#i love every season for them but you guys.... i really love this season for themmm

[celestiamour]

pls pls plsss write smth where fem reader and se-mi meet at the games and fall for one another? w the reader having a sort of bubbly and cute personality! tysm 🫶🫶

ft. se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ falling for your cute and bubbly personality┊0.7k words

contains: fluff! reader is a sweetheart, asking you out

➤ author's note: i was so in love with her this entire season like i couldn’t stop giggling every time she showed up on screen

you seem to be able to create friends even in this impossible situation, she notes as she watches you with amused eyes while you flutter around the room from group to group like a pretty butterfly flying from flower to flower. there’s at least one person in the dozens of teams who you know by name and not number, and even if you didn’t, you thought all of them were deserving of a drop of sunshine that was your personality. you made even the most difficult people crack a smile with how infectious your energy was and how sweet you were even in these murder games, and it made her indifferent heartbeat a little faster whenever it was her turn to have your attention. who wouldn’t feel that way when there was such a cute girl who reminded her of the princesses from those cartoons she watched when she was little?

“se-mi unnie!! how are you holding up?”

she hadn’t seen the real light of the sun in days, yet your smile shone even brighter than the morning star and she briefly wondered if she would be blinded if she looked directly at it. you were like a doll in the sense that it seemed to be permanent, but after seeing the look on your face after the first game where dozens died like they meant nothing, she now knows you were simply spreading some much-needed love to others as a way to cope with the traumatic experience like the sweetheart you were.

“i’m doing okay, i just wish the food tasted better— come sit next to me,” she commanded, patting her free hand against the open spot on the mattress because she wanted as much of your time as possible. 

“well, it’s kimbap, so you can’t really go wrong with it!” you obediently climbed onto the bed with her, sitting so close that she could smell the artificial flower-scented soap of the shower you took a couple of hours ago. “when we get out of here, you should come over to my place and i’ll cook you some food! i’m not as good as my grandma, but it’s a lot better than the cold stale stuff they serve here.”

“that would be great.” she liked the idea of coming over to your place, already able to imagine your room full of stuffed animal collections and lace curtains, although she would much prefer it if she came as something more than a friend— but now that she thinks about it, did you even like girls in that way like she does? you didn’t really express romantic interest in girls, but you exactly didn’t show any for guys either, being more of a little sister figure for them all rather than a potential love interest like she saw you as. 

there was only one way to tell, so se-mi did what she did best, and that was flirting with girls. 

“god, i wish this could be over already,” she sighed as she leaned over to your side to rest her head on your shoulder. “i would love to come over to your place, we could have a spa night and watch romance movies until morning.”

as soon as the words left her mouth, she felt heat start to radiate off your face. “l-like a date?”

“well, only if you want it to be a date…” 

“w-well… um… i would… really, really like that… um, mrs kang is calling for me! i’ll talk to you later!” you stuttered as you rushed off in the direction of the old lady and her son, covering your face with your hands and running away like an embarrassed anime girl. she watched carefully as you told them something in a clearly excited tone before smacking the man with the glasses when his head snapped in se-mi’s direction, but they both seemed very happy for you which made her smile knowing you were on board

“goddamn it, why is everyone pulling cute girls except for me?!” an annoyingly familiar voice from a certain purple-haired rapper started. “what am i doing wrong? i’m thanos for crying out loud, i should be getting swarmed!”

“you might want to work on your technique.”

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

when i met you (i couldn't measure it)

Ao3 | 2.2k Words | Treasure's POV

(A Firefigher AU one shot)

Over Solaire’s shoulder, a younger man stood, his cool, grey eyes fixed on you. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile, all straight, perfect, white teeth. You flicked your gaze over his features. High cheekbones, perfect, light hair, a maroon suit that was fitted so tightly around his tiny waist you worried his jacket button would pop if he breathed too hard.

His smile gleamed in the soft house lights, just a bit too sharp.

__

Treasure hates opening nights. William loves the ballet. Porter bums a smoke.

TW: Smoking, shitty friends.

Lil ballet info for you guys: Treasure intentionally dances androgynous parts, ones that both male and female dancers have done in the past. They're noted as playing Clara's younger brother Fritz in their youth (a part I actually got to do once as a little kid) that is often danced by young girls OR young boys. In this production, they're part of the Mouse Army and they dance Coffee, which often has both male and female dancers. While they are noted as dancing en pointe, male dancers have been known to wear pointe shoes on occasion. So really, Treasure's gender is fully up to your interpretation still.

As another note, I used more modern names for the different dances ("Coffee" instead of the "Arabian Dance," "Tea" instead of the "Chinese Dance) since I fully believe that if you can't produce Nutcracker without being weird and racist then you just aren't productive. I saw a wonderful production in which the dancers were in costumes that mimicked the drink or treat they represented instead of loosely racist caricatures. That is the vibe for Treasure's production.

Opening night was always your least favorite performance. There was some vicious, clawing energy that you couldn’t direct, an unpredictability that you didn’t care for. When a show was well run, when you had danced it four or five times in front of an audience and knew the lines of the marley floor, what parts were raised and awkward, slick and worn, you could dance without thinking. That was always your favorite part of it, when your conscious thought could drift away and your body took over. 

Dancing was never about your brain. It was about your body. 

Nutcracker was a touch different. You danced it nearly every year, so the motions of it were never new, just distant enough to be unfamiliar. You had to settle back into the feeling of them, stretching across your skin and muscles. You danced the Mice Army, you danced Coffee or Tea or Peppermint. If it was your lucky year, you’d be tapped for the Grand Pas de Deux and dance your feet raw for six performances before the company went on break for the season. 

It was not your lucky year. A combination of guest dancers and principal promotions left you, the ugly duckling of Dahlia Ballet’s professional company, taking a backseat to the pretty young things that got paraded around in snowflakes. 

You hated opening nights, especially when said opening night heralded a visit from the Ballet’s biggest benefactor. Benefactor sounded very 19th century, but there really wasn’t another word for what William Solaire was to the place. He put more money into the Ballet in charitable donations than the rest of the donors combined, and he had standing season tickets. 

He only came once a year, though, on the opening night of Nutcracker, and took up the empty orchestra box that waited, empty for his return.  

Solaire was set to visit the stage before the performance, and your CEO and artistic director were busy entertaining his weird, rich guy bullshit. You could feel the nervous energy of everybody in the building as you ran through the motions of Coffee one more time before you were called for costumes. 

“He brought someone!” Bridget wacked you with her extended tondeuse, the box of her pointe shoe digging painfully into your hip. You turned sharply, falling out of your formation, and fixed her a pointed look. “Oh shut up, look! He’s hot!” You rolled your eyes and turned, distinctly aware of how little time you had to nail this before you had to move on. Coffee could be a challenging dance; languid and slow, mimicking the twisting steam over a fresh cup. Slow didn’t mean easy. It meant that every inch of your body had to be in your control. It meant that you didn’t get the forgiveness of speed when you fucked up. Fucking up wasn’t an option. 

You flexed and pointed your feet, rose up to releve en pointe, turned in an agonizing circle with your leg in a front attitude. Your shoe caught on an uneven section of the stage. You fell to your heel, raised your head to get your bearings to remember the spot. 

Somebody was watching you. You were a performer. Your body knew when there were eyes on you. You spun your head around until you saw him. 

William Solaire was talking excitedly to the artistic director, motioning to the set dressings with a light in his face. He looked trim and handsome in his tailored tux, and his eyes were fixed with rapt attention on his enthusiastic, if anxious, conversation partners. 

You looked to his right and found the source of your discomfort. Over Solaire’s shoulder, a younger man stood, his cool, grey eyes fixed on you. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile, all straight, perfect, white teeth. You flicked your gaze over his features. High cheekbones, perfect, light hair, a maroon suit that was fitted so tightly around his tiny waist you worried his jacket button would pop if he breathed too hard. 

His smile gleamed in the soft house lights, just a bit too sharp. 

“Oh my God,” Bridget wacked you with her foot again, “he’s totally looking at me!” 

You turned back to stare at her, your face screwed up in distaste. 

“Jesus Christ.” You snapped. “Are you blind? Are you incapable of turning without kicking me? Should I just move a foot downstage so save myself the bruise?” 

“You don’t have to be an asshole.” Bridget pouted, crossing her arms. She tugged at the hem of her leotard, only serving to prop her bust up even more prominently. She waggled her fingers towards Solaire’s shadow with a grin before turning back to you. “You are such a buzzkill.” 

You huffed, frustrated, and ran a hand over your face before remembering that you already had your stage make-up on. You’d smeared your blush. 

“Fuck me.” You sighed. 

Opening night was always your least favorite performance. Bridget was a bitch, but she was an impeccable dancer. You fell out of a pirouette after four rotations that she took to five. She did lick you twice during Coffee, and she forgot during the battle scene that the toy soldiers and mice were only meant to play fight. You were certain the wack she gave to your ribs with her wooden sword would bruise. 

You hated opening night, but you loved Nutcracker. You always had, since you played Fritz at seven. You sat in the wings and watched the Grand Pas de Deux, counted the Sugar Plum Fairy’s rotations as Cavelier spun her like a top. 

Those fuckers. They were good. Better than you. So was Bridget. So was every other principal dancer in the company. You were falling behind. Plateauing. 

During bows, your eyes drifted to that perpetually empty box to stage right. William Solaire was on his feet, his face lit up in childlike joy, clapping incessantly as the principals took another bow. To his right, just over his shoulder, his mysterious shadow stood as well, clapping slowly, languidly. His eyes were locked on you until the curtain fell. 

Your castmates broke into laughter and applause, cheers and congratulations spread through the softly lit stage. You turned, popped en pointe to stretch out your right hip. Someone caught your elbow and spun you around.  

“You’ve got to get it together on that turn.”  Bridget bitched, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re embarrassing me.” 

You blinked back at her, shock smacked across your face. The world of ballet could be a cruel, unforgiving one. People often spoke directly and without care for emotions, only results. It shouldn’t have surprised you when she decided to make her point in this particular fashion rather than talk to your director or find a nicer way to get it across. You could appreciate her being up front, at the very least. 

“New marley.” You said, tapping your toe against the stage. “New shoes. New show. I haven’t danced Coffee in like… three years. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” 

Bridget narrowed her eyes at you, her delicate features contorting unflatteringly around a frown. 

“I don’t make excuses.” She bit out. “And I don’t fuck up. So…” 

Another dancer caught her shoulder and she turned, falling naturally into the cheer and jubilation of the post-show. She only spared you one more look before disappearing into the crowd of retiring dancers. 

You made your way to the dressing room, only lingering long enough to snag your coat and lighter before retreating again. It was fucking cold outside and it was probably in your best interest to at least change out of your shoes before you went out for a smoke, but you thought that if you spent another second around everybody’s chatter and laughter and fucking noise you’d actually go insane. 

The costume for Coffee didn’t provide the most cover from the elements. It included a pair of sheer, flowy pains and a skimpy vest that barely covered your chest. You shivered as you planted your back against the back wall of the theater and tugged a cigarette from your pack. Fuck, you were running low. You’d have to stop on the way home. Of course. 

“Can I bum one?” A smooth, british voice called from your right. You jumped, alarmed, and turned.

It was Solaire’s shadow, the handsome, blonde man that had spent the entire night intensely staring you down. You were usually off put by guys that stared, but something about him didn’t set off the alarm bells in your head. 

“Its my last one.” You grumbled, pulled your pack back out. Your hands were fucking freezing, and you shook as you attempted to flick your lights. Thin, cool hands spread over yours, plucked the lighter and both cigarettes from between your fingers. 

“Cheers. You were wonderful, by the way.” The man smiled as he brought both cigarettes to his lips, lit them with the same flame, and took the first, bitter drag before passing one back to you. You pressed it between your lips, wet with his saliva, and breathed in deeply. It warmed you up inside almost immediately. 

“I was alright.” You sighed, smoke obscuring the stranger’s face. You introduced yourself, hand extended. He took it in his, but instead of shaking it, he brought your knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. It would have been corny if it was anybody else, but something about him was so earnest that you blushed, hot and high in your cheeks, up your neck, the tips of your ears. 

“Porter Solaire.” He supplied, stepping back and resting against the cold brick wall. He had a long, black peacoat over his shoulders, leaving his arms free from its heavy sleeves. Even though he had very little cover from the cold, he didn’t shiver or shake, seemingly unbothered by the winter chill. “And I mean it. I don’t give compliments lightly. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” 

“I was the weakest dancer up there tonight.” You huffed, tapping the filter of your cigarette against your lips in thought. “I’m not conventional. I don’t have the training that the other principal dancers do.” 

Porter snickered, looking down at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Something funny?” You sneered. Embarrassment crept up your chest and into your throat, turning you mean. You hated that about yourself. 

“No.” Porter said softly. “No, it’s just… I don’t give a damn about ballet. It’s the old man’s favorite, I just got dragged along tonight. But every time you were on stage, I was enraptured. I have no idea if you’re a good dancer, but what I do know is that you’re… something.” 

The way he said something sounded dangerous. You wanted to watch his mouth form around the word a few more times. 

The back door creaked open. Bridget stuck her head out into the cold. 

“We’re going to get drinks.” She snapped. “Like… six of us? How big is your car? You can DD, right?” 

“I was about to leave.” You said, gesturing with your half-finished cigarette. 

“Oh, come on.” Bridget said. “It’s enough of a mood killer that you refuse to have a drink, the least you can do is come with. It’s opening night! Come and celebrate with us!” 

“It doesn’t sound much like they’ll be celebrating.” Porter’s voice rose up from behind you. You half turned to look at him. Smoke twirled around him lazily, languidly, twisting tondeuse and attitude turns around his sharp, pretty features. “More like… babysitting.” 

“Oh!” Bridget straightened when she saw him, puffing up her chest in her skimpy Coffee top. Porter’s eyes trailed over her body, but the light that sparked in his grey irises when he looked at you was absent. His eyes took on a sharp, cutting energy that made you shiver. “Hey, you’re with… with Mr. Solaire, right? Do you want to… come along?” She put on her most devastating smile, looking up at him through her lashes. Porter looked down at her, blinked slowly twice before turning his eyes back to you. 

“Do you have dinner plans?” He asked, his face and eyes lighting up. “There’s a lovely little Indonesian place around the corner.”

You looked over to Bridget, who was starting up at Porter like he’d spit at her. Her pretty face was twisted up in disbelief. 

“That sounds great.” You said decisively. “Let me go change and get this shit off of my face.” Porter gave you a sly, curling smile. 

“I’m not complaining about the costume.” His eyes slid to Bridget for a moment, as if to check that she was still watching. The corner of his smile quirked up as his attention fell back to you. One cold hand spread up your exposed ribs as the other snaked under your chin and tilted your face towards his. His thumb traced your jaw, those sharp eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he ducked down. 

His hands were cold, but his lips were warm. Soft and plush, you melted into the feeling of them. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You leaned into him, hand falling to hold onto the lapel of his stupid, fancy suit. Smoke passed between your mouths, acrid, bitter, so fucking warm. 

Bridget was gone by the time you came up for air. 

“Your friends suck.” Porter smiled into your mouth. He didn’t let you go. His cold hands began to warm on your skin. 

“Not my friends.” You snorted. “Coworkers at best. Take me to get Indonesian.” 

“As you wish.” Porter grinned.

[calsvoid]

ten (sorta) thoughts on squid game season 2 (SPOILERS):

1. holy fuck this season was so beautiful and the creative genius behind it was so wonderful

2. the rock paper scissors minus one scene has got to be the most intense game scene out of every single one (not game, but game SCENE, as in watching these two friends who i didn’t even care about half a second before be forced to bet their lives against each other only for one of them to be placed with a guaranteed win and not take it was probably the craziest thing to ever happen and fuck having that be the first episode truly through me for a spin)

3. speaking of, the guy that lived (who is known as guy with the wife because me and my brother kept saying that he has a wife as a reason why we want him to live) is one of my favs for no reason, i hope he gets out alright DONT YOU DARE DO ANYTHING TO HIM CAP’N I TRUSTED YOU

4. i knew as soon as they started having two girls bond i was done for and i spent every moment of theirs begging for both of them to live because i think i’ve seen this film before and i didn’t like the ending

5. soooooo many characters and character dynamics were just absolute chef’s kiss and it helps so much with that buildup of hope and tension; last season obviously had some wonderful people and relationships (i’m still not and never will be over the marble game) but something about this new cast was just absolutely wonderful. there were almost no characters i didn’t like or wasn’t invested in, and i am very excited to see how they turn out next season. hyun-ju’s group, gi-hun’s group, hell even thanos’s group i enjoyed all of them. min-su’s betrayal fucked me up so bad though and him failing to save her and having to see her die FUCK. also young-mi’s death was so painful, especially since she was the first main group member death. the mom and son were hilarious im going to fight god if they don’t end up together in either life or death

6. all about women’s rights and women’s wrongs this season, number 11 i love you and i hope you find your child i will kill your almost rapists for you. i don’t care that i hate the military hyun-ju is hot with a gun and she can fuck me with one of she wants. i pray for that fetus please let them get out alive. the mom was fantastic and such a nostalgic character, very accurate portrayal of an auntie and i love her for that. shaman queen is batshit crazy and good for her

7. the set design yall fucking BEAUTIFUL. i can’t describe it, but it just adds so much to that deceitful hope with all the rainbows and clean lines. and also the use of the stairs during the gun fights, ugh so amazing what a great way to repurpose that set

8. ALSO THE ADDED KNOWLEDGE OF THE SOLDIERS SIDE, god i love the extra lore behind their recruitment, their system, all that. loved the twist and as i’ve said i love number 11 shes my queen

9. god seong gi-hun had me ROOTING for him. his sheer determination was felt by me too and i really hoped that he would finally get to get justice, that finale just hurt all that much more

10. i wanted so badly for inho to end up having a semi-redemption arc even though it was unlikely, i unfortunately fell for his manipulation and wanted to believe in him god it hurt watching him use the sounds of someone else’s death to trick gi-hun

[jewelsli]

Survivor AU

Hey y’all my brain worked with me for once today and made up an AU that I actually think would be hilarious.

Okay, picture it… superheroes… but they get put on the equivalent of a magical survivor.

Im talking about the reality tv show where a bunch of people get put on an island to win a million dollars, I may not be a superfan but I’ll admit it’s pretty good, and has SO much drama.

Anyway. Take that… but now add my hyper fixation with superheroes to the mix and you get the ULTIMATE drama scene.

We have Tony Stark and Steve Rogers being those people that are needlessly petty and doing stuff like moving clothes or filling shoes with sand. Peter Parker is that one that everyone loves but isn’t considered a threat, until his interview and you learn that he knows who holds every advantage in the game, who is allied with who, somehow got his hands on some super good info by like… hiding in a tree or something and also is planning the biggest backstab of the season(which he gets away with…). Then you have ppl like Clark Kent who’s actually really nice but everyone hates them/is suspicious of them and there are multiple plans to get him out. Scot lang is the guy who gets left out of the vote. Wonderwoman is the one who is like a master hunter and super good at challenges, so once the merge comes she’s unstoppable. Danny and tuck would probably be numbers, if we’re honest, but Sam would se amate the competition and be a top tier threat that never gets taken out, jazz is obviously the one that helps people through breakdowns and stuff. Bakugo is voted out early/almost wins because it’s good for his ego(kirishima proceeds to cry about it). Jon and Damian are the alliance that nobody expects but decimates the competition, then get married after the show ends. Jason is the second best hunter after Diana and also really strong, but also somehow is the one keeping the team together while simultaneously falling apart.

You see my vision.

Anyway take that and add it together with like seven different universes in the same season and a whole story with how they ended up there and why they want to win? Y’all I’d pay to see someone write that. Heck maybe I’d write it myself!

[saystrinity]

❅⊰ jschlatt: pain is never permanent (but tonight it's killing me)⟢

✦ contains: mmyummy angst, december by neck deep, gn reader, bitter schlatt ✦ notes: happy holidays, friends :))

It’s been a long, lonely December. Begrudgingly festive, as he’s forced it to be. He’s been to gathering after gathering, shopped around for friends and family, even made a few Christmassy videos - filmed the podcast episode, and all.

But nothing - not even the biting frost of the cold weather, closing out this torturously long year - has managed to distract him from the terrible, visceral bitterness, bubbling in his gut.

He’d love to be able to say he’s not bothered, that he hardly gives it a second thought; moved on so quick you’re nothing but an afterthought of an afterthought now.

But that’d be entire bull, and he’s trying to move away from lying to himself this year.

So, he has to admit, it’s all he can think about. You. You and him - the new guy. A good guy, he’s sure. He hopes. Better than he ever could have been, at least. He’ll be the one taking your delicate hand and guiding you through crowded streets, holding your shaking frame through the chill of the long nights, waking up to your bright face and twinkling eyes on Christmas morning.

This new guy will be taking on all those winter responsibilities Schlatt didn’t fight hard enough to keep, and he has to act like he’s okay with that. He gets the future Schlatt had always seen for himself; the privilege of seeing you change with the times, the joy of growing older with you, knowing you for a lifetime - all because he couldn’t bring himself to actually speak up when it was needed most.

There’s reminders of you all over the apartment, and it just makes him wonder; did you get what you wanted?

“I’d want a red door.” You’d blurted out, one evening; the hopeful spring air trailing in through the open windows as you laid out beside him.

“What’s this?” He laughed in response, propping himself up on one elbow, cold, gentle hand coming to brush a straying strand of hair from your face.

“If we ever really moved in together. Like, a house. Not some.. apartment, or penthouse, or townhouse, or condo, or-” “A house, yeah.”

“Rose-red. Like the rose bushes outside my house when I was young. And there’d be rosebushes outside this house, too. Every morning, I’ll go outside and check on them. I’ll prune them, and make some off-hand comment about how ‘this season’s treating them well’, like I know what I’m doing, like I’m someone who’s so well-versed in rosebushes.”

Does the new guy even know you want a rose-red door?

Hell, would he paint that door, just as Schlatt dreamt of? As he still does? Would he painstakingly plant any and every rose bush you could ever wish for, working away, with you watching through the kitchen window, or maybe sitting on the porch, whittering away with your endlessly endearing commentary, bringing him a glass of water and a kiss to the cheek when you could tell he needed it?

He doubts it.

But, in the same vein, Schlatt doubts he’ll ever get to do that, himself. You’re so long gone from him now, there’s no use in anything but moping, casting his mind back to much better times.

He spends the time he would’ve had with you staring out the window, not unlike a lost puppy awaiting rescue. There’s an unconscious pout to his trembling lips, deepening with every car that passes by, remembering the times he’d find you curled up on the very same windowsill, the image of domesticity whenever you’d smile up at him.

Christmas morning is equally as miserable. Moreso, even, spending it alone - alone, save for the ever-looming reminder of your absence with every turn he takes. It’s like every inch of the apartment is painted with you and your memory.

The pain is searing, churning red hot in his gut; rose-red hot.

He spends the day by his phone; receiving the usual, routine phone calls and texts, but only ever hoping for you, the twinkling sound of your voice wishing him a happy holidays - but all you’ve wished him in recent times is well. The best, even. As if that’d make it any better.

It’s been a long, lonely December; here’s to many more.

[watarfallar]

*staring off into the distance remembering how 3rd Life ended* Oh, you're here too. Huh? Incorrect quotes? Oh yeah, here, have these. *continues to stare off into the distance*

Scar: Wow, great work on the Halloween decorations. Where did you get the fake skeletons? Grian: Fake?

Grian: You can’t have a gun on stage! Scar: WRONG AGAIN! I can have a gun, and I must have a gun, that’s the rule of Chekhov’s Gun: have a gun. And now that it’s been seen, I will have to shoot someone before the end of the play.

Scar: "29-34 Give a particular ecosystem and explain how could it be protected." Scar: Help. Grian: Forests, stop cutting down trees and don't hold gender reveal parties anywhere near them.

Scar: I intend to stay pissed at you forever. Scar: Even if I seem helpful. Grian: Then you're in luck. Grian: Because you don't.

Grian: Scar is forbidden from monologuing.

Grian: Help! I’m drowning! Scar: Calm down. We’re only in six feet of water! Grian: NOT ALL OF US ARE TALL!

Scar: I trusted you! Grian: Why?

Scar: Where did you get that tomato soup? Grian: It’s actually a bowl of ketchup I just microwaved.

Scar: Grian, can you help me? All of my clothes keep disappearing for some reason. Grian, wearing a hoodie that's 5 times bigger than their size: Spooky.

Grian: What's my sexuality?! I don't fucking know! I'm not straight, and that's all that matters. Well, maybe that's unfair to the straights. Some of my best friends are straight! Well, one of them. Well, I know them, and Scar is perfectly tolerable person in small doses!

Grian: I typed "bitch" into my GPS and guess what? I'm in your driveway. Scar: Grian: Vroom vroom, come out already.

Grian: You know me, Scar, I don’t take any shit. You know what I say to my haters? Scar: What? Grian: I say: “Please don’t hate me, I’m really nice.”

Grian: Do you need anything from the store? Scar: Actually, yes. I have a list. Grian, reading: Epsom salts, coconut oil, baking soda, cornstarch, lavender essential oils… citric acid…? Scar: I’m making homemade bath bombs. Grian: Smokeless gunpowder?! Scar: I want to do it right!

Grian: I love cooking breakfast. It makes the whole house smell like bacon. Scar: That’s true, but it also smells like fire and panic. Grian: You and the smoke detector need to get off my case.

Scar: Happy Scorpio season. If you have to burn a bridge, do it safely! Grian: With NAPALM.

Grian: Ew. What kind of tea is this? Scar: I boiled gatorade.

Scar: I’ve never been in a snowball fight before. I don’t know the rules. Grian: What? Scar: Is there a point system, or is it to the death?

Grian: Whatever happened to the concept of less is more? Scar: But if less is more, then just think of how much more 'more' will be!

Scar: Hey, Grian, where are you going? Grian: Well, it depends. When I die, probably hell. Grian: But right now I’m going to McDonald’s.

Scar: I’ve only ever said ‘I love you’ to two people in my entire life: Grian and a guy in a dark club who I mistook for Grian.

Scar: You’re starting to look like me more and more every day— Grian: Bursts into tears Scar: Why are you crying? Grian: You’re ugly! I don’t want to look like you! sobs

Grian and Scar enter a dive bar Grian: Look, I know you’re disappointed but could we at least have a drink. Scar, in a scuba diving suit: I would like leave, please.

Grian: I am a ninja. Scar: No, you’re not. Grian: Did you see me do that? Scar: Do what? Grian: Exactly.

Grian: I feel like everyone on this island is suspicious, Scar. Except you! Scar: But Grian, I think you're suspicious! Grian: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Scar: Cool, any other secrets? Grian: I still sleep with the blanket I had as a baby. Scar: Awww- Grian, stern: I use it as a gag when taking people’s pets hostage. Scar: Scar: There’s no punch line ‘cause it’s not a joke isn’t it?

Grian: So what are your political beliefs? Scar, awkwardly trying to impress them: Well, I think Pikachu would be a lot more powerful if he had a gun.

Grian: I try to avoid pointless group activities. You know like school Christmas Parties or Jury Duty. To me, the most awful sound in the universe is that mangled first note of your peers singing happy birthday. Scar: Cool stance. Counterpoint: these are free cupcakes. Get over yourself and take one.

[jolapeno]

things that i wrote

tagged by @secretelephanttattoo, here's my review of 2024.

[please note my tootathon can be found here with everyone's lovely additions]

FRANCISCO MORALES remains the top written guy over here at home pepper.

we had not one, but two series throughout 2024: do me yourself [thank you every day to @secretelephanttattoo for this one.] with me creating the ig pieces to complement it here. AND, the new brainrot with no strings attached - with season one now complete and a sequel planned for 2025.

i also wrote a ton of oneshots for him, some found here, but notable faves include fifteen hundred and one (for @guiltyasdave challenge), 24 hours and festive encouragement.

it wouldn't be me if JAVIER PEÑA didn't get some love. we have an undercover/fake marriage wip called let us pretend (which WILL finish in 2025, i promise). but we also had oneshots like: epistolary sex diary 'the man who returned home', there's nothing blue about you (a personal fave because of how beautiful the moodboard from @studioghibelli was), in my room and my wonderful vamp!javi three-part in bite me nicely plus lots of others.

for JOEL MILLER i experimented more with no-outbreak, meaning we had the lovely him.he.joel, don't move honey and bar!miller in give me a sign. my little five-part series honey stained hands also finished and while this was purely an indulgent thing, i loved every second of it when i rambled to lots of you.

i also began writing NEW people this year with DIN DJARIN planet hopping in this collection and LUCIEN DE LEON with his girl who just won't admit she likes him in meets in sequence, a third part is also planned for 2025.

outside of all of this, i finally TAUGHT myself to properly GIF and i began making more moodboards, whether for myself here or for others. you can find all my creations here.

but, on top of all of this, here's some fave 2024 moments:

i had the chance to wrap my arms around @thetriumphantpanda and @luxurychristmaspudding

@goodwithcheese talked me off many ledges (literally, her voice is so nice you lot), had virtual coffee dates with me and also spoilt me rotten. she also cares so little when i send her podcast-length things.

@secretelephanttattoo plotted a DIY guy that ended up taking over our lives for six months?!

i pushed myself with writing more of WHAT i wanted to write

@fuckyeahdindjarin's beautiful creations from pencils to post-its to a journal sit pretty on my desk

i survived the summer 2024, and i am still waiting for my t-shirt

i partook in so many fun fandom challenge, ones of them being pedroscouts and summercamp by @goodwithcheese, and because of that experience i got to know so many people and become good friends with @jennaispunk

i read SO much wonderful things, and all of that is here organised as beautiful as possible

for work, i studied and passed an exam, wrote an assignment and have one more to complete in 2025

my mental health hit a new level of rock bottom, but we were brave and got help and now i AM THRIVING

i fell out of love, back in, then out and back in love with my writing a lot, but continued on because i do actually really love writing

i began writing an original, got to 40k, realised my heart wanted it to be something else (hehehe) and began writing a NEW original that is so hauntingly beautiful and is about a woman handling grief

i laughed a total of three million times with friends, i smiled when i never thought i could and i felt so impossibly full of love from you all here

i kissed my corgi a billion times (which still doesn't feel enough)

i sang in my office, i danced alone, took a thousand walks to plot ideas and i spent several, many nights hunched over my laptop doing what i love: writing.

2025, let's be havin' ya

if you've been tagged, feel free to do your own. and I'm tagging some more people:

@milla-frenchy @pedgito @mothandpidgeon @yopossum @whocaresstillthelouvre

[ritterdoodles]

MY REQUEST IS THAT I HOPE U HAVE A GREAT DAY CAUSE YOU DESERVE IT!!! (also, draw one of the characters youre obsessed with currently and tell me about them :) )

Hi Ruka thanks for the ask! Hope you've been having a good holiday season <3

Ended up combining this request with another one I got from twitter which was to draw his partner on the left aka (and I quote verbatim) "that one guy that you show me in DMs sometimes who I think is really handsome and you're really good at drawing him" (if you're reading this James thanks ilu)

I'll be honest this ask intimidated me a little because I've never been good at talking about anything and to be given a little podium to do it is a little… Wohhh. Anyway I'm going to put this under a readmore so I don't cringe every time I scroll past this LOL

God where do I start. He's just so. He's the exact type of moody depressed edgelord that I adore, he speedran his own tragic backstory, he killed off his entire household and ruined his family name in one fell swoop, he hates everyone around him but he hates himself more, 90% of what comes out of his mouth is either an insult or dry wit, he acts like such a hardass but he fucking melts when his partner/best friend/mortal enemy says anything encouraging he's such a liar there is no way you hate him you fucking liar you're such a softie stop lying to yourself you love hi—

Sorry I got away from myself, anyway I just. Like him a lot and I am very much not normal around him (this is okay because I also know for a fact that none of his fans are normal about him, absolutely none) He's cool, he's cute, he's edgy, he's a #girlboss, he's a failboy, he's both a cat boy and a dog boy, he's a 30 year old man but looks like this

Fucking moe ass istg

[cybershock24601]

While the Steam Winter Sale is still going, I wanted to recommend that everyone who missed what Origins brought to the table in Veilguard go check out Warhammer 40k: Rogue Trader because it hits the exact same spot Dragon Age Origins did when I first played it over a decade ago.

It's a grimdark setting with a fantastic story that still leaves you feeling like a triumphant hero (or dastardly villain if you so choose). There's great reactivity in the dialogue to your origin and choices throughout the game with no two playthroughs feeling exactly the same. The companions are all complex with interesting personal stories and every single one has a different relationship with each other with a number of them being outright antagonistic, and quite frankly the romances are all fantastic and heartfelt.

You can have an extreme bdsm dom/sub relationship with a drukhari and absolutely ruin the bastard by making him fall in love with you or romance the Most Repressed Man Ever by showing him genuine care and kindness or by letting him know you are down to clown (sexually) by throwing yourself at him at every opportunity or you can have a courtly love with an insane Space Princess who is always saying the most out of pocket shit you've ever heard and even more! Rogue Trader has some very well written and unique romances with 5 options to pick from in the base game and one from the DLC.

And unlike Origins, the fighting is actually fun in Rogue Trader! The game has a fantastic turn based combat system and incredibly customizable difficultly settings for whether you're looking to breeze through the story or take your time engaging with the tactical turn based combat.

Even if you know nothing about Warhammer 40k, I would check out this game because there is no good way to get into Warhammer lore but I think Rogue Trader does a great job as an introduction with a succinct but detailed codex, hyperlinks in dialogue to help explain important lore, and a story and companions that will introduce and get you invested in most of the major factions not only within the Imperium of Man but Warhammer as a whole as you engage with the myriad enemies of the Imperium.

If you liked the darker tone of Dragon Age, I think you'll find Warhammer is offering what you're looking for in terms of eternally fucked up societies but still has its moments of light fun and comedy because Rogue Trader does do a good job of acknowledging the silliness inherit to grimdark as you run around the Koronus Expanse with the equivalent a permit from the God Emperor saying "I can do what I want" and no one can really stop you because the God Emperor said so.

There's a complex morality system that rarely leaves you picking from a straight good or evil choice because the three party conviction system introduces some nuance to the tough decisions you'll face. Albeit the Heretic path is typically the evil for the sake of evil option, Dogmatic and Iconoclast are both interesting options as it often is the choice between lawful neutrality vs chaotic good. Dogmatic has you following the laws of the Imperium to the letter and sacrificing the few to save the many but also the Imperium kinda sucks so sometimes you're just being a dick. On the other hand while Iconoclast is the typical 'good guy' path, it's not always the best option as you are not automatically rewarded for being the hero and sometimes even outright punished for your altruistic intentions because this is Warhammer and everything is terrible all the time.

Also, I don't usually recommend DLC but pick up the Season Pass while you can because Void Shadows adds in another 15 hours or so to the game, substantially fleshes out running your spaceship, gives you a whole new romanceable companion, and a really fun story about rooting out a genestealer cult that has taken up residence on your ship and had a couple plot twists in there that took me way off guard. The second DLC, Lex Imperialis is due to drop sometime early next year and if it's anything like the first one for this game, it's going to knock it out of the park.

If all this is not enough to convince you to play the game, there is a whole quest in the game that's just waiting in line at the Space DMV and I think for that alone Rogue Trader should get a million Game of the Year Awards.

[kimwexlersponytail]

I don't see why it's so important to you that we work together. I mean, we're already -- Why do you need me for this? I don't need you. I want you. You've got me.

McWexler in Every Season

SEASON TWO

[scalpelsister]

what if i lost the will to live like. as a joke. what then.

[tenwhiteandalusians]

pertaining to the idea of tenax’s band of strays i do think it’s touching that the kids are the ones who saved him and waited outside the door to make sure he’s okay. for all tenax claims to be harsh and cruel it’s a fine indicator of his character that the kids won’t rest without him and are there every time he’s in danger.

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

*visibly vibrating* don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block don’t engage just block

[anothermonikan]

wait the final chapter of MYM is only 3 episodes,,,,excluding the special,,,,man.

[dbphantom]

maybe i should have gone into practical effects instead of computer science...

[infizero]

oh yeah i finally watched season 2 of sonic prime today