#and the rest you can just suss out from playing

[warlordfelwinter]

[mooncrestedwaters]

Rafayel Partner/BF/Husband Headcanon's

🫧Notes; Back on my bullshit

I did some headcanons for just Rafayel on his own and decided to add some on what I think he'd be like in a relationship

Should I do some smutty ones later on? 🤔

🦪 Being Rafayel's partner means you need to be his muse in tow. Get ready for sitting still for hours on end as he paints you until he's satisfied

🦪 You will invade every aspect of his thoughts, morning, noon and night and he has to practically LEASH himself to not text or call you because "Hey y/n, I saw a flower, it's your favorite!", "hey y/n, what's your thoughts on (insert random obscure topic here)?", "Hey y/n would you still love me if I were a worm?", "hey y/n, lets mix random things in a blender and drink it!"

🦪 Despite his bubbly nature and eagerness to pester you and not give you a moments rest, he is horrifically shy around you.

🦪 One miniscule touch and he's acting like he's been deprived of water for decades and you're the prettiest oasis

🦪 He'll practically rub his cheek against your hand, one hand secured tightly around your wrist to keep it in place and the other around your waist keeping you flush up against him as he begs for you to pay him an attention

🦪 "Y/NNNNNNNNN~! COME GIVE ME ATTENTION!" x1000

🦪 Play with his hair and he becomes goo, melts into you like putty and his eyes become misty with how much he enjoys it

🦪 Likes to treat you as his personal dress-up dolly, especially adorning you in any colours that match himself or the sea he loves just as much as you

🦪 He's not stupidly possessive....but he is with you and shows it in a multitude of ways;

- Buying your perfume, he knows what scents you like and for damn sure what smells best on you

- He knows your measurements and can pick out your size perfectly to flatter you

- Gives you jewelry with his colours/initial on them

- Does your make-up and hair because he wants his personal artist touch displayed on you

🦪 Sucker for matching things, will roll his eyes about it but he has a special shelf for all your matching things and has to make sure your matching mugs are used at the same time with you (or he will get pouty, like how dare you use matching mugs no. 56 without him)

🦪 His phone background is you, he puts on his socials that he's taken with your initial and a '🔒' beside it

🦪 Gods spare the poor soul who inquires or asks about you;

First, he'll be suspicious, sussing out the other party to make sure your safety is protected and then the moment he has verified the person isn't a threat the loving gushing words come out like a dam broken and he literally cannot shut the fuck up about you

🦪 Even when you first started dating he'd refer to you as his 'Wife/Husband'

🦪 Has a notes folder with everything about you, from your favorite colour to what your allergies are

🦪 God forbid he sees you cry. His first priority is to comfort and coddle you in his arms, tightly squeezing you in his arms and brushing you hair with his fingers

If he finds out the reason why you're upset is because of someones actions towards you then that person will hear about it and be paid a special visit

🦪 Best at massages and more than happy to give them

🦪 Part of the pretty hands club, art creating art fr

🦪 In public spaces he needs to have some form of skinship or to be as close to y/n as possible (he will pout and sulk if not)

🦪 Loves to paint y/n while they're asleep

🦪 Has gotten huffy and painted whatever colour was one his brush on y/n (cue play fighting of throwing paint at each other)

🦪 Hates to cook, will cook is y/n asks for it

🦪 Best partner for when y/n is sick/has that time of the month;

He knows ALL of your favorite snacks, what brand medicine/sanitary pads you use and what gifts to get you to cheer you up

🦪 Love languages is Words of Affirmation, Gift Giving and Quality Time

🦪 Favorite date nights are when he can be creative or use his hands to make something;

- Date night where you paint together

- Date nights building lego together (he calls it childish yet keeps buying the sets)

- Date night where you cook together

🦪 When you're sad, one of his ways to cheer you up is to turn on 2000s pop hits and give y/n a private show

- Backstreet Boys? Nope, Rafayel has dressed himself in all white and serenades you

- NSYNC? Nope, Rafayel put two minute noodles on his head as you cackle

- Britney Spears? Nah, it's Rafayel Bitch (You still have pictures of him in a pleated mini skirt and his short hair with two miniscule twin tails)

He takes the brunt of the embarrassment to see your face streaked with tears of joy instead of tears of grief

🦪 Banter Banter Banter, doesn't fucking stop until he gets worked up enough, grabs your cheeks with one hand and kisses you passionately

🦪 Y/N: Oh, thats cute!

Rafayel: *opens wallet*

🦪 Has shown up to your work with flowers and gifts before (Tara won't let you live it down)

🦪 Nicknames for you are;

- Princess/Prince

- My Muse

- Little Fishy

- Darling

- Pretty Baby

- Gorgeous Girl/Boy

🦪 Did a whole exhibit with paintings he made because of you and refused to sell any of them

To him, the world gets to see you but will never own a part of you

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

“I believe that the whole story of the three books would have to be told over four seasons,” she told TheWrap during an interview about Season 2. “And then it’s down to people loving the show and all we do is the best we can to get it out there and hope that people want more.”

When asked about the status of a Season 3 renewal, Ferguson was coy.

“We are constantly discussing [the possibility of Season 3]. It might be [renewed], I couldn’t tell you. It might not be. We might have finished it. Or nothing’s happening. I mean, I could just lie.”

In the Season 1 finale, Ferguson’s Juliette Nichols went outside and survived, having sussed out a conspiracy from those in power to ensure everyone who goes outside dies. But once outside, she discovered their silo was surrounded by many more silos.

Season 2 picks up immediately where Season 1 left off with a largely wordless premiere episode that follows Juliette as she struggles to gain entry to the nearest silo before she runs out of oxygen. It’s a deeply physical performance, which was a challenge that Ferguson relished.

“I loved that. It’s what the story is. She comes from absolute chaos into complete loneliness, and just that shift is so good,” Ferguson said. “I love that [showrunner] Graham Yost let the episode be a standalone moment for her, and not cut away with the sound and noise and rebellion and uproar and anger and confusion.”

The season also posed another challenge in that Ferguson’s primary screen partner is Steve Zahn, who plays the new character Solo, a man she discovers in an abandoned silo. The actress said she was over the moon when Zahn accepted the role.

“I knew he was going to do something that was so f–king unpredictable, and that would put me selfishly in a scenario where the person I’m acting with will make every scene interesting,” she said. “He doesn’t look at the whole picture. Steve looks at this moment. That’s how he works, and I’m very similar to that. What is it in this moment between you and me that is going to make this interesting? And then we just play.”

Given that Ferguson and Zahn’s scenes all take place in a different silo from the rest of the story this season, they not only shot separately from the rest of the cast – they shot their half of the season after everyone else had wrapped, after the strikes.

The crew used the same sets from the original silo but dressed them differently for Ferguson and Zahn’s scenes, which take place in an abandoned, run-down and water-logged silo. “Everything just looked so different and derelict, but it’s such a huge space,” Ferguson added.

For as much as Ferguson loves “Silo,” she still hasn’t seen Season 2 for “various reasons.”

“I get the dailies and the cuts, but I don’t want to see them because I don’t see that as my job as a producer on this show,” she said. “Seeing the raw footage with the green screen and the blue screen, I find it really discombobulating, so I’ve decided that that’s not a good idea.”

The actress was ill for the show’s premiere so she missed her chance to see the first episode on the big screen – “which is really, really sad,” she said – but she acknowledged she’s seen a lot of footage of the scenes between her and Zahn.

“Because they’re so personable, I was so close, I wanted to see what was happening in the dynamic between us.”

Her verdict? “It’s great.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

Vin Jin x Reader: Love bites (feat Mary)

idiot hours

"What is that?" Mary yanks Vin by his collar, bringing him close enough so she can carefully examine the weird patch by his neck.

"Nothing."

It's a lie. He's not ashamed. He does little to hide his smirk.

This was your idea. If it was up to Vin, he would have no problem showing the world the markings. It's a way to boast about exactly the sort of sordid and fun things he gets up to with you.

To announce to the plebs: guess who's so much better than you and getting laid on the reg? This guy.

(With a pout, he had applied your concealer onto his neck this morning after you complained for the n-th time about how tacky you thought it looked.

Not that you particularly cared the night before, when you muffled your moans by biting down hard enough to bruise.)

Mary's eyes narrow, "Is that...?"

Sussing out exactly why that spot on his neck is a slightly different colour from the rest of him, and the bruise and teeth mark now glaringly obvious at this distance, she shoves him away.

"You two are so gross."

"The only thing that's going to be biting you are bedbugs."

"I'd rather that than a tacky lovebite."

"You're tacky, you lonely hag."

"Who's a hag?!"

Just as Mary is about to smack him upside the head, you appear and step in between the two bickering friends.

"What's wrong?"

Mary's eyes immediately zero in on your own dodgy make-up job.

Somehow yours is worse than Vin's despite it being your concealer. Sure you can't see anything, but there's a sprawling patch of orange hiding what must be the result of Vin nipping and suckling at your neck.

Seriously. Ughhh. The mental image makes her feel queasy.

Maybe she should have thought twice about playing matchmaker if it meant she would also be playing third wheel and being grossed out all time.

Mary catches you both exchanging cheeky grins and looking besotted with each other, you hooking your pinky with Vin's in a display of cheesiness he surprisingly lets slide.

On second thoughts, maybe she doesn't mind putting up with it if it means her best friends are this stupidly happy.

[jazzybot4]

We're all going to need to get okay with being uncomfortable for a while.

So the next 4, 8, 12 years are going to be hard. They're going to be upsetting and scary and so hard. It's going to hurt and it's going to be the kind of environment that cooks us all in a slow simmer of despair.

Do NOT let the current corporate fascist power base have your despair. Despair makes you complacent. Things are going to be more expensive. Learn how to make your own things, so that you don't have to buy them. Make those things for your neighbors too. Find a mask design you like and wear it in public. You'll look like a weirdo but you can't afford to be sick, or get your family sick. Handsewing a mask takes a couple of hours but they're really comfy and satisfying. Make it a style point. Food is going to be more expensive. Figure out if your neighbors and you can go in on bulk food. Find storage at thrift stores, craigslist, anywhere you can think of. If you can dig it out of the ground, plant it as soon as the ground thaws. If you can get away with it and a neighbor is cool with it, see if you can start a backyard geurilla community garden. Be kind. Gods you do not have to be nice, but please be kind. We're all exhausted and afraid and angry and upset. Be kind, to yourself and to your friends. But also be kind to the conservatives who just got the same rug pulled out from under them as the rest of us. Every defeat from within their oligarchy-run political camp is a victory that we need to not rub in their faces. We need compassion, and we need understanding, and we need to show our neighbors that we are not fighting for our COMFORT but for our LIVES. A debate is when both parties are on the same playing field. An argument is when one side is fighting for their survival against the Devil that the other person is advocating for. Stop playing Devils advocate. He's had enough help and now we need to figure out how to get the Devil out of the hearts of people who don't need to love us, but who can and should respect us and vote with us. My favorite poem is also the most dangerous one I know. I think we all need to remember that this is not a mindset that requires other people to change. He drew a circle and shut me out Heretic! Rebel! A thing to flout. But Love and I had the wit to win We drew a circle, and took him in. Every single gab in the Hard Right rhetoric is a gap you can wiggle compassion into. Every single conversation about immigration, or queerness, or education, or security is a chance to ask questions and listen. Ask them how. Ask them why. Let them explain and don't try to talk over them or let them feel like you're just waiting for them to stop talking. Ask genuine questions to suss out what they're afraid of and why their fear matters more than your right to exist. Often, people won't have an epiphany. But it will give you the ability to figure out what they're afraid of, and offer them alternatives. These are not "Some Other People" who voted to put us all at risk. It's our neighbors, our friends, our families. People who love us but dont' understand that the way they vote will genuinely affect us. Let the Republicans bumble and blunder. Let them fumble and fuck up and propagandize. Every single slip is a chance for us to drag our loved ones out of their rhetoric and their voting block grip. We're able now to point out every single broken promise that is going to be made. We are poor. We are afraid. We have what the conservative base does not. We have patience, and we have compassion, and we must at all costs have hope. Even if that hope is small and afraid and alone. If you cannot be safe, then be free. Look them in the eye and ask why their freedom matters more than yours does, and watch them get angry trying to justify it with God or with Legislation or with Discomfort. Ask them why they think you deserve to die. Often the answer will make no sense, and it will be so extreme that you can look them in the eye and tell them that you don't want *them* to die, even if they hate you for being real, instead of the fantasy they're having about you.

Look out for each other. If you cannot afford it, make it. If you cannot make it, ask your community who can. If you can help, help. If you can be kind, be kind. Let's take our people back, because if we don't? This looks a lot like the world did, 4 years before world war 2.

[a-libra-writes]

👉👈 can i get some nicodeme savoy romantic hcs please? Im thinking he and s/o (or crush) probably work together or smth bc that's how i personally see a relationship with him or even Serafine working, but feel free to go about it how you like ^^

Hehe I got a bevy of Nico requests, this one is gonna be some Romantic HC's (like ive got with the others) with additional HCs of working with him on the bottom!

Nico's a pretty easy guy to start flirting with. If there's a handsome fellow or lovely lady who wants his attention, who is he to refuse? He takes it in stride, not really pushing or pursuing too hard - you set the speed. The only time he'll put on the brakes is if you're clearly angling for something serious; Nico is quite upfront about wanting a more casual relationship.

While he's flirting with you, Serafine likes to do the same, even if just to bug him or interrupt. They've always been like this with each other's romantic interests, and have even shared flings. Note if you aren't comfortable with it or aren't interested in women, she picks up quickly and doesn't continue her flirtations. The teasing will be endless, though. No escape.

(Sometimes it actually bugs him out his sister will interrupt right when the flirting gets to something more. He just makes a mental note to pay her back later.)

Nico definitely takes you places that aren't traditional dating spots ... The Marigold room, boxing matches, rowdy and cramped speakeasies he heard about from a cousin of a friend of a friend. While he'll also go places you suggest, these spots are where he seems to be most relaxed and in his element. And if you're masc or present as such, it's much easier to be physically affectionate and open in those underground places.

Also, showing you off is fun! Nico will say as much. Whether you're at his side or in his lap, he has a comfortable yet steady arm around you to make it clear who you're with. He really loves it when people try to flirt anyway, just so he can stop them short with a "They're a little occupied, don't you think?" and give you a kiss right on the neck. He is shameless.

Actually, he thinks it's kind of funny when others flirt with you, and then you immediately shoot them down once he shows up. Huge ego boost, as if he needs any more. Almost makes being late to the date worth it.

And on that note, Nico is a very affectionate guy. He's most likely going to be the bigger person between you two, which he likes. Nico likes picking you up like it's nothing, giving you big squeezing hugs, and carrying you around. It's extra fun when you get flustered and embarrassed. He likes kisses and making out and really doesn't care who sees, though Serafine will toss something at him when it's time to stop and get a room.

Also, he's surprisingly conservative with his energy when he isn't fighting, so he likes lazy days with you, too. Resting his head in your lap, rubbing his cheeks against your's when you wake up together and going back to sleep. He's actually pretty damn content with just snuggling. It's fun when you're smaller because he can just lean and flop on you and you can't do much to move him. Serafine knows if he doesn't come home, he's probably at your place, so if she needs him she drives by there and blares her horn until he comes out. Oh, and if you like his accent, he's definitely playing it up and thinking up silly petnames for you.

(Not a serious relationship tho)

He doesn't like talking about the relationship being "exclusive", just stating that he'd rather not be tied down and he doesn't get why you'd want to complicate things. That's the claim, but it's pretty clear to his sister that he's lost interest in his other dalliances. Nico just shrugs and tells her they aren't as fun. She tries to suss out your feelings on the matter as well, but she'll always be on her brother's side, and she won't convince him to be something he's not.

You'll actually get the big guy talking about his childhood, and the swamp they nearly died in. He likes hearing about your's, especially if it was very different from how he grew up. If you're well-off he likes teasing about you being an "uptown cat" whose messing around with a stray, but it doesn't truly bother him. Nico might even be willing to meet some family members, but never in a formal setting, and he won't try to smooth his rough edges.

He is what he is, and there's really no changing it. Still, it's obvious Nico cares for you dearly, even if he doesn't wax poetic about it or go about it in a traditional way.

If you both work together, that's just fine for him - more time to spend with you, and you both would get closer much faster. Having to rely on someone in a gunfight and trust they won't chicken out or abandon you will do that.

The siblings might prefer having you on their jobs over Mordecai, if you're more prone to "fun" and chaos like they are. Nico likes to show off for you and flirt mid-firefight, and just laughs if you scold him. He's more situationally aware than he appears, though; if you're in danger he's quick to leap to action, just as he would for his sister.

He's probably gotten himself hurt doing that, though he isn't bothered by it. Nico has a remarkably high pain tolerance and would probably walk off a bullet wound if you and his sister didn't stop him. More than once he's showed up to your home bloody, having gone to you before the Marigold doctor. Can you blame him for wanting to be fussed over by you instead of that old man? At least if he's hurt on a job you're both at, you can drive his ass to proper medical care.

Oh, and he's not above giving you a kiss before and after a job. Or during, if there's a quiet moment. Hey, he's still paying attention (probably). Serafine just rolls her eyes and tells him to focus (or you to stop encouraging him), but she plays along if Mordecai is around. The shadowy cat is making disgusted noises and very bluntly telling you two to focus and do those things elsewhere.

Also, work with the Savoy siblings long enough, and you're likely to be inducted into their whole 'Maitre Carrefour' group, and it ... may not be entirely optional. If you're loyal to the siblings, Nico will convince his sister to not bother you so much about it, but it's clear Serafine wants you to be a part of it. The three of you end up being a well-known trio amongst the Marigold gang, which would only make Mordecai more wary and unwilling to be 'friendly' with you three (actually, the blatant PDA probably bothers him more.)

[pardy-dardy]

BtWoD: From the Cockroach's Mouth

just like the last post, this is me looking to expand upon the Samsa, since they kinda got shafted when it comes to the development department before V5 came around. :) they are funny bugs OC below the cut!!

“From the Cockroach’s Mouth,” a report by Electrum Wire, Beat Auspice, House Frugilex.

A couple moons back I found a lead on the Gaian Samsa, courtesy of a wiretapped company phone in Prague. From there, me and my Pack were able to suss out which Samsa was being targeted, where they’d be, and how to interfere. Suffice to say, we took out more than a couple Fomori that day, and earned ourselves some one-on-one time with the Samsa. For the sake of maintaining her privacy, she asked that we didn’t write or record her name, but she DID give us a list of half a dozen contacts we could seek out.

This report aims to fill in some of the holes in our knowledge about the Samsa through the use of primary sources (albeit with the information summarized). 

“Where were the Samsa all this time?” Little tip for anyone else being assigned to the Samsa— don’t ask them this fucking question, it makes them think you’re a cop (or worse, an Ananasi). Everyone had the same story here. The Samsa had effectively been spiritually severed from the remainder of their forms, thanks to some shit the Ananasi did back when they were slaughtering the rest of the bugs. They claim that they were around this whole time, and that nobody bothered to notice. There was one who claimed that she’d been able to contact the Anurana in smaller ways before they all “woke up,” and that everyone just wasn’t trying hard enough. We looked into this, and found that there was evidence that Samsa kinfolk have a similar, but incredibly faint spiritual resonance. It’d be damn near impossible to detect unless you were looking for it, ‘cause it gets lost in the spiritual static of the rest of the world easily.

“How did the Samsa all ‘wake up’?” Out of all the roaches we interviewed, only one of them was of a mystic lean. He said that he “doesn’t quite know for sure, but it might’ve had something to do with the moon landing, the turn of the millennium, and the interference from Pentex all at once.” Take it with a grain of salt, folks. They’re still looking into it for themselves, and we might need a couple Packs out there to help’em out.

“Are the Ananasi still hunting you?” We got a solid “no” out of everyone we interviewed here. Seems like the spiders want it to be water under the bridge, actually. Some reported that they’d had visits from them to talk “business,” but none of them wanted to elaborate on what that shit meant. This could also use some more investigation.

“Are you able to connect with other Samsa?” Again, this one got us looks from everyone we interviewed. Establish some closer relations before digging in with this question. Regardless, they all admitted to being highly organized in urban environments. They move the way the spiders do through technology, and one Samsa can keep close with another so long as they’ve got a flip phone or radio. Some of them gave us the impression that it’d always been this way, but others kept asking whether we were cops or not, so we didn’t get much else out of’em.

“What is the ‘Glass Dance’?” Again, this was a question only the mystic of the bunch could give us anything on. All he said was “you play the game your way, we’ll play it ours,” so we have to assume that it’s a term they use for their operations. Reports of the term being used come primarily from younger Samsa anyways, so maybe it’s an example of them being tight-lipped? Needs more insight for sure.

“What is your relationship with Pentex?” Everyone spit on the floor when we mentioned the name, so that’s a good sign. There weren’t any who claimed heritage from the company’s experiments, but that doesn’t rule out the possibility. None of them had anything nice to say, and none of them said anything in particular about their plans to us. I plan on continuing correspondence with a few individuals from this assignment to dig further.

[leximicham]

Friendship as a Force Multiplier

I wrote a preface (read: rant) about this but I want the methods below to stand on their own. Feel free to read it. Or not. I'm not a cop.

The below terms are meant to be ways that you can help others or ask for help from others with increasing productivity. These are execution skills as in they allow you to execute on tasks and get shit done. Skills; not crutches, not cheats or hacks, and not anything else which you might feel ashamed of. People want to help you and you probably want to help people get more done so let's build these skills together.

Task Activation

Sitting down with someone for 5-10 minutes to help one of you focus on a task long enough to build momentum or "flow state". Go to a designated workspace together, clear and otherwise prepare said workspace, pull out/open the tool of choice for this task, talk about the goals of the current big thing, start working for 5 minutes. Task Activation complete! The helper can go back to whatever they were doing. The tasker can either continue working if the activation has put them in flow state or they can go back to the drawing board because there may be unforeseen roadblocks or this may just have been the wrong day to do work or the wrong task to work on. Cost of this Task Activation? 5-10 minutes from 2 people and hanging out with a cool person. Cost of trying again if the first activation failed? The exact same.

Rubber Ducking

An intimate (/s) roleplay experience where one person plays the role of an expert trying to suss out a path through a complicated problem and the other person roleplays an inanimate object. Maybe the first player drops the mask and steps away to search for something on the internet because they need more expertise than they're ready to act out. Maybe the second player breaks character by asking helpful questions to set the first player back on track through their musings. Or maybe the forget that rubber ducks can't play Pokemon on their Switch while someone is talking at them. This is a safe space, there are no judgements if everyone's having a good time.

Body Doubling

Very similar to Rubber Ducking but with structure and tomato shaped egg timers. And less talking. Read up on the Pomodoro Technique if you're not familiar. One person (at least) gathers one other person (at least) to sit in a room with a timer and strict expectations about how long productivity periods and break periods last. I like 25 minutes of working and 10 minutes of break. Don't let productivity spill into breaks. Don't forget to keep planning your tasks and future working cycles. Don't shame anyone for playing Pokemon on their Switch during productivity cycles - rest can be productive, too. Avoid disturbing other people during productivity periods except with time checks, cries of victory, or reminders to not beat heads against walls or keyboards. Task Activation can lead into Body Doubling. Body Doubling can be paused for Rubber Ducking. All bodies involved should be breathing.

Paired Productivity

This is just Pair Programming but with a conjugation and more generalized activity term change. Two people enter (a prepared and organized workspace), they have a task or two which they've both agreed to work on, one has the tools to perform the task, the other has a device which can search the internet, they do work, two people leave. Tomato shaped egg timers are encouraged. Rubber Ducking may occur. One person attempts to do the task while discussing the steps, actions, and open questions with the other. The other person checks work, researches particularly difficult questions, and does not touch the tool for this task. Trading roles at predetermined times is fine. I recommend that the more experienced person give the less experienced person more time working with the tool. Take breaks if either the task or other person wears you out.

Task Dump

Giving someone a pen and paper and making them write out every worry, chore, deliverable, past due library book, and passion project idea they have until they start remembering missed homework assignments from the last school they graduated from. Alternatively: be the person who has a pen and paper thrust upon them. Getting Things Done (this is a book and paid coaching program but the link gives a good synopsis) teaches that the worst place to store information and to-dos is your brain. We forget things and we worry about forgetting things. We feel pressure when tasks are a cloud of associations and worries about missed deadline repercussions or would've, could've, should'ves for how our life might have been if we'd done this important task yesterday instead of playing Pokemon on our Switch. We must always forgive our past selves, accept our present selves, and be kind to our future selves. Once a task is on that list it's a future item and past us is off the hook. Having everything listed in front of us helps us figure out and accept the current state of the world. Determining next steps gives our future self the best chance of being proud of themself for accomplishing cool and important stuff. It's hard to say what to do with the big list of tasks from your brain once you have it. This isn't a planning or project management guide and I haven't written one (yet). It's up to you what you do with the list but I guarantee that you'll be in a healthier place when you can see everything on paper instead of listening to the tasks and worries buzz angrily around your head. Here's some suggestions to get you started:

Separate the hastily scrawled list into several lists based on themes:

work

hobbies

errands

passion projects

gifts for the wonderful friend helping you with this

Stack rank things based on a combination of urgency and importance:

Capture the bug which just landed on the corner of your desk?

High urgency (it's gonna fly away!)

Low importance (unless you eat bugs?)

Figuring out where to send humanity in the cosmos when our sun inevitably expands?

Very high importance (we need to live somewhere not inside the sun)

Very low urgency (we hope...)

Figuring out what you're going to eat for your next meal?

Medium-high importance (don't forget to eat!)

Medium-high urgency (you've forgotten to eat while reading this post, haven't you?)

Do this one!

My main suggestion is just to learn to do this Task Dump regularly. This is a tool which you can use in response to "oh no, my head is full of things to do and I don't like it!" You can cross things off the old list or add them to another system but at the end of the day writing things down helps. Keep your old lists around and rewrite them but skip things which are done or that you've decided you don't need to worry about anymore. Add new things. Observing and measuring your task load like this will eventually get you taking on more manageable loads and prioritizing things (with your Task Dump buddy) and feeling really accomplished.

Kind Interrupt

This is not a planned event. If you see someone you care about is hyper fixating on something but making no progress because they're just spinning their wheels and banging their head against a wall then there's actions you can take to help. Breaks are important so you want them to step away at least for a little bit. It's important to be careful not to force someone away from something that they're stuck on, though. You also want to avoid guilting them; they probably already know if they're running late or not making a lot of progress. Try replacements and simple choices: "Would you like to go for a walk or would you rather get a snack and something to drink with me?" Don't shy away from sharing your needs, though. If you need this person to do something else for you then don't shy away from that. Focus on the help, "Can you help me get ready to go?" or "Can I get your help with this task?" Helping people is stimulating and you shouldn't underestimate how much people in your life want to help you.

This list was originally 5 skills until my "15 minute blogpost" became 3 hours and my wives had to rescue me to work on other things.

That's it for now. Read this with someone who you want to unblock or who you know is willing to help unblock you. Become force multipliers together. Keep this in your back pocket for a bad executive function day. Steal it for your own blogpost or website but please give credit to the trans and ungovernable catgirl, Lexi Micham. Have a nice day!

[axolator]

Script-A-Day #3: Hide and Seek by Narninian & Zaba

Everyone is lying (or should be)

Featured characters: Undertaker, Damsel, Mezepeheles

Complexity: Intermediate-Advanced. Recommended for players okay with lying for good reasons and those able to suss out who's lying for evil reasons.

Database link (find the PDF and JSON for running it there!)

Writeup under the cut!

Hide and Seek is all about building confirmation chains between good players, and figuring out the reason why some things don’t add up. Characters like the Undertaker and Dreamer are insanely hard bluffs for an evil team on this script, since there’s little reason to explain why they’re wrong. If they pull it off, though, it can be game-winning. The Cerenovus opens the door to a Virgin bluff, too, by allowing an evil player to break madness and get executed as they nominate a fake Virgin. As the Storyteller, consider letting this happen: it sacrifices an evil player, plus characters like the Undertaker and Oracle can pick up on the fact it's happened through their info.

Leveraging the Outsiders can be vital: though the Godfather risks revealing their presence if they kill, they can end the game if an Outsider is left until the endgame. A careless good team can leave a Damsel without cover, causing them to get guessed and the game to end. Meanwhile, the Good team can get immense information if the Huntsman finds their Damsel, if the Drunk is Librarian-pinged and located, or if the Goon is flipped back onto the good team and can reveal when the Poisoner or Cerenovus was too busy making them evil to use the rest of their ability. When building a bag, especially at low player counts, consider how much confirmation is within the good team, and build the evil team to compensate: higher-power good teams (with characters like Dreamer, Undertaker, and Artist) might warrant a Poisoner or Mezepheles, and vice versa for lower-power good teams.

Some notes:

Consider houseruling Huntsman to be stonger if your group would find it more fun. Even if you're running it rules-as-written, don't add an Outsider using the Huntsman's [+Damsel] setup condition if you can help it: replace one of the in-play Outsiders with one instead. Common houserules to make the ability stronger than the printed text are to make it twice per game, or to have the Huntsman act each night, but make itself drunk for the rest of the game if it chooses an evil player (often called the Narninian Huntsman, after the player who popularized the rule).

Make sure you know when the Damsel announcement happens. Minions learn that a Damsel is in play during Minion info; the night order just serves as a reminder for STs who might have forgotten. This means that neither the Poisoner nor the Huntsman stop the ping from going out if they choose the Damsel on the first night.

Keep in mind that both the Goon and Mezepheles are on this script and can cause two extra evil players (there's no Spirit of Ivory by design). I’d avoid putting both in the bag together in small games, and would exercise caution in larger games. Make sure the good team has enough characters that choose someone at night to let them flip a Goon back to the good team! (Actually, keeping the number of characters that can flip the Goon back and forth in mind is a pretty good idea even when the Mezepheles isn’t also in play — there are only so many good characters that choose players to go around.)

If the Ojo intentionally misses a kill, consider killing two players to simulate that a Godfather is in play. Doubly so if the player that just got executed is an evil player bluffing one of the hidden Outsiders! Framing someone as the Drunk or evil Goon by creating a doublekill after they’re executed is a huge strength of the Ojo here in practice.

This script is pretty well-known and battle-tested, so I think that's all I have to say about it. It's pretty resilient and very fun to play and run — good luck and see you tomorrow!

[fio-renze]

Director Mirthstar’s office was full of a myriad of magical things, a grand, ornate desk fitting of her station in the Violet Citadel and an overly inflated air of importance. It was familiar in an uncanny, palette swapped sort of way. Fiorenze had been here before, in a different city and circumstance. Aradana was not the Grand Magister, she never would be, but there was enough of a similarity between the many years of her life that she spent in service in Silvermoon that set her teeth on edge and left a bad taste in her mouth.

As soon as the door had closed she felt trapped. Aradana casually went to the bar cart and fixed them both a glass of wine, comfortable enough to leave her back to her guest. If she had been anyone else, the way that the director positioned her body just enough to block her line of sight on the glasses and bottles would’ve passed notice — but she had been the Grand Magister’s spy on other Silvermoon court nobles for decades. 

Fiorenze smiled blithely as Aradana handed her a glass of red wine, playing to her personal strengths in deception, “Wine at this hour? You’re certainly treating me well.” 

“Of course! You’re my guest, and we’re friends are we not? It’s not often I get to treat someone like this,” the director swept her purple robes behind her as she had a seat in her chair, settling her own glass down on a marble coaster. “It’s a fine vintage from Lordaeron, pre-fall of course,” the Quel’dorei woman’s own smile was charming as she nonchalantly gestured back toward the re-corked bottle. 

She recognized herself in Aradana, too. Somehow the other woman had lucked into enough promotions to be here, there were strings to pluck and pull to figure out exactly what the point of all of this was — no doubt the director would be trying the same. Fiorenze lifted the glass to her nose, the rich, fruity and earthy scent of the wine hit her immediately, with a secondary and extremely faint saccharine and soapy note lingering just behind that would’ve been more difficult to notice before her time with the Starweaver. That explained the need for the stronger vintage at this hour. Her eyes flicked up to watch Aradana’s face as she took a polite, if slightly too deep drink. 

Aradana, to her credit, did not react beyond having a sip from her own glass, “Human wines are, truly, a bit acidic for my taste. I’m glad for a more neutral world again, having access to Eversong trade in a more robust way is good for me,” she laughed at her own joke before settling her glass back down so she could lean forward, elbows on her desk, “I’ll admit some surprise that you decided to declare citizenship here; your ties to Dalaran aren’t nearly as strong as your sister’s, but I suppose that will be to our benefit long term, no?” 

Fiorenze hummed, relaxing in a subtle show of accepting the pretense of friendship and geniality in a way that let her rest a hand out of sight, against her own leg so she could covertly cleanse the poison she’d been served out of her system. “Shouldn’t they be? After all, both of my parents were professors here for quite a long time by the city’s standards. I’ll admit I was pleasantly surprised to hear you’d become director! We weren’t the best students, you and I.”

“If I recall you only passed because your parents were professors. We can’t all marry up, and sometimes following the whims and wishes of your family can set you back centuries. You’re going to be so much more successful making your own way now, I think, especially if we’re able to get you out of that sad little flower shop,” Aradana sighed and rested her fingers on the base of her wine glass so she could push it around and swirl the deep red liquid around. 

Fiorenze had another sip of her wine, trying to suss out exactly what the dose was before subtly cleansing it out once again. Whatever it was likely was meant to kill her by the end of the day. How long had Aradana been double dealing with both Dalaran and Silvermoon? “I passed because my little sister is smarter than I am and was willing to help me. Just as I’m sure you’d like to be able to help me with my job prospects. After all, before I resigned from the Magistry, the Grand Magister himself offered me the upcoming directorship there.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie; he had offered her a role that would eventually set her up for the title down the line. That gave Aradana some pause, “Did he? And you didn’t take it?”

“It wasn’t going to make me happy. Are you happy doing the work you do, director? Does this,” Fiorenze gestured around at the office and its fripperies, “bring you joy? The work I did for the Magistry never did. The flower shop is simple, but it makes me happy.” 

Aradana smiled again, the underlying pity in her expression not lost on Fiorenze. The other woman absolutely thought she was going to be dead later, and so much for being happy at a flower shop, “Is this your way of telling me you’re not interested in the job?” 

“I suppose it is, now that I’ve had time to think about it,” the poison had certainly helped make the decision a bit easier. She smiled and set her mostly empty glass on Aradana’s desk, ignoring the available coaster off to the side before standing and smoothing her dress out, “I sincerely hope you find a good candidate, though.” 

Aradana waved a hand, using magic to open the door so that Fiorenze could show herself out, “I imagine we will. Shame it won't be you.”

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Helloooooooooooooooooo it's me 🧡🤪🤡🧡 your personal and favourite Frankie consultant (I just love to claim titles, don't I) 🚁🧢

For the followers milestone sleepover (CONGRATS AGAIN!!!), I love the f/m/k game, so : 💜

I would have picked ✍🏼 but I still struggle to consider myself a proper writer...

I'm also very curious about 🤷🏻‍♀️?? Will you have us pick between two impossible choices...? You are that kind of masterful menace, ilysm.

And finally, if you will indulge me: ❓ what's next????? The Frankie series?????? Eeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!

And now it's your turn to pick one of the above!

Congratulations again, my darling, and THANK YOU 🧡🧡🧡🧡

MY PERSONAL FRANKIE CONSULTANT, I love you so much 🧡🧡🧡 I refuse to pick, so I'm afraid you'll have to entertain ALL my questions 😘

💜 FMK with Max Lord, Jack and Javier (I am very interested to see how this one turns out)

✍🏼 Not only are you a 'proper' writer, you are a phenomenal writer, and I can ask you about your writing all day, but I will restrict myself to one.

One of my favourite things about Please to Meet You is the way you twist and mould time to tell the story through flashbacks. I've never read a fic that weaves the past and present so beautifully and effectively. Is this something that you planned from the beginning, or did it come to you when you started writing the story?

🤷🏻‍♀️ Ok this is a fun one. If Frankie could only wear one outfit for the rest of his life, would you choose this or that (the latter including the sweat and zip ties):

❓ Next is... finishing Palomino 😭 I have a little update about that coming next week. And after that, I want to write a follow up to college AU Joel, and then I want to chat your ear off about my planned angsty Frankie series (?) Summer House. Seams will be ongoing as well, but it might take me a little while to get to the next part since I'm still sussing out how I want the series to go forward.

Thank you so much for playing Maddie my love, this was so much fun! And everyone please read PTMY, it's honestly one of my favourite things I've ever read and you'll have the good fortune to read the whole series in its entirety because Maddie just finished it 🧡

[dearfuturehusbandblog]

I Had A Moment

Dear Future Husband,

I've had a lot I've wanted to post here over the last few months but it's been too much, really, and a lot of the things I've wanted to say would come out sounding completely insensitive and that just wouldn't be appropriate for what everyone has been struggling with. I'm also slow at processing things properly, which I think I've made kind of clear in this blog in the past.

Regardless, I'll reiterate: I'm often too pragmatic, honestly to a fault.

Everything about the way I think and feel (or don't feel) is a direct symptom of the way I was raised, regardless of how in denial my parents are of the way they raised us.

I've been sleeping worse than normal for the last three months (it's literally 10:20am right now as I'm starting to write this and I still haven't slept since yesterday and I only slept about 3-4 hours yesterday, so you can probably see where this is going....) and I'm too tired to really explain myself thoroughly here right now, but I thought I should share this.

Since the war started in October I haven't felt much about it.

This is the whole insensitive thing I was talking about....

I'm a half a world away dealing with so many other things and b"H all the people I know in Israel are as safe as they can be during this insanity, so it's hard to relate to anything that's going on over there.

I've also never been much of an emotional person, so I've seen a lot of the footage and pictures and haven't had much of a reaction. Which is ridiculous, I know, and maybe one day when I'm not falling on my face I'll take time to go more in depth on what I mean, but today is not that day.

Anywho, when I was in Seminary in Israel a whole 15+ years ago, I started reciting the entire sefer tehillem during the week of Chanukah.

That lasted maybe four or five years, but I'm so slow at reading Hebrew that I would always procrastinate the days perakim and end up off schedule and it was too much pressure on myself to do something that nobody told me I had to do. So at some point I just stopped doing it.

But another "tradition" I started at the same time was doing a content "diet" and cutting out all non-kosher movies, tv, music, and books (except for bathroom reading) for the entire week of Chanukah. That is something I still do pretty much every year.

So during the rest of the year I listen to the radio or my non-Jewish music with the blutooth in my car, but during Chanukah it's only Jewish music.

Last Thursday night, the 8th night of Chanukah, I was listening to music in my car on the way to the supermarket to buy some things for Shabbos and the song L'man Achai by The Chevra came on.

I listened to it once, not having heard it in a long time, and sang along with it. The next song came on, but my mind was still on L'man Achai, so I put it on again, harmonizing with it. And then it sunk in as an earworm and I played it again.

And I had a moment.

It was on this third play that I actually listened to the words of the song. It's from two separate perakim of tehillem.

Leman achai v're'ai adabra na shalom bach Leman bes Hashem Elokeinu avaksha tov lach Hashem oz l'amo yiten, Hashem yivarech as amo ba'shalom

The first part is from Perek 122:

And the second is from Perek 29:

My translation skills aren't that good (hence the screenshots), so I was sitting in my car trying to suss out what exactly I was saying in the first part, but when I got to the second, I got completely choked up. Words just wouldn't come out right and tears did spring to my eyes. Although the tears didn't spill over, the knot in my throat took a while to dissipate and I stopped singing along with the song. All I could think about was how many people in Israel are wishing for peace and strength, and how many have picked themselves up after such a tragedy and are moving forward, not letting this keep them down at all.

And I thought about every galus we've been in. Every massacre of Jews for thousands of years because of feuds that run so deep in our history that even when they've been resolved by the people who started them, their children still carry that hatred in their hearts because they've been taught it's important, even when it's not their fight.

And the sarcastic and angry part of me was saying "Hashem gives us strength? He blesses us with peace? WHAT peace? WHAT strength???"

But the rest of me just felt the brokenness of it all.

I ended up playing the song several more times in a row, getting my voice back enough to yell out the lyrics, hoping if I could say them loud enough they'd permeate my soul and maybe I would feel something more than just that momentary strangle. That maybe just putting the words out into the world would be enough.

So after three months of playing the part of "it's so terrible, it's so sad" but not really feeling those emotions, something in my brain finally clicked. And I had that moment.

It's been a week and I've had the song on repeat in my head since then. It doesn't have the same impact on me as it did last Thursday in the car, but I keep thinking about it.

It's like the earworm of the century has burrowed into my brain and no matter what I do to distract myself the tune is always on the periphery of my thoughts.

Not that this whole situation hasn't been far from my mind every day anyway.... but now I have a small and constant reminder that I can have human feelings on occasion. It just sometimes takes three months for that moment.

-LivelyHeart

[oddree13]

Restless Year - Chapter 8

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

(Prior Chapter) (Next Chapter)

(Read on AO3)

Chapter 8 - Dreams

December 1989

Chicago is cold. It’s not like this is a revelation to Eddie, but the difference in the way Indiana feels in December and the way the Windy City is pummeling him is stark. He reluctantly traded his combat boots for what Steve calls ‘bean boots’ and if it wasn’t for his feet being so damn warm he’d be cursing Steve for giving him prep clothes.

He’s been anticipating the shop being a bit nightmarish in the run-up to the holidays, but the stream of customers is almost never-ending and the stock is running low. It got to the point that Eddie started calling other managers in the area to see how they were faring, and whether or not they could make tentative agreements to send customers hunting for particular finds to each other. 

Walking past the counter where Ezra is explaining to a mother why getting her thirteen-year-old a Frank Zappa album is a bad idea, he’s stopped by Jamie who is holding the phone up for him. “Eddie, someone named Max is calling? I asked for a last name and she audibly rolled her eyes.”

“Right, put her on hold and I’ll take it in the back. S’one of my kids,” he explains. The amount of adopted kids Eddie has is a running joke in the shop. All the staff know Dustin, but over the months, different calls have come in from the rest of the party, some of them asking for Eddie by name while others have straight up asked for Dad. It led to the staff comparing notes and swapping names until Eddie just put a group photo on his desk. 

“Red I assume the world is burning because you’re calling me instead of Steve. What’s up?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re dramatic? Like, have a normal phone conversation. Not everything is a campaign,” she quips and Eddie knows that she’s probably about to start a conversation she’d been avoiding for a bit.

“Fine, fine. Let me start over. Smash Records, Eddie Munson, manager speaking! Hello, Maxine, to what do I owe the pleasure!”

“I hope that causes you to get a rash. That sounded so plastic, ugh.” Max’s distaste is obvious and Eddie can picture her screwed-up face perfectly. “Look I’m calling because I’m coming to stay with you and Steve the day after Christmas until school starts up again. I already bought my bus ticket.”

It’s moments like this Eddie semi-regrets Steve’s open invitation to the kids. Steve probably thought they’d ask ahead of time, whereas Eddie knew better. Eddie knows Max must be telling not asking for a reason, so he lets it go. A quick glance at his calendar shows that Wayne will be gone by then, so they’ll have space. 

“Sounds like a good time. I could use a hand at the shop. Any particular reason you’re coming to crash with us instead of staying with Lucas or El? Or do you just miss us that much?”

“I’ve never been to Chicago and I’ve got the time off, so I figured why not?”

Why Eddie expected a straight answer, he’ll never know. He assumes it has something to do with not wanting to be around her mother for longer than she needs to and escaping the looks of concern she’ll get if she lingers around Hawkins. But those are assumptions Steve will have to suss out when she arrives. 

“I’ll let Steve know tonight and one of us will get you from the station on the 26th. And if you play your cards right I’ll let you have a recommendation space on the staff shelf.”

“Your shop would be lucky to display my choices, so really I’m doing you a favor,” she counters and Eddie can’t help but chuckle in amusement.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to work but can’t wait to see you Red.”

“Thanks, Eddie...and tell Steve thanks too.”

Before Eddie can say bye the line cuts and he likes to think his own children won’t be so ill-mannered. “Ugh, that sounded like Steve...”

Over dinner that night Eddie lets Steve know about Max’s plan and her delivery of it. 

“Of course, she just up and bought a ticket. Do you actually think she’d ask and chance us saying no? That’s not how Max operates.”

“I dunno, that seems more like a Mike move than a Max one, is all,” Eddie thinks, twirling his spaghetti around his fork. 

“Ah, see, there is the difference. Mike would just up and buy a ticket to come stay with us because he feels entitled to do it. He wouldn’t actually come to see both of us, just you and the city. But Max? Max bought a ticket and just told us to lessen the chance of rejection. Because for all the bravado Mayfield has, she’s still the kid who’d rather sit on your steps listening to you play guitar than go home. I’m just happy we can still be that for her.”

Eddie stopped eating midway through Steve’s analysis and just looks at his mate with fondness. For all of Steve’s complaints about how much the kids of their pack irritate him, it’s times like this that demonstrate his love. It really shows just how much effort Steve has put in over the years to make himself a safe haven for the kids. 

“You know, I really ought to make a mom out of you already with how well you do with them.” Eddie enjoys the blush that creeps up Steve’s neck at the suggestion and glances over to the bedroom. 

“I’m not stopping you Eds.”

*

There are too many yentas in this deli. Sure he got a few stares at his old place in South Bend, but these stares are making Eddie think it's time to suck it up and learn how to cook his own brisket. Steve put in the order a few weeks ago but is currently in bed wiped out from finals swallowing tums, so Eddie offered to make the trek out with Wayne.

He’s leaning against the back wall waiting for his order to come out while Wayne mutters about having braved the L. “I still don’t know why we couldn’t have just taken your car,” he grumbles, looking a little worse for wear. 

“Wayne, you served in Vietnam, but public transit is where you draw the line?” The resounding silence gives him all the answers he needs. 

“So how's married life treatin’ ya?” Wayne asks after some time, and Eddie can’t help but smile. 

“It’s good. Not a lot has changed, which I think is for the better. Had a bit of a rough patch a few months ago but turns out we just needed to get our heads out of our asses.”

Wayne nods. “It’s good that you can admit you were wrong. I remember you had trouble doing that growing up.”

“Who says I was in the wrong?” The quirked brow from Wayne makes Eddie tsk. “I really don’t appreciate that he’s become your favorite nephew you know? Stevie can do no wrong in your eyes now that you know he’s nothing like his father.”

“Oh no, I’m sure your boy can do plenty wrong. But it takes a particular kind of person to light a fire under your ass and get you moving. Now, look at you. Living on your own, running a fine store. Next thing you know you’ll be calling me to tell me you’re going to be a dad.” Wayne chuckles a bit at the last part, and Eddie scuffs the floor with his boot. 

“I mean would that be so far-fetched?”

“You got something to tell me?”

Eddie shakes his head and feels Wayne’s gaze on him. Their heart-to-hearts are infrequent. Their relationship is built between the lines of their words and usually, that’s fine with Eddie. It’s just, right now he needs  a little bit more. 

“I don’t think it’d be that far-fetched. You’re not your old man Eddie, if that’s what you need to hear. My brother only made two good decisions in his life. Marrying your mom and having you. You might have his name but you ain’t him at all.” Wayne claps his shoulder and pulls Eddie to his side for a hug.

“Harrington! Order for Harrington!” 

Eddie moves from Wayne’s embrace and goes to grab their order when he sees Wayne head towards the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“To get a cab. I’m not chancing that brisket to the train.”

*

They had one day between visits. It was the twenty-fifth and the shop was closed like most other places in Chicago, which lent itself to a lazy morning. 

A year ago getting Eddie out of bed was like pulling teeth, but now the alpha finds himself up first most mornings for work. The upside to his new sleep schedule is on days like this he can just stay in bed and admire Steve. His mate is still sleeping, hugging a pillow to his chest. The t-shirt he wore to bed is one of Eddie’s older Anthrax shirts, threadbare with a few holes, but Steve refuses to let Eddie toss it. For as much as his mate doesn’t nest, he hoards Eddie’s old band shirts like a dragon with a treasure. 

Rolling over, Eddie presses against Steve’s back, burying his nose in his hair. Ever since their bonding, Steve’s scent has morphed. It’s richer, almost spiced, and Eddie can’t get enough. He wonders if he also smells like this but he can’t tell. It’s a question for awake Steve. Right now he’s enjoying the sleepy Steve who is turning over to press into Eddie’s chest on instinct. After the night Steve flinched away from him, Eddie appreciates everytime Steve seeks him out. Today is no exception. 

Eddie plays with Steve’s hair and traces his hand down his back, just basking in the morning light until he notices flurries falling outside the window. Watching the snowflakes dance in the wind, Eddie wonders if Hawkins is getting snow. El runs around outside every time it does and he hopes that she’s waking up to that Christmas morning. ‘They deserve the chance to be kids’ he thinks and it sounds an awful lot like Steve. 

He watches the snowfall until Steve’s lips start to kiss his neck, nipping gently at Eddie’s faux-mark. The moment the tattoo finished healing, Steve found any excuse he could to touch it, be it with his fingers, lips, teeth, or what have you. The bond has brought out Steve’s possessive side and Eddie can’t help but indulge it like right now. 

“Making sure it’s still there baby?” he whispers, scratching at the nape of Steve’s neck. His question just earns him a nod as Steve’s affection trails up his jaw until they’re kissing. Eddie turns into Steve’s embrace and trades lazy kisses with him. The softness of the morning makes Eddie want to go back in time and slap his past self for thinking he would never have this. That his own self-doubt almost kept him from having Steve Harrington in his bed every morning and every night. Because waking up to this feeling beats any high Eddie has ever had. 

When the sunlight becomes too bright for them to ignore the morning, Eddie makes the first move to roll out of bed. “Breakfast? I’ll make it.”

“That means I’m getting pancakes because that is the only thing you can somehow make.” Steve’s face is fond as he looks over at Eddie, and he’ll take the teasing. 

“Yes, I am offering flour pancakes because we have enough potato ones in the freezer to last the rest of winter.”

“Will you ever let that go,” Steve groans, and Eddie dives back onto the bed to tackle Steve, pulling his reddening face away from the pillow he’s trying to bury it in.

“Absolutely not. I’ve never seen someone so determined to get latkes right. They’re potatoes, Steve. Hash browns.”

“I see how it is. You don’t appreciate my trial and error process. And to think next year I was going to start attempting to braise brisket. I should just stick to my waspy recipes.”

That threat makes Eddie start kissing Steve’s face all over as he begs for forgiveness. “I never said anything. In fact, thank you for taking this so seriously and I look forward to you perfecting your brisket recipe. Now let me cook for you. Do you want coffee?”

Steve’s face scrunches at the offer. “No, I don’t think I could stomach it this morning. Besides, I’ll -” 

Steve stops mid-sentence and Eddie follows his gaze to see Steve looking out the window. “It’s snowing.” The statement is so simple but Eddie sort of likes proof that Steve’s been so wrapped up in their world that he hadn’t noticed the one going on outside. 

“I wonder if it’s snowing in Hawkins. El would love it,” Steve voices, and Eddie can’t help but laugh in agreement. 

“She really would.”

[eclipsecrowned]

anyway some hel as companion in galdurs bait 3 concepts i've had brewing:

her behavior in camp will actually shift with relationship values. she initially keeps her distance, strumming along on her instrument during downtime, but won't turn down any who approach her. short scenes will sometimes trigger of other companions approaching with song requests. hel when alone and it's late softly playing sad songs. songs about cycles -- one about leaving what you know for better only to find the damage follows you, love affairs soured despite changes -- and songs about haunting another. soft, sad, sometimes angry songs, sung beautifully and gentle until they're almost without teeth. it will become very apt to her personal quest that she sings of fury and sorrow and smothers the subjects under the pretty.

however! her change in character being demonstrated in those late night songs. love songs if romanced. songs of victory if she killed odin. songs of guile or folk heroes if she bested him at his own game. not playing at all if at low approval.

the popular consensus is that hel must have done something to anger the gods for the condition that ravages half of her body. the pc can even press wanting to know what's going on with that. scorned divine patron's curse? acid attack? a scar from being revived (foreshadow, foreshadowing.)? or just her infernal blood showing itself (MASS disapproval)? is it contagious? hel instead has to explain she was just born like this. some sort of misfire in her development. altered the texture of her skin and gave her recurring heart and nerve issues, which will occasionally hit her with a status effect or two after a rest. invest in potions and spells to keep your bard chugging along.

if sufficiently leveled in her cleric multiclass, she will become a one-tiefling undead slaying machine. it comes with her domain, really, but she will be able to suss out enemies that are offensive to her god and just wreck shop. turn undead and antlife shell are great for crowd control. as good on the undead offensive as she is in keeping the party from crossing over too early -- but per 5e rules, she might not work best in a party w spawn-boy given several of her beneficial spells exempt the undead from their effects.

mysterious, stoical early character begins to thaw over the adventure. practical and diligent, but also hopeful and trying to change the world for the better. generally approves of unpretentious acts of heroics or playing karma. disapproves of a self-righteous heroics or baseless cruelty. watch out, her romance approval is a little higher than average and your pc will have to jump through hoops. makes a genuine attempt to reach out to other party members as well, even those she should be opposed to like lae'z*l and ast*rion.

has this self-esteem thing where agreeing with her dim view of herself nets approval early on and disagreeing with her earns a sort of 'you sweet summer child' response. however, once the pc reaches a certain approval threshold with her, she'll stop granting approval as she learns her own worth.

yes, there is an option in a quest where you can send the bard out to perform to distract enemies. yes, she is thinking of killing the pc the entire performance. yes, if you suck shit at the stealth/battles later on, she will thunderwave her entire audience to buy you time and join the fray. otherwise, enjoy the ride of her singing a series of songs for the duration of the mission.

[star-ocean-peahen]

Lmao funny-slightly-not-funny story:

At church retreat one of my friends came back to our cabin and mentioned that she and the rest of the group were playing a game where they guessed each others' ethnicities. She then proceeded to list hers in percentages: Irish, English, Scandinavian, one indigenous great-grandparent. I thought "Hey! This will be funny!" and asked her to guess mine, thinking she would try to suss out my non-white heritage.

She immediately began running through different European nationalities instead. Irish, Portuguese, Scandinavian. She kept saying "Hmm, I know one of these" and I was a little confoozled because...............she's met my dad..............who is not easily identifiable as anything particular but also visibly nonwhite............and I was thinking "Surely she can't be thinking that by asking for her to guess my ethnicity, I really meant 'guess what European country my ancestors are from', right?"

I eventually prodded her into guessing my nonwhite heritage and she weakly suggested indigenous peoples before I laughed and told her I was half Chinese. She was........surprised?? Idk I knew I looked white but THAT white???? Ig if you're not familiar with Asian features it wouldn't be automatic but we were literally at that facility with a Chinese cultural group comprised of several hundred people, with some of whom I resembled. I was pretty surprised at how sheltered she seemed.

But then that got me thinking: The only people I've ever heard talk about their ancestry in percentages or those ancestry DNA tests or ask people what ethnicity they are...........are white people. They talk about how they're mostly German with a little bit of Irish and an indigenous grandparent here or there (and the way they talk about that is 😬) or mention being part Spanish or Greek like it's exotic and interesting. I don't hear Asian, African, South American, etc. ethnicities being listed there often, it's usually just European nationalities with a couple "exotic" mentions here or there.

And don't get me wrong, it's cool and fulfilling to know where you came from. Knowing your family history can be a very grounding thing that I want people to experience! But it feels less like they want to know where they came from, and more like they want to find a culture they feel like they're missing in their white Westernerness.

Knowing your distant roots might help you make sense of pieces of family history you already have, but it's not going to automatically give you a new status or something. You could choose to research and integrate yourself into your family's culture, but just saying "I'm like, 13% Swedish," isn't the cool addition to your personality you think it is. The culture they already have is interesting and special and important, they just don't think it is because they see being white as the default and all other races as unique cultures.

It was rather comical to think of being nonwhite participating in those guessing games. They'd just skip over you if you're visibly nonwhite, and hem and haw over your Norwegian or English vibes if you're not. There were a couple mixed Indian fellas in the original guessing group, and I could only imagine how they must have felt!

Anyway. Sheltered white people things.

[tempestdiaries]

Meeting Carlisle

(Pre-Campaign Drabbles)

Part 1

The Monarch’s Wing really did feel like a place of royalty most days, if not more extravagant. Lush fabrics hang from the ceiling, off the back of lounging furniture, and off subtle bodies that swayed through its halls. Sensual music floats from different rooms, catering to whomever might look for a good time. Beautiful foods on trays passed to beautiful people. Truly a business in luxury, intimacy, and pleasure. 

Several years in and Tempest’s eyes still found themselves entranced like any other guest’s. People flashed her quick smiles or brief nods as she made her way down the west stairway from the arial deck where she had finished her final public performance of the evening. The ache from the silk fabrics that had suspended her from the ceiling gave her a rush of adrenaline that made her feel alive, and gods, she needs to play a few games to work off some of this energy. 

Tightening her sheer robe around her waist so that it didn’t hang loose off of her even more skimpy costume, she strides into the gambling hall off the main atrium. The audience shifted from relaxed figures, stretched out across one another while sampling all manner of food and drink, to hunched over, paranoid figures, all sussing out their fellow players amongst hazy tobacco smoke.  Quiet conversations in curtained corner alcoves, all manner of escorts hanging off the arms and laps of regulars and new faces alike. This was the room where all the action really takes place, regardless to those who ascended the stairs to the second floor may think. 

Having made her way through the betting tables, she approached the bar that made up the back of the large hall. Imposing black marble lay covered with colorful drinks, order cards, and bets amongst a healthy scattering of flirting couples and business deals. Three refined figures manned the bar. As Tempest hitched a leg over to straddle the barstool, a pale, four armed warforged shook a cocktail while also pealing a fruit. Conway met her lean as they both pushed their chests forward toward the other, creating sinful arched backs for anyone who’d care to look over and clock their conversation. 

Conny flashed his full smile, a golden capped tooth catching the light and his eyes glinting in amusement. The lanky, extra-handed machine pushed a fine glass across the bar top with something golden swirling inside. 

“You missed Arch-dick Ferdinand by thirty minutes,” he sighs. Tempest ran a finger around the lip of the glass collecting some small flecks of salt before bringing it to her lips. 

“He couldn’t have waited until the end of my set so he could lose his money to me? How rude of him. Now I’ll have to find some other poor soul who finds their pocket’s full,” she huffs in mock disappointment. Turning out toward the room, she leans back enough so that Conny could lean forward and rest his chin atop her left shoulder so they could inspect the room. 

“I don’t doubt you could find several pockets you can find your hands in tonight, Tempest,” he purrs as his gaze follows a gruff tabaxi who was inspecting his cards. “Seems like you may be a little ahead of me,” she chuckles, bringing a hand up to his face from behind to hold his cheek to hers as she follows his line of sight. Motioning to his four arms she flashes him a savage look. “I’ve never met a cat who didn’t mind more than one set of hands.” 

Laughing her off, he pushed away from her shoulder and gave Tempest’s back a nudge. Grabbing her drink, she throws a wink behind her as she finally scans for a target for the evening. Start out buttering up a few clients, keeping it casual and fun. Let them invite you to the table. Then it doesn’t seem targeted. Then, you can wipe the table with them and it won’t be too obvious. Just have to find one that’s been drinking enough—

“Tempest.”

Stopping in her step, she twirls to the left, bringing her cocktail to her lips coyly, only her anxious tail a sign of her hesitance to being suddenly called upon as it lazily drifts around one of her legs, hugging herself. 

Like a beacon of fiery feminine energy, the room felt the presence that could only be Tolly Morgana as she strode into the room. Of course the fire genasi also had a habit of raising the temperature for the room by a degree or two when something was exciting her. The room had easily gone up by five degrees, and Tempest was even more thankful for her lax clothing at the moment. Fire resistance didn’t always equate to sweat resistant. Gold and rubies sparkled even more brilliantly in an otherworldly way as the ends of her hair flickered like sparks. She guided a pair of men behind her. Tempest couldn’t help but think that frankly, Tolly outshines all of them without even trying.

Discreetly sliding her eyes to the blonde hair over her boss’s shoulder, Tempest attempted a quick breakdown to the newest patrons: An elf and possible half-elf, probably related, although elvish races can be hard to nailed down age-wise; pale blonde hair, severe grey eyes, although the elder’s brow was far more serious. The other frankly looked like he didn’t give two shits as he looked around in the upmost unimpressed manner. The pride that Tempest held for her home began to burn. It kinda pissed her off. Tempest had very little patience for the cocky ones. 

Tolly had stepped to the side, creating a circle amongst the four of them, gesturing to the men. “I would like to introduce you to Lord Restran and his son, Carlisle Restran. They’ll be joining you and I for the evening,” she offers as she loops an arm through Tempest’s with ease. Tempest nestles into her boss’s warm side, leaning into the silent communication of her long time employer and mentor. High level clientele they were and she was to cater to the son. Understood.

Slipping into her routine, Tempest looks at Carlisle from beneath her lashes and extends her hand to him, which he smoothly picks up without even looking at her. Up til this point, the asshole seemed to have been more interested in his drink in his free hand and pointedly ignoring his father. As he brings her hand to his mouth, he finally shifts his gaze to hers. Oh boy. 

Tempest tries to blame the rush of heat she felt on Tolly and not this stranger’s gaze. He clocks her spark of irritation and brushes his thumb across her hand which he still held. Tempest pointedly tried to ignore how the corner of his mouth turns upward in a somewhat boyish smirk as she slowly extracted herself. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Temptress,” he says with the upmost ease. She fights to stay unaffected as she breezily extracts herself from Tolly and transplants onto his arm. 

“Most of the time, Tempest suits me fine, but we shall see if I may live up to the title.” Carlisle must have set his drink down somewhere since a chilled hand suddenly ghosted along her lower spine.

A crooked smile, sly hands, and a dangerous voice. Definitely understood. 

“Might I be able to show you more of the chateau,” she asks as she angles them away from their companions. “Let’s see if there is something within these walls that might hold your attention.” He chuckles darkly next to her side as she guides them out. She ignores her burning ears and sinks into the feeling of the loss of his hand on the small of her back. This night could turn out fun. 

Tempest looks back to see Tolly from above the Lord’s shoulder, and the expression on her friend’s face gave her pause. Be careful it said. Of what, Tempest used to wonder. Powerful men, she assumes. “Sometimes I wish I understood less,” she thought.

Back into the lounging atrium, other performers now spun in rings, a slow dream like routine that only added to the euphoric rhythm of the room. Sliding herself away to gain some minimal distance, she slid her hand along Cold-but-Horny’s arm to lightly intertwine her fingers through his to guide him to the second floor. Showtime.

————————————

Tolly looked after Tempest, regretting choosing her over Oval when she heard her protege suck a breath in after meeting her client. In the few years she had been working the Monarch, Tempest has never, to her knowledge, taken any special clients, but she’s afraid she just made her life a little more difficult after tonight. A part of her warms even more, her eyes sparking. Maybe this could turn out ok. This life was difficult, but every now and again, things end happily. 

As she turns back to the elf beside her, she sizes him up. While his son may be respectable as of yet, his father certainly was a piece of work. Nonetheless, Tolly leads him to the private tables and introduces him to the men he was there to meet.