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lacklusterhero747 · 1 year

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Mechanizing What Matters

As a Game Master, I frequently find that I have a desire to tinker with the rules of games, especially games that I love. Sometimes it happens because I find a particular game lacking in some area or other and think that I might be able to correct it. Other times, I simply encounter a mechanic in another game entirely that I become obsessed with and want to see it put to use. Especially if I feel like the second game in question is one I might be waiting a long time to actually get to play with any frequency. If at all.

This particular case definitely falls into that latter camp.

Generally speaking, I believe that game mechanics that step beyond the fundamentals–the engine under the hood that explains how you accomplish x or y task–should exist for two reasons: they should encourage certain types of behaviors from players that you, as the GM, wish to cultivate and they should reward the players for doing those things. A good example of what I mean that springs to mind was when I wrote my post, Hacking the Game, talking about changing the rules for Fabula Ultima. I mentioned how I wanted to change the way Experience points were awarded to better encourage a sense of exploration and goal-orientedness, as well as put a portion of the effort of awarding experience on the players themselves as they voted for one another to get awards as a means to encourage attentiveness and constant engagement.

Now, having fully read and digested the rules to Armour Astir: Advent, I again find myself debating the merits of flexing or changing the rules of Fabula Ultima once again, for the sake of cultivating a particular sort of experience I want to see at my table.

The Rule That Is: Bonds

In the game, there is a system for cultivating emotional attachments, or Bonds, between one’s character and other characters, or even nations, kingdoms, organizations, or religions. It’s a relatively simple mechanic, elegant in its design and I even find it somewhat cute. It’s functional and easy to understand and is a good entry point into the concept of mechanized emotional attachment if a particular player’s past experiences see them coming from a game that does not feature this kind of mechanic.

By default, you can have up to 6 bonds, all with varying levels of effectiveness based on their emotional strength, as seen below:

In raw game terms, a Fabula Point can be spent to Invoke a bond while making a skill check to represent how the relationship and its associated emotions spur the character onward, granting you a +1 to +3 to roll, depending on how deep that relationship is. Meanwhile, for Group Checks, if one or more of the Supporting Characters has a bond with the Leading character, the single highest strength Bond gets added to the group check as an additional bonus to the roll. A few other niche cases do exist, like the Darkblade class ability Heart of Darkness, which allows you to immediately create a Bond of Hatred towards a creature that puts in Crisis–below half HP–once per scene or the Rare Item Bow of Frozen Envy that allows you to recover 5 MP on a successful attack roll, so long as your character has a Bond of Inferiority on their sheet.

As I said above, it’s simple, elegant, and functional, especially the way it’s nested into the rest of the game’s rules. The mechanic and its text prescribes particular ways of thinking about the subject of your bonds and encourages you to see the increase of inherent strength of the bond as a deepening of the relationship's emotional weight and value…

Unfortunately, I also find it somewhat limiting and a little arbitrary. Obviously the six chosen emotions can be read in a number of ways, but one could argue that they’re also loaded terms, boxing a player into particular modes of thought about other characters or things. And I don’t know about you, but I have definitely felt both Admiration and Inferiority towards other people in my life at the same time. These do not have to be mutually exclusive concepts but for the purpose of mechanical game terms, they absolutely must be. Perhaps I’m just picking nits on this one, but I find the guard rails to be a little annoying, especially as a Game Master who has spent enough time running PbtA games for a group that is familiar enough with the concepts of bonds or Hx to grok what the game is shooting for.

Beyond that, Bonds as presented are entirely one way. You, as a player, can choose to form a bond towards another player character or an organization or concept, and there’s no expectation of reciprocity at all. Certainly, I can understand how that would make sense if your Bond was towards The Church or some other monolithic organization. Such a group might realistically have no reason to even know you exist, after all, but it feels a little sad to me that you might devote your characters emotions, good or bad, towards another player character or NPC, and see that effort go entirely unanswered. And yes, I know, sometimes life do be like that, but this game is specifically trying to model games like Final Fantasy or the Tales of X series who’s feet are firmly planted in anime and arch genre tropes. These are stories where another character’s indifference towards your own shouldn’t just be a cavalier fact of life: You should be able to weaponize that shit.

The Rule I am Obsessed with: Gravity Clocks

Gravity Clocks in Armour Astir are similarly meant to represent your character's relationships and attachments, but they do so in a different and, I think, more mechanically interesting way. They do not simply measure how many emotions a particular bond or attachment has. The book itself states: they are countdowns to when a relationship is challenged, confronted or addressed.

A Gravity clock can be declared at any time (though you may only be part of 3 clocks at a time, as well as 1 for your Rival should you acquire one), so long as both parties feel that it is appropriate. They come in the form of a 6 segment Clock with a word or short phrase that sums up the relationship and starts empty, offering the relevant player (or players) a +1 by default, but can be increased to a maximum of +3 as the clock evolves.

Mechanically speaking, whenever you would make a move in Armour Astir that involves the other party of a clock, you may add the clock’s value instead of the normal trait or value and doing so causes the clock to advance. And then, when the clock is filled, some real cool stuff can happen:

And this doesn’t even begin to touch on how absolutely wild Rival Clocks can get.

The game frames Rivals as recurring characters who appear again and again to challenge specific players who have earned their attention. They don’t need to explicitly be foes that are gunning for a player in an antagonistic way either. They might be an ally with a competitive relationship, someone the player is trying to impress (or vice versa), and so on. No matter the case, however, they’re essentially treated as main characters with a Gravity clock tied to their Player Character Rival, and are represented textually by a Need (what their faction demands of them, what they are obligated to do, etc), and a Want (what they want from their counterpart), which is meant to help direction their fiction and also provides the Rival with a metacurrency called Leverage that the GM can use in a variety of ways.

When a Player Character interferes with a Rival’s Need or indulges their Rival’s Want, their Leverage Increases, and they gain 1 Hold. This Hold can be spent by the Game Master, at any time, 1-for-1 to do the following:

Make the player character act in Confidence or Desperation (altering the way dice are rolled).

Ask a challenging question which must be answered.

Appear somewhere that they are not expected.

On the page, these rivals are represented like this:

As you can see, the idea of Gravity Clocks advancing in Armour Astir is inherently tied to your character advancing and growing stronger, but it also becomes something of a currency that can be used and/or discarded as the situation requires.

Additionally, the clocks themselves immediately establish a two way connection between parties that grows and evolves when either party of the clock leans on that emotional connection as a means towards success. Further, given the somewhat vague way in which the Gravity Clock can be named and defined, both parties are not required to name their clocks in the same way. What matters is that the emotional link exists between the two parties, but the way each party defines that link can be as varied and complicated as real social and emotional connections are between actual people: one player's Fast Friends clock could just as easily be another player’s Ally of Convenience clock.

Adapting the Mechanic

So, with both mechanics laid out, the question becomes how would I do it, if I decided to make the change.

On the most basic level, the amount of potential bonus a Gravity Clock can provide is equal to what a Bond can do. In that respect it doesn’t need any massaging. Spend a Fabula Point, gain the bonus from +1 to +3, advance the clock, and move on.

In terms of their function in Armour Astir, each time a character fills a Gravity Clock, they are granted an advancement, in addition to the other mechanical benefits of the clock filling. For those not familiar with PbtA games, an advancement is essentially the same as gaining a level. I find myself torn between wanting to keep as is, instantly granting a character in Fabula Ultima a level up, or reducing it to a mere sum of experience points (probably between 2 and 5). It is incredibly thematic for anime and games inspired by anime to have moments where a person’s emotional state pushes them to new, previously unknown levels of power. However, because activating the benefit of the Gravity Clock to add it to your roll as a bonus would also require the expenditure of a Fabula Point–itself is a means of gaining XP in the game–I fear it might cause players to level too quickly if I just simply handed them a level for improving their relationships. Doubly so because the Gravity Clock can be shared between two players and both of them would potentially be gaining the same benefits from filling that clock.

Additionally, Committing to a Gravity Clock–where you circle it and lock it in as stated above–comes with the ability to sacrifice that clock forever and instantly succeed as though you had rolled a 10+, PbtA’s best possible result, in exchange. This one I find less troublesome to think about how I would implement as a rule. I would likely treat it as though the players had rolled a Critical Success, with the player’s High Roll being equal to the maximum of the lowest of the two dice used in the test, should it happen to matter. In this way the players should be guaranteed their success, within the bounds of what they would normally be capable of, and would also be granted an Opportunity per the standard rules of Fabula Ultima (Which is really just a laundry list of additional things that you can have happen in addition to getting the thing you wanted from your check, like Unmasking the goals and motivations of the enemy or causing a Plot Twist!).

On the Rival Clock side of things, the only thing that would likely take some doing to figure out is the Confidence and Desperation mechanics. In Armour Astir, these cause you to treat 1s on a d6 as 6 if you’re acting in Confidence, or 6s as 1s if you’re acting in Desperation. This is a very powerful mechanic that can drastically change outcomes and the flow of the game and one that does not map directly to Fabula Ultima very well. Potentially, I suppose I lean in even heavier and cause the Hold spent to cause critical success or fumbles, but that seems too heavy handed. Alternatively I could just port over the function of the mechanics, but extend them to the additional types of dice used in Fabula, but without play testing who knows what unforeseen consequences that might have.

Finally there’s the Fabula Ultima side of the equation to consider. First and foremost, you can gain more Bonds in the game that Armour Astir allows for Gravity Clocks, even when including the Rival Clock. This is perhaps not so bad, if you consider you might now also be using those clocks to gain XP or Levels depending on my final decisions, but we also have to consider other factors. Many of the Class or Equipment based calls for Bonds in the game are specifically about Emotions attached to the Bonds, rather than their numerical value, and without those, some mechanics work less well, if at all. It’s a problem that could probably most easily be solved by simply adding tags to the clocks, so that they might read as “Estranged Siblings (Mistrust)”, but even that seems a little clunky. Perhaps just leaving things open to interpretation, which was the whole goal to begin with, would be best.Regardless, it leaves me with things to consider, and more than likely I’ll want to play a couple of Campaigns of Fabula Ultima through to completion before I leap to making the change. Play testing the idea would also be a must, of course, as I would still need to settle on what the exact implementation and benefits would be, but I think it could lead to some really interesting and meaningful role play if instituted correctly.

#role playing games #fabula ultima #ttrpg #jrpg #game mechanics #fiction first #complex systems #house rules #game design #armour astir

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t4tbruharvey · 2 years

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ooh mind telling more about your dnd characters? what class etc are they?

ok getting to this now! hellooooo hi

so roxy was a tiefling bard but they lasted 2 sessions before i had to drop out of the game. and also i had no idea how dnd worked. and also they're technically not a dnd oc they're just an oc i already had who i decided to use for the dnd game (roxy is in a polycule which exists because i wanted to give two of my other ocs a daughter and then pippa just accumulated girlfriends)

peter is a fire genasi paladin! his patron is my friend's homebrew god, the god of lawfulness. he's lawful neutral and he'll do whatever he thinks is 'just' without considering about the consequences, because he's an arsehole :) i wanted to play a character that really sucks because it's a oneshot so i don't have to keep it up long term

emiel isn't actually a dnd oc either because we're using our gm's homebrew SYSTEM so there aren't classes or race based abilities, which i think is really cool + also is good for me because i haven't played dnd for real yet. that said: emiel is a bounty hunter with a lot of archaeology knowledge and they're like.... idk they're based on a chameleon/salamander type thing. they look Cute. they have very high recollection (int) and very low guile (charisma) and mid athleticism/ichor/vigour/instinct (which, in order, determine: how strong you are, your magical ability, how many actions you can take per turn, turn action order). tbh i can't really summarise them in the same way i would roxy and peter because i've been playing them for a solid while so i'm pretty attached to them and it would require me to delve into the mechanics of the game somewhat. that said! if i were to approximate them to an existing dnd class it would probably be rogue

#thank youuuu sorry this isn't very coherent <3

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apompkwrites · 3 years

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reader impact || the archons' isekai

series masterlist characters: venti, zhongli genre: fluff summary: somehow, our players have found themselves in the world of genshin impact! how, i wonder, will they handle this predicament? will they create their own story to be a protagonist, or will they find someone else's story to become a love interest part of? notes: this was actually really fun to write!! i mean, i got to write a fanboy shutdown and the more composed approach :)). also hehe early morning post gm everyone! or afternoon. or night. whenever you're reading this :D

venti -

hOO BOY LET'S GOOO!!!!

okay so this boy is very energetic on his own.

imagine his surprise when he's suddenly in one of his favorite games of all time?!??!

what did he do to deserve this and how can he do it again?

now that he's here, he has two (2) priorities.

1. find wine.

2. find you.

honestly they both rank the same in terms of importance so he doesn't really have a preference on who/what he finds first.

he will visit the windrise tree before anything, though.

it's just so?? calming to him??

so he's there, sitting next to your statue, when he hears someone playing a lyre :00

he'll jump to his feet and just run to wherever the music is coming from.

and tHERE!!

THERE YOU ARE!!

YOU'RE STANDING IN FRONT OF HIM WITH ALL OF YOUR GLORY AND JUST ASJHJKHAD

um, anyway...

he'll just listen quietly to you playing music.

so cute...

and so is the song you're playing :))

when you finally finish up your set, your eyes immediately go to him.

i mean, he's the only one here listening to you play music but not saying anything.

"hello! did you enjoy my song?"

you broke him.

good job.

he will sit there for a few minutes just basking in your glory.

you're here and he's here and you're real and--

"hellooooooo? anyone home?"

"HUH YES HI!"

you're, of course, taken aback by how loud he is when he snaps out of his trance.

but that surprise is immediately replaced by joy as you laugh at how silly this boy is.

i mean, who wouldn't like him?

"ah, normally i'd ask for payment for my performance, but--"

"i can give you an apple!"

his response is so quick and genuine and you accept it.

i mean... it's an apple from a cute boy. what could go wrong?

he'll definitely ask where a good place for apples are, even if he knows it by heart.

he just wants to spend time with you :((

when he pays you back with an apple, he'll just sit with you in the grass.

it's weird to see him so quiet...

"got something you wanna say?"

"u-uhhhh!"

he's so awkward around you please you own his heart--

take him to the tavern please.

he just wants to drink with you.

he'd probably say some things he shouldn't like how he's been isekai'd into this world.

of course, you knew he wasn't from here or literally anywhere in teyvat.

but he's nice and fun so you don't mind hanging out with him until he leaves :)

zhongli -

ah yes, our unusally calm and composed isekai protagonist.

similar to how he first met you, he's keeping his composure on the outside but actually losing his mind on the inside.

he's...

he's here???

why???

he's not complaining but he just want answers.

he's very relieved to see he's in liyue instead of mondstadt.

like, he doesn't hate mondstadt but he'd much rather be in the city of contract as opposed to the city of wine freedom

his first stop would probably be to find some tea.

because he really needs something to calm him down.

he's walking through liyue, right, just admiring the construction and atmosphere.

he's passing by the wangsheng funeral parlor when--

"ah, my apologies."

his head will whip around when he hears your voice.

he gets to hear you talk!!!

in person!!!!!!!

"sir?"

"ah, yes. no worries..."

catch him holding back a stutter when he first talks to you.

you catch him so off guard but he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of you--

"excuse me? is there a good place to find tea here? i'm not exactly from liyue, you see."

"of course!"

you sounded so excited and cute wtf--

"in fact, i was just on my way there. why don't i accompany you?"

"i'd... i would love that."

hehe tea date tea date tea date!!!

you take him to this really nice tea place that knows you.

and your unfortunate inability to understand mora...

you don't ask him to pay, thank the gods, but it's extremely awkward when he reveals he doesn't have any to pay for his own tea.

the owners lowkey expected you to bring someone like this one day though...

so they offer it to you for free and you're on your way out.

you end up following him around to show him liyue.

"you said you weren't from here, correct? why don't i show you some popular tourist spots?"

"if it isn't too much of a bother..."

his mind: adjakflsld yes please!!!!

he knows he doesn't have to tell you that he isn't from here.

from the way you talk to him about liyue, you've already made it clear that you're well aware he isn't from teyvat.

which, thankfully, doesn't come as a surprise to you.

instead, you take the time to spend time with him and show him your favorite spots in liyue/teyvat.

you bring him to the guyun stone forest.

protect him please, he can't fight on his own--

anyway, you bring him to the highest peak you can, staring off into the ocean.

he'll sit there and listen to you tell your stories, even if he knows them by heart <33

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inkdemonapologist · 3 years

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[BatIM Call of Cthulhu Masterpost]

nEW SESSION (summary here!), where there’s been an unexpected development to the music issue and its time to [checks my notes] taLK TO THE PROPHET AND BREAK INTO SUSIE’S APARTMENT??? Also, the Prophet and Joey have made.... a truce(???), Prophet is concerned Sammy isn’t going to stay on task now that music is returning and has left him a sort of alarming note, and Jack is uh, trying to hold, too many things, maybe some things he shouldn’t be holding, Jack please put those things back,

anyway heres a stack of out-of-context quotes from our session under the readmore:

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Jack] My favourite thing is, there are so many reasons that Henry could've avoided things that I have no idea WHY Henry isn't affected. [Jack] Like, is he not affected because his art isn't a performance? Is he not affected because he warded his house? Is he not affected because he'S FILLED WITH GLOWING BLOOD?!?

[Jack] He got as far as feeding his cat, and I feel like feeding cat isn't a performance-- [Sammy] Not usually, not unless you sing a song to your cat, which-- [Jack] Awww! [Sammy] -- which, now that I've said that, sounds like something Jack would do actually,

[Sammy] Ohhhh, that's right, Joey just heard some people play some bad notes and start panicking, and then he stood up and passed out, [Jack] Which is probably how Sammy feels every time he hears people mess up music!

[GM] He finds news on the radio, but they’re not talking about that right now. [Joey] What are they talking about? [GM] Something mundane; business or sports or something. [Jack] The, the sportsball team, got a…..uh….. a, a point. Congratulations, sportsball,

[Joey] If the sportscasters sound normal, then Joey is instantly VERY ANGRY.

[Henry] Henry’s not very musically inclined, but he knows some songs, [Sammy] Like, can you hum Twinkle Twinkle Little Star -- [Jack] “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

[Jack] Jack has made a vague list of the kinds of people who seem to be affected. [Jack] There’s also “NOT HENRY?????” with a bunch of question marks in this list.

[GM] He’s told that Peter is out of town for a week. [Jack] Hmm. [Sammy] PETER WHERE ARE YOU GOING? [Jack] Hmmmmmm. [Sammy] Jack, is Peter coming here, to check on you, [Jack] HMMMMMMMMMMMMM,

[Sammy] *exasperated* NPCs Stop Getting Involved In The Occult Challenge [Henry] Stop Getting Involved In The Occult Or Draw 25

[Joey] Peter had never seen a Bendy cartoon, and this needed to be fixed. [Joey] The premier is this weekend, and he sent tickets to Pete to correct this, error, in his ways. [Jack] ...I think it is very slowly dawning on Jack, that this means that Pete has been pulled directly into yet another… supernatural nonsense... [Sammy] WE DIDNT DO THIS ONE!!

[Sammy] I CAN’T BELIEVE PHONES ARE THE ANTAGONIST OF THIS ADVENTURE

[Henry] Oh wait--! oh, no, nevermind, I forgot he and Allison probably aren’t together yet. [Sammy] Yeah, I think they just met; they had a meet-cute where they found out they both like Frankenstein and that’s it. [Jack] They actually got married today, since nothing else was happening at the Studio, [Sammy] That’s why Allison hasn’t shown up, she was busy getting married!

[GM] Bendy might’ve been keeping tabs on Henry, but it depends I guess on how distressed Joey is seeming. [Joey] Joey is probably just going to bury his sorrow in studying magic. [GM] Okay! That’s fine and normal Joey behaviour!

[Sammy] Sammy will note that nothing got done in the music department, because he has good priorities.

[Jack] I like the idea that it’s just like, when the teacher isn’t in, and nobody does the work the substitute teacher gave you, [Jack] Everyone’s just playing pokemon in the back, [GM] I thought you were going to say “poker,” but I like the way you ended the sentence better.

[Jack] HMMMMMM. I wonder if we know, any suspicious women, who were around on that specific day, who are known to have, skill and interest in magical things, [Joey] And also were aware of the cutouts, [Sammy] *cheerfully* Yeah, weird! Anyway!!!!

[Jack] Sammy was acting weird about Allison. Far too agreeable for a Sammy!

[Sammy] *talking about Prophet* If you want to lock him in somewhere, or restrain him, I’ll cooperate. [Jack] Just handcuff him to Jack! [Sammy] SAMMY IS UNEASY WITH THAT PLAN, [Jack] *laughing* What could go wrong! It’s not like Jack is significantly less strong or anything!!

[Jack] Not everyone makes up their entire self, Joey!!! (Affectionate)!!

[Sammy] I give my word, my sheep! [Henry] How good is your word? [Sammy] I mean. It’s pretty good.

[Henry] Henry’s trying to decide if it would be rude to doodle during this very serious conversation. [Jack] I mean, Jack is taking notes, so I feel like-- [Joey] --you can get away with fake note-ing. [GM] No one will know! [GM] Well, Bendy will know, because he’s up high. [GM] Ceiling Bendy

[Sammy] He’s not gonna give you a grade afterwards, like, this isn’t a lecture, [Jack] Time for Prophet Pop Quiz!

[GM] What’s Prophet writing? [Sammy] Um, I gotta think about this... [Jack] “Dear Frightened Shepherd, that Allison person sure is nice, isn’t she?” [GM] “What’s up with everyone ragging on her?” [Joey] “I think I have finally found a way to bridge the gap between us!” [Jack] “I think you need to replace your sheep, they seem kind of suspicious for no reason,” [Jack] “To Do List: Get Better Sheep”

[Sammy] Does this feel like something that’s trying to take his focus, like, very compelling creative ideas? [GM] Yes. [Sammy] ...Prophet will write “don’t get distracted” five more times.

[GM] His mind is abuzz with thoughts of dancing and actoring, [GM] Ideas to be the best Joey ever! [Jack] Oh no.

[Joey] He will wave at the cutout and make a “come here” motion. [Joey] Though also, he’s looking at the cutout like, I’m not quite sure how this works, but I’m going to trust you that it works! So I’m going to do this and see if Bendy shows up! [Jack] Like someone trying to learn how to do phone video calls for the first time, [Joey] YES. Joey’s actually like really close to the cutout, and the motions -- you can make them out, but it’s really awkward,

[Sammy] They’re in no danger. I will take care of the Shepherd’s sheep. [Jack] ...JACK’S BEEN DOWNGRADED!! He’s no longer PROPHET’S sheep!

[Joey] I like how everything Prophet says really just feels like, Knife Cat face.

[GM] You could probably make a Mythos roll to figure it out. [Joey] *rolls* Oh! Extreme success! [GM] Joey’s back!

[GM] Bendy will lead Joey back to the room, where hopefully there are three alive, non-fighting boys!

[Jack] Part of me was like, “What if Jack DOES turn into a cat…?! It’d be pretty hard to write things!” [GM] *laughs* We’ll keep that in our back pocket, in case Jack ever fails a Mythos check. [Jack] Meowthos check…

[Henry] I’m going to have Henry look, look with his Special Eyes.

[Sammy] *failing a roll* Prophet is just, NOT on the ball today, in any way shape or form. [GM] Really hard not to think about music. : ) [Sammy] Ohhhhhh boy, [Jack] Prophet just writes a note to Sammy that says “HOW do you LIVE like this???”

[Henry] Henry’s gonna try to scribble what he remembers of the symbol! [Sammy] Didn’t we learn, from the last scenario, about reproducing weird symbols, [Henry] No.

[Joey] Did Joey get burnt? [GM] Make a dexterity roll! : ) [Henry] *mumbling* Y’all this entire building is made of wood. *Joey fails* [GM] 1 point of damage, you singe your hand -- on the plus side, you kind of were holding it as it burned up, so it doesn’t fall on the wooden floor. [Sammy] OH GOOD, we’re not LOCKED IN A CLOSET that’s about to burn down? GREAT!

[Joey] We could head over to the infirmary -- [Jack] Jack is already pulling the burn ointment out of his bag. [Jack] He’s prepared this time! [Jack] He’s been practicing, he knows what you’re all like,

[Joey] Joey will give him a smile that’s most recognisable as the “I know you will do good!” smile. [Sammy] Prophet will also smile! It is not a friendly smile. [Jack] It’s a “smile” in quotation marks, but it’s like, baring your teeth as an act of aggression.

[Jack] Jack lets him go to do the call, but just before he picks up the phone, he says, “Don’t call him Petey.”

[GM] The phone rings, and is not answered. [Joey] Okay! Joey hangs up, says Peter checked into his room, but is not answering. Most likely asleep. [Jack] Half of my brain is going, “what if he’s just stood outside Jack’s house?” The other half of my brain is concerned about manias. I hope he’s not decided that now is a really great time to do more writing, and now he can’t stop, and this could go wrong-- [Jack] This is what Jack’s mind is doing, thinking of all the terrible possibilities. [Joey] While humming. [Jack] ...yes. He’s writing some very troubling lyrics.

[Sammy] *talking about Jack’s compulsive humming* Like Cornifer, [Jack] *starts humming Cornifer’s theme* Dangit, now it’s in my head, why would you do this to me? [Sammy] It’s in character! [Sammy] Method acting. : )

[Joey] Joey’s going to grab supplies to make sure Bendy can… hang around with them! [Joey] Sleepover supplies! Let’s grab your sleepover bag! :D

[Sammy] I don’t know why the idea of a wild Bendy running around across the rooftops is so cute to me… [GM] Probably on all fours, [Jack] Scampering,

[Jack] It’s a good thing Henry’s around because I don’t think Jack can… carry??? An entire Sammy??? [Jack] Like he’s good at holding but he’s not strong at holding.

[Joey] We’ve all been acting terrible for the last 24 hours… [Joey] WAIT. We’ve all been acting terrible for the last 24 hours!!!

[GM] Bendy hides under a blanket or something. [Jack] Comfey… [GM] Cozy boy, [Joey] Bendyrito. [Sammy] BENDYRITO,…….. [GM] Rolled up… snug...

[GM] Is everybody coming into the apartment, or just the two? [Jack] Hmmm….. Jack isn’t fond of either of these options. Going in is suspicious and weird; staying outside makes it look even more like they’re breaking in, to steal things, as opposed to, y’know, breaking in, for,,, “good” reasons(???) [Sammy] We’re not breaking in, we’re just walking into this apartment! What’s so weird about that?! [Jack] That’s breaking in. That’s what breaking in is, Sammy. [Sammy] They don’t have to know that we don’t belong here, maybe Susie gave us a key! [Jack] ...they heard us knocking. [Sammy] [Sammy] We’re BEING POLITE!! SHUT UP!!

[Henry] Jack, did you pick up kleptomania.. [Joey] I thought Jack picked up Being Prepared! [Jack] H-he’s just hoarding a little bit!! It’s fine!!! It’s very, useful, see, already Joey got injured!! It was useful to bring lots of things with him okay!!!!!!!!!

[GM] They do not have the police called on them, so that’s nice. [Sammy] Oh good! [Jack] Thank GOODNESS. [Henry] Love when that happens! [GM] If you guys got arrested, the Lurker’s just out in the car all night, [Henry] oh NO, [Jack] Worse punishment than jail… [Joey] Lurker learns how to drive for fun. [GM] *laughs* Gets curious, [Joey] “I said I wouldn’t leave the car, but--”

[Joey] WAIT. There’s a very important factor that we just decided but didn’t say. [GM] Oh? [Joey] If we have Henry heading home, and everyone else sleep over at Jack’s…. [Joey] ...the Lurker finally gets to meet a cat. *everyone gasps* [Jack] Oh that’s SO important

[Henry] And Henry will probably look at these, while in the car, to make sure they don’t have any gold writing on them-- [Sammy] Isn’t Henry driving??? [Henry] ……Henry is not going to look at them in the car,

[Sammy] We’re all going to bed, Sammy, you don’t need a banjo to sleep! [Joey] You might sleep worse if you have a banjo, actually. You might not stop.

[Sammy] Jack you wanna join us? We’re gonna just jam all night! [Jack] It really is Jammy… [Sammy] *laughs* TRUE Jammy!! Real Jammy Hours… [GM] That makes it a pyJAMa party… a real jammy jam…

#call of cthulu: haunted hijinx #sammy lawrence #Jack Fain #joey drew #Henry Stein #Bendy the Lurker #when in doubt just keep drawing #cthulhu game quotes #everyone except henry got a new insanity and we're doing... fine!

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jeeperso · 2 years

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D&D Quotes Without Context

Ravenloft edition, Har-Akir arc, part 3

"Well, off to go tomb raiding once more. Let's hope the traps weren't made by a sadist.” “Oh, Nyx. You sweet summer child.”

"The local monsters no better than to attack a Vistani caravan, but we'll be on our own.” “We can make a few examples. They’ll learn about us fast. Just remember to leave a survivor.”

"At least it isn't vorpal rabbits. Stupid idiot just had to use magic to crossbreed rabbits with wolves.” “And that's what hand held explosives are for.”

"Suffer not The Love Guru to live…"

"Fear not children, hope has arrived! Why? Because WE ARE HERE!”

GM: The ogres are now moving in slow motion. OOC: BGM All-Star at .05 speed.

GM: Actually wait not. You catch the guy int he knee. He starts screaming. Edmund: "Ill fix that! I'm a doctor!” Jonni: “Stop crying! We’re rescuing you!”

Poom shoots the non-groveling one with a ray made of clocks. Nyx: ”Ewww, Poom, did you have to rot the ogre? Couldn't you have done some other form of damage so it doesn't explode in a shower of guts when that damaged?” Edmund: ”Apparently Ogres become more juicy with age.... “ Poom: "Only if you store it wrong.”

Jonni stands in mid air. “Here! Let me show you a big … bang… kind of atta… fuck it, fireball!”

“I AM THE GODDES OF HELLFIRE AND MOLASSES! AND I BRING YOU THE GIFT… OF FIRE!”

Gorbash: “It's Ogres, My Great Uncle always said they're often too stupid to realize they're already dead.” Jonni: “They are. Torm the Almost Unbeatable was nearly killed when one kicked him after he cut its head off. That was a good solstice festival.”

“I’d say you can take a bite out of them, but Ogres taste like crap.” Poom: "You have to pickle them first.”

"Easy now... Let me look you over... I think. You have an arrow to the knee.”

Azathoth: "Giant rubies are never a good thing.”

OOC: Oh, shit, it’s Akio Ohtori! Don’t get in any cars with him!

OOC: Put some sand in there. Maybe a helmet made from a skull.

“I, sir, am a Paladin. It is my sworn duty to keep the innocent from harm.” “He is. Trust me. It’s almost gotten us killed.” “Please, all of our virtues or vices have nearly gotten us killed at some point.”

The circus tent that walks like a man's heavy iron tread echoes through the halls.

Edmund: ”Which... might be quite..... Deadly. Assassins are rather known for it. “ Jonni: “I mean, so am I.”

OOC: DREAM WARRIORS ASSEMBLE!

The streets are empty, the buildings are basically empty shells like the set of a stage play. “Is there still booze?”

As you look around, you hear singing in the distance, along with the dragging of something. “Yeah, yeah, creepy dream demon 101.”

"Mouth eyes, cute. I've seen worse in my own nightmares.”

The ruby is gone, in its place is a deck of cards. Gorbash slaps Eddie's hand instinctively.

Poom: "I'm not sure I dream any more so much as have 'enforced family time’."

"Are you guys still in town? What happened?” “Minor delay, unrelated cursed nightmare shit. Nothing you need worry about.” "Right yeah, I forgot you guys are addicted to the side quests. Alright carry on.” “Yeah having a functioning conscience can be inconvenient.”

Jonni: “I think I can see the curvature of time, guys.”

Jonni flies back and does her sexy Identify dance on the wagon.

"DOG! I HAVE BEEN IMPRISONED IN THIS ACCURSED BOTTLE FOR 500 YEARS, I VOWED TO SLAY THE FIRST LIVING BEINGS I SAW WHEN I EXITED AND THAT SHALL BE YOUuuuu…" He lowers his scimiter and looks at Jonni. Then at her bottle. Then he quickly bows.

"I am the duke of boiling rage, hurler of 10,000 curses, collector of 10,00 skulls, who has brought low everyone who has insulted me.” "Your haircut is very fancy!” "Thank you.”

SANDSTORM! OOC: I had that book.

OOC: No fair! I’m using Mon-Ra in Spelljammer! Their the unholy spawn of Mum-Ra and Mon-Starr.

Jonni: “Their last name is ‘Golzana?’ I could have been making fun of that this whole time?!?”

OOC: FUCK THAT! JONNI NEEDS HER EYES FOR LOOKING AT TITTIES!

OOC: Also, bold of you to assume Jonni’s cylindrical shaped vessel has been a bottle.

“Mistress, can I chop this ones hands off? He wont leave my flask alone.” "No. I need my hands. For Reasons!”

Jonni: “Efreet don’t get powers from bottles. They only get into them at all for weird sex stuff.”

#dungeons and dragons #dnd 5e #quotes without context #ravenloft #har-akir #sandman #special guest villain #the corininthian

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asphora · 4 years

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Marigolds | csc

wc: 5,569 | angst, hanahaki disease, seungcheol x reader, f!reader, non-idol!verse, cursing, character death, tw:sickness, tw:death

a/n: I’ve been in a slump and in a really bad place recently, but out of nowhere this came to me and somehow writing it made me feel better? idk. Also, I recommend listening to Yiruma’s Prelude in Gm. It’s such a beautiful piece. Anyway, thank you.

Love can often look like so many things that don’t seem like love.

The night the world stops spinning is the night you see her for the first time. You’d known of her existence long before you’d even had the misfortune of laying your eyes on her, from stories and various retellings enthusiastically recounted to you by your group of 13 male friends. Their words had made her something of a phantasmagoric collection of enchanting and enigmatic quirks and traits, something otherworldly; brave and spontaneous, fun but equally intelligent. But for all their praise, you figured their words were just that.

Nodding along as Seungcheol prattled on about her ardently, you silently listened, finding some semblance of solace knowing that there was no person without flaws. To you, she seemed more like a Monet than anything; something beautiful to behold, but only from a distance. The closer anyone got, surely the more the cracks would start to show and for all her magic and mystery, you figured soon enough the boys, particularly Seungcheol, would soon realize the truth: that there was no such thing as magic. Only real people, with their flaws and undone seams, haphazardly strewn together.

That night the music blared in your ears, despite coming from the next room where Soonyoung was drunkenly DJing. Around you were throngs of people, a mix of strangers and friends alike, bodies danced intoxicatedly moving to the beat reverberating through the walls of the frat-house.

When you see him, you can’t fight the smile that spreads on your lips. Your hand is already raised, ready to wave him down and wrap him in the embrace you two always shared. You don’t know it yet, but that night is different from all the others; the beginning of the end.

It only takes him few steps more for you to see that his hand, which is usually stuffed into his pockets, is prettily decorated by her dainty one; milky skin seemingly unmarred by the harsh yellow lighting in the crowded living room and her ring finger ornamented by a big bright rock you recalled seeing at Seungcheol’s apartment a week prior.

Immediately your hand falls to your side and you take a step back, disappearing effortlessly into the crowd as your watchful eyes are trained on the couple. She with her red silk dress that seemed to accentuate and hug her body in the most complimentary way, and him in his usual all black ensemble that definitely did not betray the senses, showcasing his toned body through the fabric. They looked more like they belonged on the front of some expensive travel or style catalogue.

You would have described the pair as one that stuck out like a sore thumb, but that wasn’t the case. As they waded through the waves of people—his arms wrapped gently around her, never faltering in their protective hold on her—they seemed to put everyone else to shame. It wasn’t that they didn’t belong at this party, it was that they made everyone else look like they shouldn't have been there.

As you watch them laughing and dancing, whispering, faces always close to each other’s, you realize that she is not the mirage you had made her out to be in your head. She’s everything they said she was, and even more, she bore his heart.

“Seungcheol!” the bellowing voices of 13 other boys pull you from your thoughts and suddenly, you go from a passive by-stander simply basking in the glow of the couple, to the forefront of all the excitement as Mingyu finds you in the crowd and pulls you by the arm to where Seungcheol and the others are standing.

Dark chocolate irises that you’ve known all your life and have practically memorized at this point meet your own and that’s the last color you register along with the sounds of cheering and shouting of joyous congratulations, before everything becomes a blur of motion as your legs will you through the halls of the frat house you practically lived at. After that all you see is orange—bright, fiery, blazing orange.

As you sink onto the floor of Jihoon’s bathroom, vision bleary from the pain, you press your cheek onto the tile taking whatever comfort you can from their soothing coolness.

‘Marigolds,’ you chuckle at the irony of just how fitting it is, the sound coming out more of a garbled cough than a laugh due to the burning in your throat, 'in the language of flowers, it meant despair, grief and jealousy.'

As you shift in and out of consciousness, the alcohol in your system working too well with the pain in your chest and throat, forcing you under, you reach your hand out, fingers trying to grasp at the orange blossoms. You hadn’t even made it to the toilet.

‘Sorry Woozi,’ you think in your last moments of consciousness, ‘promise I’ll clean it later. It just hurts too much right now.’

And that’s how the said male finds you.

Once the party is done, Jihoon retreats to his quarters only slightly tipsy since he wasn’t much of a drinker anyway like the rest of the guys. There you are, passed out in the middle of his bathroom floor, lying in what at first glance seemed to be clouds of fire.

If he hadn’t know exactly what he was looking at, he would’ve thought the sight to be beautiful, immaculate even; your limp form swimming in a sea of marigolds, hands outstretched and gripping some of the fresh blooms in your hands, dark hair splayed out across the flowers in stark contrast to the vibrant orange beneath, and your face though tearstained was adorned with loose petals sticking to your skin.

His bathroom had never smelled so nice, he thought despite knowing you’d vomited these flowers. Never in his life had he seen Marigolds as vibrant as these, so alive and in full bloom, as though spring had come in the middle of winter to take up residence in his bathroom; the sight would put Demeter to shame. But he knew the truth of it; this sight was anything but that of life. You were dying.

***

“You have to get the surgery, y/n.” Jihoon sighs the words onto the skin of your forearm where there are various tubes sticking out of you, seemingly the only things keeping you somewhat alive.

You can tell by the way he says it that he’s beyond exhausted, that these are words that he’s tired of saying, that this is a plea he and all the other 11 boys from your friend group are tired of begging you for. You don’t say anything, and your silence only makes him more irked.

“If you aren’t going to get the surgery, at least tell him the truth,” Jihoon attempts to reason with you, “he deserves to know the truth, or even just the chance to save his best friend. You can’t avoid him forever, and you sure as hell can’t just suddenly die and leave him wondering how the fuck that happened.”

Jihoon’s crass words make you laugh, a breathy quiet chagrin that slips from your lips sounding more like a cough than mirth. He’s so fed up with you that he doesn’t even bother to choose his words wisely, not like how he was when this all started a month ago.

“He hasn’t even tried to visit me.” At that he rolls his eyes.

“Because you won’t let him. You won’t even let us tell him that you’re in the hospital. As far as he knows your back home with your parents getting better, not here in Seoul, in a hospital, fucking dying.”

This time, it’s your turn to roll your eyes and admonish him, albeit weaker compared to his display. “I get it Woozi, I’m dying, I don’t have much longer to live. Tell me something the doctors haven’t, I get it—”

“No, you don’t!” His booming voice suddenly cuts you off. For the first time in your long friendship with him, he raises his voice at you.

“You don’t get it,” you watch him as he shakes his head, “you say you get it, that you know you’re dying, but you don’t. You’re acting like this is a small thing, that it’ll go away sooner or later, but it isn’t. It’s either you get the surgery or you’re dead, done, gone forever. There won’t even be anything left of you to love that oblivious, unworthy asshole you call your best friend.

“A real best friend would be more worried about you, would be here, breaking down doors and begging me and the rest of the guys to let him see you, he’d at the very least, demand to be able to visit you and not be running around having fun with his whatever-she-is while you’re dying.”

Tears fill Jihoon’s eyes as he paces, arms angrily flailing as he rants to and at you. That’s when Wonwoo, seemingly forgotten in the corner, ever the quiet spectator and your next closest friend after Jihoon and Seungcheol, steps in to place a calming hand on Jihoon’s heaving chest.

“Jihoon,” Wonwoo’s thick baritone pierces through the sound of Jihoon’s angry breaths, “that’s enough. Look at her, she’s crying.”

You hadn’t realized it until Wonwoo had pointed out, but your face was hot with moisture, and your patient’s gown was soaked down the front with the tears that had run off your face. Jihoon seeing this seems to snap out of his trance, his stance relaxing and his eyes growing soft.

“Sorry, y/n, I-I didn’t mean, I—”

“It’s okay Jihoonie,” you hadn’t used that nickname in a long time, not since Seungcheol had practically thrown a fit, banning you from calling any of the others by cute nicknames, “it’s okay, don’t be sorry, I get it.”

Giving him and Wonwoo the warmest smile you can muster in your weakened state, you open your arms out for them, their strong sturdy forms quick to bend to fill the tiny space of your arms, wrapping your frail form in their own warmth.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper the words onto the tops of their heads, petting the hair there, “I get it, I do. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m scared too.”

The admission of your own fear wracks a brand-new sob through your chest that you hadn’t known you were holding back, and immediately you’re crying a fresh batch of tears onto the fabric of their shirts.

“I don’t want to die,” you wail despite the scratching of your throat as you clutch the fabric of their shirts into clenched fists, “but I can’t, I don’t want to—I can’t do it. If I get the surgery, I’ll forget, and I can’t—

“I can’t live in a world where I don’t know Seungcheol, where I don’t know his smile or the sound of his voice and his laughter, where I don’t know that he’s a cry baby and that his favorite kind of movies are romcoms, even though he’ll never admit it to anyone but me.

“I’m scared too, but it’s not just dying,” you sob, “what kind of life would it be if I stopped knowing him? If I couldn't even remember the only love I’ve ever known?”

***

Weeks pass in a blur of burning orange speckled with blotches of vibrant red; hospital bins filled to the brim with orange marigolds drenched in bile and blood; nurses carrying and disposing more and more beautiful bright bouquets of marigolds each passing day.

“The marigolds are really pretty, at least.” Soonyoung absentmindedly remarks as he watches a nurse file out of the room, two trash bins in hand, brimming with freshly puked flowers.

Seungkwan who stands beside him gives the hin a look of complete outrage, nudging Soonyoung’s side a little too harshly with his elbow, making the blonde yelp in pain. Jihoon who’s sitting at your bedside only rolls his eyes at the insensitivity, while the rest of the boys stand around awkwardly and apologetically.

The tense sight of almost all your closest friends standing around as if they were at your funeral rather than just your hospital room only makes you laugh into the receptacle on your mouth, cursing the restraining contraption despite it being the only thing that’s managed to help you breathe throughout this whole ordeal.

Shifting up weakly, you move to sit up in your hospital bed to get a better look at the boys. Jihoon’s hands are quicker than your frail body though, as he tries to keep you lying down.

“C’mon, Hoonie, I’m dying, not losing my sense of humor,” you shrug his hands away and Mingyu’s takes their place to sit you up, “what Soonyoung said was funny.”

“I’m not offended, it’s funny. I mean, they are pretty, right? It would suck if I was dying and the flowers exploding out my gut were fucking ugly as shit. Could you imagine puking roses? Ugh, how generic,” you chuckle, upping the dramatics and giving Soonyoung a wink along with a mirthful grin which he sheepishly returns.

You glance at Seungkwan who’s trying to bite down his smile and you offer him your own wide one, “bet you never had a flower shop for a friend, huh?” And at that, the others who’d spent most of this time awkwardly standing around, the same way they did every week when they came to visit, finally let out their laughter.

You laugh along with them as much as your lungs will allow and you shake Jihoon’s shoulder, as if the gesture will shake the frown off of his face as you whine, “C’mon, please don’t be mad, Jihoon. I’m dying, you’re not allowed to be mad at me.”

“She kinda has a point, Hyung.” Vernon, feeling more relaxed after your joke, takes a seat at the foot of your bed and shrugs at the older male.

“Dying friend trumps angry friend,” you shrug, smiling brightly at Vernon who just pets your leg affectionately. Despite his irritation, Jihoon watches the exchange and visibly softens, patting your head just as sweetly and giving you half a smile. “Whatever, you’re stupid.”

“By the way, where’s Wonwoo?” Mingyu asks, changing the topic effectively, “isn’t he supposed to be here, too?”

“He said he’s running late,” Jihoon checks the clock, noting that the male is never usually this late, “he said he had to pick up something before—” as if on cue, the male in question rushes through the doors of your hospital room, panting and sweaty.

“What the heck, Woo? Did you run all the way here?” you laugh at his disheveled state, “don’t you have a car—” just as quickly as he makes it through the door, your words die on your tongue, finally seeing just what it was he had to pick up, rather who.

“Seungcheol.” The world seems to stop for a moment when your eyes meet his, and everyone in the room becomes as still as statues, the playful mood from earlier quickly dissolving into wordless tension.

It feels like eons before someone breaks the palpable stiffness in the room, but it’s Wonwoo’s voice that slices through it and breaks the trance you and Seungcheol are locked in, “I’m sorry, y/n.”

“What the actual fuck, Wonwoo!” This is the loudest your voice has ever managed to be since you arrived at the hospital and the strain burns your throat so much that you start coughing violently, gasping desperately for air as a fresh wave of nausea hits you and the rest of the boys can tell right away by the panicked look in your eyes.

Vernon, who’s closest to the new trash bin is quick to grab it, placing it in front of you on your lap, while Mingyu’s hands efficiently remove the breathing receptacle from your face. Jihoon reacts like it’s his second nature to pull your hair out of your face and hold it behind you, while Wonwoo moves to your side to gently stroke your back, cooing soft encouraging whispers into your ear as bright orange starts to assault your senses, blurring your vision and filling the room with sickly sweet scent of marigolds along with the sounds of your violent retching. Soonyoung and Seokmin are quick to leave the room, saying they’ll call a nurse for an extra bin while the rest sit to the side, not even an inkling of panic on their faces.

It all happens so fast, with such lighting precision and rehearsed accuracy that Seungcheol is sure that this isn’t the first time his closest friends have been through this. He realizes quickly that he’s the only one who hadn't known.

Once you're done unloading your flowery guts into the bin, Minghao is already ready with a moist towelette to wipe away any dribble along your lips. Your weak gaze manages to meet Seungcheol’s confused but visibly enraged ones, but you don’t speak. Not for lack of ability to, but because there was nothing left to say. The jig was up, he knew.

“What the fuck, y/n?” Seungcheol’s voice is booming and you almost laugh at how often you’d heard those words in the span of time you’d been in the hospital, but his next words cease any coherent thought you might have, “who is he? Tell me, y/n, who the fuck is he, I’ll kill him.”

Confused, your eyes dart from the angry eyes of the subject of your affections, to the bespectacled ones of your other best friend who was still standing beside you, hands unwaveringly rubbing gentle, soothing circles onto your back.

“Woo?”

“I thought you should be the one to tell him.” He explains, eyes apologetic.

“I swear to god, y/n! Is this where you’ve been the past two months?” Seungcheol, ever the impulsive and quick to anger person he is, doesn’t even register the moment that passes between you and Wonwoo, “Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell your best friend! We’ve been through everything together, and I would do anything for you but you were just going to go through all of this, all alone, without me?”

You only laugh at how he was exactly the same Seungcheol you’d always remembered. Two torturous months had passed and while the time had seemed to trudge on slowly for you, the time feeling like eternities without him, it had flown by for him and he had emerged from the other end practically unscathed; you were dying, and in a way, he was literally killing you with heartbreak but all he could think about was how you could have the audacity to leave him out of your own illness and death.

Classic Seungcheol. It might have seemed unbearably selfish of him, but this was also part of why you loved him so dearly. He was so innocent, so caught up in his own heart that he barely registered anyone else’s, but it also meant that once he treasured someone, he would do anything, sacrifice anything for them. His one-track mind and heart would never let him be or do anything less; if Seungcheol had to give you the world just so that you might live, he would die trying to get it.

It was exactly why you had wanted to leave him out of it. You knew that he was too kind, too self-sacrificing to the point of selfishness, too caught up in his own emotions that he would never understand your choice to not have the surgery—to die.

“Sorry, Cheolie,” you try to smile despite the sob that gets caught in your throat, “I just thought it would be better this way.”

At your words, he immediately unclenches and finally all the anger that wracks his body seems to dissipate from him until all that’s left in his irises is confusion and hurt. "You don’t have to do this. You can just have the surgery,” he coaxes, walking over to your bedside where he takes your hand in his, gently rubbing the skin there with his thumb before gently pressing it to his lips, closing his eyes as he does so.

“But I can’t, Cheolie, I can’t forget—” you almost slip up and say ‘you’, but you swallow it down and Seungcheol is quick to take the reigns of the conversation again.

“You can! You can forget that bastard! Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve you, your love, or your death.” He pleads, tears pricking the edges of his eyes.

“You don’t know that Seungcheol,” the first time in a long time you’d used his first name, “he doesn’t deserve me, he deserves better, you just don’t know—”

“I don’t want to know! If he really loved you, he wouldn’t be letting you die here all alone—”

“But I’m not alone!” you try to argue, but Seungcheol isn’t having any of it, he’s too riled up again, too in his pain to let you explain anything to him.

“No, y/n! For fuck’s sake, listen to me! If he can’t love you when you’re fucking willing to die for him, then he’s not gonna love you even after you’re dead! And there’s no use dying just to remember someone who doesn’t love you!” he heaves, “isn’t it better to just be alive not remembering someone who could never love you?”

Everyone stood around you, eyes wide and tensely watching, awaiting your response with bated breath. His words hurt. More than anything, they felt like a death sentence, an indirect confirmation that Seungcheol could never and would never return your feelings. Fighting the marigolds bubbling in your chest threatening to spill out, you can only shake your head, smiling at him as tears finally spill from your eyes.

It takes everything in Jihoon not to punch the lights out of Seungcheol as everyone watches you cry, but Wonwoo’s firm grip on Jihoon’s arm is warning enough that you wouldn’t want them fighting with each other.

“It’s okay,” you finally manage the words, and everyone but Seungcheol knows that the words are more for everyone else in the room, “I know you don’t understand, and I don’t expect you to.

“You’re not meant to; it’s not for you to understand. This is mine.” Seungcheol meets your eyes and in them he sees a finality that he has never seen before, a certainty unmarred by fear or sadness. “So, I don’t care if you’re mad at me, or if you don’t agree. You don’t have to, you just have to be my friend and sit this one out, okay?”

Your eyes scan through the room, meeting the eyes of all your closest friends, asking for their silent agreement to both keep your secret but also to no longer question your decision. “Just be my friend and sit with me till—”

“Till the end.” Wonwoo finishes when you’re unable to, voice shaky from overuse and the emotions.

The night the world ends is the day your heart finally stops. For three days prior you’d been in a medically induced coma, the doctors explaining to Jihoon and all your friends that it would be too much, too painful to keep you awake while your body slowly failed; your lungs slowly filling with blood, fluid and marigolds, its roots constricting the far too weakened organ tighter and tighter until your system would eventually crash from the lack of oxygen. Ultimately suffering from a long and arduous suffocation.

When you go, it isn’t peaceful or serene like the books or the movies often say it is. Your body is a mess of convulsions and painful retching fits. Despite being sedated, you're gasping for air; your body seemingly clawing onto life and fighting to preserve itself despite your heart telling it to let go. As the last of your struggle and life dissipates from your body, you’re surrounded by the same friends who’d kept you company throughout this whole ordeal.

Till the end, even on the days you could no longer talk, or wake up to even see them, they had stayed. Some talked to you, sometimes telling you stories, reading you your favorite books, and even saying their goodbyes one by one. Even Seungcheol, who despite his bursts of anger and frequent tantrums that had him walking out, always returned to keep his promise and just sit with you.

That night, there were no marigolds like when Jihoon had first found you, it was not beautiful or immaculate. There was no portrait of you sprawled in a field of bright golden flowers. Instead, there were only bloodied, wilting petals scattered at your bedside and sticking to your skin and robes, the orange barely visible through the blood that stained them. Your frame was the smallest they’d ever seen it and you were completely pale, the only color on you was the blood that had caked and dried at your lips and wherever else it had splattered, along with the mess of withering petals.

When the flatline finally echoes through your tiny ICU room, with 13 cramped bodies, not including the doctors and nurses, no one says anything. Wonwoo is the first to crack, taking your limp hand in his, pressing the lifeless limb to his lips then falling to his knees and finally breaking down completely for the first time. Everyone else follows suit.

Your distant relatives had settled the arrangements for the funeral, deciding to have it in Seoul where you would be surrounded by all your friends and most beloved ones. They are kind and understanding, despite not having been close with you and they thank everyone who attends graciously. All your friends attend, Seungcheol even brings his girlfriend for moral support and she does just that. You would’ve been happy that he had her shoulder to cry on, Jihoon thinks as he watches them.

The night Seungcheol’s world stops is a week after your passing. Jihoon invites Seungcheol to go out with him and Wonwoo. When he meets the pair at the park, sitting on a bench, all three of them almost laugh at how much of a similar state they’re all in; eyes puffy with dark circles underneath to match, and faces swollen from sleepless nights spent crying.

“If y/n were here, she’d laugh at how bad we look,” Wonwoo laughs, the first to break the silence, “she’d never let us live it down.”

“I miss her.” Seungchol breathes out the words into a puff of cold exhalation. At the words, Jihoon feels his fists clench, a sudden rage washing over him, but Wonwoo is quick and takes it upon himself to perform the difficult task at hand instead of Jihoon.

“You should know, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo sadly meets the gaze of his friend, forcing the words and choking down the tears in his throat, “it was you.”

“Y/n didn’t want us to tell you, she was kind that way,” Jihoon runs a hand through his locks, fighting the tears, “but we’re not as kind.”

“We thought you deserved to know.” Wonwoo clarifies, not letting Jihoon’s anger cloud their actual purpose.

“She was in love with you, she always has been,” Jihoon sighs, recounting the conversation he had with you a few weeks prior to you being comatose.

“There’s still time, y/n. I know I said I would drop it, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame a guy for trying to save his best friend, right?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s okay, Hoonie, I understand.” Till the very end, you were kind despite your pain.

“You know why marigolds?” your eyes look to Wonwoo sitting by Jihoon then trail off to the view outside your window. “When I first arrived in Seoul, he was my first friend. I met him in a field of marigolds. I’d fallen and scraped my knee. It was really bad actually, I had to get stitches after. I remember trying so hard not to cry, because I was a big girl and this was the big city and I just felt like there were no room for tears here, y’know?”

You laugh at the memory, “out of nowhere this big kid comes running at me asking if I’m okay. While I tried not to cry, telling him I was okay, he took one look at the gaping wound and all the blood on my skirt and he started crying so loudly.

He was so dramatic that it almost made me forget how much it hurt, and I could laugh even just a little at him. So overly emotional, that boy.” You shake your head. “Anyway, I ask him why he’s crying, and this obviously much older and taller boy bawls at me saying ‘it looks like it hurts, doesn’t it hurt? And you’re not crying so I’ll just cry for you’.”

“He cried so much that his parents eventually found him and me, and brought me to the hospital to get stitches. I’ve been with him ever since. We were so young back then. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember…”

Finally looking back at Jihoon who now sees the fresh tears in your eyes, “but I-I don’t want to forget, Jihoon. I don’t want to forget him or who he helped me become.”

“And I knew, you know?” chuckling mirthlessly, your eyes shift to Wonwoo’s sad eyes as they watch your sadder ones, “I knew he couldn’t feel that way about me, I knew he didn’t love me, but I adored him anyway. There were times I thought, maybe, maybe he’d finally see me...”

Turning back to Jihoon, you could only shrug, “but we all know how that turned out.”

“She always loved you, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo interjects, ending Jihoon’s retelling and watching as the older male’s eyes fill with tears.

“But why didn’t she—why couldn’t she just have told me? She could’ve just been honest.”

“We all know that wasn’t an option,” it’s Jihoon’s turn to interrupt this time, “you were engaged, and she wasn’t going to ever let herself get in the way of that.”

A silence passes between them at his words. It was true. No matter how Seungcheol looked at it and flipped it around in his head, you were far too selfless to do anything so cruel, and knowing you, the last thing you’d want was to make it any harder on him. You were no angel, but you were a good person, the best he knew, but he also knew you could be selfish to a certain extent. Instead of just going through with the surgery, you suffered painfully till the very end, and all to preserve memories of someone who he now knew didn’t even deserve to be remembered, all because he was too blind and too wrapped up in his own heart to see it, to see you.

“I love you; I’m waiting for you unbearably.” Wonwoo’s eyes are closed as he whispers the words into the emptiness of the starless night sky. The two males stare at him wordlessly as if waiting for an explanation and after taking his time, letting the moment pass, he does.

“It was a quote y/n really loved, from a book she recommended to me a while back.” He smiles fondly at the memory, “during her last days, sometimes she’d whisper it in her sleep.”

They sat there in silence for what seemed like hours, wordlessly comforting each other by just being there. As they stayed there, basking in the stillness and calm that seemed to envelope the rest of the universe; your death felt like the world had ended, but here it was, continuing to spin through the vastness of the cold October night sky; blissfully ignorant of your passing. Even in that emptiness, there was comfort and somehow, they could almost feel you; just there, sitting with them till the end.

Seungcheol is the first to stand to leave, whispering a hoarse thank you to the two before turning to head to his car and driving off, home to his fiancé. Wonwoo and Jihoon don’t say anything more. It’s Jihoon who decides when it’s finally time to leave. He turns to Wonwoo, beckoning to the male with a nod.

“Let’s go, Woo.”

“Do you think it will hurt?” Jihoon doesn’t look at him as he drives, but quirks his brow, confused by his question.

“What, the surgery?”

It takes a moment before Wonwoo can respond. He’s perfectly calm, looking out the window at the streaks of passing light as he shakes his head, “no. Forgetting.”

The words take Jihoon by surprise, but he doesn’t show it, not wanting to worry him any further. Instead, he gives him a comforting smile, the first hint of sincere softness on his face since you had been admitted to the hospital, and shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think so. I think it only hurts when you know you’re forgetting. But once you’ve forgotten, then there has to be some relief in that, right? To be able to be a blank slate. A new start, she would have wanted that for you.”

Wonwoo only nods, closing his eyes as he takes in the younger’s words.

“Don’t worry, Wonwoo,” Jihoon’s hand is a comforting warmth on his shoulder, “even when you can’t remember her anymore, I’ll remember her for the both of us.”

Fin.

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incomprehensiblelentils · 2 years

Note

35, 43, 72

35. What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

lololol this question feels DIFFICULT to say the least!!!! however I really feel like the Natasha/Laura Endgame fix-it AU say you will is my most special baby because a) it took me months longer than I intended, because b) it morphed into my own personal tribute/farewell to Natasha, and kind of to Laura as well, since she's a character the narrative has really never cared to develop or explore in a substantial way, and also c) I poured a lot of my own shit into that fic, between Nat/Laura falling in love over mostly email and having an LDR (just like B and I lol), all of the Barton kids being autistic and thus having different traits of myself and my brother (mostly, neither of us have non-speaking periods), and Natasha being implied to be demisexual/ace-spectrum which is also me, lol. BUT obviously because of the kind of fic it is it doesn't get a ton of attention, so, sigh.

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

I know that I have talked about that Daredevil fic where Karen and Foggy have very sad grief sex because Matt is dead A LOT OF TIMES LOL and I stg I will finish it someday!!!!!!! As for a thing that I haven't written any of yet, I thought of a cute AU where Karen Page is the GM of a D&D group and Colleen Wing has a big crush on her (it WOULD just be blatant wish fulfillment bc my most embarrassing romantic fantasy involves Deborah Ann Woll being my DM sdjfdsokfj don't look at me) but I haven't done much with that yet, lol.

72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

lol after looking through some of my AO3 comments someone said this about the Endgame AU, which just makes me really really happy:

Oh man, your Nat/Laura one was literally exactly what I wanted after episode 2 of Hawkeye, and I definitely messaged a friend about it going "LOOK THIS IS THE CONTENT THAT NAT AND LAURA DESERVE."

#swiftzeldas

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princesstillyenna · 3 years

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I feel like certain members of your hockey GC fics would really appreciate the Gretzky Twink subsection of tumblr

Nonnie nonnie nonnie WHAT HAVE YOU DONE. So, I was going to answer this question with "well actually, the reason EJ is always collecting twinks, is actually for his fiance Paul..." and then erm... a fic fell out...

EJ walks through the door. He knows Paul is home because Paul’s yard boots are by the door, and the dogs didn’t immediately run to greet him, which means they’re both currently on top of Paul on the couch.

“Hi honey,” he calls out, “I’m home, and I brought strays.”

“Rude.” Nate glares at him. “Tys and I are not strays.”

EJ sticks his tongue out through the gap in his teeth. “You follow me home in hopes that you’ll get loved and fed, you’re strays.”

He wonders through to the living room where Paul is, predictably, lying across the couch, both dogs on his lap, face buried in his phone. “Hi,” EJ leans down to press a soft kiss to Paul’s cheek. Ok so he was aiming for his mouth but Paul’s clearly distracted by something.

“Erik,” Paul whines, “Why didn’t you tell me Gretzky is a babe?”

EJ blinks once. Twice. He straightens up and looks over his shoulder at Nate and Tyson, frowning as if to say ‘did you hear that?’.

Nate’s face looks just as horrified as EJ feels. Tyson’s shaking his head and backing slowly out of the room.

“Sorry babe?” EJ stares down at Paul, “But what the fuck?”

“Gretzky,” Paul looks up at him like he’s a fucking idiot, “The one who’s good at hockey and not Sid, he’s fucking cute!”

EJ can’t do anything, he’s opening and shutting his mouth like a fucking fish. He turns to look over his shoulder where Tyson has collapsed on the floor with silent laughter.

“OK first of all,” Nate steps in to save them all, “There are plenty of people who aren’t Sid who are still good at hockey. Like yes, Gretzky’s the best player of all time, and Sid’s the best since him, but you can’t go saying the rest of us aren’t good.”

Paul shrugs. “You knew what I meant.” He waves his hand around, nearly braining EJ with his phone.

“Secondly,” Nate continues, “Why the fuck have you been looking at pictures of Gretz, and more importantly, why the fuck do you think he’s CUTE!”

“He popped up on my tumblr dash.” Paul finally decides to sit up and shift the dogs off the couch so the rest of them can sit, although Nate’s already headed for his usual chair. “And how would I not think he’s cute?” Paul continues, “He’s small and blonde and twinky as all fuck, he looks like I could snap him in half if I wanted to.”

Tyson snorts, it’s the first actual sound that he’s made. He’s still silently shaking with laughter as he drags himself to his feet and throws himself down into Nate’s lap.

EJ silently wonders why they bother having seating for more than two people, when his friends are such cuddly bastards anyway. He sits himself down next to Paul, “Show me,” he demands, holding out his hand for the phone.

Paul hands his phone over easily, and there, on the screen is the most cursed picture EJ has ever laid eyes on. It’s Gretzky, obviously, young Gretzky, sat on the ice in the tiniest pair of shorts EJ has ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on, sports socks, sneakers, and not a lot else. He sighs. “It’s vintage Gretz,” he confirms for the other two, although they’d probably worked it out around the same time EJ had himself, when Paul mentioned the word “blonde”. He turns to his boyfriend, “You realise these are pretty old, yeah?”

Paul shrugs, “They didn’t look exactly modern.”

“And he doesn’t look like this now.”

Paul shrugs again, “I didn’t bother looking him up,” he laughs, “He just came across my dash and I remembered you guys saying his name.”

“Show him Gretzky now.” Nate laughs.

“No!” Tyson giggles, “If he likes vintage hockey twinks, show him some vintage Yeezy.”

Even from across the room EJ can see Nate’s jaw tighten. He’s 90% certain Tyson only refers to Yzerman as Yeezy because he knows how much it winds Nate up.

“That’s not his name.” Nate grits out.

EJ laughs, and searches for some pictures of Yzerman that he knows rivals the twink era Gretzky, before handing Paul his phone back.

“Fuck,” Paul’s eyes widen, “Who is this guy?”

“Yzerman,” EJ tells him, “GM of the redwings now, used to be their Captain back in the day.” He pauses before adding, “He’s aged a little better than Gretz has if we’re honest.”

“GM.” Paul frowns for a moment. “Joe’s job right?”

EJ shakes his head with amusement, “One day,” he presses a kiss to Paul’s temple, “You’re actually gonna understand my job.”

Paul stares down at his phone, “Babe, if more of the players on your team looked like this, I’d be a lot more interested.”

“Hey!” EJ elbows him, “We’ve got Sammy for you.”

“And baby Tys,” Tyson chimes in, always quick to defend his rookie.

“You said I’m not allowed to seduce baby Tys.” Paul points accusingly at Tyson, “But I won’t argue that I’m a lot more likely to watch a game if Sammy’s in it.”

“Rude.” EJ presses a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s ok baby,” Paul leans his head against EJ’s shoulder, “You’re still my favourite.”

#tilly writes #if you pick an author up and turn them upside down and shake hard enough #sometimes a fic falls out of their pockets

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scribble-blog · 4 years

Text

Black Cats and Robinettes part 3!!!!

Part 1 Part 2

“No.”

Marinette eyed her brother balefully, even as she stuck another pin into the sleeve she was working on. “I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

“You’re my little sister,” Dick lamented. “I feel that it is completely my business to veto your budding love life.”

“The love life you know of,” Marinette muttered, ignoring Dick’s yelp as she stuck him with a pin. “Can you leave it be?”

“Can you leave him be?” Dick mocked her, rubbing the spot where she’d pricked him.

“We’ve got more important things,” Marinette directed him to move, having him spin as her keen eyes watched. He did some light stretches to test the fabric, and she nodded. “Like, I don’t know, that hero Dad wants us to meet with?”

“Hero schmero,” Dick grinned. “What are the volatile superhero politics of a different country compared to the love life of Gotham’s sunshine princess? And what are you going to have Alfred cook up to woo him tomorrow night?”

“Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you,” She scowled, punching him. He just laughed in return.

———

Damian was not sitting on his bed mooning over Marinette Wayne.

No, Damian was staring out his window and mooning over Marinette Wayne. It was a small difference but it mattered, mostly because if he hadn’t been staring at the cloud cloaked sky and wondering if she had been flirting with him the rest of the day after her masterful takedown of Lila that had left the girl sobbing. She’d invited Adrien and Chloé, and him he supposed, to dine with her family the next night. She’d actually tried to include him in what could clearly have just been time for her to spend with her friends.

What did it mean??

Staring out the window was nice, a sobering reminder that even if anything could come from this, Marinette Wayne was still the rich, beautiful, girl who was regarded as the Princess of Gotham. And he lived in Paris.

And speaking of Paris, he caught the familiar movement of a red and a yellow suit, moving over the rooftops.

He couldn’t stop himself from standing up, a small intake of breath his only outward sign of surprise. Ladybug and Queen Bee? He watched them, spots and stripes, dart over a roof break, the streetlight filtering up and leaving them in stark definition.

“Plagg,” Damian said, and the Kwami looked up from where he had retreated when it seemed clear that he was just going to pine over a girl for the whole evening. “Do you know why Ladybug and Queen Bee are here?”

“Why should I know that?” Plagg snacked on another piece of Camembert. Damian made a face, incredibly glad he’d started putting Camembert in double ziplock bags to keep from smelling like it constantly. “I’m your kwami, not theirs.”

“Claws out, Plagg.”

It was a simple matter to climb out of the window, and throw himself to the rooftops using the staff.

He spotted them immediately, the familiar joking and banter that Queen Bee and Ladybug exhibited during battles easy to hear. But now, with them here, he honestly would have felt stupid if he hadn’t already known that there was magic that kept any casual comparisons from revealing their identities.

Of course, it was Adrien and Chloe. Of course it was his two friends. Out of all of the idiots in Paris, it had to be his two idiots who ran around in magical spandex fighting monsters with him.

There wasn’t any other explanation for why they would be in Gotham of all places. And if they were using the Horse Miraculous to return to Paris for akumas-

Damian scowled. And now they were going on a joy run around a city they had no business being in? If anyone else was able to make these connections like him-

“So,” a voice behind him interrupted his train of thought. “Are you just an opportunist in a cat costume trying to meddle in the Bat’s affairs? An amateur wannabe hero? Should I let Catwoman know she’s got a copycat running around Gotham?”

Damian spun. Behind him was a girl, shorter than him despite the clear platforms on the boots, dark green mask glinting in the low evening light.

“I thought capelets were out of fashion,” Damian said dumbly. The girl smirked at him.

“Well,” she shrugged, “It’s part of the Robin ensemble. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to deal with a full cape.” Her pose never faltered from battle-ready, despite her easy tone. “Now what’s a boy like you doing in a place like this?”

Damian spluttered. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” She nodded towards where Ladybug and Queen Bee had been, stepping forward, into his space. “You were following the two Parisian heroes. Don’t argue, I caught you at it. What do you want with them, catboy?”

Damian wished very desperately that his mask could keep him from blushing. Was there something wrong with him today? First Marinette Wayne, and now Robin? Batman’s partner? Why was he noticing how cute she was when he’d been pining after Marinette earlier? Was there something wrong with him?

“Well?” Robin challenged.

“I’m Chat Noir,” He started babbling. “I’m their partner too, but I didn’t know they were here in Gotham, and I’d prefer they didn’t-”

“Find out?” Robin grinned, backing away a step. “You scared they’ll be upset for the misunderstanding?”

Damian fought the urge to squirm under the blank white eyes of her mask. What to tell her? “They don’t know who I am, and I’d really rather not have to deal with revealing myself tonight.”

She leaned away, taken aback. “You don’t know who each other are? How do you get anything done?”

Damian laughed. “Honestly, we don’t. I’m thinking that’s probably why they’re here, isn’t it? To ask you and your group for help. That’s how you knew they were Parisian. They’re here to meet you.”

She finally dropped from her fighting-ready pose, tilting her head as she looked at him. “You’re pretty sharp. I wish I could trust you.”

And then she swung, and Damian jumped back automatically. She had a staff, an extendable one, and she knew how to use it. Before she could make another move, Damian swung himself out over the open street, dropping until his staff caught him, carrying him to the next rooftop over.

“I don’t want to fight you!” He yelled back at her. He could practically see the way she rolled her eyes. Honestly, if this had happened to him back in Paris, he couldn’t say he’d be any less suspicious than she was, but it was still annoying him that she couldn’t just take his word for it.

Which meant that he had three options, he reasoned as they stood off against each other, the river of traffic between and far below them. He could try to fight her and possibly incur the wrath of the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, which, no. He could try to run away and transform back, and give up this whole outing before making his way back to the hotel. Or he could go after Chloe and Adrien, possibly reveal himself and them to the vigilantes they were meeting with, but prove to Robin that he really wasn’t just some masked asshole making the best of the rooftops that night.

He wanted to groan as he watched her pull out a grappling gun. And he decided that sometimes, retreat really was the better part of valor.

He leapt for the next rooftop, only to have her swing in front of him. He tried to course correct, but she managed to block him, leaving him lunging for the next roof.

He swerved the second he landed, immediately jumping again. He had super strength! It shouldn’t be hard to out distance her!

Except that whenever he thought he’d managed to get out of her sight, she’d corner him again.

Finally, he realized mid leap that she wasn’t trying to catch him. In fact, she was barey trying to chase him.

No, she was corralling him somewhere. He sprang from the edge, to another, and found out where she’d been forcing him.

“Chat?”

“Chat?!”

Ladybug and Queen Bee were waiting there, along with two other masked individuals. Damian didn’t scowl when he heard Robin’s landing behind him, but it was a close thing.

“Oh my god,” one of the others whispered. “We have to tell Catwoman. It’s fucking genetic.”

“Shhhh,” the taller hushed. “Robin. I take it this is Chat Noir?”

“Yes,” Ladybug answered for him, green eyes burning into his. “Glad you made it, Chat.”

Ah. Okay. Damian could put off talking to them until later then. Thank god. But he turned back to Robin, one brow raised. “Good enough for you?”

“Oh,” Robin grinned, and despite being named for a bird, she looked like the cat that caught the canary. “What do you think we are? I’ve known you weren’t lying the whole time. Welcome to Gotham, Chat Noir.”

Her teasing smile made his heart stutter. He might honestly have gone a bit weak in the knees.

Gotham was trying to kill him, he realized. And it’s chosen method was flirty dark-haired girls who were out of his league and far more trouble than he thought.

TAGLIST:

@silverwhiteraven

@ash-amg @vixen-uchiha @redscarlet95 @dramatic-squirrel @athena452 @novaloptr @bee-wrecker @constancetruggle @pr-y-sha

@thestressmademedoit @noirdots @ranger-gothamite @the-fair-maiden-of-fandom @zalladane @mewwitch @mochegato @justafanwarrior @catcusxx @indecisive-mess-named-me @resignedcatservant @marinettepotterandplagg @myazael @mochinek0 @shizukiryuu @fancandi @fusser90 @loveswifi @gm-nasai @peachedpocky @danielslilangel @whatthefox22 @jardimazul @ladybug-182 @schrodingers25 @karategirl119 @smolplantmum @maribat-is-lifeblood @thebookwormfairy @sassakitty @area51qt @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @amayakans @dast218 @myvividreams @dorkus-minimus @alexandriamw @elmokingkong @tis-i-beanbandit

#maribat #daminette #daminette role reversal #black cats and robinettes #fanfic #OH BOY DAMIAN youre really in it now huh #the other two are Tim and Dick jsyk #back in the hotel room after...#Adrien: what the FUCK is Chat doing here #Chloe: oh no I've known Damian was Chat Noir almost as long as I knew you were Ladybug #Adrien: WHAT

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