#always very very baffled @ new people following me

[padfootastic]

hmmmmm i’ve seemed to have hit another ~follower milestone~ and i just—

why

[randomreasonstolive]

Hello there all you lovely shining stars.

N here, with some pretty bad news...

(I'll put it behind a cut to avoid triggering anyone)

C is the person who actually runs this blog. He works tirelessly to make sure this blog always, ALWAYS has reasons in the queue in advance, just in case. There's currently over a month prepared, because he loves y'all, loves this blog, and loves to put in the time to help people.

C is a full-time care giver. At work, he care gives for three wonderful elderly ladies. When he gets home, he care gives for me, N, as I am disabled. And then, in his spare time, he care gives for y'all by working hard on this blog.

C is the most wonderful, amazing person I know, and it really baffles me that something like this could happen to someone like him.

Recently, C was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.

We unfortunately live in America, where getting diagnosed with Cancer means a massive financial burden. Up until this point we've been doing very good financially, which has been a wonderful switch up from years ago, when we had to ask our community for help just to pay rent.

Now, I worry about our ability to afford things like food, basic needs, and rides to and from the hospital (we don't drive). His insurance company is refusing to pay for his treatment (yes, they're refusing to pay for CANCER treatments), and the minimal paid leave he is eligible for has had it's processing delayed.

Basically, we're financially struggling all over again, because C has cancer, and we live in America.

So what does this mean for y'all?

Well, as I mentioned, C always has the blog filled out ahead of time. He will absolutely make sure that the queue doesn't run out, so y'all don't have to worry about that.

I unfortunately do feel the need to reach out and ask for your help. It pains me to be put in this position again after years of not having to ask for help, but the current circumstances have really hit us hard.

So, what can you do to help?

Well,

Here is our Amazon wish list, if you'd like to help that way. We currently have some food and necessities on there;

Amazon Wishlist

Or, our paypal account is teamcibby@gmail.com

Currently, our biggest need is a new mattress, which is where any funds that go to our paypal will be headed.

C's cancer is the worst in his hips and our current mattress is such poor quality that I have to sleep on the floor. His doctors have insisted that good rest is important for him to heal, and he hasn't been getting very good rest on our current mattress. He wakes up every morning in more pain than he would if we had a good mattress, so getting one is our main goal.

I am so, so sorry to tell you all this bad news. C really didn't want to burden any of you with this, which is why I'm the one making this post.

We both love you all so, so much. Thank you to every single one of you for existing, you matter so much to us and to everyone who follows this blog.

~N

[thedensworld]

Sweet Macaroons | C.Sc

Pairing: Gangster!Seungcheol x Baker!Reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Words Count: ±600

Summary: Seungcheol was far from pleased when a food critic posted a negative review that started to impact your sales. He couldn't stand to see you upset.

In the midst of a picturesque five months, Seungcheol, with an air of exclusivity, tenderly asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything seemed to move in slow motion around you, as if the universe itself was savoring the moment. His crew, astounded, couldn't fathom that a humble bakery owner just down the block from their bar had captured their boss's heart. He had transformed into something they never imagined: a unabashedly cheesy boy. Even Jeonghan, Seungcheol's right-hand man, remained baffled by the depth of his friend's infatuation with you. He couldn't quite grasp what had caused Seungcheol to fall so hard until he witnessed how Seungcheol would gladly stop the world at your command.

As an example of Seungcheol's devotion, he had gone as far as hiring a bodyguard to watch over you and ensure your safety. Seungcheol, ever mysterious about his business, would simply say, "I do business in Seoul and Busan," which, in its own way, was true. He owned nearly a hundred bars and nightclubs, not to mention his own association—a realm of details you didn't need to delve into.

Your bodyguard, Jun, who currently disguised as a barista in your bakery, would dutifully relay every detail to Seungcheol. This included mundane activities like your trips to the grocery store, visits from friends at the bakery, or even encounters with rude customers. Despite being in the know about your daily affairs through Jun, Seungcheol cherished hearing you recount your day, especially when it involved a customer that cussed on you. He'd teasingly inquire, "Should I track him down and make him pay?" A promise he would have swiftly fulfilled if you had not said, "No, you don't have to. I'll give him a piece mind when I'm a billionaire."

At times, Seungcheol really wants to say, "Marry me, and you can cuss him back in an instant." He was acutely aware of the influence he held.

However, he received an extremely irritating message from Jun, stating that a popular food critic had left a scathing review on their social media, claiming to have found a fly and cockroach legs in your sweets. This review had a detrimental impact on your sales and the overall image of the bakery, as people began leaving unpleasant comments on your social media platforms.

"Jeonghan, do you know this person?" Seungcheol inquired, displaying a video of the food critic.

Jeonghan confirmed, "Yeah, they're a very influential food critic."

Seungcheol nodded thoughtfully and hummed, "Do you know how to contact them?" he pressed further.

"I think we just need to get in touch with their management. They'll provide you with the pricing for their content," Jeonghan explained, prompting another question from Seungcheol.

"Then we can have them review our food however we want?" Jeonghan nodded, "Why? Are you thinking about having them promote our new foodbar?" he inquired.

Seungcheol shook his head, simultaneously signaling to Jeonghan that he wanted to be dropped off at your bakery.

Jun had informed Seungcheol that you had closed the bakery early today due to the lack of customers following the internet sensation. When Seungcheol arrived, only Jun was present in the bakery. He mentioned that you had gone to the convenience store for a few minutes. As Seungcheol patiently waited at one of the tables, you returned with a plastic bag in hand. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't immediately notice him. Instead, you went straight to Jun, telling him he could go home. Jun subtly gestured towards Seungcheol, indicating that he was waiting for you.

"Hi..." Your voice, though soft as always, carries a subtle shade of sadness. Seungcheol swears he can hear it, a touch of blue in your tone.

He smiles, approaching you and subtly signaling for Jun to leave the shop.

"Are you okay? I saw it online," Seungcheol asks gently once Jun has vanished from view.

You smile back at him, but tears well up in your eyes, trickling down your cheeks. You turn away, hiding your face from him as you wipe away the tears. Seungcheol's heart aches at the sight, a feeling he's never experienced before, like someone's squeezing his heart, causing a deep ache.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, turning you to face him and pulling you into an embrace. He can feel the tightness in his chest intensify when he hears you sob.

This is the first time he's seen you cry in the five months you've been dating. He swears he'd never want to be the cause of your tears, let alone someone else.

"It's okay, baby. Bad things happen sometimes. It's not your fault," he reassures you as you try to explain how diligently you maintain your bakery's hygiene and ensure the freshness of ingredients. There's no way the accusations the food critic made could be true.

Seungcheol noticed the contents of the plastic bag you had been holding earlier: cleaning soap and equipment. His heart breaks once again, this time tinged with anger.

"Let's go home and rest, okay? I'll hire someone to clean the shop. I don't want to see you laboring with a heavy heart like this," he insists.

Seungcheol calls Jeonghan and swiftly arranges for his people to clean your shop. He drives you home, ensuring you have a proper dinner before settling down for some much-needed rest. Once you're peacefully asleep, he quietly slips away, reaching out to Jun and Jeonghan.

"Get them for me before midnight. Alive," he instructs.

Seungcheol doesn't concern himself with the specifics of how they carried out his request. But when his people successfully bring them to his office, he finally confronts the face that caused his girl to cry.

"What's your name?" Seungcheol asks, rising from his seat and approaching them.

"Who put you up to this?" Seungcheol presents their damning post about your bakery to their face. Poor soul, Seungcheol thinks. This food critic probably never imagined they'd be dragged in by a gangster and subjected to an interrogation like this.

Once Seungcheol acquires the name, he signals his people to reveal the extent of their capabilities. Images of their family and significant other are displayed, and they immediately plead for an apology, expressing regret for their actions.

"You should've thought about that before you posted that garbage," Seungcheol states, fixing them with a steely gaze.

"Upload a clarification video about your previous review. Go to that bakery tomorrow and apologize to the owner. Post both of those things before lunch if you want to spare them," Seungcheol directs, referring to the individuals in the photos as he delivers his unwavering ultimatum.

*

"It was a very wrong act of me to accept the offer to give a bad review to another bakery. I deeply apologize to the owner and my followers for doing such a wrong thing."

Seungcheol smiled at you as you showed him the video from the same account that had claimed they found a cockroach leg on your macaroon.

"See! I knew that my bakery and kitchen have passed the hygiene standards," you said, placing your phone down. There was a visible pout on your face, prompting Seungcheol to let out a chuckle.

"You're too cute," Seungcheol teased, pinching your cheek. He was relieved to see no trace of tears like the previous night.

You gently pulled his hand from your cheek as you stood up to restock the macaroon stall, which was nearly empty. Seungcheol couldn't help but smile as he watched you, his girl, his love, engrossed in the work you adored.

"Before you go, want a macaroon and your favorite latte?" you offered. He swore he would nod to anything you said.

"Here! I've packed some for your staff as well," you added, handing him boxes filled with sweets and a bundle of coffees for Seungcheol and Jeonghan.

He wouldn't let anyone steal your smile, even if he had to stop the world.

[cleolinda]

I’ve read a few of the umpteen thousand upset comments about the paid Watcher service, and I’ve read comments angry about the upset comments. There’s one thing I want to point out, and it’s that this isn’t, or shouldn’t be, “You’re saying people don’t deserve to earn money for their work.”

The Watcher guys do deserve to earn money. I already give them money. I give them $5 a month on Patreon, not because I think they do or don’t give me $5 worth of media, but because I want to support them. I canceled Netflix for pissing me off with its price hike/ad tier, but I give Watcher Entertainment money.

They’re saying now that the Patreon will be solely about the podcasts, and they understand if people leave. I’m perfectly happy to switch the support I can afford to the streaming service. With the early adopter 30% discount, I’d actually save money. In fact, I tried to subscribe, but the site didn’t work.

Watcher wanting to profit from their shows isn’t the problem. It’s that they’re now discovering that their fanbase is young and broke in a terrible economy, judging by tens of thousands of comments on multiple platforms. I can throw them $5/month, so I do. But the Patreon only has (checks notes) 5874 paying followers, and there’s a reason for that. $60/year upfront would not be “accessible.” Patreon is literally patronage from the people who can afford it.

If the guys had said up front, “ONLY new shows and episodes will be exclusive to the service,” I think we’d be having a different conversation right now. But at first they did say, “We’re pulling all our content from YouTube,” to the point where Variety had to issue an update. Like, that’s in print and I’m pretty sure it was on video. Now they’ve backtracked to ONLY new etc.—but most people haven’t heard, and they feel crushed. And the trust is probably gone regardless.

So now four years of back catalogue will stay public. And now, you’re paying $6.99 a month for one episode, maybe two, of something a week, and now, not an exclusive back catalogue. I would pay for Watcher shows before I’d pay for anyone else, but I just don’t think the company is big enough yet for a SVOD at that price. They’re not Dropout size. They needed to build more programming and get a higher follower count first, or at the very least, charge less.

The international price/exchange rate situation is a nightmare and I don’t know what it is they’re not doing to make it… not… be like that.

I don’t know what they should have done instead of a full streaming service, but surely there were alternatives? I’ve seen comments from people suggesting they GET a Patreon. Lean on that more! Do the shows exclusive for a month and then let them roll onto YouTube! I don’t know! Anything but One More Fucking Streaming Service, which enraged me, and I was willing to move my support to it!

And I shouldn’t say this, but I will. In the “Goodbye YouTube” video the guys posted, they say that setting up the streaming service has allowed Steven to do a remake of Worth It where he and his cohosts travel the world and eat expensive food. This is the first new show they announce. Not “We have always been committed to diversity and we’re now able to bring on new creator(s) to expand our programming.” No, a redo of an old show that by definition has got to be expensive. Commenters are saying they can’t pay for the streaming service because they can’t make ends meet in this economy. The optics are terrible. I genuinely question what the thought process even was here.

I love the guys and I still watch their shows. I want to see Watcher succeed. I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved in 2018 while recovering from surgery—as with a lot of people, their shows got me through a tough time. I’m as attached as anyone. If I can continue to afford monthly support—this is not a certainty—I’ll give it to them. I’m not a ~hater who doesn’t want Watcher to make money. But I am absolutely BAFFLED by every single decision here. I want them to figure out how to turn this around and go in a better direction, because right now, this ain’t it.

[comicaurora]

I've started making my way through the playlist hbomberguy made of actually good video essays by queer creators and spotted a comment of yours on the one about the relationship between Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, which was fun xD red in the wild!

Anyways, just wanted to appreciate how both you and Blue and you are very good at showing your sources! It's always nice to know that the people you've watched for years have good habits after an event like this, and I hope you guys are among the people that get some new fans after this whole debacle, because your channel definitely qualifies for "good educational videos made by queer people"

I'm glad! Blue's much better about listing his sources and follow-up reading than I am.

To be honest, I loved the video, but my imposter syndrome always flares like crazy when I watch an essay like that. It might be the ADHD or it might just be who I am as a person, but I feel like I've lived my whole life striving to make everything I do the best it can be, and still managing to fuck up and get criticised for things I could've done better if only I never missed anything. It's an actual gut-drop when it turns out a source I used wasn't trustworthy, or when in older videos I only went wiki-deep for some claims and didn't check every source to be 100% sure I wasn't being goat-fish'd. And this being the internet, I can get criticized at any time for things I've gotten wrong years ago, since it's evergreen online and to the new-viewing critic it's as fresh as yesterday. It makes it hard for me to stay proud of my work past the first moment of "oh I would've done that different now". There's a cocktail of complicated, scary feelings around this space, no matter how little I actually have in common with the bad guys of this scenario - it's less about the reality and more about who my imposter syndrome tells me I am. I saw several people saying that the video actually made them feel much better about their own work because it made it clear that accidental plagiarism on that scale is impossible, but if my anxieties listened to reason I would've successfully machete'd them out of my skull years ago. I just hope I never fuck up badly enough to deserve an hbombing of my own.

But my own stress aside, the hbomb essay exposed a level of laxness, laziness and entitlement on the part of these plagiarists that I think is almost incomprehensible to people who actually create for a living or even just the joy of it. How hollow do you have to be to take in someone else's writing and not consider it, digest it, let it reshape your views and then formulate your own interpretation on it, but instead to file off the serial numbers and pretend it's yours, trusting that the person whose thoughts and words you valued enough to steal will never be powerful enough to call you out on it? I go down research rabbit holes because I love the frustration and thrill of putting something together! How joyless it must be to skim the surface and borrow someone else's conclusions!

I've sometimes had people email asking for sources on parts of my interpretation of various myths, possibly in the interest of source-citing for school papers (a nightmare concept in and of itself) and with very few exceptions I usually have to tell them "the only sources were the english translations I used of the primary source where the myth was originally written, like I said in the video, and the part where I said I was conspiracy-boarding has no source other than my own analysis of the given source, which is why I called it conspiracy-boarding" and I was always a little baffled by those emails - half the videos are introduced like "this is The Prose Edda" or "this is in Ovid's Metamorphoses" or "this bit is Hesiod" so what else could they want - but seeing the hbomb of the week made me realize that truly original analysis might not be what most people are expecting from a "thing summarized." They might be expecting a compilation of other people's summaries instead.

[zarla-s]

Please don't take this as me being angry or trying to be rude or anything, but this ask is... baffling to me?? For a variety of reasons, haha.

Like, I don't set out to create a "fandom" around my stuff when I do things, I just do them cause I feel like it and sometimes I get lucky enough that people enjoy it and feel inspired to create or talk about it! I'm not really trying to fill a void left by one of these "fandoms" by making a new "fandom" around things I make, I'm just doing stuff.

The idea of a stockpile of interests getting too big is also bizarre to me? Like... for an example of both things, you can watch Stamp on the Ground, it's chock full of all kinds of weird obscure interests of mine I just put in there because I liked them, and I since have many many more. There isn't really a limit to how many interests you can have!

Mentioning abandoning TF2 is also very funny to me because I kind of already did that once?? When I started drawing it again in 2023 I was coming back to it, the last time I drew anything for it was 2009. Twelve years where I didn't even touch it! Starting up again was the last thing I expected and yet here I am!

Which relates to the greater point I guess which is that my interests and inspiration don't just die and disappear, they just go dormant. They're always waiting there for the right cue to wake them up, and I can never predict when it happens. TF2 is the most recent example! But Vargas is a long-running one, I take huge hiatuses from it where I don't write or draw or think about it for a long time, but it's always there in the back of my mind. I went absolutely nuts for it around 2020 and then it went back to sleep for the most part, but I still get ideas every now and then. It's not gone. It's just taking a break.

All the things I like and make stuff for are like that. There are a few I don't see myself coming back to any time soon, but then again I thought that about TF2 and now I've made the most elaborate site I've ever made for it. I can't predict these things. What'll be next? I have no idea. MGS again? StarCon2? Ace Attorney? Or maybe it'll be something new? Who knows!

And I think describing one of those "fandoms" as crumbling and dying is a bit unfair... I don't think of it like that. I mean, I started Vargas in 2003 and I last updated it in 2021 and I'm still hearing from new people that just got into it! All the stuff I've made is still "alive" in that way. I do feel guilty in that transition period between one interest and another because I feel like I'm disappointing people who followed me for that one thing though, haha. But what can you do? Gotta do my thing! Follow where my heart leads me! Not everyone's going to be along for the ride, and that's fine.

(Those of you have stuck around through all my different interests, I appreciate you deeply <3)

[moonstruckme]

hiii i would love a tasm! peter where reader has just moved out of home for the first time and is feeling a bit lonely! peter comes over and keeps them company, maybe they make dinner or have a movie night :)

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: reader deals with loneliness

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 753 words

You open your door to the smell of smoke. Instantly you beeline towards the kitchen, worried you’d left the stove on or your new apartment came with some faulty wiring, but you find yourself blocked at the threshold. A tall figure steps into your way. 

“Please don’t—” 

You gasp and jump at the same time, up and back, and Peter has to grab your arms to keep you from tripping over the couch. 

“Freak out,” he finishes. He grins as he rights you, eyes light with amusement. “Sorry, there were probably better ways to do that.” 

“Fuck,” you sigh, bending and setting your hands on your knees. “Peter, what the hell? How did you get in here?” 

“You left your window unlocked.” Peter lets you go, holding his hands aloft for a second to make sure you don’t topple before stepping back. “Super not safe, by the way. I’m not the only person in New York who knows how to climb a fire escape.” 

You shake your head, baffled, before remembering your original concern. “Are you burning something?” 

He winces. “Not intentionally.” 

You raise your eyebrows and move past him, into your kitchen. Peter follows behind. 

“It’s out,” he assures you. You spot a smoldering dish in the sink, the charred remains of what you suppose was once food submerged in cold water. At least the smoke seems to be thin, clinging to the ceiling and drifting slowly out your open kitchen window. “I thought I could be fancy and make something, but, uh, reinforcements have been called.” 

You turn. “Reinforcements?” 

Peter grins sheepishly. “Pizza.” 

A little laugh sputters out of you, and his grin softens around the edges. 

“Can I get a hug?” he asks. 

You step forward willingly, the remainders of the day’s exhaustion seeping out of you as Peter wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders. You squeeze his middle in return, resting your cheek on his chest and wishing stupidly that you could fall asleep just like this. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Peter’s tone is teasing, but it’s still a bit gentler than usual, mushy fond. “Where else would I be? You thought you could move to Staten Island and get away from me?” 

“It’s kind of far,” you admit. 

“You’re delusional. You don’t get to have an apartment all by yourself, you’re stuck with me and my mooching forever. This is our new apartment.” 

“Really?” you ask, though the words have happiness and affection sprouting to life in your chest. When you’d moved here on your own, you’d figured it would seem empty without your family but you hadn’t known how much you would feel it. You like the freedom, having control of your own schedule and how you decorate and which things go in the dishwasher, but you miss having people around. It’s been so easy to fall into a routine characterized by solitude, with nothing but work to make you leave the apartment and no one to keep you company when you’re home. “You gonna pay rent?” 

Peter squishes his cheek into the top of your head. Unbeknownst to you, he’s picked up on all of this. You’ve been calling him more since you’d moved in here, late at night and in the middle of the day. He’s gotten the sense you just want to talk to someone. He’s always happy to be that someone, but sometimes the phone doesn’t cut it. The trip from Queens to Staten Island isn’t a short one, but he’s going to be making it more often. He’s missed seeing you, your sweet face and the way your eyes crackle when you look at him. 

He pulls back, and they’re doing it now. You’re smiling at Peter like he’s the best thing you’ve seen all week, which is very flattering, but it seems like a low bar. 

“I’m thinking I’ll pay thirty percent of utilities,” he says. “Sound fair?” 

“Totally fair,” you agree, rolling your eyes. 

He grins. “Perfect. You’re getting a great deal, here, sweetheart. I’m already providing pizza and a movie.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “A movie?” 

Peter goes to your couch, whipping up the DVD case. “Yup. Blu-ray.” 

You’re smiling so big he can see all your teeth, but you shake your head. “Oh, Peter.” 

“What?” 

“I just moved in here. Why would you think I had a DVD player?” 

Peter’s head rolls back, an odd breath leaving him that’s half sigh, half laugh. “I guess that’s another thing I’m getting you, huh?”

[medicetwork]

Mercs if they had modern day cellphones!

Heavy:

The screen is too small and his fingers are too big.

The screen also tends to hurt his eyes after a while but he absolutely refuses to turn down the brightness, saying it would make it even harder to see than before

His main favorite functions are video calls with Medic or his family and listening to music.

His life is complete when he discovers E-books

He can’t read them on the screen but he loves being able to clean Sasha while having his favorite book read to him

Medic:

Really doesn’t use it for much else than phone calls and the occasional google search at first

When he discovers mobile games that takes his interest though!

He becomes a candy crush mom.

Oh you have a broken arm? Wellll…You can tough it out, champ. He’s on level 7,229 right now.

He would make all the other men get Life360

Scout:

Total social media zombie(I say as if I am not one)

Surprisingly he’s very popular on apps like Twitter and Tik Tok. People think he’s hilarious!

Unfortunately somewhere along the way he says something less than respectful about something and his account gets banned

Eventually he’s on account number 6 and trying to regrow his following

It never recovers

He finds out about NFT’s

Sniper:

Mainly uses it to watch youtube and play music

His phone is always on silent and Do Not Disturb

He loves those videos where those guys go out into the middle of the woods and just start building a fucking house out of clay and sticks.

He prefers texting to calling, finding it much faster(he just like me fr)

Baffled by just how much porn he has access to now….

But he’s not complaining.

Soldier:

He doesn’t use it because he just keeps breaking his phones.

They’ve been dropped, blown up, set ablaze, dropped in water, eaten by a bread-tumor monster, eaten by Soldier(???) and run over.

Even if they didn’t get destroyed within 3 days he still wouldn’t use it for much else besides setting alarms and sending confusing group texts.

However, with each new phone he has gotten he asks Pyro for stickers and sticker bombs his phone just for fun

Has an American flag wallpaper

Pyro:

Watches a lot of Youtube!

They love art tutorials, cooking tutorials and those videos with the guys that put molten hot metal balls into water and those videos of people crushing things in Hydraulic presses

Their search history is so fucking strange:

“my little pony free episode”

“my little pony movie free”

“how to draw clouds”

“gasoline cheap prices”

They follow Scout’s pages and always send him nice comments and like his videos

Engineer:

Loves listening to music and watching movies on his phone

Eventually learns how to code and make his own apps

This is also how he discovered he could jailbreak his phone and turn it into a universal remote for his sentries

Very slow texter

Uses way more emoji’s than needed

“Hello yall 👋🏻 going to the hardware store today 🔨let me know if yall need anything while im out👋🏻🚶🏼”

His most used app is the settings app

Spy:

Of course all of his phones are burners.

He never uses one for more than one week

Loves pirating movies on it and watching them in bed

He has no contacts. No personal information and keeps his location off at all times

Likes to pretend to be different people and play around with Google and Youtube’s targeted ads and algorithms

One day he’s an 86 year old woman that’s recommended nothing but metal bands and funeral home ads

The next week he’s four years old and getting recommended Mario and Minecraft let’s play videos

He uses twitter

He’s doxxed many people on Twitter

Like Scout he has MANY banned accounts and has also hacked and stolen many accounts

…He hacked one of Scout’s accounts and got it permanently banned

Demoman:

Loves watching Top 10 videos

Also loves having so much ease and access talking to his lads

He video calls his mother often even she just nags him the whole time and keeps accidentally hanging up

Is frequently texting the other team’s Soldier and laughing at what he says back

Uses Discord and Reddit and is in many servers and communities that focus on paranormal activity, urban legends and cryptids

Actually makes his own youtube videos searching for said cryptids

Frequently comments “cringe” under Scout’s posts

[pokemonshelterstories]

Hi, Charlie! How you doing? I have a little of a predicament here, see I have a Cyndaquil (Pepper) and a kanto, senior Persian (Roberta), she's a retired contest pokémon that belonged to one of my friend's parents.

Roberta spends most of her time sleeping these days, but she's fairly friendly and social with Pepper and other pokemon she meets! Problem arose when a coworker gifted me a Skiploom during a santa's secret party, apparently just because I said I liked that pokemon and they just... got it...from some random market????? I was baffled, but the little Skiploom is usually a sweetheart and doesn't seem to have behavorial problems besides getting into petty fights with passing drifloom and other flying pokemon when she's out of the house (is that normal? i thought skipbloom were gentle and timid)

My biggest fear was Cyndaquil, being a fire type, but they got along nicely, but Roberta just...apparently hates this Skiploom! And started to do very strange things she didnt' do before, she does as much as smell the skiploom floral scent and will go wild and use fury swipes on the walls and floor. She sneaks into the room were I keep the Skiploom to bite her toys and toss her water bowl. And if the Skiploom is on the same room by accident (since i try to keep them separate), Roberta will straight up use power gen (her sight it's bad at her age, so it always misses, but it's concerning) And if Roberta gets agressive, Pepper seems to follow her lead and will run around and growl.

It's there a way to handle this? I don't want to release the Skiploom since I fear they could be a born-into captivity one, but all this agression and activity is very bad for an old pokemon like Roberta. Should I give away Skiploom or take them to a shelter?

yeah...i wish people wouldnt get pokemon as gifts unless someone has specifically requested that pokemon. it tends to lead to situations like this.

unfortunately, this sounds like a bad situation all around. persian are territorial and fairly aggressive pokemon, and raising them as single pokemon is hard enough before you add other pokemon into the equation. they don't adjust easily to new pokemon in the household, and at her age roberta may be beyond the point where she's willing to tolerate a new addition.

my concern is that this is clearly stressful for all three pokemon. roberta is obviously stressed to the point that she's actively trying to hunt out the skiploom. pepper's aggression in response to roberta's aggression is likely to be a stress response. and obviously getting attacked out of what seems like nowhere is going to be stressful for the skiploom! a stressed skiploom is going to release a lot of sweet scent to try and diffuse the conflict, which will just perpetuate the issue.

while this could potentially be managed through very strict pokeball rotation scheduling, i think in this case that's probably not the best idea. roberta is still going to smell the skiploom around the house. i'm worried that all this stress isn't healthy for her, and it might cause her relationship to pepper to turn sour. it sounds like the best choice to make here is to rehome the skiploom. you can take it to a shelter, though you'll likely have to pay a surrender fee. alternatively, you can try to rehome it yourself using the global trading network.

thank you for doing your best for this little guy- that was a tough situation for you to be put in

[roosterforme]

The One Where He Puts His Foot in His Mouth | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley takes his stress out on you, and you let him know that's unacceptable. 

Warnings: Angst and Smut

Length: 3100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You?

Check my masterlist.

Bradley was feeling stressed out. He had moved everything from the barracks into his new house, and there were boxes all over the place. The new furniture he ordered was scattered in every room, waiting until he had time to assemble it. The clutter was killing him, setting his nerves on edge. He usually liked to keep a very tidy living space.

And on top of that, you had agreed to move in with him in December, just a few weeks from now. He wanted you here, he really did, but you'd already moved some of your random stuff in, just adding to the mess.

So he collapsed on the couch to collect his thoughts while you cooked dinner in the kitchen. 

"I have a great idea, Roo! How about we have some people over for a Friendsgiving dinner the day after Thanksgiving? We can cook our turkey that day instead! It'll be so fun!"

He grunted from the couch. It really didn't sound like all that much fun to him, but he definitely wasn't going to tell you that. "Maybe just Phoenix and Bob?" he suggested, tossing an arm over his eyes. 

"Yeah, I guess I'll see who is available," you told him happily. "This will be great. We have a week to plan everything."

------------------------------------------

Thanksgiving was the best holiday Bradley could remember experiencing in his life. He spent it with you. Only you. He had fun helping you make a lasagna since you were saving the turkey for when Phoenix and Bob came over for dinner tomorrow. Then you snuggled with him on the couch, let him watch football for a few hours, and gave him a blowjob. By the time dinner was ready, you had opened two beers, set the table and called him over to eat. 

"I love this domestic shit, Baby Girl. Living with you is going to be awesome," he told you as he pulled you onto his lap at the dining room table. 

You laughed and gave him a kiss before pulling your plate closer and taking a bite. "I can't wait to be fully moved in with you in just a few more weeks."

Bradley took a bite as well and groaned, because everything you cooked was always delicious. "Gonna be perfect. Just like this, every day. You and me. No fights. Just sex and happiness."

"Sounds good, Roo."

-----------------------------------------

The following day, Bradley had to report to base for the morning, but you were off for the whole day. You had slept over and got right to work in the kitchen first thing, making Friendsgiving dinner. He popped in to get some coffee as he was leaving. 

"This looks like a lot of food, Baby Girl," he commented as he filled his travel mug. 

"Does it? I was thinking it might not be enough." 

Bradley looked around at the ten pound bags of potatoes, boxes of stuffing mix, bundles of carrots, and piles of baking supplies. He could barely see his kitchen counters. 

"I mean, I guess you're the expert," he told you with a kiss to your temple. "I'll be back after lunch."

But when he returned from work, he was even more baffled. The house smelled incredible, but there was so much damn food. You had five pies lined up on the table, timers were going off, disposable bakeware filled the island, and you looked very frazzled. 

"Need any help, Sweetheart?" he asked cautiously. 

"No, I'm good. Everyone will be here in about an hour." 

Bradley scratched his head. "What do you mean by everyone? It's just Phoenix and Bob, right?"

You turned slowly to look directly at him. "No.... it's a few more people than that, Roo. Weren't you listening the other night when I told you that?"

"Listening when? The night I was putting together all of the furniture I bought?"

"Maybe?"

"Well no, Y/N, I probably wasn't paying too much attention to this Friendsgiving thing. Because I thought it was just Phoenix and Bob."

You looked a little panicked, and Bradley immediately felt bad. He ran his hand through his hair. "I just wanted to get the house in order before we had a bunch of people over, but I'm sure it's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm going to get a shower and get dressed before they arrive," Bradley mumbled as he stalked into the bedroom which was still a mess of stuff. 

He took a nice long shower, shaved around his mustache, and got dressed, finally able to calm himself down. It would be no problem to open his house up to a few more people. They were all friends anyway, so no harm done. And it wasn't your fault you had been trying to talk to him when he didn't let you know he was concentrating on the furniture.

You and he would get better at communicating over time, he was sure of it.

But when he walked out into his kitchen, it was literally filled with people. And there were more people coming through the front door. He saw Fanboy, Coyote, Phoenix, Hangman, Bob, Payback, and Maria. Plus a few of your other coworkers from your new lab. There were at least fifteen people in his house. 

"What the fuck..." he muttered to himself as the doorbell rang. He watched you prance over and open the door, revealing Mav, Penny and Amelia. 

So this is why you thought there wasn't going to be enough food. "Holy shit," Bradley sighed, making his way to the refrigerator and grabbing himself a beer. 

"This is so nice, thanks for having everyone over," Phoenix told him, giving him a quick hug. 

Bradley just grumbled. "I thought it was just you and Bob coming. I don't know why she invited everyone we know. The house is still a mess!"

Phoenix's eyes went wide. "Oh, well, don't look now, but um.... yeah...."

Bradley followed her gaze toward the front door where you were letting Cam and that fucking douchebag Kyle into the house. Into Bradley's house. He watched Kyle bend down a little and give you a hug, running his hand across your back. It looked innocent enough, but Bradley really hated that guy on sight. He glared daggers at you. "Y/N."

You jumped away from Kyle's grip around your waist and your eyes met Bradley's.  

"Welcome everyone!" you announced with a nervous smile as you looked at Bradley. "The food is all ready, so please help yourselves! Paper plates are on the counter!"

"Y/N, can we talk for a minute?" 

"Sure..." you said cautiously, and Bradley followed you into the bedroom as everyone else started to pile food onto plates. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? There are a hundred people in my house, including Kyle, and I didn't know any of them were going to be here! Who the hell else did you invite?"

"That's it! Nobody else is coming!" you promised, running your hands up and down his arms to calm him down. "Can you just come back out and try your best to be pleasant? Please? And we can talk later?"

"Fine," Bradley managed through gritted teeth. He would just glue himself to Phoenix for the remainder of the evening, and he would make it.  

So he got a plate of food and listened to everyone compliment your cooking. He couldn't disagree with them, but he liked it better when it was just the two of you. And what was Kyle doing here anyway? Why had you invited him? At least he was avoiding Bradley like the plague. 

Maverick tried to make conversation, but Bradley was in a sour mood by this point. Basically everyone was avoiding him now except for Bob, who was either too kind to leave anyone out or too clueless to catch onto Bradley's mood. 

And now Kyle had you alone, near the back door. How much longer was Bradley going to have to play nice? He decided he wasn't going to.

"Hey, Sweetheart," he said as he walked over to you. Then he pulled you against him and kissed you hard, pressing his fingers into your hips. He teased your mouth until you sighed.

"What was that for?" you whispered after he released you.

"Just wanted to kiss my girlfriend, that's all." He winked at Kyle as he ran his hand along your lower back and ass. Kyle swallowed and then wandered off into the kitchen.

"Oh my goodness, I thought you came over here to kiss me because you wanted to, but you were just trying to make Kyle jealous!" you hissed at him, pulling out of his grasp. "Come on, Bradley!" 

"What am I supposed to do, when he so clearly wants to fuck you! It's so transparent!" Bradley replied, waving his arms in the air.

"God, can you please not do this right now? Look, everyone is eating the pies. Can this wait until dessert is over and everyone leaves?"

"Sure," Bradley agreed with a growl. He picked up a plate and filled it with pie slices. He figured the more he had to eat, the less that would be available for everyone else. And slowly but surely, everyone started to filter out of his house. Kyle was unsurprisingly the first to go. Good riddance. Penny and Mav offered to stay and help clean up, but Bradley assured them it would be just fine if they went ahead and left for the night.

You were actively avoiding him at this point, going so far as to try to get Phoenix to stay longer. 

"Nope, it's time for Nat to leave. Bye Nat, and please take them with you," he said, gesturing to all of the guys.

Phoenix pulled Bradley aside on her way to the door. "Can you stop acting like a dick? Your girlfriend was sweet to invite everyone over. And I'm going to say this as nicely as I can; if you want to have a girlfriend at all, then I suggest you act a little better in the future."

Bradley stood silently in the middle of the living room, and watched you give everyone hugs as they left. When you closed the door behind them, Bradley was about to apologize to you.

"Oh my God, Bradley!" you shouted before he could get a word out. "What the fuck is your problem? I was trying to have a nice time!"

His blood was instantly boiling again. "Then why did you invite Kyle? I can't fucking stand the way he looks at you!" he shouted.

"I didn't! I think he overheard me inviting Cam and Maria and just decided to tag along!"

"Really?" Bradley asked, taking a few steps closer to you. "Are you sure you didn't invite him here to get me all riled up like this?"

"Yes, I'm sure! Oh my God, it doesn't even matter, Bradley!" 

"It sure as hell matters to me. I don't want him in my house!"

You took a step away from him. "In your house?"

"Yeah! My house!"

Your eyes narrowed to slits and you planted your hands on your hips. Bradley had the fleeting thought that perhaps he'd made a mistake.

"So when I move in with you in a few weeks, what does that make me?" you asked, deadly calm. "Your girlfriend, or your fucking personal chef? Do I need to run everything past you first so I don't do something you don't like in your precious house? I guess this is a good example of why I wanted to pay you rent!" 

"Sweetheart, that's not what I meant," he said, taking a cautious step toward you.

"You told me you wanted this to be our house, but if you've changed your mind, then maybe I can move in with Cam instead. I'm sure he won't try to dictate to me what I'm allowed to do where I live!" You eyes were flashing with anger. Bradley was fucked. He'd never seen you this mad before. 

"Baby Girl, I didn't mean-"

"I already gave up my lease with Maria! So if you're going to start acting like a fucking clown all of a sudden, I'd rather you tell me now instead of after I move my stuff in here! That way you'd be saving me time finding a new place to live and a new boyfriend!"

"Don't say that," Bradley hissed, backing you up to the wall. His hands were on your hips, pinning you in place. "Do not say that to me." His breathing was ragged as he watched your eyes grow wide.

He watched you lick your lips as your eyes dropped to his mouth. "Don't tell me what to do," you whispered, and Bradley couldn't take much more.

"Stop it," he said quietly, shaking his head. "You belong with me. Stop saying you don't."

You glared up at him. Your hands found their way to his chest, but instead of pushing him away like he was afraid you were going to do, you pulled him closer. "Make me."

Bradley pinned you in place, one hand on your hip and one around the side of your neck. He kissed you hard on the lips before pulling away again. He looked down at your beautiful face, an expression of pride and stubbornness filling your features. He gently stroked your neck with his thumb. 

"I want you here. With me." 

"To be your personal chef?"

"No, to be my girlfriend who I get to dote on."

You licked your lips and sniffed, but you didn't try to move. "You had a funny way of showing that today. You can't tell me what to do. And I don't care if you think Kyle wants to fuck me. I don't want to fuck Kyle, so that's just going to have to be a good enough answer for you. Or I'll find somewhere else to live." 

"Don't," Bradley growled.

"Then show me you want me here," you whispered, and he had you hoisted up in his arms immediately. 

"I want you here," he said roughly, enunciating every word. "I want you fucking everywhere with me, Baby Girl." He kissed your mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "I'm sorry I was a jerk."

"Show me," you insisted again, grinding against his abs. He kissed you, palm at the back of your head, keeping you in place while he sucked your lower lip between his teeth and nibbled. You moaned into his mouth, and he felt so possessive of you. He needed you to know you made his life better. 

Bradley laid you down on the couch and climbed on top of you. He kissed your neck as he worked at the zipper of your jeans. "I want you here, because I love you." He slipped his hand inside your underwear and you moaned.

"I don't care if you never cook for me again," he added. "I'll make us cereal for dinner every night, and I'll never complain."

You smiled slightly up at him, clearly trying to keep your expression angry. He wasn't going to have you living anywhere else. No matter what. 

He kissed your chin gently as he circled your clit with his fingertips. "God you're wet, Baby Girl. You like arguing with me? Makes me hot too." Although he didn't find this too surprising, he wasn't planning on fighting with you to get this reaction in the future. You needed to know you could trust him.

You just moaned and tipped your head back as Bradley slipped a finger inside you. 

"I want you here, Sweetheart. I'll apologize to everyone if you want me to. Even Kyle. And you can have them all over again, too. You can do anything you want."

"Bradley," you whined. He slid your jeans down your legs, followed by your underwear. Then he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down a bit until his hard length was free. 

"Baby Girl, you gotta stay here with me. I need you," he whispered as he pushed his cock into your wetness and bottomed out. "Oh, fuck." He let himself go; if you wanted him to show you he wanted you here, then he would do just that. He fucked you hard, gently peppering your face with kisses.

Soon you were a whining, needy mess under him, squeezing his entire length as he started fucking you slowly. You felt so good, you always felt like this. He couldn't believe he'd yelled at you. "Sweetheart, I love you. Tell me what you need."

You chewed on your lip glancing down to where his body connected with yours. "You better make me come," you told him, grabbing his shoulders and guiding his mouth back down to yours.

He would do that. He absolutely would. He kissed you sweetly, pulling one leg up over his hip. Then he fucked you into the couch cushions, bracing one foot on the floor. He fucked you hard and fast until you were close, then he brushed his fingers gently across your clit. He slowed his pace down and kissed your neck. He could feel your pussy squeeze him tighter as your orgasm started and your moans got louder.

"I'll make you come all the time in our house. Just say you'll stay with me," he whispered next to your ear. You whined as you came, grabbing at his shirt and his neck. 

"I'll stay," you gasped, and Bradley let himself tumble over the edge with you.

A few minutes later, you started stirring beneath him, his cock still inside you. He lifted his head from the crook of your pretty neck and looked at your flushed face and puffy lips. "I'm sorry I was such a jerk today. I honestly thought you knew how stressed out I've been feeling about moving in here and getting everything ready. I should have made it clear that I only wanted a few people to come over."

"I'll be more explicit next time, Roo. I promise. Now do you believe me that I didn't invite Kyle?"

"Yes, I believe you."

"You can understand why I didn't want to turn someone away?"

"Yes, of course. I'm an idiot."

"Will you stop acting like a baby?"

"Yes, I will."

"And did you get this all out of your system? I don't want to see you like this again."

"I hear you, Baby Girl. No more."

You pushed his weight off of you and he stood, quickly pulling you to your feet as well. "Come eat some pie with me," you murmured as you pulled him into the dining room.

Bradley watched his cum drip down your legs and swore to himself he wasn't going to fuck this up. He loved you too much.

---------------------------------

Thanks for reading along! And thank you to @bradshawsbitch for all of your help!

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[waaterdeep]

Jumping off of my previous posts, it baffles me how people find Gale annoying because of “mansplaining”. Does he have an ego? Absolutely. Is he proud of how much he knows? Yes. But we can’t forget how because of Mystra he basically only sees his worth as tied to his power/knowledge. That’s why she took a shine to him, and that’s why she eventually let him go.

So when he meets you, when he basically word vomits in your direction, he does so to impress you, to show you that he’s a worthy companion on this journey, that he can pull his weight besides cooking. Having spent a year locked in his tower and probably never having seen combat in his life, he can’t, on paper, stand up against most other companions, especially not Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, and Wyll, who are all battle hardened.

Also, most of his greetings go along the lines of:

“How can I help?” (Neutral)

“I do enjoy our conversations, what do you need?” (High)

“Is something on your mind? You can always unburden yourself with me.” (Romanced Act 3).

To me this shows a man that’s as willing to listen as he is to talk, perhaps more so. He wants to help out. The only deviation I can think of is in Act 3 after the Outer Planes scene where he greets you with “Yes, my love?” but even then, that’s still an invitation to share what’s on your mind. He flaunts his knowledge, pats himself on the back, but at the end of the day he’s entirely willing to listen to someone do the same, to enter a debate, to learn new things. It just comes out weirdly in Act 1 but eventually tappers down in Act 2.

It’s easy to forget how lonely it must have been to spend a year by himself sequestered in his tower. Yes there’s Tara, who he loves very much, but there was no one else. Of course he’s excited to talk to someone, to show himself off. It’s not out of intended rudeness, it’s out of excitement following what was basically a self imposed imprisonment, and a need to prove his worth to you.

[cursedvida]

SAD EYES, BROKEN SMILE IV (Buggy x F!Reader)

PART III HERE // PART V HERE

WARNINGS: NSFW minors DNI, little smut, Buggy being nasty, swearing.

A/N: Part 4 of this and finally some smut. hope you enjoy!

You still can't believe you kissed Buggy. It was not in your plans to be so direct. You have never been so emotionally exposed, but is also true that you have no experience in romantic matters. You haven't been attracted to anyone before, or at least not in that way. Buggy brings out your most primitive instincts and clouds your reason, it's something you can't avoid.

But actions have consequences and so does kissing your captain. Buggy still hasn't recovered from the shock. The last thing he expected from you was a confession followed by a kiss. Ever since you joined his crew he noticed how you didn't quite fit in. You didn't seem very excited about show business, nor did you seem to be up for the shows. He didn't quite understand why you were so eager to be part of his crew, but it didn't seem strange to him either: he is Buggy the Clown, he is famous not only in the East Blue but also in the Gran Line. Pirates fear him, Marines hate him. He is a genius of deception and persuasion, his fame precedes him enough to attract new challengers. You might not quite fit in but it made sense that you didn't want to leave.

He still wasn't sure whether to trust you or not. Your confession had left him totally baffled and that kiss directly disarmed him. He would never have imagined such a reaction from you, do you really like him the way you say you do or is it just a strategy? Buggy is a really suspicious person, especially when good things happen to him. He doesn't want to believe that you like him because he knows that, if he does, he'll probably end up being disappointed. There's no way a girl like you, who could have anyone, really has feelings for him. Although she'll never admit it, of course, because he's a renowned pirate and people should consider it an honor to have him around.

Nevertheless, he is unable to take his eyes off you. He watches you as you clean the deck of the ship, he follows your movements at mealtimes with his eyes. He is able to count how many times a day you yawn or make that bored face that characterizes you so much. The more he looks at you, the prettier you look to him and the harder it is for him to control himself.

You notice his gaze fixed on you, although you don't know why he watches you with such intensity. Sometimes you have the feeling that at any moment he will leave you stranded on the first island you see, that your days in that crew are numbered. You think he might be very angry, Buggy's character is fickle and unpredictable at times, if he has taken the kiss badly he won't hesitate to make you pay for it. He shouldn't see it as an offense either, you may not be the most exceptional woman in the world but he might see it as a compliment just the same.

You try to avoid it or pretend nothing happened. Yes, the best thing will be to pretend, as you have been doing so far. But he keeps looking at you, all the time, and you start to get nervous.

"Y/N, I have to talk to you" you hear him call after lunchtime.

You tense up at that moment, you feel all your muscles stiffen, as if you were preparing for a fight. You have a strange feeling in your stomach, as if you were nauseous. The walk to his cabin is the longest you've ever walked, and it's only a few meters. When you finally find yourselves alone, you realize that you are unable to look at him. You, who are used to always looking the enemy in the eye, suddenly shy away from Buggy almost instinctively. You realize that deep down you are dead embarrassed.

"Did you call me, Captain?" you ask rather sheepishly. This whole thing is starting to get on your nerves. You're not like that, you're not a softie, not a shy, insecure little girl, you're a ruthless killer with several dozen deaths behind you. You don't understand why he makes you feel so weak, but when he's near you your head stops obeying you.

"Why did you do that?"

No beating around the bush, straight to the point. Buggy didn't want to waste any time. When you finally manage to look at him, his eyes look distrustful and at the same time somewhat hurt.

"It was a strategy, wasn't it?" he insists "You think I didn't notice?"

"A strategy?"

"Yes, to see if I forgot about what happened a couple of days ago. You were trying to divert attention."

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. Come on, don't fuck around, did the asshole really think you kissed him on the mouth as a confusion strategy? But is he really an asshole or did he fall out of the cradle at birth?

"But are you stupid or what's wrong with you?"

That response on your part, so aggressive, so angry, makes Buggy totally bewildered. In his mind, the only plausible explanation for a girl like you confessing and kissing him is that you are, in effect, trying to gain his trust so that he will forget the suspicious things about you. He doesn't understand why you seem so infuriated.

"I find it amazing that you brag so much about how wonderful you are when then you're not even capable of believing that a girl can like you" You blurt out to him, crossing your arms.

"I've liked hundreds of women, I'm Buggy the…"

"Yeah, I know, we all know that" you cut him off coldly "You pretend you're so full of yourself, but deep down you have very little confidence in yourself."

"Be careful what you say, sweetie, the consequences can be very bad."

"Is it that hard for you to accept that I like you?"

That question catches Buggy totally off guard. It pains him to admit it, but it really does. Of course he's aware that many women are attracted to him, but they're always passing flings, people he's barely seen for a couple of days. People who, in the end, don't know him. You've spent months with him, you've seen him fail on several occasions, it's clear that you're talented and may one day become a really strong pirate. Besides, you're gorgeous and you're hot, he really does find it hard to believe that this whole thing isn't a hoax.

"If you're not attracted to me that's fine" you tell him "we're both adults, I can handle rejection. But stop underestimating my feelings, that's cruel."

Buggy is silent for a few moments, something quite unbecoming of him. Then he looks at you, still in disbelief.

"So you were serious about yesterday?"

"Of course it was serious!" you exclaim, exasperated "I've been doing a lot of-"

But Buggy's mouth won't let you finish. When you want to realize, his lips are on yours and his tongue, agile and curious, tries to enter your mouth with desperation. It's the first time someone kisses you in such a passionate way, as if somehow trying to eat you whole, so it's a little hard for you to react to his momentum. You move your lips to match his and your tongues begin a contest of strength. Buggy's kiss is deep, tastes like salt and face paint. It has a metallic aftertaste that hooks you and its smell of gunpowder and sea manages to numb your senses. Just when you think you're about to lose your balance, a hand detached from his body grabs you around the waist, pulling you closer to him, so close that you are only a few millimeters apart.

You'd been fantasizing about something like this for a while, but your wettest dreams were nowhere near as exciting as the real thing. Having Buggy kissing you as if the world was going to end at that very moment makes your stomach shrink and your legs shake as if they were made of jelly. You've never felt so vulnerable around anyone before, but you don't hate the feeling, it makes you feel good for the first time.

You wrap your arms around his neck. You want more of him, you want to hold him closer. You need to cling to him with such desperation that the slightest almost imperceptible draft that can fit between the two of you hurts. He senses that need of yours and automatically pulls you tighter against his torso. His kisses are deep, wet and with a slight hint of anger that makes them intoxicating.

"Fuck" he exclaims, pulling away slightly for air.

You let out a small moan, something that makes Buggy smile.

"What's up, little girl, do you want more?"

Now it is you who kiss him. Buggy responds with momentum, placing his leg between yours. His hands begin to explore your body over your clothes. You've never let anyone go this far, but with him you just want more and more. When you notice one of his hands stop at your crotch you freeze.

"I'm actually really looking forward to you" he comments, whispering huskily in your ear as he begins to rub between his hand and the fabric of your pants "I've been wondering for some time what it must be like to have you in my bed"

"What a liar you are" You manage to say, almost in a whisper. You notice how the fabric of your underwear is getting wetter and wetter "When I came you didn't even know my name".

"You're right" he nods, giving you a couple of kisses on your neck while his fingers press your most sensitive parts "I just knew you were a pretty face. Little girl, you're like a chocolate candy."

He then attacks your neck, making you moan. He slowly pulls down your pants, now the only barrier he has are your panties.

"Fuck, little girl, your panties are so wet" his voice sounds husky and very excited "I've barely touched you and you're already like this? Fuck, what a delight."

"Buggy…" You sigh. It's the first time a man has managed to get his hand on you and the feelings you are now experiencing are totally new. The pleasure, the swelling, the wetness… You feel like you're going to explode, that you need more contact, more intensity. You move me a little to make friction between his hand and your most intimate part "Buggy, I love it."

"I'm going to eat you whole, princess."

Buggy then removes his glove with his mouth and it is at that moment that he slips his long fingers under your panties. You open your eyes as you feel the direct contact between his skin and your most intimate area.

"So wet just for me, this is a treasure" he murmurs, quite pleased.

At first he just slides one of his fingers all over your intimate area, making your skin crawl with goose bumps. You swore you wouldn't let anyone have you at their mercy, but you've totally surrendered to him and when he finally locates your clitoris, gently caressing it with your own natural lubrication, you can't help but let out a moan.

"That's it, little girl. Yeah, moan for me" He smiles, quite pleased.

"It's… God, please Buggy don't stop doing it" you ask him, almost beg, because the pleasure is enormous.

Buggy starts stroking you faster, now you feel like your whole body is on fire, with a kind of heat right in the center of your belly that intensifies every time his fingertips brush against your skin. You start moaning helplessly as he slides his tongue down your neck until it reaches your cleavage.

"Buggy…" You can barely say anything, just moan his name, but that seems to delight you.

"I'm going to make you mine completely, Y/N. I hope you know what you've done."

But just as Buggy is about to slip one of his fingers inside you, someone knocks loudly on his cabin door, completely breaking the mood. You both tense up, giving a little gasp. Buggy lets out a huge growl, looking really pissed off.

"But who the fuck is it now!" he shrieks, hands still shoved between your legs.

"Captain" Cabaji's voice is heard "We have a problem, there's a Navy ship nearby".

"Fuck" Buggy roars, he'd probably love to beat the shit out of Cabaji for interrupting him at a time like this, but the reasons have been more than justified.

He looks at you with an annoyed look on his face.

"We're not done yet" It's not an apology, it's a warning.

You smile at him.

"I hope so, Captain."

[zeta-in-de-walls]

TommyInnit Times article

Hey, so Tommy apparently did an Interview for the Times. I’m copy and pasting the whole Times article for those who can’t access it. It’s a nice read. Enjoy!

If you’ve never heard of Tom Simons — aka TommyInnit — your children most definitely have. The 18-year-old gamer from Nottingham is one of the world’s most successful online streamers, with 40 million followers across all social platforms hanging on his every (loud) word and anarchic in-joke. You know, the kind of shouty Minecraft-related banter that tweens and teens find hilarious but leaves their parents baffled.

There’s no doubt he’s a master of his craft, with Guinness world records for most viewers of a Minecraft livestream on Twitch, the gamers’ platform, and most followed Minecraft channel. His net worth is estimated to be $10 million. His live show in July at the Brighton Dome sold out within 24 hours and he had a book published this week. Not many gamers make that crossover, or have their first interview in The Times come to that.

Simons must be one of the richest self-made 18-year-olds in the country and has a running joke with his subscribers that he’s a billionaire. (It’s presumably a joke, but he won’t be drawn.) “It’s cool I’m set up for life, but it doesn’t feel relevant to who I am. I don’t spend very much,” he says. “It hasn’t changed how pissed off I was when they upped the cost of the bus fare by 10p to £1.30.” He seems to mean it. This summer he visited fellow YouTube millionaires in their mansions and on private jets in LA, but he’s content living in the two-bedroom flat in Brighton he bought from his landlord, and his mum still orders him a Tesco shop occasionally.

He’s definitely got one over on the kids at his secondary school in Nottingham who made fun of him after they discovered Channelnutpig, the first gaming channel he set up on YouTube aged 11. He was mortified and took it down immediately. “You want to fit in and make friends, and in year 7 you’re beginning to understand that girls exist,” he says. “So it wasn’t that cool shouting, ‘Hello everyone, it’s me, Tom!’ on my channel every week and have people play that back in front of you.”

Two years later he migrated to Twitch, again streaming Minecraft videos and filming banter with his online friends, and at 14 began the TommyInnit YouTube channel that now has 11.8 million subscribers. This time he kept it secret. “Every time we’d be in a science lesson and they’d show an educational video my eyes would be glued to the ‘recommended’ on YouTube in case I popped up and people found out. I kept that secret for so long. I had 100,000 subscribers when people started finding out. “When I got to 100,000 there was this weird new respect everyone had for me. I’d walk through the hallway and they would still glare at me, but no one would shove me. It was like I had a force field around me. It was so strange. I remember a week before someone getting me in a headlock and shoving me around. I thought, ‘Wow, I’ve levelled up!’ ”

Was he bullied at school? He pauses. “Just normal arseholes, not anything more than anyone else. I was quite quiet. I just teetered on the edge of being funny enough that people wouldn’t beat me up. If someone was shoving me around I’d just make jokes and they’d leave me alone. But also funny enough that no one thought I was cool. At all. Which is the exact place I’m in now really.”

Simons is more quiet, thoughtful and endearing in person than he is on his channels or in the book, a collection of silly quotes and zany ramblings. He’s a self-confessed nerd (“My dad and I are massive nerds”) and says that his audience are mostly “the people I would hang out with at school, who were awkward like me”. He adds, “I’m quite anxious in real life, but I’ve always been very social on the internet. If you message someone and they ignore you, who cares? It’s not real life.”

He believes that most of his fans are aged between 14 and 20, but he knows that a lot of younger kids tune in for the Minecraft banter (or possibly the swearing). A year ago he started a YouTube channel under his own name to make real-life videos that now has 5.6 million followers. It’s free to subscribe — his earnings come from the advertising. He recently spent a month in New York vlogging his daily antics, such as I’m literally Spider-Man, in which he dressed up as the superhero, and Making 100 Friends in 1 Day.

Why does he think he’s so successful when there are others creating content along the same lines? He’s perceptive in his answer. “I think it’s the loud funniness — me having fun with my friends. But there’s also this element of warmness. It’s welcoming and safe,” he says. “It’s never toxic or preying on other people. Nothing is at the expense of anyone else. It’s better for the world not to say the easy, rude joke or the put-downs. There’s so much of that on YouTube.”

He says that his parents have always been supportive. His dad, Iain, was in the gaming industry, owning an arcade in Nottingham before setting up the GameCity festival. He now works with his son.

Simons’s mum, Sarah, is an actor-turned-English teacher for adults with disabilities who set up the further education group, UKFEchat on Twitter. “She was on Twitter long before I was,” he says. “Now she has a cool internet personality advising people how to keep safe online.”

She was less cool, he admits, when his GCSEs were approaching in 2020. “She sat me down and said, ‘Right, you have 100,000 subscribers and that’s really good, but you need to take school seriously. I know you’re not revising and your grades are dropping.’ She was right — I was getting grade 3s in science. Then that week we went into a global pandemic and I didn’t do a minute of revision as the exams were cancelled.” He ended up with a very respectable collection of GCSEs, including a 9 (the top grade) in English language. “It was the perfect amount of ‘mum points’ I needed to spend the [lockdowns] in my bedroom making videos.”

He then went to college to study for a BTEC in film and TV. By now he was vlogging and would spend time out filming. “Near the start of the second year I remember saying to my tutor, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t make it in very much.’ He said, ‘Listen, I shouldn’t say this, but we’re teaching you the thing you’re already doing so if I were you I would drop out.’ So I did. I started college with a million [subscribers] and ended it with ten million.”

When his schoolfriends were studying for their A-levels this summer, Simons already had his own flat in Brighton, renting then buying it. However, he says: “A lot of people want to live a lavish life and I just don’t. Mum still orders me a Tesco shop occasionally and will say, ‘I knew you needed groceries.’ I’ll say, ‘How on earth did you know that from Nottingham?’ ”

He says that his parents were no pushovers when he was younger and his dad refused to let him play Grand Theft Auto 5, even though his friends were allowed. “He said: ‘It’s got strippers in; you murder in that game. You’re 12, you can’t look at that, I’m sorry.’ They were really on top of it because they understood [gaming] and they communicated with me about it. When it turned into a career, they said, ‘OK, it’s important. We get it.’ But they’d still make sure I didn’t stay in my room all day. I’d still have to walk the dogs and [we’d] have dinner as a family.”

Simons doesn’t know how his career will unfold. He’s also getting used to being recognised. “Walking through Brighton I can hear my name being whispered all around me. It was a big adjustment. I became a bit scared of people after being inside for a year [during the pandemic]. I forgot how big the world was beyond my screen, but I’m loving it now.”

TommyInnit Says . . . The Quote Book by Tom Simons, curated and edited by Wilbur Soot, is published by Quercus, £14.99

[regalityandcoffee]

Look, hear me out.

Brahms x Bimbo Reader Headcanons

♡ He'd been watching you for a bit. Of course, if he was being honest, you came off as a little bit... spacey, so he didn't expect you to follow the rules so well from the beginning. With your bright pink clothes and skimpy outfits, you didn't seem much of a caretaker type.

♡He also didn't expect for you to be so open to him when he revealed himself. He expected even less for you to be upset he didn't do it earlier. The more he tries to explain why his parents put him in the more upset you seemed to be.

♡ The little "That's awful! Why would they do that to you?!" You say with a pout on your face throws him completely off.

♡ He's not unhappy about it, it's just that no one's ever been mad at his parents for raising him they way they did.

♡ he's utterly baffled at how well you take to him. The first thing after you get over your shock is to make him take a bath with you and find him some new clothes. He's completely embarrassed over it. He may be an adult but he's never actually bathed with anyone before, it's odd. But your were gentle, and even made him laugh while mumbling about giving him a shave while you scrubbed his back.

♡ you also convinced him to reveal himself to Malcom, so then the three of you could decide what to do better. Malcolm quickly becomes one of Brahms new (if only) friends afterwards. He's terrified and a bit unnerved, but otherwise warms up to him.

♡ you coax him out of the walls, getting him to sleep with you in his or your bed. He'd never complain about being snuggled up with you in just a t-shirt and panties. (Although he wished sometimes you didn't wear a bonnet so he could play with your hair while you slept)

♡ He loves your hair, by the way. He's been obsessed with it since the day you arrived, so pretty and thick and coily. Somedays you wore it up, somedays down. Somedays in braids, sometimes under wigs. Now that he revealed himself, he was finally allowed to touch it. You even let him help wash it. He didn't think it'd be such a long process. But it was fun nonetheless. ...he's weirdly good at detangling and parting it.

♡ He likes to listen to you ramble. About celebrities, friends from back home, people you saw while in town. He doesn't mind you getting off topic, he's obsessed with your voice and just wants to hear you talk.

♡ sometimes you get him to leave the the house and go to town with him, but he has a timer, almost like a cat. You're very understanding of how socializing terrifies him. You even buy him headphones so he gets less overwhelmed. He's stunned by how much they help.

♡ ever since he left the walls you’ve refused to keep feeding him the freezer meals, and he helps you cook actual meals and eat take out with you and Malcolm. He loves it.

♡He likes to watch you put on make up. He loves it when you wear lipgloss, and almost always messes it up by begging for kisses.

♡The little miniskirts and small blouses you were make him horny 24/7. The poor guy just thinks you're a knock out, he can't help but get hard just at the thought of you!

♡He's more used to the Northern Soul records his father would play, but he loves the modern r&b and such you play while cooking and cleaning around the house, or just to relax.

♡ you introduce him to tons of modern artists.

♡He finds listening to music thats more explicitly a bit jarring though, since his parents were rather conservative, but he quickly adjusts.

♡...his favorite singer is Frank Ocean now.

[sunfudge]

Evidence that points towards Sunday potentially joining the Stellaron Hunters

Since this theory has been tormenting my mind for a few weeks now, I've decided to compile all of the information we have so far that could maybe point towards Sunday joining the Stellaron Hunters.

Now that we know he can't return to Penacony, he can't return to Robin, and he has to keep on moving towards his goal, the likelihood of him being picked up by the Stellaron Hunters is stronger than ever.

He has a complicated past and has been left adrift and alone without a path to follow or a future for himself. He's alone and he still aims for an impossible goal - in my opinion, he is a prime candidate to join this faction now that his plan on Penacony has fallen apart with no possibility of ever coming true.

He continues to strive for a seemingly unachievable perfect paradise for all, a place where the weak can be protected and kept happy for all of their lives like birds in safe cages. He still strives for this, the only difference now is that be knows that this is no longer possible to create on Penacony.

This is made clear in the description of his new light cone 'After the Charmony fall'

'He carries the past, turns his back on his homeland, and continues towards a paradise that does not yet exist'

His old life has burned to cinders behind him in his wake. He can never return to how things were before. That life before this has ended, and he has no choice but to leave it and walk another path.

The Family won't even mention Sunday by name anymore and have attempted to delete all of the memories of what happened in 2.2 from the minds of those living inside the dreamscape.

Even Robin avoids mentioning him by name which is upsetting as she's likely been told to do so, instead calling him 'the former head of the Oak family'.

There has already been an attempt by the family to bury Sunday. He could not be more cut off from his past now and there is no future for him on Penacony.

He has no choice but to leave and spread his wings. Whatever path he may take now it doesn't change the fact that he has to either join a faction or travel alone, and I personally severely doubt he'd travel alone. For his plan to work, which he still aims for, he needs more than just himself, and he needs the help of someone who can promise ridiculous things.

First off, I really want to quickly detour into some of the misconceptions I've seen recently surrounding Stellaron Hunters, one of these being that people seem to believe the Scripts are some sort of demon contracts that cannot be broken, leaving those who follow them devoid of their own free will, even when with everything we know this is so very far from the truth. Elio's scripts are a guide and are not a forceful contract that his Hunters are totally bound to and it doesn't make much sense to assume that they are with all of the information we know about them.

The comparisons I've seen between Elio's script and Gopher Wood's grooming baffled me. They can't be compared, in my opinion. They are entirely different.

One of the reasons why many people believe Sunday will deny the invitation to the Stellaron Hunters (as I believe the invitation has already been sent, which I'll go on to talk about) is because Elio's script contains Sunday and Robin's eternal separation.

I've seen some people believing this is something Elio himself has decided will happen, however that isn't how this works.

Firefly often defies the script, she even talks about it throughout the 2.X patches in Penacony, however the script always ends up coming true regardless of this. Even Blade tells her this, he says she has a bad habit of defying what the script asks her to do.

I believe It's not that Elio has decided that this is their fate, but rather fate itself has decided this is Robin and Sunday's fate, and I believe Sunday will try to defy this fate and go in opposition of destiny.

Whether this separation is the result of the siblings treading on different paths, or it is the price Robin had to pay for Sunday's freedom, the script may still say this for the same reason that our eventually fight against Nanook is inevitable - it is going to happen no matter what.

That's not to say Sunday can't try to defy it, though.

That also does not mean that every single future path leads to a definite eternal separation, what I'm saying is that either this IS definite, it is set in stone and will happen regardless of wether Sunday joins the Hunters or not and no matter which path Elio goes down - OR it is a changeable future, likely from Sunday accepting the invitation to join the Stellaron Hunters, so that he can actively walk backwards from this fate that awaits them both otherwise.

Elio's script is a possible future he foresaw, one that he wants to lead his Hunters down as it leads to the most desired future for us.

Elio has already expressed that we should reach the end of the story in our own way and Kafka even tells us at the very beginning of the game to not make a choice that we may regret.

So, Elio's scripts are not binding contracts that force the Hunters to follow a predetermined path, but rather they are guides that lead to a desired future.

Sunday has been clear that he intends to still find another place to create his perfect paradise where the weak are protected, and who better to provide him a solution to his problem than Elio - the guy who's been making seemingly impossible promises for a long time now. It's kind of his whole thing.

I'm going to start off with the most obvious example that I feel is less of a hint and more of a slap in the face. I've been thinking about this readable ever since it became a major point of attention after it was first discovered. To me it's pretty cut and dry about what it is; it is a poem from Elio to Sunday, predicting his fall from grace before it has even happened - which is proof of Elio's ability to foresee the future - and at the end an invitation to join them in order to still make his dream come true.

Death of the Crow is a readable that can be found in Dreamflux Reef immediately after accessing it at the beginning of the 2.2 quest. It is a poem written in the style of The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.

The first interesting piece of information before even reading the contents is its description:

Obviously, what stands out most for me is the line

'Or perhaps, some kind of mysterious invitation'.

This poem goes through Sunday's life and then it delves into Sunday's future.

The second stanza at the beginning of the poem refers to Sunday and the Charmony dove, a story he draws back to often in 2.2 as it had a major effect on him and his current view point, particularly in the way that Gopher Wood framed that situation to Sunday when he was a child. It is a huge basis for the majority of the beliefs he holds to this day.

Gopher Wood praised Sunday's apprehension and fear, whilst he patronized Robin and called her ideas 'idealistic' and 'romantic'. He identified Sunday as the more fearful and anxious of the two and he decided he would be the focus of his grooming.

As far as Gopher Wood was concerned, Sunday and Robin are twins of the order, but only one would follow this path to the very end. He took Sunday's desire to protect the weak and ensure that no matter what they stay alive and weaponized it against him creating a situation in which Sunday was willing to sacrifice himself in order to maintain a beautiful and safe dream that everyone would live in apart from himself. His story parallels Jesus, and the plot of 2.2 is especially obvious about that.

The poem goes on to discuss other aspects of Sunday's life that lead him to this point that we've currently reached in the story, and then goes beyond this to talk about things that, at the time of being able to find this readable, have not happened yet.

The only person really who could have sent this poem to Sunday is Elio. He can see into the future, as well as this he is heavily involved in the script of Penacony in a way that he hasn't been on any other planet thus far. His input in Penacony is immense especially when this is compared to his other scripts.

I think what's most important about this poem is:

That you can find this prior to when Sunday 'ascends the stage' and 'stole the authority'

The last verse

The name of the sender.

Going through the list let's draw attention to each one and pick the information apart.

'You ascended the stage, you stole the authority, you strived for divinity You raised the dim curtain, your self-directed farce skillfully honed. Your heart overflew with pureness, while the shadows of the puppets cast grim shadows in their play. Your soul embraced compassion, daring to forge a scale that will never sway. "Behold," you proclaimed, "the utopia of absolute bliss," Yet the dream shattered, "Nevermore."'

This is a clear prediction of future events that the sender of the poem should not know of, as they have not yet happened. I can presume this was likely written and then sent to Sunday by this 'mysterious author' to prove that the future sight that they will later claim to have upon their meeting is, in fact, real, and that he can promise him whatever it is that Sunday would possibly want.

'Your old dreams are as dead soil, barren of hope and bereft, Yet how can a noble soul wither and fade, left adrift? I shall await your arrival, with open arms and boundless hope, Here lie the truest dreams, where infinite possibilities lope. Here, all your ambitions shall be fulfilled and set aflame, The past forever transformed, and nevermore'

To me, this section is the invitation. This isn't about Sunday's past or where their plan in Penacony will lead them - this is an invitation.

Particularly the lines 'yet how can a noble soul wither and fade, left adrift?' it's clear Elio holds Sunday in high regard and would think it a pity if he were to wander aimlessly from here on forward, and 'I shall await your arrival, with open arms and boundless hope' sounds so very incredibly Elio.

'Yours, Most Sincerely Cecil Simmes'

This one is interesting to me, however I haven't played the game that this name references.

Spoiler warnings for Ghost Trick for this section. I'll leave the information pertaining to the plot of Ghost Trick between two blue bars so you can skip past this section if it's a game you plan on playing.

I first became aware of this piece of evidence via the thread by @/hxg_diluc who I believe was one of the first people to post about the Stellaron Hunter Sunday theory waaaaay back when you could first find this readable.

GHOST TRICK SPOILERS

------------

Ghost Trick is a game with an MC called Sissel (who I hear has the same spelling as the sender of Death of the Crow in the Chinese version, according to the aforementioned thread), who is a black cat with yellow eyes and a red scarf.

This character changes the fate of others by reversing time, much like Elio changing the fate of others via the scripts. With all we know about Elio this feels like a really deliberate reference.

Elio is pretty commonly known as being shown as a black cat, you see him as such in Kafka's splash art, in SAM's light cone, and in the art during the Jepella rebellion.

------------

To continue on from Ghost Trick, SAM's boss theme is called Nevermore, which is repeated often in the poem The Raven and Death of the Crow.

The description of the disk is 'Quoth the Raven, Nevermore!', which is a direct reference to Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven and Elio's version of the same poem reworked to refer to Sunday's life and future.

The next section is about Sunday's new light cone, the description of which I've already spoken about earlier when talking about how he still aims for that paradise even though he was defeated in Penacony.

This light cone contains a similar gramophone to Kafka's. This is something that as far as I'm aware is unique to these two light cones.

This light cone was voiced! The lines it was voiced with really caught my attention when paired with the lore drop about Finality we were given recently.

'May all wishes come true,

The end is also the beginning'

The second line intrugued me most.

On its own, it just brings forth the idea that Sunday is going to be treading a new path in life, which is - like, yeah we already know that lol he kind of doesn't have a choice about that, but with the context of everything to do with the path of Finality that was released this patch, the same patch that this light cone was dropped, it can be read in a new light.

The line itself sounds very in tune with the path of Finality, in fact it sounds like something Elegy could have said herself when we're asking about Finality.

'Finality isn't the end of everything. All things will originate from there and move on to the next Finality.'

I just think that's worth some attention now that this patch confirmed that the Stellaron Hunters travel on the path of Finality.

We also get to see into Firefly's notebook! (which is super cute and tells us about all the gifts she bought for everyone) but what I noticed was that Elio asked for the 'Odes of Harmony' which is a readable that can be found in Dewlight Pavilion.

Sunday has been compared to the Odes of Harmony by Gallagher, so my mind immediately went here.

This very well may mean nothing, this one is another piece of info where I could be stretching, but again I feel like this is worth pointing out because it's there along with all the other stuff. It's one of many things that when you put them together I feel it just piles higher and higher.

There's also this...

Sparkle talking about a chicken with black cat sunglasses. Which, standalone it's silly, but...

That's such a specific thing to say. A chicken that's wearing black cat sunglasses? Come on lol

We know that this relates to Sunday, because she also mentions a peacock (Aventurine) and a swan (Black Swan). The animals she talks about are meant to represent characters from the story and aren't random animals that have popped into her mind.

Since she calls Sunday chicken wing boy the chicken in question is most definitely Sunday - but giving it a white suit and black cat sunglasses? That's just so extremely specific. Especially when we know Elio is portrayed as a black cat throughout the story.

We know Sparkle has inside information because she was able to take a peek at a script, so knowing that, then what the hell did she mean by this?

There's also this image of all of the Stellaron Hunters after the Jepella rebellion and in the corner there are some crows in the air.

Sunday is portrayed as a crow in the Harmony Trailblazer splash art, but even going beyond that Sunday has crow and raven imagery surrounding him anyways. That is what Sunday is represented by.

So this could be some foreshadowing.

I also think if this is true and Sunday is recruited, he won't be our only recruited Stellaron Hunter in the story. It makes sense to me, why would Elio stop recruiting Hunters? Why should he when he sees someone of promise who could join their faction?

I'm unsure how many there could be, but I definitely see it as a possibility that two, or three, or even more Stellaron Hunters could be recruited during the duration of the game. Furthermore, I think that's a good thing. I think if that's true it's a big positive.

I feel like it would be a great addition to the story. It could even open up the oppertunity for characters to join the Astral Express too. Characters joining groups, leaving groups, changing paths - it would be a really interesting route for the game to go down.

The Stellaron Hunters have almost entirely been released as playable now apart from Elio himself, so recruiting some more as the story continues will keep them fresh and potentially throw in some really interesting interactions and character development. Plus, they are extremely marketable characters.

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus

After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!

Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.

My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot. 

But he never is. 

She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.

It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night. 

It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet. 

The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out. 

He does.

Always finds her.

No matter what. 

He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots. 

Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge. 

But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes. 

His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful. 

She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation. 

She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in. 

She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts. 

It’s a game of cat and mouse.  They’ve got their own little rules, too. 

They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell. 

He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters. 

Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just- 

“König?”

“Maus?” 

“Mhm.”

“Hmm.”

And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers. 

She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and- 

She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort. 

When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself.  Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for? 

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit. 

When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will. 

She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy. 

The Mouse saves the King. 

But a game is no fun with only one player. 

The King also saves the Mouse. 

It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there. 

“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers. 

“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow. 

They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync. 

Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands. 

Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”

This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company. 

His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first. 

It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself. 

Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree. 

She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-

Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop. 

The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot. 

“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her. 

“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground. 

She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse. 

She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-

Her gun jams. 

With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed. 

But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out. 

König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps? 

For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.

“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm. 

“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds. 

She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.

“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says. 

It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio. 

It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by. 

And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid. 

She shouldn’t trust him. 

She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?

She unhooks her cabling. 

It’s snowing hard. 

She kicks off the tree and into the air. 

It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking. 

He does, indeed, catch her. 

He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air. 

“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.

She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up. 

“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death. 

“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned. 

It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him. 

Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over? 

She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger. 

But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster-  he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care. 

She realizes she’s thankful for him. 

Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other. 

“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down. 

“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.

Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket. 

He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are. 

Their breaths puff into billows of smoke. 

They breathe in time. 

It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her. 

It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse. 

She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.

She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing. 

When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed. 

“Wait!” She calls to him. 

He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it. 

She tosses it to him. 

He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal. 

Her lucky charm. 

She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object. 

“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock. 

“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’ 

“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.

God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back. 

She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be. 

And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp. 

The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning. 

She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.

But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago. 

“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up. 

“What?” He hums back. 

“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.” 

“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently. 

“Because I am not.” Is his response. 

“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio. 

He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere. 

But God, she wants him all the same. 

It’s dangerous to be at war. 

It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse. 

Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two. 

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