#?? when i posted it it removed the cut so i had to edit it back in??

[front-facing-pokemon]

[prettypangolins]

Can't leave the house to return an item to the shop, so I've had to give my shitty mother my bank card and tell her my PIN so now she has info I didn't want to give her but I also can't change my PIN because 1) I can't access the high street where I live even on days I can get to my car and 2) they closed all the banks here in this town anyway. Just... gonna have a day of being salty at how being disabled allows shitty people to take advantage of me and have access to areas of my life I don't want them to have access to

(I also can't request a new PIN through the banking app, because in order to activate it you have to go to a cash machine, which I can't do.)

I'm not even sure you need a PIN to get a refund? But she insisted, so...

Fuck me I'm stupid. I feel like I have absolutely no control, and no privacy. There's nothing I have now that someone else doesn't have access to or control over in some way.

[falseficus]

I read a physical copy of monstrous regiment soon after listening to the audiobook, and I noticed two tiny discrepancies between the two editions that make an absolute world of difference. when I found out that these discrepancies existed (you’ll find reddit posts backing me up about them), I felt cheated that my first experience of the book had portrayed a less cohesive arc than pratchett intended

if you’re looking to buy or read monstrous regiment, I strongly recommend the doubleday 2003 version or the corgi 2004 version, which iirc contain the original text. The harper collins publications and audiobook both contain these changes, which imo are confusing and severely undercut the themes the book is trying to get across. if anyone knows the status of other editions of the book pls feel free to add on

obviously the audiobooks and ebooks are more accessible than physical books to some people, so if you read one of those just know that the original text is different in some key ways. I still recommend you read the book because it’s crazy good :)

the changes I noticed, beneath the cut to avoid some serious spoilers:

firstly, the last line of Jackrum’s last scene. in the Doubleday version, this line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.”

in the harpercollins version, the line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair the the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.”

this pronoun change is actually has huge implications. in the scene in question, jackrum, a transgender man, reveals that he joined the army in disguise. he is referred to as “she” throughout his background reveal. however, he then considers where his future will take him, and in the final line of the scene his pronoun reverts back to “he.” jackrum’s pronoun goes from he->she->he, encapsulating the gendery arc of the scene. however, in the altered he->she->she version of the scene, half of that circle is erased. the neat tie-up of jackrum’s journey is left confusingly unresolved, and the importance of his gender to the book’s overarching themes goes underemphasized

the second change I noticed is how maladict appears in the book’s ending:

in the Doubleday version, maladict appears “in full uniform.”

in the harpercollins version, maladict appears “in full female uniform.”

maladict is the last soldier to reveal [their] true gender, keeping up a masc/ambiguous presentation far after all the rest of the squad has come forward as women. “in full uniform” maintains this ambiguity, allowing the reader to decide for themself whether maladict comes forward and presents as fully female or continues to dress masculinely despite the fact that circumstances no longer require it (in fact I believe that the latter is more likely, as maladict says “thought I’d try again,” which could mean dressing in male uniform again). “in full female uniform” removes that ambiguity, and brings maladict’s arc to a somewhat unsatisfying conclusion. it eliminates the possibility of maladict as transgender or gender-non-conforming, and I’m left wondering, “if maladict presents as female so readily, why make such a fuss of it before now?”

both changes undermine the book’s message by eliminating its space for non-cisnormative identity… which is kinda crucial to the whole idea. im honestly really disappointed that these changes were made in any version of the book, because whoever made them clearly didn’t get the point

[scribbles-ink]

im just thinking what if mike schmidt is the son of the movie's equivalent of henry emily. i had this thought on the way home from the movie at like. 10 pm so at the time it was incoherrent, but im going to expand on it here.

point 1- garrett played a similar role to charlie emily, in that despite being watched over they were both killed by william afton.

p2- in the flashbacks, its very obvious that the entire family is in a place away from society. they're literally in a forest. it wouldn't make sense for william of all people to be there if he wasn't close to the family.

p3- the books and the game mirror eachother, so there is a chance that schmidt could be another fake name, one william recognized because, again, he was a family friend.

p4-what happens when your kid goes missing? idk probaly witness protection or an urge to seperate yourself from the incident, both reasons for the name change.

p5-(kinds joke reason) abby rhymes with charlie and looks similar to her (brown hair, brown eyes)

p6-i argue that abby also took on the role of the puppet/charlie at the end of the movie. she didn't necessarily give them life, not like what was done in the game, she shoeed them how they died. she reminded the children of the life they had before, and of who really took it. by doing that, in a way, she gave them that life back. she gave them their real personality back, one not influenced by william. she cut them from his influence, she gave them the gift (the picture) and it gave them life (their memories)

p7- in the movie, mike says his father 'couldnt deal with it' and left after his mother died. yk what that sounds similar to? book henry emily killing himself in despair. maybe mike's dad is alive maybe he's dead, we dont know. but it is similar enough, an act of completely removing himself from the equation.

p8-book henry has a sister named jen, yk what name that sounds like? jane. who was mike and abby's aunt, and we dont know which parent she was related to.

p9-'but wouldn't mike know about the pizzaria if william was a family friend?' honestly, probably. but theres also a high chance that he wouldnt. if the family lived in nebraska, (which im pretty sure they did) they wouldn't have a need to go to utah, not even for a friend's restaurant. sure, he might know that his dad's friend had a restaurant, but not that it had animatronics or anything. the family probaly moved to utah after garrett's disappearance and after freddy's closed down.

p10-'wouldn't mike know vanessa? theyre similar in age' if they didnt live in the same state, probaly not. william in the movie was a, suprise suprise, shitty father, even foregoing the stabbing of his kid. i doubt hed care enough to take her with him on like. a short out of state trip.

p11(edit)- in the books aunt jane was killed by evil charlie to get to charlie, yk what that sounds like? the animatronics killing aunt jen to get to charlie

p12(edit)-the words at the end of the movie say 'come find me' and the music playong at the end is the puppets song so i think garrett is the puppet which is. again. an emily thing

p13(edit)- mikes dad looks like a mechanic shown in the training videos [cough henry emily cough]

if i think of anything else ill add it but anywys this is why i think the schmidts in the movie are the emilys equivalent. also check out the notes on this post because theres a lot of replies n reblogs that support my theory

[chiiroptereh]

[Please zoom in, there's a lot of detail! And a massive file size...ouch]

Hi guys, long time no post! Been working on Art Fight and life stuff, but I've got something kinda fun for you.

This is a compilation exploring how a mortal Bill may interact with our world if there were still some kinda Euclidean instincts buried in there. Y'know, before the Book of Bill ruins all my headcanons >:P (EDIT: IT HAS BEEN READ. YAHOOOOOO)

Also quite an experimental piece as you can probably tell. Lots of details on both said headcanons and the art stuff under the cut, but I invite you to study the colorful texture yourself beforehand and think about what it might be representative of, just for fun because I got some really cool answers from my friends when asked :]c

TL;DR: the headcanon is that Euclideans have exceptional eyes for geometry. They find things like symmetry, tessellating patterns, graphs and fractals very aesthetically pleasing. If pushed into our 3D world, they feel comforted by the familiarity flat objects/spaces bring, as well as high-contrast patterns. Shadows especially are a familiar dimensional reduction that may bring them much comfort.

Bill would surely not be happy about these inclinations, constant reminders of a past long gone, but I'm not sure he's even aware of them here :P I think his ego gets in the way to the point where he just views these interests as common sense, which, of course, us lame humans just don't understand because we aren't nearly as cool as him. Of course he likes perfectly symmetrical leaves and staring at the kitchen floor, it's called taste, look it up!

And yet, he can't seem to shake the strange sense of melancholy he gets from viewing his own shadow.

~ End of TL;DR, long version below! ~

🔺 Headcanon Development

So, the catalyst of this idea was in relation to my friend and I's AU ( @love-triangles-au ). TL;DR, Bill's brought back mortal, meets another triangle named Y.V. (it's his hand holding the paper in the piece, actually), at some point they fall in yaois together, you know how it is. And, in writing a pair of triangles (or, more broadly, writing from the perspective of a different species), something I've had to consider was that you really can't get much further removed from a human being than sentient geometry.

The anatomical aspect was mostly figured out (see my piece on Bill's eye-mouth), but I wanted to consider what psychological differences might be at play. I wanted them to be weirder, more alien, double-so for Bill. At first I explored these possibilities through the lens of Bill and Y.V.'s relationship, specifically the question "what might a triangle find appealing about another triangle?"

Well, really the only things that came to mind were straight lines and symmetry, anything related to the geometric form of such a creature. That's more-or-less where that ended until the thought struck me that there's no reason this aesthetic appreciation couldn't extend to the rest of the environment, and then further when I realized, "wait, this is a species that is designed to live in a 2D environment. Like, they should seriously be really weird. I need to push this like 200% more."

So...yeah! I did some thinking and brainstorming with others and came up with a pretty long list of things a Euclidean in our world may be inclined to enjoy or find some level of comfort in. It's worth noting again that in this piece specifically this is a mortal/powerless Bill, so he can't really escape this Earthly environment. IF he's aware of these instincts at all (and that's a big "if"; when have you last been cognizant of your own instincts let alone known where they were stemming from?) I think he'd have snuffed them out in immortality and/or purposefully gone against them; he doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.

In order from left-to-right, top-to-bottom, here's an explanation for each!:

Flat objects such as paper are something he may find particularly engaging. It's basically 2D!

Tessellations are especially fascinating, and our world has them everywhere in the form of tile floors. Symmetry and such a predictable pattern...as the infinity of the starry sky might for us, the infinite potential of tessellations might invoke a similar sense of awe in him. Add on the maximum contrast of black on white kitchen tiles and the forms are only even better defined! A sensitivity to contrast would be very helpful for a 2D being navigating their environment.

Fields are flat and open, much like Euclydia itself. Laying flat may make him feel a little more at home.

More tessellation in the honeycomb of hymenopterans (bees, wasps and friends)! It helps that pain is hilarious.

The city is an absolute treasure trove. Rectangular buildings, precise architecture, square sidewalks and straight lines abound...he may as well be looking at a rainbow or an art gallery! I think a Euclidean's brain is very fine-tuned to mathematics, especially in regards to trigonometry. What may appear to be a straight painting might appear obnoxiously crooked to him.

Zebras are high-contrast :]

Another flat surface, another relaxing space <3

I think graphs are about as high as high art gets to most Euclideans.

I've touched on shadows before, and for good reason; truly they must be something borderline magical to the Euclidean and perhaps bitterly nostalgic.

This one kinda speaks for itself. Dweeb.

🎨 The Artsy Stuff

Lately I've been trying to find ways to fit more color into my work, as color is perhaps one of my favorite things in the world. My wardrobe is rather garish; my dad jokes that you could see me from space. My fursona is obnoxiously bright for a reason -- I feel my soul is a very colorful one!

I also realized recently that I don't actually know the exact style that speaks to me. I could talk about the phenomenon of the "style crisis" that many artists have all day, but in my mind the best cure for this feeling is to go against it entirely and begin stealing as much as possible.

So, I've tried to keep an eye out for more sources of inspiration everywhere I go, physical and digital. I've tried to train my mind into making a habit of considering, "can I do anything with this?" everywhere I go, and it recently paid off!

The glittery rainbowy texture you see plastered all over Billiam is this one, a photo-manipulated set of fruit stickers. I must confess I've been obsessed with this image for the past 72 hours, and this seemed like a good excuse to try it out!

I worried throughout the process if it might be so abstract that it loops back around to being horribly deliberate, if that makes sense -- like each sparkle was not a piece of a whole but rather an object in itself -- but it seems like that hasn't been a problem, so I'm grateful for that :Dc

I hope it can dazzle and delight you as it does me, but as long as you find it fascinating at the very least then I consider it a success! I really enjoyed hearing my friends' interpretations while workshopping it, and got tons of amazing answers from opal to kaleidoscope to fossilized bone marrow! I truly believe that the best art has some room for interpretation and it really excites me to be surrounded by that kind of creative energy that follows said pieces. That definitely adds to my pride in this work. It's weird, it's colorful, it's detailed and yet ambiguous. I'm feeling pretty autistic about it

Alright, I think that's about it. Thanks for listening!

[lovehurtsandilikeitthatway]

Temper

Male Yandere Oc x Reader

Woooo, second post in a row!! It seems like a lot of people liked my first ever posted one-shot thingy, so I got inspiration to edit something I had written awhile ago for an oc of mine. Adjusted the writing a lil, added some stuff, all of that. Again, I do not support irl 'yandere behaviour', and if you have anyone who acts this way in your life please distance yourself from them 🙏🙏 Hope you enjoy the one-shot! This one's a lil shorter.

WARNINGS!!: Yandere behaviour, arguing/yelling, (physical) abuse, manipulation, mentions of bruises

“Where the hell were you!? Do you know how fucking worried I was? Do you even CARE?”

He exclaimed right as you stepped into the apartment; not even getting to remove your shoes or put your bag and keys aside. He was standing right there from the very second you opened the door; patiently waiting for you to enter and make the mistake of locking the entrance behind you. His arms were crossed firmly, fingers near digging into his own skin. His dark brown, usually relaxed eyes appeared wide open and red. Almost as if he had been crying. You wanted to comment on it; but you knew better than that.

You should probably be more concerned for your big baby of a boyfriend; but this wasn't the first time he had freaked out like this. Tristan had....a bit of a temper problem. He was the kind of person who'd start a fight over the littlest of things; blowing up and sulking like a little kid when something wouldn't go his way. You were aware that this side of him was brought out from his own insecurities, even if he wouldn't admit it. So, most of the time you'd cut him some slack. After all, you loved him. And he loved you.

“I just went to the store across the street. It's not a big deal.” You argued, feeling your forehead already starting to sweat. It wasn't a hot day today- Hell, it was December. Why were you sweating?

“It is a big deal for me. What if something happened to you? And how do I know that you really went to the store!? How do I know you didn't go to your friend's house again, huh? You sure spend a lot of time with him.” He argued back; the anger and jealousy dripping like poison in his shaky voice . He sounded like a ticking time bomb, no matter how much he tried to conceal it. You could only roll your eyes and sigh before letting down the bag of groceries that was the ultimate proof of your 'alibi', aka the proof that you had actually went to the store and he was, as always, overreacting. “Tristan,” you sighed once again, heavily this time, “Look. at. the. floor!”

With that; you pointed towards the already established store bag filled with a variety of snacks. His eyes followed the movement of your hand. He stared at it for a few seconds in silence; and you knew what that silence meant. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to admit he was wrong; or he just didn't want to. So, you took the liberty of speaking up: “You always do this-” “My point stands anyway.” He clicked his tongue, cutting you off and taking a step towards you. When you took a step back out of reflex, he only got closer. “You still went and didn't tell me! I always do this? You always do this!” “Tristan, you're just-” “NO! You don't get to tell me how I feel.” You were cut off yet again. Your eyes nervously glanced around the room, avoiding his gaze; but him? He was staring at you straight in the eyes, not daring to look away for even a split second. Eventually, he had you backed against the door and himself, and when your hand instinctively found its way to the door handle, he was quick to grab your wrist and lean into you.

You shouldn't be scared right now, you tell yourself. This was a daily occurrence at this point. He'd get upset, be a little aggressive and maybe loud, leave you alone for a bit and then come back. This was just the way he was; temperamental and intense. You loved every part of him; just like he loved every part of you. You chose this. It felt like you didn't have the right to complain about it, when you couldn't force yourself to push him away, grab your stuff and leave. What was meant to be a relaxing night watching movies at your boyfriend's place had turned into yet another draining argument; and all that just because he fell asleep mid movie and you decided to go grab some snacks from the dollar store before he'd wake up.

“You hate me, don't you?” He whispered, “You know that I'm a terrible person, and you just want to leave and never look back. You hate being with me! I know it! I know you do!”

“That's not true, Tristan, please-”

“SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!”

His grip on your wrist got even tighter. So tight that it almost felt like it'd snap in half any second now. The worst part was; most of the time he didn't know his own strength. Especially when he was lost in anger. But this was Tristan, he wouldn't hurt you. Even if your own self was currently shouting otherwise in the back of your head. You liked to think that you knew him; and that you could predict what would be coming next. He'd sprout some more nonsense and scoff; and then he'd let go and shut himself in his room until you caved in and ran after him.

But your hand was really, really staring to hurt.

“You may hate me but I fucking love you,” And the grip got slightly tighter. “I NEED you, and I don't know what I have to do to make sure you stay, but I'll do it! Tell me, what do I need to do!?” “Tristan-”

And tighter.

“Do I HAVE to yell!? Is that the only way you'll listen!? Do I have to tie you down to make sure you won't leave me or something!? To be the bad guy?“

And tighter. “Tristan!” and tighter, “IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT!?”

And tighter.

“TRISTAN!”

The sudden yell you let out caused him to stop dead in his tracks; a little shocked as you had never really raised your voice like this before, with this much fear and panic behind it, at least. Even you were a little taken aback by yourself. You never really did well in stressful situations, to be truthful. Your heart would beat fast and your head would start pounding; as if it was warning you that if whatever was going on didn't stop in approximately two minutes, things would go south. You didn't even realise how hard you were trying to pull your hand away from his, but the stinging pain made sure to remind you. He didn't seem to notice. He was far stronger.

Your survival instincts kicked in; and you cracked.

“I'll stay, I never said I wouldn't, I love you. Okay? I'm sorry, I really am-”

Part of you felt ashamed for taking this route, instead of cursing him out and fighting tooth and nail to get him to stop. However, at your state, all you wanted to be was safe; and you were terribly scared that if one of you didn't stop yelling, you'd only add more fuel to the fire.

“You're right, you're so right-” you half sobbed, having half the mind to remember what he was 'right' about, “But please let go, you're hurting me.”

Only when your tears started running down your face and your fake nervous smile began to falter did he realise how sore your wrist had become under his hold. His eyebrows furrowed in worry and he immediately let go; face shifting into an expression of surprise when he saw the redness and bruising forming around it. “B-Baby, I'm sorry-” he stammered, pulling you in an embrace, “I didn't mean to hurt you, you know that, right? I just get so frustrated sometimes and....fuck. Just...just don't ever go anywhere without telling me again, got that? Or better yet, don't go anywhere without me.”

You could only continue crying silently in his chest and nod; hoping that would be enough of an answer for him. You had a feeling that if you dared open your mouth, you wouldn't be able to keep yourself composed and you'd say something you'd later regret. “Good.” He replied, pressing a kiss on your forehead, “Now, I'll go get the first aid kit so I can treat that bruise. Don't move.”

Watching him walk to the bathroom, you realised that the front door keys were no longer in your hand. He'd taken them from you when he embraced you, you figured. Your eyes shifted to the floor; and as you stood there in silence, tears still pouring from your eyes, you couldn't help but wonder.....what was the point of treating a wound if it was inevitably going to be re-opened?

_______________________________________

Thank you reading, hope you enjoyed my writing!! This was a smaller story but I enjoyed re-writing it. It was originally meant to be a character introduction thingy. I've got a lot of ocs, and Tristan is one of them. Idk if I'm ever going to make any other scenarios with him; maybe if people actually wanna see more of him lol. I also have art of him, if y'all ever wanna know what he looks like!! Oh and for clarification, Tristan isn't the same guy from my other one-shot. They're both assholes but not the same person. <3

If anyone has any questions about Tristan, feel free to ask! I love QnAs. (As long as it's not anything inappropriate.)

Word Count: Around 1,440 (I think!!)

[littlejuicebox]

Labor and joy.

The moment all (some) of you have been waiting for. Welcome to the fanfic, baby Gale.

I'm tired so I'll do my usual header tomorrow when I have time to reformat everything. This will also be lightly edited. Ya'll got a double-feature tonight to make up for my lack of posting during my recovering from illness process.

Warnings: birth, labor, babies, light angst, light gore kinda

Disclaimer: I’ve never had a baby and I am not pregnant nor have I ever been so all this is based off friends, family, and research.

This was never ending. You had been in labor for half the day prior, and now it was well past midnight, but you still were not ready to push. Shadowheart had stepped away a few hours ago for rest. Halsin had since stepped in to take her place and did his best to stay unintrusive in the corner of your bedchambers; it was no easy task with his large frame.

Astarion had been forced to watch you for hours as your face contorted in pain. Contraction after contraction ripped through your frame, and every utterance of discomfort from you was met with soothing ministrations from your husband. He spent hours alternating between sitting beside you and behind you, offering support to the best of his ability as you endured the miserable labor pains.

No amount of screaming, crying, or massaging seemed to help. You were so exhausted, at this point you were barely making any noise as another contraction coursed through you. Sleep was not an option in this state, no matter how much you desired it. 

Astarion sat propped behind you in bed, utterly exhausted himself, and rubbing soothing circles in your back as you did what you could to focus on your breathing. He noted your nightgown was drenched in sticky pools of sweat as you rocked back and forth through sharp breaths, searching for an ounce of relief in the repetitive movement.

“My love, tell me what I can do to help.” He whispers, voice trembling with worry as he presses his long fingers firmly into your lower back, hoping to ease the tension, “I will do anything you ask of me.” 

You don’t respond. You can’t. You can barely breathe through the pain. And truthfully, you don’t know what will help. Nothing seems to at this point. Gods, you are so tired.

“Perhaps we should try a walk, Tav.” Halsin suggests, standing from his corner in the room to join you both by the side of the bed, “Let us head to the kitchen. Walking should ease the pain, and I will make you tea that can help with the contractions.” 

“You can’t be serious, druid!” Astarion snaps, unable to contain his mounting concern for his little love, “Just look at her! I don’t think Tav is in any position to–” 

You haphazardly place a flimsy, trembling warning hand on Astarion’s face and the rest of your husband’s admonishment dies on his lips. You simply nod at Halsin, and gesture for the other elf to help you out of the bed. Two large arms pull you up with relative ease, and you sigh with some relief as the sudden change to standing removes some pain from your lower back.

Astarion moves to follow you, and you wordlessly shake your head as you lean further into the druid. His brows crinkle in a silent question as he watches you; he thinks he’s done something wrong.

Your eyes soften for a moment, and you offer the slightest smile you can muster through your unbelievable discomfort. Your voice is a hoarse whisper when you say, “Stay here, my love. You need a short break. I will be back in mere moments; Halsin can watch over me until then.”

“Tav, it is my job to–” Astarion starts, about to argue the point with you, but Halsin is quick to cut in.

“It is your job to support Tav how she asks you to throughout this process and listen to her desires and needs.” The druid responds, kindly but firmly, offering an encouraging nod to your husband, “We will be but rooms away.” 

The silver-haired elf takes in a sharp breath as he watches your face nervously, mustering all of his patience to acquiesce. The druid is right. Astarion knows it. Your husband nods slowly and sighs while using every ounce of self control within his body to lean back and settle into the bed once again, “If you are certain, my love, then very well. Call for me with the bell, should you two need anything.” 

Halsin grabs the bell from the side table and nods with a final reassuring look at Astarion. And then the two of you begin the slow journey to the kitchen, the druid’s large frame easily bearing the majority of your weight. Your limbs feel like lead beneath you, but the pain is significantly lessened as you pace down the hallway.

Thank the gods for small miracles.

Before long, you are sipping tea in the kitchen as Halsin works to distract you from another vicious contraction with a story about Arabella and Mol. Your head tilts back as you chuckle– the first laugh you’ve had all night. Suddenly, you feel copious amounts of warm, thick fluid dripping down your legs.

“H-halsin, I think it’s time to push.” You gasp, staring down incredulously at the puddle now pooling around your feet. 

“Are you certain, Tav? Shall I check?” Halsin offers, quickly coming to your side, and you shake your head vehemently, far too embarrassed to let the druid perform such an exam, no matter his level of professionalism.

“No— just ring the bell, it will bring Shadowheart and Astarion.” You hiss as another powerful contraction assaults your body, paired with the overwhelming sensation of intense pressure in your pelvis. You are clutching the swell of your abdomen and leaning over the counter as you breathe through the feeling. You don’t know how you know it’s time, but you’re quite certain.

Halsin obliges, and moments later both Shadowheart and Astarion are bursting through the kitchen doors. Shadowheart is in her nightclothes, and her white hair is flying around her shoulders as she makes her way to you. Astarion is wide-eyed in panic on the heels of the cleric, his curls just as disheveled and pajamas crinkled from the stress of the night.

“I think– I think it’s time to push.” You grimace, and Shadowheart quickly performs an exam to confirm your suspicions.

Astarion’s face is creased with some mixture of relief and apprehension as he rubs your back and murmurs, “Come, darling, let’s get you back to the bedroom and–”

But he startles because you’re screaming as another contraction rips through you, practically compelling you to push. And you’re certain there’s no time to move. You’re adamant that you have to push right now, that you want to deliver right here in the middle of the kitchen. You aren’t moving. You can’t move. You need to push. Now.

Now. Now. Now. Now. 

Halsin is quickly behind you as you instantly move to a half squat. His arms thread underneath your armpits, supporting you as you bear down. Shadowheart is hastily searching through drawers, looking for linens and other materials to spread beneath you in an attempt to contain the growing mess of liquid as you wail and continue to push as if life depends on it. 

In some ways, it does.

Nothing has ever prepared you for this feeling. No book, not even the several you read on the subject, could ever adequately describe it. 

“I don’t— what do I do?! What should I do?!” Astarion is barely containing his own panic, frozen in place and flitting his gaze between Halsin and Shadowheart as the two work around you with the easy expertise of two healers that have performed this task more than once.

“Get ready to catch the baby, you git!” Shadowheart hisses as she shoves Astarion down into the nest of linens she’s spread around the floor.

“Catch the– WHAT–” Astarion shouts, but then the cleric is grabbing his head, forcing him to look upwards, and he’s peering under your nightdress with wild eyes. The baby is crowning. All Astarion sees is a shock of silvery-white curls.

“Oh! Oh gods! Tav, I see Gale’s head!” He exclaims, somehow both panicked and excited as he awkwardly positions his shaking arms in the way Shadowheart directs.

The cleric has dropped down to her knees beside your husband, and the two of them are watching as you continue to push with renewed vigor, encouraged by your husband’s exclamations. 

There is a long moment where you feel sure you’re ripping in two, and you almost give up, but then a sudden feeling of relief washes over your body. The kitchen is filled with the wails of a new infant.

When you open your eyes, the first thing you see is Astarion, his curls wild, his face wide eyed and shocked, and his arms covered in various fluids and vernix. And then you see your little wriggling baby, covered in that same fluid, wailing at the top of their lungs. Their little shrieks sound like music to your ears.

Halsin is gently lowering you to the ground and into the nest of linens as you slowly come out of the fog of pain and overwhelm. Astarion is both crying and beaming as he places the infant in your arms before pressing a loving kiss to your temple. He’s trembling with the inexplicable wave of emotions flowing through his system as he whispers to you, “My love, look, just look at our beautiful baby boy. You did so well, darling.”

You are crying and speechless as you stare down at your newborn. You didn’t think you could love anything in the world more than you loved your husband. But now you know you were wrong.

Later, after all three of you have been cleaned up and relocated to your bedchambers, you feel Astarion’s body shaking from where he sits behind you as Gale attempts his first feed. You are sitting between your husband's legs, your back leaning against his chest. A sideways glance reveals he is laughing.

“What is so funny, Astarion?” You ask quietly, still aglow and in a haze from the hormones pumping their way through your system.

“It’s just… our child, named after Gale, the man that was once our camp cook and would never shut up about food, would decide it best to be born in the kitchen.” Astarion responds with another chuckle as he brings his hand to stroke the cheek of the little baby in your arms.

Astarion studies the newborn’s two pointed ears, ten fingers, ten toes, and the little curls on the baby’s head as he speaks, “And our Gale absolutely drenched me in blood and guts in our kitchen – something I’d never been willing to do in the camp kitchen for his namesake.”

You chuckle softly as your little one utters a soft coo of assent in your arms, slowly drifting to sleep as he suckles. 

“I’m sure that will be one of many firsts, my love.” You say through a yawn, caught between the warmth of your newborn and your husband. The comforting sensation is lulling you to sleep; it is truly a wonder you’ve managed to stay awake this long. Gale is still nursing intently in his slumber, searching for the nutrients only you can provide.

The silver-haired elf emits a happy hum as he wraps his arms underneath yours, content to hold his two little loves and watch over them as they both rest. He will sleep later, he thinks. But for now, reality is better than any dream his mind can conjure.

As the first rays of morning light peek through the bedroom window, Astarion realizes his newborn son’s name is more than fitting, because it perfectly describes his feelings in this moment.

Joy. Absolute joy.

[robbie-wallis]

I need to vent about Watcher, endure it if you can

Relax, this isn't a parasocial thing, but it is a long ass post, which suits me as a long ass human.

I need an outlet to discuss the terrible business decision Watcher has made by announcing their plan to leave YouTube, and this long-forgotten Tumblr account reached from its grave to grab at my ankle.

If you didn't see their video, good for you. It's extremely cringe-worthy in its sentimentality and editing, with blurry shots, pensive pauses and obligatory sad piano.

But at least there's no f'ing Ukulele.

Although, I think we might get the Ukulele in a few months.

Even though anyone who reads this is probably familiar with what the "Ghoul Boys" have done, I feel as though I need to add a little history.

WATCHER HISTORY

You can skip this part if you've been obsessively following the shenanigans, this is for the noobs who were never a "shaniac" or a "boogara".

Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara used to work at Buzzfeed. They hosted the successful Buzzfeed Unsolved shows. In 2019 they followed in the footsteps of the Try Guys and Safia Nygaaard and left Buzzfeed to create their own YouTube channel named "Watcher".

They brought along Steven Lim, another Buzzfeed person who is most known for the "Worth It" series. This series followed Lim and his friend/s spending obscene amounts of money on obscenely overpriced and indulgent products.

Think of it as being similar to the $100 V's $10,000 Sidemen content, only without the self-awareness and British "bad lads" humor.

Notably, even the Sidemen seem to have cut back on those adventures, perhaps understanding how bad it looks when so many people are struggling to pay their essential bills.

Steven became the CEO of Watcher while Shane and Ryan continued to create and present for the new channel.

They were wildly successful by YouTube standards. At the time of their self-spanking on Friday they were close to achieving 3 million subscribers, in just 4 years, based on basically only 2 cornerstone shows. If Social Blade is still a reasonably trusted source in everything but estimating income, they were gaining thousands of new subscribers every week.

Their most successful shows were Ghost Files, Puppet History, Too Many Spirits and Mystery Files.

Ghost Files is the only one of these shows which requires heavy investment, travel, a large crew and impressive production costs. These videos are shot on-location and require a lot of work. The rest are basically Good Mythical Morning style, just the two hosts and their banter.

Aside from Ghost Files, their content could be created with 3 cameras, 2 lapel mics and a good editor.

They were massively successful, solely because of Ryan and Shane.

THE DEMISE

So, what did they do on Friday 19th April? They decided to announce the launch of their own subscription platform.

Not a Patreon for extra content, behind-the-scenes, audience interaction etc, (they already had a Patreon with 6,000 paying subscribers earning them at least $50k a month), but a bespoke streaming platform which looks like a clone of Netflix.

The cost is $5.99 a month, or $60 a year.

Comparable to Netflix.

And by that I mean the price is comparable to Netflix while the content is comparable to a 4 year old YouTube channel.

Don't get me wrong, their production quality is incredible. The quantity, however, is not.

From the end of May viewers will have to pay to be a subscriber on their own platform in order to watch their shows.

They'll still be posting their trailers on YouTube, and the first episodes of new shows, but to watch it all you'll have to pay up or miss out.

Edited to add: Variety originally reported the Watcher crew were planning to remove all their existing content from YouTube to monetize it on their own platform. It's since been confirmed they will not be removing their old content. Fans are undecided whether this was a back-track after the announcement or a misunderstanding by Variety. You be the judge.

Of course, they're entitled to do this. They are creating a product and you can either enjoy it or not. No one is entitled to see it, for free, whenever they like.

Why did they do this?

Half of the sombre video gushes about their "humble beginnings" as "struggling young guys in a big harsh world", which comes across as extremely self-indulgent and ego-stroking.

A quarter of it explains how insanely successful they've been on YouTube and how this is all thanks to the fans who stuck with them after Buzzfeed, how it's allowed them to hire 25 people, how it's given them the freedom to create what they enjoy making and what the viewers want to see, and - most importantly - how it's allowed them to increase production quality on Ghost Files.

The final quarter of the video explains that this isn't good enough, the quality isn't high enough, the finish not glossy enough, it's not "TV caliber" enough! They want more, they need more, you have to give them more, mostly (apparently) because their CEO Steven Lim wants to bring back his show where he flies around the world with his bestie sipping Champagne and eating gold-leaf-covered lobster.

In short, they want more money to make even bigger things, even though their audience never asked for that.

WHY IT WILL NOT WORK

Oh my goodness, this is going to be a ride so strap in.

I'm not a YouTube creator so there are a lot of things I do not know. Having said that, I know a little about business.

This ain't Buzzfeed, y'all

Watcher became successful because of Ryan and Shane. It was their friendship, their personalities, and the content we loved to watch featuring them at Buzzfeed, that brought us along for the ride.

The audience they poached from Buzzfeed is there for them and Ghost Files. It's not there for Steven Lim and "Worth It". His show worked under the Buzzfeed umbrella only because they had numerous sub-categories in that community to support it.

The Try Guys left and created their own channel from their Buzzfeed fans.

Safia Nygaard left and created her own channel from her Buzzfeed fans.

Shane and Ryan left and created Watcher from their Buzzfeed fans.

Steven Lim left and became the CEO of Watcher. He didn't take his audience with him.

The audience of Watcher is not the audience of "watch me fly around the word with my pal and spend $100K on hand-reared, Whiskey marinaded, diamond-encrusted Kobe steak".

And... IN THIS ECONOMY?

Steven chose to become a CEO instead of a presenter. He's missed the opportunity to take that Buzzfeed audience with him.

This is made clear by the Watcher channel itself. Their "man eats food" content rarely breaks 500K views while their Ghost Files breaks 2 million consistently.

If a million of their viewers followed them from Buzzfeed to Watcher, the other 2 million have joined them since, based almost entirely on their spoopy content.

Not only did they base their channel on this genre and format, they have distilled their audience further ever since the creation of their channel and no matter how hard they try to diversify into "man eats food" it's just not working.

This ain't Netflix, y'all

As mentioned, the $5.99 charge is comparable to Netflix and just about every other streaming platform. Only Watcher can't give you even 5% of what a competing platform can offer for that price.

Other platforms also tailor their content and their pricing based on geographical location and localized economics.

You're paying far less than $5.99 a month if you live in an economy where the median household income is $300 a month. YouTube has a global audience. Their subscribers don't all live in a stable economy where $5.99 is considered disposable income.

We don't know the numbers, but I would guess only 60% of their subscribers are based in the USA, Canada, and the UK.

Even for those who do live in a stable economy, their audience is predominantly young adults and students. Most young adults are currently facing the reality that they will possibly never own their own home, they're living day-to-day trying to budget.

They've instantly priced-out a large % of their audience.

I confidently predict that diehard fans who can't see anything wrong with this will sign up for $5.99 a month, binge watch for a couple of weeks, realize there's no new spoopy content and cancel.

They'll come back when a full season of Ghost Files has arrived, pay again, binge it and leave.

Steven Lim thinks they're gonna get $5.99 a month, every month, from thousands of subscribers. In reality they're going to get maybe $12 a year, from people signing up to binge watch what they want, then leaving.

This will then decline naturally as attention wanes during the months where there is no spoopy.

This ain't good marketing, y'all

They're going to be posting "trailers and season pilots" on YouTube.

Sure, I bet YouTube is gonna be totes okay with a channel doing nothing but trying to hijack traffic for an external site.

Posting nothing but trailers and season premiers will mean maybe one full video per month during busy seasons. That's not enough to remain relevant for the algorithm.

If 80% of those posts are also just trailers saying "leave YouTube and come here", the channel will be smacked down quicker than a crypto scam using an AI generated Elongated Muskrat.

Their channel was growing steadily, but that was with full content regularly posted. When the schedule drops off, and when most of it is considered spammy by YouTube, it's going to collapse like a flan in a cupboard.

A streaming platform needs a constant flow of new subscribers just to replace the gradual drop-off (maybe ask Rooster Teeth about that). When your global audience at YouTube is gone, where are those new subscribers coming from?

The platform is also an additional overhead. It's going to cost thousands a month to keep the servers going.

This ain't good financial management, y'all

I don't know if they've already spent hundreds of thousands of $s on Lim's "men eat food" gamble, but I suspect they have.

I know they have spent hundreds of thousands of $s on a new season of Ghost Files, flying to the UK to host live events while filming those episodes.

This means they've over-extended their finances just at the moment where they've cratered their opportunities to see a return on investment.

Just that, on its own, is enough to destroy a production company.

They do not need 25 employees any more than I need an editor and proof-reader for this long ass post.

They do not need a production studio in Hollywood any more than I needed an office to write this.

They do not need to spend tens of thousands of $s on glossy graphics that appear on screen for maybe 4 seconds in one episode any more than I needed to add screengrabs to this painfully long essay.

By leaving YouTube they've lost:

Adsense revenue (which might not be much on a per-video basis but adds up with a back catalogue over years of productions)

Sponsorship deals, which allegedly contributes almost 50% of their annual revenue.

Merch sales, which is about to crash if the only people they can promote merch to are already paying per month in their smaller ecosystem.

Patreon. Why would someone pay $5.99 twice, for the same or less content?

And they've abandoned all of this for maybe a few thousand people who will probably end up paying just $12 a year when a new spoopy season arrives for them to binge.

I'm no Will Hunting, but no matter how hard I try to make the numbers work they just don't, and I don't need Robin Williams to tell me it's not my fault.

This ain't nice, y'all

Some of you are feeling like Ned's wife right now, and some of you will have no idea what that's in reference to.

Most of you will hate that I made that reference more than you hated the SNL skit.

I get it.

Maybe the worst part about all of his, from a viewer's perspective, is the dismissive nature of their sign-off.

They didn't mention the Patreon members once, not one single time in the whole video. It's like they consider the Patreon "too YouTube". They're the deformed cousin locked in the attic. They're the relative who wasn't invited to the wedding because they can't afford a Tom Ford suit. They're the colleague who isn't invited to the staff night out because they only work in accounting and no one has anything in common with Janice anyway.

These are diehard fans who were actually paying them extra to support them and enjoy a little bonus behind the scenes, and the boys didn't even consider them worthy of an utterance.

They also finished with "If you don't follow us and pay up it's been real, peace out". I'm paraphrasing, but that's basically what it was.

They spent so much of the video saying how awesome and great it was that the fans and YouTube got them to this point, but they didn't thank their Patreon members, and they ended with a blunt suggestion that if you don't follow them and pay more then you're not a real fan anyway and they don't really need you.

"Thanks for getting us here, sucks to be you, bye now!"

You made them wealthy, you helped them hire 25 people, you helped them increase production value to "TV caliber" even though you didn't ask for that, but your job is done and now you're superfluous. Only the real fans are wanted.

In the words of the great George Carlin - "It's a big club, and you ain't in it".

They're okay losing the vast majority of the people who got them here if a few thousand of those are comfortable enough to be able to pay $60 a year for a YouTube channel.

Can it get worse? Sure!

We've had a weekend to enjoy the constant heat of this bonfire and it's predictably worsened with each hour of silence from the company and its employees.

The fact that they haven't back-tracked, despite almost unanimous agreement that this is badder than the baddest thing that could happen to their company, suggests they're okay with it.

Consensus seems to be that they knew it would be this bad, and they're cool. They predicted 90% of people would scream "Boo to you good sirs! Boo indeed!" and they could still survive on the 10% who don't see a problem here.

The lack of response reinforces the narrative that they're totally fine with discarding almost their entire audience if they can just squeeze the cash they need out of whoever is left.

This ain't fixable, y'all (maybe)

Note: I don't want this to be mean, but it's going to sound a little bitchy no matter how I try to say it.

If they'd brought out the Ukulele on Saturday, or even teased Ukulele's on their socials before putting out a video on Sunday, they probably could have survived this with much hand-wringing and a little groveling.

But now I think they've grilled this Kobe steak for far too long.

They've lost 100K subscribers, and counting. The venom among Patreon members is allegedly worse than the public comments section under the video, which is startling. Dozens of YouTubers are torching them harder than a $100 crème brûlée.

People are scraping their channel content in case it's nuked.

Shane "eat the rich" Madej's sentiments over the last few years look disingenuous, to say the least. To shamelessly steal someone else's comment: "Imagine being all 'eat the rich' right before throwing yourself on the plate". He's silent while his McMansion burns down, at his own hands. "Why not!?" indeed.

Steven "I drive a Tesla" Lim's socials now make him look like a tech-bro try-hard and his use of words like "early adopter" and "soft launch" in the video only compound the belief that this was all his brainchild. He is the CEO, and that comes with responsibility and the associated blame. You can't steer the ship into the Bermuda Triangle and then disappear without looking like the bad guy.

Okay, you can disappear, but that convoluted metaphor is a mystery for someone else to solve.

Ryan "TV caliber" Bergara now sounds like an elitist who thinks YouTube is "too pedestrian" for his big plans, not big enough to meet his artistic vision. You see, he's more James Cameron, while YouTube is more like your student film club. He's grown beyond this pesky platform with billions of daily hits offering exponential growth with almost zero financial risk.

Even if they released a video today admitting they messed up big time it's still going to be hard to get the taste of this Ghost Pepper Warhead out of the collective mouth of their viewers.

This hasn't just burned their shared brand, it's singed their individual reputations among an audience upon which their careers rely.

What they should have done, on Saturday, is release a video (Ukulele or no) confessing their error. They should have announced their new platform will instead just be a bigger and better Patreon, with early access to everything, behind-the-scenes content, extra features, audience interaction etc.

They should have reversed to make clear their YouTube channel will stay the priority, their main source of revenue, but that you could get more on their own platform if you want it.

And, maybe, over time, people will pay for that. If they grow their channel to 6 million subscribers in the next 4 years there will be a couple hundred thousand of them willing and able to pay $5.99 a month for 8 years of shows, 8 years of behind the scenes content, 8 years of community involvement and regular early access to new episodes.

Maybe then they could try out their "privileged guys eat expensive food in expensive places" show and see how it does? Maybe a majority of people won't be living on the cusp of poverty by then and it won't look as tone-deaf as a 13 year old YouTuber trying to cover Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"? Maybe then they could hire another 50 people and make Bergara's "TV caliber" (I still don't know exactly what that means) game shows and reboots?

The clock has been ticking since they hit that "publish" button on their career ending video, but that clock is about to count down to zero and silence will permeate throughout their previously lively community.

That 1980s basement set needed someone crying in the corner, right?

The problem is, their own platform is not a terrible idea. Really, it's not the worst thing they could do. The badness came in the timing, the switch, the middle finger and the f you. They could have released this as an extra, their own Patreon alternative, waited, developed it over time into something sustainable and established.

They could still try to do that and hope this dark chapter is forgotten.

Maybe I'm wrong? Maybe Lim is a financial genius with more skill than the management of Rooster Teeth and their corporate parent company combined? Maybe this gamble will be wildly successful despite all streaming services down-sizing or just going bankrupt? Maybe they won't be back on YouTube in 3-6 months begging for views after having to lay off 20 of their employees?

I know this... if I were one of those 25 employees blind faith would not be enough to stop me from looking for another job.

I suppose this will, for now, remain... a mystery.

EDIT:

I'm not writing another essay about this, but I'm glad to see they've backtracked and made the right choice to use WatcherTV as any sane creator would - to host early access and exclusive content in addition to their YouTube channel.

Over time, while promoting it in every video, building up that trust and fan base, it can be a secure and long-term financial bonus helping them to expand their business incrementally as finances allow.

Why this wasn't the plan all along is anyone's guess. Gambling everything on this was never the sane decision.

I still think they need to scale back on costs. I still think the food content is not currently a viable source of income while being a serious drain on resources. I still think they need to stop hiring all their friends and they need to hire one person who doesn't have personal relationships with everyone there and can make the tough business decisions.

No one likes firing people, it's ten times worse when it's a friend. But this is a reality of business and just wishing it wasn't so isn't going to make it go away. It would be awesome if we could all run a business where we can hire all our friends and family, never have to rely on any outside funding, make whatever we want, make a great living in one of the most expensive cities in the world and continue to grow.

That's just not the reality.

Their apology was genuine, in my opinion. I just hope they can work out the right financial balance.

[mactiir]

sword misconceptions pt 1: longsword

Post series: shortsword | rapier | buckler | dagger | spear

so as I'm getting back into fantasy lit as a historical fencer, there are a lot of things I am noticing cropping up in swordfights that are inaccurate or flat out wrong. So i wanted to write a post for my fellow writers putting down a few things I've learned in 2.5 years of swinging the actual weapons around!

Disclaimer: i am not an expert. Additionally, many of the historical terms for weapons were not standardized (there was no "one" longsword/rapier/shortsword etc when we're talking about a weapon that existed for hundreds of years across an entire continent) so what I'm discussing under the cut is specific to the late medieval/early Renaissance European two-handed weapon with a simple hilt/crossguard and with a blade length around 3 feet -- what D&D calls the longsword, or in older editions the bastard sword (although if we want to get picky about it, bastard swords should have shorter handles than longswords -- but I wrote this post as a writing reference so names are beside the point. you can call the swords whatever you want in your story, anyway).

Misconception 1: longswords are heavy.

Older editions of D&D had these weapons at 6 pounds, which is about 2x too heavy. 5e has them at 3 pounds, which is exactly right. Your average longsword is between 2 and 4 pounds, and a well-made one will be balanced such that you barely feel it. Pound for pound, they are heavier than almost all one handed weapons (except some rapiers but we'll talk about that later), but between their balance and the fact you wield them in both hands, their weight is likely not going to be a prohibiting factor for most characters. Everyone who can pick up a wooden baseball bat can pick a longsword up and swing it. A weak or out of shape character will struggle for wielding it for lengths of time, though.

Misconception 2: longswords are slow.

You're 1) thinking of a zweihander and 2)zweihanders aren't slow, either, but we'll get to that later. Longswords, wielded properly in both hands, are lightning fast, with a skilled fencer that's opened their opponent's defense often able to land 2-4 hits before a director even registers the first hit and calls "halt". And there are two components to speed: actual velocity, and distance. Longswords are -- well, long. Even if you can't swing it as fast as a little knife, the fact that it's three feet long means you're closing to target much faster compared with a shorter weapon, because you don't have to do as much footwork to get into, or out of, striking range.

Misconception 3: you can wield a longsword in one or both hands.

I mean, you could. But a one-handed wield robs a longsword of a lot of its dexterity, grace, precision, and yes -- power. You want two hands on this thing. Your dominant hand goes closer to the crossguard and it's what generates your power and edge alignment. Your offhand on or near the pommel is where your dexterity and fine steering is. Switching or removing either of these hands feels weird and you are also way more likely to get disarmed just by trying to parry with one hand.

Misconception 4: swordfights are about dodging.

You have two realistic options when someone is swinging a longsword at you: parry or step out of range. You do not duck. You do not jump. You do not sway, roll, or do backbends. All of these things will 1) rob you of necessary structure to riposte, 2) leave you wide open for a renewed attack or remise, and 3) leave your most important tool for not getting hit -- your SWORD -- too far off target to help you. Yes, all of these things look super cool and may fit depending on your style and setting. But if you're going for realism, YOU PARRY.

Misconception 5: you can be fast or strong but not both.

Ok, this is more a pet peeve about martial arts in general but: you cannot be fast without a certain base amount of muscle. You CANNOT. Small people with no muscle are slow. They have to take huge, looping cuts to compensate for their lack of muscle and leave huge openings while they do it. Small people who do well at the sport are often very quick because they have to train the heck out of footwork to outwork bigger opponents, but that only comes with TRAINING. It's not a "small people are automatically dex builds" thing. And while big muscly guys are often slower, they also 1) have less distance to move to close to target, which makes them "faster" even if they are moving a tad slower and 2) they're also often fast as balls, so you can judge virtually nothing about an opponent based on their body type except for their reach. A good, big longsword fencer will often have really fast handwork because most don't do well in longsword fencing without speed.

Let me know if there are any lingering questions I missed! I may think of more later, but I hope this was helpful for now :)

[hwaightme]

Take me back

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR BIKER!HWA’S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

🏍️ pairing: biker!seonghwa x afab!gangster!reader 🏍️ genre: smut, pwp, exes to lovers, fluff, a little angst, romance, just two fools in love 🏍️ summary: you want to convince yourself that you do not need seonghwa, that your rejection is for the best, but when instead of another rose he is the one waiting by your door, you are not so sure. 🏍️ wordcount: 6.9k 🏍️ warnings/tags: biker!hwa, quick solo edit, language, hwa has grills, head over heels enamoured hwa, mention of contraband/dealing of illegal substances, rejection, knight on a bike courting you, discussion of gang activity, set in strictland, lmk if anything else 🏍️ a/n: why hello there <3 i am trying to get back into writing, and seonghwa + the song 'take me back'… transformed me. always, any notes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, much love~

🏍️ perma-taglist: moved to the end of the post!

🏍️ nsfw tags: sub!hwa and soft dom!reader, no protection (wrap before you tap pls), oral (both giving and receiving), hints of scent kink but more for hwa's perfume, dirty talk, intense pet name content (baby, darling, sweetheart, love, pretty boy), praise both ways, riding/cowgirl, reader double orgasm, overstimulation, slight dumbification, creampie, implied cockwarming, cuddling and two people falling in love more and more with each passing second

It did not take much effort to figure out who left the solitary rose on the window sill, between floors three and five - an ironic nod to tradition despite the world moving in a four four time,  right on the stairwell that led to your apartment. A white rose sculpted to an ideal by nature and by a cosmetic selection, cut away and left a stilled beauty in full bloom, honoured to wilt in your presence. Picking it up with two fingers, you admired the careful handiwork employed to remove the thorns, because heaven forbid you were to hurt yourself. A smirk pricked at the corner of your lips, but you dared not reveal it - the admirer could be waiting just for this, and you were not feeling particularly merciful tonight. Twisting the rose a couple of times, noting the lack of any tears, breakage in the petals or even as much as a hint of browning due to thoughtless damage, you turned your attention to the stark white sheet of paper, neatly folded in half so as to conceal the contents. Though, who else would dare touch any gifts that were obviously left for you? Certainly not those who knew you, or knew of the admirer who was waiting for a single sign that you would accept the offerings. Opening up the note, you found a new selection of confessions written in poetic lines, ink meticulous, a permanence introduced in a neat and familiar hand, every stroke a cry for you, over you, a projection across the city in an attempt to win your heart. Just like last time, except this time the theme was the moon instead of the sun. The stars, the ocean waters, the air embracing you. If one were to paint a portrait through the words etched onto the pages that you had become a secret collector of, you would become the universe. All-encompassing and all-consuming, having permeated into the heart, soul and mind and turning into reason and motivation, you were the eternal muse. Gaze slowly drifting from the page and onto the dim, dark street outside, you looked out at the corner of the street, right to where it faded into a miniature intersection, leading to a shopping district that was long abandoned and shut down aside from a few underground businesses and repurposed buildings that a regular passer-by would, or should never visit. You would never admit it, but you had grown to expect the silhouette that waited for you, maybe even welcome it. A singular constant in your daily life, one that you hated to admit, but had transformed into a grounding, a tether to something less than madness.

It was not comforting, however. Far from it. The man who was leaning against his motorcycle, side profile distinguishable against the faint lights emanating from the far backdrop was someone who had brought you emotion. And just as the government had prescribed in its comically persistent propaganda, disease was human emotion. Whether one served the nation or was working against it, whether one was a public figure for peace or a private figure for war, the state of feeling was oftentimes a disadvantage. It was, most certainly, the case in your line of work, despite you never directly subjecting yourself to risk - you were not that foolish quite yet. But the dedication of the man in black, blue and silver was forcing you to reconsider. Eroding the boundaries you operated within, knocking on the barriers to find a hollow which he could break. One of these days you knew that Seonghwa was going to be the death of you. Or perhaps the revival. Folding the note tightly shut you pressed it against the rose’s stem, and holding both items between your fingers you began your ascent to the door of your apartment, keys dangling from their ring that was in your other hand.

Soon enough, you heard the rumbling of the engine; that same motorcycle which you had come to see more often than the supplies you managed. As you slid the key into the door, you shut your eyes, imagining Seonghwa’s journey away from your complex. How his glasses, those you had joked about being from a laboratory, would glimmer under the jittery neon of old signs and the fading streetlights. How he would accelerate at the end of the road, making a sharp turn to the right. The grip you had on the note and the rose tightened as you recalled the exhilarating feeling of having your arms wrapped around his sensational waist, feeling the toned muscle underneath his black tank top, snaking your hands, letting them roam his body as he struggled to contain himself and keep on driving. You paid the risk no mind - if anything, this risk was the one you preferred so much more, over any other you had to keep subdued under a brutal thumb. Wondering why your mind was so afflicted this evening, you raised the rose again, detecting nothing suspicious. It was only once you raised the note as close to your face as possible that you rolled your eyes and let a sigh escape you. Of course, the perfume. That damn sweet perfume, with hints of coffee and vanilla, one only he could wear, one that you swore you would never be able to rid yourself off, even if you were to burn the house down and shed your own skin. The memory would remain and you knew that if anywhere, anyone, anyhow would let this perfume enter your system, only Seonghwa would be on your mind. Cursing under your breath, you finally unlocked the apartment and entered, washed over with a sense of dread due to your evident proximity to the handcrafted abyss. It was only a matter of time that this game would end. 

Kicking your shoes off your feet and ambling to the living room, you approached the glass that you had positioned at the centre of the tiny dining table, taking out the rose you had previously received and replacing it with the new beauty. Mumbling a goodbye, simply to remind yourself of the fact that you could speak, more than anything, you let the flower disappear in the bin that was across the corridor, in the kitchen. You returned, regarding the white rose again, imprinting its every curve in your mind and hesitantly allowing yourself to compare the softness of the petals to your admirer’s lips, and moved to the cabinet off to the side. A contraband piece, unregulated, from someplace abroad that clearly had more daring, inspiring tastes than your home ever could, which was exactly why you had your loyal employees smuggle it along with the regular supplies to feed the insatiable demand of the sinful city that turned into bills for you. One door opened, another, a few numbers on a keypad pressed and you were in - one of the numerous safes hidden around the flat, the only ones that would stand the test of time, with this one containing the butterflies that plagued Seonghwa, those that he could not help but share with you, fighting pleas that you contained in steel. A cage for the emotions that the man stirred within you, your keeping of the notes supposedly out of sight and out of mind was the last resort for denial. You did not want to witness your demise, and yet, in the night when you were tossing and turning back and forth, illuminated by a hazy blue and grey, your retinas had every note burned into them and your brain would repeat every line back to you over, and over, and over again until you were lulled into a slumber, again, induced by the notion of the one man who you were trying your hardest to avoid. He was behind every corner, physical and spiritual. 

He was in the way you cleared away the dishes after eating, the ghost of his torso pressed against your back as he would leave a peppering of kisses over your shoulder, in the crook of your neck and stopping right over the jugular, caressing the sensitive skin with his breath. Seonghwa was in the way you lied down to bed, always occupying the same side, gliding under the sheets that, even though you had washed them, softened them time and time again, you swore still held his echoes - how your body tried to reignite the reminiscence of how his arm would languidly find purchase on your hips or waist, how he would whisper sweet nothings into your ear, the shameless adoration tickling your cheek and colouring it in a faint blush. As you shut the safe with more aggression than anticipated, making the cabinet rattle from the impact, you shut your eyes, the sensation of the memory becoming too strong to handle. Seonghwa’s hands tracing abstract shapes on your stomach, sides, seemingly absent-mindedly trailing upwards to tease a timid gasp out of you, only to follow the curves and contours of your body down until he could have you in ultimate pleasure. And how, polite as ever, he would ask for it. Ask to touch you, beg for it unabashedly, recounting just how good he had been for you, how he would do anything for you, should you command him. 

Seonghwa’s blind faith in you, his trust in harmony between outlaws and the timelessness of your union was the very reason you stepped away. With every fibre of what you had remaining of your tainted heart you wished for him to find someone better, someone safer, as far as possible from the rotten criminal hydra of which you were one of the many heads. Part of you always held onto the hope that he would leave the city for good. You knew there were better places out there where he could thrive not as a gang member or a fiend of the roads, but as an artist, a dreamer. You had heard enough stories of lands across the oceans where the sun smiled down on those who walked the grounds there, and how people had choice. Desperately, you wanted Seonghwa to make the right one and leave. But all your senses were far too close to overpowering your rationality that served as the single stop sign for the both of you. The one flicker that would set the gasoline ablaze, and leave you two to burn, unable to turn back. Without bothering to turn on any lights, you felt for your bedroom, stripping off the clothes that screamed both business and dealing, and collapsing onto the covers. Hands tracing the lace of your lingerie, you mused what the man of your dreams and nightmares was up to, across the district, under the same omniscient and omnipresent moon, perhaps thinking of you. His name rolled off your tongue far too easily, too comfortably for it to be forbidden. You knew exactly what would happen should he appear instead of another rose, and this awareness - you feared.

As soon as you stepped into the complex, met with the ancient and occasionally flickering bulb that hung right above the entryway, barely outside of the swinging reach of the rusted metal door, you felt the air had shifted while you were gone. The first sign, however, you had caught onto a lot earlier, during your brisk walk down the street, where you caught sight of a familiar motorcycle parked some ways off to the side, obscured by the smog-dulled trees and coughing shrubbery, and only just peeking out from behind a couple of dumpsters. You had to give it to Seonghwa, the place he chose to hide the vehicle was one of the best in the vicinity, but it was not a surprise - something told you that he had your part of the city mapped out and committed to memory, judging by how easily he navigated every corner, and knew exactly where and when you could catch sight of his presence. Slowly, you stepped towards the stairs, trying to steady your breath, failing to ignore the accelerating pace of your heart. The drumming overtook you, pushing away any sense of control and commitment to rejection, and it was as if you could feel every capillary, every artery and vein being set on fire, oxygen being reduced to nothing, lungs screaming and smoke filling your skull. Leaden legs lifting themselves one step, another until you covered the first flight, making a turn. Forgetting to count, you let your instincts guide you, and even though you knew that you were not going to find them, you were half hoping for another rose and note, a secure arrangement that meant you could fool yourself into not feeling as strongly as you, in reality, did. Suddenly, your suit was too tight over your body, the collar digging into your flesh, the sleeves constricting. You wanted to melt away, sink into the floor, turn into concrete, into the walls or the particles that drifted with the drafts before you were to come face to face with what you were so adamant on denying, with whom you were so adamant on denying. The sturdy soles of your dress shoes resounded on the hard stone stairs, marking your arrival. There was no going back, not now, not ever. As soon as the door to your part of the complex closed, so did the door to a destiny without the man who you could now spot on the next flight of stairs, sat outstretched on the cold angularity, elbows perched on one step higher than his body, impeccably balanced while his legs, bent slightly, were stationed on the flat turning. As you regarded his form through the dark grey, sparse railings, taking in the gravity of his unbelievable presence he did not spare you a single glance, instead choosing to remain downcast, peering off to the side, at the merging of the wall and stairs, or maybe he was caught up in his own thoughts, much like you had been a few too many days and nights.

It was only when you stopped right in front of him, stock still, crossing your arms - be it in defence or in threat, did he look up at you, shattering your heart into an innumerable torrential downpour of pieces. Eyes hidden behind those clear visor glasses were misty, hinting at unspilled melancholia, unexpressed need that only you could tear out of him, a living energy that had always been a sacrifice to your being. At your feet, much like how he was now, even though the pose which he had found himself in was nothing like what he had meant in the notes, in the actions, in the past. Seonghwa pushed himself off the stairs, sitting up straighter, head tilting upwards to not break eye contact. Almost as though if he were to look away, you would evaporate. The buttoned up silver collar of his jacket, concealing a few chains underneath, was gently applying pressure to his neck as he moved without daring to make any excessive movements, including adjusting his clothes. The man determined that he was toeing a far too dangerous line to try his luck with confidence.

After so long, after so many roses, after so many secrets that he had spilled in his poetry he could not continue any longer. Gone were the days when your mirage was enough, a hallucinatory visitation in the middle of his day never did satisfy him, but out of fear of disappointing you, he never went ahead with his urges and the cries of every nerve cell. Distance. A hint of your existence, a glimmer of the lights in your apartment, a dismissive picking up of his gifts from the window sill - those were his only joys as of late, but even that was no longer enough. He wanted you. He needed you. He needed you like a man needed air, needed earth, water, and fire. Seonghwa marked too many days on his calendar, drove too many miles without there being one last hope. So he gave into a risk, and bet his own life on it. As he allowed himself to drown in your ethereal glow, the beautiful, pleading man only just caught onto the words that sliced through the months of silence.

“No rose this time?”

Seonghwa let out a breath he did not know he was holding, and reached out for your legs, pulling you closer to him in a desperate call. Wrapping his strong arms around you, he pressed his forehead into your thighs, only a bite of the lip holding him back from breaking apart. He could not care less if you were going to scold him for crumpling your outfit, or for staining it with tears if they were to spill, for it was worth it. You were real. You were here. You were speaking to him and regarding him. Practically falling onto you and at your feet, Seonghwa wanted to be as close as possible, blend with and into you. Taken aback by the suddenness of the lurch towards you, you could only hold your hands up and let the proximity intoxicate you. Staring down at the top of his head, you had to give up your equilibrium to the man if you were to stay standing. Stay above him. And yet, a stray hand found itself floating through and towards the dark, slicked back locks that your palms remembered far too well. As you followed the lines of each strand, digits grazing the scalp, gently patting the impossibly soft and luscious hair, Seonghwa breathed raggedly beneath you, shaking ever so slightly. For how long had he been keeping it in, you wondered. For how long had he been carrying the weight of feeling with him without letting it escape into public exposure. Gently, you hooked the glasses upwards, letting them rest on the top of his head - a gesture that made him look up once more, hands still clenched around the material of your trousers. A flush of pink across his face, glistening eyes and the beginnings of a waterfall marking his relief threatening to trickle down his cheeks. You noted how his lips parted a couple of times, almost like he was in search to find the right words to say to you, maybe he had even already found them, but none made their way to your auditory, remaining a pantomime. Seonghwa was waiting for everything, and his everything was you.

“Oh come on, Hwa, why are you- up. Let’s get up, yeah?” you motioned with both hands for him to get up, and when he would not follow took a hold of his forearms, tugging until he submitted to the request, more moisture rushing to the surface as he was now right here, level with you on the same ground, in one another’s arms like before, with his nickname turning to the most magical melody when you uttered it, “Hwa, no, don’t cry, baby, I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

Thumbs running under his gorgeous eyes, over the stunning smooth skin and hands stopping to cup his face, you admired him with a full heart, letting go of prior inhibitions. There was no point in trying to ignore what had always been, what you would never be able to escape. You hated how you made him feel this pain. You knew you were the instigator, it was obvious to anyone how you were the one who did not want to follow through with hardships and looked for an easy way out, only finding dead ends and lies in the process. His aroma embraced you in a hypnotising cloud, the same one that never left you. The addictive sweetness that you wanted more, more of until there was nothing remaining. Leaning closer to Seonghwa, you took it in, faces a mere centimetre apart, suspense on a single breath. 

“I’m sorry, I could not help it… I-”

“I should be the one who is sorry, baby, don’t say that,” he was too good for this world, you concluded yet again. The longer you knew Seonghwa, the more convinced you became that he was not meant for the city, nor for the life you or he led. You needed to work harder if that could mean buying your and his freedom out of this system.

“Sorry…” he mumbled again, unsteady, inching towards you until his nose brushed against yours. His gloved hands were securely under your suit jacket, toying with the fabric of your white shirt. You nudged him again, reassuring that he was doing everything right, that at least now, he was safe. With you, he was safe.

One of your hands etched the alluring edges of his jawline, travelling down his body and stopping at the jacket. Index finger under the collar, you tugged on the silver material, earning a deeper, expectant sigh from the man. As you snapped the button, pushing the outerwear apart to give you access to his accessories, you felt the metal - warm from the impossible heat oozing from Seonghwa, and slid your digits down the middle of the chest, stopping momentarily at the solar plexus, catching the erratic rhythm of his heart, so intense that you would not be shocked if it were to jump out at any second. You pulled at the black material of his tank top, forcing him to be up right against you, and to stop him from attempting to apologise any more, shifted attention to direct him by his chin. At your mercy, Seonghwa followed. Plush lips parted in anticipation, glossy orbs gaining a darker undertone in the palette contained within, he waited for your final say.

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes. Damn, yes. So much. Too much.” he whispered feverishly, fingers digging into your hips as he sensed your intentions.

“In what ways did you miss me, Seonghwa darling?” knowing that he would achieve nothing if he were to close the gap now, your reawakened passion darted between watching how your mouth moved as you spoke, and studying your irises, head clouded by what had been, and what could be.

“In… every way.”

“Oh, baby, you’re going to have to be a lot more detailed than that.” you mumbled against his lips, leaning away just as he was about to instinctively seek you out.

“I… your company… your words…”

“Should I move? So we can talk?” you teased, jokingly trying to detangle yourself, but to no avail as Seonghwa’s hold got only stronger, and you felt the leather of his trousers fully aligned and pressed against yours. He was impatient, seeking any form of friction, and yet was still holding out well. 

“No… please Y/N.”

“Then tell me, what did you miss, exactly, so I can help you out?” an intensity behind the question threw Seonghwa off balance, making his head spin. Your newfound mastery of the dual renaissance bled onto the pages of the future, yet to be written, determined by every action.

“Your lips.”

“Mhm,” you leaned closer, planting a pack on his lips when he least expected it. Just enough to make him realise what you had done, but not any more, denying him the satisfaction of falling into you. Upon hearing his frustrated whine - music to your growing desire, you continued, “what else?”

“Your- your tongue.” he stuttered, eyelashes fluttering as he glanced everywhere except at you, all while rocking ever so slightly on the spot.

“Elaborate, sweetheart, or do I need to drag everything out of you?” you tightened your hold on his chin, dragging him back to you. 

“No. Goodness… this is embarrassing…” 

“Oh, is my poor baby getting shy? Since when? You always made such pretty sounds for me and now can’t tell me what you want. How am I supposed to take that, hm?” Seonghwa’s cheeks transformed before you, traversing every shade of pink before settling on the deepest hue, “will you be good for me, Hwa? Will you tell me what you missed?”

“I,” he paused, reconsidering, weighing his words, “I miss the way you make me lose my breath when you kiss me. I miss how you unravel me, ruin me with your tongue and mouth around my cock. I miss the feeling of you riding me, I love how every part of you and I is riddled in pleasure as I fill you up with cum and how you don’t stop until I am barely present, and then you bring me right back. I miss how you know me. How you- how you taste. I miss you, Y/N,” he shot at lightning speed, stumbling over his words as he revealed the scenes of his long-standing collections of fantasies that echoed from when you had lived heart to heart, body to body.

The depiction set you ablaze more fiercely than before, and any hints of fear were fully replaced by a carnal greed for the man before you. Need was an understatement. You redefined sin with your voiceless urgency, pushing yourself into Seonghwa’s arms fully, feeling a considerably stronger pressure against your hips where he was standing - clearly you were not the only one who was damning the existence of locks and doors that were barring you from direct access to your apartment.

“See, was that so hard? Now, let me show you how much I miss you.”

A rush, an all consuming energy, a passion that you had not known, taken for granted and realised only when you purposefully lost it and gained it back thanks to Seonghwa being the one to not give up on you, on the flame the two of you created. Your lips moved in a seamless tandem as you stumbled forwards, pushing Seonghwa closer and closer to the door. Fortunately, he had a good enough sense of his surroundings to not trip, falling only for you. You hummed into the sensation, heat pooling to your core as you tasted the coolness of his grills. Nipping at his lush lower lip, you beckoned him to deepen the kiss, a request to which he obliged almost immediately, tilting his head for a better angle. Groaning into the intimacy, you fished out your keys, and after a couple of clumsy tries, finally heard the click of the mechanism. With his foot Seonghwa curled around the door, opening it to give the two of you access, and just barely, you managed to catch it back and slam it shut. As soon as the sound reverberated over the two of you, a switch flipped in your lover, and his hands which were previously almost tied to your hips now freely roamed your body, relearning it, tracing every curve like there was nothing better in this world. Like you were the statue of a goddess and he was a devoted sculptor, working on the masterpiece for all of eternity, aware that he would never be able to replicate the true beauty but still remaining fixated on the blessing that was the process.

Shoes left in a messy pile on the doormat - a problem for later, the two of you tripped over one another, choosing to remain in one another’s arms as you finally made it down the corridor and to your bedroom. As you stood by the frame, you ran over Seonghwa’s inner lips with your tongue, seeking access, and relishing in his taste, better than you could have ever recalled even if you made the effort to. Seonghwa tasted of longing, of a faith that was so rare you swore he was a man from long-forgotten myth or fairy tale, and of the slightest hint of strawberry that he loved so much - the first contraband not meant for human ruin that you had arranged transport and distribution for. Tongue grazing the gold that covered his lower teeth you were finally fully aware, trusting the now; you were not dreaming, you were with him, and you need not deny yourself nor him.

You led him deeper into the room, patient as he felt for the bed behind him to obediently take a seat. Taking his glasses off his head, leaving them on top of a dresser, and motioned for him to rid himself of the jacket and gloves, an order that was punctuated by the articles falling with a thud to the floor. Chuckling to yourself as you recalled Seonghwa’s usual concern with neatness and organisation, the action turned to be a confirmation of his yearning for you. Your own jacket now hanging off the back of a chair located in the far corner of the room, you sauntered back to Seonghwa, swinging a leg over his lap and taking a comfortable seat, facing him. His breath hitched as you grinded closer, feeling his clothed arousal against your body. Following the motion with a few more moves of your hips, Seonghwa gasped, letting his head fall forward, forehead hitting the crook of your neck.

“Y/N, please.”

“Please what?”

“I need you…”

“How do you need me?” you coaxed every wish out of him, gaining pleasure every time he would pause to contain his urge to hide, to back out of answering you, aware of the consequences if he dared to question or dishonour your demands in this sultry ritual.

“I need your mouth, please love, I cannot stand this.”

“But it is right here,” you pointed at your lips, reddened from the previous contact, a coy smile rendering Seonghwa helpless.

“Do you not feel it? Please Y/N I am begging you I need you to su-”

“Not so fast, pretty boy, I need you to convince me.” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence, “can you do that for me?”

“Yes, a million times yes. Please.”

“I suppose I’ll be nice and help you with my clothes,” one button, another, it seemed that Seonghwa was counting with you, ravenous. His hands undid the button and zipper of your trousers, pulling at them to ask for you to let him slide them off. In a few practised moves, you were left only in your bra and panties, a lacy white, earning whispers of praise from Seonghwa, a love for just how well the piece he had bought you some time ago looked, and you, by a twist of fate, happened to choose to wear today.

“Will you lie down for me? All the way up,” without further explanation, Seonghwa shimmied backwards until his head practically hit the headboard, eyes remaining on you, widening as you hastily took off your panties, exposing what he had been pleading for. Crawling towards him, you placed a hand on his chest to tap him out of a lustful stupor, “now darling, can you show me how much you missed my taste?” a nod, another, but you did not move, “words, Seonghwa, I need words.”

“Yes, let me taste your pussy, please.”

“Of course, since you asked so nicely.”

Positioning yourself over Seonghwa’s face, you gripped onto the headboard and lowered yourself until a hungry tongue ran over your already soaked folds, making you gasp. With tentative licks he drew tender, slow circles over your clit before dragging his tongue back to taste you fully, moving in and out of your hole, curling into it. He returned his attention to your sensitive bud, rolling right over its tip, earning a rewarding moan which spurred his eagerness to drive you to higher pleasure. Knuckles turning white from your efforts to maintain at least some illusion of balance, your breaths quickened as he continued to run his tongue over your core, accelerating the buildup of your climax with every flick. Attentive, worshipping every part of you, he sucked on your clit, relishing in the taste of your slick that now coated him. 

His hands found purchase on your thighs, levelling you and bringing you even closer to him until his nose was pressed against you, and tongue driven deeper into your wet cunt. A parched man, Seonghwa groaned against you as he felt the first signs of your approaching orgasm, with the vibration sending an electrifying jolt straight to your core. 

“Ah- Hwa I-”

“You taste so good, thank you, love,” he mumbled from under you, only to return to abusing your heat with his swift tongue, speeding up as he felt your pussy begin to clench, beg for more, and a light trembling start to course through your muscles. Burying his head between your legs and lapping at the nectar from the lustful, voracious pokes into your hole at the very base to intricate sensuality over your clit, Seonghwa drove you over the edge.

Supporting you through your orgasm with his powerful arms, he moaned as you rode it out, drinking your release and revelling in its sweetness. Stars in your vision, you struggled to lower yourself off your lover, a shudder running over your body as he lifted you a little higher, sliding upwards to give himself a better angle. The action snapped you out of a loss, and you found yourself kneeling next to him, smiling in gratitude.

“Such a good boy for me, thank you my love.”

“Always. May I… kiss you?” he inquired meekly, wondering if his present state could potentially deter you.

“Of course,”  you leaned in, closing the space, tasting yourself on Seonghwa’s lips, tongue and grills, but even then, nothing could be more perfect. His hand stretched to run over the side of your face, motivating you to come closer. Fingers in your hair, tugging ever so gently left you breathless. Breaking away, you mumbled promises against his lips, hands moving to work on his leather trousers.

Getting the hint, his top, too, was soon found strewn on the floor, leaving him in the accessories that appeared to only highlight his beauty, so meticulously picked and paired that you had to force to take your gaze away. His irresistible tanned body, every rise and fall of his chest highlighted by the shadows that decorated the room. His beguiling, glazed over expression that was trained on you as you planted kiss after kiss on his torso, each making him question if he could ever breathe again.

“I missed you, Hwa, so,” one peck, “so,” another, “much,” ending below his navel, hand hovering over his member, so painfully erect that you almost felt guilty for getting him to eat you out first.

“I missed you ah-” hand coated in precum and your spit, you positioned it at the base of his cock, causing the abrupt cut in his response. With a steady pumping, you addressed Seonghwa, feigning obliviousness.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“I- I- fuck-” squeezing its girth, you rubbed circles over the tip, making him lose his train of thought, or its remnants.

“So?” holding his dick in place, you waited for his response before reacting to his earlier words.

“Y/N I missed you- ah shi-” upon hearing the sought after phrase you lowered your head.

Opening your mouth, you shifted position to take in as much of him as you could, gliding your tongue against the shaft in practised motions and moaning as you felt him twitch with the warmth. The dribble that ran down the still exposed length added to the wantonness of the situation as you left behind any wish to remain cautious with Seonghwa; after all, he had been explicit with his love for ruin. Centering yourself, you relax your jaw further, taking in more until you could sense the tip approaching the back of your throat. You placed one hand on your lover’s pubic bone, warning him to not buck his hips, even though you were perfectly trusting of him remaining obedient. Dragging your head up and back down, it was easier moving to the sounds escaping from Seonghwa’s throat.

Gripping onto the bed sheets, he was abandoning the clarity and resolve with which he had showed up at your door so many times. Rose after rose he had not been sure if it was you he was convincing or himself. But here, amidst the unfathomably divine pleasure, Seonghwa was merely grateful for how trivial it was, how natural it was for you to take him back. His high was fast-approaching, but before he could act on it you were already removing yourself with a lewd pop, fingers between your folds and twisting to massage your overstimulated clit. Unclasping your bra, you noticed Seonghwa’s otherwise unfocused gaze immediately switching to paying close attention to your breasts, cock twitching in anticipation as you repositioned yourself to be on top of him. Teasing the tip of his leaking member by trailing it between your folds, you watched Seonghwa’s face contort in pleasure once more, wholly submitted to you as you guided it inside of your pussy. As you sank down on him, sighing from the way in which he filled you up, pushing against your walls in all the right places, Seonghwa grunted, eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed from the stimulation. It was clear that he was using all the strength he had left to hold himself back from acting rashly - he wanted you, he missed you, and he was not about to let this heaven go. 

You started to ride him, hands on either side of his body as you lifted your hips only to drive them back down, sheathing his member inside your cunt. Conscious of the fact that he should let you take the full lead, Seonghwa took to searching for anything better to hold than the sheets, crumpled into oblivion and leaving little in terms of comfort. Grounding him as you rocked your hips forward and back, you found his arms, gliding upwards until your fingers intertwined. Seonghwa’s eyes snapped open and he stared at you open-mouthed, in disbelief at your initiative for what he had clearly remembered you labelling as ‘too close for comfort’. Instead of abandoning the gesture, you tightened your hold, your own moans amplifying and joining his breathlessness as the knot in your core grew tighter and tighter with every thrust. 

“Is this- what- you cannot live without, Hwa?”

“Fuck- yes, yes, yes-” words spilled out of him while you picked up speed, spurred on by the nudge of his hips that signified he was close. When he was not submerging himself into pure darkness, he could only manage to register the rhythmic motion of your breasts and an 

“Can’t stop thinking of this pussy even when your cock is stuffed inside, huh?”

“Love this pussy- please, Y/N…”

“Love to be fucked dumb by me?”

“Yes, please I- I am so close Y/N…” his wavering voice and feeble pants cried for affection, which you readily provided even though you had no plans of slowing down.

“I know, baby. Fill me up, fill me up with your cum. You can do it darling-”

Seonghwa did not need any more encouragement. With a final groan, suppressed only by a snapping of his jaw to turn the sound into a prolonged hiss, his hips bucked uncontrollably into you, painting your pulsing walls with ropes of white, the awaited release rendering any speech into indecipherable babble. But you still had your high to chase, and restarted your movements, grinding your hips over his throbbing member to build up your climax while Seonghwa held onto you, whining from the excessive stimulation.

“Such a good boy for me, letting me cum over your cock.”

“I- this is too much I-”

“Are you feeling okay, baby?”

“Don’t, please do not stop- I want to make you- ah, cum,” he answered, each word uneven as you raised yourself repeatedly until, with one final movement and the stroke of the tip against your most sensitive spot, you collapsed on top of your lover, a shiver running over you as your pussy clenched around his dick, milking him of the last of his release.

Rolling over to the side, but not quite wishing to move, you remained in one another’s arms, sweat glistening in the night light, adoration ablaze in every feature. Sliding out his softening member from your warmth, a shy smile adorned his lips as a mixture of slick and cum followed, spilling onto your gorgeous thighs. He tapped you on the shoulder, helping you up so that your faces would be level with one another, and pressed his forehead to yours. He focused on your proximity, pulling you closer, closer until there was no space left. He never wanted to let you go. Never again. If you so wished, you could walk away, but he was sure that his heart would remain with you.

If you wanted to, you could throw it away, burn it, cut it into pieces, but it would still be yours. As he saw his future being written in your pupils, he planted a loving kiss on your lips, for it to be returned with just as much feeling. No longer did you wish to hide it away from him. Your emotion, your expression and vision were his. It was clear to you that there was no one else in this universe who could be trusted more than him. If he so wished, you would let him leave you in the cold. If he decided you need not create, you would agree. If innovation was not in his plans, you would follow. In love was sacrifice, in love was offering, in love was future, in love were you and him. It was as simple as the unfurling of a pearl white rose, as clear as ink on white paper.

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[finalfrontierpublishing]

So it's been a while since i posted any books - mostly because i've been hiding my progress like a little sneak.

I just finished this bind last night of The Desert Storm by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, or really it's volume 1 out of like ??? 15, maybe. Please take whatever i say with a pinch of salt (I have had 0 sleep for more than 24 hours, and that tends to make me a little very sleep-deprivation drunk a.k.a. unhinged). Okay, on to thoughts! The Desert Storm was foisted onto me by @celestial-sphere-press who told me under no uncertain terms that I WOULD FUCKING LOVE THIS SHIT. Well, I did. This more than 1 million word epic about Ben Fuckin' Kenobi is pretty much god-tier fanfiction. It reads like a goddamn novel. I can never think of canon again without thinking that this good shit should be canon. I read it and then consumed half of it within a week, and I have zero regrets. @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning, i absolutely love you and love your writing. It is the best thing since sliced bread. It is better than sliced bread.

I also had the benefit of @celestial-sphere-press saying, hey would you want to use the typeset? MY GOD, i am grateful. I love this fic, i would have typeset it if it hadn't been typeset but Des did such a beautiful job that i am absolutely in awe and thankful that she and the author allowed others to use it. Look at it - it's so beautiful. I only had to think hey, i just gotta design the cover and et cetera and so the book happened.

Please also check out @celestial-sphere-press 's amazing post here and here, who is the only person i know who's started and is almost complete in fanbinding this epic, and is also making an author a copy of the entire series.

Some stats, if you will.

96215 words || 380 pages

Title font: Ghaomiec

I took some inspiration from starblight bindery's lovely desert scape as well as this amazing cover of Dune which i own. I love that the landscape emanates Dune vibes while being oh so Tattooine - just sand and heat, relentless loneliness and melancholy. This fic centres around Obi-Wan Infinite Sadness Kenobi so it needed SAD VIBES TM, which i tried to deliver in desolate landscape form.

Also thank the heavens for Renegade members, who in a masterful stroke of Group Buy Saves Money, managed to source extra-out-of-production colours of Colibri and help a fair number of us get really cool limited edition versions of bookcloth. I am now a proud owner of a lorge stash of Duo and Colibri of which i am now sitting on like a shifty dragon with a hoarding problem. Good luck getting your bookcloth now, Folio Society, ha ha (gloating)! This particular bookcloth is Colibri Copper which has been wholly stashed for The Desert Storm series. I am leaning on transitioning to Malachite for Rise and Fall when I get to it.

The front cover design was done with a stock image and converted to a PNG, which i then fiddled with and did some HTV magic with. It was remarkably easier to weed than expected. I tried something new and ironed the design on the naked bookcloth first before gluing it to the boards, which was a new challenge in making sure everything was aligned.

Endpapers are marbled endpapers (Renato Crepaldi) which I got from Hollanders, which perfectly fit the colour scheme of the bind. The only hiccup was as I was cutting, I realized the sheet was running in the opposite direction of his usual papers and half the size, and only yielded 3 A5 size endpapers and so my heart went noooooooooo. oh well. i guess i will use it for quartos.

Endbands are my favourite - silk in 3 colours in the french doublecore style (as i was binding this i did not have the mental capacity to handle the difficulty of 4 strands). the truth is i usually only can do 4 when I have higher brain function and am willing to spend 80% of my time unraveling it from getting tangled.

I also forgot to mention I had mild fuck-ups, I got glue on the front endpaper which I had to hastily remove with wet cloth, and the back square is preposterously bad but I'm ignoring it for now.

Anyway, i've actually managed to complete a few other binds which have not been mentioned here as they've all been gifts/ surprises or event books in some form. I am SO EXCITED, also because I am travelling in the latter half of July to San Diego and L.A. and I get to meet some bookbinding friends in the flesh. Renegade is fucking amazing y'all. I am ready to embrace these crazy lads who have enabled me for the last 1 year, even when i'm the solitary (1) weirdo from my country of origin in the server. Also... potentially bookbinding trip early next year??? I am enthused.

[darksvster]

Announcing...

House of the Dragon Season 1 Script Excerpts

I got my hands on the scripts for episodes 2-10 and was able to grab quotes/scenes to share. I will be posting them once a day under the tag #HOTDS1Script here and on Twitter.

More Info ↓

FAQ

Q: How did you get these scripts?

A: They are available to read at the WGA Library in LA. You must go in physically to the library and you can not copy or photograph scripts.

Q: Why are there huge watermarks?

A: This took a LOT of time. I had to go into the library on my day off, handwrite these scenes while reading them, put them into the proper script formatting, then style them. It took a lot of work, and people often take content without crediting in fandom.

Q: Can you find ___ scene for me?

A: I’m open to questions but I did not have a lot of time so I scanned through the scripts for scenes I was interested in. If I go back in the future, I am open to taking requests.

Q: Has the script been edited by you?

A: The only edits I made were for brevity. I cut out whenever a character had their entire name listed or all of their titles, and I summarized scenes we’ve already seen on screen in parentheses.

Q: This scene doesn't make sense...

A: The scripts are not always consistent with the final episode. Some of these are early script drafts. If something doesn’t make sense, the creative team obviously decided to go in a different direction for the scene.

Q: Why do some episodes have more quotes than others?

A: I ran out of time reading these scripts. The library isn’t open for a long time and I was on a limited schedule. Whatever feels lacking is probably due to my time constraints.

Due to the word limit on Twitter, details on the date the script was written, who wrote it, and which revision it is will not be on the Twitter posts but they will be included on each Tumblr post.

Finally, even with watermarks, I know people will repost my work without crediting me. If you do decide to repost the specific edit, please do not remove my watermark. If you decide to share the content with others, please credit my account directly. If you have more questions about specific ships, I did a more specific FAQ for ships.

Answered Questions

Is there any description of the dragons?

Do Alicent and Criston have a sexual relationship?

Do you have scenes from Driftmark re: Larys/Alicent/Criston, or the "spoiled cunt" Criston scene?

Where are the other Rhaewin/Harwin scenes?

Will we get Helaena dragon dreams scenes? Or any scenes between her and Aegon or her and Alicent?

Are there any Daemyra missing scenes?

Do you have the Daemyra choking scene from Episode 10?

Do you have anything on Rhaenys?

Do you have anything on Aegon?

When are you posting these excerpts? What order are you posting them in?

Anything on Cristonyra? Or Lucemond?

What are your favorite episodes?

How many excerpts do you have in total?

[toast-the-unknowing]

on fanfic plagiarism

Almost five years ago, in January of 2019, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "Word on the Street," had been plagiarized.

I remember that the stolen fic was posted in k-pop fandom, though not what specific band it related to -- I'm not into k-pop, or really into pop music at all.

I remember that the person who messaged me told me that they had found my fic because the plagiarist had a reputation for stealing fic, so when they'd posted a new story, this person had known to do some digging.

I don't remember what the plagiarist's username was. I remember scanning the stolen story, trying both to read every detail and to avoiding taking any of it in, because looking at that right-but-wrong, not-quite-there, uncanny-valley-ness of it made me queasy.

I remember being darkly amused that the plagiarist had cut out the reference to the main character suffering physical abuse at the hands of his father -- I guess it didn't make sense in the context of the new character. It's almost like the story wasn't written for him. It's almost like someone wrote the story about Adam Parrish, instead.

I filed an AO3 complaint, on the grounds that this was a blatant and unarguable violation of their plagiarism policy. Within twenty-four hours, they got back to me, and the story was removed.

It was a weird, uncomfortable, gross feeling, knowing someone had taken words I'd written and passed them off as their own.

But at the same time -- "Word on the Street" was a silly thing I dashed off pretty quickly, during a period of my life when I was doing a lot of writing. It hurt to have it stolen. It was a violation. But…I had other words, that were more important to me. Maybe that was a buffer.

-

Last month, about six weeks ago, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "there's talk going 'round this town," had been plagiarized.

I was, bizarrely, amused.

I was less bizarrely furious. I was understandably, relatably, I would say rationally, furious. But in a way (and as always, when I say in a way, I am calling back to the scholars of overthinkingit.com for whom in a way is meant as the thing I have just said or am about to say is false) -- in a way, I was amused.

The plagiarist clearly did a 'find and replace' on the character names, to replace Adam and Ronan's names with those of k-pop characters. They did a bad job of it, since the name "Ronan" still appears in one paragraph and the name "Parrish" still appears in two paragraphs. The fic is here, in case anyone doesn't believe me, under the name "i do(n't remember)". At first when I complained about the fic on tumblr, I didn't mention the name, or which fic they'd stolen, because I was worried about anyone…I don't know, making a scene. I've stopped caring. AO3 user springguk is bad at find and replace and they should feel bad. About their computer skills, and also about their blatant plagiarism.

springguk also did some more edits to my fic, I have to give them credit for that. I wrote "there's talk going 'round this town" within a relatively short time span, for me. I tend to either finish things within one week, or else take several months. I believe this one took about five or six weeks completely to write -- I was very inspired.

(I was inspired, specifically, by the press coverage of Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves 'discovering' they might be 'accidentally' married. I mention that in my author's notes. springguk doesn't mention what 'inspired' them in their author's notes. I wonder how they talk about it with friends. They do, in their author's notes, include a link to their ko-fi, and a request that people buy them a coffee.)

If I'd taken longer with this fic, I might have made some edits. Even at the time, I knew I was being self-indulgent in letting the scene with my teenage female OC talk at such length with Ronan about what his non-canonical film career had meant to her, a person the audience didn't care about. But I had fun. I liked Fox. I didn't want to cut her, and what the hell, it was fanfic. I decided to self-indulge.

I was darkly amused to find that springguk did cut out the scene with Fox from their plagiarized version. Maybe springguk is a more disciplined editor than I am. Maybe springguk just didn't have a good k-pop character to map Fox onto. Maybe springguk didn't even realize that Fox was an OC. Do you know anything about the fandom you steal fics from, springguk? I can't help but wonder. Have you read The Raven Cycle? Do you care about teenage OCs who steal cars because of fake films that are clearly meant to be stand-ins for The Fast and the Furious franchise?

Maybe springguk just didn't give a fuck, because none of their heart and soul was poured into this fic. I cared too much about Fox. springguk doesn't care about a single word in the fic they published. Why would they? They didn't write it.

I'm being a little mean in naming them so many times. But I'm able to, this time, because although I filed a plagiarism complaint with AO3 six weeks ago, springguk's stolen fic "i do(n't remember)," is still available to read on AO3 to this very day. I don't have to wrack my brains to remember what their username was, or which k-pop band they recast my work with. I can just look at their fic with its 24 comments and 151 kudos. Hell, maybe that fic is even better than mine, if you don't mind that by cutting the sequence with Fox they've sacrificed a fairly substantial development in the romantic relationship, and also if you don't care that at one point the characters names switch from Jeongguk and Taehyung to Ronan and Parrish, because seriously, for fuck's sake, if you're going to steal a fic at least do a goddamn ctrl+f at the end.

I was mad. I was amused. I made a complaint that the AO3, six weeks later, has still not acted on. I mostly moved on.

-

Tonight, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now," had been plagiarized.

I wanted to vomit.

I was supposed to be playing Dungeons and Dragons online with friends tonight; I spent the entire call unable to focus on anything anyone was saying. I had to keep reminding myself that I was on camera and my face wasn't supposed to look like that.

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is the first of a series of, currently, twelve fics. skytoseungmin, the person who stole it to pass it off as their own work, knew this. Their stolen version was published as part one of a series, though they hadn't published any of the sequels. Presumably, they wanted to wait long enough to make it plausible they'd gone and written the follow ups, instead of just finding them.

skytoseungmin likely didn't know that this fic and this series are intensely personal. They didn't know that the apartment that Adam -- Seungmin, in their ill-gotten version -- lives in, that was based in part off of the apartment I lived in for a year in Pico-Robertson with talldecafcappuccino. They didn't know that the 7-Eleven Adam buys coffee at is the same one I used to tease talldecafcappuccino for buying coffee at. They didn't know that the strip club where Adam and Ronan have their humorously ill-timed romantic revelation outside of, that was the strip club I used to use as a landmark when giving people directions for how to navigate the confusing as fuck freeway exit I lived near, which once caused me to accidentally tell my highly Catholic parents "just go past the strip club and you're good!"

skytoseungmin didn't know that the apartment Adam -- sorry, Seungmin, thoroughly, they were better with find and replace than springguk -- lived in, was also based off of my ex's apartment in Palms, where I as the mere visiting girlfriend was never allowed to park in the parking lot. Where I would sometimes have to spend twenty or thirty minutes circling the neighborhood before I could find parking, often a walk of several minutes away. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when Ronan's car get towed from a McDonald's parking lot, that that was a specific McDonald's on Venice Boulevards, the same one my ex's asshole roommate used to just roll his eyes and say that I should park at. skytoseungmin doesn't know that I once wished passionately that I had just parked in that McDonald's parking lot and risked getting towed, on the occasion that a man followed me several unlit blocks from my car. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when I talk about how helping someone park is the truest love language there is in Los Angeles, that that was what I meant. Has skytoseungmin ever had to circle to half an hour to find parking in Los Angeles? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone enough to do that, instead of saying, fuck it, they can come to me or we're breaking up? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone in Los Angeles enough, to do as my ex did, and come running as fast as humanly possibly when their girlfriend called them whispering and crying on the phone, someone's following me, please, I'm scared, I wish I just parked at the McDonald's?

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is a very personal fic.

It isn't half as personal as some of the fics that come after.

skytoseungmin marked their plagiarized version of the fic as part one of a series. Were they planning on stealing part two, where I, through an alternate universe characterization of Ronan Lynch, dig into my experience of grief and trauma surrounding my grandmother's dementia? Were they planning on stealing any of the explicit fics, where I play with kink and desire in ways I haven't even exposed to my actual sexual partners, but where I felt able to through the guise of fandom? What else was skytoseungmin planning on stealing, with charming little author's notes apologizing for how they missed the fandom-relevant date they were shooting for, because they were so busy with exams, tee-hee! Why the excuses, skytoseungmin? how long does it take you to ctrl+f, even if you are more thorough about it than springguk?

If I seem too accusatory and mean-spirited toward skytoseungmin, well, the LA verse is a very personal fic.

And it's also, it turns out, only one of eight different fics that they stole from me.

I didn't even notice at first, to be honest. I was too stunned. But my friend Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went to my defense and clicked through to the author's page, while I was still reeling at the horrible possibilities of part one of a series. It turned out, of eight fics on skytoseungmin's author's page…I had written every single one of them.

Some were short and pretty lighthearted, things I hadn't had to invest too much of myself into -- like I said, sometimes, I can write a fic in under a week.

Other things…

They stole the space western AU.

I don't think I can articulate to any human being how much that hurt me, to look at it, to see.

I wrote that as a thank you gift for someone who donated to Fandom Trumps Hate.

I spent nearly two years of my life on it -- two years during which, because of mental health issues and life situation changes, my words per year dropped precipitously. I still haven't recovered. I still think of what a failure I am for not writing more, currently, actively, and I remember how the space western AU was both a symptom of that and a defiance of it: yes, writing has become fucking hard, fucking NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE, but I'm still doing it, goddamn it, you can't stop me, even if all I produce is the tiniest trickle of words a month. it can still add up, somehow, if we just keep TRYING.

To see the space western AU, casually nestled amongst a half dozen other fics that were all apparently casually dashed off in the same month…I know it was theft, I know it was a lie, but it still felt like a slap in the face, why can't you write this fast?

Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went on a campaign of commenting on all of skytoseungmin's (my) fics, and I am so thankful. The k-pop fans who heard Jessie have been reaching out, to her, to me, to each other on Twitter, and I am so thankful for them too. skytoseungmin has deleted all of their (my) fics on AO3, and their entire AO3 account, and their entire twitter, apparently. Maybe they were hoping to get enough clicks to parlay them into some kind of book deal, and they'd now rather give up what was a low investment effort on their part than be associated with accusation of plagiarism.

I suppose they can always start over with a new user name and someone else's fics if they really want to.

I suppose they can always start over with a new username and my fics, if they really want to.

And after all, AO3 has still not reached out to me about springguk, and "i do(n't remember)" is still sitting there. Maybe springguk is also going for a book deal. Who knows?

Why complain about any of it?

In a way* (and remember what "in a way" means), isn't it a compliment, if someone loves the words I wrote, even if they don't know it was me that wrote them? toast-the-unknowing and shinealightonme, if they're the same name (and they are), then why not springguk or skytoseungmin, too?

Am I making too big of a deal out of this? Does everyone just have their work stolen from them, all of the time? Is that simply the cost of doing business in an era and an ecosystem where we all can copy and paste twenty-four thousand words with greater ease than our ancestors could transcribe a single phrase? Are more prolific, more famous, more successful fan authors looking at my piteous cries and thinking, bitch, you've only been ripped off by k-pop fans ten times, come back when you have real problems?

And yet in a month, a year, a whole life phase of not being able to write as much as I would like to, because of my health, because of my work, to have someone else just casually pass off the words I have managed to eke out, as though they have no value, as though it were no more than photo copying a shitty flier to stick under a windshield wiper…

I can't imagine springguk or skytoseungmin give a shit how I feel about any of this. At best, they roll their eyes; at worst they laugh to know they hurt me -- and what's the difference between the two? I'll never know either way.

I know that some of the people they duped do care, and are also upset. That helps. And also, it doesn't help.

I just fucking hate all of this, and if all I have are words, and if my words are valuable enough for someone to steal, then here, here are enough of them to choke on. I know I did.

[dododrawsstuff]

Ikevil OC Atlas Fowler

Edit!!!!: the profile template was made by @natimiles

“The star that burns twice as bright, burn half as long” ~ Estella about him

“Where does your loyalty lay, little Robin?”

I'm on a trip with my family this week, so I have plenty of time to work on my OCs and catch up to the expression requests remaining

I had a lot of fun desiging him and his curse (that I took inspiration from filibusterfrog's "Umbralysis") and ended up making a ref sheet of sorts, but I'll still draw his back and some other expressions, other than his little shit smile. I still feel like I can improve him a lot, but I'm impatient and wanted to share him with you.

More about him under the cut! And as always, I'll keep tweking this post as I think of stuff to add or change. Hope you like him!

OC taglist: @olivermorningstar @keithsandwich @scummy-writes @aquagirl1978 @sh0jun @mxrmaid-poet @violettduchess @floydsteeth @lorei-writes @ikeprinces-stuff @flimflam707 (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist)

I'm also tagging some people that showed interest in him on my other post, let me know if you don't want to be tagged and I'll remove you @errethebunny @bicayaya @natimiles @venulus @rou-luxe

Name: Atlas Fowler

Age: 27

Birthday: Nov 22

Height: 181 cm

Affiliation: The Circus

Hobbies: Collecting information, baking, pissing off people he doesn't like

Skills: Singing, styling hair

Likes: Chocolate chip cookies, freedom

Dislikes: Fish

Resents: Disloyalty

Weapon: Daggers

Personality: Atlas is a very charming and charismatic man, always displaying a pleasant smile, he is a natural entertainer. He is always in a good mood and is very positive, almost as if he doesn't even experience bad emotions…?

Beneath that facade he is arrogant and thinks he is untouchable, and believes his ability is a blessing, rather than a curse. The thing most valuable to him is loyalty, he despises betrayals the most.

He is smart and cunning, and is not afraid to use his ability to get information for his own benefit, though he mainly uses it on people who have been unfaithful.

Curse: Peter Pan

It makes so that Atlas’ shadow can move independently from him. He can know what his shadow experienced while apart from him, allowing him to be “at two places at the same time”, he has full control of the shadow and prefers to use his powers at night, as to not rise suspicion from others.

Atlas also discovered a peculiar characteristic of his ability, he can divide his emotions between him and his shadow, it acting almost as a storage for him. The curse manifested when he was still an infant, so he had some time to figure it out on his own.

One thing Atlas doesn't know is the fate of those afflicted by the Peter Pan’s curse, every single one of them uses their shadow as a way to get rid of "troublesome" or "useless emotions", but as they keep pouring those negative feelings, the shadow begins to gain sentience. In the end it usually kills its owner and itself in the process.

Backstory: When he was little his parents got freaked out by seeing him playing with his shadow, they thought he was cursed, or possessed but nothing they did cured him. What broke the camel's back for them was when Atlas told them the culprit of a series of murders in the neighborhood and days later the police caught them, when his parents asked how he knew, he explained that his shadow had seen it and told him.

Not too long after that they tried to get rid of him, but the church nor the orphanage wanted to accept him, since his complicated background preceded him. Until they found an itinerary circus, they lied and abandoned him there. Most of the crew were kind and welcoming to him, especially Estella, the magician, she became a mother figure for him and the reason he decided to follow her steps and become a magician.

Random headcanons:

He learned to style hair from Estella, she says that presentation is everything for a magician

After every presentation, the circus crew gets together to bake chocolate chip cookies

[leftistfeminista]

Trolls Used Her Face to Make Fake Porn. There Was Nothing She Could Do.

Sabrina Javellana was a rising star in local politics — until deepfakes derailed her life.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/31/magazine/sabrina-javellana-florida-politics-ai-porn.html

Most mornings, before walking into City Hall in Hallandale Beach, Fla., a small city north of Miami, Sabrina Javellana would sit in the parking lot and monitor her Twitter and Instagram accounts. After winning a seat on the Hallandale Beach city commission in 2018, at age 21, she became one of the youngest elected officials in Florida’s history. Her progressive political positions had sometimes earned her enemies: After proposing a name change for a state thoroughfare called Dixie Highway in late 2019, she regularly received vitriolic and violent threats on social media; her condemnation of police brutality and calls for criminal-justice reform prompted aggressive rhetoric from members of local law enforcement. Disturbing messages were nothing new to her.

The morning of Feb. 5, 2021, though, she noticed an unusual one. “Hi, just wanted to let you know that somebody is sharing pictures of you online and discussing you in quite a grotesque manner,” it began. “He claims that he’s one of your ‘guy friends.’”

Javellana froze. Who could have sent this message? She asked for evidence, and the sender responded with pixelated screenshots of a forum thread that included photos of her. There were comments that mentioned her political career. Had her work drawn these people’s ire? Eventually, with a friend’s help, she found a set of archived pages from the notorious forum site 4chan. Most of the images were pulled from her social media and annotated with obscene, misogynistic remarks: “not thicc enough”; “I would breed her”; “no sane person would date such a stupid creature.” But one image further down the thread stopped her short. She was standing in front of a full-length mirror with her head tilted to the side, smiling playfully. She had posted an almost identical selfie, in which she wore a brown crew-neck top and matching skirt, to her Instagram account back in 2015. “It was the exact same picture,” Javellana said of the doctored image. “But I wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

There were several more. These were deepfakes: A.I.-generated images that manipulate a person’s likeness, fusing it with others to create a false picture or video, sometimes pornographic, in a way that looks authentic. Although fake explicit material has existed for decades thanks to image-editing software, deepfakes stand out for their striking believability. Even Javellana was shaken by their apparent authenticity.

“I didn’t know that this was something that happened to everyday people,” Javellana told me when I visited her earlier this year in Florida. She wondered if anyone else had seen the photos or the abusive comments online. Several of the threads even implied that people on the forum knew her. “I live in Broward County,” one comment read. “She just graduated from FIU.” Other users threatened sexual violence. In the days that followed, Javellana became increasingly fearful and paranoid. She stopped walking alone at night and started triple-checking that her doors and windows were locked before she slept. In an effort to protect her personal life, she made her Instagram private and removed photographs of herself in a bathing suit.

Discovering the images changed how Javellana operated professionally. Attending press events was part of her job, but now she felt anxious every time someone lifted their camera. She worried that public images of her would be turned into pornography, so she covered as much of her body as she could, favoring high-cut blouses and blazers. She knew she wasn’t acting rationally — people could create new deepfakes regardless of how much skin she showed in the real world — but changing her style made her feel a sense of control. If the deepfakes went viral, no one could look at how she dressed and think that she had invited this harassment.

[clockworkphoebe]

{{{ WIP: The Spine Custom Ken Doll }}}

So, this is actually a project that I started back in the summer of 2020. My sister (@arcticusluna) had been making custom doll clothes for a while and she wanted to start a full doll customization project. When she told me about it we thought it would be fun to do it together. She was going to make a Rabbit custom and I would make a Spine custom.

I still have quite a bit left to go before finishing this. I still plan to add stripes, buttons, and pocket to the vest and to make some edits to the hat I ended up finding and settling with. I also had plans to make his long trench coat. but that will probably be a project for the future. I honestly just wanted to post this since I worked really hard on it but just haven't had the time/motivation to finish it yet.

The Rabbit my sister made will probably not be posted as the paint and glaze we used have deteriorated quickly on her over the last few years and we are unsure as to why, considering that we used the same materials and mine only has a few minor issues. We think it may have been the doll she started with as the rubber seemed to be a lot more flimsy and soft. She might post the clothes or parts of the doll later.

Work in progress photos and process under the read more:

For the edits on the face I used 2-part Apoxie Sculpt. I would lightly score the rubber after removing the hair and then gently shape the apoxie to the face. After getting it as smooth as possible I lightly sanded it. The lines on his head and faced were referenced from the Hot on the Trail music video.

The fins were probably the most challenging part. I cut out paper to the sizes I wanted and made marks where I wanted the fins placed. Then I cut pieces of cardboard to size and covered them with a thin layer of apoxie to make them more sturdy and smooth. once the fins were cleaned up I scored the back of the doll and carefully molded the spines to the back. This was very tedious as they tended to not hold in place when the apoxie was still drying. It was also hard to get the spacing right so that the back was still movable/posable. They are not completely accurate to the Spine's but the bases had to be widened so that they would be more sturdy and attach to the back properly. Once everything was dry, I sanded it the best I could and began painting. I used FolkArt acrylic paints and then a glaze top coat. If I were to do this again I would probably have primed the doll first and use spray paints instead so that the layering was more even and smooth.

As I was working on the main doll, I was also working on the guitar. The guitar was made entirely from scratch since I really didn't like any of the doll/model guitars that I found. Most were extremely thin/cheap or not really to scale. I used my own acoustic guitar for scale and then drew out The Spine's guitar as close as I could with the proper dimensions. From there, I cut multiple layers of cardboard until I got the right thickness. The bottom two layers were full, the middle layers were hollowed out in the center, the top layer had the sound hole cut, and an extra layer for the neck was made and rested on top. I glued all these layers together, and like the fins, I covered it all with a thin layer of apoxie. I sanded it until smooth and sculpted in all the extra details such as the tuning pegs, the 20 frets, the bridge, and small pegs to hold the strap. Everything was then painted and glazed. The strap is made from a ribbon and pieces of faux leather glued together with the ribbon sandwiched between them.

The hat was a struggle. I could not find a single hat that was close to the one Spine wears so I tried a few times to make one by hand. In the end they ended up way to heavy/bulky when I tried to make molded ones and I couldn't get them to sit on his head quite right. (I have absolutely no clue how to make a fabric one.) A few months ago I randomly found a hat while shopping that was actually pretty close to Spine's. So I will be using this for now until I can either edit it or make a different one.

For this project the pants, shirt, and vest were all made from scratch. I have no prior experience with doll customizations at all and while I know how to sew, I have only ever sewn plush animals. I have never made clothes or my own patterns. To make my patterns I used the plastic wrap and tape method. This is when you wrap the body with plastic wrap, cover this with tape, and then mark out the pattern on the tape. You can then cut out the pattern and use it to measure out your fabric. This was very tedious since the dolls are so small. The small size made it very difficult to get clean seams and to have the pattern actually line up properly once fitted to the doll. In the images above you'll see that I had to make most of the patterns twice to get it the way I wanted. Another challenge was trying to get the clothes to lay properly around the fins without leaving giant holes in the fabric and without the fins tearing up the fabric around them. I ended up gluing an interface on the insides of the shirt and vest to help keep the fabric sturdy and then glued along the edges of the gaps to keep them from fraying. I ended up finding the shoes I needed on ebay.

Here are more closeup photos of the finished guitar. I also put it next to the guitar I used for its design just to show the size difference.

Here are more pictures of the doll without the guitar and hat.

Also if anyone was curious this is the original doll used for this custom.