#one of my specific tasks at one of my old jobs was specifically dealing with the delivery guy

[namira]

Tbh I know people joke about how it's funny that the protagonist of New Vegas is a courier a lot but like idk man every single mailman I have ever known has frankly been insane or like bizarrely aggressive and I've no doubt this would go double for someone who would be making deliveries in a world with like radiation and deathclaws

[zaczenemiji]

Can you do a spiderwomen x kenji sato. Maybe she was sent to retrieve emi and then got caught by kenji, and she was put into a jail like thing. So now she's just stuck there. She starts flirting with him. If yk what i mean 😏👉🏿👈🏿🎀💓🌸

Have an ice cream cone. 🍦

Thanks ♡♡♡♡

Kaiju Heist

Kenji Sato x Spiderwoman!Reader

Word Count: 1,066

Genre/Warnings: Anti-hero, Flirting, Imprisonment, Morally Grey/Ambiguous Reader

Author’s Note: This one was a bit challenging, I hope it’s to your liking. Thank you for the ice cream, I offer you this fic.

MASTERLIST

Your plan was simple: sneak in, grab the baby kaiju, and get out. But things rarely went according to plan.

Let’s begin where it all started—that damn spider.

Long story short, your parents were scientists doing experiments on radioactive spiders. You help in their lab and one day, an earthquake enormous kaiju shook the city, causing a containment breach. The next thing you know, a particularly aggressive spider bit your hand.

Of course, you gained extraordinary abilities. Others would’ve loved this and used them for good—be like Ultraman or whatever. But to you, it’s more like a curse. Seriously, you didn’t ask for this so ain’t no way were you going to become a selfless heroine.

So you did nothing with your abilities; you didn’t hone it whatsoever. You looked at it as if it’s just another arm that grew out of your body. Like grabbing a bag of chips from across the room, you’d shoot spider webs out to get it without standing.

Despite living your life as privately as you could, somehow, the Kaiju Defense Force was still able to find you. So here you are now, in their headquarters.

You stood there, arms crossed. “I’ve told you before, Dr. Onda,” you said. “I’m not looking to be a hero. I just want to be left alone.”

Dr. Onda, chief officer of the KDF, and old acquaintance of your parents, leaned forward. “I know. But this isn’t about heroism,” he replied. “This is a highly sensitive mission and you’re the only one who can pull it off.”

"And why should I care?" you replied coolly. "What's in it for me?"

"Payment, of course. A substantial one. Enough to ensure you can continue living the peaceful life you desire without any further interference from us,” Dr. Onda answered.

“And more importantly, it's a one-time deal. Complete this mission, and you'll never hear from the KDF again."

Your face expressed a guarded neutrality but inside, you found it so tempting—the promise of financial security and freedom from future obligations.

“What’s the job?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Dr. Onda tapped a few keys on his desk console, and a holographic image of a baby kaiju appeared, rotating slowly.

“It’s an entity of importance for the goals of KDF to be fulfilled,” he said. “Recently, it fell into the hands of Kenji Sato. We need you to retrieve it and bring it back to us.”

You studied the hologram, noting the details. "And how exactly am I supposed to move a 20-foot-tall kaiju baby without causing a scene?"

Dr. Onda leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. "We have a special containment unit designed specifically for it. It's portable and can be deployed with your help. Your task is to get close enough to activate it and secure the kaiju.”

"And the payment?" you pressed.

Dr. Onda named a figure that made your eyes widen slightly. It was more than enough to ensure your financial independence for years to come.

"Alright," you said finally. "I'll do it. But remember, this is a one-time deal. After this, I want nothing more to do with the KDF."

Dr. Onda smiled, “You have my word."

You turned to leave but paused at the door, and glanced back. "I hope you're right about this, Dr. Onda,” you said. “Because if this goes sideways, I won't be the one paying the price."

Going back to the present—here you are, in Kenji Sato’s basement, trapped in a cylindrical glass containment unit, similar to the one the baby kaiju you were supposed to retrieve was held in.

A floating spherical robot circled around you. “We knew they would send someone,” it said in a mechanically feminine voice.

Suddenly, it projected a red light over your body, scanning you. “But I didn’t expect a spider-woman.”

You pressed your hands against the glass, testing its strength. "Nice trap," you said. “But it's going to take more than that to keep me here."

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” a voice came out of nowhere. Turning around, you see THE Kenji Sato with an eyebrow raised and his gaze locked with yours.

The biggest mystery that bothered you upon accepting this mission was how the hell did this famous baseball star had a giant baby in his basement.

You leaned back, crossing your arms over your chest. "So, what's the plan, Kenji? Keep me here forever?” you asked. “Or do you have something else in mind?"

Kenji smirked. "Depends. Why are you here?"

"Why do you think?" you replied, your tone flirtatious. "I was sent to retrieve that kaiju baby. But now, it seems I've found something else worth my attention."

Kenji's eyes narrowed slightly, "And what might that be?"

You gave him a slow, knowing smile. "You, of course,” you answered. “You're much more interesting than a simple retrieval mission."

Kenji chuckled, though he tried to hide it. "Flirting isn't going to get you out of there."

"Maybe not," you conceded, stepping closer to the glass, "But it does make this whole situation a lot more entertaining, don't you think?"

Kenji took a step closer, his eyes studying you. "You're not what I expected."

You tilted your head, your smile widening. "Good. I'd hate to be predictable."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you sized each other up. Finally, Kenji spoke. "You know, if you weren't here to take Emi, we might have been able to get along."

"Oh, I think we still can," you said, your voice low and seductive. "Besides, I never said I was strictly here for Emi."

Kenji looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction. "And what if I let you out?"

You pressed yourself against the glass, your eyes locked on his. "Then maybe, just maybe, we can help each other."

Kenji pondered this for a moment before shaking his head. "Nice try,” he said. “But I need to know more about you before I make that decision."

"Fair enough," you replied, leaning back once more. "But remember, Kenji, sometimes the spider catches more than just her prey."

Kenji turned away, a small smile playing on his lips. "We'll see about that."

You didn’t wanna include this in your escape plan because things rarely went according to plan. But in your mind, you noted: flirt, make him fall for you, and escape.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@moonlight-starlight-lady01 @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

Navigation

Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

[serialkilluh1996]

✆𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐑✆

Older-Crush-König x Younger-female-reader pt.1

You have an unhealthy infatuation with König. But where there is obsession, there are dilemmas. He's 35, you're 21. He's your colonel, you're just an assistant. But most importantly, he can't fucking stand you.

Warnings: reader has specifically the personality i wrote, use of ☆☆☆ in place of reader's name, age gap (14 years), König is kinda of an ass, contact me if I need to add more.

Proshippers, Comshippers DNI

¹ 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ➛

It's been almost a year since you fell in love with this man.

You were 20, looking for a reasonably paying job to live a reasonably affordable life, and Kortac had just the position.

A base level assistant. All you had to do was make sure everyone was in check, keep track of everyone's time sheets, and make sure all important files, including inventory, were safely stowed away in your computer supplied by the company. Who could turn down such an easy job? You didn't even have to do any field work.

Your life was going pretty damn smooth, if it wasn't for him. Him being König, your colonel and angel. He's a gorgeous man. Bright blue eyes, a firm muscular body, imposing height, his flattering accent. You were instantly in love with him, and he fucking hated it.

It started off small, with him politely hinting you away, but you were persistent. Bothersome. You absolutely wouldn't let him go, and that very fact would be the death of you.

König taps his pen against his desk, unmotivated to write his paperwork that was long past due. It wasn't anything serious, just a list of yes/no, if/and, where/when questions he didn't feel like reading through. Tap tap tap tap, the pen knocks against the table, abruptly stopping once König noticed you standing in the doorway.

He sighs, his entire mood shifting from unmotivated to irritated. "...why are you here, ☆☆☆..." he asks, sounding like more of a statement than a question due to his heavy accent and rough tone. Your name sounded like a curse coming from his mouth; a slur, even.

"I've done all my tasks." You explain to him, hands clasped together as you lean against the threshold.

"Und? Did ya want a cookie or something?" He teases. "I–I–" you stutter out, not sure how to respond to his sarcasm. "Don't worry about it." He fans his hand, looking back down at the paper.

He would've wrather been writing than dealing with you right now. You were so genuinely in love, enamored by him and his....qualities. but to König, this was all just some dumb hormonal puppy crush. He wanted a mature woman, not some silly girl like you.

"I...wanted to know if you'd go to the bar with me." You force out, your stomach churning with anxiety as you finally got the words out. "I'm not gonna be able to sneak you, Liebling, if that's what you're implying." He chuckles softly, beginning to scribble away at the paper.

"Sneak me in? I'm old enough to go to a bar, thank you very much." You look offended. It's almost humorous to him. Your anger is probably the only thing about you that made him smile, how funny and easy it was to piss you off. The younger ones typically did have a shorter temper.

"Oh, und how old are ya? 16? 17?" "...21." You said firmly, visibly irritated. You somehow managed to be the youngest in every group, so you were no stranger to being tease about your age.

"Oh...just old enough to drink. So, you want me to come and babysit you while you get drunk off your ass by some alcohol you're probably not even strong enough to handle?" "Why are you acting like this?" You folded your arms, frowning.

"What?" "I'm not inviting you as a chaperone, I'm inviting you as a date." You tilt your head slightly.

"...A date?" König almost bursts into laughter, stifling his chuckles with coughs as he covered his mouth. You could feel your confidence dropping with every hearty giggle.

"You're asking me out? Seriously?" "...yes." You mumble, no longer wanting to talk. "Why don't you ask Avery, hm? He's MUCH closer to your age." You frown at his words.

Avery was one his soldiers. A very kind young man, no older than 25, messy blonde hair. You loved having Avery around and he always made your moments memorable, but...he was practically a brother to you. You didn't see Avery as a potential love interest, you saw him as a silly best friend who had your back when you needed it.

"I don't want to go with him. I don't like him." You pouted.

"Well, that's too bad, Liebling. I'm far too old to be going out with someone like you. You're too young, und frankly, quite annoying. I want a woman. Not a puppy. Go ask someone else," he clicks his pen, leaning back in his chair.

"You're a very beautiful young lady and I'm sure there's plenty of men your age willing to kill to be with you." "I don't care what tuey want, I care what I want." You try to sound demanding, like you're standing your ground, but it comes out like a spoiled child whining, frustrating you further.

"Don't throw a fit, now." "I'm not!" You shout, now angry with yourself for being so openly bothered by his rejection. He couldn't help but exhale, looking at the sight of you. Your face was hot with agitation, eyes squinted with frustration as you stared into his eyes. He couldn't help but smile at your clenched hands. You were awful at hiding your emotions. It was almost precious to him

He felt himself becoming more tense, having to look down at the desk and put a hand to his forehead. "What am I gonna do with you..." he shakes his head. This wasn't the first time he'd rejected your advances; you've asked a myriad of times, being slowly but surely denied with more force each time.

"... I'll consider it." He offers, scratching his forehead, and you almost instantly rejoice at the idea. You suppressed a squeal as you bit your lip, trying not to make yourself look dumber.

"But not as a date." He interrupts, and you become nervous again.

"I don't want any unnecessary rumors about us spreading around. I'm not dating you and I don't want people to have the impression that I am. I'll invite a few others to go along with us and you will behave like a proper young lady. Understood?" "....Understood."

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Falling Into Place

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

Word count: 768

Pairning: Aaron Hotchner x Agent!reader

Summary: Y/n, a successful FBI agent and niece of Erin Strauss, seeks a fresh start at the BAU 

______________________________________________________________

As you step into the BAU offices, everything feels different from the fieldwork you're used to. The air hums with intensity, every agent here focused on the darker side of human behavior. Yet, this was what you needed—a change, a new start after your messy divorce. You wanted to dive deep into work, lose yourself in cases, and focus on the life you were building for your daughter.

Your Aunt Erin Strauss had made the transfer smooth, though you insisted on earning your place without her influence. The team was impressive, the dynamic was tight, and you had to admit that working under Agent Aaron Hotchner had you on edge from the start. He had barely spoken to you during introductions, and his piercing gaze seemed to size you up with judgment. Not that it was your first time facing that. People had always underestimated you—maybe it was your chic, model-like appearance, the way you carried yourself, or how people assumed you couldn't possibly be both intelligent and beautiful. But you’d proven them wrong time and time again.

Still, Hotch’s cold demeanor unsettled you. He didn’t know yet that Strauss was your aunt, and you wondered if that would make things better or worse. Either way, you weren’t here to win him over—you were here to do your job.

Just as you were diving into your latest case notes, your phone rang. It was the kindergarten.

"Y/n," the voice on the other end said, "your daughter isn’t feeling well. We think you should come pick her up."

Worry filled your chest instantly. Without hesitation, you gathered your things and headed for Hotch’s office. Knocking on the door, you opened it slightly, peeking in.

"Agent Hotchner, I need to step out briefly," you said, trying to sound calm despite the rush of concern for your little girl. "My daughter is sick, and I need to bring her home."

Hotch barely looked up from his desk. "We have a case. Be back as soon as possible."

His voice was clipped, almost dismissive. You nodded, already halfway out the door.

It didn’t take long to pick up your daughter, her small, feverish body curled up in your arms as you returned to the office. She was too sick for you to leave her at home alone, and with no one nearby to watch her, you had no choice but to bring her back to work. The team would have to understand, and if they didn’t...well, they’d deal with it.

As you carried her into the BAU, the team’s eyes fell on you—specifically on the little girl with the large, tired brown eyes, nestled against your shoulder.

You felt Hotch’s gaze from across the room. He seemed to freeze for a moment, his stern expression flickering as he noticed the child in your arms.

“This is my daughter,” you explained, as you approached the bullpen. “She’s a little under the weather, so she’ll have to stay with me for the day.”

Hotch stood, stepping toward you. His eyes softened slightly as he looked at your daughter, something unexpected crossing his face. For a moment, the usual hardness in his demeanor eased.

"How old is she?" Hotch asked, his voice lower, gentler than you’d ever heard it.

“Four,” you replied, brushing a strand of hair from your daughter’s forehead. “Her name’s Ava.”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on Ava for a beat longer. Then, with a slight hesitation, he said, "You can set her up in my office. She’ll be more comfortable there."

You blinked in surprise. That was...unexpected. Hotch, the man who barely tolerated your presence, offering you his office?

“Thank you,” you managed, feeling warmth in your chest.

The day went on, with Ava lying on the couch in Hotch’s office, occasionally waking up to see you or call out for you. You kept checking in between tasks, and every time you did, Hotch would be close by, watching with a quiet, almost protective stance.

Later, as you sat at your desk, you overheard Rossi muttering to Morgan, “Maybe Hotch isn’t as immune to charm as he likes to think.”

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Maybe Hotch wasn’t the cold, stoic man he portrayed himself as. Maybe, just maybe, there was a side to him that could change how he saw you—not just as an agent, but as a mother, and maybe more.

For now, though, you focused on what mattered most—getting your daughter healthy and proving your worth to the team. You were smart, determined, and had come too far to let anyone think otherwise. Even Aaron Hotchner.

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade

Someone a while ago asked me about what Kei's school life in Shell Game would've been like if she was a kid in 1-A as opposed to 1-C, so here's some noodlin'.

(Kei replaces Mineta's slot because I don't feel like dealing with him.)

The facet of being a UA student that bothered Kei the most (immediately) was the scrutiny. The celebrity. The total inability to fold herself and her flat expression and sleep deprivation back into the comforting anonymity of a world without widespread cell phone usage. Every other rando in Japan—arguably the world—knew the school’s reputation and its uniform. The more invested enthusiasts knew the names and faces of all the hero kids in each year and ranked them based on their apparent promise. Kei’s entire being retreated from the spotlight as though possessed by a cockroach. 

The runner-up of annoyances was being trapped in high school again. She’d done her time one life ago and resented that the experience just pigeonholed her into bilingual missions now. But explaining that to Sensei wasn’t on the table, so away she went. 

In the end, though, there was a small silver lining, as thin as cobweb. Unlike general education students, the two heroics-focused classes had occasional permission to use their Quirks to achieve their goals. Such as winning a sports contest between students, but still. It was something. 

“Gekkō. Your turn.” 

Kei jolted back to life like the engine of a forty-year-old car, covering her mouth with one hand as she yawned. Sure, Bakugō’s big boom ball throw had startled her awake, but she’d slept like total garbage last night. The stress from anticipating a new development in any mission made staying asleep an impossibility. 

So she’d kind of sleepwalked through the first few rounds of fitness tests. A lot of the other students’ Quirks didn’t help with their performances—exemplified by the invisible girl and the boy with electric powers—and so Kei didn’t meaningfully stand out. It helped that the students with physical Quirks usually really excelled at very specific tasks, but were dead average elsewhere. Kei barely needed to work to keep in the middle of the pack, only using her water manipulation for effect. 

And now everyone was looking at her. 

Dammit, Kei thought. She rolled to her feet with a little huff and made her way off the sideline with the air of a two-toed sloth dragged out for a quirky sports movie. 

“Do you need a reminder of what the rules are?” Aizawa asked, his voice as dead as Kei sort of wished she could be in this exact moment. 

“No, Aizawa-sensei,” Kei replied as she passed him. An instant later, she caught the tracker-equipped softball without looking, thought it had been thrown at her head. Not like it would have done any damage even if it made contact.

“Then quit wasting our time.” 

Kei didn’t even remember her placement during the UA entrance exam, but this still felt targeted. The numbers didn’t matter. She’d already known she was in, so the only consideration left was keeping the extent of her powers under wraps.  

It wasn’t like Kei didn’t get why Aizawa “Eraserhead” Shōta hated her presence in the class. Her enrollment in UA was basically anathema to the entire purpose of the program. Sensei and the principal couldn’t just cut the guy entirely out of the loop without causing Kei logistical problems when it came to doing her job. At the very least, an uninformed teacher might ask questions when Kei inevitably ran out of the classroom to deal with some crisis. Just because Aizawa looked like he wouldn’t care if his students fell down an open manhole cover, but that was the trouble with judging by appearances alone. 

I could take over the moment it leaves your hands.

Be my guest. 

Kei tossed the ball in the air, clapped her hands together, and summoned a blob of water that expanded in sync with her hands as she pulled them apart. When the falling softball landed amid the watermelon-sized sphere, it warped briefly into an image of Isobu’s curled-up shell before stabilizing. That was a telltale sign even to people without worthwhile chakra detection abilities—as long as they knew. 

So, basically Aizawa. Kei didn’t need to look in his direction to feel his glare.

There we are. Isobu’s power reached forward to engulf the brand new source of ammunition. 

Then the blob, the captive softball, and some simulacrum of Kei’s dreams shot off into the void. Only the thinnest possible thread of water connected Isobu’s new toy to Kei’s index fingers. Kei and the a couple of her classmates watched its erratic balloon-like course until, inevitably, the thread snapped. 

Eventually, there was a beep from Aizawa’s phone. “Five hundred and fifteen meters.” 

Kei rubbed at her eyes, already done with the entire affair. At least this data might be useful for Kei and Isobu’s future adventures in mass hydrokinesis. Perhaps Isobu’s range would be even larger if they added more of his chakra. Running those experiments would have to wait for another day, though. 

“Next,” said Aizawa. Going by the way a couple of students jumped, the next contestant was already on deck and suffering from stage fright. 

Kei wandered out of the chalk with barely any uptick in energy levels. She even yawned again. If the teacher wanted her out of the way faster, he could damn well throw her out.

But because this mission clearly wanted to establish the kind of pattern embodied by a combat deployment—boredom followed by intense spikes of activity, and then more boredom—Kei didn’t get a chance to nap. She found herself blinking away the drowsiness to the sound of Aizawa verbally ripping a kid to shreds. 

And it wasn’t Kei’s fault. Or even related to her. 

Novel.

While Kei had sat down and read brief profiles on all of her classmates on the Saturday before the term started, their names occasionally slipped her mind despite how painfully on-the-nose they could be. She’d get that data into her head later; for now, all Kei needed was a list of powers. 

Part of the reason Midoriya (today’s sacrifice) stuck out to her was how his name didn’t contain even a hint of his Quirk—just like hers didn’t. Because she didn’t have one. Going off the logic displayed by his classmates’ parents and their naming choices, Midoriya’s personal name should have had something to do with turning his own skeleton into dust. 

With his capture weapon and hair floating like the entire scene was underwater, Aizawa laid out everything wrong with the nervous kid’s approach to the ball toss. Given that the test in question was literally throwing a softball and this kid tended to hover around the middle of the pack, maybe he’d been planning to use his hyper-destructive Quirk to finally get an edge. Like any kid sitting through someone else getting shouted at by a teacher, Kei pretended not to hear the specifics.

It was still sort of difficult not to, even with her classmates trying to build a small reservoir of side chatter to insulate themselves.

There was a lot in Aizawa’s lecture about “basic competence” and paraphrased warnings about not breaking all the bones in his body. Because, well, someone who did that would probably need to be carried off a battlefield on a stretcher if not in a body bag.

“With your power,” Aizawa was saying, his voice as flat and cold as an executioner’s blade, “you can’t become a hero.” 

Midoriya’s expression said he knew damn well what was at stake now. If he couldn’t figure out how to throw a ball without laying himself out flat, he was screwed. 

The real question was if breaking bones was the prerequisite to accessing that monstrous strength, or just a shitty side effect of having no control? If it was the former, the first time the kid fell off a jungle gym or crashed his bike should have made the news along with a crater. 

While the other students consulted among themselves whether they’d ever heard of Eraserhead before—which disengaged Kei even further from the conversation in favor of naptime—Aizawa withdrew from the chalk circle to let Midoriya figure his shit out. He’d either fly or fucking die. 

Aizawa probably didn’t care which. At least, not out loud. Better that this catastrophic failure happened in school and not in the field with lives on the line.

Kei shaded her eyes and awaited some conclusive result.

Midoriya didn’t disappoint; one colossal BANG later, the softball was rocketing off into the distance with a smoke trail marking its trajectory. But unlike the utter travesty that characterized his entrance exam footage, the kid that turned to face the group did so with all limbs intact. He’d destroyed only one finger in the process of setting off his Quirk this time.

Kei frowned while the other students cheered. Aizawa, too, looked excited to find improvement so close on the heels of his first sharp criticism. 

Sure, Blasty McSplode had a problem with Midoriya’s (qualified and still bone-breaky) success and then needed to be wrestled into submission for being a loud jackass literally a foot in front of the teacher, but that wasn’t Kei’s problem. Or, at least, his attitude wasn’t an interesting problem for Kei to puzzle over. 

Midoriya’s, though… There’s something wrong here.

Hm?

I don’t think his Quirk requires him to destroy himself to use it. If it did, he should’ve figured out how to minimize the damage way before he got here. Kei pressed her curled fingers against her lower lip as she thought. Damn, I usually just shrug off questions like this… 

But this secret may affect your risk assessment process when dealing with all of these humans. 

Maybe. But hell if it’s not a personal question. “Hey, what’s the deal with your Quirk totally pulverizing your vulnerable teenage skeleton every time I’ve seen it used?” That’ll go over well. 

“Gekkō,” said Aizawa, interrupting Kei’s thoughts with more school nonsense. He’d apparently picked her out as a zoned-out straggler. “Finish your tests. Side-hops and grip test, go.”

Kei sighed internally and trotted off to a different part of the field.

[threeeyesstudio]

Spotlight on the Murdoch House

One of the things I wish I could do on this blog is to share with you the artwork that I am making right now. But because I work on a TV show, I can’t do that, I have to keep it secret until the show airs. Now I wholeheartedly agree with this, not just because it lets me keep my job but also because I know how shitty spoilers can be. But what I can tell you about is the work I did on previous seasons. Today I want to revisit the drawing of the Murdoch House.

This project gave me the opportunity to imagine things that don't exist and fill in the gaps using problem-solving and creativity, which i love to do. And in my art, I want to include and celebrate people just as they are, in this illustration, I got to do that in a bit of a sideways way. I was able to celebrate the work of Bob Sher the production designer for Murdoch Mysteries. He had designed a really beautiful interior set for the Murdoch House and with this drawing, I could help show that off. I wasn't drawing his portrait, I was drawing his work and I think his work is an extension of himself.

I really wanted to do this justice because I wanted Bob and anyone else who had worked on this set to feel proud of what they did because it was beautiful! I also really enjoy imagining spaces that don't exist, I got to fully imagine what this fictional house is like, filling in the gaps that were left after filming.

My task was to draw the exterior view, and a plan view (the top-down architectural drawing) and highlight a few of the architectural features.

The exterior view is based on a quick establishing shot of the front door of the Murdoch house. I got to do a little bit of Architectural design as I changed the proportions of the actual house filmed in the show to match the story we were telling. There seems to only be one shot that is reused over an over again for the exterior and the shot only gives a glimpse of the front door. It was filmed on location in the outskirts of Toronto and as far as I know, we will never return to that location again. There was also an old pixelated photo of the same house. So what I had to go on was this one piece of footage, a pixelated photo, the interior set layout and the verbal description of how Bob envisioned the exterior.

Sets are not built like a house, one room doesn't logically lead to the next and could be on the opposite end of the studio. The different rooms are pieced together in how the actors move through them and the editing process. So I needed to alter the plan view of the set to match how the audience perceives the Murdoch house and not how it is actually built. I based what I drew on the actual set, but made changes to the layout, moving rooms around to make sense like a real house.

Going on the deserted set of the Murdoch House and taking reference pictures was really enjoyable. Being on that quiet and darkened set felt so peaceful and I got to see all the lovely details that the designer and build team had put in. It's wild but it feels like a real home and that isn't always the case with sets. Finding the details that would accompany the exterior view and elevations was easy. The hard part was whittling them down to just a few that would fit on the page. Showing off the doors was a specific request and those were designed by both Ryan O'Connell the set designer and Bob the production designer.

This drawing was for one of the early episodes of season 17, it was supposed to be placed above the mantle in the Murdoch living room. But I don't think it ever made it to camera! I remember there being some issues in regard to continuity from episode to episode. (We film out of order) And in a later episode, there was something scripted that had to take its place above the mantle. But I got a great deal of satisfaction from making it. I got to imagine a place that doesn't exist, helped to tell a story and I got to celebrate the hard work of creative people. And I know that it made Bob happy because it now has a lovely home in the hallway just outside the art offices.

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟: 𝕔𝕙.𝟙 - 𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕥 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Ascended Astarion x f!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, TW: mentions of childhood sexual abuse, general sexual abuse and mentions of sexual slavery (all of those happened in the past AA is not doing this to reader). PIV, creampie, blood drinking.

➺ 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: you're skilled, driven and most importantly - ambitious. but even as someone in your position, a trained assassin and a leader of your own Guild, you still lend yourself to jobs that are of importance. even if those jobs sometimes mean attending parties. tonight - it's a masquerade and you're bored out of your mind, until the man who hired you to protect him leaves you alone, at the mercy of a stranger who suddenly took a keen interest in you.

this is a 7 chapter fic exploring Ascended Astarion through a lens of 7 deadly sins.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 4,129

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: as voted by my readers - here's Ascended Astarion and my take on 7 deadly sins that i looked at through his character. enjoy! <3

➺ 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: [link]

Another boring party, another boring masquerade.

Your eyes sweep over the crowd but nothing seems unusual for the time being. People dancing, people chatting, people drinking. Most of them you recognize even behind their masks. Simple mannerisms, voices or even who they are spending time with tells you more than they probably would want to let on. It’s not hard for you to tell who’s who. After all, you worked for so many of them already.

Tonight you work as a guard for especially paranoid noble. Normally you don’t let yourself get hired for tasks, you have your whole Guild of experienced thieves and assassins to do all the minor and major works, but when the richest of Baldur’s Gate want your services specifically – you comply. Not only they pay handsomely, you also make connections among the patriars that do pay off in a long run.

No, you’re no Nine-fingers Keane, not yet at least, but you have gathered a respectable resume of deeds that are well known in the underbelly of Baldur’s Gate. You have a goal and that goal is simple – to control every Guild by taking over and uniting them. You’ve been working for years to make this happen and you built yourself from the ground up. Just like you escaped slavery in Hells, so will you become what you want to be – the ultimate ruler of Guilds of this godsdamned city that betrayed you before.

But you won’t let these thoughts distract you, not tonight. Not that you expect anything to happen in the first place. It’s a masquerade after all, who would even target the patriar you’re accompanying is beyond you. He’s a man who is scared to step on anyone’s toes, let alone anyone’s who could be a danger to him. Alas, he hired you and he’s paying so well you couldn’t refuse the offer. So now you’re here, in your best dress, with a domino mask on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. And, of course, couple daggers hidden under your dress. You are always prepared.

The patriar in question, one exalted Lord Goldbrith, is by your side and chatting with gusto to a young man. You suspect he brought you here not only to guard his life, but perhaps to help him disperse the rumors surrounding his sexuality. Not that most would judge in the first place, nobles and patriars probably are the most relaxed people when it comes to sexual liberty. However, Goldbrith’s issue is that his father wants an heir and if your little ‘prince’ over there leaves no such possibility by admitting that he’s not interested in women, well… then he risks losing the inheritance. And you’re not sure this man knows how to tie his own shoes, being pampered like a child all his life.

You almost roll your eyes, thinking how this is the worst some people have to deal with. No, they will never know what it is to be molested by their father and brother, no, they won’t know what it is to be sold to a brothel as a ten-year old and used. No, they won’t know what it’s like to be sold to Hells only to continue being a slave of desires of others just as you have been up here. You don’t scowl, but when you look at these spoiled men and women you feel disgust and anger.

No, stop, inhale… exhale. Your past is your past, but you’re stronger now, better. And you will have Baldur’s Gate by the throat eventually. You just have to be patient, have to spread your connections wider and have as many people indebted to you as possible. So that you can use them when the right time comes.

Again you inhale and slowly exhale, calming yourself. When you become the Guild Leader of Baldur’s Gate then each and every person in this room will have to treat you with respect. And most of them already do because you have made a name for yourself in these past years, for what it counts.

“Dearest, do you mind if I accompany this fine gentleman to the restroom? He says he cannot find it.” Lord Goldbrith is now talking to you, making you snap out of your bitter thoughts, and you look at him.

“Alone?” you ask and the man now seems flustered.

“Yes. There’s no need for you to come along, I think I will be perfectly safe. And it’s not far, if something happens - I’ll shout for you.” a nervous smile, intertwined fingers, yes, you know exactly what he’s going to be doing with this so-called fine gentleman. After all, he hired you to protect him and if he temporarily doesn’t need it…

“Very well, find me when you return, I shouldn’t stray too far.” you respond and Goldbrith pats your hand holding the glass of wine.

“I’ll be fine. Go, dance, mingle. Seems this event is quite safe for me.”

Sure it is, you think to yourself. You see his anxious desire to depart immediately from your company and you have no reason to hold him. He paid you already, after all.

“Of course, Lord Goldbrith.” you nod again and a smile of relief forms underneath his mask, you can see it in how the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“I’ll find you when I’m back.” his hand leaves yours and you watch Goldbrith navigate the crowd with his newest boy toy.

You can’t help but smile to yourself. At least he’ll be happy tonight and it won’t harm you to assure others he’s here with you if anybody asks. When you are paid so handsomely - you will tell people the sky is brown and grass is red.

“I saw your companion leave. Curious to ask why.” a voice you don’t recognize asks for your attention.

You turn to see a man standing close to your left side. His silver hair is immaculate with flowing locks and the domino mask that he’s wearing is bejeweled with what like looks actual gems. Behind the mask you see red piercing eyes. The man smiles and it’s more of a smug smirk than a heartfelt expression. It looks so natural on him that you are sure this is his default expression. A dangerous smile. A smile that spells ruin for those who scorn him; you’ve seen smiles like this before. 

“If you’re curious, why don’t you follow him and ask yourself?” you lift your glass to your lips and take a sip, keeping your eyes on him. 

“I’m not in a habit of following men.” elf responds, his tone of voice is cocky and the implication of his words is clear - he’s the one who leads and not the one who follows. 

Problem is, you don’t recognize him. Even with the mask on, you can tell that he’s a man of beauty, surely you must’ve heard of him even if you haven’t met him. But this is a masquerade, people don’t share names until midnight and there’s still couple hours left on the clock for that. You think how you can get his name out of him but your thoughts get interrupted because this mystery man steps even closer to you and glances at your glass. 

“More wine, my dear?”

Tsk. How much you despise nobles thinking they can use pet names on you. But you bite your tongue.

“I can serve myself if needed.” you step back from him and see his curious eyes examine your masked face. What does he even want?

Your gaze snaps down the moment you see him reach out. His fingers bear silver rings, some of them have gems, you recognize each and every one of those gems even before he steps closer again just to take your hand in his slender, manicured fingers.

“I thought maybe you could grant me a dance since your partner seems to be busy with a gentleman.” a pointed tone that his words carry tell you everything – he knows about the arrangement you have with Lord Goldbrith. How - you have not even a slightest idea, but he knows.

Except you’re not concerned that he knows, instead you notice his warm and soft touch when he raises your hand and leans down to meet it with his lips. Something that should be only a small peck gets prolonged and it’s as if he’s testing you because his eyes meet yours while his lips are still on your hand. It’s a long moment. Too long to be appropriate but you don’t pull your hand away.

“A dance? Perhaps I can do that.” you answer and offer the mysterious white-haired man a smile. He smiles too and straightens his back but keeps holding your hand.

“Wonderful. I think a waltz is about to start.” he says in a voice like honey. He’s interested in you, you can tell that much.

So maybe you could use him, just to relieve some pressure. It doesn’t have to be serious, these types of trysts never are. And you have been with couple other patriars like this before. Sneaking away from the main room, finding an empty study or an unused stairwell, quickly satisfying your needs and his without any need to talk about it afterwards. No strings attached, just pure carnal lust being gratified with a willing partner. This handsome elf could become this type of partner, if only for tonight.

You nod to him and put away your goblet to a nearby table, then feel him tug at your hand. You follow him to the ballroom and instead of staying at the edges of the dance floor as not to interrupt other twirling couples, this noble leads you right to the center. You don’t shy away when there’s attention placed on you, but tonight you are on the job and you would prefer if you weren’t noticed. Nonetheless, once more you let him do as he pleases and don’t pull your hand from his firm grasp or don’t try to hide away.

If he wants a dance with everyone watching – you will give him that dance.

When people part giving him and yourself the way to the center of the floor, this mysterious man finally stops and looks at you with a smirk. Even with the mask covering half his face you can see confidence, no, arrogance etched in every expression he makes. You don’t mind that. Something about arrogant men always intrigued you. Maybe because you too are full of pride, and you think that if only these men knew what you’re capable of, they wouldn’t be so self-assured around you. It gives your ego a boost, feeding your own arrogance, making you almost fearless no matter the situation, no matter the opponent or, just like in this case, no matter the partner. A dancing partner, at that, at least for now.

The man pauses, the music stops for a moment while musicians adjust for the upcoming tune and he steps closer, now pulling you closer with practiced ease. His hand on your lower back push you against his chest and you raise your eyebrows even though he cannot see it because of your own mask. Waltz is not danced chest to chest but it looks like he doesn’t care about etiquette or social manners. You don’t mind that at all, you like a man who knows what he’s doing.

And then the music starts again.

Your partner eases into the music with grace, his steps are easy, fluid and you follow him with as much grace as you can. It’s not your first waltz but he’s obviously a better dancer than you can ever hope to be.

“You know people are watching, right?” you say to the elf, bringing attention to how close he’s holding you and he scoffs arrogantly.

“We’re beautiful together, of course they are watching.” his hand on your lower back pushes slightly harder and you nearly lose your step.

A cocky grin on his face tells you that it was intentional. You smirk back to him because you know what he’s doing or at least trying to do. He’s sparring, trying to establish himself as superior to you in this setting. Maybe he’s trying to show that he’s superior over everyone in this ballroom. You’re not sure nor you care.

“I would like to know your name, darling.” your dancing noble says again when you don’t reply quick enough and you slightly smile, he’s getting impatient.

“It’s a masquerade, Lord. My name’s a mystery just as yours.” your reply rewards you with a chuckle that you feel reverberating from his chest against yours.

“Very well.” the man says and you can feel his fingers give yours a short squeeze. “But I will want to see what’s behind that mask once midnight strikes.” again his eyes pierce into yours and for just a split second the world around you melts away.

The chatter and laughter of patriars disappears, the music is all you hear. You feel the fabric of your dress brush against your legs and his as you both spin in motion to the rhythm of waltz. His hand so warm on yours, so warm even through your dress on your back. At last it feels like you both dance with the grace of gods themselves as he leads your steps. And you realize that you don’t want to wait until midnight to rip his mask off and see what’s underneath.

Yes, he will serve well to satisfy your lust, to help you take off the edge. You smile to him.

“Maybe we don’t have to wait for midnight after all.” you tell him and see a flash of surprise that turns into smugness. You also realize that waltz is coming to an end, perfect timing.

Before the elf replies the music tapers off and you step back from him despite his attempt to keep your body close to his, then you do a proper curtsey in thanks for the dance. Mystery man bows too, one hand behind him, but his eyes never leaving yours.

After you both stand tall again, you turn from him and walk off, sensing rather than knowing that he’s following. No one seems to be paying attention anymore, now that your dance is over and another one begins, and you weave through the crowd with easy expertise of an assassin. Passing unnoticed and uninterrupted. But you do quickly glance back to the spot where you were standing earlier, to check if Lord Goldbrith returned but seeing no sign of a man you turn your attention to the hallway for which you are aiming.

Soon enough you turn a corner but don’t get far before you feel yourself being pulled back by your wrist. You stop and look behind you only to see that the elf indeed has followed you. He tugs at your arm just like he did when leading you to the middle of a ballroom and you smirk, pressing your palms against his chest to soften the impact of your body against his.

He leans closer, his lips seeking yours yet you push away from him, seeing questions in his eyes, but instead of answering you grab his hand and make him trail after you in hurried footsteps. To your relief the elf doesn’t utter a word and you pass couple of doors before you stop and push at the third one, hoping that this room is potentially unoccupied, since you assumed the first two would be. That’s how it usually goes during these types of noble parties.

Yes, the room is empty and the silver-haired man follows you inside hurriedly, pushing the door closed behind him. When you stop he stops too and you release his hand, turning to him. For a moment you look each other in the eyes, you feel your heart beating heavy and fast in your chest. And then both of you step to each other at the same time as if you both heard a silent permission.

He grabs at your mask and you grab at his, pulling them away from your faces just a split second before your lips meet. You kiss him almost harshly, your desire taking control of you and he responds with same passion, pushing his tongue into your mouth in an instant. The masks drop to the floor and he steps forwards with you, pushing you backwards with his hands on your hips and your arms around his neck, until you bump into the bookshelf behind you.

Elf’s hands begin clawing at your dress, lifting the skirts up in a hurry and your hands blindly find their way to the buttons of his pants. The kiss is deep, the wine you taste on his tongue is even better than one from a glass. For a moment your tongue catches on his fang but you don’t have the time to wonder what’s that about. No, this moment is about getting and giving in equal measure.

The kiss breaks for a moment, you feel elf’s breath on your mouth and gasp softly when you feel his fingertips trace the outline of your underwear. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with intense lust-filled gaze, at the same time you finally manage to slip your hand into his pants. As you reach down, his precum stains your fingers and you smirk, palming his hard erection.

But your smile gets wiped off your face as the handsome elf pulls at the hem of your panties and slides two fingers down your slit, dipping just the tips of them into your core. He exhales with obvious lust and removes his hand, grabbing your hips as if preparing to lift you. You don’t waste time and you free his cock out of its confines. The moment you do that, the man lifts you by the hips. Immediately you wrap your legs around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders for purchase. Without delay you feel your panties being pulled to the side and smooth tip of elf’s erection pressing against your soaked cunt.

No words are needed and no time is wasted. He thrusts into you with force and you moan, throwing your head back from the pleasure of him filling you and stretching you in most wonderful way. You quickly bite your lip down, trying to silence any forthcoming cries but you are not successful because when he starts pumping - it’s hard and demanding.

The room fills with pants and groans and you close your eyes, feeling the man’s lips on your neck, kissing and tasting your skin with his tongue. You whine with each snap of his hips, with each claim of his to your body, and you let go of his shoulders, your fingers reach over your head and to your sides, looking for a shelf to grasp onto, but for a while you only find the spines of books, pulling at them and making them drop to the floor with silent thuds.

Then your eyes snap open as pain briefly shoots through your shoulder but you immediately realize what’s going on. Of course he’s a vampire. The crimson eyes, the fangs, strange you didn’t realize it earlier. You let your eyelids drop as the vampire sucks on your blood while relentlessly pounding into you at the same time, and you have to clench your teeth to prevent yourself from shouting into the ceiling. It’s not your first time sleeping with a vampire so you’re not afraid, if anything it gives you a thrill of danger that you never get from other patriars in such short-term arrangements.

You feel the fangs leave your neck and a greedy tongue laps at the bite marks left behind while you finally manage to grasp onto the shelves, clinging for your dear life. You crane your head and look at the elf, seeing that his eyes are on you, then he catches your lips in a scorching kiss, his teeth tugging at your bottom one and you mewl at that, it’s harder and harder for you to keep silent as your pleasure begins to build. Your partner in this quick tryst pounds himself so religiously into you that you are beginning to feel sore already and that only adds to the pleasure.

For a moment the elf just keep thrusting while biting on your lower lip and when you look at him he keeps an eye contact with you, but then his teeth part and he presses his face to the side of your neck that doesn’t have his fresh bite mark. You hear him gasp for air and you know he’s close too. You release the shelf with one hand to tangle your fingers into his hair, grasping firmly just before you close your eyes again and let go.

A deep thrust, another one, then another one - your mewls follow each other of them and your mind swims just before your orgasm overwhelms your senses. You don’t know how loud you are or how hard you are gripping vampire’s hair, all you know is pleasure and his cock pushing you to your limits. You don’t even know how long the waves of pleasure rip through you, making your cunt clench on his shaft so deliciously, as if on a quest to milk him sooner than he wishes. You hear him grunt something, a word, maybe two, you’re not sure and it doesn’t matter.

When your bliss begins subsiding and your mind starts to clear you find yourself still being fucked. You whimper, sore and satisfied, but pull at elf’s hair, making him look at you. His face is sweaty, his teeth are clenched, showcasing his fangs, and you see that he’s close. You heavily kiss him but he doesn’t respond. Instead he grunts against your mouth and then moans, his thrusts becoming erratic at the same moment as he begins spilling himself deep inside of you. You slide your tongue against his teeth, your eyes heavy-lidded from your own pleasure and additional satisfaction seeing that he seems to be enjoying this too, like it’s a compliment to you. And then his hips finally stop, his grip on your hips is slippery and he’s digging his fingers into your flesh, leaving bruises for the future.

The elf opens his eyes to look at you, he’s utterly out of breath but you don’t let him say anything, you just kiss him again and he responds, albeit less energetically now. You had a moment to recover while he just rode out his orgasm to the fullest. With a smirk you lean your head back and push at him slightly, making him set you on the floor. The white-haired man looks disheveled and you most likely look the same, but you just smirk to him, taking in his appearance, the messy hair, the open pants and his softening erection, still leaking last drops of cum. A wonderful view and a state that you like seeing men in.

With sweaty palms you smoothen out skirts of your dress and pick up your domino mask from the floor, then give him a wink, walking out of the room. You don’t see the look the man gives you: one of shock and partial anger that you’re leaving without another word. As if he’s realizing it is you who used him and not the other way around. Your arrogance leaves him stumped. But you finally know who he is: Lord Astarion Ancunin.

With a satisfied grin you walk back to the ballroom, trying to ignore your underwear that’s getting soaked with his seed and your own arousal, but you know he won’t follow you right now, most likely too insulted that you used him to get relief. You put on your mask again and enter the ballroom, immediately seeing Lord Goldbrith impatiently tapping his foot at the same spot where he stood last before leaving with a young gentleman. When you approach him he looks irritated.

“Let’s leave.” he demands and you raise your eyebrows but you don’t argue. If you can leave early and go home to wash up that’s all the better. After all, the moment Lord Goldbrith is in his carriage your job is done and you won’t argue against a short night.

“As you say.” you nod and Goldbrith curtly nods in response, then marches towards the main exit.

You follow him but give one more glance behind you before you leave the room. You notice white curls and a crimson-eyed intense, angry gaze in your direction just before dancing couples hide all of it away.

You smirk to yourself. You have a suspicion you will meet him again.

[utilitycaster]

In the most recent CR episode I found it really interesting (and really concerning) that it Laudna's truth about wanting Bells Hells to ripcord out of saving the world came hot on the heels of Imogen's truth about not wanting to save the gods

Idk it could just be me, but it seemed like her truth was just another attempt to placate Imogen's moral confusion, while simultaneously pushing those things back onto the whole group

All it makes me think of is the fanon and 4SD discussions about Imogen and Laudna retiring to a farm and living happily ever after. What are either of their reasons for remaining with Bells Hells at this point, if their truths are that they don't want to save the world?

See, that actually seemed fine to me! Fearne had earlier admitted she felt they were ill-equipped for the job and likely to fail, so it's not just them who feel it, and honestly I think that Laudna's confession was one of the more valid ones that I hope get unpacked. Fjord and Jester made a very similar admission to each in both episode 72 and episode 118 of Campaign 2, of "hey, wouldn't it be nice if we just ran away somewhere quiet and never had to deal with this again" and I think that having that admission and then finding a way forward anyway is a really great moment. I didn't write at length about how Orym's "but we have to work together and do this" has also been a really big factor in the party's dysfunction because I covered a lot of that in my discussion of how he handles his own grief well and the grief and pain of others very badly, but honestly it's good that Fearne and Laudna are getting to "we don't have to do this, this was always thrust upon us because an old guy brought us to a cool orc who hired us to look into some stuff and in the process found out that the comparatively small-time political crook was tangentially involved in a a vast cosmic death cult conspiracy that several of our parents are also involved with."

My issue with Imogen is that she literally said two episodes ago she's never prayed and now she's claiming the gods never listened to her, as well as that her reasoning is the horrifyingly self-absorbed "they don't love her", but I actually think it's fine if this party does not wish to save the gods on the grounds of "we feel underqualified and overwhelmed and like we've been at the mercy of many (mortal) masters with no time to pursue our own interests." And I think that Laudna didn't force this specific thing on the rest of the party; she said they could all ripcord, but didn't say who should do it or who felt that way or force them into agreement.

I've talked about the campaign's earlier pacing at length and I don't want to revisit it at length because it evened out, but more so than any other party, Bells Hells has rarely had self-directed adventures. That's a big reason why they're such a mess; they didn't need to develop the tools to come to consensus because Eshteross or Ryn or Keyleth would give them tasks, so we never actually have delved particularly deeply into what most of the party members want to be doing, which is why we're here with this group that's mostly stuck together because they've had jobs to do. I think acknowledging that is an important step, because the task at hand (scouting on Ruidus) is in my opinion within their abilities, but they've been pushed and pushed and have finally reached a point where they can't just keep going. (This by the way is the underlying premise of this post; this is the fundamental reality of Bells Hells as a party. If you like that the most then hell yeah, but a lot of people who claim to love C3 are blaming the entire plot of the campaign for why the party is a mess which is like, so you like the premises of these characters and dislike the vast majority of the actual story in which they exist, and you really just want the story of Campaign 1 or Campaign 2 but Ashton is there.)

With that said though, I do agree that's kind of at the core of Imogen and Laudna. They're so insular, and that's been claimed as a feature, not a bug, for much of the fanon of that relationship. Like, I think Laudna is valid for this specific statement, but unlike Fjord and Jester, who had established in through the course of the campaign both deep ties to each of the rest of the Mighty Nein and a profound sense of responsibility in general, I find myself wondering why Imogen and Laudna don't go off and live in a cottage together and leave the rest of the party to handle this. I mean, Imogen is also impossibly tied up in the fate of Ruidus, but she dithers about the approach so much I wonder why she doesn't decide that perhaps she should stay out of it altogether and retire to that cottage with Laudna until it's all over.

Personally, my thought is that Imogen does in fact secretly like being the special Ruidusborn Exaltant On The Other Side, especially since she's realized her mother wasn't that (as she had hoped). I agree with the fairly common opinion that Imogen and Ashton are in many ways extremely similar people, but whereas Ashton just got a very brutal wake up call of "your parents did fuck up and you're not built different and your desperate attempt to be something special could have hurt everyone" Imogen is still out here going full Javert on everyone's personal thoughts. So I suspect she won't ripcord out in the end, and therefore Laudna won't. But I do think it's valid for Laudna to bring up, and indeed, one of the many things that would make great progress in fixing this party dynamic would be Laudna independently expressing her own needs some more instead of being Imogen's Yes-Woman or projecting her own desires onto other people as I suspect she's doing with Fearne and the shard.

[lost-spoons]

I'm honestly not sure if I've mentioned this on here before, but here we go.

I've been looking into getting a service dog for a few years. What breed would be best for the tasks I need, if I should get a program trained dog or if I should owner train, what it costs to get said service dog and anything they need or would like, how to take care of a dog, what are the laws around service dog prospects and housing, what are the laws for service dogs, etc. etc.

Up until now, it's all been more of a thought experiment than anything else because my father established a "No Dogs Under My Roof" policy a long time ago, and despite a service dog being medical equipment, the answer to if I could get one is a hard "Not Under My Roof"

But! We're finally down to the last year or two of community college before I transfer to a 4 year where I'll be living on my own and can thus get a dog. So I'll be looking into breeders to see what their wait lists are like and check to make sure the breeder I decide to go with is actually an ethical breeder.

I've debated on breeds for a while. Poodles are hypoallergenic but require a lot of hair maintenance and will matte up fairly quickly if I forget to brush them due to a flare-up, so they're a no. Doberman seemed like a good fit as they met most of my requirements. However, I was informed that they're a velcro breed that are very protective, which makes sense since they are breed to be guard dogs, but that doesn't work if i need a strangers help. Goldens and labs are quite similar in most things regarding my list of requirements but didn't end up being my final choice.

I've decided to go with German Shepherds for the breed, as I need mobility, medical alert, and psychiatric tasks. That's quite a bit for one dog, but German Shepherds are breed specifically to be working dogs with varying jobs, so while I'll need to be careful with training to keep them from burning out as a puppy, they're my best bet.

I've decided on owner training supplemented with a professional trainer's support/assistance.

The mobility tasks in question aren't weight bareing, and even if they were, I'm aware that type of training doesn't start before the vet okays it around 2 or so years old. Sometimes, my vision stops working, or I'll get horribe brain fog making me very confused, and I can't bend down to pick things up off the floor unless I'm sitting, so think along those lines for mobility tasks.

The medical alert is for POTS and maybe migraines. I'm not sure how migraine alerts work yet, i still need to look into that one, but I know how to do the POTS ones.

The psychiatric tasks are to tell me if I'm displaying anxious habits cause I don't notice them and can't feel when I am due to a disconnect in my brain from physical reaction and emotional reaction. I react physically but can't emotionally, which means i can have the bodily reaction of a panic attack and all the issues that creates but I think im perfectly fine. Which is oh so fun to deal with (can you hear the sarcasm?) Plus a few other things I don't feel like sharing that I need help with.

If anyone has anything helpful to add, please do. I've looked into things, but research can only get you so far

[dee-in-the-box]

i keep thinking about my Dsaf and Fnaf crossover. specifically, in regards to Charlotte Emily and how she’d react to the Dsaf cast.

like, my version of her has been through some shit. a Lot of shit.

she was murdered on her twelfth birthday by a man she considered her uncle. she was left in an alley, dying alone. she was forced to watch her friends die and not be able to do Anything to save them. she spent decades just trying to find a way to free them all and put them to rest.

she's gone through so much.

and i think that'd make her interactions with the Dsaf Cast very interesting:

i feel like she'd try and comfort Dee to the best of her ability. she knows, from experience, how horrible of a job that it is to basically be the guardian of the souls. mix that in with the fact that Dee is basically half her age...it saddens her, makes her concerned for what this poor child has been forced to witness. add onto to that, the fact that Charlie's only had to do that for eleven children, while Dee's been forced to do this for dozens upon dozens...what on Earth has this six-year-old witnessed?

she sees Jack doing what she's also been tasked with: save the souls, put them to rest. she sees a man with a tired look in his eyes, reminding her of Michael, and she can't help but feel sympathy for him. from what she saw with Dee...it seems the universe they came from was rather hectic. maybe she'd give him encouragement. she's seen an older brother, desperate to fix his mistakes and free his siblings, even if it would cost him his own life in the end. this is hard work, after all. she would know.

i feel like she'd get along with Dave. she sees a version of Uncle Will who was willing to fix his mistakes, like, legitimately trying. she's always sensed William's regret, but he'd never admit it. he'd rather have Cassidy kill him over and over than admit that he'd done anything wrong. it's almost...refreshing, in a sense, to see some version of him willing to fix things. she'd be a bit wary, obviously...but he's got...okay-ish vibes.

Henry, however, she despises with a passion. a man who shares her father's name, who's committed utter atrocities, slaughtering more people than William could've ever dreamed to. she'd either flat out refuse to even speak to him, or she'd attempt to kill him where he stands. because, fuck, even William had his restraints! he knew when to stop. he, at some point, knew that he had to stop killing kids. sure, after becoming Springtrap, he had much fewer Murder Restraints, but even then he could hold himself back. Henry Miller?

her main question is, if he even had restraints to begin with, when did he lose them? 'cause they clearly vanished at some point.

Peter, i think, she'd let him vent. she understands.

she understands what it's like to beat yourself up over not being able to save your loved ones.

everyone else, i'm not too sure of. i think she'd see some of Cassidy in Blackjack. she'd hear about Blackjack dragging Henry to the Void and immediately think about Cassidy. given. y'know. They Dragged William Into Ultimate Custom Night Hell™.

i just like thinking about how (my versions of) the Fnaf Main Cast would react to the Dsaf Main Cast.

Charlie My Beloved <3

(another fun fact that's gonna be angsty as hell: Marionn, my version of the Fnaf Puppet, was basically built to be Charlie's Robot. she had a Big hand in their creation. she loved it. Dee's Puppet, however, as we know, was built to contain her soul, because henry didn't want to deal with the Consequences Of His Actions (Dee causing chaos because of her murder). do you think she'd be jealous? that Charlie's robot vessel was originally built with love in mind, while hers was built only to trap her further? just some fun food for thought for y'all :))

[afhenvs3000f24]

Blog Post 2

There’s something truly magical about sharing the hidden world beneath the waves. In my ideal role as an environmental interpreter, I picture myself guiding groups through aquariums and along the rugged coastal waters of Bonne Bay, offering visitors a deeper understanding of marine life and the incredible ecosystems that exist just below the surface. This role is quite specific because, when applying for co-op jobs for the summer, it was one of the positions that really excited me. Every time I thought about it, it brought me such joy. Unfortunately, I did not get the job, but it still comforts me to know that opportunities like this are available in my program.

(Image:https://bontours.ca/bonne-bay-water-shuttle/) This is where research center s located.

in this role, I imagine leading a variety of tours—from walking visitors through the bustling aquarium and research station to guiding them along tide pools with Parks Canada. Each experience would offer a unique opportunity to connect people with the wonders of marine life, from the tiniest starfish clinging to rocks to the vibrant communities of fish swimming in the depths.

My work wouldn’t just stop at guiding tours, though. I’d also take on the hands-on tasks that keep these ecosystems thriving—collecting and caring for marine organisms, maintaining the tanks, and feeding the diverse species that call the aquarium home. This balance between sharing knowledge with visitors and directly caring for marine life is what excites me most about this vision.

With on-site training to dive deep into the natural history of Bonne Bay, I’d have the chance to explore the local environment and gain firsthand experience with the creatures that make this region special. From field trips to collect specimens to learning the ins and outs of aquarium system maintenance, this role would not only challenge me but deepen my connection to the marine world I’m so passionate about.

One of my biggest strengths is connecting with people. After working in customer service for years, I’ve gotten really good at making sure people feel heard and understood. Whether I’m chatting with a group of curious kids at the aquarium or explaining marine life to visitors during a tour, I know how to break things down in a way that makes sense to different people.

I’ve also learned how to roll with the punches. Working in customer service taught me to think on my feet, so I’m great at adapting to unexpected situations. This is perfect for a role where every day is different, whether I’m leading a tour and need to change things up to keep people engaged or dealing with something unexpected, like the weather or a surprise question.

Plus, with my environmental science background, I’ve got the knowledge to back it all up. I’m always thinking about how to present info in a way that clicks with different learning styles, whether people learn best by listening, seeing, or doing. My goal is to create experiences that not only teach people but also make them care about the marine life and ecosystems we’re exploring together.

At the end of the day, my role as an environmental interpreter is about more than just sharing knowledge, it’s about inspiring action. I would love to inspire both young and old minds and ultimately be someone people remember. So whenever a topic similar to something I’ve shared comes up, I hope they picture me or hear my voice in their heads, not in a creepy way, but in an inspiring way :)

[copperbadge]

hey sam! i don't want to dump a research question on you, but just in case this is your remit - do you have any apps or browser extensions or similar for adhd and studying? i know about screen tinting and white noise, but if there's anything out there (paid or not) that you recommend, please wax lyrical! i'm collecting a doc of links for study tools beyond pomodoro style apps!

Man, screen tinting and white noise is already well out ahead of me, Anon :D I never did either of those while studying. I can't deal with screen tinting, but I did eventually start using ASMR videos as white noise when I was in my thirties, when I was working. Lo-fi beat music (often designated FOR studying on youtube!) often helps. Other than that I'm afraid I don't have any tools to link to -- no apps, no programs, no sites. I simply don't use any for learning/studying. I have a lot of tools but they're for managing personal life and very finely-tuned to me, so it's stuff like using google sheets to keep my calendar, and using Tasks to manage my chores. It's not to say you can't or shouldn't use apps and extensions, it's just not something that existed when I was in college and not something I make use of now.

My work, while very focus-intensive and intellectual, and involving synthesizing a lot of data, is also very temporary -- the data arrives in my brain, is put to use, and then goes immediately back out again. I've actually trained myself to have no long-term memory for some things, which is probably a bad thing, but every job I've had since 2008 has involved remembering very specific data for somewhere between five minutes (answering phones, remembering names) and two days (building a profile of a donor).

My study techniques when I was in school were less about environment and more about structure -- how I built my lecture notes and how I transferred them to a method for study.

In class, I found it helpful to take notes on blank paper, unlined, so that I could draw pictures and diagrams and structure my notes in a less linear fashion than lined paper would have encouraged. I should dig some out and take some photos sometime. So I had this artist's 8x11 pad of paper with diagrams and outlines and paragraphs all over the place. (I also tried graph paper but didn't like that, too much visual interference.)

I would start reviewing my notes for the eventual exam pretty soon after taking them -- about a month after any given lecture I'd go back to my notes and start review, which sounds a little insane, but was for me super helpful. I would get a deck of 3x5 cards and start moving what I thought were the vital points from those month-old notes over to the 3x5 cards. I didn't use them as flashcards (except for Latin class), I just put notes on various cards when they seemed to go together, and I'd carry the cards around with me and take them out and read them over. It made them very portable! And it meant that I could study in small chunks across a long stretch of time, which probably was very ADHD-compatible because it meant I saw everything a lot and it became "background noise" in the sense that I retained it.

I did kind of have the classic "gifted child" habit of not studying much because I rarely needed to, and for me that fortunately did carry over into college and grad school. With a few exceptions, I didn't have to study much for my exams, and the index cards covered what I needed. The struggle that I had was writing papers -- the classic ADHD "can't get started, hyperfocus once I do". I did eventually figure out the pattern, and so what I'd do was just block out the weekend before the paper was due (often I set the due dates ahead of the real ones in my calendar) and sit down and do the whole-ass paper across about 18 hours. If I knew the time was blocked out for it ahead of time, then that would propel me into actually getting started, and I'd bang the thing out.

So yeah, a lot of my study techniques for living with ADHD, not that I knew I was, came down to stretching studying way out over several weeks to months, and compressing paper-writing into weekends.

But also like...IDK man, cut yourself a lot of slack, I was studying and writing papers before smartphones existed, before my undergrad campus had wifi. If I wanted to check my email, because I didn't have a computer freshman year, I had to go to the computer lab across campus. It made research harder, of course, but it stripped me of a lot of opportunities to goof off. And because my brain was never trained to expect instant digital gratification, I never had the urge to put my notes down and check my smartphone.

So, maybe there's that, too -- if you find that while studying you get distracted a whole bunch, it may be useful to do some digital "hygiene" -- train yourself to go stretches without checking your phone or your browser, starting small and moving up to five, ten, fifteen, sixty minutes. I can't say that will help everyone or even be possible for everyone, but I think it's something to try.

Readers with ADHD (including self-diagnosis), feel free to chime in with the ADHD-centric study tools you use! I'd like to ask that neurotypical people not share their techniques here, only because people with ADHD tend to get a lot of well-meaning advice that is unfortunately not super applicable to the neurodiverse, which can be really frustrating and depressing. And remember to comment or reblog, as I don't repost asks sent in response to other asks. Thanks everyone!

[miscellaneoussmp]

The Pokemon Ranger au!!! For some cutes for you. The first batch of eggs from the initial event are on like year long work placements with Pokemon Ranger School, and get assigned to various bases around the region. The younger eggs are younger kids, not yet old enough for ranger school. The player characters are, like, the established rangers, or run businesses, or whatever. Ramon wants to be a scientist, so is placed with Pac and Mike at HQ, and how Pac and Fit get to know each other better than just in passing. Or, well, Fit heading back to get kit repaired or have upgrades explained and all that. Fit is technically speaking one of the Top Rangers, but generally works in the unshowy and difficult jobs - he doesn't calm legendaries attacking cities or look after abandoned mareep, he's knee deep in sand and mud trying to apply healing potions to grumpy hippopotas in the middle of the fucking desert in a sandstorm for no reason other than it's their job to help. Or dragging a very stubborn onix who is maybe eating a coal mine to a cave humans don't need to be using. That sort of stuff. Fit lost his arm to a Pokemon he was trying to wrangle. Absolutely doesn't blame the gyrados, it was him who fucked up and he knows it. Pac, however, lost his leg while he was still training, having been practicing Pokemon commands with his classmate Cellbit and Cellbit's Pokemon disobeying badly. They're still friends, but it was shaky for a bit, and it's what had Mike divert into science, with Pac following a bit after.

Pokemon rangers do have partner pokemon who stick with them (and in this case they have multiple who chill at home when not with them), but most of the pokemon a ranger interact with they only keep temporarily to help them with a specific task, then let them go back to the wild. They are mostly park ranger? Dealing with ecological problems (and occasionally ecological crimes), but also wildlife rehabilitation. They also have a big comms network because this is the Pokemon world and like. Dealing with ecological disasters where Pokemon and sometimes legendaries are involved is almost superhero level bullshit (*looks at ruby and sapphire - pokemon rangers are who have to clean up if they'd actually started flooding everything*)

In the au sometimes Pokemon with more serious injuries are bought back and treated and there's the equivalent of a sealife sanctuary but for pokemon - heal and rerelease those who can be released, otherwise look after them if the injuries mean surviving in the wild wouldn't work. That's where Dapper is studying! Though, given his dad is the head of the project, that would happen.

Chayanne is placed under Philza, a former top ranger who was occassionally involved in the showy side of it, but stepped down after a nasty injury to lead a local branch. Chayanne and Tallulah are kids of single parent Missa, who is a fisherman. Chayanne's extra partner Pokemon stay with Missa and Tallulah when not needed. Chayanne is also trying to get his mentor and his dad together.

Um other bits... Foolish is a marine specialist! Not all of the rangers have diving training, and Foolish is especially good at it. (Chayanne actually wanted to do the marine specialist stuff, but Leo beat him to it. And won by being his kid).

Mostly its just an excuse for everyone to have cute fun times and sure there's some horrifying, but... it's pokemon ecological conservation hours my dude! Bobby is super passionate about the 'gross' pokemon being important and he's *correct*. Natural balance and all that.

~Factorial

Awwww!!! This is adorable!!!!

Everyone is so fitting in this au, too!!! (also all the nepotism going on is so funny ngl)

[wrenwrights]

My Konig Headcanons (Konig's Past)

First off, I'd like to thank everyone who read and enjoyed Afterlife. That was my first work on Ao3, and I really appreciate all of the Kudos and Comments. I checked my Ao3 and nearly jumped out of my computer chair, I was proud and excited that people liked my little one-shot. Again, thank you guys so much!

Since I started working on my little project, I've had to develop Konig's character since the fandom has given so little information on him. But, dear reader, that's honestly never stopped me before. So here is the headcanons/backstory I've got for Konig so far. It goes from childhood up to the point of meeting the main character. Now! Onto the headcanons! I'd like to mention first that these headcanons are specifically for the fic that I'm working on, and many are in no way to cannon to the actual lore of Call of Duty.

***

Konig's life before the military was a normal, caring one; his mother and father loved each other dearly. His sister (Sophia) was Konig's protector, walking him to and from school. His father was his idol, taking him hiking or wood working every Sunday. His mother was Konig's greatest love; she made Konig feel better when his classmates teased him.

And oh, how the other children teased him. At six, Konig was already about as tall as his eleven-year-old sister and weighed almost twice as much. He was just a big, sweet goofball of a child who knew why other kids laughed at him but didn't really understand why. His father used to frown at the sight of Konig's tears, patting his shoulder and saying, "Everything will be okay, buddy." Konig didn't have a lot of friends; actually, Sophia was his only friend, so his father's little pet name for him was like a soothing bandage over his lonely heart.

Then, Konig's father left when he was ten. No notice, no call, no apology; he just didn't come home from work one day. It tore the only life Konig had ever known out from under his feet. His sister shut down, distancing herself from Konig. His mother cried all the time. Konig couldn't believe that his father was just... gone. Not dead, gone. It was a fact he couldn't accept, and he'd ask his mother over and over if his father had called or was even home.

His father never came back, and Konig had to learn that tears solved nothing in life.

The military was where Konig really felt he flourished. He joined at 17, not really knowing what else to do with his life. He found some kind of peace and simplicity even during drills and operations, and he was good at it. Good at carrying out his orders, a good fighter, a good soldier. The military did something to him; it taught him how to deal with his anxiety, how to build up walls to keep everything inside, hidden almost.

He quickly went from a quiet soldier to a cocky and, dare say, arrogant man quickly rising in his ranks. His new mask certainly helped, not only with his own confidence but with his intimidating presence.

He'd tried hard to become a recon sniper, knowing that his sharp eyes and intellect were perfect for the position, but Konig's superiors looked at his size and saw another use for him. They used him as an insertion specialist, essentially a human battering ram that could slam his way through doors and tear through the battlefield. Often, Konig's handiness skills were used in human trafficking situations, breaking prisoners from their cells. It wasn't a job Konig detested, but with every mission, something weighed heavy on him. In many cases, the people he freed were scared of him, refusing to go anywhere near the giant man who had just ripped a door off of its hinges. Not that Konig blamed them. He had done things on the battlefield, seen things, had made decisions that had been detrimental to his team.

At some point, Konig joined KorTac, as a contractor. Taking missions for the highest bidder and leading his team (occasionally Konig took missions from Task Force 141 when they paid high enough). This is where Konig can say he met his first friend, Kim "Horangi" Hong-Jin. They were an unstoppable team. Konig became known for his ability in warfare strategy and his skills on the battlefield. The other operators respected Konig for his skills, his rank.

And this is where Konig meets the main character. I want Konig's romantic headcanons to be a different post, so for now, I'll leave it as is. Thank you, dear reader, for enjoying my Konig headcannons! I'm still working on my little project; every day, I get a little more done with it, and I'm so excited for it to finally be finished I'm shaking.

Until Next Time,

Wren.

[talenlee]

Well What if I Was In Charge Of Pokemon If I'm So Bloody Smart?

No matter where you are on the internet, whatever the fandom is, someone is always going to ask about what you’d do if you were in charge of it. For example, a lot of Bible fans are very convinced that their fanfiction is actually factually true. Whether it’s fantasy Wrestlemanias or ideal outfit compositions in Pretty Little Liars, there’s always an urge to take a thing you already know and make your version of it.

Also, people who like Pokemon routinely talk about what stupid idiots the designers are and how they could do a better job of running the game. I don’t think I could, because I know there are competing factors and I think that everyone who opens their mouth to talk like that sounds like a tool.

Still, if I think those people are silly, it’s easy to say that if I don’t put myself out there, right?

Here! A bunch of opinions about what I think should be done in Pokemon as a game franchise. Nothing like ‘open world matters’, I think the game should always be a competitive 2v2 Bo3 format and the rest of the game can follow from that. I also don’t think that this would make the game better. It’s very important that I put it out there, on my sleeve, that none of these changes are based on deep insight into the game or the way that it should be. No. This is a centering of myself, as a designer, and as a player of games. This is how I want it done. Also note that none of these changes are simple or oblative, like, this isn’t all that I think should happen, there would need to be specific changes and fine tuning for all these pushes.

There, preamble done, here’s how and where I’m right.

Kill the Rock or Steel Type, Don’t Care Which

To me the Rock type feels like it exists because when they were setting up the type chart back in Red-Blue, they figured they’d need something like that, like making sure to sketch out space for a window box while designing a window. But Rock in RBY got to be Ground’s ugly cousin, with its greatest perk (a resistance to normal moves) not proving adequate to the task of dealing with that generation’s overwhelming normal type attacks, and being bolted consistently to something that gave it a quad weakness. In Generation 1, there was one rock type that wasn’t quad-weak to grass, and only three that weren’t quad weak to water as well. In its first appearance, Rock was literally never used on its own, which to me suggests that the type wasn’t actually doing a job. It was a sorta-type, a thing to keep them overwhelming grounders under control, I suppose.

In Gen 2, as if to fix Gen 1, they introduced Steel types, which were uh, like, Rock types but good? They had the ground weakness still, they shared that, but they no longer catastrophically mixed with ground, and Steel had the kind of resistances that made it fit for ‘tough’ Pokemon types. But this brought with it the new problem that now Rock’s old job – a physically tough type of elemental Pokemon type that represented being made out of something inert that wasn’t necessarily stuck to or of the ground – was displaced by something that was just better.

Rock exists in an ugly space between ground and steel, made worse. Steel exists to do Rock’s job, but better. Steel is one of the best types in the game and even brings with it an immunity to a whole wing of status conditions that you want on a tough Pokemon that wants to endure fights. One of these types sucks at doing its job and the other is too good at it and any time you get one of them you probably would be better off if it was just the other.

My druthers, Rock would be Steel, the Steel Type wouldn’t exist and the Rock type would just have the Steel associations, and if that doesn’t make sense for a Pokemon I’d just make it loose the Rock type. Graveller and Golem didn’t get anything being Rock types after all. Oh, Stab on Rock Slide, yeah, woo, that means something.

Get Rid of the Fairy Type

You can admit to your mistakes, just admit it, the Fairy type was an attempt to address the problems of making a bunch of broken dragon types. It has no coherent flavour, and it’s super strong in a way it does not justify.

The Fairy type sucks and it’s so popular and strong it’ll never be properly addressed.

‘Oh but if you got rid of the fairy type, what type would you give the fairies? there’s nothing else that fits’ yeah see what I mean about not having a coherent theme?

Buff the Ice Type

Ice got a ‘sort’ of buff in Scarlet-Violet, in that one of their moves got made worse. Oh, more usable, but it it didn’t actually help Ice. See, Ice Types in Hail get a defense buff, making them better defensively under the new ‘Snow’ condition. This means that now you can run a single Ice type and it gets tougher as long as this snow condition is going on without needing to build your whole team around them the way them. You could include teammates that were immune to Hail without building around a single type, and benefit from the defensive bonus it now grants, which is like the defensive bonus you get from Sandstorm.

Basically, you know that good weather, Sandstorm? Well, rather than Hail, the Bad Sandstorm too much like Sandstorm, it got replaced with Snow, so it’s now the Bad Sandstorm.

Anyway, the Ice type should resist water (turning water that hits it into ice and floating in ice are two good themes there), and Steel should be weak to Ice. No strong reason, just fucking hell, give Ice something to do.

Stop Making Bugs A Dumping Ground

Bug is such a weird type because it’s clearly something that the designers are fond of, something they like, but it’s also a type with almost no meanigful support in the game’s entire history. The list of good, tournament-meaningful bugs starts at Scizor, adds Volcarona and kinda stops there, and that’s a list that’s been about that long since forever. The Bug type is used in the early game to populate early routes invoking things like looking for cicadas as a kid.

But the result is that bugs aren’t treated as a sort of whole type of their own. Bug type moves are typically weak hits, and even though U-Turn is an incredibly important move, it’s never important for being Bug, it’s important because it’s a pivot – a move that lets you transfer in a Pokemon after other attacks. Its potential offensive capacity is irrelevant, and you can tell because as good as U-turn is, it’s showing up on Incineroar – quite possibly the best VGC Pokemon of all time.

There’s no legendary Bug.

There’s never been a Box bug.

There’s exactly one Mythical Bug ever, and it was Genesect.

Fully-evolved bugs have the lowest average stats, and they as a group have the lowest hit points, and special attacks of any group.

Bug as an offensive type is resisted by seven other types, and bug resists three uncommon offensive types – fighting, ground, and grass. It even has a weird thing where Fighting resists Bug and Bug resists fighting, which isn’t something that shows up in other damage types.

The Bug type is a bad type and Bug Pokemon are bad Pokemon because Bug Pokemon aren’t made to be good. The best Bug move is good because it shows up on the Best Pokemon of all time in a competitive environment.

My solution to this is not to do anything with the type per se but just, like, fix it? Stop making Bug Pokemon that are bad. Make better moves for Bug Pokemon to use. Take every fully evolved Bug Pokemon and give it better stats. By all means, keep the way that Bug Pokemon are bad at HP and Special Attack, sure – but give them something for it! This is a type with a lot of Pokemon that get to be Someone’s Special Guy, and they have made it so anyone who gets attached to Bugs early on is guaranteed to have to give up on their faves when they start playing in competitive scenes. That sucks!

There! Just some opinions about how Pokemon should be designed. These are the kinds of opinions I think are interesting to consider.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!