#is tumblr miscalculate or what

[twwcs]

apparently after eliminating 20something blank blogs this shitposting blog has over 700???!?!? like how? why yall here? mostly are from my daniel brühl era and it kept growing i dont know why this blog is worth following tbh. And for that i need to address it more verbally(?) uhm hi, hello, i’m rani and right now i’m in my oscar isaac and pedro pascal era, i shitpost mostly, reblogging post i like and mostly the one that entertain me and i make handmade embroidered patches sometimes😃 also i love my every single mutual even tho we never even got to talk a single sentence but i love you all muahh

[derpu-doodles]

Can't get my mind out of those memories Now time to tell them, "Don't take my dream"

basically I was listening to P4's Heaven while drawing and my brain immediately went "lmao what if we Third Semester Akechi,"

[the-evil-lovable-simp]

Confusion

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔

part 5 of 🌧️welcome to hell🌧️

summary - you were finally on the path fate had set from the beginning.

warning - slight angst, mentions of cheating, swearing.

the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 6

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You realised that you owed yourself the biggest apology for putting up with shit you didn’t deserve. A few months had passed since you found out your husband was cheating on you with your best friend. Only to discover that he had been cheating the entire relationship. Johnny had been fighting the divorce the first few weeks of the first month, during that time you couldn’t understand why he was trying to hurt you more by not letting you go. 

But he had finally caved, signing the divorce papers and the moment he finished signing his name, it had felt like you could finally breathe. Your soul would occasionally tremble with memories, and warmth, and pain when hearing his name. Sometimes your heart would break a little more whenever you looked into someone’s eyes that had the same colour as his. It felt like wherever you looked, there he was. 

His name no longer made you smile. It was a relief when you had woken one day to discover that. 

When you left, you didn’t really have a plan. No one to go to and nowhere to live. But you managed, you found a small apartment that wasn’t exactly your dream, but it would have to do. You were starting over, starting a new life. 

You were currently walking back from doing a little bit of grocery shopping, your eyes roamed around, taking in the view around you before you stumbled slightly, tripping over a small rock that seemed to be randomly placed on the footpath. You catch yourself before you fall completely, hands gripping the bags tightly so that they don’t drop. Once you’ve steadied yourself, you look down at the rock and your brows furrow. 

What a strange looking rock. It looked almost like a crystal, coloured a soft pink and shaped like a heart. You shift a bag to your other hand before you bend down, and gently pick it up and examine it. Maybe someone dropped it?

You looked around, noticing that you were right in front of your apartment building. Strange, you could’ve sworn you had a few more steps to take. You move to the entrance of the building, the rock still in your hand. You shake your head, maybe you miscalculated or were too lost in your head to notice that you had been closer than you had thought. You pocket the rock and place one of the bags back into it before you walk inside. 

You head up the stairs, with a soft huff you finally make it onto your floor. Just as you near your apartment, you bump into a wall? No, walls don’t feel so warm and have a beating heart… Or abs? “I’m so sorry!” 

“I’m so sorry!” Why did this feel so familiar? 

You looked up, why were you looking down to begin with? Sometimes you could be so dumb. But your question is left unanswered as your eyes connect to the most beautiful blue ones that you had ever seen, ones that you had seen before. Steve had thought the same about your eyes as he stared back. You couldn’t help but notice that he looked so different, but the same. A beard now in place of his once clean–shaven face, but you noticed his eyes more. They had stayed the same and it was at that moment you knew. You knew that from the first moment you met, it was… Not love at first sight exactly, but; familiarity. Like… Oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you. 

You blink and quickly move away, suddenly feeling as though you’ve been punched in the chest at the realisation. You couldn’t let yourself get hurt again and it had been two years. He probably didn’t even remember you and thought you were a creep for staring or he remembered but he had someone, and you didn’t want to ruin that with whatever the hell you were feeling. You couldn’t get over how rough he seemed though, compared to the man you bumped into two years ago. Maybe it was the beard…

No matter how much you willed yourself to, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him. Your mind screamed at you about getting hurt again, but your heart and soul weren’t listening. It seemed Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away from you either, you both could feel a pull. You had felt that pull your whole life, it always felt like you were being pulled towards someone or something. The pull only seemed to stop when you bumped into Steve, but the moment you pulled away… It came back.

You couldn’t feel or see it. But the rock was buzzing and glowing. Like it was meant to be. 

You believed in soulmates once. You had the stupid thought that Johnny was yours because he kept popping up in your life. But he never gave you the feeling that you thought soulmates would get. You only felt that feeling when you bumped into…

“I’m sorry again. I don’t mean for us to always bump into each other, ma’am.” Steve smiled, his hands were on your hips, they had shot out to steady you, fearing that you would fall. “It’s nice to run into you again. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last time.” In his head, he’s shooting a glare at Natasha, knowing that she would be smirking at this whole thing. You would hopefully never learn about how he had never let that down, always bringing it up to her these past years, causing him to be teased a lot by his friends, but he didn’t seem to mind whenever your face appeared in his mind. Steve blinks, his attention fully on you again. “I’m Steve, Steve Rogers.” 

You stare up at him wide–eyed, he REMEMBERED you? “You remember me?” You clear your throat, your cheeks heating as you suddenly feel his hands still on your hips. “Sorry… I’m Y/n, Y/n L/n.” 

“The stars will go out before I forget you,” He says it so quietly that you don’t think you were supposed to hear him. Steve blinks, suddenly turning pink when he realises you heard him. “I, uh… Yes.” Steve stumbles on his words and to you it is the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. “Wait… What are you doing here? Not in a rude way! I love that you’re here! I mean, oh god…” 

You smile, you had never smiled this much in your life… Steve seemed to make you forget. You look past him, gesturing to your apartment. “I, uh, live here. I haven’t been here that long though.” Your gaze turns back to Steve only to notice that he was already looking. You wouldn’t lie, your heart stuttered at the possibility of him never looking away. You weren’t used to a man looking at you, just you. “What about you? Are you…” 

Your eyes flickered down to his lips as he smiled. God, his smile is gorgeous. 

“Oh, that’s great! I mean, good… That’s good, no… Uh.” Steve stumbles more, clearing his throat. When did his shirt get so tight? “I live here as well.” He nods to the apartment across from yours, huh. It must’ve been fate. “I–I’m barely home, since…” He swallows, still smiling but he doesn’t continue, as he finds himself getting lost in you. You made him feel like a teenage boy again, where he couldn’t speak a single word without stumbling over them. Though, you guessed it was probably because he had someone already, how couldn’t he? But you were so far from the truth. You smile and Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips. God, her smile is gorgeous. He shakes his head, “Did you need some help taking those in?” He gestures to your bags. 

Your voice is so quiet as you respond. “I don’t mind…” Somewhere deep inside you knew you wanted to go anywhere with him. Wanted him beside you forever. As he is about to grab a bag from your hands, you pause. “Wait, I’m not holding you up, am I? You were just…” 

Steve shakes his head, “You aren’t! I was just heading to meet my friends, but they can wait.” He smiles, and you look at him with a confused look, feeling relieved that a girlfriend wasn’t mentioned, but guilty for holding him back. Steve manages to take both bags, but you don’t notice, all you can feel is the sparks that light from the small touch. “Don’t worry, they’ll understand. I don’t mind helping, plus. I offered. So you can’t feel bad.” 

Your mind feels fuzzy as you catch his eyes again, the world feels like it has stopped. Steve can’t help but feel the same.

Your souls lit from beneath, filled with joy. They had finally found each other again. Your soul had found his and his had found yours. 

Your souls had been lovers since the beginning of time. 

They would always find each other.

You and Steve could feel it as you continued to stare at each other. 

This was the path you were supposed to take…

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[askagamedev]

About Unity these past few days

A lot of people have asked me about Unity and their strange new per-install charges policy that they rolled out on September 12th, 2023. I wanted to give them at least 24 hours before I posted my take on it - let the dust settle a bit so I could get a chance to read the new policy properly and all that. First, however, I think we need to take a step back and get a wider perspective. Unity Software Inc. is in some serious financial trouble. Here are their operating numbers from 2019 to 2023.

The blue line here is how much money they take in and the red line is the amount of money they are spending each year. You may notice that they are spending significantly more money year over year than they earn. In fact, over the past 12 months alone (August 2022 to August 2023), Unity Software Inc. has lost almost $1 billion.

In 2022, Unity spent four times as much money as they did in 2019. If they had managed to keep costs at double their spending in 2019, they still would have earned $243 million in profit. Instead, they lost $882 million in 2022.

Where does all of this cost come from? In any software company like Unity, the vast vast majority of costs comes from employee salaries. And we can directly see it in Unity's number of employees:

Unity Software Inc. more than tripled its headcount from 2019 to 2022, and it did all of this hiring during the pandemic while competing with many many other developers all trying to hire from the same pool. I don't work for Unity, but I was in the market and I had lots of recruiters trying to recruit me during that time.

In short, Unity is suffering from the same miscalculation that Embracer Group did, that EA did, that Activision-Blizzard did, that Square-Enix did, and just about everybody else in the tech industry - they misjudged the good times at the beginning of the pandemic, overspent hiring people thinking the good times would last, and are now scrambling to figure out how to survive. The difference is that Unity was getting all of their operating money from Venture Capitalists (VCs) hoping that they would eventually become profitable, but VC money has all but dried up because it's become much more expensive to borrow money over the past two years.

As a result, the Unity executives are likely grasping at straws in hopes of saving a sinking ship. This wild and decidedly senseless pricing plan is their (seemingly-desperate) attempt to juice their revenues. It really makes very little sense from the developer perspective, which is what makes the whole thing reek of desperation. That isn't greed talking, it's survival. My guess is that Unity is currently desperately looking for a buyer to save them and doing whatever they can to buy themselves some more runway. They already announced layoffs back in May, but I suspect they'll probably have to announce some really big layoffs (e.g. 40-50%) soon. Unity Software Inc. is living on borrowed time and they know it.

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[trensu]

So this was originally a little ficlet i added to @gyroshrike's EXCELLENT angel dust fanart. You should check it out IMMEDIATELY. Anyway, I ended up writing it out into a proper fic so I could post it to ao3 here. and i thought i might as well make it its own tumblr post as well since the fic is done already. Enjoy!

“What do you mean no?” Cherri asks, annoyed. “This is the fifth fucking outfit you’ve shot down.”

Angel doesn’t know why he thought Cherri would be helpful on this shopping trip. He forgot that Cherri’s idea of fashion involves singed tops and torn up bottoms. He snatches the clothes from Cherri’s hands and throws them back on the rack.

“Ya keep pickin’ slutty clothes!” Angel replies, also annoyed. 

“That’s because you are a slut, bitch.”

Angel gives her a two fingered salute because he’s fucking cultured. Cherri cackles and flips him off in return. Angel marches to the other end of the store to the rack full of boring colors like navy, gray, and black. They don’t go with his coloring at all. It’s the only rack left he hasn’t looked through in the entire store, though. Cherri follows behind him, purposely shoving racks and mannequins to make a mess as they go.

“Well, I ain’t tryin’ ta look slutty this time,” Angel says as he aggressively inspects the rack of clothing.

“Good luck getting that cat in bed after your date,” Cherri snorts.

“It’s a first date! Husk ain’t like that,” Angel says, feeling a bit offended on Husk’s behalf. “He’s a gentleman.”

“Yeah, the drunk arsehole is a total gentleman,” Cherri rolls her eye. 

“He is about this kinda thing. He’s a classy guy, okay? So I’m givin’ classy a try,” Angel insists. He reaches the end of the rack with nothing to show for it. He growls. “Fuck this place, it ain’t got shit. Let’s go.”

“Fuck yes! About fucking time,” Cherri cheers.

After blowing off steam with Cherri, Angel sneaks back into the hotel. Not that he’d done anything wrong; he just doesn’t want to bump into Husker at the bar after the spectacular failure of a shopping trip. He’s stressed because he was running out of time to get an outfit together. He knows he gets catty under pressure. (Ha. Catty.) He doesn’t want to risk getting catty with Husker.

Once inside, Angel wanders the upper levels for a bit until he is absolutely sure that Charlie was nowhere around. He knows Charlie would be overjoyed to help but she's about as subtle as machine gunfire when she's happy. Angel wants his future upscale look to be a surprise for Husk.

Since Charlie can’t be considered, Angel is left with one last option. With extreme reluctance, he makes his way to Charlie’s room. He makes sure not to show anything but confidence and charm when he knocks on the door.

Vaggie opens it with a scowl.

“Angel. What do you want?” Vaggie asks in that flat yet annoyed tone she was so good at doing.

“Heyyy, Vaggie. Ya know that redemption thing Charlie always yaps about?” Angel starts. Vaggie’s scowl deepens, so Angel continues before she could say anything. “I was thinkin’ I should change up my look, so I ain’t so sexy and tempting. Looking like a prude is a virtue, ain’t it? You’re the biggest prude I know! Wanna help a fella out? For redemption and sh–uh, stuff?”

Angel bats his eyes at Vaggie, channeling his ‘I’m a sweet, naive virgin, please take advantage of me’ character. It’s a very popular character in his line of work. He is much better at that than at looking innocent but he figures it’s basically the same thing. Vaggie glares at him. Okay, slight miscalculation on Angel’s part, then.

“No,” she says, and tries to close the door. Angel catches it with two hands before it shuts completely.

“Wait!”

“I’m not helping you with whatever porno you’re doing,” Vaggie says. 

“It ain’t for porn!” Angel says. He’s not exactly insulted that Vaggie assumed it was a porn thing, but he’s not not insulted either. He’s got a life outside of porn, sometimes!

Vaggie stares at him. It’s an expectant stare. It’s a stare that clearly says Angel has to give her a reason to not harpoon him with that spear she carries everywhere. (It’s also super judgemental but that doesn’t offend Angel since Vaggie looks at everyone except Charlie judgmentally).

A small jolt of embarrassment hits him. He wishes it was a porn thing now. 

He doesn’t want to say it out loud, this tiny frail chance Husk gave him by asking him out. If he says it out loud, Vaggie will scoff. She’d roll her eyes and ask him why he’s even bothering to try. Does he really think anyone would seriously want to date a cokehead pornstar? This is a pipe dream and Husker will get fed up with him so fast.

(Vaggie wouldn’t say any of that, a part of Angel knows. Those were Valentino’s words, but he’s so sure that Vaggie must have thought it at least once. Everybody must think that about him at least once).

The longer he stays quiet the more Vaggie’s glare softens until she starts to look genuinely concerned. And, fuck, Angel can’t have that. He’d die (again) if Vaggie felt sorry enough to be nice to him. He pastes on his smile and keeps his tone girlfriend-ly.

“I got a hot date, Vaggie, that’s all,” Angel says. “Wanna try somethin’ a little different for it.”

Vaggie is not convinced by his nonchalance which makes Angel wonder if he’s losing his touch. His acting skills are second to none! She should be eating out of the palm of his hand with this performance! Instead, she marches out of the room and waves him along.

“Follow me,” Vaggie says in her drill sergeant voice that makes everyone who hears it straighten their spine and find themselves already halfway to a salute.

Angel learns that Vaggie approaches clothes shopping with the same tactical focus and determination she approaches any mission, which is weird but whatever. She stealthily leads him to the nicer side of town into a more upscale shop than Angel is used to. She marches through the shop without bothering to ask Angel for his input on anything. Still she manages to pick out a few outfits that went well with his coloring and in his size. Angel has never appreciated her observational skills more.

“Try these on and show me,” she demands, piling her pickings into both sets of Angel’s arms and shoving him into a dressing room.

Angel complies without protest. He sashays out of the dressing room like a supermodel four times before Vaggie nods in satisfaction on the last option. She actually smiles at him.

“This one. You’ll impress your date with this one,” Vaggie says without a hint of irony.

Angel smiles back and thanks her enthusiastically. He ignores how he hadn’t recognized himself in the mirror in any of the outfits. He ignores how uncomfortable the clothes feel on his body. The clothes are classy, just like Husker prefers. That’s what matters.

–

When Husker shows up at his door for their date, he does a double take.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Husk asks, confused.

Angel starts to lean flirtatiously into his space, a salacious come on right on the tip of his tongue. He catches himself halfway and quickly straightens himself with an awkward laugh.

“Just somethin’ I found in the back of the closet,” he lies through his teeth.

He’d devoted time to doing his makeup just right and making sure the clothes were crisp and clean. He still feels uncomfortable in them but all things considered, Angel thinks the final product came out pretty good. The way Husker looks at him now makes him wonder if he overestimated his looks for once.

Husk’s eyes narrow as he studies Angel. His gaze trails Angel top to bottom. It doesn’t feel very sexy but Angel supposes the point is to not look like a whore so this means he succeeded, right? 

“Sure,” Husk says, notes of confusion still in his tone. “You ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course!” Angel stutters like a moron.

“Alright,” Husker says after a beat.

Husk gives Angel another suspicious look, shoulders tense and wings pulled close. Something shifts in his expression that Angel can’t read. He’s afraid it might be disappointment. Husker shakes out his wings and offers Angel his arm, which Angel accepts with relief.

“So, where ya takin’ me, Huskie?”

Husker tells him about a little place with good food, better drinks, and a live jazz band. As they walk out of the hotel, Angel almost cozies up against Husk, so tempted to rub his cheek against Husker’s furry ear. He catches himself again and over-corrects by pulling away from Husk until their linked arms are the only point of contact. Husk stumbles a bit with the weight shift. He shoots him another indecipherable look. Husker opens his mouth to say something but appears to change his mind and snaps it shut.

That’s okay, though, right? Husker wasn’t much of a talker anyway! Angel fills the silence between them with nervous babble. Angel is normally very good at conversation but tonight he keeps having to stop and restart mid-sentence when his stories get crass. Being crass is not good first date behavior. Husker grunts every now and then but it’s clear he’s only listening with half an ear. It doesn’t help Angel’s nerves at all.

The date goes downhill from there.

Husker finds them a booth when they arrive at their destination and helps Angel order their food and drinks. He points out several he thinks Angel will like.

Usually, he and Husker can pound back alcohol like nobody’s business. They sometimes make a game of it and those nights are some of the best Angel has because he gets to see Husker soften and relax in his company. However, Angel is an affectionate drunk and Husk has had to nudge Angel away more than once those nights. Husker is always sweet about it now, with gentle hands and amusement in his eyes. Husker always helps him back to his room afterwards like a perfect gentlemanly escort. Despite that, Angel can’t help feeling a bit stung at the rejection each time.

Tonight, he only orders one drink. He knows he can’t be getting too handsy with Husk on their date. He’s sure it would annoy him. He doesn’t want Husker to regret asking him out. With his focus strictly on keeping up his good behavior and watching his alcohol intake, Angel barely touches the food Husker recommended to him. 

Husker keeps shooting him these looks that make Angel anxious. With each glance, Husker slinks deeper into his taciturn demeanor. Of course, Angel overcompensates with his babbling. At one point, Husk has to shush him during the jazz show. Angel clacks his jaws shut in shame, because he knows how much Husker likes jazz and here he is ruining the experience for him. At least Husk is nice enough to hold Angel’s hands throughout the rest of the show, though he probably only does it to keep Angel from fidgeting too much.

When they leave the joint, Husker doesn’t offer his arm again. He doesn’t even walk very close to him. Angel's stomach churns so much, he’s afraid if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll puke the two bites of food he ate earlier.

They’re halfway back to the hotel when Husk clears his throat. His hands are in his pockets as he trudges on, keeping his eyes on the crumbling sidewalk.

“You didn’t have to say yes,” Husk says, not even glancing at Angel or faltering in his steps as he speaks. Angel, on the other hand, halts in confusion.

“What?” Angel asks, not sure what Husker was talking about but the tone of voice made his stomach drop. Husk sighs, stopping in his tracks to finally look up at Angel. His face was closed off in his standard apathetic frown.

“When I asked you out,” Husker says, his tone going to his usual bored gruffness. He hasn’t used that tone towards Angel in a long time. Hints of panic start crawling up Angel’s veins. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

“What?” Angel asks again like a fucking idiot. He hopes he doesn’t sound as shaky and pathetic as he feels.

Husker’s voice goes flatter though his tail has started to twitch uneasily.

“You should’ve said no if you didn’t want to…be with me. We woulda been fine.”

“Huskie–”

And at last some of that soft, hidden sincerity crept back into Husker’s voice. Only a little bit, but it’s there.

“I’d still be your friend, Legs,” Husker says, gazing into Angel’s eyes and sounding painfully honest. “I wouldn’t abandon you over that.”

“No! I-I–”

Husker looks away with a bitter grin. Angel’s heart cracked at the sight.

“I’d need a day or two to lick my wounds, but I knew it was a long shot anyway. I woulda come back,” Husker shrugs when he finishes going for nonchalance, but his wings are once again curled protective and close, making his usual slouch look less like carelessness and more like defeat. Husker doesn’t wait for Angel’s response, instead choosing to continue walking back to the hotel.

Angel stands in place, floored by how badly he fucked up. He notices his breathing becoming erratic. He does his best to do the calming breathing thing Charlie taught them all. It works well enough to get him running to Husker again though Angel still feels unsteady and insecure. Most of him is screaming to fucking book it in the other direction because fuck, fuck, Angel hates feelings. But Husker also hates feelings and he basically threw up his guts at Angel despite it. The least Angel can do is return the gesture, right? He owes Husker that much.

“Husker, wait!” he shouts. 

Husker’s posture becomes more guarded but he doesn’t acknowledge Angel’s call. Angel catches up quickly (Husk can’t go too far too fast with those short legs, Angel thinks, helplessly fond despite the anxiety). Dodging around Husker’s wings that quiver with tension, Angel grabs the crook of his arm to bring him to a stop and place himself in Husk’s way. He lets go quickly at Husk’s glare but somehow manages to stand his ground.

“I did want! Husk, I wanted ta say yes, I wanted ta go on this date so much,” Angel says desperately, feeling a telltale burning around his eyes and hating himself for it.

The tension in Husker’s body breaks free as his patience caves to his temper. His wings flare open and his tail whips side to side aggressively.

“Then why are you acting so fucking fake? With the clothes and you treating me like I got the fucking plague! I thought we were done with that bullshit,” Husker snaps furiously.

“Cuz I wanted ta…I wanted ta be good for ya, Husk,” Angel chokes out, shoulders slumped in defeat. “You like classy. I wanted ta be a good, classy sorta guy for ya. I-I fucked up. I always fuck this shit up. I don’t mean ta do it.”

Angel stares at the poor excuse of a sidewalk they’re on, blinking back tears. Husker doesn’t say anything for a long time. Angel nearly loses his nerve and turns tail when Husker speaks again.

“You fucking dumbass,” Husk says. 

His voice is deep and warm and fond, the way it is on their drinking nights together. Angel’s head snaps to Husk at his words. That cocky little smirk– the one Angel first saw after Husk had pulled him out of his self-destructive spiral at the club and realized that if he wasn't careful he'd lose his heart to the guy–has replaced the angry slant of Husk’s mouth.

“Hey!” Angel protests with a cautious smile. Husk rolls his eyes.

“Don’t expect compliments if you’re gonna act stupid,” Husk says and offers his arm to Angel. “You’re already classy enough for me, Legs.”

Angel takes his arm and looks down at him slyly.

“But not good, huh?” Angel tries to tease but Husker doesn’t take it.

Instead, Husk looks at him intensely and says firmly, “If this redemption shit the princess keeps talking about ain’t total bullshit, you’d be the one to make it.”

“Oh,” Angel says, stunned, then adds to cover how hard it made his heart beat, “Husker, ya big ol’ flirt. I betcha say that ta all the pretty boys.”

“Fuck you,” Husk grins at him. Angel bats his eyes and lets his voice go all breathy.

“Oh, yes! Please, daddy,” Angel simpers. He adds a loud moan for good measure. Husker throws his head back with a rough, loud laugh. Angel knows immediately he wants to hear it again forever.

By the time Husk drops Angel off at the door of his room, the pair of them have relaxed significantly. Angel opens the door slightly to peek in on Fat Nuggets. After he makes sure his Nugs is sleeping soundly, Angel catches Husk’s sleeve before he could make a sneaky escape.

“Hey, Husk, can we get a do-over? A new first date? I want ta do it right next time.” Angel asks shyly. The corner of Husk’s mouth quirks up, making his golden eyes crinkle in a way that makes Angel’s heart melt.

“Depends,” Husker says with that charming smirk. “You gonna wear that stupid outfit next time?”

“Oh baby,” Angel says, plastering himself against the door frame in one of his sexiest poses. “I’m gonna wear my sluttiest dress for my handsome kitty. Everyone’s gonna wish they were you when they see us togetha.”

Husk snorts.

“When you put it like that…”

“You can put it wherever ya want, daddy,” Angel flirts. He’s only half-joking but he keeps his hands to himself to keep things light. Husker rolls his eyes in good humor.

“A do-over sounds good.”

Angel drops the pose instantly, beaming at Husk.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Angel’s heart flutters at the small smile that accompanies Husk’s assurance.

“Next week?”

Husker nods in agreement.

“Great!” Angel said, probably a little too enthusiastically.

Before Angel canlose his nerve, he dips down and presses a light, meek kiss on Husker’s cheek. When he pulls back, Husker’s eyes are as wide as saucers and his wings have puffed up in a way Angel hadn’t seen before. If Angel didn’t know any better, he’d say Husker was downright flustered. And oh god, Angel wanted to make him blush all over. Husker would be so cute in bed.

“G‘night, Huskie!” Angel says quickly and slams the door closed behind him.

After nearly tearing himself out of the uncomfortable clothes, Angel crawls into bed wearing only his boxer briefs. Next time, he thinks to himself in joy and disbelief. I get a next time.

He knows it will be perfect because next time he’ll be himself. Angel. Because that’s all Husker wanted. Just Angel.

He curls up around Fat Nuggets and allows himself one quiet, happy squeal.

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part ten: "The Growing Insecurity"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: You meet up with Matt for coffee to deliver some documents you'd uncovered to help one of his cases.

Or

You feel insecure sitting with Matt while two women continually check him out. But Matt knows how to make you feel better.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 3.1k

a/n: Bit of light angst in this one, friends! Don't worry, Matt makes everything better at the end! And as usual, you can find the full list of installments for this series on tumblr here!

Matt's hand was wrapped around your bicep as you maneuvered the pair of you through the coffee shop. You were currently trying to steadily carry both of your coffees in each hand while also precariously holding a folder filled with a handful of papers to your chest with the arm that was not guiding Matt. You could feel the folder slowly slipping down your chest with each step. 

As you swerved past a table with two women, you internally cringed at the way both of their heads shot up, their eyes immediately landing on Matt beside you. The long-haired woman's brows rose, a small smile pulling her lips up at the corner at the sight of him. Next to her, the lady with the short bob hairstyle bit her lip, her eyes obviously following the pair of you as you walked.

You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach, your face falling just a bit as you neared a booth in the back of the little shop. Of course you weren't foolish enough to think women would suddenly not notice Matt just because the two of you had gone on a few dates. It's not like the word 'unavailable' was stamped on his forehead. But it still stung each time you were out with him and saw the looks thrown his way or the comments that sounded just a tad too flirtatious.

But there had been a few times–three times, exactly–where women had openly flirted with Matt while you were right there. And yes, he had politely declined each time and even pointed out that he was with you, usually while throwing a possessive arm around your waist as he did. But then they'd usually glare at you or shoot you confused looks, obviously noticing the nervous way you carried yourself beside a man as attractive and confident as Matt. Which ultimately made you even more self-conscious and nervous. If Matt had ever picked up on it, you'd never heard him say anything.

"This should be private enough to discuss things," you told Matt as you stopped in front of an empty booth. "At least considering we're in a public coffee shop."

Matt released his hold on your arm, beginning to fold up his cane. "Thanks for looking into this for me," he said. "You're really good at finding the hidden details when I need them."

You flushed under his praise, setting Matt’s coffee in your left hand onto the table in front of him. "Thanks," you murmured. 

"Maybe you missed your calling as a lawyer?" he teased.

You snorted, shaking your head and trying to grab onto the folder while setting your own coffee onto the table. You miscalculated the movement though, the folder slipping out from underneath your arm and quickly falling towards the floor. Before you even had a chance to do more than inhale a sharp breath of dismay, Matt’s hand was already darting out and catching the folder like it was instinctual. He held it out to you, a small smile flashing at you underneath his dark glasses.

"Thanks," you whispered, accepting the folder from him.

You slid into the booth, the cold of the faux leather chair on your bare legs causing you to shiver just a bit. Knowing you'd be meeting Matt this morning for coffee, you'd opted for a dress instead of your usual jeans. Of course Matt couldn't exactly see what you were wearing, but he had noticed the fabric and realized that you were in a dress–apparently based on how it had sounded as you moved. He had told you that he thought you looked beautiful this morning and you'd delighted at the compliment knowing he meant it. As you’d both walked to the coffee shop, you’d felt like you were walking on air with him at your side, a large smile on your face. 

But now as you situated yourself in the booth, Matt sliding in across from you and setting his folded cane further down the table, you could feel the two womens' eyes on you from a few tables over. As you quickly glanced in their direction you noticed your suspicions were correct; they were both indeed staring. You focused back on the folder before you, tucking some hair behind your ear as Matt took a drink of his coffee. 

“So uh,” you began nervously, half your focus still on the women nearby, “I found some articles that correlate with your Mr. Girsham. Took a bit of work,” you continued, opening up the folder in front of you, “because I had to really dig around some old papers Ellison has horribly stored away at The Bulletin.” You shook your head, smiling slightly. “He really needs an actual filing system. But anyway, I scanned copies and emailed them to you and Foggy. I wanted to find a way to convert them to a text that would make them more accessible for you, but I figured you’d appreciate the articles sooner rather than later. But,” you continued, pulling out the few pages of printed braille text and sliding them across the table to Matt, “I printed out some of the documents for you that I found filed away strangely and conveniently improperly at the county clerks. Which took some real digging because I didn’t know what was even out of place at first.” You noticed Matt’s hands were running along the pages of braille in front of him and you bit your lip, pausing. “I’ll give you a minute to read them without my incessant chatter.”

His hand abruptly paused, his head rising up towards you. “You’re not incessantly chattering,” he assured you. 

You smiled softly, your attention turning to the coffee you’d yet to drink. Picking up the cup, you took a long sip of the warm liquid, eyes momentarily closing as you enjoyed the drink. This shop always had good coffee, but today it was made even better being able to drink it with just Matt. Normally when you’d grabbed coffee with him, Foggy or Karen, if not both of them, were with you. This was a welcome change. 

You swallowed down the warm liquid, eyes opening as you reveled in the comforting warmth of the cup between your hands while taking in the sight of Matt before you. He’d told you that he stopped into the office early this morning so he was dressed in a white dress shirt with a thin red tie and black dress pants. His hair was just ever so slightly windswept from the walk here and you’d contemplated at least five times reaching up and fixing it for him when you’d both waited in line to order your coffee. You chewed your thumbnail now, resting your elbow on the table as Matt’s hands continued to scan over the documents, contemplating how he’d react if you stretched across the table and carded your fingers through his hair, fixing the few out of place strands. Would he mind?

Laughter from the table over caught your attention and you glanced over your shoulder. The two women were giggling, hands thrown over their mouths. The long-haired woman glanced over to your booth, her eyes lingering on Matt. You felt heat rise to your cheeks ever so faintly, that sinking feeling returning to your squirming gut as you ducked your head, chewing harder on your nail. You wondered if Matt heard what they were talking about; were they laughing at you? Or maybe they were making comments about him, just as Katy had done the night you’d met him. You sighed gently, your eyes focused on your coffee cup in front of you.

“You okay?” 

The question caught you off guard and your eyes darted up. Matt was staring at you, the papers shuffled back together in front of him. His head was tilted to the side a bit, his brows pulled together and his lips pulled into a thin line.

“I’m fine,” you told him softly. Quickly clearing your throat you asked, “So is any of that helpful? I mean I know you don’t have the articles here, but do those help your case? Connect some missing dots?”

“Yeah, actually. I owe you, really,” he answered, picking up his coffee cup. “I’ll have to tell Fog to check out the news articles when we finish our coffee.” He shrugged a shoulder, taking a sip of his drink before shooting you a smile. “But that can wait a bit. I’m quite content to just enjoy your company for a bit longer if you’re not in a rush.”

“I’m not in a rush,” you replied easily.

“And I suppose I do have one more bit of business,” Matt said, resting his elbows onto the table and leaning in towards you.

Curious, you leaned in towards him a little as well. “Which is?”

“Figueroa,” Matt barely uttered the name. “I’m close to getting a thumb drive full of information on his dealings in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“How close?” you asked, eyes narrowing.

His fingers tapped lightly along the table, his covered gaze still on you. “Tonight, if I’m lucky,” he finally answered.

Your eyes went wide. You’d been working on that case for more than a year, but after Matt had shown up as Daredevil and saved you from Figueroa’s men you’d grudgingly dropped it. At least, for the most part. But if Matt had a big break, actual proof you could use to out him and his illegal trafficking of women, you could throw him in the spotlight at The Bulletin. Get the police on him and get him arrested once and for all.

“So you uh, you need to do the whole going out and punching bad guys thing tonight to get your hands on it?” you asked him.

He smirked, one corner of his mouth tugging up at your question. “I believe that’s a vast oversimplification of what I’m going to do, but yes, in short, that’s what I plan to do tonight,” he answered. “And I was thinking that tomorrow night maybe you could come over, I could order us some food, and we could go over what’s on it?”

Your heart sped up a little. You hadn’t gone to Matt’s apartment before–not alone at least. Your eyes dropped down to the hand he had on his coffee cup, briefly remembering what he’d done with them not too long ago. Remembering the way they’d touched you, worked you up and gotten you off so damn easily. Sweat dampened your palms as you gnawed on the inside of your cheek. Would they be on you again if you went there tomorrow night? Your breath came in short at the thought, eyes still focused on his hands. Would you actually be able to touch him ? He shifted in the booth, the movement catching your eye. The smirk grew just a little wider on his mouth and you held the coffee cup just a bit tighter in your hands in response.

“Someone thinking about the other week?” he asked, voice suddenly deeper than it had been a moment ago.

Face flushing, you re-tucked the hair already behind your ear nervously. Your mouth opened to respond, your stomach twisting in anxious anticipation, but another voice cut you off.

“Hey!”

Your mouth snapped shut, your attention turning to the long-haired woman from the table nearby standing at your booth. You grimaced at the way she was focused on Matt, bright smile flashing at him as she kicked a hip out. Her friend at the table was leaning over the back of her chair staring at Matt, entirely ignoring you. 

You felt invisible and lousy, your thumbnail making its way up to your mouth. Eyes averted to your coffee cup, you wished you could just slip silently out of the booth and get away from this situation. It didn’t matter that this had happened three other times before, it hurt every damn time. You were literally sitting right there with him, why did she feel the need to interrupt?

“Can I help you?” Matt asked.

You noted his tone sounded a bit sharper and more unpleasant than usual, seeing his head turn towards the woman out of your peripheral. 

“I uh, I just wanted to say I saw you come in,” the woman began, seeming to lose confidence as she continued. “I wondered if maybe you’d like to get coffee sometime…?”

“As flattered as I’m probably supposed to feel,” Matt answered, his tone still a little sharper than usual when he dealt with women flirting with him, “I’m clearly in the middle of having coffee with my girlfriend.”

You saw the woman shift beside you, her surprised gaze landing on you. 

“Oh, I didn’t…didn’t know…” she said slowly. “Sorry,” she whispered.

She turned and hurried back over to her friend’s table. Your eyes lingered on them, watching as they gathered their coffees and purses and quickly left without a second glance. 

“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” Matt asked.

Slowly your eyes slid back to Matt across from you. He’d taken his glasses off, the dark frames laying on the table beside his coffee. You could see the concern and distress in his eyes as they scanned you. Glancing back down at your coffee cup, your nails nervously tapping along the cup, you shrugged a single shoulder.

“Not really pleasant feeling like I’m part of the coffee shop decor instead of a person sitting across from you at the table,” you muttered. “You can’t exactly help it though.”

Matt began sliding out of the booth, his coffee, cane, and glasses still on the table. You frowned, shooting him a questioning look.

“What’re you–”

“Move over,” he ordered as he got out of the booth.

“What?” you asked.

He was standing at your side of the booth now with a smile on his face. “Move over,” he repeated.

You began scooting towards the wall, a confused look still on your face. “Matt, what’re you doing?” you asked him.

He began sliding into the booth beside you and he didn’t stop until his thigh was pressed against the side of yours. He reached out, pulling his glasses and coffee back towards him on this side of the table now. And then he turned just a bit in the booth, one hand on his coffee cup and the other slipping down to rest on your bare thigh. You inhaled sharply when his hand affectionately squeezed your leg under the table.

“I honestly hate that,” he said.

Your brows furrowed. “Hate what? Beautiful women hitting on you?” you asked skeptically.

He rubbed the hand not on your thigh across his mouth for a moment as his eyes rested along your neck. Eventually a slow smile made its way across his lips. “You know that night we met at Josie’s? I overheard that entire conversation between you and your friend.”

You groaned, your head rolling back to land against the booth. “Come on, Matt,” you complained. “I feel shitty, why’re you trying to make me feel embarrassed, too?”

He chuckled softly, his hand squeezing your thigh again. “I’m not, just hear me out,” he said. 

You grunted in response, your eyes closing. If you had to listen you’d at least pretend he wasn’t sitting right there. Though that warm palm on your thigh was hard to ignore, especially when it reminded you of another night…

“I heard everything between the two of you that night,” Matt continued. “The comments she made about me. Teasing you about finding me attractive. And you know what? Not once did you actually make inappropriate remarks about me.”

“Says the guy who wouldn’t stop bringing up his ass the other week,” you muttered under your breath.

Matt chuckled beside you. “My point being, sweetheart, I appreciated that. Do you know how often I have to overhear what women say about me?”

“Not helping,” you mumbled.

His hand squeezed your thigh again. “My point being, the flirting like that? The objectification? I grew out of enjoying that shortly after leaving Columbia. But you–you didn’t do that.”

“You can’t hear my thoughts,” you blurted. 

Abruptly your eyes widened, realizing you’d said that aloud. Your attention nervously shifted to Matt beside you, but he was just smiling deviously back at you.

“Yeah?” he asked, his hand sliding up your leg just a bit. “Why don’t you tell me about some of those thoughts?”

You’d lost the ability to respond the moment his thumb slipped down to rub a circle along the inside of your thigh. Breathing was requiring all of your focus now. As if he could sense that, he laughed lightly and turned his attention to his coffee. His hand remained, though.

“Maybe you can tell me about them tomorrow night, over dinner at my place?” he asked. “I never did get an answer.”

“I…I’m free tomorrow night,” you whispered.

“Good,” he replied.

You took a deep breath, leaning forward onto the table and picking up your coffee cup. Taking a few deep drinks, something he’d said abruptly stood out in your mind. Setting the coffee back to the table, swallowing the drink down, you focused on Matt beside you.

“Since when am I your girlfriend?” you asked.

Shaking his head, he laughed. “You know, that took you longer to comment on than I thought it would,” he said.

“That wasn’t an answer,” you said, eyes narrowing.

“You’re right, it wasn’t,” he replied, leaning his arm onto the table and smiling warmly back at you. His eyes were creased at the corners and he looked boyishly handsome as he focused along your left shoulder with his beautiful eyes. “Do you want to be?”

“This feels like high school,” you said awkwardly.

“That wasn’t an answer,” he said, repeating you.

You couldn’t resist the laugh that came out in response, the entire ordeal with the women flirting and making you feel uncomfortable completely forgotten now. With the way he was sitting here, hand on your thigh, his sightless gaze focused entirely on you, you felt seen.

“If I said yes, would that make you my boyfriend?” you asked him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s how that works, isn’t it?” he teased. His brows rose onto his forehead as he asked, “So?”

You tried to bite back the smile but ultimately it broke across your face as you gazed back at him beside you in the booth. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you answered softly.

He leaned forward towards you, one hand still on your thigh as the other reached out, gently cradling the side of your face as he gradually closed the distance. His mouth was on yours briefly, connecting your lips in a sweet, small kiss. He pulled back just a fraction, his lips still brushing yours as he spoke.

“So would I,” he whispered.

Stomach suddenly bursting with a thousand nervous butterflies, you reached up and ran a hand through his hair, flattening a few of the windswept strands. Satisfied, your hand lightly gripped his chin before you leaned in and kissed him again.

[maximwtf]

“Sticking your hand where it doesn’t belong?”

Art by: ggracee (Tumblr) (pls yall go check them out, their art is the coolest !!)

Elias Bouchard x Reader

words: 1400

google docs pages: 3

Warnings: A burn, I think Elias should be a warning too, he’s kinda mean but that’s why I like him :"D

opening: You crawl back to the institute after trying to get a follow up on a statement, and ending up with a pretty bad burn on your hand. Hopefully it’s late enough so Elias shouldn’t be in his office so you could patch yourself up…

AN// Any pronouns for reader! I’m quite certain I’ve read almost every Elias fanfic out there and I’m getting desperate, so I’m writing some myself. (Also, any requests for Tim and I’ll be at it at the speed of light)

    “Sticking your hand where it doesn’t belong?”

Maybe you had miscalculated something or perhaps preparing for getting the follow up would have been a good idea, but pondering those topics was no use anymore. The damage was done and all you could do was try and fix it. 

Whoever it was that you had met, had most definitely not been the same person from one of the statements that had been assigned to you. If you could even call the thing that had burnt your hand a ‘person’.

It was hard to keep your thoughts away from the sheering pain that was coming from your right hand. Your left hand shook as it fiddled with the keys before finding the right one for the institute door. It was rather late, so you assumed no one should have been working anymore. At least no one from the archives, and that was enough to ease your mind. 

You knew the closest first aid kit must have been in Elias’ office, remembering when you had been an assistant to him, your office hadn’t had one. Not that you had the original keys to his office anymore either, after being transferred to the archives. But you had gotten a spare made before that, which you had ‘forgotten’ to return. Whoops? But also because you never came across a time when you would have needed them, before now of course. 

You climbed the stairs to his office, finding it hard to look for the old pair of keys from the bottom of your bag but there they were. Your shaky left hand reached to unlock the door in front of you, a sigh of relief escaping at the sound of it clicking open. With a gentle push the room behind the door opened up and even with a quick look inside you could spot someone. Elias Bouchard sitting at his desk, leaning on the familiar wooden table ever so slightly. “Ah, Y/n. A surprise to see you here so late?” His voice rang out, the expression on his face almost impossible to read. He was talking as if he had known you’d be coming. 

You didn’t say anything at first, not even sure as to what to do. Run off? It honestly almost felt like you couldn’t, and even if you did…how could you bring yourself back to work the next day? “Elias.” You nodded politely as if to greet him, every muscle in your body trying to hide how uncomfortable you were. “Do you have a- uh-” You stammered with the words, feeling awkward as it was but the knowledge that he had basically watched you break into his office was making the feeling worse. “A first aid kit? Yes.” He finished the sentence for you, raising his eyebrow slightly at your expression. You didn’t even know why you felt so surprised that he seemed to know what you were looking for, surely he had just seen the state of your hand… “I- yes, that. Could I have it?” You asked, taking a careful step into the room. “Could I have the key you used to break into my office with?” He asked, seemingly calm but still so hard to read. Elias stood up and with his back turned to you, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and kneeled down a little to pick up the kit from a drawer. You bit your inner lip, placing the keys on the table. The silence in the room made the sound of the keys hitting the table feel like it was echoing. “Y-yes. Of course.” You could have just gone home and all of this could have been avoided, you thought to yourself while watching him turn back to you. “What happened?” He asked, but his voice seemed to be filled with something other than any real concern or interest. You wish you had an answer to his question, but even you weren’t sure as to what had happened. All it took was one handshake and it had felt like the blood inside of you had been boiling. “Not sure if I’m being honest. I’m going to talk to Jon about it tomorrow.” You sighed, struggling to open the red bag Elias had placed in front of you but managing to do so in the end. “Sticking your hand where it doesn’t belong?” Elias’ voice asked, but it sounded almost mocking. As if he was making fun of you for getting injured? Either way, you didn’t say anything of it, not that you even could. The burning pain from your hand was keeping your full attention on it.

Elias’ presence was always intense, but it felt even more so now. Now, that he was watching you pull out a bluish bag from the kit, snapping it against the table and watching the motion cause the chemicals inside form into ‘ice’. He didn’t say anything, not until you started to struggle placing the bag on top of the burn properly. A sharp sigh left him and you could have sworn he rolled his eyes at you. “Let me.” He said and almost instinctively you let go of the bag and allowed him to do it for you. While Elias’ other hand was holding the bag in place, his free hand took a cotton pad and a bandage from the kit. You had thought about doing that yourself later on, but doubted you could have done it with one hand so you had already dropped the idea. Was he doing it for you? Without him even giving you a look, he began to open the bandage. “I’ll be fine without it- I mean, I can do that at home. I was just looking for an ice pack or something.” But even this comment didn’t seem to bring his gaze upon you, he kept his focus on the bandage. “From the state of your hand, I highly doubt you’ll make it home without injuring it further.” He sighed again, but to your surprise he didn’t seem too bothered. As much as him not looking bothered said anything about his true state of mind. 

Elias took the bag from your hand, making you miss the cooling effect it had given you, easing the pain. He leaned on the table a little while pulling you closer by the wrist, making you stumble. But you let him, no use in telling him no either. At least that’s what you told yourself was the reason for allowing him to do so. You felt almost dumbfounded, maybe from the exhaustion the day had caused but also because on top of all that, the last thing you had expected was having Elias, Elias Bouchard, your boss treat a burn on your hand. 

He placed the cotton pad on the spots he had deemed as the worst, and wrapped the bandage around it all, covering it to keep it safe. “There. Perhaps next time, do a little more research on the people you meet, hm?” He said, tone still oddly calm. You had questions burning at the back of your mind, but the hand still hurt enough to keep you from asking any of them. “I-  yes. Thank you.” You stuttered out before picking up your bag again. “I’ll…see you tomorrow.” You added, not quite sure what to say. Why was he so calm about all this?

No, none of that mattered now. The intense feeling around him had grown even worse from the start of this interaction, and you wanted away from it. “Good night, Y/n.” Elias’ voice rang from his office and down the first steps of the staircase as you descended away from him. 

AN//I’m sorry if this sucks, I’m studying for my matriculation exams and wrote this in a hurry :”D

[reinerispretty]

pause technique.

satoru gojo x f!reader. sequel to best of luck. , second installment of heart beats series!

here i am again, uploading my works from ao3 onto tumblr. wrote this one in 2022, hope you guys enjoy!!

SUMMARY:

Not a lot scares Gojo, except for losing you.

“Megumi?”

Fushiguro finds that odd. You never call him by his first name. “Huh?” He turns to look back at you.

“Would you mind giving Ijichi a call?” He hears you huff a laugh. “Not sure if I can make it back on my own.” 

And then you’re falling. 

--- --- ---

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” You say, turning your nose up haughtily. You’re letting your pride get the better of you and you know it. But you’re embarrassed , and you’re embarrassed that you’re so embarrassed. 

It shouldn’t be such a big deal to you. Even the best Jujutsu Sorcerers get injured during battle. Even if you had died, you don’t think anyone would have faulted you for it. These things happen. 

But there’s a voice in the back of your head that you haven’t heard in years, one that resurfaced the second you decided to be a Sorcerer again. It tells you that you’re not like the people you surround yourself with, that you’re not worthy of the First Grade classification that you earned. 

Logic would tell you it’s wrong, but sometimes even that fails you. 

The curse had been particularly nasty, too. You’d been assigned to take on the semi-Grade One and bring Fushiguro and Itadori along with you. A teachable moment where they could see your techniques in action. 

It’d been a while since you’d gone on a mission, but in the years you’d been absent from the field, you tried to keep yourself sharp. Took out Grade Fours and Threes when you stumbled across them, as well as the occasional Two. Some techniques, however, aren’t worth using on those types, and so they fell into the background. 

The two first years came with you, but you ordered them to stay out of it. For them to truly see this technique, they couldn’t be fighting alongside you. They had to watch closely. 

It’s called the Pause Technique. It causes a reaction delay. Once in use, any hit your opponent lands on you won’t take effect until after you’ve released the technique. An adrenaline rush on steroids, of sorts. It’s useful in close-combat and for ending fights quickly, which is the best method for exorcising Grade Ones. 

As soon as the technique is released, however, the pain you’d avoided for the duration of your fight comes back, all at once. It’s high risk, high reward, but as long as you’re precise, it’s worth it in your eyes. Unfortunately, there can be a few miscalculations, especially if you haven’t utilized it in a while. 

During a fight, if you aren’t feeling pain, it can be hard to catalog just how much you’ve endured. After defeating the Grade One, you released your technique, not realizing the extent of your injuries. It was a mistake on your part, a result of having been out of practice. You don’t like making mistakes. 

“So you’re calling me a liar?” Despite the accusatory words, Fushiguro just sounds exhausted. You wonder if he slept at all. You’ve known him since he was a kid, and you feel guilty for worrying him. 

“You should’ve let us help you,” Itadori says. You vaguely remember him sitting at your bedside through the night, but you aren’t sure. “We could have taken care of it together.” 

You feel horrible for placing the responsibility of your care on two children. You were unconscious, but you assume that one of them had to carry your limp body back to the car, unsure if you were going to make it through the night. You can only imagine how scared they must have been. 

If you’d been in your right mind, you would have let them help. You’ve always thought that one learns more by doing than watching, after all. But that part of you that’s so desperate to prove yourself, that still strives for perfection, stood in your way. And look where it’s gotten you: bedridden for the time being while they look at you with a mix of anger and concern. 

You sigh, leaning back into the pillows. Itadori had brought you extra to prop yourself up. “I let my pride get in the way. I was supposed to be teaching the two of you and instead…” You don’t like the way your throat is starting to constrict, so you clear it. “I won’t let it happen again. I’m sorry.” 

“It was a good lesson on what not to do,” Fushiguro says, but when you look up at him, there’s a slight smile on his face. You return the gesture. 

“And before you passed out, it was pretty epic,” Itadori tells you. “I’ve never seen someone take out a Grade One so fast!” 

“Thanks, Itadori. Once I’m better, I can show you how to do the Power Bomb technique.” 

“ You can do a Power Bomb? ” 

The door to the dorm slides open as Itadori bombards you with questions. You feel the person’s energy before you see them, and it isn’t difficult for you to tell that it’s Gojo. Nor is it difficult for you to tell that he’s upset with you. 

He carries himself casually, a relaxed smile on his face. His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses today. Itadori and Fushiguro seem unaware of the man’s disposition, but you know from the way the tendon in his neck flexes. A minuscule detail, but one you’ve known for years. 

“Heard you had quite the mission,” Gojo says, white teeth gleaming. He’s good at hiding his true emotions. “Congrats on taking out the Grade One! Real impressive stuff you did out there.” Impressive, he says. Reckless , he means. 

“Thank you,” You say calmly, turning your attention back toward the boys, and out of the corner of your eye you see Gojo stiffen at your rebuff, but you’d rather not start anything with students around. “Could you guys give us a moment? I’d like to give Gojo a report on what happened.” 

“Don’t bite each other’s heads off,” Fushiguro says as he drags Itadori out by his collar. It surprises you. Perhaps he knows the two of you better than you thought. 

“I’ll bring pizza later!” Itadori calls out to you, just as the door shuts. 

You adjust yourself in the bed. You wish you were at home. Perhaps the reason you splurge so much on bedsheets is because the ones at Jujutsu High are ass . You miss your down comforter and cooling memory foam mattress. 

The two of you are silent as Gojo takes a seat. You can feel his eyes on you, searching for your injuries. You’d had some massive bruising and internal bleeding, but Shoko had taken care of it. The only bandage you have is on your forehead from a small cut when you collapsed. For the most part, you’re just sore. 

“Nanamin told me you used Pause Technique.” 

Snitch! You were going to throttle him with that stupid tie of his. 

“I’m fine ,” You remind him. “I took care of the Grade One. Shoko healed me. It’s fine.” He’s dramatic all the time, but especially when it comes to you. 

Gojo’s silent. He tilts his head toward the ceiling, white hair falling out of his face. “Do you remember the last time you used it?” 

A few months after your graduation, the two of you had been assigned to take out a Special Grade. Gojo’d been busy across town so you left before him, having every intention of simply scoping out the curse before he arrived. Those plans changed rather quickly. 

A family had been camping in the woods the curse called home. You’d been told that everyone in the area had been evacuated, but they must not have gotten the alert. If you waited for Gojo to come, the curse might have killed them. 

You don’t regret making the choice to fight. You’d used your technique to the fullest extent of its power. You weakened the curse significantly by the time Gojo showed up, but once the fighting was done and you released your technique, there was nothing but pain. The blinding sort that halts all thought and movement until all you know is hurt . 

To you, it’s a cost worth paying. 

“I thought you were dying.” Your eyes widen. He’s never told you that before. “I thought I was watching you die and I couldn’t do anything.” 

Gojo exhales, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “When Nanamin called and told me that you’d used it again, I expected him to tell me that it’d killed you.” 

Your lips press into a thin line. It can kill you, if you sustain a grievous wound. It stops the pain but it doesn’t stop how it affects the body. A sword could go through you and you wouldn’t feel it, but you’d still be bleeding out. If you took a hit like that and didn’t realize, you’d drop dead before the fight was over. 

“Promise me you won’t use it again. It’s too much of a risk.” 

“You take risks all the time,” You protest. How is it fair if he can be reckless, but you can’t? 

“I don’t care about my life, but I care about yours.” 

You stare at him. You can see the faint outline of his eyes through his sunglasses, boring into yours. You shift to sit directly in front of him, wincing as your sore body moves. His large hands are on you in an instant, just desperate to touch you. “I don’t like scaring you. I should’ve been more mindful tonight. I got into my head about being a First Grade Sorcerer and went too far. I’m sorry.” 

Gojo sighs, closing his eyes. “But,” You continue, and they pop back open. “I won’t promise not to use it again.” 

“(Y/N)—” 

“I don’t care about my life,” You repeat. “But I care about yours.” His fingertips dig into the skin of your thighs. He wants you to take it back, but you won’t. “I can’t say that I won’t use everything in my power to protect you.” 

“I don’t need your protection,” He insists, and you smile softly at him. 

“I know, but you have it.” He’s your strength and your weakness, all rolled into one human being. You are pragmatic, and cunning, and thoughtful, but when it comes to Gojo Satoru, you would throw your life away in an instant if it meant saving his. 

Gojo rests his forehead against yours. Your noses brush against each other. “I’d tear the universe in two for you,” He says, and your heart stutters. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he continues, “I suppose we’ll just have to make sure the other doesn’t do anything too stupid.” 

You hum, playing with the ends of his hair. “I’d say I got the short end of that stick.”

[lilacxquartz]

OVERWORKED

a jujutsu kaisen & mob psycho 100 crossover

summary: satoru gojo visits seasoning city to look into the reports of strange cursed activity and gets an audience with the world's greatest psychic, reigen arataka.

a/n: i don’t usually post general works or character & character fics on tumblr, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.

tags: crossover, general, no pairings, crack, attempt at humour, one shot, silly, prompt fic • w.c: 1.1k

Seasoning City was never a place that Satoru thought he would find himself in, but there he was; keen to investigate some sort of rumoured unusual cursed activity reported within the area.

Sometimes he’d go and investigate these claims by himself, although mostly it was just to get the higher ups off of his back and especially so that his students (that the responsibility would otherwise be handed to) wouldn’t unknowingly waltz into potential danger.

Besides, Seasoning City has been a jujutsu curiosity for a while now, with all sorts of strange ongoing issues within the vicinity and an investigation was due.

Upon arriving at the site in question, Satoru strolled into an abandoned high rise office building and scoped the whole area out. He could pick up on the trace activity or something, but he wasn’t quite sure what exactly. With curious eyes, he scanned the area and inspected as much as he could before he heard the door crash open, practically swinging off the hinges.

Turning back, he was interrupted in the process by a man with an ill-fitting suit and fiery orange hair. A younger boy dressed in regular school uniform seemed to tag along beside him and although the third presence slipped away just in time to avoid being seen, he could have sworn that he spotted some sort of stink cloud shaped (and coloured) shikigami wafting nearby.

“Worry not, it is I, the great psychic—Reigen Arataka!” the man announced before striking a victorious pose.

Getting absolutely zero read on this guy’s technique and doubting that he even had one to begin with, Satoru couldn’t help but wearily sigh at the company he found himself in.

“A psychic? Oh boy,” Satoru mumbled to himself before adopting a louder volume, “you can stand aside, I’ll take it from here.”

“Pardon me,” Reigen interrupted while rolling his eyes, taking wide footsteps as he confidently strolled over to the white haired man, “you’re the one who should be excused, for I will be the one to solve this haunting.”

“You don’t look like someone who knows jujutsu,” Satoru mused, taking notes of his lack of… everything. The man had zero cursed energy and no technique, therefore he likely didn’t even know what he was looking for.

“Ju-what now?” Reigen blinked while somehow still maintaining that smug expression on his face.

The mop haired boy beside him attempted to answer although his voice was rather quiet, “It’s a type of—“

Promptly interrupting the teen however, Reigen continued to talk, “Watch closely Mob. I’ll show you what a real master looks like.”

Satoru couldn’t help but twitch his eye below his blindfold, astounded by the strange so-called psychic’s audacity. With an almost exasperated gaze, he watched as the man moved around erratically and punched the air, kicking nothing with determined, miscalculated strikes.

In the meanwhile, the actual malevolent cursed spirit showed up right behind him. It appeared to take on the spirit of a tired salaryman, echoing a mantra of jarring words that were just barely coherent through its shrill cry.

“Overtime~! Time is money~! Work work work~!”

While Reigen continued to remain oblivious and make a spectacle of himself, Mob stepped forward and moved his hands to channel his energy, making the whole floor rumble as he focused on the task at hand.

Such display of power didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru, who watched the boy work with what he was very certain was in fact cursed and energy before funnelling it towards the cursed spirit, making quick work of it and weakening it significantly.

Impressed, Satoru then finished off the spirit with his own hands and exchanged a glance with the boy before sighing wearily, noticing that the fraud was still going at it and swatting away at nothingness.

“Hey, you can stop now,” he told Reigen in a resigned manner.

“Yes, we took care of it,” Mob added on.

Stopping mid swing, Reigen took a deep breath before responding, “…It’s gone?”

Nodding, Satoru folded his arms and couldn’t help but softly laugh at the whole situation. A psychic? He knew that there were frauds who had a vague understanding of the world around him, but this guy was something else.

“That’s right,” Satoru confirmed before considering a point, “you know, this kid has quite a lot of talent actu—“

Immediately cutting him off, Reigen burst forward with a victorious cheer, “—aha! You see? The spirit didn’t stand a chance against my special technique: kneading air!”

“Come again?” Satoru blinked. ‘Special technique?’ Did he mean cursed technique or did he truly think that what he did was some sort of attack? The man’s unwavering confidence almost tortured Satoru’s own mind.

“By pushing the air around with my movements, I was able to direct my student’s psychic energy into defeating the spirit,” Reigen began to explain, “and of course my star pupil managed to finish it off.”

“Actually he finished the spirit off,” Mob replied, pointing his figure towards the other man.

“Yeah?” Reigen flicked a glance towards his direction. “Not bad, blindfold. I can sense a lot of potential in you. A little bit amateurish, but not bad. Not bad at all.”

Satoru couldn’t help but just stare at Reigen, feeling more and more worn out by the second. Before he could even say anything in response, Reigen quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small business card and scribbled something on it with a pen that he had otherwise materialised out of nowhere.

Handing it over to Satoru, he dramatically extended his arm. “Here you go, bud. An autograph from the greatest psychic alive. Don’t say I never did anything for ya.”

Taking the card, he glanced at the hastily scribbled out signature. He tried to form a response as he mulled the whole situation over, but was quite literally left speechless.

After a moment, he turned over to Mob who didn’t offer a single word of explanation—just standing by the strange man’s side with a blank look on his face—as if everything was perfectly fine and normal.

“Is he always like this…?” Satoru finally asked with an almost wary tone.

Mob nodded, “Yes, he’s my boss.”

Satoru nervously laughed at that response. Boss? This kid who had an almost masterful grasp on cursed energy was the supposed employee of this conman?

That was concerning to say the least.

And as he watched the two exit the building, Satoru couldn’t bury that nagging worry that there might have been more unassuming people like Mob out there being mentored by the likes of Reigen.

Walking away himself, he glanced behind him one more time, watching the pair walk in the opposite direction.

Satoru couldn’t help but shake his head, feeling amused but also intrigued at the whole situation he just witnessed.

Maybe he would keep a personal eye on this city but especially on Mob.

Just in case.

main masterlist • ao3

prompt idea by @augustwritingchallenge • day 20: crossover/fusion for au-gust 2024

[thunderwetter]

Warden's Pet - Overlord x Prowl - Chapter 1 Pt1

Yup, you read that right, this thing is gonna have multiple chapters and tumblr is getting the first one before I upload the whole thing to Ao3!

WORD COUNT: ~3300

WARNINGS: 18+ NON-CON, Violence

TAGS: Sticky/Valveplug, Torture, Punishment, Revenge, Restricted Movement, Blowjob

Final Warning! Prowl is NOT enjoying this!!!

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

He was just a pile of metal right now, all his major sensors - optical, auditive, tactile - rendered useless by a well-placed blow to his central circuitry, his frame immobilized by a persistent ache that sprung from the same source. Prowl could only barely feel himself being dragged away, his lower half scraping against a metal floor as Overlord’s heavy steps carried him to his doom. What had happened? How? His processor was already cleansed of the memory. Fortress Maximus had something to with it, that much he remembered. It had been an unpleasant miscalculation to expect Garrus-9 to be a finished story. To the ex-warden, this chapter could not be closed until Prowl had gotten a taste of what he had endured for how long?

He didn’t fight back.

“Three years, two months, and ten days, Prowl.”

He heard Fortress’ voice echo in his head, full of suppressed anger, EM field flaring out with nothing but pure hatred as he growled the time, for the second instance in this meeting. Prowl had dismissed the complaints as a personal grievance that should have been forgotten long ago. But Fortress Maximus didn’t forget. And he didn’t forgive either. He gave into the ridiculous prospect of vengeance and unfortunately, he knew exactly who to contact. Fortress Maximus’ grim, sparkless expression as Overlord entered the office was the last thing Prowl remembered, only a blurry haze, traced with the taste of his own energon.

More silence. Even Prowl started to get unnerved by how slowly this conversation was progressing, even more so by the fact that Overlord was very clearly holding back. The smile on his lips had no pleasure to it, his eyes spoke tales of bitterness and impatience, his frame was tensed and the relaxed posture the most blatant lie he could tell. He was aching to hurt Prowl and yet he didn’t. He waited for a reply and it was anxiety-inducing to say the least. “First of all—", Prowl had to clear his vocalizer from the static that was still left in it, “-it’s detective, not officer.” A gunshot to the wall right next to Prowl’s face reminded him that this was neither time nor place for this kind of defiant arrogance. He realigned his thoughts, calmed his spark and spoke again in the same indifferent manner as before: “Second, I have nothing to say to you. There is no logical reason to waste my energy here. You’re going to beat me up either way.”

Prowl felt himself be lifted off the ground and thrown against a wall, meeting it with his back and ragdolling to the side. He still could barely move, there was no resistance met when Overlord ripped away the device in his neck that had dampened his sensory input during their voyage. His captor placed him upright, making sure that the stasis-cuffs on his wrists were still intact and sat himself on an office chair right across, swinging one foot to rest on his thigh and leaning back nonchalantly, patiently waiting for any kind of reaction.

Nothing.

Prowl didn’t give him anything. His expression was, in fact, the very epitome of neutrality, staring blankly at Overlord even as his optics were flickering from the hit and the numbing device’s effects still reverberated through his head in an unpleasant feedback loop. They looked at each other for many moments until Overlord broke the insolent silence with a scoff. “Seriously?”, he began, a mocking disbelief in his voice, “You’re not even trying to stop me? Thought you were more of a talker, little officer.”

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

Overlord let out a faux defeated sigh, hiding hateful disgust behind a self-sufficient smile as he opened his body language to lean forward, resting his elbow articulators on his knees and neatly folding the servos as his red optics gleamed like a beast’s eyes looking at prey. “See, this is why no-one likes you, Prowl.”, he hissed, inching closer and roughly grabbing Prowl’s face by the chin. “You’re so fucking boring, it’s pathetic.”, his grip tightened as he tensed his body, raising his other servo in a balled fist and striking Prowl across the face. The noise of metal being deformed filled the room, most likely the nasal bridge losing its shape, but the experience from years of police and military duty permitted no vocalization of agony to sound. Instead, the blow was welcomed with silence, installing a deep rage within Overlord as he jumped up, grabbed Prowl by the red crest on his helm and threw him to the ground, a furious shout to accompany the motion as there was still no sign of his treatment to have any effect on the bot that was being tossed around like a plaything. Instead, Prowl remained still on his side, spitting out the energon that had pooled in his mouth, the same shade of pink dripping along his damaged nose, slowly covering part of his face.

Prowl knew Overlord. He knew that he wasn’t getting out of this without torture and perhaps, somewhere deep inside, he knew he deserved it.

“Any other mech would be begging and screaming, but you?”, Overlord chided, spitting at the frame lying to his feet, “You’re no fun.” He got down on all fours, resting his cheek on the cold ground, barely allowing any distance to interrupt him from mustering Prowl’s tainted face. A whisper was all that he vocalized, but a terrifying intent wrapped the words as they met audio sensors willing to hear anything but that.

“Let’s waste your precious energy in a different way then, shall we?”, Overlord said, his voice dripping with poisoned sweetness, reminding Prowl of the fact that even he could make mistakes, as rare as that occasion was. Unwillingly, his optics cycled wider, giving his expressionless face some sense of second thought for the first time in a long while. The reaction caused a hollering laughter to escape Overlord, who got back up and pulled Prowl with him by the neck, pushing him against the wall with his weight. He was drinking up the expression with a vile thirst, drawing the glossa over his lips, savoring the terror with every sense he possessed. Just looking at it wasn’t enough, he figured, pulling himself closer and licking the bruised metal of Prowl’s cheek, relishing the suppressed noise of resilience that accompanied the squirming attempts to escape as the mech at his mercy gave in to the primal instinct of fear. Prowl’s mind blanked out upon the prospect of being used by Overlord. Panic began to take over as he desperately tried to ground himself in the knowledge he possessed, yet not even in the space of his rationality he was save.

There was only the truth and the truth had no mercy.

He questioned himself about what he knew for certain, one step after another, he would find a way. He had to find a way. He checked his facts.

Ok Tumblr refuses to post the whole thing so Part 2 in reblog!

[transgamerthoughts]

Abandon All Delusions Of Control

this is another cross-post. which is funny because I've paid for a domain name redirect to my tumblr since like 2016.. i never know what site is gonna explode these days. less people follow me here than anywhere but this write ups been passed around so...

I've been playing Dragon's Dogma 2 and while I'd love to talk about gameplay or interesting moments, the game's found itself something of a cultural lightning rod. It is a game with many friction points arising in a cultural moment where gamers are, perhaps more than ever, convinced that "consumers" are kings.

Dragon's Dogma 2 is not readily "solvable" and you can't min-max it. You will make mistakes. You will be scraped and bruised and scarred. Pain is sometimes the only bridge that can take us wher ewe need to go. And gaming culture, fed the lie of mastery and player importance, does not understand that scars can be beautiful. I love this game. I think it's a miracle it came out at all.

I also think in spite of the success it's found… that 2024 might be the worst possible year for it to have released.

Let's ramble about it..

It's easy to feel like Hideaki Itsuno and his team miscalculated the amount of friction that players are willing to endure and while I don't think that's true (he didn't miscalculate moreso stick to his particular vision) it certainly appears that we've reached a point in gaming where players, glutted on convenience, don't really know what to do when robbed of it. I've heard folks complain that they can't sprint everywhere or else balk learning that ferrystones required for fast travel cost 10,000 gold as if these shatter DD2 into pieces. I'm vaguely sympathetic to these concerns but at the same time they seem to spring entirely from a lack of understanding of the game's design goals. Much like how folks demanding a traditionally structured RPG narrative from an Octopath game misunderstand what that team is trying to do, players asking to sprint through the world or teleport with ease fundamentally misunderstand what Dragon's Dogma wants. The world is not a wrapper for a story. It is the story. Dragon's Dogma is a story factory whose various textures create unprecedented triumphs and memorable failure.

It is crucial to the experience to allow both of those to occur and live with whatever follows.

I'm always cautious of talking like this because it can come off as smug or superior but I think ultimately that's the truth of the matter here. This was not a well-played franchise before now and even if it's a AAA title, there's a way in which this game is meant to elide most AAA open world trends. You are expected to traverse. If you want relatively cheap and faster travel, you're meant to find an oxcart and pay the (quite modest) fee to move between trade hubs much like you would pay for a silt strider in Morrowind. Even if you do this, you could be ambushed on the road and in the worst case the ox pulling the cart can be killed. Something being "possible" in a game doesn't always mean it is intentional but Dragon's Dogma continually undercuts the player's ability to avoid long treks. Portcrystals, which act as fast travel destinations, are limited and ferry stones (while not prohibitively expensive compared to weapons and armor) are juuust expensive enough that you need to consider if the expense is worthwhile. Once is happenstance. Multiple times is a pattern. And the pattern in Dragon's Dogma is to disincentivize easy travel. It screams of intent.

Something I could not have imagined playing games growing up is the ways in which even a decade (or two) could lead to radically different attitudes on what games should provide. That's an audience issue to an extent but it's also something games have brought upon themselves. The "language" of an open world game has been solidified through years climbable towers, mini-map marked caves, and options to zip around worlds. When a game deviates from that language, the change is more noticeable than ever.

Hell, even Elden Ring (perhaps the closest modern relative to Dragon's Dogma) allows you to warp between bonfires and gives you a steed to ride. But that's also a much larger game! DD2 is not a large game and the story is not long. Yes, you can spend untold hours wandering about into nooks and crannies but a trek from one end of the world to another is still significantly shorter than bounding through most open worlds and a run through the critical path reveals a speedy game. Not as speedy as the first but brisk by genre standards.

exploration is the glue that binds the combat and progression system in place. Upgrading armor and weapons requires seeking out specific materials and fighting certain monsters. Gathering the funds for big purchases in shops mostly comes from selling your excess monster parts. The entire game hinges on the idea of long expeditions where you accrue materials and supplies on the road and then invest that horde one way or another once you return to town. It's not simply a matter of mood and tone for you to trek throughout the world without ease. The gameplay loop is built around it.

There's another complicating factor that I'm less interested in diving into and it's the presence of certain microtransactions at launch. Principally I'm against MTX in single players games, particularly conveniences of which most of DD2's microtransactions are. But I also think there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of what many of these are. Among the biggest things I've heard (repeatedly!) is that you can pay real life money for fast travel but that's not true. You can buy a single portcrystal offering you one more potential location to warp to. It's a one-time purchase and the only travel convenience offered. This has transformed, partly because of people's lack of familiarity with Dragon's Dogma's mechanics, into a claim that you can pay over and over to teleport around. I think that assumption reveals more about the general audience than anything else.

I think it is worth entertaining a question: does the existence of this extra port crystal signify a compromising of the game's goals regarding travel? That's not a discussion that folks seem to be interested in having—instead opting for more emotional and reactionary panicking—but it is the most interesting question. On face the answer is yes and that raises the follow up question of whether or not the developers had knowledge this convenience (though one-off) would be offered to players. If so, did that knowledge affect how they designed the game? Even slightly? It seems rather clear to me that these purchases are a publisher decision; there's nothing in the game's design that suggest the dev team wants players to have access to an extra portcrystal. As we've established it's quite the opposite!

They want you to haul your fucking ass around and get jumped by goblins, buddy.

Which is many words to say that as much as I care about microtransactions from a consumer standpoint, the way in which they undermine Dragon's Dogma 2's goals is a fair reminder of the ways in which they hurt developers. Ultimately, I do think that these purchases are ignorable and in that sense (combined with the misinformation surrounding them) I'm a little burned by the consumer-minded discussion. Doubly so because of the way it feels, at least in part, tied into a certain kind of rhetoric that's been on the rise lately. Instead, I find myself drawn to the question of the damage they do the devs and if more onerous plans actually would force their hands into undercutting portions of their own designs. The shift of many series into live-service chasing suggest so but even as I entertain these thoughts I don't get the sense that Itsuno and his team were forced to reshape their game world to encourage these microtransactions. The world is as they want.

If it wasn't, they wouldn't make it so failing to act quickly in a quest to find a missing kid stolen by wolves could end with you being too late. They wouldn't make it so buying goods from an Elven shop without an interpreter was a hassle. It's present in Every Damn Thing!

More interesting to consider is why this particular game became such a lightning rod of passion when I'm going to assume that most people caught up in the discussion have no particular fealty to the series. The answer is a combination of factors but there's something about the genre that ignites the panic we're seeing as much as the culture moment we're in. When people try to explain that these MTX purchases are not needed, it's confused for approval of their inclusion but that's not something we need to grant. I don't think anyone wants these things here and when they say "you don't need them" they are referring to the more complex thought that the game is better played without them. But this is not heard because the idea that you'd want to opt into friction and discomfort is not something that the general audience is likely to understand. They're wired against it. They crave ease.

not everyone, mind you. DD2's enjoyed a lot of excited reactions (there's tons of folks who like this game as it is and are happily playing it) but it has faced plenty of folks railing against "bad" design choices but the fact remains that those "bad" choices were intentional.

I'm writing about this stuff instead of, say, the wild journey I took solving one of the Sphinx's riddles because the immediately interesting thing about Dragon's Dogma 2 has been what it's become as a cultural object. It is a game suffering from success. Never designed for a general audience or modern standards but thrust into their hands due to Capcom's ongoing renaissance. Dragon's Dogma is a fine game whose cult status is well earned but the reason DD2 garnered this attention (and therefore becomes a hot-topic game) has as much to do with Capcom's ongoing success rate as anything else. In some ways, it actually IS a good time to release a game like Dragon's Dogma 2. There's certainly a curiousity in place. Partly borne of goodwill and also from folks' genuine desire to try something new.

and yet, we're in a odd moment in games. consumer rights lanaguge, having been fundamentally misunderstood and reconfigured by gamers as a rhetoric for justifying their purchase habits (I'm paying the money! why can't the game do exactly as I demand!?) has stifled many people's ability to have imaginative interpretations of gameplay mechanics. they don't ask "what is this thing doing as a storytelling device" (which mechanics are!) and rather default to "what is this thing doing to me and my FUN and my TIME". which are not bad questions but they also misunderstand the possibility space games have to offer. While we can attribute some of the objections that has arisen to players' thoughts about genre itself and the way in which Dragon's Dogma positions friction as a key gameplay pillar, the fact of the matter is that we would not be having such spirited discussion about these things in, say, 2017. not that things were great back then, but I think the audience is worse now in many, many ways. sarcastically? I blame Game Design YouTube.

Even if there were no microtransactions, we'd still be having a degree of Discourse thanks to a key game mechanic: Dragonplague. It is a disease that can afflict your Pawn companions which initially causes them to get mouthy and start to disobey orders. If you notice these signs (alongside ominous glowing eyes) then your Pawn has been infected and you're expected to dismiss them back to the Rift where that infection can spread to another player. The game gives a pop up to the player explaining this the first time they encounter the disease. However, some players have ignored that warning and found a dire consequence: an untreated Pawn can, when the player rests at an inn, go on an overnight rampage that kills the majority of NPCs in whatever settlement they are in. This includes plot-important characters. The reaction's been intense. Reddit always sucks but man… just look…

I understand some of the ire. It's a drastic shift from your pawn being a bit ornery to instantly killing an entire city. On the other hand, the game does warn of potentially dire consequences if a Pawn's sickness is ignored. Players have simply underestimated the scale of that consequence. Surely no major RPG would mass murder important characters and break questlines! We're in post Oblivion/Skyrim world. Important NPCs are essential and cannot be killed, right? Well, wrong and this is another way in which Dragon's Dogma chases after the legacy of a game like Morrowind more than than it adapts current open world trends. This is a world where things can break and the developers have decided that they are okay with it breaking in a very drastic way. It's hard to think of anything comparable in a contemporary game. We don't really do this kind of thing anymore.

The result has been panic and a spread of information both helpful and hopelessly speculative. Is your game ruined? Well, maybe. There is an item you can find which allows for mass resurrection but that's gonna require some questing. But some players also say that you can wait a while and the game will eventually reset back to the pre-murder status quo. What's true? Hard to know. Dragon's Dogma doesn't show all of its cards and won't always explain itself. We know entire cities can be killed. We know that individual characters can be revived in the city morgue or else the settlement restored (mostly) with a special item. Dragonplague is detectable and the worst case scenario is, to some extent or another, something that the player can ameliorate. Those are facts but they don't really matter.

That's because players issue (panick? hysteria?) with dragonplague is as much to do with what it represents as what it does. Players are used to the notion of game worlds being spaces where they get to determine every state of affair. They are, as I've suggested before, eager to play the tyrant. Eager to enact whatever violences or charities that might strike their fancy. They do this with the expectation that they will be rewarded for the latter but face no consequences for the former. Dragonplague argues otherwise. No, it says, this world is also one that belongs to the developers and they are more than fine with heaping dire consequences on players. Before the dragonplague's consequences were known, players were running around the world killing NPCs in cities because it would stabilize the framerate. They're fine with mass murder on their own terms. they love it!

This is made more clear when we look at how Dragon's Dogma handles saving the game. While there are autosaves between battles, players are expected to rest at inns to save their game. This costs some gold, which is a hassle, but the bigger "issue" is that they only have one save slot. Which means that save scumming is not entirely feasible though not impossible with a bit of planning. What it does mean, however, is that the game is saved when a dragonplague attack happens. you have to rest at an inn for this to trigger. which saves the game. They cannot roll back the clock. The tragedy becomes a fact. It's not the only time Dragon's Dogma does this. For instance, players can come into possession of a special arrow that can slay anything. When used, the game saves. Much like how players are given a warning about dragonplague, they're warned before using this arrow: don't miss.

If you do? that's a real shame. The depth of this consequence is uncommon in today's gaming landscape. Games are mostly frivolous and save data is the amber from which players suck crystallized potentialities. Don't like what happened? No worries. Slide into your files and find the frozen world which suits your proclivities. You are God. In Dragon's Dogma, you are not god. The threads of prophecy can be severed and you must persist in the doomed world that's been created. The mere suggestion is an affront. The fact that Dragon's Dogma has the stones to commit to the bit in 2024 is essentially a miracle.

It's easy to boil everything I'm saying down to "Dragon's Dogma is not afraid to be rude to the player" but that doesn't capture the spirit of the design. It invites players to go on a hike. It makes no attempt to hide that the hike is difficult. But that's the extent of it. It offers little guidance on the path, doesn't check if you're a skilled enough hiker. Your decision to go on the hike is taken as proof of your acceptance of the fact that you might fall down.

This is not unique to Dragon's Dogma. In fact, this is part of the appeal (philosophically) of a game like Elden Ring. The difference being that even FromSofts much-lauded gamer gauntlets (excepting perhaps Sekiro, conincidentally their best work) offer more ways to adjust and fix the world state to the player's liking. Even the darling of difficulty will offering you a hand when you fall. Dragon's Dogma is not so eager to do so. In a decade where convenience is king for video games, that represents both a keen understanding of its lineages and a shocking affront to accepted norms and expectations.

The core of Dragon's Dogma, the very defining characteristics that earned it cult status, are the same things that have caused these modern tensions. It is both a franchise utterly consistent in its design priorities and entirely out of touch with the modern audience. Dragon's Dogma 2 has come into prominence during a time where imaginative interpretation of mechanics is at an all time low and calls for "consumer" gratification are taken as truisms. It is a game entirely at odds with the YouTube ecosystem and the very things that give it allure are the tools that have turned it into a debated object.

This flashpoint of discussion is proof of Dragon Dogma 2's design potency. It's also a sign of the damage that modern design trends have done to games as whole and the ongoing fallout that's come from gamers learning design concepts without really understanding what designing a game entails. And, uh… I dunno respond to that or how to end this. That's both very cool but it also bums me out. Dragon's Dogma 2 is a remarkably confident game but games are long beyond the point of admiring a thing for being honest.

[raspberry-gloaming]

I would absolutely adore a zygon companion. And I think it would be really cool both because it could keep the NuWho rule of having the companions be from modern day while having an alien and because you could like drop hints over several episodes until it's finally revealed.

Like. It starts out perfectly normal. The Doctor saves the day in... let's go for Newcastle. He picks up a new companion after the events, Erin.

Erin is from Birmingham, but she moved to Newcastle in 2013 for university, and has been living there since. She says a bunch of stuff about her life over the early episodes that could easily be construed as normal.

She moved here for uni, age 18, in 2013. She hasn't been back, but she's got a... complicated relationship with her family. But who doesn't?

She goes to a support group in Newcastle. What for? It's never specified, but you just assume it's a mental health thing. Good for her, taking care of her mental health.

She talks about her past before uni with a sort of apathy, almost like reading from a script. But it's just family issues, you know? She's had times that weren't great but she's separated from that now, she's moved on. Doesn't like to talk about it, and it's not our place to push too far.

It gets brought up offhand that she still has a strong Brummie accent despite living in Newcastle for more than ten years. She mentions in return that when she was younger she was one of those people who picked up the accent of wherever she visited but she supposes she grew out of that, because her accent has kept strong this past decade or so in Newcastle. Or perhaps it's something about the Geordies, she jokes, that her brain doesn't want to sound like.

She likes the Tudor times. Who doesn't have a favourite era of history, and the Tudors are very popular.

2015 wasn't necessary a good year for her. Family feuds, from what anyone could gather, or family friends getting into arguements that dragged in her community. She tried to stay away from all that. She'd moved up north two years before and was trying to stay away from family drama. It's already known she has that disengaged feel with mentioning her past, which is assumed to be family related. It's assumed there was just some family drama in Birmingham that year. She doesn't say why, just shrugs and jokes that it was their horoscopes.

She has a disconnect as well with gender. She uses she/her pronouns, because to her pronouns aren't a big deal but she uses them because something along the lines of "they're what this body came with." Everyone thinks it's just a jab or joke relating to the fact she's afab, so assigned she/her pronouns at birth as well. It's 2024, gender binaries and gender identities aren't so enforced or expected, you do you.

She looks slightly younger than she is. It's a thing that's pretty common, people age physically at different rates, I've got family who look or have looked decades younger than they are. But is that the real reason, or has she been miscalculating slightly how this body is supposed to age physically.

I'd like to imagine the doctor doesn't realise it either. I'm putting her with Fifteen here, I think that would be fun. And like he doesn't even realise until everything's going to pot quite a few episodes in and they've got no escape route or there's something that won't back down and oh fuck to get them out of it she's gonna have to shift and reveal herself.

Perhaps it's a 2 partner! And it's a cliffhanger, all dire situation, the credits about to roll, Erin swears under her breath and darts a look at the doctor. He won't hate her for lying, will he? She never was much involved with the politics of the hive's move and integration here, so she isn't really aware of who he is in relation to The Day of the Doctor and The Zygon Invasion/The Zygon Inversion. She quickly looks away, steels herself, and shifts.

Roll Credits!

I'd like to think Tumblr would go wild after it airs, with some people being like I TOLD YOU SO I KNEW IT MY THEORY WAS TRUE and there's other people who thought it would be cool but didn't think they would actually have a zygon companion. And some people who don't like it because all the "the companion is supposed to be like the audience's perspective/insert it doesn't work if they're not human as we can't relate to them" despite the fact Erin has been living as a "human" since 2013. And on the other hand people are disappointed because you finally get an alien companion but like "she's basically human anyway, it's not as fun as if they were more obvious alien and not living a human life it's kinda boring."

Either way I would love something like this and in writing this I've got kind of attached already to Erin, who I just made up on the spot as I wrote the post. Curious as to what her Newcastle life is now, what degree she did, the societies she joined, the job she has now. Finding yourself as someone whose always been a part of a hive before and also having to do that while pretending to not be yourself.

I'd love to see the little slip ups she makes, the comments that could easily be a normal human talking but get someone on the internet excitedly posting in caps lock with the red string meme.

[sirclitoressa]

Gwendoline Christie Meme Masterpost

since this is my fixation now, and there are definitely more coming. most of these have 6ish pics but i have named each after one in its set. i am very meticulous in my choices (very arbitrary and just sitting here chuckling) <3 enjoy!

ps if you aren't looking for something specific, i tag them all #shitpost

Lucifer Morningstar

born to die world is a fuck

pronouns

blood orange

mazikeen is a simp

semper ubi sub ubi

weird kinks

right in front of my salad,,,

mouse peepee

move im gay

farts

original sin

i eated god

gay sex

nullae puellae?

devils doorbell

i love lucy

Larissa Weems

larissa is a menace

valentino bag....will to live?

road work ahead

im feel so normal

poor little meow meow

boob

are straight people ok

eldritch rage

you...don't do that?

👁️👄👁️

behold my balls

wee(m)zer

anons

birthday

what i dont have tumblr

live laugh lonely larissa

particularly skanky

they don't know i'm a lesbian

wednesday miscalculates

lavender oat milk latte

um well im british

charge ur vibrator larissa

beep beep bitch im gay

Jane Murdstone

in a way that matters

gay sex you say?

hate crimes

Jan Stevens

im ovulating

Captain Phasma

star sign

Miranda Hilmarson

germanic warrior with helmet

uppy mommy

Multi

explain yuri to larissa (larissa, lucifer, jan stevens)

misc part 1 part 2 (lucifer, jan stevens, larissa)

no thoughts head empty (larissa, lucifer, jane murdstone, miranda hilmarson)

i camt read (larissa + lucifer)

safety first (larissa x lucifer)

ever since i was a little girl

valentines

[perpetuallypottytraining]

I want to share a training pants alternative!!!

recently, I've bought a pack of period underwear (from Hanes, specifically) and, omg, they definitely put my headspace exactly where I want it to be!

it has 5 different layers of fabric, including the moisture wicking top, 2 absorbent layers, a leak proof layer, then the outer layer that makes up the rest of the undies - this is all relegated to the crotch of the underwear but it does cover what it needs to while worn

the padding is labelled as "moderate protection" for periods, as a discrete option, and while I feel like they'll be fine for a full day for that purpose, it's also enough padding to be right on the edge of your awareness while wearing

this serves it's purpose as training pants extremely well - I can be wearing them, then sit and browse Tumblr for a bit, forgetting I put them on, then be very aware of them as I shift in my seat. the tactile sensation is of wearing something inbetween an adult pull-up (where the padding doesn't go all the way to the waistband) and average cotton undies

additionally, in the complete silence, while walking there's an audible... not quite crinkle, but more of a swoosh as the leak proof layer shifts against the other fabric - this makes me feel very little, as it's a very clear reminder that I'm not wearing normal cotton undies and am instead wearing "big kid pants"

now! about the absorption: personally, I feel like it takes in the perfect amount of liquid. it will not, in any circumstances, take in a full bladder, but! that's kinda exactly the point of training pants

it can hold about a quarter of my bladder, under ideal circumstances and being careful about it

now, remember what I said about it being on the edge of awareness of anything being abnormal about your underwear status? while fully wet, it is very tactile and you're very aware of it. it wants to sag, but the legholes remain closed around your thighs, so it just feels heavy. it feels - and is! - thicker, but, wearing pants/shorts over it, it looks like nothing has changed

anyways, fully saturated, it feels like you've made a miscalculation and should've just used the potty

adding a little more liquid causes it to absorb onto the outer fabric above the crotch, then the outer fabric around the thighs, creating the leak points where it will no longer hold anything

so! I wouldn't say these can take a wetting, not by a long shot. instead, they're perfect for leaking into. by letting out small spurts, at first, it'll just feel a bit warm, and a bit puffy-er, but not wet - the moisture wicking will do its job, doing it's best to keep it away from your skin. then, with more leaks/spurts, it will get noticeably saturated/puffy, where upon you - or a caregiver - will need to decide to go to the potty and then change or if an accident is on the table

personally, I'm not sure I'll be using them too often, as cleaning them immediately is kinda a hassle rn, but they are easy to clean - rinse them under running water, then toss them in the washing machine. they can even be washed with the rest of your laundry. they can even handle the drier!

I am definitely going to be wearing them often though, as just the sensations of wearing them dry makes me feel all little and giggly

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (31)

part 31 of ?? | 542 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

When Wayne is out or asleep, Steve gets Eddie his meds when it’s time for a new dose. He unpacks boxes and hangs up posters (and then moves it up . . . and a little bit higher . . . and little to the left . . .). He changes Eddie’s bandages, which is an exercise in trying not to stare and trying not to let his touch linger anywhere. It’s a lot.

31.

Steve might have miscalculated in moving in with the Munsons.

Not that it isn’t great! Because it is. 

There are family dinners almost every night. Wayne is a decent cook, too. Eddie. . . . Well, Eddie is hit or miss, because he tends to get easily distracted. And Steve, for the first time in his life, has regularly scheduled positive feedback on what he considers the most basic of recipes: lasagna, fettuccine Alfredo, meatloaf, spaghetti Bolognese. . . .

But Eddie always gives these little moaning mmm’s of appreciation and lopsided smiles with dimples. He keeps telling Steve he’s a culinary genius. And every time, Steve has to cough or turn or duck his head to hide a blush because he cannot handle it. 

Then there’s helping Eddie, because the guy still can’t move around much on his own. When Wayne is out or asleep, Steve gets him his meds when it’s time for a new dose. He unpacks boxes and hangs up posters (and then moves it up . . . and a little bit higher . . . and little to the left . . .). He changes Eddie’s bandages, which is an exercise in trying not to stare and trying not to let his touch linger anywhere.

It’s a lot. 

-

“So,” Robin says after a week and change, leaning against the counter next to him during the dullest part of a dull shift. (They have a lot of those. Really, it probably says a lot about their jobs that they weren’t fired for leaving Family Video closed over the first weekend of Spring Break, long before the ‘earthquake’ struck.) “How’s that crush going?”

With a groan, Steve drops his forehead on a stack of VHS tapes that he’s supposed to be sorting. “Dimples, Rob. He has dimples.”

“He does,” she allows, and he can tell from her tone that she doesn’t get it. “Is that . . . the moral opposite of chewing bubble gum that might get in your hair?”

Steve lifts his head to scowl at her. “How long have you been waiting to throw that one back at me?”

“Pretty much since the moment you said it.”

He groans again and pushes away from the counter, leaving the employees only area for more room to pace in the otherwise empty store. “You don’t get it. He smiles so much.”

Robin hesitates. “Really?”

“Yes really!” Steve waves irritably at himself. “You think I would be this pathetic if it didn't happen all the time?”

She throws her hands up, narrowly missing punching the computer right off the counter. “I don’t know! Whenever I see him he’s usually more like . . . big doe eyes and serious ruminations. Unless he’s playing D&D or guitar, or, um. . . .”

“Or?” Steve prompts.

She crosses her arms. “You’re going to be weird about this, but. . . . Or when he knows you’re looking.”

And she’s right; Steve can feel himself getting weird about it before she finishes saying the last word. Because why would Eddie Munson, now finally graduated, want one of his former high school bullies to think he’s all sunshine and smiles all the time? Even with the truce, even with kind of being friends, it makes no fucking sense. 

He spends the rest of the shift bickering with her about it, which is at least sort of a distraction.