#but it would go in line with some other questions

[unoislazy]

Promises

Vi x Reader (Part One)

(Childhood friends to lovers)

You and Vi had been friends for as long as you could remember, which is why it took you by surprise she would make such a irrational decision without telling you.

A/N:Just a little something something. A prologue, if you will.

For as long as you can remember you’ve been part of the undercity. Such a fate never really bothered you. Your family life was broken and your chance of survival was quite low, but you miraculously had made some friends who looked out for you, and you did the same for them.

And among that group of friends was a girl whom you grew to care about to a deeper extent than you could ever even begin to fathom.

When she wasn’t out stealing or picking fights with people, she was with you, hanging out and having fun. Forgetting what horrors life in the caverns below the glistening city of progress held.

That girl, of course, was Vi.

You walked through the darkened streets of the city, your feet carelessly walking through puddles of water that was contaminated with liquids you’d rather not waste your thoughts on finding out. You kept your head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone looking to pick a fight, and keeping yourself as compact as possible incase you needed to book it. Such is the way of the fissures.

Your tensed state lasted only until you reached your usual hang out spot, The Last Drop. It was owned by Vander, a man with a big heart and even bigger gauntlets. He looked out for any kid that crossed his path, despite how weak it made him seem to some of the others around him, who grew restless with his complaisance in the grand structure of things.

That, however, did not concern you. All you cared for was seeing your best friend.

Just before you could fling the door open and make your usual obnoxious entrance, the door opened with a swift tug and almost caused you to stumble forward.

You looked up slightly and made eye contact with none other than Vi.

But something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

Her eyes fluttered open a little wider than they normally rested, her pupils focusing on your quickly as she moved back a bit in the door way. Clearly she wasn’t expecting you.

“Vi, What’s up?” You asked, a smile on your face to mask your concerns but anyone with a brain could see past it without much effort. Your eyebrows creased as you realized she was no longer looking at you. The pink haired girl let out a quick sigh before grabbing your hand and moving past you.

“Come on.” She said in a quieter tone than normal. You of course followed suit with little to no arguments, your main concern was just figuring out what was wrong. It wasn’t long before she stopped, taking you both into an alley way only a few feet from the bar as she let go of your hand. You couldn’t help but notice the absence of warmth as she did, but you shook the thought from you head nonetheless as you looked back toward her.

“Vi?” You called out quietly, moving your face a bit more towards your line of sight, almost as if you were forcing her to look at you. This only resulted in another sigh before she took a pause. She wanted to say something.

She was dying to say something.

“Vi, whatever it is, would you just spill it. You’re killing me here.” You remarked sarcastically, trying to lighten the very clearly damper mood as you continued to stare at her.

She then, finally, turned back towards you. She moved her bandages hands gently on to both of your shoulders as she stared at you.

“You remember that job that went to shit topside right?” She asked, now looking you dead in the eyes. Her blue eyes seemed to care the weight of a lot of stress, a lot of which you knew she was keeping on herself as to not burden anyone else with it. How you wished she would listen to you when you said she could tel you anything.

You finally nodded in response to her question.

“Of course I remember, who doesn’t?” You replied in an obvious manner.

“Well, the enforcers want someone to take the blame for that crime.” She continued, her hands still gently grasping both your shoulders as if to keep you from running away. You were firmly planted regardless of whether she let go or not, what could possibly turn you away from her?

“Okay…? But it’s not like you had anything to do with it so why does that matter?”

It was then you watched as Vi’s lips pressed into a thin line. The crease in her brow faded as she looked at you with a softened gaze. Only then did it click for you.

“Wait so you… you’re going to let them take you?”

“It’s the only way to fix what’s happening.” She replied quickly as if she was prepared for your protests. However, it only further progressed your confusion.

“Fix what? What’s happening?” You asked.

Then it dawned on you, she was keeping things from you once again for the sake of “protecting” you. You absolutely despised when she kept you out of the loop with things she knew you’d want a hand in if you had known about.

“I can’t explain just-“ She tried to respond, but you cut her off.

“What do you mean you can’t explain? Just tell me.” You practically pleaded.

“Look it’s just… it’s a long story but I-“ She once again tried to excuse, only for you to cut her off.

“No, Vi. Why won’t you ever tell me anything until you’ve already made a decision! Did one else get a say in this? How are you so sure this fix anything?” You exclaimed. You could feel her grip on your shoulders ever so slightly tighten as our words became more laced with desperate anger.

“It will. It has to.” She responded simply, to which you retorted,

“And what if it doesn’t? Hm? What if it doesn’t fix anything, Vi. You know an enforcers word doesn’t count for shit how can you-“

“I have to try.” She once again responded simply.

“Vi please would you just-“ By now your anger has dwindled and you were just simply desperate to try and talk her out of this.

“I have to do this!” She shouted. You noticed she was no longer looking at you, but now at the floor.

“Why?” You exclaimed.

“Because it’s the only way to protect the people I care about from my own mistakes! I did this. This is my fault, I thought we were ready, I thought we could handle it but… but I was wrong. And now I’ve put them all in danger and I- I have to make up for this.”

You went quiet. Classic Vi. Taking the blame all to herself when there’s more than enough to go around. One could almost call her selfish.

“And what about me? Were you planning on telling me about this before you decided to throw yourself to the wolves?” You responded quietly.

“I figured it would be best if you didn’t know what happened.” She said, he words just barely above a whisper as her view slowly worked its way back up to your eyes.

“What so I could instead just, I don’t know, think you died?”

“I don’t know I just-“

“Maybe it’s better if I found out you gave yourself over and I had no idea.”

“Just-“

“Or Maybe, I would’ve been really dense about it and would’ve just thought you were really good at avoiding me. Maybe that’s the better outcome.”

“Stop!” She shouted, her hand had swiftly moved from your shoulders and planted firmly on either side of your face. She gently held you in place, keeping you looking at her.

“Just… stop. Okay, maybe I didn’t think it through very well but I just wanted to protect you… okay? In the only way I knew how.”

“You don’t have to protect everyone, Vi.”

She didn’t respond.

Classic Vi.

You sighed, knowing that she was dead set on her decision and nothing was going to change that. Not even you.

“Look. If you’re… really set on doing this you have to promise me one thing, okay?”

She looked back, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

“When you come back, and you will come back, you’ll start opening up more. Okay?”

This earned a slight chuckle from the pink haired girl as she looked towards you.

“And… promise you’ll come back.” You added on. The playful look in your eye faded as you realized there was no promising such a thing. You both knew fairly well that this was likely going to be the last time you’d ever see each other again. Both such is the way of a child, you held out on a naive string of hope.

Vi nodded carefully, as if deep in thought. Her eyes jumped from feature to feature on your face, committing it to memory as she the suddenly engulfed you in a hug.

“I promise.”

That was the last time you saw her. You don’t even know how many years it’s been since the incident. Once word spread that Vander and the others had died, you and everyone else assumed that meant Vi died along side them. You held out hope that maybe one day, she’d miraculously reappear, but as the years dragged on your focus strayed from your old friend and more onto your own survival.

The Undercity is an eat or be eaten kind of place.

What good would you fair Vi if you got eaten?

[zepskies]

Oooh yay!! I'm so excited to dive into your thoughts, friend! 😜💜

I LOVE that you have notes! You spoil me. 🥰

Controlled breathing was necessary. But also, I feel like there were some great layers here. Dean allowing himself to feel good? And not just for one night. Admitting it and actually pursuing more? Yessssss. He deserves that.

*breath in, breathe out* loll

Aww thank you for that observation! Dean's finally acknowledging and breaking down those barriers within himself for "something good." 💗

Him sleeping better with her next to him--a classic. Never gets old. <3

Exactly, that's how I feel! 🥹 (We both know I'm a sap lol)

This whole paragraph was beautiful. Also, it was a moment where, if someone simply handed it to me with no other context, I would know it was yours. It felt like you.

The way you just gripped my heart tight and gave me the warm fuzzies. 🥹🥹 "It felt like you." What an amazing compliment! Thank you, my friend. 💕

Her rings being such an identifier was a great detail that fit so well with the reveal at the end. Smart, smart writing!

Aw I'm glad you liked that! That came over from Maybe More Than Enough. I just like the idea of her having silver rings as a fashion statement, a habit, and a good hunter tidbit all in one. 💜

Loved this! Definitely have had something similar in my head while daydreaming. A little sassy, but mostly lovingly concerned. (Again, so very you.)

It's his grouchy little face -- you just wanna smooth out those frowny lines. 😂😂 Aww thank you! Sassy, but mostly lovingly concerned is how I feel like I'd try to be with him. 💗

My stomach was doing something different this time. LMAO. The end of the first section--how he still had questions but just decided to trust her and her judgment. Brilliant. And proved that he really is ready for more.

LMAO I do not blame you on that one. 🤣

Aw Dean. It's mostly that he trusts her, but I feel like it's also a little bit of him "not wanting to look needy," asking too many questions about where she's been. Even if it's both, it's still a sign that he cares and he wants to be there for her regardless.

And in that first section, I simply could not figure out what she was off doing or what it meant for them. The reveal was as satisfying as the guessing. That might actually be my favorite part of this piece--the fact that I could not figure out where it was going. But also, she spent her early morning baking him a pie? My heart got gooier than its filling! =']

Ahaha honestly I feel accomplished that I managed to stump you at first! I threw in a couple of really tiny hints, but I hoped that the reveal would be surprising and satisfying enough, so I'm very glad you think so! She really did spend half the night and the early morning prepping that damn pie for him! 😂

And it just got better from there. He forgot his own birthday? OUCH. His emotion over her gesture? Love, love, love. And their use of touch? So tender and sweet. So, yeah, I was a fan of this one. xD<3

He really did in this one! Like, I feel like the brothers don't make a big deal about birthdays as well as holidays, so with everything they always have going on, HC that Dean forgets his own birthday half the time in the later seasons. I felt like her doing this for him would be a small but significant way of her showing that she's "all in."

Thank you again SO much for your lovely comments and observations!! You totally made my day, Larrs. 💕💕

It's not his birthday yet IRL, but we're celebrating it a bit early in this story. 😂

Restless Nights

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. He’s just not sure that you’re as “all in” as you claimed to be.

AN: As promised, here's a bonus one-shot to follow Maybe More Than Enough, though it can be read as a stand-alone. This is based on a request from @lacilou, one of my lovely Patreon members!

Bonus! It fulfills the @spnfanficpond monthly prompt. (Can’t give it away until the end though!)

Request: A Dean story based on the song “I Remember You” by Skid Row.

Word Count: 1.2K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, implied mentions of sex, bit of a twist ending… 

Dean woke to the sound of pouring rain hitting the roof of the bunker.

It must’ve been some torrential downpour, because it took a lot for him to hear anything of the outside world from inside this place. Good thing the old heaters kept out the January cold, too. Nothing worse than frigid rain.

Blearily he cracked his eyes open, unearthed an arm from where it was tucked under his pillow, and carefully raised his phone to check the time, trying not to let the light from the screen burn his retinas in the still dark room.

4:00 a.m.

He groaned. Goddamn it.

He turned over onto his other side to face where you should’ve been lying next to him. He frowned when he saw nothing but the sheets pulled back and a dented, empty pillow.

No matter how he fought it down, a small tinge of worry, and the beginnings of disappointment churned in his gut. His brows furrowed.

Did you regret it already?

After his first make out session with you (turned more session) in the backseat of his Baby, you two struck a tentative agreement to figure what this could be—more than hunting partners, allies, and friends. Despite the fact that you kissed him first (a fact he didn’t easily let you forget), afterwards, you’d been a little hesitant about what came next.

“We take it day by day,” he’d told you, with a sizzling kiss that stole your breath. “All I know is…this feels good.”

It felt right. You had definitely agreed with that.

Dean sighed through his nose, turning back onto his other side. It wasn’t unusual for him to be a light (restless) sleeper, but the handful of times you’d joined him in his bed had been beginning to make his nights calmer. He was actually starting to sleep through until morning.

What’s more, after years of looking into your eyes and seeing all the possibilities of what if, he was finally getting to make those images solid, and real. He could touch them, taste them, feel them under his calloused hands. He finally had you for real.

He looked past your empty spot in his bed and didn’t see your phone, or any of your rings on the nightstand. They were the first things you put on in the morning, and the last things you took off at night.

If those were gone…

His disappointment was settling high in his chest now; an ache approaching pain.

Until he heard the light sound of bare feet padding back toward the bed. Your hand slid gently up his arm, and after the surprise wore off, the corners of his lips tugged upwards. Your hair was a bit wild and frizzy. It tickled his neck and shoulder when you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“What’s this?” you whispered, swiping two fingers between the crunch in his brows. Dean relaxed with a small smile.

“Nothin’,” he claimed. His voice was deep and rough with sleep. “Had an appointment to get to or something?”

You smiled and settled into bed, embracing him from behind. He turned onto his back and welcomed you over, with an arm curling around your waist. He rested his hand on yours when it smoothed across his chest.

Subtly glancing down, he didn’t find any of the silver you wore on the daily, including the ring with a small turquoise stone he’d bought you a couple weeks ago, on a hunt in Denver. That one, you now almost never took off.

“I put them away in a drawer,” you said, wiggling your fingers under his hand. Your hand felt dry, and a little like you'd been handling something dusty. Had you been up reading in the library again, lost track of time? “When I woke up, I saw one fell off the nightstand. Have a feeling it had something to do with the bedframe knocking against it.”

At that, Dean couldn’t contain his lazy smirk.

“My bad,” he said, sounding anything but sorry.

You laughed, shaking your head. You still laid a kiss below his shoulder before you settled back down. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze, pressing a kiss of his own to your forehead. A deep breath fell from between his lips, and his eyes closed.

A question was on the tip of his tongue. Where you were, why you got up. Was it something he could help with? Or was it one of those moments you needed to have alone, not unlike the times you gave him to settle with his thoughts, after a hunt gone sideways. If it was important, you’d level with him, wouldn’t you?

So he let it be.

In the morning, you somehow once again managed to get out of bed without him feeling it. He didn’t hear you either. Curiosity led him down the hall and glancing inside the cracked door of Sam’s room. It was empty, his running shoes gone from the side of his bed. Dean rolled his eyes.

All right, Lance.

Oh, wait, that was biking. …Whatever.

Dean’s next path inevitably took him down to the kitchen. His stomach was already percolating—in need of good coffee and (hopefully) good food.

The smell wafting from the kitchen surprised him, however. Cinnamon apples?

He turned the corner, and there he found you.

The fuck?

You looked a bit of a mess. Your hair was thrown up into a haphazard bun, and you’d stolen his apron. Though in his eyes, you made it look better, the white fabric hugging around your curves like you were Rachel Ray or something. You were frazzled when he came downstairs, but happy to see him. You beckoned him over and sat him down at the small kitchen table.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on here?” he asked, eying you curiously.

“Just stay there!” you called from the kitchen. He heard you opening the oven, cursing when you nearly dropped something.

What the hell were you doing baking before 9:00 a.m.?

He turned to ask you what was going on (and if you needed help), but before the words could come out of his mouth, you came over and carefully set down the pie in front of him. The rich aroma, the golden flaky crust, the flecks of cinnamon and glossy apples peeking out from the divots in said crust—it all had Dean’s mouth watering, and his shocked gaze fixed on the shiny pastry.

He startled a little when he felt your hands on his shoulders, sliding part of the way down his arms. You kissed the side of his head.

“Thought I wouldn’t remember, did you?” you teased. “Happy Birthday, baby.”

Dean’s throat constricted. He tried not to show it, but your gaze gentled when he finally met yours, like you were seeing through all his layers anyway. He realized then what you were probably working on last night, and he really couldn’t fucking believe it.

He’d forgotten his own birthday. Couldn’t see much use in celebrating, when year after crappy year…

But he closed a hand over yours on his shoulder, and he brought your hand to his lips.

Every word he couldn’t yet say to you was etched in that single gesture.

AN: Short and angsty sweet! lol And the monthly prompt was "pie!" 🥧 For Dean of course. 😂

Hope you guys enjoy this one! 💜

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[babyseraphim]

1910's music: Edwin Payne style

Hi ya’ll! Friendly music teacher/opera singer here to answer a question that pretty much no one has asked (except me): what music would Edwin have listened to/enjoyed when he was alive?

I’ve separated this into three different genres (classical, jazz, and pop), so the entire thing is pretty long. I've also tried to give references for any additional information provided, but most of it is coming straight from my brain after years of music history classes, so feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong.

Classical Music

So, the first thing to know about me is that I’m a big pianist!Edwin truther, and I'm going to be talking about it a lot in this post. It was extremely common for families (especially wealthy families) to have their children train in some sort of instrument from an early age back then, so learning music was something that Edwin likely would have been forced to do.

There are some classical pieces that I have already heard mention of amongst the fandom, so I will stick them in the 'honorable mentions' section, but I want to feature some music that I haven't seen mentioned in conjunction with Edwin's character yet. 1. Erik Satie's Trios Gnosiennes (1893)

So, I've always associated the first three Gnosiennes with Edwin not only because they're so hauntingly beautiful, but also because they're rhythmically very different than a lot of other classical music of his time. The Gnosiennes are largely played in 'free time' (with no time signatures or bar lines), which is a bit unusual for the genre (though modern classical music has a lot more of it). Satie's music really pulled away from a lot of musical customs, spurning traditional forms and tonal structures in favor of more creative options, and I think Edwin would have really enjoyed it.

Edwin's possible interest in breaking musical customs will come back a lot throughout this post, but given that he is often characterized as going against the social grain (whether he was trying to or not), I think he really would have enjoyed Satie's works as a whole. However, Trios Gnosiennes just really speak to me for his character.

2. Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring (premiered in 1913)

The Rite of Spring was a Russian ballet that Stravinsky was commissioned to write for the Ballet Russes company. The work was known for its dissonance and barbarity, and the dancing was described as 'jerky' and 'hedonistic'.

Now, do I think that Edwin would have particularly enjoyed the sound of the the Rite of Spring? Maybe not, but I imagine he likely would have respected its departure from the musical decorum of his time (the piece later went on to be considered one of the the earliest examples of modernism in music). The first public showing of The Rite of Spring caused the theater to break out into a riot partially due to the fact that they thought the music/dancing was a work of blasphemy, and I just think Edwin would have found that hilarious.

3. Gaetano Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), particularly Spargi d'amaro pianto (the famous 'mad scene' aria)

I don't think Edwin would have been a fan of opera as a whole, but I do think that this work's entertaining twists, literary origins, and technically challenging composition might have caught his eye (I even went so far as to sing through this aria a few nights ago because I was curious, and yeah, its really fucking hard).

Lucia di Lammermoor is a tragic opera based on the 1819 novel The Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott, which was based on the real life story of a woman named Janet Dalrymple. Lucia was performed at the Met nearly every season from 1903-1972, and I imagine that if it was doing well in America, it must have been doing numbers in Europe.

Honorable Mentions - Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune and Deux Arabesques - Frédéric Chopin's Noctures (particularly Op. 9, No. 1) and Études (particularly Op. 25, No. 11) - Erik Satie's Trios Gymonepdies

Jazz Music

So, this is where my pianist!Edwin headcanon starts to diverge from the pretty much all of the other music-related headcanons I've seen.

Technically speaking, 'jazz' as we know it didn't really exist when Edwin was alive; he died literally one the cusp of the the Golden Age of Jazz, which is a huge fucking bummer. Jass (as it would've have been referred to in the 1910's) mostly consisted of ragtime and early blues, and was considered to be a 'fringe' style of music (pretty much entirely due to racism). As far as acceptability went, being a teenager with a love for 'jass' in the 1910's would have been the social equivalent of being a teenager with a love for ska or punk music in the 80's (the parallels!!!)

I think its pretty well argued within the fandom that Edwin is a bit rebellious when it come to authority and societal standards, and even though I think he was probably less of a little shit while he was alive, there's no way he was just totally fine with living inside the lines. I posit that, as a rebellion, he would have spurned classical music and became a ragtime pianist (which was one of the main precursors to jazz as we know it today). I actually wrote a fic about this way back when I first joined the fandom, for anyone who's interested!

1. Scott Joplin's Sugar Cane Rag (1908), Fig Leaf Rag (1908), and Paragon Rag (1909)

Scott Joplin (the King of Ragtime) was the most famous ragtime pianist of all time, and one of the driving forces behind creating the jazz genre as we know it. I guarantee that you guys have heard his most famous song, The Entertainer, at least once, and have probably heard his Maple Leaf Rag as well. If Edwin was into ragtime, then its a sure thing that he would have been a big fan of Scott Joplin's rags. I picked the three that I thought suited him best.

2. James Scott's Frog Legs Rag (1906) and Sunburst Rag (1909)

James Scott was also a famous American ragtime composer, and both of the listed songs would have been released when Edwin was pretty young. He probably wouldn't have been old enough to play them for a few years, depending on his training, but thinking of a little 12 year old Edwin learning to play these (as well as Scott Joplin's rags) in his free time just fucking tickles me. I love it so much.

3. Davy Peyton and Spencer Williams' I Ain't Got Nobody, recorded by Marion Harris in 1916

I Ain't Got Nobody was an early jazz standard from 1915 that eventually developed into a multi-genre standard (meaning that it was considered a standard for multiple genres, ranging from jazz to pop to country). I don't have a lot of reasoning for this one other that I think that Edwin would have just really liked Marion Harris' voice.

Honorable Mentions - Euday L. Bowman's Twelfth Street Rag (aka the Spongebob song) - Artie Matthews' Weary Blues

Pop Music

So, a disclaimer here. My music degree required me to take jazz and classical music history classes, which did not cover pop music of the 1910's, so I have fewer historical insights to offer about this genre. However, whenever I think about these songs, I always picture Edwin listening to them through a phonograph while doing homework on his bed, like a teenage girl listening to Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan while studying (I know that's silly, but I think its just such a fun visual). 1. Leo Friedman's Let Me Call You Sweetheart, recorded by the Arthur Clough in 1910

Let Me Call You Sweetheart was one of the highest charting songs throughout the early 1910's, and the most popular version was recorded by a group called the Peerless Quartet. Edwin doesn't really strike me as a quartet enjoyer, though, and this version by Arthur Clough was released the same year. I think he would have enjoyed the tonal quality of Clough's voice much more.

2. Grace Le Boy's The Good Ship Mary Anne, recorded by Nora Bayes in 1914

Nora Bayes was a very famous vaudeville performer of the 1920's, and lot of her biggest hits were recorded shortly after Edwin died (like, literally 1917-1925). I wrote a snippet for a fic that got left on the cutting room floor a while back about the song itself providing a positive association with the term 'Mary Anne', and I still stick by that. In this song, the name 'Mary Anne' only refers to a ship.

3. Irving Berlin's Alexander's Ragtime Band, recorded by Arthur Collins and Byron G. Harlan in 1911

So, this song could technically go under the jazz section, but I'm going to put it here, and I'll explain why. Jazz is an art from that was created and popularized by black musicians, which is why it was seen as such an undesirable art form for such a long time. People liked the music, but they didn't like that it was made by black artists. Alexander's Ragtime Band originated in Tin Pan Alley and was one of the top charting songs for much of 1911 (first in America, then overseas), but it was created by a white artist that was simply 'jumping a trend'. Strictly speaking, genre-wise, its not even a ragtime song—it's a march. It's just about ragtime.

I honestly don't really even like this song that much, and I'm not sure Edwin would have very strong feelings about it either. However, it was an extremely pivotal song for the time period, and likely would have been inescapable (or as inescapable as music could be back in the 1910's, given that music required either records or live performances). Think of it as the equivalent of a pop song that you could really do without, but its so popular that it keeps winning awards and playing in every Forever 21 and H&M within a ten mile radius.

Honorable Mentions - Gus Edwards' By the Light of the Silvery Moon, recorded by Ada Jones - Percy Wenrich's Moonlight Bay, recorded by Dolly Connolly

~~~~

I hope you guys enjoyed this! I also made a playlist, if you'd like to take a look (I couldn't find all the songs, and not all of them are time period accurate, but I tried my best).

If ya'll liked this, I might make one for Charles and dive into ska and Rude Boy culture a little bit. Feel free to send me any questions or ideas you have about all this stuff, too! I love talking about it.

For the people who asked to be tagged: @likemmmcookies @edwinspaynes @asnottoldbyginger @rexrevri

@l-nightmare @ricebees @aroacespacerock @haledamage

(plus i'm tagging you, @laiqualaurelote, because I feel you would appreciate this)

[nqueso-emergency]

This is a long one but I'm pissed off...

I'm no one to tell people to have hope, you believe what you want to believe but here's an exception to that: it kinda pisses me off when I read asks based on Buddie journalists shitty biased interviews and saying they've lost hope.

I don't know if those are Buddies faking to be BuckTommys (it wouldn't be the first time) but why would you guys take into consideration what they say??? Have you not seen their behavior on line??? The hypocrisy??? when you call them out or come to them with facts they just block you or don't reply at all??? Why would you believe someone who said she was being attacked by bucktommys when in reality it was ppl from a completely different show just to shit on BT??? Have you not seen the posts about them here??? The tweets are there and even though they bock you, you can still see them.. Is queso wasting their time???

They are BUDDIES first and journalists after.. They need those clicks to keep the lights on.. they are not neutral, they are not professional and mainly, they are not to trust like AT ALL..

Let me ask you this, why were buddies soooo confident online saying that BT were going to break up since monday the week of 8x06??? Even making hit list to harass people??? It was weird bc as BT break up it was out of nowhere.. so they knew something we didn't... why is that?? I'll leave it to your interpretation.. Just keep in mind they get to watch the episode before anyone else.. So, would you take the word from someone like that???

And just as examples I'm gonna leave here some SS from the TVLine OS interview for you.. But do something for me.. Read the Questions Without reading the answers and it'll help you realize what their were trying to do. (Even though OS shit on himself with some of his answers) but still..

What country would unite with the let buck fuck thing if even the GA liked Buck being with Tommy???? There's only one answer and you know what it is..

Mind you I think this is the least Biased... If you read the other interviews were these "journalists" themselves not the actor, are actually implying Tommy won't come back using frases like "most likely won't", "seems like it's final" it's even worse.. Being the interviews with Lou the worst ones... Why would they want an interview with Lou if they're a buddie and don't like him??? Looks like mission accomplished for them..

Now again you believe what you want to believe but don't come here using Buddie journalists as a reliable source....

And a final recommendation DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT BUDDIE "JOURNALISTS" SAY... but don't stop calling their shit out though bc they are awful people...

I rest my case..

Say that! 📢

[babyjakes]

baby barnes | 1. homecoming.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

summary | upon returning from a small solo mission, natasha has something to give to steve.

characters | steve rogers, natasha romanoff, bucky barnes, other assorted avengers, 'baby barnes' (original character)

warnings | all warnings from the original headcanon probably apply (slightly above canon level violence, child abuse, major character death.) very angsty, steve cries a lot.

word count | 1,440

an | based on my baby barnes headcanon, with some slight changes to the universe and storyline. in this version of events, after bucky is killed, nat goes on a solo rage mission to kill everyone at the hydra facility and bring baby barnes home to steve 🩷

"Sorry. This place is a mess."

As hard as he tried, Steve just couldn't pick his gaze up off of the floor as Natasha stood there in the doorway to his living quarters. "It's okay. Things have been hard, I know." The redhead's voice seemed as though it was trying to float through a thick screen of smoke, or maybe Steve was just underwater. Maybe he had been drowning for weeks.

It was quiet as the woman entered, slipping her shoes off on the mat near the door. Steve could feel her careful eyes taking him in, assessing the damage. Every word he pulled from his throat felt like a fishing line digging right back into his burning flesh as he questioned quietly, "Would you like some tea?"

He didn't have to lift his gaze to tell that she had shaken her head. The pair moved further into the room in silent tandem, Steve leading the way over to the long beige couch. The blonde's focus was fleeting as his eyes fell on his friend's lap, before shifting over to the old photo albums on the coffee table, then to the front door, then back to his own folded hands. Natasha cleared her throat, and Steve almost found it amusing, the way she was preparing to speak like she could possibly find anything to say in that moment that would somehow make things better.

"The mission was successful," was what she finally stated, the underwhelming words drawing a knowing look onto the supersoldier's face.

He nodded, doing his best to keep things polite. It wasn't Natasha's fault that he had fallen so out of love with the world; he knew that. "I'm glad," Steve hummed, thinking back to the telephone brief he had received about the agent's assignment before it had been launched. "She's just going in to clear out a suspected outpost. Nothing major," Stark had told him. The captain didn't like sending anyone off on solo missions, but he wasn't in any state to tag along, and thankfully it didn't seem like he was needed.

Through the heavy air, Natasha took another breath before finally speaking again. "I have something to show you." Her hand slipped quietly into her pocket before appearing again, holding a small photograph by its corner. When she handed it to Steve, the man couldn't help but begin to weep.

For a moment, all he could see was the girl's tender face. The face that had haunted his dreams for the past several months, ever since that first 'baby barnes' tape had arrived in the mail. In the photo, which he held tight with both of his shaking hands, the infant's big brown eyes were looking up at something. Her cheeks were round and soft, rosy as ever. Steve couldn't help but wonder when the picture had been taken, how close it was to capturing the baby's last moments on earth before she was put to rest like her father.

Finally shifting his attention away from her angelic face, the blonde trembled as he started scanning the rest of the photo for any clues. Brow furrowing in confusion, he was immediately puzzled by the plush blanket that sat in a messy pile surrounding the baby's little bottom and legs. "What's this?" he paused quietly as he thought back through all the tapes that were permanently engraved in his memory, like an endless reel of vivid film looping across the walls of his troubled mind. Not a single one had shown the infant with any sort of blanket or covering; that would go directly against the purpose of the project. She was deprived of any warmth, human or inanimate, as a simple yet effective form of torture. The blanket in the photo simply didn't belong. Steve was absolutely sure of it.

The next indicator that something was off was the state of the baby herself. She was unusually clean, her ivory skin appearing fresh and well-kept. Her medium brown whisps of hair laid neatly over her small head, lacking the usual knots and mats that he had grown used to seeing. Swallowing hard, Steve was struggling to understand why she looked so different, almost as if someone had been caring for her for the first time in her short life.

Desperate for any sort of explanation, the captain kept studying the photo, trying to make sense of each little detail he could make out. The background itself was insignificant, just a simple wall of dark metal paneling that didn't give any insight as to where or when the picture was taken. But then, in the very corner of the photo, Steve was finally given his answer. The edge of a jacket sleeve was just barely visible against the floor, the navy fabric recognizable to him anywhere; it was Nat's, an old garment from the team's days with SHIELD. The man's breath hitched in his throat as he began to stammer.

"N-Natasha," his voice wavered. "Nat. Where... how... wh-when was this-?" Steve continued staring at the small photo, more tears building in his eyes as he choked back something between a whimper and a sob. "Wh-when did you... w-was this, were you-?"

"This morning," the agent told the supersoldier softly, reaching out to place a steadied hand over one of his shaking ones. "Bruce and I got her all cleaned up and sorted out in the med bay. She wasn't a big fan of the bath, but we got a little smile out of her when we blew bubbles with the soap." Natasha's gaze was tentative, not knowing how Steve would take the news. But as she sat there, watching the revelations sink in for her friend, she couldn't help but let slip what she had been wanting to tell him since the moment she laid eyes on the infant while breaching the lonely Siberian outpost. "After what they did to Bucky, I knew what I had to do," she said quietly. "I had to save her for you, Steve. You would've done the same for me."

All at once, Steve could feel nearly a month of tension and agony lifting from his bones as he took what seemed like his first breath since witnessing Bucky's last through a screen. If he hadn't been seated, he would've fallen to his knees right there, maybe before God or maybe before his dear friend, the one who he now understood had brought the baby back safely after an undoubtedly perilous mission. The baby, the baby, the baby... that was all the captain's mind could hold onto as he sat there, clutching her photo as if both of their lives depended on it. She was alive, she was safe. And she had been brought home to him.

"Natasha," Steve choked out the young woman's name through tears, his voice like warm hands cradling their years of partner and friendship. There was something so unspeakably profound about the endless ways they were willing to live and die for each other; neither of the two could put it into words, but the feeling was certainly present all around as they sat there in the man's small living room, holding onto each other in a moment of shared silence. The gravity of Nat's actions was quick to settle in, and the significance of what she had done- all on her own, without being asked- was nearly unbearable to Steve. "Y-you went... all on your own? You could've-"

"I had to, Steve," Nat cut him off gently, her certainty on the matter unmistakable as it flashed across her face. "You were in no condition to fight, and the others would've only been in the way." As much as he didn't like what he was being told, Steve knew it was the truth. Things had gotten bad for Nat after Bucky's final tape; her decline was much more subtle than that of the captive's best friend, though he was still quick to notice it. It was only his nature. Now Steve understood that when she went dark like that, little could come between the agent and what she set out to do. As much as it worried him sick, that worry couldn't quite outdo the larger sense of relief that was flowing through him like water.

Steve's gaze drifted back to the tiny girl sat posing in the photo, another wave of grief washing over him as he saw a shadow of his late friend gazing back at him through those familiar brown eyes. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Natasha finally made the proposition, "Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to see her."

[gloomybadger4life]

What if certain Fire Nation citizens start shipping zutara?

Eventually they form gatherings and a fanclub begins.

They speculate about their supposed romance and even draw or paint them together.

When Katara becomes an ambassador and Aang is off doing Air Nation rebuilding the fanclub holds their breath.

The Ember Island Players have a show that showcases a hypothetical version of the romance, with them getting together post agni kai (as it happens in many fics).

The play becomes insanely popular and is full of cheesy lines and speeches about hope.

A healed Azula who is staying on Ember Island goes to see it and she thinks it's hilarious. She secretly invites the firelord and the ambassador, making it look like it's for another play.

Mai runs into Azula at ember island, they have a heart to heart and reconcile after nearly murdering each other. Mai tells Azula that Zuko and her didn't work out ages ago, and that both agreed it was for the best. She takes Mai to see the play and Mai laughs out loud.

Katara and Zuko go to ember island because the invitation said something that appealed to their goals of peace and stopping propaganda.

By the end of the play; Katara nearly freezes the whole theater, Zuko is exhaling smoke. They talk each other out of committing arson and murder against the troupe.

A long conversation ensues where they list all the inaccuracies of the play. They end up sitting side by side on the beach, watching the sunrise.

Zuko makes a joke about Katara hopebending and she calls him the broodbender. They laugh the loudest they have in years.

Meanwhile...

Azula and Mai convince the troupe to bring the show to Caldera. They have become closer and Azula opens up about her healing journey. She asks Mai what she wants to do in life. Mai tells her that she doesn't know, but is glad to finally have the chance.

Azula tells her that she should probably apologize to the avatar for the whole death thing. Mai finds the wording hilarious. Azula offers her earth kingdom weed and they end up going to a restaurant. The food is delicious and they share mochis.

Azula comes out to Mai about questioning her orientation. Mai is shocked, she always believed. Azula and Ty lee were a thing in secret.

The princess breaks down about her biggest regret, forcing Ty Lee's hand. She wants to make amends. Mai ends up pleasantly surprised and puts a hand on her back.

...

Zuko and Katara are back in the palace. His whole council asks about the rumors and he is proud that the whole room doesn't go up in flames that instant.

Katara is questioned by Suki who finds it endearing. She tells Suki that they are just friends and that the play is not realistic.

Suki begins to realize Katara is lowkey gushing about Zuko and how good of a friend he is. And how he is attentive, and he always makes time.

Zuko is inadvertently gushing about Katara to Iroh, who is just listening.

Some time later Zuko asks Katara if she would like to go stargazing. And to get away from the rumours.

Katara agrees and they have a midnight picnic on a rooftop. They lay down side by side and talk about a million things. Zuko asks her if she ever wonders about who she would date. Katara tells him that she really doesn't picture herself with anyone. That after her and Aang split she hasn't found someone that sees her for her. She tells him that he is one of the very few people she can be herself with, and that being just Katara is refreshing. Zuko tells her he feels similarly, that he is glad she knows him for him, no title, that being seen as a person keeps him hopeful.

Their hands brush accidentally.........

One of the things I love about the Ember Island Players is that by trying to make fun of the possibility of romance between Zuko and Katara in the play-within-a-play, the show actually introduces Zutara as text into the world of the show, particularly in Fire Nation pop culture.

Like, there's this widely-advertised production that shows the Fire Prince and the Southern waterbending master falling in love. Then, probably the next thing the gen pop hears about their future Fire Lord is that he's jumped in front of his sister's lightning to save this same girl's life, doing absolutely nothing to beat those allegations.

There's just no way the gossip mill isn't churning. It's too juicy.

[araybiaaa]

Can you do something where rafe gets into a fight for Sofia because someone said something about her, and after the fight Sofia is cleaning his hands. ( I ABSOLUTELY LOVE EVERYTHING YOU WRITE!!)

“𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖”

rafe x sofia

THE night started off innocent.

They were at Topper’s house that was loitered with at least a hundred people; all of whom were either inebriated or on the precipice of being so. The herbal stench of weed lingered in the air and it’s so thick that she coughs and wafts a hand over her nose when they pass by the group of stoners.

Rafe’s fingers intertwining with hers and gently tugging her in tow is what helps Sofia navigate through the crowd of bodies flooding through the hallway. She feels some semblance of relief when they walk into the kitchen that’s not nearly filled to the brim with people as the living room and backyard is.

Releasing her hand, Rafe saunters over to the beer keg and grabs himself a red solo cup. “You want some?” He offers, pulling down the keg’s knob as the frothy, brewed beverage filled to the rim of his cup.

Sofia shakes her head, declining his offer. “No. I’m okay.”

Rafe nods as he brings his cup up to his mouth and takes a large swig of the drink. “You cool if I go talk to a few people?”

Truthfully, Sofia didn’t want him to leave her alone. Aside from Topper and Kelce, she didn’t know anyone here and it’s not as if anyone made an effort in trying to make conversation with her either.

Anytime they came to these parties, she’s always met with the gazes of a group of girls who would stare at her with looks of repugnance and irritation marring their features. She knows that their jealousy derives from their bewilderment that a kook of such high stature would be seen with a pogue—and that she was the only girl that Rafe’s ever publicly claimed while the others in his past were subjected to being occasional hookups.

(They all hated Sofia, but also wanted to be her. She found it all sardonically ironic in a way.)

Sofia’s never vocalized any of these issues to Rafe, simply because she knows how he is. He wouldn’t hesitate to confront anyone over her and as much as she appreciates his chivalry, she didn’t want him getting involved into anything because of her especially at one of his friend’s houses.

So, she pursed her lips in a feeble smile and nodded her head as she encouraged him to seek after his friends. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She says, in which he only gives her an indiscernible look and parts his mouth like he’s about to question her against it.

“Yo, Cameron!” The clamorous bellow of one of Rafe’s friends beckoning him from the living room interrupts their conversation. They both turn around to see his friend accompanied by two other guys, gesturing for Rafe. Beer spilled out of their cups as they staggered drunkenly towards Rafe, earning a few annoyed glances from the other partygoers.

“Cameron!” The guy extends his arm around Rafe’s shoulder, his body weight’s alleviated off of his two other friends who hefted him in tow, as he now leans his drunken weight onto Rafe. “Dude, where the hell have you been all night?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, though in a playful nature. “I just got here. How the hell are you drunk already? The party just started an hour ago!”

The guy guffaws, “How are you not drunk?” He chastised, his glassy eyes avert their attention on Sofia. He smiles impishly as he pats a hand against Rafe’s chest. “This guy used to be a hellraiser. He knew how to party! He’d be doing shots, snorting lines with us in the bathroom—”

“Alright, alright.” Rafe interrupts, looking slightly chagrined by the mention of his old drug habits.

Sofia was well aware of Rafe’s past. He’d confessed everything to her in a moment’s vulnerability—admitting that it started off as him occasionally indulging in it, but then he felt himself starting to have a penchant for it. Luckily, he stopped well before it developed into an addiction.

“—now he’s just standing over here in the corner and sipping on his fuckin’ beers like he doesn’t know us anymore.” The guy clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, making a tsk-ing sound as he shook his head and wagged an accusatory finger at Sofia. “I think you turned him soft! Look at him!”

Rafe rolls his eyes again, though this time it’s sans of the playfulness that it once had. “I’m not fucking soft, alright?” He accents, nudging the guy’s arm off of his shoulder. “And don’t fucking talk to her.”

At the sudden shift in Rafe’s demeanor, the guy guffaws again, seemingly undaunted by Rafe’s forewarning. He raised his hands in the air in mock defense, feigning an offensive reproach. “Woah! Never thought I’d live to see the day that you would defend a pogue.” The word emanates out of his mouth in disgust—almost like a slur as he spat at the prospect in bewilderment.

And the way his eyes narrow in Sofia’s direction makes her cower away. Rafe takes immediate notice of this and moves away from his friend to approach her. “Hey, you okay?” His eyes soften in worry as he looks at her; he shakes his head, sighing softly. “You know what, let’s just go home.”

“Look at this. You are soft.” The guy condemns, continuing his antagonizing remarks. “Rafe Cameron, number one kook defending a pogue. She must be a real good fuck.” He taunts, turning his attention back on Sofia.

Before she even has the opportunity to react to his demeaning comments, Rafe’s turning around and curling his hands into a clenched fist. In one haste motion—Rafe’s fist connects to the side of the guy’s jaw, the sound ricochets so loudly that it catches the attention of everyone inside of the room. The guy yawps, his body staggers as he recoils from the hit.

Sofia gasps, her eyes immediately avert on Rafe whose face is narrowed in a scowl. The guy groans groggily, cupping his hand over his swollen jaw as he looked up at Rafe in bewilderment. “What the fuck is your issue? It was a fucking joke!” He rebuttals, clicking his jaw as the pain throbbed.

The room stilled, falling into complete silence as they watched the fight.

“Say something else about her and I’ll fucking kill you,” Sofia turns to see someone holding a phone up as they recorded Rafe’s threat. Knowing that she needed to get him out of there before the situation worsened, she stopped towards him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Rafe, I think we should go,”

The guy chuckles wryly, nodding his head as he licked the smear of blood that fell from his lip. With the attention focused on them, it seemed as if the guy was suddenly enticed by it which prompted him to continue his antagonizing. He glanced around the room at the cameras, smiling. “Yeah, Rafe. Listen to your bitch and leave cause no one wants you here. Especially after you’ve been slumming it up with this dirty pogue,”

And any restraint that Rafe once had seemingly dissipates because now he’s lunging toward him—connecting his fist against the swollen side of his jaw again this time with more force and speed. His head lolls to the side, audible gasps fill the room as they all watched Rafe’s onslaught. He’s unrelenting with his punches, the guy’s body staggers again and this time he falls backwards to the floor with a loud thud.

The partygoers all move back as he falls limply at their feet.

“Rafe!” Sofia says, her voice shaking a bit at the sudden escalation. Panic arises within her and it only worsens when she notices blood dripping off of Rafe’s bruised knuckles. She’s briefly worried that he’s hurt, but then she realizes that it wasn’t Rafe’s blood.

The guy was sprawled out on the floor, blood pooled around his limp body. His face was maimed; already turning a deep mauve color from the cusps of Rafe’s hardened fists.

It’s Topper and Kelce running their way towards the commotion that diverts Rafe’s attention. “Bro, bro, bro. Hey, he’s down, alright?” Kelce says, resting a hand on Rafe’s shoulder that he shrugs off.

“Maybe you should—”

“Don’t worry we’re leaving,” Rafe says, interrupting Topper before he has the opportunity to kick them out. He sees the guy’s friends crouch down to the floor to aid his injury. Rafe glanced down at him briefly, looking around the room at the shocked expressions, completely undaunted.

He pushes through Topper and Kelce so that he’s able to reach Sofia. He grabs her hand and intertwined their fingers before he lead them to the front door.

The car ride back home was silent.

Rafe would turn his head; whether it be at a red light or a stop sign to try to gauge Sofia’s expression. But her attention was cemented on the road ahead of her, avoiding his gaze.

And Rafe couldn’t help but the wonder if he’d scared her. He knows Sofia wasn’t a confrontational person and she preferred pacifism over violence. Did she think his reaction was too extreme?

He didn’t mean to scare her.

He just acted out of impulse.

He couldn’t stand to listen to the hurtful words and remarks that Logan was saying about her. He didn’t care that at one point in time, Logan had been one of his best friends all throughout high school; Rafe wouldn’t allow anyone to disrespect Sofia especially in front of him.

He didn’t feel one inkling of remorse for what he did to Logan; but he does worry that it altered Sofia’s perception of him. Did this just prove the rumors that have been circulating for years about him being violent? Did his act of chivalry just inadvertently ruin his relationship?

“Sit down. I’ll go get a washcloth for you,” Sofia avers once they’re back at the house. It’s the first words she’s spoken to him since the party. And his heart pathetically lurches at the sound of her voice.

(Fuck. Maybe Logan’s right. He is soft.)

He’s docile of her commands and plops down onto the cushioned sofa. He glances down at his knuckles that were now purple and stained with dried blood. His eyes lift at the sound of her gait as she approached; they continued to follow her movements as she crouches down in front of him.

She settles comfortably in between his legs before reaching for his hand. It throbs and aches from the bruising, but he absentmindedly disregards the pain, as his only focus is on her. She’s still not looking at him. Her eyes are attentive as they scrubbed the blood off of his hands. And when he notices the slightly tremor of her hand, guilt gnaws at him at the heartbreaking realization that his fear had just been confirmed.

She’s scared of him.

A wetness burns in the back of Rafe’s eyes as he swallows down the lump that clogged in his throat. “Sof,” His own voice trembles, sounding completely wrecked in his plead. She finally looks up at him at the murmur of her name falling off of his lips.

He would never apologize for defending her, but for scaring her? He’d spend an eternity trying to make up for it if he had to.

Rafe’s taken aback when Sofia lunges forward and embraces him in a hug. She wraps her arms around his neck, holding him closely against her body. He melts into the embrace, burying his face in her neck as he holds her.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.” He laments in apology.

Against him, Sofia shakes her head. “No, don’t be. I’m just glad that you’re okay.” She assures him, rubbing her hand against his back in a comforting gesture.

“So, I didn’t—I didn’t scare you?” At this, Sofia’s hands stop its undulating movements as she retracted from the embrace to look at him. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his question. He shrugs, lowering his eyes. “I thought that maybe you seeing me like that made you think of me like how everyone else on the island does. Like, like I’m this violent and bad person—”

Sofia’s aghast by his very false assumption.

She shakes her head, reaching her hand up to cradle his face within her grasp. Her heart nearly breaks at the despondent expression marring his features. “I don’t think that, Rafe. I’m not scared of you, okay? I love you.” She says it with such sincerity that it assuages his worries almost immediately.

“Yeah?”

She nods, brushing her thumbs over his high cheekbones. “Yeah.”

He exhaled a shaky breath of relief as he leaned closer into her embrace. “I love you, too. So fucking much,” He says, resting his forehead against hers as his mouth tentatively hovered over hers, seeking out a kiss.

Sofia decimates the space between them and brushes her lips against his; kissing him slow and full of vigor. When they pull apart, she smiles a little shyly up at him. “I don’t condone violence but I will admit it was pretty hot seeing you kick that guy’s ass.”

Rafe chuckles, leaning forward again as he pecked chaste kisses against her lips. “Yeah?”

[narfin-frood]

Silly question but how do you art?

Or more like, how is your process to draw? Your lines and posing are so loose and show the feeling of a character so well, like, how do you make your art so real with only a few lines is what most amaze me. Anyway I hope I'm not bothering you and that makes sense, thanks for reading!<3

you're not a bother, don't worry! i'm not sure if there's an appropriately concise answer to a question like this, but i'll try to explain my process for poses a bit, and if there's anything else specific you'd like to know about my process, feel free to ask, and i'll try to answer!

for posing, i find it's very helpful to start by thinking about what situation the character is in. you don't need a location or a background or anything (unless you're being #serious about it). for this, i chose "picking up something way too heavy" (cont. under cut, wall of text ahead)

keeping it very simple is key!!! do not worry about details!!! i am very bad at this. i love to add a little detail or two, like his eyes or his little expression, but i have to catch myself before i get too into it, otherwise i'll forget the point of what i was doing and/or get bored. use just enough strokes to get the point across, and stop there (for now).

i draw fast and loose, with long strokes, which also happens to help with the problem that happens if you start with any specific part of the body. it's important to start with... everything at once, or else you won't be able to see what needs to be changed or fixed until it's too late and you've already decided on where you want the head and the left arm to be!

to display effort & strain without just contorting the character's face, you gotta think about just how heavy the object is, how one would go about grabbing it comfortably, and whether your character is smart enough to lift with their legs.

wander is great (read: BEST CHARACTER DESIGN EVAR. i love him kisskisskiss) because he's not grounded in any sort of reality until necessary, and his limbs have no bones, but he still has specific proportions and volumes to refer back to if you get carried away with the wackiness. posing a character made up of several noodles of varying widths is very simple, because you can do basically whatever you want to push and pull and make it as clear (and/or as funny) as possible.

start with your line of action, in this case the long line connecting his neck and his left foot. think about where the floor is, so you can make the feet of your character and whatever else is touching it coexist in the same reality. think about clarity: big, simple shapes are your friends, and if you're not getting the gist of the pose through the silhouette alone, try again! there's NO shame in hiding the first layer and doing a couple more sketches until you land on something you really like. Don't polish a turd, especially if you yourself think it's a turd. it'll make you feel like you're wasting time, and drawing is about having fun and experimenting, so if it's getting boring or frustrating, it's time to try something else.

wander and other characters with no bones and no rules are great for posing because you can do things like make their arms bend the wrong way just to play with the clarity of the pose. this:

un-breaks the arms and makes a little more sense for somebody with elbows, but some clarity in the action is lost when the arms don't curve upward and away from the very heavy object he's straining to pick up.

grounding your characters is both more complex and easier than it sounds, and it unfortunately requires you to think about perspective (i know. i know. i know it sucks and it's confusing. i hated it for a very long time but once it clicks, you'll have it in your brain forever)

fudging a perspective grid is fairly easy, just draw several parallel lines and have them get closer to each other as they recede into the distance, and then do it again in the opposite direction. you can use the transform tool in whatever program you use most to fudge this for even less effort, by just getting a png of a grid and fucking with it

now that you've got your floor, think about those feet. the grid makes it fairly easy to envision how a shoe would look sitting on that floor:

this is also where having an understanding of volumes comes in handy, because things farther in the distance will in fact look smaller, but it's up to you to figure out just how much smaller it would be in comparison to the other identical thing with the same volume that's closer to the camera. usually it's almost negligible, but it becomes easy to spot if it's a little off.

and here's the pose i settled on! i made his noodle arms more extreme for extra XD factor and i put him on his tippy toes for that extra bit of height!

a lot of the principles i'm talking about in this post i mainly pick up from consciously watching my favorite cartoons (and live action shows) and if i really, really like the way something is done, or if i see something that i've never really registered before, i'll screencap it or i'll pause or i'll just keep thinking about it until i draw again.

this is called "building a visual library" and it's the #1 easiest and most important way to practice. it requires no drawing, unless you want it to. look at lots of art by artists you love, and if you see something and you think to yourself, hey, this looks really good, by all means, absorb it.

art is great and it's really fun and there's literally nothing wrong with taking inspiration where you can find it!! seriously!!! absorb your favorite parts of every art style you find cool and fun and put it into your own! you're the only person who can draw the way you draw, and while replicating an art style is fairly easy (or it can be, depending), matching it perfectly is Literally impossible, so don't worry about being derivative. Nobody will notice, and if they do, it's okay to say you're inspired by them! encouraged, even!

my own art style, like everybody else's, is a frankenstein's monster containing all of the things i've loved before!!! and i think thats beautiful and if anybody tries to tell you you've gotta be 100% original and have "your very own style", they're a filthy liar and they're definitely (consciously or not) already taking inspiration and reference from the things they themselves find cool and awesome.

ANYWAY. wall of text over.

TLDR: draw quickly, use long strokes (try not to pet your lines), have a specific situation to put your character in, get familiar with volumes and proportions, and have fun!!!

[notadamnmermaid]

Baked Alaska

Eddie Diaz likes to think he’s a good friend, when he wasn’t actively sabotaging his own life. He gets along decently with Chimney; plays cards with Hen and Karen at their standing ‘parents of teenagers’ meet ups; has a regular pool game with Bosko whenever their schedules lined up; and he enjoys pick-up basketball game days with Tommy. All of this to say, he is a pretty good guy to most people.

But here’s the thing about Eddie: he might like to think he’s a good friend, but he knows without a question that he is Buck’s best friend. So when Buck shows up at his doorstop, forlorn and scowling with a six pack of beer, of course Eddie is going to help him get over his breakup. He turns the music back up and dances, and he urges Buck up to join him. They dance and they drink and they laugh until Buck looks less like he’s going to break down.

Later that week, he helps Buck pack up the few things of Tommy’s that are left around the loft. Maddie and Chim have just dropped off Jee-Yun, so Eddie picks up the bag. He knows that Tommy should be at his station today, so he can drop it off before heading back to Buck’s baking frenzy.

“I mean yeah, Evan’s hot, but he was also, like, really just not my type.” Eddie’s ears prick up at the sound of Tommy’s voice. He’s just walked into Harbor station. He moves silently up the stairs to see Tommy holding court, his back to Eddie. Donato is there, along with Hicks and Gomez, listening to Tommy with a barely perceptible sneer that turns to malicious glee as she sees Eddie stalking up with a finger to his lips.

“But I hooked up with someone at this nightclub in WeHo last month who’s way more my speed,” Tommy continues on obliviously. “An absolute hottie and I can have a fully coherent conversation without him going off on, like, fifteen different tangents. And just the tightest little ass, like my god—“

Eddie thinks he blacked out for a few seconds, because two weeks ago, Buck and Tommy were still dating. But a month ago, Tommy did what?

What?

Here’s the thing about Eddie Diaz: he likes most people well enough, but he loves Evan Buckley, and Eddie will be damned before he lets a raggedy bitch like Tommy get away with hurting him, even retroactively.

“What the FUCK are you talking about, Kinnard?” Eddie’s emphatic voice from directly behind him prompts a jump spin from Tommy. Eddie watches his face pale with hard eyes and his jaw set. From the corner of his eye, he sees Donato take out her phone.

“Ed-Eddie,” Tommy stutters out, eyes darting across his face nervously. “What are you doing here?”

Eddie tosses the bag to the floor at his feet. “Well, I was trying to be kind to my best friend since his ex broke up with him a few days ago; I didn’t think it’d be a good idea for Buck to have to go through some bullshit handoff, when I— being his best friend and your friend— could just bring it over peacefully.

“But back to you: what the fuck did you just say? Did I just hear your bitch ass admit to cheating on my best friend? Was that what I just heard?” Eddie prowls up to the older man and pokes him hard in the chest. Tommy looks like curdled milk as he tries to back away.

“Eddie, listen, please—“

“Oh fuck that, puto,” Eddie snarls, balling his fist up into Tommy’s collar and dragging him down to eye level. “Buck is one of the best men I know, you fuckwit piece of shit coward. What, you didn’t want to tell him the truth, so you broke up with him? Said he would break your heart eventually? What a fucking joke; Buck is the kindest, sexiest, coolest person I know. You don’t deserve to have that type of goodness in your life. And he doesn’t deserve a prick like you taking advantage of him.”

Abruptly, he releases Tommy with a hard shove, completely disgusted by even the idea of being around the other man any longer. He turns and walks off, kicking the bag lightly out of the way.

“There’s all your stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, “now you can lose Buck’s number, and lose mine too for that matter.” He stops for a moment, cocks his head, and looks over his shoulder with a mean little smile.

“But thanks for getting him those Lakers tickets; I’ll make sure he has a real good time.”

When he walks back in to Buck’s apartment, strong hands push him up against the door. Eddie has half a breath to take in the fevered look in blue eyes before those same strong hands cradle his face for a kiss. His own hands move automatically, clutching at broad shoulders and fisting in curly blond hair. A moan rumbles through his chest.

They eventually part, air still being a necessity, foreheads touching. “Lucy sent me a video,” Buck murmurs, eyes wide and smiling broadly. “I’m the sexiest person you know?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh. “And the kindest, coolest, funniest, sweetest, most irritatingly beautiful man I know. Mi sol,” he declares, “Mi amor. Te amo. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

They’re both smiling, tears glinting in their eyes, as they move together for another kiss, and then another, and then another. They part reluctantly as Jee-Yun starts calling for attention from the living room. Fingers laced together and sides bumping playfully, they make their way over to her.

After all, there will be time for more later.

[fix-it-darlin]

rhav (fullmetal alchemist oc, doctor and former state alchemist)

david- they probably appreciate his pragmatism and prioritization of others, finds gruff demeanor appealing but not much thought given beyond that, if the two of them got closer, they'd probably bond about trying to keep the people they care about from getting hurt, but those people not listening to them and then getting hurt

huxley- immediate short circuit of the brain and then lots of questions about how his 'earth based alchemy' works, they're a bit thrown off by his carefree attitude, but genuinely enjoy their interaction with him

vega- wtf even is this guy?, feelings are definitely mixed and their fight or flight is going off but they also get the sense that people will get hurt if they don't do something about him so definitely a fair amount of hostility that's feeding him

porter- thrown off by his charm initially and then realizes that he's got very little sense of self preservation and views himself as a weapon, gets real rattled about that and has to fight the urge to try and check him over for wounds

geordi- so glad to finally meet a normal person in this universe, they think he's a bit paranoid but they get it

blake- honestly just really disappointed in this guy, like c'mon, you've got the ability to see the future and help others and you've centered your whole being around one person when you've got the potential to be so much better than this, but ~no~ you have to go and be a massive racist asshole who's willing to hurt everyone to get what he wants, they don't even hate him, it's just more of a 'come on man, you're better than this. where is the board of ethics on this?'

hush- you know what, after everything else they've seen at this point, they're just glad that the god child isn't trying to kill them

rowan wagner (space cowboy)

david- he finds him pretty cute, thinks he'd be a fun guy to take out for a drink and get him relaxed but nothing too serious, discussion over drinks would likely be about taking on some kind of job, rowan's a flirt, but he knows when someone's out of his league

huxley- the accent? is something else, but once he gets past it, probably vibes with this guy quite a bit and talks shop on the quality of the earth in the area and what kind of wildlife hangs around the area

vega- well, doesn't look strange enough to be an alien, but is too strange looking to be a human, if vega tries to rile him up, his first reaction is going to be to flirt relentlessly while vaguely alluding to his gun but no one's sure if that's a euphemism or threat

porter- there's an accent he's familiar with, two flirts can play this game, definitely gets rich guy vibes from him and hasn't decided whether he wants to schmooze or antagonize him, the vampire part is the clearest cut part about this fellow and rowan's not even phased by it

geordi- rowan actually knows that star trek exists and is a pretty big fan of it (his space colony had recordings of all the episodes and some of reading rainbow available when he was growing up) so he catches the reference almost immediately and is delighted, he chats him up and teases him a little but is also just on the cusp of nerding out and has to hold himself back from instigating a star trek infodump, he's just got this big stupid grin on his face the whole time he's talking to him and has used some of his cheesiest pick up lines on him just to see if he can get a laugh

blake- this isn't his first rodeo with folks who've gone and gotten themselves possessed by some eldritch horror, he's this close to trying to shake this man by the shoulders and ask him why the fuck he's gone and doomed the universe, rowan is frustrated, annoyed, and just generally enraged by him, but he's handling it significantly better than he did the first eldritch possession he came across

hush- strange little fella, honestly not sure what to do with him, but he's happy to answer any questions, he's not spooked by him because he looks like a slightly less strange version of the aliens he deals with regularly, and he can relate to the whole not understanding people

joey (morally grey lie detecting detective)

david- they appreciate his honesty but also see way too much of their old boss in him and being prone to butting heads with authority, they're not a fan and just try to avoid him because they know that if they don't they are going to start a fight

huxley- they're intimidated at first because they're relatively short and huxley's kind of a big guy, a bit weirded out by the hole digging thing, but they have seen weirder in their line of work, wants to ask more questions but they're reminding themself that it's best not to go asking about things that might be more personal if they want to stay on people's good side and they really want to stay on his good side because they view him as a decent connection to have because they take notice of how much he seems to notice

vega- they're honestly pretty unphased as a sadistic super powered being is more their speed, yeah, he's a liar but he's a predictable one, they're used to people trying to manipulate them but they're able to see through it and brush it off, glad to find something that's relatively familiar in this new environment and has somewhat positive emotions about him

porter- they can not trust a word out of his mouth and they're so tired of it because they're not able to turn off their powers and it's just a constant ping of 'oh, that ones a lie' when they even try to talk with him, and they're probably holding their tongue about it because they've already come to the conclusion that he could probably kill them if he felt like it and it was beneficial to him, probably tries to return similar energy and probe him for information

geordi- confused as to why he thinks that they're a telepath as in their world, most telepaths are pretty damn invasive and loud about stuff in their experience (this is not normal and actually they have high mental paranoia and so that makes it hard for even the most skilled telepath to make it into their mind unannounced), vaguely annoyed by him but also find him endearing, they won't admit it of course

blake- they're immediately repulsed by him purely on the principle that they're reminded too much of themself by him, he figures out pretty quickly that they're "empowered" in a sense and he's spouting his bullshit and they just hate him so, so much and they want him and his lies gone, legitimately contemplating murder

hush- once the wtf is his deal wears off, it's just kind of like, oh yeah, vaguely murderous superpowered being who could crush them like a bug if they pushed things too far, this is just a typical tuesday, astounded by how not a single thing he says is a lie even though they're sure the stuff about him being a force given form is made up, but you know what, they'll humor him, stepping on eggshells around powerful beings is just their default mode

ok cmere listen

take an oc you have from literally any universe that you have (other than redacted)

tell me what’s happening if they were to run into

- david

- huxley

- vega

- porter

- geordi

- blake

- hush

you can doooo as many of them as you want to

(this is just an excuse to hear about peoples OCs btw)

[the-dork-urge]

Bottle Of Whiskey

Just some sfw Butcher fluff.

You noticed how his gaze lingered on you, the dark red lipstick you wore tonight catching his attention. It was the kind of shade that left smudges on cigarettes and glasses, hints of something fleetingly glamorous yet just a little too cheap. You felt the weight of his stare, lingering longer than usual.

“Who’re you all dressed up for?” he asked, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. His eyes traced your lips as you brushed your fingers against them, drawing his attention without effort.

"I'm going out with Frenchie," you replied, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cool night air. You glanced at Butcher, hoping for a reaction—something to tell you he cared. “I could use a distraction.”

He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was thinking. Nights with Frenchie weren’t just for fun; they were your way of drowning out the world. Wandering into strange places with stranger people, drinking, and losing yourself in the chaos. It wasn’t usually your scene, but after the past few weeks, you needed an escape.

For a moment, you wondered if he’d ask to come along, but his gaze told you everything—he wouldn’t. Butcher wasn’t the type to follow anyone’s lead, especially not Frenchie’s. Still, you felt the tension as his eyes traced your lips, moved over your body, and then settled on your heels. There was a pang of something unspoken between you, something you both shook off, like always.

"Have a drink—or five—for me, love," he said, trying to sound indifferent.

You gave him a sly smile. “I will. And when I get too drunk, I’ll just do what you do.”

He raised an eyebrow, his cigarette dangling between his fingers. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“I’ll make it everyone else’s problem.” You dropped your cigarette, crushing it beneath your heel with a slow, deliberate motion. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was watching.

Butcher chuckled, but something flickered behind the laugh. You could feel the shift in the air. Was he imagining you with other men tonight? The thought sent a thrill through you. His jealousy was barely hidden, though he’d never admit it. “Just don’t come back pregnant. I’d make a shitty godmother.”

His tone was casual, a jab wrapped in sarcasm, but you caught the hint of something deeper, something protective. It almost made you laugh—the way he tried to mask it.

You smirked, teasing him with your response. “You worried about me sleeping around?” The words left your lips smoothly, but you watched his face closely. Would that bother him? You hoped it did.

For a second, his expression faltered, and you knew you’d hit a nerve. His jaw tightened slightly. You enjoyed it, knowing you had that kind of effect on him. But still, you felt something else—a strange comfort in the idea that he cared enough to be jealous at all.

“Just watch out, love. They’ll be lining up for you dressed like that,” he muttered, his voice rough around the edges.

You felt the corners of your lips curl into a smile. His gaze burned into you now, and you didn’t mind it. The dress you wore clung to you in all the right places—short enough to draw attention, revealing enough to leave little to the imagination. You knew the effect it would have, not just on the men you’d meet tonight, but on Butcher too.

“You really have a way with words,” you said, crossing your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. “If only you used them to your advantage.”

He shifted his weight, his tone softening. “Aye. Didn’t mean it like that, love.” His voice was quieter now, a little more genuine. “You look… fantastic. I’m just tired. Sorry.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of it yourself. “So, what about you?” you asked, shifting the conversation back to him. “What’re your plans tonight?”

Butcher paused, caught off guard by the question. His usual sarcasm faltered for a moment as he looked at you. You could tell he hadn’t really thought about it. “Dunno,” he shrugged. “Same old, I guess. Drink, maybe head back to the flat.”

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching into a half-smile. Then, as if on impulse, you said, “There’s a bottle of whiskey in my desk. A good one. I’ve been saving it for better times, but… those seem pretty far ahead of us, don’t they?”

His eyes flicked toward you, a glint of curiosity in them. He hadn’t expected that.

You shrugged, playing it off casually. “Take it. It’s not doing me any good sitting there.”

Butcher studied you for a moment, as if weighing your words, maybe wondering if there was more to the offer. “Better times, huh?” he muttered, his tone half-joking but with that edge of weariness. “Yeah, they’re always a few steps out of reach.”

The offer of the whiskey wasn’t just about the drink. You both knew that. It was an excuse, a gesture that said you understood the kind of days you were both living through. For a moment, you weren’t sure if he’d take it—if he’d accept what the offer really meant.

“You sure about that?” he asked, still eyeing you.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze. “I’m sure.”

Butcher dropped his cigarette on the ground, the ember flickering out as he took a step closer to you. You watched him, feeling the tension between you thickening in the quiet. There had been moments before—so many moments—where you had caught him watching you like this. Times when you could feel the pull, the want, simmering beneath the surface. You knew he’d thought about reaching out, maybe taking you back to his flat, but something had always held him back.

“Call me if you need anything, yeah?” you said, stepping closer as well, your hand resting on his shoulder. You leaned in, closing the space between you. “And I’ll come running to the office.” Then, without waiting, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough to leave him with something to think about.

Butcher froze, the usual bravado slipping for just a second. He nodded, but you could see the confusion, maybe even a flicker of vulnerability. His cheek warmed beneath your lips, and you could feel the blood rush there. Why would you bridge that gap now? You pulled back slowly, your hand still on his shoulder—a reassurance, perhaps? A promise that this thing between you—whatever it was—hadn’t gone unnoticed. You wanted him to think about it tonight, to know that you’d be thinking about him too. That maybe this undefined thing between you could be something more.

“Have a drink on me, yeah? Or five,” you said with a smile, mimicking his earlier words before turning to leave.

“You go on ahead now,” he said, his voice gruff again, as if trying to regain his footing. But the surprise was still lingering in his eyes. ~

You didn’t get into too much trouble tagging along with Frenchie. The places were good—gritty, a little too underground for your taste, but there had been plenty of fun with all the attention you’d gotten. Frenchie had spoiled you with drinks, and the men who surrounded you had spoiled you with everything else. Their eyes, their hands—none of them subtle. You felt the weight of it, the gaze that followed you all night, but that was the point, wasn’t it? To let the world drown out the noise of what really mattered.

One man, a little bolder than the rest, wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you gently away from the bar. “Dance with me,” he begged, his voice thick with liquor. There was a drunken stumble in his footsteps, and it made you laugh.

“You don’t look like you can dance very well,” you teased, placing a hand on his chest to steady him, though you weren’t entirely sure why you bothered.

“I can,” he insisted, eyes gleaming with the kind of overconfidence that came after too many shots of whiskey. His grip tightened on your waist, sliding lower, his body pressing against yours.You didn’t push him away.

His hands were all over you, moving up and down, a little too confident for someone so unsteady. His body was close, too close. You let your eyes drift shut, just for a second, letting the buzz in your head cloud the judgment in your heart. His fingers, rough and clumsy, traced patterns on your skin, and for just a fleeting moment, you pretended they belonged to someone else...

Butcher.

The thought hit you hard, almost knocking the breath from your lungs. You imagined his hands—strong, calloused, deliberate—on you instead of this stranger’s. You imagined his body pressing against yours, not out of drunken lust, but out of something deeper, something real. The idea of it was enough to make your heart race, a thrill running through you.

You leaned into the touch even more, just to feel what it might be like if it were him. The man’s hands gripped tighter, pulling you closer, his breath hot on your neck, the smell of whiskey and for a split second, you let yourself indulge in the fantasy. You felt something stir in your underbelly, a warmth you weren’t quite prepared for. But it didn’t last. Because it wasn’t him.

The illusion shattered as quickly as it had formed, and the weight of reality came crashing down. This wasn’t Butcher. You pulled away, taking a step back, letting the man’s drunken grip slip off you. “Find someone else to lean on,” you muttered, your voice cool, though your pulse still raced. ‘’Im sorry.’’

You pulled away, taking a step back, letting the man’s drunken grip slip off you. “Find someone else to lean on,” you muttered, your voice cool, though your pulse still raced. He stumbled, a look of confusion flashing across his face, but before he could protest, you were already walking away, leaving him to himself.

Frenchie was waiting by the bar, watching the whole thing play out.

“I need to go,” you said, slipping back beside him, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of that man’s touch.

Frenchie raised an eyebrow, curious. “Why? Things were just getting interesting, no?”

“Butcher,” you answered simply, the name falling from your lips without hesitation.. “I can’t explain it to you.”

But Frenchie didn’t need an explanation. He wasn’t blind to what had been brewing between you and Butcher. Everyone had noticed—the way you seemed to gravitate toward each other, the unspoken tension that filled every room you were in together. The way you allowed his jokes, the way you stepped in to protect the other too easily, or how arguments between you two dragged on, both of you too stubborn to back down. It wasn’t subtle. Not in the way you thought it was.

Frenchie gave a small shrug, smirking slightly. “You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said, leaning back against the bar. ‘’Go before some man grabs you again huh.’’ Frenchie joked. Frenchie watched as you left, the same amused, knowing smile lingering on his lips. He’d been around you long enough to recognize the look in your eyes. ~ Butcher sat in his apartment, the dim light from a single lamp casting long shadows across the room. The bottle of whiskey she’d mentioned sat unopened in his hands, heavy,, its amber liquid catching the faint light. He stared at it, his fingers tightening around the glass, his other hand bringing a cigarette to his lips. He took a long drag. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about cracking the bottle open. In fact, he’d thought about it ever since she’d told him to take it, her voice still lingering in his mind. “Saved for better times,” you’d said. Better times felt like they were always out of reach, just like everything else these days. Butcher exhaled, the smoke filling the space around him like the thoughts filling his mind. Your face appeared in the haze, that smirk you always gave him, the way youe eyes would flicker toward him, challenging. You left him with something tonight—more than just a bottle of whiskey. The kiss on his cheek still lingered, as if your lips had branded something on him, something he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried.

He’d thought about you before, plenty of times—too many if he was being honest. But he never did act on it. It wasn’t the right time; it was never the right time. He didn’t let himself think it could be more than whatever undefined thing it was. It should not be more. There was no time for whatever this could become.

But you had made it more difficult for him. You’d kissed him. A simple kiss, just on the cheek, but it wasn’t about the gesture—it was about what it left behind. He could still feel the warmth from your touch, the way your hand had rested on his shoulder, the way you’d leaned in close. You were leaving him with something to think about, something to sit with while you went out, dressed in that tight little number, turning heads. The idea of you out there, dancing, surrounded by men who didn’t deserve you, gnawed at him. He imagined their hands on you, their eyes taking in every curve, every part of you that he had only watched from a distance. It made him grind his teeth, the thought of you laughing, flirting, maybe even kissing someone else. But it wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t name.

He shook his head, took another drag of the cigarette, and stared at the whiskey again. Maybe a drink would help—take the edge off, drown out the thoughts that refused to leave him alone. But he didn’t open the bottle. Not yet. Butcher crushed the cigarette into the ashtray beside him, still staring at the bottle, the weight of it more than just the glass and liquid. He imagined you now, laughing at some bloke’s joke, swaying to the music, your lips curled in that familiar smile. And suddenly, he wished you were here, in this room, with him instead of out there.

The apartment felt too quiet, too still, and the bottle in his hands suddenly felt too heavy. Maybe he should call you, tell you something came up. Surely, you would come rushing. But then what? Butcher sighed, setting the bottle down on the table in front of him, unopened. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts still filled with you. Lately, it had always been you. With a frustrated grunt, he reached for his phone.

As Butcher’s fingers brushed the edge of his phone, he froze. His instincts flared, catching the faint sound of footsteps echoing from the hallway outside his apartment door. Slow, deliberate, as if someone was hesitating with each step. His hand hovered over the phone for a moment longer before he let it drop to his side. The apartment was too quiet—he could hear everything now. The footsteps paused just outside his door. His jaw tightened, senses sharp, ready for whatever—or whoever—might be standing on the other side. He silently reached for the blade he kept tucked in the armrest of his chair, just in case. The footsteps stopped. A moment of silence hung in the air. Then, a soft knock. Three quick taps. Almost familiar. His heart thudded once in his chest, and he cursed under his breath. Butcher stayed still, his hand gripping the handle of the knife. His mind raced, caught between the idea that it might be you—or trouble, or worse. Either way, the tension ratcheted up inside him, every nerve on edge. He stared at the door, waiting. The knock came again, softer this time.

Butcher opened the door wider, the knife still clutched in his hand but lowered now, his surprise momentarily masking the usual wariness in his eyes. There you stood, disheveled, your lipstick smudged and mostly gone, the hem of your dress slightly askew, your hair tousled as if you’d been moving around too much, too quickly. You didn’t look like the person who had walked out earlier, confident and collected. Yet you still looked beautiful. “What’re you doin’ here?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, his usual defenses kicking in.

You hesitated, as if searching for the right words. Then, with a small shrug, you said, “I didn’t feel like staying out.” Your eyes flicked down to the knife still clutched in his hand. “Expecting someone else?”

Butcher glanced at the blade and scoffed, tucking it back into its place. "Always am," he muttered, stepping aside to let you in. You walked past him into the room, your scent lingering, a mixture of sugary drinks, your perfume, and something darker, like smoke or whiskey, like the night itself had clung to you. He closed the door behind you and turned, watching as you looked around the apartment—your eyes briefly landing on the bottle of whiskey.

“You didn’t open it,” you said, nodding toward the bottle. He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Not yet.” “It’s supposed to be a good one. Mallory got it for my 30th birthday.” “She got you a gift then, eh?” “You can get a lot of things if you’re friendly enough,” you teased, plopping down on his couch.

Butcher closed the door behind him and looked at you for a moment as you tried fixing your hair, only to tousle it up even more. He chuckled. You looked up at him from the couch. “You’ve been through the wringer tonight?” he asked. “Something like that.” “So it wasn’t fun? Is that why you’re here?” “Oh, it was,” you chuckled, “until it wasn’t anymore.”

“What? Some poor bastard finally got too handsy?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. If I wanted, I could’ve handled him just fine.”

“Could’ve fooled me, showin’ up here lookin’ like that.” He gestured vaguely at you with a flick of his hand. “Lipstick gone, dress all crooked. What’d you do? Take out a whole bloody rugby team?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Just one guy—not exactly Fred Astaire—thought grinding meant trying to fuse himself to me.”

He grimaced in exaggerated disgust. “Sounds like you had a blast.”

“Highlight of my night,” you said sarcastically, then pointed at him. “At least I was out having fun. You’ve been sitting here alone, talking to a bottle all night.”

“Wasn’t talkin’. Was thinkin’ about drinkin’ it,” Butcher shot back. “And maybe I like a bit of quiet. Some of us don’t need to be out there gettin’ pawed at by half of bloody New York.” You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a teasing grin. “Watch it, Billy. You almost sound jealous.”

He scoffed and propped his feet up on the table. “Jealous? Of what? A bunch of idiots who don’t know their arse from their elbow?”

You smirked, fidgeting with one of his pillows on the couch. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Butcher leaned back into the couch. It was strange having you here for real, but there was too much space between you. His hands were aching to pull you closer.

He exhaled sharply, breaking the quiet. “Okay, cut the bullshit. Why’d you come to my place?” He turned his head toward you, watching as you continued to fiddle with the pillow. “Not just to run away from some blokes at the club.”

You hesitated for a beat before speaking. “I was thinking about you,” you admitted softly.

The words hit him harder than he expected. Something stirred inside him, something he’d been trying to ignore. The fact that you’d been thinking of him—just like he had of you—was a relief, maybe even more than that.

“Fuck, love,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what to say to that, not when it was the exact thing he’d wanted to hear but was too damn stubborn to admit.

You finally stopped fidgeting and looked at him, your expression softer now, vulnerable even. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight. And yeah, maybe I didn’t just want to run from those guys... maybe I wanted to run toward something.”

Butcher’s throat tightened, his gaze flicking to your lips, remembering the way you’d kissed him before. His hands ached with the need to touch you, to close the distance. “You didn’t run very far now, did you, love?” Your eyes softened, and for the first time since you’d walked in, the playful facade fell completely away.

“No, I didn’t,” you said.

The space between you felt charged, and he finally reached out, brushing a strand of your tousled hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “If you’re here to figure somethin’ out, you know where to start.” Your skin was soft and sticky, a mix of makeup and the sweat of the evening you’d already lived. And yet he imagined that same skin against his lips, the taste of you.

Your breath caught, and you leaned just a little closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “And if I am?”

Butcher’s lips curved into a faint smirk, his tone low and rough. “Then stop thinkin’, and just come here.”

[giggly-squiggily]

Not What I Actually Meant (Big Windup)

*dancing* Hey hey guess who's got Big Windup to share? I do :D I wrote this for the ever amazing @intheticklecloset and wanted to share it! I hope y'all like it :D

Summary: Abe blurts out something he doesn't mean in the heat of the moment, and now Mihashi's overthinking himself sick. Time to sort things out.

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@cupcake-spice13

Abe was in a pickle.

It was especially bad, given how he didn’t even like pickles!

It all started a few days ago during baseball practice. The day had been long and he was oh so very tired. So tired in fact he didn’t see Tajima until the little bastard was behind him, sinking his fingers into his ribs.

“GAH! Son of a-Tajima!” He snapped as he twisted around, facing the grinning clean up hitter. “Would you freaking STOP?”

“What’s wrong, Abe? You’re so grumpy today!” Tajima stuck his tongue out playfully, unfazed by the catcher’s glare. “A real sour puss too! I haven’t seen you smile once this entire session!”

“It’s hard to smile when you have idiots running around jamming fingers in your ribs! I freaking hate that!” Abe fussed, swatting at him as Tajima did a little crab dance, mock pinching at him just out of reach. “Go mess with someone else if you’re so bored!”

Tajima blew a raspberry at him before running off, doing exactly as Abe suggested. Rubbing at his sides, he turned to find Mihashi standing nearby. “What a pain in the ass. He’s lucky he’s so good at what he does, else I’d break his arms.”

The pitcher was quiet as they walked, something tense in the air between them. “Are you listening?”

“Huh? Oh, I, erm- ugh..” Mihashi yelped at the question, his face lined with anxiety. “S-Sorry, I just eh..”

Abe took a breath, waving him off in what he hoped to be a gesture of faith. He really didn’t have the mental strength to do this today. “It’s fine. Don’t sweat it, Mihashi.” When that anxious look remained, he reached out and punched his shoulder. “Good job today.”

That seemed to help. Mihashi flushed with pride, eyes shining. “T-Thank you! Y-You did good too.”

And yet, despite this- that anxious frown somehow found its way back as they walked home, seeming to remain.

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

It had been a few days since, and Mihashi was still acting weird around him.

At first, Abe assumed it was due to stress. It was mid-year exam time, that combined with practice running longer meant there was more to juggle than usual. That explained why he suddenly looked ready to faint all the time.

That didn’t explain however why he was being distant-literally. In game, Mihashi was golden; following his signs and tuned in to his comments and critiques. Outside that, he put at least three feet of space between them on the bench, and when they were standing next to one another, he’d freeze up, straight as a board and barely breathing.

At some point the catcher gave himself a discreet sniff to see if he offended, but outside sweat, he smelled fine.

Finally, after what felt like an additional foot of space was added between them, he had enough.

“Come here.” Abe didn’t bother with questions, grabbing Mihashi’s arm and dragging him out of the dugout. He waved off concerned brows as they made their way towards the school, finally having a minute alone. “What’s going on, Mihashi?”

The pitcher flinched at the directness of his tone. “Erm, I..erm…”

“Come on, spit it out already!” Abe growled, wincing when the pitcher’s lip quivered. Gentle, gentle. “You’ve been distancing yourself from me lately, and whenever we’re standing near each other you get all weird.” He hated the tone of hurt creeping into his voice, but so be it. “What, do you not want to hang out anymore?”

“No!” Mihashi yelped out, wide eyed as he shook his head. “No, not at all!”

That sounded earnest enough. Abe waited, knowing if he demanded an answer the pitcher would only shut down. Mihashi took a breath as he looked at his hands, lips quivering and eyes filling. “I feel ba-ad, that’s a-all.”

“...Huh?” Abe blinked, not sure what that meant. “What do you have to feel bad about? You haven’t done anything wrong?”

“B-But-” Mihashi shook his head, his frown deepening. “I have! Y-You said the o-other day…about Tajima, an-and..”

The other day? Abe had mostly forgotten what he said. “What did I say about Tajima?”

“Yo-You told him you…that you ha-hated it when..” Mihashi waved his hands, voice shaking as his anxiety got worse. “When he tickled you. I felt bad because I’ve been doing it t-too…I’m rea-ally sorry, Abe.”

The catcher stared, racking his brain as he tried to remember when he ever said that. Wait- wasn’t it-

Oh.

Oh.

“Ah geez.” Abe rubbed his face with both hands, both relieved and exhausted at the same time. Mihashi looked up at him with wide, wet eyes- seeming to forget how to breathe. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“A-Abe? No, I-”

“You heard me tell Tajima I hated being tickled.” The catcher stated, watching Mihashi deflate some. “And now you feel like you’ve been making me uncomfortable this entire time and feel like shit. Am I somewhere in the ball park here?”

Nail in the coffin. Mihashi bowed his head as he nodded, pulling at his fingers so tightly they were turning white. Abe felt his neck get hot as he looked towards the field, finding the words.

“Look, in that moment, that was how I felt. I was tired and cranky, and I didn't like being tickled at that moment.” He willed himself to look back at the pitcher- finding those wide nervous eyes on him. “That…doesn’t mean I don’t like being tickled at all. I don’t mind it when I’m in a better mood, and I..don’t really mind it when you do it either.” God, was it hot in here? He tugged at his collar, gritting his teeth. “So stop acting so weird about it. You’ve done nothing wrong, and if I actually want you to stop, I’ll tell you.”

“O-Okay.” The pitcher nodded, seeming to relax. Not enough if you asked Abe though. “T-Thank you for telling me.”

The catcher nodded, leaving them kinda standing there. This was getting more and more awkward by the minute. Mihashi looked like he wanted to ask something, opening and closing his mouth as he fiddled with his hands.

“You can do it if you want.” Abe gestured, earning a small yelp from the other.

“Are you sure?”

“Would I be offering it if I wasn’t?” He put his arms up and behind his head, looking at Mihashi expectantly. “If it puts your mind at ease, then do it. I’ll tell you when I’m through.”

The shy pitcher nodded, hesitantly reaching out and prodding at Abe’s side. It made him twitch, but he refused to put his arms down. “C-come on now, I know you can do better than thahat!”

The gentle prods turned into more fingers, lightly clawing at his side while Abe puffed his cheeks. Sure, he could just laugh, but what fun would that be? “O-Okay! Here I come, Abe!”

He would have told the pitcher to “bring it” if he hadn’t immediately broken into giggles at the addition of a second hand. “Gah! Ehehhahahaha! S-Sehehehehee? Thihihis if fihihihne! I’m nohohohoht hahahahhting thihihihis at ahahahhahall!”

Mihashi’s worried look was fading with each laugh earned, his eyes softening and his frown fading into a small smile. “G-Good! I’m happy to hear t-that.” He changed his finger positioning in such a way it nearly made the catcher shoot his arms down, the tickles riding his nervous system in waves.

Who knew the world’s most anxious pitcher was this good at tickling? If he ever got serious, he could probably put Tajima to shame. “Aheahhahahha! Gehahhaha, cooohohome ohohohon- I’m nhoohohot juhuhuhust tihihihicklish oohohn my rihihihibs!”

“D-Do you want me to move?” Mihashi asked, pausing briefly while Abe caught his breath. “I can go somewhere else if you want..”

“Heh..hehehe..y-yeah, sure. Whahahtever works.” Abe didn’t really have a preference. Whatever floats his boat, right?

Then fingers dug into his stomach out of nowhere and Abe began regretting giving Mihashi such free range.

“GAHAHA!” He immediately doubled over at the touch, arms shooting down and blocking his belly as he fell to his knees. “Gahhahad, a wahaharning next tihihime, Mihihhashi! Ehehehee! Yohoohu can’t go arohohund thiihckling a man’s pudge like that!”

Mihashi seemed stunned into silence, eyes wide. For a moment, Abe wondered if he was too harsh in his response.

Then the pitcher was covering his mouth, cheeks puffing and warming. He let out a few muffled giggles before giving up and laughing outright. “Ahehehehahaha! Puuhuhudge?”

He did say that, didn’t he? Abe snorted, grinning at the sight of Mihashi all but falling on  his butt in soft giggles, one hand covering his mouth while the other held his belly. “That really tickled you, didn’t it?”

Laughing still, Mihashi could only nod as he wiped at his face. It was such a refreshing sight, seeing those anxious lines finally, finally fade away. “Eheheh..heheh..sohohorry.”

“What did I say about apologizing?” Abe tsked, reaching out and lightly shoving Mihashi when the other panicked. “Relax, dude. Really- you’re fine.”

The pitcher nodded, something easier in his gaze when he met his eye again. “Thank you..but still, I am sorry for being weird earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You-” Damn, was it obvious. Abe cleared his throat as he looked away. The field felt hot once more. “Fine, okay, maybe it did piss me off, but we’re fine now. I’m over it.”

“But-”

“Mihashi, if you apologize one more time I’m gonna sit on you and tickle you until you pee.” Abe glared, putting all his intensity in it. An empty threat, but it did the job. The pitcher nodded rapidly, muttering about understanding. “Cool? Cool. Let’s get back before Coach sends Tajima after us.” He pulled Mihashi to his feet, walking back feeling refreshed. To his personal satisfaction, Mihashi wasn’t putting distance between them anymore.

When they got back to the dugout, he even felt a small poke in the ribs before the pitcher headed onto the field for drills. Abe raised a brow, strangely proud.

He likely just released yet another tickle monster upon himself.

Eh. Worth it if it meant he felt more confident.

Thanks for reading!

[angelinthefire]

I gotta disagree with a lot of this. I don't think fans are wrong for wanting more interiority, but i think the original post is overlooking what character-centric stuff we've gotten, and is asking for things out of line with who the characters are.

Like Heimerdinger. Has always been a bit detached from the present day and from people's current suffering. It's not surprising to me at all that he's just focusing on scientific questions.

Regarding Ekko - We know that people aren't generally aware that Jinx killed Silco because Smeech was surprised to find out. We also know how he feels about how things are progressing from his conversation with his bat-guy friend.

As I'm going back through the original post, I'm seeing a number of questions that I think viewers can absolutely assume need time to develop. And also a lot of questions about how characters feel about Heimerdinger which. Isn't that important imo.

And Jayce - the dude is freaking exhausted. He's sleeping in his lab. When Viktor wakes up, Jayce has survived a rocket attack, witnessed the deaths of his colleagues, been attacked and almost killed with a chainsaw. Now his best friend is miraculously awake. A guy can only deal with so much at once, (and a scene can only deal with so much at once while still remaining coherent). Jayce ends that scene, not with rational questions about what's going on, but with an emotional outburst. He's overwhelmed. Of course he's not going to do great processing new information. That's good characterization.

And later, considering what Jayce is going through and how his mind is clearly on other things, I think him being like "sure this may as well happen" when Heimerdinger shows up both makes sense and serves to reinforce his current emotional state.

And I think the op is being really unfair regarding Vi. First, I don't think it was ever made explicit that Jinx firing on the council was an act of revenge. In context, I would call it an act of chaos and despair, actually. I'm pretty confident that we'll get Vi's opinion on an uprising when one actually happens, which it hasn't yet.

The stuff about Vi joining the enforcers because Maddie gassed her up is factually untrue. The point of that scene was primarily to let Vi know about the effort that Caitlyn went through to get her the badge, which you can tell from Vi's reactions. She doesn't show any particular friendliness towards Maddie at all. And I think it's pretty obvious that Rene's attack and Caitlyn's response to it were the prime movers to get Vi to join the enforcers. Seeing as that happened immediately before. The stakes were raised with the attack, creating the sense that something had to be done. And Vi promised Caitlyn that she wouldn't let things fall apart - she's entering caretaker mode regarding Caitlyn, the same role that she's used to playing with Powder. Very interesting characterization imo. (Also not healthy, but why should caitvi be healthy anyways? This is a drama).

Regarding Vi and Jinx in general - throughout the entire first act, Vi is convincing herself that her sister is gone. That's how she's processing all of this. She's separating Powder from Jinx. Jinx is the monster that killed her sister, Vi says that explicitly. And the random kid intervening is more than a random kid intervening, she's a reminder that Jinx is still capable of loving and being loved.

I mean, obviously fans can have criticisms, etc. Are there some things that are clumsy, or info-dump-ish? Sure. But you can't ignore nuance and then say there's no nuance.

Character writing in Arcane Season 2: Act 1

I have big issues with the quality of dialogue and characterization so far in Act 1. Characters and conversations have almost zero depth. Examples:

Heimerdinger - Does he know about the Council attack? How does he feel about it? Is he relieved he was voted out beforehand? Does he feel responsible for the attack, in that if he had taken action sooner, Zaun would not have been driven to this level of violence? Does he feel guilty for the deaths of his colleagues? Viktor was almost killed by the attack but got saved by the very Hexcore Heimerdinger hated. What's his reaction to that??

Lol who cares? Let's do goofy Disney channel hijinks by sneaking into a lab with Ekko. He meets Jayce there. Does he express his concern or relief that his former student just survived a Hextech explosion unscathed? Nope!!! Wacky humour time!!!

Ekko - Does Ekko know Jinx killed Silco? If yes, how does he feel about that? Is he shocked? Confused? If he doesn't know, what does he think happened to Silco? What do Zaunites like him make of Silco's death if Jinx got rid of his body? How does he feel about the Council attack? Does he support it or does he think Jinx went too far? Is he on the fence?

Lol who cares? We don't need to know any of this. Let Ekko have goofy scenes with Heimerdinger. Speaking of Heimer, what the fuck is Ekko's opinion on Heimerdinger's criminal negligence of the Undercity for the past two fucking centuries? Because he sure warmed up to that hairball quick. This is an issue that started in Season 1 Episode 8, but I had hopes they would address it in Season 2. I guess not.

Jayce - How does Jayce feel about seeing Heimerdinger again, when their last meeting was Jayce betraying him? We know he felt guilty about it in Season 1 so why was there no inkling of it during their meeting in the lab? Why doesn't Jayce tell Heimer that the Hexcore saved Viktor? The Hexcore having the potential to save Viktor's life was a huge point of contention for them in Season 1 and was partially the reason for Jayce's betrayal, but neither of them mention it. Lol. Viktor wakes up and tells him that Sky was killed by the Hexcore in their lab. Jayce: "Oh no! Anyway..." ?????? No questions as to how and when this happened? No questions as to where Sky's body is? You just learned your employee was fucking killed in your lab a few days ago and this is your reaction?

Vi - How does Vi feel about the fact that the tyrants who killed her parents are dead by Jinx's hand? She herself wanted to take revenge on the Council in the past, so how does she feel now that her little sister's the one who did it? When Caitlyn yaps about avenging her mother's death by killing Jinx, does Vi realize that Jinx's attack was in itself vengeance for their parents' deaths on the bridge? Which were sanctioned by the Council? Will she ever bring this up to Caitlyn? Probably not. What exactly is Vi's opinion on a Zaunite uprising against topside? Does she no longer think it's the right way to go about things?

What does she think happened to Ekko? The last time she saw him, he was fighting Jinx to the death. He could be dead for all she knows. And she doesn't even think about or mention him once. Seems like she doesn't give a shit about Little Man lol. Did the writers forget they are childhood friends?

What eventually drives her to join the enforcers? Could it be concern for her sister, that she somehow thinks the badge would allow her more say in advocating for lesser sentencing? Could it be ideology, that she genuinely believes stricter policing of the Undercity is the way to prevent more Silcos? Lol nope! She's convinced by some rando giving her an ego boost about how Kewl and Badazz she was attacking the factory of child labourers. (A+ manipulation by Caitlyn by the way. What a wholesome and healthy romance Caitvi is turning out to be!)

What causes the rift between Vi and Caitlyn? Could it be Vi's love for Jinx, because as much she tries to convince herself her sister is dead and that Jinx is a different person, deep down she knows that Jinx is still her sister and for all Vi's bluster and rage, she can't bear to see Jinx actually die when push comes to shove? Lol nope!!! She's actually totally okay with a fucking enforcer killing her fucking sister, the exact thing that orphaned them both. Vi only draws the line when a random kid intervenes, after which Caitlyn proceeds to domestically abuse Vi and leave her crying on the floor without looking back.

There is so much detail and nuance missing. This is why almost every scene and conversation feels so empty. Every conversation is comically rushed and not allowed to breathe. The characters' superficial personality traits are there for the most part, but their underlying motivations, feelings, opinions, and desires are completely neglected to fulfill whatever the plot demands them to do.

[possessedopossum]

Antivan crows treatment [obviously spoilers]

I do NOT agree with the popular sentiment that the crows got sanitized in this game. I DO have questions about crow related writing choices but this is not the choice I have problems with.

Showing one concept, event, place or a person from multiple perspectives is one of the core features of dragon age series. We always had different and sometimes contradicting views on the same thing. For example, the Circle as Vivienne sees it and the Circle as Anders sees it are two very different Circles. It's not bad writing, it's how biases, personal experiences and opinions work. I would like to remind you that Solas says about spirits' perspectives on Ostagar – no matter how different the visions are, they are both real.

Zevran and Lucanis are different as night and day. Obviously a whore's son (no offense) and first talon's grandchild would have different experiences. So would crow Rook, who gets special princess treatment from Viago, also a talon. So would Viago, who is the antivan king's bastard. So would Teia, who considers the crows her family, since she never had one to begin with. They all either joined the crows willingly or were born into it. They weren't sold to the crows by brothel madam like Zevran was.

And at the end of the day, the crows are still assassins. Even being first talon's favorite grandchild won't save you from abuse and literal torture. You are still supposed to undergo the harsh training that will leave you without food and water for days and Maker knows what else. You still work with people who strive for power and would do anything to obtain it. House Arannai changed 6 talons throughout 20 years. Half of the talons were murdered in tevinter nights by the traitor who sold them out to qunari. Dellamorte family almost got wiped out. Some npc casually says Viago would be very sad if he had to kill crow Rook but that he would still do it anyway if necessary. The crows literally made Jacobus, a literal child, full fledged assassin in front of our eyes. What other proof of crows being shitty people need? A quest line where we personally torture children? Do you really want this to be so on the nose?

Yes, the crows are treated like the good guys by the narrative and there are pretty good reasons for that. 1) We can play as a crow and it SHOULD give us, the player, a bias 2) There are more important tasks at hand. We are fighting gods. We aren't fighting for the wellbeing of Antiva, we are fighting for the wellbeing of reality itself. With such high stakes crows shittyness is absolutely irrelevant 3) The crows are Antiva's one and only defense. No matter how shitty they are, without them, it will be worse 4) Glorification of organized crime is a thing that happens in real life and I thought we liked our games somewhat realistic.

I can go as far as sharing some personal info on the last part. I like the crows very much because I grew up in the area so riddled with crime an average person from rich white neighborhood would lose their mind. The best governor our fucked up city ever had was the local gangster. Crime was family business to him and that's why he cared for the city more than other governors – his children would have to live here after he dies. The dude killed people for money but the city was finally clean and pretty and much safer than it used to be. I don't have a problem with antivan crows being batman-ized because I've seen so happen irl. Is it sad that sometimes only mafia can keep a city from falling apart? Yes. But it is real and that's why it is beautiful. Veilguard feels very realistic to me and I don't get the bad writing claims. I guess our governor wasn't realistic enough, I'll tell him if I meet his ghost.

The problem I have with the crows is how the Ivenci/Butcher plot was handled. It felt like it was rushed and added at the last moment. I'm not against Ivenci as a villain, I am simply mourning the lost potential. The plot could have been much better if Rook started to suspect something is wrong on their own. Extra scenes with Butcher to flesh out the character more would have benefited the quest line. I'm glad that Veilguard added some positive qunari rep with Taash and Shathann but there could have been more. Bioware could have told us WHY the Butcher decided to desert. He seems to have more respect for qunari philosophy than other antaam leaders. Why couldn't he stay with his Arishok, then? There is a huge difference between bad writing and the lack of writing. Ivenci and Butcher aren't badly written, they simply lack screen time.

My overall opinion of the game is very positive. Yeah, it could have been better. But it also could have been much worse. There could always been more time to plan, more tools to use, more choices to explore. But things never work out the way you want them to. I think given the circumstances and EA's desire to make live service games, bioware gave us their best shot. Regret is nothing but pride, vanity and a waste of time. The game itself says so. And I would rather enjoy the game as it is than waste my time thinking what it could have been.

[uwuyangeppie]

hi this isn't really a request, i'd just like to dump some thoughts about yan!geppie :] !

thinking about what if he met his darling when they were kids. gepard was a shy and gentle kid, i bet he would be drawn to someone more tough than him or someone who could make him come out of his shell. admiration turns into a little crush (and serval of course teases him about it constantly), and it twists to something else the first time gepard sees them hurting. maybe they got into a fight, bit more than they could chew. they brushed it off as just an unserious skirmish between kids, but the sight of their bruises and scratches is engrained into little gepard's mind, and he hates it.

he couldn't wait to grow up and protect his loved ones. he doesn't forget the faces of those who inflicted injuries on his darling. someday, he'll be bigger and stronger, and he'll be able to keep them for himse protect them himself.

awww puppy love except the puppy will grow up to be a very aggressive and scary dog. so cute :3 also you know how kids will look at adults and be like “i can’t wait until i’m an adult! then i can do whatever i want!” and then they can’t because it’s adulthood? gepard is like that but he actually can do whatever he wants! just not in a good way lmfao

ALSO I THOUGHT I’D DELETED THIS AND FREAKED OUT HAHAHAHA

gepard landau has a crush on you.

from an outsider’s perspective, this was probably due to happen. you alway jump to protect others, and are made of tougher stuff than he. it happens all the time between adults, so it certainly wasn’t completely out of the question for him.

the warm smile you’re always giving him probably didn’t help either.

serval never fails to pick up on his nerves when he’s around you, and even greatly enjoys teasing him about when his words fail and he’s just stuttering through a sentence.

aww, geppie! it’s your crush! want me to go tell them you like them?!

no!

you suuuure? if i go over there, will you even be able to stop me?

serval!

i’m going, bye!

no!!

not that she ever has, yet, but he can’t risk taking that chance that she might just let it slip how much he adores you. he’s nowhere near as tough as you; you might think it’s funny or just cute, like in a younger sibling way! no way, he has to convince you that he’s not cute!

well, those were his feelings before the Incident.

it’s the first time he’s seen you lose. you sport bruises and dirt is smeared across your face, your clothes, and he swears he might be able to see it in your hair too. you brush it off, but judging by the way that the kids- the winners- opposite you are smirking, he can’t help but think it’s a bit more serious than you’re letting on.

one of the kids makes a joke at your expense.

and the feeling hits him like a truck.

it’s an emotion that a child has no business experiencing, and it’s only there for a moment, too overwhelming for his little body and brain to handle. still, he’ll remember it vividly many years in the future, the memory firmly imprinting itself into his mind. white-hot rage.

his father talks about the family lineage a lot. apparently, it’ll eventually be his job to serve the supreme guardian, as his ancestors have before him.

right now, gepard wants revenge, but if they beat you then they’ll definitely beat him. nonetheless, as his father says, he comes from a long line of strong men. that means that one day he’ll be a strong man, and he’ll ensure that nobody ever hurts you again.

[robin-hood-marks]

Connected some dots

This is 100% going to be something that's incredibly obvious to a lot of people, so bare in mind my stupidity, but I was just thinking about the book and had a little thought.

So, we all know that the novel itself is a critique of the pretentious nature of 'intellectuals'; of how most of them (us, maybe) believe themselves as of greater importance and see themselves to be separate to 'normal' people. Well, I was just thinking over Bunny's character and recently I've seen some things on here about how he really isn't this big malicious character he's made out to be by the narrative but just a college kid doing college kid things and I thought, hm, wasn't he the dumbest too?

Stay with me lol

I remember it being mentioned that Bunny was either dyslexic or something along those lines, had the others do his homework and was older than them because he was held back a few grades in his earlier years of school. Now, taking in mind the overall point of the novel, it makes sense that he's villainised because he doesn't fit with their image of what makes them special or above everyone else. Bunny is just a young guy who wants to be cool and fit the images people have of him, and is murdered because he doesn't fit their criteria of what it is to be better.

It's a reoccurring theme whilst he is actually alive that the group looks down on him for being the least intelligent, the least capable, but they themselves aren't all that brilliant at the things they claim to be. With the exception of Henry (whom I could write a whole analysis on, but I'll spare you that), the group aren't that great at Latin or Greek or any of the things they study. Firstly, everyone's favourite line "Cubitum eamus?" is just a very weird translation of what he's trying to say and, while it makes some sense, isn't technically the way one would ask that question. Plus, the way Richard is introduced to the group (when they're all working on the tenses of something, I think?), I remember seeing someone talk about how that's not really all that complicated if you're actually good at the language? Not entirely sure about that one, so forgive me. I just find it all incredibly ironic that they revile and brutally murder someone for essentially being slightly less intelligent than them, when they themselves aren't all that genius. That's not even to mention how they worship people they perceive as smarter.

In short, Bunny was just a guy who was trying to be clever and cool. He fell in with a bunch of precociously mature, self-righteous intellectuals and understandably freaked out when they ritualistically murdered a man. I might dislike him, but I'll defend him.

Anyways rambles of a madwoman over, enjoy your day!