#Poking through old screenshots.

[catventuring]

[baekhyunsbestie]

──★ ALL MINE ˙🌷͙֒ ̟ !!

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 sum: it's been months since you cut ties with your bff-turned-fwb. now, you’re stuck with a new guy who’s a total fucking letdown in the bedroom. but there’s no way you’re telling your bestie baekhyun that embarrassing detail, right? WRONG. you guys share everything. and of course, baekhyun won't stop teasing you about it—especially after another disastrous date. just when you've hit your limit, you come home to find him rummaging through the pantry, snacking like he runs the place. but don't worry, he's here to make it up to you!!!!! and by "make it up to you," i mean help release all of your pent-up sexual frustration, because that's what besties do, right? …right?!

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content: 18+/MDNI. 8.5k+ words. baekhyun x f!reader. no specified age, but i'd say they're somewhere in their early-to-mid 20’s cus i can only imagine people w/o fully developed frontal lobes behaving this way, respectfully 😭🙂‍↕️ bff's to fwb's to bff's again to strangers to lovers. fluff, angst, and it ain’t a baekhyunsbestie fic if it don’t got some good ol’ nasty smuuuttttt. pet names, praise kink, cheating, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie after creampie after creampie (baekhyun deffo has breeder balls, don’t @ me), overstimulation (both f + m). you both are just two big meanie idiots who are in love with each other.

your phone lights up with a ping, the glow illuminating your face as baekhyun’s text pops up on the screen: 

✶bestie baekhyun!!!✶

aaawwww, is that your little boyfriend who can’t make you cum??? you guys are so cute together!

attached is a screenshot of your recent instagram story— you and your latest fling cozied up at a movie date earlier this evening. a date that ended with you unsatisfied, yet again. 

your gaze drifts across the room. baekhyun, lounging on the couch, meets your eyes with that signature, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. the one that makes your eye twitch in instant irritation. he’s enjoying this way too much and you want to pummel him into the ground. 

it’s been a week since you let your embarrassing little secret slip—your boyfriend can’t make you cum. and now, for seven agonizing days, your infuriating best friend has been toying with that knowledge like it’s his new favorite game. poking at your frustration with every sly comment, every teasing smirk.

you’re seething, and sexually frustrated, wound tight and ready to fucking snap. baekhyun knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing your buttons like only he can, and you’re not sure if you want to punch him or let him finish what your boyfriend never could.

it’s your bi-weekly hangout with your friend group—same old routine: catching up over movies, playing drinking games, maybe getting high, with mindless banter and a sea of snacks. the aroma of freshly baked cookies mingles with the air as you wait for takeout to arrive. you're surrounded by your closest friends, laughing, relaxed. but beneath the surface, you’re a storm waiting to break. every fiber of your being wants to blow up at him, but you can’t. no one knows about the “friends-with-benefits” situation that crashed and burned a few months ago, and you'd be damned if they found out. it would wreck the entire dynamic, fill the room with awkward tension, and you're not about to let that happen.

it lasted as long as it could before you realized you were starting to catch feelings— which definitely wasn’t part of the deal. you couldn’t admit that to him, though. no way, it’d be too embarrassing. you’d wreck the years of friendship that you have between you. so instead, you lied. you told him you were interested in seeing someone and wanted to give it a real shot.

one of your coworkers had been persistent about taking you out, and eventually, you gave in. he was great—amazing, even. a real charmer, with looks that could stop traffic, a sharp sense of humor, and a surprising attentiveness that made him seem like the total package. except for one small detail: he couldn’t take you to that edge, couldn’t push you past the brink where pleasure turns into toe-curling bliss. you tried to tell yourself that, with time and patience, he could learn. maybe, with a few more pointers, he’d figure out how to unravel you, bit by bit. 

but the truth is, you don’t want to have to teach someone all over again. not when there’s someone who already knows every inch of your body, someone whose touch leaves you trembling without needing a single word. baekhyun. he’s the one who knows exactly where to touch, where to linger, how to make you drip with nothing but a glance or the graze of his fingers.

but, of course, it’s never that simple. because baekhyun is your best friend, and as much as you wish he could see you in the same way, he doesn’t—or at least, not in the way you need him to. and even though your boyfriend has been nothing but sweet and patient these past few months, the connection just isn’t there. the attraction feels muted, like a faded echo of what it should be.

it leaves you simmering with a frustration you can’t admit out loud, the kind that gnaws at you from the inside, bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest crack to spill over and consume you. you’ve been holding it together for so long, but every time you’re near baekhyun, every casual brush of his skin against yours, it pushes you closer to the edge. and you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending. how much longer you can keep this act going, knowing that the one person you truly want is right there, just out of reach.

suddenly overwhelmed and no longer in the mood for the night’s festivities, thanks to baekhyun, you decided to slip away quietly. feigning a tired smile, you excused yourself, blaming it on the onset of a cold you claimed was creeping up on you.

as you got up and gathered your things, slipping on your sweater to shield yourself from the chilly october evening, baekhyun let out an exaggerated yawn and announced he was heading out as well, drawing boos and groans from your friends that both of you were leaving. 

feeling the walls close in, you rush to the door, needing to escape and breathe. your hands fumble to slip on your shoes, heart racing, fingers already gripping the cool metal of the doorknob. just as you’re about to turn it, baekhyun’s voice stops you, smooth but firm. "hey, let me take you home." his presence lingers behind you, his words almost a plea, warm and insistent.

without meeting his gaze, you replied coldly, “no, i’m fine. i’d rather walk,” waving him off dismissively. “goodnight, baekhyun.”

“w-wait!” he called out, but you were already closing the door in his face. you pulled your bag over your shoulder and tugged your sweater tighter around your neck, bracing against the crisp fall air.

your apartment was only a few blocks away, an easy ten-minute walk on most nights, but tonight, you lingered. every step was slower, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you wandered the quiet streets. you needed the extra time, the space to think about the growing weight of your situation. 

your thoughts drifted to your boyfriend—should you break up with him? the idea gnawed at you. you even reached for your phone, fingers hovering over his name, but the words refused to come. how could you explain that nothing he did ever truly satisfied you? that every time, you had to guide him, instruct him, tell him how to touch you, how to kiss you. his attempts never stirred anything deep inside, and when he fucked you, it was mechanical—passionless, almost empty.

he wasn’t like baekhyun.

with baekhyun, you never had to say a word. he knew your body instinctively, knew how to make you unravel without asking. he never needed guidance to make you cum; it was as natural as breathing for him.

you approached your apartment complex, the weight of your unresolved dilemma still pressing heavily on your mind—caught between trying to make things work with your boyfriend and the tangled, confusing feelings you had for baekhyun. your shoulders slumped as your head hung low, chin brushing against your chest, your eyes tracing the cracks in the pavement. the world around you felt muted, distant, like you were moving through a fog, everything blurred and out of focus.

with a swift punch of the door code, the lock beeped softly, and the door groaned open. but before you could step inside, your breath caught in your throat. there, by the entrance, sat a pair of men’s shoes—worn but familiar, ones you couldn’t possibly mistake. they rested neatly by the door, as if they had been waiting for you, like he had been waiting for you.

a tired sigh slipped from your lips, recognition sinking into your chest. you didn’t need to look any further to know who was already inside.

you were hoping for a moment of solitude to finish gathering your thoughts, but there he was—baekhyun, rummaging through your pantry, helping himself to your snacks.

“baekhyun, what are you doing here?” you ask, voice laced with surprise and slight irritation. 

it’s not like his presence is unusual—he’s your best friend after all. he used to drop by unannounced all the time, making himself at home as if your space was his own. he’d lounge on your couch, rummage through your fridge, and sometimes, without a word, he'd settle next to you for hours. but since you both called off your little "arrangement," those random visits had stopped completely. maybe it was because there was no longer that unspoken pull drawing him to your bed, or maybe—for once—he was trying to give you some space.

but let’s be real—baekhyun doesn’t know the meaning of personal space, especially when it comes to you. and little did you know, it’s not respect for your privacy that keeps him away. no, it’s because he can’t bear the thought of walking in and potentially finding you with someone else. the idea of seeing you with your new boyfriend—his hands where baekhyun’s used to be—would kill him. he’s already imagined it a hundred times, and each time, the image is enough to make him want to gouge his eyes out.

he peeks out from behind the pantry door, a bag of chips in his grip, he grinned. “oh, hey! you’re finally here.” he stuffed a few chips into his mouth, his voice muffled. “y’seemed a bit out of it, so i wanted to make sure you were okay.” with a playful poke to your cheek, causing you to grimace. “shoulda just let me drive ya home, cupcake. i’ve been here for like ten minutes already.”

"cupcake." the nickname pulls you into a warm memory from childhood. you and baekhyun, determined to bake cupcakes for a school event, laughed as flour flew everywhere, turning the kitchen into a playful disaster. your moms watched in horror as you two struggled with the instructions, but when the cupcakes came out, you both beamed with pride—baekhyun mostly for the fun. at the event, you eagerly awaited your friends' reactions to your creations, excitement bubbling inside you. but when they announced their preference for another girl’s cupcakes—sparkling with glittery frosting—your heart sank. yours and baekhyun’s looked so plain in comparison. heartbroken, you ran off, only for him to find you, comforting you with a gentle pat on the head, "you’re my favorite, cupcake." he gently wiped away your tears as you choked out a trembling, "promise?" between your sobs. “mhm! promise,” and in that moment, he wrapped his pinky with yours, and with a playful press of your thumbs, you stamped it with sincerity. fifteen years later, the nickname still clings to you like the sweetest frosting.

"'m fine, really," you lied, your voice barely steady as your eyes darted away from his. you leaned against the kitchen island, elbows digging into the cool surface, pressing your forehead into your palms. no matter how you tried to mask it, the stiffness in your frame exposed the truth, even as you tried to keep your tone light. "’m just... not feeling well, that's all."

you’re stuck in the middle, torn between what feels safe and what feels right. you keep telling yourself that making it work with your boyfriend is the better option—after all, you’re terrified of losing baekhyun as your best friend. but a part of you knows, deep down, that things between you and baekhyun aren’t the same anymore. ever since you became friends with benefits, something shifted, something fragile that you’re afraid to acknowledge. 

you can’t let yourself believe baekhyun could feel something deeper for you. it’s easier to stay in denial than face the possibility that the guy you’ve been so close to, the one who knows you inside out, might actually want more. maybe it’s because you’re scared—scared of ruining the friendship that’s been your constant, the one thing you can always rely on. so, you push down the thoughts, shove aside the feelings, and try to make things work with your boyfriend. but you know you’re unsatisfied. emotionally, physically—it’s not enough. yet, you cling to it, because you think it’s better to have a relationship that’s functional rather than risk something that might fall apart. 

but baekhyun… with him, it’s different. you never have to try. things just fall into place with him, naturally, effortlessly. it feels so right—too right—and maybe that’s what terrifies you. being with him feels easy, like slipping into something that was always meant to be, and that scares you more than anything. what if you let yourself fall for him and everything changes? what if you lose him completely, not just as a lover but as your best friend? 

you don’t know what you want. you can’t figure out if you should stay with your boyfriend just to avoid the risk of losing baekhyun, or if you should give in to the way you feel toward him. deep down, you know what you want, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it. it’s the fear that stops you—the fear of losing control, of opening up to something real, of being vulnerable with someone who’s already seen all your cracks.

but how long can you pretend? how long can you stay in a relationship that leaves you empty, just because it’s safer than taking a chance? maybe what you’re really scared of isn’t losing baekhyun. maybe it’s the idea that being with him feels too perfect, too right, and that kind of happiness is something you don’t know how to handle. but sooner or later, you’ll have to make a choice—stay in a relationship that drains you, or risk everything for something that makes you feel alive.

but you’d deal with that headache another day.

his fingers curl around your arm, firm but not forceful, spinning you to face him. the movement is swift, catching you off guard, and you stumble slightly before his gaze locks with yours. “is this about my text earlier?” his voice is playful, but there’s an edge beneath the tease. “i’m sooooo sorry for teasing about your loser boyfriend, the one ya clearly don’t have any romantic feelings for,” he says, each word dripping with mockery.

“you’re such an ass, y’know that?” you want to yell at him, to snap back with something cutting, to defend your relationship like it actually means something. you want to push him out the door and slam it behind him, pretend that this tension between you doesn’t exist.

but you can’t. because baekhyun’s right. and even now, with him standing just inches away, you feel more electricity between you than you ever have with your boyfriend. the way he looks at you, the way the air between you thickens—it’s undeniable. infuriatingly so.

the atmosphere shifts, charged with something far more dangerous. his voice softens, but the playful glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. “finefinefine. ’m sorry, f’real, cupcake. hate seeing ya upset cus of me. how ‘bout i make it up to you, hmm?” his words are smooth, each one laced with a promise. “i can help ya forget all about your little boyfriend.”

the word lingers between you, thick with implication. you shift on your feet, heart racing. “well…i—i don’t know,” you stammer, your gaze falling to the floor. you can’t look at him. if you do, he’ll see it—the flicker of hope, the unspoken longing. you’ve tried so hard to bury it, to keep it hidden, but in moments like this, it threatens to spill out.

his fingers loosen slightly on your arm, but he doesn’t let go. instead, his thumb is rubbing circles, the gentle caress making it harder for you to keep it together. “i don’t know what i want,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. you’re not even sure if you’re convincing yourself or him. all you know is that if you meet his eyes, he’ll likely see everything you’ve been trying to deny: the truth that maybe you don’t want your boyfriend at all. maybe you’ve wanted baekhyun all along.

your eyes are glued to the floor and your trying your hardest to suppress the rising heat in your chest. his fingers slide from your arm up to your chin, gently tilting your face toward him. his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, a gesture that sends a rush of heat through your body, making it impossible to think straight.

“look at me,” he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. slowly, your gaze lifts to meet his. “i don’t believe you,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. his eyes drop briefly to your mouth before returning to yours, darker now. “i think you do know what you want.”

suddenly his body is pressing into yours, the warmth radiating from him almost overwhelming. his hand slides up, cradling your neck, fingers gentle yet possessive, his thumb brushing along your jawline. your breath hitches as he leans in, lips hovering so close to yours you can feel his breath.

“baekhyun….w-we really shouldn’t…” you stammer, the words tumbling out in a weak attempt to stop what you know is inevitable. but your body doesn’t qute get the memo with the way you’re leaning into him, craving his touch.

“tell me to stop, then,” he whispers, lips brushing yours, his voice coarse with challenge. his eyes are locked onto yours, daring you to say it. to push him away.

but you can’t. every nerve in your body is screaming for more—for him. all the frustration from your boyfriend, the disappointment in every failed touch, every unsatisfying kiss—it all crashes over you at once. and baekhyun… baekhyun is standing right here, so close, so familiar. you miss him. you miss the way his lips felt on yours, the way his hands knew exactly where to touch you, the way he could unravel you in seconds.

you can’t tell him to stop. not when you want him this badly.

your lips part in a breath, and that’s all the invitation he needs. his mouth crashes onto yours, the kiss full of urgency and raw, unrestrained need. his lips move against yours in perfect sync, fierce yet deliberate, like he’s pouring everything into this one moment. his tongue brushes against yours, coaxing a soft whimper from your throat, and his hand tightens slightly around your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and it’s like all the pent-up frustration you’ve been harboring melts away in an instant. all you can feel is baekhyun, his lips claiming yours, his body pressing you back against the wall with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

“i’ve missed this,” he mutters between kisses, his lips barely leaving yours. “missed you.”

your hands tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him like never before. it’s not just the kiss—it’s everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve denied yourself. and now, here he is, reminding you of exactly what you’ve been craving.

when he finally pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his forehead resting against yours, you’re both panting, chests heaving. “see, cupcake?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “you know exactly what you want.”

before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, fiercer this time, as if the mere thought of stopping is unthinkable. the kiss deepens, every inch of him pressing closer, until he’s got you in your room and on your bed, pinned beneath him. his body moves instinctively, shifting behind you, and within seconds, you feel him slide into you from behind, achingly slow at first. but the second he bottoms out, something shifts. a low groan rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin. he doesn’t even wait for you to adjust, he loses all control, thrusting with raw, feral intensity. his chest is flush against your back, the heat of his body overwhelming as your face presses into the pillow, muffling the broken moans spilling from your lips as you bite into the fabric, trying to hold on for dear life.

each relentless thrust from baekhyun feels like it’s stealing the very breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping for air. his movements are unyielding, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to reclaim every second of the time you’ve spent apart, making up for the last few months he couldn’t have you like this. 

the sheets twist tightly in your fists, but no matter how hard you cling to them, it’s impossible to ground yourself—he’s pulling you deeper into the intoxicating blur of sensation. his pace is feral, his hips slamming into yours with an intensity that borders on overwhelming. 

baekhyun moans, the sound rough and guttural, fueling the fire building inside you. his hands grip your thighs, possessive and firm, as he drives into you with a force that makes your entire body quake. the heady mix of sensation has you floating, completely consumed by him, by the way he moves, as if he’s trying to burn this moment into your skin, into your memory. each thrust pushes you closer to that edge, where all you can feel, all you can think about, is him.

his voice cuts through the haze—deep, raspy. "look at my pretty little angel... i’ve missed watching you fall apart for me." his words, tainted with hunger, ignite something in you. but you can’t find it in you to respond, not with the way he’s driving you to the edge. 

his fingers sink into your hips, firm and punishing, and you know for certain that bruises will manifest if he keeps this up. each grip imprints on your skin, marking you as if he’s claiming you as his own. and you revel in it—every deliciously painful second. there’s something intoxicating about witnessing him completely lost, consumed by his need for you, making you feel more desired than ever before. 

his breath is hot against your ear as he growls, "you're all mine, aren’t ya, cupcake?"

you can barely find your voice, breathless and overwhelmed, but somehow you manage to gasp out, "y-yes... all yours." how could you ever belong to anyone else when he's driving into you with such raw intensity, each thrust relentless, pushing you deeper into the mattress?

"yours," you repeat, the truth sinking in. you always have been. you never stopped. 

baekhyun’s grip tightens at your affirmation, his pace quickening in response—he liked your answer. it’s clear in the way he devours you, body and soul. he’s using you like his personal plaything, his touch both possessive and unrelenting. but it’s the sounds spilling from his lips that keep you tethered to reality—reminding you that it’s still him. baekhyun. your baekhyun.

"baek," you whimper, voice shaky, barely audible over the sounds of your bodies moving in sync. he doesn’t respond right away, too lost in the pleasure rippling through him, but you see it—the way his eyes flicker open, wild and dark, his gaze locking onto yours. a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s not his usual playful grin. this one is predatory, dangerous.

“what’s wrong, cupcake?” he rasps, his voice dripping with amusement, though there's something almost menacing in the way he says it. "can’t—nnngghhh—handle it?"

your breath hitches, and the words you want to say cling to your tongue, refusing to come free. all you can manage is a faint nod, a fragile acknowledgment of the moment. he leans in closer, his lips grazing the delicate curve of your ear. his voice, a low whisper, dancing across your skin.

"good," he purrs, his voice now a deep, velvety growl. "cus i don’t think i can stop fucking this pretty pussy. fuck—i think she missed me." 

what feels like hours later, after countless orgasms brought forth by his mouth and the myriad of ways he’s taken you, the sight before you is nothing short of devastating. baekhyun has already came inside you twice, and now, poised on the brink of losing himself again in a mean mating press, he looks utterly wrecked. strands of damp hair cling to his forehead, dark and slick with sweat, framing a face flushed with feverish desire. a deep crimson blooms across his cheeks, spilling down the bridge of his nose like a painting. his bottom lip is pinched between his teeth, the skin pale from the pressure, while his gaze—dark, ravenous, and locked on the intimate connection of your bodies.

the way his eyes feast on you sends a shiver racing down your spine, igniting a deep ache that only he can soothe. he trembles with barely contained desire, his body quaking with the need to claim you all over again, while you teeter on the edge, overwhelmed and craving more. before you know it, he’s flipping you back onto your stomach, pulling your hips up to meet his as your face and the upper half of your body sink into the mattress, the sheets slick with your sweat and juices.

his tip glides teasingly over your entrance, and you instinctively flinch away from the sensitivity, heart racing. 

"nonono, cupcake, don’t do that," baekhyun’s voice rumbles, low and commanding, sending another jolt through you. his hands are firm as they guide your hips back against his waist, grip tightening, muscles flexing as he holds you in place. "run away from me again, and i’ll make it so ya can’t walk." 

"p-please, baekhyun," you whine.

a deep chuckle vibrates through his chest, sending a shiver rippling down your spine. goosebumps rise, and baekhyun notices—he always notices—his hands roaming, possessive, over every inch of your trembling body. "uh-uh," his voice rough with lust, "you’re gonna take every last drop.”

his hips surge forward, harder, deeper, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. there's a flicker of something wild in them, raw. 

“fuck, you’re s-so perfect. so perfect for me,” he growls, voice low and ragged, and it shoots straight through you, making your insides coil in response. “y’feel that, cupcake? how close i am?” his tone is a little desperate now, his restraint slipping as he fights to keep control. but you can see it—the need, the hunger that threatens to consume him.

another thrust, brutal, claiming, sends you spiraling, and you feel him everywhere. your breath hitches, and you know he can feel it too, how tightly you’re holding him inside, the way your body swallows him tells him just how much you want him—more than words ever could.

a hiss escapes him, sharp and guttural, his teeth gritting as he barely holds on. “you’re so tight—fuck—i’m gonna–ngh–fill you up again. you’re gonna take it all, aren’t ya? isn’t that right, my girl?” his voice is almost pleading now, the desperation to spill into you driving him mad. and when his thrusts grow erratic, each one landing deeper than the last, you know he’s close to breaking, just as you are. 

it’s intoxicating, watching him unravel before you, the way his chest rises and falls erratically, every ragged breath he takes feeding into your own desire. at the sound of his name slipping from your lips—soft, and pleading—he finally tears his gaze from the mess he's made of you.

his eyes, dark and glazed over, meet yours, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, but it’s strained, barely there. he doesn’t slow. if anything, he pushes harder, deeper, the rhythm relentless. sweat drips from his temple, tracing down his cheek, but he doesn’t even notice. his focus is singular, entirely consumed by you—by the way your body trembles, how your fingers grip onto the sheets, like a lifeline.

"say it again," he breathes, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper, but you hear the urgency in it. "say my name."

you bite your lip, trying to hold back, but the intensity of his gaze—it undoes you. your eyes meet his, tear-filled and hazy, and you see the way his own eyes flicker, like he’s losing whatever control he had left.

and it’s the way your soft, pouty lips quiver as they whisper his name that gets him there, how your brows are knit together in an innocent plea while your eyes gaze up at him, brimming with love and vulnerability.

his jaw clenches, and he lets out a deep, guttural sound, so raw it sends shivers through you. he lowers his forehead to your back, his breath hot against your skin.

"holy–fuck—," he hisses through gritted teeth, his hand tightening on your waist, like he’s afraid to let go. his hips stutter before slamming forward, burying himself deep inside you one final time. his orgasm crashes over him like a violent wave, dragging him under. the guttural moan that escapes his lips is raw, primal, and he knows he’ll be embarrassed about it later, but in this moment, it’s beyond his control.

you feel the tremor in his body as he shudders against you, his skin flushed, slick with sweat, while his cock pulses inside you. his balls tighten and twitch, spilling hot and thick, the sensation drawing a gasping whimper from your own throat. his breath is erratic, each inhale a desperate gulp.

baekhyun lowers himself until his chest is pressed against your back, the weight of his body sinking into you, his lips brushing your ear as he pants, "you... you feel too fucking good. how do you... how do ya do this to me?" his voice is shaky, barely a whisper as his hands continue to clutch you, desperate, possessive.

you murmur something incoherent in response, your own mind foggy with aftershocks, but all you can focus on is the way he trembles against you. his forehead presses against back, and you feel him trying to steady his breath, his heart racing like he’s just run a marathon.

“goddamn,” he breathes, the words more for himself than for you, voice thick with awe. "i’m never… getting enough of this. never gonna get enough of you."

his body lingers against yours, the air still heavy with the remnants of pleasure. even as the sharp edge of your climax begins to dull, you can feel the way his hands stay locked on your skin, like he’s afraid to let go, fingers tracing invisible patterns over your waist as if committing every inch of you to memory. there's a yearning in his touch, a silent desperation that clings to the moment, stretching it out.

you pretend not to notice. you can’t let yourself notice. feeding into that fantasy, that he could want more than this—more than just the heat between your bodies—would be a mistake. he’s your best friend, and that’s all this is. two best friends tangled in each other, using one another to satisfy a need. nothing more, nothing deeper.

it couldn’t be.

the air in the room feels heavy, thick with something unspoken. at least that’s what it feels like to baekhyun, like a weight pressing down on his chest. as he’s silently pulling his clothes back on, he’s stuck in his head, running over the same thought again and again: how badly he wants to ask you to leave your boyfriend. he wants to beg you to give him a real chance. because you and him? you just fit. 

it makes so much sense in his mind—you should know it too, right? i mean, the synergy between you two is undeniable—the way you connect, how effortlessly you bounce off each other, both physically and emotionally. no one gets his humor the way you do, no one reads him so instinctively, and no one fits him quite like you. you’re each other’s perfect match, and he feels it in every fiber of his being. what could be better than being in a committed relationship with your best friend, someone who already knows you inside and out?

he hesitates, throwing his shirt on as you rummage through your closet, probably looking for something more comfortable now that you’re home. his voice breaks the silence, casual but laced with a tinge of hope. “soooo... are you gonna break up with, uh, what’s-his-name?”

you pause, turning around with a look of genuine confusion on your face. “huh? oh—hmm, no. at least, not just yet... maybe i should give it another shot? he actually texted me not too long ago if i could meet him for drinks in a bit.”

the way his expression drops is almost comical, if it weren’t for the fact that you see it—the disbelief, the frustration flickering across his face before he can mask it. baekhyun has never been skilled at concealing his emotions, despite his insistence that he can. right now, it feels like he isn’t even attempting to hide the disappointment that hangs between you like a heavy fog.

if you could hear his thoughts, it’d be something like, ‘you’re going out with him? i literally just emptied my entire fucking ballsack into you, and you’re going out with him?’

his frown deepens, brows knitting together as if he’s trying to hold back a storm. before you can fully process what’s happening, he scoffs, shaking his head as if he could simply dismiss it all. “hah. right. okay, well, thanks for the nut, i guess. i’ll be seeing you around.”

each word drips with sarcasm, but beneath it, you can sense the hurt—an ache that tugs at the edges of your heart.

and with that, he turns on his heel and storms out of your bedroom, heading straight for your front door.

“baekhyun, wait!” you call after him, scrambling to catch up, grabbing his arm just before he can leave. he stops, but he doesn’t turn around, his body rigid with frustration. “what’s going on?”

he finally looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes catches you off guard. “what’s going on?” he repeats, voice low, almost a growl. “i’m sitting here, watching you play house with some guy who doesn’t get you—not like i do—and i’m supposed to just... what? be okay with it?”

you’re taken aback by the intensity in his tone, the way his words come out in a rush, like he’s been holding them in for way too long. “baekhyun, what the hell are you talking about?”

he lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “you really don’t get it, do you? we,” his hand gesturing between the two of you, “make sense, you and me. we’ve always made sense. and yet, here you are, wasting your time with someone who doesn’t even appreciate you like i do—who you don’t even like!”

you blink, a wave of dizziness washing over you as a flood of questions races through your mind, each one slipping away before you can grasp it. the weight of his words hangs between you, thick and suffocating.

“s-since when?” you stammer, doubt trembling in your voice. the ground beneath you feels unsteady, as if it might shift and swallow you whole. 

“are you kidding me?” he scoffs, disbelief etching deeper lines into his face. “i was a fucking wreck when you called it off.” the intensity of his emotions surges, filling the quiet of your apartment with an echo that seems to reverberate off the walls. “when you told me you wanted to ‘try dating some other guy’—do you even realize how that felt? why do you think i haven’t been around much since then??? it’s because i literally cannot stand the thought of you with someone else. just the idea makes me sick to my fucking stomach. i can’t breathe knowing he’s with you when it should be me.”

oh.

ohhhh.

his confession hits you like a tidal wave, the unbearable guilt gnawing at your insides. but it’s the way his voice trembles, softening as it cracks beneath the weight of vulnerability, that makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. “but i wanted you to be happy,” he admits, each word wrapped in a bittersweet sincerity that tugs at your heart. “even if it meant not being with me… i knew what this was. i understood our arrangement. and i tried so hard, so fucking hard, to push these feelings down. deep down, i always felt it was something more. call it delusion, but it just felt so good pretending you were mine... even if you didn’t feel the same.”

every word is laced with desperation, like a raw, exposed nerve. the truth hangs heavy in the air, and you can see the storm brewing in his eyes—agitation just beneath the surface, threatening to overflow. 

you can barely meet his gaze, heart racing as the reality of his feelings sinks in, pulling you under. “how come you’ve never said anything before?”

he takes a moment to steady himself, visibly wrestling with the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. his gaze drops to the floor, fingers still tangled in his hair as he collects his thoughts. when he finally looks back up, his expression is a mix of frustration and vulnerability.

“because i thought you’d be happier without me,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t want to be the reason you felt trapped or guilty. i thought if you wanted to explore something new, then i should just... step back. but every day these last few months have felt fucking suffocating. i can’t shake the feeling that we belong together, even if it’s terrifying to say out loud.”

he takes a step closer, closing the distance between you, eyes searching yours for understanding. “i’ve been a coward, honestly. i know that. i kept telling myself i should let you go, but every time i see you smile or hear your laugh, it just reminds me of what i’m missing. i wanted to tell you so many times, but i was afraid of ruining whatever friendship we had left.” 

his voice thickens, eyes glistening with unshed emotion. “but i can’t keep pretending anymore. i want to be the one who makes you happy. i need to be that person, even if it means risking everything. even if it means putting everything on the line.” 

he stands there, eyes searching yours, you can see the desperation in his gaze, but the weight of his words feels too heavy to bear, and you take a step back, creating space between you.

“baekhyun, i just—i don’t know if i can—” you start, but he interrupts, the hurt flashing across his face.

“don’t know if you can what? feel the same way? i’m here, laying it all out for you!” his voice rises again, tinged with anguish. “you’re with someone else, and i get that! but you’re standing here like it doesn’t even matter, like you’re just going to pretend whatever we have between us doesn’t exist!”

the sharpness in his words cuts deep, and your heart aches. “it’s not that simple. you know it’s not,” you reply, your voice trembling with the weight of your own emotions. “you think i haven’t thought about what this means? about how complicated it is? i can’t just flip a switch and make everything okay!”

he runs a hand over his face, frustration boiling just below the surface. “you don’t have to make it okay! just... just acknowledge it! acknowledge us. you can’t deny that there’s something more here.” 

the heat of the moment grows unbearable, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. “i-i can’t! i can’t do this right now! i don’t even know what i want!” 

“then maybe it’s better if you stay with him,” he snaps, hurt flooding his voice. “at least then you can pretend you’re happy. you won’t have to deal with the mess we’ve created. you can have your perfect little life, while i’m over here trying to pick up the fucking pieces.” 

his words cut deep, each syllable laced with disappointment that settles heavily in your chest. “baek… c’mon, that’s not fair—” you reach out to him, but this time, for the first time ever, he pushes you away, the sudden force of it leaving you reeling.

“just please…let me go, okay?” his voice is low, but it trembles with emotion. “there’s nothing here for me anymore. you’ve made it clear that there never was.” 

you swallow hard, the weight of unshed tears threatening to spill over as you gaze into his eyes for what feels like the last time. the raw pain reflected back at you cuts deep, shattering something fragile inside you. he turns on his heel, his silhouette fading into the distance, the door clicking shut behind him like a final punctuation mark.

now, in the suffocating stillness, the tears flow freely, your chest tightening under the weight of your own heartbreak. each beat of your heart an ugly reminder of how deeply fucked this entire situation is.

this is it. 

you’ve hit rock bottom.

the days that follow blur into a haze of heartache and regret. each moment apart stretches into an eternity, every thought of baekhyun sending sharp pangs of longing twisting painfully through your chest. you try to distract yourself, immersing yourself in the whirlwind of work while surrounding yourself with friends—friends who have always sensed the unspoken tension between you and baekhyun. apparently, you two were never as subtle as you thought you were. the longing glances, the lingering touches, constantly matching each other’s energy, him effortlessly meeting you on every wavelength—everybody saw it, each tiny detail. 

‘you’d have to be deaf and blind to not pick up on the chemistry,’ one of them commented. ‘yeah, we were all calling you and baekhyun the next hellen kellers,’ another added.  ‘more like tweedle dee and tweedle dum,’ someone else chuckled. you couldn’t help but wince at the truth of it all.

you come to find out that they all secretly rooted for your “not-so-secret” connection to flourish, yet holding back from intervening, respecting the boundaries of your privacy. you feel nothing but gratitude for that unspoken understanding; after all, the very reason you both kept your fwb arrangement hidden was because of the fear of anyone else complicating the already complicated.

oh, and your boyfriend—the poor guy. he really didn’t deserve the turmoil you put him through. the conversation with him still echoes in your mind, haunting you like a ghost. you told him the truth, your voice trembling as you confessed to your betrayal. “i cheated,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “i’m so sorry. it was wrong, and i take full responsibility for everything.” you could see the disappointment wash over his face, the trust he had for you shattering before your eyes. he deserved more than what you gave him, yet you’d been stringing him along, all because you felt like you didn’t have a chance with baekhyun—the one who made your heart race in a way your boyfriend never could.

now, you’re left with nothing but the empty echoes of those moments, each heartbeat a reminder of the love you lost and the love you crave. baekhyun's laughter still dances in your memory, his touch lingers on your skin, and the connection you shared feels like an ache that refuses to fade. despite the distractions, you can’t escape the truth that looms over you: he’s the one you truly want. it was always baekhyun who held your heart, and the thought of losing him makes your heart ache all over again.

then, one evening, after an especially difficult day, you find yourself in a familiar spot—a coffee shop you and baekhyun used to frequent together. you sit there, cradling your drink, as a wave of sweet memories washes over you, each one tied to your past visits here with him.

just as you’re gathering your things to leave, the bell above the door jingles, and your heart races when you see who's walking in, a hesitant expression etched across his face.

“hey,” he says softly, eyes locking onto yours with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

“baekhyun…” his name falls from your lips in a quiet whisper, the weight of unspoken emotions heavy between you as you step closer. “can we talk?”

he nods, motioning toward a nearby table. your legs feel leaden as you walk over, your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else. each beat is a reminder of how much this moment means, of how much you stand to lose. you can’t mess this up. not again. you have to make this work—you can’t lose him.

“i know things have been… difficult since everything happened,” you begin, your voice trembling as you lower yourself into the chair. his eyes are on you, but they seem distant, almost guarded. “but i can’t keep pretending i don’t care. i can’t just walk away from us.”

baekhyun looks down, his fingers brushing the edge of the table, searching for the right words. his heart feels like it’s about to burst. “i didn’t think you felt the same,” he murmurs, his voice soft and vulnerable.

“i was scared,” you admit, your voice breaking slightly. “scared of losing you for good. but i realized that it’s worse to lose you without even trying to fight for what we had.” 

you feel the tears prick at your eyes again, but this time they’re not from sadness; they’re from the overwhelming relief of seeing him here, in front of you. 

“i don’t want to lose you either,” he confesses, his voice laced with quiet desperation. his hand reaches across the table, the warmth of his touch wrapping around yours as he gently grasps it. “i can’t stand the thought of seeing you with someone else. i never did. i want to be with you, and i’m willing to do anything to make it work.”

your chest tightens as you take a deep breath, nodding slowly while a shaky exhale slips from your lips. “i want to be with you, too. for real this time.”

his eyes widen, hope flickering like sparks catching flame. “do you mean it?” he asks, his voice filled with cautious anticipation.

you nod again, a soft hum of agreement escaping you, and in that moment, his smile breaks free, one of pure, unguarded relief. without a word, his hand reaches out, and your pinkies intertwine, just as they did all those years ago. a silent promise passes between you, and with a soft press of your thumbs, the vow is sealed—an echo of the past and a delicate mark of something entirely new.

“so… can i be your boyfriend?” he asks, his nervous grin tugging at the corners of his lips, his voice dipping into a shy but hopeful tone.

“yes,” you reply, unable to suppress the giggle that bubbles up, “i would love it if you were.”

his grin widens, turning his brown eyes into soft crescent moons, as if the tension in the room has melted away. you hadn’t realized how tense he was until you see him relax into his chair. “ugh, thank goddddd. i’m so glad we agreed not to be stupid anymore,” he jokes with a smile, and your heart swells at the familiar spark in his voice. and it hits you again—just how much you’ve missed him. that toothy smile, his voice, his laugh and the way he can always bring light into even the darkest moments. just him.

your best friend.

your boyfriend.

“i missed you, y’know?” you confess, the words tumbling out with sincerity.

“i missed you, too, cupcake.” he replies, his expression softening, thumb tracing little planets on the back of your hand.

he lets out a relieved sigh before continuing, “so what does my GIRLFRIEND want to do now?” excitement bubbles in his tone. “should we take a walk on the beach? the sun is about to set, and it would be nice. or does my GIRLFRIEND want to watch a movie? maybe my GIRLFRIEND wants to grab some dessert?”

you can’t help but blush, a giggle escaping your lips at the way he emphasizes your new title, drawing curious glances from the cafe patrons. embarrassment flares in your cheeks as you swiftly rise, tugging him by the arm to guide him out of the bustling cafe.

as soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he whirls you around, his hands tenderly cradling your face. twarmth of his palms feels like home as he leans in, kissing you with such devotion and tenderness that sends you soaring straight to cloud nine. everything outside melts away, and in that electric moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped snug in each other’s arms.

he pulls back slightly, his breath mingling with yours, and you catch a glimpse of that playful spark in his eyes. he sends a thrill racing through you as he ghosts his lips over yours, the soft brush igniting a flutter deep in your stomach. “or how about i take my girlfriend back to my place,” his voice low and sultry, “and we consummate our new relationship?” 

you laugh, your heart racing at the implication. “i think my boyfriend read my mind,” you tease, interlocking your fingers with his as you both giggle, making your way to his car. ‘finally,’ baekhyun thinks to himself as he swings open the passenger door, a grin spreading across his face. before you hop in, he leans in for one last kiss, savoring the sweetness of the moment. and as he shuts the door, a wave of relief washes over him. ‘finally, you’re all mine.’

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 a/n: the song linked in the title (and a text post on here that i cannot find for the life of me) inspired me to write a fwb!baekhyun fic 🙂‍↕️ i was going to end it with angst but then i realized......i literally can't do that!!!! lmfao i need my disney ending or else i'm gonna combust!!!!!!! sigh but anyways, i hope u enjoyed it!!!! as always, lmk your thots unless you hate it then pls keep it to yourself omg cus i am sensitive and will cry <3 (not joking)

⤷ prequel <3

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* masterlist ° ᡣ𐭩 . 

[mrs-kodzuken]

Christmas Magic ♡

Pairing: Aged up!Kenma Kozume x fem!reader

WC: 1.6k

Genre: mostly fluff, marriage, sexual tension

CW: fem!reader, lots of sexual tension at the end, long haired!reader

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

I scrolled on my phone looking through a baking app, skimming across it for new recipes to try out. I wanted to bake something for Kenma and I even though it was only one in the morning.

Currently, I was sitting on the counter in our beautiful kitchen. The bar stools were always an obvious choice to sit in but alas I loved our granite counter. I screenshotted three recipes for three different types of cookies to try out.

Gingerbread sandwich cookies, Peppermint patty-stuffed chocolate cookies, and some DIY YouTube emoticon cookies, those were for Kenma.

Speaking of my husband, he had told me about thirty minutes earlier that he was going to stream live. Which is most likely what he was doing right now.

I looked through the ingredients on the list and quietly headed upstairs to the second floor. Even though Kenma was an entire floor above, in his gaming room, of our three story house, I still tried to be as quiet as possible.

I mean, it was one am after all. Time didn't really bother Kenma and I because of our schedules.

Entering our bedroom, I grabbed a measure of clothing. Hat, scarf, winter jacket, sweatpants, and warm socks. Grabbing my snow boots from the closet floor I headed back downstairs to the door.

I looked up at the snowy sky and took a deep breath in of the sharp icy air, which felt like needles poking my lungs. Winter is here and it's my favorite time of the year.

Smiling at the decorative lights flashing on our house that we put up a couple of weeks ago. I started my walk to the closest market, I didn't want to travel too far just for some cookie ingredients.

Some of them we didn't have either. Hopefully, they'd be open because I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. And I needed something to busy me whilst my husband was streaming.

I headed in and heard the bell ding as the warm air from the small convenience store heated me up.

Immediately, I went to the baking and ingredients section. I tried to balance the objects in my arms while walking up to the front counter because I didn't think to grab a cart.

"Hello." I spoke to the cashier and carefully set my items down.

"Hi Mrs.Kozume, do you plan on making something this late?" The old lady had asked with a light laugh. The crinkles by her eyes creased and shown her age.

"Yes ma'am, I wanted to bake for my husband. He's working right now and probably won't be sleep for a couple more hours." I laughed with her.

Since I would always come here for plenty of household things, at any time of day or night, I knew most of all the workers.

"Ah, well I hope the two of you have a good night." She placed my ingredients in two plastic bags then held them out for me.

"You too. Thank you." I waved at her and opened the door, leaving as the cold air from the chill night surrounded me once again.

Not after hearing a mumble of 'such cute youngens.' I had quietly laughed to myself and continued my short walk home. Eager to bake and be in warmth again.

Passing all the colorful decorations of houses, I stared in awe. Small snow flurries had began to fall as well. Christmas is such a wonderful time, isn't it?

Finally coming close to a familiar decor, I quickly got inside. The coldness nipping at my nose and body as I shivered from it.

"Baby? Are you back?" I heard a deep voice fill the air as I took off my winter boots and continued to strip until I was in my regular house clothes.

"Yes hon, I went out to get some things." I answered my husband while hanging my big coat on the rack and leaving my snow boots by the door.

"Did you finish your streaming?" I questioned, tilting my head as he rounded the corner from the kitchen.

"Yeah, it was a short one." He muttered, his eyes focused on the bags in my hands.

I walked into the kitchen, setting them down on the counter before heading upstairs, kenma following my every move.

"What'd you get?"

"Just a few ingredients for baking." I opened our closet and picked out my pink Christmas pj's that Kenma bought me. They had small green Christmas trees on them and were very soft.

As well as reaching for some big fuzzy socks to warm up my cold feet.

I took off my house clothes and slipped that on, not bothering to cover up my body. It's not like Kenma hasn't seen any of this glorious body before.

I watched as Kenma's eyes trailed down my body and gawked at my every move.

"My love, do you wanna your Christmas jammie's on to match me?" I asked, silently begging so we could be cute together.

He came from behind me as I reached into the drawers to pull out his set. Ken hugged me from the back, his arms wrapping around my waist and his head on my shoulder.

"Sure baby, I'll be right down." Kissing the nape of my neck, I sighed peacefully and broke our hug.

Heading down, I waltzed kitchen, pulling my hair up and started with the basics.

I could basically feel his eyes staring at me while I started getting the bowls and utensils out as well as my ingredients I had bought.

"Yes, my love?" I turned around to face him, getting ready to start whisking the batter.

"Can I help?"

I smiled softly at him, my heart bursting into flames full of love. Especially since he looked so precious in his pajamas that matched mine.

"Of course you can, here." I gave him the batter I was just about to whisk and started on a new task.

"What kind of cookies are these." He sniffed the batter, his nose twitching.

"These are gingerbread sandwich cookies. I have two others that i wanted to bake too. I'm gonna start on the peppermint patty-stuffed chocolate ones." I gave him my phone that had all the instructions on how to bake the Gingerbread cookies.

He set the bowl down and his eyes skimmed down the phone to the last one. I saw a soft smile grace his handsome features.

"Can we make the last one next?"

"Sure, let me finish with this chocolate first and you put those in oven." I directed, happy that we were bonding.

Baking with Kenma was always nice, even if we stopped a few times here and there because he wanted to make out for some unknown reason.

"Are they done?" I asked him, peering back while he opened the oven. I cleaned the last couple of dishes that we used for baking.

"Yeah, but they're hot so be careful." He warned me as some of his two toned hair fell into his face. Ken put the cookies on a platter and set them on our granite counter, waiting for them to cool.

I grabbed my step stool and set it where I could fix his hair, as per usual. I, unfortunately, had to stand on my tippy toes from how short I am.

Lightly taking his hair out of the messy back bun I had put it in earlier, and changed it to a ponytail.

"Your hair is so soft and long baby." I gently racked my hands through his hair.

"Oh please, your hair goes down to your ass baby." He retorted as if I meant it as a bad thing.

"It's not a bad thing honey, most guys don't wear it long. It looks sexy on you." My face flushed and I stepped down, putting the step stool away to where it goes.

I didn't hear an answer from him as I made my way towards the cookies. They should be cool enough by now to eat.

Gently, I touched one before picking it up just to see if it would burn my hand or not.

Seeing as I could pick it up I turned to Kenma with it.

"Say ahh." I broke the cookie in half so I could feed it to him.

He stared down at me with watchful eyes and an eyebrow raised like I was dumb. Nevertheless he did as I asked.

"Good boy, does it taste good?" I could have sworn that he almost choked when I said that. I was just proud that the cookies we made came out looking so good.

"That's new. It's usually Daddy." He smirked, his cheeks flushing bit red, watching my expression.

My face burned a bright red because I knew what he was talking about. And it was, in fact, true.

"How does it taste?" My voice high pitched because of his response, I cleared my throat to fix it.

"Eh, you taste better."

I could have died right then and there.

"You're such a horny person, Kenma." I laughed at him, feeling the sexual tension in the air.

I thought this was supposed to be wholesome and yet here my erratic husband is, trying to be sexy.

"You're one to talk.." He trailed off, analyzing my face.

"Anyway! Do you want to watch home alone? I'll bring the cookies up while they're still warm?" I said getting a glass of milk for us to dip our cookies in.

"Sure baby," He kissed my jaw in the same place of where he had set a mark he made a couple nights ago.

I rolled my eyes at him. "I can't believe I married a horny tornado." I muttered and focused on the sweets in front of me.

Knowing damn well that later I would be getting some Christmas magic.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

a/n: this is from my “Haikyuu x Reader Oneshots” on Wattpad! I hoped you enjoyed and let me know if you want more!

the header is from lena!! on Pinterest

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

I want to talk a bit about a thing I played around with... this last February, apparently (in the midst of quitting my job and upending my life? wow). Consider this a sort of vague and casual interest check, as well, simply because I'm curious.

Note that this specific little self-indulgent project isn't publicly available and most likely won't ever be - I just had a couple people I know run through it for fun, as it's super rough and ultimately kind of pointless as-is. But I am actually interested to hear what people around these parts think of this kind of interactive fiction as a fanfic format. If I suddenly decided to go all in on writing, I don't know, a post-game Selûnite mini murder mystery in something like this, would this even be a kind of fanwork anyone would want? Or want to participate in, even?

In any case, what "this" even is is me messing around, first in Twine and then in Ink (which was brought to my attention thanks to Heaven's Vault being one of my favourite things ever). Then trying out what hosting things on itch.io looks like, after which I tried out both Unity and Godot variants of plugging the Ink into an existing engine - this was pretty much a test vehicle for me to play around with for a couple of evenings in a private little game jam. Outside of poking around Ren'Py five million years ago, this is the first time I've actually tried making anything interactive in this sense. And honestly, I loved it!

It's really not much, writing-wise, at about 5k words total. Just a bunch of scenes harnessing that sweet, sweet BG3 hyperfixation, shaped purely around me trying out different things in a technical sense and using the characters as a sort of shorthand while doing so. So you have fairly classic branching dialogue trees (Wyll), scenes that change when you leave and then come back (Jaheira), scenes that briefly diverge but end up at the same place and set some flags in the process (Aylin, Lae'zel), some stuff hidden behind checks you need to make (Halsin, Shadowheart, Isobel), and completely random events that may or may not happen during certain scene transitions (Orin). What I identified as the essentials, really.

I did a bit of exploring ways to incorporate small changes to encounters depending on which order you do them in. As a very simple example:

The above basically means your dialogue changes very slightly depending on if you found Shadowheart before talking to Aylin. Additionally, if you ask Aylin to tell you where Shadowheart supposedly went (which is completely optional even if you do talk to Aylin first), you'll have a bit of extra dialogue in the scene with Shadowheart when that flag up there gets checked. So some very, very basic reactivity - just for flavour, here.

My skill checks were plain d20 rolls without modifiers and with fixed DCs - a simple "create your character" intro bit would be perfectly doable, though, to get some stats and bonuses going. But roll badly enough and you can always make a complete ass of yourself in front of the Blade himself!

Visuals are super rudimentary, obviously. Taking a zoomed-out screenshot of the BG3 camp and blurring it to get this nice, chill background where that damn fire actively interferes with readin-- I mean, look at this, dynamically changing the look of the text to convey a shift in mood!

And, of course, a little structure of options and checks to get some of the good old "choices and failures having meaningful consequences":

(...for Shadowheart, at least. Sorry.)

In conclusion, this was all very fun to try out, and I can see a bigger project spiraling completely out of control because it's so tempting to try to cover everything in the universe and make everything branch out infinitely! But I also definitely want to do more of it, beyond this little proof of concept/experiment. I'd also love to encourage people to try their hands at this themselves - both of the tools/languages I mentioned and linked up there are very beginner-friendly and very well-documented. Give them a try! There's also a sea of works already out there to jump into, to see how these things can be used and the interactivity part leveraged to great effect - I've still barely scratched the surface, myself.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Okay so Tumblr deleted two asks I really wanted to do >=( but luckily I had screenshots! I plan on working on them when I snag some time to myself the upcoming weeks (which is usually in-between work, my dad, nephew and sleep, and between planning a trip we're supposed to be taking)

@spiderversewizard

I'm No Celine Dion

Pavitr x Singer!Reader

TW/CW: None, fluff, Pavitr being turned into a dumbstruck goober!

As with all my fics like this, Pavitr is an adult.

A/N: I can picture Reader singing this song (I prefer this version to the English one askskdksjl) but y'all can picture whatever you like!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

"So, I figured we can have some chicken tikka masala for dinner tonight, hm, Pavitr? Maybe some soan papdi?" Maya hummed to her nephew.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Auntie, sure!" Pavitr chirped, adjusting his hold over the canvas bags full of groceries he was holding.

Maya smirked at her nephew with a chuckle, noticing him once again look over to a small crowd of people gathered, the sound of music bleeding through the throng of them.

"Oh, so curious." She teased, reaching out to poke Pavitr in his side, making him squeak in surprise and laugh; earning a deep chuckle from his aunt and the little old man running the fruit stand.

"I'm ticklish!" Pavitr pouts. "And besides! I'm curious to know what's going on!"

"Ah, some new street performer." The old man replies as Maya purchases some mangoes, "Been drawing a big crowd lately. Doesn't bother me, people standing for too long get hungry, and it brings them to us!" He laughs as he gestures to the other carts and street stalls. It was a typical street market that he and Maya went to; their prices were cheap and their wares were always top notch!

Pavitr noticed the man wasn't wrong, the market was busier than usual, many of them breaking off from the audience to look at wares (judging by how some of them looked and acted they were tourists to Mumbattan) and go back to listen to whoever was playing and singing.

It surprised him that nobody thought of putting up a little performance here sooner!

"Come on then," Maya chuckled at her nephew, taking one of the bags into her own hands, plopping the juicy mangoes into it. "Let's go see what the fuss is about!"

Pavitr laughed along with his aunt and squeezed in between the gap of the people gathered, uttering "excuse me's" and "pardon me's" every time he thought he was being rude.

"Hey, watch it!" One rather grumpy fellow grunted as Pavitr squeaked by.

"Sorry!" He mumbled awkwardly, his face flushed a little bit. "I was just--"

His eyes blinked wide, his jaw dropping a little bit when his eyes landed on you.

You, who was singing into a microphone mounted to the music mixer you were using to create the beats, occasionally hitting a few soft keys as you softly and sweetly sang the song you played.

Pavitr stared, transfixed, his jaw slack as he watched you bob your head, eyes closed as you lost yourself in the melody.

You were amazing!

He looked down and saw the little sign you had at your feet;

Inside the bin attached to the sign was mostly spare change, a few crumpled small notes here and there, and for some reason, some candy. Honestly! Your singing was amazing! How on earth were people walking by and just tossing coins?

'Any little thing helps! :)'

Beneath that little sentence was an "@" to your socials, promoting your music.

Such is the life of a street performer, he supposed...

Maya cleared her throat just loud enough for Pavitr to hear and she nudged him with her elbow, giving him a knowing smirk and handing some money over to him. It was certainly more than what you've earned thus far, and surely you would appreciate it!

Pavitr set the bags down at Maya's feet and sheepishly made his way to your donation bin; his feet feeling like cement as he walked up to you. He felt clumsy; awkward. Almost like he was getting in the way of the show as he dropped the money in.

As he pulled back, he looked up and saw you smiling at him as you sang, your eyes glimmering joyfully.

Pavitr felt his heart lurch in his chest and his face heat up when you winked at him, continuing to sing without missing a beat.

He gave you what he hoped was a charming smile--but in reality he probably looked like he was in pain--before scurrying back to the anonymity of the crowd, picking the grocery bags back up.

His auntie Maya simply chuckled and smirked at her awkward nephew, watching him from the corner of her eyes as he continued to watch you perform.

For the rest of your set, you never broke eye contact with him, grateful at such a nice donation (and secretly amused that his aunt seemed to be silently teasing him). By the end of it, Pavitr had memorized your socials, hoping later he could find more of your music and... and then what? Ugh, he was so dumb!

As your performance came to a close and you thanked the crowd; you began to pack up as the crowd dispersed, parting like the waters as they went about their days.

Except for Maya and Pavitr.

Maya had smiled at you warmly, "You have a lovely voice!" she complimented.

"Thank you." You laugh softly, tucking your equipment back into their cases.

"I'm sure the market appreciates your presence, as well. It's typically so empty, here." She replies.

"Oh, actually that's what I was going for!" You chirp honestly. "Kind of a symbiotic relationship, if you will."

"Ooh, a good head for business sense, I see." She chuckles.

"I s'pose." You grin at her.

You notice (but pretend not to) how Maya not-so-subtly elbows Pavitr, raising her eyebrows and tipping her head at you.

It takes him a second to get the hint, and that makes you want to giggle, but he eventually finds his voice and awkwardly stumbles through a compliment.

"Oh! Y-yeah, I liked the song you sang! It was... Eh... Uh... Pretty..?"

Maya rolls her eyes and sighs at her hopeless nephew, almost wanting to facepalm.

"Thank you." You smile at him sweetly as you stand up straight, hoisting some of your equipment over your shoulder and taking the handle of the largest case in one hand.

"And thank you for the donation! It's appreciated, for sure. This money helps me maintain my equipment."

His face flushed as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, "Oh! Uh, yeah! For sure! I mean, wait--like, I mean you're... welcome?"

"Oh, for the..." Maya sighs, shaking her hand and pressing a finger to her temple. She recovers quickly however, and looks at Pavitr, her eyes glimmering mischievously.

"Ah... Are you new here?"

"Yep! Moved here a couple of weeks ago." You say to her, tilting your head a bit; almost like one of those cute puppies Pavitr loves so much.

"Then that means you also don't know the best spots! Tourists go nuts for people like you, singing the way you do." She replies civilly. "If you don't mind my suggested my nephew, Pavitr, here knows almost every nook and cranny in Mumbattan!"

Maya bumps Pavitr playfully as his face gets darker and darker with embarrassment and shock. "In-between work and feeding the street pups, he could show you around!"

"I--uh--auntie--" Pavitr blubbers. You seem to pick up on his apparent discomfort.

"Oh... Really? I mean, uh... are you sure? If he's not comfortable...." You trail.

"I can do it!" He blurts out, barely letting you finish your sentence; immediately biting his tongue afterwards in embarrassment.

You jump back a little at his outburst, a lopsided and surprised grin on your oh so soft looking lips as he claps a hand over his mouth, then awkwardly tugging the collar of his shirt to the side.

"That is, uh... I mean... If you are comfortable with it, sure!"

"Haha... Sure. I'd very much appreciate it." You reply.

Maya looks at Pavitr with an "innocent" smile, "Why don't you add her on one of your... app thingies? It will be easier to communicate, that way."

Pavitr shoots his auntie a barely-concealed, panicked look in his eyes before trying to grin in what he hoped was a casual manner. "Sure, I can do that!" He says, pulling out his phone and tapping one of your socials in. He immediately sends a smiley face and a puppy emoji to you, his soul cringing at the horrible start to a convo.

You chuckle and show the message to him when your phone chimes, "This is you, hm?"

"Y-yep!" He laughs.

"Cool! I'll text you later when I plan on heading out somewhere!" You reply to him innocently.

Maya loops her arm around her nephews elbow and chuckles, "Have a nice day, dear."

"You too!" You grin brightly, waving at them as you part ways, Maya having to practically drag Pavitr along with her.

"Auntie, why did you--?!" He sputtered, his brain finally kicking back into operating parameters.

"You're welcome." She smirked.

Well...

At least now he had a reason to talk to you!

A part of him wondered...

How did you feel about superheroes? You didn't know it yet, but you were about to run into Spider-Man more often than most people, too...

[ticklishprincey]

Tiger Stripes

Hehe I'm so glad you enjoy what I put out! This was @lanie-lee-llama reblog of my Helluva Boss Headcannons (screenshotted because I didn't wanna forget about it) and I just couldn't pass this up, for now I'll just do Blitzo buttttt don't be surprised if there's a Moxxie one directly after. (I really hope you like it, I've never done a self-insert fic before so please don't hit also my laptop refuses to do the cross over the o I'm so sorryyyyyy) Warnings: Tickling (obv), insecure reader, implied body dysmorphia, reader is referred to as kid but it's just a nickname not serious Summary: Reader is insecure about how their body looks. Blitzo notices and convinces them their body is amazing. You had been standing in front of your mirror all day, looking at your reflection in disgust and disdain. Your brain ran a mile a minute, pointing out every possible flaw in your body, and despite your various attempts, tears burned your eyes like pin pricks and threatened to spill. You sucked in your stomach as much as you could, still not satisfied with the results. You let out a sigh, sitting down onto your bed and hugging your knees to your chest. "Kid?"  A knock on your bedroom door stirred you from your thoughts. You quickly rubbed your eyes, grabbing an old sweatshirt and slipping it on before answering the door, an over-enthused smile plastered on your face. "Hey, Blitz! What's up?" You had hoped that your boss wouldn't pay attention to your tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, but you were mistaken. The usual sarcastic and shit-eating grin was replaced with that rare look of concern he saved for you. He reached out and gently touched your cheek, wiping away a stray tear in a rare showcase of affection. "What's goin on, kid?" "Nothing." You responded quickly, too quickly, even. The larger imp rolled his eyes, taking your hand and pulling you into the room, sitting on your bed and patting the spot next to him. You sat reluctantly. "Don't bullshit me, kid. What's on your mind?" You sighed, then proceeded to explain how you had been feeling, how you were unhappy with your body. He listened silently, nodding in understanding. When you had finished, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. "Don't talk about yourself like that. You're amazing, got that?" You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. Blitzo noticed this and squeezed your sides teasingly. "What was that? Don't you sass me, remember who's in charge here." A small squeak escapes your lips, a wobbly smile crossing your features in anticipation for his next move. He grinned and scribbled his nails into your tummy. "What was that? Was that a squeak I heard? Don't tell me someone's ticklish?" You shake your head, fighting back the laughter bubbling in your throat to no avail. You pushed half-heartedly at his hands. "Wahahait Blihitz!!!" "Wait for what? I'm already tickling!"

His hands move to poke and prod at your hips, causing you to squeal and squirm in his arms, laughter pouring out freely now. "Ooooo, that's a bad spot, huh? Too bad!" Your face grows red at the teasing, pushing at his hands. You would never admit it, but you liked these moments with Blitzo. You felt his hands pull up your shirt slightly, tracing lightly over the stretch marks of which you were so insecure about earlier. "I don't understand why you don't like these. They're like tiger stripes." A snort slips through your lips at that, causing your hands to immediately cover your mouth in embarrassment, your blush increasing tenfold. Blitzo simply laughs and continues his tracing. "That was cute! Can I hear it again?" He blows a raspberry over your belly button, rewarded by your squealing and bubbly, bright laughter, a stark contrast to your earlier anxiety and stress. He lets up, holding you close and rubbing your back gently as your laughter dies down into soft, happy hiccups. "Feeling better, kiddo?" You nod your head as Blitzo chuckles, continuing to rub your back as you slowly begin to fall asleep in his arms. Maybe he was right, your body was pretty amazing. ALL NSFW/KINK PLEASE DNI!!!

[eliotquillon]

would you be kind enough to give us some chameron spoilers for your time loop fic?

(sorry i’ll never stop pulling out this screenshot from my original rough draft outline)

so full disclaimer that one of the reasons why it’s taking me so bloody long to update/get stuff written is because chameron are giving me PROBLEMS!!! which is very fitting i suppose. the vision is that the fic ends not with chase and cameron ‘officially’ together, but with the understanding that things will be heading in that direction if cameron doesn’t immediately fall back into her old pre-loop habits — i am very, very fond of the way they get together in canon in the s3 finale, so it will be pretty similar to that in some ways. i am just having a little trouble getting them to that point. but as for a rough outline:

cameron sleeps with chase again pretty early in the loop - so far it’s looking like this’ll happen in chapter 4, but i might switch things around a bit and stick it at the end of ch3 instead - but this is mostly as another last ditch attempt to fix the loop. this, duh, is not going to work. (also, apologies to anyone expecting smut from me: this will be fade to black soz. this fic is consuming my life as it is without me having to teach myself how to write passable hetero smut for the first time LMAO.) things are going to be ROUGH for a little while after that — remember their screaming match in chapter 2? yeah there’ll more where that came from because cameron is going to be playing the most admirable game of emotional hide and seek you’ve ever seen. but the setup of the loop does, (un)fortunately, make chase one of the best people for cameron to confide in: he is already concerned about her from the moment she walks in. he already knows something is up. he’s willing to distract foreman and house to get her alone and see if she’s okay. obviously he’s still thinking in terms of meth aftermath, but he’s also perceptive enough to realise that something is still up with her even when cameron goes through her song-and-dance ‘everything is fine’ routine with him, and that starts to wear her down eventually.

it’s tempting for cameron to confide in chase, because even when she gets more into the groove of things…she’s still in a time loop. she’s still scared. she wants to find a way out. it’s all the same reasons she slept with him on meth. he’s offering her the chance to talk it out every single reset, and then when she does cave and tell him and he immediately BELIEVES HER…cameron freaks. because what the hell! foreman didn’t believe her! neither did wilson! he doesn’t have any memory of telling her he wants to be someone she can confide in all the way back in the second loop, and yet he’s putting his money where his mouth is. and then she has to grapple with the fact that, well…she keeps coming back to him for a reason. she slept with him on meth for a reason. she’s telling him about the loops for a reason. there are a few loops where she does enough prodding and poking to get him to admit that maybe he doesn’t just want things to be a one-off, and then she has to work through that and confront the fact that, well, yeah. maybe he’s onto something. and tbh being in a time loop is great for this because again—she can’t run away. the closer to the end of the loop she gets, the more upset she is that he doesn’t remember what they talked about the day before. that’s really the start of the breaking-free process, tbh. cameron’s actually pretty careful in what she does in the loops compared to, say, phil in groundhog day—she’s permanently paranoid/hopeful that the loop will break tomorrow, and doesn’t want to completely risk ruining the future—but the chase thing is a real crossroads because she has to be vulnerable with the very real risk of it not paying off and then the action maybe sticking if the loop breaks. She’s really normal!!

anyway. they do fumble their way to a happy ending, or at least the possibility of one! it’s slowburn and there’s a lot of repression on cameron’s end (and a fair bit on chase’s) so it’s not PACKED with intense hot moments or whatever, but there will be something for everyone. they do get there in the end.

and bonus extract from ch3:

[rozaceous]

the blorbo-ification of korvin kwan

set in a combo of @vermillioncrown's 'the pros and cons of digging your own grave' and my 'a sunset every hour,' i wrote a scene for verm as gift fic, because i was so affronted by how mean the narrative was to My Boy (korvin) and how much i wanted him to get wrapped in a blanket and also have a dental visit. hence the title--i spiritually adopted him in a hopefully less cracked version of 'you lost the rights to your oc bc you were mean to them.' (we've all seen the screenshots of those posts, right???)

so this is allie finding out that dick grayson has been hiding an entire twelve year-old from her. she is not well pleased lmao.

Allie’s pretty sure that she’s timed Dick’s work schedule correctly, but she’s also willing to wait outside the doorstep of his latest safe house until he arrives and soothes her frazzled nerves about his general state of being.

What Allie is not expecting is for not-Dick to answer the door, and especially she isn’t expecting that someone to be a wavy-haired East Asian boy who opens the door but doesn’t undo the chain lock, peering through the gap between door and frame all squinty-eyed.

“Um,” says Allie, eyes flashing to the 302 on the door, which is exactly the number it should be. “I’m…looking for Dick?”

The evaluative quality of the kid’s stare does not diminish. “You’re too young to be a girlfriend.”

She’s helpless against the instant full-face squinch that sentence causes. “We’re more like mutually adopted siblings,” she hazards, voice tight, and regretful that everything regarding the usage of Dick's name sounds inappropriate for the public, especially under-eighteens.

A pause.

“Mr Richard didn’t tell you he underwent child acquisition,” he observes.

“He didn’t, and he’s going to rue that fact until the day he dies.”

“Sounds like siblings, yeah. You’re Allie, then?”

“He talked about me to you but couldn’t be bothered to mention you to me?” she mutters, mostly to herself.

“I was trying to pretend to not-hear him talk to you on the phone. Not really possible in this shoebox.” Some of the squinting eases. “If you can prove who you are, I can let you in until Mr Richard gets back. Otherwise I’m calling the cops.”

Allie is…impressed by that statement, she's pretty sure. “I haven’t got a driver’s license yet, but I’ve got a learner’s permit and a library card. Sufficient evidence?”

A hand pokes through the gap, fingers making grabby motions. Three minutes later has her standing in the kitchen, shoes and coat off, and peering at the meal prep in progress.

“Korvin,” as she’s been informed is the kid’s name, “I know Dickard’s idea of a good meal is take-out, but what the fuck? Do you seriously have to cook it yourself if you want a vegetable?”

“Mr Richard makes sure I get fed,” is the dodgy reply, and Allie knows what covering for someone you don’t want to get in trouble sounds like. So she decides straightforward is best.

“Look, I love Dick to bits,” she tells Korvin. “But his life is held together by silly string, boyish charm, and Barbara. Fuck,” she realizes, pulling her flip phone from her back pocket. She holds the power button until the screen lights on. “Yeah, hope that freaks them both out and gets him over here tout de suite.” She puts her attention back on Korvin, who is regarding her with similar wariness as when he first opened the door. “My point is, if you’re not getting taken care of, you tell me, and I make sure it happens. Capische?”

Korvin seems a little too stunned or cagey or something to reply.

She flips her phone back open and opens her contacts before pressing the device into his hands. “Put your number in and text yourself so you can contact me. Which, by the way, is an ‘anytime’ kind of offer.”

Another, slightly wide-eyed look, and Korvin follows her instruction.

Twenty minutes later and even the way that Dick opens the door tells Allie that he knows he’s about to get the ass-chewing of his life. He slinks through the entry like a dog pretending it doesn’t know a thing about the torn up couch cushions, grinning brightly and waving at her across the apartment where she’s removing vegetables from the oven.

“Hey, Allie!” She’ll give him credit that nervousness makes his voice waver only slightly. “See you and Korv met!”

"Hm."

[scribbly-artist]

Edward Elric Tickle Headcanons

I binged FMA(B) this week for fun since it’s been a while since I’ve watched it. So with any media I consume, new or old, my brain was cooking up ideas. Please enjoy my first ever headcanons list. :) I was crying my eyes out in the first couple of episodes because GOD DAYUM I forgot how depressing it is.

Man Ed goes through so much shit he needs a laugh, okay? :( I forgot how much pain and suffering he goes through

The only people he’d allow to tickle him are Al and Winry. If we’re going in a self-insert direction then you as well if you’re close enough. Anyone else is a big no-no and results in a punch in the face if they can even get close enough to attempt

Winry and Al totally tickle him whenever he’s being too annoying

I feel like he’d be bouncy on who he allows close enough in general let alone trying to poke/tickle him

I always see screenshots and promotional material with Ed smiling but tbh he doesn’t smile that often :( and THAT’S A CRIME

TICKLE MY MAN AND MAKE HIM SMILE THAT BIG ASS GRIN!!!!

He’s got a big loud laugh. His laugh in the final episode before he gets on the train made my heart melt </333

I feel like he’d totally snort too

If someone picks him up under his arms to tickle him he’s at their mercy because he’s too short to do anything

He can be an absolutely ruthless ler. Little SHIT

Once he gets his hands on a target, their lifespan is going to be shortened lmao

He teases whoever he’s tickling with a big shit-eating grin on his face especially if they deserve what he’s dishing out

Likes to make his SO/Winry a mess so he dishes out some well deserved tickles as well

He likes to poke Winry and generally annoy her while she’s working on automail, but it usually results in Ed getting hit over the head with a ratchet

He laughs along with whoever he’s tickling

Likes to play fight/wrestle/chase

Just wants to hear his lee laugh :)

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Florrickology, Part 2: The most beautiful face in Faerûn

General simping under cut, plus:

Why I think her face model was changed so much from EA

How her face contributes to her characterization

Spitballing how old I think she is

I actually didn't even really notice Florrick's sexy dress until I saved her from Wyrm's Rock and saw her moving about in the light of day, so I spent 2 whole acts deeply in love with her simply because of her gorgeous face, husky voice, and dominant personality. I was gobsmacked by a total elven MILF come out of nowhere, and while I did recognize her as a beacon of drip in the swagless wasteland of Act 1, I didn't need to notice her thong to know immediately that this was the most beautiful person in the entire game and I must stan.

This was also before I noticed that most NPCs have the same like 6 faces, so I wasn't even yet aware that Florrick's face was especially beautiful and unique.

In addition to going through three outfit changes, she went through two earlier face models. Her original and second models are below.

Her hair and eyes remained essentially the same (minus the smoky makeup), but big changes were made in her face shape and other features between each version, even down to her ears. The second version is definitely a generic head (and not my favorite); I'm not sure about Original Florrick as I don't know what the base heads looked like then, but it is pretty bland, albeit very beautiful.

So, why change? As I said in Part 1, her exact appearance isn't really important, but it is very intentional because they made the effort to change it a few times.

The decision to give her a unique face sculpt makes perfect sense; she's more than significant enough for the effort, considering she shows up in all 3 acts, has lots of dialogue and emotes while talking, plays a fairly sizeable role in the overall story, and appears in the High Hall cut scene as a final battle ally. I figure that, for the most part, the intention behind giving her this unique face is pretty simple: it's gorgeous, increases the game's overall diversity, and enhances her characterization.

I love the type of beauty she was given in the end. She exudes femininity, yet her personality is very dominant ("masculine") and her face isn't traditionally "feminine". Her most prominent feature, her nose, is angular and long, and looks bumpy in certain lights. Her jaw stands out to me next, nice and sharp and strong, but she lacks the cheekbones to give a really chic look. Her chin is large and has a hint of a cleft in some lights. From the side profile (alas I don't have a screenshot even tho I think of it often), her nose, teeth/lips, and chin jut forward a bit from her cheeks and eyes, giving her a very determined, jaw-set look.

But she also has big, soft puppydog eyes, some of the juiciest and prettiest lips in the entire game, the most beautiful and distinctive skin tone, and the most nibbleable ears in Faerûn. Look at the little tippy tip poking out of her hair on her right!!

ps if anyone tries to tell me X is more beautiful or Y has more nibbleable ears I will simply block you, make your own insane simp post

Anyway, her face suits her perfectly. She looks like someone you'd describe as "steady as Tyr's heartbeat" or "upstanding as the Sword Mountains". She looks proud, confident, and maybe a little pushy. Her nose has that elegant slope, so when she stands straight up with her strong jaw set and her chin proudly raised in the air, she looks down it just so that you can tell this isn't a woman to be trifled with. She looks stern, but never mean or cruel. When she's grateful, she's gracious and charming. Her big brown eyes are imploring in her moments of vulnerability, and she can't hide when she's worried or concerned because her eyebrows move on their own. She might turn away so her hair covers part of her face in those moments, too.

In her absolute lowest moments, she doesn't even try to hide, and lets the player in on exactly how she's feeling, in her expressions and words.

You don't really get all that from her earlier two models, right? They're beautiful, but don't tell as much of a story.

I think to a lot of people, she may come across as one-note, but she has an emotional arc like any other significant NPC with a longitudinal storyline and you see that the most in her expressive face. I do think that's remarkable, since she is a female character who exists in this story to support the greater arcs of two men. There are strengths and weaknesses in Larian's writing when it comes to things like this, but I really do think they did a great job with Florrick, in balancing her autonomy and treating her as an individual, while holding her to the minimum-necessary screen time/resources (in this long, enormous game) to fulfill her role.

Not strictly related, but I'll always appreciate that it is essentially never implied that Florrick does what she does because she's in love with Ulder. It would make a great romance side story and I'd have loved it, but I love more that it's left up to interpretation. However she feels about him in private, the fact is that it doesn't make a difference in her behavior; lover, friend, or just a boss she respects, she will move mountains for him and her city because it's the right thing to do, and she'll always do what she thinks is right. Florrick being allowed to exist in this story as her own person, never commanded by the writers to be Ulder's wife or Wyll's mother, even if her storyline is really about Ulder and Wyll, is really special to me.

So on that note, I do have one theory as to why they gave her these very unique features:

To help prevent players from assuming that Florrick and the Ravengards are related.

It's important to Wyll's story that his father is his only living family; letting players assume Florrick is (secretly?) his mother or aunt because she's coded as a middle-aged black woman and closely-associated with him and his father interferes with that story, and introduces confusing questions that don't need to be asked like "is Wyll supposed to be a half-elf?" or "why doesn't she seem to give much of a fuck about her son/nephew?"

On this note, I really like that because not only does it shoot down the conventional demand that any woman in the vicinity of a child be their mother, it also highlights that Ulder was Wyll's entire world, making all of their stories more poignant.

Now the final question her face leads us to is, how old is Florrick? This is tough to answer due to Elf Aging, which means you have to triangulate her actual age by starting from how old she looks and how old she seems compared to others.

For my impressions, I think Florrick's voice is what MILFifies her moreso than her face. Her VA, Karen Bryson, was born in 1975, which tracks with the way she sounds, but her face comes off as a bit younger: she's essentially unwrinkled (minus her forehead when she emotes), bright and fresh-skinned with no other signs of aging, so I would place her at a maximum of mid-30s by appearance.

My impression of elf aging as a non-lore-expert is that, at least in BG3, they grow at the same rate as humans until reaching physical maturity around the early to mid twenties, then age visibly but at a very slow rate thereafter.

Fortunately, there are a few full elf characters whose ages we know. Disregarding Astarion who seems to have been fucked up due to stress/vampirism, we have Minthara (~250) and Halsin (~350) for comparison.

This is convenient, since Florrick looks tennish years younger than Minthara, and Minthara looks tennish years younger than Halsin. So, perhaps full elves, once having reached full physical maturity by approx 25 years old, age about ten years for every hundred give or take stress/genetics/etc. So if Florrick looks about 30-35, that'd work out to the neighborhood of 120-130 years old.

This tracks to me, as she definitely comes off as a fully-fledged elven adult, but still young enough to be a bit cavalier and have things to learn about herself--much like a human in her early-to-mid 30s.

Also, I notice she doesn't have anything to say about the previous Bhaalspawn crises (124-125 years ago), because it seems like the type of thing she'd comment on if she remembered it firsthand (either from growing up in Baldur's Gate, or hearing about as the news travelled.) So her being either not born yet or too busy learning to tie her shoes to engage with current events makes sense.

This concludes Florrickology part 2.

[catventuring]

Cat got in the void? That's a scoopin'.

[rikerssexblouse]

Oh my God, Rikerssexblouse! That salamander embroidery is just stunning!

Did you do it freehand? Or did you have some kind of instruction because if I wanted to take up embroidery before - I now need to do it! 😂🦎💕

Thank you! It was not freehand, and this was actually my first attempt doing one that wasn’t out of a kit. Before this I’d only bought kits on amazon or Etsy, which is nice because you get everything you need, plus instructions. But for a while I’ve wanted to do something of my own design, but I hadn’t quite figured out how. So since it would have been useful for me when I was trying to figure this out, I’m going to explain the whole process. And to be clear, I’m just figuring this out, so maybe people have other strategies, but it worked for me.

First, I took a screenshot of the salamander babies poking out of the hole and opened it up in Procreate. I am not at all experienced with Procreate (my 9 year old is better with Procreate than I am), but I created a second layer, and then drew on the second layer to outline the image. That looked like this:

Then I hid the layer with the screenshot, so you only saw the outline. It looked like this:

Then I printed it out.

Michaels has little squares of fabric for embroidery, so I bought two of those, one white and one purple.

It’s probably overpriced for the amount of fabric you get? But it’s a very convenient size for one embroidery project and it’s just two bucks.

But then I had to transfer the pattern to the fabric. This meant that I had to lay the fabric on the printoff and trace it with a special pen. I used this one.

It’s water soluble, so you can rinse the marks right out when you are done.

The problem I ran into, was that the purple was much too dark to see through to be able to trace, so I had to use the white (I just thought the purple would be more fun but dark colors won’t work well with this strategy). Then I was just filling in the shapes from my pattern. After I was done, I took it out of the hoop, rinsed it in water to rinse away the blue pen marks, pressed it between towels overnight, then put it back on the hoop and tied it up the back.

I think figuring out what stitches to use were might actually be the hardest part. It’s a combination of your vision/creativity and just enough experience with the stitches that you can visualize what they will look like. I used satin stitches (to fill in the big spaces like the salamander babies’ faces and the rocks), lazy daisy stitches (the nostrils), stem stitches (for the outlines), and about a thousand million french knots (the moss). Oh and straight stitches for the letters.

The salamander babies’ heads were hard, because I had to work around the spots and eyes and everything. The hole might be the part I’m most proud of, because my plan to give it depth actually worked. Instead of doing a satin stitch to fill it in smooth, I did straight stitches and arranged them directionally (into the middle and then down) to try to give it shape so you could see how the the hole goes down into the ground. I also used a little gray in between the black to give it some dimension.

The french knots that made up the knots aren’t particularly hard (although I do suggest finding a YouTube video to see how to do it, I could NOT figure it out from written instructions when I first started) but it used up SO MUCH more thread than I ever anticipated. Doing a kit, you get everything you need, but I didn’t know what I needed. Whoops. So I had some last minute panic about running out of thread (literally the night before Threshold Day). So a lot of the color variation is a matter of necessarily rather than my plan. But it worked out well.

If you look closely, the moss on the left has a lot more color variation than the moss on the right, and that is because I was running out of thread. But it’s not too noticeable (hopefully). I do love how the moss looks though! French knots are usually used for little details, but the mass of them gives it so much texture. I love it.

I will say, if you are trying it for the first time, don’t start by doing your own design. Follow a kit and figure out what you are doing first. And don’t be afraid to look up YouTube videos when you can’t figure out how to do something. Video is a MUCH better teacher than words can ever be, in this context. But at the same time, there really isn’t anything that difficult about embroidery. You mostly just have to be patient. I find it quite relaxing.

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

In honor of the new Cartoon Therapy episode coming out tomorrow (TOMORROW? TOMORROW!), have the first chapter of a fic that I am (sadly) most likely never going to finish. I once referred to it as Eucatastrophe by way of Cartoon Therapy, with less Eldritch Nonsense and more gratuitous cartoon references (of course). Enjoy some Elliott POV fic! The world is sorely lacking in it.

What OVER THE GARDEN WALL Can Teach You About Rescuing Your Therapist From An Otherworldly Magical Forest!

It’s already pretty bad when Elliott’s boyfriend doesn’t show up to couple’s therapy, weeks in a row.

It’s even worse when their therapist is the one not showing up.

At first it’s annoying, but only for the first fifteen minutes of waiting. Elliott rubs their forearms, glances around the Funko Pop-lined walls of Dr Picani’s latest office, and shifts back and forth on the comfy patient’s couch. They check their phone a few times, scrolling through Twitter and old strings of messages, and wonder if they’d got the date or time wrong, somehow.

After fifteen minutes, it’s confusing. Dr Picani is usually nothing less than slightly-less-than-punctual. Sure, he’s almost never actually on time, but fifteen minutes is the worst he’s ever been, and even on those occasions he’s always sure to send a string of reassuring emoji-riddled texts and bring an extra apology mug of hot chocolate from the café he’d been held up at. (Elliott generally prefers coffee, but never brings it up. The hot chocolate’s actually really good.)

With that in mind, Elliott checks their messages. There’s no promises of hot chocolate, no goofy Disney White Rabbit GIFs, no texts at all. They bite their lip, and shove their phone into their pocket before focusing all their attention on the Finding Nemo poster plastered on the wall across from them.

Twenty minutes in, and his secretary pokes her head around the door, looking apologetic. She tells Elliott that it looks like Dr Picani isn’t coming in today, would they like to reschedule?

Elliott does, same time next week will be just fine thank you; and leaves, and goes to sit at the park across the road and worry. The secretary hadn’t said anything about why Dr Picani hadn’t been in today, but Elliott likes to think they’re pretty good at reading people, and they could see that she’d been just as confused as them. They can’t be sure, obviously – they might be overthinking, actually – but it’s entirely possible that this wasn’t a planned sort of absence.

Is he sick? Did he get into some sort of accident? Did he find a life-changing obscure German cartoon on some out-of-the-way streaming website and get fixated on it to the point of forgetting to turn up to work? Did he decide to ditch therapy as a career altogether and accept a job at Disney as the official guy who sits in the corner of cartoon pitch meetings and cheers ‘yeah, heck yeah!’ at each and every pitch that comes over the table? All extremely real possibilities!

…They really, really hope he’s all right.

*

But the next week, Dr Picani isn’t there – and the office is completely closed. He still hasn’t replied to a single one of Elliott’s texts, which is downright terrifying. His response time is usually about one minute flat outside of office hours, no matter how late at night or early in the mornings it is – something Elliott only knows because of the embarrassing time they’d impulse-texted him at 3 AM to share that they’d started watching Avatar. (He’d been right about Elliott liking Zuko. Letting him know had seemed only fair.) Again, really embarrassing, but at least Dr Picani hadn’t been weird about it. Weirder than usual, anyway.

But there’s no text responses at all, not even read receipts. Elliott’s not even annoyed anymore. They just want to see one incomprehensible cartoon GIF, and then their brain can stop exploding with worst-case scenarios. A single weird reference. One out-of-context screenshot.

Elliott loiters at the closed-and-locked door to the therapy clinic, frowning at their phone, not really knowing what to do. They don’t want to go home and face Mitchell, who’ll only laugh and say I told you so, and he wouldn’t be wrong, he had told them so. But it’s not as if staying here’s going to do any good.

“Hey! Are you one of Picani’s other patients?” says a too-loud someone from behind them, and Elliott’s body makes the fun decision to flinch violently.

“Sloane, you can’t just ask someone that,” hisses someone else.

Elliott turns, and sees two unfamiliar people holding hands, standing nearby. One’s looking at Elliott with expectancy. The other is looking at the first with exasperation.

“I mean,” they say, slowly, “yeah. Yeah, I am. Do you, like… know where he is?”

 The person whose voice is too loud gets a look on their face that’s all scary intense and breathes, “I knew it. I knew something was wrong. Didn’t I say something was wrong?”

“Back up,” says Elliott, raising a hand. “What are you talking about? Who are you guys? What’s going on here?”

Introductions all around. Sloane is tall and bright-eyed and has no inside voice; Corbin is his boyfriend and looks like this conversation is the last thing he wanted to be having today. (Elliott can sort of relate to that, but since when have they ever got what they want?) Neither of them have seen Dr Picani for weeks, either – looks like he ditched their group-therapy appointments as well, both last week and just today.

“God, that’s weird,” Corbin says, when they’ve confirmed their respective situations. “He’s… well, he’s a bit out there sometimes, but he’s not an actually bad therapist.”

“Yeah, it was out of character, so we were worried about him,” Sloane says in a majorly straightforward sort of way. “So we were thinking – ”

“You were thinking – ”

“Fine, I was thinking, and you were onboard enough to come here with me – ”

“I can’t believe you’re making me partially responsible for this – ”

“I was thinking that there’s a window at the back of the building that we could probably get through, and then if we get into his office, well – well, I’m not sure what we could actually find out, but there’s probably something, isn’t there?” Sloane is practically bouncing in place, very enthused of his own plan. “Hey, do you want to get in on it? The more hands the better, you know!”

“Sloane, you can’t just invite someone to do break into their therapist’s office – ”

“I totally can! I invited you, didn’t I?”

Elliott sighs, and tries to work out just how much they care about finding what Picani’s up to. The answer is, apparently, enough to break into the guy’s office. They’re not sure how much further past there it’s going to stretch, but they have a feeling that this entire experience is going to be an exercise in finding out. “Fine. But if the cops show up, I’m leaving.”

When their small group of three rounds the side of the building to do an Actual Proper Crime (Elliott is already regretting this), there is a crime already in progress. There’s a middle-aged couple in matching denim jackets watching a younger person with a fierce scowl slashed across their face sitting on top of a dumpster, fiddling with the exact window that Sloane had been planning on going through. The guy with the beard is offering occasional advice. His partner – wife? – appears to be keeping lookout, but not very good lookout considering that Elliott, Corbin and Sloane manage to get all the way into the back alley and right next to the three of them before she notices them.

The kid on the dumpster freezes, and mutters, “Oh, shit.”

“We are not doing anything wrong, and we’re absolutely meant to be here,” says jacket guy loudly.

“Hey, chill, we’re here to break into the office too,” Sloane says, raising his hands.

“Sloane, you can’t just admit to breaking and entering – ”

More quick introductions follow. The angry kid is Kai, the matching-jacket couple are Dot and Larry. They’re also patients of Dr Picani’s, and all seem to have had the same idea vis-à-vis Picani’s office, which Elliot thinks probably says something about the general demographic of this guy’s clients. They clearly haven’t been having much success with getting in, though – the window’s locked from the inside. Apparently therapists lock their windows.

“I know the technique of getting it open,” mutters Kai furiously, “I’ve watched so many YouTube tutorials, but my fingers won’t work. Stupid fingers. Stupid bendy bony fingers.”

“Break the window,” says Sloane enthusiastically, looking like he’s wanted to do just that his entire life.

“Do not,” said Corbin, the polar opposite of enthusiastic.

“I’ll pass,” Kai says, and uncomfortably shifts from side to side from where they’re sitting on the dumpster. “Anyone got something flat and sharp? I can probably wiggle it underneath and pop it open that way.”

Corbin reluctantly passes up his pocket knife, and within seconds, the window is open. Kai gets down painfully from the dumpster, citing bendiness and refusing to climb through.

A moment later, Elliott is voted smallest and lithest, and subsequently reluctantly wiggles their way through the opened gap to unlock the office from the inside for everyone else. They really hope there’s no security cameras in here. This would be the stupidest possible way to get arrested.

Although strangely, they can’t picture Dr Picani actually getting mad about the whole thing. He’d probably compare the whole venture to Totally Spies or some other cartoon Elliott only vaguely knows about, and try to relate the whole thing to dealing with anxiety or separation issues somehow.

Unbelievably, Elliott is starting to miss him.

*

Two queer couples, a kid with bendy bones, and a very nervous Elliott break into their therapist’s private office at two thirty-five in the afternoon. It’s a bad joke of a situation, and Elliott doesn’t want to know what the punchline is. Inside they find sixty billion plushies, an impressive wall-to-wall tapestry-style Spirited Away poster, and a shelf that’s completely packed with VCR cartoon recordings – among other things.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I expected,” Corbin says. “That’s… yep. That tracks.”

Speaking of tracks, there’s mud tracked all over the Aladdin-style carpet laid out in the centre of the room.

Larry says, “Oh, he’d never let that happen. Someone broke in here.”

To which Kai says, “Yeah, us. We broke in here.”

“No, someone before us,” Larry is saying, and meanwhile Dot and Sloane are poking around behind Picani’s desk. They’re avoiding all the papers and patient files, which Elliott is silently relieved about, and just reading the Hello Kitty post-it notes papered everywhere.

“It’s mostly anime recommendations,” Sloane announces. “Ooh, Spy Family, he has good taste. Oh. One Piece. Uh, less good taste? I mean, it is a classic, but… sheesh, dude.”

“I don’t understand half the words coming out of your mouth,” Dot mutters. “Is any of that relevant, young man?”

“I guess not, but man, I kind of want to see his MyAnimeList now,” Sloane says thoughtfully. “Guy probably has some killer reviews."

Elliott is the one who realizes that the television hooked up to the laptop on the other side of the room is not just on, but is blisteringly hot – like it’s been running for days or maybe weeks, without anyone shutting it off. It’s almost too hot to wiggle the mouse and tap at the keyboard to refresh the screen. When it flickers to life, it probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that there’s a cartoon playing on-screen – soft, smooth animation, oddly-dressed kids and talking birds flitting across the screen. Honestly, it’d be weirder if there hadn’t been cartoons running on this computer.

What’s weird is the fact that the show, whatever it is, seems to be set to a loop – and what’s more, it looks like it’s been running continuously for a very long time. Even weirder; a smudge of that same mud on the laptop screen, like someone had brushed a finger up against it, except it’s weirdly-shaped, almost arrow-like.

As Elliott notices the smudge, something strange happens to the video player. It flickers and stutters, and then freezes altogether on an image of a rather forbidding forest, a path leading into it. The arrow-shaped smudge now points directly down the path, into the trees.

Elliott is, understandably, a little freaked by this, especially when they try to rewind but the video player won’t let them.

They wave the others over, and Kai says, “Oh, that’s Over the Garden Wall, Lauren keeps telling me to watch it.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard of it,” Corbin says. “Kind of weird that he left it on when he was gone. That’s gotta be running up a killer power bill.”

Dot’s still at Dr Picani’s desk, and has now sat down on the comfy colorful desk chair, pressing her glasses all the way up at her nose to properly study the sticky notes. “You know, this isn’t all cartoon recommendations. Well, mostly not – he’s got a lot of contingency plans on here.”

Which is interesting enough that Elliott briefly forgets about the weird mud and the frozen screen. “Contingency plans?”

“Yes, he’s got a lot of them,” says Dot, and squints over her glasses at the sticky notes in her hand. “See – here. ‘In the case of loss of faith in humanity, watch My Neighbour Totoro.’ ‘In the event of mysterious deaths of the 1%, watch Death Note.’ ‘In the case of total collapse of personal morals and decency, please for the love of Don Bluth do not make it worse by watching South Park.’”

“Has he got one for ‘weird disappearance out of nowhere involving mud and moss tracked all over his office’?” Elliott asks, half-joking.

Dot looks through the rest of the notes on the desk, and then holds up a dog-eared note, looking faintly bemused. “Over The Garden Wall.”

Elliott blinks, then looks at the TV screen, still showing a shot of that darkened forest. The mud remains, pointing an arrow right into the trees, like a sign screaming, go here. Seriously, go here. I am so not joking about going here. “You mean, like… like this show?”

“I suppose so,” she says.

“Well, that feels like a clue,” says Sloane. “Maybe we should watch the whole thing!”

Elliott wants to say that’s stupid, and by the look on Kai and Corbin’s faces in particular, they’re both thinking the same thing. But Sloane’s not wrong. It does feel like a clue, dumb as it feels. After a second, they start looking around for the remote.

“Hang on, we’ve just found out that Dr Picani’s gone mysteriously missing – we can’t just start watching TV based on a Post-It note he left,” Corbin says incredulously. “Would he really want us to sit here in his office, watching some kid’s cartoon instead of, you know, going out and actually doing something about it?”

There’s a short silence.

“Um, yeah?” says Elliott.

“He’d probably be disappointed if we didn’t,” Kai admits.

“I wonder if he has any popcorn,” Larry says thoughtfully, eyeing the small microwave tucked underneath Dr Picani’s desk.

He does have popcorn. And, well, as long as they’re doing breaking-and-entering, they might as well throw petty theft into the mix.

Elliott really hopes Dr Picani’s not going to mind.

*

So they watch Over The Garden Wall, and afterwards they all agree that yes, it’s a solid show and yes, Dr Picani’s often-questionable good taste has hit home on this one show at least.

But even thought most of them cried at least once during the impromptu binge session, it doesn’t exactly help them in any way. There aren’t any hidden recordings spliced in-between episodes, there’s no obvious signs or placards in the background art saying ‘THIS IS THE ANSWER! HERE ARE THE EXACT COORDINATES YOUR THERAPIST IS HIDDEN AT!’, and if there’s some sort of metaphor in here, it’s flying entirely over Elliott’s head.

After it’s all done, Sloane is excitedly explaining the Divine Comedy metaphor to a mostly-uninterested Kai, and Larry is eyeing the minifridge. And in the middle of all of this awkward we-don’t-know-where-to-go-from-here, Elliott looks down at the mud-caked carpet and thinks wait a minute, because it’s not just random mud, there’s definite footprints. And more than that – the footprints are leading somewhere.

Leaving everyone else behind for the moment, Elliott follows the mud trail all the way out of the office – down the hallways, past their usual therapy room, and out to the reception area. Now that they’re paying attention and not just trying to get everyone inside as quickly as possible so they don’t get arrested or whatever, they can see that the mud is much more obvious here – several sets of footprints. One big set of therapist-sized footprints, with little puppy paws in the sole marks (Scooby Doo? Courage the Cowardly Dog? It’s anyone’s guess what reference it is, this time!) – and several improbably small sets, which Elliott would have sorted into the ‘animal tracks’ category, if not for the fact that they are visibly bare human feet. Humanoid feet.

“No,” Elliott tells themself, very firmly. “Not thinking about it. Not thinking about the implications. I do not need to to think about the implications. I just… need clues.” They pause, grind a hand against their head, and very carefully do not voice a Blues Clues reference out loud, despite the immense urge to do so. Something about this goddamned office wormed the cartoon thoughts right into the centre of your brain. Probably all of the cartoon merch. It’s near-unbearable. Honestly, Elliott would have switched therapists months ago, if it weren’t for the fact that…

Elliott rubs the side of their head again, this time a touch more anxiously. Yeah. Okay. They’re really worried about Dr Picani. He’s nice, is the thing. And not sugary-sweet, too-cheerful and too-bright nice in the way you might expect from just looking at the guy; he’s got a sharp wit and a gentle hardness. He’s never once dismissed Elliott’s feelings as unimportant or stupid, which is a hell of a lot more than they can say for… a lot of other people in their life.

He’s a weirdo, but what’s that thing everyone always says? Cringe is dead? He’s a good therapist, and you don’t need to be ‘normal’ or ‘mainstream’ to be good at your job. Elliott knows a good thing when they have it, and fuck if they’re going to go through the mortifying ordeal of interviewing a dozen new therapists just because their current one thought it’d be a good idea to re-enact Spirited Away or whatever the hell this is.

Elliott looks behind the front counter, and finds a map there. It’s a normal-looking map of the immediate area, one they’ve seen before pinned to walls of local businesses – but it, much like most of the office floor, is covered in mud. And bright-pink ballpoint pen, in familiar handwriting.

In case of having already watched Over the Garden Wall, it reads, I’m probably somewhere out here.

They carefully lift the map from the desk, and stare at it for a long, long moment before they become aware of the fact that they’re holding it tight enough to crumple the page.

Slowly, they look down at the mud tracks, and the tiny little footprints running all the way through the hallway, all the way out the front door.

Okay. Yeah. Elliott’s officially thinking about the implications now. They wish they weren’t, but they’re thinking about them.

*

Elliott returns to the office, map in hand, to find Dot and Larry stealing from Dr Picani’s minifridge, and Sloane trying to find hidden hints on the underside of his work desk, while Corbin looks on ruefully.

“Forest’s haunted,” they say.

“What?” Kai says, looking up from a limited-edition Avatar: The Legend of Korra complete artbook.

Elliot holds up the map, and repeats the awful truth of the matter: “I said, forest’s haunted. Does anyone have a car? Because if we’re going to get our therapist back, I’m sure as hell not walking all the way there.”

[ghostace]

GShade in SWTOR

Surprise, the screenshots I've been posting this week have been getting carried by the power of GShade, not a sudden improvement in my editing skills. All of these have either no edits or only minor adjustments from in-game.

I decided to poke at it after @spindlewit got it working initially, since I have a stubborn streak and no fear of destroying my game files. It's not as simple as just installing and launching the game, and every time I tried I seemed to have to take different steps so don't be shocked if it doesn't work for you the first time, or if it breaks in the future.

At the moment I have only tested it with the Steam install. I don't intend to test it for the regular launcher, but the same steps may work. The reason why Steam is safer is that for whatever reason GShade deletes a key launch file on install, and Steam can recover that file if you don't back it up first. And best yet, it also worked on PTS so once SWTOR goes 64 bit this should still work!

Use entirely at your own risk. This may be considered a TOS violation.

Step 1: Download and install GShade locally.

Step 2: Install GShade with default settings to swtor.exe in your game installation folder. For me, and most Steam installs, the path is C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Star Wars - The Old Republic\swtor\retailclient. Do not install to launcher.exe

Note that if GShade installs as DirectX 9 you may have to uninstall and reinstall GShade to SWTOR until it lets you install as OpenGL since the DX9 install doesn't seem to work.

Step 3: Open the GShade control panel and turn on Vulkan (x86) under the Installations tab. GShade will not work in SWTOR without this.

Step 4: "Verify integrity of game files" through Steam (right click on game in Steam -> properties -> local files). This will recover the missing launch file that GShade deletes.

Alternately, you can back up client_defaults.ini from the same retailclient folder location as swtor.exe and just put it somewhere safe before installing GShade to SWTOR.

Step 5: Go to your GShade installation folder (typically C:\Program Files\GShade\DXVK\x32) and copy d3d9.dll into the same retailclient folder as above. Do not use the version in the x64 folder unless you are installing to PTS or following this tutorial after SWTOR goes 64 bit.

Step 6: Launch SWTOR. It will probably prompt you for the EULA again, just go through that and hopefully the GShade banner will pop up and you're good to go.

If the GShade banner is still not showing up, I found in my installation I also had to delete opengl32.dll from the retailclient folder. Other people testing did not have to take this step so don't delete unless GShade is not working.

Some notes and tips:

You may have to scroll through the EULA every time you log in. Sorry, not sure why that happens or doesn't happen.

You will have to turn Anti Aliasing in SWTOR to medium or off. There are graphical artifacts if you have it on High or Very High. Many pre-made shaders include anti-aliasing and I don't find it that big of a loss.

I experienced slightly more lag during gameplay with GShade running even with all shaders turned off. I also experienced noticeably more lag in cutscenes, especially right when they start. YMMV but I would recommend not running GShade for anything where more lag would cause problems. I may have died to VM Eyeless with a shader running because I lagged right as I was trying to get out of the purple circle of death.

In trying to reduce lag, I updated my DirectX 9 files from Microsoft here. It seems to be helping but I'm still testing, so if you experience excessive lag maybe try that.

I would recommend if you want to use any DOF shaders in cutscenes to turn off SWTOR's Conversation Depth of Field so they're not competing.

DOF shaders in SWTOR are a little tricky. SWTOR seems to use very large "slices" of depth, so every tick can cause a large amount of the background to come into focus. I'd recommend using mouse-driven auto-focus when practical, especially in cutscenes where the focus is change depth very frequently.

If you want to use the regular DOF autofocus, I'd recommend changing the Autofocus Center so that it's actually sitting on the character model (default is 0.500 x 0.500, I find generally 0.500 x 0.700 works well), reducing the Autofocus sample radius, and reducing the Far blur curve. SWTOR's camera is a bit hard to work with so play with those settings as needed. Below is a sample of before and after with default and my own picks for DOF autofocus sampling. It does vary depending on what DOF shader each shader preset uses.

Please rec me your favourite shaders for each planet or location if you use this, I'm still just messing around with this myself.

[sergeant-spoons]

130. This December

Verity/Victor Rich

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow​ @chaosklutz​ @wexhappyxfew​ @50svibes​ @tvserie-s-world​ @adamantiumdragonfly​ @ask-you-what-sir​ @whovian45810​ @brokennerdalert​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​ @claire-bear-1218​ @heirsoflilith​ @itswormtrain​ @actualtrashpanda​ @wtrpxrks​

And so the time has come at last for the final chapter of IDOC. It has been a remarkable journey over the last 20 months writing this fic. I will forever be grateful to the readers I’ve seen come, go, and stay, to the commenters whose kind words I’ve screenshotted time and time again to boost my spirits on a tough day, and most especially to my friends in this fandom who have encouraged me to write - @chaosklutz​ @tvserie-s-world​ @itswormtrain​ @penguinated​ @thoughpoppiesblow​ @wexhappyxfew​ @50svibes​ @actualtrashpanda​​ and @phoenixes-and-wizards​, I love you all so very much. 💕 P.S. Most of these folks ^^ are writers too - go check out their works!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An Alton Autumn always seemed to skip through the season. Leaves changed and fell so rapidly that half the trees had gone bare before October was up. September had started to cool the air, and now the time had come for zip-up jackets and corduroy pants, for wool sweaters and shin-high socks. Little by little, Verity adjusted to life back home. Her father poking his head through her bedroom door to wish her goodnight no longer startled her. Her breathing became easier as time went by. The aches in her chest that wracked her senses and shot sparks through her vision whenever she sat up too quickly or turned her torso too far slowly began to fade. She got her old job at the flower shop back, mostly stocking flowers of the red and orange variety and ferns of the deep green, plus a few mini pumpkins to boot. The manila folder in her bedroom sat dormant more often than not, for the poetry that used to pour from her pen like a river carving its way across a landscape ripe for creation now evaded her. She knew perfectly well why the going was so slow—writing about anything but the war seemed insignificant now—but knowing why didn't much help her solve how. Besides, she'd promised Shifty she wouldn't write about the war. So she stewed, stumped, and let the folder be.

She called Perry just as frequently as Perry called her, which could be anything from twice a day to twice a week—it all depended on when Perry could find a spare minute. She'd been busy as a bee the moment she set foot in California. For a while, she'd had trouble finding work thanks to the invasive press coverage of her family's ongoing lawsuit, but in time a local newspaper gave her a chance, and now they called her the best secretary they'd ever had. A little more courageous in a position of steady employment, Perry braved the witness stand not once or twice but four times throughout October. Halfway through the month, she was thrilled to report to Verity that she'd heard from Buck Compton, and the news was as good as it could get. Buck had gone into law school as soon as he'd come home to California and was doing well. From what he'd told her, Perry guessed that he had figured her and Joe Toye out when Toye got hit but never mentioned it to a soul. When he saw the Blommes' court case in the papers along with a photo of Perry and her father standing on either side of Clyde's wheelchair, Buck recognized her and the pieces finally clicked. He called the next day and offered Perry his help with any legal challenges or issues the army might force upon them after the war. Verity cried a little to hear the kindness had been extended to them both.

For quite some time, Verity didn't understand how Buck could have possibly known about her. She guessed at first that Perry had let it slip, but Perry swore she never had, and Verity was never inclined to disbelieve her. A few years down the road, Lt. Lipton—who never failed to check up on Verity every few months for the rest of his life—let slip that he knew the answer. Buck had realized about Verity right before they entered the Bois Jacques (the one time Verity had let her hair grow a little too long) but Lip had sworn him to secrecy. Buck never said a damn word about the matter, not after the war, not even at the reunions where half the men would forget and wonder why Eugene Roe's girl looked exceptionally like Victor's twin. Verity never forgot his sure heart. She swore to herself that if Buck ever needed help with anything at all, she'd be there. Many years down the line, she would keep that promise, coaching his wife through her second childbirth in the backseat of Buck's car as they fought their way through L.A. traffic. Perry and Joe made it to the hospital before they did—

But Perry and Joe weren't always in California. There was a time when a country's worth of land and longing still separated them. Neither knew what their future held nor if the other would want a place in it.

It was three days after Halloween when Joe Toye finally took the leap.

"We won, Red!" Perry shouted tearfully into the phone, and Verity jumped for joy, accidentally hitting her elbow on the kitchen counter. "We won the case! Clyde's safe!"

"That's wonderful!" Verity managed to get out, gripping her elbow and wincing. "Oh, Perry, that's amazing."

"Isn't it?" Perry giggled and sniffled with charged elation. "Oh, and Clyde says hello and thanks for the baseball cap. He loves it."

"I'm glad. Should keep his face out of the sun when he's playing on the court."

"He wears it every day. Where'd you find that basketball pattern anyway?"

Verity cracked a smile, leaning around the partition to see her father dozing in his armchair in the living room. He'd gone to seven different stores in three different cities to find that pattern for Clyde.

"Just a little something Pa picked up while he was out and about one day."

"Well, tell him thanks, from me and Clyde both."

"I will."

A beat.

"Verity?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"'Course, you can."

"Okay."

Perry considered, and Verity settled her excitement, sensing the tone shift in the conversation.

"It's- Well, it's about Joe."

Verity's smile crept back up into being.

"Go on."

"I got a letter from him yesterday. I'm gonna write him back as soon as I can get myself to sit down for longer than ten minutes—aw, to hell with it. You know just as well as I do that I'm in love with him."

"I do."

"It seems simple enough-"

"Mhmm."

"-but is it, though?"

Perry sighed.

"I love him, but I don't know what to do about it."

"Him, of course," Verity teased, and she could picture the red blossoming on Perry's cheeks as her friend gasped a laugh.

"Verity Miranda Rich!"

"Sorry. I couldn't resist. But really, here's what you do—you tell him." Verity wound the cord around her finger, smiling faintly as she remembered that first time she told Gene she loved him. "You tell him, and you let him know you want to be with him if he'll have you. Which he will."

"You think so?"

"Yes, because he loves you, too."

"He does?"

"He calls you Lovely Summer, doesn't he?"

She could almost hear Perry smiling.

"Yeah, he does. He, um... He called me that in the letter. Five times. I counted."

Verity's lips tugged up at the corners, and she leaned against the wall, balancing the receiver on her shoulder.

"Then have a little faith, Perry—he loves you, too."

They talked a little more about this and that, and then Perry hung up to write that hopeful reply. Verity hadn't even gotten the phone back on its hook when it started to ring again, and when she checked her watch, she realized it was already two in the afternoon. David Webster was right on time. He and Verity had taken up the habit of calling almost as often as they wrote as soon as they'd both settled in back home. Accordingly, their spoken and written messages often crossed, and every few weeks, Verity would receive a letter with information Web had conveyed two days ago on a call and had changed since. It was good to hear he'd taken up sailing again and begun saving up for a bigger ship. So far, he'd gone out on the Atlantic six times since his return to Massachusetts and invited her to come with him someday. The academic year at Harvard was already in full swing, but Web was planning to re-enroll and complete his degree the following Autumn. Verity made him promise to send her a copy of his notes every now and again so she could learn a little something, too.

A postcard from Austria arrived on the same day as Perry's fourth and final time on the witness stand, a little over a month after Verity had come back to Alton. Though she hadn't expected any sort of missive from Major Winters, she hadn't known she'd needed to hear from him until she did. His note was brief but heartwarming, conveying that he'd be home by Christmas, that she was welcome to visit at any time, and most importantly, that she could rely on him even out of the service. She supposed he'd sent the same to every Easy veteran, but that only served to make the sentiment seem ever the kinder. Best of all was the note tacked on to the bottom, scribbled in minute handwriting far messier than Winters' but still fairly legible—an addition solely for Verity. All it said was "same here", but it took a kind of pinching weight off Verity's chest she hadn't even realized was still there. She hadn't been sure where she and Captain Nixon stood. Now she had relief; now she had closure.

Bill Guarnere called out of the blue a week into November. He and Verity talked and laughed and caught up for several hours, then several more once he got Babe Heffron on the line. Verity asked if Heffron had heard from Perry, and he told her they'd been writing. He and Bill knew about her by now, from the newspaper clipping she'd sent him, but they both seemed to have taken it well, once they got over the shock. Babe had settled the facts with himself far quicker than Bill, who started reeling all over again when Verity told him she'd known about Perry all along. Thinking it the wiser decision, Verity didn't correct them when they called her 'Victor' and teased her about still not having a girl of her own. When Bill asked about Perry and Joe Toye, her two cents were simply that it was "about time".

"I'll say," Babe said. "It all makes sense now, don't it? The way they'd look at each other."

"I still can't square it with meself," Bill laughed. "That kid's as much a dame in my head as you are, Rich."

Verity laughed a little harder than she probably should have, but Bill just roared along, and even Babe chuckled a bit.

"You'd better visit," Bill urged her, "you and Bloom. Together, if ya can."

"We will. Maybe sometime after Christmas, yeah? I've still got a few things to settle up here at home-" Including puzzling out how to tell you the truth without causing you to shortcircuit. "-but I'll call Perry and see if her and I can work something out."

"'Her'," Bill marveled, clucking his tongue. "Jesus. 'Her'."

"Don't think about it too hard, Bill," Verity said gravely, "you'll give yourself a headache."

"Hey-"

The next few weeks passed by without much incident. It was nice to have a bit of peace like that. The first time Verity went out by herself was right after Thanksgiving to get a wreath from the local Christmas tree farm. She took a hammer to the front door and tapped the nail into the same hole they'd used for the past twenty-some years, then adjusted the wreath until it no longer looked quite so crooked. The wreath was nice, and the Riches thought it was enough, wordlessly deciding against a tree. Maybe next year, they thought as they passed by the living room, looking at the empty window-side corner where, once upon a time, twinkling lights gleamed against the shadows and an angel's cloth halo brushed the ceiling. Verity hardly remembered the sight. They hadn't put up a Christmas tree since the year her mother passed away. Maybe next year, and their eyes made empty promises and their hands patted shoulders a little stiffer than before.

After she put up the wreath and it started to sink in that Winter was on its way, Verity took to occupying her every spare minute with some task or preoccupation. She sent a letter to Joe Liebgott right before Chanukah to wish him a happy holiday and to see if he'd settled in alright back in California. She knew Perry had been to see him once, but her friend had been oddly reticent about Lieb, and Verity had been nursing a walnut of worry in her chest ever since. All she wanted to hear was that Liebgott was doing fine—well, even—and she'd be satisfied. If he wasn't, then perhaps a trip to California was in her near future. She'd been dying to see Perry, after all, and Liebgott, whether he knew it or not, had stood by Verity's side when she needed it the most. She would be hard-pressed indeed to let distance interfere with the loyalty she owed him in return. It was almost funny, how she'd consider buying a ticket cross-country when just three or four years ago, she never would have imagined traveling outside the Northeast. Now she was ready to hop a train to Oakland at a moment's notice—and all it took to get her there was a war.

Her letter to Lieb was far from the only correspondence she cooked up that early December. Most afternoons, Verity could be found fiddling with paper, pens, felt, and glue, crafting Christmas cards for her friends from Easy. Once she finished her list and leaned back in her chair to examine it, she was surprised and humbled to realize just how long it was. She even penned a snowflake-adorned note to Captain Speirs, who was still somewhere out in Europe, continuing his career with the Airborne. Though she had her doubts about the card's timely arrival, she knew Winters would know how to reach Speirs (whereas she did not) and so sent the card through him. The rest, she could address herself. Nearly fifty cards went out over the course of a week, each personalized to its recipient, some more so than others, and for every single card she sent, she received one in return, and then some. She even heard from Floyd Talbert, who (rumor had it) had gone all but radio silent since his return to the States, and Smokey Gordon, who was finally able to write her back from that letter she'd sent him from Austria last May. He enclosed a copy of his latest villanelle, asking her advice on its rhythm and rhyme schemes, and in doing so began a lifelong correspondence between two kindred poets.

The first card to arrive bore Gene's return address, and it showed up the same day she put her card to him in the mail. He must have been thinking about her to have sent it so early. She couldn't help that fluttery feeling in her chest as she ran her thumb over his endearments and well wishes, wondering how his handwriting could be so pretty and fine. They wrote so often already, but this card felt different, in a way—he'd drawn a little dove in the margins of the card, and in its beak was a ribbon tied around a ring. She knew a promise when she saw one. He still wanted to marry her, and that was the best Christmas gift she could have asked for.

The next few cards came from Winters, Webster, Lipton, and Frank Perconte, all linked to Verity by the same time zone and postal service. The Southerners were quick to follow, with Shifty and Popeye sending a sweet and simple angel-adorned note while Bull's triple-folded memo included a dozen signatures from his whole family, including his fiancée Vera and Vera's parents. Babe and Bill sent theirs together, and Verity got a laugh out of how they'd stuffed three different cards into the envelope as if they'd squabbled so much about which to send that they'd resorted to making no decision at all. Then the West Coasters converged on the Riches' mailbox all at once, starting with Malarkey, all the way out in Astoria. Liebgott was next, and though Verity was surprised at how peculiarly thick the envelope seemed, she understood once she saw the four-page folded letter he'd enclosed with the card. It was his response to her how-do-you-do, and though Verity couldn't be more pleased to hear he was doing well for himself, when he asked her to come and visit if she could "get away from fucking work"—even in his letters, he couldn't help but cuss—she knew she'd be off to buy a railway ticket just as soon as the holiday rates went down.

But no card—besides Gene's—could bring Verity greater joy than that of Perry and Joe Toye's, whose signatures sat side-by-side under a flurry of well-wishes. Verity placed that lovely card, its cover a vision of a snow-blanketed steam train puffing through a starry night, right in the center of the mantel, packed in with all the others. By the 16th of the month, the windy day that blew George Luz into town, that mantel appeared to have sprouted a veritable forest of cardstock pines.

George had been planning his visit for months. He came prepared with a suitcase and a broad, unfailing smile, and Verity could not have picked a better war buddy to be the first to meet her father. They hit it off, especially once they discovered they both loved to work with their hands. George had resumed his handyman's work upon return to Rhode Island and was perfectly satisfied with his career; Nicholas, though retired, was still an avid leatherworker. He came this close to giving George a fully-stocked tool chest before their guest politely let slip that he (unsurprisingly) had his very own. Then they got into a conversation comparing wrench and socket manufacturers and Verity started to wonder if she'd ever get a minute to talk to George herself. Her father was quick to notice her antsiness, however, and refused to keep them any longer from their reunion.

That first day, Verity kept touching George's arm or shoulder or ruffling his hair in teasing, half because she'd missed him so dearly and half to make sure he was actually here, telling her all his old jokes and talking to her like he'd known her—the actual her—for years. He brought his Christmas card to give her in person, partly because he was good like that and partly because he wanted to see her reaction to the terrible tinsel-themed joke he wrote on the inside flap. They were light and happy and glad, but there was still snow on the ground outside, glaring frosty and unforgiving in the sunshine. Verity and George stayed indoors most of the week. The one time they went and stayed out was to ice-skate on frozen Lake Winnipesaukee on Verity's twenty-fourth birthday, and after that, they bundled up in blankets and cupped hot cocoa mugs so tight they almost burned their fingers.

It was no secret among the veterans still in contact that Winter was proving difficult for most of Easy who served in Bastogne. Verity bore the added weight of her mother having passed away just a few days after Christmas. Twenty-one years ago this December, she and her father had laid Marguerite Rich to rest in that hillside plot in the only cemetery in town. The only thing Verity remembered from the funeral was how it had begun to snow, white flakes peppering the casket as they lowered it into the earth. She took George to see the headstone, and if he cried an icy tear or two as he knelt there, let into a facet of her past not even Gene knew much about, she pretended not to see. They walked close together, shielding each other against the snow and ice delicately painting the lakeside landscape, already mumbling promises to see each other again once the frost had broken and the forest was green again. So Winter was not easy, but they made do with each other and a warm house to get back to at the early end of the day.

There was one thing Verity wanted in particular to show George but was too nervous to bring it up until the day before his leaving. Right before her friend's arrival, she'd had a breakthrough with her poetry. She'd realized one sleepless night, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom as visions of the rolling flowering fields of Holland swept through her head, that if she put aside the war years, she'd be ignoring the greatest emotional period of her life. She didn't have to write about the war part of the war. She could write about the parts that were good, the parts she'd look back on and smile because she was there with her friends and she was important and loved and protected. When she settled it with herself that she wouldn't be breaking her promise to Shifty after all—that's what set her in motion. She barely slept that night. When her father came in and found her on the carpet the next morning (again), he was pleasantly surprised to discover her surrounded by dozens of penned pages and an ink stain that had bled into the bottom hem of her sleep shirt.

She showed those poems to George, tucked neatly into their manila folder as she passed them over a dropped-egg-on-toast breakfast table. She could barely eat another bite, tapping her foot under the table in her anxiety, and as George flipped through the loose leaf sheets, she watched the minutia of his expression for any sign of his opinion. To her utter relief, he seemed to like her work, and when he told her how impressed he was, she turned several shades of pink. He insisted that she send him an autographed copy of the collection once she'd had it published; with a new sense of purpose blossoming in her chest, she humbly promised she would.

George left for Rhode Island on the morning of Christmas Eve, wanting to be with his family for the holidays. Verity hugged him goodbye and didn't care how obvious she made it that she didn't much want him to go. He kissed the top of her head in the kind of brotherly fashion that made her heart ache for the siblings she might have had if cancer hadn't taken her mother so soon, and when he waved goodbye, leaning out the train window despite the freezing morning, she watched him until the train was gone, leaving trees and empty tracks and Verity behind.

The morning of the 31st was growing late when the Riches' doorbell chimed through their home. Verity and her father had taken to the kitchen, making peppermint cookies and preparing to stay up until midnight. Bing Crosby crooned "Jingle Bells" from the radio in the living room, almost drowning out the I'll get it that Verity called over her shoulder as she swept past the archway. She wiped her hands off on her apron, its grey stripes now dotted with sticky red candy cane residue and clingy white flour. She paused in the foyer to tug it off and tossed it onto the little bench they kept to help her father put on his shoes, curiosity getting the better of her neatness. Then she opened the door and there he was, cracking that slow, content smile she didn't think she'd ever get to see like this, silhouetted by the snow and a thick beige scarf.

They'd discussed him visiting, playing with dates, but none sooner than Springtime next year. And yet, here he was, promises on paper fulfilled as he stood before her. There was a small rose in the buttonhole of his jacket. Verity wasn't sure if he meant to impress her or her father but didn't much care because he was here, on her doorstep in Alton, his eyes wide and wet with emotion.

"Gene," was all she could manage in a gasp before she simply had to throw herself into his arms.

They stayed like that for some time, just standing on the porch, breathing in the moment. The cold pressing on their lungs felt insignificant now that they had each other again. Footsteps came up behind them, followed by a chuckle.

"I think I could probably guess our company, but if you wouldn't mind the interruption..."

Verity slowly stepped back but did not let go of Gene. She kept his hand in her own, and having him there, at her side, was just so right that she nearly started to cry. Gene brushed away a stray tear of his own and she squeezed his hand, a smile growing on her lips as she looked between her beloved and her father.

"Pa," she said, breathing in deep the frosty air, "I'd like you to meet Eugene."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[mechahero]

//Some HypnoOutlaw AU stuff because I have a problem

Lambda's username on there is jetixis (or cyberworldz maybe? If I go down the cyberworldz username route, he'd use it out of spite or some attempt to seem cool because it's ironic to use the name of Hypno.space's competitor while being on HS. Even though he uses Hypno.space and doesn't use CyberWorldZ at all.)

His desktop wallpaper is the classic light green and slightly darker shade of green checkered background. Or a Taurus X wallpaper. He changes between the two a lot.

Listen, his display settings are Squisherz themed, except for the sound which is default. His cursor setting is HS default or this cool gauntlet cursor he found while poking around one night. His screensaver is Oozle Drip.

Motor City isn't a thing but he still does live in Virginia. I don't know where in it yet.

He's usually on HS to hang out with people. He's kind of lonely in real life and uses the internet as a method to connect with other people and talk with them!

Yes, he has a virtual pet. It's Mushi. He used to have an April the Flying Hamster but he made the mistake of taking a weeklong break from HS and it sort of... died? (I know the pets don't actually decline or die when you log off but roll with it.) He's still upset about it.

The song that plays on his page is either Wild Sleep, or he managed to scoot around HS's copyright system so he can have Platinum Retriever or Glamopaster #2 as his page theme.

His page is... well, it's not really weird exactly. It's kind of just average? Imagine a page for a heavily masc 18 year old but slightly juxtaposed by the fact that he often talks about cute things he likes. And the background being pink perhaps, that too. Maybe a mix of cool and cutesy gifs and stuff.

He just kind of talks about whatever! From the music he likes, the shows and games he likes to watch and play. Average stuff. He won't shut the hell up about KATACLYSM and a vampire show he likes though.

Has a page dedicated to Taurus X. He wanted to make a fan club so he could talk about it with other fans of the show but he wasn't sure how to do that, so it's just a page.

Has an unlisted page that's tucked away. It mostly functions as a diary. It's more of a place for him to try and put his thoughts and feelings. It's rarely updated due to how weird he feels about it.

He has another unlisted page which is basically just a place for him to put his fanfiction. He mostly writes a lot of worldbuilding stuff for the world his character is in. He very rarely writes stories about his character, which is a cyborg catboy that takes cues from JRPG protagonists. (Just... roll with it. Please.)

Has a third unlisted page where he posts screenshots of drama he comes across and talks about it. Think like Gossip Girl. Lambda tends to follow these bouts of drama very closely. It's mostly for his eyes only as he's aware that it's really fucking weird to post about someone else's drama publicly, hence the unlisted page. Doesn't stop him from getting into the occasional fight outside of that page though. Because never knowing when to keep his mouth shut is just consistent with Lambda no matter the verse.

He's a sparklehaze disliker, sorry. He's tried to like it but it's not his thing. Dislikes a lot of cosmic music and coolpunk songs as well.

Ironic considering he's a Fre3zer fan lmaooo (he only likes Icy Girl and that's it so that doesn't even count.)

Secret Seepage fan. He keeps it to himself but Lambda really does like their songs. He just doesn't want to be made fun of for listening to the HS equivalent of nu metal lmao.

He's just kind of nosy. His nights when not spent in ChitChat talking to his friends or posting on his page consist of going onto other people's pages and looking through them. He has a lot of fun going through rabbit holes and seeing just how many pages are connected to each other. The downside is that he tends to find a lot of weird stuff. But hey, that kind of happens so he's not too bothered by it, he just moves on.

You know Lambda would have the HS_Lifestyles badge on his page. And HS_Music. And HS_GamersOnly while we're at it. He's not subscribed to a lot of things.