#i love learning new things about this game

[idkhowtosocialize]

trying to compare coding to art is very interesting to me, as something who enjoys both and dislikes AI

for some reason people see programming and art as two opposite edges of the spectrum, but I think it undervalues the creative work coding requires and the technical work art requires

I think what seperates coding to other stem fields is that at it's core it's a tool for creation

math, physics, chemistry and such are just sets of rules, which you can use to learn more about themselves and the world, but you can't really create something new that is separate to them

but coding, at it's core, is a set of rules FOR creation, that's why I like coding! it's challenging, it's engaging, it's fun! and it has a lot of potential in creating new interesting things,

whether you are creating the most mundane calculator or an insane video game, you are making something, and that act of creation takes creativity, knowledge and problem solving skills

in that sense, I think there is a bit of art in everything, the keyboard I'm typing on was designed by someone, the little buttons in the UI, the pillow I'm resting on

it's not just everything that is human made, but everything that is, because finding that extra thought and meaning isn't limited just to creator alone, but the observer as well

modern art talks a lot about how you can look at everything the way you can at high art, you can find beauty symbolism and meaning in everything, because that depth doesn't exist within the object itself, but within the mind that interprets it

so circleing back, art exists in two realms: being created and being observed

and that raises the question, can art comfortably exist only within one of those? again, my pillow was designed and created by someone, but it usually doesn't get observed as art, but I will still argue that designing it was an artistic process

so then, can art only be observed? and I will argue again that yes, you can find meaning in everything! even seeing shapes in clouds is a bit of an artistic experience

so then, can AI art be classified as art? the creator less amalgamation that it is? well unfortunately yes - BUT not because of the machine that created it, but because of the HUMAN THAT OBSERVED IT, without the human mind to interrupt the shapes and the colours and the composition and give it that meaning, it reminds nothing but an array of pixels

well I did mention I dislike AI art, so why is that? and well, while art can exist on only one of the realms, that doesn't ignore the fact that it stripes it of a whole entire realm of meaning!!!

the person behind the piece is meaningful to the piece for multiple reasons,

first of all I think it simply adds depth to the piece! if we have established that the meaning of art lays within the depth you can find in it, the person behind it, who they are, the choices they made and why, adds a whole new layer of depth and meaning to the piece!

you can look at the sky and see clouds, you can see a cloud shaped as a cat, and you can see something that reminds you of your late grandmother, these are 3 different experiences that occurs by looking at the same object, and the difference is in the meaning you find in it

which just leaves AI art as less interesting, because there's less meaning to find (unless you count the artists it's based on), it just makes it a bit more flat

but not only that, I feel like it's at risk of robbing people of the artistic process, there's a reason why people still draw even though there are cameras - it's because creating things is fun!

yes art is challenging, and sure you can create the same result in easier means, but that challenge IS what's so fun about it! thinking though problems is a good thing!

I love drawing, and I generally believe it's one of the hardest things you can do (I might be biased) because not only it takes learning anatomy or perspective, but it also extends to fighting with the unwritten rules of the subconscious of making something look or feel "right"

creating things is challenging, drawing, writing, programming, but there isn't a greater use to the human body and mind than creation! yes you can take shortcuts, you can try making things more comfortable and easy for yourself, but you should do that to give yourself more power, not less power! or you'll be robbing yourself from using your mind

I've finally figured out an argument that convinces coding tech-bros that AI art is bad.

Got into a discussion today (actually a discussion, we were both very reasonable and calm even through I felt like committing violence) with a tech-bro-coded lady who claimed that people use AI in coding all the time so she didn't see why it mattered if people used AI in art.

Obviously I repressed the surge of violence because that would accomplish nothing. Plus, this lady is very articulate, the type who makes claims and you sit there thinking no that's wrong it must be but she said it so well you're kind of just waffling going but, no, wait-- so I knew I had to get this right if I was gonna come out of this unscathed.

The usual arguments about it being about the soul of it and creation fell flat, in fact she was adamant that anyone who believed that was in fact looking down at coding as an art form as she insisted it is. Which, sure, you can totally express yourself through coding. There's a lot more nuance as to the differences but clearly I was not going to win this one.

The other people I was with (literally 8 people anti-ai against her, but you can't change the mind of someone who doesn't want to listen and she just kept accusing us of devaluing coding as an art) took over for I kid you not 15 minutes while I tried desperately to come up with a clear and articulate way to explain the difference to her. They tried so many reasonable arguments, coding being for a function ("what, art doesn't serve a function?") coding being many discrete building blocks that you put together differently, and the AI simply provides the blocks and you put it together yourself ("isn't that what prompt building is") that it's bad for the environment ("but not if it's used for capitalism, hm?" "Yeah literally that's how capitalism works it doesn't care about the environment" she didn't like that response)

But I finally got it.

And the answer is: It's not about what you do, it's about what you claim to be.

Imagine that someone asks an AI to write a code and, by some miracle, it works perfectly without them having to tweak it---which is great because they couldn't tell you what a single solitary thing in that code means.

Now imagine this person, with their code that they don't know how it works, goes and applies to be a coder somewhere, presenting this AI code as proof that they're qualified.

Should they be hired?

She was horrified, of course. Of course they shouldn't be. They're not qualified. They can't actually code, and even if by some miracle they did have an AI successfully write a flawless code for every issue they came across that wouldn't be their code, you could hire any shmuck on the street to do that, no reason to pay someone like they're creating something.

When actual engineers use AI what they do is get some kind of base, which they then go though and check for problems and then if they find any they fix them, and add on to the base code with their own knowledge instead of just trying different prompt after prompt until they randomly come across one that works.

People who generate code like this don't usually call themselves engineers. They're people who needed a bit of code and didn't have the knowledge to generate it, and so used a resource.

And there you go. There are people who have none of the skills of artists, they don't practice, they don't create for themselves. When they feed the prompt to the AI they then don't just use the resulting image as a reference point for their own personal masterpiece, and if they don't like it they don't have the skills to change it---they simply try another prompt, and do that until they get something they like.

These people are calling themselves artists.

Not only that, these people are bringing the AI generated thing to interviews, and they are getting hired, leaving people who slave over their craft out of the job.

And that is the difference, for the tech bros who think AI art isn't a big deal.

[brittle-doughie]

Hi Brittle! This is my first time requesting a scenario for you. But anyways, can you create an angsty one where the reader comforts Pavlova Cookie? Since I learned that Pavlova Cookie's desire is to leave the garden but he can't due to Eternal Sugar Cookie won't allow anyone to leave her Garden of Sweet Delights (I hadn't play CRK for quite some time, so this is new to me) and it is implied that the "statues" in-game were actually living cookies who defied Eternal Sugar Cookie

[Calm Sugar Angel] “Would you like another, heavenly?”

[You] “That would be nice.”

[Gentle Sugar Angel] “We have plenty, so don’t be afraid to have as much as you want!”

The angels kept continuing to feed you countless fruits as you lay back in the pink cloud. It hadn’t been that long since you’ve arrived here in the garden, at least it was what you thought. Here? It was nothing but relaxation and a stream of berries and other delights!

Who would even think of wanting to leave such a place like this!

“Well, with a beaten down and broken heart like yours, a rest like this from the outside world was needed!”

[You] “Pavlova Cookie? When you did get here?”

[Calm Sugar Angel] “Pavlova Cookie! You know this sanctuary was only made for our heavenly in mind!”

[Gentle Sugar Angel] “The Bringer of Happiness will not be pleased to see other Cookies in here, including you!”

[You] “Hey, it’s okay! He’s probably only here to pester me about my heart. I can take it from here. Peace!”

The Sugar Angels nodded to your request and fly away from the sanctuary, leaving you and Pavlova Cookie alone.

“So what brings you to me, Pavlova Cookie? Here to talk about how my heart is locked away? How I need to move on after all these years? Because let me tell you, it’s going to be eons more before I even consider it.”

“So many Cookies pining for your love and you won’t even give them a chance! It’s such a tragic way to go, love so close yet so out of reach! I LOVE it!”

“They understand that part of me isn’t ready. Maybe someday, but for now, I just like doing my own thing of helping Cookies in my kingdom and out of it.”

“Your kingdom?”

“Yeah, it’s a place where Cookies get to live their lives the way they want to live it! It’s safe and welcoming to all Dessertians! Just don’t be overly evil and we’re all set!”

“Safe and welcoming….the Bringer of Happiness told me that the Cookie world was unfair. That the garden is the only place where Cookies can be happy…”

That happiness you’ve been feeling turned into confusion at his pondering words.

“There…are unfortunately some crummy parts of Earthbread, but it doesn’t cover the ENTIRE land. There are villages, kingdoms, and nature where Cookies live worry-free lives, it’s not something only exclusive to this garden..”

“If what you’re saying is true….”

“Yeah?”

“……”

“Pavlova Cookie?”

Pavlova Cookie quickly looked around for a second, flying around to make sure the brush was well bunched together and the gate leading to the sanctuary was secure before flying back to you, taking you by surprise as he holds your hands into his.

“Please take me with you!”

“What!?”

“The Bringer of Happiness told me about you, how you bring happiness to the Cookies that live in your kingdom. It makes you and her alike in that way…”

“I…guess you can say that…but why would you want to leave, it’s safe here…”

“…..you won’t turn me into a lifeless statue, will you?”

“I’m repeating myself here, but what!?”

“That’s what happens to any Cookie that tries to leave here. I wanted to be free for so long, but I was so afraid of what the Bringer of Happiness would do to me if I tried. But with you here, I might have a chance!”

“Pavlova Cookie….”

“Please….*sniff*…I can’t live like this any longer….”

Pavlova Cookie started to cry, this knocked you out of your happy-induced stupor as your protective instincts took over. You hold the little Cookie close to you as he weeps into your chest.

“Hey, ssshhh. It’s okay, please don’t cry!”

“Don’t leave me here,…*sob*….take me with you…”

You felt conflicted…but that went away real quick with a feeling of determination as you brush his hair.

“I will find you a way out….”

[fic-girlie]

Hidden in plain sight

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader Summary: While promoting Gladiator II, you and Pedro keep your three-year relationship low-key, playing it cool in public. But behind closed doors—especially after the London premiere—passion and love overflow in a night full of intensity, comfort, and quiet devotion. Warnings: fluff, established relationship, explicit smut (18+), soft dom!pedro, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, language, dirty talk A/N: Thank you @kellyxo1 for the idea, again!

The lighting in the suite is too bright, as always. Cameras click. Laptops clack. The endless rhythm of press junket days, where the same questions are folded into new words and passed across the table like shiny candy. You’re seated on the left, angled ever so slightly toward Pedro, as always. There’s something in that small tilt of your body that comforts him—you don’t say it, but he knows it.

You’ve learned how to make each other laugh without a single word.

Today, he’s in a white button up. Curls tamed but not conquered. He’s got that easy charm dialed up, eyes soft, smile sharp, the kind of presence that people describe as “effortless” even though you know exactly how much effort he puts into staying calm in rooms like this.

The interviewer is young and clearly nervous. She fumbles through a question about character dynamics, some half-formed thought about power and vulnerability, and Pedro saves her with a warm chuckle and that gentle charisma that got him cast in this movie—and half the world’s hearts.

“She throws me to the ground in our second scene together,” he says, tossing a thumb in your direction. His voice is light, playful, but the way he glances at you—quick, fond, proud—makes your stomach flip.

You smirk. “I did not throw you to the ground. I gave you a gentle push. With force.”

He lets out a theatrical sigh. “And people wonder why I have trust issues.”

The room laughs. It’s easy. You make it look easy, the way your rhythms lock into each other like pieces that were always meant to fit. It’s not fake. It’s just not everything.

Because when you two share a look like that—one filled with years of stolen mornings, late-night scripts read aloud from opposite ends of a hotel bed, silent dinners when the exhaustion was too much to speak—it’s too much to explain to strangers. So you don’t. You let them see what you want them to see: a friendship that feels alive and quick and perfectly believable. And if someone catches a flicker of something more behind your eyes, that’s their business.

“I will say this,” Pedro continues, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees in that way he does when he’s feeling a little too exposed. “This one—” he gestures toward you, “—she’s dangerous with a sword and devastating with sarcasm. The duality is… genuinely terrifying.”

You laugh again, but the heat crawling up your neck is real. The way he praises you—quietly, gently, under the guise of teasing—always hits harder than it should.

“Better terrifying than boring,” you say smoothly, nudging your knee against his under the table. A soft pressure, fleeting. But he doesn’t shift away.

Your names trend together on social media almost daily now, not because of PDA or big declarations, but because people love trying to decode you. The inside jokes. The way he watches you when you speak, like he’s still discovering new things in your voice. How he sometimes interrupts interviews just to say, “Wait, tell the story about Morocco—the falcon one,” even when it has nothing to do with the question asked.

It’s a game you never meant to play, but now you both know the rules. Keep it fun. Keep it light. Let the world believe they’re watching something spark in real time.

Only you and Pedro know it’s been burning steady for years.

——

The boat had been someone’s spontaneous idea—Fred, probably, or maybe Pedro himself. A rare day off during the Italy shoot, too precious to waste indoors. You’d all been running on fumes, eyelids sunburned, costumes stiff with dust and leather, so the idea of turquoise water and cold drinks had seemed almost holy.

The boat was bigger than you’d expected, but still cozy enough that no one could pretend not to hear the conversations happening across it. A small crew kept to their business, steering and serving and politely pretending not to notice when someone made a bad joke or took too long choosing a playlist.

You wore a black one-piece under an airy linen cover-up. Pedro’s sunglasses had slid low on his nose. He hadn’t stopped smiling since his bare feet hit the deck.

From the start, it was easy. Laughter. Music. Connie swaying to Stevie Nicks with a drink in each hand. Joseph sitting on the edge of the deck, feet dangling above the sea, narrating dramatic fake scenes from the “Gladiator III: Vacation in Capri” as if the camera crew were rolling.

And then there was Pedro.

He hadn’t left your side since you boarded.

His hand brushed the small of your back when you walked. His fingers threaded with yours when you sat. It wasn’t deliberate—at least not for show. It was just who he was around you when no one was watching. Or when he forgot they were.

You found a spot in the bow, a patch of smooth wood catching full sunlight, and settled there with a drink in one hand and Pedro’s thigh beneath the other. He stretched out beside you, skin warm, shirt half-unbuttoned and clinging to the lines of his chest from a splash he'd taken earlier when someone dared him to jump in.

At one point, you laid your head on his shoulder, and his arm slipped around your waist like it belonged there. Like it always had.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed,” you murmured, watching the sunlight scatter diamonds across the waves.

“I’m not,” he said, glancing at you with a lazy smile. “I’m just pretending for your sake.”

“Convincing performance.”

“That’s what the Oscar’s for,” he whispered, and kissed your hair.

It wasn’t until the boat stilled—anchor dropped in some hidden cove off the coast—that the warmth lulled you fully under. Pedro’s heartbeat thudded steady beneath your cheek, and the ocean hummed a lullaby. You meant to just rest your eyes, just for a moment.

But you drifted. The boat rocked softly. The breeze lifted the hem of your cover-up. And you melted into him like he was home.

You woke to hushed voices and a shutter click that made Pedro flinch. One of the crew members quickly apologized, but Pedro just waved it off and tightened his arm around you.

“Sorry,” he whispered when he felt you stir. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice was rough with sleep, lips warm against your temple. He hadn’t moved at all. You realized that—your body had molded to his side, your legs tangled lightly with his, one of your hands curled into the hem of his shirt. He could’ve shifted. He could’ve gotten up. But he hadn’t.

He’d stayed.

“They’re talking about us,” you murmured, voice groggy, heart quickened more from the closeness than the attention.

“They always do,” he said softly. Then, after a beat: “Let ’em.”

You stayed curled against him until the sun dipped low and someone called for group photos. Pedro helped you up, pressed a hand to the small of your back like he was still afraid you’d topple over.

Later that night, back at the little hotel, the whole group gathered around a fire pit in the courtyard. Someone opened wine. Someone else dragged a guitar out of nowhere. You sat beside Pedro again, this time in a dry T-shirt of his and shorts that didn’t quite reach your knees, and the others pretended not to notice how much of the evening you spent tucked into the crook of his arm.

Connie snapped a picture—your legs over Pedro’s lap, his hand on your bare knee, the soft flicker of firelight between you. You didn’t see it until weeks later, posted with the caption “Sunset stunners. Starring: these two, in love and annoying about it.”

The clip started circulating almost immediately. Cast members retelling the boat story on talk shows. Paul grumbling playfully, “I thought I was the romantic lead, but apparently Pedro and his girl stole the whole damn film.” Joseph teasing Pedro about turning to mush the second you fell asleep on him. Connie calling you “the most disgustingly smitten couple on water.”

And every time it came up in interviews, Pedro would laugh. Blush, maybe. Pretend to wave it off. But he never denied a thing.

Not once.

And neither did you.

——

A few months later you were standing in the hotel room, shared with Pedro, getting ready for the London premiere. Of course, you’ve been to red carpets and premieres before, but this one was different. It wasn’t only your movie or his, it was a movie where you both played big roles.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror. You were wearing a black dress with some red details which clung to you perfectly, highlighting the curves of your body. You choose a natural makeup, not wanting to push it too far.

You were just fixing the straps of the dress when Pedro came out of the bathroom. And when you saw him in the mirror you had to take a double look.

The black shirt clung to him like it was made just for him, the V-neck showing the slight dip of his solid chest, making you go feral. The little red pins on his shoulder emphasizing him, but just enough to not stole the spotlight, and the black slacks he was wearing completely tailored for him. His hair was styled perfectly, some silver strands showing and shining in their place.

You turned around and looked at him with admiration in your eyes. He looked like one of those old statues, like a God, who fell from heaven.

“You good?” you ask quietly.

He nods, but it’s a lie.

You know that look. You’ve seen it at events before—press junkets, big tables—when the crowd is too loud and the stakes too high. When the world expects Pedro Pascal to be Pedro Pascal, and some part of him just wants to disappear.

“I will be,” he says.

You walk to him in heels that click softly on marble, stopping close enough to smell the cedar in his cologne and the faint trace of peppermint on his breath.

Your fingers brush the edge of his lapel, straightening it, pretending it needs fixing. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously handsome or ridiculously nervous?”

You raise an eyebrow.

He huffs a soft laugh through his nose and looks down. “I hate these things.”

“I know.”

“You make them better.”

Your hand slides gently down his chest, lingering over his sternum, right where his heartbeat stutters beneath your touch.

“I’ll be close the whole time.”

He meets your gaze, and the rawness there almost undoes you.

You kiss his cheek. Not the kind that means I love you. The kind that says I know who you are when no one’s looking.

——

The car ride over is quiet.

The city glows wet and golden through the tinted windows — streetlamps like fireflies, crowds already pressing against barricades. You sit with your hands in your lap, and his are resting just inches from yours on the seat, his knee occasionally brushing yours when the car turns.

You don’t speak.

He closes his eyes once, briefly. You reach over without thinking and slide your pinkie around his, just for a second. He exhales.

The carpet is blinding.

A river of flashing lights and calling voices, umbrellas twirling in the crowd, velvet ropes separating fans from stars. You feel the heat of cameras, the electric buzz of names being shouted, the press’s hunger for something worth posting.

You both step out, not quite together.

Pedro takes a moment to square his shoulders. He looks calm again — perfectly composed — but you feel the shift.

You walk a few paces behind, giving the illusion of independence. Of separation. It's part of the game.

Until the angle shifts.

Until the interviewer from Vanity Fair — the one who asked that question last time — waves you both over.

You settle beside him. Close, but not touching.

He glances down at you, voice low enough that it’s lost in the noise: “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

The interview starts light. Jokes. Banter. You’re both good at that. Your timing fits like puzzle pieces — his sarcasm soft and dry, yours sharp and playful. You toss each other softballs, grin at the same questions, answer with that carefully rehearsed mix of camaraderie and mystery.

But then the question shifts.

“What was the most surprising part of working together on this film?”

Pedro looks at you.

Really looks.

And the pause stretches longer than it should.

You meet his gaze and offer the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

He speaks slowly. Thoughtfully. “I think… the way she carried so much of the weight. Quietly. The emotion she brings—it changes the air around her. I think I forgot how to breathe sometimes.”

The interviewer laughs lightly, not sure if he’s joking.

But he’s not.

You don’t say anything. Just smile—soft, knowing—and step slightly closer. Not enough to raise eyebrows. But enough for him to feel your arm brush his as you walk away from the mic.

He doesn’t let the distance open up again.

You glide through the rest of the carpet like two satellites orbiting the same star. Separate in appearance, but always pulled toward each other when no one’s looking.

When the cameras shift.

When the lights tilt.

And later—when the lights go down inside the theater and the film begins—his fingers find yours in the dark. Silently. Desperately.

You hold on tight.

Because this is how you survive the noise.

Together.

——

You don't even remember crossing the room. One moment he's teasing you about the shirt, about the way you were staring, and the next you’re walking backward as he follows, one slow step at a time, his eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing that exists. The soft click of the door sealing shut behind him feels like it closes off the entire world.

The low hum of London still murmurs outside the tall windows, but in here, it’s all dark wood and soft light and the quiet intensity in his gaze.

Pedro doesn't say another word at first. He just watches you with that look—the one that makes your breath catch low in your throat. The one that says he’s seen every part of you and still wants more.

He stands there in that damn shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. The contrast of the crimson buttons against the dark fabric makes him look sharper somehow, more dangerous. Like he’s the one pulling every invisible string in the room.

And maybe he is.

You shift slightly under the weight of his silence, heat rising behind your ribs. You open your mouth to say something—maybe a joke, maybe nothing at all—but you never get the chance.

He steps in.

His hand curves around your jaw with practiced ease, not rough, not rushed—just firm. Sure. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate.

"You have any idea how hard it was not to touch you all night?” he murmurs, voice low, thick with restraint. “You, standing next to me in that dress, smiling like that…"

You try to respond, but he’s already kissing you, slow and hot, the kind that robs the breath right out of your lungs. His mouth moves with intent, just enough pressure to make your head spin. He doesn't waste time—his hands are already sliding down your back, finding the zipper, and when he breaks the kiss it’s only to speak against your skin.

“You wore that for me, didn’t you?” he asks, lips brushing your throat. “Knowing I couldn’t do a damn thing about it until we got here.”

Your answer is a shaky inhale. You feel his smirk as he pulls the zipper down, one slow inch at a time.

��I should make you beg for it,” he says, still behind you now, his breath against your neck. “After the way you looked at me all night. Like you knew what you were doing.”

You tilt your head, letting him push the dress from your shoulders. It pools at your feet like a sigh.

“I did know,” you whisper.

Pedro chuckles, low and dark, and his hands are on your hips now—pulling you back against him. You can feel him already, hard through his trousers, and the sound that slips from your mouth makes him groan.

“Then don’t pretend you’re not going to let me have you exactly how I want,” he mutters, one hand skimming up your stomach, the other sliding between your thighs.

His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing you with maddening patience. Just the graze of his knuckles, slow and purposeful, as if he has all night to unmake you.

"Already wet," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his voice thick and approving. "You like it when I talk to you like that, don’t you?"

You nod, but he doesn’t let that slide.

"Use your words, cariño," he says, his tone darkening just enough to make you shiver. "You know I want to hear it."

"Yes," you breathe, barely holding on. "I like it… I like when you talk to me like that."

He rewards your honesty with a low growl and two fingers slipping through your slick heat—slow, precise, stroking you just enough to make your knees go weak. His free arm wraps around your waist to steady you, holding you flush to his chest like he’s claiming you in the quiet of this high-rise hotel room.

"You’ve been driving me fucking crazy for weeks," he mutters. "These press tours, pretending we’re just friends. Watching you laugh with the others like you don’t crawl into my bed every night."

His words hit you low in your belly, the possessiveness curling into arousal as his fingers begin to move in earnest—deep, steady, controlled. You moan into the air, unable to keep quiet, and that only spurs him on. He bites gently at your shoulder, his grip tightening just enough to make you gasp.

"Think they know?" he asks against your skin. "Think they’d still see you as sweet if they knew how you sound when I make you come?"

The words drag another helpless sound from your lips. You press back against him, needing more—needing all of him—but he still doesn’t give it. Not yet.

Instead, he pulls his hand away, and before you can beg, he turns you around and kisses you hard—mouth greedy, tongue insistent, as if he's trying to taste every sound you’ve ever made for him.

"Bed," he says roughly, guiding you backward without looking. His hands are already unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off like it’s nothing, like he isn’t the best-looking man you’ve ever seen with his skin flushed and jaw tense and eyes dark.

You’re still in nothing but your underwear when the backs of your knees hit the mattress. Pedro follows you down, catching your mouth again before trailing kisses to your collarbone, your chest, licking a slow path between your breasts as he peels the last scrap of fabric from your body.

“You’re mine tonight,” he says, looking up at you from between your thighs with something between reverence and hunger. “And I’m going to make sure you feel it tomorrow when we’re pretending again.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot, unrelenting, skilled. He devours you like a man starved, moaning softly against you, like your taste is better than anything the night could offer. His tongue flicks, circles, dives—he doesn’t give you time to adjust, doesn’t give you space to breathe. Just pleasure, building faster than you can process.

You cry out, your hands tangling in his hair, your thighs tightening around his head—but he doesn’t let up. Not until you’re trembling, choking on your own gasps, your orgasm crashing over you with brutal, blinding force.

Only then does he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked on you like he’s not nearly done.

“You still with me?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, dazed, still panting.

“Good,” he says, undoing his belt with one smooth pull. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

You watch him strip the rest of the way, every inch of him revealed in the golden lamplight. His chest rising and falling with quiet tension, his hands still clenched like he’s barely holding himself back.

You sit up slightly on your elbows, eyes trailing over the defined lines of his torso, the heat that rolls off him. His gaze finds yours as he comes forward, slow and purposeful.

“You gonna lay there lookin’ at me like that,” he says lowly, “or are you gonna get up on your knees like a good girl?”

The words hit you like a spark to dry kindling.

You move, heart pounding, turning onto your hands and knees in the center of the bed as he comes behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight, feel his warm palm drag slowly down your back, his fingers tracing your spine with almost-too-gentle pressure. Then his hand grips your hip firmly, pulling you back, adjusting your angle like he’s positioning you exactly how he wants.

“You know how beautiful you look like this?” he murmurs, voice ragged. “How good you are for me?”

You start to say something—anything—but then you feel him against you, thick and hard, sliding along your folds without pushing in. Teasing.

You whimper, push back slightly, silently begging, and he chuckles behind you.

“Desperate now?” he says, leaning over your back, his mouth warm against your ear. “I warned you, didn’t I? You show up in that dress and expect me to behave?”

And then—finally—he pushes into you.

A long, slow thrust that fills you completely, taking his time so you feel every inch. Your hands twist in the sheets, a broken sound tumbling from your lips.

“Fuck,” Pedro groans behind you, grip tightening on your hips. “You’re perfect—always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

He pulls out just enough to make you ache before thrusting in again—deeper this time, more force behind it. His pace builds gradually, controlled but hungry, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the quiet room.

You arch your back, moaning with every stroke, and his hand slides up to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly in place. Not hurting—just anchoring you. Letting you know exactly who’s in control.

"You take me so well," he growls, hips snapping harder now. “Every fuckin’ time.”

His other hand slides down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease, circling in rhythm with his thrusts. It’s too much and not enough, your body strung tight between the way he’s fucking you and the words spilling from his mouth—rough, reverent, utterly unfiltered.

You can feel your second orgasm rising sharp and fast, your body clenching around him, and he knows. He always knows.

“That’s it,” he murmurs through gritted teeth. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

You do—helpless and loud and shaking apart beneath him as he rides you through it, his rhythm never faltering. He fucks you through the waves until your legs give out and your arms collapse beneath you, face pressing into the mattress.

Pedro slows just enough to pull you back upright, wrapping one arm around your waist and dragging your body against his chest as he thrusts up into you from behind, now deeper, rougher, needier.

His mouth finds your neck again, his voice broken with restraint.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Fuck, I’m so close—wanna come inside you, baby.”

You nod, gasping, grinding back against him.

“Please,” you manage. “Want it… want you to—”

And with a deep, guttural groan, Pedro buries himself to the hilt, his whole body tightening as he comes hard inside you, holding you there, letting you feel every pulsing wave of it.

You both collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and sweat and breathless sounds. His arms curl around you as you come down, his hand sliding up your stomach, holding you close like the world outside the room doesn’t exist.

You can still feel the press of him inside you, warm and full, and the slow kiss he plants behind your ear is a silent promise—one that says this isn’t just about lust or need.

It’s him. It's you. It’s always been more than what anyone sees at a premiere.

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 2

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.8k

cw: angst but not too heavy this time, allusions to self harm, questioning of worth i guess?, reader wonders if she’s supposed to be there and what’s going on, kinda awkward interactions tbh, lots of confusion; not proofread

Synopsis: You soon find yourself filling in the role of Em’s friend and roommate, and try to fit into your new life and new (?) job at the Hunter’s Association. At lunch break, you and Em eat lunch with Xavier only to find some… odd behavior from him.

author’s note: I really need to be updating my Once Upon Another Time PoTo x LaDS series but this has taken all my inspiration :( i feel like this is kinda weak but it has some good lines. i don’t know how to write xavier so ill try to figure that out before i write more of him

tag list: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007

Series Masterlist

Em certainly knew how to hold a conversation, you quickly realized.

She was the exact opposite of you. Where you were quiet and reserved, she was loud and outgoing. She could talk to anyone, and it seemed as though she held all the energy in any room she entered.

That wasn’t a bad thing, of course. You almost envied her for it, the way she could so easily navigate social situations. She was charming and witty where you were shy and sarcastic. It was far from a bad thing, it was just something you weren’t used to.

And why would you be?

This is the life of the Main Character.

“So, anyways, I was trying to get him to switch with me so I could have a turn, but he insisted that he keep playing!” Em was complaining about one of the men wrapped around her finger, and you had honestly lost track of which one she was talking about now. For having five objectively attractive men practically at her feet, she certainly didn’t appreciate them all that much. “He said he’d use his Evol and it’d be fine, but then he still missed!” Her expression was exaggerated, her pitch rising as she kept talking. A small pout formed on her lips. “All that to say, we didn’t get a plushie,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry, who was this again?” You decided to just bite the bullet. You’d learned that Em was aware she could talk fast sometimes and skip out on details, so asking for clarification wasn’t that anxiety-inducing anymore.

“My friend Xavier. He’s a hunter, you might have seen him? Silver-white hair, big, blue eyes, tall, really quiet?” Em cocked her head.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve… seen him around.” You nodded. You couldn’t exactly explain he was a Love Interest in the only game you played daily.

“Yeah, it’s hard not to notice him. I think most people in the Association have at least heard his name, even if they haven’t seen him.” Em suddenly stopped, grabbing your arm and pointing to a small shop with her other hand. “That shop looks so cute! We have to go there.”

You didn’t argue, simply following her lead like a lamb as she guided you to the store. Another thing you’d realized: Em was used to getting what she wanted. But she was never rude or entitled about it. No, that’d be too negative for a Main Character. She could be a bit bratty at times, however, a trait often showed in memories with Sylus or Caleb. Clearly, though, this wasn’t something she only did with them. You’d fallen victim to her pouts, puppy-dog eyes, and guilt-tripping in the mere three hours you’d been together.

Despite all this, your differences, your slight annoyances, your envy, you’d managed to become somewhat comfortable around Em. Maybe it was her Evol helping her resonate with everyone, but it’s like she just knew how to make people like her and be comfortable. You weren’t sure how you felt about it. She couldn’t read you and your emotions, something you were thankful for, but she was clawing at the walls you’d put up defiantly, like the kitten Sylus so often compared her to.

After a few stops at a couple more shops, you two finally headed back to your apartment. You were filled with some kind of rotten eagerness. A person’s home can so easily show their secrets: their struggles, interests, and happiness. You wanted to see how you lived in this life. You wanted to see if it really was better than what you’d had before.

You wanted to see if what you were losing when you entered this world was really worth missing.

The apartment was… nice. Like the rest of Linkon, it was sleek and innovative. You recognized a lot of it from the screenshots in the back of the main storyline or memories, but there was something unnerving about the whole place. It reminded you of Em’s eyes. Pretty at the first glance but lacking substance when you look further.

There were a few things here and there that weren’t in the original art of her apartment. A stack of books here, an extra pair of shoes there; Your mark was evident. You weren’t just shoved to the side to make room for the main character. You were allowed to self-express in your own (new?) home.

“Why do you look so shocked? I mean, I know I straightened up, but it wasn’t that messy before,” Em laughed.

“Nothing… just thinking.” You shook your head. “It’s not important.” Em cocked her head but didn’t say anything more.

You hovered in the entryway for a moment after kicking your shoes off, taking it all in. Em stayed in the living room, scrolling her phone as she laid sprawled on the couch. Then, as if your body knew what your mind did not, you entered what you could only assume was your room, dropping your tote bag in the chair in the corner and shrugging off your jacket. You performed what felt like second-nature, like your body remembered this life where your mind didn’t. It seemed like force of habit, so you could only wonder if adapting to this new world would really be all that difficult.

“I’m going to sleep!” Em yelled outside your door. “You should soon. We’ve got to get back the Association tomorrow and I just know Jenna’s going to overload everyone with work after that whole issue in Skyhaven.”

Habit was a funny thing.

It was as if some things didn’t need a second thought, just something you did because your body knew to.

But how did your body know your exact routine in this life? There was nothing inexperienced about any of it. You didn’t bump into any furniture, didn’t look for where your shirts were kept for twenty minutes, didn’t question anything.

What was going on here?

You grabbed a bag you didn’t even know existed before and a travel mug from the counter before leaving with Em. This was routine, you realized, but whose?

As you were leaving the apartment building, Em turned around, zeroing in on a specific window. You curiously followed her gaze, only to find the curtains drawn.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

Em’s gaze suddenly snapped back to your own, as if she forgot you were there next to her. “Oh! I was just going to see if Xavier was leaving too and let him walk with us.” She laughed. “Of course, knowing him, he’s probably still asleep!”

I didn’t think Xavier usually went to the Association, you thought. Didn’t he just take missions without showing up?

What else is different?

You shrugged. “We can wait for him, if you want,” you offered. You didn’t know if you really should be interacting with any of the Love Interests, but if you both worked at the Hunter’s Association, you couldn’t really avoid Xavier.

You couldn’t change things that much anyway, right?

“No, it’s fine.” Em shook her head. “Let’s just go. I have a meeting with Jenna first thing and I do not need to be late again,” she groaned.

With bright lights and wide windows, the Hunter’s Association certainly left no stone unturned. There were no shadows to hide in, no darkened corners to find refuge, not even a closet to hide the skeletons you knew the Association had.

You subconsciously adjusted the tote bag on your shoulder, feeling the weight of your laptop and the folders containing God(Astra?)-knows-what. You’d tossed your copy of Frankenstein in before you left, too. You didn’t know why. It wasn’t even your favorite book, but it was something real. The annotations were fragments of another life. A life where you hadn’t been happy, so why did you find yourself missing it so much?

Your hands itched at your thighs again, feeling the healing cuts rub against the fabric of your pants.

“Well, I’m gonna go.” Em’s voice, bright like the Association, broke you from your thoughts. “Say hi to Nero for me!” You nodded and returned her wave as she walked away.

Wait.

Nero?

What did he do…? You wish you had the guide from the game giving you descriptions on everyone and everywhere. What did they say about him? He liked Wanderers… and didn’t he have social anxiety?

Your feet took your where your mind couldn’t and you saw Nero sitting at a slightly cluttered desk with an empty one directly across from him.

His little portrait in-game did not do him justice. He was honestly cute, especially with his slightly oversized glasses. He was shy, sure, giving you a weak wave of acknowledgement, but he was by no means lacking confidence. He dodged eye contact, but his shoulders were back and his posture straight. You could tell he was confident in himself, just not in others when it came to socializing.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, almost unsure. “I left a report on your desk for you to read over… just, whenever you have time!” he quickly clarified, as if he didn’t want to put unnecessary pressure on you.

“Alright, Nero,” you smiled, your grin only growing as he glanced away.

You quickly fell into a rhythm after getting settled at your desk. Nero was in data analysis, you finally remembered, which meant you were, too. At least, in the same department. You had a different job from Nero, compiling and proofreading all of the information from the reports. It could be confusing here and there, especially trying to decode any shorthand used or even just some messy scrawl, but it was overall easy work.

Now you understand why Em had mentioned you helping her by giving data. You had access to all the data that went through the Association. Even what they hid from the Hunters.

In a world where knowledge was the only thing you had, this realization held unimaginable power.

Between what you knew about a few characters from the game and what you could learn from all these reports, it didn’t seem like you’d be scrambling for some footing.

You and Nero fell into a rhythm, too. He would complete his reports, pass them over to your desk, where you would edit and transfer into the database. Not many words were exchanged, maybe a quick “here” or “thanks” muttered occasionally. With such a loud life next to Em, it was nice to find these quiet moments of reprieve with him.

A few hours passed quickly before the clock hit 1:30. You straightened up your pile of reports before rising from your chair. “Nero? Aren’t you going to lunch?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I’ll just stay here for my break. You have a fun time, though.” He gave a weak smile.

“Alright, if you insist…”

Em met you at the entrance to the Association, a tall blond in tow. “Hey!” she exclaimed as soon as she saw you. “I wanted to introduce you to Xavier since you said you’d never met, so I thought, why don’t we all get lunch so you two can properly meet!” She grinned widely, quickly glancing between both of you.

You gave a polite nod and introduction to Xavier, not expecting much from him. He never paid much attention to anyone beyond Em, you knew, and you didn’t want to incite any unnecessary jealousy if he thought you two were too close. You were roommates, after all, and you’d seen Xavier get jealous over only a neighbor.

You didn’t think his jealousy would stop at only men, either.

To your surprise, however, he grabbed your hand, giving you a chaste kiss on the top of it and a small smile. “Nice to meet you,” he murmured.

Okay, what?

You hadn’t expected him to be rude; he would never be rude to someone important to Em. But this was a bit kinder than you’d expected. Just a bit.

You, Xavier, and Em left the Association, walking down the street after Em proposed some hotpot. She was slightly ahead of you and Xavier, extremely enthusiastic compared to your relaxed pace. You thought it odd that Xavier had stayed back with you instead of hovering next to Em, but what was odder was the hand ghosting at the small of your back.

This was a comfortable motion, maybe not practiced, but definitely not awkward. You felt his eyes on you as you kept looking forward, his chin tilted up as he looked at you through his bottom lashes. He was searching for something. You could feel it, though his face betrayed nothing.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was just as confused as you were with the amount of attention he was giving you compared to Em.

Hotpot was nice, if a little chaotic. Em and Xavier sat together in a booth, with you across from them in a chair. You were directly across from Xavier, and you noticed him watching you closely as the meats and vegetables cooked. There were even a few times when Em had to frantically tap him to get his attention and say it was done.

Conversation ended up flowing easily between the three of you, once you got settled. You and Xavier were putting in as much as Em, something extremely unusual for the both of you. Right now, Em was in the middle of telling of an interaction with a civilian during a mission, which was apparently so funny that she couldn’t breathe for a few minutes before beginning.

“He kept insisting that he be let past, like he knew what was going on!” She howled with laughter. “I said, sir, you don’t wanna be involved in that and he just held his hand up and said how can you know that, I’ll do as I please! Obviously, he took two steps, realized what was happening, and got out of there as fast as possible. Honestly, I don’t know what people are thinking sometimes.” Em wiped the stray tears from her eyes.

“Wait,” you chuckled. “So he was just like: ‘oh i can do this, i’m better than a trained hunter, step aside little girl’?” You raised your hand, the back of it facing you, just as Em had done to get your point across. Em didn’t say anything, merely laughing as she nodded. You laughed, too, keeping your hand raised although it faltered.

Xavier, who had completely dissociated for the entire story, snapped back into focus. He zeroed in on your outstretched hand, immediately drawing a conclusion you weren’t sure how he reached.

“Mind if you borrow my hand?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed. He leaned forward a little, raising his own hand. “…Like this?” He tapped his hand against yours in a weak high-five.

Watching your hand falter, out of sheer confusion and shock for how this was playing out, a slight frown grew on his face. “It seems you had something else in mind.” He shook his head, his lips now curling up at the ends. He quickly entwined his fingers with your own, holding your hand tightly. “Can I borrow your hand, then?”

Your mouth was slightly agape. He was supposed to be acting all cute like this with Em, not with you!

“Is this what you call borrowing?” Xavier chuckled as he released your hand.

You stared at him, barely noticing Em glancing between you both. A frown was playing on her lips, and she shifted closer to Xavier. You watched him closely as he absentmindedly chewed his food. You were trying to figure out why he did that.

Why did it feel so familiar?

What was it so comfortable?

You figured it out later.

Finally, after a few more hours the Association and a quick dinner back at the apartment where Em was uncharacteristically quiet, you figured it out.

It was a Relax Time in the game. One of those little interactions you unlocked as Affinity increased. It was identical down to the dialogue. Except, those were always little couple-y moments shared between the MC and her Love Interest in Destiny Cafe, always adorable, always invoking your somber envy.

So why was Xavier doing it with you?

You didn’t think Em liked it much either. She wasn’t bitter about it, you could tell, just… confused. She isn’t officially dating any of the Love Interests as of now considering just the Main Story has happened, but it’s still odd for any of them to be doing something remotely romantic with anyone, man or woman.

You just hoped you wouldn’t run into any of the other men. Who knows what that could lead to?

You didn’t know what exactly was going on, or how you could deal with it, but you knew one thing: Something was wrong.

Maybe it’s your fault. Maybe you’re not supposed to be here. Maybe your very presence is throwing everything off-kilter.

In a game so based around Fate, unexpected events don’t seem very welcome.

And what were you, if not unexpected?

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[rockscanfly]

Noshir Dalal's (Charles Smith's VA and the man who largely shaped Charles into the singular character that he is, found here on tumblr @noshirdalal and on Cameo [in case you have your own questions you'd like answered]) beautiful response to my cameo prompt:

Q: You’ve mentioned before that Charles likes to read. What is his favorite book? Also, you’ve talked some about cowboy poetry and how you think it’s something Charles might have connected to. Can we get a favorite poem of his in his voice?

Besides the fact that this reading of "The Men That Don't Fit In" was just plain fantastic and moving as all get out, I really admire Noshir's choice of poem.

Similar to the poem’s author and his simultaneous celebration and castigation of the prototypical outlaw, Charles always came off to me as someone who loves his fellow gang members deeply but who didn't share their illusions about themselves or how they function within the larger context of the world around them.

Charles makes several remarks throughout the game ('Unpleasant? How do you rob and kill people pleasantly?' 'All this death and for what? Just so we can have enough money to be able to run from what we've done?' 'The amount of hell we raised, we’re owed some back') that indicate a high level of self-awareness about what it is the gang ACTUALLY does and how they're perceived by the outside world. 

Arthur makes some gestures at this understanding throughout the game, but his moral musings are undercut by his inability to stand his ground against Dutch throughout the numerous acts of outright cruelty his found-father perpetuates in Chapters 4-6 (Arthur barks, but he never bites).

Arthur and John have their gripes and moans, but ultimately the two of them stick it out until the bloody end. Charles is the first person to really break free of the fate the gang is hurtling towards.

In a tragedy built on the back of it's main cast's inability to cope with a changing world, Charles is arguably the character who exerts the most agency. He makes the decision in Chapter 6--when the circumstances that once tied him to the gang have dramatically altered--to cut loose.

Because of this choice, he lives.

To me, at least, this poem--and Noshir's brilliant delivery--isn't about Charles himself. Or at least not just about himself.

Its him talking about the Van der Linde gang. Arthur and John, his second family. Wild, brilliant, bold, true, free--and gone. With nothing but graves to show for the lives they lived.

Charles isn't reciting a poem--he's reciting a eulogy.

Transcript:

Hey Rocks. Um, thank you for your patience with all of this. 

Yeah, so we know that Charles reads and I know that we’ve talked before about a scene that apparently didn’t make it into the game, where after Charles’ interaction with Micah—and you know, yeeting him across the camp—Arthur comes upon him reading a book. 

That uh, that scene affected me in a major way and I think it's probably the reason I portray Charles the way I do. 

A guy who can physically manhandle pretty much anyone at camp having the mental and emotional maturity and self-regulation—if you can’t tell I’m a new dad [laughs]—to find a way to deal with his anger that doesn’t involve acting out and breaking stuff? 

Told me a tremendous amount about Charles, especially because what I’d been introduced to was the idea that Charles was a really violent, really angry maniac. 

And I love the idea that he’s really into poetry. I like poetry a lot. Actually when I was working on that latest skin for Yone (spl?) for League of Legends, I learned from the writing team that cowboy poetry is, like, a thing. 

And so I decided to look some up. And I like to think that maybe that this is a poem that Charles would have had in that book he was reading. 

The poem is called “The Men That Don’t Fit In�� by Robert W. Service. Fitting, I think, especially for Charles for a number of reasons. I hope you like it. 

[Noshir goes into Charles’ voice and recites below poem by Robert W. Service (British-born Canadian Poet, 1874-1958), published in his book Songs of the Yukon (1907)]

There’s a race of men that don’t fit in, A race that can’t stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain’s crest; Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don’t know how to rest. If they just went straight they might go far; They are strong and brave and true; But they’re always tired of the things that are, And they want the strange and new. They say: “Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!” So they chop and change, and each fresh move Is only a fresh mistake. And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead, In the glare of the truth at last. He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; He has just done things by half. Life’s been a jolly good joke on him, And now is the time to laugh. Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost; He was never meant to win; He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone; He’s a man who won’t fit in.

[lightlybloomed]

When quiet hearts break loudest (J.B)

When news quietly breaks that Joe Burrow and his long-time girlfriend have parted ways, the internet reacts.

It wasn’t the kind of news that exploded. Not at first.

There wasn’t a dramatic unfollowing spree, no cryptic song lyrics posted at 2 a.m, no blurry paparazzi photos of Joe with someone new. Just a quiet confirmation buried halfway down a local Ohio sports report: Sources close to the quarterback confirm that Joe Burrow and his longtime girlfriend have amicably parted ways.

And that was it.

Except of course, it wasn’t.

Because even though she had always stayed behind the curtain—soft-spoken, shy, the kind of person who genuinely didn’t seem to care about the cameras or the chaos—people noticed.

People loved her for it. She was the calm in the storm of his rising fame, the gentle nod in the background at charity events, the girl who clapped quietly from a VIP box while everyone else screamed.

She never posted much. No couple TikToks. No matching outfits. Her Instagram, set to private. Her name? Rarely mentioned.

But fans knew. The way he’d glance into the crowd after a win, scanning for one face. The way he once stuttered and smiled in an interview when asked about “someone special.” She was there—woven into the fabric of his life without needing to shout about it.

So when the breakup finally surfaced, the internet didn’t roar. It sighed. It mourned the kind of love that felt like a secret garden—private, peaceful, and maybe too good for the noise of the world.

“Not Joe Burrow and his girlfriend breaking up… they were the only couple I trusted 😭” — @bengalsgirl94 “She was like… the final boss of lowkey girlfriends. I respected her so much. Hope she’s okay fr.” — @lovelyquiettype “This feels like finding out your grandparents are divorcing.” — @sportssofties

It wasn’t about drama. It wasn’t even about picking sides. It was about the quiet grief of watching something soft end.

There were no public statements. No messy “we still care about each other” Instagram posts with mismatched fonts. Just… silence. The kind that makes you wonder if the love they had was realer than most, precisely because they never had to prove it to anyone.

They reminisce about her thoughtfulness when asked about Joe; “I cared because he cared,” she stated, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I started learning it so I could understand what made him light up.”

She wasn’t built for the spotlight. It made her stomach twist. She’d walk three paces behind at events, always dressed in something simple. But Joe—he’d glance back, make sure she was there. And when she smiled, he relaxed.

And even then, you carry the story with you.

People will speculate. They already are. Some think it was the pressure of his career, others say they simply grew apart.

But the truth is simpler than all that—they ended things because love, even when it’s good and steady, doesn’t always last forever. Not when two people want different futures. Not when one of them is meant for the spotlight, and the other has always shied from it.

They loved each other. That’s not up for debate. But love alone wasn’t enough.

She wasn’t meant to live in the glare of stadium lights and endless cameras. She tried—God, she tried. But every game day came with eyes on her, every post-game photo sparked speculation.

She loved Joe, but not the life that came with loving someone like him. And in the end, she chose herself. Quietly. Bravely.

There won’t be public statements. No soft-launch heartbreaks or PR-friendly “we remain friends.” They’ve said their goodbyes privately, in words the rest of us will never hear. He’s back on the field, throwing passes like nothing’s changed. But it has. You can see it in the way he doesn’t glance at the stands anymore.

She’s gone. And he let her go.

Not all breakups are messy. Some are just the quiet, clean breaking of something that once fit perfectly—and doesn’t anymore.

And this was one of those.

[annimator]

An OC? With themes &/or motifs associated with them?

ALRIGHT THEN! TIME TO RAMBLE ABOUT MY FAVOURITE OC FOR THE 3RD-4TH TIME ON MY MAIN BLOG >:D

———

Jadeyn’s motif is simple; heart, love and passion. Heck, I even made Heart their last name cause I thought it’d be cool, and implemented a heart symbol into their main design.

Passion & Love are primary themes of my OC story, especially with how most, if not everything within its setting stems from my interests (aesthetics, games, anime, cartoons, a lot of stuff rlly). This also includes my OCs, as they inherit at least 2 or more interests from myself as a way to help me build up their characters. Also most of them are in relationships with each other so y’know.

So in a way, I associate heart my overall OC story & my characters, but Jadeyn is a special case since it’s a crucial part to both their character and backstory

They have a very interesting relationship with it besides the fact that like I already mentioned, heart is literally their surname.

They love retro video games, music, comics, and slime with all of their heart (see what I did there lol) and are very passionate when it comes to anything relating to them, but romantic AND self-love is a whole different story.

Given the fact that they’re Asian-American & a non-human species (context: they & my OCs live in a futuristic fantasy world overflowing with magic. Jadeyn in particular is an Elemental, learn more about them here!), and was also into geek culture stuff, they were bullied. A lot.

They were able to stomach it at first, considering people like them were usually bullied from what they’ve heard, but it still didn’t change the fact that they’ve been ridiculed & pushed around by others.

And then they started to get told that because of their non-human heritage & appearance, they weren’t worthy of love.

Jadeyn’s self-love & belief in romantic love dwindled every time they hear their peers insult them by saying it. Leading to them hiding their non-human features by keeping their hood up & shifting into their more human-like form. Even moving to another country to restart couldn’t change what happened.

They still love their interests & stay up to date with the recent news surrounding them, but their lack of self-love often eclipses it all.

Things come to a head once they enrol into Arcana Academy; and being put into a team where everyone’s basically in a relationship, with one couple in particular always rubbing their love for each other into the team’s faces to Jadeyn’s absolute dismay.

And the worst part of it all, is that Jadeyn falls for another member of their team the very moment they first met, and they know fully well it definitely isn’t requited.

…

But they were wrong.

Cameron requited his feelings for them,

He went out of his way to gift Jadeyn two pieces of retro technology they’ve always wanted (including the walkman they have in their design),

He indirectly asked Jadeyn out on a date,

He gave Jadeyn their first kiss, and told them point-blank that he loved them & thought the very same non-human appearance that they were ridiculed over was beautiful,

And Jadeyn immediately felt years worth of self-hate dissipate over it all. Alongside their belief in romantic love reigniting as they told Cameron that they loved him too, and brought him into their second kiss.

———

I honestly think that Jadeyn’s entire heart motif is the main reason as to why they’re now my favourite OC.

They’ve gone through shit (which isn’t really special tbh. I even have OCs that’ve gone through worst shit than them. Look at Marcus & Liam), and emerged out of it as an asshole with low self-esteem, but they’ve learned to love themselves again.

Because of Cameron, they’ve gotten more confident & proud of their Elemental heritage, no longer hiding away their appearance through a hoodie & incorporating Elemental abilities into their main arsenal. And they now don’t feel any shame about showcasing their interests to others and pursuing them as hobbies.

Of course, they’ve shown how grateful they are towards Cameron from time to time. It’s not like the jacket Cameron wears in their design was just something they bought, and not a jacket Jadeyn painted with love after all.

And they can’t help but bring Marcus & Liam under their wing once finding out about how similar both of their experiences with getting ridiculed mirrored their own.

TL;DR, Jadeyn’s theme/motif is about the love they have for their interests, their friends, Cameron, and more importantly, themselves.

…

Also they’re probably on the autism spectrum now that I think about it

What motifs or themes are associated with your oc? Is it bc you associate those with them, or in story? Tell about it! Is there symbolism involved?

[hudsonpatootie]

Bubbling thoughts

My last post about what it would be like to date Jihan and Jibeom made my mind explode with ideas—so many that I'm trying to write something for them. But for now, I'll just share a few loose thoughts I had about what a relationship with them might be like.

Warning: In this post, I'll be referring to both of them (choose which one you want to imagine in these situations). Later, I'll write separately, prioritizing the individual personality of each one. :)

Dating these guys is like being transported into the game Stardew Valley, where you aren't the protagonist but rather the single NPC they chose as their romantic partner. So, sit back, relax, enjoy the peaceful countryside, and watch their attempts to win you over.

As boyfriends, Jihan and Jibeom would visit you almost every day. Even with their duties of taking care of Chungcheong-Do and the family business, they would always make an effort to spend time with you. They would constantly gift you natural and handmade products, which you would use to prepare meals for them in return as a way to express affection. Over time, the boys have learned your tastes: artisanal honey and jams? Yes, please! Pet snakes or companions in the bath? -10 friendship points.

Romantic dates to celebrate milestones in your relationship? YES! They are hopeless romantics, and for them, the perfect date consists of taking you on tours around Chungcheong-Do, showing you the landscapes and animals in the countryside, and taking you to visit the beer and honey productions they manage. Sometimes, they would also take you to other provinces, like Seoul, where you would enjoy urban outings—shopping, going to the movies, and spending quality time together. If you're dating Jibeom, you'll definitely want to buy clothes for him. He’ll insist he doesn’t need new clothes, and you'll insist even more that he does. As the relationship becomes more serious, they would invite you to a more intimate date—a herbal and mineral salt bath, which would later become part of your routine together.

The Kwak brothers are very transparent with you regarding their duties in Chungcheong-Do and even their involvement as members of the second generation. They explain the basics of the dynamics between generations and groups but make sure not to involve you directly in these matters. They want you to continue living a peaceful life and would never forgive themselves if the relationship with them brought you problems.

Don't be fooled—Jihan and Jibeom always try to maintain a tough facade, hiding their feelings behind smiles and confident words. But in reality, both carry deep pain from the loss of Jichang. That pain has turned into fear—they are terrified of losing another person they love. It will take a lot of conversation and understanding to break down those walls until they finally open up to you about their fears, feelings, and insecurities. When that happens, your relationship will only grow stronger, and you'll both be certain that the only thing you want is to spend the rest of your days together.

In short, dating these two is a 10/10. They are incredibly sweet—a little impulsive, as was evident during their debuts? Absolutely. But nothing that a few good conversations can't solve. Please, PTJ, bring these men back! I need more content to write about them with more coherence!

PS: Hi everyone, how are you? This was my first attempt in years at writing something. I think the last time I did this, I was 14 years old and writing BTS and MHA fanfics, but that was quite a few years ago laughs. Please forgive any spelling mistakes—I'll try to improve.

I'm also using a translator since English is not my native language, so sorry if the translation sounds a bit off. Another thing is that I struggle with structuring my text properly. Tumblr is barely used in my country—I think I've only seen about four people from here using this platform—so I'm trying to learn how to use this app better (it took me five minutes just to find where the drafts were) and how its features work to improve the structure of my posts.

I think that’s all. Thanks for reading this far:)

[mari-lair]

Super curious cause I kinda did this for my swap AU but if Akane wasn’t childhood friends with Aoi, but met her in school (since they’re the same age), then would they still have their whole point system / crush thing going on or 🤔

Cause in my AU, he’s clearly not her childhood friend cause she’s busy being an exorcist and thus never really meets him, or at least doesn’t spend much time with him like canon but still, he crushes on her in middle school and tries to impress her (which leads to him kinda stunting everything about himself because he wants to be exactly like the people she likes without realizing him being himself is fine to her) but the question is, if the crush happens later, then would the same love confessions slash point system slash their whole thing even work?

Those kind of questions are so hard to answer since being 'childhood friends' is a core part of their dynamic but I'll do my best.

I doubt the point system would still happen because of how personal and incredibly childish it feels. There was a lot of circunstances involved to get where they were now.

Take the new timeline for exemple: The engagement made it so the point system was transfered to Teru, it isn't a way to show how impressed/in love Aoi is, it's a way to show how well Teru did on his fake dates.

This happened because Akane no longer confesses to her (Aoi was shocked when he got on his knees at the dinner, his confession clearly wasn't a daily occurence) so there is no way to make a game out of it.

I bring the new timeline to say that HOW Aoi grew up now that Akane is absent from her childhood would deeply shape her.

Her growing up with Teru made her more connected with the supernatural world, and made her more bold and shamelessness compared to old Aoi. Just compare how new Aoi went out of her way to crash what she assumed was a nene and Akane date and the old one hid in her room for a week at the idea.

So depending if she was completely alone during her childhood or if she had another childhood friend in her clan that isn't Akane, it would already reeeeeeeeeeeeallly alter her reaction. No friends means she would be completely alone as a kid and have to learn to defent herself from all the people that harasses her, that wouldn't be a problem to exorcist aoi, who is used to fighting mosters, but it would means she has a bias agaist boys. If they aren't that close, to the point she wouldn't consider them friends, she would just say "I am not interested" instead of keeping it vague.

Even if she think 'akane is nice for a boy' or have any kind of possitive view on him she would not like if he first approached her with a crush.

As for Akane I don't think he would be even half as desperate. Just like he doesn't confess to his engaged childhood friend in the new timeline I can't see him insisting on confessing to a girl that had said point blank she has no interest. And if they ARE close enough for Aoi to not reject him point blank, she have to consider him a very precious friend, and I feel like Akane would focus much much much more on worrying about his friend's exorcist life and how dangerous it is than focus on confessing to her.

That's his main thing, half of the manga is him bending himself to keep her safe. Chapter 69 reveled he looked after her even BEFORE he got a crush, when all Akane saw her as was 'someone weird who is unbothered by bullying'

only after a while of this would he go "wow you actually cares a lot! I am in love"

And even them, keeping her safe is a constant in his mind. Clock keeper contract? Keep her safe from a truck acident. Stalking her? Keep her safe from harrasment (we have zero hints new timeline Akane stalks her so i really doubt akane would stalk an exorcist aoi that can protect herself, unless he stalks her in her job? oooh that would be fun actu- anyways i am getting sidetracked)

I just can't see Akane prioritize impressing her when she is constantly in danger (specially if she is alone). And if they are not that close I would have to ask WHAT made Akane fall in love in high school with Aoi, what was the event? Cause there got to be something she did to catch his attention. Akane does appreciate beauty but he needs more than a pretty face to fall, he acknowladge but don't really care about Teru's beauty, he looked down on Nene for obcessing over looks, and when Kou talk about his old crush on Nene he expect more than just her having a cute face. He also befriended Aoi first instead of getting a insta crush like all the other boys, so on so on.

So there have to be something that made him smitten. I doubt it would be her crying over a fight since they are not that close/ Aoi is tougher and cant handle bullies herself/ she is likely more closed off as an exorcist too. Depending what this event is (maybe she got hurt rescuing him from a supernatural? He was very touched when Aoi fought in chapter 121... Though that would only work if they are close enough for her to care so idk.)

Even if not quite like this, of one thing i'm sure: making Aoi an exorcist and making Akane not be her childhood friend would make their dynamic extremely different from canon, regadless if Aoi has a childhood friend that isn't Akane or not. The circustances that lead aoikane to their weird relationship with points and daily confessions were extremely specific, like, is not just them being childhood friends that got them to this:

Without the clock keepers contract there wouldn't be such a big distance between them, and without said distance Akane wouldn't assume he isn't doing enough and become increasingly more obnoxious in his displays of love in the first place.

[purplesimmer455]

Thanks for the tag, Fin 😊. Okay so five non sim things are:

1. Nancy Drew: Ever since I was a kid, I've loved the ND books. They were so much fun to read and I loved solving the current mystery with Nancy and I loved that time Nancy punched a shark in (I think) Greece. When I found out there were games too, I ended up playing them and I was obsessed. The graphics are a bit clunky compared to modern ones but games like treasure in a royal tower, danger by design, and the creature of Kapu cave are some of my favorites. 🕵️‍♀️

2. Futurama: I started watching the show years ago, and I kinda fell in love with it. It's a show set in the future and has a billion main and side characters that show up from episode to episode but it's weirdly one of my comfort shows and I rewatch the episodes constantly and I'm just starting on the new season. Honestly, I like all the main characters, and I want to dress my sims as them for fun. Amy and Kif are one of my favorite couples on the show, and I want to dress Stephanie and Riley up as the two. 🚀

3. The ghosteas podcast on YouTube: I love anything paranormal or spooky, so when I stumbled across this podcast on YouTube (hosted by two sisters, Nadoly and Maci), I was hooked. I love how they cover either real life hauntings such as the Dybbuk box, haunted dolls, the Bell witch as well as how they cover listener stories sent in to them. Despite how scared I get listening to the stories, it's a comfort podcast for me too and I love the host's personalities. 👻

4. Urban legends/folk tales/myths: Related to the previous fave, I love learning about different kinds of urban legends and spooky stories from around the world. But also even just folk tales and myths, such as Turandot, Sedna, etc. It stems from my love of fairytales as a kid. I even bought this cool book called Beneath the moon by Yoshi Yoshitani and it’s a collection of a bunch of cool folk tales and myths from around the world along with illustrations, and I love to re-read it. ✨

5.Hidden object games: This is something else that stems from my childhood, but I’ve loved these simple point and click games where you find a hidden object in game scenes. I always loved the sceneries some games had. Some were spooky and dark and such but others were more fun and lighthearted adventures so it was a good mix, plus it’s where I first learned what an awl was because they always had you trying to find it even though it rarely got used, 🔎

I tag @matchalovertrait @abbysimsfun @pink-chevalier @stargazer-sims @changingplumbob @shmoodlet @strawberriesnpopmusic @sharona-sims @sratanner40 @opalsimmer @bloomingkyras @aleksa-sims @necile @hashimasims @simscici @silverspringsimmer @igglemouse and @perolesims

I'm interested in hearing about everyone's nonsims interests (and i have a deep burning desire to share my own) so I want to hear from you all! Rb this and list 5 (or more, or less) of your nonsims interests. These can be hobbies, shows, books, other games, etc. I'll start!

Genshin Impact: I've been playing since 1.1 consistently, so I'm a veteran player! If anyone wants to add me, feel free to ask. My favorite characters of all time are Diluc, Yae Miko and Arlecchino!

Critical Role: I watched TLOVM on prime and it was all over for me. I'm currently watching c2, and I'm on episode 99! I plan to watch c3 after that then go through some of the shorter seasons for the lore. I love all of the mighty nein (but I have a special soft spot for cad and caleb), and my favorite Vox Machina member is Percy! I have kept up with bells hells as it's aired, and without having watched it my favorite is Ashton.

KCD2....listen. I have not played the game and don't plan on it anytime soon. But I have fallen so deep into the hansry pit on here it has invaded my life outside tumblr. I'm in the ao3 trenches right now. Henry is my favorite

The Locked Tomb Series by Tasmyn Muir: This series has left me with worms in my brain I am begging you to read it. I shill it to everyone I know irl. Gideon is so important to me.

The Magnus Archives: This podcast is essential in understanding who I am. Jonathan Sims you will always be famous. Some of my other favs are Gerry Keay and Michael Crew, and my favorite episode is MAG 65 - Binary. It is so horrifying

Honorary mentions: EPIC the musical, The Untold/MDXS, Dimension 20/Dropout and Survivor. I also enjoy baking (very amateur), reading and camping (casually). :D

I'm tagging: @changingplumbob @wolkentage @perolesims @bananzerssims @femboytrait @purplesimmer455 @opalsimmer @onestormeynight @philodendrontrait. You do not need a tag to do this, though; rb it or leave a comment PLEAAAASE I want you to tell me about what you are passionate about and what you like! All of you!

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Bob and the Superhero Love Story Arc

Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/sentry x (f)reader

Tags: fluff, feelings, kissing, comfort, learning disabilities, childhood friends, found family (thunderbolts), some nice times because Bob deserves it

You were ten years old.

You were both in the same special needs class in elementary school.

Even if your needs were different.

It was your first day at a new school after you and your older sister had just moved to a new town. It was a small suburban town, with a small school at its center and small classrooms. Your sister had registered you at the main office, quietly informing the principal that you had a learning disability. He nodded and got up to exchange some husged wispers with the front desk lady. A moment later, the woman offered a soft smile before motioning for you to follow. "Come with me, hun."

Down the hallway, she led you into a quiet classroom where about ten students your age sat. The teacher paused mid-lesson as the door opened, and everyone turned to look at you next to the front desk lady.

"Miss Brown, please welcome your newest student," the secretary said.

The teacher, an older woman with kind eyes and a denim vest, nodded. "Good morning, why don't you come up here and introduce yourself."

You walked up to the front of the class, slightly fidgeting with the hem of your dress and told everyone your name.

Ms. Brown smiled. "It's very nice to meet you, y/n. We don't get new students often around here."

Gesturing to a boy at the far end of the room, she said. "You can have a seat next to Robert."

He sat alone, half-curled into his hoodie, shaggy brown hair hanging over blue eyes. The desk beside him was empty. You crossed the room with your backpack slung awkwardly over your shoulders, pulled the chair back, and sat down. Your hands were slow as you arranged your notebook and pencils.

"Hi," he wispered, looking up for only a second.

You smiled. "Hi. I’m Y/N."

He nodded. "You said that."

"Right," you chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat. You sometimes blabbed when you were nervous. "You have a nice name, Robert."

"Bob’s okay," he murmured, opening his notebook and scribbling the date in the corner.

Feeling like you somehow said the wrong thing, you turned to your desk and did the same, copying down the teacher’s notes. Your grip tightened on your pencil as the words blurred. Like they always did.

At lunch, a few of your classmates came over, smiling and curious.

"Hey, I’m Alex," a boy said.

"I’m Kate. I like your dress," added a girl sitting beside him.

A few more names followed. A boy named Timothy and a girl named Gillian.

"So, what do you have?" Timothy asked plainly.

You blinked. "What do you mean?"

He motioned vaguely around the room. "Everyone's got something in this class. I have ADD. Alex is on the spectrum... what about you?"

"Oh," you understood now, swallowing. "I’m dyslexic," you said quietly, pressing your lips together the way you always did when explaining it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Bob glance up from his desk, eyes flicking to your notebook before returning to his.

"What’s that?" Kate asked.

"I... I have difficulty reading," you explained.

They gave you a variety of looks. Some curious, others sympathetic.

"I’ve never heard of that," Gillian said. "Sounds awful."

"Gillian," Bob said, without looking up.

Gillian grimaced, giving you an apologetic look.

"It's okay," You smiled, grateful even for that brief defense. “It’s not too bad,” you said, even if you didn’t always believe it.

The truth was that the school didn’t have the resources to distinguish between different types of needs. So, they grouped everyone together. And in time, you all became something like friends.

But Bob was still... distant. When you all tried to include him in group games or projects, he’d just shake his head, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on his desk.

Until one day.

Your sister was late picking you up, and most of the others had already gone home. You sat on the curb, arms wrapped around your backpack, and then noticed Bob lingering nearby.

You plopped down next to him, your leggings brushing against his scraped-up knees poking through wrinkled cargo shorts.

"Your parents not picking you up?" you asked.

He flinched slightly, then glanced over. His hair was a mess and falling into his eyes. You had the sudden urge to brush it away.

"Sometimes they’re late. Or they forget," he said with a sad little smile, eyes fixed on his shoes. "It’s alright."

You frowned. He smiled, but he clearly wasnt happy. You looked around, trying to come up with something to change his mood.

You froze when your gaze landed on the school playground. "Wanna go on the swings?"

He looked at you, uncertain.

You offered your hand. "Come on. It’ll be fun."

He hesitated. Then, slowly, his hand met yours. It trembled slightly in your grip.

It was that day you first felt it. A little flutter in your chest came with holding his hand. A crush.

From then on, you watched him more closely. How he always sat in the back. How he flinched at loud noises. How his eyes lit up when a teacher asked a question about science, or outer space, or machines.

It was during a group project—the group being your entire class— that you realized how sharp he was.

You and your classmates were brainstorming ideas for a model bridge, and Bob sat at his desk and mumbled something about tensile strength and suspension systems.

Kate blinked. "How’d you know that?"

He shrugged. "It was in one of Ms. Brown’s books."

"Huh. That sounds smart. Let me write it down for the presentation," Alex said, scribbling it down. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bob smiled a small smile. "Sure thing."

And that smile stuck with you longer than it should have.

You enjoyed math's and sciences enough, but your favorite subjects were history and literature. The ones that ironically required a LOT of reading and writing. After your sister showed you a movie about a pair of journalists who uncover a major political conspiracy, you had your goals set on becoming a journalist. And for that, you'd have to ace the humanities.

One afternoon, you were hunched over your history book you were researching for an assignment, frustrated nearly to tears. The letters wouldn’t sit still.

"Can I?" Someone asked softly. You looked up and saw Bob, taking a seat next to you, motioning toward the book.

You nodded, swallowing hard and handing it to him. Afraid that if you'd open your mouth, you'd might let out a sob.

He read aloud, voice low and steady. Something about the way he spoke made it all easier. You could’ve listened to him for hours.

You never told him how grateful you were. How safe you felt in that moment.

By the time you both turned sixteen, Bob had started to withdraw even more. You still waved in the halls. Sometimes he waved back, sometimes he didn’t. He was absent more often than not. But somehow, his name always showed up on the academic distinction list that was plastered on the wall at the end of each term.

The crush still lingered, quiet and patient.

He didn’t come to graduation.

And you wouldn’t see him again for a long, long time.

You were twenty-two now.

The surprise press conference was in full swing. Cameras flashed as Valentina stood at the podium, parading the new Avengers. The memory of the recent disaster still lingered in the air.

You’d been on the opposite end of New York during the Void attack, but the moment authorities announced it was safe to return, you were assigned to cover the story. So you rushed to the scene with your press badge and your crew.

You were just an intern at The Washington Post, clutching your phone as you tried to keep up, typing every word Valentina said with great effort. Your brows knit in concentration. This could be your big story. You didn't want to mess it up.

You looked up off your screen to take a brief look at the new Avengers.

Then your eyes caught on him.

One of the team members was clapping awkwardly with the crowd, standing a little behind the others like he didn’t quite belong.

Your hand flew to your mouth.

Oh my God.

"What is it, y/n?" Your co-worker, Anthony, asked while snapping pictures with his professional camera.

"Uhm, nothing. I'm just excited." You mumbled, your eyes glued to Bob.

He’d changed.

He used to hunch over like he was trying to disappear into a desk. Now he stood tall—broad-shouldered, navy sweater tight across his chest. His curly brown hair was longer and messier, but it still fell into his blue eyes when he looked down.

But his smile—shy, unsure—was exactly like you remembered.

Your old classmate, Bob. Your first crush... was an Avenger. A superhero!

After the conference, you circled the venue until you found him, chatting with the Avengers. You made your way over—only to be stopped by a stone-faced agent.

"Stand back," he said flatly.

"Right. Sorry." You lifted your badge. "I’m with The Washington Post."

He gave you a once-over. "Interns don’t get access to the Avengers."

The comment was meant as a dig, but it didn't work. By now, you were used to being overlooked and underestimated. And you knew you could deal with it with sass when the time was right. You raised a brow. “You’re gonna regret that when I’m head writer someday.”

He snorted. "Come back when that happens."

"Come on," you said, trying not to sound desperate. "I just want one statement from the team."

"No—"

"I give statement to nice young lady," came a booming voice behind him.

You turned to see the Red Guardian looming like a wall of muscle, casting a long shadow over the both of you.

"We have orders—" the agent began.

"Davai, Shoo, little man. I get brand deal now," Alexei said, swatting him away like a fly.

You blinked, feeling starstruck. "You're the Red Guardian. From the Soviet Union."

You'd read a lot about him in your history of the Cold War course, a required course in your journalism program. Alexei was truly a fascinating figure, a warrior. A spy. A human experiemnt. And he stood in front of you in the flesh.

"Washington Post, you say, da? I enjoy watching senators play... what you call... football. Ridiculous game. The name makes no sense. It's called football, but they hold it in their hands—but it's very violent. It's very entertaining."

Before you could respond, a quiet voice spoke up.

"Y/n?"

Bob had stepped beside Alexei, eyes wide with recognition. Your heart skipped. His voice was deeper now, steadier.

You smiled, a little breathless. "You remember me?"

He nodded, warm and surprised. "Of course I remember you." His gaze roamed your body, and a pink coloring appeared on his cheek.

Recovering, he turned to the others, gesturing to you. "Guys… this is a friend from back home."

They all gave you the once-over, some more skeptical than others. You offered a sheepish smile and wave.

Bob glanced at your badge. His brows lifted. "You’re with The Post? That’s amazing!"

There was genuine pride in his voice.

You smiled back, feeling something catch in your throat. "Well… interning for now. But yeah. It’s a dream come true." You hesitated, then added, "And you’re an Avenger!"

According to Valentina, he was one of the strongest beings alive.

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You probably don’t remember me that well. I mostly—"

"I remember you, Bob."

He blinked. Swallowed. Opened his mouth—and couldn’t find the words.

The agent came back, signaling to you to wrap things up.

You cleared your throat and lifted your recorder. "Sentry, can I get a statement on this exciting new team-up?"

Bob opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything. He did this a couple of times.

Walker elbowed him. "Say something before you embarrass yourself."

Bob coughed. "C-can I see you again?"

Walker winced, shaking his head.

You froze, lowering the recorder. Then let out a small, surprised laugh.

"I mean, we don’t have to—" Bob backtracked.

"How’s next Monday?" You cut in.

His eyes lit up. "I’d… I’d like that."

You tore a page from your notebook and scribbled your number. When you handed it to him, he looked at it like it was something rare.

"I don’t like her," Yelena muttered, pacing the lounge.

Ava rolled her eyes from where she was sprawled on the couch. "What now?"

"She’s too pretty."

"I know," Bob mumbled, eyes on the floor. "Why would someone like her want to be with someone like me?"

Walker chuckled, chips halfway to his mouth. "Nice going, Yelena."

"What?! No—I just don’t want him to get hurt, okay?"

"You can’t protect Bobby from everything, docha," Alexei said with a shrug, stretching out over the other leather sofa. "Even heartbreak is part of manhood."

Bob frowned. "Heartbreak...?"

"Oh my God," Bucky groaned, rubbing his temples. "Can you all shut up? They haven’t even gone on one date yet."

He clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder. "Relax, son. It’ll be okay."

New tech filled the lab at Stark Tower. Bob was tucked into the far corner, flipping through the worn, half-burned files from Valentina’s vault.

Equations lined the whiteboard in his handwriting. On the table beside him lay pages from Tony Stark’s notebooks, dog-eared and annotated with scribbled notes. Every so often, he muttered to himself, tapping a finger on a page.

"Hydrogen density ratios don’t match…" he murmured, then sighed. "Unless the pressure chamber’s offset by six degrees…"

You smiled at the door. Sentry—the mighty Avenger—looked like a very tired, very nerdy engineering student.

You cleared your throat.

He looked up, startled, then grinned sheepishly. "Oh. Hey. Sorry, I was just… working on something for the team."

"It’s okay. Your coworker Walker let me in." You stepped closer, glancing over the papers. "Anything interesting?"

"Sam’s flight suit overheats at high altitudes. I thought Stark’s insulation algorithm might be adaptable."

You nodded slowly. "Wow. That sounded really smart. I wish I understood half of it." You chuckled.

"I can explain it," he offered, shrugging. "If… that’s something you want to hear."

"Yeah. Definitely." You bit your lip. "Maybe over pizza?"

His eyes lit up.

You licked tomato sauce off your fingers. "So, you’re solving cooling issues while the Red Guardian is learning how to post on Instagram?"

"He is?" Bob asked across the table from you before taking a bite of his peperoni and mushroom slice.

You held out your phone. "He’s live right now. Doing a Q&A."

Bob raised a brow. "Wow. Twenty thousand viewers?"

"They mostly ask him about his workout regimen."

He snorted.

The two of you walked side by side down a quiet Midtown street, the city’s hum distant behind you. Hands jammed into his jeans pockets, he nudged a pebble with the toe of his sneaker now and then. No godly aura. Just… a guy.

You laughed softly as you reached your building. "You’re still the same, you know."

Bob looked down. "I don’t feel the same."

You watched him—how his jaw flexed when he was deep in thought, how his brow furrowed like it always had. "You are. Just taller."

At the door, you turned your key. "Thanks for walking me home."

"Anytime." He lingered, hands still in his pockets. "Can I see you again?"

"I’m heading to D.C. next week for a press conference," you said, before joking. "Wanna fly down to meet me, Sentry?"

He smiled. "I might stop by if I’m in the area." Then he leaned in and kissed your cheek before wishing you a good night.

A knock came at your hotel window.

Sunset spilled across the National Mall in orange, blue, and soft pink. Stepping away from your papers and notes you've collected from the day, you walked over, heart skipping as you spotted him hovering over the balcony, wind in his hair, a shy grin on his face.

You threw open the window. "Oh my god!"

"How was work?" he asked.

Shaking your head, you laughed. "This isn’t real."

"I want to show you something." He held out his hand.

"…Are you serious?"

"Trust me."

You hesitated, then pulled on a jacket and boots before coming back and placing your hand in his.

"If you drop me—"

"I won’t."

With a gust of air, you lifted into the sky, wrapped in his hold. The city dropped away beneath you, a sea of lights and honking horns. Your stomach tensed as your hands gripped his shoulders.

"Don’t let go!"

He laughed above you, the sound vibrating agains your ear, and tightened his hold.

"I won’t, I promise." he said quietly.

He brought you to a rooftop that overlooked the Potomac, the city was wide and glittering in the distance. Wind woodshed around as Bob touched down, setting you down gently.

You whispered. "This is… amazing."

By a rusted AC unit, a picnic blanket was laid out with a paper bag and two bottles of Coke.

"Did you do this?" you asked, sitting beside him, knees brushing.

"Do you like it?"

You peeked into the bag and gasped. "Burgers? This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to anyone."

He chuckled. "What can I say? I’m setting the bar high."

You took a bite of your burger and moaned. “God, this is good. All i had to eat today was a croissant for breakfast." You turned to him. "You really are a hero."

He looked out at the horizon. "Still doesn’t feel real."

You wiped around your mouth, lowering the burger in your hand. "Must’ve been a massive adjustment, huh?"

"Sometimes, when everyone’s asleep, I just sit there… waiting to wake up. Like this is a dream."

You blinked, unsure what to say.

"You remember everything now?" You asked.

He nodded. "Bits. Enough. Mostly the bad parts."

You placed a hand on his. "Wanna to talk about it?"

"I should." He hesitated. "My therapist says it’s healthy. But maybe not right now."

You nodded. "Whenever youre ready."

He glanced at you. "I was wondering… when we were kids, how did you handle your dyslexia?"

You leaned back on your palms. "It was hard. People often thought I was lazy. Until I finally went to a school that recognized what having a learning disability means."

His jaw tensed. "Thats not fair. Im sorry."

"It's not so bad." You shrugged with an easy-going smile. "I got creative. Audiobooks helped a lot. Or people reading to me. Like you used to."

He looked at you, something tender in his eyes.

You asked gently, "Where did you disappear to after high school?"

His gaze drifted. "Nowhere good. I tried to… change. To fix myself. But Sentry—he wasnt a good solution. I couldn’t stop the—"

He stopped talking when he realized he was about to say "void" and possibly reveal his dangerous alter ego to you. He wasnt sure how youd react.

"I couldn’t stop the bad times. Until the Avengers helped me claw my way out."

"Its good you have them," you said softly. "And that you’re here."

He finally looked at you. His eyes were glassy, filled with something wounded and ancient.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess it is."

The two of you sat like that. Talking and watching the city light up the night.

After he flew you gently back to your balcony, Bob touched down with barely a sound, the soles of his sneakers brushing against the floor. The wind tugged at his hoodie, making his hair tousled from the flight.

He stepped back, motioning for you to go inside. But you lingered in the doorway.

"Thanks for tonight," you said, your voice low, carried barely above the breeze.

He smiled, looking down at his shoes. "Anytime."

You hesitated.

Then stepped toward him.

Before he could say another word, you leaned up and kissed him softly.

He froze for a second. His breath caught, sharp and startled.

You wondered if it was a good surprise or a bad one.

But before you could pull away, his hand lifted, finding the small of your back, pulling you gently but firmly closer.

His fingers rose to your jaw, warm against the curve of your neck. His lips softened into yours, gradually going deeper, more certain.

You gasped softly against his mouth as his his thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone. The scent of him, laundry detergent and wind, filled your senses. Your hands found his chest, feeling the muscles and ribs underneath his hoodie.

His hand shot out, bracing against the wall beside your head with a solid thud, his body crowding yours back into the doorway. Your blood roared in your ears.

And then you heard a crack.

You pulled back slightly, breathless. "What was that?"

He glanced at his hand, still pressed to the wall… or rather, into the wall.

A small hand shaped hole had formed beneath his palm—brick flaked and splintered, dust crumbling down.

Bob blinked. "…Shit."

You burst out laughing.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Smooth. Way to go, Bob."

"You dented my wall," you teased, poking his chest.

"Yeah, well, you kissed me!"

You stared at each other. Then you were both laughing.

You grinned. "Goodnight, Bob."

He stepped back, hovering just off the balcony, the night air catching the hem of his hoodie like wings. His eyes never left yours.

"Goodnight, y/n" he said, voice low and happy.

And then he rose into the sky.

Bob came back to Avengers tower at around two in the morning.

"Where have you been?!" Yelena ran to him in a range, then pulled him into a hug. "Don't just walk off like that without telling us where you're going!"

Bucky leaned against the wall behind her, his face a mixture of disinterest and worry. "Shes right. You could have been hurt."

Bob wanted to laugh, he felt like a kid being lectured by his parents, but in a good way. He's never experienced that before.

"Did everyone forget the part where I'm invincible and have superstrength?" Bob patted Yelena on the back as she hugged him, muttering angrily that if she had to tie him to herself, again, she'll do it.

"Yeah, and what about your other version of pops by to say hello again?" Ava walked up to the living room with her hands folded.

His smile dropped. Ava was right. He slowly relearned to control Sentry's powers, but he never learned to control the Void. Hell, he barely understood what the Void even was, and thanks to Valentina, any scientist who may be able to clear that up was dead.

He didn't feel the void resurface as much since becoming an avenger. Even forgetting about him—especially since things were going so well with you.

"Ah, relax and let the kid have some fun, would ya?" Walker strolled out of the kitchen in bunny slippers and civilian clothing, his presence a welcome disruption of the tension. "You did have fun, didn't you, Bobby?"

Bob nodded eagerly, then slowed his movement when he saw Yelena's narrowed eyes. Now was probably not a good time to mention the fact that he got so excited from your kiss that he broke a brick wall with his hand.

"You be careful of pretty girls." She pointed a finger at him, then turned towards the hallway. "Hooligan, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

As his team all dispersed into their rooms, Bob plopped down on the couch. Instead of trying to wake up from a dream, he played with the strings of his hoodie, smiling as he thought of your laugh.

[kaytheday]

Two-bit headcannons please i love ur stuff💚💚

Thank you! Here are some of my musical based Two-Bit Headcanons:

Story Headcanons:

He was born in American Samoa sometime around 1949-50ish. He is currently 17 or 18 when the musical takes place.

His family left American Samoa when Two-Bit was only eight years old. His mother had just learned that she was pregnant with Two-Bit's little sister and knew that if she had her in Samoa, she would be trapped with her abusive husband forever.

She took Two-Bit and fled Samoa, leaving her husband and all his abuse behind.

Once in America, Two-Bit's mother changed their names both to sound more American and to make sure that her husband could never find them.

There they settled in Tulsa Oklahoma and Keith was placed in school.

At first he was a real quiet kid. He was new and poor and from a place none of the other kids had ever heard of. Through both of these things, he really wasn't a friend to anyone. So he was quiet.

Trouble came when one day on the way home from the fourth grade, a group of kids jumped him. They were beating him pretty bad before another older guy stepped in.

He was in 6th grade and his name was Darrel Curtis. He stepped in and chased the younger fourth graders off. Learning that they lived in the same neighborhood, Darrel brought this kid to his house and managed to get him cleaned up. During that time, he learned his name and everything about him. Once you get him talking, he isn't ever going to stop.

After that, Darry started walking Keith to school along with his little brothers, Steve, and Ace. Once he started talking to them, he never really stopped and that's where he got his nickname.

General

Two-Bit was the one to introduce Dallas to the rest of the gang. He met him at Buck's bar and they hustled some guy in poker together. After that, Dallas was introduced to Steve and then to Soda and then to the rest of the gang.

Two-Bit has gotten alcohol poisoning twice in his life. The first time was two months after the Curtis parents had died. He was with Steve and managed to drink so much that he'd thrown up all over Steve's shirt. Steve had rushed him to the hospital, not knowing what else to do. Then he'd called Ace who'd managed to get Two-Bit's mother there. Steve didn't talk to him for nearly two months after that.

The second incident was after Johnny and Dallas and none of the gang knows about that time.

Besides Dallas, Two-Bit is the one that is the closest with the Shepard gang. In grade school, Two-Bit and Tim had met in an English language learners class. English was both of their second language. They'd become close friends in that class.

Two-Bit is really good at card games but bad at pool. He has a suprrisingly good poker face. He's the one who taught Johnny how to play poker.

Hope this was up to your expectations! These were fun to write!

[boxofzoodles]

My relationship with Queer baiting

(Alt Title) One Scene from this Game (which I have never played) has made me Feral(tm) (In a Good Way) and Possessed me to Write and sign up for Tumblr

I am obsessed with the romance scene between the prince and his knight. Not only for obvious reasons, but also for some new ones: historical queer baiting, what it means to be bisexual in a world where gay people are persecuted, and how that culminates to in this emotional scene. 

The reason being is this is an extremely bisexual story. Two men who (let's face it, are definitely womanizers) live in a patriarchal Catholic society, who realize in a moment alone before potential annihilation that they would rather admit their unspoken attraction rather than live apart. 

The confession from the prince comes in the form of a story which mirrors their own. For the time it was written and told, it was likely not overtly gay (for fear of censorship and exile from the Catholic church). The story follows a prince and their knight who are inseparable: they eat, sleep, court, and seduce women together. One day the knight rides off and is captured. The prince thinks he is dead and so the prince dies of a broken heart.

Rereading through the story - it's possible to interpret from multiple frames of view wholly different meanings. 

From a Catholic point of view it could be seen as devoted brotherhood, a story of great friends and a lesson hidden that friendships can be more important than life itself.

From the Gay point of view, it's a full love tragedy like Romeo and Juliet (Better yet Achilles and Patroclus (shout out Song of Achilles)). The prince and knight clearly love each other, to the point of sharing intimate times and the prince dying of grief at the (mistaken) loss of his love.

Both points of view have tons of different takeaways too depending on the reading. Is it a failing of the prince that they loved/liked the knight so much they died before learning they were just imprisoned? Did the prince not love the knight enough to stay alive for him? Is it a tragic story meant to help people move on when losing a friend? A message that even friendship is powerful enough to grieve over?

Or maybe the death at the end is metaphorical? A symbolic end of a friendship or relationship that was two people drifting apart?

The story itself does not give us enough context to make any reading of this more important or correct than any other. But the context of retelling the story does.

The prince retelling the story in a moment alone in bed chambers is a love confession. Every time the game gets to this point he says this story. The only thing that changes is your reaction: is your character open to this romance or attraction? If so - love scene, if not, the game continues as normal and you might think the prince really likes you as a friend. 

In the context of a highly patriarchal and Catholic society, the only way for the prince to even admit this to your character is complicated - he can't outright admit his feelings for you, but he can cloak his desires in the form of a vague story. If he is caught he has enough deniability to discredit and avoid punishment, and enough emotion and context to allow you to begin a relationship if you pick up on his context and share his attraction.

Stories like those, which are not overtly straight or gay, are so important in the times when the knight lived - times of gay censorship. It's the reason why so much coded language exists to talk about queer relationships. "They were just great friends", "you know gals being pals", "they're roommates". Unfortunately it seems like we are returning to a time when we must rely once again on coded language and metaphors to tell our stories.

I have a complicated relationship with coded language and "queer baiting". In some cases media can swing wildly from being one or the other. This is only depending on what position the majority of people hold. It's easy looking back to compare shows like Steven universe to The Owl House and feel frustrated that SU didn't say (early on) canonically that the characters are gay. But I would argue that as a product of their time, they were the closest thing we had to mainstream stories we could tell to one another without fear of persecution. When Steven Universe came out it was a breath of fresh air, a mainstream platform picking up a slightly queer story was such a new idea for little (bi-oblivious) me. When The Owl House came out, (and I was more comfortable with my sexuality) I couldn't help but look back at Steven Universe with contempt for its lack of focus on explicit gay relationships and treat The Owl House as a breath of real fresh air. Even as I praised TOH I am not free from bias.

Most of my work is filled with cis straight white men, some of who I would not feel safe if they knew I was part of the community. Being a cis bi man married to a cis bi woman, nobody would even think of it. I can simultaneously despise needing to use coded language to talk about my attraction to both men and women, and also applaud stories that (even unintentionally) use only coded language to tell an LGBTQ story because at the end of the day, my interpretation of those stories helped me learn more about myself.

As long as oppression and censorship exist in the world, I think there is a place for these stories to exist. And I hope one day enough explicitly gay media exists that we can put all these stories on display in museums. A reminder of the cruelty of the past, and a warning to never go back.

Anyway gonna go back to the void from whence I came and think gay thoughts.

[itsjustmebluesilly]

Linked Universe: Daycare AU :)

Time and malon work at a daycare together!

Mal works at the daycare, time was a war vet who was always miserable, Mal forced him to go to her job and he immediately fell in love with the kiddos lmao uhhh here loredump on the chain children

Kiddies:

Wild (Cub) 6 - Wild is around 6 years old, and is best friends with Hyrule. He tends to put a lot of toys and such in his mouth, and the reason why there’s so many child locks and why he has a special sink to clean the stuff he puts his mouth on. Wild loves exploring with Hyrule and somehow the two keep breaking out of the building to explore. Wild also likes helping Malon prepare the snacks, and is very restless during naptime, unless he has his favorite plush.

Twilight (Pup) 7 - Wild’s older brother (by 1 year), he’s absolutely obsessed with farm animals and takes care of the daycare's pet. (dunno if i want it to be a hamster or a dog/cat), he likes playing pretend with his younger brother. Twilight is a little animalistic like his brother, and like the rest of the little chain, playing pretend. Twi and Sky bond over the love of animals, and they tend to talk a lot about them. Twilight is also very protective of his little brother, and can and will get into fights if provoked.

Wind (Guppy) 4½ - Wind has an older brother (Wars) that’s in like, in 5-6th grade, and talks about him a lot. Wind absolutely loves when they take trips to the aquarium. He’s extremely energetic, and a bit of a handful sometimes. He always talks about how he wants to grow up and be a pirate, despite pirates…not really existing anymore?? He plays in the rain when it’s raining outside, and always seems to forget to put a coat on when he does. Loves boats and trains.

Hyrule (Rule) 6 - Hyrule is very sweet and always tries to help everyone. He usually sticks with Wild, and the two of them explore almost every day, trying to learn something new. He collects as many rupees that he finds randomly on walks and such to save up for new toys to bring in. He likes fantasy books and reads about myths and legends a lot. He is, however, scared of blood.

Legend (Bunny) 7 - Legend is a bit of a bully, and tries his best to act aloof. (He’s terrible at it.) He tends to always bring in something new every day, though they always seem to have the same brand… (With a certain purple bunny.) Despite trying to be independent, the rest of the chain always ends up roping him into the games they play and such.

Four (Mini) 8 - Four is actually one of quadruplets (Shadow is adopted,) though their parents decided it would be best for the kids to have separate daycares because the last time they were all in one, well-. Four is always building something, whether it may be buildings out of legos for a game the chain is playing, to an arts and crafts thing that Malon printed instructions for. Four is actually the oldest (besides Wars because he’s not really in here-) of the chain, but yet he’s also the shortest. Four ends up fixing the toys that Wild breaks, though he asks Legend for help when Wild accidentally rips a plushie.

Sky (Bird) 5½ - Sky is very sweet, though he sleeps a lot of the time. He’s not as outspoken as the rest of them, though he does hang out with Twilight a lot. Sky sits by the windows a lot and daydreams, and he always brings a blanket with him. (It has the pattern of the sailcloth.) Sky loves birds, and he also has an imaginary friend (Fi.) Sky’s favorite time in daycare is naptime, where Time usually reads some sort of story to get the boys to sleep. Malon tends to find Sky asleep in Time’s lap, and has a small laugh seeing her husband asleep too.

That's all, the idea came to me some random morning and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I don't work in a daycare (though I used to go to one) so I'm partially basing that experience for this. Apologies if it's not really that good, I didn't feel very confident posting this either but eh. I might make a sub blog for this, if people want it. In fact...

anyway yeah, please correct me on any info that might be wrong. I don't really have a good grasp on some of their personalities, I'm trying my best here ok-

[sunday-bug]

Thank you for the tag @societyfolklore 💗

First Character You Wrote a Fanfiction About: I used to only use Wattpad, and I remember (this is embarrassing to admit) writing fanfic about Matty from The 1975, but the first fic about a fictional character was Marcus from Ginny & Georgia

Last Character/Current Fixation: James Buchanan Barnes 🤭💗

Most Popular Fic: my Riding Bucky oneshot - one of the first things I posted on here… just a very smutty, self indulgent piece about his motorcycle 🫠

Fic You Are Proudest Of: I really love my Terry the Terrific series with my OFC, Maggie - The Magic of Yearning. Haven’t written for it much lately, but need to get back to it. I’m also proud of my Steve x Bucky fluffy oneshot where they are domestic and married - Steve’s Sketches 🥺

Fic That You Wrote That You DISLIKE The Most: I just don’t post things I don’t like, but there are a few ask requests I could have spent more time on/given more detail

Strangest Thing You Ever Learned for a Fic: Nothing too weird, but how far Delacroix is from the airport lol

Strangest Fic/People wonder where it came from/Why: I don't think I have one, but maybe some of the Terry the Terrific stuff because some people don't know the character or lil short film Seb was in.

Favorite AU Type to Write: I haven't written an AU yet that I'm aware of, but I would be interested in College!Bucky or like Coworker!Bucky. The fantasy and sci-fi stuff people write is so cool, but I don't have the capacity for that right now.

Favorite Trope/Type of thing to Write: I don't know that I've written it much here because I'm kinda new to the Tumblr writing game, but I love second chance romance and childhood friends to lovers or just friends to lovers. I like reading enemies to lovers, but CAN'T write it well. I've also been loving writing Bucky x Steve x reader. And Dad!Bucky.

TAGS: @soelstress @buckybarnesfic and anyone else that wants to do it <3

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

[separatist-apologist]

so i got thru a lot of the grymforge stuff. still haven't done the adamantine demon dude yet - i will circle back once i get some stuff i missed earlier, but i did end up fighting nere. i was going to side with him just to avoid his legendary action, but i can't not help the gnomes. even as a duergar i feel bad just leaving them. i blame barcus lol. so i got half the duergar mercs on my side, rolled up to fight nere and it actually went really well. i targeted him initially, but once he starts his legendary action response i switched focus to the mind controlling duergar and then when nere dropped his legendary action i had battle master lae'zel and open fist monk karlach beat the crap out of him. then my gloomstalker duergar took out the others from the high ground. it worked really well that i feel a lot more confident tracking back to the goblin camp to deal with ragzlin and minthara. i need to youtube videos on fighting the spectator because i really want to get the mourning frost staff for gale. right now i have him using the staff of arcane blessing from the wizard tower, but the frost damage from the other staff is just super OP. especially when paired with that hat in balthazar's secret room in act 2 and the necklace in the inquisitor's room at the gith creche. though i am contemplating making someone a draconic sorcerer (either wyll or astarian since i don't really know what to do with them at this point). and there's a lot of really great builds for a ice sorcerer online just dealing insane damage. i still want someone in my party to be a paladin. i initially had wyll as 2 warlock/3 paladin, but level 5 seems too early game for multi-classing. i think level 6 is better. but i don't know if stats wise paladin works for him - unless i remove warlock completely and go all in on paladin? i could respec him completely to suit it, but as of now his charisma is really high which would work with a warlock/sorcerer build. but i'm still unsure because astarian is super useless right now with my duergar as a gloomstalker. i changed him to a swords bard, but i'm not sold on this for him. the only ones i'm happy with are my duergar, lae'zel as a battle master, karlach as a monk, gale as a abjuration wizard, shadowheart as a tempest cleric. and i still have halsin, jaheira, and minsc to recruit and idk what to do with them either. i know that's a ways off and i could literally die at any moment so why bother worrying, but i'm a overplanning anxious nutjob so i can't not think 50 steps ahead lol.

Not to paladin post, but I do think a pure paladin build is the best build rather than splitting it. You could do bladelock for Wyll- I know a lot of people live and die by that build.

I would reroll Halsin into an Oath of Ancients, honestly- once you get him. Or knock out Minthara rather than kill her and then use her, if you want. Shes Oath of Vengence which is my personal favorite build because its pretty hard to break your oath (SO LONG AS YOURE NOT PICKING A LOCK!!!).

Also I want you to know I took YOUR advice and told M where the grove was because you said the battle was cinematic. I always just kill them in the temple but instead I told Minthara where the grove was and then went and got Halsin.

Zevlors speech (I'm playing as a tiefling) had me all choked up like hell YEAH we're a family. And of course right when the battle ends, Halsin strolls in looking serious and big [redacted] so I appreciate that