#this may have been overkill

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I have thoughts about the TTPD speculation/two years/loneliness/sharing feelings through songs train but I'm putting them under a cut because. Yeah.

OK, so I'm giving a warning:

I'm talking about BTTWS, but NOT about the speculation/inspiration behind it. Just about the feelings in it and the Midnights of it all/the idea that sharing the difficult things brings comfort/companionship. So getting that out of the way so we can remove that part of the discourse out of it.

Regardless of whatever the inspiration/event behind BTTWS may be, whether it's about a loved one or personal, I've long felt that its inclusion on Midnights, an album about things that have kept her up at night, is significant in the feelings it portrays.

For instance, we can be fairly certain that Taylor wasn't actually turning in Scooter B. to the FBI and conspiring with his ex-wife to bring him down (or was she?) in Vigilante Shit, just as we can safely guess that she probably did actually pick up that pebble in Wicklow that reminded her of a peaceful time in Sweet Nothing. The line between fiction/reality, personal vs. narrative matters less on Midnights in this case than the feelings she was expressing in the songs, which are very personal and truthful. The revenge fantasy in Vigilante Shit is her working through her anger over having her masters stolen and how she's fought hard to have the last laugh over someone who is a sworn enemy. Sweet Nothing is her reflecting on the dichotomy of her (presumed) quiet home life she felt was safe and the noise of the outside world. (Now, we might speculate on why she was ruminating on this, but that's another story.)

So with that preamble out of the way, BTTWS's inclusion in the tracklist I feel is just as important, again regardless of the inspiration behind it or her personal connection to it. Even if it is a song about someone other than herself, including it as the only "not personal/not diaristic" song on an album as ostensibly self-reflective as Midnights would stick out if that were thecase, though obviously it's her album so she can do whatever she wants and could have her own reasons. (Just like she included Ronan on Red and Soon You'll Get Better on Lover about similar themes, it could just be a tribute to a loved one.) But given all the thematic arcs and parallels on Midnights, I do feel like it's there to include a specific set of feelings being processed, even if the origin on the feelings may or may not be her own. (I'm trying to be really sensitive in my word choices here, hope they make sense.)

BTTWS is a song about loss and grief, and specifically the fallout of an event outside of her/the narrator's control. The person in the song has nothing to turn to to deal with their pain: no faith to guide them, no wisdom to tell them everything will be alright. Throughout the song there is a pervasive sense of isolation: everything is over, they're living without something that was once theirs but suddenly was not. It captures the fog and confusion of living through a painful event without having any way to process. She even says from the start that, "no words appear before me in the aftermath," which for someone like Taylor who has stated over and over how writing is literally how she processes her life would be the ultimate reflection of the depths of her hurt.

(To be clear I do not think this is a song about a breakup whatsoever: IMO it clearly is not about a relationship dissolution of any kind. I just think that the feelings of grief and loneliness in the song may have felt relevant to whatever she was going through during the time the album was coalescing in 2021-22.)

Knowing what we know now about at the very least the period between 2021-2023, Taylor was going through a time of significant difficulty in her life behind the scenes, which is how The Tortured Poets Department came to be, right on the heels of her completing Midnights sometime in early 2022. She has said herself that making TTPD was a lifeline, that she had to keep writing to deal with whatever it was that she was experiencing and going through. And as I posted about earlier today, she's also said repeatedly on tour that not only is writing about her feelings how she processes her pain and loneliness, but that then sharing that music with fans brings her great comfort because it makes her feel less lonely to know people understand and relate to what she's going through.

And we know that she has self-edited her albums over the years (including Midnights) to protect herself and perhaps even the subjects of her songs, which we have seen with the inclusion of the vault/bonus tracks in the re-records and on Midnights. Obviously some of these reasons are logistical -- album was too long, cut songs sounded too much like others, maybe she or her producers felt the ones that were originally chosen were stronger, narrative or sonic cohesion, etc. -- but with what we've seen over the last few years, these songs also filled in the lines of the stories being told and reframed the narrative being told.

Nowhere is that clearer than with You're Losing Me, for example. It's pretty obvious why it was held back: presumably she wouldn't want to release a song about a relationship at its breaking point when she was still actively in the relationship. Yet as soon as the relationship ended, she released it, we can only assume because of her realization that sharing the music and having people respond to it validates her feelings and makes her feel embraced, as it were. Then with the announcement of TTPD and how it's been brewing for essentially the intervening period between when YLM was written and now, we can also surmise that these songs will be dealing with feelings she also felt the need to hold back for whatever reason at the time, but has now decided should be out there so she can feel more whole.

So coming back to BTTWS, it being included on Midnights the way that it was strikes me as a form of sharing feelings that may have been too difficult to process. Again, not implying I have any insight into what the origin of the song is about, or imposing my own beliefs onto her, or that she was sending some sort of secret message with its inclusion! But thematically, BTTWS deals with an intense loss and feeling completely unmoored and alone as a result, which is present in her other work. And that the dreams the narrator once held have gone up in smoke, leaving her reeling about what's to come next. She's cut off from the world because of the event, unable to speak about or grasp what has happened. Similar feelings are also explored in You're Losing Me for instance, and even Dear Reader (not to mention on past albums like evermore, this is my trying, arguably hoax, etc.). Just reading context clues from TTPD and her surprise song choices of late, I don't think it's outrageous to presume some of those emotions are going to be present on the new album as well.

So this is just a long-winded way of saying, I feel like the sense of loss, confusion and uncertainty about the future likely resonated with both what she had gone through in the past, and the story as a whole she was trying to tell on Midnights. And while the origin may or may not be personal or relevant to the new story she's going to tell, I also feel like these same kinds of themes are going to be present on TTPD because they're so important for her to share. (I could even mention that the response to BTTWS may even provide evidence that people sharing their experiences in general brings comfort to those going through it, but that may be veering too far into parasocial "why did Taylor do X" speculative territory.) She sings about these kinds of all-consuming losses so eloquently and mindfully that I know the new album is going to be an absolute gut punch.

(not being self-promotional but I delved a little deeper into the Midnights 3am tracks including this one a few months ago so it's why it's top of mind and why the connections and thematic parallels are so resonant to me lately.)

#sorry i tried to tread very carefully so i hope it still makes sense #i know we all kind of talk around this stuff so I was trying to do the same #while leaving room for interpretation and not getting stuck on the content! #i'm just talking about mood here etc #me thinking too hard about taylor lyrics #writing letters addressed to the fire #midnights #putting it under a cut may have been overkill on my part #but just trying to be mindful of people's dashboards etc #you're losing me #ylm #bttws #bigger than the whole sky #(bttws is a song i have thoughts on but not thoughts about its origin so much as its *metaphorical* (? idk) or perhaps narrative importance #(but it's hard to talk about it without the discussion turning into one about its origin) #(so this is my best attempt to do so) #just clarifying there is no speculation or discussion here just talk about themes #it’s not about the event it’s about the story being told in midnights

[things-that-make-sa-happy]

Jeremiah Fisher | tsitp 1.07

#The Summer I Turned Pretty #tsitp #tsitpedit #Jeremiah Fisher #my beautiful boy! #sa loves tsitp #sa makes gifs #i'm SO HAPPY that they appear to be filming season 2 NOW! #my heart! #it's gonna be TORTURE waiting until probably next summer for them to RELEASE season 2 #but I know it's coming and that's enough for now #with the addition of all the wonderful fics that GIVE ME LIFE #seriously they're keeping me sane and alive right now #7 episodes was NOT ENOUGH for season 1! #yeah- I get it- 7 is a cool number and less episodes means more packed into the episodes #but you know what's a COOLER number than 7? ... 17! I like 17 #not that I'm demanding 17 episode seasons- that may be overkill- but please make them like 9 or 10 episodes? #even 8 episodes would have been better- one more to help bring some more stuff together without feeling rushed #because i'm sorry but the ending of the first season felt a little rushed #she just kissed conrad without ANY conversations with Jere after when they went through the previous episodes? #*WHAT they went through* #I need more than that #sorry- I'm tired- i'll end my rant here- but feel free to pick up my rant with me if you want in a message... I'll rant with you! #also- i'm still not happy with how these came out- dark scenes are my nemesis (along with the fridge thermometer at work) #and I've not yet figured out how to make them pretty and not grainy

[unrelatedwaffle]

I'm still thinking about hbomberguy's Plagiarism video and I think there's still going to be a lot of student plagiarism because...writing based on synthesizing info from multiple sources is tough, and rephrasing someone's entire sentence structure FEELS like "writing in your own words" enough that it's not obvious to beginners how blatant it is.

if you struggle with writing research papers, often procrastinate and then scramble to assemble a paper from a single source, you are setting yourself up for likely plagiarism. here are some real tips for avoiding this and getting better at academic writing. these are a short version of sonke ahrens's great book on the Zettelkasten method, How to Take Smart Notes (which i recommend reading, but it is one of those Books That Could Have Been a Blog Post, as If Books Could Kill would say, and the full Zettelkasten method is probably overkill for most people).

1. Take notes on what the texts make you think while you read, with a pen and paper, in your own words. These are not summary notes, but "this section reminds me of that one episode of the simpsons" or "i don't think it's true that willpower is finite..." these are your own thoughts and feelings

2. When you're completely done with an article or book chapter, start a note file on the computer with the proper citation at the top and write a 1-2 sentence summary of the content of what you just read. Without looking at the text. Yes, this is hard!!

3. Go through your personal notes from step 1 and see if anything there is a Big General Idea or theme. It may take reading a few articles or stepping away/thinking in the shower before these emerge. "Hmm I'm noticing that a lot of societies have similar rituals about food and gratefulness, I wonder if it's a superstitious way to ensure future abundance?" Elaborate on that in a separate note.

4. You can weave the notes from Step 3 into a thesis statement with supporting arguments properly summarized and supported with info from Step 1.

#hbomberguy #plagiarism #writing advice #zettelkasten #sonke ahrens #research papers #writing help #procrastination

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 4

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Time for some new characters perhaps?

CW: description of pain

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Etho is relieved to finally have a moment of peace from that incessant beeping. It’s been driving him insane from the moment he woke up, surrounded by heaps of twisted and mangled space debris. Impact crates sat all around him, filled in and covered with the – barely recognisable – remains of old battleships. With some smug satisfaction, he’d spotted what was left of countless Vindicator insignias. They were marked on their dented hulls and scattered supply crates, their paint scraped away over time. The beeping had been increasing steadily, as Etho traipsed across the sand-swept wreckage, reverberating around his head in a way that made him worried that he’d suddenly developed a strange form of tinnitus… not that he hadn’t already been developing it for years thanks to his constant exposure to loud machinery. But now – as he approaches the rusting wreckage of a massive spaceship that rests, standing like a beacon, nestled atop a mound of its mangled brethren, its form surprisingly intact save for the side of its hull, the once sturdy metal gored open – the silence is deafening. After having grown accustomed to the constant beeps, the absence of noise is almost overwhelming.

Etho hoists himself up and over the mangled opening in the ship, grateful that his gloves prove to be enough protection against the likely scalding metal. He breathes a sigh of relief as his heavy boots thud onto the dusty metal flooring inside the wreckage. The cooler air hitting him immediately. The insulated walls and dim metal halls of the ship create a welcome reprieve after the blazing heat of the desert outside. Etho is not dressed for this sun, since the dark fabric and fluffy interior of his jacket are more suitable for the chill of space. Maybe if he’d known that he’d find himself waking up in a strange desert, he’d have actually dressed for the occasion. He pulls his hood down, shaking the sand from his clothes, finally protected from the wind as it peppers the landscape outside with sand.

Etho stretches, his long limbs cracking. With a sigh, he looks around the room he climbed into. It looks like some kind of barrack. Uncomfortable uniform beds line the walls and old, musty bedding lays strewn about the room. He grimaces. Those blankets look scratchy as hell. Despite his initial disgust, Etho would probably be tempted to pick one of the beds and not get up for days if they weren’t also covered in sand that had blown in through the fissures in the ship's wall caused by its crash landing, years ago. He assumes it was years ago, at least, considering the rust and the sand that has made itself home in every possible corner.

He walks out into the corridor, brightened by long strips of broken lights stretching down the hall in either direction. Tangled and fraying wiring hangs down from the ceiling, the panelling that was meant to hide them likely thrown and forgotten somewhere during the ship's rough descent. A ship like this should have plenty of rooms that could prove far more useful than a dusty dorm room. If he’s lucky it may even have a stocked storage room. The ship's crew certainly wouldn’t have run out of rations before their unexpected demise.

Etho turns right, padding down the hallway, periodically peering through the occasional unlocked door as he passes by, each one leading into increasingly dark and dingy rooms.The corridor leads him deeper into the belly of the ship, further away from the blazing sun’s reach. The interiors sit dusty, undisturbed and utterly useless. Not a single one appears to contain anything of use to Etho unless he wants to try and sleep on some of the sandiest beds he’s ever seen. He just woke up not even an hour ago, sleeping right now might be a bit overkill… and not all that useful. He needs supplies, food, anything. A weapon of some sort would be nice too, he doesn’t trust this dump to be as empty and dead as it looks on the surface. A planet with breathable air like this would surely have some inhabitants, no matter how harsh the living conditions. Hell, a blaze would probably thrive in this heat. Their dense fur and high body temperature would protect them from the worst the desert has to offer.

The thumps of heavy boots against the grated metal echo down the corridor. Etho’s careful steps do little to lessen the noise as the rusted hull groans in response to his presence. His tail drags behind him, through the sand and dust that litters the hall, pale white scales and grey-tinged fur drawing lines on the ground as he roams the winding halls.

He comes up to a split in the path… or well, it’s not much of a split. The corridor that should veer off to the right comes to a quick end, its flooring having collapsed in on itself, broken pipes and tangled wires hanging down from the ceiling. The floor is caved in on itself, twisted metal sloping down into the pitch-black pit that is the lower floors. Etho cringes at the creaking sound of metal that echos out of the hole. He doesn’t want to think about the strain the weight of the crashed vessel is causing on its fractured hull. The last thing he wants is to be trapped in this hunk of junk if its supports give way.

Deciding he’d rather not risk catching himself on the jagged metal… or falling void-knows how far down the dark pit. Etho, instead, turns left and ventures down the more intact corridor. At least there’s far less sand this way. Although Etho suspects the damage has already been done, he’ll be finding those persistent grains for months. Years, even. The lights above flicker sporadically – or at least the few that managed to survive the years in one piece – combating the increasing darkness with their cold, dim fluorescence.

Etho pauses, reaching up to flick one of the long bulbs as it fades out, causing it to sputter back to life for just a moment before dying out once again. Etho realises with a start that the ship must still have a functioning power source somewhere, Etho realises. It might not have much life left in it if these half-dead lights are anything to go off, but it’s better than nothing. This ship might still have some useful parts lying around. Etho could try fashioning… something from the scraps. Something that could help him get off this dead planet, or at least send some kind of distress signal, with the hopes that someone, anyone is close enough to hear it.

He’ll take anything that might prove useful while he figures out where he is. It’s better than his current lack of possessions. He’d had nothing on him when he woke up, which, concerningly, was not how he’d been before. Etho never left home without at least a knife or two, preferably a gun too. He’s not stupid. The last thing he wants is to be cornered by some Vindicator grunt without any means of defending himself. He’d never hear the end of it.

But, for now, it’ll probably just be nice to have shelter with some shoddy lights. While sleeping under the stars doesn’t sound too unpleasant, sleeping on trash in a sandstorm definitely does.

Etho picks up his pace. He can at least assess the damage to the ship's redstone if he can find the engine room. Until he knows what supplies he’s working with he can’t properly plan his next move. The thought makes him shudder. Being stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no clue where he is, no memory of how he got here, and no plan sounds like, quite possibly, the worst combination. Hell, graveyard planets aren’t typically in inhabited solar systems…if he’s really that far from civilisation, he’s fucked. The sooner he can figure out a plan of action the better.

Rounding a corner, the corridor quickly comes to an end. Standing in front of him is exactly what he had been hoping for. Another doorway the door itself, thankfully, resting mostly open. Albeit disconnected from the track that would usually enable its closure. Beyond its frame, flickering lights illuminate a room lined with control panels and overturned chairs. Lights pulse faintly behind dusty buttons and screens and wires stretch across the floor, twisting over and tangling with one another. He’s found the cockpit.

Etho grins behind his mask, the slight crinkle of his eyes the only sliver of emotion displayed for the lonely wreck. He cracks his knuckles before making his way over to the closest control panel.

He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought and hands hovering over the rusted controls. He never actually checked if he’s truly alone in this place. Glancing around the room again shows no more signs of life than his first inspection. He hadn’t noticed footprints at any point in his journey so far. Void knows there’s enough sand everywhere for them to show up. He’s well and truly alone.

Giving in to curiosity, he cracks open the console, prying off the loose screen, exposing the guts of the ship inside. Looking through the rusty parts, he investigates the state they’re in, hoping that any of the individual parts can prove useful. Who knows, maybe he can get the engine up and running and get out of here… it doesn’t look like it though. Holding up a particularly rusted part, Etho scowls, tossing it onto the metal flooring behind him with a loud clang. He continues to rummage through the mechanisms of the ship, anything unusable – which proves to be most of it – getting tossed, carelessly to the side with a loud clunk.

“...Oh, what the heck?”

Etho jolts at the voice behind him. Dropping the rusted redstone comparator he had been holding, in surprise. Spinning on his heels, Etho’s eyes land on a figure standing in the doorway, their face scrunched up in a frustrated scowl. They look like some sort of glare-blaze hybrid, judging by the green feathers scattering the right side of their face and the brown markings that tint their brow and the tips of their ears. The tips of their fingers are coated in that same brown, the point where the markings merge back into their paler skin tone hidden behind a pair of padded fingerless gloves. Etho notes, however, the figure's distinct lack of a tail, his own flicking to the side subconsciously. They’re dressed in a cuffed t-shirt and baggy, padded trousers. A singular grey knee pad is strapped to their right leg, though how much that would help them if they fell onto their other knee Etho is not sure. Their deep, dark eyes lock onto Etho. Huge, pure-black pupils boaring into him.

“Uhhh-” Etho stares, dumbstruck at his unexpected visitor. He'd been so sure that he was alone here. The metal dunes outside had betrayed no signs of life. All the ships look like they’d crashed into the planet, their hulls cracked and bent from the impact. It’s unlikely that any of their passengers survived.

“Who the hell are you?” The glare furrows his brow further, pointing an accusatory finger towards Etho. “What are you doing to my ship?”

“...Your ship?”

The stranger scoffs, seemingly offended at the insinuation that this mangled spaceship isn’t clearly his. “Yes, my ship! I found it first!”

Etho rolls his eyes at the childish nature of the argument, there’s no way of knowing who had actually seen it first. It's not exactly hard to spot. The massive ship stands like a beacon atop the mounds of twisted metal, it could probably be seen for miles across the ship graveyard.

“I saw it the second I woke up here,” Etho counters, throwing out a bit more information than he’d usually feel comfortable with, testing the glare's response. They don’t react.

Their brows remain just as furrowed, eyes just as piercing. A couple of seconds pass before their mouth contorts into an annoyed snarl. A small scar cuts across their lip, a gap in their teeth replacing the fang that should rest just behind it… Huh.

Etho runs a hand down his mask. He hadn’t realised that the stranger isn’t wearing one, nor a helmet. The air here must be safe to breathe. He decides against removing it for now, though. Maybe they just hadn’t dropped dead yet.

“Yeah, me too! You’re not special!” The other replies, crossing his arms. Etho frowns, the two sides of his split jaw grinding together slightly, behind his mask, in thought. So they had woken up here too, he concludes. They’re probably just as in the dark as he is, lashing out due to the fear of being lost on some graveyard planet with no idea how they got here… Or maybe they’re just like this.

“...I’m the one in the cockpit though.”

“You’re tearing the cockpit apart!” The stranger complains, striding over to a broken comparator, one of the many engine components Etho had scattered across the cockpit floor. They pick it up and twirl it in their hand, glowering at the state of it. Rust rubbing off the metal, staining their fingertips a ruddy orange.

Their dark eyes turn back to Etho, scrutinising him with their gaze. A mischievous glint crosses their face. They give the engine piece one last spin in their hand, before tossing it right at Etho. Hitting him square in the shoulder, the rusted metal cracking as it clatters back onto the ground by Etho's feet. “Ow- Thanks…” he murmurs

“It’s not gonna fly anyway,” he adds, brushing away a spot of rust from where the metal had bounced off his padded jacket.

“I can make it work!”

“Can you?” Etho raises a brow, he’s sceptical anyone would be able to fix a ship in this much disrepair, especially not this guy. They look like they’re more likely to blow up a ship than they are to fix one. The only thing this wreck is good for is shelter and spare parts.

“YES!” the stranger argues, their face contorted into an offended scoff. “GET OUT! FIND YOUR OWN SHIP!”

Etho stands up from where he knelt, hunched over the control panel. He wipes his hands on his trousers, leaving a smear of oil and rust behind on the green fabric. "…Fine, ‘s nothin’ useful here anyway. It’s a rusty mess.”

That only seems to rile the glare up further. Their green feathers bristle, standing on end, and a slight puff of smoke spills from their mouth as they huff angrily.

“IT’S NOT A RUSTY MESS! IT’S MY SHIP!”

Etho, paying their outburst no mind, strides over to where the glare still stands, blocking the doorway with their broad frame. Etho tilts his head, as he looks them up and down, sizing up the shorter, angrier man. They just glare back up at him in response. He snorts.

“Mhm, sure,” Etho finally responds, a sarcastic drawl to his voice. He pushes past them, knocking the stranger out of the way with his shoulder. They stumble to the side, letting out an offended squawk as Etho heads back down the dark corridor of the ship. He smirks at their reaction. Void that guy is full of themself.

If they want this ship so bad they can have it, it's not worth fighting over.

Maybe if he’s quick, Etho can find another, mostly, intact ship to seek shelter in before the sun sets. Preferably one where he won’t have to share with some obnoxious blaze-glare hybrid.

The gash in the ship wall he had climbed through proves easy to find again, thanks to the way it tears through room after room. He picks a door and makes his way through what looks like the remains of a small botany nursery. The plants that had once grown here would’ve helped to generate for the ship's crew back when it was still being maintained, but now it sits in disrepair. Its foliage withered and dry from neglect, the glass of their terrariums shattered and scattered across the ground. The only sign of life this room has to offer now comes in the form of a tiny, sandy rat, no bigger than Etho’s palm, sitting in a dusty plant pot. Though, it seems mostly unbothered by the enderian's sudden appearance, the shrivelled stick of a plant that it's digging its teeth into is clearly more important. Beady eyes follow as he picks his way through the overturned interior, careful to avoid the sharp shards of glass, even if it’s unlikely it would be able to puncture his boot's thick soles.

He doesn’t even need to climb over the jagged metal this time, the whole exterior wall is ripped out from top to bottom. The gnarled, torn edges of the floor and remaining walls the only evidence such a wall ever existed in the first place. Instead, he lowers himself and jumps down, landing with a clatter on the scrap metal ground outside.

The sun still beats down on the metal mounds surrounding him, the old wrecks sizzling from the heat. The topography shifts and ripples behind the torrid air. Etho blinks and holds his hand up to shelter his eyes as the metallic landscape reflects the bright light at him from every direction. He had not missed this, the ship had been stuffy, but it was at least sheltered from the worst of the heat. Etho had better find another shelter soon, he decides. Especially as the sun has now dipped far lower in the sky than it was before. He’d rather not be wandering the wasteland at night, at least not until he can assess how safe this planet really is.

Etho readjusts his mask – breathing in dust cloud after dust cloud probably won’t be great for his lungs – before beginning his descent down the mound. His pace is slow and careful as the scrap below his feet shifts and dislodges from its capricious position. Each step sends small waves of metal debris scattering down the hill ahead of him. It’s not the quietest of descents, but Etho can’t bring it in himself to care. Not when he’s already met and fallen out with, who is likely, the only person for miles.

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

The whistle of wind rushing through the trash peaks almost disguises a building ringing in his ears, the constant note mostly fading out into the background when he pays it no heed. Shaking his head, Etho groans. He almost misses the beeping.

He really should look into what had caused that… as soon as he finds himself somewhere safe to settle for the night. It’s far too risky to stay out in the open with the sun rapidly sinking in the sky. Not while he doesn’t know what kinds of wildlife might call this place home, and going back to the security of that ship is clearly a no-go.

The hairs on the back of his on the back of his neck stand up as a staticky sensation dances across his skin. Etho furrows his brow. That’s just another reason to find shelter. The last thing he wants is to get caught out in a thunderstorm. But, as he glances at the vast, cloudless sky, it holds no sign of a coming storm

Etho reaches the bottom of the metal mound, luckily only almost losing his footing once or twice. The moment his boot meets the sandy ground the ringing solidifies into something real, something vicious and sharp. He stumbles. It feels like hands are reaching into the deepest parts of his soul and wrapping their hands around his heart.

With another step electricity surges through his body. Etho buckles over, every nerve set alight in white-hot pain. A hook is driven through his heart. Etho bites his tongue. The hands pull.

His vision turns white.

Then red.

Etho keels over. His mind struggles for coherency as he clutches his chest.

He rips his mask off, struggling for breath as a haze settles over the world. Thick and suffocating. Shrouding the landscape around him until all he can see is his own shaking hands and the shipwreck, looming above him, mockingly.

A desperate resolve washes over him.

He needs to get back. It hurts to breathe and he needs to get back.

The ship is safe. It’s walls and shelter and shade and it’s safe. And there is absolutely room for two. Despite that glare’s adamant claims.

They don't need all that space.

Etho found it too.

They can share.

It’s massive.

He can easily stay there without even running into them once.

And it hurts.

And it hurts.

And he can't think.

And the world is spinning.

And he's clambering back over the gnarled ship wall. His clothes snagging on the jagged edge. The thud of his knees, connecting hard with the floor, echoing through his bones.

Relief washes over him. The strain on his heart easing slowly as he staggers back into the welcoming shade. With a huff, he slumps down in the ship's corridor as colours aside from the ruddy hue bleed back into the world.

Etho’s not sure how long he sits there, on the hard floor of the ship corridor, gathering his breath. The cool metal of the ship wall presses against his back, grounding him as his head slowly stops spinning.

But he’s not alone as he gathers his thoughts. Movement catches his eye as, across the hall, that small rat scurries into view, its dried-up twig abandoned. Beady eyes meet his own, unblinking as Etho stills, not wanting to scare the critter away. It’s nice to have some company that won’t attack him for daring to breathe the same air… hopefully.

Its pale, sandy fur stands out in stark contrast against the dark, grey colouration of the ship. He’s caught similar vermin hiding in the dark corners of his own ship before, but they had looked different. Their ears had been shorter and stubbier, their fur dull and grey to match their surroundings. Etho’s not exactly an expert on alien fauna, but if this planet is as uninhabited as it looks then the small rodent might actually be undiscovered. He watches as it slowly relaxes and begins to clean its long whiskers with its paws. It’s kind of cute. Maybe if he captures it and makes it off this forsaken planet he’ll be able to name the species. He’ll probably name it something scary. Like taxes.

Not that aiding scientific exploration should be his priority right now. He’s more likely to cook up and eat the rodent if he actually catches it. Food will probably be scarce in this desert junkyard, and Etho is awfully fond of not starving to death… besides, he’s probably eaten worse.

“You coulda leant a hand y’know.” Great, now he’s talking to a weird rat.

He drops his head back against the wall, inhaling sharply as the impact sends a jolt of pain reverberating around his, already aching, skull. Closing his eyes, he digs the palms of his hands into them. Today is going great so far. At least the beeping still hasn’t come back, hopefully, it’s gone for good now. Etho doesn’t want to imagine trying to think with both the beeping and fuzzy disorientation from whatever the hell that was, overwhelming his brain.

The only sound is the wind outside as it whistles through the cracks marring the ship's hull. It blows roughly through the rooms that are unlucky enough to share that exterior wall, creating a dull, rhythmic thrum, slowly getting louder as it echoes through the halls and – oh, that’s footsteps, Etho realises. Great.

The glare rounds the corner, dark eyes immediately landing on Etho. A scowl crosses their face. They’re clearly just as pleased to see Etho as he is to see them. Taxes scampers off, diving through a grate in the wall, at the sight of the other figure. Etho’s never wished he could follow a rodent quite as much as he does now.

“I thought you were leaving.” They plant their hands on their hips, eyes narrowing as they scowl down at Etho.

“Mm, I tried. Didn’t go so well.” Etho frowns, tearing his eyes away from the hole the rodent had vanished into.

He takes in the glare’s appearance. They look scruffier than before. Their hair is unkempt – well, more unkempt – it falls over their face in messy strands, green and brown mixing together in a muddy tangle. The green feathers scattered across their face are puffed up and dishevelled and their breathing is heavy. What had they been doing after Etho left?

“Huh? What do you mean you ‘tried’?” They ask, making quotation marks with their fingers to emphasise their point. An incredulous tone laces their voice. “Just walk away and find your own ship. It’s not hard!”

Just to complete their point, the glare strides forward in a mock impersonation of Etho’s own pace, coming to a stop in front of the enderian. They scowl down at him, not even trying to hide their distaste. If anything they’re exaggerating it. They place their hands on their hips in, what looks to be, an authoritative manner.

Etho rolls his eyes. It’s nice to know he’s stuck in this place with someone mature. “You try if you think it’s so easy.”

A childish part of Etho, that he’s not so proud of, hopes that the same thing will happen to the glare if they leave the ship. But then again, if that… sensation was indeed a product of trying to leave the wreck, instead of just a freak incident, that might mean he’s stuck with this guy. A thought that fills Etho with dread… It would be worth it to get back at them for taunting him, though.

“To… walk out the door?” They narrow their eyes, trying to figure out just what Etho’s playing at. Ethos face betrays no ulterior motives, though. Even with his mask discarded on the ground, his expressions exposed.

Etho nods. “Mhm. Bet you can’t do it.”

“Bet I can!”

That was easy… they’re way too eager to be right.

Etho pauses to think. If the beeping stopped when he reached this ship then this is clearly where it had been leading him. Etho wouldn’t be surprised if someone had put a chip of some sort in him before abandoning him in this wasteland… it wouldn’t actually be the first time. That could explain the beeping. It might even be the reason for what he just felt too. If that is the case, the glare is probably here for the same reason. Etho’s willing to bet they’ll feel the exact same thing. He’s also willing to bet that they wouldn’t believe him if he tried to tell them.

“How about this? You get the ship to yourself if you can get, mmm, 10 yards from it- the bottom of the mound. If you can’t,” He looks the glare directly in the eye, the inky voids returning an increasingly confused stare. ”It’s mine to scavenge for parts.”

They narrow their eyes, trying to parse Ethos logic. That’s not exactly a hard ask. “You’ll… leave me and this ship alone if I… walk… down a hill.”

“Mhm,” he nods.

The glare pauses. The last thing they want is their ‘beautiful’ ship torn to pieces for parts. What’s the point in finding shelter if you don’t pick the grandest option there is, damn it. This wager is objectively the stupidest thing they’ve ever heard, there’s no feasible way to actually lose it. They smirk.

“Your loss. Easiest bet I’ve ever made! Watch and learn!”

The glare turns on his heels, marching out of the hall with purpose. The sound of their footsteps echoing, loudly down the halls of the ship.

Etho relaxes slightly as the glare disappears from view. He leans back against the wall, mind still buzzing. The cool metal grounding him in place.

He waits. Anticipation slowly building.

The faint sound of metal sliding and clattering from the glare’s heavy steps meets his ears. Etho chuckles. They’re clearly not the stealthy type.

Etho’s amusement quickly dies down as a familiar tightness settles in his chest. He grimaces and steadies himself as he braces for round two as the ringing takes hold and the world falls to red.

He really hopes this isn’t going to be a recurring condition.

A distant yelp echos through the ship – shrill and startled – as the glare concedes their bet.

Etho breathes in a sharp breath as his heart tugs on its bindings. Vindication bleeding into his mind, through the gaps of his thoughts and pain.

He should leave the ship. Meet the glare on their ascent back up the shrapnel hill.

They might need help.

No.

They’ll come to him.

Etho waits. His mind slowly returning to its usual state.

He hears them before he sees them, their angry grumbles and stomps telling Etho all he needs to know about how they’re feeling.

They storm back into the corridor. Stumbling slightly as they steady themselves with a hand on the wall.

Wild eyes lock onto Etho. A fire burns deep inside, shining brightly through their pupils like a feral animal reflecting light in the night.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

Their face contorts in a furious expression, as even more smoke billows out of their mouth than earlier. Etho wonders how much he can get them to do that.

“Told you.” A smug expression crosses Etho’s face.

“TOLD M- WHA- HUH- WHAT THE HECK?” The glare splutters, more smoke spills out of their mouth with each rapid breath.

“Just walk away, it's not hard,” Etho taunts, doing a poor imitation of the other, smirking as their face scrunches up in annoyance.

“...I’m gonna kill you,” they spit, marching up to Etho, their fists balled stiffly at their sides,

“You can tr- ohHH ACK HEY!”

#stareater au #life series au #ethoslab #joel smallishbeans #boat boys #trafficblr #cw pain

[thatfreshi]

Forever and Ever (Astarion x Reader)

I'm going to sob and throw up everywhere this was so incredibly sweet.

Tw - mention of scars (i think that's it)

Recommended Song: Ronson Princess - Clarence James

Waking up to the sunlight gleaming through the red fabric, you and Astarion wrapped in each other's arms. It's odd for you to wake up before him, especially since he doesn't have to sleep all that much, but he's been particularly stressed the past couple of days. Baldur's Gate has brought up a lot of unpleasant memories, things he would've rather left behind. But sadly, everything has brought you back here, and he still wants Cazador dead. Perhaps that's what's weighing on him so heavily, knowing facing his master is so close.

You stare at his sleeping face for a long while, letting the sun continue trickling in, knowing soon he won't get this, soon that freedom of being in the sun, it'll be taken from him, just like everything else. Today you've prepared very special plans, kindly getting everyone to leave camp for the day. Before things change drastically, you want him to have something nice, a day without fighting, a day without talking about Cazador, a day without walking past taverns that he'd rather forget. You continue to smile at him, as his eyelids slowly flicker open. He smirks.

"I can practically hear you staring at me you know."

"Well good, at least you know how gorgeous I think you are."

You leave a kiss on his nose. Locking his fingers into yours, you start tracing his knuckles, all the little lines, tiny scars from fights, the callouses on his palm. He'd deny that he had them to anyone else.

"So... I have a surprise for you."

His ears perk up.

"Oh really? Whatever did I do to deserve such a thing?"

"You know I've said this a million times, but you don't have to do anything to deserve a gift my love. I just know you've been really stressed since we got back in the city, so I thought it would be nice if we had a day away from everything, just to ourselves."

"As if we could ever get time to ourselves with our hooligan friends."

You grin.

"That's the best part, I got them all to go do something else today, so we have the entire camp to ourselves!"

You feel a little bad, being so excited that your friends are leaving you alone, but Astarion likes the quiet. Sure, he's a performer, making little quips in a crowd, but it's that solitude, especially with you, that he cherishes. Maybe he was Stockholmed into it, being forced to be alone so often, but it was usually better than dealing with his 'siblings,' or Cazador. At least rats can't cut you up when they feel like having a good time.

"You seriously kicked out all of our friends so we could be alone for the day? However did you manage that?"

"I may have put some of your manipulation tactics to use..."

Last night, you just so happened to make an off-handed comment about something that would interest each of them. It wasn't too hard, especially since everyone in your group is obsessive over one subject at least, if not more. One by one, they decided they'd spend the day checking out something in the city.

"I have never been more in love with you."

You lock lips, running your hands through his hair, realizing that quite uncharacteristically, he hasn't washed it in days. He's usually quite ritualistic with his appearance, no doubt due to how he always had to look perfect. The habits simply stuck around, but he doesn't mind all that much.

"So, I have a whole day of activities planned!"

He sighs, thinking you mean some intensive itinerary.

"Okay maybe not activities, but nice little calming things to do. I call it... self-care day."

You look way too proud of yourself, and Astarion makes it known.

"What, dear gods, is self-care day? I am all for caring about yourself, as I am spectacular, but an entire day?"

"Yes. It's supposed to be overkill. Just a whole day of absolute bullshit, so you don't have to worry about anything!"

"As if I have ever gone a day without worrying."

You sit up, lifting him up to sit with you.

"Well, we're going to try, because you deserve it. Pleaseeeeee, I just want to spoil you."

He can't ignore your pleading, especially when you look at him with those soft eyes, a gaze that could ask for anything and he'd oblige.

"Alright fine, I will follow along on your self-care day, even if it sounds a little silly."

"Great! So, remember how I went out after dinner last night, and I told you that you couldn't come with me because I was doing something super special and secret?"

"Oh, when I was terrified of you roaming the city by yourself? No, why would I remember that at all?"

His voice is absolutely dripping in sarcasm.

"You know as well as anyone that I can take care of myself, you just like being a chivalrous piece of shit to people that are mean to me."

He shrugs.

"Yes. That sounds entirely reasonable, why would I not do that?"

"Okay yes whatever you like protecting me blah blah blah. We're getting away from the story. I found lots of cool little things, for example..."

Your voice trails off as you dig through your bag, trying to find the cloth sack you got your hands on yesterday. After you find it, you slowly open the pouch.

"I found your favorite tea!"

It's quite a particular brew, one you're pretty sure was made in this city. It's almost impossible to find anywhere else, and when you find it here, it's usually expensive. You hand the bag to him, and he takes in the scent. Blackberry, lavender, ginger, and a couple notes of citrus. Is it way too complex? Yes, quite, but he likes to dissect the flavor, focusing on the different components in the drink.

"You remember that thing I said, what was it... about saving money for, oh I don't know, a place to live after this? You know this is far too expensive my dear."

"It's fine, I can pickpocket a few people."

He laughs.

"You mean I can pickpocket a few people and you'll say you were there for moral support?"

"Yes."

Astarion simply sighs, because if he didn't love you, gods would he absolutely hate you. You could probably say the same thing about him though, so at least you're even. He grabs two cups from somewhere in the mess of his belongings, and the two of you make your way to the dying campfire. As you grab some water from one of the carafes, he adds some more wood to the fire, casting ignis instead of actually putting in the work to start a fire. Usually you would tease him about how he doesn't know how to start a fire, but today he's allowed to take the easy way out. You begin boiling the water for your tea.

"Okay, time for surprise number two while surprise number one is still cooking up."

"Oh, a second surprise?"

"It's self-care day, not self-care hour. There are many surprises to come."

You quickly walk to Gale's tent, bringing back a charcuterie board, filled with small finely cut fruits and mini cheese wedges.

"Ta-da!"

Astarion takes in the beauty of the spread, his heart fluttering a little. Sure, he doesn't have to eat, but he certainly lives for the finer things in life, and a charcuterie board is one of them. After all, eating things that aren't bloody animals makes him feel a little more normal. You smile, realizing he's actually excited and isn't relentlessly teasing you.

"I bought them last night and had Gale put together the spread this morning. I know it's less romantic but-"

"No my sweet it's... it's wonderful."

The two of you eat heart shaped strawberries and little pieces of cheese while you wait for the tea to brew.

"I know I joked a lot, but I do really appreciate all of this darling. It's nice, to know someone cares about me this much. Especially to know that you care about me this much."

"Of course my love. You deserve this and so much more."

You kiss his neck, leaving a little bit of juice from the strawberries. It's hard sometimes for Astarion to remind himself that the worst is behind him, that all he has to do now is deal with his master, and he can finally leave all of this shit behind him. He can finally have that life he wants, with you in some nice house, sleeping together in a nice bed every single day. It's also hard to remember that you love him, that he isn't some charity case you picked up, that you do all of this out of the kindness of your heart. He thought for the longest time that no one was truly kind, and that if they were, they were going to be dead soon enough, and yet he would do anything it took to keep you safe, one of the kindest souls he's ever met. He tears up a little, thinking about how you would care this much, that anyone could care this much about him.

"Are you okay Aster?"

You wipe a tear off his cheek.

"Yes, I'm alright. Just sentimental, that's all."

The way his eyes get wide when he cries, as if he's letting the world in for once, you always notice it.

"That's okay, you can cry all you want. Besides, usually makes you feel better after."

While you're consoling him, you pour out two cups of tea, handing him the first. You take a sip, realizing why this is his favorite. Sure, it's a lot going on, but there's something luxurious about it, soothing, as if made for royalty. Astarion wipes at a couple of his tears, and takes a sip.

"I'm serious though Tav, you have got to stop spending all of our money after this. I'll take this one nice day, but after that, it's back to pinching pennies for us."

Always worried, always thinking about the next thing, always five steps ahead. He's always had to be, playing his life like chess, knowing he's a pawn in some far greater game, knowing if he makes one wrong move he'll lose everything. You don't blame him one bit. After all, the two of you do need enough money to buy a place after all of this is over, and yet you don't worry about it, knowing you'll figure it out. Things have worked out for you so far, and they'll continue to. They simply must.

"Alright, deal."

After sitting and drinking your tea for a while, talking about what you want in the house when you finally buy it, you lead him down to the nearby creek so you can wash his hair.

"Now I know what you're going to say-"

"What, that I could simply do it myself and that you don't have to do something ridiculous like wash my hair for me?"

"Yes... something like that, yeah."

"Then why would you even try asking if you could?"

"Because I love you, and I want to, and I don't want you to have to worry about it."

You stay silent for a second.

"...and I may have bought a really nice shampoo from a store in the city even though I probably shouldn't have splurged but I just want you to have nice things..."

You make those puppy eyes at him, expecting him to say no or give you some lecture.

"Alright, if you insist."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes. Now go ahead and start before I change my mind and lecture you about how to properly bargain for things."

Now this, is a truly rare occurrence. He's so particular about his hair, to the point where he has to fix it every time you mess with it. You swiftly fill a bucket of water and take the nice shampoo out of your bag, putting yet another strawberry in your mouth.

"Seems like you're enjoying the strawberries much more than I am."

He says as he turns his back to you, the two of you sitting in the grass by the creek.

"Hey, it's a board for the both of us. If you're not eating off of it, that's your loss."

You mumble while still chewing on the fruit. He realizes you're right and grabs another piece of cheese before you eat it all. You motion for him to take his shirt off so he doesn't get water all over it, and soon you start working through his hair. It's sadly become quite knotted the past couple of days, due to neglect from the slump he's been in. You try your best not to get sad about it, knowing it's the truest sign of just how out of it he's been. Between dirt and knots and dried blood, there's plenty for you to work through, slowly but surely cleaning it all out, combing through it along the way.

"Are you sure I'm not going to look like a wet cat when you're done?"

You laugh at him.

"Hey, I never said anything about styling, just that I'd wash it. How it looks after is on you."

You don't see it, but he smiles. He has this moment of realization, a sense of clarity. This is it. The thing he's wanted all his life, he's found it, and it's someone so unlike him. And yet somehow, here you were, madly in love, eating fruit and cheese by the water, simply taking care of each other.

"I want it to stay like this forever."

He says suddenly. Your face lights up.

"Me too."

You put down the comb, wrapping your arms over the tops of his shoulders. He holds onto your hands, as if he's realizing for the first time just how real you are. You're here, and he's here, and you're in love. What a wonderful thing, to truly be in love, to have a plan, to have a future. He never really had a future, just a present, day after day. But now there's hope, a life after today, and tomorrow, and the day after.

"Would you do this again sometime? This whole, self-care thing with me? It's been quite nice."

You leave a couple of kisses on his shoulder, and he feels you smile into his skin.

"Of course. As many times as you want my love. Forever and ever."

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #fluff #comfort

[ystrike1]

The Love-Interest Prince Completely Changed When I Made A Meta Comment About My Reincarnation! - By Overkill (8/10)

A proposal from a prince. Happily ever after. Being reincarnated in an otome game. It all sounds so easy, but guilt takes hold of our heroine. She admits the truth. She's a liar. A manipulator who used secret information to gain affection from a man who doesn't truly know her. She confesses and falls into a trap

Mai has taken the place of a character named Sophie. Sophie is beautiful, refined, smart and popular. Mai had to work really hard to pretend to be Sophie. Without her in-game knowledge she would have been doomed!

She cheated, and she knows it.

The inevitable proposal comes. She made it. She collected enough game points to capture the crown prince. She will become the most decorated lady...wait? What happens after the game ends? This particular game was rated G. It was for younger readers. It wasn't very complicated. Marriage was the end. She's not sure if she can handle being queen, and she can't keep collecting affection points after the last scene. Mai thinks Prince Albert will never love her underneath her cheat codes. She's just a loser holding up a beautiful puppet shaped like Sophie.

She admits it with pain in her heart. She thinks Prince Albert would be a great husband, but lies are not a great foundation for a relationship. She babbles a bit, and she accidentally makes it sound like being with him is troublesome. She does literally say he's not suitable for her.

He, naturally, assumes she was just playing with his feelings.

Bear in mind.

Prince Albert just proposed to Sophia. He wants to make her his political and romantic partner. He has spent years agonizing over this important political and personal decision. Sophia isn't even the ideal bride. He had to prepare himself to take on extra hardship, just to get the right to marry her.

He was the perfect gentleman the entire time.

Mai says she's going back.

She can't keep living in a lie.

She doesn't want to chase after Sophia forever.

Prince Albert admits he doesn’t just want her because she's the best woman. She's not a cute doll to him. The game suddenly turns R18 real quick.

He was acting like a gentleman. He's been wanting to make their relationship official for a while. He's possessive. He's been watching her. Being overly polite has been killing him.

When she blows off his feelings he confesses it all.

He likes her vulnerable side. He became obsessed after she changed. She became someone he wanted to hang out with and have fun with.

That's actually super sweet, but he's very angry. His prince mask falls apart completely, and he makes her admit it. He makes her say that she wants him, over and over, until he is satisfied.

It doesn't matter if she thinks she's unworthy of him.

He's been waiting for her.

He's repressed.

Slightly boring backstory but it's passable.

He asks for her real name and their romance begins for real. No need to worry about affection points.

He's all hers.

#The Love-Interest Prince Completely Change When I Made A Meta Comment About My Reincarnation! #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #otome games #otome #otome isekai

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Pin

written for @steddiemicrofic

Prompt: 'pin' | wc: 388 | rated: T | cw: sexual innuendo

Pin the tail on the donkey is, in theory, an obvious game. Wear a blind fold and tack a plastic tail onto a picture of a donkey. Like Henderson said: Easy.

But he’s still siding with Steve. It just seems… wrong.

“Henderson,” Eddie interjects their arguing, throwing his arm around Steve’s shoulders, “I think our darling Steve here has a point.”

He looks at the man, nose brushing against Steve’s cheek, triggering a flush across his jawline. Steve turns and their noses touch. His eyes blow wide, flicking down to Eddie’s mouth. Steve’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and oh god is Steve leaning in?

Before Eddie can get carried away– in front of Robin and the Party and Chief fucking Hopper– he forces himself to turn back to Dustin, whose mouth is hanging open, flopping around a word that looks like darling.

“Pin the tail on the donkey is one thing, Henderson. Pin the bloody nail bat on the hellbeast is a bit poignant.”

“See,” Steve shouts. “Eds agrees and he didn’t even have to fight the stupid demodogs!”

“It’s Will’s birthday, Steve,” Dustin screeches, “and he drew this himself so–”

“Those things almost ate me, Dustin!”

“YOU WANTED THEM TO EAT YOU STEVE!”

Eddie glances over at the game in question, hung up outside the Byers' shed. The juxtaposition of Will’s blue and yellow birthday decorations as a backdrop for the hyper realistic monster drawing isn’t lost on anyone. The nail bats may have been overkill, even for him.

“Alright boys break it up let’s go,” Eddie claps his hands, startling them to attention. “Stevie, you’re with me. Dusty, indulge in some cake with the other tiny tots”

Dustin guffaws but before he can respond, Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, towing him inside the empty house, away from the commotion.

“We’ll make our returns when they conclude their little hellspawn game.”

“Well then,” Steve asks, “what game will we play while we wait?” Tone heavy, his lips curve into a predatory smile. He squeezes their joined hands, crowding into Eddie’s space.

Eddie steps back automatically, but Steve only follows until he’s backed against the wall. He swallows, and Steve clocks the movement, pushing in even closer.

“Because, darling” Steve purrs, “I can think of a few things in here I’d like to pin you to.”

#steddiemicroficmarch #steddie microfic #steddie ficlet #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Dustin Henderson #Stranger Things #stranger things ficlet #steve & dustin #steddie #steddie prompt #steddie fic #QueenieWritesStories #I've never done a challenge so hopefully this works! #Obsessively rechecking the word count

[sprout-fics]

Some thoughts about MW3 and then I'm logging off for a few days I think. Honestly the amount of brutality in this game touched a raw nerve considering recent events and I need a reset

The game was rushed. There's no denying that. It is extremely clear which levels were carefully designed and which ones were just recycles of gameplay in warzone.

I found the 'weapons free' levels to be extremely disappointing. What I loved previously about MW2019 and M2022 was the very meticulous paced gameplay that was realistic and believable. Instead we had Soap on his own gallivanting around an armed island fortress with zero stealth and zero planning. Alone stealth mission who? It was clearly just code from warzone and I really really disliked it

The plot was disjointed and hard to keep track of. Makarov is here, now he's there. Here's Yuri for a split second, bye! Plane crash, and for what? There was a distinct lack of cohesiveness that came with the previous two games

Part of this lack of cohesiveness is that we play as everyone except Alex and Ghost. That's a total of 6 or so roles, when the previous campaigns had 3 max (Alex, Farah, Gaz for MW2019, and Gaz/Soap for MW2022) This is particularly disappointing because I felt the limited number of roles was a major advantage over the originals, which also felt disjointed at times with the sudden transitions of POVs

Most of this gameplay was Price, which I heavily disliked. I appreciate Price best in his role as a supervisor, as overwatch guiding the younger sergeants through missions. It suits his character, as opposed to him getting shot at and barking about his need for cover. it erases a lot of his character to find himself in a vulnerable position like that. We should have focused this campaign to Soap, Gaz, Farah, and maybe Laswell

A lot of the missions could have been shortened to cutscenes, which would have made them more comprehensive and would have allowed for better flow of the storyline. Instead we have Farah and Price...wirelessly hacking things? if we're going for realism that's just not it.

The game relies too heavily on Warzone cutscenes, which I felt the other two games did less of, which was a good strength as it attracted a different and more diverse audience

I hated the Graves Shepherd subplot. I'm glad Shepherd got his comeuppance, but other than that I hate that Farah just 'Oh he attacked my allies? Oh well.' Because frankly I feel like it goes against her character. Feel free to disagree with me on that, but I really just didn't like that aspect of the game

The amount of civilian brutality was really hard to stomach. I understand its just poor timing on the game's part due to recent events, but even the airplane level and comments made by Makarov's men just...had me walk away from the playthrough for a bit because it disgusted me so much. I get that such scenes were needed to drive home Makarov's villainy, and maybe it's just current events, but it really did feel like overkill

We barely got to see the team, I feel like. One thing I loved about the previous two games were the small asides of banter and interaction we got. We got absolutely none of that in this game, and it speaks to the rushed quality and really subpar production. The banter and interaction in the 'Alone' mission in MW2 was what made it popular. In this game, Soap and Ghost barely say five words to each other. I really miss the team dynamics we saw

No Roach. Enough said.

Finally- Soap's death. This may be an unpopular opinion. It was completely meaningless. Makarov got away. He didn't get any last words. Even in the originals Soap was able to say something to Price. It was pure shock value, plain and simple. It added nothing to the plot that hadn't already been done, and I fully believe the devs shot themselves in the fucking face by taking away arguably the most beloved character in the fandom. That was the final straw for me.

I was considering maybe purchasing the games, but at this point I'm not even going to rewatch this campaign, let alone play it. In fact, I won't be watching future games either. I'm fully done. I'll be writing according to the MW2019 and MW2022 timelines, but this game does not exist to me. I'm disappointed and upset by the quality of this compared to the previous two games, and the way they tried to make up for it with pure shock value.

That is all. Goodnight.

#mw3 spoilers #mwiii spoilers #I had 2 drinks following me finishing this game and its not nearly enough to erase my emotions #I'm disappointed and let down and upset #I wish they took more time with this game and didn't give us a turd dipped in gold leaf to make it look pretty #I'll see you all in a few days #I'll come back to probably reblog some resources and stuff about Gaza but #I don't want to really touch anything else right now.

[cattimeswithjellie]

The One With the Tunnel Borer Disaster

I'm about 80% convinced that the whole Grian And Scar's Great Redstone Disaster is a semi-planned bit with Doc in on it ahead of time. Those two are reckless, but this would be a little bit extreme even for them, especially when dealing with someone else's extremely complex redstone. I mean, think about how long the various iterations of the World-Eater hung around without being messed with! And yet Grian randomly suggests going and looking at the tunnel borer as a distraction and Scar agrees immediately, and then the first thing they do when they get there is destroy this very big but generally nonessential machine? And then they let it play out over Twitter instead of begging forgiveness in Discord? Doesn't seem quite right...

But why destroy the tunnel borer like this and right now? There's a couple good reasons. The Mecha-Goat has been siting idle for months now, garaged in a pretty important bit of land.

This is Scar's view on what is going to be Adventureland, and I believe that line of blocks is going to be the river ride. The GOAT Garage is right up on that bit of real estate, and if it sits idle too long, it risks destroying actual built landscape when it is deployed. Plus, it's been a long time since the Mecha-GOAT was build, and it needs to be used! The trouble is, it's such a big and wild thing that it seems like overkill for almost any transgression from the neighbors. Grian and Scar would have to do something _very_ bad to justify that kind of TNT-farting revenge machine! And now... they have!

So that's one reason for why, and for why now. But what else? Quite simply, there's a clear block of time. There's no Life Series going on, Scar has finished his massive castle, the TCG tournament is basically wrapped up. Decked Out 2 is still months away from play. The server could really use a new storyline, and what better than a brand new ALL OUT WAR? Those are fun and prompt new creative builds and interactions. Plus it means Grian doesn't have to finish the back of his build for awhile longer.

Honestly, in the end it doesn't really matter whether it was planned or not. We know that at the end of the day nobody is really super-mad at anybody, and if there are hard feelings they will be worked through off-camera in a grown-up way between colleagues. But I believe that there's a plan at work here, and that it's going to unfold in a way that will be amazingly entertaining to watch. Here's to the Great GOAT War, may the silliest team win!

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #grian #goodtimeswithscar #docm77

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Ok, I just read your sweet yandere post and would like to add something.

I love the idea of like a mafia boss yandere or someone who is usually cruel (like maybe a Hades sort of character) but is an absolute sweet heart to their darling. One of my fave tropes

OOOOOOH I LOVE THIS TROPE! I have a character who's just like this actually, a total sweetheart to whoever he's with but has a very low tolerance for most other people.

Sorry, this is a long one lol

I'm gonna make headcanons now because you've inspired me lol.

(Banner/divider credit goes to @cafekitsune)!

Tw: Kidnapping, mentions of violence

Mafia boss! Charlie who is no stranger to violence. He's lived his entire life surrounded by it, in fact. Having a mafia boss for a father will do that to you, he guesses.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's spent his whole life working for the mafia, being trained to kill, smuggle, and deal ever since he was a child. He grew up living a life of crime, rising up the ranks (thanks to his father), before taking over as the boss when his father was killed by an unruly client.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's a cruel, ruthless man. He's killed dozens of people, injured many more, and runs his organization with an iron fist. He may be young, but he's learned enough to know that any show of trust, any display of kindness is a show of weakness, a show of vulnerability. He can't afford that, not when he's the head of the mafia, so he makes sure to make it so that no one will question or challenge his authority by any means necessary.

Mafia boss! Charlie who has very few real friends, keeping those he does have at an arm's length. He'd rather die than admit that he craves real relationships, that he desires to make genuine, true connections with others. But he can't, so he pushes his wants to the side, reminding himself that his only purpose is to keep his business running smoothly, nothing more.

Until he sees you, that is.

Mafia boss! Charlie who meets you out on a grocery run one day. Your interaction is nothing special, at least to you, but Charlie can't help but marvel at how easily you make conversation with him while ringing up his items, how seemingly unfazed you are by his snappy attitude and unapproachable appearance. It's been a long, long time since he's met anyone unafraid of him, and those people are usually rivals who are too cocky for their own good. So this, this is new. He knows it's stupid, he knows that your tiny interaction shouldn't have mattered much to someone like him, but he can't help but feel giddy about the connection he's sure he felt.

Mafia boss! Charlie who, against his better judgment, wastes no time in trying to find out who you are. It's not hard, he has an entire organization full of trained trackers, stalkers, and informants at his disposal, and by the end of the day, he has your full name, address, social media accounts, family tree, medical records, and much more safely in his welcoming hands. He knows this is a bit overkill considering he only met you today and your interaction lasted five minutes at most, but now that he has a taste of real human interaction, he's addicted. He needs more.

Mafia boss! Charlie who quickly becomes awestruck and obsessed with you. His whole life, he's been surrounded by the craftiest, cruelest. most violent people imaginable, so to see someone, especially someone as precious as you, live a completely normal life, naive to the dangers he faces everyday? It's captivating! Of course, he can't follow you all day, he is a mafia boss after all, but he has enough people following you around and recording your every move that he doesn't need to! He's never been happier to be who his is than now.

Mafia boss! Charlie who thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world. You're a sweet little thing, too gentle and too unaware of the dangers around you for your own good. He loves everything about you, no matter how weird or embarrassing. He's content to watch you carefully for a couple months, but as time goes on, his need to feel our touch, to talk to you, to see you face to face is too much. He needs you. He needs you NOW. It doesn't help that you're so vulnerable and weak compared to him, with no knowledge of weaponry or stealth to keep you safe. What if someone were to try and hurt you? Of course, his goons wouldn't let that happen, not if they wanted to keep their organs, but he would feel so much better if he could keep an eye on you personally. Not to mention, every mafia boss needs a spouse, and some of his higher ranking associates have been hinting that it's about time he found someone...

Mafia boss! Charlie who immediately starts planning your "transfer" to his house, meticulously drafting out every last detail to secure your safety. He chooses his best, most skilled employees to carry out his plan, only the best for his darling, and sends them out to bring you "home". That day you come home from work, completely unaware of the people in your apartment, completely unaware of the sleeping pills dumped into your water while you weren't looking.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's ecstatic to finally have you with him, to finally have someone to hold, to talk to, to love. He brings your unconscious body to your new room, laying you softly on the bed while instructing his employees to pack up all your belongings and bring them to him. He doesn't tie you down or chain you up, he has enough security measures in place to make sure you won't be able to escape. You won't even be able to leave your room without him being notified.

Mafia boss! Charlie who watches the camera in your room as you wake up for the first time in your new home, confused and disoriented. All of your stuff is here, but this is NOT your apartment. Where are you? He watches as you start to freak out, guilt flashing through him for the first time in his life. He doesn't want you to be scared, he just wants to keep you safe!

Mafia boss! Charlie who sends one of his gentler employees into your room to explain everything, too afraid of scaring you even further by showing up himself. He waits a few days before revealing himself to you, when your terror has calmed down and you've become more familiar with your surroundings. He kind of just stands there, unable to formulate a sentence, which is extremely unnerving to you. You've been told you're to be married to a highly respected and violent mafia boss, and here he is, just...staring. When he opens his mouth to speak, your surprised at how soft his voice is, calmly explaining to you that you're safe, you won't be hurt. He reaches out his hand to touch you, but recoils when you flinch, not wanting to push you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who does everything he can to make you more comfortable and less afraid of him, getting you anything and everything you've ever shown interest in, giving you as much space as you need, and letting roam the rather large house freely. All you can't do is leave. He doesn't understand why you're still so scared, sure he's a criminal, but he promised he would never hurt you!

Mafia boss! Charlie who gets more desperate for your love as time goes on. He starts appearing in whatever room your in, softly talking to you about his day or about whatever you're doing, trying to get you to be more comfortable with him. Once you've gotten used to that, he starting slowly initiating physical contact, holding you in his arms like he's never going to let you go (because he won't). He tried his hardest not to push your boundaries, but eventually his need to be near you becomes too great. Rest assured though, he would never, ever dream of hurting you or purposely scaring you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who can't get enough of the feeling of your skin on his. He starts hugging/cuddling you whenever he can, holding you like you'll break if he presses too hard. He's always near you, cuddling up to you while telling you about how much he loves you, adoration shining in his eyes. He's the clingiest at night though, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fall asleep, him watching over you until he succumbs to his own tiredness. And his kisses? They are the softest, fluffiest thing you've ever felt. He cannot get enough of your lips, and he always kisses you passionately, like you'll disappear once he separates from you. With how loving and gentle he is, it doesn't take long for you to start loving him back.

Mafia boss! Charlie who starts giving you more privileges the farther you fall into stockholm. He'll even start taking you out in public on dates once he thinks there's no chance of you trying to escape him. He'd be able to find you if you did, he has many, many connections, but he trusts you won't. He loves going out with you and doing normal, coupley things with you, it's a nice break from his usual, violent life.

Mafia boss! Charlie who is insanely protective of you, never leaving you alone in a room with anyone except for himself. He knows how dangerous it is to be associated with him and now that he has you, he refuses to let anything happen to you. Any rival who attempts to hurt, kill, or kidnap you is met with Charlie himself, who enacts the most brutal, torturous death he can possibly think of on them. Nobody will come close to hurting you, he'll make sure of it. But no matter what happens, he'll always make sure you're far, far away from the violence. He never wants to subject you to the horrors he's seen (and done).

Mafia boss! Charlie who feels awful the first time you hear him raise his voice. It wasn't at you of course, he would never, ever think of yelling at his darling, you just happened to be in the room when he was meeting with one of his associates. It's scary seeing him yell, threatening brutal acts of violence on his own employee, and for the first time you realize how different he is with others than he is with you. He's quick to shut the meeting down once he realizes you're there, spending the rest of the night apologizing to you and assuring you he would never speak to you like that. This'll be the first time he truly opens up about what his job is like and why he has to be as cruel as he is, trying to help you understand why he behaved the way he did. It's difficult for him to make himself vulnerable, but he'd gladly to it if it meant easing your mind. From then on, he makes absolute sure you aren't around whenever he has to take care of business. He refuses to let you see him like that ever again.

Mafia boss! Charlie who never lets you forget how much he needs you in his life. You're the only thing keeping him from devolving into insanity, he wouldn't know how to handle himself if you were gone. He'll give you everything and anything if you listen to him and stay by his side, so please... please don't try to leave him.

Not that you would be able to, anyway.

#x reader #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere thoughts #request #gentle yandere #sweet yandere #obssesive #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #oc x reader #yandere x reader #mafia boss #mafia boss x reader #yandere mafia #yandere mafia boss #soft yandere #tw yandere #yandere boyfriend #ocs #my ocs #charlie x reader #charlie craven x reader

[badomensbaby]

so into you. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: luke hemmings, a voice actor you've been working closely with for quite some time, ends up confessing just how into you he really is.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. flirting/flustering, protected smut, degradation, praise kink, slight sir kink, dom/sub undertones, swearing, oral sex (female receiving), mask kink, explicit sexual content.

words: 4,680

a/n: iiiiii cannot express where i came up with this idea. i don't mention explicitly in this fic what video game luke's working on but in my head, it's COD MW3. (i may have a small obsession with ghost. whatever.) but alas, i left this fic alone for like a week and finished it on a whim. enjoy. x

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

Copyright © 2024 badomensbaby. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

Ah, Luke Hemmings, the bane of your existence. 

It’s not that you hate him or anything, unless feeling so sick to your stomach because he’s too damn pretty to be working as a voice actor counts as hate, then maybe. But it’s really quite the opposite. 

You’ve been working at the video game development studio for almost two years. Your title has changed far too many times, as well as your responsibilities, but you get to see ideas come to life from the loose concept to the console screen so you can’t complain too much. 

Right now, you’re in the middle of a contract for a multiplayer war game. It’s a sequel, or a prequel- whatever, it doesn’t really matter. The franchise has been around for ages but they’re always coming up with new content and it’s part of your job to make sure every voice and cgi actor are dressed and ready to perform accordingly. 

Even though your manager can be a little overkill, like how he demands any voice actor be in full dress while they’re in the recording booth. It really doesn’t do much for their performance but your manager refuses to listen. 

You’re in the middle of skimming through your to-do list for the day. There’s three people who still need to get some lines of dialogue done for the storyline of the video game so it’s your responsibility to make sure they don’t fuck around in the booth all afternoon. First up, and is already late, is none other than Luke. 

It doesn’t surprise you. Despite looking like a total diva with his sharp jaw and soft, fluffy blonde curls that seem to be immune to any humidity, always laying so perfectly, he was probably the sweetest guy in the industry you’d ever met. Always polite and charming. Sometimes you think he might be flirting with you but it’s likely he’s just that nice. 

A paper cup of branded coffee suddenly invades your vision, blocking your view of the list you’ve been working on all morning. It’s warm and smells like cinnamon, your favorite. Looking up, way way up because he’s impossibly tall, is Luke, with a half-crooked smile and bright blue eyes. 

“Mornin’ Miss Y/N,” he says, despite the cheeriness on his face his voice is slightly raspy. You try not to think about it too much. It’s only eight am and you’re stuck listening to Luke in the booth until noon. “Blonde roast with cinnamon. You still drink that, right?”

Skeptically, you take the cup from him. Luke doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest by your hesitance. “Thank you?” It’s meant to be a statement but it slips out as more of a question. “Is this why you’re late, Hemmings?”

A glint of mischief flickers in his eyes. “Why, were you worried about me?”

Your stomach seems to flutter rather easily at his words. Shut up, brain! Luke’s a coworker, stop it. “We’ve only got four hours in the booth and almost fifty lines of dialogue,” You roll your eyes, trying to remain professional. “We need every minute we can get.”

“Fair enough, I’ll go get dressed. Have you got my gear ready?” Luke sips at his own drink and you can smell it from where you stand only a foot away. Chai tea latte with hazelnut. Man has taste. 

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, trying to keep your eyes away from the frothy milk of his latte dribbling down the side of his lip. Christ. “Yeah everything’s ready to go. Just get your gear on and meet me in the booth.”

“Aye aye, captain,” The blonde mock-salutes you with a wink, before heading off to his dressing room down the hall. Thankful for the ability to properly breathe again, you quickly shake your head and go inside of the small recording studio and begin to organize the dialogue Luke’s meant to be working on this morning. 

It’s almost as if you forget how to operate when Luke steps into the small room. It’s only the two of you today, as the sound technician won’t be in until later but you have a decent grasp on which recorded lines will sound best in the final production. 

Luke’s already absurdly tall, well over six feet but with his full gear on he’s pushing halfway to seven feet. With thick combat boots on his feet, and full camo gear covering every inch of his lengthy body. A thick, heavy armor carrier plate is fixed against his chest, and his mask is held loosely in his hand. You force yourself to swallow the thick lump stuck in your throat. 

“Can you turn the air on?” Luke asks, oblivious to how you’re struggling to breathe when he looks like that. “M’gonna fuckin’ roast in there if you don’t.”

“Yeah- yeah, sure,” You stumble both verbally and physically, barely managing to catch yourself as you twist behind you to turn the air a little cooler in the small room. It won’t help the flush that’s spreading across every inch of your body. You can’t face him yet, so you pretend like changing the temperature is a little more time consuming than it really is. “You can go ahead whenever.”

The sound booth’s door shuts with a soft click. Your heart’s beating a little hard but at least there’s thick glass separating yourself and Luke now, and once you’re sitting with headphones on you’ll barely be able to see him. God, what a terrible time to remember that stupid masked man fantasy of yours. 

Luke does well, as usual, hitting the perfect low pitch for his character that your manager hired him for. He plays the character well, you have to admit, hearing his voice rasped and grovely is almost too much. You lower the volume on the headphones just to spare yourself the embarrassment of getting worked up. 

It’s eleven-thirty when he finishes up. Every line of dialogue is near perfect and you’re sure they’ll make production without a hitch, so you have no qualms about turning off the recording light that illuminates the hall outside of the small studio. 

You’re in the process of organizing the recorded files for the sound technician to look over when Luke steps out of the booth. 

Instead of peeling the mask from his head, he left it on, his gloved hands clasped on the doorframe a few inches above his head. Christ, he looks like he stepped out of a fairly inappropriate fantasy dream you could conjure up after a glass or two of wine. “Even got time to spare.”

You can tell Luke’s smirking beneath the black and white mask, if the glimmer in his baby blue eyes is anything to go by. You just blink, too dumb to come up with anything to say, pulling the headphones to rest around your neck. “Uh- you- you did great.”

“Thanks, Miss Y/N,” his head cocks, helmet almost knocking into the side of the door frame but Luke doesn’t notice. “I love when you compliment me. I know you mean it.”

Your cheeks feel hot. It’s too warm in here, that’s all. Maybe the air isn’t working or something. “I do mean it,” you say softly. “You’re a great voice actor. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.”

Luke drops his hands from the door frame, instead leaning against it, his eyes still fixed on you. “You okay over there? You look a bit flushed.”

“M’fine sir- Luke,” You quickly clear your throat, hoping Luke hadn’t caught your stupid slip up. How fucking embarrassing, do you not have a filter? Suddenly a man all dressed up in gear and a mask has you calling him sir? Get a grip! 

“Sir?” Luke echoes, his voice syrupy sweet and laced with curiosity. “That’s a new one. Usually all I get from you is Hemmings. I like that, you should call me sir more often.”

You want to look away but it’s impossible. Like a damn car crash, your eyes are fixated on the tall man. It’s fucking sinful how good he looks like that. “It was- it was nothing, don’t read into it.” You deflect. 

“Yeah, okay,” Luke says sarcastically, followed up by a slow, dramatic sigh. “It’s a shame, though. Figured you’d finally admit you’re into me so I can stop pining after you in silence.”

Your eyes widen. “What?” 

A low laugh erupts from Luke’s chest. “Don’t tell me you’re that oblivious, Y/N. I’ve been obsessed with you since day one. Why do you think we’re always working together?”

“My manager said I’m doing well-“

“That was after I gave him season passes to every game the Dodgers play, sweetheart. Told him I won’t work for him unless m’with you.”

Your brows knit in confusion. Has your growth within your position all been at Luke’s doing? You’ve been working with him nearly as long as you’ve been with the company. And suddenly it all makes sense. 

Why your manager never seemed to care what you’ve been working so hard for, complimenting you regardless of any efforts shown to him. Why he doesn’t hang around the studio anymore to micromanage your every move. 

You stand abruptly. “You asshole!” The words escape without a second thought. “You bribed my manager so you could work with me? That’s- that’s…”

“I thought you’d be flattered,” Luke says, almost somberly but you know he’s anything but. He’s a voice actor for crying out loud, he can make himself sound however he wants, regardless if it’s real. “What’s the big deal anyway? You have almost total freedom and you’re stuck with me all the time. It’s a win-win.”

Whatever attraction you have towards Luke is pushed to the back burner of your mind. Yeah, you have a stupid crush on him but how could he meddle with your job like that? The two of you aren’t even friends, he had no right.

“That wasn’t your decision to make. Who knows now if I’m doing well because of me or because of you? Terry could be spewing bullshit about my performance reviews to keep you happy!”

“You’re being dramatic,” Luke drones lazily. “Of course you’re doing well because of you. All I did was keep us working together, s’not like I fucking paid Terry off to give you a promotion.”

“I don’t know that!” You yell frustratedly, fists balling at your sides. “God- you- take that fucking mask off, would you?”

Luke remains still. “Now why would I do that?” he asks lowly, stepping toward you. Your shoulders draw inward, despite your attempt to keep confident. “Clearly it’s distracting you. Which I think is working in my favor.”

“It’s not.” You mutter weakly. 

“Liars aren’t cute,” Luke tuts. “What, does my mask get you all hot and bothered, Miss Y/N? Huh? Because I’m bigger than you? Because I can do anything I want to you and you can’t stop me?”

“Luke-“

“Tell me I’m wrong, Y/N,” his voice impossibly lowers, until it’s a hushed rasp, his chest only a mere few inches from yours. Craning your neck to look up at him easily makes you weak in the knees. You know he’s right and you can’t find the words to tell him otherwise. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Your lip quivers nervously. The words are right there, the lie you could easily spew but it won’t make it off of your tongue. His eyes are too dark to resist, swirls of pretty blue swallowed by his pupils. Blown out and expectant. “You..”

“You can’t, can you? Because you know I’m right,” Luke continues, clearly feeding off of the nerves you’re trying to swallow down. It’s written all over your face, you’re sure of it. Like a book printed in size twenty bold font. ��I’m not stupid, Y/N. I see the way you look at me. I watch you quiver every time I put my gear on,”

Nothing escapes you except a helpless, trembling whimper. One of Luke’s gloved hands slowly raises to push a strand of loose hair behind your ear. Your eyes are nearly brimming with tears of frustration, of how badly you’re ready to give in to him, of how stupid you feel, wet and desperate between your thighs. It’s the mask, you try to tell yourself, but it’s useless because you know damn well it’s a lie. 

It isn’t the mask, rather the person behind it. Luke’s probably the most attractive person you’ve met in a long time, it was inevitable you’d end up crushing on him, but when he’s in full dress you can’t deny there’s something inside of you that seems to light a flame inside of you that’s impossible to put out. 

“What is it you like so much, hm?” Luke’s head cocks curiously, his cloudy eyes slowly raking over your body. You can tell he’s smirking beneath the mask at how tightly your hands are balled into fists at your sides, holding yourself back from doing something you shouldn’t. “You know what I think? I think you like giving up control. Obeying. Submitting. And when I’m dressed like this you really have no choice but to listen to me.”

“Luke..” your lips weakly spew the man’s name out. He seems to hum in content, he knows you’re close to giving in. He wants to push you over that line. Cross it with no shame. “I..”

Luke’s gloved hand grasps your jaw, firmly but delicately, so much so that it makes your head feel dizzy. “Speak up,” he demands lowly. “Tell me what you want.”

“I..” You can hardly meet his eyes. It’s pathetic of you, trembling like this and stuttering over yourself. Luke knows it too. “I want.. you.”

“Me?” He echoes, but it sounds a little demeaning the way it falls from his mouth. “You’re not giving me much to work with here, Y/N. Better spit it out.”

“I.. want..” Your eyes threaten to fall shut. You’ve never really been confident when it comes to sex but there’s something about the way Luke’s speaking to you that makes you feel a bit bold. Maybe it’s a leap but fuck, you won’t know unless you try. 

With a trembling, hesitant hand, you grasp Luke’s unoccupied wrist, slowly drawing his hand downwards until it’s caressing your clothed core. “You. Please.”

Luke actually whimpers. It could easily be mistaken for a breathy sigh but you’ve been listening to this man’s every vocality for years, you know nearly every noise he can make. “Christ, Y/N,” It’s as if he wasn’t expecting your bold move. “I swear to God I’ll fuck you right here. I will, if you’ll let me.”

“Yeah- yes,” You frantically nod, too dizzy to provide any other words of confirmation. It’s all Luke needs, really, before he’s pressing his hand harder against your damp underwear, warm and inviting, he swears he can almost feel your arousal through his glove. “Luke, please.”

“Yeah, m’gonna take care of you, promise,” Luke releases your jaw, working to strip his gloves from his hands. You almost whimper from the loss of contact but you know what’s coming next is far better than a measly touch outside of your pants. “Gonna be a good girl for me, Y/N?”

You whimper out something along the lines of “yes” that Luke seems to be satisfied with because he’s planting a firm hand on your shoulder and spinning you around, using his grip to shove your body forward until your palms collide with the sound booth’s desk. Careful to avoid pressing any buttons you shouldn’t, you adjust yourself slightly, breaths heavy as Luke shuffles behind you. 

You can feel how hard he is through the thick, camo pants he’s wearing, cock strained against the fabric and digging into your backside. Your toes curl inside of your shoes. He feels big. You feel Luke’s fingers tease at the waistband of your jeans. “Can I?”

“Yes- fuck,” You mutter through gritted teeth. There isn’t anything for you to properly hold on to while Luke’s fingers work to unbutton and unzip your jeans, before shimmying them down your hips and the swell of your ass, leaving them pooled just above your knees. 

“Don’t have a lot of time, Y/N, Mark’s up next isn’t he?” Luke slowly teases his fingers along the dampened material of your underwear, resulting in the soft arch of your back as your hips move closer to him. “Such a shame. The things I’d do for a taste of that pretty pussy..”

“Luke, can you just-“ You’re filled to the brim with frustration, desperately wet and on the edge of bratty at the amount of time Luke’s wasting. He seems to understand easily, because a hand comes down on your left cheek, leaving a pretty little pink handprint on your skin. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” Luke says around a scoff, sliding your underwear down to join your jeans a little rougher than necessary. “Just for that, m’gonna fuckin’ do it. Don’t care if Mark comes in here to see my tongue deep inside your needy cunt.”

Luke’s words are sent straight to your core, stupidly wet and braindead from how badly you’re soaking the skin between your thighs. You hear the sound of Luke’s knees hitting the carpeted floor, the sound of his mask shuffling and the feeling of his warm breath on your flushed skin. 

Luke’s thumbs sink into your flesh easily, spreading you fully for him, your body falling further forward and ass in the air. You know you’re glistening pathetically, all for a hot blonde voice actor in some stupid war gear. “Y/N, you’re fuckin’ drenched. Holy shit,” Luke mumbles in disbelief. “You’re so goddamn pretty.”

You aren’t sure if Luke’s going to continue speaking but it doesn’t matter, his tongue’s busy trailing a fat, long stripe along your heat. Christ, his tongue is so goddamn warm, humming happily against you as he works, alternating between suckling your clit between his teeth and nuzzling his nose against you. Like he just can’t get enough. 

Blindly, your hand slips and without either of you being aware, the recording light outside of the small room has been illuminated. 

“You taste so fucking good, Y/N. So goddamn good,” He hums again before diving back in, practically fucking his tongue inside of you every which way, like he’s claiming you and drawing his name with every lick. You let out a soft, helpless cry when his teeth graze your clit again. “Could eat your pretty pussy for hours, baby. Wanna spread you out on my bed like a fuckin’ feast.”

“Luke-“ Your voice wobbles, a desperate breath following. You’re so fucking lightheaded it’s insane, all you crave is Luke inside of you. “Luke, please. Please fuck me.”

“Yeah baby, gonna fuck you,” Luke presses a quick, messy kiss against your clit before he pulls back, running his tongue along his lips to gather any excess. You don’t hear him slip the mask back on but you definitely hear his belt unbuckle, along with the fly of his camo pants. “Look at you, what a fuckin’ dream. Bent over and fuckin’ soaked, begging for my cock.”

The sound of Luke tearing a condom packet open with his teeth catches your attention. You hardly have enough strength to look over your shoulder but he’s already rolling the latex over his dick that’s just out of your view. “Where did you get-“ You don’t get to finish your sentence because the words die out in your throat, replaced with a strangled gasp as you feel the head of Luke’s cock slowly trail up your wetness. “Oh, fuck.”

Luke makes a smug, pleased sound before slowly pressing inside of you. And yeah, fuck, he’s definitely bigger than anyone you’ve slept with. Which, honestly, hasn’t been very many people. “Yeah, that’s it,” You hear Luke sigh behind you, hands attaching to your hips as he continues to feed his dick further inside. “Fuck, you’re swallowing my cock up. So desperate for it, aren’t you?”

It’s almost too much. Your eyes pinch shut, teeth sinking into your lower lip to keep the tears at bay. He’s stretching you out so good every inch he sinks inside, until he’s buried to the hilt and stills his hips. “Luke.. fuck, you’re- you’re big.”

You hear Luke chuckle behind you. His fingertips press harder into your hips. “What’s the point of being so cocky if I don’t have anything to show for it?” he says, amused but a little breathless. He’s just as affected by your tight warmth as you are by his sizable dick. “Don’t tell me it’s too much for you, Y/N. You’re a big girl, I know you can take it.”

“Just.. give me a minute?”

“We don’t have enough time, baby,” Luke says soothingly, almost somberly. “I promise you’ll get used to it.”

You intake a sharp, quick breath as Luke withdraws his hips. It’s definitely too big. There’s no way you’ll be able to fuck anyone ever again without remembering how full Luke made you feel.

 Then Luke snaps his hips forward and the tears you were desperately trying to hold back fall freely down your cheeks. A borderline scream falls from your mouth and you tighten around his dick, only drawing a groan deep from Luke’s throat as he begins thrusting in a steady, needy rhythm. 

So quick and forceful that the sound of his hips snapping against your backside echoes the sound room. So desperate that your body falls forward, chest splayed against the desk and Luke’s carrier plate wedged into your back, his masked breaths deep and warm on your neck. You cry out from the new angle, hitting that perfect spot inside of you. “Oh fuck- Luke- god- right there, fuck-“

“Yeah?” Luke asks in a low moan, digging his blunt fingernails into your waist as his thrusts grow more determined and quick, your body rucking upwards from his forceful movements. All you can do is wail and whine against the desk helplessly. “God, Y/N, you feel so good wrapped around my cock. Lettin’ me fuck you, such a good girl.”

Your position is definitely uncomfortable but you’re too cockdrunk to even care. You know you’ll cum soon, especially when Luke’s fucking you at such a brutal pace there’s a tingling that’s spreading from your toes all the way to your spine. You clench around Luke’s cock, only soaking your thighs further as more arousal coats his covered length. 

“Baby, fuck,” Luke’s voice is strained, one hand detaching from your hip to grab at your hair, fisting the strands between his fingers, craning your neck upwards until his masked mouth settles near your ear. “You’re fuckin’ soakin’ my cock, Y/N. Wonder what Mark would think if he found me buried in this sweet little pussy, huh? Think he’d be jealous? Of how desperate you are for me?”

“Oh my god-“ You know it’s coming, your legs feel like static and your head is spinning. Your vision’s beginning to blur as the beginning of your orgasm starts to crash over you. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Luke-“

“Call me sir,” He’s fucking relentless, pounding into you like he’s got something to prove. It’s messy and slippery and wet, echoing the small room. “Call me sir and you can cum, Y/N.”

“Oh sir, oh my god sir-“

“Come on baby, that’s it, cum all over my cock,” Luke coaxes you, breathing warmly against the skin of your neck. Your nails scratch desperately on the desk as you finally let go, letting out a long string of pleading moans as you finish, clenching tightly around him. “Oh christ- Y/N- yeah, that’s my good girl.”

“Oh my god..” Luke doesn’t stop even after you’ve finished, snapping his hips more forcefully than before. 

“Fuck, gonna cum,” Luke pants out. “Wanna cum all over your pretty face. Can I? Please baby, want it so bad.”

“Ye-yeah,” You half mumble, half moan. 

Your body’s in Luke’s hands as he quickly slips out of you, discarding the condom and wrapping a hand around himself, helping you slink back until you’re on your knees. Confused, you’re unable to question why you’re facing the wrong way until Luke’s hand is on your jaw and tilting your head backwards. 

And that’s a fucking view. It’s upside down, Luke’s masked face staring down at you as his hand works furiously over his leaking, hard cock, groaning and panting. “Fuck, open your mouth.”

You comply, happily letting your tongue fall flat over your lower lip, eyelashes fluttering until you hear a low, guttural groan from Luke’s throat, painting your cheeks and lips and eyelashes in pretty ropes of milky white. 

“Ohhh fuck,” Luke’s strokes slow, milking himself until every last drop is coating some part of your face. “Fuck Y/N… you look so goddamn pretty covered in my cum.”

What doesn’t stay on your face ends up dribbling onto your t-shirt. You don’t really care at the moment, fucked dumb as you curiously swipe your tongue along anywhere you can reach to taste Luke’s release. You let out a soft, pleased and rasped, “Thank you, sir.”

Luke finds some tissues to clean you up, helping you slide your underwear and jeans back on. Once you’ve regained your breath, and began the short trip back to reality, you feel your cheeks grow stupidly hot. Luke slips his mask off. 

“Where the hell is Mark?” he asks curiously. 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” You ask in a soft voice. You really want to ask what this means, the two of you hooking up like this. Was he actually into you or using that as an excuse to get in your pants? 

“He’s like thirty minutes late,” Luke shrugs, running a hand through his flattened curls. “Why? What’re you worried about?”

Your mouth clasps shut. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” You turn away, busying yourself with the paperwork you’d brought inside with you. “I have more recording sessions to do. And you probably have somewhere to be.”

“Y/N..” Luke frowns. 

“What?” You snap unintentionally, turning to face Luke with narrowed eyes. “What, Luke?”

“This wasn’t like..” he trails off, looking a bit nervous. It almost makes you feel bad for snapping at him like that. “A one-time thing for me, Y/N. I.. I’m into you.”

“Really?” You ask softly. “You’re not just saying that because I let you.. fuck me?”

“No,” Luke slips out a short chuckle, stepping towards you. “No, I told you m’obsessed with you. This only makes it worse. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“We can talk about this after my recording sessions, alright Hemmings?” Your lips lift into a soft, almost shy smile. Luke does the same, his eyes hopeful. 

“Maybe over dinner?” He asks. 

“Pick me up at six.” You counter. 

Luke dips to press a soft kiss against your cheek. “Text me your address. I’ll go figure out where Mark is and kick his ass for being late.”

You roll your eyes. “If he would’ve been on time that wouldn’t have ended well for both of us, Hemmings,” Luke’s halfway out the door, pausing and turning to you with a sly grin. “What? What is it?”

“Someone left the recording light on. No wonder Mark didn’t bother,” Luke chuckles, amused. “Hey.. I wonder what else we did by accident..” His eyes flicker towards the sound table’s knobs and buttons, your own widening in fear. Which switches were off before? You hadn’t paid attention to anything when your chest was pressed against it. Fuck, what if you-

You turn to reprimand Luke for putting that thought into your head but he’s gone. Before you text Mark, letting him know that you’re available to record, you double check the recording logs for anything out of the ordinary. With pink cheeks, you text Luke your address and a vague note. 

you: [123 Main St]

you: also.. seems we might’ve had an accident. 

you: file.mp3

#5sos fanfic #5sos imagine #5sos smut #5sos x reader #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings x y/n #luke hemmings x you

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for using inaccurate terms when I was yelling at someone?

I (15f) have known my ex-best friend (also 15f), since we were kids. Things changed when we got to high school, I’m not sure why, but she started bullying me and it turned really nasty, like I got hospitalized and the doctors had to resuscitate me nasty.

I guess she snuck into the hospital or something, I don’t know, Dad said he had her banned from visiting me, but she was in my room when I woke up from a nap and I freaked out. Pushed the nurse button a bunch of times because I can’t get out of bed so I couldn’t leave the room. She got huffy, snapped at me for being rude when she came all the way to see me, and I screamed that she doesn’t have the right to pretend she cares when she’s the one who murdered me. She didn’t have time to react because the nurse answered my calls came in right when I was yelling and got her out of my room. I don’t know what happened after that but she didn’t come back.

Anyway, the nurse who answered my calls told my family what I said and now they’re really worried. They were already fussing but it’s worse now and I heard my dad and aunt talking about it when they thought I was asleep. That’s how I found out the nurse told them. They were both crying and I feel really bad. It still feels like she murdered me, honestly, that the girl who was her best friend is dead and gone and I’m what’s left. But now I’m thinking that since I’m not dead, calling it murder may have been overkill, and my family’s already been dealing with the fallout of this. I shouldn’t have added to their stress.

So, AITA for overstating what happened to me in a way that hurt my family?

(If anyone’s worried about my recovery, the doctors say it’s going well! And my family’s got great insurance and also my parents swear that the bills aren’t so bad as hospital bills go and they can handle it!)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[popatochisssp]

The Court AU has me DEAD!!! If you’d be willing, what sort of outfits would they wear? I’d love to draw them!

Anon, I had so many tabs open looking up medieval-type fashion and armor, we're talking like 30+, felt super awesome finishing this and closing them all 😌

Anyway--

Sans (Undertale): What’s black and blue and white all over? Why, him of course! His jester’s motley features a black-and-white diamond pattern, offset by bright, rich, royal blue—a mark of his service to the king. He doesn’t wear one of those silly hats, though…because he wears a silly hood instead! Less chance of falling off, you see. When not in costume he tends toward simple tunics, of decent material and often still in blue.

Papyrus (Undertale): Almost never out of full plate armor, even in downtime, he has to dress for the job he wants and that means being a shining metal bastion of knightly glory at all times! …Though he does often remove his helmet and hold it by his sword at his hip, or fasten it to his steed’s side. He’s a very handsome skeleton, it would be cruel to deny the people the chance to see their hero’s face!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Soft blues and yellows, as a squire only lightly armored—greaves and pauldrons, a mail shirt beneath his tunic if he’s expected to go into battle—but he considers even that much armoring to be overkill for what he’s doing. Still, his Captain insists, and it makes his brother feel better, so he takes care protecting himself. He has some nicer finery to wear about court, as a nobleman, but tends simpler for anything that might be dirtied or torn in training.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Rich green and earthy browns, his clothing tends to be without ostentation—no embroidery, no gold buckles or buttons, or anything especially elaborate. He may be noble but he’s a scholar and a recluse and prefers not to stand out much. Still, the fabrics of which his clothing is made are always fine, as coarse or stiff materials quite put him off. Mostly cottes—long belted tunics—with the occasional robe over, if it's cold.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Blacks and browns, sturdy plain clothes which can stand up to considerable wear and tear. Often wears a short diamond-quilted gambeson and some leather armor (vambraces and greaves), but always has a sword belted to his hip and a cloak made of dire-wolf’s fur draped over his shoulders. If ever he should need to acknowledge his denounced family name, he does have some finer clothing stored away somewhere—in red—and a shiny gold signet ring with his family crest on it.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate armor, dark metal heavily scratched and scorched, dents meticulously hammered back out. He also wears a tattered red cape about his shoulders that billows quite majestically behind him when he rides or runs into battle. He will occasionally dress down in laced tunics and breeches, still in red and black, fine but not too fine as to raise suspicion about his heritage. Should all that ever come out, he does have a suit of pristine night-black armor he’s been dying to inherit and a silken cape to pin about it with a golden clasp of the family’s crest.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Mostly black but flaunts his privilege and royal ties with purple accents wherever possible. Brigandine armor with a fine gold-plated gorget and pauldrons and a few other ornamental trappings—he is the Empress’ personal guard and must in some capacity be as elegant. Very fine doublets and tunics for his (rare) downtime, often with gold threading, but not fond of most jewelries.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Dark colors and crisp whites, noble yet eccentric, he has a lot of fine doublets and other such court-wear but tends not to actually…wear them. He can mostly be found in loose-fitting cottes, baggy sleeves often penned up by leather armlets to keep them out of his paints. He has a fur-hooded cloak for travel or cold weather, but he rarely leaves his rooms, much less the castle, so he doesn’t don it often.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Dark browns and off-white cream, simple rough-hewn clothing showing signs of wear and occasionally odd stains. He works in the stables, with animals, and being around animals so much makes it difficult to keep clean. He has a somewhat decent dark blue cloak that he’ll wear into town for errands, or in polite company—it has a hood to conceal the great jagged hole in his head that tends to make the squeamish or timid flinch away from him.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Still hasn’t quite shaken the habit to be armored, even when it isn’t necessary, but he’s cut down from full plate to chain mail only, much lighter and easier to move around in—which is vital when hurrying to the training field for an accident, or running to meet a wounded knight at the gates. He wears a simple tabard over his mail, blue with red edging (the Queen’s colors), and keeps a pouch of bandages and other aid supplies belted to his waist instead of a sword.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): The livery of the king’s court, gray and gold, but dyed into fabrics suitable for common folk. He still wears gray when not performing at court, tunics so thickly woven they could pass as a gambeson and often paired with hooded cloaks, but he keeps his golds set aside until needed to keep them in good condition. He takes equal care of his shiny brass sackbut (it’s a horn, with a very funny name but an instrument nonetheless) so it always plays well.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Off-white and tan linens, loose and breathable for hot work in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up and pinned at the elbows to keep them from getting in the way. Always an apron about his waist, occasionally with food stains after a long day’s work but these he quickly tends to as soon as he’s able. He has nothing in the way of real finery but tries very hard to make sure what he has is clean and presentable.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Fine brocaded doublets of rich red and shining gold thread, as a duke and brother to a king, he does have to dress the part a bit. He wears more jewelry, especially rings, but nearly always still has his dire-wolf fur cloak over his shoulders. When called for executions, he dresses down quite a bit, in simple black cloth with only a leather pauldron over one shoulder to help brace the weight of his axe before he swings.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Half plate armor essentially at all times, even formal or polite occasions—he’s the owner of a stolen throne and all too aware that it could be stolen from him the same way he got it. His breastplate is scaled and his pauldrons are elaborately spiked, but it’s all black. The only pop of color on him is his crown, the same worn by Asgore and Undyne, gold and sharp, with rubies inlaid.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Chain mail over a finely-made kaftan and beneath a traveling cloak, the latter two with signs of wear from a long journey. His head is notably absent of a crown—left behind in the kingdom he fled—but a new one awaits him soon, of flashing silver and blue stone, depicting the phases of the moon. When fully established in his new kingdom, he may begin dressing as a proper king again, draping himself in the blue and silver finery of the land that sheltered him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Browns, greens, and blacks, he wears light leather armor—really just a breastplate and vambraces—and a thick woolen cloak about his shoulders. He has no need of greaves for his shins, legs lost to an accident in the wilderness, but supplanted by magical prosthetics, living blackened wood provided by his land when he called upon it for aid. …Not that he’s fully accepted that it’s his land, keeping his crown of twisting copper and emerald tucked away in a saddlebag instead of on his brow. Maybe someday…

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Rich purple and verdant green, amidst a sea of black—he favors very fine fabrics with open lacing at the chest. Still not especially fond of jewelry, but wears considerably more decorative leather braces on forearms, shins, and even the occasional full-chest corset. (He has some chronic pain and the extra pressure and support in certain spots helps.) He wears considerably more plain clothes for knight-training purposes and when traveling wears a black cloak with a cowl that comes down over the hole in his face at a point, as the beak of a raven.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate splint mail armor for his patrols along the wall, but favors rusty oranges, brown and black for the tunics and boots and breeches he wears out of it. Often carries a lantern, and always has tinder in a pouch on his hip. Beside his pouch is a war-horn in case an alert would need to be called, loud enough to make everyone come running if it’s ever sounded.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A cavalierly styled courtier, at first having made do with graciously lent clothing and now being able to buy his own in a whole variety of rich colors—yellow, blue, magenta, and on. His aim is to look at home in court, which means he must dress as other courtiers do, so he has doublets and fine tunics and many, many fashionable capelets with embroidery and stylish pins, as well as a few equally chic plumed hats. The other courtiers look to him now for the latest fashion trends and he couldn’t be happier.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): A bit more subdued in style than his brother…though only a bit. He favors black frocks, almost as a cleric would wear, but beneath them, elegant doublets in greens and yellows as vibrant as anything his twin wears, with fine silver filigree work in his buckles and pins and clasps. He’s the pinnacle of restrained class and taste and it’s no wonder at all that the king should respect him so highly if his care in thought is as his care in appearance.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Deep, dark black from head to toe, most prominently a long hooded cloak with two eye-lights glowing in the darkness. He always wears gloves and never lets his hood down, as he’s not especially fond of his metal bones and doesn’t really wish to be seen. It’s difficult to see in the daytime, but at night he’s trailed by faint wisps of ghostly light in all colors of the rainbow, such a strange sight that many a drunkard who’s seen him has poured out their bottle presuming they’d had quite a bit too much.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): Full plate armor, of course, but as he’s now some sort of spectral entity, it (and he!) glows and is slightly see-through. Being ghostly has washed out his colors quite thoroughly which is unfortunate—mostly all white with hints of silvery blue—but on the up-side he seems able to change his appearance some by will alone, donning or discarding his helmet at will, manifesting a majestic cape for himself out of the ether, and so on. It seems a fair enough trade to him!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): A man at court now, he’s donned an eye-patch and abandoned the trappings of prospective knighthood, fully embraced courtier fashion…if a bit ‘eccentrically.’ He favors bright yellows and spring greens, flowing garments of fine cloth layered beneath and over leather vambraces, gorget, and tasset. All these are elaborately, intricately designed and certainly make the similarly intricate gold jewelry (with multicolored gems) that he wears at wrist and neck stand out, but it’s hardly in fashion… Still, the mystic’s thinking is often inscrutable.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): Unlike his brother, very fashionable and eye-catching, in rich amaranths and brilliant turquoises, with even the occasional lavender. He has many fine embroidered doublets, threaded liberally with gold, and wears many pieces of gold jewelry as well—necklaces, bracelets, pins, and brooches. When showing the birds of the crown at court or bidding them on a royal hunt, he wears the livery of the crown-proper—royal purple and gold—and always has a thick leather falconer’s glove on his left hand.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): What’s black and white and red all over? Well, newspapers haven’t been invented yet, so it’s him, of course! He’s no jester so he hasn’t a motley to wear to work, but he is a performer and does dress in the livery of the king, which is red and black. The material is a bit finer than he’s used to, but being that he’s no longer wearing rags and rotting in a hole, he’s quite pleased with it and doesn’t mind the bright colors that help him attract the eyes of many comely nobles at court. Off-duty, he sticks to loose, somewhat open tunics—red still very much preferred.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Laced linen shirts, not especially loosely fitting due to his largeness in the chest and shoulders but he hasn’t burst any seams in awhile so the measurements must be somewhat correct. He’s fond of white and a true connoisseur of red, all shades from dark to very light. He keeps an array of small carpentry tools—hammers, chisels, things for measuring—in a roll on his hip, a dedicated apprentice to the core.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): All black, pourpoint armor beneath fine silk doublets but almost disappointingly plain otherwise—no embroidery, no ornament, or stitched pattern, or brocade. Over this he wears a cloak, equally fine and with at least some ostentation, a bit of silver stitched decoration that matches the intimidatingly clawed silver gauntlet he wears upon his left hand—a symbol of his wealth, if not his status. These flashy items are for matters of court only, as he has a much more nondescript hooded cloak and less identifiable sharp implement which he uses for matters of stealth and misdeeds when it is important that he not be recognized.

Hunter (Swapfell Frution Papyrus): A prince in princely attire…mostly. He happily flaunts the color purple but proudly wears it with the black of his old family name, and drapes himself in silk tunics, fine (mostly decorative) pauldrons, capes and capelets. He tends to show off a bit more of his chest than seems appropriate for a man of his station, and seems to wear his elegant silver jewelry in ways such that the eye is drawn there, and…other places, but few question the whims of royalty. His pewter crown is heavy and inelegant and he’s talked much with his brother about how angry people would be if he had it melted and recast into something more stylish.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Plain, rough tunics, in black and dark brown. He wears a heavy fur-lined gabardine as it gets quite cold in the dungeons, though it’s uncertain where he managed to get such a nice garment. He keeps a knife on his belt, large and jagged-toothed, and though he hasn’t had need to use it yet, the threat of it tends to keep most prisoners from attempting to bring him harm.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): He’s traded in his full plate armor for a comfortably fit leather jerkin, accompanied by matching gauntlets to protect his hands and torso (inasmuch as they need protection, without flesh) from the thorns he trims back every day. He mostly wears black and white and brown, all things closely fit to his body, less they snag overmuch and need to be replaced too often. His clothing is simple but well-suited to his work, and he wears it nicely.

#anonymous #headcanons #court au #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

[annes-andromeda]

⚠️Spoilers for Wish⚠️

While I am excited for/ planning to watch Disney’s Wish, I honestly wish (heh) they had gone with the original plan for Amaya’s character and made her a villain alongside Magnífico.

Like, I genuinely think it could’ve been cool to see them as partners in crime and be inspired by classic Disney villain traits: vain, narcissistic, power-hungry, cruel, and enjoyable to hate.

I could’ve seen their relationship as something similar to Scarlett and Herb Overkill from the Minions movie, where it’s two married villains who are clearly terrible people, but are still heads over heels for each other.

I’ve read the golden book and kids book of the movie that some people have uploaded on YouTube, and while those books tend to omit things from the actual film, they give us a basic synopsis of the overall story.

(SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE BELOW)

——————

Essentially, the story ends with Magnífico being sucked into his staff, Amaya rules Rosas and Star gives Asha a wishing wand (essentially making her a Fairy Godmother sort of character mixed with elements of Snow White)

It’s a pretty basic, cut-and-dry story and I’m not saying I expected Shakespeare or whatever, but imagine how much better the story would’ve been with both Magnífico and Amaya as the villains:

The story could’ve been that the kingdom of Rosas was ruled by Magnífico and Amaya, who both seemed charming and generous on the outside, but were greedy and self-serving on the inside. They essentially didn’t care for anyone but each other.

I’d also add Amaya’s cat Charo from the concept art book, cause it think it would be cute that these two are absolute shitheads, but are still cat parents who spoil their cat and take it everywhere.

Anyways… Magnífico, like in the actual story, only granted the wishes that benefited him (and his wife), while the majority of wishes were stashed away in his tower.

Asha wants to become Magnífico’s apprentice and when introduced to the wishes, wants to grant her grandfather’s wish and finds the kings (and queens) whole wish-granting system unfair to the people (again, like the canon material).

The story would then go like the actual movie: Asha makes a wish on a Star and Magnífico sees her as a threat to his power and hunts her down (only with Amaya by his side).

I’d like to think that while Magnífico has his moments where his true personality shines, I feel like Amaya wouldn’t truly snap until the very end, having a little more composure than her husband (similarly to the Evil Queen or Maleficent or Ursula)

In the end, the King and Queen are defeated and banished into Magnífico’s staff. Asha is named the new Princess of Rosas (or Queen, whichever you prefer), and she actually joins the Disney Princess lineup and it’s not just advertisement. Like the real story, Star gives her a wand and Asha becomes the new wish-granter.

It’s not perfect, but I think it may have been more interesting and entertaining to see rather than the typical director the creators went with the story

These are just my thoughts, however, I’m still gonna watch the movie and see I think about it.

#disney #wish 2023 #disney wish #king magnifico #queen amaya #princess asha #magnifico x amaya #wishparents #rosas royalty

[thewertsearch]

TG: just one question TG: and please just drop your fucking justice riddles and be honest TG: do i ever make the god tier […] GC: V3RY W3LL, 1 W1LL STOP TORM3NT1NG YOU D4V3 GC: NO, YOU DONT

It seems increasingly clear that John will be the only member of his team to bear the mantle of godhood. We still don't really know what boons this grants you, but I can make some educated guesses.

I assume, at least, that your aspect powers are greatly enhanced, and you gain more conscious control over then. For John, this will mean full command over The Windy Thing, which was incredible enough to start with. He has the potential to be a serious powerhouse.

What would a God Tiered Dave look like, though? He hasn't displayed any aspect abilities yet, as all of his time shenanigans have been the result of alchemy. It's possible he'll simply unlock time travel without the turntables, but that's a little boring. There's a whole world of other time manipulation abilities out there, and I hope he'll be able to broaden his repertoire eventually.

GC: L1K3 1 S41D, NON3 OF US M4D3 1T GC: 3XC3PT FOR… OK N3V3R M1ND GC: 1T W4SNT N3C3SS4RY! W3 W3R3 4LR34DY BR33Z1NG THROUGH TH3 G4M3 4T OUR LOW3R L3V3LS

The trolls streamrolled their entire session without the God Tiers - which is kind of weird, when you think about it. If you can trivialize the game with alchemy and Echeladder levels alone, what are the God Tiers even for? They're starting to seem like overkill.

I suspect, then, that they're intended to be used in the postgame.

Even before ascending, John was able to create hurricanes on the scale of cities. As he is now, I wouldn't be surprised if he could affect the weather of an entire planet at once - which is something a God Tiered player may have reason to do, after entering their new universe.

Yup - it's the old 'Sburb is for terraforming' theory again, on a much grander scale this time. The God Tiers might just be for sculpting planets.

GC: 4ND TH3N GC: J4CK K1LL3D OUR DR34M S3LV3S GC: 4ND 1 GU3SS W3 LOST TH4T CH4NC3 FOR GOOD >:[

You need your dream self in order to ascend, which explains why John's the only one who pulled it off. Jade's is already dead, and Rose is planning on sacrificing hers to the Tumor. Dave's the only other person who could do it, but we now know that he won't.

Come to think of it, Jade might actually have a shot, since her dead Dream Self is a candidate for prototyping. The problem is that if Dream Jade comes back to life, she might not be a Dream Self anymore. Trying to perform the God Tier ritual with a sprite is exactly the sort of rule-bending that got them into this mess in the first place.

Hell, Terezi forewarned us against exactly this scenario!

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #s101 #3096

[pixelplayground]

PXL'S Anatomy of Screenshots

So you want to take better screenshots? There are multiple factors to consider, and if you don't enjoy tweaking reshade settings for every image, my ultimate method may not be for you. That being said, there are tips and resources in this guide that are applicable to everyone and you can select to explore those that are useful to your specific situation.

Disclaimer: I am not claiming to be an expert, nor am I offering to provide troubleshooting on an individual basis. This is a general guide and if you are unfamiliar with any of the concepts, please use the mighty power of the internet to find tutorials. I promise everything that I have learned over the years has been published and documented a thousand times better than I ever could.

There are five factors to address:

Your computer's inherent capabilities

The game's limitations

The mods you're using

Reshade

Post Processing

Graphics Card Settings & Drivers:

Become familiar with your graphic options. If you don't have a dedicated graphics card (i.e. a desktop or gaming laptop, these features may be unavailable and you should skip.)

I have an AMD Radeon Pro card which is designed for workstation level systems. It's overkill for sims, but useful for 3D rendering and modelling work. I have changed the following settings for DirectX 9 applications:

anti-aliasing - enhance application settings

anisotropic filtering - enabled

anisotropic filtering level - 16x

texture filtering quality - high

surface format optimization - high

Consider overclocking your graphics card to unlock it's full potential. DO NOT pursue this venture unless you are ok with the risk of burning out your card prematurely. I use at present, overclocked Bootcamp Drivers from BootcampDrivers.com obviously, if you're not playing on an intel based mac through Bootcamp, this is irrelevant to you.

None of these settings are useful until you address the default games limitations, which leads nicely into the next factor.

Addressing The Sims 4's Graphic Limitations:

Everyone should be familiar at this point with lighting mods, 4k, textures, disabling ssao, etc. but, I'm still going to spell it out. None of this is new information and has been covered many a time by various players ad nauseum.

remove ugly blue toned lighting in the world by choosing a lighting mod from @softerhaze here

overhaul your graphics.cfg file (i use a custom blend with features specific to me), however @simp4sims has done a ridiculous amount of work in providing a simple to install file that can be found here - read through their tutorials!! they have provided an excellent oversight of exactly what this does and why it matters

improve the indoor lighting for your sims - previously i used @luumia's no blu, no glo - recently i switched to @northernsiberiawinds better in game lighting mod here, though i have tweaked some of the settings to suit my own personal preferences

i don't use the HQ mod, i don't find that it makes enough difference for the amount of effort it requires to convert CAS CC

It should go without saying, but tweaking your graphics config file is absolutely useless if you can't play TS4 at it's maximum in game graphic settings!

The Mods You're Using:

Now that you've put in all this work into getting the game ready to make use of quality mods where do you start? Well, the CC you install matters. Whatever your preference, whether it be maxis-match, alpha or somewhere in between, priority should be given to using items textured in 2k or 4k resolutions, and specific attention should be paid to using wall and flooring textures with bump maps, and or high quality resolutions (this is important later for reshade if you intend to learn about ray tracing).

I will separately post a guide to creators with crispy textures because that is it's own novel.

Reshade:

Phew. Still with me?

There are many many many reshade presets out there, most are alike, but none employ ray tracing, and that is because a) it needs to be manually adjusted for every screenshot, b) they are paid shaders, and c) this requires advanced knowledge of reshade and a decent enough graphics set up that won't overheat - games running native ray tracing recommend a minimum VRAM of 8GB (please note RAM and VRAM are not the same) - i therefore do not recommend pursuing this option if your system does not meet those minimum requirements.

Start here to understand what ray tracing for reshade is. In my opinion, the shaders are well worth the price of $5 for the amount of work that has gone into creating them by the talented Pascal Gilcher. That link is a comprehensive starting point into expanding your knowledge of reshade and it's capabilities.

I have always created my own reshade presets from scratch, and while the core colorization settings I utilize remain largely the same, using ray tracing and re-light means every screenshot needs to be manually adjusted (lights repositioned, bounce and AO factors adjusted, etc) before being captured. @pictureamoebae just published a very timely post discussing the re-light shader and you can read it here.

Post Processing

Reshade does 99.99% of the work that traditionally would be accomplished in a photo editing software like photoshop. Occasionally, I need to adjust exposure manually, add depth of field manually, or color correct. Beyond that I use it to scale images to fit the resolution and file size limits of various platforms. Conceptually this reduces the amount of uncontrolled loss encountered when platforms like tumblr auto compress files that are too large. In reality, tumblr still makes images crappy compared to how they appear in my file folder.

optimize your images for various social media platforms using this guide

fix exposure or colorization issues using a software like photoshop

I hope that this gives you a starting point into expanding your methodologies. My process is continuously evolving and I find this aspect of the game most entertaining. For others who don't enjoy this process, it's probably not worth it!

Thanks for reading ❤ PXL

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 tutorial #sims tutorial #ts4 reshade #pixelplayground tutorial