#The Pros and Cons of Being Indifferent

[thatsbelievable]

[cacoetheswriting]

I have a request. Bare with me new at this request bit.

Eddie wakes up hands cuffed to his bed with reader blowing him. Then has sex with him.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.2k

content warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI: explicit and mature themes, smut, established relationship, cnc, somno, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, use of toys, adult language / dirty talk, use of pet names, a little pervy, more plot than porn tbh ‘cause i don’t know how else to write smutty content, slightly possessive!reader, jealousy, slightly dom!eddie but also slightly dom!reader - unedited - pls let me know if i missed any!

a/n: pls have your age / age range stated in your bio when requesting 18+ content. cleared here in the dm’s, but it saves a lot of back and forth when it’s in the bio - for any future requests.

He’s flustered. Stumbling over his words, cheeks a deep red. He’s avoiding your gaze. Staring instead at his beat up sneakers as he rolls a twig around with the sole of his shoe.

You can’t help the smirk that circles your lips as he stammers through the pros and cons of his proposition as if it’s a thesis and he’s aiming for top marks; or a close equivalent. If only he put this much care in his homework, you think to say but bite your tongue since he’s clearly nervous enough.

“What do you think?” He asks, finally meeting your eyes. 

The look behind the brown is hopeful, eager. Like a little boy waiting in line for a shiny new comic. Only, he’s not wanting a superhero book. No.

Eddie Munson has a request of a far different variety and you’d be lying if it didn’t excite you as well.

“You want me to suck you off while you’re sleeping?”

Eddie nods.

“If you think it’s too much, you can obviously say no and we can forget I-I even suggested it.” He’s stammering again. “I-I just thought it’d be a cool thing to try—”

“I’m not opposed to it,” you say, interrupting, and shrug your shoulders to showcase indifference although you’re feeling anything other than that.

You’ve been not-so-casually hooking up with Eddie for a little over a year. 

One would say — Robin — this situationship you have with the curly-haired metal-head is the reason you haven’t been able to find a real boyfriend, but what does she know about relationships anyway? Okay, harsh. She actually knows a lot considering she’s in one. Point being, it’s Eddie. And you’d forgo any connection just to hear him moan your name every single night: even if it means absolutely nothing the next morning.

“Are you putting a timeline on this, or do you want it to be a surprise?” You ask.

“Definitely a surprise.”

A week goes by.

You think about his proposition often. Sheer excitement mixed with a fuck ton of nerves. You’ve blown him before, numerous times. He says he loves when you do. Thinks about it afterwards. Jacks off to the memory of your lips around his dick.

This is different, however. He won’t talk to you. Won’t tell you how pretty you look on your knees for him. And you get off on his words.

You sleep over at the trailer twice during the week. 

The first night, you don’t want to seem too eager and make point to show Eddie how tired you are after he’s fucked you raw. He knows not to expect it then. Instead, he opens his arms and lets you cuddle him until dreams take over.

The second night, you sort of psych yourself out. His light snores ripple through the bedroom. It’s all you can hear, aside from the thumping of your heart. You think about this situation you have found yourself in with Eddie, and wonder if perhaps Robin is right about this whole thing between you and the metal-head. Maybe you should reserve the more kinky stuff for an actual boyfriend. Especially because there’s a lot of trust required to act on deviance when the other person is asleep and trust is often reserved for more traditional relationships, you think. What you and Eddie have is lust.

Then, one afternoon the following week, Eddie surprises you.

Unfortunately, not in a nice way. He’s talking to a girl. Flirting, actually. You can see them at the bar. He says something, which must be funny because the girl places a hand on his leather-clad shoulder and pushes him gently while throwing her head back in giggles. Eddie’s not funny. Okay, he’s hilarious but he’s not a make-a-girl-flirty-laugh funny. And your blood boils.

“A vicious thing, jealousy.” Steve mumbles next to you.

“Can you even be jealous if you’re not actually with the other person?” Robin asks.

You tell them both to shut up then force yourself to look away from the bar. From the guy that’s not your boyfriend, but rather the best hookup of your life, and the pretty girl he’s flirting with, who may one day very well become his real girlfriend. One could call this thing you’re doing now spiraling. Your friends do, they say it simultaneously because they see the look in your eyes. 

Wanting to save yourself from further embarrassment, you grab your handbag and your jacket, and tell your friends goodbye. They plead with you not to go, but only for a moment because Nancy is back with the next round of drinks and they forget all about your problems of the heart (and vagina).  

You push past the sweaty bodies of Hideout goers and slip out the front door, into the cool breeze. The sound of your heels against the pavement grows louder the further you get away from the dingy bar. Eddie was your ride home. He drew the short straw on being everyone’s designated driver for the night. He’ll have one stop less to make, you think, can spend that extra time with this girl he met.

Twenty minutes on foot and you’re home. You shed the night off your back. A quick shower, a fresh set of pyjama shorts. You down a cold glass of water, then another for good measure. And just like that, you’re feeling sober and ready for bed. Ready to forget the sight of Eddie and that girl.

The night however, has other plans.

There’s a knock on your door. Metal on wood. With a sigh, you cross the living room towards it and press down on the handle. Eddie’s standing in the corridor. His head snaps up as you open to reveal the inside of your apartment.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“I came to see if you were okay,” he answers. “You left so abruptly. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

You shrug. “You seemed busy. I assumed you wouldn’t notice I left.”

Eddie’s brows string together.

“Why wouldn’t I notice?” He sounds genuinely confused, then recognition feigns on his features. “Is this because of the girl?”

You shrug again, because what else is there for you to do without completely spilling your guts.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You know there’s only you for me, right?” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dollface, I’m not interested in anyone else. That was just harmless flirting.”

You drop your arms and step aside, letting him pass. You shut the door behind him before turning to face him once more.

“Eddie, I’m not an idiot, okay?” You begin, “I know what we’re doing is casual and that one day it might end.”

“Who says anything about wanting anything to end?” He counters with a smirk and walks away, down the hallway, towards your bedroom.

By the time you join him, the metal-head has stripped down to a T-shirt and boxers. Wordlessly, he gets into your bed and lifts the covers up, waiting for you to join him. You drop your arms with an exaggerated sigh and he laughs. Smooth, music to your ears. 

Once you do, Eddie’s asleep in minutes. But not before he murmurs, “You’re the only girl I’d let anywhere near my dick and heart.”.

You giggle. “Aren’t they one and the same?”

He snorts. “Exactly, dollface.” And proceeds to place a kiss to the top of your head before sleep takes over.

Satisfied with how the night ended up — Eddie in your bed; the usual — you get comfortable in his embrace. Feeling safe and content, it doesn’t take long for you to also fall asleep. 

When you wake, it’s still dark, aside from the bedside lamp you left switched on. Eddie’s snoring next to you, but that’s not what your sleepy self is paying attention to. Your focus is on something hard pressing into your thigh and call it possessiveness or whatever, but suddenly you think to act on his offer from a few weeks ago. Make it that much more difficult for him to leave you for ‘the real deal’.

There’s a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs locked to your iron-rod headboard (from the last time Eddie stayed over). Tentatively, you reach for it and click the loose ring around Eddie’s wrist — the hand that’s so perfectly placed above his head, since he fell asleep resting on it.

Satisfied, a smirk circling your still sleepy expression, you run your hand down his chest, stomach, until you reach the band of his boxers. You glance at the metal-head, still sleeping, his erection now in your gentle grasp. So you sit up fully, pushing the covers aside.

Without further hesitation, you first circle your tongue around the tip of his cock, lick down his shaft, and then slowly drag it up along the underside. Lightly, you flick your tongue across the vein, just under the head. Eddie shivers underneath you, but makes no further indication that he’s awake, so you let your lips envelop around his head, taking him into your mouth.

Cheeks hollow, you suck, then swirl your tongue around and lick his shaft again. He moans in his sleep, shifts under you and the handcuff rattles. You glance at him from under your lashes and wet your lips before continuing. 

You slide his cock across your mouth, once, twice, then wrap your mouth around it once more. A moment passes as you hold him, erect. His cock fills your cheeks, nudges at the back of your throat, throbbing with need. Sucking, you slide your lips upwards, licking around the tip.

A groan escapes his lips. The sound is magical and it fuels your own desires further. You feel a little bit pervy, a pool of wetness pouring between your own thighs as your lips work on his release. You pick up speed, hands cradling his balls as you take him as deep into your mouth as you can.

“Mhmmm…” Eddie moans awake, “Baby, baby, baby…”

“Let me take care of you,” you say in a sweet tone, batting your lashes for good measure, although you know he can’t see, face buried into your pillows.

You take him back into your mouth, one hand now holding him in place. You slide up and down every inch of him, again taking him as far as you can into your throat while letting your hand do the rest. At the top of the stroke, you swirl your tongue around his head.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re making my wildest dreams come true, dollface.”

Flicking your eyes up to Eddie’s face, you find him watching, his own mouth open, his eyes glassy. He tries to reach for you, but the handcuff is keeping him in place and he groans — a mix of frustration and pleasure. As you work your magic, he braces his body on the bed, so he can jerk his hips up towards your face and you smile into his crotch, his eagerness fuelling your own.

“Mhm fuck, you’re going to make me cum,” he grits.

“Please do, baby. I need your cum in my mouth.”

And you increase your speed as he drops his lock of hair back onto the pillow below. You bop your head up and down his rock-hard length, encouraging him to give in and let go. Face a sticky mess of saliva and precum, you can feel him pulsing and throbbing in your mouth. Suddenly, his hips still and his cock swells between your lips.

He gasps. Chanting your name like a prayer, the metal-head shoots his load into your mouth, feeling more awake than ever. Rhythmically, you squeeze him and press your tongue against the back of his cockhead, drawing every drop out of him. Hot, thick, liquid splatters against the inside of your cheeks and runs down your throat as you straighten, satisfied.

Eddie sits up too, or tries to at least with the fluffy cuff around his wrist. On the elbow he can rest on, he does, looking at you as if you’re an angel sent from above, just for him.

“God,” he grounds out, “You’re unbelievable, dollface.”

A smile circles your lips while you lick them clean. You shuffle closer, hovering over his chest until your mouth finds him, capturing it in a deep kiss.

“I hope this is what you had in mind when you asked me?” You ask in a soft whisper.

He huffs out a laugh. “You exceeded any expectations. You always do.”

“Good.”

And you kiss him again, but not before freeing his wrist. He shakes it, cracks it, and reaches for your face. When his lips find yours for a third time, his dominant side takes over. The moment blooms. His hands work your body, over then under your skimpy pyjama set. Breathless, sweaty. Perfect. 

Unable to contain himself much longer, Eddie pulls you on top of him, one set of fingers digging into your hip bone as the other pulls your shorts aside. He’s smooth with his motions and settles you on his, once again, fully erect dick with ease.

“It’s only you for me, baby.” He says with conviction. “Never doubt that.”

His hand on your throat, squeezing gently as you roll your hips and moan his name until you see stars.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION: Pregnancy back-seater, WOTC-brand poppers and humanoid feet.

It's been a while since I last took a good dive into my inbox!

Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to message in, whether it be questions, prompts, or words of support and encouragement! I unfortunately cannot get to everybody, but I do my best while trying not to be spammy with the reply posts 😅

I actually have plans to do just that and an ANCIENT short comic idea that I still really like, so you can look forward to having your wish granted eventually ;)

Though, to be clear, Orin is older than DU drow, so she might not look that much younger. I do want to have a little more fun with hers and Sarevok's design however (also to just draw more young DU drow overall).

There are pros and cons to either, but I think he probably enjoys having a penis more. Not only is he already used to that anatomy, but it likely suits their very versatile dynamic most. If we're talking gender alone, I think Astarion would be truly indifferent 🤷

Oh he would be insufferable. Attentive and loving to a fault. If the partner in question happened to enjoy luxuriating and doing nothing all day, it would work out wonderfully - but if they have any desire for independence and self-sufficiency while pregnant, that might pose a problem. He also might have some trouble empathizing with the shittier parts of carrying - being so enamored with the idea that he can't fathom the downsides being so bad that some tender love and care can't fix them.

DU drow would be similarly whimsied during birth and definitely be very involved.

Somewhat surprisingly, however, I don't think anything could ever convince him to put the baby's life above his partner's. If at any point that was a decision that had to be made, he would, without hesitation.

He must have 2 or 3 long suffering pairs that look pretty similar. Very much the kind of guy to wear clothes until they completely fall apart.

LOL, THANK YOU. Were it not for the occasional glass of wine, the guy would probably be some sort of murderous straight-edge weirdo 😂EXTREMELY self-righteous about it, of course.

Except for poppers. I don't know what poppers look like in Faerun, but whatever that would be - he had a drawer full of them.

So, on one hand, you are completely right. It does suit him very well.

On the other hand, I am DYING to know why you think so, because that's the first I'm ever thinking about it myself and have no answer beyond "he looks like a foot man".

He definitely "fell in" by "accident" 😏

I will NOT accept this sort of slander, he would only do that if he really disliked them.

I don't know about the ears but he can def' make the girls hop.

I'm sure there's a lot of little things you could isolate that we have in common, that tends to be the case for most people (in that we can easily relate to fictional characters in general) - but we are largely opposites. I guess we both like animals, though even in that we part when it comes to our attitude towards house pets and the likes - I'm taking my cat to the orthopedist tomorrow. Somehow that doesn't sound like something he would do.

I guess that depends on what your definition of fem dressing is! I have put him in lingerie before and the guy DOES sport low-cut shirts and tight, tight pants all the time. I don't think dresses would really suit his figure, but he wouldn't be opposed to something frilly in the bedroom if it gave Astarion a laugh.

In every day life, I just don't think he would enjoy the flowyness and pomp one might associate with more (fantasy genre) feminine dress. He's a practical guy! Hence why his wardrobe looks like a lesbian's.

It is only humanoid feet, sorry anon, LOL.

Either dead or on that Vampire Ascendant grind, no in-between.

Probably large felines! But he keeps that to himself to avoid the Drizzt jokes.

I have had a couple of friends that remind me of Astarion, I think we could have been fine-weather buddies when I was in my early twenties and then inevitably stop talking to each other and not really miss one another very much 😂 same thing if I existed in the universe of BG3 - no matter what, I just wouldn't be wanting to get involved with whatever they're doing.

I could never be friends with DU drow but we would get along at the pub. I'm fairly confident they would both find me horrifically boring, be nice to my face, and make fun of me behind my back.

[zzencat]

5 Urgent Messages You Need To Hear Right Now - Current ⌛️

5 bullet points. Raw, honest, and on the go. What do you need to hear right now? Includes: what to work on, what to be wary of, warnings, hints, potential downsides + rock-bottom consequences.

For better accuracy: Clear your mind. Time is now patient and still. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill your chest up to the fullest, feel the soft air brush against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out.

From left to right. Breathe and choose.

——————————-

Pile 1. Not all is what they seem.

if something seems suspicious or too good to be true, it probably is. you can either gain or lose what you have.

some of you will be greatly rewarded for your hard work. beware of who you share your abundance with. be even more careful with the information.

someone you know is two-faced. be careful who you trust. (for most of you, this is someone you know but feel indifferent towards or don’t consider close.)

keep an eye on your material possessions, especially ones that others may envy. don’t leave valuable things around without surveillance.

something that tempts you should be reconsidered—especially with money. weigh your options. count the pros and cons.

Hints: look for the signs, laziness, liars, manipulation, sneaking around, stealing, caught red-handed, someone acting poor, colleagues, fake friends, seemingly likable colleagues, greediness, homelessness (3x), people in power, parents, offers, scams, impulsive spending, pretending to care, bad and hidden intentions, fire signs, scams.

+ failing to do so results in: isolation, fear, anxiety, social withdrawal, unceasing paranoia, loss.

————————————

Pile 2. It’s time to grow up.

laziness is an issue. put effort in your work and prioritize your time wisely.

revenge is not worth it. this is a wake up call to mature and practice humility.

you are worth as much as everyone else. no one is higher or lower. death takes everyone either way.

not everything has to be a fight. not everyone is out to get you. work on defensiveness. learn to let go.

doing more research improves open-mindedness. don’t be afraid to be wrong.

Hints: wasting time on small issues; pettiness; too much time on social media; purposefully engaging in controversial topics; immaturity; gossip; sudden aggression or anger; playing up one’s own importance; merely one among billions; holding grudges; big ego; spoiled; hard time saying sorry; owning up to mistakes; nepotism; the wrong connections; narrow-mindedness, inability to accept criticism or differing views and opinions.

+ failing to do so may result in: being too competitive, poverty/unstable income, irresponsible, ignorant, “puppet,” that people laugh at, no close friends/family, missed opportunities, no control in life, boredom, ignoring hard facts and truths, lacking uniqueness, sheep of the herd, having no dreams, not achieving much, lack of focus, poor social life and skills, jumping on the bandwagon, poor mindset, unlikable personality traits, disingenuous, misery.

——————————

Pile 3. Balance is key.

take breaks from time to time (especially the workaholics.)

rebalance your life. too much of anything is bad.

work on confidence and self-esteem issues.

moving too fast isn’t always a good thing. you will miss what’s happening in the background.

become more resilient. learn to bounce back from bad situations or inconveniences. prepare for sudden heartbreaks.

Hints: not having enough time to appreciate what’s around you; relationship resentment; sudden losses; self- negligence; waiting until it’s too late; stability requires effort; not making time for others in your life; make time for yourself; not considering mental and physical health.

+ failing to do so may result in: unknowingly losing a connection, poor work-life balance, (I’m hearing static- idk why…), not giving attention to loved ones, unintentionally negligent, loneliness, poor adaptation skills, being forced to watch something inevitably fall apart, betrayal, dwelling in sadness, ghosting, confusion, neglected mental health, too long of a hiatus, stagnancy, poor health, poor-to-no social life, no growth in character, absolute ruin.

——————————

**Ending Teddy Note: Hey guys! Hopefully you took something from the reading. These were tough deliveries, but they had to be said. Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. Reblog or lemme know what you think. I appreciate the feedback. Rmr to stay hydrated!! 😎✌️

[sayusims]

Maomao mini analysis

Maomao in The Apothecary Diaries is such a sad character, but she doesn't act like it because, in her world, it's kind of normalized. First, her mom, an esteemed courtesan, essentially hated her because she gave birth to her. Her biological dad is gone and not in her life (we know it wasn’t by choice, but this is from her perspective). She was raised in a brothel, and while she had people there who loved her, it's still a brothel. Even after she was adopted, she still had to take precautions to make sure she wasn’t going to be kidnapped or that nothing else would happen to her because of men.

After all of this, when she was still a teenager, she was kidnapped by a couple of guys and sold to the Emperor’s palace. These events are really traumatic, but at the same time, she still has the same indifference—as if she doesn’t care that much. She wants to stay in her own lane, and with her tactical genius (stemming from both her parents), this is relatively easy to do. But I wanted to know more, and since I’m taking AP World History in school, it wasn’t really that hard to understand why.

The Apothecary Diaries takes place during the Ming-Qing dynasty (possibly Song), which is evident because of the harem system, the clothing style, and the medicine she uses. During this time, China had been taken back from the Mongols, and the government, in an effort to get rid of their traditions, reinstated many old systems like the civil service exam, improved education, and reestablished the bureaucracy. The education aspect is evident in the series because of the plans to better educate women on basic skills like reading.

The part worth highlighting, though, is that China (and basically everywhere the Mongols ruled) was safer under their rule. So when everything became scattered again, safety greatly decreased, making things like kidnappings more common. This is probably why Maomao wasn’t distraught about being kidnapped. Still, the rest of what happened before this time is traumatic enough.

The main reason I give for this is that she’s used to it—not in a Stockholm syndrome way, but in an “oh, this happens sometimes” way. Being raised in the brothels, she likely saw the worst parts of humanity in the customers and the courtesans. Being exposed to this regularly probably caused her to naturally believe that humans do bad things—but not in an overly pessimistic way, since she still had good people taking care of her. Along with this, she is just practical in everything she does. She weighs the pros and cons of her actions before she acts. She discloses information that is important to wrap up a case so she doesn’t have more drama to deal with (unlike a lot of characters, which is why I love her).

While she still has a curious personality when it comes to mysteries, at this point in season 2, she has gained the trust of literally everyone important, making her unlikely to get into trouble. (This is still China in the 11th-12th century, so she still has to be careful, but compared to before, she has a lot more freedom.)

While her personality may look plain at first, you quickly grow to love her, especially her passion for medicines and poisons. The shift in her demeanor when poisons come into play is so fun to watch. This shows that, at the end of the day, she is still a teenager. She is mature but childlike at the same time when it comes to things she’s interested in. Women in this time were supposed to be, like in almost every other time in history, subordinate to men. Maomao, being as smart as she is, knows and acknowledges this but does not let it stop her. She goes against the status quo by being a completely independent woman who doesn’t need a man.

The best part of this is that she does it without really thinking about it. Her goal is not to go against the status quo or anything like that but simply to pursue her interests in life.

Overall, I just really love Maomao and the series, and it better keep getting new seasons until it’s done, or else I’m going to tweak out. I also wrote this while procrastinating on my AP World homework to “review” for the AP exam (which is like four months away), but I hope you guys like it.

[yakool-foolio]

A couple question, because I am undecided.

Do you think the Eito x Takumi ship is being (or is going to be) pushed particularly hard as the the big ship of the game?

Do you think it might be a bait somehow? [Still eyeing Eito's suspiciously Nagito adjacent traits]

And what do you think the context of the sex scene is? Is it for real, a dream, an illusion?

There isn't a shred of doubt in my mind that Takumi n Eito are going to be the next big doomed yaoi ship to hit the visual novel scene. The groundwork has been laid out before us in the marketing (mainly the little teaser videos on Twitter) and the demo and there's no going back now. Full steam ahead!

If I may delve into my prediction headspace for a moment, I'd like to bring up one of my big ideas for a potentially story-altering decision Takumi may end up making. Who will he choose to love and loyally follow: Nozomi or Eito? Will he sink back into the comfort of blissful normality with the uncannily familiar lookalike of his childhood best friend? Or will he risk life and limb to trek through uncharted territory, ensuring the safety of this naive stranger that heals the phantom pain in his heart? THE FACT THAT THESE TWO BOTH HAVE LIGHT GRAY HAIR AND MISTY BLUE EYES IS DEFINITELY ON PURPOSE. I've played enough Silent Hill 2 to know that a major theme in Hundred Line is probably going to be the choice of embracing the unsettled past for the sake of one's own solace or looking ahead towards an uncertain future full of risk and reward with the company of a flickering light in the dark (and a complimentary emotional ass-whooping for one's morally gray actions). I'm sure there can be pros and cons to both options, it just depends what the player thinks is best for Takumi in this war-ridden hellscape. And just as a small addition, it seems like there could be other romance options for Takumi such as Tsubasa, so I don't think Eito and Nozomi are gonna be the sole two options for who Takumi could end up having romantic feelings for (or maybe there's a choice to not crush on anyone at all, which would surely be appreciated as an option).

In regards to if Eito and Takumi's potential romantic relationship might be bait, I have a hunch it might not be. Kodaka is a wildcard and is prone to including character relationships that can be viewed as queer have one or both characters dying at some point (but in the Danganronpa series it is a killing game so it can be difficult to draw the line between what is 'burying the gays' and what isn't, but that's a whole other conversation). Komahina ends up being the best example out of his (probably accidental) entourage of queer-coded relationships. As for Uchikoshi, I have some more faith in him since I noticed AI: Somnium Files (just the first, haven't played the sequel yet) has confirmed queer characters: Mama, Renju, and Pewter. So in the end, I think we just have to have hope that Uchikoshi is pulling the reins for the gays since he seems to be more apt at handling queer characters and themes.

As for the context surrounding that image, it's a wild west for crack theories and educated guesses. I have several ideas for what the scene could be about, and I think Kodaka's comment in an interview (translated by the lovely Asaka-Lucy) of that moment being "one of the more intense scenes" could have implications. Kodaka says they just threw that art in the collage at their Tokyo Game Show booth to cause a stir, so I don't truly know if it connects to all the art of character deaths alongside it. Yet the main theory that's come to my mind is that this is a dream Takumi is having after Eito permanently dies (for one reason for another, most likely while out exploring beyond the Undying Flames). It would explain why Takumi looks so... indifferent. Distant. He's staring into the misty eyes he'll never get to catch a glint of an inspired sparkle again, grazed by the gentle touch of bony fingers he'll never get to entwine between his own again. He's lost a future he'll never get to share with someone he cared so deeply for. War does not allow for intimacy. Vulnerable feelings let old and new wounds blossom so they can be ripped apart at the seams and reveal corrupted insides. It's not fair.

There's a best case scenario hiding within those 100 endings. We just have to fight for it.

[ohumokay]

quick reminder: it's okay to love some complex characters and hate or dislike others

complex characters are, by definition, 3D and (hopefully well) developed. they have backstories and connections. traumas and responses. opinions and points of view. they are meant to start a conversation. meant to encourage viewers to look from other perspectives. meant to present controversial stances in a sometimes favorable light.

but they are controversial in nature. and its okay to have different opinions with the same information.

people are quick to say "everyone wants a complex character but cant handle [such and such]" but it's not that people cant handle the complex character, they simply believe the cons outweigh the pros. same on the flip side.

edit like five seconds after posting: im putting the tags in the post because there were too many and they cut off awkwardly lol

this is mostly about caitlyn from arcane and eurylochus from EPIC since they are both characters who stir up a lot of drama in the fandom. im personally very indifferent to caitlyn and a hater-turned-neutralist for eurylochus. i believe both their actions stemmed from trauma and grief and a lost (or gain in caitlyn's case) of determination. i also believe their actions were twisted and serious uncool for their respective situations

i understand caitlyn was grieving her mom -- and if someone killed my mom id probably hunt them too -- but she harmed several people who were already oppressed and assaulted vi for being humane. i cant excuse all that simply because she was grieving. i can understand her anger and frustration and accept that she turned it around at the last moment

as for eurylochus: i still have some lingering hate in my heart for that man, so imma tag this accordingly so his lovers and defenders aren't called here and offended

he was tired and hungry and desperate during the entirety of that trip. he was simply a man going against mystical monsters and literal gods. he was relying on a man who made one mistake that royally fucked them up forever. he was just a man lol

but his morality was flawed and his logic was lowkey hypocritical. when he questioned Ody PUBLICLY during luck runs out, he instilled a sense of distrust and hesitation in the crew members for Ody, which was not needed. if he truly cared about his friend and his crew he would have questioned him privately and less assertively. instead he put everyone on edge and forced Ody to get stern in a way that negatively affected everybody in the long run. he then opened the windbag when they were so close to home because he led himself to lose trust in a man that had did everything in his power thus far to keep everyone alive. he caused the death of 500+ men because of irrational paranoia

then on Circe's island he was willing to leave the remaining members to save his and Ody's own skins, and got mad when Ody didn't want to do that. but when it was time for Ody to risk a few lives and save many other, Eurylochus cause a damn mutiny. THEN PROCEEDED TO LEAD THE CREW TO THEIR DEATHS. and after making a mistake comparable to ody telling Polyphemus who he was, Eurylochus had the audacity to call for his captain. AND try to reason that the lives of men who just betrayed Ody and caused him his way home were more important than Ody's chance to get to his family.

[isaut]

𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒓— f!reader x chrollo lucilfer. 2.5 k, refurbished. original: ao3

synopsis: during a simple heist job two years ago, chrollo offered you a cigarette outside the library. it isn’t his fault he fell in love with you, is it? I finally felt it was time to give this fic a face lift. I’ve changed a lot since I started her, and it only felt right. If this gets a sign off from tumblr.com I’ll change the ao3 version

The skyline of Sirap is stunning, with the silhouetted buildings twinkling with lights, a hum bubbling from the streets and from the blimps in the sky. It’s a place that Chrollo has found solace in, has even made a home and a routine for himself in the past few years. He’s overstayed his welcome, set by his own nature. It’s been years since he’s fallen back into his mysterious, nomadic ways.  

Sitting in his study, Chrollo’s gaze is not on the skyline. He is not taking in the movements below him, taking up an old pastime of watching as people scurry by and wondering where they are going. Instead, his gaze is fixated on his computer, the blue light of the screen singing his eyes, drying them out. The pen in his hand clicks steadily against the stained oak of his desk. 

The steady click click click of the pen does little to soothe the worries that have begun to stir in his stomach. The unsettling feeling on his soul as he reads the message before him.

It’s an email. From his bank. A simple request for 10 000 000 jenny. With a simple message attached. 

I took care of the man who requested I eliminate your lover. I’ve forwarded his balance to you. You should receive a file from me shortly with details. Congratulations on your relationship. 

In a brief fit of rage that is quite unbecoming of the man he wishes to present himself as, Chrollo slams his hand against his desk before lending back in his chair, stewing over the message. He tears his eyes away from the message, looking instead out the large windows before him. He takes a deep breath of the not fresh air, and it does little to calm his emotions. 

As he watches a blimp float by in the sky, red light blinking against the darkness of the night, Chrollo can’t help but feel silly at how emotional he’s being. He can’t help but remember how he used to feel so indifferent, how everything felt stale. 

Stale like the air around him. 

With little reluctance, Chrollo sends the money over to his somewhat of an ally, Illumi. Their relationship was little more than constant transactions. He stands, stretches his arms above his head. Calling himself a banker had its pros: boring enough no one asked about it. It also had its cons: sometimes sitting in front of a computer for too long, researching his next thrill instead of boring into an excel spreadsheet. 

Chrollo thinks that, at the end of the day, death suits him. Even if he’s falsely climbed into the carriage. Even if his back aches from time to time. He briefly considers doing a few of the stretches his lover had recommended. His lover who had gotten him in the mess. The one where he carefully removes bricks from the walls around him and lays new bricks as he lies to cover up his reality. His lover who was still probably perched in the living room, waiting for him to come out of his office.  

The idea of you patiently waiting on the couch fills Chrollo with an uncomfortable guilt. He scrolls through his phone, looking for a text chain. He can’t find it, and resorts to drafting a new text in a small group message of just himself, Shalnark and Machi. If he took time to be truthful with himself, it felt odd texting the two of them. Even a year later, there’s an uncomfortable void, two of them in fact, of accumulated grief that press against his soul. He can’t shake it, nor can he steep in it. 

We need to have a meeting. In the next few months. 

Not ready to linger in those feelings, Chrollo locks his phone. Perhaps he’d mellow in those thoughts of the all consuming grief tonight, with your head resting on his chest as sleep washes over you. His gaze returns to the skyline. It’s dark out, it must be well past dinnertime. 

Chrollo shuts down his computer with the forceful, long press of a button. Shalnark, who set up the device for him, is berating him for not using softer methods. Chrollo pockets his phone, eager to deposit it somewhere and forget about it until morning. The journey from his office to the living room isn’t a long one, and it’s one he can chart by the way you’ve dappled yourself along the path. 

Gentle music flows from the living room, playing on the speakers that were brought from your apartment when you moved in. There’s a sweatshirt of yours on the ground that he picks up without much thought. He deposits it on the back of the couch, upon arriving to a deserted living room. 

It’s not deserted. There’s a blanket that looks like it used to be wrapped around you, slumped in the corner of the couch. There’s a stack of essays on the middle cushion, and a pen set upon them. Half a glass of wine sits on the coffee table, and beside it is your iPad, unlocked. 

Satisfaction brings the cat back. Chrollo leans over the iPad, investigating what you had been doing. He takes it upon himself to close the online shopping tab after seeing the total in the cart. 

Rounding the corner, you hold a mug of tea in your hands. The brightness of the lemongrass tea fills the air, and you take a deep breath, both of the tea and of the sight of your boyfriend. Both senses wake you up. 

Chrollo picks up the blanket, and sits in its place, throwing it over the armrest. He picks up the essay you had been in the middle of grading and flips it to the cover page. It’s thick, at least ten pages. A Turn About the Room: How Women Have Always Been the Secluded Ones. 

“Done working?” You ask him. 

Chrollo rests his arm along the backside of the couch to take you in. One of his shirts peeks out from below an oversized sweater of yours. Glasses perched atop your nose. He holds his hand out to you, palm up. 

“You should be too.”  

“I see how it is,” You say, coming over to his open hand. Your hand is still warm from holding the mug, and you slide your palm easily against Chrollo’s. 

Only, the man before you isn’t Chrollo, no, there is no mass murderer before you. No grandiose thief. He’s just Kuroro, a man with a penchant for reading and a sadness behind his eyes that’s curtained by charisma and a modern day definition of chivalry. 

A man who’s raising his other hand to take the mug from your own  hands, the heat barely bothering him. His fingers twine with yours, and he brings your hand to his lips to place a kiss upon it. 

“Do you?” 

You nod, leaning over the back of the couch and into his personal space and pressing a kiss against his cheek. He smells warm, of mellow, musky notes that you’ve come to associate when you think of him. Home smells like Kuroro, it smells like the cologne he wears and the aftershave in the morning, curling with a warm drink and incense in the air. 

It’s time to stop working for the day. 

Rounding the couch, you take a seat right beside Kuroro. Truly, you’re more so on top of him with the way your knee hinges over his thigh. Neither of you care. Not when you’re so close, not when the world seems to just be the two of you. 

Kuroro returns your mug to you, his now warmed hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“How’s work going?” You ask, blowing on your tea before taking a tentative sip. 

Kuroro hums at your question, resting his hand on your thigh. He rubs his hand over the smooth, plush skin. He ponders over how to answer, how to toe the line between being honest and being deceitful. It’s all for your safety after all. And here he has been, thinking he’d been doing a good job of maintaining your blissful ignorance to the world he hid in. 

“Stressful,” Kuroro admits, taking a deep breath before raising his gaze. 

“Mon pauvre,” You murmur, “Want some tea?” 

Pressing his brows together, Kuroro nods. You watch with infatuated eyes as he does just as you had earlier: blow on the warm drink, letting the steam lick up his face before taking a small sip. 

“Want to go get dinner?” You pose. “I haven’t eaten yet… We could go to the sushi place down the block.” 

The news Kuroro had received minutes earlier rings in his head. Bounces from ear to ear, unable to be ignored. He thinks of the mom and pop restaurant that had infatuated the two of you, of the kind couple who ran it. Of the grandma who greeted you everytime you came in. Who cooed over how cute of a couple you made. 

He thinks of an assassination attempt on either one of you. Of the chaos it would cause, of the rubble and the debris. He can envision your scared expression. The dead bodies of the kind family he’d come to know so well. 

It tugs at his heartstrings in a way he had believed was long since dead. Perhaps you had made him too soft. Too human. He felt the youth coursing through his soul again. 

With reluctance, Kuroro shakes his head. “I’ll make us something. Then you don’t have to get dressed.” 

“You’re so considerate,” You say with a smile. “What are we having?” 

“I have to check the fridge,” Kuroro replies. “Want to join me in the kitchen?” 

Of course you do. You’d altered your 10 year plan to accommodate the man. You’d follow him anywhere. 

Kuroro is, in his nature, secretive. It has always carried a certain charm with it: adds to the allure of his dark hair, his well-read nature and clean dress. However, you’ve picked up on a few tells he carries around with him. For instance, when he’s set on surprising you there’s a boyish glint in his brown eyes. When he’s morose in thoughts of life, both his own and philosophical, he’s oddly talkative. Always eager to find solace with his head on your chest or in your lap. And when he’s had a bad day at work, he’s quiet. 

You don’t like when he’s quiet. It’s not that you feel the need to fill silence with Kuroro. In fact, normally it’s quite the opposite. Silence is comfortable. 

The silence that hangs in the kitchen is not the comforting closeness you’ve grown to love. 

As Kuroro investigates the fridge for something to eat, you take it upon yourself to put on some music in the background. Amy Winehouse’s voice seeps through the silence. 

“Do you want tteokbokki?” Kuroro asks, holding a bag of rice cakes in his hand. His other rests on the refrigerator door. 

You come to stand beside him, peering into the fridge. It’s barren. Only a few condiments and pickled vegetables litter the shelves. You feel an emptiness in your stomach. Did you eat lunch? 

“Sure,” You say, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “Do you want some help?” 

“Just your company,” Kuroro responds smoothly, closing the door and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. The base notes of his cologne still cling to his skin. There’s cedar and vanilla. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, releasing you slowly. 

The gesture has your heart skipping a beat. You feel your face warm, feel as Kuroro’s hand slides along your shoulders. 

It makes Kuroro smile slightly, watching your reaction come over. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, then opens the refrigerator open again. 

“Go sit. I’ll get you some more wine.” 

You wet your lips as you take your place on the kitchen island. Kuroro sets the chilled white wine bottle in front of you, then busies himself in the kitchen, combining spices and sauces together and simmering them over low heat. 

To keep his mind off whatever was bothering him, you launch into telling him about the essays you’ve been grading— Final papers for your class on women’s oppression in literature. You teach it every other year in the spring, and this conversation is reminiscent of one you had when you first met Kuroro. 

This one is about Rokeya’s Sultana’s Dream and Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. It’s a fresh take on Austen’s work, and you’re glad to see Rokeya being cited. There are a few inconsistencies in the line of reasoning, but the student is a year too young to technically take the course. She reminds you of yourself, if you’re being completely honest— Ambitious, if not a little scatterbrained. 

Kuroro turns off the stove and sets the pot atop a woven potholder in front of you. He adds side bowls and chopsticks to the spread. 

“I’d love to take a peek,” He says, getting himself a wine glass to join in with your drinking. 

“You can. Want to see it now?” 

Kuroro shakes his head and sits next to you. “You know I’ll get sauce all over it.” 

Shrugging, you pick up your chopsticks. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve spilt on an essay. “Thanks for cooking tonight.” 

“Careful, it’s hot,” Kuroro says as his you’re welcome. 

Even with his stomach pleasantly full, the overhead fan humming, and you pressed up against his side, sleep evades Chrollo. He tilts his head to the side, his hair fanned out on the too soft pillow. All pillows are too soft to him, anyways. He cushions his head for your comfort. 

Sleep’s tireless evasion from Chrollo is not one that he’s a stranger to. He often finds himself in this same position, surrounded by newfound comforts, his heart thrumming softly, his eyes on the twinkling lights of Sirap. Absentmindedly, he rubs his hand up and down your side, taking solace in the way your stomach moves with every deep breath you take. 

When you don’t drink before bed, you’re quick to rouse at his gentle petting. Sometimes, you wake at even the slightest shift. Groggily blinking away and rubbing your eyes, trying to see what’s wrong in the pitch black room. 

Not tonight. Tonight, you’re full and there’s wine in your brain. And Chrollo is alone with his thoughts. 

He turns his head to look at you. Cranes his neck to place a kiss to the top of your head without jostling you. 

There’s a grief on his soul tonight, and it’s not own he’s used to. Albeit accustomed to loss, Chrollo’s heart can’t fathom experiencing the gravity of loss again. To be responsible for someone’s death who was so innocent, who had nothing to do with the circumstances he put her in. 

So he places another kiss to your forehead, and shifts himself to wrap both of his arms around you. Invites your legs to tangle against his. He closes his eyes, and despite wishing for sleep it continues to evade him. So he takes deep breaths of you: shampoo, bodywash, oils and lotions. He lays in the dark, simply waiting. 

[movingmusically]

Caught Feeling: Wild Card - One Shot

Author’s Note:

I know absolutely nothing about baseball so apologies if there are any mistakes.

Word Count: 6,574

Masterlist

The idea started over breakfast, sunlight streaming through the kitchen window and catching the golden strands of Hank’s hair, making them glow faintly. He was sitting across from me, his phone in one hand and a half-eaten piece of toast in the other, his brow furrowed as he scrolled. I sipped my coffee, watching him with quiet amusement. The small frown pulling at the corners of his mouth was the kind of expression I’d come to recognise—he was deep in thought, something occupying his mind enough to distract him from the food on his plate.

“Everything okay?” I asked, setting my mug down on the table.

He looked up at me, his face clearing slightly as he gave a small, distracted smile. “Yeah, it’s just…” He hesitated, glancing back at his phone like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “The Giants are coming in to town. Mets versus Giants, wildcard game. It’s a one-game playoff, winner goes to the postseason.”

His tone was casual, but I caught the quiet yearning beneath the words, a faint wistfulness that tugged at something in me. It wasn’t hard to see how much it meant to him, even if he was trying to downplay it.

“Sounds intense,” I said, leaning back in my chair and studying him. “You thinking about going?”

Hank sighed and set his phone on the table, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface. “I’d love to, but tickets are probably insane.” He paused, glancing up at me again. “And, you know, it’s not really your thing.”

I tilted my head, my eyes narrowing slightly as I studied him. There was a flicker of something in his expression—a mix of longing and resignation that made my chest tighten. “What if I said I wanted to go?”

His eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across his face. “You want to go? To a baseball game?”

“Why not?” I said with a shrug, trying to keep my tone casual even as his reaction made me smile. “You’ve already taught me the basics, and it’s not every day your team plays a game this important. Besides…” I leaned forward slightly, letting a hint of playfulness slip into my voice. “I kind of like seeing you in your element.”

The grin that spread across his face was so wide and unguarded, it made my heart skip a beat. It was rare to see him light up like that, so purely excited, like a kid on Christmas morning. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” I replied, unable to keep from smiling at his reaction. “Let’s do it.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, as if trying to gauge whether I was really being serious. Then he let out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair again, this time in a gesture of disbelief. “Alright,” he said, the grin still tugging at his lips. “We’ll check for tickets. But don’t say I didn’t warn you about how loud and crazy it’s going to get.”

“I’ll survive,” I teased, reaching for my coffee again. “Besides, I think I can handle a few hours of chaos if it means spending time with you.”

His expression softened, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary before he glanced back at his phone. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving him off with mock indifference. “Now, hurry up and find us some seats before they’re gone.”

The rest of the morning was spent huddled around his laptop, scrolling through ticket options and arguing over which seats to choose. I let him take the lead, secretly loving the way his excitement bubbled over as he explained the layout of the stadium and debated the pros and cons of sitting closer to the field versus higher up. By the time we’d secured our tickets, I could tell he was already counting down the hours until the game.

And, if I was being honest, I was too.

The day of the game arrived, and Hank was practically buzzing with energy from the moment he woke up. By the time I’d shuffled into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, he was already making coffee and pacing around in his Giants jersey and cap, the brim slightly worn from years of wear.

“You know,” he started as I poured myself a mug, “the Giants have the edge with Logan Webb starting, but the Mets have a solid lineup. It’s going to come down to how sharp our bullpen is.” He was practically vibrating as he spoke, his voice rising with excitement. “If Crawford’s in good form tonight, it could—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, laughing as I held up a hand to stop him. “I’m awake, but I’m not sure I’m ready for a full game breakdown before breakfast.”

Hank paused mid-pace, his face breaking into a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I just… it’s a big game, you know?”

“I can tell,” I teased, taking a sip of my coffee and watching him over the rim of the mug. His excitement was contagious, and as much as I teased him, I loved seeing him like this—completely in his element, unapologetically passionate.

What he didn’t know, though, was that I’d been keeping a little secret. As soon as we’d decided to go, I’d ordered my own Giants jersey and a matching cap online, timing the delivery so it arrived while he was at work. I’d even gone the extra mile and picked a player’s name that I remembered Hank mentioning during one of his many baseball lessons—Crawford, of course. The shirt and cap were neatly folded in my bag, waiting for the right moment.

By late afternoon, we were finally getting ready to leave. Hank had switched from pacing to glancing at his watch every few minutes, his impatience growing with each passing second. “Come on,” he said, hovering near the door. “If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to miss the warm-ups.”

“I’m almost ready,” I replied from the bedroom, suppressing a grin. My heart raced as I checked myself in the mirror one last time, adjusting the cap on my head and smoothing down the jersey. It was a bold look—bright orange and black weren’t exactly subtle—but the thought of surprising Hank made the nerves worth it.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the bedroom, leaning casually against the doorframe as I called his name. “Hey, Hank?”

He turned at the sound of my voice, his brow furrowing slightly as his eyes swept over me. For a second, he looked confused, like his brain was struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. His gaze landed on the orange jersey, the cap tilted just slightly on my head, and his jaw dropped slightly.

Hank froze, his mouth parting slightly as his eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at me like he was trying to process what he was seeing. “You…” He finally found his voice, shaking his head with a breathless laugh. “You got a jersey?”

“Crawford,” I said, turning slightly to show him the name and number on the back. “I figured if I’m going to do this, I might as well do it right.”

He blinked, his expression softening as a slow, delighted smile spread across his face. “You look…” He trailed off, his gaze sweeping over me again, a mix of awe and affection in his eyes. “You look incredible.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I teased, adjusting the brim of the cap. “I clean up pretty well.”

“It’s not that,” he said, stepping closer and running a hand lightly down my arm, his touch warm and grounding. “It’s just… you didn’t have to do this. But you did. For me.”

I shrugged again, though my heart was doing somersaults at the way he was looking at me. “It’s just a shirt and a cap, Hank. Don’t make it a big thing.”

“It’s not just a shirt and a cap,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, more serious. “It’s…” He shook his head again, that boyish grin returning as he reached up to adjust the cap on my head. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hide the blush creeping up my neck. “Alright, save the sweet talk for the stadium. Didn’t you say you didn’t want to miss the first pitch?”

Hank laughed, stepping back to grab his wallet and keys. “Alright, alright. Let’s go, Crawford.”

The nickname made me laugh, and I followed him out the door, feeling lighter than I had in days. If this was how much fun we were having before the game even started, I couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the night had in store.

The atmosphere at Citi Field was electric, a buzzing hum of energy that hit me the moment we stepped through the gates. The smell of hot dogs and popcorn filled the air, mixing with the faint tang of beer and the sweetness of cotton candy. Everywhere I looked, Mets fans were decked out in blue and orange, waving foam fingers and sporting oversized jerseys with their favourite players’ names on the back. But scattered among the sea of home-team pride were splashes of black and orange—Giants fans holding their own, waving flags, and shouting chants that echoed through the concourse.

Hank walked beside me, his hand resting lightly on my lower back as he navigated us through the crowd with practiced ease. He was in his element, his excitement bubbling over in small bursts as he pointed out details I’d have never noticed on my own. “This place is great,” he said, his voice tinged with awe even though it was clear he’d been here before. “It’s not Oracle Park, but it’s still got charm.”

“Oracle Park?” I asked, glancing up at him.

“Giants’ home stadium,” he said with a grin. “Right on the water. You’d love it. Fans bring kayaks to McCovey Cove just to catch balls that land in the bay. One day, I’ll take you there.”

The promise in his tone made my chest tighten, but I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the energy of the moment. The closer we got to our seats, the louder the noise became—chants, cheers, and the occasional heckle blending into a chaotic symphony that seemed to shake the very ground beneath us. Vendors shouted above the din, hawking everything from peanuts to beer, and I caught sight of kids clutching oversized souvenir cups and foam baseballs. The excitement was contagious, crackling in the air like static electricity.

Our seats were incredible—close enough to the action that I could see the sweat glistening on the players’ foreheads, but far enough back that we didn’t have to worry about dodging any errant foul balls. Hank led the way down the aisle, glancing back every few seconds to make sure I was keeping up, his grin widening with each step.

“Here we go,” he said, gesturing to our row. “Perfect spot. You can see the whole field from here.”

Settling into my seat, I took a moment to take it all in. The perfectly manicured grass, the crisp white lines of the diamond, the players warming up near the dugouts—it all felt larger than life. The scoreboard loomed above us, flashing stats and player profiles in bold colours, while the speakers blasted music that barely cut through the roar of the crowd.

It was overwhelming in the best way, and I couldn’t help but glance at Hank as he took it all in, his expression a mixture of awe and boyish excitement.

He looked incredible in his Giants jersey and cap, his enthusiasm radiating off him like a force of nature. And from the way he kept sneaking glances at me—his smile impossibly wide—I could tell he hadn’t fully gotten over seeing me in my matching gear.

“You’re really pulling it off, you know,” he said, leaning closer so I could hear him over the noise. His eyes scanned over me, his grin nothing short of delighted. “Like, really pulling it off.”

“Good thing,” I teased. “I’d hate to be out here embarrassing you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted the cap on his head. “Embarrassing me? Nah. You’re making me look good.” He bumped my shoulder lightly with his, his grin softening into something warmer. “Thanks again for doing this. It means a lot.”

“You’ve already said that,” I pointed out with a laugh, nudging him back. “And you’re welcome. But if you keep getting mushy, I might have to start rooting for the Mets just to throw you off.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, mock horror flashing across his face.

“Try me,” I teased, raising an eyebrow. But as I looked around the stadium, taking in the energy and the excitement, I couldn’t help but add, “Honestly, though, this is amazing. I can see why you love it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched into another smile, but this one was softer, more introspective. He reached for my hand, his fingers tangling with mine as he gave it a light squeeze. “I love it even more with you here.”

Before I could respond, a loud cheer erupted from the crowd as the players took the field. Hank’s attention immediately shifted, his grip on my hand tightening slightly as he started pointing out players. “See number 35 over there?” he said, nodding toward a pitcher stretching near the dugout. “That’s Logan Webb. He’s been lights out this season. If he’s locked in tonight, we’ve got a real shot.”

I followed his gaze, spotting the pitcher he’d been talking about earlier. The precision in his movements was impressive, even to someone like me who didn’t fully understand the intricacies of the sport. Hank’s enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself getting caught up in the moment, clapping along with the other Giants fans as they cheered their team onto the field.

Hank leaned in close again, his voice low in my ear as he started pointing out more players and strategies, his excitement bubbling over in a way that made my chest ache in the best way. He was so alive, so completely in his element, and I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face as I listened to him.

It didn’t matter that most of the details went over my head—I wasn’t here for the stats. I was here for him, for the way his face lit up as he spoke, his words spilling out in a rush of enthusiasm that made my heart swell. Seeing him like this, so happy and so alive, was more than worth the price of admission.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, straightening up and adjusting his cap. “Let’s do this. Ready to watch the Giants crush it?”

I nodded, my grin matching his. “Let’s do it.” The game hadn’t even started yet, and I already knew this was going to be one of my favourite memories.

The game started with a bang, the first pitch slicing through the air to the roar of the crowd. Citi Field was alive with energy, every seat filled with fans on the edge of their seats. The Giants fans scattered throughout the sea of Mets blue and orange were loud and proud, matching the energy of the home crowd with chants and cheers. I could feel the vibration of it all in my chest—the sound, the excitement, the anticipation.

Hank was in his element. From the moment the game started, he’d been explaining plays and pointing out nuances I’d never have noticed on my own. “Watch this guy,” he said, nodding toward the batter stepping into the box. “Conforto. He’s got a mean swing, but if Webb keeps it low and away, he’s toast.”

Sure enough, the next pitch was a perfect sinker, and the batter swung so hard he almost spun himself around. Hank let out a whoop, clapping as I joined in, not entirely sure what had just happened but loving how excited he was.

By the third inning, I was fully invested. I’d been watching the game intently, picking up on more than I thought I would thanks to Hank’s running commentary. When the Giants turned a double play, the crack of the ball meeting the glove like thunder, I shot out of my seat, clapping wildly. “Yes!” I shouted, my voice blending with the other cheers around us.

Hank looked over at me, a mix of amusement and pride lighting up his face. “Look at you,” he said, his arm slinging comfortably around the back of my seat. “You’re into it. I think you might actually be more invested than I am.”

“Don’t get cocky,” I teased, shooting him a smirk. “I’m just trying to balance out all the Mets fans around us.”

He laughed, his hand briefly squeezing my shoulder before leaning in to press a kiss to my temple. “You’re the best.”

I felt a flicker of warmth at his words, but before I could respond, the crowd erupted in boos. The umpire had called a strike that, according to Hank, wasn’t anywhere near the plate. “What?” I shouted, standing up in protest along with the other Giants fans in our section. “Are you blind?”

Hank’s laughter was loud and sudden, his hand wrapping lightly around my wrist to pull me back into my seat. “Alright, calm down there, coach,” he teased, his grin wide. “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“Hey, I’m just sticking up for your boys,” I shot back, crossing my arms but unable to hide my grin.

His gaze softened, his fingers brushing against mine as they rested on the armrest between us. “I think I love you a little more right now.”

The comment was casual, playful, but there was something sincere in the way he said it, his eyes lingering on mine for just a beat longer than necessary. My chest tightened at the warmth in his voice, and I squeezed his hand lightly in return. “Good,” I said, my tone equally light. “Because I’m not done yet.”

As the next batter stepped up, the chants and cheers ramped up again, and I leaned in close to Hank. “Alright, what’s the strategy here?”

He grinned, his eyes flicking between me and the field. “Stay tuned. I’ll make a fan out of you yet.”

I rolled my eyes, but as the next pitch sailed across the plate and the batter connected with a solid crack, I knew he already had.

Between innings, Hank stretched in his seat and turned to me, his grin full of mischief. “Alright, rookie,” he said, nudging my knee with his. “Time for the next part of the baseball experience: snacks. What’s your poison? Hot dog? Nachos? Or are you one of those people who just wants a pretzel?”

“I’m offended you think I wouldn’t go for a hot dog,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “But nachos sound pretty great too.”

“Why not both?” Hank suggested, already rising to his feet.

I smirked, shaking my head. “Big spender. Fine, let’s do it. But don’t forget the beers.”

“Like I’d ever forget the beers,” he called over his shoulder as he headed toward the concession stand.

When he returned a few minutes later, balancing two fully loaded hot dogs, a tray of nachos, and two frosty beers, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You realise we’re only here for a few hours, right? Not a whole weekend?”

“Trust me,” he said, settling back into his seat and handing me one of the beers. “We’ll need the fuel. Baseball games aren’t sprints; they’re marathons.”

I took a sip of the beer, the cold, slightly bitter taste refreshing against the salty, cheesy goodness of the nachos I dug into next. As the game resumed, we alternated between shouting at the field and making jokes about who would drop something first. Unsurprisingly, Hank managed to get mustard on his jersey.

“Careful, Thompson,” I teased, handing him a napkin. “You’re supposed to eat the snacks, not wear them.”

He shot me a mock glare but took the napkin, muttering something about “rookies” under his breath. Still, the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

With the snacks loaded and drinks in hand, we settled back into the rhythm of the game, letting the crowd’s energy and the crisp bite of the beer carry us through the next inning.

In the fifth inning, as the energy in the stadium buzzed like electricity, the familiar jingle of the kiss cam echoed across the field. I glanced up at the giant screen, watching with amusement as the camera zoomed in on couples scattered throughout the stands. Some were shy, barely brushing their lips together, while others went over the top, dipping their partners back dramatically to the roaring approval of the crowd.

I chuckled, nudging Hank as one particularly enthusiastic couple earned a wave of applause. “Think they rehearsed that?” I joked.

He smirked, his attention half on the screen and half on the next batter warming up. “If they didn’t, they’ve got natural talent.”

I didn’t think much of it when the camera moved again, zooming in on another section of the crowd—until I realised it had stopped right on us. Our faces filled the screen, framed by a giant pink heart, and the crowd around us erupted into cheers and whistles.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, my eyes widening as the realisation hit.

Hank froze for a moment, glancing up at the screen and then back at me. His lips twitched into a grin, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, looks like we’re up,” he said, leaning closer. “Can’t disappoint an entire stadium, can we?”

I laughed, my cheeks already warm from the attention. “Just don’t make it weird, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his tone mock-serious, though the playful glint in his eye told me otherwise.

Before I could respond, his hand came up to cup my face, his palm warm against my cheek. His thumb brushed lightly along my jawline, the gesture surprisingly tender for a moment so public. Then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.

The kiss was soft at first, almost teasing, but it deepened just enough to make my stomach flip. It wasn’t over-the-top or exaggerated—just sweet and genuine, with a touch of heat that left my cheeks burning for an entirely different reason. The crowd around us cheered louder, a few people hooting and whistling as Hank pulled back, his grin entirely unrepentant.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, trying to sound stern, but the laugh bubbling in my throat ruined the effect.

“And you love it,” he replied, his tone smug as he settled back into his seat, one arm casually draped over the back of mine.

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t hide my smile. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he said, chuckling as he turned his attention back to the field. But his hand found mine, lacing our fingers together as the next pitch was thrown, and I couldn’t help but squeeze his hand lightly in return, the warmth of his touch grounding me amidst the chaos of the game.

By the time the sixth inning rolled around, the pace of the game had slowed slightly, giving the crowd a chance to catch their breath. Hank glanced over at me, then down at the nearly empty beer cup in my hand.

“Need a refill?” he asked, nodding toward the vendors weaving through the crowd.

“Definitely,” I said, tilting my cup toward him for emphasis.

He flagged down one of the vendors, passing me another cold beer before grabbing one for himself. “Gotta keep the good vibes going,” he said, holding his cup up in a quick toast.

“To good vibes,” I agreed, clinking my cup lightly against his.

As the inning resumed, I noticed Hank stealing glances at me every so often, his smile soft and full of something I couldn’t quite place.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Just… I’ve been to a lot of games, but this one? It’s something else.”

I grinned, nudging him playfully. “You mean because of the nachos, right?”

“Obviously,” he teased, his grin widening. But the way his hand found mine a moment later, lacing our fingers together, made it clear what he really meant.

In the seventh inning, the atmosphere in the stadium had shifted. The Mets fans were louder now, buoyed by their team’s narrow lead, while the Giants fans were clinging to hope for a late rally. Hank had been animated through most of the game, cheering and analysing plays, but as the innings wore on, I noticed a subtle change. He grew quieter, his easy grin fading into a contemplative expression.

His knee started bouncing, a restless rhythm that seemed to echo his unease. His gaze was fixed on the field, but there was a distance to it, as though his thoughts were somewhere far beyond Citi Field. The tension in his posture was palpable, his shoulders stiff, his jaw set. I watched him for a moment, my chest tightening as I recognised the flicker of something deeper—something that went beyond the game itself.

“Hank?” I said softly, reaching over to place a hand on his knee. The movement stilled under my touch, and he glanced at me, his blue eyes clouded with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite read. “You okay?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the field before returning to me. For a moment, I thought he might brush it off, but then he exhaled slowly, lifting his hat and running a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said, though his voice was quieter than usual. “It’s just… watching them out there, it gets to me sometimes. Seeing them playing at this level, the energy, the stakes. It reminds me of… well, everything I thought I was going to do with my life.”

The rawness in his tone hit me like a punch to the gut. He rarely opened up about his past as a baseball player, the dreams that had been cut short by his injury, but in this moment, it was written all over him. The longing, the ache of what could have been, the quiet grief for a life that had taken a turn he hadn’t expected.

My heart ached for him, not just for the loss of his dream but for the way it still lingered in the shadows, waiting to catch him off guard. I wanted to say the perfect thing, to somehow take that pain away, but I knew it wasn’t about fixing it. It was about being here, showing him he didn’t have to face it alone.

I shifted closer, sliding my hand up to lace my fingers with his. His hand was warm and solid, but there was a slight tremor to his grip that made my heart ache. “You’re allowed to feel that,” I said gently, holding his gaze. “It’s okay to miss it, to wish things had been different. But don’t forget—you’ve done so much, Hank. You’ve built a life that’s yours. And that’s pretty incredible.”

He blinked, his expression softening as my words sank in. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, grateful smile. “You always know what to say,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Always,” I replied, squeezing his hand gently.

He leaned over, pressing a kiss to my temple, the gesture warm and grounding. I rested my head against his shoulder, my free hand coming up to trace idle patterns on his forearm. The roar of the crowd faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the soft thud of my heart.

We sat like that for a few moments, the game continuing around us, the energy in the stadium undiminished. But for us, the world seemed to slow, the connection between us taking precedence over everything else. It wasn’t about fixing anything or making the ache go away—it was about being there, side by side, facing it together.

Eventually, Hank straightened, his grip on my hand tightening slightly before he let it go. “Alright,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “Let’s see if the Giants can pull this off.”

“They’ve got this,” I said with a confident nod, nudging him playfully. “And so do you.”

His grin returned, softer but no less genuine, and he reached up to adjust the brim of my cap. “You really are my good luck charm, you know that?”

“Damn right I am,” I said with a smirk, leaning back in my seat as the next batter stepped up to the plate. The game was far from over, and neither were we.

As the eighth inning stretched on, the tension in the stadium was almost unbearable. The Giants were still down by a run, and every pitch seemed to drag out longer than the last.

“I need something to do with my hands,” Hank muttered, his knee bouncing again as he leaned forward.

“Like what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Peanuts,” he declared, already scanning the crowd for another vendor. “You can’t watch baseball without peanuts.”

I laughed, flagging down a nearby vendor and grabbing a bag for him. As I handed it over, I couldn’t resist teasing, “Anything else, your highness? Maybe a crown?”

“Very funny,” he said, cracking open the bag and tossing a peanut shell at me. “Keep it up, and I might not share.”

“Like I want your peanuts,” I shot back, though I couldn’t help stealing a handful when he wasn’t looking.

He caught me, of course, rolling his eyes fondly as he held the bag out for me to take more. “You’re lucky I like you,” he said, shaking his head with mock exasperation.

“Lucky me,” I replied with a grin, settling back into my seat. The tension of the game was still there, but the warmth between us made it easier to bear.

The ninth inning was pure chaos, a crescendo of tension that seemed to vibrate through every corner of the stadium. The Giants were down by one with two outs, and the bases were loaded. Every pitch carried the weight of the season, every swing a potential make-or-break moment. Around us, the Mets fans were on their feet, a wall of blue and orange chanting in unison for their closer to finish the job. The energy was electric, a mix of hope and dread that buzzed in the cool night air.

Hank was on edge, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced tightly as though he were physically willing his team to pull through. I could feel the nervous energy radiating off him, and I found myself holding my breath alongside him.

The Giants’ batter stepped into the box, his stance steady, his eyes locked on the mound. The first pitch came in fast, and the batter swung hard. The crack of the bat meeting the ball echoed like a gunshot, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

The ball soared high into the night sky, a perfect arc carrying it deep into the outfield. The crowd collectively held their breath, heads tilting back as they followed its trajectory. It kept going and going, clearing the fence by a mile.

A grand slam.

For a split second, there was silence—disbelief hanging in the air like a fragile thread. Then the stadium exploded into chaos. Mets fans groaned in disappointment, their chants dissolving into a cacophony of frustration, while the pockets of Giants fans erupted in pure, unbridled joy. Black and orange flags waved frantically, and the cheers were deafening.

Hank shot to his feet, his arms flying up in a triumphant victory pose as he shouted, “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!” His voice was raw, brimming with exhilaration, his entire body alive with the energy of the moment.

I jumped up beside him, clapping wildly and laughing at his sheer enthusiasm. Before I could say a word, he turned to me, his face alight with joy, his blue eyes sparkling like I’d never seen before. Without a second’s hesitation, he pulled me into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around me as he lifted me clean off the ground.

“You did it!” I shouted, laughing as he spun me around, his grip strong and steady despite his excitement.

“We did it,” he corrected, his voice ringing with triumph as he set me down. His hands stayed firm on my waist, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The pure elation in his expression made my heart swell.

Before I could respond, he leaned in, kissing me with all the exhilaration of the moment. It was unrestrained and full of life, a kiss that carried the weight of celebration and connection, of everything we’d shared that night. The noise of the stadium melted away for a moment, leaving just us, tangled in the thrill of victory.

When he pulled back, his grin was wide and infectious. “This is the best game ever,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

“It really is,” I agreed, laughing as I brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “I think I’m officially a Giants fan now.”

Hank’s grin turned playful as he tugged me close again. “You already were. Tonight just made it official.”

The energy around us was still buzzing, fans shouting and clapping as the Giants rounded the bases, the scoreboard lighting up with their triumph. But in that moment, all I could focus on was Hank—the joy radiating from him, the warmth of his hands on my waist, and the way his eyes held mine like I was the only thing that mattered.

As we left the stadium hand-in-hand, the hum of the city mingling with the fading cheers from the stands, Hank couldn’t stop smiling. His grin was impossibly wide, the kind of joy that seemed to light him up from the inside out. “That was perfect,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ll never forget it. Seriously, best game of my life.”

The way he looked at me in that moment, his face glowing with a kind of happiness that seemed almost childlike, made me want to freeze time. There was something so pure about his joy, so unfiltered, that it felt like a privilege just to witness it. And the way he kept sneaking glances at me, like I was somehow a part of it all, made my chest tighten in the best way.

“Me neither,” I replied, leaning into him as we walked down the bustling street. The air was cool against my flushed skin, but his warmth at my side was more than enough to keep the chill at bay. “But I think my favourite part wasn’t even the game.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What was it then?”

“Watching you,” I said simply, the words falling easily from my lips. “Seeing how much this means to you… the way you lit up with every play, every moment. It made it even better for me.”

Hank stopped walking, pulling me gently to a halt on the edge of the crowded sidewalk. The buzz of the city swirled around us—taxi horns blaring, vendors shouting, and fans streaming by in their respective team colours—but in that moment, none of it mattered. He turned to face me fully, his expression so soft and open it made my chest tighten.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said, his voice low, full of quiet wonder.

I smiled, trying to tame a strand of blonde hair that had escaped his cap. “Guess you bring out the best in me.”

His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached up and took off his Giants cap, turning it backwards before placing it back on his head. The playful tilt of the brim framed his face perfectly, and I felt my heart skip a beat at how effortlessly handsome he looked.

“Better?” he asked, his lips curled into that familiar, lopsided smile, the one that always managed to make my heart skip.

“Much better,” I murmured, my voice catching slightly.

Hank leaned in then, his other hand sliding to rest on the small of my back as he kissed me. His kiss was slow, deliberate, like he was laying everything bare without saying a word. It wasn’t just the kiss of a man celebrating a win; it was something deeper, something that made my heart ache and soar at the same time.

The world around us seemed to fade, the noise of the city blurring into the background as his lips moved against mine. His touch was steady, grounding, his fingers splayed gently against my back as though he were anchoring me to him. My hands slid up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palms.

When he finally pulled back, his lips lingered near mine, his eyes searching my face as though he couldn’t get enough of the moment. His thumb brushed along my jaw, and his hand settled lightly at the small of my back, keeping me close. The city buzzed around us, but it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

“I mean it,” he murmured. “Best night of my life. And it’s not just because of the game.”

My chest tightened, a wave of affection swelling in me so strongly it almost overwhelmed me. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” I teased softly, though my voice betrayed the emotion behind the words.

He chuckled, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of my hair back into place, his touch lingering for just a moment. “I try,” he said lightly, but there was a seriousness beneath his tone that made my stomach flip.

We stood there for a moment longer, caught in the glow of the streetlights and the lingering energy of the night. Then he slid his hand into mine again, his fingers lacing with mine as he gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

“Come on,” he said, his grin returning as he started walking again. “We’ve got to celebrate this win properly. I think I know a place that serves the best post-game beer in the city.”

“Lead the way,” I said, falling into step beside him, my heart still racing from the kiss. As we disappeared into the New York night, my heart felt impossibly full. This wasn’t just about baseball, or even Hank’s team winning—it was about the way he made everything feel brighter, bigger, and somehow better. And I knew I’d never forget this night—because of him.

[rosesradio]

life update

so i don’t want to share too much, i’ve become a bit more private lately and there are definitely pros and cons to that, though i thought i would go ahead and share what’s been going on now & in the future to sort of explain how the frequency of me being online might change.

i recently graduated with my bachelor’s degree—and while i know i worked hard for it i also can’t help but feel as though it’s not that important in today’s world. my parent’s generation is able to support a family of multiple kids with a middle class lifestyle on the jobs they landed after their associates, meanwhile most of my master’s-degree-obtaining peers struggle to find a job that makes ends meet. i can’t help but feel as though a bachelor’s degree has all the significance today as a high school diploma—an accomplishment that, while admirable, is seen as “what you should be doing”. instead of pride, my heart is full of indifference and slight relief.

and so, the next stage is to get a master’s degree (in library science…a field that is surely Not Hard to get into At All…). i am going online at [redacted] university, so i can take my classes anywhere. my sister, meanwhile, just landed her first full time job in which she can support herself in a small town an hour away. we’ve talked through everything that moving out entails, and ultimately decided that this would be something that we would like to try together.

so i’m moving out.

it’s a little scary (very scary) to even type those words, and although i don’t feel 100% ready, i think this will be a great opportunity for both of us. i’ll still be working part time through the summer and grad school (i wanted to work full time to contribute more, though my family advised against it, so i’ll probably work the heavier end of part time), though i’ll still learn a great deal about budgeting, cooking, cleaning, and generally maintaining “my own” living space, all while my childhood home is an hour away.

i really like the town were moving to, we have family there that can help us when we need it, it’s a peaceful small town where everything is a five minute drive away from each other (it’ll be nice to run 4 errands in half an hour versus it being an all day affair in my town of [redacted], where the population boomed far more than it can handle). we looked at the apartment we’d wanted yesterday and agreed that it was the right place, just a walk away from restaurants we wouldn’t be able to afford to eat at lol (not to mention other nice sights and a nature walk, etc). now i have to find a part time job that pays somewhat decent and is hopefully not in food or retail, though i’ll also be open to wherever the money is, even if the job isn’t ideal.

i’m scared to quit my job. i’ve had some really great days there with the right manager, though when the rude and demeaning ones are working i’ve found it to be a very dehumanizing experience. i suppose that’s every job, though. i’m scared to leave my childhood home and the family dogs and everything i like about where i live. while there are some annoyances to living at home (lack of privacy sometimes, being called for random tasks in the middle of other tasks, etc), i do like living at home for the most part and just don’t like the town.

even so, i feel like this is the right move to make. it’s like a tutorial run on how to live on my own. i think i’ll be happy. also, no promises, but hiding my fic from one person is easier than hiding it from multiple people. i think that in my own space with more free time, i might be able to write more. especially if i’m not stuck in traffic.

that’s all i have for now, and boy did i ramble for quite a bit. now i have to go through my things and get rid of things, etc (like figuring out which clothes don’t fit me anymore, which will surely not impact my self esteem in any way). i know i have followers of all ages, so to any of my older friends who live on their own, any advice is greatly appreciated.

thank y’all for listening and understanding ����

[confusedpaladin]

working at a church is wild. the pros:

its one of the most progressive denominations so people are indifferent to supportive about me being trans

pay is good, hours are regular

60% of the work is babysitting a big print job every thursday

all the church ladies treat me like a nephew (the head of kitchen left mac and cheese for me today 🥺🥺)

they let me crochet in the office while im not doing Tasks

cons:

i am an atheist

[bananasfosterparent]

OC SMASH or PASS

Thank you for the tags @pinkberrytea and @razrogue hehe glad to get to this one... and both your Tavs are always a smash uwu

I tag: @pastel-starr-bitch @rielzero @bardic-inspo (and anyone else who might wanna do it! no pressures💜)

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

Efenity Kelmorn

Quick Facts:

Height: 6ft2in/187cm

Age: 37

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Straight/Demisexual

Pros:

Dedicated - Once she has a plan, she will stick to it and find a way to make it work. if she has promised herself to something, she will not break that promise to herself.

Patient - She will wait to see how she meshes (or not) with someone and give them time to prove themselves.

Clever - Enjoys puzzles and logic games. Enjoys getting into tight situations to figure her way out.

Detail Oriented - Will notice and remember small details about someone.

Sense of Humor - She loves to laugh and can find humor in a lot of situations.

Sturdy and Solid - A pillar of strength and steadfastness, both physically and emotionally. She has learned to control her emotions thanks to their effect on her magic, and remains calm in trouble. And she can lift most average and small sized people.

Devious and Cheeky - Not afraid to get unserious and poke fun.

Curious - To a fault, she delves into mysteries and wants to explore. Things might get dangerous but it's never boring with her.

Protective - Those who have weaseled into her heart have gained a fierce protector who will raise all nine hells to get them what they want.

Cons:

Stubborn - Once she has a plan, she refuses to budge. She is only dedicated to her own cause. The moment someone else's cause does not align with her own, she will turn on them somehow.

Always Scheming - She takes time to learn about those around her, in case they prove themselves useful to her (ie taking advantage of others lol)

Manipulative - Plots very elaborate plans to steer others toward her own will and desires.

Bully - Gets a laugh out of making fun of and belittling others.

Intimidating - uses her strength/stature to scare, threaten, and manipulate others into going her way, or else.

Brutally honest - Will point out others' insecurities and negative traits with no tact or gentleness.

Prying - Will weasel into sensitive information and tunnel into secrets and dark places she isn't supposed to be (and may use it for blackmail).

Obsessive - Once someone is in her very tiny circle, she will do all she can to control their lives, not maliciously necessarily, but in whatever way to avoid losing them as long as possible. She will try to manipulate them to make choices that she views as "safer" for her own comfort and the security of the relationship.

Cruel and Indifferent - Wil kill, maim, cheat, lie to, steal from, and be all around cruel to anyone, if they are an obstacle between herself and what she wants. And it's their own fault for being so trusting.

Stoic and bottles emotions - Will rarely have heart to hearts or spill her true thoughts to someone, unless they've reached a certain level with her that very few every have. Even then, her honest heart is locked down tighter than the Declaration of Independence in National Treasure.

DETAILS

Doesn't like men bigger/taller than her.

Touching her feels like static electricity sometimes and she zaps people slightly by accident all the time. Needless to say, she's not touchy feely at all.

Ironically has slight astraphobia, thanks to her trauma with the storm that killed her father. Storms in nature are beyond her control and that's scary.

While she can channel any atmosphere related magic best, her biggest connections are to lightning and thunder.

Has tried relationship things with women but isn't super into it. Willing to try again if it felt right and just happened to work out, but definitely prefers men overall.

Dangerous sleeper--will punch by instinct if she is woken up suddenly (Astarion learned this the hard way and that's my hc for why they sleep/rest in separate bedrolls lmao)

Got the gigantic eye wing tattoos at fifteen because she thought it made her look more intimidating. A kid she knew called her a racoon and she thunderwaved him into a wall (he didn't die, but certainly could have).

Is either scheming, eating, or working out. Rarely has free time.

Can make a "gym" for herself anywhere. Will use branches, trees, stones, walls, logs, anything she can find to do various exercises with.

Changes her hair up a lot and experiments with various styles for fun. Also enjoys playing with make up.

Has a lot of piercings she mostly did herself: Bridge, septum, snake bites, 3 on each ear, and nipples. Perhaps has more elsewhere 🤔🫣idk

[anne-chloe]

Underground | II |

Jareth/Goblin King x F! Reader

Summary : You begin your journey into the Labyrinth, and you almost lose your footing.

"How do I get in?"

You grumbled to yourself, pacing up and down the wall that prevented you from entering the labyrinth. You'd been searching for a way in for at least 15 minutes, and by now you were despairing in frustration. How were you supposed to complete the labyrinth and save Harry if you couldn't even get in?

Is this what the Goblin King meant by his labyrinth being complicated?

You stopped, huffing loudly while setting your hands firmly to your hips. You stared at the wall ahead, practically glaring. There must be an entrance that you just weren't seeing. Maybe it blended in with the wall, it was camouflaged and that's why you couldn't find it so easily. It would make sense, seeing as how it guarded the castle.

You were never very good at puzzles, or mazes actually. You were kidding yourself when you'd said you had completed mazes before. You'd never gone through a maze by yourself, and there were always workers scattered throughout to offer help to those that needed it.

You highly doubted that there would be guides within the labyrinth offering support.

A noise caught your attention. You lowered your hands and turned to the side, now staring at a creature from behind. A fairy, it looked like; a small thing, giggling and fluttering around in a small patch of flowers that was dusted with glitter. It seemed as though everything had a sparkle to it. It made the labyrinth seem less dangerous than it obviously was. A false sense of security.

"Excuse me?" You timidly asked, now approaching the fairy with exceeding caution, afraid that you'd frighten it off. It stopped messing with the flowers and turned to look at you, now falling quiet with curiosity. You crouched down and held out your hand, watching in childish delight as it perched itself into your palm. "Hi," you whispered happily, "I'm looking for the entrance to the labyrinth. Do you happen to know the way in?"

The fairy nodded eagerly, and pointed to the spot directly where you had been originally looking. You stood and turned, gasping in surprise as a large, gated door appeared where the wall used to be. You moved towards it as they slowly opened with a creak, and a ball of fog rolled out.

You looked down at the fairy and beamed. "Thank you for your help." You watched as the fairy hovered above your hand, a squeak leaving her mouth as her tiny hand waved, reflecting your delight. Then, she fluttered away, returning back to the flowers that you had found her in.

You stared into the foggy entrance, nose crinkling at the lack of vision. You began walking in, immediately spotting that the path either led left or right. You hummed in thought, wondering which way would be best to take. And staring down them, you couldn't see a visible turn or curve in either direction, leaving you with little ways to weigh out the pros and cons. Instead, you covered your eyes and decided to spin in a circle, and whichever way you stopped would be the way you'd go.

To the right.

You shrugged, feeling indifferent and set off walking. The fog began to fade out, and the sun beamed down from the sky. You stepped over roots embedded into the ground, and ducked under twigs that poked out from the walls. You kept your hand trailing on the wall, your eyes fixated ahead.

Another 15 minutes passed with you walking utterly straight. And soon you started to frown deeply at the lack of turnings and twists. There weren't any dead ends, and the pathway just seemed to continue onwards no matter what. You paused in the middle of the labyrinth, taking a moment to scan your surroundings in hopes that you'd missed any clues or signs. But no, there was nothing but glitter sparkling under the sunshine, and twigs that stuck out and often caught your hair.

"This is..." hard. You didn't want to admit it out loud, for the fear that the Goblin King would hear you. You didn't want to admit defeat so early on, not when Harry was depending on you.

God, you felt incredibly guilty for wishing him away. It had simply been a heat of the moment phrase; you didn't realise the consequences behind it. If you'd have known about its power, you would never have spoken those words. But, a part of you whispered cruelly that he deserved it; he had cheated, after all, and he even admitted that he'd known this woman for months before being caught. Your bottom lip quivered and your eyes threatened to produce tears again; how long would he have continued if you hadn't have caught him?

You hoped the goblins were poking fun at him for only wearing a bedsheet and nothing more. You hoped they'd tear it away from him and run wild around the castle, taunting him for his nakedness. You hoped he was sulking, reflecting back on everything he had done to cause you pain; you hoped he was wishing he'd never met you.

You shook your head, ridding yourself of those thoughts. You needed to focus on solving the labyrinth. If you continued to think about Harry and everything that had happened, you wouldn't make any progress. You could think about him later when you were in a better place to do so.

"'Allo."

You tensed at the voice. Glancing around, you felt your skin crawl at seeing nobody there. You blinked, weirded out.

"Down here!"

You tilted your head down, eyes scanning the floor, and finally, the wall. It was a worm. Wearing a scarf and a hat. You stared in surprise, having expected something else other than a worm. Perhaps a bird of sorts that could speak, or maybe another fairy as kind as the one you met at the entrance.

"Oh..." you muttered, lowering yourself again so you could speak with the worm a little better. It was strange, talking to creatures like this. You pushed aside the oddness of it all, and tried to remain focused on asking the correct questions. "I don't suppose you know the way through this labyrinth?"

The worm shook its head. You sighed in disappointment, having expected such an answer but feeling frustration nonetheless. "Nah, I'm just a worm. Would you like to meet the missus?"

You blinked at the worm, holding back a laugh. It had never crossed your mind before that worms might have relationships too, albeit not as complicated as a humans would be. "Uh, no thank you," you replied, smiling at the idea of making friends with a worm and its partner. "I'm on a bit of a tight schedule. Is there any particular reason as to why there's no turnings?"

The worm tilted its head. "No turnings?" It repeated, astounded by this information. "No, you're mistaken. There's a turning right in front of us!"

Alarmed, you looked over your shoulder and stared at the wall. You couldn't see an entrance anywhere. It was just a normal wall. You looked back at the worm, feeling slightly betrayed that it would shatter your hopes like that. "There isn't," you corrected, "it's just a wall."

"You're not looking close enough!" The worm insisted, nodding its head towards the wall.

You furrowed your brows together and stood up. Carefully, you held your hands out in front of you and took steady steps forwards. As you neared the wall, you expected your palms to come into contact with the cool stone, but instead you walked beyond it. You gasped in delight, pleased that the worm hadn't been messing with you and was correct.

"Oh, thank you!" You beamed brightly. Again, you were left with the choice of going left or right. You eyed both pathways in deep consideration. Well, hadn't you gone right the first time? You resolved yourself to go left, just to switch up the directions you were taking.

"Don't go that way!"

You stepped back, startled by the worms warning. "What... why?" You asked, now wearily looking down the path you had almost taken. Were there horrible creatures lurking down there? Traps and tricks that would only hinder your journey? If so, you were thankful that the worm had stopped you from advancing any further.

The worm shook its head. "Never go that way." Is all it said, and the grim look on its face only confirmed your suspicions. Dangerous creatures. The Goblin King had warned you that his labyrinth was dangerous and complicated, and so far he hadn't lied to you, and neither had this worm.

Grateful for the correction, you thanked the worm again and bid your goodbyes.

You continued onwards, pleased that you were starting to finally make some decent progress in the labyrinth. You were beginning to worry that you weren't smart enough to solve it; perhaps you weren't smart enough, considering you had acquired the help of a fairy and a worm to guide you. Nevertheless, didn't that make you smart for asking? Surely that made you resilient in your own way.

You hummed a gentle tune as you walked on, now spotting the gaps in the wall that the worm had pointed out. You were met with a few dead ends, and a few twists that confused your whereabouts, but you soon found yourself out of the beginnings and in the very middle. You grinned, feeling exceedingly proud.

Take that, you thought smugly. It's not that complicated once you know what to look out for.

You again found yourself in a section of the labyrinth that seemed almost dedicated to twists and turns. You walked up steps and found yourself stuck, and you'd turn back around and walk into another dead end. You tried not to let your frustration grow. You glanced in the direction of the castle, keeping it in your sights and pushing forwards, taking the paths that pointed in its direction.

And as you walked, you found your mind wander in to the popular production of Aladdin. It was sold out on every night, and you were forever grateful to have been cast as Princess Jasmine. You hummed along to the tune of Arabian Nights, finding that the song was bringing you confidence and comfort as you continued to navigate through endless dead ends and false paths.

A few words you found yourself singing aloud, your voice echoing around the silent labyrinth.

"Oh, the music that plays as you move through a maze, in the haze of your pure delight."

You stepped over a stone block that stood jagged out of the ground. You headed down some steps, your fingers mindlessly brushing against the stone walls that seemed so randomly placed, but you knew they were thought of with meticulous care.

"You are caught in a dance, you are lost in a trance, of another Arabian night—"

You froze, eyes widening slightly as you assessed your newest challenge.

A drop in the floor. You peered over the edge, your shoe catching a stone and kicking it forwards. Down the stone went, and you watched in a grimace as it continued onwards, its end not making a single sound. You glanced over, noting how the other side was too far to jump across. You ran your fingers through your hair, knowing you'd need something to assist getting you across.

You scarcely looked around, finding nothing but other stones in sight. None of them were nearly big enough to block the drop. You frowned.

It's not like you could turn back and find another direction to go. You needed to go through this part, because slightly in the distance you could see the beginnings of a healthy green hedge, meaning you were definitely on the right pathway. This was something put in place as a challenge, something to slow down your progress.

You could always run and jump and pray that you'd make it, but you shook your head at the stupid, desperate thought. You'd land yourself to certain death, or a life threatening injury. You couldn't risk hurting yourself when you needed to find Harry. And if you were stuck down there, what use would you be? None.

You thoughts flashed to the Goblin King, who would surely be monitoring you. You wondered if he was impressed with how far and fast you'd come. Was he watching intently? Did he admire your ability to march onwards without giving up?

You huffed out a short laugh. Are you stupid? Surely the Goblin King wouldn't be engrossed in whatever you were doing. He must be busy ruling over his subjects, possibly creating plans for how he'd fit Harry under his rule. He probably didn't care much about your progress at all.

You began searching the nearby area for anything that would help you across. Then, you stumbled upon a large slab of stone. You grinned and tucked your fingers underneath, using all your strength to lift it up and drag it across the floor. It scraped loudly, its weight protesting to your determination. You grunted and puffed for air, feeling your hands and shoulders ache.

You had to pause several times to take a break. You frowned down at your scuffed fingertips, noting how red and raw they were looking from gripping a stone slab like that. But you continued on with your plan, determined to have it work as a bridge of sorts.

Once you reached the drop again, you began pushing the stone slab rather than pulling. It just about touched the other side before you ran out of stone to push, meaning it would work but would possibly be unstable. You wiped the sweat from your brow and gently placed your foot on the edge, testing it before throwing your entire body weight into it.

And so you began walking across. You held out your arms for balance. You refused to look down at the drop, and you instead focused on your feet. One foot in front of the other. Carefully creeping over to the other side.

A slight noise caught your attention. You paused, risking the chance to look up. A crystal ball rolled down the stone path, heading a steady pace in your direction. You blinked curiously at the sight, wondering where it had come from and why it appeared without a single blemish.

Then, the crystal ball stopped and it made a tiny tink as it gently bumped into the stone slab you were standing on. Your chest tightened in panic, and suddenly the stone slipped off the edge. You cried out and launched yourself forwards, fingers barely grabbing the ledge and holding you securely in place. You whimpered, feet dangling as the stone slab vanished bellow, noiseless and endless as it continued to plummet, just like the stone you had kicked.

Your fingers burned with the pressure of holding you up. You cringed, desperate to pull yourself up yet lacking the strength to do so. You tried, arms shaking as it hoisted your weight, your head poking over the top. You gasped, managing to tuck your arm on top of the ledge, securing you a lot better than your fingers had.

The crystal ball remained just a few inches from the ledge. You glared at it, practically hearing the Goblin King laugh at your misfortune. How could you possibly think he wasn't watching? He must be dearly entertained by this entire situation. He must have cackled when you screamed in fright. How cruel.

Finally, you gave one last pull and managed to roll onto the ledge. You awkwardly caught your arm on a jagged stone sticking upwards, tearing the skin on your forearm. A streak of blood trickled down, and you hissed at the sudden pain. Looking on the bright side, a cut on your arm was better than plunging endlessly to your death.

After catching your breath and allowing your heart rate to settle, you reached over and snatched the crystal ball from the floor. You eyed it suspiciously in your hands, wondering if something would happen. But nothing did. It was useless. You scoffed loudly, hoping that, if the Goblin King was still watching, he'd hear your displeasure for nearly getting you killed.

You stuffed the crystal ball into your pocket and shakily stood up, now heading towards the pathway with the luscious green hedges rather than jagged stone walls.

While you hoped it would be easier to navigate, you had a trembling feeling that this wasn't the last time that the Goblin King would interfere with your journey.

[spacemagictea]

Drifter Character Sheet

edit: fixed face screenshots cuz turns out I had the wrong aspect ratio the entire bloody time

Birth Name: Kaylessa

Titles: Drifter, Time Freak (‘title’ she gives herself)

Nicknames: Kay, Kayle, Marty, whatever Amir comes up with

Sex/Gender: Female

Birth World: Venus

Home World: Earth

Current Residence: Höllvania

Birthday: 30th June, year ???

Height: 170cm

Weight: middle, she’s got decent muscle

Eye Shape and Color: idk eye shapes well, visual reference above. Color emerald green

Skin Texture and Color: freckled, white, pale-skinned. Her body is littered with scars - arrows, cuts, claws, some burns, most notable however are a prominent scar in the middle of her chest from the usual method of execution by impalement she suffered in Duviri and tendrils of void scarring on her left hand and forearm caused by the severed hand of Lotus merging with her hand in Duviri.

Hair Style and Color: straight hair, usually shoulder length, kept in check with a bandana or tied in a ponytail if she lets it grow longer, crimson red color

Style/Fashion: 

casual wear: somewhat loose, comfy clothing. She loves turtlenecks and flannel. Often found wearing sunglasses and headphones plus a backpack. Pink, purple and black/grey.

battle fit: Armor that resembles Dax armor but with a closed mask with a plume at the top, black base with silver and golden parts and red cloth accents.

Age: Visually 30ish, actual age ??? (she was 13 when the Zariman Incident happened)

Personality Traits: Gentle, kind, honest, reckless, awkward, open-minded, curious, patient, protective

Likes: tea, plants, animals, floofs, books, music, good stories, tinkering with tech, AMIR.

Dislikes: pollution, Indifference, pointless cruelty, ALBRECHT ENTRATI.

Pet Peeves: hard to find whole leaf tea in Höllvania and these teabags SUCK

Habits: always keeps a tea set in places where she spends a lot of time, often fidgets with the bouncy glaives she can summon through her amp, likes to stay up late

Morals: never refuses to help others, tries to approach everyone with kindness, willing to avoid fighting if it’s not necessary, avoids dishonorable combat. She is vengeful, especially against people who hurt the innocent or things/people she cares about.

Phobias: seeing people she cares about die, having to go back to the future with no way to bring the Hex with her

Pros: good listener, will comfort you, bring you tea or any preferred beverage and tell you a story. Considers protecting others her duty. She’ll not disturb you if she doesn’t have to and you can basically chill alongside her doing your own thing.

Cons: often disregards her own well-being and/or safety. Tends to put others before her too much. A bit… touchy. She was very touch starved so if you don’t like hugs or touch, warn her beforehand because she likes to give hugs.

Personal Glories: getting Amir to date her lol 

Personal Trauma: had to kill her older sister when she turned mad because of MITW and as a result she always feels like she failed her in some way. Major survivor’s guilt.

Powers: time looping, Tenno Void powers - while she can perform anything her operator self can do, she has less control over these powers, for example, her void mode/cloak doesn’t always fully protect her or turn her invisible.

Abilities: melee combat, Kaithe riding, pistol/amp shooting. More recent abilities come from the Void powers obtained when she met with her alternate self and became empowered when they chose to have the Drifter be the more active person for the time being. Due to not being used to them yet, she might at times forget that she’s got some of these tools available - mostly concerning focus school abilities. Current main extent includes Void mode/cloak, Void sling, Transference and abilities of the Vazarin/Unairu schools of focus. Still working on the other schools and mastering what she’s currently got. Occasional void mode issues have her try to figure out if she can potentially do the partial void mode on purpose and for example only use the damage protection mode, without the invisibility.

Weapons: Sirocco, a pistol she uses in Duviri, Edun, melee spear she uses in Duviri (I know DE doesn’t let us but she also uses it outside Duviri) and an amp called Flying Blaze, which can project damaging Void energy as either homing, bouncing glaives or a pistol-like blast. When using Warframes, she’s got a variety of weapons to choose from.

Combat Affinity: Flexibility is key. Whether fighting as herself or using a Warframe, she adjusts to the role that is most necessary and controls the battlefield that way. She can switch from attacker to defender and vice versa quickly.

Warframes of choice: Protea Prime, Hildryn Prime, Nova Prime

Social Skills: She’s friendly and open but awkward. Years of isolation make her a bit hesitant at times but if approached, she won’t refuse interaction.

~Relationships~

Lover: Amir. The spark between the two ignited quickly, the common ground helping them develop a friendship that eventually bloomed into much more than that - a true love. They are truly open and vulnerable with each other like with nobody else, sharing their experiences, their nightmares, their joys and their sadness to the full extent. She loves him for all of him. And the most precious thing to her is how he sees beyond her powers and her heroics and sees her as a person. To many, she’s an admirable hero and/or a powerful asset. To Amir, she’s just Kaylessa. 

Family: 

Deceased parents, she forgot their names at this point but she remembers they were kind and loving. They were scholars.

Deceased older sister, Aurelia, who aspired to be an Archimedean and was a great inspiration to young Kay.

The Hex are kind of a found family to her. They’re both best friends and siblings to her (aside from Amir being her lover)

Friends:

Aoi: They enjoy sharing music sessions with fun beverages together. Aoi greatly encouraged Kay to take the step to confess her feelings to Amir and taught her where the most fun date spots are.

Eleanor: They share legends and stories with each other and hold challenging discussions. Eleanor teaches Kay about languages and the state of the world in 1999. She also helped her name her feelings towards Amir and encouraged to take the step further.

Lettie: finding a lot of similarities to her older sister, Kay holds the softest spot for Lettie. She loves to help her with medical duties and making sure that Lettie can earn a moment of respite. And Lettie helps keep Kay grounded.

Arthur: a relationship of great respect and true friendship, Kay helped Arthur open up and evolve as a leader. They also practice cooking together. He made Kaylessa, who used to be a lone wolf, consider how she works with a team more.

Quincy: while she does consider Quincy an asshole at times and still has a slight grudge about his early treatment of Amir, the fact that in the end he tries to do the right thing has her consider him a positive relationship. She finds how he takes care of the kids in Höllvania to be the most noble thing. She helps him find educational resources.

Others:

While she has close relationships to the folks of the present time, she still considers herself quite… separated from them, especially now that she developed deep relationships with the Hex.

The Lotus (Natah): a mother figure to the Operator, Kaylessa’s title of Champion makes her feel a bit weird but working under her guidance has been a great honor.

Teshin: her mentor and a father-like figure, she cares greatly about him and always appreciates his lessons.

Operator Kaylessa has a sibling-like relationship with Drifter Kaylessa, but the main role the Operator took was one of a mentor.

Ordis: Ordis treats both versions of Kay the same way, like a caretaker. To the Drifter, he’s kind of like an uncle.

Loid: a friendly guide, she deeply appreciates his efforts, but has a bit of a hard time telling Loid that if she saw Albrecht ever again, it’s on sight.

The Cavia: the animals are deeply precious to Kay and another big motivation for her vengeance towards Albrecht.

Dominus Thrax: she pities the child king, after all she created him and kind of made him into her personal punishment

Albrecht: enemy number two, after the Indifference

Viktor: enemy number three

Theme Song: Dead Cells - Clock Tower Dead Cells - ClockTower (Official Soundtrack)

What voice I imagine her having: Sandra Nasic from Guano Apes, especially the first three albums era

Biography: Kaylessa’s parents were biology scholars of good renown. Born in one of the first cities built on the terraformed Venus, Kay led a quiet and idyllic life, in tune with nature from birth as her parents took her and her older sister Aurelia on their research expeditions. Aurelia, being 6 years older, made sure to protect her little sister whenever she had an opportunity and show her the world to the best of her understanding.

Boundlessly curious, Kay took up to learning all about plants and animals, giving her parents great hope she’d follow in their footsteps. Her sister was an academic ace, especially excelling in genetics, with an early dream of becoming an Archimedean. The more reserved future Drifter did not think of such ambitious things yet, but she was no less knowledge hungry, often preferring to read books once she was able to read and look at the beauty of the natural world over interacting with others.

When Kaylessa was 10, her family was selected to be among the first colonists of Tau, boarding the fated ship Zariman Ten Zero, which was to be their new home… and ended up being the tomb for most of them. Three years later, she lost everything and everyone she cared about. Forced to kill her sister who turned mad then watching her parents tear each other apart when imprisoned left her with haunting nightmares and a major case of survivor’s guilt.

She ended up stranded on the Zariman when the deal she made with the Man in the Wall made it so everyone else but her was saved. Escaping into Duviri, she ended up stuck for a long, long time, until the New War’s paradox brought her salvation.

She took up a more active role between the two versions of her after emerging, hoping to give her child soldier self some respite from everything that happened. Until she had to travel in the past… and now she does not know if she’ll want to return, unless she finds a way to bring the Hex with her.

Other notes: ADHD and autism traits but do they diagnose that stuff in the far future? Probably not, up to you if because it’s considered a normal thing or because things are just ignored due to everything being gigafucked. She’s left handed so I mirror everything that defaults to right hand to left hand in my mind, like the Lotus hand. She’s demisexual. Her face scars are less prominent but even then, that’s why she got accessories on her to draw attention from the scars away.

------

As you can see I gave her a small look revamp - after they fixed the kiss cut scene it had me notice a few things that I liked more before fixes and some things that pestered me too much so, I adjusted her look.

Character sheet courtesy of @ashandshy https://www.tumblr.com/ashandshy/772406073411960833/drifter-character-sheets-of-2025

[maxxreadsfanfic]

That's the Kind of Love I've Been Dreaming Of

by officialstarsandgutters on AO3 Rating : 4/5 Highly Recommend! I had a great time reading this fic and devoured it in about 4 days. I was staying up to 3 or 4 am every night trying to read as much as I could before passing out. This is an incredibly fun fic!

Fandom : All For The Game Main Pairing : KevAaron (Kevin Day x Aaron Minyard) Side Pairings : Seemingly canon compliant otherwise Length: 23 Chapters; 241,056 Words (Longfic)

Brief Synopsis: After breaking up with Katelyn, Aaron downloads the Grindr app and finds himself entranced with a faceless History student. Queue the series of chaotic events. Tropes: ONE BED, Miscommunication, Dating Apps, Slow Burn (the slowest of burns, really), Sexting, Kevin is a fucking NERD Content Warnings: Nothing that isn't comparable to the source material. SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT

Pros: - Music Recs!!! Aaron has GREAT taste. - Kevin has likes/hobbies outside of Exy and training - Well developed side characters (Aaron's friends) - Cute tension building - Adorable dates - Very well written Aaron and Kevin. I didn't find myself thinking that their actions were too unrealistic compared to canon. - ONE FUCKING BED TROPE! It's my favorite, especially when there's a sleep cuddler like Kevin around. - Aaron and Katelyn's friendship was incredibly wholesome, which I liked to read. Cons: - I *really* didn't enjoy the portrayal of Neil in this fic. In canon, he's typically on the edge of indifference when it comes to Aaron. In this fic, he is outright antagonistic most of the time. I found that kind of grating, especially when it seemed to happen at times where it didn't really push the narrative at all. - Extremely repetitive dialog when it comes to Kevin reassuring Aaron. Some of the conversations between chapters felt like reading the same content over again. That being said, this is nitpicking and didn't really ruin the overall experience. - The text message formatting for the Grindr segments were often hard for me to follow. - The double time lines for the first half or so of the fic were very confusing, as it wasn't really blatantly notated that time was shifting. There was one point where I was extremely confused as to whether it was fall and they were attending classes, or if it was summer and they were in Columbia pretty much full time. It jumped around quite often and I didn't particularly enjoy that, as it made the plot hard to follow.

[scumtrout]

You know I don't think that 'what if nobody here likes me? :(' is an unreasonable negative thought, nor do I think it's a sign that you dislike yourself. You will literally SEE environments where people are generally indifferent to you and/or some individuals are widely disliked by the group for whatever reason (some fair, some bullshit), and there is a risk that you may be one of those individuals.

Also, when you're on the receiving end of indifference, sometimes it doesn't feel much different from hatred.

The trick is to either work on being liked (pros: it Gets You Stuff. Cons: I think there are limits to how much you can smarm you way through various environments), or acknowledge that other people may be indifferent and/or hostile. (Although acknowledging it isn't the same as tolerating it. I think you have to acknowledge something before you decide if you want to tolerate it or not.)

In a perfect world it'd be nice if everyone could just form friendships organically, and that can and does happen, but that doesn't mean there isn't also a broad range of people who'll only like you if you're conventionally attractive relative to your environment/useful to them/part of their in-group, so your general likeableness will depend on having the right face and doing the right dance.