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earthtooz · 10 months

Text

x : AVOIDANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: falling for blade was not on your agenda, so naturally you decide to distance yourself. however, the last thing you'd predicted was blade being upset with the sudden space.

warnings: 2.3k wc, FLUFF, ooc!blade probably bc i'm still trying to figure it out, kafka meddles with the two of you, gn!stellaron hunter!reader who has a past lol, NOT PROOFREAD, idiots in love bc i love that trope, bad writing

a/n: thank you to the anon who gave me this idea :D much appreciated, i had a lot of fun with this one when my angstier fics were draining me af. i hope you enjoy, apologies if it's a little low quality, but it's my child <3

when you first joined the team of stellaron hunters, you didn’t expect to get much out of it, especially since the team looked so cold, calculating, mischievous, and unforgiving, greeting you with vicious smiles and muddy eyes. preemptively, you assumed the most you would receive is acquaintanceship.

however, time has proven you wrong, because on the contrary, you have found comfort, friendship, and stability in the form of this mismatched group.

you never expected to find love either.

but you did, and it might be the worst decision your heart has ever made.

“y/n, there you are. kafka and i are thinking about going out to lunch. want to join?” silver wolf’s voice interrupts your train of thought, disrupting your peace in your private spot amongst the gardens.

“oh, hi silver wolf,” you murmur, shutting your book after shoving in a bookmark. “who else is going?”

“kafka asked blade and he agreed.”

the genius hacker doesn’t notice the way you tense upon hearing a certain swordman’s name. instead, you play it cool by opening up your book again, scanning the pages in hopes of ignoring the racing of your heart.

“i think i’ll pass on this one. thank you though,” you mutter.

“really?” the silver-haired asks, popping her gum before shrugging. “whatever you say. i’m off!”

“bye!”

hearing her footsteps fade, you slump in your seat, your memories with blade hauntingly eminent in your mind. you don’t recall when you fell for him, or why exactly, all you have in your recollection is a series of moments that you look back fondly upon with a full heart, love slowly seeping in to you and causing your affections to grow to the size that they reside at now.

when you had realised, the love had already grown too big to deflate, and dejection struck moments after; a big bang of butterflies in your stomach that all disintegrated straight after.

how brutal- perhaps this was an indication that blade was rubbing off on you too much, and you need to cleanse yourself of his influence.

love, although fickle, was not something that you avidly rejected. despite having lived like a hunted deer, your experiences have been fleeting, building your delicate heart for a life of meeting, falling, then leaving when you least wanted to, needing to run before an arrow pierced you- and certainly not cupid’s one.

but with blade, everything is different. there is no arrow to run from, not in the life that elio has foreseen for you. for the first time in your life, you can stop running away and try fall into the arms of love with little remorse.

it's just ironic that you fall into the arms of a man who should not be touched.

“y/n’s not coming with us today,” silver wolf reports after meeting up with the other two stellaron hunters.

“oh?” kafka hums, “usually y/n’s always willing to hangout, why’s that?”

“busy or something, i don’t know, i didn’t care to ask.”

the slight scrunch of displeasure in blade’s expression passes by the keen eyes of both kafka and silver wolf. if either of them had noticed then perhaps it would have been a topic of interest, but for the time being, the pair move on (faster than the third member), your unusual absence dismissed in favour of where to get food.

as the days turn into nights and elio issues more missions and mumbles more futures, blade feels as though he sees you less and less.

it’s not intuition more than it is you purposefully ignoring and evading blade in your everyday, though.

“good morning,” kafka’s voice greets when she walks in to the cafeteria, where you were eating breakfast alone. setting down your phone, you regard her with a mouth full of bread. “gross. at least swallow first.”

“screw off,” you murmur. “how did you sleep?”

“fine fine, i woke up in the wrong position though and my neck is killing me, but what about you? seems like you’ve been up a while.”

“i’ve been up since asscrack of dawn.”

the purple-haired regards you with amusement. “why’s that?”

“body clock or whatever,” you lie, staring down at your glass of water.

“i see,” kafka hums half-heartedly, as if seeing right through you. “well, i’m going to get some coffee, i’ll be right back.”

“mk.”

you’re left on your own for only a few minutes, waiting patiently in silence for kafka to return. the morning is cool and pleasant, and the smell of rain is still heavy in the air as the morning dew lightens the atmosphere. the weather will surely get hotter as the day matures, but for now, you enjoy the gentle caress of sunlight on your back.

or rather- you were enjoying the gentle caress of the sun, but the methodicalness of it all is ruined when you spot a certain figure with dark, long hair beside kafka.

suddenly the last thing you know is peace and calm, and the abrupt, painful scraping of your chair against the floor symbolises that.

“going somewhere?” kafka asks.

picking up your scraps, you avoid blade’s gaze. “yeah! i- uh, realised that i have some documents to drop off for elio by twelve or whatever.”

“won't you stay to keep us company for breakfast,” the purple-haired tempts, “it feels like it’s been so long since we’ve spent some proper time together.”

“has it?” you laugh nervously and kafka easily picks up the pitchiness of your tone. “i’ll make it up soon, i promise, i’ve just been overflowed with things to do.”

“alright. you be off then. don’t work too hard.”

“i won’t. my head is remaining tight on my shoulders, don’t you worry!” you reassure before scrambling away, feeling like your legs could not be any slower as you retreat away from blade’s scrutinising gaze. when you round the corner, you sigh a breath of relief.

it’s laughable and simultaneously admirable how dedicated you are about dodging every interaction possible, but for the record, you think you’re doing quite well. not that space was doing many favours for your heart, but persistence is key.

whoever believed that distance makes the heart grow fonder just clearly didn’t try enough, because yours feels like it’s about to hammer out of your chest with how fast it is racing, and the sensation is equivalent to something like pain rather than fondness.

“i’m worried,” blade mutters, gaze lingering on where you’d just disappeared. “and why does y/n talk like i’m not right here?”

“aww, are you upset?” coos kafka, taking a seat. the swordsman mimics her.

“why wouldn’t i be? it feels like y/n has been ignoring me as of late.”

kafka hums thoughtfully, swirling her coffee cup around.

“do you know anything about that?”

“nup. nothing at all,” she answers, feigning ignorance to the many suspicions that are bubbling around in her mind. the last thing kafka is, is blind, your unusual behaviour has not bypassed her perceptive eye at all, but she believes she has uncovered the reasoning as to why; said reasoning being a certain swordsman.

the revelation is definitely interesting, and she might just be able to give the push you both need.

“y’know what, bladie? if it concerns you that much, i’d say you go check up on y/n later,” kafka suggests.

“why not you?”

“i’ll be busy, but i think some support in dire times is just what y/n needs.”

“okay. fine.”

when blade gathers the courage to check up on you, like kafka recommended, the time is nearing 5pm. the sun is beginning to cool, the animals are retreating into their nests, and the big, bad, intimidating stellaron hunter is roaming around the archives, where you’re situated to work, hoping to locate you.

it takes a few laps around to finally find your placement because you’re fast asleep, only identifiable to blade by the jacket you hung on the back of your chair.

the sight of you hunched over your desk over a multitude of forms and papers causes a wave of concern (however much he can feel) to wash over blade, and suddenly, he does something completely foreign to him: dote over someone.

gently lifting your jacket to cover your shoulders, he stills when you shift a little, your eyebrows furrowing in your sleep. deciding to leave you alone, all blade spares is one lasting look at your vulnerability before leaving.

he wonders what it is that could be making you so frustrated.

(if only he knew).

a few days later, kafka confronts you about the suspicions that’s been creeping to the forefront of her mind.

“did you do something to piss a certain bladie off?”

kafka’s saccharine voice is laced with mischief as she leans towards you, chin resting on the palm of her hand. she certainly does not miss the way you tense up at the mention of the swordsman’s name and her smirk widens when you shuffle away, subconsciously turning away, as if avoiding the subject.

“i can’t think of why i would have,” you murmur, crossing your arms. “why?”

“oh, nothing, he’s just been complaining and crying a lot recently.”

“he does that all the time.”

“so he does,” your fellow stellaron hunter hums. “except he’s mentioning your name a lot more nowadays.”

you freeze. “what?”

“hm? did i say something peculiar?”

inhaling a deep breath, you steady yourself. you know what kafka wants out of you and you’re not going to give it to her despite how innocent and pretty she spins the web to look. after all these years together, you hope to have learnt a thing or two about how to avoid her snare.

“what is blade saying about me?” you quiz.

she blinks at you. “why so curious if you haven’t done anything?”

“can i not ask about something that involves my name? besides, he’s my friend, i want to know what he’s saying,” you lean against the back of the couch, trying to calm the involuntary shake in your legs. you despise that the slightest mention of blade can cause a bottomless pit to form in your stomach and it’s not because of how intimidating or threatening he is.

no, it’s because you’ve fallen for him, hook, line, and centre.

and blade would have to die before you ever tell him.

“mostly just grumbles about wondering where you are,” kafka expands, waving her hands about to match her words. “he asked silver wolf and i if you’ve been talking to us and when we said ‘yes’, he looked pissed! when i asked why he was being a sourpuss, he just stormed off.”

“so temperamental, that man,” she sighs. then, she looks back at you with those half-lidded eyes that have always gotten her what she wants, and in this case, they’re answers. “so tell me, y/n, what did you do to our bladie to have him all riled up like this?”

“nothing. absolutely nothing.”

“are you sure?”

“positive.”

“positive?”

you avoid her curious gaze. “positive.”

“maybe i phrased the question wrong. has bladie done something to you instead?”

panic settles within you. “no,” you lie through your teeth. “he hasn’t.”

“so if i asked you why you left breakfast so abruptly that day, you wouldn’t say that it’s because of him?”

“i had work to do, kafka, you know how busy my job gets.”

“i know, i know,” she persists, “then why weren’t you in a hurry before blade arrived that morning?”

you don’t know how to refute that, letting silence speak volumes instead.

“and why did you skip out on lunch with silver wolf and i? was it because we also invited a certain someone?”

“okay! fine, you’ve got me. what do you want to know?” you explode, tossing your phone on the couch in frustration.

“so it is about blade?” questions your coworker.

“yeah. it is.”

“what about him? did he do something to hurt you? you know he’s accidentally mean sometimes-”

“it’s not that, he’s nothing but a sweetheart.”

“so what’s the problem?”

“that is the problem! he’s just… he’s him.”

“is that bad?”

“for my heart, yes.”

“oh my- so you like him?”

you exhale exasperatedly, “don’t act like you haven’t already figured that out, kafka.”

the cheshire smile she then flashes sends shivers down your spine. for whatever reason, an oppressive feeling grows in your gut, resembling something like a warning.

“you’re right, i knew,” she flaunts. then, her gaze cuts to look behind you. “but i don’t think blade did.”

your heart lurches out of your chest with enough force to pull you off the couch and you stumble around to see that, lo and behold, blade was indeed standing in the hallway. the expression he wears tells you enough; he heard you, he knows.

kafka somehow sneaks her way out of the room, leaving you alone to deal with the face of rejection. it’s daunting being in the same space as him after so long, you almost forgot about the intimidating pressure that blade naturally exudes and projects in every space he enters.

“hi,” you start, looking away.

he stalks over to you, footsteps soundless before stopping a feet in front of you. instead of saying something, the swordsman merely gazes down at you whilst you keep your eyes glued to the side.

“can you reject me already? the silence is kinda killing me,” you snap after a few seconds, crossing your arms protectively.

instead of obeying to your request, blade does something completely unexpected; he very gently lifts your chin with his hand, and red eyes bore right into yours. is it odd to feel seen in your demise? because blade is looking- no, surveying you with such immense focus and clarity that your heart stills, frozen in position because it wants him to see the most picturesque part of you.

(he sees it, but he wants to know more of you. the pretty, the ugly, the likeable, and the unwanted.)

“would you like to go on a date?” he asks.

#this was awful </3 #blade x reader #blade hsr x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn!reader #blade x gn!reader #blade fluff #blade x reader fluff

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popquizhot-shot · 10 months

Text

Father mine. Miguel O’Hara x teen!Spider!reader

Hope you like this :D it’s sad asf.

Warnings: mommy issues backstory, feelings of inadequacy, wanting to feel pain. Angst.

Miguel’s body shields over yours as Miles breaks through the force field and causes everyone to fly backwards. Your leg bends in an unnatural way and you resist the urge to cry out.

He holds you to him and does a once over of your form. You nod at him, not wanting to worry him and he looks to Miles.

You can see the exact moment where the rope finally breaks and he chases after the boy.

Your cries fall on deaf ears as you run behind him. Your legs screams with ever step and you’re forced to stop and look helplessly as he calls every spider and alerts them.

Soon enough there’s a hole broken in one of the windows as Miles jumps and Miguel follows. Every other spider jumping after the both of them like blind followers.

You join them, because you would follow Miguel to the death.

You try to focus all the power into your arms and your good leg but it’s fucking hard because you’re climbing the spaceship that Miles has somehow traversed.

In front of you, is every other spider that is a part of the society, and each of them is almost climbing on top of the others like mindless zombies that crave flesh.

Your spider sense tingles and you duck just in time for Miguel to fall past you and hang on to the spaceship with his claws.

You Web him and he looks at you gratefully.

“Gracias, Mija.” He grunts, his eyes glowing red.

You don’t answer. His hair is disheveled and he looks he’s been electrocuted or some shit, his fangs are bared and he snarles as he looks above you, “let me go now, and go back to the fucking tower.”

You scowl, “why should I?”

He tears through the webs, “because I said so, I’m already pissed off at two teenagers, don’t make me even worse.” He seethes and your lips form a thin line under your mask.

Suddenly, you’re eight years old trying to convince your mother to talk to you when she’s giving you the silent treatment and you have to gulp to try to keep your whimper of pain inside. You’re not a burden, you think, as he shakes his head and jumps past you.

something in you screams to go back, to listen to him. For once to listen to him, not just because you’re afraid he won’t love you anymore if you don’t but, call it spider sense pro, it helps predict the future so you listen to it.

You reluctantly jump out of the force field and swing. You can see the hole in the broken window and the jagged edges that form it. They resemble your heart and you clench your jaw and zoom through, tucking your legs inwards and crouching into a roll to minimise impact. The pain is still there when you hit the ground, but you wish it was harder.

You deserve to hurt right now. You deserve the pain in your leg and the pain in your heart because you’re not a good kid.

A groan leaves your lips as your spider sense tells you to go to where the go home machine is.

You run to the area and see spider byte and lyla walking around in a panicked frenzy.

“What the hell is going on?” You say out loud and they turn to look at you.

“Your dad is being a horrible person.” Spider-Byte scowls.

You look at Lyla and she doesn’t meet your eyes, only turning back to look at the monitors.

You squint and look at the go-home machine.

Miles. Invisible Miles.

You know why Miguel is mad, you know the risk that Miles brings, because you’ve seen first hand how a universe is destroyed. Your own was.

But Miles is a kid. He’s like you, wanting to save his dad. Just like you’re trying to help yours.

You can feel his panic and his anger and his hurt.

He turns visible at the last second and you meet his eyes as everyone storms in. Your own dad leading the party as the go-home machine starts to operate.

And then you look at the man who is your father. The man who has fed you and bandaged you and smiled at your jokes. The man who has been there with you through so much.

You watch as he shouts and tries to break the barrier. You see Peter’s horror. You watch as he pries open the field just the slightest. You see him try and kill a kid. A kid like you.

And your eyes fill with tears because this man is a monster.

By some dumb luck, Miles is able to escape and Miguel stands defeated. The go-home machine Scans him and he breaks it like it’s nothing. You flinch.

You watch as he turns and walks amidst everyone like nothing has happened. You watch as he dishes out orders as if he hasn’t just tried to take the life of a child. You watch him threaten Gwen, and you watch as he sends her to her universe. Ignoring her cries because to him, she’s an inconvenience.

Is that what you are? Now that you’re not on his side anymore?

He opens a portal and Jessica and another Peter you don’t give a shit about walk through. His eyes meet yours as his mask materialises over his face. You know he expects you to follow him, even if he tells you to stay. So he doesn’t bother and walks in.

You don’t follow.

Because this man, this cold, unflinching monster of a man is not your father.

Part 2 here

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv #atsv x reader #mini miguel<33

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navybrat817 · 1 year

Note

He's not stalking you, he's looking after you, baby

Oh, is he?

Follow You Home

Pairing: Soft!Bucky Barnes x Florist!Female Reader Summary: Bucky just wants to see you smile when he visits you at the flower shop. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: (S)talking, (c)reepy behavior, talk of (v)iolence and (d)eath, (s)exual thoughts, delusion, obsession, homeboy has issues (still love him), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Future fics for this AU will venture into (d)arker territory. Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @rookthorne. A/N: For @springdandelixn's Double-Trouble Sleepover (featuring flowers) and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Mini March Challenge ((s)talking, ribbon, plaid shirt). ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A sense of serenity and calm washed over Bucky Barnes as he walked into the flower shop. The fragrance and colors almost overwhelmed him the first time he went in, but he learned to adjust. One of the only blessings of the trauma he experienced is that he could be extremely adaptable when the occasion called for it. Now he craved the sweet scent that surrounded him.

The way he craved you.

“Hi, Bucky,” you called from behind the counter. “Right on time.”

Like when he saw you the first time, he stared at you for far too long. He was still too intrigued to care if you caught him. Unlike most people around him, you never cowered under his gaze. You always greeted him with a smile which was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

Even if your smile didn’t reach your eyes today.

Still beautiful. Still mine.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a quick look around as he made his way to the counter where his flowers were waiting. “I brought you something.”

“Let me guess?” you asked, your smile still not as bright as normal. “A candy bar because I’m so sweet?”

Sweet enough to melt on my tongue.

“What gave it away?” he asked, handing it over with a small smile of his own. He could have set it on the counter, but he liked having an excuse for his fingers to brush against yours. “One day I might switch it up on you.”

“No, this is nice,” you said, sniffling. “Thank you.”

I’m reliable. Dependable.

Predictability had a way of putting some at ease. It communicated stability, safety, and security. He made sure you knew exactly what time he’d be at the shop and on which day. He always purchased the same flowers. Always brought the same wrapped candy after you commented one day that you craved it.

You'll crave me the way I crave you.

“Beautiful,” he said as he inspected the small bouquet and took a moment to steal a glance at you. Not that he needed to look over the arrangement. They were perfect every time, right down to the perfect ribbon bow to hold them together. “Mrs. Bradshaw will love them.”

Every week he bought a small bouquet of tulips for his elderly neighbor. She didn’t have many people to look out for her, so he checked in whenever he could. In some ways, she reminded him of Rebecca. Or at least what he thought Rebecca would be like if he got to see her grow up. Maybe it was why he felt the need to protect her.

He felt the need to protect you, too.

Just not from myself.

“It’s nice that you do that,” you said, ringing them up with another quiet sniffle.

“I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay?” he asked, putting the change in the small bowl by the register.

“Just not a great day,” you tried to brush off.

“Bad customer? I don’t mind taking care of them. Just tell me who,” he offered.

A man screamed at you weeks ago over the cost of flowers for his wedding. You explained that he was receiving a discount and the price was agreed upon, but it wasn’t good enough for the jerk. You threw him out after he shattered one of your vases.

Bucky shattered one of his knees.

I’m not a bad man.

“No, it wasn’t a bad customer,” you said, your eyes misty as you reached for the candy bar and changed your mind.

"You can talk to me," he urged, placing his hand on yours long enough to provide comfort without being uncomfortable. "I'm your friend, right?"

I'm actually more than that.

"Yeah," you nodded, taking a deep breayhy. “You know my boyfriend?”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment. When his slight obsession with you began, he found out everything he could. While it didn't surprise him that you had a boyfriend, it disappointed him. Especially when he discovered that he was a decent man. Always friendly when he visited the shop. Even kept your place nice and tidy when he stopped by.

It was a feat Bucky didn't break every single one of his fingers for touching you.

“Yeah, I know of him.”

“He dumped me. Through a text,” you said as more tears welled up. “Just said we were through. No explanation. When I tried to call him, he blocked me."

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice filled with sympathy as he grabbed a pack of tissues from his jacket pocket.

"My stuff was in a box this morning, waiting in front of my door," you went on. "I thought things were going great between us. Not too fast or too slow, but I guess I was wrong. Maybe he was seeing someone else."

"If he was, he's an idiot,” he said, itching to walk around the counter to hug you. It broke his heart to see you upset. “They can't see someone as perfect as you when they have you right in front of them.”

“I’m not perfect,” you argued, dabbing your eyes with the tissue. “Look at me. I’m crying in the middle of the shop.”

“You’re perfect to me,” he said.

In every way.

"Thanks, Bucky. You've always been very kind."

“It’s the other way around,” he said, clearing his throat. “And I appreciate it more than you know.”

Because of Bucky’s past, he did his best to blend in most days. As a man forced to do bad things against his will, the truth behind his actions didn’t matter to some. They had their minds made up about him and would never trust him because of what he did.

Do people feel better by making me a villain?

But one day, while he was out trying to make amends, he spotted you helping a homeless man on the sidewalk. He had seen him before. Most passed him without a second glance, but you crouched down and checked on him. You even gave him a bit of food you had on you and some money.

“I wish I could give you more, but that’s all I have,” you said.

The man nearly cried with gratitude. No one else cared, but you did. That was when you spotted Bucky looking your way. He could avoid being seen if he wished, but part of him wanted you to notice him. If you recognized him, in a good or bad way, you didn’t show it. You merely smiled, gave him a friendly nod, and walked on.

As if you hadn’t changed his life.

Bucky didn’t mean to follow you at first, but he had to make sure you got to wherever you were going safely. He didn't want anything bad to happen to you. Besides, a gaze between the two of you wasn't enough to leave him satisfied. Once he squashed his curiosity and made sure you were okay, he thought he’d leave you be.

He was wrong.

The second he walked into the shop and saw you again, he knew you had to be his.

“You’re caring and strong. You deserve kindness and respect,” he told you, wondering if the depths of his feelings showed in his eyes. “Someone who will love and cherish you for who you are.”

“I might cry again,” you smiled.

It reached your eyes this time.

“I’m just glad you’re smiling again,” he said. It would be beautiful to wake up to it each day. He was going to make that happen.

“Is it okay if I ask for a hug?”

“Sure,” he said, opening his arms.

You moved around the counter and leaned into him with a sigh. He smiled as he held you, feeling a warmth inside of him that he hadn’t felt since before he met you. He imagined many times how he’d make you shiver with need once he had his hands on you and it took strength not to stretch you out on the counter.

Just like it took him strength not to touch you in your home.

Watching wasn’t enough. It never was. He’d have you in his bed soon.

Where you belong.

“It’s probably for the best. I think he was stealing some of my panties,” you said against his shoulder before you gasped. “Oh, my god! I shouldn’t have told you that. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky loved the feel of your satin underwear around his cock. It was easy to imagine how wet they’d be against your pussy as he teased you. Not that you’d wear underwear much once he had you. Maybe he’d keep you in one of his Henley’s. Or a plaid shirt so he could rip it open. Or little sundresses so he could push them up around your hips.

So many options.

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiled when you kept your face hidden. “I’m glad you’re comfortable with me.”

As you should be.

“Thank you, Bucky,,” you said, lifting your head and gazing at him. "You're a good guy."

"I'm trying to be," he whispered, holding you a bit tighter before he let you go.

If anything, he'd be good to you.

"Here," you said as you pulled away and grabbed the largest red rose in the shop. “You should find someone special to give this to. I think they’d be very lucky.”

“Yeah, I think I will,” he said as a couple walked through the door. “I should let you help them. Is it okay if I see you tomorrow? Just in case you need a friend."

"I'd like that," you smiled.

"I'll see you later then," he smiled back.

“Bye. Thanks again."

Bucky left the rose next to the candy bar when you weren't looking and walked out the door with his tulips in hand. He’d have to explain to Mrs. Bradshaw that he’d be moving shortly. His new home was ready. A place outside of the city. Quiet. Secluded.

Perfect for the two of you.

Bucky was going to take great pleasure in the two of you christening every room of the place. He'd even fill the rooms with roses and other flowers to show how special you are. You deserved beauty in your home.

He frowned when he suddenly thought of your tears. Your now ex-boyfriend hadn't seen him coming. As much as part of him hated that he ever touched you, had been inside you, he didn't want to cause an innocent man pain. Not when his only crime was that he wanted you.

I just wanted you more.

He almost felt guilty for sending the text and blocking your number. He felt even worse when he remembered how the light left his eyes. That feeling went away when he boxed up your things. It had to be done.

No one would find the body.

Maybe I am a villain, but I'll be your hero, too.

Once Bucky saw you home safely tonight, he’d wait until after midnight to make his move. He did say he'd see you tomorrow. He’d show you how easy it is to break into your place undetected and bring you to your new home. A place where he could keep you safe from a world that didn’t deserve your kindness.

He didn’t have a choice or control over his life in years past, but he did now. He chose to take back control. To begin again.

Starting with you.

And who better to love and protect you than the former Winter Soldier?

You'll love your new home, right? Bucky thinks so. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

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anim-ttrpgs · 26 days

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Why I Dislike PbtA Games, and How Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is Their Opposite

@tender-curiosities

It is no secret that I hate PbtA games.

Though due to a recent misunderstanding regarding another post, I’m going to preface this post by saying that this is going to be a very opinionated post and

I do not seriously think that PbtA games are inherently bad, though I may sometimes joke about this.

While I do often question the taste of people who make and play PbtA hacks, I do not think poorly of their moral character.

While I am going to call for PbtA to be used less as a base for games in the future, I’m not saying that the whole system and all games based on it should be destructified. It’s good for what it’s good for, but unless you’re doing that, I really think you should use something else.

Now that that is out of the way, here’s what I have to say about it.

My first experiences with PbtA games were pretty rough. Monster of the Week was not the first, but it was one of the first ‘indie’ TTRPGs I played after having previously played mostly only D&D3.5e and 5e. I really appreciated that the use of 2D6 over a D20 meant that the dice results would be more predictable, and I really liked the various “classes” I was seeing. (At this time, I didn’t really understand that they weren’t really “classes” at all, though I think I can be forgiven for this because many people, even people who like PbtA games, still talk like “classes” and “playbooks” are interchangeable.)

I was very enthusiastic to play, until it came time to start actually “making” a character, and found that I couldn’t “make” a character. I wanted to make a nuanced, three-dimensional PC who was simultaneously stereotype-affirming and stereotype-defying, with a unique backstory and dynamic with the other characters—but when I went to actually fill out the character sheet for basically any “class”, I found that most of the backstory and most of the personality for my character was being set for me by the playbook. It felt like the only thing about the character I really had a say in was their name, and that two PCs of the same playbook would actually turn out to be almost identical characters. At the time, I thought this was very restrictive and very bad design.

Later, now that I understand the design intent behind it, I still think of it as very restrictive, but I think of it as very bad design for me, not inherently bad.

When I play a TTRPG, I want more freedom in who my PC is. That doesn’t mean I want less rules, in fact having more rules can often increase freedom, but that’s a different post. I want to create original, unique characters, that I won’t see anywhere else. If it’s a class-based system, I want that class to barely touch the details of my character’s backstory or personality, so that I can come up with something original and engaging for why and how this “Fighter” fights. This means that two level-1 Fighters, despite having almost the same mechanical abilities, will potentially be very different people.

PbtA games don’t let you do that. In a lot of PbtA games, you’re not playing your own original character, you’re playing someone else’s character, that every other player that has picked up the same playbook before you has played. It’s more like “character select” than “character creation.” I think I could liken it to playing Mass Effect or The Witcher. Every player may pick a few different dialogue choices in those games that change the story, but we’re still all playing Shepherd or Geralt. No one is going to experience a new never-before-seen story in Mass Effect or The Witcher, which is very much a factor of them being video games and not TTRPGs, and therefore limited to the amount of code, writing, and voice-acting that can go into them.

This anonymous asker who sent a message to @thydungeongal seems to feel pretty similarly to me about PbtA games, and @thydungeongal's response is a very good response about how people find this appealing.

I have more respect for PbtA now than I did, but I still don't like it because to me it seems to play so much against what I consider to be the strengths of TTRPGs as a medium, much like how video games like The Last of Us and David Cage games play against the strengths of the medium of video games, and I will never like it. But other people clearly do, so to each their own.

Then another reason I don’t like it is because I think it’s oversaturating the TTRPG space. I’ve referred to PbtA before as “indie D&D5e”, and i do think that’s a reasonable comparison, because in much the same way that you always hear “D&D5e is a system that can do everything”, I think a lot of people seem to be under the impression that the PbtA system is a system that can do anything. It’s kinda the système du jour for indie TTRPGs right now, and many iterations of it make it clear that many designers do not consider how PbtA differs from more traditional TTRPGs, and how it is specialized for different types of TTRPG gameplay. Just like how I feel PbtA isn’t playing to certain important strengths of TTRPGs, I think that many—maybe even most—PbtA hacks don’t play to the strengths of PbtA. But this isn’t really PbtA’s fault, that comes down to any individual indie TTRPG developer on a case-by-case basis. And the cure for that is something I’m always saying: If you are going to be a writer, you have got to read lots of books. If you are going to be a director, you have got to watch lots of movies. If you are going to be a video game developer, you have got to play lots of video games. And if you are going to be a TTRPG designer, you have got to read and play lots of TTRPGs. That and you have to understand that TTRPGs are specialized. Even "agnostic" systems like PbtA are somewhat specialized, and therefore might really not be a great fit for the game you’re trying to make.

That and, to get more subjective again, there’s like an ocean of them, and I don’t even like the ones that are actually good.

Now that I’ve talked about how I don’t like PbtA games, I’m gonna talk about a game I do like: Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. Obviously, I like it because I’m the lead writer for it, but I would also like it even if I wasn’t the lead writer for it, because it’s just my kinda game. Eureka is the opposite of a PbtA game. I wrote it to play to what I feel are the strengths of the TTRPG medium.

Eureka’s character creation uses personality traits as a mechanical element of the character, but it does so in a deliberately freeform way. You build your character’s personality out of a list of traits, so who your character is is very much linked to what your character can do, but we aren’t just handing you a pre-made character.

Eureka is designed to incentivize organic decision-making by the PCs, most often by the mechanics of the game mirroring the world they live in. Every mechanic aims to create situations wherein “what will the PC do next?” is a question whose answer can be predicted - it doesn’t need to be ordained by a playbook.

One of my favorite examples of this is, rather than a “Fear Check” forcing the PC to run away if they fail, or “Run Away from Danger” being a “Move” on their character sheet, Eureka opts for the Composure mechanic. The really short version is that one of the main things that lowers a PC’s Composure is encountering scary stuff, and the lower a PC’s Composure, the more likely they are to fail skill checks, and the more likely they are to fail skill checks, well, the less brave they and their player probably feel about them standing up to this scary monster. So if the PC has low Composure, they are more likely to choose to run away. The lower their Composure, the better idea that will seem.

This system really really shines when it comes to monster PCs in Eureka. Most monsters benefit a lot more from having high Composure, but have fewer ways to restore Composure than mundane PCs. Their main way to restore their Composure is by eating people. The rulebook never says “your monster PC has to eat people”, but more likely than not, they’re going to be organically steered towards that by the game and world itself. Sure, they could decide to be “one of the good ones”, and just never eat people, just like you reading this could decide to stop eating food. You technically could, but when your body starts to fail, how long would you? (This is a big part of the themes of Eureka and what it has to say about crime, disability, mental illness, and evil. People don’t just arbitrarily do bad things, it is often their circumstances that leads them down that path until they see little choice for themselves in that matter, and “harmful” people are still just as deserving of life as people who “aren’t harmful”, but that really deserves its own post.)

It has been said that Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually arrives at much the same end as the PbtA game Monsterhearts, and I actually don’t disagree, but it gets there from an entirely different starting point and direction. The monster PCs in Eureka are very likely to eat people and cause drama, but it won’t be because they have “Eat People and Cause Drama” as a “Move” on their character sheet.

Monsters in Eureka have a lot of abilities, which they can use to solve (and create) problems as the emergent story emerges organically.

(Oh and Eureka is about adult investigators investigating mysteries, and sometimes those investigators are monsters, not about monster kids in high school, to be clear. The same “end” that Eureka and Monsterhearts reach is that of the monsters being prone to cause problems and drama due to the fact that they are monsters, though this isn’t the sole point of Eureka, just one element of it.)

You can pick up the free shareware version of this game from the download link on our website, or the full version for $5 from our Patreon.

And don’t forget, Eureka is fundraising on Kickstarter starting on April 10th, 2024! We need your support there most of all, to make sure we hit our goals and can afford to make the best version of Eureka we can make!

Interested in branching out but can’t get your group to play anything but D&D5e? Join us at the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club, where we nominate, vote on, and play indie TTRPGs, all organized by our team with no strict schedule requirement! Here's the invite link! See you there!

We also have merchandise.

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formulaforza · 9 months

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—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. spring and the lovely silence of growing things. minors dni. nsfw warnings under the cut. 7.6k part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: oral (m receiving, rough), spit, hair pulling, drunk drunk drunk get crunk

“Goodnight Arthur,” you said, lingering behind as your family started off down the road in the opposite direction that he and his were.

Your dress, long and linen, blows in the evening breeze and draws goosebumps to your skin. Your hands clutch your phone and a small purse, the cross body strap wrapped around your hand three times. Your ponytail sways with your hips when you walk. Turning to Charles, you nod, purse a smile. “Charles.”

“Goodnight,” he replies curtly, perfectly polite.

“The two of you are still talking after a whole day together? Did Hell freeze over while we were out there?” Arthur laughs.

A strange silence, one that only you and Charles are aware of, swallows the lull of the cicadas in the streetlights. It’s early in the year for them, typically holding out on their spring song until a bit further into the season. Charles drags his feet on the concrete, drawing out every step to be a beat too slow. “Stranger things have happened,” he remarks under his breath, his middle finger picking at the cuticle of his thumb before shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“Have they?” Arthur continues to poke fun at the two of you, at the unlikeliness of a quareless evening. You’re surprised, too. Never would have guessed a few hours earlier that the evening would end up the way it had.

(Five hours earlier)

He’s sulking and it's becoming pathetic. Every single thing about his body moves around the yacht like a kicked puppy, all sullen and blue and hosting another private-pity party. His sighs grow more and more dramatic, less and less patient with each moment that passes without someone feeling as bad for him as he feels for himself.

You knew, maybe better than anyone, how fiercely competitive he is, how much pressure he carries on his shoulders. You'd seen the highs and the lows of it all, and despite the underlying annoyance that was Charles, you still wanted what was best for him. It’s just human nature to hope.

This season has been beating him up, you knew, even if you didn’t follow it the way some of your friends did. Strategy has been shit, you’ve heard, luck somehow shitter. He’d talked such a big game before the start of the season, quietly confident and subtly cocky in a way that almost makes you believe he can predict the future.

Usually, you would relish in his annoyance, but today you’ve found yourself feeling oddly concerned. You refused to let him ruin the beautiful day, ruin the moods of your siblings and his. It’s the determination to save the day that leads you to the yacht railing, feet away from his brooding, lost in thought expression.

“You seem a bit off today,” you remarked, voice lades with a teasing tone, a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

He glances up at you, a hint of a smile tugging on his lips. “You always have such a way of pointing out the obvious, don’t you?” He retorted, but his annoyance is all bark, no bite, softened entirely by the playful glint in his eyes.

“Well,” you shoot back, minorly annoyed, massively amused. “It’s not everyday you look like a sulking child.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “And always full of delightful compliments,” he replied, gaze lingering on your lips for a moment too long before he tears them away.

You smirk, lean in a bit closer. “You love it,” you taunt.

He raises an eyebrow, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. “Oh, do I now?” He quips, leaning in just enough to make your stomach sink. You feign indifference to his words, but your body betrays you, leaning in a fraction closer.

“I know you better than you think,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

He chuckled again, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine. There’s something so deflated about him. “Is that so?” He muses, breath grazing against your ear, making your pulse quicken.

You take a step back, attempt to find some sort of composure. “Maybe,” you replied with a playful shrug, not daring to meet his gaze.

He leans in, fills the space you’d just created, mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re always under my skin,” he admits, a hue of vulnerability in his voice leaving you unsettled.

You finally meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his. “You love the challenge, though, don’t you?” You countered, tone serious now, hinting at something more, something deeper.

He hesitates, a flicker of emotion crossing his features before he masks it with a smirk. “Maybe I do,” he replied, voice low and suggestive.

The conversation drolls on, seconds between your words filled with charged silence. The subtle dance of glances and touches only adds to the tension, and you found yourself unable to break away, to return to the rest of the family on the upper deck. No, no, you have a feeling you’ll be going lower, even, farther away from them and closer to some private silence.

“Do you ever wonder?” he asks, voice soft and full of curiosity. You have no interest in entertaining his words.

“I don’t,” you reply, trying to keep your tone guarded.

His brows furrow, challenging you. “Really?” Charles questions, his skepticism evident.

You shrug. “It’s just easier this way, isn’t it?” you retort, a hint of bitterness creeping into your voice. Bitter that he feels entitled to ruin something that’s working just fine.

“Easier?” He echoes, curiosity evident as he leans in even closer.

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you meet his intense gaze. “Yeah, easier,” you say, the words spewing out with a touch of frustration. “It’s just a game.”

He studies you for a moment, eyes searching for any sign of vulnerability. You hope you’re talented enough to conceal them, that your secondary school drama class teacher taught you well. “You think it’s that simple?” he challenges, voice just painfully soft.

“It’s not simple at all,” you admit, guard slipping for only a moment. “But it’s just what we do. It’s comfortable, in its own way.”

He nods, seeming to understand your reluctance. “So, what?” He asks, a trace of bitterness in his tone. “We just keep using each other whenever we feel like it?”

A mess of emotions swirls inside you as you meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “Maybe,” you remark, defiant. “But it’s better than facing the alternative.”

He seems to consider your words, the wright of your unspoken history. “You’re afraid,” he observes. Charles has called you afraid a million and one times in your life; from a ponytailed scaredy-cat to a selfish coward, he’s checked the box on every synonym. This time, though, his voice isn’t teasing or raging red. No, it’s surprisingly gentle.

Your ears burn red hot. “I’m not afraid of anything,” you snap, try to push down everything just begging to boil over inside of you.

He reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. You ignore the jolt of electricity, the fact that a simple touch holds more meaning than any words the two of you could exchange. You’re annoyed, now. Annoyed with him and the longing you refuse to acknowledge. It’s a powerful cocktail that you don’t want to begin to comprehend.

He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispers, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Not with me.”

You heart pounds in your chest as you resist the urge to lean into him, to seek some fucked up sort of comfort in his arms. Instead, you push him away, maintain a safe distance. “I’m not afraid of you,” you say, voice horribly hushed. “I’m afraid of what this could become.”

He looks at you, some indistinguishable mix of emotions, of understanding and frustration and something else. “And what do you think this could become?” he asks, voice tinged with an edge of desire.

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to his proximity. “I don’t know,” you admit, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed. “But I don’t want to find out.”

He smiles like he knows something you don’t. It makes you crazy. “You’re always so stubborn,” he remarks, fingers moving from your hand to your jaw, brushing against your cheek. “Part of what drives me crazy about you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, unable to tear your eyes away. The tension is palpable, unspoken words hanging in the heavy air.

“I could help take your mind off things,” you suggest, voice low and suggestive. “Just for a little while.”

He raises a brow, surprise evident in his expression. “Oh?” he replies, voice a mix of intrigue and amusement. You give him a playful smirk, leaning in a bit closer. You can play games, too.

“I can be pretty distracting,” you tease, fingers moving to his arm, tracing circles on the linen covering his arm.

He hesitates, you’ve got him torn. He says your name, attempts to steer the conversation back to the emotions you’re so clearly dancing around.

But you cut him off, not willing to back down. “Please,” you sigh, your voice full of longing and playfulness. “Let me take your stress.”

He puts his foot down. Protests weakly. “We can’t just ignore this.”

For a moment, you consider pushing the issue further. Deep down, somewhere unexplored, you know that this isn’t the right time. So, you take a step back, move to walk away. Before you can take another step, his hand is on your wrist, pulling you back to him.

His lips crash against yours in a fierce and desperate kiss, and you lose yourself in the intensity of the moments. The motions that have been building under the surface finally finds an outlet, and you can’t resist the pull any longer.

You both give in to the passion, into the physical connection and the muddled emotions. It’s a moment of surrender, of letting go. For now, it’s enough. For now, you can avoid the conversation.

You’re no more than a few steps away from the stairs, make quick work of them, of the lock on the door to the master suite. You didn’t even know the doors had locks on them. You hope they’re half as soundproof as they are expensive, but you doubt it.

You’re already pawing for his cock, palming the chilly, half-damp material of his swim trunks before slipping your hand under the waistband, taking the fabric out of the equation entirely.

You look up at him, look for his reaction, check to make sure that his eyes aren’t harboring some sick softness to them. The whole point of this is to get the softy shit off his mind, to leave him so satisfied that he doesn’t remember wanting to have that conversation with you, that he doesn’t remember how shitty his season’s going and how he’s latched onto something that doesn’t exist.

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper into his mouth. “Anything.”

He whinges at your words, mumbles something to himself, cupping your jaw with his hands. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you roll your eyes, but then his thumb is on your bottom lip, firm and heavy. “This fucking mouth,” he grumbles.

Your fingers wrap around his cock, big and thick and warm. You run your thumb over his head, smile at the precum pooling there, spreading it around and watching the way his face twitches. You play coy, look at him with your biggest, most innocent doe eyes. “What about it?”

He rocks on his feet, moves himself ever so slightly through your hand. He either thinks you’re oblivious to it, or he’s completely clueless to his own actions. Either way, it’s hot, and you stroke him that little bit faster. “Wanna feel it,” he says, thumb still on your lip, sinking into your mouth, onto your tongue, pushing you down, down, down onto your knees.

The floor is cold, but you don’t care, so are his swim trunks. It’s hard, though, like most floors would be, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises by nightfall. You pull his shorts down, dick bouncing out of the waistband, twitching while he steps out of the fabric, kicks it to the side somewhere in the tiny room.

As you look up at him, a myriad of emotions wash over you. This dance is becoming so familiar, and yet, you’re surprised each time by the intensity of it. Even though you’d offered yourself, you find a way to be annoyed at how he uses you like this, turns you into a vessel to vent his stress and frustration. The other part of you, though, is so fucking turned on. Completely and utterly satisfied by the fact that you have this effect on him, that you can make him forget about his troubles, even if just temporarily.

His eyes meet yours, that same vulnerability still there. It’s a regular sight for other people, to be looked at like this by him. It’s not your normal, though. It’s rare, something that tugs on you, makes you wonder what he’s thinking, desire a level of understanding that goes beyond the physical.

You push those thoughts aside as quickly as you can, remind yourself that this is all casual. That you and he, this is nothing.

You spit into your hand, stroke it over his cock until it’s hard and wet and just crying for you. Your tongue trails a long stripe, from the base of his shaft to the head, swirling around his most sensitive spot. You’ve found yourself growing annoyingly fond of the noises you can pull from him. It’s a game within a game, pushing the limits to find just how pained you can make him sound.

His hands run through your hair, slow and smooth, gathering your hair into a soft ponytail. You move a hand to his, push it against your head as if to tell him–fuck me, Charles. Use me.

“Wait,” he says, and you pull off him with a pop.

“What?” You probe, irritated that he’s already got something to say.

“You have to tell me if I hurt you.”

You smirk, bite the inside of your cheek like you’re working through a real head-scratcher, putting on your best sarcastic tone. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

“I’m serious.”

Your shoulders recoil into a shrug, a laugh helplessly falling from your lips. “So am I.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, visibly apprehensive. This never would have been an issue in January, back when the only thing he did was be openly annoyed by you. No, it’s all different now. He’s got feelings, now, wants to fucking worry about you and care about you. It makes your stomach twist and turn and knot.

You roll your eyes. This is ridiculous, how many guys out here are stopping a woman from letting them do whatever they fucking want. It can’t be more than him, it can’t. “For fucks… you’ll know if you’re hurting me.”

He nods. “But how… will I know?”

“I don’t know… I’ll punch you in the dick or something.”

He laughs, a direct juxtaposition to his words. “You are not funny.”

You shrug, scowl. “I think I’m pretty funny.”

“I don’t know why you would think this.”

You purse your lips, puff a breath of air out of them, and hold up a single finger, pointing to him. “Fuck you,” you laugh. “I’ll tap the back of your leg,” you explain, demonstrating the gesture. “Is that good enough?”

His hands move through your hair again, fix his carefully crafted ponytail you’d messed up. “Yes. Thank you.”

You roll your eyes, take his dick in your hand again and start stroking. “Can I…?”

He nods. “I’m not stopping you.”

“I mean… “ you mumble against his skin, “you just did but…” and then you take him again, hollowed cheeks and flat tongue.

“Jesus, you are insufferable,” he remarks, and you laugh around his dick. It makes him shudder.

You try to focus on the moment, on his fingers gently grazing over your skin, hands guiding your head with a mixture of need and urgency. You gag around his dick, choking on the thick shaft as it fills your mouth so perfectly. “Putain, fuck, so good,” he groans. You’d smile up at him if you could.

The ponytail he’d been so proud of was nothing but a knotted mess now, his fingers tangling in search of grip. You hope he forgets it’s you, that it’s anyone. That he fucks into your throat until your couching and gagging and spit drips down your face, tears prick at your eyes. You hope your throat hurts tomorrow, that you lose your voice and gargle salt water and he’s the only person in the world who knows why. You hope you have to tap out on the back of his thigh.

You come pretty close, the way he uses you like a filthy toy. Everytime you think you’re about to break, he pulls off your mouth, leaves you heaving for air, wiping spit off your face with the back of your hand. He leans down to kiss you once, hand under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his lips. You hope he tastes himself, knows just how good it is, how content you are with your life’s purpose.

“Pretty girl,” he says, and you hum against his dick. It’s not often you’re on the receiving end of praise from him. “Take me so good.”

You’ve learned to know when he’s close, exactly how his body reacts when it’s lost all sight of anything but finishing. His pace gets silly, all kinds of unsynchronized and messy. He gets really quiet for a minute, spends all of it fighting with himself before he finally accepts it, and then he’s loud. A mix of nonsensical languages and curses, of groans and hums and remnants of what sounds like it wants to be your name.

He’s a mess, and then he’s holding your head as close as he can, your nose pressed against the muscles of his abdomen as he bottoms out, drains himself into the back of your throat with a breathy, pained groan.

You swallow around him greedily, want everything he has to give, all his cum and all his whimpers. He thrusts in and out of your mouth a few more times, and then he’s pulling out completely, hands cupping your face, pulling you up to stand. He kisses you, hard, and you still haven’t caught your breath–neither of you have–but you kiss until you can’t anymore, until your lungs burn to be filled with something that isn’t him.

His thumbs wipe your face, the spit from your lips and the tears from the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, back arching to lower himself to your height.

You want to swat his hands away. Clearly, though, this is something he feels he needs to do. “Why?” you chuckle. “That was hot.”

He matches your laugh, but his is laced with uneasy concern as he continues to try to clean up your face, fixing your hair and kissing you again, this time all soft and sure. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” you pant. “You’re into it, though.”

You wonder if he regrets this, if he’s known all along the same way you have that this won’t end well, that it never would. His face mirrors yours, open mouth breathing and heaving chests and a mix of half a dozen emotions. You both know this is how it has to be, that anything more would be too complicated to manage. It stops you from the wonder. You hope it stops him.

He sticks his head out of the door a few minutes later, after you’d ducked into the stall-sized bathroom and properly fixed yourself, untangled your hair and tied it back securely into a ponytail with the tie from your wrist.

You laugh at him for it, push him out from behind and tell him to drop the high-schooler act. “Wait here,” he tells you, tries to close the door on you. He doesn’t hear you catch it, doesn’t turn back to see you following him up the stairs from a few steps behind.

You’d wonder why he doesn’t hear your feet, but, if he’d just done to you what you did to him, your ears would probably still be ringing, all full and overwhelmed.

“Charles!” Your Mom’s voice carries down the stairs just as his head appears on the second level. “You haven’t seen–” his ears blush bright red, head snapping back to you. Jesus, can we have some subtlety? “Oh,” your Mom laughs when she spots you a couple steps behind him. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Yeah,” you laugh. Charles can’t look at you, he stares right past. “We were fighting, isn’t that right, Charles?”

“Oh?” She chuckles.

Charles’ eyes snap to you. He nods. “First rule of fight club, you know.”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth before you look back to your Mom. “What did you need, Mama?”

“Just wondering if you want a drink,” she says.

“Only if you mix it strong,” you say, and your Mom is already setting off back towards the rest of the group on the top level. With silent understanding, you and he both fall back into your respective roles; the arrogant, fearless prick and the spoiled, bratty princess. It’s better this way. It’s better this way.

“Well,” you chuckle, pat him on the shoulder as you move past him on the stairs. “Aren’t you just a blushing bride?”

The anticipation in the air is palpable, all of you here in Ricky’s parents’ apartment–an added guest this year in sweet little Chiara. You’ve all watched the race here since before Charles could imagine this being his reality, the balcony providing a perfect overlook onto the iconic circuit. The sun bathes the track in golden rays, like even Mother Nature knows that it’s going to be a historic day.

Excitement crackles like electricity, sparking from person to person, igniting contagious grins and animated chattering. Your heart flutters with a unique blend of nerves and exhilaration, Charles’ undying Monaco optimism seeking into even your most pessimistic veins.

Antoine sets up his camera on the balcony, is interviewing half of you for Charles’ next YouTube video. You steal glances of your friends the entire time, feeling strangely sentimental about all the love in the room. On the sofa, Marta bounces Chiara on her knee, absentmindedly shakes a rattle in front of the infant, eyes watching the pre-race coverage on the television. Ricky, on the balcony, the first interviewee, beams with pride watching them. The guys all buzz with excitement, half of them glued to the TV, the other half carefully pulling tight the zip-ties on the now infamous banner, anxiously awaiting the start of the race.

You watch from beside Marta as the national anthem plays. She tickles Chiara’s feet, pulls little giggles from the baby’s lips. Your focus remains on Charles, though, his face on the screen. You don’t know how many laps you’ve seen him drive around this country, how many ups and downs he navigated in this sport, but you know that today feels different. You can see it etched into his features, the fire in his eyes and the resurgence in his confidence since Baku. It’s like he knows today is his day, that nothing can stand in the way, that the sun will shine on him and the champagne will spray.

The engines roar to life, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You move to the balcony, can’t bear to watch the start from a screen, knowing that it’s one of the most crucial parts of the next seventy-eight laps. Your heart pounds in sync with the rhythmic revving of the cars, and the world around you falls away as you focus on the starting grid. The lights illuminate, they're out, and the race is on.

Charles makes a picture perfect start, no. It’s better than that, better, because the crowd roars louder than you think you’ve ever heard as he catapults himself past Max and into the lead, and your breath catches in your throat.

He’s in control, navigating every corner and chicane with precision, never once giving into the pressure of the bullet behind him. Max tries, he tries and tries, to close in on Charles, but he holds him, defends his position with skill and tenacity that makes you attracted to a helmet, to the mind it protects.

With each passing lap, you expect the crowd to die down, but they don’t. You find yourself rallying with your friends, joining into the country-wide chorus of voices and cheers. Every maneuver, ever inch he gains on Max, fills you with excitement and awe. He’s like a force of nature, a breathtaking sight.

The laps wind down, and his lead over Max grows. You can’t help but let out a joyful whoop. He’s doing it. This is the day he shuts everyone up about the curse. Yesterday is the last day you get to tease him about it. The realization washes over you that he’s going to win at home, and your heart swells with pride.

The final lap approaches, and you hold your breath, moving inside, to watch the screen, to stare like your glare could will him to find an extra tenth. As he takes the checkered flag, a deafening roar erupts, reverberating through the streets.

Your friends join in a celebration, hugging and cheering as if you’re the ones standing on the podium. Antoine is giddy behind his camera, and you’re sure half the footage will be unusable with shaky hands.

You found pause in the celebrations to watch him get out of the car, all arms swinging and firsts clenched. He stands on the halo of his car, pointing to the Ferrar emblem on his chest, over his heart. He jumps off and moves to congratulate Esteban, only to be met with a hug from the other driver. Max joins them quickly, strong handshakes and hard pats on the back before any of them are taking their helmets off.

David Coulthard is waiting for him. Charles makes him wait, gets his bracelets and his watch from Andrea before picking up his microphone. “Charles, congratulations on your stunning victory! How are you feeling right now?” Your fingers find your lips, cover your smile and laugh. Charles has no idea how he feels.

“Thank you!” He grins, all young and dimpled, purely pure. If you didn’t know better, you’d think a giddy first-grader had just won the biggest race in the world. “I don’t know,” he laughs. “It’s just… wow. I’m on top of the world right now, to be honest.”

He looks so tired and yet so, so full of life. Like the adrenaline is the only thing keeping him up, all sweaty hair and balaclava lines. You want to kiss him, to trail your fingers along every indent in his skin. “You led the race from start to finish, and it was quite a battle with Max. Tell us about your strategy and how you managed to hold that lead.”

“It was definitely not an easy race,” he says, still smiling. You’re shocked he hasn’t lost his English yet, he always does when he gets over excited. “Max is a great driver and I knew he would not make it easy for me. Our strategy was to be aggressive from the start. I tried to manage my tyres. I think it all paid off in the end.”

“Your victory today makes you the first Monegasque driver to win the Monaco Grand Prix since Louis Chiron in 1931. How does it feel to be a part of this historic moment?”

“It’s a tremendous honor. Louis is an inspiration to all Monegasque drivers, to follow his footsteps is truly special.”

“Fantastic, thank you, Charles. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, thank you!” He says, holds up a thumbs up as he walks away and winks. Well, he tried to wink. The inability to do so might be the least suave thing about him.

The screen transitions to the cool-down room, to Max talking Esteban’s ear off, lighting up with a smile when Charles enters. The camera focuses on Charles in the corner, setting his helmet and his towel down on the table in front of his name, drinking an entire water bottle in two gulps, opening another and taking up a conversation with the others.

Joris snaps a finger in front of your face. “Sorry, what?” You ask, eyes snapping to him.

“I asked if you want champagne?” he chuckles.

“Oh,” you smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

When you look back, they’ve already cut to the empty podium, announcing Esteban’s third place finish to a loud applause. He celebrates like he won the thing, which you admire. Next is Max, who is met with applause, but it's noticeably less than the roar that follows when Charles’ name is announced.

The room around you is half as loud as the rest of the country, laughing and screaming wild for Charles. Jo and Ricky pop open Champagne bottles on the balcony, send the corks flying to God only knows where, hastily filling up the glasses beside them and passing them out.

Even from blocks away, where he is just a red dot, where your friends arms are over your shoulder sipping champagne and humming along with the national anthem, you feel a strange connection to him, something beyond the bickering and annoyance. Something beyond the sex, maybe. Something just… something happy, or proud, or just plain soft, maybe. Soft like his smile while he gets drenched in Champagne by the two others on the podium.

(six hours later)

Joris’ knowing glances didn’t escape your notice, and it made you uneasy. You wondered if Charles was crass enough, if he has been sharing secrets about your little arrangement. The thought of it sends a shiver down your spin. The idea of anyone glimpsing into the tangled web that is you and Charles now made you feel vulnerable and exposed.

You sipped your drink, trying to focus on the chatter around you, but your mind just keeps looping back to him. His laughter, his smile. His very presence seems to pull on you, and it doesn’t help that you know he feels the same way, that he has for weeks now. You quickly brush away the thought each time, unwilling to entertain the idea of anything beyond the surface of your friendship.

“You seem a bit distant tonight,” Jo remarked, voice pulling you back to the present.

You force a smile, hope he won’t detect the unease that drenches your demeanor. “Just a bit tired, I suppose,” you replied casually, averting his gaze, staring into the bottom of your glass as you spun the clear liquor around.

He didn’t push further, but the look on his face tells you he sees right through you, makes you feel that much more exposed. You take a deep breath, attempt to steady yourself, but the questions linger like shadows in the back of your mind.

The night wears on, and Charles wears your eyes, a near constant sightline from you to him. It was easy to steal glances when he looks like that, when his easy charm and infectious laughter draws everyone in.

You don’t dare confront the truth, not here, not now. It was easier to stay in the safe confines of what you knew, what you’d established, emotions locked away in a heart-shaped locket hung round your neck.

The party shows no signs of winding down, and you need air. You slip away from the group, out the back door to the curb where all the smokers hide. You found yourself drawn to the quiet of it, where it was just you, your thoughts, and the smell of tobacco.

With the distant laughter and celebrations faded into the night, you allow yourself to be candid, to admit the truth, if only to yourself. There was a part of you that yearned for something more, a part of you that longed to explore what might be with him.

But he was right. You are afraid, you are. Afraid of what it means to let your guard down, to open up to the unknown. The vulnerability that comes with the admission is daunting, shit straight from a horror movie, like a trap. You were standing on a cliff, a dangerous precipice that threatened to unravel everything you’d sloppily built. This life is held together with bubblegum and toothpicks, it can’t stand the shake.

So, as you stood there on the back step, you made a silent promise to yourself. A promise to stay safe, to guard your heart and keep your feelings hidden from him, from everyone.

You returned to the party, unable to fully shake the weight of what gnawed on you. The cocktail of emotions was overwhelming, and you found solace in the bottom of a glass. Joris egged you on, kept the shots coming, and Marta made it more fun.

However, as the alcohol flowed freely, your tipsiness quickly spiraled into something more intense. With each drink, your inhibitions crumbled into a reckless pursuit of distraction. Each shot pushed the turmoil down further.

Marta slowed down first, opting to be cautious on her first “big night out” since having the baby. She could focus on the company and the laughter you feared. Joris started sober, too, tried to keep an eye on you the best he could, but you were determined to lose yourself to the moment.

The music thumped loudly, and the energy of the party was infectious. You danced with wild abandon, uncaring of the curious glances and amused whispers that followed. The alcohol had stripped back any reservations, leaving behind a version of yourself you barely recognize, all carefree and daring and reckless.

Jo tried to reason with you, to suggest you call it an early night, but you were having none of it. “I’m fine, really,” you insisted, slurring your words slightly. “Let’s do another shot!”

He reluctantly agreed, but the more you drank, the more erratic your behavior became. You danced with strangers, laughed loud and flirted shamelessly, trying to fill the void with temporary connections. Amidst the sea of bodies, you caught the eye of a handsome stranger. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a mischievous glint in his eye that instantly intrigued you. He moved with confident grace, and you were like a moth to a flame.

He made his way toward you, playful smirk on his lips. “I couldn’t help but notice you across the room,” he said, voice low and alluring.

You laughed, feeling the effects of alcohol emboldening you. “Oh, really? And what is it that caught your attention?”

He leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear as he mumbled, “Your smile. It’s as captivating as the stars.”

You blushed at his compliment, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. “Smooth talker, huh?” you teased, trying to keep up the playful banter.

He chuckled, his finger lightly grazing the small of your back. “Only when I’m in the presence of someone this beautiful.”

You grinned, enjoying the flirtatious exchange. “You know how to flatter a girl,” you replied, heart racing at his touch.

He leaned in even closer, the proximity between you sending sparks flying. “I can be even more convincing,” he said, voice low and seductive.

You raised an eyebrow, playfully challenging him. “Is that so?”

He smirked, gaze never leaving yours. “Oh, absolutely,” he replied. “But you’ll have to let me prove it.”

A thrill coursed through you as the chemistry between the two of you intensified. You were well aware it was just a fleeting moment, a casual flirtation in the middle of a wild night out. But something about this stranger has ignited a spark in you, and you found yourself tempted to play along.

The two of you danced together, the electric energy between you creating an intoxicating allure. His hands traced patterns along your waist. You get lost in the moment, in the music, in the touch of a stranger.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asked, and you laughed.

“No,” you replied, and abandoned your spot with him before he could protest any further.

At some point, you stumbled outside for fresh air, feeling the world spin around you. The cool night air did little to sober you up, and instead, it only dueled your recklessness. You leaned against the railing, teetering on the edge between exhilaration and oblivion.

Joris found you there, concern etched on his face. He calls your name, “Maybe we should call it a night. You’ve had enough.”

But you shook your head defiantly, a stubborn gleam in your eyes. “I’m not done yet,” you slurred. “I want more.”

He sighed like he knew it was pointless to attempt to reason with you like this, made you promise to stay put, told you he was off to get you another drink and he would be right back.

As he left for your promised drink, you found yourself swaying in your shoes, the world around you still spinning. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gain some composure, but the liquor is taking it’s toll. When the door opened, you opened your eyes again, met with Joris–no drink, but with Charles in tow.

You laughed. “Hey, Charles,” you slurred, grabbing onto his arm for support.

He looked down at you, a mix of surprise and annoyance crossing his features. “Are you alright?” he asked, glancing around as if someone would magically appear to care for you.

You ignored his question. “I want you to dance with me,” you demanded, tugging on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

He frowned, clearly not thrilled by the idea. “You’re drunk. Maybe you should sit down and take it easy,” he suggested, trying to lead you back inside, no doubt in the direction of a chair.

“No,” you pouted. “I want to dance.” You didn’t care that you looked like a mess, or that your coordination was shot. All you wanted was to forget, to lose yourself in the music and the movement.

Charles sighed, clearly exasperated, but let you tug him all the way back inside to dance. He keeps a cautious distance, as if he was worried you might fall over at any moment, which, granted. You very well might. You swayed and you twirled, laughing without regard for how ridiculous you looked.

As the music pulsed through you, you were suddenly stuck with severe guilt. You were angry at yourself for getting so drunk, for losing control like this. You were mad at him, too, annoyed by his incessant need to attempt to care for you, for never just letting you be. And yet, at the same time, you were so drawn to him and his soft eyes, to the concern and frustration and the way he cared about you even when you pushed him away.

The song changed. Something slower, more sensual. You dance closer to him and he hesitates, clearly unsure of what to do. You laugh, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. You could feel his heart racing, his body tense with restraint.

“We shouldn’t…” he started to protest, but you silenced him with a kiss. It was messy and desperate, per usual, fueled by alcohol and unspoken emotions. He hesitates for just a moment before giving in, his hands finding their way to your waist.

You pulled away breathless, looked up at him all defiant and bratty. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” you whisper, and it comes out far more vulnerable than you intended, all squeaky and cracked. “I can handle myself.”

He looked torn, his usual composure slipping momentarily, before reverting to his usual ways. “Someone fucking has to,” he finally spoke.

You wanted to protest, to push him away, but the words all get stuck in your throat. Instead, you lean in to kiss him again, fingers tanging into his hair. In this moment, you wanted nothing more than to forget it all, to lose yourself in him and the way he made you feel. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

“Can’t believe I got your sloppy seconds,” he quips.

“What?”

“The guy who tried to take you home earlier,” he laughed. “Looked like a prick.”

“Oh,” you laughed. “Him.”

“Yeah, you really hit it off with him, didn’t you?” Charles said with a hint of sarcasm. You struggled to read if he was joking or if he was just barely keeping his irritation in check.

You grinned, words still slurring. “Oh, you’re just jealous.” you shot back at him, leaning closer.

“Please,” he scoffed. “Like I could ever be jealous of that guy.”

“You’re right,” you laughed, your body pressing against his as you stumbled slightly. “You just won the Monaco Grand Prix.”

The rest of the evening continues in much of the same way, with Charles having to play babysitter to a very drunk–and very handsy–you. He tried to keep his distance, to maintain some semblance of composure, but you made it hard constantly pulling him into your orbit.

At some point, you find yourselves alone on a sofa, the noise around you fading somewhere far off. You were giggling about something, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You know,” you said, “this is all your fault.”

He quirked a brow. “My fault? How do you figure?”

You Smirked, reaching up to play with a strand of his hair. ��You’re the one who got me all worked up with that kiss earlier,” you said, voice low and teasing.

His cheeks burnt bright pink. “I didn’t do anything,” he said, a poor attempt at sounding casual.

“Oh please, Charles. You know exactly what you’re doing,” you said, voice taking on a more serious tone. “You’re always doing this, pulling me in and then pushing me away.”

“You’re fucking with me, right?” He scoffs, turning his head to face you, knocking your head off his shoulder in the process. “You’re the one doing that.”

You feel a pang of guilt at his words. You know he’s right, that tonight is just the next night of you sending him mixed signals. It’s been going on like this for months, but you don’t know how to stop, how to untangle the mess. “I don’t mean to,” you say softly, defenses dropping for a moment. “It’s just… complicated.”

He nodded. “I know,” he speaks quietly. “It’s just hard. Trying to figure out where we stand.”

You sigh, running your hand through your hair. “I know. I do.” You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging in the air. You wished you could say something, anything, to tell him how you feel, but all the words are stuck. Instead, you reach for his hand, intertwine your fingers and look up at him, big pupils in the dimly lit room. “I don’t want to ruin what we have,” you said softly, voice hardly above a whisper.

“I don’t either,” he said, his thumb stoking your hand gently.

The moment is interrupted by Joris, who appears from around the corner out of nowhere, looking half as annoyed as the two of you must. “There you two are,” he said, relief and irritation clouding his words. “It’s time to go,” he says, pointing directly to you. “You’ve had enough.”

You groaned, but you didn’t protest. You lean on Charles the whole walk to Joris’ car.

As you arrived back at your apartment, he helped you inside and settled you into bed. He tucked you in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Sleep well,” he whispered, voice soft and tender.

You smile sleepily, reaching up to touch his cheek. “You too,” you murmured. He turns to leave, but before he could go, you grab his wrist, holding it tightly. “Stay,” you said, voice barely audible.

He hesitates for a moment, you can feel it in the air even with your eyes closed, can feel his heart beating in his wrist. Eventually, though, he gives in, slides into bed beside you. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you nuzzle into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

“You’re so warm,” you mumbled, words still pathetically sloshed.

He chuckles softly, the annoyance in his eyes starting to fade. “Well, I am always warm,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood, to ease the awkwardness.

You giggled, snuggling even closer to him. “You’re my human heater,” you said, voice filled with affection.

As the minutes passed, you started to drift off to sleep, your breathing becoming slow and steady. You could see the struggle in his eyes as your lids grew heavier, the depth of care for you he tried so hard to hide.

When you wake up in the middle of the night, hints of a sunrise beginning to push through the curtains, you find him still awake. He looked lost in thought, afraid, almost. Desperately, you wanted to reach out, to ask him what was wrong, but feared pushing him away more than anything.

You settle against his chest, listen to the sound of his heart beating against your ear, feel yours match it. Finally, exhaustion catches up to him, his body relaxing as he drifts off to sleep. As you lay there, you can’t help your tired mind and it’s delusions of a future where you don’t have to hide your feelings, where you can be together openly and honestly, and then you’re falling back asleep yourself.

#charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc series #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 angst #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #cl16 #f1 smut #charles leclerc angst

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objuct · 10 months

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the trailer today has me in shambles (positive). it didn't exactly reveal anything too new (much to the dismay of non-horse girls, lol) but it answered some questions I had and I can better predict the kinds of CC I'll be making in the future >:D

anyway, fan

Updated: 7/29/2023

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New Meshes, New Textures

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Free to recolor & Include mesh w/ credit

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Download📂- [PATREON - FREE]

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#ts4cc #s4cc #ts4mm #s4mm #simblr #objsims cc #ts4 horse ranch #the sims 4 #ts4

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britishchick09 · 2 years

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the rewrite trio- 2022 vs. 2021! :)

#i decided to redraw them since they've been modified a bit since the second pic! ;)#erik's cape is a bit longer raoul's bangs are a bit different and christine's curl is a bit fluffier!#and their heights are a bit different! ;)#rewrite erik's buttons are on the girl side in the old one so i predicted the future in a way! ;D #his age now says '29 (not 30 just yet!)' ;D #i'm planning on doing a colored version after class #so stay tuned ;)#poto rewritten

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utilitycaster · 1 year

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OGL misconceptions

Since I am still seeing a lot of misinformation out there, I figured I'd do a fact check post. Note that I do not personally have a copy of the leaked draft; some resources are given at the end of the post. See also the 2000 OGL v1.0a here. This is noncomprehensive, is only touching on some of the things I've seen most commonly in the tags [sidebar: the only tag I check regularly is the Critical Role tag, and much of what I've seen on Tumblr is coming from people spamming that tag for general D&D content that only tangentially mentions CR, so...stop doing that.] Finally, this is based on what is a draft, and there are quite possibly going to be updates to the final document. I would also assume that the January 13th effective date will be changed based on the release date of the finalized OGL.

Free fan content is not affected. That is covered by the Fan Content Policy. Your personal homebrew or the weird-ass build you saw on Reddit or the item you saw in a post last week are all fine.

Actual play shows should be largely unaffected, and only merchandise containing WoTC IP would be. (NOTE: original posting of this post had a typo of "affected" for "unaffected"; check your reblogs) Shows like Critical Role, NADDPod, and D20 all use homebrew settings, so that's also unaffected (as is any Exandrian content that was published in the Explorer's Guide and Call of the Netherdeep; that is CR's IP that WoTC has license to use). A show might be affected if they've set the game in a WoTC licensed setting or with a WoTC module (eg: Eberron, Ravenloft), but most of the shows that do that are put out by WoTC anyway. Critical Role and TAZ have, notably, already avoided using copyrighted terms for deities, races, etc. in published non-WoTC works (this is why Melora is exclusively the Wildmother in the Tal'Dorei guides, because "Melora" is WoTC IP, but the idea of a nature goddess is obviously not; this is also why Cree in the Nine Eyes is referred to as catfolk and not a tabaxi, or why Phandalin's name in the TAZ graphic novels is changed to Haverdale). The only reason why a show might need to switch game systems would be if they use a system that is not D&D but is based on D&D's SRD and which will be subject to the OGL changes. Most Pathfinder shows I'm aware of use the Pathfinder SRD (ie, free), and SW5e as used in Starstruck Odyssey is also free. This also only affects the future of those shows.

VTTs (Virtual Tabletop Tools) may be affected, but most of their core features aren't. Battle maps and virtual dice rollers are not WoTC IP. Incorporating the mechanics of D&D into the VTT is, but that would mean actively having a character sheet or monster statblock available within the VTT. You could still just have a dice roller that prompts you for a modifier (which is how I always personally used Foundry). D&D Beyond will not be affected, since it is owned by WoTC. Additionally, many VTTs already have existing agreements specifically with WoTC that will take precedence over the OGL, which is a catch-all for companies that do not have specific licensing agreements. See the WoTC/D&D Beyond blog post here.

Only creators making over $750,000 specifically on material licensed under the OGL will be subject to royalties, and only on income in excess of $750,000. This means that if you put something up on DMs Guild and make $500, you are fine and owe nothing. If you make $749,999, you owe nothing. If you make $750,100, you owe the 25% royalty only on the $100 you are making above $750,000. WoTC predicts under two dozen companies will actually be affected by this at this time; they are all fairly big names within the D&D content arena such as Paizo, Darrington Press (CR's imprint), Hit Point Press, Green Ronin, Kobold Press, etc. Royalties also are said to begin in 2024, so companies have a year to decide what to do.

Now for the editorializing part:

Paizo is specifically in the crosshairs and anyone telling you to switch to it is either misinformed at best, or does not have your best interests at heart. Paizo is the main target here. The others are publishing material that serve as supplements to the core WoTC products, but do not replace them. For example: if you have either of the Tal'Dorei Campaign Setting books, you will note that they do not have stats for the races mentioned, nor the core class information. If you want to play a Cobalt Soul Monk, you still need the PHB in addition to the Tal'Dorei setting books. On some level, this is almost certainly due to Paizo being like "look! we're like D&D but we're not! switch to us!" And, understandably, WoTC is saying "hey, you took our SRD game engine and are now our largest competitor", which is also almost certainly why this is overriding the OGL 1.0a under which Pathfinder was originally created. I am not saying not to switch to a different TTRPG if you want to! You should always feel free to switch to a different TTRPG if D&D is not meeting your needs! I am saying that Pathfinder is probably your absolute worst bet in terms of things likely to be affected by the OGL, and anyone telling you to switch to it is telling you to jump from an ocean liner into a slightly smaller ship heading straight for a waterfall solely because the ocean liner stopped serving bottomless brunch.

People throwing this to actual play shows do not know what they are talking about and are just trying to start shit. Self-explanatory; why should Dimension 20 or whatever put out a statement on an unofficial leaked draft that minimally affects them.

Bad faith is common and everpresent. As discussed extensively on this blog in scattered bitchy shitposts, there are a lot of people who hate D&D/WoTC, or Critical Role, or other popular actual play shows. Sometimes their reasons are valid and sometimes their reasons are stupid. It doesn't really matter though; what matters is that their minds are made up and they will be telling you to switch game systems/stop listening or watching pretty much regardless of what the companies do. If you want to switch or stop listening, that's fine! But, as mentioned, I remember a few months ago someone arguing that you should switch from D&D because they were obviously going to start licensing NFTs for profitability reasons, and now the OGL specifically prohibits that. There's a lot being pulled out of thin air to make spurious arguments. In general, it is helpful to ask yourself "is this person recommending a game because they genuinely believe it will improve my life and better fit my individual tastes and needs? Or are they just being a dick about D&D or this specific actual play show and don't give a shit about my happiness, just as long as I'm not playing the game/watching the show that they, an internet stranger with bad vibes to boot, do not personally like."

YouTubers are trying to get views, and that is usually their primary goal. Also self-explanatory. If you're trusting the same people who decided that Silvery Barbs would ruin D&D which had also already been ruined by the chronomancy class, the fact that some sorcerers get more spells than other sorcerers, the fact that healing word exists... to tell you that this has ruined D&D? I don't think I can help you.

Several of the things people are freaking out about are either standard boilerplate now, or were in the original OGL. OGL 1.0a reserves the right to terminate the license with 30 days notice as well (item 13); stating that material you make via an open license can be used freely by the owner of that IP is fairly standard legal practice.

Sources:

OGL v1.0a

WOTC Fan Content Policy

Gizmodo/io9 coverage

D&D Beyond/OneD&D blog post

Screenrant coverage

#d&d #this is rebloggable but I will be blocking clownery as always.#long post

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yoisami · 9 months

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˚₊‧୨୧ I'LL GIVE YOU ALL MY LIFE, MY SEASONS...

[૮₍ ˃ࡇ˂ ₎ა]: a piece that i wanted to write for wave to earth's seasons. it's a beautiful song pls-

tags. various bllk x gn!reader, fluff, 1076 wc, messy writing -> not proofread, kaiser not in hs but let’s pretend he is :D

春; spring —

amidst the falling petals from cherry blossoms and the beginning of fleeting first loves, there's a secret between you and him that remains unspoken — you both like each other. it's undeniable — you're both head over heels into each other, but neither of you have been brave enough to step into that territory that could cost you your year-long friendship.

and today, he invited you to take a stroll around the park where the shower of petals would be. just as he predicted, you're instantly infatuated with the sight, gasping and captivated at the beauty of it all while he's standing with you, struggling to calm down his heart that's drumming against his ribcage so so aggressively. the flowers' sweetness permeated through the air, and he's left speechless when you subconsciously grabbed his hand, pulling him closer to the flowering trees.

you don't realise what how bold your action was until you looked at your hand in his. your face is burning, and as a distraction from what just happened, you sheepishly pulled out your phone, nervously taking photos of the flowers because you're so aware of the blush that's blossoming across your cheeks and ears.

and while you're capturing the pretty sight with the phone camera, he's still trying to process just how perfect your hand fit in his. he's certain that he wants this memory to stay with him forever - he wants to remember the way your lips curved upward when you thanked him for suggesting this unplanned hangout, and he definitely wants to remember the way that you looked at him — as if he meant something more than a friend to you.

— KUNIGAMI, nagi, kurona, NESS, HIORI (blue lock) ; SUGAWARA, yamaguchi, OIKAWA, kenma (haikyuu)

夏; summer —

in a hushed voice, he knocked on the shoji door as he loudly whispered your name, impatiently waiting for you to welcome him into the room you and your friends shared for the trip. there's an eager smile on his face when you opened the door for him, but you placed your index finger against your lips, reminding him to stay silent before he tiptoed his way inside and making a beeline to the doors that kept crickets from inviting themselves into the interior.

you were hesitant about a romantic rendezvous that he proposed to you at dinner time — getting caught could potentially result in you and your boyfriend getting kicked out of the premises for the the remainder of the school trip. he managed to talk you into it though, and things were going according to his plan: your friends are all asleep, and the teachers have returned to their rooms too.

you took a seat beside him out on the deck, and naturally, your hands slipped into his. he hummed contently to the breeze that the summer night has granted you two, and your head fell to his shoulder as you talked about all the best moments of your day. and he listened, like he always does, and what he promises to also do in the future. you're a bit of a pessimist — you often think he's joking, or he's simply exaggerating, but he swears since the day you both acknowledged your feelings for each other, his heart started beating only for you.

— BACHIRA, kaiser, gagamaru, ZANTETSU (blue lock) ; hinata, tanaka, NISHINOYA, KUROO, bokuto, ATSUMU (haikyuu)

秋; autumn —

the heat of summer has dissipated for the year, and he's indulging in the coolness of tonight's breath. he has your scarf draped over his arm as he's following you along the beach, and you suddenly paused. he doesn't pay much attention to how soft the sand is when you're reaching out your hand to him. perhaps autumn was not the best time to be visiting the beach (especially at night), but the sight was worth it — even if you you shivering from time to time, and he'd respond to trembling body by rubbing your hands against his to warm you up.

the salty waves crashed and the noise made by driving cars on the nearby road is loud, but he's too focused on you, and he's easily persuaded that the moonlight is the best at illuminating how beautiful your delicate features are.

and you're standing beside him, silently admiring the blanket of stars above you. while you think that the sky above is a sight for sore eyes, he tells you that you're the sight for sore eyes here. he knows it's sappy, but he's just "telling you the truth", he says.

his heart rate accelerated when your loving gaze returned to him again. with a smile, he leaned into your ear, muttering sweet nothings in hopes that your heart is beating just as fast as his. but he doesn't need to hope, because he's the reason why your face has been feeling so warm lately; he's the reason why you're failing to pay attention to the professor in your lectures; and he's the reason why your heart ached when he wasn't around. your breath hitched when his arm encircled your waist, and he guided you into his vicinity as he slowly pulls you into a fervorous kiss that now marks the first time he's proclaimed his love to you.

— ISAGI, REO, sae, yukimiya (blue lock) ; kageyama, DAICHI, iwaizumi, akaashi, ushijima (haikyuu)

冬; winter —

snow was on its way to japan, and your hands that remained cold through each season of the year were currently being kept warm by his warm ones. his hands are threaded through yours as you browsed through each shop in shibuya that peaked your interest. keeping your intertwined hands in the pocket of his coat, he's diligently following you into each store, watching you beam at the little trinkets on the shelves. when you left the store with him, he noticed how your nose has become pink from the cold, and almost instantly does he remove his scarf from his neck to wrap it around yours. there's a tender smile on his lips when he watched how adorably your eyes widened at his chivalrous act.

while your eyes shyly averted from his direction, he tilts your chin up in a swift singular motion, leaving you with no choice but to look up at his eyes that had so much love hiding behind the dilated pupils. there's a bunch of feelings stirring in your stomach — you're giddy, exhilarated, embarrassed, and he doesn't let you shy away from his touch. shibuya was constantly bustling with people, but in that moment, they were all blurring into the distance when he pressed a feather-like kiss on your hand, promising that he'll keep you warm for as long as he's able to.

— CHIGIRI, rin, otoya (blue lock) ; tsukishima, SEMI, sakusa, OSAMU, SUNA (haikyuu)

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tulypes · 5 months

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Pleeeeaze do a fluffy Jason Todd alphabet!

hey luv! everything very well? I don't know if I did it the way you imagined, but here it is. I had a lot of fun doing it. Good reading!

♡ AZ HEADCANONS: JASON TODD

( A ) ACTIVITES — what do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Jason is a fan of literature, so he loves hearing you read to him. Jay loved watching you read, because you repeated some facial expressions described in the books; Sometimes he even missed some important parts because he was staring at you. It was your habit to light sandalwood incense to scent the environment while reading.

Once a week there was shared reading at an orphanage, so you always went there and read to several little children.

( B ) BEAUTY — what do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

His eyes are probably Jason Todd's favorite part. The endorphins consumed Jason when he saw you smile. Your eyes made such an adorable movement as you smiled happily. He admires you completely, but there's something about your old and 100% predictable jokes that left him mesmerized. He thought your personality was brilliant, you were so polite and empathetic.

( C ) CONFESSION OF LOVE — how would they confess to their partner?

I believe he confessed at some random time, while you weren't looking into each other's eyes, because he would have been embarrassed. But it was so beautiful that you jumped on top of him.

( D ) DREAMS — how do they imagine their future with you?

Well, I believe he is a little complicated on this topic. For Jason, the future was something uncontrollable, which could not be mastered.

Once, when you discussed the matter, he told you: — I don't have time for tomorrow, in two days it will be yesterday. I prefer to live in the now with you, which is beautiful and special. The life I lead is fickle, but as long as I'm here, you will always be by my side, as long as you want that too. (But then he sees you at the orphanage helping the children read, write their name and paint.)

( E ) ENDING — if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

I think that in a situation of definitive ending, where he no longer saw meaning in your relationship, he would be direct. I would be honest, I would thank you and then I would leave. I don't believe he's the type to end a relationship straight away, I think he prefers to talk about it before making any decision.

( F ) FIGHT — assuming you have a child together, how would he react in a fight situation?

I believe he would be a great father. In a part of it there will be fear, because it is a life; but he would be an extraordinary father, the kind who prefers conversations to punishments, who takes you out on the weekends, who doesn't miss a school reunion, who would even dance in front of hundreds of parents just to see the smile on his son's face . Jason would be the father he never had.

( G ) GRATITUDE — how grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Wow, Jay is VERY grateful, he always makes a point of praising you. Not everyone can deal well with the lifestyle that Jason led, most of his romantic relationships did not last because conflicts always arose over schedules or even because he appeared injured or bloody. Obviously the two of you argued sometimes because of this, Jason was very focused on what he wanted, but he always found a way to be present. In addition to your understanding and help, Jay was so grateful to have a home… He loved coming home and smelling it everywhere, he loved shopping - no matter how much he complained about his delay in the markets -, he loved making coffee in the morning. morning by your side. He loved having you and was so grateful for it.

( H ) HONESTY — do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

I think he may not be completely honest with some details of his life as Red Hood, in a failed attempt to keep you away from some possible problems.

( I ) I LOVE YOU — how fast do they say the L-word?

Jay took a moment to speak, his head seemed to be processing the information. You said it first and you didn't regret it one bit, you believed it was better to be honest and that it was okay to show that you liked someone. A month later, Jason told you he loved you while you were watching the news.

( J ) JEALOUSY — do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?

I believe he is jealous, but the type that hides it. Yes, he sulks, pouts and ALWAYS grumbles that he is jealous.

( K ) KISS — are they a good kisser? what was the first kiss like?

His kiss is so sweet. There were a thousand ways for Jason Todd to show his love for you, but kissing was the best. He kissed you with so much desire and passion! One hand holds your waist and the other holds your hair, brushing his fingertips against the back of your neck. He liked to kiss the little space between your collarbone and your neck. You never understood and he never explained either, but he loved leaving long kisses there.

The first time you kissed was in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter, holding a glass of water, and you were complaining about the neighbor never disposing of her trash in the right place. He was so focused on her mouth, the shape of it and how her lips shone slightly from the lip gloss, that he was so tempted to discover the taste.

( L ) LITTLE ONES — how are they around children?

He gets a little disconcerted, especially if there are many. But he likes to sit and play with them.

( M ) MARRIAGE — do they want to get married? what would the wedding be like?

As I said, he is a little afraid when it comes to the future, as his life is unstable. But if there's going to be a wedding, he wants something small, the two of you, Roy, the brothers, Bruce and Alfred as witnesses and the priest; probably on a beach.

( N ) NICKNAMES — what does he call you?

princess, love, darling, beautiful, my dear

( O ) ON CLOUD NINE — what are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Very obvious. He just hears your name and his face already shows passion, how passionate he is. He shows that he loves you with actions, he is not very good at expressing it through spoken words. It may happen that Jay writes you notes or letters always reiterating how much he loves you.

( P ) PDA — Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He doesn't really like extravagant touches when you're in the presence of other people, just holding hands and kissing your cheek. He is a little withdrawn in front of people, but he never fails to show that he loves you.

( Q ) QUIRK — some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

He's great at making food, and he loves it! So when you're not really in the mood, he happily takes over.

( R ) REMEMBER — what is their favorite moment in your relationship?

When you told him you loved him it was one of the best moments of his life. Okay, at first he was a little confused because he felt like it was impossible for anyone to feel that way about him. But when you helped him overcome these problems, everything changed.

When you met too. It was at the market, you were with your niece and she tried to climb on a pile of cans, making them all fall across the store. When she was about to fall to the ground, Jason caught her. You were so grateful to the strange boy and he thought you were so beautiful.

( S ) SUPPORT — are they helping their partners achieve their goals? Do they believe them?

Wow, yes! He supports you a lot, roots for you, encourages you to pursue your dreams, desires and ambitions. He will help you in every possible thing.

( T ) THRILL — do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He likes routine, he really likes it…

( U ) UNDERSTANDING — how good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Jay is very mature and observant, so he always notices when something is wrong. He gently asks you how your day was, trying to ask you indirectly if something had happened. He knew all your ways, he knew when you were tired, irritated, hungry, needy, happy, everything!!!

( V ) VALUE — how important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Your relationship comes first in Jay's life.

( W ) WILD CARD — a random Fluff Headcanon.

He loved dancing with you Bossa Nova.

You shared an apartment that had a wide view of Gotham. When the sky was colored orange and purple, Jay went to the record player you had and let a Bossa Nova play. The music echoed through the room, mixing with the aroma of incense. He walked over to you and gently pulled you by the waist, starting to guide you to the rhythm of the music.

( X ) XOXO — are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Jay LOVES his hugs! He loves to bury his face in the crook of your neck and place kisses in the space between your collarbone and your neck.

( Y ) YEARNING — how will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He tries to deal with it well, but he is always nervous and very anxious.

( Z ) ZEAL — are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He would be willing to do anything! Jay would start a new life, with fake identities, new names, and new hair colors if you wanted.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd headcanon #batman x reader #red hood #jason todd fluff

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