#some inconsequential bullshit

[simcardiac-arrested]

never volunteer for anything university related man. also go listen to this

[datamodel-of-disaster]

New (terrible) plan to get better at playing dnd and not always cast the same 3 spells:

- Make a random d20 roll table containing all prepared spells.

- As the combat round starts, roll on the table to determine what spell will be used.

- You now HAVE TO come up with something vaguely useful (or at least, not detrimental) to do on your turn with that spell. Environment, familiars and allies can be used.

...

It will probably suck but since my DM has cautiously let me know he is a bit bored of my overly cautious and unimaginative playstyle... I'm gonna do this.

Will report back on the hijinks ^^

[dollfacefantasy]

dark and mean Rick X whiny reader, s5 beard era??? (Ugh loveee😩) maybe reader annoyed him so he fucks her attitude away<3

NO BACK TALK ♡

pairing: rick grimes x bratty!fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), p in v, brat taming, age gap (20s, late 30s), daddy kink

a/n: brat tamer rick you know that's my shit 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank you for the request <33

"What was it? What were you saying back there?" Rick's raspy voice huffs against your ear.

A shiver goes down your spine as his hot breath lands on your skin. Sharp contrast to the cool night air all around. Your body is already shaky enough from his hips' brutal thrusts against your ass.

He has you pinned against the back wall of the church, split open on his cock. This spot is close enough to the safety of the group while providing the privacy he needs to have his way with you. Your cheek squishes against the wood, a small stream of drool trickling South on your chin.

"N-nothing," you whimper, "Was just trying to tell you- ah! Just wanted to tell you..."

Your voice trails off as the sentiment of your point becomes less important than the bliss Rick's length is battering into you. Soft moans drift from your lips as your mouth hangs open. He tuts and shakes his head, pressing more of his weight into you and rutting against your backside with more force.

"You're still tryin' to talk back?" he asks, "Still think you had a reason to give me all that attitude?"

"I said I was sorry," you whine, bottom lip jutting out on instinct.

This is the game you play with Rick. You're sure by now everyone else is sick of being unwilling bystanders to it, but you can never get enough. Ever since you met the older man, the two of you mixed together like a stray match in a keg of gunpowder.

He tries his hardest to lead this group. You know that's true. But life fucking sucks in the apocalypse. It's not your fault if you get a little fed up with things sometimes.

You take it out on him cause it's easy. You disagree with his plans without coming up with any of your own. You complain about assignments you're given. You whine about the lack of supplies and direction. You roll your eyes and sigh during minor disagreements while nearly throwing a fit for larger ones.

For the first six months he knew you, it drove him fucking crazy. He went to sleep at night dreading waking up because he knew he'd have to deal with you the next day. At one point, he was convinced that he'd die of high blood pressure before any walker got the chance to kill him.

But then he figured out the secret to dealing with you. It wasn't too long before the prison fell that he learned this little trick. The two of you were the only ones awake, and you had another huge fight about some inconsequential bullshit. He was supremely frustrated. You weren't showing any signs of conceding that you were being ridiculous either.

It's like a blur in his memory now, the way he pinned you against the hard brick wall. He tore open the tiny shorts you had on. And that was when he learned. Your pretty little pussy was like your control center. He just had to hit the right buttons to bring you back to normal.

Now when you act up, he gives you the chance to fix it. You'll say something in that pitchy tone of voice and pout at him, and he'll raise a brow. He'll ask you to repeat yourself. If you continue the challenge, he still tries to be civil and talk you down. But once you push too far, you end up with a firm hand wrapped around your wrist, dragging you away from the rest of the group.

That's what happened tonight.

He scoffs at your assertion that you'd apologized. "You said sorry when you realized you were in trouble," he grumbles.

His fingers dig into your waist, feeling the soft skin left exposed by your t-shirt that's riding up. Your toes curl inside your sneakers while your fingernails scrape against the chipping paint of the church's paneling.

"I still meant it," you insist.

"If you're so sorry, tell me why I have to teach you this same fuckin' lesson over and over again," he growls.

"I dunno... cause you didn't do it good enough the first time?" you offer.

He gives your hip a smack for that and shoves you harder against the wall with a forearm across your back. You can feel the cool silver of his watch on your shoulder blade. Your tits are just as smooshed as your cheek is now. You whine in response, your feet floundering against the dirt below, but he keeps fucking into you hard.

"Cute. Keep talking back like that and see where it gets you," he says.

"I was just joking, daddy," you respond with a little sniffle for maximum impact.

"Oh, I'm daddy now?" he mocks. Neither of your attempts at sympathy seem to have struck a chord. "I'm daddy when you want me to be nice to you, but not any other time. Do I have that right?"

"Nuh uh..."

"Yeah. You won't listen to me. Won't do anything I ask without givin' me hell. But the second you get tired of taking it like a big girl, I'm your daddy," he taunts.

You squeak as he yanks your hips against his pelvis particularly hard. His tip rams right into that sweet, spongy spot inside you. It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your knees start to buckle beneath you.

He watches as you really begin to slip. With a sigh, he pulls his cock out of your dripping hole. You whine about that too, of course, but you don't have time to complain before he flips you around and hooks his hands behind your knees. He folds you in half against the wall and slides right back into the slick heat of your cunt. His hips rock against you like they never stopped.

"Look at you. You think you have any right to question me when you can't even stand up on your own? When y'need daddy to do everything for you," he mutters.

You mewl and arch your back, but he keeps you exactly where he wants you. His shaft slams into you over and over, chasing the feeling of your walls clamping down on it. You can't fight back against what he's saying cause any semblance of cohesive argument has been fucked right out of you.

"Did-didn't mean it," you choke out.

"Then say sorry like you mean it," he breathes.

He pumps into you harder and deeper, making it difficult for you to answer. But you try your best because you're getting close, and after you cum, it'll be damn near impossible.

"I- I'm sorry, daddy. Didn't mean to make you mad. I'll try to be good and listen," you say before a whine cracks your voice and causes your head to drop forward.

He nudges your face up with his nose before rewarding you with a kiss. "That's my girl," he mumbles, "Gonna listen for me. Accept that you don't know what's best, hm? That you need me to take care of you and make the decisions?"

You nod with your quivering lip and glossy eyes.

That gets a little smirk on his lips, and he kisses your pout once more. His hand snakes around to thumb at your clit. The rapid fire swipes are all you need to topple over the edge and let go. You tense up and cover your own mouth, muffling your cries with your palm.

"There you go. Let it out," he grunts.

He grits his teeth, holding on long enough to fuck you through your high. As soon as you start to come down though, he pulls out and spills his seed onto the dirt beneath you.

His body shudders against yours, another set of harsh breaths blowing against your neck. You lean your head against his. The sweat that dampens his scalp smears on your cheek.

The both of you hold the position for a few moments longer before beginning to untangle. He sets you back on the ground, keeping his hands on your waist until he's sure you're stable. You pull your discarded shorts back on and adjust your shirt while he zips himself up.

When you're put together again, he grabs your wrist like he'd done earlier but with a more gentle touch. He pulls you flush against his body and encircles you with his arms, keeping you pressed to his chest. His hand rubs up and down your back in soothing strokes.

"My baby. All tuckered out and settled down for me now, yeah?" he whispers.

You nod, your eyes already feeling droopy with the calm that comes after release. His embrace is so warm it lulls you further into this docile, dreamy state.

Rick rolls his eyes again, but there's not as much irritation this time. A good fuck mellows him out just like it does you. Plus, in moments like these, he can admit to himself that he has a small soft spot for his little brat.

He sways back and forth with you for a few moments, planting occasional kisses on the top of your head.

"You gonna behave when we go back inside?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," you answer softly.

"That's my girl," he says, patting your ass before turning you loose. He lets you walk back around to the entrance first. While he has a great time putting you back in line, these trysts aren't really something he wants the whole group being hyper aware of. It's after a few minutes have gone by that he heads in himself, ready to mix back in with everyone else as if nothing had happened.

[bunnwich]

Nothing New♟️ (Leona Breakup Fic)

They didn't want him. He shouldn't be surprised, but it didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. They/Them pronouns. "Queen" is used once in a GN way.)

Words: 1600

CW: ANGST, Depressive Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping, Alcoholism, Mentions of Past Intimacy, PG-13ish

Note: This is a bit random, but I was particularly proud of this piece I wrote for my Leona x Yuu series, and I have several questions in my inbox about Leona's perspective on things like relationships, and I feel this really exemplifies how he feels about love and intimacy in general.

--

No one had ever kissed him quite like they did. 

His first was a lifetime ago, long before they even came into his life. It was his sister-in-law: a stupid peck when he was ten. He wanted to know what he always read about felt like, and she obliged him. The first person he’d ever had a crush on. It was a kind thing, out of pity. She would never have feelings for him in that way and despite her brilliance, she always thought the sun shined out his brother’s ass somehow.

As he grew, these types of shallow entanglements came easily enough. Though unlike in books, reality painted a much duller picture of intimacy and infatuation. He was disliked and even feared, but he was easy on the eyes...and an eligible prince to boot. So affection from any gender wasn’t hard to achieve. Turns out, there were quite a few who were easy to oblige a curious prince's advances.

It satiated something inside him for a while, until he grew too smart for the whole damn thing. Movies and books weren’t real after all, and Leona could sense the hesitation in their compliance with him. He began to ask too many questions: was it because he was a prince, someone with more power than those whom he invited to his bed? 

And then there was the temperament of those few who dared try. Too soft, too hard. Afraid to displease him or…not thinking of him at all. Just there to say they were with someone royal, to get off on the idea of fucking someone above their station.

Was it so damn pathetic to want to be kissed without the burden of his class or magical prowess? Without fear, or some spiteful domination to conquer his unpleasant natures?  No ulterior motives.

Wishes. Kisses. Pipe Dreams. Childish things he dumped in the trash along with his favorite stuffed toys as these mindless thrills stopped feeling as good. It dawned on him that status would always play a factor in any relationships he had, friend or more. And if not that, his magic, wealth...the baggage of his family. The circumstances of his birth would always rear its nasty head.

The life he was gifted with.

He fooled himself that, being in an obligation as his brother was, that over-sweet playing of house bullshit…brought bile to his mouth. He couldn't let himself admit that, despite all the song and dance, no matter what, those two would be together forever, side by side from throne to tomb. Never having to suffer the fate of being an inconsequential piece as he was. Always alone in a room, while a party roared on beyond a closed door…numbing the pain with a bottle of wine. 

After a while, he found himself settling into a more self-righteous stance on the matter. Even if he did marry, it would most likely be a farce. He was already tired of the social games in the palace, why would he want his marriage to be one too? Just some creature to warm the bed so he didn’t have to wake up alone? Stupid. He’d just avoid it altogether.

Though…just because he knew fairytale endings weren't real, the illogical ache inside him for it didn’t seem to get the memo. 

Leona lay his head back against the end of his mattress, legs splayed on the floor of his empty bedroom. He took another swig from one of the two bottles he had snatched from a fresh serving tray. A rushing servant, heading downstairs to the celebration. The sweet liquor burned his tongue, but he didn't mind, he knew the more he drank, the less he would begin to feel.

All these stupid thoughts swelled in his head, passing faster than he could keep track of. The warmth of the alcohol did warm his chest, but did little to take the edge off the raw edge in his guts.

He had to give it to them. They proved the cynical side of him so right in fact, that he couldn't even enjoy the self-pitying stupor he longed to be in right now.

Logically, there was nothing left to feel or say about it all. He accepted their brutal rejection of him. It was his fault for getting so attached. Stupid.

Another wave eroding the sandy shore of his insides…more and more it seemed these days. And this wasn’t just on them, oh no, he’d been a cynic and a depressed piece of shit long before this.

Maybe it was the wine, but he kept seeing a wheel, spinning behind his heavy eyelids. A never-ending wheel where he was crushed underneath it each time, listening to a party go on happily without his presence. Left alone to eat the rotten, sour grapes.

Every. Time.

Not a “bad enough” life to deserve real pity. 

“You’re a prince, you should be grateful, be happy for what you have.” 

Leona chuckled, the buzz of conversation burning his ears through one of the cracks of his bedroom windows.

If only…he could eat those “helpful” words people so often preached to him. Maybe they would fill the gaping hole inside of him. But here he was again, hungry and listless. 

He wondered if anyone knew of his real “curse.” besides the horrifying magic he was born with of course.  What he really was cursed with was the uncanny ability to recount every stupid little thing in his life. Pointless memories. Scraps, left over from the joyous moment of others' victories.

But, they were more than that. He thought once anyway.

The way he was inebriated by their movements, the way they touched him…so familiar. They were tough, bratty, and strong-spirited, all those things he admired. It stirred up superstitious things in his head, things he hadn’t thought about in years. Things he read in books as a kid. They even kissed him. Though not as a prince. 

Just Leona. 

Regardless of how big of a crowd he had, and how many brilliant trinkets he was gifted, they'll all pale in comparison to his chosen audience of one, who had seen the grimy parts and laughed at his threats afterward.

How did that person, with no ties to this world, feel more real than those he’d grown up his whole life with? Those who feared him or wished to fuck him because of his looks or social standing. Maybe it was cause everyone always had their hands out to him—wanting something—or waiting for him to fuck something up. There was sanctuary in the fact that they saw him as he was; just…some fool who was madly twitterpated with them.

Their dismissive view of his rougher edges was fresh at first, a challenge, then…an addiction. And he could see it in the ferocious eyes of his new little playmate. Oh fuck, and they liked him too. Despite it all, they stood beside him each time, even against his own damn family.

C'mon, pick up the stray lion in the garden, play with him so he can feel somethin’. Anythin'. And kiss 'em again, just...one more time until his face ached from smilin', his belly sore from laughin' so hard.

Was he really better than a crusty-eyed kitten desperately begging for a teat to suck on, yowling to be picked up? He thought he had been obvious about his feelings, maybe too obvious. But it leaked from him, every pore of his skin. What was the point in hiding?

He had foolishly revealed himself, letting himself become the prey.

Maybe that was all it ever was, they made him feel something. Something was better than nothin’ after all.

Something bout’ the two of them though. Their playtime was pure. The intimacy was easy, but their hands left char marks on him. He thought that they saw him for what he was. Those cinnamon sugar moments always left his brain blissfully silent, when just the two of them like that. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. Leona panted, eyes burning as he brought the bottle to his lips again, the glass clinking against his fangs.

What was worse? The fact that it was real, or that it was all in his head?

Didn’t matter now.

He was a disciplined guy before he met them. A disciplined cynic, happily unhappy to rot away for the rest of his life in his brother's shadow. Help who he could…and die. Dramatic, yeah…but for all those who accused him of the opposite, Leona Kingscholar did have feelings.

Too many. So many, it was hard to breathe some days.

He never expected himself out of all people to descend into this particular pit of delusion, one that he thought he was immune to. Their own little garden to frolic and play in. 

But, it was never even a game to them. He was never a king on their board. They probably wouldn't think of him even half as long as he would remember of them.

If anything, he was a pawn to them. Even when he made it to the other side of the board, looking back to see if his queen was still waiting for him, but...they hadn't even cared enough to come to battle. 

How could he have been so wrong in his calculations? Still, he couldn't unseat them from that throne in his mind.

Leona's stomach was already turning on him; he hadn’t eaten much, but as long as the feelings in his chest were still wriggling, he would keep on drinking. And drowning.

Nothing new.

[s0s1mple]

Caught My Eye - Lee Heeseung

Random Prompt:

“I saw you around my home. I couldn’t help but want to take you.”

Random Member: Heeseung

TW: General yandere behavior, stalking, sexual fantasy, kidnapping

Masterlist

Heeseung liked girls. A lot. Liked looking at them, liked flirting with them, liked fucking them and then moving onto the next one that caught his attention. Really, he considered himself a bit of a sommelier when it came to women. He tasted a bit of each, easily worming into their hearts and pants with some well-placed touches and bright smiles, before spitting them right back out and searching for the taste he really craved.

Unfortunately, Heeseung had yet to find that flavor of girl. The ones he slept with were nice, sure. Hot, sexy, cute, take your pick. But they lacked that wow factor, lacked that special something that would have him actually jonesing for a second fix. Heeseung wanted to know what that was like; what was it that made people choose each other? That made them content to stick with one another and sample each other over and over and over. The whole concept frankly sounded boring to him. Inconceivable.

Until he saw you.

Heeseung wasn’t fully sure what it was about you that had drawn his attention. You weren’t particularly interesting, from an objective standpoint. You dressed normally, comfortably, no shorts to draw his attention to your legs or v-neck to pull his gaze to your chest. Your face was… attractive, he guessed. Pretty average though. The sort of face he knew he’d normally see and instantly forget.

But none of that seemed to matter, because the second he saw you passing through the alley that ran between his house and the apartment complex next door, his brain felt like it had downloaded a computer virus. Like it’d completely shut down and rebooted itself with all new code. Gone were the preferences he’d had before, all vague ideas of what he wanted in a partner suddenly replaced with oddly specific adjectives. All of it pertaining to you, the stranger who seemed to like cutting by his property for a shortcut to the library.

He felt like he was defective. What the fuck was going on? Why was it that every time you passed by his kitchen window, your lips pursed as you bobbed your head to music, he stopped what he was doing and watched you. Whenever you appeared, he felt like he’d fallen into a glue trap, his attention so solely stuck on you that everyone else felt hazy.

And fuck, he couldn’t even escape you in his everyday life either. He’d be busy working, his focus entirely on not accidentally crushing his fingers, before all of a sudden his mind drifted to you. What were you doing? What did you do in your free time? What kind of things did you like? Did you have parents? Siblings? A boyfriend? The thought made him irrationally annoyed, for some bizarre reason, which in turn made him even more annoyed. Lee Heeseung didn’t get pussy-whipped, especially when he hadn’t even been in said pussy.

And boy, if that didn’t give him an idea. What if he just got whatever the hell this was out of his system? Surely that would clear all this bullshit out of his brain and leave room for his usual routine once more. Yeah, that would totally work.

So next time Heeseung saw you, he rushed out his front door, fully intending to ‘accidentally’ bump into you and turn his charm up to eleven. Surely it couldn’t be that hard to get in your pants, right?

But as he accidentally-on-purpose bumped into you, false apologies spilling from his lips, he paused. His plan faded from mind. You were looking up at him, easily matching his perfect white smile with a slightly crooked one of your own, eyes crinkled. His heart stuttered. He stared at you, eyes wide, and it became him who did the stammering. “A-Ah, sorry about that…”

“No worries!” You were already moving on before he’d even finished, the interaction so seemingly inconsequential to you that he was sure you’d already begun to forget. It made his skin itch all the more. Why was it that you could care so little, could exist without reciprocating the infatuation in the slightest. It was so fucking unfair. So unfair. His fingers clenched. For the first time, Heeseung felt off balance.

He hated that feeling. Despised it. Lee Heeseung wasn’t nervous, wasn’t led around by some dumb crush sinking its teeth into him. That wasn’t who he was.

He needed to regain control.

Truthfully, Heeseung hadn’t known what that might entail. First he’d thought about resuming his attempt to sleep with you, but the idea of a pump and dump had made his mind violently uncomfortable for some bizarre reason. Then he tried ignoring you completely, even installing shutters on his kitchen windows. Then he’d tried simply learning more about you, an attempt to sate his curiosity by following you routine through the city. Then, as you passed by his porch like usual, his arm was suddenly wrapped around your middle, palm pressed flat against your mouth. In a couple smooth motions, he was yanking you up the porch steps and dragging your kicking, thrashing form into the house.

“Shh, shh! Shut up!” His brain, slowly realizing what the fuck he was doing, began to blare out ringing alarm bells. His arm shifted up to wrap around your throat, anything to stop your jerking, and he pulled hard. You were soon gasping into his palm, breath warm and hot and making Heeseung inexplicably hot himself, but to little avail. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you fell limply into his arms. “Fuck.” Heeseung stared at you for a long moment, dimly registering that he’d just picked you up and taken you. More prominently, he registered his lack of concern about the matter.

Worrying, probably.

Nothing stopped him from hauling you up into his bedroom. Nothing stopped him from tying your hands to his headboard with that cheap bondage shit he’d once thought looked so tantalizing on the girls he’d brought home. All of a sudden, the idea of someone other than you laying there in them felt somehow disgusting. Like the mere idea that they could compare was an affront to whatever god was out there. Because surely that was where this obsession had come from, right? So out of the blue like this, so all-consuming that he was cooing over your passed out form like one of those whipped boyfriends he was so disgusted by. Nothing stopped him from grooming your hair back, marveling at the feel of your skin, wondering if the rest of your body just as soft. Nothing stopped him from licking his suddenly dry lips as he traced a palm over your hip.

God, it was going to be so good when you gave into him. The sweetest flavor he’d ever tasted- one that would pull him back over and over and that he found he didn’t mind double-dipping with. As you blinked awake blearily, confusion and fear seeping into your eyes, Heeseung’s mouth stretched into a blinding, charming smile.

“Hey there, sleepyhead. Feeling alright? Sorry about all this, but I saw you around my home.” He leaned in closer, chuckling at the way your shoulders pulled in. Cute. His voice dropped to a soft whisper. “I couldn’t help but to want to take you for myself.”

Reqs are open, feel free to drop in and say hi :)

[dalishious]

(I can’t believe I finished this so fast… I basically blacked out and then it was done lol… Anyway, please remember that this is all just my personal opinion, and if you feel differently, that’s fine!)

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Review

Objectively speaking, Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a fun game that the average player is going to enjoy, especially if that average player is coming in without any prior knowledge to the Dragon Age franchise. I believe this is a good jumping-in spot for people who are curious about the world of Thedas. But in contrast, I have seen a lot of criticism from other hard-core fans that I largely agree with. However, it just so happens that most of the criticism I have is not enough to prevent me from overall enjoying the game. That is to say, for pretty much everything I did not like, there was also something I thought was great… Unfortunately, that makes it a little difficult to give a review. So, I’m going to do my best to keep things as clear and concise as possible by splitting up the “good” and the “bad” aspects of DATV.

The Positive

The best thing to come out of DATV is the new cast of characters that make up your companions and supporting associates. While I do think that some of them could have benefitted from more development time to flesh things out further, just judging what we ended up with, is mostly great. I especially found Emmrich and Bellara to be stand-out examples of strong personalities to grasp onto, whose personal stories really touched me in an emotional way.

DATV also has fun with some returning characters. For example, now that Solas is no longer hiding his identity, we get to see a character that both believably honours his part in Inquisition, while also providing a new, refreshing side to him. There are also a number of characters introduced in Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights that appear in the game, like my personal favourites Teia and Viago, who are an absolute delight to interact with!

I think the three act structure is good, albeit with act three being quite short. There are a few sequences that are an absolutely phenomenal mixture of storytelling and engaging gameplay, like all of Weisshaupt! I also really enjoyed stepping out of the main story every once and a while, and into Solas’s backstory through the Crossroads memories – what ended up being extra special about these is how they mirror Rook’s struggle so well, by the end. They are a nice touch.

The locations are beautifully constructed with smooth interactions of climbing, zip-lining, and essentially parkouring your way around, making them fun to explore! They also came with such distinct flavours and character in themselves that influenced a sense of truly experiencing different parts of Thedas, with different cultures.

The mechanic of building up strength with the different factions, and that actually having a huge impact with the ultimate showdown in the end of the game, makes side quests feel far less inconsequential than in Dragon Age: Inquisition by comparison. That, and they number far less.

I like that the story mode actually feels like a story mode; there were only a couple instances where I really had to worry about death, and even then, I was able to just toggle off the death with the customizable gameplay mechanics and continue on.

Finally, it would be remiss not to say that the character creator for DATV is the best BioWare has ever put out. I’d go as far as saying it’s one of the best in any RPG I’ve ever personally experienced. From the flexibility in morphing a character’s head and body between custom shapes, to the little details like sclera colour, vitiligo, and top surgery scars, makes it a shining example of what RPG’s should strive for. (My only critique here is that it would have been nice to have more skin colours.)

The Neutral

I hated the combat for pretty much the entire first act of the game. I found it too hard to keep up with, and too much like Mass Effect bullshit. I can’t say that it’s completely grown on me yet, but I don’t hate it anymore. It’s fine. So, I’m giving this a special little spot before I get into what I didn’t like all the way to the end.

The Negative

As mentioned above, I do think that there is more that could be done with some of the characters to really achieve their full potential. Davrin and Lucanis—while to be clear I still really enjoy as they are—come to mind first, in terms of those who would have benefited from more development time. Most of Davrin’s screen time just revolves around Assan rather than Davrin himself, and Lucanis is so restrained that it takes a while to really crack him open. Both of these characters have intentional personalities that make them harder to get to know, I understand that, but I feel that it would have been all the more rewarding to have more time dedicated to their company after earning their trust and possibly endearment. Instead, it feels like their romance and friendship with Rook are only half-complete, and then rushed to finish.

There are some companion interactions that are just… cringe. There is no other word for it. Now, this is nothing new for BioWare games, but I feel like the “pulling a Bharv” scene for example, was hitting an entirely new low. (If someone misgendered me and then just started doing push-ups instead of just saying “hey sorry about that, I’ll try to do better” I’d be annoyed, not satisfied.) I also felt like most of the temporary rivalries between companions were artificial in nature, rather than organically part of their characters that actually served a purpose. We already knew Emmrich likes books and Harding likes nature; we did not need a whole cutscene with them bickering about camping. (The exception to this is Davrin and Lucanis, who genuinely had room to grow as people out of their multiple confrontations, not just a one-off scene.)

The music in DATV is, for the most part, forgettable and bland. There is one piece that really stands out, and that’s “Where the Dead Must Go”, which is a real banger. I am not a fan of Hans Zimmer’s OST otherwise; I think it is phoned in, just like most of his work. I deeply wish BioWare would have just stuck with Trevor Morris. The best parts musically in this game are just Morris’s work re-used from Dragon Age: Inquisition.

There are certain parts of disjointedness that separates DATV from the past games that are just… bizarre. This is especially the case when it comes to elven lore. For example, Bellara saying she is afraid that elves will be harshly judged for the Evanrus, or Harding saying that elves are “thriving”… as if modern elves are not deeply persecuted across most of Thedas. It made me question more than once if there just was not time in development to do a proper canon-compliancy check with everything, perhaps?

I want finish this part by bringing up again that the biggest flaw in DATV is that it feels very corporate. To repeat what I said in this post: It is as if a computer ran through the game’s script and got rid of anything with “too much” political substance, in an overcorrection to be “safe”. But now that the edges have been so smoothed down to make a block into a ball, it can no longer support anything.

Conclusion

It’s easy to see a lot of creativity went into the creation of this game… but it is also easy to make assumptions on how that creativity was constrained by development hell and corporate oversight. In the end though, Dragon Age: The Veilguard succeeded in being an overall good time, one that I will no doubt be putting just as many countless hours into as the previous installments in the franchise. 7/10.

[beans-core]

Some batkid reactions to being hassled by the press and other PR related shenanigan (inspired by this post by @timdrakewhump, it got the brainworms shmoovin)

(edit: added a cut here because DAMN this post is fucking LONG and I know it’s clogging up other people’s pages too)

Dick: the humble founder of the batkid “troll the press” train, so he has a lot of experience and stories. As a kid, he charmed the pants off of everyone but was a handful to interview because he kept going off on random tangents. And it was just. the most unrelated and weird shit ever, like his favorite species of beetle or how he used to think when he was little that all clouds were pollution so he hated cloudy days. Things so off-topic it was practically unusable material. Bruce once asked if it was on purpose, and Dick responded “sometimes!”. He’s also the king of petty but ultimately inconsequential pranks because of growing up where he did, a place where the job was bringing joy and entertainment. If someone was an asshole to him (or anyone really) in his presence, they’d better prepare to be on the receiving end of the most manipulative, career-devastating smackdown delivered by a pink-cheeked, gift-to-the-world, curly-Q babychild— who’s now got tears running down his face because of them. It’s joever. This performer stuff helps when he’s trying not to get caught (ex: the pranks). As an adult, he wears the most butt ugly outfits (even to “important” events) but can dress stylishly if he wants. That’s usually how the press will notice which events Dick actually cares about, and Dick utilizes this to get better coverage on the more meaningful events. It’s fucking hilarious when ppl can't even really comment on the outfits because even if the clothes aren’t great, Dick somehow manages to make it look decent. When he’s out casually in public, he’s notorious for wearing shirts with puns and dad jokes on them. The shirts started ironically, but now it’s a whole thing. He gets them as presents too, Tim giving him shirts that have horrible brainrot on them. Additionally, when someone is more comfortable talking in a language other than English and Dick can speak it, he’ll switch over. But the flip side is that he knows the best insults in that language too, so if you piss him off, his roasts are both more accessible, personal, and devastating.

Jason: Snuck books to read into boring events like clockwork, and Bruce never really tried to stop him. (It’s hard to be upset at your kid for reading of all things, especially when you’d rather be doing the same too.) But Jason’s favorite activity was spreading lies and slander. He dragged everyone into it whether you were kind or bitchy, and had barely any limits. (Dick was really proud, even of the particularly wicked rumors, but tried not to show it too much else Jason go wilder.) Jason has the most fun with the gossip-distribution method of old-rich gossips who are just incapable of shutting the hell up— it’s like one big maze traversing the social cliques and making a plan of action. He gets to map out how it all works and then find the best way to wreck it, and he lives for it. Overall, he made up such an astronomical amount of bullshit that photographs were practically the only thing the paparazzi could reliably use. And even then, Jason still trolled them by wearing the same type of common plain hoodie over every outfit out in public (when he wasn’t at some special event). Present day (post-death), anytime Jason goes into the manor (not often if possible), he sneaks in. Absolutely refuses to use a door. One time, someone gets a blurry picture of Jason sneaking in, and the figure is visibly packing heat. The person who got the photo went to the police immediately, and it sent the media into a frenzy. Bruce had to make up some story about an attempted robbery and how the (non-existent) security guards he’d hired were able to take care of it. Jason thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, and can barely keep his face blank whenever he remembers it. Tim got the articles/papers printed and framed as a gift, and Jason begrudgingly accepted it (it’s proudly displayed on a shelf). He’s also secretly pissy that he can’t blatantly make up rumors for the gossips anymore because of the whole “being dead” thing.

Tim: holds grudges to hell and back if you’re not a loved one. If you happen to be more than just an average-everyday amount of douchebag and mess with him or someone he cares about, he’ll make sure you know he dislikes you by basically passive-aggressively harassing you back (when it won’t have immediate/future bad-time consequences). It’s obvious he’s being unkind only to the person/people it’s directed at, and it’s an art form Tim has been honing since the age he first understood what ‘passive aggressive’ meant. One example: once, some person said how odd it was for Mr. Wayne to keep taking in children who looked like him and “forcing them” to take the Wayne last name. The man said it in that condescending tone of people who try to imply something’s “wrong” with you without actually saying it (you know what I’m referring to). Even though Tim was visibly disgruntled in the video, it was still published. (Tim hacked the site, unpublished, and deleted the recordings out of spite… but it’s the fact that they did it in the first place!) So now whenever he sees that news station he refuses to answer them until they address him by “Timothy Wayne” (his last name is hyphenated and he doesn’t mind answering to either— usually). When Tim’s not in the mood to be passive about his aggression, he’ll just fuck with rude ppl anonymously. Hacking to mess with files/programs, deleting important info, digging up dirt and publicizing it, recruiting Jason’s help to concoct a fake scandal (Jason tries to pretend that he doesn’t love the chaos but he really obviously does), and other ways to constantly annoy/inconvenience them. Tim also accidentally adopts Jason’s habit of scoping out and analyzing the famous gossips of Gotham. It was something he’s been proficient at as a kid out of necessity, but he actually gets into it when he becomes Robin, beginning to view it like one big puzzle he can solve and use to his advantage. As a child, he’s not in the immediate focus of the news as much as you’d think. The Drake’s keep him out of the way unless he can be useful somehow (PR mostly— the Idealistic Loving Family tactic and Cute Kid Distraction are utilized often). (This becomes Pretty Boy Distraction and Desirable Man Distraction as he gets older.) They think that controlling his media presence is easier than doing damage control if he makes a mistake, as all children tend to do, which inadvertently ends up protecting him from some of the more despicable side of modern media… as long as he doesn’t seek it out himself… but as we know, Tim Drake is a very curious kid.

Damian: the perfectly behaved Wayne child, but rude without realizing (of course he realizes, but the press doesn’t know that… or won’t mention it, at least). The Wayne family PR team has long-standing beef with this kid and has had to put up with him repeatedly for PR training and other PR nightmares of his creation. He refuses to act childish in front of the media unless it’s for a mission or some other gain. (He can look like the cutiest patootie on command now, but it’s something he had to work on in his PR training, unlike some of his other siblings who have charm oozing from their pores.) The only thing that reveals Damian’s discomfort to those who know him is how he’ll stay near his family members' side, following them around like he’s stuck with glue. Once he got overwhelmed by a sudden crowd, and didn’t notice one mic coming his way until it was shoved in his face— he reacted instinctively, punched the mic (it goes flying), and ducked low into a fighting stance next to Bruce. The others poke fun until they realize he’s genuinely upset he couldn’t stay calm, so they don’t mention it again. Even though Damian loudly rebukes and scoffs at his family’s shenanigans against the press, he still secretly wants to be included. So, when he doesn’t want to be talking to someone, he’ll slowly shift into speaking Arabic and pretend not to notice. More than half the time, the listener will feel too awkward to point it out and will find some way to leave the conversation. Dick takes him to his favorite dessert place when he does this for the first time, and brags about Damian finally joining in on the family tradition all day, so he keeps doing it.

Cassandra: leans heavily into the “can’t speak” thing that she’s been mistakenly assigned just so she doesn’t have to talk to the press as much or be a center of attention. If someone does approach her she just stares at them with wide unblinking bug eyes until they back off and/or are distracted by something else. But really, she isn’t even approached that often because she sneaks around everywhere. When she is found, it’s because she feels like teasing someone that day. (It’s a bonus when her family gets all giggly seeing her mess with the press because yeah, it’s practically a Wayne family tradition at this point.) Also, everyone knows by now that Brucie will unabashedly raise hell to defend his loved ones, so even years later, when media people are like “okay wait shouldn’t she be able to talk by now??” they keep their ignorant mouths shut lest Bruce Wayne descend upon them with the power of a thousand suns lawyers. Misinformed media-people assume she’s deaf or hard of hearing all the time because of her use of sign language, and sometimes, in the spirit of trolling, she’ll feed into it indirectly. Because if you’re calling over to her for a comment and she happens to not answer, it’s your fault if you “connect the dots” and assume she didn’t hear you because she’s deaf/HOH. This also leads to her getting away with absolutely everything, because she’s a (assumed) deaf woman which means she gets infantilized, meaning she can obviously do no wrong! /s It would piss her off more if she gave a fuck about what the media thinks, but she really doesn’t, so she just uses it as another tool when she wants to cause havoc.

Duke: doesn’t get bothered too often compared to most of the others, and subsequently doesn’t give a fuck. Was offered PR training just in case by Bruce and he took it, but he could hold his own just fine before. Sometimes he’ll get approached by those sidewalk interviewers as Signal, and if he has the time he’ll stick around to quickly answer a few questions because he finds them funny. He’s always terribly vague though, and taken out of context you just have no earthly idea what he’s on about. Clarification? Duke doesn’t know her. As someone who hangs out with a family consisting of some rich white people who are often in the public eye of other rich white people, he likes to make the annoying ones squirm by interpreting everything they say to be offensive, just. Fucking with them until they’re panicking, having mini heart attacks thinking of the PR nightmare they’re gonna have. “So young man, do you think you’ll go to college?” “Why do you ask? Think a black kid wouldn’t be able to?“ “I didn’t—” “Think I’m not as capable as anyone else?” “NO no no of COURSE NOT—” Damian, Cass, and Dick think it’s genius so they take inspiration from him and do it too in their own ways. Duke usually goes straight from Bat Business to the manor, entering from the batcave but when he does visit normally, he’s pretty discreet. All that to say that when he’s first noticed hanging around the batkids + co. it’s in public areas. There are definitely some rumors going around because Duke hangs out with them like all the time. the media are left wondering where the fuck another kid came from, why Bruce hadn’t introduced his new kid, etc. Bruce comes out with a vague summary story to get the majority of the press (the ones who didn’t bother to do more research) off dukes back, and after a while, they go back their normal level of invasive.

Stephanie: will get pissy if someone calls her Bruce’s child but won’t deny being part of the family. Loves to spread misinformation like Jason, but it’s only ever fake news about herself. At one point, half of Gotham is convinced she’s some estranged Wayne (some third cousin, or was it second?) and the other half thinks that she’s the secret affair child of Martha Wayne (even though the timeline zero sense). She drives the celeb-focused conspiracy theorists bonkers by introducing herself by different names, bringing up fake relatives, sharing absurd fake stories, etc. Then, she’ll throw in an absurd truth, someone will connect the dots about that one thing being real, and it’ll start another conspiracy frenzy because wait, if that’s true, what else is??? She's also mastered how to use makeup to make her features look different for undercover missions, but will wear it out in public too so it makes sneaky pictures and videos look doctored/fake. One time, she applied some fake facial prosthetics too for fun, and a paparazzo got into hot water for trying to pass off a picture of ‘some random woman’ as Stephanie Brown. She decided to frame the best of those articles written (framing “best-of” incidents is kind of a thing now). She’ll always be excited when one of the bats comes to her asking her to disguise them for a mission because they all know that the price of her work is that she gets free reign of what the disguise looks like (as free as you can be within the mission parameters, but she finds a LOT of little ways to entertain herself).

[mesetacadre]

"Lacking in social positions" seems like a pretty mild way to describe the KKE. To be absolutely clear, I'm not making some pinkwashy/homonationalist bullshit argument: I would love it if the KKE squashed Greece's capitalist class tomorrow and would cheer on from where I live. But, and sorry if this comes off rude, I am very frustrated by people being consistently too timid in criticizing bigoted -on top of poorly though-out strategically- mistakes like that just because a party does very well in other areas. Yes, their work needs to be acknowledged, but the mistakes keep people away from communists and divide the working class on grounds of sexuality and identity (the very thing people tend to accuse sexual minorities of). The bullshit they said about children and gay people -to name the example I'm most familiar with- is not, in my opinion, "lacking in social positions", but heinous and revealing of a worrying homophobic trend that needs to be completely uprooted (https://inter.kke.gr/en/articles/To-clarify-certain-issues/)

Something that happens a lot when a CP states a socially regressive position is that online discourse surrounding it will be completely swallowed up but this one matter, which in Europe's case -KKE and PCTE- amounts to internally undeveloped positions in a scarce set of statements unreflective of actual party culture.

Point out to me how the KKE is actively, materially hurting gay people, their members or otherwise, the actual trend. I think you said "revealing of a worrying homophobic trend" either out of reflex because this trend does not exist, or because you're confusing the volume of attacks (not criticisms!) for what the party actually does. You linked a 9 year old article whose position is materially progressive with a frankly contextually inconsequential take about how marriage is between a man and a woman. Inconsequential because the actual complete position is that marriage should not hold exclusive economic and social benefits, which if it didn't, would make the exclusion or inclusion of gay people in the marriage institution meaningless. The point of the push for gay marriage is that it'd constitute a stride towards sexual equality in a society where certain privileges are cordoned off behind marriage, but if those same privileges are untethered from marriage, what does it matter if anyone has access to it or not?

Besides this, I'm also not saying the KKE doesn't have homophobic positions, and at the end of the day this weird bait and switch about how a family is only between a man and a woman but actually marriage shouldn't be special is tactically and strategically deaf, confused, not really useful, and homophobic. But has this positioning, result of an aged CC, ever translated into actual harm against gay people within and without the KKE's ranks? No, because it is not reflective of party culture, and the party even says so in the article you linked.

When it comes to actual parties doing actual work, this kind of screed, more common on twitter, is completely useless if you actually want to change these parties for the better. If you wanted to harm these parties you'd be on the golden path, but I'm not accusing you, anon, of this. The only way that a party-wide position can be changed is in the party Congress, the result of months' work of preparation, pre-Congress debate, and a day or more of common debate in the Congress. At every step, this is a purely internal process which, if anything, is hindered by a constant barrage of social-media attacks. You want this to be uprooted? Then join the KKE and change it. Can't join it? Then stop turning the people who could change it off the party. The alternative in Greece at the moment amounts to anarchist squatters whose greatest achievement is wasting police resources on getting raided and housing abusers. But they were waving a rainbow flag doing it, I guess.

Like I don't know what else to tell you. I'm not the KKE's nanny, I'm a guy writing posts on tumblr, if you want me to do something about it I'd tell you I actually am, within my possibilities, outside of social media where it actually has an effect, but what I do personally is a moot point and I'm only writing this because it seems you expect the criticisms on my tumblr blog to be doing something. Anything you can think of to criticize the KKE of, and more, has already been discussed by its hundreds of thousands of militants with a depth tenfold of what is even possible outside of the party, let alone a social media post. I find the analysis of their competency in the workers' movement more compelling for people looking to the KKE as an example in that area, and any meaningful advances in positions regarding sexual minorities can only happen in lockstep with the workers shift, something no other alternative in Greece comes even close to. The worst and the great part of the deviations at the core of the KKE have already been dealt with and disterred, this is the remnant of an even worse past, whose end is a matter of time and the effort of our comrades in the KKE.

[optimisticartistic]

so here's a fun thought for everyone

Why the FUCK doesn't Kayne want Arthur to know anything about the King in Yellow?

It's tricky to spot over the course of Malevolent as an ongoing canon, but when you look back at the pieces there's a very interesting pattern forming.

First and foremost, the King is (functionally) dead. John's memories of the King's actual life are inconsequential to the point of nonexistent, and Yellow doesn't have any. Given that we know now that Kayne can travel freely between the Dark World and other realities, something no other god is suggested to be able to just yet, we can infer that Kayne put Yellow in the Dark Place explicitly to remove his memories. So there's no longer any first-hand accounts of what the King's motives were/are.

Any humans who could explain the King's motives are dead, and the ones who might have had a reasonable guess is removed. Emily is dead. Amanda is dead.

(Side note: HEY ISN'T THERE ONLY LIKE ONE OTHER HUMANOID THAT JOHN CAN'T DESCRIBE)

Anna is dead.

The Butcher, who has been previously involved with Eldritch Bullshit and may have even held clues as to what was happening with the overall state of the gods, is dead.

Larson, who was an active researcher of eldritch deities, was put in too much pain to function and removed from the scenario entirely. Yellow, who was still sympathetic to Arthur and may have been able to be swung around as an ally, is likewise removed.

(Charlie, who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and knows nothing, gets yote for funsies.)

So, the only person Arthur has to rely on about information on the other gods becomes Kayne.

Every time Arthur meets Kayne in person, he is in a compromised position and unable to follow up on his own questions

The first time is 20, right after the prison pits, immediately off-kilter because of Faroe's music box and her song, and Kayne immediately distracts him with his own agenda, pushing the idea of Arthur being special, of the King winning, and he gives Arthur the knife - while prompting him on how to use it, as well as how to summon him again.

The second time is Coda, where Arthur is actively dying, and not only does Kayne continue to keep him off-balance by forcing him to beg for John, he keeps Arthur even further off-balance by forcing him to take the entirely unnecessary deal to get "John without his memories" back. And then he spends all of S3 obsessing about John and too distracted to care further than Larson.

The third time is 40 and Intermezzo, where he is witness to Everything Going To Shit, and at this point has actually developed some learned helplessness around Kayne: he no longer pushes back, except to ask relevant questions.

Kayne constantly undermines John, making it difficult for Arthur to feel like he can rely on him in Kayne's presence. He insults John, makes it difficult to describe him and drops references that John can't understand to put his intelligence into question, putting John on the back foot and into compromised social positions. Revealing the cruel things John has done in unflattering lights (forcing John to perform them in the Dark World and making him sound proud of them in 40) and outright orchestrating the divorce in Intermezzo with the entire 'I'll remove his memories for you' debacle. He puts John in a position where Arthur has legitimate reason to doubt his honesty and intentions, and uses that to further undermine John in Arthur's eyes.

I had more points but I lost my train of thought. anyway i am fucking frothing at the mouth about this, what are we missing about the King??

[simply-simplid]

Darling Won't You Take Me Home?: A JackieNat Oneshot

Also posted on Ao3

An entirely self-indulgent fluff piece where Jackie Taylor is an artist in New York city and is in love with Natalie Scatorccio. That's literally it.

I was sad and made shallow unnuanced fluff. Enjoy

As a child, Jackie had never really found herself in a position to create.

Her parents didn’t keep crayons or markers or paint around for fear of the mess they could incite. Artists are messy. Not just in their craft, but in their style and presentation. The defy the carefully structured and canonized norms that keep a society civilized and on the right track.

Punks. Delinquents. Outliers of society.

That was Jackie’s impression of art growing up. Of course, her parents would still attend certain select galleries. Portraiture and black and white landscape photography exhibitions. They would dress in their finest attire, bringing Jackie along to give her a taste of the finer things in life- certain to remind her that this was what real art was. As a child, she resented it. How could she not? Being dragged around to look at hyper realistic paintings of old dudes she didn’t know? Scolded for asking a question about it because it made her look uneducated? It was a nightmare.

If those were the only two options of art- defiled, inflammatory, obscene, and worthless or stiff, dull, pretentious, and soulless, then maybe she just wasn’t a fan of art. She would pick a favorite artist to satisfy small talk at the galleries, someone notable but inoffensive, before she went back to what her parents wanted her to be- pretty and quiet.

At some point, she started to take more notice of pieces. Shauna’s excited discussions about literary symbolism, about finding hidden meaning or discovering new bits of information that completely recontextualized a scene- it seemed like bullshit at first. The more excited Shauna got about it, the more endeared Jackie found herself, and eventually she started considering Shauna’s words in a wider scope. It was inconsequential, the first time she really noticed something. Jackie and Shauna were at the public library, Shauna looking for new material for an essay she was planning for her AP Literary Theories class, Jackie just happy to tag along. She was sitting at one of the tables, waiting for Shauna to return from the philosophy shelves, when Jackie’s eyes drifted over a pretty young woman sorting through the 18th-Century British History section. She was dressed casual, effortlessly beautiful and chic. A simple white t-shirt that cropped just a bit too high, exposing her waist- trashy, Jackie’s mother would say- and black pants with a wide leg. Over her shoulder was an off-white tote bag with an interesting design on it. Black lines- no- dark blue, deep and rich, swirling but not fully or cleanly outlining shapes of vibrant pink and yellow. Colors overlapping a little uncleanly but leaving new mixtures of color that weren’t unpleasing to look at. It wasn’t neat, but it didn’t seem affronting either. The woman looks over her shoulder, notices Jackie staring. Jackie averts her gaze quickly, pretending to be looking for her friend. This repeats a few more times. Jackie looking at the bag, the woman catching her, Jackie looking away- until the woman slumps into the chair on the other side of the table, directly in front of Jackie.

She quirks a brow at her, curious and a little daring. Jackie gulps.

“If you wanted a closer look you could have said something.” The woman says a little playfully, voice lowered given their setting. She places the tote on the table, pushing it towards Jackie. Jackie’s eyes dart to it momentarily before she sits back in her seat, like she doesn’t want to get close to the accessory.

“It’s messy.” She says, and feels embarrassed the second she opens her mouth. Because why is she voicing an opinion on this strange woman’s bag? She doesn’t have an opinion on it because she doesn’t know anything about it so she couldn’t have an opinion.

“Yeah it’s screenprinted. That’s kind of part of the charm.”

Jackie blinks. The woman smiles, moving to point at the design, Jackie notices she’s wearing black nail polish. Her mother would hate her.

“See how the colors overlap? They were placed down separately, manually by hand using a squeegee and a silkscreen. It’s all deliberate. The placement, the colors, the lineweight.”

Jackie’s brow furrows. “Is it deliberately wrong?”

The woman laughs, but it’s not judgmental like the art collectors her parents hang out with, it’s like the comment is endearing to her. Jackie blushes a little, her guard lowering just a bit. The woman continues to explain in earnest how there’s nothing really wrong about any of it. The artist made choices in the process. The lines aren’t black because the artist felt black is too affronting, didn’t paint the right tone for outlining the image. The lines aren’t completely connected or encompassing because the artist wanted the shapes to feel more free flowing and organic, unrestrained by the lines. The lines should serve the form not restrict it. The shapes are organized in ways that move the eye across the composition, no element particularly significant or focused than others. The colors overlap because it’s part of the inherent charm of screenprinting- no single print will be exactly like the other because the process is inherently human. The pressure put into the strokes, the amount of ink, the humidity, dust, speed- any and all factors can slightly change a print. It sounds chaotic to Jackie, unsustainable. Why would you want to make something you can’t predict?

“Because it’s art. It shouldn’t be calculated or robotic. Its soul and story and experience culminated into material form. Is any of that stuff clean or quiet or polite or predictable?”

It should be. In her parent’s eyes, that seems like all they want for Jackie.

But the opposite sounds exciting. Sounds freeing. 

“Every good artist has a story to tell, something to share, some piece of themself infused within their work. The fun thing about art is that you get to either try and figure out that story, or find a new story within it.”

The woman leaves, telling Jackie to check out a printmaking workshop in New York if she ever finds herself there. Jackie thinks about that conversation for days.

Under her parent’s roof, it’s difficult to openly explore her newly awakened mind. So she mostly just consumes art, eyes lingering on every painting, sign, and poster- looking for the intent of the artist in every mark.

Then she grows up, gets to leave the restrictions of her parents’ home and find a way for herself in the world.

She finds her own style, her own voice, her own identity. Comes out as gay. Loses her parents because of it- but makes peace with that loss.

She explores the world with fresh eyes, looking for the stories told in design, making her own when it’s not clear.

She falls in love with art, with creating.

She falls in love with Natalie too. Someone she thinks is a work of art in herself. A story to be examined. Jackie searches Nat’s eyes like she’s tracing every stroke and stipple within them, an endless canvas she’ll always return to. 

Natalie likes that Jackie’s an artist. She calls her a dork when she rambles about mark making and intention, but there’s nothing quite like watching the hazel-eyed girl light up as she talks about a piece of art. 

They were teammates in high school, maybe friends, but Natalie was never confident enough to label it as such. Jackie would tell her after they started dating that she always kind of had a thing for her, she just didn’t have the language to define it back then. Which was probably for the best. If high school Jackie Taylor had realized she had a crush on Natalie Scatorccio, she might have had a complete break-down over her deeply rooted and unexamined internal homophobia. She’s glad that she found things out for herself before their lives interconnected again.

It was her senior year at Rutgers and she had changed her major four times, floundering between focuses that never really spoke to her. On a drunken whim, egged on by a high Van Palmer, she had decided to submit a portfolio piece to a competition. Sober Jackie was beyond horrified when she found herself receiving an email from the School of Visual Arts in New York, requesting her to come tour the campus and meet with an admissions counselor.

She wasn’t going to go. She’d made that decision before she even finished reading the email. But Van convinced her that they could use it as an excuse to visit the gay bars in the city. So the two went to New York City and Jackie was petrified the entire time. She wasn’t an artist. Not a real artist. Not like the people who worked at and attended an art university.

She printed out her portfolio and dressed in nice black slacks and a white blouse when she met with the admissions lady.

Most of the conversation was a blur because of her nerves, but it ended with a scholarship offer. Almost full-ride for a bachelors of fine arts degree. Jackie almost passed out. Genuinely. She went pale and the admissions lady had to get her assistant to grab a cold water and cloth. 

She stewed on the decision for weeks. It was the kind of decision her parents would have hated. It was the kind of decision Van was desperate for her to make. It was the kind of decision Jackie needed to make.

So in late August, Jackie moved to New York City, got a shitty apartment with Van, and two other random roommates, started a job at a bookstore in Brooklyn, and worked a second job at the Society of Illustrators Museum as a partnership with SVA to afford the remainder of her tuition. She was busy. Always busy. But she thrived. She loved New York, she loved her classes, she loved the people who came into both of her jobs. She learned so much about the different cultures of art in the city- the comics community, the printmakers, the performance artists and street artists. It was almost perfect, almost home.

One day at her second job, the bookstore, someone came in to hang some band posters on the community wall. Jackie was stocking some of the new local zines when she made eye contact with one Natalie Scatorccio. Excited conversation catching up on the past five years of each other’s lives eventually turned to Jackie telling Natalie her poster sucked.

“What did you make it in Powerpoint?”

“Uh…”

Jackie punched her arm playful, examining the poster. “I could make you a better one.”

Natalie looked at her wide eyed, “What- yeah? Really? Wait- no you can’t- I can’t pay you-”

Jackie scoffed at her, “I’m offering. It’ll be good for my portfolio. Besides. You can pay me with free tickets to your shows.”

The girl went pink in the cheeks, fingers fidgeting with metal rings anxiously, like she was hesitant to sound too hopeful. “You wanna come to our shows?”

Jackie smiled at Natalie and they exchanged numbers and details.

Jackie spent longer designing Natalie’s grungy band poster than she did on many of her school assignments, but she was happy with it when it was done. Black bristol paper with transparent green ink and white accents, screenprinted in a batch of 200 for Natalie and her band to pass around how they pleased. 

Natalie nearly cried when she first saw it, insisting that it was worth more than free show tickets. Jackie kept pushing back, persisting that it benefitted her anyway, before finally she blurted out,

“If you’re so dead-set on paying me back, then you can buy me dinner.”

Natalie stiffened, and Jackie’s face went red, immediately regretting her words, wondering what came over her. Nat recovered faster than she did, an easy smug little smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. She leaned her left side against the brick wall outside of Jackie’s apartment, strands of blonde falling in her face as she eyed Jackie playfully.

“Well well well. A date with the prom queen?”

Jackie groaned, hands coming up to her face because she couldn’t stare at her lopsided smirk any longer if she wanted to regain any semblance of composure in this interaction. She was surprised when Natalie’s ringed fingers gently pulled Jackie’s hands away from her face to regain eye contact. She looked a little gentler now, still smiling, but warm and less teasing.

“I’d be an idiot to turn down something like that.”

They were both beyond awkward on their first date. Nat had shown up in ripped black jeans, an old black and white plaid flannel, and a fucking tie. She froze when Jackie answered the door to their apartment, eyes drifting across her figure, a plain red shirt with a charcoal open sweater layered over it, black skirt over black sheer leggings and white sneakers with little watercolor flowers painted on the sides. Both girls were stuck at the sight of the other. Van found the interaction nauseatingly adorable.

Natalie cleared her throat nervously, thrusting out a bouquet of hydrangeas. Jackie almost cried. 

They spent the first half of the night not quite sure how to act around each other. A couple of drinks and easy reminiscing on their high school days made the tension fade, and eventually it was like no time had passed between them- except they were both a little older, a little worn, a little wiser- but still plenty young and dumb and reckless.

They fell into a rhythm quickly. Jackie went to all of Natalie’s shows, Natalie went to all of Jackie’s exhibitions. When they’d started making more money and some other friends moved to town, Jackie and Van were able to ditch their asshole roommates and move into a somewhat nicer place with Lottie and Nat. They had plenty of loud adventures fit for 20 somethings- electric nights at clubs and bars- and they had even more quiet content moments- making breakfast together, dancing slowly to Lottie’s record player, Jackie drawing little pen and ink doodles on Nat’s hands and fingers.

In time, what was almost perfect became perfect. And with age, what was almost home became home.

It’s been 10 years since she left Wiskayok. 8 years since she lost contact with her parents. 6 years since she moved to New York. 5 years since she started dating Nat. 4 years they’ve lived together. 3 years since they adopted two kittens together- Gremlin and Goblin. 2 years since Jackie’s debut art book. 1 year since she got a job as an adjunct professor in visual storytelling. 6 months since Nat proposed.

And this morning, Jackie is in their attic turned studio space. She has a studio space in the city, rented for cheap through a friend of Lottie who gets a deal on Jackie’s works. But she likes to work from home a lot. These quiet mornings while Nat sleeps in, Jackie is able to make herself a cup of coffee and bask in the space she’s made her own up here. Cluttered and hectic, brushes and pens and paint palettes and canvases strewn about. Ink and paint on every surface, newspapers laid around as scrap. Strange pieces she’s found here and there that make her happy. The work she makes in her home studio isn’t usually meant for the eyes of others. It's for her, and by extension- Nat. Last week she and Nat got drinks with one of her co-workers, a professor in the comics department at SVA, who introduced her to an editor. They spoke at length about her work and processes and eventually got around to the idea of her submitting a pitch for a risograph print graphic novel. It’s exciting and thrilling and terrifying and all the things she loves about this world she’s found herself in. Nat smiled at her the entire dinner. 

Jackie sips at her mug, inked brush in hand as she looks over some of her thumbnail layouts she’s started planning, morning light pouring in.

Warm arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back just an inch to embrace her. Jackie hums content, leaning her head back against Nat’s shoulder.

“You’re up early.” She muses.

Natalie makes some sort of groggy, noncommittal noise in response, burying her nose into Jackie’s hair. She beams at the action, leaning further into her partner’s embrace. They sway in each other’s company, enjoying the quiet peace, the belonging in one another’s hold. 

“You going into the city today?” Natalie inquires, breaking the silence. It’s not laced with anything. No  hidden meaning or judgment, a simple question. Jackie rubs the back of Nat’s hands, still against her stomach.

“For a bit. Just to grab some things from the studio. I’m thinking I can do most of the initial book layout and pencils from here, which is nice.” 

Nat hums, presses a light kiss into the crook of Jackie’s neck. Five years and she still shivers at Nat’s affection, bones turning to jelly.

“So you’re saying you’ll be home more for a little while?” Now her voice is slightly coy. Jackie feels the smirk pressed against her shoulder. She rolls her eyes, but there’s no hint of irritation in her voice.

“Hmm. Maybe. Unless someone makes me a better offer.”

Natalie pokes into Jackie’s sides. She twitches and giggles at the tickling action.

“Fuck you.” Nat purrs as Jackie wiggles in her hold until the hazel eyed girl turns around, folding her arms around Nat’s neck and smiling up at her. Nat loves her like this. Gentle and peaceful and warm. Freckles visibly on her scrunched up cheeks. Nat likes to kiss every one of them and send Jackie into fits of giggles. For now, she’s just happy to look at her.

“You’re gonna be my wife.” She breathes dreamily. Jackie melts a little. She removes one of her hands from behind Nat’s neck to brush a strand of hair out of her face, then lowers it to rub lazy circles with her finger across Nat’s collarbone.

“You’ll be mine.” She coos, affection swirling in her hazel eyes.

“I think I’ve always been yours.” Nat contemplates out loud, leaning in, noses brushing against each other. “Just took me a bit to find you.”

Jackie closes the distance. The kiss is soft, gentle, slow because they’ve got nowhere else to be, no reason to rush it. They melt into one another, savoring the little gestures, the quiet contentment, the pure love. Jackie feels herself moving to deepen the kiss, but she breaks away just enough to look at Nat again, stroking her cheek lovingly.

“Well we have all the time in the world now, love.”

Natalie swoons, dipping in for another kiss when Jackie thinks of something, pressing her hand against Nat’s chest to stop her. The blonde’s brows furrow, lips pout. Jackie snorts.

“Come with me when I go to the studio today? You can help me carry back some stuff. And maybe I can show you a few things while we’re there…” A sly smile crosses Jackie’s lips. “Maybe you can pose for me?…”

Natalie is still a little hazy from grogginess and the kiss drunk Jackie’s lips make her, so it takes her a second of blinking before she processes. “Okay yeah… Wait… You mean-” her face flushes a little, “Like- like that one time- when you…” Jackie gives her a knowing look. Nat stalls for a second before breaking into a flustered laugh, pulling Jackie’s head forward until her face rests against Nat’s neck, her chest fluttering with laughter.

“Christ, Taylor you’re insatiable.”

“Only with my muse.” she teases into Nat’s neck, pressing light kisses there.

The moment could last forever, and neither would voice any complaints.

[badgalsasuke]

You wanna know something really dumb and fairly inconsequential thing I think I’ve figured out? Okay so I’ve always been someone that just wonders why people in this fandom are the way they are… recently I’ve seen h/nh/sh fans using “tumblr sns” as an attempted insult. And like I’m just confused— like first of all using the fact some uses tumblr to try and make fun of someone is so 2016 YouTube. Second of all, why are they specifically targeting tumblr sns? Then I took a moment to really think about.. and I realized. H / nh fans don’t have to hold over sns shippers here that they have on twitter or other places. Like H / nh on spaces like twitter will get backing from sns people just because they dislike ss. They also often guilt trip sns shippers by convincing them h is actually such a good character with such a sweet and innocent love story with Naruto (and if an sns doesn’t fall for it they get quote tweeted and bullied by them. It’s often a bit worse than when let’s say ss shippers attack someone because they don’t have the backing of dudebros to help try and bully an sns into submission.) but that doesn’t work here… oh they’ve tried, they’ve tried real hard to attach themselves to sns here but it fails because the tactics that are effective on twitter are useless here. I’ve seen h fans that so obviously come from twitter because they rehash the same lousy arguments and the attempted negging of anyone who doesn’t just hate ss/s & has the audacity to see h for what she is— exactly the same as s. I see them having meltdowns in comment sections on anti posts because they’re so used to being coddled on the other platforms and genuinely feel betrayed when an sns rightfully criticizes nh/h. That’s a real thing btw. I’ve seen young nh people that “get along” with sns on twitter (I put get along in quotes because let’s be honest, the only reason there’s this fake truce is because they hate ss / s. I often see these people who commonly interact with each other on s hit pieces have completely different views. Some nh being homophobic but the twitter sns ignore it because the hate for s is all that matters.) but they feel weirdly betrayed by sns on here not blindly accepting h and having critical thinking about the media they consume. They think all sns love h because of twitter.

Sorry this is so long. Just wanted to get this random realization I had out. You have no obligation to respond ^^

Hi anon!

We keep our feet on their necks that's why they're always lurking checking what we have to say, it pisses het!shippers to no end that their pseudo-feminist arguments have no effect on us and we see right through their bullshit.

SNS shipers from twitter are so pathetic because they're always hoping to get the approval of a dumbass that can't read but weaponizes misogyny for the benefit of mid characters.

But at the end of the day Hinata is an useless irrelevant uninteresting character that got lucky male fans jerk off to her design and that's what pushed her to the top of popularity polls and her stans know that, hence their insecurity. Hinata's biggest achievement is marrying a man that couldn't care less about her and there's that. No amount of "fujoshis are misogynists" or "you just hate her because she comes in between the gay ship" or whatever else is going to change that.

[nyxtickled]

Fucking hell, Nyx. I have down-shifted my presence on here significantly lately (only tangentially relevant tl;dr: it turns out that the added mental bandwidth from my ADHD meds is not the only thing I need in order to be a good member of a kink community, and I am still working on the rest) so it took me a minute to get caught up, but I have now.

I am really fucking sorry that Socal put you through all of this extremely unhinged, unnecessary, sociopathic shit; I am really fucking glad you had the receipts ready to unload; and I am really really fucking amazed at your fortitude, both in carrying it mostly in silence as long as you did, and in opening up about all of it. I obviously also wish you hadn't had to do either of those things, but that's not news. I reiterate: fucking hell. 😞

(Incidentally: he was the pissant, penny-ante troglodyte shitheel, wasn't he? Your answers to other asks implied you knew who the main anon hater was, and that you'd taken some distance from them. It deserves mentioning that that was the same fucking guy. If someone wrote a character that toxic on an HBO show, people would say it was unrealistic. Fucking hell. 🤮)

I've always felt two ways about sharing community hygiene posts because my blog is tiny and I legitimately can't see that it matters (though I do it anyway) but I also saw the one that said "reblog that shit no matter the size of your blog" so I guess I'm done feeling two ways about it. Do you mind if I add a couple of my own thoughts when I do? They feel really inconsequential, because I have not dealt with anything even remotely like this, but I think I saw a reply saying you appreciated other people's perspectives, so I dunno.

Either way. I am glad you're here and that you continue to be here despite All Of The God-Damned Fucking Bullshit. The community is better for it. I am very evidently not the only one who feels that way, either. Go hug your wife and cuddle your dog and gather some spoons. 🖤

hey there, my dear beloved Thing 💖 it’s so great to hear from you! and i appreciate your empathy and support, very very much.

(incidentally: your suspicion is absolutely indeed on par with mine. the first time i ever received anon hate was during the screenshot fallout i shared when my dog got sick, as i was ignoring his calls and receiving walls of toxic texts from him. the second time was during the additional screenshot fallout i shared when the AUNT convo went down. the next time was after i got married, when i wasn’t speaking to him anymore. and, ever since i ended the connection entirely, ive been getting sporadic anon hate from the same person who just keeps trolling about me “cheating” since im married now etc. lmao, it’s just, the timing??? is way too fucking suspicious and it makes me laugh every single time i think abt it)

i am always open to anyone sharing their thoughts and perspectives! you’re more than welcome to add anything you want to a rb.

thank you for being here. the overwhelming response has been so validating and healing bc i legit only wanted to look out for others, and i’m so grateful that it was received in the way i intended. 💜

[strawberryj0y]

I love these panels so much!!!

we have nagi's huge puppy eyes expressing his pure & genuine admiration of barou's skills :') despite being very displeased with being tackled down to the ground & starting off the exchange by yelling, the sincerity in nagi's expression even gets barou a little speechless for a bit, as he stares back at him, before softening his tone and responding with a weaker "shut up" and giving an answer to nagi's silly little demand ("why didn't you tell us?!") anyway......

This is all happening on the floor w nagi sprawled out on them both too LMAO like barou's always getting swept up in nagi's bullshit, getting sucked into his flow, & although initially (viciously) protesting, by the end you'll find he's still there, entertaining mr hassle man 😆 that's literally the blueprint for ALL their fights & squabbles too, bc neither of them can stop themselves from entertaining each other's bullshit & rising up to some silly & inconsequential challenge the other presents lol

[stromuprisahat]

True love is "When he isn't horrible to her, she's horrible to herself for him..."

Siege and Storm- Chapter 21

What exactly is the purpose of this extempore performance, outside of reminding Alina he doesn't want to have anything to do with her and keep her on her toes, attempting to gauge his next mood swing?

Five seconds earlier: it has to be my way! - Now: I don't care.

*purposefully pointedly ignores Alina*

THIS is the last place I wanna be. *leaves without permission*

And with this tiny interaction Alina loses all her previous spirit, ending up emotionally drained and in tears.

Classic home abuser behaviour.

But hey- if he disappears quickly enough, there will be no consequences to his negligence. It's not like his victim will let anyone hold him responsible now that he reminded her how she cannot imagine to exist without him.

Honey, this might be THE exception.

This would be an interesting angle to explore, if they were twins or very close siblings, who were forced to depend on each other all their lives through some unique traumatic experience.

This way it's just plain boring nurtured codependence, with Alina getting the shorter straw.

You don’t care what happens to Mal ... *singsongs* I wish it were truuueee!!!

And I wish this would be a sudden emotional outburst of a wounded girl, not a part of a pattern of Alina expecting the worst for no reason.

But is this really the life you want for him? Ehm, Alina's not his mother. She's not his caretaker. She has no responsibility for him and his actions. That's all on Malyen.

So much bullshit in a single paragraph.

Malyen's purpose was supposed to be Alina's protector. Except he never even tried to do the job. If he's a soldier, he should be following his leader, not making scenes. Except for him Alina's not a person worth respect, she's always just his inconsequential girlfriend for him.

I wonder what would happen to him under ordinary circumstances (read: Nobody tiptoeing around to spare her feelings.).

Would he get away with drunkenness? Fistfights? Spreading rumours about his officer? Missing watch? Neglecting other duties of his station? Turning up unpresentable to accompany his superior?

All of his unhappiness stems from inability to respect Alina both as a leader and a person.

Am I to feel sorry for him?!

While I ~could~ understand Alina's fear of wanting more*- even though she is driven by shame- her greatest concern shouldn't be she might be truly seen by her loved one of choice. Unlike family, relationships formed by people, who simply want to be together should be about acceptance and treasuring each other's company. Not moulding one's self into what the other one wants.

_____

* Unlike Ms. Bardugo I know great power doesn't mean corruption, it's how you use it that matters.

[lordofthetwistedflies]

Hey there! I was wondering if you could do something with an artist reader that is really hard on herself about her art? Like stressin over due dates bc nothing meets her expectations? Sorry if thats really specific lol. You can make it more broad if thats better, you just capture the feeling of characters the best :)

Maybe with Alphonse, Bakugou, and whoever else you want in whatever form you like best (fic, hc, etc.)

Thanks! Your awesome!

Gonna be honest, I completely forgot I put BNHA on my list and Bakugo isn't a character I consider myself skilled with, but YOU REQUESTED IT AND THEREFORE I SHALL PROVIDE

Also filled in that last spot with Satoru Gojo because WHY TF NOT ITS 2 AM I DO WHAT I WANT

"A Masterpiece in the Eyes of the Beholder"

Alphonse

He idly tells you that he thinks your shit is fire, and is deeply confused when you burst into tears over it.

He pets your hair, tells you that it's okay, asks you what's wrong.

You tell him, half coherent through your tears and cross-eyed from staring at your work too long, that it just doesn't look right, that something about it is off and if you just knew what it was you could fix it!!

He tries a few suggestions, but they aren't it.

He sights, brushes your hair from your face, and suggests you take a step back.

"How'sabout we take a little break... then you can get back to work with fresh peepers, mkay?"

Katsuki Bakugo

You're still working on that?

It looks fine, what's the hold up?

Oh, somethings wrong?

Bullshit. This is just an excuse to be a total nerd about something inconsequential.

You groan, telling him that your deadline is coming up and there's still something off about it...

And he does not care.

He's sick of you locking yourself away over some stupid bullshit. What, your project matters more to you than him? Fuckin' artsy nerd...

He picks you up and basically drags you away from your work station, yelling the whole time. It's a very loving screaming match.

"YOU'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR-FUCKING-EVER, JUST GIVE IT A SEC- GODDAMN."

Satoru Gojo

He doesn't get your type-a perfectionist attitude about it. You'll just ruin it if you keep trying to go back and perfect everything.

You have to remind him that not everyone is the best at everything they do on the first try. He snickers and ruffles your hair.

You ask him to take a look at it, and he does, giving you the most beautiful look at his eyes.

You get lost in them temporarily, completely missing the actual advice he gives you.

You ask him to repeat himself. He does not.

"Shoulda kept your ears open~... Sorry~"

[suzukiblu]

An excerpt of morally-ambiguous-dad!Lex for @robotogato to hopefully enjoy, haha.

"Clones really don't get soulmarks, though," Kon says in frustration. "It doesn't even make sense that I'd have one."

"Well, I suppose there's the possibility that I just want you so badly that it happened anyway," Lex Luthor muses idly. "A Luthor doesn't generally accept being denied what they want."

"Very fucking funny," Kon mutters, shooting him a glower. "I'm being serious here, asshole."

"Hm," Lex Luthor observes, inspecting him neutrally. "Not even a moment where you let yourself want to believe that, was there."

"Why would I wanna believe that a bastard like you wanted me?" Kon sneers at him.

"Because I am the only person in the multiverse who would burn down reality for you without hesitation," Lex Luthor says like he's talking about the weather or something. Like he's just stating a totally inconsequential fact or reiterating something as obvious as the sky being blue.

Like there's no question there at all.

"I hope you fucking die and I hope it fucking hurts," Kon hisses as the whole world seems to bleed red, just about choking on his fury.

"Well, it will if you don't close your eyes," Lex Luthor says, raising an eyebrow at him. "Quickly, ideally."

"Wh–" Kon is almost stupid enough to ask, and then he realizes and immediately screws his eyes shut, snapping his hands up over his face just in case.

His eye sockets feel like they're on fire.

"Ah, I suppose I live another day," Lex Luthor says. "Rage and anger are notable triggers for the heat vision, if you're still unfamiliar. And apparently arousal as well, although I have very definitely never encountered that version so I can't say if it's more or less potent than rage."

"How do you even know about it, then?" Kon asks, hating that he can't trust himself to look at the bastard without killing him. Lex Luthor could be doing any stupid fucked-up thing right now and he'd have no fucking clue.

"I am a very intelligent person who can afford very good information," Lex Luthor says. "And I am also more intimately familiar with Kryptonian DNA than quite possibly anyone else on this planet, Superman included."

"Superman has Kryptonian DNA," Kon retorts dubiously.

"He does," Lex Luthor agrees. "His special little gift from dumb luck and blind chance. Some of us actually had to put in a bit of effort to get that kind of power, though."

"You don't have that kind of power," Kon says. "You have money and the fucking bullshit fear that you put into people."

"Ah, but I have you now," Lex Luthor counters mildly. "Now don't I."

"You don't," Kon snaps.

"Oh, give it sixteen years or so," Lex Luthor says, making a dismissive gesture as Kon's eyes finally stop burning long enough for him to risk a glare at him. "Your full powerset should be in by then, and I imagine I'll have had a bit of time to change your mind somewhere in there."

"I don't care what whatever custody law bullshit says about it, I'm not gonna stay with you," Kon says tightly. "Sure as shit not for the next sixteen years!"

"Oh?" Lex Luthor asks, raising an eyebrow at him. "Then where exactly are you intending to go long-term? Just planning to stay in a lab for the rest of your life?"

"Why the fuck not?" Kon says in exasperation.

Lex Luthor's eyes narrow.

"Oh," he says like a realization. "Someone's actually made you assume that you belong in a lab, haven't they."

"Yeah, I can't think of a single unrepentant bastard who might've had a hand in me belonging in one of those," Kon bites off darkly. "Real fucking mystery there, huh."

"Hm," Lex Luthor says.