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[customlogotents]

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[yongbokology]

eren finding out he’s been beating his dick to his best friend of ten years

part two

black coded reader <3

warnings; self explanatory, not proof read

this happened on a random friday night. eren had gotten home from one of the worst shifts he’s ever endured and needed to relieve some stress. for the past few months eren found himself frequently visiting one particular nsfw twitter account.

he found it a few months ago, same scenario, needed to relieve some stress yada yada.

after scrolling endlessly for the perfect video to get off to, his thumb comes to a complete stop once he sees you riding your pink dildo like your life depended on it. his volume was on max and the sounds that escaped your lips hit him like a freight train.

your ass faced him as you let out a string of obscenities. “f-fuck.” “ngh, shit!”

he found himself instantly tightening his grip on his cock and stroking himself to the rhythm of your hips working against your hot pink toy, covered in your orgasm.

your face was nowhere in sight but eren didn’t really give a fuck about what you looked like. he needed a quick fix and you were giving it to him.

before he knows it, he finds himself getting off to your videos almost every day.. abandoning pornhub completely and not checking for other nsfw accounts he was familiar with.

he doesn’t think about it in moment but one day your phone is perched in a way where he can see a little more than what you normally show. he sees the full canvas of your back but what really catches his eyes is the small birthmark on your shoulder. his eyes linger on it for a split second before putting all his focus back to getting his nut off.

…

“it’s hot as fucking balls, we should’ve came at like nighttime or some shit.” connie complains, fanning himself while being consumed by the scorching sun that peered down at the beach.

“relax it’s not supposed to be like this all day, con,” you reassure him, shrugging off your clothes in the process. you were for sure gonna get tan lines. “historia can you get my back with the sun screen please?”

eren was busying himself with helping reiner set up the beach tent but spared a quick glance at you while reiner was trying to fix the side he was holding. his brows knit together when he catches a glimpse of your birthmark. in the moment he doesn’t know why it throws him off. you’ve known each other for so long that it wasn’t his first time seeing it but something about it in that particular moments left him puzzled.

…

it’s another night, eren is once again in his lonesome with nothing better to cope with than fucking himself.

of course, he goes to your account and sees that you posted something two hours ago. he licks his lips in anticipation as he clicks on the video.

at this point he’s a minute in and already close to cumming. eren found himself cumming faster to you than he normally did with other partners he’s been with and he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. (he chalks it up to him being involuntarily celibate for months)

but during the 60 second mark he glances behind you and catches a glimpse of something just mere centimeters away from you. the checkered logo that eren saw literally almost everyday for the last two years.

it’s the hoodie of the autobody shop he worked at. he stops pumping his dick, panting heavily, on the brink of a beyond satisfactory orgasm. his eyes are nearly bulging out his head when you take the hoodie up to your nose and a soft moan flowing out your plush lips as you take a sniff of the fabric.

you stop riding your dildo, laying hoodie on a pillow, mounting said pillow and eren can’t even bring himself to fathom what happens next.

you begin grinding your wet cunt against the hoodie he’d lent to only one person.

in that moment eren just realized he’d been pleasuring himself for several months to his best friend that he’d known since forever and the worst part is? he nutted all over his phone without even finishing pumping his dick.

[mmogurl]

Daddy Issues Part 4: Comfort

18+ | 3.2k | Homelander X Reader |  protective homelander, reader’s back story is a little dark, reader might be a bit of a nympho, mentions of suicide, rape, assault, alcoholism, emotional child abuse. This was supposed to be the last chapter, but the story has officially been extended by at least another chapter or maybe one more if I’m feeling froggy. Enjoy!

Part 1: Savior | Part 2: Baseline | Part 3: Spoiled | Part 4: Comfort

Tags: @screaming-potato

As Homelander busies himself putting out the fire, you attempt to undress for bed, but since the tent is not high enough for you to stand in, you find the task much more complicated than it should be. It’s a strained process of getting on your back and awkwardly pulling your designer jeans off, especially as they get stuck around your calves and you flounder like a fish to get them fully past your ankles. You’ve literally never had to take your pants off like this and you consider it a downside to camping.

Other than the lack of height, the tent is rather spacious, pleasant even. You sit up, sliding your hoodie over your head and fold it briefly before tossing it to the corner. Looking down at your chest, you beam when you see the Journey logo on your t-shirt. You’ve never actually been to one of their shows, but you still really love the band. In fact, it’s one of the few good memories you have of your mother: listening to music together. It’s one thing she had good taste in at least.

In nothing but your shirt, bra, and underwear, you snuggle down into the bed Homelander has prepared that takes up most of the tent’s floor. There’s some kind of padding beneath you that is way more comfortable than it has a right to be considering you’re sleeping on the surface of dirt and grass. He’s lined it with an unraveled sleeping bag, large enough for two to lay on, with another placed on top to use as a blanket. It’s clear he has no intention of sleeping separately from you, even when in the close confines of this shelter.

It’s already quite dark by the time Homelander unzips the outside flap to the tent and comes inside. He drops a few bags of supplies to the side and turns on a solar powered lantern. You squint as your eyes adjust and he begins to disrobe, wondering briefly if he turned the light on just to torture you. He unfastens the bib of his supesuit, pulling it down to the side to reveal the zipper underneath. You can barely concentrate on the small talk he offers as he removes the jacket and places it in a neat pile besides his already folded cape.

“I think our first camping trip was a success, don’t you?”

“Mmhm,” you reply close-mouthed, already biting your lip as he takes off his belt, unbuttoning the top of his tight blue pants.

You can’t take it anymore and turn away from him, trying to calm yourself as you feel the blush rising in your cheeks, your heart pounding. Sure, he slept in those damn red briefs every night, but usually he came into the bedroom already wearing them. You never got to watch him strip though and you can’t help but be overwhelmed by the desire you’re feeling as a result.

It’s not like these thoughts are helpful, since you already tried to broach the topic of your relationship earlier and Homelander dodged you, opting instead to talk about his past. You’re grateful he opened up to you, but still feel tormented by your feelings for him. Considering the two of you are already going through the motions of living as a happy couple, it feels strange to not be romantically involved.

You hear the rustle of sleek fabric as Homelander slides into the makeshift bed, close, but still a too-safe distance away. “Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks, his tone with a hint of worry as though he’s afraid you didn’t.

Braving the vision of his bare body that no doubt awaits, you turn back to face him. He’s propped himself up on his pillow, his weight on his elbow as he looks you over for signs of negativity. Thankfully, he’s mostly covered with just his waist up exposed. It’s still difficult not to gulp as he continues to talk.

“Were the hot dogs too burnt? Maybe I should get a grate for the pit. Make it like a grill…” he’s rambling on about his ideas, looking off to the side as he considers the possibilities.

You can’t help but wonder if he’s as nervous as you are or if he’s just oblivious. It’s sometimes hard to tell with Homelander.

Clearing your throat in an attempt to focus your sex starved brain onto the matter at hand, you interrupt him. “Yeah they were a little burnt, but it’s OK. It’s not like I’ve ever cooked a hot dog over an open fire before. So, I’m not complaining.” You shift between the blankets, rolling onto your back as you cross your hands beneath your head.

Homelander lets out a sigh and your turn your head to see that he’s mimicked your position. He’s looks at the ceiling of the tent, folding one hand under his head and resting the other on his stomach. He glances back at you, giving a small hum in response, as if he were lost in thought for a moment.

“Yeah, it’ll be better next time. We just need a little practice,” he says with an unsure grin, turning his attention back to the ceiling. It’s quiet for several moments and it seems like the conversation is going to die, until he finally adds, “You know. I’m glad you’re here… with me.”

You give him a touched smile, surprised by his direct display of affection. You’re used to reading between the lines with Homelander, judging how he feels mostly by his actions when there is a lack of meaningful words. Even though you know he appreciates your company, especially given he is so desperate for it, it’s a nice change to hear him actually admit it out loud.

“Yeah, me too,” you say feeling at a loss for words. “This was a cool idea.”

His features seem to relax considerably when you return the gesture with gratitude. You can’t help but get distracted by the cold glow of the lantern reflecting in and accentuating his already blue eyes, but you don’t miss when they travel down your form. His glance flicking down your shoulder and to your side, then hanging longer than usual at the tease of your thighs peering out from under the sleeping bag.

When he sees you take notice, he tries to play off his leer with concern. “Are you cold?” he questions, his voice coming off casual.

You raise your brow knowingly, but let is slide. “Nah,” you reply with a smirk. “These bags are surprisingly warm. They’re almost too hot.” You glance down at your legs and decide to kick the blanket off further. “Besides, I always sleep like this.”

His eyes darken as he takes in the expanse of your bare legs. Homelander swallows, trying to keep his cool, but failing miserably as his gaze lingers persistently on your newly exposed skin.

“Always, huh?” He comments absentmindedly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You had hoped to get his attention, sure, but now you can’t take the oppressive way he is staring at you. You’re not sure if it’s creeping you out or turning you on - it’s probably a combination of both. You try to think of a way to make things feel less awkward and manage to murmur out something anything but.

“Besides, at least I have a shirt on… You’re a pair of briefs away from being completely naked.” It sounds better in your head, than when you actually say it. Shit! Your squirm internally, realizing you’ve just backed yourself further into a corner. If this were any other situation, you’d gladly take the opportunity to jump his bones, but this is different. He is different.

Homelander scoffs with a look of incredulity. “I-I’m never cold,” he tries to assert with false bravado, but his tone falters under your gaze. He stumbles over his next words, trying to maintain his usual cockiness. “I’m a supe… A-and my body generates a lot of heat.” He mutters, trying to excuse his propensity to wear minimal clothing in bed.

“So, that’s why it always gets so damn hot,” you consider openly, distracted momentarily by the revelation. It seemed every night since you started staying with Homelander, you woke up sweating, having to kick the covers off completely from the sweltering heat. “Hmm,” she muses, “Well at least we won’t need a space heater in here.”

“No need for that,” he mutters, his tone lower than before.

The drop in octave is a subtle warning that forces your attention back to him, but not quickly enough. In a flurry of movement, the sleeping bags ruffle loudly as Homelander pounces on top of you. His eyes are wild, almost feral, as they rove over your body, his hands pinning your arms to the ground.

“I can keep you warm, beautiful,” his voice is smooth and strangely confident considering how cringe the line had been. You’re pretty sure from the way he was stammering just moments ago, that it’s an act though. You can’t possibly mind, given the close proximity of his body and how good he feels weighing down on you.

But the reality of what’s happening begins to dawn on you, your eyes growing wide as he traps you beneath him. Why is he making a move now after he’s ignored the temptation of you for so long? And why does it feel so forced and wrong? It should feel perfect given everything else the two of you have shared so far.

You find protest and confusion are the first emotions that war to the surface. “U-Uh… Homelander?” you say stupidly, unable to even focus with the feel of his bare legs against yours and his cock stiffening against your thigh. “W-what are you doing?”

Homelander’s chest rumbles with a low growl when you question him, as if your words pissed him off. “What does it look like?” he snaps back, his voice dripping with annoyance.

He tightens his grip on your forearms, his knees forcing your legs further apart so he can settle his hips against yours. He’s untethered, unlike his usual calculated persona, and there’s an element of desperation marking his features.

His eyes are dark now, the sky blue color drowning in dilated pupils. “I’m doing what I should have done weeks ago.”

“W-wait…” you find yourself babbling. “Shouldn’t we- Shouldn’t we talk about this first?” You gulp, the spit getting stuck in your throat as your try to swallow. You plead with him, your lip trembling slightly with the implications of what this will mean for your fledgling relationship.

He starts lifting up your shirt with a devious grin plastered across his face and you’re instantly torn between so many warring emotions. Lust and the deprivation of release that sex had provided you with is hugely present, but there’s also a remorse, a shame hanging heavy on your conscience. It would be so easy to let go and indulge in what he was offering, but….

“I don’t want to fuck this up!” you bark out suddenly, almost confusing yourself by the sound of it.

Homelander’s smirk falters for a moment, his eyes slightly narrowing in response. His hand pauses in the act of lifting your shirt any further, and he looks positively morose.

He pulls away completely then, retreating back to his own space and leaving you cold in the absence of his heat. Homelander regards you with a cross expression, urging you to clarify.

“What do you even meant by that?” he asks, the lurid aggression now gone from his voice, replaced with sharp accusation. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I do,” you say feeling stupid for sounding so contrary. “But, you haven’t shown any interest in me all month. Then all of a sudden you jump my bones? Why did you change your mind so suddenly about us?”

Homelander lets out a weary sigh, folding his arms against his chest as he looks away. He’s clearly not enjoying this change of mood, but he does offer a response.

“Nothing’s changed suddenly,” he grumbles with bitter emphasis. “I’ve wanted you for weeks now, you have no idea…” he admits sullenly, his eyes shifting back to you.

“It’s just…” he trails off with a groan. “It’s a little harder for me than you might think. And I didn’t want you to think…” He stops himself short, letting a huff through his nose before continuing in a much softer tone. “To think that I just wanted you… for that…”

You stare at him bewildered for a moment, almost amused by his petulant manner. It takes a moment to even understand what he’s getting at, but then you finally grasp what he means.

“Ohhhh,” you say sounding like an astonished stoner. “You mean, you didn’t want me to think you were just interested in sex?”

He is clearly a little embarrassed now, his cheeks flushing and his eyes looking off to the side again in avoidance. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here in this tent, having this conversation with you.

Reluctantly, he mutters out, “Yeah…”

You feel a pang in your heart, trying to hold back the reaction you want to give which undoubtedly would involve tearing up as you let out an ‘Awwww.’ It’s so fucking adorable how impossibly awkward he is, how he’s always trying even when it seems like he’s being shitty and inconsiderate.

Your body acts on its own accord, getting to your knees as you crawl towards him, hesitant if only for the lack of clothes between your bodies. In the past, you’d have been so forward with him, not even hesitating if he came on to you. Now you find yourself afraid to make the wrong move.

You place your hands on each of his knees, looking at him as the memories flood back. The whole point in Homelander taking you in had been to rehabilitate you in a away. ‘You need someone to save you from yourself’ as he had so aptly put it on that life changing night. It was no wonder he was now torn by the idea of fucking you.

“And you don’t want to be a part of the problem?” you ask, feeling like you’ve got a pretty good grasp on the issue at hand now.

Homelander tries poorly to maintain a look of stoicism, glancing almost neurotically at your hands traveling up his thighs. He reaches down to grab your wrists, keeping them from moving any further as though trying to isolate himself from your touch.

“Yeah, something like that,” he replies, trying to brush it off.

You offer him a smile as the warmth of his thoughtfulness fills you with content satisfaction. Never before has anyone been this considerate of your well being and even though you had your doubts about essentially being held hostage by Homelander’s good intentions, you are are now incredibly grateful that he cared enough to try.

Slipping your wrist out from his loose grip, you rear up on your knees, placing a hand tenderly on his cheek. “Thank you,” is all you can even think of to say, because it’s all that keeps running through your head. How appreciative you are for this experience, a connection you didn’t think was possible with another person.

Homelander leans into your touch as though starved for affection, his cheeks hot under your gentle touch. A reverent look settles in his eyes as he processes what you’ve said, and he pulls you onto his lap with an urgent need. His arms wrap around your waist, holding your tightly against him, acting as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

You’re startled at first by the closeness and strength of his embrace, but you relax quickly. Cradling his head against your chest, you run your fingers through his hair, soothing him because it just feels like he really needs that right now.

“Look, we don’t have to rush,” you find yourself reassuring him in a calming voice. You can sense his desperation, the need to be held, nurtured, and cared for. They’re not unlike your own cravings. “To be honest… This with you… Feels much better than all of the empty sex I’ve had combined.” You utter a nervous laugh, hoping he gets what you mean and won’t judge you. “Let’s just.. Let it happen naturally. Hm?”

He nods his head slightly, his face nuzzling to the side so he can respond. “Yeah… Just,” he begins to speak in a quiet voice. “Just promise me something.”

You lean back slightly so you can look down at him, “What is it?”

One of his hands roams to your hip, his grip flexing as he pulls you closer. “Don’t go running back to your old life. Don’t leave me.”

You can’t help but melt, grasping his dear face in your hands at the heartbreaking sound of his familiar loneliness. It was an aching sadness you knew all too well. “Oh my sweet boy,” you say without hesitation. “I would never leave you…” Never is a strong word, but you’re pretty sure you actually mean it. After all, nobody has ever taken such good care of you in your entire life. Not your parents, not friends, certainly not boyfriends. There was a pull between you and this man that you felt certain couldn’t be severed.

“Besides,” you add with a sardonically pointed laugh. “You already said the first night you took me in, that you’d hunt me down if I tried to run away.”

Finally, he cheers up when he hears your acceptance of his overzealous behavior. The corners of his mouth ticking up in a smirk as he shifts backwards, making some space between you both. “Damn right I will,” he barks out with a scoff, the scared little boy retreating once more as his prideful counterpart steps forth.

You can’t help but crack up at how quickly he falls back into line with his typical arrogant behavior, but at least now you see it for what it truly is.

“Do you wanna try and get some sleep?” you ask as a small yawn escapes you. Suddenly the thought of finally getting to feel those arms holding you tightly all night, the safety and security of it, sounds really appealing. “We could get some cuddle time in.”

Homelander chuckles when you mention cuddling, his eyebrows rise as he relishes the idea. “I’m down for that, he says with a sly grin on his face. “As long as I get to be the big spoon.”

“Aww, c’mon!” you feign complaint as you drop down from his lap and lay down with your back towards him. “I wanted to be the big spoon!”

“Too bad, princess,” Homelander hums as he crawls up behind you. He drapes himself against you, pulling you closer until your back is pressed flush to his broad chest. You fit nicely against him, like two lost puzzle pieces that have finally come together to complete a full picture.

You make a pouty little sound as you wiggle your back into him, nestling your head into your pillow as you get comfortable. As you settle, he responds with a huff of contentment, his hand snaking around your waist and trapping you in place securely. You feel protected, shielded, from everything bad in his arms. Drifting off, you can’t help but muse, that even though he might not realize it, Homelander really is a hero. Your hero.

Holy shit, guys.. This was officially the fluffiest fluff from the land of fluffington. What the fuck did I just write? I think my Daemon fic has been so raunchy as of late, that I had to make up for it with all of this sweet as apple pie Homelander fluff. Oh well, you guys love it! :)

[kremlin]

An earnest call for your support: Help me determine if there is a gas leak in my house.

for a long time now, I have been reading and hearing about This Guy on the news, and have been reading all the articles and stories about him:

Above: Sam, tenting his weird-ass fucked up fingers like a real Wall Street Guy might do in a movie he saw

Yep, you already know this guy, his name is Sam, I'll be referring to him as Sam, as that is his first name, and not by his initials, which is what I imagine a pod person might do in an attempt to emulate human behaviour. Whatever. You already know him and what he did, I won't waste your time. Listen. Pay attention. This is not a post about this guy or what he did. That shit is boring as fuck. This is a post about a potential gas leak in my house. We'll get to that in just a bit. Remember.

I've read all the articles and all the op-eds and everything. About Sam. Let us explore the entire spectrum of media coverage of Sam and Sam's Big Ass Problem, starting from the bottom, with the worm-food-tier jackasses: What do people like Jim Cramer and Shark Tank Guy have to say about him?

Above: CNN's "Mad Money" Jim Cramer also doing a weird hand gesture while he tells your alcoholic cable-news-addicted uncle to put his money in some dumbass shit

Above: I think this is the Shark Tank guy? I don't remember his name. Could have sworn his suit had dollar signs and not question marks (?)

I'll summarize their conclusions: "Sam is a boy genius who is super duper smart and can move objects with his massive brain due to knowing about Tech, FinDom FinTech, and computer money, specifically Money Coding. Unfortunately Sam committed massive fraud and will get his ass fucked in federal court".

Moving on from the worm-food-tier to the mediocre-tier: The totally nameless basic bitch journalists at the New York Times or Bloomberg. What do these assholes have to say?

Above: Jim Fuckface, associate financial correspondent for Bloomberg. Jim enjoys winding down on a Friday afternoon by sipping a Bud Lite Lime and wearing his baseball cap backwards, which bears the logo of his local professional sports team.

Above: Kate Fuckface, columnist at the New York Times. Kate enjoys spending her time chatting and interacting with her friends on Social Media Platforms like Facebook and Instagram, as well as purchasing items on Etsy

I'll summarize their conclusions: "Displaying the characteristic awkwardness of incredible technical and financial genius, it was clear to me during our interview that Sam's depth of knowledge truly knew no bounds. Unfortunately Sam committed massive fraud and will get his ass fucked in federal court."

Finally moving on to the people that might actually have a clue about what they're talking about. Sam Levine and Michael Lewis:

Above: Matt Levine, author of a comedy email newsletter named Money Stuff that is 95% financial information by weight and somehow still usually funny as fuck.

Above: Michael Lewis, author of a bunch of really good books you haven't read that were made into pretty decent movies you have seen: Moneyball and The Big Short.

I'll summarize their conclusions: "Sam sure is a smart kid and seems to know a whole lot about economics and this digital currency, and I mean a whole lot, and even more about business, accounting, and finance. Bright kid! Unfortunately Sam committed massive fraud and will get his ass fucked in federal court."

A pretty goddamn clear consensus across the board on both counts.

I listened to the interviews the entire spectrum of people listed above conducted with him -- the ones during which they unanimously concluded how smart he is. I listened to many hours of ad-hoc, unscripted Twitter Space calls he participated in, where he fielded questions about his fraud and his business with complete strangers. I listened to them very carefully. And here is my problem! I came to a different conclusion!

Sam is a fucking moron. I am not talking about solely his intellect, or solely his decision-making abilities, or any specific criteria. I am talking about all of them.

There are two possibilities:

(A) I am correct and, somehow, literally everyone else is incorrect, most of whom know vastly more about these topics than I do

(B) There is a fucking gas leak in my house and I have completely lost all cognitive abilities, suddenly and unwittingly, and exist in a cartoon reality inside my skull that would allow me to reach such a wildly different conclusion from the same evidence.

The likelihood of (A) being correct is very nearly 0%. I mean, come on. I am not fucking around when I tell you how troubling this is for me. I wrote earlier that this isn't a post about Sam or his bullshit. This is a post asking for your help in determining whether I have lost my god damn marbles.

I'll give Sam one thing -- he has some nominal ability to bullshit. If he's writing a Tweet, or making a short statement, he can finesse his words that, on some level, mask how much of a dimwit he is. He absolutely can't do that through about six hours of unscripted interviews. Listen to that shit. Listen.

I am going to go check all the joints in the gas lines in my house as well as the ports on my stove and heater. I'll come back and write a follow-up post on outlining exactly why I think homeboy is an idiot. While I do that, please, go listen to the interviews and tell me what you think.

[lovebirdgames]

Progress Update - October, 2024

It is time…the first Quarterly Progress Update for our next game starts now! And we're kicking it off with a title drop!!! Drum roll, please! Tom, if you will help me out...

That's right! Heartbreaker joins the fray!

For the record that’s not the real logo, just a temporary one that I slapped together.

Before we get into it I would actually like to glance back at the past and detail what our development timeline looked like for Band Camp Boyfriend. It's possible this one might look somewhat similar.

2015-2017 - Writing 2017 - Commissioned art, created social media presence 2018 - Demo released on Itch.io in August Programming hell 2022 - Demo released on Steam 2023 - Full game released

The good news is this isn’t our first rodeo and I’m hopeful there won’t be so many growing pains this time.  We're also doing 4 routes and a shorter common route so that means less suffering for us. The bad news is I worked part-time 2015-2017 so I blazed through writing and now I work full-time…and I’m old…and my memory is failing me…but it’s okay, I’ve forgotten all the pain.

This time around we want to be sure we get all the writing down before we start commissioning art.  We had the tendency to keep going back and asking for more because the game kept getting bigger (saving up money was also a factor). We’re gonna make sure we know exactly what we want this time. We’d also like to save casting voice actors for much later in the process so they aren’t waiting around for years on end. So the demo for this game will not have voice acting. I believe I wrote about this a little before in our post-mortem. We’re learning from our mistakes, woohoo!

That said, this is what we’re hopefully visualizing for Heartbreaker.

2024-2025 - Writing 2026 - Big art commissioning year, a more exciting project reveal, hopefully demo release later in the year! 2027 and on - Programming hell! Casting! Soundtrack fun!

…If this was to line up with BCB that would mean 2031 release. Oh God. No, I wanna release it in this decade, thanks. This is very tentative and we’re determined to not take 7 years this time.

Enough about that! Here is what we’ve worked on this year!

Concept art: Lite was absolutely awesome (as always) and let us have sessions with her in which we worked on concept art of the main cast together. It was super helpful in bringing our visualizations to life and it will definitely aid in writing the story. I can't go on enough about how wonderful Lite is to work with, and it was amazing to watch her go. She would whip up a number of poses, face types, or hairstyles for us to choose from. It was really fun and we're very grateful for the time she spent with us.

The demo: That's right, the demo is written! Woohoo! Unlike Band Camp Boyfriend with its twisting, long-winded common route, Heartbreaker’s common route is a single day! Alex can sigh in relief because that’s one less nightmare in programming for her.

The demo will contain the one-day common route and the first two chapters of two different love interests’ routes (the other two are locked at the start of the game so you’ll just have to admire them from a distance). 

Brainstorming: Ahh my favorite part…talking long walks or going for coffee and coming up with ideas. Brainstorming is ongoing and includes character profiles, world-building, and route outlines. This game has a lot more lore and world-building than BCB, so it’s more of a challenge, but we’re here for it. I've already done a badly-drawn map of the setting. Just need to finish up some profiles for minor characters and do some of my own badly-drawn concept art. Then we move on to fleshing out the route outlines.

The first route: One goal I have is to try and finish writing the first draft of the first route by the end of the year! Which is insane because October is super busy for me, but I'm sure I can buckle down when it gets colder. It's a bit ambitious, but aim high, right?

That's all I got for now! Hope you're all feeling hyped and uh, patient, because we won't be able to show you any cool art for a while. ;v; Thank you so much for sticking by us and we appreciate every single comment that has mentioned looking forward to our next game! Enjoy the rest of 2024!!!

P.S. Today is my mom's birthday and yesterday was my sister's birthday, and also my best friend's birthday, HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAAYYYY to these very important people. <3

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Conversation About Death with Those Who Laugh

So, another one for the Ghostbusters au. I'm telling you, stick with me here. This is a reader x König, don't get me wrong, but I like keeping him in the basement as my nasty little science gremlin.

I had a crush on Egon as a kid. Is it a surprise I cast König as Egon? We will never know.

TW: Conversation about death and religion

Wordcount: 2.5K

Story below cut

A Conversation About Death with Those Who Laugh

You opened your locker and sighed.

You knew this was coming, there was no way around it, but it still didn’t help with the knowledge that you’d be looking like you were a paper bag princess running around with a blaster pack strapped to your back until you either kicked the bucket or gave up on paying rent on time. Of the two options, you figured you’d rather be stuck in the brown jumpsuit than out on the streets.

You pulled out your suit to get a better look at it, not even bothering to even attempt to hide the sheer contempt you held on your face for the offensive clothing.

“It’s not pretty, but it’s damn useful,” Roze called from behind you.

You turned around to face her with a raised eyebrow.

“Useful? This?” you shook the garment for extra measure.

“Sure is,” Roze nodded as she leaned against a wooden pole, “you know, it’s insulated so you won’t get blasted by anybody’s proton packs. That, and it cleans up real easy.”

“Does it get sweaty?” you asked before taking a tentative sniff of the rubber suit.

“Nah,” Roze flipped her hair from her face, “unless you count getting slimed.”

You gave her a dark look that only made the older woman laugh.

“You heard me. Slimed. Just ask Horangi about it.”

You shook your head before turning back to your locker. You hoped you could do something to spruce it up with time, but seeing as it was still just your first day on the job, you had more important things to think about. Namely, how your self esteem will handle wearing the shittiest uniform you’d ever had the misfortune of laying your eyes upon.

“Who even designed this thing?” you grumbled as you forced your feet through the pants.

“Blame König,” Roze snorted, “he wanted it to be puke green.”

“Fucking… Ugh.”

You managed to drape the uniform over yourself before zipping up the front. At the very least, the utility belt helped pinch in the waist to give it a bit more form. It still looked horrible. At the very least, the washed out brown looked better than whatever König had in mind.

You turned to look at your back in the mirror, where the logo of the company sat square on your back.

“Look at you!” Roze whistled, “you’re rocking it”

“Thanks,” you grumbled, “I look like shit.”

“Better than barf,” Roze reminded you.

“Whoever this König guy is, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind when I see him,” you muttered under your breath.

“He’s just European,” Roze shrugged.

“Isn’t Paris in Europe?” you huffed, “he could at least get a fashion designer or something to help…”

“We’re too cheap for Gucci,” Roze sauntered over to your side, “but you’re better off with than without. Cleaning out ectoplasm ain’t no easy task.”

“You’re really hammering in this ‘ghost busting’ business, aren’t you?” you snarked as Roze put her fists on her hips.

She shifted her weight to one leg and sighed, “You’re not getting it. We really do hunt ghosts. They’re real as you and me.”

“I’ve never seen any ghosts,” you retorted, “I thought you guys were scientists. Aren’t you all about tangible evidence or something?”

“Oh you’ll see ‘em soon enough,” Roze chuckled.

“You keep saying that,” you adjusted your hefty utility belt, “but I’ve seen nothing so far.”

“Look,” Roze put her hand on your shoulder, “you’re new. Why don’t you talk to Nikto? He was just like you when he came on the force. If you won’t believe me, maybe talk to someone who came here just like you.”

You locked eyes with her, holding her dark stare for a brief moment before tch-ing and looking back at the mirror.

“We’ll see.”

—

You strolled into the breakroom and plopped yourself down in the seat across from Nikto. You couldn’t see his eyes behind the mask, but the way his head twitched was enough for you to feel like he at the very least acknowledged you. Or, well, you hoped that’s what it meant.

“So…” you drew out carefully as you stirred your drink, “you came here from where again?”

“Russia,” Nikto pulled his mask’s shroud out to duck his cup of coffee behind it and take a long slurp.

“Russia?” you perked up, “where abouts in Russia?”

Nikto tilted his head before snorting, “What would it be to you? You wouldn’t know the name.”

“So not Moscow?” you smiled sheepishly.

“No,” he chuckled, “on the opposite side of the country.”

You nodded along, “Yeah I wouldn’t have any idea where that is. But what I’m really asking is why did you come all the way to New York?”

Nikto hummed and swayed his head thoughtfully before saying, “I wanted to get away from home. So I decided to come here, where I could get a new life.”

“But why did you come here, to the Ghostbusters?” you pressed.

“They were the first people to hire me,” Nikto lowered his now empty coffee cup to the scuffed folding table, “I didn’t know much english, so they were good for helping me learn.”

“So you didn’t come here because you believed in ghosts,” you concluded, falling back into your white folding chair with your arms crossed.

Nikto was silent as he examined you, his dark eyes flicking over you from deep within the recesses of his shoddy Scream mask.

“Somewhat,” he admitted quietly, “in my village, my mother would tell me ghost stories to help me sleep. Small town people live differently. Ghosts and spirits, little men, they all have a place at home. But I grew older and went to the city, and I forgot what I learned back home.”

“And then you came here.”

Nikto nodded slowly, “Then I came here. All those bedtimes stories I had laughed at were real! Imagine my surprise.”

“What made you change your mind?” you gave him a curious look.

He shrugged a shoulder and said, “I saw them. It is hard not to believe your eyes.”

“Okay but it could just be-”

“It is harder to not believe when they attack you.”

Well that was different.

“They… Attack you?” you carefully asked.

“Well of course!” Nikto chuckled heartily, “Roze explained it to me long ago, but this is what I remember. Ghosts are the leftovers of life. When a living thing does not feel that they are finished when they die, a ghost will be left behind. They are not really people anymore. They’re more… Emotions. Wants, needs. They are the shadows of what a person was.”

“So when you stop a ghost from doing what it wants to do…” you trailed off.

Nikto’s eyes crinkled with mirth, “That’s right. They get angry.”

The high salary of the job was making sense now.

“So how do you fight a ghost?” you asked, giving Nikto the benefit of the doubt.

“Roze and Horangi made a box to put them in, and König made a gun to shoot them with,” Nikto spoke frankly, “I like the shooting, but the trapping is not so fun.”

“So you’re like…” you rolled your wrist as you struggled to find an appropriate simile, “pest control or something.”

“Exactly,” Nikto affirmed, “we clean up pests.”

If it weren’t for the fact that Nikto was so straightforward, you’d have assumed he was completely insane. The idea of being a ghost exterminator was completely insane.

“How can a ghost even be a pest?” you scoffed, “it’s just a ghost.”

As Nikto was about to speak, Roze bustled into the room and sat down at the table.

“We’re talking about ghost busting?” she leaned in with a wide smile.

“You explain it to the recruit. You’re better at this than I am,” Nikto crossed his arms and slumped back into his chair, evidently relieved by Roze’s sudden appearance.

“Okay so, what’re you asking about? What makes ghosts? Where they come from? Where they go? What they’re made of? What they do-”

“Why do you need to get rid of them?” you butt in before Roze could run out of air. The thought of making the poor woman pass out on the first day wasn’t exactly on the top of your priority list.

You were brought out of your daze when Roze grinned wildly and slammed her fists on the table.

“Alright! We’re asking these kinda questions!” she cheered, “okay, so, first things first, you know what makes them?”

You shrugged as Nikto cast a curious eye to you, “Nikto said that they were made of emotions left behind by a dead person?”

Nikto nodded his head side to side, not quite satisfied with your answer but Roze was quicker to reply.

“Okay so yes and no,” Roze pulled out a blank piece of paper and a blue uniball pen, “so, ghosts are impressions of the recently deceased, yes, but they’re so much more! See, ghosts are mostly left behind by the living, but not all ghosts.” Roze drew a person, then a drawing of multiple stick men. She pointed at the singular person. “So when ghosts are left behind by a single person, they’re mostly just annoying. They just cause problems in the area around where they died. Depending on the type of person the person was in life, it determines the radius of the distance they can travel from the point where they died.

“When ghosts are created by a single person, they’re normally not too powerful, but they can sure be obnoxious. They can cause all sorts of problems, from causing damage to the foundations of the building they’re in to even physically attacking anyone who comes within their radius. It really depends.”

Roze drew the tip of her pen over to the drawing of a group of people and tapped it twice, “Now this is the bigger issue. When people come together to believe in something, it can create an entity all on its own. This is not something living that has died, this is something that was created entirely by the emotions of the living. Now, they’re some cool examples of this!

“Some figures from folklore can be ghosts, like dragons and unicorns and giants and all that. The boogeyman is a particularly powerful entity that haunts mostly young children. That’s right! It’s real! If a child believes in the boogeyman, they can be visited by the entity.”

You waved your hand with a scoff, “You’re telling me dragons are real? You’re fucking joking.”

Roze leveled you with a grim expression, “Oh they are more than real. They are incredibly dangerous, but that’s beside the point. Thing is, sometimes when people believe in things enough, it creates them. Monsters of myth can be created this way. Or, they can be a bit more dangerous.”

“More dangerous than a dragon?” you shook your head, “pft, get real.”

Roze rolled her eyes but turned back to the paper and started drawing again. Soon, a rudimentary drawing of an animal on an altar appeared.

“Is that meant to be a dog?” Nikto squinted at the paper.

“That’s a lamb! Get some eyes on ya, Nikto,” Roze huffed, but carried on with a quick tap of her pen, “so yeah, when humans come together to believe in something in a religious sense, like in a cult, they can create entire gods to control the universe.”

“So God is a ghost?” you drawled.

“No clue,” Roze admitted, “I have been trying to do more research, but I’m banned from every catholic church in the city.”

“In the entirety of New York City?” you blinked.

“Yeah but that’s another story,” Roze waved you off, “point is, it’s particularly dangerous when there are cults. So sometimes, with cults, they can want to exchange a lack of morality with a ‘higher power’. So when a cult truly believes they are dealing with a devil, if they believe enough and believe for long enough, a demonic entity can actually form.”

Nikto shivered across from you, making chills crawl up your spine. Something about the big scary Russian man being scared of a single word rubbed you the wrong way.

“So if demons are real, does that mean angels are too?” you asked.

“Some,” Roze nodded, “but you’d be surprised how many worship demons.”

“They create monsters they cannot control,” Nikto spat.

You glanced between the two. You hoped they were both clinically insane because the severity of their expressions spoke volumes you did not wish to hear.

“So how often do we, uh, deal with the devil or whatever?” you asked nervously, tensing with the change of atmosphere in the room.

Nikto and Roze exchanged a glance.

“Not often,” Roze cast you a half-hearted smile.

“Too much for comfort,” Nikto muttered under his breath.

“But hey!” Roze broke out into a full grin, “you won’t have to deal with one anytime soon!”

“Hopefully,” Nikto grumbled.

“Hopefully,” Roze admitted, “but still! I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

You nodded along with the information. The more you learned, the more you wanted to believe in what these people were telling you. Maybe it was just the end result of the repetition of a lie, but a part of you felt there was something deeper to what they were talking about. Anyways, why would you get a six figure salary for doing nothing? Something was amiss.

“So, you usually just deal with the regular old, you know, ‘boo’ ghost? Right?” you asked hopefully.

“Oh yeah,” Roze leaned back in her chair, “smooth sailing for the most part.”

“So who even calls you?” you asked.

“Mostly people who need help with a haunting,” Roze flipped her hair from her face.

“But how do they know that they’re being haunted?” you scrunched your eyebrows together.

“What else do they have to turn to?” Nikto chuckled, “we’re a last resort.”

“So how do you know if there’s been a haunting?” you lay your hands on your stomach as you leaned into your chair.

“Lots of signs,” Roze shrugged, “could be slime oozing from the walls, mysterious writing on the mirrors, unexplained noises, things being moved around, but the real thing you gotta worry about is if they report scratch or bite marks,” Roze shot your a serious look, “any type of physical harm is a reason to worry.”

You nodded slowly as you took it all in. You still wanted to fight, tell them ghosts aren’t real and dig your heels in to spite your fate. The only problem was that Roze and Nikto didn’t seem crazy in the slightest, but were making more and more sense as they spoke. Nothing they were saying contradicted itself.

You wanted to ask more, but just as you opened your mouth, a blaring siren cut through the air like a banshee’s wail. You ducked and covered your ears but Roze and Nikto were on their feet in an instant.

“Whelp,” Roze took your elbow to help you stand up straight again, “looks like it’s time to figure it all out for yourself.”

AU Masterlist

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

The Birdcage

Jurassic Park: It's Ironic, by Meig of A-Dinosaur-A-Day

What follows is a retelling of the Jurassic Park story, mainly based on the 1993 film, with portions of the original novel used to supplement the story. The main point of divergence occurs when the park is unable to find workable nonavian dinosaur genetic material for cloning, since - as in the real world - dna degrades much too rapidly. Instead, the park consists only of extinct dinosaurs that can be brought back - birds from the last 2.5 million years. What happens after that is, as Ian Malcolm would say, an emerging pattern.

Infinite thanks to beta readers @plokool, @killdeercheer, and @otussketching! And extra thanks to @i-draws-dinosaurs for the killer logo! Happy 30th anniversary of the JP Film!

Link to the masterpost of chapters

Chapter One: Magallanes Basin, Chile

It was frigid at the dig site, with sharp winds battering everything they could, knocking over rocks and tools and even people. Some folks were shouting over the wind, while others were hurrying to protect precious material. The chaos was almost too much to deal with, but Donald Gennaro had work to do, and needed to consult with the dig site leader, Juanito.

Dig site leader was, honestly, not descriptive enough. Juanito Rostagno was one of the most respected paleontologists of South America, and he oversaw all the dig sites run by International Genetics Technology Incorporated, otherwise known as InGen. And it was precisely because of his competence and knowledge that Gennaro had made the trip so far south.

Magallanes Basin was as far south in Patagonia as you could get, near Tierra del Fuego. The freezing winds and icy temperatures prevented it from being inhabited in most locations, with only a few population centers popping up here or there. The dig site was near the sea, among the rocky crags and crevices, far away from the more famous Patagonian steppe. Snow was common, which made the dig perilous – at any point, the material could be lost forever. As it was, a miracle must have prevented the material around them from being swept out to sea.

“Hola Juanito!” Donald greeted, finally finding the scientist among the others, reaching out to shake his hand as he tripped over a few rocks.

“Hola! Bienvenido!” Juanito shouted, gesturing for Donald to follow him across the rocky terrain. He was dressed in khakis and a thick flannel shirt, not bothering to wear a hat for fear of the wind blowing it away. Donald had lost his own hat about fifteen minutes ago. But among the researchers and workers dressed more similarly to Juanito, Donald felt quite out of place in his business suit.

“So Hammond is back at the island?” Donald asked, trying desperately not to trip over another rock. In the distance, a group of penguins walked by the workers, to their delight as they attempted to talk and interact with them. Donald had been brushing up on his knowledge of local wildlife, and was pretty sure they were Magellanic Penguins, a small variety similar to the African or Humboldt. They were really very cute. Sometimes he could really understand the appeal of Hammond’s vision.

“No, he had to go back to California early. He sends his apologies,” Juanito explained, grimacing slightly as the pair made it to one of the sturdy tents tucked away against the side of the mountain. It was significantly warmer here, both protected from the wind and supporting a small space heater.

Donald bristled but kept his voice even as he responded, “We are facing a twenty-million-dollar lawsuit by the family of that worker! And you’re telling me Hammond can’t even bother to see me?”

“He wants to be with his daughter, she’s getting a divorce,” Juanito said, picking up a bone fragment and examining it.

“I understand that, but we’ve been advised to deal with the situation now. The underwriters feel that the accident has raised some very serious safety questions about the park. This makes the investors very very anxious. I had to promise to conduct a very thorough, on-site inspection.”

Juanito looked up from the bone, frowning at Donald.

“Hammond hates inspections, they slow everything down.”

Donald fought the urge to laugh as he responded, “Well I need to or they’ll pull the funding. That’ll slow him down even more.”

“Juanito! Juanito!”

Both men looked up to the tent mouth to see a young graduate student waving them outside. Donald grit his teeth and followed them, bracing himself for the wind as they ambled down the hill towards a more secluded spot. The rocks were tucked against the mountain, with a pit a few feet deep so hidden Donald almost fell into it.

“Qué tenemos aquí?” Juanito asked the student, as they both began talking in rapid Spanish. Donald had learned Spanish, of course – hard to consult with a company that did most of its business in Latin America if he hadn’t – but he still could not follow the native speakers as their words flowed seamlessly like rivers between them. He could pick out the occasional world – something about a skull, dirt, and a new specimen.

“A ver muéstrame, muéstrame,” Juanito finally said slowly enough for Donald to pick it out, following them down into the pit carefully. Donald tripped into it, as he had almost predicted, steadying himself against the side of the rocks.

“Watch your footing!” Juanito warned as they came into the main center of the pit.

“If two experts,” Donald continued, determined to move past the fact that he couldn’t walk down here, apparently, “Sign off on the island, the insurance guys will back off. I’ve already got Ian Malcolm, but they think he’s too trendy – they want Alan Grant.”

Alan Grant and his research team had been early consultants on the project, though they never really knew what they were consulting about. Now they were just on Hammond’s digsite payroll – always looking for that one in a million chance that, maybe, his original dream could still happen.

“Grant?” Juanito snorted, “You’ll never get him out of Montana.” He picked up a skull fragment and looked at it excitedly, calling for the students around him to come over to examine it with him.

“Why not?” Donald asked, irritated.

“Because Grant’s like me,” Juanito explained, smirking, “He’s a digger.”

“Well what about Spinoza, down in New Zealand? She was hired for consultancy when the project changed direction.”

‘Changed Direction’ was the official wording for the major speedbump that had nearly thrown the entire enterprise out the window. Even mentioning it made a small frown appear on Juanito’s face. Donald didn’t like even mentioning it, given how much of the original investment had been lost chasing impossible dreams. They had kept as much of that original idea as they could, of course – even continuing to consult with Grant, Sattler, and others, when their work was no longer particularly relevant – but there was no getting around it. Hammond’s big dream had to be downsized. The laws of nature were against him.

“Spinoza?” Juanito continued, “Maybe. I do know she returned to the States recently for a conference, so she may actually be available. But she’ll insist on Grant and Sattler coming, too.”

“Why?” Donald asked, eyebrows raising towards his receding hairline. He had not even understood why they kept them on the payroll.

“Because she’s Grant’s former student, and none of them know that Grant and Sattler are no longer our chief experts,” Juanito snorted, “This is the price of all our secrecy, is it not?”

Donald sighed, “I suppose. So, what, in the middle of this lawsuit and the investors getting nervous, I’m supposed to fly down a whole spread of experts, regardless of their actual relevance, to check out this park?”

“Sattler is still relevant,” Juanito pointed out, “And beyond that, Grant is one of the strongest researchers in behavior we have. He will still be helpful. If you can get him to leave.”

“Any idea how I can do that?” Donald laughed.

Juanito helped his students start to prepare the specimens before them for transportation. He turned to look at Donald, frowning.

“Well...” Juanito paused, taking a deep breath and looking Donald straight in the eye, “Funding for us diggers. Nearly impossible. As always.”

Donald sighed.

It always came back to money.

“Since he couldn’t be bothered to join this meeting, I’ll have John sell it. His boisterous enthusiasm and cavalier attitude towards money will make it more enticing, anyway,” Donald said.

“Certainly is a better salesman than you,” Juanito laughed. Donald couldn’t help laughing with him.

“Unfortunately I cannot come with,” Juanito continued, frowning apologetically at Donald, “After all, look what we have here.” He gestured to the new material, which looked just like more bone scraps to Donald. But he wasn’t an expert.

“Think that’ll be a new species we can add?” Donald asked.

Juanito shrugged, walking back up out of the pit and helping Donald with him, “Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Donald wasn’t confident enough that the project would move forward to answer.

[moralesluvr]

can you do earth 42!miles x reader where reader owns a small business and he shows constant support and always promotes her business?🩷

earth42!miles morales ft. his small business owning gf!

♡ pairings & aus: miles morales x fem!black!reader, aged up au for plot. ♡ warnings: none! ♡ summary: miles comes out to one of your pop-ups to support you <3 ♡ a/n: thank you anon for your request <3 ♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡

NEW YORK'S SUMMER AIR blew past you in a warm wave, the sweltering heat causing you to bend down behind your stand, propping your cooler open as your hands wrapped around a bottle of water. It was so hot that you bit the top off your cool beverage in attempt to drink it as fast as you can, lips wrapping around the opening as you gulped it down quickly.

"Y'know I could've brought you sum' cool to drink, right?"

You turned around to see your boyfriend, who walked underneath your tent, making his way to you as he opened his arms for you to embrace yourself in. You did so with glee, pressing up to your tip toes as you kissed his cheek, "What are you doing here? I thought you had to work!"

"Nah," he shook his head, walking around to your table out front as he picked up various items that you had for sale, "Not today, wanted t'see my girl come make her bank."

A smile found your lips as Miles continued to curiously look around your set up. It was a place where business owners could set up and advertise, so lots of people were setting up shop in the grass as people shopped around.

Your small business had kicked off just a couple months ago, but Miles was there every step of the way. You sold various items-- candles, lip gloss, perfume, body butter-- and accessories for your fellow black girls. Although he didn't really need what you were selling, Miles always helped you find new scents or flavors for your things, and he would always let you try them out on him, despite the level of embarrassment he carried with him after the fact.

Last time, you had convinced Miles to let you try out your lashes and new lip gloss on him, which resulted in him clawing the lashes off, claiming that they itched too bad and he 'couldn't even blink.'

He's just a drama queen.

As Miles walked around picking up things, you saw three black girls come in, who looked about your age, maybe younger. They eagerly picked up your items on display as you welcomed them in with bright smiles. One of the girls picked up two candles and some colorful edge brushes, waltzing up to the counter as her friends continued to browse.

You eyed your boyfriend, realizing that he was showing them around and giving them little insights on your product. It melted your heart, eyes still fixated on him as you rang the girl in front of you up. As she handed you her card, she asked you, "Is that your man?"

"Sure is." You gleamed proudly, "He likes t'pop in sometimes and help me out."

The girl watched you intensively as you transferred her items into a cute bright pink bag with your logo on it, a bag that your boyfriend had helped you design one Saturday night when you were sleeping over at his place.

"I wish somebody loved me like that," She murmured, smiling as you handed her the bag and her credit card, "Keep him, girl, 'cause you ain't gon' find nobody else that'll do that for you."

You both giggled at her statement, though nothing but truth was laced in it. You bid her a farewell as she walked out, her girlfriends still shopping around for some items. Your boyfriend departed from them and slid behind the counter, leaning on it as she sighed.

"Girl, I've been workin' so hard tryna find them what they lookin' for. It really is a struggle."

"Ew, you're so gross." You pushed him as he laughed at his impression of you when you're working. Miles grabbed your hand and squeezed it, a smile etched on his face as he spoke, "I'm so proud'a you, mami. You knew all this was gon' be a lil' challenging, but look where you at. That's my girl." He encouraged, giving you a sweet kiss on your cheek.

"I love you," you smiled as you felt Miles pepper more loving kisses on your cheek, holding your waist close to him as you arched your back in his embrace, squealing at him.

Your playful bantering came to a stop with the two remaining women in your shop placed their items on the counter. You greeted them and rung them up, your lover behind you watching closely. You quickly bagged their items and thanked them for supporting you, and they left you a gracious tip as they walked out. You held up the bill, "Big ballin'."

"Damn right." Miles laughed, high fiving you as he held onto your hand, looking around before whispering,

"Let's dip and go get lunch."

You eyed your shop before giving him a raised eyebrow, "What if someone comes by? Or steals?"

He rolled his eyes at you, grabbing his car keys from the table as he wrapped his arms around your waist, closing the tent and walking to his car.

"Then I'll beat their ass. Now, let's go eat."

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓🕷️: @queenesther996 // @c3f21 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @moisttowllet // @Dee-m-cee // @liliummz // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie // @tanakaslastbraincell // @simp4miguell // @nyrovi3 // @my3tumbles // @aziulsworld // @enchantingfoxsparkles // @mancerseedu // @cafehyunji // @personofyou // @mcdvsr // @kopiivie // @ellatienesuscosas // @venuswash3re // @calliarlerte // @pr0wlerpunk // @tzuyuzzs // @wisepoetrycheesecake // @clearskiiiess // @d3atht3hek1d // @vienreina // @pixqlsin // @caulifloweron // @aizawassimpblog // @stvrgrl // @zerosinterweb // @ishqani // @mookiebut // @urmotherswhor3 // @cumbermovels // @asmobeuses // @yanghees // @popeheywardssecretgf // @mxspiderman2099 // @1lenii // @scryarchives // @rksses // @rosvlsr // @mmst4rz

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✎: @Dee-m-cee // @euphorichappiness10 // @adoree-kaelynn // @mhadnirb // @mmst4rz // @iris-theflower // @fleurrieerecs // @kenlani // @kala2022 // @ilyless // @milesmolasses // @laylasbunbunny // @all444miles // @thecoloredpages // @bl00dsuccker // @evacowan // @popeheywardssecretgf // @adoremvney // @anikaluv // @qtdenks

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @enj4i // @chrissytalia // @chaoticevilbakugo // @motheroffae // @luci1fer // @art-598

[sgiandubh]

Logo wars: the unicorn vs. the griffin

Ever since August, the battle between the Warchief and the Sassenach has been lurking somewhere, on the outskirts of my radar. While some still deny there is anything going wrong between S and McTavish, I have strong reservations it's all about sunshine, lollipops and roses in that department. And I couldn't help but wonder if the key to the problem was not to be found in the very disingenuous way Graham chose to build the marketing strategy of his products and to update his own personal brand, in the process.

So I took a deep dive into socials and this is something that is going to take some more time to complete. If this kind of content is not your jam or you disagree with my premises, it's totally fine with me, but maybe you should skip these posts. And since we have to start somewhere, let's start with their companies' logos: they have a lot of things to tell us.

Soon after the Remarkable Week-end, S finally unveiled a business project he'd been alluding to for quite a while (if anything is wrong in here, kindly correct me in comments). This was the logo and the slogan they are still using until today:

The Sassenach Unique Spirits. Spirit of Home.

As compared with what McTavish released this summer:

McTavish Spirits. A Scotsman's Dream of America.

First logo: clean, sober lines. A Unicorn, whose contours seem more aptly designed for a sports car or a new, innovative line of home equipment (think rather audio systems, not refrigerators). Or even an elegant, country life oriented clothing line, with all the paraphernalia (gloves, scarves, etc - but we already knew about the First Love tartan, then, so it's still a possibility).

Unique spirits, with all my deep affection and due respect for a real effort, is not the best they could have come up with. You see, that's hardly a sales argument or an efficient pitch. Just like any dog owner on this planet would tell you that Bebe or Fido or Snoopy are 'the best dogs ever', a new entrepreneur would confidently tell you his booze is 'unique'. The effort S put into patiently educating his passion for whisky and creating something personal out of it deserved better. Not the completely expected and almost meaningless 'unique' - this is very lazy copywriting, I think (not a copywriter, just an exacting client, here). It spells low budget where we needed something irresistible.

Onwards to the Unicorn. Of course, it's all about Scotland - it's whisky, for Christ's sake. But, it's also about this:

This is the sixth panel of one of the most moving, exquisite things that ever graced this planet: The Lady and the Unicorn cycle of Flemish tapestries, now making the pride and joy of the Cluny National Museum of the Middle Ages, in Paris. A place I know well and was a very frequent visitor of, when I was living just about three blocks away from it. Its story has to do with the Five Senses and this is the last panel, featuring a mysterious message on that lavish tent's roof:

A mon seul Désir. It's French for: "To my sole desire". Unique, indeed.

Let's let things flow a bit in free association mode (I know Puffy did it on her blog with the Barbour project, but she didn't invent it and she certainly has no copyright - so yeah, waiting for a couple more idiots to block right after posting this):

Unicorn... Scotland... legend... purity...even Mary Queen of Scots asked for a unicorn horn to make sure the water was not poisoned, while in prison... untamed...chivalry.... woman...only a woman can tame and lure a unicorn... Medieval...Cluny... desire... sole desire... soul desire (heh)...unique...passion.... statement... labor of love... personal testimony...first love and we wrap it up nicely with a smile ('she is the original Sassenach', ahem).

That was the first set of (genuine) talking points he went with. Now, we deal with a contorted & painful explanation: Scotland is an inclusive nation and land, I am the Sassenach, etc. What do our unsuspecting American friends know, after all? But to a #silly European, it makes no sense: yes, Scotland is a very inclusive, open and even avantgarde society for many things, but this is whisky and should spell tradition, not innovation. It should spell mystery and something that comes (at great costs) from a faraway, fabled land of mists and druids and lochs. Not from a blaring EDI crossroads, where people are gathered to protest against global warming. Then how about that unnecessary 'I am the Sassenach' - no, Sir, you aren't, plus I hope you know how we, shippers immediately interpret it ('blood of my blood and bone of my bone' - 😁).

But your main problem with the name and the brand that goes along with is not even this. The problem is that a unicorn is always female. You have a feminine brand for a masculine product.

So instead of a haphazard explanation which smells of improv, why not just take the second, abstract, meaning of unicorn and just say cheekily something along those loose lines, for example:

'Well, we are a new, innovative enterprise which aspires to be a smaller unicorn in the world of spirits. Maybe we'll never make it to 1 billion dollars, but it's the bravery and the innovative spirit that we bring with us from Scotland, our home (cue in waxing lyrical and fill in the blanks with all the tropes you can think of). So we're the new kid on the block, the outsider, the underdog set to conquer new lands and new opportunities, exactly like Jamie Fraser, the character I play in OL does (cue in credible retconning of your initial strategy: you need a new client base to generate sales volume & secure or even multiply returning sales and those people DGAF about OL).'

Granted, you'll totally throw under the bus the whole initial plan, but hey - it's an elegant way out of a conundrum.

Second logo, quite a different situation. It's busy, busy, busy with the kind of motifs that make one immediately think of an engraved Colt grip. Something like this, perhaps, only stylized:

Instead of the Unicorn, we have a double beast: a Lion and an Eagle. In Ancient Greece, this mythical combo was called a  γρύψ (gryps), which later gave 'griffin' in English. It is a hybrid, but then so is bourbon. The Lion is a symbol for the European roots of the brand and the Eagle, well - easy, America, pointing West and meaning new perspectives, freedom, etc. But the brand is McTavish Spirits, in a very personal approach: this is my bourbon (isn't it ironic, for a white label project?) and this is my story and these are my (a Scotsman's) dreams of America. Transparent. Legible. I mean business - this is not a labor of love.

Free association again:

The Lion self... the Older, Wiser Guy... the Leader... the Statesman... Dougal MacKenzie...the (hello) Warchief...but this is America... so I am also the Lonely Gunman... I am exploring a New Frontier... bringing my past with me (all the classy, gentleman-like persona)... telling my personal story, too, in the process... from my Scottish roots to making it in Hollywood... so I am also The Storyteller (unlike that young nincompoop, who just goes zorbing and chases barmaids) ... so, maybe, just maybe if you listen to my stories, you will forget I put zero effort into trying samples and touring the whole land looking for perfect balance, and just went for the easy solution and a quick buck... buy my booze and I'll tell you more... I am reliable and tried and tested and still young enough and strong enough and determined enough (the Eagle) to have a new wife and new plans.

Plus: a masculine brand for a masculine product. I won't keep scores for a while, but pfff... point taken.

This is not only logo conception copycat and shameless, reactive competition, on very thin ice and on a (at this point in time, at least) very slim portion of the market. This is, mark me, war between two people who still have some gigs together.

We'll see next time who shows up at their parallel events and buys their booze and also how they choose to engage (or not) with these people. I think I begin to understand what McTavish's brand strategy is, but I need to have a second, closer look. More on this, tomorrow.

[grunklejam]

Now on Etsy: The Tourist Trap Badge Pack

NOW ON ETSY

https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/1476866165/inspired-by-gravity-falls-the-tourist

SHIPPING WORLDWIDE!

25MM BADGES INSPIRED BY GRAVITY FALLS!

DEFINITELY NOT S&P APPROVED!

"Hey you. Yeah, you! With the shirt! It's me, your old pal Grunkle Stan. Have you recently visited the Pacific Northwest and come away with zero merchandise? Not on my watch! Mark your love of Gravity Falls with this set of four badges, inspired by Gravity Falls' small businesses! As well as marking a visit to my amazing Mystery Shack, you can support the state's least hygienic diner, Greasy's (ya can't miss it, it's a log on a train car), independent journalism by Toby Determined at the Gravity Falls Gossiper (all badges fumigated) and even that little jerk, Gideon, at the Tent of Telepathy.

All wrapped in a little plastic baggy with an exclusive, hand-designed card by some shlubby limey artist.

He'll even do a doodle on the envelope, like some kinda weird signature dealy.

These 25mm badges have been designed from the original logos seen in the Disney TV series, and lovingly manufactured by an artisan team (and definitely not Soos during his lunch breaks).

They feature a D-pin closure and are printed in vivid full colour, so it's just like those fancy movies they've got these days!

Even better, we guarantee that none of this money is going to a sinister cartoon mouse, and that they're definitely not S&P approved! I even modelled one myself. I uh - I got shrunk by a crystal in the forest. Don't worry about it."

 =====

Designed and shipped by your very own Grunkle Jam

No exorbitant shipping fees - the price you see is the price you pay for YOUR country!

Guaranteed to give absolutely no money to the mouse

I'll doodle on every envelope

Manufactured to high standards in the UK with absolutely no child labour

Definitely not S&P Approved

[atinylittlepain]

Mr and Mrs Mountain: In Conversation with Steve and Jo Harrington

(National Geographic, 1993)

I sit down with the Harringtons on a sunny day in December in the living room of their Boulder Colorado home. They’ve just moved in, and they apologize for the few stray boxes still littering the dark wood floors.

“We’re not used to having all this space,” admits Steve Harrington, going on to describe how he and his wife spent most of the last three years living in sublets, tents, and the errant hostel, jumping from Boulder, where they’ve decided to call home, to various parts of the world for an awe-inspiring roster of expeditions. But their most frequently-visited location is Everest, of course.

“We leave around mid-March and can usually expect to be back in June. It’s become a pretty well-oiled machine by now.” What Harrington is referring to is their expedition outfit, Summit Trek, that has been in business since 1991. It’s 1993 when I sit down with the Harringtons, and they’re confirming their client list for an Everest expedition… in 1996. The next three years have already been all booked up. Why, you ask, does this young yet affable couple have a veritable waitlist to join their outfit? It’s simple, they’ve never lost a single client on any of their ascents, a rare feat for repeat Everest expedition guides. 

“We really take a lot of pride in the safety of our trips. There’s more and more outfits every year that are willing to take clients up Everest, but it’s always been the getting back down that’s the tricky part,” says Jo Harrington, sitting on the arm of their worn leather couch, her arm draped loosely over her husband’s shoulders. She carries herself with a great deal more poise than her twenty-six years may allow her, a sort of wry steel to the way she speaks, chin tilted down, daunting and demure at the same time, as if Catherine Hepburn and Clint Eastwood had a lovechild with a particular athletic prowess. She wears her hair in two short braids, flyaways framing sharp eyes and dark brows. In a pair of rumpled khaki cargo pants and a thermal with the patagonia logo stitched into the chest (she has been sponsored by the brand for four years now), there is still a strange elegance to her, carried in quick hand gestures and a permanently rasped voice. First brought into the climbing world’s consciousness at the age of sixteen for taking home gold in the 1983 Climbing National Championships in her age division, Harrington, nee Taylor, would go on to rack up an impressive resume of climbs. She currently has conquered five of the seven continental summits, and still holds the women’s speed record for climbing El Cap. 

“I’m going for Steve’s record the next time I get out to Yosemite,” quips Jo while her husband grins up at her. He currently holds the men’s speed record on El Cap. 

Indeed, the Harringtons have become darlings of the climbing world, meeting in 1990 on both of their first ascents of Everest, and falling into a whirlwind relationship that would see them going into business together within the year as co-guides of their very own expedition outfit.

“I just wouldn’t leave her alone, basically. Asked her where she was going after Katmandhu and she said Boulder, and I said alright, I’m going to follow this woman wherever she leads me.”

“He was easy to be around. To climb with, to talk with, to suffer with. I knew that I could trust him as my partner from the start.” And that trust Jo speaks to seems to be the secret ingredient to what has made their outfit so successful. 

“For an ascent to go as well as it can, there has to be almost seamless communication between guides. There can’t be any doubt that you have each other’s backs, that you’re going to do your job to the best of your ability because that’s the level of care and respect you have for each other,” says Steve, tucking a long brown lock of hair behind his ear. He is the picture of a dirtbag, reformed (his words), with his long hair and single silver hoop in his ear, a perpetual tan to his skin from all the years spent out in the weather, a ruggedly bright smile and dark eyes that crinkle knowingly as he speaks. He plays with the wedding band on his left ring finger, spinning it around as he talks with a quiet confidence. Harrington rose up in the climbing world through a sort of scrappy perseverance, spending his teen years hoofing it around the United States and climbing whatever he could get his hands on as fast as he could. Besides El Cap, he currently holds the speed record for the Moose’s Tooth in Alaska, as well as for Kings Peak in Utah. These days, he’s less interested in speed than he is in altitude. 

“There’s no going fast on something like Everest, not if you want to come back down in one piece.” Jo nods at her husband’s words, and it is clear that this couple holds a deep respect for the mountain they summit every year, with a group of nine people that pay them to lead them to the peak. It would seem this respect is also part of what has brought them so much success as expedition guides, with Outside Magazine declaring Summit Trek as the “premier” Everest outfit for climbers who want the best of the best experience on the mountain. The going rate for an individual to join one of their expeditions certainly reflects this reputation. Excluding airfare and personal equipment, it will run you $75,000 to join a Summit Trek expedition. For context, this is almost double what most outfits charge, and $10,000 more than what Adventure Consultants, one of the other more reputable outfits, ask. When asked about this price point, Jo smiles.

“We understand that it’s a steep price we’re asking, but it reflects the quality of the experience we provide. People also have to understand that a good portion of that money is put right back into the business for permits and equipment. You get what you pay for, and when it comes to something like Everest, I’d like to think people are willing to pay more in order to get more out of the experience.” Her argument certainly seems to stand. Currently, with the additional help of infamous climber Eddie Munson as their other co-guide, respected mountaineer Robin Buckley running base camp communication, and climber-turned-physician Nancy Wheeler, the Summit Trek team has successfully taken 27 people to the Everest summit and brought them back down safely, with plans to take another 27 up in the next three years. 

I asked the couple, who have now been married for just shy of a year, what it’s been like working together in such a dangerous context. They both seem to find this question amusing, sharing a quick 

glance between them before Jo answers the question.

“I know I wouldn’t do this work with anyone else. We’re partners in every sense of the word and I love getting to do this work with my best friend.” Steve rests a hand on her knee, nodding and adding his own thoughts.

“Yes, it’s dangerous, but we’re a particular kind of people that seek out that kind of danger. We get to see and do crazy things together, it’s amazing.   I think we’re very lucky to get to do this.” 

My last question for the seemingly invincible couple, do they see themselves slowing down any time soon? Jo laughs.

“Well, you can only go up that mountain so many times before it takes its pound of flesh from you. We’re certainly not going to do this forever, and I think we’re definitely starting to think about putting down more roots for the future. But for now, we really love the work we do.”

...

series masterlist

[customtentco]

Make a Statement at Your Next Event with Custom Tents with Logo 

Make a statement at your next event with custom tents with logo. These durable, weather-resistant tents feature your logo prominently displayed, making your brand impossible to miss at trade shows, markets, or outdoor festivals. For more information, visit our online store today.

[thewhumpyprintingpress]

Hello!

I was really excited to find this blog. I was wondering if there's more information about WPP itself anywhere? Reading through, I have questions about the press itself, like how are works being published (through Amazon? do you guys have an actual physical printing press? something else?), do you guys do promotion or is the main audience just followers of this blog, things like that.

Sorry if it's written somewhere and I just couldn't find it!

Hi!

We just got our start in 2022, so we are still in the process of getting things rolling. We publish our books through Draft2Digital (unfortunately we don't have our own printing press yet), as this is the easiest way for us to distribute books at this point in time. D2D allows us to distribute ebooks and print books to most of the major sales venues (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple Books, etc.). For books that are more art focused (ex. zines) we use either Mixam or PrintNinja to get those printed.

Since both of the books we've published so far have been for charity, promotion has focused on this blog. But for future books, we'll be expanding promotions to outside the tumblrverse. Our tentative marketing plan is that we'll be building up a review team of bookstagrammers, booktubers, and book bloggers, and scheduling promotions with various book promotion agencies.

In the new year we'll be focusing on building up WPP. Future plans include launching an email newsletter, commissioning a professional logo, and whump merch. It's going to be a busy year!

[unwellpodcast]

New designs in the Unwell Merch store!

We've got two new designs in the Unwell Merch store- for two of the tent poles of Mt. Absalom's business district!

These designs are both by Tesh Silver- learn more about their work here: https://www.astratesh.com/

Image descriptions:

A logo for The Golden Groove, with text reading "Main st., Mt. Absalom OH." The logo is a golden record, with a stylized starfield and voyager spacecraft next to it.

A logo for Hunter's diner, with text reading "Open 24/7" The logo is a circle with a deer skull. An arrow is going through the eyes of the skull. The logo is rendered in stylized neon.

[badass-at-fandoming]

what in the rainbow capitalism...

This login bonus event bugs me every morning, to the point I want to say something online. It feels so bizarre and unreal.

The Cons

Cybird may have been making dating games for 10+ years, but they've never once had an explicit, in-text acknowledged queer relationship.

This event is the most milquetoast support for queer people I've seen in awhile. They used the Pride Flag on the mobile alert teaser, but nowhere in the wording do they mention queerness or the queer community.

The sentiment is incredibly garbled. In the USA, June isn't the month to celebrate generic "love and rainbows." It's to celebrate the queer community and agitate for our human rights. Do the devs know what the Pride flag means? Do they know the history? Or did they see other American companies change to rainbow logos for June and think they could use that color scheme? This event feels like multicolored gilding over a legacy of neglect and rot.

The characters are on the cupcakes seem to be the routes they're hyping at the moment, not queer characters. While Charles and Vlad can be interpreted as queer (it's not acknowledged in-text), Faust can't. Nothing in his route or events suggest that he's queer.

The Pros

This event builds nicely on Ikevamp's Sebastian and MC sort of, kind of coming out during non-canon Story Events. The characters don't say the words "bisexual," "pansexual," or "queer," and the wording is blink-and-you-miss-it suggestive. Very noncommittal and easily brushed off by a hetero-normative audience.

This Login Bonus event could be a tentative step towards queer characters in the games. An extremely tentative one, but a step.

If we wander into more rose-tinted speculation, Cybird could be testing the waters to see audience reaction to more queer themes. If people like the event, we may get more queer-positive storytelling in the future.

A second optimistic speculation is that the producers and writers want to include queer stories, and they're using this event to sneak some past upper management, or prove to upper management that there's an audience for these stories.

To conclude, I can't tell if this event is mildly brave or one hell of an insult to the queer community. Is Cybird sneakily offering support to the queer community, or is Cybird co-opting our symbols and commodifying us... while their government continues to sterilize trans people, deny marriage rights, disallow fertility treatments, and refuse to pass a law to make queer discrimination illegal. Or are they just confused? Having a queer relationship in their games would potentially open a new market...but it would be a risk to Cybird's business model, which seems to have remained unchanged for a decade.