#why I occasionally speak in third person I do not know

[rhynerd]

Rhynerd is taking this as an opportunity to share some songs he enjoys that fit the bill:

Here’s a song about a spacer trying to get the whole story told about a heroic rescue

Here’s a song involving a gunslinger’s life

Pretty sure this one’s just about a drug addict trying to escape the cops

This one’s about being an anxious mess

Rattlesnake

This one’s about the eternal greed of corporations and how much company towns sucked

Here’s a diss track targeting gods

And one of my favorite songs is about a failed effort to create a cure for cancer

“Well it’s not just mainstream music, aren’t ALL songs about sex and relationships if you really think about it—“ Absolutely the fuck not. I just listened to a song about being buried alive and one about pirates battling a giant squid. Listen to more weird music immediately

[theyluvlyss]

𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 !

and it's me getting to write henry being a simp🥴🥰. thank you for requesting, I honestly didn't think I'd get any for henry danger, so just this one has me allll /ᐠo⩊oマ !!! So ya, enjoy :).

𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

《 ♡ 》 oneshot

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

being the girlfriend of swellview's resident sidekick could be tough sometimes. always covering for him, constantly worrying about his safety, forever missing him...

but, regardless, he always made sure to remind you that you are the most important thing in his life. even if he has to wake you out of a dead sleep to do it...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

fem!girlfriend!reader x henry hart - she/her/hers pronouns! - knows henry's super-identity/works with captain man!

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

during season four (and up) (vaguely) - it's mildly implied to be winter

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

cursing (I think? I don't remember, but just in case lol) - yelling (in a jokey/lighthearted way tho) - henry being so boyfriend - a poison ivy knock-off gets featured in here cuz I thought it would be funny lmao - lmk if I missed anything /ᐠ~˕~マ.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

As you stocked shelves and marked down certain pricey items for the holiday's swift approach, you couldn't help but huff. Couldn't help but wonder why it was you had agreed to such a position. Hardly anyone even comes into Junk n' Stuff! Why did you have to play pretend employee for a vacant audience when you could be down in the Mancave with Charlotte and Schwoz, observing and maybe even solving crime and mysteries?

At this point, you might as well have taken real a job at a real shop or store.

But, then again... you were getting the bonus perks of higher pay, given as your boss was a literal superhero. And, because of the fact that the whole of Junk n' Stuff was a front, customers were rare. It was like being on break from three to ten, only ever selling to the occasional old person looking for a rare trinket, or a curious kid looking to resell something "vintage." Whatever the case, you were on your phone for most of the time, and were always happy to work alongside your best friend and your superhero boyfriend.

The third perk, you realized, even if you weren't exactly on the field beside him. You supposed it wasn't all bad. It's not like a lot of other girls had the guilty pleasure of saying the same.

"I work at a fake mom and pop shop that barely gets any customers, but it's okay because it's just a cover up for my boss who's actually Captain Man, and his sidekick, Kid Danger, is actually my boyfriend. My best friend Charlotte and I work to keep him safe every other day, and to top it all off, I get paid more than what my parents make in a week."

You shook your head, huffing to yourself in amusement. Not only was it a mouthful to say, but it sounded insane. Not that you'd ever actually say it to anyone but yourself in your head. But, speaking- er, thinking of...

You pulled your phone from your back pocket, taking your focus off of the box of probably stale snacks you were stacking near the front desk and onto Henry's already open contact. You scanned over your thread of texts between each other, your last message from earlier in the day still left on delivered. You didn't take this to heart, already aware of how busy his missions tended to get. And dangerous, too, hence why you had initially sent...

─────────────────────

my man😙❤️

───────────

Be careful out there today, k?

Ily💞✨️

Delivered

─────────────────────

And sure, after checking now, seeing you'd been left on delivered the whole time mildly stung. But you understood and didn't allow that to be the thing that slightly dampened your mood. Instead, you remained worried for your boyfriend, contemplating if you should send another text his way. Or maybe even call him. Just to see...

You fanned the idea away, setting your phone face down on the floor and continuing to do your "job." Anything to take your mind off of the peril Henry could be facing right now, and the last thing he needed was you distracting him. You wouldn't be needy. At least, not right now. But you'd continue to wonder what was happening, where he was, what dangers he was facing...

"Oh...! (Y/N)."

You turned at the sound of your name, smiling as Charlotte stepped out of the elevator.

"It's past ten, I thought you'd be home by now."

"Me too...!" You sighed, a dry chuckle leaving along with. "I guess I was just subconsciously hoping Ray and Henry would be back by now."

Charlotte gave her own chuckle and an understanding nod at your half-joking confession, moving closer until she was squatted beside and assisting you with the rest of your stocking.

"I wouldn't worry too much. They got this. They always do."

"I know, it's just-"

"-Besides, it's only Greenleaf. And you already know..."

You two shot each other a knowing glance, finishing her sentence at the same time together before laughing.

"...She always folds for Ray."

As you set up the last of the snacks, the two of you stood, cardboard box on your hip while Charlotte had scooped up your phone and handed it back to you.

"You're right, you're right." You admitted, tossing your head from side to side with a shrug. "Plus, I'm pretty sure her goals are relatively Mother Nature related. Can't say I blame her."

"Excatly." Charlotte agreed. "She rarely ever does any real harm, so trust me, Henry will text you back before you know it."

And with that, you two shared your final goodbyes for the evening, and your fret had subsided. Like you said, she was right, Greenleaf more of a particular "low level" classified supervillain, which meant an easy battle. If you'd even call it that. You predicted that right about now, Ray was doing his best to appeal to her charm and romance to subdue her, and though gross... it always seemed to work, so you didn't question it.

With that in mind, you finally decided to call in, clocking out for the evening and daydreaming on the walk home of a hearty dinner, a hot shower, and the warmth and cozy of your bed.

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In the comfort of your room with your nighttime routine accomplished, you remained settled in bed with your eyes glued to your phone. Maybe not the healthiest option, but TikTok was very compelling in the late evenings. Especially when you needed a good laugh or a new song/audio to discover and add to your playlist. You scrolled endlessly, allowing the time to tick by without worry or care because tomorrow (in an hour or two) would be a stress free Saturday.

The millionth swipe upwards of your thumb brought you to your next video, a boy and a girl close in age to yourself participating in a trend that had been circling around for a little bit. It was cute, the way they both adorned wide, cheesy smiles, and their pajamas matched with each other. Even while they performed a popular dance, sticking to routine, you could sense the chemistry they had with one another through the screen. All of it ending with the boy scooping her into his arms, littering kisses across her face that she giggled at over the music.

If anyone asked, you'd be a little embarrassed to admit that you had let the video replay several times before giving it a like and then scrolling away. But, you couldn't - no - wouldn't deny the achy feeling it left you with.

Suddenly, you were no longer laughing at everything you saw and/or heard. No longer wishing to be on the app itself any longer because the ache in your chest was growing too much to bear. Too much for you to ignore, thinking about that random couple and their adorable antics.

How much it reminded you of your own boyfriend; how much you really did miss Henry. It wasn't like you didn't see each other often, practically every day. But it didn't stop you from always wishing to be near him, that he was with you. Family, school, and being a superhero did take up quite a bit of his attention, not that you doubted you were the fourth thing on his list. Selfishly, you assumed the second, at least...

But anyhow, in an attempt to rid yourself of the ache and to refrain from pestering him, you migrated from TikTok to your gallery, scrolling around until you reached a large cluster of pictures and videos from days past.

First thing, you were met with a short thread of silly pictures, Henry striking poses and making faces he'd forbid from showing to anyone, and you immediately sent them to Charlotte and Jasper agreed, for the sake of his dignity. Or just some random action shots, the complete blur of his figure due to moving too fast, which you would keep because they were still funny, after all.

But eventually, you came across a video, it automatically playing as you watched in reminiscence of your time at the mall together. You were both fresh from a Bath & Body Works, your phone's point of view shaking and aimed as though it were snooping around in your bag before pulling away and revealing your hand being held by none other than Henry himself.

"What'd ya' get me?" You chirped as though you hadn't just shown the audience already. But, it was clear you wanted to hear it from him at the time, both past/video and present you giggling at the way Henry shot a smirk your way with eyes that read, "Really?"

"What I always get you." He answered simply, looking ahead as you two walked. "The world."

"Harhar." You could be heard giving an equally sarcastic laugh before adding, "Yes, but specifically this time."

"Boba and (signature/scent)."

Again, both past/video and present you shared another laugh, and you were sure of the fact that you were admiring him shamelessly with your eyes full of love at that moment, just as you were now as the video went on.

"How come?" You pressed with glee, Henry's head shifting back towards you as he spoke.

"'Cause I love you. 'Cause you deserve it. 'Cause it feels gooood."

He laughed along with you at the way he elongated his words at the end of his sentence, a quirk he picked up from who-knows-where that always had you playfully rolling your eyes. In real time, though, the video had ended there, and you were swift to find another one, craving more of that feeling... that mock-comfort of Henry being with you when he actually wasn't.

It was the best you could do, for now, so you'd continue, snuggling deeper into your blankets and pillows while his voice kept ringing out from your phone.

"You smell really good." Was his first comment, ironically per the last video, stated while you admired yourself in selfie mode before switching to the back camera.

He was already stalking closer towards your position on his bed, in his room, before flopping down right into your lap and looking up at you like a puppy.

"And I love your eyes."

"My eyes?" You questioned, as though you were surprised, or as if he should be talking about someone else's.

"Mhm." He nodded slowly. "Your beautiful eyes and those lips of yours. You're too perfect, y'might have to get that checked out or something."

Your laugh at his joking statement caused the camera to shake, and it made you realize that in the moment, you had missed the way he continued to behold you. To cherish the rest of your features and run his hand against your lower stomach as his face flushed with red at the sound of your giggles. Laughter he caused, which made him happy, you assumed, given the way he couldn't even fight his own smile.

You wished you hadn't missed it all at the time, but were glad you were seeing it now; all of his love that then went poured into one gesture before the video ended.

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a gentleness you were still currently missing, the video ending, and the silence of your room setting in.

It didn't help the ache like you thought it would, possibly even making it worse. And because of that, you thought it wise to call it a night, giving your messages one more check before making the last minute choice to send another. A final one for the evening, because at least that would bring you peace of mind.

─────────────────────

my man😙❤️

───────────

Be careful out there today, k?

Ily💞✨️

Delivered

Goodnight

I love you sm<3

❤️✨️

Delivered

─────────────────────

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

"So, uhh... you ever try Olive Garden?"

The woman, hair fiery red and a fitted suit made from the vines and plants she created (which were now being chopped away at by police in light of her villainous attempts), shot the man, Captain Man, a look of confusion and disgust. If her wrists hadn't been bound by handcuffs, she'd send another vine after him just for his obliviousness.

"No. I would never in my life..."

She didn't even have to finish her sentence, the tone implying that she wouldn't be caught dead eating from a place that required slaughtering animals and ripping plants from the ground just to serve "fine" cuisine.

"Is Olive Garden not vegan?"

Greenleaf couldn't even fathom a rebuttal to such stupidity, that fact clearly written all over her face as she was hauled away by more policemen. Ray, of course, didn't exactly catch on but jumped at Henry's shout from behind.

"Dude...!" A pause, striking out a hand to further enforce his demand. "Stop flirting with the supervillain...!"

"I'm-! . . ." Ray couldn't even deny that he was doing such a thing (granted, Greenleaf is an attractive woman), but would take advantage of his older age anyhow, pointing an index finger towards his younger partner sternly.

"Mind your business! Unlike you, Kid Danger, I have had the pleasure of time, which has allotted me the grace of perfecting my wit, savvy, and charm, I'll have you know. So-"

He was interrupted by Henry's gloved palm resting against his face, serving as a method to stop him from strolling any closer while Henry casually scrolled through his phone, his tone all the same.

"Hang on, my girlfriend just texted me."

Ray scoffed, seconds away from letting Henry know that he shouldn't be distracted on the job. That is, until he continued to go on with a flat tone, underlying bits of hilarity under it in attempts to get under Ray's skin.

"Y'know, the thing you don't have? The girl I used my natural born wit, savvy, and charm on to win over?"

"I get it!!"

Henry looked up with a smile at Ray's exclamation, innocently nodding with a swift, "Yeah." before putting his attention back to his screen.

─────────────────────

my wife❤️

Be careful out there today, k?

Ily💞✨️

9:23p.m.

Goodnight

I love you sm<3

❤️✨️

11:37p.m.

─────────────────────

What had been giddiness at first morphed into a feeling of guilt, thoughts of your saddened face sinking deep into his brain the moment he realized he had missed your texts. That you had apparently even gone to bed without hearing so much as a word from him all evening.

And sure, he knew you'd probably excuse it the next day, simply telling him that it "was fine" and that you "understood." And while that might be the case, he couldn't help but give in to the thought that you'd much rather have gotten to hear from him tonight. At the very least.

Besides, it's not like he didn't miss you, too. He missed you a lot, actually. You constantly on the brain every single time he fought and/or solved any crime, because if there was one person he'd guarantee the safety of while being in Swellview, it was you. But, along with your safety, he also wanted to make things up to you. He wanted your happiness. And he knew he was one of the sole people who could provide that, therefore...

"Alright, I gotta' get outta' here."

"What?" Captain Man blinked rapidly, unexpecting of Henry's sudden announcement of departure. "No-! No, we have to clean up this mess. Look at all of these vines!"

"Yep, it's...quite the jungle." Henry admitted lacklusterly, nodding to himself before throwing a thumb over his shoulder and slowly backing away. "But, uh, it's Friday, and..."

"Exactly! Friday night, no school, which leaves you plenty of time to help me out. You're on clean-up duty tonight, bud!"

Henry, again, nodded along with Ray's words. He continued to take his giant steps away from the scene, talking fast and only thinking about you in the process, hence why his logic came out a little more than flawed...

"Right, except no, because last I checked, the saying goes, "Blow bubbles fight crime, feels good." Not, "Blow bubbles, fight crime, clean up a mess that's not mine." And, I gotta be honest, that would not feel very good. It would actually feel baaaad, which is exactly how you-know-who is probably feeling right about now..."

"Don't even say her name, kid."

A pause lingered in the air before Henry disobeyed direct instruction.

"I gotta go see (Y/N)."

And he was gone before the conversation could continue, Ray left on his own to help the police with deforesting the city's town hall. And, as much as it behooved him to do so, he couldn't help but admit to himself that if he was still Henry's age with a girl like you, he'd probably do the same.

He huffed, giving his sidekick the benefit of the doubt for tonight.

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Tossing and turning slowly as you woke, you hadn't yet processed what it was that had actually brought you from your slumber until you were fully sitting up in bed, finally able to recognize the sound as a gentle knock.

This then alarmed you, your head whipping around your surroundings in a flurry in an attempt to pinpoint the sound that had spiked up your heart rate in the dead of night. But, once you had managed to place the noise coming from your window, your fear settled into more of a light curiosity and confusion. It brought you from your bed, your feet now met with the cold air around you as you crept forward towards your window.

Steadily pulling back your curtains, your caution slowly turned into joy and surprise, a smile spreading across your face that matched the one on your boyfriend's own face behind the glass.

"Henry...!" You whisper-shouted, his name muffled as he watched you move to unlock your window. He was grateful that you were quick with this action, no longer having to mildly shiver outside while you pulled him through and onto your bedroom floor, admiring his figure in the dimness of your room.

"It's so late, what're you doing here?"

Your question escaped in the midst of a yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes while his own darted back to where the clock sat on your nightstand.

12:54a.m.

"I know, I'm sorry, (N/N). I didn't mean to wake you." He apologized, using a nickname that brought another smile to your face once the yawn had passed.

"I just...didn't want you to think I was ignoring you, y'know? I would've answered your texts sooner, I was just-"

"-I know." You cut in with a nod. "I understand, it's okay."

He laughed quietly to himself, all too correct about your compassion when it came to him that he sometimes felt he didn't fully deserve. Like now, keeping his hands hidden behind his back with something that'd hopefully make up for it all.

"It's not, though. I wanna be fair to you with my time. Want you to know that I care about you and that I'll be there for you, whether I'm Kid Danger or just Henry Hart."

"Woah, hey, you're not... just Henry Hart." You corrected, coming closer and placing a tired hand on his shoulder. It was only here that you realized he wore nothing but a white t-shirt, the rest of his super-apparel tied around his waist, red cargo pants and combat boots still intact. Pretty on point symbolism for the moment, if anyone asked you...

"You... are Henry Hart. You're my boyfriend with a lot on your plate, and I know that it's just not fair of me to expect all of your time, which is why I don't. But no matter what, I do love you for giving me whatever you can, so it's very much okay."

You didn't have to be able to see his face clearly to know he was probably just as red as he was in your videos from earlier, his bashful smile going hidden when he let his head drop for just a moment.

"I love you, too." A pause before he quickly debunked your reassurance with some of his own. "And it's not okay, which is why I got you these..."

And suddenly, you realized why he had kept his hands hidden behind him like some wise old man, revealing to you a bouquet of flowers of all kinds. An almost randomized assortment that'd be pretty hard to find in any flower shop. At any shop at all, given...

"Oh my gosh, they're so pretty! It's like, midnight, though, where did you get these?" You squealed quietly, doing your best not to wake up any family in the house while you took the flowers into your hands and admired them the best you could under the moon's light.

"Uhh..."

Henry really didn't know how to answer that, scratching the back of his neck in remembrance of his horrid sneak attempt through his neighbor's backyard.

"I stole 'em." Was what came out way too nonchalantly, leaving you to choke on air while your eyes widened.

"What...?! Henry-!"

"I'm kidding, I didn't steal-... Well... I mean, technically, yes, but not in the way that you're thinking."

"I don't know what I'm thinking...!" You burst through confused laughter. "My boyfriend just told me he stole flowers for me. From where?!"

His eyes shifted from you, to the side, and then back again, folding at the sight of your expecting face looking back up at him.

"My neighbor..." His voice strained quietly, and you could all but sigh and shake your head, letting your nose bury itself back into the makeshift bouquet of freshly stolen flowers.

"That old lady is gonna strangle you with her bare, wrinkly hands."

Henry snorted, sparing you his impulsive thought of the fact she'd have to know it was and catch him first, and instead, fake pain at your light slaps to his chest.

"You're supposed to be a superhero, not a midnight theif...!"

"Hey, c'mon..." He cooed, tugging you closer and smiling when you did begrudgingly move forward towards him.

"...You know I'd go rogue for you any time."

"Y'know, I'm starting to miss Kid Danger." You quipped with a smirk. "At least he'd know better than to pluck flowers from someone's garden."

"Mmm. Fair." He nodded before obnoxiously pushing his forehead up against yours. "But does he kiss you the same way I do?"

"Mmm-"

And before you could pretend to debate the matter, he had done just that, forever gentle with you as he placed his lips on yours and stole any thoughts, stability in your legs, and air in your lungs you had left.

Well, maybe not steal. You'd let him have that any time, the same way he'd bring you flowers at midnight to make up for any of his absences.

Just the thought had you breaking the kiss with another giggle, your turn to grow shy at the attention before you were finally able to fully heal the last little remnants of that ache in your chest.

"You should stay."

You threw it out as a casual suggestion even though you were practically screaming inside for him to say yes. And of course, you got your wish, because what wouldn't he do for you?

"I will."

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭, 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐨🤭...

but seriously, I really hope you enjoyed, this was super fun and cute for me to write. got me wishing he was under my tree for xmas😔✋🏽.

also, I apologize for this taking as long as it did, there's reasons I have that will be later explained in a separate post/announcement, so ya :'D.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

@junknstufff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

3,877

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

[powdermelonkeg]

Archwizard Gale lore???

Okay, SO! My personal headcanons for Gale's powers, both as archwizard and Chosen of Mystra, are based upon the following:

D&D makes a distinction between "archmage" and "archwizard," with the former being a spellcaster dedicated to the arcane arts and either: the counsel of royalty, a lich tyrant, or a reclusive hermit, all with multiple apprentices, and the latter being "an arcane spellcaster of extremely high power who successfully claimed a floating enclave," that specification coming from the time of Netheril.

Gale is NOT royal counsel, NOT pursuing lichdom, NOT a hermit (willingly), does NOT have apprentices when he first makes the claim, and does NOT have a floating enclave.

Despite these, he still claims "archwizard" as a title. This is significant, especially from Waterdeep, where the most powerful wizards in the world gather, including Laeral Silverhand (another of Mystra's Chosen, immortal to a degree, and Open Lord of Waterdeep) and Vajra Safahr (current Blackstaff and Archmage of Waterdeep).

Bonus points for his significance, he is Gale of Waterdeep. His personally chosen moniker marks him as outstanding among Waterdhavians. There might be a handful of people named Gale in Waterdeep, but there is only one Gale of Waterdeep. This is further backed up by Lorroakan recognizing him, with his only reason for Gale being lesser than someone who supposedly figured out immortality being that Gale was Mystra's discarded lapdog.

Gale is skilled in all manner of magic. This is confirmed directly in his epilogue, where you can question him about his choice teaching the School of Illusion, and he says that he wanted to teach ALL the classes there, but the staff told him no. That includes schools you wouldn't normally associate with him, like Divination and Necromancy.

Based on all of that, I've decided that "archwizard," as Gale means it, is a term referring to a wizard who's multiclassed into all their subclasses.

Does this make him overpowered? Yes. But he's an archwizard, prodigy, and Chosen, he's MEANT to be within the bounds of his own lore.

In addition, I also believe him to be an untrained Storm Sorcerer, based upon the following:

Sorcerers and wizards differ in that sorcerers know magic intrinsically, while wizards study it to use it.

When talking to Halsin as Origin Gale, you can tell him that as a baby, you summoned a whole pack of rabbits. Presumably, baby Gale was NOT reading and comprehending arcane textbooks.

Gale has an intrinsic understanding of the Weave, by his own admission, saying he could compose it rather than just control it. He was also casting third level spells like Fireball at eight years old.

Gale's theme is all about storms: his name is Gale, he occasionally says "A rough tempest I will raise" in combat, almost all his official art has him controlling lightning, and his robe is thunder purple. This continues into God!Gale's design, where he has literal glowing lightning bolts framing his eyes, and his outfit is lightning blue.

K'ha'ssji'trach'ash: On his own, the mephit is pretty self-contained; it's a magma mephit capable of revealing the true form of a True Ressurection scroll. However, the key to getting him to do this is to respond to the question "what is my name" in Ignan with the correct answer. After which, K'ha'ssji'trach'ash says "T'i n'uthrantha m'ahthra Gale." We don't know what this means, but it's clear that he's talking to us, about Gale, possibly thanking us or asking us to pass a message along. This implies that he doesn't speak Common, or else he would, because we answered correctly. Why do I bring this up? Storm Sorcerers have an innate ability called Wind Speaker, which allows them to speak Primordial (including Aquan, Auran, Ignan, and Terran). Thus, Gale can speak to/understand K'ha'ssji'trach'ash, despite his known/studied languages being Common, Celestial, Giant, and Draconic.

Because he's untrained, and rather than Storm Sorcery being just a Lv1 flavor bit that does little, I've decided that Gale has access to the class features of Storm Sorcery without access to its spell slots or Metamagic, that way it's reflective of his power without training.

With both of these conclusions, both archwizard and sorcerer, I've decided to pick and choose which class features are from which iteration of both classes, because BG3 and official D&D have a few key differences that were mostly changed for gameplay reasons. I've then taken those and added more flavor to them, based on the already-given flavor of D&D and effects of BG3, doing away with the mechanical side of things for storytelling reasons.

On top of this, because the maximum level you can reach in BG3 is Lv12, and we know that the Orb consumes "the greatest of [his] talents," I've decided that the Orb consumes any ability beyond Lv12 until its removal.

That being said, beyond whatever spells and slots you care to give him, the powers I think Gale has pre-tadpole are:

Abjuration

Arcane Ward: When Gale casts Abjuration spells, residual magic shields him from the worst of incoming hits

Projected Ward: Gale can extend Arcane Ward to someone nearby instead of himself

Improved Abjuration: On short rest, Gale can strengthen Arcane Ward to sustain itself beyond a single hit

Evocation

Sculpt Spells: Gale can control his Evocation spells and keep them from harming allies

Potent Cantrip: Gale can force enemies that resist his cantrips to take half damage from them anyways

Empowered Evocation: Gale's Evocation spells are particularly deadly (based on +INT modifier to damage rolls)

Necromancy

Grim Harvest: Gale can harness the power released when a spell kills a creature to heal himself, UNLESS it's undead or a construct

Undead Thralls: Animate Dead: Gale can reanimate a corpse

UT: Additional Undead: Gale can efficiently harness the power it would take to reanimate one corpse to reanimate two corpses with Animate Dead

UT: Better Summons: Gale's reanimated dead can take more of a beating than others' dead

Inured to Undeath: Gale's been exposed to necromancy enough that he's resistant to necrotic damage, and his life force capacity can't be reduced (this one in particular helps with the "Netherese bile" flowing through his veins)

Conjuration

Create Water: Gale can call forth rain at will (BG3's feature over D&D's to align more with storm sorcery)

Benign Transposition: Teleport: Gale can teleport up to 30ft, and can use that to swap places with an ally

Focused Conjuration: Gale's concentration on conjuration spells can't break due to pain

Enchantment

Hypnotic Gaze: So long as Gale holds eye contact with someone, he can charm them into stopping everything they're doing and staring at him in a daze

Instinctive Charm: Reflexively, Gale can make a split-second charm attempt to redirect an attack at someone directly nearby

Split Enchantment: Gale can efficiently harness the power it would take to enchant one person and instead enchant two targets at once

Divination

Portent: Gale can focus and gain split-second glimpses into the immediate future (such as the next blow about to be thrown in a fight)

Expert Divination: Casting divination comes naturally enough to Gale that he can cast divination spells using a lower spell slot

Third Eye: Gale can increase his powers of perception and gain a very limited Darkvision/Ethereal vision at will, as well as read any language

Illusion

Improved Minor Illusion: Gale can cast illusory effects with incredible ease

See Invisibility: Gale's experience with illusions lets him detect invisibility spells at work, focus on them, and see through them

Illusory Self: Gale can create an identical double of himself reflexively to confuse opponents

Transmutation

Experimental Alchemy: Using transmutation magic, Gale can more efficiently refine potion ingredients, occasionally enough to create a second potion

Transmuter's Stone: Gale can lock some of his transmutation magic into a stone, granting whoever holds it an effect of his choice from the following: Constitution proficiency, Darkvision, extra speed, resistance to acid/cold/fire/lightning/thunder damage

Shapechanger: Gale can polymorph himself once a day without consuming a spell slot (only into beasts with a CR of 1 or less)

Storm Sorcery

Wind Speaker: Gale can speak, read, and write Primordial (Aquan, Auran, Ignan, and Terran)

Tempestuous Magic: Gale can summon gusts of wind around him immediately after casting a spell greater than a cantrip. These winds are strong enough to propel him in flight for ten feet

Heart of the Storm: Gale has resistance to lightning and thunder damage. In addition, whenever he casts a spell that deals lightning or thunder damage, the magic that erupts is stormy and more powerful than other kinds of magic at equal level

Storm Guide: Gale can subtly control the weather around him, causing rain to stop falling in a 20 foot sphere centered on him, or wind to blow in a different direction in a 100 foot sphere centered on him

Feats

These are based on what I, personally, think make the most sense for him pre-tadpole:

Ability Increase: +2 to INT score

Elemental Adept: Thunder: Spells/attacks ignore resistance to thunder, and when a spell he casts causes thunder damage, it can't critically fail

Elemental Adept: Lightning: Spells/attacks ignore resistance to lightning, and when a spell he casts causes lightning damage, it can't critically fail

Okay, so Gale's crazy powerful, right? What could he have possibly lost that's greater than all this?

Well...

Abjuration: Spell Resistance: Gale was in tune enough with the Weave that he could resist spells (as well as gaining advantage on saving throws against them)

Evocation: Overchannel: Gale could deal maximum damage on a 1-5 level spell without ill effect on first cast, but suffered unresisted necrotic damage when using it again

Necromancy: Command Undead: Gale could bring undead made by other wizards under his control

Conjuration: Durable Summons: Gale could give anything he summoned a temporary shield against damage (30 temp HP)

Enchantment: Alter Memories: Gale could make someone unaware they were charmed by him, as well as make them forget something that happened during that charmed period

Divination: Greater Portent: Gale used to be able to predict more split second decisions ahead with ease

Illusion: Illusory Reality: Gale used to be able to pull shadow magic together into illusions and make them, temporarily, real. He can still do a limited version of this, but only via concentration to keep the threads together (hence the "anatomically correct" illusory wizard in the Drow twins scene; shadow magic is NOT the same as the Shadow Weave)

Transmutation: Master Transmuter: Gale could consume magic stored in his transmuter's stone in one go, using it to transmute one object into another, remove curses, diseases, and poisons, raise the dead, or reduce a creature's apparent age by up to 30 years

Storm Sorcery: Storm's Fury: Gale could react with lightning damage when struck physically Wind Soul: Gale was immune to lightning and thunder damage, could fly at a speed of 60 feet, and could reduce his flying speed to 30 feet for 1 hour to make four additional people fly

Yeah. Ouch. And that's not even including his former Chosen abilities.

Gale's Chosen abilities

Silver Fire: Gale could command pure energy of the Weave in the form of silver-white flame, which, at his command, could destroy anything in its path, banish dead magic areas, restore torn Weave, purge external magic and psionic effects from his own body, teleport without error to the last location he used the ability at, or cast spells without verbal, somatic, or material components

Mantle: Gale could cast the dangerous Mantle spell without suffering any ill effects, while other wizards casting the spell would suffer a drain of life force as long as it persisted

Weave Detection: Gale could detect magic's presence without the use of a spell

Weave Tapping: Gale could cast high level spells repeatedly without losing a spell slot, although this was discouraged by Mystra

On the page for Mystra's Chosen abilities, it says that sometimes her Chosen gained an immunity to magic, as well as disease and poison. I don't think Gale was so lucky, however; in the House of Healing, he mentions that he once turned himself in to a hospice in Waterdeep for a "bout of ruddy pox." Him having turned himself in implies he was an adult at the time, and should, therefore, already be Mystra's Chosen.

All that to say: behold, Gale of Waterdeep, in his original splendor. How the mighty have fallen.

[thinking-emoji]

Ok contrary to my expectations I actually found the Today Show interview interesting for, like, a couple of reasons???

1. Other people have said this but the interviewer opening with "together for 15 years, how do you make it work", and Dan going through the turtle metaphor and then, with the widest grin, saying "professional relationship" - was SUCH a refreshing moment imo bc it didn't feel awkward at all!!! It's such a fun middle ground - giving the fans what they want (tortoises), giving the interviewers what they want (an answer), giving himself what he wants (control of the narrative and focus on the professional aspect), giving me, sophia thinking-emoji, what I want (feeling like I'm in on a joke) thank FUCK they've gotten good at media now after 15 years.

2. What Phil said about everyone being aware of internet content and professional content creators now. That's the one thing I noticed from the start. There was a post going around here earlier about phannies interviewing them vs non-phannies, and it was kind of based on those old interviews when journalists would ask "well what does a youtuber even do", and generally being disrespectful because they either didn't understand or felt threatened by new media - and I think that is pretty much gone now. Of course the tv presenters on Australia Today Extra know who dnp are and what they've done over the years. Not knowing that would be embarrassing! We're not wasting our time with the very basics anymore. You're allowed to just say hi and promote your show without having to justify your entire career now. Finally

3. The interviewer repeatedly trying to get more speaking time from phil, and dan ALWAYS rushing in to help phil wrap his answers up - and then at the end, Phil claiming that he "yaps too much" for tiktok. That's so fucking funny bc it looks like he's just blatantly ignorant of how he comes across as the guy who talks significantly less, but it's even funnier if you realise that it's probably true? If you leave Phil alone with a camera, I think he would talk for 10 hours but occasionally sit in silence for 20 seconds at a time, and that's why dan has to step in with these fast-paced interviews before phil can think of an answer of his own. We pretend they're one person but I find it fascinating how you can see their different approaches to communication in these interviews

4. Elise posting this on bluesky of all places unironically makes me happy. I'm still not on there but it feels like a small victory over elon musk specifically lmao. I hope more twitter phannies move and then in a few months we can completely replace twitter as a source, at least within our small fandom space

Edit. 5. I knew I had forgotten something over the 20 minutes of writing this and it's of course them willingly, openly and unprompted talking about being queer and having a queer audience on a show that is not decidedly queer! It's one thing to talk to Attitude mag or to a phannie about identifying as a twink and a third or so of your audience being trans, but honestly saying this on The morning show on national tv hits, dare I say it, different

[featguler]

baby steps, baby ────── a late night conversation in his car. threading on a whole new thing with kylian.

♡ ────── pairing : kylian mbappé x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. reader lives in an apartment in paris and is a normal person. reader is somewhat insecure and is filled with doubts abt their relationship. ♡ ────── wordcount : 710 ♡ ────── notes : seems like i'm just writing whatever the fuck i want. send in req's pls ♡ masterlist.

You choose not to ask Kylian if he had ever felt the way you are feeling before.

Why would you?

His past relationships are none of your business, the previous pairs of lips he’d kissed are none of your business, and the beds he chose to spend his nights on before yours are none of your business either.

He opens the door to your side of the car, he orders your food for you, and asks if you would like to share a dessert to hide his own eagerness. He is endearing, and the right now you have is enough.

It’s silly to obsess over did-not-happen-yet scenarios. Your brain, though, cannot help but string you along.

As he drives down the road leading to your arrondissement, on your third night out after an awkward confession in your apartment, Kylian talks about how he has to fly soon to Germany. He talks about how they—whoever they are—have begun integrating group games and activities into practice, and he talks about how keeping a team cemented requires more HR work than anything else.

It still feels out of your mind that you are dating Kylian Mbappé—superstar footballer, conceited on field and humble off it. Grace lace his strides and half the world wants him. Or maybe not. You’re not sure. That’s what it feels like, though.

You wouldn’t imagine that you’d be sharing a drink together a few months back, moreover a car ride, moreover a night out, moreover a kiss.

“...come with me?”

You noticed that you were dozing off the conversation, preoccupied with Paris’ night light just outside your seat window.

“To Germany?” You ask, trying to gauge the context of the conversation from what you remember. “Me?”

He laughs a hearty laugh, glancing over at you as quick as he looks back to the road.

“Yeah,” his grin is illuminated by the occasional streetlights—you recognize the quirk of his eyebrow as the sign of an incoming jest. “Watch me play, beat the whole tournament in one game.”

You laugh along with him. “I’ve watched you plenty, Kylian.”

“Not outside France,” he retorts before stopping for a quick second. “And not outside Paris.”

“Well,” you hesitate, “I’ve got a job and all, you know? Can’t exactly drop everything and leave for Germany.”

You watch the fist around his steering wheel tighten, his lips pursing after yet another one of your rejection. He’d always asked you to come to his games—begged you, even. Far before you had recognized the intention behind his invites, he’d send texts asking if he should save a ticket. It would be a game in Spain or Germany, always somewhere far-off, and always on a working day.

You would think that he had gotten used to the disappointment, but you try putting yourself in his position, and imagine how he would feel. It’s probably different from the hurt you feel every time he has to leave you for long, but you try matching it.

“But anyway,” you speak, hoping to distract the sudden tense atmosphere invading the car. “How do you win a tournament with just one game?”

“You never know,” you hear the light returning to his words. “If I score 20 points in the first 30 minutes, maybe they’d change the rules.”

“I’d change the rules,” you counter. “For you.”

You turn to watch the road ahead, but from the corner of your eyes, you see a quirk of his lips, and then a quirk of his eyebrows.

“That’s sweet,” he reaches over to touch the hands folded on your lap, grabbing one in his. “But it would be boring if all the rules were altered to fit me.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, flipping your hand to return his hold. “You gotta take it one game at a time, one goal at a time.”

“Uh-huh,” he nods. “Baby steps. I’ll get there in due time.”

He pulls your hand over, pressing a kiss on top of your knuckles. This right now feels too good to be true—if it were you and him against the world, it seems like it wouldn’t be as scary as all of the imagined scenarios in your head.

“Baby steps, baby.” You look at him and cannot hold back the smile, “Baby steps.”

[cinnbar-bun]

ILL GO NUTS THEN!! I would love to see some Caesar HCS, like, him falling in love with only one woman, since he's such an womanizer, would be quite wholesome I guess??? Dunno I'm bad at details but I think I would love to see him in your writing 🥹

A/n: You got it <3!!!

Caesar Falling in Love (GN Reader)

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.1k

Notes: Reader is GN! I know you requested for a woman but I like to write for everyone, so no pronouns specified, no spoilers for Part 2, just Caesar slowly realizing he loves you. All fluff, all fun. More under the cut.

Caesar does have a habit for going after beautiful people. It’s nothing new, and although he can be a romantic and a gentleman, he does occasionally lie to get the most reactions out of them. 

So when he sees you, a person he deems beautiful but ‘lonely’ at the cafe, he feels it his duty to correct such a mistake. 

A pleasant smile here, a few words there, and you’ve allowed him to sit across from you. Wonderful. 

It doesn’t take long for him to become enamored with your conversation. The quick chat he had intended ending up turning into an hours long discussion of whatever you could think of. It wasn’t until one of the managers in the cafe asked for you two to please leave, since you two were sitting for so long and taking away space from possible customers. 

You two had a laugh over it, but that laugh of yours really settled it in his mind- he had to see you again. 

He offers you another chance at a visit, with a quick wink and a kiss to your hand, turning up the romantic theatrics. 

“You’ll meet me again, won’t you, bella/o?” 

It’s only until you leave that, crap, he realizes he hasn’t even gotten your name! All those hours of talking, and not even your name? He’s a damn fool. That probably should have been his first clue things would be so different. 

But he’s not really thinking of that the future like that. You’re fun, new, exciting- someone he is happy to spend time with until you two inevitably part ways and never speak of this again. 

On your second meeting, he does his best to subtly get your name. He doesn’t know why he’s so intent on getting it, but something in his mind urges him that he has to know your name. 

He’s playing around, trying to find a way to get it, to the point he almost considers just stealing your wallet to take a peek at your name. 

Eventually he gets it, but by then, still caught in the delusion that this relationship really is just another way to pass time, he offers another date. 

He doesn’t know why your name sticks to him, repeating in his head over and over. Really, that should’ve been his second clue. 

Time flies and dates getting muddled together, but he finds his time with you always feels so short, way too short, actually. It’s really not fair, that by the time you two get into a pleasant conversation, night has already fallen and he escorts you home. He’s never hung around with someone who simultaneously made the day feel like both eternity and a split second. A third clue that he seems to ignore, thinking of it as himself getting caught up in the fun. 

The clues Caesar seems to always dodge so effectively keep building up into an insurmountable pile. 

He doesn’t know why life seems so dull without you. Why he thinks of you when he’s not around you. Why your name is the only one he thinks of constantly. Why he hasn’t bothered entertaining other beautiful people, because you’re at the forefront. 

When he talks to Joseph, he can’t help but drop an anecdote about you. When he goes strolling around the markets and shops, he finds himself thinking about if you would like this or that. When he is looking at others, he finds none of them compare to you. They don’t have the same radiance you do, nor the same beauty that you have. 

In fact, he wonders if you’re doing something different, because every time he sees you, you seem to get more beautiful and eye-catching. 

It isn’t until Joseph harasses and teases Caesar for going to see you (‘tryna act like a good boyfriend, huh?’) that Caesar gets flustered and can’t find it within himself to disagree or argue with Joseph’s reasoning. That begins his awakening to the fact he actually has begun to fall for you. 

Of course, that realization will have to wait until after he dukes it out with Joseph. 

Caesar, so used to keeping everyone at bay and having shallow at best relationships with them, is struck by the fact that he wants to throw what he knows aside and pursue you. 

Much like what Messina said, when Caesar gets close, it’s true love. 

He becomes much more open, soft, more sincere in his actions and words. No longer flirting about random things to get your attention, but leaning in to truthfully compliment your smile, your laugh, your eyes- the things that capture him and make his heart race. 

That’s another thing Caesar discovers when he is in love with you- he finds he can’t lie to you. Not that he was a habitual liar or anything, but instead of empty platitudes, he can’t help but be honest when he talks to you and compliments you. Everything he says to praise you is 100% from the heart and his true feelings. 

He also uses your name more. Whereas before, a random date would be called with an Italian pet name to cover for the fact he may or may not have forgotten their name, he unconsciously makes it a habit to use your name. He’s still using pet names, don’t worry, but he doesn’t want your name to be forgotten. He loves your name, loves the way it sounds, the way it looks, the way you glance at him when he calls your name- he wants to say it over and over and over again until he’s blue in the face. Your name is the only one he wants to say forever, as cheesy as that sounds. 

He likes holding your hand and standing beside you protectively when you two go out now. Gently pulling you a bit closer, holding your hand just a smidge tighter, well, he’s really in it now. 

Caesar truly is the sweetest man ever when he’s in love, always doting and caring for you in a way that he grants to very few. His eyes will never wander, he makes your happiness a first priority, and he is always so struck by you. Every time you speak, he focuses solely on you. You’d be hard pressed to find a man as devoted to you as Caesar. 

As for confessing to you… well, you’re special. He can’t just do any old confession. It’s gotta be some place romantic, some place meaningful. Perhaps that cafe where you two first met? The day that fate granted him the chance to see you and promptly changed the trajectory of his life forever? 

Yes, that would be a very good idea.

[sequinsmile-x]

Reprise

Aaron gets a call, and it feels like nothing short of history repeating itself.

-x-

Hi besties,

So, I recently realised all of my hurt comfort lately has been Aaron comforting Emily...so then I wrote this.

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Minor Emily Prentiss whump, pregnancy, minor injuries

Words: 3.3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He keeps getting interrupted.

Paperwork was the most boring part of his job, but one of the most important. If they got it wrong, if even the tiniest detail was missed, then it could be used as a technicality by a defence lawyer. An error that could lead to a dangerous individual being back on the streets, which was something Aaron didn’t want to weigh on his or anyone on his team's shoulders. He’d been there. Had felt guilty over mistakes he’d made before, and any assurances that he’s human, that he’s bound to make mistakes occasionally, would always fall flat. 

He was reviewing casework, desperate to get the pile of files in front of him finished so he could go home and spend the evening with his wife and kids, but every time he was getting somewhere someone would knock on his door to ask a question. A distraction that could lead to a mistake that meant he found himself reading the same pages again and again, not making any progress as the clock ticked closer and closer towards his little girl’s bedtime. 

He’d already sent Emily a text. Had let her know he was running late and to have dinner without him but that he’d be home before the kids went to bed. If he wasn’t away on a case, bath and bedtime were his jobs, now more than ever because of Emily’s pregnancy. Not only was she struggling to kneel on the floor next to the bath these days, but she was exhausted all the time. The four years that had passed since she’d had Mae were enough for her to have forgotten how rough pregnancy was, especially now she’d just tipped over into her third trimester. 

He knew if he called her, if he told her he’d be even later than he thought, that she wouldn’t be mad at him. She’d say that she understood and she’d hand the phone over to Mae, would encourage the four-year-old to speak to him over the phone so he could at least say goodnight to her. Then, when he did get home, she’d kiss him hello and offer to make him a drink whilst he went to Mae’s bedroom to kiss her forehead and just watch her for a minute or two. Her face relaxed and her cheek pressed into the pillow as she hugged her favourite toy to her chest. Both she and Jack, and the little boy Emily was currently pregnant with, were a reminder that good things existed. That he had the life he once thought he’d never get a chance at again. 

There’s a knock on his office door and he sighs, shaking his head as he calls out for the person to come in, his pen already placed down on his desk.

At this rate, he’d get home to everyone already in bed. 

“You could look happier to see me,” Dave says, smirking at him as he leans against the doorframe, “I am your best friend after all.” 

“Emily is my best friend,” he corrects, leaning back in his chair. 

“She’s your wife.” 

Aaron smiles despite his irritation at being interrupted, “She’s my best friend too,” he says, his smile getting wider when Dave furrows his brow, “Have you ever thought this might be why none of your marriages worked out?”

He places his hand on his chest in mock hurt, “You know, you used to be a lot nicer before you married Emily,” he jokes, and they both laugh. 

“Is there a reason you’ve interrupted me?” Aaron asks, raising his eyebrow at him, “Or did you just come in to ruin my flow again?” 

“I’ve finished last month's budget reports for you,” he says, pulling them from behind his back and placing them on his desk, “All you need to do is sign them.” 

Aaron looks up at him, “I’m not going to unknowingly sign off on the department paying for your next book tour am I?” 

Dave chuckles and shrugs, “Guess you’re going to have to see how much you trust me,” he jokes, “You should just go home, Aaron. The paperwork will still be here tomorrow.” 

He sighs and nods, “I know. I wanted to make more progress than I have. Cruz has been breathing down my neck.” 

“You’ve got two kids and a pregnant wife, who happens to head up his Counterterrorism unit, at home. He’s not going to begrudge you going home,” he looks at his watch, “Especially when it’s already an hour past the end of your day.” 

Aaron knows he’s right, but old habits died hard. Even now he found himself getting sucked into work, although never as badly as he had when he was married to Haley. In some ways, he found that Emily's understanding of his job in the way she did helped, because if she ever asked him to take a step back it made him question himself, made him do as she asked of him. He wasn’t proud of it, wasn’t proud that Haley asking him had never been enough, but he knew it meant that he’d learnt from his past. That he hadn’t brought the mistakes from his first marriage into his second one. 

“You’re right, I’ll-” he’s cut off when he hears his phone ring, the vibration of it against the desk loud in the otherwise quiet office. He frowns at the withheld number and picks it up, sending Dave an apologetic smile as he answers, “Aaron Hotchner.” 

“Hi, Mr Hotchner, I’m Lisa, I’m an ER nurse at Stafford Hospital…” 

Everything slows down around him, his chest stuttering as time moves like syrup, every second sticking in the back of his throat, making it hard to breathe as he tightens his grip on his phone, surprised he doesn’t crush it as the nurse confirms what he already knows she’s going to say. 

“Your wife and children were brought in this evening after being involved in a car accident.” 

___

Emily wasn’t answering her phone. It doesn’t even ring. 

He calls her. Again and again and again and she doesn’t answer. Each time it goes straight to voicemail the sound of her voice on her personalised message makes him ache, his shoulders so tight as he drives he worries they may pop out of the joints. 

He tries again, presses the speed dial in his car but it goes to voicemail again. Her voice ringing out through the speakers around him. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Emily Prentiss, please leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you.” 

“Em, call me back, please,” he begs, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him this might be the last time he hears her voice, that this will replace whatever she’d said to him when they left for work that morning in their separate cars, “I’m…please answer the phone. I love you.” 

It’s familiar. Too familiar. His hands tight on the steering wheel as he’s desperately trying to get to the woman he loves. Fear greeting him like an old friend as it breathes down his neck, its hand about to reach out for him and grab him by the shoulder. He tries to tell himself that it’s okay, that she and the kids are fine, but he can’t stop thinking that she hasn’t answered her phone. 

She would answer if everything was okay. She’d call him if everything was okay. 

He doesn’t remember a second of the journey by the time he makes it to the hospital. He flashes his badge at a security guard who tells him he can’t park where he’s pulled up, not caring if it’s an abuse of power. Every single cell in his body vibrating with fear and pre-emptive grief and guilt. He should have been with them. If he’d just gone home when he should have he would have been with them. 

He walks up to the desk in the ER, grateful there isn’t a line of people. He’s already speaking to the nurse before she looks up at him, all of the details he had spilling out of him in a second, words tripping themselves as he desperately gets them out.

“I got a call about my wife - Emily Prentiss, she’s pregnant. And my children Jack and Mae Hotchner. I was told they were in a car accident.” 

“Okay,” she says, looking at the computer, “Let me just check my system for them…” She drifts off as she types, and he hates how good he is at his job. Hates that he sees the very brief furrowing of her brows before she smiles up at him, “Did you say Prentiss?” 

“Yes,” he replies, his voice barely recognisable even to himself. 

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t see that we have any patients in the ER with that name, and I can’t see your children’s names either.” 

He grips the counter, his fingers pressed against cheap wood as he holds himself up, “What do you mean they aren’t on the system?” He demands, shouting at the young woman in front of him even if he doesn’t mean to, his desperation reaching an all time high. He finds himself wishing he’d taken up Dave’s offer of driving him here so that he wouldn’t be alone for this.

“It could mean a couple of things, it could mean they’ve already been discharged,” she swallows thickly, “Or, I’m so sorry but it could mean-”

“Dad?”

He turns around so fast at the sound of his son’s voice that he pulls his neck, but the pain that flares in it barely registers. All the anger and grief floods out of him in an instant the moment he sets eyes on him, on them, standing just a few feet away. Emily is standing next to Jack, her arm around his shoulders and the other arm securing Mae to her hip, the little girl’s face pressed against her neck. The only visible sign of injury is a bandage on Emily’s forehead, the stark white of the material a sight that is a little too familiar for his liking. 

“Oh my God,” he breathes out, making it to their sides in a few seconds, pulling them into his arms. His whole world in his embrace before he pulls back, dropping a kiss to Jack’s forehead and then turning to kiss his little girl’s and then finally his wife, “I thought…you didn’t answer your phone.”

“I know,” she says, unwrapping her arm from around Jack’s shoulder to cup Aaron’s cheek, her skin warm against his, “I’m so sorry baby. It was broken in the crash. Couldn’t even get it to turn on,” she looks over at the desk, a flash of irritation in her eyes, “And they wouldn’t let me call you myself.” 

“And you’re…” he looks her up and down now he’s closer and then at the kids, looking for cuts and injuries that weren’t there. 

“We’re okay. If I’d been in the car alone, if I wasn’t pregnant, I probably wouldn’t have come to the hospital,” she assures him, her hand slipping down to his neck, her thumb tracing back and forth over his jaw, “We all got looked at. We have some bruises from the seatbelts, and I hit my head on the steering wheel. But the doctors were happy to discharge us.” 

“You’re okay?” He asks, breathless, as if he’d run all the way here. He places his hand on her bump and the baby moves, the breath Aaron sucks in rattling back and forth between his ribs, “And the baby?” 

“He’s okay too,” Emily assures him, adjusting her hold on Mae. She turns to look at her, obvious fear shining in their daughter’s eyes and she tickles her to draw out a laugh, “We saw baby brother on the screen, huh?” 

Mae nods, her excitement at being a big sister overtaking everything else, “We saw his peni-”

“They said everything looks good. Told me what to look out for that would mean I had to come back in, and I have to arrange a check up with my OBGYN in a couple of days. We got new pictures,” Emily says, cutting over her toddler, not missing the poorly hidden smiles of amusement from some of the people sitting in the waiting room, and the horror on some of the other faces at a four-year-old knowing the anatomical terms for intimate body parts. She presses her lips together and looks at her husband, “I can show you when we get home?” 

“As long as the doctors are sure everyone is okay,” he says, “Maybe I should talk to someone, ask them to look at you all again.”

She smiles, passing over Mae so he has the comfort of their little girl in his arms, and he takes her willingly, stamping his lips against her forehead as he holds her close. She melts into his embrace, exhausted by the stress of what had happened, and he runs his hand soothingly up and down her back. 

“Honey,” Emily says, reaching for his hand, linking their fingers together so she can squeeze his palm against hers. “We’ve all been cleared. We’re okay. I promise. Right, kiddo?” 

Jack nods, “Right,” he smiles at his Dad, “Can we get pizza?” 

Aaron chuckles, the residual panic still simmering in his gut, but he clears his throat and nods, wanting more than anything to just get his family home where he could keep them safe, “Yeah buddy,” he says, ruffling his hair, “We can get pizza.”

___

“I have a feeling we’ll wake up with both of them in our bed,” Emily says as she walks into their bedroom, groaning as she sits down, her body aching in more ways than it usually did these days, “But they are both asleep.” She turns to look at Aaron. He’s sitting on the bed too, an arm's length away, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, “Honey-”

“What happened?”

She sighs and swallows thickly. They hadn’t spoken about it, not whilst the kids were with them. An unspoken agreement that they’d leave it until they went to bed. Neither one of them wanting Jack and Mae to relieve it when they were awake, when it was likely they would in their dreams. 

“It was low impact,” she says, shifting towards him until their thighs touch. The guy behind us wasn’t paying attention, he was on his phone,” she reaches for his hand when he tenses and links their fingers together, “He went into the back of us at a red light. He’d already been slowing down because he saw it go yellow, he just missed it going red.” 

“He could have killed you.”

“He rear-ended us.” 

He all but growls, “He was being careless.” 

She makes him look at her, her hand cupping his chin as she forces him to turn his head, “Something that I made very clear with a lot of colourful language Mae might start repeating during breakfast tomorrow morning.” 

Aaron sighs and kisses her knuckles, “What were you doing in the car anyway? I didn’t know you were going anywhere.” 

She presses her lips together, giving herself a moment before she answers the question she’d been dreading all night, well aware of what his reaction would be, “We were bringing you dinner.” 

His eyes go wide, the internalised anger she expected flashing in his eyes, frustration she knows he’s sending inwards for not being home on time written in the tension in his jaw.  What she doesn’t expect, what she doesn’t see coming despite knowing him better than she knows herself, is the way he bursts into tears. A sob caught in his chest that sounds like it hurts, cracking his ribs from the inside out, the sharp edges of them catching on scars that were already scattered across his skin. Like he’s tearing himself apart from the inside out in the same places another man once tore him apart from the outside in. 

“Aaron,” she breathes out, barely getting a second before he leans forward and presses his face against her neck, his tears burning her skin. She holds him close and turns her head to kiss his forehead. She blows out a shaky breath, seeing him this upset enough to tip her over the edge herself, “We’re okay-”

“I know you’re okay, Em,” he chokes out, tears leaving tracks on her neck, his words muffled against her collarbone as his misplaced anger turns into the grief he couldn’t shake off, “But I keep going back to that moment when I didn’t know that you were. It felt like…” he drifts off and chokes on the rest of his sentence, “It felt like my world was ending. If I lost you…” 

She pulls back so she can look at him, and she presses her forehead against his, her hand curled around the back of his head as she holds him in place, “Sweetheart,” she says, the nickname he usually used for her slipping free, “I’m right here,” she says, reaching for his hand to place it on her chest, making a point of breathing in and out deeply so he can feel the rise and fall of it, “I’m okay. The kids are safe and asleep in their beds,” she shifts their joint hands to her bump and she smiles when the baby kicks, “Baby boy is kicking up a storm as always. We’re right here. You didn’t lose any of us. This isn’t like what happened with Haley,” she reaches up and wipes a tear from his cheek, “We’re all right here.”

He chokes on a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He shakes his head, making it knock gently against hers before he pulls back to look at her, “Sometimes I think you know me a little too well.” 

She shakes her head and squeezes the hand still pressed against her bump, “I’m your wife. I don’t think it’s possible for me to know you too well.” 

“I’m so-”

“I don’t want to hear any apologies,” she says, wiping his cheeks again, “Not for staying at the office late. Or for crying. You have nothing to apologise for, okay?” 

He nods, resting his forehead against hers, “Okay.” 

They wear a door open just down the hall, and then the thundering of Mae’s tiny feet against the hardwood floor. When she opens their door and pokes her head around it she has tears shining on her cheeks, her lips trembling as she steps into the room. 

“Mommy, Daddy, I had a bad dream.” 

Emily shifts back from Aaron just enough to make room for the little girl, “Come here, baby. Do you want to sleep in our bed tonight?” 

She nods as she climbs onto the bed, settling herself onto Aaron’s lap, “Yes please.” 

Aaron smiles and kisses the top of her head, “Well, since you asked so nicely.” 

Mae looks up at him and frowns when she spots his damn cheeks, “Are you sad Daddy?” 

“I’m okay, baby,” He sighs and runs his fingers through her hair, exchanging a quick look with Emily before he returns his attention to his little girl, “I was just scared because you, Jack, Mommy and baby brother could have been hurt.”

She moves so she’s level with his face, all but standing in his lap now, his hands on her waist as he secures her in place. She kisses his forehead, making both him and Emily smile, and then she pulls back, “We’re okay.” 

“I know, princess,” he kisses her forehead in return and encourages her to sit back down, “Are you okay to get comfortable in bed whilst Mommy and I get ready?”

She nods and then tilts her head curiously, waiting until both her parents are standing up before she speaks, “Daddy?” 

“Yes, Mae?” 

“What’s a douche canoe?”

[nalyra-dreaming]

Oh I love these:

Jacob Anderson

On Sam Reid's performance as dream Lestat: "I noticed after we did a few scenes together with that dynamic, I would just notice Sam copying me. I would have to be like, 'OK, he's studying the way that I stand or the way that I say things. It's the story. It's what's supposed to be happening.' But occasionally I was like, 'I don't do that!' Now I've seen the season, and I'm like, 'It's genius.' I'm looking forward to seeing what Sam says about playing Louis, essentially. It's Lestat as Louis remembers him, filtered through the things that Louis doesn't want to say, and can't say. And maybe the things that Louis is embarrassed or ashamed about, Lestat just says it."

Sam Reid

On Lestat and Armand's relationship: "They have a very, very, very messy relationship. I think a big part of why Lestat didn't want to go back to France, in Season 1, when they were in New Orleans, is because he doesn't want to run into Armand. He doesn't want to see Armand. He's got a very, very complex relationship with him. It's not like he's like, "Ugh, Armand!" [Disgusted noise] It's like, "Ugh." [Exasperated noise] He's not twisty, turny, thinking about Armand every single day or whatever. He's like, "Ugh, I just would rather… Yeah, I don't want him around." But when he does the flick of his wrist when he thinks about Armand, he's also flicking a huge chunk of his life away."

Delainey Hayles

On Louis and Claudia's relationship: "The book became like my Bible in a way, where I was able to look back and look at how Anne Rice describes Claudia. And I was taking into consideration that it's been her and Louis for a very long time. As a child, you absorb your surroundings. Claudia has spent a lot of time with Louis over the past couple of years. So I think, in a way, his empathy kind of rubs off on her."

Assad Zaman

On the show's memory theme: "I personally think often we equate — if the memory's a little bit inaccurate, then the feeling isn't real. [But] if you think back to our childhood, we elaborate on the stories in our heads so much, and often the tiniest things, moments that meant a lot to us become bigger as we remember them. Time slows down or speeds up, and people become larger or smaller in our heads depending on how they made us feel in that time. I think [there's] a lot of that this season — when we go into Paris, I think that's where the performative nature comes into it. We get to really embrace those emotions. The love between Louis and Armand, the romance, is one of the most beautiful parts of it, the way it starts."

Eric Bogosian

On his experience working on the show: "To be working on such complex material and be asked to do things that I haven't done before, and to be working with such amazing creative team — I mean... I've been around. I'm not speaking from, like, this is my second show or my third show. This is like, my 35th show, or 60th, or something. So when I say that Rolin [Jones] is amazing, Hannah [Moscovitch] is amazing — that's our writing team — and that Jacob and Assad are amazing — these guys are very generous. And I think a lot about [how] when you go into deep work as an actor, you have to feel safe. I have definitely not been safe [in the past], especially with men. Men can be real jerks on set, and the audience can't see it, because we have to do our job. But if you're with a bully star, it's hard to go to where you need to go to. And Jacob, who's mainly who I'm working with, he's a very loving guy. Maybe people don't want to know this about him. Maybe I'm only supposed to say things like, 'In real life he's actually a vampire,' but in real life, he's actually a real, very sweet man. Very human."

Ben Daniels

On Santiago's approach to the theater: "It's like people trolling on Twitter. It's like, they're hidden behind the screen, but his screen is the fact that he's pretending to be a human. And he sort of is getting those mortals by the scruff of the neck and saying, 'Look at yourselves. Look how ridiculous and pathetic you are.' But they lap it up because they think it's a show."

THERE'S MORE!

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade (part 14)

Wherein friends talk.

Kei is the only one convinced that they're not friends.

“But why does your Quirk backlash look like that?” Midoriya pressed, still too curious.

Ugh. “Midoriya-kun, do you know what percentage of the human body is made of water? I’m doing well if the backlash only hits me.” A lie, at least in the implications. The two facts had nothing to do with each other. The only true bloodbender among shinobi—that Kei knew of—was the Third Mizukage, and that was firmly not her problem.  

Midoriya blinked. His eyes went a little distant as he thought through the implications, muttering quietly to himself. Then there was a grimace as he didn’t like what he found. 

Hopefully that would be enough to throw him off. 

“But about the glow?” 

Or not. “Why do you?” 

“It makes more sense if you realize she’s related to Aizawa-sensei,” said Todoroki. The utter bastard. 

Kei stared directly at her two-toned classmate. Then mimed strangling him with both hands as he stared placidly back.

Worst of all, Midoriya actually looked like he believed it. 

Since the Sports Festival, Todoroki seemed to be spending less time as an ice statue and more time with Midoriya’s friends, inflicting his newly-revealed personality on other people with a surgeon’s precision. While he stayed stone-faced most of the time, there were hints here and there. The other students didn’t always notice. 

Kei did, because Todoroki’s quietly stated conspiracy theory was practically the first thing he’d ever said to her. Besides something totally inane, like “Can you pass me the worksheet?” 

Strictly speaking, Todoroki and Midoriya were being kept “for observation,” seeing as neither of them had injuries worse than some scrapes. They’d already been allowed to get dressed in street clothes again, with only Midoriya sporting so much as a new bandage. 

Kei, on the other hand? Hospital gown, at least until Manual caved and brought her backpack from his agency to her. Then she changed immediately. Only one padded bandage bulged awkwardly from under the smooth lines of her exercise shirt. All of her other injuries were superficial. Miraculously. 

And they would stay that way. Kei’s smothering embarrassment was her problem. 

Four witnesses. That was all it took to take the anticipated fight between Kei and the Hero Killer from hilariously lopsided in her favor to a complete shitshow. Native was already a problem, but he didn’t know what her “Quirk” was supposed to be and started the battle too helpless to do anything other than occasionally tell his rescuers to run away. If a half-trained killed overcompensated for fear by half-killing the actual threat, he’d be able to write it off as adrenaline and eke out some gratitude for a last-minute save from certain death. 

But Iida, Midoriya, and Todoroki—each one of them was too close. Too clever to trick if they could all corroborate their observations, both of Kei’s fighting style and the places where she skated the edges of her paperwork for the sake of efficiency. And when fighting someone like Stain, who could guarantee a kill if he so much as drew blood, that indecision cost her. 

Then there was the Nōmu, dropping out of the sky like mail-ordered sabotage. Shigaraki might’ve kept to the rooftops and let his three super-soldiers get wrecked—in two cases lethally—but the electrification Quirk on a flier indicated planning. Somebody with more foresight than Hand-Man had noticed Kei enough to target her. 

That was actually the least-disturbing part. The enemy already needed a beatdown. Adding incidents like this to the list was no more taxing than everything else already happening in Kei’s life. And with Isobu wiping away the electrical burns, it was like it never happened. 

She could nearly see the shape of Sensei’s concern outlined in bullet-pointed thin air.

And then Iida spoke up, knocking Kei’s thoughts off their current track. 

“Gekkō-san, you said I couldn’t apologize until we were in the hospital. Can I speak now?” 

It was the first time he’d said anything to her since Manual and Gran Torino left. The ambulance ride sucked all the life out of him, as did careful application of healing Quirks by hospital staff. He sounded like his voice was stuffed with cotton instead of leaving it wrapped around his injured arms. 

Kei nodded, turning her body to face him, face resting on upturned knuckles. She’d already destroyed the distribution of pillows to make herself a lounge, and now it was time to listen. 

“Then…” Iida stared down at the scratchy hospital blanket. “Then I don’t think I can express just how sorry I am to have dragged you into this. All of you. If it hadn’t been for—for my inability to control my emotions, none of us would’ve been in danger in the first place. Everything I did tonight” 

“And Native would be dead,” Todoroki pointed out. He’d been listening to Iida’s earlier, halting account of the opening minute of the fight, before Kei and Midoriya showed up to throw yet more bodies into the brawl. 

Iida shook his head. “I barely knew he was there. All I cared about was fighting the Hero Killer to avenge my brother. Even Stain realized that I was rushing into battle for entirely selfish reasons.”

“I’m not judging you for that,” Kei replied, shrugging her free shoulder. When Todoroki looked her way, one eyebrow raised, she added, “You were about fifteen seconds out. Iida-kun asked what I would’ve done if Stain went after my brother, and the honest answer is that I would’ve killed him. Hypothetically.” 

Todoroki didn’t even blink. Just nodded, slowly, like he was taking the late-night version of Kei and her rougher mannerisms and slotting these data points into a new paradigm. It was also possible that Todoroki genuinely did not give a damn and was already thinking of something else. 

“But you weren’t the one put in that position. I was. And I lost control of myself entirely and nearly died for my mistakes,” Iida insisted. His eyes were still reddened and he looked even more upset. “And you offered to let him go, if he would just leave us alone.” 

“And he didn’t take that chance, even outnumbered five-to-one. With a Quirk on a timer.” Kei waved a dismissive hand. “His fault.” 

“Gekkō-san,” Iida said, a little helplessly. A tear plopped down to the blanket. “Please.” 

It wasn’t as though Iida could ever find out Kei was always going to find some excuse to walk up to an armed serial killer and try knocking out half his teeth. She was paid for shit like this. The most important concern left went basically: “You’re forgiven. Just don’t do it again.”

They sat in silence for a while, though Midoriya moved off his cot to gently rest his hand on Iida’s arm. Iida couldn’t really lean on him, but his breathing steadied after a little while. Midoriya’s mumbling was probably more a comfort than she’d ever manage.

[fullpenguincupcake]

Alternate reality - A Luigi Mangione 18+ fanfic.

The lecture hall buzzed with an electric energy that was almost palpable. It wasn’t every day that a figure like Luigi Mangione graced our campus, let alone stood at the podium in front of a room full of wide-eyed students. His reputation preceded him—charismatic, enigmatic, and just edgy enough to feel dangerous without crossing any actual lines. Or so I thought.

I sat in the third row, close enough to see the faint stubble on his jawline and the way his tailored suit hugged his broad shoulders. He had this presence about him, something that made you lean forward in your seat even when he was just clearing his throat. The way his eyes scanned the room—slow, deliberate, like he was sizing up every person there—sent a shiver down my spine. And then those eyes landed on me.

Just look away, I told myself. But I couldn’t. His gaze lingered for what felt like an eternity, and I swore I saw the tiniest smirk tug at the corner of his lips before he started speaking.

“Let’s talk about power,” he began, his voice smooth and low, like velvet dipped in whiskey. “Not the kind you read about in textbooks. Not the kind handed to you by some institution. I mean real power. The kind that comes from within. The kind that makes people follow you, trust you, crave you.”

The room went silent, except for the occasional shuffle of someone shifting in their seat. My heart was beating so loudly I was sure the girl next to me could hear it. I crossed my legs tightly, trying to focus on anything but the way his words seemed to wrap around me like a warm embrace.

He paced the stage, his hands moving as he spoke, each gesture calculated and hypnotic. “Power isn’t about control,” he continued, his voice dropping slightly, almost intimate now. “It’s about understanding. About knowing exactly what someone wants before they do. And then… giving it to them.”

My breath hitched. Was he talking to me? No, that was ridiculous. He was a guest speaker. A legend. And I was just another face in the crowd. Except… his eyes kept finding mine, holding my gaze just a beat longer than necessary.

When the lecture ended, the room erupted into applause, but I barely noticed. My mind was still spinning, replaying every word, every glance. As the crowd began to disperse, I hesitated. Should I stay? Should I leave? Before I could decide, I heard his voice behind me.

“You.”

I turned, and there he was, standing closer than I expected, his presence overwhelming. Up close, he smelled faintly of sandalwood and something darker, more primal. My stomach flipped.

“Me?” I managed to squeak out, cursing myself for how weak my voice sounded.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with those piercing eyes. “You were listening. Really listening. I could see it in your face. Most people don’t get it. They hear the words, but they don’t feel them. You did.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “It was… powerful. What you said.”

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Good girl. Come with me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command, delivered with such confidence that I didn’t even think to protest. I followed him out of the lecture hall, through a side door, and into a dimly lit hallway. My pulse raced with every step, my mind screaming questions I couldn’t quite articulate. Where were we going? What did he want? And why did I feel like I already knew the answer?

He led me to a small office tucked away in a quiet corner of the building. The moment the door closed behind us, I felt the atmosphere shift. The air grew heavier, charged with an unspoken tension. He leaned against the desk, watching me with that same predatory gaze.

“Do you know why I singled you out?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

I shook my head, unable to form words.

“Because you have potential,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re hungry for something more. You’re not like the others. You’re… special.”

My breath quickened as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, igniting something deep inside.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his hand lingering near my cheek. “What do you want?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound came out. How could I put into words the ache I felt whenever he looked at me? The way my body thrummed with anticipation when he spoke? Instead, I met his gaze, hoping he could see everything I couldn’t say.

A low chuckle escaped his lips. “That’s what I thought.” His hand trailed down to my neck, his fingers grazing my collarbone. “You don’t need to speak. I can already tell.”

And then his lips were on mine, firm and demanding, sealing any remaining doubts with a kiss that left me dizzy. His other hand found my waist, pulling me flush against him. I melted into the kiss, my body responding instinctively, eagerly. Every nerve in my body was alight, screaming for more.

He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against my lips, “Let me show you what real power feels like.”

Before I could respond, his hands were everywhere—sliding under my shirt, tracing the curve of my spine, teasing the hem of my skirt. I gasped as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My knees buckled, but he held me upright, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

I nodded, too far gone to think rationally. In that moment, all I wanted was him. All I could think about was the way his touch set me on fire, the way his voice sent shivers down my spine.

“Good,” he purred, his fingers dancing higher, teasing closer to where I needed him most. “Then let go. Let me take care of you.”

And just like that, I did.

Luigi stepped back, his breath heavy but controlled, his eyes still locked on mine. He didn’t say a word as he adjusted his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles I had left behind. His movements were deliberate, calculated, like every motion was part of some grander plan. Then, without warning, he extended his hand toward me.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice low and steady. It wasn’t a request—it was a command, one that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between my thighs.

I hesitated for only a moment before slipping my hand into his. His grip was firm, possessive, as if he already owned me. He led me out of the office, through the dimly lit halls of the university building, and into the cool night air. The streets were quiet, the faint hum of distant traffic the only sound accompanying our footsteps. I didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t need to. There was something about the way he moved, so sure of himself, that made me trust him implicitly.

“Do you always follow strange men into the night?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone as we approached a sleek black car parked under a flickering streetlamp.

“Only when they look like you,” I replied, surprising myself with the boldness of my words. My cheeks flushed, but I held his gaze, refusing to let him see how much he unnerved me.

Luigi chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made my stomach twist. “Careful,” he said, leaning closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “You might give me the wrong impression.”

Before I could respond, he opened the car door for me, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as I slid inside. The leather seats were cool against my skin, the scent of cedar and something unmistakably masculine filling the space. Luigi climbed into the driver’s seat, his presence overwhelming even in the confined space of the car.

We drove in silence, the city lights blurring past the windows. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him—his strong jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the faint outline of his muscles beneath his shirt. Every now and then, he’d glance at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, and I’d feel that familiar heat creeping up my spine.

Finally, we pulled up to a nondescript apartment building. It was sleek and modern, the kind of place that screamed wealth and power. Luigi parked the car and came around to open my door, his hand lingering on mine as I stepped out. He led me inside, bypassing the lobby with a curt nod to the doorman. The elevator ride was tense, the air thick with anticipation. I could feel his eyes on me, studying me, and I struggled to keep my breathing steady.

When the doors slid open, we stepped into a penthouse that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, the glittering skyline stretching out before us. But what caught my attention was the art. Everywhere I looked, there were paintings and sculptures—bold, provocative pieces that seemed to pulse with life.

Luigi watched me as I took it all in, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “This is my private collection,” he said, stepping closer to me. “Each piece tells a story. A story of desire, of passion, of surrender.”

I turned to face him, my heart racing. There was something magnetic about the way he spoke, the way he moved. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek, and I shivered at the contact.

“Do you see yourself here?” he asked, his voice a low murmur. “Among these stories?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I… I don’t know.”

He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You will,” he said, his thumb tracing over my bottom lip. “You’re just beginning to understand what you’re capable of.”

Before I could respond, he stepped back, taking my hand again and leading me deeper into the apartment. We passed more artwork—sculptures of entwined bodies, paintings that seemed to writhe with raw energy—and finally stopped in front of a large canvas.

The painting was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It depicted a man and a woman, their bodies intertwined in a way that was almost violent in its intensity. Their faces were blurred, but the emotion was palpable—desire, desperation, something primal and all-consuming.

“This,” Luigi said, his voice barely above a whisper, “is what happens when you let go. When you stop fighting what you want.”

I stared at the painting, my chest tightening. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what I looked like earlier, in his arms.

Luigi’s hand slipped around my waist, pulling me closer. His breath was warm against my neck as he spoke. “You can be this. You are this. But you have to let me show you.”

My resolve crumbled. I turned to face him, my body pressing against his. “Show me,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

His lips crashed into mine, fierce and demanding. His hands roamed my body, igniting every nerve ending. I gasped as he lifted me effortlessly, carrying me to a nearby chaise lounge. He laid me down gently, his eyes never leaving mine as he began to undress me.

Piece by piece, he revealed me, his touch agonizingly slow. Each brush of his fingers sent shockwaves through me, and I arched into him, desperate for more. When I was completely bare, he paused, his gaze sweeping over me hungrily.

“Perfect,” he murmured, trailing his fingers down my collarbone, over my breasts, along my stomach. “Absolutely perfect.”

I whimpered, my hips lifting off the chaise as his hand dipped lower, teasing the edges of where I needed him most. He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on me.

“Patience,” he chided, his voice playful yet commanding. “Good things come to those who wait.”

But I didn’t want to wait. I wanted him. All of him. I reached for him, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He laughed softly, allowing me to undress him until he was just as exposed as I was.

His body was flawless—hard planes and taut muscle, every inch of him radiating power. I ran my hands over his chest, marveling at the way he felt beneath my fingertips. He growled low in his throat, catching my wrists and pinning them above my head.

“Not yet,” he said, his lips grazing my ear. “Let me make you beg.”

And he did. With his mouth, his hands, every skillfully placed touch, he brought me to the edge over and over, refusing to let me fall. I cried out his name, my body writhing beneath him, my mind consumed by nothing but him.

Finally, when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he leaned down, his lips brushing against mine. “Now,” he said, his voice rough with need. “Tell me what you want.” Wanna make the story yours or have it continued your way? click here For more Luigi, fanfic and romance stuff: see here.

[elen-benfelen]

welsh remus guide pt.3

Third Lesson

Right then, lads. It’s alphabet time.

Often, when looking at Welsh place names, it can seem confusing and overwhelming for anyone who is unfamiliar with Welsh. Sometimes, the confusion comes from not realising that the names are in Welsh. 

Visually, we use the Latin alphabet and so it’s easy to make the assumption that the Welsh alphabet is exactly the same as the English. 

It is not, my dudes. 

To begin with, the following letters do not exist:

K, Q, V, X, Z

Secondly, these are the vowels:

A, E, I, O, U, W, Y 

(Occasionally H is also a vowel but I couldn’t tell you when or why??? I usually go off of vibes) 

Next, are the double letters. They count to us as single letters and each make a unique sound:

CH, DD, FF, NG, LL, PH, RH, TH

NG as in thiNG

PH as in PHil

FF as in Fun

RH as in RHiannon

TH as in THat

Now comes the uh, more complicated sounds. 

For those familiar with German words such as Nacht or the name Brecht, the Welsh CH is that same sound.

CH as in naCHt

DD is like a harder TH sound. It is NOT a D sound. 

LL sounds like hissing. I genuinely don’t know how else to explain this. It straight up does not exist in majority of languages but there are some out there with the same sound (sometimes shown with a different letter). 

To hear it and learn more here’s a better explanation.

This is a really fun video on the different accents but someone mentions the town Llanelli so it’s also a good example of the LL sound. 

And so in full we have:

A. B. C. CH. D. DD. E. F. FF. 

G. NG. H. I. J. L. LL. M. N. O. 

P. PH. R. RH. S. T. TH. U. W. Y. 

There’s no K because the C is always a hard C sound.

There’s no V because a single F is always a hard V sound. 

J is a modern addition to help us with new modern words we’ve loaned from English. Such as Joke becoming Jôc. 

G is always a hard guttural G sound. 

Despite misconceptions, Welsh is actually vowel heavy and we tend to stretch vowels. If a letter has a little roof on it, like “ô” or “ŵ” then it’s an extended/longer sound. 

This means, when speaking English, our vowels are more likely to be elongated. 

Similar to the “r” in Spanish, the Welsh “r” is rolled and therefore many will still roll their Rs when speaking English. 

For a reason I have yet to discover, despite H being perfectly clear and pronounced when speaking in Welsh, when we speak English, a lot of areas have a habit of dropping the H sound. 

“Here” becomes “Ere” or “Yere” 

I am guilty of this. Why do I do this? I genuinely can’t tell you. 

For the reasons above, the following words sound stupidly similar to each other:

Ear

Year

Here

Hear 

As with any language, understanding the basic sounds helps you understand the core of the accent. 

In terms of character dynamics, I would take note that the “CH” and “LL” sounds along with our supposed “lack of vowels” is usually what the language is mocked for. Usually by English folk but other folks, including non-Welsh speaking Welsh folks are perfectly guilty of this mocking. 

Fun fact: I didn’t realise W and Y weren’t vowels in the English language when I was a small child. So I really didn’t get why they thought there wasn’t any vowels in our place names. 

Another thing to note is that the Welsh language and accents are very up and down. It’s not usually flat or monotone. A lot of people also describe them as melodic. Sing-songy even.

Colourful alphabet video with BSL

Shorter alphabet video 

Note: I am not the collective consciousness of every Welsh person. My experience is not universal - especially when it comes to North Walian things. This is just meant to serve as a general guide. Hope this helps and good luck with your writing!

pt.4

[cybertron-after-dark]

You should write beast wars, can I have some silly predacon headcanons?

I should absolutely write beast wars. Silly Predacon headcanons coming up

-Megatron talks battle strategy with his rubber duck all the time. He considers it his most trusted advisor because it's never said anything stupid and never tried to kill him. Honestly, he's tempted to think of the little dude as his only real friend.

-Speaking of Megatron, the man is a WHORE for a good bath bomb. Lush addiction, 100%. He has a whole hidden stock of bath bombs, bath salts, scented oils, candles, decorative soaps, scented metal polish and flower petals specifically for spoiling himself when he feels like hes completely surrounded by idiots. Which is often. Has he ever tried to eat one of the decorative soaps that look like baked goods? It doesn't count if it's the t rex hand.

-the reason skorponok occasionally reverts into caveman speak for some episodes is the writers couldn't figure out what to do with him he knows talking like that pisses off tarantulas and he thinks his annoyance is funny even though literally nobody else is amused by the bit.

-skorponok actually kind of misses dinobot because he made his job a lot easier. Constantly pitching ideas, suggesting battle strategies, pointing out flaws in plans. He was useful, even if he seemed to hate skorponok. He doesn't really know how to be a good second in command anymore because a crucial part of the dynamic is missing and he just can't adapt.

-waspinator is perfectly capable of speaking in normal grammar and not in the third person but he's been doing it since he joined in with Megatron and at this point he thinks he's in too deep to knock it off. He thinks it makes him sound cuter because it's actually an evolution of internet uwu speak. Memes get weirdly translated from earth to Cybertron and back.

-waspinator is actually really good at baking but he'll get blasted to bits a thousand times over before he lets anyone other than terrorsaur know because none of his other coworkers deserve to try his cupcakes (and also because he doesn't want to get "promoted" to kitchen slave). Dinobot knew, but he didn't snitch. Wasp never found out that Dinobot would occasionally snag a brownie, he always thought he just counted wrong.

-Terrorsaur is not above attempting to seduce a maximal but all his flirting attempts go horribly awry. If they don't outright reject him they just have no idea what he's getting at bc Predacon flirting is usually a lot different than maximal flirting so everyone thinks he's just kind of being a dick like usual. Dinobot knows exactly what is happening and ranges anywhere from amused to disgusted by the cross-faction fling attempts. The flying weasel clearly has no principles.

-Every couple weeks or so wasp and terrorsaur will get together to watch terrible movies over a bottle of highgrade and it always devolves into bitching about megatron. They tried inviting tarantulas a few times but he'd always make things Weird by bringing in slashers with really good special effects and proceeding to gush about how tasty the gore looks.

-Tarantulas knows what just about every living species in the known galaxy tastes like, organic, mechanical and everything in between. If it's made contact with Cybertron, chances are he's he's tried their flesh (or lack thereof). If it's at all possible, he wants to find out enough about the Vok to figure out how to capture, kill and eat one.

-Tarantulas also thinks rampage is a total poser when it comes to cannibalism. He doesn't even look like he's having fun with it. Barely any torturing or teasing beforehand, only dramatic monologues about fear and anguish. Bah! Amateur...

-Blackarachnia has a trash tv addiction. She doesn't know WHY the Darksyde's datatrax has every season of Keeping Up with the Kardashians and like 30 TLC produced shows, but she refuses to stop watching them. Tarantulas fucking hates it. She does not care and if he complains she will turn the volume higher.

-Blackarachnia has incredibly mixed feelings on the story Cinderella. On the one hand, it gives her a degree of hope. A girl reduced to a work slave for terrible people that gets to escape and live it up with a guy that lives her? Great conceptually, but she only got to get out of it because she was a good person and nice to everyone. Blackarachnia? Not quite so disgustingly sweet. She's a bad girl through and through. And evidently bad people don't get to escape bad situations. Oh well. She can always try to fake it til she makes it.

-Inferno has always secretly hoped that when the war is over, his Queen Megatron will settle down with him and repopulate the colony together. He has wildly saccharine domestic daydreams of being with his giant beloved lizardy queen and their 3000+ kids. He has accidentally let this slip around Megatron once, who proceeded to pointedly ignore what he just said.

-Terrorsaur and Blackarachnia got Inferno to watch Drag Race but upon hearing the contestants being called queen, he took it a bit too literally and interpreted the show as the sad, underwhelming way human queens settle disputes between their colonies instead of just fighting the proper way. Lame.

-Quickstrike is so so very sad he can't play video games. He wants to play GTA and cause excessive and wanton death and destruction, but his fucked up hands cannot hold the controller. He forsakes Primus for building him the way he did. He keeps trying to get tarantulas to make him a usable controller but he gets brushed off every time.

-Quickstrike has attempted to ride inferno in his beast mode into battle. It did not end well but for about a solid 18 seconds it looked metal as hell.

-Rampage actually really likes depth charge and wants to be friends sooooo bad but he doesn't know how to handle that in a healthy way so he keeps trying to get his attention by playing up the cannibalism thing and hoping they fight again. Honestly he just kind of likes depth charge holding him, even if it's in a chokehold.

-After losing transmutate, Rampage projected a lot of his grief onto waspinator, which lead to a very strange period of time on the ship where rampage would get very cuddly and protective of wasp, who was incredibly terrified of what would happen if he shoved the crab off. Usually accompanied by Rampage being Incredibly Sad.

-every month the preds have a game night. Usually a board game or card game with Megatron's house rules. Said house rules are specifically designed to make a fight break out for his amusement. These game nights typically end with at least three people in the r-chamber and somebody missing at least one limb.

[sophieinwonderland]

The Plurality Of... Batman! (Failsafe)

An anon mentioned this arc to me which they said depicted Batman as a plural character. So I decided to give it a read!

The Beginning

The actual plural stuff doesn't really start until the third issue of the arc, but this was something that popped out at me immediately.

We never really paid attention to it before, but Batman does this in a lot of things, doesn't he? Referring to "Bruce Wayne" as a separate person. Especially while dressed as Batman. There are other phrasings of this that could have been used. "I often used him to cement my playboy status," being the most obvious or even "I often used him to help cement my playboy status as Bruce Wayne."

Other superheroes don't do this as often, do they? I know it occasionally comes up when living a double life, but it doesn't seem nearly as common when talking to people who know both identities as it does with Batman.

Anyway, Robin is worried about Bruce not having happiness in life, and mentions that the Bat Family is concerned about him not being just "Bruce Wayne" anymore. That he's always Batman all the time.

Probably not the best thing for a secret identity when Batman starts appearing out in the day right after Bruce Wayne loses his day job... but when has he ever cared about keeping his secret identity secret?

This sets up an important conflict in the story. That Bruce needs to be Batman and Bruce Wayne both. He needs that balance in his life.

After being framed for a murder, a Failsafe is activated meant to kill Batman.

Bruce fights it, it seems familiar, but he can't place it. Which Bruce realizes is very wrong for somebody who has a perfect memory. (Because of course he has a perfect memory.)

That leads us to...

The Batman of Zur-En-Arrh

The Batman of Zur-En-Arrh first appeared in the silver age as an actual alien Batman. He was later reintroduced in the modern era as an alternate personality in Batman R.I.P. from 2008. I haven't read that so won't be able to comment on it, but if enough people like this, I might check out RIP and do a post on it too!

The third issue of this arc opens with a flashback that took place after the Tower of Babel storyline. This is the famous storyline where Bruce created plans to deal with all members of the Justice League in the event they went bad. Part of the flashback again highlights the duality of Bruce and Batman as almost being separate individuals.

Again, none of this is actually presented as a plural thing, but I do think it's interesting to note. If only to contrast the clear plurality we see with Zur.

Superman challenges Bruce, asking how the Justice League can be contingencies when Bruce has planned for everything.

Then the story returns to the present.

Here we have a Batman who is talking different, acting different, dressed different. Even his speech bubbles are colored differently to signify the switch.

And he is using plural pronouns when he speaks.

He declares himself better than Bruce. A Batman without a Bruce Wayne who was intentionally created by Bruce.

I love the use of "our mind" here, showing that he thinks of them as separate individuals.

It's revealed that the Batman of Zur-En-Arrh was the one who created Failsafe. Bruce suspected that, which was why he switched. Zur takes over for a little bit, and is focused solely on the mission and defeating Failsafe, no matter what.

One thing that I like about the above panels is that they lead to another possibility other than what the story presents. We're told that Zur is Batman without Bruce. But as Tim points out, he doesn't really act like it. Batman is always thinking ahead. He's always thinking strategically. It's what makes him Batman.

I don't think Zur is literally meant to be Batman without Bruce... but perhaps he's Bruce's idea of who Batman would be without Bruce Wayne.

Later, during the fight, Failsafe tells Zur that fighting only causes his family pain. Zur responds by saying that they're not family. They're his soldiers. Leading to this fascinating exchange with internal communication...

That morphs into an Inner World.

It's not for long, but it's amazing to see these characters interact inside their head.

With that powerful line, Bruce takes control again. Failsafe recognizes him as having switched despite still wearing the same costume.

After that issue, Zur is sadly not brought up again in the Failsafe arc.

In the next issue, Bruce describes Failsafe as being made by his subconscious when talking to alter.

Which isn't how a subconscious works, Bruce.

A subconscious is, by definition, not really conscious. Sorry, but Zur is a completely self-conscious entity you made in your head. 🤷‍♀️

But I guess that works for an explanation for Arthur.

And that's it for... Wait a second...

Zur-En-Arrh YEAR ONE

Turns out, the story of Zur isn't just in the Failsafe arc itself, but also in a B story that shows Bruce mentally training himself to create a new personality after a mental attack.

I want to say that Zur-En-Arrh might be a tulpa, but I think there's more going on than that. The name was a distorted version of something Bruce heard from his dad as a child on the night his parents died.

Bruce might not have made an entirely new headmate, but just fed something that was already there. Something that he had repressed.

After the Joker murders a bunch of people, Zur coaxes Bruce to let him take over so he can kill the Joker.

Zur does takeover and Joker, like Failsafe, immediately recognizes.

While Zur tries to kill Joker, he and Bruce are also communicating in their inner world.

After this, we see other characters appear in this inner world such as a version of the Joker meant to represent him before going mad, and a version of Bruce's mother.

Placing either of these as plural headmates is difficult. They don't front, and don't appear more that I'm aware. I'm inclined to classify them as only Ephemerals. Although, if there are more times they appear... and especially if they retain autobiographical memories between appearances, then I might want to look more deeply into that.

Martha unmasks Zur and shows what's underneath...

The appearance makes sense to me. If Zur is supposed to be the perfect Batman, then what does he need anything under the cowl for? And at the time, he wasn't very developed, only fronting the one time and not really existing much before that.

I wouldn't describe Zur as nothing but hollow anger though.

Yes, the anger is there, but so is a purpose. He's willing to kill because he views it as the right thing. Anger, yes. But he's also doing what he was made to do, what Bruce created him for, in his own way.

Bruce saves the Joker, and continues developing Zur... but he instills his own moral code into him, making certain that Zur won't be a killer after that. Which we can tell works since Failsafe was programmed by Zur to not kill anyone but Bruce.

It's unclear how this actually works. But I like that the solution wasn't just getting rid of Zur. Ultimately, Zur wasn't evil. At least, no more than Red Hood who had similar goals and methods.

Conclusion

There you have it! Batman is canonically plural!

This was a really fun read and I'm a huge fan of Zur's dynamic with Bruce for the little bit of time we get to see it in Failsafe.

There are also a lot of ways to play around with this that I hope we can see someday. A situation where Bruce actually has to work with Zur would be really cool. Maybe fighting against some invader breaking into their mind to extract information, forcing them to team up to face it together.

I also would love to see a story where Zur is frontstuck and has to work with Bruce's allies and build his own unique relationships with them. Or even has to pretend to be Bruce Wayne in public without giving anything away.

There are a lot of fun places to go with the character if the writers don't decide to put him on ice for another decade-and-a-half!

(For more discussion of plural DC characters, see The Plurality of... Blue Beetle.)

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: ghosttotheparty! @ghosttotheparty has 72 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 61 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@estrellami-1 or anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @ghosttotheparty:

love me softly

a mess of holy things

pretty girls (series)

hideout

fate

"This author has captivated me from day one. I’ve since gone back and read and re-read everything they have in fandoms that I am a part of, and I’m highly considering reading everything, regardless of fandom!" -- @estrellami-1

They also had this to say: "It was so hard to just pick five fics—I’d easily pick all of them if I could!! These five are just a few of their fics that I come back to, time and time again. This author’s way with words is absolutely stunning, and I want to be like them when I grow up! 😉" -- @estrellami-1

Below the cut, @ghosttotheparty answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I honestly just adore them so much. Characters that are opposites have always been something I’ve loved; Nico di Angelo and Will Solace are the first to come to mind. I’ve loved them since middle school (I’m in my third year of uni now), and I’ve apparently drawn some connections between their dynamics and Steddie’s. I also feel like Steddie just has so much potential in regards to different dynamics. There are so many alternate universes in which they’re entirely different from the way they are in the original show but there is still a consensus within the community of what kind of people they are and how they behave, speak, or interact. Despite writing the same characters over and over and over, I’ve had so much fun being able to experiment with different personalities and dynamics.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I think everyone knows at this point that I lovelovelove hurt/comfort. Physical injury and wounds, nursing the other back to health, trauma recovery, nightmares or flashbacks, sub/dom drop, panic attacks or breakdowns, give me all of it. (Bonus points if this is pre-relationship and the comforter calls the other a pet name (cough baby cough) for the first time in the midst of it all. God.)

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

See above. In all honesty, I love intensity. Heavy emotions like grief and anguish and rage are my fucking thing, and I think most of my longer fics involve at least one heavy scene with a panic attack or emotional breakdown. Something about the release and expression of emotions followed by tender patience and sweet comfort is just so cathartic for me.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I write more fics than there are fics that I read, unfortunately, but the first fic to come to mind was in my life by mourningshowers (@keycarabiner on tumblr). Sososo sweet and tender. It ripped me apart and then stitched me back together and gave me a lollipop as a treat. I also adore the series The Rush of Thunder (That Brings You Under) by callmejude (@callmejude on tumblr). The pacing and characterisation and dialogue were fucking phenomenal. Print this whole series out and bury me with it when I go.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I have a few AUs that I haven’t actually explored quite yet; one involves teacher!Steve and another is about punk!Stobin (platonic, Obviously), and yet another involves artist!Eddie. But more generally speaking I would like to explore some heavier themes in the future when I have the guts.

What is your writing process like?

Good question. I have no idea. I write pretty much every night, usually with Youtube or Netflix on next to me (typically playing things I’ve already seen so I don’t have to pay full attention to follow along, but my main go-tos are documentaries/docuseries), and I tend to just get as much out as I can. I write most linearly; I tend to not skip ahead and go back, but occasionally I’ll have an idea for a scene that I need to scribble out to make sure I don’t forget it. But my plotlines and focus points tend to shift as I’m writing, so sometimes these scenes end up changing as well.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I hadn’t noticed any, but Bee (@jewishrat420) pointed some out to me: - I consistently use the word ‘press’ - I phrase actions in lists with commas and a finalising and. - I tend to have repeating themes (for example, warm and cold and the quiet journey a character makes from their loneliness to the warmth of someone else). I’ve also noticed that I really like writing visceral imagery; even in fics for other ships I’ve mentioned one character longing to claw open their partner and climb inside them. I love bloody imagery, which Steddie are perfect for.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

If I’m uploading a fic with multiple chapters, I generally try to stay ahead of my posting schedule with at least one to two chapters already written in advance of posting. For my current wip, though, I’ve decided to post only when it’s complete, and to post on a schedule just in case I get behind or lose track.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Probably a mess of holy things.

How did you get the idea for a mess of holy things?

Ah, my love. The inspiration for this fic came from dirty paws by inifiniteorangepeel (@infinite-orangepeel on tumblr). Her version of Steve had me by the fucking throat, and I genuinely could not stop thinking about him even though I think this was before she even started uploading actual parts of the fic. I knew that I wanted to write some kind of religiously traumatised Steve, naive and curious about Eddie fucking Munson, and the haze of an idea snowballed into whatever this fic became.

When writing a mess of holy things, what was something you didn’t expect?

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting how confrontational it would feel. I was raised Catholic, and I put Steve’s parents in a category of religious people that I’ve never really known well. I was never forced to go to church or Sunday school (in fact, I think I only went to Sunday school for, like, three weeks), and for the most part as a child, my relationship with God was amicable. My abuela was very religious when I was young (my mother likes to say, “She was more Catholic than the Pope”), but I never felt as though her faith impeded upon my own life. She would tell me that my artistic skill was a gift from God, and she would pray over me when I had tummy aches, and even though I wasn’t very faithful, I found comfort in it. I also have always found a peace in holy buildings; churches and church graveyards are some of my favourite places to just sit in silence. So I wasn’t expecting the emotional whiplash writing holy things gave me. Writing from Steve’s point of view at first felt like writing fantasy, making it up as I went because I couldn’t write from experience; I have healthy relationships with both my parents, and even though my father had a very difficult childhood, he’s done everything he could to be a good father to me and my brother, so Steve’s father was entirely made up. It wasn’t until I got further along in the fic that I actually realised how big an impact even a slightly religious upbringing had on me as a queer person. My parents never taught me anything hateful, never complained about anybody in regards to God, but somehow this general religious disapproval latched itself to my ribcage, and I hadn’t realised I’d been carrying it around with me my whole life. And I was forced to confront it, along with the distrust that I’d inadvertently developed toward religious people.

What inspired love me softly?

My darling!! This fic started as a random one-shot about Eddie bitching to Gareth about having a crush on a normie, but the feedback was so lovely I decided to write another part. And then another. And then another. At some point the vague idea of a plot appeared, and this universe became very dear to me. I still have ideas for follow-up one-shots, which I keep in a collection on AO3. I think this fic is also what started my love for Tommy Hagan, who I’ve since claimed as an OC. He’s mine now.

What was your favorite part to write from hideout series?

While I was writing this series, I found that I love secret relationships. The idea of Steve having something in his life that he could turn to for some sense of normalcy despite everything in his life literally being straight out of a science-fiction movie was something I loved, and writing the majority of it from an outsider point of view was a fun experiment/exercise.

How do/did you feel writing fate (series)?

Oh, GOD. I love angst. I had the idea for Eddie’s death, specifically him singing the Tennessee Waltz and the whole “Do you think God’ll let me in?” thing, and I worked from there. I actually considered leaving the fic at Eddie’s death, but as much as I love angst, I also love happy and hopeful endings. Even though my heart hurt the entire time I wrote this whole series, I loved it all. Wayne’s point of view was a fun (ish) shift in perspectives and I’ve since included sections in his point of view because I love him so much. (I do also have a one-shot specifically about him living in my head, but I have yet to put it into words.)

What was the most difficult part of writing pretty girls (series)?

I don’t know if I would really consider it difficult, but it did require some actual thinking to write Steve as transfemme, or genderqueer in the opposite direction as me. To take my own experiences and feelings and shift them so they’re upside down was definitely interesting.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This is from one of my less known fics, spill my guts: “And I’m so fucking high right now, but Steve, I— I think I love you.” It just feels so representative of Steddie as a whole. (Honestly the whole scene kind of feels very Them: both of them high out of their minds and suddenly confessing their undying love in the most dramatic fucking way possible. Ugh. I love them.)

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m working right now on a fic that involves priest’s son!Steve and recovering addict!Eddie, and that’s all I’ll say on that <3

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Not entirely relevant, but I make playlists and pinboards for almost all my fics (if I don’t have one of either for a fic that you’d like one for, literally just hit me up and I’ll put one together); here are the ones I made for Steve & Eddie <3 S - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3dW3wTo8nD11RuqKs9aj52?si=9f98f4a287394152 https://www.pinterest.co.uk/ghosttotheparty/king-steve/ E - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4eWRFi07VIEKIoeaGwfFI5?si=791fa1f2dd6a4f7e https://www.pinterest.co.uk/ghosttotheparty/eddie-the-banished/

Thank you to our author, @ghosttotheparty, and our nominator, @estrellami-1! See more of @ghosttotheparty's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[alwaysonf1]

charles in his own way?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: N/A

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

The occasional big deal Ferrari gala is fine for Charles. To a degree he enjoys these things, the chance to get out and talk to people who he needs to impress and who in turn want to impress him. But something about this season has meant a lot more events to go to. Mandatory ones that mean that even if he feels slightly off his game, he can’t avoid them. And they’re all so serious that he feels nervous in a way he hasn’t since the beginning of his career.

This one, the one that has him hiding out at a small bar in the corner of the massive ballroom, is one he wasn’t even briefed on. All Fred did was remind him it was happening, tell him where, and mentioned that some big investors and sponsors would be. He emphasized that there were several potential sponsors so he should be as charming as ever in their presence.

It wasn’t until Charles was walking to his car that he thought about how little he knew and called Carlos. A useless move since the Spaniard had as much information as he did.

Upon his arrival he was thrown into the lion's den as Fred and then a higher up woman from Ferrari guided him around the place. They tried their best to make it seem like he wasn’t on a very short leash, but he was sure that everyone he spoke to expected a little herding of the talent. Which is what one of them called him and while true, made him feel weird enough that he made his escape as soon as he could.

Thus, his hideout and the rum he was nursing. He’d already downed two and knew that was going to hit him hard enough without adding a third into the mix. That’s why there was also a glass of water in front of him. His second of the night. But he knows it won’t be enough. Charles ate before he came, but he needed more food in him. An added distraction for anyone who finds and wants to talk to him.

He takes a deep breath, downs the rest of the water, and with his rum in hand turns to find a waiter walking around. Just as he faces away from the bar a hand clamps down onto his shoulder. It startles him, but he maintains composure as he turns to look at to whom it’s attached.

Seeing Lando relaxes him. But it also confuses him.

“Mate, what are you doing here?” he asks as they shake hands.

Lando looks at him with a slightly confused expression.

“This is a McLaren event too. Actually, it’s for McLaren, Ferrari, Williams, and Aston Martin. Did you not see the signs?”

The inclination of Lando’s thumb has Charles looking around the room. Several seconds of scanning and then he notices the tasteful banner that holds all those logos. How he missed it and the other signs indicating what was going on was beyond him. 

Charles shakes his head. “I was barely given time to breathe.”

There’s a look of understanding that dawns on the younger man’s face. Every driver knows what these things are like. How you’re so wrapped up in making the best impressions that you barely get time to think, let alone take in the space. 

“Yeah, they’re like a pack of wild animals. All wanting a piece,” Lando whispers.

There’s a couple next to them that appear like the rich type and there is no need for them to hear and spread what either of them is saying. Feelings in this kind of place are much more fragile than any of them would be willing to admit. Though there have been many times Charles has endured them calling other people’s feelings soft when most of the time the response to their displeasing personalities are more than warranted.

With a tilt of his head Charles leads Lando away. He heads toward an area of the room that is largely just employees of one of the teams. Many of the potential stakeholders are speaking amongst themselves at this point in the evening.

“All of them act as if they’re going to attack. Every question I answer, they have another question before I’m finished. And they lack understanding of space.”

“One tried to breathe my air.”

They both laugh.

“One man was so focused on getting the chance to drive the car that he didn’t realize his father had been talking for five minutes. It was two of them at once and neither knew how to shut up. I’m sure the father kicked him seven times before he finally stopped,” Charles says.

“Oh, I had them too. I think I heard him getting yelled at. Something about being fired if he doesn’t get his act together.”

There was a mutual eye roll there. Though Charles could never remember the names of that particular family it was always the same thing and then they’d see the man again. He didn’t understand how someone ten years his senior still acted like a child.

“Have you seen any of the others?”

“Mate, I did not even know you were here until moments ago.”

Lando laughs. “I forgot about that. You should have checked your phone; we were all with Carlos and he texted you. We all did, even Iman.”

Charles' body went rigid and though he was already looking at the younger driver he turned his neck hard enough to induce whiplash. 

“Iman is here?”

A sly smirk forms on Lando’s face and Charles curses himself for having such an obvious reaction. Lando, like many of the other pilots on the grid, like to tease Charles about his very obvious feelings for Iman. He refuses to call it a crush because they always do and it makes him feel like he’s back in grad school. Hell, he tries to ignore the feelings all together when he can help it. After all these years he thought they’d leave, but they stay firmly in place and have only grown since she joined the grid.

“Don’t.”

“I don’t know why you won’t ask her.”

“There is nothing to ask.”

“It’s not like she’d say no.”

“If there was something to ask, she’d laugh in my face.”

“You know that’s a lie, mate. Everyone knows she’d say yes if you just ask. Your banter is a bit gross and makes the feelings clearly mutual.”

Without a thought Charles throws back the rest of his rum and takes a long, deep breath. “You know it’s complicated.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How is it complicated?”

“We work together,” he pauses, holding up a finger as Lando opens his mouth. “I know we work for different teams, but it is too close. Plus, what happens with Lewis, I still look up to him. And Sargeant, he’s made it clear he would kill for her.”

Lando grimaces, looking off into the distance for a moment before coming back to the present. Charles is sure he’s remembering the time the American punched a man because he was less than respectful to Iman. The look in his eyes as he was held back made Charles a little scared of him.

“Yeah, he was definitely going to end up in jail if Oscar hadn’t stopped him. But you aren’t going to do anything to upset them. From what I hear you’ve liked her since that week. Logan noticed it and he was barely with you lot for twelve hours. And him and Lewis approve. So, what is it really?”

A number of excuses are on the tip of Charles’ tongue, but he knows they’re useless. All of them are a bit pathetic when he doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying. In all honesty he isn’t sure why he keeps fighting what he feels for Iman. At one point it was because those feelings hadn’t developed all that much and he had stronger ones for the women he was with, but as time went on and he got to spend more time with her and saw her passion for the sport and honestly everything she was passionate about things were harder to deny. He couldn’t claim not knowing her enough for things to be only superficial because he talked to her multiple times a week. They hung out as a group sometimes. They were definitely good friends.

Another sigh escapes Charles and he reaches for Lando’s drink, but he puts it out of reach and nods his head to the space behind Charles. Even without the mischievous grin Charles knows who is behind him. 

With a smile he turns and watches Iman walk towards them. The soft smile that was never ingenuine grows as she looks at him, but then he notices her quick pace and the tension in her face. Concern washes over him, and he scans the space behind her. Most people are giving her just a passing glance or looking at the two drivers, but there is a man who seems to be following her but gets pulled into a conversation. He makes eye contact with Charles for a second and looks away almost immediately. 

“Everything okay?” Charles asks the moment she’s in reach.

“Fine. Just dodging a man who believes we’re meant to dance together, and I need one of you to dance with me so he gets the hint without me doing something that James will have to smooth over later.”

A hand on Charles’ shoulders stills him and he realizes he was walking toward the man in question. It hadn’t been a conscious thought, but it also wasn’t one he disagreed with. His eyes move to the hand and Lando takes the cup he’s holding and lightly pushes him toward Iman.

“I’ll run interference,” Lando says.

Then without another word he heads toward where the man in question is talking, and he engages with the group in an animated conversation. He makes sure that the creep is involved in the conversation, leaving no room for him to leave without appearing rude.

“I owe him,” Iman says.

“So do I.”

Charles was sure he said that under his breath, but the raised brow from Iman tells him that isn't the case. He shakes his head and holds out a hand.

“I think I owe you a dance.”

The confusion leaves Iman’s face and she puts her hand in his. There’s a momentary shock when they touch, but to Charles it’s nothing compared to the warmth he feels as he leads her toward the dance floor. Once there his hand moves to her back and they begin what is a simple variation of the waltz, matching the others scattered across the floor.

Minute one of it is a comfortable silence and Charles finds that he’s never felt more at peace dancing in this way. He also notes the ease in which they fall into the dance despite never having done it together before.

“I owe you too.” Iman breaks the silence.

“Huh?”

“For saving me.”

“You would never owe me that.”

“Which I appreciate, but I still owe you.”

There’s an urge to make it very clear how serious Charles is about her never owing him for helping her out because he would do it a million times over. That he would jump if she said so. That helping her makes him feel like he’s doing what he should be. But he’s still fighting himself and this isn’t the right moment. Nor is it the right setting. 

He’s also a little scared of her response if he bears his heart a little, even if he can admit that Lando wasn’t wrong.

So, instead he dawns what Iman calls his cocky little smirk.

“I’ll have to think about what I want then. Would be a shame to not get the favor in full.”

Iman rolls her eyes and softly hits him.

“Ugh, you can’t stop being a cocky little shit for more than a minute, huh?”

Charles scoffs, faux offense coloring his face. 

“How am I being cocky? You offered me something and I plan to use what you’ve offered me. It would be rude of me to leave you unsatisfied.”

The double meaning was clear.

“You sure that’s why? I have it under good authority that you’re not used to leaving someone unsatisfied.”

Now he’s a little offended.

“I have never. You could ask and everyone would say I’m very good at keeping satisfaction high.”

“Sure.”

“I am!” he softly shouts.

Iman throws her head back and laughs. The sound is music to Charles’ ears, but it doesn’t stop the slight pout from what she’s implying. He tries his best to not be insecure about that and she isn’t poking at that insecurity, but it does call out some of the compatibility things he’d gone over before in his attempt to get rid of how he feels about her. Another failure on his part.

It takes a few seconds, but Iman stops laughing and meets Charles’ eyes with her own. They’re a little watery due to her laughter, but the threat to her make-up doesn’t change how beautiful she is. Her hair is in its naturally curly state and framing her face in a way that makes her look angelic. Charles tries to focus on that and not the way her deep brown dress compliments the brown of her skin and the curves of her body.

“Haha,” he says sarcastically.

“Oh, Charlie, I’m sure you’re good at what you do. I mean how else could you have pulled girls from similar circles so often. They must speak of you fondly.”

That one doesn’t land. It’s something he’d seen on the internet and is a joke among his friends and on the grid. His intentions have never been that and he knows that to a degree it makes him appear as a walking red flag, but it rolls off his back. And he’s smart enough to know that if Iman had an actual fear of that she wouldn’t also have a thing for him. Even if Charles thinks it’s different from his thing.

Goodness, he is an idiot. But that doesn’t matter now.

“Haha, very funny.”

“Aw, you know I don’t mean it, Charlie. I think you’re more of a yellow flag than anything.”

That one gets him to laugh, and he knows they both are drawing attention with how loud their amusement is, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. All that matters to him is this moment because it feels so good. How being with Iman always feels.

“At least, I’m not the one dating weirdos. How long did that thing with Dennis last? Before or after the weird kink incident,” Charles says.

“You promised to never speak of it!”

“I know, but he really thought that you’d never find out about his Lew…”

A tap on the shoulder stops Charles and his attention shifts to Carlos, who looks a little sorry to be interrupting, but also has a glint in his eyes that Charles isn’t fond of.

“Sorry to interrupt. Fred has someone we must speak to and Iman, James is looking for you,” Carlos says.

Iman nods and slowly pulls away, which feels almost painful on Charles’ end.

She gives Carlos a side hug. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Without a word to Charles, she turns to leave, but then she turns back and looks at him with narrowed eyes and her hands firmly planted on her hips.

“You and I will not be picking up this conversation where we left off.”

“Yes, we will.”

And with one last eye roll she leaves. Which means Charles and Carlos are standing in the middle of the dance floor and that glint is still in the Spaniard’s eye.

“Don’t say it.”

Carlos smirks but holds his hands up in surrender.

[mamuzzy]

— BLACK & WHITE MENTALITY —

Me, as someone with a Borderline Personality Disorder (and probably other I'm still figuring out), am I truly convinced that I’m a very logical person. The logic doesn’t have to make sense to other people, it is enough for me that I know, that there is a logic and deep thought behind everything I say or think. The problem starts when people opposing my logic, and no matter how I try to make my point visible, I will look like this in the end:

It is also a problem in general with Cluster B type personality disorders, because by our logic, we can explain EVERYTHING, why don’t we have to take responsibility for certain things we do or have done. Or worse, we want to take responsibility AND explain, and people will accuse us of wanting to find excuses and we will never meet with understanding.

Ordo can pretty much explain why he usually choose violence to solve imminent problems and not exactly taking responsibility for hurting people. Like punching Maze in the face TWICE it's not overreacting from his part, it's the stupid Alpha's fault that he is stubborn, obviously and nothing else works. /sarcasm

(more under the cut)

Finding patterns is an ability that is actually very great when I write metas or stories. I see patterns everywhere. In real life? Not so great. Because while people are showing mostly predictable behaviour patterns and we learn to understand the logical steps between how something comes from where (yes, even emotions can be explained logically), we can’t always keep one thing in mind: VARIABLES.

Like… what do you mean that my usual very kind and patient friend said something hurtful and they didn’t have patience for me like usual??? What do you mean that they have shitty day so they entire behaviour pattern changes according to their mood??? What do you mean that they won’t show the same shitty-day patterns on the next shitty day??? How am I supposed to prepare for my friend’s shitty days???? Kind is kind, shitty is shitty, friend cannot be both! Right? RIGHT…? … … Right…?

Imagine that person with personality disorder is like working with CONDITIONALS in the programming language. IF you do [something] then it’s either [this] OR [that]. There is no third options and you have choose.

THIS or THAT. ALWAYS or NEVER. ALL or NOTHING.

Always the extremes. Black and white mentality is a cognitive distortion, it means that we are having trouble seeing the world as it is: constantly changing, constantly evolving, devolving, always in the move. It has to be static, IT HAS TO BE SAFE AND PREDICTABLE.

Finding the middle ground is especially hard for us, and when I met a certain quote in the books, I kind of felt understood here.

There are lot of instances where the narrative says, you are either friends of the Nulls they would die for or an enemy they didn’t kill yet. It sounds dramatic but it actually FEELS this dramatic too.

Let’s break this in the language of PD.

You are…

A friend I would die for

An enemy I didn’t have to kill yet

If you feel like that there should be more nuanced options between the two, then you feel it right. Because in real life, your relationship with people are also nuanced. You have acquaintances. You have close friends. You have not so close-friends. You have co-workers you share a lunch but not personal informations. You have neighbors occasionally borrow sugar from, and you have neighbors you only say hello at the stairs, and you have neighbors you gossip with. You have close family members and family members we only love from distance and then you have family members you avoid like a plague. You have co-workers you hate. You hate that cashier because of their vibes, but you like the other one, but overall, you don’t speak a word to each other.

Now the real world equivalent of the Null’s mindset would be

A person I would die for

People I literally don’t give a single shit about

And then Ruusan comes into the picture. Ordo and the Nulls suddenly can’t place her everywhere between the two option. They don’t like this person, but this person actually never hurt them personally. They have to force themselves to break the computer code based of rigid conditionals to create new options to label her. Nulls, and especially Ordo can’t stand her, because he is jealous, he feels threatened by her presence, and Ordo is terribly afraid that she makes him less valuable in Kal’s eyes because she is Kal’s biological daughter. Also because with this black & white mentality usually comes pragmatism too, he is not convinced that Ruu is not here for golddigging. Her presence simply makes them angry and irritated and they can’t deal with these feelings.

Brain: BASH HER SKULL WITH A ROCK!!! Ordo: No. Brain: BUT SHE THREATENS YOUR LIFE! Ordo: I’m not in danger. I’m just angry. I have to remind myself that is not the same. I want to bash her skull with a rock, but I know that I may be overreacting. Brain: IT WILL MAKE YOU SAFE! Ordo: You are not helping here, brain, shut up.

Ruusan is not an enemy, therefore Ordo can’t dispose of her (and now that would actually be a threat to his relationship with Kal). But Ruusan is not a friend either because he doesn’t like her at all. Ordo doesn’t like Ruusan but he has to tolerate her presence. Ordo has to learn how to live with people under one roof he doesn’t like.

“KAL SKIRATA IS TRAUMATIZING HIS BABYBABU CHILDREN BY SURROUNDING THEM WITH PEOPLE THAT CAUSED HARM INCLUDING RUUSAN AND OTHER MANDO TRAINERS AND-“

In real life, you have to share workspace with co-workers you don’t like. If you are living in an apartment complex, you have to tolerate your annoying neighbours without bashing their skull with a rock. Sometimes even with family members if you don’t have the means to move out from home. Technically, you can kill people you don’t like, you have two hands to do it. But morally and socially is not acceptable to solve conflicts like this. When you are part of a 10+ people team, it is inevitable that there are people you won’t get along. Most people can just shake of this with ease and don’t take it personal that someone doesn’t like them.

But a person with personality disorders feels intense feelings. There is no such thing as feeling slightly irritated by the presence of the not-liked co-worker. That person will cause us so much stress and hateful thoughts and extreme emotions, that after pro-longed exposure for these, we’ll get exhausted, overstressed, and we eventually leave the job, because we can’t handle it anymore, and with this, we risk our financial safety too with it, our health and social relationships too.

I will write about this Black & White mentality more later in the topic of Favorite Person. ^^

Black and White mentality can be the easiest way to solve our problems, dilemmas, finding the easiest answers to questions, but always keep that in mind and remember: