#thats a remake of some comments inside

[aldisobey]

HE IS RISEN

Here to share some of my favorites with you from the first two bits. It caught the moooood tonight. This morning. Its my friday. Below because obnoxiously long? You're warned

Well, as immediately as whatever was living on his gloved hands would allow. He often had to let it go through the voicemail the first time as he divested himself of gloves, but there was almost always an immediate second call.

Storytelling masterwork. Look at the character building. Look at all the information we get. A glimpse at the work he does, the urgency of the previous nannies. I love stuff like this.

The other was an incident involving Johanna the cat, which resulted in Emmrich talking her through the process of dismantling the basement drop ceiling.

Here it is again. That world and character building. We get Johanna the cat. We get Rook and Emmrich being pretty capable as as a team too, or maybe I just hate audio instructions. Also cat shenanigans.

Rook had offered insight into what such a partnership might be.

The way I can feel a tiny heartbeat in my throat. Dangerous thoughts sir.

But then, that thought veered too closely to something that Emmrich had spent a great deal of time trying to ignore over the last six month

Ah he knows. But circling round it. Has that peace to think. The insight to want such perhaps?

He couldn’t be blamed, therefore, for answering the phone with a hurried and abrupt prompt of, “What’s happened?”

And all that build up and charcter leads to such a heavy drop, and a deep knowing of his thoughts without having to spell them out in moment

“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing immediately to gather his things.

Few words heavy emotin. This paints the deep worry and concern. I live for it.

there was an odd quality to her voice—stifled, as though with congestion. She’d been experiencing no such ailment this morning at breakfast, when she’d come in from her apartment..."Oh dear," tutted Emmrich

You pepper the world building so perfectly. Now we now their living situation, their schedule, how aware he is how attentive she is, how they both might. Oh dear is alright Rook's having a medical emergency but skirt aaaaaaa. And the mug!!!

Minanter River the previous afternoon and likely wouldn’t surface until she’d gleaned the name of the man’s tax adjuster from the color of his liver.

More workd building more character building shile moving scrne along you do see how fuckin well balanced this is don't you

He comforted himself with it as he sprinted towards the parking garage, open suit jacket flailing behind him.

I just like this mental image. Pause here and watch him run a bit.

“You’ll be alright, my dear,” Emmrich said. “Where’s Manfred?”

AAAAAA the pause was worth it. Made that my dear SLAP

“That’s quite fine, darling. Breathe—slow, deep. You’ll hear the door open in a few minutes. It will be a neighbor coming to take Manfred. I don’t want you to get up. I’ll come find you when I get home.”

A DARLING THE SLOW THE DEEP A HALL OF FAME and just lay down he'll come find here??! Its wild over here!?

Nonetheless, he kept the touch as perfunctory as possible—a brief, chaste touch to the very apple of her kneecap.

He might tooo direct the preciseness of it. Thinkin a bit much about it him.

He’d nearly tried to convince her to let him carry her to the car.

Such a simple sentence. Having me grinding my teeth.

He made himself veer away from those thoughts when he realized that it was his own bed he was imagining tucking her into.

ITS ALL SO DOMESTIC wait i get it enlightenment later

“So you must be Mrs. Volkarin,” said Reldevar immediately, holding out a hand for Rook to shake.

Bless you Dr

“Your husband’s got it in one, Rook.

St. Reldevar I'm lighting candles in your honor. How he stayed silent snd not beat red. That strained smile oh he is GOIN through it

sort of car-crash impulse. It happened very quickly, and he couldn’t quite make himself look away;

This entire paragraph is simply wild i am. Its just a butt. Its just a man looking at a butt. Why cant I turn away something is wrong here

Emmrich floundered for his own self-control.

And then the

Rook tossed her head in Emmrich’s direction, seemed to almost wink.

I love you Rook you know EXACTLY what youre up to. I love you for it.

"Yes,” Emmrich murmured. “I can certainly do that.”

Ooh no look at the time intermission for me. I love this story. I'll read it again.

Nanny AU? Nanny AU.

Emmrich was somewhat used to receiving panicked phone calls at work. The nanny situation with Manfred had been tumultuous for quite some time—there had been a year or so there where Manfred had burned through nannies like a fire through kindling. Four professionals had come and gone, and Emmrich had learned that very few things were sacred when one had an overly precocious genius-level three-year-old at home; especially one’s work hours. He’d taken to answering the phone immediately upon feeling it vibrate in his back pocket. Well, as immediately as whatever was living on his gloved hands would allow. He often had to let it go through the voicemail the first time as he divested himself of gloves, but there was almost always an immediate second call.

That was, until Rook.

In the six months since hiring her, Emmrich had only received two phone calls at work. Rook seemed to almost pathologically respect Emmrich’s working hours, and only called during utmost emergencies. The first, only a week into the current arrangement, had been to inform him that Manfred had vomited at school and she needed him to call the school and give them her information so that she could pick him up. The other was an incident involving Johanna the cat, which resulted in Emmrich talking her through the process of dismantling the basement drop ceiling.

Rook’s respect of his work hours was one of the many reasons why Emmrich had come to deeply appreciate her presence in his life—aside from her positive influence on Manfred, of course, and her skill in helping to nurture and educate him. Emmrich had known, of course, that single parenthood was an undertaking not to be taken lightly, and he would certainly never regret the decision to create his little family, but the lack of a partner in the endeavor had rankled at times. Rook had offered insight into what such a partnership might be.

But then, that thought veered too closely to something that Emmrich had spent a great deal of time trying to ignore over the last six months.

In any case, the dropoff in sudden calls had allowed Emmrich to reclaim a piece of his own sense of peace that he hadn’t even realized had gone missing. He’d at least stopped walking into work while wondering what unplanned issues would arise during the day.

On the other hand, he now knew that on the occasions that his phone did ring at work—with Rook’s particular ringtone to indicate to him that it was her calling—it was truly an emergency.

He couldn’t be blamed, therefore, for answering the phone with a hurried and abrupt prompt of, “What’s happened?” when Rook’s ringtone pierced the calm and quiet of his office on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Manfred’s fine,” she said immediately, prompting yet another rush of gratitude from him—she was intuitive that way. The relief flooded back out of his system, however, when Rook followed it up with, “I’m really sorry to bother you, Emmrich, but I think I need to go to the hospital, so you should probably come home.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing immediately to gather his things. On a handful of occasions, he’d been summoned home to take over care if a nanny had some unforeseen event—issues with their own childcare, sudden mid-day illness, and on one occasion an on-the-spot resignation. That had been a memorable and unfortunate day.

A medical emergency was a new and horrifying occurrence.

“Manfred crawled under the hedgerow and I had to chase him through the field behind the house,” Rook said, and there was an odd quality to her voice—stifled, as though with congestion. She’d been experiencing no such ailment this morning at breakfast, when she’d come in from her apartment in the guesthouse and helped him clean up the carnage of Manfred’s oatmeal. She, herself, had smelled of strawberries. Her skirt had fluttered just a little too high as she ran down the driveway to hand him his forgotten travel mug as he ducked into his car.

“Oh dear,” Emmrich tutted, locking his office behind him as he swept into the hallway. He made the split-second decision to simply text Johanna—the person, not the cat—that he’d had a family emergency and would follow up with her about the day’s cases at a later time. Johanna was unlikely to notice his absence, as it was; she was elbows-deep in some unfortunate soul pulled from the Minanter River the previous afternoon and likely wouldn’t surface until she’d gleaned the name of the man’s tax adjuster from the color of his liver.

“And he’s fine,” Rook reiterated, as though she genuinely thought that that was still his major concern after she’d told him that she was intending to seek emergency medical attention for something that Emmrich’s very own three-year-old had subjected her to. “But there was deathroot? Growing in the field? And I’m super allergic. Usually I just break out in hives, but there was so much of it, and I was wearing a sundress, and anyway I’m having trouble breathing—"

“Do you have an epi-pen?”

“No,” Rook said, “Like I said—it’s never been this bad before. I think I might have inhaled some of the pollen.”

“Calm down,” Emmrich said, sinking into his medical training and pushing the alarm to the back of his mind. It had been years since his practice had taken its turn towards the deceased, and he was unused to treating living patients, but the knowledge was still there. He comforted himself with it as he sprinted towards the parking garage, open suit jacket flailing behind him. “There should be Benadryl in the master bedroom ensuite. Chew two capsules, open a window and sit down. If you feel your throat closing or start feeling lightheaded, you need to call emergency. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay.” Rook’s voice was faint—less assured than he’d ever heard her.

“You’ll be alright, my dear,” Emmrich said. “Where’s Manfred?”

“I put him in his room with some toys. He’s probably making a mess, but there’s nothing he can hurt himself with and I didn’t trust myself—”

“That’s quite fine, darling. Breathe—slow, deep. You’ll hear the door open in a few minutes. It will be a neighbor coming to take Manfred. I don’t want you to get up. I’ll come find you when I get home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Rook said, and the fact that this was her token argument showed her state.

“I’ll not let you drive yourself to the hospital in the state you’re in,” Emmrich said firmly. “I’ll be there shortly. Stay calm.”

Rook’s low, mumbled agreement and the tone of the call ending sounded as Emmrich started his car and the phone connected to the sound system. As he peeled backwards out of his assigned parking spot and executed a maneuver of suspect legality to merge summarily onto the roadway, he initiated a second call.

The line picked up immediately, as he suspected it would.

“Myrna,” he said, even before she’d finished her cool, perfunctory Hello? as she answered the phone. “Are you or Vorgoth working from the home office today?”

-0-

“I’m really sorry about all of this, Emmrich.”

For at least the third time since a nurse had led them into this awful little room, Emmrich offered Rook a strained smile and patted her knee. She’d put on leggings before his arrival at the house, probably to cover up the scrapes and bruises from her excursion through the hedgerow and deathroot patch, and his hand met nothing but soft, body-warm cotton. Nonetheless, he kept the touch as perfunctory as possible—a brief, chaste touch to the very apple of her kneecap.

“Don’t apologize, Rook,” he said, shifting restlessly in his plastic chair. Rook was perched in a large vinyl medical recliner, knees drawn up to her chest and face pressed to her own thighs. Her breathing had become slightly less labored in the last hour or so, after he’d arrived at the house to find her sitting on the chaise lounge in the master bedroom reading nook, face ashen and hands fisted into one of his mother’s quilts. He’d nearly tried to convince her to let him carry her to the car.

As her breathing eased, however, she began to itch and the rash worsened—large plaques of urticaria covering a vast swath of her skin. Emmrich kept a careful vigil on the patches, on the color of her lips, looking for any sign of a worsening reaction.

They had her on a pulse oximeter, which was beeping steadily at 74 beats per minute and 99% oxygen saturation—both good signs. A nurse had taken her blood pressure upon their arrival, frowned slightly, and left. Emmrich suspected this to mean that it had been slightly elevated, which was to be expected with the stress of the situation and the antihistamine he’d directed her to take earlier.

They’d been waiting for over an hour for the attending physician.

“I don’t know what’s taking so long,” Rook sighed into her knees, as she itched frantically at a plaque of hives on her shoulder.

“Unfortunately, with your vitals, you’re likely not considered top priority at the moment,” Emmrich murmured.

“I want to go home,” Rook muttered, a tone of abject misery to her voice, and Emmrich wanted nothing more than to fulfill her desire. Take her home, put her to bed and offer her something warm and comforting to drink.

He made himself veer away from those thoughts when he realized that it was his own bed he was imagining tucking her into.

A wholly inappropriate thought to have about one’s live-in nanny, said a voice in the back of his head, which unfortunately sounded too much like Johanna for comfort. You decrepit old popinjay, it added as though to confirm.

Emmrich indulged in a sigh of his own, buried his face in the heel of his hand, and said, “A little longer, darling.” When he realized what he’d said—and he’d used that word earlier as well, hadn’t he?—he looked back up in time to catch an odd, soft expression cross Rook’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wearily. “Habit.”

“I like it,” she whispered. She looked very small, sad and…young sitting there, wrapped around herself in a tense bundle.

Before Emmrich could say or do anything, the curtain of the triage room slid aside. This, of course, was for the best.

“Sigrid?” said the man who’d just arrived—the attending physician, by all indications, given he was wearing the darker blue scrubs that this hospital used to indicate such a role, and Emmrich in fact recognized him as one of the ER physicians he’d had encounters with in his role as medical examiner.

“Yes,” said Rook, though it took Emmrich a moment to remember that yes, that actually was her legal name. The one she never used and seemed averse to anyone else using, either. To evidence this, she added, “Though, I go by Rook—it should be in my paperwork as my preferred—”

“Oh, it does say that,” said the physician, tugging a rolling chair several unnecessary feet across the cramped room. He mounted it backwards and tapped his clipboard. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to this whole preferred name thing. Us old dogs have to learn a few new tricks, I suppose. So you’re Rook, she/her pronouns, and who’ve you brought with you today?” He looked to Emmrich, furrowed his brows, and said, “Oh, Doctor Volkarin. I almost didn’t recognize you out of the morgue.”

Emmrich offered a brief, wane smile. “Doctor Reldevar.”

“So you must be Mrs. Volkarin,” said Reldevar immediately, holding out a hand for Rook to shake.

Oddly, Rook didn’t deny it—she shook Reldevar’s hand, though unsmiling, and offered Emmrich a brief shrug when the good doctor looked back down at his clipboard.

“Oh, sorry, stuck my foot in my mouth again,” Reldevar said, still examining the clipboard, “You kept your maiden name, huh? Lots of women doing that these days. Anyway, Rook, it looks like you’re in today about some breathing trouble?”

“An allergic reaction to deathweed, it would seem,” Emmrich said, taking the burden of speaking away from her—which she offered him a small, grateful smile for behind her knees. “Poor Rook is very allergic, and crawled through a patch this afternoon after Manfred—that is, my son—ran off into the field behind our house. I believe she inhaled some of the pollen and received quite considerable topical exposure. She was badly scraped by the thorns. I directed her to take an antihistamine to stop the worst of the initial reaction, but steroids will probably be necessary to prevent another, worse recurrence of the reaction due to the extent of exposure.”

Reldevar hummed, pursed his lips, flipped through the pages of Rook’s paperwork for a further moment, then snapped his fingers and pointed in Emmrich’s direction. “Your husband’s got it in one, Rook. We’ll fix you up with a steroid injection here in the hospital and we’ll watch you for a little bit to make sure the reaction is going down, and then we’ll send you home with…eh, probably a prednisone prescription and a topical ointment for those hives. How’s that sound?”

“Um, fine?” said Rook, still itching, and Reldevar presented her with his hand to shake again.

“Sounds good,” he said, and leaned over to shake Emmrich’s hand as well. “Take care, Doctor.” He winked. “Take the missus home and give her a day away from the kid, huh? Sounds like he’s a handful.”

Emmrich responded with nothing but a strained smile, and Reldevar took his leave back out the curtain of the triage room.

As the curtain was still swinging, Rook took in a deep breath and said, “I just felt like it was harder to explain the situation—”

“Of course,” Emmrich said, wiggling his hands equivocally in front of himself. “That’s entirely—”

“—and I thought, maybe he’d listen to me if he thought—”

“Oh, absolutely.”

They fell into an odd, awkward silence of the sort that they’d never really had to suffer through. Rook was almost universally easy to talk to, at least so far as Emmrich was concerned, and conversation had always flowed easily between them—whether it had to do with Manfred, various professional conversations that had to take place due to Emmrich’s position as Rook’s employer and de facto landlord, or conversations of a more personal nature.

Rook settled back into the recliner, looking small and tired, and Emmrich could do nothing but reach over to pat her knee again.

It took another half an hour for a nurse to arrive with the promised steroid injection.

“So this needs to go into a large muscle,” said the nurse. “We usually do the muscle in one of your glutes—meaning this area here—” the nurse gestured to her own rear, somewhere in the area where thigh became butt. “If that’s alright with you, I just need you to lift your dress and pull your leggings to the side.”

Rook sighed, but showed no significant reluctance to the idea—even despite Emmrich’s continued presence. He knew, obviously, that this was his cue to excuse himself or at least look away, but he was trapped by some sort of car-crash impulse. It happened very quickly, and he couldn’t quite make himself look away; Rook rose from her chair, pulled her sundress up around her waist and lowered her leggings just far enough to reveal the buttery expanse of one smooth thigh and asscheek. She was clearly wearing very scant undergarments. The only real indication that she was wearing panties at all was the barest peek of a dark purple thong cresting the apple of her hip.

“This might sting a little more than your average flu shot,” the nurse cautioned as she swiped an alcohol wipe onto Rook’s flank. “It’ll ache a bit tomorrow. But once we’re done, you can go home, so that’s good…”

Emmrich became aware of just how hard he’d been clenching his jaw when Rook gasped at the prick of the syringe and his mouth, quite involuntarily, fell open just slightly. He could feel his pulse in his teeth. His legs, crossed over each other in a habitual mannerism, ached from how tensely he was holding himself. Between them, his traitorous prick stirred, intrigued by a breathless sound from a beautiful woman and the sight of her nearly bare ass.

“Oh, shit, you weren’t kidding,” Rook said, fingers visibly whitening on the armrest of the chair she’d bent herself over. “That hurts. Oh, Maker, that fucking burns—”

“Sorry,” the nurse said, genuine sympathy in her voice as she capped the syringe. She dropped it into a nearby sharps container and fastened a piece of gauze over the pinprick of blood now welling up on Rook’s otherwise pristine skin. Emmrich floundered for his own self-control. “Good news is, you’re done! The doctor already sent your prescription over to your pharmacy on file. Your discharge papers are on the table here. Any questions?”

“Oh, I live with a doctor.” Rook tossed her head in Emmrich’s direction, seemed to almost wink. “He’ll take care of me, and I just really want to go home.”

“Medical examiner,” Emmrich said, perhaps a little louder than he’d meant to. Rook had yet to pull her leggings back up all the way—the purple thong abided, teasing him from underneath the hiked-up hem of her dress. “I do have—technically, yes, I’m a medical doctor—"

“Fair enough,” said the nurse, in what was perhaps the politest way possible to say I do not have time for this. To Rook, she added, “Feel better!” and then took her leave to the tune of the curtain rings rattling on the rod and the swish of scrubs.

“Your leggings, my dear,” Emmrich said into the subsequent silence—or, at least, the lack of conversation; the rooms around them were still full of sound. Beeping heart monitors, coughing patients and the tapping of shoes on tile.

“Oh,” said Rook, who in that very moment seemed to remember that her entire hip and most of her right asscheek were uncovered. She pulled them up, wincing at the drag over her recently abused flesh, and sighed into her palm. “Take me home, please?”

“Yes,” Emmrich murmured. “I can certainly do that.”

-0-

Upon walking through the door, Johanna immediately made her discontent at the hour of their arrival known. It was indeed quite significantly past her typical dinnertime, and she was a creature of habit—but Emmrich still considered the unrepentant yowling a bit excessive.

“Oh, hush,” he admonished her, ushering Rook in the door with a hand at the small of her back. She’d deteriorated rapidly on the car ride home—visibly tiring and becoming distressed and impatient with the persistent itching of her skin. She was bright red in places, including her shoulders and arms, and her normally pinned hair had come down in large drapes against her face and the back of her neck. At some point, Emmrich had offered her a discarded cardigan from the backseat, and she now wore it draped around her shoulders. It was gray, a little lumpy, and inspired an incongruous urge of possessiveness to curl itself around Emmrich’s heart every time he glanced at her.

“Rook,” he began as he turned on the foyer light, “It would comfort me greatly if you stayed in the guest room tonight, instead of returning to your flat in the guest house. It’s entirely up to you, of course, but it would ease my mind if—”

“Believe me, Emmrich, the last thing I want to do right now is walk all the way to the guest house,” Rook sighed. Hearteningly, she pulled his cardigan tighter around herself. “I’ll make up the bedroom for myself.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Emmrich said, in almost the tone he used to admonish Manfred when he indulged his more mischievous impulses. “I’ll make up the bedroom and run you a bath. It would be a good idea to remove any remaining material from your skin before you sleep.”

“Emmrich, I can’t let you—” Rook sighed, grunted, and attempted to reach her hand down the back of her shirt to, presumably, scratch at a patch of urticaria on an inaccessible portion of her back. “You’re my—I can’t put you out like that—”

“Nonsense,” Emmrich replied, determined to make that the end of the conversation. He mounted the stairs rapidly, using his superior height to his advantage for once, and he’d already begun filling the guest bathroom tub with nearly-scalding water by the time he saw Rook make her way into the bedroom through the cracked door.

Of the bedrooms in his house, one of them was the master—which featured a full ensuite bathroom with whirlpool tub and generously-sized rainfall shower stall. Manfred’s bedroom was attached Jack-and-Jill style to Emmrich's office via a childproofed bath that featured a toilet with a potty seat installed, child-height vanity and a shower bath strewn with all manner of toys. The fourth bedroom was smallest and therefore had the smallest bathroom—a simple three-quarters bath with only a tub, though it was claw-footed and generous in size. Emmrich knelt on the plush rug and ran the bath, peering through the cracked door and attempting to convince himself not to.

It was unlikely Rook wasn’t aware of his presence in the bathroom—she could hear the water running, and would almost certainly know that he hadn’t left it to run unattended, if only through habit given the current absence of three-year-olds on the premises. Even so, as she was meandering through the room and passing in and out of view, she was shedding clothes.

First the cardigan, which bared the angry rash on her arms and shoulders. Then the shoes and the leggings—when she next wandered by, Emmrich realized that she had scraped her knees up quite badly, likely while pursuing Manfred under the hedgerow. She stood center in the room for a moment (Emmrich drew a hand through the pooling water in the tub and, upon realizing it was scalding hot, switched the faucet to cool for a moment) and pulled the pins out of her hair. Disappeared. When she next came back into view—

Well, the dress had gone, and he discovered that the thong and bra set had a pattern of skulls.

Emmrich finally convinced his eyes downwards. He was unsurprised but nonetheless mortified to find the telltale swell of an erection evident against his inner thigh. He sighed and rubbed some of the cool water across his forehead.

If this woman was a test from the Maker—or something even more esoteric; a challenge to his vows as a physician perhaps? A sudden hurdle for his self-control and dedication to gentlemanliness to overcome?—she was certainly serving her purpose masterfully.

“Emmrich?”

She’d found a robe—fluffy and white, something he’d put in the closet long ago that might have been left behind when a lover made an unceremonious exit from his life. He’d laundered it regularly for years on the off chance that it would find use again, by a paramour or a guest. Emmrich was utterly unsure which of those labels Rook fell under, especially in the moment.

She seemed to almost know what she’d done—he would certainly not go so far as to say the parade in front of the bathroom door had been intentional, but she at least seemed not to care if he’d been watching. She at least seemed content with the idea that he knew the color of her underwear and the shape of the tattoo on her hip.

It was, interestingly, a black bird. A rook, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Yes?” Emmrich responded, with an only slightly-too-long pause as she stood in the bathroom doorway and he attempted to make his tongue form sounds.

“Do you have any of that oatmeal bath left from when Manfred had HFMD?”

“Oh! I very well may.” Grateful for a reason to flee and collect himself, Emmrich did so. The colloidal oatmeal was in the back of the cabinet in Manfred’s bathroom—half a box left over from Manfred’s recent bout of Hand, Food and Mouth Disease. A disgusting five days of Emmrich’s life which he was not eager to relive.

Manfred’s fingernails were still regrowing.

Luckily, the thought of weeping blisters did wonders for the exorcism of blood from certain areas of the body. When Emmrich returned to the bathroom, his erection had flagged, and he was able to finish running the bath with all of the professional courtesy demanded of his Hippocratic oath and the employee-employer relationship he held with the attractive and berobed woman sitting on the toilet lid.

“Test the water temperature before you get in,” Emmrich cautioned as he turned off the spigot. “I’m afraid I may have run it too hot to start.”

He’d expected Rook to simply agree, or wait until he’d exited the bathroom, or at least simply use her hand to test it. To his incredulity, she immediately slunk over, pulled the hem of the robe above her knee and dipped a toe in.

The color of her nail polish matched her underwear. He did not know why—or perhaps he was just lying to himself—but it was this particular detail that brought his cock instantly, painfully back to full hardness.

He could not stop himself from imagining those toes in his mouth.

“I think I will also start my nighttime ablutions,” he said, perhaps hoarsely—he could not bring himself to care in the moment.

“Sure,” Rook said vaguely, watching the oatmeal swirl in the tub. “Thanks, Emmrich. Oh—would you help me put the ointment on after this? There are places on my back that I can’t reach.”

“Of course,” Emmrich said, feeling like his head would pop off his shoulders.

He put as many doors between himself and Rook as he possibly could. The guest bathroom, the guest room, his own bedroom door and then the door to his own ensuite. He spent a moment against the back of the bathroom door, eyes squeezed shut, talking himself off the edge.

“Oh, fuck it,” he hissed, and tore into his trousers with the furiousness of a man possessed. He stumbled to the shower, removing clothes as he went, and almost stumbled into the shower stall with his socks still on. The cold water did absolutely nothing to soothe his hot skin or boiling blood—as he slid down onto his knees and tilted his head back under the rainfall of the showerhead, he was already stroking himself with a franticness more typically seen in those half his age.

Maker, she made him feel half his age. When she pranced through his kitchen wearing a sundress and a smile. When she poked her head into his study at night to tell him that she’d read his son to sleep, asked him how his day had gone, sat on the settee and talked to him for an hour. When she let him call her darling and pretended to be his wife.

Oh, it was almost too easy to imagine it. To pretend.

He stripped his cock, pictured her hand. Her mouth. Her small breasts in their purple skull-and-lace vesture. The way he would worship her with his hands and mouth. How did she taste, how did she sound, what was the color of her—

He gasped, fingers curled into the tile of the shower floor, and came into the lukewarm water swirling around his knees.

The shame kicked in almost immediately, even as he watched the evidence of his depravity vanish down the drain. He was a man in his fifties, a father, a doctor. This sort of behavior was so completely below him, so completely inappropriate—

But damn, had it felt good. The last three years, since the blessing of Manfred came into his life, he’d allowed himself to become almost completely divorced from his own sexuality. It had been over a year since he’d had sex, and even masturbation had seemed like too much effort most nights. When he did work up the energy to reach a hand down, he did so while conditioning his hair and making lists in his head.

The relief of a true release was almost as stark as the accompanying self-loathing.

 Later, as he carefully rubbed the ointment onto Rook’s back and pointedly did not let himself look beyond the patches of rash he was focusing on, he mumbled, “I want you to know, Rook, that I…value you.”

Rook turned, hair pooled over her shoulder. She was not embarrassed of the fact that her shirt was hanging loosely off her neck, and he could not avoid seeing the peak of one brown nipple.

“I know,” she said, and Emmrich could almost convince himself that she was simply tired, or trusted him as a medical professional, or did not even consider that he might look based simply on his age.

Almost—were it not for the small, satisfied smirk he saw in the vanity mirror as she turned back around.

[milkiedimitrescu]

yall I just had a whole shadows of rose dream of alcina helping rose in a way during her journey 😭❤️(i wrote this as a fic before but never finished it. But I may rewrite it in the future to look onto that 👀)

(slight long post warning btw)

ANYWAYYYSSS!!!

This dream was quite short so it starts off with Rosemary running from one of those faceless monster things and there is this orb (alcina) that is roaming around helping rose with her every need. Then the dream cut to Rose about to be attacked by this big ass dude right here:

But THEEEEN, orb alcina comes in to save the day and swarms the monster, uses some sort of sketchbook (using some sort of telekenisis), draws HER arm holding a damn glock AND THEN THE THING COMES TO LIFE WHAT THE FUCK??? Naur cause alcina was swarming the monster at the time just to distract it and she even went as far as shooting the thing with a damn drawing and the drawing was shooting damn bullets. Alcina the orb tells rose to Run and get out of here or something. Rose does just that and thats when the dream cut off and I woke up.

To give more detail on how Alcina looked as an orb, it was basically this photo right here. I tried to find a more accurate one.

Now, my thoughts and theories!!! Because now i have lots of thoughts about this dream and whether or not I should bring this idea to life.

What I am theorizing is that the lords are all little balls of energy that can go invisible and visible. Similar to ethan in the original Shadows Of Rose DLC, they are able to write messages on the walls leading whoever is in the megamycete with them in order to lead them to the right direction. They are able to manifest themselves into their normal human walking type forms whenever they please. They can just basically do anything as an orb. The Lords can also speak as an orb also as shown in my dream, (alcina telling rose to run even though shes a fuckin ball of energy flying around).

My thoughts are plain simple. I'M INTERESTED AS FUCK AS WHAT MY BRAIN HAS CREATED WHAT. The storyline of this dream was so god damn interesting like i swear to god I might write this shit.

Possible??? Fanfic remake of "How Shadows Of Rose Should Have Been" storyline???

Alright... I know I mentioned this a million times already but I still cannot get this idea of my dream of shadows of rose being a fanfic. I will just write out how the storyline would play out only in the beginning, since I do not want to spoil anything.

The story begins with Rosemary walking to the dude on the bench like the original game and they start talking and stuff and then she mentions how she wants to get rid of her powers. Rose even went as far as calling herself a freak and the man assures her she is not a freak and we will find a way to make that happen. And now cut, they are now at the lab where this tiny piece of the megamycete is stored inside a jar glowing on and off as to show it is still alive.

The man explains that the megamycete might be the key to getting rid of her powers. That she may have to go INSIDE the megamycete in order to achieve that. Rose asks how she should do this? Well, the man explains to her that maybe she should close her eyes and focus on the jar while reaching her hand to it. He comments that this is only his guess as he does not really know if this would even work or not.

She did just that, and it worked. Her whole vision went white and she woke up in that one place in the original DLC where she was surrounded by windows of memories of people. She even saw her mom and dad arguing over something. She heard voices, lots of voices getting louder and louder as she fell through the atlantic void that is under the ocean. She couldnt take it anymore and told the void to SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Yes I will make her curse here just for shits and gigs

Now... She wakes up inside the same lab. But there is catch. This wasn't the same lab as the previous one. It was a copy of it. A more dim light version of it. She called out for the man and she was only left in silence so she went through the door that was in front of her.

The door led her to the dungeon and remember how Alcina was the one to be behind those closed doors?(If you had read the fic before ofc. If not, that is alright. Just take this as a spoiler.) How when Rose found the key to help the supposed woman who was trapped in a room and even going as far to go inside the room and nobody was there. Well is is more different in the remake.

There was also a giant puddle of mold in which a giant hand grabs rose by the feet and then....

Her vision goes black. She begins to wake up and she was in a white void... Not just any white void... She was in a field of white flowers with grey grass surrounding her. Rose realized she was laying down and got up and now looked everywhere. There was no end to this black and white field of grass and white roses. She went on to explore until she came across a strange orb floating in mid air. She literally asks herself what is this and touches it and suddenly it explodes. White light everywhere to the point Rosemary had to squeeze her eyes shut.

When she reopened them... the orb was gone. And her reality began to crumble before her eyes and she was now back in the dungeon. She was in the same room she found herself in and was right next to the giant puddle of mold. When she turned around to leave, guess what was there?

The same orb. Now it was talking to her. Telling her to follow it. Rose only stared in awe.

AND THAT'S ALL!!! hope ypu had fun on this journey with me yeah💀👍 Milkie out.

[creepy-bi-day]

Greetings and salutations, hope I don’t bother you to much, hell, not even sure if matchups are open. May I please have a romantic matchup for creepypasta and/or homestuck? I’m not sure if you do two, otherwise just creepypasta. You can make it nsfw if you’d like. My pronouns are They/Them and I’m pansexual with a preference to masculinity. My Myers Briggs type is INFJ and Enneagram type is 4. My star sign is Taurus, moon sign is Gemini. Im about 4’11..not to happy about it. I’m a digital art major, and I’m rather introverted, and can be considered not a people person. Because of me dressing in all black and taking a liking to gruesome and morbid things like slashers and murder documentaries. I also like to visit abandoned hospitals and houses just for fun, along with playing quite a few escape rooms. A friend of mine even likes to call me "discount vomitboyx". I’ve also been called "doomer boy kinnie", and "Remake of Daria" before. I’ve come to the conclusion I just scare people off. In reality, I’m intimidated by everyone around me and find it hard to start conversing, which may or may not come off as rude to people. When I finally become comfortable with someone I start to become really sarcastic and joke around with them with witty banter. Most of my humor comes off really insulting, but I’ll apologize and say it’s a joke if it becomes a problem. Lots of people don’t like me or stay away from me because of my rude behavior. I’m not good with overly sensitive or overly annoying people at all because of that, and I can’t stand kids. Idiocy can get on my nerves too sometimes. I’m a huge animal person though. I have my moments where I can get really feisty, or very quiet and closed off. I’m the type of person that has lots of opinions on things but I keep them to myself and bottle them up. If pushed far enough I’ll become unforgiving, and aggressive. Especially with the types mentioned above. I find the most comfort in just being in my room drawing, reading and or listening to music ( My Chemical Romance, Arch Enemy, MurderDolls, Slipknot, Get Scared, sometimes Will Wood, Jazmin Bean or Mother Mother, etc. ), or even occasionally gaming on my switch or read and talk about Greek mythology. I’m a plushie maniac and when I fall asleep you can always see me cuddled up to one of them. I find it because I’m really touch starved. I’m guilty of being very submissive, and I suffer from asperger syndrome, depression and anxiety. I have small tics, but they only flare when I’m stressed or mad. I’ve also been developing a eating disorder. On a better note, a few of my kinks; choking, being tied up, hair pulling, brat taming, edging, knife play or any weapons in general, and maybe degrading. All of those are receiving by the by. If you do get to this, thanks for your time. - inferior anon

No problem!!

I’m going to attempt to get through some stuff in my inbox today finally. And maybe some writing too! Quotev here I come

Regardless, I hope you dont mind I did just creepypasta!

For Creepypasta I match you with:

Cody Rogers! (XVirus!)

He gets irritated with idiocy, too. Especially when it’s pure ignorance

He finds the rudeness kind of funny, and sees a lot of himself in you

As for kids, thats something you guys probably disagree on

The boy has a breeding kind smh

He loves when you brat out

Makes it that much more fun to put you in your place.

He loves all the different parts to your personality, and makes it his goal to get you to open up

Surprisingly, he likes it when you lash out at him, because that means he gets to learn more

Probably ties to make you a stuffed animal at some point

I hope you dont mind that he goes on tangents sometimes, especially regarding what he calls his ‘weekly interest’

Sometimes it’s a new strain of bacteria

Once it was FNAF

He may pick on you and tease you, but God help anyone else who tries

He loves seeing you squirm, though

Hope youre an exhibitionist, too

His favorite ‘game’ is to sink a vibrator inside you and just go shopping or take you out to dinner

Any snide comment is punished with him turning the vibrator either all the way up or down to an unbearable level

Has 1000000% carved his name into your thigh (with consent of course)

Please let him chase you through the woods, it really gets him off

Overall? 10/10 best boy

[lucidpantone]

Skam fr, s8 vs wtfock, s4 anon: a miscalculation only part caused my msg to be lost, bc yes, Skam fr is on it's 3rd remake. My point was that there was a no. of posts in the skam fr tag, several of which were tagged in wtfock's tag also, that claimed skam fr s8 supremacy over wtfock s4. I was attempting to make the point that they should never be compared bc the manner in which they came about was so diff, with wtfock suffering w all the disadvantages that make it an uneven playing field

Anon I think you mean skam fr s7 supremacy. Ughhhh I kinda of disagree & agree. Skamfrance s7 is better there is no doubt about that. Like just directing and writing style overall is better. Yes time was a huge issue for wtFOCK s4. So taking in mind that time was tight and they were going to attempt to plan and write an original season in less time then a OG season you would think the head honchos of wtFOCK would have been like lets get a season script writer who has experience writing under pressure to either write the season or come help the intern and Bram (since Bram wasn’t as available) but they were like nope lets let our intern with no prior professional solo script writing experience write our first original season. Like that decisions within itself basically doomed s4. Skam france did have the luxury of time but I also think technically speaking they also have a better workflow they have a large writing room with several different writers that bounce off one another for plot ideas and thats out of the box for their production thats just how skamfr works even during Baguette days. Secondly whoever is skamfr casting director knows how to spot talent. I mean the last few mains have been outstanding actors and their squads are so good and always have really good chemistry. Something once again wtFOCK s4 lacked. The lead didn’t have the chops to carry the season and was such a departure from the previous mains skills that it was glaring and honestly uncomfortable to watch. 

This wasn't a timing issue either this was wtFOCK not prioritizing acting skills versus appearance particularly the appearance of a main who would need to sell sponsorships. They selected a main off their looks and it burned them because their selection didn’t not have the acting skills to pull off the season. Even tho Noa was right there and had put in 3 seasons of acting work and wtFOCK knew he had the skill to main a season. Lastly both seasons went in with a new director, new writer and new main but skamfr it appears to me that the director and the writers had prior experience working together and held each others skills in high esteem because once again they are all seasoned at their job. The wtFOCK writer and director were both first timers(at this production scale) during the s4 season. They had worked with one another before but in completely different roles in which both people weren't the ones making the big decisions. To me what I see on film translates to either the writer and director not understanding one another or simply a lack chemistry or bond ever really forming. To me it feels like the writing and directing are at war with one another and what translates on screen is non-sensical plot.This I will say has some impact from covid but it goes back to my first original point which wasnt covid related which was why did wtFOCK hire a non-experienced writer to write a script that out the gate already had a short timeline attached to it and covid restricted? The directing choice of Bente could be a mistake or just poor chemistry but I dont know what happened because to me lets take out the repetitive locations just the overall pace made no sense. It was soooo bizarre. I have literally never seen something as disorganized as the directing of wtFOCK s4 in any Skam. So lastly, yes covid impacted production, and yes both skamfr and druck had longer periods of time to work in covid safety measures but to me covid isn’t the issue. If you noticed in Druck’s Nora season we spend so much time with her alone at her apt. Clip after clip but tho repetitive the clips inform us of Nora’s state and her loneliness. This could have been done with Kato just spent clips inside her room showing us her talking to her family. Maybe them consuming right wing media. Making prejudice comments to contextualize Kato but instead we got make out clips that were so bizarre and provided no plot and also like covid people. Stop sharing germs but yea tho I agree covid made things hard. Covid and time is not why wtFOCK didn’t succeed. wtFOCK’s ego and unwillingness to listen from the jump (instead of changing the script while it aired) is why they didn’t succeed. Even now I am sure they wish they would have main-ed Moyo but they knew from the beginning he was what the fans wanted and didn’t listen and it blew up in their faces. To me its not about comparing remakes its about comparing remakes against their own quality and skamfr always had the talent just not the script and looks like they finally found decent script writers. wtFOCK also had the talent but the script was always very shaky and in s4 the bottom finally gave out and the script and talent collapsed. Anyways Listen to the fans remakes(am applying this to skamfr too because like Tiff is still such a troublesome selection). Yes sometimes the stans are annoying and relentless but other times they are actually looking out for you.

[monzterzack]

Are you redoing your overdrive comic?? Because I think I remember you making a sorta completed one before?? And the one on webtoons is only being updated like one a month which isn't bad ya know work at your own pace and stuff but I'm just a curious kit

HEY!!! HELLO!!!

Yeah im remaking the whole comic!!!

I had a version upliaded here but i scratched most of the script so now the story is different than the one im posting on webtoon!!!

The one i have on here just hit a long hiatus and i had been really bad at updating it, also the tumblr purge happened and i got worried that i couldnt post some of the topics i wanted to post due to tumblrs new policies :c

Also i developed my characters a lot more and im changing their interactions as a group!!!!

Its going to be more fun! And we will finally find out what is inside that forest >:3!!!

I really appreciate u remembering the original comic tho!!! :D!!!!

Im starting to take comic publication as a more serious job now, the idea was publishing wild ride too but due to how big and mentally taxating it would be to redo every single page i decided to tackle overdrive first, which haves a more concise first arc!!! So soon if i reach a place where i can sustain myself well enough with patreon, i will tackle wild ride!!!

All in all, i had been putting all my effort and passion on working on this comics, so thats why sometimes im too exhausted to make content lately

But i appreciate all the support and possitive comments im getting!

If u like to check the story and how it differs ill leave the link here!!!

[lovelylogans]

I honestly love your story where Roman and Virgil make pancakes at 3 am and sing along to meme music together. It's such a feel-good story and its also really funny. (also i love the mental image of Roman wearing more casual clothes when he thinks he's alone) idk, the entire story thing is great and i still go back and read it randomly to spike my mood up. :D Idk if you do prompts, but if you do, could i maybe request a follow up scene of them maybe hanging out again? its fine, if not. its-

(2/2) - still an amazing story on its own either way

ao3 | other fics on tumblr | coffee?

warnings: memes, some low-self esteem, food mentions

pairings: platonic prinxiety

words: 1,325

notes: thank you so much! and yes, i do, but i do take quite a while on them (everyone is in the drafts, i swear!) as probably evidenced by how late i’m gonna answer this ask, rip. the opening of this fic came from phanalogical_falsehoods’ comment on ao3, which was really helpful with giving me direction on this one! anyways, on with the prompt fic!

Virgil had been getting slowly better and better at cooking pancakes.

He still burned a few, and some looked a bit too pale for comfort; he wasn’t Patton, but most of his pancakes were edible, so Virgil figured that was good enough.

The fact that it was nearing four am hadn’t escaped his attention, which was probably another way he wasn’t like Patton. Actually, it was definitely a way he wasn’t like Patton; Patton and Logan were the most inclined to being early birds; Virgil was much more inclined towards being a night owl, or just generally an insomniac disaster, regardless of Logan’s nagging. 

Virgil, at last, put the last of a pancake on the top of his stack, and nodded, before turning to the table to set it down to grab the butter and syrup, and nearly dropped the newly-completed pancakes in surprise.

“What are you doing up, Princey?”

Roman was lounging on the table, not quite with his usual poise; it mostly just seemed like he’d flopped back onto the table, his legs dangling off the edge. Paired with the hoodie he was wearing, his posture more like Virgil’s own, rather than something befitting royalty.

Roman twirled his wrist half-heartedly, and let his hand drop back down onto the table with a thunk. 

Virgil paused, frowned, and lowered his shoulders.

“Princey.”

He let out a loud gust of a sigh, made a vague hand gesture, and a ukelele appearing in his hand. It wasn’t with the cool, choreographed movement he usually did, or an excited reach; just a movement for the sake of movement.

He set the ukelele against his chest in what Virgil thought was probably bad form.

“Hey,” he sang, voice scratchy, as if he hadn’t warmed up, or drunk any water that day. “How you doing, well I’m doing just fine, I lied, I’m dying inside—”

Virgil cringed, and shifted his hold on the pancakes.

“Um,” Virgil said, highkey wishing he was like, a third as emotionally proficient as Patton was, “um—”

He hesitated, before he shuffled forwards, and set the plate of pancakes on Roman’s stomach. Roman turned his head towards him.

“Do you want, like,” Virgil said, and tried his best not to fidget. “What do you want to—? Do you want me to—?”

Roman blinked at the pancakes, and sat up a bit.

“Can we,” he began, and let out a massive sigh. “Can we do the thing we do where we just ignore our problems in favor of memes?”

“Yes,” Virgil said, relieved, because if Roman had wanted to break down and have a monologue about how his life was falling apart, Virgil would’ve had no idea how to handle it, but avoiding his problems by focusing on something funny and familiar was much more Virgil’s department. “Yeah, sure, we can do—do you want jam on your pancakes? I’m gonna make some more, I had extra batter.”

“Okay,” Roman mumbled, at last sliding off the table, keeping a two-handed grip on his plate. Virgil got the jam, and a big glass of water, and silverware, and set them all down in front of him, before turning the stove back on and getting another plate.

And—okay, sure, spoonfuls of jam straight to mouth. That was normal behavior, especially at four am after quoting that vine. Great.

“Could you at least eat the pancakes,” Virgil said. Roman stared at him, before tearing up the pancake, and effectively using the pancake bits as a spoon, staring at Virgil all the while, as if challenging him to say something.

Virgil blinked at him, and instead clicked on a meme playlist on his phone. 

“This is. A nice stick,” a modulated voice began over the speaker, and Roman smiled weakly through his mouthful of pancake and jam.

“Lemme smash,” Roman and Virgil both monotoned at the same time, and by the time the video ended, Roman was smiling, but it was a weak one, teeth barely visible, and what was visible was stained four-fruit red.

So Virgil was going to have to bust out the big guns, then.

“You asked for it! A whole video dedicated to the rainbow sponge!” The woman declared, beaming.

“Ever thought about how this is Patton in forty years?” Virgil mused, and Roman snorted inelegantly into his pancakes. Well. Pancake as a spoon, meant to transport heaping piles of jam into Roman’s mouth.

They listened, and the woman added, “Who said you can’t go straight?”

“We’re gay, Dee,” Virgil informed the phone, flipping his pancake, and Roman snorted again.

Virgil listened as the next video started, and he tilted the phone towards Roman, “This is the video that’s gonna end the water is wet debate, once and for all—”

Roman blinked. “I don’t think I’ve seen this one.”

“Oh, then you have to watch this one, the man zooms like he has a PhD in it,” Virgil said, shaking the phone at Roman a bit like how an exhausted mother would shake a jangly toy at a crying baby. “And don’t get jelly on my phone!”

“Fine,” Roman said, taking it, and Virgil turned his attention back to the stove as he listened to the passionate water is not wet debate, which had put Logan into apoplectics a month ago.

Roman, looking devious, proceeded to tap at the phone a few times, and Virgil heard the tell-tale whoosh of a sent message.

“Logan?”

“He’ll be furious,” Roman said happily, handing the phone back to Virgil. The message with the video link was full of kissing emojis and smirking emojis. It was blatantly obvious that Virgil wouldn’t have been the one who sent it.

“Well—”

“He’ll be frantically trying to convince all of us, who think that water is wet, that water is wet,” Roman said, digging his pancake bits into the jam again. “He will then be frustrated that he does not have anyone to debate this with, and will probably resort to attempting to remake that video to prove his point, only for us to reap the harvest of Logan attempting to use zooms on his camera. Tell me you don’t want to see that.”

Virgil paused, and tilted his head, lips pursed in a you right expression.

“Yeah, okay,” Virgil said. “Wanna watch a video Patton would scold us for?”

“Intriguing,” Roman said, cautious. “Scold us for what?”

Virgil hit play.

“FUCK YOU, BALTIMORE!” the salesman boomed, Virgil’s phone at full volume, and Roman choked cackling on his pancake. “IF YOU’RE DUMB ENOUGH TO BUY A NEW CAR THIS WEEKEND, YOU’RE A BIG ENOUGH SCHMUCK TO COME TO BIG BILL HELL’S!”

The swear-laden, r-rated car commercial continued, at full volume, Roman trying and failing not to laugh at it, and eventually had to wipe his tears away, before his gaze landed on where Virgil was standing, absentmindedly picking up a dish towel to clean up some spilled batter from the oven rack.

“I have an idea.”

This was stupid. This was so, so stupid.

And yet.

“When Logan and Patton aren’t home,” Roman snickered, before he took a breath, and Virgil squinted through his sunglasses as the familiar notes started up. Virgil didn’t even know Roman could play the trombone.

Obligingly, though, Virgil began to slam the oven door in time, and the notes got shaky and wheezy because Roman would start laughing, and then Virgil would start laughing, and they’d have to start all over again, until—

“What are you two doing?!” Logan demanded, sleepy eyed and scowling, rubbing his eyes, before seeing the way they were standing. Sunglasses on, Virgil in fitting pajamas, Roman about to start blasting the trombone in his face.

Logan paused, rubbed his eyes again, and said instead, “I’m going to believe that this is a lucid dream, and I am going back to bed.”

Wah-wah-wahhhhhh, Roman blasted after him, and Virgil had to tighten his hold on the oven door to keep from falling over in laughter.

taglist: @somewhatsanders @tommysandypantsisasolarnymph @erlenmeyertrash @lindesensate @lakesandquarries @lacandra @midnightcandy @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @analogicalisreal @stay-in–place @pinkeasteregg @kanejandkruge @livenarrator @thats-kat-with-a-k @magicmapleleaf @didsomeonesayprince @fandomsofrandom @mollycassmith @zerogettie @panic-at-theeverywhere @youtuberswithalex @faacethefacts @thathockeygirl77 @actually-al @dreamsshadowwashere @pebblesbrownie @i-will-physically-fight-you @senseace @romanamongthestars @starryfirefliesbloggo @deep-deep-blue @sandersideblog​ @i-am-avacado​ @absoluteamethyst​ @violetmcl​ @angeliclogan​ @imgaybutvoltronisgayer​

[cookies-hetaoni]

Whoa holy shit i just saw the comment about comparing it to mine. Like you said you made it in five months based on a premade plot, mines been going for 5+ years thats like completely original??? Thats comparing a direct to dvd animated sequel to a fresh theater debut animated. More budget, more time, more freedom. While I havent played your version yet (im planning to after I finish me and digs current round of it) I got to glimpse at some of the art and some twists in it and personally (cont.)

(pt2) I think it's super neat with what you're putting into it. And dreamtalis not even that perfect either?? Ive heard so many bad reviews of it and to be fair, yea hetaoni gets a bad wrap from its oversaturation. But its more the fandoms fault, not the people who want a shot at making a bookend for it, even if its just a springboard for an even grander idea. (hell dreamtalia had massive romaheta influences in the beginning). anyway my point being thats kinda a shit anon and (cont.)(pt3) people are different. If ya dont like that version, fine go watch another one ya know?? None of them are going to have the canon ending so its like why bother putting up with it. If you are proud of your creation and you had fun, that's the more important part. 5 months for a full game of art and visuals from scratch is amazing, even with premade stuff. I look forward to playing it in the future, and if theres a sequel i look forward to it too. (end) 

 (pt4)ALSO I FORGOT TO MENTION i too literally call everyone friend so they kinda kinda fuck off ya? ya. you do you, friend

--

(adm: OH WOW HOLY SHIT LMAO I??? HAVE NO IDEA HOW THAT ASK GOT TO YOU BUT I SURELY WASN’T EXPECTING TO SEE YOU AROUND HERE X’DD 

Thank you so much!!! I mentioned this with a few friends earlier, but no content creator is free from getting harsh comments/reviews, no matter how good the content may be. I’m honestly surprised Dreamtalia's had bad reviews, I was honestly very impressed when I played it, the story, programming and art were all really well made! Even if you might’ve based it off RomaHeta for a while, literally everything has to be based off of something so that’s only natural x”D

I only decided to remake HetaOni because it’s what made me want to learn how to create games in the first place. I was completely away from the Hetalia fandom when I started working on it, and I didn’t even plan on sharing it until I saw it was actually going somewhere, so I decided to ask if people would be interested in it. All of this whithout not even knowing if the fandom was even alive anymore lmao 

Honestly, working on this project was the best thing I could’ve ever done. I got to learn something I’ve wanted to do for ages, and I got to meet many wonderful people. Sometimes I feel bad because I completely changed what Tomoyoshi planned to do and I worry that if she ever got to know about it, she’d get upset her game was changed into something completely different, but I’m still happy I could give it an ending.

I don’t really mind feedback, it’s me who said “I’d gladly listen to it” in the first place, and I’ve already heard much worse so I’m not really fazed by their comment. 

I’m also going to take the opportunity to apologize for being so open about it to you a few months ago and asking you to play it, because I literally had no idea what was going on inside the fandom and that you weren’t as into hetaoni as you were before [nor did I know you were actually super famous and worshipped by the fandom] so I felt incredibly stupid after that fact had occured to me X”DD 

BUt yes this is a long reply, holy shit lmao anyway, thank you so much once again for taking your time to talk to me about it!! I really appreciate it!! I would absolutely love to hear your comments about the game, if you have the time to let me know!! Have a nice week, friend!)