#anyway i considered the dice then i was like well I want it to be a gift from someone bc OBviously and so i didnt put one

[night-triumphantt]

Happy Birthday @cashweasel beloved, have a soft kiyazan non confession confession, love you and these two idiots sm and I hope your day was amazing

[penny-anna]

further to that last poll, sometimes i come across Owl House fanfiction where the characters say fuck and no judgement but personally i don't think anyone in the Hexsquad would say fuck & here's my reasoning:

Luz: she is fully capable of swearing if she wanted to but I think a) due to being pretty socially isolated she hasn't picked up the habit from other kids and 2) tbph i think she's just the kind of person who'd rather come out with an earnest 'golly gee whillickers' than say fuck. even post timeskip i think she still opts not to swear just bcos she prefers the vibes

Willow & Gus: as with Luz I doubt they really picked up the habit. they are both also (as of the beginning of their journeys) pretty well-behaved kids. Gus is also 12 years of age. post timeskip i think they would both swear albeit sparingly but during canon, no dice.

Amity: Odalia considers swearing very low-class and has passed this onto her kids. by s3 Amity has realised that this is bullshit but old habits die hard so Fuck just isn't in her vocabulary. she says it all the time post timeskip tho.

Hunter: ok i hear you say, 'Hunter was in a military unit with a bunch of adults, surely he'd have picked up some swear words', to which I say, he explicitly says that he was kept apart from the other scouts so i don't think that's a given. i also don't think Belos would like him swearing (not out of any genuine sense of prudishness, he just doesn't want Hunter to have any fun at all or relax ever) so likely been impressed on him very heavily that he's not supposed to.

Vee: ok Vee is the one I'm in 2 minds about because I can imagine two equally likely scenarios:

Vee learned how to swear at summer camp and does it all the time; she just doesn't do it on screen bcos 1) she doesn't swear in front of Camila and 2) she's pegged the Hexsquad as kids who don't say fuck

Vee learned what swearing is at summer camp but the kids were all told it was strictly forbidden and she's internalised that so as w Amity and Hunter she has to psych herself up big time to say Fuck

anyway that's just my 2 cents :)

[wileys-russo]

Currently thinking about what a face time with alessia would be like whilst she’s in Australia and the readers at home because of work. Full of fluff and them just happy they get to talk to each other after a hard day, saying how much they miss each other

last bit of writing from me for a few days while i'm off on holiday! might post a couple blurbs if i have time maybe

time zones II a.russo

it was a warm evening on the east coast of australia and alessia was almost in disbelief it was winter in the foreign country. nearly all of the girls had been happily wearing shorts and tops each day at training, some of them even daring for a late afternoon swim.

alessia though was not that brave and had instead settled herself on the beach, bare legs spread out on a towel and top half kit out in one of your hoodies as she glanced up to watch her friends all race off toward the water, the early evening sun just beginning to dip beneath the horizon.

tucking an airpod into her ear alessia clicked dial on the facetime icon by your contact. the time in australia nearing 5:30pm would make it almost 8:30 in the morning for you back in England, as you'd sadly been unable to accompany alessias family to the tournament due to work.

you were a primary school teacher and alessia more than understood the commitment that meant, your passion and drive for teaching the next generation one of the many reasons she'd fallen so in love with you in the first place.

she had always loved kids, and seeing you speak so dearly about your students and how you interacted with them had meant she'd spent many an hour dreaming about what you would be like if the two of you one day had your own children, something that had never really crossed her mind before meeting you.

it was now saturday which meant you were finally able to speak with alessia freely, not needing to cut anything short to rush off to work. your routine so far while she was away had been the two of you speaking while you got up and ready and then during your drive to school before you'd have to then hang up.

due to time zones it was hard for alessia to stay up to call you once you'd finished which you assured you'd rather she not do anyway, wanting her to be as well rested and ready for the matches as she could be.

so mornings for you and afternoons for her were the perfect time for the two of you to call and catch one another up on what had been missed.

"good evening my love." you accepted the call and sung out happily, alessias smile widening seeing you were in one of her hoodies, and you were quick to make a joke that the two of you had the same thought considering she was currently wearing yours.

"good morning gorgeous, you look lovely." alessia complimented, tucking her knees up to her chest and moving her phone to rest against her water bottle, angling the camera upwards toward herself.

"mm yes with my bed hair, pyjama shorts and puffy eyes i clearly missed my calling as a model." you teased, moving your own phone to lean against the wall as you began to prep yourself breakfast.

"well you're glowing. australia looks good on you baby and so does happiness." you commented back with a soft smile, alessias heart melting at your words and wishing for nothing more than to just wrap you up in her arms and never have to let go.

"did you have a nice day? you had it off from training right?" you questioned, a slight sizzle heard as you tossed some diced bacon and peppers into a pan, intending to make yourself an omelette.

"we did! we went into town and to some local markets, then got some breakfast at a really cute cafe and just explored a little, it's so beautiful here. the coffee is something else! i think i'll need to smuggle some back with me." alessia grinned, indeed having somehow even fallen more in love with the caffeinated beverage since landing.

"some of the girls went whale watching but tooney made me stay back because she gets sea sick." alessia rolled her eyes, having felt immense fomo seeing all of the photos and videos from the outing.

"captain tooney gets sea sick?" you laughed, alessia forever ripping into her best friend for the horrendous time they'd all had when ella decided to drive them all round in a boat last summer on one of their days off.

"apparently so, and then instead she dragged me round shopping with roebuck and g for hours!" alessia moaned, her arms still sore from an afternoon spent helping them haul around their bags.

"that girls gonna need a second house just to store all her trainers!" you joked with a shake of your head, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you as alessia watched you cook.

the familiar domestic scene just made the heart ache that she wasn't with you right now worsen.

the two of you would always cook together and it was often the highlight of your days after grueling training on her end, or wrangling restless nine year olds for you.

since the two of you had started seeing one another this was the longest you would be separated and though it caused the two of you to be given endless grief from your friends you really were normally attached at the hip.

as a pair you were well known for forever making a one person job into a two person task. whether it be something as simple as alessia sitting on top of the washing machine keeping you company as you folded laundry or the numerous occasions you'd sit in the bathroom whilst alessia showered after training, the two of you chatting one anothers ears off about your days.

when you'd have to lesson plan for the week the blonde would always ensure at least one part of her body was touching yours at all times, if that was her head resting on your thigh, your back tucked securely into her front, or your legs draped in her lap as she traced absent minded shapes along the warm skin.

one time ella even swears she saw the two of you holding hands under the stall door while using the restroom, though both you and alessia knew she'd only spread that rumor to wind less up.

but thats not to say the two of you hadn't done other things in bathroom stalls together, never unable to keep your hands off one another for very long, especially when alcohol was involved on nights out.

"i miss you." alessia sighed, resting her chin on her fist as you looked up to meet the sad smile flashed your way, returning one of your own. "i miss you too." you agreed quietly, though as much as it was killing the two of you to be apart you would never ever do anything to hold her back from her career, nor would alessia with you, so sometimes sacrifices like this had to be made.

"i miss you more." alessia challenged perking up a little, playful glint returning to her eyes as you flipped the omelette, taking a bow at your girlfriends cheers. "i miss you most." you cheekily stuck your tongue out and disappeared out of frame to grab something from the fridge.

"i miss you more than the most." alessia countered before calling out for you to hurry up and return on screen. "you're so needy." you teased as the blonde rolled her eyes playfully, both of you well aware you were just as needy as each another.

"also you can't miss something more than the most, so therefore i win." you shrugged, returning to alessias sight as you turned the heat off the stove, moving the omelette over to a plate.

"says who!" alessia challenged, picking her phone back up as her legs began to cramp, standing to her feet and wandering off toward the water. "says the english language, and me." you sat down at the dining table, moving the phone so you were still in frame.

"well you're both wrong." alessia argued with a smile, eyes glancing off with a chuckle as she watched lucy absolutely body ella down and into the water after she splashed her.

"baby i literally teach english for a living, i can't be wrong!" you laughed after swallowing your mouthful of food. "look!" alessia flipped the camera around, showing the dazzling sunset as you squealed happily, alessia well aware how much you adored this time of day.

"take a photo of that for me please." you instructed as alessia promised she would. "it's almost as beautiful as you are." alessia quipped smoothly, grinning lovingly at the blush that spread across your face at the words. "charmer." you shook your head, smile tugging at your lips.

"oh god even on the other side of the world i can't escape youse two and your disgusting lovesick pining!" ella gagged as she appeared beside alessia, you glancing up and bursting out in laughter at the hot pink goggles on your friends face.

"what!" ella frowned, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance as you simply continued to laugh, clearly at her expense. "nice goggles you idiot." you managed to choke out, as the girl basically spent more time at yours and alessias flat than her own the two of you had formed quite the close bond.

"gotta protect the lashes, obviously!" the brunettes frown quickly disappeared as she wiggled her eyebrows goofily. "oh! did less tell you what happened last night?" tooney grinned as your girlfriends eyes widened and she tried to move away but ella snatched her phone, sprinting off away from her.

"we decided to go for a swim in the dark after we went in the spa-" ella started, pausing as she dodged alessia who caught up to her and ran off now in the other direction as the blonde yelled threats after her.

"-cause theres like lights on the beach and stuff and we only just dunked our bodies in and bolted-" a yell was heard and the screen went black for a moment before ellas head popped into frame again, you spotting your girlfriend over her shoulder still avidly chasing after her.

"-and we were running across the road to get back to the hotel and less of course tripped over and her slider went all the way up her leg-" ella continued with a loud laugh before a body hurtled into her, a flash of blonde tackling her to the ground.

"-and she couldn't get her slider off her leg and we had to cut it off!" alessias face now back on the screen you could hear ella dying from laughter on the ground beneath her, your girlfriend hitting her with a loud smack as ella cried out.

"less don't hit her!" you chastised, alessia ignoring you as she grappled with ella with her free hand, the two of them pushing and smacking one another around, their childish behavior nothing new to you.

"girls!" you called out again, firmer this time as alessia glanced to you, ella pushing her off and sitting up beside her inside. "ooo teacher voice!" the younger of the two called out teasingly, alessia joining in with a grin as you rolled your eyes at their sudden change of antics.

"it is not!" you protested with a pout before you heard the rest of the girls call out for the two as they were headed back to the hotel, ella wishing you goodbye before running off to join them.

"i'll call you back after dinner and we can watch a movie?" alessia asked hopefully as she gathered her things into her bag and began to walk off the beach. "it's a date. i love you!" you smiled softly.

"i love you, the most."

[cranberrymoons]

speak a little louder

prompt: mutual pining (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: t word count: 673 words tags: fluff, flirting, nerds in a basement

welcome to Day 3 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

The campaign lasts all day.

That’s what they call it – a campaign – as if it’s an actual military coup and not what it really is, which is a bunch of teenage nerds sitting around a table in Mike Wheeler’s basement with sodas and a bag full of dice. 

Steve is used to it by now, but he doesn’t expect to have to wait for a whole extra hour when he shows up to collect them, but here he is, sitting on the couch in the corner and staring at the ceiling while he listens to Eddie drone on and on about elves or some shit.

Well – drone is maybe sort of an inaccurate word, considering how into it Eddie’s getting, crouched on his seat like a gargoyle, talking with his hands, doing the voices. It’s actually kind of fun to watch, and Steve is maybe sort of pretending not to find it as interesting as he does, because he has a reputation to maintain, dammit, and he refuses to be drawn in by the spark in Eddie’s eye or the flush on his cheeks or the way his fingers weave strands of the story across the table.

Whatever. Steve doesn’t even care.

“Sorry about that,” Eddie says when it finally wraps up, when he’s climbed off his chair and is standing in front of Steve while the kids bicker over something and take their sweet time packing their things. “Couldn’t stop in the middle, they would’ve killed me.”

He reaches behind his ear for a cigarette stuck there, and Steve stares at the way his rings catch the light as his hand moves. 

“No problem,” he says. He clears his throat. “Hey, can I –” 

He nods his head toward the cigarette, and Eddie raises his eyebrows, holding it out.

“Bum a smoke?” he asks. “Sure, Harrington. Anything for the valiant babysitter.”

Steve smiles as he accepts it from him, and he tries to ignore the way his stomach flips when their fingers brush. 

“Thanks.”

---

They take them upstairs, outside to wait for the kids, and it’s starting to get cold enough now that Steve has to flip up the collar of his jacket against the chill as soon as they step onto the porch. 

“That was cool back there,” he says around the filter clenched in his teeth as he ducks his head to light the cigarette. “The thing, or whatever.”

Eddie eyes him for a moment, then flicks ash onto the ground. “It was like… the metric opposite of cool, but thanks anyway.”

Steve laughs. “Still. It looked fun.”

“You should join us sometime,” Eddie says. He clears his throat. “I mean… if you want.”

And Steve can’t help it; even on top of everything big and scary going on in his chest right now, the idea of actually playing the fantasy math nerd game sounds like –

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “I think I’ll leave that one to the pros.”

Eddie laughs a little. “Oh, we’re pros now?”

“You managed to save the elf. I think. Sounds pretty professional to me. I couldn’t save an elf.”

Eddie gives him a look. “There wasn’t even an elf in that part of the campaign. I think you’re just making shit up.”

Steve laughs too at that. “Yeah, I had… no idea what you were doing. But the kids seemed into it.”

“So what are you into, then?” Eddie asks. “If not nerd shit, then what?”

You , Steve wants to say. Mostly these days, I’m just into you .

He takes a breath. “I don’t know,” he says instead. “I don’t mind the fantasy stuff. It’s the math part I have issues with.”

Eddie smiles a little. “Then take the numbers out of it. Come watch a movie with me sometime. I bet we can find some kind of nerd thing for you to be into.”

Steve feels his stomach give another little jolt as he stubs out his cigarette. “Yeah, I bet we can.”

[also on ao3]

[notroosterbradshaw]

Heatstroke

rooster fam, avert your eyes. here’s some old-school Bucky smut. I didn’t think I’d publish Bucky stuff here, yet here we are again. Hope you enjoy x

18+, smut, fluff. Bucky wasn't much of a talker but when he puts his foot in his fat mouth, he has to make amends somehow.

He’d heard you – you knew he had. The serum increased his awareness and blah blah blah, everyone knew his story by now and why you’d found yourself hidden behind the wall leading to the kitchen while Bucky intently studied his tablet, putting God knows what together at the bench.

You should have just stayed in your bedroom and messed around online, kept your laziness to yourself. It was safer than the situation you were about to walk into - of that you were sure. You needed another shower but the heat in the apartment would coat you in perspiration the second you towelled off anyway.

He’d heard your breathing and your elevated heart rate, he could probably smell the sweat of flight taking over as you debated whether or not to just miraculously appear and pretend not to have ducked back around the corner when you saw Bucky there.

“I know things are weird between us, but you hiding when you see me makes it a hellova worse, kitten,” he muttered. You let out an inward sigh, shoulders slumping as you turned and walked in, wiping your clammy palms on your sundress.

“Hey Buck,” you said quietly, taking to a stool across from him.

“What’s happening, babydoll?” he asked casually, not looking up from the herbs he was chopping – he was remarkable with a knife, you noted as he sliced and diced without abandon faster than any chef and much more precisely (you tried not to imagine how and when he learned the art form). You’d always found it strangely sexy when he had a knife in his hands and the precision that came with it – on missions and funnily, now in the kitchen. The smell of whatever was cooking was incredible and you hadn’t even seen what he had in the oven or on the stove. At recollection, it wasn’t his night to cook. It was…

“It’s my night to cook, could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I know you hate cooking for Steve and me, so thought I might cover for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, a little defensive though maybe a little touched.

He shrugged, looking up, a dark wisp of hair falling into his stony eyes and pushing it away with his flesh wrist. “It’s fine, sweetheart. I enjoy it, relaxes me. Consider yourself off the hook.”

Sure I will, you wanted to reply. Everything was tit for tat in the apartment the three of you shared. Bucky would find a way to get an inadvertent favour out of you at some point when you least expected it. “Well… thanks, I guess,” you said instead, finally raising your eyes. You blinked as you noticed the smirk on his features. “But in the interest of your safety, Buck, why are you not wearing a t-shirt under the apron?”

He was a dream in his beige canvas bib apron – it worked wonders against his fair skin and the silver of his cybernetic arm. His biceps, you were pretty sure, had you salivating. His shoulders were broad under the thin straps rippling as he moved his arms to prep.

You fucking loved Summer. Even if the apartment was a thousand damn degrees and usually hotter with the body heat of yourself and two super soldiers who always ran at boiling point. But if Bucky felt the need to parade around half-naked, you weren’t one to argue. It was a true sight to behold.

“Honestly? Felt liberating to be naked,” he licked his upper lip, squinting at the recipe again before humming to himself in thought.

You peeked over the bench and noticed his bare calves and bare feet and had to scoff a laugh. “For fuck’s sake, Bucky. Are you wearing anything?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“What if Steve comes home?”

“I’ll hear him,” he reminded you. “Just like I heard you.”

“And why did you think it would be okay if I saw you like this? You knew I’d come in here to start cooking eventually.”

He stabbed the knife into the wooden chopping back and grinned at you, his eyes locking with yours. “You’re the only one that has seen me in less, sugar. Shouldn’t be that much of a surprise,” he waved his cybernetic hand up and down his torso a little smugly.

You felt the heat rise from your toes to your hair, resting back on your chair and curling in on yourself. “I don’t think we need to bring this up now – ”

He rumbled a laugh low in his belly. “I’m wearing shorts, for fuck’s sake. What kind of deviant do you take me for?” he turned around and wriggled his toned bubble butt in his blue board shorts as you resisted a giggle. They were well hidden due to the length of the apron. “See?”

“Do we really need to go there?” you mumbled as he plucked the knife back up and continued his prep. He didn’t look up but you could see his cheekbones rise into a lurid smile.

“Anytime, anywhere, babydoll. You know that.”

You knew that very well.

You shook your head gently and started to push yourself away. “Righto – well, since it looks like you’ve got it all covered, I’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky hummed his disapproval. “Nuh-uh. You, stay. You’re not getting out of it that easily,” he paused to stop and point the knife at you. “I’m cooking and you’re gonna open this bottle of wine,” he said, handing one that was on the bench to you along with the bottle opener (you noticed it was one from Stark’s private collection). “And then we’re going to sit down to eat and talk. Clear the air,” he announced, opening the bottle still in his hands when you didn’t reach for it.

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” you said as he sighed and poured you both a generous glass of vivid Bordeaux red.

“Drink,” he repeated. “Then we talk.”

“Cheers to you too,” you muttered though credit where credit was due, Bucky had found a good one. He raised himself a glass and toasted you gently.

“Cheers, sweetheart,” he winked before heading to the stove to continue his assault on the kitchen.

“Where is Steve?” you asked, your second glass well and truly going down a treat, loosening you up considerably. You were in your usual seat as Bucky wandered in, now with a shirt and placed a plate before you and one for him at his usual place across from you.

“No idea,” Bucky shrugged.

You weren’t a complete idiot, he knew this. You assumed this is why he’d volunteered dinner and made sure the bottle of wine was on hand. It was discussion time and Bucky knew what you didn’t want to talk about.

You were resisting taking your relationship to the next level. He hadn’t pressured you, but everything had been pointing in that direction and it terrified you.

It was only supposed to be a joyous and mutually beneficial ‘friends with benefits’-type of arrangement. No harm, no foul to either of you until he mumbled that he loved you ‘so fucking much’ a week or so ago as he drifted off to sleep after a strenuous mission and recovery fuckathon upon his return home.

“It’s only us, isn’t it?” you sighed, taking the salad from the middle of the table and loading your plate up before continuing, “You made sure he’s out for the night.”

“Yeah,” he gave a small smile. “He’s at some bar with Sam and Natalia. It’s just us, babydoll,” he confirmed, taking a sip of his wine and watching your reaction through his dark lashes. He had to admit, he loved seeing you squirm. “I asked him to make himself scarce.”

“Of course you did,” you focused on your (argh, perfectly cooked at medium rare, fuck it) steak and piled it into your mouth as gracefully as you could. Bucky watched you, humoured.

“Well, at least you haven’t bolted yet,” he noted jovially.

“Don’t confuse me sitting here without me wanting to do that,” you sniped, ticked off he’d lulled you into a false sense of security.

“Look,” he delicately sliced his steak and took a bite, chewing as he continued, “I know I threw you, I’m real well aware I should have kept my fat fuckin’ trap shut. I just thought I wasn’t comin’ home to you, okay?” his voice suddenly low and eyes were paying very close attention to his food.

You sat up straighter at his confession and he sighed while your eyes widened. “Bucky… what happened?” you put your wine glass down and pushed your plate away with a clang.

He tried to brush the thought away. “It’s not about that – ”

“Buck, it’s exactly like that,” you stood up and walked around the table. He moved his chair back as you lifted the loose skirt of your dress and crawled onto him to straddle across his lap. “What happened?” you begged, lifting his chin for his stony eyes to meet yours, keeping his jaw in your soft palms. “Look at me.”

His cybernetic hand reached for his face and rubbed his eyes, suddenly he looked exhausted. “Was ambushed,” he said quietly. “I’m not telling you the small details – you don’t needa know – ” he held a hand up to your mouth that was open and ready to protest. “By the time Steve got there, I was the last one standing. Don’t worry.”

“Who?” you asked quietly, your warm hands rubbing against his stubbly cheeks before settling on the back of his neck and massaging his smooth, warm skin, twirling soft hair around your fingers to calm him. He moved to rest his forehead on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging to you for dear life - it was uncommon for Bucky to react this way and it terrified you.

You had to remind yourself all you wanted to do was comfort him. That is what you had agreed to in the very beginning when this mess started. Comfort, familiarity, fun.

Not love.

“They tried the triggers,” he whispered, not looking up, the shame evident in his rough voice. “I know they don’ work any more, but babydoll, I just…” he looked up and inhaled sharply. “I thought I was a goner. I didn’t think I was coming home.”

You kissed his hair, only to imagine his fear as he set the scene for you. The devastation your heart was feeling for him to have to go through that - knowing it was something he’d been through for decades and it constantly repeated for him.

“You’re okay, Buck. I’m right here. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Not again,” you cooed on repeat, hoping he knew and understood.

He nodded, pulling you closer. You heard a sniff and he tightened his grip again, knowing how intensely he needed you. “I’m sorry about what I said. But I can’t apologise for how I feel, baby,” his voice so low you almost couldn’t hear it. “I love you.”

You nodded. “I know, Buck,” you replied quietly.

“And as much as you deny it,” he said. “I know exactly how you feel too, sweetheart.”

You raked your hands through his long dark hair hoping to relieve some tension in his body and pulled his gaze back to yours.

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s fine.”

“Don’t be like that,” you begged. “Bucky, I do – ”

“I know, I told you,” he said with a small smile, grasping your sides under his strong hands. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready and I promise I won’t be surprised.”

You couldn’t resist the scoff that bubbled to your lips as he brightened considerably, a playful smirk now on his lips. You slid off his thighs and returned to your side of the table, stuffing your mouth with salad, the aura in the room changed for the better. “Times like this make me really not wanna say it,” you huffed.

“Times like this make me really want to bend you over the table and have my way with you,” he retorted as you choked on a piece of cucumber and he took a sip of wine, completely cool and collected. You swallowed hard and had a sip yourself to calm yourself. Resolve set in.

“Then what are you waiting for, big boy?” you challenged as the table lurched and he stood, his predatory stalk around the dinner table as he hitched you from your seat, his breath heavy down your neck as he took you in. “What am I waiting for? I’ve been waiting for you my whole life and now you’re here. You’ll rue the day you asked, princess,” he hitched you over his shoulder and made his way to your room, slamming the door closed with his foot as the walls rattled and he tossed you on the bed, his hungry gaze telling you to you were in strife.

And you couldn’t wait.

The next morning, the other side of your bed was empty. Cool, Bucky must have been up for a while. You sighed, rubbing your tired eyes. You hadn’t gotten much sleep and your tummy was rumbling after missing most of your dinner the night before for other more extraneous activities.

“Buck?” you called quietly, finding your discarded underwear and throwing his t-shirt from the night before on. You ran your hands through your mussed hair and pushed it off your face before padding quietly back to your room to retrieve your dressing gown in case Steve was home. While he was supportive of whatever it was he thought you and Bucky had, he had announced it was only fair the bedtime behaviours weren’t thrown in his face, to which you and Bucky agreed.

But apparently not this morning.

You burst out laughing as you entered the kitchen. “Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Bucky looked back over his shoulder. “See something you like?”

“Clearly Steve isn’t home yet,” you noted as you approached him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, sneaking your cold hands under the apron he wore over the stove and touching his scorching skin. He let out a slight shriek at your cool touch. He never was fond of the cold.

Bucky laughed quietly. “No, Steve didn’t come home. Guess he stayed at the Tower.”

“You told him to stay at the Tower too, didn’t you?” you sighed. Poor Steve. Relegated to the Tower from his own apartment so his roommates could do… well, a lot to each other.

“Yeah,” he snorted.

“Gotta say though. A bit of a fan of this naked chef caper you’ve got going on right now,” you gave his body an appreciative once over and weren’t overly surprised to find your body going back into overdrive for him.

“Naked as the day I was born, kitten,” he confirmed as your hands travelled from his broad, muscular shoulders and traced down his bulging biceps (one warm, the other cool under your touch) through to his delts, lats and descending to grab a handful of bare ass that was begging to be groped. He chuckled darkly, wriggling his butt again. “My junk is very close to the hot plate, sweetheart. Don’t get too frisky. It won’t be a desired result for either of us!”

You stifled a giggle. “Never,” you replied, kissing rippled scar tissue on his left shoulder blade. A visible shudder shot through him as he melted like butter under your lips.

“That feels fuckin’ amazin’,” he crooned, his usually well-concealed Brooklyn accent seeping through due to his increased desire, head lolling back a little. His loose dark hair shimmied across his shoulders softly.

“So, what’s cooking here, chef?” you held his hips and loosened the straps to the apron. You felt him pause.

“Uh, pancakes, baby. What’s cooking back there?” he replied as you raised the strap of the apron over his head, letting it pool at his bare feet and leaving him completely undressed. He swiftly turned the burners off. You turned him to face you as he took a step closer and thankfully, away from the stove and loosened your dressing down, curious as to what may be hiding underneath. “I see you dressed yourself again. Musn’t ‘ave got my memo,” his tone a little miffed as you giggled into his skin. “Nice shirt though. Have one similar. Looks better on you, I gotta admit,” he smiled, running his tongue across his gleaming teeth. “Think you should lose it.”

You nodded as he lifted the shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere over your shoulder as he hitched you up and sat you on the bench, spreading your knees wide so he could stand between them.

“Fuck, you look good enough to eat,” he licked his full, plump lips predatorily. The heat of his gaze eyes screamed passion, lust and maybe a little danger. Humming, he ran his calloused hands from a tug of your hair to the seam of your undies. He forced your gaze to him as he used his cybernetic hand to push them to the side, eagerly sliding his finger between your warm, slippery folds. 

It embarrassed you that you were always on for him. Your breath hitched at the coolness his touch brought and goose bumps cascaded across your body. 

“This may be the only place in the apartment that I’ve never had my way with you,” he muttered before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of your neck, your scent as well as his cologne on your skin from the day before grounding him.

Resting your forehead on your shoulder, you wrapped your arms around his chest in hopes to keep upright.

“You okay?” he whispered, his tongue tracing the rim of your ear and his thumb drawing patterns on your clit, your reply incoherent. “Should I keep going?” he whispered as he took one of your hands from him and repositioned it around his eagerly awaiting cock.

“You should definitely keep going,” you insisted, your hand with a mind of its own as you swirled the pre-come around the tip of his straining head and put your palm to work, twisting and tugging as his hips started to move off their own volition. 

“We eat here,” he grunted. “You pretty little hand tho...”

You gasped as a current ran through your body. “We’ll just make sure we disinfect,” you shuddered before you could finish the sentence. “Really well,” you finally managed as his fingers sent shockwaves through your system. “God, that feels good,” your head fell back as he smiled wickedly, pleased. “But I want you.”

He took a step closer, released your grasp on him and used his hand to slide his cock in just enough before he used his hands to hold your cheeks, he licked your lip and kissed you wet and wildly, his tongue forceful against yours as he moved within you and thrusting gently. Slow to the hilt, knowing exactly how you liked it. It was perfection how well he could make your body succumb to his whim. 

“Jesus,” you managed against his mouth. “Bucky,” you breathed as your torsos meshed together.

“I know, baby girl,” he promised, his hips picking up a gentle rhythm, slow and turning you inside out. “It feels fuckin’ amazin’ to me too.”

“I feel it,” you told him, dragging his eyes to meet you. “I feel it,” you confided. The way your heart raced when you were around him, the lust, the need... the devotion to keeping him safe and desire to be all he needed. 

You loved Bucky Barnes wildly, madly, terrifyingly so. 

“I know, darlin’, I know you love me. I love you so much too,” he sealed your words with a softer kiss, though it seeped with so much passion. “You don’t have to – ” he groaned, unable to hold it back as his hips started moving again. “You don’t have to say it back.”

You managed to push him back at arm's length, his lustfully dark eyes fluttering open as he looked back at you, a little confused. “I do, Buck.”

He breathed, his hands running from your jaw, down the curve of your neck, between your breasts, tickling your belly lightly and resting on your thighs. “Then say it,” he dared.

“I love you, Buck.”

The grin that spread across his face looked like it may have hurt him, his stony eyes shining and the dimples on his cheeks making a rare appearance. “Well, there ya go,” he teased, moving closer again, his lips moving to yours as he returned your affirmation. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You sighed quietly and he shut you up with a firm thrust, reminding you both where you were and the task at hand. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him close as his mouth left wet kisses against your skin. He grasped your thighs, getting closer as your head fell back in pure ecstasy. “Need you. Make me cum.”

“I’ve got you, baby doll,” he whispered. “Lemme make you feel real fuckin’ good, okay?” he begged as he moved his warm fingers to your centre again.

“Christ,” you muttered, your gaze dropping to where your bodies met, the sexiest sight and allowing your body to tighten as suddenly all you could see was white, your body quaking as you came undone and collapsed backwards on the bench as he caught you with a humoured huff.

All this power he had over you and the three words said aloud made it even better.

“Yes, baby,” he chuckled lowly, his movements starting to get a little erratic, taking absolutely everything you had to offer to him, not much longer before his hips sped up, bringing him to his climax as well and crashing into you like a freight train as he came, harsh and ragged, desperate. “Jesus, fuck,” he panted, pulling your body impossibly closer. “I love you,” he whispered again, taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “I fucking love you so much. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

“I love you too, Buck,” you said again as he gave you a softer kiss, his phone pinging across the counter. “God, that’s not work, is it?” you asked him. You knew your luck was running out, he’d been home for a few days and knew time was dwindling before he was to assemble.

He sighed. “I dunno, sweetheart,” he gave you a meek grin as he gently pulled out, your thighs crossing quickly to avoid a sticky mess across the counter. He sighed and checked his phone. “Worse.”

“Unless it's aliens or robots back to fuck shit up again, it cannot be worse. So, where are you off to?” you sighed sadly.

“Nowhere,” he chuckled. “Steve complaining about livin’ it up in the Tower while we made house here,” he winked. You gave Bucky a shy smile as he rolled his eyes and replied to Steve before picking up the apron and discarded clothes. “Come on, let’s get you showered, love,” he tugged your hair and gave you another gentle kiss. “Then I’ll make you lunch.”

“Dressed?” you asked, hoping to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“Probably best,” he sighed, taking your hand and leading you to the bathroom to clean up a long night and another leisurely round against the cool shower tiles. “Grumpy old bastard will be home at some point.”

[utilitycaster]

did you have any more thoughts about the "going down equals a level of exhaustion" house rule for 5e? a group I'm involved in is considering adding it, and though I've strenuously argued against it, the retort seems to be that a good healer would be spending those spells anyway, so the healbot concern is irrelevant. As the person playing the healer in the group I'd be leaving if they choose to implement it, but I'd like to give it one more good argument before I pull that card.

So my arguments here are somewhat subjective and I think gain efficacy if you are willing to gently but firmly say "I would leave this group over this choice," at this time.

My first one is a pretty basic one. For all the complaints people have about it, I actually find D&D 5e is pretty balanced, rules as written. Sure, there are rules I ignore, but most of those are like...very finicky little things (eg: small creatures not being able to use heavy weapons; it's not like halflings have such great racial abilities that you must nerf them by not letting them use a warhammer) and not core elements of gameplay. It was pretty thoroughly playtested as is. I think DMs who try to play with this kind of thing tend to be either be people who are struggling with a way to make encounters more dangerous but haven't used the (RAW) tools at their disposal; or are the sort of people I've described before who are incapable of enjoying something unless they can figuratively pee on it to mark their territory. The former is fixable; the latter type can change but it tends to have to come from within. Though I will say: Rusty Quill Gaming's Unconscious Rule was that you get a scar (no mechanical penalties unless you want) whenever you're knocked unconscious. It was purely a story thing, but if your DM is just itching to homebrew something in order to carve their initials onto the tree of D&D instead of leaving well enough alone, that might be a way to let them feel like they've homebrewed something relating to unconsciousness.

The second one is that there's multiple approaches to healing! I do tend to be a fairly proactive healer when I play one, but letting people go down is a valid strategy. Plus, shit happens! People roll really badly or the DM rolls really well or you roll all 1s on your healing dice and bam, they're unexpectedly out. It puts an undue burden on the healer not just in terms of pushing them towards a very specific playstyle, but at high levels pushes them to burn extra 5th levels (and diamond dust) on Greater Restoration). It also simultaneously makes it perhaps advantageous to not heal someone who's gone down. If they go unconscious and you're not able to heal them up beyond what they're likely to lose in another round, maybe it's better to leave them making death saves (or do Spare the Dying) so that they don't have two levels of exhaustion...but then they might die. It's a really screwy thing because the game isn't fucking balanced for this because it's stupid. It also can push the party into the One Combat Per Day behavior that has been rightfully criticized.

And finally, tying back to both of the above, there's a reason why going unconscious doesn't kill people in D&D and that's because it makes for a good story! It adds drama and tension, but you don't lose the character. This both penalizes you for allowing that drama to happen and ratchets the tension to a level that isn't really fun.

Another thing I'd add is to ask why specifically they want to add it because if someone says "it's more realistic," for example, you have my permission to say "in the pretend to be an elf wizard game?" and make a jerk-off motion. You may want to tone that down if you wish to part on good terms but like, for real, if they want a more realistic game, perhaps they should find one. I'm not a Pathfinder person myself but I would never begrudge other people from playing it in their own homes and I think PF1e (or an older version of D&D) and its less generous overnight healing might be worth your while. Perhaps exploring another system would be the better option. I think people who wander around the internet whining about how other people play D&D are sad losers, but they do have a point that if you're tinkering with core rules (as opposed to like, homebrewing a race, class/subclass, item, spell, feat, or monster) that's a sign you should probably look for another game.

So with all that said: I think it's fair to point out a (more tactful) version of all of the above but also say "I feel, as the healer, this would make my role a lot less fun, and I would leave this group over this choice." If you say it politely and calmly it may make your DM realize how much you dislike it. That doesn't mean they won't barrel ahead anyway, because people have free will and whatnot, but in a social situation, sometimes logical arguments aren't helpful! Sometimes it's better to just say "I've said why I don't like this, and I hope we can find a compromise, but ultimately you can do what you want; I can also do what I want, and I don't want to be here if you disregard my input on something that affects my enjoyment."

[pitufitaispunk]

Velvet Ring

Chapter Three: Maybe

Pairing: Riff x Latina!Reader (West Side Story 2021)

Velvet Ring Masterlist

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June 10, 1957

I wake up at 5:30am and pull myself out of bed, my head pounding. It had been a week since I'd allowed Nardo to tell Manuel that he could accompany me to the dance and now, Manuel follows me around everywhere. It was sweet at first, he reminded me a bit of a lost puppy. Manuel would only walk me to and from work, but now he reminds me more of a parasite. This clingy behavior has quickly become irritating. He's began to join me to go to the market, he hangs around the florería all day, and he's also started coming around the apartment a lot more. It feels suffocating. That little window of time I had after work that was just for me has become 'Manuel Time' and I barely ever get a minute alone anymore. However, it's also been a week since my encounter with the Jet. I don't know what happened with him, but I haven't seen him anywhere. Not that I would want to anyway, but it's still weird. Maybe the Jets were up to something, probably thinking of new ways to make my brother and his friends miserable. That thought makes me feel even more guilty for 'missing' the Jet.

I put on my slippers and shuffle across my room to grab my pink robe, wrapping it around myself before walking out into the kitchen. I glance over at Anita and Bernardo's bedroom, seeing Bernardo is still asleep in their bed, but I can hear Anita in the shower. I begin making some eggs for myself and for her, considering she almost always made breakfast for us. When she walks out of the bathroom, she's wrapped in a towel with a blue shower cap on her head. She smiles at me and sits down at the dining table, "¿Por qué estás despierta tan temprano?"

I shrug, placing a fork and a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her, "I like the quiet." I grab my own breakfast and sit down next to her. We eat in comfortable silence before I speak again, "Anita, ¿puedo preguntarte algo?"

"Claro," She nods, wiping her mouth with a napkin, "What do you want to ask me?"

I look down at my lap, fiddling with the hem of my robe, "I just wanted to ask about the Jets."

She quirks a brow at me, "The Jets? Why do you want to know about the Jets?"

I look up at her, stilling my hands, "I'm just curious. Nardo never tells me anything and I don't think it's safe to be so clueless about everything going on around me."

Anita sighs, "I know as much as you do, nena."

I know she's lying and give her a pleading look, "No me mientes, Anita, por favor. Just tell me anything!"

She puts her fork down again and points a finger at me warningly, "Fine. But you don't tell your brother I told you." I nod eagerly, making her purse her lips, "Well, you know they're the reason Bernardo is always stressed," She says softly, I nod. "And to put it simply, Y/N, they're destructive little gringos who think they own the streets. They terrorize Puerto Ricans day after day because they think we don't belong here. Or rather, they think we don't deserve to be here in their glorious country." I swallow hard, guilt weighing on my chest. Anita takes her shower cap off and begins touching up her hair, "Anything else you want to know?"

I nod, "Do you know any of their names?" I ask, trying to sound casual about it.

Anita huffs softly, "Why do you want to know their names? Do their names matter? They're all the same anyway." I purse my lips and Anita raises her hands in surrender, "Ok, ok, no te pongas de malas. Well, there's, eh... Riff, the leader. Obviamente." I pinch my brows at her words, clearly it wasn't that obvious to me. I've heard Bernardo say that name multiple times, but the leader of the Jets was still faceless to me. Anita continues, counting them off on her fingers, "The... ¿como se dice? Ah, the second in command is Ice. Hm... the youngest is Baby John, the buff one is Diesel... Ay, there's too many to count, but you get it." I wondered which of those names might have belonged to the Jet I've met or if she even mentioned him. Anita gives me a tight lipped smile, "Now are we done here?"

I laugh softly and nod, "Creo que eso es suficiente. Gracias, Anita." As I stand to clear our plates off the table, Anita grabs my wrist. "Don't go snooping around the Jets, ok? Now that you have all the information you need about them, you will stay away."

I laugh awkwardly, "I wasn't going to snoop, lo prometo." She gives me a look and I sigh, "I'm just tired of everyone treating me like a kid, I don't need to be protected from this stuff anymore. It's time for you, Bernardo, and everyone else to accept that... Well, I should go shower before work." I scurry into the bathroom, locking the door behind me before Anita can get in another word.

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At work, I seemed to keep getting distracted. I accidentally knocked over a potted plant, I tripped over a box of new gloves and ended up tearing my dress. I was a total mess and it was all because of that Jet. I've always been a fairly curious girl, but I'd never wanted to know about someone this much. It wasn't because I liked him or because he's good looking, it was because he confused me. Why would he flirt with me? He knows I'm Puerto Rican, so why would he flirt with me? A million questions begin to flood my mind. Was it all some cruel trick? Was he planning an attack on me to get back at Nardo? Does he even know I'm Bernardo's sister? I don't think I'm on his radar now, but I hope I see him again soon, just so I can give him a piece of my mind.

"Y/N, ¿estás bien?" I hear Lupita's voice call and I'm snapped out of my thoughts. I look up and see Marisol and Lupita giving me strange looks, then I realize I'd been watering the same plant for about 5 minutes now and the pot was overflowing with water. I hurry out to the alley to drain the water, cursing softly under my breath. I then hear footsteps shuffling towards me.

"Looks like someone had too much to drink."

I freeze. I know that voice well by now. It's him again. I quickly take off my name tag before he can see it. I look up and there he is, towering over me. The Jet. He was wearing a thin white tank top with dark blue jeans and scruffy black sneakers. I place the potted plant down on the cement ground, stand up straight and narrow my eyes at him, trying to look tough.

He just laughs and steps closer to me, "So, you work here?" He asks, pointing towards the florería.

I scoff softly and gesture to my uniform, "Do you think I just wear this apron for fun? Yes, I work here."

His eyes widen, surprised that I finally spoke back to him. The look of shock is quickly replaced by amusement as a smug grin grows on his face.

I turn to head back inside then I hear him step closer to me again. I look back at him, my brows pinched, "You can't come in."

He smirks, his hands in his pockets, "Wasn't going to. So... what's your name?"

I snort, "I'm not telling you that."

He tilts his head coquettishly, giving me a sly grin, "Aw, come on. What's the harm in just telling me your name? Promise I won't wear it out." He drawls.

I roll my eyes at his attempts to charm me, "There's a lot of harm in telling you my name. You could... I don't know, sic your boys on me."

This makes the Jet laugh heartily, "Sic my boys on you? That's a good one. Come on, sweetheart, I'll do you one in return if you just tell me. Besides, don't you wanna know my name?" His gaze has softened, but I'm still wary. It could all be some kind of trick.

I scoff, "No. You Jets are all the same anyway."But it was lie. Obviously, I've been dying to know his name, but if he knew that, he'd just think I liked him. Jets are very cocky that way.

He hums softly at my response, then looks up at the sign above the door, an white plank of wood with the words 'Empleados Solamente' in fuchsia colored cursive letters with flowers painted along the sides.

"What's that mean?" He asks, pointing up at the sign.

"Employees only." I say firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. I wasn't going to back down or give this Jet the satisfaction of knowing that he scares me just a little.

His gaze flits back down to me and he smiles, his hands raised in surrender, "Alright, doll. I get it, I get it. I'll get out of your hair... if that's what you really want." I purse my lips and he laughs, "I'll take that as a yes."

He begins to walk away before he stops himself and turns to look at me again, a smirk on his face, "So... will I be seeing you at the dance?"

I pinch my brows, "What?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "Will I be seeing you at the dance?" He asks again, putting emphasis on each word.

I lean down to pick up the potted plant then look up at him again, "Maybe." I say softly before quickly hurrying inside, locking the door behind me.

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After work, I am accompanied by Manuel back to the apartment. He quickly explained to me that he got too busy to drop by today during my shift, but he didn't know I was secretly glad I finally got some time to myself for the first time in a week.

Manuel is a quiet boy, so the walk back home is always an awkwardly silent one.

I look up at him, my lips pursed, "So, Manuel, how was work today?" I ask, making an attempt at small talk. Manuel and all four of his siblings work at a panadería, La Noria, ran by his mother and father. Bernardo always sent me there on Fridays to pick up some mallorcas, so we could have something special for dessert.

Manuel beams at my question, "Estaba bien. It was a busy day, but you know I love it there more than anything. ¿Todavía vas a venir mañana a comprar tus tres mallorcas de siempre?"

I laugh softly, "Sí. You know how Nardo is, he loves mallorcas."

As we finally arrive to the apartment, I fish my keys out of my purse and unlock the door, letting Manuel and myself in. He makes his way over to the couch and plops down tiredly, letting out a long sigh.

I quirk a brow at him, "¿Estás cansado?"

He hums sleepily and nods, "Sí... y tengo muchísima hambre. Could you make me something? Unos huevos o algo."

"Por supuesto." I roll my eyes and grab a pan from the cabinet. I was tired too, but I would make him some eggs anyway. I walk over to the stove and place the pan down, slicking it with oil once it's heated up. I crack two eggs into the pan and sprinkle some salt on them.

Manuel sits up slightly and cranes his neck to look at me, "Gracias, Y/N. You'll make a great wife someday."

My eyes widen. Did he mean I would be a great wife to him? I suck in a deep breath and turn to look at him with a forced smile, "Thank you, Manuel. Because that's always been my dream. To be a great wife."

He smiles at my words, obviously he didn't pick up on my sarcasm. I know Manuel means well by saying that— as well as my brother and a few other men I know— but I hated that they always saw me as a future housewife, when that's not really what I want to do with my life. I admire the women who are devoted to their families in that way, but I would really love to run a flower shop of my own someday.

"Y/N, could I have a glass of water?" Manuel asks softly, his voice startling me a bit.

I plate his eggs quickly and nod, "I'll get it for you right now." I hand him his eggs then get him a glass of cool water.

He quickly eats his eggs and gulps down the water, then checks his watch, "Hm, I should get going now. My parents said I have to be back to the bakery by 5:00." He stands from the couch and hugs me, "Gracias por todo. You're amazing."

I smile sheepishly, "It's nothing." Manuel returns my smile before leaving the apartment. Once he's gone, I sit myself on the couch and kick off my flats, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Soon after Manuel leaves, Anita and Bernardo come back home from work. Anita groans softly as she peels her heels from her sore feet and places them neatly by the front door, Nardo rubs her back before making his way to the fridge to grab the carton of milk. Anita practically limps over to the living room and sits on the couch next to me, "How was your day, nena?" She asks, stroking my hair tenderly.

I smile softly, my eyelids drooping as her gentle touch soothes me, "Uneventful."

She stills her hand and gives me a smirk, "Uneventful, huh? Bernardo and I saw Manuel leave just now… what did you two talk about?” She waggles her brows at me suggestively, making me roll my eyes.

“Nothing. He sat on the couch, half asleep, while I made him some eggs. Manuel isn’t a very talkative person.” I shrug.

Anita sighs softly and sits upright, lowering her voice so Nardo wouldn’t hear, “Ay, nena, I told you that you don’t have to go out with him if you don’t want.”

I lean my head on her shoulder, “But you see how happy it’s made Nardo. I don’t mind it.”

Anita purses her lips, “I just don’t want you to feel obligated to date whoever your brother wants you to. There are plenty of nice boys in our neighborhood.”

Our neighborhood. I force a smile and nod, “Sí, lo sé. I’m content with Manuel for now. He’s a sweet boy. A little clingy, but sweet.”

Anita laughs and pulls me into a tight hug, “If you say so, Y/N.”

Bernardo walks into the living room, biting into a crisp red apple, “Vamos al mercado.”

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[lawlietscaramels]

The person that asked about L with a reader with motor tics made me want to ask about headcanons for Mello and Near being close with someone who has both verbal and motor tics?

Reader with Tics ╾ Mello and Near

I was going to put verbal and motor in the title but it was so long... M & N (m'n'm haha) separately let's go!

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

Mello

the main canon thing I know about Mello is he's a bit of a dick. so I hate to say it but he's probably going to poke fun at you. until he realises he's genuinely upsetting you, at which point he mumbles something and stops.

you might find a box of chocolates outside your door as a wordless apology.

there will still be the occasional jab

but he's going to go "secretly a sweetheart" mode

because if he's close with you, he's close with you for a reason and that reason is that he cares about you. (even if he kind of hates himself for it)

So, like L, he'll start asking questions, some insensitive, but he's trying to learn so he is no longer such a dick. unlike L he won't do any research at all lmao so the most obvious things will leave him with a shocked Pikachu face...

I actually think if your verbal tics are words as opposed to simply humming or clearing your throat etc, he'd start saying those words more often. just using them in general conversation no matter what they happened to be.

that's actually something that a lot of people do, did you know? we tend to use words more often if we're close with people who say them often

someone will have to tell him eventually that drawing attention to tics can make them worse, at which point he'll freeze up for half an hour and stare at the wall - probably in embarrassment, it's hard to tell. for a few days after that he'll be really awkward just because he's not used to not talking about things.

Mello is the kind of guy who completely blows past taboos, but knowing that focusing on your tics makes it harder for you means he won't want to bring it up anymore

but yeah after maybe a week or so things go back to normal

well as normal as things can ever be with Mello around...

Near

Near, on the other hand, will seem not to notice you have tics at all no matter how disruptive they are to you or how often they show

but of course when you tell him he just quietly says "I know" and goes back to building a tower out of pipe cleaners. though he might invite you to join in considering you're already there

He's so much better about it than Mello lol

he just doesn't really care either way if you have tics or not...

you're still you.

I also hc that Near has some kind of motor disability that affects his legs so he probably is more understanding of potential discrimination or struggles you may have faced

if one of your tics led to you knocking down one of his buildings he'd get a little upset but definitely not as much as if anyone else did it.. he'd probably make you help him rebuild it... that or make you sit five feet away for a while

Like L, I think Near would probably get a little bit scared if your verbal tics were yelling out words. no, actually, he'd probably get a little shocked at any sudden movement or sound. he's not obvious about it though, his body just jolts a little and he goes still for a moment, then returns to normal

he doesn't really ask any questions because he probably already knows everything he wants to know, but he's happy to sit and listen while you talk about anything - tic-related or not - if you'd like that. he will probably not talk back though haha

er

I think if he heard anyone, particularly Mello, giving you trouble over your tics, he'd throw dice at them

... anyway

yeah he's just chill about it in general. Doesn't see it as anything that needs particular attention: he's more interested in your hobbies and whether you like solving puzzles than the fact that sometimes your body acts in ways you can't control.

bodies are pretty stupid, aren't they?

mmm, I think that's it. thanks for reading :)

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

[caffinedragon]

Larian should have had more faith in what they created.

I have two boiling hot takes related to the above, that may get me some hate but oh well.

1. They should have kept thier original design for Wyll.

From the posts i read, he was originally a bitter and angry sort of Anti hero who was resentful of what he had been through and how messed up the world turned out to be.

A sentiment i myself felt after a pretty traumatising year.

This could have led to a journy of Wyll finding out that, despite what he had been through, he could use his talents, experience and story to become a better hero and wiser hero if doing a good run or make him a vicious and ruthless Archduke if running an evil playthrough.

However, a lot of people seemed to not like this original personality for...various reasons...so they scrapped it and we got, what feels like to me anyway, the "damsel in distress" instead.

Considering what he got was put together last minute, it's not bad but...it could have been a whole lot better.

2. Minthara should have stayed as an evil run only character.

Far as i understand it, Minthara was meant to be a character you only got if you were doing an evil run.

It is why the "tent glitch" existed. You weren't meant to have both Halsin and Minthara so the tents would occupy that spot depending on which one was recruited.

But for a variety of reasons, people began to demand a way to get her as a companion without running evil and so Larian changed it.

I personally believe they shouldnt have changed it.

BG3 is supposed to be a dynamic game where depending on dice roles, class choice, and even what race you play will give you a different gaming experience.

It incentivises multiple playthrough's and longer time with the game so the player gets their money's worth out of it unlike a lot of AAA titles that have been coming out.

Keeping Mintharas as evil only gives more of an incentive to play as an evil character, just like the deeper lore you get playing the durge does and it goes along with the more dynamic nature of the game.

And if they wanted her to be available on a good run, there no doubt would have been a mod created at some point to do it.

Not every request by the players has to be accepted.

TLDR: Larian should have had a bit more faith in thier original design and kept Wyll as he originally was and left Minthara for evil players instesd of slap dashing "fixes" at the last second or post release.

[ghostwise]

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :) for the kiss prompts … or maybe roll a dice and see which one you get 👀 whatever sounds fun ..

23. A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances For Ziraheart, thank you Jay! cw: alcohol as stated on AO3 now!

Lady Shar extolls her faithful when they choose the ways of oblivion; a fact Shadowheart reminds herself of in her quiet and aching moments, in her self-imposed exile from memory, and now, as she pours herself a second cup of wine.

To be untethered from sentiment and obligation is the purest form of freedom. She takes great comfort in knowing that the uncertainty of her life is by design. That her suffering exists to hone her into something sharp and useful and wanted.

When she is a Dark Justiciar, enveloped in Shar’s unconditional embrace with her memories back and her mind complete, this will all make sense. For now she must be patient.

The rush of falling water drowns out the sounds of the party, enveloping her in a bubble of water and moonlight. She’d longed for this peace… longed to share it with someone, too, but she just feels all the lonelier for the absence of music and voices and laughter.

Which is why her heart skips a beat and her lips lift into an effortless smile when her fellow cleric comes into view.

“You made it,” Shadowheart calls out. “Come here. Sit with me.”

She has to speak up, to be heard over the water, and for a moment she second-guesses her choice. But then Zirahuén compensates by sitting right up close to her—closer than they’ve ever lingered in one another’s company—and any worry vanishes from Shadowheart’s mind.

She presses the goblet of wine into Zirahuén’s hands, relishing the brush of their fingers together.

“How thoughtful,” Zirahuén laughs. “I do hope I didn’t keep you waiting long?”

“Not very,” Shadowheart lies.

Zirahuén purses her lips, a convivial smile scrunching her face as she whispers, “Lae’zel and Rolan got into a rather heated argument. That man is braver than I gave him credit for.”

Shadowheart laughs. “This I have to hear.”

There will be time for penance later. For now she’s warmed by the thought that Zirahuén chose, above continuing the celebrations with anyone else, to come to her.

As they chat about their day, their companions, and everything, and nothing at all, Shadowheart feels the knot in her stomach unwind.

It’s odd. They’ve spent weeks in one each other’s company, yet she feels like she’s known Zirahuén much longer. They’ve spent hours deep in heated discussion over such grand topics as death, morality, worship, and the distinct qualities of the soul—yet the conversation tonight feels somehow more significant than all of these.

“A think a toast is in order,” Shadowheart proposes hours into the night. The bottle feels light in her hand as she pours. “Any suggestions?”

Zirahuén doesn’t miss a beat. “To Death,” she proclaims. “That most noble pursuit. The only task which every creature blessed of mortality is undertaking together. The great unifier.”

“To Death,” Shadowheart agrees readily. “May it evade us until just the right moment.”

Zirahuén looks deeply pleased with that. They drink, and she shoots her a look that warms her right to her ears, and sets her heart beating a little faster.

“Well said,” Zirahuén says.

Shadowheart wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I try,” she says with a little smile. “Your Death is not too unlike my Loss. We are a rare sort, you and I; we do not shy away from such things, but instead face them, head-on.”

“As you say. Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” Zirahuén says. “Shying away, I mean. These are weighty forces in our world, after all. People find them… intimidating.”

“I don’t,” Shadowheart quips. She shakes her head at the thought.

Zirahuén giggles. “No, you don’t.” Then, with a hint of a sigh, she muses further, “But Death has been with me for so long, it’s like an old friend. It does not frighten me—not anymore. What is considered frightening about Death is never Death itself, anyway. Just experiences adjacent to Death. I think that’s what scares people. Things like pain, illness, loneliness. These things are frightening. I know they frighten me.”

“Do they?” Shadowheart asks, watching her.

Zirahuén nods. “I am afraid, you know. Afraid of catastrophe and plague. Ceremorphosis. Afraid of being apart from the people I… care about. But of Death? Never. It is a comfort, if anything. It’s where the pain stops. It’s where the illness loses. It’s where love is reunited. I know this. I’ve seen it. I swear it.”

Her words are calm and soothing and twist something up in Shadowheart’s gut.

“Silly, isn’t it?” Shadowheart asks, after a moment. “I’m almost jealous.”

“Oh?” Zirahuén raises a brow.

“Of Death,” Shadowheart clarifies. “Oh, to be on your mind half as much.”

Her words falter. She’s missed the mark, imbuing them with a sigh of longing instead of humor—an amateur mistake, she realizes. But Zirahuén is staring at her now with a completely inscrutable look in her eyes.

Shadowheart stalls, feeling unsteady. “What-?”

Zirahuén leans in to kiss her.

Going from not-kissing-Zirahuén to kissing-Zirahuén is like going from cold blue shadows into warm golden sunlight. Shadowheart breaks away with a gasp. Then there’s a tenuous moment of silence.

Zirahuen lowers her head. “I- I’m sorry.”

Shadowheart’s hand spasms, the muscle screaming and twitching all the way up her forearm. She’s never ignored anything harder.

“Oh, hush,” she whispers.

Zirahuén’s surprised expression melts into one of joy and relief as Shadowheart loops her arms around her shoulders, and pulls her in for another kiss.

There’s a warning taste of wine with it. They’re both experienced enough to know; to ignore the trembling in the hips and the warmth pouring over their skin. To keep this very civil, even as Zirahuén’s exhale dances across Shadowheart’s cheek, and Shadowheart lingers on the softness of the contact between them.

No matter how much they’d like to carry on. This much wine makes for a headache in the morrow, and this is delicate as it is.

So Shadowheart breaks the kiss and, with a little groan, slides into the crook of the other woman’s neck.

They’re really such fragile things. Mortal and fleeting and prone to all sorts of pains and misfortunes, left reeling at the whims of gods and fortune alike. But if Zirahuén is okay with it, so is she.

She lets Zirahuén hold her.

They can talk about it later.

[iffeelscouldkill]

Fic: rolled a nat 1 on intelligence

A/N: I was inspired to write this ficlet by @7-sided-dice's headcanon about the Halverton boys playing D&D :D It's a double drabble, or 200 words exactly - I was considering not doing a drabble derivative this time around, but the wordcount turned out really close to 200 anyway, and the editing and touching up always makes my writing better, so I like it xD

Shout out to the anon who asked for more Halverton fics! I hope you enjoy!

---

It was going well, Scott told himself. Sure, Van and Gian had bickered for ten minutes over whose character would be the tallest, and Sungchul had wanted more subclasses than was possible, but after a few turns they'd settled down and got into it.

Now, they were hanging on his every word as he described the scene.

"The door creaks open to reveal an old room, dust hanging thick in the air. But you can just make out a spectral figure hovering in the middle. This spirit may be here to offer information. Or mislead you to your doom."

"We could ask it about the weird tome we found," Sungchul conferred with the others.

"We should leave it alone," Gian countered. "I think it's a trap. Let's investigate the room."

But Van looked directly at Scott. "I stab the ghost!" he declared.

"You-" Scott began.

"With my sword," Van added, in case that wasn't clear.

The other two stared. Scott could feel his headache from earlier returning. "Before we do this, I just want to check, are you su-"

"Yes."

Scott suppressed a sigh and considered crumpling up his notes.

"Okay." It had been going well. "Everyone roll for initiative…"

---

A/N: I've played D&D twice ever - three times if you count the practice session a friend and I did to get the hang of the mechanics - but in one of those sessions, which was with a group of friends of friends, I was playing a Swashbuckler Rogue and I decided that stabbing the ghost seemed like something my character would do, so I did it xD When I was looking for ideas for Halverton chaos, it was the perfect inspiration :D

Look, proof from my notes!

One of these days I will get the chance to play more D&D.

I thought about giving the fic a more "D&D-realistic" title since I'm pretty sure rolling a nat 1 on intelligence isn't a thing, and then I rationalised that it didn't have to make sense and it was better than my other ideas xD

[nintendonut1]

Hasty

so i

wrote ship fic of my OCs

if you guys are into that sorta thing LOL

Swee/Willow slowburn fic, where they discuss Swee's favorite television program growing up. Includes swearing, small injury, and telenovela-esque drama (thanks to LassDaisy for double-checking my Spanish!)

“What the—dude. What is this lady’s problem??”

Swee freezes mid-slice, the carrot on his cutting board half-diced, and takes a moment to find his center. Were it anyone else, any other time, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw someone who’d dare slander his girl right out of his kitchen. Shutting his eyes, he, oddly enough, finds inner peace in her shrieking voice blaring at full volume from the mounted television.

It’s okay. He dropped in at the season finale of a show that’s in a language he cannot understand. He has no knowledge of her struggles. Go easy on him.

Without a word, he lifts the remote and pauses the DVD, turning to face his guest with his hands clasped in front of his face. “...okay. Do you want the whole list, or just the top ten?”

Willow gives proper pause, blinking, a cracker drenched in cheese sauce hovering just near his open mouth in mid-bite. After the pause, he pops it in, growing nervous.

…oops.

Swee puffs out a sigh. “Sorry. I get melodramatic about my shows sometimes.” He saunters away from the counter and plops into a chair, joining Willow at the kitchen island and dipping his own cracker in the sauce. He needed a break from dinner prep anyways.

“I can, uh. See why,” Willow ventures with an uneasy grin, one that Swee wants to make go away and turn more genuine as soon as he can. 

“Yeah, heh. This one especially gets me bad. But I can’t help but feel for her, y’know?”

“Swee, she just pulled a gun on these two.” Willow points a chip at her frozen close-up of righteous fury, said gun pointed in front of her. “Like, is she dating one of them? Is that why?” (oh stars, he doesn’t know how painfully heterosexual this show is, that’s so cute holy shit) “Still seems like an overreaction, I dunno.”

“I mean…fair. But,” Swee turns to fully face him, swallowing a cracker. “This is the finale of season ten. There’s been a shitton of build-up to this.”

“So, tell me about it.”

Swee looks straight into those crooked eyes, fresh green and glittering, and finds nothing but sincerity in them.

So, he does.

It’s a bit of a long-winded summary of Hayce T. con Amor, a show near and dear to his heart. He followed its initial airing alongside his mom, and as he traveled around he’d spend hours on the phone with her sharing their impressions of the latest episode, up to its dramatic ending years ago. It follows the tumultuous journey of Hayce T., in her constant pursuit of true love in a sea of liars and cheaters. The first episode opens on her finding her high-school boyfriend making out with another girl under the bleachers, and her luck never, ever seems to lift up from there. The theme was that she’d always throw everything she had into a new relationship, naively hoping that this would be the one, and the boyfriend of the week would always find something wrong with that, each reason more outlandish than the last.

“Hell, last season, Pet T. tried to spin it in a way where she was ‘gaslighting and manipulating’ him by putting on some front?? Bess T., that’s her friend, remember, talked some sense into her, but like, damn, man?”

Willow is absorbing this, taking a thoughtful bite of a small stack of crackers as he considers it all. “So, like.” Oh he’s gonna say it, isn’t he. “When are Hayce and Bess gonna kiss?” 

There it is. Oh god Willow you beautiful soul. I could kiss you right now.

Swee doesn’t, and swallows a blush this time, taking a moment to recalibrate at that interruption to his whole spiel. “...okay, well, I’m not gonna spoil anything later on, just lemme get to right now—”

The star-doll looks almost smug as he chomps another stack. “Hellllll yeah they kiss later, don’t they.”

“Shoosh-shush. Yer throwin’ me off.” Swee shakes himself back on track as Willow chuckles. “So that guy, the one she’s pointing the gun at? That’s Gill T. He treated her like a queen, said he’d never do all the crap she went through, it looked like this was it, ‘tu eres mi unico amor,’ y’know?”

Willow nods, leaning in with interest. He doesn’t even point out how little Spanish he knows this time. “Uh-huh? But then she found him with that other lady anyways?”

“Worse than that, dude. That other lady was sent by him to kill her.”

“WHAT.”

“Right??”

He slumps back. Poor thing looks defeated, as if he was beginning to understand and it was all thrown off kilter. “Swee. Swee, what.”

“Look, just—I’ll go back to the beginning of the season,” the toad scrambles back to the counter, fiddling with the DVD menu. “And I’ll hit the subtitles, just. I can’t just tell you everything, you gotta watch it unfold, it’s fuckin’ crazy.”

“Aaaallright, okay.” Willow acquiesces, watching the opening credits play out as Swee frantically returns to his prep work, oops, oops, oops—

“...Swee?”

“Yeah?” Chop chop chop.

“You said you feel for Hayce T., yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“...are you looking for true love, too?”

CHOP. “—AAGGHH. FUCK.”

“Swee???”

In a whirling blur, the toad chef is back at the kitchen island, his hand nestled in a bloodied cloth. Spanish voices fade into the background as he watches Willow tend to the lengthy cut along the top, releasing a sappy healing salve from a digit in his finger and dragging it along the wound. 

Swee’s head is positively buzzing. He almost misses when Willow sighs, “There. Geez. Not as bad as it looked, but still.”

“Thanks. Ugh.”

Aw hell. Now Willow looks away, ashamed, like this whole thing was his fault. Because of course he thinks that. “...Sorry.”

“Shush.” Swee clears his throat, and answers his question. “...yeah, kinda. I mean, I’ve been looking.”

Willow pensively watches him as he continues, “I thought I found it, a few times. A relationship here, a fling or two there…or five.” He cringes at himself. “...when you’re traveling a lot, there’s not any time for much else.”

He feels the gaze of the resplendent star in front of him, and he laughs mirthlessly. “Guess I’ve got that Hayce T. run of luck.”

The silence that follows is thick as molasses, and Swee wants to sink into the earth and vanish— “Well…” Willow’s voice, weedy with nerves, cuts through that spiraling thought, and Swee is greeted with a lopsided grin. “If anyone sends their assassin affair partner to kill you, you at least got me to protect you?”

Oh my god. Willow ventures a small shrug. Oh my god.

A thousand emotions crash into Swee and smash through his walls, and he breaks down laughing. Willow joins him shortly, and they both slump on the table in actual mirth as the telenovela plays above them, the tormented lovers onscreen ignorant of the actual goddamn romance happening here in Swee’s goddamn kitchen.

“Then my luck’s already better.”

[discotenny]

no no no yan ramu is good >:3

>:) <UNDER CUT: Controlling behavior, two faced Ramu, social isolation>

Yandere! Ramuda who uses a true hypnosis microphone to turn people against you.

Your friends spam your phone saying they don't want anything to do with you anymore. It's sudden, completely sudden. You try and message them back but they've all blocked you. You see them out in public and they just run away from you. You're socially left completely alone.

That is except for Ramuda, the most eccentric friend you've made in Japan. When you message him, asking what you did wrong he showers you in words of encouragement and reassurance. He says those people were all fake and that you should just forget about them. He's still here for you, that's all that matters, right?

Your partner suddenly comes up to you spouting cruel, hurtful words of hate and distain. You couldn't have seen it coming yet they speak like it's been simmering for forever. The worst part is they don't even care to look back on you as they walk away. Calls and pleas to come back! and we can talk about this! fall on deaf ears as you're left standing in misery and pain.

But you know who does care? Ramuda! Your best friend, who comes a little too quick when you call him. But he's there to lend a shoulder and tell you that you were too good for them anyways! Sobbing into his shirt, Ramuda rubs circles into your back and holds you close. At the end of the night you thank him and he reassures you he'll always be there for you.

Your landlord knocks on your door to say your lease is going to be immediately terminated- giving a list of bullshit reasons that you can't help but contest. But he doesn't listen, threatening to call the police if unruly behavior continues He gives you two days to evacuate your apartment and you're near tears trying to figure out where you're going to live.

Distraught, you call your best friend to help you pack up your entire life. Ramuda, a little too cheery at the news that you're now considered homeless, suggest you temporarily move into his studio! It won't be weird! Dice already lives with him, what's one more? Just one issue... it's either sleep on the floor or sleep in his bed! He just doesn't have the space for another futon! Don't worry, he'll try to keep his space.

------

First time doing yandere stuff- I didn't wanna go fullllllll into creepo ramu mode just in case it didn't turn out well fdsmfsdjdfs.

But UGH !! Behind the scenes, very controlling Ramu is such a thought. SUCH A THOUGHT !!!

[rosewaterandivy]

murder on the dancefloor

summary: eddie and princess see Saltburn

pairing: e.m. x film teacher!reader

warnings: cursing, tomfoolery, potential spoilers for the film (idk it’s vague), you can view the trailer here

a/n: consider this my ringing endorsement for any emerald fennell film - her brain is just 🤯

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

Eddie was positively buzzing.

Not even the little shits in Jazz 1 could ruin his day, not today.

You had scored tickets to a pre-screening of Saltburn followed by a Q & A with the director; it was only his most anticipated film of the year, no big deal. Never mind that you’d already seen it with your students at the film festival in October. Of course, your advanced classes loved it, the animation students, however, were wholly unprepared.

“What the fuck,” was the refrain of a few more sheltered students for the duration of the festival.

Sadly, ever since news of your relationship became public (no thanks to Harrington and his big mouth), Hopper put his foot down as far as Eddie’s chaperoning duties were concerned.

“Absolutely not Munson.”

“C’mon chief,” Eddie sighed in Hopper’s office, “I did the film festival trip last year and it was completely fine. Half the kids are in my classes anyway. Plus, I already did the transportation training and everything.”

Hopper stares at him blankly, “Congrats on doing the bare minimum.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, “Look, I like having a qualified film teacher with real world experience, d’you know how difficult that is to find?”

Well, Eddie certainly can’t argue with that.

“And I assume you like her as well?”

“Obviously.”

“The fact of the matter is, you two weren’t an item last year but you are now.”

Eddie briefly hearkens back to last year, and, true, the pair of you weren’t exactly an item, but you definitely weren’t ascetics either. Not that Hopper needs to know that, of course.

“And you know how difficult it was with Harrington and Trouble.” He sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’d rather not live through that experience again, if I can help it. So, no dice.”

Eddie resigned himself to his fate: no chaperoning of film activities and the same went for you with jazz ensemble. (“Right,” you snorted at the news, “Like I’d ever be caught dead with those nerds.”)

But that was then and this is now.

So when Wheeler, the little shit, asks while putting up his instrument, “What’s got you in such a good mood today Mr. M.?” The last thing Eddie wants to do is respond.

“None’ya.”

The rest of the day unfolds in much the same way— too many bathroom passes for no goddamn reason, students asking him inane questions instead of listening to directions, and the Hellfire kids getting on his last nerve.

“And then, after this campaign—” Dustin rambles on while Eddie suffers through afternoon bus duty. He’s got his sunglasses on in an attempt to block the late autumn sun, kids are hanging out of bus windows to wave at their friends and he really wishes the bus drivers would lurch forward, just a little, purely to keep things interesting.

Besides, it’s not like most of the kids couldn’t do with a good knock to the head.

Anyway, he’s essentially ignoring Dustin at this point, besides he can critique the finer details of his campaign later. He’s been glued to Eddie’s side since the final bell, and Eddie’s been counting down the minutes to 4:30 so he can get the hell out of dodge.

princess 👸: hey stud, how’s it going?

wild thing 😜: eh, the usual.

princess 👸: you’ve been quiet in the chat today.

wild thing 😜: kids were annoying today. plus i can see trouble and steve argue back at home.

princess 👸: lucky you, i wouldn’t know anything about that - we were watching quality cinema.

wild thing 😜: bladerunner?

princess 👸: uh, doi. meet you at the theater, say 6:30 ish?

wild thing 😜: it’s a date.

He opens up the group chat to see what he missed— mostly memes from Steve, Trouble arguing the finer points of a prank with Robin (it can’t be either a feather in their shoe or hitting them with a ski, bucks. there’s an art to it, a happy medium if you will.), and Nancy telling everyone to get back to work and stop bothering her.

The last bus finally pulls away from the school, bringing an end to his afternoon duty. Pocketing his phone, he claps Dustin on the shoulder and the teen halts his rambling. “Sounds good kid, but I gotta bounce.”

“Why, you gotta hot date or something?”

Eddie huffs a laugh, “Sure, let’s go with that.”

The theater is positively packed.

You met him at the bar, already having ordered his preferred stout and a drink for yourself. It had been a hectic few weeks, what with your film festival trip and the jazz competitions on the weekends, Eddie hadn’t had the opportunity to see you outside of work.

But your outfit more than made up for it, you looked down right delectable. Those ripped jeans that he adored because if he sat to your right, he could easily slip his hand through the tear at your thigh, a cropped ‘Directed by Stanley Kubrick’ shirt, and your usual black docs. Leaning against the bar to chat with the bartender, you didn’t even notice him approach until Eddie’s hand wrapped around your hip.

“Hey now,” He says with a smile, rings cool against the bit of skin above the rise of your jeans.

Smiling and ducking your chin bashfully you take a sip from your drink, “Hey now.” Your free hand finds his, tangling your finger together, “Got your usual,” you nod toward the drink on the bartop.

“Thanks, doll,” He drags you closer by the belt loops, “How’s the arm?”

You glance toward your left arm, turning it to brandish your newest acquisition. An addition to your horror sleeve, Ada from Lamb, complete with her coat and flowercrown, looking damn adorable. You’d justified it as being worthy as an example of folk-horror and had sat for the tattoo after your return from the film festival.

“Eh, still healing at the elbow crease, but other than that she’s good.”

He nods taking a sip from his beer. “She looks it.”

Making idle conversation until the theater opens up, you fill him in on the goings on of the film students: Reese was out sick again (“Another kidney stone. I swear to god, that girl needs to drink some actual water instead of those shitty energy drinks.”), practicum had somehow lost their footage for their competition film (“Not my problem, they know better by now.”), and team-building with Minecraft.

Eventually, you drift toward the theater and take your seats. You’re quick to shuck the flannel you’d been sporting around your waist, “You left this at mine, by the way.”

“Is that so?”

“You sly fuck,” you chuckle, setting it in your lap, “You think you’re really somethin’, huh?”

“Uh, I don’t think so, I know so sweetheart.”

“Right, right,” you play along, “When will the government stop you? No one man should have all this power.” You gesture vaguely to his, well, everything.

The lights dim in the theater and the audience falls to a hush. Eddie holds your hand across the armrest, your fingers playing with his rings every so often. You’d been characteristically mum about Saltburn, other than saying he’d love it because “you’re a freak like me, just go with it.” Had even roped the kids into stonewalling him too, even El and Will would not crack for love or money.

To be fair, you had seen some fucked up shit in your time— Salo, Audition, anything Cronenberg, Cannibal Holocaust, and then you’d accidentally saw that snuff film one time and needed a full 24 hours to recover from the shame of it all. You’re generally one of the few able to give him a run for his money, though his movie tastes tended to gravitate toward horror and cult classics. The common ground between you was Stanley Kubrick’s work, the final nail in the coffin being the Christmas Eve showing of Eyes Wide Shut you’d invited him to, promptly fucking his brains out afteward.

Considering that the preshow offerings ranged from 2006 Britpop music videos played in between previews from Remains of the Day, The Servant, Parasite, and Cruel Intentions, he was thinking this weekend would play out similarly to that night. And he did not mind one bit.

“So,” you coyly ask afterward, pinkie looped through his as you walk out of the theater, “Tell me your thoughts Munson,” a tantalizing bite to your full bottom lip, “Are you more of a bathtub drain, vampire, or grave dirt kind of guy?”

“That is so out of pocket, babe,” He laughs, slinging an arm over your shoulder, “Because you,” he thumbs at your nose, “Already know the answer to that.”

You hum contendly, unclipping the keys from your beltloop. “So, all of the above then? Good choice.”

“Yeah? I thought so.” He pulls you close for a kiss, crashing his lips over yours, sliding his tongue— sweet and heavy with promise into the space of your mouth. Everything is hot, burning like coals against his skin. Your breath, lips, chest, and legs pressed so temptingly against him— even the little pads of your fingertips scorch right through him.

Eddie hisses when your nails dig into his back, scratching down until you reach the sliver of skin at the base of his spine, fingers trailing against the juts of bone there.

He gasps when you pull back with a dreamy sigh, and you look up at him in a daze. “So, you have competitions this weekend?” you ask, tongue darting out to wet your lips.

“Unfortunately,” Eddie says with a wince. “Can’t give you the whole tour of pound town tonight, darlin’, we leave early tomorrow moring.”

“Ugh,” your head falls to his chest as your arms wrap around his waist giving a tight squeeze, “Well, in that case, be safe.”

“Be good.”

“Ha,” you say stepping back, “Miss me with that bullshit.”

Eddie laughs, “Yeah, in my fuckin’ dreams, right? You’re a disaster.”

At that, you merely stick out your tongue and cross your eyes before slipping into your car. You wave before pulling out of the parking lot.

Later, back at the loft, Eddie texts you already knowing you’re more than likely already asleep.

wild thing 😜: i’d gladly guzzle your bathwater any day babe, ay yo lemme slurp that good good

princess 👸: says the guy so far up my ass, he’s coming out of my mouth…

wild thing 😜: not quite sweetheart, but that can def be arranged

princess 👸: you’re a fucking idiot, go to bed assclown 😘

[voxofthevoid]

WAIT LMAO I NEED TO HEAR THE TEA ABOUT SUKUGO NOW! i'm not fond of the ship either, so i'm curious to hear your thoughts

Ngl, I did crack up at how this landed in my inbox a handful of minutes after that post popped out of my queue. Also looping in @zyukan since you wanted to know too. Never change, y'all.

The tea isn't particularly scalding, just my take on canon events, but negative thoughts/assessment regarding sukugo to follow, so people who like the ship probably shouldn't read further. Unless you're into that, I guess, but then don't come bitching at me. There's also some relatively positive references to satosugu.

Initially, the ship was something I tried out during my exploratory phase in JJK. I thought I might like it but quickly realized I really fucking didn't. Granted, that applied to all non-goyuu Gojou ships because I'm a man with a pattern. Anyway, after that, sukugo was off my radar until the Shinjuku Showdown, at which point I got soured on the entire dynamic.

It's partially the framing, partially the execution, plus how these interact with what makes a dynamic shippable for me. There are moments of levity in the fight, and both parties (well, mostly Gojou if we're considering the explicit text of the fight) are having fun, but I could sense absolutely no connection between them despite the narrative trying to frame it that way. The repetition of Yorozu's words falls flat in that particular fight; it's there in her and even Kashimo's fight against Sukuna—that desire to reach him to fulfill themselves, one way or the other. In Gojou vs. Sukuna, the same is stated by the narrator, but I don't see/feel it. They're both focused entirely on themselves, even as they're enjoying the challenge.

Outside of the narration, whenever we see Gojou's and Sukuna's own thoughts, it's focused on either victory or external factors. The other person isn't anything more than an obstacle. After the fight, Gojou's happy he died a fun death and clearly respects Sukuna for his power and skill, but his focus there is on the fact that he went out the way he wanted. Sukuna praises Gojou immensely, but it's the same kind of praise he gave Jogo after he killed him—not the same extent, since Gojou warrants more respect and admiration, but both the driving factor and manifestation are fundamentally the same.

I'd say the lack of any genuine connection there is best illustrated by how there's no little chitchat between them after Gojou dies, the way there was between Sukuna and Jogo as well as Sukuna and Kashimo. That's explicitly presented as "the rare phenomenon of connecting with a sorcerer during the height of battle," and you'd think Gojou and Sukuna would have that given how much they pushed each other during the fight, but nope, it's just some slice and dice and then buh-bye.

Granted, none of this is a lack of shipping fuel—quite the opposite, given how the ship has taken off after that fight. But it's shipping fuel that's entirely antithetical to what I find appealing in a pairing.

In that linked post, I said I prefer even satosugu to sukugo, and I'd say the salient difference is that satosugu is a ship I was neutral about but ended up disliking due to fandom, while sukugo is a ship I was neutral about but ended up disliking due to canon. The former is ultimately ignorable, but the latter really isn't. Canon does a great job of presenting Gojou and Getou as two people who loved each other, and I enjoy poking at satosugu in my own fics, either when referring to Gojou's past relationships or even as part of Gojou/Yuuji/Getou. With sukugo, even that little spark is not there—I wrote an entire threesome scene with goyuu and sukuita, and Gojou and Sukuna didn't touch except in violence. I love Sukuna as a character while disliking Getou, but when it comes to ships, satosugu is more interesting than sukugo. I'll be avoiding both ships religiously, however.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Clearing Up Some Confusion: Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is Not Powered by the Apocalypse

There has been a little confusion cropping up here and there regarding our game Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and its relationship to the Powered by the Apocalypse system, A.K.A. PbtA, which we would like to hopefully clear up in this post.

PbtA is a very popular system for indie RPGs lately, it’s safe to say most of the indie RPGs we see cross our dashboard use it, in fact, and since Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is an indie RPG that also happens to use 2D6+Modifier dice rolls, we can see where this assumption might come from. However, Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is not a PbtA game, nor is it a ‘hack’ of any other game. It is an original from-the-ground-up system that uses 2D6+Modifier because 2D6+Modifier is just a very good way to roll dice. It’s very predictable, and dice results that are randomized yet still predictable are beneficial both for players playing the game and for us designing the game.

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually does take inspiration from other games, even PbtA games like Monster of the Week—though in Monster of the Week’s case, that “inspiration” often took the form of doing the opposite of what Monster of the Week does, because we actually found MotW far too restrictive and limiting in its character creation and other elements for the kind of game we wanted to play—but also Call of Cthulhu, Trail of Cthulhu, Gumshoe, Shadowrun, AD&D2e, etc, both in the “do what they do” and “do the opposite of what they do” sense. In fact, if your TTRPG doesn’t take inspiration from a good number of other TTRPGs, that’s probably a pretty bad sign.

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy also takes a great deal of inspiration from non-TTRPG sources, some of which are probably pretty obvious and some of which might surprise you, such as Blood(1997) and Warhammer 40,000(the tabletop wargame specifically, not so much the lore). Other inspirations include but are not limited to: Kolchak: The Nightstalker, The X-Files, XCOM(the reboots, not so much the originals), Columbo, Hardboiled, Dracula, Sherlock Holmes, Scooby-doo, too many horror movies to list, etc.

That got a little off-topic, but this is supposed to be a promotional post for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy as well, after all—plus, I get excited.

Anyway, the point of this post is that the 2D6+Modifier dice system is where the similarities between Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and the PbtA system end.

To elaborate, here are some—but not all—of the biggest differences:

No “Classes” or “Playbooks”

All PCs in Eureka draw from the same list of Skills, and spread their skillpoints around them how they see fit; as well as a collection of 3 gameplay-altering Traits that can be mixed and matched in any way, rather than being a set collection of “moves” or “class features”. This does not mean that all PCs are the same, Traits can make them vary wildly in how they play mechanically.

There are what could be considered two or three “categories” of PC in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy(Mundane, Mage, and Monster), but these are not “classes” or “playbooks” in any way, they mostly determine what lists of Traits the PC gets to draw from, and due to the wildly gameplay-altering nature of these Traits, two Monster PCs in Eureka are likely to be far less similar to each other than two PCs both using The Monstrous playbook in Monster of the Week, and far less similar to each other than two Fighters in D&D.

Making Multiple Rolls per Scene

In PbtA games, it is fairly common for a single dice roll and a single “move” to dictate the outcome of an entire “scene”. In Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, this is not the case. PCs may make multiple rolls of different Skills or multiple subsequent rolls of the same Skill within a single “encounter” or “scene”.

NPCs Make Rolls Too

That brings us to our third big difference for this post, the fact that NPCs also make rolls. In most PbtA games, NPCs do not make rolls, only the PCs do, but in Eureka, that is not the case. NPC stat blocks are not as robust as PC stat blocks, but they do still make rolls in the same manner the PCs do, especially in combat, which brings us to the last point I’m going to make in this post because I’m running out of time.

Deep, Intricate Combat Rules

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is not a combat-focused game by any means, the party will probably only get into 1-2 skirmishes across an entire mystery, but when those skirmishes do happen, they will be played out using deep, tactical combat rules with multiple types of attacks and combat moves, including mechanical crunch for things like positioning and cover, multiple types of damage, environmental damage and effects, etc.

All of this should be telling you that Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is not only entirely different in its core systems, but also an overall crunchier and less improvisational-ruling system than PbtA, with tons of freedom in its character creation as well as plenty of rules and guidelines to help GMs make fair and realistic resolutions on the fly. That is not to say that Eureka is a complicated TTRPG, nearly everything in the game runs off the same core 2D6 system, making it very easy to learn and memorize—the rules crunch just means that if the outcome or appropriate modifier of a roll is not immediately obvious, you can rest assured that you can find a solid answer or at least a guideline with just a quick flip through the rulebook, either during or after the session, whatever is your preference.