone, through the way his ears react to your voice, through everything. He would know. He would be the first to know. 

His eyes moved across your features. You looked the same as he had always seen you, before and after you left. But there was one defining difference he could make: the ring on your hand wasn’t there before. You had taken it with you after you left this place, and now it’s back. 

“[Name],” he croaked out, his hand reaching out to touch your shoulder, gripping it gently.

“I’m home.” You nodded with a smile. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you I’ll be late.”

The tears flow freely down his cheeks. It has been extremely difficult for him to revert to his usual lifestyle and pretend to be in love again. He had tried to bring himself to like ‘you,’ but it was useless. They simply felt different despite looking the same as you. 

He had missed your stupid jokes, the way you could come back home with bags of clothes he rarely has the chance to wear, and the food you cook. The little recurring moments he loved with you, he replayed them every night in the room and didn’t dare to allow himself to forget you.

You took the initiative and moved closer to him. Your palm was flat against his cheek now, and after you lovingly nudged the tip of your noses together, you leaned in to give him a long-awaited kiss. He melted against you, against your lips and your hand, with desperation in each curve of his mouth. He felt like he couldn’t let go. He knew he couldn’t let you go this time, never again.

Reluctantly pulling away, your dazed eyes stared right back into his. You touched his face again, smiling. Minho cupped your hand in his, pressing his forehead against yours with a light whisper, “Do you remember who I am?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Who am I?”

The sun shone from outside, casting a ray of warmth at an empty ring box located at the corner of the desk.

“You are Lee Minho,” you said, giving his lips a peck. “You are my husband.”

And you remembered that he told you he loves you, just as you love him.  

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids x oc #skz x y/n #skz x oc #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #lee know x you #minho imagines #lee know imagines #minho x reader #minho x you #lee know x y/n #lee know x reader #minho scenarios #lee know scenarios #minho x y/n

[brittle-doughie]

Off to Wish Camp! | A Look into CROB’s 7th Anniversary Update

Wait, has it really been 7 years holy shi-I’ve been around since Season 3, so to see the journey come this far feels nice. So let’s see what’s in store for us.

We’ve got a Star Candy Comet to see, something that only comes once every seven years! Will we get a part 2 to this event in 2030 lol? Not just that, but we’ve got a name for this lass, Cannoli Cookie! I like the fact that her sleeping bag is a roll cake.

Rest in peace, in peace to every single S’mores Cookie OC that people will now have to rework and rename.

I’m such a huge fan of the CGs they make. Yoga Cookie is E N L I G H T E N E D up there. Poison Mushroom sleeping again it seems, just don’t be spreading spores this time!

Hype. The Infinite Chests were top tier and I’m happy to see that a variant of them is returning for such a occasion!

As you guys know by now, I LOVE when there’s an event or mechanic that allows you to have interactions with your Cookies, so the fact that this is a thing and EVERY COOKIE is able to be met is so wonderful! Fans of everyone can be satisfied and no one is left out! Plus it might hits give me material to work with! ;)

At least it’s not a legendary magic candy and it drops in part two of the update.

It’s not really a fair contest for the other costumes since this one has a CG, but I don’t care, Cannoli’s SE outfit is the highlight for me. Currant’s and Butter Pretzel’s are sweet too, who knew Pretzel could rock blue so well! S’more Cookie will also be joining us for part two..too!

Oh right, there was something else that was posted before this. If there’s anything post worthy (I’m going to anyway lol), I’ll definitely post later about it! I don’t mind the new faces for now, but I’ll probably warm up to them eventually!

Let me tell you, this is definitely a step up from the…interesting events of the 6th anniversary. Seems like the Devs know what they’re doing for this one and I hope this means nothing but good stuff for the years ahead! I’ve had memories with this game, both good and crummy, but I could never drop it ultimately regardless. I’m too attached to this world, the stories told, the CUTENESS of it all. But what I treasure most were the characters, the Cookies…

…and I’m sure the Cookies treasure you as well.

All the times you’ve had fun with them, all the times you’ve ran with them, all the gifts you gave them, the care you have for them…they have nothing but you to thank for.

The Cookies care about you, Baker….

They always have!

#cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #crob #cr ovenbreak #cookie run update #cookie run: tower of adventure #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run x you

[dailyadventureprompts]

What’s fasinating about the d&d movie is that it is all the fun of d&d removed from the rigid restraints of the the clunky game system: Thrills and laughs and hairbrained schemes minus the minutia of needless rolls or waiting for your turn in initiative to circle around. Part of this is idealization, but as someone who’s obsessed with making my favorite game system the most fun possible I can’t help but draw some comparisons.

Combat: Holga’s fight scenes were a highlight of the film for me, displaying a huge amount of kinetic creativity as she pinballed between different combatants swapping out weapons, bouncing off the surrounding terrain . This is a far, far cry from how being a fighter plays out at the table, as most martial characters are focused into doing just one type of attack as good as they can because it’s their only reliable contribution to combat. Try to model Holga’s fights in game and you’d be caught in a boring slog of dealing 1d4+STR damage to a bunch of guards whittling away at their hitpoint pools, a far cry from the lighting quick flury of smashing, bashing, and flips that make her the film’s action setpiece.  

What d&d needs is a system for combat that exists alongside the traditional damage/HP paradigm: an additional layer of complexity for martial characters that encourages tactical thinking and lets those who do their damage up close feel just as cool and as clutch as casters. My mind’s already whirling thinking up something that revolves around stuns, suckerpunches, and positioning, so expect it later this week. 

Powercreep: This might be subjective but I find it fascinating that the official stats put out for the party has them hovering around level 16, a point in character progression  a)that  most characters never get to b) by which the game’s difficulty systems have begun to break down. I suspect this was done in order to keep their on-screen abilities in line with how they are in the base rules, but I can’t help but feel like its odd for the “idedalized” dnd experiance to be playing around with toys that most groups will never get their hands on. 

In my experience d&d is on a sliding scale of stakes V Shenanigans, with the exact ballance evolving over the course of a campaign:  Your group starts out as a bunch of dumbfucks and at some point while you’re making  making absolute fools out of yourselves you become a found family just in time for the consequences of your actions to circle back around and threaten the realm. First the characters start caring about eachother, then they care about the world, then they have to save that world. Level 16 is, for me, distinctly in “save the world” territory, despite the fact that the HaT crew are clearly still figuring out who they are and what they care about.  It makes me wish D&D was more free with its shenanigan enabling magic/items/class features at lower levels to help fuel these kinds of antics.  

Attunement: Perhaps the best “ oh I’m totally going to steal this” moment came from Simon’s attempt to attune to the helm of disjunction. Turning what was otherwise a rote game mechanic into an oppertunity for character growth was genius on behalf of the writers, though one I’d only really employ with items that were as necessary for my plots as the helm was for the heist. Just like Simon’s major flaw was self doubt, I could easily see delicious storytelling potential in throwing up other emotional hurdles depending on the situation: A hero’s sword refusing to attune to the haunted survivor until they’ve come to terms with what they’ve done, an otherwise altruistic character being forced to admit their sin and self interest by an evil-aligned artifact. 

Over all, I really enjoyed the movie, though paradoxically It didn’t hook me as much because for me one of the biggest charms of fantasy is the feeling of discoverying a new world, and I’ve been living the d&d world for the past 20 years so it didn’t come of as wild and magical as it could have been, having hewn so close to established d&d material. 

#dapper digresses #dnd meta #d&d hat #honor among thieves

[ghostofskywalker]

Awkward Misconceptions

Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Fictober Day 5 of 31

Words: 948

Summary: You, Din, and Grogu are mistaken for a family.

Din Djarin Masterlist

The child gurgled quietly in your arms as you sat across from the Mandalorian at the table, waiting for the food and drinks you ordered to arrive. You weren’t sure if he was going to take off his helmet to eat or not, but you didn’t want to make him feel like he had to if he didn’t want to. You had seen his face, but there were still complete strangers in the establishment. Since he brought Grogu to the Jedi and found out that he was the true master of the Darksaber, he hadn’t removed his helmet since. You just hoped that he would at least take some of the food back to his ship to eat it later, because you worried about him sometimes.

It had been a shock when you learned of Grogu’s return, to see the Mandalorian exit a firefight with the creature in his arms that you could have sworn had gone off to learn about the ways of the Jedi, and he explained the situation to you once everyone was safe. Of course you had been overjoyed to see the Child again, and you wondered what his future was going to look like now that he had decided not to pursue the teachings of the Jedi.

You hadn’t spent all that much time around him, but you considered him a friend nonetheless. Several times had he reached out to ask for your help, and you were always happy to lend a hand when you could. Although you had left your previous life as a mercenary behind and now spent your days working as a speeder and droid mechanic on Tatooine, the skills that you had not yet lost were often useful to the types of situations he found himself in.

“Here you are,” the twi’lek waitress said as she approached your table with a few plates of food, and smiled when she saw Grogu, who had hopped down from your arms and was now sitting next to you, perched atop your bag so that he could see over the table and better reach his food. “And what a darling he is! Are you out for lunch with your parents bud?”

You internally freaked out a little when you realized what she had just insinuated, but Grogu just gurgled happily as he reached out to grab something off one of the plates. Taking that as the answer she was looking for, the waitress just smiled and told you to let her know if you needed anything, to which you politely nodded and thanked her for bringing the food.

The entire time, your eyes were on the Mandalorian, desperately hoping that things wouldn’t get awkward, and that he didn’t get up and leave. You’d be lying if you said there weren’t times where you wished that you, him, and Grogu could be a family in the way that the waitress had just assumed, but you didn’t ever say anything about it. In no way did you blame the Twi’lek, it was nothing but a simple assumption (that Grogu seemed to affirm), but you just wished you could snap your fingers and make the blanket of awkwardness that had settled over the table just melt away into thin air.

Thankfully, the food’s arrival seemed to work some magic and help recover the atmosphere of the conversation. After a few bites (and a couple times where you helped Grogu), things were much less awkward, and conversation had started to flow between you and the Mandalorian once more. “Where do you think you’re going to travel to next?” you asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I didn’t expect for him to return at all, let alone so soon, and I don’t know if I want to keep moving or try and find somewhere to settle.”

“If you’re looking for somewhere to stay while you figure that out, I have a few extra rooms at my place,” you offered. Part of you cringed as the words left your mouth, and you thought that he would see your offer as desperate or suddenly say that he didn’t want to spend time with you anymore, but thankfully that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Thank you,” he said. “I may just take you up on the offer, but I have a few things I must deal with first.”

“Of course,” you said. “It’s only if you’d like to.”

Much to your surprise, he reached out across the table to where your hand was resting next to your plate and laid his over it for a moment. “I would,” he said. “I really appreciate how much you’ve helped me.”

He pulled his hand away after he spoke, but you wished he hadn’t.

The meal was over a little while after (you forced him to take the wrapped-up leftovers for himself), and soon you were waving goodbye at Grogu as he sat adorably in the Mandalorian’s new starfighter’s droid-port. He hadn't gotten in yet, and you had plans to wave them off before heading back to your shop. “Hey!” you called out, and he turned back to look at you. Despite the fact that you couldn’t see his face, you would be willing to bet there was a quizzical look on it as he wondered what you could possibly want now. “See you soon?”

There was a short pause before he answered. “You have my word.” You just nodded in response, both of you knowing what it meant.

Although you weren’t a family in the exact way that the waitress had assumed (yet, if you had anything to do about it), you still considered him family, and you hoped he did too. 

- the end -

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[amysgiantbees]

I think all interpretations of Mystra in Baulder's Gate 3 are valid and I'm not trying to take any away from anyone. Especially since stories of abuse and abusers can obviously be incredibly personal. However, I see people often painting her as either actively villainous and malignant or as the victim of Gale. Again, I think that's valid, but I see her as not quite in the middle - I believe there's no ethical way for a god to have a relationship with a mortal, like a boss or professor is always going to have an unethical relationship with a worker or pupil so she's still in the wrong - but still somewhere between the two extremes.

(Side note: I wish the game had in game books or something with more of the lore from DND that it was sticking to. They play fast and loose with DND lore (valid it's quite frankly convoluted), but Mystra and Gale's dynamic can be really affected by that. It would just give a bit of clarity.)

Firstly, like I said a god can't have a romantic relationship with a mortal and that be healthy. They will always have more power, socially, physically, etc. They have followers they can turn against you; you've heard about them your whole life and likely worship them; they can smite you. It's like trying to date Jesus there's no way for that to be normal. People literally thought for a while that Gale was wearing a matching earring with Mystra until they realized he was wearing the equivalent of a cross. However, that is still a reminder he wears of how as a wizard he’s irrevocably linked to her. That's why Gale is so insecure in game. Why he wants to be more powerful to be worthy of you. Why if you're in a relationship he's always asking what you need, "how can I help?" "Is something on your mind, you can always unburden yourself with me?" "Anything I can do for you, consider it most enthusiastically done". Mystra set an impossible standard that he was literally incapable of meeting and is haunted by.

Mystra is tricky with relationship dynamics because she has a precedent of not leaving all her lovers’ mortals. "Gale's folly" as he calls it, to be her equal, is not so wild an idea with Mystra. She helped the god Azuth become a deity and he was initially one of her mortal lovers. Although, Azuth isn't one of her lovers now and, they technically did not even become equals he is her subordinate. You understand where he got the idea however, and how he thought it could work. So, Gale is ambitious and arrogant sometimes, but I would argue wanting to be equal with your lover, especially when she's done that before, is not totally unreasonable.

I don't know beyond the power dynamic, how you have a normal relationship with a god, a god who is your everything and you're temporary for them. She doesn't need to eat so his other skill isn't important and likely uninteresting to her. If he tried to give her a normal gift, there is nothing beyond something as big as the Karsus Weave that another lover or follower hasn't given her a million times over or she hasn't seen and experienced as she watches over mortals. Like he probably can't tell her about a book he's read without her already knowing all about it, depending on how omnipotent she is. By being with her everything else falls away, until there's just magic, just her.

Gale says "I sought to cross her boundaries" which is certainly a charged statement. He absolutely did cross her boundaries and should not have. Even if I believe Mystra is more in the wrong two wrongs don’t make a right. I also think Mystra's appearance plays into this feeling particularly violating to some people. People like to joke about her looking plain for a goddess, but she does look like a regular mortal woman. Women have a reputation as more often being the victims of things like boundary crossing and she looks like a typical victim, not an all-powerful goddess. For example, if she looked like Shar I feel like people would empathize with her less. Which is a clever mechanic to make Gale’s story opaquer both in the text and non-diegetic interpretations. Both the writers and Mystra could be using her form to make her more unassuming and less blatantly other from Gale. So, I really get how people see her as the victim here even if I disagree.

On the topic of charged statements Gale calls Mystra his "teacher". Mystra holds the keys to secret knowledge. She will literally always know more than him. In a way he will never stop being her student. He does use the past tense to refer to her being his teacher though. So, she isn’t actively teaching him, but it does add an extra uncomfortable element in the imbalance of power that already exists. I personally believe if the Spell Plague is a part of the BG3 timeline (although it’s dubious since no one mentions it) she most likely only started actively interacting and teaching him as an adult. So, she was more like his professor than teacher which does have less uncomfortable implications. Ex-student teacher relationships have a predatory feel to them due to the age of the student initially. Thus, ex-student professor feels less fraught. This grey area around the nature of their schooling relationship is one of the many reasons why giving up the crown is such a positive ending. He becomes a professor and protects his students like she didn't protect him. I think it's also telling that in the epilogue if you play as Gale, you get a letter from Elminster, another Chosen of Mystra's, who tells you he has been your teacher since you were eight. Which is certainly uncomfortable. Whether Mystra was his teacher as an adult or a child an agent of hers was his teacher then. Beyond worshipping her thus she had even more influence in his life from a young age, even if Elminster taught him of his own volition.

Another thing that reminds me of abuse dynamics is that Mystra gets Gale alone and away from you. In the Stormshore Tabernacle Mystra does not allow anyone to accompany Gale for support. It just reminds me of how abusers isolate you. I'm pretty sure Gale even has dialogue about how being her Chosen was isolating and did not make him popular. Which you could argue is not her fault how others react, or that it’s Gale’s personality, but I find it telling paired with everything else.

As I've said the power imbalance is severe. It is not necessarily quite as bad as people describe it though. From what Wikipedia tells me Mystra can't take Gale's magic away from him completely, a thing people often site as a threat she has over him and part of her abuse. "Mystryl had ultimate control over all magic and could shape it to her will, and she could withdraw a being's access to the Weave and prevent it from using spells of any sort, and in an even harsher restriction she could also prevent a being from using any sort of magic whatsoever if she so decreed. These conditions persisted until she removed them.

Mystryl could even deny deities access to the Weave, but she couldn't deny other gods the ability to grant their worshipers spells through prayer." She stopped this though as it says. Which admittedly isn't a firm reassurance that it won't happen again- it would still worry me - but apparently it just isn't a thing that she does anymore. Plus, it can be interpreted that she also isn't allowed to anymore because of Ao (the head god) banning it as it would count as interfering with her godly portfolio. Thus, she's not necessarily quite as tyrannical as people worry.

Mystra is attracted to great spellcasters, such as arch mages, like Gale and Elminster. She specifically seeks people who are ambitious and crave power. Everyone's met a gifted child that turns into a mentally ill, burnt-out, average person when they're older, I would say I'm one. I would argue that natural talent or being a child prodigy, like Gale, isn't enough to get her attention or at least keep her interest. Even sorcerers would have to work on control. You need a certain level of ambition and drive to keep being greater. So, this is kind of Mystra's folly. To keep finding ambitious young men, give them the ultimate confidence boost with your attention as well as the ultimate temptation of magical secrets you keep and then get surprised that not all of them fall neatly into line like Elminster. As Minsc says "Now I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young prideful boys, hm?" This isn't to say it's okay that he crossed her boundaries but again like I said she shouldn't have sought him out in the first place. Also, I, a neurodivergent person, see Gale as one too. I can't imagine someone dangling everything there is to know about my special interest in front of me like a tease.

Gale being tempted by the magic that he couldn't use is understandably vexing because before this iteration of Mystra he would have been able to. Up until the fall of Neverall all powerful enough magic users were able to do the magic she now hides. As her wiki says, "she laid down new rules for all spellcasters, banning spells above “9th” level, limiting who had access to magic, limiting how many spells of each level could be held in the mind, increasing the time it took to cast spells, and forcing long periods of memorization or prayer each day to replace spells cast previously." Karsus essentially went and ruined it for everyone so I get why Gale would want to be an exception to the rule. Mystra loves him, why shouldn't she trust him? However, Karsus did kill her, so I understand why this is a hard boundary for her.

Mystra is a god. She has a certain amount of distance from all mortals. She knows that all mortals die. As seen in her dialogue if you play as Gale and talk to her in the Tabernacle, she must balance the weight of many lives over a few. When asked if she cares about lives you might take if you explode, she says, "Such eddies are unexceptional. Souls arrive and depart your plane with every tide, in circumstances just and unjust." As a god you must have a certain amount of distance from mortals, it'd drive you mad otherwise. It's also what you want from a god. They should understand the bigger picture and not get caught in the weeds. Gods should not experience empathy the way mortals do; they'd get overwhelmed or go crazy otherwise. I see this otherworldly attitude of hers in Elminster’s line "She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness." Implying that she feels things differently, more inhumanly. Mystra is a good goddess but incapable of being a good lover because of this. So, she entered a relationship with a mortal who worshiped her with the knowledge that she could never reciprocate those same feelings back, there would always be a distance. Which is an obviously toxic thing to do, and she should have known better, Gale isn't her first lover.

Mystra being bad at mortal emotions and empathy is seen in other dialogue of hers at the Tabernacle too. She tells Gale, "You were already worthy. What you lacked was patience". What is she trying to say with this? You were worthy of being my Chosen? He knows that he already was her Chosen so that wasn’t what he wanted. Is she saying he was worthy of godhood? I doubt she was contemplating making him a god. There's no deep sorrow coming from her like someone who was thinking of sharing everything with him - if Ao would even allow that. I believe it makes the most sense that she believes he just wanted more power. That would make the patience line coherent. She thinks he just rushed into finding something to make him more powerful instead of waiting for her to grant him more power. Her Chosen can use greater powers like Silver Flame after a while. However, this demonstrates her lack of understanding of his character. He didn’t entirely want more power; he was planning on giving the tome to her. I don’t even think he was even aware it was something he could use. He thought it was HER weave not a separate thing of its own. He mainly wanted to be her equal. Gale isn't hungry for power for the sake of it. He always wants it for a deeper reason. He wouldn't have been content just following in Elminster's footsteps, being an incredibly powerful ex of hers one day. He wants her to love him with all the devotion that he has for her. He isn't with her for power, or at least that's not the main reason. You see it with your TAV if you romance him, Gale falls madly and quickly in love with people, love is all encompassing for him. He’s strictly monogamous he isn’t interested in sharing someone with others. He's not content to just have a fraction of her heart and give her all his.

Mystra's distance from humanity and how toxic these relationships can be is seen in the story of her possession of Elué and their relationship with Dornal Silverhand. Done to create the Seven Sisters to preserve her legacy. Being Chosen is not some altruistic thing Mystra grants to the best magic users for a job well done, or at least it isn't just that. They also become her insurance if she gets killed again, which is what these children were for too. She loves her Chosen but they’re also tools to her. She possessed Elué to sleep with Dornal (assaulting him I would argue as they make a point to not tell him about the possession) which deteriorates Elué. Although, I've seen people say that she's had a lot of bad relationships with mortal men, I haven't read the books I'm just going by the wiki and Wikipedia, but admittedly I can't see anyone she's screwed up quite like Dornal and Gale. Although, like I've said I don't think any close relationship she has with a mortal would be healthy. The closest I got besides them was Sammaster. However, from what the wiki says it's unclear whether his downfall was Mystra's fault or if that was just Algashon's manipulation to get him to blame everyone but himself.  

I've seen people site that one way that their relationship is unhealthy is that Mystra is thousands of years older than Gale. Now depending on when and how she started interacting with him (this is where what I said about DND lore comes in, Mystra's death can change this whole timeline) this can absolutely be toxic. But an adult age gap, even thousands of years, isn't unhealthy I would argue. Once you reach maturity an adult's an adult. No one is up in arms about Astarion being 350. Also, Mystra maybe even tries to balance this. Her page on Wikipedia states that part of the power's her Chosen get is long lives, like Eliminster.  

Gale reports in the Tabernacle that he's never been nervous before but in Sharess' Caress he says that he's insecure and even gets Tara to leave the room when he changes. I think saying he never gets nervous might be a bit of postering on his part, but admittedly that's totally up for interpretation (as it all of this is). From Mystra's wiki "As a goddess, Mystra could shape change at will and mortals who saw her reported she changed constantly". So, a man with insecurities and a person who literally never needs to feel insecure could be fine but with all the other points is just another reason Mystra should never have instigated anything.

Mystra states in the Tabernacle that she has been feeding Gale's orb with herself. She is the Weave. She has been feeding herself to this void so Gale can live. Gale was feeding on the weave in the magical items he consumed, thus unbeknownst to him feeding on her. He then continues to do this through the spell Elminster performs just more directly. As people have pointed out she could have helped him anytime. But this comes as a massive sacrifice to her. He did unleash something that damages and threatens her. He also unleashed something that is likely traumatic to her. From the dev notes from her dialogue, she is still angry at Karsus for killing her. The crown of Karsus is what allows her to control the weave in him. It's a different type of magic as she states, like Shar's Shadow Weave, one she can't control without the crown only feed. So, she couldn't have stopped the orb before he got the crown. She could only help Gale feed it. Some people say she could have cured him right away, but I don't think that's the case.

The Karsite Weave is dangerous. As Mystra says "You've unleashed something that would consume all magic in existence". However, I've seen people compare Gale's fragment to the Spell Plague, which I think is a bit much. If he was allowed to live and keep feeding off her, especially with a Chosen's life span then it could be. But Mystra need only send someone to kill him or stop feeding the orb and he will erupt, and it will be all over. She continues to hold all the cards.

I do believe she maybe could have prevented this all in the first place. Gale states that reading the Karsus book was like a flare going up to her, also that she hears every spell (Another issue that Gale must feel watched and scrutinised every time he performs magic). I don't believe with this power that Gale could have easily researched and found the Tome of Gateways without Mystra knowing something about it. His research likely would have shot up flares like when researching Karsus. If she knows every portal that he creates or spell he makes she should have known something. Plus, Gale's fine with charisma but not great and it's not like he's proficient in deception. Either she was paying him ridiculously little attention (and in the final product of the game they are together until he finds the Karsite Weave so it's unlikely that she was ignoring him) or she had her own reasons for letting him go ahead. Which does seem unlikely considering how awful Karsus' Folly was for her but if it's true then it is obviously toxic to let someone you supposedly love risk themselves and then blame them for everything about it.

I don't believe Gale was likely a minor when Mystra started a sexual or romantic relationship with him. For one, she was probably kind of dead, depending on whether her DND lore is canon or if Larian have fudged the dates. Also, Gale states that he's had previous lovers before her. Which could imply that she never actively sexually groomed him as a youth. Or that he had lovers then her all as a teen. I don't think if she was grooming him, he would have taken lovers while it was happening though, as he states she's "a jealous goddess". Her reputation could have partially groomed him though, worship from a young age of this beautiful woman surely influenced him. She also could arguably have been not sexually grooming him but grooming him to be her Chosen. Furthermore, I know some people use the term grooming for all ages, but Oxford languages defines it as relating to minors. I think if you want to use the term grooming for any age because it fits better for you VALID! But I haven't been groomed so I feel more comfortable sticking to the dictionary definition and just using the term manipulation for when he's older.

Gale, like I've said is flawed. For one he's arrogant and ambitious. If you leave him unchecked, he will become a god of ambition. However, it is not that hard to turn him away from this. I love how all the characters deal with their circumstances differently. It makes them all feel unique and human. If you compare say Astarion who is also power hungry to Gale you see how power isn't that big of a deal to him truly, feeling enough is (power also isn't Astarion's true want, its freedom, but I digress). However, Astarion has multiple dialogue scenes where he argues his case for Ascension and disapproves if you tell him outright that it's a bad idea (or at least I'm pretty sure he used to, with every update I swear they change the characters approval/disapproval). Whereas Gale gets you to the bottom of the bookstore and is like Hey, sorry I've been depressed but what if I was God? There's no manipulation here, he's not trying very hard beyond hiding his intentions till then. He can be talked out of it easily too. He doesn't disapprove if you tell him outright no. I did neutral answers, including telling him to do what he wants, and it still ended with everyone reacting like I'd convinced him not to be a god. He brings it up again at the end. But there's no persuasion role to convince him. You're just like No Gale and he's like Cool. His blasé attitude certainly doesn't scream power hungry. He does need a good influence though. Left to his own devices with no help from you he would go through with godhood. But it’s not like he doesn’t try to surround himself with good people, like Tara, and do the right thing.

Furthermore, he doesn't want to become a god just for power. He wants to feel worthy, to feel in control. He wants to do good and help people. Which is an admittedly stupid thing to think. Gale is the one to tell you in act one that the gods can't interfere Ao won't allow them but under the bookstore he apparently believes now he's just built different. Gale bounces between moods. He can be suicidal then want to be immortal. Overconfident then anxious and insecure. Power hungry then chastising you for doing the same. I think it reflects how his quest is the least black and white, he's still figuring himself out. But he's not a sweet darling who has never done anything wrong (like bragging to Loroakan about his upcoming godhood) or truly power hungry. With the evil pixie lamp, he tells you that he did it for practical reasons and disapproves of you wanting to do it for power. Similarly, he doesn't want The Necromancy of Thay except to consume and destroy it. I think Gale stands on a precipice between extremes.

So, to wrap it all up. I don't think that Gale is some scheming abuser. He's certainly not a perfect victim but you don't have to be to deserve better. Mystra in turn I don't think is trying to hurt Gale. She likely doesn’t understand the extent of the damage she’s doing. I don't think she can properly empathize with him. She's a goddess first and a lover second as she always has been. Knowing this she should stop having close relationships with her followers. It's a lonely existence being a god but that's the price you pay for that kind of power. Mystra is absolutely the abuser and should have known better but she's certainly not evil. At least that's my two coppers about it.

#myanalysis #balders gate 3 #baulders gate gale #gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #bg3 gale #elminster #fuck mystra #bg3 mystra #all my homies hate mystra #mystra #bg3 meta

[floyds-favorite-shrimp]

It's Just an Otome

Idia x Fem!Yuu

Word Count: 3139

Fluff

TW: Some Assault. Mentions of small amounts of blood and bruising.

*More Under Cut*

“Idia, I’m here with my report!” Came Ortho’s excited voice as he opened the door to Idia’s room without knocking.

“Report?” Idia questioned, scrunching his blue eyebrows together. “I don’t remember asking you for a report.” His bright yellow eyes left his computer screen as they fell on his younger brother. 

“I took it upon myself to report on Yuu!” Ortho said. His mouth wasn’t visible behind his mechanized mask, but the way his eyes closed made it obvious he was smiling. Idia’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide as he ran his pale fingers anxiously through his flaming blue hair.

“W-w-w-why would you do that?!” Idia asked, pushing himself away from his desk and standing up to fully face Ortho. “That’s creepy!”

Ortho tilted his head to the side in confusion. He narrowed his golden eyes. “I thought you were interested in her. Was I incorrect?” He asked, Idia could hear a hint of sadness in his voice. 

“I-well-listen-” Idia stuttered out nervously, caught between sparing his brother's feelings and his pride. “I-i-i-it’s not like I’m not  interested or… anything…” He trailed off, feeling his cheeks start to heat up. He glanced down and noticed that the tips of his hair were also turning a pale red. “Well, alright. Let’s see what you got.” He said quietly, glancing up.

Ortho smiled once again, his chest lighting up and projecting images in front of him. There was Yuu, sitting by a tree. She was leaning her back against it as she read a book, completely unaware of the fact that Ortho was ‘reporting on her.’ Her straight hair fell in long locks, almost acting as a curtain to keep her away from the rest of the world. Idia reached out, as if he could touch her within the projection. Just looking at her seemed to bring an unexplainable peace to him. 

“Yuu quite enjoys reading.” He said, watching Idia. “And she doesn’t seem to talk to many people. Occasionally Deuce Spade and Ace Trappola of Heartslabyul. And Grim, who is her only dormmate.” The scene projecting from his chest changed. Now Yuu was walking through the school grounds, her head hung as she clung her textbooks to her chest. “She seems less than confident in her abilities to pass classes, probably largely due to her inability to use magic.” 

Idia watched her walk with her head low. He couldn’t help but wish that she would have a little more confidence in herself. Her beautiful eyes should be looking up, shining as they took in everything ahead of her. Instead, they never left her feet as she walked. Idia could feel his heart sink as he watched her, but he forced his eyes from the image as he turned back to his younger brother.

“I know you meant well, Ortho.” He said. “But don’t record anyone I don’t tell you to, kay?” He smiled gently, and he couldn’t help but feel the pit in his stomach as the projection faded away in front of him. 

**********************************************

Yuu walked across the school grounds. Her bag hung from her shoulder, full of textbooks. Since she was unable to use magic, she was typically given extra classwork to do to make up for the magical assignments. Her head hung low, and her thoughts of this world kept her occupied. 

So occupied, in fact, that she didn’t notice the small group of guys that were following behind her. Not far enough to lose track of her, but also not close enough to be noticeable. They were slowly gaining ground, careful not to do so suspiciously. To anyone else, it looked like they just happened to be following the same route Yuu was, but to a certain analytic eye it was obvious what was going on.

“Hey Idia.” Ortho said, his gaze never leaving the group of men walking across the courtyard. “I have another report on Yuu.”

“Ortho!” Idia exclaimed, looking up from his phone as he hit his open palm on his forehead. “I told you not to do that anymore!”

“I did not record her.” Ortho said, and Idia noticed that he was staring intently at something. “I believe she is in trouble.” 

Idia felt his heart drop as he followed Ortho’s gaze to the group ahead of them. He moved his eyes slightly and saw Yuu walking ahead of them. The group didn’t necessarily look suspicious, but there was something about the way they were moving and the way they seemed to be whispering to each other. Idia’s eyes went wide.

“She needs help.” Idia said, wringing his hands in front of him. “Ortho, you should go get a teacher. O-o-or maybe a housewarden. Or-”

“Idia, you are a housewarden.” Ortho pointed out. Idia groaned in exasperation.

“Not me, obviously!” Idia said, now rocking back and forth on his feet. “I can only play the hero in video games! I’m not meant for this type of thing IRL! Malleus would be a much better option! Even Leona would probs work! I’m not intimidating enough for-”

Idia was cut off by a small squeal. The brothers looked up again and saw that one of the guys had Yuu by the wrist, the books she usually had clutched to her chest like treasures had fallen on the ground. She was trying to pull away, but the harder she pulled, the tighter the guy squeezed.

“Idia, there’s no-” Ortho had started to say, but when he glanced over, all he saw was a blur of blue as Idia took long strides towards the scene in front of him. And despite everything, despite that the situation was serious, and that there was someone in serious need of help, Ortho felt a small smile tug at his hidden mouth. 

A pale hand wrapped around the tan one that had a grip on Yuu’s wrist. Everyone froze, gaze after gaze looked up at Idia, who’s own gaze was anywhere but where it should’ve been. He kept his eyes to the ground as he spoke.

“Listen.” He said quietly. “Y’know, call me crazy, but it doesn’t seem like she’s enjoying your interaction, like, at all.” He muttered. He could feel Yuu’s surprised stare on him. He felt his heart pounding in his chest.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business.” The guy who had a hold on Yuu’s wrist said. “Who even are you anyway? Just walk away if you don’t want to get hurt!”

“I know who he is!” Said another guy. “He’s the creepy housewarden of Ignihyde.”

“His name is Idia.” Came a small, but firm, voice. Everyone went silent as they all looked at Yuu. “He’s Idia and he isn’t creepy. Definitely less creepy than you lot.” She huffed, attempting once more to pull away. As the guy tightened his grip once more, he dug his nails into her skin. She grunted in pain.

“I don’t think that’s really nec-” Idia had started to say, looking down at the spot where they touched. He saw small beads of red bloom where his nails dug into her skin. He was silent for a moment, but within seconds his blue hair was a flaming red as his grip tightened on the wrist he was holding.

Yuu pulled back once more, her instinct taking over. At the same moment that she pulled back, the guy let go of her out of fear. She fell back, her elbows scraping against the ground as she did what she could to avoid slamming her head. She looked up at Idia’s tall figure, now standing so as to block her from view. His flaming red hair flowing wildly, all of his anxiety clearly forgotten.

“You guys think I’m the creep?” He asked them. Yuu couldn’t see his face, but she could visualize his mocking grin. “You stalk and harass someone just walking to their classes, and why? Just because she’s the only girl here? Now that’s pathetic. And the fact that there’s a group of normies this big who are all on the same page? That’s beyond gross.” He glanced down at the uniform of the one who seemed to be the leader. “Savanaclaw, huh? Leona may be the personification of sloth, but I bet even he will nerf the lot of you once he finds out the kind of people he’s letting in his dorm.” 

Yuu felt as if her stomach were doing somersaults. She had only spoken to Idia a few times, but here he was standing up for her. Protecting her. She rubbed her sore wrist as she watched the group of guys shrink before Idia. 

“Let’s.. Just go.” One of the guys said, in an obvious attempt to keep what little pride they may have had left at this point.

“Yeah, she’s not even that cute, anyway.” Said another one, but the crack in his voice ruined whatever kind of tough guy act he was trying to put on.

Idia almost told him how wrong he was. How they would be lucky to ever have someone even half as beautiful. But he bit his tongue, remembering that she was right behind him. 

The group of guys turned on their heels simultaneously and walked in the opposite direction. Idia stared after them, waiting until they were a safe distance away before turning to face Yuu, who was still on the ground looking up at him with wide eyes. He felt his pale cheeks get warm, his hair returning to its cool blue. 

“A-a-are you okay?” He asked her quietly, every trace of the Idia he was a few moments ago gone. He bent down, starting to pick up the books that she had dropped during the confrontation. 

“I’m fine.” She said, pushing herself to her feet at the same time Idia had finished picking up her books. “Thank you. So much.” She muttered, reaching her hands out for her books. Idia was about to hand them to her, when he saw the state of her wrist.

“You’re hu-”

“She’s injured!” Came Ortho’s voice as he ran up to them. “A quick analysis reveals that her left wrist and both elbows require medical care.” He said, circling around her as he checked her over for any other injuries.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Yuu said, looking down at her own wrist. “They’ll be fine as soon as I get cleaned up.”

“Immediate bandaging is recommended.” Ortho said. “Ignihyde is the closest dorm. Perhaps we can take her there?” His eyes closed in his signature smile as Idia narrowed his eyes at him, but he couldn’t find any good way to get out of this now.

“Fine. Alright.” He sighed in resignation. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll take her to Ignihyde. Ortho, you go around to both of our classes and let the professors know why we aren’t there.” 

“Will do!” He said happily, flying off to run Idia’s errand. Idia shook his head slightly as he watched Ortho fly off. Yuu watched him as well, and once she was certain he was out of earshot she spoke up. 

“It’s fine. I can run back to Ramshackle and take care of this.” She turned towards Idia, who was looking down at her from the corner of his eye. “I, um, I really do appreciate your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.” She inclined her head in his direction. Idia immediately took a step back, his hands out in front of him.

“Umm, what the heck are you doing?” Idia asked, his eyes wide. “P-p-p-please look up. Stop, like, bowing to me or whatever.” 

Yuu looked up, startled at first. But after a moment, a small smile graced her pink lips. Idia felt like he could vomit up his heart. 

“A-a-anyway,” Idia said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Let’s head over to Ignihyde. All the supplies we should need will be there.” He jerked his head in the direction of his dorm, turning on his heel to walk in that direction.

“Idia, really, I can-”

“You hurt your elbows, yeah?” He asked her, looking over his shoulder. “That won’t be easy to bandage on your own. And I doubt that little ball of fluff you live with will be much help either.”

“Little ball of- do you mean Grim?” Yuu asked, the corners of her mouth twitched upwards, and Idia felt his cheeks heat up again. He turned around again, hunching his shoulders as he started walking off.

“Just, come on.” He mumbled, barely loud enough for Yuu to hear. She sighed, but followed after him anyway. 

They walked together into Ignihyde. Idia walked through the common area, keeping his shoulders hunched up, and avoiding making eye contact with anyone. He relied on the sounds of Yuu’s footsteps to ensure she was still following him.

Once they got through the bustling common area and into an empty hallway, Idia finally spoke up. 

“I figured we’d wrap you up in my room. Less onlookers.” He said, his voice echoing along the walls. 

Yuu couldn’t stop the blush that rose to her cheeks. “Yeah, ok. Sounds good.” She muttered, trying to sound as nonchalant as she possibly could at the idea of being invited into Idia’s room. She could only hope the cool darkness of the hallways would help to chill her cheeks. 

Idia stopped in front of a large door, pulling a key-card from his pocket and holding it up to the doorknob, which gave a little click. Idia swung the door open, gesturing for Yuu to come in as well. She looked around his room as she stepped through the doorway. 

“There are even more screens than I imagined.” She whispered to herself, looking at the multiple gaming setups he had. 

“You.. didn’t have to say that out loud.” Idia said, wilting like a flower as he looked self-consciously around his own room. “Is it really that many?” 

“No.” Yuu giggled softly. “It’s actually pretty impressive.”

“I feel like you’re patronizing me.” Idia said, digging through his closet as he pulled out a first aid kit. “Oh well, take a seat in that chair there.” He told her, nudging his head in the general direction of the chair he was talking about. As she sat, he pulled the chair that Ortho usually used over to her.

Idia gently took her hand, turning it over as he looked at all five of the puncture wounds left by the guy’s fingernails. A light purple hue was adorning her skin. Idia’s cool fingers felt soothing on her sore skin, and without realizing it, Yuu sighed in relief. Idia wiped her wrist with a cloth soaked in antibiotic before wrapping it snuggly in a bandage.

His hands were surprisingly gentle, Yuu hardly felt them as his fingers brushed her skin. He could feel how tense she was, and he wanted to do anything to put her at ease.

“Those Savanclaw guys all have crazy nails.” He said, trying to fill the silence that had descended on the pair as Idia focused on her injuries. “It’s like there’s some kind of rule that beastmen have to have claws. I can’t believe they thought they could get away with what they were trying to do to you.” He focused on cleaning her scraped elbow, but he could feel her stare  on him. “Did they seriously think no one would walk by and see them? Or no one would come by to help you? Not only do you have Grim, but you hang with a few of the Heartslabyul guys too, right? Someone was going to come help you. It’s too bad I’m the one who was there. Malleus and Riddle would have really lost it on them. Would’ve totally annihilated them. And they really tried to save the miniscule amount of pride they had by pretending you weren’t absolutely beautiful-”

Within a second, Idia had clamped his mouth shut, his eyes wide in horror. He shot up from his seat, and Yuu followed him into a standing position. Her eyes were also wide, her cheeks dusted pink as she looked into Idia’s golden eyes.

“Shoot, I was monologuing.” Idia was finally able to say, his voice hoarse with embarrassment. He wore his horror on his face.

Yuu could swear that her heart was going to pound straight out of her chest as she tried to wrap her mind around what he just said. They were standing in a silence that felt like it lasted an eternity.

But finally, Yuu’s mind caught up, and she smiled brightly up at Idia. So brightly that Idia almost felt like he needed to shield his eyes or he could go blind. Yuu took a step closer to him, they were only a few inches apart now, but Idia was frozen to the spot. He couldn’t move. She was so close, he was sure he could feel her body heat against him. 

No way. Idia thought to himself. This is playing out just like an otome. This doesn’t happen IRL. As he thought to himself, something seemed to connect in his brain. His breath caught in his throat. It’s just like an otome! I know what to do in an otome!

Yuu pushed herself to her tiptoes. Idia watched her eyes flutter close. It was as if everything was happening in slow motion. She drew closer to him at the pace of a snail, and Idia instinctually closed his eyes as he felt the featherlite touch of her lips on his. It’s just an otome. It’s just an otome. He chanted to himself as he cupped her cheek. He kept his eyes closed, knowing that the moment he saw her reaction, he would lose every ounce of nerve his weeby self was able to accumulate. 

He felt her lean into his hand. She wasn’t pulling away, and he placed his lips on hers more firmly. She moved closer, her hands now on his shoulders as she propped herself up to his height. His shaking hand settled on her hip as he left his other on her cheek, unsure of where was acceptable for him to touch her. Their lips moved slowly, achingly slowly, against each other.

Slam.

The door to Idia’s room slammed open, causing Idia and Yuu to fly apart, both of their faces as flaming as Riddle’s hair. Ortho stood in the door, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow at them, but before he could say anything:

“I’m sorry!” Yuu shouted, gathering up her books again. “Thanks again! So much!” She said as she swerved around Ortho and walked out of view. Idia’s eyes followed her, landing on the place she disappeared from. Ortho grinned at his older brother.

“Iiiiiidiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”

#idia shroud #twisted wonderland idia #idia x reader #twst idia #idia x yuu #twisted wonderland #twst #Shroud

[anthurak]

One very interesting irony I just realized about the state of the Lich in the episode Jerry that could help explain his depressed state:

When you really think about it, the Lich’s real goal isn’t simply to end life in a general sense, but rather to end life through his own corruption. We never see him try to kill with weapons or brute force but rather through infecting beings with his corruptive magic/essence.

With that in mind, I think it’s more accurate to say that the Lich DIDN’T actually kill everyone in Ooo in this universe. His WISH is what killed everyone, as evidenced by both Ice King’s video and BMO’s recollection of everyone suddenly just turning into skeletons. In fact, given what we now know about how Prismo’s wishes create new branching realities, I’d say it’s possible that the Lich’s wish didn’t actually kill ANYONE, rather that Prismo simply created this new universe without any life in it.

Regardless of the precise mechanics, after this new version of Ooo was created, only THEN was the Lich transported into it. A world now devoid of any life that he could destroy.

In short, despite all of his seeming knowledge, the Lich effectively monkey’s paw-ed himself with his wish!

#adventure time #fionna and cake #the lich

[hanafubukki]

So Hana; I came across a post talking about unpopular twst opinions and was wondering if you had any.

Hello Violet 🌸💚🌷

I hope it’s okay for me to call you Violet 💚🌷

This is a rather interesting question 🤔 and I had to think on it a bit. I honestly don’t know if some of what I say is unpopular or not, so I guess I’ll express a few of my opinions that I have. ☺️🌺

I guess before I list them I should say that this is my opinion only. I don’t mean to hurt anyone by expressing them nor am I calling out anyone. Literally just my thoughts. You’re allowed to agree or disagree✨✨

Normally, I would assume I wouldn’t have to put a disclaimer such as this because everyone has their own opinions and we should all have an open mind but I’ve seen the internet lol and wowza on how some act to such things lol 🌺🙏

I hate the guest room. Personally, I’m not into that kind of mechanics in gaming. It’s not for me. The fact that we have to do it to level up friendship levels irks me. And it’s a complicated system too which is another annoying aspect. I also kind of blame the guest room function for personal stories being lowered since those have been replaced with furniture. It’s just an extra chore that I’m not really into.

Event wise: I think we have too many octa (+ ortho and ace) in them. My diasomnia bias aside, I don’t think the other characters get enough spotlight. When was the last time Ruggie was in an event? Cater? Riddle? Jack? Kalim? Rook? Deuce? I know octa make them money but still, give the others more spotlight? I don’t count the beach or Halloween event either. Because Halloween, half the cast is in it and beach event was similar. Even New years I don’t count, because eventually, we will get them all in new years outfit. The usually four character events is what I’m speaking of because that’s when you get proper screen time and development for each character. I can literally go on lolol

I don’t know why this would be unpopular but it seems it might be? But I don’t hate RSA. They have a lot of potential story telling wise and their side of things. And I know there’s biasness with NRC and we wanting them to win, but I feel there’s more to RSA than we know. Like how we shouldn’t judge villains, we shouldn’t judge the “heroes” either.

Jp schedule wise I don’t think they are too slow as many believe. I think for the working female class, which the game is aimed at, the scheduling is perfect since it was made for them after all. It gives them time for daily life and twst gaming. Doesn’t mean I don’t get impatient either lolol

On the other spectrum, EN is going too quick. With events and main story. Slow down. What are you trying to accomplish except burn out your fanbase?

I don’t want an anime. We will get one. There’s a high chance and I’ll watch it obviously. But I honestly don’t care for one. The issues that an anime will bring…is a lot.

I don’t think the gameplay is boring. As mentioned before, the game was made for the female working class. So the gameplay is to the point, and depending on the event, can be challenging. But grinding wise and all that? It’s pretty working class friendly. If I didn’t have the auto lessons and battles, I wouldn’t be playing it. It’s because of those mechanics that I am. Thats what stops me from playing many mobile games. The constant forced to play and keep track. Hence part of why I’m not into Hoyoverse games.

I don’t really care for “this place in twst = this place in IRL.” to me, it’s a game in a fantasy world. Is it interesting to see some of the influences? Yes, of course. But that’s it. I’m playing this game for the fantasy setting, the magic, the story, and the characters. I don’t really care to add, realism, I guess you could say? (I’m trying to escape reality okay? Why would I want it in my games?? 🤣🤣)

I wish we had more magic in my magic world. And I think it mainly applies for book 7 for me personally and how “wow, tech is going to beat malleus and save the day” but I kind of wish that isn’t the case. Yes, it makes for fun story telling and memes. But, for a magic based dorm, I want a magic based solution. That and the fact, I don’t care for the implication how magic is slowly being taken over by technology. Kind of hits close to home you know?? With all the AI shenanigans.

I hope two certain popular theories aren’t true and I’ll leave it there. My personally thoughts on them is, I hope it’s not that predictable and I had hoped for a different route for such characters/events.

I’ll stop there before I make a whole essay for you to read lmao 🤣🤣 I have more thoughts that I could share but this is already so long 😆

I don’t know if this was a “unpopular opinion” or more me rambling but I’ll let you decide that Violet 🙏💞☺️

What about you? What are some of your thoughts?

Would love to hear other’s opinions as well ☺️🌺

#answered #🌺Violet🌺

[glitterrosesnzz]

Cat in a Box

@hachiibun happy birthday!!! i hope i'm not too late to it shdflkjsldfs.

here's a 1.8k words long Lyney fic ft. various hcs

Aether silently stood leaning over Lyney’s shoulder as the magician went through the process of loosely explaining his newest trick.

“Now, I can’t tell you everything, of course-” Lyney said, tapping on the side of the magic box they were standing in front of. “But this box here is going to be somewhat of the main event for the show tonight.” 

“Boxes again?” Aether asked, “This is like, the third time you’ve used one. Is it like your cat instincts jumping out?” 

“My ca- I’m afraid you must be mistaken, Traveler.” Lyney laughed, “It’s only Lynette who got the cat genes. Although, I suppose I have been called cat-like by some people… in the mysterious and charming way, of course.” 

Aether rolled his eyes, wishing that Lynette was here at the moment, knowing that she at least would give a more truthful answer. But, she was currently off in one of the side rooms of the Opera House with Paimon, indulging in some sweets, and Aether didn’t feel like interrupting the two of them for something so minor. 

“So.” He said instead, “What exactly is so different about this box?” 

“Well you see, I’m going to change my dear sister Lynette, into a charming little bunny.” 

Aether blinked slowly. Then, he shifted, leaning against the door of the box slightly. 

“A bunny.” He deadpanned, “...Now that I think about it, despite it being one of the most well known tricks, to the point that I know it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do a trick with a bunny. Do you- do you even have a bunny?” 

“Why of course!” Lyney gave an overdramatic little bow, gesturing for Aether to move out of the way, before dramatically knocking three times on the box’s door. On the third knock, Aether could hear a slight thump, and when Lyney opened the door- 

There was a small black bunny sitting on the floor of the box. 

“Traveler, allow me to introduce you to Lapin.” Lyney said, moving out of the way as the Traveler stepped into the box, bending down to gently pick the bunny up. “Ah, but don’t tell Paimon or Lynette about him. This is going to be a surprise for my siblings as well.” 

“So Lynette doesn’t know that you’re going to ‘turn her into a bunny’ then?” Aether asked,gently petting Lapin and pushing himself up against the wall of the box as Lyney subconsciously stepped in as well in order to speak face to face. There was barely enough room for the both of them to stand in the box without brushing together. “Why wouldn’t you tell her-” 

Aether’s question was cut off by the sound of a click- and they both tensed, but neither of them was fast enough to react as the door to the box swung closed. 

Aether’s elemental vision activated automatically, acting almost like night vision. It was through this that he only just barely caught the brief flash of panic on Lyney’s face. 

“Well!” Lyney’s voice held an amount of practiced calm to it that, if Aether didn’t know better, he wouldn’t even realize was faked. “This is certainly unexpected.” 

“...Can you get us out?” Aether asked, tilting his head slightly as Lyney’s nose twitched. 

“Welllll… no. There is, unfortunately, no switch on the inside of this box! There is a failsafe though, it should open on it’s own in about ten minutes.” 

And, well, Aether was pretty sure that was a bold-faced lie, considering he was quite certain he could feel what seemed like a switch or other sort of mechanism pressed up against the center of his back. It was in a position he couldn’t quite reach on his own, especially with a bunny in his arms, but Lyney would only have to just reach around him… 

Maybe he didn’t want to get too close? Now that he was staring, it did seem like Lyney was pressed as close against his side of the box as he could be, slightly tensed up. It had never really seemed like Lyney had much problems with physical touch before, but maybe this was just a bit too much. 

Still though… 

“We could just call for Lynette and Paimon to get us out.” Aether suggested, “I’m sure they’d hear us if we yelled, this place isn’t that big, and the sounds from the stage echo everywhere-” 

“There’s no need for that.” Lyney sounded slightly breathless, which was strange, considering they were doing no physical activity at all. “Lynette isn’t meant to know about our little friend Lapin here anyways, remember?” 

“And why is tha-” Aether stopped himself mid-sentence, watching as Lyney’s expression twisted slightly- which was strange. Lyney didn’t normally allow so many different facial expressions to slip through his mask. Albeit… he might not know that Aether could see him right now, the box would be pretty dark for the average person after all. “...Are you okay?” 

Almost instantly, the strange expression vanished from Lyney’s face, replaced with his usual calm and collected composure, but still, Aether couldn’t help but feel like there was something slightly off. 

“Perfectly fine as always!” Lyney said. Aether narrowed his eyes in suspicion, lightly scritching at Lapin’s head as he thought- 

Only to be startled as, without any pre-warning, Lyney suddenly jerked his head to the side, hat sliding slightly askew as he half stifled a sneeze. 

“Heh’KSh-!!” The half-stifle was extremely ineffective at preventing the other side effects that happened to come with a vision user sneezing, the entire box briefly lighting up with tiny sparks of pyro. But that wasn’t what surprised Aether the most. 

No, that honor went to the cat ears and tail that suddenly and mysteriously appeared on Lyney’s body. 

“Oh darn…” Lyney muttered, before clearing his throat. “Apologies, that kind of snuck up on me.” 

…Should Aether ask about the ears? Would that be rude? It was clearly something that Lyney wanted to hide. 

Aether didn’t get the chance to ask, as the next moment, Lyney’s expression twisted, and he was jolting to the side with another failed half-stifle, the box lighting up with pyro sparks one again. One of said sparks lightly brushed up against Aether’s cheek, and he quietly hissed at the slight sting. Lyney muttered a quiet apology under his breath, holding one finger against his nose. 

Right. Random cat ear generation aside, something told Aether that Lyney’s sneezing was not going to stop anytime soon, and Aether would rather get out of the box before he got burned, thank you very much. 

“Lyney.” Aether said, watching as Lyney quietly sniffled, suddenly looking slightly nervous. 

“Yes, Traveler?” 

“I know the switch thing was a lie. I can feel it up against my back.” Aether deadpanned, and, for some reason, Lyney almost seemed to… relax? Strange. “So hurry up and get over here and get us out before you end up burning one of us.”

Ah, and Lyney was tense again. 

“Oh, right.” One of Lyney’s cat ears twitched, and it took all of Aether’s strength to bite his tongue and keep himself from commenting on it. Slowly, Lyney moved closer, until they were almost face to face, his hands moving to reach behind Aether’s back to find the mechanism. Lapin seemed curious about the new proximity, the bunny’s ears twitching. Lyney slightly twisted his face away from it. “Sorry, it’s slightly more complicated than a simple switch, it might- might take me a momen- hH-” 

It was with near-lightening speed that Aether’s hand shot up, pinching Lyney’s nose shut. Based on Lyney’s past two attempts at stifling, this was not going to end well if the magician was left on his own, and Aether was not going to get burned today, thank you. 

Lyney almost seemed startled for a second, but the sudden action was clearly not enough to chase the urge to sneeze away. 

“Hih’NKsh!” There was no sparks this time, but based on the way Lyney’s breath continued to audibly hitch afterwards, his cat ears pressed back against his head, and how, through his glove, Aether could feel Lyney’s nose twitch, Aether could tell this wouldn’t be the last sneeze. “Tr-Traveler, wh-hIh- what-” 

“Just focus on getting the door open.” Aether said. Lyney seemed to follow that instruction, Aether could just barely make out the sensation of the magician’s hands moving behind his back, surprisingly steady even as Lyney’s hitching breaths turned desperate. 

“Hehh…hh…hiHH–!” Lyney seemed to only just barely choke back a sneeze. Aether rolled his eyes. What, was he embarrassed about sneezing into Aether’s hand, now? 

He was just about to tell Lyney that he was being ridiculous when there was a resounding click, the door of the box swinging back open. 

Wasting practically no time, Lyney forcibly pulled himself away from Aether’s grip, rushing out of the box. Aether followed behind him at a much slower pace, wiping his hand off on his clothes before going back to gently petting Lapin, but he still was just in time to see as Lyney finally succumbed to whatever itch had overtaken him. 

“Hi’KISHiew!!” Bright sparks appeared around him, some small outright flames appearing as well as Lyney’s hat outright fell off this time from the force of him doubling over, the sound of it hitting the stage covered up by the sound of Lyney’s fit. “Heh’SHii! H’EKShiew!!” 

“Lyney.” The sound of Lynette’s deadpan voice made both Aether and Lyney jump, Lyney forcing himself back upright to face her. She did not look impressed. 

“Ah- Ly-Lynette- hIH-hEH’KSHiu!!” Lyney doubled over with another sneeze, fit clearly not done. “Hh’ISHkiew!!” 

“So.” Lynette said, her hands on her hips, tail swinging back and forth in disapproval. “The little guy over here in Aether’s arms is the reason you’ve been sneezing your head off the last few nights.” 

Lyney was too busy doubling over with another sneeze to give a response, and Aether blinked down at the bunny that was snuggled innocently in his arms. 

Oh. So Lyney was allergic to bunnies then. 

…Pinching his nose shut with a hand that was likely covered in bunny fur probably hadn’t helped Lyney’s current condition in the slightest then. 

Well, whatever. Wasn’t like he could do anything to change it now. This information wasn’t even the most shocking thing Aether had learned today. 

Speaking of which… 

“So like, are the cat ears… real?” Aether whispered to Lynette. She blinked slowly in response, before sighing. 

“He just thinks they show too much of his real emotions.” She responded, and Lyney somehow managed to pause mid-hitch to give her a horrified look. 

“Lynette! Do- hIH… don’t tell- tell him tha-hAH- H’KIShiew!! Heh’SHIew!!” 

Lynette sighed, walking over to her brother and grabbing him by the shoulders, starting to lead him off stage. 

“C’mon, let’s go get you cleaned up so that you’re not still sneezing like crazy by the time the show starts.” She said, before looking over her shoulder back at Aether. “Traveler, find someone to take care of that bunny, we’ll find a replacement for tonight’s show.” 

Aether glanced down at the bunny in his arms. Lapin stared silently back. 

Hearing Lyney sneeze again from somewhere offstage, Aether let out a sigh. 

He supposed he could keep the bunny in his teapot for now…

#Gen/shin Imp/act #snz #snz fic #my writing

[unlucky-corvid]

Home

A little self indulgent piece of my OC phantom and cayde.

Angst with eventual fluff.

This has not been proof read

Enjoy xoxo

Home.

He's home.

Sprawled out on the sofa of my...our flat, snoring softly. One leg over the back of the sofa, head tilted back, resting on his hands like he never left.

His Cloak slung over the coat hook it used to call home until 5 years ago, boots beneth it, still caked in mud and on the coffee table, his holster and ace...ace 2? I glance back to my bedside dresser, caydes ace of spades resting there, the tool of retribution that carried swift justice to uldren sov. My gaze returns back to the other wespon, cracked with an un-earthly glow sitting on the coffee table.

Why can't I be happy about this,Like every one else?

Why can't I welcome him back into my...our bed like I used to, curling up into his side, listening to his inner mechanisms softly working as we simply bask in one another's presence?

I should be elated. I am. Its like every wish I ever asked for rolled together in one. An impossible ask made real, laying on my sofa...our sofa. Back where he belongs. He's safe.

But what about me?

Selfish thought I know but,What about the tears I cried every day for 5 years? The nightmares? The hallucinations? The sleep terrors? The anxiety attacks?

What about my pain!?

I grieved. I grieved for him. The life we could have had. The death of seemingly everything I held dear and now I'm supposed to just...forget that? Forget how much i suffered while everyone else managed to move on.

Envy it an ugly emotion but I feel it nontheless strongly as I do my grief.

Does he even know?

I'm sure he must have some idea. I'm sure zavala and ikora filled him in. I'm sure sundance and midnight spoke.

Spoke about the night I screamed so raw my throat bled. The night zavala found me curled up behind the bust of cayde in the tower, wrapped in his cloak as the snow settled around me, slowly burrying me as i stared off into nothingness. The missions I returned from, battered and bloody only to pick up the next bounty and leave. No food. No rest. No time to remember.

Maybe thats why his eyes followed me with that uneasy concern when I bid him good night. The look of understanding that sent an uneasy shiver down me when I asked him if we could sleep separately for a while as I got used to my dead partner being alive and well back in my...our apartment.

A shiver of frosty air shoots up my spine and sets my teeth on edge.

He's here again.

Not the real cayde.

But the cayde thats been with me since he died.

The cayde that lingers in the shadows, that stalks me in the light of day, that lingers over my shoulder. A waking nightmare.

He first started to apear a few days after caydes death. Only at night. He would hover beside my bedside, bending down beside my ear to whisper.

"I was waiting for you. Waiting for you to run in and put a bullet between that bastards eyes. But you didn't. You were too late. Too late. TOO LATE!"

"Youre sick. Sick in the head. You welcomed my killer into our home with open arms. Crow? Crow?! That's what the sick fucks calling himself now? Are you that desperate to betray me? That desperate to desicrate MY HOME with that murders precence?!"

Then it would vanish as the dawn arrived leaving me sleepless and guilt ridden.

Until it didn't.

Until guardians would give my looks of sympathy and fear when a smokey apparition of the ex hunter vanguard would be glanced over my shoulder. Lips uttering words only I could hear.

I tried everything. Pills, alcohol, therapy, eris's hive magic, maras paracausal influence but nothing stopped the ghastly characature of my dead lovers visage from taunting me.

Ikora began to avoid me. I dont blame her. Being forced to see her fallen friend every instance we spoke must have been hard but...at least she could escape it.

Zavala simply gives me this look. The kind of look you give an animal you know needs putting out of its Misery as it lays dying at the side of the road. The type of look you give sickly dying people when you know they're on their last legs. I know he means well.

But I avoid him to now. I am not dying nor sickly...not outwardly and I don't wish to be treated as such.

With a sigh I turn, heading back into my...our room.

I'll get it right eventually.

I shrug off my clothes leaving them heaped on the floor, tugging on one of caydes hoodie that no longer smells like him before sliding into bed.

"Broken" it hisses.

"You think that's what i want. You think after these years, after what you've become, I'll want you?"

"Deluded"

"Shut up" I whisper holding my hands over my ears but it does nothing to silence the vile vitriol that slips from its mouth.

"Broken little phantom. How many time did you think of crushing midnight and ending it all huh? Monster. Selfish monster even considering that. I deserve better."

I curl into a ball as if caydes hoodie and the blankets will save me from the ghastly manifestations of my biggest failure. But it dosent.

My heart rate begins picking up as further hateful bile is spews from the lips of the creature using my lovers face to torment me. My fingers tremble against my face as my body convulses with each sob that wracks my frame.

"Worthless, selfish, untrustworthy, lying, unfait-"

"Hey"

The voice seemingly interupts itself

A hand on my shoulder jolts me to the present as i turn expecting the face of a nightmare...

2 icey blue optics stare into my own eyes from the darkness. Not the misty red smoke I expected.

"Zavala...zavala told me about...well...me" he says softly. The feeling of his hand on my shoulder, thumb rubbing gentle circles feels...Alien but...also like home.

Cayde glances at the misty apparition of himself with a hard glare. His eyes soften as he looks back to you "this guys a real buzzkill huh?" He says softly in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. He readjusts himself on my...our bed. Placing himself between me and the nightmare.

"Just ignore...him? Me? No not me. Ignore it" he murmurs as he slips under the covers. I cant help my body tense as he moves up beside me. As if sensing my unease he also freezes.

"I can leave, if you want. Go back to the sofa" his voice softly speaks as if I'm a cornered animal, soothing. Safe.

I pause. No. No thats the last thing I want now. I spent 5 years apart from him, I don't want to spend a single moment away from his side.

"No please stay" I mumble, voice horse from the tears that a familiar hand was wiping away. My hand finds the material of his tshirt and I move myself trying to get iven closer despite us already being flush together.

"Always"

His body fits against mine like a puzzle piece, arms snaking round my waist, anchoring me to him. "It wasn't your fault doll. I promise"

My body gradually untenses for what feels like the first time in 5 years as I sink back into he familiar embrace of caydes body. My body trembles with the adrenaline finally leaving my system.

His chest still rises and falls, his exo body's mimic of a heart beat still reaches my ears. Home. For the first time in 5 years, We are both home.

A blue light on my bedside catches my eye. A ghosts eye, 2 of them, watch us. Midnight and sundance. The pillow I keep on the bedside cabinet once for both midnight and sundance may seem unnecessary to some but our ghosts deserve a little love to. Midnight had always looked swammed by the pillow after sundance was blown to shards but now, seeing them both huddled up to one another as they to settle down, it feels like everything is finnaly settling into place.

Cayde-6 the once dead hunter vanguard, friend and lover was finally back where he rightfully belonged.

Home.

Our home.

#destiny 2 #cayde 6 #headcanon #oc guardian #female guardian #OC Guardian phantom

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Why do you make me feel this way? - Chapter 4: Gift

Astarion knew why everyone had fallen head over heels for Tav. She was sweet and caring, and he'd been a fool to believe that she'd fall for his shameless attempts of seduction.

Gale made goo-goo eyes at her and stumbled over his grandiose words whenever he talked to her.

Halsin looked at her like a cleric at a statue of their deity and told her the sweetest things in the most genuine way.

Karlach was just her joyful self and wrapped Tav into a hug anytime she could since her mechanical heart was stabilised.

Lae'zel showed her affection by making less biting comments and by stopping to look down on Tav.

Shadowheart teased Tav flirtatiously and told her repeatedly how much she values her support and trust.

Wyll acted like an old-fashioned gentleman and thought that shielding Tav from danger was the right way to win her heart.

And Astarion? Astarion had held a dagger against her throat when they'd first met, fed from her every night to be even strong enough to fight at her side, and still struggled with nightmares about Cazador.

Astarion was broken and nobody wanted broken things. Tav would never choose to be his lover, everyone else was much better suited, and Astarion knew it.

Wistfully, the vampire spawn observed how the human bard praised Gale's stew, cooed at Halsin's carved wooden duck, gave Karlach a quick but heartfelt smacking kiss on the cheek, complimented Lae'zel's weapon-sharpening technique, encouraged Shadowheart regarding Shar's trials, commented on Wyll's footwork as he went through his daily training routine, and petted Scratch and the owlbear cup. Astarion's heart ached. Now, Tav walked over to him. The vampire spawn put on a cheerful smile and lilted: "Hello, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I think I can do something for you for once," Tav replied, looking sincere. "While wandering through the ruins of Shar's temple, I found a couple of interesting books."

"Mh, yes, darling. We all know you love collecting souvenirs."

"You got me there," she chuckled, "but this is for you."

Tav thrusted a dusty tome into his hands.

"The book's about dealing with trauma and pain. I've read the first couple of chapters to see if it could be helpful to you and I think it could be. There are detailed instructions on how to work through unpleasant memories and how to 'digest' them instead of shoving them into the far back of your mind to try to forget them. You should read it and try out the techniques."

Astarion blinked at her dumbly.

"You want me to read a self-help book to 'get over' the torture that I endured for two hundred years?"

"Uhm, if you put it that way, it sounds tactless," Tav muttered and averted her gaze.

Astarion felt like a jerk, thus, he spoke his next words more softly: "I understand that you're trying to help, so, thank you. I can use a new, stimulating bedtime reading."

His undead heart skipped a beat when Tav beamed at him.

"Good. That's good."

Her hand lingered on his forearm for a bit longer than necessary before she turned around with flushed cheek. Astarion watched the bard go, holding her gift close to his chest. He desperately wished for the book to work like magic.

"Hm, your presence makes her blush like a peach that turns pink in the sunlight," mused Halsin.

Astarion jumped when the druid suddenly stood behind him and could barely hold back a startled squeak. The wood elf chuckled amused.

"No need to be alarmed, Astarion. It wasn't my intention to sneak up on you."

"But you did," replied the addressed huffily.

Halsin chuckled again, a rich, warm rumble from deep in his broad chest. Astarion imagined how cosy Tav would look spread out on that hairy torso. Next to the druid, she almost seemed dainty. The polar opposite of how she looked next to Astarion. The latter found the thought of being picked up by her alluring though – and rather hot.

Halsin cleared his throat und Astarion realised his mind had drifted away while his eyes were still staring at the druid's chest. Why was the wood elf so much taller, broader, and bigger than him? Astarion pursed his lips, slightly peeved.

"I do feel flattered by your attention, but it's a bit unnerving that you're so quiet," Halsin told him. His tone was warm, his eyes soft, and his smile genuine.

"Apologies, I was in thoughts," Astarion replied, truthfully. "Now, excuse me, druid, I have a book to read."

When he made his way past Halsin, the latter murmured: "Tav likes you."

"Obviously. Everyone likes me," the vampire spawn spoke with a wink.

The other man sighed.

"That's not what I meant. She... She has a big heart and you take up a lot of space in it. Cherish such a gift, Astarion."

The vampire spawn gaped after Halsin who walked deeper into the temple ruins to collect flammable objects to fuel their campfire.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic #astarion #astarion ancunin #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #halsin #karlach #karlach cliffgate #lae'zel #shadowheart #tav #wyll #wyll ravengard #scratch #owlbear cup

[dailyadventureprompts]

So, I mostly just need some advice. I want to introduce stuff like the combat wheelchair into campaigns I run and play in, but some players say it’s “unrealistic” for stuff like that to be in a campaign because “why wouldn’t you just get greater restoration or regenerate casted on you or something”. I know that’s a bunch of bull crap, but I’m not sure what to say to convince them.

Heavy Topics: Disability in Fantasy

I'm going to start this off with saying that people with a lot more education and experience than me have written quite a lot about the inclusion of disabilities in d&d, and I encourage you to seek out their testimonials.

Next, you don't need to convince anybody about introducing things in your campaigns, especially when that introduction is specifically to highlight inclusion and diversity . They're YOUR campaigns, and people that cry "realism" when it comes to matters of inclusion are almost always covering up for their own prejudice.

Now what I can do with expert efficiency is address the bullshit claims that people try to use to support their prejudice, how it doesn't line up with the mechanics of the game, and how it doesn't line up with good storytelling.

TLDR: Disability is a fact of life, and so it is a fact of stories. In trying to brush it aside by saying " oh magic could fix everything" we also brush aside the lived experiences of millions of people, equally deserving as seeing themselves as characters in the fantasy epics we tell. Purely form a storytelling and world building perspective, it's also far more interesting to see how people adapt to challenges then it is to make those challenges simply not exist or be easily fixed by author fiat.

First lets talk over the mechanical issue: In vanilla d&d there's no way to restore lost limbs short of the regeneration spell, which is 7th level and thus requires a 14th level character to cast. 14th level characters are thin on the ground, meaning that your average person would have to undertake an arduous journey to find such a caster willing to perform this working , to say nothing of finding one willing to perform the service for any payment a commoner could provide.

Likewise, regeneration specifies that it's SEVERED limbs that are restored: rules as written it doesn't fix neurological damage, birth defects, or congenial traits. As someone who's needed glasses from youth onwards, I find it hilarious that a flimsy pair of lenses can fix what high level divine magic ( possibly even the wish spell) cannot, but that's more a matter of the designers thinking more about the lives of adventurers than the worldbuilding implicit in their rules.

Turning to 3rd party material and homebrew, we enter into some very interesting territory. There's much back and forth about magic that "fixes" disability outright and where I fall on the discussion tends to land on the idea that said magic lets the character overcome many of the hurdles of their impediment but doesn't negate it completely. Here's some pop culture examples:

Toph from ATLA is always go be the go to for disability representation in media: She's blind, but uses her earthbending powers to be able to sense vibrations in contact with the ground allowing her to "see". In a badly written show, this would totally negate Toph's disability, but thankfully ATLA is written by people who know what they're doing so instead Toph's blindness provides just as many novel drawbacks as it does advantages. Toph can detect things happening on the other side of walls and doors, but is vulnerable to projectiles that don't touch the ground. She can sense if people are lying, but can't read printed text. Force her onto a small, isolated platform or into water and you cut off her ability to see just as much as a fully sighted character in pitch black darkness.

Edward Elric from fullmetal Alchemist is missing an arm and a leg, and uses a pair of integrated robotic "automail" prosthesis which seem to give him all the functionality of a regular set of limbs. That said, any utility the automail provides is matched with whole host of downsides, ranging from their lack of touch, their weight causing discomfort, and the expense of having them in the first place. What's most pressing is that these limbs are mechanical and prone to malfunciton from overuse, requiring Edward to see a specific technician to get them fixed. When they break ( which is often) or simply require refitting, Edward needs to travel days or weeks out of his way and then suffer through a painful process of reattachment in order to get the use of his limbs back.

Professor Xavier from the Xmen is paraplegic, but in many depictions has some kind of hoverchair that lets him go out into the field and navigate difficult terrain without the aid of others or other mobility devices. While certainly an upgrade over a totally mundane wheelchair it again doesn't completely compensate for his inability to walk or his vulnerability should the chair be damaged or taken away from him.

With these examples in mind, we can look at how different 3rd party resources can model various forms of accommodation, giving characters with disabilities the utility they need to go out adventuring, without removing their disability in the first place.

The "combat wheelchair" is a great example of this, giving characters unique options while at the same time making them atleast partially reliant on a somewhat cumbersome object. In terms of logistics, it's not much different than having a centaur in the party and the fact that most dungeons aren't wheelchair accessible just means the party has to do maybe one or two more platforming problem solving challenges.

In my own time running steampunk games I’ve usually instituted a “misfire” rule onto most technology, including the ubiquitous mechanical limbs. A natural 1 using that limb means that the limb is suffering a malfunction, and until the malfunction is fixed, another natural 1 will break it. It’s an easy way to get across that these marvellous contraptions aren't perfect yet.

Now lets talk storytelling:

Upfront I'm going to say that I don't consider myself disabled,I have some mental health hurdles that I have to navigate on the regular, but my body works at a solid 6/10 most days. 

I think there’s a lot potential in examining disability in stories, and not just in the “overcoming adversity” inspiration porn sort of way. The loss of a limb can represent a sacrifice and the toll of war, prejudice against disfigurement can drive a character down a dark path, sometimes there’s no greater thematic reasoning behind it and a character is living with disability because that’s a thing regular people live with. What I will say is that disability introduces vulnerability, a theme that power fantasy games like d&d don’t often deal with as their centeral arc is about characters getting stronger and stronger and stronger until they can challenge the gods. 

Vulnerability runs counter to that desire for strength, but it makes a better story because what a character does with vulnerability makes them a more interesting character: Do they rely on others? Close themselves off? Come to terms with their weakness or strive to overcome it? These are all fascinating questions that you wouldn’t get to ask with a character that was 100% able bodied, well adjusted, and socially accepted.

It’s not a stretch to say that people who have regressive political views are terrified of vulnerability. that’s why the right-wing chuds are so vehemently opposed to the idea that someone with a disability could be a hero. To them, adversity is all about the superior overcoming the inferior, and the thought of someone with weakness or disadvantages, someone they consider “inferior” triumphing against someone stronger is a direct challenge to their place inside their own worldview.

Finally I’m going to leave you with something relating to vulnerability to consider from my own campaigns:

In my home games when someone fails their death saving throws, I generally don’t kill them, killing them cuts the narrative short and I want to see how things play out. Instead I give them an offer: do they pass on into death, or do they let me take something from them? 90% of the time they chose the latter option and I make things interesting. What happens to the master archer who can’t string a bow anymore, or the fame hungry bard who’s scars distract from their performance? What price will the wizard pay to regain the use of her eyes?  Forcing players to confront these questions takes a lot of tact, and a lot of trust, but always yields better stories but given enough time to develop.

Art

#heavy topics #disability #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #5e #dm advice #dm tip #dm tips #dm tools #writing advice