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I read among us fanfics almost all day. I hope its not a new brainrot, oh god.
But why there is only one fic with imposter getting caught in a glass cube. And they spent in there less then two sentences, I'm kinda disappointed.
I want the crew to carefully plan and catch the imposter like a feral cat. Wrestle them, use ropes, create a containment room, drop a net on them at least something. I don't need your fucking murder mystery, I want the crew to cooperate and try to reason with the imposter. Please.
Put the imposter in a hamster ball.
Enough of the trope where memory loss undoes the damage or the corruption or whatever. More content where removing memories just removes the context.
The tragedy of needing to grieve and not knowing what or who you lost or why. The angst of having trauma and being denied the awareness that it's trauma. The suspense of being different somehow and left to wonder how and when. The tension of knowing that something is off and you can't find where it hurts. The Adventure Zone gets it. Kingdom Hearts gets it.
There is an aching inside you and you don't know how it got there.
Crystal: You’re such a dick
Edwin: I am what I eat.
Charles: *phases through the floor*
I’m sick of all the brooding vampire stories. Like, I want a vampire like Elle Woods from Legally Blonde. Just a girl who’s all in the pink girly stuff and OWNING IT.
Like, Imagine a family of dark Victorian Vampries who are very traditional with a vampire daughter who’s wearing a Y2K pink sparkly jumpsuit with her nails freshly painted and her familiar toy poodle in her purse.
“Oh yeah! My Dad is Zachaeus Van Hellwrithe the III! I know he looks like SUUPPEER intimidating but, like he’s super sweet. We even got our nails painted together! :)”
She’s not treated like an outcast from her family and they fully embrace her pink sparkly quirkiness.
Dean, hands gripping Sam’s waist, smiling up at his baby brother who’s gotten so much taller since leaving, finally hitting proper height, thumbs pressed into the divots of his hips, rubbing little circles into flesh. Sam, staring down at Dean with flushed cheeks and gentle eyes, taking in Dean’s freckles and the cut on his lip, how much he’s changed, pressing their chests together to feel his steady heartbeat while his own hands settle just above his ass, barely keeping decent.
And Jess, watching from the doorway in something between horror and shock as Sam opens his mouth and professes — “babe, this is my brother, Dean.”