#I JUST STARTED PLAYING ABOUT AN HOUR AGO BUT I HAVEN'T GOTTEN THAT FAR INTO THE STORY

[mapis-putellas]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆’𝒔 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒅?

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 1300

Warnings: none

Summary: Alexia’s loses her beloved Fred, a stuffed giraffe you’d given her on your one year anniversary.

Notes: Changed my writing style up a little. Hope it’s somewhat okay

You stepped into the house, expecting to find Alexia in her usual spot on the couch or in the kitchen. Instead, the sight that greeted you was an absolute mess—blankets strewn about, pillows tossed to the floor, and Alexia standing in the middle of it all, looking utterly defeated. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red from crying, and when she saw you, her expression crumpled even further.

"Ale, what happened?" you asked, quickly dropping your bag and stepping over the clutter to reach her.

Her bottom lip wobbled as she tried to speak, her voice choked with emotion. "Fred... he's... he's gone," she managed, her accent thick with distress.

You blinked, a mix of confusion and amusement flickering over your face. "Fred?"

She looked up at you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The... giraffe. You know," she said, sniffling, her voice trembling. "You gave him... one year ago. Anniversary."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the memory surfaced. For your first anniversary, you'd found a little stuffed giraffe and gifted it to her, joking that it reminded you of her—tall, unique, and utterly adorable. To your surprise, she'd taken to it immediately, naming him Fred and declaring him her "little amigo." Since then, Fred had become a surprising constant in Alexia's life, stashed in her training bag, sitting on her bedside table, and even sometimes making the journey to the locker room with her.

You hadn't realized how much he meant to her until now.

"Fred is... gone?" you echoed, trying to sound sympathetic despite the amusement bubbling up inside you. It was a little stuffed giraffe, after all.

"Yes!" she practically wailed, burying her face into her hands. "I... I looked everywhere. Todo la casa. Todo," she said, her voice muffled.

Your heart softened as you wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle hug. "Hey, hey. We'll find him, I promise."

She looked up at you, a spark of hope in her teary eyes. "Really?"

"Really," you said, squeezing her shoulder. "You know, Fred can't have gotten far.”

She sniffed, managing a small smile. "Sí... maybe he just... he went to explore."

You started searching the house together, combing through every room. Alexia seemed to be calming down a little with each room you checked, though her anxiety was still palpable as she checked every possible nook and cranny. You turned over cushions, looked under the couch, peeked in closets—even checked the fridge, though that one earned you a puzzled glance from Alexia.

"Just in case Fred got hungry," you said, grinning, and she rolled her eyes, finally laughing a little through her worry.

But after nearly an hour of searching, there was still no sign of Fred. Alexia sat down on the couch, fresh tears pooling in her eyes as she looked up at you. "I... I think he's... gone," she whispered.

You knelt in front of her, brushing a thumb across her cheek to wipe away a tear. "Hey, don't say that. We'll find him, okay? Fred's just... probably hiding somewhere you haven't thought of yet."

She nodded, looking down at her lap. "I just... I feel silly," she mumbled, her accent thick as she tried to explain herself. "He's... only a giraffe. But he... means much."

You felt a pang in your chest at her vulnerability. "He's more than just a giraffe to you, though. He's special."

Her eyes met yours, and she nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. "Sí. You... gave him to me. He's my... little Fred."

"Let's keep looking," you said, standing and offering her your hand. "One more sweep, and if we still can't find him, we'll retrace your steps. Maybe he got left somewhere."

She took your hand, squeezing it gratefully. "Thank you.”

After combing through the house once more with no luck, you decided to check her car. It was the last place Alexia could remember seeing him, though she was adamant that she'd brought him inside the previous day.

As you opened the passenger side door, you felt a small thrill of victory. There, tucked neatly into the seatbelt, sat Fred, looking perfectly content.

"Oh my God," you whispered, trying to stifle your laughter as you reached in to grab the stuffed giraffe. "Alexia, I found him!"

She hurried over, her eyes widening as she saw Fred safely buckled into the passenger seat. A mixture of relief and embarrassment washed over her face as she reached out, taking him into her arms and hugging him tightly.

"You... you were in the car?" she murmured to the toy, her voice soft, as if she were scolding him. She looked up at you, cheeks flushed. "I... I forgot him there?"

You grinned, unable to resist teasing her just a little. "Looks like he decided he wanted a front-row seat for the drive."

She huffed, but there was a glint of laughter in her eyes. "Don't... make fun of me," she muttered, clutching Fred protectively to her chest.

You leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm not. I'm just glad we found him. And that he's safe and sound."

Alexia's expression softened as she looked down at Fred, giving him one last squeeze before she turned back to you. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice full of gratitude.

"Anytime," you replied, wrapping an arm around her as the two of you headed back inside. "Fred is practically part of the family, after all."

She gave you a warm smile, resting her head on your shoulder as you walked back into the house together.

That evening, after dinner and a movie, you found yourselves curled up in bed. Alexia lay beside you, Fred tucked under one arm, nestled against her chest as she settled comfortably into your side. You couldn't help but smile at the sight, brushing a hand through her hair as she closed her eyes, clearly exhausted from the day's events.

"Going to sleep with him tonight?" you teased gently, running your fingers up and down her arm.

She nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips as she glanced at you. "Yes. Just... in case. No more... lost Fred."

You chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. "Sounds like a good plan.”

For a while, you lay there in comfortable silence, the soft rhythm of her breathing mingling with the quiet sounds of the night. She shifted closer, her body warm against yours as she nestled further into your embrace.

"You know," you whispered, breaking the silence, "it was really sweet how much you cared about finding him. It just shows how much love you have in your heart.

She looked up at you, a small blush coloring her cheeks. "It's... because of you. You give him to me, so... he's special."

You smiled, gently rubbing her back as you held her close. "Well, I'm glad Fred means so much to you. And I promise I'll always help you find him if he ever gets lost again."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I'll... keep better eye," she promised, a determined glint in her eyes. "No more... lost Fred."

"Good," you murmured, resting your forehead against hers. "Because I don't like seeing you sad."

She sighed contentedly, her fingers tracing soft patterns on your shoulder as she relaxed into your hold. "Thank you," she whispered again, her voice filled with quiet affection.

"Anytime, mi amor," you replied, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

As you lay there, holding Alexia and her little stuffed giraffe close, you felt a profound sense of contentment wash over you. In that moment, everything felt perfect—your heart full with the knowledge that you'd do anything to keep her and her cherished Fred safe and happy.

Eventually, her breathing evened out, and you knew she'd fallen asleep, Fred clutched securely in her arms. You pressed one last gentle kiss to her forehead before settling in beside her, knowing that she'd wake up with a smile, her precious giraffe safely by her side.

**

Tags:

@codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @marysfics @ceesimz @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[jeonscatalyst]

Did anything about jikooks (or vminkook if that interests you) dynamic surprise you in are you sure? I think the extent of JK's brattiness and their play-fighting did surprise me a little. I think it's because I haven't been following them beyond the music that much in solo era. Also if I compare vminkooks dynamic from say that joint live in 2021 or the live incl Hobi (in 2022 I think?), I think it's a little bit different from what we're seeing in the show. If I think about it, it does check out in many ways with regards to what they've told us but I don't think it's something we've seen this plainly before

Hey anon,

Nothing about Jikook’ or Vminkook’s dynamic surprised me much, infact I would say the boys haven’t changed at all. Jungkook has always been bratty. Literally all the members have complained about him being bratty and stubborn and as for the play-fighting (I am assuming you are talking about Jikook) that has literally always been their thing. Someone described Jikook’s dynamic as a mix of all the other duo dynamics in BTS and now I really cannot unsee it. They playfight like jinkook, bicker like yoonmin, are soft with each other like Namkook, are besties like taekook and are caring towards each other like Jihope. There is literally a mix of everything in their dynamic and that is one of the reasons why Jikook are so difficult to explain as a duo. I personally don’t have any trouble understanding the other duo dynamics of BTS but Jikook still challenges me sometimes.

It was definitely kinda new to see them bicker so much, I mean we had seen them bicker before but the other members were usually in the mix so just seeing them bicker about parking was kinda new but not really surprising to me.

As for taekook, I didn’t see anything about their dynamic that surprised me at all. They are the duo who know how to have maximum fun when they are together as they have so many things in common when it comes to personal interests so it is extremely easy for them to be in sync but they also have moments where they could come off a bit nonchalant towards each other (but this is very normal) and I have seen so many people say they have a passive aggressive energy about them but I don’t see it personally. I just think that Jungkook sometimes has his moments you know, when he doesn’t really feel like being enthusiastic about anyone (Jimin included) and Tae isn’t like Jimin who will still try to initiate interactions when Jk gets in that mood but instead Tae just kinda ignores as well or throws in some snarky comments and maybe that is why people see some passive aggressiveness but generally I think they have gotten much closer than they were a few years ago and even their emotional bond seems to have deepened a little more than before.

For Vminkook’s dynamic, I think it is pretty much the same to be honest. Like I said before, Jungkook has his bratty and soft moments with both of them and Vmin are still the two hyungs who dote on him but call him out in their own way when he starts going too far. Jungkook has a very different dynamic with both of them and it is seen more when he is with the two of them (or atleast I noticed it more). I had always known but just seeing it in play out in AYS was….interesting. I think with Tae, Jk really enjoys just doing the fun boy stuff. They both look their happiest around each other when they are bringing out the childishness out of each other and I can see why they easily connected when they were rookies. One person starts something and the other very easily goes along with it, no question asked. They are also a good example of dumb and dumber or the blind leading the blind because it seems like between the two of them, no one is the voice of reason and we all crave people who we can just be extremely silly with without overthinking anything and I guess that is what taekook are to each other and that is why Tae can call Jk and ask him to join him in Hawaii and Jk takes a 9 hour flight there, you know just for the fun of it. Unlike what taekookers would like to believe, it isn’t because Jk is in love with tae or none of that. If I had a bestie whom I usually have alot of fun with when we are together and we both like the same things and I had Jungkook money and time, I will do the exact same thing. But, just as I had said before, it just feels like the foundation of their friendship is mostly centered around the fun and shared interests, not much else. They ofcourse really care for each other and are supportive of each other as well. I thought it was extremely sweet how Jungkook immediately climbed that wall to encourage Tae when Tae was scared to jump. Those are some of the moments that show just how they get each other and how much they care about each other. Taekook as bestfriends works so well but I don’t see them working out as romantic partners and I also understand why they don’t seem to be each other’s go to person for comfort. This is because they are way too alike. They both are naturally takers so they need givers for things to balance out. That is why at some point, they both sought out comfort from Jimin who is a a natural giver and not from each other.

Jimin and Jungkook are kinda different here because even though those two also have alot of fun with each other, Jimin is actually very different from Jungkook. He isn’t as spontaneous and he thinks about everything way too much. He also likes to have a schedule or plan things out before he executes them but Jungkook takes everyday as it comes and doesn’t seem to think about things too much so because of this, Jimin is like the voice of reason but sometimes Jungkook doesn’t want a voice of reason, he just wants adventure. A good example of this is that episode from I land where Jungkook stole TXT’s food from the pantry. He was in there with Tae and while he was stealing the food, Tae just went along with it and didn’t say anything but instead just found the whole thing funny but immediately Jk went outside with the food and Jimin saw him, Jimin (as well as the other members) asked him to return the food and they even scolded him (Jimin included lol). This is how Tae and Jk are partners in crime because they both readily go along with each other’s mischief but Jimin is that voice of reason that Jk needs because Jk is very impressionable (he said it himself) so if he doesn’t have some Jimins in his life, he could easily go astray. Even though Jikook are so different, they still are so alike and they click and just get each other so well and I don’t even know how to explain it. It seems to me like they are the definition of opposites attract, ying and yang. Jimin has the light that Jk needs and Jk has the darkness Jimin craves, they balance each other out, they give each other what the other lacks, they complement each other completely. Their bond in my opinion is definitely deeper as the foundation of it much more than the fun they have when they are together. There is an underlying intimacy in their play that isn’t there in taekook’s too. While taekook just play around like 5 year olds without a care in the world, splashing around in pools or shooting at each other with water guns, there is a subtle intimacy and softness in the way Jikook play around and they are definitely more handsy with each other too. This is pretty much everything I already knew about them and it is exactly the same thing I saw so I don’t really think anything was surprising or maybe just how much Jikook can bicker, if I had to pick something lol.

So anon, I have written a ton even though you probably just wanted a shorter answer but I couldn’t help myself lol. I have a problem not expatiating as much as I can. I hope this answers your question though and if u don’t mind, I would love to hear what you thought was different about Vminkook’s dynamic from 2021/2022 and now. I don’t really think we can compare from those moments you mentioned but I’d really love to hear or read your thoughts.

[mrshamada-dorian]

NO?! THERE'S GENSHIN JUZA?!

DID YOU SEE THE NEW PARTY SETUP SCREEN?! IT EATS!!

I HAVENT I KEEP FORGETTING. DID YOU SEE GENSHIN JUZA

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Alright, and here's request #2

May I ask for Fives and Fox

with Prompt 14: Last Words

Where Fives is haunting Fox after his death. Where "the nightmares are over" is twisted to "the nightmare has just begun".

Girl, you helped me come up with this, you know what to write, lol

❤️ - @vodika-vibes

In Your Head

Fox

Summary: Fox has a hole in his memory that he can't seem to fix, and when he starts hallucinating about the clone he killed, it leads to dire consequences.

Pairing: none

Characters: Fox, Thorn, ghost!Fives

Tags & Warnings: character death, alcohol, drunkenness, hallucinations, paranoia, minor suicidal ideation, violence, whump

Word Count: 6.2k

Author's Note: First of all, I'm going to apologize for how long it's taken me to write one of these requests. Second, all of the requests are still sitting in my ask box. I haven't gotten rid of any of them and I still plan on writing all of them. It's just gonna take me a bit. To be honest, this fic is more Fox whump than Fives whump, but eh, it's still whump and it still includes one of the 501st boys, so that counts, right? As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

Fox sits hunched over his desk and anxiously raps his stylus against the side of his data-pad. He's read the report five times now and each pass yields the same results. His CC number is littered throughout the paragraphs, but for the life of him, he can't remember any of it. He looks up at the chronometer again and shakes his head. Time has moved, but he hasn't. He's been sitting here at his desk doing flimsi-work since early morning, but the report states otherwise.

It's not just the strange lost time that concerns Fox either, or the fact that his CC number is in a report. That's normal. What bothers him about this report is the fact that it clearly states in paragraph four, line six, that he shot and killed a clone. And no matter how hard he racks his brain, he can't remember it. He hasn't moved from his desk, and yet, the timestamp puts the incident at an hour ago. An hour ago he was at his desk. An hour ago he was doing flimsi-work.

Fox raps his stylus faster and taps his foot to match the rhythm, the nervous energy in his body escaping through the repetitive movements. He wouldn't shoot a clone without a reason, would he? The Coruscant Guard has stunned countless rowdy and reckless, and even dangerous clones, but a brother doesn't shoot another brother with the intent to kill. That's not part of their culture. Even bad clones deserve to explain their actions, but those are few and far between.

It must be a mistake. A typo. There has to be a logical explanation as to why his CC number is in the report even though he wasn't there. Still, he has this odd sinking feeling scratching at the back of his mind that it might not be a mistake. The clone he allegedly shot was from the 501st, from Torrent Company. One of Rex's men. Fox sent a simple comm message to Rex, offering his condolence, but Rex's silence worries him. It's not like Rex to leave a comm unanswered.

Fox drops the data-pad onto his desk with a loud clack and his chair creaks when he leans back. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and brushes the damp curls out of his eyes. It must be a mistake. There is no other explanation. He doesn't have an explanation for the lost time, but there must be a reason for that as well. Maybe he fell asleep. It's not impossible since he doesn't get the best sleep. His caf is cold, so obviously time has passed since he last filled it.

The data-pad dings and Fox leans forward to see what the notification is for. He sighs and taps on the icon to open it, and his brows furrow as he reads the new information. A surveillance holo-recording of the incident is now available and has been attached to the report. Fox huffs. This should clear up everything. He taps the icon to play the recording and watches intently. It was probably some trigger-happy shiny that he'll have a stern talking to later on… but it's not.

Fox's breath hitches and his eyes widen. That's not some random corrie. That's him. That's his armor. He has the fleeting thought that someone stole his armor and impersonated him, but he quickly realizes he's still wearing it. He hasn't taken it off since he put it on this morning. Panic rises in his gut and he continues to watch the recording. He flinches at the moment he pulls the trigger. A blaster bolt leaving the barrel instead of a stun bolt. He killed him. He killed a brother.

That explains why Rex never commed him back. Rex's emotional plea, Fox don't, stabs him in the heart, turning his innocent condolence message into him just rubbing salt into an egregious wound. The report noted the clone killed as ARC-5555 – Fives – one of Rex's best. Fox only remembers the name because Rex sent him a holo-photo of his two new ARC troopers when they graduated. Rex was so proud. Then he lost one on Lola Sayu, and today, he lost the other.

Fox has seen and read enough. It was him, he knows that much, but he still doesn't remember being there. He doesn't remember aiming his blaster, or flicking the safety off, or giving a warning, or pulling the trigger. It's like he was sleep walking, even though not a single clone out of millions has ever been noted to do so on record. He finds it even more odd that he was on scene for the shooting and then left. It's not like him to leave a scene without getting statements or starting his report. Now that he thinks about it, he didn't even write this report. Who did?

Fox yells in frustration and kicks the leg of his desk. Why can't he remember? How could he forget he shot and killed a brother. How could he forget Rex's voice begging him not to? How could he forget leaving his office and coming back? Fox feels sick. Not only did he kill a brother, he killed one of Rex's. A beloved brother. With Rex's radio silence, he probably lost Rex too. Fox doesn't blame him. Not after watching the footage. He would hate himself too, and he does.

Fox pulls a ring of keys from his belt pouch and inserts one into the lock on the bottom desk drawer. It clicks and he pulls it open, revealing a small stash of alcohol resting against the back. The glass bottles clink as he searches for a specific one. Finding it, he pulls it out of the drawer and places it on his desk. He leans down to grab a glass, hesitates, then closes the drawer without taking it. He twists the cap off the bottle, grabs the neck, and tilts the opening to his lips.

"Fox?" Thorn whispers as he peeks into the dark office. "Are you in here?"

Fox groans in response. His torso rests on top of his desk and the side of his face lays on the cool surface with one hand loosely wrapped around an almost empty glass bottle.

Thorn sighs and shakes his head. "What are you doing, Fox?"

"Go away," Fox slurs. His body twitches at the sudden exertion.

Thorn ignores Fox's inebriated order and pulls up a chair to sit opposite Fox's desk.

"Talk to me," Thorn says.

"Nothin'... to talk about," Fox answers.

"You're drunk while on duty," Thorn says. He grabs the bottle out of Fox's loose grip and sets it out of reach. "Why don't we start with that?"

Fox slowly picks his head up to look at Thorn, and he struggles to keep it steady. "Usen'ye," he says, then lays his head back down onto the desk making the room stop spinning.

Thorn taps his fingers against the desk's surface next to Fox's head and Fox flinches at the magnified sound. "I read the report."

Fox groans, but this time with more indignation.

Thorn crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. "I've got all night."

"You're so… annoying," Fox slurs as he slowly picks his head back up to look at Thorn. "You know… that?"

Thorn smirks. "Part of my charm."

"Karking… banthas… have more charm," Fox says, his head swaying as he tries to keep it upright. "You're ugly… too."

Thorn rolls his eyes. "You're getting off topic."

"Why… are you… even here?" Fox asks. He reaches for the bottle and Thorn leans over to move it again.

"You killed a vod," Thorn says.

Fox huffs. "What... do you… know about it?"

"Nothing," Thorn says. "That's why I'm here. To talk to you about it, because clearly it's affecting you."

Fox reaches for the bottle again and Thorn moves it. "I'm… not effective."

"Yeah, I can see that," Thorn raises an eyebrow. "You can't even talk straight."

"Blow it out your… exhaust port," Fox sneers, then reaches for the bottle once more.

"Really?" Thorn asks, as he lifts the bottle up out of Fox's reach. "If I give you the bottle back, will you talk to me?"

Fox smirks through hooded eyes. "Sure."

Thorn places the bottle back down onto the desk and pushes it towards Fox. Fox grabs it, sits back in his chair, and shoots the last burning drops down his throat, then slams the empty bottle down onto the desk.

"Talk," Thorn says. "Why'd you kill a vod?"

Fox chuckles. "I don't know."

Thorn's eyes darken. "This isn't a game, Fox."

"Nah," Fox says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Games… are fun. This... This isn't..."

Thorn tilts his head to the side and studies Fox for a moment. Even drunk, Fox usually makes some sense, but this particular time he's making zero sense. It's not that hard of a question, but his avoidance in answering it is making Thorn worry. There's something Fox isn't telling him and he needs to know what it is in order to help him get out of this slump and back to normal. Having a drunk Marshall Commander leading the Coruscant Guard is going to get them nowhere fast.

"Fox," Thorn prods.

"Don't Fox me," Fox spits in response. "How'd you… like it… if I said your name? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn–"

"Alright, I get it," Thorn interjects. "Just tell me what happened."

"I don't know," Fox lazily shrugs.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Thorn asks.

"I don't remember," Fox says.

"You don't remember shooting a vod?" Thorn asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Nope," Fox says, making a popping sound on the second consonant.

Thorn pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "You have to remember something? You killed him. Don't you remember that? Were you drunk then, too?"

"No, I wasn't drunk," Fox says, his agitation growing at the continued questioning. "I just don't remember!" He pounds his fists on the desk, making Thorn flinch.

"Easy, vod," Thorns soothes and reaches out a hand to try and calm him down. "It's okay."

"No!" Fox yells with a jerk as he weakly bats Thorn's hand away. "Is not. I shot… a vod. I killed… a vod, and I can't… kriffin' remember!"

Thorn realizes he's not going to get anywhere with Fox being this drunk and worked up, so he decides to cut his losses and try again later. "Get some rest," he says before getting up from his chair. He looks down at Fox's dilapidated state, shakes his head, then turns to leave.

"Bring me… more booze," Fox demands.

Thorn turns around and scoffs. "You don't need any more of that."

Fox grabs the empty bottle and throws it towards Thorn, but it hits the wall by the door instead and shatters into a million pieces. "Shabuir," Fox snarls.

Thorn sighs. "We'll talk again when you're sober." He turns back towards the door and leaves Fox alone in his office.

Fox grumbles and lays his heavy head back down against the cool desk. He's not really angry at Thorn, as annoying as he is. No. He's angry at himself. Angry that he can't remember what his own two hands did. Angry that he can't remember where his own two feet took him. Angry that his brain won't put all of the pieces together or fill in the blanks. Where did his memory go? Did it grow legs and walk away from him? Did it leave him or did he leave it? Is that even possible?

Fox would stay laying against his desk all night if he could, but the ache in his back is beginning to overpower his drunken haze. Part of getting old, he guesses. He needs to try and make it to his couch where he can stretch out and fall asleep. At least while asleep he won't have to think about it. That was the idea behind the alcohol in the first place; drink to forget, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. If anything, it only made it worse. Then Thorn butted in and ruined it.

Fox tries to peel himself off of his desk, but his body is heavy. He manages to sit up, but then slumps back into his chair, whacking his head against the back of it. He groans at the pain and rubs the spot. When he opens his eyes, the room is spinning, and it makes him feel sick. Well, sicker than he already felt before he was drunk. He chuckles to himself. The good stuff was really good. He hasn't been this drunk since he was a shiny new commander hot off Kamino.

Trying again, Fox plants his hands squarely on his desk and rocks to push himself out of the chair. He tries once and can't get it. He tries twice and still can't get it. He tries thrice and finally he's on his feet, although he uses a little too much force and falls forward onto the desk. Maybe it's better if he crawls to the couch instead of walking there. He lets the weight of his lower body slide the rest of him off the desk until he's sitting on the ground and leaning against the desk.

He leans past the desk and turns his head to see where the couch is, but he leans a little too far and slumps over onto the ground. He groans. This was a terrible idea. He wishes he could get Thorn to come back and carry him to the couch, but that would bruise his ego into an irreparable state. No, he has to make it on his own. With a little wiggle of his hips, Fox rolls himself onto his stomach and crawls towards the couch. Usually, it's closer, but right now it feels klicks away.

Maker, he's tired. Why did he have to put the couch so far away from his desk? Or better yet, why can't it come to him? You'd think someone would've invented a moving couch by now, but no, the Galactic Republic is too busy making clones to do anything of real use in his lifetime. And yet, Fox continues to crawl towards his couch, cursing it every time he scoots closer. With one final push, he makes it, but accidentally bumps his head against the leg. He curses it again.

Now, it's just a matter of hoisting himself up onto the stupid thing so he can finally go to sleep. Once again, something that used to be so trivial is causing him grief. Why is it so high up? Why is the floor so far down? Why won't the room stop spinning? He wishes he could steady himself long enough to get a grip, but his body is heavy from the alcohol. However, with a little more effort and a lot more cursing, Fox grabs one of the cushions, pulls himself up, and flops onto the couch.

Thank the Maker, he finally made it. Fox rolls off of his stomach and situates himself with his back against the back of the couch so he doesn't suffocate himself within the couch cushions. Although, at this point, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. He chuckles to himself about the thought. Thorn would kill him. He would find some way into the afterlife and kill him again for being such an idiot. Although, to him, it's a comforting thought; Thorn coming after him like that.

Even if Fox hates to admit it, Thorn is still his best friend. Some days they absolutely can't stand each other, but when push comes to shove, there's no one he'd rather have his back in this war. Perks of growing up together, he figures. Fox releases a wide yawn that makes his stomach churn, but he's happy that his body wants to rest. With a few slow breaths, he lets himself drift off to sleep, wondering if he'll wake up and finally remember or if his memory will still be adrift.

Fox groans as he stirs from his sleep. He slowly opens one eye and sees that it's still dark out, which means either he slept until the next evening or he barely slept at all. He doesn't feel drunk anymore, so maybe he did sleep for a while; an absolute miracle. Even more surprising is the fact that no one bothered him while he slept, which also means Thorn kept everyone away and covered for him. The idiot. He'll need to apologize and thank Thorn the next time he sees him.

Fox carefully shifts to sit himself up, holding the side of his head as it pounds from the hangover. He hasn't had a hangover like this in a very long time. He'll have to look at the label on the bottle and get himself another one of whatever it was. Blinking a few times to get rid of the glaze over his eyes, he looks around the room, but frowns when he sees the broken glass by the door. Oh yeah. I broke it. Guess he won't be buying another one of those anytime soon. What a shame.

With a deep breath, Fox hoists himself up off the couch and grabs the arm to steady his shaky legs. He doesn't feel woozy, but his body still feels heavy, like there are rocks in his head weighing him down. He rolls his neck, then his shoulders, and then arches his back to stretch it out. One of his vertebrae makes a popping sound and he groans. Even though he tried to lie down in a good position, couch-sleep is still not as nice as a bunk. He needs some ibuprofen.

Fox hobbles his way to the refresher connected to his office, and is, once again, thankful for the amenities he has access to as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It would be embarrassing to walk down to the guard barrack's communal refresher to compose himself. Thorn would get a good laugh, though, the jerk. He'd say something stupid just to piss him off. But that's the game they play, because Fox has embarrassed Thorn on multiple occasions too.

Fox steps into the refresher without flipping the light switch on, and twists the faucet knob to run the water cold. He cups the rushing water in his hands and splashes it onto his face. The cool water feels good on his hot skin and soothes his throbbing headache. He does that a few more times, and then one last good splash that he smooths over his unruly curls. He pats his face with the towel and stares at himself in the mirror, except something about his reflection is… off.

Fox rubs the towel across his face again, thinking he has some water stuck in his eyes making his vision blurry, but the reflection still looks odd. He then uses the towel to wipe down the mirror, leaving small streaks of water where he swiped, but that doesn't clear it either. Refusing to play with it any longer, Fox opens the mirror cabinet and grabs the bottle of ibuprofen. He pops a few and swallows them dry, wincing as he feels them go down his throat, then closes the cabinet.

Hi Fox , a voice says.

Fox startles and stumbles back, crashing against the opposite wall with a loud thud. "Kriff, Thorn!" Fox exclaims. He turns his head towards the refresher door to rip Thorn a new one, but he's not there. "Thorn?" he calls, but there's no answer. He peeks his head out of the refresher to see if there's anyone in his office, but it's still dark and empty. It's just him. He's never had a hangover that made him hear things before… he thinks. Fox's heart races with adrenaline.

Fox , the voice says.

Fox flinches at the sound of his name, and whips his head around to try and figure out who's calling him, but there's still no one there. "Thorn," Fox says. "I swear to the Maker, I will kill you."

So, you like to kill, huh? the voice says.

Fox freezes, his blood running cold. He didn't just hear that, did he? The sound of another clone talking to him, but he's still alone in the refresher. His instincts are screaming for him to run and find Thorn, because clearly he's hallucinating, or sick, or dying, or all three at once. He shouldn't be hearing voices, or at least he doesn't think he should be hearing voices. Fox closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths to calm himself and just hopes that whatever it is will go away.

It's rude to ignore people, you know , the voice says. Especially dead people.

Yup, he's crazy. He's one hundred percent certified crazy now. Not only is he hearing voices, but he's hearing voices of the dead . What did he do while he was drunk and asleep? Conjure a demon? Summon a spirit? Invite a deity to chat over some caf? How did he even do that? The other option is that he's still plastered and is hallucinating being sober. Honestly, both ideas sound equally as insane, but do they really make any less sense than him hearing voices?

"Whatever you are," Fox begins with a nervous voice, "I'm sorry for bothering you, but I'm going back to bed now."

Fox pushes himself off the wall and walks towards the refresher door to leave, but it slides shut before he can exit. He stares at the closed door and takes another deep breath, then releases it slowly. He slides his hands over his holsters, but the blasters are missing. They must have fallen out while he was sleeping and he didn't notice. He kicks himself for being so absentminded to leave them on the couch, but in his defense there aren't many who'd attack him in his own office.

Fox runs his tongue across his teeth and puffs his chest out before turning around to face whatever it is that's messing with him, but when he does, there's no one else in the refresher besides him. He bites his lip and nods his head. It must be a dream. He's living in a dream and he can't wake up. That has to be the answer. There's no other explanation. Once he wakes up, he's going to find Thorn and make him get rid of all of his liquor, because this isn't worth the trip.

I'm still waiting , the voice says impatiently. Are you gonna answer me or not?

Fox grits his teeth and thinks for a moment. If he answers the voice of the dead, is something bad going to happen to him? It's not like his life could get any worse. He's a dog of the Republic, he's shot and killed a brother, and he's probably the most hated commander in the GAR. There's not much else they can do to him. Fox startles at a sudden realization. The voice of the dead… a dead clone. Voice of the dead… killed. Fox's heartbeat pounds ferociously in his ears.

He takes a few steps towards the sink and peers into the mirror, the same mirror where his reflection didn't look right. He was so groggy when he first came in the refresher that it didn't dawn on him what in the reflection was off, just that it didn't look right. He stares at his reflection, and tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he studies the image, but his eyes grow wide when he realizes that the reflection didn't follow the tilt of his head. He moves in closer.

Boo , the reflection says with a smirk.

"Kriffin' osik!" Fox screams and out of reflex he punches the mirror, cracking it. He heaves in his breaths and pulls his fist back from the mirror, his glove protecting his skin from getting cut by the broken shards.

The reflection sighs and side steps into the part of the mirror that isn't as broken. Really? the reflection asks.

Fox is on the verge of hyperventilating. Fear and adrenaline taking control of every muscle in his body. His reflection is talking to him. It's moving without him. But it's not even him. He can clearly see that now. Fox takes a moment to study the image in the mirror. The armor is white, like a shiny's, their head is shaven, they have a goatee, and an Aurebesh tattoo on their right temple not far from a small linear scar. Fox's jaw drops. It's him. It's the clone he shot and killed.

Figure it out yet? the reflection asks, almost bored.

"You're…" Fox tries to speak, but he's still unsure of what he's actually seeing.

The name's Fives , the reflection says while tapping his Aurebesh tattoo. You should remember, since you killed me.

Fox is speechless and wide-eyed. He feels sick to his stomach. He knows who Fives is, but he still doesn't remember shooting him. He's never met him, and the only images he has are of him in his ARC armor, not whatever it is he's wearing now. Fox thinks back to the recording that was attached to the report, and remembers seeing himself shoot the white-armored clone. He did find it strange at the time, and it made him wonder why, but not enough to hallucinate about him.

"This isn't real," Fox says as he backs away from the mirror. "You're not real! You're dead !"

The reflection snorts. What? No remorse? No, sorry I killed you?

"I don't remember killing you!" Fox yells, half in shock and half in self-defense. His back touches the hard durasteel wall and he slides down it until he's sitting on the floor.

Don't remember? the reflection asks. You shot me! How could you forget that?

Fox pulls his knees to his chest, clasps his hands over his ears, and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone!" he yells again, trying to make the voice go away. "I said I don't remember!"

I'm not leaving , the voice says. Not until you remember what you did to me.

"Go away!" Fox practically screams. "Leave me alone!" His breathing becomes labored and he feels like he's going to pass out. "This is… a nightmare."

Oh, Fox , the reflection chuckles, then pushes out of the mirror and folds its arms to lean on the edge of the sink and stare down at Fox. Your nightmare has just begun.

The next rotation has Fox feeling insane. The voice inside the mirror isn't just a voice anymore. It's a full body apparition that follows him around wherever he goes. He can't even take a piss without that thing watching him. He still wonders if it's the actual Fives or if it's just a figment of his imagination; maybe the subconscious part of his brain conjured it up because of the guilt he feels for killing the clone. He wants to tell Thorn about it, but even Thorn has limits on disbelief.

Hour after hour, the apparition asks if he remembers killing it yet, and hour after hour, Fox still has the same answer – no. Maker, he wishes it would just take a hike and go haunt someone else, even if it's just for a couple of minutes. There's nothing worse than trying to work or sleep while it watches him from across the room with its dark, cold, dead eyes and smug expression. If this is the real Fives, then he doesn't understand why Rex liked him so much.

Although, today has been strangely quiet. The apparition is nowhere to be seen, or heard, and Fox is taking the much needed alone time to catch up on the reports he's been neglecting since it first appeared. It must have been a figment of his imagination brought on by stress or something along those lines. There's always a logical explanation for everything, or so he thinks. Fox looks up from his data-pad when he hears a soft knock on his office door frame.

"I brought you some caf," Thorn says with a friendly smile. "Can I come in?"

Fox nods.

Thorn walks into the office, places the cup down in front of Fox, and sits on the corner of his desk.

Fox grabs the cup of hot, black caf and deeply inhales its alluring aroma. "Is this a peace offering?"

Thorn snorts. "You should be bringing me a peace offering for all that name calling."

Fox winces at the vague memory, then takes a sip. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Thorn says. "You're still a di'kut, though."

"So are you," Fox smirks.

Is he a friend of yours? the apparition asks as it appears next to Fox.

Fox startles and accidentally drops the cup of caf onto his lap. "Kriff!"

Thorn also startles and jumps off the corner of Fox's desk. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Fox sighs. "Just grab me a towel, will ya?"

Thorn walks off towards the refresher to grab a towel.

He seems like a nice vod , the apparition says as it watches Thorn with interest. Is he your best friend?

Fox chooses to ignore the question and the ghost.

You know , the apparition continues. It hops up on the desk to sit in front of Fox, its legs dangling over the edge. I had a best friend once – actually two. They're both dead, now… Like me. Must be nice to have yours still alive, huh?

Fox glares at the apparition and snarls. "Don't you touch him!"

The apparition chuckles. I'm a ghost, remember? I can't even touch you. The apparition reaches out to touch Fox, but its hand goes straight through him. See? I'm not going to hurt your friend.

Fox continues to glare, not fully trusting what the apparition says. Thorn is his best friend, but this is his issue to deal with, and he's not going to drag Thorn down this insane hole of guilt and self-loathing with him. Even so, it would be great if Thorn could see the apparition too. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so crazy about the whole situation. A little validation goes a long way in his mind. He just needs Thorn to see it once, then he can feel safe again, feel normal again.

"Fox?" Thorn asks in concern while handing him the towel. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Fox grabs the towel and pats himself and the chair dry. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Thorn isn't convinced, but doesn't argue.

I'm not fine , the apparition says. I'm dead .

Fox wants to say something in rebuttal, but Thorn's lack of comment about the elephant in the room makes him wonder. He turns his head to the apparition and then to Thorn, and then back again. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" Thorn asks, a confused expression on his face.

"Nothing," Fox sighs and tosses the towel onto the desk before slumping back into his chair. "Nevermind."

"Fox," Thorn begins hesitantly. "I think you should see a medic. You've been acting strange lately and I'm worried."

Yeah, Fox , the apparition adds. You should see a medic for that missing memory issue . Maybe they can tell you why you killed me.

"I don't need a medic!" Fox exclaims. Thorn flinches and Fox bites his tongue. "Sorry. I'm just tired is all."

Thorn still isn't convinced, but he sighs and shakes his head. "Alright, I trust your judgment."

I don't , the apparition says. You shot me .

"Thanks," Fox says. His eye twitches. It's hard enough to keep his thoughts straight, but it's even harder when he has two people talking to him at once and only one of them is actually there.

"I'm here if you need me," Thorn says as he places a hand on Fox's shoulder. "Even if you just want to talk."

You can talk to me too , the apparition says.

"I appreciate that," Fox says, trying to give him his best fake smile.

Thorn throws Fox another look of concern, but turns and leaves his office all the same.

Fox immediately turns his attention to the apparition. "Can you just shut up?!"

No , the apparition says. That's the whole point of haunting. I'm supposed to be annoying.

Fox drops his head onto his desk and yells in frustration.

The apparition hops off the desk and kneels so it's face is on Fox's level. Just tell me why you killed me, Fox, it whispers. And I'll go away .

Fox clutches the sides of his head. "I'm trying," he chokes out. "But I can't remember."

It's been a week and Fox is on the verge of losing himself. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He can't do anything. The reports are piling up and questions are being asked. Thorn continues to check on him, and he appreciates it, but he wishes he'd stay away from him. Every time Thorn comes into his office, the apparition stares at him like he's a piece of meat. Fox knows the apparition can't hurt Thorn, at least, that's what he's been made to believe, but what if he's wrong?

He can't let it get Thorn, too. It can torment him all it wants, actually, it can even kill him if it wants, but he will not let anything happen to Thorn. Thorn is too good for this kind of torturous hell. Thorn hasn't killed any clones. He probably hasn't killed anyone . There's no reason for Thorn to be brought into this. It's him that the apparition wants. Its blood is on his hands, not Thorns. Thorn has nothing to do with any of this and Fox will do anything to protect him.

Hi Fox , the apparition says while leaning against the door frame of the office.

"What do you want?" Fox sneers from where he sits behind his desk.

The truth , the apparition says with a smug grin. You've been keeping it from me.

"Like I've said," Fox says. "I still don't remember."

Not good enough , the apparition says as it pushes itself off the door frame and approaches Fox's desk.

"I won't let you hurt Thorn," Fox says as he stands up.

What are you talking about? the apparition asks.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Fox exclaims. "I know you're going to hurt him to get back at me."

Are you alright, Fox? the apparition taunts. You seem a little off today.

"Get out of my head!" Fox yells as he clutches the sides of his head. "I know what you're doing!"

What's the matter? the apparition taunts. I've never seen you so unhinged before.

"Leave me alone!" Fox yells.

C'mon, Fox, the apparition walks closer. Tell me.

Fox draws one of his blasters and points it towards the ghostly figure. "Get away from me!"

Whoa, there, the apparition says, putting its hands up and taking a single step back. There's no need for that.

Fox breathes heavily. "I'm warning you!"

You won't shoot me, the apparition smirks. You have no reason to shoot me. Put the blaster down, Fox.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Fox yells, then fires a single bolt through the same spot as before, on the apparition's chest, through its heart. He watches as the apparition falls to its knees and clutches at its chest. That'll stop it. That'll shut it up. That'll make it leave him alone. That'll keep it from hurting– Thorn?

Fox pants with exasperation as his senses begin to clear. The vision of the apparition slowly dissipates, leaving behind the image of Thorn grasping at the hole in his chest. A look of pain, shock, horror, and confusion painted on his face as he looks at Fox. No. No, this can't be happening. He didn't. He couldn't. Did he shoot his best friend? It was the ghost. The ghost was right there. It was talking to him. It was taunting him. It was going to hurt Thorn.

"Fox," Thorn gasps. "Why?"

At the sound of Thorn's voice, the gravity of what Fox has done hits him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widen and his voice quivers. "Thorn."

Thorn collapses forward onto the floor and Fox rushes to his side.

"No, no, no, no," Fox rambles as he pulls his brother into his lap and applies pressure to the wound. "I need a medic!" he yells. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't know it was you. There was a ghost and it was in my head and I couldn't remember." Tears begin to well in Fox's eyes as he tries desperately to explain.

Thorn reaches up a hand to touch Fox's cheek and Fox grabs it with his own.

"I'm… sorry," Thorn says weakly. "I… wish… I… could've… helped… you…" Thorn's hand drops as his body goes limp and he breathes his last breath.

"Where's my medic!" Fox yells, tears now streaming down his face unabated. "Hang on, vod." He pulls his brother's lifeless body close to his chest and rocks him back and forth. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

The apparition appears once again, crouches down in front of Fox, and looks apathetically at Thorn's lifeless body. It shakes its head. And to think all of this could've been avoided if you would've just told me what I wanted to know.

Fox looks at the apparition with murderous intent.

A vod for a vod , the apparition says with a smirk. At least you'll remember this one.

Event Masterlist

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[thegeminisage]

Okay Let's Try This Again

experience with dragon age so far:

noon release and no predownloading because bioware hates me

internet in the sticks is Not Great so the download took forever

spent a long time in the character creator trying not to make my rook too much like me (have been told she does look like me - sad!) but satisfied with her appearance

got hit with a SECOND character creation screen which i failed miserably at - my inquisitor looks awful. the da:i music playing and the green-lit creation screen were fun easter eggs though

it's something about the head shape being in charge of the eye and nose shape...like i can't change to a default eye shape, it's dictated by the head shape setting, and when you pick three random heads to meld from no matter what you do you can't really have as much fine control over things like eye shape. ALL of the eyes looked way too small on her and all of the mouths were either too thick or too thin. eventually i ran out of time so i just had to hit yes and go :/

i spent 2.5 hours in the character creator in total but since i had to leave the game on while i left to do my errands i have 5.2 hours of playtime on steam

I HAVE NOT GOTTEN PAST THE OPENING CUTSCENE

varric is here! delightful. hope i get to keep him and that he doesn't die

i am already noticing some framerate issues so BEFORE i continue playing, or start playing really, i have to stop and mess with my graphics settings

picked talk in the first choice because i was afraid said framerate issues would fuck me over and i was in a hurry to get to a place where i could save it

that said, i did take some pics of her before i quit just to throw them online. i hate picking out names so i just went with marian since that's the name for default hawke in da2. she's a shadow dragon or whatever the fuck because that seemed the most narratively appealing cause to me. i can kill slavers just like fenris <3

now i am going to open the game back up and fuck with the settings until i get the framerate to look right. this game released 12 hours ago and i still haven't played it. jesus christ, bioware.

[riddlerosehearts]

Okay now EYE must ask you - how are you liking BG3??? How far are you?? Tell me about your Tav!!!! (Please and thank you <3)

hi!! 💖 i only started the game a few days ago and it was an impulse decision i made after having previously told a friend of mine that i definitely wanted to play it but that it'd probably take me a while to get around to it (and, because i thought i wouldn't play anytime soon i hadn't really been trying to avoid spoilers). but, i have the PC version and while it generally runs just fine, my computer is kind of slow and the game is so big that it took hours to download and install. so i kind of went ahead and started to come up with a whole character idea during that time LOL. sorry if my explanations of things get a bit too rambly/disorganized. i'm actually not very far in the game at all yet, i've been spending a ton of time doing stuff in the druids grove and i'm supposed to go find halsin but i haven't even gotten karlach in my party yet! i've recruited all the main companions except for her but i am excited to meet her. gonna put the rest of this under a cut for length.

my only background with DND is that i listened to the first campaign of the adventure zone and i've watched the legends of vox machina show. i also have a friend who's super into her own DND campaign and another friend who's told me a lot about dimension 20, specifically fantasy high--and i've considered trying it out for her but haven't gotten around to it yet! i think she actually told me the same thing about the episode lengths making it easier to get into than critical role, because i had tried critical role and it was just so long that i couldn't stick with it. but, yeah, i've also looked at the forgotten realms wiki a bit but i've never actually played DND. i have played skyrim and final fantasy 14 and some other similar RPGs with customizable blank-slate protagonists, and in those types of games i always have to make OCs to roleplay as--usually i'll think up a basic idea to start with and then flesh the character out as i get into the game. they're never really self-inserts but i do often project onto them a little.

so, in games like these my first character is usually an elf that specializes in elemental/destructive magic. idk why, that's just what i've always liked. in ff14 i started out as a black mage without knowing it was the hardest class to play LMAO. soooo i went into this planning to create a high elf sorcerer, but as i started writing out ideas and thinking about what to do, i ended up creating a half-high elf bard. they're transmasc/nonbinary and in my head they use he/they pronouns, but i picked the nb option in the character creator and that causes npcs to actually use they/them in dialogue which i think is so cool. i love that the character creator is so inclusive in regards to gender.

anyway, i named them elenion, which is something i took from the lord of the rings universe because i'm a huge nerd. in LOTR it's an elvish word that basically means "of the stars". here's a couple screenshots i took when i first started. let's just ignore the fact that this hairstyle clips into elf ears (and also that the face preset is from a mod i downloaded).

i didn't really give him a tragic backstory or even the most interesting story haha--i'm wanting to do something bigger and angstier with another character on a second playthrough when i'm more familiar with the lore and world of the game. and i'll probably also end up changing or expanding on some things about this character later, but for now i just kind of made a normal guy with normal problems. i had this idea that his father, a human who attracted the attention of a beautiful elf woman, was also a bard and was a very successful musician in his youth. so elenion has always shared his father's passion and dreamed of being like him, being able to effortlessly tell incredible tales and inspire crowds of people through song, but no matter how much he studies and practices he never feels good enough. if he seems confident it's usually just because he's gotten really good at faking it. he's also pretty reserved and often avoids having to talk about himself by asking a lot of questions. see, i kind of wanted to specifically find a way to not roleplay the usual sort of loud, flirty, goofy bard, lol. not that i dislike those kinds of characters or anything though!

however, bards are meant to be super charismatic, witty, and persuasive and of course the game strongly encourages that with the dialogue options and skill bonuses you get. so my way of explaining this is to have elenion be a bit like raine from the owl house, in that they may be shy, but they're very firm in their ideals and are no pushover when it comes to protecting themself or their allies. they're clever and have a snarky side to them, and they're genuinely friendly and caring in a way that gives them a sense of quiet charisma. which reminds me that one of the spells i gave them at the start was sleep, and it's made me imagine that when they were a kid they tried calming a crying baby by playing a lullaby on their lute and accidentally ended up casting their first spell.

oh, and, i also wasn't really sure at first where in the world i wanted elenion to come from but i decided on something pretty quickly after getting multiple of those dialogue options suggesting that the protagonist is baldurian! i pictured them growing up in a somewhat small town with their family but moving to baldur's gate as an adult, hoping that if they left the comfort of their home and started to journey out into the world a little they'd eventually find their spark and become the bard they wanted to be. unfortunately they've had little luck so far because even after all this time they can't see that maybe their whole fixation on trying to be just like their father and achieve the exact same kind of success that he had is holding them back. the fact that their father died the year after they moved away hasn't helped either. and now, in the middle of traveling to a historical site that they'd wanted to see in person and use as inspiration for a song, they've been abducted by mindflayers and are struggling with the massive upheaval that this has brought into their relatively mundane life.

so. yeah. my tav for this first playthrough may not be the most unique or exciting character but i like him! i like figuring out what kind of choices he'll make and thinking up new ideas for what he likes and how he sees the world. also, i find it funny how in your reply to my ask you said you thought you'd be into gale but then you fell for astarion--because i thought that i'd be all over the edgy, brooding, snarky vampire man, but it turns out gale is so charming and funny that i'm probably going to romance him first. i'm also pretty intrigued by shadowheart and wyll but i'm so early in the game that i can't even say who i think my overall favorite companion will be because they all seem so interesting!! even karlach despite the fact that i haven't actually met her yet, i've seen a bunch of cool gifsets of her and my brother told me he's been romancing her on his playthrough. i really need to go find her soon.

i'm sure you can tell from everything i wrote here that i am definitely enjoying the game LOL. i can already tell that there's just so many different things to do and see, that i will both need and want to do a lot of different playthroughs and that it's going to be something that sticks with me. nothing wrong with using guides and walkthroughs btw! i do it too because i'm worried about missing too many things and have the world's worst sense of direction even with a minimap. honestly i probably need to look up some guides for certain mechanics that i don't feel like i've really figured out yet. there's a sarcophagus trap in the ruins early in the game that got me SO stuck and got my whole party wiped and then i looked up a video and found out you could turn off the whole trap system by pushing a switch... i felt so stupid askjdfgf.

anyway, i think this got to be way too long of a reply so i will stop here! but if you ever wanna tell me more about your tav or anything definitely feel free to and i hope you're having an awesome day!

[zayadotnet]

A Long Time

it has been a while since i've updated my blog. from where i left off, i still had to complete the red dead redemption ii story as well as finish that 100% grind. since then i have not only done both of those, but i have gotten all the achievements for red dead online as well. i honestly enjoyed most of the online experience besides the hackers. it took a grand total of 263 hours to get all the achievements in the game. it was definitely a grind, but i haven't experienced a 100% that wasn't a grind at least somewhat.

after red dead redemption ii, i wanted to check out max payne, as i've heard so many good things about the series. remedy seems to make quality games, and i'm a big rockstar games fan (duh) so i thought it would be a perfect fit for me. i started max payne, and so far i'm liking it. the face models and death sounds are really funny to me though, but i look past it. so far i've enjoyed the narrative, and aesthetics the game offers. i am hoping to finish my playthrough in the near future. i will say i'm either bad or the game is pretty difficult.

beyond this, i had set out to finish up getting all of the grand theft auto iv achievements. as of writing, i have just gotten them all. every time i go back to the base game, it's such a treat. easily one of my favorite games ever.

these shots are from my time finishing up the ballad of gay tony achievements but i just love how orange this game can be.

my ultimate goal for gaming in 2024 is to play/replay all the rockstar games titles in preparation for grand theft auto vi. i cannot express how excited i am for this game. just a day or so ago, jason schreier reported that rockstar are forcing employees to go back to the office for five days a week as they are entering the final stages of the game's production. my heart goes out to the developers on this one, but i can't help but be a little giddy. it's been such a long road (hehe) to this game, and we're finally almost there. trailer 1 felt so surreal to me, everything looked amazing. my favorite parts were the ped density, the motel scene, and then the store robbery scene that ended the trailer.

that just about sums up my gaming adventures over the course of the month i've been absent, it's been fun!

[silenthillmutual]

3 & 18 for Alfred the Executioner, 24 & 25 for Artemy Burakh, and 10 & 48 for Heather Mason!

alfred<3

3. What first drew you to this character?

this is such a fun question for me because i've been asked this once or twice. i genuinely have no idea! i started playing bloodborne in like. uhm. 2022, i think? and i'd gotten far enough in the game to meet him. but i generally didn't think a whole lot about bloodborne at the time because so much else was going on in my life. i couldn't even tell you when or why my brain decided to fixate on bloodborne, much less on alfred. i just kind of woke up one day and my brain was like "yes alfred my best friend alfred!"

if i'm going to hazard a guess, i'd say it's because he's fucking crazy. i love it when a guy (or gal tbh) is covered in blood and laughing like a maniac. i am also admittedly quite fond of the voice acting. i wish all the characters in bloodborne got more screentime, but at the same time i think everyone does a great job with what they're given. the absolute snide turn in his voice when you give him the cainhurst summons is just so good.

18. Do you prefer to see this character suffer or know peace? Angst or comfort? Both?

SUFFER, BLONDE BOY!

i have a whole thing planned out of how i'll get him to interact w my oc and all but the peace lasts for... i don't know. a couple hours? maybe? the rest of it he is suffering. his natural state. even when i take him out and dust him off and put in him pathologic he is suffering. but that's bc i see him as someone who hasn't quite figured out yet that you're not meant to hinge your entire existence on a singular thing: a person, a goal, a label, an ideal. i don't know how to better explain it other than that i think he's got many things wrong with him and can't/won't look inward, but that's not something anyone else can make him do, so it doesn't particularly matter where he is. he's going to continue to suffer.

artemy<3

24. Do you ever dream about this character? If so, describe a dream you once had about them.

i have had dreams about artemy in the past but i cannot for the life of me remember what happened in them! my dreams typically aren't all that memorable unless they're really, really bad. i haven't had one with him in it recently, though i think the first time i had artemy show up in a dream, i was daniil.

25. What kind of fan-fiction do you read about this character? If you don’t read fan-fics about them, why not?

i went through a period where i was trying to read absolutely every pathologic fanfic. i got caught up a couple years ago, and then life caught up with me and i haven't really gotten back to the mines in that sense. now i tend to prioritize what my friends write before reading anything else... but i do like to read gen fic about artemy that focuses on him actually struggling with the outcome of the game. and i feel like this is sort of a rare thing to find. i'd be happy with reading a burakhovsky fic like this if, you know, more of them existed? because so many fics make it The Dankovsky Show. and i get that daniil is a very interesting and important character, but so is artemy! people tend to write artemy as being endlessly understanding and kind, and artemy (in patho 2 at least) is relatively quick to forgive people who have wronged him, it just doesn't sit right with me that people make him a doormat. so i do still read fics where artemy is present, but i don't... go looking for them necessarily, because it doesn't feel like a lot of people treat him very fairly. he gets a better deal than clara, granted, but not by much.

heather<3

10. Do you see yourself in this character even without projecting?

hmmm... i think i probably saw myself in aspects of heather back when i was playing the game at like, 18 or 19 years old, but i think that was more with the heather we're presented in shattered memories, who is deeply hurt and grieving something she never got to have. it was something i could relate to, and the heather of silent hill 3 had something i never did, in having a loving father. i think i probably identified witht he rage she feels in the game, and the fear (since i was peak unmedicated for ocd, which itself is like being in a neverending hell) - but that was probably more of a 'heather lend me your strength' kind of way than in actually being able to see myself in her. though i did cosplay her!

48. What’s your favorite physical/design feature for this character?

i've always absolutely loved her outfit. i used to closet cosplay her all the time - my mother would never have let me bleach my hair, but i had the vest & the skirt & the boots. i actually always loved boots like that, though i don't have them anymore. i'm actually coming back around in the questions here - now that i'm older & harrier & fatter & vaguely more masculine, my cosplay lineup is looking more like travis grady (from silent hill: origins) and alfred.

honest fave character asks~

[strawberryicebreakers]

Hello, sorry to bother you but I'm a bit curious about the UHF fanfic you mentioned a while ago. Has it been updated since?

I haven't gotten around to it just yet; I got bit by the ted lasso bug, blinked, and now I'm nearly 40k into a fic with no signs of switching over to a different WIP :(

that being said, it is incredibly nice to see that people want to read my writing :') I do, eventually, want to finish the fic, but with the current WIP I'm working on and the semester starting up [yay college!], it doesn't look like I'll get to finish it anytime soon.

as a condolences/sneak peak, I'll put what I've got so far under the cut. it's about 7.1k, and it is a very, very rough draft, but again, I'm very thankful for the kind words I've gotten from people concerning the fic and want to show it! if you have any questions, feel free to hit me with them :)

Three months in, and Robert still couldn’t believe the station hadn’t crashed and burned. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust George, or Pamela, for that matter, but it seemed too good to be true. It made no sense to him that the same universe that let him flunk out of college and lose every minimum-wage job he’d ever held was the same universe that gave him a television station and said “hey, go nuts!”

It made no sense, but in all honesty, nothing in his life seemed to make that much sense to him these days. Just the other day, he’d had a group of teenagers break into the building in the middle of the night, probably trying to find a place to smoke, and got chased out by some robotic behemoth Philo’d built in the back of his station control room-turned-laboratory, all while having not told anyone he’d come back to begin with. He’d come in the next morning to see the door off the hinges and a hunk of metal with a wagging tail getting behind-the-ear scratches from Pamela.  

Pamela, who was slowly becoming another tally in favor of his life turning upside down. 

Ever since the night Channel 8 went off the air, she’d started paying attention to him, and it was beginning to concern him. Before, she’d said “good morning” and “good night,” or even the occasional question about any plans he might have, but over the past weeks, she’d turned her charm on to the highest setting possible. Despite the weather turning cold, her skirts grew shorter, her heels taller, and she’d started lingering by his desk for much longer than it took to ask him where the Rolodex went. 

Privately, he’d thought that was more of a question for Stanley, not him, but he didn’t want to embarrass her by pointing it out.

All in all, though, he knew he’d have to mention it at some point, if only to soothe his own conscience. The last thing he needed was to find her doodling hearts and “Mrs. Pamela Steckler” in her broadcast notes.

He glanced up at the clock and saw that all of a single hour had passed since he’d arrived. He’d started coming in early, around eight in the morning, to make sure the morning rerun segments ran smoothly; if it had the added benefit of getting an hour to himself before anyone else showed up, well, he wasn’t complaining. 

-

The scrape of the door on the tile floor that pulled him out of his reverie told him that someone else had arrived, and the click of a heel announced who it was. 

“Good morning!”

“Hey, Pamela,” he called out. “Any trouble with the drive?”

“Nah,” she said, pulling her coat off and hanging it on the rack. “Just some awful fog. I could barely see the street!” 

Through the lattice, Robert watched her rifle through her desk drawers, pulling out a few pens and her notepad. At his desk, he did the same, and began to look through the show proposals for the spring schedule; not reading them, just counting the envelopes. “Anything interesting to cover today?”

“The uzhe,” she said. “The shelter’s doing a PSA for families looking to adopt a pet for Christmas and I get to go down and get fur all over my legs.”

“Look on the bright side, Pam,” he said. “You get to play with puppies, and George and I are stuck down here, puppy-less. You have to admit, one seems a lot more fun than the other.”

She turned, swiveling her chair over to look at him through the lattice. “You saying you want to come down with me, Bobby?”

“No,” he said, a bit too quick to be polite. “No, I -, uh, I’ve got to stay up here. Keep everything in line, you know?” He held up the papers to her with a shrug. “You really think George wants to read these?”

He sent a quick prayer up, hoping she hadn’t seen George all but club him over the head the other night when he’d mentioned splitting the proposals in half and reading them separately. Reading what the people of Tulsa wanted to see on the TV was half the alleged fun of the job, and reading them together, laughing about it, made it borderline bearable.

She stood, walking over to his desk and perching on the edge. “Come on,” she said, smiling. “It’s me, you, and a bunch of cute little animals. What’s not to love?”

“I said no, Pamela.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “You’d really rather be here?”

“I really would rather be here,” he said. “I can’t ditch work to hang out with you.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Pamela looked down at him, smiling. 

“What?”

“I mean,” she said, curling a lock of hair ‘round her finger, “if work’s the problem, we could always hang outside of work hours. Grab dinner, maybe a movie?”

“I -”

“I think Back to the Future two’s playing at the theater near my place. You ever see the first one? I always thought the guy who played Marty, the Fox guy, was pretty funny. He’s on Family Ties, too, and -”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just -,” he sighed. “I just can’t.”

She pushed herself off his desk, and he saw her face begin to flush. “I don’t get it,” she said. “I mean, I’ve got a job, I’m nice, and frankly, I’m not too bad to look at, so what’s your deal?”

 “Well, I’m your boss, Pamela,” he said. “Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Fine,” she said. “If you weren’t my boss, would you date me?”

“No, but -”

“You got a girlfriend?”

“No -”

“Then what gives?” She slunk down into George’s chair with a groan, threading her hand through her hair. “I mean, is it my voice? My makeup? Shit, do I wear too much makeup?”

“You’re beautiful,” Robert said. “And your voice is fine, Pam. We wouldn’t put you on the air if it wasn’t.”

She huffed. “If it’s none of that, then what is it?”

“He’s gay, Pamela.”

They both jumped, nearly falling out of their chairs.

“Fuck, Philo,” Robert cursed, “how long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” Philo mused. He hummed while he worked, some odd little tune Robert couldn’t place while sticking a screwdriver into what looked like three batteries taped to a piece of glass. “And Pamela has an uncle like you, Robert. She wouldn’t have been rude about it, had you told her yourself.”

“How do you know about my uncle?” Pamela asked. “I haven’t said anything about him to you, or anyone here.” She turned, looking back at him. “He’s right, though.”

“Philo, you can’t say stuff like that,” Robert wheezed. He felt his heart racing under his shirt as if he’d run from one end of the station to the next, and tried to get himself to calm down.

For what it was worth, the older man looked genuinely confused. “I can’t?”

“No, you can’t,” he said. “Some people wouldn’t take that information very well.”

He considered it for a minute, then nodded. “My apologies, Robert.”

“Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“You have my word.” He pressed a hand to the right side of his lab coat, and gave a slight bow. With that, Philo walked away, returning to the back of the station to do god knows what, and left Robert alone with Pamela, who stared straight at him.

He knew she’d have questions; hell, he still had questions, sometimes, and it would be better to get the awkward part over with. “Whatever it is you’re trying to figure out how to ask, just ask it.”

“If you liked girls, would you like me?”

“For God’s sake, Pam.”

She giggled. “I’m sorry, I had to ask!” 

“If I wake up tomorrow wanting to date a woman,” Robert said, smiling despite himself, “you’re the first on my list.”

“Yes!” She pumped a fist in the air. “I knew it!”

“Any man would be lucky to have you,” he said. “You could choose any man you’d ever met, and chances are, they’d treat you like a princess.” He picked up the papers that had fallen from his hand when Philo’d appeared. “Not me, though. Maybe not Stanley, either.”

“You think he’s gay?”

“No,” he said, unfolding the first proposal. “I just think you can do better.”

-

She stayed with him until other employees began to trickle in, and by half past noon, they nearly had a full house. They were still missing George and a few others, but he wasn’t too worried; he’d heard George come in late the night before, and figured he probably wouldn’t drag himself into the station until the last minute. Cameras wouldn’t go live until they started filming some of the upcoming week’s segments at two, but it was nice to hear people moving out and about, typing out a new script or whatever it was they got paid to do. They’d hired an entire new rotation of employees, a good chunk of which were people who wanted to see their shares in the station put to good use, and they had an entire team of high schoolers acting as interns, doing side work for some sort of class credit. Technically, he and George were supposed to give them assignments, grade them, the whole nine years, but if he was being honest with himself, unless one of the kids managed to break something that actually mattered, he’d give them all A’s and call it a day. 

Life’s hard enough without some asshole in a tie trying to make it worse, he thought, watching one of them follow Stanley around as he mopped. 

Everything had grown to become so much more professional since they’d started revamping the station; between the new employees, broadcasting gear, and business cards that said “Robert” instead of “Bob,” he finally began to feel like an adult.

The phone at the front of the office gave out a short, shrill ring, and Pamela answered. After a moment, she held the receiver away from her mouth. “It’s for you, Bob!”

“Coming,” he said, halfway out of his desk already. There were only two types of calls they got: serious calls that required either him or George, and Pamela’s social calls from friends who realized that, unless she was on their television, she was available to talk. 

He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Robert Steckler, Channel 62.”

“I’m in hell, Bob.”

“George?”

Next to him, Pamela gave up any attempt she’d made at trying to look disinterested.

“Hell, Bob.” George repeated. He spoke slowly, as if he had to pull the words out of himself to say them loud enough to hear through the phone. “I’m in it.”

“What’s wrong?”

This time, Robert couldn’t hear the mumbled mess that came out of the speaker. 

“What?”

“My glasses broke.” George sighed, loud enough to be heard over the speaker, and despite the situation, Robert fought back a grin at the dramatics. 

“How’d that happen?”

“I didn’t put them in the drawer last night when I came in. Knocked them off the nightstand when I got out of bed since I didn’t remember they were there, and the second I put my foot down -”

Robert winced. “Crunch?”

“Crunch,” George echoed. “I just got off the phone with Visionworks. They’re doing a rush order for me ‘cause I might’ve mentioned I needed them for station work -”

“George -”

“which isn’t technically wrong, y’know, and they said the earliest they’d be in is Friday, so until then, I’m out of commission for anything that requires me behind the wheel of a car.”

“Got it,” he said. “I’ll be there in ten or so. You need me to help you down the stairs?”

A quiet chuckle came through the speaker. “I’m not your Grandma Ruth.”

“Yeah, but you’re both bordering on legally blind,” he replied, teasing, “so what’s the difference, really?” 

“Just for that, I’m throwing myself down the stairs. Have fun running U-62 on your own, Bob.”

“I will,” he said, and hung up the phone. He reached over, grabbing his coat out from underneath Pamerla’s and sliding it on. “I’ll be back in about half an hour,” he said, looking at her. “Try not to let the power get to your head.”

“You’ll come back, and they’ll be feeding me grapes,” she said. She lifted her legs, crossing them at the ankles atop her desk and leaning back like a queen on her throne. “His glasses broke?”

“Shattered, from what he told me.”

Pamela clicked her tongue. “Damn,” she said. “No spares?”

“Nah, neither of us have that kind of cash.”

“Well,” she said, flicking through the Rolodex, “at least we know his address.”

“Of course I know his address,” Robert said, feeling through his pockets for his keys. “We live together, Pam.” He found the keys, kept on an old keychain his dad had given him when he first came back to Tulsa.

Behind him, Pamela gasped. “Oh,” she said, eyes wide. “Oh, I get it now!”

He whipped around, hands up in alarm. “Not like that!”

“He’s not -,” she asked, then stopped herself. “You two aren’t -?”

“I don’t think,” he said, lowering his voice, “that George knows that being gay is an option, much less, well.” He waved a hand at himself. “So please, Pam, don’t mention it in front of him.”

She mimed zipping her lips shut, throwing an invisible key in the small garbage can by her feet. “My lips are sealed.”

-

The fog had grown stronger during the hours he’d spent in the station, and Robert quickly learned that Pamela wasn’t lying when she’d said that visibility was zero to none. His car was barely more than a lump of blue-gray, even though he’d parked in the closest line of spots to the building that morning. 

At least the roads were clear. The last of the lunch rush was still trickling back to their places of employment, but overall, the drive back home wasn’t too painful. He’d grown up around this type of weather in the winter, the days where you couldn’t see more than two feet in front of you followed by enough snow or ice to make it a hazard to anyone who didn’t know to look at the road when driving. Every year, car accidents littered the roads from December to mid-March, all because barely half of the town’s driving population consisted of Tulsa natives, and the other half was a combination of out-of-towners, the elderly, and teenagers that got their license that year. 

The very first winter they’d lived together, he’d had to go rescue George from a ditch eight miles from the apartment at ten o’clock at night; he’d tried driving home from his girlfriend’s house and lost control when his wheel hit the ice. It was the same winter where the heat went out, and George’s uncle Harvey managed to save their asses both times. He’d paid for the repairs on the car, and “had a guy” who came out to fix the heating, not just for their apartment, but for the whole building, at no cost. 

They’d met Kuni about a week later when he’d come by to give his thanks after he’d realized that the landlord hadn’t been the one to fix the heating, and he’d brought a Tupperware full of something his wife had made for them. Robert still didn’t know what it was; it’d been strawberries covered in some sort of soft, chewy coating that neither he nor George recognized. Whatever it was, though, was incredibly good, and after trying it, they had to count the individual pieces and divide them in half in order to make sure it was a fair split.

Whenever Kuni had a particularly loud class or a student who decided to try their luck punching through their walls, he brought the same dish over. It was partially apologetic, but mainly a “thank you for not reporting me to the landlord”-type gift, and with Harvey Bilchik’s various connections able to fix anything for free, neither young man ever even considered actually going legal with the various property damages they’d collected over the past four years. 

He parallel parked in his spot on the street, leaving the key in the ignition to keep the car warm while he was gone as he left the car. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the door quickly and opening it, knowing George would’ve left it unlocked. 

At first glance, the apartment seemed empty. Both bedroom doors were shut, as was the bathroom, and the main room showed no signs of life. He stood still, not even breathing, and felt a small, irrational fear that someone had broken in and kidnapped his roommate creep into the back of his mind.

A small sigh coming from the couch gave him his second near-heart attack of the day.

Nearly camouflaged against the cushions sat George, hunched over with his head in his hands. If he’d worn anything else, he would’ve been visible, but the combination of the brown curls and light blue suit jacket made him a chameleon in their home. 

The sheer unhappiness that radiated from his friend, combined with the MAD poster above his head reading “what - me worry?” made him have to fight back a laugh. “You ready to head out?”

On the couch, George sighed, purposefully loud, and lifted his head. He stared forwards as he spoke, not even turning to face Robert. “I think you might actually need to help me down the stairs.”

Robert could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen George without his glasses throughout the four and a half years he’d known him. He put them on first thing in the morning, and taking them off was the last thing he did before bed. Hell, he’s pretty sure he’s seen him leave the bathroom after a shower with them fogged up. The few times he’d seen him sans glasses were always temporary; despite the fact that he was a man in his twenties, he kept his glasses safer than his car, wallet,  and comics collection combined.

“That bad?”

George turned his head, lifting his bangs to reveal a bright red line going from his right eyebrow to his hairline. “I, uh, missed the bathroom door. Met the frame instead; turns out she’s a real mean lady.”

Curious, Robert lifted his hand in a Girl Scouts salute that would make his little sister proud. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

George glared at him. “You’re evil,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Robert said, smiling. He held out his arm, palm facing the ceiling, the same way he’d always done for his grandma. “Come on, we’ve got about half an hour before the station burns down.”

“Fine,” George said. He reached out a hand, but instead of taking him by the elbow like Robert expected, took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “If you lead me off the stairs, I’m dragging you down with me.”

“Got it,” Robert replied, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained as it felt when the words came out. 

He could feel the other man’s pulse, a slow thrum, through his fingers as he led them out the front door and slowly to the stairs, with George clasping the railing with his free hand the entire way down. It seemed as though the weather had grown even colder while he’d been inside, making him all the more aware of how warm his hand was with another wrapped around it. 

Logistically, he knew it wasn’t anything, but he was human, and it had been nearly three years since he’d been in a relationship, let alone held hands with someone. The weight of it was comforting; it was solid and steady, only verging onto tight once they’d made it to the bottom few steps. 

Thankfully, they made it down without any event, and Robert led them to his car, stopping at the passenger door. “Your carriage, ma’am.”

“Oh, you’re such a polite young man,” George said, finally cracking a smile. “If I’d known you were here to help, I’d have brought a dollar with me to tip you!”

“I’m just glad to be here for you in such a trying time.”

George took his hand away, opening the door and sinking into the seat. Still in the cold outside, Robert wasted no time in making his way to the driver’s side and climbing inside. He looped his arm around the back of the passenger seat, checking the street for cars behind him before pulling out onto the main road. 

They made it out to the highway before either of them spoke.

“Can you still do the Town Talk segment tonight?” Robert asked. “”Cause if you need me to, I can do it.”

“I can deal with it,” George said. “I know how much you hate being in front of the camera.”

“I hate being in front of the camera as Bob-o the Clown,” Robert corrected. “I’m fine being on air as Robert.”

George shifted in his seat, looking over at him, or at least looking in his direction. “You’re really sticking with Robert, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Robert said, popping the ‘p.’ “Sounds more professional, which means the other channels take us seriously.” George snickered. “Only if they haven’t seen the shows we’ve greenlit.”

“Speaking of,” he said, turning onto the side road leading to the station, “we’ve got a new batch of proposals for spring. The people of Tulsa have spoken, and they want more insanity in the writer’s room.”

“Don’t tell me you read them without me.” George whined.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Just counted them. We’ve got about twenty, give or take.”

“And how many slots do we have open on the schedule for next spring?”

“Like, two.”

“Phenomenal.”

-

A little while later, they pulled into the station’s parking lot, and Robert was glad to see that no one had taken his spot while he’d been gone. He parked, taking the keys out of the ignition and slipping them into his pocket. 

“You want my help again?” Robert asked.

“I think I’m good,” George said, “but thanks.”

“Alright,” he said, unconvinced. There were a few steps leading up to the door, and he didn’t want to see George eat concrete when he knew neither of them had dental insurance. They were still trying to get that all squared away, but the steps for registering a business with the various insurances wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, especially when neither of the bosses had ever had insurance to begin with.

They left the car, and Robert watched, wary, as George made his way to the front door, both hands splayed out in front of him. He followed close behind in case he managed to hit something and fall backwards, but to his pleasant surprise, neither of them hit the floor. 

“Good afternoon, Stevie Wonder,” Pamela said, seeing them stumble through the door. “Had a nice drive?”

“If he’d driven, we’d be wrapped around a tree right now.”

“Very funny,” George said. He’d narrowed his eyes, but it wasn’t exactly clear if it was out of annoyance or if he was just squinting. “Make fun of the blind guy when he can’t see you well enough to punch back.”

“With your gangly limbs? Honey,” Pamela said, “I don’t think you’d manage to land a hit. Even if you could, you’re too sweet to hit a lady. It’s a mystery how no one’s snapped you up yet.”

He looked over at George, who stayed quiet, fiddling with the cuff of his suit jacket. “Someone has,” Robert said, perplexed at the silence. “His girlfriend, Teri Campbell. And before you ask,” he said, cutting Pamela off, “yes, like the soup.”

“Must’ve been born under a lucky star,” Pamela mused. “Rich girlfriend and a steady job at what, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-five,” Robert clarified, then paused. With the chaos of the first weeks at the station, he realized he’d never actually asked her, or anyone at the station, something as basic as an age. “Wait, how old are you?”

Pamela hummed, setting her pen down. “How old do you think I am?”

Robert laughed. “I’m not dumb enough to fall -”

“Twenty-seven,” George answered. He looked at the other two, who stared back at him. “Her birthday’s in April.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s on her paperwork, Bob.” George said, the way one would expect to hear “duh” tacked onto the end.

He cocked his head to the side, surprised. “You read that?”

George mimicked him, cocking his head to the other side. “You didn’t?”

“I’ve been meaning to get around to it,” he mumbled, feeling his face heat up. 

“Stanley’s thirty-two,” George continued, pointing at the janitor as he swept the floor near Robert’s desk. “Raul is forty-four -, no,” he corrected, “sorry, forty-eight. Kuni’s fifty-one, and Philo never actually filled out his papers to begin with.”

“Is he allowed to do that?”

A loud BANG! rang out from the back room. 

“I say we let him do what he wants, and in return, we get an on-site engineer who’s willing to host a show without extra pay.” 

He eyed the back room’s doors, taking note of the odd green glow that shone from the porthole windows. “That’s fair,” he said. 

Together, they made their way to their desks, sitting down just in time to avoid the crowd that pushed their way in seconds later. 

The live studio audience had arrived, and they were loud, almost overwhelmingly so. They couldn’t wait to see the people they usually saw on small boxes in real life, excited to participate in the shows they watched with family and friends. Parents with children they’d pulled out of school for the day as an early Christmas present were shown by Pamela to the largest spare room-turned-sound stage, the one with yellow walls and bleachers to fit all those coming to spend a day at Stanley Spadowski’s Clubhouse. A smaller, noticeably older crowd, directed by the interns, were ushered to Town Talk’s half-living room set-up, all the way across the building. 

The other shows filming — Secrets of the Universe, Raul’s Wild Kingdom, and You Bet Your Pink Slip — wouldn’t film until after the first two, and luckily required no such audience. Raul chose to film on-site at his apartment complex, Philo hated the idea of anyone in his lab space that didn’t explicitly have to be there, and Pink Slip was shot at whatever place of employment had someone willing to, as the show’s title suggested, bet their pink slip on something insane. 

One of the interns, a short, dark-skinned girl that was one of the first to sign up for the job, rushed over, the rubber soles of her Converse slapping against the linoleum. “Mr. Newman?”

George glanced up at her. “What do you need, Gloria?”

 “Mrs. Nichole wants you in make-up for your segment,” she said, rushing through the words. “She wants to try something new with your hair for the episode, and told me to tell you to,” she paused, focusing, “‘get your ass in the chair and don’t complain like you always do or she’ll shave your ‘stache next time.’” She grimaced, then added, “her words, not mine.”

“I’m not letting her put glitter on me again,” he muttered, standing up. He smoothed out the creases of his jacket, and straightened his tie. “I’m still picking pink flakes out of my sheets and it’s been a full month.”

“Last I saw, she had the eyeliner out,” Gloria said, “so I think you’re safe for today.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Gloria left, spinning on her heel so fast it could’ve left a burnout, running back to Nicole’s hair and makeup station, operating out of a converted bathroom they’d found when planning out the station’s space, once they’d realized what was on the horizon. George followed her lead, not wanting to incur the wrath of Nicole, especially if his hair was at-risk of retaliation.

“Hey, George?” Robert said.

George stopped, and looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“Break a leg.”

George smiled back at him. “You know I will.” He turned back around, not wanting to lose Gloria in the hallway.

A moment later, after Robert had gone back to sorting through the bills they’d received for the upcoming week, a quiet thump! could be heard to those who knew to expect it.

“I didn’t mean it literally,” Robert called out.

“Oh, go to hell, Bob.”

-

Seven o’clock came quicker than he’d expected; between paying the bills, fielding calls from Raul’s suppliers, then having to speak to one very confused, very new-to-town police officer who’d seen Raul unloading a komodo dragon out of a van, and placing Philo’s order of calcite, dolomite, glass squares, and a bottle of hydrochloric acid, he didn’t have the time to, well, check the time.

“You planning on going home soon?” Pamela asked, packing up her purse. Around them, the station was nearly deserted; the camera crew left to film the next segments at four-thirty and the interns left at five, leaving only a skeleton crew at Station U-62. George had locked himself in the writer’s room, saying he needed the quiet to think of the next week’s Town Talk. “News segment finally wrapped, so I’m out of here.”

“Yeah,” he said, packing the last of his papers away into his desk drawer, “just waiting for George.”

“Mhm,” she said. She grabbed her coat off the rack, slipping it on and zipping it tight. “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends,” Robert replied. “Do you want to come closer and not shout it out?”

Pamela rolled her eyes as she made her way to his desk. “How long has George been dating that girl, Carrie?”

“Teri,” Robert corrected. “And, Christ, I don’t know. They’ve been on-and-off for as long as I’ve lived with him, why?”

“Just curious,” Pamela said. “How long have you two lived together?”

“Four years. Five this April, if that helps with whatever timeline you’re plotting out in your head.”

She pursed her lips. “Curious,” she repeated.

Robert sighed. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s so curious about them?”

“They date for four, probably five years, and he still hasn’t popped the question?”

“With their breaks, they’ve probably only dated two years, to be honest.”

“And that! I mean,” she said, throwing a hand in the air, “if the guy I was with still didn’t know if he wanted to marry me after five years, even after seeing what life was like without me, I’d find myself someone who knew they wanted me.”

“Hey,” Robert interrupted, trying not to get upset, “he’s not leading her on, if that’s what you’re trying to imply. He’s a good guy, Pam.”

“I know, I know,” she reassured, “but it’s weird, right? I mean, is he breaking up with her every time they have a spat, or what?”

“I never said he was the one breaking up with her. In fact, every time they’ve broken up, Teri breaks up with him, and he doesn’t ever see a new girl. Ever. He just mopes around and waits for her to take him back.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Robert confirmed. “It’s kind of sad.”

“Has he ever dated another woman?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to check his diary,” Robert said, half-kidding. It wouldn’t surprise him to find out his roommate had an actual diary. “Why do you suddenly care about George’s dating life?”

“Well, since you’re off the table -”

If someone had thrown a bucket of gasoline and a lit match onto him, Robert still would’ve felt the cold creeping up his spine. “Pamela, you can’t -” “I’m kidding!” Pamela laughed. “Sheesh, I wish I had my camera!” She wiped a tear from the side of her eye, taking care not to smudge her mascara. “I’m just trying to learn a little more about my bosses today, is that a crime or something?”

“Go home before you send me into a stroke, Pam.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she said, gathering her purse under her arm. “Drive safe tonight, ‘kay? I don’t think the next managers will let me wear what I want on air like you two do.”

“I will,” he said, “and same to you; drive safe.”

She waved, then let herself out, closing the door quickly to keep any of the afternoon’s snow from floating in. 

With his papers safe and secure, he locked his drawer and walked down the hall to the writer’s room. It was the one of the only rooms they used that was actually created for the purpose they used it for, though without an official writing team, it was rarely occupied. George tended to flit inside when he needed the quiet, and any staff who doubled as writers would go in and out in pairs depending on what they were working on.

He knocked on the door, three quick beats. When he didn’t get a response, he inched the door open. “George?”

The man in question sat at the long cherrywood table, one hand twirling a pen, the other lost in his curls. “What’s better,” he said, not looking up, “local grocery stores already stocking Valentine’s Day merchandise before the month’s over, or the movie theater’s highest grossing films for this year and what they say about the people of Tulsa?”

“Movie theaters,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “You ready to head home?”

At the table, George scratched “TULSA MOVIE THEATERS” in large, blocky handwriting, making the lines thick enough to see, even without his glasses. “Definitely,” he said. 

He got up, but as he walked toward the door, Robert noticed something on his face. “You’ve still got eyeliner on,” he said, staring at his eyes. 

“Got to chat with the local punk scene,” George said. “They’re a pretty nice bunch, once you stop gawking at them.”

“Good to know,” he said. “It -, uh, it suits you.”

“The eyeliner?” George asked. “I’d agree with you, but I couldn’t see it when Nicole did it. She nearly put me in a headlock though; apparently, I’m squirmy.” He made air quotes with his fingers around the last word. 

“Pamela thinks you’re gangly, and Nicole calls you squirmy,” Robert said, tsk’ing. He opened the front door, holding it for George to exit first. “What does Teri say about you?”

“Bad things, probably,” he muttered, reaching for Robert’s car. He laid a hand on the hood, trailing his fingers on the metal as he found his way to the passenger door. It was quiet outside; Philo usually took care of the station’s graveyard shift, which let the rest of the crew go home at a semi-normal hour. There were only two other cars in the lot aside from his, and he knew one belonged to Stanley while the other was probably Philo’s, though he’d never actually seen the man leave the property line.

Robert came up behind him, unlocking the door, then went to his own side, quickly getting inside and turning on the ignition. He turned the wipers on, clearing out the light dusting of snow they’d accumulated during the day, then reversed, clearing out of the lot before the car had begun to warm up. He reached over, clicking on the radio, and for a few minutes, they drove in silence, only broken up by the soft sounds of Sinatra’s Christmas album.

They made it all the way to the main road before Robert’s concern won out. “Hey, is everything okay with you? Between the glasses and -,” he didn’t want to say “not mentioning your girlfriend to Pam” out loud, so he settled on, “your general demeanor, you’ve been really off today.”

George hunched deeper into the seat, shoulders ‘round his ears. “I’m fine,” he said.

From the driver’s seat, Robert felt his hands grip the wheel a bit tighter than they usually did. He was well-accustomed to George’s moods; he knew everything from the giddy delight he had when the newest issue of MAD came in the mail to the slightly self-destructive depressive tendencies that came with Teri calling it quits, but the quiet sadness, the quiet anything, was never a sign of something good to come. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” George said. He stared straight forwards into the empty night, deliberately avoiding Robert’s gaze. In all their years of living together, he knew George only did that when he was hiding something. He had a shit poker face, mainly because whenever he lied, as rare as it was, he did so while refusing to look at the person he was lying to. 

Robert knew he wouldn’t talk about it on his own, but he’d wanted to give him the chance. Now was the time for him to take out the pliers and pull it out of him. 

He decided to try for the most obvious cause first, then work his way down. “Is it about Teri?”

The thud of George’s head hitting the headrest told him he’d struck gold on his first try. “She wants me to spend Christmas with her family.”

“And that’s -?” Robert trailed off, waiting for George to fill in the gap.

“Not good,” he said. “It’s not bad, either, but I -,” he groaned, threading a hand into the tuft of hair that’d started hanging loose from the rest as months went by with no haircut, “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go.”

“Well, why not?”

George scoffed. “Her family hates me, Bob,” he said, voice thick. “All they see me as is the guy that’s terrorized their only daughter for five years. One Christmas isn’t going to change that.”

“It could.” Robert turned off of the main road, pulling onto the side street they lived on. “People are weird about the holidays, especially people like Teri’s parents. They get all holy ‘bout it, wanting to forgive those who trespassed against them,” he said. 

It surprised him; it’d been years since he’d said the Lord’s Prayer, but he still remembered it, at least partially.

“They’re going to want me to go to church with them, and I’m going to embarrass her, again, in front of her parents. I don’t know the words, or the customs, or -,” he spiraled, waving his hands as he spoke, “when to stand up and sit down, and I -”

“George, relax,” Robert said, keeping his voice calm. “Half of the entire Christian population only goes to church on Christmas, Easter, and for, like, funerals and weddings, if they go at all. You’re not going to be the only one there who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Teri’s parents are Catholic,” he said. “Not Christian, I think.”

“It’s basically the same thing.” He swung into his spot, and turned the car off. “Just mumble through the prayers, don’t take the wafer or wine, and you’re good to go.”

“I don’t think I’m even supposed to go into a church,” George mumbled. 

“Why,” Robert asked, “afraid you’ll burst into flames?”

He knew it was stupid, but it got a laugh out of George, and that’s what he was aiming for. 

“Very funny,” he said, monotone. He reached for the door handle as the car’s engine died.

Together, they left the car, standing in the cold. It was nearly pitch-black outside, save for the streetlights, which cast a warm amber glow onto the pavement below. A few patches of ice remained solid, mostly on the road, but a few scattered on the sidewalk, one of which was too close to George for Robert’s comfort.

“Hey,” he said, stepping over the ice to the other man. He held out a hand close enough for George to see. “Grab on.”

He expected some form of protest, whether it be outright refusal or stubbornness, with or without a comment mentioning how he was a grown man, but like that morning, he said nothing, just stretched his hand out, wrapping his fingers around Robert’s.

Carefully, he guided George up the stairs, taking his time after seeing more patches of ice hiding on the steps. He waited until the front door was open to let go, putting the hand that had held George’s against the small of his back instead, ushering him inside. 

“You can get first shower,” Robert said. “If I make Kraft, do you want any?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some,” he said.

“Try not to slip and break your head open.”

Robert watched as George stretched out his arms, making sure he didn’t run into any door frames again, and kept his eyes on him until he saw the bathroom door shut. Satisfied with the knowledge he wouldn’t have to hunt around for the first aid kit, he reached up to the wire shelves, grabbing one of the twenty-odd remaining boxes of Kraft mac ‘n’ cheese he’d bought at Costco a few months back, and turned on the burner.

-

He’d just finished divvying up the pasta into two bowls when he heard the water turn off in the bathroom. He hunted around for a minute, searching through the drawers, then the dishwasher, until he came up with two clean forks, and set them in either bowl. He brought both bowls to the small hunk of wood they called a coffee table, sitting down on the couch and turning the television on. 

“CBS is doing a M*A*S*H marathon!” Robert yelled. “You down?”

The bathroom door opened, and George shuffled out. From the corner of his eye, all Robert saw was a mass of light gray; after all the times he’d seen the other man do laundry, he knew that George had a tendency to buy his sweatpants and hoodies in matching colors, so seeing just one hue wasn’t out of character. 

Robert patted the cushion next to his. “Come on, it’s dinner and a show.” He shoveled a forkful of macaroni into his mouth and cranked up the volume.

The couch groaned as George dropped down beside him. “Which ep’?”

He watched for a minute, trying to place it. “Think it’s the one where the guy gets the Dear John letter,” Robert said. “God, imagine how much that would suck. You’re fighting a war, the only thing keeping you together is knowing you’ve got someone to go home to, then -” he turned, looking over to George, and - “oh my God, George.”

“What?” George asked, confused. 

He couldn’t help the snort of laughter that came out, but he tried to smother it as best as he could. “I’m sorry,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sorry, it’s just -, you look like a raccoon, dude. Did you use anything to remove the stuff Nicole put on?”

[legolasghosty]

20 Questions for Writers

Aaaaaa thanks @1mnobodywhoareyou for the tag!!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

26

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

62,578

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Julie and the Phantoms mainly, though I have a single Harry Potter fic I wrote for a friend, one Lockwood & Co ficlet floating around Tumblr somewhere, and a couple of Red White and Royal Blue ideas/wips that may end up on something someday.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Maybe You Can't But That's Why I'm Here (90)

Your Colors Show Me Your History (81)

It's New, It Looks Good On You (76)

I Shouldn't Keep Loving You (But I Like it When You Hold My Hand) (66)

I'll be Here, I'll Hold You Through It (64)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! I know I'm very behind on it though. It's on my list of things to catch up on in the next few weeks now that I'm done with school.

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

Hmmmm I'm honestly not sure out of the ones I have posted. I know I have an older Bobby Angst fic that I didn't post that is probably the angstiest ending I've written, but out of ones I've put online... I'll be Here, I'll Hold You Through It maybe? It's not exactly angst, but it's lighter in the actual comfort than most of my angstier ones? Or Screw Your Family (You Have Us)?

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

Oh so many, I love a happy ending! I Know I Can Fall (Because You'll be there to Catch Me) is a lovely one with a cool happy ending I think! But really most of mine have happy or at least hopeful endings.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't really gotten any to my face so far. Yay for tiny fandom where people are mostly nice!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I haven't up to this point, no.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I haven't really in the past, at least not anything I might consider posting, but I'm not opposed.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope :(

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

Yes but not posted, @valiantlyweepingdreamer and I have a longrunning soulmate AU we started together a couple of years ago, and there's been a couple of other little things I've helped friends write.

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

Either Percy/Annabeth from PJO or Willie/Alex from JatP! I love the both of them with my entire soul!

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

Besides the aforementioned soulmate AU, uhhh... oh I have this old idea for a JatP Camp Halfblood/PJO AU that I started but I don't think I have a solid enough grasp on where I want it to go to finish it :(((

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have been told I'm good at writing feels and softness?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Angst, super long ideas, and dialogue can be hard sometimes for me.

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

Theoretically cool, but I would absolutely not do it beyond like using a pet name in another language unless I had someone else who actually spoke that language to help me. I've seen too many badly translated bits in books and fics to feel comfortable with that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Julie and the Phantoms

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oh gosh... I'll go with Maybe You Can't, But That's Why I'm Here, because it was just pure projection, but it was the first thing I ever posted and people were so sweet about it, so it holds a special place in my heart!

Okay no pressure tagging @linden-after-hours, @fandomscraziness22, @keepingthepeaceinouterspace, and anyone else who wants to play!

[homestuckdailyweekly]

Homestuck Daily - Week 4/End of Month 1 - 5/11/2024

Today marks the end of the first month of my real time Homestuck reread. If my math is correct (and that is a big if), I have 83 months of reading Homestuck left. Based on some more math, I first read Homestuck roughly 50 months ago. I don't know what point I am making with this, except for the fact that time is long and strange.

If I am being honest, I am finding it a hard time to write this update, because it feels like basically nothing happened this entire week. It probably doesn't help that I've been playing Hades 2, an extremely fun and good game, all week. So everything I have to say about this week of Homestuck is colored by an implicit "And I read this instead of playing Hades 2 in that exact moment." Hell, I could be playing Hades 2 right now, but I am writing this instead.

In case you haven't noticed, dear reader that definitely exists, I don't exactly know what I'm doing with this one here. I know, after I worked so hard on developing a strict and rewarding format these past few weeks, I'm throwing it all away to ramble here and now. The thing you need to know about me, though, is that I make terrible decisions. Always have, always will. I promise I'll get to a point, but we'll get there on my own time.

Where was I. Oh right. 50 months ago. Valentines Day 2020. That was the day I began my first Homestuck read through. My girlfriend at the time- she would break up with me a few months later for non-Homestuck related reasons- was a Homestuck fan, and had tried and failed to convince me to read the comic before. We even spent a date night playing friend sim, which I tried my best not to be confused by. Well, Valentines day came, and I decided I would finally relent to my girlfriend's recommendation, and I spent the day reading Homestuck in my college dorm room. And when I started, I did not stop. Not for a long time. You see, it was a Friday, a Friday very early in the semester, in fact. I had nothing I needed to do and 3 whole days where I did not need to treat myself as a human being. I denied myself food, water, sleep, and human dignity as I read Homestuck, all the while texting my girlfriend my reactions. I think the only time I took a break that weekend was on Saturday, to play in a Vampire the Requiem game I had recently joined. I don't know exactly how far through Homestuck I had gotten when I attended the game- but it was further than a person should be less than 24 hours after starting the webcomic.

Which brings me to my point. How quickly into my binge did I get to the parts of this comic that has now taken me a month to reach? An hour? Less than that? I don't know and am unwilling to do the work to find that out. I don't think I had gone all-in on Homestuck at this point, but I do remember being entertained by the Sylladex fuckery that was going on. I found it intriguing, this little puzzle of mechanics, the audience and John struggling against an unintuitive game mechanic that refused to make things easy. That was 50 months ago. So far on my read through, all I really feel as I get to each new gag about Sylladexes is "Oh, today is just this, huh." A part of me is sad and disappointed these gags aren't landing for me in the way they once had. A part of me is worried what else in this comic will suffer with the addition of time. But then I got to the last page of this week's updates, page 137, a loading animation for SBURB set to Sburban Jungle by Michael Guy Bowman, and that worry melts away.

Sburban Jungle is a song that lights my imagination ablaze with visions of epic machinations. I am the kind of person who listens to music not just because I like a song, but because that song puts images in my head that I can't tear myself from exploring as fully as I can. Even back when I was a kid in highschool, I would spend my bus rides home listing to my ipod, imagining grand adventures and fantastic scenes set to whatever music I was listening to. Sburban Jungle brings me back to those days, I think. That feeling that I find so hard to describe right now is part of why I love Homestuck, I think. It is a story about 4 kids, friends, playing a game together. A game where anything can be possible. A game where music brings actions scenes of epic and mythical scale- like the kind I would think about on the bus ride home- to life. That game hasn't started yet, we are still playing a game I'd like to call "Inventory Management if the Inventory Management hated you". But we'll get there eventually.

I have read Homestuck in realtime for 1 month. I will continue this for 83 more months. There'll be many months where I read nothing, and I'll need to think up something to post during those weeks. There'll be months where I'll struggle to keep everything I want to discuss in individual coherent posts. Homestuck is a land of contrasts, and I am going to experience those contrasts in the fullness of time's length. This is a terrible idea, but those are my favorite kinds.

Now that this is written and done with, time to play some more Hades 2.

[slusheeduck]

Get to Know my Tav!

Snagged from @mistercrowbar!

Falerin Glais - Drow Half-Elf - Fey Warlock - He/him - (1)27

favorite weapon: Sorrow. For the most part, he likes staying back and slinging offensive spells to get the job done. For situations where that's not possible, though, it's nice to have a way to stab people without getting too close.

style of combat: "So anyway, I started [Eldritch] blasting."

most prized possession: His spellbook! It's the one he was gifted from his mentor ages ago, a very handsome, leather-bound tome that attaches nicely to a belt. While he's a warlock, he still tries to learn spells the traditional way, and he has a nice collection inside.

deepest desire: To live without the threat of death (or ceremorphosis) hanging over him.

guilty pleasure: Climbing things. In a sense, it's not guilty to enjoy it, but every time he does, he can hear his mother telling him not to--just think of your condition, Falerin!

best-kept secret: His first time was with his patron. His very powerful, very noteworthy patron. His first time with a non-fey was with Astarion.

greatest strength: His patience. It's a learned skill, but he's very good at meeting people where they are and not pushing until they're ready. It's helped immensely with keeping peace among the party.

fatal flaw: His stubbornness and self-reliance. He learned early in his life that nothing would get done unless he took the initiative to do it himself, but as a result, it makes him very, very bad at asking for help. It also can end up with him railroading his way through life, regardless of how what he does makes others feel.

favorite smell: Foresty smells--wet leaves, morning mist, wildflowers.

favorite spell or cantrip: Cloud of daggers all day, every day. Yes, it's killed some of the people they've needed to save and resulted in some hasty Healing Words, but it's so convenient and straightforward.

pet peeve: Being pitied, or worse, babied.

bad habit: Licking things. At this point, he'd still do it even if his fey exposure was somehow eliminated.

hidden talent: He's actually quite good at crafting spells, though he often has nothing more to go off of than theories since his own skill is fairly limited. He and Gale started bonding by playing around with the spells he came up with.

leisure activity: Crocheting to the sound of camp bickering. After their adventure, it's often to the sound of Astarion complaining about clients.

favorite drink: Black tea with milk and one sugar.

comfort food: Fresh-baked bread with butter and jam (any kind, but he's very fond of blackberry or marmalade)

favorite person: It's actually a hard tie between Astarion and Gale. While he fell in love with Astarion fairly quickly, he and Gale clicked almost immediately upon meeting. They spend hours talking shop about spells, magic, and other sage-friendly areas long after others (Astarion included) have gotten bored and left. Beyond that, they both have a deep sense of loneliness that they haven't been able to shake off before now, so finding someone who understands just how special it is to have friends makes their relationship all the more special.

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): Physical touch. His mother was a cuddler, so casual touches and hugs are his favorite way to show people he cared. He did NOT hesitate to hug Karlach to test her heat. He did, however, struggle a lot with Astarion being touch-averse early on; he stuck it out and didn't say anything, but it bothered him far more than he let on.

fondest childhood memory: He had a fairly happy childhood (the benefit of being raised in a cosmopolitan surface city by his human mother, no doubt), even with his heart condition, but one of his fondest memories was playing around with magic. It was one of the few ways to play that didn't end in a scolding or a visit from the local healer, and even as a child, he knew that magic was his best shot at fixing himself up.

Tagging anyone who wants to share more about their Tav!

[mayzie-grobe]

✨i've been playing the sims 4 since it came out, nine years ago !! and i wanted to show off as many of my legacy founders (and heirs) as i found the time to makeover. list of their challenges below !!✨

ellie cahill + rhiannon irving ⭐ classic legacy gen6 heirs

i've never completed a full 10 generation legacy, but the closest i ever came to was my mahi'ai family legacy--link to plumtree in case anyone's curious--that i made probably about four or five years ago. both of these girls are cousins and were my next gen heirs, sharing the title, but i never played passed their teenagehood because my cc became outdated and then my laptop died 😔

gunnaifer glock ⭐ vampire legacy founder

okay gunnaifer is..she's special to me, ok. my first semester at college, as a joke i had two of my friends make vampires in the sims and then i made gunnaifer so we would each have a vampire. because vampires (technically) don't die, the legacy didn't get very far...but maybe someday i will share her heir, and apprentice, kovo'lettre.

sienna kibo ⭐"i'm surrounded by idiots" challenge gen2 heir

i don't remember much from this challenge other than it being a lot of fun, and showing me the extent of the parenting skill (lol). maybe i'll pick it back up with sienna, but it has stayed unplayed for years so...who's to say.

cyra ⭐ black widow challenge founder

okay !! so cyra was created with a friend of mine a couple years ago, i think i played the challenge for about a week before outdated cc made me drop it (exactly like the classic legacy). cyra got to husband number 5 and she had 2 kids, and i don't remember her last name and i didn't write it down anywhere and i think that's both funny and sad. curse the game for automatically updating it when you get married !!! 😡

anika dreamer ⭐ nightmare legacy challenge gen2 heir

i don't remember much from my nightmare legacy, so when i opened it for the first time in a long time i was surprised to find all the sims i did remember had DIED. which. given the challenge made sense, but anyways so i revived anika to make her over. she had already completed her challenge and passed it on to one of her three sons, but she was a globally-renowned comedian and a stylish old lady. i love and miss her.

himiko kibo-tan ⭐ not-so-berry legacy gen3 heir

the one and only time i tried to do the nsb challenge, i got to himiko and i lost a lot of the motivation to play. i've thought about starting over, if not the whole thing than just generation three, but haven't gotten around to it. again, maybe someday !

rosalie ember ⭐ spellcaster legacy gen2 heir

THE LEGEND. im not even lying when i say that i spent multiple hours in the middle of the night, crazy out of my mind, trying to find this save. i must have deleted it for some reason ??? anyways, after accessing my old hard drive i finally found an older version of the save that had my baby rosalie in it. her makeover is probably my favorite. and yes, one of her parent's is morgyn ember. 🧙‍♂️

if you actually read ANY of that,, thank you,,, !! i don't think any of them will pop up on my blog again but..i don't know. anything is possible lmao 🤔

[universitypenguin]

Get ready, Alice. A Missle of questions is coming after you!

Hey, what do you think about Batman? Have you watched any of the movies? Which is your fav, Batman? Will you ever write for him?

I love Batman!

I've written fanfic for the Batman vs. Superman (2016) version of the character. The story was a cross-over with Twilight, and I wrote it as an attempt to "save" promising characters who were ruined by a terrible plot. More on that later...

My favorite portrayal of Batman is Christian Bale's version, specifically The Dark Knight (2008).

Yes, I know that's everyone's favorite and I'm not being very original... but it's everyone's favorite for good reason! Honorable mention in the favorite version category goes to Batman from the animated TV series The Justice League (2001). That show really brings out the nuance and depth of Bruce Wayne's character. It was far too good to be kids show - I can still re-watch it as an adult and enjoy the plotlines. I have watched most of the Batman movies, just not the most recent one with Robert Pattinson. My best friend from college keeps telling me I need to, but I haven't gotten around to it.

Now, about that fanfic...

Several years ago, I wrote a 90,000+ word Batman crossover fanfic that was set in the Batman vs. Superman universe. Funnily enough, my disappointment at how terrible the film was made me start writing the fic.

The opening of Batman vs. Superman was amazing. My expectations went through the roof based on the prologue. Ben Affleck's version of Bruce Wayne rescuing a man trapped under a beam and saving a little girl was absolutely genius. You can see the emotion and the passion for helping people in his behavior, decisions, and responses to people and events. They did an amazing job with that segment of the movie. It fixed the one major gripe I have about Christian Bale's Batman, which is that there's nothing in The Dark Knight trilogy to show Bruce Wayne's true colors. Over the course of 7 hours and 38 minutes of film, Christian Bale was either playing: Bruce Wayne, malicious jackass, spoiled billionaire, prolific playboy - or he was in costume as Batman.

There was no hint at the humanity of the man under the mask.

The Dark Knight trilogy treated Bruce Wayne as a public disguise. It didn't acknowledge the complex psychology, the unique character behind the superhero. People love Batman for how much he cares; TDK didn't even attempt to show the amazing depths of Bruce Wayne. It was a tragic omission in an otherwise fantastic series.

But the Batman vs. Superman prologue? It ripped off Bruce Wayne's mask in scene #1.

This is why I was so impressed by the first scene of Batman vs. Superman... and then they ruined it. The rest of the movie was awful.

Actual footage of me watching the rest of Batman vs. Superman:

But of course, fanfic writers should never let Disney, Marvel Studios, DC films -or any other studio - have final say over what happens to a character. So, I wrote a 90,000+ word cross-over fanfic with Ben Affleck's Batman and Twilight.

The decision to make it a cross-over is because I felt Bella Swan was another a character that got wasted on a stupid plot. I actually liked Bella, but Stephanie Meyer's focus was always on Edward. He was the star of the show, and Bella served as nothing more than the lens readers viewed him through. She ended up with the depth of a card-board cut out because of it.

They both deserved better.

Hence, my Batman fanfic "The Sun is New" was written.

I'm know I've rambled on forever, but I just love talking about stories! <3

[fifthharmony21]

My Roleplay Rules

*I live in New York, so my time zone switches in between EDT and EST. I can work with pretty much any time zone that you are in. I've roleplayed with people who are 1 hour behind me, to someone being 12 hours ahead of me*

1)Please do not spam me

My schedule may be free almost 24/7, but I do have a life outside of Wattpad. If I haven't replied, whether you can tell I am online or not, there's a reason. Maybe I got a bit busy to reply, maybe I'm feeling lazy at the moment, maybe I didn't get the notification of your reply, maybe I'm not feeling like roleplaying this specific thing at the moment, or one of plenty other possible reasons there could be. (I normally wait a month for the other person to reply. If not, I don't bother them and decide to just delete the roleplay)

2)Don't assume things about me

Before you come to me saying I look familiar or assume things about me, speak to me to find out if you actually know me or not. Most people think they know me when they can't even recall my birthday, likes, dislikes, etc. I am as transparent as I can be; I have absolutely nothing to hide. Whatever comes from someone's mouth is probably the wrong thing. People love twisting things just to start drama with their lies   

3)I only do roleplays that are considered semi-lit to it being a full-blown out book

I personally really dislike one-liners. There is absolutely nothing to go off on. If you are a one-liner type person, please save us both the time and don't interact with me

4)99.99% of the time I roleplay on the phone 

I can't exactly tell how much I have been writing since Wattpad on the phone and discord on the phone don't exactly give you a word count. I do try my best to at least guess how much I am writing for my side and for the other person's side. I try for it to be equal, but I know it isn't always the case

5)I only roleplay in Wattpad PMs and Discord

 The notifications might be messed up for it at the moment, but it's much easier that way, and we have privacy. Besides Wattpad, I also roleplay on Discord. Now that Wattpad has gotten rid of PMs(which is so stupid on their part), I strictly roleplay on Discord, but try to find roleplays on Wattpad and Tumblr

6)I have roleplayed in Wattpad PMs, but even if I roleplay in books and MBs as well, I LOATHE group roleplays

I honestly can't stand them. I tried it forever ago, and holy cow....the spam was unreal. Not to mention, you can't even read half of the stuff of what people are writing because everything is going 100mph per second. The fact is that everyone don't get the same amount of attention for their replies and are ignored half of the time

7)I absolutely adore smut and cursing

Smut and cursing make pretty much everything better. You also can't roleplay fandoms that pretty much require smut and cursing if you aren't willing to add it in the roleplay. I don't do roleplays that don't have foul language and smut; I find them to get boring after a while

8)For the life of me, I can't play a submissive or a normal female

I only play dominant males or dominant G!P females. The only "submissive" thing that I'll have my OC do is let the sub control the pace of how they want to suck my OC's dick and let them control the pace of the dick riding they do while my OC is inside of them. As long as my OC does the fucking and isn't sucking dick or get anything shoved up their ass, we are all good

9)My limits are rape, abuse, child abuse, animal abuse, scat, pee, pet play, age play, vomit, beastiality and feet. Pedophilia as well, but there is an extent to it

I'm also not sure how far I'm willing to go when it comes to dark themes since I've never explored with them too much. I do know that I'm not the biggest fan when it comes to angst. It's way too sad for me, but I don't mind involving a little bit of it as long as it isn't like a full blown crying and sobbing sad

10)I'm apart of the LGBTQ+ and am a lesbian IRL

But, I only roleplay BXG, GXG, BXB. Everyone is to have he/him/his or she/her/hers pronouns for their OC/the canon character they are playing. Although I do respect They/Them/Theirs, I don't really understand it and can get confused sometimes. I also prefer to keep the other stuff out of it, too. Trans OC's are welcome since they'll technically be under he/him or she/her category

11)I may be a lesbian IRL, but I always make my OC's bisexual

It adds to the drama a bit, and I just think it's pretty cool that my OC can pull both genders

12)When it comes to god-modding: please do NOT do it

It's annoying and pretty offensive, to be honest. I'm sure you wouldn't enjoy it if I decided to randomly control your OC out of the blue

13)Speaking of randomly doing stuff, I would really like it if we talked beforehand about time-skips and generally talking about adding an idea/getting rid of one

Doing it out of the blue is not nice. Talking OOC in general would be honest. Or, the very least, figuring stuff out before we begin the roleplay and then just roleplay without talking OOC if you like, just only when needed

14)When talking OOC, I tend to use symbols like //, ((, (, etc

Something that would indicate that this talk isn't a part of the roleplay. Speaking of talking, I use " when it comes to talking in the roleplay. It just makes everything easier to understand

15) Grammar is pretty much considered an important part of roleplay

I'm not saying it has to be perfect, but it would be nice to see some sort of indication where a sentence begins and where it ends. I can assure you that my grammar isn't too horrible, but I'm not perfect at it either. I tend to type too fast and don't always check for spelling mistakes or add some sort of symbol that I missed

16)A lot of people will tell you not to make your OC's Mary Sues and/or Gary Sues. If I would say that, I would be a hypocrite

I always try to make my OC's everything that I am not: tall, skinny, muscular, attractive, wealthy, etc. Some people would say that I tend to make my OC's Mary Sues/Gary Sues, but I really don't care

17)I'm a visual person

I may write what my OC is doing, but I always have links for everything. Like my OC's clothes, car, house, etc. etc. I would prefer if you do the same as well

18)Because of me being a visual person, I prefer to use IRL face claims for OC's and animals

 I don't like AI art, drawings, or anime. When it comes to face claims, you don't have to use a famous person if you don't want to. It can literally be a random person from Google, Pinterest, or whatever site you use, just as long as it's IRL image 

19)I roleplay fandom and non-fandom

When it comes to fandom, I only double since it's fair. If you don't feel like doubling and just doing my side of the roleplay for me, we can. As long as I give you all the options since it's the fair thing to do

20)With fandoms, I can almost never decide on just one love interest

So, this is exactly why I prefer polyamorous relationships. We can do poly for both our sides or just mine. As long as I give you the option to decide since it's the fair thing to do

21)I am 20 years old (March 2004)

I frankly don't care how old you are, just as long as you are at the MINIMUM 15-16 years old. As long as both of us are okay with our ages and are okay with roleplaying with each other, everything should go smoothly. Communication is very important

22)With fandoms, I only roleplay OC x Cannon

I don't do Cannon x Cannon. When it comes to non-fandom, I roleplay OC x OC  

[callgespenst]

I've mentioned it before but I've been playing a lot of Dance Dance Revolution lately. I started going to the local arcade to play once or twice a week in early May, and I've already noticed some pretty substantial improvement! I figure I'll start keeping track of notable progress here.

A brief recap of what I can recall of the last few months:

May: I had heard about the local DDR crew from one or two friends and finally gave in and checked it out. I did not do very well at all that first outing (my shoes weren't particularly good for it, I wasn't dressed for it either, and my accuracy was /wildly/ off on the arcade machines. I got a B full combo on one song with mostly Greats/Goods). But I met some of the lads and had fun and got myself an E-Amuse card, which I always thought would be harder to obtain.

After that, I immediately went to the store, bought myself some better dancing shoes and the largest water bottle I could find at Target. And at that point, I really had to keep going, sunk cost and everything.

Summer: It took a few sessions, but I adjusted myself to the arcade machine timing and started hitting a lot more accurately. Keeping to 8s and 9s. I'd alternate between going on half price Wednesdays, and Thursday evenings when my wife was at her Japanese classes.

Fall: Went to the big local tournament at a Round1 two hours away. Didn't compete, but I met some new people and still had a good time. I feel like the start of fall was when the group started going to Round1 more in general (there's one just about an hour west) because R1 locations got the A3 upgrade and D&Bs, did not, for reasons that would take too long to get into here.

Winter: Being a dedicated rhythm gamer, on one of the rhythm games designed to get you real sweaty, is truly awful when it's cold out. This is largely because arcades are not designed to be workout facilities. You gotta go in there in warm clothes, get changed in the arcade bathroom, go do your sets, and then leave a sweaty mess and drive all the way home to shower. The first instant when you walk outside into the cold air is a truly rejuvenating sensation, which is cancelled out by the next five minutes of perspiration frozen all over while you wait for the car to warm up. And it hasn't even been a particularly intense winter thus far.

Current Status: I've cleared five (5) songs at a 13 difficulty. No. 13 (Expert), Burnin' Heat 3-Option Mix (Expert), Xenon (Expert), Leading Cyber (Expert), and today I cleared Legend of MAXX (Difficult). None of these were particularly inspiring clears (that last one, I flubbed the whole last jump sequence, and just barely skirted through), but it's still leagues better than I was performing just a few months ago.

I also have five (5) charts I've cleared on AAA difficulty. Bloody Tears IIDX (Difficult, 6), Dazzlin' Darlin' Remix (Difficult, 8), Sparkle Dreams (Basic, 8, Sightread), Sterling Silver (Difficult, 10), and Zephyranthes (Basic, 7, Sightread). Those last two I just did for the first time today! And I got my best clear on Dazzlin' Darlin' yet (996k, only two greats).

Present Goals: The hope is to go to Japan at some point later this year. By that time, I want to get to a point where I can play at an arcade abroad and feel semi-competent about it. The plan is to get myself to a point where I can at least AA clear: Bitter Chocolate Striker (Expert, 14), Possession (Difficult, 14), and Eon Break (Difficult, 13, but at present, this song is only available on LIFE4, which adds a degree of challenge).

The Path Forward: My footwork has definitely improved substantially, when I started out I'd get awful pain in the arches of my feet, but I haven't really gotten that in a while. I don't think I want to go no-bar, but I might rely on the bar a little too much.

I think the most important improvement I can make at this stage is to work on my breathing. Once I really start going, I really run ragged. I used to be able to breathe properly while I exercised, I just have to relearn how to while I dance.

The other big one is definitely developing the ability to read faster stepcharts. Anything above 400, maybe 450 BPM is too much for me at present. Here I think the best way forward is to slowly amp up the modifier on songs I'm already familiar with. I'll need to be able to read at least 750 for the goals I have set.

That's the full recap so far! My next arcade trip is this coming Wednesday, but I probably won't post an update every time I go, just when I pull off something particularly noteworthy.

...also, writing this up was a great excuse to hang out on the couch for an hour and not move, because wow, I am so exhausted after that last session. My only regret is that I really want to get up and get a snack, but my legs are jelly and there's a cat snoozing next to me.