#HOLY FUCK BOOKS ARE EXPENSIVE

[bitesonmyneck]

ratcliffe power station by michael kenna

[books-coffee-and-the-woods]

Mission accomplished! Found White Cat, Black Dog as I hoped, a Vandermeer I hadn't heard of, and Chlorine, which was a cover-buy.

[witchcraftandgeekness]

Things we (me) are forgetting about Six of crows, not in order:

• There were rumours that Wylan was caught in an affair with his tutor

• Inej killed rinca moten (the desert lizard) that Matthias claimed he never seen being defeated before. She did it in few seconds too

• Jesper and Nina had chloropellets that they used to put other prisoners to sleep stitched under their skin. And had to cut them out to use them

• Matthias had a buzzcut for whole two books and half; also, half of SoC he had brown hair and brown eyes tailored

• Kaz had lockpicks and bloody explosives swallowed for the entirety of heist, and had to regurgitate them every other hour

• When Nina was young, she wanted to go to Fjerda as an avenging warrior or a spy (foreshadowing, I guess)

• Inej used Kaz's gloves to climb in the incenerator scene

• After learning Inej's real name, Kaz asked if that's what she preferred to be called

•Kaz's pov has shown that he probably had fracture or other injury from when he jumped while carrying Inej in his arms, and it was never mentioned him getting any medical attention. My boy been running this heist like this, AND without his cane for hours

• They blew up the nation's holy magical tree (somehow I keep forgetting this part)

• Matthias gave Kaz an agressive CPR until Nina took over. So his heart probably stopped during heist? (Somebody just give him a vacation or something)

•Nina flirts/ed with Kaz (as he had mentioned himself, she just loves flirting with everybody and everything)

•Inej seems to be the ONLY one in the Dregs without their tattoo

•Matthias labeled Inej as a demon in his head as well, not only Kaz

•Matthias' middle name is Benedik. I think only his and Jesper's second names were revealed (very likely that they are the only ones who have them)

•Kaz gave Matthias the "you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me" talk (like, literally)

•“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.”

“I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.”

•Inej thought that Kaz "at least owes me his best imitation of a human being".

•Wylan was standing up to Kaz several times, even at times when others wouldn't (like right after the Oomen incident)

•Matthias has the coolest nicknames for everybody in general

•Kaz kinda thinks more of Inej than others do? Has more faith in her and how strong she is, if you will

•Kaz went back for the Black Tips after Inej was injured and "there was enough blood to paint a barn red" (reminder that he still has a fracture after running with her in his hands and jumping off great heightswhile carrying her)

•Tolya was mentioned in SoC ("There’s a Heartrender at the Little Palace who can recite epic poetry for hours. Then you’d wish you had died.”)

•Matthias thanked Inej personally for being the reason they made it out of the harbor alive (that's right, everybody must respect Inej)

•Kaz wants reassurance that Inej believes in him once in a while

•Everybody feels kinda good about sharing secrets with Kaz cuz he's Dirtyhands and he wouldn't judge anything

•Kaz and Inej have a series of silent signals?

•Kaz said "You don't want a look at what's inside my head, Nina dear" while wearing fucking dumb goggles

•Inej is the only sacred thing in Kaz's life, and she made him feel like a boy still believing in existence of magic

[akaneluvr]

have been looking over a few laptops lately since they're cheaper during these coming back to school months and man i'm so scared of fucking up and getting a bad one because they're still mad expensive

[leeknow-thoughts]

୨୧ POLY!MINLIX X READER HEADCANONS

𝝑𝝔 cw : bullet point format, smut under cut, sfw and nsfw sections, mommy kink (everyone act surprised), sub and dom dynamics, some sub!reader and some dom!reader, pegging, mxm action, poly!minlix, petplay, rimming, some stoned! sex, some stoner!minlix

𝝑𝝔 SFW :

oh my fuck literally the best bfs everrrr

just so so so much love??? it's almost overwhelming???

Minho is so gentle and he takes so much pride in knowing every single stupid thing about you and lixie

oh oh oh he also thinks it's so cute when you and Lix give him nicknames

AND LIX :c MY LIXIE PIXIE :cc

he gives so so so so much love just all the time

whether it's bc he's cuddling into your side at night or he's making you brownies or he's buying you cute little gifts

"oh I saw this and I thought you'd like it!" - Lix (as if the gift isn't an EXPENSIVE ass designer bag or perfume or novelty item)

oh yeah Minho buys you and Lix jewelry a lot... like gets you 3 matching sets for Christmas, birthdays, holidays, new years, anniversaries, etc.

but Minho is a simple man, he lovesssss quality time

oh yeah aquarium dates SO MANY AQUARIUM DATES???

the kitties love looking at the fish

oh oh oh and Lixie loves physical touch???

so the 3 of you are cuddling in bed and probably either playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo switch (which always gets complicated bc Felix rages everytime he gets hit by one of minho's red tortoise shells) or watching a movie (it can't be a horror movie bc lix will cry, and it can't be a movie where an animal dies bc Lix will cry, and it also can't be a detective movie bc Lix will get bored halfway through) or taking a little cat nap (Minho curses, tosses, turns, and talks in his sleep so most of the time he is waking you or lix up, but you 2 don't dare say anything bc it would make Minho feel bad)

oh oh oh and you never have to step foot in the kitchen bc mimo lovesss cooking for you :c

so much praise??? you could literally just breathe and they'd be telling you just how much they love you??? LIKE HELLO?!--

also also also they FUND your hobbies and interests

oh, you like an anime series?? Guess who bought you 5 new figurines of your favorite character just so you'll smile? Lixie did!!! it doesn't matter that it costed a ridiculous amount of money bc it made you smile and that's what matters to Lixie!!

oh, you want to visit Japan someday?? Guess who booked a flight there just bc he loves you sm?? Minho did!!!

oh oh oh they're def sharing their clothes with each other and with you

they think you look so cute in their clothes

𝝑𝝔 NSFW :

the most versatile duo ever oh my fuckkkkkk

oh yeah, two mommys... when they're dominant at least

felix is def nicer when he's dominant :c he's so sweetieful, he's brushing back your hair and kissing your forehead while Minho fingerfucks and spanks you

also also also pet play with them :c

a pair of cute kitty ears and a cute little butt plug??? maybe even a pretty little collar??? oh yeahhhhh

oh oh oh and they're just so full of love for you :c constantly worshipping you like you hung the fucking moon

ORAL FIXATIONNNNNN holy shit lix has the craziest and most insane oral fixation

he's CONSTANTLY sucking on your tits <3

oh oh oh ohhhh and Lix loves sucking on minho's fat cock <3

lix has the CUTEST little cock :c and lovesss when you and Minho take turns kissing it :3

OMG AND Lix lovesss getting pegged and getting his ass fucked by minho??? oh yeahhhhh he'd KILL FOR IT

also also also rimming with the two of them??? letting Minho sit on your face while you lap at his cute little hole?? IF I EXPLODEEE

oh oh oh and minho loves fingering you while you lay on his lap, especially if you have your kitty stuff on, oh oh oh and while lixie humps his leg??? LITERAL HEAVEN

and they're subby too ??? :c

subby Minho needs to be spoken of more bc yeah :c

after a long day of dance practice and Minho is tired and you and lix just want to help him feel better?

sit him down on the couch and let Lix ride him while you let him suck on your pretty tits <3 he'll love the two of you forever

oh oh oh and fuck minho's cute little hole while Lixie sucks on his cock?????

they're just so full of love for you and it shows <3

also SHOWER SEX!!! this is the only form of a quickie that they like is early morning shower sex

also also also wake and bake + sex??? they loveee especially on their mornings off or their days off?? they're taking turns eating your sweet cunt as the sun comes up >:3

[captainuranium543]

Fairy tail headcannon a nobody wanted at all😊

- most of the dragon slayers+erza eat bugs regularly and it's gross AF to everyone

-Natsu because he grew up in the woods and they were like the number one abundant source of food, same for Wendy but she stopped for a while because Carla told her it was nasty (as soon as she joined the fairy tail guild she reverted so incredibly fast)

-gajeel pretends to thinks it's gross but secretly he really likes the taste he just doesn't wanna have that in common with natsu

- erza and Erik because in the evil slave tower where everyone was starving if you found a bug you ate it before anyone else could grab it from you.

- sting did not do that growing up but started when natsu told him it was good, he does not agree but does it anyway so natsu thinks he's cool

- rogue only tried it a couple times because frosch wanted to try it to be more like a frog and rogue is nothing if not supportive

- laxus grew up normal and thinks all of them are disgusting

- Lucy has the WORST financial skills. Legit they are awful. Everyone thinks she's always broke cuz of the tpd (team property damage) constantly making them lose their reward to repair bills but (while that is a factor) when Lucy sees smth cute that would look great in her apartment she just cannot help herself. Lucy will be so careful trying to save her money then she'll see a new set of stationary and goes "haha rent what rent"

- the hand me down game at fairy tail was fucking insane when they where kids. For levy and lisanna basically everything they owned had been passed down like 6 times already

- that red shirt natsu wore in the flashbacks? Before him it was erza's, and before her it was canas, and before her it was laxus.

- gray wears almost exclusively white jackets because jackets are expensive and if he loses them he would rather they be easy to spot so he can find them again rather then have to buy a new one

- sometimes people will invite erza places for the scary dog privilege when they dont want to be bothered by strangers. Erza has no idea thats the reason she just thought people really liked walking with her through rough parts of town in the middle of the night.

- Carla and lilly have insane beef, for no damn reason. Like both of them are fairly polite so neither will say it openly but every conversation between the two is the most passive aggressive petty insult battle you could imagine

- freed, levy, Lucy and later jellal have a book club where they all meet up and talk about whatever they're reading and play Scrabble and talk a lot of shit about their annoying ass friends.

- happy sometimes comes but he is under no circumstances allowed to bring natsu(he knows what he did)

- when erza met seigrain/jellal in the magic counsel she first tried to attack him, when that proved to be a bad idea she later started specifically destroying stuff under his jurisdiction to make sure he had to deal with as much paperwork as possible

- for her modelling, Mira used to use a very light spray of holy water to remove body hair because it burns it off💀

- wendy romeo and chelia are actually best friends like they are constantly hanging out together just to go do stuff

- erza and Erik hate each other for no reason at all. Like over that year that she worked with crime sorciere they where ALWAYS BEEFING. Every time they were near each other erza was thinking insults she knew he could hear and Erik was fighting for his life not to strangle her to death.

When erza became sclass she used to sit on the 5th step of the stairs because Mira wasn't allowed on those stairs yet and it really pissed her off. She was like, just barely out of reach, so Mira would stand at the bottom the stairs yelling death threats at her and erza would be like "whattt I'm not doing anything I don't even know what your talking about in literally just sitting what are you so mad about"

- when Warren invented cellphones, despite all of them looking like modern smartphones, freed somehow managed to get one that looked exactly like a Blackberry and refuses to get a different one

- Mira used to cut her siblings hair and because she didn't know any good haircuts yet her 2 options where 1- bald or 2- bowl cut. Hence lisannas horrifying cut as a child

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls

Chapter 12 part 2/2

masterpost

Danny leaned forward. “I am listening.” His grip tightened on his drink unintentionally until the plastic creaked. He withdrew his other hand from the bag of chips fragments and rolled the top of the bag shut.

She lifted a finger. “Option one is pretty selfish, in my opinion. But it would work. You could banish him from the Infinite Realms. Assuming he either never dies or dies and does not become a ghost, there are no consequences for this!” She made a cheerful gesture and crinkled her eyes shut along with a grin.

‘She’s so scary sometimes.’

“Assuming he never dies,” Danny repeated incredulously. He put his hands in his hair without even thinking of how he was seasoning himself with salt and vinegar. “Jazz- bestie, I don’t think we should bet on that one. I guess I could ask him if he feels like he’d be really good at not dying?” His voice lilted up. He touched the phone in his pocket, thinking about texting just that. Then he remembered that he was annoyed with Jason for hunting him down as Danny Fenton. He didn't know how Jason did that, but it was rude!

‘Should I tell her that he knows that?’ Danny absently wondered. ‘I don't know what he thinks. It can't be the right thing. Maybe he thinks I'm possessed or something. Maybe disguised, like Sinestra.’

She shrugged unrepentantly. “I said it was kinda selfish. It would totally solve your issue. No connection to the Infinite Realms would mean no channel for the bond between your souls-”

“Ew!”

“Or- okay, how are souls gross?” Jazz demanded.

Danny exaggerated his disgusted face even harder. “Uh, I don’t know, that’s a romantic and unscientific concept that I don’t believe in and feel offended by.” He crossed his arms across his chest to distance himself from that yucky shit. Ugh. Nasty.

“Soul is the literal term used in the reference books, so.” Jazz said dryly, as if that proved a point. Danny rolled his eyes but let it go. “My preferred option is that you marry him properly.”

Danny inhaled once. He steepled his fingers in front of his face.

His sister waited him out patiently, but he could tell that she was internally laughing at him.

“I wouldn't say that's a solution,” Danny finally managed to get out calmly. “Do you see how marrying the guy might be considered an escalation of the unwanted engagement?”

Jazz snickered and held up a hand. “See, that's the thing, you're not engaged. You're fully settled into your current relationship.”

His jaw dropped. “I’m what now?” His stomach lurched violently.

Jazz gave him a little bit of pity but she kept going. “You technically accepted the offering when you took him into your custody.”

Right. He got there and invited Jason into the Specter Speeder. He even took him into the castle. Shit.

‘This is my fault. How can I tell him that?’

He closed his eyes. He took another deep breath and put his hands over his face. “I need a minute,” he managed to get out through his fingers.

‘If I had just left him the fuck alone, I wouldn't have had to deal with this at all. I could have minded my own business. Maybe he would have gotten out of the Ghost Zone on his own, I don't know. I'm not his keeper.’

Oh. Danny winced again and drew his knees up so that he could think his head against it.

He was Jason's keeper. Holy fuckin crap. That weird sacrifice ritual had put Danny in a very real position of both power and stewardship over Jason.

‘I’m missing something,’ Danny realized, and felt like he might throw up. ‘It has to have an impact I don't know about. There's always a catch. But the catch isn't at my expense. What did I do to Jason?’

“Danny?” Jazz had switched to her softest voice. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You've been turtling for a while. What are you thinking?”

Danny bit his lip for a second. He lifted his face a little to watch her face. “There's no way something this messed up doesn't have a serious drawback for Jason. His consent wasn't required at any point. I've got some kind of leverage over him.” He felt a cold dread crawling up his back.

Saying it aloud made him feel like he had a literal rock in his stomach, and he would know! He'd eaten a moon rock before just to see what it was like, and then a few Earth rocks so he could make a useful comparison.

“Oh, Danny.” Jazz tugged him in for a half hug. “Yeah. I know. Do you wanna know the details?”

He drew his shoulders in closer. His chest felt tight. He should say yes. He was a coward for wanting to avoid knowing the details.

“We can come back to that later.” Jazz rubbed at his back. “It's okay.”

“Ahuh,” Danny choked out, thinking about Ember using her hypnotism to make him obsessed with Sam. Thinking about Sam made him think about Freakshow.

He clutched at his chest. It hurt, it felt tight. He swallowed hard. His heart rate started to climb. “I can't do this, Jazz,” he bit out. “I can't- I can't have control over another person like that-”

“Right, right, of course. That's what I mean.” Jazz fully folded him into a hug and pressed hard. He clung to the physical distraction, grounding himself in here and now. “That's what I mean. If you marry him, ghost wise or human side, that upgrades the relationship to one on equal footing. From there, you can dissolve it.”

Danny let out a humorless laugh. “And all I gotta do is get him to marry me, when what he wants is to get away.” He felt a headache coming on. “I think that if I was him, I'd think that was a trick or a trap.”

Jazz winced. “Yeah. Maybe so.”

[persephonesdreams21]

NSFW Alphabet with Kyle

A/N: So like, I’ve had this in my drafts forever and I finally got around to tidying it up(sort of) and finishing it. In a perfect world where I had free time, I’d love to do headcannons for all of Timmy’s characters. In reality I’ll probably only get a few more in,

Warnings: NSFW. Smut- def talks of dom/sub undertones and just generally horny themes. I mean, the title is very self explanatory. Kyle x AFAB! Reader

After Care(what they're like after sex):

The first time you have sex with Kyle, aftercare isn’t a practice he’s ever partook in. He comes and makes you come and then is ready to pop a cigarette in his mouth and call it a night.

This rubs you all the way wrong.

Has you wobbling out of bed and pulling on your clothes in a furious, flustered silence.

“What are you doing- hey. Y/N. What the hell?” He watches you, big green eyes accusatory as you prepare to leave. Your steps shaky and uncoordinated. He hadn’t exactly gone easy on you. “Sit down, you can barely walk”

“Like you care” you scoff. “it’s fine, I’m just gonna go”

He sighs, not one for dramatics that aren’t his own. “You’re gonna hurt yourself”

“I’m not some random piece of ass that you can screw and discard, Kyle. Fuck you very much for thinking so” your words are venomous and sharp, but your bottom lip is wobbling. Your eyes are stormy and still slightly unfocused and woah.

Holy shit. He’s a douchebag but he’s not an idiot. He spends way too much time online and he’s able to put together what’s going on pretty damn quick.

You’re dropping.

He can’t let you leave like this. Hell, you shouldn’t be up from bed much less driving in this state..

Kyle doesn’t do aftercare, we’ll at least he hadn’t before.

It’s all kind of clunky, him bullying your purse from your weak hands and batting away any resistance. Him sitting you on the edge of his bed and leaving, just long enough, to return with a glass of water and a stray granola bar. He sits close by, hovering. His hand a solid, but silent comfort on your thigh.

You don’t cry, won’t in front of him, but god do you want to.

You end up stripped back down to your panties and under his plaid comforter once he deems you hydrated enough.

He still smokes his after-sex cig, but this time he has you tucked into his side. Your cheek smushed to his chest as he puffs on nicotine. The fingers of his free hand dancing along the skin of your back.

He’d deny it, but he’s a sucker for aftercare now.

Body Part)their fave body part of theirs, and of their partners

Kyle likes his height. He enjoys towering over crowds, being the tallest person in the room. It makes him feel strong(and like when he was little he was a shrimp- he had a late growth spurt in 9th grade)

Kyle likes your hands. They’re all teeny and delicate and he tends to play with your fingers absentmindedly. He also likes the pudge on your sides. They’re called love handles for a reason. Any time he reaches for them you screech and shy away but like. That doesn’t stop him ever.

Cum(anything to do with it)

He’s the first man to ever make you squirt and yeah, that goes to his head a little bit. He’ll finger fuck you until youre sobbing and clawing at his arms, whimpering at the mess that he seems to love.

Dirty Secret(self explanatory)

He’s a panty thief. Will literally steal your panties and keep them(and sniff them, often). You complain about it, because he’s such a weirdo and because cute underwear can get expensive! He doesn’t care.

Experience(how experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

For how much sex he’s had he lowkey wasn’t great at it when you guys started fooling around. Or maybe it’s that he never cared- to get good at getting his partner off. Kyle is a selfish lover. You def teach him all the tricks in your book on how to make you feel good. And once that boy knows? He KNOWS. He’s able to flip you over and make you come in two minutes flat.

Favorite Position(this goes without saying)

Kyle loves doggy. He wants you bent over, unable to do anything but take him. Also partial to reverse cowgirl.

Goofy(are they more serious in the moment? Are they goofy?)

He is soooo serious it’s almost laughable. He gets offended when you laugh at the smoldering look on his face while he fucks you. It makes you nervous- you can’t help but giggle.

Hair(how well groomed they are)

Very well groomed. Neatly trimmed. He can’t pretend he doesn’t care about societal norms all he wants, Kyle is a total preener and loves taking care of his appearance. I mean, look at his hair. You just know it takes him a ridiculous amount of time to do in the morning.

Intimacy(how they are during the moment? The romantic aspect)

At first- intimacy isnt even in Kyles vocabulary. He doesnt know how, he doesnt understand it. It makes him feel awkward as hell. Slowly but surely as your relationship developes he starts to crave it. He wants you to stare into his eyes while you ride him, your fingers interlocked. Its tantric. Addicting.

Jack Off(masturbation headcanon)

Porn addict. All conspiracy obsessed, internet surfing boys are. He loves reading Manga and watching anime porn. You’ll indulge him and watch it with him sometimes.

“Hey, I have a toy that looks just like that!” You make the offhanded comment as the two of you watch an animated girl with big tits in a school uniform getting railed by a tentacle monster.

You’re immersed in the video. The raunchy sounds of high pitched squealing and skin slapping fill the quiet room. The blinds are drawn and the two of you lie cuddled together in his bed.

Kyle stares at you. His brain short circuiting.

You’d said it so casually. You have a toy- that looks just like the giant tentacle on his computer screen.

“You’re lying” he deadpans and it makes you giggle.

“Maybe one day I’ll show you” you shrug and like. What the fuck. Where did you even come from?

When you send him a short video of a pink glass tentacle dildo sliding in and stretching your wet hole…well let’s say that he doesn’t have to turn to his anime porn for spank bank material anymore.

Kink(one or more of their kinks)

Kyle loves overstimulation and edging. Both him doing it to you and you doing it to him. Like full on tears, shaking, emotional breakdowns, orgasms that are so good they hurt. Ugh. It’s his favorite.

Location(favorite places to do the do?)

Anywhere. Although, he def has a thing for sliding inside of you after a show. The adrenaline of playing live still coursing through his veins as he crowds you into the handicapped stall of some grimy venue bathroom and fucks you raw, his jeans around his ankles.

Motivation(what turns them on? Get’s them going?)

He loves it when you’re jealous. He's not ignorant to the way that women(and men tbh) look at him. React to him. It's always been this way, really it doesn't phase him anymore.

But you? You hate that shit.

You hate the way you can be holding his hand, and still girls will come up to him. Wink at him from across the room, waitresses leaving their phone numbers on napkins. Its maddening,

Kyle reassures you with words, with kisses and promises. He’s yours. He isn't interested in wasting energy on any of them. You're his only girl.

Still, the way you stake your claim makes him feral. When you suck bruises into his throat or wrap your arms around his waist. Don't even get him started on the time that you threw a drink in that girls face at that one party(she’d told Kyle he had like, the best hair, and reached for his dark curls. Her hand never even made it close) its just so hot. Knowing that you want him that much,

No(something they wouldn't do? Turns off’s)

So he likes it when you’re jealous, right? But you making him jealous? Is completely off the table. He will, and has, freaked out about it. He could never do threesomes or any kind of group play, he’d lose his shit.

Oral(preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc?

Kyle loves getting head. “Selfish lover alert”. It’s a chore you’re happy to perform, you love suckling at his big cock. Playing with his pink tip-

But like. He also enjoys going down on you. When the two of you first started sleeping together, you were really self conscious about it. Something about your shitty ex not liking the mess. Which like, he’ll never understand.

Your pussy is so gorgeous. All puffy and pretty for him, swollen and sopping wet. Hes such a tease with his quick tongue and little kisses. It’s not until you’re writhing and begging and forcing his dark haired head deeper that he really goes to town.

Pace(are they fast and rough, slow and sensual?)

The mans good with his hips, it's the musician in him. He has rhythm. But he is still just a young man, and he does end up getting sloppy and messy towards the end. Chasing his high like a mad man

Quickie(their opinions on quickies, how often?)

Loves a good quickie- but you’re not a huge fan. He’s very good at convincing you though, at dragging you into dark corners and palming at your body through your clothes.

Risk(are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

Yup, he loves that shit. He's such an exhibitionist You warn him that it is in fact, illegal. That public indecency can end in heavy fines, “The sex offenders list, Ky! I’m serious!”

But like, you always end up caving. Letting him fuck your brains out in his car. Spreading your legs when he reaches under the restaurant table, his fingers grazing your soft inner thigh, playing with your clit through your panties. If you wore a skirt for easy access…well thats your own business.

Stamina(how many rounds can they go? How long can they last?)

He’s a lazy little thing, I just know it. You get a couple rounds out of him and then he’s laying back and demanding you ride him, your turn to do the work.

“You’re my pillow princess, huh, baby?” you purr as you climb ontop of him, rubbing your wet slit along his flagging erection. You know he’ll get back to full hardness soon enough.

For now, he lies back, hands behind his head. Lounging, barley awake, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. You give his plump lips a wet smack and they twitch up in amusement.

“Princess? Whatever” He sasses, feigning offense. Even as he lets you do all the work, reaching between your own legs to fist at his cock, leading the head to your waiting hole.

“Prince then” you smile as you sink down and he groans, the veins in his neck straining as he throws his head back into the soft down pillows. He’s more than happy to let you do all the work.

Toys(do they own toys? Will they use them?)

He’s bleh about them. I think he’s inquisitive by nature, and likes to think of himself as explorative but like- he doesn't want anything but his cock filling you and making you feel good. He does enjoy watching you use them on yourself,

Unfair(how much they like to tease)

He is the absolute WORST tease. He loves riling you up. It makes him so hot, the way he can get you so desperate for him.

Volume(how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

Kyle’s a quiet lover, he grits his teeth and lets out long sighs You love getting him to crack, making him moan and writhe and gasp.

X-Ray(let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I’d hate to say this because he already has a massive ego, but he has a pretty big dick too. Maybe right above garage. 7 inches. Long, but heavy.

Yearning(how high is their sex drive?)

When he wants it- he NEEDS it. Like. He’s very dramatic and takes high offense to you withholding yourself from him. Its as annoying as it is flattering.

Zzz(how quickly they fall asleep after)

He’s knocked the FUCK out. Quickly. This man has fallen asleep with his softening cock still inside of you. He’s your big baby and once he’s drunk on your kisses hes a goner.

“Your pussy’s better than indica, baby” he tells you once, only half joking and you snort and hit him square in the face with the nearest pillow.

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

Yes, it is Canada, apparently the strike is over, but if it's anything like the teacher strike from a few years back, it's a bit early to completely rely on it.

And Ohh! Thanks! Hoping I can find what I like! Probably cheaper than buying new anyway. Might even be able to find some old Robert Heinlein books that my aunt didn't let me pilfer despite having not touched them in years-

Man it's really disheartening to read when I have bad memory and the book pdf I download keeps closing but doesn't keep where I'm at. I really want to read the horus heresy but that's proving pretty hard for me right now. And I can't exactly order the books due to a nation wide postal strike.

[maxwell-grant]

Didn't realize you've read Riddler: Year One, any thoughts on it ? Also, in a more general way, what are your thoughts on the Riddler ?

Someone sent me an ask the past week or so saying that The Penguin is everything that the Joker movies should have been, and I don't think I agree on that in regards to The Penguin specifically. But if we're talking about a "Batman-less Batman villain origin story about a lonely suicidal man struggling with poverty and mental illness exacerbated by child abuse, who is pushed down through the cracks of society deep into the pits of his own mind until he can only save himself by becoming a horrible force of social upheaval and political terrorism, finally discovering joy and a reason to live at the expense of everyone around him, and now he will be Batman's problem someday", well this just completely embarasses Joker (2019) on every level. Impressively drawn, impressively written, impressive on it's own and as a prequel to the movie, WAY better than a movie actor's comic book tie-in has any right to be, and one of the greatest Batman comics ever made. Issue #5 in particular is one of the best and most harrowing comic issues and format breaks I've ever seen in the medium, and even if it's entirely self-contained, it very much belongs in the exact same conversation and should be considered inseparable from The Batman and The Penguin.

We spens 4 issues boiling the frog over every painful corner of Edward's childhood and humanity and misery, taking us through painfully intimate views and perspectives inside his headspace, seeing how and why he justifies his worldview and how easy it even is to do so, feeling truly sorry for this hopeless wretch even though we know he's losing it bad bad baddy bad bad and is going to step off the deep end forever. And then Issue 5 happens and suddenly you are one of the people in Gotham City tasked with sifting through this serial killer's personal diary and you can hear that creep shouting with that distorted voice, you can feel the final death rattle of Edward Nashton's soul ending where The Riddler begins to scream in your head 'I NEVER KNEW I HAD A REASON TO BREATHE", and by Issue 6 you fully understand why and how nobody was prepared for him, and why what he is and does and embodies is going to drag the city into an abyss it may never recover from, and why this was never going to stop even after his arrest, even after his defeat and humiliation in the movie. Everything here adds layers of sympathy and tragedy and heartbreak to the character, while simultaneously making everything he is and does in the movie so much more harrowing and disturbing, holy shit he really staked EVERYTHING, everyone's lives included, on being noticed by his savior.

I was already very much on board with Dano Riddler in the movie, whose execution absolutely sold what should have been, on paper, a storm of unadvisable fandom pitches and uninspired trends and straight-up bad ideas ("What if The Ridder was the Zodiac Killer", "What if The Riddler was a 4chan mass-shooter type", "What if The Riddler was a political terrorist with legitimate grievances but whose final goal was to kill off scores of people for little reason", "What if The Riddler was a creepy fascist responsible for a QAnon cult that ends the movie by metaphorically storming the capitol", "What if The Riddler was really, really, really obsessed with Batman", "What if The Riddler was another Dark Opposite Batman", fucking "What if The Riddler was Hush" even) worked into just this miracle magic bullet of a new take on the guy, fully capturing a lot of the essential bullet points of what makes The Riddler tick as a character while spinning them into new and significant ways befitting this increased role he has in the movie. Rereading the story now, so much of the movie even feels like it's specifically referencing the first Riddler story - The Mayor of Gotham City as a target, Riddler misdirecting Batman with a big target while his real plan involved a flood, Edward putting on a costume and naming himself The Riddler specifically because he wants to get Batman's attention, the glass maze, the written letters to police headquarters, The Eagle's Nest that is a nightclub and also the home of a millionaire with a bird last name (Falcone), a driverless vehicle careening wildly into a public place, even how the very first thing we learn about this fucker is that he cheats to win.

The guy in the movie is a version that fully works on it's own, but it clicks SO much more strongly and cohesively when you read this comic and what it establishes for him. It's the scene in the movie where the section of his diary reads "I must become something more" while Bruce finds the panicked desperate bat rattling against a cage, the thematic parallel between them that is the scariest thing he finds in the entire movie, but developed across six issues. This even begins with Eddie living through his version of the Wayne murders, with the first time he's felt anything other than crushing despair and misery, in part because he's seen the first hint of the puzzle he needs to solve, and where he needs to go. The moment the world stopped making sense for Bruce is the moment that the world started to make sense for Edward.

We understand, around the same time he understands, the childish nightmare that must become the pattern of his entire life from that moment onwards, how Edward Nashton would have killed himself, and no one would have cared, had he not become The Riddler, and how the only alternative to "Hey Edward why don't you crawl into the black hole inside yourself" is to, in fact, find this black hole inside of you and shaped like you and push other people into it instead. Become the creature of the night who can punch crime forever, become the avenging force too great for the Falcones to handle, become the kingpin whose name alone will live forever, become someone that the entire city will never again ignore or forget.

We see how it's less that he's been planning for this for so long, and more that his entire life has been broken and hammered into a Riddler shaped hole, and then when Batman dropped into it, he could start to understand what it is and put a name in it, in the fact that he's been training his entire life for this without knowing. Getting comfortable with flushing rats and making bombs at the orphanage, getting intimately and painfully familiar with self-loathing and alienation and misanthropic contempt for this city and it's people who sit by and allow all of this to happen, surviving his suicide attempts without being able to explain why, searching for answers as to why it hurts so much to live broken and unfulfilled and miserable and why he even bothers to keep on doing so, having nothing to love in his life but numbers and puzzles, spending his entire life invisible while trying to get Thomas Wayne and then his boss to notice and praise him, and then being the wrong man at the right place to begin his campaign, a little nobody accountant who noticed an inconsistency in the numbers, put the pieces together, and then decided he was gonna do something about it because he knew it could be done, because there was someone out there who showed it could be done, and if Eddie joined in, maybe this someone would notice him, let him be his friend.

Batman and R, forever.

(People don't talk nearly enough about how this Riddler's entire life ambition was to recreate Tim Drake's origin story, and they should, it's pretty funny)

And to be honest, I think this is the first Riddler origin story I've ever really liked. Some of the others, particularly the first, have their charms, and this one certainly wouldn't fit most takes on the character, even most of the ones I like, but I've never really been fully sold on the idea of a Riddler origin story until this one, he's always been a very backstory-proof guy to me. This doesn't have any particularly obvious shorthand moment as to why Edward became The Riddler, so much as an entire life twisted and torn and abandoned and rotten in ways big and small until this is what came out of him. No immediately abusive fathers or test cheating scandals or major company backstabbings as defining tragedies, just life for a poor orphan in Gotham City who can't figure out the answer to what's missing from his life until he does.

Still a horrible nerd hopelessly trapped in a life of trying to intellectually one-up everyone as the only thing he lives for and, like every horrible nerd, knowing that one day he will be recognized for what he is and then they'll all see how wrong and stupid and savage these stupid savage idiots all were to look down on him. Still a man driven to impose order on the world the way he believes it has to be. Still a cheater who loves puzzles and answers and the thrill of intellectual stimulation and victory more than anything else (and in this case, having had absolutely nothing else to even love about his life), and still very much this guy at the end:

I do have a lot of thoughts on The Riddler, and I think part of why I might not talk about him as much is because he's not a character I tend to have really exclusive or particular preferences for. There are a LOT of Riddlers out there, maybe more so than there are Jokers out there, and there's not really with him the definitive must-be-like-this that the other Batman rogues have. Everybody approaches the puzzle differently if they do so at all, and I like a lot of these Riddlers! They connect with each other surprisingly well even, in spite of being incompatible as the same person.

He's gone through some real ups and downs over the decades: given stardom in the Adam West show that made him a definitive Batman villain and spread his modus operandi across all the others, sacrificed in the altar of camp insecurity along with fellow snooty oddball Penguin, defanged and turned into a parody of himself, refitted for joke status, re-refitted for surprise baddie status, given a whole new lease on life and his own gimmicks with the arrival of computer puzzles and the internet and given his fangs back and then amplified, pushed back to the big leagues more horrible and topical than ever before and exponentially increasing as such until his next big movie showing, torn in multitudes across multiverses of takes and ideas, almost too many to even consolidate them all.

I like the first Riddler of Bill Finger's original story in Tec #140, this curious satisfaction-seeking master cheater growing exponentially more dangerous and more varied and more assured the more he fades into his endless barrage of traps and toys and puzzles,. I love Frank Gorshin's Riddler, and everybody loves Frank Gorshin's Riddler, he is the reason The Riddler became an iconic Batman villain overnight. I like John Glover in TAS, and I like Robert Englund's cold ghostly showman in The Batman (2002) much more. I love the Arkham games version of Riddler, probably because I never actually played the games and had to collect his dumb trophies. I love Paul Dini's Detective Riddler, and I especially love Brent Spiner's take on the guy for Justice League Action. I LOVE the more classic take on Riddler as played by John Leguizamo in The Batman Audio Adventures, and I LOVE Paul Dano's Riddler in The Batman, and they couldn't be more incompatible with each other.

I love the Riddlers who continuously undermine themselves in the name of criminal artistry and who look down on the profit-seeking rubes who think any of this is about money, and I love the Riddlers who are ultimately con-men doing money heists because they want to be the only crooks in town smart enough to have something to show for all their work at the end of the day. I like Riddlers who are widely despised and regarded with annoyance and disdain by the city and their fellow rogues, and I like the Riddlers who have good professional relationships with the other rogues, and the Riddlers who managed to become darkly inspiring figures in their own right. I love the Riddlers who've subsumed themselves into the mysteries and horror they embody, and I love the pathological pattern-finders trying to find a way out of this weird pathetic life, even if their efforts will be doomed to failure - The Riddler couldn't out-think his way out of Batman's toybox no matter how much he tried, and he has no desire to - where would it leave him? Down there with all the troglodytes? Please.

I can get on board with very human, conversational Eddies, the Eddies that did stints as sideshow carnies, that can tell on some level that they should be doing better things than this, who'll do bored stick-em-ups to fund the attention-seeking tantrums they're actually passionate about, and I can get on board with Eddies who are truly uniquely vile and scary even compared to the other Rogues in the room, who uphold this terrifyingly cold perversion of fairness, imposing a stark and utilitarian worldview on the city by which the penalty for falling short of his games is murder, that sheer calculated murderous menace that Frank Gorshin brought when he ended his first episode leering on a helpless Robin strapped to an operating table. And if I ever thought I couldn't get on board with the Riddler as a major serious scary existential threat to life on Gotham, well, The Batman sure proved me wrong. I may not love him as passionately as I do The Penguin or Hugo Strange, but I love too many versions of this guy to ever be able to narrow them all down, and there are even more still to be discovered.

Endlessly adaptable, able to change and mutate with the times on the same kinds of grand orchestral shifts and minute beats that Batman does, a greater variety of personalities than the Joker if not quite the same versatility (and where would we be without these two always pissing each other off or making out or both, living in each other's respective negative spaces), always an enduring and entertaining opponent regardless of whether he's the most pathetic man alive or a malevolent genius beyond understanding who routinely puppeteers an entire city and it's greatest hero into putting on their greatest performances for him. Always an adapting puzzle box, always leading into the next version of himself, always beguiling, and always becoming the most frustrating thing that Batman has to deal with, whether he's systematically destroying Batman's rationale and will and ability to be Batman or just being naturally the worst guy to deal with at the most unfortunate possible moment, in itself another key to his endurance. The Joker can murder sidekicks and torch the city and routinely try and drive Batman to breaking points of rage and indignity and despair - but sometimes The Riddler can get Batman there just by being himself, as anyone who's had to deal with this asshole in the Arkham games can attest.

It is imperative to believe in and understand Batman's worldview that his villains can be saved because everyone can and must be saved, just as it is to understand that, out of everyone in his Rogues Gallery, if The Riddler was drowning, Bruce would be inclined to throw him a cinderblock, and The Riddler would be glad to receive it, so long as his last gasps of breath could be spent laughing at Batman's inability to match wits with him.

For a villain who is meant to be fixated on knowing the one correct answer to every riddle, he’s uniquely able to be reinterpreted in endless new ways. He’s gone from being a camp and colorful performance artist to one of the most sadistic and sinister villains Batman can ever go up against. There is no one way to write a Riddler. There’s no single solution! And writers will always like the challenge that presents.

Just when readers think they’ve seen everything the Riddler has left to offer us, and the character is finally exhausted… a new lime-green envelope pops through the door of Wayne Manor to challenge us all once again. It seems we’ll never get tired of trying to unravel the Riddler, and writers will never give up on unraveling the character’s fullest potential. It unites readers, writers, and caped crusaders alike: this time, surely, we’ll crack him. - Batman's Greatest Enemy is...The Riddler, by Steve Morris

[simonisferal]

not you again! “scaramouche x male reader”

episode eleven: holy shit, he has a sister? or is that his girlfriend..? 📖

warnings: underage drinking (not too much), vulgar language, y/n is lowkey bisexual, mentions of weed

notes: erhm i was gonna add text and then said “nah” 🤓

1k words

"Come on, Kunikuzushi, answer me." A dull tone, probably from someone 'dear' to him, spoke.

Scaramouche could only grumble at her voice as he drove. His knuckles whiten a bit as he turned the corner on the road. "Ei said I had to bring you."

That was the most he would speak to her but Shogun couldn't help her small amount of curiosity, "To a party?"

"... Yeah. Is that a problem?"

The vehicle grew silent after that and they didn't speak to each other for a while, the car's engine slightly roaring was more than enough sound for the both of them. It was a long drive there, seeing how Ei thought she was so hilarious, decided to drop them both off at the airport and let them go their way. 'Might as well leave us for dead..' he thought.

The girl eventually got tired of looking out the window and mentally criticizing her brother's driving and music choice and she looked over to him. "Whose party?"

Scaramouche doesn't respond in an instant. Instead it takes him a while to bring himself to even speak the guy's name. "You know Venti?"

"Our uncle?"

He cringed to himself. Was he seriously the only one who didn't know they were related? He mutters a small "yeah" before growing silent. Shogun only nods, looking out the window with a bored expression.

"Can we make a pit-stop?"

"Why?"

With a whisper, she responds. "I have to pee."

After Kaeya left you for his boyfriend and Diluc left to entertain guests, Venti found you and just dragged you along around the house. You still didn't really know your way around and the edible Tartaglia gave you was starting to kick. Your feet stumbled over a few people's as the bard treated you like a ragdoll all the way over to the drinks.

"Here we are! The only good reason to ever go to these parties; the snack table." Either Mondstadt paid their teachers really well or the economy is thriving because besides the beautiful house you were in, all you saw were on-brand stuff and potentially expensive bottles of non-alcoholic grape juice. There were cupcakes, seem to be handmade and you honestly question how much a summer program could really mean to these people.

Venti leaned down under the table and pulled your pant leg as a way to hide himself probably. Your focus grew a bit dazed so you didn't care much, just leaning on the table, making it seem like you were just standing there instead of helping cover up someone's potential crime.

He got out from under the table with a cheeky smile and a hand behind his back. You could assume what it was already just by how ecstatic he seemed. "Well, maybe we should go somewhere else…" He leaned in a bit closer, "I can't let anyone know I got the goods."

"Venti."

A stern voice came from behind you two and you felt the braided fellow beside you tense up slightly then go back to his natural, nonchalant attitude. He turned around, bottle still in hand and laughed. "Hey, Mister Diluc! How's it going? Great party, by the way. Me and, uhh Y/N were just going so if you don't mind—" Venti was about to book it but a hand grabbed onto his shoulder. ‘You're fucked’.

Diluc spreads out his other hand, "Hand me the bottle." He seems tired. It's possible Venti has tried doing this before.

"Welp, guess I have no choice…—Y/N! Come on!" He shouts before grabbing your hand and sprinting somewhere, dragging you along again and leaving the teacher shaking his head, disappointed.

"Venti, why didn't you just give him the bottle? You're not even gonna hit four weeks sober." You sigh. ‘What is the thrill of alcohol?‘

It seems he knew what you were thinking and opened the wine bottle. The cork unlatched itself with a pop! and he handed it to you. He blew a raspberry, "It's one of the finest things here." He tapped the bottle against your chest and you could smell the faint scent of berries. "Let Mondstadt have one of your firsts, eh?" He had a small grin and it might've been the lack of self control but you take it.

"If it tastes like ass, I will throw you out the window." Venti ignores your threat as he holds the bottle steady for you. "It won't! Trust me." His face was so easily punchable but he had a way to make you trust him.

You take a small sip, unsure of the liquid sinking into your mouth. It had a sort of sweet taste, something you can't really describe, and the obvious taste of grapes. It wasn't what you expected but it wasn't bad.

"Good, huh?" You ignored him, grabbing the bottle and giving it back to him. You didn't taste anything different compared to a fermented grape juice so your eyes skimmed the label. The label was a purple and silver cover with words: 'Alcoholic grape wine', it read.

"Eh, mid. I've had better."

"Oh, fuck you."

You snicker as Venti pinches your arm, clearly unamused by your comment.

"Hello. Do you guys know where the master bedroom is?"

A girl, around eighteen or nineteen, spoke in an almost dissatisfied tone. She had purple, long hair and a poker face. A mole lit her cheek and she seemed oddly familiar like a childhood friend. You watched Venti, from the corner of your eye, hide the bottle behind his back and smile sheepishly. "It should be just around the corner, on the right…" He said.

She didn't bother giving him a glance, her eyes just staring you down like a predator. It made you uncomfortable but just as you thought that, she maneuvered around you two to—you assume—go to the master bedroom.

"She was…hot."

"—scary. Oh." You ignored Venti's confused look before laughing it off. "Anyways! Now that I've, uhh, had a taste of, you know, Mondstadt, we should uhh… find Kaeya! We can't have him staying with Ajax for too long. Who knows what they might do?"

You, for the first time this night, drag Venti along, hoping to find a way out: both this awkward situation and this house.

masterlist — prev — next

taglist: closed

@furiscara, @fisbred, @shutingstar, @terapung, @scaradooche,

@cherimu, @thystarsshine, @zoropookie, @justyoureader, @kazumiku,

@heusalettle, @khisuko, @neversore, @liuaneee, @popcorn-milk,

@yangbbokari, @swivy123, @featuredtofu, @pookiemax, @academiq,

@notrsz, @mercy-not-merci, @kiekole, @pwaap, @vxcmx,

@vamxpi, @yourfavoritefreakyhan, @b2tr09, @ell1e2010, @moonslie04,

@allaboutiknowthatyoubeingdead, @somnium-kiss, @crxwned-mxnarch, @jad3-n, @emptydinner-plate,

@alicerosejane,

[emmg]

Hello love Can I ask for Raphael x reader where Raph actually shows love, buuut in his own twisted way? One of my fam members had autism and he never ever said those three words, but showed it in acts of service and paying attention to what you say/do aaand i was thinking about Raphael who tries to show how much he loves her(or them) but well he's not very good at this. Tav reading book- he will read it too, because he cares...just to tell her how much it sucks. She's bleeding after a fight? Throws her into his healing pool and tell her how stupid she is for the whole time he's with her and how she wastes his time, but won't leave her alone, because what if this dumb mortal drowns herself? A guy said something to her and she felt like sh*t or he touched her to make her uncomfortable? He would give her a very fancy box with big bow and smiles innocently at her ; 'Come on little mouse..open it' just for her to see somebodys hand or head 'oh..this? its this creep from yesterday' Tav wears something cheap? oh boy he would tell her everythink he thinks about this rag. She thinks he wants her to wear only expensive things, because how she looks=his reputation but the truth is he thinks she deserves only the most lavish things in her life and he wont allow her to live below HIS standards And his fav way of showing love is giving her mortal who hurt her in any way already beaten so they wont demage his precious possesion, but conscious enough so she can enjoy torturing them (for sure he does it for his own amusement more than hers)

What a fun prompt! Although, to be fair, I can't exactly make it totally healthy because Raphael isn't an emotionally healthy person to be in a relationship with so this is still a little bit dark, though definitely not awful haha.

ETA: ah crap I missed the part about x reader. So sorry about that. In my defence, I truly cannot write from second person point of view. I’m very, very sorry anon. I’ve tried before and it feels awkward to me and everything comes out… bad.

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

Sometimes she feels hollowed out, as if something essential has been scooped clean from within her. She’s not sure why she stays—or even if she’s staying at all. Maybe he’s holding her here, maybe she has no choice, maybe she lost that freedom long ago. Because you don’t walk away when Raphael is speaking; you don’t walk away when he’s watching you. And his eyes are always on her, always, always, always following.

That gaze—it leaves her feeling half trapped, half sanctified, as though caught in some dreadful, holy spell. He doesn’t look at others this way, she knows that, but that knowledge only tightens the hold, winds the snare around her. It’s nothing, she tells herself—this attention, his careful watch—yet it feels like everything, a binding without words, a noose drawing tighter, a claw sinking deeper. Time twists strangely when he’s near, spiraling into something she can’t name, and she can’t help but wonder: will his interest wane, fade away to nothing? Or will it sharpen, tighten, until it consumes her, leaving her breathless, until there’s no space left at all? 

If it does—if he closes around her entirely, if his grip becomes her world, pressing in until there’s no air, no light, only him—what will she be then?

And she’s not even sure if he cares. He holds her there, yes, but it feels like watching a game; his own personal mousetrap, an exquisite little experiment to see how far she'll reach for the cheese. She wonders if he’s simply taking what he can, drawing her deeper until he tires of her, only to discard her when he does, laughing at her fascination with him. She can almost see it—him spitting in her face, turning her out with a sneer, then pulling her back in just as quickly. He'd fuck her, taunt her, pull her close only to watch her shatter, then laugh, invite her back with a gift, something golden, expensive, dripping with indulgent mockery. 

But then there are the other things he does, things that somehow feel worse—things that make the walls seem as though they’re closing in, or maybe as if he’s drawing her into some embrace she can’t escape from. She’s not sure which would be more terrifying. 

Sometimes, when they’re in Avernus together, she finds the portals dead, the way back to her world—a world of soft light and mortal trivialities, the Gate and its grime—suddenly blocked, cut off. And it's always the same dance. She demands an answer, asks why she can’t pass through, why she’s stuck here in this burning place with him, unable to flee back to the familiar. And he only waves her off, barely looking up, irritation flickering in his gaze. He says he hasn’t the time to bother with “simple magic,” that she can wait. 

But he knows, he knows damn it, that she can barely summon a spark, let alone force open a gateway on her own. He knows she’s trapped, helpless as a moth in a bottle, wings beating frantically against glass she can’t see. And he watches her, almost bored, as she paces, her panic ripening, sinking roots in her chest. Because he knows she won’t leave, can’t leave, and he’ll let her struggle just long enough to make her feel it—the helplessness, the claustrophobia, the bitter thrill of his control, closing around her, almost gentle, almost loving.

And then, only then, he flicks his fingers, and the portals blaze open, bright and mocking, as if they’d never gone dead at all. 

She's interrupting him, Raphael says, a nuisance he has no time for. Important matters, contracts to seal, souls to collect—real work to do, and here she is, lingering in his shadow, hovering as if she belongs, asking him to breathe life into a stupid portal. He snaps at her to leave, to stop her pestering, to get out of his sight. And so she does, shrinking back, biting her lip, retreating into her quiet corner.

But then, later—always, somehow, later—he comes to her, waking her from half-sleep as he climbs over her, pressing down with a heat that seems to burn straight through her skin. He murmurs his need, his lust, his rough, clumsy want, lips grazing her ear with words that are half-whispered, half-demanded. And she lets him, wraps her arms around his back, holds him, breathes through the rush of his hands, the awkward rhythm of his taking. 

She feels the weight of him, the feverish heat, and she sighs into it, into him, because in the Hells, everything is unbearably hot. His skin burns against hers, more furnace than flesh, and though she knows he’s hasty, heedless, that she’s just an outlet, a brief relief, she takes it. She lets herself be consumed by it, that pressing heat because here, with him, it’s as close to comfort as she’ll ever get.  

But sometimes there are moments that make her think he might care, moments she savors, drinks in slowly, wondering if they're real or merely the product of his boredom. She can never quite tell, but she doesn’t mind; she lingers on these glimmers of gentleness, holds them in her memory far longer than she should. 

Like when she’s soaking in his absurdly large bath, reclining in the steaming water with her arms folded along the edge, her head resting on cool stone, hair spilling loose behind her. She’s doing nothing at all, simply breathing in the warmth, letting the steam curl around her. And then he appears, slipping into the room, extending those long legs of his, rolling up his sleeves as he settles by her side. He doesn’t join her in the water; instead, he simply sits, a book resting in his hands, the very one she finished days ago. 

She watches, amused, as he leafs through it, the prominent wrinkle between his brows deepening with each page he turns. His expression is one of studied distaste, the kind that would be comical on anyone else. But on him, it’s strangely captivating. 

“Unhinged drivel,” Raphael mutters finally, his tone ripe with disdain. 

“Hm,” she echoes, half-lidded, watching him through the steam. 

“Why do you read this?” he questions. “I have half a mind to burn it. The sheer embarrassment of sharing the same air with it—I hardly want it in my library.” 

She smiles, faintly, eyes closing as she stretches a little deeper into the warmth. “I’m done with it,” she replies, lazily. “Do what you wish.” 

He taps two fingers against the spine. “The Duke is an absolute cretin, I must say.” 

“Oh?” she murmurs, her voice barely a breath above the water’s surface. 

“Utterly insipid,” he continues. "Such posturing, such shallow arrogance. I wouldn’t offer him a contract if he were the last soul on the proverbial platter.” 

She laughs then, quietly, letting the sound ripple through the steam. She knows Raphael is just indulging in his own particular brand of superiority, delighting in the verbal dissection, and maybe he doesn’t care for her company at all. But still, he stays, perched beside her, weaving disdainful monologues that settle like warm coals in her chest. And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself pretend that he’s here for her. 

He continues, eyes fixed on the offending book as if it’s a particularly irksome insect. “The Duke’s speech in chapter five...” he says. “So very witless, wouldn't you say? Who professes undying love with such clumsy metaphors? And in the garden, no less, like a character in a tragic farce. ‘You are my sun and moon,’” he scoffs, his voice rising to a mock-romantic lilt. “‘My stars, my breath, my—’” 

He pauses, catching her wide-eyed, incredulous look. A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, and there’s a glimmer of something—mischief?—in his gaze. “Oh, little mouse, don’t look at me like that. Surely you didn’t think I’d stoop to reading this… for enjoyment?”

She raises an eyebrow, half-laughing, half incredulous. “You read it?”

“Of course I read it,” he replies, with all the haughtiness of a scholar who’s just suffered through a poorly constructed essay. “I couldn’t very well leave such intellectual refuse lying about in my library without inspecting it first.” 

“Just inspecting it? Raphael, you just quoted chapter five.” 

He waves his hand dismissively. “A tragic misfortune. I assure you, it was purely incidental. I only skimmed enough to confirm my suspicions about its total lack of merit.” 

“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes, watching as he flips another page with painstaking precision. “Is that why you’re carrying it around?” 

He raises an eyebrow, looking at her over the book with that familiar, aristocratic arch of his brow. “Little mouse,” he drawls, his tone both affectionate and condescending, “you really must learn what jests are. I can’t go about explaining them every time, you know.” 

The novel is set aside.

His hand slips below the water, and she knows, he’s done talking, at least about her books. His fingers graze her skin, tracing erratic patterns. She feels his hand leave her only to hear the soft rustle of fabric, and then he’s there, sliding into the water, slipping behind her. 

His arms wrap around her even as he pushes her against the cool stone of the bath’s edge. She feels his impatience in the way his hands move—roaming, relentless, almost rough, his fingers pressing into her skin, biting, digging between the ribs, as if he can’t bear to be gentle.  

One hand cups her shoulder, anchoring her as his other hand travels down her side. It moves in a slow sweep, now a caress, almost reverent, then shifting, tracing a path with no pattern, simply moving, as if he’s learning her contours anew. His grip tightens, loosens, a rhythm that speaks of need and very little restraint. 

He dips his head, face buried in her hair, and she feels the weight of his breath, the moist heat of it on the exhale. There’s a hunger in his closeness, an intensity that borders on obsession. He’s quiet now, all the long-winded, self-important monologues silenced, his usual need to fill the space with words abandoned. 

She feels him pressing against her back, the hard, insistent weight of him, the subtle rock of his hips, and she sighs, her body folding further against the edge of the bath, yielding to him. The warmth in her chest spills out, dissipating into something intangible, and once again, she wonders: Was this all just a performance for her, or something he needs for himself? Was that little, half-sweet conversation meant to soften her, make her more pliant? Or, against all logic, did he truly want to speak to her, to share in that strange, fleeting intimacy? 

She wonders if he cares, even a little, if those sarcastic, needlessly elaborate jests of his are meant to coax a smile from her, to make her laugh. Or is it all calculated, a ploy to keep her engaged, to ensure that when he fucks her, she meets him with something more than passive resignation? She feels his fingers tighten on her waist, his breath hitch, and for a moment, just a moment, she allows herself to believe there’s something deeper beneath his touch, something that holds her in place as much as his arms do. 

There are other moments too, moments that sink into her like a sickness, twisting her stomach, filling her with a dread so deep it almost makes her want to flee, to scrub herself clean, to be rid of him. And yet, those same moments leave her feeling strangely exhilarated, a little unhinged, as though some part of her is thrilled by the horror of it all. 

Take the merchant, for instance. A two-penny swindler, trying to pass off cheap fabric as something exquisite. She spots his scam instantly—anyone with half a brain would—but he’s audacious, leaning in, voice low and greasy as he sells his lie. She calls him out, unimpressed, and he snaps, calling her a cunt. She flips him off without a second thought and moves on, thinking nothing more of it. She’s heard worse, so much worse, and just because she looks the part of a noblewoman at Raphael’s insistence doesn’t mean she’s forgotten the dirt and sweat of her own past. She knows the cheap tricks—how cloth is dyed in back alleys, stained with whatever can be found, how insect paste and a dash of alchemical solution turn cotton into “silk” for gullible morons. She’s done it all herself, seen the worst of it, and this pathetic attempt to cheat her hardly scratches the surface. 

She forgets the encounter entirely—until the next day. Raphael barely glances up from his writing, absorbed in the ink-stained pages of yet another infernal contract, when he pushes a small, ornate box across the table toward her. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge it beyond a faint, almost bored gesture. She blinks, glancing from the box to him, and then back, curious but wary, wondering if this is another one of his games. 

She takes it, hesitates, then lifts the lid. 

Inside, nestled against dark velvet, is a finger. Blue, bloated, stiff with the grip of death. Her stomach turns, nausea creeping up her throat as she stares at it, bile rising as the realization settles—this isn’t just some random, expensive trinket. It’s a message, as clear and cold as the dead flesh before her. 

“Oh,” she whispers, voice strangled, unable to look away from the pale digit lying in the box, rigor mortis locking it in a ghastly curl. Her hands are trembling, fingers itching to drop the box, to shove it away, to wipe away the memory of this grotesque gift. 

She looks up at him, horrified, and finds his gaze resting on her, idle, yet somehow amused. 

She stares some more, her mind spinning as she tries to process what she’s holding, what this grotesque little gift is meant to convey. A part of her wants to retch, to bolt from the room, while another, unhinged part of her feels an inexplicable pull, an urge to draw closer to him, to be entangled in whatever madness constantly hangs off his sleeve. 

But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, she lets out a half-laugh, shaky and weak. “That’s… not what usually comes in jewelry boxes.” 

Raphael arches a brow. “I’ve given you plenty of jewelry, little mouse. Rings, bracelets, earrings—a whole collection of baubles you hardly deign to wear. Lavaliers, circlets, gems so fine even the simpering nobles of Waterdeep would weep for them. And yet, here you sit, determined to remain a rube.” He tsks, rolling his eyes with theatrical annoyance. “Mayhaps, I thought, just mayhaps, you might appreciate something different to suit that plebeian palate of yours.”

“Whose is it?” she asks, though she already knows. She feels the answer in the pit of her stomach, in the memory of yesterday’s insults and her dismissive walk away. 

He only shrugs, dipping his quill in ink. “I’m told he was a merchant.” He pauses, as if to savor the uncertainty flickering across her face. “Or was it a dockhand? Perhaps a barkeep. Truly, who can keep track of such insignificant lives?” 

She watches, spellbound in a way she can’t quite understand, as he sprinkles pounce over the wet ink, the tiny white particles catching the dim light. He lifts the paper, blowing the pounce off with a sharp exhale that sends the fine dust scattering into the air, drifting toward her. She coughs, swatting it away, a moment of reflexive frustration breaking through her discomfort. 

“So many names,” Raphael murmurs, almost to himself. “So many lives, so many inconsequential little people. It’s hard to keep them all straight, isn’t it?” 

She stares at him, a blend of revulsion and fascination churning within her. His words hang in the air, so careless, so detached, as if snuffing out a life meant nothing more to him than discarding an old, forgotten knickknack. And yet, he looks at her now, watching, as if expecting her reaction, waiting to see if she’ll recoil or lean closer. 

She leans closer, letting the moment pull her in, and he gives a satisfied little hum, returning to his writing with an air of contentment, as if the world is exactly as it should be. She watches the steady flow of his hand, the way his quill glides across the page in elegant, looping strokes, his cursive rising and falling. Her mind, however, catches on another thought, one that wraps around her and refuses to let go. 

He cares, she thinks, or at least he acts as though he does. This is how he responds to insults aimed at her, as if her offense is his to avenge. But another thought lingers, darker and heavier. He knows—that’s what unsettles her. If he knows, that means he saw, or had someone watch on his behalf, and that means she’s never truly alone, even when he isn’t there. She wonders how far that gaze extends, if he’s tracking her every step, every word, if he’s marked her movements like pinpoints on a map, an invisible tether she’s unknowingly bound herself to. 

Her hand drifts to her throat, almost absently, fingers brushing the skin there as if she might feel some hidden collar, a leash she’s been wearing all along without realizing it. But of course, there’s nothing—just bare skin and the faint, lingering warmth of her own touch. Still, the thought unsettles her, sends a flutter of anxiety mixed with something else, something uncomfortably close to… warmth. A warmth that spreads through her chest, that holds her in place despite the quiet urge in her feet to stand, to move, to walk as far as she can. 

But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays there, leaning close, just watching him as he writes, utterly absorbed in whatever Infernal text he’s crafting. And as she watches, that warmth in her chest grows, mingling with her apprehension, a mix of dread and fascination that knots itself around her, binding her there as securely as any leash he might conjure. 

Another day, another reckoning. 

She’s a mess of bruises, skin mottled and darkened so thoroughly she resembles a patchwork quilt rather than a woman. There had been a brawl, Astarion may or may not have thrown punches he couldn’t back, and they both may or may not have drunk too much. Korrilla may or may not have been at the Caress at the same time, her wicked laughter mingling with the chaos, and now her nose is a crimson fountain, dripping ceaselessly. Even the potion Korrilla forced down her throat did nothing to blunt the ache, the slight sneer on Korrilla’s face as she half-carried her back to the House of Hope making it clear she didn’t particularly want to be back tonight. 

When she stumbles in, Haarlep just laughs, calling her a “bloody, battered fool” and waving her off in disgust when she starts peeling off her clothes. With a muttered “Ew,” he disappears as she limps toward the restoration pool, her one salvation tonight. She knows it’s usually reserved for soothing injuries from far more… pleasurable encounters, but she hardly cares as she sinks into it, wincing as the water starts working its magic, stitching up minor cuts and scrapes as she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back. 

She drifts, the water lapping around her, letting the throbbing recede—until a sharp yank at her scalp rips her back to the present, her head wrenched above the water. She chokes, sputtering out bloody droplets as her eyes snap open, and she finds herself staring at Raphael’s livid face, exasperation etched in every line. His hand is tangled in her hair, and her scalp stings from his tight grip. He glances down at his dripping sleeves, soaked from pulling her up, and curses. 

“What a stupid way to die,” he hisses. “Drowning in my boudoir because you’re too idiotic to stay awake.” His fingers tighten in her hair, and there’s no mercy in his eyes. “Take a deep breath now.” 

She barely has a second to react before he shoves her head under the water, his hand pressing down with unrelenting force. Her body jerks, and she inhales raggedly before he drags her up again, just long enough for her to gasp for air and catch his sharp, appraising look before he shoves her down once more, holding her under like a misbehaving dog in need of punishment. Water floods her nose, stinging as she chokes, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the pool’s edge. 

Up again, another cursory glance, and then he plunges her under once more, his grip firm, a rhythm of punishment and cleansing, as though he’s scrubbing the night’s sins from her with each forced dunk. She claws at his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, and he finally releases her, leaving her gasping and hacking as she collapses against the pool’s edge, water pouring from her lungs in a desperate, wheezing cough. 

She realizes then, as she shudders and coughs, that the blood is gone; her nose, once a mess of numb throbbing, now feels raw but whole. She clutches the pool’s edge, head bowed, catching her breath as the water stills around her. Raphael just stands there, dripping, sleeves ruined, as he observes her. 

“Well,” he mutters, flicking water from his fingers with a faint sneer, “at least you’re less of a mess now.” 

He hauls her from the water, pulling her sodden form from the boudoir and away from the rumpled heap of her clothes. His eyes drift over them—the plain tunic, the uninspired trousers, the scuffed leather boots—with a look of disdain so pointed it almost makes her wince. 

“An offense to beauty itself,” he murmurs, almost to himself, though the words slap her just the same. “These… things.” His lip curls. “They will burn. They’re an affront to my eyes, and my patience is wearing thin.” 

His gaze slides back to her face, catching on her bruised nose, and he tilts her head with the care one might give a very expensive artifact. His fingers are unhurried, methodical, as he surveys her battered skin. “I don’t keep unsightly things, you know,” he says. “I like my things beautiful. It’s why I collect them—why I keep them close.” 

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his tone shifts to something almost conversational, a careless elegance in his words that sets her nerves alight. “Tell me, little mouse,” he begins, fingers tapping idly on his thigh, “shall I lock the door?” 

She feels a shiver run through her, her voice faltering. “Which… one?” 

He tilts his head in mock contemplation. “Why not all of them?” 

“Raphael…” she starts, but she isn’t even sure what she wants to say, or if there’s anything to be said at all. 

Unhurriedly, he begins to strip off his clothes, each gesture carried out with an almost ritualistic elegance. He slips out of his doublet, casting it aside with a look of mild annoyance. “Your doing,” he sighs, smoothing an imaginary crease before discarding it. “This fabric—fine enough to silence even the heavens—ruined by your negligence. It cost more than you could dream, more than most would spend in a lifetime.” 

She watches, stuck somewhere between disbelief and fascination, unsure if he’s preparing to fuck her or simply indulging in the strange meticulousness of his undressing. Each cufflink is unfastened with almost absurd care, each tie released with the same flawless precision she knows so well. The clothes fold neatly under his hands, smoothed and arranged as if they were sacred relics, and though part of her wants to laugh at the absurdity, she knows better than to test his patience now. 

Raphael pauses, shirt open just enough to reveal the line of his throat, his collarbone stark against tan skin. His eyes pin hers and his voice takes on a melodic, almost regretful tone. “Perhaps if I lock you in,” he murmurs, “you might refrain from throwing yourself into every pit of squalor in the Gate, seeking out any hand willing to smash that face of yours.” 

“No one seeks that, Raphael,” she says, her voice sounding distant. “It just… happens.” 

He snaps his fingers with a sharp, final click. “Yes, yes,” he echoes, almost as if humoring a child. “And doors just… lock themselves.” 

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Unhinged Kitchen: Lucifer ft. Charlie

Lucifer: *standing at the kitchen counter with various ingredients around him* Hellooooooo, and welcome to Hazbin Hotel's Unhinged Kitchen! Where we will be going over the poor man, the bachelor, the college student way of cooking and baking for all your comfort foods!

Charlie: Dad, what are you doing?

Lucifer: Just teaching all the poor, forever alone Sinners how to cook and bake on a budget!

Vaggie: I think he's projecting, Babe....

Lucifer: *clears his throat* Have you ever wanted a nice, comforting, delicious, warm apple pie but don't have the money to pay for a whole one at the store? Well, today I'm going to show you all how to make cheap and easy apple crisp! All you're gonna need is some instant oats, butter, powdered cinnamon, vanilla extract, and a form of apples we will go over later. Oh! and light brown sugar if you wish!

First! Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit or 176 Celsius. *turns on oven.*

Next! You're gonna want to put a pot on the stove around medium heat, and then plop on in a whopping three sticks of butter!

Charlie: Three?!?! Dad!!! Are you sure that's right?!?!?!

Lucifer: Oh! Right! You may need that fourth stick of butter, so keep in on hand.

Charlie: *jaw drops*

Lucifer: Now, we're gonna melt these bad boys while sprinkling in cinnamon, light brown sugar, and vanilla extract. Not too much to start, mind you. Brown sugar should be maybe a spoon full. The rest is gonna be to taste after we get the oats in.

Charlie: *holding up five different types of spoons* WHICH SPOON?!?!?

Lucifer: Any of them. We adjust to taste later. ANYWAY!!! Stir all this together and add 18 ounces or one small container of quick oats! *pops open the lid of an oatmeal container and dumps everything into the pot before stirring everything together* Aaaaaaannnnd stir, baby, stir!!! We want these bad boys completely coated in the delicious butter mix! Soak up aaaaaaallllll that slick, buttery goodness! If you're still dry, don't worry! Add another stick and you'll be fine! Add more of your cinnamon or brown sugar or whatever until you like the taste.

Angel: HA!!! That's what she said!!!

Charlie: ......I'm worried about you, Dad.

Lucifer: Now that we have our evenly coated oats, we're going to make our apple mixture! But, apples are EXPENSIVE!!! And taking the time to cut and peel and core them is exhausting enough without having to fry or bake them in MORE butter and whatever.

Charlie: *burps uncomfortably* You mean... there could be MORE butter???

Niffty: YAY!!! BRING ON THE CHOLESTEROL!!!

Lucifer: So! We're going to take the easy way out! Apples may be expensive, but you know what isn't? APPLE PIE FILLING AND CANNED FRIED APPLES!!! *pulls out two cans of pie filling and two cans of fried apples before grabbing a can opener and popping open each can with a satisfying TSSSHHHHHHH!!!*

Alastor: *wendigo screeches in the distance* WHO IS DESACRATING THE HOLY SANCTITY THAT IS FRIED APPLES?!?!

Lucifer: SHUT IT, BELHOP!!! Anyway! Put the apple pie filling in the bottom of a 9x13 inch pan, or standard cake baking pan, then drain all the liquid out of the fried apples. *holds the tops of the cans closed as he drains the juice into the sink with a wet SCHLURP!!!*

Vaggie: ....Ew......

Lucifer: Might have to jiggle them a little bit to get all the juice out. *shakes the cans into the sink and a more rated-R sound fills the air*

Angel: Ha! No wonder why you call this the bachelor's baking! That sounds like-

Charlie: *covers her ears and groans* UuuUuUUUuuuuuUuUUuggghhh.....

Vaggie: *helps cover Charlie's ears* Lucifer, what the fuck?

Lucifer: Aaaaaaaannnnd!!! Dump into the pan! Now that we have the two types of apples in, we're going to take a page out of Carmilla Carmine's book and add a little love!

Charlie: Oh! Baking with love! That sounds nice!

Lucifer: *adds a little more cinnamon and vanilla to the mix before slapping his bare hand into the mix and swirling everything around with a slightly deranged look on his face*

Angel: .........Char.... I think your dad needs to get laid....

Vaggie: ......No amount of therapy will ever make this okay.....

Charlie: *dry heaving into the trash can*

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!! We are experiencing some technical difficulties. We apologize for the inconvenience. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!*

Lucifer: *standing with a freshly baked apple crisp on the counter and his hair in disarray* And THAT is how you make a poor man's apple crisp!

Hazbins: *shock and disgust*

[genericpuff]

Okay, what the FUCK is Inklore?

My ULO pals and I have been deliberating on this one since it was announced. "Inklore", the brand new imprint from Random House Worlds - which is, in and of itself, an imprint of Penguin Random House - and Rachel Smythe Presents, an in-house program of sorts that's dedicated to graphic novels, specifically those that "tell updated, romantic versions of classic stories and mythologies, and caters to readers looking for bingeable, relationship-driven stories with a distinct visual voice."

Basically it's exactly how it sounds - they're creating an imprint for works like Lore Olympus, and using Rachel as the leading lady.

But let's dig a little deeper. Because the more I searched on Inklore, Rachel Smythe Presents, and Random House Worlds, the more it started to paint a picture of what's really going on here.

INKLORE

I talked about this in my recent analysis of LO's pacing problems, but Inklore launching in Spring 2024 conveniently lines up with what would seem like a reasonable end point for LO. Rachel's always lined up LO's episodes with real life dates and holidays - even when it's been at her comic's own expense - and while we've kept our minds open to the possibility that it could end later than Spring, there's no denying at this point that LO itself is dragging itself out, which gives me stronger reason to believe it's just trying to make it to March, specifically March 20th, which is the first day of Spring in the northern hemisphere. Because of this, our best predictions right now is that LO's series finale will either release on FP or unlock for free readers on either the 16th or 23rd of March (if it unlocks for free on either of those dates, that means we can expect the series to end behind the FP paywall on either April 6th or 13th, assuming they're aren't any more hiatuses, but at this point I doubt there will be.)

Moving on, let's look at the actual Inklore site-

Already you can get the vibe of what kind of work they're looking for through their imprint. This is for people like Rachel. Now, I'm definitely not going to rag on anyone's tastes, I myself am a weeb of epic proportions, but considering you're about to see what's really the highlight of this site, you'll get what I mean when I say this isn't for people like Rachel, this is for people like Rachel. Specifically Rachel.

RACHEL SMYTHE PRESENTS

Inklore seems to be just an imprint specifically for Rachel Smythe Presents, with a couple extra series tacked on to give off the impression of it being more credible than it is. It means the whole site can be dedicated to it, rather than having it shoved in haphazardly alongside Penguin Random House's other works. You'll see what I mean in a second, but let's magnify those questions real quick, shall we?

As soon as I saw the "we are not accepting unsolicited pitches for Rachel Smythe Presents", it dawned on me that Rachel's own fans don't know how imprints work. Why do I say that? Look no further than the comment sections on her announcement posts for RSP (which I'm abbreviating, but I assure you, it stands for "Rachel Sex Party"- /j)

Of course, there are plenty of "congratulations" comments and "please do xyz myth", in which case, please, don't let her touch more myths I beg you-

But then there are also the odd comments of people asking how to get involved themselves. People who are just, by all accounts, regular people on the Internet.

But wait, how do you get involved? Thankfully there's a handy URL in that FAQ telling us how.

And holy shit, it's hilarious.

Guys, it's so easy to get into Rachel Smythe Presents! All you have to do is finish a manuscript, find an agent who's willing to work with a new unpublished author (and hope that they're not a scammer), get your manuscript prepared for publishing and submitted to editors, and then hopefully land a book deal! Wasn't that so easy?? Thanks for demystifying the process, Penguin Random House!

Listen, okay, there's something to be said about how difficult it is to navigate the publishing world. While some of those difficulties are for good reason - to ensure that not just any piece of crap thrown on paper can get published - many more are rooted in privilege, racial gatekeeping, and sexism. It is still an industry being run by a lot of nasty old fucks who take full advantage of people desperate enough to get their book published.

All that aside, it's kind of hilarious - in a sad kind of way - to see fans of this comic assume that this project and its opportunities were ever made for them. It wasn't. It wasn't made for the Canvas creators, it wasn't made for the Wattpad writers, it wasn't made for the people who work in the medium that Rachel started out in to get where she is today. It was made for the people who are already 3 of the 4 steps into Penguin Random House's "helpful" guide on publishing. It was made for the Cait Corrains and the wannabe Rick Riordans.

At best, Inklore is simply a home that's been manufactured for Lore Olympus after it's done on Webtoons. It may remain on the WT platform forever - or maybe not - but Inklore gives it a way to be seen and acknowledged outside of its niche. Because, despite Webtoons attempting to make Lore Olympus a global phenomenon, it really hasn't sold well in other countries, especially those where it was translated which people from those countries have stated it's not translated well at all.

It goes to show that much of LO's claim to fame was manufactured within North America by Webtoons itself, and Inklore is just another one of those manufactured attempts.

Still don't believe me? Still think I'm wearing too much tinfoil?

There are still only two series that Inklore has to show for itself - and remember, it launches in two months - and of course the ones leading that charge are every single volume of LO, even the ones that aren't "new and upcoming" anymore.

And then there's their Instagram, which is just more of the same-

(wonder if they ever found a Marketing Manager? Not exactly the role you want to be left empty leading up to a launch, oop-)

But wait, doesn't that site layout look a little... off? Almost cheap, maybe? Am I being too harsh-

Oop, nope, it's the exact same template used for the LoreOlympusBooks.com website.

Wait a minute, what about the imprint that Inklore is attached to? Random House Worlds?

RANDOM HOUSE WORLDS

... Uhhuh. I'm not entirely convinced that Lore Olympus is in any way on the same level as fucking Star Wars but to the average onlooker, this would make Lore Olympus seem pretty big and important simply on the virtue of it sitting smack dab in the middle of a grid of massive franchises.

So I'll bite, where do these buttons go? They all lead to external sites selling books and merchandise (except for the Marvel Studios one, which hilariously doesn't have a URL attached, so that button goes nowhere LMAO)

... Oh. It's that layout again.

Not all of them have the same layout, mind you, but it seems to be the default layout for sites they just haven't buffed up yet. It would explain why the Star Wars and D&D sites are a lot more robust in their designs, while others just link back to Penguin Random House:

Now the Minecraft one does look better at first glance, but it's still just the same template as the LO site, with a slightly different layout, but working off the same design philosophy, like they just spent a few extra hours dragging things around and spiffying them up in a site editor.

So it seems a lot of the default sites are working off the same CSS stylesheets, which doesn't exactly look good for LO and Inklore's online identity.

But hey, it's gotta mean something that LO is sitting alongside such franchises as Star Wars, Marvel, Magic the Gathering, and Minecraft, right? These are some of the biggest franchises on the planet, and while LO does make a lot of money, it's still nowhere near the billions that these franchises generate every single year.

And that's what I would be saying, if I hadn't noticed the specific products that Random House Worlds was selling - all easily churned out merch, from cookbooks to spin-off titles, which aren't exactly the main draw for these franchises, simply stocking stuffers or otherwise fun gimmicks to try out.

(I actually own the Dungeons and Dragons tarot deck. It's shit. They don't actually tell you the suit of the cards, JUST the numbers, so you have to flip through the book and match up the pictures on the cards with the pictures in the book just to figure out if it's Cups, Pentacles, Wands, or Swords, which I'm sure you can figure out, if you're a tarot reader, is very inconvenient and doesn't make for a good card reading experience)

Point is, Random House Worlds seems to mostly be an imprint dedicated solely to the cheaper products and books they can make to pump up a franchise's merch count. Even the Critical Role site doesn't offer the campaign books, those are published by their own personal imprint Darrington Press and are offered on their main - and much better designed - site:

Instead it's selling printed versions of interviews and... mad libs.

Not made or even really endorsed by the Critical Role cast, because if they were, they'd be on the main site, where the good shit is.

Random House Worlds is, at least judging off what I've found here, the "trick the parents into buying it" imprint. It's simply there for parents to see, go "my kid watches / plays that!" and then buy a Beholder puzzle which their kid will undoubtedly start and then never finish and eventually throw out half-finished after all the pieces have been lost. It's the cheap merch money generating machine, with works written by people who were simply paid to write it, and not people actually involved in the larger franchises.

And this is the imprint that Inklore and Rachel Smythe Presents is going to be an extension of.

At best, Inklore will likely just be a home for Rachel's work post-Webtoons, with maybe the odd success outside of it. At worst, it comes across as nothing more than an ego project, another artificial attempt to place Rachel and LO on the same playing field as Marvel, Minecraft, Star Wars, and Dungeons & Dragons through the only means that they can - an imprint that specializes in off-brand books, which they're truly counting on people just seeing the logos and going "wow those are big franchises!" and associating LO with that status simply by affiliation - without it having anywhere near the actual level of prestige, household influence, or brand recognition.

Its readership is dying out, its stats dropping, and worst of all, the vast majority of people - of which its a very small amount - who have heard about LO without being a Webtoons user themselves have heard how infamous it is in its bad writing and poor art direction.

It has nowhere to go but down, and if you were hoping to be a part of Rachel Smythe Presents, then all I can suggest to you is to go through the very simple process of finishing your manuscript, finding an agent, finding an editor, and then (hopefully) landing a book deal with the 'esteemed' Inklore.

Good luck! ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

[sinkjustlikeastone]

Listen to me ramble about amputee Soda okay. BE WARNED THO ITS A LIL GORE-Y FOR A SEC THERE

I’m no longer waiting for someone to ask me. Let’s talk about Soda okay. Specifically my dear and beloved amputee Soda (which is an hc that I found in my notes from when I first read the book in 7th grade btw).

SO! Since it is apparent unspecified in the book what event Soda rides in. Bareback. Because I said and as a country person I would know. Rule of thumb for this post is as a country person I would know.

So obviously in the book Soda had to stop riding (because he tore his ACL I believe) BUT I have made it more tragic.

Instead, due to a series of events, Soda’s leg is absolutely *shattered*. Like. Bones sticking out shattered. Terrible, disgusting, think ten times the worst injury you’ve ever seen. (To continue on, the series of events which I mentioned is that he gets hung up and kicked, comes off the horse and lands on the leg weird, proceeds to be knocked to the ground and stepped on at full bucking force twice, and then additionally is stepped on by the pickup man’s horse that is throwing a fit. This is a goshdamn dangerous sport and this is all fairly possible. I want to say rare but honestly shit happens)

And obviously the exact second anyone sees it they know it’s all over. His family is worried for his life.

And his life doesn’t end but his career as a bareback rider who had *just seconds before his injury* qualified for the NFR (National Finals Rodeo for yall who have no clue what I’m talking about. Go watch a rodeo holy shit).

None of his family, him included, actually know how it works to be lacking a limb.

What they learn is that it’s expensive. That goshdamned prosthetic is expensive. But they want for Soda to be able to continue on with his life, so they take that chunk out of their bank account and do this for him.

It takes Soda a long time to figure out how to walk good. And he suffers awful phantom pain, especially after waking up from a gore-y nightmare about the accident that’s printed to the back of his eyelids.

but again things continue on. So yay for that!!!

now for just the bullet points cause I can

-he’s absolutely torn about not getting to ride anymore

-he can fight still. Ask the soc whos ass he kicked at the rumble. Maybe he’s not too fast but bro can pack a punch or six

-Darry and Pony try to be sympathetic to the fact that Soda still can have a hard time (mentally) but they really just don’t understand until they loose their parents. Because until then Darry and Pony had never truly lost anything, and Soda had.

-soda can’t bring himself to go to rodeos anymore because it makes him so so sad

-is the Ultimate Annoyed because yeah sure girls flirt with him a lot but after the accident all the flirting feels like sympathy and he don’t need that from them

-is even more drawn to Chet than before because Chet is still an absolute BITCH to him (just. Just a little. It’s guy flirting but soda can’t see that) and it makes him unreasonably happy

-like their first interaction after the accident goes like: “Hey, grease!” “Yup.” “I’m gonna kick your ass to Canada if you don’t get the fuck out of my sight” “ain’t ya gonna be nice to me cause a this” “I’ll keep it as a souvenir if you keep talking”

-but then they fall in love ofc

-the leg is names Angelica by the way.

-he wears long pants to cover it up even tho everyone knows about it, and compensates for that covered skin by Never Wearing A Shirt

-he absolutely uses it as an excuse for everything. Like sometimes it’s reasonable but sometimes it’s like “soda can yo pass the peas?” “No.” “Why” “Angelica.”

-at first he was really self conscious but after a good while he gets used to it and isn’t as bothered

-“Do you need help-“ “YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!”

-(I’ve written this part into the thing I’m writing but) Chet: is there anything you can do with just your hands? Soda: YOU

-two bit had hidden Angelica as a prank on more than one occasion

-soda also uses crutches instead of Angelica sometimes

-“you have two feet for a reason!” “HOLY SHIT ITS A MIRACLE!”

-“I’m gonna kick your ass.” (Proceeds to swing angelica unthreateningly in pony’s direction)

-“WATCH THIS!” (Stands for .5 seconds without Angelica and then has to get stitches on his head from falling down the porch steps)

“Don’t do horses kids” whenever anyone asks what happened (in reality tho he probably talks to people about how dangerous rodeo is. He tries to talk Chet and Dally out of competing but they won’t listen)

-“I’m not clumsy at all.” (Falls. Stitches again cause he hit the table)

-(has his leg showing) twobit: “you’re gonna scare the kids” soda: “what kids?” Twobit (joking): “Me.”

-“I’ll shove it up your ass no hesitation.”

-talks to Angelica casually to annoy Darry

-he let two bits little sister paint the “nails” on Angelica because “she wants to be pretty”

don’t question me for hells sake I did my research best I could and I know a lot about rodeo and stuff so like. Kindly correct me if I’ve been offensive but babe. On the topic of is this accident possible I know. I am aware. I have seen shit. Nothing this bad but this similar. Also go watch eight seconds it’s a true story people ACTUALLY HAVE DIED so don’t come after me on that bit. Hope you enjoyed.

BUT TALK TO ME ABOUT IT I BEG YOU

[watarfallar]

Gay idiots... (I said with joy)

Grian: Enough! How dare you mock me in such a manner!? Scar: Well. How would you like me to mock you? I take requests.

Scar: Holy shit, Grian, do you know what this means?! Grian: Kid, whenever you start doing this, nobody knows what you mean.

Scar: Hey, are you free? Grian: No, I’m expensive.

Grian: Wow, did you hear that voice crack? Scar: That wasn't a voice crack, that was a whole voice meth.

Scar: We all have our demons. Scar, grabbing Grian: This one’s mine.

Scar: I only have 6 weeks left to live. Grian: Oh my god, really?! Scar: It's just a guesstimate based on the choices I've made.

Grian: You gave me up, you let me down, you turned around, and deserted me. Scar: But did I make you cry? Grian: cries on the spot Scar: …Shit.

Grian: You know, I used to play back in my gory days. Scar: You mean glory days? Grian: Ah, that too.

Grian: The joy of hanging out with Scar. You look away for 5 seconds to make sure something is set up correctly, and they bite the tip of a marker off.

Scar: Would it be discrimination to only hire employees at my doughnut shop who have the same name? Grian: Legally, I don't believe that breaches any discrimination laws. Morally though… I don't know. Scar: I believe god is on my side when it comes to Duncans' Doughnuts.

Grian: Scar, are you okay?! Scar: I told you to stop asking stupid questions!

Grian: Can we talk? One 10 to another? Scar: I’m an 11, but continue.

Scar: Grian… you've been cuddling with me for over and hour now. Grian: muffled mm hmmm :) Scar: Fuck. I should be annoyed but you're adorable.

Scar: Wow, that was quick thinking on that phony sacrifice stuff. Grian: Oh, that was all real. Scar: Wait, you were trying to help them kill us?! Grian: If I’m gonna be sacrificed, I’m gonna do it right.

Grian, gently nudging Scar aside with their foot: Scar, move out of the way so I don’t trip on you. Scar, their eyes enormous: You kick Scar? You kick their body like the football? Oh! Oh! Jail for Grian! Jail for Grian for one thousand years!

While planning to break in somewhere Scar: Hey, let's do "Get Help!" Grian: What? Scar: "Get Help." Grian: No. Scar: C'mon, you love it! Grian: I hate it. Scar: It's great! It works every time! Grian: It's humiliating. Scar: Do you have a better plan? Grian: No. Scar: We're doing it! Grian: We are not doing "Get Help!" A Minute Later Scar, carrying Grian: Get help! Please! They're dying! Help Them! throws Grian at guards, knocking them out Scar: Ahh, classic! Grian: gets up I still hate it. It's humiliating. Scar, laughing: Not for me, it's not.

Scar: Did you know spiders can hold 8 guns at once? Grian: How does it WALK?? Scar: Scar: Did you know spiders can hold 7 guns at once?

Scar: Knock, knock. Grian: Who's there? Scar: Boo! Grian: Boo who? Scar: Why are you crying? Grian: I'm not crying. Scar: Hello notcrying, I'm Scar.

Scar, near tears: I have the sex appeal of a math book! Grian: I don’t know, dude, I’ve never met anyone that opened a math book and didn’t say “fuck me”.

Grian: Sorry it took so long to bail you out of jail. Scar: No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have used my phone call to prank call the police station.

Scar: I hate you. Grian: Well, according to this picture I drew of us holding hands, that is untrue.

Grian: Wait- Your arresting me because I'm a homo?! Scar: …Homicide. You killed your whole family.