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frostbitebakery · 1 year ago

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Loud.

part one two three

“You’re impossible!”

Obi-Wan harrumphs back at Cody with feeling. The way they’re running it’s equally impossible to sign or code tap. He engages the lights on his gloves, squeezes his fingers in a rhythm and the code appears in short and long lines on the back of his hand. Which he gladly shows to Cody. “You’re one to talk.”

“Dogpiling Grievous was a calculated move,” Cody huffs back, skids to a halt at a maintenance door that Obi-Wan almost missed. While Cody types in the emergency sequence, he carefully gets his message ready.

“You’re bad at math,” Cody reads blandly when he turns around. “Very funny.”

“Careful,” he signs, fingers stiff and unwieldy as the nervousness crawls through him. Setting in his knees, making them weak. A clump in his stomach. Stiff, clumsy hands.

“You know you can change your mind any moment,” Cody says, catches his eyes and Obi-Wan sinks into the warmth. “We can stop whenever you need.”

“No.”

Cody waits for him to continue but he can’t even nod or move. The gap between their fingers feels insurmountable.

But he wants this. Needs this, on a level deeper than the trust he has in Cody.

“Shadows don’t trust easily,” he wants to say. “I do even less.” His trust is forged in pain and loss and bittersweet victories. And faith.

“I like hugging,” his fingers confess and he feels stupid for the brief moment until Cody’s face lights up.

The mask digs into his face where it’s smashed against Cody’s shoulder. Cody’s arms feel safe and unhesitating and so sure it unlocks Obi-Wan’s knees and stomach and fingers and he’s hugging back with eyes closed.

For the first time in a long, long while he wants his voice back. He doesn’t know what he’d say. And perhaps it doesn’t matter. Just the urge to pull off the mask and move his mouth—

soft lips press against his temple just over the edge of the mask, gentle fingers tap on his hand in code, “I hear you.”

You really do, don’t you, Obi-Wan thinks, watches his own hand tap in the same rushed rhythm. One short, one long, two short.

“I hear you,” Cody signs back, forehead against Obi-Wan’s brow.

Three long.

Obi-Wan never lost his voice.

Three short, one long.

Not with the people that matter.

One short.

“Me too,” Cody whispers. “Ready?”

The catches on the mask hiss as they open.

“You’re impossible!”

“You’re bad at math,” Cody reads blandly when he turns around. “Very funny.”

Obi-Wan squeezes out another message.

“It was also very hot,” Cody reads. And pauses.

Obi-Wan imagines the blush hidden by the helmet vividly and smiles.

He’s ushered with no further comment into the maintenance closet which bears entrance to some shortcuts across the Malvolence. He looks at Cody in question who shrugs.

“I briefly saw the holoprints in one of the war rooms.”

Yes. One of the many reasons this infatuation is turning into something warm and bright and unbearably sweet. Cody is making himself a place in Obi-Wan’s heart like he’s coming back home.

“We’re almost there, Sir,” Cody says suddenly, relief palpable in his voice. Master Windu must have finally reached him on comms. “Understood, Sir. No more shenanigans, Sir.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“The mask helps me breathe,” Obi-Wan explains, head held high under Cody’s gaze. Getting out of breath could possibly suffocate him. Too dry or humid air is painful. With the exact parameters of what his body is able to handle, the healers had settled on a mask to protect him when he runs too fast. “Or other strenuous activities,” he adds with a slight smirk.

Cody shakes his head at him with a fond smile that tingles in Obi-Wan’s chest pleasantly. His thumb caresses the web of scars going from Obi-Wan’s bottom lip. “Can you feel that?”

“A little bit.” Not much at all, when it comes down to it. Kissing has become unimportant to him out of necessity. Few people had wanted to kiss him in the first place when the scars had still looked fresh. He’s lucky his jaw hadn’t needed to be replaced, so he’s not complaining.

It had been difficult nonetheless. To work around the muteness, the way his body had been changed. He’s learned to put more importance into other gestures than kissing on the mouth.

Cody’s forehead rests against his once more, catching his hand and slowly stroking the palm, up to the fingertips. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Gestures like Cody’s.

“I didn’t expect to see you there,” Cody says as they settle into the rescue shuttle. “General Windu said we had reliable intel to do a hit and run on the Malvolence.”

Obi-Wan waves his hand, palm empty before a flick of his fingers reveals the data stick.

“Information retrieval,” Cody asks, voice changing from vocoder to his usual timbre as he lifts his helmet. “I imagine there was a lot of useful data to harvest.” The shuttle is rocked as the warship explodes. “I should’ve saved my sweets ration,” Cody murmurs, eyes reflecting fire and bone-deep satisfaction.

“You’re dying for a fabricated war,” Obi-Wan doesn’t sign. The intel he managed to get his hands on is enough to connect the missing senate funds with Serenno’s newly acquired wealth from another angle and make it waterproof.

Destabilizing a whole galaxy for— for shits and giggles. Obi-Wan sits on his hands, shuts himself up so he can think.

“The Dark Side has clouded their vision. Hundreds of senators are now under the influence of a Sith lord called Darth Sidious,” Dooku’s voice grates through his memory. Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to tell him just where he could store his lightsaber for safekeeping so his erstwhile grandmaster had taunted him with the truth, in hindsight.

Anakin.

The signs rush out of his hands, too fast for Cody at first. He repeats himself, trusts that Cody, brilliant, brilliantly fast Cody, will get it.

The helmet is back on Cody’s head, lights flickering on, antennas adjusting their angle.

“General Windu, this is Commander Cody using emergency frequency 2-Esk-5-0. Immediate contact with General Bilaba required. Immediate removal from battle of General Skywalker required. Use of force strongly encouraged should he resist.”

Obi-Wan crosses the small distance, waving his hands before using the quick battle sign for “deliver message”.

“General, Master Shadow Kenobi has a message,” Cody says, doesn’t pause as he translates to voice even though his back goes ramrod straight. “Chancellor is the Sith. I have proof. Ani must be kept away from him.”

“Some call them traitors,” Cody whispers, “but I’d rather turn a blind eye and let them run than watch them step into blaster fire because they don’t want to fight with every fiber of their being.”

“You’re a good man,” Obi-Wan signs, hands held up a bit so Cody can see. He hadn’t wanted to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes for the confession, had chosen to press him close under his chin instead. “You’re a good man,” Obi-Wan taps out on Cody’s chest so he can feel his words, too.

#loud au #codywan #obi wan kenobi #jedi shadow!obi wan #mute!obi wan #commander cody #star wars #sw tcw #my art #frostbitebakery art

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lupinqs · 7 months ago

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CHAPTER THREE ━━ Falling out of Focus

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 4.5K

☆ ━ warnings: use of homophobic slur, underage drinking, smoking i think, tiny fist fight lol, more angst

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: so sorry i did not proof read this and it’s so dialogue heavy but here it is anyways and drama period

IF NOTHING can comfort Paige Bueckers, it’s usually a basketball court that she needs. It’s the place where she’s found solace nearly her whole life, at this point. The steady rhythm of the dribbling, the weight of the ball in her hands, the way her body moves practically on instinct with it now—all of it is usually enough to drown out the noise of the world. Apparently, not today. She feels like she’s playing in someone else’s body, like everything with her game is off. None of her shots fall, she turns the ball more than she assists, and, when, she shoots once more and the ball hits the rim, bouncing off again, she feels like she’s going to lose it.

Coach Cosgriff seems to feel the same way. “Paige! Come on!” his voice cuts, sharp and direct. Paige blinks, shaking her head a little to clear it, before getting back into the drill.

“Sorry, Coach,” she mumbles, forcing her feet to move. But it’s almost like neither her heart or head are in. The ball feels heavy, unwieldy, like it isn’t made for her hands anymore. She passes it to Taylor, who shoots her a worried look before continuing the play.

Paige can feel the eyes of her teammates on her, each glance a tiny needle pricking her skin. Normally, she’d thrive under the attention, but today, it’s suffocating. She feels like she’s spiraling, and she has no idea how to stop it. It isn’t just about basketball; it’s about fucking everything.

“Let’s run it again!” Coach calls, and Paige tries to push all thoughts that aren’t basketball out of her mind. But the harder she tries, the more insistent her brain becomes.

They run through the drill again, and—again—Paige finds herself a step behind. She’s supposed to cut to the basket, but her feet move too slowly, like they’re stuck in mud. Amaya passes her the ball, but Paige isn’t ready, and it slips through her fingers, skidding across the floor.

“Damnit,” Paige curses under her breath, running after it. She can feel her teammates’ frustration, their confusion, and she hates herself for being the cause of it.

“Paige, you good?” Maya asks as they pause for a water break. She’s careful not to sound accusatory, but Paige can hear the concern in her voice. “You’re not yourself today.”

“I’m fine,” Paige snaps, harsher than she intended. Maya blinks, taken aback, and Paige immediately feels guilty. “I’m just… off. It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” KK chimes in, wiping sweat from her forehead. “You can talk to us, you know.”

Paige forces a smile, but it feels all wrong on her face. “I’m good. Just needa get my head straight.”

The words feel empty even as she says them. How can she explain to her teammates without sounding pathetic and stupid that she’s acting this way over a girl? Obviously, it’s not just any girl—it’s Dani. But still. A girl is getting in the way of Paige and basketball and it’s frustrating her so fucking much. She hates it. She hates all of it. She hates that every time she closes her eyes, all she sees is Dani slipping further away from her, replaced by Beau Hudson’s smug, indifferent face?

“Alright, everyone, bring it in,” Coach Cosgriff calls, ending the break. “Let’s focus up and finish strong.”

Paige nods, but her focus is long gone. The rest of practice is a blur of missed shots, half-hearted passes, and growing frustration. When it finally ends, Paige doesn’t stick around to talk to anyone. She grabs her bag, mumbling something about having to study, and heads straight for the locker room.

In the quiet of the locker room, Paige finally allows herself to collapse on the bench. She buries her face in her hands, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes. She refuses to let them fall. Crying won’t change anything; it won’t bring Dani back to her, and it sure as hell won’t fix the gaping hole that seems to be growing in her chest.

Paige decides she needs a distraction. Something, anything, to take her mind off Dani, off the way everything’s falling apart.

—SO, a few days later, when Jalen texts Paige about a party, she doesn’t hesitate. She needs noise, people, a chance to drown out the thoughts that have cut off all her access to oxygen.

Paige can feel the bass of the music vibrating through the floorboards the moment she enters the house. The air is thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and the faint tang of weed lingering in the background. The place is packed—people spilling out into the backyard, others dancing in the living room, and even more just milling about with red solo cups in hand. It’s exactly what Paige needs—or, at least that’s what she tells herself.

Jalen and Thaliah walk in beside her, ready for a much-needed night out. Jalen has a grin plastered across his face, greeting people as they walk in, while Thaliah is more laid-back, scanning the crowd for familiar faces as she takes a hit from the pen in her hand. Paige, on the other hand, feels almost like she’s moving through fog—like the world is a few seconds behind her. But that’s the point of tonight, anyways. To blur the edges. To numb the ache that’s been gnawing at her ever since Dani pushed her away.

“Yo, you good, P?” Jalen’s voice cuts through her thoughts, his hand landing on her shoulder as they push their way toward the kitchen. He gives her a once-over, expression tinged with concern. “You don’t look like you’re feelin’ this.”

Paige forces a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “‘M fine,” she lies, grabbing a solo cup from the counter. “Just need a drink.”

Thaliah, pen still in hand, raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, though there’s a look exchanged between her and Jalen. Paige ignores it. She isn’t in the mood for questions, for concern. She just wants to forget. Wants to drown out the constant loop of thoughts running through her head—Dani with Beau, Dani avoiding her, Dani blocking her out. It all swirls in her chest, a storm she hasn’t been able to control for weeks now.

With that thought, Paige downs her first drink in one long gulp, barely wincing at the sharp taste of Vodka and God-knows-what mixed into it. The burn isn’t enough. She needs more.

Within the next hour, Paige makes her way through three more cups of whatever mix of alcohol they’re serving, the edge of her thoughts blurring with each one, head starting to swim pleasantly, the fog that she’s been chasing slowly starting to catch up to her. Jalen and Thaliah drink too, but not with the same reckless abandon. Even they have their limits, knowing when to pace themselves.

But Paige? She doesn’t quite care about limits tonight.

“Bro, slow down,” Thaliah says, eyeing Paige warily as she reaches for yet another cup. “We’re supposed to be having fun, not getting wasted in the first hour.”

Paige rolls her eyes, ignoring the warning. “I am having fun,” she shoots back, though even to her own ears, her voice sounds a little too sharp, a little too defensive. She takes another long sip from the cup, the world around her beginning to tilt slightly. It’s like floating—like nothing can touch her, and that’s exactly what she wants. No feelings. No thoughts. Just nothing.

Jalen watches her, his buzzed and carefree smile faltering as he nudges Thaliah. “Hey, maybe we should—”

“I’m fine!” Paige cuts in, louder than she means to. Her hand tightens around the cup as she glances at them both, the alcohol making her words slur slightly. “I’m fine, okay? I don’t need a babysitter. God.”

She turns away from them, her eyes scanning the room for something—anything—else to keep her occupied. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to think. She just wants to not feel for a while.

She spots a group of people in the corner of the room, most of them looking just as drunk as she feels. Without another word to her best friends, Paige drifts toward the group, her steps a little uneven as the alcohol works its way through her system.

Jalen watches her go, his eyebrows furrowed for a moment before he turns back to his conversation. “She’ll be fine,” he mumbles, though there’s a slight hesitation in his voice. He glances at Thaliah, who shrugs, clearly tipsy herself but sharing the same concern. Nevertheless, neither of them are quite in the best shape to intervene. Besides, they both know Paige well enough to understand that trying to stop her won’t do any good.

Paige finds herself wedged between two guys she barely knows, both of them laughing loudly about something she isn’t even listening to. It doesn’t matter. She’s laughing too, caught up in the haze of drunkenness, the weight of everything she’s been carrying slipping off her shoulders for just a moment.

“Yo, you good?” one of the guys asks, his words slurred and slow as he nudges her with his elbow. “You look like you’re having a real good time.”

Paige grins, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through her chest. “Yeah, I’m good. Real good.”

He sends her a matching grin in return before handing her another drink—something dark and strong—and, without thinking twice, she takes a long sip, the liquid burning as it goes down. She doesn’t care. All she wants is to keep the buzz going, to keep drowning out the thoughts that keep creeping back whenever she slows down.

Dani. Always fucking Dani.

Paige shakes her head, like she can physically push the thought away. She doesn’t want to think about her. Not about the way she’s pulled away, not about the way she’s acting like Paige doesn’t even exist, not about the way she’s with Beau now. Paige doesn’t want to think about any of it.

“Paige, what are you doing?” Thaliah’s voice breaks through the noise, and Paige blinks, realizing she’s wandered away from the group she was with, ending up near the back patio. Thaliah stands in the doorway, her arms crossed, a slightly exasperated but still concerned look on her face.

“Getting another drink,” Paige slurs, waving her empty cup like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Thaliah steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “Maybe you should chill for a minute. You’ve had, like, five already.”

Paige rolls her eyes again, turning away from her friend. “I’m fine, Thal. Seriously.”

Thaliah hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder toward Jalen, who’s still talking to a couple of people near the couch. She isn’t entirely sober herself, and her judgment is definitely a little clouded, but even she can see Paige practically spiraling.

“Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Thaliah affirms, her voice softer now.

“I won’t,” Paige mumbles, though she isn’t sure she means it.

Thaliah stares at her for a moment longer before sighing and heading back inside. Paige doesn’t look back. She wanders farther into the backyard, her footsteps a little less steady now. She finds a group of people near the fire pit, most of them drunk and talking over each other. She sits down on the edge of the bench, barely listening to their conversation as she takes another drink from the communal cooler.

Zoning out, she stares at the flames in the fire pit, the flickering light casting shadows on her face. It crackles, and she watches, the embers highlighting the dark air around her. Everything is a bit softer at the edges now, almost dreamlike, until something—or, rather someone—catches her eye.

A brunette girl sits down next to Paige, her face half-illuminated by the fire before them. She has softer features and warm eyes, as well as brown hair that falls around her shoulders in waves, light highlights coating it. Her cheeks are red with the unmistakable flush of alcohol. She glances at Paige, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of her lips. There’s something familiar about the girl, a feeling that tugs at Paige’s drunken mind. It takes her a second to place, but when she realizes why, her heart stumbles a bit: this girl reminds Paige of Dani.

The blonde blinks, her gaze instinctively drawn to the girl’s lips, her head swimming a little more than before.

“Hey,” the brunette slurs a little, her voice laced with the same inebriated giddiness that Paige feels. “I’m Delaney.”

“Delaney?” Paige echoes, feeling like she misheard for a second. She blinks again, her heart doing an unsteady flip at how similar the names Delaney and Dani sound to her. It throws her off for a moment, but not in the way she expects. Maybe it’s because she’s wasted, maybe it’s the loneliness she’s been burying, or maybe it’s just how much she misses her best friend. But somehow, Delaney seems all the more appealing to Paige because of it.

“Yeah,” Delaney giggles, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing against the blonde’s. “And you’re Paige Bueckers.”

Paige feels a smirk creep onto her lips. “You know who I am?” she asks, voice dipping lower, ego inflating slightly. She leans in a little, enough so the sides of their legs touch.

The blonde watches as Delaney’s gaze trails across her face and over her lips. “Everyone knows who you are,” the brunette murmurs. She pauses for a moment, her drunk smile widening slightly. “You’re hot.”

The heat rises in Paige’s chest at that, and she grins back, asking, “Oh, am I?”

Delaney rolls her eyes a little and Paige laughs. The air feels smaller now, like it’s just the two of them, cocooned in the haze of alcohol and tension. Delaney’s eyes sparkle as she stares at Paige, and without much more thought, they fall into a flirty back-and-forth, words blending into giggles and gentle touches that feel a little too familiar.

The brunette rests her hand on Paige’s knee, her fingers slowly trailing upward, and Paige doesn’t stop her. It’s easy. Too easy. Paige leans forward, her breath catching in her throat as their faces hover inches apart.

“You really are pretty,” Paige whispers, her eyes drifting to Delaney’s lips.

And before she knew it, the space between them disappears their lips crash together, the kiss hot and sloppy and fueled by too much alcohol. Paige kisses Delaney harder, trying to drown out the ache that’s been gnawing at her all summer—the same ache that Dani left behind when she cut Paige out of her life.

For a moment, it’s enough. Paige loses herself in the kiss, her hands sliding to Delaney’s waist, pulling her closer. Delaney’s hand is on Paige’s thigh again, this time higher, but the basketball player doesn’t stop her. The brunette tastes like cheap beer and something sweet, and Paige kisses her like it’s an escape.

But then, the sensation of being watched creeps up on her, sending a shiver down her spine. Paige pulls back a little, her breathing uneven and her lips swollen as her eyes darted around. She scans the yard and the back-end of the house, the shadows of people milling about. And then her gaze locks onto someone standing just by the back door.

Her stomach drops.

Dani.

Paige’s breath hitches as she stares at her. Dani’s watching her, her eyes dark and unreadable, arms crossed over her chest. Paige freezes, her heart pounding in her ears as she takes in the sight of her former best friend, looking so effortlessly gorgeous. She’s wearing jeans that fit her perfectly and a tank top that leaves little to the imagination and as soon as Paige’s eyes set on her, a familiar fire alights in her chest.

As soon as Dani realizes Paige has seen her, she looks away, turning her head and beginning to walk away from the back door as if she wasn’t watching at all. But Paige saw it. The tension in Dani’s jaw, the flicker of something in her eyes.

And suddenly, it’s like Paige is struck by lightning, jolted back into reality. What the hell is she doing?

“Shit,” Paige mutters, pushing herself away from Delaney, her heart racing. Delaney blinks in confusion, still dazed and flushed from the kiss.

“Wait—where are you going?” Delaney asks, her hand reaching for Paige’s arm.

“I—uh—I’ve gotta go,” Paige stammers, barely sparing her another glance before she’s up on her feet, leaving Delaney sitting there on the couch, confused and drunk. Paige barely feels a pang of guilt as she hurries toward Dani, the alcohol still swirling in her system, making her steps unsteady.

Paige stumbles inside the house, weaving her way through the crowd until she catches up to the Callan girl. She reaches out, grabbing Dani’s arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Dani, wait—” Paige’s words come out more frantic than she intends, her grip on Dani’s arm loosening when Dani turns to face her. Paige’s heart hammers in her chest as she struggles to form coherent thoughts. “I—I don’t know what’s going on, but can we just—”

Dani jerks her arm out of Paige’s grip, her face stony. “What do you want, Paige?”

“I don’t know!” Paige’s voice cracks, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t know, okay? I saw you staring at me, and then you—why were you even watching me with her?”

Dani’s expression remains cold, but Paige sees the way her fingers twitch at her sides. “I wasn’t watching.”

“That’s bullshit, Dani!” Paige’s voice raises an octave, her fists clenching as she fights to keep herself at bay. “You were staring at me. And her. Why?”

“No, I wasn’t!” Dani denies again, her voice sharp and biting. “It’s none of my business what—or who—you do at a party.”

Paige’s chest tightens at the bitterness in Dani’s words. She feels the sting of them like a slap to the face. “If you don’t care, then why are you acting like this? Why are you even here?”

“I’m here with Beau,” Dani says, her voice firm. “And I don’t care what you do. So, why don’t you go on back to making out with random girls, yeah?”

Paige’s breath catches in her throat, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. “God, you’re so full of shit,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You act like you don’t care, but you do. I know you do. Why can’t you just admit it, for fucks’ sake?”

They stare at each for a long moment, face-to-face in silence, anger and something else surrounding the air between them. But before either of them can say anything more, Beau appeared out of nowhere, stepping between them.

“Is there a problem here?” Beau asked, his eyes narrowing at Paige, his tone casual but the tension in his stance clear. He steps in front of Dani like a shield, glaring at Paige.

The blonde rolls her eyes at him, her frustration doubling. “No,” she snaps, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just having a conversation.”

Beau scoffs, his arms crossing over his chest. “Doesn’t look like much of a conversation to me. Looks like you’re harassing my girlfriend, Bueckers.”

Paige’s stomach churns at the word, the jealousy like a punch to the gut. It’s not unfamiliar at this point, but it still gives Paige the same effect. “Can’t you just fuck off?” she retorts with venom. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m her boyfriend, so, yeah, I think it does,” Beau argues, stepping closer to Paige, trying to intimidate her. But Paige isn’t scared of him, even in her drunken state. He may be more muscular—the football kind of body type—but she’s taller, a couple of inches on him, and she meets his challenge with a steady glare.

“I don’t give a shit what you think,” Paige bites out, stepping closer herself, their faces inches apart now. “But Dani and I? We have history. And you—” she jabs her finger into his chest, “are just a replacement.”

Beau’s face twists in anger, his hands balling into fists. “Watch your mouth, Bueckers.”

“Or what—” the blonde begins, but before she can get her words out completely, two figures are by her side, hands pulling her away slightly.

“Paige,” Thaliah mutters, trying to tug at her arm. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Jalen stands there too, shaking his head. “Yep, come on,” he says. And then he lets his gaze shift between Beau and Dani, glaring at the pair. “Neither of them are worth it.”

Paige’s jaw clenches, her eyes still locked on Dani’s, searching for anything that would tell her this isn’t over. But Dani won’t even look at her. She keeps her eyes trained on the floor, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, her whole body tense.

And so, Paige id about to turn around, to let Thaliah and Jalen pull her away, when she hears Beau’s voice again.

“It’s good you and her aren’t friends anymore,” Beau says loudly, looking directly at Dani. His next words are sharp and venomous. “Don’t want a dyke like her corrupting you.”

The world seems to freeze.

Paige’s heart stops. The word dyke echoes in her ears, and the blood drains from her face. She can feel the heat rising in her chest, the anger boiling over like a volcano about to erupt.

Even Dani’s head snaps up, her eyes wide with shock. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t defend Paige.

Without thinking, without even hesitating for a second, Paige turns and lunges at Beau, her fists flying before anyone can react.

Her first punch lands squarely on his jaw, sending him stumbling back. She feels pain erupt across her knuckles, and she shakes her hand for a moment. The shock on his face is almost satisfying—almost. But Paige doesn’t stop there. She she shoves him backwards now, hands at his chest, and he stumbles slightly.

“You fucking—” Beau starts, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Thaliah and Jalen are on her in an instant, pulling Paige back with more force now. Thaliah’s voice is almost panicked, trying to calm her down as Jalen stands between her and Beau, his hands outstretched like a human barrier. He glares at the Hudson boy, saying firmly, “Back the fuck up.”

“Paige, come on, it’s not worth it!” Thaliah’s practically shouting now, her grip on Paige’s arm tight.

“Let go of me!” Paige yells, her voice cracking with fury. She struggles against their hold, her eyes locked on Beau, who stands there, looking more shocked than anything. But there’s no fear in his eyes—only smugness, actually.

Beau wipes his mouth, glancing at the blood on his hand where her punch landed. He sneers. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Can’t handle the truth, can you?”

Paige’s vision blurs with anger, and she tries to lunge at him again, but Thaliah and Jalen hold her back.

Dani, who’s been frozen this whole time, finally speaks up. “Beau, just stop.”

Beau’s glances down at Dani, almost grinning. He clearly is enjoying the chaos he’s caused. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking, babe.”

Paige is done. She’s fucking done.

“Fuck you,” she spits at Beau, staring at him from behind Jalen. He just smirks back. And then she turns her attention to Dani, adding, “And, fuck you, too. You’re such a fucking coward, Dani.”

Paige rips her arm from Thaliah’s grasp, turning from the group and walking straight out of the house, wanting nothing more than to just go home.

THE DAYS that follow are a blur of basketball practices, classes, and restless nights. Paige tries to focus, tries to lose herself in the familiar routine, but nothing feels right. Every time she steps onto the court, her movements feel sluggish, disconnected. She’s there, but she isn’t really present. Her mind is elsewhere, stuck in a loop of memories and worries that she can’t escape.

Coach Cosgriff notices, of course. It would be impossible not to. Paige has always been the one to set the pace, to push herself and her teammates to be better. But now, she’s lagging behind, missing cues, and snapping at anyone who tries to point it out.

“Paige, my office. Now,” Coach says one afternoon after a particularly grueling practice.

Paige knows what’s coming, but she follows him without protest, dragging her feet as she walks. The other girls exchange glances but don’t say anything. They know better than to try to talk to her when she’s in one of these moods.

Coach’s office is small, cramped with old trophies and posters of past teams. He sits behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestures for Paige to sit down before him.

“What’s going on with you, Paige?” he asks, leaning forward, his tone soft but firm. “This isn’t like you. You’ve been off for weeks now. Is it school? Family? Whatever it is, you need to get it sorted, because it’s affecting your game.”

Paige looks down at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s… complicated,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Coach sighs, running a hand over his face. “Life is complicated, Paige. But you need to find a way to deal with it. You’re the leader of this team, and if you’re not focused, the others won’t be either.“

“I know,” Paige replies, her throat tight. “I’m sorry, Coach. I’m just… going through something right now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Coach offers, surprising Paige. He isn’t usually the type to get involved in his players’ personal lives, but Paige guesses he’s worried about how much this is affecting her performance.

Paige shakes her head, though. She couldn’t talk about it, not without breaking down, and she couldn’t afford to do that. Besides, it would be more embarrassing than anything to have to explain how much losing someone—that’s technically still there—has affected her. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”

Coach watches her for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. But you need to get your head back in the game, Paige. I can’t have you on the court if you’re not all there. Understand?”

“Yes, Coach,” Paige responds quickly, feeling the weight of his words settle on her shoulders.

“Take tonight off,” Coach says, surprising her again. “Clear your head, do whatever you need to do. But when you come back tomorrow, I need the Paige Bueckers I know back on that court. The season starts in less than a month, Paige.”

Paige nods, standing up to leave. “I’ll do my best, Coach.”

As she’s about to walk out the door, Coach Cosgriff stops her, saying, “Wait.” She turns, eyes curious as she meets his gaze, wondering what else he has to say. He offers a small smile, telling her, “I went through a tough time when I was your age, too. It’s difficult to be a teenager. But the best advice I was ever given is that whatever problem you’ve got going on—you gotta either drop it, forget it, and move on, or you fix it. I know it’s easier said than done, but it’s true.”

Paige lets the words sink in.

Drop it, forget it, move on.

Or fix it.

Fuck, she doesn’t know.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn huskies #wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #wlw #take me to church #hopkins p fic

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theeeveetamer · 3 days ago

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Back to canon (or at least mostly canon) DMC materials, I've been wanting to highlight this Trish (and Sparda) characterization from Deadly Fortune for a hot minute now

In the first Deadly Fortune novel, Dante is told to meet up with Trish in Fortuna castle to exchange information. He isn't told exactly where to meet her, so he's just wandering around for a bit before he stumbles into the library. Trish shows up, and Dante makes this observation:

I thought it was neat that they gave Trish that little bit of characterization! It's not really shown off much in the series because you're usually fighting things, not hanging around doing research, but I like that she's kinda bookish. This is also sort of nodded to in the original 2007 anime as well, as Trish is the one who heads off to the library to look for info in an episode

However, IMO it's really elevated by this little tidbit from the second Deadly Fortune novel. This is a Trish PoV chapter, from around the end when they're back in the city proper. Transcribing because the formatting of the translation I read makes it a bit unwieldy for screenshots:

Dante shrugged and looked at Yamato. He was probably wondering why Sparda hadn't destroyed the gate in the first place - if he could seal it, he had more than enough strength to crush it, too. But Trish understood - Sparda was a demon. The underworld was his birthplace, unlike Dante who'd been born in the human world - even if he swore himself the protector of humanity and eventually got accustomed to life among humans, he might never truly have stopped missing his home. She, like Sparda, was also a pure demon who'd been born and raised in the underworld, which was why she understood - she felt the same way. She dedicated a large chunk of her free time to learning about devil arms and demonology partly because of that reason... which she would never tell Dante about. He was born in the human world, he wouldn't understand.

She's homesick! And she thought Sparda might have been too 😭

And one other thing,Trish is the one who thinks ahead. If you've ever been wondering why Lady just shows up at the end of DMC4, it's because Trish called her! They both evacuate the population of Fortuna:

Trish thought of the letter she'd sent a month before - if Lady had received it, then she must already have been on her way. There might have been too many demons to deal with even for her, but with a bit of help she could take it no problem - though in her letter she'd only asked Lady to come pick them up, so to add fighting on top of it... "Ah, she's going to be pissed." It wasn't really a problem for Trish - she'd never been in the business for the money, she'd always been doing it because she despised demons who hurt innocents, like Dante did. "Hope she manages to get here safely." Trish said to herself with a playful smile.

I really enjoy Trish and Lady's dynamic in this novel too, scant as it is. I wish they got to be on screen together more in the games, because the way they interact in the novels and the 2007 anime is fantastic. Hella chemistry

Anyway, again I'll link to the site where I got the translations in the comments

#Devil May Cry #DMC #DMC4 #Trish

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mythmagicetc · 24 days ago

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buck moved in when eddie moved out, so they could help each other pack up and move furniture around. it was a good system; buck could've stayed in the loft for another week, but by unspoken agreement, they decided to do it all at once. get it over with. rip the band-aid off.

the beds were the most difficult part, as expected. not too heavy for them, but big and unwieldy, hard to maneuver through doorways. in the kitchen, taking a break for water, buck remarked that it'd be easier if eddie just left his bed here and took buck's with him.

"no way, man," eddie replied immediately, shaking his head. "your mattress sucks. it's like too hard and too soft at the same time. you'd probably hate mine, too."

buck frowned. "what? you never--you never said anything during quarantine! i didn't--you said you slept well!"

and he did, eddie realized. he did sleep well, even though the mattress was awful, and the summer nights were too hot, and he missed chris so much it might've killed him. he slept well, because buck was there.

so, that's how eddie realizes. standing in his kitchen, buck just out of arm's reach, glass of water in hand. clean and pure.

and it doesn't change a fucking thing.

#i wrote a ficlet that doesn't devolve into softcore porn. not sure if i'm happy about that tbh #enjoy! :)#911 spoilers #buddie #buddie ficlet

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snapscube · 7 months ago

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More over to the old playthroughs. Do you miss the old format of Let's Plays where you would play a game and stop at a certain point to fit in the video? Because nowadays, people just make long streams of them playing a game, and cut a lot of the gameplay from vods so it can fit it in a video of 20 to 25 minutes

i definitely reminisce on the simplicity of the old "record for 15-20 minutes (or hell even like 8-10 if we're talking EARRLLYY youtube), stop the recording, start the next one, repeat" format in a nostalgic sense but practically I haven't made any playthroughs like that in a long time nor have i really wanted to. i think whether an episode is recorded standalone or cut from larger footage doesn't matter as much as if it's done well with an intentional focus on the flow of everything. i've had plenty of times in recent years where i've even had to split VODs apart cause they were too long and unwieldy otherwise, but i always make sure to cut it in a spot that makes sense and doesn't feel too jarring. and usually i try to make sure that the next portion of it comes VERY soon after so people aren't left wondering why there's no outro for too long and can be like ahhhh it rolls right into the next one. it's just a bit easier to get into a flow state with either conversation or gameplay if u don't have to constantly check the clock, which can be nice for the final product! depends on who u are tho!

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majorxmaggiexboy · 3 months ago

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okay but 100% Dream can do that Gandalf “do not take me for some conjuror of cheap tricks” thing like at some point it’s Hob who’s late for one of their meetings and it’s getting dark and Dream’s starting to feel like his chest is a pit of snakes, which is not something he’s prepared to think about or address, so he’s stepped outside for a bit to debate the appropriate wait time (flee immediately and potentially miss next meeting bc he’s convinced this is Hob’s way of calling the whole thing off, or stay there for a minimum thirty some odd years just in case this is some form of payback) so he’s waiting outside this pub just fully skulking in the dark and some generic creeps start heckling a little, at first he just sneeringly ignores them but as we know 85% of his emotions manifest as severe annoyance, disdain, and righteous indignation so he starts getting snippy and they do not take the hint

so they approach and are getting pretty adamantly flirty until Dream (who has decided the best strategy may be to pop in on alternating years just to see if Hob shows up or perhaps send out some investigatory ravens and he doesn’t think Hob is likely to be imprisoned in a sphere but not all prisons are in fact fishtanks so it couldn’t hurt to check) escalates to proper ticked off and the shadows start converging from the surrounding area to puff up around and behind him like an especially stormy eldritch peacock and he’s actually turned into a shadow himself apart from the pinpoint star eyes and holy shit was he that tall before and where tf are these shadow tendrils coming from and his voice is coming from like forty different directions in full YOU DARE

meanwhile Hob (whose train was late, who’s been on a series of mild misadventures today and knew all too well the potential ramifications of being late (“oh absolutely he’ll be distraught furious. No doubt.”) has just come skidding round the corner (he was not in a full sprint at this point or anything, not at all) just in time to see what looks like two blokes about to get eviscerated by this seven foot swirling void of starstuff and fury

Hob experiences a full and thriving range of emotions when witnessing this, including at least two levels of Concern but also, well

it takes a bit to get Dream’s attention and a bit longer for Dream to return all the shadows whence they came (some have to just be stuffed back into his coat like an unwieldy litter of kittens, it’s fine) but all in all things proceed as normal

(Hob refrains from Asking about the whole cosmic horror and shapeshifting possibilities thing just yet because his friend is nothing if not an easily startled stray possum and he’d rather not stir up any hissing, best save it for a meeting not preceded by a break in routine)

(Dream brings it up himself about forty minutes in, all, “You’ll have. Questions.” Which Hob denies, carefully casual, until before Dream has even finished asking “You’re certain?” Hob is in fact gleefully rattling off a list of Questions)

#The sandman 2022 #dream of the endless #Hob Gadling #hob as soon as he realizes he’s going to be late #Starts that mental sort of galaxy level six dimensional chess #of exactly how Dream is going to take this #for the first few minutes Dream is trying to parse out whether hob is going to SAY he was late on purpose #or if he just wants Dream to pick up that message on his own #Dream hasn’t decided whether to be catty about that nor how much it actually offends him #hob tells him to stop thinking so loud and goes into the wonders of the public transit system #all things considered hob is pretty respectful asking about the shapeshifting #he’s mostly just over the moon because of how nutrient dense that particular information is #I mean yeah he’d settle for knowing Dream’s favorite color but this works #Dream’s Anxiety Brain™️ is built different

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bjwmastermind-writes · 1 month ago

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ch.1 - fences and cities series -dbf! joel miller x f!reader

Chapter One of "Fences and Cities" dbf! joel miller x reader

To check out the series and what it's about click here!

mentions: girthy age gap (24-47), dad's best friend, joel miller is a warning on its own!

Minors stay out or read at your own risk! I'm not responsible for your consumption!

divider by @cafekitsune

Montana

The old, familiar smell of Montana—pine trees and fresh air—mingles with the dust of the small airport parking lot. Your heavy and unwieldy suitcase pulls at your shoulder as you trudge toward the terminal doors. Your stomach growls loudly, betraying your irritation. Where is he? You glance at your phone, but there are no texts.

Rolling your eyes, you mutter under your breath, “Where the hell is he?” Your voice is tight, a mix of frustration from travel, hunger, and something deeper—an unease about what’s ahead. Montana was never a bad place, but leaving New York had been… complicated.

A voice calls your name, and you lift your gaze to see him stepping out of the truck.

The sound of a truck engine rumbles in the distance, and your eyes snap to it. Relief floods you for a moment, but it quickly sharpens into something else as the truck pulls to a stop in front of you. He’s finally here. But, of course, he doesn’t seem rushed. He flashes you a half-smile, like he’s entirely unbothered, and you feel the urge to roll your eyes again.

"Sorry," he calls from the truck, his voice still casual. "Got caught up with some things around here." He leans back against the side of the truck, looking at you in a way that suddenly makes you feel a little off-kilter. It’s Joel, for crying out loud—your dad’s friend, someone you’ve known for years. But there’s something about him now, something different.

"It’s okay, just don’t do that again, okay? I waited so long," you say, your voice carrying a hint of frustration, but with a playful undertone.

He grins, leaning against the truck. "Oh, please, it was only a few minutes, Miss New York. Have you forgotten what it’s like here?" His tone is teasing, but there’s a soft warmth to it that catches you off guard.

His smile is the same, his voice the same, yet there's an intensity in his eyes you’ve never noticed before. A teasing glint, sure, but also something more—a quiet pull that makes your stomach flip. You never saw him like this before.

As he drives, you can’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of your eye. You’ve always known Joel—your dad’s friend, the guy who always had a joke ready or was fixing something around the house. But something’s different today. You notice the way the light hits his profile as he concentrates on the road, the way his jaw tightens when he makes a turn, and the easy confidence in the way he moves.

“So, how’s New York treating you lately?” he asks, his gaze flicking to her briefly before returning to the road.

“It’s been good. Work has been killing me, for sure, but there’s something about it I like as well,” you say, leaning back against the seat. “The people I’ve met so far are nice—we go out often. The city is lovely, very loud, but it doesn’t take away from its charm.”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “New York is lovely? Never heard anyone say that before.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “It is if you know where to look. It has this… energy, you know? Everything is moving all the time, and I kinda like that.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Sometimes,” you admit, glancing out the window. “But it makes you feel alive.”

Joel hums in response, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “And yet, here you are. Back in Montana.”

You go quiet for a moment, exhaling softly. “Yeah, well, I guess one can get a little homesick after all. Plus, I had to be here for my dad.”

Joel chuckles, a low, knowing sound, and glances at you. “Yeah, I get that.” Without thinking, he reaches out, his hand landing on your shoulder in a brief but solid squeeze—comforting, familiar. His touch is warm, and steady, and for some reason, it lingers in your mind even after he pulls away.

The truck falls into a quiet lull, only the hum of the tires against the road filling the space between you two. It’s not awkward, but it feels… different. Why does it feel different?

Just as you’re about to get lost in your thoughts, your stomach lets out a loud, unmistakable growl.

Joel smirks, side-eyeing you. “Hungry much?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Oh my god, that was so loud.”

“Loud enough to scare off the wildlife,” he teases. “Guess that answers where we’re going next.”

That makes you laugh too, shaking your head. “Shut up.”

He smirks, eyes still crinkled with amusement. “Guess that answers where we’re going next.”

You peek at him between your fingers. “Let me guess… the diner?”

Joel grins. “Best damn burger and fries in town.”

You sigh dramatically but can’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

Joel chuckles. “Don’t worry, it’s on me”

By the time you reach the diner, your thoughts are tangled. You don’t know why you’re suddenly noticing him differently, but it’s all you can think about.

You slide into a booth, the hum of conversation around you two. As you both settle into your seats, you clear your throat, unsure how to bring it up.

“So,” you start, trying to sound casual but unable to keep the edge from your voice, “When did you turn into this?” You gesture vaguely, not sure how to articulate the thought. “It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time or something.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What are you talking about?”

You take a breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “I don’t know, just... you. You're different. I don’t know if I’m just imagining it, but you look different.”

His smile fades a little, but there’s a glimmer of something behind his eyes. “I’m the same. Maybe you’re just seeing things.” He looks at you, his voice quieter now. “Maybe you’re different.” He looks back at the menu like he didn’t just shake something loose inside you.

Your pulse quickens at his words. You weren’t expecting that response. It hangs between you, heavier than the usual banter, and suddenly, you’re not so sure how to navigate this space between the two of you anymore.

The silence stretches out just long enough for it to feel a little too much, and you, ever the quick thinker, decide to break it. You clear your throat, leaning in a little with a playful smile.

“Hey, did I tell you what happened at the airport?” you ask, your voice light but eager to shift the energy.

Joel looks over at you, eyebrows raised, clearly intrigued. “No, what happened?”

You smirk, your eyes lighting up as you launch into the story. “They took my bagel. Like, actually took it.”

Joel laughs, clearly amused, shaking his head. “So that explains why you're starving, huh?”

You nod, your face scrunching with playful frustration. “You have no idea. I was ready to fight for it, but I just didn’t have the energy after the whole ordeal.”

You are mid-sentence when the waiter stops by, setting down your food with a polite nod. You barely notice, too caught up in the story you’re telling, hands gesturing slightly as you speak.

“So there I am, at JFK, running on zero sleep and way too much airport coffee, and I swear, the TSA guy looks at my bag like it’s personally offended him. He pulls me aside, right? Starts digging through my stuff like I’m smuggling national secrets, and then—” You pause for dramatic effect, a smirk tugging at your lips. “He pulls out a single, perfectly wrapped bagel. Just one. Like it’s contraband.”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, watching you. Not just listening—watching. The way you lean in slightly, how your eyes light up when you’re caught in the middle of a story, how you always talk with your hands just a little.

“What did he do?” he asks, voice low but amused.

You grin. “Looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to explain this.’ Like I’m running some underground bagel operation.”

Joel shakes his head, chuckling. “And what did you say?”

“I panicked! I just went, ‘Sir, it’s a bagel. I swear I’m not dangerous.’” You lean back with a laugh, shaking your head. “I think he was just bored, honestly. But for a second, I thought I was gonna end up on a no-fly list over a poppy seed bagel.”

Joel watches you as your laughter lingers, your shoulders still shaking slightly. There’s something different about you—he’s sure of it now. Not just the way you carry yourself, but the way you fill the space around you, like you belong in it. It’s new.

Joel, though—he’s still looking at you. The story’s over, but his gaze lingers like he’s turning something over in his mind. Finally, he says, “You always talk like that?”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

His mouth quirks, but there’s something thoughtful in the way he watches you. “Like you belong wherever you are.”

The words catch you off guard. There’s no teasing in his voice, no hint of the usual back-and-forth. Just a quiet observation.

Your heart skips, pulse-quickening as you force a smirk. “Montana air,” you say lightly. “Does wonders.”

Joel doesn’t press, just lets out a small hum, but there’s a weight to his silence now. Something that lingers.

Neither of you moves to shake it off.

You finish your meal in silence, the kind of quiet that’s not uncomfortable but feels different—charged, maybe, or just heavier than usual. You keep your focus on your plate, unsure of what to say or do next.

After a few moments, you stretch your legs out under the table, not thinking much of it, until you accidentally brush your foot against Joel’s. Neither of you pulls away immediately. The brief contact makes your stomach twist, and you’re suddenly aware of how close you are, how you can feel the warmth of his presence even through the table.

You glance up quickly, your face flushing slightly as you pretend it didn’t happen. “Oops, sorry about that.”

Joel’s lips curl into a small, teasing smile. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice is steady, but his eyes linger on you a moment longer than usual. The tension between you feels different now, thicker, and you feel a shift in the air, one that makes you unsure of how to move forward.

Finally, breaking the silence, Joel shifts in his seat and looks at you with a more casual tone. “Ready to get going?” He gives you a teasing glance. “Let’s get the bill. Your dad must be wondering what took so long.”

You force a laugh, grateful for the change in pace. “Yeah, he probably thinks we’re getting into trouble or something.” You reach for your purse, trying to shake off the moment’s weight.

Joel pulls into the driveway, the sound of the gravel crunching under the tires as he stops. He glances at you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll let you settle in, and spend some time with your dad. Bet he missed you,” Joel says, turning off the engine.

You grab your suitcase, struggling to pull it out of the trunk, the weight of it catching you off guard.

Joel raises an eyebrow, still seated in the car. “Need some help with that?”

You shake your head, forcing a smile as you maneuver the suitcase out of the trunk. “No, that’s okay. I got it.”

As you manage to free it, you turn back to him. “Thanks, Joel. For the drive. And the food. Good actions, all around.”

Joel chuckles, the sound low and warm. “You’re welcome. doll”

The word catches you off guard, a flicker of surprise tightening your chest. You don’t expect that nickname from him—rough and practical as he is—but there’s no time to linger on it. You shake it off quickly, masking whatever it stirs with a small nod before stepping out of the car.

The night air is cool against your skin as you start toward the front door, your pulse still a little quicker than usual.

Joel stays in the car a moment longer, his gaze lingering on you. He tells himself it’s just for security—making sure you get inside safely—but somehow, it feels like more than that. He watches you until the front door opens and your dad steps outside, arms outstretched.

“There she is!” Your dad grins, enveloping you in a hug. “Welcome home!”

You laugh and hug him back. “I missed you, too, Dad.”

Joel leans back in his seat and clears his throat, a brief, awkward moment hanging between him and your family. “Take care you two,” he calls out with a quick wave, as he shifts the car into gear.

Your dad waves back, calling out to him. “Thanks again, Joel! Really appreciate the help.”

Joel gives a small grin, rolling his eyes playfully. Your dad laughs as he steps back into the house, and Joel pulls away, disappearing down the street.

You watch him leave, feeling a strange mix of emotions you can't quite place before heading inside with your dad.

Welcome to the first chapter of my series Fences and Cities! I’m so excited to share this story with you. I hope you enjoyed the beginning, and I’d love to hear your thoughts! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment—it really helps the story reach more readers. Stay tuned for what’s to come!

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archive-z · 3 months ago

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curating reading lists (without social media)

a guide to finding stuff to read, for @divorceblogger. this is a guide specifically for avoiding things like goodreads/storygraph etc which aggregate books that are popular without being all that helpful for finding things on niche/specialist topics.

a bit of housekeeping before getting to the actual list-making tips:

i mostly read nonfiction targeted at both academic and popular audiences. i also read a mixture of classic lit, genre fiction, zines & conceptual/artists’ books, and playtexts & poetry. i read traditional print books, non-traditional print publications, PDF and ePub ebooks on an iPad/iPhone, and listen to audiobooks and audio dramas.

i have a infinite number of books i want to read. the discovery process of new & interesting outstrips my capacity to read them all, so i have to be extremely selective. this also means i never tolerate a book i’m not enjoying. it can have weak points, but i have to be getting something out of the experience, or else i am wasting my one wild n precious life, ya feel?

my goal is to read for quality, not for quantity. i tend to dislike a lot of online reading communities for their focus on metrics (number of books, page count, word count, etc). i bristle at tools that try to push my reading into this direction. i have a reading practice, in the same sense that one would have an artistic practice. thinking of my reading as a practice — rather than a project, a thing to be completed and checked off the checklist — helps orient me towards patterns of thinking that serve me better

i work in the arts industry, so fiction and non-fiction books are reference tools. when I finish reading a book, I put it back on the shelf, like returning a tool to the toolbox until it is time to use it again. i live in a bachelor flat, so obvs i have to resist the incessant pressures of consumerism, but it doesn’t bother me that i have not read every book that i own. they are there for when i get to them. similarly, i would not be bothered by owning a kitchen fire extinguisher that i have not used.

where do I keep my reading lists?

Obsidian: for organising to-read lists on specific topics, genres, eras, locations, etc. i repeat books across multiple lists where appropriate. i don’t keep a single master list of everything I want to read because it would simply be too unwieldy to manage. Small focused lists of no more than ~25 books on the topic are best, imo.

TinyCat: for cataloguing physical books that i own. i have a shortcut to the website on my phone so i can easily pull it up if i can’t remember what books in a series i already have. i can tag anything unread with my “antilibrary” tag. for my own amusement, i also insert library pockets and circulation cards into my books and stamp them with the date completed (using my beloved rotary date stamp). i can also stamp the date a friend who borrowed the book completed it. i like seeing the signatures add up over time.

Zotero: for academic bibliographic citations. useful habit to get into if you transcribe lots of quotes from yr readings into yr notes.

how do i develop my reading lists?

i usually develop my reading lists through a combination of concerted effort to research a topic & ambient browsing. this isn’t Abt How to rigorously conduct research though so im gonna focus more on ~letting books organically find me~

when i have a book that i enjoy, i see if the author has written any more books on topics that interest me. incredibly basic 101 advice but somehow people still miss this one.

check the bibliographies & acknowledgements. if something comes up in bibliography after bibliography, its usually a good sign its worth checking out. also, authors usually thank other authors in their acknowledgements, its a great way to start building an idea

i love when artists talk abt their influences in interviews, like this interview abt what influences and easter eggs there are in disco elysium (i screamed at the Einstürzende Neubauten reveal!!!). i love when fans come up with their own reading lists for media, like my list speculating what daniel molloy would have read and watched in 1973.

when i am travelling somewhere i try to read something related to the to place I am going. Wikipedia is a first easy point of reference to find out if yr destination is famous for being the birthplace of X poet or Y film is set there.

tertiary sources. secondary sources are about a primary source, whereas tertiary sources aim to provide an overview of the major debates in those secondary sources on a specific topic rather than to generate their own new ideas/arguments. the oxford university press “a very short introduction” series varies in quality but its often a very useful starting point.

recs from friends/gifts. my loved ones know i like books, and books are usually a cheap & easy gift for holidays & special occasions. i gift books that i want to read myself, so we can talk abt the book together.

what physical locations do I browse?

Local library, university library. You might be even be able to get a specialist library card to an archive or museum reading room. Some public libraries also have special collections like the Seattle Zine Library.

For-sale section in the local library. proceeds usually go to supporting the library

local secondhand bookshop. there are several in walking distance, i usually hit them up quarterly, especially as i gift a lot of secondhand books

local independent bookshops. several local independent bookstores host an annual bookstore crawl where if you get a stamp from all of them in one weekend u enter a draw to win $1000 gift card :)

thrift store/charity shop/antique markets. there is usually a section with books even if the main focus is clothes/furniture

book events. author talks, staged readings of new plays, poetry readings, book/lit mag launch parties, Writers Festivals, small/independent press fair, rare book fair, zine fests, international library day, conferences

bookshelves at house parties. im 100% the person checking out yr bookshelf at a house party. great place to get yr flirt on.

travel. basically any new place im going, i look-up in advance the local library, second hand bookstores, charity shops, antiques stores etc. and save them in my maps on my phone. if i can conveniently pop into one while im there, neat! i particularly like municipal libraries bc the big ones are usually architecturally interesting (like the Vancouver Public Library) and the small ones are usually really charming and full of specific local history, leaflets to interesting local stuff, etc.

what online locations do I browse?

navigating the online catalogue to yr local & academic libraries is a whole skill unto itself. i was very fortunate be born in the late 90s and to have a specific local librarian teach me boolean operators before i could tie my shoelaces, ride a bike, or, frankly, do most human being things (shoutout to Miss T yr a real one). your library very likely has something like a workshop or at the very least a help desk that can help u with this if needed.

mailing lists of small/independent presses.

publishers websites (academic and general audience).

wikipedia. u can look at the footnotes section on wikipedia. its free. its legal.

looking up university syllabi. some are on profs’ websites, some are available through the university library. there is also the Open Syllabus website which aggregates the most often mentioned books in submitted syllabi, organised by discipline or through a visual map.

what’s available on libby/borrowbox.

Archive dot org and google books/google scholar to read the previews and judge if the book is worth following up on.

i didn’t actually include any selections of my personal reading lists, but if you would like to know more you can always shoot me an ask with a specific topic in mind.

#mine #future literature tag #basically always down 2 talk books i am into

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 months ago

Text

Portal Children AU, Pt 4

Kara walks for days, calling Lena's name. She knows nothing of the map for this world; there was never any need, since no one thought you could travel through a door that isn't yours.

In the end, Lena finds her first. Or rather, a hunting party from Lena's camp does, and takes Kara prisoner before dragging her back to the camp, bound and blindfolded. Kara goes willingly, even eagerly, and when the blindfold is stripped away she scans immediately for Lena, and finds her friend beneath a tent, bent over a map with a number of other... people? Creatures? Some were decidedly not human.

Individuals, then.

"Lena!"

Lena's head shoots up at the call, whipping so fast towards Kara that Kara wonders if she didn't strain something in the process. She sees Lena squint, before her eyes go wide as their gazes meet.

"Kara?!"

In an instant, Lena is bolting from the tent in a beeline towards Kara. She slams into Kara in a fierce embrace. Kara staggers a little, receiving the hug as best she can with her hands bound and now trapped between their bodies.

A laugh bubbles up Kara's throat, only to evaporate when she feels the desperation in Lena's grip, the tremble of her breath and the feel of Lena's chin tucking against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Lena murmurs. "I-- I didn't think to say good bye until I was through, and then..."

Kara swallows thickly, something dark and anxious twisting in her belly.

"How long?"

"Two years," comes the strangled reply. Lena hiccups softly. "Two years...."

Kara sags against her, apology and relief in one. Not so long to miss much, but clearly long enough for Lena to miss her.

"Can I hug you?"

Lena pulls back. "Hm?"

Kara wiggles her bound hands in a wave, earning a watery laugh from Lena as she swiftly splits the ropes with the dirk at her hip. In the next breath they're back in each other's arms, this time with Kara squeezing Lena just as fiercely.

"It's only been days for me," Kara says. "Well, seconds, between you entering and me following, then days of me wandering blindly through the forest."

"It's dangerous for you to be here," Lena points out, wiping her eyes.

Kara cocks a grin. "Nah," she dismisses. "It'll be fine, so long as there's an adventure in it for me."

---

It's not long before Kara is again fulfilling her role as Lena's lieutenant, this time literally. While she doesn't have the martial experience Lena has, at least not for terrestrial battles, Kara still has a quick mind and an eye for strategy. Soon everyone knows that Lena has a new confidant, and a new right hand.

Some resent Kara for it, but it's hard to resist the magnetic draw of a bright smile and an enthusiasm for even the most unpleasant of duties. Kara shies away from nothing, not even latrine duties. They respect her for it, and that respect only grows as Kara proves herself in battle as well.

Though she and Lena have been sparring with knives, swords, and staves ever since high school, Kara's true affinity comes in the form of a shield and war hammer. The shield itself they loot from an enemy war party, bright steel rather than the leather and wood used by the others in the camp.

Its mated sword feels equally at home in Kara's hand, but it proves too large and unwieldy for the stealthy hit-and-run, close quartered combat Lena prefers. So Kara keeps the sword strapped to her back, and relies on a hefty but agile hammer, with a pronged claw on one side, allowing her to puncture, hook, and yank as devastatingly as she can shatter a man's skull.

Together, they make a forbiddable pair. As weeks turn into months, and then more than a year, Lena regains the momentum the movement lost in her absence. Before long, they work their way straight up to the city gates, sparking a revolt as sympathizers to their cause rise up against Lex's guards and soldiers, generating a whirlwind of chaos that covers Lena's and Kara's entrance into the castle.

They find Lex once more in his keep, surrounded by yet more guards. To anyone else, it might have been a losing battle, but not for Lena and Kara. Together, they tear through the superior numbers, until only Lex is left standing. And he, in his hubris, expects another face off, an attempt to instill reason, a plea for him to change.

He does not expect Lena to charge towards him, barely has time to lift his sword before Lena smoothly ducks and pivots under his guard, slipping her dagger between the plates of his armor in three sharp jabs. The attack steals the wind from his chest. Lex staggers backwards into the wall, touching his glove disbelieving to the blood spilling from his side and armpit.

"What now?" he wheezes. "You found yourself another door-- no doubt it's my turn to be thrust back into that despicable world--"

His words halt with a gurgling crunch, as Lena's blade plunges deep into his throat. Kara watches Lena as the life leaves her brother, her shoulders square and her features stormy but firm-- resolute. She's long known this would be the outcome of their war: one or both of them dead for good.

Kara wonders if Lena feels any kind of sadness or regret for her brother, but the wonder turns to doubt in the next moment. Lena's resolve has been steadfast, born of need and logic, not vengeance or anger. Lex earned his fate and then some.

After the final battle, Lena and Kara work to rebuild the realm. Lena repeals the oppressive laws that Lex implemented, reconnects with former allies in neighboring realms, and does her best to restore hope and goodwill amongst the people. It takes time, and somehow more effort than fighting an entire war, but they do it. Eventually, Lena and Kara stand at the apex of a thriving kingdom of peace and unity, and only then does Lena reveal that this time she's brought something with her when she came through the door.

Kara stares at the small disk in Lena's hand, the firelight shimmering across its surface. "Lena, is that...?"

"The portal generator," Lena confirms. "I've been working to modify it, so that it would work here. And I've tweaked it, so that it should calibrate to the person operating it."

"You mean..."

"It could open your door, Kara."

Kara stares at it, hope blooming in her chest. She's been happy here, even in the most dire of battles. But her *door*, her world, her home....

She frowns. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

The question tries to play innocent, but Kara can hear the gravel in Lena's voice. As painful as it is to hear, it relieves something in Kara's soul, a need she hasn't acknowledged in a very long time.

"I miss my world," Kara says quietly. "But you are my home now."

"Kara..."

"Come with me," Kara murmurs. She stares into Lena's eyes, drinking in the apprehension and affection she finds in them. "Please."

Lena's gaze turns thoughtful. "Before, I wouldn't have thought it possible. But... you've lived in my world for years."

"So maybe you can live in mine," Kara concludes. She offers a smile. "What do you say... you up for one more adventure?"

A dazzling smile answers her.

"With you? Always."

#supercorp #portal children au #reunited!#sorry for the delay #things are thinging #also i had to really edit this one down #might add more as an addendum #but wanted this to be a bit more concise

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askinkiskarma · 2 years ago

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This one is a bit smutty...Just a little lol. But !

Okay ! Imagine Neteyam being passed the title as the new olo'eyktan (Just to say that I have no idea when it is done. Like at a certain age or if mate is preg ? I don't know :P)

Him being very very stressed and all. So... they haven't been doing it for a moment (He's not really it the mood). And like one time, in the middle of the night he wakes up with a huge and hard one (He tries to ignore it but of course it doesn't work). He's like really needy and desperate to relief himself but for some reason he refuses to do it alone. Shortly after his mate wakes up because she feels him moving on the mat and hears muffled breathings (panting). And the rest is up to you !

It's kinda kinky haha :× Some slight subby Nete and maybe soft dom in the end :3

Anyways have sweet dreams tonight 💕🌌😴🌙And love your writing ! Muah*

this kinda got away from me hahahah

thank you bby, i really loved this actually! hope you enjoy x

wc: 1.8k words

warnings: smut (p in v, oral - m receiving, squirting, switch!Neteyam, overstimulation, choking) 18+ minors DNI

After some 20 years of incredible rule, it was finally time for Jake to step down as Olo'eyktan. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of going on, it was that it was more and more obvious by the day that Neteyam was ready. He was ready to step in his father's shoes, he was ready to fulfil the destiny that he was born into, that he had worked for tirelessly, every day of his 20 year long life. His father had no doubt in his mind that he would be the best clan leader the Omatikaya had ever seen, a sentiment shared among most of the villagers.

You were incredibly proud of your mate. He was the youngest Olo'eyktan the Omatikaya ever had, and he was more than raising to the challenge. It was an honour to be his mate, it was a privilege watching him be the person you always knew he was, the leader everyone had reason to look up to, the man of your dreams.

Unfortunately, the praise, the title and the status also came with so much burden, so much stress and responsibility, it was hard for either of you to keep up, hard for him to navigate, to find a balance. So recently, Neteyam has been distant and withdrawn, burying himself in work and strategies, being the first one to rise and the last one to sleep. He wanted to be a good leader, and he believed that a good leader should be an example for his people, should be the one that works the hardest, should be the one that continuously strives to be better and do better for his clan.

You barely saw him anymore, much less spent time with him, felt him, touched him, had him. You refused to intervene, though. Neteyam was a well of depth sometimes even you weren't capable enough to swim in, and you knew that when he was ready to talk to you, to let you in, he would. He always did, eventually. He just needed time.

Neteyam was exhausted. Turns out he owed his dad a million apologies for all the times he thought him cold, or unwieldy, or detached from reality or his family. Turns out he was just worried, and stressed and feeling the overbearing weight of so many lives depending on him to lead, to choose, to make the best decisions, and that was no easy task. Neteyam missed you. He felt guilt and sadness enwrap him tightly at the thought. He's always had time for you. You were his priority always, and yet he knew he didn't make good on that recently.

You have always been so in love with each other, so obsessed with each other, so into each other that the rest of the world felt middling and insignificant by comparison. Neteyam could pinpoint the stars in the sky in your eyes, the thrill of tumultuous waters in the colour of your skin, the bioluminescent beauty of Pandora in your eyes, the transcending comfort of the earth in the colour and feel of your hair. You were his world. You encapsulated everything he loved about it, about life, and he loved you, he needed you, he craved you more than he'd ever be able to describe.

The thought of you as he drifted off to sleep led him to dream about you, his mind transposing him to a reality he desired desperately, but which time didn't allow at the moment. He felt you, your taut, lean body writhing underneath him as his hands trailed it hungrily, as his lips claimed your mouth, as he took orgasm after orgasm, the lewd sounds escaping you music to his ears. The dream dissipated slowly, much to his disappointment, leaving him a panting mess, his cock twitching, hurting against his now too-tight loincloth.

"Fuck."

You were fast asleep in Neteyam's arms, your soft, steady breaths the only thing that could be heard in your shared tent. Your ass was pressed snugly against Neteyam's groin, furthering his pain and incessant need to just take you and fuck you until you both passed out in exhaustion, blissfully spent.

The sound of quiet moans woke you up from your dream-filled slumber, wet dreams haunting your mind recently, the only way you got to experience the release you needed desperately. Your eyes widened slightly when you realised the dream spilled onto your reality, and the sounds came from your mate, who seemed like he was in pain. You turned around hurriedly, only to find him sprawled on his back, long slender fingers wrapped around his thick length. The heat you felt within your womb spread like wildfire all within you, awakening your senses and focusing them on him, on his beautiful face contorted in pain, on his pheromones that inundated your nostrils, on the way the pronounced veins running down his arm were more accentuated with the grip he had on his cock, and God, what an incredible sight that was. Your mouth filled with saliva taking it all in, at the memories of all the times his dick made you see stars, at the thought of how he would again tonight, after so long of being without it. He was a god among men, and you had him. You owned him. Maybe it was time he was reminded of it.

"Neteyam... if you needed help, all you had to do was ask."

His moans increased in volume as you wrapped your fingers around him and started pumping him with slow, languid motions. He was rock hard under your touch, white liquid pooling at the tip, and you couldn't help but accept the silent invitation, bringing your lips to it and kissing him softly, throbbing deep inside of you at the way he was coming apart at the seams around you.

"Baby, please..."

"Patience, my love."

You took as much of his impressive length in your mouth as you could, feeling him deep in your throat, eyes watering as the pressure made you gag slightly. You started a slow, purposeful bob of your head, taking your time, feeling every vein, every ridge, every striation of his cock, learning him by heart, imprinting him in your mind. You loved this man, and as much as you loved when he rutted into you like an animal in heat, there was nothing that compared to the thrill of the power that came with seeing him putty in your hands, in your mouth, in you. As the ache you felt continued to rear its ugly head, you let go of him with a small pop and straddled his thighs, aligning yourself easily and rubbing his tip in between your soaked folds, moaning at the contact, craving the way he filled you up in the way only he ever could.

Your synced gasps made your cunt clench around him as you lowered yourself slowly, until you bottomed out, until you could feel him deep in you, so deep that a small bump was formed in your abdomen, that you revelled at, that you wanted him to. You took his hand in yours and placed his palm on the spot, moaning at you started grinding on him leisurely.

"Feel that, my love? Feel how deep in me you are, how good you fill me up? I feel your cock in my guts, baby."

You felt the growl he released deep in your soul, its intensity leaving you breathless, and you allowed the feeling to overtake you, as the atmosphere in the room changed suddenly, and so did his demeanour. Your words snapped something in him, because his eyes darkened so much, you could barely see any discernable yellow in them anymore, and you barely registered the way he grabbed you roughly and flipped you until you were on your back, his cock still buried inside you. You gasped loudly at the way your body made contact with the ground and at his look, feral and untamed, and it would have scared you if it wasn't so fucking hot, so primal and raw, so erotic and so, so necessary. His hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed until there was no air in your lungs anymore, until your head went dizzy, until your insides churned in need.

"You make me fucking crazy. How did I go so long without your tight little cunt wrapped around my cock, huh?"

Without warning, he starts a ruthless pace, knocking you back with every animalistic thrust, keeping you in place roughly by your throat, until your cervix was battered and bruised, until you came around him once, twice, three times. You were crying from overstimulation, from the high of the intermittent asphyxiation, from how his brutal actions were antithetic to his gentle caress of your cheek or the occasional peck on the forehead in between orgasms.

"Neteyam, I can't anymore -"

"Yes, you can, my love. One more. Just one more and then you can sleep. You're doing so well for me, baby."

He brought a hand to your thighs, bringing them over his shoulders and the new angle was allowing him to drag his cock on your G-spot repeatedly, making your vision blurry and your core throb yet again, the familiar feeling pooling in you once more, more acute than any of the previous. His thumb was circling your clit, and the pressure was too much, it was so good, it was heaven and hell, it was everything and not enough.

"There you go, baby, I can feel you squeezing my cock again. You gonna milk me? You gonna be a good girl and take my cum, let me fill this pretty pussy up? Gonna smell like me for a whole week, huh?"

"Y-yes, fuck yeah!"

"You like having my cum drip down your thighs for all the village to see, huh? Like everybody knowing you're getting fucked by the Olo'eyktan?"

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head at his words and you squirted all over your mate as the most intense orgasm you've ever had in your life washed over you, leaving you convulsing around him until your body was limp and your mind blank. He came with a moan, ropes of thick cum painting your pink walls and spilling down your ass and onto the fabric of your mat. He didn't pull out, not for a long time, collapsing on top of you instead, kissing your face and down your neck softly, like a whisper or warm hug. You loved how he was the best of both worlds, how he cherished you, how he always made sure you were ok, how he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, about how amazing you were, about how well you did for him, how you were his world and his brightest star, the love of his life, the best thing that has ever happened to him.

You were both spent and on the brink of sleep when you spoke serenely.

"So... did you only want to become Olo'eyktan so you can use that line on me or...?"

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faerghusfucker · 3 months ago

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hello tumblr user faerghusfucker, I love your character design takes. The detail in the Felix hair take fascinates me, because I personally know nothing about hair. Do you have any other hair-headcanons about other characters in the game?

hello tumblr user maxthewickedgoblin!!! the answer is yes i do, and i just need to preface this post by stating just how excited this ask got me. i got it in the middle of working on a pile of assignments and i decided to make answering it a reward for when i finished them all bc this is a topic im so passionate abt that even just giving myself time to THINK more abt it is like a treat.

also this is the first post im making from my computer instead of my phone lol, i anticipate itll be a long one so. it's real keyboard time. btw if yall want me to expand on any of these more you need only ask and i will yap for all eternity. i hold this information in my soul all the time i love yapping abt this shit

An Eclectic Collection of FE3H Hairstyle Headcanons

ingrid's father doesn't allow her to cut her hair. it's like unwieldy long pre-ts and it looks super split ends-y, probably to make her more "marriageable" and appealing to the noblemen that he sends her proposals from. In both houses and hopes she defies his wishes by joining the army, and i think her cutting her hair is a symbol of that defiance as well. she is COMMITTING to the knighthood thing, marriage is of no concern to her, and so she changes her appearance as a result

similar thing with mercedes!!! she has the same marriage conflict as ingrid does (it's a little different with her tho, ingrid loves her father and mercedes. well you know), and i think the hair thing caries over too. she becomes a nun post-ts in houses and cuts her hair way shorter, but there's also a noticeable lack of the fluffy, wavy texture it has pre-ts. idk if this would be a requirement for nuns in the church of seiros, but it seems that in turning herself fully over to her faith, she also reduced her focus on worldly/selfish things such as fancy products for her hair and spending hours on styling it, so maybe that's why it's so much straighter in addition to being shorter

i know i already yapped abt felix FAR too much so here's a cutesy one lol i think he lets ppl play with his hair if they want to. he lets mercedes brush it and put braids in it when she misses emille and he didnt protest too hard when annette wanted to put flowers in it for the ball (spoiler for my ball felix design). he also takes SUPER good care of it. of all the characters in the game except maybe hilda, his hair routine is the most detailed. you know he has special brushes and oils and shit, his hair is SILKYYYY

you didnt think i JUST had blue lions headcanons, did you???? SURPRISE

i think dorothea's natural hair texture is her post-timeskip houses one, and in every other design she's curled it. i mean come on, she was a diva in an opera company, of course she knows how to do her hair super nice, and she carried that skill with her to the academy to try and attract a good spouse. but as we learn more about her and she grows up a little more, she starts to drop her flirty facade and be more authentic instead, and you guessed it, wearing her natural hair more :3

linhardt is VERY picky abt his hair length. obviously hes autistic and so he probably doesnt like how it feels when the cold air hits his neck. but at the same time, when his hair gets longer than his shoulders it tangles too easily, and it's far too much work to brush all of that hair. his hair has to sit AT his shoulders (in hopes he gets too busy with the war effort to cut it and so he's in-between haircuts in that one. he hates it so much. someone give my dear son a trim)

ferdinand's hair grows CRAZY fast. did you guys see the length of it in the houses timeskip????? unreal. like linhardt he starts out very meticulous with it-- a nobleman must be well-groomed, after all-- but once the war starts and he loses his territory i think he gets a lil depressed and kind of just. doesnt do it anymore lol

this one's a little out there but i think hubert is blind in his hidden eye and thats why he puts his hair over it. hes never told anyone abt it bc it would be a major weakness in battle if someone knew he had a massive blind spot. this is part of the reason he takes so well to magic thats super big and destructive so he doesnt need to be super precise abt where he's hitting. he struggles with weapons A LOT so he makes sure hes an absolute beast in magic to make up for it

marianne never learned to do her own hair, but she learned to braid horse manes after spending so much time with them and so she just applied that knowledge to herself. after getting closer to hilda, she very nervously and quietly asked if she could show her how to make her hair look nice, and homegirl JUMPED at the opportunity (hilda had been wanting to fix her gf's hair up for so long but she was being nice abt it)

lorenz lets his father cut his hair for him. need i say more

byleth (both of them) trims their hair with a dagger, and they've gotten really good at it. mercenery work doesn't pay well enough for things like hairdressers, and they've never really given much thought to their appearance until arriving at the monastery and having everyone ogle at them all the time.

that SHOULD be everything but i'll probably think of more later. i legit thought of a few new ones as i wrote them lmao. i'm actually going to school for game design rn and specializing in concept art so this is the type of shit i think of. for my career lmao it's super fun. please spam my askbox with headcanons or questions or whatever the fuck i love to talk and i think it's bonkers other ppl like to read what i write lol. see you next time with that felix drawing :3

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