#honestly those three are the only ones i really really like

[the-whole-thing-through]

I know this is kinda just a joke, but actually, I really want to ask ppl who say that killing Foggy was the right decision and that the show had to make a bold move, and that it's "realistic" and that Matt Murdock is a character defined by pain and loss and tragedy....how would you end the story? Like seriously, what do you think would be a satisfactory ending for this new Daredevil series? Because it WILL end, but the characters won't, they will remain.

I've said this ad nauseam on reddit, but the way that the OG series ended at season 3, with that last remaining shot of Nelson, Murdock and Page together, was, to me, the BEST possible ending for that show and for these characters. An absolute masterpiece. God, just thinking about it gives me a warm glow in my chest. Despite being canceled in its prime, with more stories to tell, they managed to deliver to the audience literally the most satisfactory ending that was possible. NM&P. All three together. All three looking forward to a bright future together. Finally united in honesty, understanding, and trust. Mutual love and affection. Each three with their roles and their parts to play: the vigilante, the lawyer and the investigator. Each of equal importance to one another, nobody considered less important to the narrative.

I appreciate the way that the creators chose to end the show with the Matt/Karen romance open ended and ambiguous, although I know many shippers disagree with me. Not only would it have felt unearned to have Matt and Karen shown as explicitly together in that last moment, it also would have retracted from the overarching theme and message of the show, which is what we see in the last shot: it's Nelson, Murdock, and Page. They had to be apart in order to realize that all three of them are better working together. The golden trio. The holy trinity. Having the ending be Matt/Karen oh and Foggy, like he's an afterthought or a third wheel, was clearly something that they were trying to avoid, and they were right to do so. The OG showrunner and writers NEVER disrespected Foggy or treated him as a joke or "just" the comics relief. He was a main character with his own love interest, his own plot line, his own family and friends and support system. And he is VITAL to the overall dynamic, and to Matt's happiness. Which brings me to my main point.

Matt cannot be happy without Foggy, period. If Foggy is permanently dead, then the ending for DDBA is already torched. Whatever it is, it can't ever REALLY be satisfactory. To the people who say that it's "realistic" I mean, yeah, maybe. But is it satisfactory? If the show ends, and Matt is back to just being Daredevil, exactly as he was in the beginning, but no Foggy, it's an obvious downgrade to what we had before, no? I have no idea why the writers of DDBA want to torch their own projected ending in such a fashion. It's like aspiring that your assignment will get, at best, a C+ instead of an A.

I'm sure many ppl will be happy no matter what if their fav ship ends up working out, but even then, it's STILL only a glass half full situation. If the show ends with just Murdock and Page, but no Nelson, something is still going to be missing, and that something is Foggy Nelson. I don't for a second believe that either Matt OR Karen will ever truly be completely happy after Foggy's death. People discount Karen and Foggy's relationship, but he was her best friend, her surrogate brother, who supported her after Matt's "death." Who immediately stepped up to be her lawyer and confidant after she told him about killing Wesley. Who never once judged her or made her feel less than.

Asking for the audience to be ok with some sort of projected "Happily Ever After" ending without the beating heart of Daredevil is an insane ask, truly, and I honestly don't think that those who are unconcerned about Foggy's death, or who think that the show did it "right" have given any thought to just HOW this story can possibly end. Thinking that Matt would ever be truly ok again after losing Foggy, or that he could ever have a happy ending, just fundamentally gets Matt's character, and the entire show of Daredevil, wrong. Daredevil is not the story of a man who loses everything and perseveres despite it all. Its the story of a man who perseveres despite it all, BECAUSE he still has something left to lose. Karen and Foggy are the heart and soul of Daredevil, and the heart and soul of Matt's world. Take out one, and the entire thing topples like a house of cards. If the new show runner doesn't understand this (and it's seeming more and more like he just doesn't get Matt at all) then I give up. Just toss the entire thing in the trash at that point.

marvel saw these scenes and said "what if we make everyone miserable?"

[writingpandagoth]

Hiiii I just want to say I LOVE your writing about Severus, and I wondered if you could write a Young!Severus Snape with a Ravenclaw!Reader, about them doing it for the first time in seventh year, with both of them in the edge of a mental breakdown because both of them are terrible with those type of intimate situations

Hellou!

Im sorry! It took me a while to write this because I was focused on writing my other story but here it finally is.

I do hope it makes somehow sense because honestly I confused myself and had a mental breakdown myself while writing.

Anyways...Enjoy!

Only Us

It hadn’t been some sudden, romantic explosion. It was slower than that. Stranger.

It started with questions.

You were always asking them, not just for grades, but because you had to know. Why certain potions turned bitter when stirred clockwise. Why spells flickered in cold rooms. Why someone like Severus Snape never spoke to anyone unless he had to—and always looked like he wanted to disappear.

You hadn’t meant to be drawn to him. He was sharp-edged and private. He didn’t look up when you passed him. He never said your name unless called on. But you noticed him. The way he took notes like they were lifelines. The way he looked at the ground like it had betrayed him. The way he always sat with his back to the wall.

So one afternoon—against your better judgment—you sat beside him in the library.

And asked him something dumb. Probably about ingredients reacting to heat in a cauldron.

He didn’t answer at first.

Then: “Didn’t realize you were struggling in Potions.”

You had shrugged. “I’m not. Just curious.”

That got a blink. Then, finally, a soft: “Huh.”

You had expected him to walk away. But he didn’t. He looked at your notes. Then corrected one, gently but with clear precision. And somehow… you started meeting there more often. Studying near each other. Then with each other.

You started trading books. Then words. Then secrets.

You’d ask about potions; he’d ask about Arithmancy.

You’d tease him; he’d pretend not to care—then smirk when you weren’t looking.

And somewhere between the fifth shared ink bottle and the night you caught him alone on the Astronomy Tower during a storm, something shifted.

It wasn’t love right away.

It was understanding.

And that was rarer. And far more dangerous.

It was never simple with him.

Even when things started to shift—when you started lingering a little longer in the library, when your knees started brushing under the table and neither of you pulled away—it was never a sudden leap. It was a series of tiny, charged moments.

You’d finish his sentences sometimes. He hated that. But he never told you to stop.

He’d pass you notes during lectures—not cute ones. Theories. Counter-arguments. Questions.

You’d reply in the margins.

You argued, sometimes. Quietly. Brilliantly. Like debate was a language only the two of you spoke.

And then one day, it happened.

A pause in the middle of reading. A silence so full it hurt.

You looked up at the same time.

And you kissed him.

It was awkward. Dry. Hesitant. Your nose bumped his. He flinched like he wasn’t sure you meant it. You pulled back too fast. He didn’t say anything for a full ten seconds. You wanted to die a little.

“I’m sorry,” you’d muttered. “That was probably a mistake.”

He just stared at you. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “You didn’t kiss back.”

His voice was quiet. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

The second kiss was better.

Softer. Slower. But still cautious. Still unsure.

You didn’t kiss again for three days.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. You kept them busy—holding yours, brushing your hair back, pressing lightly against your waist like he was afraid he’d break something.

You had to teach him—gently, slowly—that it was okay to want. Okay to touch. Okay to stay.

The first time he held you for longer than a few seconds, he whispered, “This feels like a trick.”

“It’s not,” you whispered back. “It’s me.”

You didn’t start “making out,” not really, until a month later.

It was after curfew. You’d met in the quiet corner of an unused corridor, half-hidden behind a statue. You were meant to trade notes. But he looked at you like he hadn’t breathed in days. And you kissed him.

And kept kissing him.

And when he backed into the wall and you followed, his hands shook as they found your hips.

Your body was pressed to his. His mouth moved against yours like he was still learning how. You could feel how badly he wanted more—but he didn’t ask. He wouldn’t.

You didn’t either.

You let it get heated—just enough. Just to the point where your hands were under his shirt, but still motionless. Where his breath was fast and uneven. Where your legs slotted between his and his forehead dropped against yours, whispering, “We should stop.”

And you always did.

You always both stopped.

Not because you didn’t want it.

But because it felt too much. Too intimate. Too fragile to rush.

That happened more than once.

Pressed against the back of the Potions classroom. In a quiet alcove behind a tapestry. In your shared hidden room, the one no one else knew about.

Kisses that lasted too long. Hands that wandered, then froze. Heat that built and built until one of you pulled back—panting, dizzy, overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” he’d always say.

“Don’t be,” you’d always reply.

But the truth was—you were both scared. Not of each other. Of what it meant to want that much. Of being seen. Of being touched in ways that made you forget to think.

You were Ravenclaw. You were built on logic and words and control.

He was Severus. He was built on silence. On defense. On wounds that never fully healed.

But together… you learned.

How to be close.

How to breathe through it.

How to want, and not run from it.

You never made it farther than touching. Than kissing with a little too much desperation. Than lying beside each other in half-buttoned clothes, holding hands, staring at the ceiling, not daring to say out loud what you were thinking.

Until the night you did.

It had started like all the other times—slow kisses, gentle touches, the comfort of being close in your little hidden room. The space had always felt like a sanctuary. Safe. Small enough to forget the world, big enough to fit two people trying to figure out how to love each other.

But tonight, something had shifted.

It wasn’t just the way Severus kissed you, or how long it lingered when his hand brushed up your side. It was the want in the air—louder than breath, louder than your heartbeat, pressing in around you both.

You shifted, moving to straddle him awkwardly on the couch. His breath hitched—part surprise, part panic.

“I can move—”

“No. Stay.” His hands landed on your thighs, uncertain.

The silence that followed wasn’t comforting. It was loud with nerves.

Your lips met again, deeper now, as if speaking through touch what neither of you could quite say out loud. His hands slid up your sides, a little too tense, like he was afraid of hurting you. You felt his fingers twitch, hesitate, then retreat slightly.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay.” You caught his hand and brought it back, resting it on your waist.

You kissed him again, slower this time, less rushed. As your hands moved to unbutton his shirt, your fingers fumbled on the third one. You cursed quietly under your breath.

Reaching for the hem of his shirt instead, your fingers got stuck halfway. He helped, awkwardly, pulling it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind the couch. You stared at his chest, pale and sharp-edged and scarred in places you hadn’t seen before.

You reached out to touch him, and he flinched.

“Sorry—was it to much?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No. Just…unexpected.”

His hands went to your shirt next, and he paused. “Can I?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yes.”

You got it over your head—but then your bra caught. And suddenly, for no logical reason, you panicked.

“Wait—shit—hang on,” you gasped out getting off his lap.

Severus blinked, frozen in place. 

You laughed once, too high-pitched. “God, this is stupid. I suddenly feel like I’m going to throw up or start crying, and I don’t even know why—”

“I messed up,” he said immediately. “I‘m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No! You didn’t!” you said. “I pushed it— I started it. I just—my brain’s freaking out and I don’t know how to turn it off.”

You laughed nervously, then immediately wanted to crawl out of your skin.

He stood up abruptly, running both hands through his hair.

“I can’t— I don’t know how to do this,” he said, pacing the room like it was too small to contain how overwhelmed he was. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know where to look right now without second-guessing everything.”

You stay on the couch, still half-dressed, heart thudding in your throat. “You think I do? I’m panicking over my face, Severus. My face. Like what if I look weird or sound weird or breathe too loud and you change your mind halfway through?”

He stared at you like he was seeing something he didn’t expect. “You think I’d change my mind about you?”

“I think you could realize I’m not what you imagined, and I could ruin it, and then I’d lose this—us.”

“I’m the one who ruins things,” he said hoarsely. “It’s what I do.”

Your chest ached as you stood slowly. Crossed to him. Took his hand—cold, trembling.

His eyes searched yours—afraid, exposed, but soft.

“Is this going to be okay?” he asked, voice low and raw.

You nodded. Then hesitated. “Yes. I mean—I think so? Are you okay?”

He looked like he was about to say yes. Then shook his head slightly. “Not really. Are you?”

You swallowed. “Not even close.”

“I'm internally combusting. I nearly bit my tongue three times trying to kiss you properly.”

That got a surprised laugh out of you, shaky but real.

“I can’t breathe properly,” you said.

“Me either,” he muttered, collapsing back onto the couch. “This is supposed to be romantic. Sensual. But it’s weird and uncomfortable—”

He cut himself off, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean that like—it’s not your fault—I just—”

“Maybe we just… maybe we just…are thinking to hard?”

You moved again, settling in his lap, trying to push through the fear. You were very aware of your body, and how close he was, and how nothing about this felt simple anymore.

“Of course we don’t have to keep going,” you continue softly. “If you don't want—”

“I want to,” he cut in. “I want…us.”

"I want that too."

You kissed him again, your noses nearly bumped and your hands got tangled in his belt, trying to open it, making you cursed under your breath. He tried to help and ended up knocking your elbow awkwardly.

“Merlin’s balls,” he muttered.

You snorted. “This is going great.”

He laughed—a real, rough, exhausted sound.

“This isn’t working,” he said.

Your stomach dropped.

He saw your expression and rushed to explain. “No—I don’t mean you. I mean me. This.”

You stared at each other, half-dressed, flushed, and clearly overwhelmed.

The both of you took some calming breaths before trying again.

Not quite elegantly as hoped.

One sock was still on. His trousers halfway pulled off before getting stuck. You ended up tangled on the couch, flushed and breathless, limbs in the wrong places, skin too sensitive, everything too much.

His fingers shook as he unclasped your bra, muttering a curse when the hook caught. You giggled. He looked horrified.

And then, somehow, through the chaos, your clothes were gone.

There was a moment where you both sat there, fully bare, too aware of your bodies, not making eye contact.

Your heart thundered.

“Still okay?” you asked.

He nodded, barely. “I am nervous.”

“Me too.”

Then he looked at you—not at your body, but at you. Eyes soft. Vulnerable. Still afraid.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t smooth. He bumped your knee. You rolled onto his arm.

Your legs wrapped around his waist too fast—like your body had made the decision before your brain caught up. It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t graceful.

Your knees knocked awkwardly against his hips, and then—suddenly—your skin was pressed flush to his, and everything stilled.

Heat. Everywhere. Hips aligned, bare. The kind of closeness that made it hard to breathe.

You both froze.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. His hand grabbed your thigh—tight, unsure if he was trying to steady you or himself. Probably both.

“Fuck,” he said, voice breaking. “Shit—”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Your heart was hammering, everything in your body tense and buzzing like an exposed wire.

You shifted your hips—just barely. Testing. The movement pressed your core flush against him, and the contact was immediate, electric.

Both of you gasped.

“Wait,” he rasped, almost choking on the word. “Don’t—just—wait.”

You froze again. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he pulled in a shaky breath. Then another. His chest rose and fell against yours, ragged.

“I need a second,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “Just—fuck, I don't want to mess this up,” he whispered

Your laugh was shaky. “Me neither. Maybe we just do it.”

He adjusted himself, shifting back a little but his knee slipped, knocking into yours, and the sudden jolt brought your bodies tight together again, making him rub against you.

You both cursed under your breath.

“I think I forgot how to breathe,” he muttered.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Same.”

You kissed him before either of you could start to overthink again. And this time, it wasn’t about getting it right—it was about getting through it. Together. Messy, nervous, real.

You guided him, hand between your bodies, fumbling more than once. The first time he pressed against you, it was off. Too high. Then too low.

“Sorry—sorry,” he muttered, brushing hair out of your face like that would somehow fix the situation. His hand was shaking.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Just…Let's try again.”

You bit your lip and reached again, helped him find the right spot, heart in your throat the whole time.

His mouth found your neck—gentle, a little desperate. Your fingers curled against his back. Not pulling him closer, not yet—just holding. Asking.

And when he finally started to push in, it was slow. Hesitant. Like he was scared he’d do it wrong.

You winced. The stretch hit too sharp, too fast.

He stopped immediately, eyes wide with panic. “Should I stop?”

You shook your head too fast. “I’m okay. Just… slow. Slower.”

He nodded, but you felt the panic in his body—the tension tightening every muscle like he was bracing for something to go wrong.

“Sev, breathe” you whispered, cupping his jaw gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His breath shuddered out of him. And then, slowly, he moved again—carefully, like he was learning how to touch someone from the inside out. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in, holding on like it might keep you from unraveling. It was too much—too big, too real, too full of feeling. You blinked hard against the pressure behind your eyes.

Your bodies moved in fits and starts—stumbling toward a rhythm that didn’t quite exist yet. He slipped more than once. You readjusted. You whispered guidance you weren’t even sure was right, words made up on instinct.

But then—something shifted. Not in motion. In feeling.

You caught his eyes mid-movement, and suddenly the awkwardness didn’t matter. He looked at you like everything else had fallen away. Like you were the only thing in the world that made any sense.

He leaned in and kissed you—open-mouthed, desperate, reverent. You made a soft sound into him, a sound that slipped out before you could think. His breath caught against your cheek like that sound had undone him.

“Again,” he whispered, voice raw. “Please.”

You kissed him harder this time, your nails dragging lightly down his back. He gasped like the touch reached something buried deep. Something fragile and aching.

The pace picked up—not perfect, still unsure, still messy. But there was more heat now. More urgency. He moved with a little more confidence, your name spilling from his lips like it was the only word he trusted. You arched into him, breath catching, pleasure threading its way through the nerves.

It wasn’t flawless. Too fast in some moments. Too slow in others. But none of that mattered.

It was real. Intimate. Raw. Not about performance, but presence.

Every second felt like telling the truth.

When it finally became too much—when you broke apart and clung to each other through it, his face buried in your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair—you didn’t say anything at first.

You didn’t need to.

You just breathed. Together. Hearts pounding in sync, sweat cooling on skin, the fire crackling quietly beside you.

His voice broke the silence.

“I’ve never… felt like that before.”

You turned your face to his. “Me either.”

He looked at you, then down, a flush creeping across his cheeks. “Was it alright? I mean—did I—”

You cut him off with a kiss. “It was us and that was good.”

His arms curled tighter around you, like he was still afraid you might disappear.

And for the first time since it started, there was no panic left between you.

You lay tangled together in silence.

His breathing hadn't quite evened out yet, and neither had yours. The room felt hot, then cold, then too quiet. The fire crackled like it was trying to fill the space between your bodies.

You were quiet for another long stretch. His hand started to move—just a slow back-and-forth across your shoulder, more like he needed to ground himself than comfort you.

You turned your face into his chest and said, muffled: “I probably should’ve studied for this.”

His hand paused. “Studied?”

“I mean, I study for everything. It feels illegal to go into anything without doing extensive research first like losing my virginity.”

He blinked. Then: “You think there’s a textbook?”

“There’s a textbook for everything,” you said, more animated now, voice still breathless. “Magical Reproductive Health and Intimacy Practices of the 20th Century, probably buried in the restricted section behind a copy of Magical Me.”

He made a sound—a startled, surprised real laugh. Just for a second. Then it faded, and his expression softened again.

“I think I wouldn’t have been ready,” he said, voice low. “Even if I’d studied every page.”

You looked up at him, and for the first time since it happened, you both truly saw each other again—flushed, nervous, scared out of your minds… but still here.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” you admitted. “Not the physical part. Just… being this close. It’s more than I expected.”

“It’s more than I thought I was allowed to have,” he said quietly. “And it’s terrifying.”

You nodded.

“Next time we plan it,” you added, after a beat.

He looked at you. “Is that a Ravenclaw thing again?”

“Maybe. Probably one of our house mottos.”

He smiled. Not a smirk. Not a shield. A real, quiet smile.

His hand slipped back around your waist, this time less tight. Less afraid. Just… there.

And you let yourself sink into it.

[panics-side-blog]

Alucard romantic headcanons

Auughauhahahhagaguughggg

Yea, more brain dump that I developed while working. A tiny bit of x reader and a tiny bit just him and how I imagine he would deal with romantic relationships and feelings.

I'm also thinking about doing the same/similar thing just about sexual relationships but we'll see.

🦇 A part of me thinks that he is AroAce another part things that it's just the vampirism that wore him down and honestly I'm more so leaning towards that part considering.

🦇 In his past as Dracula he definitely did have a few lovers (definitely hinting at Dracula's three wives), be it women who willingly wanted to be with him or women who got picked out from their village after his army steamrolled it.

🦇 Yet after the years became many and him seeing nations fall and rise his mind and heart turned cold and the desire of partnership became few. When he saw the first few people around him turn old and die of age or sickness, he fully grasped the concept of what it means to be a vampire and how it would affect him in ways he didn't think of just yet.

🦇 He still indulged in things every now and then but over time he had one too many lovers who died out of old age. Attaching himself to someone became hard and not many want to become a vampire in order to stay with him, so he decided to just give up that part which I believe is also him stripping himself from another part of humanity. To reject the very human way of falling in love and caring for one another.

🦇 Also a part of me believes it's a way of self punishment, someone like him doesn't deserve love, he is a monster meant to shred people apart, to eat the dead and drink the blood of the living, only the moon and night being his loyal companions for many years. A creature waiting for someone who is finally worthy and strong enough to kill him and pierce his heart, love will only make him attached to the undead life he has.

🦇 Now that doesn't mean he didn't have casual meet ups with others in a more physical way but that's a whole different thing I maybe let simmer inside my brain another day.

🦇 As Alucard he fully concentrated himself on work, it was one thing he still was passionate about and actually enjoys. Be it while working with van Hellsing or with sir Integra. It kept him entertained and his mind busy even if he never really found someone who could rival his strength and skills.

🦇 It kept those thoughts away long enough, the screams and begs of the once that get their flesh torn apart by him filling the void for some sort of deeper connection be it platonic or romantic.

🦇 Now, who will be the one who melts those ancient walls of regret, bloodlust and loneliness? Honestly depends, I don't think he has a certain type but he definitely has a few preferences when it's about catching his attention. Be it someone who is utterly human, down to the very last cell in their body, or someone who is pained by their own past, future and present like he is.

🦇 I think if it is a person who has a lot of humanity in them it can go multiple ways. Is it someone who clings to their kindness, who wishes to protect the good in the world and still wants to believe that there is good out there no matter how many atrocities happen? Amusing him for their nativity but still making a spark of respect flicker in him for them to not give up and show their determination for the good.

🦇 A person who has many flaws and complexities in them but still tries their best no matter how many mistakes they make along the way? He will admire their willingness for change and want to do better, to be better no matter how long it will take and how many times they will stumble and fall.

🦇 Or someone who just really gets on his nerves and making his blood boil yet he can't kill them because there is just something in them that makes him want to wait and see what will happen, in hopes he can unravel and understand them? To be constantly pushed by their eccentric nature, making it hard to get their strangeness out of his head like a nagging migraine.

🦇 If the potential love interest is more so the gloom and doom like he is I feel like it starts more so as mutual respect and understanding and slowly becomes something more if neither of them avoid their vulnerability and accept that, despite it all, a bit of company can be a balm for the soul.

🦇 This would be more of a slow burn than any of the others because not only is there one complex person/vampire dealing with a lot of shit but now there are two. I can imagine that it wouldn't be out of reach to think that they only would get together after at least a few years of careful testing of their own souls (or lack there of) and needs. Like two feral animals finding comfort with each other.

🦇 But the most important thing no matter who the person is, is that they will accept every part of him. Even when he shows something that is vulnerable and weak he is still Alucard, he has his own twisted way of showing affection and love. Seeing his enemies turn into minced meat and finding a good rival that can push him is something he craves. His partner has to deal with the fact that there are horrors beyond their comprehension inside him and that certain actions during his murdering (even if it is righteous) can make their stomach flip and the bile crawl up their throat.

🦇 Also considering that me most likely won't fall for a regular civilian considering his line of work, all of the options and more for a potential lover have to be tough as nails to a certain extent.

🦇 There will be moments of gentleness tho after a long process of getting closer to each other, he'll hold them close and feel the warmth of their skin, listen to their heartbeat and feeling their breath tickle his paper white skin.

🦇 He'll whisper words of morbid passion, how he would gladly rip his heart out and place it on golden plates for them to eat and taste the love straight from the source.

🦇 Flowers will be placed in their room, some living some dying or already dead. If they have someone they absolutely hate, and he finds time, without hesitation he'll kill them and place their head on the table for them as proof.

🦇 Once they have him by their side there is no turning back, they stay with him for a long while. Vampire love is no joke especially with a man like Alucard, they have a taste of heaven and hell in one bite.

[just-a-mod]

if it helps, Rowan said something kinda interesting about the islands at one point

I accidentally spoiled myself a bit about it oops but I suggest chatting with the characters if only because like you can get a bunch of interesting stuff, normal stuff but also something that also reminds me of Zelda (don’t worry I won’t spoil anything)

-🦑

though with a poor memory, i might have forgotten any interesting dialouge by now. im pretty hyperfixated on Waldo. but i do try to talk to most of the people on the island when i can remember to, it's just atouch hard to find them at times xD

i am dearly spoiled by games like Stardew valley and Palia where i can see the tokens of NPCs on the map

that being said, i do really like Rowan. out of every one in town, except for like...Ossono and Ofelia

but i've heard you can only get more lore by going on dates, and that just sorta grates. as a demi-sexual, i really just like focusing the one character;;;

but i'll do it for the lore, Waldo will understand, it's just platonic friend dates TwTb

[azriona]

Oh, this is a fun list! Thanks for the tag, Society! 🥰🥰🥰

Here we go:

First Character You Wrote a Fanfiction About: The first fanfic I wrote was for The Phantom of the Opera, so Erik was probably the first, since as best as I can recall, Christine and Raoul don’t show up until later in the story. (The fic is not online and never will be; I’m not sure I even have a copy anymore. And besides, the last time I did find a copy and read it, it was laughably bad.)

Last Character/Current Fixation: Bucky Barnes keeps showing up in my fics, which is really funny to me because my first fixation in the MCU was Clint Barton. The Winterhawk got me, y’all.

Fic You Are Proudest Of (shamelessly self-promote yourself): I don’t know if “proudest” equals “closest to my heart,” but here you are: 3:07 a.m. from Sherlock BBC. The Next Level from YOI. Not a Fairy Tale Kiss from the MCU.

Most Popular Fic: According to AO3 and going by kudos, it’s either Timing or Those Three Words (which is really, really quicky catching up to Timing), but honestly? I think more people remember Mise en Place. If anyone in the Sherlock fandom still remembers me, it’s for that fic, and I’ve got so many good memories associated with it that I don’t mind one bit!

Fic you wrote that you DISLIKE the Most: I love all my fics (though I admit some more than others), but I can’t think of one I actively dislike, because if I dislike it, I don’t write it and I sure as anything don’t post it. There’s a few I don’t read again though, but not because I dislike them. I can’t read Makkachin’s chapter in The Next Level because it makes me cry too hard when I try.

Strangest Fic/People wonder where it came from/Why: I think the only fics I ever wrote that make people ask what I was smoking were the Broadway Musical Parodies. (Most of which are lost to time but they were HP so whatever.) They were so much fun, though.

Strangest Thing You've Ever Learned For a Fic: Look, my brain can rationalize anything, I’m not sure there’s anything truly strange that I’ve had to learn. Maybe a deep-dive into what Japanese products could reasonably be found in Russian grocery stores, though.

Favorite AU Type to Write: Omegaverse. (Which should surprise only the newer followers, honestly.)

Favorite Trope/Type of thing to Write: Madcap hijinks. If I’m giggling like mad, it’s more entertaining for everyone. Except maybe the characters themselves, but whatever, they know what they did.

Let's see... tagging @cecebeanie, @paula-in-dreamland, @cowboylikeyouu, and @mrsbuckybarnes1917. And anyone else who wants to play!

First, Best, Worst Fanfic Tag Game

This is coming from a different game I was tagged in about what fictional men make you feral. While going through them I realized I have a lot of fics that I've never talked about and I can't be the only one. Everyone has first fics, best, proudest, saddest, etc.

Let the chaos commence:

First Character You Wrote a Fanfiction About: Gaara from Naruto. Boy needed a hug. Murderous psycho but first thoughts were: That boy needs a hug and that's all he really wants.

Last Character/Current Fixation: Bucky Barnes. I don't think I need to explain this one.

Fic You Are Proudest Of (shamelessly self-promote yourself): Howling Witch. Not my most popular at all but I'm proud of it because I actually like how it's coming together stylistically. I actually feel like I'm doing something right with how it's developing. Not all the time, but some things. It's 3rd POV, named FMC, but I'm happy about it.

Most Popular Fic: Care. Period care fic with Bucky because I was in pain that day and wanted some care myself. Self-indulgent but it made me feel better and I hope it made others feel better, too.

Fic you wrote that you DISLIKE the Most: I know it's a hard one, and if there isn't one don't answer it. Personally I'm happy with what I have out right now. In the past, that hasn't always been true and I've had fics that I just didn't like when I went back to them. I had one where it was a Kili x OC fic and I just didn't like how the OC was going so I scrapped it.

Strangest Fic/People wonder where it came from/Why: I wrote several fics that were a LOTR/Hobbit crossover with Skyrim where the dragons were shapeshifting people and I made up an entire culture for them.

Strangest Thing You've Ever Learned For a Fic: Because of the last answer I became semi-fluent in Skyrim Draconic. Not Shouts. I mean conversational.

Favorite AU Type to Write: Vampires (even if they're bad in my current fic, I still have a thing for them) and Wolves.

Favorite Trope/Type of thing to Write: When the characters know they like each other and want each other but they aren't intimate or able to be together immediately for whatever reason. They may be flirty and kissy with each other, they may even have sex, but it takes them a while to get to actual intimacy. Don't know what to call it...Slowburn Express? I love the first flush of romance and writing that but I like writing what happens beyond that and the journey from that first butterfly sucker punch to being a truly, deep, and intimate relationship between two people.

That's it for now. Feel free to add some extra questions if you want.

Tagged list: @societyfolklore @mrs-elsie-barnes @sjsmith56

[fideidefenswhore]

so tired of tudor dramas where there are no women… and even when there are women… there aren’t…ykwim?

[asgardian--angels]

....idk in a fandom this gigantic how are people already coalescing onto a handful of popular headcanons and scenarios that just become the baseline now, when the source material gives us literally limitless possibilities to work with

[goldensunset]

ayyyyy it's the art year in review post with my best work from each month

[lockedtowers]

stop a/starion has a BRAND NEW SIM AVAILABLE ON MODTHESIMS FOR THE SI/MS 2

[mad-hunts]

roleplay idea: barton's trying to say this BS that he's 'good at processing grief' when your muse was a witness to the absolute rage-filled and deranged rampage that barton went on after julien was killed by the joker in which he brutally hurt all but one of his henchmen (he killed the last one because he told him he was 'crazy' and that he 'better kill him, or he was going to tell his boss that barton had been there' and he literally just snapped, went 'you know what, i think i will kill you AND also let the joker know i killed you so he knows to never come near my family again' then killed him. like HUHHH?) at the time with your muse being like this

[e-adlirez]

So the other other day I went to Disney On Ice with my family and the moment I saw them, I developed one hell of a hankering for a snow cone. I knew I wanted one (despite New Zealand winter being in more-or-less full force) and I knew I had some money, so I went to scout the stalls selling them in the venue and see which one sold them for the cheapest price. If not from the Disney-themed stalls (which are always overpriced and always just for the merch inextricably tied to them), then from the stalls the venue itself had, because they actually had those and didn't completely restrict us to sacrificing our wallets to the big mouse.

Spoiler alert: THE ONLY STALLS THAT HAD THEM WERE THE DOI STALLS

AND THE SNOW CONES COST 25 NZD A PIECE

(For conversion to USD, multiply by 0.6)

I never wound up buying a snow cone ;m;

I'm still craving one to this day, three days after the event wrapped up ;m;

[swordmaid]

tav shri’iia is THE canon for me obvi but I also really like the idea of tav wren with yves still being part of the dead three as bhaal’s chosen. the thing with wren is that he was yves’ childhood friend who was pursuing his bard career and severely flopping. one night when he was supposed to escort yves home from the graveyard he chose to perform in some tavern instead, and that night is when the bhaalists came and killed her. for him, one of his closest friends just went missing the night he was supposed to look after her, and when she returns 2 weeks later all beaten up and bloody with no memory of herself ofc he felt guilty….! and he couldn’t even bear to look at her because it’s all his fault u know … if only he didn’t ditched her maybe this wouldn’t have happened so one night he just decides to leave bc he couldn’t take it anymore. it’s always been his dream to be a travelling bard anyway and maybe his career will pick up in some other city than baldur’s gate, so he leaves her and his home and sets out to salvage what he can of his career. and in the most part he was mildly successful. he also ends up making a pact with some fae and they help with his bard career too lol but the guilt of yves is still in his mind- he just got better at ignoring it.

SO. imagine his surprise when he gets tadpoled and goes to moonrise to find a cure and he sees his friend - the girl that’s been haunting his dreams and the source of his guilt and shame - a part of the evil cult that’s been enslaving people with parasites. and now he’s meant to kill her? but how could he when he’s the one who left her behind and maybe it’s his fault that she turned out like this … but anyway I love the idea of wren being like noooo that’s NOT yves she would never do that!! and they’re just like girl ur delusional ur friend is literally chopping people up forcing us to find the parts like some treasure hunt

[sunlightfeeling]

oh neat!

another gif set idea “borrowed” in the tags 🥰

lol

shark tank voice im out 🙅🏻‍♀️

[blackwaxidol]

Going to have to go on a quest to identify the beggar children in the living room, also known as my mother's houseplants, so that they have a chance of receiving adequate care...

[the-m0th-king]

Love that the most recent Invincible was just two episodes in one. It was honestly so good.

[aechlys]

Had a new experience today. Maybe because I've gone back to translating stuff again, but a friend took me out of the blue (we were just walking around randomly outside) to a very fancy Japanese restaurant and I completely glitched out while reading the menu and began ordering in Japanese and literally could *not* start a sentence in English and it sounds so fucking foolish saying that but English would not come out of my mouth and then I was stuck speaking Japanese for the rest of the time there because I was outed. 🥲

I have spent too much time alone in my house, this was an absurd situation I have never experienced before. I'm actually embarrassed??? I mean really it's pure comedy but what the fuck lol.

Brains are big dumb man idk anymore, I need a job and real social interaction.....because what the fuck lol 🫠