#but insane to do if you are playing an entirely different system

[the-witchhunter]

When talking about DnD and TTRPGs, the thing that immediately tells me I should not take someone seriously is if they say something along the lines of "typical 5e player behavior"

say what you want about 5th edition Dungeons and Dragons, it has some problems, all systems do. I really like playing other systems myself and think learning multiple is fun and can be an enriching experience, but talking about typical 5e players is such a bad faith take

Mostly it's just "not like other girls" or i guess "not like other Table Top Player" reactivism to the popular thing. But also it always seems to be about stuff I've literally never seen a normal 5e player do. Like, the concept of the "that guy" has been around for ages. This isn't a new thing or limited to 5e, the only reason you see so many is that idiots are loud and noticeable and 5e is incredibly popular.

rant over, yes there was a post and some of the replies prompted this, no it was not even about 5e DnD yet people were commenting about typical 5e player behavior. Sometimes a bad player is just a bad player

[bunnis-monsters]

Cat hybrid reader going through her first heat after taking heat suppresent pills all her life with werewolf husband(NSFW obv). This sounds kinda cute in my head.... I can't explain it.... Like getting married and then finally deciding that you want to let yourself go through a natural process which you were suppressing all your life.

Happy 5k! If this isn't something you'll write, I am sorry, please do not block me, I can't tell if this is following the rules or not.

Your husband held your hand as you started the morning without taking your heat suppressant pill for the first time.

You wanted to have kittens with him so badly, and he wanted to fuck you full of pups, so the two of you decided that it was beast for you to temporarily stop taking them so you could mate properly.

“You think it’ll be okay?” he asked, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

You frowned, leaning against him. “I’m not sure… it’ll take a few days for the suppressant to leave my system. I’ll find out then…”

And find out you did.

Your husband returned home after a long day of work, only for his cock to immediately strain against his pants when he picked up the smell of your heat. He could hear your desperate little mews from the bedroom, walking in to see you crying and begging for release.

You had never felt such an ache in your cunt, and had never really felt the urge to masturbate so you had no idea what to do. He watched you struggle to finger yourself and play with your clit, your pretty kitty tail rubbing against your fat, wet pussy.

“Poor baby, can’t even make herself cum…”

He fucked his fingers into you, making your back arch. “Mmph! P-please, need more!”

You panted, your body feeling like it was on fire. His fingers were a little help, but it was like throwing a bucket of water on a house fire.

You needed more.

“Shh, sweetheart. Gotta stretch you out, okay? Can you be my good girl and wait for me?”

He moved his fingers in a scissoring motion, trying his best to stretch you out as quickly as possible.

You nearly lost it when you felt him kiss your inner thigh, his lips moving to your fat pussy. He licked your clit, sucking on it as his fingers kept fucking into you.

After a few moments you cried out, cumming on his fingers and writhing on the bed. Orgasming while in heat was like nothing you’d ever felt before!

Your entire body spasmed as he pulled out his fingers from your aching pussy with a wet squelch. It took him a second to compose himself, watching your pussy ooze. There was a mess under your hips already, and your scent alone was driving him insane!

He already towered over you, but now he seemed to loom over your body like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

He rolled you onto your fat tummy, lifting your hips so he could properly mount you. By now, he was going off of pure instinct, ready to breed his fertile little mate.

“Mew…”

You let out a pathetic little meow as he sunk into you. The two of you had sex before, but now it was an entirely different experience.

The pleasure was multiplied tenfold, and he was so much more intense than he had been previously. “Wanna make puppies with you! W-wanna-!”

You buried your face into the pillow as he pounded your kitty cunt. His grip on your tail made you cry out, arching your back so he could reach you better.

Your hips and legs were easily lifted off the bed as he began using your fat pussy to get off, his mind fat gone. You didn’t mind, the feeling of him knotting you and filling your belly with cum over and over again was the only thing helping to calm the heat in your body.

The next day, your mate fussed over you, feeling terrible that he went overboard and lost control.

“I’m sorry, little one… your heat, it just-“

You butted your head against him affectionately, purring as he began to pet you.

“I think it’s what I needed… thank you for being with me for my first heat.”

“Of course… I’m your husband and mate, it’s my responsibility to take care of you.”

The two of you spent the morning cuddling in bed, soft purrs and loving mews filling the air.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljr

[gothmoes]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐎𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐚 𝐡𝐜𝐬

❥ pairing: Jenna Ortega x fem!Reader

❥ wc: 2,2k

❥ warnings: long, rambly, and self-indulgent 🫶 no actual ending to wrap this up, will just come back to this when I get new ideas to add.

Jenna is spoiled rotten, and it is no one else's fault than yours. She wants your touch, warmth, kisses, and attention—and she knows she will always get them.

Jenna tries not to be so needy (not really), but now that you’re hers to claim, she can’t help but want to be in your bubble constantly. That girl would live in your skin if she could.

Jenna is highly affectionate. Not only is she hungry for your affection, but she also freely gives you hers. You name it: hugs, kisses, cuddles, bites, licks (she is particularly fond of licking your face and biting you wherever she can reach, for some reason). If it means she will touch you somehow, she will do it.

Velcro girlfriend, in other words.

If Jenna lies somewhere, she calls you over to lie on her. Your weight is like a heated blanket; she loves playing with your hair and caressing your face as you drift to sleep on her chest or soft tummy. It’s a good way to bond when she's reviewing a script or reading a book.

She has a habit of coming up behind you and nuzzling into your back, prompting you to turn and scoop her into your arms. 

Height difference is a huge plus! Jenna loves to be smothered by you when you hold her, to drown in your fragrance and melt into the safety of your embrace.

She is very touchy. Not only affectionate-touchy but “will grope you as she passes by you with no particular purpose than to make you squirm” touchy.

She loves to play with your hands. No reason; she loves how your hand envelopes hers and your fingers fit together like puzzle pieces. 

Not a napper, or rather, was not a napper until she discovered paradise in your arms. Now, being held by you triggers an instant rush of oxytocin and melatonin that, coupled with the thump of your heartbeat and your warmth, knocks her out within minutes.

Jenna is kind of a baby when sick, but it's your fault. She wasn't like that until you came in and started babying her. She used to be independent and treat her illnesses in a very mechanical and detached way because it was nothing more than a setback from work. Now, she can't imagine having a cold and spending her quarantine without your tender touches. 

Same thing when she’s PMSing. The more time you spend caring for her, the better quicker she feels.

Jenna has an insane staring problem—always has and always will. She can’t help but stare at you like you hung up all the stars in the sky; she’s so lucky she has you. Her adoration is ever present in her eyes. It’s one of the reasons it’s so tricky for her to have you around when she’s supposed to be focused. She looks too giddy and happy to hide. 

Don’t get her started on your smell—she’s one of those freaky women who inhales you any chance she gets. She loves the way you smell so much. It’s like her entire nervous system instantly relaxes whenever she catches a whiff of you.

Jenna is not huge on stereotypical nicknames. She prefers to have a few significant ones for each other that you probably come up with after an important experience or memory. Hell, she even takes inspiration from her favourite songs. However, she is partial to how “Angel” rolls off your tongue, and she will occasionally slip up with a “Babe” now and again.

Jenna lives in your clothes. The majority of your wardrobe is with her at all times. You might wonder where your favourite hoodie is just to get a photo of her lounging in it five minutes later.

Jenna is a certified yapper with you. She naturally is, but most people don’t get this version of her because she doesn’t feel uncomfortable being herself around them. You are more than happy to hear her speak her mind about any topic she can think of, finding peace in how her eyes light up and excitement laces her voice when she realises she has your undivided attention. 

This woman will babble about the randomest topics, even as she drifts to sleep. It’s incredibly endearing, and she never fails to make you laugh with the strange things that endlessly pop into her pretty little head. She doesn’t even need to try to be funny most of the time; she just is.

Jenna is very supportive of you and your goals. Ideally, she wants you to travel the world with her, which is doable if you study through an online program or work a remote job.

If, due to your goals, you don’t have the availability to go with Jenna for long periods and you’re mainly doing long-distance, things get a bit more complicated. Still, Jenna is 100% invested as long as you are. 

She is a terrible texter, BUT she does try for you! You can't say she doesn't. The problem is that she doesn’t typically send text messages. Instead, you receive a constant stream of photos updating you on what she’s doing, where she is, who she’s with, what she’s eating, what she’s wearing, what she’s not wearing, etc, with no follow-up. Most of the time, she sends them in faster succession than you can keep up with.

The second common way of communication between you is FaceTime. It’s simply more convenient than texting, given her lifestyle. AND she needs to see you constantly for mental health reasons. 

When she does text, Jenna makes your heart swoon. She might not be the best at sending you a “Good Morning” text every day at the crack of dawn (those timezone differences have her fucked up). Still, she never misses an opportunity to show you how much she loves and thinks of you. Sometimes, her messages are a little poem she came up with while thinking of you or a song and some lyrics she heard that remind her of you with no explanation other than “this is you <3”.

She often sends you voice notes and videos to make you smile. Hearing her lovely voice and seeing her angelic face is always a delightful surprise.

This woman is incredibly cheeky. She loves to flirt with and tease you. Sometimes, she does it to get a laugh out of you, and other times, she does it to get a rise out of you. (She gets a big head about eliciting your reaction every single time without fail.)

Jenna is not a great cook, although she grew up with delicious homemade meals. The main reason is that she simply doesn't have the time to hone her skills in the kitchen. Lord knows she tries, though! She expectantly stares at you with those sweet doe eyes and hesitant smile, and you never have the heart to shoot down her efforts. 

Despite Jenna’s chatty nature, one of the things she deeply appreciates about you and your relationship is that she takes repose in your silence. She can talk until she tires but knows that she can also exist near you quietly when she needs to without you expecting her to fill in the silence out of discomfort. Her tranquillity with you is unlike anything she’s ever felt. She cherishes those moments as much as any other because your silence is just as precious.

You are the subject of lots of photos! Jenna photographs what she loves, so roughly 30% of her storage is photos of you, while another 30% accounts for photos you’re in, like couple selfies and other lovey-dovey stuff. (The rest has been quickly overtaken by Fig.)

Jenna loves driving, but she also loves being your passenger princess because it’s peaceful sitting beside you, your thumb rubbing small circles over her thigh or her hand clasped in yours with the hum of the car lulling her into a nap. 

She loves taking baths together. To melt into your body and forget the pressures of the day. 

Date nights are random and spontaneous. Jenna’s schedule is too erratic most of the time for you to nail something down permanently. Regardless, they are enjoyable, a great time to bond and let the world disappear. You both love to explore new cities and get lost together. It’s an excellent way to discover new hang-out spots and restaurants, but you also have homebody moments. Sometimes, all you really need is to be in your bubble, sharing a warm meal, wine, and ice cream. Either way, you always laugh and make out wherever you are. 

Movie nights CONSTANTLY. If they’re not your thing, then they’re simply something you do to indulge Jenna, which becomes a bonding ritual you relish.

Jenna worries about you when you’re apart from each other. She likes to be updated when you have important things going on to avoid overthinking and getting anxious for you.

You’re her madness and peace all wrapped into one, and Jenna is not shy about showing you her true colours; you get all of her, and she expects to get all of you. 

Jenna is not a morning person. If she has a day free, she expects to enjoy being able to sleep in; otherwise, she wakes up cranky and glaring at everything and everyone. Nothing a long cuddle and some well-placed kisses can’t fix. Even when she wakes up for work, she stays quiet. It takes her a while to fully wake up, but by the time she gets to work, she’s usually her bubbly self again. 

She’s not a big spender on herself. She is not interested in things but loves spending money on you. 

Jenna low-key tries to impress you, not with her acting, because she dislikes you seeing her act, but with her outfits. You’ve never gone to her fittings because she loves to get your first reaction the day of.

She loves to make you laugh, and it's very easy for her because she's odd. She is absolutely delightful, though, and her unique sense of humour has always been one of the things you most adore about her. 

She loves celebrating you in any way she can, but she prefers to do it privately and intimately. Birthdays, holidays, Valentine’s Day, National Girlfriend Day, she never forgets those dates, and she takes pride in showing you her appreciation for you. She also loves to be on the receiving end of your celebratory plans for her. You go all out and have never let her down. (Things might be becoming a bit competitive, though.)

Jenna makes you endless playlists for all sorts of events and moods, but she gets emotional when you do the same for her. It makes her feel vulnerable in the best way that you know her as well as you do.

When she’s upset, she’s not a huge talker. The main thing she needs is your physical comfort, to know that you’ll hold her and let her soften into you, and she can lose herself in your embrace because you’ll shield her from the world. She does open up eventually when she feels more regulated, but normally, she stays in your lap while you discuss her issues. 

People know you’re dating. It’s easy to hide if you’re doing the long-distance thing because no one but her sees you, but when you start travelling with her, Jenna can’t hide how happy it makes her to have you around. You blend in easily with her crew, but a few detectives start putting 2+2 together and scrutinize you until she slips up. Which she does. It might be much later than expected, but it still surprises people. 

Jenna is not huge on PDA because she doesn’t like sharing your thing with everyone, but that doesn’t mean that she’s good at avoiding it. She prefers to keep you and your relationship out of the spotlight because you’re precious to her, and she values your wish to keep your relationship private, but sometimes, she can’t help herself. The few photos circulating the internet where you’re holding hands or kissing are all due to the fact that she couldn’t keep her hands to herself for long enough to avoid it. 

When Jenna gets anxious, she needs you. It doesn't happen often, but it does. A hug, a handhold, just you. It’s not that she expects you to automatically “fix” her; she would never burden you with that responsibility. It’s just that your presence truly is that comforting. Being around you gives her the strength to regulate herself, especially when you’re being closed in by paps or invasive fans. That foreboding feeling that triggers her to be in survival mode feels less menacing and overwhelming when you squeeze her hand or shield her from prying eyes. 

Jenna is not a jealous person, but she does get jealous. She trusts you wholly and knows you would never intentionally make her jealous or disrespect her. Still, other people don’t value your relationship the same way. More often than she’d like, Jenna has had to deal with people who are so drawn to you that they’ll openly flirt with you in front of her. She begrudgingly has to admit to herself that she can’t blame people too much, though—you are remarkable and magnetic and so breathtakingly gorgeous. She understands why people want your attention so much, but damn if it doesn’t make her blood boil.

She is very playful and such a tease, but she cannot take what she dishes out for the life of her. As soon as you give her a taste of her medicine, she simply... shuts down and stares.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @freakshow2501

[a-hazbin-reader]

How do you think Alastor would react to being called cute, hot etc.along those lines

Like how would it make him feel? Pre-Wifey. Like it’s Wifey, but she ain’t wifey yet lol

Wifey rizzing up her man??? 👀

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being TORTURED, Reader has that WIFE energy, Alastor thinks about killing someone

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor was a confident man who prided himself on not being taken unawares by anything or anyone

The keyword is was

But meeting you and getting to know you has completely caught him off guard because he's FALLING for you

He knew you were a dangerous woman, but he didn't realize just what sort of danger he was in

In danger of losing his HEART~

He couldn't help it, you were beautiful and witty along with a number of other fantastic qualities/talents

And when you smiled at him it made him freeze in his tracks, even the simplest eye contact made him feel flushed

But then you opened your mouth and actually spoke to him which made things so much more difficult

"You look good today, Alastor~ Did you do something different? Very debonair~"

He wonders if you're torturing him like this on purpose, if you know how he feels about you

But he does his best to remain unfazed, or at least not let you see how your words affect him

"I can't say I've done anything new, but I appreciate that someone around here notices my good looks~"

Your soft laugh makes his heart skip a beat, and he almost blushes when your fingers play with the ends of his hair

"I always notice you, Alastor."

He's at least able to wait until you leave the room to suddenly collapse on a table, steam coming out of his ears as he clutches at his chest

He would be insanely jealous if you acted this way with anyone else but you seem to reserve it all for him, something he's secretly grateful for

Even when you're drunk, you always seem to find a way to make him fluster

Alastor finds you at the bar, cheeks pink from the alcohol in your system, talking to the bartender about something

Or someone

"-he's just so handsome..! I can't get over it-"

Alastor takes a seat next to you, cutting off some random guy from taking the seat in hopes of getting an easy mark out of you

"Who's handsome now?"

He's totally not asking because he's jealous, or trying to figure out who he's going to hunt down and ki-

You hiccup and give him a drunken smile, leaning in to get in his face, which immediately makes his heart race

"You are~ Hand...some~"

Alastor can feel the heat rushing up to his face as you poke his nose before clumsily leaning back to get your drink

Okay, you've definitely had enough to drink

"I think you've had enough for tonight, let's get you home, my dear."

You whine and pout as he drags you out of the bar, only complying when he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady

He hopes that you're too drunk to remember the way he blushes the entire way home with you, holding you tight

It doesn't help that you're so snuggly when you're drunk, nuzzling your head under his chin

He almost explodes when he manages to pry you off of him and lay you down on your bed only for you to stare at him with glassy eyes

"Mm...that's hot...you're so hot~"

He rubs his hand over his face in an effort to hide the embarrassing choked sound that escapes him

"Please... just go to sleep..."

He's less sure that you're messing with him when you say things like that while drunk out of your mind

Your worst attacks are the sneak attacks that come out of nowhere for him, making it painfully obvious how much he feels for you

He's eating when you suddenly come in, rolling your eyes as you sit next to him, listening to all the little noises he makes as he eats

He can't help it, the food is delicious~

You suddenly grab a napkin and dab the corner of his mouth, giving him a small smile

"You're cute, you know that?"

He almost chokes on his food, your words along with the physical touch making his mind go blank

"C-cute!?"

Fuck, his voice cracked, making him blush uncontrollably as you obviously try not to laugh at him

"Ahem! Cute is not a proper word to describe me, I am many things, but cute isn't one of them..!"

You take his plate away from him, helping yourself to his meal as he rants about how he's not cute

"Say what you will, but I think you're a very cute man~"

He just groans and lays his head on the table, openly blushing now as he watches you eat

"I'm not... cute..."

You just laugh at him and it makes his heart beat a little faster despite his visible pouting

You're an evil woman who's torturing him for falling for you, trying to make him confess so you can tease him about it

He's sure of it...but it doesn't diminish his growing feelings for you any less

This one was so fun 😭

[bloodibambiidoll]

⟡˖ ࣪ A Dripping Inconvenience ⟡˖

✬ Kinktober Day 3 ⟢ Eric Draven ⟢ Squirting/Overstim ✬

Warnings: Brother’s bestfriend troupe, size difference, fingering, pussy eating, pet names, choking, overstimulation, squirting, cock piercings, hickies, possessiveness, AU(no Shelly/crow), biting, a tiny bit of blood, reader has nipple piercings 18+MDNI

You spent most of the day cleaning your brother’s dirty ass apartment while he was out of town so you had absolutely no reservations about helping yourself to a fat plate of nachos from his kitchen and a blunt, or two, from his stash. You were one blunt, half a plate of nachos, and two episodes into your show when abrupt banging on the door ripped you from your chill evening. You practically jump out of your skin at the amount of force behind the knocks, the weed in your system making you slightly paranoid until you hear the voice behind the door.

“Chance, come on, man!! I really need your fucking help!” You’d recognize your brother’s best friend’s voice anywhere. Considering you were just a little bit obsessed with him. And he sounds extremely stressed. Another round of knocks pulls you from your thoughts and has you shooting to your feet so you can walk the short distance between the couch and the door. You hastily unlock and open it to reveal a disheveled looking Eric Draven. His black mullet is even messier than usual and dripping wet from the storm raging outside. Which makes the fact that all he’s wearing is a distressed black tee and even more distressed black jeans borderline insane as the cloth covering his body drips onto the carpet in the hallway. He’s panting heavily and the look in his eyes is the one of someone running from something. Fear and urgency. “Oh, fuck. What’re you doing here? Where’s your brother?”

You’re not taken back by his brash tone, Eric had always been short and avoidant with you. You’re his best friend’s annoying little, kid sister that used to beg to play with them and that’s all you’ll ever be to him. Fucking unfortunately. But the way he towers over you makes you suddenly acutely aware of the fact that all you’re wearing is a tiny, white, Hello Kitty tank top, even tinier pink panties that hardly cover your hips or ass, and your black platform Uggs with white ruffle socks. You took a shower after you finished cleaning and despite the amount of time you spent vacuuming, your brother's floors were perpetually disgusting so you refused to walk around in his house without some kind of shoes.

“He’s out of town, I’m house sitting and watching the dogs.” You scoff and roll your eyes before tipping your head over your shoulder to gesture inside toward your brother’s two dogs standing guard behind you. If they hadn’t known Eric their whole lives they’d probably be barking their heads off right now. “What are you doing here? Are you good?”

“Not fucking really, no.” Eric sighs and throws his head back while running his tattooed hands down his face. He drops them to his side before locking eyes with you and you have to physically stop yourself from clenching your thighs from the way he is glowering down at you. When you were kids he was shorter than most of the other boys and now his body fills the entire length of the doorway he’s standing in. He was just so big. “I just really needed to talk to your brother, alright? And it’s just really inconvenient that you’re here right now.”

“Seriously? What is your fucking problem with me, Eric? We aren’t little kids anymore. It’s just immature at this point.” You stomp your foot for emphasis and glare up at him with your lips set into an ironic pout considering you just called him immature.

“My problem?” Eric crowds your space even further and you can nearly feel the dampness of his clothes against your body from his proximity. He leans down until his face is mere inches from yours, his green eyes ablaze as he breathes out deep through his nostrils. “Is that I’m in some deep shit. I have some fucked people after me. You being here, near me, puts you in harm's way and that isn’t going to work for me.”

“That isn’t going to work for you? You’re joking, right? You don’t give a fuck about me.” You laugh dryly and shake your head at the irony of this entire situation.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Eric closes the remaining distance between you, pressing his wet body against your barely covered skin. “I give too many fucks about you and now you’re here, looking up at me in that annoyed way you always do.” He chuckles and one of his large hands reaches up to cup the side of your face. “You think it hides how badly you want me, but it doesn’t.”

“W- What?” You gasp at the feeling of his skin on yours. He’s been close to you before, but never like this. “I don’t -“

“Shh. Let’s not waste time denying it. The fact that you want me is as clear as the sky being blue.” Eric’s thumb reaches out to trace along your bottom limp and you have to hold in a whimper. “It's only ever made it harder for me to be a good friend to your brother and stay away from you. I think my final restraint might be slipping. Fucking look at you.”

“You should… come in?” Your voice comes out a squeaky whisper and it makes you want to crawl in a hole and die. A slow smile spreads across Eric’s face, he places his hands on your hips and starts to back step you into the apartment before kicking the door shut behind him. The minute it’s shut his lips are on yours in a kiss that makes your entire body ignite with fire. His grip on your hips tightens as he pulls your much smaller frame taunt against his own. His tongue explores your mouth and you moan into him while you start to subconsciously grind down on his thigh. Eric kisses you for what feels like an eternity before grabbing onto your hair at the nape of your neck and using it to pull your head back.

“I won’t be gentle. I’m really stressed the fuck out right now and I don’t have it in me to take my time with you.” Eric’s free hand grips onto your ass so tight his finger nails dig into your flesh as he continues to yank your hair. The stinging pains make you moan and grind down on him harder. “Oh? Is that how you like it, brat?” The condescending nickname he called you growing up held an entirely different meaning as it fell from his lips now. It makes your pussy clench around nothing as the wetness in your underwear grows. “Answer me.”

“Yes, fuck. I like it rough.” At that Eric circles an arm around your waist and throws you over his shoulder. He carries you over to the couch and tosses you down on it onto your back. He stands over you with an almost carnivorous look in his eyes as he takes you in. You’re so fucking perfect that he can’t stand it. Your brother told him around the time you all hit puberty to stay the absolute fuck away from you but looking down at you in your tiny pink thong and tight little hello kitty tank top has him practically forgetting who your brother even is. Especially when you throw one of your legs over the back of the couch, revealing the large wet spot between them. “Take your stress out on me, I can take it.”

“Oh, I don’t think you know what you’re asking for princess, but your wish is my command.” Eric licks his lips before leaning down between your legs to kiss you like a man starved. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and rain and something almost sweet that must be naturally Eric. It’s everything you ever dreamed of as his big hands travel all over your body. He yanks your hair, grips onto your throat, runs his hands down your chest and grabs your tits and squeezes your nipples while he ruts his hard Jean covered cock against you. He bites down on your lip so hard you feel when the skin breaks and you can taste the crimson drip into both your mouths. Eric licks across your lips and down your chin to your pulse point where he sucks over and over again until your neck is covered in pretty purple and red bruises that will soon turn green and blue.

“You’re fucking, mine. Your blood is mine, your body is mine.” Eric kisses down your chest and pushes your shirt up to reveal your pretty pierced tits that make him groan at the sight. He tells you how pretty they are as he licks and sucks across them, marking them up just like your neck. He continues down your body until he gets to the band of your panties and he licks across it before kissing down your mound and running the flat of his tongue along your lace covered slit. “This pussy is fucking mine. Say it.”

“Fuck, my pussy is yours, Eric. I’ve always been yours.” He practically growls at that before pushing your panties to the side and smacking his hand down on your sopping cunt. “Shit!”

“Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” He lands a second smack on your clit before pressing the heel of his palm down on it and toying at your entrance with two of his thick fingers. “You look so tight though, we’re going to have to stretch you out, if you’re going to be able to take me.”

“I think I can take it - oh fuck!” Eric plunges his fingers knuckle deep inside you and your wet walls suck him in. Your back arches off the couch but his knee comes up to pin your thigh so you can’t move. His free hand reaches for his belt and undoes his pants enough to pull his cock free, the sight of it makes your jaw drop. It’s fucking huge. Thick, long and slightly curved, the head is perfect and dripping with precum, and best of all? The entire fucking length of his shaft is pierced. Maybe you do need him to stretch you out after all.

“Yeah, not so cocky now, huh?” Eric chuckles as he curls his fingers inside you and continues to grind his palm against your aching clit. He caresses your g-spot and rubs the tips of fingers along your walls before thrusting them in and out of you brutally quick. Your pussy is so wet it squelches and your juices start to drip down your thighs. Eric leans down and takes your clit in his mouth and it has your eyes rolling back. Your entire body stiffens as pleasure overtakes you. He keeps sucking your clit hard until your orgasm finally wavers but he doesn’t stop. The flat of his tongue licks your bud firmly as he twists his wrist and scissors his fingers inside you causing you to come again immediately.

He finally pulls his mouth off of you and you feel like you can breathe for a moment. That is until you look down at him. His hair is a disaster from you yanking on it and the entire bottom half of his face is covered in your creamy juices. Eric leans in to kiss you, giving you a taste of yourself. “You’re such a good girl for me. Give me another one.” He doesn’t pull his fingers from you and fuck you like you’d hoped he would but he resumes thrusting them in and out of you at a brutal pace and your pussy juices drip down his wrist and onto the couch.

“Oh my fucking god! I don’t think I can - fuck I just - I need a minute-“ Your sentence is cut short when Eric’s hand flies out to grip onto your throat.

“Oh, baby, no. You’re going to come for me as many times as I say and then I’ll finally give you my cock and you’ll come on that too.” Eric chuckles as squeezes your throat as he fucks you with his long fingers. His thumb reaches out to caress your clit and euphoria washes over you again. “Yeah, that’s it, you’re so good for me, Angel.”

“I - it’s so good, too good, I don’t think I can come again - oh fuck!” Eric’s grip leaves your throat and grips under your ass to tilt your hips up off the couch making his fingers hit deeper inside you.

“Shhh, just come for me.” He spreads them and twists his wrist before going back to the quick drive of his digits inside you. He spits on your clit before pressing hard on it with his thumb and your walls pulse around him as cum floods from your pussy. You squirt around his fingers and he doesn’t stop his assault on your pussy until you squirt two more times for him. Your chest is heaving and your entire body is shaking by the time he finally pulls his fingers from inside you and uses your juices to lube up his fat cock. “You were such a good girl for me, now lay back and take my cock like the good little fuck doll I always wanted.”

Tagging some fellow Eric lovers: @babygorewhore @cxrrodedcoffin @myherometalhead @that-sarcastic-writer @ghoul-friendz @taintandviolent 🖤

[txttletale]

hello...what is this "eidolon playtest". i thought it was perhaps some kind of MTG since you like that and "playtest" but then i keep seeing like.....random character art. is this a tabletop thing. is it mtg and i just dont understand mtg. i know i can probably google this but jt seems like something you wnjoy and id like to hear you talk about it :^)

eidolon playtest is an actual play series in which the creators of the ttrpg 'eidolon: become your best self' and their friends -- as the name implies -- playtest aforementioned TTRPG. it has a pretty interesting format in which the same GM runs two separate campaigns for two different parties which slowly become more and more intertwined until they start crossing over directly. so far they have two pairs of campaigns finished, eidolon POP and ROCK (seasons 1 & 2) and eidolon SKA and DISCO (seasons 3 & 4), and season 5 (eidolon VGM and EDM) currently ongoing. they also have a couple of short mini-campaigns of 3-4 sessions each, which i'm not going to list all of because there's a lot.

eidolon playtest is really good for so many reasons i can't possibly provide a comprehensive account but here's some:

the tables are really, really good at taking something and running with it. the number of goofy, seemingly one-off jokes that get called back to and built up and end up becoming extremely serious and plot-critical has to be in the double digits by now

there is very much a lack of... for want of a better word 'preciousness' to the play -- like, one of the things i really don't like about dimension 20 is that because there is an entire production staff making all these little minis and sets, right, there is an investment and a need to put the money in front of the camera, it's basically impossible for e.g. combat encounters to be skipped or for anything to go too 'off the rails'. meanwhile in eidolon everyone will get excited when someone pulls a fucking insane plan out of nowhere that radically reshapes an encoutner, or when someone rolls/draws badly and something awful happens -- i fucking love that kind of play, where everyone is excited to see cool shit happen whether it's bad or good, and the eidolon playtest team do it really well

the characters are really good and bounce off each other really well. something i commented recently is that i love diska for the fact thaqt nonoe of the players are afraid to have their character just be a huge cunt sometimes. every campaign has some amount of interpersonal drama and it always seems like the players are really excited to have it, too. there are conflicts, some get resolved, some don't, some spiral into irreconcilable differences, some pave the way for extremely close bonds.

eidolon, the system (especially the 2e version that's used for diska onwards) is a great system which encourages fun and cool things to happen. every character has a jojo-style extremely specific power, which means that fights aren't boring slogs of people rolling dice (i hate combat in actual plays that use wargames, lol, even games with well-balanced combat systems that are fun to play often make horrible audio) but instead wacky and consistently dramatic encounters where the players make clever and creative use of their powers to take on a freak-of-the-week

the cast is just really damn good! i mentioned how the characters on all the shows have ineresting and complex dynamics, but even apart from that there's just so many characters on this show that i'm genuinely attached too, so many memorable and interesting pcs and npcs.

the show is funny as fuck!! constant laugh out loud bits throughout every campaign, often alongside the extremely heartfelt or dramatic ones. i've been refernecing a bit from eidolon disco so much recently it's been driving oen of my gfs crazy (you can buy rat poison for free at the store)

i, yknow, go back and forth on whether to mention this when recommending it bc i'm sure that the eidolon playtest folks don't, like, want to be pigeonholed as A Trans Podcast or whatever, but, like, when it feels like every AP podcast that advertises itself or is advertised as 'super queer' is like, two cis gay people and maybe one transmasc if you're lucky at an otherwise super cishet table -- it is such a breath of fresh air to listen to an actual play with a legit preponderance of transfem and nonbinary players playing all kinds of trans and queer characters.

tldr: its like homestuck but good

[mahowaga]

THE (NOT SO) SUBTLE ART OF BEING A NUISANCE | K.C. — PART TWO

SUMMARY: you're a sound tech. he's a dj. you hate him. he hates you. (allegedly.) but that's okay, because who needs love when you can be a complete and utter nuisance and make his life hell?

PAIRING: dj!choso x sound engineer!fem!reader CONTAINS: rivals (mild annoyances) to lovers, romance, fluff, crack, profanity TEASER: here NOW PLAYING: casablanca by fly by midnight WC: 7.0k WARNINGS: they swear a lot, choso is still insufferable, but it's endearing, mc is still the personification of a troublemaker

setlist | part one

— Tongue-tied? Here’s a USB and a dream. Sprinkle some charm in there, too

Choso has been unbearable ever since that night.

Ever since he’s played that godforsaken track. Ever since you’d stood there like a complete idiot, too flustered to do anything except pretend you weren’t as affected as you actually were.

Ever since you’d lost, and he’d won, and he knew it.

And now?

He is smug. So insufferably smug.

The worst part of it all? He isn’t even saying anything. He doesn’t need to.

He’ll just show up to the club, shoot you a lazy glance from across the room, and you already know.

You can feel it.

Like an unspoken victory speech, his eyes linger on you for just a second too long, before he goes back to pretending you don’t exist.

It’s driving you insane.

And tonight? Tonight is no different. In fact, it’s probably even worse than usual.

You arrive to your shift and find another sticky note (purple with black ink) slapped onto your soundboard.

It’s mocking you, you just know it.

Try not to fall in love with my set tonight, yeah? I know it’ll be hard. –Your one and only DJ Dumbass

Ugh. You roll your eyes so hard you swear you see your past lives all lined up in the afterlife, judging you.

You crumple the note in your fist, seriously contemplating arson.

Then, as if summoned by the sheer force of your hatred, Choso appears, walking into the club like he owns it, like he knows (he does) that everyone loves him (except for you) and that he’s the people’s favorite DJ.

His hood is up, headphones slung around his neck, hair pulled up into a half-up, half-down situation (that looks hotter than you would ever admit).

Instead of looking at you, like he always does, he simply goes to the CDJ and starts prepping for his set, adjusting knobs and flicking through the tracklist.

He’s ignoring you. (Why? You have no idea. You also have no idea why it bothers you.)

You have two choices:

Let him win.

Be as insufferable as humanly possible.

Guess which one is the right choice?

Yeah. The latter.

“So,” you drawl, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. “Should I start writing my Yelp review now, or after you completely ruin the club’s reputation?”

Choso doesn’t even look up. (His focus is made of steel. Nothing shakes this man.) “Bold of you to assume they care about your opinion.”

You narrow your eyes and scoff. “Bold of you to assume I won’t sabotage the entire sound system out of spite.”

Ah, that gets his attention. He looks up.

And smirks.

Shit.

“Go ahead.” He shrugs, too relaxed, too confident. It pisses you off more than you can describe. You literally threatened to carry out a sonic hate crime and this is his response? “I can work with static.”

You make a mental note to replace all of his tracks with the sound of dial-up internet loading.

“You’re annoying,” you mutter, watching him set up.

“Mm. You like me that way.”

You nearly trip over thin air. (Embarrassing. All this for some idiot man.)

He says it so casually, like it’s a fact, like it’s the weather, like it’s just something everyone already knows. Everyone, except, of course, you.

Your face feels hot. Or is that just the temperature in the club right now?

“I-” you sputter, grasping for literally any words that aren’t oh my god oh my god OH MY GOD. But Choso isn’t listening, because when has he ever listened?

No. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a USB drive.

He hands it to you.

(You have to give it to him. He’s the embodiment of ‘never let ‘em know your next move’.)

You stare at it like he’s just handed you a grenade. Shit, it might as well be one.

“What is this?” you ask, suspicious.

Choso raises an unimpressed brow. “A USB. Are you okay?”

You resist the urge to throw it at his forehead. “I mean what’s on it, you fucking idiot.”

He exhales, like he’s already exhausted by you and your million questions. “Just listen to it.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Oh, wow, so convincing.”

Choso clicks his tongue, irritated, turning back towards the CDJ. “Or don’t. Whatever.”

(Any normal person would see that he’s annoyed and back off. But you? You aren’t normal. Far from it, in fact.)

You squint at him.

Something’s off.

Not in an obvious way. Not in a hey, I secretly committed a felony way (which you hope he hasn’t, for the record).

But in a he is being too nonchalant way.

Like he’s trying too hard to seem like he doesn’t care.

Which means that whatever’s on this USB here in the palm of your hands definitely matters.

…Which means, and get this, you have more leverage than you initially thought.

You perk up instantly. (You love how your brain works sometimes.)

“Ohh,” you grin. “Ohh, this is important, isn’t it?”

Choso’s jaw clenches. Got him.

Victory.

He ignores you and grabs his headphones from around his neck.

So, naturally, you make it worse. It’s your time to shine.

“Oh, I see,” you say dramatically, holding the USB up to the LED light. “It’s some tragic sadboi lo-fi mix, isn’t it? You’re about to pour your deepest, darkest feelings into my ears. Probably some emotional slow beats - ooh, maybe even a voice memo of you journaling your thoughts-”

Choso turns to you sharply with a flat, unimpressed stare.

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Not when I know something’s embarrassing for you, no.”

He exhales through his nose. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” you smirk, spreading your arms, “here you are. Giving little old me a gift. Careful now, people might think you like me or something.”

He holds your gaze like a balloon he’s not ready to let go of.

For a second too long. A second that tells you something you’re not ready to fully accept.

Then he says, “I have a set to start. Go back to the booth, pretty girl.”

He turns back to the CDJ, putting the headphones over his ears.

You feel like you just got shot. He didn’t answer your question and he called you pretty girl.

Your stomach does a somersault. (You hate to admit it, but that nickname of his really has a terrible effect on you.)

Oh.

Oh no.

You realize something.

If he didn’t deny what you just said…

That means…

Ah, shit. You’re so screwed.

Kamo Choso never follows the setlist. Not once. Not ever.

It’s like a fundamental, unspoken law of the universe - death, taxes, and Choso ignoring the lineup he made like the absolute pain in the ass he is.

(Seriously, you don’t know why you still bother practicing through his lineup when you know he’s going to switch it up.)

And so because of this unequivocal truth, you sit back in the sound booth, your gear all plugged in and running, glancing at the track progression for the night, bracing for impact.

But-

Wait a second.

You lean forward in your chair, pressing your headset harder against your ears as if it’ll help you hear what he’s playing in even better resolution (not possible), and you realize with a feeling that resembles being dragged down into the ocean with weights tied to your feet that he’s actually following the setlist.

For the first time in his entire miserable career (lie), he’s playing everything in order.

You barely have to adjust anything, having practiced earlier. No surprises. No remixes pulled from the void. No sudden jumps in tempo that make you want to hurl yourself into a speaker and disintegrate into sound waves. No smug little glances shot in your direction, daring you to keep up.

It’s not one of his signature rogue, self-indulgent remixing disasters that force you to scramble mid-set.

You should be relieved. That’s a normal thing to feel.

Instead, you are suspicious as hell.

Why, you ask? Because this now means two things:

He is up to something.

You are now basically free of distractions - there’s nothing gatekeeping your attention from the USB sitting in your palm.

You twirl it between your fingers, tapping it against your knee, hesitating.

It shouldn’t, but it feels oddly heavy. Like there’s something life-changing stored inside of it.

Just listen to it, he said.

His voice echoes in your head, lazy and casual, but there’d been something else beneath it. Something uncertain. Something almost, dare you say, nervous.

Choso. Kamo Choso. Nervous.

It doesn’t make sense. Sure, the guy is cocky, full of himself, thinks he is some kind of Messiah of groove, and occasionally gets tired of your antics, but he doesn’t get nervous.

But you think about the way he’d looked at you before you walked away.

You exhale sharply, tapping it against your palm.

Fine. Whatever. It’s just some insipid beats in this USB, anyway. He probably mixed another one of your laughs into it and is afraid you’ll actually kill him this time. That’s all. (Or this could be some kind of elaborate joke, seeing how he’s actually such a master of acting anxious and secretive before pulling a complete 180 on you.)

At the very least, you’re hoping Choso is smart enough to know not waste your time.

With a click, you plug the USB into your laptop.

A folder appears instantly, neat and simple.

[CH MIX – FOR YOU.]

Your stomach does something weird (huh, it’s almost like your stomach flips).

You blame it on the club lighting. You’re reading too much into this. You need to relax.

This is, after all, probably just another one of his dumb power moves, just a new way to mess with you.

That’s all.

Still.

Your fingers hover over the touchpad for a moment too long before you finally click.

Inside, a playlist.

You swallow hard, schooling your emotions, a whirlwind wreaking havoc inside of you, scrolling through the tracklist.

They’re all original mixes.

Okay. Not unusual. Choso makes new sets and mixes and tracks all the time.

But your breath hitches when you see the titles.

All of them.

And your brain short-circuits (you know, the way it does when you think about him).

These aren’t normal track names. They’re inside jokes. Petty arguments. Moments. The kind only the two of you would get.

Stop Making the Speakers Weep

EQ Crimes & Misdemeanors

This One’s for My Favorite Pain in the Ass

DJ Dumbass

Turn the Bass Down

My Pretty Girl

Your heart is pounding in your chest. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening to you right now. This has to be a joke.

You click play before you can psych yourself out and have a mental breakdown.

The music pours into your headset, and immediately, you recognize it. His style.

He made these. These aren’t just remixes he was playing around with. He made these from scratch, just like the track from the other night - the one with your laugh.

Heavy bass (without a doubt). Deep, rich synths. A smooth, low hum that wraps around you like velvet. But layered into it-

Your voice.

Not just your laugh this time. Not the one he’d sampled before (how? You’re still unsure).

More.

Clips of you talking. Snippets from actual conversations. Your grumbles when fixing the soundboard to patch his messes. Your complaints about his terrible timing. A breath. A muttered curse. A quiet hum you hadn’t even realized you’d made when adjusting the settings one night. The flat, deadpan oh my god from the time he’d looped an airhorn over a bass drop just to piss you off (an act of love, he’d teased).

“That’s too heavy on the bass, dumbass.” “You’re impossible.” “Oh my god, did you actually follow instructions? Mark the calendar.”

All of it, woven seamlessly into the music.

Your stomach drops out from under you. You cover your mouth with your hand.

Because this isn’t just some mix. Some playlist. Some random tracks.

This is a timeline. A story - it’s you and him. The fights, the pranks, the slow, stupid build-up of whatever the hell has been happening between the two of you for months.

You don’t know what to do. The playlist keeps going, unaware of your jumbled feelings, a seamless progression from one track into the next, each carrying little pieces of you buried inside it. A song built from the background noise of you. As if he’s been collecting your existence this whole time. As if you’ve already been a part of his music before either of you had noticed.

Your face is burning. Oh, Choso, you big, dumb idiot of a disc jockey.

And then it transitions into the last track: My Pretty Girl.

The beat dies out. No layering. No filters.

There’s a little static. A pause.

Then, Choso’s voice, snaking its way through your headset and into your ears.

“...Okay, so, this is stupid. I am aware.”

Your lips press into a thin line. You can’t tell what sort of direction this is going to go in. You’re hoping it’s not veering towards the He’s going to say some really romantic shit to mess with me and then hit me with a ‘Just kidding!’ at the end type of finale. Then you’d really have to pull your slacks up and hit him with a roundhouse kick. Preferably until he can no longer qualify to be a DJ.

“...You’re probably making some obnoxious face right now, huh?”

He sounds exasperated. (And you absolutely are making an obnoxious face right now. He’s right on the money.)

“God. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

There’s a deep breath, like he’s already regretting even doing this. You’re not sure if you should feel good about that or not.

“You’re annoying. So damn annoying. You get on my nerves all the time. Did you know that? Oh, wait, it’s you. For all I know, you fucking do it on purpose.”

Your breath catches. Not because of what he said, well, yeah, that, but also the tone - his voice is soft, resigned, but there’s not a single trace of anger laced in his words. It’s almost… affectionate.

“You make my job hell. You never shut up. And you’re-”

A pause. A sharp inhale. Like he’s fighting himself.

“And you’re- shit, you’re my favorite part of every night.”

Your brain goes blank. You cover your face with your hands, mortified on his behalf. (That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.)

“You drive me insane. Like. Actually insane.”

His voice is slightly muffled, like he’s dragging a hand down his face.

“Look, I don’t know when it happened, okay? Probably when you decided to be a chaos gremlin on night one. But suddenly, it was just… you. Every Friday night. Every set. Every stupid note you left on the console. Every time I looked up and saw you there, working your magic.”

A pause.

“I started, I don’t know, looking forward to it all. To seeing you.”

You bite your lip, because now you’re really afraid he’s going to say it’s all a joke.

“And I really, really hate that.”

Shit, shit, shit-

“Listen, I like you, okay? So much that it’s been eating at me from the inside, consuming my every thought. I can’t think when it’s you.”

You forget how to breathe.

His voice is quieter now.

“I don’t expect you to say anything. You don’t have to. Just- fuck. Throw something at me if you don’t feel the same way. Just… not my equipment. Please.”

You yank the headset off and toss it onto your laptop. Your hands are shaking. Your heart is slamming against your ribs. Your brain is completely empty. Your face is burning.

You risk a glance up through the glass and see Choso, engulfed by the music, bouncing along as he mixes through the tracks. You’re lucky he doesn’t look up and see you, because then he’d see that you’re currently malfunctioning beyond repair.

You stare at the laptop screen, at the track still playing, almost done now, at the waveform of his voice still moving.

This is insane. This is not happening. You’re waiting for the punchline, but you don’t get one. 

He’s serious. (You’re royally screwed.)

Choso - Kamo Choso - had just-

He’d just-

You’re going to pass out.

— Confronting your demons–oh wait, that’s just Choso

His set ends.

You know it ends because the music cuts and the crowd erupts into cheers, a sweaty, adrenaline-fueled mass hyped off the last bass drop Choso had thrown their way. The club is buzzing, neon lights flickering as people push toward the bar or the dance floor, unwilling to let the energy fade so soon.

But you’re not paying attention to any of that.

You’re still sitting there, in your chair, in your booth, reeling.

Because Choso - that absolute menace of a DJ, your mortal enemy, your favorite person to argue with (what?) - just confessed to you over a mix.

And you?

You have no idea what to do with yourself. The confession is still rattling around in your brain, ricocheting off every corner like a pinball on steroids.

Your fingers drum erratically on the edge of the console as you overthink yourself into oblivion.

Okay. You could pretend you didn’t hear it.

But that would be a dense move.

You could throw something at him like he told you to.

Tempting, but that would imply acknowledging the confession in the first place. Plus, that would mean you didn’t-

“You listened to it, huh?”

You jump, whipping around so fast that you nearly knock your laptop off the booth.

There he is. Choso. The bane of your existence.

He’s standing there, sweaty from the set, hair still half-tied, hoodie missing, probably draped over a chair somewhere. He doesn’t seem to care about it too much. He’s got a towel slung over his shoulder, fingers idly fidgeting with it - his usual post-set routine.

Except he’s looking at you instead of drying himself off.

Waiting.

And you? You’re still in malfunction mode.

Abort mission.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you blurt out, like the liar you are.

He exhales a short laugh, tipping his head to the side. His dark eyes flick to the abandoned headset on your laptop, the USB still plugged in - like he knows.

Like he can see right through you.

“Oh yeah?” he muses, arms crossing over his chest. “Then why do you look like your brain just blue-screened?”

“I do not look like-”

“You absolutely do.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

Shit. You hate how he can read you like an open book. You also hate how smug he’s being right now.

Choso watches you for a second longer, his usual smirk threatening to creep onto his pretty face, but his gaze alters.

It’s subtle, but you catch it.

A flicker of hesitation. The faintest twitch of his fingers against the towel. The way his weight shifts, like he’s bracing himself.

It hits you then: he’s nervous.

Choso.

Nervous.

You try not to read into it. The last time he looked nervous was when he’d played his track for you, the one with your laugh woven into it, and then he’d switched up into his usual cocky demeanor. An actor great enough to rival you.

But this is somehow different from the other night, too. This is uncertainty.

Damn. This is him waiting to be rejected.

Something in your chest does a weird, complicated flip that would earn you a gold medal at the Olympics. And you don’t like that.

You don’t like any of this.

He beats you to the punch before you self-destruct. “Did you listen to it?”

You tense. His voice is softer now, like he’s testing the waters. Like he isn’t sure if you’re about to throw him into the sun or do something even worse (you would).

You swallow. “...Maybe.”

The corner of his lip ticks up.

“Maybe?”

You scowl. “Yes, maybe. What do you want from me?”

His grin widens, and damn does he look good. “An actual answer?”

No. Not happening. You grab a nearby clipboard, the one with the setlist of his set tonight, and slam it over your face, hiding from him.

Choso laughs. Laughs. Like this is the funniest shit in the world to him.

You want to throw something at him. Preferably a speaker, and you start looking around for one-

He does the worst thing imaginable. He reaches out and tugs the clipboard down.

You resist.

He wins. (Fuck.)

The clipboard is pried away, and now it’s just you and him, standing in the dimly lit sound booth, the glow of the screens casting weird shadows across his face.

His stupid, warm, beautiful face that you suddenly want to punch for making you feel like this.

He studies you, eyes flicking over your expression. It’s like he’s wrestling between being amused and anxious.

You know he sees the way your ears are burning.

“Alright,” he says, slow and deliberate. “You listened to it.”

You clench your jaw. There’s no way out of this now. He’s already seen the proof of your listening session anyways. Still, you double down. “Maybe.”

“Stop saying maybe.”

“Maybe.”

He lets out a deep sigh, dragging a hand down his face. You smirk, triumphant-

Until his hand shoots out again, grabbing your wrist.

You freeze. Completely. Your body locks up.

His fingers curl loosely around it, warm and solid and firm. Not rough, not tight - just there.

“Then tell me,” he says, voice lower now. “What did you think?”

You can’t answer. Because your pulse is too busy freaking out and screaming at your brain, causing a panic all over your body. It’s thumping wildly against his fingers, giving away everything.

Choso feels it. You know he does, because his grip tightens slightly, just like last time. (You hate it when history repeats itself.)

You try to yank your hand back, but his hold is unyielding. You’re trapped, so to speak.

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “If you hated it, just say so.”

You need to regain control, because this right here? This is going to make you lose your marbles.

He’s so close.

Close enough that you can smell the faintest trace of cologne, mixed with sweat, with him.

Close enough that you can see the way his pupils are slightly blown out, like he’s daring you to run.

And suddenly, you’re very, very aware of how much space is between you. (Or rather, how little.)

This is not normal. This is dangerous territory.

You straighten your shoulders, trying to steady yourself. (The last thing you want him to think is that you’re down bad for him or something.) “So, let me get this straight,” you say, keeping your voice even, desperately trying not to look down at where he’s still holding your wrist. “You’re telling me that you - Kamo Choso, pain in my ass, professional menace, guy who deliberately messes with my sound levels every chance he gets - actually have feelings for me?”

He blinks at you, amused. “Still processing, huh?”

“I’m asking an honest question.”

Choso breathes out, rubbing the back of his neck as he lets go of you and takes a step back.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I do.”

At this point you really shouldn’t be surprised when you feel your heart flutter or your stomach flip, and yet, somehow it still catches you off guard every single time.

“But, like,” you start, because apparently you don’t know when to stop talking, “are you sure? Like, have you considered that maybe you actually just enjoy bullying me?”

That earns you a flat look.

“Did you just try to talk me out of liking you?”

“I’m just making sure you’ve really thought this through.”

“Oh my God.”

He places his hands on his hips and exhales while looking at the ceiling. “You’re making this worse than I thought.”

You scoff. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was the problem here.”

“You absolutely are.”

“That sounds like a you problem, actually.”

“You know what?” He points at you, leveling you with the flattest, driest look imaginable. “Forget it. I take it back. This never happened.”

Your heart lurches so hard it nearly falls out of your chest to create the bloodiest crime scene imaginable.

“You can’t take it back!” you blurt out, offended.

Choso raises a brow. “Why not?”

“Because that’s not how confessions work!”

“Oh-ho, so now you’re an expert?”

“I- that’s not the point!”

Choso just smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Oh, that absolute bastard.

You glare at him, refusing to let him see how off-balance he’s thrown you. Refusing to acknowledge how warm your face is, how fast your heart is racing, how much, despite everything, you don’t actually hate this. Or, for that matter, hate him.

Because that would mean admitting something to yourself that you’re not ready to deal with.

So you do what you always do.

You push. (Anything to drag out the inevitable. God, you need some serious help.)

“Anyway,” you say, clearing your throat and waving a dismissive hand, “if you like me so much, why haven’t you done anything about it before now?”

Choso snorts, taking a half-step closer to you. “Because you’re impossible.”

“I happen to be a delight.”

“You are a gremlin who thrives in chaos.”

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Oh, fuck off.” He looks to the ceiling like he’s pleading for divine intervention - maybe to help him with his clearly thinning patience or to simply strike him down and vaporize him. “This is exactly why I was suffering in silence.”

“Suffering in silence?” You grin, because now you have the upper hand. All the cards are back in your favor. “Oh, that’s rich. What part of you sampling my laugh into a mix was ‘suffering in silence’?”

Choso very visibly flinches.

“Oh,” you gasp, dramatic as ever. “Oh my God, you did not just cringe.”

“Shut up.”

“You totally did.”

“I will throw you out of this booth.”

“You’re so embarrassed right now. This is incredible. Ground-breaking.”

Choso groans and looks away, pinching the bridge of his nose. And that’s when you make the devastating mistake of looking at him properly.

Because the thing is, and you’ve known this from the first time you ever laid eyes on him, Choso is attractive.

Like, objectively.

But that’s never been the problem. Not really. You’ve always been able to ignore it. To shove it into a box labeled ‘Irrelevant Information’ and go about your day.

Right now - standing there, arms crossed, sleeves shoved up his forearms, hair half-tied and messy, jaw sharp under the neon glow of the club lights-

It’s very, very hard to ignore.

Panic. Immediate, uncontrollable panic. (All you’ve been doing tonight is panicking, at this point.)

You tear your eyes away before you start thinking things you absolutely should not be thinking.

Choso notices, because when does he ever not notice your microexpressions, and the smirk that creeps across his face tells you you’re doomed.

“...Huh.”

Your stomach plummets. It might as well be bungee jumping. “Don’t.”

“Wait a minute.”

“Choso.”

He leans forward slightly, and your pulse skyrockets.

“Are you-” His grin widens. “Are you flustered?”

“No.” (Your cheeks are red.)

“You totally are.”

“Absolutely not.”

He tilts his head. “...You like me, don’t you?”

“I will end you.”

“Oh my God.” His eyes gleam with triumph. “You like me.”

You don’t dignify that with a response (a page out of his book). No, you do the only thing you can think of doing - you grab the nearest object (a sound level meter) and chuck it at his head.

Choso dodges effortlessly, laughing as it clatters to the floor. “Okay, yeah, that reaction is definitely not normal and not defensive at all.”

“You are so lucky I have not committed a crime against you.”

“You wanna kill me so bad.”

“I do, actually.”

“Then do it.”

Choso is having the time of his life. You, on the other hand, are having a breakdown.

Not externally, of course. Externally, you are composed. (Mostly.) Externally, you are fine. (Debatable.) Externally, you are most definitely not about to make a life-altering decision that will change everything forever. (Complete and utter lie.)

But internally? Internally, your brain is on fire. Your thoughts are running in circles, screaming at each other. Every single alarm bell in your body is going off at full volume - bass at its max, too.

All because Choso is looking at you like that. Like he already knows the answer to the question he asked before. Like he knows you won’t actually kill him. Like he’s already won.

And that? That cannot stand. Absolutely not.

“Wait,” he says, cocking his head like he’s studying you. Like he’s enjoying this way too much. “Was that a no, then?”

“Huh?” You blink up at him, trying to figure out what his latest bullshit is. (You’re also in some type of haze that consists of him and only him, so you really can’t be blamed for any of this.)

Choso gestures vaguely to the sound level meter currently lying on the floor, the one you just hurled at his face in an act of complete emotional instability.

“You threw something at me,” he explains, as if that clarifies anything. “You know - like I said. If you didn’t feel the same way.”

Your entire body glitches.

That- oh, oh my God.

Your stupid, ridiculous, emotionally constipated ass-

You threw something at him.

You threw something at him right after listening to his confession and him asking you if you liked him back.

Ah, shit.

You’ve accidentally rejected him. (Yes, you’re hearing this right.)

Choso stares at you, expectantly. Amused, but expectant. Definitely not like a guy who just got rejected by a girl he just made a whole playlist for. Smug. So fucking smug. (He already knows the answer, that son of a bitch. He’s just making you suffer.)

Meanwhile, your soul is ascending - and not in the good way.

“I-” you start, but then immediately stop, because holy shit.

You can’t even be mad at him for misunderstanding (even if you’re ninety-nine percent sure he’s fucking with you) because it’s completely valid. Because you really did chuck something at him right after he confessed.

And Choso, being Choso, just rolled with it, because of course he did. You hope he’s not crying internally or something.

He’s still waiting for an answer.

Still watching you, head tilted, expression lazy (you really need to learn how to read his emotions - he goes through them like nobody’s business, giving you whiplash), like this is all one big game to him. (It better not be.)

And okay. Fine.

If this is a game-

Then you’re about to win. Because you’re a winner, through and through.

You take a deep breath. Square your shoulders. Set your jaw.

“Oh my God,” you whine, dragging your hands down your face. Here goes your pride. “I can’t believe I like you, cause you’re such an idiot.”

Choso freezes. “You-”

You don’t give him a single second to react.

“You’re so fucking dense,” you continue, pointing at him, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Do you really think I would go out of my way to torment you every night for fun if I didn’t like you?”

He blinks.

“...Yes?”

You gasp, clutching your heart. “That is so rude! What do you take me for? A monster?”

Choso raises a brow. “You did throw something at me.”

“I panicked!”

He snorts.

“I did! You freaked me out, holding my wrist and asking me shit!” You throw your arms up in exasperation. “What was I supposed to do?”

Choso smiles, slow and sharp and entirely too self-satisfied. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “Not throw something at me?”

“Shut up.”

“No, really.” He crosses his arms, grin widening. “Anyways, this is good information to have, cause what I’m hearing is, if I want to get you flustered, all I have to do is-”

You slap a hand over his mouth.

“You finish that sentence,” you warn, voice low, “and you’re going to have a very short DJ career, and an even shorter lifespan.”

Choso laughs against your palm, and something in you melts.

You scowl, fully prepared to keep him like this indefinitely, but then-

He licks your hand.

You shriek.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” You snatch your hand away like it’s been burned. “YOU’RE GROSS. YOU’RE ACTUALLY DISGUSTING.”

Choso, unbothered, just keeps grinning. “Worked, though.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you seethe.

“We just went through this,” he says easily. “You won’t.”

And that’s just it. That’s what does it. That’s what makes you snap.

Because he’s right. For all your bravado, all the things you’ve ever said, all the threats you’ve made - you won’t.

You won’t, because you like him.

Because you have always liked him.

Because he makes every shift more bearable, more eventful, every long night worth it, every moment filled with music and laughter and ridiculous banter.

Because you like the way he leans against the table during his sets, the way he always takes a second to find you in your booth, the way he pretends he’s not paying attention when he absolutely is.

Because he’s here, right now, looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and simultaneously managed to blow it up, and you just can’t take it anymore.

So you grab his shirt, yank him down to your level-

And kiss him.

Choso makes a sound against your lips - not of surprise, but like he’s been waiting for this, like he knew it was inevitable (show-off).

His fingers dig into your waist immediately, like he’s anchoring himself, like if he doesn’t hold onto you, you’ll disappear. And maybe that’s fair, because you feel like you might actually disintegrate, combust or cease to exist. Or all of them, at the same time.

It’s stupid how good he is at this.

How right it feels.

Like he was meant to kiss you, like you were meant to pull him closer, like your banter, your bickering, the months of pushing and pulling were always, always going to lead to this moment here.

Choso kisses like he does everything else - with intention, with control, with the perfect mix of smugness and ease that makes you want to either kiss him harder or strangle him.

(You choose the former, but the latter is still on the table, never fear.)

He is meticulous.

His lips part slightly, and your breath catches when his tongue brushes against yours - just enough to make your knees buckle. He grins into the kiss at the way you clutch the fabric of his shirt, a noise of satisfaction low in his throat like he’s won something.

(You’ll yell at him for that later. You’re kind of busy right now.)

But then, just when you start to lose yourself in it, just when you really start to forget everything else-

You feel movement near the soundboard.

Without hesitation, you break the kiss and smack his hand away.

Choso groans, exasperated. “Oh, come on.”

“You were gonna mess with my settings, weren’t you?”

He rubs the back of his hand, utterly repentant. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?!”

He grins, lazy, smug, love-drunk. “I was testing a theory.”

“Asshole. What theory?”

He leans in, voice dropping. “I wanted to see how distracted you were.”

You glare. “I will end you.”

“Hm. You just kissed me, pretty girl. That’d be a little contradictory.”

“Oh, trust me.” You poke a finger into his chest. “I can multitask.”

Choso chuckles, shaking his head like you’re the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen. “You are actually impossible.”

“Yeah, and you’re insufferable. And a dumbass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He tugs you closer, voice softer now. Smaller. Intimate. “But you seem to like me anyway, huh?”

And ugh.

Ugh.

Because, yet again, he’s right.

You do.

More than you should, maybe. More than you ever planned to.

So, obviously, instead of answering, instead of confirming what he already knows, you grab the front of his shirt again and press your lips to his.

Harder this time. (Almost like a punishment.)

Choso laughs against your lips, triumphant.

— Falling in love, one ridiculous mix at a time

Choso should’ve known the whole fucking club was in on it.

Scratch that. He did know. He just hadn’t realized the sheer extent of it.

Because, sure, he’d caught on to the way people had been watching - the not-so-subtle glances exchanges whenever he and you were in the same space, the whispered conversations cut short when he walked into a room, the smug little smirks far too many people wore whenever you and he bickered over the sound settings.

Hell, even Nanami had made a passing comment once, in the world’s most casual voice, about how he was “looking forward to an upcoming development”. At the time, Choso had assumed it was just Nanami being cryptic for no reason, because he did that sometimes. But now? Now, Choso realizes that that was code for I put money on you two idiots getting together.

But this? This goes so much deeper.

“You owe me, hardass.”

Choso doesn’t even flinch when Toji slaps a heavy hand onto his shoulder, grinning like he’s never won anything better in his life. Like he’s just secured generational wealth. The man is positively smug, downright gleeful, radiating satisfaction as he stands behind the bar, flipping a bottle in one hand.

“You bet on us?” Choso asks flatly, like he doesn’t already know the answer (hint: you already spilled the beans).

Toji barks out a laugh. “Bet on you? Nah. I bet against you. Thought you’d choke before you ever said anything.”

Choso rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Hey, it wasn’t personal,” Toji shrugs. “I just figured you were a stubborn bastard. No offense.”

Choso side-eyes him. “Right.”

“But Nanami,” Toji continues, nudging Choso with his elbow, “he had faith in you. Said you’d crack sooner rather than later.”

That catches Choso off guard. “Fuck off. You’re telling me Nanami bet on me, too?”

“Sure did,” Toji confirms. “Said he’s been watching your downfall for months.”

Downfall. Fantastic.

Choso rubs his temple, equal parts exasperated and impressed. The thought of Nanami - calm, collected, suit-wearing, no-bullshit Nanami - placing a bet on his love life is almost too much.

Then again, Nanami has been around long enough to witness every single dumb interaction between you and Choso. If anyone saw it coming, it was probably him. Him, or, of course, your boss.

But still.

A literal betting pool?

That’s ridiculous.

Even worse? You were in on it.

And Choso had found out in the worst way possible.

— Two days ago, five days after you first kissed him - The moment of betrayal™

“I can’t believe you profited off of my emotional turmoil.”

You barely look guilty. In fact, you look delighted.

Choso is still reeling. Still trying to process the fact that everyone around him had been making money off of his inability to cope with his own feelings.

“I’m an opportunist,” you say, way too smug for his liking.

“That’s called being a menace,” Choso deadpans.

“And yet.”

You smirk. You actually smirk. Like this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

And the worst part? You might be right.

Choso groans loudly, throwing his head back like he’s been personally wronged. “This is so stupid.”

“Oh, my pretty, pretty boy,” you tease, reaching up to pat his cheek. “You’re stupid.”

He grabs your wrist. Not hard, just enough to stop you from getting away with this unscathed.

You blink at him, completely unbothered.

Choso squints. “Did you just call me your pretty, pretty boy?”

You grin, clearly enjoying this way too much. “What, you gonna throw something about it?”

Choso considers it.

Briefly.

But then you’re laughing, and the sound is so good, so bright, so fucking annoying that he has to kiss you just to shut you up.

— Falling in love, one ridiculous mix at a time (contd.)

Choso sighs, deeply and dramatically, rubbing a hand down his face.

“So let me get this straight,” he says slowly, looking back at Toji. “You bet against me. Nanami bet on me. And my own girlfriend won money off of my emotional crisis.”

Toji just grins. “Technically it’s both of your emotional crises. She just embraced it.”

Choso stares. Then he sighs again, because of course.

Of course that’s how this all played out.

Toji claps a hand on his back, the picture of unbothered amusement. “Hey, don’t take it too hard, kid. The important thing is, you got the girl.”

Yeah.

Yeah, he did.

Choso glances across the club, eyes finding you instantly.

You’re perched in your booth, adjusting levels with an ease that never fails to impress him, head bobbing along to the beat of the track the current DJ is spinning. Every now and then, you glance over your shoulder at him, like you’re checking to make sure he’s watching.

(He is. He always is.)

And, God.

Choso is so in love with you.

So deeply, ridiculously, unapologetically in love with you.

Even when you’re a little shit.

Especially when you’re a little shit.

Maybe that’s why, when he finally makes his way over to your booth, the first thing he does is reach for your soundboard, just to piss you off.

Your hand smacks his away immediately.

“No.”

Choso grins. “What, I can’t touch?”

“You can touch me, not the soundboard.”

He hums, pretending to consider it. “Oh? That an invitation?”

You shove his face away, laughing. “Get out of my booth, Kamo.”

Choso leans in even closer instead, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another just below your ear, just to see you squirm.

You do squirm, but you’re smiling.

And Choso? Yeah, he’s screwed.

But he’s okay with it. More than okay, in fact. Because the more he falls for you, the more he realizes - he’s got no desire to be saved from the chaos that’s you. The greatest nuisance in his life that’s you.

He likes it all just the way it is, and, damn, if you aren’t the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.

NOTE: thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed part two as much as part one, and i also hope you stick around for the little extra stories i've whipped up for them! (art by omagatokii on X)

[daenysx]

guys, please read at your own discretion (i mean it's not something too different from the usual nsfw content i write, it's just that reader touches herself to the thought of aemond and maybe some people can feel uncomfortable, i don't know, i'm a bit shy as i post this)

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader, smut <333

aemond targaryen drives you insane.

he's- he's been on your mind since you got home.

fuck him.

no, that's- that's not what you want.

you just want him to shut the fuck up for only a minute, stop talking, stop saying what he thinks on something that matters too little for the philosophy class. stop trying to impress the professor. stop knowing everything. stop smirking when he gets something right. stop blinking those pretty eyes looking at the book, stop-

he needs to stop before you lose your mind.

you throw your bag on the floor, your messed up room can take a bit more mess because you're not gonna clean it today. not now. your blood's boiling, a thin layer of sweat forms on your hairline. taking off your clothes harshly, you put them on the floor, too.

feeling the cold bed sheets against your hot skin is nice. you close your eyes. calm down. stop going crazy over a man. over this man at least. he's pretentious, he's literally the devil himself sometimes, an insufferable prick. you should dislike him with your entire being.

you should.

the thing is- he's too pretty to be disliked.

you put your hand on your belly. fuck aemond targaryen. fuck his piercing blue gaze, his stupid flowy hair, his perfectly sculpted jawline. one time you saw his bare chest when he was at the training with the team. so fuck his statue-like physique. his abs. his happy trail and-

you need to get over it. you need to. it makes you feel like a fool every time you see him at school. every time when he sits next to you in class. you don't know if you hate him or if you're crazy for him. this is madness. stop thinking about him. stop.

you rub the soft skin of your hip bone. only wearing your panties, it'd be so easy to- but no. not when he's on your mind. squirming helplessly on bed, you move your legs. it's just- just for once. you can promise yourself to never do that again. oh.

sliding your hand inside your panties slowly, you find yourself wet. of course. he's an overachiever even now when he's turning you on, and he's not even here. your free hand plays with your nipple briefly. your entire body feels like it's on fire.

your hand goes down just a bit. you spread the wetness nicely, a shaky breath comes out of your lips. just this time. you need it for the peace of your mind. you'll get him out of your system after you finish. it's just a secret to keep for yourself.

you start rubbing your clit, it feels so nice. you need to be touched, your fingers move on the nub to find a good angle. you can never reach too far with your fingers when you try to stimulate yourself from inside, only managed to come from touching your g-spot once. it never happened again and it frustrates you more when you can't do it by yourself.

you go with the way you like. your eyes closed, your free hand thrown over your head. you move your hips to meet your two fingers, stroking the bundle of nerves. it's okay. you're doing okay. you can imagine him. it's gonna be okay.

his face flashes in your mind. that beautiful smile when he gets something right. oh, those pretty lips curving so nicely when the professor gives him a praise. you smile. why is he so pretty? it's not fair. he'd smile against your skin if he'd be here right now. he'd tell you how good you're doing for him. he looks like the type of guy who talks during sex. he practically never shuts up in class, why would he be silent when he gets you like this?

"there you go." he'd say, his voice low. "touch yourself for me. look at how wet you are, and i haven't even done anything." arrogant jerk. you keep rubbing your clit. almost there.

you think of his hands. the prominent veins showing when he holds his pen too tight. one time he held the door open for you, his hand all spread on the surface, long fingers and clean nails. he looks so clean, so put together. his fingers are definitely longer than yours. you imagine he'd knew how to fuck you with them the way you want.

"please." you whisper against nothing. you're in control yet it feels like you're not. "more. more."

you lift your hips, roll them on bed to meet your fingertips. the wetness is too much suddenly but you can't help yourself. it's the sweetest part, you're almost there. this madness will disappear. you need something- more. something to press harder. you'll lose your mind.

the sudden urge gets you and you take your pillow. putting it between your legs, you start humping. almost ashamed, but there's no reason. you need this. "come on, be a good girl. almost there, such a pretty baby. oh no, are you crying? what's there to cry, you silly girl, no, you can't stop, i told you to keep going."

his voice. fuck his voice. you press yourself harder, two fingers squeezed between the pillow and your body to keep rubbing your clit. come on, come on. you're going insane. he drives you insane. "oh!" you say, can't help yourself. "yes. yes." counting down the seconds.

and then- the tight bubble finally snaps. "aemond!" you whisper desperately. "oh, aemond- fuck." you slide yourself on the pillow, trying to last a bit longer. you hum, satisfied, the orgasm tiring you and clearing your head at the same time. you keep your eyes closed, he's right there. he gives you a proud smile. you've done so well. your back arches like a cat finally, one last movement on the pillow. it's over.

your body falls on the bed. opening your eyes, you see the room has darkened. your tired hand stays limp on your belly, the used pillow is still between your legs. you gotta clean yourself. you gotta drink some water.

you think it's over, this weird feeling you have for your rival. out of your system. your mind can function properly now. it's all okay.

your phone beeps with new messages.

aemond targaryen: hey

aemond targaryen: i was wondering if you'd like to be partners for the next philosophy assignment

aemond targaryen: i have an idea, i think you'll love it

fuck.

[sylvies-chen]

okay so… I’m crying!

like. my tv is pauses right now because I’m crying and digesting that entire scene between zeus, poseidon, and percy because that was KILLER. like genuinely in terms of acting and writing that was such an astounding four minutes of television.

first off, rest in peace to lance reddick and a round of applause for his CHILLING performance. he plays zeus with such a perfect level of intentionality that even to see zeus be thrown off for a second is just barely noticeable. the temper, the control he exhibits in jumping between very different levels of emotion, it’s so insane. truly insane walker was keeping on par with an actor like that. and of course, then, with tont stephens himself. and poseidon’s entrance? LET’S TALK ABOUT IT.

to see poseidon, a proud species of god, jump in and immediately surrender to zeus ALL FOR PERCY is just… picture that. picture the father you’ve never met, who you’ve been wondering about your entire life. picture fearing he’s the worst man you’ve ever met, picture resenting him for adhering to a system you can see clearly as loveless and problematic but still having this weird complicated love for him because you just want to know where you come from. and the first thing you ever hear him say is, softly and to protect you, “I surrender.”

to put away pride like that, to let love win… the gods fail at that consistently, but he doesn’t in that moment. and so many details of this scene are absolutely perfect and that isn’t even an exaggeration. poseidon mentioning how percy’s inherited his rebellious streak from him because the sea doesn’t like to be contained. sally having taught percy ancient greek, and poseidon being not at all surprised— and, in that, the subtle recognition that sally did raise him and teach him everything. and then: the first question you ever get to ask your father? “do you dream about mom.” ARE YOU JOKING??? and poseidon need only smile, because the answer is obviously yes even though we don’t hear him say it.

I’m floored. honestly.

[soc69]

Erasermic family general hcs:

- when shinsou has bad dreams or intrusive memories of his time in the system it’s hizashi he goes to, not shouta, because even though hizashi was only in the system a short while he understands what Hitoshi went through and how it feels to be abandoned and not know what to do with all the emotions that comes with it.

- eri used to be terrified on present mic. Not of Yamada hizashi, the sweet guy who signs as he talks and makes her chamomile tea when she can’t sleep, but of present mic who looks like a huge flightless bird and squaks weird slang all the time. The fear was fixed when she saw hizashi undergoing the transformation process one day.

- hizashi and shinsou have developed their own ‘sign slang’. As the ones who’ve used it most throughout their lives and with someone new to try it out with they started making their own signs for internet catch phrases and swear words and it pisses Aizawa off so much that he’s left out of the loop. This, in turn, only further encourages shinsou and hizashi to the point where half the time they’re not even making sense to each other but just gesturing randomly whenever shoutas around to piss him off.

- I’m pretty sure it’s canon that hizashi has, like, no nostrils (or maybe really really small ones) on account of his quirk as stoping airflow through your nose means you can make louder vocalisations, so, although everyone thinks mic would be the only one who can cook between him and Aizawa, the two of the basically function as two halves of the same idiot in the kitchen. Since your sense of smell makes up about 70% of your taste buds, despite hizashi enjoying cooking and be able to follow a recipe, without shouta there to taste test, hizashi’s cooking becomes absolutely repulsive and he has no idea. Shouta on the other hand, is perfectly capable of cooking but just refuses to learn because he thinks the system they have worked out now is perfectly functional.

- the first time hizashi is left to cook for Hitoshi alone during one of his early visits, he suffers such a culinary disaster since shouta wasn’t there to supervise. Mic makes sure to tell Hitoshi to tell him if it’s nice or not but the kid is far too polite for that and struggles through 2/3 of the meal that is somehow both sour and salty while also being so fucking spicy that Hitoshi thinks his ears are bleeding before Aizawa comes home and picks something off hizashis plate and immediately tells mic it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever made and throwing out the entire meal. Hitoshi is absolutely flabbergasted, tears streaming, nose running, throat retching, as yamada and Aizawa both ask him why the fuck he didn’t say something.

- mic likes pretty much every type of music and has sampled practically every genre ever made and since eri has never had the chance to develop her own taste, he takes her on the axact same journey of self discovery. Eri ends up very similar to mic in that she likes a lot of different things but her absolute favourite genre ends up being ‘kawaii metal’ which mic and Hitoshi both find hilarious and let her play it all the time which Aizawa (who only ever listens to brown noise) absolutely fucking hates.

- Aizawa can’t drive. Like at all. He never learnt, never even took any lessons, never had any interest in it. Mic is older than him by a few months and got his lisence super quick and after that Aizawa decided he would never need to learn because he would always have hizashi to chauffeur him around.

- mic doesn’t get angry much so everyone thinks shouta is the scary one but the more you get to know Aizawa the more of a softy he becomes. Mic, on the other hand, is fucking terrifying when you piss him off. Hitoshi and eri have only ever seen it once when some bitch from Hitoshi’s old home ran into them and got mouthy. He’s the quiet anger type that just just radiates insane unpresidented rage and Aizawa finds it incredibly sexy.

- eri is the kind of kid who collects bugs from the garden and spends hours watching them crawl over her hands in absolute amazement because she’s never seen so many of them before. As we all know, mic is terrified of bugs, but eri did not know this until she invited all her little creepy crawly friends into the house for move night. Cue them all cuddled up on the couch one day when mic feels something crawling over his legs. At first he thinks it’s Aizawa as his legs draped over his lap and tells him to cut it out and Aizawa is like ‘huh?’, looks down, and sees the fattest, juiciest cockroach ever on yamadas leg. Aizawa, who also doesn’t really like bugs all that much, is like “zashi, do not fucking move” and eri catches on, turns around and is like “oh! Patrick is here” which makes mic finally notice and release the most deafening scream ever and jumps five ft into the air which knocks a sleeping Hitoshi to the floor who wakes up face to face with a massive fucking spider and joins yamada in the screaming match while Aizawa is using his quirk on mic so none of them go deaf while climbing the furniture to avoid all the bugs and screaming for everyone to calm down in an uncharacteristically high voice while eri just sits on the floor amongst the chaos like “I just wanted you guys to meet my friends”. The house gets fumigated after that.

[koopageneral]

INANIMATE INSANITY SEASON 2 EPISODE 15 SPOILERS. PLEAASE GO WATCH IT

Omgaaa I need to EXPLODE cuz of Taco’s Tirade. Gonna go on a rant analysing it prty much line-by-line so STRAP IN!! (Shout out to everyone who worked on this masterpiece omfg)

It starts off with what might be considered ‘normal’ Taco. Her making fun of the contestants. There is a little bit of hinting at her sympathy towards the contestants, although it’s incredibly shrouded in her mastermind facade. Calling them ‘pathetic’ and comparing them to blindly obedient dogs with ‘how they run to fetch their sticks.’

We get a little bit more with ‘Sure, call me polemic, unsympathetic.’ It shows how shes aware that she’s a problem, although at this point in the song it’s unclear to the audience whether she’s saying it in a way of ‘yeah call me it cuz it’s true, I don’t care.’ Or if it’s ‘call me these things, yeah, but I’m more than that.’

‘Look at me and all you see is the debris of some defective outcast.’ Feels like it’s getting into the meat of the song, and the episode as a whole, of how Taco has realized how she’s pushed everyone away for the sake of the game. The fact she has her arms tucked away during it gives another interesting interpretation, of it actually talking about before her big reveal, and how she was treated differently because she was, in her words, ‘defective.’

‘A frenetic, antithetic (if poetic) iconoclast.’ Frenetic means wild and energetic, probably, again, referring to her season 1 persona. Antithetic means opposite of something, and iconoclast means someone who attacks cherished institutions. This gets into her want to tear this entire show to the ground for the suffering it’s caused everyone.

‘I wont live in the past. I almost won this game once, you know.’ I’m just gonna parrot what @lemonxlimee said cuz they put it pretty succinctly with two words. Taco. Girl.

Then we get to the lines that got me started on this tirade (Pun intended.) ‘History is rearranged just to credit those who win the glory. So reality has changed in the edit when they spin the story.’ AUGH. Her fucking staring down at the hotel made of the money she spent SO HARD and lost SO MUCH to try and get. I. I want to scream about this. I don’t know how to put my thoughts on this line into fucking words.

‘And we choose to feel this pain.’ Going off the last line, Taco, out of almost anyone in the cast, knows how much you have to go through just to get a chance to win, which goes right into the next line.

‘We lose more than we gain.’ She lost Pickle. You might say that she didn’t actually care, but I’m not sure if I believe that. I feel like she might not have at first, and maybe even never when they actually were playing together. But you can’t convince me she doesn’t hate herself for using him on a plan that resulted in nothing. She also lost Mic, and it’s incredibly clear how much that affected her. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and showed her the flaws in this system.

‘I will break this cycle of mistakes unlike all of these snakes whom I call to condemn.’ She is fucking DETERMINED to make everyone see what they’ve sacrificed. She speaks with a level of contempt towards them, yes, but I feel like it’s more her projecting her feelings about the contest onto the contestants.

Then we’ve got MePad being best therapy boy. ‘You are incapable of starting over.’ She wants to be better. But she doesn’t feel worthy.

And then MePad’s slightly naive optimism with ‘I do not know who you lost, but is it not possible to get them back?’ He’s programmed to see the best in everyone. He wants things to work out. He doesn’t see how hard it might be to just make things better after a relationship exclusively built on lies.

This naivete is immediately contrasted by Taco’s all-encompassing pessimism. ‘Clear the slate, start again, do you hear how preposterous that sounds? How do you not comprehend that for someone with my monstrous background, the whole slate has fallen apart.’ To Taco, the bridges between her and Mic or Pickle are nothing but smoldering piles of rubble after all the pain she’s put them through.

This contrast is even more stark with the duet of ‘It’s too late’ and ‘It’s not too late.’ I don’t even know what to say about that, it’s pretty black and white.

For the duet, gonna go one character at a time for simplicity. Starting with Taco.

We see taco’s turmoiled feelings on whether she’s to blame, with ‘It’s not I, it’s they who deigned to play.’ Even after all of this internal conflict and deep personal realizations, there’s still a part of her that wants to cast the blame of the pain she’s caused onto the ones she’s hurt.

Another deflection she throws out is, honestly, probably more fair, if still not great. ‘This game, so cruel and inhumane, base and uncouth.’ This really gets into her main philosophy for the episode. She’s afraid to take responsibility, and pins the blame on the show for pitting everyone against one another. I want to make it clear, her point is incredibly valid. We see during THIS EPISODE how much it turns people against eachother. The challenge is entirely built around making the contestants spill their true feelings about each other, and using that to fuel drama. Suitcase literally has to choose between two people she cares about over who she’s bringing into the finals, pitting Baseball and Knife against eachother. While the show is ‘cruel and inhumane’, I don’t think that should just be a het out of jail free card for Taco. Yes, she did it because she felt there was no other choice to win, but she still did horrible things. She manipulated 2 people into actually believing she cared.

‘They’re too afraid to bear the bed they made, can’t bring themselves to face the awful truth.’ This is pretty much just her saying that the other contestants are too blind to see how much pain they’ve gone through to get to where they are.

NOW. Baby boy therapist, MePad.

‘You’re no menace, Taco, how did they hurt you?’ He agrees with Taco on the grounds of how much pain the contestants go through, but he’s just a little more concerned about the tact needed to show them. He knows that Taco wants to change, but she’s afraid to. He knows how much she wants to apologize to the people she’s hurt. He feels that there has to be something external she’s dealing with to have this level of spite in her, even if there isn’t, and all of her hate is towards herself.

‘Please think this through’ is pretty self explanatory. As I said, he agrees with Taco about her basic ideals, but feels like there are better ways to deal with the issue.

‘Feeling double crossed is part of dealing with the loss, yes, but the healing is a process, that’s the truth.’ He wants to see Taco get better, and he’s trying to get through to her about the fact that her feelings are entirely valid, but she has to, at some point, let go.

I also feel like the sound mixing is very purposeful. Taco’s voice rings through clearly, able to be heard without much difficulty. MePad’s vocals are softer, and a little quieter and harder to make out. Taco is so in her own head about the pain she’s gone through, she refuses to listen to any outside voice.

Then we get to Taco trying her best to cover up her emotions again and put on her mastermind persona with ‘I’m turning up the heat to sauté, I’ve some beef to get grilled. But I guarantee that today all the beans that get spilled won’t be mine.’ I love how this foreshadows the challenge, but doesn’t make it obvious.

We see one last crack in her facade in the penultimate ‘I’m fine.’ Again, the ‘mistake’ in this line feels incredibly purposeful. It’s incredibly pitchy and bad, to an almost ear-splitting level. Taco knows she isn’t actually okay at ALL, and has trouble telling such a blatant lie.

And then the last line, ‘now it’s time’, is her fully donning the mask once again, ready to expose the show for what it is.

ANYWAY. Uh. Thanks for reading all this bs. I fucking love this song so much, and I think Taco’s motivation in this episode is fascinating. Any comments or constructive criticism of my analysis is MORE than appreciated, hope you all have a wonderful day/night/whenever.

[nicki0kaye]

if you liked Rebels

but you hate 'new' star wars

maybe the problem isn't Filoni

maybe the problem is that Rebels was produced for a channel no one watched so no one cared what he and his team did, so they had the freedom to do really great shit

and now they're under an insane time crunch to write/direct/produce/oversee one series after another all with different narrative goals where the success of one determines the greenlight for the next and every resource has to be carefully managed right down to how much time they're allowed to do second drafts, all of it towards a product meant for a huge audience entirely unfamiliar with Rebels drowning in culture war freaks

and the people you should be mad at are the freaks and Disney and really capitalism as a whole for creating a fucking meat grinder of a system through which creativity and joy are sacrificed on the altar of commerce

and not the dude who's OCs you love but is having to play a losing game to give you more content

maybe chill out

Mourn what Ahsoka could have been if it wasn't produced under the most hellish conditions imaginable into a forced speedrun of plot points bc season 2 was never a guarantee, and extend the guy some fucking grace

[clipboardbuckdiaz]

Hello everyone, here is my all my thoughts and opinions on 8x10 of 911:

First, lets start out with the obvious, MADDIE BEING KIDNAPPED!:

Okay, first thing I wanna talk about has been on my mind for HOURS, so I need to get it out of my system: 8x10 lowkey reminded me of 2x15 of criminal minds. Heres why:

They were both kidnapped by psychopathic serial killers who went through an immense trauma, who ALSO have alters (Ambers being a person named Peter, and Tobias’ being his father). Both Amber and Tobias’ alters didn’t want to do what they felt they were forced to do (well, not really, because Tobias himself didnt want to do what the alter who plays as his father didnt want to do, and Ambers alter didnt want to do what Amber herself wanted to do).

Both Maddie and Spencer were drugged multiple times, and they both played into their kidnappers game to avoid getting killed (but that could be sumamrized to their both smart).

There are also some differences, like how the bau knew that Tobias was their unsub before Spencer got kidnapped (except JJ and spencer), and it took a while for the police to figure out that Amber was their suspect even after Maddie got kidnapped, aswell as the fact that Spencer got kidnapped while doing his job, while Maddie got kidnapped in her home, and also that Spencer was kept in some cabin in the woods, and Maddie was kept in Ambers basement. Theres probably much more, but I cant remember at the moment.

Okay, now after making that long ass speech, I only have a couple more things to say about Maddies kidnapping, i promise.

Okay, second thing is did anyone else notice how in the previews, theres a part where Maddie and Chim are in the call center, and Chimneys like “im not going to leave your side when there’s a serial killed after you!” And maddies like “Police are watching over me, I’ll be fine” but in the episode, theres nothing that show they found no indication that someone was after Maddie? Like maybe it ws the fact that Amber mentioned Jee-Yun in a call, but thats really it. They put scenes in the previews that arent in the show all the time, but that one kinda confused me.

The third thing i actually stood up from my bed and APPLAUDED when Maddie launched up and attacked Amber when she implied she was going to kill Chimney. LIKE AGHHHH I LOVE MADNEY SO MUCHHHH. Also everybody thinking she ran away made me so sadddd like stawppp ☹️ like i know they were made to believe that but i just WISH one person except athena and all that wouldve been like “something isnt right” BUT THEY DIDNNTT (except when mara told chimney that jee heard another person in the house but thats it)

Okay, now the last thing I wanna talk about from Maddies kidnapping that made me laugh is how Eddie looked like he didnt give a FUCCKKKK! Like bro had the same fucking nonchalant tone and expression the WHOLE. EPISODE. I hated it so much LIKE SHOW SOME EMOTION, PLEASE!!!

Alright, thats my last thoughts on Maddies kidnapping, lets talk about the very small bit of buddie there was in the episode:

FIRST, AGGHHH!!! Okay, okay, im cool calm and collected, 100%, BUT OMGGG!!

THE CAR SCENE! THAT FUCKINF CAR SCENE.

I felt so bad for Buck, he was having a literal crisis and his whole entire world was turning upside down.

“And you! Youre just moving back to Texas like its nothing-it doesn’t effect anybody else. It does” “…Its not nothing.” HELLOOO??? WHAT THE FUCKKKKK

Okay i cant talk about that anymore because i’ll go insane, so lets go onto the last buddie scene in the episode, which is Buck and Eddies last goodbye before he goes to Texas.

Eddie was really saying the sweetest shit, and Buck was seconds away from a breakdown, like oh lord.

“Thanks for helping me get back to him.”

“I hope you know, you do matter to me.”

“Oh man, im gonna miss you.”

Like okay, you fucking romantic (im delusional, leave me alone).

Also watch as those protein cookies are the last time we see Buck bake in a while, and his new coping mechanism is going to be reverting back to Buck 1.0, and I PRAYYY that it happens like oooo drama, Buck crash out, GAHHHH!!!

Okay, thats all I gotta say, thanks for reading this hella long rant. I’ll be back next week with another lowkey poorly written opinionated essay on episodes of 911

BYE BYE!

[brainscrems]

I’m so fucking sick of ADL apologia. They’re not “trying to play nice and avoid targeting by the regime” THEY ARE ACTIVELY ENCOURAGING TRUMP AND HAVE BEEN QUIETLY SUPPORTING HIM FOR FUCKING YEARS!!!! The ADL, when faced with a choice between two candidates, a nazi who will let israel get away with whatever war crimes it wants, and a woman who’s not a nazi, has a jewish husband, is a big supporter of the jewish community, and hinted that she maybe, might hold israel accountable for war crimes, decided neither was the best option. Oh, except they also gave an award to the son-in-law of the nazi during that election year. For the fellow jews who see this, ask yourselves, when was the last time you saw the ADL criticize the republican party platform at all? When’s the last time you saw them call out the growing threat of nazism on the far right? When’s the last time you saw them point out the terrifying similarities between action and word of the republican party’s rhetoric towards immigrants and that of the nazi party’s rhetoric to jews? When was the last time the ADL talked abt systemic antisemitism that doesn’t fit their bs narrative of “the left wants all jews dead, while the right says some bad things sometimes but they mean well”. And, also ask yourself, “When was the last time they used their name as the largest jewish advocacy organization to claim that a nazi who just gave a nazi salute, has spouted nazi rhetoric for years, and also gave that nazi salute while giving a speech that sounded like it came right from adolf hitler’s own fucking mouth?” Cause i don’t remember the answer to those first few question, but I sure do remember the answer to that last one.

This is not a defense of left-wing antisemitism. As a leftist jew I see that shit day in and day out and it’s driving me fucking insane. I know what we’ve faced this last year and a half. This is about the ADL being unreliable and actively harming jewish interests. Cause let’s now talk about what the ADL DOES actually say about the left. Cause, yea, leftist antisemitism is fucked. Yea, the ADL calls it out. Yea, the ADL gets it wrong sometimes, and that would be expected of any organization. The issue here, is they’re getting it wrong ALL the time about the right, because they don’t bother to call it out at all. I posit they just throw spaghetti at the wall when it comes to leftist antisemitism and then they see what sticks. Their internal guidance, from an outside perspective, is it’s fine when the right-wing ethnonationalists in control of the government do a nazi salute, but when leftists do it to be edgy cunts to weaponize jewish trauma for their political causes it’s bad. Let’s be clear, they’re both bad. But it’s the difference between violent edgelord trolls and someone who actually wants to be the next hitler. What’s worse? The ADL thinks the college kids are a bigger threat than the people in charge of the entire US government. This is a systemic issue with the ADL.

Now, why this matters. The ADL has been slowly moving this way for a while. It just REALLY stepped up since october 7th because it gave them fertile ground to push what they want. But this isn’t new. The ADL has been tarnishing its reputation w goyim by overeprorting antisemitism on the left, and thus alienating even the more moderate left, and underreporting on the right. If the only people outside out community who have any trust in the ADL are republicans fascists and centrists who enable them, the people who it never bothers to call out, how can they continue to effectively represent us at all? The left thinks everything they say is bullshit because it’s boy who cried wolf with them. They call out everything bc they want to discredit the left. The right thinks they’re great bc they would probably let them get away with a sieg heil. This leaves us with the largest jewish advocacy organization in the US being only trusted by either nazis, or people who refuse to wake up and smell the fascism.

So. If we, as a community, want our voices heard we MUST disavow the ADL. We have to discredit them. We have to say they don’t represent us. Because. Keep in mind. 80% of jews voted against trump. The ADL knew it would look like this because they know what the american jewish community looks like. Yet, still, withheld endorsing the candidate who was, again, running against an actual nazi when it might have swayed some of the right-leaning jews. They did, however, EFFECTIVELY endorse trump by giving his son-in-law an award during an election year. Yk. The one that helped him in his first term to enact his shitty racist policies. I can’t think of any reason for this except that they wanted trump to win but knew an open endorsement would lead to a complete loss of faith from the jewish community. So. I’m here begging you. Stop buying their fucking bullshit. Their interests are not yours. They have abandoned us so they could have a president willing to let israel do whatever it wants without consequence. They have chosen to provide plausible deniability for an open nazi, as anyone who does a nazi salute while giving a far-right nationalist speech is. Do not trust them. Do not quote them. Do not donate to them. There are other jewish organizations and we should start trying to get their names out there to goyim. They ARE sometimes right about leftist antisemitism, but their motivations for calling it out are political, as evidenced by the passes they give the right. If you want our voices to be listened to on this issue start quoting other jewish orgs instead. They are less well known, but we have so many in the US. We, as a community, need to disavow these pieces of shit willing to give cover to nazis. For the sake of our credibility and for the sake of waking up the nation to the nazis we have in power.

[radioactive-metal]

CASINOOOOOO FICCCCCCCCCC (pt.1)

ITS HEREEEEEEEEEE

good morning and merry Christmas my fellow obsessed fans of this lovely wee series we have here, I grant to youse, as a Christmas present, the first Half (or so) of the casino fic. It’s got insanity, it’s got scheming, and it’s got a buggerton of innuendo. What more could you want?

so anyways, wherever you are in the world, with family or friends or perhaps by yourself, have a merry Christmas, Ido’nai, Hanukkah, Sanguinalia, or whatever you choose to celebrate. That’s enough rambling in my part. Enjoy gang.

Authors notes: in this the AU emerald city fiasco happens before semperternity. And the Zero is waiting somewhere else. So the squad is flush with cash but still without direction. This will be fun.

Tyler:

“What do you mean it’s missing a piece?” Cat looked about ready to murder someone, most likely Aurora. I laid a hand on her shoulder, very much ready to stop her acting on her fury.

“I can feel it. It’s broken. Look at the eye on this compared to the drawing.” Aurora pointed at the trigger sitting on top of the console to the picture of the sigil she had unconsciously scrawled. She was right. It was missing the gem in its eye.

Finian leant back against the bridge bulkhead, exo whining as he did so “good news gang! I have a cousin who just so happens to deal in missing parts of random artifacts from an ancient race of aliens.”

“Really?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. Finian looked at me like at me like I had just asked why we couldn’t open a window in the longbow, “No golden boy. Did the GIA give you concussion or am I losing my touch?”

“I would bet that ty lost more braincells from my punch then you ever had numbnuts.” Cat ground out. Finian raised his eyebrows “Nice one dirtgirl, I’ll have to add that to my collection.” 

Zila sat, sucking on a lick of hair for a moment, tapping furiously at her uniglass. “I have found the missing piece. Its location was detailed in the data left in the safe deposit box.”

Every person on the bridge whirled around to look at her. “Unfortunately, it is in the vault of La Casio Royale, in Neomonoco. However, currently, the Time to the Line race is on in the system, so it will be slightly easier to sneak in.”

I drummed my fingers on the armrest of my chair. “I feel like there’s something missing here”

Finian rubbed his temples, “yeah golden boy, there is. If you thought biatchiis security was bad, the Vaults de la Royale makes his look like a play pretend cash register.”

Scarlett:

On one hand, I had always wanted to see the time to the line race, preferably from a luxury yacht, waited on by a small army of very handsome men all named christoff. But in the other: we now had to pull off a heist that made that whole business on semperternity look like taking candy from a baby. The entire vault was open to vacuum, with electrified walls, laser sensors, shelves that weighed each lockbox sensitive to .00003 grams.

But on the other other hand: I got to put on my best outfit and lie, gamble, and drink my way through la Casio Royale, the best establishment in the galaxy for the sins of greed and gluttony.

Needless to say, I had my work cut out for me getting my squad mates up to par.

Once we had landed our (heavily disguised) longbow, we made our way to an incredibly expensive apartment complex. Zila had a set of keys and guided us to a door labeled 312. We stepped in and were all floored by the opulence. Oak paneling lined the walls. Onyx tiling led the way to the central living area, with a colossal window and balcony overlooking the ocean of the planet. The legion clearly hadn’t skimped out when building this place. I still couldn’t wrap my head around how they had laid all of this out. The box, the camouflage unit on the longbow, this apartment. It was as if they knew what was going to happen before it did.

There were 6 doors leading off the main corridor. Each one was inscribed with a different sigil. One had seven lines, the next had a stylized double A, after that was two hoops. Then on the other side of the hall was another four, with a beetle, a handbag, a gold bar, and a phoenix.

I took a wild guess, and opened the door with a handbag on it. Inside I found a lavishly decorated room, all velvet carpet and silk sheets. The largest bed I had ever seen sat in the middle, and directly across from the door to the room was a massive ornate closet. I gently stepped over to it, and found it was full to the brim with an incredible selection of clothes. Worksuits hung next to ball gowns, and everything in between.

There was two doors, I opened the first one and found a bathroom filled with enough marble to have depleted a small quarry. High end toiletries were arraigned next to glass sinks. I then check the other door, and found myself in a small corridor, with another door on the other end. I closed the door behind me and opened the next one.

I found myself transported to trask. A low ceiling studded with stalactites. Gently glowing blue vines grew on the walls, and floating in the center, quite possibly the best part of the room, was one Finian De Karen De Seel.

Aurora:

I opened the door with the old logo of Ad Astra, and I found myself in my childhood bedroom. It was the exact same. From the crappy old wooden bedframe to the books laid about the place. On the bedside table was a note.

Aurora:

We are so sorry that this is what you have to do. You should have been welcomed into this new time, not forced to run. 

Please consider this to be some very small apology,

Aurora Legion command

Admiral Adams and Greater Clan Battle Leader De Stoy

Below the message a small chip was taped. I plugged it into Magellan and saw it was a video. I pressed play and saw Callie, though much older, mid thirties at least, carrying a toddler. “Look the the camera kiddo! Say hello to your auntie Auri! Can you say hello little Jie?”

The toddler seem more focused on its mother bracelets.

“Hi Auri. I know you won’t ever see this, but I like to keep you updated. Even though you’re gone. This is Jie-lin. She’s 2 years old now. I hope you’re safe wherever you are. I love you”

I couldn’t keep it together. I broke down. These past few days coupled with this just broke me. I started bawling. Ugly, broken sobs that scratched at my throat as they came up.

I stared at that final frame of Callie. So grown up, so much older than me. I wondered what had happened. To mom, to dad, to the family after I left. Did mom go back to school? Did Callie ever go and see Hong Kong like she always wanted? What happened to dad?

I was stirred from my thoughts by one of the doors to my room creaking open. What would have once led to the kitchen now opened up into a plain grey corridor, currently occupied by the galaxies greatest Legolas lookalike.

We locked eyes for a moment. I saw that wall behind his eyes crumble for just a moment. I saw concern, but it could have well been pity.

“What…” my voice, scratchy and raw, caught in my throat “what do you want?”

Those damned purple eyes flicked away from me. And over the rest of the room, almost drinking it in. He stepped past the doorway, closing the door behind him without a south, and dropped noiselessly into a position with his legs crossed under him.

“Strong and silent then. Ok Legolas.” I mumbled, reaching around for something to throw at him. I grabbed my pillow, and acting on instinct from something I’d done a million times before, chucked it. He caught it out of mid air without a flinch. He raised a single, immaculate silver eyebrow at me.

“Stop doing that you son of a biscuit!”

“Stop what?”

“Being so irritating and rude and annoying and cute - er.. uh…”

Both his eyebrows jumped up to his forehead and I saw the faintest glimmer of what could be hope in his eyes. 

Tyler:

Everyone else filtered off to their rooms, leaving one door unopened. As I opened the door I found a nice,  it not ostentatious bedroom. Nicer than my room at the academy, but not what I would have expected from such a fancy apartment. Honestly I preferred it. I was never truly at home in fancy places, even when my dad traveled for the senate and took me and scar with me. It was always too much.

There were three other doors than the one I had just entered. The first was open to a bathroom, the second was a glass balcony door, that had a stunning view of the ocean.

The third door was closed, and had no obvious labels or indications of its purpose. I stepped over to it, and opened it only to find myself with scarcely four centimetres away from Cat. She looked up at me, and for just a moment I was there again, on shore leave, scotch in our veins and together. I staggered backwards, overwhelmed by that closeness with her. My ace, my closest friend, my confidante.

“Come now Ty, I’m not that scary”

“No-no god no of course not Cat no. You just…. Scared me.”

“Heh. And I never broke any academy regs. You’re fooling nobody Tyler.”

She lifted a hand, and with it a bottle of Terran scotch.

“We’ve made enough bad decisions in the past few days to fill a lifetime. What’s one more?”

And honestly? I couldn’t argue with that.

“So do you want to shout at me first or can we skip to the fun part?”

The now setting sun glowed a gorgeous golden orange through the light, catching in her dark hair and lighting up her face, now covered in a smile.

“Are you having a laugh? Nah. You’re going to sit your ass in the seat over there, and we are going to talk this out while I partake in this fine bottle of scotch that was left in my room. After that? We’ll see.”

By the time she had finished shouting at me, the sun was gone. In its stead was twin moons, visibly moving across the sky. We were sitting out on the balcony. She had a glass with a triple shot of scotch, I had some mineral water.

“Ya know Ty? I honestly considered the GIA’s offer on semperternity.”

“Is that the booze talking or you?”

“Are you having a laugh? I’m as sober as a funeral. This stuff” she shook the glass “is about as weak as nuns piss.”

“I figured. On both counts I mean. At risk of sounding uncomfortably cliche, I had faith that even though you wanted the offer, you would still back me.”

“God I hate when you read me like a book.”

“What can I say? I know you too well.”

A glint in her eyes made me realize what I had just done.

“Oh really now Ty? Are you sure? Cause I think there might be a few things you don’t know.”

And with that, I was dragged back through the door and onto the bed.

Cat Brannock 1, Tyler Jones 0

Zila:

There was a large amount of data stored on several storage wafers in my room. Each one contained briefings, plans, and other such information. Most was time locked to future dates, but I located one unlocked folder. Within was two subfolders, labeled ‘Orders’ and ‘Blue Prints’

The orders folder contain a briefing document with a security clearance I did not recognize. It was inaccessible, presumably corrupted, as it was date locked several hundred years in the past, and yet could not be opened.

The Blue prints folder was much more fruitful. Within was pages upon pages of plans, analysis, and photos of the vault we had to crack into. 

Along with data was a note, one of several I had found so far. This one read “trust the hawk”. I piled it with the other notes, some had been helpful, pointing me to guide my team mates in the correct direction. Others were much more cryptic, many mentioning hawks, crystals, and the ancient myth of Ouroboros. 

More to consider.

I wonder if it is wrong to manipulate my teammates.

I am still not feeling nothing

Finian

I spent most of the evening after Scarlett left fixing up my exosuit. The fact the legion splurged for terrestrial anti grav made feel warm and fuzzy inside. Or maybe that was talking to Scar. Who knows?

After an extremely long and deep sleep in zero G, I woke at would be 8:30 station time. Later than normal but not ridiculously so. With a sigh and some grumbling I donned my exo once again and turned off the Zero G. All of those pains and aches I thought had gone? They came right back. Turns out there’s only so much one nights sleep can do.

I opened the door and wandered out to the common area of the apartment, to find Zila sitting at the counter, obsessing over some file in her uniglass, and Kal out on the balcony doing some sort of meditation.

“Third awake isn’t bad… where’s our high and mighty squad leader?”

“Sleeping with legionnaire Brannock.”

I did a double take at that “asleep? Or…. The other thing?”

Zila didn’t respond.

“Maker… really? My goodness he’s actually human? I thought they assembled him at the overachiever factory.”

“There is no such factory.”

“Don’t change Zila. I need someone to tell me these things”

With that I wandered over to the refrigerator to see what we had. I found it stocked better than I could have hoped. It even had my favorite kind of breakfast burrito.

“Wow, they really did think of everything.”

Zila made a small noise, then hurriedly typed something on her uni.

At that, as if on cue, Scarlett walked round the corner. Far from her usual put-togetherness, she looked bedraggled, hair frizzy and makeup smeared. Even then though, as she caught my eye and winked, I felt like my stomach was full of butterflies.

“Morning Zila”

No response, Zila being a conversationalist ad always.

“And good morning fin”

The gentle smile, the way she said my name… it felt like someone had released another crate of butterflies in my stomach (why do they keep dumping them there? Do I look like a bug enclosure?)

“M-Morning Scar”

She walked over, brushed my hand (for just a little too long to be accidental) to hit a button on the coffee maker. I personally couldn’t stand the stuff, but Scarlett seemed to guzzle it like air.

“Any plans for the day?”

“You know, the usual, being the most handsome member of the squad.”

“The usual indeed. You can multitask while doing that I presume? I have a shopping list and need a spare set of hands getting it all. We can get lunch and such. I know a guy here.”

There was quite a few things to unpack there. First was her agreeing with me? The most handsome? Maker that let off a third… flock? Collection? Swarm? Of butterflies. The second… was she was asking me to go out with her. To go shopping and get lunch. Me. ME. The only reason she would pick me for that is if-

Great maker in the heavens. Scarlett Jones was asking me out on a date.

Tyler

The sunlight streaming through my window gently brought me back from the sandman. I stirred and moved my arm to my eye, only for it to hit something warm, and vaguely soft and-

Oh yeah. Last night. The memories flashed though my head like a dying star. I cracked an eye open, and saw her there, next to me, still dead to the world.

Her hair was mussed, what little makeup she had smudged around. I shifted under the covers and gasped from the pain. Looks like I might have voided the warranty on the old fun factory.

The noise woke her up. With a grumble and yawn, she opened her eyes. Her voice was soft and scratchy, but no surprises there. Thank the maker the walls are thick.

“Morning Ty. What’s the big idea with all the noise?”

“The boys…. Poor fellas seem to have taken a beating”

“Wonder who could have done such a thing?”

With that, she shifted closer to me and closed

her eyes again.

Should I have done this? Probably no.

Was it a bad choice? Most likely.

Do I regret it? Let’s see.

I looked over at the clock at the side of the bed, 6:50.  Later then I would normally wake up. I should probably get up.

However: this bed was comfy, and most importantly, there was a woman I loved next to me, and that was too much of a problem for the little bit of me that wanted to get up could overcome, and so I drifted back off to dream land, listening to Cats breath.

Kal:

I awoke at 5 AM ship time. My father had instilled this into me with his fists. I always woke at 5 now, no matter when or where I slept. I still have the scars, the last reminders of the wounds he inflicted, and the care my mother gave me. The universe truly was cruel. Making me the son of that wretched being, and taking my mother from me because of his fit of rage.

I went out to the balcony, to meditate as my mother showed me. It helped clear my head, and to tamp down the enemy within. I cleared my mind and reached out. My powers were weak, insignificant compared to all but the weakest of waywalkers, and yet i could still feel my comrades, ever so faintly. Tyler’s golden light, lighting him up like a beacon in the dark. Scarlett, glowing ruby red, casting a warm and welcoming glow around her. And Aurora. By all the souls of Syldra, Aurora.

She was like a star. Glowing with the purest white light, too strong to even look at. All I could see was her outline, and that void blue core of her being. 

I was no stranger to being pulled in two different directions. The teachings of my father versus those of my mother. The enemy within versus me. But this one was different. One could fill the galaxy with words and it would not come close. If all the blood vessels were laid out to end to end, and each cell had the word love engraved on it, it would not equal one billionth of a second of the pull. It was nearly impossible to resist, myriad works of art had been created about it over the millennia. None came close to describing it. I opened my eyes from my meditation, and looked out over the glistening sea, utterly stunning by all accounts. It was bland and boring compared to Aurora. And yet, I was denied such a thing. I could not. Alas, she was human. I don’t know if she could even reciprocate these feelings.

That was until yesterday. Like a man clutching to a cliff edge, I hung on to those words. Was there hope? Did she mean those words? Those feelings flying off her like a star going supernova? 

I did not have many of my mother gifts, but even I could feel the emotions of one as powerful as her.

And she felt something for me.

The smallest ember of emotion, which may catch.

And so hope remained.

And so despite everything, I had reason to smile.

Scarlett

I was 3/4ths of the way through my coffee when Tyler trudged in. Not walked, not marched, trudged. I have seen him do such a thing exactly twice in my entire life. The day after dad died, and the morning he got back from shore leave after graduation. Given that no one we know died, and the incredibly visible and large hickey on his neck… I’d say that my brother was engaging in…. Fraternization. 

I’m impressed honestly. I had a bet with myself that he wouldn’t last through the 2nd night on the longbow, now it’s been a whole week! Impressive.

As Tyler rounds the corner, I notice his odd gait, swinging his leg out and forward, rather than straight ahead in proper marching style. 

Fraternization indeed.

He stops at the counter, grabs one of the stools, and gingerly sits down. We lock eyes for just a moment and have an instant of perfect, non verbal twin to twin communication.

‘Really?’

‘Not a word’

The silence was broke by a sharp sniff through is nose, a long sigh and him shifting. 

“Right then. Anything of note to report?”

“Negative sir” came Finians reply

“Nope” 

“I have something sir” Zila had stopped tapping on her uniglass

“Well? The suspense is killing me legionnaire Madran, what is it?”

“Testy this more I see sir” Finian said, seeing if he couldn’t get a rise of his commander

“I have located blueprints and relevant construction information for the vault. I send them in a data package over our squad communications link, along with my personal analysis on viable points of entry.”

“Didn’t get much sleep then I take it Legionaire?”

“No more than you sir”

I choked on my coffee. Finian did a spit take and Tyler looked utterly bewildered.

“First: what I was or wasn’t doing last night is between me and the maker. Second: did you just make a joke?”

“No. I stated a fact. I got 4 hours and thirty two minutes of sleep last night, while by my estimation you got between four and three quarters and five hours of sleep.”

Finians pale skin was now flushed a pale shade of pink from him trying to hold in his laughter, meanwhile I was laughing around the coffee stuck in my throat and Tyler looked even more bewildered. The kind of bewildered that makes a deer in headlights look like a professor of psychology.

“I-uh- Well anyways, if you could pull up the data on the table hologram so we can prepare a briefing legionnaire.”

“Yes sir”

Aurora

I woke up with puffy eyes and a throat that felt like it has seen the wrong side of an industrial sandblaster. Turns out: crying yourself to sleep is awful. I can’t believe Hollywood lied to me. It’s almost like it’s full of paid actors.

I had to peel myself from my bed, I sign I had slept far deeper than normal. I opened the closet, and found that it was stocked with clothes exactly to my size and liking. I picked out a nice outfit and walked to what I could only assume was the kitchen, where I heard the gentle murmur of voices. I rounded to find everyone else in the squad all chatting amounts themselves, with coffee and, of all people, Cat, manning, as my mother would call it, the cooker. Tyler looked up, and gave me a kind smile.

“Well then, that’s everyone. I’ll start the briefing now if no one has any objections.” He paused “Ok good.” He tapped a button in the centre of the table. It lit up revealing blueprints, for what looked like a very over the top bank vault.

“This, ladies and gentlemen, is our target. The most fortified, secure, and impenetrable bank vault ever designed. Within, is contained the last part of the trigger, a 32 karat chunk of Eshvaren crystal.”

Scar leaned forward. “So an easy jaunt into a bank vault to steal a gem. What’s the problem?”

“Finian?”

The Beretreskan nodded

“If you remember Biattchis office, with the security system that would wake a carreer criminal screaming? This one would make them hand themselves in to the police and collapse into a jibbering, insane mess. Laser sensors and hair wire triggers, weighted boxes and hard vacuum. Silent penetration is nearly impossible”

Kal spoke up “so how do we intended to get in quietly?”

Finian giggled like a kid on Christmas morning. “Kal…. Who said anything about quiet?”

Tyler tapped the button on the table again.

“We will be organized into 3 groups of two, with Zila running support here.” He gestured at a point on the holographic map, indicating the apartment “Legionnaires De Seel and Jones task is to create a distraction. I don’t care if it’s a riot, a brawl, anything. We just need all eyes away from the vault. Legionnaire Gilwraith and Aurora will be our backup in case we have unwanted guests. Finally, me and legionnaire Brannock will be infiltrating the facility, opening the vault, and retrieving the target. Any questions?”

“How do we intends to breach the vault?”

Tyler’s eyes glimmered. “Are you familiar with shaped charges?”

[End of part 1. Teehee]

[rando-d]

Ultrakill Review: Turn Back Now

"Better late than never ammiright chat"

Ultrakill is one of the best shooter games I've ever played. I'm am no expert on shooters, I've played a good amount. I hate "tatical" shooters, which is why shooters like Valorant have repulsed me, whereas games like Fortnite and Team Fortress 2 have been my addiction. Heck, even in 2016, I liked Overwatch (obviously not anymore), but there was a time. Because "tactical" shooters just equate to camping around in one place waiting for someone to fight you, and doing anything energetic or running around the place is severely discouraged and games like those actively avoid rewarding players for risky play.

Tactical Shooters Suck, Ultrakill isn't one

Games like Team Fortress 2 and Fortnite are so insanely fun to me because those are shooters that ENCOURAGE you to fight people and have a risky playstyle, while giving players the option to camp, it moreso discourages it and grinding through entire lobbies feels just so satisfying. That being said, you can probably guess that Ultrakill would easily be something I would fall in love with, and you'd be perfectly correct on that. Ultrakill is everything I love about shooters, with 0 of the problems. Heck, this may be even my favorite shooter. While I'm not particularly good at the game, it is so insanely fun, and dying in the game always feels like my fun and not some sort of unbalanced enemy or really weird game design choice.

Combat

Of course, the game isn't finished and has 2 more chapters out of its 9 chapters, but those last 2 chapters could be awful, and I still would love the game. I have most of the game here. I could just ignore those last 2 chapters (again, assuming it's bad, which is highly unlikely). One of the reasons that it's unlikely is due to the games great combat system, I criticize games for cheap combat a lot, if you're making an action game, you need some good combat, and it takes a lot to impress me on that department. Ultrakill did just that. Impress me. It has a wide variety of weapons to choose from, and every level of the game's somehow feels designed around those weapons. There are so many different enemies, each with their own unique weaknesses, good play and risky movement where you utilize all the tools at your desposal is rewarded with style points, just seeing that "ULTRAKILL" combo sign hits different.

Movement

Ultrakill, while simple in terms of how you can move around the map, is really fun and gets the job well. In the beauty of its simplicity, you can perform lots of cool tricks that made me feel like an edgy teen all over again. Again, the style point system works well and constantly dashing to the goal in a short period of time while making sure to kill all the enemies and doing it all in a style is a pretty daunting and time consuming yet fun goal to achieve for all levels. Not a single level in Ultrakill kept me bored aside from the secret missions. And yes, the movement is somewhat simple in Ultrakill, and while I have seen that there is cool stuff you can do, I can't help but feel that I wish there's a bit more that could be done to improve the game's movement and add more to it while not taking away from its simplicity.

Presentation

We're in an era where people yield nostolgia to things like the N64, and PS1, but honestly, I'd compare this games graphics to Doom, that's despite the fact that the game goes out of its way to tell you that it's inspired by PS1 graphics. The game also goes out of its way to make its creatures disgusting and egregious to look it, really conveying hell's warfare to you well. The game does a great job at conveying some of the story through its environment. enviormental storytelling is always a great way of helping to tell a game story. The music is also great, the chaotic nature of the game just blended perfectly with the music style of Breakcore, I would not pick any other genre of music for a game of the kind, especially the boss themes, that's when the game really locks in. But, I will say, while all the enviorments do a great job of distinguishing each other while keeping the games disturbing feel, that can't be said for gluttony. It honestly was a bit too gross to look at, but apparently, the games developer stated that won't be of concern since he's planning on redesigning it, which I'm looking forward to.

Verdict

Ultrakill is one of, if not the best, shooter video games that I have ever played and pushes the genre of indie shooters to major new heights. I'm excited to see the game's story end, and I'll continue to replay the hell out of it for the future, it's one of the most addicting experiences I've ever had the pleasure of, you should turn back now because this game will throw you into a loop which you won't be able to escape, trying to break through that mess is crazy.