#ask change in script bob

[michaelscorneroftheinternet]

Hey Bob, I just wanted to let you know that everyone should love and appreciate you for the terrible and amazing person you are! How would you react if I told you that SMG4 and SMG3 are going through a whole enemies-to-lovers arc? Not saying that they are though! Or are they? Just kidding! Or am I? Just kidding! Or am- *explodes*

Also Micheal if you feel like you struggle with answering asks because of things coming up... know that I found that incredibly relatable. Keep up the good work!

Boopkins: Bob! Those are our friends not to mention their private business! You can't go selling that!

Bob: BuT lIKE MoNEY.

Boopkins: No! You will not go and hurt our friends feelings by telling other people that!

Bob: uGh FinE! YoUR lOsS tHoUGH mAn. I toTaLLY wOUld haVE shARed the ProFits wiTH you iF yOU wereN'T such a PuSSY abOUt it.

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... 2 Asks Remaining...

[br1ghtestlight]

im still not 100% sure when season 14 of bob's burgers is going to release like they SAY episode one will allegedly premiere on october 1st but beyond that im just imagining a 6 month hiatus bcuz both the writers AND the voice actors of the show are striking and they couldn't have got that far into production honestly

[blindmagdalena]

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

[the-unidentified-author]

To Love Is to Antagonize | LT. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd | Top Gun: Maverick

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], teasing, slow build, slow burn?, sly glances, shy Bob, not so shy Bob, rough, loving, talks you through it, reader wears a bikini, no descriptions of the readers body, horny bob, frustrated bob, shirtless bob, unprotected p in v, you have to keep quiet, hand over mouth, bob knows what hes doing, bobs hand on readers body, truth or dare, mention of boobs, breeding kink? consensual!

Summary: A camping trip with the squad is the perfect opportunity for you to get to know Bob a little better. But, of course things can't ever be easy. Nat decides that the best way for you to finally get to jump, Bobs bones is if you antagonize him until the shy, polite part of him gives way to the feral, dirty minded freak he really is.

A/n: I had to split this into individual parts as editing a huge chunk of text actually almost fried my brain. Only the first chapters are posted here because this fic is LONG. There is a link HERE, and at the bottom of this post to the completed fic on AO3. Enjoy!

This fic is inspired by the plan ; robert 'bob' floyd by @geminiwritten, I couldn't stop thinking about it, I think it changed my brain chemistry. Give it a read! If you haven't already!!!

Word Count: 29,075

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

I think this is one of the longest, fully completed fics that I have ever written. I don’t even care if there are mistakes and if it’s shit. I had so much fun writing it and I am fucking proud that I finished it!!!

Chapter 1:

The late afternoon sun slanted through the half-open blinds, painting the cluttered room with warm, golden light. You were sitting cross-legged on the scuffed hardwood floor, your backpack propped open beside you like a hungry mouth, methodically sorting through the piles of camping gear strewn around you.

Phoenix, your roommate and perennial mischief-maker, lounged on the mussed bed, idly tossing a balled-up sock in the air and catching it with a flourish. Their dark eyes danced with suppressed laughter, and you could practically see the gears turning in their head.

"Hey," Phoenix said suddenly, a grin spreading across her face like a slow sunrise. "You notice how Bob's been acting around you lately?"

You looked up from your packing, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "What do you mean?"

Phoenix snorted, rolling her eyes with exaggerated patience. "Come on, don't play dumb. He's been all flustered and tongue-tied, tripping over himself whenever you're nearby. It's adorable, really."

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile as you turned back to your gear. "He does not."

"Does too!" Phoenix retorted, sitting up with a smirk. "I bet he's got a massive crush on you. He's just too shy to make a move."

You scoffed, reaching for a rolled-up sleeping bag and tucking it into your backpack with a little more force than necessary. "You're imagining things. Bob's just��� Bob. He's like that with everyone."

"Nope. I know what I see," Phoenix insisted, leaning forward with a conspiratorial wink. "Mark my words, something's gonna happen on this trip. All those long, moonlit walks in the woods? The romantic campfire stories? It's the perfect setup."

You crossed your arms, giving Phoenix a skeptical look. “Hardly romantic—the whole squad's going to be there. Plus, Bob’s just shy. He’s like that with everyone.”

Phoenix grinned, leaning back on her elbows, unshaken. “Exactly. That’s what makes it even more adorable. Shy guys are always the most intense when they finally get the guts to make a move. And trust me, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just friendly.”

You rolled your eyes, stuffing a few more socks into your pack. “He’s probably just nervous. It’s a big trip, big group—don’t overthink it.”

Phoenix snorted softly, eyes narrowing playfully. “Nope. I think he's got it bad—secretly scripting long walks, staring at your profile while pretending to be lost in thought. Trust me, I’ve seen those little glances—you’re not that oblivious, right?”

You let out an exasperated breath, shaking your head. “Please. It’s all in your head. Bob’s a nice guy, but I think you’re reading way too much into it.”

Phoenix sat up, her expression turning playful but insistent. “You’re missing the signs. Those subtle hints? The way he fidgets around you, trying to hide how much he’s staring? That’s crush 101. And I’m telling you, something’s gonna happen—probably accidental, probably sweet. But definitely happening.”

You sighed, feeling a mixture of amusement and awkwardness. “You’re impossible.”

Phoenix grinned wider, crossing her arms exaggeratedly. “Hey, I’m just saying—if I were him, I’d be too nervous to say anything directly.”

You blinked, caught between amusement and a little flutter of nerves. “You’ve got enough confidence for both of us.”

Phoenix leaned in slightly, a sly smile curling her lips. “Maybe. Or perhaps I just know how these things work. The subtle signals, the waiting game. Trust me, this trip’s going to turn into something pretty interesting.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Bob’s far too shy to admit anything, even if he’s got a crush. He’s polite and nervous—he wouldn’t make a move, not even if I practically waved it in his face.”

Phoenix’s eyes sparkled with mischief, a grin tugging at her lips. “That’s precisely where you come in. You just need to drive him absolutely insane—that’s how you’ll get his attention.”

You looked at her, skeptical. “What? How?”

Phoenix sat forward, excitement laced her words. “Listen—I’m talking about just enough teasing, a little flirtation. Show him a little more of that smile, a little suggestive glance now and then. And the best way? Giving him glimpses of your cleavage—nothing crazy, just enough to make his head spin. Make him realise what he’s been missing.”

You felt your cheeks flush but tried to stay nonchalant. “You want me to flirt with him?”

Phoenix winked, eyes glinting with scheming amusement. “Exactly. You’re gorgeous—what’s the worst that could happen? Just enough teasing that he starts second-guessing everything, wondering if you’re interested. When he finally gets it—trust me, the guy’s a man, manners can only hold him back for so long.” She grinned wider. “You’re the one who’s got the power in this game. Just give him enough glimpses, enough softly spoken hints, and watch him unravel. He won’t be able to resist eventually.”

You raised an eyebrow, struggling not to smile. “You want me to blue-ball, poor Bob?”

Phoenix snorted, batting you lightly with the balled-up sock. “Please, it’s not about torturing him. This might be the only way to get him to actually admit he likes you.” She paused, eyes sparkling. “Shy boys never just come out and say it. You have to make it so obvious they can’t help themselves. But honestly, isn’t that half the fun?”

You snorted, cheeks warming. “So I just flirt him into a confession?”

She grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “Exactly! Shy boys are always so much fun—every glance, every accidental brush, it drives them wild. It’s adorable. Besides, you like a chase too, don’t you?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to meet her gaze, though you felt that flutter of anticipation. “Maybe. Just a little.”

Phoenix nudged your leg with her foot, her grin impossibly wide. “Trust me. If you want him to make a move, this is the way. It’ll be fun for both of you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now. “You’re dangerous, Phoenix.”

She winked. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Just start with a few smiles and a little less hoodie—he won’t know what hit him.”

Chapter 2:

The gravel crunched beneath your boots as the squad clustered in the busy car park, vehicles parked haphazardly, gear spilling out. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow, shadows stretching long as everyone prepared to head into the woods.

Jake sparred with Bradley, both bouncing on their toes, fists raised. Jake’s grin was wide, teasing as he threw quick jabs, while Bradley’s smirk matched his playful aggression, both clearly enjoying themselves.

Reuben was doubled over, roaring with laughter, while Mickey stared at the map, eyebrows raising as he took in the scene. “Wait, wait—what? So, we’re hiking before setting up camp? I thought we just show up, pitch tents, and chill,” Mickey said, shaking his head with a weird mix of surprise and annoyance.

Reuben chuckled, smacking Mickey on the back. “Dude, you seriously thought they were just gonna drive us here and call it a day? Nah, buddy. You gotta earn your s'mores.”

Mickey looked genuinely puzzled, crossing his arms. “Nah, I just thought—y’know, a chill weekend. I didn’t expect a full hike before we even set up.” He shrugged, a wide grin curling his lips. “But, hey, I’ll survive. Just didn’t plan on breaking a sweat today, that’s all.”

Phoenix leaned casually against a van, arms crossed, enjoying the scene with her usual mischievous smile. She shot you a quick glance, clearly amused. “Well, Mickey, think of it as pre-camping cardio. Nothing like a good hike to kick off the weekend, right?”

Meanwhile, standing near the back, Bob was perfectly still. His backpack was already on, buckled tight, everything arranged with military precision—every strap and pocket exactly in place. His gear was spotless, each item meticulously packed, as if he had just stepped out of uniform instead of the chaos of the car park.

He watched quietly, calm and composed, like he’d seen it all before—the sparring, the teasing, the group’s playful fuss. His gaze flicked over Jake and Bradley still going at it, Mickey’s reaction, everyone joking around, but his posture remained steady, as if ready for whatever unfolded next.

You caught his eye for a split second, and he offered you a shy smile before awkwardly shifting his focus back to your teammates. His demeanour was as sharp and precise as his gear—completely at ease, almost military in how ready he seemed to face whatever came.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm amber glow over the busy car park. Vehicles scattered in every direction, gear spilling out like a jumble of chaos. The smell of fresh pine and earth drifted in the air as everyone started to gather their packs.

Natasha, or Nat as everyone called her, pushed off from the van with a confident grin. "Alright, folks, let's get moving before the sun dips too low. No dilly-dallying—get those boots clicking."

She glanced around at the excited crowd, her eyes twinkling. “You all good on your gear? No forgotten snacks or emergency marshmallows?” she added with a mischievous wink.

Jake clapped Bob on the back, a friendly, almost teasing gesture that made Bob straighten his glasses and adjust his already pristine gear with practiced precision. He let himself be led by the group, his posture steady and military-precise, ready for whatever was coming next.

The others grabbed their packs, slinging bags over shoulders and exchanging quick, energetic glances. With a collective nod, they turned toward the trail leading into the woods, footsteps crunching on gravel as they began their trek.

Natasha’s eyes shifted from the group to you. She sidled up quietly, lowering her voice so just you could hear. “Hey, have you packed everything we agreed on for Operation Flirt with bob until he breaks and jumps your bones?”

Your eyes flicked to her, and she grinned mischievously. Without missing a beat, she leaned in close, whispering with a conspiratorial wink, “You know… the whole mission to make Bob think he’s missing out on the best thing that’s ever happened to him’”

She gave you a playful nudge. “Think you’re ready for it?”

"As I will ever be." you replied with a shake of your head and a soft smile.

The trail narrowed as you followed the group into the shade of the pines, leaves crunching beneath your boots. When you’d packed with Nat, she’d settled on your hiking outfit with gleeful precision: tight black cycling shorts that clung to your thighs and left nothing for the imagination, paired with a slick, supportive sports bra—probably the most engineering you’d ever worn under your clothes. You’d thrown a zip-up hoodie on top, tugged just low enough to almost hide the curve of your breasts, though not quite.

Nat had eyed you critically before you left, giving a brisk nod of approval. “Perfect. Athletic, strategic, and just distracting enough. Plenty for him to think about while pretending he’s focused on the route.”

Now, as the hike stretched on, bits of sunlight filtered down through the branches, occasionally catching on the bare length of your legs or the hint of your silhouette beneath the hoodie. Each time the trail bent, or you adjusted your straps, you felt eyes on you—Bob’s eyes, in particular. He tried valiantly to keep his gaze front and centre, but every few minutes, he’d look your way, glasses glinting, cheeks suspiciously warm, quickly shifting his focus back to his boots.

You feigned obliviousness, letting your conversation drift loosely around Nat, Mickey, and the others ahead. A casual laugh, a stretch overhead to fix your backpack strap, revealing just a sliver more skin. Bob, walking beside you, never said a word about it. But the hush in his throat, the way he fumbled with his water bottle, the uncharacteristic distraction in his step—all gave him away.

His composure stayed in place by sheer force of will, but every so often he'd fidget with his gear, or awkwardly clear his throat, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

The trees finally opened onto the edge of a small lake, sunlight flickering silver and gold across the rippling surface. The campsite itself was tucked beneath a tall stand of pines, the ground carpeted with needles and moss so soft it muted every step. Birdsong drifted down from somewhere high in the branches, and the water lapped gently against the stones lining the shore. To one side, a weathered fire pit marked the heart of the clearing, already circled by flat-topped logs and half-buried stones for makeshift seating. Across the water, a distant ridge glazed in late-afternoon light promised privacy and peace—your group the only intruders on a scene so still it almost felt untouched.

Mickey shrugged off his pack with a huff, bending from the waist and letting it fall with an exaggerated grunt. “Honestly, that was at least twice the walk it looked on the map,” he groaned, but his complaints trailed off as he turned to the water, unable to hide a wide, genuine smile. “This is gorgeous, though. Totally, worth it.”

The others scattered, Jake and Bradley immediately making a beeline for the fire pit, clapping each other on the back as they poked at the charred logs and debated how best to arrange things. Reuben was already eyeing the shoreline, calculating the best spot to drop his gear and maybe sneak in a stone-skimming contest before dark. Bob, immaculate as ever, had set down his pack and was surveying the perimeter—probably cataloguing landmarks and escape routes, you thought, amused.

As you stretched your arms and let your muscles relax, Natasha sidled up, her face bright with playful intent. She nudged your side, voice low and brimming with delight. “So,” she whispered, not even glancing at the lake, “did you see the way Bob couldn’t take his eyes off you the whole hike up here? He’s lucky he didn’t walk straight into a tree.”

You shot Natasha a sly look, unable to keep the smile off your face. “How long do you think it’ll take before he finally snaps and says something?”

Natasha grinned, eyes sparkling as she surveyed the group’s bustling chaos. “That depends. If you’re planning to keep up the subtle torture, I’d give it another day. But if you really want to push him over the edge…” She arched a brow in your direction. “You did bring that absolutely scandalous bikini, didn’t you?”

Heat crept into your cheeks—part nerves, part excitement. “Maybe. Though I might need a bodyguard if I actually walk out in it. It’s barely more than a couple of strings.”

Natasha barked a quiet laugh. “Perfect. Honestly, after the day we’ve had, a dip in the lake is non-negotiable tomorrow morning. I want to see if Bradley and Jake can actually swim, or if they just flex near the shore.”

You nudged her side, lowering your voice. “You’re just hoping Bob short-circuits.”

“I’m hoping everyone short-circuits,” she shot back, grinning. “We’ll swim, you will act normal, and I will watch Bob for a reaction. Tomorrow?” She glanced up at the fading sun. “I’m thinking coffee by the lake at sunrise. Possibly an early swim—just the two of us. That’ll set the mood for the whole day.”

You spun an innocent look her way. “You mean, Operation break bob, phase two?”

Natasha’s grin grew wicked. “Exactly. Tonight campfire, stories, and just enough flirting that Bob can’t sleep. Tomorrow, bikini entrance and a whole new level of distraction. Ready for it?”

You looked out at the water, sunlight gleaming off the small ripples, feeling anticipation buzz along your skin. “Absolutely. Let’s make this a trip to remember.”

Chapter 3:

The path down by the lake rippled with the gold of the lowering sun. You tugged your hoodie back on, leaving your pack behind for the short walk, and Bob fell into step beside you. Before you’d even left the rough mossy boundary of the campsite, he paused and crouched beside his pack—already arranged in a neat, regulation-perfect stack. With practiced ease, he unzipped a small pocket and pulled out a slim foldable saw, testing the hinge before stashing it in his back pocket.

You blinked, caught somewhere between admiration and amusement. Of course, Bob came prepared for everything, but it still surprised you—the rest of you just grabbed sticks and hoped for the best, but Bob had clearly thought this through.

He glanced at the tree line with a quiet sort of certainty. “Best place for dry wood’s usually up by the rocks,” he said, as the two of you stepped out into the deepening green. “It stays out of the wind and the ground drains faster. Less likely to be rotted.”

You shot him a sidelong smile, letting the admiration show just a little. “No wonder Nat keeps you as her back seater,” you teased, falling into step beside him as you followed the trail toward the rocks. “You’re like a human survival manual—she’ll never let you out of her sight with skills like that.”

A faint flush crept up Bob’s neck. He ducked his head, but not before you caught the ghost of a proud, shy smile flickering across his face. “Well, she likes things to run smooth,” he mumbled, adjusting his grip on the saw. “It’s easier to be prepared. I like making sure nothing gets missed.”

You nudged him lightly, grinning. “And here I thought you just wanted an excuse to show off all your special gear. Very impressive.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and genuine, glasses slipping a fraction down his nose. “Trust me—if I was showing off, I’d have brought the portable espresso machine.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Next trip, then?”

This time, he glanced over, braver somehow. “Deal.”

The rocks tumbled in mossy clusters, and Bob scanned the ground until he found a branch that looked promising. He appraised a fallen pine, then knelt, rolling up his sleeves with a practiced flick. The muscles in his forearms flexed beneath golden skin as he braced the saw and set to work.

You let your gaze linger, indulging for just a moment—the slice of his jaw in profile, the almost methodical way he worked, each motion deliberate. There was a quiet concentration to him, the steady back-and-forth of the saw and the way the light caught on his dampening hairline. If Phoenix could see you now, she’d be snickering in the underbrush.

Bob paused, breath shallow, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “This wood is stubborn,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes, chest rising and falling with the effort.

You offered him a teasing smile, stepping closer but not quite taking over. “I’m impressed. Honestly, I thought you were all brains and field manuals—but you’re not so bad with your hands, either.”

He glanced at you then, startled, and for a beat you let your gaze drop—lingering, suggestive—before you grinned and bent to begin gathering the cut branches. Bob coughed, looking suddenly desperate to concentrate solely on the saw, but you didn’t miss the flush creeping up his neck again.

Your mind wandered wickedly: there was something undeniably hot about Bob like this, strips of sunlight freckling his arms, intent on the task, something less shy and more commanding taking over as he worked. If this was what a camping trip could offer, you’d gladly volunteer for wood-gathering duty every time.

You let your fingers graze his as you reached for a branch, close enough that he’d feel it—a quiet spark under the guise of teamwork. He flinched slightly, then immediately pulled his hand back, cheeks flushed.

“S-sorry, that was—my fault,” he stammered, though you both knew it wasn’t. He looked at the ground as if willing it to swallow him.

You fought the urge to smile, a quiet satisfaction blooming in your chest. Phoenix would have a field day if she could see him now.

He collected himself and cleared his throat, not quite meeting your eyes. “I think we’ve got enough,” he managed, stacking the freshly cut branches at his feet. “We should, um… gather it up and head back.”

You nodded, biting back a smirk. If your goal was to gently rattle him, you were definitely on the right track. Without another word, you stooped to gather the wood—close enough that your shoulders touched for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. As you straightened, you caught the brief hesitation in his peripheral gaze, his eyes lingering at the edge of your hoodie for a moment too long. You pretended not to notice, busying yourself with the smooth rhythm of stacking branches.

Then you started back toward camp, feeling the heat of his stolen glances still trailing after you all the way through the dappled light.

A Link to the COMPLETE FIC ON AO3

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[o-sn4pple]

“Neuvi, I need you to approve this for me.”

Neuvillette barely looks up from his papers, nearly signing off on the form until he reads the neat script printed at the top. “A…marriage license? Why would you need this?”

“I need this to scare someone off,” you say with a shrug. “I’ll shred it later, but for now-”

“Why shred it?” Neuvillette casually signs the fine line and returns to his own work. “We’ve been married for quite some time now. Having it in print would be useful for tax returns-”

“What?” 

Neuvillette dabs his pen into the bottle of ink beside him. “It would make filing for taxes easier-”

“No, I mean-” You step around his desk, bending over to stare the Iudex in the eye. “What do you mean we’re married? ” 

Neuvillette hesitates, glancing at the handmade necklace dangling from your throat. The shell is clasped shut, but he knows quite well that the romaritime petals and lone pearl are still nestled within. “You are still wearing the necklace.”

“Yeah, I always do.”

“I gave that to you.”

“Yes, you did.”

Neuvillette stalls again, this time looking at the marriage form he’d so casually approved. After a moment, he says, “You are wearing the necklace that I put on you. That is how a dragon courts its mates.”

Finally, your own expression falls, brows pinched and eyes darting to and fro. The longer you think, the worse your expression seems to grow. 

Neuvillette is no better. He sits up straighter and sinks his ink pen into its stand. “Is that not how marriage works?”

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. It closes, then opens, then closes again, each time accompanied by a vastly different expression. He’s seen this before. You had done the same thing when he asked about human breeding seasons. 

(That had been a fascinating lesson in its own right. To think humans were so embarrassed by their natural instincts…)

Eventually, you sigh and massage your face, setting the paper aside. “ No, Monsieur Neuvillette. That isn’t how marriage works.” You give your temples one final knead before opening your eyes. The genuine curiosity is expected at this point, but it still eases the storm clouds building outside of the window. “Have you never seen a marriage proposal before?”

“None that I recall,” he says. “Though I’ve presided over many trials regarding divorce.”

“Ah, yeah. Makes sense.” You clear your throat and lean against his desk, the same posture you’ve always done whenever his ignorance rears its head. “So, marriage doesn’t exactly count if the person you’re marrying is unaware that you’re marrying them. You can’t just lay claim to them and expect other people to know…not other humans , at least.” 

Neuvillette nods, a trickle of amusement in his thoughts. So, you must have been aware enough to notice the Melusines’ sudden change in addressing after you’d donned the necklace. Good. “But if the other party is aware?”

Your throat bobs, shifting the necklace resting so openly against your skin. “Then sure, that’s marriage. In the court of law, though, it wouldn’t be recognized without the proper paperwork. Also, that would be very…uh…dehumanizing.”

“How so?” 

“People have the right to choose who they’re marrying. It isn’t exactly a union of two people if one of them didn’t even know they’re being married. That’s like marrying a fish.”

“...I see.” Neuvillette rises from his seat, stepping forward to remove the necklace. Outside, the storm clouds seem to thicken at an alarming pace. “Forgive me, then-”

You casually slap his hand away and cover the necklace with your own. “What? No, I’m still keeping this.”

Neuvillette hesitates once more, hands awkwardly returning to his side. He…didn’t exactly ask you if you wished to be his mate. You had readily accepted his offered gift, even allowed him to drape the chain around your neck when you claimed you wouldn’t be able to clasp it. If all of what you said is true (which it is, he’s figured long ago you aren’t one for lying), then you still aren’t ‘married’ by your standards. What is he to do, then?

You clear your throat, and the storm clouds nearly rupture as he watches you remove the necklace. Then you grip his wrist, dump the necklace in his waiting palm, and say, “Just ask me if I would like to be your mate” 

“Would you like to be my mate?” Neuvillette repeats automatically. It feels silly, having to verbalize such primal instincts, but your amused smile makes it worth it.

“Why, yes, silly dragon, I would love to be your mate!” you tease before turning your back to him. “Would you do me the honor  of putting it on yourself?”

Sunlight bursts through the dark clouds beyond the window as Neuvillette loops the necklace around your throat. A flick of his thumb locks the chain in place, and you give it an experimental tug before turning back to him with an equally warm smile.

“There,” you say. “Any other questions?”

Neuvillette glances at your necklace and shakes his head, the last of the gathering storm vanishing entirely. “None, my love.”

[yiangchen]

it's still so fascinating to me that bellarke was supposed to happen in 6x10/6x11, bob was informed of this, but then he received the script and it didn't happen. that's just so sketch. truly what was going on behind the scenes. it's just so WEIRD the more you think about it. also makes me wonder if that was the first time that had happened. i mean, we already know that there were changes to the 1x08 script to get rid of the line where bellamy asks clarke to run away with him, so i don't think it's that far outside the realm of possibility to think that there were other romantic lines/scenes that were cut throughout the series. i honestly think every season they probably toyed with the idea of them happening, wrote a first kiss or a confession or maybe an almost kiss, decided against it and thought hey actually let's push this to next season, drag it out a little longer.

[shangrila11]

Silver lining // Brant (Wuwa) x Reader

(Congrats to those for who pulled for this gorgeous man! For those who haven't, may all Brant wanters be Brant havers! :D)

(CW: Mention of alcohol towards the end)

Splash!

The cold ocean water enveloped you as you sunk. You frantically swam up to the surface. With your head bobbing above water, you looked around for anything to cling onto. Fortunately, there was a driftwood floating not too far away from you. You swam towards it and struggled to hold onto it for dear life against the turbulent waters. You shivered, feeling your eyelids drooping but you tried to stay awake.

Just then, you spotted a ship. In a hoarse voice, you called for help but you weren't sure if the people on board could hear you over the howl of the wind. Your eyes slowly shut, exhaustion finally getting the best of you, and everything went dark...

xxx xxx

" -- alright?"

"I can feel a pulse so hopefully they are. Hey, can you hear me?"

You slowly opened your eyes. Two figures looked at you in concern. One was a male with short teal hair, purple eyes and a feathered hat and the other was a female with long, two-toned hair tied in bunches and heterochromia. The two of them heaved a sigh of relief seeing you had regained consciousness.

"You're awake! How are you feeling?" the male asked, smiling.

"W--what happened?" you mumbled, disorientated. You combed through your memories, trying to remember what had happened before you lost consciousness. When you finally remembered, you asked if they were the ones who rescued you.

"That's right. Lady Luck smiled upon you. You were suffering from hypothermia. If we came any later -- "

It was then that you realised that you were covered in layers of blankets and was wearing a new change of clothes. They must had done that to alleviate your hypothermia. A warm feeling coursed through you at the thought. The male shook his head, his smile fading for a brief moment before returning. "Anyway, we've made some soup for you. I'll go get it. While I'm at it, is there anything else you need?" You shook your head.

"No, I'm good. Thank you --?"

"Ah, yes. Where are my manners?" the male took off his hat and bowed. "I'm Brant, captain of the Troupe of Fools. And she's Roccia, my First Mate." Roccia shyly nodded her head in greeting which you reciprocated.

"Thank you, captain," you smiled weakly. You introduced yourself to him and Roccia.

"A pleasure to meet you, (Y/N)," Brant grinned. "I'll go now. Rest well. If you need anything, Roccia will be here." You watched as he exited the room, leaving just you and Roccia. An awkward silence filled the air. You hesitantly asked about the well-being of the people who had boarded the same ship as you. Roccia informed you that they had rescued a few people who might be them, much to your relief. You were, of course, devastated that some could not be found but at least there were survivors. The two of you moved on to other topics and you even got to meet the adorable Pero.

Brant eventually came back with the soup. You gratefully took the bowl and had some of the soup. You nodded your head in approval.

"It's delicious," you remarked, having some more of it.

"Glad you like it," Brant smiled. His face turned serious. "I assume you and your crewmates were sent on a pilgrimage by the Order?" You nodded silently, hanging your head.

"I figure as much. Only those going on the Pilgrim's Sail would pass through there," the captain sighed. The corners of his lips curled into a grin. "Since you're already dubbed a Fool by the Order, why don't you join our Troupe?" You pondered for a moment. It wasn't like you had anywhere else to go anyway since you were essentially an exile. Besides, Brant seemed genuine. You nodded your head. The male's grin widened.

"Welcome aboard, (Y/N). I look forward to seeing your performance, both on stage and off stage."

xxx xxx

"What do you think, captain?"

"Impressive. You have a talent for script writing," Brant grinned, giving you a friendly pat on the back. "With that said, it could use a little tweaking to make the dialogue flow more naturally."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind as I edit the script," you smiled bashfully, your heart fluttering.

"Splendid," the captain nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. "By the way, how is life with us so far?"

"It's been great so far. There's always something interesting going on and the people here are very welcoming. It helps that a few of my crewmates are here as well."

"Good, good," Brant smiled, his expression softening. "That reminds me -- " He snapped his fingers. In a burst of purple flames, a mask materialised. He handed it to you.

"For you, my friend. Roccia and I came up with the design and we think this best suits you. Now you're officially part of the troupe!" he grins. You took the mask from him, thanking him and remarking how gorgeous it looked. You attached it to your belt.

"My pleasure," the male bowed. "Come on. Let's go have lunch. All this work as captain has worked me up an appetite!" Taking your hand, the two of you headed to the dining area.

xxx xxx

"I'm sorry, you want me to what?"

"You heard me! I want you to play the lead role in our upcoming play," Brant beamed.

"B--but I've never done this before. What if I mess up?"

"That, my dear (Y/N), is what rehearsals are for!" the captain assured you. He looked at you sincerely. "I can't think of anyone more suitable for the role than you. Besides, don't you wanna act out the script you worked so hard on?"

"Well..." you considered for a moment before nodding. "Alright. I'll give it a go."

"That's the spirit!" Brant ruffled your hair. "Don't worry, I'll be here with you every step of the way." He winked. You smiled a little, anticipation bubbling inside you despite still having a little reservations.

"Aye, captain."

xxx xxx

You peaked out from the backstage. The audience was abuzz with excitement, chattering away. Your heart thudded wildly against your chest and your hands felt clammy with sweat.

"Is nerves getting to you, dear (Y/N)?"

You whipped your head around to see the captain, his usual easygoing grin on his face. You nodded.

"There are a lot of people out there. The last thing I want is to disappoint them and the troupe. What if they don't like my performance? What if I say the wrong lines? What if I --?"

Before you could continue, a familiar-looking hat was placed on top of your head. Surprised, your attention found its way back to the now hatless Brant. He gave you a gentle smile.

"Look. You've been doing wonderfully during rehearsals. Also, do you remember what we stand for?"

"Freedom and bringing laughter through tales."

"Mmmhmm. And to get the audience to enjoy themselves, we ourselves have to enjoy performing. So relax and have fun. You got this!" he winked. You smiled a little, feeling the tension in you loosening.

"You're right. I can do this. Thank you, Brant," you said softly. Brant took his hat from you and grinned.

"Then let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

xxx xxx

"To yet a successful show!"

The clinking of glasses resounded through the dining hall as everyone made a toast. Everyone was in high spirits, you could pratically feel it in the air. A broad smile crossed Brant's face. He lifted his glass once again.

"All of you did great tonight, from the actors to the backstage crew. It's because of everyone's efforts that the show was a success. Let's keep this up and may our future performances be just as spectacular or even more than this one! Cheers!"

Everyone raised their glasses, cheering. After taking a sip of his drink, the teal-haired male walked towards you.

"Amazing job earlier. Told ya you can do it!" he grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you. You did great as well," you beamed. It had still rather been nerve-wrecking at first but heeding Brant's advice helped. There were, of course, still areas of improvement such as your line delivery needing to be more smooth and expressive. With that said, you hadn't done too bad for your first performance if you did say so yourself. Overall, you were just delighted and relieved that your hard work had bore fruit.

"Glad that you like my performance!" Brant laughed heartily. His expression turned sincere. "Seriously though. I applaud you for being able to get over your nerves rather quickly."

"Haha. You flatter me," you laughed sheepishly, your cheeks flushing.

"But I mean it and it isn't the alcohol talking," the captain chuckled. The two of you then happily talked about other things, taking sips of your drinks in between.

"Nothing beats a good drink and good company on this fine, celebratory night," Brant remarked, swirling his drink. You nodded, sipping your drink.

"Yeah. I look forward to more of this," you beamed. Brant returned your smile.

"Same here," he agreed. Hearing Tina calling his name, he excused himself and told you to enjoy the rest of the celebrations. You assured him that you would. You smiled, watching him leave. Despite having the misfortune of becoming an exile, a couple of good things came out if it: meeting the captain and finding a group of people whom you could call family.

[make-friends-with-the-rats]

hii!

was wondering if anyone evr found the original hard promises script? all ik is jack’s love interest was a girl named charlie who was cut. this implies that some people have read hard promises-and i can only find the one with sarah, not charlie

That's a fair conclusion to draw and I only wish it were true!

Unfortunately, the original Hard Promises script has never been found or shared anywhere. The information on Charlie comes directly from Bob Tzudiker and Noni White themselves. Specifically, from a January 2012 interview titled "Newsies Opens on Broadway - Interview with the Writers" by Joe Montague for Riveting Riffs Magazine.

In this interview, Noni White explains that Jack's original love interest was a newsgirl named Charlie and that at the end of the film the two of them were to have gone off to Santa Fe together.

She is further quoted:

"When we originally wrote (the story) with Charlie the girl who was the love interest of Jack she lived in a house of ill repute with her aunt and her aunt did not want her to go into that life and so she was really trying to shield her from it. As soon as we sold it to Disney I said to Bob, guess what Bob, goodbye to the house of prostitution. This was a family film and it was just not going to fly. That was changed to [Medda] Larkson (a cabaret style singer)."

In addition to Charlie and her aunt, Bob and Noni also shared that originally the newsies hung out at "an African American juke joint." This would be replaced by Tibby's and then by Jacobi's in the stage adaptation.

Bob and Noni had also intended for Joseph Pulitzer to be a much more complex character, rather than simply the story's villain. I personally think that this aspect of Hard Promises could have been extremely interesting. As Bob Tzudiker noted “Pulitzer would have been in support of these kids if they had been affecting some other business. He was not as bad of a guy as he gets portrayed in [Newsies]”

Circling back to Charlie, Bob and Noni have also commented on her at least two other times that I'm aware of. First in the 1992 DVD Commentary, and then more recently when they attended a performance of Newsies UK:

Top: Quote from the Newsies DVD Commentary: source Bottom: Ryan Kopel (Davey) quote from a Newsies UK interview: source

I'd also like to note, that while Charlie doesn't seem to exist in the version of Hard Promises that we do have, the following might just be in reference to her. After Jack scabs, Sarah goes out at night to confront him in David's clothes. When Jack sees her he asks "That you, Charlie?"

1991 Hard Promises script

If it is our newsgirl Charlie who Jack thought he saw, I find it amusing that Jack mistakes Sarah for her considering that Sarah did replace Charlie's role in the story.

[mirrorballpages]

The bookshop was warm. Quiet. The kind of quiet that settled deep, like a sigh after too many days of noise. The libraries of the Night Court were places of knowledge, of history and strategy, of war and the bones of civilizations that had risen and fallen long before his time. He had spent centuries in them, pouring over maps, records, anything that could serve the court.

But this shop, this was different. The Gilded Page was small, tucked away between a tailor and a bakery, glowing with soft candlelight and filled with the scent of parchment and ink, and something sweet—honey, maybe, or vanilla. The shelves stretched high, crammed together in an uneven maze of old wooden cases and gently worn rugs covering the stone floor.

A cat lounged on the front counter, its black-and-white tail twitching lazily. Elain sighed in contentment the moment they stepped inside, her shoulders easing, her fingers already brushing against the spines of books as if they were old friends. Azriel said nothing. He only watched.

Elain moved toward a section with gilded spines and curling script, her fingers grazing the edges of the books.

"Nuala and Cerridwen said this place had a good selection," she murmured, scanning the shelves. "I thought… I thought Nesta might like a book for Solstice."

Azriel hesitated for half a breath. She was still thinking of Nesta even after everything. Even after the fight that had left Elain shaking, crying, gasping for air in the hallway outside Nesta's apartment, unable to breathe until he had pressed a hand to her back, murmured her name, reminded her that she was safe.

Even after that, she still wanted to give her something. Of course she did.

"You think she wants a romance novel?" he asked, dry.

Elain huffed a quiet laugh. "That was all she read at The House of Wind." His eyebrows lifted. He didn't think The House of Wind held any romance novels. Had never seen one. Maybe Mor had left it.

"This one," she said, tilting a book toward the light.

Azriel raised a brow. "The Warrior’s Longing?"

She nodded. "It’s about a female warrior who falls in love with a poet. I thought she might appreciate the contrast." Azriel studied her. She meant it, but there was something else in her eyes, something deeper, something uncertain.

"She was cruel to you," he murmured, careful, watching her expression.

Elain’s throat bobbed slightly, but she squared her shoulders. Soft, but unyielding. "I know." A pause. Then, quieter, smaller. "But I also know she still needs reminders that she is loved."

Azriel’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. That was Elain. That was what made her different. He didn’t tell her it was a good choice. He just nodded. Because if he said anything else, he wasn’t sure what might come out. He liked Nesta, knew her rage was how she protected herself. But he still hated the fact that anyone could hurt Elain. Azriel expected her to be finished then. But she lingered.

Her fingers drifted to another section, titles wrapped in soft pastels and deep jewel tones, the lettering delicate and gold. He didn’t think much of it—not at first. Not until she plucked a few books from the shelf and hugged them to her chest. Not until her cheeks turned pink. Azriel was trained to notice things, to catch the smallest changes in body language, the tiny flickers of emotion that betrayed far more than words.

And so, he noticed. He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking downward. And—ah. Interesting. He didn’t mean to smirk. Didn’t mean to let amusement flicker through his chest, curling at the edges like smoke.

"You’re getting those for Nesta too?" he asked, voice smooth.

Elain’s fingers tightened around the books. "No." Silence. Then—Azriel let his smirk grow, just slightly.

"I see."

Her blush deepened. He could have let it go. He should have let it go. But he was tired, and warm from the fire, and Solstice was coming, and she was blushing like that because ... and he was hoping it was because of him.

"The Duke’s Wicked Obsession?" he mused, scanning the title of the book at the top of her stack. "Moonlight Desires?"

Elain made a strangled noise and turned on her heel so fast she nearly knocked into a stack of books. Azriel unfazed, utterly entertained followed her to the counter, where the shopkeeper barely raised a brow at her flustered expression. The cat lifted its head, twitching its tail in mild interest. Elain avoided his gaze entirely as the books were wrapped, but Azriel could see the way her fingers tensed on the counter, how she was trying not to fidget. 

As they stepped back out into the cold, crisp air, Elain clutched the package of books to her chest like a lifeline. Azriel tucked his hands into his pockets falling into step beside her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, casually, as if it meant nothing at all—

"You know, if you wanted recommendations, you could have just asked."

Elain whipped her head toward him, eyes wide. "Azriel!"

And—for the first time in longer than he could remember—he laughed. Not just a huff of amusement. Not just a quiet exhale of breath. A real, genuine laugh, the sound rolling low and deep in his chest, curling into the cool air.

Elain glared, but he could see the smile threatening to break free. "You are—" she huffed, shaking her head.

"What?" he asked, mock innocent.

She narrowed her eyes, pointing a finger at him. "Not a word of this to Feyre."

Azriel placed a scarred hand over his heart. "I would never."

Elain just squinted at him, not quite convinced. And Azriel—he couldn’t stop looking at her. At the pink still dusting her cheeks. At the way she hugged the books closer, as if they were something precious. At the way she had laughed, really laughed, despite everything.

She had been so broken, just days ago. And yet here she was. Still choosing joy. Still choosing to build something beautiful. Azriel exhaled, turning his gaze toward the twinkling lights of Velaris.

He was in trouble. He had known that for a while now. But Mother above, he was in trouble.

Read The Rest on AO3

[bcacstuff]

Summary Day 1 at Land Con Paris (part 3)

via [Live] blog rostercon.com

note: Disclaimer: This live is automatically translated from the French version by Deepl. Translation errors may be present in the content. Une version française du live est disponible ici.

New trios at Land Con 7

David Berry & Caitriona Balfe pose for their duo photos

Tim Downie's team wins Trivial Pursuit

At Land Con 7, it's time to learn more about Highland costumes

Tobias returns to the stage at Land Con 7

Tobias says it was easier than you might think to go from Frank Randall to Black Jack Randall. Firstly, because he wasn’t playing both characters on the same day, and secondly, because the characters’ stories were so different that it was easy to switch from one to the other.

Tobias had indicated this morning that he’d like to do more comedy, but he knows that he’s a bit of a period drama actor. He also points out that he regularly films in these types of projects, as their stories and scripts are generally very interesting.

If he could change lives for a week with another celebrity, who would he choose? He says it’s a complicated question and asks what the fan who asked the question would choose. She answers Taylor Swift for the pop star aspect. For his part, Tobias thinks it would be stressful to live Taylor Swift’s life for a week, so he opts for Bob Dylan, who has had an interesting life.

Time for the traditional cosplay contest at The Land Con 7

A trio takes to the stage to answer questions from Outlander fans: Richard, Diarmaid & Chris

Which other character would they have liked to have more scenes with? Richard humorously replies that he would have liked more scenes with himself. He then adds that he would have liked to spend more time / have more scenes with Chris Fulton. A sentiment shared by Chris too.

Diarmaid would have liked Jerry MacKenzie’s story to have been more fully developed in the series. He would have liked more information on this character and on the relationship between Jerry and Roger.

Chris and Diarmaid report that the Outlander cast and crew were really welcoming, like a family who welcomed them with open arms. They were attending their first convention this weekend and feel lucky to be able to meet Outlander fans.

To round off the day, the cast meet Outlander fans for autographs

[michaelscorneroftheinternet]

Hey Bob and Boopkins, what's been going on with y'all? I feel like we haven't heard from either of you guys about anything, yet. (Though, I could be wrong and just haven't been keeping up 😅)

Michael: uh... We'll get back to them.

[thatseventiesbitch]

Hello again! I'm back with another That '70s Show original script. This time we'll be looking at S3xE23 "Backstage Pass"!

This one is extra special because of who it belonged to - one Corey Landis. And it's a table draft, which means there were quite a few changes (some of them significant!). Read on for my summary.

Who's Corey Landis? you may ask. Fair question.

He is the actor who plays a young Red Forman a few different times throughout the series! It's really cool to see the different notes he wrote to himself about how a scene should be staged or acted.

First up, right off the bat the cold open has some different lines.

As you can see, the scene still ends in the same place and most of what the characters say is similar. You can see how they made it slightly shorter in the episode.

I like that Fez is interested in the soybean futures lol, that in the actual episode Eric's line was, "Pork belly prices. How cute is that?" instead, and that LP might've improvised her bit about forgetting to turn off the microphone (or it was added by a writer/producer in a later version of the script).

Eric and Donna's next scene is virtually the same, except for one major difference...

... the band they went to see was originally going to be Aerosmith! In the actual episode, they went to see Ted Nugent. There must have been some kind of licensing issue with being able to use Aerosmith. It's a significant difference, though, because this episode would've continued the characterization that Donna has a crush on Steven Tyler.

There's also this funny, cut moment at the end of Eric and Donna's scene at the radio station:

Now onto the parents.

Some more Bob and Midge lore:

Red and Kitty's interaction is nearly word for word, but check out the actor's notes from the table read!! Pretty cool.

The next scene sees the gang waiting for the Aerosmith Ted Nugent concert to begin. And again it's similar, though not identical, to the scene that aired - Jackie and Kelso discuss their week of romance, Eric and Donna are eager for the concert to begin, and Fez and Hyde reveal their misspelled concert merch.

I was robbed of another Eric & Donna kiss (and a hug!), though 😡 + Eric calling her his "best girl". 🥹

Next we're back to the parents.

Red is still trying to remember how he and Kitty really met, and Kitty is becoming increasingly upset. In the episode she told him her version of events at this point, but in the script it is dragged out a little longer.

The Packer refrigerator magent line made me chuckle, ngl.

Back at the concert. This scene is again nearly identical to what really aired, but I enjoyed Kelso's Aerosmith versions of the songs he changed for Jackie. 😂

Then we check in on Fez and Hyde, who are struggling to sell their misprinted t-shirts just like in the episode.

Donna's scene backstage is word for word, except she's interviewing Steven Tyler instead of Ted Nugent.

In the next scene, Fez and Hyde get arrested. The scene is practically the same, except we get a little more insight into how upset Eric is with Donna. "Tonight was supposed to be about us," 😫. And I like Fez's Cheryl Tiegs line from the actual episode better.

Then the script cuts back to Red and Kitty. It's basically the same scene from the actual episode, but with a few added details. Horseface Lynn Taylor is mentioned again 🤣

Then Eric's scene with the janitor (Stanley!!), and Donna's scene backstage where Ted/Steven offers to let her touch the guitar are word for word.

Kelso and Jackie's storyline and lines are mostly unchanged throughout, but this added line from Eric at the end of their final scene made me 😂🤣

Then we're back to Red and Kitty to conclude their storyline for the episode. The scene starts out the exact same, but ends with slightly different lines.

I just love getting to see the actor's notes!

And finally, the biggest difference of all: in the script, Eric and Donna's final scene takes place in the Forman basement, not outside of the concert venue. I'm glad they changed that, because all I can think is: how did Donna get home that night? Even though he was pissed, Eric really left her there? No no no no no. 😣 I think it's much more in character that he waited.

I do like that in the script Donna at least actually apologized - in the episode, she didn't. It's widely acknowledged within the fandom that this is one of Donna's worst moments on the show, regardless.

As one of the final episodes of season 3, this episode/storyline was integral to setting the stage for Eric and Donna's emerging break-up and it does the job. The original script even more so than the actual episode, in my opinion.

Well, that's all I've got for this one! Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more in the series. I'm your *very* pregnant and uncomfortable host, @thatseventiesbitch 😄.

Other Scripts I've Posted:

S2xE20 "Kiss of Death" S2xE22 "Jackie Moves On" S2xE23 "Holy Crap!" S2xE26 "Moon Over Point Place" S5xE21 "Trampled Under Foot" S6xE20 "Squeezebox" S7xE8 "Angie"

[denaliwrites]

Love Letters

Thirteenth Doctor x GN!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: “Letters”

Summary: A "secret" admirer keeps sending you love letters.

Requests: Tentatively open-ish.

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp, @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce

Warnings: Canon-Typical Tomfoolery.

It had been a number of years since you'd seen the Doctor. The last you'd counted, it had been four. The years were easy to keep track of, at least, but you didn't bother with the months or weeks or days. It was all just... time, when it came to the Doctor.

It had been four years since you'd seen the Doctor. But that didn't mean it had been just as long since you'd heard from them.

It was custom for the two of you to leave each other letters when you were living your civilian life. The handwriting of the Doctor changed on occasion, but you could always tell it was theirs -- least of all because they were the only one who sent you handwritten notes.

It was as if by instinct the two of you knew when to check your mailbox, yet as if by irony you never managed to run into each other.

Well, at least until you did, anyway.

Four years and you hadn't seen the Doctor. The last time you'd seen him, he was a tall and gangly Scotsman. The person you encountered now... certainly was not that.

You weren't sure why you decided to check the mail when you did, but when you got there a blonde who certainly wasn't your usual mailperson was slipping a letter into your mailbox -- a letter with only your name written on it, in lovely flowing script.

The writing had changed again, but as ever remained unmistakably the Doctor's.

"Doctor?" you asked after her, curiously.

She stopped, as if daring to continue forward would physically pain her, then turned to face you. The grin on her face was wide, but strangely forced.

"Erm, no, sorry. The Doctor is... away. Just gave me an address and asked me to drop this in the mail slot."

"I can see the TARDIS on the street corner."

"Oh... really? You shouldn't do..."

"I can also just... tell. When it's you," you said apologetically. "You just have a certain... way about you."

"Ah. I thought I fixed that."

"You're not Scottish anymore."

"Or a man."

Well, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't noticed that. In fact, it was the first thing you'd noticed -- it was a pretty stark change considering that her every regeneration until then (that you knew of, at least) had been a man.

"I don't mind," you assured her, starting a slow approach towards her. She didn't move, but she also didn't seem entirely comfortable, so you stopped a few paces away. "In fact, I think you look great. Womanhood suits you. Especially that face."

"Oh... you --" She wagged a finger, but her smile had turned more genuine. "Don't go gettin' all flirty on me."

"Doctor, you're here to drop off a love letter. I think it may be too late to tell me not to get flirty."

She seemed to consider that, playfully bobbing her head left and right in thought. "Yeah, all right," she finally said, grinning. "You do have me there, I'm afraid."

[perfectfangirl]

notes after rewatching fallout s1 ep3

• almost certain that is sugarfoot cooper is dismounting in the scene from the movie he is filming 🥲 • the film cooper was filming here is called "the man from deadhorse", a clear play on the concept of "beating a dead horse" • just realized he [presumably] shot the bad guy character twice • i also noticed that the duster the bad guy character is wearing looks an awful lot like the duster cooper wears as the character he “plays” in the wasteland to cope. is... cooper playing a bad guy character based off one of his movies?? • saw a couple of different variations of "feo, fuerte, y formal" [all saying mostly the same thing] cooper says "he was ugly, strong, and had dignity" wikitionary says it denotes a conception of masculinity. very curious about this these words and the scene because cooper is obviously viewed as a concept of masculinity in hollywood, to the point where he's being asked to essentially engage in statecraft via propaganda as this movie scene is making his character do something completely antithetical--- killing the bad guy instead of solving another way, he basically says a line about "commies" then shoots the him in the head

• what's more is that some are viewing the three concepts of "ugly, strong, dignity" to mean either a variation of cooper, lucy, and maximus or of cooper himself, didn't even think of this and it's a particular interesting trichotomy of cooper pre and post war • "well, joey, i'll give you two out of three on that front" and now i don't know which two out of three • cooper goes out of his way to thank the actor jorge for playing the bad guy in his film • cooper presumably read the script, probably had a table read, rehearsal, and still didn't want to film his good guy character killing the bad guy [perhaps after cadillac bob got fired, there were rewrites and cooper was not told until then] out of context, this is charming, he values his characters so much that they mirror his own values [walton has argued with writers, directors, actors about his characters too!] but in context, it is either the beginning or yet another chapter is cooper's conflicting and morally challenging struggle of "right" and "wrong" in this show • need to know more about cadillac bob! he was doing the moral good type of writing on cooper's programs and i am curious if the firing was an ousting [as being labeled a communist is career over here] because the wiki says he was fired for refusing to write this storyline for the "new america" and then they wrote this character change for cooper to have a firmer anticommunist stance to influence the public. cooper wants to change the scene so bad, he asks for a writer and i find it amusing the director thinks doing a 180° on his character would be good because "the audience knows you're a good man. they want to see that even a good man as yourself can be driven too far sometimes" idk but this is about all the horseshit i can take • [this is precisely post war cooper's arc and character if that wasn't obvious enough] • enter barb. i love the sensual "married couple flirting like strangers" energy behind this scene • lavender flowers are supposed to represent purity, silence, grace, devotion, serenity, calmness--- just a little something for you romance girlies to think about with this scene • "tastes like someone touching you for the first time" and they make it a point to show cooper and barb's hands and cooper purposefully touching barb's fingers as they exchange the candy • hands and fingers seem to be important motifs here and it also seems like hands and fingers are particularly worthy of note for cooper • they kiss each other and they're like "sorry, makeup" and "sorry, lipstick" 😭 • looks like barb secured cooper some vault tec contracts • cooper winds up on siggi's headless body and i can almost see the algebra and trigonometry floating around his brain trying to make heads or tails of this shit • from my understanding, there's no chems that keep a ghoul from going feral within the game universe but there are chems that can and have turned people into ghouls, i see speculation that cooper may have a chem addiction and what we see are withdrawal symptoms, as when lucy finds him outside the super duper mart, he's still on the ground and not acting much feral but [of course coughing, drooling, etc could be the show's symptoms for ferality] i digress • almost think because it's dry and arid af out there, that's why he need a chem

• literally howling because of how lucy was handling siggi's head, she got over the shock and disgust quick 😭 • lucy is crazy for lighting another [camp]fire at night like that • lucy putting a tracker on siggi's head was smart though • lmao did the brotherhood of steel not know lord titus' regular speaking voice or • maximus lying to the brotherhood of steel, maximus selling his teeth for caps instead of literally anything else, maximus thinking he can leave his power suit uncovered and unattended without it being pulled for scrap--- like lord, maximus, please make a sensible step 😫 • the voice modulator mechanic person was very sci fi though • took me a second watch to realize maximus' tooth extraction resulted in a bit of a lisp glfgd • not maximus getting bullied again 😭 • maximus getting a wrench and toilet seat and beating the shit out of them wastelanders with them rotf • crushed that man's head like a watermelon❤️ • thaddeus being sent to inadvertently squire for someone he helped bully is his karma lol • "remnant from the old world" directly implying the enclave is a continuation of the us government • lucy arriving on the serene scene of a fawn near a lake where hollywood boulevard once stood [lucy being a parallel of the innocent doe, doe eyed, and this is bambi ok 🥲] • an undamaged, normal appearing fawn representing beauty and purity can grow in the wasteland and then it being snatched by a gulper likewise demonstrating that it can all be taken away in a blink of an eye • lucy once again being crazy for walking around with the barely contained rotting head, like of course the abomination snatched that too 😭 • cooper conveniently appearing with a cocked gun in her face and she just smiles and says "hello again" like excuse me?? 😭 • cooper's head tilt gets me every time, oof • he ain't have to lightly pistol whip her like that 😭 • lmao poor chet • betty to some degree i keep wondering if she knows extensively about the vaults of 31, 32, 33 or if she is just doing what she is told • norm using the word "escape" instead of perhaps "leave" when describing lucy's departure from vault 33 is intriguing, i think • it took me a minute, and i don't think i've seen much talk about this but i legitimately think norm's lack of enthusiasm and drive for life in the vault is directly connected to his mother's death but i have seen no clear age for him--- they don't show his memories like they do lucy's and i would want an explanation or exploration on his lore here because... he already uncovered vault 31's secret but i don't think he knows what hank has done and him finding out will be huge as well like for lucy • norm is rightfully angry at the raiders for what they did but i am almost willing to bet he might be implicated in their poisonings as a diversion tactic by someone like betty but it's all just a theory [a film theory gldfgldfl] • because someone in the fucking kitchen and handling the food poisoned them raiders... • ghoul prejudice being loud and clear and amongst the brotherhood of steel 😭 • ghouls leaving radiation trails is insane • lmao maximus and thaddeus coming upon siggi's headless body and then trying to compare his mugshot • maximus thinking it was the ghoul who beheaded siggi when it was lucy at siggi's request lol • dogmeat barking up a storm because she wanted cooper's foolishness upon lucy to cease • "you know, they use to do these things called "studies"" like lucy doesn't know what a study is? she's a teacher! 😭 • rads going up because of the water or cooper or both? • ok so i now get why when lucy told cooper torture was wrong that he went into a whole spiel--- not only was cooper in the military but for thirty years post war, dom pedro kept him in a coffin confined on an iv drip to keep him alive but would dig him up and slice pieces of him off and then put him back. cooper's behaviour using her as bait [but not torture] is of course not excusable but cooper is coming from a deep place of hurt and bitterness, this monster was whittled

• cooper goes on to say "it made sense. i mean a man hurts me, i wouldn't want to do him any favours. and yet the practice of torture failed to vanish from the earth. in fact, as time marched on, i've personally noticed a decided uptick in the amount of torture being doled out across the board." oh, cooper 😞 • he says this as he picks what looks like giant leeches off lucy [didn't have to do that] • "well, i ain't torturing you, sweetheart" here go the first instance of familiarity with a patronising pet name in the style of cowboyism and southerness gldgldlf • almost looked like lucy started cooperating when cooper told her he was using her as bait gldgldl • ok so it looks like cooper cut the rope? so lucy could get free i guess idk but then the gulper got ahold of the anchor so he couldn't reel it back? [not sure, anyways, he botched this lmao] • he starts striking at the gulper with what looks like a harpoon i guess when it catches lucy's leg [could've definitely let her get ate but didn't] • lucy basically saves herself with dogmeat biting the gulper and scaring it off • cooper empties lucy's bag and destroys her stuff so it's only right cooper's karma is his vials getting smashed in the process of using lucy for bait lol • cooper getting mad and taking out his gun and cocking it at lucy like it was her fault his shit got smashed 😭 • "oh, i'm sorry, i should just let you use me as bait in the poison river!?" the way she says it always almost brings a tear to my eyes like get his ass 😭 • for the first time in the show, cooper realises he was wrong and/or messed up [and to his detriment] • lucy protests her treatment, "do unto others as you would have done unto you" and cooper starts mumbling to himself "those gulpers digest real slow. you got time." because he already going through withdrawals, help • so he ties her up like a dog and says the wasteland got its own rule and it's "thou shalt get distracted by bullshit every goddamn time" 😭 this is so a reference to gameplay and how they themselves are going on a fucking side quest lmao • lucy asking about dogmeat 😢 dogmeat staying because that gulper has siggi's head ☹️

• lmao maximus masquerading as lord titus asking thaddeus to say something about him • you know? it's good writing to me to explain why a [secondary] character would bully or behave as thaddeus has to maximus--- he's not merely a side character and wanted to say nothing but nice things about maximus when he thought he died, i'll give him that • "we can judge a person and a society by how they treat their enemy" goes boom because of the game lore and also because somebody kills all those raider prisoners lol • this disconnect between the vault dwellers and wastelanders--- they're talking about teaching these people shakespeare when some of them eat people for survival • norm wants the raiders to die and they keep showing steph and this might be a red herring but i think she poisoned them mfs, personally • hmm why does steph know what hank would do in this situation like that flgdlgdl • maximus trying to protect thaddeus from danger • thaddeus calling cooper an abomination because he's a ghoul 😭🖐️ • the little scream thaddeus makes as the gulper gets him ❤️ • dogmeat really loved siggi ☹️ • cooper and lucy walking near an incinerated hollywood tour bus is so lmao why cooper walk past that • at first i thought cooper was displaying cruelty by not letting lucy drink his water but then it occurred to me it might be irradiated, the next scene with water like this, she gets sick from radiation from drinking water • lmao when he emptied the last drops of water in his canteen out in the sand in front of her 😭 • "ain't much stays clean up here, vaulty" he is talking about himself • lucy gazing at a billboard of vault boy, cooper shooting the face, then they cut to vault boy's origins being cooper--- • symbolism and parallels like this can kill a man but i did want to just say there's so many layers to this. to be short he has such contempt, shame for what he thinks he's done, people hundreds of years later worship this thing that represents the end of civilization and he feels responsibility because he was deceived as well. lucy none the wiser. she just thinks he's crazy and horrible for no reason. if only she knew. • the road to hell is paved with good intentions

[velvet-cupcake-games]

We had an ask today that touched on Will's sprite and its layout, so I thought it'd be fun to do one of my backstage in game development posts.

One of my favourite things in Ren'py (the Python-based scripting system I use to create Made Marion) is its layered sprite system. Layered sprites allow creators to link different images together so that they don't have to make an entirely new sprite for every facial expression and outfit change that a sprite has. Instead they can make transparent images that layer on top of each other like paper dolls.

Will happens to be my most complex sprite for two reasons. First, he has two major outfits because he wears a flamboyant swashbuckling outfit when he's not incognito and a dark hooded outfit when he's doing more thiefy tasks. He also has two major arm poses that are used with all of his outfits because I wanted to visually indicate when he's feeling more closed-off versus more open.

Add a cape and hat to the deal and poor Arrapso (our lead/sprite artist) was going nuts with all the layered sprite bits and bobs. Will's sprite has quite the base setup. If I'd just gone completely basic with the sprite layout, I would have to type the following in every time I called up Will's sprite as he appears above: show will normaldowncloak hat_gloatinge gloatingm hathair normal normaldown That's a lot of typing. Early in the process, I spoke with Feniks, our awesome code consultant, about how to link sprite bits together. They showed me a great system that I used so that now all I have to do to call up the Will above is type: show will normaldown gloating Most of my sprites are sorted by outfit, but because Will is special, he's actually sorted by his arms. "Normaldown" is his hand on hip pose while wearing his normal swashbuckler outfit. If I type "normaldown" my code settings call up that set of arms and add on his normal outfit, the appropriate cloak background, and his hairstyle with him wearing his hat. "Gloating" is my compound facial expression that combines his "gloating" eyes and mouth.

I also have facial expressions that combine different eyes and mouths (angrye smilem often makes a really good sarcastic expression!). Will even has two sets of eyes, one normal and one with his hat's shadow over them. The shadowed eyes are automatically linked to the presence of his hat, so I don't have to type anything extra there when I'm coding in a scene.

Here's an example of what my layered linking code looks like for Will:

Yeah, he's got a LOT of bits and bobs. It was a ton of work to set up, but it made it soooo much easier during the bulk of my coding since 90% of the time I now only have to type in an arm pose and a facial expression to call a properly attired Will onto the scene.

This does somewhat limit my flexibility. As I mentioned in my ask, the automatic linkage of Will's casual arm pose to his hatless hairstyle means he cannot easily wear his casual outfit with his hat. That's fine, since generally he isn't going to. And I've added and removed some outfits here and there if they weren't working for how I ended up using a sprite.

Anyway, as a player, layered sprites are why Made Marion can have such cool sprites with tons of facial expressions, different arm poses, combat poses, and multiple outfits without the game being 10 gigabytes in size and without its coder going entirely bananas. That's pretty cool!

[curiouswisp]

Characterization Cheat Sheet: Rukhana

Full Name: Rukhana Ingellvar (no middle name)

Nicknames: Ruk, Little Wisp (as a child)

Age: 34, born Matrinalis 10, 9:18 Dragon

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her  

Sexuality: Bi/Pan

Lineage: Human 

Class: Warrior - Reaper

Nationality: Nevarran

Faction: Mourn Watch 

Fanart and Fanfic permissions: Yes, any/all, just let me know :)

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Looks:

Approximately 5'9/175cm, white hair cut in a blunt bob (longer at the start of the game, she cuts it after weisshaupt, so you'll see both), green eyes that have a brown outer rim, red lips, scar on her chin, tattoo in the middle of her chest. She wears medium and heavy armor. When not in combat she dresses in academia looks, typically tailored trousers, some sort of button-up shirt, and an underbust bodice or corset belt (or vest), or clothing/looks with clean lines and structure. She does not have pierced ears (not practical as a warrior in her opinion ) but loves all the rest of the mourn watch jewelry styles. Ruk's typical color palette is Black, brown (neutrals), dark purple, dark green, wine red, and bronze/gold.

General Likes: Ruk is a sucker for flowers. She also loves cats, perfume, puzzles, and books. Food, she loves wine, patatas bravas (really anything with potatoes), goat cheese, strawberries, baklava (honey pastry).

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Skills: 

Combat Skills: Sword and shield mainly, proficient with two-handed scythes or dual wielding. Can tap into a small amount of magic to fuel reaper abilities.

Other Skills: Battle strategy, puzzle solving, political analysis/advising, flirting, snark/sarcasm, giving the middle finger, floriculture, piano

Languages: Nevarran, Common, conversational in Tevene and Orlesian, can read some Tomb Script. 

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Body/Physicality

General Behavior: Confident, chin up, chest out. Cocky grins and half smiles. Her eyes are always assessing. Ruk prides herself on her observational skills and they’ve saved her life a time or two. Likes to talk and outwardly she’s warm, but deep down, she doesn’t fully trust most people not to let her down eventually, so she prefers to ask others about themselves over talking about her personal life.  Puts a lot of effort into her appearance, but mostly because she enjoys being underestimated. Isn’t afraid of confrontation or a debate. 

Flirting: Constantly, sometimes without realizing it. Relaxed, open posture. Arms spread along the back of their chair, leaning in to them, eyes looking from eyes to lips back to eyes and not hiding it. Low-cut or scandalously unbuttoned tops. Sly smiles from across the room. Trailing her fingertips along her neck and clavicles to see if they’re watching. Small touches. Perfume. Lipstick kisses on notes. Not afraid to walk away and (hopefully) leave them wanting more. 

With Established Romantic Partner: More physically affectionate than verbally. Hand holding, arm in arm, pulling them into her lap, kissing you in public. Kissing pulse points. Scratching their scalp, playing with their hair. Picking them up and carrying them to bed (in both spicy and sleepy situations). 

With Friends: Loud laughter and free smiles. Animated talking with hand gestures. She tends to be less observational and on guard in these situations. Friendly verbal or physical sparring. Will roast you out of love.  

In Combat: Keen awareness of her surroundings. Narrowed eyes and glares. Protecting her allies, sometimes at the risk of her safety. Shit talking, cocky taunting. Until Weisshaupt, she sorely lacks caution and tends to overestimate her odds in a fight. Will throw anything within reach at someone (although it’s usually her shield). Bathed in green light when she unleashes her reaper abilities and relishes in her connection with death when using them. 

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Dialogue/Speaking

Voice: Her speaking voice sounds like Zahra Hydris from Critical Role. Will change the inflection of words occasionally to emphasize or change the meaning. She can come off as blunt initially, but will talk more the more she gets to know you.

Humor: Usually a mix of snarky sarcasm, some subtle off-color jokes, and some exaggerated silliness thrown in for flair.  Loves to lightly tease. 

With Friends: She’s fairly easy to make laugh, and may accidentally snort (much to her horror). Her speech can get loud sometimes if she’s excited or has had a few glasses of wine. Will turn into a certified yapper if you get her going about something she’s interested in or knowledgeable about. She’s also comfortable in silence and typically does not feel the need to fill it with talking unless she’s nervous. 

With Romantic Interests: Soft murmuring, pressing her lips against their hair and talking low to them. Still gets uncomfortable with how vulnerable verbally communicating affection feels, so is not good at it, and is not in the habit of doing it often. She is more comfortable with writing romantic sentiments than saying them aloud. She does like a nickname or pet name for her partners. For more intimate situations, she is comfortable talking through and about those situations, and will tease and prompt her partners to communicate their wants and how they feel. 

Anger: She has a hard edge to her voice when angry. She will speak in shorter, clipped sentences. She tries not not speak as much as she would want to when angry to prevent saying something she will regret, but she sometimes loses that battle. Is not afraid to be direct about why she is angry and where she believes the fault lies. 

Cursing: Years of training with warriors and soldiers have given her a decently foul mouth. She can tone it down when she’s in the Necropolis and is trying to be proper, but the simple answer is yes.  

Combat: Will taunt her opponents, especially if she knows it will keep the attention on her and protect anyone with her and her adrenaline is high (she also just loves shit talking). Will bellow, growl, curse, etc. Will call out commands, observations, or yell to check in with companions during combat. Will celebrate a good hit or takedown (her own or others).

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BONUS:

My personal last name canon: Ingellvar: The name given to the Mortalitasi’s wards, orphans raised in the Necropolis. Ingellvar is the last name of the watcher, Rosamund Ingellvar, who saw too many children end up on the streets of Nevarra City and surmised that there might be a better way, thus the necropolis ward program was created. Under the program wards are given schooling and training as Mortalitasi, and possibly later on as watchers, but also have duties to perform to cover room and board. It is a last name that marks them for what they are, and it is on occasion used to “put them in their place”, especially around Watchers, both junior and senior, and other Nevarrans that claim nobility as lineage.