#I’ve decided i hate rendering now

[pebbleaf]

My gaze has lingered on her for quite a while

They’re gay and in love (it’s canon trust me)

[jezabelle9299]

Fashion Show S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- You try on a new dress for a night out, and Spencer is continuously surprised by how beautiful you are

CWs- Reader wears a dress and heels, Spencer walks in before she's zipped the dress up all the way (But he doesn't really see anything-- just the back of her bra), Penelope is one pushy matchmaker and we love her for it

A/N- Day 19, I did not in fact fall off the face of the Earth (Yet), and I will hopefully get caught up with everything by Thursday! But I can't make any promises. If you like it, let me know-- and if you hate it, then maybe don't tell me, please, thank you.

Finally having your first fancy professional job came with something you were not all that familiar with, disposable income. So when Penelope invited you for a shopping trip on your lunch break, you obliged. You walked around the mall with her, and ended the trip with three new outfits, and a new pair of shoes. Two were for work, since you spent most of your time there anyway; and the third, along with the shoes were for the occasional night out. Whether a date (Which were few and far between), or the rare occasion of the government paying for a nice hotel with a bar you felt the need to dress up for. 

The fitting rooms were closed for maintenance when you went, so Penelope convinced you to do a quick fashion show when you got back, just for her in her office. The bathroom was right next to her office, so no one would even see you on the walk while you tried to decide if you liked the things you got. 

You tried on the work outfits first, working your way up to the piece you were most nervous to try on. It was a somewhat short purple dress, with a lace trim to complete it. But of course, this was the one thing you could not zip yourself. You threw on a jacket for the ten foot walk, and made it into Penelope’s office without seeing anyone. But as soon as she ran over to you in her very high heels to help you zip up, someone knocked ‘shave and a haircut’ on her office door, before promptly walking in. 

You knew from the knock that it was Spencer, unfortunately Spencer had no idea you were in there, let alone what you were doing. 

“Hey Garcia—“ as soon as he caught a glimpse of you, right as Penelope started zipping you up, he froze. No recollection of why he came over here, barely even registering Penelope’s presence when you looked like that. 

As if his life was one cruel joke, his favorite person in the world was wearing his favorite color, in a dress that could have been engineered specifically to render him speechless. And in the workplace no less. And in one final twist of the knife, he wasn’t supposed to see you. And he knew it. As soon as his brain could get him to move even an inch, he was covering his eyes. Like a child during a scary movie, he fully covered his eyes with one hand placed sideways, only to double the other one over top of it. 

You couldn’t not laugh at him. Just a little bit. He was just so scandalized at seeing a little bit of your bra. 

He was just trying to figure out how to excuse himself without opening his eyes when he felt your hands over his wrists, gently tugging his hands from his eyes. 

“Spencer, it’s ok. I promise I’m fully dressed now.” 

“What did you need, boy wonder?” After shooting you a look declaring, once again, her support of you and Spencer becoming a couple– Penelope sat herself back in her desk chair, ready to do whatever Spencer needed. 

“I—uh.” He quickly readjusted his glasses, but it didn’t help. Functionally, he was a brick in a sportcoat. 

“The incomparable Dr.Reid speechless? This dress is better than I thought.” You made the joke to undercut the tension you were feeling, but it only made it worse for both of you. 

“Sorry, I—I’ve just never seen you this dressed up.”

“She bought it to go out, you should take her for a night out tonight!” Both of you looked at Penelope, you couldn’t believe she would do that to you. Setting you up for that kind of rejection? Even if he did say yes— would it be for the sole factor of you dressing in a form fitting outfit? Spencer had a similar line of thinking– Penelope knew he liked you, and he was deeply upset that she would force him to actually hear your rejection. 

“Oh–um. I’m sure you have plans, I mean– you look really nice, I’m sure you have someone in mind or somewhere specific you wanted to go.”

“She doesn’t have any plans tonight! You don’t either, so you two are hitting the town.”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Me neither.”

“It’s a good thing we’re getting off work soon, and the chinese place down the street is open late anyway.”

You looked at each other, or in the general direction anyway. Neither of you wanted to make eye contact, and then when Spencer shot Penelope a betrayed look at her meddling, she just tilted her head to the side in a ‘go on’ motion.   

“Would you maybe like to go to the Chinese place with me after work? As a– I mean as a date?”

“You want to go out with me?” He was so surprised by your reaction, he ended up taking a full step back– his brow furrowing as he did. 

“Well yes– of course, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” By the end of his sentence his cheeks were starting to turn pink again. 

“I thought that you knew I liked you, is all. Of course I want to go out with you.”

“Oh– ok, can I pick you up at your desk after we’re done with paperwork?”

“That sounds nice, thank you Spencer.”

“Of course, and could you– maybe– keep the dress on? You just look really, really, great.”

“Sure Spencer, I’m glad you like it.” The teasing you endured from the rest of the team was worth it, because every time you looked at him, he was already looking at you– tossing you a shy smile that could only increase your excitement for tonight.  

[ikemen-trifecta]

A Date With Death ~ Making Grim Blush

“I’m not gonna write fanfiction or headcanons about him,” I thought to myself last night before going to bed, my head absolutely brimming with ideas. Ahem. Anyway. I took inspiration from HuniCast shenanigans and the CGs from the game. If you’d like to see more of Grim, feel free to submit a request to our Tumblr with more scenarios (not taking NSFW)! Please refrain from using his real name in comments and reblogs, as it is a major spoiler. Thank you for reading! –Edi

Edit: Two and a Half Studios retweets spoilers; never mind.

⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️🔴⚫️⚪️

🌻 The quickest way to make him blush is by resting your chin on his shoulder and murmuring “Oh, Grimmy~” 🌻 It’ll irritate him that you're not using his real name, but the close proximity will get him flustered regardless. 🌻 He’ll turn around and say “P-please stop doing that,” trying to obscure his face with the back of one hand.

🌻 Another way to make him blush quickly is to press your face into his chest (or make contact with his torso in any way). It's very sensitive, and he absolutely hates the fact that you use it against him. 🌻 You can run a finger down his back and render him a sputtering, red mess. 🌻 He tries to get you back by biting your neck (gently), but you are either very resistant to tickles or just don't care if you get flustered. It irritates him more.

🌻 Something more tame that you do that makes him blush is starting to grow a garden of sunflowers from the seeds of the bouquet he gave you. 🌻 He won’t say it, but he’ll be very touched that you decided to do that. 🌻 Every time he passes by the garden, his face will automatically become flushed at least a little thinking of you. It may even make him tear up a little.

🌻 Seeing you spend time with your pet will also make him blush. He won’t admit it, but you look very cute like that. When you aren’t talking, that is.

🌻 You also ordered your own axolotl plush to match his. He didn’t like sharing at first, but he couldn’t say anything when he found you in your apartment one night, all snuggled up in bed with Raphael. You had named the plushie after the angel of safe travels in preparation for the journey of your soul (Raphael is also seen as an angel of matchmaking and healing).

🌻 Speaking of sharing, he’ll…eventually…let you touch his hair. You enjoy having him sit against your bed or resting his head on your lap in order to braid his precious locks. If you look into his eyes while you’re at it, he’ll blush and avert them slightly. 🌻 To top it all off, you’ll either make a flower crown out of the blooms from your garden or weave them into the braids. He really is the prettiest grim reaper you’ve ever seen.

🌻 You’ll sometimes correct his typos, to which he’ll mutter the same thing again and again: “I do not type correctly…” 🌻 You always try to phrase it gently, but he’s still hard on himself regardless. He’ll blush and ask you about the proper grammar before disconnecting the call.

🌻 He still blushes when you mention the nonsense that is soul babies. 🌻 “You’re on about that again?” he’ll say. You respond by pushing him onto your bed. 🌻 “You. Me. Soul baby.” 🌻 “E-excuse me?!” 🌻 He’ll barely get those words out before you playfully hug him. 🌻 “You’re so easy to tease, Grimmy.”

🌻 He’ll try various things and finally pin you to the wall as a last resort and growl in your ear. 🌻 “I’ve got you now, Sunshine.” 🌻 You just smirk before stunning him with a quick kiss. He doesn't even know what happened, poor soul. You take this opportunity to taunt him. 🌻 “I’m the one with the most ‘rizz,’ my little reaper.” This mention of his previous cringey word usage will snap him out of it. 🌻 “Cease.” 🌻 “I don't think I will,” you’d respond, giggling. 🌻 This makes him pout— not that he notices. You bury your face in his chest again. He lets out a surprised squeak before just giving up and hugging you. 🌻 …still blushing from his chin to the tips of his ears.

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 3

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

They drink the tea. Remus sits at the small kitchen table, tries to fix the crossword. Sirius stays at the window, pointing out everything he sees and deems interesting. (That woman and her dog look identical. There’s a cat sitting on the boot of that car there, does it come every day? Think I could feed it some fish? I’ve heard there are a lot of strays in Egypt. Maybe if it’ll like me it will come inside.)

“I’ll need to go shopping today,” he says, finally, after having been ignored for the rest.

Remus has been given strict rules from the Ministry, and the first one is: don’t let the criminal out by himself. “Whatever for?” He asks because everything Black could possibly want is already in the apartment.

“Clothes.”

“You got clothes yesterday.”

“What, those things Shacklebolt had left? No way am I wearing those.”

There’s a scowl on his face, accentuating the sharpness of cheekbones.

“I’m not wasting money on your vanity, Black. Anyway, it seems like you managed to get yourself something,” he points to the white shirt, ignoring the way its sheerness offsets the tattoos.

“Like it?” Black hops off the windowsill, does a little shimmy. “I’ve transfigured the curtains.”

He must read the expression on Remus’ face correctly, because he adds, no remorse and full of mischief: “don’t worry, they’re the ones in my room. I prefer to have full access to morning light. And I have money, I’ll have you know. Don’t need you to buy me clothes.”

It’s a beautiful shirt. Looks delicate. Immaculately centred on Blacks collarbones and only showing the very outline of them. A tiny pattern of flowers on the cuffs.

“Fine,” Remus concedes, thinking he needs to get more cigarettes anyway. “We’ll get you more clothes before you rid us of all the soft furnishings.”

The smile Black gives him is both beautiful and so self-satisfied it renders the beauty frustrating. Remus wants to take back his acquiesce – he hates it, that he gave in. People like Black (beautiful, rich, connected) already get what they want too often. Remus vows, for his own sanity or for his own wicked amusement, to stand firm next time and say no. No to shopping, no to cigarettes, no to tea.

If time in jail didn’t teach Black not to take things for granted, then Remus will.

“Change that one back though. I’m not having the hotel bill the University just because you decided to play at a fashion designer.”

“You’re no fun, you know that?”

“I do, in fact. Lucky for me we’re not here for fun.”

“Right. This research you’re doing,” he says research so pointedly there is no need for quotation marks. Remus feels mocked. “Ever going to tell me what it is?”

“As Kingsley said: you’ll be told when you need to know.”

Black huffs, throws himself onto a chair opposite Remus. The way he moves is more than dignified: each careless turn is as fluent as water. Even with how thin he is now, and Remus imagines that’s the result of jail rather than a choice, Black is graceful. Fingers wrapped around a mug, ankles and long legs on display. Every delicate, breakable bone a sight people would pay to see.

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[vivianthevirulent]

I FINALLY HAVE A DECENT DRAWING OF MY ARCANA OC!!!! It’s not done, but it’s going good!

I’ve been making this oc for a couple of months and I finally have a decent reference for her! She isn’t really the MC since she’s a courtier I guess, but she does help with the investigation. Her name is Demelza and she is assistant head physician! She came to Vesuvia to become a doctor, and Valdemar took her in. She was their apprentice for a while and then became a doctor (specifically a pathologist), and eventually during the plague she was promoted to their second in command. They were science bros but towards the end of the plague Demelza got really sick and ended up dying. Valdemar hated this and decided they would bring her back since she was the only living person they seemed to really care about. It worked, but soon after Demelza decided she didn’t want to take the chance of dying again, and made a deal to became a weird demon thing too. Now they’re science bros again!!! Her personality is kinda weird and morbid because that’s genuinely my personality and she’s like me.

I love Valdemar so much!!!!! I also drew them being silly. I have to finish rendering my sprite of her and then make more outfits oh boy. I want to make her look a little less human and maybe add a bit more to her outfit, but I don’t know how yet.

[breakerwhiskey]

173 - ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY THREE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Okay, I am officially concerned. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but the truck was’t in the drive like usual so I just assumed…

I should have checked the whole house. But I’m so used to never coming into the garage because I know how much you hate your studio being disturbed but when I woke up this morning and you still weren’t home, well, I went in anyway and the truck is still here. In the garage.

It’s running fine—that’s where I’m broadcasting from right now, though obviously I turned the engine off. And I have to say, I’m impressed that you were actually listening when I told you to bring it inside for the winter if you weren’t going to be driving it much. But if you’re not out there driving this truck on a supply run, where are you?

I—I took the other car. Which, I’m sorry to say, is now somewhere in California, having been put out to pasture. But unless you finally decided to take an interest in car mechanics after all this time, I don’t know how else you’d be getting around. I know you love your walks—or, you did, eventually, once you got past the worst of the paranoia, but…you never went on a walk this long.

If you’re—if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere, I’m going to be fucking furious, Harry.

[click, static]

It’s…weird. Being in here. It feels like being inside your head somehow. It’s a goddamn mess, which I didn’t really expect. I’m sure you’ve got your own system—though who the hell knows—but I definitely can’t make sense of it. I’m glad to see you pulled the radio in here though. Maybe you did hear some of my transmissions after all.

Is that why you’re not here? Because you heard me say I was coming and you didn’t want to see me? You���ve enjoyed your life without me so much that you couldn’t bear to have your peace shattered.

Except…you’ve been thinking about me. I know you have. And maybe this is why you never wanted me to be in your studio in the first place.

There’s…a lot of me in here. Paintings, sketches…not all of my face always but you must have known that I’d recognize the curve of my own ear, the shape of my hands.

Have—have you been doing this all along? Or just since I left? Were you always coming in here and spending hours perfecting the color of my hair when some days you wouldn’t even speak to me—

[click, static]

Is this why you asked for the stories behind all my scars? So you could render them in perfect detail, knowing exactly what made them and when? I thought you wanted to know more about me, but maybe it was just an avenue for your art, one of the few subjects that you had access to, too tired of painting birds or trees or images from your own mind.

Or did you ask because you wanted to know? You talked once, about how painting helped you understand the world, or yourself; how that was one of the things you loved about it, one of the reasons you started painting in the first place. Because when nothing else made sense, charcoal and oil and your own hands were able to bring shape to the world.

Were you trying to understand me? Or were you trying to understand what you felt about me? Or was guilt swallowing it all up that you couldn’t uncover anything else.

I just…I need you to come back and explain what this is all about. Because in a room full of canvases and color and stray sketch pages, I keep turning and seeing my own face. I’m everywhere.

[click, static]

There’s a lot of other art too, of course. And it’s all…it’s fucking beautiful. Your art has always been so beautiful.

I…I’ve added to your collection. I picked up a painting when I was in Santa Fe, something that I thought was pretty and that I thought you might—

Well, I’ve left it in here. In case you want to do anything with it. It’s yours.

There are also—well. I wrote you some postcards. But I obviously had no way of sending them to you so I just…held onto them. But you might as well have them now.

I don’t know why I’m saying all of this on the radio like I can’t say it to you face to face. You’ll be back and you’ll probably be annoyed that I left stuff in your studio without asking. There’s no need for me to leave anything for you, not when I can just hand it to you.

But I just have this feeling…

I’m going to look for you tomorrow. Drive to the usual spots, take a walk in the woods behind the house. And because I’m fucking considerate, I’m going to leave a note.

[click, static]

[storeecbrcod]

Through the Rubble (Pt 2)

Ghost x Reader fic (TW: Death, crushing injury, mild body horror, night terrors)

It’s been months since you were deemed KIA. Months since Soap heard Ghost’s agonised screams in the distance over the crackling of fires and tumbling of walls. Months since Soap had to call in back up to pry Ghost from your still body, and force him to leave the area just so a recovery crew could render your fractured body irrecoverable.

Ghost hadn’t been the same since. He turned colder, meaner, more sour. Presumably, it would make him stronger; he’d been through so much, this was surely not his worst experience.

His days spent in his bed on base begged to differ. He could barely get up anymore. He was used to your soft touch to rouse him, small kisses to his shoulders to get his muscles to work for him. But he didn’t have you now. He wasted away in his room for hours, trying to build up an ounce of strength to face himself and do something.

He hated how weak he felt. How he couldn’t even open his eyes without being painfully aware of the bed springs laying untouched next to him. He hated how he had to drag himself from the sheets, huffing and groaning, just to force himself to get dressed let alone leave his room and continue his life.

The team noticed, watching Ghost move sullenly around base. If you didn’t know what to look for, you’d probably think Ghost was just angrier than usual, but still Ghost. Him moving deliberately and with cold eyes wasn’t uncommon, after all.

But the team saw how he’d become hesitant. He wouldn’t answer their questions with unwavering certainty, he’d always think about it for a moment. He’d pause before picking up his plate from the mess hall. He’d look around a room before entering it. No matter what he did, he never walked straight into anything anymore.

They all thought it was anxiety, flashbacks of some sort. They all assumed he was thinking about how his decisions somehow got you killed, how he didn’t want to eat from grief, how he was searching for danger in every room.

But, in reality, he was thinking of you.

He was trying to decide how his answer might affect you as if you were there. He hated that he was grabbing a plate, not two for a quiet lunch in his office with you like you always used to. He searched for you, hoping against hope that your eyes would meet him and beckon him over to you.

You were never there, though.

It was another night laid in bed, sleepless and overwhelmed. He tried to close his eyes so many times, but all that he got in return was recurring images of your body, lifeless under the rubble through his tear-soaked lashes as he held your hand. Over and over again, all he saw was blood seeping from your crushed body, pink bubbles at the corner of your mouth as you spoke to him.

“Go, Ghost. Go while you can. I’m done.”

How his pleads spilled from his mouth, begging you to push against the weight on your chest.

“I love you, Si.”

He opened his eyes, sighing as he tried to push the thoughts away. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. He invited the person on the other side in, Soap opening the door.

“Morning, LT,” he said cheerfully. It made Ghost’s head hurt.

“Morning, Johnny. What is it?” he asked bluntly. Soap smiled a bit wider. “I’ve got a surprise, mate,” Soap replied. Ghost got up slowly, walking to Soap and following him through the halls.

“What is it, Sergeant?” Ghost grumbled, not appreciating the wake up call despite the sunlight and the crows calling outside.

Soap didn’t reply, just leading him through the halls in a blur. He wasn’t paying attention as he felt his heart flutter in anticipation. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt excited, hopeful.

He picked up pace with Soap, exiting the barracks and being led straight to the aircraft pad. He saw a crowd around a helicopter that had landed, their backs to them as they approached. He felt his heart pick up speed again as he plunged through the crowd, forcing them aside without care.

Body after body he had to push past, not bothering with apologies as hope continued to grip his body. I need to know. It has to be. Who else would it be coming home? Coming home to me?

A flicker of hair was seen, and he recognised it immediately, choking him up as he barreled past the last few people. He felt tears prick his eyes in relief, in joy, knowing his intuition was right.

It was never wrong with you.

He burst through the crowd, only to see you standing there. Your eyes pierced his, your smile putting one of his own on his disbelieving face. He just stared for a moment, a mountain of emotions crashing down on him; relief, joy, happiness, disbelief. You were uninjured. You were safe.

You were alive.

“[Name]?” was all he could muster. In response, you lifted your arms to invite him into a hug, and he rushed forward with a strangled choke.

His arms wrapped around you as he cried into your shoulder. So small, my love. I’ve missed you so much, I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to hold you.

There was nothing but comfort for a moment as he held you, his silent tears racing down your skin, staining your shirt.

You were alive. He couldn’t believe it, it didn’t feel real. But all he knew was you were there with him now, hugging him like he had hoped you would for months.

“Ghost.” It was all it took to break the moment. A shiver crawled up his spine, dragging fingers up his vertebrae as the warmth turned cold in an instant. He stilled, holding you in his arms.

Something isn’t right.

He pulled back a bit to see your face. It was sad, but a smile stuck onto it as he looked into your eyes. Streaks ran down your face, as if you had been crying.

“Why?”

His heart sank instantly, his stomach being thrown into unrest as he recognised your tone. His face dropped into a confusion.

“What?” he whispered.

“Why, Ghost? I’m done.”

Your ragged words sent electricity through him, jolting him. As he held you, he felt himself start to shake. He tried to hold you tighter, but felt himself gag as your chest gave way to his squeeze, feeling each of your bones scrape against their fractures in the movement. It was cold, horrifying, but he didn’t dare let you go.

“Go, Ghost. Go while you can, I’m done.” He blinked, and was suddenly assaulted by the smell of burning rubbish, dirt caking his lungs as he looked down at you, now laying on the ground as he kneeled next to you.

No, please. Not again. I can’t.

“No, no, no, [Name], please. Not again,” he whispered, an arm holding your battered body up as his other hand searched you, trying to find the source of your injuries as if he could somehow fix them with his touch, soothe you back to breath.

“For fuck’s sake, not again! Please!” he bellowed. He was growing desperate again, panic forming tight bonds around his heart as it hammered against his chest. He felt your stuttered breaths as your heart fluttered under his grasp, soft and almost gone.

“Don’t you fucking say it, [Name]. I don’t want to hear it,” he growled. He knew what came next, the words that left him broken and clutching his chest in the mornings. The pain that was so unbearable to him.

“I love you, Si.”

He sat up with a scream, booming and piercing. He looked around frantically, eyes wide as his hands shook with the memory of your last breath, the slip of your blood between his fingers. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t over his laboured gasps for air. How cruel.

He looked down to his palms, his mind not comprehending the lack of dirt and blood. Your blood. The blood of his love.

He tried to force air into his lungs, knowing that if he didn’t he’d spiral further. He dare not close his eyes, knowing all he’ll be met with is your face going from a smile to a limp look of distress and loss.

It took time, but he eventually settled, being left with taught features and a tired heart. His pulse felt slow as if he was pumping mud through his veins.

He always tried to avoid using the words heavy or crushing to describe how he felt, feeling like it mocked you, but he was losing words to aptly communicate how much his grief wrapped around him.

He felt as if no one could understand the jarring pain of holding your love while you shared their last breath, so close you could kiss them, willing yourself to believe your lips on theirs would somehow pass life back into their frozen body.

He felt as if no one would understand how he had taken on some of your breathlessness, needing big gulps of air every once in a while to push against the rubble in his chest.

He felt as if the weight on his heart could only mirror that of which your chest had stilled beneath.

But no matter how he felt, he knew this weight would never lift. A pillar of grief on his body, a reminder of his love gone.

Grief.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 (Final)

[rutzozeth]

(Select to see the full post to see me write about my thoughts in these styles and the behind of me making them and why I made them)

So this is gonna be me rambling and yapping about this subject, but I realized I wanted to have more than one art style when I was finding inspiration in the artists I like the most and who I inspire myself the most to find what I want my art to look like, and I realized there were many things I wanted in my art I didn’t know how to implement in one single art style. I wanted some cartoony features, some anime-like features and some realistic features, so I decided to make 3 art styles based on what I wanted to see in my art depending on what I wanted to draw.

Like I said, maybe I’ll change my mind, maybe I’ll settle for one style or find one that mixes all the features I want perfectly, but I like all these art styles I made, and plan on drawing in these styles and keep up improving them, so I’m still (and always will) be open to constructive criticism in any of this styles.

In the realistic one I don’t want to be full realism, I still want it to be stylized in some way, but it’s the most detailed one and the one I want to learn to make full renders.

In the anime-like is how I’ve been drawing these past 2 years, and I really like it, looking back at my old drawings there were mistakes, sure, but with what I made most recently I realized I don’t hate this style and want to keep using it. It’s a mixture between my other styles, and even if I still don’t know if I should cell shade it or full render it, I grew very fond of this style, and I want to keep improving it.

Now the cartoony one is the most chill, it looks for the most simple and easy anatomy, and is the cutest and most simple of all of them, but that doesn’t mean is bad. I usually draw like this when I want to make something funny, goofy and chill. I don’t usually draw like this most of the time, but when I made this art style, I liked it, and plan on drawing more like this.

Now this is for drawing style, not really coloring or rendering, that’s its own can of worms I’ll tackle when the time comes, but as of now, I’ve been practicing a lot of anatomy, perspective and more, color theory will come later (although it should come soon, but I’ll see), but I also have my thoughts and inspiration of them too, so maybe when I find a coloring/rendering style I like, I’ll make another post like this.

[sburbian-sage]

do YOU KNOW WHAT i think? i think YOU ARE THE MOST ARROGANT PERSON i’ve ever MET, EVEN MORE SO THAN MY BROTHER.

i’m cruel TO YOU BECAUSE OF THE REASON i outlined IN MY FIRST MESSAGE: YOU HAVE RUINED MULTIPLE SESSIONS FOR ME, BECAUSE YOU INVOLVED YOURSELF IN A SITUATION YOU DIDN’T UNDERSTAND.

i don’t BOTHER TO EXPLAIN MYSELF WHEN i mention THINGS LIKE FAMILIAR THEORY, BECAUSE i was ONCE A witch. my WORD ON THE TOPIC SHOULD COUNT FOR SOMETHING INHERENTLY.

in THAT SAME VEIN, YOU ONLY SAY THE THINGS YOU DO BECAUSE OF TWO REASONS: YOU THINK THE GAME CANNOT BE ESCAPED, AND YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW CHERUBS WORK.

you CAN’T UNDERSTAND HOW THIS FEELS. i’ve spent MY ENTIRE LIFE AS PART OF THIS FOOL. i know EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT HIM, AND HAVE DECIDED THAT i despise ALL OF IT. this IS HOW IT ALWAYS IS FOR CHERUBS, AND HE IS SIMPLY LYING WHEN HE SAYS ANYTHING ELSE.

the REASON HE WANTS TO “WORK TOGETHER”, IS BECAUSE IT WILL WEAKEN ME. when A CHERUB REACHES MATURITY AND PREDOMINATES OVER THEIR OTHER HALF, IT COMES DOWN TO FORCE OF PERSONALITY.

if i let UP ON HIM, THEN WHEN i finally ESCAPE, HE WILL PREDOMINATE OVER ME, AND i will DIE PERMANENTLY. i cannot RELAX. i cannot “MATURE”. i cannot ALLOW HIM TO GET A LEG UP ON ME.

the most i could DO IS PLAY ALONG, PRETENDING TO AGREE WITH HIM. not ONLY IS THE THOUGHT OF SUCH DISHONESTY AND SUBMISSIVENESS ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING, BUT IT WOULD ALSO LEAVE ME OPEN TO FURTHER MANIPULATION.

not BECAUSE OF HIS rage POWERS (he doesn’t fucking have them, he’s an heir of doom this session, pay attention to the things i say you ignoramus!!! and WHILE I’M AT IT, i don’t KNOW WHERE YOU GOT 3-4 YEARS FROM, i said OUR FIRST SESSION ONLY ENDED A YEAR AGO, THEY’VE BEEN SHORT), BUT BECAUSE IT’S WHAT HE HAS always DONE.

we DIDN’T SPEND OUR ENTIRE LIVES IN THIS GAME. he’s ALWAYS BEEN ANGLING TO WEAKEN ME, TO GET ME TO MAKE COMPROMISES, BECAUSE THAT WAS WHAT HE HAD TO DO TO SURVIVE. and BECAUSE WE WILL ONE DAY ESCAPE, NOTHING HAS TRULY CHANGED. i will NOT GIVE UP MY ADULTHOOD, MY INDEPENDENCE, THAT i have FOUGHT SO HARD MY ENTIRE LIFE TO ACHIEVE.

you ARE ASKING ME TO EXTEND TRUST TO SOMEONE WHO WAS BORN TO KILL ME.

i just WANT TO rest. i want to sleep knowing my body does not move without my consent. i want TO KNOW THAT WHEN i wake UP, THE FRIENDSHIPS i have BUILT WILL NOT BE destroyed! i want MY COPLAYERS TO TAKE MY SIDE, BECAUSE THEY LIKE ME MORE, BECAUSE i deserve TO BE LIKED BECAUSE i’m upfront ABOUT MY INTENTIONS AND WILL PROTECT EVERYONE IN MY TERRITORY WITH MY LIFE WHEN I’M AN ADULT AND BECAUSE AND BECAUSE i try SO HARD TO CARE FOR THEM AND i deserve TO HAVE BEEN BOR N AS SOMETHING ELSE AND i hate YOU i hatre HATE hat hea t hjate hate hate hate hate you i hate you i hate you i

*cacologyCataphasis’s computer ceased functioning. This message was sent automatically to prevent loss of data, but may be incomplete. This can be disabled on their end in the advanced Nemesis browser settings.*

Oops, looks like someone's browser had a stupid setting that rendered their use of the anonymous function redundant. For what it's worth though, I do want to make it clear up-front that if I discover any of my followers start doing weird harass-y shit with your handle, I am going to turn my Ringship around, drive directly into their session, and take them and their entire house with me.

In any case, you're tragically dense, and it seems it's purposeful. I could point out how I obviously meant 3-4 *session* losing streak, and and now getting ragged on for a typo (or for assuming that a session takes roughly a year to complete, which is average from what I can tell). Or how I obviously was asking if you thought he sent me a Rage-encoded ask, *while he was a Rage player*. Or the fact that you yelling yourself into a computer crash about how you can't let yourself mature is an act beyond parody. But the biggest misconception here is that you can escape the game or become an adult.

You're communicating to me on the replayernet. Please think about the implications for a minute, or what reason your coplayers could have for always looking like they're teenagers despite having been at the game for years. I'll even let you know, some sessions have lasted so long that people who began playing at 16 reached their 20s, but no session lasts forever, and once they step through the door they're back to puberty. I've done my research on Cherubs when I had the downtime, and even putting aside the constant resets to your body, do you really think you can fly away to a distant star when the entire Incipisphere is surrounded by Others that grab and eat players like breakfast? Unless you intend to fight through an entire galaxy of Others, until you eventually find... The only thing out there is other sessions, and that's where I'm hopefully drifting towards, ever slowly.

I said it before, but give it up. You couldn't persuade your way out of a paper bag. You've failed to substantiate your brother being worse than you outside of variations on "trust me you idiot". You'll never have a body of your own because your (physical) maturation is stunted by the game, and you're too worried about what it'll do to you if you kill him in his dreamsleep. Your behavior not only doesn't endear you towards your coplayers (nice job handing your brother ammo btw), but you accidentally leaked your handle online and now everybody can trace this unreasonable behavior back to your account, letting them side against you before they ever meet you. And it seems your main strategy is "stop playing the game that you have to play forever".

I'm not advocating a total surrender. They say the first death is in the heart, and I consider losing all hope of ever surviving SBURB to be a metaphorical death, in that you're just a walking corpse. There are communities online dedicated to finding a way to fix the door, or escape the game in some other manner, if you've invested in that I heartily recommend you join them. I also don't advocate that you "will yourself to die" and leave your body to your brother or whatever. I can't imagine what it's like to be sharing a body with someone else (or the biological implications of the fact that your body seemingly never really sleeps), but if it makes you feel better, consider it a sort of disability and learn to live with it like the couple hundred disabled players out here do. If you'd like to chat with someone who might know what that does in fact feel like, leave a note nearby when you go to sleep, or however it is you communicate with him. And for god's sake, read the Etiquette FAQ.

For your own sake, I will not be responding to or publishing any more asks you send me. This might change if I'm allowed some correspondence with your brother, or if you calm down, or if my judgement becomes impaired in the near future. If this seems similar to how the coplayers you've met keep freezing you out, consider it a test of sorts. "What would I say to get someone who doesn't want to talk to me, to talk to me". Your brother ended up figuring this one out, and I unintentionally kneecapped him by not reccomending him the Etiquette FAQ, hint hint.

[irishk0rn]

Guilty

I don’t actually hate Cenarius, I just don’t particularly care for him or his character. He just happened to be the target of my negative projection as I project onto Illidan.

Trans Illidan fic.

//

Illidan was tired. He was tired of hiding who he was; hiding behind a name that wasn’t his, hiding inside of a body that didn’t belong to him. And his brother knew; at least his brother knew. He was proud of him, actually. That was a bit of reassurance — Hell, Malfurion even helped him pick a name. And it didn’t have any correlation to his assigned name. The beginning letters or sounds weren’t even the same.

He supposed the easiest course of action after telling his brother and his close friend, Tyrande (who also happened to be transgender? who knew!) was to tell his teacher, his mentor, Cenarius.

His brother had advised him to do so; his hunch was that Cenarius would understand and maybe teach him a more masculine themed program. The night elves, sadly, had really harshly engrained gender roles. Illidan knew that it certainly wasn’t easy for Tyrande to be herself — not even with the help of him and his brother. But she was a great woman. He loved her bravery…

Illidan felt alone, despite Malfurion being right behind him, telling him encouraging words. He couldn’t really hear them — he wasn’t tuning him out on purpose, but this looming sensation of fear and coldness weighted like chains upon his already torn heart.

“It’ll be alright, brother,” Malfurion said. It ran a good chill down Illidan’s spine to be called brother. It was one of the first steps Malfurion took for him. “I think Cenarius will understand…”

“... I can only hope,” Illidan muttered, continuing on his terrifying path to speak to his teacher.

Cenarius was reading a book in between teaching druids when Illidan approached him. Malfurion decided this moment was for them, so he stayed a small distance away. But he was close enough where his brother could see him and know he was there to support him. The dark haired sin’dorei took a deep inhale, swallowing his pride and nerves. The nerves cut his throat like a blade and when he tapped Cenarius on the shoulder, he was unable to speak for a moment, the sharp unforgiveness of his pride rendering him unable to do so.

Cenarius tore his gaze away from his book. “Yes, Zar’lyne, what is it?”

Illidan tensed at the use of his deadname. “I’m, um, I’ve something to tell you, teacher…”

He could barely speak. Cenarius closed his book and turned his full attention to Illidan, which made Illidan even more nervous; and he began to sweat — when he looked at his hands, bringing them up to fidget, they were trembling. Cenarius tilted his horned head. “What is it, my student?”

Illidan took in another exhale. “My name is Illidan and I— I am a man. No longer a Stormrage sister — but a Stormrage brother.”

Cenarius frowned, and it struck a wave of fear through his student’s body. Oh Gods, he thought, he’s disappointed.

“Oh,” his teacher uttered. “I see.”

The dark haired kal’dorei frowned at him and awaited more. More than a disappointed “oh” before Cenarius went back to his book. And for a few moments, nothing more came. He almost took it as a cue to walk away before his teacher spoke again.

“Well, Zar’lyne,” Cenarius said. His deadname was used deliberately this time, “think of this: what would Elune think?”

Illidan frowned. “Elune? I…”

“Consider the question, my student. What would she think of your pretending?”

The caster was now more confused than anything. Did Cenarius really some up what he had just confided as pretending?

He reached out to pat Illidan’s head, like a parent consoles a child, but Illidan leaned out of his reach. “No, don’t — why do you think—”

Cenarius got closer and leaned down to his level. “I know you want to be like your brother, little one. But this is not the way to go. I can’t help you if you continue this charade and Elune won’t be able to, either.

“You’re not him, and you can’t ever be. So he Zar’lyne, not… what was the alias? Illidan? Don’t be that.”

And, because he was in shock, Illidan just nodded before taking his leave. As he walked by his brother, Malfurion put a hand on his shoulder, midway through asking how it went, before Illidan shoved him off. He did it so hard that Malfurion even fell in the grass. He got up quickly, changing into his travel form to catch up with his brother.

—

Illidan was throwing things in his room now, and Malfurion was trying to calm him down. He was angry now.

“Brother, please, calm yourself — stop throwing your things!”

In defiance, Illidan threw a wooden bowl at Malfurion’s head. The other elf ducked and it smashed against the wall, breaking into pieces. Had it hit him, because it was thrown so hard, it could have knocked him unconscious.

“I hate Elune. I hope she falls from grace painfully!”

Illidan began to cuss in Darnassian, and Malfurion matched the languages. How could you say that? Malfurion asked him, ducking again when Illidan threw something else, but just at the wall. She must forsake me!

His brother frowned. Why would you say that? He was concerned of the cursing Illidan was doing of whom they worshipped, afraid he would suffer consequences for his rage driven words.

“She must!” Illidan now responded in common, “She must forsake me! She made me in the wrong body, and made me your sister!”

Malfurion blinked. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means, brother! I will never be on your level — I will always be in your shadow! I will always be known as your less talented sister before I fade into nothingness. I could save all of Azeroth and I will still only be remembered as ‘Malfurion’s sister’!”

His twin went over to him and put his hands on his shoulders. “Por’wyeun,” he said. It meant brother in Darnassian. Illidan swatted his hands away. “No. I can’t talk. Get out. Get out right now.”

Malfurion frowned, but obliged, and listened to the slam and lock of the door. Then he heard even more smashing and punching of the wall before his brother let out a rageful scream that would have shaken Elune herself. And it hurt his heart for his brother. Twins were connected to some degree, and could feel each other — feel their hurt. The pain was so strong in Illidan’s heart that it made Malfurion’s own chest ache with pain, so badly that he didn’t attend his class that evening.

His family was in pain and he didn’t understand how to help him. Should he stop showing his excellation just so Illidan could feel he had a chance? Should he give up in the name of his brother? Should he let Illidan earn it? He didn’t know.

All he knew is Illidan was hurting and he didn’t know how to help.

[themattress]

After watching the video in this post, I decided to look up the script for Duel of the Fates, Colin Trevorrow and Derek Connolly’s first pass at Episode IX before Carrie Fisher’s passing rendered it unusable. While I stand by what I’ve said previously about how its ultimate message (how it’s good to be a “Gray Jedi” who uses both Light and Dark sides of the Force and thus every Jedi prior to Rey got it all wrong) pisses on Star Wars and its core philosophy of the Force and what “balance” means far more than anything J.J Abrams or Rian Johnson could ever put out, I want to bring up another flaw. See, Duel of the Fates is praised by people who loved The Last Jedi and hated The Rise of Skywalker for being a far more “natural continuation” to The Last Jedi. The question I now pose is...is it? Is it really? 

I mean, in some respects it certainly is - it maintains the harsher tone, maintains certain beats like Rey having no special heritage and Rose being a central character, and isn’t afraid to risk fucking with sacred cows of the franchise’s mythos (even if they take it too far, in a way that lends a ton of credibility to every “Rey is a Mary Sue!” argument ever made, but I digress). However, look deeper and cracks begin to show to the notion that Duel of the Fates is an organic follow-up to The Last Jedi and would have satisfied everyone who loved that movie.

Yes, Rey would have stayed just a girl from nowhere with no special heritage, and one could argue that her Gray Jedi outcome fit with her trajectory in The Last Jedi where she’s basically perfect as is and doesn’t need to learn much of anything; in fact her “teachers” end up learning from her. However, the big “reveal” scene about her parents from The Last Jedi is still retconned. In The Rise of Skywalker, the retcon is that Kylo just saw what happened - Rey’s scavenger parents selling her - and assumed there was no deeper truth to it but then learns he was wrong about that. In Duel of the Fates, the retcon is that Kylo flat-out lied. He knew that Rey’s parents didn’t sell her for drinking money and were in fact hiding her...not from an assassin sent by Palpatine, but from an assassin sent by Snoke. Him. Kylo Ren. He himself killed Rey’s parents because they hid Rey from him and later lied to her that they just abandoned her. I have no idea how this works timeline-wise given that Kylo doesn’t seem that much older than Rey, but whatever. Also, Rey’s real name is “Rey Solana”. Yes, literally just “Solo” if the last “o” got taken out and the “ana” from “Organa” got put in. Um....poetry?

Speaking of Kylo Ren, The Last Jedi positioned him as the irredeemable Big Bad now that he’s Supreme Leader of the First Order. And Duel of the Fates kind of did and did not stick with that. Yes, he’s the Big Bad all the way to being the Final Boss (for a third film in a row), but his entire plotline is completely detached from the First Order he’s supposedly the Supreme Leader of. Rather than just being treated as irredeemable, damn near every good guy in the film is constantly trying to redeem him (above all Luke’s ghost, since “See you around, kid” was taken literally here instead of figuratively). And yet at the last minute, he kind of receives redemption anyway? He loses in lightsaber combat to Rey, then beats her anyway by killing her via his lifeforce-draining ability, only for Leia to contact him through the Force and tell him “Come back to the Light”....and despite everything he’s done up to this point where he has succeeded in his goal, this is somehow enough for him to immediately give his own lifeforce to Rey, resurrecting her and killing him. He did nothing good other than backtrack on something evil he’d literally just done, so I guess he isn’t redeemed, but then why does the script describe his passing as having light in his eyes and holding Rey’s hand while looking at her with love? How are we supposed to look at this? It’s beyond confusing! You can keep Kylo unredeemed or redeem him ala The Rise of Skywalker, but not both.

Finn, and Rose certainly get it better in Duel of the Fates than they do in The Rise of Skywalker, with Finn leading a massive Stormtrooper rebellion and Rose being one of the core characters instead of an extra. But there are three problems. Rose ends up largely contributing nothing beyond further social commentary and even gets captured and tortured, which doesn’t seem like it makes her starring role worth it. Finn and Rose are a romantic couple, and as it ended up John Boyega and Kelly Marie Tran had no romantic chemistry with each other. And funnily enough, The Last Jedi did not set Finn up for his Stormtrooper rebellion arc! It could have, but for some reason the version of his battle with Phasma that had build-up for this development wasn’t used in the finished film! So that’s a big whoopsie! Poe’s arc in Duel of the Fates actively backtracks on his arc from The Last Jedi! Whereas in The Last Jedi it was positioned that his hot-headed recklessness was wrong and he had to grow as a leader by taking Leia’s example, Duel of the Fates has him in the right over Leia by pointing out “rebellion IS recklessness!” and that Leia has had her time and now she has to let Poe take charge even if she has some reservations about his gung-ho methods. Hux, meanwhile, who was positioned in The Last Jedi as scheming to betray Kylo Ren so that he can become the leader of the First Order...never does that in Duel of the Fates. He basically IS the First Order’s leader anyway since Kylo Ren is busy with his own shit, and the farthest extent his “treachery” goes is just hoping Rey and Kylo kill each other rather than take initiative himself in any way. Oh, and he’s also randomly obsessed with learning how to use the Force and collects lightsabers, one of which he commits seppuku with at the end. Yeah.

As for the other characters, there’s honestly not that much difference from what they do in The Rise of Skywalker. Luke keeps with his turnaround on how he views the Jedi and his place in the universe and assists Rey as a ghost, Leia still reaches through to her son via the Force in order to engineer his change of heart, Han is a vision that confronts his son (albeit one that fails in Duel of the Fates), Lando is reluctant to get involved but then ends up leading the cavalry in the final battle, the sidekicks are still the sidekicks and one of the droids even has their memory wiped but later restored (though it’s R2-D2 rather than C-3PO), and despite all the fan bitching there is no instrumental role played by the ghost of “Chosen One” Anakin. The only other big difference is that instead of Palpatine, a character established as a master long-term schemer with a fixation on finding a way to cheat death, returning, we have a confusing character named Tor Valum who is apparently master of ALL THE SITH which breaks the Rule of Two, hints that Darth Plagueis in his entirety was a lie, and exists as a plot device to make Kylo Ren a formidable Final Boss after having been made a joke of in the climax of the previous two films. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather have Palpatine.

So there you have it. Not much else to say but...

[mediaevalmusereads]

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. By Patrick Süskind (trans. John E. Woods). Penguin, 1985.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: In the slums of eighteenth-century France, the infant Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is born with one sublime gift—an absolute sense of smell. As a boy, he lives to decipher the odors of Paris, and apprentices himself to a prominent perfumer who teaches him the ancient art of mixing precious oils and herbs. But Grenouille's genius is such that he is not satisfied to stop there, and he becomes obsessed with capturing the smells of objects such as brass doorknobs and fresh-cut wood. Then one day he catches a hint of a scent that will drive him on an ever-more-terrifying quest to create the "ultimate perfume"—the scent of a beautiful young virgin.

***Full review below.***

Content Warnings: animal death, racism (including the g-slur), torture, reference to incest

Overview: I’ve known about this book for some time, but for some reason, I only now just decided to pick it up. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t to fall in love with the prose and devour this novel in 2 days. As soon as I started reading, I had a hard time putting the book down, and much of it has to do with the absolute masterful way Süskind tells his story. While this book might not be for everyone, in my opinion, it is a mesmerizing, seductive, dark tale that quickly became a favorite. 

Writing: This novel was originally written in German, and since my German is awful, I can’t evaluate the faithfulness of the translation. I will say, however, that Woods (the translator) did an excellent job of rendering the novel into, for lack of a better word, a work of capital-A Art. I loved the way settings and characters were brought to life in vivid detail, with Süskind/Woods deploying visceral word choices that evoked disgust and horror at various smells, sights, and sounds. I also adored the meditations on scent, the passages on hate and love, all of which felt meaningful yet not so heavy and philosophical as to weigh down the narrative. Everything felt perfectly in balance, including the pace, which was neither too fast nor too slow. In short, this was a masterfully-crafted book, and a stunning example of a writer who knows their stuff.

Plot: The plot of this book follows Jean-Baptiste Grenouille - an 18th century urchin with a superhuman sense of smell - as he attempts to make a perfume so enchanting that it will make humanity love him. The narrative follows Grenouille from birth to death, detailing the experiences that shape him into a murdering monster. In addition to being rejected by his caregivers at an early age, Grenouille also learns the art of perfumery from various artisans, and eventually, his obsession with scent leads him to start murdering young women. The reason, the book states, is that he wishes to capture their aromatic essence - the scent that makes people fawn over them and want to do anything to protect them.

Despite this plot centering on a murderer, the actual murders don’t occupy a large percentage of the book (so lovers of true crime might want to look elsewhere). Most of the focus is on Grenouille‘s acquisition of perfumery skills as well as the detailed world of his olfactory sense, so it’s a very character-driven story that builds suspense through the way it portrays the different phases of Grenouille’s life. Personally, the lack of focus on murder didn’t bother me because I was so captivated by Grenouille as a character, and even when he started killing people, I was curious to see whether his theories about the “ultimate perfume” would work. I also very much appreciated that I wasn’t subjected to long, detailed descriptions of violence and gore, and though their was some weird gender stuff going on with all of the victims being virgin women, it only made the implications of the novel that much more interesting.

Characters: Grenouille, our protagonist, is incredibly interesting and compelling not only because of his superhuman sense of smell, but because of the way he contemplates the interplay of love and hate. Grenouille grows up without receiving an ounce of affection, and most of his time is spent capturing and contemplating complex scents. As a result, he builds a rich, sensuous, fantastical otherworld in his mind’s eye (or, rather, mind’s nose?) that contrasts with the outside world, and the novel uses the olfactory world to play with the idea of Grenouille being born bad while also longing for (and simultaneously rejecting) love. Because of the complexity of the olfactory world and the relationship Grenouille had with humanity, I found him endlessly fascinating and enjoyed watching him learn and grow (even if that growing was ultimately horrifying).

Supporting characters were perhaps just as fascinating as the protagonist. All of them felt complex and were motivated by somewhat selfish interests, but it was hard to dislike any of them because they were somewhat whimsical and had unique quirks. Giuseppe Baldini, Grenouille’s first perfume instructor, struggles to revive his failing business and wishes to be the most famous perfumer in the world (despite not being very good at his job). I was amused by his reflections on the changes in fashions and his anger at one of his rivals. Marquis de La Taillade-Espinasse, a lord who finds Grenouille after the latter’s 7 year solitude, is amusing for his belief in "fluidal theory." Antoine Richis, the father of Grenouille’s last victim, wishes to establish himself as both a rich man and as part of important families, and his devotion to his daughter is both admirable yet off-putting.

If I had any criticism, I would say that a lot of the female characters - especially the murder victims - didn’t seem to have as much (or any) complexity as the male counterparts. It’s kind of a shame, because the narrative almost treats them as objects in much the same way Grenouille does - objects to be used, not people to be mourned. I kind of understand the rationale, as making them all full characters would shift the tone to something more dark than it already is, but still, I think it’s worth mentioning because some readers might be disappointed.

TL;DR: Perfume: The Story of a Murderer is a well-crafted, character-driven story that will enchant readers from the first page to the last. By building complex, sensuous worlds and following a protagonist that is simultaneously compelling and revolting, Süskind creates a modern classic that is sure to mesmerize readers with an appreciation for descriptive, visceral prose.

[rabbivole]

i’ve been playing around with interior worlds and having a good time with it

i think the photography angle is really smart. liminal space content is already a genre centered on vaguely eerie imagery so having it be a game about capturing vaguely eerie imagery works well. there’s also genuine effort put into it; i am simultaneously a sucker for liminal spaces + weary of people endlessly cashing in on Da Backrooms every way they can think of, and there’s some legitimately neat rendering stuff going on here. the lighting is well done even if there are a few cases where i think the flash should work slightly differently

also it’s a kind of creepy game that has the confidence to just let you completely miss a subtly spooky moment if you’re not paying attention in the right way, which is something i appreciate. a huge pet peeve i have in first-person horror is like, playing a big musical sting and stealing your camera to make sure you see the thing that happened. i get why games do it but i hate it, and it rules when games don’t do it

i have two whole complaints and one is that the rgb noise in your pictures feels way too aggressive in the later levels. the other is that i would like a hotkey to go directly to my camera roll focused on the last picture i took. it is a neat game

also if i were making a vaguely spooky photography game there’s something i would absolutely do, and if this game doesn’t do it i can’t decide whether i’ll be disappointed or be like ‘okay yeah that’s obvious low-hanging fruit anyway’

this among other things has made me think again about fucking around with physical film photography but it turns out that holy fuck, that is an unbelievably expensive hobby to dick around with. shooting on film is now for enthusiast weirdos and costs too much money for something consumable i would fuck with for fun and be bad at

[peemanne]

Resident Evil (2002) Review: Five. Hundred. Door Cutscenes.

Don't tell anyone but I finished this review a day before I actually beat the game. That's right. I'm drunk on power. Which one of you is gonna stop me? Anyway, sick ass game. I'm gonna go order a t-shirt with the PS1 logo on it and bold text that says "I HEART TANK CONTROLS"

This review contains MINOR SPOILERS.

Reviewed on January 7, 2025 Last completed on January 7, 2025

Completed on PC (Remastered)

Rating: 8/10 (4 Stars)

About half a year ago now, I checked out and eventually beat the Resident Evil 2 Remake, making that my first actual horror game sans some silly sessions of Lethal Company with buddies. For my first, I think I picked a really good one to set my standards to! RE2R’s got tight moment-to-moment gameplay that strikes a sense of panic between ammo/health management and careful routing, a delightfully eerie atmosphere thanks to strong setpieces, and an eye for attention to detail to wrap everything together. It’s an almost airtight package that I had an amazing time with. Now, a bit of a self-report here, but I used to wince whenever I saw as much as a FNAF thumbnail a few years back. While I’d like to think I’ve gotten a little braver since then, historical cowardice tends not to go well with someone trying out their first horror game. I’d get jumped, retreat to a safe room, retreat again to Discord, and type out something stupid like, “I HATE THIS GAME!!!!!!!! I JUST GOT JUMPED BY LIKE 5 DOGS!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS WAS DESIGNED EVIL PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!”

I think Resident Evil (2002) actually was designed by evil people.

The zombies are one thing, right? Now you’re also fighting against the camera. You’re always wrangling with the tank controls, be it from the get-go or for the final hours of a playthrough. You're going to miss the zombie 2 feet in front of you because the camera angle won’t let you see it. You're going to go back and forth in the same room while getting chased down by a dog you’re trying to zigzag around. You will get annoyed by it. You’re also going to have to fight your inventory– or lack thereof, on the regular. I was waiting for Jill to find a fanny pack in a safe somewhere to upgrade the little space that I had, only to be graced with the knowledge that it’ll only get worse if I decide to go back for a Chris playthrough. Your weapons take up slots, of course separately from its ammunition. Then you have to stash up on healing supplies as well, right? How about the space for the keys you need to get around? The gemstones, medals, and weird cranks? Oh, who even knows what those things do, keep them in the box. What if you need them? That’s an annoyed backtrack for future you. Finally, you better keep one slot open for your precious, precious ink ribbons! It’s the only way you can save any of your progress, also you need to haul ass over to a save point to do it, and also it comes in limited supply. Joy.

I’m kind of amazed at how much I enjoy this game. There’s no “regardless” or “in spite of” at the end of that statement. Every aspect of this game just effortlessly comes together for a uniquely engaging experience. The incredible atmosphere for one: a haunted mansion might feel like an overdone concept, but this game features an almost flawless execution of that idea. There’s an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, and yet a sense of scale remains throughout the game. From the cramped, cobweb-filled residence to the labyrinth that is the mansion itself, Resident Evil does a great job of inciting dread that never quite leaves, even when you’re completely safe. A lot of this praise can be owed to the look of the game. A reminder that this was on the GAMECUBE. The backgrounds are gorgeously pre-rendered, and it only pops out more thanks to the fixed camera angles. You open a door and you’re typically met with your character starring in a cool-looking shot. The fact that the backgrounds are pre-rendered also lets them allocate resources to the stuff that does move, so you have your character and monster designs looking just as sleek as the sets that they stand in.

The gameplay is stressful, and again, so many factors lend a hand to let that happen. There’s the expected gambles between health and ammo. Do you shoot down the zombie in your way, potentially burning through multiple bullets of your handgun, or do you shoot a much more valuable shotgun or grenade shell? Will you have to go back and burn the corpse, otherwise risking an encounter with a significantly deadlier Crimson Head if you ever do return later on? Do you just run past the zombie, keeping it a threat on top of the possibility of getting grabbed anyway, requiring the usage of one of your precious herbs? At the back of your mind remain your ink ribbons. Should you run back and use one of them now, or do you keep going so as to not waste resources? Are you sure you can evade death long enough until you absolutely need to save, or are you going to be met by a pack of undead hounds in the very next room you enter, sending you back minutes or even hours of progress? The tank controls further add to the stress. Going in circles in an empty room is one thing, making sure you don’t slip up while being chased down is another. Careful route planning, keeping everything steady and getting out of danger unscathed despite my panic rewards me with an incredible sense of ease that I don’t think would be there without all these layers I have to constantly keep track of. Naturally, the stress only spikes with the variety of monsters the mansion holds. I’m not going to dance around it, I was utterly TERRIFIED at some of the freaks proudly on display here. I think this game sparked an arachnophobia in me I didn’t know I had, and I think I finally understand Jaws. The controls, the enemies, the map and its maze-like layers, the puzzles, and the limited resources all make you feel completely helpless. Conquering that helplessness and fighting the horrific odds anyway feels euphoric, to say the least.

Was it intentional? Obviously, some of it can’t have been, but it would be outright ignorant to think Resident Evil isn’t meticulously crafted. I’m very much hesitant to use the term as it might demean or devalue a game when it really doesn't deserve it, but I find it difficult to skirt around. Resident Evil is jank. The controls are jank, the inventory is jank, and the camera is jank. It’s not going to be for everyone, that much should be clear. If you can not just stomach, but embrace that “jank”, though, then you’ll find a supreme horror experience in Resident Evil.

[ RESULT ]

unsandwiched. unstoppable. unburdened. free

(also, i picked the middle option at the beginning of the game thinking that'd be the normal mode. what do you MEAN i was out here fighting for my life on EASY DIFFICULTY)

[na-ta-sh-aa]

Wow the beauty of this chapter and story is immense. At the beginning of the chapter I was afraid that things wouldn't go as I hoped but in the end they went even better!

“Ella Finnley. I’ve enjoyed myself more the last two days than I have in the last five years. I came back because I thought that maybe there was a chance you’d be able to see me more as more than the douchebag that I was in college. That maybe you would be willing to look past who we were and focus on who we are now. You don’t know this, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

These words were so beautiful!

“How many times had you snuck sidelong glances at Jake Seresin while he and Suzannah were together? He was hot, even back then. Bronzed, muscular but not beefy, sweet Southern accent rendering anything he said charming with a side of cocky. Maybe you had only told yourself that you hated him because it was better than admitting the alternative.”

Ooh I had suspicions that she had feelings too but preferred to keep them hidden.

“Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you’d be asleep, naked, next to Jake Seresin.”

The night between the two of them was so sexy and hot, they took Gerry's advice and kept themselves warm🫠

“he grabbed your face with both hands, landing a kiss right on your lips. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Like the two of you had woken up together for a hundred weekends in a row.”

I love how naturally Jake kissed her🥹

“Jake got out of bed, grabbing his henley shirt from where it was folded on his suitcase and handing it to you.”

The sweetness of this gesture took my breath away

“You’ll realize the fairytale doesn’t end here, Ella. You and me, that’s how this story ends.” 

Aww I'm so happy he decided to stay!

I loved this story from the first words. The way their relationship changed in one weekend is truly wonderful. It was really beautiful to see how Jake did everything to be able to meet Ella again to have another chance with her because he understood that she was the woman of his life who never left his thoughts for a moment. It was so romantic, really beautiful💞

Snowed In || Sunday [Jake Seresin x OC]

A Jake Seresin AU miniseries

Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your long-standing hatred for him was covering up something else? 

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Ella Finnley]

Trope: Forced proximity; enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, references to cheating, eventual smut

Wordcount: 4.4K 

Masterlist here; Part two aka Saturday here

Jake reeled back from your slap, his face pink from the cold and the heat of your palm as it smacked his perfect tanned skin. His clear green eyes were wide with shock. 

“Ella, I—”

“No.” You shook your head, hair whipping at your cheeks. “What the fuck, Jake? You can’t run down the street like an inmate who escaped from Alcatraz and then just kiss me. You can’t spend eight years hating me and making fun of me and then turn around and say actually, no, that was all a facade, it’s because I’m a five year old boy who doesn’t know how to say he has a crush.” 

You could feel heat rising to your face despite the cold and your voice echoed off the nearby buildings. The few people who were within spitting distance turned their heads at your raised voices. 

“Are you doing this to embarrass me?” you demanded and to your horror, a small tear rolled down your cheek. You were surprised it didn’t freeze as it trailed downward. “Pretend to like me so that I fall for your charm and then when it’s over you just leave? Or maybe if I come onto you then you’ll back away and mock me. Is that it, Jake?” 

“Honey, no, absolutely not.” Jake stepped closer, holding out one hand hesitantly before pressing it to your cheek, thumb sweeping away your tears. “Ella. I meant what I said. No ulterior motives.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Jake sighed, running his hand through his hair. The rush of cold air hit your face hard as he removed his hand. You had to give it to him. He looked distraught. If Jake Seresin, golden boy, was even capable of looking that way. “I don’t blame you,” he said after a moment. His eyes searched yours. “I’m sorry, Finn. For letting you think that I spent the last decade hating you. Couldn't be further from the truth.” 

“What’s the truth, Jake?” you gasped, air freezing in your lungs on its way down. 

“I think you know,” he whispered. 

You shook your head, backing away. “No. If there’s one thing the last twenty four hours has shown me, it’s that I don’t know you at all.” 

And then you were turning around, taking off down the street, following the path you had just chased Jake down but in reverse, eyes watering from the speed and the freezing wind whipping at your face and Jake’s voice calling after you was just a whisper that got picked up and sailed away in a gust.

You burst through the double doors of your apartment building. Gerry looked up, surprise lacing his weathered face. “Miss Ella. Everything OK?” 

You shook your head, heading for the elevators. “Do you believe in timing, Gerry?” 

“Yes, I do,” he replied as you pressed the button, finger shaking. “Met my wife at a New Year’s Eve party forty-three years ago. She was there with someone else and I was too. But it didn’t matter. It was the right place and the right time and everything since then has worked out in our favor.” 

You looked up at him. “That’s not helping, Gerry.” 

He smiled. “So he loves you.” 

“Never said that.” 

“Don’t need to say it,” he replied. “I can see it in your face.” The sound of the doors flinging open turned both of your attentions. Jake stood, barely winded, cheeks pink, eyes wide. Gerry added, “I see it in his, too.” 

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Gerry held out one hand, pressing it open. 

“Goodnight you two,” he said. “Stay warm.” 

You stepped inside. “Goodnight, Gerry.” 

Jake stepped forward slowly, entering the elevator, his eyes trained on you, your eyes glued to the buttons on the far right wall. It was an agonizing ride up in silence. The heat from Jake’s gaze alone was enough to thaw you and by the time the two of you had ridden up five floors you were a melted puddle. 

After you unlocked the door and stepped inside, Jake stood, hesitating, on the threshold. 

You frowned. “What?”

He sighed. “I’ll leave, Ella. I’ll get out of your hair. But I just need to say one more thing.” 

“Where would you go?” you demanded. “It’s midnight and the city is practically shut down, Seresin.” 

Jake put his hands in his pockets. “I bought a unit in One57 last month.”

Your jaw went slack. One57 was one of the unbelievable skyscrapers on 57th Street aka Billionaires’ Row. It’s the most expensive building in the city, towering over the base of Central Park. Your eyes narrowed. “You’re fucking with me.” 

“I’m not.” 

“How could you afford that?” you demanded. “You can’t even afford a hotel.”

Jake smiled sadly. “Ella. I never said I couldn’t afford a hotel. I said you were my only option.” 

“That wasn’t true then,” you replied. “You have a fucking twenty million dollar condo sitting forty blocks north of here that’s probably filled with furniture that you’re not allowed to touch.” 

“It was partially true,” Jake said. His voice was much calmer than yours. His eyes were soft. Begging. This was Jake Seresin begging, you realized. “I spent years thinking that you were the one that got away, Ella. I had to come back and make sure of it.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. “And?” 

Jake stepped closer, crossing the threshold into the apartment. “Ella Finnley. I’ve enjoyed myself more the last two days than I have in the last five years. I came back because I thought that maybe there was a chance you’d be able to see me more as more than the douchebag that I was in college. That maybe you would be willing to look past who we were and focus on who we are now. You don’t know this, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

All you could feel was your heartbeat in your chest, the pulsing in your fingertips and neck and near your ear. Was this really happening?

“You’re intelligent and you’re so fucking sarcastic and you don’t take anyone’s bullshit and I couldn’t believe that when you opened the door on Friday that it was really you and that someone else hadn’t scooped you up years ago. And I thought maybe this was it. Maybe this was my chance to be happy.” 

“You’re rich,” you whispered, the words still sinking in. “You’re telling me that you, Jake Seresin, aren’t fulfilled?” 

He shook his head. “None of that shit matters, Ella. The money, the cars, the nice restaurants, the fancy clothes. You get sick of it after a while. I’d rather come home to this apartment every single night and sit on that uncomfortable couch with you and watch you read romance novel after romance novel and eat ramen noodles than go home to an empty apartment overlooking the park. Any fucking day.” 

“Jake.”

“It’s OK,” he whispered. “You don’t feel the same and I get that. Maybe I was stupid to try.” 

You stepped forward, closing the gap between the two of you, your chest practically grazing his as you breathed unsteadily. He was so fucking beautiful that it made you uncomfortable. “You are stupid,” you replied and Jake grinned. “That was never a question."

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he murmured, “and you’ll never have to see me again if you just answer one question.” 

“What is it, Seresin?” 

“Do you believe I changed? If not for you, just in general? Because that’s all I ever wanted, Ella. To be the kind of guy who was good enough.” 

You looked at him. How many times had you snuck sidelong glances at Jake Seresin while he and Suzannah were together? He was hot, even back then. Bronzed, muscular but not beefy, sweet Southern accent rendering anything he said charming with a side of cocky. Maybe you had only told yourself that you hated him because it was better than admitting the alternative. 

That you wanted Jake Seresin. But he hadn’t been yours to have. 

And now here he was, standing in front of you, begging for a chance. Asking if you saw his growth and change. Admitting that he had spent years of his life bettering himself so that one day he could stand in front of you a changed man and receive a simple acknowledgement. 

“Ella,” Jake whispered. “Tell me to go and I’ll go. I think this was a mistake.” 

“The mistake would be leaving before you convinced me why I should give you a chance to start with.” 

Jake smiled. “Convince you, huh?” 

You nodded. “I don’t know if you know this about me, Seresin, but I’ve been known to be stubborn.” 

“Is that so?” 

“It is,” you said slowly, reveling in the way Jake’s gaze never left yours. “So go on, Seresin. Why should I believe anything you’ve said in the last thirty minutes? How do I know it’s not some elaborate prank?” 

“You don’t,” he said. “None of us do, Finn. Life is a big cosmic joke. I’m just doing what we’re all doing. Trying to find that one person to spend your life with. Trying to find the person who makes you excited to get out of bed, the person you can’t get out of your head. The one person who sees you after everything you’ve done and still sees your potential, even when it was a bad day. The person who wants to celebrate with you on the good ones, too. The person who has more faith in you than you have in yourself.” 

“That’s a lot to put on a person, Jake,” you whispered. 

“I know it is, honey,” he murmured, raising one hand, skimming it along your cheek. “I can’t expect you to feel all those ways about me. Especially since up until yesterday I think you hated me. But tell me the truth. Do you feel differently about me right now, standing here, compared to yesterday when I showed up at this same doorstep?” 

“Yes.” It was automatic, the way the word tumbled out of your mouth.

He grinned. “Then anything is possible, Finn.” 

“You mean falling in love with you, Seresin?” 

“Maybe.” 

You shook your head, laughing. “You’re still cocky.”

“I’m working on it,” he murmured, hand sliding from your cheek, fingers wrapping slowly around your neck, thumb pressed tightly under your ear. “What do you say, Finn? Want to give me a chance?” 

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” you said softly, closing the gap between the two of you as Jake’s fingers on your neck tightened and suddenly his lips were on yours, his hand on your waist bending you backward from the force of his kiss. Jake swiveled you around, closing the door with one hand, pressing you against the wall both gently and firmly at the same time, his free hand locked behind your head, cushioning you. 

Jake slotted one thigh between your legs, pressing upwards gently until you found yourself moaning into his mouth as he grinned. “Fuck,” he murmurred, pulling back two inches, resting his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about that.” 

“Ten minutes,” you replied. 

Jake pulled back further, shaking his head, tracking one thumb pad over your swollen bottom lip. “Ella. Try ten years.” 

“Jake,” you murmured. 

He shook his head. “It’s OK if you don’t feel the same way,” he said quietly. “But if you want to stop, tell me and we stop.” 

You reached out and grabbed his collar, tugging him back in. “Don’t stop.” 

And then Jake’s mouth was on yours, his hands roaming over your chest and settling on your waist, pulling you in tightly before reaching down and hoisting you into his arms as you giggled. You didn’t even care that Jake’s shoes were tracking dirty snow into the apartment or that your jacket was brushing against the comforter as Jake sat you down gently on the edge of the bed. He stepped back, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes and you did the same, pulling your sweater overhead, locking eyes with Jake as you unbuttoned your jeans, shimmying out of them before settling back on the bed in a pair of lacy black panties and a matching bra. “Fuck,” he murmurred, closing the gap between the two of you, his mouth hot on your neck as his fingertips pressed against your side. “God, you’re gorgeous.” 

 “You going to compliment me all night, Seresin?” 

Jake pulled his lips from where they had slid down to the tops of your breasts. “Yes,” he said confidently. “And you’re going to like it.” 

You flushed. “Then at least take your pants off.” 

Jake smirked, standing up and unbuttoning his pants, sliding them off. With one hand he grabbed the back of his shirt behind his neck, tugging it overhead in a single motion. You couldn’t help it. You gasped. Jake Seresin looked like a marble carving that would sit in the Louvre. 

He was stunning. 

Jake leaned in, shifting you further onto the bed, his lips grazing your breasts before dipping lower, trailing a wet line of kisses down to your navel. “Like what you see?” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, but the words turned into a string of moans as Jake’s mouth landed on your panties, warm breath heating between your legs. He knelt on the floor next to the bed in his tight briefs, fingertips scraping along your sides, one hand squeezing your breast before he slid the silky material to the side, exposing your soaking core. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning back to admire you. 

“Jake,” you whined, and he felt his heart start to rapidly beat in his chest. 

“I got you,” he murmured, sinking down, pressing his lips to your core, tongue darting out, spreading flat against your folds, tasting you for the first time. He hummed against you and you wiggled, but his hands held your hips steady, tugging you forward, consuming you. He was everywhere: his mouth on your clit, his tongue in your folds, his fingertips dragging along your hip bone under one sank deep inside of your walls, curling at the top, beckoning you to come. 

And you did. Unraveling at his touch, your moans filling the air as Jake plunged his fingers inside of your wet cunt, tongue lapping at your folds until you cried out. “Fuck!” 

Jake stood, hands still on your thighs as your chest heaved. Finally you pushed yourself up onto your elbows. There was an obvious tent in Jake’s tight black briefs. 

You smirked. “Want some help with that?” 

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours harshly, with one arm scooting beneath you and tossing you to the top of the bed as you let out a yelp. “You’re going to be the death of me, Finn,” he murmured, lips suctioned to your neck as you lifted your hips, brushing your soaking core against his hips. He was hard and you were desperate for him, your hand reaching out and grabbing him. Jake’s head collapsed against your neck as you smoothed your fingers over his bulge. “Fuck, Ella,” he whispered, voice thick and husky. “God, I want to be inside you so badly.” 

You pulled your hand away, shimmying off your underwear. “I need you.” 

Jake sat up. His green eyes were wide. “Sweetheart. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words come out of your mouth.” 

“Don’t make me beg, Seresin,” you whispered. 

“Wouldn’t dare.” 

Jake crawled out of his boxers and you had to stifle a gasp. His cock was thick and long, practically dripping with anticipation. He pulled your legs so your hips were closer to where he was kneeling on the bed, running the tip of his cock along your folds as you whimpered. 

“Condom,” he muttered.

“Top drawer.” 

Jake leaned over, opening the box as you undid the hooks on your bra, flinging it onto the floor in the living room. He sat back, seamlessly rolling a condom over his cock, fisting himself a few times, eyes trained between your legs. Finally, Jake lifted his gaze to you, hand still sliding up and down his length as he panted. “I’ve thought about this so many times.” 

“Please,” you whispered and Jake hinged forward, sliding the head of his cock against your entrance until it hooked inside of you, pressing in slowly as you moaned. “God, yes, oh, fuck!”

“Doing so good,” he murmured as your legs spread further to accommodate him. “Almost there baby.” 

Jake pushed the final inch in, stuffing you full. Your eyes flew open. Jake had one hand pressed to your cheek, the other resting on your leg, pulling it higher over his hip. Your mouth opened as he pulled back, pushing into you again, setting a soft, delectable rhythm. It was just you and Jake and the sounds of your body slowly coming together and backing away, over and over as his cock brushed your inner walls, begging you to come against him. 

“God you feel so perfect,” he groaned, fingertips pressing your thigh back further, letting his cock slide deeper inside of you. “I could live in your pussy.” 

You cried out as Jake brushed against your g-spot. He shifted his hand to your clit, pressing down gently and your eyes widened, Jake’s hips snapping against yours as his fingertips swirled on your swollen clit. “Oh, my God,” you breathed.    

“Come for me, please,” he begged, chest glistening with sweat as he thrust harder into you. “Please, baby, need to feel you coming while I’m inside of you.” 

“Oh, oh fuck!” you screamed as Jake pressed down, hard, against your clit, your vision going white for a split second as you broke apart along his length, shuddering, cursing as Jake grabbed your hips, driving his cock against your fluttering walls. 

“Ella, oh fuck! Jesus Chris, I’m gonna come!” And then he was filling the condom inside of you, collapsing so his chest was pressed against yours, his hips stuttering as he tried to slow his rhythm. “Fucking hell,” Jake whispered, rolling off of you gently, tugging off the condom and disposing it. He turned back, running one hand up your side. “You’re perfect.” 

And even though you were two orgasms deep, it had been almost a year since you had been touched before Jake. So when you leaned in to kiss him and his cock twitched against your bare leg, you smiled, pulling away. 

“What’s that look, Finn,” he asked. 

“Lay back,” you whispered, raking your fingertips down Jake’s rock hard abdomen, his cock already hardening against his thigh. 

“Oh, shit,” Jake muttered as you leaned down, taking his length into your hand, dribbling a ball of split onto the tip, massaging it over the head of his cock with the pad of your thumb. He laid back, eyes squeezed shut as you took him into your mouth, Jake’s fingers buried in your hair as he gasped, releasing himself against your throat, filling your mouth. When you pulled back, swallowing, wiping one thumb over your lips, his eyes fluttered open and he shook his head. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

After showering, the two of you fell into a tangle on the bed. 

“This is so much better than the couch,” Jake whispered. 

“Go to sleep, Seresin,” you complained, his hand spread warm against your lower stomach. 

Jake pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. 

Sometime just before sunrise, you woke up and looked over. Jake looked peaceful, golden hair spread out on the white pillowcase, one arm slung over the side of the bed, slumping down toward the ground, bare back and ass cheek visible from where he had thrown the covers off. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you’d be asleep, naked, next to Jake Seresin. That you would be able to tolerate being alone with him at all. 

But two days had changed everything. 

***

The sound of yelping woke you up a second time. The room was bright, light streaming in from the windows. You couldn’t tell yet if it was the brightness of snow or the winter sun blaring through. 

Next to you, the bed was empty. 

There was the yelp again, coming from the kitchen. Jake emerged a minute later wearing a pair of boxers but no shirt, carrying two cups of coffee. The minute he saw you sitting up, the covers pulled up around your bare chest, he grinned. “Morning Finn.” 

“What are you doing in there?” you asked. 

“Frying bacon,” Jake replied, setting down the coffee mugs on the nightstand to your right. Just as you raised your nose to sniff in the air, he grabbed your face with both hands, landing a kiss right on your lips. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Like the two of you had woken up together for a hundred weekends in a row. When he pulled away, you felt your breath catch. Was this what it was supposed to be like? “Stay there,” he commanded. “And don’t you dare get dressed.” 

You leaned back, the sheets tucked beneath your arms, and grabbed one of the coffee cups as Jake scurried back to the kitchen. A few more yelps later and he emerged with a plate of bacon, two muffins and scrambled eggs. “Where did you get this?” you asked, picking up a piece of bacon and sliding it into your mouth. “Fuck that’s good.” 

“Snuck out while you were snoring.” 

You slapped his bicep and he chuckled. Jake was so muscular it didn’t even affect him. You let your fingers linger there for a moment before pulling them away. “I don’t snore.” 

“You do,” Jake said, a piece of bacon sticking out of his mouth. “It’s cute.” 

“No snoring is cute.” 

“Anything you do, Ella Finnley, is adorable.” A blush crept up your neck toward your face. You realized for a moment you had no makeup on. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this close to a man without makeup on. 

“Wait.” You frowned. “You went out this morning?” Jake nodded. “What about the snow?” 

“It’s gone.” 

“What!” You rushed out of bed, practically tripping on a corner of the rug, smashing your hands against the window. 

Jake was right. The streets which the night before had been layered with snow, were clear. Instead, they had been replaced by the usual threads of traffic: honking taxis and black town cars and every Toyota under the sun filled with Uber drivers. The sidewalks were congested once again. 

It was like the storm had never happened. 

You looked over at Jake, eyes wide. That was it. The magic of the snow was gone, replaced by the smell of the subway steam hot on the grates and hordes of pedestrians cluttering Fifth Avenue. 

Jake got out of bed, grabbing his henley shirt from where it was folded on his suitcase and handing it to you. You blushed, realizing for the first time that you were butt ass naked, standing in the middle of the room. The shirt was soft as you pulled it overhead and smelled like Jake: coffee, cinnamon, vetiver. The sleeves were long and you balled the excess fabric into your fists. 

This was the part of the movie where the princess turned back into a pumpkin. 

“Jake, I—”

“I’m staying,” he said, his words overlapping yours. 

“What?” 

“In New York. I’m leaving San Francisco,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. I’m moving my company’s headquarters out of the Bay and into the city.” 

“Company?” 

“I own FreeTek.” 

Your head felt heavy. Congested. FreeTek was one of those Forbes 100 companies. The kind with billion-dollar valuations and IPOs that they had billboards for in Times Square. It was a tech company that also helped to build schools in Africa and Central America. 

Your eyes boggled. Jake reached out, one hand cupping your neck gently. “Ella. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“We don’t even know each other, Jake,” you replied. “You’re just some guy that my roommate used to fuck.” 

He looked hurt, lips pressed into a line. “We know enough,” he said. “And what we don’t know, we’ll learn.” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“It could be.” 

“Fuck, Seresin, I don’t know, OK. Two days ago I hated your guts.” You looked up at Jake and he chuckled. “One really good fuck can’t change everything.” 

“Really good, huh?” 

“Don’t be so proud,” you said. “It had been a while. I probably would have gone home with Raji, the bodega guy in about a week if you hadn’t come along.” 

“Does Raji kiss you like this?” And then Jake’s lips were on yours, his hands traveling down your back, pulling you in tight, holding your chest to his. 

When the two of you broke apart, he brushed the hair from your face before letting go, taking a step back. 

“I waited ten years, Finn,” he said softly. “What’s another week or another month?” 

“What do you think is going to happen in a week or a month?” you asked. 

Jake grinned. “You’ll realize the fairytale doesn’t end here, Ella. You and me, that’s how this story ends.” 

You shook your head, reaching out, wrapping your arms around Jake’s neck, tugging him in close. “God you’re a conceited dick, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

You rolled your eyes as Jake smirked. “Alright, prince charming. Let’s go see this palatial apartment of yours.” 

Jake slipped his arms around your waist. “Is it bad I’m hoping there’s another storm so I can trap you inside again and have you all to myself for another weekend?” 

You looked outside. The sky was perfectly clear. Blue skies and small puffy clouds as far as the eye could see beyond the buildings. It was as if the snowstorm had never happened. 

And then, so fast if you had blinked you would have missed it, a snowflake drifted in your field of vision, hovering in the air outside your fifth-story window. 

You grinned. “Be careful what you wish for, Seresin.” 

Jake kissed the top of your head.   

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse @djs8891

@blackcatdhisgf @buckysteveloki-me  @eli2447 @bellaireland1981 @seresinslady @hookslove1592 @shotclock24seconds @fanficfandomlove @ryebecca @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @t8r-tots

[dorothydalmati1]

Obscure Animation Subject #18: The Chicken Squad

Originally posted on Twitter on January 18, 2023.

Loosely based on the book of the same name by Doreen Cronin, the show is developed by Tom Rogers. It premiered on Disney Junior on May 14, 2021, and 29 half-hours have aired, though its rumored to be cancelled.

The latest episode aired on April 22, 2022, and follows the adventures of Coop, Little Boo and Sweetie, three chicken siblings with their mentor Tully, a retired rescue dog who has heterochromia. The series is a problem solving show with critical thinking and teamwork.

That sounds innocent at first, but looking deeper into it there’s actually a lot more, and its not good I will tell yea. Every character in this show are stereotypical assholes! The main protagonists we follow, the chicks, we got a nerd, a strong Mary Sue and an egotist!

Their mentor, Tully, is a filler character whose wasted potential all around. She could’ve been great representation of a retired rescue dog, especially due to her unique condition, heterochromia iridium (two different colored eyes), but the show did absolutely NOTHING to her!

We also have other characters like Frazz, Dr. Dirt, Dinah and Lt. Scruffy, but their nothing but plot devices, with some of them having stereotypical traits. Also, except the Blue Booted Baddie, the show can’t decide on making villains since the show has them redeemed by the end.

The pacing is awful with scenes lasting way too long (surprising for an 11-minute show), or too short and can’t gasp you attention. The "humor" is horrid for its target audience, just mostly gross or dumb jokes. Some of the jokes are also unsuitable for a preschool show.

I haven’t read the book, but I’ve also heard that its unfaithful to it, with this show being a lot different from it. The show also has an identity crisis because it doesn’t know what it wants to appeal its audience to. Sometimes it gets mature, but sometimes really childish.

Most episodes follow the same formula, with the cliche "the group has a problem, they do it the wrong way, but they do it right the 2nd time" story. As a result, many episodes range from mediocre and bland to just mean-spirited and atrocious. No wonder why its rumored cancelled.

But that’s not all! At times there are bad morals like in the worst episode Honey Bee Boogie Woogie, where it teaches kids that going around bees is fine, but in reality its very dangerous as bees can sting you. The tone is also very childish and treats the audience like idiots.

And now the animation, its awful and terribly rendered. It looks dated for 2021 standards and is even by the same animation service as Kamp Koral. The show has good qualities like passable voice-acting and an interesting premise, but its not gonna save the show at all!

I recommend to watch it if you want to see how unexpectedly bad a preschool show could be. The first season ended on a random episode and it may not get its second season anytime soon. Good riddance, wait most of the crew moved on to a Star Wars preschool show oh god!

(NOTE FROM COMMENTER JusJarBro: The original book’s author, Doreen Cronin served as a consultant on the show, and did mention about Andrew Beaty, the author of Ada Twist, Scientist! (which got adapted to a Netflix series and which she executive produced) where she said: “The book and animation worlds diverge a bit. But the heart is the same.” While yes original creators can have involvement, it doesn’t automatically mean its good. I haven’t seen Ada Twist but from looking at some clips I thought was cute and harmless unlike TCS. Bro also wants to know why TCS show ended up as is, and I said that no one probably didn’t care. I even assumed Disney themselves hating the show, and I can officially confirm that it is cancelled and no second season is planned, with the company even removing the show on their streaming service, but is still available to purchase on other digital outlets.)