#(can someone put their assets next to each other for me.....)

[heckyeahobjectbattlecity]

ermmmmm teehee

[thetriumphantpanda]

baby, it's cold outside | joel miller

Summary | Patrolling with Joel is always easy, he's your friend after all, but when a snow storm forces you to stop halfway, you're both faced with feelings that you'd both rather ignore, but with nothing but time, talking about them is your only option.

Word Count | 4.2k

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings | Explicit 18+. A snow storm and a cabin with a nice, warm fireplace. Unspecified age gap. Explicit smut - unprotected PiV (don't do this, pls be smart), oral sex (F), size kink if you squint, dirty talk, two idiots who love each other, some negative feelings towards the holidays but nothing else I can think of!

Authors Note | A huge thank you to the wonderful @hellishjoel for setting the 12 days of Pedro up and asking me to take part - this was so much fun to put together and I hope you all love it as much as I do!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Thank you to the wonderful @saradika for the divider!

Despite having lived in Wyoming for years now, the winters were still a surprise to you. Icy cold winds, frosted windows every morning, thick downfalls of snow almost daily and a struggle to get warm no matter how many layers you wore. Some would call it picturesque, and you suppose you could see it, everywhere you turned in Jackson at this time of year, even though it was against the backdrop of the end of the world, it looked like it could adorn the cover of any Christmas card or be the setting for any Christmas movie. It didn’t matter, because you hated it either way.

When the tree went up in the centre of town, and the lights got switched on, it only served to remind you how solitary you were. How you existed mainly entirely on your own. No family, barely any friends, always the talk of the gaggle of girls who would whisper to each other whenever you passed and start laughing to each other, or the boys who always wondered why instead of hanging around with people your own age, you opted to spend it alone, or with someone who was pushing sixty.

Because if there was a single person in this Godforsaken town that you could class as a friend, it was Joel Miller. Quiet, closed off, unapproachable until you chipped away at his hard exterior, just like you in so many ways, it was actually sickening really. You liked Joel, ever since Tommy had put you two together for patrols when Maria had given birth, it was like you’d found someone who finally understood your need to be alone.

Patrolling outside the walls gave you peace, let you leave your loneliness behind for a while, just you and the ground beneath your boots, the feeling that you were doing something wrong, were less of a person because of your lack of friends and relationships left behind at the gate. You’d proven yourself capable more than enough times for Tommy to realise you were an asset. You’d saved more than enough people with your good aim and quick trigger finger, been ruthless in getting rid of raiders who strayed too close to your safe haven, and he knew your need for solitude, which is why he trusted you on these longer routes, on the more complicated patrol rotations, the ones that would get you out of Jackson for a week.

You surmise that’s probably why he chose to pair you up with Joel. In the two years you’d patrolled together, you’d come to realise that he needed that solitude just as much as you did. A way to leave behind being a father at the gate and remind himself of exactly who he was before. Out here, walking side-by-side next to you, he wasn’t Ellie’s dad, he wasn’t the man who still woke up in cold sweats remembering the heavy weight of his dead daughter in his arms, or that man who had lost almost everyone he’d ever cared for along the way, he was just Joel. Joel, who was more comfortable cradling a rifle in his arms than he was his infant nephew. Joel, who preferred comfortable silence instead of filling the quiet with talk. Joel, who, even when you suspected he hated you at the start, would have protected you to the death no matter what.

You were similar, far more than you’d like to admit, and as the weeks and months had drawn on, and you’d moved into being more comfortable with each other, he really was one of those things you’d wanted for so long. A friend. Someone to rely on, someone to drink with at the end of a hard patrol route, someone who made sure you ate when it was the last thing on your mind, someone who fixed the hole in your roof and put new planks of wood on your porch when you almost fell through it one day, someone who confided in you about how hard he found being a parent again, someone who opened up to you when things started to sour with Ellie. A friend.

He was also someone, in the last six months, that you suspected wanted to be more than your friend. It had started small, with things any good friend would do. He would offer you his arm when you walked during the winter so you wouldn’t slip, started packing double lunch so he knew you’d eat when you’d go out together, but then it was the hand on the small of your back through town, or the way he’d sit close to you in the bar, knees knocking against yours just so he could put a hand on your knee to apologise for getting too close.

And it’s not like you didn’t see that in him either. For a man who was almost sixty, he was incredibly handsome, able to do unspeakable things on patrol that neither of you would talk about to anyone else, strong in a way you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. Sure, his hearing was shot in one ear, his middle soft with age, and his hair and beard peppered with grey hair, but Joel Miller was a sight.

But, what if you’d read his signals wrong? What if his kindness and that warm hand on your knee was just him being a Southern gentleman? You throw yourself at him and he doesn’t feel the same, what happens then? You lose one of the very few friends you’ve ever had, and that’s somehow worse than knowing you’ll never know what the feel of his skin is like under your touch or what it sounds like when he moans your name for you.

The patrol route is brutal this day, wind and snow making it hard to see anything in front of you. You and Joel had to shout loudly to each other in order to hear anything, so when you stumble across the cabin, halfway through the route, you both decide that it’s best to head inside, get warm and wait out the worst of the storm before carrying on. Safer that way, is what Joel said, but you think it’s got more to do with the cold on his joints than the safety. Even at your younger age, your bones were certainly aching.

The wind whips a flurry of snow into the abandoned cabin when Joel pushes the door open, ushering you inside quickly, shutting the door quickly behind the two of you before more snow can follow you in. He sets his rifle down near the door and his backpack on the worn, moth-eaten couch, kneeling in front of the fireplace.

This particular cabin is a regular stop on this patrol route, an agreement between the residents of Jackson who frequent it to keep it stocked with firewood during the cold season. You silently note to thank whoever had patrolled before you for stacking the fireplace so all Joel really needs to do is set fire to the scrunched paper dotted through the wood to get the warmth of the fire flooding the small front room.

“Reckon we’re here for the long run,” Joel grumbles, holding flat palms up to the flames to warm his hands, “Ain’t no way we’re walking anywhere in that.”

And he’s right, the light of the day is fading fast and even in daylight, the blizzard had been a nightmare to traverse. It’s not like you’re wanting to rush back though, you sometimes wish you could pack everything up and come out here for good, live in your solitude until the end of your days, but for now, just a few more nights away from the place that reminds you just how alone you are will do.

You settle down on the couch, trying to burrow further into the coat around your body, not bothering to take your gloves or your hat off until the flames of the fire are stronger.

“Come sit closer,” Joel murmurs, motioning with his hand for you to sit on the floor next to him, “Warm up a little.”

You slip down from the couch and scoot along the floor until you’re sat next to him. Joel reaches over and takes hold of your wrist, gently pulling off your glove, “They’re damp,” He states, reaching for your other hand to do the same, “Take your coat off too, you’ll get a chill otherwise.”

Working to unzip the front to pull it off, whilst Joel throws an extra few pieces of wood on the fire, you settle a little bit closer to the flames, feeling the warmth start to seep through your other layers. He stands, taking your coat and his, hanging them on either end of the fireplace to dry out a little, then he sits back down next to you, although a little closer than he had been before, so close that you can feel the heat of his body next to you.

You take a moment to steal a look up at him, his body larger than yours, towering a little next to you, but in the glow of the flames he’s fucking breathtaking. You get lost in tracing his jaw and the hook of his nose with your eyes that he’s turning his head to face you before you can turn away from him. He catches you with that small smile that is saved only for his family normally, Ellie, Tommy, sometimes Maria, and now, more often, you. So you smile back at him, let the warmth lick through your body, and before you realise it, he’s leaning his, broad shoulders bumping yours as his face gets closer, and God, it would be so easy to let him do it, move your face towards him, press your lips to his and burn it all to hell, but as he inches closer, that pit is opening in your stomach, bubbling anxiety and dread, so as he inches closer, you have to stop him.

You bring one of your fingers up to press against his lips gently, watching as he purses them against your touch a little, but then his eyes open when you speak, so softly, so quietly that he almost missed your plea, “Please don’t.”

It’s like you’ve burnt him with the way he not only drags his face from you, but his whole body, putting so much distance between the two of you that you almost cry. He clears his throat, running his hand over his face, “Right,” He mumbles, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” You insist, not meeting his eyes though, “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Stupid of me,” He shakes his head, “Just thought-” He sucks in a breath and pushes it out on a sigh, “Thought maybe you’d feel the same, but it was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid, Joel,” You sigh, finally turning to him, “It’s okay.”

“Makes sense,” He shrugs, eyes boring holes into the flames in front of you, “I’m old, too old for you to want me.”

“It has nothing to do with you being too old for me Joel, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about that.”

You expect him to drop it, like he often does with these kinds of conversation, the ones that involve feelings, but he doesn’t.

“Then what is it?”

“Well, it has nothing to do with your grey hairs or your creaky fucking knees, that’s for sure.”

He’s looking at you with a look that says to get fucked, hurry up, tell him the real reason for all this.

“I could be shit in bed for all you know.”

“Well that’s easy to rectify, just need a little practice.”

It makes you snort, “Can we be fucking serious for a minute, Miller?”

“You’re the one who said it first.”

“What happens when it goes tits up?” You ask, “When you get bored of me, or realise I’m not what you thought I was, what happens then?” He opens his mouth to respond to you, but you beat him to it, “I lose my best friend, that’s what happens, the only person in this Godforsaken world that I have, and I don’t want that, I don’t want a world where I’m without you.”

“Who says it’s going to go tits up?” He counters, “Baby, I’m old, I ain’t gonna go running off, I just want somethin’ good, somethin’ happy, and I want that with you,” Just like you had done before, he starts talking again before you can add something, “Put your faith in somethin’, darlin’,” He’s moving back towards you now, shifting closer, “Put your faith in, me.”

It sounds so easy when he says it like that, because you had once before, without even realising. Let him in, let him get close, to know everything you’d been through, share everything he’d been through. You let him sit with you late at night in the summer, strumming his guitar on your porch, he lets you share his whiskey when you need it.

“I’m still gonna be your best friend,” He urges, that warm palm resting on your knee, “That ain’t gonna change, we’re just gonna add to it.”

And for some reason, it snaps, all of your good judgement and everything that was holding you back. His face is cradled in your palms before you know it, your body straddling his lap as your mouth slants over his, a surprised gasp swallowed by your mouth as his lips open against yours, his hands coming to rest on the globes of your ass through your jeans, pulling you closer, chest flush to chest as you soak this in.

Hands dropping to the collar of his shirt, you start to slowly unbutton it, mouth still against his, tongue tasting him as your fingers push button after button through their holes until you can push it from his shoulders, drag his arms from it, drag his undershirt from it’s place tucked into his jeans.

Joel gasps when your hands make contact with the skin under it, fingers still slightly icy from the cold, but that too is swallowed by your mouth, as is the moan that drags from your throat when he bucks his hips into yours.

He pulls away from your lips, forehead pressed to yours as you both breathe deeply, “Don’t seem shit in bed so far.” He chuckles.

“I was fucking with you Joel,” You smile, punctuating it with a roll of your hips into his, “I’m a delight in bed.”

“Prove it.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“This is the floor Joel,” Which earns you a squeeze to your ass, “I’ve never fucked someone on the floor before.”

Before you know what’s happening, he’s flipped you over, your back pressed to the dusty wooden floor, his body looming over yours, fingers picking the button of your jeans apart, pulling the zipper down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down your legs, underwear along with them too, before they’re thrown behind him somewhere, forgotten as he parts your knees, legs spread, exposed to him, and you think you might die from the way he looks at you. You bury your head into your shoulder, trying to escape his gaze as he drags his thumb along your folds, growling when he feels how wet you are just from his mouth on yours.

You’re vaguely aware of the sounds of his feet hitting one of the armchairs behind him as he lowers his chest to the floor, hands pulling at your hips, your back dragging across the wooden floor as his mouth presses a single, feather-light kiss to your clit. The smallest of touches to your body has your back arching into him.

How long has it been? Not since you fucked someone, because in the grand scheme of things that hasn’t been too long. No, how long has it been since someone actually made you feel good? Years, you think. Too long. Too long since sex was anything more than just stress relief, pressed against the brick wall by the Tipsy Bison, letting someone fuck you so you could feel something, giving them the bragging rights of fucking the town outcast in return.

This is different. So different. Joel is slow with it, parting you in front of his face with his thumbs, tongue swirling through the slick you’re not even embarrassed about now, tasting you, drinking you in, before he drags his perfect mouth up, lapping gently at your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Taste so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He coos against your skin, his praise making you preen, hips chasing the feeling of his mouth on you, he chuckles at your desperation, “How long’s it been since someone made you feel good, huh?”

Your fingers tangle in the curls on his head, dragging him back down to your cunt to silence him, “Too long.” Is all you offer as he feasts on you.

Tongue swirling, lips suckling, fingers digging into the skin of your hips, dragging you slowly but surely to the edge, the fire in your blood no match for the fire against your skin. He’s fucking good at this, knows exactly how to listen to your moans, the way you pull at his hair when he does something you like, collecting the little gasps and hip movements until he’s working a pattern on your pussy that makes you feeling like you’re going to explode, combust, maybe even die a little.

“Don’t stop,” You urge, breathless, sheen of sweat settling across what skin of yours is exposed to the flames near to you, “Gonna - fuck Joel - gonna cum.”

That’s when he pushes two of his fingers into you. Hooking them up inside of your cunt, your legs dropping open further than you thought possible as he works you and works you. You’ve gone quiet, letting out only short breathes when holding them in makes your head light, fingers so tight in his hair that you think it’s probably hurting.

Then, you think you find God, right there on the dirty, dusty floor, when the coil snaps inside of you. Your back arches off the floor, thighs clenched around Joel’s head as his tongue continues the flicks against your clit, ignoring the high-pitches whines of too much, Joel listening instead to the movement of your legs, the way your entire body convulses until you truly are spent for him.

Joel pushes himself up onto his knees, dragging his undershirt over his head, pulling his belt through its loops as you’re sitting up, dragging the upper portion of your clothes off, naked on the floor for him, the flames from the fire keeping you warm, even if your nipples do pebble and peak against the cold.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel breathes out as your hand settles on your pussy, fingers dragging through the slick to lazily move over your clit, “I wish you could see yourself right now, baby,” He crones, pushing down his jeans, cock springing free, immediately clasped in his fist, movements slow as he watches you touch yourself, “Pretty as a fuckin’ picture.”

His body falls forward, coverings yours, but this isn’t what you want. Hand on his chest, you’re pushing him back, “Wanna ride you, Joel.” You whine.

Like a kid on Christmas, he’s on his back in seconds, jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles because if you’re not sinking down on him in the next few seconds, he’s going to scream. You settle your thighs on either side of his hips, his cock, heavy and throbbing against his stomach. He’s watching you, as you take the base of him in your hand, line him up with that aching core of yours, head notching into you, where you just keep him for a moment, let him stretch you as you ground yourself with palms on his chest, sinking down, inch by inch until he’s fully buried inside you, warmth wrapping around him, just like the warmth from the fire against his skin.

You start moving your hips, his cock so deep in you he swears if he put a palm on your lower belly, he’d feel himself through your skin with the way you’re grinding against him, head thrown back, mouth dropped open. He wishes he could take a photo of this. He doesn’t think he’s seen a nicer sight in his life.

“It’s a lot, ain’t it baby?” He coos, hands on your hips, guiding your movements, he knows he’s big, been told enough times through his life, but the way you’re slow, getting used to him inside him, has him on the verge of spilling inside you already.

“So big, Joel.” You whine, leaning back now, hands on his knees which have moved up, his feet planted on the floor now, and God alive, if he thought you were a sight before, you’re a fucking masterpiece now as you start bouncing on his cock.

He can’t help himself, he is only a man after all, his hands trailing up the curves of your side, taking hold of your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, listening to the way you sing for him. Somehow, he finds core strength from somewhere, pushes himself up, one hand behind him to prop him where he is, as his mouth sucks a nipple into his mouth, rolling that pebbled peak with his tongue, your arm wrapping around his shoulders to steady yourself against him, hips still working against his, finger tangling in the curls near his neck, keeping his mouth anchored right where it is.

Joel pulls off you, a wet smack from his lips as he looks up at you with those beautiful brown orbs, “Feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” He praises, “So tight around me, like you were made for me.”

“Wanna feel you,” You moan, head dropping against his shoulder, “Wanna feel you come for me.”

He’s wrapping his arms around your back, dragging you down with him as he rests himself back on the floor, your chest pressed to his as he finally takes control. Feet planted on the floor with your teeth digging into his shoulders, he fucks up into you, the cabin filled with nothing but breathy moans and a lewd smack of skin as he pounds himself into you. In an ideal world he’d focus on making you come again, feeling you clench around his cock as you fall apart would be incredible, but he thinks there will be time for that later.

He’s so fucking close, you can feel it, the way his fingers are gripping t every inch of skin they can reach, the way his hips are faltering and how your name is more of a feature on his lips. You let out a surprise squeal as he flips you both, your back now to the ground as his cock slips out of you, his fist replacing the wet heat of your cunt as the warmth of his cum splashes across your lower belly, a howl, not unlike an animal, falling from his mouth as he paints you, claims you as his own with those ropes of cum across your skin.

When all is said and done, and he’s taken in the sight of your skin splashed with his spend, the two of you lying in front of the fire, one blanket dragged from the bed on the floor to soften the harsh wood, another pooled around both your hips, this feels like home. Both you and Joel, led on your side, watching each other, and the flickering light of the fire bathes you both in orange, in warmth.

His hand traces your face, thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he leans in to kiss you. Hours later, with harsh wind and snow still swirling outside, he brushes a thumb across your nipple, your hand reaching down between you to find him hard again. He puts you on your back this time, creaky knees be damned, slides his cock into your aching cunt once more, fucks you slowly, the entirety of his weight pressed against you. That orange glow almost convincing you that this was before, when things were normal, romantic even, as his lips leaves tiny bruises across your skin.

When he’s marked you once more as his, cum splashed from your pussy to your tits, he lies back down, the broad expanse of his back to the dying embers of the fire, your back pressed to his front, his arm snaked under your neck, urging you to sleep, and as you drift off, Joel’s hot breath against the skin of your ear, his other arm draped loosely over your waist, you pray that the snow is just as bad in the morning, because if it were possible, you want to return even less now, want to remain huddled next to Joel, on the floor, for the rest of your life.

[maleyanderecafe]

A Double Sided Mirror (Visual Novel)

Created by: Glass Berry Studios

Genre: Horror/Romance

This r18 game is very well put together, especially in the quality of it's assets. This game is entirely voice acted, though in Spanish and it is a joy to play through. I think between the two "forms" I like Charlie a lot better than I like Charles since I really love softer and shyer boys. If you like this game you can check out more of them at @adoublesided

The story starts out with a call between Charlie and his sister, Lucy. Lucy seems to have had a nightmare while Charlie assures her that it's not her fault. Lucy seems to feel guilty that if she had not done what she did, Charlie wouldn't have to deal with such horrible things. Lucy apologizes for calling Charlie late at night, with Charlie mentioning that he has a date in the morning, causing Lucy to freak out a bit, stating that he's not ready to go on dates. A myserious voice explains that it's the reason why Charlie didn't tell her, with Lucy responding negatively.

We cut to the MC the next day wondering about their date. It seems that they have broken up at least fairly recently. They end up meeting up at the mall and wait for their date, however, after a while, it seems that he is never coming. Out of annoyance and anger, the MC ends up going to a cafe nearby and ordering something to drink. After waiting and talking to a scary barista named Cameron, she walks up to them and gives them cake, along with a note. It seems that the cake was bought by someone in the cafe, as Cameron ends up pointing at and it's the person that the MC was supposed to be on a date with, with the note apologizing for being too shy to talk to them.From there, the MC can either decide to talk to him or be creeped out.

If the MC decides to meet up with him, they'll huff about how late the date is and goes to talk to him. He is, first and foremost extremely nervous to see the MC, even telling them that he was trying to get the courage to apologize.

If the MC reassures him, he will start getting happily flustered before the MC starts eating the cake. The MC expresses their appreciation and offers to give some to him as well. He gets flustered as there's only one spoon and gets even more so when the MC feeds him suddenly. He basically gets so nervous he has to eat some drugs to calm down, though when the MC apologizes, he mentions that the drugs are for a condition he's had for a while. The MC wonders why he didn't tell them about his condition, with him stating that he didn't want to think that he was weak and not want to go out with him (which sidenote, that would make me want to go more out with him because bulliable and I like weakness in my men, anyways), which the MC reassures him about. He thanks them as no one has ever said that before, before the MC offers to go on another date with him. They also ended up eating all the cake much to their surprise. Before leaving, he has a big outburst wanting to exchange numbers. They also don't know each other's name as the app makes the two of them exchange nicknames for safety reasons (which seems weird but what do I know about dating apps), and the two introduce each other, with him introducing himself as Charlie. The MC rides the subway back, but while there sits next to someone who is very creepy. The MC feels extremely uncomfortable and panicked and leaves as soon as it hits their stop. When getting back, they are spooked by the sudden notification from Charlie before going to check the fridge, seeing that it's empty. After wishing that they had some more of that cake, the world seems to glitch before the MC notices that a cake did seem to be in the fridge the entire time. They end up eating it before bed and texting Charlie before going to sleep.

If they feel instead off about the situation, they'll talk more sternly to him, not even sure if he is the date at all. He will prove it by showing them their profile, but as they wonder about how they knew where they were after the date, he will then transform into a more confident version of himself. The MC seems to not remember what happened, but as he flirts with them, they realize they didn't tell him that they're not really interested in dating at the moment but rather just meeting new people. When they do tell him, he seems to be amused at the fact that they would think that's bad. When the MC does ask him on another date, he goes back to his shy version again. The story then continues as above.

If the MC is creeped out, they'll realize that it's very strange that he'd know where they were, considering that the cafe was pretty far away from their original meeting place. The MC becomes paranoid that he's been following them around and feels fear of what he could do. They end up throwing away the cake and confronting him, talking about how they waited for a long time and that a cake isn't enough to fix this issue. The guy starts shaking before the MC basically tells him that they never want to see him or interact with him again. The MC then leaves, becoming increasingly paranoid that he is following them and rushes into a nearby bookstore. Once there, someone mistaken them as a bookshop employee before coming back and asking if they are alright. The MC can then decide if they want to tell him or not.

If they decide not to, he will leave, leading to the MC bumping into someone else (who looks kind of like Charlie). He apologizes and notes the MC's behavior. To bring their mind off of their other date, he offers to buy them something near the food court. The MC seems to reject sweets at the moment as it reminds them of Charlie, so instead opts into eating something spicy. The guy ends up buying some spicy wings for them instead. After eating, the guy tells the MC that he actually did seem them in the bookstore and wanted to talk to them, but ended up bumping into them before actually figuring out a way to do that. He introduces himself as Charles and the MC asks for their number, to which he hesitantly says the he left his phone at home, asking for them to instead write down their number so that they can call them later. When getting back, they are trapped in a downpour, but Charles ends up bumping into them and offering them his umbrella for them to both be under. The two of them end up talking, with Charles mentioning that he was using this an excuse to not go to his family's gathering and to hang out with the MC. After some more light flirting, the MC ends up in their apartment, texting Charles before bed and going to sleep.

If they do tell him, the guy will help try to get them away from Charlie and even offers to walk them home. He introduces himself as Jeremy and promises to keep the MC safe. While doing so, we are interrupted by a not very happy creature (presumably Charlie) before going back to normal. As the two of them walk out of the mall, the MC and Jeremy hold hands (out of safety). The MC is able to arrive at their apartment safely and gets a text from Jeremy who asks if they are safe. After this, they notice that they've forgotten to buy food as the fridge is empty and goes to sleep hungry. Before falling asleep they notice that someone (Charlie) seems to be crawling up from the foot of their bed.

I just have to say first of all that this game is really well made for a demo, from the voice acting to the cameos in the backgrounds, to the UI and sprites, everything looks very polished. The more jump scary horror scenes are really good too, with the one where Charlie at the foot of the bed actually making me flinch because I wasn't expecting it. One of the more minor issues I do have is with the trigger warning screen and only because having to open up the game over and over again and having to wait a minute for the trigger warning to finish is pretty tiring. I would have liked it better if perhaps there was a way to skip it on second viewing by clicking on it. This is a pretty minor thing compared to the rest of the story going on.

In this game there are seemingly two yanderes, Charlie and Charles, who are the same person, but are able to change appearance and personality. From what I can tell, Charlie/Charles are closer to being an entity that is trying to become human that is attached onto Charlie. Charlie seems to be the dominant personality of the two as he's not only the first version we see in all routes but also the one we see calling Lucy in the beginning. From what I can tell, the personality/appearence tends to change into Charles when Charlie becomes majorly uncomfortable, as seen when he does turn into a more confident version of himself as well as when we end up seeing Charles after rejecting Charlie. It's likely related to the pulls that Charlie ends up eating in one of the routes after he starts shaking really badly. It does make me wonder if the Charles personality can suddenly appear if something happens, or if Charlie's personality would basically be gone for good. It would also explain the sudden change in his eye color and general appearance as his clothes also change pretty drastically (at least in terms of style, not so much clothing colors).

To no one's surprise, I like Charlie more than Charles because god he's so cute when he's shy. I actually streamed this game to @meo-eiru and we both agree that while he needs to get an outfit change he is way too adorable. The voice actor did a good job making him very shy and changing into Charles or when Charlie becomes a more confident person. From what we can tell Charlie seems to have stalked the MC for a while, even knowing that they went to cafe, but too shy to have actually talked to them, even knowing what kind of cake that they would like. He seems to have some sort of power as well that's shared with Charles, being able to change reality in some sort of way, either by changing his appearance/ personality, but also manifesting items as well, like when the MC wished to eat the cake that Charlie had gotten them only to find it glitched into their fridge. Like I said, Charlie seems to be the "base" personality of the character, likely affected heavily by whatever Lucy did to make him this way and seems to change under stress. So it could be possible that this is some sort of DID, however, it doesn't explain the glitches in reality that tends to happen in the game when it does happen. Most of the time though, we were both like go back to Charlie every time he became Charles. Stay Charlie, you're really cute.

Charles on the other hand is more closer to standard yandere love interests in these types of vns, being a lot more open and flirty with the player and confident. He does have his cuter side to him as well though like when he was spreading his arms excitedly when talking to the MC. Much like Charlie, we do know that Charles does follow the MC around as when he coincidentally was near their apartment when they go home in the rain as well as just bumping into them into the bookstore, though we don't know to what extent Charles and Charlie know of each other. He is at least aware enough that the MC does not want to see Charlie again, thus has to pretend that he's left his phone at home as to not let them know that they actually matched on the dating app. Apart from that, we don't really know too much of the extent of his yandere actions, at least not in the game, since we don't know exactly how much of it intersects with Charlie. We also learn from him that he's not on best terms with his family as he has been avoiding his family reunion, which does sort of make sense considering the interaction we see in the beginning where Lucy (from what I can tell) doesn't react too happily with Charles's response.

Conceptually in the game, there are a lot of mysteries that have been set up already, from Lucy and Charlie/Charles's relationship to who exactly Charlie and Charles are, to what's going on with all the glitches in the story to who if Cameron is going to get killed or not, so we'll have to see what will happen in the future. I do like the concept of yanderes that change depending on the player's actions (because I'm not biased at all as my game, Perfect Love, also does something similar) since that leads to a lot of possibilities. It's already pretty well made from what we see in the demo, so I'm sure it'll be something great to see whenever the full game is finished.

Overall, good game, with an intriguing mystery and well made. Charlie is the best boy and I hope I get an ending where I can kill him with my bare hands (lovingly or otherwise). I would recommend playing this game if you are interested in it.

As a bonus, have a meme that @meo-eir made after playing the game.

[plussizefantasia]

Trust Issues

Bucky x BlackCat!reader

Chapter 2/6 of the BlackCat!reader story that I had a request for!

<Prev / Next>

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Language, Bucky and Reader being kinda mean to each other.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The first words Barnes has uttered in nearly two hours. “There's only one fucking bed.” It didn’t occur to you to ask the front desk woman if there would be two beds, after all, you and Bucky were supposed to be playing a couple this weekend and couples didn’t need two beds. “Well buck up, Buckaroo, looks like we're sharing for the weekend."

“I’m not sharing a bed with you, you kick in your sleep and snore like a buzzsaw.”

“You’re a filthy liar Barnes, I do not snore.”

“No comment on the kicking?” He raises an eyebrow at you. You just roll your eyes and push further into the room. 

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the ground. So you can either be a chivalrous manbaby and curl up in that tiny-ass armchair or be a grown-ass man and split the bed with me. Your choice.”

Bucky grumbles under his breath, in a language that you don’t speak but hearing it admittedly sends a shiver running down your spine. You don’t really have time to stay and talk him out of his funk. The two of you are only here for the three nights and the last night was the gala so any and all recon needs to be done before then. 

Of course, the team of low-ranking agents who just want to do their fucking part to save the world or some bs like that have already put together a file of information for you. You’ve been burned before though and like to take care of yourself more often than not.

So you inwardly thank Tony Stark for the nice digs and head to the bathroom to get changed into your suit. 

You want to scope out the event space tonight as well as the governor's office the only problem was that the two buildings were practically on opposite sides of the city and you’ll have to take pretty much the whole night in order to get what you need. 

That means despite the fact that you are ridiculously tired from being in the car all day you’ll have to dawn your fur-lined catsuit right away and book it to the State Capital building before the last of the over-caffeinated halfway to burnt-out political interns leave for the night and your usual slip-in-behind-someone-who-isn’t-paying-attention entrance will fall off the table.

You pretend that you don’t see Bucky’s eyes bulge when you walk out of the bathroom in your full get-up, but you feel flattered nevertheless. There’s something to be said about the way donning your suit makes you feel, when you have the mask on and the suit zipped all the way up you feel invincible, powerful, badass, and let’s not kid anyone, sexy as hell.

The way Bucky can’t keep his eyes off you as you move about the room gathering the things you’ll need for your night of recon makes you think that he’s on the same page as you about that last one. But that’s all it is, you remind yourself. You’ve got good assets and when they’re tightly wrapped in a nice little bow they look alright, Barnes doesn’t like you he’s a man… he likes tits and ass. They all do. 

“I’m heading downtown, need to scope out entrances and exits and see if there’s anything in the governor's office that could help us bring him down.”

“I’ll come with.” Bucky moves to grab the bulletproof leather jacket that Steve had gotten him for Christmas this past year.

“Thanks but no thanks Barnes, I’m perfectly capable of doing recon on my own. Besides, you’re not exactly what I would call… stealthy.”

“I’m stealthy as fuck kitty.”

“Don’t call me kitty, and whatever you need to tell yourself, old man. I'll be back. Treat yourself to room service or something, I heard brooding makes you hungry.”

“I don’t brood.”

“And I don’t snore. See, we can both lie.”

Your night is uneventful. The only thing catching your eye is how suspiciously squeaky clean the governor's computer is. You don’t find much that can help you in your mission. The ballroom is a bust too although you do manage to come up with several escape routes should things go sideways the night of the gala. You end up rolling back into the hotel room at around three-thirty in the morning. Not expecting Bucky to still be awake you try your best to make as little noise as possible so that you don’t wake him.

It ends up not being necessary as he is already awake, lounging in the armchair nursing a glass of whisky, and staring at the door you've just come through.

“Don’t tell me you waited up for me? That’s so sweet Barnes.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to tell Fury that his favorite pet got in some trouble.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Barnes, I am not Fury’s pet any more than you're Steve’s.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He scoffs and takes another sip of his drink.

“Well, you’re off the hook I guess I’m back safe and sound so you can finally go about getting some much-needed beauty sleep.”

“You really can’t take anything seriously, can you? I’ve been waiting here for hours because you left without letting me in on your little plan.” Bucky stands up and places his glass on the side table next to him. You have no idea where the hell this anger he has is coming from but you’ll be damned if you let him talk to you like this. “We’re supposed to be doing this mission together and the first moments you’re left to your own devices you run off and risk yourself unnecessarily.” He's getting heated and it's rubbing off on you.

“What the hell is your problem James?  I didn’t ask you to wait for me! You’ve been a bit of an ass all day and I’m really fucking tired of it. I’m here to do my fucking job, are you?” Hindsight is a bitch though and you realize after you say the words to him that poking the bear is probably not your best option at the moment, nevertheless, you’re a glutton for punishment so you dig in even more. “I mean first you get all moody in the car because of some shit you brought up in the first place, then you stay up waiting for me like you’re my dad or some shit making sure I get home safe. I know that you don’t like me, I get it and if I’m completely honest I don’t really like you either. No matter what you think or want though, we have a mission to complete and I’ll be damned if I let some metal-armed brute fuck up my perfect completion record.” You don’t really remember taking breaths but obviously, you have or you’d be passed out after that long ass speech. 

It doesn’t get you the reaction you want though, instead, Bucky just clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and lets out some long-suffering sigh like you’re the bane of his existence or some shit. You let him throw his grown-man tantrum and don’t move to stop him from huffing and puffing around the room until he goes to lie down on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you ask, every syllable dripping with exasperation.

“Sleeping, what does it look like?”

“Yeah, I can see that your trying to sleep like a caveman on the cold hard ground what I don’t understand is why, given the big ass bed right here.” You carelessly lift one hand and gesture towards the California King bed with admittedly really comfy-looking sheets spread across it. 

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you Kitty, I thought I had told you that.” He practically snarls.

“I thought you were kidding. What? Afraid you’ll get cooties or something?” 

“I’m not sharing a bed with you Y/N. Drop it.”

“Fine. You know what? Fucking be like that.” You grab a pillow off the bed and throw it down at him. Before grabbing one for yourself and taking up position on the floor a few feet away from him.

“What are you doing?” 

“Funny, I thought I just asked you that.” You reply laying down on the ground with your back towards him.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor Y/N it’ll mess up your back.” `“Well then I guess you have a choice to make. Either you get over yourself and we both get to share the nice bed, I’ll even put up a pillow wall to protect your dignity if you’re that worried about it.  Or we both sleep on the floor and I wake up tomorrow morning as grumpy as you because my back hurts.” You let the silence reign for a few seconds after you're done, still facing away from him and waiting for him to make the decision.

“God you’re so annoying you know that?” Bucky groans out as he moves to sit up and make his way towards the bed.

“I’ve been told it’s one of my best qualities.” You stick your tongue out at him and follow him to the bed. You follow through with your promise of a pillow wall placing three pillows length-wise between the two of you. Afterward, you turn around and turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. 

You wait for a few minutes thoughts racing endlessly in your mind. “Bucky?” You call out.

“What?” he mumbles back.

“Will you tell me a bedtime story?” You ask.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?

“Go the fuck to sleep.” You do.

_________________________________________________

The next morning you wake up to an empty bed, but an intact pillow wall so deem the night a success. Rolling over to check the bedside clock you see that it’s about seven and groan at the fact that Bucky’s absence apparently woke you up an hour before you had planned.

Bucky’s absence doesn’t last long, however, as minutes later he comes strolling into the room. He’s wearing a simple grey tee shirt and some black sweatpants but the entire front of his shirt is soaked making the grey a darker shade than it was originally. Similarly, his hair is dripping wet and you honestly can’t tell if he’s taken a shower yet or if he's just soaked with sweat. What confuses you more is that you don’t know which you’d prefer.

“Morning Sarge.” You call out from your place in bed. Bucky jumps a little like he forgot that you’d be in the room. 

“Morning.” He mumbled before making a swift turn and essentially hiding away in the ensuite bathroom. When you hear the shower turn on you know he's still in a mood from last night. You swear to whatever god there might be that this man is going to be the death of you. 

“I’m calling room service for breakfast do you want anything?” You shout at the bathroom door.

“Eggs and toast.” He calls back. You roll your eyes at his basic order but relent anyway and pick up the phone to call for the food. 

His shower finishes right about the same time that the food arrives. When he walks out of the bathroom in just a towel wrapped around his waist and a smaller one in his hand ruffling his hair to dry it you about choke on the food you hadn’t even started eating yet.

“Your foods over there.” You point to the little sitting area on the opposite side of the room from you. You're sitting crisscross across the ottoman at the foot of the bed. A plate of stuffed French toast with a side of sliced peaches perched on your lap.

“I figure that we should probably talk about the plan for the rest of the weekend, to avoid any more… angst between us.” You speak between bites of your breakfast.

“I thought we already had a plan but apparently that doesn’t mean much to you does it.” He turns his body to face you and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m not starting the morning off like this, James. You can either talk to me like an adult or you can sulk in the corner it’s your choice.” 

“I don’t sulk.”

“For a guy who doesn’t sulk or brood you sure spend a lot of time doing both.”

“I just- I don’t know why you always have to be putting yourself at risk.” You aren’t prepared for the tone shift of the conversation.

“I’m an adult Bucky, I can make those kinds of choices for myself.”

“I know you can, I just don’t see why you feel the need to.”

“What do you mean?” You can physically feel yourself start to get defensive. 

“I mean that for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always gone the extra mile, covered every base that needs to be covered and even some that don’t. You push yourself to the point of exhaustion and you don’t seem to care. You do the job of ten people when you don’t need to and it makes me tired just watching you.”

“I-”

“I wasn’t finished. Take last night for example. You went out and re-did recon that our team already did for us because you didn’t trust that they had done enough and what did you find? Nothing. Nothing that you didn’t already know from reading the mission file.”

“When did this become a fucking therapy session? I don’t recall giving you my insurance information Dr. Barnes and I’m not sure I can pay your hourly rate.” You try to deflect. He's right, you didn’t find anything new and you’d been a little pissed at yourself because of it, but you don’t need that shoved back into your face.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Push away your real feelings with jokes, Peter and Tony do the same thing and it drives me up the wall.” He stares at you.

“I don’t know what you want from me Bucky. I don’t know who you want me to be, you call me a kiss-ass when I try too hard, but you’ve been pretty clear on the fact that you don’t think I can be redeemed. You seem to care about me and yet give me shit about anything and everything that I do. I don’t know what to think or feel around you and it throws me off.”

“I do care about you.” 

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything. You and Bucky sit in silence for what could’ve been seconds minutes or hours. Neither one of you is willing to be the one who breaks the spell that has settled over the room. Both of you are saved by the bell when Bucky’s phone rings on the desk in front of him.

“It’s Steve, I’ll be right back.” He gets up and moves to take the call out in the hallway. You still don’t say anything. But you do flop onto your stomach across the bed the moment the door closes behind him. 

You grab the nearest pillow to your outstretched hand and bring it to your face, screaming into it and letting out as many muffled curse words as you can before you run out of air. When you’re done throwing your mini tantrum you stand up, run a hand through your hair, and take in the deepest breath you’ve ever taken in. 

It seems that Bucky’s call with Steve is going to go longer than you thought so you might as well get ready for the day. You put on the flowing wide-leg pants and halter tank that you packed, it gives just the right amount of classy that goes along with your cover in case you needed to interact with anyone, while still being easy to move in and pretty damn comfortable to boot.

You return to your perch at the foot of the bed, this time with the mission files in your hands. Despite how many times you’ve poured over them you still want to make sure that you’re ready for the gala tomorrow night. The best use of your time right now is trying to figure out the best way to get close to the Governor at the party.

Since his computer had been a bust the best way to get him was going to be a verbal confession to some of his backroom dealings. Maybe with more time, you’d be able to pull together a bit more of a sting operation and pull out all the stops trying to catch him but you were on a time crunch. The gala is tomorrow and then after that the governor starts his reelection campaign.

Bucky walks back into the room and throws his phone on the bed next to you, “Steve said the analysts back home got word that there’s a new player to be aware of tomorrow. The Governor's son is gonna be there, he's been flouncing across Europe for the better part of the last five years and we’re not exactly sure why he’s back but we know it’s important. Think you can handle it?”

“Did you actually just use the word ‘flounce’ in a sentence.”

“Can you handle it or not.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist Barnes, I got this.”

“I don’t doubt it, Kitty, in the meantime though maybe we should do some asking around to see what we can get on the kid.”

“Honestly, James I’m a little hurt that you think I’m that far behind you. Besides, I know exactly where to look to get the answers I’ll need.”

“And where is that exactly?” Bucky looks at you and raises an eyebrow. 

“His Instagram.” Snapchat, Twitter, and any and all other social media you can get your hands on. You know rich kids better than any other group of people in the world, they’re incredibly naive most of the time and some of the easiest targets because they’re sharing their entire lives with the world. If there's something to know about this guy, you’ll find it on his socials. 

You and Bucky spend the rest of the day and well into the night, doing your research. At some point, you’d been given access to the full guest list which allowed you to add some names to your internet stalking session. By two in the morning, you can confidently say that you know this guy and several of the other guests who would be attending better than they knew themselves. 

“Alright doll, it’s time for sleep.” Bucky grabs your laptop and closes the lid before taking it off your lap completely and plugging it in for you.

“What? I was just getting in the groove! I found another rabbit hole.”

“I don't know what that means but I know that it’s late and we have to be on our best game tomorrow so sleep it is.”

“You can sleep, but I need to keep working,” Bucky calls your name.

“This is the type of stuff I’m talking about, working yourself to death. Trust in the work you did today, trust that you’ve got everything you need. I do.”

You will never admit to the way that your heart thumps when you realize just how much faith Bucky has in you. 

“I’ve made that mistake before, trusting myself and trusting others, it never goes well for me.”

“Well then, work yourself to death and be sloppy and tired tomorrow if you want, but do it over there with just a desk lamp because I’m going to bed.”

“Fine. I will.” Stubbornly, you pick up the notebooks and files that surround you and move them all to the too-small desk in the corner of the room. You flick the lamp light on and groan at the dimness of the bulb. Bucky’s words bounce around your skull, you wouldn’t be sloppy. You were never sloppy. Sloppy meant getting hurt or worse. You couldn’t be sloppy.

Fuck. You couldn’t be sloppy, especially with Bucky’s life on the line too. 

You growl low in your throat as you flick the lamp off and begin getting ready for bed, pretending not to hear the triumphant snort that comes from the lump on the bed.

“Scoot over, you fucking starfish, leave some room for me.” You shove at Bucky’s back, nothing happens of course but he takes pity on you and scooches over anyway. “Do I need to construct another pillow wall Your Highness or do you think you’ll be okay for one more night?”

“I think I’ll survive. But know that if you kick me in the middle of the night I reserve the right to shove your ass onto the floor.” 

“Noted.”

[a-d-nox]

greek asteroid observations (part 1)

these observations are completely hypothetical. they are based on my (the those closest to me's) experiences with each aspect/ placement! please don't take everything i say as predestined, astrology is possible outcomes not guaranteed ones. this is just a starting place for when examining singular objects in an entire galaxy (these are not the only asteroids in affect for you). take what resonates and leave what doesn't!

⚡︎ libra (7°, 19°) and taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) adonis (2101) people tend to be very in to "being aesthetic" and making things look aesthetic

⚡︎ people tend to be jealous of 7h adonis (2101) people's lovers/husbands

⚡︎ virgo (6°, 18°) amphitrite (29) people don't reject people lightly; often they end up criticizing them and telling exactly why they won't be with a person who admires them

⚡︎ 7h amphitrite (29) people are likely to get cold feet on their wedding day

⚡︎ mars-amphitrite (29) people often refuse to be the pawn in someone else's game

⚡︎ saturn trine amphitrite (29) people often raise the bar for people's expectations over time

⚡︎ sagittarius (9°, 21°) anteros (1943) people might be the fun idea people but others often get the credit for putting their idea into motion

⚡︎ 9h anteros (1943) people often have a lot of friends in college

⚡︎ saturn opposite anteros (1943) people are prone to feeling alone and as though no one is there for them like they are there for others in their time of need

⚡︎ cancer (4°, 16°, 28°) aphrodite (1388) people tend to have a lot of family drama

⚡︎ virgo (6°, 18°) aphrodite (1388) people can be very critical of their romantic partners

⚡︎ pluto negatively aspecting aphrodite (1388) people often have a lot of obsessive lovers that don't know how to quit / leave them alone post-rejection

⚡︎ nn positively aspecting aphrodite (1388) people may feel fated to help others see/find their beauty

⚡︎ part of fortune negatively aspecting aphrodite (1388) people may feel like they are unlucky in love/romances

⚡︎ air and fire apollo (1862) people are often very poetically inclined, while water and earth apollo (1862) people are often more musically inclined

⚡︎ moon negatively aspecting artemis (105) people might not enjoy the feminine companionships they find in this lifetime

⚡︎ mercury negatively aspecting artemis (105) people tend to be antisocial and often do not feel that they get along well with others

⚡︎ scorpio (8°, 20°) asclepius (4581) people might have a voluntary surgery one day or a cesarean section

⚡︎ 4h and 5h asclepius (4581) people are likely to foster children

⚡︎ 8h asclepius (4581) people, like asclepius himself, often have an idea that will break the mold and scares others

⚡︎ libra (7°, 19°), taurus (2°, 14°, 26°), and/or positive aspects to neptune astarte (672) people are good at hiding in plain sight via clothing, makeup, etc.

⚡︎ 7h astarte (672) people are likely to have a foreign partner they meet in their home country

⚡︎ higher thinking and/or religious beliefs tend to be suffocating to 9h astraea (672) people

⚡︎ mc-astraea (672) people tend to look down on the general populace (they see them as savage or lacking morality)

⚡︎ 7h athene (881) / pallas (2) people are likely to get a divorce at some point in life, but they are likely to walk away with a lot of "shared assets" - they would make great family/martial lawyers

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© a-d-nox 2023 all rights reserved

[your-averagewriter]

Hi,

Can I please request a young!Haymitch x reader where they’re both in the 50th Hunger Games and they team up and there’s like romantic tension (+ some rivals to lovers) and they end up having a steamy make out please?

Word count: 3.4K (I got so carried away here.)

Warnings: Blood, weapons, murder, death, usual Hunger Games warnings, kissing, make out session.

“I think we should work together.” I say, planting myself down on the seat in front of Haymitch.

“And why would we work together?” He says, bringing the fork full of food to his mouth.

“There’s gonna be 48 kids in that arena, do you really want to go in there alone?” I ask him.

“Why would I team up with you?” He asks as if I’m disgusting.

“You know me.” He looks at me unconvinced. “Well, sort of know me. Know of me then.” I correct. “We’re from the same district, similar age and I’ve got a good set of skills. I could be a good asset to you.” I say, with less confidence than I intended as this boy towers over me, even sitting down.

“What skills do you have?” He asks, still doubtful and rightly cautious of me.

“I can track, animals or people. I can identify most if not all plants and roots and I can prepare them for eating. I can also hunt with minimal tools, I only need a blade, the size doesn’t matter.” I say with a smile, content with my pitch.

“And you want to be allies?” He asks.

“Yes. You and me until the final five or six.”

“If we get that far…” He chimes in.

“Yes… If we get that far.” I sigh. “So, what do you think?”

“I’ll work with you but I’m not gonna put myself in danger for you.” He says, with a dark, snarky tone.

“Okay.” I say and chuckle slightly nervously. Having Haymitch with me not only offers me a bit more protection but company and companionship.

“In training tomorrow we can figure out more of a strategy and how this is gonna work.” He says signalling to the two of us. I nod, happy that he’s changed his mindset.

“I’ll see you then.” I say, hopping up from my seat, grabbing a bread roll and leaving the room but not before Haymitch stops me.

“Also, this is exclusive.” He signals to us again. “Don’t go partnering up or inviting other people.” He says and I nod before leaving the room.

------------

“(y/n).” I hear someone whisper as I enter the training room. Slightly overwhelmed by the sight of masses of armed kids in the room and the loud noises they’re all making I turn around, slightly stressed looking for the voice. “(y/n).” I hear again although slightly louder this time and I manage to clock the direction of the voice. Turning to face the voice I’m met with Haymitch sat on one of the benches sharpening a set of knives.

“Hey.” I say quietly, walking over with a smile and sitting next to him. “What are these for?” I ask.

“You. I wanna see how good you are with them.” He says, focusing on the blades.

“I thought we were going to plan a strategy.” I say, confused.

“We can’t plan a strategy if we don’t know what each others’ skills are.” 

“Okay.” I say and he stands up, gripping the knives.

“C’mon.” He says and I follow him blindly towards one of the stations. We move to stand by the throwing mark, luckily the station is unoccupied. “Go on then.” He says passing me three blades for the three targets.

I step forward to stand on the throwing line and take a deep breath before preparing the blades. Each one I throw hits right in the centre of the target (the meaning on the target has taken on a much darker meaning after being thrown in these Games). I turn around to see Haymitch with a small smirk on his face causing a hint of a smile to emerge from mine.

“I told you I could hunt.” I say and tries to suppress his smile.

“You did. Okay, you’ve held up your end of the deal, my turn now.” He says and I follow him again through the training room to the weapons rack. Collecting an axe he walks over to a different station to present his skills.

He prepares to throw and hits the bullseye quite impressively and I cheer for him despite him looking back at me with a scowl which only makes me chuckle. It’s funny how an action so small can make you forget about having to fight to the death. 

“That was impressive, where’d you learn that?” I ask.

“I didn’t ask where you learnt to hunt in a district lacking in nature so don’t ask me where I learnt my shit.” I’m taken aback by his response and the abrasiveness of it.

“Sorry.” I say quietly and trail behind him again, suddenly all too aware of the eyes following us.

“It’s fine.” He says reluctantly, the depth of his voice finally revealed. “Let’s just get on with the strategy.”

The next few hours were spent either eating (lunchtime) or spent planning for the arena: tactics, plans, strategy, weapons, everything. Luckily during our planning session he relaxed a little and we ate lunch together (separate to the other tributes, there’s no point getting to know people who we’re gonna kill or will get killed).

-------------

Today’s the interview day which means a day packed full of fancy clothing and fake smiles. Every year we’re forced to watch the Hunger Games and nothing feels more fake than the interviews. This year because it’s a Quarter Quell and there’s double the number of tributes we’ve been paired with another from our District so Haymitch and I are getting interviewed together. 

I’m smothered in perfumes and fragrances and a dress is fitted to me, needles prodded in me on multiple occasions. It’s a fairly horrendous dress - it’s black and form fitting with trails of rock  like material symbolising the coal mines of District 12. I’ve got red lipstick and a fairly generous amount of blush.My hair is pulled back and pinned as tight as they could without pulling it and similar black “gems” are dotted on my head.

Rolling my eyes, I walk out of the dressing room to go and meet Haymitch (who is hopefully dressed better than me but I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re matching) in the tribute queue. I walk through the corridor and curse the black gems stuck to my eyelid preventing me from blinking without them irritating me.

I find the queue and look for Haymitch.

“Haymitch?” I question, craning my neck to see down the line.

“Down here!” I hear him say, sticking his hand out from the line, waving.

I make my way down the line, careful to look out for Haymitch as I trail past the districts, a slight wobble in my step because of the unnecessarily large heels.

“Hey.” I say, finally reaching the end of the line, tripping slightly at the end on my dress but mostly because of my heels.

Haymitch reaches his arms out grabbing onto my hands so I don’t properly fall over. I feel his warm palms against mine and manage to restabilize myself.

“Thanks.” I say, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You look… beautiful.” He says, looking up at me and still holding onto my hands just a little more gently.

“Really? I hate the dress.” I say looking down but luckily the excessive blush covers my natural blush. “The lumpy bits are so tacky.” I say, looking at the things that are meant to represent coals.

“Okay, maybe not the rocky parts…” He says trailing off with a chuckle.

“I can’t believe you don’t have these stupid rock things on your suit, that’s so not fair!” I say and he finally releases my hands to straighten his tie. “You’ve only got the little gems on your tie!” I point out and cross my arms in frustration.

“It’ll be fine. We’re last anyway so most people will have stopped paying attention by then so no one will even care.”

“You don’t think anyone will watch?” I ask, slightly down about it and he seems to ponder the question. “How will we get any sponsors?” I say, disheartened.

“I’m sure our scores of 9 and 10 will help there.” He says with a small smirk referencing our private training sessions that were assessed.

“We did pretty well.” I say.

“Now, you’ve just gotta look pretty and answer their questions with a smile. Shouldn’t be too hard.” He smirks.

“Only if you turn on the charisma and show everyone your dashing smile. Maybe then we’ll get sponsors.” I already have a smile on my face.

“You’re making this too easy to win.” He replies, a smirk planted on his face.

-----------

After a successful interview filled with smiles and sponsors and small flirtatious comments we finally got to sleep, ready for what the next day had coming: The 50th Hunger Games.

I wake up the next morning and after choking down some bread and butter we’re all sent straight to our prep teams then off to the arena.

I get to talk to Haymitch once more before we’re thrown into the arena so it’s our last chance to finalise our plans.

“As soon as we get in the arena you don’t go for the Cornucopia - I’ll grab what I can from the outskirts before meeting you by the edge of the forest or whatever it is, the edge of the Cornucopia. Got it?” He asks, holding onto my hands and emphasising the plan. I try to listen to him but the nerves make it harder and harder by the second.

“Y-yeah.” I manage to breathe out but I can feel my heart thumping in my throat.

“You sure?” He asks, aware of what I’m feeling, at least partially.

“I’ve got it. Basically run.” I say trying a smile but only managing to upturn the edges of my lips. He nods and grips onto my shoulders grounding me before we’re separated.

In my tube (separate from Haymitch) I can’t help a hopeless feeling overwhelm me before we start rising. Finally in the arena, I survey the area, it’s woodland which optimises both our skill sets and offers us resources. My eyes scan across the tributes, searching for Haymitch, he’s a little less than half way around the circle of tributes meaning our positioning could be better but it could be worse.

Looking behind me I check for possible meeting points before spotting a backpack which we were told includes a water bottle, rope, a small weapon (likely to be a knife) and possibly a sort of medicine, bandages or food. My mind replays the conversation I just had with Haymitch about running but the bag is so alluring. Our chances could be greatly increased by the contents of that bag so I make the decision as the countdown starts to race to grab the bag before running.

The clock is counting down and as it reaches the lower numbers I prepare to launch myself off the podium but I’m careful not to step off before the countdown is up.

As soon as I hear the gun fire I dart off of the podium towards the bag keeping an eye on the tributes around me. A lot of them ran but because there’s a greater number of tributes a greater number ran towards the Cornucopia including, surprisingly, me.

Sprinting across the field I feel my heart thumping in my chest, terrified of the prospects of a battle but desperate for the chances the backpack could provide. I get to the bag and reach for it, wrapping my fingers around the straps and hoisting it onto my back before shooting back away, towards the treeline but I feel someone’s hands on my shoulders pushing me to the ground. I fall and knowing it’s not Haymitch I try to roll over and squirm away only to be met with the smirking face of one of the District 4 boys. My chances at life diminish as time goes on and I feel the tears fall down my cheeks as he makes mocking remarks and motions, shoving a knife in my face - playing with me. I try to move out of his way but he has me pinned down by my shoulders and he’s sat on my torso, legs around my waist.

I try to push him off and when he budges, falling off of me I know that it can’t have been because of me. He’s at least twice the size of me, at worst three times.

I look around and shuffle backwards hurriedly trying to remove myself from his grasp. Once I’m out of his reach I turn around to see him being tackled by another boy who then knocks him out but I’m not sure whether he’s dead or not as there’s so many cannons going off it’s hard to tell who's is who's. Now scared of this unknown boy who just beat up my attacker I shuffle further, stumbling as I try to get to my feet but he turns around to reveal a familiar face. Haymitch. I let out a small sigh of relief before he’s running back towards me, grabbing at my arms and yelling at me to run.

I shake my head, slightly, snapping back into the Games realising that these moments define our lives or our deaths. He grabs hold of my arm and I’m careful to grip onto the bag as we run. We make it to the treeline and I watch him turn his head quickly, looking for the other tributes but he makes sure to keep it brief and turns, pulling me into the woodland with him.

We run for what feels like forever but could’ve only been a matter of minutes. There’s no noises other than that of the cannons and our fast breathing, and I swear that I can hear his heart beating over mine. His hand remains securely lodged in mine, careful not to release me as we make our way further into the forest, for I’m not sure how much longer.

After a few more minutes, Haymitch’s pace slows down and I’m glad it does because my lungs feel like they’re gonna explode.

He slowly lets go of my hand as we draw to a stop in a grassy, wooded area. Immediately, I fall to the floor, on my hands and knees to try and catch my breath whilst he stands leaning over, his hands on his knees, gasping like I am. Whilst I can run, I’ve never run like that before.

Dumping the backpack beside me I notice that Haymitch has a large cut on his calf. I quickly open the backpack, desperate to see that it was worthwhile running for the bag. I start pulling items out of it: a rope, water bottle, small set of knives, a bundle of bandages and a wound cleaning kit. I sit back on my heels and feel a sense of relief as I make my way towards Haymitch. 

“S-” I swallow, clearing my throat. “Sit down, please.” I say quietly, still struggling with my breath.

He sits down on the grassy floor and I shuffle towards him, preparing to clean and bandage his wound. “I’m sorry.” I say, quietly, ashamed that my quick thinking got him hurt. “I’m so sorry.” I say and I struggle to focus on the medical equipment in front of me when my tears blur my eyes.

He doesn’t say anything so I move to clean his wound.

“I thought I was gonna die.” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “He was mocking me, had his knife in my face and that.” I say, finally in control of my breathing, my heart rate still too high. “He would’ve killed me if you weren’t there.” I say and pause looking up at him even though he’s not looking at me. “Thank you.” I wrap the bandage around his leg, careful to tie it tight enough but not too much. “I owe you my life.” I say. “I hope I can repay you one day.”

“I hope you can’t.” He says and I look at him, confused but also happy that he’s talking.

“What? Why?” I say getting up after finishing with his leg.

“I don’t want you to die for me.” He stands up a mere moment after me and finally looks me in my eyes.

“You just put your life on the line for me. You could’ve died.” I point out even though it’s obvious. “Because of me being stupid and not following the plan.” I say with a frown. “You said you wouldn’t do that.” I say, remembering the conversation we had when we first became allies. “You said you weren’t gonna put yourself in danger for me.” I repeat his earlier words.

“Yeah, well, things change.” He says.

“What changed?” I ask, my hands threaded in my hair, stressed out by both the conversation and the situation we’re in.

“I changed.” He says before leaning in towards me and tentatively placing his lips against mine, it’s experimental and he pulls back after a few seconds, nervously. My eyes are wide and my mouth lies open, confused but also in awe of what just happened. It takes me a few moments to process what just happened before I see Haymitch staring at me, looking slightly disheartened by my reaction.

“Forget about it-” He starts and turns to walk away but my hands reach for the sides of his face and I pull him back round so his lips meet mine again. This time more fervently and with a sense of desperation and longing. Now it’s his turn to look confused but he quickly gets into it and his hands move to find their place on my waist. He deepens the kiss, his lips desperate against  mine, determined to make the most of these moments. One of my hands stays cupping his face whilst the other moves to the back of his neck where I find myself playing with the tufts of his hair.

After a few more seconds I pull away, needing to breathe but I place my forehead against his as we both breathe in unison. There’s a smile on my face, the feeling of stress has now been replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach - butterflies as some would say.

“You do seem to have changed…” I say with a quiet laugh.

“Shut up.” He says, suddenly embarrassed by his previous words before pushing his lips against mine harder than before,

The force sends me back a little bit due to my surprise but his hands on my waist reassure me of my safety as he pins to a nearby tree. The bark is rough against my back but I can’t say that I care when his lips are on mine. His lips move roughly against mine and I gladly allow his tongue entrance as it presses against my lips. Mingling with mine, his tongue pushes through my lips and seems to search through the corners of my mouth. His lips are dry but so are mine after our run. He pulls away only for his lips to meet the skin of my jaw, he peppers kisses along my jaw but makes sure each kiss has all his attention and care. 

I tuck my head to the side, embarrassed at how bare I am, standing, pinned against a tree by a boy I only really met a week ago.

“Don’t hide your face, love.” He says and the pet name at the end makes me feel weak and my knees suddenly become wobbly which doesn’t seem to bother Haymitch as he just holds us both up - one of his knees pushed against the tree, between my legs to keep me up. I look into his eyes as he’s focused on my jaw, making his way up my face to my lips once again with nothing but desire consuming his eyes.

“They’re watching.” I say quietly, indicating with my eyes towards the cameras hidden amongst the arena.

“I don’t care.” He says between kisses. “Fuck them.” He breathes out as he presses his lips against mine with one of his hands trailing down my torso to my leg, stroking the plush skin of my thigh causing me to feel hot and flustered, the feeling tingling and travelling through my veins and making my body hot.

“Fuck them.” I say, quietly against his lips, feeling him smirk against mine.

-

AN: I really enjoyed writing this, it was such a good request and I loved it so I hope you do to! Thanks for the request!

I got a bit carried away with this piece, I only intended it to be about 1,000 words but it turned out at three times that much.

[alyssab-123]

Moriarty the Patriot - Sherlock, William, uncertainty and control:

(aka me writing a lot about something i find a bit interesting)

I think what I find most interesting about Sherlock and Liam as a duo (platonic or romantic idrc in this context) is how Liam's ways of controlling Sherlock in his plans differs from the ways he controls others. Whilst people like Bonde and Moran are allowed to improvise as long as his goal is achieved, Liam lets Sherlock choose between a limited amount of ways where he still doesn't completely understand the goal behind the situation. Liam seems to think that it's not completely possible to actually control Sherlock the way others are and has to change his approach. In fact, Sherlock as a person opens Liam up to the idea that not everything can or needs to be controlled or certain.

The first meeting with Sherlock is pure chance. Liam had no knowledge of Sherlock's existence until they bumped into each other on the Noahtic. They randomly strike up conversation by the pure coincidence of being in the same place at the same time. Liam in his letter states that this was entertaining enough for him to forget about his plan (something which is usually a constant in his mind), even considering abandoning it to continue mystery solving with Sherlock as they got to know each other more. All this from a chance encounter, something which Liam doesn't usually have room for in his plans. It opens him up to things, in this case a person, out of his control for the first time in the series as far as we can tell - and he enjoys it.

This leads to the addition of Sherlock into the Moriarty Plan, an unexpected but helpful asset in exposing the misdeeds of the nobility to the people. Liam sometimes describes Sherlock as the main character of the performance, which is significant in terms of their dynamic. With Liam as the director, Sherlock's narrative is technically under his control - so Sherlock is consistently put in situations where he has the power to act in a limited number of ways as per this narrative. This frustrates Sherlock greatly, as he seems to value being in control of the mysteries but now the mystery has control over him. He also knows he's being toyed by someone with more control of the events he's in. However, the control Liam has isn't absolute. Liam gives Sherlock many times to have the answer to the mystery handed to him, which Sherlock denies due to his mentality of wanting to solve the mystery himself. To me this shows that Sherlock is the one that has the choice over continuing the chase (and therefore the entire act) at all. If he'd accepted the answer from Hope or Alder, Liam's entire plotting would have to be rewritten. Sherlock overestimates the control Liam has over him, and Liam knows that he cannot control what Sherlock does completely (but can put restrictions on his options).

This dynamic is especially seen in The Riot at New Scotland Yard, where Sherlock specifically acknowledges that the way he acts could disrupt the Lord of Crime's plans, and is frustrated about his lack of control here. But the fact that Sherlock technically had the power to possibly disrupt Liam's plans at all in Scotland Yard shows that Sherlock has an element of free will in his situations.

In The Two Criminals (im going anime only from here since i haven't got all the way through the manga yet) is the next time we see something that Liam did not control for - Sherlock's act of murdering Milverton. Sherlock may have murdered Milverton to save Watson's marriage, but it seems to be also in part to prove to Liam that he cannot be completely controlled. This is when it occurs to Liam that, in his mind, Sherlock is definitely going to kill him and he plans for just that.

Liam's letter to Sherlock is a goodbye at its core. He plans to have Sherlock at his side in his final moments and thinks that despite their friendship Sherlock will stand by. But by now Liam feels that his control is fading - not only over his people, but his sins. The only thing he requests in that letter (which are the only things he wants to control for) are Sherlock helping others, and Sherlock being by his side to, in essence, pull the trigger and let him accept death.

Sherlock however has shown that Liam cannot control him before and does so again. On the bridge he perhaps does the thing that Liam expects the least - Sherlock tries to help him. In fact Liam is so appalled by the idea that he as the Lord of Crime is worth saving that he tries to regain control of the situation by starting a half-simulated fight. I say half-simulated since the fight is simulated by Liam to say that Sherlock defeated him after the event, but also is full of real tensions between the two. Sherlock is fighting for Liam to stay, Liam is fighting for Sherlock to give up on him and let him die (what he planned for almost his entire life).

Then, dangling above the river Thames, Sherlock pulls out the biggest surprise for Liam - Sherlock came to help because he's his friend. It's funny how Liam is accounted for all the people of London projecting their rage at him, but not for the fact that there may be one or two people that would want to spend time with him. He couldn't have planned for the genuine connection he and Sherlock had gained. He couldn't account for perhaps the most integral thing - a person that actually cares for him outside of his usual circle and wants him to have a happy life, despite everything he's done.

It isn't until he's falling that Liam realised Sherlock is truly an agent of chaos in his otherwise meticulous plan. He watched Sherlock jump to catch him, he views him strangely enough as a symbol of peace. Sometimes, chaos and unpredictablility can bring peace, something that had never accounted for can bring good.

By the time he wakes up in New York, Liam is in a state of uncertainty. No plans, no goals, his life is a 'blank'. It is Sherlock who convinces him that this uncertainty can be a good thing. He can 'paint that canvas however he likes' even if it takes some time. He can struggle to find his way, because the way him finds will still be right for him eventually. Uncertainty and a lack of control can create new opportunities and a new outlook on life. And Sherlock will be there to support him. No matter what he decides to do.

Sherlock represents the uncertainty of life for Liam and the good it can bring. He shows him that he doesn't need to plan everything, a lack of control can be a good thing, and that sometimes the best things can come from chance and uncertainty. They, as a duo, are an product of this uncertainty and lack of control.

(anyways can people tell that i kind of write essays/powerpoints on things i like for fun? this was going to be like one paragraph or two at first but then more details to explore came up. feel free to correct me if i've missed/misinterpreted anything in my writing! I'm still new to MTP - i watched the anime for the first time like 2 weeks ago and have read the first 9 manga volumes too, plus a few of the new york/time skip chapters - but this series has really taken over my life recently and that's not a bad thing)

[psychicreadsgirl]

Nct jaehyun as a boyfriend too!!

I got many Jaehyun requests - some from repeat anons too. Here you go, Jaehyun fans/curious people about Jaehyun. It's rated R so read at your discretion.

Jaehyun enjoys the thrill of pursuing someone more so than actually dating them. Once he's sure the person likes/loves him back and they've had s*x, then he gets bored of them. He might come back to them if he's bored again and has no one else interesting on hand.

Jaehyun can be quite romantic, sweet, and caring during the pursuit, but then after he is sure the person likes him, then he often ghosts them or just moves onto the next person. He likes having multiple "challenges" at the same time so he'll be busy texting/contacting different people at the same time, testing their reactions using the same words.

Jaehyun loves to try to get someone who is popular or unattainable to fall for him - perhaps someone who is happily married for many years and known to be a loyal spouse or someone who hasn't dated because they have high standards. They all have to be good looking.

Jaehyun also loves to have very rough s*x. He likes to dominate his partner and make them beg him to stop. He likes choking his partner during s*x and that may be by using his hands or putting some bag over their head or like stuffing some panties in their mouth. Some way to limit their air flow... He enjoys tying his partner up too or handcuffing them. He enjoys seeing his partner beg/struggle. He likes keeping mementos of his partners after s*x like perhaps their underwear etc.

I wrote this reading halfway and then got distracted and completely forgot about this. Seems to me Jaehyun is similar in relationships too after they get past the getting to know each other phase and then dating a bit, then he forgets about the person. He comes back to them if he's bored again.

There are a few partners that he likes to keep by his side because he finds them useful in different ways or they're very, very beautiful. If they catch him cheating and they don't know that they're the only one, then he will beg for their forgiveness on his knees and say that he was wrong and it was just a mistake, the other person seduced him etc.

He does like to share his experiences with his buddies or people around them and show them who he has "dated" like photos etc.

If he marries, he'd marry someone good looking and useful to him. That could be that they come from a very wealthy/powerful family or they have some skills/assets that are useful to him in some way. I don't get a very good scene of his married life, so the chances of him marrying are on the slimmer side or the marriage is very very short. He's not interested in marrying anytime soon anyway. If he had to pick a timing for marriage, it'd be like 35 and later.

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 26 - A Hairy Mystery

TW: Discussions of in-universe false allegations of S.A. towards animals and/or children. Discussions of addictions, and what might be actual S.A.

This episode is a doozy, both canonically and due to the analysis I conduct.

From the first seconds of the episode, we can note one very important detail:

The episode's narration is not censored by Kerubim, as is usually the case, but filtered through Joris's very limited understanding of sexuality and other adult things, and metaphors alluding to those.

Which results in this being a very dark episode in every single way possible and kinda batshit insane, when thought about for too much.

This is the same house as the one we'll see in Episode 50, Deadly Charm.

During Episode 50's time, the two of them share this house. This may suggest that the two episodes happen relatively closely, timeline-wise. It would make sense, considering the fact that in both of these episodes, Lou investigates crimes.

This investigation sounds like how long a war that would result in the birth of a very cool huppermage would last.

This episode will be hellish to translate... First of all: all the little text on these images? Just gibberish. Also, it's the same gibberish copypasted in all the newspapers.

However, we have some juicy stuff in the big text blocks: real text, with more context for the ep, besides what we see through Joris's ~imagination~

Big text on the top:

"LITTLE CAT (??? something something)

LITTLE CAT WHO DRANK MILK WAS NICE, FRIENDLY AND WELL-BEHAVED, WHICH DOESN'T/DIDN'T---

THIS BY PUTTING LAXATIVE IN THE BOWL OF HIS SWEET SELF"

Big text on the bottom:

"HE LOOKS LIKE A BEANPOLE(???) -----------UN"

Firstly: the newspaper name says "BOTA" instead of "BONTA"... Not even a spare letter "N" for the starving public?

The text on the left is, for some reason, upside down, and the letter N is in my transcription only because it makes more sense than W. What is says is: "EST U(N)E FIOTTE"

Translation: Someone (a female judging by "une") is (I am about to quote google here) "a homophobic(?) swear word for men(??)."

I'm sure someone in Ankama was very giddy to have snuck this in, but god, I wish I knew what this really means.

Don't worry. There are worse hidden texts in this episode... Like this next one.

I guess that what Kerubim is accused of is. Uh. not... literally eating a cat. It's something... different. Or eating the cat and also doing other things to the cat. hm.

I guess for Ecaflips, doing this to a cat, is not just an animal thing but also uh. a kid thing.

...Idk if I ever wanted to know this much about the World of Twelve. Man.

To pause from the insanity of this episode so far, I want to point out, that, both here, and in the episode 50, which we had established, takes place close to this one, Kerubim and Lou are very close to marriage/consider each other fiancés (in episode 50, she is referred to as his wife, despite them not being married).

So... I am assuming both of them take place before Ecaflip City! We're making some real discoveries here, folks.

This episode was funnier before I knew this was Kerubim's twitter callout arc. Now it's just sad.·😭

Also, in a better circumstance, I would comment on how cute it is that Kerubim says he likes cats (or babies, considering that for ecaflips... yeah. man. this episode is making me say insane things.) that much.

No wonder he's going fucking insane.

The first one is a reused text asset from the first episodes that says "MAISON DE NERUBIM CREPIN". What she is writing seems to be "RMCP"

The second one is, uh. Yeah.

Judging by the paintings, I suppose this episode takes place after Vax's Art (ep10) and Bashi the Shark (ep7).

I know these are just reused assets, but also — it's Ankama's own fault that they gave me this to do theorizing with.

Jesus fucking Christ, here we go. Twenty pages of analysis incoming:

He had a very interesting evening. Getting drunk (as usual), gambling (as usual)...

But having a woman "ride" him, while being very, very drunk, too — is this also, in fact, usual? Hopefully, it was a literal riding, horse-style.

Judging from Lou's phrasing and reaction, as well as this episode's whole thing so far, it was probably not.

Which is... not good at all. Yeah.

We'll never truly know, with Joris's unreliable narration in this episode. But I am sad to report, that I don't think it would be out of character for Kerubim to... have these things happen to him, and be okay with that.

And it's in-character for Lou to view Kerubim's habits of getting drunk and gambling everything away, while having ambiguously-nonconsensual (on his side) relations with women, as punishable evils on his part, good old "shit boyfriend" behaviours.

Instead of, y'know, self-destruction.

...Okay, I think I am ready to present something to you, so here's a refresher for my earlier liveblogs, in the form of the six tenets of theorizing about their final break up we established:

She left sad, and unlike many other times, without any anger for Kerubim.

She left Luis with him to watch over him.

She also left Luis because he couldn’t go with her, but that could mean many things.

She left after Ecaflip City, obviously, and at that time, their relationship seemed the healthiest. (Well, as healthy as it could be.)

Unlike all the other times, Kerubim didn’t go searching for her. It seems this separation was final in a way no other was, and there had to be a reason that he didn’t go and try to make up. An unsolvable issue.

Both Luis and Kerubim blame Kerubim, and the first one uses this to make the second one angry.

I think it's time to make to finally reveal my Divorce Theory:

I think Lou left Kerubim after regaining her memories, and realizing that they're just bad for each other.

She often manipulated him using his insecurities and fears of abandonment, which are the result of his childhood traumas. She hit him, and disregarded, or at times exacerbated, his various mental health issues.

While he has cheated on her many times while being completely sober, without any regard for her personhood and feelings. He's gambled away her memories.

Yes, they loved each other, but they were horrible together.

And I think it's a very sad realization to have about someone you've been in love with for your whole life:

That all you've ever managed to do is hurt each other, and make things worse.

...Now that I'm done with sad divorce theories, let's finish up this episode.

The newspaper that shows miss Kitty behind bars, has all the same text as the newspaper where Kerubim is behind bars, so I won't include it, but this?

This has a plot twist:

"EM ILIE EST U(N)E FIOTTE"

...Emilie, if you're out there: years ago, in Dofus: Aux Trésors de Kerubim, someone called you a bad word.

And I hope it was a joke and not some office drama. I really do hope so.

...My reaction to this whole fucking episode, Keke.

My exact reaction to all of it.

This is the face of a parent who knows that he will have to assess the damage. A second plane has hit the fucking pentagon level damage.

The "will he be asking me what "riding" means now?" "will he be asking me why "you ate a kitten" allegations got me into prison?" level damage.

Actual nightmare.

[ohmygillygoshoppler]

what are.... your headcannons for Epsilon and his people?? Ad Francis too??

oooooh! OOOOOOH! FINALLY!!! MY THEORIES!!! IVE BEEN DYING TO SHARE MY THEORIES!!!

loooooooooong post lmao. Heads up-

Okay okay okay, so I had a few questions about these people when I first started watching the show a gazillion years ago; like how many more of The People are there? How do their numbers work? Are they all clones, or just the Epsilons? How do they do what they do in their universe? Who the fuck do they work for? And why are things the way they are?

I have more questions than answers, but I will say that brainstorming about it has been so much fun~ So lemme just break this down as best as I can-

I personally headcannon that only the Epsilons are cloned from each other, every other agent is someone they either recruited through traditional means, taken from childhood or from birth, or cajoled into service as a form of punishment. We all know how easy it would be to pluck a few promising young birds from some orphanage somewhere; unnoticeable, unwanted, and untraceable to the masses, an organization like The People would jump on the opportunity, I think.

Okay, now for my individual agents, I have only a few things I've actually put to pen about them. Don't you just love having blank slate character to project all of your bullshit onto? I do!

Firstly, I have Irene which i'll be real, she's my fave Green Man to draw. She's.... so pretty... To me....

Her stoicism is linked directly to her environment. When she's on the clock, she one of the most precise, cunning, cutthroat agents around. But the split second she has the okay to relax, she's relaxed.

Her detail is a saboteur, so she is the one disarming traps, disabling security systems and breaking shit up so she and her People can get their jobs done. That being said, she likes to tinker, and can make even the nastiest, most beaten up and abandoned forest can come back to life-

She is insightful, observant and sometimes even playful. She just hides it under a perpetual frown. I was also thinking she would have some affectionate feelings toward Francis, as she's known him all his life , and adored Simone. I imagine Irene and Francis are kind of like siblings with a huge age gap.

Next up, my man Io, a former Hunter who since kicks it with The People after an incident in the 90's. He, along with Epsilon and Simone worked with the Secret Scientists to create a vaccine against lycanthropy. He's been an invaluable asset to The People ever since.

Io has special knowledge on medicine and even alchemy, occasionally making passing remarks about an old colleague that could turn wood chips to gold shavings. He also has a vast knowledge in matters of supernatural sicknesses and possessions. He has a bit of a morbid fascination with it, even going as far as to try and give himself pestilences only for the sake of further research.

I think he'd be pretty neutral about Francis, seeing as how it's not ease accepting some kid to be your new boss. At the same time, he knows where he is, so Io does what he can to keep their relationship strictly professional. However, in light of... recent events, he may be spending more one on one time with his fellow agents; more so than he's used to. We might learn more about him later...

And now WOOOOOOO, GRANDPAAA!!! LETS GOOOOOO!!!!! No, but for real, Agent Rohan is the oldest agent here, pushing 65, and he's still out here taking orders from Epsilon and making moves with The People, all the while fighting vampires, befriending warewolves, tricking the fae and dealing with alien incursions of every sort. He's up there in "Spooky Levels of Competence" with Simone and Grandpa Max, like, this man has seen some shit.

Rohan likes hunting, fishing, shooting, and camping out in the middle or asscrack nowhere. You know, old man stuff. He's the good kind of Boomer, ya know?

And he's still just a chill Old Man who just wants to retire to a secluded cabin in the woods with his Dog (not a dog, not a dog-) and live out his sunset years like a regular American man.

Fuck you, I know Agent Mccabe divorced his ass (they were never married lmao) but sometimes when they're together it feels like nothing's changed. Then they look into each other's eyes and remember how they've hurt each other oh fuck-

Epsilon is an extremely reserved and extremely stifled man, so much so that he stifles everyone around him. He believes that order and routine are the ways to maintain a safe and normal lifestyle, and so many times he is proven right. So much so he allowed himself to be tricked into letting his dearest friend leave for outer space.

He is a, "By any means necessary," type of man to a fault. Ruthless, calculating, and by any sense of the word, the Perfect Agent. Nothing phases him, it seems. However, there is something there, a reason he instills instant obedience and zero hesitation, and I think we can all find that out... together....

Here cooooomes the boyyy~ 💖✨✨ my boy, my baby; Francis.

Hahahaaaa, this one thing soooo highly of himself, hahahahaa~~ Ohhh, thats so cute. I love him for that. I will break him. He will know humility.

You know what happens when someone with no moral compass is thrown into the most fucked up situation? They find that compass, and they fucking use it. The boy must learn, and there wasn't enough time in the show to teach him. Now's my chance-

Speaking of, his Foolhardy Father taught him that thinking for himself was the wrong thing to do, and after Morrigan, he has to start thinking out of the box because there was never a protocol for this...

Also..... I know the fact he's a clone hurts him, like, we saw that shit in The Unblinking Eye, fuckin he hates following Epsilon's orders but what the fuck else is he gonna do? What else is there, this is what he was made for, right? He seems like the perfect guy for a character arc, and it kills me that he didn't get one.

I want him to learn to be his own person. Kinda want em all to figure out what their lives are, since they could all be butchered at any moment and only their killers would mourn them.

Speaking of Killers....

Miss Morrigan Monroe

"Whaaaaat?!?!" I heard you gawking, "Your Evil Bitch™ is with The People?!?! How???" And I'll give you the diss-

next post, this bitch is already so long. But just know, she knew the OG Epsilon and they fucking DO NOT VIBE.

She is hundreds of years old, has profound beef, and the shits on site, so sorry Epsilon. That's what you get for the sins of your father, Get fucked, I guess.

I know she's bad, but she's meant to be vapid, petty, recalcitrant, repugnant and deranged, mean and clever and scary beyond all reason- You know, the perfect woman, lmao. (I dont AT ALL condone the shit shes done or is gonna do but like, its gonna be nasty 😈😈😈😈)

[infiniteanalemma]

Ding, ding! The poll results are in and we have a winner! It's daffodils for Astarion! 🥳

To be honest, I was a little surprised by this result. I sort of expected a foxglove sweep, but daffodils are so fitting. I kind of love the imagery for this idea. The symbolism is delicious! 😙👌 Great choice, everybody!

Before I get into my thoughts on that symbolism, though, I've been thinking about the next possible piece. I think I'd like to do Wyll next. He deserves more art, and I'd like to stretch my artistic muscles a little. (I may regret saying that by the time I get finished with Astarion's, though.) It's surprisingly difficult to find flowers that fit Wyll both symbolically and aesthetically ... I'm still looking into it a bit, but you can look for that poll in the next few days. I'd love to hear suggestions, of course!

Also, would anyone want to see WIP sketches, or should I just post the finished product (such as it may be)? I've always been a little hesitant to post "unpolished" work like sketches, but after working on NaNo this past month, it seems public accountability does motivate me to get off my rump and do the thing. I just don't know that anyone is actually interested. Well, anyway, just a thought...

I'mma ramble a little bit about daffodil symbolism and why I like it for Astarion, but naturally I'm putting that bit beneath a cut for length.

So, let me start by saying flower symbolism is an absolute mess. Obviously I couldn't fit all of the potential meanings in the poll description, but a lot of times, flower meanings are contradictory. No matter where you look, you'll find another source that says something different. I tried to get the general gist, but that meant leaving a lot of things out.

That said, daffodils are interesting because their meanings are in such opposition to each other. They're symbols of hope and despair. They're both for renewal and being backward-looking. It's contradictory, and that push and pull is interesting.

Also, as I sort of implied in the poll, daffodils are a group of flowers that fall under the group called Narcissus -- named after the Greek myth of Echo and Narcissus, from which we derive the term narcissist. For those who don't know the basic story, the nymph Echo falls in love with Narcissus, who is beautiful but vain. She approaches him, but he spurns her because he is too arrogant. Depending on which version of the myth you go by, either she curses him herself or he is punished by the gods for breaking her heart. Either way, he winds up falling in love with his own reflection and pining away, with the Narcissus flower blooming where he dies, entranced into immobility and unable to look away from himself.

A fitting irony for Astarion -- someone who was vain and dismissive of others, who ended up cursed for his arrogance. It's ironic, in that Astarion's curse denies him the ability to see his own reflection. Instead of death, he is transformed by unlife. He is a sort of inverted Narcissus, punished for his vanity, not allowed to ever see his own reflection again and not allowed to die but, in an ironic sort of way, this is the thing that allows him the opportunity to change and grow -- a renewal, a transformation.

Astarion is a Narcissus who was forcibly humbled, denied his reflection, forced to use his once greatest asset as a weapon against himself, then given a chance to repent, to change. Unlike the actual Narcissus, who was forced to drown in his own folly and arrogance without ever realizing his punishment, denied the chance to change or redeem himself, Astarion gets a second chance. Of course, the player can give him a push to transform into a better version of himself, or to embrace his worst aspects. The player is his mirror, symbolically and even in-game (the mirror scene), allowing him to become whatever they reflect back to him.

There's something pleasing about the parallels, but the inversions are even more pleasing, in my personal opinion. Anyway, it's all very tasty and giving me a lot of ideas.

[tanjir0se]

As the World Caves In, pt II

Pairings: Rengiyuu (Rengoku x Giyuu) Words: 5.4k (7.8k total) Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Everybody Lives AU Warnings: (full fic) Graphic depictions of canon-typical violence, medical procedures, blood, bodily injury

If you let him live, I’ll tell him everything, I swear. 

It was now or ever. And now he’d gotten so close to never, closer than he’d ever thought he’d get in all his wildest nightmares, that the unbridled fear of it now carried the words unspoken up his windpipe, threatening to burst. 

“K-Kyojuro,” Giyuu began. And Kyojuro looked at him with those stunning, earnest eyes--eye--and Giyuu’s next words fell from his mouth in a huff. “Damn it,”

This is part 2/2. Read the previous part here!

You can also read the full fic on AO3!!

“You ought to be more careful, my friend!” Kyojuro chided as he unbuttoned Giyuu’s uniform. “Look, you’ve ruined another uniform shirt!” He was referring to the large slash on the shoulder of Giyuu’s uniform, courtesy of the demon they’d just taken down together. Though they’d only known each other a few months at that point, Giyuu had learned that Kyojuro apparently preferred to dress his wounds himself despite Giyuu being fully capable, and he knew Kyojuro better than to try to argue. 

He said nothing while Kyojuro frowned at his bare and bloody chest, appraising the long but superficial wound that spanned across his pale skin, coming to a stop at the hollow of his throat. He did tilt his head slightly back to allow Kyojuro to inspect the full extent of the wound, his quiet way of thanking him. Kyojuro hummed to himself. His golden eyes suddenly flicked from Giyuu’s wound to his face, stealing away Giyuu’s breath in a surprised huff. 

“Does this hurt?” he asked, abruptly serious. Giyuu shook his head. Rengoku had a habit of making him lose his train of thought when he looked at him like that. “You shouldn’t have jumped in front of me. I would have been alright!”

Giyuu stared at him. The demon they’d been fighting had prepared one vicious strike right after another, while Rengoku had been finding his footing from the previous. Rather than allow the strike to land on the Flame Hashira, Giyuu had stepped in with dead calm, both sparing Kyojuro from the attack and causing it to fall on himself. 

To Giyuu, his actions made perfect sense. Kyojuro was obviously the superior Hashira. He felt it only natural to protect the greater asset to the demon slayer corps, even if it meant putting his life on the line. 

Kyojuro raised an eyebrow and cracked a small grin. “I know that look.” He said. It was the look Giyuu did when he was about to try to argue with him on something: brows slightly furrowed, gaze steady with heavy lids, lips parted. Realizing he was caught, Giyuu relaxed into a half smile and allowed Kyojuro to gently dab dirt and debris away from his wound. 

“You may be reckless,” Kyojuro began, “But I have to admit, that eleventh form is incredible! How on earth did you learn something like that? Ah, I bet I could practice for a hundred years and never even get close!” His gaze now focused on Giyuu’s wound, he didn’t notice how bright pink his friend’s face had become. Kyojuro spoke highly of everyone, but praise of his swordsmanship coming from someone as incredible as him was still a high compliment. 

Kyojuro continued. “Such fantastic work, I’m truly lucky to be on your good side!” He laughed and patted Giyuu’s chest with one hand and retrieved a first aid kit with a suture needle with the other. His hand was rough but warm against Giyuu’s permanently cold skin. 

“For now.” Giyuu joked back. Kyojuro blinked once, surprised and a little disbelieving that Giyuu had actually cracked a joke, but after noticing the tiny upward tilt of his lips, smiled even wider and laughed even harder. 

“I’d better toe the line then! Otherwise I’ll be the one needing stitches!” He laughed at his own joke while stitching his wound and Giyuu actually smiled along. Few could melt through his icy silences like Kyojuro could. Few understood what he was trying to say even when he was silent like Kyojuro did. “Ah, you always know how to make me laugh.” Kyojuro added with a sigh that made Giyuu’s heart ache. 

Kyojuro’s half-open eyes saw white, made hazy by tears clinging to his dark lashes. White drifted above him, and for a moment he drifted with it, unaware that he was even conscious, just floating. Once his mind returned to him he tried to blink to dispel the haze but found himself unable, paralyzed, flat on his back and floating through nothingness. For a few moments he believed himself to be dead. Until the pain struck him. 

He considered himself no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything else. His entire body felt shattered. Even something as simple as breathing was a battle, as if his lungs and the walls of his chest themselves were locked in combat against one another. If he was indeed dead, this must be hell. 

He thought so, until he heard a distant voice reaching to him from beyond the endless white oblivion around him. There were gentle hands on him, as if bringing him out of the haze and back into reality. 

Someone was cradling the back of his head, tilting it slightly upward as they removed bandages from the left side of his face. The light changed slightly as they did so, though nothing came into focus. Fingers brushed lightly over his left eye. Whoever the hands belonged to, whoever was nursing him, sighed. 

The bandages were replaced. A warm rag brushed against the aching skin of his arms. A hand rested lightly against his chest, directly over his heart, feeling it beating steadily. Kyojuro still couldn’t move or speak but whoever was tending to him apparently didn’t mind. The voice was silent while they worked but the silence was as gentle as their hands. That silence, its softness, the coolness of the hands on his body reminded him of something…

The haze slowly began to lift, as if his nurse’s gentle tending was pulling him back up out of the nothingness and into reality. As his mind cleared he groped for anything to anchor him back to the present; he remembered a cold wind, a column of flames. 

“Another letter from Tanjiro today.” His nurse said quietly over the rustle of papers. “And…one from Uzui.” 

Kyojuro would have leapt out of bed, if he could move. The kids! The train! The upper rank! I’ve got to get back there!  Kyojuro wanted to reach out, tell the speaker I don’t care about a bunch of letters when Tanjiro and the others could be in danger— 

A letter from Tanjiro? He’s alright?

“Uzui’s letter first, then?” The voice said. More rustling of paper. A clearing of the throat. “Dear Rengoku, I apologize for my absence, since this damn mission is taking longer than I expected, I’m absolutely certain you’re beside yourself with grief that yours truly isn’t there with you—” the speaker scoffed, and Kyojuro would have laughed too, if he could move. “Anyways, I’ll spare you the non-flashy details and regale you with the full story when I can see you again. Please get better soon, the mansion is too boring without you. Tengen.” 

In full earnest now, and with little else to do but lie there, Kyojuro tried to remember what had happened. The last image he could conjure was the electric flashing of blue and pink, a crazed laugh, and distantly, someone crying and calling his name. 

He assumed he was recovering in the butterfly mansion, but how long had it been since he’d fallen unconscious? Long enough that he was getting letters. He wondered if he’d gotten any from Senjuro. Or Giyuu. 

Giyuu. 

He’d just been dreaming about Giyuu. One of the first times he’d noticed Giyuu blushing at him, one of the many times Giyuu had made him laugh. That’s what the silence had reminded him of. With great difficulty, with everything he had, Kyojuro managed to grunt softly. 

Halfway through Tanjiro’s letter, the voice stopped. Even unable to see, Kyojuro could feel eyes on him, knew them to be deep and indigo and discerning. He sucked in a labored breath against the pain wrapping around his ribs, and this time managed a groan. 

“Kyojuro?” 

God I’d know that voice anywhere. 

Kyojuro’s eyes slid closed, then open once again, still heavy-lidded, still teary, but open. The fog around him lifting, the first thing he saw was his nurse, pale skin, a mess of raven black hair and a set of indigo eyes. 

In spite of everything, he smiled. “Giyuu,” he murmured. 

Giyuu felt his heart stop in his chest, his relief so intense it nearly paralyzed him. Kyojuro was looking at him. Kyojuro was alive. His world had crashed back into orbit again. He grabbed his friend by the arms and held him there tightly, desperate not to let him go again. 

“Kyo! God—” Thank god, thank god you’re alright! I was so worried, I was lost without you! His throat was so tight he could hardly breathe let alone speak. “You’re awake.” He managed stupidly after a moment. Kyojuro opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out for a moment. For once, Giyuu actually spoke instead. “Kyo…” he found himself saying again. 

Kyojuro lifted his head and tried to sit up, straining against the unbelievable pain that shook his entire body. He caught a glimpse of a large, blood-shadowed bandage over his abdomen before his forehead suddenly bumped into Giyuu. He must’ve been closer than he’d thought. The unexpected bump sent him back down against the bed with a groan. Giyuu still hadn’t taken his hands off of his arms. 

“Please don’t try to get up.” Giyuu murmured. “Your depth perception is probably quite off.” 

Kyojuro frowned at him and opened his mouth to ask why he’d say that, but another bright pulse of pain behind his left eye answered the question for him. Giyuu watched him with an expression Kyojuro had never seen him wear. His eyes were wide, tearful, endless. His pale lower lip trembled along with his hands, though he didn’t say anything.  There was about a million things Kyojuro could ask: What happened? Where are the kids? How long has it been? He decided on something different. 

“Kyo, huh?” He asked, his lips turning slightly upward into a smile. Giyuu stared. “Where’d that come from? I like it.”

Leave it to Kyojuro to say something like that at a time like this. That little smile on Kyojuro’s lips made Giyuu want to smile with him, to laugh and grab him tightly and never let him go. But he remembered the feeling of those lips against his, the taste of blood as he breathed for him, and the beginnings of his smile faltered. He came so close to never seeing that smile again. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on his shoulders so heavily that Giyuu dropped his head down and pressed his forehead against Kyojuro’s arm, as if in prayer. Overcome. 

Kyojuro watched him and his heart ached. He’d never seen Giyuu this upset, or at least he’d never shown it this plainly. It seemed like a fairly strong reaction to a simple battlefield injury…there must be something more to this situation he didn’t understand. He called Giyuu’s name softly and waited for him to look up. “I’m alright.” Kyojuro said, softly for once, his throat dry and raw. “It’s alright.”

Giyuu looked up. “No, Kyo, you’re not. You were dead.” His brows fell heavily over his eyes in apparent anger. “I had to beat your heart for you, I—I had to breathe for you!” His voice was low, tightly measured because if he spoke any louder or with any more ferocity he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep tears from falling. 

There was a brief silence while Kyojuro appeared to consider what he’d said. “And the train passengers? The kids?” 

Giyuu’s eyes briefly widened in shock, but his brows were quick to pull down again. “Are you not hearing me? You were dead. It’s nothing short of a miracle that you aren’t dead now!” Kyojuro looked at him, still waiting for his answer. Giyuu’s frown deepened but the quiver in his lower lip betrayed him. “Will you worry about yourself, just for one moment?” 

Though Giyuu had pulled away, Kyojuro still found an errant strand of his hair to curl between his fingers. “Why would I do that, when you do it so well?”

“Kyojuro, please.” Giyuu begged. “You—” he dropped his gaze again and struggled to conjure the words he meant. “You’ve been in a coma for more than three months. An upper rank had his arm through your solar plexus!” Kyojuro managed to look down at that shadowed bandage on his stomach, then back up at Giyuu as he continued.

“Kyo, you may never wield a sword again. You came very close to never breathing again! And I—” he snapped his mouth shut and averted his gaze from Kyojuro’s. 

Still fighting through shockwaves of pain, Kyojuro watched as Giyuu stared at the bandage on his stomach. “Giyuu.” He said gently, cautiously. He knew Giyuu to have a temper, but he was acting differently than Kyojuro had ever seen, like there was something he needed to say but couldn’t find the words. “If I would have died, I would have done so gladly! It’s the risk we take as demon slayers—” he fell into silence as Giyuu looked back up again, his eyes filled with tears. 

“Am I supposed to have been glad, too?” He asked bitterly. “You talk about yourself like your life is not worth anything! As if—” he stopped again. His breaths were coming faster and faster now. Giyuu did not continue, so Kyojuro did. 

“My life isn’t worth any more than anyone else’s…” he began. Apparently on a roll of surprising him, Giyuu cut him off. 

“Well it isn’t worth any less, either!” He exclaimed, not shouting, but with an intensity that rivaled Kyojuro’s. “God you remind me of Sabito!” He added in a huff. 

That stopped Kyojuro dead, all attempts at argument shut down. Giyuu never mentioned his family. Not even silently. He’d only learned he’d had a sister after they’d already known each other for more than a year. Sabito and Makomo he only learned of through Urokodaki. He watched Giyuu’s face and waited for him to continue. He did, though silently. 

Giyuu looked down and shook his head, his brow furrowed. You’re making this so difficult. Kyojuro watched his jaw clench and unclench, his mouth opening for a moment before clamping shut again. I need to tell you something. Fat, heavy tears fell from his eyes and onto the backs of his hands, which tightened themselves onto the blanket near Kyojuro’s forearm. It’s killing me. 

Looking down, head bowed, Giyuu was thinking of the bargain he’d made. If you let him live, I’ll tell him everything. He felt as overwhelmed as he was when he’d first come to the horrific scene at the train crash, his world spinning. His foolish and hopeful and frightened heart cracked deeper and deeper and threatened to come apart altogether as he tried to find the words to make Kyojuro understand.   

It was a long time before Giyuu spoke aloud again, and when he did, his voice shook. 

“Kyojuro.” he finally said. “You think to be brave is to be selfless. As if you have no regard at all for your own life. That isn’t bravery. It’s self destruction.” He remembered the feeling of Kyojuro’s ribs snapping beneath his hands. He remembered feeling Sabito’s, too. He couldn’t meet Kyojuro’s gaze, knowing without trying that the look he found there would burn his resolve away in an instant.

“You may think your life isn’t worth more than anyone else’s, but—” closing his eyes, Giyuu breathed out a sigh. “It is. To me.”

That was a surprise. Kyojuro stared at him, his shaking hands and the gaze that refused to meet his. He was even more surprised to find a faint pink blush spreading over Giyuu’s cheeks and nose. 

They fell into silence while Kyojuro watched Giyuu’s blush deepen. 

He’d always loved Giyuu the same way he loved anyone or anything else: loudly. My friend, how wonderful to see you! You always know how to make me laugh! Every compliment, every smile, Kyojuro was saying it over and over without ever saying it. I love you I love you I love you. 

But Giyuu had never been the type to do anything aloud. He loved quietly, privately, almost invisibly if someone wasn’t paying attention. Knowing his order at their udon cart without asking. Stepping in front of him to spare him a strike from a demon. Gripping onto the blankets of his cot, unwilling to meet his eye, unwilling to let go. I love you I love you I love you. 

Kyojuro was more than glad to allow their I love yous to remain unsaid, unspoken but still there, always there. He had become fluent in Giyuu’s body language, the soft silence that fell between them when they were together. 

But now the silence was uneasy with tension, as if there was something aching to be said. 

If you let him live, I’ll tell him everything, I swear. 

It was now or ever. And now he’d gotten so close to never, closer than he’d ever thought he’d get in all his wildest nightmares, that the unbridled fear of it now carried the words unspoken up his windpipe, threatening to burst. 

“K-Kyojuro,” Giyuu began. And Kyojuro looked at him with those stunning, earnest eyes--eye--and Giyuu’s next words fell from his mouth in a huff. “Damn it,” he cursed, moving as he spoke, finally releasing the blanket and grabbing instead onto Kyojuro’s arm. 

Before Kyojuro could ask what he needed to say, Giyuu had closed the distance between them, taken him gently but quickly by the sides of his face, and kissed him.

Kyojuro was so surprised he didn’t have time to move or react, just let Giyuu kiss him, his hands gripping tightly onto the sore sides of his bandaged face. Eyes wide open Kyojuro watched Giyuu’s brow pull up, his eyes tightly shut as if in great pain. 

And he was. Giyuu had never felt such agony, such elation, such horror at feeling Kyojuro’s lips on his again. It had never occurred to him until that moment that Kyojuro may not feel the same as he did, that his friend—could he call him a friend?—may be shocked, or worse, disgusted. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, now that Kyojuro’s lips didn’t taste like blood anymore. 

The ecstasy of finally letting out what had been clawing up the inside of his throat since the first moment he ever laid eyes on Kyojuro, bright and beautiful in the Master’s garden, and the fear of losing him, the trauma of coming very close, raged a battle in his chest that crashed through the rest of his body until he finally was forced to pull away, gasping. 

Kyojuro didn’t dare speak, just watched as Giyuu slowly let his breath out and leaned back. 

“I can’t lose anyone else I love.” Giyuu concluded. His voice was no louder than a whisper and yet it echoed through the room as if he’d shouted it. The fear eventually coming out on top in the battle raging in his aching heart, Giyuu tried to move fully away, to stand and brush off his haori and regain whatever dignity he had left. Once again Kyojuro’s hand came down on his wrist, stopping his escape. 

Kyojuro stared into his face until Giyuu looked at him, marveling at what he’d just done. Kyojuro had known for a long time that he loved Giyuu. And he’d known that in his own, quiet way, Giyuu loved him too. But now he’d said the quiet part out loud. What bravery it must’ve taken. Kyojuro looked at Giyuu’s lips, pale and thin and pressed into a hard, nervous line. He looked down and stared at Giyuu’s wrist in his hand. He released it, but captured Giyuu’s hand instead. 

He kissed the back of Giyuu’s hand, his fingers, the inside of his wrist, the back of his forearm, pulling him down and down again until their faces were inches from each other, indigo eyes meeting gold. All those times he’d watched Giyuu flush pink at something he’d said, all the tiny moments he’d noticed the tiny changes of expression on his face, and Kyojuro had never dreamed of kissing him. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he’d accepted long ago that they would always share something unspoken, and that would be enough. 

They stared at one another, breathing heavy. Giyuu watched as Kyojuro’s eye traveled down his face and landed on his lips before Kyojuro pulled him down far enough to kiss him back. 

It was as if he’d never been injured in the first place. All the pain that had rattled his ribs just moments prior was gone and it was a hundred times worse. His chest no longer ached and it ached more intensely than ever before. In fact he’d never felt more aflame, Giyuu’s icy cold lips on his burned away any other thought besides Giyuu’s name. 

He felt Giyuu take a breath and relax against him. He felt his lips part slightly beneath his. And then in spite of himself, in spite of everything, Kyojuro smiled. 

Giyuu felt Kyojuro’s lips turn upwards against his, then felt him shake slightly as he began to laugh. Giyuu opened his eyes and found Kyojuro’s closed in joy, his head thrown back as far as he could manage while still lying in a cot, laughter beginning to peel from him like church bells. If it were anyone else, Giyuu would assume they were mocking him. But not Kyojuro. 

“What could you possibly be laughing at?” Giyuu murmured, resting his hand on Kyojuro’s cheek. Kyojuro tried to stifle his giggles and Giyuu realized how red his friend’s face had become. 

“All that time,” Kyojuro began with a sigh. “All that time I wanted to kiss you…Who knew I had to do was die!” He laughed again despite the pain in his stomach. Giyuu frowned at him, trying very hard to be serious. 

“That isn’t funny.” He chided. Kyojuro just laughed harder, louder, stronger, as if Giyuu’s kiss had healed him. Giyuu rolled his eyes, but for once he didn’t think about how close he’d come to never hearing that laugh again. He didn’t think about how Kyojuro’s eyes had been staring blankly up at nothing, how his golden skin had paled and his chest fallen still. That laugh was like the sun parting through clouds, and for once Giyuu just sighed and chuckled with him. The sound of his laughter made Kyojuro laugh even harder until they both devolved into giggles. 

Since Kyojuro’s laughter was both very distinctive and quite loud, it was bound to attract attention as other inhabitants of the butterfly mansion began to follow the sound. Giyuu leapt nearly a foot in the air when he heard a voice from behind him. 

“Mr. Rengoku?” Giyuu quickly moved back from Kyojuro, who released his hand, though both relaxed when they saw Tanjiro standing in the doorway, his eyes already filled with tears. “Mr. Rengoku!” Tanjiro shouted, and sprinted forward. 

“Young Kamado!” Kyojuro grinned at the way Giyuu moved back to allow Tanjiro in beside him. “Ah, how good to see you!” 

All Tanjiro managed to say was his name as his eyes welled with tears. Kyojuro put his hand on his head. “Don’t cry, I’m alright!” He said softly. “Besides, I don’t want you tearing that belly wound open again!” 

Tanjiro looked up, then at Giyuu, whose face was neutral and measured. “Mr. Rengoku, my stomach is all healed. It’s been three months.” 

“Ah. So it has.” Kyojuro shifted and tried to get a better look at the boy. Without speaking, or having been asked, Giyuu slid his arm beneath Kyojuro’s shoulders to help him sit up. 

Tanjiro couldn’t help but let out another sob. “I’m so glad you’re alright! Mr. Tomioka hasn’t left your side since you got here!” Though escaping Tanjiro’s notice, Giyuu went bright pink and set his jaw. Kyojuro grinned at him. 

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.” He said softly, speaking to Tanjiro but looking at Giyuu as he helped him settle in the new, more upright position.  

Next to follow the sound was Shinobu herself, who was so surprised upon appearing in the doorway to find Kyojuro looking up adoringly at Giyuu, holding him by the shoulders, his face bright pink, that she actually froze for a moment. It did not take her long to realize what Giyuu had done, and she smiled, blinking away tears. Finally. 

Then she put her hands on her hips, blinked the tears away, and gave Giyuu the chiding of a lifetime for daring not to tell her that Kyojuro had awoken. Inosuke appeared next, already yelling, leaping onto the foot of Kyojuro’s bed and declaring Kyojuro the master of death itself. Zenitsu was quick to follow, carrying a half-awake and tiny Nezuko with him. Once her bright eyes fell onto Kyojuro’s she leapt from Zenitsu’s arms and joined Inosuke on the foot of Kyojuro’s bed, her delighted voice muffled by her muzzle but still clearly excited. 

Any Hashira who wasn’t on a mission joined them. Mitsuri’s bright—if shrill—sobs of joy briefly drowned out anyone else’s attempt at speech, Sanemi sternly but firmly put his hand on Kyojuro’s shoulder, his jaw clenched tightly, Gyomei offered a prayer of gratitude. But the room stopped when Senjuro arrived. He stared at Kyojuro in the doorway for a long moment, as if disbelieving that he was really awake and breathing. It took both Shinobu and Giyuu to keep Kyojuro from leaping out of bed to greet him. Senjuro ended up sitting on the bed beside his brother, handing him letters that Giyuu had handed him and helping Kyojuro catch up on three months’ worth of missed correspondence. 

It was only then that Kyojuro’s attention was jarred enough from Giyuu to look around at the scene surrounding his sickbed. On a table behind Giyuu was a stack of letters, cards, and notes. Beside the letters were gifts, wrapped in colorful paper or fabric, stacks upon stacks of bento, boxes of candy, several vases of flowers, several more wilted bouquets of lying on the floor beside his table. All of it had been carefully organized; The notes had all been gently unfolded and stacked in chronological order, the bottom boxes of bento had been opened, likely emptied of their contents before they could spoil--it had been three months, after all--rinsed and replaced on the table. The flowers had clearly been traded out for fresh ones each time the previous bundle wilted. Kyojuro couldn’t help but smile even wider at Giyuu the more he noticed his work. There he was, saying it over and over without anybody but Kyojuro knowing. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Though typically Kyojuro never seemed to tire, he had just cheated death after all, and so much commotion from so many well-wishers was becoming difficult to keep up with. Shinobu was quick to pull rank even on other Hashira and clear the mansion out when she noticed his eyelids becoming heavy. Only Giyuu and Senjuro lingered while she caught Kyojuro up on his injuries. 

“I'm sure you’ve already noticed the injury to your left eye. It was ruptured. We treated it with medicinal ointments and managed to close the wound, but your pupil doesn’t react to light anymore…I’m afraid that eye will be permanently blind.” Kyojuro nodded slowly, remembering feeling Giyuu changing the bandages there before he was fully awake, remembering how he’d bumped into Giyuu’s head with his new lack of depth perception. 

Shinobu continued, though her voice became gentle and slow. “The wound to your solar plexus was the most severe. It went all the way through your torso and damaged your spinal cord.” She told Kyojuro. Senjuro and Giyuu had already heard this from her, but it hurt a little to watch Kyojuro’s reaction to the reality of his injuries. His eyes wandered down his own stomach, across the bandage, and toward his feet. “It caused damage to the nerves that control your left leg. So far it seems like it still moves, but I don’t know how strong it will ever be.”

You may never wield a sword again, Giyuu had told him. Kyojuro had breezed past the statement at first, just glad to be alive. Now, staring at his left foot and trying to wiggle his toes, finding with a strike of fear that he could only manage to move the foot a matter of millimeters, Kyojuro swallowed but set his jaw, stiff-lipped, trying to look strong in front of his brother. 

“I see.” He managed. 

Shinobu laid out an aggressive rehabilitation plan for him, to start as soon as he was ready, then parted with an oddly knowing look that made Giyuu squirm just a little. Nothing got past her. Senjuro lingered a bit longer, but as intuitive as he was, nothing really got past him either. He could see his brother’s head beginning to nod as exhaustion overtook him. And he could see the way it nodded toward Giyuu’s faithful and unwavering hand on his shoulder, his cheek falling against the back of Giyuu’s palm. Senjuro slid off of the bed and invented an excuse to leave, letting Kyojuro begin to drift. Before he left though, he met Giyuu’s eye. 

“Thank you, Mr. Tomioka.” He said quietly. Giyuu nodded silently at him; he’d been thanked by Senjuro several times before during the blur of these three months, once the boy learned how his brother had managed to survive the battlefield. Senjuro’s eyes were on Giyuu’s pale hand as Kyojuro’s cheek fell against it. “Thank you for saving my brother.” Senjuro continued in a whisper. 

Giyuu nodded again, though this time it was because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Senjuro left the two alone in the wing of the butterfly mansion, the light of evening turning gold around them. Giyuu nodded a third time, this time just to himself, because he couldn’t think of a way to say Kyojuro is the one who saved me aloud. 

He felt Kyojuro sigh against him and looked down. Kyojuro’s good eye was open again, looking down at his own feet. “What’s going to happen?” He asked, mostly to himself, trying to move his defective left leg and frowning when he failed. After a moment he looked up to meet Giyuu’s gaze. 

“I don’t know.” Giyuu admitted. With a defunct left leg and no depth perception, it was quite clear Kyojuro wouldn’t be wielding a sword any time soon, perhaps ever again. He’d be forced to retire as a Hashira. He swallowed and watched Kyojuro, who seemed to be thinking very hard. 

He’d been born a Hashira, the blood was in him from the start. He’d always thought he’d die a Hashira, too. It wasn’t just the cornerstone of his identity but the very basis of it; everything else was built up from there. His entire concept of himself was going to crumble without his sword, without the flames curling from his lips as he wielded it. Without the knowledge, the certainty that he would eventually die in service of their cause. Now, Kyojuro didn’t know what he was going to die for. 

Kyojuro looked into Giyuu’s eyes and watched them carefully as they began to shine. His ivory skin was glowing in the dying evening light, his hand was cool and soft against his cheek. He looked past Giyuu at the stacks of gifts on the table, the letters Senjuro had read for him and left for him. And he smiled. And he kissed Giyuu’s hand again and he smiled even wider, lips still against his cool skin. 

“Me neither.” He said softly. 

He did know what he was going to live for. 

Evening fell into night with Giyuu by Kyojuro’s side, where he’d been all along and would be as long as he allowed him to remain. Their hands eventually entwined again, Kyojuro every so often kissing Giyuu’s as if in awe that he could. Each time Giyuu felt a little more faint. Each time he watched Kyojuro’s chest move up and down he relaxed a little more. By the time the sun had slipped down over the horizon Giyuu was practically asleep too, leaning against Kyojuro’s cot. 

Kyojuro watched the back of Giyuu’s head, tiredly carded his hand through Giyuu’s mess of black hair, couldn’t keep from smiling. 

“I love you.” He whispered aloud to Giyuu. Because he could just say it now, because he still had breath to whisper it into the dark room, because his heart had kept beating long enough to see Giyuu turn slightly to look at him, eyes heavy. 

“I love you too.” He whispered back, aloud. The words came as easily as breathing now. He settled his head back against Kyojuro’s cot, keeping his neck craned back so he could look at him for just a little long before sleep overtook them both. I love you too, he said, silently.

[askagamedev]

I realised a previous question i made might've been written poorly so let me rephrase it. How do you introduce new developers to a long developing games where there are a lot of different elements from previous years running in it. I imagine even for experienced dev it would be hard to get into a long running mmo and know how the code works in it, especially if it's code based being maintained fora lot of years.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. When I ramp a new hire up, I like to take a three-pronged approach to help them learn stuff through a variety of exposures. Depending on the new hire's experience level and their performance on the initial tasks, this approach allows the new hire to engage as much as they feel comfortable, as well as provide some pretty good context to me for what to do next with them.

The first prong is assigning the new hire fairly easy tasks in the area they've been assigned to work on. This typically starts with fixing existing (and fairly simple) bugs. Small bugs are a good way to familiarize a new hire with the code, assets, tools, and work flow. In addition, it also provides good acceptance criteria for completing the task. There are also almost always small bugs available for fixing on large projects, especially long-running large projects.

Second, I put new hires into circulation for reviewing other peoples' work (e.g. code review, design review, art review, etc.), especially those working in the same area as the new hire. They help look over work done by others and get an opportunity to ask questions about the work being done. This helps show the new hire how others on the team are doing their work and gives them an avenue to ask questions about how things work.

Third, I like pairing the new hire up with a mentor so they can feel more comfortable asking general questions without feeling nervous or fearing judgement. More experienced new hires probably won't need a mentor as long, but it is good to have someone who can answer questions and suggest helpful information to the new hire. One big problem that many new hires have is the unknown unknowns - things that they don't know that they don't know. The mentor should help point those things out.

As the new hire gains experience with the project and levels up, we can repeat this process for each new area of responsibility that we want them to work on. I might start a new hire with class design first, before expanding their responsibilities to enemy or encounter design. With luck, they'll be able to pick things up more quickly as they become more familiar with the project and the way things work. The first few weeks of being a new hire on a big project is often like drinking from the firehose - it's information overload on all sides. I've found that assigning small actionable tasks, peer review participation, and providing a mentor are all very useful means of structuring the onboarding process and make it a little less daunting.

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Frequent Questions: The FAQ

[threeleggedart]

from discord: 2, 3, 9, 19, 22

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

depends on if the characters asymmetrical but generally dont have problems with either + i flip my canvas to check for inconsistencies. forward is weird because depending on character design its either super easy or a nightmare (ie any characters who were never meant to be viewed facing forward)

(next one was a text doozy so making this a read more!)

3. What ideas come from when you were little

this ones gonna be weird bc i dont think i can be sure on a lot of these lmao

bio/zoology + monster stuff definitely came from childhood interest, i likea tha critters :) i wanna say my interest in bots/mechs + funky inanimate object stuff too? i did play metal slug a lot as a kid and a bunch of childhood favs were mechanical characters. also ive found fanart of putt putt, captain underpants villains, and the brave little toaster in my childhood journals lmao

oc -wise, selena herself (and vicks) also are funny in their own ways. i can say for sure they were always distinct ocs in my mind but i never actually Materialized them till very very recently. selena was based on a childhood pokemon trainer oc (but noot entirely self insert? its hard to describe) and vicks is kind of. a catharsis character for me. i have been thinking about making an entirely split oc from vicks recently bc the character i view in scenarios i want to visualize has been vicks, but i dont really wanna anymore bc she deserves to be her own deal now

...i also would argue probably the reason why mws huge cast + me just being able to. establish how they interact with each other so quickly also came from childhood ocs i never put down on paper or knew how to articulate as characters. its something im very weird about bc i straight up had a "cast" of fundamental ocs (proto-selena was one of them actually) from childhood to high school that were so personal to me i never wrote or visualized any of them bc Crinj they were just for lil ol me lmao. they liked to hang out with each other :)

finding connections between my fixation on my current characters and stuff i thought about as a kid is a thing i think about a normal amount teehee

9. What are your file name conventions

stupid and goofy but still understandable to infer what it is for personal stuff, labeled straight for work stuff. "sketchbook" files have scratchpad in the name, pieces that include characters that arent my own usually include the persons username, and annual based stuff have the year

i like to be sillay but also i am a freak about keeping my files organized lmao

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

sid industrial machinery is really fun for me, buildings tend to be too basic and geometric for me to enjoy drawing... i wanna do more extremely stylized furniture and prop stuff (i really like those drawings that are character inventory layouts), i actually do wanna make fake object assets for my settings eventually bc i love that kind of stuff. bottles and containers are aesthetically pleasing but havent figured out rendering the sweet spot ive seen other drawings hit, at least for me

environments are something i wanna do bc those pics of super expansive landscapes with either huge structures or so open you can see the horizon stretch for miles are really cool, but still in the general learning process so itll be a while before i can even try reaching for that effect

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

:)

i sometimes do a little wrist wriggle or crack it a bit, or ill wring my arm/shoulder, but unless my arms got a weird feeling i dont really do too much...

i squeeze both my biceps with my hands too sometime bc thats actually where i normally experience soreness from drawing

[delawarecounty]

Divorce Lawyers Near Me - What Every Individual Should Look Into

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Another important aspect of divorce proceedings is child custody, and a combative divorce attorney is adept at defending the best interests of their clients' children. They compile information and make convincing arguments to demonstrate that their clients can create a safe and secure atmosphere. Their goal is to advance the stability and well being of the children who are involved, as well as protect the rights of parents for their client. Additionally, a litigious divorce attorney fights for alimony or spousal support. To ensure that their clients receive an equitable and reasonable amount of support, they advocate for their client's interests through bringing up issues like income inequality, earning capacity, and the length of the marriage. They seek to build an enduring foundation by expertly communicating the financial realities. The active divorce lawyer is always a dependable ally who can provide assistance and direction throughout the legal procedure. They are a source of support during these trying times because they are aware of the emotional toll divorce may affect their clients.

They know the stress their customers go through and are focused on the legal details. A divorce lawyer who is combative exhibits their legal prowess in the courtroom. In order to get the best result for their clients, they put together powerful arguments, make evidence, and cross examine witnesses. Their determination to fight for what is fair and right is the reason for their ferocious manner of speaking. The divorce lawyer who is combative works behind the scenes outside from the courts. They review documents, look over the law, and map their next step. Their unwavering focus is on getting their clients the best possible outcomes. When it comes to divorce, an assertive divorce lawyer is crucial to ensure that their clients receive what is right. They fight for fair distribution of assets, the child's custody arrangement, and spouse support, while navigating the complexity of legal system with skill, tenacity and a steadfast commitment. They offer assistance throughout an emotional time and serve as the client's loyal all-arounder.

[chelseaclintonn]

Always Ten Steps Ahead

One place that can really test the gangster in you is work lol 🙄! I pray to God everyday to please give me patience to get through the day because to be quiet honest there’s always going to be some bs. Unfortunately a lot of people are in predicaments where your employers are taking advantage in more than one way. We find ourselves at a crossroads at times from situations that arise where we have to choose to either be professional or to turn tf up. Over the years I’ve learned the only way to counter the bs is knowledge and the only way to keep your sanity is boundaries which then makes it easier to let shit go. It’s already in my nature to seek knowledge and information, I love to learn. I thrive when my surroundings challenge my curiosity so when I was provided with an opportunity to learn someone else’s position or cover at work I did in young adult years.

1. So I was always prepared to take the next step in a higher position.

2. At some point I now know how everything is supposed to be executed and everyone’s scope of responsibilities.

This helped me see through the cracks way quicker and I know exactly who or where the ball was dropped. This also puts me in a position to implement my boundaries when our jobs try to find a quick solution and literally dump more longterm responsibilities on you, especially without compensation. It’s their responsibility to make sure they hire staff to fill positions when people are transitioning in and out of them. If that’s not the case then please have my salary reflect my workload and/or new responsibilities. Don’t be afraid to speak up and advocate for yourself and renegotiate your salary because you’re an asset to their team, professionally of course. Increase your vocabulary so you can have these corporate conversations. I know what it feels like to be overwhelmed at work because there’s just not enough time in the day to complete your task. Then one day let’s say your company restricts overtime, then that’s the day you start caring less because make it make sense ? The quality of your work shouldn’t change but do what you can then when it’s time to leave, whatever is not completed is tomorrow’s problem. It’s not worth the stress and at the end of the day everyone is replaceable so don’t let these jobs burn you out. Now that’s how you protect your peace. You can use those same boundaries at work you just have to know how to approach things to set yourself up to win or at least have a say in the outcome. I still have my bad days, I get pissed off but for the most part I laugh things off because a lot of shit ain’t got nothing to do with me lol and there’s just too many faults in their system so you was always set up to encounter SOMETHING. I’m that person that’s always going to ask was there a change in protocol or if they can provide proof/supporting documents, employee handbook for whatever bs they try to spin on you because NINE times out of ten they be lying. So please know your worth and always advocate for yourself. This is your life so take it back.

In other news I hope everyone’s year has been going good so far. Right now I feel good. I’ve been so optimistic lately as I go through some exciting changes, I’m so ready. I never care if anyone reads my journal entries but it always touches me how much of you do. My hope is that my advice gives someone the confidence they need, being the shoulder for someone in their time of need. If you ever want to talk or just bounce ideas off each other I’m always down to chat.

Until next time <3

March 23 2024 11:04pm