#this website is just too broken and most people have moved on

[hanabiira]

The rpc feels less and less of a community these days. It feels very alienating at times. I’ve seen it change a lot but I don’t think I’ve ever quite felt this way.

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard info compilation Post 2

[Link to Part 1]

Post is under a cut due to length.

There is a lot of information coming out right now about DA:TV from many different sources. This post is just an effort to compile as much as I can in one place, in case that helps anyone. Sources for where the information came from have been included. Where I am linking to a social media user’s post, the person is either a dev, a Dragon Age community council member or other person who has had a sneak peek at and played the game. nb, this post is more of a ‘info that came out in snippets from articles and social media posts’ collection rather than a 'regurgitating the information on the official website or writing out what happened in the trailer/gameplay reveal’ post. The post is broken down into headings on various topics. A few points are repeated under multiple headings where relevant. Where I am speculating without a source, I have clearly demarcated this.

Character Creation

It is the best CC BioWare has ever made in a game [source]

The faction we choose will determine who we as protagonist Rook were before they were recruited to put a stop to Solas [source]

Certain conversation options are only available to Rooks of certain factions. For example, Grey Wardens get conversation options that are focused on the Blight, as they know more about it from other people. It also impacts how people talk to Rook (reactivity from characters and then faction reactivity from plots relating to that faction) [source]

Faction choice affects a lot of things [source]

There aren't unique missions (I think this means like the playable Origins in DA:O), but faction choice does set the course for Rook for the rest of the game [source]

"body customization and morphing. From more muscular characters, to curvier builds, and just about any shape you want to give your character, there are all sorts of toggles to adjust so you can give them any figure you want". "There's even features that let you choose proportions, so you can alter their height, give them wider shoulders, and much more" [source]

There are makeup options [source]

There are tattoo options [source]

The hair uses a "Strand system" to "make them behave and move in a believable way for the different races" [source]. (Fel note/speculation: I think "race" here refers to irl, as opposed to like human vs qunari or something, as the language they are using for human/elf/dwarf/qunari is "Lineage")

There are 4 voices to choose from for Rook: two feminine and tow masculine (one American, one British for each) [source]

In CC, 'Lineage' is the game's parlance for race i.e. human, elf, dwarf, qunari [source]

We can pick Rook's name, but the dialogue calls them 'Rook' [source]

In CC we can "make a few key decisions that will impact how The Veilguard begins" [source]

"I really do think its our most feature-ful character creator ever." [source]

Story and lore

In the opening segment of the game (see more on the story's opening moments here), we're too late and Solas' ritual worsens, so Rook and the companions go to stop him. When travelling to the next location (Arlathan Forest) in the chase after Solas, the characters travel through an eluvian [source]. The Forest is where his ritual is taking place. Varric then asks the player if he should confront Solas, and players then work to take down the surrounding statues in order to stop the ritual. "I won’t spoil what happens next, but I’ll just say the player and Veilguard have a tall task ahead of them if they want to save Thedas." [source]

Four of the 6 faction options for Rook (Mourn Watch, Lords of Fortune, Veil Jumpers, Shadow Dragons) are "rooted in northern Thedas" [source]

Certain conversation options are only available to Rooks of certain factions. For example, Grey Wardens get conversation options that are focused on the Blight, as they know more about it from other people. It also impacts how people talk to Rook (reactivity from characters and then faction reactivity from plots relating to that faction) [source]

There aren't unique missions (I think this means like the playable Origins in DA:O), but faction choice does set the course for Rook for the rest of the game [source]

A line of dialogue Dorian had at the Winter Palace in DA:I about what Tevinter is like informed the devs' approach to bringing to life the setting of Tevinter: ""There's a line in Dragon Age Inquisition that we always like to call back to," Epler says. "Dorian goes to the Winter Palace, which, up to that point, is probably the most impressive thing you've seen [as the Inquisitor], and [he] says something like, 'Oh, this is cute.' And we had to ask, what does it look like? What is Tevinter if Dorian sees that [the Winter Palace] and thinks that?"" [source]

The fact that Minrathous used to be the land of the elves was factored into the location's design. John Epler: "You can see the architecture has changed. It's become a lot more elven focused. And something that we've kind of hinted at, but we've never really shown explicitly, is the idea that Tevinter is built on the bones of the ancient elven empire. Tevinter itself, Minrathous itself, all the magic you see, that's just a pale imitation of what the elves are capable of. So you'll start to see as you get deeper into the game, the elves, for example, worked Lyrium into their building materials. Tevinter can't quite figure out how to do that. So instead, you'll see more gold and gems, kind of imitating it, but not ever quite approaching what the elves are able to do, and really creating that continuity of the space. Obviously, Solas isn't too thrilled that this world is the way it is, because he lived in a time of miracles and magic, and even the most magical place in Thedas isn't magic like the elven people used to be able to do" [source]

At the end of the opening portion of the game there is a "jaw-dropping title card cliffhanger" [source]

On the opening sequence: ""One of the things we wanted to do with this game is make the prolog feel like the final mission of a different game," John Epler says. "We really needed to get the stakes, the spectacle, right off the bat. Obviously, players who had been waiting to confront Solas have been waiting for just this moment."" [source]

Each companion has their own storyline that runs parallel to the main story [source]

You cannot succeed without the companions. Each of them has a reason why they need to be part of your party, why they need to help you stop the end of the world [source]

All 7 companions are recruited in the game's first act [source]

The firey demon looking guys shown near the start of the Gameplay Reveal are Rage Demons. Demons in general got a revamp in this game "to more closely align their look", this can be seen with the shades and the Pride demons as well. "they’re creatures of emotion so they have a spectral nervous system look" [source]

The Pride demon the group fight at the Solas face-off in the Gameplay Reveal video "was more a direct tie to Solas than anything else, but it didn't escape us how much it echoed the beginning of DA:I". they wanted to show the stakes and the scale of Solas' power [source]

Characters, companions, romance

Harding was one of the earliest characters that the devs wanted to bring into DA4, because she was such a fan favorite. She is this game's 'traditional returning' character [source]

Each character's romance flavor or style is different. They don't want every character for the romance to feel the same. They want everyone to have their own flavor that's appropriate to them as a character [source] [two]

"We found as we were building a story, more than ever before, it's a story about the people around you; a story about building this team, and working with them." [source]

Each companion has their own storyline that runs parallel to the main story [source]

You cannot succeed without the companions. Each of them has a reason why they need to be part of your party, why they need to help you stop the end of the world [source]

All companions are pansexual (specifically pansexual, not playersexual) [source]

Their pansexuality may come through in what we learn about their backstories [source]

No companion romance is race-locked [source]

Companions reference their past experiences or partners, and they reference who they'll become romantic with. [source]

If you don't romance a character, they may find a different partner for themselves. This could be within the companion roster itself or outside of it in the broader world. [source] For example, if the player does not romance Harding, she may get together with Taash [source]

The game is rated M [source]

The game contains nudity [source]

We can start flirting with the companions pretty early [source]

All 7 companions are recruited in the game's first act [source]

It is not until later parts of the game that you really commit to romance and things get pretty spicy [source]

The nudity, spicy things etc is more towards the end of the game [source]

The devs want the companions to be relatable and fully realized. So things get spicy, but in a more relatable way for people than e.g. some of the more shocking and comical scenes of this nature in Baldur's Gate 3 [source]

How sexually explicit the scenes are varies between characters. Some are more spicy than others. They have diverse personalities like in real life. "Some of them are more physical, more aggressive, and some of them are more... we have a gentleman necromancer [Emmrich], for instance, that is more intimate and sensual." [source] "some characters may be a little more steamy while some characters maybe a little bit more innocent" [source]

The romance and relationship system is more fleshed out than in previous BioWare games. A character's romance will be better woven into their personal story arc and into their involvement in the core questline of the game [source]

"BioWare has also worked to ensure that getting to know your characters as friends feels just as satisfying - and that just because you're not banging your buddy, their (platonic) relationship with you will still continue." ""One of the things we tried to do with The Veilguard is it's not just romantic relationship building," Epler continued. "You need to get to know a person before you can really build that kind of relationship with them, and if you choose not to build a [romantic] relationship, we never want to feel like you're being cut off. There's no 'okay, well, their arc isn't progressing, I'm done'." We want to make sure the non-romantic relationships are deep as well, with friendships not just for companions and yourself, but also between companions across the party."" [source]

GDL reprises his role as Solas [source]

Gameplay, presentation, performance etc

The game has a photo mode [source]

Combat is fast-paced [source]

If you pause the game using the ability wheel you can scan enemies to learn more information about them [source]

Each of the 3 main classes is distinguished by how it generates and spends energy for abilities [source]

Each of the 3 subclasses for each 3 main class promise to offer some meaningful distinctions from each other [source]

for this, rogues have momentum. You build momentum by attacking, by dodging, by parrying, and you lose it by being hit, so there's really a focus with rogues on avoiding damage, avoiding attacks. They build momentum quickly, but they lose it quickly. Warriors have rage, which they build a little bit more slowly, but they don't lose [source]

Attacks can be cancelled [source]

Regarding enemy weaknesses, some of these are elemental. In other cases their defenses are more vulnerable to specific types of abilities [source]

Combat seems to be a matter of managing our abilities as best we can to whittle down enemy defenses and take advantage of their weaknesses [source]

Over the course of the game we get access to three abilities per companion as well as an additional two abilities we can slot, and an additional ability that coms off of items that the devs will not talk about for now [source]

Fully offline single player, no EA account linking, no micro-transactions [source]

The game uses advanced rendering tech in Frostbite, nice subsurface scattering, high quality meshes, while having a striking pseudo-painterly look [source]

There are blood spatters in the game [source]

Production values on the game have gone through the roof. It looks like a big improvement on what came before [source]

On the music: "lots of foreboding tunes mixed with epic flair" [source]

Good voice acting, great facial animations, good hair tech, busy-looking environments and worlds [source]

It's not open world. "There are open areas you can explore around in, but it's mostly structured/mission based, sort of like Mass Effect." [source]

There are difficulty options [source]

They will talk about PC spec stuff at a later time [source]

There is probably an option to see damage numbers [source]

There are many reasons why the game is M-rated [source]

There are lots of abilities, with 3 swapped in on the wheel at any one time [source]

There are a bunch of accessibility options and they will talk about these soon [source]

The ability wheel gives you flexibility to enhance your playstyle. If you don't want to use it at all, you don't have to and that's no issue as shortcuts are available [source]

[☕ found this post or blog interesting or useful? my ko-fi is here if you feel inclined. thank you 🙏]

[tinytennisskirt]

Small Victories

Summary: based on a request, Stanford tennis player! reader and Art strike up a new friendship as they're both pretty lonely at Stanford. It's platonic and fun, but reader is taken out of the tennis season after a serious injury ruins her leg. Recovery is hard, but Art is there the entire way insisting you get back to tennis- and as you slowly heal, he slowly falls harder and harder. It becomes undeniable that you two belong together when you finally get back on the court and win your first game post-injury... when things left unsaid can't stay unsaid.

Warning: mentions of broken bones and blood. Mention of sex. Kissing. A little angst, and a tiny bit of miscommunication if you squint. Slowburn friends to lovers. A good amount of fluff and fun. 13k words- brace yourselves.

It was your first day at Stanford after spending your first night in your dorm room. You had some free time so you’d been spending it unboxing and putting away more of your clothes and things. You covered the ugly boring walls with simple patchwork tapestry, and carefully hung your star-shaped string lights. You set up your computer at the provided desk, moving it to the corner where it was level with the table you’d set up your microwave and kettle on. You made the bed, organized your rackets, and you would have never been this clean if you were at home, but you were a little too bored and you were racking up the nerve to go and speak to people. Meeting new people. 

It’s not like you were socially inept at all, but the anticipation was killer. Being so far away from everyone you knew, having this pressure to make friends here or being around wouldn’t be all that worthwhile. Yes, you loved tennis. Yes, you were so glad to be at Stanford. But could you enjoy it without any friends? No. When you decided your room was done, you logged onto your computer to look over the campus website to see if maybe there were any events tonight. 

You found a few as you scrolled. They had a painting class led by an instructor, not your thing. They had an acapella group info night, which could be fun, but you couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. You scrolled down to the sports section. Football team info night, lacrosse recruitment, and you saw it, perfectly dated for today at eight, a tennis mixer for all tennis students in the far corner garden on campus, just a ten-minute walk. You shut your computer off and immediately started going through your clothes.

You ended up in your favourite jeans and a light purple tank top, pairing it with some casual Converse you’d had for two years, a nice belt, some pretty earrings, and the most dainty necklace you had. You did your makeup in the mirror, getting your eyeliner right in one try which was an absolute wonder, and finished everything off with a pairing of blotted lipstick and lip balm. You looked over everything in the mirror, fixing the curl of your hair just a bit before you packed the simple things into a small bag and headed out the door. 

The garden was cute, it was a little corner boxed in with hedges, full of picnic tables and lawn chairs. You looked up and down the edges lined with pretty pink, orange, yellow, and purple flowers. The 90s music from a radio in the corner was fairly loud, but more dull than the conversation between who you assumed were your peers. A wave of excitement hit as you looked up and around these people, not exactly watching as you stepped backward, foot hitting the side of someone else’s and tripping just slightly in the same direction. Thank god you caught your balance, because without it you might have ended up on the person behind you’s lap. 

“You okay?” He asked, hands up, ready to catch if he needed. You turned, fixing yourself, trying to hide your embarrassment. This was an amazing start, you thought to yourself, chuckling nervously. His eyes were soft and genuine, and he was asking. 

“Oh, yeah, just not looking where I was walking,” You smiled. “I’m so sorry.” 

He smiled back, “No, you’re good, don’t worry about it. I sit with my feet too far out anyway.” He said, getting up out of the chair he was sitting in with his drink. You noted just how nice his voice sounded, you’d never heard anyone with his tone. “My name is Art… Donaldson.” He extended his free hand to you and you were a little surprised but glad. 

“Y/N,” You answered, unable to control the grin that came from meeting someone already, even if you nearly tripped into him. You eyed him up and down a moment. He was taller than you, thin, with blonde curls and a big smile. Bigger than one you would have gotten from anyone else you spoke to if you had ended up speaking to anyone else that night. “You’re in the tennis program?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” He grinned. “And you too, I assume.” 

“Mhm,” You nodded back. “First year. Nervous.” You admit, feeling like maybe he’d get it. And he did, no doubt. 

Art ruffled his hair, “Oh yeah. I’m on residency, so it’s not much different from my previous school, but I don’t know anyone, so it’s a little weird. I had to check the campus website for anything to do to get out and meet people.” He spoke a lot with his hands, you noted along with the fact you had done the exact same thing. He was also just speaking to speak, you noticed as you nodded along, smiling. He was nervous too. “Are you on residency?” He asked, ending his little spiel. You’d let him talk just to hear him talk, finding his voice unique and a little bit pretty. And he was nice. 

“I am, I spent the whole day organizing and decorating my room,” You chuckled, stepping aside to grab yourself a can of iced tea, and cracking it open. Art watched as you did, studying the dainty rings on your fingers, the way the one strand of hair fell in your face when you tripped and you hadn’t yet thought to move it. “Things are a lot harder to do without a staple gun.” You told him.

He sipped his own drink, “Mmm, right? Took me seven attempts to hang up my poster today with that stupid blue clay stuff.” 

“Oh, that stuff is nasty.” He liked how you crinkled your nose. “I bought this glue-brand double-sided tape. It’s a game-changer, but so sticky.” And the embarrassment from nearly tripping eased away as the conversation enhanced itself. He was sweet and funny and kind and truly seemed like he was hearing what you said. Art was truthfully just glad he found anyone to talk to after Patrick left last night and as the conversation moved over the regular small talk, he found he didn’t really want to talk to anyone else. 

The night went on and people were leaving now and then, but you and Art sat on the bench in the very corner of the corner garden unphased, just talking about your histories with tennis. Soon you knew all of his best victories and he knew yours and he also knew you liked music more than most things, tennis included, him making mental note of what songs to listen to when he went back to his dorm room. He felt a lot less alone in Patrick’s absence than he’d expected and you were so interesting. He also knew you were a big fan of iced coffee, had a lucky tennis racket, and had a love for star-shaped things. Just as you knew his best game was his doubles at the Junior US Open with his best friend who you’d heard a lot about now, just as you heard about his past at Mark Rebatello’s Tennis Academy, how his favourite thing to do in tennis is serve, and his favourite post-game meal is chicken wings. Your conversation naturally covered all the simple things and when the night truly had to come to an end, he gladly walked you back to your dorm. 

“It’s been really nice meeting you,” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as you approached your door. Part of him knew he could probably tell you everything and anything about himself and you’d listen and that’s what he liked about you. “Glad someone spoke to me.” 

“Well, I tripped, so we’re just lucky, I suppose.”

He twisted his mouth to the side, “I guess so, but who’s to say I didn’t do it on purpose?” He questioned with a teasing smile. 

You laughed quietly, “It’s been nice meeting you too. I’ll see you around the court?” 

“Probably,” He replied, shoving his hands into his pockets as you leaned against the door. “I look forward to it.” A grin slowly crept up his face, unable to hide itself. He was not in a particular lack, but gaining you was something he wouldn’t regret and he knew it. “I’ll see you around.” 

You couldn’t help but grin right back- his smile was so wide it was hard to ignore. “Goodnight, Art.” 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You saw him again the next day, more than enthused to see a familiar face around. You had your hair up in a ponytail, sporting a white skort and black tank top and he was in blue gym shorts and a sports t-shirt that was just a tad lighter than his shorts. 

“Hey you,” You smiled as you approached. He turned, more than happy to see you as well. 

“Hey,” he replied, setting his things down on the nearest bench. You beamed, doing the same. “How are you?” 

“I’m good, how are you?” You asked, hopping up and starting to stretch. He had his hands shoved in his pockets. “Co-op doubles today, you want to be my partner?” He asked. You were nodding yes before he even finished the sentence. 

It was that day that Art realized just how good you were at tennis and how distracting it was playing doubles when all he wanted to do was watch you play. It was almost hypnotizing to see you do your thing and he was honestly a little proud he’d made your acquaintance before you demolished the other team so he wouldn’t have had to look like a suck up approaching you afterward. 

You jumped and high fived him when you two won the scrimmage and Art knew he picked the perfect tennis partner for sure. As for you, he impressed you vastly past your expectations. He was amazing at serving so no wonder it was his favourite. 

“That was crazy,” Art huffed, breathing out. “That was amazing.” 

“Your serves are crazy,” you gushed, turning to him. “You’re amazing, that was amazing that serve at the end completely threw them.” 

Art shook his head, “As if you didn’t completely end the game with that last swing, that was incredible.” He gestured openly, then let his arms fall to his sides. “You want to go again?” 

Technically you were supposed to switch partners, but Art just didn’t want to take that chance. He had you as a partner and he would have to swap it out? No thanks. 

Your smile turned itself into a smirk, you had other thoughts. “Maybe after.” You said and jogged over to the boy you’d just gone up against and asked him to play with you and Art knew what you were doing. You wanted to play against him. 

It turned out to be a problem because now Art had a full view of how you played and it really was hypnotic. You obviously had a well-learned method for every swing and situation and you knew exactly what was in your section and what was in your partner’s. Art was grinning, watching you play and honestly hardly paying much attention to the fact that he himself was in the game. He missed a few balls just because he was watching your swing. You were good, you were really good, and that fact being distracting was not very useful to a scrimmage. 

When the game ended and you had a bit of a water break, you jogged over, “What was that?” You laughed. 

Art shrugged, chuckling. “You’re really good.” He took a long drink from his water bottle, knowing the reason he gave you wasn’t very detailed but it was honest. 

You and Art were partners for most co-op doubles that week, hanging out almost every day after or before. You two were fast friends- him enjoying how passionate you were when you talked and shared the things you liked and the way you went about tennis, you enjoying having a great partner for scrimmages and the things he talked about. Having a familiar face around all the time was the ease you needed to fully get yourself situated at Stanford. It was fun to have someone that you wanted to see every day who happened to want to see you just the same. You two were friends quicker than anyone you’d ever known, like something just clicked and fit into place- he was fun and a little bit wild when he wasn’t shy, and he loved music just as much as you did, it turned out, which was surprising. 

You’d sit in his car for hours just talking with music in the background. “Okay, so McDonalds fries versus Arby’s.” You said, picking through the McDonald’s fries you two bought on the way back to campus. Art put the car in park and you were leaned against the car door, sitting facing him. “Don’t say Arby’s, I’m begging you.” 

He smiled and shrugged a little sheepishly, “They’re thicker.” He reasoned. 

“Uh-huh, I see how it is,” you said, rolling your eyes at him. He hid his face in his hands. “McDonald's are so classic.” 

He raised his head, “True-“ he spoke with too many in his mouth and you smiled. “- But Arby’s are curly. Which means more.” 

“Okay so you’re settled on the fact that it’s more food,” you laughed, popping a small one in your mouth. “Here I was going off of taste.” 

“You can’t go off taste alone because quality is so important,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “McDonalds fries are good but the quality is shit.” 

“You’re right but you can ignore that-“ 

“I have to ignore that while you ignore thicket and curlier?” He laughed. “No-“ he couldn’t get through his words laughing, “We are done here.” 

“What-“ you laughed. “No, come on.” 

He gestured wide, hand on your upper arm, sliding down to rest on your forearm, “You’ve just proven you can’t debate, it’s pointless-“ he couldn’t stop laughing, and from that point on neither could you. It was contagious and spread throughout the car like the air conditioning that circulated. It was good laughter, sweet, and unending because whenever one of you tried to stop, even looking at the other would cause you both to burst out laughing again. It was a cycle that made your ribs ache, your heart beat harder in your chest and your breath impossible to catch. The laughter only ended when you were both in too much pain to continue. 

Art rubbed his eyes, leaning against the car's center console, catching his breath. He missed Patrick but not so much when you were around. He was glad he had you and that was one of the only thoughts in his head as he looked at you, catching your breath as well. Your smile was gorgeous was the afterthought but there was no afterthought to that thought itself, just that you were and it was. You moved your hair from your face and he thought again about the fry conversation and he nearly laughed again, but he tried hard not to.

The truth was Art did have thoughts like that often. You saw him every day, you were funny and talented, and Art loved how much you cared about everyone around you. How could he not, even for a moment, think more of you than what you two were? But he didn’t notice how often he had those thoughts because they were forgotten so easily, buried under something subconsciously. 

You looked back at him, the atmosphere shifting once again. Art watched you glance at the time, “I have to get to bed, I’m so sorry,” He loved how you apologized for nothing. He’d tried to correct it at first but it was just something you couldn’t help. “I have that game tomorrow, the one I’ve been talking about, are you coming?” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it,” he grinned, pulling the car back into drive to bring you closer to your residency building so you wouldn’t have to walk. “Starts at ten?” 

“I have to be there at ten, game at eleven.” You nodded. 

“Sounds good,” He nodded back, a slight smile pulling at his lip. “I’ll see you there.”

“I guess you will. Or might. I need you there in case I need to make a run for it, I’m terrified to play that Roxy girl, she’s supposed to be so hardcore.” You pressed your hands to your face. “Thank you for hanging out, for a moment I forgot just how scared I am of tomorrow.” Your smile turned to a grin and Art’s followed. He was unable to control his smile around you. 

He shook his head, “You’ll be great. You’ll kick her ass.” 

“She’s Russian,” you replied. “She’s going to do more than kick mine.” 

Art shook his head again, “No. Can’t think that way or else she will for sure. You kick hers, no other way.”

You took a deep breath, grin dulling back to a simple smile. “Thank you. I’ll need all the luck I can get though,” You opened his car door to get out. 

“Okay, well, good luck if I don’t see you before the game, leprechauns, four-leaf clovers, break a leg, etcetera.” 

You laughed and after saying goodnight, your laugh still echoed around his head. It did so until he went to sleep that night. But he didn’t think anything of it, there was no reason to. 

The game the next day really did terrify you. This girl you were up against was hardcore, you spent the morning watching her games trying to figure her out but all you got was that she stepped twice before swinging left, no matter what as well as she was an amazing player. She had long sleek blonde hair that she tied up in a braided ponytail and icy eyes that seemed to stare into your soul when you saw her tennis poster. You wondered if her eyes followed you around as you got dressed into your pink skort and lilac purple tank top combo. Looking nice on the court helped a lot with your confidence.

You tied your hair up in two French braids to keep it away from your face and tried to take deep breaths as you grabbed your things and headed over to the Stanford court. It was a busy day, apparently, as a small crowd of people were waiting to get into the benches and you walked by them and into the building where you met your coach. 

“You ready?” She asked and you really wanted to say no, the nerves getting to your stomach. The first big game of the season meant something. This is the beginning of what you were working for. Part of you was so ready for this all to begin, other casual games with small audiences were easy, but there was a Russian girl out there ready to demolish you. You took another deep breath. 

“Yeah.” And you took your things to the court and unzipped your bag that you’d packed in a haste this morning out of pure nerves and no real rush to see that somehow, in some extreme mishap, that your lucky racket wasn’t there. You turned to your coach, who knew that when you laid all your rackets out on the sidelines that you were missing the lucky one. 

And Art in the stands looked over, knowing the exact same thing. He turned to Patrick, who was visiting as of this morning, “She doesn’t have her purple racket.” He said as if Patrick knew what that meant. Art had spent the morning filling Patrick in on who you were and Patrick listened with a knowing smirk, but didn’t say anything about what he truly thought. “Patrick, she can’t play this without her lucky racket.” He urged as if it made a difference. The game was set to start in five minutes. 

“Lucky racket?” Patrick understood. When he was younger he himself had the same thing, he knew the sentiment and the effect it could have on a game. That’s why Art, knowing Patrick, knew you were the same way.

“Fuck,” Art said, looking around to see if there was a clear path out of the bleachers, but there wasn’t. He looked back at you, talking to your coach with your hand over your mouth. He got up and stepped over a few people but was stopped by an usher. 

“Game is starting in five-“ the burly man said. 

“I know, I need to get out,” he urged. 

“Sit. Down. Please.” The usher replied. 

Art shook his head, “No, you don’t understand, this is vital to the game about to be played, that’s my friend out there-“ 

“Sir, if you leave before the first half, you won’t be getting back in.” He said. And that was that. Art couldn’t even make a run for it because this usher would make sure he couldn’t get the racket back to you. 

“Fuck,” Art muttered, having to sit back next to Patrick knowing this wouldn’t be good. It put him on edge from the stands he couldn’t imagine the anxiety you were feeling if it was already bad and you didn’t have your racket. He rubbed his face, looking at Patrick, who knew exactly what you were feeling even not knowing you yet. “This is bad.” 

You had to use your practice racket. Which was fine if you were anyone else, it worked just the same, but the feeling of confidence was hard to attain. You hit the court as the announcer called out you were to serve. You took what felt like the deepest breath, filling your lungs as you faced your blindingly blonde opponent. You let the breath go slowly, trying to convince yourself that this was fine. And you served. 

The rally was good, you both had each other moving, but she was up in points within the first ten minutes. You weren’t doing badly, you were just behind. Art and Patrick were watching from the stands at how intense things were, Art worried the entire time. 

You caught up and surpassed her points around the middle, but soon enough she bounced right back surpassing you again. You were getting increasingly more scared that this was exactly what you expected from a game without the purple racket. You took a deep breath and hit the ball as hard as you could upon serve, it going awkwardly sideways and immediately out. You tried not to swear too loudly. Art and Patrick did it for you in unison, Patrick was just as invested as Art. 

When they called the halfway point, you were below her points-wise. Art couldn’t pay less attention to the way you walked off the court with your hand to your head because he was running, or trying to, through the sea of people who were going for washroom breaks and getting food from the stands outside. He tried to push through but more people kept coming and the stress of it alone had his heart beating. That was nothing on the beat of his heart as he finally pushed through and he started sprinting across the campus grounds trying to get to your residency as fast as he could. 

He didn’t think he’d ever run so fast in his life but this was the only way he knew how to help. This was how you would save your game. He ran through the residency doors and up the stairs to the second floor and grabbed your key from behind the fire alarm trigger, unlocking your door. He knew you wouldn’t mind after this- he looked around seeing the racket leaning in the corner and he grabbed it, locking your door again and jumping the stairs, sprinting back. 

It took a lot longer than he thought. He tried a shortcut that was stupidly a dead end and he checked his watch before launching back into his sprint and he had two minutes before you were back on. He was so fucked. This time he just about shoved people as he returned to the crowd. 

He could hear the game resume and people did hurry to get back to their seats which helped a little- Art was still pushing to make it back to you, to get the racket to you before the second half truly started. He knew if he just got it out there onto the court you could switch it out between serves and that would be good enough and he was nearly through the crowd, cheers in his ears, people whooping and yelling, getting into the game and all of a sudden it was a simultaneous gasp. Art was confused for about a split second before he heard the scream in the silence of a crowd that held their breath. 

Art pushed through the crowd and the sight he saw when he laid eyes on you on the ground was something reminiscent of some horror movie. The detail was too much but visible to him, from far away, was bone. And you were screaming, it was you. 

He bolted over but not before the others did, surrounding you immediately locking him out and he looked over as your tennis partner ran to the edge of the court to vomit. The crowd was mumbling but other than that it was silence versus screams and cries and it was you. Art hated that it was you. 

He couldn’t do anything, he wasn’t any help, 911 was already called and you were crying and screaming, and thank god the huddle shielded the crowd from the blood that pooled on the court. 

Art did the only thing he knew to do and that was collect your things. It didn’t matter what it looked like he was doing, he packed up your rackets and your water bottle, numbing himself to the situation so he could at least do this for you as your screams rang out in the crowd of people still seeming to hold their breaths. He couldn’t get to you if he tried. Sirens in the distance meant it was time to get the fuck out of the way and he moved over as the paramedics worked quickly to tend to you to get you on the ambulance, doing what they could to stop the bleeding. 

Art ran faster than he did to get your racket, even with your rackets on him. It was a good thing Patrick had gotten himself out of the crowd, meeting Art at the fence doors to get him to his car. He’d only known you a month or two, but you were still a person he cared a lot about and he knew your entire family was miles and miles away. You’d be alone in this and knowing you, and talking to you every day, he knew you were afraid of doctors and hated hospitals more than anything. He couldn’t let it be something you had to brave alone.  He threw your rackets in the trunk as Patrick got into the passenger seat and Art tossed him the keys to start the car before he got into the driver's seat. 

“Fuck, this is so bad,” Art said, pulling away a little faster than he should have. “This is so bad.” 

He ended up waiting ten hours at the hospital. You needed surgery to fix your leg and nobody in your family could make it over in ten hours. It would take a flight to get to you. Patrick stayed about four hours with Art, trying to keep him occupied so he didn’t lose his mind in the waiting room, but Art wasn’t very talkative, just worried. You had easily become one of his best friends. 

He ate hospital food and he slept in his chair against the wall. The nurses knew he was there for you and came to update him until one of the nurses told him to come back the next morning because by then you’d probably be stable and awake properly without the pain meds keeping you asleep. He hated that, he slept in his car.

Patrick came back the next morning, tapping on Art’s window at close to 11:30 in the morning. Art woke with a bit of a start, his hair messed up, his clothes from the days before still on. Patrick held up a bag from Art’s dorm room where he’d stay. You wouldn’t think Patrick to think of something like it, but he brought Art a change of clothes which he took gratefully and changed into in the hospital bathroom before going back up to see you. 

Patrick gladly waited in the hallway when he went in. You were awake but you were staring blankly at a wall- it didn’t seem like you even realized he had entered. You’d gotten used to not minding the nurses and doctors that came in and out. Art approached slowly out of understanding and observed how hard you crying so silently. He thought he saw a tear but as he observed, it was a steady stream.

“Hey…” he said quietly. 

You turned your head at the sound of his voice and Art swore when you met his eyes he had never seen eyes sadder than yours. It shook him a little to see pain so obvious in someone’s eyes. “Art-“ you sobbed, putting your head in your hands, unable to say anything else. He rushed forward, dropping his backpack at your bedside to give some sense of comfort. He didn’t know what to do, so he crouched next to you and his hands rested on your forearm, careful not to touch the bruising no doubt from the fall. He didn’t say anything else for a long while and neither did you, you just cried as Art crouched next to you, his hands gently grazing over your skin where they could. Soft, back and forth, just delicately. 

It was the first act anyone had ever taken to make you feel okay, truly okay. You’d been intimidated and overwhelmed by the hospital lights, the sterile metals, and sounds and processes. 

It was also the first true act of many that was something closer than what it should have been for you and Art. It was just you and him in that hospital room, empty aside from the machines, drips, a bed, and chairs, but the silence was so full that it occupied every corner that wasn’t already taken. 

You did eventually speak, but that silence was so needed. It was a conversation about what had happened and you explained it all and how it felt, but Art informed you that you were ahead of her in points before it happened. He didn’t tell you he didn’t see it happen- he didn’t tell you anything about where he’d gone at the halfway point of the game. 

Art slept in the corner chair later that night when you slept. Patrick eventually left after waiting for so long. When you needed your privacy Art got his meals from downstairs, heading back to the dorm and coming back the next morning every day for two weeks. He came by whenever he could to see you, the conversation was good and kept you distracted. You talked about everything and nothing just to pass the time in your lonely, empty room. Art brought you your iPod and a few other things from your dorm to keep you occupied when he wasn’t there.

Art was the greatest comfort until your parents finally got on a plane and flew out to see you, urging to somehow get you home but you didn’t want to go. You couldn’t anyway, and you were so glad. Your mom was surprised by the flowers you’d received from the Russian girl from the big game, who did come to visit you and was surprisingly very sweet, unlike her teeth-bared photo from her Facebook. But other than that, Art visited almost every day right after your parents did. They stayed at a nearby hotel as you were in the hospital recovering. 

Patrick stayed nearby for Art who was fine, other than a little busy most days when he went to visit. Today Patrick came in with Art. 

“Hey,” you grinned, sitting up just a bit when the two boys came in with McDonald’s. “Oh my god, you didn’t.” 

“But we did,” Art said, kicking your tray over to your bed and putting the food down on it. “Patrick’s idea actually, which I hate- but he wanted to get Arby’s and I told him no.” 

You smiled at him slyly, knowingly, but your attention turned to Patrick. “Hey! I’ve heard so much about you, this is crazy. I heard you were at the game.”

He grinned and you noted the dimple he had when he smiled. It was nice. “Yeah. Aside from the whole bone-out-the-leg thing, you were pretty good. I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

“Well, yeah,” you nodded, gesturing to your leg. You were fun, Patrick knew Art liked you but it was finally coming to be something clear in his mind as to why. You had high spirits. But both boys had no idea how hard you sobbed the moment they left. “Thank you for bringing me food, hospital soup and chicken are somehow both dry.” You said, opening the bag. 

Art looked at Patrick for some sort of approval which he got with a look Patrick exchanged. “You’re welcome,” Art spun on his heel. He looked at the way your hair fell over your face as you peeked in, how pretty it looked the way it curved inward to frame your face. The hospital had hindered your will to do your makeup but you still somehow looked just as gorgeous, if not more. His fleeting thought lingered this time as he gathered the right words to say. “So how is your leg feeling today?” 

“Fucked,” you replied, handing the boys their fries and burgers. “Hurts like hell and I’m still on the super strong stuff.” 

“Well you couldn’t tell,” Patrick said, pulling up a chair. 

“I think if I asked, they’d give me the good stuff.” You nodded. “But it makes me so tired, it’s awful.” You bit into your burger. 

Art pulled a chair closer to you and sat in it, “So all this was just for some drugs, hm?” He teased. “And attention.” 

“Oh yeah,” You agreed with a laugh between bites. Patrick chuckled and Art grinned, “All I had to do was fuck up my knee, have a surgery and a half, and ruin my tennis career.” Both boy’s smiles fell almost immediately, watching your tongue press to your cheek. The silence was loud, but you just continued eating. Art opened his mouth to speak but nothing came to mind. It could be true, you could very well never play tennis again, or with proper rehabilitation, you could be back to playing eventually. He didn’t know, he didn’t know what to say. You sighed, your voice monotone, “It’s fine. Most people who can’t play anymore start coaching. I just have to get better at teaching it.” 

“No, you can’t just say you’re going to coach, you still have so much work to do. You could get back into it when you get better,” Art said, hating how willing you were to succumb to just… teaching. “You’re only starting.” 

“True,” Patrick said, agreeing. “Would be badass if you got back on the court.” 

You twisted your mouth to the side, not finding it very easy to even speak on the topic, even if you brought it up yourself. You didn’t want to cry, not right now, you usually waited until you knew Art was down the hall so you had a minute to cry before the nurses came to check on you. “I don’t know…” 

Art looked at you with an expression that bordered on unkind- not toward you, but toward what you were saying. He’d played tennis with you- you were amazing and to not even believe that it could even get better was almost disgusting to him. You had so much potential, so much talent, “You do know.” He insisted. “There’s no way you want this to be career-ending, so don’t let it.”  

Patrick, despite the seriousness of the situation, smiled watching Art all passionate about something. It had been a while since he’d seen Art so riled up about something even if it didn’t affect him directly. Patrick smiled because he was seeing something he knew Art himself didn’t see. He leaned against his hand propped up by the arm of the chair. And you knew Art was right, but not enough to see past the cast on your leg, not enough to see past the months of rehab, not enough to see the court again. As much as you wanted it, it wasn’t in the foreseeable future, so you let it feel impossible. 

Your parents went back home a month or so in with the promise of returning, but it was getting expensive to stay, so they’d go return to their jobs. It was back to being Art and now recently, Patrick, whom you’d grown to be quite fond of. He brought out a side to Art that was not funnier, per se, but broadened his means to be. Patrick sometimes came to see you when Art had class so he wasn’t just sitting around Art’s dorm. Art would swing by after to join the card games and be told to be quiet by the nurses. It always ended up with you laughing so hard your ribs hurt more than your knee, even for a second. It was the only pain that was welcome in the hospital room. 

It was evening and you were sitting on your hospital bed, just thinking over everything. It wasn’t rare for you to cry at random periods throughout the day, it was a little too normal, if you were honest. All of this was so hard- continuing school from a hospital room because of all the risks was awful. But tomorrow you’d be seeing a physical therapist and that would decide if you were ready for rehabilitation. You wiped your eyes from the tears that fell just thinking about whether or not you’d be fit to walk on your leg again, which would determine if you could run if you could play. 

That’s when Art knocked on the door. He poked his head, looking around, but ultimately looking at you. You had the lamps that your parents had purchased for the room to be less overwhelmingly white in the top right and bottom left corners of the room, making for dim, comfortable lighting. Art swore he forgot how to greet you when his eyes met your tear-filled ones. The way your eyelashes looked when wet was almost hypnotizing, something that wiped all of the words from his vocabulary and out of sight almost completely. “Um-” He cleared his throat, “Hi,” He started, a weird pit in his throat. “You okay?” 

“Not sure,” You confessed, wiping your tears off your cheeks. He had seen you cry too many times now, it was getting a little embarrassing. “How are you?” Art smiled just a little at the fact you asked while crying. He hated to answer that question when you were upset. 

He pulled up his regular chair, but oddly it didn’t feel close enough. The feeling of it had been creeping up with every one of his visits, every time you were alone. But it got pushed aside. “I’m fine. Class was boring and tennis sucks without you, as usual.” He said, taking a seat. “The girl I’m paired with keeps hitting on me between rounds.” 

You wiped more tears away, smiling just a little though your stomach felt just a little odd at the mention, “Really?” 

“It’s bad.” He laughed, “She twirls her hair and everything.” 

“And that didn’t immediately work on you?” You fake-gasped. Art was just glad you were smiling. “You didn’t get married on the spot?” 

He chuckled, looking at his hands, “I don’t think it’s so easy. I don’t think I even know her name.” 

“You don’t know Melanie?” 

“Is that her name?” 

“No idea,” You laughed, really laughed, and it was a gorgeous sound. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m mostly bedridden and confined to this room.” 

He covered his face, rubbing his eyes, “That’s enough.” He groaned through a laugh, leaning against his hand, just looking at you. 

“I say it’s hardly anything, imagine how fun I could be if I wasn’t broken,” You huffed. “But Melanie, whatever her name is, she’s like… she’s really pretty.” You noted. ‘Melanie’ had all your opposite features, it should be noted. She was pretty just the same, but she was your opposite. 

“Mmm, not my type,” Art replied, scooting his chair just a little closer to the edge of your bed. 

“So you have a type? What, Kat Zimmerman-like?” 

Art groaned again, “I can’t believe Patrick told you that, that’s insane that you’d bring that up right now, I hate that.” He stressed the important syllables and covered his face again. You giggled, unable to keep it in. “No, not Kat Zimmerman, jesus christ.” 

“So then what’s your type?” You asked, just curious. You weren’t sure what drove you to curiosity but you didn’t question it. 

He shook his head, “I don’t think I have one. I know who I’m not into though and she’s exactly that.” Art said. Once again, to be noticed, the opposite of you was not his type. “She’s nice but we don’t talk much aside from when she compliments my playing and my hair and my arms and… all that.” 

You felt a little twinge. It was so awful to be on the inside while life went on outside, you thought to yourself. That was only half the twinge and the only half of the twinge you could understand. The other half was something close to jealousy that went completely unnoticed, but not unfelt. “She does that?” You struggled to sound genuine and that was the only thing you questioned about any of it. 

“Yeah, I hate it. What about you? You have a type?” 

You thought for a second, “I’m the same, I think. I know sports guys… jocks- are not it.” And Art nodded. Something about it felt weird to hear. He qualified as a sports guy, right? He tried to shrug it off, but he internalized it.

The night went on and you talked about things you hadn’t before and it was all romantic context. Past relationships, elementary school crushes. It was something that was needed out in the open and it made for an occupying conversation though it was a little hard to get through when there were constant little fleeting thoughts in Art’s mind that were thoughts about how jealous he was of these boys who had gotten to kiss you, touch you, and have your romantic attention. However, the thoughts were so fleeting they flew by without being read or registered, but they were there even unnoticed. You were his best friend and nothing more and that was that. 

When the doctors okayed you for rehabilitation you were so overjoyed you cried again. It was okay this time, it felt good to cry. All of these months in pain could be undone if you could just get into this and succeed. There was no guarantee it would work, there wouldn’t be at any point a guarantee and you knew that it would be a long, frustrating process, but it felt like it would be worth it. You remembered what Art told you about not wanting that career path to end and not letting this be the end of anything. This injury, in the long run, would not be able to take you from what you loved. Ever. Because you wouldn’t let it. You called to tell Art and you could hear Patrick whoop and cheer in the background. And you had your first session in your hospital room later that week and the now-wilting flowers Art and Patrick had brought you was amazing for motivation. 

Your healing journey was up and down as expected but no matter if you could finish your session or not, Art came by to tell you how great you were doing and Patrick to reassure you that you were a badass. You even let them stay for a session and the physiotherapist told them to ‘shut up’ because they were cheering for you the second you started. You just laughed. 

Patrick, for amusement, liked to sit back when you and Art were talking. He was no master, he was not a very scientific guy but your body language when engaging with each other was crazy obvious. You’d always sit super close no matter what, you leaned toward each other when you laughed, your eye contact was completely loaded with unsaid words and when you spoke it was 89% flirting. Patrick understood Art- you were gorgeous and you were strong and that itself was hot. You were funny and took jabs but you were honestly one of the most caring people Patrick had ever met. So yeah, he understood why Art liked you so much. 

You got better every day, easing onto your crutches at this point, able to somewhat move on your own. Patrick visited that day and he had his intentions. “You heard about that girl who won’t stop hitting on Art between games?” He chuckled, dealing the cards for crazy eights. He watched for your reaction. 

You pressed your tongue to your cheek, “Mmm, he mentioned.” You said, picking up your cards. “She’s still at it?” 

“Worse,” Patrick said. “Asked him out yesterday.” 

You looked up at Patrick with telling eyes and Patrick could have gone off of that alone, but he didn’t yet. He noticed your hands bending the edge of a card as you thought it over. The idea of him and that girl was something you could easily envision. He’d been her partner for over a year now and he had to know her name, they had to have been talking for her to just ask him out. Your jealousy was a fleeting thought that did burn close to the surface. “What did he say?” 

“He said he’d think about it,” Patrick said, eyeing your response to that one. It wasn’t true, Art had turned her down at least twice now. The girl was pretty, but oddly persistent.

“Hm,” You nodded, putting down three cards right off the bat. “He said she wasn’t his type.” 

Patrick shrugged, playing his card, “He’s pretty diverse I think. Me personally-” He placed a hand on his chest, “- Dark hair, dark eyes. I’m not limiting myself to it, but I think I have a type.” 

“That’s very you, I feel,” You said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Are you an ass guy too?” 

“Oh yeah,” He grinned a wide grin. You just smiled and shook your head at him. “What about you? You have a type?” He asked, trying not to make it obvious he was playing wingman here. 

You picked up a card, “I don’t think so. Maybe tall, not too much muscle but not like bone-breaking thin.” You said. “And a good amount of hair. I can’t imagine being with someone with a buzzcut. I don’t know, I don’t think much about who I could want, more of what I don’t want.” 

Patrick pretended like that body criteria wasn’t exactly Art. He smiled just a little, “And what’s that?” 

“Okay, easy. No mommy issues,” You put down another card, “No weird patchy facial hair, nobody who doesn’t know the difference between too, two, and to, and no guys in sports.” 

Patrick leaned in just a bit. “No guys in sports? You don’t date guys who play sports?” He clarified, a little bit of hope slipping out the window for his wingman act. All of everything could be wrong, could be pointless. 

You shook your head, “I say that but I mean football, mostly. Jocks. I had a bad experience with two different football players. Broke my little heart,” You chuckled. “I’ve ruled out jocks.” 

“But you’d date a guy in t-” he almost said tennis. He wouldn’t have been a good wingman to give away something like that. “You’d date a guy who plays something else?” 

“If he’s normal about it,” You nodded. “I can’t be outloved by a sport. My ex, I swear he’d fuck a football if it had a hole.” You placed down two more cards, “Last card.” 

The game finished with your win and Patrick was fairly satisfied with his work, though he intended to ask you a few more things and was cut short from his recon when Art swung in the room with a can of iced tea for you and Coca-Cola for him and Patrick. “How are you?” You asked him, taking the iced tea gratefully. 

“I’m good, you?” Art sat at the end of your bed by your feet, putting a hand on your shin (on your good leg) just casually. Patrick noticed it, but it didn’t seem to phase you. He’d seen it the other day when you rested your head on Art’s shoulder, he’d seen it when Art moved your hair over your ear as you were reading a magazine they’d brought. It was painful how obvious this was- he didn’t have to ask anything else. He almost laughed out loud as he thought about it. He made a mental note to talk to Art about it. 

He went back to the dorm early that day, leaving just you and Art. “Hm,” You hummed, pulling your hair to one side. Art snapped out of the trance he was in, hoping you hadn’t noticed that he was staring. It was something about the way you looked in purple, it was like it made your skin glow. That and your eyelashes as they fluttered when you looked around the room, that and the way your lower lip rested between your teeth as you checked over your textbook quickly making sure you were done with your schoolwork for the day. Art blinked all the thoughts away, but they clung on to your square-necklined purple t-shirt. Something about the way you looked in purple. 

Art rubbed the back of his neck, taking his eyes off of you, but looking back a moment later. Your lip between your teeth had his full attention, his own lips parting just a little at the sight. And then there was your hair draping over your face now and Art wanted so badly to move it like he had before. At this thought, as it crossed his mind it stopped dead centre in his brain. Like a shift, but a shift from his own burying and blatant ignorance of any feelings to being completely in the know. You were here, and you were perfect and you weren’t even doing anything, and Art knew he liked you as more than a friend at that very moment. 

But that was the issue. He was supposed to be your friend. 

And that troubled him the next week or so. He was fine seeing you, being one of your close friends wasn’t an act, it was true to him with the addition that maybe he liked you but he always told himself ‘just a little bit’, he liked you a little. If it was full blown then it would be a crisis and the truth was that it was absolutely and completely full blown and there was nothing he could say to himself that would change that. He thought about you when he wasn’t with you, when he woke up, and when he went to bed. He thought about you when he saw something you liked, he thought about you in every spare moment he could get. It was so bad he couldn’t even tell Patrick- as if Patrick didn’t know and constantly teased him about it. 

You were getting better and better and it was a surprising recovery, doctors said. Your mobility was far ahead of schedule and set to stay that way. Any setbacks from this point would be minor and you were making progress almost miraculously. And you were so glad to hear it every time they’d say it. Your parents came back around the day you took a real step alone and you wouldn’t forget your mom’s shriek of complete happiness. Your knee would work again. 

Just Art brought you flowers that day, not him and Patrick. 

But things stayed the same. You could leave and come back in for therapy and you were more than glad to be out of the hospital, though you’d gotten a bit used to it. Everything was falling into place, Art was there pretty much every step -literal and physical- of the way. He was amazing support and made things feel so much easier. When Patrick came around it was fun to have two people who’d add into the motivation. You got better and better and soon enough you swore you could walk just fine aside from your slight limp. That day you walked across the room when Art turned his back, he was surprised, to say the least.

When you could go out with a wheelchair and crutch the boys took you to the court. It was your first time on it since the incident. Your eyes fell on the spot where it happened. Patrick followed your eyes, grimacing just a bit. You’d forgotten Art didn’t see it- you still had no idea where he’d gone at the halfway point of the game. “I can almost feel it,” You said, a look of disgust on your face. “I think the gasp from the crowd was the worst part.” 

“It was loud,” Patrick said.

Art looked at where they were looking. “But you almost have full use of your knee again. Who knows, you could be back out here in a few months.” He shrugged. You turned on your crutch, away from the spot, and looked at Art. “Okay, don’t give me that look, you know you just need to try.” 

“I know,” You nodded slowly. “I just don’t know to what extent. I don’t think I could follow through with Stanford.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s so top-notch,” You answered. Patrick kicked around on the court, grabbing one of Art’s balls and rackets and dribbling it around. “The people here are here for a reason and it’s to go pro.” 

Art stepped closer to you, “But you don’t think that’s you?” 

“Not anymore,” You replied, meeting his eyes. “Recovery is amazing but the risk is so high… I’m not even sure I can run yet, let alone sprint and lean side to side on this leg. I want to, I wanted to, but going pro after something like this just doesn’t happen. If I can play again at all, it won’t be good.” You explained. Art nodded through, listening with eyes that held sympathy and a little speck of sadness. “It’s okay, I just… It’s going to take me forever to get over it.” 

He shook his head, “You still don’t need to get over it yet. There’s still so much t-”

“I know. I just can’t see it ever happening.” You said. Art pressed his lips into a straight line and he spun on his heel. Comfort wasn’t what you needed- it was a racket. Art lunged and snatched up the one Patrick was toying with and handed it to you. “What?” 

Patrick caught on quickly. “Hit the ball.” Art said. “In any form.” 

“Art…” You shook your head. 

Patrick threw it anyway and even with the crutch, you instinctively stuck out your racket the way you knew how and hit the ball back to him, your aim still on point. “That was good! What the fuck,” Patrick chuckled. Even he couldn’t hit the ball with that much precision. Art laughed, clapping once- and you had your mouth a little open at the tennis reflexes that hadn’t gone anywhere after all this time. You looked at both of them in minor shock and awe and Art just smiled. He wouldn’t let you give up. He couldn’t. You spent the rest of the evening hitting balls where you stood, feeling a lot better about things. 

Recovery continued, but so did tennis. In your spare time you were on the court, practicing your serves, hitting the ball, everything to do with arms and eventually when the therapist had you on the treadmill walking, jogging, he cleared you to do it with supervision. That was one of the biggest things you’d heard in a while. Art was out in the hall when you’d heard it and you left the doctor mid-sentence just to go tell him, Art surprised at the speed which you approached him at, being used to you only ever walking. “I can jog!” You said, enthusiasm and passion in your eyes and the familiar fire he knew from when you would play tennis with him. 

Your soft hands grabbed his forearms in excitement and Art was a little bit more than aware of it, but the news was amazing. “That’s amazing, that’s crazy, you can jog?” 

“I can jog!” You squealed a little as your mom who was in the room with you swung her head into the hallway. 

“When he said could he didn’t mean away from him, Y/N, get back in here please!” She called, but she wasn’t pulling the full mom card, she was smiling ear to ear just as you were. “And hi Art.” She said, waving to him. Being your main visitors meant they were acquainted. Art went to coffee with your parents while you were in therapy the week prior, he wondered if they had mentioned it. He hadn’t. Art just waved back. 

Soon it was you, Patrick, and Art on the court and your crutches were propped against the bench. You were still a little slow but you’d gotten good at playing where you stood, relying on reach alone and it was quite impressive. You worked on side-stepping instead of lunging and leaning and it helped a lot with having to move around when you needed. It was a lot of laughter but also took a lot of practice and focus to get right. Sometimes you could go for a while, other times not so long, but the rehab had done wonders. This time when you said you were done, Art served the ball and you did lunge for it- both boys afraid, cringing as they watched you rush and lean forward in what seemed like slow motion. But you hit the ball and it flew right at Patrick’s chest and came back into standing position like it was nothing. 

“Oh my god,” You gasped. “I’m so sorry.” Patrick put a hand to his chest but both boys looked at you in wonderment, eyes wide, mouths a little open. To tell the truth they both thought you were done for again as you lunged but you were fine, no complaints, no second thoughts- but a second gasp. You realized the move you’d pulled and the second you realized, both boys started blurting out praise and pride and disbelief and you joined in on it. That was tennis. You’d done everything a tennis player needed to do and it was completed with the simplest lunge. Small victories every day. 

Art was more than proud. Seeing you back on the court was amazing. He’d take you there alone most days when Patrick didn’t feel like it. This particular day you were both a bit disracted, but the reason why was something you both couldn’t place. Art gave up before you today and you both stood by the edge of the bleachers against the metal bar.

You took a sip of your water, “Are we going back out or are we done?” You asked. Art set down his bottle just past you, reaching around. He looked at you and for the moment he had nothing else in his mind but you. Not tennis, not anything, you. 

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He said. You smiled immediately, leaning more against the bar next to you. But it just so happened to be closer to him. And you didn’t mind it, it wasn’t anything new but it was definitely close. Very close. You were close and you were smiling at what he said. He blinked a few times, observing your eyelashes, “Your recovery… I mean. It’s a miracle you’re back here.”

You nodded, that perfect smile on your face. You knew how close you were to him, but you didn’t think much of it. You were more focused on his words. Art was always sweet, you enjoyed that about him. “I’d probably be sitting somewhere with a book on how to coach tennis if you didn’t push me this far. You, you are incredible. I am just grateful.” 

He laughed, “Me? I might have pushed but you snapped the bone in your leg but you’re out here on the court again because you’ve been at it everyday.” He said, sincerity coating every one of his words. “It’s all you.” 

“It’s not all me-”

“With help and support, yes. But if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be. You want this, getting here to this point was all you.” He swayed just a little closer, not even on his own account just because being close felt right. He wanted you to feel that it was the truth. You looked up at him and he could see his words meant something as your eyes reflected him in the golden light of the early evening. He’d never seen just how gorgeous your eyes are in this light… And you were thinking the very same thing as your lower lip found itself between your teeth.

You and Art shared a thought before stepping back and it was the reminder that you were best friends. Just friends. Good friends. And nothing more. It was the first time it had crossed your mind, but the hundredth time on Art’s. Neither of you would risk it. 

The practice continued carefully. You had rest days. You’d been lunging on both legs at this point and your game was coming back around. You were off at a meeting with the Stanford tennis coach about returning properly in the fall, having the meeting so that you could make some exceptions. Art and Patrick sat in his dorm room, Art upside down on his bed, feet up on the wall, and Patrick in Art’s computer chair, spinning. The conversation had been about what to have for lunch when Patrick sparked something else up. “Are we meeting Y/N after her meeting?” He asked. 

Art tilted his head back, “Not sure. I could call her when it’s over if you want. Why?” 

“What do you mean why?” Patrick said, throwing the hacky sack he was fiddling with at Art’s head, hitting him in the face and chuckling. Art sat up, whipping the bean bag right back at him. “Oh come on-” He groaned. “I know you want to see her.” 

“I saw her earlier,” Art deflected, recognizing Patrick’s tone. 

“Yeah and?” 

“So you want to see her?” 

“Sure.” Patrick shrugged. Art shrugged back, pulling on a sweater, whenever Patrick was over, he turned the AC in the room way up. Wasn’t relevant, but the silence while Art was putting on his sweater was near unbearable. Art had the sweater half over his head when Patrick stuck his leg out and kicked him over. “I know you like her!” 

“Huh?” Art said, sitting up and fixing the sweater. Patrick pushed him right back over. 

“You like her! Y/N!” He said. He couldn’t take it anymore, the obviousness, how clear it was that you two liked each other. It was getting to be sickening. “I know you, I know you like her and you can’t tell me you don’t because I’ve waited this long for you to-” he shoved Art over again when Art came back up laughing- Patrick couldn’t help but laugh too, “-tell me!” 

There was no purpose in a lie. “Yeah, I guess so,” Art admit, bracing himself to be shoved again and instead, punching Patrick right in the stomach as revenge. Patrick sat back in his chair in pain. “But Patrick, she’s my best friend. And your friend. It’s tricky.” 

“I don’t think it’s that tricky, I mean, she likes you too and it’s obvious,” Patrick said through his stomach pain. 

Art laughed again, “She does not. I’m not her type. We’re just friends.” 

“You are entirely her type, her criteria is tall and normal build and that’s exactly you!” He gestured widely to Art. 

“She did not say that to me when I asked. She told me she doesn’t date guys in sports.” 

“She has two football exes, of course she doesn’t date jocks.” 

“She said sports.” 

“She meant jocks.” Patrick straightened out. “She likes you, Art. She pretty much admit it to me, you can’t tell me otherwise.” 

Art just blinked. Patrick wasn’t right- there was no way. He’d had it in his head that he wasn’t even thought of when it came to anything like that with you. But Patrick was usually right, no matter how much Art hated it. “No, she’s-” he groaned, putting his head in his hands and bending to put his head between his knees. “She’s one of my best friends this would fuck everything up.” 

Patrick shook his head, “It would be fine, you-”

Art groaned again, “And I tell her I like her and then what?” He brought his head up again. “She thinks I’ve just been here to fuck her? To get on her good side, to be with her through this just to get to her? I only started liking her, really liking her after the incident but I have no way to prove that! What would she think if all of a sudden I tell her and she actually doesn’t feel the way I do? This is so bad, Patrick.” 

Patrick just laughed at him, but Art was now able to think about these things aloud. So he was loud. “I promise you she likes you. She’s flirting with you all the time, she’s touchy, she cares a lot about you- more than me, I can attest. She wants you. And as for the injury part- Art, it’s been over a fucking year. She’s not going to think you’re playing the long game.” Art just sighed, but Patrick shoved him over again. “Don’t be a pussy!” 

“I’m not a-” he rolled his eyes and shoved Patrick right back, “-pussy. I just- she’s gorgeous and she’s friendly and she’s kind and caring and amazing and I don’t want to risk losing that just because I have some fucking ninth grade crush on her, you know?” 

He nodded back, “But it’s not. I’ve seen you with your ninth grade crush and you were a lot more horny about it. You like her. She likes you. I don’t care if you tell her now, but I don’t want you thinking she doesn’t want you too. She does, it’s painfully obvious. And I’ll admit she’s hot as fuck, so I’d hate to see you miss the opportunity!” Patrick explained, hands wildly gesturing. “Plus the tension is fucking awful to be around, I don’t know how you do it.” 

Neither did he. With it out in the air Art might have gushed a bit about you. Patrick had never seen him this way- he had so much to say about you and he ended up not calling you, just talking about you for what felt like forever to Patrick. But he didn’t mind. 

You continued to get better and better and it was amazing. You felt amazing about your progress. You got up in the morning and your knee only hurt if you hit it off something. And that was normal for most people, so you took pride in it. You hurried over to Art’s dorm in a tank top and shorts, your hair in two braids. It was early morning, you knew that, but you knocked on the door anyway. Art, woken, opened the door and squinted in the light from the hall. He was gorgeous, you thought. His hair wild and messy from bed and his shirt hiked up a little too high from sleep, leaving his waist and mid-line exposed. “Hey.” He said, opening the door for you to come in, fixing his shirt. 

“Hi,” you said, trying not to grin too wide. You couldn’t wait, you couldn’t. “I got cleared for a real game!” You squealed and you covered your mouth. You’d only found out late last night so you decided to wait until morning, but it really couldn’t wait. Art took a deep breath in but before he could say anything you were talking again. “It’s a small game. It’s local, it’s a tiny game but it’s a real one and it’s singles. I thought you’d want to know!”

“I- I do want to know, that’s amazing, oh my god!” He was almost as excited as you without the squealing and bouncing around. You were cute when you were excited. “A game is a game, it’s incredible, it’s- you- I-” He stopped himself. The excitement nearly got the best of him. But you were grinning ear to ear over tennis and that was all he cared about. “When is the game?” 

“It’s next Sunday,” You giggled. “You’ll come?” 

“Is that a question?” 

“Well, yeah,” You said, your hands on his forearms like they usually were when you were passionate. Almost like you were scared the passion would sweep you away if you didn’t hold onto something. He loved it. 

“No, I’ll be there. And on the sidelines if you let me.” 

“You’re absolutely not sitting in the stands again.” You said, chuckling. He grinned. 

And when the day of the game rolled around, your mother braided your hair in two french braids for you. She had ironed your entire outfit, even your socks. It was her nerves. But the most nervous one in the room at all times was you. You couldn’t eat, you had a hard time falling asleep, but you got up in the morning refreshed and heart pounding at the impending game. It meant a lot of action but you’d worked for this. It was a small local game at a local court with a few bleachers. It was hardly anything, you reminded yourself. This was your second chance just beginning. You slipped on your dark purple skort and your purple tank top and you made sure you had your lucky racket this time. 

Your mom drove you to the court much earlier than needed because you were so on edge and you sat in the hall between changerooms under the bleachers, just doing your breathing to maintain yourself. You were more than glad when Patrick and Art showed up. They didn’t ask if you were ready, they knew it. They just asked where you wanted to go for lunch after the game and debated over if a hot dog counted as a sandwich until your Stanford coach walked in. 

“You’re ready?” She asked, grin on her face. You blinked. 

“What are you…” This was a local game, not Stanford. You looked at Art and Patrick who were bad at hiding their smiles. 

Your coach nodded, “You’ve got this one.” She said. “Now hop to it, they’re waiting.” You looked back at Art and Patrick and they ushered you toward the door. It sounded a bit like a badly-engineered fan at first, going down the hall. Your stomach was already in knots. 

They came completely undone as your coach opened the door and the roar of the crowd was near-deafening. You blinked in the daylight, half-shocked by how loud it was before you realized that it was the sound of people. And as your eyes adjusted, you realized that the tennis court bleachers were absolutely packed full of people and they were loud, cheering. It was a local game, you expected families of the players but no, there must have been hundreds of people in the stands. On the side with no stands there were people lining the fences and you could see people beyond people. You turned, taking it all in as they were calling your name, calling your praise. You covered your mouth seeing your peers from Stanford in the front row, including the girl who had been hitting on Art. You recognized all of them and more. 

You looked at Art and Patrick who were behind you, unable to control their grins at this point and elbowing each other just a bit. Art was only looking at you. You felt so overwhelmed with gratitude, it rose in your stomach like the drop of a rollercoaster. “How did this- How- there’s so many,” You managed to say. 

Patrick beamed, dimples on display, “They’re here for you, if you couldn’t tell.” 

Art tugged one of your braids. “Patrick and I might have… posted about it on facebook. But it wasn’t an invite, just the general information of what had happened and that this was your first real game, so technically it was all you.” He smirked, but it couldn’t stay a smirk, just a really big smile. It matched yours. 

“It was not me,” You sighed exasperated, but more than happy. Scared. But happy. 

“If you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be,” He repeated to you. His thumb grazed your cheek when he let go of your braid. You wanted to hug him, you wanted to jump for joy and scream your head off at how amazing this all was. But you got called to serve. 

The screams didn’t die down for any part of the game. You served and the game began and the girl across from you did not feel bad for you and that was clear. She was harsh and hardcore and violent with her swings but you hit almost all of them right back at her at a force and accuracy she couldn’t handle. Art and Patrick on the sidelines were into the game, cheering, calling out remarks on your moves. The moves they’d helped you get back. You were more than grateful with every point you scored. The crowd cheered for both you and your opponent but it was your name you heard screamed out in the crowd. 

It got a bit intense at times, you fell behind for a while but came back, then went back down again, then came back up. The halfway point you spent thanking your best friends profusely while they urged you to rest and have water. You got back on the court after that, swinging, hitting, forehand, backhand, pulling a few moves that required the use of the leg you’d broken and though the crowd held their breath, they were more than impressed. Patrick watched Art stop cheering and clapping for a second, noting the way he was so honed in on you, Patrick was sure a bomb could go off behind Art and he wouldn’t notice. Art was proud, that was what he felt. Proud to know you, proud to be your friend, proud to feel the way he did about you because he knew that you were amazing and resilient and so fucking strong. He had never met anyone like you. 

You locked eyes with him before your opponent served and he swore he felt something shift, really shift. When this game ended he had to tell you how he felt. He couldn’t go without it, he had to tell you. 

The last quarter got increasingly more intense. You fell once at a move that required the leg you’d broken. The crowd gasped and Art lunged to help you up but you did it yourself. And you got right back up. The fall hurt, but no more than it would have a regular person. That was something that drove your confidence way up. You couldn’t even hear the score anymore. You just knew that you were there and you were playing and you couldn’t have been happier, even if you lost. But the buzzer went off and the game was done and it was almost like you went deaf. The cheers stopped, though they really didn’t, in fact they roared louder than ever before and the crowd launched itself into standing, their hands over their heads, mouths open wide absolutely wild. 

You knew you’d won. But it wasn’t that important. You had one thought- find Art. 

And he wasn’t hard to find. He was there on the sidelines or rather one of the many people who surrounded you when you won. Your other friends, your parents, your coach, Patrick, the staff of the game, and apparently a few nurses who came to see their patient play. But it was Art you reached for. You grabbed his forearms, bracing yourself, your eyebrows furrowing, “I won?” You questioned over the noise, over the hands that congratulated you. 

 Art, biggest grin on his face, “You won.” He answered. And he didn’t have a second to himself before you reached up, cupping his face and kissing him hard. There was nothing else to do in the presence of the win but kiss him. And he kissed you back just as hard. It felt like all the noise and all of the world was sucked away for a moment when his hands fell on your waist, pulling you closer. 

It was a small game with big victories. 

The kiss only lasted a few seconds but it was strong, and the feeling of him lingered on your lips when you parted. Nobody was surprised that you kissed. Not your mom, not the nurses, they’d known. You looked at Art and tried not to smile but it was over the second he grinned. You couldn’t help but grin right back as Patrick came in for a crushing hug. 

“That was fucking incredible!” He told you. Your cheeks began to hurt from smiling as you hugged everyone over your win. Thing eventually died down after a while, people happily funnelling out, congratulating you. But at the end of things it was just you and Art. Patrick had headed out to bring the car around. 

You twisted your mouth to the side, “I can’t believe how many people turned up.” You sighed, content. 

“You have that pull.” Art shrugged. “You are probably my biggest tennis inspiration now.”

“Mhm? You want to be me when you grow up?” You teased, stepping closer. Art smirked, but once again he couldn’t maintain it, he just smiled down at you. “I’m your biggest inspiration…”

He wasn’t afraid to put his arms around your waist. “Maybe, maybe not. But you are amazing. And so fucking good at tennis, I’m scared for your real comeback.” He said. You laughed and it was gorgeous. The front part of your braid fell out and around your face. “You’re going to kick my ass.” 

Your smile was brighter than the mid-day sun. “You bet.” 

Your heart fluttered when he tucked your hair behind your ear again. You both heard the car horn as Patrick beeped from outside the court. “Can I kiss you?” Art asked, pushing your hair behind your ear. You nodded. And this time it was his hand on your jaw, his lips pressing against yours with all of his feeling. It was a kiss untouched by the rush of adrenaline and it was sweet. And it was slow. His lips grazing over yours between kisses, his breath minty from the gum he had just spit out two minutes ago. He held you close and the kiss was full of words yet to be said. You both couldn’t ignore anything anymore. It had been a long time coming. Patrick honked again, but it took you another second before you both pulled away with small smiles. Your hands gently holding his forearms, bracing yourself. 

[phantompanties]

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

The First Meeting

pairings: incubus oc (Lucius) x fem!reader

Tags and warnings: loss of virginity, corruption kink (kind of), long tongue, cunnilungus, vaginal fingering, dick piercings, vaginal sex, soft domming, mild use of master, teasing, mild tattoo kink, monster fucking, creampie, aftercare, always pee after sex pussy havers!!!! Its important!!!

Length: 3k+ words

Part 2

You were never much of a people person, to be honest. Meeting new people was always a nerve-wracking endeavour. You yearned for a lover for a long time, but your complications with meeting strangers made things difficult. On multiple occasions you tried to muster the courage to try dating apps, but the horror stories you’ve heard made you shy away every time. It made times like right now especially difficult. When you were so unbearably horny but not even your toys were cutting it. You were desperate and couldn’t wait that long for the right person to come by and treat you right.

That led you to right now, possibly your most embarrassing moment. You scrolled a sketchy occult website on your phone, chanting an incantation in most likely very poor Latin as you were surrounded by lit candles meticulously arranged in a circle on the floor. You adjusted your sheer bra and the leather harness accentuating your figure, hoping that whatever you were about to summon would be impressed. When you finished the incantation, you waited in silence for a moment. Then another, and another.

…nothing. Not even a noise or shift in the atmosphere. You knew it was too good to be true. Sighing, you got ready to blow out the candles and go to bed in disappointment and shame. As your fingers touched the sleek black wax, the flame suddenly turned a bright blue, and the rest of the candles followed suit. You gasped as the flames got bigger, falling back on your ass so you didn’t burn yourself.

“Uh oh, nearly got your eyebrows there.” a deep voice echoed from nowhere.

“Huh!?” you gasped, looking wildly around your dim room for whoever spoke. “W-who’s there?”

The voice chuckled, the sound smooth and velvety. “Who do you think, darling? Didn’t you summon me?”

“Wh-what-” your eyes widened when on the wall in front of you where your shadow was cast, long curved horns grew from your head. You tilted your head left, and the horns followed, to the right, they followed. You heard the buttery smooth chuckle yet again as somehow a grin split on the shadow where its face would be. Suddenly, the shadow stood up from the floor on its own, and your eyes widened as it shifted into a form that wasn’t yours. A very tall form.

The mouth on the shadow moved as it began to speak. “Wasn’t it you who completed the ritual? Did you think nothing would happen? You’re a silly girl, aren’t you? This should be fun.”

You were speechless, only able to dumbly stare as the shadow manifested itself, revealing a very tall man with grey skin that faded to black at the extremities, his fingers tipped with black claws. His skin was decorated with glowing teal tattoos, and you especially noticed the ones on his belly that pointed down to his groin. Lord have mercy, there was even a diamond shape on his pubic bone. His pubic bone that was exposed by his undone pants.

You felt his clawed finger lift your head to meet his eyes, which were the same shade of glowing teal decorating his body, surrounded by inky black sclera. He smirked at you with his pierced lips. “Am I so attractive that I’ve left you speechless? I’m flattered, darling.”

You gulped. “I-is this real…?”

“Oh, I can assure you, bunny, I’m very real. I’m what you wanted, right? An incubus? A demon of the night? To be honest, your pronunciation of the incantation was a little… broken. But that’s okay baby, I know you humans don’t really speak Latin anymore. It wasn’t bad for your first time.”

Your face heated up in embarrassment. Demons are real and the first one you’ve ever met just told you that you suck ass at Latin. Good fucking start.

The demon giggled at your embarrassed face, caressing your cheek with his clawed thumb. “You’re just too cute. What’s your name, bunny?”

“(y/n)...” you mumble, staring into his hypnotic eyes.

The demon took one of your hands that hung limply at your sides, giving it a gentle kiss. “Beautiful name, sweetheart. You may call me Lucius. Mmh… did you put this on just for me?” he asks, snapping the strap of the harness on your chest. “Adorable. Good choice tonight, love. Leather makes me crazy.”

The way Lucius stared at you made flames lick at the inside of your belly. Slowly, he guided you up off the floor, his large hand engulfing yours. Good god he was tall. Your face barely reached his chest.

“Where’s your bed, love?” he asks. “Unless you’d like to do it here. I’m not picky.”

“Ah… i-it’s over there…” you pointed to the back of the room. “Let me put out the candles…”

With a swish of Lucius’s tail, all five of the candles arranged in the circle went out, leaving you in the dim moonlight.

“That works too,” you say.

Lucius chuckled, guiding you over to your bed. He sat you down on it and hovered over you, close to your face.

“So how do you want to do this, darling? I’ll do anything you ask of me. I’m bound by contract until sunrise to be here with you, sweetheart.”

“U-um…” Shit. You didn’t think this would actually work. “I… don’t know…”

Lucius’s eyes widened. “Hold on a moment…” he leaned into your neck, and you shuddered as you heard him take a deep inhale of your scent.

When he leaned back his slitted pupils were dilated much like a cat’s. “Well, isn’t this a rare surprise? A virgin, just for me. Aren’t I lucky?”

“You… can smell virginity?” you ask dumbly.

“Of course, darling. To demons like me, a virgin is like that of the ripest and sweetest of fruit. We don’t get to feed from something so delectable so often. Right now, you’re making me positively salivate, darling.”

His words sent heat shooting straight down into your groin, and you barely let out the smallest of whimpers. A small flash of a blue tongue peeked out from the demon’s lips, wetting them in anticipation. “I’ll savour this moment, bunny.”

You sighed as Lucius kissed you, his labret piercing creating a contrast of sensations between his hot lips and the cool metal. It didn’t take long for it to warm up, though. Especially when he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You moaned when you realized his tongue was not only forked but pierced as well. He chuckled, running his hands down your body. You arched into his touch, breath hitching at every caress and squeeze. 

“You’re so responsive to my touch, bunny… you must be aching for relief, you poor thing… don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Lucius gently laid you down on your pillows, kissing and licking his way down your body. His mouth latched over your sensitive nipple through your sheer bra, wetting the fabric. His eyes glanced up, watching you bite your lip as the tips of his tongue flicked at the sensitive bud. He chuckled. “So cute… I hit the jackpot tonight.”

A clawed finger hooked the leather garter around your waist, snapping it into your creamy skin. “Such a beautiful outfit… I can’t wait to ruin it.”

You gasped as he travelled lower on your body, tracing a path with his tongue. When he got to your panties, he used his sharp claw to sever the straps keeping him from removing the offending fabric. He looked into your eyes with a mischievous glint, maintaining eye contact as he removed your panties with his teeth. Finally, you were bare to him, and he looked absolutely ravenous. 

Instinctually, you attempted to close your thighs, but he tutted in disappointment. “Ah, ah… don’t be doing that, darling… let me see.”

Lucius took your thighs in his large hands, spreading them as wide as he could and groaning in approval at what he saw. “Such a pretty pussy… and so wet already…”

You whined, hips twitching in need. Lucius chuckled darkly, sending electricity straight to your core. “I know, I know baby… you want me to make you feel good, yeah? I’ll give you what you want.”

Lucius leaned down, giving your clit a kiss. “Mmh… this is going to be a treat…”

You gave a broken moan as Lucius licked a stripe up your sopping folds, his tongue piercing giving added stimulation. You felt him smirk as he dove in, flicking, swirling and licking your clit with the tips of his tongue. He moaned at the heavenly taste, and his tattoos glowed brighter. “Delicious… mmf… I need more…”

Suddenly you gasped as you felt his tongue enter your hole, filling you more than a normal tongue ever could. Your hands flew to his glowing horns, and he groaned, grinding his hips into your mattress. The feeling of his demonic tongue fucking you like a tentacle and his piercing rubbing your walls was better than anything you’ve ever done to yourself. Lucius moaned, almost whining as he drank your nectar from the source. The knot in your belly tightens and tightens as his piercing drags over your sensitive spots, and the way his nose bumped your clit made you cry out.

“Fuck… f-fuck…!” you sobbed, pulling him by his horns into your core. The vibrations from Lucius’s moans finally sent you over the edge, and you wailed, grinding your pussy on his face.

Lucius wasted no time in lapping up the sweet honey that seeped from your folds, licking his lips in satisfaction. “So sweet… so delicious… mmf…”

“Wh… what was…” you gasped, panting heavily as you came down.

Lucius giggled, lolling his blue tongue out of his mouth. His very long blue tongue. It was so long it reached down to his chest.

“Imprethed?” he asked.

“H-how does that fit in your mouth!?” you gaped at him.

Lucius pulled it all back into his jaws and giggled. “That’s a secret, darling.” He suddenly began to fan himself. “Mmh… it’s getting so hot in here… it’s unbearable…” you watched as his clawed fingers unzipped his leather top, stripping himself bare. He smirked as you ogled the new tattoos you hadn’t seen before. In the middle of his chest was a heart with lines coming off of it like spikes, and across his chest and shoulders was a double helix decorated with three dots in each loop. On his forearms were diamonds decorated with swirls and more dots. He took your hand, guiding your fingers to trace over the lines and feel the taut muscles beneath his grey skin. It was then you noticed that his nipples were pierced as well.

“Aren’t they pretty?” he asks as he guides your fingers along the heart on his chest. “All of my pets have loved my adornments…”

“Yeah…” you gasp as he dragged your hand further down his body, over his abs and to the bulge straining his unzipped jeans. “Do you feel that? What you do to me?” he whispers. “I’m positively aching, darling…”

You swallowed in anticipation, and he grinned, showing his sharp fangs. “Allow me to free myself from these leg prisons, darling. One moment.”

Lucius stepped off the bed to kick off his pants, and your eyes widened when his cock sprung free from its confines. It was… oddly pretty. Could a cock be described as pretty? If so, his was gorgeous. Much like the rest of him, it had piercings along the underside, too. The only thing that struck you as strange was the fact that it faded to teal at the tip, much like his horns. 

“Wh… why is it blue?” you ask.

“Why is yours pink?” Lucius asks back.

The two of you stared at each other in silence for a moment before he burst into giggles. “Ah… you’re so cute, darling. I can’t stand it. I want to eat you right up… oh wait, I already did.”

“S-stop teasing me…” you whine in embarrassment.

“Aww, I’m sorry, bunny, I can’t help it… here, let me make it up to you…”

Lucius leaned back over you, kissing your lips and stroking down your body with his slender fingers. When you felt his fingers tease your dripping hole, you broke the kiss.

“W-wait… you aren’t gonna finger me with those nails, are you?”

Lucius grinned. “Of course not, sweetheart. I don’t like hurting my pets if they don’t want it…” he showed you his large thin hand decorated with silver rings, and you watched in awe as the sharp claws shrunk, becoming round and blunt. 

“Whoa…”

“Being a magical creature has its perks,” he says, kissing you and lying you back down. You shivered as his ringed fingers traced your folds, teasing your hole as they went up and down, up and down… then finally, after you whined into his mouth, he dipped a slender finger into your fluttering pussy, gently stroking your slick walls.

“Mmmh.. does that feel good, darling? Does it feel good when I rub your clit with my palm while I fuck you with my finger? Oh, you’re so wet already from just one… so cute… want me to add another? Tell me what you want, darling…”

When you whined and bucked into his hand, he chuckled. “Ah, ah, ah, bunny, use your words… I won’t know what you want unless you tell me…”

“P-please…” you gasp.

“Please what, my pet? Tell me what you want…”

“A-another finger… please… I want more…”

“Good girl… so good…” Lucius obliged, adding a second finger and picking up the pace. “Only good girls who use their words get what they want…”

You whined in embarrassment. “Lucius… mmf… stop teasing…”

“Oh, I know, I know, pet… but I can’t help it. I love it when my toys squirm for me… it tastes so sweet…”

You gripped the sheets as he fingered your pussy to the knuckle, his cold metal contrasting with your hot folds, mewling at the downright filthy squelches you didn’t know you could make. “L-Lucius… fuck me… please fuck me…”

“Ah, not yet darling… not yet. Not until you cum on my fingers…” he chuckled as you whined and bucked against his hand. “Oh, I know… I’m so mean to you… not giving my master what she wants… but I’m on the bigger side, pet… If I don’t loosen you up a little, it’ll hurt… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt my master during her first time… come on, baby, lose yourself. Cum all over my fingers… lose yourself to pleasure…”

For the second time that night, the knot in your belly tightened, fire licking at your groin and making you sob. Lucius stroked your g spot with a come hither motion, making you cry out.

“Go on, pet… let it out… let it all out for me…”

“Fuck! Nngh… Lucius!!!” you cried as you came for the second time that night.

Lucius’s tattoos glowed brightly as he absorbed your energy, cock twitching against your bare thigh from how delicious it was. “Fffuck, I’m so glad I answered your call first… nngh… I can’t hold back anymore, darling, I need more… I’m going to ravage you…”

Lucius slipped his fingers from your puffy pussy, sucking on them with a groan as he dragged his cock through your soaked folds. He grasped your chin, making you look him in the eyes as he pushed in. he bit his lip, whining at the heavenly feeling of your gummy walls fluttering on his cock. “Fuck… oh fuck, darling… you feel so good…”

You sobbed at the feeling of his cock invading your hole, feeling every dip, curve and piercing that dragged along and stimulated your sensitive areas. His bright eyes rolled into the back of his head from the sheer concentrated sexual energy radiating off of you and into him. You scrambled to grab his tattooed shoulders when he began thrusting into you like a rabbit.

“Nghhf… that’s right, darling… fucking lose it… wrap your legs around me and give into pleasure… Ohhh fuck… it feels so good… so so delicious… squeeze tighter, darling, fuck…”

Your nails drew lines in his back as he ravaged you, and tears flooded your eyes from how fucking good it felt. Every time he sheathed his pierced cock inside you and bumped your cervix was like an injection of pure pleasure.

“I feel you fluttering around me, love… nngh… you’re going to cum soon… do it… fucking cream around my cock, bunny… feed me that fucking sweet energy…”

You dug your nails deeper into his back, wrapping your legs around his waist tighter and screaming as white stars clouded your vision from the sheer strength of your orgasm. The way your walls clamped around him was enough for him to stutter his thrusts, shoving in one last time to the base and filling you to the brim with his demonic seed. He whined like a bitch in heat as he rode out both of your highs, his teal tattoo’s nearly glowing white from the sheer intensity of lust emanating off of you.

Finally, the two of you were coming down, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths as your tongues tangled together.

Lucius broke the kiss, a string of mixed saliva between the two of you.

“That… fuck… that was…” you gasped.

“That was a delicious treat, thank you, darling…” he says, kissing the back of your hand. “You did so well for your first time…”

Suddenly you were overcome with drowsiness, and you yawned as he stared at you adoringly.

“How cute… I know you’re tired, my pet, but you can’t go to sleep just yet… we need to get you cleaned up… and you need to pee."

“I-I can barely move my legs…” you whisper bashfully.

Lucius giggled, giving you a peck on the lips. “I’ll take care of you, master. After all, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt one of my pets."

[berryhobii]

Thank you so much for the masterlist!! I can't wait to get home from work and read everything again😄If it's not too much trouble, could you please write about Firefighter Joonie?

Reader and him have recently moved in together and she has never seen him come home from work. Imagine him coming in with the uniform, the arms, sweaty, speaking about how he saved lifes... she would ride him into the sunset🥵🥵🥵🥵

Probably one of my favorite asks so far! My thumbs were just blazing the entire time I wrote this. I was on a serious roll. Please enjoy and I hope it’s to your liking!🩵

~

Rising from your midday nap, you stretched your body, groaning as your bones popped and muscles strained. You reached blindly for your phone, squinting at the bright light that radiated off of it.

4PM. Welp, looks like you weren’t washing your hair today. After spending most of the morning cleaning and a little bit of the afternoon catching up on work, your nap was well deserved. The oven needed deep cleaning and October was here which meant you needed to decorate the apartment for the festivities. You actually fell asleep while looking through websites for decorations. All of that was super important.

Excuses. You just didn’t want to wash your hair. Oh well, maybe you’d just go to the salon and get it deep cleaned. Your nails and toes needed a touch up as well. Yeah, a pampering day sounded great.

Standing from the bed, you shuffled into the living room while checking your text messages. There were a few from your friends and parents. They wanted you to come home for Thanksgiving this year since you didn’t go last year due to Namjoon’s work schedule.

Namjoon, your husband, was a firefighter. When he started, his shifts were always very long. You wouldn’t see him for days at a time but now with more people being hired at the station, his schedule has changed. Now, he only worked about 24 hours with 48 hours of rest in between which you absolutely loved. And you worked from home so those 48 hours were spent resting and spoiling him like he deserved.

He’d probably be home around 12AM tonight, long after you’ve fallen asleep but that was okay. You knew he’d wake you up to let you know he was home. That or the sound of him tripping over the table in the hallway would alert you. The first time he did that, you thought someone had broken in and almost clocked him with a bat. Good thing you recognized his voice or you would have broken a bone.

Stepping into the living room, you were surprised to see the very person you were thinking about sitting on the couch. A bowl of food was clutched in his hand, chopsticks in the other to slurp up the noodles.

He noticed you the moment you entered, face turning to you, cheeks puffed out. You wanted to bite them.

He quickly chewed and swallowed, a smile spreading across his face. “Baby, you’re awake. Did you sleep well?” He placed his bowl down and stood to his feet to approach you.

You didn’t answer. Partially because you weren’t really listening.

Not when your beefcake husband was practically half naked on your couch.

A grey, thin tank top on his upper body, the fabric stretching against the curves of his chest. His buff arms, which have held you in a headlock many a time, were a bit shiny from sweat, as was his throat and collarbone. Around his hips was a pair of coveralls, obviously taken off to release some of the body heat and cool down his honey kissed skin.

Oh god……were you still sleeping?

He tilted his head at your lack of an answer. “Baby? Are you okay?” He reached out a large hand to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger. That single touch sent fire hotter than Sean Kingston through your body, your knees almost buckling from the pure control he had over you without even doing anything.

You were a thirsty bitch. Whoever is up there writing your life’s tv show, thank you.

“Huh? Oh, I’m fine.” Your eyes couldn’t even lift from his pecs and the indents of his abs. You’ve felt up every inch of his skin before but you still got so amazed at just how thick and fit he was.

He pouted and it shouldn’t have affected you how it did but your panties were ruined now.

“Okay. I wanted to call you but I dropped my phone and then we got an alert so I ended up stepping on it by accident.” He sheepishly smiled and chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He had recently buzzed most of his hair, even getting a few stylistic lines in the sides. While it was less to grab, that never stopped you from running your hands all over it. You should right now but you didn’t want him to think you weren’t paying attention to him.

You definitely weren’t and believe you, you were trying so hard to focus but how could you when his cute laugh made his abs contract?

“There was a small house fire but we managed to save everyone with no casualties. Isn’t that great? The little girl I saved even said she wanted to marry me. So sweet. I hope they’re doing well.” His smile was so endearing, those absolutely kissable dimples just begging for your attention.

Your brain decided to start functioning again at that moment, your eyes finally lifting to meet his. “That’s great, honey. I’m glad everything worked out. Um….why, why are you home so early?” Not that you didn’t mind but he’s never come home early, especially not in his fire station uniform.

“Oh right. The showers at the station are busted so I came home. I also forgot the lunch you made.” He lifted an arm to rub at the back of his neck, his bicep bulging and screaming for you to bite it.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Your sharp tone made him pause, a look of utter confusion spreading across his handsome features. You wanted to kiss it off.

His eyes nervously shuffled around. You weren’t an angry person, not at all. He’s never heard you take that kind of tone with anyone, especially not him. Even when you were really upset, your voice stayed even and soft so this sudden change baffled him.

“Uh…..what?”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head as your fiery eyes squinted at him. “What what? I’m asking you are you crazy?”

He was so confused. “Wha….baby, why are you upset? Is it because I sat on the couch in my outside clothes? I’m sorry, I just wanted to check up on the soccer game and I sat down. I promise I’ll clean it.”

A quick hand reached out, your nails slightly scratching against his chest as you balled up the front of his tank in your first. You yanked him down and he easily folded, actually a little more nervous than before. Were you about to hit him? No, you’d never do that. What was he thinking? But with the way you were sneering at him, a very small part of him thought you might. He knew you hated outside clothes on the furniture and he did it anyway. Damn it, Namjoon.

Leaning forward until your lips were just millimeters from his, you said, “how dare you walk in here looking like this? Like you’re for the streets? Are you crazy?”

Still confused, Namjoon squeaked out a, “I….I don’t-“

You cut him off, “you walk in here like this and you have to nerve to not have your cock down my throat right now?”

Oh. Oh. OH!

He could barely react before you were dragging him back over to the couch. Your hand released his shirt and both worked on unzipping the rest of his coveralls, yanking those and his boxers down in one fell swoop.

You pushed him down on the couch, a light ‘oof’ coming from him. He was still a little dazed from your sudden burst of confidence but his body reacted all the same. You normally initiated sex anyway so this shouldn’t be a shock but you’ve never been like this. Your way of initiating was normally feeling him up, subtly brushing your ass past him, or just plain ole walking into the shower with him.

He’s never seen you quite like this.

Your hand gripped his cock that was slowly hardening up. Gathering saliva in your mouth, you spit on the head of his cock, stroking it to spread it around.

It didn’t take long for Namjoon to get hard, his thick cock standing to attention within 30 seconds of you touching him.

“Baby…..I-“

You cut him off with your mouth, taking him all the way to the hilt on the first try. His head knocked back against the couch, hips jerking from the sudden onslaught of your warm mouth.

Not wasting any time, you began bobbing your head, deepthroating him with practiced ease. Drool spilled out the sides of your mouth to his balls which you happily fondled in your palm.

His hands gripped the edge of the couch, eyes struggling not to close. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of this.

“Oh shit…..baby, your mouth is ssss-so good.”

You hummed around his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you came back up. You slurped and drooled all over it, pursing your lips once you got to the tip to spit on it again.

He already felt close. One of his hands reached out to grab your hair, the coils soft under his touch. He didn’t need to do any forcing to get you to deepthroat him again, just needing something to grip on before he floated away.

Your dark eyes lifted to lock with his. More sweat than before dripped down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to quench his dry throat. You wanted to burn his image on your brain, tattoo it on your eyelids. Maybe you’d describe it to a sketch artist and then get it blown up and framed.

“I’m cumming…..I’m cum…..oh fuck.”

Feeling his cock pulse in your mouth, you gave his balls a nice squeeze, taking him all the way in your throat once again. That was all he needed to cum down your throat.

You swallowed it down greedily, sucking your way back up his still hard shaft before coming off him with a pop.

He was breathing heavily, chest lifting and rising as he tried to bring air back into himself but you didn’t care about none of that.

Pulling off your own clothes, he barely processed you climbing on top of him until he felt your slick pussy rubbing against his cock.

His eyes, that he didn’t remember closing, fluttered open, catching your desperate expression. Your lips immediately captured his, hands rubbing at the buzzed hair on his head to pull him closer. He reciprocated your kiss, own hands going down to your ass to squeeze and slap it around.

Your lips broke from his, puffs of air coming from both of you. “Take your shirt off.” He couldn’t even comply because you were already pulling it up over his head, tossing it off somewhere. Reaching between your bodies, you gripped his still hard and saliva soaked cock, lifting your hips so that you could line him up.

There was no gradual slide. No no. You slammed your ass down on his cock in one motion, the stretch burning in the best of ways. Your head tilted back at the welcomed intrusion, cock pressed right against every good spot inside of you.

His hands gripped your ass impossibly tight, almost as tight as the way your walls were hugging him. He’s only felt you like this during your ovulation days and he knows for a fact the next one was 2 weeks away.

“Fuck! Baby wait, I can’t.” He already felt like he was about to cum again.

You weren’t hearing it though. Adjusting yourself so that you were balanced on your feet, hands digging into his shoulders, you began riding him like your life depended on it. It certainly felt like it did.

Your pussy gripped him on every stroke, wetness soaking his lap and the backs of your thighs. It was endlessly pouring from you like a fountain. His cock was just too good.

You gripped the back of his neck, pulling his face to your collarbone. You could feel the heat of his labored breaths against your nipples, making the nubs harden even further.

His moans were loud and projected, the hands on your ass forcing you down everytime you came back up.

“Oh my god! Fuck fuck fuck! Ah ah ah.” You haven’t heard him curse that much in years. His hips began canting up to meet yours, orgasm just inches away.

“That’s it, baby. Use that pussy. You’re so fucking sexy.” You gritted out, yours not far behind. You leaned one arm back to rest on his knee, still keeping the same rhythm but now you could really appreciate him.

His abs were shifting like crazy, arms bulging bigger than before. Maybe you should do doggy next so he could effectively choke you with them. You’ll come back to that but first….

“I’m gonna cum all over this thick cock, baby.” You whined, other hand that wasn’t supporting you reaching out to scratch at his bicep. A little part of you soared at the red welts. You couldn’t mark him up as much as you’d like but this was more than enough for now.

The slight sting of pain sent Namjoon straight into overdrive. He yanked you forward, hooking his arms underneath your knees, gripping your ass again and began bouncing you on his cock.

A scream ripped from your throat, vocal cords aching slightly but you didn’t care about that. You’d suck a cough drop later.

Right now, you were only focused on the hot searing pleasure that was coursing through you. Your arms wrapped around his head, one hand scratching at his upper back, toes curling from where they were flopping around.

Each thrust put him deeper and deeper into your velvet walls and you were squeezing him like crazy.

“NAMJOON! I’m cumming!” Your orgasms crashed simultaneously, thick waves of ecstasy flowing over both of you.

Your eyes rolled back, mouth dropping in a silent scream and your arms hugging him just a bit tighter.

His ears were ringing as your walls milked every drop out of him. He’s never felt such bliss before and that was saying something since you put it on him good and often. This time just felt so different, so desperate, so intimate. If it was possible to fall more in love with you, he would and probably was.

After a few minutes of basking, your legs still twitching from the aftershocks, you two rested against each other.

“Baby….that was….”

You mindlessly drew little shapes on his chest, humming to confirm you were listening. “I know. I don’t know what came over me. Just seeing you all sweaty and in uniform just did something.”

“I really thought I had messed up. Why would you scare me like that?” He chuckled, spanking one of your ass cheeks. He’s lucky you were tired or else you’d get horny again. It also didn’t take much for you to get in the mood again anyway.

You breathed out a laugh too. “Sorry. Your face was just so adorable.”

You two sat in silence for a moment longer before he broke it.

“I really need to shower and get back to work though.”

You pouted, rubbing your cheek against his chest. You didn’t want him to go but you knew he had an important job. You probably already set him back anyway. And he still had to shower. Good thing the station is close.

“Okay. Hopefully no one will be bothered that you took so long.”

“Do you see the marks you left on my arm? They’ll definitely bother me.”

You nipped at his skin playfully. “Oh well. You shouldn’t have come home looking so delicious then. I blame you.”

“Yeah? Just wait until tomorrow.”

Needless to say, those 48 hours were spent with you receiving an orgasm for every time Namjoon got teased about the red marks.

You’d do it again too. Not even Namjoon could put out that fire.

[bomberqueen17]

WWII museum

So, New Orleans-ing proceeds apace. Tried to go to the Southern Food museum, the website said it was open, the door said it was closed. This was a rather crushing blow as I'd walked about as far as I could walk to get there, and then had to turn around and come back. Don't think I'll be able to try again.

My sciatic nerve has had it with me, and I'm able to get around during the days but it's just hurting so badly at night I sleep in five-minute increments, then have to wake and roll over, and if I'm lucky I can fall back asleep before it hurts too much for me to sleep through it, and if I'm unlucky I lie there until i can't stand it and get up and stretch and try a new position. So that's not great. Stretching stops it from hurting while I am actively stretching, but does not particularly help if i assume literally any other position. No, I cannot sleep in the stretching position. I've tried. I can't even sit in that position, so it's not a very useful method of relief.

Ibuprofen doesn't touch it and neither does Aleve. Those are the only options I have with me, so.

Anyway. I'm getting around fine but really not getting a lot of rest.

Last night we went to a show at Preservation Hall, and they charge literally double for your ticket if you want to sit on the hard wooden benches, and I weighed the odds and the bench was likely to give me sciatica anyway, so I stood and saved myself $25, but it was agony and I paid the price. So today we went to the National WWII Museum, and I asked at the admission desk if they had loaner wheelchairs, and they do.

I have learned that nobody cares why you're in the wheelchair. They have many, you are not snatching it away from someone who needs it more.

It is its own punishment, however. The pathways are marked at the stairs; if you go find the elevator, you then have to wander around trying to find where you're meant to go next. People don't get out of your way and you spend a lot of time staring at the asses of people who don't care that you're there and can't get through and can't see anything. One woman, we asked politely if we could get through, and she made no attempt to move, so we squeezed by, and clipped her foot with our wheel, and she got very angry with us. There was no one close to her, she easily could have shifted her foot, she could both see and hear us. We could not have gone any other route, she just didn't think we had a right to pass.

And some sections of the museum have artfully-designed floors that are rough, with chunks of fake-broken concrete. These are really punishing to try and roll over, and are wildly uncomfortable to bounce along over. Especially in a crowd of people. I understand the aesthetic choice but with the number of visitors with mobility impairments for whom that provides a tripping hazard, I super super wonder what the fuck they were thinking. I saw several elderly folks with rollators and I don't know how they got through those rooms. It was several of them.

One whole section, we could not get to unless we went back through the crowded exhibit to the halfway point to find the elevator again.

As far as the content.... I studied that era extensively in my youth, Dad was obsessed with military history and had a lot of books in the house, and I read several of them cover to cover and back and forwards. One in particular-- my sixth grade social studies teacher was obsessed with the Pacific war in specific, and during the year I was there, he was engaged in hand-painting a huge mural of the Pacific battles on a map on the classroom wall. I was allowed to help stencil on some of the letters. So I found that I knew most of the general conduct of that war, and the book I had obsessed over in specific was a compilation of primary sources, news articles, contemporary firsthand accounts, of many of the major actions of that war. I was astonished at how much I remembered. I also had read a very detailed account of D-Day, similarly, so I was able to rattle off an overview of the thing to Dude while we were staring at a line of people's asses who wouldn't let us through.

As we went through the Pacific wing, in the background there was this weird repeating bit of ambient music that I actually recognized as Brian Eno's An Ending (Ascent), and I was like fuck, I bet I know what that is, and I was horrifyingly correct: that's the room where there's a huge wall-sized enlargement of the devastation at ground zero of Nagasaki, a couple of little things along one wall explaining what happened, and nothing else, it's just this big huge space and the music.

I guess it's tasteful, I guess going into more detail wouldn't help, I guess that's not the place for it; leaving it a big bleak horror serves the purpose and tone. The museum was generally pretty good-- very, very American-centric, but acknowledging various issues of racism and misconduct and propaganda and such in sort of minimal but very present ways. There were repeated mentions of the segregated US armed forces, repeated discussions of what the Black soldiers still managed to achieve, and it especially hit because the group that was the most polite and considerate of my wheelchair was a school group of almost entirely Black high school kids from, clearly, a local-ish school, who were impeccably-behaved despite being kids and horsing around and such-- I timidly said "excuse me" to one and she leapt out of my way and tapped her friend's shoulder, who instantly stopped horsing around and said "oh excuse me!" and also got out of my way and told her friend and the children just all melted out of my path and reformed after me, unbothered, resuming their horseplay, poking at the interactive exhibits, paying surprisingly good attention and also roasting one another, as young teens do. And I thought, as I went on to read about Executive Order 8802, of these kids reading that placard, looking at that exhibit, thinking about what has changed and what, horribly, has not.

(Link is to the museum's website. There are a lot of resources there. There was meant to be a cool feature where you follow a specific veteran's story, but i was assigned Bob Hope and don't care about him so I didn't use that feature. Dude got Robert Capa, though, and I immediately was like "i know all about him" and from across the room was like "that photo on that wall is from your dude" and he was like "what" LOL. I know photographers ok.)

We lasted about five hours. We did not see as much of the museum as I would have on foot. But I also know even just the line to get in would have utterly destroyed me on foot. So we made it through to V-E day and then to V-J day and I sat in that room with the Brian Eno loop and was like You know what, I'm good. I'm good. I can't do any more.

So we went and got frozen margaritas at a fast food joint down the street and now I am recuperating. My sciatic nerve is not great, it won't let me nap either, but I will be able to walk and get dinner, which I wouldn't be if I'd done that museum on foot.

I highly recommend, even if you're mostly in good shape, if you have trouble making it through a museum and get footsore, just borrow a wheelchair, and then switch who's pushing halfway thru the museum. If it's that or cut the visit short.... We did not switch pushers, but Dude found a great deal of relief by leaning on the back of it, and I was able to carry the water bottles without much trouble.

Most museums don't have decoratively-uneven concrete floors.

I did realize, despite my obsessive reading on the topic as a kid, while I know the names of most of the German high command, i could not tell you the names of really any of the Japanese officers of similar rank. I recognized a few, from the placards, but generally I don't have the same level of knowledge there. On the one hand, I feel i should read more Japanese history of the war. On the other hand.... I think my days of being able to absorb that sort of thing might be over. Fourteen-year-old me would have loved this museum and read every placard, and would have been on foot to do it. Forty-whatever I am year old me was interested but horrified, even though I generally knew most of it already. But hearing about the estimated 100,000 Filipino civilians massacred in Manila during the battle for that city meant one thing when I was 14, and now means... well, rather a lot more, I have more context and I can really understand, now, what that means. It wasn't that i didn't understand as a kid. But I had no context.

Well, we'll see if I manage to scrape together enough brainpower to look into it any further. At any rate, the museum is worth a visit but is A Lot. Very American-Centric, but not as Patriotic as I was worrying. Not as obsessed with Big Machine Phallic Symbol as I was worried, either; it's not that there's none of that but it's largely in the context of discussing how US industrial capacity rapidly switched over to manufacturing war materiel. (Frank admissions in several cases that our stuff was inferior quality/design to both German and Japanese items, but was infinitely more numerous and in several cases it was simply that intelligent users worked out ways to use the items' defects to advantage, or to minimize their disadvantages anyway.)

And the website, linked to above, is pretty informative, with a wealth of images and citations. So there's that.

IDK, I have no like overarching message here, the bit of my sciatic nerve just inside my knee is fucking killing me and i can't think clearly about anything else for a bit, so. There's that, lol.

[its-dean]

I’ve been posting on other online platforms about Fossil Fighters for a long time now, and most who are familiar with what I share know that a lot of my content has a heavy focus on original vivosaur ideas. With these vivosaurs I come up with, as well as the stats I create to go with them, I notice that there are often people questioning whether what I come up with would be balanced or not from a gameplay standpoint.

As I’ve gone on with developing this unique vision for my vivosaurs, I’ve also slowly refined my idea of Fossil Battles entirely. All of us are aware that both the original Fossil Fighters and Fossil Fighters Champions don’t have the best balancing in the world. There are certain cast members and even a few core game mechanics that allow so many otherwise memorable characters to fall to the wayside, and with the stats I was coming up with I was only further encouraging that type of hostile environment. The more I worried about whether something I was coming up with would feel realistic or balanced the more I considered the fact that the formula itself may have been broken in the first place.

There have been others in the community that have projected their own ideas of how to change things up regarding gameplay, things like adding new elements or even having customizable skills. Because the series felt like it had ended so suddenly there's become so much to dream for in a potential sequel. These are the people that inspired me to attempt something similar myself back when I was making my vivosaur last year. It inspired me to take a step back with my thinking and ultimately led to me creating a total re-imagining of the classic battle system we all know and love. 

That's the thing, the games may not be perfectly balanced, but I always find how these games work to be something that's just inherently fun in a very unique way. Above everything else, with this project I wanted the new system I was creating to still have the "feel" of having a good old-fashioned Fossil Battle. These games have incredible potential for an interesting competitive landscape, just if only some of those unbalanced mechanics were to be adjusted. This is what I strive to achieve the most with my ideas: an environment where every vivosaur has something practical to them, a format where you CAN win using your favorite vivosaurs. The only thing that should stop you is how well thought-out and unique of a strategy you can come up with.

Fossil Fighters Odyssey is a personal project of mine that I've technically been working on for over half a decade now. Still, I think it's most important to stress the fact that everything I come up with and will be talking about in this post is for fun. This shouldn't explicitly be seen as a vehicle for a potential fan game, I make these things for my own enjoyment and have no plans or obligations to turn any of these ideas into tangible content in the future. We all can pretty unanimously agree that it’s fun to dream about a theoretical continuation of this franchise, especially because of how it felt like it came to such an abrupt halt in a way none of us were really ready for. This project is simply meant to represent the changes I'd most want to see if that were to ever somehow happen, and that vision of mine simply might not appeal to your individual preferences.

But now moving to the fun stuff itself. I strive to be as in-depth as possible when taking into account how I would rework the gameplay, taking a comprehensive look at the entire series. To keep things feeling familiar while also feeling like an "evolution" of sorts, I found it most compelling to try and utilize standout mechanics from all three of the previous games. Yes, that includes Frontier because, while I can't defend its battle system as a whole, I do think there are some features it introduced that can really enhance potential team building and strategy (mainly referring to the boost system it uses).

Since there are far too many changes to cover in a text post, I created a PowerPoint to explain everything in a more presentable and organized way. The link to it can be found directly below this paragraph, with the presentation being separated in order of different areas of discussion, from how vivosaurs have changed to the differences in the battle system to new and altered abilities and so much more! Plus, attached to this post are the stat sheets for every single vivosaur, #1-300. My own vivosaurs as well as the 10 unique vivosaurs from Frontier are included in the lineup, and all the vivosaurs you're already familiar with have received numerous changes and enhancements to their skill sets so that they can thrive in this new Fossil Battling format.

Link to the PowerPoint (in case the picture quality is too poor to be able to read on this website)

FFO Mechanics.pptx

Link to all 300 vivosaurs and their stat sheets:

FFO All Vivosaurs.pptx

(Disclaimer: not all of the vivosaurs have artwork to correspond with their dino medals, but those will be hopefully trickling out down the line in the future.)

To round things out, I definitely want to thank the people that have already been supporting me and the things I create these past few years elsewhere. Without the level of the recognition and approval I see from the people who always respond to what I make, I definitely never would've come this far with developing my ideas. You guys are the ones who've been enjoying these things, from vivosaurs to characters to the overarching story I hope to one day be able to share with you all. I owe it to you for allowing myself to become as invested in my favorite series as I now am. And hey, depending on how people react to what I have here I may make another post outlining the more creative story and character elements I have in mind… 

Thank you to everyone who's been there for all this time, as well as anyone willing to read through everything I've been able to put together here, this project never could've been completed without you all for me to share it with.

[bicycle4two]

fine as we are, but we want more || Jason Todd x Female!Reader || Chapter 3 of 8

Summary:

all things considered, you're pretty lucky.

in all your years living in gotham city, you've never been mugged, never had your apartment broken into, never been held as a hostage.

until now.

it seems your luck has run out and there's nothing you can do about it other than wait for someone to come rescue you. . . .

or, jason and you reunite after a long time.

...

Read on AO3

...

Chapter 2

...

Chapter 3:

Jason hates his past self a little bit for being so secretive.

Because if there’s one thing he wished Dick and the others knew about him, would mention carelessly in his presence, talk like he’s in on the joke, it would be how he’s connected to her.  But alas, teenage him kept his cards close, made sure that no one knew about her. And it’s biting him in the ass because without a name to go off on, he’s stuck.

And it’s aggravating.

His therapist would probably encourage him to talk to someone about this, maybe to simply vent out his frustration, or maybe help jog his memory. Talking, it seems, helps most problems. Helps people understand where he’s coming from and vice versa. Communication is key, and all that jazz. Unfortunately, Jason still has the habit of keeping things to himself, not allowing himself to be vulnerable as often as he should be.

The others would understand. Sure, maybe they’d tease him about her, but not immediately. They’d listen. They’d offer to help. She still has her tracker with her, and it would be easy, almost too easy, for Barbara or Tim to find her even if she doesn’t press the alert button. But Jason doesn’t want them to know about her, to know of her before he’s even figured out who she is.

So, he waits. Annoyingly so, he doesn’t have any other option.

The red triangles on their map don’t go away no matter how many days pass and they have bigger problems to deal with than Jason’s mystery girl.

Because the Court of Owls is real, and although Mr. Freeze is locked up in Blackgate again, his Regulators are still out there, decked out in fancy, stolen gear, and there have been sightings of Clayface mimics all over the city, and now there’s a website for a “Dr. Q” that they have to keep an eye on.

There’s still so much to do and Jason doesn’t have the time.

But that doesn’t stop him from thinking about her. In the spare moments when the city’s finally quiet, the criminals he’s taken care of being loaded into armored trucks heading to Blackgate. He finds himself hoping that she’s okay, that she would not need to use the tracker again, that she’ll never have to.

But something in him hopes that she does press that button, even if she’s not in danger, preferably that she’s not in danger, because maybe there’s a possibility that she wants to see him, too.

…

There wasn’t even a need to pull his guns out of their holsters. The priority wasn’t the fight, but the organ the Mob had taken from an unfortunate medic. There was no saving her, but if Jason does this job right, he can hopefully save someone else’s life. The organ is placed behind some sensors and it’s easy enough to find the panel that controls it. He disables that first, only taking down two unsuspecting mobsters before he sneaks his way to the cyrogenic container. That part, that part was much harder.

Because although he loves to make it look easy, it truly is hard on the knees to remain crouched for so long, taking small, quiet steps towards his goal. But a mission is a mission, and his knees will survive.

He gets to the organ easily now that the sensors are gone and packs it when he’s sure no one is looking. Once he has it in his possession, he has to move quick. No time for thoughts. Just speed.

“Belfry,” he calls, already running to the street, calling for the batcycle to make its appearance. “I need keep this thing cold. Where can I drop it off?”

“Dr. Thompkins is on route to meet you.” Alfred supplies as he mounts the batcycle, revving the engine up.

“Got it. On the way.” Jason replies and speeds through the streets, haphazardly avoiding the GCPD on patrol. He’s got a minute and thirty seconds tops before the organ expires and he makes it to the mobile clinic with twenty seconds to spare. Thankfully there aren’t any goons terrorizing Dr. Thompkins this time.

“Thanks for the delivery. I’ve got a medical team lined up who can use it.” Dr. Thompkins says when Jason hands over the organ.

“Glad I got here in time, then.” Jason replies before zipping away the moment Dr. Thompkins has her back to him.

He lands on the roof of the next building easily, tucking his grappling hook away. He accesses his map and sees that the others are tackling other major crimes in the city and according to Alfred, they’ve got it covered. All Jason can do now is to patrol, stop crime when he comes across it.

Calling tonight a quiet night is a stretch, but at least he isn’t in a middle of a fight, having to reload his guns in mere seconds, in between punches and dodges.

He thinks maybe he should head back to the hideout he came from, take care of the mob he left behind but if they’re smart, they would have already realized that the organ is gone and that they’ve failed their task. They should be long gone if they know what’s good for them.

So, patrol it is.

He jumps off the roof without hesitation and starts leaping into the air, using his own soul energy to spring him upwards. He doesn’t get far because he sees her sitting on the edge of the roof of what he can only assume is her apartment building.

He acts before he thinks, instinct guiding his next move.

His landing is soft, but he holds his breath just in case she’s heard him, tries to erase his presence. Luckily, the sounds and sight of the city distract her, she doesn’t even feel his gaze on her back, and Jason feels himself relax before sneaking towards her. Again, his knees will survive and, well, he has Barbara’s physio in his contacts just in case they don’t.

He’s behind her in seconds, arm already positioned to catch her because who knows what her reaction is going to be, if she’s going to scream or jump forward, or maybe even swing around to punch him. The whole thing is irresponsible, a dick move, really, but like in their previous meeting, there’s this need to tease her, to scare her in some harmless way.

If she falls, and that’s a big if because he’s not going to let her, he’ll catch her.

“Whatcha looking at?” He asks and the way her shoulders seize up is worth it. The squeaking noise that escapes her lips is so inhumanly adorable that Jason wishes that he had recorded it. She whirls around to face him, so fast that she would have tipped over the edge if Jason’s arm wasn’t already there to stabilize her. She leans into him, brows furrowed when she sees that it’s him.

“Jesus.” She breathes out, eyes looking up at him, pupils dilated from fear or the dark, maybe even both. “Hello to you, too, Red.”

“Something interesting out there?”

“Oh. Nothing. I just, I just like being out here some nights.”

“It isn’t safe.” He says even though she was doing just fine before he appeared. The need to lecture her is strong. Because now that he thinks about it, what if it wasn’t him who snuck up on her? What if she had stretched the wrong way and had fallen? The images playing in his head makes his jaw clench. That’s the kind of stuff his mind loves to give him nightmares about. “Never mind that you wouldn’t survive the fall if you lost your balance, but with all the criminals running amok right now, you could find yourself in another hostage situation, or worse.”

“I have to watch out for mischievous vigilantes, too, right?” She frowns, arms folded across her chest. He should probably find it ironic that she’s wearing a red hoodie over what he can only guess are her pajama bottoms. He doesn’t comment on it. That’s something Dick would do.

“Oh yeah. They’re the worst.” He says easily.

“Clearly.” She rolls her eyes, smoothing her hair when a gust of wind blows it into her face. “There’s always some kind of risk here in Gotham. I can’t let that keep me from enjoying the little things.”

She gestures to the view she was admiring, and Jason takes it in, sees nothing but streetlamps, smog, and the glow of police sirens in the distance. The pollution in Gotham keeps the night sky starless and although he can acknowledge that the city has its charm, has beauty in the places you least expect to find it, he doesn’t think it’s worth risking your life over just to see.

“Couldn’t you just look out your window or something? This roof doesn’t even have railings.”

“That stupid building over there blocks the view,” she jabs her thumb towards the offending structure. “But okay. Noted. I won’t stay so close to the edge.”

“That’s all I ask.” Jason feels himself relax, flexing his hands to relieve some tension. “So, what made you want to go out tonight?”

The annoyed look on her face is quickly replaced with a sheepish smile. She stuffs her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and looks everywhere but at him. The mannerism is familiar, again, she’s familiar.

“I was hoping I’d see you, actually.” She admits. “You were a whole lot easier to see back in the day.”

“The Robin costume is unnervingly bright.”

“It had its charm. You could still pull it off, I think. Although I don’t know about the tights…”

“No. Just. No.” Jason can’t even bring himself to create a mental picture of that. “So, we’ve met. Before the whole Freaks incident.”

The teasing grin she had on her lips softens to a smile.

“Yeah. We have.” The smile turns sad, pained. “And you don’t remember.”

Jason hates that he’s the reason for that look on her face and the immediate response is to blame himself, but he can’t, he knows he can’t. His therapist would quickly point out that this isn’t his fault. That he didn’t exactly ask to have amnesia, didn’t have a choice on which memories he got to keep. And he knows this.

It still feels like shit though.

“A lot happened in the past few years.” He says by way of explanation. Which isn’t much if anything at all. “Got into some shit, came out not as whole as I was.”

Sometimes Jason forgets that not everyone knows how to react to his cryptic lines, that although he tries to make light of his situation, tries to shrug it off because it’s been years, he’s only moved forward from it, the fact of the matter is that he still isn’t over it. Not completely. Sometimes, he can’t hide how much he’s still affected by it. Sometimes, he says the shit he says just so someone would ask, and maybe then he’ll be ready to talk about it.

“I’m sorry that happened.” She says after a tense silence. It’s obvious she wants to say more, to ask, but she decides against it, luckily. Jason wouldn’t even know what to say right now. “I’m happy you’re back though. I…I missed you.”

And Jason doesn’t know what to do with that confession. Because on one hand, who isn’t happy to know that you’ve been missed while you were away, but on the other, he didn’t even know he had someone like her waiting for his return.

The guilt is there, again, among other things.

“It’s okay,” she scrambles to say when he’s been silent for too long. Her face is open, allowing him to read everything she’s not saying, that she doesn’t need to say out loud because somehow, someway, Jason is able to read her.

It’s okay, she says, it’s okay that he didn’t miss her. It’s okay that he’s forgotten about her.

“I just, I just wanted you to know. We were friends before,” she bites her lip, hesitates to say her next words. “I, I think it would be nice to be friends again.”

…

“So, the old tracker signal. She’s your friend?” Barbara asks over coffee, her posture overly casual.

“Great. Who told you?” Jason groans, leaning back into his chair, his own mug forgotten.

He thinks that maybe he should be grateful that this conversation is only being brought up now, days after he agreed to rekindle their friendship, days after he’s finally gotten used to having her back in his life, after he stopped beating himself up for letting a civilian in.

(He has to remind himself that his world can’t solely revolve around being a vigilante. That he can’t only have contact with people who fight with or against him. That he isn’t just Red Hood, but Jason Todd as well. Work-life balance and all that.)

Keeping up with their emails took longer to get used to, surprisingly, but now he checks his inbox more often, doesn’t ignore the messages that don’t come from the others or villains who mysteriously have his contact information.

He’s used to her now, enough that he can say that they’re friends. Maybe not like before, but they’re getting there. It’s new, different despite the lingering feelings of familiarity. It’s nice and is something to share, maybe, considering that he and the others are getting closer together in the wake of Bruce’s passing, working together both in and outside of uniform. He has a solid support system here in the Belfry and he knows that these people are people he can trust—that they’re family.

That still doesn’t mean he’s prepared himself to talk about her with them though. He thought that maybe they’ve already forgotten about the old tracker signal, but he should have known better. Their group isn’t one to forget such things and it was only too easy to connect the dots once the information was out.

Still. He really would have preferred not having to talk about this because he doesn’t want this to be a thing.

“A little birdie,” Barbara smiles. “How long have you known each other?”

“As Red Hood? A few weeks, several days maybe.” He shrugs like its nothing, like he doesn’t know the exact date they two started talking again. “As Robin though, a few years apparently.”

“Apparently? Oh. She’s from before…”

“I died? Yeah. Seems like the Pit took those memories, too. Didn’t recognize her when I saved her from the Freaks that time.”

Which was probably for the best. If Jason knew who she was back then, he probably would have been more careless in the fight, probably more aggressive. The Freaks got lucky.

“But she recognized you?”

So, this is going to be a thing. Jason’s going to have to talk about it, about her.

He wants to shoot down this conversation, and maybe if it were anyone else asking, he would but this is Barbara and, really, everyone here has a weak spot for her. He knows that if he were to say so, she would stop asking questions, but he can’t bring himself to because maybe he should talk about her. Get someone else’s perspective on things because God knows he doesn’t know what he’s doing with this newfound friendship.

“Not at first,” he replies, thinking back on an email thread detailing how they met. Try as he might, he really could not remember, and it was eating at him. She was pretty vivid with her explanation on the night they met, the memory obviously important to her, but, again, he draws a blank. Regrettably. “I said something to her that sort of clued her in.”

“Yeah?” Barbara is encouraging, expression open, welcoming any information he’s ready and willing to give. It’s a trap. It’s the face that coerces confessions. “What was that?”

No matter what, I’ll come to you.

The memory makes Jason physically cringe, the action so strong that Barbara is now looking at him with more curiosity, eyes calculating. Jason grimaces and tries to erase the words from his memory, tries not to remember how he said them but, in that moment, he can’t help but just focus on it. Have them repeat over and over in his head until suddenly a memory hits him.

He sees a room that obviously belongs to a young, teenage girl—it’s small, tidy, and there’s a rug with distinct footprints on it. (Probably from him. But who’s to say.) There are posters on her wall, posters he remembers making fun of if only because it was so obvious who she preferred in the teen pop boyband. There’s a table tucked in the corner of the room, her desktop screen illuminating the dark room.

She’s there in the room, too, but much younger, eyes bright yet tired. She stands close to him, their features lining up perfectly thanks to their similar height. It’s easy to study her from this distance, taking note of the little things that make her her. The slope of her nose, the arch of her brow, the way her cheeks flare when she realized how close they’re standing together.

Only the blush is quick to fade, the embarrassed look on her face replaced with worry, her brows knitting together, lips turned down. He knows this look. She’s thinking, over thinking. The keychain was supposed to reassure her, to let her know that he’s there to protect her, but he can see that although she understood this, she’s spiraling now, the what ifs consuming her thoughts.

She’s scared. The possibility of having to use it is terrifying.

But Jason had to give it to her, because ever since he’d become Robin, he’d seen just how truly dangerous Gotham can be. Seen things that made living on the streets seem like a picnic. And he couldn’t imagine, didn’t even want to think about, what would happen if she found herself in a situation where no one was there to save her.

He couldn’t let her get hurt. Not her. Never her.

So, he made a promise, something that made him burry his head into his pillow in embarrassment when he returned to the manor later that night, but he didn’t regret saying because he knew what it meant to her, knew that with just those words, because she trusted him, because she believed in him, she’d be okay.

“Jason?” Barbara calls, bringing him out of his thoughts.

He shakes the memory away, knows that he couldn’t have possible spaced out for that long, only long enough for it to be obvious he wasn’t totally there anymore. He picks up his coffee, it’s cold now, but he needs a distraction, needs to do something with his hands.

“It’s, uh, it’s nothing, Babs. Don’t worry about it.”

...

Chapter 4

[fanonical]

Weird question, but “how” exactly would you recommend someone gets into Homestuck? I know it’s very long with a lot of characters and timelines, is there anything in particular I should take careful note of? I also know there’s a lot of additional content outside of the comic on the actual website. Do you recommend that too? Should I start with the comic and read that and finish it, and then move on to the supplemental stuff, assuming that’s good?

I know that I’m overthinking it but the 1mil+ word count intimidates me a little! I should add that I read the first act or so years ago and know enough about the “main” kids/trolls to be able to keep track of them, but that’s it, I’m very entry level.

(Also, just wanted to say that I saw the link to your story on ao3 when I went to send this ask and that I really love it. It’s genuinely so beautiful and I’ll look forward to every update. 🩷 I’m not too good at articulating my thoughts into the proper review that you deserve, but I did want to let you know just how much I absolutely adore Laika and her story.)

hi! thanks for the kind words about Laika, this totally made my day. this, and the request to teach you how to read homestuck. i hope im up to the task.

so first off, you want the Unofficial Homestuck Collection if at all possible. For this, ideally you need a computer/laptop and around ~4gb of storage space; buy a USB stick if you need to. That’s actually not a lot of storage space at all but apparently a lot of young people these days don’t have computers, so if you are absolutely 100% bound to using a mobile device, there’s an experimental browser branch of the Unofficial Homestuck Collection that does a pretty good job, too.

The reason you’ll want to read it on the UHC is because 1. as of January 2024, the official Homestuck website is pretty broken (a lot of it relied on the now retired Shockwave Flash) but the UHC is basically a perfect “as-it-was-back-then” version of Homestuck made to archive the true experience. It’s recommended by the author even!

The Unofficial Homestuck Collection also collects much of the additional content you allude to, and very conveniently, provides a “New Reader Mode” that “unlocks” new additional content as/when you reach the page closest to when it was released, which really streamlines a bunch of the stuff you’re anxious about — not only does the collection provide it for you, it very graciously curates it to reflect Homestuck as it happened.

As for if you should read anything else before Homestuck, that’s up to you. Homestuck was the fourth piece of fiction under a collection of works called “MS Paint Adventures” — the other three aren’t necessarily canon to Homestuck, but they’re referenced pretty frequently. In the opinion of author Andrew Hussie & a lot of the classic fan base, it’s easiest to start with Problem Sleuth and progress on to Homestuck if you want to “get” how the world/structure functions (Homestuck is not a traditional webcomic — the audience would submit commands for the characters to perform as their next action. This is a little more apparent in the earlier MSPAs). Personally, I think Jailbreak, the first MSPA, is also unmissable but it wouldn’t be wrong to go back and read it later either. And most people (myself included) just started on Homestuck itself.

The biggest piece of advice I would give you is to take notes, and also, that every “piece” of the comic is just as important as every other piece — the dialogues don’t supplement the narration, the narration doesn’t supplement the images, etc, they are all equally important & a lot of Homestuck is told through unreliable chat log discussions, a straight up manipulative authorial voice & quick paced visual storytelling, so it can be a bit hectic and opaque first time around.

The second biggest piece of advice I would give is to read it with a group of friends if possible, and if not possible, consider reading the dialogue aloud to yourself sometimes (or at least give the characters voices in your head) because I think hearing the different characters vocally interact can really help one to “get” the dialogue & complex concepts being put down

Finally, my biggest piece of advice is that I have been running a Homestuck workshop in my discord server where I’ve been guiding a group of around seven new Homestuck readers in “how” to read the comic because it’s quite a hands on experience; right now our live read is almost half way through but we can provide you with resources & help & guidance if you need anything, so if you want a link for that just send an ask off anon and we can do that 🥰

[starlit-mansion]

Unfortunately the post about being so tumblr brain-melted that you start saying really milquetoast opinions like 'actually i DON'T want to be erotically murdered' like they're brave truths the world rejects lives in my head. my big one is unfortunately 'actually i DON'T want to attach foundational pieces of my personality to a piece of media controlled by someone else' like. beeeeeetch that's normal. that's what your parents are like. and it's not even true because i've attached too much of my personality to liking shit out of my control to even say it with my whole chest

but also like. when you're in something to the point where you're having A Bad Time but also can't drop it....... it's fucking stressful. and i can't help but think that part of the reason why fandom does have some measure of a washout rate and a 'youthful' appearance is that. Like me. A percentage of fandom people are going to have such a bad experience (or buildup of small negative experiences) at some point that it's not an identity that they care to keep as an adult. for reasons ENTIRELY outside of 'arbitrarily wanting to put away childish things out of embarassment' or not wanting to deal with snotty teens telling you to 'um grow up and do your taxes and buy an air fryer that you never shut up about instead'

and i don't really think it's either sad or a norm that should be enforced. it just kinda is. like leaving behind your high school best friend because you moved and also you don't have anything in common anymore. some people never stop being friends with their high school bestie. some people have terrible awkward friend breakups from betrayal or unrequited feelings or whatever. some people stop talking but like big announcements on the other person's social media for the next 20 years without reconnecting.

having this weird feeling is enforced by tumblr being my only social media, and like... while i COULD leave, contrary to popular opinion, this ISN'T 'the fandom website' or 'the shipping website.' It definitely has a culture of that but it's kind of too big to be contained under any one thing. and i like being able to get the things i get here. so within the very specific context of 'where the fuck else am i going to go?' and being reasonably sure that at least a few other people on here share those feelings:

actually i dont want to attach my personality to pieces of media i don't control, or spend most of my time stubbornly trying to glue together something i percieve to be broken, or 'rescue' characters from their source material. or be worn down to shipping things i don't care about because that's the only way to get other people to play toys with you

i do like fanart tho

[medics-secret-shipfic-folder]

(not the heavymedic canon anon, just a separate dude who's unfortunately a bit pedantic about things)

Well I mean, it's technically from an announcement on the website, thats where the "nothing can stop heavy and Medic's love" image came from. You most likely know about that, I just wanted to point it out for anyone not aware of the context

Frankly, I don't count it as canon proper myself. It's an easy to miss thing. I legitimately consider the Beaux and Arrows achievement to be more canon confirmation than that is, the one Heavy & Medic specific achievement where the icon is a broken heart too. And that's really not much if I'm honest. Red Oktoberfest is semi-canon at the very best if you stretch

Like I get why folks want it to be canon, and it is canon in my heart, but we don't need it to be to resonate with it. Canon queer Rep would be awesome, but we're expecting a lot from a game that's been all but abandoned for six years from a company that can't count to three

While the game does suffer from Valve basically abandoning it...they still had years to confirm it. They have had over a DECADE to get a move on. And given how popular the "Miss Pauling is gay" tweet turned out to be, Valve has to be aware of how much people want gay rep in tf2. Valve HAS to be aware or how much people ADORE the Heavymedic ship. Heavy is the mascot for tf2, ffs.

They've had years to do something before abandoning the game, and the best they can do is the Beax and Arrows achievement.

It's not expecting a lot. It's expecting the bare minimum.

For all the faults Overwatch had, it managed to confirm a canon gay ship with Tracer and her gf within its first years. That's more than Valve can do in the 11 years before they cut support for tf2.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fic Titles That Are Questions (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

Am I Pretty? (ao3) - heymoons

Summary: Dan is an intern at the BBC who moonlights as a cam model. He’s worried about being judged for his secret, until he meets Phil and everything changes.

Can I Borrow A Kiss? (I Promise I’ll Give it Back) (ao3) - tjmcharg

Summary: Lots and lots of different kisses.

Can I Even Complicate Your Breathing? - botanistlester

Summary: Pastel!Dan lives in an apartment complex and sits on his windowsill every night and sings. Punk!Phil listens to him every night.

Can You feel The Love Tonight? - nebulous-frog

Summary: Phil sings with the door open while he’s folding laundry and Dan overhears. Phil’s completely tone deaf and doesn’t know any of the lyrics, but that won’t stop him, dammit, no matter how many times people ask him to seriously just stop. Dan thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

“Did you ever doubt that your dream will ever come true?” - secretlywritingstories

Summary:As Phil reads out the question, Dan’s involuntary reaction is to smile and glance towards him. He hides it pretty well during the live show but as soon as it’s over, he begins to fully appreciate that his dream did come true.

did you know penguins mate for life? (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Phil takes care of fifty penguins at work and another twenty-five at home, though the latter wasn’t exactly his choice.

Do You Believe In Magaic? (ao3) - darkesthorizon

Summary: Dan discovers a meadow of flowers where fairies made of flowers can grant you one wish. But there’s a catch: your wish has to be pure. What does that even mean?

do you feel it too? (ao3) - heartsopenminds

Summary: A bad break-up has left Phil scared of getting his heart broken again. He’s not ready to date, but he’s missing the easy affection of a long-term relationship.

Cuddle therapy might be the perfect way to get what he needs, with no strings attached. But what happens when that’s no longer enough?

Do You Sleep Anymore? -  botanistlester

Summary: Phil has insomnia and Dan has bruises on his knuckles.

Ever Wonder What Stars Taste Like? (ao3) - ncirpng

Summary: au where Phil runs a successful café in Paris and Dan is a shy fashion designer. Their paths cross, which leads to an unhealthy amount of awkwardness and a lot of weird sentences (mostly from Phil).

Ghost, Or Spirit Satyr? (ao3) - cuddlepuss

Summary: Phil moves into a new flat, but is haunted by a young male poltergeist that he finds both amusing and attractive.

Have You Read the One Where I Have a Vibrator? (ao3) - Ironicallyiron

Summary: Dan reads Phil a fanfiction.

How Did We End Up Like This? - xinyanhowell

Summary: They knew falling in love isn’t a choice - but staying in love, working out your problems and inconstancies, that’s the most powerful choice you have.

How Do Flowers Grow? - writeroflies

Summary: Dan knows he is that single annoying cloud in an otherwise clear sky and Phil is the sun, happy, bright and warm. He wants to know why Phil is letting him stay in the sky beside him.

Is Our Love Valid? (wattpad) - phanetexplorer

Summary: dan is alone. he always has been. he would spend day in and day out on multiple chat websites hoping one day he indeed will find a friend.that is, until a certain boy named phil lester sends a chat request to him, and he flips his shit. some one had finally wanted to be his friend, but maybe he gets more than he had originally bargained for.

Isn’t He Pretty? Isn’t He Insane? - daeguk

Summary: in a world where a person’s soulmate has an identical birthmark, police intern phil lester is completely alone; that is, until he starts receiving cruel gifts from a psychotic serial killer. seeking out the comfort of a boy on the phone, dan howell, while desperately trying to figure out the killer’s messages, time is running out by each fractured second.

Is Our Secret Safe Tonight? (ao3) - resurrectdead

Summary: That time I fell in love with the semi-realistic idea of Dan as an anonymous camboy and then I made Phil walk in on him mid-show.

is that as good as it gets? (ao3) - dvp_95

Summary: Having Dan around makes it all so much easier that Phil can’t imagine a life without him now. He fits into the places where the rest of Phil should be, allows Phil to settle into shape around him.

Wait, Where Have I Seen Those Before? - poetictragediess

Summary: Phil would never admit he’d signed up for such a website as camboys, especially not to his best friend/flatmate.

What Happened Last Night? (ao3) - duskomybloom

Summary: Things get complicated when Dan wakes up in Phil’s bed after a party and he has no idea how he got there.

when i run (will you chase after me?) (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan escapes from the megacorporation that he's contracted to but plans go astray and he ends up leaving his partner Phil behind, who gets tasked to catch him in his run across the solar system.

when it feels like nothing else matter, will you put your arms around me? (ao3) - commonemergency

Summary: “Sorry.” Phil says.

His father wraps his arms around him, and the embrace feels warm. It’s an embrace that he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s like when he was a kid and something scary happened and his father just held him like nothing could ever hurt him because his father was there protecting him.

“It’s okay.” His father quietly whispers into his hairline. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t know how to tell him all the things that he wanted to say, like: I don’t know how to stop my thoughts from spiralling out of control. What if the medicine makes it worse? What do we do if things don’t get better? How do I live in a world that doesn’t have my dad in it?

“Let’s just enjoy right now.” His father says, and he doesn’t let go of him.

Wishing You Could Kiss Me (Do You Really Want To Do That?) (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: In which Phil’s childhood crush on Dan ends dramatically, and he’s living proof to not judge a book by its cover.

[silent-silver-slip]

20 Questions for AO3 Writers

@librarylexicon Thanks for the tag!

How many fics on ao3 have you posted?

378! Because I am somewhat insane

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

2,070,160

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I actively write for Harry Potter, Naruto, Julie and the Phantoms, and Avatar: The Last Airbender.

I can, apparently, be convinced to write for BNHA, Howl's Moving Castle, Star Wars, Spiritfarer, Percy Jackson, and the Inheritance Cycle. There are probably others I'd be willing to explore too, but I've yet to actively write for them.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Sea Dreams - Probably unsurprising, actually. This is a Naruto fic and is the first one in the series. Complete AU beginning with a Uchiha surviving the massacre, who also turns out to be a reincarnated ninja. Uzushio all the way!

Relight These Embers - ATLA. This is a super fun one I got to write that explores Zuko and Azula in a world slightly to the left of canon.

Never Surrender - HP. What if Regulus was sorted into Gryffindor? (This now has a rewritten version! It's completed and updating weekly at the moment.)

Trust In Your Companions - ATLA. Zuko & various animals.

If you've got life, you've got fight - HP. Regulus Black is reincarnated as Draco Malfoy. Needless to say, this changes a lot. But also not much at all.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yep! It might take a while, but I always do so. Well, aside from some awful ones that it's better off ignoring...

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Honestly, in terms of fanfiction, I don't really do angsty endings! I like my happy endings too much, or maybe my hopeful endings. The idea that, even if things aren't alright now, they might one day be okay.

I reckon the most angsty is probably 'If I could take us back, if I could just do that' (JATP), because there's no resolution at all there. That said, 'dancing on the tightrope (don't cut the wire)' (Naruto) is a little bit angsty too, because there's an element to hopelessness to it that definitely cuts to the quick. But there's also the idea of just... going on anyway, I guess. Then there's two HP fics that are technically angsty as well - 'there is always what comes after' and 'all you can do (is go on)'.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Happiest ending? God, I don't know. But I've narrowed it down to three that have endings I particularly like.

this band is back & it's been years - JATP. Less so for the ending itself, and more so for what the story means to me. There's something about friendships that kind of broke down, and also fell wayside, and reconnecting and finding some new, finding something better, finding something stronger, that appeals to me so very much. Writing this fic absolutely healed something broken within me, I think. And, sure, it'll break again, but I always have this to fall back to.

For similar reasons, though not the exact same, I must also mention 'Let's get the band back together'. (JATP) I think I really found myself realising how I'd grown as a writer while writing this, which was fun, and this is a much softer fic too. There's something about finding a home and finding your people that is just fucking fantastic.

Lastly - 'and then, suddenly, you hear the ocean' (Naruto). For a fic that is cemented in grief and death, the healing and recovery of this fic soothes something within me.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Got heaps back on ff.net back in the day! And I have gotten a fair few things on ao3 too, which sucks heaps. It's not the easiest thing to deal with, but I'm lucky that when it really hits me, I've got some people I can turn to and ask for a much more objective truth. It works, most of the time.

9. Do you write smut?

Nope

10. Do you write crossovers?

Eh, not really. It doesn't appeal to me that much, to be honest.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Less stolen as such, but definitely appeared on other websites before - you know the ones that access websites via another platform or whatever? They've probably been scraped or whatever before too, I imagine.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, which is super exciting! @dragonsampersanddragons has done two fics ('Cover Your Eyes (The Devil Inside)' and 'The Sea Never Looked Back') into French, and 'on to war' (HP) has been translated into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not anything that was ever finished or published!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Lol, I don't have one. Definitely don't care for romance. Love me a good QPR, found family, or friendship though!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Oooh, there's an old story idea I once had called Threads of Magic that I would love to explore. But it also has a lot of hurt associated with it now, so doubt it'll ever happen.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think it's characterisation, probably! If only because I tend to try and always make my characters 3D, and I think that shows up. Sometimes I manage to do some awesome dialogue lines which is always nice, but not always.

(17????)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'd do it! Probably comes from the fact I've worked with other languages in the past, and also conlang (god, it's so hard, kudos to anyone who manages it). Occasionally, I might just go 'x said in y' or something. Otherwise (though I've never done it), I'd probably do that thing on ao3 where you can have the formatting so translation shows up when you click/hover over it. It's neat as hell.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I think it was Harry Potter lol. Or maybe Percy Jackson? I wrote original work first, so that's what sticks more I think.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

I've already mentioned a few of them! That said, it tends to be what I've written more recently. Particular shout outs to:

Sea Dreams (and the entire series) (Naruto) - Toru, hope, and found family. Enough said.

this band is back & its been years (JATP) - As mentioned, it healed something in me

Let's get the band back together (JATP) - Friendships grown distant and making them anew

laughter so loud even the stars can hear (Naruto) - The vibes??? are so soft???

with them, i am home (and the love is a choice series) (ATLA) - Honestly, this rarepair was pretty fun to explore

how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist (series; and more specifically i don't believe that love was made to break) - Urban fantasy!! Strange lake creatures!! fae!!

Trumpets 'verse - JATP. Still one of the funniest things I think I ever wrote

Here's To Us (Here's To Love) - Naruto. Found family/friendship of Team 7. Just them and their softness.

Okay this took way longer than I expected, so no idea who to tag. Anyone can pick it up - and I hope you have fun doing it!

[chocolatedreamer22]

(WARNING for mentions of blood, cannibalism, and death.)

I found a website that allows you to put in a prompt and A.I. will most likely write a short story or fan fiction about it. (Sometimes it would refuse to write it.) Here are some of the things I (tried to) put in it:

• Willy Wonka gets into a fight at Texas Roadhouse.

• Mike, Violet, and Veruca see Wonka have a seizure and panic because they don't know what to do about it.

• Wonka forgets to remove Augustus's body from the chocolate river and accidentally bakes his remains into a chocolate cake and eats it.

• Wonka, Mike, Violet, and Veruca watch as Augustus dies of a heart attack.

• Willy Wonka gets arrested at a Taylor Swift concert.

• Willy Wonka decides to go to McDonald's for a Big Mac. He accidentally lands the Great Glass Elevator on Ronald McDonald and kills him.

• It's Mike, Violet, and Veruca's first day of school. They get on the bus and are surprised to find that Wonka is their bus driver. Everything was going fine that morning until Wonka runs a red light and accidentally hits Augustus.

• Willy Wonka gets carjacked but he knows jujitsu.

• Wonka is having dinner at a big fancy party he threw in celebration of a fantastic new candy he's created. He is sitting at a table with Mike, Violet, and Veruca when he's given a mysterious drink. He tastes it and it tastes like shrimp. He is severely allergic to shrimp.

• Wonka is driving Mike, Violet, and Veruca to school when they get into a terrible car accident.

• Mike, Violet, and Veruca are sitting in class at their school. Their normal teacher is sick and so Wonka has to be the substitute, but he has no idea what he's doing.

• Mike, Violet, and Veruca are helping Wonka prepare dinner. Wonka accidentally cuts his hand with a large knife. The kids are panicking because he's bleeding all over the kitchen and he's on the verge of passing out from the sight of his own blood.

• Mike, Violet, Veruca and Augustus are stranded out at sea. They fell off of Wonka's boat after standing too close to the edge even after he asked them not to. They've been lost for days. They're scared, tired, and hungry. They decided to sacrifice Augustus and use him for food. Time is running out, they're losing hope, and they're almost out of Augustus. Will Wonka be able to find them soon? Or is it already too late for them?

• Mike decides to throw a rave. Everyone at the rave is having a good time until two of the large and heavy lights fall from the ceiling. One light hits Wonka. Violet and Veruca run to check on him. He's broken and fractured several bones and is in a lot of pain. Mike and Charlie check on Augustus. Augustus is dead. A few days later, Charlie takes on the responsibility of running the factory while Wonka recovers. The other three kids keep him company until he gets well again.

• Mike, Violet, and Veruca get trapped in the chocolate room during an emergency lockdown.

• Violet arrives at school one morning to hear her teacher announce that two new students will be joining their class: Mike and Veruca. Violet was shocked to say the least. But she had a job to do. She has to teach them how to survive in this school. Mike had never moved to a different school before, and Veruca had never been to an american school. But this school was special; and not necessarily in a good way. It had strange rules and very unusual methods. There were only three types of people in this place: the cruel, the weird, and the creepy. No one is safe. Only Violet can be trusted. The three of them are stuck here for 7 months until the summer. Let's just hope they can make it out alive...

• After a tragic accident at the toothpaste factory that lead to Noah Buckets death, Willy Wonka has been offering all the comfort and support to his family that he could. Especially to Noah's wife, Hellen, who was hurting the most. But things take an unexpected turn when Hellen and Wonka slowly start to realize that they've fallen in love with each other. They have to keep this a secret. They absolutely must! If anyone finds out, it could tear apart the whole family. Hellen imagined the confusion in the eyes of her parents, the fury in the eyes of her in-laws, and the hurt and betrayal in the eyes of her beloved son, Charlie. But no need to worry! Everything will be fine as long as NO ONE finds out. And no one will find out. Right..?

• Mike, Violet, and Veruca decided to go exploring the factory. Wonka told them it was okay as long as they never ever go to the forbidden room. They go there anyway. What they found horrified them more than anyone could possibly imagine.

• Mike, Violet, and Veruca are tasked with filming a commercial for a new candy. Wonka is extra busy that day, so he allows his niece, Coco, to help them with it. Unfortunately, the three ticket winners are not getting along that day. They fight and argue while the commercial is being filmed, but Coco decides to release it anyway because they still say the name and show the picture of the product. Once the chaotic commercial is released, it gets a lot of attention from the public.

• Willy Wonka is working on a new kind of candy in the inventing room when his daughter, Coco, comes to asks him a question. She asks him why he had the golden ticket contest instead of allowing her to take over the factory. The answer she received wasn't what she expected.

• Wonka is actually sitting in the chair during the puppet show at the begining of the factory tour. The fireworks go off and set him on fire. He flails around and screams until his lifeless body falls off the stage in front of the kids as his corpse continues to burn.

[swaggynay]

what was ur inspiration for either specific ocs (designs/character traits) or like the entire world that theyre set in?

they seem really cool :D

Wow where do I start?

Well here’s the Youngblood family.

(I drew this for this occasion)

They share a universe. I wanna say that their names are obviously inspired by the poet, Edgar Allen Poe. Have I read any of his poems? No? Is there a reason why the names are inspired by the poet? Not exactly. It was supposed to be a name for them to keep temporarily until I find new ones bc I was learning about Edgar Allen Poe at the time but it started to grow on me.

I want to mention their outfits and colors by using this image:

Allen is supposed to be more of an odd one out of the family, that’s why his skin tone doesn’t match with the colors of his clothing. Plus did you know that a spider’s least favorite color is light blue? That’s why Allen is self conscious about himself. A spider’s favorite color is green, which is why Umber, the tall green one, is the most narcissistic of them all.

Extra oc fact: Allen’s scarf came from Edgar. Though Edgar’s and Allen’s brotherhood is broken, Allen still has the scarf to hold on hope for Edgar’s recovery.

Ok I want to move on to these goofballs who share an apocalyptic universe.

This one isn’t as deep as the previous universe.

Satn (my fav) is the one who restarted the world bc she’s selfish and acts like a child with a sandbox. Plus she adores cats which is why she just has this cute design.

Satn is inspired by just a selfish child. She also showed up in my dream so I added her in as the main villain of the story. Cyanide is inspired by confidence? Or at least learning how to grow with people. Malum is strength, flexibility. And Frankie is more of the fear of confrontation and running away instead of facing them. She wears a clock bc she’s more hidden with her feelings. Anyways, they don’t really have too much inspiration compared to the family. They’re more silly and grow on their own.

Extra oc fact: Satn lives in a cave

Thank you for the question💖

I really appreciate it!

Questions like these makes me appreciate my characters, this website, and your interest in my characters. I love getting questions like this and it brightens up my day!

[spideyladman]

Hii, I'm doing a research project abt tumblr and I wanted to ask around what tumblr users think are positive (& negative) aspects of this hellsite. Like what do you think of the community, why do you think people keep using it, why is it different from other socials, etc.

I'd love to hear different opinions about this :)

Oh cool!! I always wanted to tell my opinion about this hellsite lol

Well, first we start with the Positives and then the Negatives on how the hellsite functions, then my opinion about the community and why I think they might be using this hellsite, and then how is it different from other socials!! If I missed some things then I am sorry ^^"

POSITIVES

It has a Staff that can interact with people and even a Secret Staff blog!

Most people are nice and are actually chill, unlike other socials *cough* Twitter *cough* *cough*

Even if it seems hard to try and work around this hellsite, it's kind of like AO3 (only more colourful lol) so no worries about trying to work around it, you'll get your head wrapped around it soon!!

Polls. Just. Just polls in general.

There's a trending page where you can possibly find a new media to look into!! If you don't like it, it's okay, you can just move on.

There is something in Settings where you can block tags and it's honestly amazing and I am thankful for them putting that.

NEGATIVES

In a lot of users' cases, they get shadowbanned for no reason. Which means if you activated notifications to them posting prior before that, you can't anymore. Plus you can't search stuff on their blog because they are shadowbanned for some reason, and they also delete the chat button on their blog. Also if you get notifications but when you click on it and see nothing, that is quite surely a shadowbanned blog. Which means if you have a mutual who has been shadowbanned and they try to reblog something from you or tag you in a post, you legit can't see it >:[

This hellsite is broken most of the time from what I hear, and I honestly can't blame them, I too have experienced a part of it: there was a time where I was trying to reblog something from my IPad and the post button was at the bottom of the post. If I switched my IPad off, when I switched it back on I legit couldn't see the bottom of the post and I tried and I tried, but I couldn't scroll to the very bottom of the post, which made me feel really frustrated. I'm honestly happy i got the app on my new phone (which I am currently using to write this post). Idk if it happens to other Tumblr users but I'm putting this here just in case.

It's more of a user problem then a hellsite problem but users don't put triggers in their posts even if their life depended on it. It really sucks because it can ruin a person's day completely.

There's a tag limit (30) and it sucks tbh xd

Some users harrass a lot of people and I think Staff don't bat an eye on that issue sometimes.

Bots. Just. Just bots everywhere.

COMMUNITY AND MY OPINION

This community can bring both joy and anger on this site, just like in any other website, though I wish that sometimes they didn't make something really infuriating start trending *cough* Taylor Swift *cough* Helluva Boss *cough* *cough*

Despite all of that, I can see that there is care and love for other types of content and they can help people cope with problems they might have at home, which is why I think is why they keep using this site, because they now have mutuals (online friends) and it's honestly sweet seeing how people can vibe about a piece of media together :"]

WHY IS THIS SOCIAL MEDIA SO DIFFERENT?

I believe it's because it helps people get into a zone of comfortness. While yes we joke about there being Twitter refugees and we must kick 'em out, sometimes I believe that the community doesn't remember how they got here. This hellsite is a place where people can get out their excitement over a piece of media without people judging them (though sometimes it is much to people's dismay *cough* Serial Killers *cough* *cough*).

I personally think of myself as an Instagram refugee. Even if I haven't used any kind of social media apart from YouTube after getting rid of my Instagram account and before getting my second Tumblr account, I believe so because, Instagram made me feel pressured on posting because what if people unfollow me for not posting enough content? Do they hate me or something? What would they think if I like Steven Universe? What would they think if I don't post enough? ...What then?

When I actually put my entire body inside of hellsite water I started feeling more comfortable and I realised that compared to other websites, even with this hellsite, even with its ups and downs, I call this hellsite my true home. I can scream, I can shout, I can feel like my true self, and that's what really matters :"3

-

I hope you like my response!! ^^