#probably somewhere different than where it is when combined

[morninkim]

What do the Dinozords look like when separated in the RotMMPR AU? Cause I imagine that the proportions they have to each other is kind of funny, because the Triceratops and Pterodactyl Dinozords are just so smol compared to the Maston and Tyrannosaurus Dinozords. Sabertooth Tiger is in the middle.

ooohh thank you for the question!!

haven’t done any proper designs yet simply bc i’m not comfortable enough w my skills to pull them off BUT

I think your size estimates are pretty spot on, Pterodactyl Zord’s definitely the smallest w Triceratops being just slightly bigger - Tyrannosaurus and Mastodon are definitely YUGE compared to them and ya, Sabertooth’s right in the centre

Design wise they’d be sort of like, not too dissimilar to the original designs, but in the style of Transformers Animated, if that makes sense?? Eventually I’m gonna refine the design a lil more, but that’s kinda the gist of it, put simply. Also, because of their nature as like, constructs formed from their connections to the Power Coins, they kind of act more as Digimon partners to the Rangers than as big built robots - so they’ve kinda got bonds with them ala later teams in PR and they’re less robotic, with the Megazord’s design coming from the Rangers being like “okay the Dark Dragonzord is a giant monster basically, obviously the way to beat it is with a giant robot”

Hence why I make the Omnimon comparison in the tags of the Megazord post, it’s a bit less of a combining mecha and a lil more like a Jogress/DNA Digivolution, if that makes sense? They kind of become more robot-y for the purposes of combining

idk if that answers your question exactly, i think i kinda just took the opportunity to quickly ramble about the Rise Zords, the image of them in my head is very very good - one day I’ll draw them properly

[cheesus-doodles]

i wonder how izana is like if he had a s/o during the time when he was the black dragon leader

Red Dragonflies Masterlist | Masterlist

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i have actually answered this previously in these Relationship HCs ! and this is also the case in my red dragonflies AU, former gang leader reader is actually Izzy's s/o when he was the black dragon leader - have linked the masterlist up top cough

but because I like to rant, here are some more thoughts about yan black dragon-era Izzy and you, which can apply to both regular reader and gang leader reader!

Izana was probably already very unstable and jealous during his time as the 8th Gen Black Dragon leader, what with the entire situation between Shinichiro constantly talking about Mikey, and learning that the Black Dragon gang would go to said boy instead of him. Combined that with him having found you as an s/o, someone that Izana would see as his, something that he could finally own and keep to himself without having to share (unlike the whole situation with Shinichiro), no doubt that it wouldn't take long for Izana to swing into yandere tendencies, becoming extremely overbearing and overprotective over you.

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With you around, there is a very clear difference in Izana's mannerisms and general behavior. Almost a personality flip in fact, it's night and day how he acts in your presence and when you aren't present. After all, there's a certain way that Izana wants you to perceive him as, and then there's everything else - so this white-haired boy would be sure to carefully tailor and adjust how he acts around you to what he knows you like (to a certain degree of course). As long as you don't threaten the status quo, as long as you keep by his side and his side only, your precious Izzy is whoever you want him to be. Loving, kind, doting, he can almost seem to read your mind and predict your moods.

Knows how to make you feel better after a shitty day, knows what to say and what to do to get you falling heads over heels for him over and over. But don't let that fool you into thinking that you were beyond his manipulation, because nope, not a chance. If he even has the slightest doubt that you were drifting away from him, or worse, thinking of leaving him, expect for Izzy to start subtly tearing you down. He wouldn't sound any different from what he usually does, cooing, low, soft murmur, but the things that slip from his mouth; it pokes at your insecurities, stirs the doubts you have about yourself. Yes, you were the most beautiful person he had laid eyes on, but did you think that really extended to everyone? Surely, surely you know that only he can love you like this? You couldn't possibly survive away from his side the way you are, right?

In his mind, Izzy is only doing it because he loved you as much as he did - you were made for him, like he was made for you. He couldn't live without you, so even if he had to hurt you a little, it'll all be worth it. You'll see that it was all for you.

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Wouldn't be uncommon to see him roaring down streets, both city and mountain ones alike, on his motorbike with you clung to his back and with no specific destination in mind - just likes to spend time with you, brings you anywhere that you want to go. Besides, the delinquents in the city, be they Black Dragons or rival scum, know better than to stare at the two of you. Loves light, airy places, so be prepared to spend a lot of time just hanging out together on rooftops and mountains, somewhere where you can feel the breeze through your hair, where Izzy can get you all to himself. All your attention being on him is the best kind of date.

There's no such thing as privacy, period. He absolutely needs to know everything that happens in your life, and anything less would earn you a full tantrum and fit. Put simply, its either Izana is there, hovering next to you and keeping one violet eye on all your ongoings, and no doubt this baby boy has someone (cough Inupi cough) tagging you from a respectable distance when he isn't free. That is, on top of having unfettered access to everything on your phone; call logs, messages, photos. Nothing is secret from him, why would it be? What do you have to hide from your partner?

You don't go anywhere new without Izzy. Why do you have to? What were you hiding? Your future husband would be happy to take you anywhere you have to go: cafe, the new department store downtown, even festivals. So unless you were trying to hide something from him, why wouldn't you want him to go along? Don't you know how dangerous it is out there? What if you get jumped by a rival gang? Needless to say, keeping presents a secret from this boy isn't a walk in a park.

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Everything else that Izana doesn't think you would approve of seeing would be done out of your sight. He doesn't like having you see the darker side of your boyfriend, the one that deals with weapons and drugs, the one that beats people, both civilians and his own gang members alike for the mildest of perceived infringements against you. You were too soft, too delicate for that. What if you got scared off? What would he do if you became frightened of him?

Instead, all his rage, all his hatred, he poured into the Black Dragon gang, leading them down darker and darker paths. The entire world was scum as far as he was concerned, trash that he had to beat and flatten into perfection so you didn't have to foul your hands and feet.

Sure Izana couldn't keep Shinichiro to himself as much as he desperately wanted to, the first time he truly found family - the source of a lot of his anger and jealousy. He hated Mikey, and always will, for stealing his older brother. But you were perfection, divinity, and you filled the hole in his heart; you didn't have to see that side of him if you just stuck by his side and returned his love. You were the only thing giving stability to a very fragile Izzy, and god only knows what would happen to him if that stability ever left. Izana would give you the sun and the moon if you wanted them both, all he asked for in return was your loyalty.

[maxinesgun]

Can you write about reader comforting Jacob

nothing but time ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

pairing: jacob custos x f!reader

summary: you and jacob are hiding away together in one of the cabins after everything has gone to hell. an admission of what really happened to the van leads to an inadvertent confession of his feelings for you.

cw: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, jacob pining, mentions of blood, swearing, tending to jacob's injury, first kiss, a bit of angst, reader makes him nervousss (2.7k)

a/n: i thought this prompt paired well with an idea i already had, so i decided to combine them. hope you like! also i did not mean for it to turn out this long lol

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” 

Needless to say, you were not great with blood.

And there was a lot of it.

Jacob released a long, slow breath through clenched teeth as he lowered himself down onto the bunk bed, taking care not to rest any weight on his injured leg. His brows were furrowed and all the hard lines of his body were tensed in pain, but he was handling this remarkably well, considering. You’d think you were the one who had stepped in a bear trap.

You were trying your best to think about what a rational person would do in this situation—not that the situation you were currently in was in any way normal. What did one do when being hunted by werewolves at a closed-down summer camp with no way to escape or call for help? You shook your head, determining that going down that road would send you into full-blown panic mode. Instead, you narrowed it down: What did one do when one’s friend had stepped in a bear trap?

“Bandages,” you said firmly, more to give yourself a clear goal to focus on than anything. “Okay, yes. I think there’s a first aid kit in here somewhere.” You felt Jacob’s gaze on you as you began kneeling down to grope blindly under each of the bunk beds. You guessed you must have looked somewhat frantic, judging by the way he was looking at you as if you’d just started speaking a different language.

“Okay, I’m getting the sense that you’re really freaked out right now, but really, I’m fine. It’s not that bad. Look, I can still bend my—ah, shit.”

“You’re sitting there with a bloody stump for a foot and you’re telling me not to freak out?” you scoffed as you ducked to peer under one of the last beds, practically pressing yourself to the floor. It was dark in here, and you tried not to think about all of the mouse droppings and spiderwebs your arm was probably brushing against. Right now, that was the absolute least of your worries. Eventually your hand knocked against something solid, and a rush of relief washed over you as you pulled out the small first aid kit. “Got it.”

“Hey, come on. I know it looks bad, but I still have a foot.” You could tell he was making an effort to sound like his usual self, light and joking, but his voice was strained, his breathing a bit heavy.

“Pretty soon you won’t, if it gets infected,” you pointed out as you returned to the bed he was on and crouched down in front of him with the kit, rifling through its contents.

“Okay, not helping.” He watched as you pulled out a roll of bandages and a tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol, a twinge of uncertainty flitting across his features. “You, uh, know what you’re doing with that?”

“No, not really,” you said, grimacing as you examined his ankle. It was caked in drying blood and dirt from when he’d had to race through the forest barefoot. You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to stay cool as you focused on ripping off a small piece of fabric from your already-torn shirt. “It’s not too complicated though, right? Clean the wound, then wrap it up. Easy. I took first aid once when I was like, fourteen.”

Jacob nodded, leaning an arm on the bedpost. He didn’t look too reassured. “Oh, great. See, that makes me feel a lot better.”

You shot him a sharp look, glancing up momentarily from where you were leaning over his leg. You found that his eyes had already been on you, and you thought you saw something in them soften as his lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “Sorry. Just kidding. You’re who I’d trust most with this kinda thing, anyway.”

“Really? Not Dylan?” you joked, using the bunched-up scrap of fabric to gently wipe around the wound as much as you could. When you placed a hand on his calf to hold him in place, you noticed the way he stiffened, went completely still, but you attributed it to him trying to brace against the pain.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head a little. “You know what, scratch that. Definitely Dylan.”

You reached for the rubbing alcohol next, unscrewing it and holding him in place a little more firmly. You tried to keep from wincing at your next words, knowing it was about to hurt like hell. “Okay, now this might sting a bit.”

The bed creaked as he straightened up. “Wait, wait, wait, what are you—”

His words abruptly cut off with a grunt as you poured the alcohol over the wound. “Fuuuck,” he hissed out between clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut and his head falling against his chest.

“Sorry. It’s better if you’re not expecting it,” you said apologetically, glancing up at him with a weak half-smile. You set the bottle aside and began unraveling the roll of bandage, determined to work quickly. Who knew how much time you had here to hunker down in safety before one of those things burst through the window?

Jacob’s jaw was tensed, a muscle in it jumping as he let out a long breath, but he nodded, another attempt at nonchalance. “I’m good. Totally good. Barely felt a thing.”

The smile on your lips grew a bit at that as you began wrapping the bandage around his ankle, trying to make sure it was snug but not uncomfortably so. A silence fell in the space between you, and you suddenly became very aware of the strange intimacy of the moment—the fact that you were alone together, touching him so casually, the only light in the dim cabin the moonlight slanting across the floorboards.

You were sure he was watching you, and for some reason you were very determined not to look up as you finished wrapping him up, leaning in to tear the end of the roll off with your teeth. “There, I think you’re fine,” you said, glad to fill the silence. “It’s probably not the best, but…”

“Thanks,” he said quietly, and it sounded so sincere that your heart squeezed in your chest. He groaned as he looked down at his leg. “God, I’m screwed, aren’t I?” 

“Just be glad it was your foot and not that handsome face of yours. How would you get all the girls?” you grinned, attempting to lighten the mood as you tied the bandage off tightly. Your slightly shaky fingers made it a bit difficult, but you managed. 

You heard him breathe a laugh, but it sounded half-hearted, and when you glanced up at him, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Right.” 

His eyes lingered on you for a few seconds, an expression in them you couldn’t quite place, and you cleared your throat, brushing off your scuffed jeans as you stood. The feeling in your stomach was one you were familiar with—a twisting, fluttering sensation that only happened when Jacob looked at you a certain way. One that you were used to shoving down, where it couldn’t be examined too closely.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you walked over to the window, hesitantly scanning what was visible of the grounds and the trees of the forest beyond. There was no movement; it was quiet, almost peaceful. In a way, it only made you more anxious. “I don’t know how long we’ll be able to stay in here,” you said, worrying your lip between your teeth. Your mind was racing with what your next move should be. “Maybe we should try to go find Nick and Abi, make sure they’re okay. Do you think they’d be at the lodge?”

A fresh wave of worry washed over you as you thought about your other friends and the fact that you didn’t know where they were right now, if they were safe. Would all of you make it out okay after all of this?

“I don’t—yeah, the lodge. Good idea,” Jacob said from behind you. After a moment you heard him let out a sigh, and you turned back to him. He looked distraught, his faraway gaze focused on the floor in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice you staring at him as he ran a hand through his hair, the movement a bit agitated. “God, I can’t believe…” he trailed off, and he gave a small shake of his head. “This is all my fault.”

The words were muttered, as if meant more for himself than for you. You frowned in confusion, studying his face. You’d never seen him look so serious. “What? What do you mean, your fault?” 

“All of this. It’s only happening because… because of me.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, seeming to contemplate something, and finally looked up at you. “I messed with the van.”

It took several seconds for you to process what he’d said, the implications dawning on you much slower than they should have. “Jacob…” you started, but you didn’t know what to say. It felt like your thoughts were wading through sludge.

“I messed with the van,” he repeated, the words rushing out of him. “That’s why it won’t start. It was stupid, and I didn’t know all of this shit would happen, but it did, and if anything happens to you, or—or anyone, I…”

Your mouth opened, closed. You stared at him in shock for a long moment, taking in his pleading expression as the previous events of the evening replayed in your head. Of course. It hadn’t made sense that the van had just stopped working all of a sudden. 

You rubbed a hand over your eyes, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling out of your chest at the sheer absurdity of your current situation. What even was this night? You’d think you were dreaming, if you hadn’t known any better. “What the fuck, Jacob? Why?”

“I just needed—” he let out a breath, looking away from you. “I just needed more time. We’ll be going off to college after this, and it won’t be the same, y'know? I didn’t get a chance to tell you—” he cut himself off, looking frustrated with himself.

You stared at him, your arms dropping to your sides. What was he trying to say? “A chance to tell me what?” you asked uncertainly, swallowing against your dry throat. His eyes met yours for a few beats, and you felt like you could see the unspoken words in them, understood all at once.

To say you hadn’t considered anything more than friendship with Jacob would be an outright lie, and an unconvincing one, at that. Of course you had—you’d formed quite a bond since the very first week of summer, had grown fond of his dumb jokes and the way he teased you constantly, which quickly became a comfortable back-and-forth between you that came so naturally you hadn’t remembered it being any other way. 

And he was attractive, of course. No one could deny that.

“I don’t…” Your voice was faint even to your own ears, barely a murmur. It was all you could muster.

“That I like you,” he said simply, as if he couldn’t hold the words back any longer. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

You still hadn’t regained the ability to speak; your gaze flitted about the room as if searching for what to say before landing back on him, on his brown eyes, watching you with a softness and a hint of sadness that made your heart twist in your chest. 

You opened your mouth to speak, not particularly knowing what would come out, but he raised a hand to stop you, seeing the expression on your face. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Another silence fell after that, one in which your mind was reeling with the new reality that you had just been hit over the head with. Jacob, having feelings for you? For how long? And why hadn’t he told you earlier, at any other time prior to being in a life-or-death scenario like this one? After a few minutes—or maybe ten, you didn’t know—you pushed off the wall and slowly ambled over to sit beside him on the bed, where he was staring down at the injured leg you had just bandaged up.

“Ah, fuck—it wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair again. Your eyes swept over his face, lingering on the line of his strong jaw, on his soft-looking hair. “It was gonna be at the lake, or—or the campfire, y'know, once we were alone. And I would’ve had some liquid courage in me, so I didn’t sound like as much of a nervous idiot, and it would’ve just been chill—”

“Jacob—”

“—but then all this fucked up shit happened, and we all might be dead after tonight because of some dumbass romantic-comedy fantasy I had in my head—"

“It’s not your—”

“—like everything was just going to work out perfectly. Like one more night was going to change anything—”

“—Jacob. Look at me.”

The firmness in your tone made him snap out of his rambling, and when he finally turned to look at you, you didn’t allow yourself time to think twice. You took his face in your hands and kissed him.

That shut him up.

He went rigid for just a moment, but then you felt him melt into the kiss, leaning into you as his big hand came to rest on your thigh. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, nor an urgent one; it was deep, purposeful, as if a culmination of all the brief looks, small touches, and hidden thoughts that had passed between you. He kissed you as if it was just another summer night, as if you had all the time in the world in this cabin, and a warmth you hadn’t felt before spread through you as you marveled at how soft his lips felt against your own.

You broke the kiss, drawing back for breath, and you saw his gaze rove your face before falling back to your parted lips. “Wow,” he breathed after a long pause, for once looking as though he was at a loss for words.

“You didn’t have to wait all summer to do that,” you said, smiling softly, “just so you know.” You realized then that you were still holding his face, and slowly leaned away, letting your hands fall back into your lap.

“Huh.” He managed to tear his eyes away from your mouth to meet your stare, but when you bit your bottom lip, a habit of yours, you saw them flick back down once or twice. His hand hadn’t moved from your leg, and you were glad; it was warm and steadying. “Well, now I feel twice as stupid.”

You breathed a laugh, but shook your head slightly, looking at him earnestly. “Listen. None of this is your fault.” 

He let out a breath, barely a sigh. “If I hadn’t—”

“—you didn’t know this would happen. You couldn’t have known,” you told him firmly. You rested your hand over his on your thigh, a spark of electricity shooting up your arm at the simple touch. “Any one of us could have made the same mistake.”

“I just… I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and though you didn’t want the apology, you nodded, knowing he felt like he needed to say it. You could see the pain in his eyes, the self-blame, and it made something ache inside you. 

“We’re going to be fine,” you said, your grip on his hand tightening. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself of it just as much as him. “We’re all going to be fine.” You offered him a tiny, encouraging grin, needing things to not feel so serious right now. When he returned it, the corner of his lips quirking up in the ghost of his usual wide grin, you told yourself that it was just the beginning of… whatever this was. You weren’t going to think about the future right now, about everything that came after. For the moment, you were just glad to do this alongside him.

After all, once all of this was over, you’d have nothing but time.

[movingmusically]

Caught Feeling - Chapter 1

Synopsis:

Tired of her quiet, predictable life, a woman takes a spontaneous detour into a gritty bar. What begins as a distraction becomes a night of rediscovery, as an encounter with a captivating bartender brings her face-to-face with her own fears—and desires.

Author’s Note:

I’ve never written anything before, though I’ve always had stories in my head. Seeing all the Caught Stealing set content this week finally pushed me to get something down. I’ve combined the original two parts I posted earlier into one updated story, adding in some details I couldn’t leave out!

Word Count: 8,712

Masterlist

The truth is, I don’t really know what possessed me to walk into Paul’s tonight. I’m not the kind of person who normally does things like this—spontaneous, bold, risky. That’s never been me. Or at least, it hasn’t been me in a long time.

There was a time when I was more comfortable in my own skin, when my shyness didn’t feel like a weight. It used to be a part of me, something I accepted, something I lived with rather than fought against. I could be quiet and still feel confident, blending into the background but never doubting my worth. But somewhere along the way, that shifted. The quiet I once enjoyed now feels stifling. I’m constantly second-guessing myself, overthinking every little action, every word I say, as if there’s some invisible audience keeping score.

The world feels too loud, too fast, and I feel too small in it.

Lately, the silence of my own company has become less of a comfort and more of a reminder. A reminder that I’m stuck. That life is moving forward, and I’m standing still, watching everyone else go on without me. I can’t even remember the last time I did something that made me feel...alive. Not just existing from one day to the next but really feeling like I’m part of something—part of the world instead of just a spectator.

Tonight, it feels like I’ve reached some invisible limit. I can’t take another evening of staring at the same four walls, of flicking through channels without really watching, of pretending I’m okay with the monotony. Work drained me, as it always does, leaving me too exhausted to think but somehow too restless to sleep. My mind feels like it’s stuck in a loop, clogged with the same old worries that circle endlessly, without resolution. They’re small things—most of them, at least—but they pile up, weighing me down until I can barely breathe under their collective pressure.

Normally, I’d push through it, fall back into my routine because that’s what I do. I know the safe route; I’ve perfected it over time. But tonight, the routine felt unbearable. The thought of going home, of slipping back into the same old patterns—it made my chest tighten with the kind of dread I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t that I had a plan, not really. I just knew I couldn’t face another night of nothingness.

So instead of walking home like I always do, I took a different path, literally. One foot in front of the other, the sidewalk unfamiliar beneath me as I moved further away from everything that felt safe and known. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. But the farther I walked, the more it felt like I was being pulled—by something I couldn’t name, some need inside me that I’ve been trying to ignore for too long.

And that’s how I ended up here, standing in front of Paul’s, the bar I’ve passed countless times but never once considered entering. It’s not my kind of place. Never has been. It’s gritty, loud, with an edge that feels too rough for someone like me. The kind of bar where everyone seems to know each other, where conversations are shared over sticky countertops and half-drunk glasses of whiskey. The regulars here probably have stories they’ve told a hundred times, stories about the kind of life I don’t live—the kind of life I always thought I didn’t want.

But maybe tonight, I don’t want to be the kind of person who always plays it safe, who blends into the background without ever leaving a mark. Maybe tonight, I need to be someone else. Someone who isn’t so afraid to take up space. Someone who doesn’t spend hours dissecting every interaction, every conversation, until the memory of it feels more like a mistake than a moment.

I step inside, and immediately, the atmosphere hits me like a wave. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to the air, mixing with the sharp scent of alcohol and something else I can’t quite place. It’s dimly lit, the kind of place where shadows linger in the corners, and the faces blur together unless you’re really looking. There’s a hum of conversation, the low murmur of voices blending with the occasional burst of laughter, creating a background noise that fills the space without overpowering it.

I don’t know why, but the second I cross the threshold, I feel the weight of the room shift. Not in any obvious way. It’s not like anyone stops what they’re doing to look at me—most people are too engrossed in their own lives, their own stories. But I feel it. I feel different, like I’ve stepped out of my usual world and into something unfamiliar, something that makes my nerves buzz just beneath the surface of my skin.

For a brief moment, I want to turn around, to leave before anyone even notices I’m here. That familiar urge to retreat, to go back to what I know, bubbles up inside me, threatening to overwhelm the tentative boldness that brought me here in the first place. But I don’t leave. I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and then force myself to stay. To move further into the bar, even though every part of me is screaming to turn back.

I make my way toward the bar, my steps feeling both too loud and too quiet at the same time. My eyes flick around, taking in the crowd, but not really seeing anyone. I feel exposed, out of place, but at the same time, there’s a strange comfort in knowing that no one is really paying attention to me. I can be invisible here if I want to be—and that’s fine. I’m not here to be noticed. I don’t need anyone to see me.

I just need a break—from my own head, from the endless loop of thoughts and worries that seem to follow me wherever I go. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find here, or if I’m even looking for anything at all. All I know is that tonight, I couldn’t go home. I needed to be somewhere different, somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere that wasn’t the same quiet, predictable space where my thoughts would close in on me again.

That’s when I see him.

He was positioned behind the bar, leaning casually against the counter with an ease that suggested he was in his element, practically part of the furniture. His blonde hair, tousled and slightly unkempt, peeked out from under a well-worn baseball cap, pulled down just enough to give him a hint of mystery, shadowing his piercing blue eyes. Those eyes caught mine with an intensity that felt almost tangible, sharp and probing, as if he could peel back the layers of anyone who happened to fall under his gaze.

For a brief moment, the thought of diverting my eyes flitted through my mind, a reflex to escape the unexpected vulnerability I felt under his scrutiny. But I didn’t look away. Instead, our eyes locked, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face—a smile that seemed to see right through to the nerves I was trying so hard to mask. He held my gaze for a beat too long, creating a moment charged with an unspoken challenge before he turned his attention back to the drinks he was pouring.

A stir of something unfamiliar fluttered inside me—a cocktail of nerves, curiosity, and an exhilarating sense of daring. This wasn't typically me; I was not one to flirt openly, especially with bartenders, nor to sit alone boldly in such a buzzing place. But tonight was different. Tonight, I felt drawn to the unknown, compelled to explore whatever this could lead to.

As I approached the bar, each step seemed amplified, my awareness heightened as if every movement was a statement of intent. I slid onto a stool, feeling the coolness of the leather through my jeans, and my presence seemed to draw his attention once more. The bottles behind him caught the soft lighting of the bar, casting a kaleidoscope of colours across the polished surface. The room was steeped in the smells of smoke and aged wood, enriched with a hint of something musky, almost intoxicating.

He glanced up as I settled in, his earlier smile returning, expectant, as if he had anticipated the challenge I was about to present.

“What’ll it be?” he asked, his voice a rough blend of warmth and rasp, perfectly echoing the raw, ambient energy of the bar.

Under normal circumstances, I’d have a standard order ready, something simple and unassuming, designed to blend in rather than stand out. But tonight, driven by a newfound audacity, I hesitated, meeting his gaze squarely. “Whatever you recommend,” I ventured, my voice more steady than I felt.

His eyebrow arched, clearly amused by my response, and his smirk widened, adding a playful edge to his already compelling demeanour. “You trust me to pick for you?”

I nodded, the gesture firm despite the fluttering in my stomach. “Yeah. Surprise me.”

He chuckled, a low sound that seemed to resonate with a hint of respect, or perhaps challenge. Shaking his head as if in disbelief at my daring, he reached for a bottle. “Alright, you asked for it.”

Watching him work was like observing a skilled artist; each movement was fluid and assured. He selected ingredients with precision, mixing them with a practiced hand that spoke of years behind the bar. As he prepared the drink, I found myself stealing glances, drawn to the confident way he navigated his domain.

He slid the drink across the bar with a smooth motion, and when his fingers brushed mine, a spark of electricity zipped through me, startling and vivid.

“Here you go,” he said, his tone light, that easy grin playing on his lips again. “Let me know what you think.”

I took a tentative sip, and the drink was a revelation—smooth with an undercurrent of complexity that mirrored the night itself. It warmed me, loosening the edges of my anxiety, coaxing a sense of openness I hadn’t felt upon walking in.

“Not bad,” I replied, my own smile a reflection of his, a silent acknowledgment of the small adventure I had embarked upon.

His eyes studied me, a flicker of intrigue passing through them. “Good to know,” he said, his voice tinged with a subtle warmth. He momentarily excused himself to attend to another customer, his movements efficient and practiced as he refilled a drink without missing a beat.

As he worked, the familiar atmosphere of the bar wrapped around us—a comfortable hum of background chatter mingled with the clink of glasses and the occasional cheer from patrons watching the baseball game on the television above. Adjusting his cap, he made his way back to where I was sitting, his approach marked by an easy, confident smile that seemed to pull the dim light of the bar towards him.

Normally, I’d be tongue-tied, fumbling for words, but here, with him, it felt different.

“So, you come here often?” I asked, aiming for light-hearted but cringing a bit at the cliché.

He chuckled, a light, engaging sound that drew a grin from me. “I guess you could say that. I work here most nights. Name’s Hank, by the way,” he introduced himself, extending a hand across the bar.

Hank. It suited him perfectly—strong, straightforward, with just the right amount of rugged charm.

“I’m—” I began, ready to offer my own name, but just then, a regular at the end of the bar caught Hank’s attention, loudly requesting help with the jukebox that was stubbornly refusing to accept their money. Hank shot me a quick, conspiratorial smile that promised he’d return, and then he was off, his stride confident as he navigated the crowded space.

I watched him as he worked, noting the way his shoulders rolled with each movement, the casual confidence in his stride. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that drew the eye and held it. It wasn’t just his looks—though those certainly didn’t hurt—it was the way he seemed so completely at ease in his environment, as if he were as much a fixture of the bar as the shelves of liquor behind him.

As he adjusted the jukebox, his eyes occasionally flicked to the small television mounted above the bar. The San Francisco Giants were playing, and it was clear from his intermittent nods and muttered comments to another patron that he was following the game.

When he returned, the noise level in the bar had dropped a bit, and he leaned in slightly to resume our conversation. “Big Giants fan?” I asked, gesturing towards his hat and the screen above us.

"Definitely," Hank said, his smile broadening. "I played a ton in high school back in California, but a bad leg break sidelined me for good. Now, I never miss a game, it helps keep the spirit alive."

“From baseball player to master mixologist,” I observed, noting the transition from his past interests to his current profession. “Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.”

He let out a soft chuckle, a hint of irony flickering in his eyes. “Something like that,” he replied with a slight shrug. “Though life always has a few surprises up its sleeve, doesn’t it?”

As the evening unfolded, the bar had thinned out, not nearly as busy as when I first arrived, but still lively enough to keep Hank moving between customers. Between sharing a laugh, or tossing a rag over his shoulder with casual grace, his eyes would inevitably return, as though drawn by some unspoken pull. Each time he approached, it felt like we were continuing a conversation that had never really stopped, even if words weren’t always exchanged. It was more about his presence—the way he leaned in slightly, his focus making it seem like nothing else in the room mattered.

The warmth of the alcohol settled into me, quieting my usual reservations. It wasn’t enough to cloud my thoughts—I was still fully aware—but it gave me a newfound confidence. With each passing moment, the initial unease melted away, replaced by a comfortable rhythm between us.

“So, what brings you to Paul’s tonight? You don’t exactly blend in with the usual crowd here,” Hank inquired after a while, his tone casual but curious, his eyes searching mine for something deeper than the surface-level chit-chat.

I hesitated, the question more profound than I had anticipated sharing with a near-stranger. Yet, something about Hank’s straightforwardness, underscored by the honest curiosity in his eyes, made me want to open up.

I shrugged, glancing around. “Just needed a change of scenery, I guess. This isn’t exactly my usual kind of place.”

He chuckled, leaning against the bar, his blue eyes flicking up to the TV screen for a moment where the end credits of the game were rolling. “Yeah, I kind of figured. You’ve got that look—like you’re used to being somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else like… where?” I asked, curious what he saw in me.

He paused, his gaze momentarily drifting off as if visualising the answer, then locked back onto me with a reflective expression. “I dunno. A café, maybe? Somewhere quiet. You strike me as someone who appreciates peace.”

I smiled, touched by his perceptiveness. “You’re not wrong. I’m definitely more of a coffee shop girl than a bar regular.”

Hank’s eyes twinkled with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as he leaned in a bit, resting his chin on his hand, studying me as if he was putting together a puzzle. “Let me guess,” he started, his voice lowering to a warm, playful tone, “you’ve got that favourite little corner spot, don’t you? Always tucked away with a book or maybe a notebook for doodling or jotting down your thoughts. And I bet you drink your coffee black, no distractions—just you and your thoughts.”

The accuracy of his assumptions made me burst into laughter, more open and genuine than I expected in such a setting. “Okay, you’re close,” I conceded, still chuckling. “But, I do take a little sugar with my coffee—just a touch to sweeten the deal.”

His laughter joined mine, creating a light, easy atmosphere that seemed to set the tone for whatever was to come. “Noted,” he said, with a mock-serious nod. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

The lighthearted moment briefly subsided as he posed a more thoughtful question, his tone lowering to a gentle, inviting rumble. “So, what’s got you stepping out of your coffee shop comfort zone tonight?”

Glancing down at my glass, the swirl of liquid momentarily mesmerising, I acknowledged the underlying current of vulnerability. Yet, there was an ease in Hank’s presence that coaxed the words from me more freely than I expected. “I don’t know... I just didn’t want to be alone tonight. Work’s been overwhelming, I guess I just needed a break from myself for a while. From the routine, the quiet. You ever feel that way?”

Hank’s response was a nod, his eyes softening with a deep understanding. “Yeah, more than you’d think.” Curiosity piqued, I found myself more drawn to him, seeing him not only in his role here but as someone who genuinely understood the struggles people go through. “What about you? You seem like the kind of guy who’s seen it all here. What keeps you coming back?”

“The people, I guess,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes meeting mine again. “Everyone who walks in has their own story, their own reason for being here. I like that—it’s unpredictable. I can be part of the background or something more, depending on the night. Tonight feels different, though.”

“Different how?” I asked, my voice quieter now, the conversation shifting as his attention became more focused.

“Maybe it’s you,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “You stand out. You’re not trying to blend in, like most people who come in here to disappear for a bit.”

I felt a shiver run through me, even though his words were light. “I wasn’t really planning on standing out,” I admitted, my voice softer now, a little shy.

He folded his arms on the bar, leaning in just a touch closer. The subtle intimacy of the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

I felt my cheeks warm, surprised at how much I liked hearing that. “Yeah… me too,” I said, smiling just enough to let him know I meant it.

He smiled back, his voice dropping lower. “Sometimes, stepping into something unfamiliar is exactly what we need to remind ourselves what we’ve been missing.”

There was a brief pause, comfortable yet charged with an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection forming between us. “And what do you think I’ve been missing?”

He leaned in, closing the space between us. “Maybe something real. Something that pulls you out of the everyday.”

I held his gaze, my heart racing a little faster now. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “you’re not alone in that.”

The air between us thickened, charged with an undeniable pull. Even in the quiet, there was no mistaking the connection forming between us—raw, real, and electric.

The last patrons trickled out, and the bar lights dimmed slightly, signalling the end of the night. The soft glow cast shadows that only made the space feel more intimate. A slow, soulful tune from the jukebox filled the room, amplifying the closeness between us.

Hank leaned in a little more, his hands idly wiping down the already spotless counter, though his attention was fully on me. The air around us felt thick with unspoken anticipation, a magnetic pull that neither of us could ignore.

"You’ve definitely changed the vibe in here tonight," Hank murmured, his voice a low, warm rumble that seemed to match the mood of the room. “Doesn’t happen often.”

I felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks but found myself leaning in too, letting the moment take over. "Is that your way of saying you hope I come back?" I asked, my tone playful, though beneath it, there was something bolder, something daring.

A slow smile spread across his face, one that made my pulse quicken. “I’m definitely saying that. You’ve made tonight... different. And I like it.”

The room felt smaller, as though it was just the two of us, the rest of the world fading into the background. Our eyes locked, the tension between us humming with an intensity that felt almost tangible. Neither of us moved to break it.

Hank leaned a little closer. There was a question forming on his lips, one that seemed to dance in his eyes as he paused, giving the moment the weight it deserved.

His gaze flicked to the back door, then back to me, and I could see the question in his eyes before he said it. “You wanna get out of here?” His voice was low, the words hanging in the air between us like a challenge.

The invitation was clear, laden with possibilities and the thrill of continuing whatever was unfolding between us outside the confines of the bar walls. I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. Normally, I would hesitate, tangled in self-doubt and over-analysis. But tonight felt different. It felt like a return to an older version of myself—I took a deep breath, embracing the liberating shift, and met Hank's gaze with a quiet nod.

"Yeah," I said softly, "I do."

Hank nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he moved towards the employees-only door at the far end of the bar. He gestured for me to come closer to where the bar ended, and I walked towards him, my heart pounding in my ears.

As I reached the end of the bar, I found myself separated from him by a pane of glass that partitioned off the employees’ area. Above Hank, the neon “BAR” sign bathed him in an ethereal glow, casting dramatic shadows across his features, highlighting the contours of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, and the gentle curve of his full lips. He reached up to unlock the door from his side, his eyes locked on mine.

Our hands met through the glass, fingertips aligning in a moment charged with anticipation. The cool surface couldn’t lessen the warmth that radiated from his touch. With a soft click, he swung the door open, diminishing the barrier between us.

“After you,” he said, his voice low and inviting. I moved around the partition, stepping into his world behind the bar for the first time. There was an intimate thrill to being on his side, close enough to share his space.

Together, we walked towards the back of the bar, where a heavy door led to the alley outside. As Hank pushed it open the cool night air hit my skin, but it did little to cool the fire that had been burning between us all night. The alley behind the bar was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was him—the way his broad shoulders moved, the way his hands flexed at his sides as if he was holding himself back.

We stopped just outside the door, and before I had time to second-guess myself, he turned to me, stepping in close. The space between us disappeared in an instant, and I felt his hand at my waist, pulling me gently but firmly against him. My breath caught in my throat, and for a split second, all I could do was look up into those mesmerising blue eyes, my heart pounding in my chest.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. His lips crashed against mine, urgent and hungry, like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer as his mouth moved against mine, and I kissed him back just as fiercely, my fingers instinctively finding their way to the base of his skull. His hair was soft, curling around my fingers as I tangled my hands in it, pulling him closer.

He let out a low, guttural sound, the kind of sound that sent shivers down my spine and made my knees weak. His hands slid up my back, his fingers digging into my skin as he pressed me against the brick wall behind us. The roughness of the wall was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and I arched into him, wanting—needing—to be closer.

As he kissed me deeper, the sensation was overwhelming—like a storm that obliterates everything else, leaving only a beautiful, blissful blankness in its wake. It blew my mind how everything inside me cast into darkness, every worry dissolving in the heat of his touch. What a relief it was, not having to think anymore.

My hands stayed tangled in his hair, pulling him down harder as his lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jawline.

This wasn’t me. This wasn’t the shy, quiet girl who kept to herself, who avoided risks. But right now, with Hank’s body pressed against mine, his lips on my skin, I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, the way he made me feel—alive, bold, free.

And I wasn’t about to stop.

His breath was hot against my skin as his lips moved lower, trailing down my neck, and I could feel every nerve in my body igniting. I tugged at his hair again, just enough to pull him back to my mouth, and when our lips met, the kiss was even more intense—desperate, as if we both knew this moment was everything we had been building up to all night.

I could feel his body press harder against mine, his hands roaming over my waist, my hips, pulling me even closer as though the small space between us was unbearable. My back hit the rough surface of the brick wall again, but the discomfort only heightened the sensation. The world outside the alley faded away—there were no more sounds from the bar, no distant cars, just the pounding of our hearts and the shared heat between us.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, and he rested his forehead against mine, his blue eyes searching my face in the dim light. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.

I swallowed, my breath still catching in my throat. “I think I do,” I whispered back, unable to stop the smile that tugged at my lips.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I thought I had you all figured out, but… you keep surprising me.”

“I’m surprising myself,” I admitted, my fingers still tangled in his hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp beneath my touch. “But I like it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me fully, his gaze softening for a moment, as if he was trying to read me—trying to make sure I was still in control, still wanting this as much as he did. And I was. More than I’d ever imagined.

“What now?” His voice was a little quieter, a little less hurried, but still laced with that same intensity.

I didn’t need to think about it. I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his again, this time slower, more deliberate, savouring the feel of him, the taste of his mouth. “I don’t want this to stop,” I whispered between kisses, my hands sliding down to grip his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held back.

He groaned softly against my lips, his hands gripping my hips tighter. “It doesn’t have to.”

The way he said it, so sure, made my heart race even faster. We were in an alley behind a bar, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing felt rushed or wrong. It felt like exactly where we were supposed to be. Like I had finally stepped into a part of myself I’d been avoiding for too long. And with him, it felt… right.

The intensity between us burned hotter, and soon, his hands were back on my waist, sliding under my shirt, his fingers grazing the skin there in a way that made me gasp. I could feel the roughness of the brick wall behind me, but all I could focus on was him—his touch, his breath, the way he seemed just as lost in this as I was.

But there was something else too, a sense of grounding I hadn’t expected. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t pushing. He was waiting, following my lead, giving me the space to feel, to take in every second of this. And I knew, in that moment, that whatever happened next, it was because we both wanted it. Because we were both ready for it.

And as the world around us continued to disappear, the night taking over, I knew that whatever came next—whether it lasted for just this night or beyond—it would be the best decision I’d ever made.

But then, as if sensing a shift in the moment, Hank’s lips stilled against mine. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling in the cool night air. His fingers tightened on my waist as though he couldn’t bear to let me go for even a second, but his voice was softer now, more grounded. “We should get out of here.”

My eyes fluttered open, meeting his in the dim light. He was still close, so close, his blue eyes darker now, full of unspoken promise. “Yeah,” I breathed, my heart still racing. “We should.”

Without another word, he gently untangled us from the wall, his hand sliding into mine as he led me out of the alley. The sudden openness of the quiet street hit me all at once, the world outside the alley much brighter, sharper, but I barely registered it. All I could think about was the way Hank’s thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand as we walked, like he needed the physical connection to tether us to the moment. I held his hand tighter, feeling the warmth radiating through his palm, the steadiness in the way he held me.

We walked in silence for a minute, the intensity of the night lingering between us. There was no rush, no need for words right now—just the sound of our footsteps echoing softly in the quiet night. I couldn’t help but steal glances at him as we walked, at the way his jaw clenched and relaxed, his gaze still fixed ahead, but every now and then flicking back to me with that same heat that had burned between us all night.

With every step, the cool night seemed to draw us closer, the world fading until there was nothing but the warmth of his hand in mine. Finally, we reached his apartment. Hank fumbled with the keys for just a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, betraying a mix of nerves and excitement. The lock clicked, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hallway, and the door swung open, revealing the inviting glow of warm light inside.

He stepped aside, letting me walk in first, his hand still wrapped around mine. The apartment was simple but cozy, a space that felt lived in but not cluttered. Warm light spilled from a nearby lamp, casting a golden hue over dark wood furniture, soft blankets draped over a well-worn couch, and a guitar propped in the corner. The air was tinged with a scent that was both woodsy and intimately familiar—perhaps cedar, or simply the essence of Hank—enveloping me in a sense of deep, comforting familiarity.

As he shut the door behind us, the soft click of the lock seemed to seal us off from the rest of the world. The moment was heavy with anticipation, yet it carried a tenderness that made the space between us feel charged yet safe. I stood still, taking in the room, and felt his presence behind me. Turning slowly, I met his gaze—intense, dark, yet filled with a softness that drew me closer.

The electric connection that had sparked between us earlier was not only still present but had intensified in the privacy of his space. His eyes momentarily searched mine, a silent question lingering in their depths, ensuring I was truly there with him, in this moment. Reassured by my subtle nod, his familiar half-smile appeared, sending a rush of warmth through me.

He approached me, each step measured and unhurried. Reaching me, he raised his hand to gently cup my face, his thumb tenderly brushing my cheek in a touch that grounded and calmed me. His fingers wove through my hair, and a shiver ran down my spine as his thumb delicately traced my lower lip, the gesture so filled with intent and tenderness that my breath hitched in anticipation.

For a moment, we simply stood there, barely inches apart, the stillness of his apartment wrapping around us. Then, driven by playful curiosity, I reached up and gently tugged at the brim of his cap, pulling it off. His hair, tousled and soft, spilled over his forehead. The golden lamplight highlighted subtle waves, which caught the light as they fell free. I smiled and let the cap drop to the floor.

“I’ve been wanting to see you without this,” I teased, my fingers weaving through his hair, exploring its texture—thick and surprisingly soft, curling lightly against my fingers. He exhaled a soft sigh, a sound of relief or perhaps pleasure, his eyes deepening into a more intense hue as they locked with mine.

“It feels better already,” he murmured, the timbre of his voice low and inviting. His hands found their way to my waist, his touch firm yet gentle, anchoring me close to him as his gaze stayed fixed on mine, conveying a depth of feeling that went beyond mere attraction.

We kissed again, but this time it was different—slower, more deliberate, as if we were savouring every second. His hands roamed over my waist, tracing the curves of my hips before gliding up my back, each touch sending shivers cascading through me. I leaned into him, my body pressing closer, feeling the firm warmth of his chest against mine.

His lips left mine only to trail down to my neck, soft and warm as he planted a line of kisses from my jaw to my collarbone. My breath caught in my throat, a flush of heat sweeping over me as his hands slid under the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my lower back. I arched into him, wanting more of his touch, more of him.

But he maintained a tantalising pace, not rushing the moment. His hands explored with deliberation, exploring the contours of my body as if he wished to etch them into his memory. His touch was gentle yet assertive, guiding without pressuring, and I felt the attentiveness in every movement, ensuring I was fully present with him. My hands wandered across his chest, tracing the defined muscles beneath his shirt, revelling in how his body tensed responsively to my touch.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, and in a quiet plea for more, I tugged gently at the hem of his shirt. He pulled back just enough to help me lift it over his head, tossing it to the side. The sight of him—shirtless, standing before me in the soft light—made my heart race even faster. His torso was sculpted and firm, his skin radiating warmth under my fingertips as I followed the lines of his muscles, feeling the slight tension there as if he, too, was holding back, letting the moment unfold slowly.

Hank’s hands slid up my sides, his fingers brushing over the fabric of my shirt as he slowly began to lift it. I raised my arms in silent consent, allowing him to pull the garment over my head. The cool air brushed against my skin, yet it paled in comparison to the fervour of his touch. His hands returned to the small of my back, drawing me in until our bodies aligned. I was now standing in just my bra and jeans, my bare skin pressing against his, the direct contact of our skin was electrifying.

His gaze swept over me, filled with a mixture of awe and desire, yet he maintained his deliberate pace. Leaning in, he kissed me tenderly, his hands rising along my back to trace the contours of my spine, finally pausing at the clasp of my bra. He hesitated, his breath warm against my ear, his voice a soft murmur, “Is this okay?”

I nodded, breathless, my hands running up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms. “Yes.”

He smiled against my skin, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra before letting it fall to the floor. His hands were on me again in an instant, warm and firm, sliding up to cup my breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over my skin in slow, teasing circles.

Hank’s lips grazed my collarbone, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to the swell of my chest. His hands explored me with deliberate care, his touch sending waves of heat coursing through my body. When his mouth found my nipple, he teased it gently, the sensation sparking something deep and primal inside me. I let out a soft moan, my fingers tightening in his hair. “God, that feels amazing,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He let out a low groan as he lifted me with ease, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His hands tightened around my thighs, keeping me close, I could feel the hardness of his body pressing into mine, each step toward the bedroom intensifying my need for him, the heat between us nearly unbearable.

He laid me down gently on the bed, his body hovering over mine, his hands never leaving my skin. He kissed me again, slow and deep, as his hands moved down my sides, tracing the line of my ribs, my hips, before reaching the waistband of my jeans. His fingers lingered there for a moment, his touch light but full of promise.

My body ached for him, the need overwhelming now, and I reached up, my hands tugging at his belt. Hank’s breath hitched as I unfastened it, my fingers slowly working the buckle before moving to the button of his jeans. I eased the zipper down, each movement deliberate, and he quickly followed my lead, his fingers deftly undoing the button on mine. With one smooth motion, he eased both my jeans and underwear down. I sat up slightly, desire tightening in my core as I eagerly guided his jeans and boxers down. He groaned softly as I slid the fabric over his hips , and I couldn’t help but bite my lip, heat flooding through me as I took in the sight of him, feeling a mix of awe and raw need.

With nothing left between us, Hank moved closer, his weight slowly pressing down as he hovered above me, our bodies finally connecting. The sensation of his warmth and the solid press of his length against me was overwhelming, yet exactly what I craved. His lips found mine again, gentler this time, while his hands explored me with careful intention, as if he wanted to savour every moment and memorise every inch of me.

He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against mine as he caught his breath, his hands still cupping my waist, his thumbs gently brushing over my skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough with yearning.

I smiled up at him, my hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him down for another kiss. “So are you.”

It was intoxicating—he was intoxicating. And yet, as his hand slid down my side, I felt a flicker of something else. This isn’t me, I thought, not for the first time tonight. The quiet, careful girl who played it safe, who kept her feelings locked away, wouldn’t have ended up here. But with Hank—with him—everything felt different. It wasn’t just the heat between us or the way his touch made my body come alive. It was the way he looked at me, the way he saw me, like there was no one else in the world but us.

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to let go.

His fingers traced lower, along the length of my thigh, caressing the sensitive skin there. He kissed just beneath my ear, and I could feel the soft brush of his hair as he moved, his breath heavy but controlled. Hank’s hand moved between my legs, his fingers parting me gently, slick with my wetness, exploring with a careful but knowing touch. My breath caught, and I let out a soft moan, my body arching into him, craving more. I could feel the tension building inside me, every nerve alight with sensation, and the way he touched me—so deliberate, so focused—made the moment feel even more intense.

He lifted his head, his lips brushing against mine as he met my gaze, his blue eyes dark and full of need. There was something in the way he looked at me, something that made my heart pound even harder—like he was asking for more than just permission. He was asking for trust.

And I gave it to him.

My hips shifted with his movements, my body instinctively responding as his fingers pressed deeper, working in rhythm with my rising need. His touch sent waves of heat through me, building toward a release I could feel just out of reach. His lips moved against mine, his breath ragged as he murmured my name, his voice thick with want. I could feel the urgency in every kiss, every movement, as he drew me closer to the edge.

This wasn’t me—this wasn’t who I normally was. I didn’t do this. I didn’t sleep with men I’d just met. I had always been cautious, reserved, taking my time before giving myself over to moments like this. But with Hank, none of that mattered. There was something different here—something raw and honest that made me let go in a way I never had before.

I wasn’t inexperienced, far from it. I knew what I wanted, and right now, I wanted him. It wasn’t the uncertainty of the newness that had me trembling beneath him; it was the way he made me feel like this was more than just the moment. It was the way he looked at me like he saw me—like I wasn’t just a passing encounter, but something real.

Without breaking our connection, Hank shifted, his mouth moving lower as his fingers continued their steady rhythm. My hands tangled in his hair as I guided him down, my body urging him on. Then his lips were on me, soft and insistent, sending another rush of pleasure through me. My hand moved to grip the sheets beside me as he sucked gently, amplifying the sensation while his fingers stayed firm, working me toward release. I gasped, my legs tightening around him, instinctively holding him there as I let go completely, my body giving in as the waves of pleasure crashed over me.

I’d never let go like this before—not with someone I’d just met. But right now, I wasn’t thinking about what was usual or expected. I was just thinking about him.

Breathless, I felt him move back up, laying the length of his body gently against mine. Before he could say anything, I pulled him into a slow, deep kiss, tasting the remnants of my release on his lips. When I finally pulled back, his eyes locked onto mine. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough, filled with both satisfaction and unspoken need.

My heart raced, still buzzing from the release, and I breathed out a soft, teasing reply. “Not done yet,” I murmured, my lips brushing his jaw. The warmth of his skin against mine only fuelled the fire that hadn’t quite faded.

With a shift of my hips, I surprised both of us, rolling him over beneath me. Hank let out a low groan, his hands instinctively settling on my waist as I straddled him, my confidence growing as I took control. His eyes locked on mine, dark with hunger, and I could feel the rapid beat of his heart under my palms as I pressed them firmly to his chest.

“You like that?” I whispered, his answer was another groan, deeper this time, as his hands gripped my hips a little tighter. “You have no idea,” he growled, his voice full of want.

I leaned down, letting my lips barely graze his, keeping him just on the edge of what he craved, knowing I was the one in control now.

I hovered just above him, our breaths coming fast, feeling the heat radiating from his body, knowing he wanted more—needed more. But I held back, teasing him with the lightest brush of my lips, making him wait, making him want it as much as I did. His grip tightened on me, his fingers pressing into my skin as he resisted the urge to take control again.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

I smirked against his lips, revelling in the power I had over him in that moment. “Good,” I whispered, barely audible, before pressing my lips to his in a deep, languid kiss that made his whole body tense beneath me.

Hank groaned into my mouth as I moved my hips ever so slightly, teasing him with the smallest amount of friction. His body reacted immediately, his hands gripping my waist with a new urgency, but I wasn’t ready to give in just yet. I wanted to savour every second of this, every sound he made, every look in his eyes.

“Please,” he muttered against my lips, his voice hoarse, laced with desperation that sent a thrill through me.

I pressed my palms against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the tension in his muscles. “I’m just getting started,” I teased, lowering my lips to his neck, letting my teeth gently graze the skin there, sending a shiver through him. The soft gasp that escaped his lips sent a thrill through me, and I knew I was in control now.

He let out a low growl, his control slipping just enough that I could feel the shift in his body, the tension coiling tighter, and it sent another rush of excitement through me. I rocked my hips again, this time giving him just a little more of what he wanted, and the sound he made—deep, desperate—was enough to make my pulse race.

He tried to move beneath me, but I pressed him back down, holding him there with just a look, my body hovering above his as I whispered, “Let me.”

His breath hitched, his hands stilling on my waist as he nodded, his eyes dark and filled with nothing but need. He was completely mine in that moment, and the feeling was electric.

Slowly, I lowered myself onto him, taking his entire length with one long, languid thrust. I began to move, letting the rhythm build between us, each motion deliberate, but this time, I wasn’t holding back. His hands tightened on my hips, guiding me as I set the pace, every sound he made spurring me on.

I didn’t think about anything except the feel of him. It was the not thinking I loved most, the not thinking that I never wanted to end.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed, his voice almost reverent as his eyes met mine, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. “I can’t… get enough of you.”

The words sent a surge of heat through me, my movements becoming more urgent, more desperate, as the tension between us spiralled higher. His hands roamed over my body, tracing every curve, every line, and I could feel the restraint slipping from both of us, the heat between us burning hotter with each passing second.

I leaned down, letting my lips capture his again, this time deeper, my tongue sliding against his, claiming him just as he claimed me. His hands gripped my hips tighter, matching my pace as the intensity grew, our bodies completely in sync, every breath, every movement pushing us closer to the edge.

“Hank,” I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders as I rocked against him, my body trembling with the intensity of it all.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice raw and full of promise. And then, with a swift movement, he sat up, pulling me with him so I was still straddling his lap. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as his lips moved to my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. I gasped as he left soft love bites along my collarbone and down the side of my neck, his breath hot against my skin, each kiss, each bite sending a new wave of heat through me.

I gripped the back of his neck, my fingers digging into his skin as I arched into him, every nerve alight with sensation as his mouth worked its way across my skin, leaving a trail of pleasure in its wake.

The tension between us spiralled higher, my release building fast as my body tightened around him, the pleasure growing more intense with each second. His lips stayed on my neck, hands gripping my hips as he urged me to move, guiding me to grind harder against him. That added pressure sent me over the edge, and with one final push, I shattered, the pleasure crashing over me in waves.

Hank’s name escaped my lips in a broken whisper as I came undone above him, my body shaking with the force of my release, wave after wave, my mind completely lost in him. I felt him follow soon after, his grip tightening on my hips as he buried his face in the curve of my neck, his breath ragged and hot against my skin as his own release overtook him. His body tensed beneath me, and I could feel the shudder that went through him as we rode the high together, leaving me breathless and trembling in his arms.

For a moment, we just stayed like that, our bodies tangled together, our breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as we slowly came down from the high. His lips brushed my collarbone once more, softer this time, tender, before he leaned back, his eyes meeting mine.

“You…” he started, his voice hoarse, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t have words.”

I smiled back, my own heart still racing, but this time, it wasn’t just from the intensity of the moment—it was from the way he looked at me, like I was something more. Something important. “Good,” I whispered, my voice just as raw, “I don’t need them.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hands slid up my back, pulling me close once again. I curled up against him, my head resting on his chest as our breaths slowly synced. I could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath me, feel the warmth of his skin, and for the first time in a long time, I felt completely at peace.

And as we sat there, tangled together, I knew that whatever this was—whatever we were—it was only just beginning.

Masterlist

[noonswrites]

Muse

synopsis: Xavier just wants a picture of you so he can draw it. things don’t go according to plan…

warnings: blowjob, penetration, fingering

it was an accident really. a genuine, complete, accident. you just wanted to support your talented friend who had been begging you for a subject for his next painting.

“please! it doesn’t have to be a good photo of you, I just need one for reference” he says exaggeratedly as you make your way to class. his giant frame is never an inch away from yours if he can help it, and today is no different. he’s tugging on your arm like a lost puppy as he begs you to be his muse for the millionth time.

“oh, so you’re saying I take bad photos?” you reply snidely.

he grins widely, knowing your games too well by now “you know that’s not what i meant” and gives you a playful push.

“i’ll think about it xavier, but you should really find another victim”

“i believe the correct term is “muse” dork”

“keep calling me dork and see where that gets you” he puts his hands up, mimicking what he would look like “surrendering” to you.

Xavier wishes he could hide how excited he is to draw you again. He can’t wait to combine his two favorite things: you, and his obsession with art. what you don’t know is Xavier wants to take this opportunity to ask something he’s been too shy to say for years….

when the seemingly never ending school day is finally over, he walks you to your room. your hallmate left for the week, so it was just you and Xavier sprawled out on your bed. he sat at the foot of it, legs crossed while yours were draped over his lap.

he eagerly awaits you to send him a picture while you briskly scroll through your camera roll. you finally deem one appropriate for his next masterpiece, a selfie of the two of you. his arms wrapped around your neck while you’re giving him a jokingly disapproving look. at least, that’s what you think you’re sending him. Xavier however, receives a completely different image that you accidentally sent instead.

he quickly taps on the notification with his pencil ready, opening up a photo of your breasts on display. “o-oh my god”

“what?!” you exclaim, confused at his reaction.

“are you sure that’s what you want me to draw?” he says timidly.

“yeah, unless you have a problem with it i guess” it’s too late now, you’re absentmindedly scrolling through your phone.

Xavier tries to start drawing, he really does. truthfully, he started getting hard the minute he opened the photo and now he’s trying to get a grip on his pencil, which won’t stop shaking in his hand. you can feel his dick rising since your leg is still on his lap, causing you to look up.

this is when you notice he’s shaking. “Xavi, what’s wrong?”

Xavier can barely bear the nickname right now, combined with everything else he’s experiencing.

“i’m- i’m sorry. i don’t know if i can draw this” Xavier shows the phone to you and you turn a shade of red he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

“oh shit! oh fuck i’m so sorry oh my god fuck!” you cover your face with your hands.

Xavier, although nervous, tries his best to reassure you and puts a gentle hand on your leg. “it’s ok, i just didn’t think we were at that level, you know?”

you spread your fingers, peeking your eyes through “it’s fine, really” he gives a weak, bashful smile. a part of him kind of wishes you did send it on purpose, and it’s not like he hadn’t thought of his best friend naked before…

in a desperate attempt to change the subject you ask “does that hurt?” while staring at his now erect penis that creates a tent in his sweatpants.

“um- i- “

“i can help you with it if it does- i read somewhere that it hurts when you- you know-“ words are coming out of your mouth faster than your brain can process what’s happening now… “if not we can forget this ever happened and i won’t tell anyone- i promise” you’d probably regret saying that later, but right now, you can’t help it. you’ve had the biggest crush on xavier forever and if you’re being honest, you’re in a pretty similar aroused state right now.

“i don’t know… i don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable po-“

“i want to” you cut him off “i’ve wanted to for years Xavi” you’re crawling towards him now.

“do you want to?” you ask him, although the evidence is all over his face, he looks almost pained. his mouth is slightly agape and his eyes are focused on your lips. lips that he has thought of kissing for months now, but this time, he doesn’t resist the urge.

Xavier can’t hold it anymore, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. it’s hesitant at first, both of you in shock that it’s finally happening. it takes seconds for it to get sloppy. you break apart only to climb on xavier’s lap, and you don’t miss the distressed look he wears as a result of moments apart from you. you’re quick to relieve him, sitting down with your thighs on either side of his hips, and both of you stifle a moan when your clothed cunt makes contact with his dick. now it’s your turn to grab his face and he loves every second of it, wanting nothing more than to fawn over you as you use him for your pleasure. you, however, won’t have that, stopping at nothing until he’s completely ruined.

you take his bottom lip between yours and suck on it, and Xavier swears he’s seeing stars. he starts getting messy as both of your lips are covered in each other’s spit and that alone is making him dizzy. he doesn’t even realize he’s begun to grind his hips upward trying to relieve himself in the friction you’re creating. you tell him to pull off his t-shirt and he does so immediately, and you do the same. he smoothes his hands up and down your waist as if you’re made of glass, looking you up and down with a mixture of reverence and desire. you almost want to laugh at him because you’d never imagine seeing your best friend like this, looking at you like he’d been starving for days and desperate to kiss you again, but you settle for giving him an amused smile.

“what is it?” he asks with the most precious look of confusion on his face.

“you’re so cute baby” his eyelashes flutter and he looks away, he shifts slightly while trying to pretend the new pet name doesn’t turn him on more. you can tell that he’s smiling too now, internally giddy.

you start to leave a trail of kisses down his neck, and he lets out a pleasure filled sigh. when you start to teasingly lick his abdomen he tenses up again, and you hear a soft “ah” escape his lips. you unbutton his pants and pull down his boxers and Xavier starts to tremble. he looks down at you with watery eyes and you take his dick in your hand. he lets out a hiss at your warmth.

you start to kiss his shaft and his brows furrow but his eye contact never wavers. if xavier could have this moment tattooed on his brain, he would. when you take his head in your mouth and suck he jolts, unable to control his movements at this point. you slowly take more of him into your mouth and hollow your cheeks. you start to stroke xavier’s leg with your free hand and xavier’s gaze softens at the tender gesture.

you slowly take him deeper into your mouth, astonished that you’ve made it this far without choking. “fuck” he cries as you fit all of him in your mouth. you start a slow rhythm of sliding your lips up and down his shaft and xavier lies back, helpless to your actions. you can feel how tense the muscles in his stomach and legs are, doing his best to hold back his impending orgasm. as you speed up, xavier begins to babble uncontrollably, a mixture of “you feel so good”, “you’re so pretty, fuck!”, and so on. you fondle his balls and he’s almost sent over the edge, but you pull yourself off of him just in time.

he stares at you, dazed “did i do something wrong?” god, you’d do anything for those puppy dog eyes.

“no baby, just wanted you to come inside me, is that alright?” xavier wants to pinch himself.

“y-yeah” he leans in for another clumsy kiss, drunk on the feeling of being so close to you. it’s full of tongue and lips crashing together, but quickly ends with a gasp as you guide his cock to your pussy.

xavier watches himself enter you in a trance, completely mesmerized at your facial expression and the stretch of your cunt. when your fully seated, a tear falls down his cheek. you admit, you may have overstimulated him a bit. you wipe it away with your thumb and apologize. “i’m sorry for making you wait my love” he doesn’t seem to care at this point.

Xavier reaches his arms around your waist and pulls you in closer, causing you to moan at the adjustment “you’re s-so warm” he lets out.

“can i take this off?” he says as a hand slides over the clasp of your bra.

“yeah” you reply, and he begins to fiddle with the hook. he slides it off of your shoulders.

“so, do you think i’m a catfish?” you inquire. he lets out a wholesome laugh and you follow suit. Xavier gently pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear and places his palm on your cheek.

“i think you’re the opposite of a catfish” you blush and attempt to turn your head away, but he pulls you in for another kiss. he moves to kiss the corner of your lips, then your chin, your jaw, and finally stops at your neck. he nibbles your jugular and then sucks, and your hips buck forward as he finds your sensitive spot. Xavier moans and you take this as a sign to keep moving.

you grind down on him and Xavier does his best to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of pleasure. he’s already about to cum, holding on just so he can get you to try to finish first. he slides his hands down to your ass pushing you down on his cock while he pushes his hips up, effectively guiding himself deeper than you thought possible. you yelp and Xavier watches your features contort, repeating the action so he can listen to you moan again and again. he shifts one of his hands close to your cunt and guides a thumb to your clit, rubbing it in circles, prompting you to jolt and start bouncing on his cock more eagerly than before.

“shit- shit- fuck!” Xavier doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, he only knows that he’s been close to cumming for more than an hour now, and he’s about to burst. you wrap your arms around his neck for stability and pick up your pace.

“oh my god” he whines and his grip on your hips tightens. you realize how close he is, so you stop your movement.

“no- no! i need it please” his head falls into your neck and you stroke his back.

“i know my love, i just need you to ask for it nicely okay?” he lifts his head and you coo at his tear stained cheeks. “do you think you can do that for me?”

“y-yeah” you start to move again immediately, not wanting to prolong his suffering any further. Xavier cant stop himself from thrusting into you, and you let him, enjoying the look in his eyes as he starts to fall apart.

“are you gonna cum soon baby?” you ask after a particularly hard thrust.

“y- yes please- please can i c-cum?” Xavier is shaking uncontrollably now, his movements are sloppy and uncoordinated.

“yes my love” you smile “but you can’t take your pretty eyes off of me okay? i want to see you” Xavier is blushing harder than ever, he’d never admit that’s what sent him over the edge. he does his best to keep his eyes on yours, his mouth open and letting out angelic moans while his nails dig into your hips. he thinks your the most beautiful person alive as you keep up your pace grinding on his cock. his brows furrow and fresh tears arise as you continue to speed up, a look of tortured confusion mixed with euphoria on his face.

“i- i can’t please!” he wails. you finally cease your movement, panting. xavier pulls you into a tight hug, kissing your sweaty body in any place he can reach.

“thank you, thank you, thank you” he repeats between kisses. you flop down onto your mattress, and xavier hovers over you, smothering your face with kisses.

“baby, i want to make you cum now. can i? please? need to watch you cum” he babbles.

“you don’t have to Xavi, but yes” you’re still catching your breath.

“i want to” and without hesitation he slides his fingers to to your sopping cunt. “so wet… such a pretty pussy” you bury your face in the pillow.

“no need to be shy my love…” his thumb rubs over your clit and your thighs clench. he pushes them open gently, eyes fixated on your pulsing cunt. he slides two fingers in, feeling his own cum inside of you and trying his best not to get hard at the sensation. he curls his fingers upward and your hips shift at the sensitivity. he holds them down with his free arm and continues his ministrations. he probes for your most delicate spot and knows he’s found it when you squeeze his arm and whimper. you lift your head again and he meets your eyes, staring at you as he quickens his pace. you’re already worked up so it doesn’t take much after that, but what sets you over the edge is his decision to take your clit into his mouth and kiss it sloppily. your legs shake and kick and he happily continues to thrust his fingers as you ride out your orgasm, grinding down on them.

now you’re truly exhausted, and Xavier curls up next to you as you continue to catch your breath. “y’know, i was going to use the painting as a way to ask you out…” you perk up at this.

“really?!” xavier beams at you.

“yeah” you pull him into a kiss and he doesn’t stop smiling.

[howtofightwrite]

I know DnD is not about realism but how accurate is having, say, your heavy armor wearing paladin have 10 dex or even negative dex? Where medieval knights built like The Rock or like The mountain? I’ve seen youtubers saying that you needed a lot of strength to be able to fight like a knight so women and smaller people couldn’t do it.

I think I know which YouTuber you're talking about, and you can pretty safely ignore them. Their personal misogyny takes priority over their (alleged) expertise when they're forming their arguments.

There's two logistical problems with the idea that you need someone like Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson to make up the bulk of your elite forces. The first problem is that they need to consume a frightening amount of food. This isn't as much of a problem in the modern era, when we have the capacity for truly staggering amounts of agricultural production. But, in a medieval society, with serfs responsible for most of the agriculture, the prospect of feeding each of your elite troops 10,000 calories a day would economically destroy most kingdoms. (And, yes, that is what Björnsson reports to consume on a daily basis. Other estimates place his dietary intake somewhere between 3600 and 8000.) And, to be clear, that is an absolutely absurd amount of food. But, if you want to build that kind of mass, you need a lot of energy, which means, a lot of food.

The second logistical problem is, there's only one of him. Okay, that's not literally true, The Mountain was portrayed by three separate actors, Conan Stevens, a professional wrestler, and Ian Whyte, a stunt actor who had previous appeared as a White Walker in the first season. But, Hafthor Bjornsson took over the role in the fourth season, and is probably who you're thinking of when you name drop the character.

Bjornsson is a member of the 2000 pound club, which include power lifters who can lift over 2000lbs combined between bench press, dead lift, and squats. Not many people ever get that far, and Bjornsson is one of the few individuals who can get into the 1000 pound club from a single lift.

Here's a fun name to know, Becca Swanson is also in the 2000 pound club. She credibly claims that she is the first woman to have achieved that, and I'm not sure if there are any other women in the 2000lb club, but it is achievable.

Now, here's the fun thing about all of this, because you're asking about D&D, and D&D players need to know exactly how much their character can lift. The calculation is (STR*30)lbs. (In the Player's handbook p174.) This also means if you have a real person, and you know how much they can lift in the real world, you can reverse engineer what their strength score would be in D&D.

It's 37.

If you wanted to convert Hafthor Bjornsson into D&D, his strength score would be 37.

Dude can fucking arm wrestle the Terrasque and easily win.

Putting that in perspective, it's a little ludicrous to say that if you want a viable martial character (fighters, paladins, barbarians, etc.), they need a Strength score of 37, when it's not normally possible for player characters to exceed 20 base strength. (If you're wondering, Becca would work out to have ~29 Strength. So, on par with most ancient dragons, and a few gods.)

So, there you have a man and woman who are both superhumanly strong according to D&D.

D&D and math have always had issues like this, and it pops up in a few different places here.

The basic concept that your ability to hit, and the amount of damage you deal is based on strength comes from a very, “schoolyard,” understanding of violence. It's okay to step back and abstract it out, where “strength,” is some amalgam of melee combat aptitude in addition to actual strength, but the idea that being stronger means you can hit harder with a sword or dagger doesn't make a lot of sense. It doesn't even make much sense with axes and maces (the force applied has more to do with the mass and velocity of the weapon, rather than the strength of its wielder.)

A paladin with negative DEX is dead. I don't mean that figuratively, and I do understand what you meant to say, but this rule is a little obscure in 5e. If any of a character's physical attributes (STR, DEX, CON) are reduced to zero, the character immediately dies. Ability draining effects used to be far more common, so the rule existed by itself, though, now it mostly shows up when you're looking at a monster with a physical ability draining attack.

What you probably meant was a negative DEX modifier, meaning your paladin is unusually clumsy. Outside the context of D&D, that would be an incredibly bad thing for a front line combatant. In the specific context of D&D, if they're in heavy armor, it doesn't really matter, if they're in medium, then it reverts to being “a bad thing. Specifically, the rules is that light and medium armor add your DEX modifier to your armor class. Medium armor caps this at +2, but it can go negative with either armor type. However, heavy armor in 5e ignores your DEX modifier entirely.

Now, here's the thing about D&D, its concept of armor is spectacularly weird. Unlike RPGs where armor reduces damage taken, either by subtracting a fixed amount from incoming damage or by reducing damage via a percentage, D&D's system is that your armor class grants you a chance to avoid being hit at all. (5% chance per point of AC, if you're wondering.) Narratively, this is often framed as taking a hit, but your armor turned the blade or something similar. This is because sometimes the enemy attack straight up misses, and that's (usually) determined by your dexterity. This is important, because the game is trying to balance two different power fantasies against each other.

On one side you have the players who want to roll in heavy plate armor, and soak all the hits, and on the other you have players who want to go with light armor, and dodge around enemy attacks. Realistically, that's not an option, but D&D permits it, and again, that's fine. The fantasy of lightly armored fighters makes a lot of sense. I'd even go so far as to say that the barbarian's unarmed defense bonus (where they add CON modifier to their DEX modifier while unarmored) is a really good change in 5e even if it does make no sense objectively. It contributes to the fantasy of this brutal fighter who runs around without armor slapping people silly with their weapons, and shrugging off damage because they're too stubborn to die. In (nearly all cases) the ability to deliver the player fantasy of a class is more important than a strict adherence to reality, and that's fine, that's the point, but the realism of D&D doesn't translate off the page in any meaningful way.

If you wanted a more, “realistic,” (and, yeah, that's incredibly loaded in this context), approach to armor for D&D, I'd say gate access based on your Constitution (or Constitution modifier). Sort of like how your equip load in Dark Souls is based on your Endurance attribute. Give armor and weapons a burden value, and if the combined burden on a character exceeds their CON, the character risks taking levels of Fatigue when they're fighting in heavier gear than they're conditioned to deal with. Maybe add a Conditioning feat or skill if you want to add some other attribute modifiers to the mix should you end up with your heavy armor fighters being underequipped. (Then again, I am one of those psychopaths who really liked the D20 Star Wars' vitality system.) So, ultimately, tinker with the balance until you find something you, and the people at your table, are happy with. Roleplayers who have more meaningful build choices tend to be happier, so long as they don't feel like they're being punished for having a character fantasy.

One of the more amusing descriptions I've read of medieval knights is that they were built like methheads. I can't fully vouch for that, because I'm not an expert on the physical appearance of medieval knights, but it's certainly credible. These guys were eating pretty well for the era, and engaged in a lot of physical activity. Depending on what they were doing, that could easily result in some fairly bulky guys, but it could also result in some wiry looking guys who hide their muscles. Just, knowing what I do about the human body, the answer was probably both, depending on their metabolism and diet. But the image of Sir Methhead, Knight of the Realm, and his implausibly clean teeth, still amuses me.

It's worth remembering that a lot of the times I've seen someone say, “they were built like athletes,” they'll drop an image of a bodybuilder. No. That's not what you would get. Bodybuilding is designed to create its own physique, one that doesn't occur unless you're abusing your body in some very specific (and unhealthy) ways. It's probably better to think of someone like a high-school football player. Bulky, but without the carved physiques of a Boris Vallejo painting. (If you don't know who that is, look up his art. It is a bit dated, but it's gorgeous.)

Alternately, if you do want your characters to look like those paintings, it is your fantasy, have fun.

-Starke

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[eightyonekilograms]

I went to the Apple Store yesterday to try the scripted demo of their VR headset. My overall impression is that it's the best possible execution of what might be a fundamentally flawed idea.

The passthrough video is pretty incredible. It's somewhat dimmer than reality, and the color accuracy is just OK, but it's more than good enough to feel like you're looking through clear displays at the real world. I'm told the passthrough on the Quest 3 is even better, but haven't tried that and can't comment. One thing is that there is a weird motion blur effect when you turn your head, I'm not sure if that's a display tech limitation or introduced deliberately by the software as a workaround for a different display tech limitation.

The resolution is 4K per eye, which, as mentioned, is more than enough for a powerful sense of presence in the real world. One of the nifty bits of the demo was when you turn the dial to tune out the world and suddenly you're sitting by a mountain lake, and the feeling of actually being there is overwhelming. The dystopian implications of needing a VR headset to sit at a mountain lake aside, it would be cool to have one just to have your office be anywhere you can imagine. Not $3500-before-tax cool, but cool.

Wow sports leagues are going to love this thing. I don't give a shit about sports and even I was thinking, "If the NBA put a stereoscopic camera courtside and sold you games for $50 a pop, I'd absolutely buy that"

But 4K per eye is not enough to do work, not even close. The experience of using normal computer-y applications on this was not unlike plugging your laptop in to a TV that's at the normal TV distance. You can do it, it works, but it's not anyone's preferred way of working. Text is amazingly legible, but only at sizes that are equivalent to having a single webpage take up your entire 4K monitor at normal monitor distance.

It is not particularly comfortable. Part of this might be that the store demo makes you use the "catcher's mitt" strap, which only goes around the back of your head and so gravity has to be countered only by the pressure of the thing against your face. Reviewers have said that if you use the other band that goes over your head the situation is better, but still.

A lot of early comments were making fun of Apple for having the battery be an external thing you put in your pocket and attach with a wire, but I think that's just fine: we all walk around with giant batteries in our pockets anyway, and anything you can do to have less weight on your head is a Good Thing. But then Apple took all those weight savings and spent them on making the stupid thing out of metal and glass instead of polycarbonate. It's nuts! It's like if you made a car that was 500kg lighter because you invented magical tech for keeping the engine somewhere else, and then went "great! with all the weight savings now we can build the body out of lead". Apple, you don't need to fear plastic. Plastic is good! Plastic built modern civilization.

You control it with a combination of eye tracking and pinch gestures. This is the main piece of evidence of my "best version of a bad idea" thesis: it works really, really well; so well that I can tell this is probably an evolutionary dead end. It's just fine— miraculous, even— for dragging windows around and doing the basic stuff the in-store demo has you do. It's amazing that you can more or less have your hands anywhere, including on your lap, and the recognition works perfectly (by contrast with the HoloLens I tried 5 or so years ago where the gesture recognition was total crap). But it's immediately obvious that you can never do serious manipulation of your computing environment with this.

The takeaway is that it's incredible for passive consumption of specifically-made media, assuming that ever exists at scale. But it will be a long time before we're gogged in like Hiro Protagonist to do our office jobs this way.

[thoughtfulchaos773]

Syd and Carmy- Communication 3

Part one Part two

First off. This scene was written by Chris Storer and directed by Joana Calo, our favorite duo (the creators of the table scene). Calo and Storer: do me a favor if the ship isn't real, don't even add shit like that in a scene...you know what I'm talking about. Don't have it where Carmy is taking her in and appreciating what the fuck he's seeing. And Carmy, the loser- notices Sydney as soon as she tries to sneak in. He doesn't even finish saying the word 'exactly' to Marcus before his eyes take her in.

But wait, this conversation is about legacy and how something starts somewhere, and they take these parts and take them somewhere- over and over again. I love that he points out these people would find each other.

Like a family tree.

Carmy and Sydney combine families to create a wholeness- something that's good.

Sydney starting a new legacy! My Shipper Heart: In some meta, Sydney often connected symbolism of life, fertility, rebirth, and nurturing. Chris Storer, these two are made for fanfiction, not a dish- a heart-shaped dish that Carmy just happens to give her- and this beautiful tree above her head- a symbolism for the tree he wants to build starts with the girl who ate his signature dish where he took the rebellion against abuse, rejection and sent a string of fate to start a legacy. What are you doing to me? Carmy literally presents his heart to Sydney.

Okay back to the scene:

He takes in Sydney and tells her "good morning," as if inviting her in. She comes from a meeting with Shapiro that should feel like good news, but she seems burdened. Since she first met with Shapiro, she enters, seeming distant but polite.

He says "no, no" as if to say, "Don't be ridiculous. You never interrupt." He's the one who invited her into the office.

He takes a moment to pause after saying "no," whispers "no," and looks at her...

Also, to note, he's coming from Al-Anon this morning. He has a clearer perspective than the last 7 episodes of that season. 'You look nice'—so simple but as the season's theme. Paying attention, Carmy sees her every day or close to it, and it's Carmy noticing something is different. Could it also be Carmy prompting her to say where she's been? There's room for that conversation.

But Sydney passes it quickly with a quick "Oh, thanks." A little surprised and also not having time for it right now. She focuses on their conversation- which could be a foreshadowing of what Carmy will do in the end.

I pointed this out before- Wednesday reference- 3x04- another episode Storer wrote.

Flashback

Carmy and Sydney are having the same day of the week they are trying to get through? The same day used to track time?

Excuse me-Writer/Director Chris--

But I'll move on...

You know what else I noticed about this scene- Carmy was staring at her the whole time as she took off her bow and said I'm just trying to get through Wednesday. He takes a second when she asks him his answer for legacy.

This is probably the most self-aware Carmy has been- does he realize he's passing panic and anxiety on to Sydney? Probably not yet at this point.

But also how Sydney is always the one to stop his anxiety and panic-driven ways, but for her to set a boundary where she's not his babysitter, eventually, he has to do the work to stop himself from panicking. But it's another sign of a legacy starting with them.

He looks at her a bit more than Marcus. He says with everything and everybody- he has to be square with Claire and Chef David. He needs to let go of the bad things from his past and the abuse he has held on to for so long.

The camera remains on Sydney as she considers his answer to legacy. She nods with understanding, unspoken communication we talked about- Carmy knows what he has to do. He wants to rid himself of the bad but needs help (therapy), so he's not taking it out on Sydney or any of his staff. How will he care for himself, love, and be there for Sydney? One of their relationship's central conflicts is Carmy showing up, the right way for Sydney to start their legacy and filter out the bad things he's carried onto The Bear.

I think that part of the conversation was considering Sydney, filtering out the bad to make it good.

It's still possible for Sydney to start and keep her legacy at The Bear. At the end of season 3, the panic attack is her realizing she doesn't want to leave.

Sidebar: Marcus. Marcus. His legacy-because being an awesome emergency contact is a bittersweet answer- shows some guilt about not picking up the call about his mom...

Grief. Grief is always the theme that sticks with the show. Despite its lingering presence, let's hope for more good days to outweigh the bad. Let's hope the Bear ends with a good legacy.

[cringecompanionapologist]

I Swear I Thought of This Months Ago: Different Doctors in Midnight

The thing with Midnight is that shit goes wrong because it's a companion-lite episode. The two people the Midnight Entity singled out to possess where the two people traveling alone. They were easy to isolate from the group. If the Doctor's not traveling alone here, and there's this human who came in with him just going along with whatever he's doing, it's going to seem less suspicious. So, what would happen to any Doctor in Midnight is based more on their companions than the Doctor. Donna took the day off of adventuring to enjoy the spa. Not all companions would do that. First Doctor: He may get on everyone's nerves, but he's going to have a granddaughter with him and people will judge him less harshly because he has a family. You've got a couple with their teenage son there. They see an old grandpa with a granddaughter the same age as their son, they're going to see him as someone like them. As for the granddaughters, Susan wouldn't want to leave her grandfather and Vicki canonically is more interested in adventures than relaxation. I'm less sure about Dodo, because nobody is sure about Dodo. She's a wild card.

Second Doctor: A group of people in a small space menaced by a monster? Might as well be a base under siege. He's in his element here. He also tends to be better at understanding human nature than most Doctors, so even if he was alone, he might not end up quite so isolated. And he wouldn't be alone. Out of a combination of loyalty and discomfort with spa environments, Jamie would definitely be with him.

Third Doctor: Following the Doctor around on his adventures is literally what Jo was hired to do. She'll be the one telling everyone that the Doctor is an expert on basically everything and she trusts him so they should too. If they try to throw him out she'll try to either take his place or go with him and nobody will want to hurt her. Nobody wants to hurt Jo. Even the Master didn't want to hurt Jo.

Fourth Doctor: When Four shows up somewhere, being weird, acting like he owns the place, and having way too much fun in a crisis, people tend to sort of roll with it. It's a superpower he has. But, if we want to turn the superpower off, we've sort of got three eras to consider. Sarah Jane would probably follow the Doctor, since she's still a holdover from Three's "companions are literally the Doctor's assistants" era. Leela would not understand the appeal of a spa and would threaten people into listening to the Doctor. As for Romana...Okay, we've got another Time Lord. I actually don't know. She'll probably go with him and might have slightly more luck with the locals.

Fifth Doctor: Really depends on the TARDIS team. Tegan's going to take the goddamn spa day and will talk Nyssa into going with her if she's around. If it's just Nyssa, she'll go with the Doctor and everyone loves Nyssa, so everything will be fine. Turlough is going to enjoy a pleasant day off. He can relax, do a bit of sketching, and not have to deal with yet another traumatic incident. Adric would not understand the idea of a spa, call it stupid, get into a fight with Tegan, and if he wasn't going with the Doctor before this, the Doctor would insist purely to separate the two and restore order. Adric has no social skills, so he wouldn't exactly make the Doctor look better, but like with One and his various granddaughter companions, the family on the train would be more comfortable with a family man.

Sixth Doctor: The classic Doctors have done well so far but Six is probably fucked. Peri would probably like a day off from him and the violent shit that happens around him. Mel might try to get him to stay at the spa for health purposes. I don't know the EU well, but Evelyn might have a chance of coming along and getting him to behave, but no promises for anyone else.

Seventh Doctor: Of course Ace is there. Yet another Doctor passes as a family man and it's easy.

Eighth Doctor: I don't know the EU well and Eight is the Whoops All EU Doctor, but he seems to pick up companions that would follow him around here, being all human and convincing the humans not to bully him. But, considering Eight's luck, they'd probably try to throw him out of the train anyway and he'd end up traumatized again.

Ninth Doctor: Might actually consider just spending the day at the spa, but if he gets bored and goes on an adventure, Rose probably gonna follow him. The day is saved with the Power of Love or something.

Eleventh Doctor: Amy wants to go with the Doctor despite Rory's protests. There's a lot of bickering but they get out fine.

Twelfth Doctor: Clara is his carer who cares so he doesn't have to, so preventing Midnight incidents is sort of what she's there for. For Bill, this would be an educational experience. Twelve gets on everybody's nerves a bit, and he gives a speech about how stupid everyone's being, which doesn't actually help, and he'll probably end up getting punched in the face, but not thrown out of the train.

Thirteenth Doctor: She tells her companions to just enjoy themselves and wanders off alone. If they insist on following her, and Yaz probably would, we're fine. If she successfully ditches her companions, she's in trouble. She'll openly admit to being socially awkward, but I'm not sure if that would actually help in this situation.

Fourteenth Doctor: He's retired. He's probably staying with Donna. If not, everything mainly goes the same as it does with Ten, but it feels more cruel.

Fifteenth Doctor: Ruby would go with him and he's actually pretty good with people anyway. I'm guessing the Fourteen remembered being Ten and regenerated into someone unlikely to be thrown out of a train on a death planet just in case.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Do you take omegaverse requests? If so, I'd like to request Moon Knight system/male beta reader, where Moon Knight's dynamic/scent changes based on whether it's Marc, Steven, or Jake in control of the body

Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley x beta male reader

Headcanons

This is inspired a lot by my kinktober omegaverse prompt, so if things are similar, that’s probably why.

To keep things fun, let’s say Steven is an omega, Marc is a beta, and Jake is an alpha. You, being a beta, isn’t really affected by any of the changes in their scents and behavior for the most part.

Betas aren’t as troubled by scents, and doesn’t go into heat or rut. This doesn’t mean you don’t have a scent, or that you aren’t able to pick up your lovers’ scents and the changes in them. It just means you don’t get driven up a wall when Steven smells a little too sweet, or Jake gets a little too growly.

You can always tell who’s fronting depending on their scent. The base scent is the same, but Stevens has a sweeter tinge to it, mixed with books and the tea he loves the most.

Marcs scent is more neutral because of his beta status, but it still has his own personal touch to it, like his favorite gun oil, or his favorite drink or savory dish.

Jake, being an alpha, his scent has a deeper tinge, something akin to musk or something a little wilder, especially if he’s feeling agitated. He always has a slight metallic tinge to his scent, mixed with high quality leather.

You have your own scent too, something more neutral than Marcs as your scent doesn’t change as regularly as theirs do, something inoffensive, meaning it goes well with all three of their scents.

Theres regularly a muskier tinge to your scent from Jake scenting you or nibbling on your scent gland, be it on your neck or your wrist. He’s an alpha, and marking you as theirs always puts them all at ease, but Jake more than the other two.

You guys probably need more than one bedroom, mainly so Steven has a place to build a nest for whenever he needs it. He makes sure to stock it with things for the other two, in case they need somewhere to just relax and be away from the world.

I can imagine Steven fronting, only to take them to the nest and get comfortable, and then shove whoever needs the comfort to the front so they can take a well-deserved break in the nest.

Because their secondary natures are different in all three, their needs are a little all over the place for example, Steven wants you to leave bitemarks all over his neck and wrists. Marc is indifferent about it for the most part, but Jake is left antsy and is gonna leave larger and deeper bites on you for dominance reasons.

Not that you mind Jake biting you, Marc and Steven always wince a little at the number of bites littering your skin sometimes though. You know that it’s a way for Jake to show you that he loves you, so you don’t mind.

Steven will want to wear your scent, and so will Marc to an extent, but Jake wants you to wear his scent. It ends up with them wearing something you scented, as you wear something with Jakes, or their combined scents on.

Omega’s purr, Betas chuff, and Alphas rumble, so its always a little funny when they switch whenever you guys are cuddling. Because it’ll go from Stevens high pitched purr to Marcs softer chuffing, to Jakes deeper rumble.

They were probably scared in the beginning that you would leave them because of their situation, so when you accepted them with open arms, they were so relieved. It helped somewhat that you were a beta and didn’t feel more drawn to one partner over the other based on biology too.

Heats and Ruts were a little confusing in the beginning, since it was mostly Jake and Steven fronting during that time, their needs and scents clashing like crazy.

One moment Steven would be laying on his back and barring his neck, whimpering and whining for you to bite him and mark him. The next Jake would be rolling you onto your stomach and clamping his teeth down on the scruff of your neck as he snorts and growls.

When Marc fronts during heats and ruts he’s just uncomfortable and sweaty. He typically takes care of their needs, like showers, drinking water and eating. You guys just always end up cuddling and watching a movie or documentary on some streaming service.

You use the time with Marc to catch your breath, since you aren’t an omega or alpha, meaning it’s a little hard to keep up with your partners ever switching needs. But you guys make do, and they all love you very much for doing so.

When you guys become bonded, you’ll end up with three mating bites, one from each of them. From Jake its on the back of your neck, right where he scruffs you when in a rut. Marc bites it over your scent gland on the side of your neck, intertwining his beta scent with yours. Steven bites his on the other side of your neck, just below your scent gland in a more submissive area.

They’ll end up with three bites on their body too, one for each of them. Jakes bite is under their scent gland for the same reason Steven left his there on you. Stevens is right on top of their scent gland, and Marcs is the area between the neck and the muscle, below the scent gland since that one is bitten for Steven.

The start of the relationship is a little confusion, but after some trial and error, you guys figure it out well, and you are all happy with it all. Your biggest challenge is probably their heat and rut combo, but after a while you figure it out to a science.

[rudeflower]

JESS ANGST SCHOOL ANGST COMPLEX TRAUMA ANGST

In Keg Max! Principal Merton tells Jess he has missed 31 days of school. Now that makes him a chronic truant for sure, it means he's missed more than 10% of the school year, the standard school year is 180 days. Let's say there's 10 days left in the school year.

That's a LOT of school to miss. Young people improbably here, do not miss that much school

But relative to what we're being told about Jess, it's a weirdly low number? Jess never goes to school!!!! He's working 10000 hours at Walmart instead of going to school no school never heard of him!

That means that Jess attended school 139 days. Most schools I've worked with define that as a certain number of hours attended, more than half the day. So even if he was skipping that's 139 days he went to more than half the day NOT GOOD AT ALL BUT

Even after he was eighteen (early in the school year) he still laced up his boots and showed up somewhere he hated at saw no point in going to WHY!!????

First of all this is actually a ridiculously overcommitted young person let's at least acknowledge that.

He works before school at Luke's, and he works in the evenings too, closing up at 11:30 in one episode. Not just filling coffee mugs anymore. By season 3 he's closing alone, keeping tabs on the delivery schedule and capable of (furiously) running the morning rush alone.

AND he's working 45 hours a week at Walmart doing physical work, AND (poorly) maintaining a romantic relationship, AND reading obsessively, AND YES GOING TO SCHOOL! Jess starts working at Walmart in November (if you treat the air date as the canon date with the show roughly does), combined with Luke's it's probably 60-65 hours a week and still went to school 139 days!

He's making ridiculous choices because he is a tiny little fool but also has a trauma soaked brain

Jess chooses to be maxed out every minute of his life because he cannot tolerate being unoccupied, like a lot of people with complex trauma (and ADHD and Autism and more all of which could apply to Jess but rn I am talking about complex trauma)

When someone is used to chaos in their environment they actually feel less safe when things are quiet and still. It leads to someone who needs to have their RAM at 100% every waking AND sleeping moment

So they work 65+ hours, go to school most days, and they

cannot relax without extreme stimulation AKA needing the music on to sleep

Walk while reading because walking and looking ahead isn't enough is not occupied enough need more occupied

and starts reading the second he's stops talking to someone or using his hands to do something else. Reading as default in any given second.

He reads compulsively, no matter how chaotic the environment.

Reading ALSO isn't enough must be annotating and analyzing too passive reading is NOT ENOUGH

So Jess would rather show up at school for 139 days where other people are moving around, where there are fights to get into and classes to move to and from, even after he's an adult and Luke wouldn't find out that he isn't showing up. He'll show up to a test just to be in the classroom, not to take it.

This is not mentioning what I'm too lazy to screencap, that he's always doing something. that especially when he's talking to Luke Jess is constantly and doing things with his hands constantly.

There's really only one time we see Jess sitting still doing almost nothing

But not really nothing because smoking really is something.

My dude needs to be as occupied as possible from the time he wakes up all the way up to and including when he falls asleep to stay occupied and all that he's got on hand is going to a school that says the pledge of allegiance in six different languages then he will go! It's 100%%% occupation or the horror of possibly relaxing and WHAT WOULD HAPPEN THEN

[enquire]

Hello again! Dunno when you’ll be back online, but when you do return, could you tell me of any potential DRA ships you have? Additionally, do you plan to make them canon or ship-tease them in your pony AU?

Hello again! :D

I hope you're ready for an info dump because I have a lot of thoughts about class 79!

Ships... the age old question...

I'm honestly not the kind of person who gets heavily invested into a lot of ships. That being said, I do enjoy them a lot, especially when it involves a cast I am as attached to as class 79! And one of those handful of ships I am highly invested in is a DRA ship, lol. (It's Kinjomae... and to be honest, a really big part of my DRA special interest is filled by those two characters, and Utsuro, in general if not together)

Kinjo and Yuki tend to end up being with central roles in most of my DRA related thoughts, art, and writing, it just kind of sneaks in, regardless, somewhere.

I like interpreting them in a queer platonic or more ace-leaning relationship as well. Not always, but I've made a habit of it. So yeah they're going to have a relationship of some sort in this au too.

To specify, I am referring to DRA1 Yuki; I don't really ship the real Yuki and Tsurugi together. To me, they are two very distinct characters with different personalities from each other despite their similarities, not just memories... I won't get into all that (a post for another day perhaps) but in context of Kinjomae, only one of them is his Yuki, who knows and cares for him.

Exploring the relationship between Tsurugi and (actual) Yuki Maeda is still super interesting though, and I can understand why people ship it, there's loads of interesting places to go with it.

Also, I'm the kind of fan who can be swayed to accept almost any pairing or headcanon, especially in the context of the respective work (art/writing, etc) I really think it's possible to execute pretty much anything in a convincing manner if done well, and that applies to ships and stuff. Are there some ships and/or headcanons that give me the ick? Yup. Are there some I just don't like? Yeah. It just takes a lot for me to really get to a level where I hate something.

Uh, let's see... there are a few other ships I tend to immediately think of, even if I'm not as invested!

Ayame/Akane (may or may not be teased or explored in the pony au)

Satsuki/Haru (they'll probably be canon, I mean... it's satsuki and haru)

Rei/Teruya (I love their dynamic, regardless of the type of relationship they have)

Utsuro/Akane (they are super fascinating and it would feel remiss not to include this one in some manner)

I'm not sure yet what I'll do in this AU with everyone, we'll see. Including friend groups: I want to make more 'mane 6' type groups from the rest of the cast but I haven't finalized any of them besides the main one yet.

That's one of the things that makes me love class 79 so much; they feel very real to me, individually and how they all interact with each other. I'm invested in them as a group, and in all the little friendships and groups within the class. So I might spend more time thinking about them in terms of friendships and other relationships than pairings, except for Kinjo and Yuki of course.

My favorites of those are:

☀︎ haru, satsuki, and teruya

tsurugi, yamato, and mikako

teruya, tsurugi, and rei

best siblings yamato and mikako

the if only group: teruya, tsurugi, rei, yuki, akane, yamato, and mikako. (who also happen be most of the mane 6 for my pony au, and are my favorite characters along with Utsuro, pretty much.)

I love this cast a lot if you couldn't tell by now.

My least favorites are Mitch and Kizuna, though. I don't dislike them, but Kizuna in particular I am really neutral toward compared to everyone else.

I feel like I just... don't have a grasp on what kind of character she is at all? Her story in the game combined with her FTEs left me pretty conflicted about her. It feels like there were many opportunities to give more insight into her, but none of them worked for me.

I mean, we get to meet her mom, and even that didn't give me any more insight into her childhood or personality at all... which is kind of hard to ignore when the time we spend (or being told about via FTES) with Ando, Keisuke, Ryutaro, and Midori all give their respective family members more context and anchors we didn't have before. Plus the tiniest whiff of Juu we get speaks volumes for Tsurugi's upbringing, it is very easy to fill in the blanks.

As much as it is a tradition to hate on Mitch, I don't really hate him as a character: he works perfectly well for the kind of role he's meant to fill, (I mean, he's designed to be a case 1 killer first and foremost) and personally, I find it a lot easier to add layers to him than Kizuna because he has a base I can wrap my head around, unlike Kizuna, even if it is a really simple one.

Anyways...

As a bonus, here are some of my favorite rarepairs:

mitch/uehara

teruya/uehara

teruya/haru

almost any rei pairings (I usually pass on the very gloomy and incoming divorce vibes of tsurugi/rei though) maybe partially because I (personally) have difficulties seeing Tsurugi being in relationships with women. Sorry, but I can't undo it. He's just gay in my eyes. And/or ace and homoromantic.

I think that's the end of my thoughts for now. Thanks for prompting another ramble I appreciate it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ see ya later ! ⋆⁺₊⋆

[eepop-stuffs]

Oh my god. I'm gonna rant. OK. So previously I was ranting about this to some people on discord (I sent the same rant to three different servers, it's your guys' turn)

So basically, in one of the various licensed Pucca games, there's a cutscene that reveals that Tobe killed Garu's father while Garu watched. However, this makes absolutely no sense given their canon ages and overall dynamic.

Below is the big rant, prepare for me to speak absolute nonsense.

So according to the Pucca YouTube channel, Tobe is 16 and Garu is 12.

In the cutscene, the VERY oldest Garu could be is about 6 or 7. Which would make Tobe about 10. I personally don't believe that bro would be doing allat at 10 years old given the fact he's regularly represented as utterly useless on his own (at least compared to Pucca and Garu combined, which is admittedly like comparing a housecat to a tiger). Assuming they're a little older than my prediction, placing the cutscene a little bit before the show, that would make it a little more plausable with Tobe being in his earlier teens (but honestly not by much).

But considering the Pucca lore is so generally fucked up due to the amount of retcons (Pucca being listed as 10 before being changed to 11 later on being a good example), let's assume that Tobe is at least a little bit younger than Garu's dad and Garu is a small child. Everything makes sense considering the timeline now, but that would leave their dynamic.

Their overall dynamic is the key reason this cutscene makes no fucking sense whatsoever and I personally choose to ignore it.

So, Tobe and Garu are more like frenemies than anything. For one, the only real reason that Garu seems to engage with Tobe's very non-specific "vengance" is his own ego. (In season one and two of the show, at least) it's evident that Garu fights Tobe half because of his friends and family and half out of spite.

Like, Garu just can't let him win. In the episode The Sooga Showdown (season 1 episode 19) where they all have to race around Sooga with one of Master Soo's ladies, we're given a good example of how much their rivalry is just one big dick measuring contest.

Secondly, that nonspecific "vengance" Tobe wants seems more like Tobe was wronged. Which could just be his goofy ass POV of how things went, but that's sort of reaching given all the information we have.

AND MOST IMPORTANTLY;

In addition to all this, they are really just rivals. Like, when they aren't blinded by their little rivalry, they're shown to actually like each other's company. They don't seem to mind each other when they're forced to not be physically violent. If it wasn't for their egos, they'd probably be friends, probably have some sort of brotherly friendship. But they're both just little dillholes who can't take someone being better than them.

It's also important to note their rivalri is also toned down in season 3 for the point where Garu just seems to want to protect his friends and family, and Tobe just wants to beat his ass for no reason and make him miserable. There's not really any given reason for either of their behaviors because season 3 doesn't have much lore aside from the whole thing where Dandy is delulu about the Goh-Rong's """secret to martial arts""" and the stupid ass Dong King shit.

TL;DR

Tobe didn't kill Garu's dad, if he did their relationship would be much more volatile.

If anyone would like to prove me wrong, I would love to have such a conversation. I generally don't know ALL of the lore and don't trust the wiki for shit, so yeah.

I would also like to add that the yt channel can't really be trusted with any lore video posted within the past 4 or 5 months as of July 2024 since that channel is legitimately crumbling into dust. Some of the facts they give are a little cute, but for the bigger stuff I'd take it with a grain of salt unless it was stated somewhere before (like THIS video)

I'm so done with this channel istg🌚

Like gurl....gurl...

[officiallyossy-haywooddent]

August 29th.

This is a fanfic / open rp starter so it’s kinda long. The writing might not be great, sorry.

TW for child death, loss of a sibling, minor mentions of bad parenting, minor drug use, minor toxic relationship

Every year without fail the week of August 25 was maybe the worst week of Ossy’s life. Every year they’d go through the same calls, same arrangements, same people. It never changed, even if their life circumstances did. Every year they would end up with a crown of flowers and a box of Halloween candy, completely and utterly alone.

It had been the same when they were eight and had been flown home from camp to give their testimony to the police. It had been the same when they were twelve, reeling from the loss of their brother and best friend and so, so many others; lost and alone in the middle of New York.

It had gotten worse when Ossy was thirteen, their palm sliced open over a marble altar, clasped in the hand of their best friend somewhere in the wilderness of the Yukon. Being fifteen in Gotham would be no different.

—

August 25.

It began, the preparations; the prayers. They called Frank first. Ossy hadn’t talked to him in years when it had first happened, he’d left the island with his mother to live with his grandmother in Vancouver, and they’d drifted apart.

A three hours on the ferry was a long time to travel to see someone, it wasn’t like they’d been good friends. They’d been five and eight, quietly talking in the forest behind their school every couple of days. That was all, Ossy didn’t think they’d ever speak to him again.

Then came the second war. He was there; they weren’t. He stopped by the med bay, asked where they’d been. They answered. He’d talked with them for hours, but he would always have to leave.

Nevertheless Ossy picked up their phone, dialled his number. They let it ring, once, twice. They hung up. It wasn’t right to bother Frank nowadays, and he hadn’t really known her anyway. Most people hadn’t.

They ordered a bulk box of Halloween candy. It would arrive in two days. They wished it would never come.

—

August 26.

Ossy’d found a place that did rush flower arrangements. They ordered three flower crowns, one for them, two for her. The place they’d gotten it, Belle Flore, was this tiny shop in North Gotham that imported seeds from everywhere in the world and grew all the flowers in a grow room above the store. The clerk, a red-headed guy probably less than a year older than them named Rhys, had been nice about the whole thing, suggesting an arrangement of Pheasants Eye, Prince’s Feather, Baby’s Breath, and Buttercup.

The combination was odd but sweet, symbolic. Buttercup had been her favourite after all. The crowns would be done in three days, the 29th.

Ossy would pick it up in the morning, flowers were always better fresh.

They spend the rest of the day asleep. The tranqs they’d gotten from Peter were nice, though they’d had to ration them out. They’d told him 2 wasn’t gonna be enough.

-

August 27.

Ossy sleeps through the day. They don’t move, but it’s fine. They don’t need to. Sleep is quiet, calming. Hypnos must have taken pity of them, each dream is an altered memory of their life before everything, a kinder one.

-

August 28.

The phone rings five times before going to voicemail, their mums soft voice letting them know to leave a message and that she’d get to it in the morning. She wouldn’t, not when she saw the caller ID.

“Hey, mum. It’s me. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and I’m..I’m doing something for the 29th. You can always join me, I’ll pay for your flight and everything.”

Ossy pauses, taking a shuddering breath. It’s been a while since they’ve cried properly.

“…I miss you. And Grandpa. I’m sorry..about everything.”

They hang up quickly, regretting every second of it. She’d just delete it when she saw it, she always did. They leave the message anyway.

The package with the candy arrives at the manor, nobody asks what’s in it. Ossy doesn’t know if anyone even noticed it arrive. They request the day off tomorrow from the Deli, Mr. Maroni approves it. He’s been nice since he found out about the mugging, probably thinks they’re still scared of doing the night shift. They are, but they wouldn’t tell him that.

The night roles around and they pop the second half of a tranq. They don’t know if they want to wake up in the morning, sleeping away the 29th doesn’t sound half bad. It would be mean though, she would never have done it. She didn’t sleep, it was genetic. The gene had skipped Ossy.

-

August 29.

At 5:30 AM they show up at Belle Flores, it’s the same clerk, Rhys. He quietly hands over a pastel blue box with a subdued smile. He knows what the crowns are for, they’d told him. It’s easier to talk to strangers about these things.

Ossy stops back at the manor, grabbing the cats before hopping on one of the busses. They need to get out of the city again. Sometimes Gotham, with its constant noise and soaring buildings, felt like a maze. This then made them the rat, trying to find its way out before getting zapped.

The concrete held an energy they could never quite get used too. Ossy missed the blue pine of the salmon and rain forests; trees so large and thick they muffled everything within their shade, where oceans crashed against the conifered cliffs of their piece of home. They’d stolen that line from John Vailant.

The bus pulled to a stop outside a rocky beach. The cats had been quiet for the ride, good travellers. Ossy realized she’d never gotten to meet them.

They set up camp on a fallen log near the tree line, setting up a fence so the cats could be let loose to roam. Two of the flower crowns were laid side by side, the third resting on their head. It was good work, better than either of them had ever been capable of.

Ossy sat there for a while, listening to old songs they had long forgotten the words to, taking two bowls and pouring them full of the candy. It was stale, but that didn’t really matter. Stel had always saved her Halloween candy until Easter. They ate quietly, watching the cats play fight.

Ossy wasn’t sure how long it took for them to break down but they’d like to think it was close to an hour, a respectable amount of time to hold vigil before they imploded.

It was stupid for them to think they’d escaped it, moved past it. Not her death, no, they could never get over that, but being alone each year.

Not even having a picture of the family together. It was starting to get to them. Ossy would never admit it but they were starting to forget her face. People had always said they’d looked similar. They could never believe it. Stel had been good, so much better than any of the rest of them. Ossy would never be sure how she came from a family like theirs. Truth be told, they weren’t even sure what they looked like anymore, but that had little to do with the comparisons.

Ossy pulled out their phone, dialling half the numbers in their phone before deleting each one. They didn’t want to feel the need to explain it all to anyone. Deanna had told them to stop over analyzing their emotions, it wasn’t actually a form of processing apparently.

Finally, they landed on someone they wouldn’t mind calling. The gnawing sensation in their gut growing ever stronger as the phone rang, the soft click of the receiver letting them know there wasn’t really a way back.

“Hey.”

[mochinomnoms]

Something I've been wondering is if Yuu has a baby with one of the mer boys, will the kid also need a potion to change from fishy to leg haver, or will them having a human parent means they would be able to do so without it. I've also been wondering if a human has a kid with one of the beast boys, will the kid have a tail and ears no matter what? I feel like in general their genetics are probably stronger than humans.

I think it would depend on several factors, and considering I barely pass bio my sophomore year in uni, I'm gonna combine a bit of Google and pulling shit out of thin air for some reasoning.

It would seem that most of the creatures in Twisted Wonderland take on a mostly human appearance in some form or fashion, with merfolk having the most extreme difference. I would argue that non-human features, such as bright hair and eye colors, teeth type/shape, ears type/shape, and extra body limbs such as horns, tails, as well as physical evidence of curses/blessings.

For merfolk though, having such vastly different features, it would depend on a few other factors as well:

I imagine that whether they're in human or merform would be a large factor in what genes get passed down. Looking at Ariel and Melody in the second movie, Melody was only passed down human traits. She also didn't turn into a mermaid until she had magical assistance. So most likely, if Azul or the twins decided to have children in their human forms, their children would turn out completely human with a higher change of inheriting their hair color, teeth, and other mer traits.

However, if they were to have the kid while in their merform, I'm inclined to believe that they would take after them and their merforms. I like to think that in this case, their children would be able to transform into their mer and human forms at will without a potion, unlike full-merfolk. Transfiguration spells and potions are highly restricted according to some lines from Azul and Jack in their vignettes, so it would be most beneficial for a family blended between the land and sea.

Alternatively, if they were approved to get a transfiguration spell or potion for Yuu to permanently turn into a mer, then the child would be full mer. In that case, there's another discussion to be hand about which mer-traits are dominant/recessive.

For the beastmen, it's significantly less complicated:

Beastmen traits are going to be dominant, so any of the Savanaclaw boys will find that their children will take after them. It's not only the ears, canine, and tail that remain, but the vibrant eye and hair colors as well! Why do you think so many of the humans in Twisted Wonderland still find themselves with brilliant, unnatural-natural hair and eye colors? Beastmen-human families are incredibly common and have been throughout history. Even when those descendants have their own children and the more obvious ears and tails are lost, you have to wonder a little where those sharper teeth and nails come from. Where does the pretty green, perfect for blending into forest foliage, or white, clean and pretty like the snow, come from in their family line?

It's gotta be from somewhere, generations ago, right? And that's not even touching on fae traits…

[rust-is-a-car-disease]

Combining a bunch of stuff i love into 1 thing (i dont remember exactly where i read all of this)

Uncanny valley + charges via sunlight + weird biology and aging + shapeshifting isnt a genetic thing + his eyes are weird n reflective

(Basically talking abt that one fic where emi cocoons and his dad convinces him to move emi into sunlight and more... i love that fic so much both bc its great and for how they apply his biology)

I do want to talk abt his lifespan... but thats not what this post is abt

Im not into baseball but from what i understand sports doesnt really do a lot of media stuff as compared to what irl stuff ik like reality shows etc. bc they dont rly need to promote sports like entertainment stuff needs.

I just think itd be really fun if kenji gets put on one of those reality shows, maybe one where they try out hard jobs or smtg. Why? This gives me an excuse to put him in a farm setting for multiple days.

And if we put his whole team there... they get to experienve uncanny valley and weirdly reflective eyes. I include reflective eyes bc it probably would look really unsettling in addition to his uncanny valley effect when hes somewhere darker but somehow his eyes are reflecting a lot of light.

And they also get to experience how he has so much more energy since hes in the sun the whole day. And then how he has less energy on darker days if it starts raining a lot... hehehh

I imagine over the years before he can handle his aging (if he ever could learn how now thats an idea) it could very much start getting weird how his aging seems sporadic or stagnated. From what i remember i read ultraman ages could be based on emotional maturity so itd be interesting when applied to aging. As a celebrity itd be soooo fun to see the medias reaction to him.

I do really enjoy the ahapeshifting isnt a genetic thing. If we go on ultraman is very emotions based and we apply that logic to theyre emotions affect those they care abt and then apply how a lot of sentient beings mimic each other and learn like that it makes it interesting... not to mention if we r more lenient with it we can also apply it to him himself. Idk ultraman lore but wouldnt it be fun if ultramans could have another form (cough kaiju cough)? How this would apply to kenji might be different considering hes only half ultraman but for kaiju kenji sake i choose to believe in this case than ultras have more control over their forms than him but hes still able to control it to some extent. (Suddenly thinking abt the dsmp fic where tommy shapeshifted to have wings 4m grian or smtg but thats not what this post is abt i will think abt that later)