I can't remember if I ever sent this ask, but does croissant enjoy gale's cooking? I know it's talked about in game that he does most of the cooking but I don't recall it ever being said that it was necessarily good. do you think it's more like "boy this guy can really cook!" or "...well its better than nothing!"
I live for these comics and stories btw! its such a delight seeing people really embrace the rp part of rpgs! ❤️
Croissant was never a great cook so Gale's food has been a welcome adjustment, but Gale apparently has an aversion to vegetables, a thing Croissant is used to eating much more often.
Thank you so much!! I'm not used to playing RPG video games and being able to explore Croissant and the cast outside of the game has been so much fun!
[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]
[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]
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Man.... I can't stop thinking about Pac and the Risus Pill arc
Pac saying he took the pills because he didn't have any other choice, he was so hopeless he wants to take them until he doesn't remember anything
Pac saying "At least I’m not crying in some random corner in the Island expecting my friends to come save me, and nobody comes save me"
And then the thing he said immediately before that: "I lost my friend, I lost my friend’s friend, I lost my Egg, I lost my child, I lost everything, I'm– I was completely hopeless– so yeah, maybe I wanna be drugged and live my miserable but happy life. At least I’m not in that saddest place anymore."
The blood at Chume Labs
The three graves at Chume Labs
The message he wrote to Cellbit asking Cellbit to kill him if things got too bad, then changing it and saying "lock me up" instead.
The conversation with Fit, Fit pleading with him, and Pac saying "I don’t want to go back to that bad and sad place."
Pac, despite his grief and depression, finding an antidote and saving himself (with the help of his friends)
Literally everything from the Risus Pill arc makes me so heartbroken
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Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table eating meatloaf when it all sort of hits – and he’s desperate to remember it exactly how it happened.
With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, a dollop of meat and sauce perched precariously on the tines, his eyes wandered over to where Cas stood by the sink in a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. (One of Dean’s old t-shirts, because once Cas gets his shoulders into them they never really sit the same way.)
He’s got soap up to his elbows, scrubbing methodically at the dishes Dean just dirtied, his brow a taught, concentrated line. He’s bringing the same kind of meticulous focus to the dishes that he used to bring to leading the armies of Heaven; that singular kind of attention, both unnerving and admirable. (Dean had once tried to explain that he didn’t need to wash them quite so vigorously, to which Cas had deadpanned, “Do you know how many food particles remain on the dishes you wash, Dean?” It quickly became his job, after that.)
It’s early July. About 6:30pm. The window over the sink is cracked, and the front door is wide open, letting the sound of cicadas and crickets drift in with the summer breeze. The sun’s starting to set behind the field, casting the world in that particular orange glow that has always made something in Dean ache. In the other room, the record player Sam got them for Christmas plays a beat up Janis Joplin record he’d found at a secondhand store in town. The opening chords of Me and Bobby McGee have just started, and the cicadas are humming, and the crickets are singing, and the sun is setting, and Cas is standing in old pajamas washing dishes Dean just used to make them dinner and –
Cas tilts his head.
This isn’t revolutionary. He does it a lot. A very ingrained behavior, some might say. But he isn’t confused, he’s reacting. To the song. He doesn’t react to music the way Dean wants him to, never has, but in his own way, it’s almost like he’s leaning closer to hear it. An infinitesimal thing. The smallest gesture. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Dean has never loved him more than he does at this moment: backlit by a summer sunset in their house in the middle of nowhere, hand washing dishes and listening to Janis Joplin.
Cas turns when the sound of Dean’s fork clattering on the plate sounds, but Dean just scoops him into his arms, chases any worries away with a kiss, and then another, and then one more for good measure. Cas laughs against his mouth, desperately trying to keep his soapy arms away from Dean’s dry clothes. “Dean,” he chides, squirming and chuckling, trying to extract himself from Dean’s grip. “I’m not finished.”
“I’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” Dean promises, peppering sweet little kisses down the line of Cas' throat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. It tickles all the way down. “Love you so much,” he says, because he wants to. Because he’s so full with it he’s overflowing. Because if he doesn’t tell him right now, in this moment, and every moment after this one, he might die. He needs him to know. It’s vital that he knows.
Cas’ laughter warms, and he slides one soapy hand to the back of Dean’s neck, eyebrows raised in challenge when he shudders at the sensation. When Dean doesn’t immediately shoo him away, he slides the other soapy hand up Dean’s arm. “Dean?” He’s not worried, the timber of his voice is honey-smooth and light, but he’s confused. Not that Dean doesn’t tell him often, and loudly, how much he loves him, but to be fair this did kind of come from nowhere, so he understands. It’s just much too much. It’s not enough and it’s everything. It’s everything in the world Dean has ever wanted.
Janis Joplin is singing freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and Dean’s arms are loose around Cas’ waist, and he loves him, god he loves him so much, so he kisses him on one corner of the mouth, and then the other. Janis says, nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no, no – and he rocks their bodies together, slow, to the beat of the music. Cas’ arms come to wind around his neck automatically, and his smile starts to sprawl into something reserved for only the really good moments. Wide and gummy and for Dean – and feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. He presses his forehead to Cas’ and they just sort of sway there like that, smiling at each other like this might be the last chance they ever get.
Cas says – “I love you, Dean,” just as Janis is singing, you know feelin’ good was good enough for me – and it occurs to Dean that he’s dancing in the kitchen with the love of his life. He thinks back to the longest, loneliest nights he spent staring up at the night sky, believing wholly he’d die bloody and alone on the backend of some random hunt, and how the smallest (but loudest) part of him had wished for exactly this. For someone to hold him and see him and dance in the kitchen with him, barefoot and covered in soap.
He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose, the lines under his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas is wiping tears away with the pads of his thumbs and soothing hands through his hair. He’s crying, too. Laughing and crying and telling Dean he loves him, he loves him so much, he’s loved him from the first moment he saw him.
It settles in Dean then – really settles deep, and true, and good – that he was meant for this. He wasn’t born to be a weapon. Wasn’t born to be a son, or a father, or a brother. Wasn’t born to save the world or to end it – was just meant to dance. His arms were meant to hold. To sway them both around the cheap linoleum floor, to sling low around Cas’ waist and spin them both ‘til they were dizzy with it.
They laugh and kiss and Janis is saying – good enough for me and Bobby McGee – and Dean is thinking – Yeah. Yeah, it really is.
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I was going skimming through VLR again to screenshot some scenes I wanted to talk about, but while I was doing that I suddenly remembered how bullshit the 9BP game overs were. Y'know, the endings where Sigma has enough points to leave but immediately gets jumped by everybody and prevented to leave? Yeah, those ones. I'm not surprised that they pounced on Sigma, he did betray their trust for his own gain so that feeling of betrayal leading to that reaction is all fine and understandable except why the hell don't other characters get this same treatment?? I swear, everyone else excluding Luna has screwed the group over at some point some where some timeline, but they all get off scott free. Especially Dio, and personally that is just an actual affront to justice and my sanity, I freaking swear. When Sigma, the nicest (albeit most perverted) guy in the cast attempts to escape, all love for the man is lost and he gets stomped on, his arm chopped off and abandoned and left to die in a heartbeat, just no hesitation, but when goddamn betray-happy cultish asshatish douchebag Dio screws everyone and attempts to escape, all of a sudden the characters forget that-- oh I don't know-- tackling that twink is a totally valid option but instead they just go "alas, there is no point anymore he's already won" so this man just gets to walk out that door all proud of himself like what the fuck?? How is that fair in any way??? What the hell are they all smoking to be fine with that????
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