#maybe I’ll revisit the idea later

[dagaan]

Shiver, Way of Tomoe

[gay-dorito-dust]

I have been binging your work!

I don't know if this breaks your trauma rule or not, but (with the guys of your choosing as long as Ratio is there) how would the guys react to losing reader (they haven't confessed feelings yet) during a mission and thinking they died. Then, the reader reappears a week later bandaged up, but alive. Maybe spouts their confession first? ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

I adore your writing. Thank you!

This is way too fucking long, so be warned. It’s like I rammed 4 mini stories in one but got lost at some point cuz I left this ask to collect dust. Also thanks for enjoying my writing it’s much appreciated. :) 🦦🐿️

Sunday:

The moment he got news that you’ve been assumed dead in the aftermath of a dangerous mission, he looses composure really quickly.

Loosing Robin was one thing but loosing you on top of that was the straw that broke the camels back.

He originally doesn’t believe that you were gone, he refuses to as he practically tears his office to shreds in a fit of anger and grief before forcing himself to regain composure and clean up after his outburst. He needed to in order to keep up the illusion that he was the levelheaded leader The Family needed in these moments of chaos and mistrust.

Even if he himself was breaking down internally alongside everyone else, hellbent on finding the culprit for your death and punishing them so severely that they’d beg for death. He’d avenge you in anyway he could, even if it meant sending out the bloodhound family on a wild goose chase that only ends in dead ends, he would get you justice no matter how it may come.

His heart had died alongside you that day.

So when a week passes and he finally has you back in his arms, all the while being carful with your wounds as his eyes searched you over in a way you weren’t use to.

‘You’re alive.’ He breathes out in relief as he then begins to laugh and rest his head against yours, breathing you in deeply as he relishes in this long awaited moment. ‘Of course you’re alive.’ He mutters.

‘Sunday,’ you began but Sunday was quite to cut you off.

‘Do you know how I felt thinking you were dead? Driving myself insane to prove that you were still alive anyway I could as not to bear the idea of walking through this life without the one person I love so dearly.’ Sunday takes a brief pauses in his monologue, feeling out of breath after having put everything out into the open before continuing. ‘I thought my heart had stopped beating that day and now I have you bad in my arms.’ Sunday then chuckles darkly as he gripped you tighter. ‘I’ll ensure that I’d never have to revisit that part of my life ever again.’

‘Sunday-‘

‘Shhh.’ Sunday cuts you off once more, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he holds you close to his chest, rubbing your back soothingly. ‘Just know that what I do after this, I do out of my love for you.’ He says against your forehead before pressing another kiss there for good measure.

Jing yuan:

Loss wasn’t new to Jing Yuan.

He has experienced it in multiple forms throughout his life, but that didn’t made the news of your death any less painful for the General.

While his mind might’ve made peace with the fact that you were gone, his heart however did not as he would find himself in the places that you often vacated to in moments of stress, or to just be left alone for a while with your thoughts. So to no longer see you in any of those hidden spots -waiting for him to find you like you usually did- only worsened the grief he felt in his heart as he sat himself down and allowed the memories to pass over him in waves.

You were both so happy together and felt a sense of fulfilment that could only be achieved when you were within the other’s presence; A feeling that was uniquely yours and yours alone that could never be replicated, ever. For no one could ever come close to replacing you, nor the companionship you and he had for each other that many assumed would blossom into something more; Jing Yuan also shared the same sentiments as they did, but just as he built the courage to push that boundary between the two of you, you were taken from him before he could utter a single word.

So when a week passes and Jing Yuan found your battered and beaten form in one of your secret spots, back resting against a tree with your eyes closed.

‘Y/n?’ He called out and your eyes opened upon hearing his voice and looking at him with a weak smile. ‘Hey General, miss me?’ You said as you struggled to get up to your feet, only to stumble forward and into Jing Yuan’s chest as his strong yet gentle hands hold you in place.

‘More than you could ever hope to know.’ Jing yuan said as he focused on how you felt beneath his hands, warm and alive.

‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ You muttered against his chest as his warmth made you realised just how tired you were from everything you’ve experienced this last week alone. ‘I never meant to keep you waiting in fear that you’d forget about me if I don’t stay in your life long enough.’ You admit and Jing Yuan instinctively presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you protectively.

‘I could never forget about you my beloved.’ Jing Yuan reassured you as he looked you deep into your eyes. ‘You’ve managed to carve your place within my heart and soul, so much that there isn’t a day where you aren’t all I think about, regardless of whether or not your by my side or far away.’ He finished by pressing a gentle kiss to the gauze on your cheek, chuckling upon seeing your cute attempts of burrowing your face into his chest.

‘How long have you’ve been waiting to say this.’ You asked, thankful that he was the one to admit his feelings first, as you would’ve had a hard time articulating your words as fluidly as he could.

‘For a very long time.’ Jing Yuan replied with a small smile as he then proceeded to lift you into his arms, cuasing you to squeal in surprise, as he made sure to be carful of your wounds and began walking to the nearest medics to make sure your wounds weren’t going to be trouble later on.

Aventurine:

He didn’t know what to think when you were pronounced dead, all Aventurine could feel in that moment was an overwhelming numbness that encased him entirely.

The only light left in his life had been snuffed out, plummeting him into utter and total darkness he had once been well acquainted with until you came along, giving him a reason to keep looking forward despite everything.

You were no longer here to hold onto his left hand before he could even think of hiding it behind his back out of habit, you were no longer here to be his reason, his comfort, his safe place. You were taken away from him unfairly and once again Aventurine found himself asking the same question he has been asking himself for a long time; why everyone was born into this life just to die.

So when a week passes and Aventurine finds himself sat on a bench somewhere, still not dealing well then than he was the week of your assumed passing, lost in his own thoughts when someone took a seat next to him. Aventurine was just about ready to tell them to go away, when he saw just who was sitting next to him; you.

‘I know, I look like shit but you don’t have to look at me like that.’ You spoke upon feeling his eyes gaze upon the gauze on your cheek, then towards the array of bandages that littered the rest of your body.

‘I thought you died.’ He hissed, emotion was heavy in his voice as his eyes became bleary with unshed tears as he felt his breathing become heavy with the reality that you were alive. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t in that moment as his mind raced. And it wasn’t until you reached out to grasp his left hand and intertwine your fingers together, squeezing, did everything finally became clear to him.

‘I thought I was too at one point but there was something that kept me from journeying over to the afterlife.’ You admit, looking over at him and smiling sweetly, wanting nothing then to calm his thoughts and reassure him that this wasn’t a dream.

‘And what was that?’ He laughs humourlessly as he stares back at you, wanting to hear what excuses you could come up with for faking being dead for a week. ‘Willpower? Determination?’

‘You Kakavasha.’ You replied straightforwardly and his breath hitched in his throat. You rarely used his actual name unless it was absolutely serious. ‘You were all I thought about as I pushed through my injuries.’ You told him as you continued. ‘Kakavasha is waiting for me was just about all I could think about for a week straight.’ You finished as though you didn’t just confess that he was your soul motivator in staying alive.

‘Really?’ Aventurine said softly, finding it impossible that he could possibly be your reason for anything. ‘Why?’

‘Yes really.’ You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder. ‘As for why, it’s because I like you more then did let myself admit, but i just wanted you to know incase anything truly bad were to ever happen to me-‘

‘No.’ Aventurine cut you off suddenly, squeezing your hand as though he were afraid. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you, not now. not ever. I just got you back.’ He adds resting his head against your own in a desperate attempt of feeling more of your against him. ‘Just stay with me…please.’ He begs you in a whisper as he nuzzled further into you. ‘and don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I don’t think I can bear the thought of loosing you again.’

You smiled softly as you just whispered back against the skin of his neck. ‘As long as you don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I like my crush to be alive and close by even if he can be a pain in my ass sometimes.’

Aventurine chuckles, his heart becoming whole again as he made you cuddle into his side, kissing your head once more as you took this moment to familiarise yourselves with each other. ‘At least I’m a pleasurable pain in the ass.’ He teased and you pinch his side, causing him to flinch, but his smile remained and this time his smile was genuine.

His light has came home.

Ratio:

Fully believed that he’d see you when the mission ended, knowing just how talented and dedicated to the craft you were, and having faith that this would be a measly walk in a park for you.

Only to receive word that you were one of the many who were assumed dead when you weren’t found amongst the living nor the dead.

Veritas tries to remain as levelheaded and logical as possible during this time and continue life as normal. However found himself retracting from everyone else and going none contact, more so specifically with the people you were once associated with, and instead focused heavily on his studies and academics to an unhealthy extent.

A week passes and Veritas feels as though he’s seen a ghost the moment he saw you in his peripheral vision, bandaged and dressed in ripped clothing but still somehow finding it in you to smile.

‘You idiotic Buffon!’ He exclaims as he walks towards you.

‘Well that’s a nice way to greet someone you care about.’ You replied as you readied yourself for a massive rant about how stupid you were and so on, but instead you were held against his chest as he burrows his head into your neck.

‘I thought you died.’ He says in a whisper as he breathed you in. This went against all logic but in that rare moment Veritas didn’t care, you were alive but he still couldn’t let go of the fact that you didn’t tell anyone you were still alive. ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were alive, send a signal, anything.’

You shrugged as you made yourself comfortable in his strong arms. ‘All communications were badly damaged or completely cut off.’ You told him. ‘I was on my own for a long while before finding my way back to you.’

‘Me?’ Veritas asked, pulling away from you. ‘Why not a medial facility for a proper treatment of your wounds? Have you hit your head so hard that common sense had been left on the back burner when making that decision?’

‘I wanted to see you first you dickhead!’ You exclaimed, shutting Veritas up rather quickly with your confession but you didn’t care. ‘is it so wrong of me to let the man I love know that I’m okay? So go ahead and call me an idiot all you like but that won’t change the fact that I felt more fear about not telling you how I truly feel then dying on some stupid mission.’ You finished your rant.

‘You’re insufferable.’ Veritas said after a moment of silence and you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed at this that you didn’t notice that Veritas has began to close in the distance between the two of you.

You scoffed. ‘Oh sure call me insufferable as if you-‘ Veritas cuts you off by cupping your cheeks and planting a sweet short lived kiss against your lips before pulling away with a smirk.

‘Glad to know that the feelings are reciprocated.’ He says, taking enjoyment of rendering you speechless as he gently guided you to medical, and remaining by your side for the remainder of the day.

[abbyshands]

for you

🇵🇸 LINKS | before engaging !!! | m. list | join my tag list!

♡ synopsis; making a home out of catalina island for years on end had been wonderful, but for most of it, you had been derived of the last piece of the puzzle: abigail anderson. you were a skilled medic, so when abby had showed up, you had cared for her, and nursed her back to the girl she was, helping her to heal, and to find home the same way you had. now, it’s abby’s chance to return the favor.

♡ pairing; abby anderson x fem!reader

♡ warnings; lot of game references, some of which include infected, the WLF, plot of the first and second game, loss, violence, etc, general angst (ish) in the beginning, but fluffy at the end, i promise, reader loses her dad in the backstory, and there’s a heavily established backstory for the reader, abby uses nicknames (my love, babe, gorgeous), reader calls abby baby, just general angst n’ fluff tbh!

♡ a/n; sooo this idea has been sitting in my notes app for the longest time, and to be honest, i’m not sure how i feel about the finished product! i don’t think it’s my best work? i don’t know. i like the idea but i’m unsure about the way i executed it. maybe i’ll revisit it at some point, but this is what i’ve got for now ♡

♡ wc; 4.5k

divider creds !

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS. APOCALYPSE.

If someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, you would’ve checked them for a bite mark.

Because they would have been losing their mind.

2034, and all the years beforehand, were years unforgettable. The person you were couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t the one you had. Infected roamed, and danger lurked. But love prevailed.

And you were lucky to be a part of it.

You were born in Boston, Massachusetts in the 2010’s at an unlucky hour. To an unlucky life. You had lost your mom before you could say your own name, and the only biological family you had ever gotten to know in your life was your dad, who was the reason you were where you were today in the first place.

When you were young, your dad joined a group once asked to by the leader of it, a woman named Marlene. Since then, and for as long as you could remember, this group has been your place to call home.

They called themselves the Fireflies for the very bug they took the name from: Their goal was to spread luminescence in a world full of darkness. Your dad, who was an incredibly skilled medic, was roped into it when you were younger, for that very reason. And because of the group’s dire need for medics at the time, their leader, Marlene, who was an old friend of your dad’s, asked him to join, all but begged him to, really.

Your dad wasn’t one to deny anyone in need. It was in his nature, and it was why he was such a great medic. So, of course, he agreed.

But only if there would be a place for you, too.

Your dad raised you up as a member of the Fireflies, and then later as a medic, and it was because of him that you were who you were: A resilient individual, a survivor, and yet, a person who embodied compassion, just as he did.

The years went by hazily, the older you got, anyway. You became just as immersed into your work as your dad did, bettering your medical knowledge on a daily basis, be it by old books, rusted cassettes, or your dad himself. But all the while, you managed to balance work, love, and family, and, in a world like this one, that was a lot more than most people could say.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t remember the 2010’s. Then came the 2020’s, which sped by your eyes. But the 2030’s as a general consensus were years ingrained into your brain. Full of friendship, family, and love? At times. But they also encompassed chaos, despair, and pressure, and changed your life forever.

And forever was a long time.

In the year 2033, all that you believed was true about the world as you knew it, crumbled to the ground. In a land following an apocalypse, it wasn’t uncommon to feel as if there was no way out, as if the life you lived had hit a place of no return.

Now, if only there was a way to fix it. A cure, right?

It was late one evening while you were working on somebody in the Fireflies’ medical center, that Marlene came into the room, expression serious, and voice showing for it. Once you had the person you had been caring for under control, you followed Marlene out of the center, and into a room of a pair of people, one familiar, and one not.

Your dad, and a man who would later become a crucial figure in this tale: Surgical expert, Doctor Jerry Anderson.

You didn’t understand what Marlene, your dad, and Mr. Anderson, as you used to call him, were getting at when you were first pulled into that room. All that they were explaining to you was blurring inside of your head.

Because it was unlike anything you had heard before.

Your ears were told a tale that you had heard on numerous occasions. A girl who was only a few years younger than you, was bitten. You weren’t sure how. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Everyone who was bitten turned into an animal in a matter of days. It didn’t matter how she had gotten the bite mark. It didn’t even matter where on her body the mark was. All you knew was that in a few days, this girl that was being described to you, would no longer be human. That she would no longer have control over her body, and she would no longer know right from wrong, up from down, man from woman. All she would know, was kill. Kill. Kill.

Unless she was one in a million.

Ellie Williams was hardly a human in your mind when you originally heard, but a God given chance, to fix the world as you knew it. You never believed you would live to see the day where a bite mark was a good thing, and yet, it was here, gazing you in the eyes.

Immunity. She was immune. The auburn haired girl had been bitten three weeks prior to the date you heard about this, and zilch. As Marlene had explained to you, it was like the mark was healing, not worsening. 

And in a desolate world, where danger lurked every corner, where sorrow was normalized, and where loss was ceaseless, you were desperate. The Fireflies were desperate. Hope like this didn’t come on a daily basis, now, did it?

You jumped on the prospect as soon as you became conscious of it. All of you did.

Graciously unaware that it would blow up in your face.

In the earlier days of 2034, Ellie was smuggled to a Firefly base in Salt Lake City, a medical center, where your dad, Mr. Anderson, and several Fireflies were residing. As head medic by this point, you decided to remain in Boston caring for the members of your group back home, especially in the absence of your dad and Mr. Anderson.

It’s your life’s biggest regret.

Marlene had asked that you come to the Salt Lake City medical center as soon as you could, and to employ someone else to take over for a bit. Mr. Anderson was a good doctor, but he had decided that to perform proper surgery on Ellie, he would need a few more hands. You were honored that it was you he had chosen. To you, it was on the same level as getting an award. And so, alongside Marlene, and a few more members of the group, you made your way to Salt Lake City, your hopes in your hands, and dreams in your heart.

There was a point during the journey, however, where you ran into some trouble. Infected. And naturally, you were not just a medic: You knew how to survive in a world like this, and you knew how to hold your ground.

Splitting up wasn’t usually recommended when it came to any scenario, and for good reasons. However, it was your only choice. You and everyone beside you aside from Marlene, split up to make sure that she was the first one to make it to the medical center. You remember the last thing you said to her like a movie on loop in your head. See you soon.

And it plagues your brain like the virus that grips your world.

See you soon. You wish you had never said it. You wish you had never split up.

You wish it hadn’t happened.

You did see Marlene. But she was no longer alive when it happened. Fear grasped your bones as your body paralyzed, eyes glued to Marlene’s bloody corpse on the second floor of the medical center’s parking garage.

Tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And then, you remembered.

Dad.

You took off running, brain not even processing that you could be putting yourself in danger by doing so. Whoever had done this to Marlene couldn’t be faraway from the building for all you knew. Hell, they could even be in it. But you didn’t care.

You booked it to the highest floor, where your dad and Mr. Anderson were supposed to be, heart racing, begging and bargaining to the universe, or whatever God there was, or somebody, to ensure that they were okay. That they were just fine.

There are some days where you wish you hadn’t opened that door.

The pair of them, alongside a third medic in the room, were found by you in a shape similar to Marlene. Naturally, you ran to dad first, small, shaky hands reaching out to flip over his face down body.

But you were too late.

Your mind goes blurry whenever it goes back to recall the memory. You don’t remember much: Tears, nausea, shaking, panic. You remember screaming, loudly, at that.

And you remember passing out, before being pulled out of the room.

The second that Jerry Anderson was announced dead, all hell broke loose, and you knew, you knew, it was over. The chance that had been driving you and your family of Fireflies for the last year, was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Unless a brand new surgeon was going to generously drop from the sky, you were hopeless. 

And it wasn’t even just that.

Because the universe had taken from you the one person you held closest to your heart. To your soul.

Dad.

You had a chance. You all did. 

And, then, it was robbed away from you.

You and your dying group made your way back to Boston knowing just that: That you were collapsing. The days passed by in blurs, each one gloomier than the last. You just weren’t sure what to do anymore. All hope for a cure was gone. All hope for yourself was gone.

In 2036, the Fireflies were disbanded by what little members of it were around to do so, and that was it. It was over. 

Your home was paradise, and paradise was gone.

You didn’t know what to do. Most of the family you had found here in the Fireflies was leaving, searching for a life away from the one you all had known for years. You didn’t know if you wanted to do the same. Part of you wanted to follow suit and leave Boston. Renew who you were. Adapt, and move on. But Boston had always been home, and by leaving it, you were leaving a part of you behind.

But you didn’t have a choice.

It was an early morning in 2036 when you began to pack your bags, readying to go. Where? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that home or not, Boston carried way too many painful memories, way more than you could bear. Marlene was dead. Mr. Anderson was dead. Dad was gone.

You didn’t see what else Boston had to give, that it hadn’t already taken away.

But just, just, when you were about to say your goodbyes, the universe, who had screwed you over in the past, clearly had different plans.

A few members had heard word, from previous members who had left the Fireflies before you, that on the west coast of the country, there was a chance: A chance to find home again, in a place named Catalina Island, a gorgeous land in California.

Risks had failed you before, and so had second chances. But, for once, you wanted to give in. You had to.

So you did.

That’s not to say that the second you got to Catalina Island, finding home once again in your fellow Fireflies, who were just as shattered as you were, that your tale was over. God, it was really, really far from it.

Because there was one more piece to the puzzle.

Abigail Anderson.

Anderson. The last name rang a bell once it escaped her lips. A blonde woman, body bruised, bloodied, and covered from the arms down in oozing gashes. Her hair was short and poorly cut, and from the way her bones were pushing into her skin, you could tell that she was severely malnourished.

Alongside her was a boy, obviously younger than her. Tousled black hair, bruises wherever you looked, and fully unconscious. In your time at Catalina Island, and as a Firefly in Boston, for that matter, you had never seen any pair of people in worse shape.

Not unless they were dead.

You remained head medic once you arrived in Catalina Island, naturally, and you had been managing that way for the last four years. So, when this woman showed up, this young boy by her side, like this, it was you who took control. It was you who nursed them, and it was you who made their scars, in a physical and mental sense, not disappear, but easier to handle. To bear.

By looking at them, by looking at her, it was like a mirror. You saw you.

Which is why you saw her.

Now, if someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, losing your dad, losing Marlene, and losing Mr. Anderson, but falling for his child, you would’ve looked for a bite mark. But now, come the year 2040, where you had made a new life, one that Abigail Anderson was a prevalent part of, happiness no longer seemed impossible.

Because it wasn’t far away anymore, slipping from your fingers, the way it had on numerous occasions. 

It was in your hands.

And you were in Abby’s.

Your eyes were being covered by Abby’s large hands as she led you to a place unknown. You had to assume it was one of the several beaches on the island, sand under your feet, sounds of waves in your ears. A smile had been plastered across your face for what seemed like hours, as Abby dragged you along.

“Come on, Abby. Are you going to tell me what this is about or what?” you asked her for the second time in the last minute. You could hear her low chuckle from behind you, and the way it always happens, comfort surges into your veins.

You had learned from Abby, once you bonded over the mutual loss of your dad and hers at the same man, that once Mr. Anderson had been killed, her and her friends, a few former members of the Fireflies, joined a group named the WLF. You had hence learned that during her time there, she was commonly known as a rugged, scary person, who a lot of people in the WLF didn’t dare insult, nor disobey.

And you couldn’t lie: It was hard to believe that for a second.

You had learned from Abby, also, that her resolve began to slip when she met the young boy who she had made it to Catalina Island alongside, who you had also taken care of: Lev. To put it simply, Lev was a member of a different group, that the WLF was never supposed to come across.

Not unless it was in war.

But he changed her. He did. Some days, you could see how guarded Abby was, how she couldn’t help going back to all she used to know, which was being all but barbaric when she was in Seattle. Closed off, wary. But most days, like today? You knew in your heart, that deep down in hers, Abby Anderson was good. Not innocent, but good.

And that was enough for you.

“Just come on!” Abby chuckled as she walked, not letting up her hold on your eyes for a second as she led you along.

You smiled, shaking your head in mock disapproval. “I have work to do back at the center, and we’re not supposed to be roaming around like this. You know that, right?”

“Babe,” Abby responded in an almost firm tone of voice as her feet quit moving, forcing you to root your body to the spot. It was silent, before she pressed a series of sweet, sloppy kisses to your neck and cheeks, managing to keep her hand over your eyes all the while. She had you crumbling just like that, making you a giggling mess as her lips met your skin.

Her kisses subsided once a million of them seeped into you, and it wasn’t the island heat that had your face warm when Abby was done. “Can you just trust me, please?” she laughed, and you didn’t need your vision to know she was giving you that puppy dog look that had you falling to your knees every time. The one that you couldn’t resist if you gave it your all.

You were too easy. “Yes.”

It wasn’t long before you and Abby reached where she wanted to bring you, and once you did, she paused. She was perched behind you now, large hands over your face, the solacing sound of her sighs coming into your ears. “Okay. Are you ready, my love?”

There wouldn't ever be a day where Abby calling you that wouldn’t make your heart pound in your chest.

“More than,” you easily respond.

As soon as you said it, Abby returned your vision to you, and your eyes can’t help but widen at what you see before you.

Because you never pegged “rugged” Abby Anderson as one for picnics.

“Oh, my God, Abby,” you said more to yourself than the blonde as you slowly approached the scene. Laid out on the sand of the beach was a picnic blanket, a folded blanket, a few pillows, a basket, a few books, and playing cards.

Accompanied by a perfect view of the beach.

“Do you not like it?” Abby asked, and there’s an air of sadness to the way she says it. You turn to look at her on cue, your face one of complete, utter disbelief.

Like it?

“Like it? Baby, I love this. More than know,” you respond, meaning every word. It’s been a long time since someone has wanted to care for you. A long, long time, since you had been the receiver, not the giver.

“Abs, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You can see Abby blushing as you approach her and take her face into your hands, her freckled skin burning in heat. She leans into your touch, pressing her forehead onto yours, and holding your hands in her own.

“I just,” Abby sighed, opening her eyes once more to meet yours, solemn expression across her cheeks. “I just don’t feel like I cherish you enough, babe, show it, that is. Because believe me, I do cherish you. S’just, it’s been hard for me to show you how much. All that you did for me and Lev when we got to the island. Taking care of us. Helping us find a home here. I’ll spend the rest of my life saying thank you for it.”

You can feel your soul healing the more Abby speaks.

“I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for what you did for us, and I wish it was. But I just figured, maybe. . .it could suffice for now.”

“Abby, baby,” you let a small laugh escape your lips as you say it. “You don’t have to make it up to me. At all. I did what I did, because I saw someone in you. I remember asking for your name, and you responded by asking me where Lev was. You didn’t even care what shape you were in. All you wanted to know was if he was okay. You reminded me of me.”

“You reminded me of dad.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, letting silence seep into the air around you as your brain battled to process what you had just said. You didn’t speak on your dad as much as you likely should: Abby knew that, and so did you. Talking about him made your chest compress, and your throat would fail you, making it feel as if you were choking. As if you were helpless. As if you were there all over again. But Abby knew as well as you did, that when your dad came into discussion, it was for a certain reason. 

And for that reason, Abby didn’t speak: She hung fire. For you. For you.

“We live in a world where people combat their own morals just to survive. There’s no good guys. No principles, no rules, no laws. Anyone you come across is just as bad as you, and if not, they’re worse. But when I saw you? I knew. I knew that wasn’t you. Not anymore.”

You know you’re rambling by now, saying whatever comes to mind as soon as it does, but you can’t find it in you to care as you go on. “You want to believe I don’t know how much you care for me. But you don’t need to show it, Abby. I know you do. Right here.”

You take one of Abby’s large hands into yours, and as cliché as it is, not that you care at all, you place it over your heart.

“You feel that, don’t you? That’s all for you, baby. And it’s there that I feel how much you care about me. It’s there that I know.”

The same silence that was here before comes back. But this time, it’s not sad, or dark, or eerie. It’s solacing. It’s warm. It’s home.

And Abby doesn’t need words in order to respond.

It’s her turn to take your face into her hands as she pulls you in close. Her lips meet yours like they have so many times before, her familiar scent hitting your nose as you settle your hands onto her hips. The kiss is slow, and sweet, but passionate, and a burning desire surges inside you to never let her go, to always hold her close. To always call her yours.

You pull back from the kiss once you tire from it, gasping, Abby’s body mimicking yours as she does the same. You gaze into her eyes, the pretty blue ones that always make your heart swell, smiling up at her as you press one last kiss to her lips for good measure. “I adore you, Abby Anderson. You know that, right?” you grin.

It’s the first time you ever hear her giggle. “Me more than you, gorgeous.”

You spend hours there alongside Abby, and it’s the best time of your life. You spend time indulging in a few snacks the blonde packed for you, playing cards, and running around and playing in the sand, smiling all the way. You even get to hear Abby read to you, one of the most endearing things in the world, accompanied by the calming sound of the ocean before you. And when it came time for sunset, you sat down beside Abby, gazing on as amber, ochre, and rose faded into night.

It was perfect.

When it was nearly time for the evening to come to an end, you used the second blanket Abby had packed for your shared night to cuddle up beside her, heads rested on the pillows she had carried along as well. The side of your face was pressed into her chest as you gazed into the sky above you, Abby’s hand rubbing your back in slow circles to console you. Small suns coat the evening sky like sweet, powdered sugar, accompanied by a full moon that looks incredible over the horizon. All you could hear was the sound of the ocean, alongside Abby sighing gingerly every once in a while, or her pressing kisses to your forehead.

Not that you needed much more than that.

Suddenly, the sound of Abby chuckling in your ears snaps you out of your head, and you turn your face upwards curiously. Abby’s smile makes you smile, and it’s no surprise you began to wonder what the blonde woman found so funny all of a sudden.

“Remember how I told you Lev and I had to cross those bridges that were really high up?” Abby asked, and you had to raise an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. “Mhm,” you mumble, which is when Abby goes on.

“Well, before that, we had to get there by foot once we got out of the aquarium I told you about, the one I used to go to all of the time. That part of Seattle is overrun in rushing rapids, so a lot of the buildings around there were a lot more demolished than they usually would be anywhere else,” she explained.

“And, well. . .”

“We walked into this building, and there was a painting of these dogs playing cards. And I asked Lev if he knew our dogs could really play cards like that. Then he asked me if anyone found me funny,” Abby laughed. “It cracks me up whenever I remember it.”

She wasn’t the only one laughing. “Sounds like Lev. And like you,” you smile, and the tale makes you recall a humorous memory of your own. “Once, I was working late at the medical center back in Boston. I was doing research on this girl who had been feeling sick, but I wasn’t sure by what. Mind you, it’s late, and silent, if you don’t count me flipping the pages in my books.”

You giggle just remembering it. “It’s the weirdest thing ever, but my dad was really good at making Clicker noises. Like, really good. Sounded so real it made your heart drop. I was reading when I heard it, and I remember wondering how the hell infected had gotten inside. ‘Course I grab what was closest to me, a scalpel, and I swivel around.”

“And it’s dad.”

That one got Abby to burst out chuckling. “Oh, my God. Of all the things you could get, gorgeous. A scalpel?”

You rolled your eyes in response, playfully so. “What can I say? I’m just a medic. I didn’t carry a gun.”

Once Abby’s done laughing, which seems to take forever, she smiles down at you, pressing one more kiss to your forehead as if to make up for poking fun at you. You cuddle closer into her, letting your body relax in her embrace as a sigh escapes your lips.

You fall back into silence soon enough, eyes glued to the sky as Abby rubs her hand over your back, holding you like you would fade away if she let you go. You run your fingers through her short hair as you press kisses to her neck, jaw, and face, giving her all the love you know she deserves. Your eyes scan her features like she was molded by some higher power, and you can’t help but want to worship her, endlessly.

Not just for what she looks like. But for who she is.

“My baby. It’s like you were made for me, you know?” you whisper in Abby’s ear as your eyes pierce into her blue ones. But Abby’s head shook quickly.

You can predict what she’s going to say in response. “No, gorgeous.”

“It’s you who was made for me.”

—

reblogs are very much welcomed! <3

—

[xxsabitoxx]

NSFW Kyojuro Rengoku HeadCanons

Kyojuro x Fem! Reader

Warnings: as the title suggests, this is full of smut

A/N: the last time I did a NSFW HC post focused on one character it was for Sanemi shortly after I made this blog… that’s kinda fucked. Why haven’t I revisited this idea? Idk but thank you for suggesting it @sharkwhore 😩🫶

Also it’s past 3am, my alarm is set to go off at 7am, of course this ain’t proof read lmfao so ignore any errors

Kyojuro is such a gentleman that you’re almost shocked the first time he tries to initiate something more intimate with you.

You’re actually pretty surprised that he seems to know exactly what he’s doing… even though he claimed you were his first partner

He’d later tell you that he went to Tengen for advice. Having three wives naturally meant the man had more than enough time to learn a thing or two

Kyojuro starts off slow with you, wandering hands and lingering kisses. He works you up subtly, until he can tell that you are aching for him to take things further

“Sit on my lap.” Kyojuro smiled at you, tapping his muscular thigh innocently. He’d been toying with you all night, his hand lingering on your waist longer than it needed to. The soft kisses on the back of your neck while you had cooked dinner. His compliments, the way his eyes seemingly devoured you. You were dying for him to move things further. “Someone’s feeling extra romantic tonight… I’m not forgetting a special occasion am I?” You sat down, trying to suppress a shiver as his arms came to wrap around you. He was warm, as always, thigh tensing and relaxing below you as he got used to your weight on him. “No, no special occasion… I just missed you.”

Kyojuro loves foreplay for a multitude of reasons

For one, he loves when you tell him what you want him to do. He loves when you guide him, tell him exactly what you like and dislike. He loves watching your eyes grow hazy when he does something just right

He’s all about you, I mean really he won’t even think of fucking you until you’ve cum at least 2-3 times on his mouth or fingers.

Speaking of mouth… Kyojuro loves when you sit on his face. Well he loves when you sit anywhere on him but sitting on his face is his personal favorite

He encourages you when you’re shy about it, he’ll even use his own hands to push you down a little further, assuring you that you won’t suffocate him

“C’mon… a little lower.” His hands are gripping your thighs as they cage his head. Your face is warm, hands holding your breasts as you tried to lower yourself without fully sitting on him. “You’re holding back…” he commented softly, your cunt just inches from his face. “…’m not…” a lame attempt, especially since you knew he could feel your thighs trembling with the effort. “I’m asking you to sit on my face. I mean that, you know. I want you to fully sit on my face.” It was blunt, maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop the squeal of shock that left your lips. “I’ll suffocate you if I put my full weight on you, Kyo.” He only gripped your thighs harder, dragging you down closer. “You won’t suffocate me… now please… sit.”

Kyojuro is the type to prefer overstimulating you than edging you. He doesn’t see a point in restricting your pleasure when he can just give you more of it.

This man is a sucker for cowgirl. He loves watching you ride him… in any position really. He loves when you climb onto his lap while sitting on the couch, he loves when you climb on top of him in bed.

In an odd way, he almost uses it as patience training. He likes to see how long he can put up with you struggling to fuck yourself on him before he gives in and takes over.

He’s more of a sexual person that you gave him credit for. Honestly with his personality you’d never guess he had such a high sex drive. Every night you spend together, so long as you are in the mood too, you’ll do something.

“You’re cute.” Kyojuro watched you, smile present and hands on your waist as you struggled to lift yourself up and down. Hell you figured the couch would make things easier for yourself. “Shut up.” Was all you could manage, head falling forward out of embarrassment as he laughed. “Cute and feisty.” He corrected himself, deciding to make things easier by thrusting his hips shallowly to meet you. You couldn’t stop the noises that slipped out of you. This angle, albeit rather annoying and a lot of work, allowed Kyojuro to slip further into you than any other position did. Plus, you knew he loved it. So of course, you always made the effort to get into this position at least once. Even if you did break a sweat because of it.

Quick X-Ray vision :D

Length is about five and a half inches, girth is average. He has veins running along his shaft that are prominent when he’s horny. Slight curve and nearly trimmed hair. Why does this feel so awkward lmao

When it comes to riskiness, Kyojuro is the type to keep it within your property but never out in public. Public ≠ outside. He’d absolutely fuck you on the training grounds in his back yard.

He’s rough when he’s frustrated or overwhelmed from work. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t make you feel loved during and after. He takes aftercare super seriously especially after he’s been rough with you

Kyojuro is unintentionally really good at dirty talk. In the heat of the moment he’s whispering in your ear until you’re squealing and yelling his name.

“You like that, don’t you? I can feel you squirming.” You swallowed, nails digging into his shoulders as he hovered over you. Sweat was dripping down his temple, bright eyes narrowed as he fucked into you. “C’mon don’t be shy. Look me in the eye when you cum.” Your name left his lips in a tone as smooth as silk, back arching as he dragged across that one particular spot. “Oh? There it is.” He chuckled, the noise vibrating his chest as he drew his hips back and thrusted forward again the same way he had a moment prior. Again, you cried out as white hot pleasure racked your body. “Atta girl, keep going, I wanna hear how good I’m doing.”

Kink wise Kyojuro is fairly tame. Depends on what you think is tame though.

Heavy praise kink, overstimulation, creampies, marking, restraining (with his hands not rope or ties etc), semi-public, I mean he just likes fucking you outside.

Kyojuro likes to keep your sex life private but also gets excited by the idea of getting caught… though he knows he’ll be mortified after the fact

He adores when you leave your mark on him. Nail scratches up his back, your bite mark on his shoulder, bruises on his neck, all of it.

He likes doing the same to you, but it gives him a sense of pride when you’re the one doing it to him.

Making sure everyone knows who he belongs to

“Are you sure it’s okay?” You blinked at him, face feeling warm as you looked over the scratches you left along his back. “Of course it is.” You didn’t catch the smirk on his face, he truly adored the feeling and the look. “Kyo, it’s warm today and you’re training with the other men…” the other male Hashira would likely see it, you knew that’s what he wanted. “Hmm? You’re worried about me taking off my shirt?” He teased softly, tightening the tie in his hair before turning to face you. “I mean, yeah.” You couldn’t get over the angry red marks you’d managed to mark him with. “There is nothing to be worried about. If anything, they’ll be jealous.” You sighed in defeat, “I’ll never understand the mind of a man.” You couldn’t help but laugh as his arms found your waist.

[charlotteharlatan]

A list (non-exhaustive) of why the 1941 flashback scenes are haunting both me and The Narrative, Part 1:

1. Both S1 and S2 have scenes that take place that night - THAT CERTAIN NIGHT - in 1941. It is specifically revisited in S2, which leads the audience to believe that night was of particular importance, both to Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship and to the overall plot of the show.

2. In the same vein of things that are referenced more than once, the song “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” was first released in 1940, and it’s entirely plausible that they both heard it for the first time in 1941 while in each other’s company.

All evidence points to the song being personally significant to Aziraphale and Crowley. We know it as Their Song, and they seem to think of it that way as well - otherwise Crowley’s “no nightingales” comment in the last 15 minutes of S2ep6 would not have struck Aziraphale so hard; we can see by his expression that the words affect him. With that statement, Crowley seems to be referencing not only the song itself, but possibly also a specific memory they share that involves that song.

At first, one might assume he means the occasion at the Ritz at the end of S1, because that song is indeed playing in that scene. However, I think that scene itself is also partially a reference back to 1941, which I’ll get to in a later item.

3. When examined closely, many scenes and plot elements from the rest of the show may be nodding to 1941. When Crowley and Aziraphale discuss ways that humans fall in love in the pub scene in S2ep2, Crowley references being caught under an awning in the rain, a very transparent callback to Eden when they huddled under Aziraphale’s wing.

So, Crowley’s contribution harkens back to Eden, but what does Aziraphale mention? What is called to his mind when he thinks of falling in love? Cotillion balls. Music and dancing. Things he’s read about in Jane Austen novels, the moments therein where the protagonists realize they’re in love. On its surface, Aziraphale’s idea of falling in love seems more like an abstraction than something the angel has experienced himself. Except: perhaps he has. Perhaps, just like with almost everything Aziraphale says and does, we should be looking at it much deeper than surface level.

Maybe he’s projecting just like Crowley is, just in a less straightforward, more opaque sort of way, which you have to admit would be very in-character of him. Maybe he’s thinking of a moment we have not directly seen yet, a moment that has only been gestured to. In other words, “a joke the paleontologists haven’t seen yet,” the paleontologists in this case being, well, us. We know Aziraphale is actually capable of sleight of hand in the right circumstances, so maybe him talking about a ball is only a feint, a flamboyantly waving hand as a distraction to keep our attention away from what the other hand is doing. Maybe he is also recalling a specific memory of himself and Crowley, one that involved music and dancing, and the realization that the feeling between them was love.

So with all that in mind, what moment from the show do we have great reason to believe was Aziraphale’s realization of his own feelings, and to an extent, Crowley’s as well? Yup, you’ve got it: 1941 again. The aftermath of Crowley rescuing him at the church and saving his books. The face that launched a ship. (Sorry.)

4. Backtracking slightly to the topic of music and dancing and The Ball, let’s talk about this: just like Crowley “did a rainstorm” to try to get Nina and Crowley to fall for each other the same way he fell for Aziraphale, The Ball may have been Aziraphale’s effort to recreate the occasion on which he realized he’d fallen for Crowley. Perhaps it was intended to be a “do-over” of past events where they almost connected, with the aim of finally reaching each other this time. We’re all aware by now that while Aziraphale did fully intend to get Maggie and Nina together, he also threw a ball specifically to dance with Crowley.

It does initially seem odd that he thinks Crowley will respond well to such a big, ostentatious party, but perhaps Aziraphale has tried the subtle route before to little avail. Like when, you may well ask?

5. Well, for one: their rendezvous in 2008, right after the Antichrist arrives on Earth, in S1ep1. Crowley has been unsuccessful in convincing Aziraphale to help him avert the apocalypse, but the angel has fewer qualms about a lunch date at the Ritz.

After the Ritz, they go back to the bookshop, with Aziraphale telling Crowley he still has some Chateauneuf du Pape left “for special occasions,” which is an interesting comment - the reason why this is a special occasion to Aziraphale is never named, as Crowley glosses over it in favor of pointing out that nobody will be having any wine anymore if Heaven wins the upcoming war. Aziraphale reiterates his refusal to engage with that topic, and ushers Crowley into the shop.

All this leaves the vague impression that Aziraphale has his own agenda for the evening (because all appearances of passivity aside, the angel almost always has his own agenda). And Crowley, not noticing this or perhaps choosing to not notice it, is throwing a spanner in the works of said agenda by continuing to bring up the apocalypse. And so, stuck at this stalemate, they drink the ‘special occasion’ wine in the shop, and listen to music, and get very drunk. It’s a small detail, but we know the music is coming from the gramophone because it’s the same record Aziraphale was listening to when Crowley called him the night prior.

So, wine and music. Why are these elements significant? It isn’t named, but in S2ep4 when Aziraphale and Crowley have returned to the bookshop after the magic show, the bottle of wine they share in the back room is the same kind, Chateauneuf du Pape.

And while there is noticeably no music playing when the two of them are sitting in the quiet, private, candlelit back room of the shop, the gramophone can be seen over Aziraphale’s shoulder in many parts of the scene, looming over their conversation like a musical Chekhov’s gun.

And here’s the real kicker: the gramophone, as it happens, is normally positioned facing the opposite direction. In bookshop scenes from the rest of S2, even earlier on in that very same episode, we see it facing the usual way, in the direction of Aziraphale’s desk.

This means that it was intentionally turned so that the “mouth” of the gramophone would be visible in this scene, and turned towards Aziraphale and Crowley. You may well ask: “the background of this scene is dark and out of focus, how can you tell for sure which way the gramophone is facing?” If you look closely, you can see the gramophone’s crank is on the right side, visible in some shots past the lip of the wine bottle. If the gramophone were facing in its usual direction, the crank would be on the left and invisible in these shots.

And, to add another layer to it, we know how important cranks are as a symbolic object in this series, how much power these objects can hold in the hands of the correct wielder. Crowley turns a crank to prime the engine of the universe - in other words, to begin the music of the spheres; and much later, he uses the Bentley’s crank when he restarts time on the Tadfield airbase. What if the gramophone’s crank was used in a similar way in 1941, to temporally create a little universe of their own, either metaphorically or literally?

Great care was taken in planning every aspect, every little detail of this show; almost nothing is a coincidence; staging scenes especially is done with the utmost degree of care. All of this to say, we as the audience seem to be meant to relate the scenes from 1941, 2008, and 2023 narratively, even though they take place decades apart. Throughout the years, Aziraphale may be trying - subtly at first, but then less so - to recreate the events of 1941.

Okay, that’s items 1 through 5. I definitely have more but I hit the limit for gifs and images for posting via the mobile app, so I’m going to have to post the rest in at least two more parts. Because I still have ghosts in my head and I must write about it. Hauntings are easier to handle if there’s someone in the house with you who sees the ghosts too.

Link to part 2

[yiling-laozu-is-loml]

Alright, another idea for you! For the danmei club prompt ask thing:

NingXian, Burial Mounds settlement days, Wen Ning lovingly bullying WWX to take care of himself. Sad eyes/ puppy eyes are fair use, regardless of what wwx says.

Gimme bittersweet. Maybe alpha!Ning? Do sentient corpses still have scents?

Yes they do, cuz I say so. But I am limiting Wen Ning's alpha-ness to just scents, being able to mate/bond and using the bond to feel what his mate feels. No sex for poor dead guy oop. Zilia, this isnt just for Jaq, this is for you too because you're the first person in my orbit who started chanting "NingXian. NingXian. NingXian".

Instead of 500 words, have 4.1k (what a horrible number) words instead!

“Are you alright?” He couldn’t hide the concern in his tone. Wei Wuxian had just come out after his self-imposed heat confinement and he looked terrible. He was gorgeous as always of course, but the Burial Mounds were hard on the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation too. Although the way he looked now was way worse than he usually did which seemed impossible yet here they were.

“I am fine, all good, see?” He assured or tried to. The hoarseness of his voice gave away how long he had been screaming for an alpha who would never come. Wen Ning was seeing alright.

“Sit here, I’ll bring some broth. Heats are already hard on omegas and they get worse if you intentionally starve yourself.” He pushed him to sit on a fallen log and Wei Wuxian startled, a guilty expression contorting his face. Wen Ning had a good idea of the self-sacrificial bullshit going on in the omega’s head that made him so reckless with himself.

When he handed the bowl to him, Wei Wuxian immediately began employing his puppy eyes. Now, Wen Ning wasn’t a strong man, wasn’t one even in life and as an alpha, he really couldn’t remain unaffected by an omega he cared for but this was ridiculous. “Eat,” he said and the omega pouted harder.

“This is too much A-Ning! We could give half of it to A-Yuan, or Popo or-“

“Eat,” he simply said but then decided he much rather keep vigil unless Wei Wuxian tried sneaking away to give his food over. “Want me to feed you?” He asked and Wei Wuxian grinned and nodded.

The smile left his face when Wen Ning took the bowl from him and his cheeks darkened to a rare rosy hue that would have Wen Ning swooning if he wasn’t busy trying to coddle him. He’ll revisit that sight and fixate on it later. Right now, he was going to enjoy Wei Wuxian sputtering about not being an invalid. The omega wasn’t the only one who could turn the tables and fluster others. 

“This is ridiculous, I could’ve shared this much food with someone. It's being wasted on-”

“Xian-ge!” He turned and widened his eyes, pouting slightly and Wei Wuxian gulped and clamped his mouth shut. Wen Ning wasn’t above playing dirty and he knew exactly how susceptible Wei Wuxian was to his own puppy eyes. Hell even Jiejie wasn’t above falling for them so who was Wei Wuxian in the grand scheme of disguised manipulation?

“You don’t fight fair,” he whined and focused his attention back on the bowl, as if glaring would make it vanish into thin air A beat of silence passed as Wei Wuxian scowled and then downed the entire bowl in one go, sputtering about radishes and the lack of spice.

There's more ofc, but please go read it on AO3 :D

Please give a round of applause and listen to the song that inspired the vibes and how I went about this fic! aka REFRAIN by Miyano Mamoru!

[trashyvanillabean]

I’ve been stewing recently over Black Swan’s appearance on the Astral Express.

Usually after a Trailblazing Mission, we say our goodbyes to our newfound friends, and it’s on to the next journey! (Or we go back to revisit other worlds we assisted.)

That doesn’t seem to be the case with Black Swan. Instead, it seems she still wants something from the Astral Express and, oh boy, she makes quite another entrance by casually strolling out of March’s room. (It seems becoming Memokeeper causes you to forget basic courtesy, like respecting your hosts’ ground rules and privacy. *side-eyes the Messenger*) Whatever Black Swan’s motives are for staying with the Crew, it surely has to do with Amphoreus.

For a a brief recap, Amphoreus is also known as “the Eternal Land,” can only be seen through the light of the Garden of Recollection’s mirrors and is “fettered by three Paths.”

I’m willing to guess that two of those Paths are the Permanence and, of course, the Remembrance.

I’m guessing the Remembrance because of the aforementioned description, and also Black Swan making her entrance from March’s room, whose owner has already been established as amnesiac with ties to the Garden of Recollection, and there are a few clues pointing towards March previously being a Memokeeper such as Black Swan mentioning a Memokeeper who liked to preserve memories with a camera. (You can find this dialogue towards the end of the Dreamjoy Memoir event by talking to Black Swan.)

I’m also guessing the Permanence is one of those three Paths because when Black Swan addresses Dan Heng, she points out his “mired memories.” She could have well simply called him the Astral Express’s archivist, or just left it at him being a descendant of the Permanence and a charming little dragon and whatnot; but she also draws attention to, once again, someone’s memory issues.

As for what the third Path might be…um…I have one crazy idea, but I don’t know how to string it together just yet. 😅

What I’m also slightly curious about is that Black Swan doesn’t address the Trailblazer, who we know since the beginning is also amnesiac. All we know is that they’re connected to the Stellaron Hunters through Kafka. Maybe Black Swan already knows about this and doesn’t feel the need to bring it up; but again, she could have done the same thing for Dan Heng and well left it alone, yet didn’t. (This leads me to think that we’re probably not going to get crumbs of Trailblazer’s backstory during the next journey. 😞)

As for Black Swan herself and the Remembrance, some background on Fuli and the Remembrance’s related factions can be found in the Aeon and Factions tabs of the Data Bank, but I’ll put screenshots here for convenience~

Here is the entry for Fuli:

Here’s one for the Garden of Recollection:

And here’s one on the Cremators (and I’ll get to them later):

And then we have Black Swan herself. (Note: Unfortunately, I did not feel like pulling for her — nor did I even have enough Stellar Jades — to try and pull for her when she first released, so I’ll have to resort to fan wiki. 🫠)

According to her character stories, it seems like one way you can join the Garden of Recollection and become a Memokeeper is if another Memokeeper invites you. Obviously, this would require said Memokeeper to reveal themselves, as they otherwise make sure to leave no traces of their presence.

Now, for Black Swan to appear out of thin air on the Express to initially recommend a location as the Crew’s next stop, she most likely wants something and the Crew would be the best people to help her get it; and with the Astral Express running low on fuel, she now has greater leverage.

NOTE: This thing has been sitting in my drafts for so long, I lost my train (oop 🫢) of thought and have been struggling to remember the gist of this.

If you remember our first encounter with the Memokeeper next to the Memory of Chaos mirror, it was mentioned that the Garden of Recollection has some set of “rules” in place that apparently prevent the Memokeeper from introducing herself to the Crew and making some sort of arrangement for her to stay on the Express to do as she needs to (within reason — though I suspect some Memokeepers are not usually reasonable). She even goes as far as to tamper with their memories if we try to alert them about her presence (and basically proves Welt at least somewhat right about needing to be cautious around people related to the Garden of Recollection).

So that leads me to think that Memokeepers are not normally allowed to interact with the tangible (for lack of better words). All they can do is observe and record the memories of the universe. The only exception so far is when Gallagher sent out those invitations to the Charmony Festival, and the Garden of Recollection was among the factions who received the invitations.

Leading us back to Black Swan, who we met and collaborated with to fight off the Beyond the Sky Choir. That probably should have been the end of any business with her since she’s Memokeeper, so for her to appear to us again, and not only make a suggestion but also a recommendation…there could be something happening and the Garden of Recollection is involved this time, and Black Swan wants us to help her solve it.

And there could be a chance that the reward includes not only unlimited fuel for the Astral Express, but also precious memories — specifically, some details into March’s past before she was frozen (and maybe more as a bonus, such as Dan Heng’s past life as Dan Feng and what happened leading up to the Sedition, or even the Trailblazer’s time with Kafka and the Stellaron Hunters).

Now, again, there are rules in place that apparently prevent Memokeepers from interacting normally with other people. At the very least, they don’t seem to be allowed to interact with other people unaffiliated with the Garden of Recollection, or Fuli in any way. (Talking to the Trailblazer was probably as close as that MoC Memokeeper could get to communication.) If March really was a Memokeeper, did she violate some rules, and was frozen with her memories gone as a punishment? Welt mentions that whoever froze her probably meant to protect or banish her.

So, is the situation with Amphoreus dire enough that Black Swan is potentially bending those rules, or even outright breaking them? And if Black Swan is violating those rules, what are the repercussions for that?

Let’s hope nothing too drastic happens.

[thosehallowedhalls]

Home

Book: Crimes of Passion

Pairing: M!Trystan Thorne x Emma Rose (F!MC)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1138

Summary: Five times Trystan asked Emma to move in with him and the one time she said yes.

A/N: Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge, rainbow prompts + National Take a Walk in the Park day (both in the fourth vignette).

One

“No offense, but old New York apartments are a menace,” Trystan says, opening his door wider to let Emma in.

“I’ve lost half my plays,” she complains as she drops her overnight bag on the floor. “My Folio editions were spared, but my collection of second-hand Penguins is a soggy wreck.”

“Not to be insensitive to your predicament, but I’m more worried about other things.”

“Like my furniture?”

“That, and the fact that your apartment flooding means the probability of mold in the very near future.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m not looking forward to a mold infection.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Can I stay with you for a few days?”

“I hoped that went without saying.”

“Thanks.” She looks around. “I don’t think I’ve ever spent more than a couple nights in a row here. It’ll be a little weird staying longer than that.”

“Maybe we should see it as a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That you should move in here.”

She snorts. “Yeah, let’s ask Ruby and Luke while we’re at it. Make a commune out of it.”

He could tell her he wasn’t kidding, but if that’s her reaction to what she thinks is a joke, she definitely isn’t ready. So he files it away for now.

“Come on, I’ll make you dinner.”

She sighs. “I really love you.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Two

He tries again a month later. They’re lying in bed on a Sunday morning, lazing about and enjoying a rare day off. Tracing a hand down her side, relishing the warmth of her skin, he doesn’t even think before the words are out of his mouth. “Move in with me.”

She goes completely still. “Here?”

“Yes? We can look for someplace else if you want, but I've always thought you liked my apartment.”

“I do, it’s just…” She seems to be searching for the right words. “We’ve only been together for three months.”

“And in that time, we took down three killers, an extortion ring masquerading as a cult, the Russian mob, and a jewel thief. Besides, if spending a month with my family didn’t send you running for the hills, nothing will. Move in with me.”

“Trystan…”

“That’s a no tone if I ever heard one.”

“It’s been three months,” she says again. “It’s too soon.”

“Very well. We can revisit the topic later.” He pulls her on top of him. “In the meantime, I have a few ideas about how to spend today.”

She smiles against his lips. “I’m all ears.”

Three

They’ve just stumbled into his apartment, both bleeding from various scrapes and cuts, and bruising already forming on their bodies.

Never again, Trystan swears, will they go after a pair of knife-wielding accidental kidnappers amped up on methamphetamine.

“Ugh.” She winces when she places a hand on her stomach. “Why couldn’t this happen closer to my apartment? I have an actual first aid kit there, not the pitiful thing you think passes for one.”

“You could keep your first aid kit here. You know, if you lived here.”

Emma groans. “You’re seriously bringing up moving in together now?”

“Why not? I love you. Do you love me?”

Even when aching from half a dozen different body parts, she can’t resist teasing him. “Well…”

He waves this off. “You love me. So why not move in with me? I’ve got a better coffee machine and wi-fi connection anyway.”

“Can’t argue with that one. But it is, I am forced to repeat, much too soon.”

He shrugs. “As you wish. Pass me those bandages, will you?”

Four

They’re walking down Central Park, both holding a cup of coffee and enjoying the balmy spring breeze. A motley of flowers explodes around them, a vibrant jumble of colors and scents. Trystan takes a deep breath. “God, I love this time of year.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to beat New York in the spring.”

He laces his fingers with hers. “Or this particular spot in the city. This is your favorite coffee shop, isn’t it?”

“One of them.”

“It’s only a couple of blocks from my apartment.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“You’re practically living there already,” he points out.

“I keep a toothbrush and a set of workout clothes there. Not quite the same thing.”

“Semantics. If your things live with me, why can’t you?”

“I don’t think you understand what you’re asking. I’d be there all the time.”

“Yes, I believe that goes without saying.”

“Most couples that live together don’t also work together. We’d be on top of each other nonstop.”

“Can’t say I’d mind that,” he says with a grin, then laughs when she gives him a light shove. “Fine. I’ll ask again next month.”

Five

“So when are you two taking the plunge?” Luke asks.

They’ve just left Mafalda’s house after dinner, a dinner where he and Ruby announced that they’re moving in together. Appalled, she turns to him. “Luke! Rude!”

“Oh, today isn’t about us.” Emma chimes in. “I’d rather talk about when you’re going to ask Ruby to marry you.”

When he flushes bright red, she smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Once they’re in his car, Trystan turns to her. “You know, Luke makes an excellent point. When are we taking the plunge?”

She gives him a sideways glance. “Of course you’re going to jump on that. I’m almost surprised you didn’t say anything back there.”

“I would never.” Taken aback that she’d think otherwise, he cuts her a look. “First of all, that was their moment. And second, using others to convince you falls outside the bounds of fair play.”

“I know.” Her voice has gone a lot softer. “I’m just teasing.”

“Besides,” he adds. “I wasn’t particularly eager to hear you say no in front of all our friends.”

She gives him an odd look. “And you’re sure I would have said no, huh?”

“Evidence points to yes.”

“Hmm.” But she doesn’t say anything else afterwards.

Six

Emma stretches from her spot on the couch after the longest workday in recent memory. “God, I hate paperwork days. I’m too tired to move. Okay if I stay over tonight?”

“Sure. Or you could just move in already,” Trystan says, reaching for the remote.

“Okay.”

His hand freezes in mid-air. “Sorry, what?”

“I’ll move in.”

He blinks. “You’ll move in. With me?”

“Unless you’re planning to move out, yeah.” At his blank look, she seems to shrink a little. “But hey, if you’ve changed your mind…”

A slow smile spreads over his face. “Oh, not even close. Took you long enough.”

“From where I’m standing, it took me just long enough.”

“You would find a way to argue about this.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Not remotely.” He tugs her into his arms and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Welcome home, Emma.”

[carawenfiction]

Will we have an update soon?

Tumblr won't let me make normal posts for some reason, so the update will have to be in form of an answer to this ask smh. Anyway:

Hey everyone!

This post is long overdue, I know. I’m really sorry to those who have been worried about my wellbeing, as well as those who have been waiting around for an update for so long.

I’ve put off writing here because this “update” is something I’ve been wrestling with for a long time. But I can’t keep going back and forth on it forever, which is why I’m now letting you all know that the Shadow Society is officially discontinued.

I know that this might not come as much of a surprise to anyone at this point. I’ve tried to salvage the story by remaking it into something I’m happy with through a rewrite. But I’ve rewritten the rewrite itself more than once, and no matter what I do, I’m just not happy with the result. Rewriting something that’s already published with all the coding it involves is a lot more tricky than I initially thought it would be.

This is not a case of me being needlessly harsh on myself, however; it’s simply a truth I’ve come to realize after struggling to find a way to keep going with the story. I’ll never be fully content with it, or even content enough, unless I’d be able to completely remake and rewrite everything from scratch – and consequentially, I will never find enough motivation to continue because of how unhappy I am with it.

I’ve seen some speculation about my reason for rewriting the story and my long absence, and that they’ve had to do with comparisons to other IFs (well, you know which one). This isn’t entirely the case. While the comparisons did happen and probably still do, and while they were discouraging in the beginning, I can definitely understand where people have been coming from when making them. I talked about this more in-depth in the forums right after the release of TSS.

The main reason for why I can’t continue is that it’s not a series I feel passionate enough about to work on. My tastes have changed, and so has my writing to some degree. I’ve tried to convince myself that I am passionate about it. It’s hard to admit that you’re not when it’s been in your head for so long, when you’ve tried for so long to make this work and when you know that one part is published and that some people are anticipating a continuation. But it had to be done sooner or later.

Other reasons:

-While I don’t think that my writing style has changed drastically, I feel like it is somewhat different from how I wrote back in 2018 (which is a GOOD thing). Whenever I tried working on the rewrite or second book and attempted to emulate the writing of TSS, it just didn’t sound right anymore, and that took a lot of fun out of it.

-With everything that has happened with CoG over the past few years, they are no longer a company I want to write for.

Please know that none of this has discouraged me from writing in general. I still love doing it. If anything, this has taught me a lot about what I actually want to write and the writing process in general. Whether I end up publishing anything else in the future or will simply do so for my own enjoyment we’ll just have to see, though.

I still have the idea of a shadow-like world in my head, and maybe it’s one I will revisit at some point. Maybe there will be another version of TSS someday, albeit very different from the original one.

But for now, I can only thank you all for the overwhelming love and support over the years, and apologize for any disappointment this has caused. If people are interested, I’d be happy to share parts of the rewrite and unused ideas. The Tumblr page will still stay up at least for some time, but I will probably not be answering any asks from here on out.

EDIT: Forgot to add, but if anyone wants a genuinely amazing IF read you should check out my friend's wip here: https://uroboros-if.tumblr.com/ ❤️ Play the demo here: https://mistyriousness.itch.io/uroboros

[eyeballsoup7310]

Turns out making a crossover au is extremely difficult when neither of the stories actually have many canon visuals. Maybe I’ll revisit this later once I have stronger ideas for it

Anyways pspspspsps read the raconteurs commonplace book it’s really good

[mousetoe-wc]

The Medics of the Clans

I’m planning a rewrite of warrior cats so I’m messing around with how they work, nothing too out there but I like what I got going on.

Ok so somethings I’ve changed is the hole thing of you are an apprentice until your mentor dies, that’s silly and I’ll get to that in a minute.

The second thing I changed is the name, medicine cat as it’s an appropriation of North American indigenous cultures.

A lot of people have changed the name to Healer but personally I don’t like it, nothing against I just don’t care for it. So I’ve changed it to Medic because so much of warrior cats is fighting and battles, it makes sense to me it wound keep with that theme.

Different titles

I’ve gone and made little “titles” for different types of medics. These are the most common titles.

First is Medic Apprentice could also be known as the Medic’s apprentice or Medic in training, it’s exactly what it sounds like, a cat that is learning how to be a Medic.

The Second Medic is a fully trained medic who, most of the time is the youngest fully trained medic, it’s custom for there to be at least two Medics in the clan, the second is to listen and help the head medic

The Head Medic is the one who is in charge of the medicine den and everything that is going on, in and around it. The Head Medic takes on the role when the previous Head Medic retires or dies.

Senior Medic the oldest, most senior medic in the clan. Is normally retired but not always.

A chart of Leafpool’s history as a Medic, going from bottom to top, just to give you an idea of how this kinda works.

A Disgraced medic is a cat that broken the code severely and has been stripped of the medic title (even when that code is severely unfair).

Field Medic are warriors that have basic training in medicine and healing, they are normally sent on battle patrols or patrols that have the possibility to turn violent.

Hollyleaf and Brightheart are examples of Field Medics!

Also important to remember that Senior medic does not always mean their the head medic!

Example of this is while Goosefeather was the senior medic of Thunderclan, he was retired and Featherwhisker was the Head Medic who was in full control of the Thunderclan medic den.

History of Medics

Ok this is very much a work in progress/ has ver little done and I’ll definitely be revisiting this later with a more in detail post, BUT, until then this is what I got so far-

I dont like a lot of stuff in moth flight’s vision, so much of it dose not make sense like, why would you split up your young kids when you didn’t have to? Why did any of the other medicine cats agree to such a dumb rule proposed by a very young, new to this job cat?? Wtf is going on here??

I really like the direction bonefall’s going with their rewrite of moth flight, it makes sooo much more sense to have the kits be older and have training in medicine and that’s why they were split up. I still don’t know how I’m going to tackle moth flight’s vision tho, but moth flight will definitely have a lot of Importance in the clan’s history.

Such as below! After a cat finishes their Medic training they receive a Luna moth wing.

I will be doing a post on Starclan so hopefully she’ll show up there.

The Medic role will be invented in dotc.

The no mate no children role may not be invented until later in the timeline?? Maybe??

At the end of oots/avos the clans are going to get a bit of a soft reboot and the no mate no children rule is going to fuck off, much to the dismay of a handful cats who think the code is a vital part of clan life

Which brings us to the broken code where shit is hitting the fan but that’s for another post

Like I said it’s really a work in progress but I’ll put a link down here when I post more stuff about it!

[fireflylitsky]

@latart I DID and it will not be nearly as cool or edgy as anyone thinks or wants to be honest 😂 It's a very barebones wip, Hidan from Jashin's POV.

Hidan is not immortal, Jashin just has a fixation with him and goes out of her way to bring him back every freaking time. She is up to her eyeballs in frustration with this guy and cannot understand why he keeps killing himself. She later finds out that her scriptures have become twisted after so many years of inaccurate translations and translations of those translations.

Now people seem to think she's some sort of death god??? It's very stressful for her, but she can't help but feel something for her stupid little human follower.

Snippet:

Jashin keeps a journal. It’s an important thing to do as a God. With a projected lifespan of eternity, it’s easy to forget the little details. 

Ever since the great culling of Gods by her paleness, Kaguya, Jashin has been in hiding, relying on the worship of the few to keep her godship instated. 

The rules are simple: No worshipers, no Godhood. 

Most of her journals over the last few centuries are filled with mundane drivel that she doubts she’ll ever revisit—then Hidan shows up.

Things get interesting, but interesting doesn’t necessarily mean good as he is quick to display.

Dear diary,

Yesterday I had 23 followers. Today I have one. I should hate him since he’s responsible for killing the rest of them. Smite him, maybe. But he’s all I have left. Besides, I can’t fully blame him for the massacre, humans can be rather irritating.

Dear diary,

His name is Hidan. Sorry, I should offer context. That follower I was talking about yesterday? His name is Hidan. I’ll learn more soon I’m sure.

Dear diary,

Hidan died today. As you know, he was my only follower. I know I’m not supposed to resurrect the humans, but what else was I to do? It was kind of sad how it happened. Fell right into a trap, poor guy. One of those pits with spikes in the bottom. I figured he could have a second chance. Besides, who is going to tell me no? Hah.

Dear diary,

Well, he thinks he’s immortal now. I suppose I should have seen this coming.  He bragged about it to quite a few people, even used my name. Maybe this is good advertising? 

Deary diary,

He did it again. It was on purpose this time. A pointed rod through his heart. Injuries like that are easy to fix at least. Sometimes I appreciate how simple he is.

Dear diary,

This human is more work than all the previous ones combined. I can hardly look away without fear of him dying. I’m getting the impression he thinks he’s doing this for me.

Dear diary,

I found the scriptures Hidan had gotten his hands on. I think the previous members wrote it themselves. I have never once demanded a human sacrifice; this feels like they’re projecting. Is it a mistranslation issue? Anyway, I think I understand Hidan a little bit more now.

Dear diary,

I am a God, not a personal shopper. I do not need to be wasting my time masquerading as a mortal and commissioning a custom weapon. This is a stupid idea.

Dear diary,

I did it. I got the scythe. It was a moment of weakness, but he was having a bad day and I… I just felt bad. I hope he likes it. I made sure to get it in his favorite color.

Dear diary,

Hidan made a friend. He’s tall and upon further inspection, appears to be made of black spaghetti. I’m afraid I have fallen out of touch with what constitutes a human these days.

Deary diary,

Oh. They are not friends.

Dear diary,

I’m not sure what they are anymore. But if Hidan likes him, then I like him.

Dear diary,

Hidan is upset about something. He cried today when no one else was around. He always talks to me about everything, but he hasn’t mentioned this. Should I be worried?

[britany1997]

Hey bestie! looks like requests are open and i was wondering about the boys meeting reader that’s like Pelle from midsommar and their reactions, maybe their intrigued idk. i went on a pelle fic binge and i haven’t been able to get the idea out of my head. Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to do it! Have a great day!

Cult Classic

Hey bestie!! Omg I’d love to write this for you thanks for sending it in! Midsommar is one of my favorite horror movies! Hope you like this!

Poly Lost Boys x GN Reader who’s like Pelle

(Reblogs, likes, and comments much appreciated)

Warnings: teeny bit of angst, darkish (more creepy than anything), small references to a cult

Pre-read by two of my favs: @dwaynesbiboyfriend & @crustyraccoon 🥰

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Paul ground his elbow into Marko’s side.

“Ow! What the fuck man?!” Marko turned to yell at Paul while Dwayne and David rolled their eyes, ignoring the terror twins.

“Sh!” Paul whispered with concern.

Marko stared at the blond vampire dumbfounded, “…did you just shush me?” He asked in disbelief, “Paul if you want to sub tonight just tell Dwayne, you don’t have to be a brat about it.”

“No! That’s not it,” Paul whisper-yelled, before pausing, “well…” he contemplated, “maybe we can revisit that conversation later.”

Marko rolled his eyes.

Paul groaned in exasperation, “just look!” He put both hands on either side of Marko’s head and turned it towards you.

You were sitting on the curb outside the video store, periodically alternating between staring at the four vampires and looking down at the drawing pad in your lap.

You were detailing the design of the curly blond one’s jacket. Which is why you didn’t notice them move until the tall blond one snatched the drawing pad from your lap.

Your gaze shifted to him, and you smiled softly as he narrowed his eyes at the contents of the paper. His friend came to peek over his shoulder

“It’s us,” the curly haired one said, his eyes snapped to meet yours, “why were you drawing us?” He asked with eyebrow raised in suspicion.

By then the other two boys had migrated over to see what the fuss was about. They flanked your sides while the jumpy ones stood in front of you.

You shrugged, still smiling, “you’re interesting.” You stated matter-of-factly. “When I find something of interest, I draw it.”

The curly haired one seemed put off by your answer as he stepped back in discomfort, but the tall blond one didn’t seem to share his concern.

“Well damn sugar, you’re lookin’ real interesting yourself, name’s Paul,” he introduced himself while smirking, “that’s Dwayne, David, and Marko,” he told you while gesturing to each of his friends.

You introduced yourself to them, “I’m new in town, and I don’t know many people yet,” you explained, “so I’m very pleased to meet you all.”

Paul sat next to you and slung an arm around your shoulder, “very pleased to meet you too babe,” he flirted.

You returned his smirk with your same serene smile, before turning to the other boys.

“What about you?” You asked, “have you guys been here long?”

David chuckled, “I suppose you could say we’re old in town,” he explained, smirking as the other boys laughed softly at his little inside joke, “always happy to meet new friends though.”

“Ah so we’re friends then,” you contemplated, “how nice.”

Marko shivered at your tone, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

You eyes snapped to meet his, “cold?” You asked him, your head tilted.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, unable to meet your gaze, “breeze must’ve passed by or somethin’.”

“Hmm,” you hummed as your eyes flicked over his form.

You tore your gaze from Marko to check your watch, “ahh, sorry to leave so soon, but it’s getting late, my family will be worried,” you told them, “I’ll see you around then…right friends?”

“Of course sugar,” Paul promised as he removed his arm from your shoulder.

You tossed them a wave as you walked away.

Dwayne’s eyes flitted to the many faces peppered along the boardwalk, “too crowded,” he mumbled, “can’t go after them. dammit,” he grit, “I hate losing a meal.”

David rolled his eyes, “always thinking with your stomach huh big boy?” He mocked, “let’s toy with them for a little,” he suggested, coming around to Dwayne’s side, “you know how much I love to play with my food.”

Dwayne turned his head to peck David’s lips, “and how could I ever deny you your fun?” Dwayne asked, with a smirk stretched across his face.

“Yes!” Paul shouted, “you know I’m always down for a good time,” he waggled his eyebrows, “besides, Marko, won’t you like having another artist around for a little while?”

When Paul’s question was met with silence, the boys turned to glance at Marko. His arms were wrapped around himself, and his eyes were trained on the ground as he shook his head.

“I say we just eat ‘em,” he mumbled, “there’s something off about them,” he looked up, “I can’t explain it, I don’t know what it is, they just seem…unsafe.”

David laughed darkly, “unsafe? Please.” His eyes narrowed as he moved forward to pull the curly haired vampire up by his collar, “we’re. vampires.” He spit, “we are the definition of unsafe. Don’t be a child.” David tossed him back, “I’m the leader. We do what I say, and I say we play with them. Let’s go.”

David and Dwayne walked towards their bikes as Marko kicked at the ground in frustration. Paul came up behind him, placing a hand on Marko’s arm.

“Hey,” he started, “you ok bud?”

“Yeah,” Marko muttered, wrenching his arm from Paul’s grip, “fine.” He mumbled as he stomped towards his bike.

A couple weeks passed and you’d charmed each of the boys.

You’d spent many nights smoking with Paul. He’d been more than happy to try shrooms with you when you’d offered. The memory of him sprinting around the cave away from his hallucination of a ten foot David, never failed to make you smile.

You’d traded books of poetry with Dwayne. You offered him The Wasteland, while he’d gifted you the works of Emily Dickinson.

You’d spent hours listening intently to David’s stories of his life and upbringing. He was happy to have a quiet presence to absorb his many ramblings.

You’d gotten to know all the boys, all except Marko.

Everytime you’d tried to get close to him, he’d seemed to slip away. When you searched for him at the cave, he was nowhere to be seen.

Yet tonight, there he was, sketching away on the lip of the fountain in the sunken hotel. You peered over his shoulder. “That’s beautiful,” you told him.

He jumped back in shock at your words, “thanks,” he mumbled, flipping the cover of his sketch book closed.

You sat down beside him, “are you afraid of me?” You asked bluntly, “you never seem to be around when I visit.”

Marko shot you a disgusted look, “I’m not afraid of anything,” he spit.

You smiled softly, “not even David?” You questioned softly.

Marko leapt up from his place beside you, “what?” He whispered through gritted teeth.

Your serene smile never left your face, “you sacrifice your will for his own, you all do,” you observed.

Marko glared hatefully, “you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled.

“Ah but it’s ok Marko,” you assured him, “you love him.”

Marko hugged himself, and stared at the ground.

“Do you ever wonder though,” you pondered, “if he loves controlling you, more than he loves you?” You asked, your head tilted.

“Do you fear that his love for you is temporary? That you’re only a passing fancy? Do you fear what he’ll do when he tires of you?” You whispered.

Marko backed away from you in shock, “you’re the passing fancy.” He spoke seriously, “and you should be afraid of what he’ll do to you. What I’ll do to you,” he threatened.

You smiled back, “I’d love to introduce you to my family sometime my friend,” you offered, “there are no power structures among us, only love.” You explained, “don’t you want to be loved Marko? Don’t you want to be part of a family?”

“I have a family,” Marko assured you, “and you are not my friend. I don’t care if you hang around the others, but you stay the fuck away from me.” He ground out, storming off.

You smiled as he walked off, he’d come around, they always did.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Note: this probably needs a part two lol, somebody I’ll stop writing fics that need multiple parts…someday

Taglist❤️:

@bloodywickedvamp @6lostgirl6 @ghoulgeousimmaculate @misslavenderlady @altierirose @solobagginses @anna1306 @pixielostboy @its-freaking-bats @xxryn @dwaynesbiboyfriend @crustyraccoon

[presiding]

I'm not a new follower and I've been here long enough but i do have a relatively bad memory

So I've wanted to ask, what's your opinion on "Dishonored: death of the outsider"?

Right now I'm replaying Dishonored games not in the release order, i already finished DH2 and started Daud dlcs. Maybe I'll go for vanilla DH later

But thoughts about going through death of the outsider again makes me feel something that i can't explain... 😬

It has some interesting ideas but antagonists are underused. Locations repeat a lot. And Billie herself deserved SO much better than whatever is going on with her character

I'm genuinely debating if i should revisit *this* one or pretend that DH2 is the last game. I know that some people love DOTO but i can't find strength in me

love to chat about death of the outsider, ty for the ask!

i feel your pain. it's the one game i struggle to revisit. but! i was thinking about your points and how DotO has the feel of budget cuts.

it's been about a year since my last DotO post - so, essay time -

a measured response to common DotO criticisms

(the thousand bugs of dishonored 2 I had borne as I best could, but when doto ventured upon sidelining billie and retconning daud's arc I vowed revenge*

*can't resist a cask of amontillado joke

criticism is easy and creation is hard, so, if this isn't the type of response you wanted, you can read my other DotO posts:

how i'd write death of the outsider

that post i did after trying to play doto a third time and couldn't make it past the opening scene (you might like my tags on this re: your comment "makes me feel something i can't explain")

billie lurk as a nonprotagonist & misogynoir (more on this below...)

gonna leapfrog off your comments cause I agree!

antagonists are underused/locations repeat a lot.

who is steering the boat?

let's start up at the top; everything stems from there.

DotO was caught up in ownership/transition issues. here's an article about harvey smith and raphael colantanio at that time. if you didnt know, colantonio is the main founder of arkane (semi-related but just for fun look his appearance up then go through arkane's protags and tell me what you notice...).

quote from harvey smith re: DotO -

“Then, just as I move back, [Colantonio is] announcing that he’s leaving. Going forward, I’ll focus more and more on the Austin studio and what we’re going to do there. Death of the Outsider is my wrapping up with the guys in Lyon – the first half of that we planned together while I was living there, but the second half was worked on while I was living in Austin. I’ve been communicating with them through video conferences and stuff, so they carry a lot of the load of the second half of it.”

so the founder jumped ship and the co-creative director has to step away from his usual position (over to sinking ship Austin). meanwhile, DotO is still in development. i'm a big believer in people making art, and not companies (even in this article Smith acknowledges much of their "secret sauce" can be traceable to specific devs but i digress)

$$$ kaching - some speculation

on the note of founders - past this point in arkane's history (ie. the main founder stepping back), arkane would have been being primed for sale. this translates to high scrutiny on project expenditure (such as hiring cheaper early career staff, hiring less workers, denying your best staff raises causing them to leave and hiring cheaper workers in their place, etc) to make the company's EBITDA look more appealing to buyers (briefly, its the piece of paper that proves you're profitable). based on speculative timelines, from a purely $ perspective within the first year of dh2 being released is when you'd be looking to slim down your capitalised expenditure (aka: cutting staff while the revenue is at a peak to make number go brr and make your company look like a better investment) because to maximise the profit of a company's sale, you really have a great track record for a few years.

this is purely speculation based on timelines. companies are very careful to hide when they're doing this, ideally they want ~3 years of a great track record (and staff that will keep working their hardest).

big goals and no money

DotO was meant to be a two-part DLC like the Dh1 DLCs, so shout out to what could have been made if their original pitch had worked.

On locations & antagonists & budget - this dev's site discusses the Conservatory level in game AND specifies it was budget constraints being the reason for cutting off traversable area from that mission. Great link for comparing the original level & the DotO version, especially re: your point about reused assets/levels.

We could pick other examples here but this post is already long so -

Billie herself deserved SO much better than whatever is going on with her character

i would forgive this game anything if there was any good billie storywriting.

:')

its never just the writers

after revisiting articles to fact-check for this essay, i've seen a lot of articles blaming writers by name (you didn't do this anon which i love <3)

games are made by teams, and decision making is generally done top-down, so blaming individual contributors is shit. 1) writer's pay isn't good enough to cop this kind of abuse. 2) it's rarely in their control - you can write a beautiful scene only to have that level cut due to costs (etc), and then you need to work out how to make the story make sense. ideation & decision-making are separate and i guess 'this idea was [X]'s' should not be mistaken for 'this is the fault of [X]'s.'

on hiring fans (& imm-sim writing strategies)

the new writers [...] already had an idea of the world, as they’d seen it from the outside, as fans. “These are all people that knew this world we had created and they took it as canonical, as the gospel. Whereas, for us, it was bits and pieces we’d made up along the way.”

as someone who used to hire writers, and i promise this isn't in bad faith: don't hire fans unless your priority is cost then, sure, fans are likely to put in overtime (and not be in a position in their career where they can ask for higher remuneration - they'll pay the passion tax to be involved).

writers (esp new career writers) have to be open to receiving feedback assuming healthy/functional processes, and being a fan makes that harder because you care more. and, as a fan, you know what loose ends exist and that's where you'll naturally jump to, even though writers should start with target audience and branding, and build from there. if i expand on this i'll get offtopic so let's keep going!

DotO feels lifeless because it doesn't add anything to the DH universe, it only takes away by closing storylines without the satisfaction of closure. sure, stuff was added - the cult subplot, locations, some NPCs/enemies, etc. but they feel like part of the objectives, not part of the dishonored universe. you can feel the decision-making process when you play: there's a feeling that the priority was to finish the assets required for missions, instead of writing a story that feels immersive.

compared to standard videogame writing, where you can generally get away with "everything you touch and read relates to your objectives as the protagonist", as an imm-sim writer, you need to focus on:

how does this text build the universe so that the player feels like they're only seeing a small part of the world?

of course - this is difficult with budget/time concerns. i've said it before but this is part of why we rarely have games as rich as dishonored 1 & 2, because imm-sim design philosophy flies against the current videogame industry trends of microtransactions & cheap-to-make addictive mobile games. given a tight budget you focus on the high level story, but player immersion is a function of details.

most likely, dh2 was the end of an era. typing that out makes me sad.

what did the devs say about writing billie

*breathes deeply*

the death of the outsider protag was originally pitched as being about a regular human, someone not related to emily and corvo but instead an overseer or a brigmore witch. daud was also pitched.

this could have worked! really cool to have a nobody, or a heretic, or an overseer, be involved with the death of a god. and i've mentioned before that storywise DotO's protag could have been anyone (i think i made a joke about wyman? hah) and wouldn't change the story much, bar some daud bits.

quote from the same article:

eventually Arkane settled on Billie Lurk, Emily's companion from Dishonored 2. [...] Bakaba tells me that because Billie had already received her redemption arc in Dishonored 2, Death Of The Outsider's story could be about something more than that.

welp.

so there's two things here - a redemption arc claim, and DotO's actual story.

in addition to not being the first pick, the view was that billie's story was over. i question the 'redemption arc' claim - sure, billie helps the protag in dh2 but after her confession, if you tell her she's changed, she brushes it off and you part awkwardly without forgiving her... does that count? if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it does it make a sound? if a character redeems themselves but the story never tells you, are they redeemed?

billie's role in dh2 isn't really that different to the dlcs, where she follows you around being Mr Exposition while withholding a LOT of information that could have actually helped the protag. given DotO's plot, going after the killer who shaped her doesn't scream 'reformed' either. ludonarratively speaking, the lack of chaos implies billie never changed from being a callous killer - which i'm not against, it would have been a cool story.

and! contrast this with daud who already had his redemption arc!

When first conceptualising Death Of The Outsider in around 2014, Smith and Duval knew they wanted two things: Billie Lurk being used to get to The Outsider himself, and closure for Dishonored villain (and later ally) Daud.

in the two DLCs, as we know, he comes to realise his actions sucked, and as the player you actively make things right (related: my post about ludonarrative dissonance in dh2). so if billie had "already received her redemption arc", why was this another daud story?

imo this isn't a budget issue but a misogynoir issue. "we want this story to be not about the protagonist so any random NPC will do, how about we go with billie lurk and get a black woman as a dishonored protag?" this logic, which is what i'm reading of the above two quotes, feels frustratingly tokenistic when she's an established character with a rich background. it's an example of surface level diversity because DotO is not about her by arkane's own admission. it's a similar vibe to the companies who say they have a diverse team but you check their staff page and all the people of colour have 'assistant' in their title and the board is all white, so it's not people of colour who are driving the business. maybe this was entirely by accident but these accidents add up to systematic failure - billie gets her own game but never her own story. it feels like she got assigned the caretaker role for these two guys. great.

for fairness, let's compare to dh2. corvo & emily are relatively hands-off protags in terms of their ongoing thoughts about their surroundings and the lore placement about them specifically is sparse, and this style continues in DotO. the issue is the core narrative: corvo & emily are both the protagonists of their story in the sense that dh2's story reflects their goals ("take back what's yours"), whereas Billie is an established character who has arguably little reason to go along with each mission. worse, the main plotline she's literally forced into going along with. in the opening scene billie gets assaulted and still helps the guy who assaulted her.

fundamentally, DotO's narrative is not about billie but about daud and the outsider, and this article makes clear that was by design.

whats the takeaway

DotO is the weakest entry in the Dishonored series for most people, and blaming budget & a corporate changeover makes me feel... uh well it doesn't really help me tbh but your mileage may vary. it does interest me to think about what we could have had!

for me, my opinion is that if writing billie was a priority (link to my own post where i describe the feeling of playing doto as someone interested in billie) arkane would have made it a priority, even amidst constraints. billie's redemption arc was not resolved imo, and putting her in a game without a chaos system feels like as much a backwards slide for her as daud's plotline to kill the outsider was for his arc.

we absolutely 🤝 on not being in a rush to play the game again.

on the upside. dishonored 2 is a really wonderful game and i love it very much.

[hyunverse]

hi my love! i’ve slowly been getting into skz fics so i’ve been watching you from afar for a little while now and reading your amazing fics (i have so many in my liked posts, waiting to be read - i promise i’ll get to them soon 🙏)

i just wanted to say congrats on 5k and i was hoping i could join your event !! it’s such an adorable idea and sounds like so much fun hehe <33

my ideal date is something unplanned, romantic, and childish. i’d love to go to an arcade and play all the games and lose track of time and later maybe we could go out for ice cream on a late night drive with no destination in mind or we could stop at the beach and it’d be cold so he’d give me his jacket while we walk around and talk about everything and nothing under the stars 🤭

sorry for being a hopeless romantic anyway, just wanted to say i love your fics and i look forward to getting through your masterlist eventually <33

— the cupid's heard your wish, your match is yang jeongin .ᐟ

note: ahhh you're so sweet and kind ^.^ thank you so much for the kind words, do take your time to read them!! i hope you'll like them, and that you'll like this <3

playlist...

back to the old house by the smiths ・ because you're pretty by giriboy ・ 18 by one direction ・ bad by wave to earth ・ 10,000 hours by prettymuch ・ dance, baby by boy pablo ・ every summertime by niki

trope...

boy next door trope!! jeongin's the boy next door you've had your eyes on throughout your teenage years. one day you become friends with one of his brothers and with his help you manage to get closer to jeongin. i feel like he gives off such boy next door vibes tbh.

headcanons...

dating jeongin = spontaneous dates. all the time!! if he has time after practise you'll get a call and he'll ask you to dress up and takes you out on a spontaneous date.

due to his tendeancy of having impromptu dates, i think you'll end up discovering a lot of secret spots together. a beautiful pond that overlooks the city, a hidden gem of a cafe in the corners of the city, and instagrammable spots. you name it!! jeongin keeps track of these places to revisit with you.

loooots of time spent in arcades. he gets competitive!!! always either trying to beat you in a game or trying to win you a plushie. either way, you're pretty sure he's used up a lot of his money in arcades.

your instagram game will 100% be upgraded. seriously. jeongin would take so many pictures of you and insist for you to post them because he's so proud to have you <3 occasionally, you'll wake up to see a candid photo of you posted in his instagram story.

losing track of time while hanging out with jeongin is so easy. he's just so comfortable to be around with. some nights, you get to stargaze with him in a field as you lay on his lap and he plays with your hair <3

[newtonsheffield]

Oh Molly me again with the Bruises Spicy Sunday request.. either that or My Hand.. Bruises Anthony is my favorite but My Hand was really, REALLY close. I love that story. You are a mensch girl and your training for a marathon is so inspiring, I have been working on my health this past year and I feel so much better, happier, saner.. Not marathon territory but maybe one day. Its has been the best thing I have ever done for myself, 100% worth it. I am far away but I am cheering for you from here

Ohhh that’s a good idea. Let’s revisit my hand Kate and Anthony. I’ll admit I loved how these two were intimate with each other. They were so good at reading each other’s body language and I think it made the way they connected very special honestly.

(Also thank you for your kind comments about my journey. This year has been really tough for me and I guess I’m trying to use this as a way to take time and connect with myself again in a way that I haven’t for a while. Already over the last month I feel better, I feel more motivated, I’m being more productive, and ah yeah… I’m not advocating that this needs to be everyone’s journey before I get comments about that. If you’re happy with how you are then that’s great but this so far is a great way for me personally to check in with myself. Get to know myself and my body better and even with just walking through August my general health is improving so I’m excited for the journey ahead)

Kate could feel his eyes on her as she worked in the corner of the living room and she ignored him. Very pointedly, she ignored her boyfriend. Anthony’s eyes had been soft when she’d woken this morning, and the soft noise he’d made as he nestled closer had still sounded so beautiful.

“You’re so pretty.”

She’d laughed, kissing his palm as his fingers swept over her cheek, “I’m not staying in bed with you today.”

Anthony drew back indignantly, “I wasn’t asking for you to!”

“Oh yes you were.” She kissed the edge of his nose, “You were trying your old Oh Kate, you’re so pretty. Oh my god, how did my hand get up there? What a wild coincidence, well I’d hate to not take advantage of an opportunity now that it’s presented itself routine and I don’t have time for that today.” She patted his cheek, scooting away from him. “I have work to do. Books need to be illustrated Anthony, and I’m sure you have little cakes to make.”

Anthony pouted, ruffling his hair adorable, “I don’t like that you know me so well.” He huffed, settling back against the pillows as she stood, “I have time for a little romp.”

“A romp?” Kate chuckled, pulling on one of his T-shirts. “Oh that’s so romantic, Anthony. Is it any wonder I’ve been in love with you all these years?”

He grinned, bouncing the muscles in his chest, “It’s not a surprise to me, no.”

She sent him a rude hand gesture, “I’m having breakfast, and then I’m starting work. Go to work.”

He flopped down against the pillows, “What if I just gave you head?”

Kate sighed as she stepped forward, running her fingers quickly through his hair before she spoke and her lips moved in time with her words, “It’s never just head with you, Babe. You’ll get excited and I’ll get carried away and then before I know it, I’ve spent all day in bed and I’ve still not illustrated this fucking book.”

Anthony pouted again, “So I’m being blamed for your lack of self control?”

“Yes,” She sighed, leaning down to kiss him. She let herself linger against his lips, let herself lean over him on the bed and tangle her tongue with his. “Be a good boy and go to work.”

He’d stomped out the door, slamming it loudly behind him just the way he always did minutes later while she sat at the breakfast bar, eating her cereal.

“Daddy’s silly, Newtie boy.” Kate had chuckled to herself, hearing his heavy footfalls the entire way down the corridor. “It’s a good thing he’s very cute.”

She settled at her desk in the corner of the living room where the light filtered in through the windows, not bothering to change out of the shirt she’d thrown on for breakfast and before long she heard the same footsteps again. Thundering down the hallway. She’d teased him gently about it once, how his footsteps echoed through the room and he’d blinked at her,

“I’m as quiet as a mouse, Kate. I can’t hear any difference between yours and mine.”

“Dickhead.” She’d chuckled, leaning in to kiss him, but she loved the sound of Anthony moving about. It was comforting, the noise of him clattering in the living room and slamming drawers in the bathroom.

Kate paused her hand, moving over the paper, letting her eyes flick to the clock on the wall. Her eyes narrowed. It was barely passed one. He was early, and that made her suspicious.

The door slammed closed and Kate turned towards him, her eyebrow raised. He was looking at something on his phone, completely engrossed in whatever he was reading. Kate flicked her eraser at him and it bounced off his shoulder. He looked up at her indignantly, dropping his phone.

“What was that for?”

“What are you doing home?”

His expression was innocent, far too innocent, and that as well had made her suspicious. “We were quiet. Jack’s just closing up.”

“Right.” Kate hummed suspiciously, “I don’t trust you, Bridgerton.”

Anthony held his hands up in surrender as he dropped his bag, “I’m only going to be trying out some new recipes. I won’t bother you at all.”

He had moved to the kitchen and started pulling out bowl after bowl, and she’d settled back to work herself but his eyes had stayed on her still.

They were still there now.

Kate saw him move quickly from the corner of her eye and a flash of his skin appeared. She turned towards him and found she didn’t need to get his attention, because he was staring right at her, separating eggs with his shirt now abandoned.

“What are you doing?”

Anthony blinked at her far too innocently, “I told you, Babe. I’m trying a new donut recipe.”

He let to egg yolk slip through his hands and started measuring out flour in a separate bowl, Kate gasped as Anthony grunted, letting his hands mix the ingredients into a sticky dough. “No you aren’t! You’re trying to thirst trap me into having sex with you!”

“Why would I do that?” He slapped the couch onto the counter, his muscles flexing and his fingers squeezed it and Kate felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“Why would I do that?”

Anthony’s hips thrust forward against the countertop. “You don’t need to fuck the counter to mix dough!”

Anthony grinned at her and his hair fell in his eyes, a satisfied little noise in the back of his throat, “Well, I wouldn’t need to if you let me fuck you.”

Kate;s stomach dropped and her mouth felt dry and she let her pencil fall from her hand as she stood, making her way the short distance to the kitchen. “Oh, so you admit it! This was a honey pot scheme! I’m never getting any donuts, this was all the seduce me!”

Anthony blinked at her, cleaning off his hands, handprints of flour stark against his chest. “Well, did it work?”

He was leaning against the counter, the muscles in his arms tight and she could almost feel the heat of him. She could almost feel those hands ghosting over her and his lips against hers. She could feel him kneading her flesh the same way his hands had moved through that dough seconds ago.

She sighed, “Obviously, take off your pants.”

Anthony grinned, reaching out to wrap around her waist. Tugging her firmly against his bare chest. He lifted her with one arm, as though she wasn’t made of anything and her legs wrapped around him seconds before their lips crashed together. Their teeth clashed and their tongues swept over one another and she felt his moan ripple through her chest as well.

The marble countertop was cold on the backs of her bare legs and the fabric of his jeans was rough against the inside of her thighs and Anthony’s deft hand slid up her shirt tickling the skin of her stomach. Kate let her lips fall to his neck, right to the spot that her made his spine shiver when they’d been eighteen years old and fumbling together in her bedroom for the first time. They were so much surer of themselves now, of the way they were together as well but it still felt just the same. Just as thrilling and heady, the tension simmering between them.

She left her hands drift down his chest, delighting in the way he shivered against her. Kate tugged roughly that the button, pushing them down his thighs with his underwear. His eyes caught hers and he pressed his forehead against hers, his breath shuddering in his chest as his hips bucked softly against the inside of her thigh. His hands tilted her hips just so, just enough for her to feel him, to feel how desperate he was for her.

“Kate!” His voice was a strangled sound, echoing through the kitchen as she rolled her hips and he slid inside and all Kate could do was nod helplessly her own moan pressed against his chest.

She loved his voice, she’d told him so many times not to be self conscious of it, and he wasn’t here, when they were like this. He let his gasps and moans echo off the walls and the way her name sounded on his lips branded itself against her skin. His hips snapped forward, and one hand kept her hips firmly in place while the other kneaded her breasts softly. His lips tasted like sugar, and something that might have been lemon, and Kate could feel the tension in her stomach coiling tighter already.

Anthony’s hair was falling in his eyes over the bandana that he wore to work most days and his cheeks were flushed and his eyes fluttered closed as though he couldn’t imagine anything better than the feeling of them together. Their hips were moving together faster and faster and Kate’s lungs were burning as her legs started to shake, squeezing around his waist, every second pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck! Anthony!”

“Kate!

They fell over the edge together as quickly as this had started, and Anthonys legs seemed to give way as he shuddered, falling forwards to press her back against the marble of the counter.

Kate let her fingernail trace his spine as their breathing evened out and finally Anthony lifted his head to look at her, a smug smile on his shiny cheeks. “I knew you’d give in.”

Kate rolled her eyes, pushing him off her. “Shut up and make my donuts.” She slapped his arse, “Are they lemon?”

“Lemon meringue, yeah.”

“Lovely,” She hummed, “Get to work.”