#assuming that they do implement these changes

[spectrearia-archive]

seeing ppl freaking out over the new site updates that tumblr staff has suggested and realizing that nothing's gonna actually stop them from implementing it if everyone's just @'ing them and not actually contacting support, rip

[ausefulblogforputtingthingsin]

Hit people who think terraforming would work on any planet with a rolled up newspaper. It doesn't matter what side of the political aisle they're on

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[batbusiness-schooldropout]

Bruce: I'm going to be doing undercover work for the League in Europe for at least 6 months, and Hal has volunteered to look after you all during that time.

Dick: Half of us are adults! I've been doing this almost twice as long as him!

Tim: So are we supposed to behave or not?

Bruce: I've come up with one rule for each of you that I would like you to follow. Other than that, I don't care

Starting with you, Dick. Do not change yours or anyone else's costume without a 2/3 majority vote from your siblings. Jason, heads belong on necks. Let's keep it that way.

Jason: It was one time!

Bruce: Technically, it was eight. Cass, if you get caught doing anything mischievous, I will be very disappointed. Tim, run all of your plans by Alfred or Duke before implementing them. They are your moral compasses for the time being. Steph, stay out of my fridge.

Steph: Shan't

Bruce: Duke, I'm going to assume that anything you do has a good reason. Don't abuse this privilege. Damian, please leave making Hal regret this to the others. If I hear that you followed him home or something along those lines, I will bench you.

Damian: It was one time!

Bruce: Aside from that, the manor and the Cave had best be standing when I return. I'm going to go prepare

[eoieopda]

whiskey neat | jwy

there��s no common ground between yours and wooyoung’s vastly different circles. that is, until tuesday nights at the black cat form the center of the venn diagram.

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader au: strangers to something type: one-shot | smut wc: 8.3k rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: inspired by hozier’s “too sweet”, primarily wooyoung’s pov with one switch at the end; bartender!wooyoung, musician!reader, alcohol use, setting is a bar, uhhh wooyoung is a (to the tune of that arctic monkeys song) cigarette smoker, oral sex (v), protected sex (p in v), corruption kink kind of?, use of “sweetheart” (fatal). reader notes: afab (gender identity not designated); kind of naive; into fitness/“wellness” (no body type/weight is described, except wooyoung thinking they’re “strong” + reader thinking that they are in the best shape of their life); wears a sundress at the beginning. the following terms are used in the scenes involving smut: pussy, cunt, clit, tits (no description given). a/n: i quite literally started this in march 2024 and then experienced the most severe hobby death of all time. this is coming after five (5) months of scooping it out of my brain with a melon-baller, so… not my best, but here she is! thanks @sailoryooons for beta-ing because i’m self-conscious lately 🍤

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat never used to be busy. 

For three years, Wooyoung spent the majority of his shifts behind the bar doing fuck all: Folding receipt paper into increasingly complicated and wasteful shapes; replacing citrus wedges that went unused and then brown; paying visits to the stray cat camping out in the alley near the dumpster. He’d go hours without talking to another human being, and he never took issue with it, even if his wallet did.

Two months ago, however, things changed. 

Two months ago, management started panicking about the lack of revenue. To keep the lights on and draw in a crowd of (hopefully) soon-to-be regulars, they implemented a schedule of recurring events — some monthly, others weekly, most stupid.

Wooyoung’s precious solitude disappeared, and in its place, he got trivia nights and turntable DJs, showing off their collections of vinyls. Games of bingo targeting hipsters, who show up en masse to fight it out for prizes — potted plants, of all things — they could easily buy on their own for far less than their tabs’ totals. Themed brunches. 

A million other events and just as many used glasses to wash.

Despite his ever-present scowl — his face just looks like that —  it hasn’t been all bad. Without the newly-added acoustic sessions, the bar wouldn’t need a local performer to both play and host on a biweekly basis. Management wouldn’t have reached out to you; and you’d have no fucking reason to come to a dive like this. Suffice it to say, your pilates-practicing, daylight-disciplined circle of doers would never otherwise overlap with Wooyoung’s, in all its nocturnal, nicotine-dependent grit.

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat now occupy the center of the Venn diagram.

As usual, you come traipsing in half an hour before your set starts with a gig bag slung over your shoulder and a megawatt smile on your face. This is your natural state, he’s come to learn. Solar-powered. It shouldn’t be possible, but you manage to brighten further when your searching eyes find him sitting on the counter behind the register.

Through no fault of his own, Wooyoung’s gaze trails down from your face to the little sundress you’re wearing. It’s new, he notes immediately. The skirt of it flutters with each step you take, showing off more and more of your thighs as you move.

You don’t react to the migrating fabric. Just the same, you don’t notice his appraisal or the way patrons’ heads turn as you cross the bar. 

No surprise there, he thinks. 

From the four (4) entire conversations the two of you have had so far, you’ve made one thing abundantly clear: You’re inclined to assume the best of people and their intentions. 

Nine times out of ten, Wooyoung dodges naivety like that the second it starts skipping his way, well-versed in the consequences of trusting so implicitly. You and your cotton-candy smile have proven to be the outlier, though. Working in tandem, you and that grin have him pinned where he sits with no urge to run.

You don’t notice that, either.

When you slide onto the stool across the bar from him, Wooyoung finally clocks what you’re holding. Your right hand grips some green concoction that he suspects was made with kale. Or moss? In your left hand, an iced Americano — beautifully black — weeps condensation onto manicured fingers, making hard-earned calluses glisten.

Wooyoung’s racing thoughts about those hands are still inflicting psychic damage when you lean further over the counter.

“Extra shot of espresso,” you hum as you hold the coffee out to him. You do your best to tease him, though you’re shy as hell about it, so the words still manage to come gently: “For those of us who were still awake when the sun came up.”

Wooyoung mentioned his coffee order several weeks ago in passing. It’s sweet in a way he’s not used to that you’ve not only remembered how he takes his coffee, but that you’ve brought it to him ever since, apropos of nothing, when all he’s ever done is his best to get a rise out of you. What he’s up to isn’t sweet — not by a long-shot — but it’s easily done and well worth the misplaced effort when he sees how flustered he can make you.

Wooyoung tilts his head, draws his lips in a straight line, and gestures to your cup with his. “Worry about those waking up shortly after sunrise, sweetheart. They’re drinking algae.”

As intended, you’re visibly affected by the pet name, so much so that you stumble over your defense. “It — it’s healthy!”

“It’s swampy.”

Your nose scrunches indignantly, prompting the edge of Wooyoung’s mouth to tick upwards. He doesn’t emote more than that. Five (5) conversations in now, and he’s already picked up on how much it gets to you when he only concedes a hint of a smirk.

As much as he’d relish the opportunity to sit here and keep toying with you, the crowd surrounding you has doubled in a matter of minutes. Just over your shoulder, Wooyoung sees a patron glance down at the screen of her phone to check the time; then, he hears the complaint she thinks is muttered quietly under her breath. It’s not. In fact, you hear it, too, and you divert your wide, heart-shaped eyes away from him. That smile of yours curves in the wrong direction once you do.

When you look back at him, you say, “I should go,” but he hears it for what it is: an apology. 

He’s never been good at ending conversations — especially in the rare case that he’d prefer to keep one going — so he nods, leaves it at that. You pause for a nanosecond, as if you’ve got something else to add, but you don’t. You smooth down the back of your dress once you’ve hopped from the stool to your feet. Then, you mimic his gesture. 

You make it two steps towards the stage before Wooyoung calls out to you, prompting you to spin back around and your dress to flutter:

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart.”

Your frown disappears instantly. The smile that replaces it is still there when you disappear into the crowd, only to resurface several seconds later on the tiny stage across the room.

Guitar now in hand, you duck your head through the woven strap, shuffling carefully closer to the microphone stand. You introduce yourself, strum a quiet, major chord, and chirp, “Welcome to both the Black Cat and my favorite day of the week.”

Normally, you leave shortly after your last set, as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes ten. With the schedule you keep, it’s no wonder. From what Wooyoung has gathered so far, you wake up before dawn most days to get a workout in before heading to the office. The very idea makes him nauseous whenever he thinks too long about it, so he does his best not to. 

Mornings are for sleeping, he told you once.

Life is for living, you’d replied.

Apparently, the two of you have drastically different ideas about what living looks like.

For Wooyoung, life on Tuesday nights looks like catering to a steadily dwindling crowd once you finish up and disappear with a friendly wave goodbye. It’s cleaning up sticky spills, resetting migrated stools, and doing a half-ass restock that will make the opener — him — complain about the closer — again, him — when his next shift starts at 5:00 PM on Wednesday. 

In the gap between his shifts, life looks like meeting up with his similarly shadow-dwelling friends on someone’s balcony to chain-smoke, sip whiskey, and watch the sunrise until he gets bored. From there, it’s either walking back to his apartment or kicking said friends out of his, so he can rot in front of his PC. Eventually, life looks like blackout shades and crashing into bed while the world around him heads out for brunch.

Tonight, however, life is starting to look a little different.

When you wander over, it’s not to say goodnight or close out the tab you think you’ve accrued, which Wooyoung never opened in the first place.

Maybe, he thinks, you’ve finally caught on that all these “technical issues with the point-of-sale system” — occurring for the last four (4) shows in relation to one (1) patron in particular — can’t possibly be a coincidence. That a free drink given will always beget a free drink received. That Wooyoung doesn’t deal in unpaid debts, even if he hasn’t and won’t own up to his petty workplace theft.

You sidle up to his bar and slip back into the stool you’d previously occupied, no more aware of the way your sundress shifts now than you were earlier. Likewise, he’s no less blatant with the way he looks you up and down, eyes lingering unabashedly and hungrily. The pair of you float in each other’s orbit for a few moments just like this: waiting for the other to speak first.

“Don’t you go to yoga class at ass o’clock on Wednesdays?” He eventually inquires, leaning back against the counter behind him with his arms crossed and head tilted.

Your eyes flick down to the screen of your phone, which rests face-up on the bar between your elbows. You clock the time but not the way your current posture causes the neckline of your mostly modest dress to plunge. Conflict creases between your eyebrows, then you tilt your chin to look at him.

Wooyoung knows that look, although he’s never seen it on you before. That look begs to be talked into something, rather than out of it. It’s a look he gets often. For better or for worse, it’s one he never turns down.

“I do,” you admit through a sigh. 

Offering nothing more than a hum to indicate his intrigue, Wooyoung watches you and waits patiently for you to elaborate. Another few seconds slip by without a word. His attention makes you shy, he notes; he loves it. 

But he loves the idea of toying with you even more, so when you don’t say anything else, he takes that attention and diverts it to the few remaining patrons, all of whom have vested interest in closing out and getting out.

Good riddance, he thinks as the last of them stumbles out and away, leaving the two of you in charged silence. 

Even more seconds pass. 

Still nothing.

Wooyoung glances around and finds a bottle of Jameson on its very last leg. It’s the perfect amount for a litmus test — two shots left, nothing more to give and everything to prove. Snatching two overturned shot glasses from where they dry on a holed rubber mat, he empties the whiskey evenly and turns back to you with an eyebrow raised.

Your eyes widen slightly when he sets the spare on the bar in front of you, more so with interest than surprise. For a moment, you stare at it with the same ambivalent expression, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip. 

Finally, you all but whisper, “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

With his left palm flat against the bar, Wooyoung rests his weight and leans in, eyelids and voice dropping. “Why aren’t you?” He murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips then back up again — just long enough for you to notice that he was, in fact, looking. “Hmm?”

Your breath hitches — just loudly enough for him to notice that you are, in fact, finding it hard to function this closely to him.

“On a school night, no less.” His eyes narrow teasingly.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” you confess, though you’re the picture of innocence. Your fingertip traces idly down the side of your shot glass, then back up again. 

He’s as distracted by the mindless movement as you are, albeit for different reasons. Before he lets himself get carried away in wondering whether or not your touch is always that delicate, Wooyoung lifts his glass and gestures for you to do the same. “Sounds like you could use a bad influence.”

A soft clink permeates when your glasses touch, followed by a muted thump when the bottom of each one is tapped against the bar. Your heads are thrown back in unison, just like your drinks, and when your faces finally level out towards one another’s, you counter him breezily, “Maybe you could use a good one.”

Wooyoung thinks he could use more than that.

Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your phone again. It’s obvious that you’re second-guessing your decision to linger. He wants to chuck that brick in the bin with the other useless shit, to get rid of any excuse you might give for having to leave, but he doesn’t. 

And you don’t give him an excuse.

Your hand wraps around that fucking phone, then you stand up slowly. 

“Try not to stay up too late,” you advise with a smile that still manages to read like disappointment.

Don’t.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out the tips you made tonight and collect a few bills before dropping them on the counter to cover the shot you didn’t even order. Wooyoung wants to tell you not to — that your money isn’t good here, even if you are — but he knows it won’t make a difference. 

You sling your gig bag over your shoulder, thank him, and tell him that you’ll see him in two weeks.

He scrubs his hands over his face the second you walk out the door and mutters through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

You don’t see Wooyoung in two weeks. 

As a matter of fact, you cancel your acoustic session for the first time ever. Management either doesn’t know why you bailed or doesn’t think it’s any of Wooyoung’s business, so no one bothers to tell him. If he’d ever thought to ask for your number, he could check in on you himself, but he didn’t and therefore can’t.

Ignorant and annoyed, he resigns himself to occupying an empty tavern on a goddamn Tuesday night, yet again. 

Nobody brings him coffee. 

Nobody worth talking to crosses the threshold. 

No one makes little comments — genuine concerns poorly disguised as digs — when he uses the paring knife to carve little stars into the lip of the bar top, instead of slicing limes. 

And when he gives up and closes down early, he’s so tired of his own shit that he simply goes home and goes to bed.

Bed being the operative word. 

He doesn’t go to sleep, even though he has nothing better to do. Alternatively, Wooyoung replays your last interaction on a loop in his head, daydreaming about what could’ve happened if you’d stayed. While his thoughts spiral, his hand drifts, finds the pulse beneath the zipper of his jeans, and feels the throbbing ache building through the denim.

It’s pathetic. 

He knows it. 

Too bad that doesn’t stop him from fucking his fist every night for the next several, imagining how much softer yours must feel.

The patron pulls a face the absolute second Wooyoung slides her glass across the bar. 

Wholly uninterested in the response one way or another, he slathers on his customer-service smile and asks her, “Alright?”, in a tone that doesn’t match his expression in the slightest.

“There’s no ice in it,” she mumbles, cringing in mild horror as she does. As if the liquor features his spit instead. “I wanted ice.”

There’s a split second where he almost lets his mask crack, says something shitty just because his mood was already sour before she walked over. Wooyoung doesn’t get the opportunity, however. Over the girl’s shoulder, someone gently intervenes: “Neat means no ice. You’d have needed to order it on the rocks.” 

A beat passes, then comes, “Or — you know, with ice, please.”

Wooyoung neither hears nor cares what the girl says in response. She shuffles off, and that’s all that matters. Without her body blocking the way, he sees you clearly. You’re more done-up than usual, like you’ve just come from somewhere far nicer than here.

“It’s Saturday.”

Probably should’ve started with hello.

After eyeing the glowing, neon clock on the wall, Wooyoung notices that both hands are pointed skyward. He corrects himself, “Nah, it’s Sunday.”

You slip into the now-unoccupied stool ahead of him and nod, chuckling like you can’t believe it, either. When you settle in, you prop your elbow on the bar top, then your chin upon the heel of your hand. Just above, your eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief he’s never seen you wear before.

That might be the thin veil of tipsiness, actually. 

Not that he’s complaining.

Wooyoung hides his amusement by bending over and rummaging through the under-counter refrigerator that hums beneath the register. The rush of cool air has nothing to do with how awake he suddenly feels. He wonders if you feel the same but can’t ask outright; eagerness isn’t his style.

“You’re here on purpose?” He asks instead, resurfacing with a bottle of soju — some new, fruity flavor he assumes you’ll like — and a raised eyebrow.

You hum appreciatively when you see what he’s holding. That soft sound that punches him right in the center of his chest with force. “I was out with friends, but…”

Your voice trails off, too distracted by his hand enveloping the seal-covered bottle cap. With a firm grip and quick twist, it’s gone. You’re still eyeing his hands, he notes, even though all they’re doing is holding the bottle. 

Normally, he’d love to give you the benefit of the doubt and attribute your sudden fixation on the rings he wears. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in jewelry snags attention, complimentary or otherwise. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately? — for you, Wooyoung forgot to put his usual accessories back on after this afternoon’s shower.

Nope, he thinks, biting back a wolfish grin. He’s not alone. You daydream about his touch, too.

Catching yourself staring, you shift atop your stool with a quiet, self-conscious laugh that sounds more like a sigh. He opts to let it go without further teasing, but he doesn’t let it go entirely. That breathy little noise echoes in his ears, drowning out the faint slosh of liquor as he fills your glass. 

In a weak attempt to distract himself, he remembers your half-finished sentence and prompts with a low voice, “But?”

“They wanted to end the night.” You accept the glass into your hand from his and raise it slightly in thanks. “I didn’t,” you whisper, then bring the rim to your lips to cloak their upward curve.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said your tiny act of defiance didn’t send all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. Maybe it’s arrogant of him to assume that he’s the source of this newfound rebelliousness. The spark that lit the fuse, or whatever. Maybe that should bother him. Of course, it doesn’t.

In an effort to hide how strong of a chord your confession has struck, he gestures with one extended finger to the clock. Your eyes follow, and he leans in closer; the smirk you can’t see is still evident in his voice, he’s sure.  “How much of a coincidence is it that you showed up right before the trains stop running?”

When your gaze flicks momentarily back to him, he spots a hint of surprise. This impeccable timing wasn’t a scheme at all, he realizes. Not a plot. If he had to bet, Wooyoung would guess that you’re never out late enough to know that the train schedule ends at all.

God, you’re going to give him a cavity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Coincidentally, I know someone who gets off just in time to walk you home.”

“This gonna bother you?”

Having stepped out of the bar before Wooyoung, his question prompts you to look back over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised slightly out of curiosity. He lifts his right hand from his jacket pocket to reveal the half-spent pack of cigarettes he’d been storing there.

He expects it to, and to his surprise, he cares enough about that possibility that he doesn’t light up without asking in the way he normally would.

“In theory, yes,” you laugh, “because I’d prefer your lungs to be tar-free.”

“And in practice?”

You must not have expected him to note the distinction; you fluster. Grinning slightly, Wooyoung answers his own question on your behalf, “In practice, you find it kind of hot.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls a cigarette from the pack — slowly, to test his hypothesis that you’ve got a thing for his hands — and then, Wooyoung slides the cardboard back into his pocket. 

Your gaze follows while he gently places the filtered end between his lips. It stays put when he furnishes a lighter, holds the flame to the opposite side, and inhales. Turning his head to the side, Wooyoung exhales the smoke where it won’t reach you. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he assures you, eyes devilish. Deer in headlights that you are, you freeze but for the bob of your throat as you swallow. “I won’t make you admit it out loud.”

Yet.

Once he’s decided that he’s played with you enough for the time being, two of you head south, ambling under streetlights without any sense of urgency. Making up for lost time, maybe; picking up where the last Tuesday left off. 

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making you more talkative than usual, or if you’re feeling the rush of your off-brand decisions, but Wooyoung’s fine with it, either way. You tell him about your week — in full and without hesitation — like you’re chatting to a friend and not someone you’ve only just started to encounter on a brief, twice-monthly basis.

You had a date this Tuesday night, he learns. It didn’t go well. Too similar, you explain with a wave of your hand. According to you, it’s boring to sit with you at a dinner table. Wooyoung looks pointedly at you as soon as he hears it, noting his disagreement. For a second, you assume something he doesn’t mean: that he enjoys his own company more than you enjoy yours.

“No,” he corrects you. “I just can’t picture dinner with you as something boring.”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “Oh,” is all you manage in reply.

Wooyoung follows your lead across several more city blocks, hanging on every word you say in the meantime. When the pair of you reach the front of your apartment building, his cigarette is spent, but neither one of you is. He takes an extra step towards the garbage can near the door and drops the butt amidst the others in the lid, which doubles as an ashtray. A faint vein of smoke bleeds out until the dark sky laps it up entirely.

You look conflicted when he turns back in your direction. Clearly, you don’t want him to leave just yet, but asking him upstairs is likely way out of your pattern of behavior. Wooyoung sees two options: He could say goodnight and go; take a few steps towards his side of the city, and hope you to act even further out of character, or — 

“If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

— he could go off-script entirely.

Your apartment looks exactly the way Wooyoung expected it to. Everything is cozy; a far cry from the modern and monochrome edge of his place. It all makes sense, based on what he’s learned about you so far. Feels like you, although he’ll concede that you haven’t been felt by him just yet.

Each shelf features a tchotchke or framed photograph — or several — but not a single speck of dust. Likewise, the various potted plants you’ve displayed artfully around the space are well-kept. Flourishing, he assumes, despite the fact that he doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to plants.

His shoes, ratty in comparison to yours, are toed off at the door before he follows you further into the kitchen. You stop at the island, bottom lip between your teeth once again. Unsure, you nibble on it, like it’ll help you set your dizzy mind straight.

When Wooyoung inches closer to you, he does it slowly, even though every part of his body demands that he ramp up the pace. As badly as he wants his hands — and his teeth, and his tongue…— all over you now, he can’t be the jump scare that sets your little bunny heart to sprinting. The adrenaline is practically vibrating off your frame already with every step he takes in your direction.

Though you could, you don’t move further away, the nearer he gets. You stay put with the small of your back against the lip of the granite counter, hypnotized. Right where he wants you.

Once he’s close enough, Wooyoung tests the waters. You let him; your gaze clings to him so strongly that he feels the weight of it without reciprocating. With his thumb and forefinger, he traces the belt loop closest to your left hip, then tugs slightly, making your breath quicken for a moment. 

Eyes still focused on his own ministrations, he murmurs, “Am I the first stray you’ve ever brought home?”

You don’t answer with words. His gaze flicks upwards, and from under heavy-lidded eyes, he sees the tiny nod.

“Full of surprises.” He looks down again, purposely depriving you of eye contact, and moves his fingers from your belt loop so that the pad of his thumb brushes over the top of your jeans. There, the skin of your hip peeks out from under the denim, hot to the touch. “Not just sweet, are you?”

“Someone told me I needed a bad influence.”

The sudden re-introduction of your voice pulls his focus. You stare back at him boldly, and it feels like a dare. Both of his hands move to your hips now, simultaneously guiding you closer to his chest and keeping you pinned between his body and the island.

“You’ll miss your Sunday morning pilates, I fear,” he tuts with a slight shake of his head.

“You’ll make attending redundant, I hope.”

And then your mouth is on his, all tongue and teeth, while you card desperate fingers through his hair. It occurs to him, as he licks into your mouth, that the split-dyed strands you're clinging to are a microcosm. 

Black and white. 

Conflicting tastes, like sugar and salt, that only make sense together in certain contexts. Like this one — right here, right now — with the two of you tangled up in your half-lit kitchen, so caught up in exploration that inhibition takes the backseat. Steeping in the aftertaste of soju and cigarette smoke, scent heady like arousal.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but can’t make it very far. His teeth claim your bottom lip, pulling forth the softest little growl he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he echoes with a growl of his own. 

That’s it. Breathing is overrated. Wooyoung’s ready to suffocate, so long as you let him.

“Lay back on the counter.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second, and while you blink back at him, he wonders if you’ll actually let him eat you out where you eat. It’s objectively filthy, he knows, but he might drop dead where he stands if he has to wait another second — or take another step elsewhere — before he tastes you.

Your answer is a leap, figuratively and literally. The hands you’ve been using to cling to him each flatten palm-down on the island behind you. With his grip on your hips to boost you, you scramble to your new stage; and you shatter the conservative expectations he had for you in the process. 

A newfound confidence flashes in your eyes, making his stomach flip and his dick twitch. A patronizing frown graces your kiss-bitten lips. “You didn’t walk three kilometers here just to look at me, did you?”

He sure as shit didn’t. Still, he can’t help but bask in the odd sense of pride he feels in staring up at you on the pedestal he put you on. The more time you spend with him, the rougher you seem to get around the edges; and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t love the grit.

In lieu of a verbal response, Wooyoung locks eyes with you and gestures downward with the index finger of his right hand. You follow his silent command eagerly and without question; he keeps the praise you’ve earned on the tip of his tongue, saving it for later.

It takes less time than he expects to strip you of your jeans, most of which is attributed to slipping them off your ankles and dropping them blindly over his shoulder. They hit what he believes to be the range with a soft twack, then a barely audible crumple when they finally find the floor. 

Your lace underwear disappears in a similar fashion, albeit more eagerly. Couldn’t be helped, he thinks. That scrap of fabric was the last barrier between him and the thing he’s been craving most since he met you; and fuck, if you don’t exceed his expectations once again.

“Christ,” is all he can say.

It’s rare to find a pussy so perfect that it wipes out his vocabulary, let alone makes him want to weep. That’s exactly what’s waiting for him when you spread your thighs wide enough to accommodate his body between them. Really, the only thing driving him more insane than the sight of you is the thought of how many self-imposed rules you’ve broken to get to this point — the self-discipline you’ve thrown out the window on your way down to him.

He accepts the invitation, descends upon your wet heat like a man starved, and loops his arms underneath your thighs. Immediately, your thighs tighten around the sides of his head, muffling the groan that slips out of him the second your taste hits his tongue. Just the same, you’ve got him drunk in an instant while he laves his way through folds sweeter than cherry wine.

From under his own lashes, he looks up and sees yours flutter at the sensation of his lips encircling your clit and suckling slowly, deeply.

“Oh, my g-god,” you hiccup before your fingers are in his hair again, nails scratching perfectly along his scalp. “You’re so —” 

Wooyoung’s wickedly curved lips are slick in more ways than one, though he doubts you can see them through all those stars in your eyes. You don’t see the switch-up coming, either. Unwilling to let you race too far ahead of him, he scales it back, trading his deep pulls for targeted kitten licks.

“— evil.”

Your frustration rings out with a tortured whine. Wooyoung can’t blame you; he knows he’s cruel for guiding you so close to the edge, right out of the gate, then refusing to send you off of it. But he has to draw this out as long as he can, savor what he can for however long you give him.

And to your credit, you take it well. 

You give, too, offering up the moans, whimpers, and sighs he couldn’t have dreamed up correctly if he tried.

Well…

Wooyoung did try. Gave it his best shot, even, but his imagination fell short. He knows that now. The pitch was wrong, the timing was off, and he failed to anticipate just how badly it’d fuck him up to feel you grinding against his tongue. To have your fingers tied off in his hair, refusing to accept anything less than closeness.

That particular chorus swells for the first time when he unwinds his right arm from where it secures your left thigh; and his middle finger slides into your cunt, curls upwards to greet that spongy patch of nerves along your front wall. 

Eyes swimming with previously untapped desire, you look so pitifully perfect. Only breaking eye contact to throw your head back, you start to wail, “Wooyoung, I —” 

But the rest of that thought must turn to static before you can finish it. Charged silence settles in its place, save for your ragged breathing. All the while, his tongue never lets up on your poor, abused clit, though your arousal already has him coated, leaking down over the knuckle.

A particularly needy tug of his hair seeks what you can’t verbalize. 

More.

Closer.

When he adds his ring finger to fuck you further open for him, you can’t keep his name from spilling out of your mouth. Wooyoung starts to sound like a summoning spell; an invocation repeated so desperately that he just might give you what you want.

“W-Wooyoung, please,” you choke out, hips bucking up to chase his mouth. “I’m so close!”

The fact that you’re downright begging — on the brink of tears, no less — goes straight to his head. He lets up for a moment to purr, “Since you asked so nicely…”

The hand he doesn’t have half-buried in your heat grips your right hip, hard, securing you against the granite. It’s for the best, really. You jolt so much when he finally lets you cum that you could’ve knocked him out otherwise.

Not that he’d complain.

When the aftershocks peter out, and you gain back some control of your trembling limbs, you collapse back onto the countertop, chest heaving as your breath struggles to even out. One leg stays put, hinged over his shoulder, the best kind of dead weight; the other pools off the edge of the island, hanging limply.

Before pulling away entirely, Wooyoung presses an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, suckling slightly — just enough to leave a calling card, though he doesn’t want anyone but you to know it’s there.

“You fucking menace.”

Your eyes flutter open and catch the way he’s grinning, the lower half of his face otherwise shining with a mix of spit and slick. With you watching intently, he licks his lips, simpering, “Think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Deserved.” You sigh contentedly and close your eyes again for a second, but the blissed-out look on your face doesn’t dissipate. 

Wooyoung wonders if you’re holding onto the image of him between your thighs, replaying it behind your lids. The sight of you is going to haunt him — then and now, before and after. Even if your stamina is depleted now, his appetite’s been sated. He can survive off of this moment alone for weeks if necessary.

But you summon the strength to stretch your arms over your head, to moan breathily while you arch your back off the counter and ease the tension in your muscles. Then, in a burst of vitality, you sit upright. Eyes alight, you give him a smile to match.

“Help me down?”

As if he’d say no to a question asked that sweetly.

You wobble when your feet touch the ground again and thank him when he snakes an arm around your waist to steady you. With a nod in the direction of what Wooyoung assumes is your bedroom, you beckon him, “Come with me.”

“That’s been the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him — another first — and take his hand in yours. Fingers intertwined, you lead and he follows through the adjoining living room towards a door on the far side of the apartment. The pair of you barely cross the threshold into your bedroom before you turn and tug his hand, pulling him into a kiss.

“Do me a favor,” you murmur against his lips.

Wooyoung has no questions about that — the answer is yes, no matter what the favor is — but there is something he’s wondering about: when you open your mouth against his, can you taste yourself on his tongue?

Distracted by that thought, and the way your free hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, he nods. It gives him the opportunity to swallow down the groan that builds in his chest when you squeeze his still-clothed cock.

Your mouth leaves his then, drops to the side of his neck. Something about the light nip of your teeth below his ear makes his resolve start to crumble. It only gets harder when the warmth of your tongue flicks over his skin to soothe the sting. He sounds fucked out already when he sighs, “Anything.”

“Let me repay you for all those drinks you never charged me for.” Between kisses down the length of his neck, you purr, “Not exactly subtle, you know.”

He clenches his jaw to keep it from dropping. “Have I been hustled?” 

“Is it hustling if I offer to reimburse you?” 

Knowing damn well what it’ll do to him, you flutter your lashes against his skin, forcing him to fight off a shiver. There’s no hiding the rush of heat that follows; he doesn’t need to ask to know that you feel it creeping up his neck. “I’ll make up for it,” you promise. “Atone, and all that.”

Wooyoung reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand; you follow his direction and look up at him with excitement twinkling in your eyes, juxtaposing the deep black in his. “I’m charging interest,” he bites back. “The rates are astronomical.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

With a light smack on your ass, he sends you on your way. In the few seconds it takes you to skip over to your mattress and jump onto it, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then tosses it aside. Before unbuckling his jeans and tearing those off, too, he snatches his wallet from the back pocket. More specifically, the condom he’s been keeping within just in case you ever decided to stoop to his level.

You’re a second away from drooling when he makes his way over and stops at the edge of the bed. That kind of hunger is yet another thing he failed to see coming. There’s something insatiable in your eyes now, darkening by the second. 

You reach out for the condom, but he pulls his hand back, holds it up where you can’t reach. Frustration makes your eyebrows pinch together. Out of context — if you weren’t naked, wet, and wanting him — he’d likely go out of his way to tell you how fucking cute you look when you’re annoyed. 

“Don’t pout at me, sweetheart.” Wooyoung’s warning tone is gravel-lined, sharp to the touch when it hits you. Whether you intend it or not, your breath hitches in tandem with your pupils dilating.  “I’ll let you do it, but I have one condition. Consider it a repayment term.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what’s that?”

“No hands.”

The surprised look he was counting on never comes. He gets sheer determination instead. You pull the packet from between his fingers, rip the foil open with your teeth, and flick the empty wrapper onto your nightstand. Not a second is wasted in you tugging his black briefs down his thighs.

You don’t deal in unpaid debts, either, it seems.

What happens next nearly puts him in an early grave. Wooyoung fucking wishes for a fly on the wall to witness you — someone else to memorialize the finesse you exhibit in working that latex down his length with your mouth alone — because he can’t believe his own eyes. In fact, he has to screw them shut to keep from cumming at the sight of you with his dick down your throat, lips flush to his pelvis.

“My god,” he groans, head dipping backwards. “If that’s how good your fucking mouth feels…”

You give him a second to pull himself together. Then, you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him. He drops into the space you were occupying just a second ago, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, you steady yourself with your palms on his chest and position yourself over him.

Now, he can’t keep his hands to himself. His fingertips scratch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the fastidiously trained muscles underneath his touch. Palms gliding up the curve of your ass, then your waist, then those fucking tits.

“Shit,” you mewl. He lightly pinches your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, spurring you on to rake your nails over the flesh of his chest. The way he tenses under your touch must embolden you. “Play with me all you want, but I need you inside of me now.”

Wooyoung has no idea where this assertiveness came from, but he’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t give you everything you want and then some. To prove that you’ve earned the lot, you line yourself up and take everything he has. 

Somehow, you manage to take his vision, too. The world gets blurry as your heat envelopes him; everything in the periphery blackens until all that’s left is you throwing your head back in pleasure. No other light, no noise beyond the obscene sound of your pussy soaking his length and the collision of your perfect ass against the tops of his thighs.

As strong as you are, Wooyoung knows your orgasm will wipe you out long before your body tires. He sees your eyes start to roll back in your head, even when you put your palms down behind you and lean away from him to perfect the angle. 

Not good enough, he decides. He wants to watch your pupils blow when you fall apart.

“C’mere,” he rasps. 

Fuck, he’s about to break, too. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You push off your hands and move to lean in, but you wind up crumpling against his chest, immediately overwhelmed by the depths of his strokes when you re-enter his gravity. With the proximity perfected, every movement that follows is desperate — animalistic, even. Clinging fingers, sweat slicked bodies swapping searing heat. He lifts his hips to drive himself further into you with every downbeat, sets a pace so punishing that he has you speaking in tongues.

When you cum the second time, the moan that rips through you almost sounds like a sob. It really might be. The droplets on your cheeks are either tears or sweat; one or both would be justified, considering the show you just put on for him.

Shit, how you managed to blow his world to pieces just by walking into his bar, he’ll never understand. All he knows is that when he cums — not long after you — and his entire fucking body goes numb, you’re there on the other side of the cataclysm to kiss him back to life.

Sweet.

When you wake up, you don’t even have a guess as to what time it is. That’s your fault, you know. You didn’t think to connect your phone to its charger prior to falling asleep in a mess of sheets. The numerous alarms you always keep set didn’t go off, obviously, but right now, that’s the least of your worries. 

Until your phone has enough juice to power back on, you won’t know if Wooyoung texted you before sneaking out of your apartment.

You’d taken it as a good sign when he asked for your number in a fucked-out haze. Now, you realize, that naivety of yours was operating in full swing, even when the rest of you was down for the count. That’s what one-night-stands are for, you tell yourself. That’s the decision you made.

Uncharacteristically, you’re tempted to spend the rest of your day — however much of it is left — rotting in bed. It’s an urge you’ll give in to, you can already tell; just like the one that got you here in the first place. The only thing stronger than the call of your bed is the grumbling of your stomach, begging for sustenance.

Sighing loudly, you throw your comforter off your lower half and wiggle towards the edge of your bed. Bare feet meet the braided rug below, then unsteady legs do their best to get their bearings. As you ache, you realize that you need to give credit where it’s due:

You’re currently in the best shape of your life, and Wooyoung still managed to fuck the constitution out of you.

You bend slowly to scoop a shirt from your untouched laundry basket, groaning all the while. On its own, it’s long enough to cover your ass, so you don’t bother to dress yourself further — except for the fuzzy slippers waiting next to your bedroom door.

It’s closed, you note when you finally bother to look at it. It wasn’t when you fell into bed with Wooyoung. He probably didn’t want to disturb you on the way out, you figure. This would strike you as thoughtful if it didn’t feel like a chapter ending too soon. Reaching out to reopen it, you tell yourself to be less sentimental.

In the living room, laying eyes on an empty kitchen, you also tell yourself, I told you so. This isn’t a drama, after all. There’s no love interest in your kitchen to cook you an unexpected breakfast. 

Pre-made frozen breakfast sandwich it is, then.

You tear open the package with more effort than you should’ve needed to expend, then dump the single-serving lump onto a paper plate. As if on autopilot, you shove the plate into the microwave and smash a few buttons without registering much of it. The quiet hum of the machine nearly lulls you straight back to sleep.

Well, it likely could have.

The metallic rattling up the hall catches your attention, prompting you to step backwards so you can peer over at your front door and confirm that it’s locked. It is. You turn back to your breakfast in progress, and it takes five (5) entire seconds before you realize the issue here.

Keys jingle with more determination, right on cue. You spin around fully this time, eyes wide, to find Wooyoung in your doorway. He holds the door open with his elbow because both his hands are full; and as if that all wasn’t enough, he tries to toe off his shoes without being able to see them over the cardboard to-go tray in his hands.

“Fucking —” he grunts, wobbling. 

It must’ve been louder than he intended because he winces immediately. In his moment of panic, his eyes flick over to your bedroom door. Then, when he realizes it’s open, they search for you, blinking in surprise when they find you. He peeps, “Oh.”

As it turns out, his ability to make you lose your words isn’t limited to late hours. The sun is beating through the sliding glass door to your balcony, and you confirm that you’re just as dumbstruck by him in daylight. So, you simply point to the drinks and paper bag he’s holding with your eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Found that café you go to on Tuesdays,” Wooyoung explains gruffly. His morning voice is every bit as ruinous as you imagined it would be. “The logo on their cups is just a cloud, so it took a lot of wandering to solve that fucking mystery.”

This time, it’s you who peeps. “Oh?”

It’s then that he finally succeeds in getting his shoes off. With his hip, he nudges the door shut; your key ring chimes in the process, having been attached to his belt loop. In a few steps, he sets his burdens down on the kitchen island and looks up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. Apparently, his immediate thought is the same as yours. Simpering, he picks everything back up and makes for your living room’s coffee table instead.

“I’m glad to report that the green shit you drink doesn’t include algae or moss.” He lifts a smoothie from the carrier and holds it out to you, flashing you a smile that makes your knees wobble. “However, I regret to inform you that it does contain vegetables.”

If you try any harder to bite back your idiotic grin, you might lose your lips. “Did you — did you really think there was moss in it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. Notably, he doesn’t say no. That hand then lowers, finger crooked to beckon you closer. You move in, and you try to focus on the moment in front of you, rather than the obscene flashbacks the gesture gives you. The knowing look you expect doesn’t follow, though. Wooyoung simply places your drink in your left hand and your keys in your right.

“Sorry for borrowing those without asking or — well, notifying you in any way, whatsoever.” He grimaces. “I figured I’d be gone for a minute, and I didn’t want someone to waltz through your unlocked door and wake you up.”

“Was burglary on that list of concerns, or is sleep truly your main priority?”

At this, he grins like an idiot. “You’re getting better at that, you know.”

The look on your face must convey your confusion. 

“I like the version of you that doesn’t pull punches,” he continues, sounding almost embarrassed to admit something about himself.

You take a move from his playbook and slide your finger through his belt loop, tugging him forward until he’s squarely within kissing distance. “This Wooyoung?” You murmur, “The one who got up early to hunt down a smoothie he’s disgusted by? Objectively likable.”

He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t distract from the pink tint overtaking his cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

You kiss him before he can offer to agree to disagree. And when you finally pull back, you nod firmly. “He might be sweet enough for me.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

ateez masterlist. multi masterlist. navigation.

tagging: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz @sourkimchi @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon (also paging @moni-logues because i feel like woo is our sister wife, lmfao.)

[the-kingshound]

On the topic of Arthur and their use of endearment terms, I just need to specify a couple of things. Some of you might have seen this discourse come up a couple of times before, and while I do care about the comfort of my readers, I have no intentions of changing the way Arthur speaks or behaves.

What I can do, but that is something that might be implemented a bit later, is to have a talk with Arthur and confess to him about how your Hound might feel a bit off about that.

I know his way of speaking might be a bit jarring at first, but I think you can see after a bit that he calls "dear" basically anyone regardless of status or closeness. And while yes, he does so in a position of power over them, I hope it it clear that he is simply being considerate of their wellbeing, and polite in his specific way. There is no romantic connotation to their use of endearment terms, though I assure you that Arthur will call their lover in a different, more dedicated, way (if that is what you are worried about).

If, on the other hand, his way of addressing people, especially under him, feels jarring because you assume no King would do that, or that it is inappropriate for the time period, keep in mind that this story is only loosely set in the 5-6th centuries. There are many things that are not historically accurate, and are not meant to be.

I do believe these were the main points made by the asks I have received in the past few hours. If you have something else to say or talk about, feel free to reach out!

[directdogman]

Hi, I hope you're having a decent day! I'm sorry if this is an invasive set of questions - feel free not to answer - but do you still actively like DSaF as your own creation, or is it more of a "it was fun while it lasted but i outgrew it and it's for the best to leave it behind" kind of project? Do you ever regret making the games? If you knew they would get so popular, is there anything you would have changed about them? Is there anywhere I could read more of your writing.

It fluctuates a bit. These last couple of years, I've really just been sorta nostalgic for it. I've seen a lot of people discuss those games being a source of comfort during bad times in their lives, people talking about how much the characters mean to them and it's hard not to smile when you see that.

It's a funny thing for close friends of yours to see people WITH fanmade DSaF merch out in the wild, or to watch a random youtube video and being hit with a DSaF reference outta nowhere. It happens from time to time, even today. On a few occasions, I've even had a person reference my work to me in real life and not realize who they were talking to, believe it or not. It's really fun to play dumb and get someone to explain your work to you like you don't know what it is.

I certainly didn't think any of that would happen when I first made the series, or even during development. I think the normal assumption would be to look at DSaF as it exists now and assume its release was a peak for it, but believe it or not, the official discord only had 30 people in it shortly before 3 dropped! The archive listing of the series (reposted to a single page after the series ended) is now sitting at over 1.1 MILLION downloads.

People kinda assume the true heyday of something is when it's new, when it's fresh and novel. For instance, some people look back at when FNaF itself was new and see that time as its peak because it had a lot of internet cultural relevance as big new indie thing on the block. But, raw numbers don't lie. The series has been continually growing since its conception and that growth has similarly bled over to its fan projects. This explains why DSaF, despite not having a new series release in almost 6 years, seems to be inexplicably growing.

Just recently, I saw someone post footage of a scene from DSaF 2 on Twitter, which got over 16k likes. People praised its writing and largely celebrated the scene. The ironic thing about that particular scene is that I remembered being unsure if it was good or not, so I showed it off in one of the FNaF community hubs. The response was broadly lukewarm to negative. Now, it's held up as one of the best scenes in those games. That's kind of the point I'm trying to make, my thoughts on the series have certainly changed with everyone's else with years of hindsight.

Heh. I'm not sure if I've talked about this in a long time, but y'know, the very first scene I implemented in-game was actually the very first Phone Guy scene in DSaF 1, more or less exactly how it appears in-game today. This was before I'd even written the bulk of the game. I was pretty unfamiliar with visual novels as a whole, pretty unsure if something like this would be palatable to a fandom that was really just used to sit 'n' survive stuff that were far more gameplay than text. I mean, there wasn't any FNaF fangames really LIKE DSaF before that point. Closest was FNaFb, a jokey turn based RPG made in the same engine.

The engine I made the game in is also not exactly fit for VNs out of the box either, and I wasn't 100% sure the idea would actually work. But, the very first time I added the image of the prize corner, Phone Guy, the audio of that iconic cheesy stock track and booted up a test screen, I had a little moment where I said "Oh. I think I'm onto something interesting here." I kinda remembering instantly realizing in that single moment how much potential the idea had. Over 8 years later, I still remember that moment like it was yesterday.

I think lately, that's the sort of stuff I think of when I see people coming to me and asking about the series. Yes, it's really rough around the edges, yes, there's jokes that've aged poorly. But, it is a source of comfort for people and entertains tens of thousands of people each month. And that's gotta count for something, right?

[nqmonarch]

Genuinely wanna hear more regarding the No Wish SAHSRAU (Is that how it's spelled?) especially with all the new events that's happened.

Including the Dr Ratio that slid into our DMs.

First, apologies for the wait I took a while doing this request and then also decided not to post anything during the Palestine strike period because free Palestine.

And man, I don't know how it's spelled. I'd assume that's right it's so long though. Also YES Dr. Ratio sliding into our DMs except bro waltzes in and calls us an idiot ;-;

But first! Let's catch up with some of the current crew who is currently in Penacony!

Warning Penacony Spoilers

For the Trailblazer Penacony's been rough... Shortly after the death of their new closest friend, they'd been coerced into talking with Aventurine, and now had to make a decision without consulting any of the Astral Express beforehand. Sure, they were a seasoned adventurer with two missions under their belt but they still have no idea about their past or if they could trust such sketchy people.

"Aventurine, that little rat..." Their ears perked up when they suddenly heard the voice of this presumed Aeon. "I want to knock my fist against his forehead and see if there's a brain in there." The Trailblazer wouldn't try that.

But if you were acting like this maybe Aventurine and Black Swan could be trusted. The Trailblazer forced themselves to relax and tried to show confidence in their eyes. They could do this. It was good you were still by their side in the dreamscape, otherwise... what would they do?

Herta has found it's more difficult to communicate with you than the Aeons. While the Aeons simply didn't want to communicate it was as if there was some sort of wall separating her from you. It was beyond fascinating but it irked her, she wanted to get into contact with you right away. Then, as she was working to implement a simulated version of you into the simulated universe as an Aeon she had a revelation. What if... this was all a game?

Natasha had done it. Recently the eyes glanced off her more often, something she couldn't help but feel disappointed at. But upon one instance when they glanced upon her, she'd taken their warmth in full, and decided to set out. It seemed when these eyes were on her, she improved in nearly every aspect, so maybe her luck would improve as well? Even though it had been a dead end many times before she investigated Vache's worn down laboratory covered by snow searching for research. Except this time, she found something. This Aeon... was strangely benevolent and caring towards mortals.

That's all the updates we have for now on the current characters, in terms of progress. Herta is one smart cookie but who else is one smart cookie? Dr. Ratio!!! That man I love him so much. Sampo is also a potential worrying addition.

Given in the current event you can get either Sampo, Guinaifen, Asta, or Yukong for free, so let's see how they react.

Dr. Ratio

...This was interesting. The plot unfurling behind the scenes of Penacony was to be expected, Aventurine was being a pain in his ass also to be expected, but an Aeon looking at him? A smart Aeon. One who also must hope to purge the world of ignorance! A noble pursuit. Or perhaps, they'd realized their own ignorance and sought to rectify it some of the Aeons were rather lackluster in this manner after all. But they'd likely never change in their ways.

And you're no longer looking at him, that's fine. Is it a bit more chilly in here or is it just him? An interesting side effect of your gaze then, the feeling of warmth. He wondered why that happened, the look of Nanook was dangerous and suffocating, near fatal for any mortal. That of Yaoshi's was said to be sickeningly sweet and suffocating as well. Nous' was cold and calculating, judging your every asset and whether or not you had potential. Everyone had potential, they just had to choose to rid themselves of their ignorance. If the gaze wasn't suffocating maybe... you were a weak Aeon? One that had just formed or had been thought to have died.

Interesting. Aeons, the topic no scholar knew completely about. Herta was researching deeply into them, Dr. Ratio supposed he could always ask her yet he didn't want to feed into her ego. There were other ways to get the information though.

Guinaifen

"Hello, hello! Can you all hear me? Good morning fam! And welcome to Little Gui's stream!"

It was then when Guinaifen suddenly felt warmth wash over her. Oh, maybe it was because this stream was her first normal one after all the ghost catching business but she found herself getting flustered...? Flattered...? She wasn't sure exactly how to describe it yet she felt even more energetic than usual! As if she could go on for hours! When she ended her stream, the warmth was still there and she still felt as if she was being watched.

Wait-- wasn't this how people said they felt when they were being watched by an Aeon? Something similar to this right?! If even an Aeon was watching her, she was definitely going to be famous! When Guinaifen went to tell Sushang about this news, she found Sushang had run into the same thing! Weren't the two of them an impressive pair? :)

E1 Asta

Research had been going smoothly, partly thanks to the eyes always observing Asta. With them came the warmth that brought confidence and innovation she felt she wouldn't feel otherwise. But, she could feel the warmth all the time now. She doubted an Aeon would be able to watch her all of the time so had she been blessed? That was good, she was able to focus on all the stars and her research more now and learn more in less time!

But... why did she feel so forlorn? As if she had been deserted? Had you just blessed her and moved on your way? Herta... Herta knew a lot about Aeons maybe she would know something about what had happened to her, maybe she would know if you're still around.

E1 Yukong

Even after it all Yukong wished to return to the skies. Despite failing her comrades, despite all those around her who she'd cared for yet failed to stop their death, despite the burning wreckage she'd had to painstakingly crawl out of. Yukong wished to fly. In this long life where even the things she'd once loved had dulled, the longing to fly was forever there.

The warmth was on her constantly now, she completed her paperwork faster, she created ingenious plans, but what did it matter?

"I want to go back," Yukong had spoken one day out to the silence of the world and when the warmth remained she realized, perhaps she could go back and fly. Maybe... it would be okay. But for now her fear remained, albeit comforted by the sight of an Aeon.

What a strange Aeon, to care so much for a mortal.

Sampo (spoiler warning for Black Swan quest, although I was kind of confused the whole time so some information may be incorrect)

Now this would be fun! Sampo had known he was right, this was only another clue in the right direction! And this Aeon, watcher, player, reader, whomever you were appeared at the perfect time! Whenever your gaze fell upon him, he could feel his speed increase as well as the rest of, if this were to be a game, his "stats." He knew he wasn't crazy, of course he'd never had that idea in the first place! He'd be able to retrieve his mask much easier now, he could deal with you later.

It wouldn't be anything bad, don't worry, Sampo Koski is always happy to have a new business partner and friend :) !

If there's anything else you wanna hear about it I'd be more than happy for ideas cause I love these little guys (the characters) . It's just them living their life except they're stronger and feel as if they can enact their dreams! And maybe they gain a friend or a small crush on the way but hey that doesn't mean anything until Penacony comes out with some tech they worked on with Herta that allows you to visit in your dreams but no way something like that will happen, right?

Also trailblazer is genuinely so stressed like imagine having to make the decisions to save an ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET and you don't even know who the you are or what you've been through, you're genuinely so lost but hey you're alive, somehow.

[acorviart]

Europe VAT laws not changing any time soon, recent. If understand FAQ well, mean shipping to Europe impossible for several years minimum?

That's correct, I won't be shipping to the EU for the foreseeable future due to some import packaging regulations that either have already been implemented or are planning to be implemented in the future.

Note that this is for EU countries only—I can ship to all other non-EU countries like Switzerland, except for the UK due to the UK's own convoluted VAT system.

The only workaround I can offer for EU folks is that you can have a friend or family that lives in a non-EU country place an order to deliver to their address, and then they are able to ship that order to you marked as a gift. Not an option for everyone, I know.

Longer explanation under the readmore for those curious:

As it stands now, each EU country has its own system and fees that I can't keep up with (for example, France would cost me 80 euros per year), I'd need to individually register and report to each country, some require reporting and tracking of what sources of packaging I use, I believe? It's all very complicated, and it makes my head spin just trying to figure out what the requirements actually are, so that's why I stopped shipping to the EU entirely out of an abundance of caution. I also just don't get enough sales to the EU to justify the headache, I'd probably actually lose money paying all the fees. Actually, while I was looking up details while writing this post, apparently there's a new PPWR that's going to replace the old EU Packaging Directive? This is why I can't handle this (ಥ﹏ಥ)

As for why this doesn't seem to be affecting all companies—corporations can obviously afford their own professionals whose entire job is to handle this stuff, and the requirements are also different for large vs small volumes. Meanwhile, a lot of other small or 1-person businesses straight up don't know about these requirements, because it's not like there's a memo passed around about updates to international shipping law. It's also even more confusing because some packages are slipping by without any issue, probably in part due to how the regulations are still new and still being implemented, so I assume it's kind of a mess.

I know of a few people who are willingly taking the risk and shipping to the EU anyway and have had no consequences (for now at least), but I'm not risking the fines ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Now for the UK, their VAT system doesn't have anything to do with packaging, but what it does require is similar registration with the government, and I'm required to collect and pay the VAT myself. No thanks!

TLDR; laws hard. laws also expensive. too stupid to figure out and too fearful of fines. no ship to countries

fun story: someone also once emailed me this long diatribe about how they think I'm shit at research and that I'm just making all this up (specifically just to screw with europeans or something, I guess?), so I sent them a few links to the literal official government websites where I got my info (like that UK one), and they never responded. lol

[jesncin]

Thinking about Disney and how we talk about Cultural Representation

(concept art by Scott Watanabe)

Old essay originally written on Cohost in November 2023. With additions.

With all the promo stuff about Disney's upcoming animated film Wish, I can't help but think about Raya and the Last Dragon again. I spent a year intensively researching things about that movie and the discourse surrounding it for a series of videos on Xiran Jay Zhao's channel, and oh boy did that reveal a lot about the current way we talk about cultural representation in casual media criticism.

Lately we've grown a habit of looking at signifiers to culture, things like a cultural dish, a nod to a martial arts style, a piece of clothing, maybe a hairstyle, a weapon and so on, and then projecting a bunch of intentions onto the work regardless of authorial intent. I witnessed this a bunch of times in discussions surrounding Raya and the Last Dragon.

You basically get a bunch of 4d chess-style justifications for the lazy implementation of culture in Raya.

random examples cuz there's too many to name:

The movie will do something like make the leaders of the villain nation women, and people immediately assumed it was some kind of bespoke reference to Minangkabau matriarchical society.

the art book of Raya specifically stated that they purposely misplaced things as a stylistic fantasy choice "we could take something that is known and place it in an unexpected location, like coral in the desert and cacti in the snow". But when people saw a water buffalo placed in the desert they assumed it was some super clever environmental story decision.

The movie will tell you it includes things like Borobudur, Angkor wat, Keris, and most people will take their word for it without hesitation. Never mind that Southeast Asians could barely recognize these nods to our culture through how amalgamated the designs are.

(early concept art by Scott Watanabe)

Moving forward, I think we need to talk less about "what" parts of a culture are being represented in these movies, and more about HOW they're being included, we need to ask:

What is this piece of media's relationship with the cultures it represents?

Because Raya and the Last Dragon is not a cultural movie, it's a monolith film pitched and written by white people and a Mexican director with 2 SEA writers added later in production to avoid backlash. Culture serves the purpose of aesthetic set dressing in the film, as opposed to something that informs its themes and characters.

it wasn't even initially pitched as a Southeast Asian movie. The white writers who pitched it were going for a vague East Asian sci fi fantasy story under the working title "Dragon Empire". Southeast Asian culture was an aesthetic change added much later.

This is what happens when a corporation tries to put representational value on a shallow aesthetic. Because of the way Disney constantly marketed Raya as this big authentic cultural film, it primes its audience to read cultural intention in the most benign details. And when we get lost in the details, we lose sight of the bigger picture.

Contextualizing Cultural media criticism

(visual development art by April Liu)

We need to start demanding more context in our analysis. The next time we see a reference to culture in media we consume, take a step back and ask what purpose it serves in the narrative. And most importantly!! What Is Its Relationship With The Culture It Represents? We shouldn't just accept things at face value.

start asking yourself,

through what lens is this cultural dish and its spicy flavors being presented to us? Are the customs surrounding the food being respected?

If martial arts or dance is represented, how is it translated in the adaptation? Are you getting generic hollywood-fu or are you seeing specific movements with purpose and motivation? Are the philosophies or spiritual contexts of these traditions present in the text?

Are the clothing, hairstyles, and presentation of the characters being de-yassified through a colonial filter? Is the non-conformity of the cultures' different framework for gender presentation being adjusted to fit a more recognizable binary?

If language is present, what role does it serve? Is it presented as other through being exclusively used by villainous beings? Is it being made a monolith as one "non-English" language?

is this temple actually a place of worship or is it just a set piece for a goddang Indiana jones booby trap action fight sequence

This way, instead of unquestionably defending a piece of media because a character wore a traditional outfit one time, or because some characters took their shoes off at a temple, or because there were Arnis sticks in that one fight scene, we can approach the text with a more nuanced and holistic understanding of how culture informs narrative.

To quote Haunani K. Trask (author of From A Native Daughter):

“Cultural people have to become political… Our culture can’t just be ornamental and recreational. That’s what Waikiki is. Our culture has to be the core of our resistance. The core of our anger. The core of our mana. That’s what culture is for.”

[blond-jerk-tourney]

Blond Sweetheart Tourney: Round 1, Poll 49

Propaganda from submitters Under Cut

Laios Touden

He cares about his sister so much he was willing to solo a red dragon to rescue her. He doesn't care about money, power, or fame, he just wants to help his sister and learn about monsters. He might seem weird and offputting, but his deepest desire is to find a way for people and monsters to live in peace together to make life better for everyone. One of his biggest faults is he assumes the best of everyone.

William James Moriarty

William is a silly little softy who...okay, murders people, but he does that because he's trying to save the country and he's so guilty about it all the time and hates doing it and canonically likes "tea" and "smiles" and dislikes "tears"

I can think of no character that is more self-sacrificing. William sees the pain of the world, sees his brother's pain, and he seeks to change it. To rectify the wrong. To make people get along and to see each other as human beings. To get his brother surgery, to fix classism, to implement the Moriarty Plan. And yes, he does *terrible* things to get there -- and he hates himself for it. And so when it comes time to end the plan, he takes on the burden of everything any of his underlings ever did and tries to purge it, and himself, as the last remaining "blemish" on the world. He gave and gave and gave and gave and gave -- I see no one more deserving of being called "The Blond Sweetheart."

[lovelygirlwithablog]

Under the tables

pairing: Harvey Specter x f!lawyer!reader

description: when Harvey gets bored in the middle of a meeting, he knows how to make it more interesting for the both of you.

warnings: smut, public sex, age gap, secret relationship, dirty talk, fingering, f!orgasm, praising, use of Y/N

word count: 1525

A/N: GUYS THANK YOU FOR THE NOTES YOU LEFT ON MY FIRST POST! 😭🫶🏻 here's a smut for you simps (including me, i'm genuinely obsessed with Harvey); this is one of the first times i'm writing smut and i really hope you'll like it <3

────────────────────────

Louis Litt adjusted his tie, a subtle sign of his nerves, before flashing his signature smirk. He stood at the head of the conference table, his usual, happy tone banging in your ears.

"Alright, everyone, I hope you’re ready to be amazed,” he began, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Today, we’re not just discussing another case—we’re changing the game. I’ve put together a proposal that will redefine our strategy and put us light-years ahead of our competition. So, let’s dive in, shall we?”

With that, he clicked the remote, and the first slide flickered to life behind him, revealing bold graphics and numbers that promised innovation and succes.

You roll your eyes, bored from the inside out. You look at Harvey and he has the same blank expression as you, staring outside the window.

"Y/N L/N." Louis spoke, pulling you back from your daydreams.

You clear your throat and stand up straight.

"Yes, Louis?" your cheeks flush.

"Would you care to share your thoughts on the proposal? I believe we were just discussing how our new strategy could significantly impact client retention,” he said, challenge in his tone.

The room fell silent, all eyes now on you. You quickly glanced at the screen, then back at him, scrambling to formulate a response. "Uh, yes! I think the client outreach initiative is a great idea. It shows we’re proactive." you said, your voice gaining confidence as you spoke.

"Proactive is an understatement, Y/N." Louis replied, grinning now. "It’s about taking charge, being the best, and standing out. And you know what they say about standing out—”

He leaned forward, gesturing dramatically, "It's the ones who dare to be different who actually make a difference. So, tell me, how do you plan to stand out in this firm?"

"I plan to stand out by bringing a fresh perspective to our clients and the firm. I want to focus on building strong relationships, not just completing tasks. I believe in being proactive—anticipating client needs before they even ask—and using innovative approaches to tackle challenges." you confidently said.

You leaned forward, enthusiasm evident in your voice. "For example, I’ve been looking into ways we can use technology to enhance our communication. Implementing tools like client portals for real-time updates can make a huge difference in how we engage with them."

Louis nodded, clearly impressed. “Excellent point! Client portals can streamline communication and provide transparency, which is invaluable. You can sit down now."

You sigh and return back to your chair.

"Good job, love." Harvey whispered in your ear.

You nod. You could feel your cheeks turning red as your heart pounds in your chest.

"Goddamit Harvey, you're driving me crazy." you think to yourself.

Harvey sits next to you, leaning back in his chair with that signature confidence, pen casually tapping against his notepad as he listens. The lighting from the sun through the windows frames him, highlighting his beautiful features.

Now and then, he glances your way, but his expression remains unreadable. You assume he’s just taking notes in his classic, composed style—sharp, observant, almost a little bored. But then, suddenly, he catches your eye and holds it for a beat longer than usual, just long enough to make you wonder if there’s something he’s not saying.

Then, in one smooth, almost careless motion, he slides his notepad across the table to you. Your heart skips as you reach for it, wondering if he’s noting something important you missed.

"You look so pretty in that damn skirt. Wish I could fuck you right here, right now."

You glance up, and he’s watching you with that half-smirk.

Your pulse quickens, and for a moment, you’re not even sure if anyone else is still speaking. It’s just you and Harvey, the faint hum of the room fading into the background as your cheeks flush from his unexpected note. You try to keep your expression neutral, fighting the smile that’s threatening to give you away. But Harvey notices, of course he does—his smirk grows slightly, a knowing gleam in his eyes that only deepens your blush.

You quickly slide the note back, hoping no one noticed the exchange, but he lets his fingers linger over the paper as he takes it, his touch grazing yours for just a split second. The contact is subtle, almost accidental, but it sends a warm shiver up your arm.

He leans back in his chair again, returning his attention to the others as if nothing had happened, but there’s a slight tilt to his chin—a subtle hint of victory, like he knows exactly the effect he’s had on you.

Then, without warning, you feel something—just the slightest brush against your knee under the table. It’s so subtle that at first you think it might’ve been accidental, but then it happens again. His hand, strong and steady, lingers, fingers just barely resting against your knee. You hold your breath, your pulse racing, trying to keep your expression neutral as your heart flutters.

You glance at him, but he’s still focused on the conversation, face unreadable, as if he’s completely oblivious to what he’s doing. But his fingers move, ever so slightly, applying a gentle pressure. The touch is subtle—just enough to remind you he’s there, to remind you of his presence.

Soon enough, his fingers travel down to your inner thigh, squeezing it gently.

Now, you knew exactly what he was up to.

You uncross your legs and let his hand travel down further, until it reaches your underwear.

You were soaked, and Harvey could feel that. You look at him, his face hiding a slight smile.

He manages to pull your underwear aside and runs his fingers through your folds, taking in your wetness.

He teases, tapping your clit with his fingers.

Your legs clench as he starts to slowly circle your clit, sending pulses through your entire body.

"Harvey." Louis says, his tone sharp and impatient, pulling everyone’s attention back.

Fuck.

He’s been watching Harvey with his usual blend of curiosity and suspicion, as if he can’t quite believe that Harvey isn’t somehow scheming right under his nose. "What do you think of the proposal?"

He leans forward slightly to make a point to one of the partners, his voice smooth and confident, yet his hand stays on your clit, circling it, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your face feels hot, and you do your best to look focused, nodding along as though everything is perfectly normal, even though his touch has made your heart race like nothing else.

But Harvey, of course, is cool and collected, as if he hasn’t just thrown your heart into overdrive. He gives Louis a patient look, waiting for him to finish his inevitable commentary, a slight smirk daring him to challenge his answer.

Louis, sensing he’s not going to win this one, lets out an exasperated sigh, finally moving on with the discussion. The room settles back into its rhythm, but the tension remains.

Harvey's finger slips into your pussy, giving you enough time to adjust. You almost moan at his sudden action, but you try to remain composed.

He begins to pump his finger inside you, placing his hand in a way that his wrist is touching your clit.

He slides another finger and you cough, trying to mask your moan.

He leans closer to your ear, whispering softly "Careful, love. We don't want anyone to hear this, do we?"

The best you can do is nod.

"Good girl." he whispered before he moved his body back on.

Your legs spread a little bit more, giving him space to take you all in.

You move your hips a little, trying to feel him entirely.

You could feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm. Harvey felt it too, your clit pulsing on his skin as the inside of your pussy wraps tightly around his fingers.

He looks at you for a slight second and you saw a faint blush on his cheeks. You couldn't help but smile at the view. Harvey Specter flustered.

You were so close. You placed your hand on his wrist and he smirked, feeling your desperation.

Your orgasm hits you, your legs beginning to clench as his fingers move to your clit, touching you lightly.

You put your hand on your mouth, clearing your throat as you try to obey Harvey's order.

To your disappointment, he moves his hand away. He gives you a gentle squeeze as if to say, "That's it baby. Good girl."

You feel your juices on his fingers as they brush against the bare skin of your thighs.

Throughout the rest of the meeting, you feel his gaze on you from time to time.

You glance back once, catching his eye, and he gives you the slightest nod, as if to acknowledge your shared little secret. The power play between you two is electric, filling the air with a kind of energy that’s all yours.

You know this isn’t the end of what he started—just the beginning.

[vendetta-if]

Chapter 6 Part 3 + Major System Public Update! 🎉

Hello everyone! 👋 It's finally time for the public update! 😁 This update brings in 24K of new words, bringing Chapter 6 wordcount in total to 89.4K words and the total demo wordcount to 325.3K words! This update brings Chapter 6 to a neat close, which is important because to me, Chapter 6 is like the end of the first arc of the book. 

Not only that, but I have also added a few major coding functions with this update, namely, a skip chapter function, and an autosave and reload function. I'm aware that my demo is getting longer, so I assume a skip chapter function might  be a welcome addition. 

It took me a long time to plan and figure out how to implement these systems, but in the end, after a lot of personal testing, I have finally managed to make them work.

WARNING: It's highly advised that you either play from the beginning with clean saves (or try out the new skip chapter function). I messed with some of the old variables as well, including Santana's and Skylar's default relationship values. Do not reload the saves to avoid potential future errors.

What's to expect from the new update:

Dropping Rin off to their apartment (and maybe, if you've been a good boy/girl, you can get a little smooch 😘)

Have an angsty talk with Uncle Luka 😥

But don't worry, there are potential wholesome moments too (if you choose them, of course 😉)

Another POV of the killer 😈 To see more on how they think and what they know so far.

Brand new skip chapter function! (Currently only for Chapter 6)

An autosave and reload function! (Currently only for Chapter 6)

Plus some new little stuff added in previous chapters.

New stuff added to previous chapters:

Chapter 2: Add proper introduction scene with Ivan and Boris, the twin bodyguards, highlighting their different personalities and their relationship with MC and Ash. They have changed quite a lot and become more fleshed out compared to the first time I wrote them.

Chapter 4: For MCs who said yes to Yvette when she asked them whether they are interested in becoming a Superhero, you now have the option to accept her guidance and reconnect with her or reject her guidance but still have a choice whether to reconnect with her or not. This is in contrast to how those who said yes was forced to reconnect with her.

Chapter 6: Meddle, fix, and add some background variables. Another reason to play from the beginning and to not load old saves.

Also, I have a side story just released on both Patreon and Ko-Fi and a spicy one coming really soon! I'm also still opening ideas/suggestions for this month's side stories until November 11th and then after that, we'll have our polls! So if you're also interested in supporting me while also getting these exclusive contents, please do consider becoming a member! 💖🥰

[DEMO] | [PATREON] | [KO-FI] | [COG FORUM] | [DISCORD]

[robotsprinkles]

For context:

our lead 3d guy has said multiple times that he's used godot before and — while not a particularly advanced programmer — is versed in the fundamentals of programming.

he also took the role of sound designer/music composer/etc because no one else wanted to do it/was confident in their ability at those two

he has so far:

failed to set up a single animation tree for either of the characters in the game (and from what I can tell, flat out doesn't know how they work)

given his rigs a root setup I want to say is a complete mess, and both I and the secondary 3d guy don't understand the purpose of (the root joint is a meter behind the character's world origin/centre of gravity/pelvis, and is connected to the wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, and the neck/ribcage/head, in addition to the pelvis/cog)

implemented the sounds in such a way that the game would crash either immediately on launching or the moment you tried to perform an action that played the sound because he was making the player.gd script call an audiostreamplayer3d node in the level_design.tscn scene which didn't exist.

(enemy rig in idle animation pictured below)

in his defense regarding the rig, it does work for the most part. the skinning starts dying and breaking down if I try to pose the character in any pose that's remotely intense and the legs' zeroing is busted

but it does work. the skeleton just looks disgusting when in the engine

how do you say you have experience with godot and that you're acquainted with basic coding/programming principles and can thus support our programmer by taking on some of the programming workload

and then repeatedly push changes to the shared Development branch that cause the game to crash whenever you use your attacks and abilities because you don't test anything before you push and you were trying to make the player script call a nonexistent node in the level design scene without even setting it so those lines/functions could call anything at all from the level design scene

[jalluzas-ferney]

Cole wasnt “changed” to be gay. He never was STRAIGHT in the first place.

and hell- whi says he’s strictly gay now? Cole could like girls as well for all we know 🤷‍♀️ uk like, be a Bi king or smth.

The thing is, just like people are used to seeing characters from books as white as a default until stated otherwise, just because they’re so used to it, this happens with straightness as well.

People are will BEG and SWEAR that a character is straight just because they were never outright stated to be otherwise. And emphasis on “outright stated” because even when there is coding, hinting or just blatant portrayal of it, people will still deny that that certain character is queer because it’s not like they canonically turned to the camera and told the audience that “I AM NOT STRAIGHT.”

But to them, even if the character rarely showed any interest in the opposite gender or ever really talked ab their attraction, the character is just automatically straight. It’s just inherent. Of course they’re straight.

And you know what? Even if the character does, who said Bi people don’t exist? I have a lot of Bi friends and a family member that either are bi or are dating a bi person, and their attraction towards the opposite gender has never invalidated their attraction towards the same if gender non-conforming.

And even then, a lot of gay men or lesbians have struggled with comp-het in the past, reuniting them in having tried to date or even marry people from the opposite gender only to then realize they never truly were straight, and were just compulsively trying to conform or believe that they are straight because again, straightness has always been seen as the status quo. As the normal thing to be. The default.

And this isn’t me saying that “the writers were writing Cole as a dude with comp-het this whole time” or smth because I don’t know that. And while I could theorize that I don’t think the writers really were thinking about implementing compulsive heterosexuality into this silly Lego show.

But just like I can’t assure that Cole canonically has suffered from comp-het or that he is gay and not Bi or hell he could be asexual or smth while being gay WHO KNOWS-but just like we can’t exactly assure that he is exactly one of those labels, people cannot come here and act like Cole was ever REALLY canonically straight. Hell. You could even say None of the characters of the show are STRAIGHT because who said they were? You can def interpret them as straight! But why do people insist on acting as if portraying Cole as having a male character a romantic interest as them CHANGING him as if he really ever WAS straight?

No one acts that when a character is straight that it was a huge betrayal or smth because the character was “OBVIOUSLY” gay by default. No. People just see it as normal and move on because that has always been the status quo.

Because this is a heteronormative society as much as people try to act as if making a character gay is “appealing to the world and the general public” as if straight people are suddenly oppressed. Hetero friends of mine or my family will always automatically assume I’m straight because that’s the norm to them. People will always assume someone it het or cis unless outright stated otherwise.

And if you can’t tell what’s wrong with that…

…

And you know what? Get all pissed off about it. Complain. Make petition for “saving your boy Cole” (save him from what exactly? It’s not like Christianity exists in Ninjago so yall can scratch hell out of the list at least) the season was made. The character of Geo was made. The scenes where Geo fantasized about Cole being awesome and handsome were made. Scenes where Cole and geo talk about needing each other were made. Scenes where geo and Cole hold hands and look at each other all lovey dovey were made. None of that bigoted complaining is going to change that. Theyre not going back and deleting those scenes and they’re not suddenly gonna write Geo and Cole in completely different way from what they were written before. Womp. WOMP.

[brucewaynehater101]

As someone who is partly deaf, I love that deaf Tim stuff. But hear me out for something that could work for either of them. What if on complete accident when both the Bats and Rouges hear about Tim's disability, the Rouges are the ones who do a better job with not looking down on Tim. Yes they add things to help him, like for Deaf Tim Joker would also use ASL as he monologs to make sure that Tim can understand him or with Blind Tim Riddler makes puzzle rooms themed around telling the difference in textures or he reads all the riddles out loud.

Meanwhile the Bats are. They *tried* ok? But they keep over compensating because they worry about Tim. Unlike the Rouges who don't pull their punches, during training the Bats do start pulling punches and going a little easier on Tim. Dick keeps trying to do things for Tim that Tim knows he can do. Bruce keeps taking him off cases that involve in person investigation. Damian keeps saying things about how all tasks should be left to him because clearly he's the superior one (if it's early Damian, later on when they're on better terms he wouldn't be as assholish about it but also keeps trying to take over tasks for Tim)

I'm really really glad that you vibed with the AU.

As far as your additions, I 100% agree. Having "good intentions" for people can still be harmful and frustrating. That's why, in these AUs, Tim tries to hide his disability until he's able to prove his efficiency. It's dealer's choice whether the Bats choose to acknowledge the evidence or are still doubting his capabilities.

I think the fic from the OG post has a scene where Babs, Cass, and Tim meet up to discuss the microaggressions they face from the Bats due to their respective disabilities. The sequel definitely has cute interactions between Damian and Tim. Damian refuses for anyone to treat his "rival" as weak or incapable. Peak siblings energy.

The funny part I find about this would be the Rogues accommodating Tim's disabilities just so they can defeat him. If Joker learned ASL for Tim, he'd probably research the hell out of how to look intimidating and scary while doing it (since, depending on Tim's hearing loss, Joker can't effectively utilize the vocal tone skills he's trained to be terrifying). Riddler would treat it as another puzzle and mental exercise (his Riddles would likely increase in accessibility for multiple disabilities as time progresses. He wants to challenge folks by their thinking abilities, not by their ability to test within the constraints placed on them. Perhaps, after his research and new implementations, he even starts targeting schools that unfairly places confines on their students [from both a socioeconomic standpoint and from improper accommodations]).

Anyways, I would love a fic that highlights some of the Bats' treatment of Tim and how not to interact with folks of different disabilities. Stuff like infantilizing, doing tasks for the person without permission, assuming what someone can handle, and disregarding them. It'd be cool to watch Tim try open communication (asking boundaries and what level of assistance the person desires) with all of them. For some, that's all that's needed. They have a clear guideline of "that shit was not okay" and the lines of communication are open for them to ask clarification in the future. For others, they listen to Tim, agree to change, and still pull that shit. I personally vote for Tim getting petty.

I feel like Babs and Cass would be the ones to understand the most that Tim can do anything he sets his mind to (he's so incredibly stubborn that he'd probably even be able to steal LexCorp from Luthor if he was motivated enough. He most likely even has plans already drawn for it ready to implement at any point). Duke would probably understand how others' perceptions of Tim affect him.

I also kill for Tim utilizing WE resources to bring aid and accommodations based on more specific audiences (such as how kids in the foster system, LGBT youth, and those with disabilities [both mental and physical] disportionately make up the homeless population).

I'm rambling a bit because sociology is a passion of mine. I'd get a higher education on the subject if I had the money.

Anyways, I love considering such perspectives in fanfiction. Let me know if there's other stuff I should add to this AU!