#i need to know for a project i'm working on

[tiredfox64]

Hi!!!! I loved your bi-han x chubby reader stories and wanted to make a request please!

I was hoping to request a Smoke x chubby reader where the reader is a baker of Madam Bo's and is the sweetheart of the village and Insecure about her body. The rest would be up to you. Please and thank you!

Sweet Honeybuns

Prior notes: Mhm mhm I like this. Good energy. Love when I get to project myself. I love that man I just know he would love to cuddle a woman like me

Pairing: Tomas x Chubby Baker! Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: I'm sorry if you start craving my b

Oh, that face. That beautiful face of yours. Those gorgeous eyes that he could get lost in. Those adorable cheeks that he would love to caress and kiss. That lovely, plump body of yours. The way your hips move hypnotizes him. You move throughout the bakery part of the tea house swiftly, trying to put more cakes in the display window. Your hair was put up nicely to prevent it from blocking your view and getting in your face. Your pretty, well-kept fingers were wrapped around the whisk as you began to beat the egg whites before adding the other ingredients in to make the perfect meringue. Tomas already knew you were making your meringue cookies since you make them every Wednesday. He loves your meringue cookies, they’re as sweet as you. He loves everything you make. Oh heavens, he loves you.

“Tomas!” Kuai Liang yelled right into Tomas’ ear.

“Huh?!”

Tomas was spooked at first before he started to blush hard. He was caught in the act again. He was caught staring at you with that lovesick expression. Elbow resting on the table, chin resting on his hand, the generic lovesick boy pose. We can’t forget about that dopey smile. It’s a shock that he wasn’t swinging his feet. Kuai Liang knew what was going on. Everybody in the Shirai Ryu knew. If they go to the tea house at least once with Tomas they get to see him go into that daze again. Every single time it’s like clockwork.

“You should ask her out soon. It won’t do you good if you continue to keep your feelings in.” Kuai Liang suggested.

Tomas immediately nodded his head no. He really, really, REALLY likes you. But he’s afraid that you will reject him. It’s a normal fear. He thinks you are out of his league. You’re just too sweet. You probably already have a line of men ready to be your boyfriend. You’ve already captured the hearts of many with your baking. With the addition of your kind personality, you’re basically as sweet as the cannoli you make.  You’re a sweetheart in everyone’s eyes. To the men and women, young and old. Everybody must want a chance with you. They must all be as desperate as Tomas is.

Though there were few who were interested in you, you had your heart set on one man. Your heart was set on Tomas. He was so kind to you and he brought you so much joy to your week. He took the time to talk to you. It didn’t matter what there was always something to talk about. It would go on for so long that Madame Bo would have to yell at you to get back to work and she would scold Tomas for distracting you. Though she found it cute how you two were so lost in conversation. She encouraged you to establish a relationship with him but you always said you can’t, you just can’t.

Truth be told you so badly wanted to ask Tomas out but you were afraid of many things. You were afraid of rejection, fair enough. You were afraid of making things awkward between you two and that you would see him less after that, that’s also fair. Lastly, you were afraid that he wouldn’t like you because you are…chubby.

Now hold on just a sec, that’s not fair to you.

Yes, you were worried he wouldn’t like a girl like you cause of your body type. You looked at yourself negatively. You treated your stretchmarks as if they were a curse. You believe cellulite is unnatural. You think you need a thigh gap to get his attention. You feel like your belly will scare him away.

Oh poppycock! Excuse my language. But what you think, and I’m saying this because I care about you, is bullshit. Imma prove your sweet ass wrong.

You saw Tomas coming your way. He gave you a quick wave and you gave him a smile. Gosh, his heart might explode after seeing that.

“There’s my favorite man. What can I get you for today?”

Yup, his heart just exploded. He loves that you call him your favorite man. He’s not just another customer to you and that makes him feel special.

“Can’t I come up to talk to my favorite lady without having to buy anything?” He teased. Now your heart was exploding. He is smooth when he isn’t trying.

“I would allow you to do that but you know how Madame Bo gets when I stop working.”

“Fine, I’ll bite. Do you have anything special this week that you can offer to your favorite man?”

“Well we have coconut cream pie, flan, conchas, baklava, peach cobbler, liu shao bao, bublania, tiramisú,” on and on you went.

That’s something else he likes about you. You have desserts from all around the world. But damn does it make it hard to decide what to buy from you. He lowered his head as he struggled to pick something from you. Pick for him, the man is struggling.

“How about I get you some flan? I think you will like it.” You walked over to the display window, pulled out the flan you recently made and cut him a big slice.

You brought him the plate with that delicious, syrupy goodness on it. You scooped him a piece of it and tried to feed it to Tomas. You looked so adorable to him at that moment. Looking up at him with doe eyes while waiting for him to open his mouth. He opened up and ate the bit of flan that was on the spoon. The creamy custard was practically melting in his mouth with the caramel top hitting his tongue soon after. He just found his new favorite dessert.

“I love you.”

“Huh?”

“I mean I love it!”

Tomas stumbled over his words. He meant the first thing he said but also didn’t mean to say it in that moment. The goodness of the flan messed with his mind and made his heart swell with love for you. You know what they say: the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You already captured his heart a long time ago but this instance made his heart become caged by you. You will never release it even though you never knew you had it before.

He asked you how much it was but you told him it’s on the house since he was so handsome. You sly dog, flirting with him effortlessly while he was already spiraling. You left him blushing while walking back to his table. The moment he sat and placed his plate down he rested his head on the table. It’s over for him. He’s so madly in love with you. You got him so bad he forgot to make an effort to ask you out while he was up there. Kuai Liang started patting his back. Brother needs to support his brother.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

It was near closing time. Most customers have left and almost all the waitresses were gone. Finally, some peace. You decided you deserve a treat after baking all day and serving customers. Time to munch on the mistake pile. The pile of slightly burnt cookies, lopsided muffins, and double-glazed bear claws.

You only really eat when most people are gone. If you give yourself a treat, even just a bite of a banana muffin, others think it’s typical of you. It’s tiring to hear people compliment your desserts only to immediately say you should slow down on eating them yourselves. You barely ever eat your own work since you have to save it for the customers. You know it’s unhealthy to make it a habit of eating your mistakes which is why you balance it out with healthy and balanced meals. You eat well actually. Yet some people think you intentionally make mistakes just so you can eat. How could people be so ignorant and rude when all you ever do is give. You give and give and they appreciate it but they still have something to say.

Whatever, you’re alone. You started nibbling on some cookies, enjoying yourself for a bit before turning around and seeing Tomas was near the counter. You immediately hid the cookie behind your back like a guilty child.

“Oh, I thought you would have gone home already.” You said.

“I would have but Kuai Liang said I had to do something or else he wouldn’t let me leave.” Tomas chuckled awkwardly as if it were a joke but it was serious. Kuai Liang would not let Tomas come home until he confessed to you.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you. You can keep eating your cookie if you want.”

You were hesitant to do so. You just nodded your head while putting the cookie away. Tomas got worried that he had upset you. He didn’t mean to be rude even though he did no wrong. He leaped over the counter to get closer to you and apologize.

“I’m sorry if I upset you—”

“No, no, it’s alright. I just…don’t like eating in front of people.” Your voice got quiet near the end.

“Oh, I’m guessing you get anxious?” He asked.

“No, I just…don’t like when people comment on my weight when I eat. I don’t want you thinking I'm a slob or something.”

That hurt Tomas to hear. He didn’t know people were making backhanded comments towards you. Now that he thinks about it even when he has stayed at the tea house for a long while he never saw you eat in front of anyone. He was hoping that you weren’t starving yourself throughout the day just to prevent people from making comments about your weight.

“I hope you don’t think you are one because you’re not. I could never think of you like that. How could I think something so negatively to a girl that I want as,” He paused for a second before finally having the balls to say it, “my girlfriend.”

You looked at him in shock. His girlfriend? You? Did you accidentally take a bite out of your “special” cookie because you can’t believe what you just heard.

“Me? Why me?” You asked.

“Why you? Why not you? You’re incredibly sweet and hardworking. I’ve never seen so many loving eyes on one girl before. Everything you say to me makes me want you even more. I was afraid a lot of people had their eyes on you and I was afraid I would lose you to someone else. That’s why Kuai Liang told me to confess now. I just really want you in my life. You’re the only girl who has made my heart feel like this—this tingly feeling that reappears every time I see you.”

His words were so genuine you found it difficult to disagree or fight back on anything. His eyes were practically twinkling as he looked at you, waiting for a response. He was nervous that you would actually reject him. He was picking at his nails and he was biting his lip slightly.

“You mean, you still want to date me even though I’m,” you pointed to your chubby belly.

“So?”

Yeah, so what?

Don’t break his heart. If you do, you end up breaking your heart as well. It’s as clear as the night sky that Tomas really wanted you to be his girlfriend. It didn’t matter your size. He wants to love you and cherish you. He wants to kiss and caress you all night long. Do us all a favor and accept his lovin. It will do you both good. You know you want it.

“Well, you got me there. I can’t argue with that. I guess you just earned yourself a girlfriend and some double-glazed bear claws.” You smiled widely.

Tomas was beyond happy. He immediately hugged you and started to kiss you all over your face. Gosh, your skin was so soft against his lips. He could do this for hours. But you’re right, he did earn himself some bear claws.

You both sat around, eating your mistake baked goods together. You both were all smiles. There was a warm feeling that resonated with you. This has got to be the best day ever. Well if it wasn’t for Madame Bo slapping the back of Tomas’ head and yelling at him to leave already and stop eating the sweets. He booked it out of there while laughing, promising to return tomorrow.

Ain’t he just the sweetest?

After notes: Halfway through I ate a coconut cream pie to get motivation. I don't even like coconut but it hit! I feel like a jackass for making flan the favorite dessert in this fic. Idk why I'm not sending subliminal messages to make y'all want it. Ah whatever. Adiós!

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x you #mk x reader #mk x you #mk fanfic #tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada x you #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas vrbada smoke #tomas x you #tomas x reader #smoke x you #smoke x reader #mk1 smoke #mk smoke #smoke mk #chubby reader

[chiaraanatra]

Life as We Know It | Part 4

Summary: You and Seresin unexpectedly become the caretakers of Bradley and Natasha's baby girl, Nicole. Can you two put your disdain for one another aside for Nic's sake? Based on the movie "Life as We Know It"

Warnings: Slow burn, swearing, mentions of parental death, paint fight, Seresin being a sweetie, mentions of reader being a psychologist whose favorite color is lavender (sorry for projecting), no use of Y/N.

Word Count: 2.3k

AN: I wanted this to be out much sooner than it was but here is part four! This chapter is definitely less angsty and for one no fighting! Thank you for all the support on this series!

《 part 1 || part 2 || part 3 》 《 m.list || ao3 》

You couldn’t remember the last time you were actually thankful to be back at work. It had felt like a lifetime since you had been back, when, in actuality, it had only been about two weeks. Two weeks since your best friend and her husband were killed and almost one week since your explosive fight with Seresin. The two of you had barely said a word to each other unless it involved Nic.

There was a sinking pit in your stomach, a mixture of anger, guilt, and hurt. But just like the last six days, you shoved those feelings down. You had tomorrow off and Seresin was working late tonight. Your plan? Pick up Nic from your parents’ house and enjoy some alone time with her. You contemplated maybe go through some of the boxes that sat in the garage.

You were forever grateful that your parents offered to watch Nic on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to help offset the cost of daycare. A price point that you had not expected.

Your parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the circumstances of which you gained custody of Nic; however, they were excited to fill a grandparent-type role for you and her.

After work, you made your way to your parents’ to pick up Nic. When you entered the house, you were greeted by your mother in the kitchen putting on the kettle. You heard Nic giggling in the living room as your father talked to her as if she was speaking directly to him through her babblings.

Your mom walked over to you wrapping her arms around you. “How’ve you been honey? How was it to be back at work?” She pulled out a chair nodding for you to sit.

You sat knowing this would not be an easy escape, “Exhausted... But it was good to go back to work.” Your mother placed a mug of tea in front of you before sitting down across from you. You wrapped your hands around the mug, staring at the rich color of its contents before looking back at her, “How did you do it? I mean, work and take care of me…

A soft smile graced her features, “It wasn’t easy,” She watched as your face fell, “And it doesn’t get easier. You just get better at handling it.” She reached out to grab your hand, “You’re not Natalia, honey. You never will be and It’s not your job to be. You're not here to replace her, you’re here to take care of and love that little girl.”

Her words were simple but they hit hard, “Thanks, Mom…” You finished your tea before getting up and pulling her into a tight hug.

I need to go home and apologize to Seresin.

When Seresin finally made his way through the door, he was greeted with the sight of you seated on the living room floor in front of the television, a sleepy Nic situated between your legs.

The two of you had barely said a word to one another and any words that were spoken revolved around caring for Nic. Regardless he felt his legs pull him into the living room. Upon entry, you looked up at him. There wasn’t a trace of malice in the look you gave him, rather a small smile paired with soft words, “Hey, come here a sec?"

He wasn’t sure what to make of the request, but he followed suit. He sat next to you, reaching out to move some of Nic’s brunette hair away from her face.

“I'm sorry, Seresin...” Your gaze was fixed on him, “What I said was out of line and I didn't mean it…”

“It's all right. You weren't exactly wrong.” He paused for a second, “I'm sorry too.” He looked down at Nic contemplating his next words. "You know... Growing up, Brad was always there for me… the summer before our senior year I shattered my hip, in a car accident oddly enough. That summer was hell, for more reasons than one, but Brad spent that whole summer with me, held up in my room watching shitty movies every day. Our other friends were out chasing girls and enjoying the summer… but he just sat with me the whole time.” His gaze never left the little girl. “I can't up and leave when he needs me… even if he’s gone…”

Something inside you pulled you to wrap your arms around the tall blonde in what you would tell yourself was a comforting gesture and an apology. You refused to think about the way Seresin hugged you back or how nice it felt to be embraced by him.

“I was cleaning out the garage while she was napping. I found a box full of old movies. You know how obsessed Bradley was with that stupid video camera.” You heard a soft chuckle leave Seresin’s lips. But your attempts at lightening the mood quickly turned somber, despite your efforts, “I was just... I needed to see them, hear their voices…” You quickly wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over, replacing them with a smile. “But I found this one from the day they came back from the hospital with Nic.” You couldn’t help but giggle before leaning over and pressing play on the remote.

You both watched as the scene came into view. Bradley's voice echoed through the television as Nat walked into a room that you recognized as Nics. "Okay! Open your eyes! Pretty great, huh? The blue sky, like we talked about but I added the pink clouds for a little something extra.

Nat’s brow furrowed, "Brad… When did you do this?"

"Late yesterday. While you and Nic were at the hospital." His voice held an air of confusion.

A groan escaped your late friend's lips, "You were supposed to do this three days ago.” You could feel Nat’s eyes roll, “it smells like paint in here. You have to give it at least a few days to dry… She’s not sleeping in here tonight. Or tomorrow."

"Seriously, Nat? l wouldn't bring our baby into a room with wet paint. The walls are dry."

“You don't think it doesn't smell for days afterward? I’m getting lightheaded just standing here  because of the fumes."

"Don’t be dramatic. Ya know how much work l put into all this?"

Nat stared at her husband with an unenthusiastic look, “Bradley. I know for a fact you didn't do any of this. When have you ever painted a cloud in your life?"

"Okay… I oversaw the work that was being done and told them what to do."

"You oversaw it? Bradley, this was the one thing, the one thing, I asked you to do. You said you would do all the painting, not oversee it.”

“Hey, I thought I was pretty damn creative. The guys came in and I said “Hey, let’s do some cute little pink clouds.’''

"This is ridiculous.” Nat pushed past her husband, “She can't sleep here."

Bradley held the camera at his side, not stopping the tape as he made his way after her, "Of course she can."

"Move the crib."

"This is her room. Where else--?"

“Bradley Peter Bradshaw,” you and Seresin snickered at the use of his full name, “Move this crib or so help me-” The tape cut there.

You couldn’t help but smile at the antics of your friends. You were a little surprised when Seresin was the first to break the silence. “So, you're saying it's okay that we're shitty parents and wanna kill each other half the time."

"I wouldn’t half the time… I think it’s more like two-thirds." You let out a small chuckle and were greeted by another smile and his beautiful green eyes.

"Yep."

You shifted your body so you were facing him, "I was talking to my mom today when I picked up Nic… I think we need to stop trying to fit ourselves into their Iives. We’re not them, we’ll never be them, but that’s not why we're here.”

“Yeah, we’re here for her.” There was something in his eyes when he looked down at Nic and then back at you, but you couldn't quite place it.

You quickly diverted your gaze, taking in your surroundings. “You know if I’m being honest… I hate this place. I love them but they had no interior decorating skills.”

Seresin nodded his head, "I really hate that giant chicken painting. I’ve always hated that painting.”

"I think it’s supposed to be an abstract rooster, but he is really creepy.”

"Yeah, I want it out."

"Out it goes. What do you think about the paint? I mean the red is so dark, looks like the aftermath of a crime scene in here!” You couldn’t help but laugh as the two of you picked apart the living room and your friends’ choices of decor.

Seresin paused for a moment, "I think if we're gonna live here, we have to stop walking on eggshells. We’re living like they are going to come walking through that door any second when we both know that’s not gonna happen.”

The thought made your chest ache, but it also somehow made you feel lighter and you knew he was right. The two of you needed to make this place feel more like home. Your home.

That weekend, the two of you spent your time doing small renovations around the house. Primer and the donation center down the street became your new best friends.

Your parents agreed to watch Nic while the two of you overhauled the living room, moving furniture and priming over the red walls.  

As you sat on the floor, priming around the wooden baseboards and Seresin rolled primer across the walls, the two of you went back and forth asking questions about one another. You thought it might be good to get to know a bit more about the man with whom you had shared custody of a child.

You had asked the first question, “What's your favorite color?” You’re not sure what prompted the question, but you thought it was as good a place to start as any.

Seresin paused, “Blue?” His answer sounded more like a question in itself.

“Blue?” you shook your head, “That’s such a guy answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just blue? Can you be any more specific? Like indigo or cornflower?”

“I don’t know I just like blue. And cornflower? You definitely made that up.”

“I did not! It’s a shade of blue.”

 “Whatever you say,” He rolled his eyes.” Okay, so what's your favorite color?”

You didn’t skip a beat, “Lavender.”

“Lavender? You mean purple?”

“Well, yes, but specifically a light, blue-toned purple.”

“Okay,” He chuckles to himself applying more primer. “Since we’re asking questions… why did you want to be a shrink.”

“A psychologist,” you corrected before thinking some about your answer. “It's cliche but I wanted to help people. Outside of that, I was always fascinated by how we think and how little things we do can change our thought processes and impact how we feel about ourselves and the world for the better.” You paused, “then again, for the majority of my career it's always been a ‘do as I say, not as I do.’”

He glanced over to you, a questioning look on his face, “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never been good at following my own advice, even when I know it works.” You set down your paint brush and looked up at the blonde, “I’ve been going 100 miles an hour since high school, never really stopping to relax or do things for myself. I'm no better now, despite being out of school and having a stable job. I always put others first.” You could feel the mood shift with your words and a silence fell over the two of you.  

You moved closer to Seresin, continuing to prime the walls. After a few minutes, you felt a need to lighten the mood somehow. Before really thinking about it you dipped your finger into the primer and placed a dot of paint on the tip of the man’s nose before he could notice what you were doing.

He looked over at you, feigning shock, “Seriously?”

“What? I didn’t do anything.” Your voice was nonchalant as you went back to painting.

“Of course. Must have been my imagination.” Seresin quickly dipped his whole hand in the paint pan before coming up behind you, wrapping one arm around you and pressing the other to your cheek.

By the time you two were done, you were both laughing your asses off and covered in white primer.

By the end of the weekend, the living room and hallway were primed and ready for paint. Seresin had that Monday off and told you he would buy a light cream color you had both agreed on and start painting.

When you got home, exhausted, you were greeted by a smiling Seresin. You gave him a questioning look as you left your shoes at the door, “Hi?”

“Welcome home.” His smile only seemed to grow.

“Seresin, you're scaring me…”

“Close your eyes.”

“Okay, now you're really scaring me.”

He rolled his eyes, “Just do it.”

“Fine,” You did as you were told.

Seresin grabbed your hand and led you to what you assumed was the living room. “Keep them closed.” He placed his hands on your shoulders positioning you in such a way that would allow you to see the entirety of the room. “Okay… Open.”

Rather than being met with the cream color you expected the walls were a perfect shade of lavender. “Seresin…”

“If you hate it, I’ll paint it cream but I just thought…”

You turned to look at him, “You did this for me?”

“I-…Yeah.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you. He smelled like sandalwood and paint.

His head rested against your shoulder as he breathed in the scent of your perfume, melting into your touch.

The two of you stayed like that for much longer than you should have. However, that thought didn’t hit you until you were the first to pull away, “Thank you, Seresin…”

“Don’t mention it...”

《 part 5 》

As always, feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

Taglist: @callsign-viper @luckyladycreator2 @saturnsbabe69 @desert-fern @pono-pura-vida @dempy @t-rexs-world @averyhotchner @drxgxnslxyer @daisydark @hookslove1592 @teacupsandtopgun @djs8891 @multiverseprincess @littlestatesman @sunshineandbradbrad @hockeybabestars @buckysteveloki-me @lovebittenandlanguishing @cassadilasworld @my-mind-isnt-intact @poppet05

𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑? 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 💜

#jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #hangman fanfiction #hangman #top gun hangman #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick #life as we know it #glen powell #glen powell summer! #glen powell x reader #glen powell x you #natasha phoenix trace #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha trace #jake hangman x you #jake seresin #hangman x you #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #hangman fic #hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin x reader

[rowrowrowyourboat13]

📱 “ Obsessed? Me? Oh please.”

[ ← Previous | Next → ]

—

y/n would stay seated on the floor with the materials they needed for the project while sukuna would stay seated from the opposite direction from where you were

"if I'm being honest, I don't know how to do this"

Sukuna would scoff before rolling his eyes at your statement

"aren't you the smart one? Figure it out"

"You're also supposed to help, it's called a 'group project' for a reason so help me out."

"are you always this noisy?"

"are you always so bitchy?"

"tch, what do we even do"

"make some sort of collage that has a deep meaning behind it,"

"the fuck? Is our professor trying to see if we're mentally stable or what?"

"you don't look mentally stable for sure.."

You'd mumble in a whisper like tone making sure he wouldn't hear, but of course, he heard.

Y/n would turn her head away but the moment she did sukuna grab a hold of her shirt and pulled her back while his other hand went to go grab her chin to make her face him

"fuck did you say?"

"what? I didn't say anything? You're probably hearing the voices in your head, you look like the type to have those, put me down"

Sukuna would scoff before putting you down like you asked and crossed his arms

"whatever, were making a collage with a deep meaning behind right?"

"mhm yeah"

"just throw in some pictures and make some sad backstory,"

With his example he grabbed two random pictures before throwing it over the canvas

"there, just say it's a kid whose mother died in a car accident and is now being filed for a lawsuit"

"I don't think that's how it works.."

"says who?"

"our profes—"

"hes not here so it doesn't matter."

"I swear.."

—

After HOURS. it's finally done. Y/n would slump down towards his couch before opening her phone to check the time,

"How is it 10pm already..."

"we would've been finished if SOMEONE. wasn't complaining every 5 minutes.

"oh please. You weren't even doing it right."

Sukuna would repeat your works in a mocking and nerdy tone.

Y/n would roll her eyes before groaning

"whatever, I'm gonna head back"

"I hope you get abducted."

"..."

"what? That wasn't me it was probably the voices in your Head"

"fuck you"

"yeah you wish"

Before he could say anything else you were already out the door,

—

—

Taglist: @catobsessedlady @hellomeow12 @0-candlecove-0 @shivzypuff @swirlingcurses @1-800-choke-that-ho @attackonnat @chilichopsticks @getoxmahito @memenojutsu @uhnanix (comment or say so to be added !!)

A/n: guys mind you it's a slow burn so the er interesting stuff might be in part 3 or 4 🙏🙏 as always u guys can give some criticism!!

#jjk sukuna #jjk smau #jjk ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you

[elliespectacular]

Eccentric Severe Murders raises an important question: who is the guy that’s the common denominator between all three Eccentric videos? Both the A&P tape and the Christie VHS don’t have a cast database from what I can tell, so who is this guy? If you know, how did you find out?

I found the grocery store training videos because I was seeking out that sort of thing in 2019, and stumbling onto Agatha Christie: The Scoop was a happy coincidence. You can find his name in the on-screen credits of the tape which is on YouTube for free. If I find something else from that era where he gives off a similar energy and there's enough to work with we might see another Eccentric Severe _____ but I'm not actively looking to make more.

Importantly, he's just a guy. A real person, an actor doing honest work. My interest in making funny edits of some old projects he's appeared in has equally much to do with his performance as it does with the material he was given.

I presume you're just curious and want to discover more of this actor's filmography. That's awesome and I encourage that! But I feel it needs to be said for anyone else wondering who the actor is - I do not want people to seek him out (or any other subjects of my YTPs) to contact him about my videos or to show him them. My videos are not meant to be a secret but they're also not his business. We're doing our own thing enjoying a fictionalized version of him, and it's vital that we maintain a healthy separation between the parody space and the real world.

In my experience some people love seeing themselves in YTPs, but some people really don't understand them. People in this second camp can feel anything from confusion to indifference to insult, and tend to get annoyed when YTP fans who think they're "kindly informing" their subjects are just reminding them of a thing they know of and don't care for. And they're valid for those reactions! It's a weird thing to have happen to you if you're not prepared for it.

I do maintain that YTPs are a form of speech, remix culture is worth protecting, and that it is my responsibility as a remix artist to demonstrate integrity and transparency in what I do - partly out of respect for the subjects. It's part of why these days I generally try to make YTPs of bigger YouTubers, corporately-produced media, and stuff where the people in them more-or-less know what they're getting into with regards to their face/name being public and their performance not fully belonging to them.

#ytp #dathings #youtube poop #ask #eccentric severe tumors

[i-put-the-hot-in-psychotic]

Unholy Thoughts

(Brother's Girlfriend)

I just finished Call of Duty Ghosts today and I can't help but think this scenario, on how quiet Logan is!!! And how it would feel like when he has unholy thoughts on his brother's girlfriend!! Enjoy this drabble and sexy imagination.

Logan secretly looking at you everytime you're at their house, as you started dating Hesh. Logan is quiet, doesn't draw any attention towards himself, but you do see him. Always giving him the light of day when ever you smile towards him. 

He can't help but think on how his brother got to have you as his girlfriend. How he could deserve you too. But alas he loved his brother deeply and couldn't think about wanting his brother's girl. Supposedly.

Deep thoughts cloud his mind as time goes by and his infatuation towards you ever grows. He can't help but put himself in his brothers' shoes. How would it feel if you were the one holding his bicep like that? How would it feel pressed up against his side? To have your lips against his cheek or his neck as you do oh so innocently to his brother. 

He doesn't envy his brother. He can't. He loves him too much. But a sense of wanting is defenatly surrounding Logan and he doesn't know what to do, how to feel. 

Constant images flood his mind about you. It was getting frustrating to say the least. In a way, he was feeling a sense of melancholy. Logan was a good guy, the shy quiet younger brother. This was not expected of him.

Surrounded by the moonlight that edges its way to his bedroom, deeply in his dreams, you can't help but haunt him. He dreams about your smile, your eyes, the look you sometimes give him no exchange of words needed. His breathing begins to flutter, his cock hardening in his sweatpants and a sheen of sweat covers his skin. A small groan slips from his lips and his hips slowly rut agianst his sheets trying to find some friction. This new found infatuation was slowly killing him.

He couldn't help but grab his stiffining cock in his hand and slowly start to stroke himslef, with the thought of you. Images behind his closed eyes of you on you knees sucking him off clouded his dreams. Soft moans leaving his lips.

Increasing his pace he thought of how he could push himself in you. Your tight pussy encapsulating him. His hand gripped his cock a bit harder, stroking a bit faster. Fuck he wanted to fill you up with his cum. You would look at him from your lashes, tits bouncing up and down and he thrusted into you on his bed, in his room, on his desk where ever you had wished, however at the moment he was dreaming of taking you on his bed. 

"Logan" you had whispered desperatly, whiney, hands covering your flushed face landing next to your head. You calling him by his name, was goning to make him cum right then and there.

Breathlessly he responded to you and you repeated his name. "I'm going to cum" you shyly admit. His thrusts increase pace hitting deep inside your pussy, his thick head kissing your cervix.

"Fill me up, Logan. Please". A smirk stretched across your lips, innocence long gone. His hand stroked his engorged cock to its limit, orgasm at its peak. With a groan he came all over his hand, relieved breaths leaving his parted mouth with the thought of you.

- 

He was home alone or so he thought. After working on some project late in the night, he finally called it a day. As he made his way upstairs his ears caught on a sound by the end of the corridor.

He immediatly halted his steps. It was a fearly large house but their dad had thought them well in dire situations. He slowly made his way to the suspected sound and ultimatley concluded it was coming from his brother's room. Clearly his brother had arrived home unannouced and he didn't hear him whilst working. 

The door was slightly agar as he sees his brother lying on his bed. The corridor was dark and Logan stood in the shadows, still bearly breathing. His face stoic as he looked at his brother illuminated by a soft warm light, but as his thoughts were racing, a figure obstructed his brother's view and you made your way towards Hesh's lap.

Logan stood still his breath taken away from him. His brothers hands found their way to your plump flesh and you grinded on his brother's lap. Your hair covering you back but his brother had other ideas as his face went to your chest and your light moan echoed in his room, reaching unwanted ears. 

But Logan had heard them, and he couldn't find himself to leave. He knew, knew this was private, he shouldn't eavesdrop but his legs seemed to be stuck his whole body stuck frozen in place clouded by the dark shadows in the corridors, the dark lustful shy gaze as his eyes feasted on your body.

Your back was towards him and his breath was taken away as he seen your bare ass grinding on his brother. Heat was all over his skin, eyes unwantingly getting heavy lidded as he caught a slight movement coming from your right hand.

In actual fact, Logan didn't have a clear view of your ministrations happening, as he was an onlooker from outside his brother's bedroom, however the slight movement in your hand told him everything he needed to know and his eyes were fixated on you.

Fuck to be instead of his brother, having your hand wrapped around him as you stroked him. His brother moaned as his gaze was filled with lust, admiration, love towards you as you whispered to him "Yeah, you like that?"

Hesh let you stroke him some more until you finally shifted down, ass up in the air unknowingly giving Logan a great view of your ass, in your red thong. Logan's eyes fixated on you as he knew where you were headed but had to remain there staring to see if he was right.

He tells himself that he needs to leave, he shouldn't be there, but the devil in him argues that this is his house too, that they shouldn't have left the door open, that this is the only time he can look at her.

He can get to have her. 

So he stayed. He sees your head bob up and down, Hesh's hand patting your soft hair as you suck and wet his brother. Unable to comprehend what's going on, you make your way up onto your boyfriend's lap and guide him to your entrance. Logan's eyes taking everything in.

The sheets clouded Logan's view of your drenched pussy, but with the sigh that escaped your lips and his brother's agape mouth, as he looked at you through his flushed cheeks Logan knew you had lowered yourself onto his dick.

Your hips moved with a rhythm, his eyes fixated on your hips, the way your ass moved, your sounds as by every grind your voice was getting audibly louder probably thinking there is no one home, especially Logan or their father. You whispered something to his brother, as Hesh finally started thrusting into you. His hips hitting your every core and you started to plea.

Logan saw you getting fucked, deep and you whispered your moans, asked to increase the pace. He thought about how you would feel like, how your walls would feel like wrapped around him.

How your warmth would take him in. How he would hit your insides. How you would cry and plea his dick. His fat cock deep inside your sweet wet pussy. How he would make you cum around him and make him yours. He couldn't help him self as he saw his brother's thrusts getting shallower, deeper. 

He didn't know he was holding in a breath until quietly releasing it, slowly not wanting to make his presence known. "Fuck" Logan thought to himself. "She loves it. Yes, y/n, cum. Cum, princess" 

"I need you" you whimpered. "I'm so close".

Both brother's eyelids flutter. One determined to make you cum increasing his pace, the other wanting to be the one giving you your orgasm. Imagining how he would fill you up. Give you his thick cum and fill your needy pussy up. Giving you want you desire,want, need. 

"Cum for me princess" Hesh's voice says to you as he continues his thrusts. "You want it baby?" He asks you as he sees you're close. "Gonna fill you, just how you like it. Is that what you need?"

Logan couldn't help but answer for you.

Yes.

She craves it. To have her wrapped around his cock pumping his load in her. His dick twitched in his sweats, precum leaking along his pink head, slowly wetting his boxers. He couldn't help but stare at her in awe. 

Silence ensued, he didn't even notice as you stopped your movements. You're cumming. Hesh continued slowly pumping in you until he grabs your hips and slows his movements pushing deeply in you.

His brother was filling you up. Cumming into you. Breeding you. Oh how he wished it was his cum instead. How he would give it to you freely.

Give you whatever you asked.

#cod #ghost cod #ghosts cod #call of duty ghosts #smut fanfiction #cod x reader #fanfiction #smutty smut smut #smutty #hesh walker #call of duty #x reader #x y/n #cod keegan #ipthip #keegan p russ #captain john price #logan walker #cod hesh #simon ghost riley #ghost #smutty fanfiction #sexy af #sexy content #fanfic #drabble

[johamur]

Adjectives as passive voice in Mando'a

@mandowords and I briefly discussed adjectives and the passive voice in replies to this post, so I'm reposting some of the information I shared, and adding some additional thoughts.

Per the original grammar guide from the author Mando'a: "There is no passive form. All verbs are active. If needed, the passive is formed by using the adjective and - if spoken in full - the verb cuyir."

For some verbs, an associated "passive participle" is given in the base dictionary, and that is what you should use. Other verbs, meanwhile, either have no adjective associated with them or have an adjective that cannot be used as a passive participle.

Check below the cut for some thoughts on creating the passive participle.

You can find a backup of the original grammar guide here: https://web.archive.org/web/20110713135503/http://www.karentraviss.com/html/grammarguide.htm

I have also compiled some other methods for constructing passive voice in Mando'a: https://sites.google.com/view/hibirarmandoa/pirimmur/passive-voice

To create the passive participle, some Mando'a enthusiasts suggest replacing the verb ending with an adjective ending. However, consider these existing adjectives.

dajun'la, prepared — equivalent to the English past participle of the verb

hettyc, burning — equivalent to the English present participle of the verb

ulyc, careful/carefully — not a participle of the verb, but a separate adjective related to the meaning of the verb

As you see, an adjective created from a verb by replacing the verb ending could be associated with any number of meanings. Thus, the audience might not automatically assume that the meaning is equivalent to the English past participle. 

However, one word (ramorla) offers a potential inspiration for creating the passive participle on the fly: use the base (unconjugated) form of the verb and add an adjective ending after the terminal r. 

This method works best for those times you need a sentence right away and seeking advice from someone more enthusiastic is not a practical option. If you are part of a Mando'a expansion project, you likely know of other options for creating the passive particle that you can rely on once you've checked that you're not shutting yourself out of another, equally interesting meaning (always an important step) for those other options.

#mando'a #mandoa #mandalorian language #mando'a language #mandoa language #mando’a

[firstprincehornyramblings]

Daddy Issues

Okay so in my last fic, Henry 'dumped' a guy named Marco; so I figured Marco deserved an apology from me for that. All he needs is someone to fix, we know how much Marco loves a pet project, that boy can force a narrative like nothing else. I love love love love this paring, so it was logical. In every universe or whatever. - Thank you so much to Chloe(@doublecheekedkinard) and Leika(@agostobuwan), and Alex(@redlipstickandglitter), for being the best cheerleaders ever. And for the additional brain rot on some of these things. Leika you the real MVP for talking out Elliot's kinks with me. - No topxbottom listing because, they're both verse, okay so one of them is, but whatever. Tags: Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Falling In Love, Soulmates in Every Universe, Happy Ending, Blowjobs, Oral Sex, Drug Use, Slurs (and by slurs I mean Elliot is a brat and uses gay slurs), Anal Fingering, Rimming, Biting, Choking, Daddy Kink, Daddy Issues, Anal Sex, Unsafe Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Fixation

tags for people who interacted with the original post under cut cause I'm trying to be better about that, if i ever tag you and you don't want me to just tell me to fuck off, I wont be offended, promise. lmao:

@with-your-poncho-on @doublecheekedkinard @iusedtobethemoon @agostobuwan @shipsstuff @eusuntgratie @redlipstickandglitter @henfox @caressthosecheekbones @fivequartersoftheorange @bigassbowlingballhead @dragonflylady77

#elliot lefevre and marco pena #elliot lefevre #elliott lefevre #marco peña #marco pena #marco x elliot #rwrb fanfiction #the kissing booth #chambers #kissingchambers #mariott #kissingchamber #fanfiction #rwrb smut #smutty fic #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #elliot lefevre x marco pena #marco pena x elliot lefevre

[zandlikething]

Perler bead qsmp eggs I made the same day they left

I haven't posted anything about it because I was still processing it. I thought Sense the eggs were coming back all the eggs would come back I was very sad to see them go but I understand why the admins left and respect their choice in leaving so please no one harass the admins

I have a message to the admins that played the eggs in the picture ( which I doubt they will see but I want to get it off my chest) so lots of rambling from this point on be warned.

Lullah: Lullah you were one of the first eggs I got really attached to and it was because of clips of you Chayanne and Philza that originally got me into the qsmp. Seeing how much you grew was so cool to see.

Seeing you go from a shy little egg who likes flowers and music to a bad ass egg who would do anything for her loved ones. An egg who survived so much and went through so much hurt but also a lot of joy.

Lullah you brought a lot of joy into people's life you certainly did mine and I can't wait to see what you do next.

Chayanne: Chayanne my first introduction to you was the clip of Max yelling at you cause you blew a hole on his property ( I know that was another admin this is for both) Chayanne you were always so chaotic and fun but so loving and protective of your siblings.

Your rivalry with Quackity was always so funny to see a grown man beffing with a pixel egg in Minecraft. You honestly remind me of my older brother which probably explains why I would relate to Lullah sometimes lol

I hope whatever you're doing you are doing great at it and I hope you know how much you did for this community

Pomme: Pomme I remember when you first arrived with the rest of the French I remember how sweet you were to everyone around you and how much fun you would have with all your parents. I would watch Bad pov a lot and the stream would always get brighter when you showed up.

Your connection to all the eggs were super sweet and all your lore was so interesting. Seeing you bond with Bad and Dapper was so cute and then Bad becoming your Dad and Dapper your brother was so cute. It was never "official" but it didn't need to be it didn't matter all that matter was you guys were family

I like all the Pomme times we got and one of my favorite streams was just following the eggs around mainly you and Dapper. It was so interesting and cool to see what you guys did and say without your parents around. I also found it cool we had something in common because I love RWBY too in fact if you scroll down my Tumblr you'll see some post I did on RWBY a few years ago.

Thank you Pomme I'm happy to see you and Dapper in Bads chat sometimes I can't wait to see what projects you'll work on next

Richardson: My boi the most bold egg lol your antics would always make me laugh. All the pranks you pulled on Bad and all the times you teased him to get a reaction were so funny. You were by far the most chaotic egg you would just pop up out of nowhere in anyone's stream it would always get more chaotic even if just a little.

Honestly your goodbye and final words made me cry yup you not Chayanne and Lullah and Philza saying goodnight you who just walked into the sunset was the greatest thing ever. The memorial you made for you Dapper and Pomme was so good I love it and I want you to know that I learned a lot about Brazil because of you and your parents I want to go to Brazil one day now somewhere I've never thought about going.

Goodbye you little rascal I hope whatever you're doing your doing it with chaos

Dapper: Dapper you are my favorite I immediately was drawn to you and your top hat. I first saw you in a Philza stream protecting Lullah from Quackity and I started watching Bad ever since.

I remember when Quackity kidnapped you in a desert temple and how scared I and the rest of the chat was. Little did we know how common that would become lol how many times did you get kidnapped like 7.

You and Bad's lore was my favorite I loved your guys father and son connection. It was clear to see how much Bad cared about you and how you cared for him back. You guys made such a good team with all the stuff you made with the create mod.

I relate to you the most for a few reasons one being all the animals you had and collected. I am a big animal person so if I could actually have cool mythical and cool animals I would but also one of my favorite signs from you is "he can't handle the uber powers of my uber autism" This made me laugh so much I am on the spectrum so when I saw this clip I was Ohhhh that's probably why I relate to this Minecraft egg so much lol

Dapper thank you for really getting me into the qsmp there were some ruff patches and a little drama but through it all I had a good time

Thank you for introducing me to Badboyhalo I now have found one of my new favorite streamers

Thank you all of qsmp for helping me and many others through our days and for an amazing year I will still watch qsmp as long as Bad streams it but I have a feeling it's going to be time to say goodbye soon. So thank you qsmp I am sad not to have these streams in this next chapter of my life but I am happy for when you were you helped me get through.

But you know what they say everyone:

"Don't cry because it's over,smile because it" happened

#qsmp #quackity smp #qsmp eggs #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp rambles #qsmp tallulah #qsmp dapper #qsmp philza #qsmp chayanne #qsmp lullah #qsmp pomme #qsmp richarlyson #perler beads #perler art

[tunastime]

Love in the Time of Calculation

as promised: the first chapter of the ranchers SEN fic! this fic takes place inside the au I created for Stretching Endless Night. I'm hoping posting this first chapter will actually get me to. write the rest of it. since I've got so much of it written. jazz hands!! enjoy!

In order to continue supplying food for a growing station, Commander Tango Tek, second to the head of engineering on the space station Prometheus, takes a six month study with the Empire-2 station at the behest of his admiral. There, he meets their botanist and horticulturist, Jimmy, a man he's only communicated with in communiques, voice memos, and documents. When they meet for the first time face-to-face, Tango realizes they both have something very interesting in common. In the face of all odds, two androids fall deeply, horribly in love. (6711 words)

Tango flips a switch on his navigation panel.

“It would be funny,” he says, slowly, enunciating as the recorder picks him up. “If I were to start these with some outlandish startdate. I would find it hilarious, I think, but I don’t know how many other people would. So…

Stardate 2105.47: I’ve just made brief contact with the Ring-style Space Station known as the Empire-dash-2. After discussion of docking procedure, I was forwarded the…passkey for the docking sequence and I should be arriving within two hours of my current time. That time is…in hour format…8:07pm. Lookin’ forward to meeting them, as much as they’re probably lookin’ forward to meeting me. I’ve never spoken to them in person—it’s all been electronic. So…it’ll be interesting, to say the least!” He nods, feeling some inclination to sigh—despite there being no way to. Motions he’d learned and copied from his peers. 

“Thus begins my month-long stay with E-dash-2. I can only hope some work with hydroponics actually gets me somewhere. They tell me the guy’s a genius, so I’m inclined to believe them.”

Tango jabs his finger against the stop recording button. After a beat, the small, LCD screen flashes SENT in dark, bold letters. Leaning back in his chair, Tango folds his arms over his chest, and sets his boots on his console. The ship around him hums faintly, enough to be heard if he pays attention to it. As he leans back, he surveys the inside of his ship, the LTS-111, the small craft that he called home. In comparison to other ships on the Prometheus, it’s smaller, built for short term travel between locations, a cool, dark grey inside. There’s two swivel chairs at the helm, a large front, port window, overlain with his control panel, above and below his chair. Behind him, a door opens to a short hallway—mess hall and his room, just a plain, grey-white with one bunk. There’s a crate with his belongings, of which there are few, a plant on the windowsill to keep him sane. The mess is devoid of food and drink. It’s a luxury he doesn’t need. It’s nice when he can, but it’s nothing but an experience for him. Nothing to be gained from poorly made HASA meals full of crude protein. The edge of his boot catches the lip of the console, pulling at the rubber. He’s tucked his flight suit into his boots. His eyes follow the bright red and gold stripe down the side—division colors. Commander, engineering and technology. On his sleeve there would be the same designation, as was on all of his uniforms. Even the plain black, well fit shirt underneath, even his boots. HASA; Commander. Luckily his boots didn’t have a commander or engineering tag. If he felt so inclined to sand off the small rubber HASA branding he could.

His eyes follow a line across the ceiling, to the small strip of light that brightens the room. He runs his fingers over the seam in his sleeve—habit, again, but he’s not sure from whom. 

The hour passes slowly. Tango spins simulations in his mind, projects from the ship's computer the schematics of E-2. He can see the docking station there on the map and traces out the line from there to the botanical garden. He spends time memorizing that path, and out to other locations, and rolling the names of his new compatriots around in his language acquisition program. None of these things are foreign to him—he’s built for new experiences, new learning opportunities. He can feel where known things end and new begins, and craves to fill the space, often and continuously. When that hour ends, there’s a tinny beep from his communications panel. He looks over the message displayed.

LTS-111 prepare docking sequence.

Tango dials the coordinates into his navigation system, overriding the current charting program to pilot into the docking bay. As he does, a crackling voice jumps to life.

“LTS-111, this is Fwhip, Commander of E-2. Do you copy?”

“E-2, this is Commander Tek of Prometheus. I copy. The Rift is ready for docking procedure.”

“Commander!” The voice—Fwhip—laughs. “It’s good to have you. Glad to hear you made it safely.”

Tango nods to himself.

“Myself as well. Looking forward to meeting you all.”

The line clicks out. Tango resettles in his chair, sitting up straight, taking in the sound of Fwhip’s voice, the designation, the information. He files that away.

The curve of E-2 comes into view, stark white and grey, glittering gold where the paneling reflects light. He watches as the shining craft sits suspended amidst stars, its own field of gravity and oxygen and life shining a faint blue in the light of the nearby sun. He feels that warmth through the front viewscreen, despite the gold foil and shade to block it. It’s nice. In the closest approximation to nice he could get. He pulls the seat’s harness over his chest, snaps it in place as he begins standard docking procedure—slowing to a noticeable crawl, flipping on his communications panels, and switching to reserve thrusters. The Rift was made with older tech, anything he could salvage and amass from ships being decommissioned. It functioned—better than the standard HASA ships and was fully compliant—well beyond what he’d ever expected. Though he wasn’t quite human enough to have real expectations.

The ship settles into a launch port on the far side of E-2. Tango takes his time collecting his belongings. He wanders into his room as the ship powers down, settling into a dull hum. He repacks his bag, giving a quick once-over of the bunk before he lifts the trunk into his arms, the weight negligible. He settles the plant in the corner of his bag, making sure it’s settled before he slings the bag over one shoulder and sets the crate on one hip. His startup keycard sits in his front shirt pocket, and his credentials badge in his back pocket. 

The first thing he notices as he enters the launchpad for E-2 is how clean and bright it is. The launchpad is devoid of anyone working, and there are certainly no other docking ships. The two other ships Tango can see are relatively new and clean, parked closely together. He glances around the space, looking for any sign of movement. His footsteps echo quietly around the empty chamber. To his right, beyond a stabilizing membrane is the winking stars of space. There’s a planet in the far distance, but it’s much too far to see anything notable. 

The bay door to his ship closes as he steps toward the winding steps up to the lofted second floor. He starts up the steps, lifting the crate into his arms. 

“Commander Tek!”

Tango startles. Looking up to the second floor, he sees someone lean over the railing, waving enthusiastically. Tango squints at him, surrounded by the white facade of the walls around him. 

“Commander Fwhip?” Tango says, cocking his head to the side. He sees Fwhip nod again.

Tango smiles a little, eyebrows furrowing despite it. Fwhip. The intonation matches what he heard crackling over the communicator of his ship, though, of course, without the static. He’s wearing stark black, with a large diagonal line cut in red across his chest, up to his collar, and over his shoulders. Tango realizes for a moment that his jumpsuit may not have been the prime choice for meeting a commanding officer—no matter the rank or office. Especially considering that he was supposed to be both a liaison and a researcher. 

But as Fwhip meets Tango on the landing, he shakes his hand firmly. There’s a spark, somewhere, in his eye, his heart rate elevated as Tango greets him. He’s winded, too, like he ran all the way here. Tango feels a piece of information in his mind click unexpectedly into place.

“Commander Fwhip,” he says, copying the smile Fwhip is giving him more fully. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Oh, please,” Fwhip laughs. “Commander, the pleasure is ours. Congratulations on your most recent publication.”

Tango nods. Somewhere, something kicks in his chest, just the faintest flicker of painful phantom sensation. It took him two years to publish that paper—and it was a damn shame he had to die to get it published in full, despite Doc and Etho’s help.

Fwhip’s hand is warm in his, enough to notice the change in sensation between them. He can feel Fwhip’s heartbeat in his palm and the way his breathing stutters for a second when Tango and him shake hands. Fwhip looks down at his hand. Tango lets go first, the noticeable white lines on his skin pulsating in and out. His hand feels stiff as he stretches it, feeling metal extend and retract.

“You’re…” Fwhip starts. Tango sees him frown, just the smallest change between his eyebrows. 

“An android?” Tango finishes. He watches color rise to Fwhip’s face as Tango tilts his head, expression neutral, amused, even. Fwhip laughs, even if it’s born from a touch of embarrassment. Tango hums something low, a version of a laugh he can manage to sound normal. 

“It’s not strange, if that’s what you think I think,” Fwhip says, leading Tango toward the stairs. “Unexpected maybe, but—to be fair, they didn’t tell you anything about me, either.”

“That is very true,” Tango says. He feels that itch, then, that want to know, to delve deeper. He shifts the box in his arms as they round the stairs, reaching the upper platform. “I think most people are surprised to find that I’m an android.” 

“That’s a shame—you’re brilliant for more reasons than just being an android,” Fwhip says, and the click comes back again, like he’s cracking a combination lock one number at a time. 

“I appreciate that,” Tango says, inclining his head. If there were anything in his face to indicate blush, he would be bright red. He hums instead, tilting his head back and forth in a dismissive sort of shake. Fwhip backsteps to walk by his side, raising his eyebrows over his glasses.

“So,” he starts, motioning to the door. “Did you have any questions about the ship as you settle in?”

Tango looks down at his shoes for a second, letting the thought spin in his head. He nods, just once.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d love to hear more about the botany division—I got a real short mission briefing with Admiral Xisuma before I left. I know we were in a hurry to find the sweet spot of travel.”

“Of course,” Fwhip says. “Lining up that parallel can be real difficult if you don’t time it right.”

“The Admiral’s got an eye for interesting navigation patterns.”

Fwhip laughs, nodding his head. 

“Glad to hear you’re in good hands,” he says, opening the door for them. Tango follows him into a brightly lit hallway, lined in white and cream and bright floor lights. Along the edges are colored lines, intersecting and dividing—red, blue, green—to locations Tango can’t see. He follows Fwhip down a corridor, further from the launch platform. Tango knows this layout—further down the hall is a passenger elevator meant for the science team. They’ll take it down four flights to the belly of the ship, where many of the labs rest, tucked away. The ship's rings orbit each other, so he’ll be in this ring for as long as he’s doing research. They’re relatively straight forward, broken into divided sections inside. He traces the pattern out in his mind as Fwhip begins to speak.

“Well, to give you a station briefing, our main team fluctuates, but I’d say we have about 15 to 20 of us at any given time on command, and then a hundred of personnel and staff besides ourselves. I work closely with Lieutenants Scott and Pix, and both of them know our botanist pretty well,” he turns to Tango as he calls for the elevator, pressing his keycard to the small panel next to it. The numbers above the sliding doors illuminate in orange, bright and blocky. Tango raises his eyebrows. 

“His name is Jimmy,” Fwhip continues. “He’s a Lieutenant Junior Grade, but he’s incredibly good at what he does. I’ll let you two get acquainted when we get down there.” The elevator doors slide open. Fwhip gestures Tango inside before he himself steps in, pressing the button for their floor. Tango sets his trunk at his feet, toeing it off to the side and out of the way. “He spends most of his time down there, so you may not see him much at all besides when you’re working.”

Tango hums. He screws up his face into an approximation of thinking, running the words over in his head. A junior lieutenant. A higher officer, for certain, but for him to be teaching Tango—there feels like there should be a catch. Tango pulls at the seams of the phrasing, the intonation. His eyebrows furrow.

Fwhip answers his question before it leaves his mouth.

“He basically revitalized the hydroponics system overnight—nothing’s changed in the watering or feeding system, but the plants grow like crazy now,” Fwhip folds his arms, glancing over at Tango as Tango folds his hands behind his back. “I think it was his specification for a while, so as soon as he got here, he requested the transfer, and his work brought him up the grade.”

“That’s impressive,” Tango says, a touch quiet. The only other person he knew who’d ever done something like that had been Mumbo, and most of his ideas were feats of engineering so large they required a three-room modified lab space and a blast chamber. Meridian supplied that—though Prometheus—himself included—was sad to lose him to their sister station, especially after how long he worked with Tango. 

“He’s written a paper on it—it’s in the works of being reviewed now,” Fwhip says. “I don’t know how likely it is to go through, though.”

Tango hums again. 

“Why’s that?”

Fwhip shrugs. “He’s just not a nice guy to work with,” he says. “And I don’t mean that to be rude, either.”

The elevator doors open. They spill out into a lackluster hallway, still the same bleach white as the floors above. Taking a sharp right, they follow the curved edge of the ship down the green line, toward a series of crew cabins. Fwhip gestures toward a room closer to the middle of their row. As they stand there for a moment, he offers Tango a keycard.

“We got you a room—well before we knew that you…probably wouldn’t need the bedspace,” he says, shaking his head apologetically. Tango waves his hand. “You’re welcome to it, though.”

“Oh, I’ll absolutely take it,” Tango says, trying that smile again. Fwhip smiles back this time, one that touches his eyes, and makes Tango smile harder.”I like having my own space. Normally I have an office, so this’ll do just fine, I think.”

He presses the keycard to the door as Fwhip lifts his crate into his arms, struggling under the weight for a moment. The door slides open. Inside, as the soft yellow lights raise to bright, is a sparsely furnished room. Fwhip carries his crate into the room, setting it at the foot of the double bed. The room is small, clean, tidy. He turns in a small circle as Fwhip sets the crate down, nodding his head.

“This is great,” Tango says, dipping his head. “Thank you.”

Fwhip nods, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Absolutely,” he says. Moving past him, he gestures back to the hallway. “I’ll be forwarding you the ship changelog, so you know who’s on shift at a given time, and when meals are, if you have any interest.”

“That sounds great,” Tango says, moving with him to the hall. He follows Fwhip back down the hall, back towards the elevator. They diverge at a second hallway and down a third, following the winding corridor through the ship’s interiors. The walls shift from opaque to translucent as they follow the path down, with more and more people shuffling about. Fwhip moves through the hall easily—Tango navigates with a bit more difficulty, skirting past doors sliding open and bright lights and the new rush of people. As they weave through, Fwhip says:

“Figured I’d show you down to the lab,” he checks his wrist, a brief flash of numbers and notifications that Tango doesn’t quite catch fully. “I’ve got a bit before I have to be back at the bridge.”

Tango hums.

“Great—I’ll…hopefully be able to find, uh, Jimmy?”

Fwhip nods. 

“Mhm—” he says. They pause at a lab closer to the end of the corridor. Through the high ceiling and tinted glass, Tango can see the warm yellow and purple light that floods the space. The lab stretches further down the hallway and out of sight. Fwhip tilts his head toward the lab. 

“This is it?” Tango asks. 

“This is the one,” Fwhip says. He steps back from the door, letting Tango tap his card, the door sliding open for him. It stays open for a moment as Tango steps in. Fwhip checks his wrist again.

“I’ll let you find him,” he says. “Hopefully you’ll get a briefing before you leave to unpack.”

Tango nods, smiling again. The warmth of the room starts to roll over him as he stands still—cooling kicks on to adjust, like a sigh out of his chest.

“Thank you, Commander,” he says. Fwhip nods, dismissing him, before the door shuts between them, and Tango stands, alone, in a room full of plants.

He picks his way around the lab for a long while. The quiet is nice, the sound of air circulating and the soft hum of lights and electronics. He hadn’t run this particular section over in his schematics—something about it almost felt invasive. He wanted to learn it for himself, standing in the center of the room, hands braced on the work table. The equipment portion of the lab is its own self-contained room at the front of the lab—big enough for a table, several workstations, shelves of equipment. He rounds the table as he spots a secondary sliding door, obscured by the semi-translucent, white glass. 

Tango presses his loaned keycard to the scanner, watching the door slide open. Stepping inside, he stands amongst a huge lab filled with rows of vegetables, aquatic plants, and small trees. He can see potatoes, carrots, beets, neat and lined in suspended troughs of water and sitting in cups on the floor. Along the walls are digging and planting tools organized haphazardly, strewn about in small piles. The air is warm and humid as he walks his way around a series of rows—it almost feels like its own planet, like the atmosphere alone were thick enough to taste. 

Tango walks along a row, watching the plants with a careful consideration, as if they would move, or reach out to him, or something. But they’re just plants—unmoving beside the slight wave in the airflow. He reaches out after a moment, brushing one of the leaves, feeling it between his fingers. It’s rhubarb. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen rhubarb before. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many plants before.

Moving around the hydroponics, Tango wanders around the other side of the lab, watching as it stretches out and further back, rows of plants in tight lines, purple lighting and tubes for irrigation running across the ceiling. He turns into a slow circle, moving back through the rows as he does. The rows loop around back to the supply stations, where Tango walks backward, trying to see the end of the lab, where else it could lead, where else he could explore.

His foot catches under him, sliding out as his knees buckle and he lurches sideways.

He yelps loudly, flailing as he falls, losing his balance and smacking into the shelf behind him. A handful of ceramic plants pots and glass beakers fall with him, smashing to the ground as the shelf comes loose. Tango scrambles up, slipping again as he lands on his hands and knees, fumbling as he tries to scoop the glass into a reasonable, unnoticeable pile, to fix the shovels that must’ve fallen with him, the stacks of gardening gloves under his right boot. He mutters to himself as he does, babbling as his mind whirs with simulations. They were always there—right? That’s fine! He tries to stack a pair of gloves back on the shelf, watching them slide directly off. 

Shoot. Shoot! Damn it!

“Shit—” he mumbles.

“Hello?”

A voice calls out from the other side of the room. Tango hears a door shut. He pushes the broken shards of a pot near his knee together, like he could even try and fix the shattered pot. He searches wildly for the voice as he does.

“Hi—” he manages, voice warbling unexpectedly. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to.”

“What?” the voice comes again. “Who…”

Tango follows a shape through the row of plants as a man in grey steps around toward him. He blinks, owlish and confused, as he stares at Tango. Tango can see the name stitched into his quarter-zip.

Jimmy.

“I’m so sorry—” Tango starts again, but the man—Jimmy—is already halfway to kneeling in front of him, taking the broken pot from him, scooping the rest of the shards into his hands. Tango realizes, all at once, that he’s still sitting on the ground, surrounded by the carnage of him falling unceremoniously over into the stand. He starts gathering the tools around him into his arms.

“It’s…it’s alright—” he sighs, a trickle of confusion, of agitation, leaking into his voice. “Walk me through it, what happened?”

“I walked into it—” Tango says, feeling foolish all of a sudden. It’s not a tangible feeling. He just knows something is churning and curling in him and he can’t place what. “One minute I was turnin’ around lookin’ at this place and the next—wack.”

Jimmy hums under his breath, something amused. Tango blinks at him as he rights the shelf and replace the items from the floor. 

“Wack?” he says, starting to laugh. “I…yeah. Sorry, I don’t organize things very well, it seems like.”

“I don’t either, I’ll be honest…” Tango says, shaking his head. “You’re Jimmy, then?”

Tango scrambles up with glass still in his hands and Jimmy turns back to him as he looks around for somewhere to put it. Jimmy nods his head over to a waste bin, dropping the shards of clay pot into it. 

“Mm,” Jimmy nods. “You’re…?”

Tango makes a half-sound as he turns back to him, waving his hands.

“Commander Tek,” he says, sticking out his hand, smiling a bit lopsided. It feels lopsided at least. He’s trying to copy what he knows, and he thinks he’s failing. “Er, Tango. You don’t have to call me Commander.”

Jimmy raises his eyebrows. 

“Ah—Fwhip told me you were coming,” he says, tilting his head a little, something like a smile coming to his face. “You’re sure just Tango?”

Tango nods.

“Too fancy with the whole thing. I prefer just Tango, anyway.”

Jimmy smiles in full. The action alone splits his face in half, stretching up to his eyes. Tango copies him, after a beat, something that falters just a little bit as he does.

Jimmy takes Tango’s hand. As he does, a buzz of electricity spikes up Tango’s arm and to his elbow, pooling there, zinging cool and bright. Tango startles, jolting back, making a small, sharp sound that gets lost as Jimmy audibly yelps. It didn’t hurt, but it felt new. Tango likes new.

He feels something wash over him, even as he jolts—memory, knowledge, understanding, like an imprint of knowing the man before him before he even did. Jimmy blinks, a furrow coming between his eyebrows. Tango, for a split second, wonders if the feeling is mutual.

“Sorry,” he blurts. The static shock dissipates as he shakes out his hand. “Sorry, I might still have glass….”

Tango looks over his hands, prodding at the silicon for any shards left there. There aren’t any, though—he even brushes them together, trying to feel for anything. Tango glances back at Jimmy. He’s looking him over, that curious, owlish expression on his face again. His mouth quirks up a little, the sides of his mouth lifting.

“You’re an android,” he says.

Tango’s eyes flick over his face for a moment. It’s completely symmetrical, brown eyes clear and bright, hair neatly parted. His movements are smooth as he steps back and adjusts his sleeves and reaches to gently brush something from Tango’s jumpsuit.

“So are you,” Tango finally says, mouth quirking up. His mouth tastes like static electricity.

“Huh,” Jimmy says, soft, thoughtful. The edges of his mouth fully curl up in a way so human and so foreign. Tango catalogs it immediately. “That’s so interesting.”

Tango huffs out an approximation of a laugh—which causes Jimmy to laugh in earnest. The tension dissolves as he laughs, and Tango feels his shoulders drop. That tingling feeling still hasn’t left Tango’s hand. He wonders for a moment if it ever will, or if every time they brush together it��ll light up like static, or if maybe they just happened to be carrying just enough electrical discharge to shock each other. Tango hopes it doesn’t happen again. He’d like to be friendly without risking a shock.

“So,” Tango starts as they stand together in the hydroponic farm. “Is there a reason ESA lets you use terracotta and glass in space?”

Jimmy shrugs. 

“They want it to feel more like Earth,” he hums, amused, turning away from Tango. He wanders a bit before Tango startles to catch up, following him through to the lab room. Jimmy pushes up the sleeves of his ESA sweatshirt. “Not that I would know what that feels like…though I do like it.”

They step through to the lab with the door hissing shut behind them. The humidity and heat follow them in, clinging to Tango’s jumpsuit. He can hear Jimmy mumbling to himself under his breath as he circles the large lab table in search of something. Tango tracks him with his eyes, pausing in the space where Jimmy once was, folding his arms. Jimmy fumbles around for a moment, digging through his cabinets, with Tango watching over his shoulder.

“That’s nice,” Tango says, eyes following him. Jimmy hums, nodding in response. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen Earth myself, either.”

“Oh yeah?” Jimmy says. When he turns back, he’s holding a data pad, a thumb drive and a blank badge. He lines them all up on the table, sitting next to each other. “Have you ever been planetside?”

Tango nods. 

“A few times with my old crew,” he starts, waving his hands back and forth. “Some dry and dusty ones for sure. Not too exciting.”

Jimmy tilts his head a bit. He’s still smiling, and Tango, for a moment, can’t take his eyes off it. He isn’t sure anyone’s ever smiled at him for that long, or maybe he’s misreading it—emotions were a fickle, strange thing. Maybe Jimmy was simply happy. 

Tango leans against the table, back pressing to the side of it, glancing down at the data pad and keycard for a moment. Jimmy looks away as Tango catches his eye. Tango thinks he sees him flush as he turns back around to the computer.

“They haven’t really briefed me on why you’re here,” Jimmy says. “Why’d they send you?”

“To E-1? We’re uh…our science director was looking for a secondary project to help bolster our food supplies—stretch it out a little longer?” He folds his arms over his chest. “Our admiral’s been in contact with Fwhip a few times conversationally, but we normally reach out to the Meridian, a station in our system, for help, but they weren’t having any hydroponics success. So…here I am.”

Jimmy nods absently as he continues typing.

“Hopefully I can give you something useful to take back,” he says, glancing up to Tango. Tango nods, raising his eyebrows.

“I mean, they say you’re the best,” he offers. It’s true—everything Pearl had told him seemed to point directly to whoever was running the botanical experimentation lab on E-2. And here he was, an android, standing in front of Tango.

“Do they?” Jimmy asks.

“Mhm!”

“That’s very nice of them…I uh, I’ve got a badge for you,” Jimmy says, sliding the piece of plastic toward him. Tango picks it up, turning it in his fingers as he listens. It has a small symbol on it, like an overlapping square and a green stripe all the way around it. When he looks back to Jimmy’s face for a moment, he notices that same green stripe around his upper arm. Green. Science. It was fitting. He fits that bit of information right next to what he knows Prometheus’ color to be: nearly the same shade.

“It’ll get you into this lab and ones like it, um, all the way down this hall,” Jimmy unlocks the data pad, pushing it toward him. “And you can record anything you’d like on this pad.”

“Oh, thank you, that’s great, actually” Tango says. He tucks the card into his pocket, where it rests against his chest. The data pad is blank, no notes, no sketches, and no documents. Just the time and date. From what he can recognize, he’s been aboard for about two hours. “Is, uh, is there somewhere we can share notes, or should I be handing this off to you periodically?”

“Whatever you write there will also be stored on the lab computer,” Jimmy says, gesturing back to the screens behind him. “Either of us can access it at any time. It should recognize you as having access to the console, so there shouldn’t be too many problems with that.”

Jimmy studies him for a brief moment before he picks up the thumb drive, twisting it in his fingers. Tango watches the movement, eyes flicking between it, and the pad, and the screen.

“So,” Jimmy starts again. “I can’t say I was expecting an android, but that does make this whole process a lot easier.”

He holds out the thumb drive—Tango holds out his hand. The small bit of plastic that falls into Tango’s palm is lightweight and bright white. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, frowning just a little.

“What’s this for?” he asks, setting the data pad on the table again. His hands feel an itch to turn the drive around in them, nervous ticks surfacing as he receives data and writes to disk. The humidity, Jimmy’s expression, the curious glint in his eye, the buzz of excitement he can nearly feel in the air. For an android, Jimmy was certainly animated, certainly running high on emotion. Tango could reach out and grab it, if he knew he would catch something.

Jimmy nods a few times, leaning on the table in front of him.

“That right there,” he says, pointing at the drive. “Is all of my research. That way you can just—” he mimes a plugging motion, patting the back of his neck. If Tango’s chest could cave, it would have, as he feels some gear shudder and start again. “Get it all.”

Tango blinks. His vision stutters for a moment, fading out on the edge as he tries to process Jimmy’s comment, his voice. He feels that tug at his eyebrows as they furrow, a copy of a motion he’d seen so many times on so many faces. Jimmy’s research rests in the palm of his hand, still cold, despite the heat leaching from Tango’s synthetic skin.

“I think—” Tango says. What a stupid turn of phrase. He knows—he’s not thinking this time. He knows. “I can’t do that.”

Jimmy hums, face morphing into concern for a moment. Tango sees how his posture stiffens, almost a gut reaction to the change in Tango’s voice. Write to disk. Catalog. He softens his stance as Jimmy pipes up.

“What d’y’mean?”

“I think I’d rather just learn it from you,” Tango says, closing his fist around the thumb drive. “I’ll keep this, but I would like to learn from you, if that’s alright.”

Jimmy raises his eyebrows high on his forehead, nodding a few times. His dark eyes go wide, too. They flick across Tango’s face, looking for something, before they land on the table in front of him as Jimmy raps his fingers against the plastic top. Tango tucks the data drive into his pocket, where it rests with the keycard, sticking his hands in his pockets to give them something to do.

“Oh—I mean—I, sure. Sure, we can do that,” Jimmy stutters, shaking his head. “Yeah, that should be fine, you should be able to learn that way.”

“I hope so,” Tango says, nodding. Jimmy nods with him, that color briefly back in his cheeks. “I’d at least like to try. It’s what I’m known for, honestly.”

“Mm,” Jimmy says, face settling on that half-pleased, half-curious look. “Sure. That would be nice, I think. I don’t know how much I have to teach, but I can try.”

“I’m sure you’ve got plenty, Mr. Plant Guy,” Tango quips, patting him on the shoulder as he rounds around him. Jimmy laughs. The tingling sensation of touch before has gone now, and the new touch offers nothing but the sensation of soft sweater fabric, of coolness from Jimmy, and a brief flicker of information that he doesn’t quite catch. It feels like energy he can’t process. A line of code that doesn’t slot itself into place. He gives his shoulder a quick squeeze before he pulls away, gesturing to the door.

“Do you think you might be able to walk me back to my cabin?” his shoulders shrink a fraction. He tries to quickly run the simulation in his mind, etching out the turns of the hallways in the belly of the science department. All he can remember are faces, half-recognizable from research and names partially unobscured by association. “I lost track of how many turns Commander Fwhip made.”

Jimmy shrugs, nods, patting the table as he pulls away.

“Sure,” he says, fishing his keycard from around his neck. “My cabin is close to that area, so I know the way back pretty well—-”

“You have a room?”

The door slides open in front of Tango, the cool air of the hallway flooding into the room. He steps through, into the empty, well lit space, with its green stripe and green carpeting. The white-yellow lighting smooths out the edges of the walls around them, dotted with windows of the station’s central core as they slowly rotated around it. Jimmy pauses for a moment to watch as Tango does, before he nudges him with his elbow. Tango turns to follow.

“I like the bed,” Jimmy says, making a pleasant, almost chirping sound. “And the sleep cycle. And a space for my things that isn’t the lab.”

Tango nods.

“Our secondary engineering lead gets onto me when I don’t rest, but I prefer to not have to,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, waving one hand about. That gesture was from Doc, who loved to make things more nonchalant than they had to be, gesturing with his part-plastic, part-metal arm. “It wastes time.”

“You’re a busy man, Tango,” Jimmy says. He pauses just as he’s about to say Tango, like he had meant to say Commander, but had skipped the instinct. It stutters as he speaks. Tango feels a little bit of a twist, somewhere in the gears of his chest. Maybe everyone should just call him Tango. It felt a lot better, somehow. It felt earned.

“I try to be,” Tango says, waving his hand again. “I’m built for continuous learning—neuroplasticity. It’s what I’m meant to do…kind of.”

“Interesting…” Jimmy hooks a right at a fork. Tango notes it. “I don’t think I’ve met an android without a base program. And it was HASA who decided that?”

Tango nods.

“That was the plan, anyway. So far, it’s worked out alright. I have no issues, our technicians make sure I’m running smoothly, I can run my own diagnostics as far as I’m aware. And…I get to take back knowledge to our ship,” he sticks his free hand back in his pocket. They take a left, following the curving wall. “That’s a win to me.”

“That does sound nice,” Jimmy says, frowning a little, mostly in his voice than on his face.  As the wall evens out, Jimmy slows to a stop. Before them, on the leftmost side, are a row of doors, which Tango recognizes. He marks down their exact location, how the wall hugs the left, looping back around on the far side. Jimmy splays his arm out, gesturing to the doors. Tango manages a smile.

“Thank you,” Tango says, nodding. Jimmy hums.

“Of course, glad I could help,” he says. He looks pleased, now, none of the nervous flit that he had when they’d first met. Tango, too. He feels settled, somehow, like he was already beginning to understand the space around him, already acclimated to new gravity and new routine. Jimmy’s easy smile and tone of voice made that all the easier to do.

As Tango steps away, toward his door, he turns back to Jimmy, who’s folded his arms over his chest. Something’s there, in Tango’s chest, maybe just a trick of mechanics, something he can’t really place. It smooths out any bumps in logic programming. It makes things even, whatever the thing in his chest is. Jimmy makes a noise, and Tango’s eyes flick up to his face.

“Y’know—not to jump ahead or anything, since I know we’ve just met. But if you wanted to, my cabin is a bit closer to the lab. If you ever feel like you want a roommate, you’re more than welcome to stay there,” Jimmy starts, clasping his hands together. The small smile on his face hasn’t really faded, and his voice is even with curiosity. “There’s—there’s only one bed, but you said you don’t sleep. So it should be fine.”

Jimmy continues to babble, now, eyes flicking down to the patches at Tango’s knees. 

“I can always request you to the room next to it—I think that one’s unoccupied, too. If you ever want to sleep, that is. But you can let me know. Figured it might be nice to have a roommate so you’re not lonely,” he finishes, shrugging a little. Then he startles, blinks, and waves his hands. “Unless you like being alone.”

Tango tries to make a sound to dissuade him from that idea, but it gets caught in his programming and his vocal filter and it kind of sounds like a wheeze, or maybe a laugh, but he shakes his head several times, copying Jimmy’s easy smile from before.

“No, no…” he assures. “That sounds really nice, actually. I’ll…I’ll let Fwhip know that I’d like to do that.”

Jimmy visibly relaxes, and the smile comes back to his face, and he laughs a little, an actual, natural laugh.

“Sure thing…” Jimmy scrunches his nose. “Roomie.”

Tango feels something flip-flop over as he jumps, shaking his head again.

“Don’t call me that—” he manages, before Jimmy waves his hands again and says:

“I’m just joking, Tango!” and reaches out to clasp his shoulder. That rush of static only prickles for a moment, leaving a warm sensation in its wake. Tango feels it trickle down his elbow and to his wrist as Jimmy steps away from him. “Have a good night, alright? I’ll see you at 0700.”

Tango nods, realizing he’s still smiling just a bit, even as he steps into his room and the door slides shut behind him. He stands at the threshold, with his back to the wall, for a long moment, letting the memories play in his head as he does. The quiet hum of his room and the orange-yellow lighting soothes his otherwise spinning mind to a controlled simulation. Even still, Tango’s hand and arm prickle faintly with sensation he can’t place, and a warmth in his chest he’s not sure he fully understands.

Pulling away from the door and into his room, Tango furrows his eyebrows and starts an internal diagnostic.

#tangotek #jimmy solidarity #fwhip #trafficshipping #team rancher #mcyt #mcyt fic #solidaritek #solidango #mcyt au #text #fics #sen au #i really didn't know how to tag this one i'll be honest #chapter one of the SEN au ranchers fic yaaaay!!!! #i've got about... three chapters done so far? #i'm really enjoying writing it but it is notoriously difficult #i don't know *why* either #i'm just struggling so so bad KJSDHFKJHSFG thus. this. to maybe kickstart myself #so here it is!! yaaay!! #it might get tweaked in post but we'll see. i like it too much <333 #WEHEHHEHEHEE anyway YAAY

[randomfoggytiger]

Paparazzi, Celebrity Deals, and David Duchovny

Credit to: ibble dibble's top-tier videos explaining the inner workings of upper echelon society. Clips taken from her video here.

Paparazzi is part and parcel with celebrity culture. Celebrities themselves likely have to deal with harassment, boundary stomping, and any and all pap craziness as regularly as their juice cleanse bowel movements.

However. All celebrities have contractual obligations with at least one paparazzi company, picking and choosing which locations and events they want leaked to the press; and when' and how "edited" the final results will appear.

It's not so much manipulation (though it can be) as strategy: they want to live their lives on their own terms but also know the health of their projects and "brand" depends on a certain degree of public exposure and opinion. Therefore, celebrities in New York-- as mentioned in the video-- and, more relevant to this post, California exist mostly unmolested, surfacing for promotional circuits or other public and social events. Paps who harass, stalk, or follow a celebrity, unwanted, are generally bottom feeders who are too foolish or greedy to let a quick opportunity pass in exchange for, perhaps, a deal with that celebrity's team later down the line.

In David Duchovny's case, his brother summed up the situation quite succinctly here: "We'll go out to dinner, and out from the weeds pops up some paparazzi guy shooting away, y'know. Dave'll be like-- he'll know his name, he'll go, 'Look, Warren, I thought we talked about this: you can shoot me surfing, you can shoot me on the beach, which I let you do, but I'm here with my wife-- you said you wouldn't.' 'Oh, I gotta make a living, gotta make a living!'-- and then they, like, disappear like little rodents under the bush...."

Therein, Danny delineated between cooperative pap shots and vulturistic opportunism-- two very different beasts. (Beast One keeps their distance, takes their shots, and splits the proceeds between their company and the celebrity. Beast Two tails after and mouth breathes in the celebrity's vicinity, opening themselves up to harassment charges or future opportunity loss. And if Beast Two is making money off of informants, the celebrity will be able to quickly narrow down who in their close circle has tipped off the paps.)

The reason why David's spotted routinely at two California celebrity hotspots-- Erewhon Market (this article touches on celebrities popularizing the place during lockdowns) and Soho House-- is because he's shifted from letting "Warren" shoot him on the beach (keeping those moments more private now, it would seem) to getting papped at an established celeb locale instead. His management team handle the rest: knowing he has an upcoming project, and knowing the public's attention needs to be captured, they coordinate the paparazzi contracts and timelines to their clients' comfort, requirements, or tastes-- getting a cut of the sale for all parties involved and getting their client's name "out there" in time for interviews, promotions, or tours.

It's part of the business; and probably a contributing factor to David expressing "shame" or embarrassment over being an actor: his work is an artistic expression of himself, yes; but as an actor turned director and author and musician, he won't be able to escape "selling" himself to stay relevant (a frustration he's echoed since the early days.)

This post wasn't written out of judgment, just exploration. After all, even girl scouts have to make numbers.

#txf #but not #DD #Danny Duchovny #celebrity #ibble dibble #interesting #important #paparazzi #xfiles #x-files #the x files #California #behind the scenes of celebrity

[seiya-starsniper]

Rating: Teen || Chapters: 2/5 || Word Count 3.5k/??

Summary: The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past.

AO3 Tags: POV Multiple, Hob Gadling gives live advice to a bunch of teenagers, while helping them solve cases, that's it that's the fic, also he maybe plays matchmaker for his hot mess bestie

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2 below, or using the link above on AO3!

--------------

Hob Gadling considers himself to be a rather open minded man. He's lived hundreds of years, and seen thousands of strange and unusual things in that same amount of time, so the chances of something catching him completely off guard are rather slim in the year 2024.

The last few days, however, have proven that there are still many, many things that can surprise him. 

One of those things being one Charles Rowland, who is currently waving at Hob from the entryway of the New Inn.

Hob normally doesn't like to get involved in anything having to do with the supernatural, and especially not anything related to the type of work that Edwin and Charles do. He'd met them purely by chance after some asshole with delusions of grandeur had tried to frame him for a series of murders. He’d sent Edwin and Charles on a wild goose chase in a poor attempt to cover his own tracks.

Hob thought that once they caught the real murderer together and cleared things up, that would be the end of things. But then, Hob kept getting involved in their cases over the years, all of them entirely on accident. Eventually, somewhere between the fourth and fifth poltergeist, Hob decided he might as well figure out how to defend himself against supernatural entities, and maybe make himself useful for these poor boys too. They certainly needed all the help they could get.

Hob had been glad to hear that Edwin and Charles had recently gotten some sort of amnesty in exchange for continuing to help ghosts and other souls move on. It was good work, what these boys did. Hob has seen ghosts that haunted the same places for centuries finally be to pass on into the afterlife thanks to them. And now, they not only had permission to keep going, but had gotten more help to do it too.

The addition of Crystal to their little crew had been a surprise, and Jenny an even bigger surprise, though the latter seems less interested in solving cases, and more in making sure Crystal doesn't get herself killed in the process.

Still, Hob's only ever seen the teens all together in some sort of group, never alone, and he's definitely never seen Charles without Edwin. From the moment Hob had first met the two ghost boys, they’d always been a singular unit in his mind. And yet here Charles was, alone and looking strangely expectant while trying to appear casual as he waits for Hob to close out the tabs on the last remaining lunch hour patrons.

“Everything all right?” Hob asks when Charles approaches him once his last customer leaves. 

“Of course!” Charles answers, his signature smile bright on display. “I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to say hello. And to thank you again for the assist the other day.”

As a ghost, Charles is technically always in the neighborhood, so Hob knows that that’s not all that there is to his visit. It also hasn't escaped Hob's notice that Charles specifically picked the one day Jenny wasn't working the kitchen this week to drop by the pub. He clearly doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s here.

But Hob knows by now how to deal with skittish teenagers. Even dead ones.

“Well I'm almost done here and then I'm gonna head upstairs for a cuppa,” Hob says. Mark’s going to be here soon to relieve me of duty. Happy to have some company if you have the time to spare for an old man.”

“Oh! Yeah sure, I'm not busy,” Charles says, and cute that he’s still trying to pretend that he hadn’t come here with a purpose, when his eagerness is so clearly written all over his face. “Don't need any food though, as you know.”

“Sure, sure,” Hob replies, waving his hand dismissively so Charles can head upstairs ahead of him. He's going to make a cup of tea for Charles anyways. The boy always seemed to love the steam that came out of the mugs, even though he’d never admit it out loud.

Mark comes in exactly at 2:00pm, and Hob chats with him for a few minutes, before he clocks out and heads upstairs to his flat above the pub. Charles is already waiting for him in the living room, and Hob immediately sets to the task of warming up some hot water in the kettle and grabbing some mugs for tea.

“So how are things at the agency?” Hob asks as he waits for the water to heat. “Busy as ever, or more so now that you’ve got yourselves a psychic?”

“Definitely busier,” Charles says. “Crystal’s been a massive help with our cases, we're solving them even faster than before.”

“Good,” Hob replies, just as the kettle clicks, letting him know the water is done. “I’m glad she’s using her powers for good nowadays,” he adds as he brings the two mugs over to the couch. Charles looks surprised by the extra mug, but accepts it without a word. Hob doesn’t expect him to drink any of the tea, of course, but as predicted, Charles seems to fall into a trance watching the steam rise out of the cup.

“Thanks for not giving her too much of a hard time,” Charles says when Hob sits down in the recliner across from him. “She’s been really down on herself lately for everything in her past.”

“I can only imagine,” Hob agrees. He knew a thing or two about wanting to reinvent oneself and burning away the past. He’s had hundreds of years to do so after all. In fact, it could even be argued that Crystal was far ahead of where Hob would’ve been had he been in her shoes. The girl he’d met a few nights ago was so different from the one he’d met a year ago in court that Hob would’ve thought she had a twin instead. 

“Seems like you two get along well,” Hob notes after a brief silence has passed. Charles perks up immediately, taking the opening in the conversation.

“We do,” Charles replies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s amazing.”

“Yeah? So are the two of you a thing then?” Hob asks, and would you look at that, turns out ghosts can blush after all. 

“I—maybe?” Charles says, his voice pitched higher with uncertainty. “I don’t know, actually. I mean, it's, well…complicated I guess?”

“How so?” Hob asks. He’d suspected there had been something going on between them, it was obvious in their body language, and how they gently teased one another throughout the night after the banshee had gone. Now Charles is talking like a man newly in love and completely besotted.

“Is she giving you mixed signals?” Hob follows up when Charles doesn't answer.

“No!” Charles exclaims, shaking his head. “It’s me really, I’m—I don’t know.” He sighs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought for a while that’s what I wanted and then Edwin—” he suddenly cuts himself off, a small amount of panic now crossing his features.

Ah. Now the reason for Charles' visit suddenly makes itself clear. Crystal clear even, but Hob keeps that terrible pun to himself. 

“So Edwin finally told you how he felt about you?” Hob asks, deciding to rip the bandage off now and quell the strange awkwardness in the room. Charles’ head whips up so fast Hob feels his own neck start to cramp up in sympathy.

“You knew ?” Charles asks. “But Edwin said he’d only figured it out when we were in Port Townsend!”

Hob shrugs. “Sometimes, things are easier to spot when you’re not in the middle of them,” he replies. “But it was pretty clear that, at the very least, Edwin considered you the most important person to him. It's not surprising he fell in love with you too.”

“You really think so?” Charles asks. “Because I don't—I’d never really thought about it before, you know? He's my most important person too, but I never thought that we would be more than that. But now that he's said it, I can't stop thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” Hob asks. “Does it bother you that he feels that way?” A shake of the head. Good. “Do you ever think you could return those feelings?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the problem!” Charles cries, his voice pitching near to a whine. He stands and paces around Hob’s living room, and Hob has to try not to laugh into his tea. Teenage problems were always the same, whether a live or dead.

“To be honest, I’m still really into Crystal,” Charles starts, “...but then after everything with Edwin, and what happened to Niko, I started thinking, well, how long will that really last? Crystal’s alive, I’m not. She’s going to—she won’t—she’ll eventually—”

“Grow up?” Hob offers when the teen can’t find the right words. “Grow old, hopefully? Live a fulfilling life with someone else that’s flesh and blood?”

“I—yeah. Ideally yes,” Charles replies, though it's clear the thought bothers him by the way he scrunches his features. “But also, what if us being together puts her in too much danger? What if she—if what happened to Niko happens to her, I couldn't bear it, Mr. Gadling.”

“Hob,” Hob corrects the boy gently. “I've told you before that you don't need to call me Mister anything, makes me feel way older than I already feel,” he adds with a laugh. Charles gives him a half smile and just shrugs helplessly. Some habits were impossible to break, it seemed.

“And those are perfectly reasonable fears to have,” Hob continues. “Crystal is her own person though, and you need to take into account that she might find the risk worth it. And to be honest, I feel like the risk to her life is the same, whether you two are romantically involved or not.”

“Yeah, I suppose you're right,” Charles agrees, flopping back down onto Hob’s couch and staring back into the still steaming mug of tea. “So do you think we should give it a go, then?”

Hob shrugs. “I think you two like each other,” he replies, “but whether you think a relationship is worth it is up to you. Does Edwin know about you two?”

“He knows—some stuff yeah,” Charles replies sheepishly. “I had told him I liked her way before he, you know, confessed to me and all. And like, even afterwards, it seems like he’s fine, but I really don’t know if it’s all actually fine, or if he’s just trying to act like he’s fine just because I look fine but he’s not really fine and what if I’ve mucked everything up or—”

“Hey, slow down, Charles,” Hob interjects, and the boy’s mouth clicks shut immediately. “From what I can see, nothing has changed between you, so I wouldn't worry about it,” he adds, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “Besides, you and Edwin have been together this long now, you've got more than enough time to sort things out, one way or the other.”

“Yeah,” Charles agrees, his voice now wistfully soft and clearly full of affection. “When we were in Hell, I said that to him,you know. That we have eternity to figure it all out.”

“Did you now?” Hob asks, now smiling himself. “Sounds like you two are on the same page then, as per usual. Now you just need to make a decision yourself and Crystal.”

“Yeah…yeah you're right,” Charles says, seeming to come to a decision. His back straightens and he sits up, his signature smile back on his face. “Edwin and I may have forever, but Crystal doesn't and it's rude to keep a lady waiting right?”

“Absolutely," Hob replies.

Charles leaves shortly after, promising not to overthink everything and let his feelings come naturally to him. Hob is fairly certain he knows where things will land eventually, and he's sure Charles does too. It doesn't make the journey to get there any less worthwhile.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detectives fanfic #the sandman #payneland #dreamling #charles rowland #edwin payne #crystal palace #hob gadling #seiya writes #seiya writes dbda #chapter 2 let's go friends whooooo

[anxiouspotionofgloom]

Hi everyone! Just posted a new fic, a Demon AU this time

Sorry for not posting much, I'm still getting used to this whole social media stuff!

Love Like a Gunshot (Still Ringing In My Ears)

10k words, 1/1

Charles | Grian/Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar

Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Demon GoodTimesWithScar

His hands do not tremble when he pours out the salt. It's to be expected of course, because Grian has been doing it for ages by now, but in the quiet of the room, it feels significant. "Scar." He does his best to keep his voice as steady as his hands, but it cracks near the end - a slight drawn-out r that nearly makes him frown. He's over this. He has to be, because there is only so much hurt his heart can take before it breaks into two identical parts. (One into his chest, and the other-) No answer. "Scar, I need you." A beat of silence. "Please." The air fills with sulfur, and the smell Grian has come to associate with Scar, old wood thrown into the fire, ashes, and sugar makes his head spin. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know his wish has been granted. "Well, hello there." His voice is the same as ever, warm and syrupy, honey trap for the unaware. His words are teasing, his tone familiar, and for an instant, a single second that makes his breath hitch, Grian can imagine it's his Scar standing in front of him. He opens his eyes and stares coldly at the demon trapped in the circle of salt.

#Scarian #my things #hermitshipping #Still don't know if the desert duo tag applies #Stayed up til 1 A.M to edit this T-T #The brainrot is still strong

[vikintor]

The Githyanki map and an idea about the community

"Githmap" is the silly way I'm calling my GZdoom map for now. 

It's is short map where you explore a Githyanki stronghold in first person (playing as a Githyanki as well), made in the Doom Engine. I don't have plans to release it for now, as I'm making it in a way to learn GZdoom.

But because I'm thinking a lot about my Gith OC's Jez'rathki, Draa'zvir and a lot of cool characters made by other kind Gith-enjoyers I'm considering not making this short map as something about me and only for myself but something for the community, a small gift perhaps, I will try to explain my idea below:

Imagine something that looks like Daggerfall but it is just a simple short visit to a virtual museum where you can explore a bit, see the paintings of other people's OCs on the walls, and talk to other Githyanki OCs to know their lore, their favorite food, besides getting the their creators @ (if they want).

That's my idea, reaching out to more Githyanki/Githzerai fans out there and asking if they want to add their OC character as a guest appearance, or opening a way to let everyone sign to participate with their GithOC.

The stronghold from my map is formed by rebels, spies, and simple Gith seeking sanctuary, with the context being inspired by "The Lich-queen's beloved". 

I still need to prepare a mini Tutorial on how to get the raw assets ready for me to export them to GZdoom (As I'm doing all the code) for everyone interested in having their OC there.

I don't feel so comfortable now reaching everyone without everything ready (just give a time to prepare a better post) 

But I can share the basic concept of how it works:

GRAPHICS

I took screenshots of this character screen of my OCs and NPC's in 5 Directions each (So I will cut the background and convert the sprites)

DIALOGUE TREE

Every NPC OC has a dialogue tree in the Githmap. For that one, I will prepare a series of questions your OC can answer (They can be friendly or rude about it) plus you can also provide additional questions (and answers) for your own OC so I can add them as well. 

Each question from my questionnaire is something the player character can choose to ask your OC, stuff like "What do they do for a living?", "what is their story, etc". Your custom questions can go deep on your OC story, like if you want the player to ask "What is the story behind their scars" etc.

I believe the best approach for now is making the map to be set before the events of BG3, because it would be odd if a bunch of OC's lore starts to reference cannon characters in different and contratitory ways, but It will have a few exceptions as I didn't decided everything yet (I need to add a Voss reference sorry). 

VOICE PERFORMANCE

Just a warning: Voices are not necessary. I just adding voices if I receive then, If I don't, its fine.

My OC's and NPC's don't have voices in-game , but if someone want to add voice to their OC there's ways do to it:

Recording an mp3 of a greetings message for the player to listen to when talking with your OC for the first time. 

Or recording some generic lines that go on most answers.

Or fully recording lines. 

CREDITS

As a short one map fangame, I will be credited as the programmer and organizer of the project, each asset used is credited to its original authors, and each person OC and asset will also be credited in two places, in the credits and the in-game dialogue alongside the OC name (example: Draa'zvir [by @vikintor]), because if I add other people OC in the game I want other players to know who created that OC, making it more like a connected experience and giving more musseum vibes.

#gamedev #indiegame #indiedev #video games #baldur's gate 3 #dungeons and dragons #bg3 #githyanki #githzerai #gith tav #bg3 githyanki #bg3 gith #bg3 tav #githyanki tav #gzdoom

[the-passenger-if]

Hello! Are you gonna be working on a new project or maybe a sequel to this game? (Sorry I haven't been closely following your blog ever since the game released)

combining it with

Now that tnp is out in curious, are you planning to work on anymore games or will it just be tnp? Very happy either way, just wondering!

and

Will you ever write another IF?

also with

are you planning on making any other games?

and

hiya! are ya planning to make another game sometimem

I'm currently working on two different projects. I discuss the one that's more mentally taxing here.

The other is a recent idea I've been playing with after wondering what my take on a "monster boyfriend" romantasy book would look like.

Project N.1 can be a bit exhausting for me because of the trauma and this need I have to get it just right. I've realized I'm not yet at the level I should be as an author to do it justice, so I finished the zero draft, I wrote some of the game, and shelved it for later. I think playing Disco Elysium was the little push I needed to put this project on the back burner until I got better at the craft, because damn, isn't that game great. I know the trilogy will never be perfect, but I want to look at it and feel like it's a decent representation of what I went/am going through.

So, what am I working on right now? I decided to go for something less intense and romantasy is fun and the sort of genre that has me wanting to write my own spin on the stereotypes I see popping up again and again. Seriously, I want to fight all the popular authors in this genre—creative spars have always been great at getting me in a writing mood.

Project N. 2 will be a standalone about what our world would be like if Sirens had shown up in the fifties and had taken humans as soulmates and whisked them to their Siren realm, marrying them, and having a bunch of kids with them. The game is about what happens when the main character says, "No, thanks. Not my thing." There'll be three romantic options (none of them is the Siren that kidnapped you) one is non-binary, the other two can be either male or female (your pick), and all of them are bisexual.

This game is a lot less challenging to write and closer to satire. I'm having a lot of fun imagining character interactions because the Sirens are hyper-mega rich and powerful while MC and the person that gets roped into this mess alongside them very much aren't.

#ask #so excited to share my work with you gang

[vilevenom]

hurt comfort for fem branch please 😭

I hc her as autistic so maybe male poppy reassuring her

Ik u don't really care ABT the genders, but I'm heavy projecting on branch cause I kin him and I am DYING today

Thank you SO SO SO much for writing it if you decide to

HELLO ANON!

I am SO sorry that you sent this ask around a week ago and I'm only able to give you something now. I also hope I'm not posting this too late for you 😕 (This is the first night on my vacation I've managed to dig my laptop out) I wrote this pretty quick, and I didn't give it a good read over to properly edit it, but I hope you like it, and that you're doing okay ❤️❤️❤️ P.S-I'm not well verse in regards to austism, so I'm not super comfy writing it. I used my own experiences with overstimulation and sensory overload to write this

It had been…a day. An overwhelming, awful day. And it wasn't even close to being over yet.

Branch had woken up feeling like today wasn't necessarily going to be a bad day, but she knew it wasn't necessarily going to be a good day, either. Of course, that had been before she'd even gotten out of bed. Once she'd pushed herself up and threw her legs over the side, she'd near instantly knew the day was going to be a struggle. The floor was too cold under her feet, none of her clothes felt like they fit on her body quite right, every light was either too bright or too dark, and none of the food in her bunker was appetizing.

Things only got worse when Poppy showed up to drag her out for the morning music routine. She'd gone, of course. She couldn't let Poppy down. However, stepping outside had proven to be the worst decision she'd made yet. The sun was far too bright, and everyone in the village was so loud. And there were just so many trolls participating in the music number, it made her feel like she was in a teeny, tiny room, instead of out doors.

Thankfully, once the song was done and over with, she managed to sneak away quickly to catch her breath and recenter herself somewhat, before Poppy found her once again. She was invited to breakfast with the Snack Pack, which she felt obligated to accept, despite her negligible appetite. She thought, perhaps, she could get away with picking at a muffin while sitting next to Poppy so the King of Pop could direct and hold conversation without needing much, if any, input from her. Unfortunately, that was not to be the case, as Poppy kept prompting Branch to speak. It was exhausting.

Finally, once breakfast was over Branch thought she was at last free and clear. She bid farewell to the snack pack and tried to sneak away, but Poppy wasn't having any of it. He appeared in front of Branch just as she thought she had made it to safety.

"CUPCAKES! Poppy," Branch wheezed, patting at her chest as her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest. To say that the surprise had also caused her irritation and irritability to spike was also an understatement. She scowled without thought at the pink troll, a low growl escaping her. "What is it?!"

Poppy looked distraught at Branch's anger, shrinking in on himself a little. "Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to know if you wanted to come with me while I go take care of some errands around the village before lunch with Nova Swift to talk about an upcoming fashion show."|

Branch immediately deflated at Poppy's apology, though she still felt like she might explode if prodded just the wrong way. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap," she sighed, rubbing at her forehead, "You know I would normally love to join you around town, but today I just-" She groaned and waved her hands through the air. "I don't know how to describe it. Today everything just feels like too much. I don't think I can handle any more…anyone."

Poppy blinked, obviously a bit surprised by Branch's response. Which was to be expected, really. What troll didn't like to socialize and make plans for big events? Branch knew, even after all the work she'd put in to being a better troll, she was still very much an odd one out.

"Oh," Poppy hummed, rubbing his hands together for a moment, before giving a little nod. "Okay."

It was Branch's turn to blink in surprise, not having expected Poppy to take her at face value so easily or quickly. "Wait…really? You're okay if I skip out on today?"

Poppy's face melted into a warm smile, offering a quick nod. "Of course, Branch. You've been doing so much around the village lately, you deserve a day to relax."

"Oh, thank you," Branch felt her shoulders slump as her chin fell to her chest. She heard Poppy chuckle and only jumped slightly when she felt his hand land on her shoulder.

"Of course! You know I just want you to be comfortable and happy."

"Thanks, Poppy," Branch hummed, offering Poppy a strained smile.

"Any time. Now, let's get you back to the bunker," Poppy said as he moved behind Branch to gently take her by the shoulders and direct her towards her bunker.

Everything seemed like it was going relatively well after that, and Branch shuffled towards her bunker with Poppy following shortly behind. That was, of course, until a random troll suddenly jumped from the bushes in front of them screaming about an impromptu dance party. Branch bristled as Poppy froze behind her and music erupted from every direction, while trolls hurried into the area to start dancing and singing along to the music.

Branch felt like her head was going to explode, quickly lifting her hands to her ears to try and block out some of the sound. She squeezed her eyes shut, a quiet whimper leaving her even as he breathing began to quicken, along with her heart beat. The world felt like it was closing in around her as she curled in on herself, crouching down and just barely resisting the urge to wrap herself protectively in her hair.

It took a solid minute for Branch to register hands on her shoulders again, let alone the fact that someone was even talking to her. She blinked a few times, feeling like she was clearing her vision of static until she could see Poppy crouched in front of her.

"Poppy?"

"There you are! C'mon, Branch. I'm going to get you out of here," Poppy said over the din of the other trolls in the area partying.

Branch simply nodded, watching in mild confusion as Poppy turned and gestured towards his back. "Up you get, come on," Poppy urged, finally making Branch realize that the King was offering her a piggy back ride. Sluggishly she moved, struggling to get her limbs to cooperate.

Once Branch was settled over Poppy's back with her face buried in bright pink hair, the King began to move quickly through the crowd, easily and effectively dodging around anyone that tried to get him to dance. Somehow, he managed to get away from the spontaneous party and got Branch back to the bunker. He didn't let her down, however, until the two were down the elevator and in Branch's living room. Carefully, he deposited her on her couch, quickly whisking away to fetch a glass of water, pressing it into her slightly shaky hands when he returned to her.

"You okay?"

Branch shook her head, feeling like her voice was stuck in her throat, unable to verbally respond.

"Okay. What would you like to help make you feel better?"

A quiet whine escaped Branch, her shoulders shifting up to her ears, eyes downcast, wishing she could force her voice to work, but nothing was forthcoming. She would love nothing more than to respond to Poppy, who was being so kind and caring, only to receive silence back.

After a beat Poppy snapped his fingers, causing Branch to jump and stare at him with wide eyes. "Oops," he laughed awkwardly, "Sorry. But, uh, how about we stick to yes or no questions? That way you can just nod or shake your head?"

Branch perked up and gave a little nod, a wobbly little smile making its way onto her face.

"Okay, perfect! Would you like a blanket?"

Branch thought for a moment, before giving a short nod. Poppy grinned and was off like a shot, returning not a minute later to carefully drape a thick, cozy blanket around Branch's shoulders. It took her a moment to recognize it was one of her favorites to snuggle up with. Poppy must have noticed one of the times he was over to hang out.

"All right! Now, you've got water already. And it's nice and quiet down here. Would you like company? And by company, I do just mean me," Poppy said with a little grin. Branch let out a near silent laugh, before nodding slightly, thought she frowned after a beat, opening her mouth, only to snap it shut again a moment later with a little look of concern on her face.

Poppy frowned, only to chuckled and move to sit next to Branch on the couch. "Oh, don't worry about the village. I'm sure they'll be fine without me."

Branch let out a breath, humming quietly with a nod, forever grateful that somehow Poppy could read her like an open book. She took a few tentative sips of her water before setting the glass aside, then turned a mild look of trepidation towards Poppy. It lasted for only a moment before she let out a huff of breath, a mild scowl of determination settling itself on her face. Poppy offered a lopsided, confused smile as Branch shifted around on the couch, tossing half of the blanket over Poppy's shoulders, before curling up next to his side.

"Oh," Poppy breathed, a slow grin working its way across his face, before he settled his arm around Branch's shoulders and tugged her more firmly into his side. "Yeah, you know I'm always good for cuddles," he sighed, resting his cheek against Branch's hair, more than pleased to feel her breathing even out where she was pressed against his side.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls world tour #trolls fanfic #prompt fill #broppy #trolls branch #trolls poppy #gender swap #things that i wrote

[bettsfic]

Hi Betts,

I recently listened to an interview with an author that said “when they decided to get really serious about writing and their dreams they made a ten year plan.” So me being the planner that I am, said maybe I should do it too, especially since this writer is pretty successful. Have I made a decent enough plan? No, because being real about your dreams and committing is scary af.

But I have developed this thinking that each story I have to work on has to be “publishable” and if I can’t immediately envision its success I need to push it away. For some people this is fine. For me, I’m pushing aside every idea and am constantly writing for an invisible audience. Which has its pros and cons.

I want to become efficient so that I can be a good author. One who meets deadlines and puts out work they are proud of. But I’m wondering if it’s even possible to try to work to be an author and still create work that is fun and true to you? If a decision isn’t meaningful I won’t include it in my outline. It feels like the only time writing can be fun is when I was young and had no clue about market and rules and just assumed my dreams would come true.

you know, what i keep finding over and over again is that i was right about a great many things before i had any idea what i was doing. i just didn't know why i was right, i had no context or evidence for my rightness. granted, i was arrogant, but arrogance isn't wrong; it's just uninformed. when you inform arrogance, it becomes confidence. you become informed by getting a lot of feedback on your work and giving feedback on work; having your work accepted once or twice and accepting someone else's work; having your work rejected hundreds of times and being the one to reject. maybe you've done all those things already, in which case you're firmly on your path and there's not much you have to do besides keep going.

i definitely relate to what you're saying, though. i would be lying if i said i wasn't just days ago in a phase of berating myself for my failures and wishing i could work harder and more efficiently. i've cultivated some confidence about my work, but there are some ways in which i'm too arrogant and others in which i'm too humble. i have a long way to go still in informing myself about my work and the process of making it.

you'll be in positions where you have to make creative concessions for the sake of publishing, but don't make them before you get anything on the page. listen to your own ideals and make those ideals happen in your work. a year ago, i finished a novel that was my favorite thing i'd ever made, and i was so proud of it, but i knew it wasn't publishable in the state it was in. even though i'd worked a year on it, it was still an early draft and bore the marks of an early draft, but i couldn't see that because i'd never taken any project further than that one. i'd never felt closer to a project or more intensely toward it. and when i was done, i went through six months grieving it, in a sense, because i knew i'd have to rewrite it. i had to kill the thing that it was in order for it to become what it needed to be. i came to accept that, and the next six months sat on the frustration of not knowing what direction to take it, but having the wisdom to know i couldn't rush it or force it.

and then the fix came to me all at once. the fix involves getting rid of many things that were once dear to me. not even darlings, but entire themes i felt were meaningful, that were the very things i want to share and explore in my work. i don't feel so bad about giving those things up now. what i take out will be put into something else eventually, and what i keep will stand out more starkly. the new parts i write will fit better and serve the story itself, even if it's no longer the story i originally intended to tell.

when you're drafting, your work is in a private conversation with yourself; it's about you even if it isn't. but it can't stay about you. eventually it has to stand on its own. and you might think, well why can't i just write something that stands on its own to begin with? but if you do that, writing is just work, it's business, and it may be more efficient but it's also less meaningful. there's no such thing as efficient creativity. it takes as long as it takes, and if you force yourself on a ten year timeline you might as well focus that energy on something more lucrative and within your control. there's so much about writing that's just chance and discovery and failure and faith.

so i think you should go back to assuming your dreams will come true and not thinking too much about anything except the work itself until you get to the point where you have to. and it will hurt. it may hurt more than anything hurt you've ever put yourself through. but trust you'll get to where you're going, even if it takes longer than you intended.

#writing advice #publishing #concession #process