#event thread: practice makes better!

[dreeki]

idol niki bf headcanons!!! he’s so pookie

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ idol ni-ki boyfriend headcanons.

pairing: idol ni-ki x reader // fluff

note: eng is not my 1st language 🙌 ; it's not too long, let me know if you want me to make a better version of this!! 🙏

IDOL!NI-KI BF who takes his job as an idol seriously, but his job as your boyfriend even more seriously

IDOL!NI-KI BF who makes sure to keep you updated on his schedule so you know when or why he can't respond to your texts and calls

IDOL!NI-KI BF who sends you a mirror selfie after every dance practice so you can see how hard he works, waiting for you to praise him and call him handsome and diligent

IDOL!NI-KI BF who sneaks out of the dorm to meet up with you whenever he has free time because he misses you too much

IDOL!NI-KI BF who can't stand the thought of missing out on important events in your life while he's on tour so he makes sure to send you gifts and call during his breaks

IDOL!NI-KI BF who takes you out on late night park dates after coming home from the tour to make up for all the time you couldn't spend together

IDOL!NI-KI BF who holds your hand while walking side by side through an empty alley and interlocks his fingers with yours

IDOL!NI-KI BF who takes you to the dorm after he's had a long exhausting day because all he wants to do is chill and cuddle with you

IDOL!NI-KI BF who lays his head in your lap and let's you thread your fingers through his hair while watching a movie on his couch

IDOL!NI-KI BF who raises his head from your lap to give you a quick peck on th lips before saying that the two of you should head to bed

IDOL!NI-KI BF who watches you fall asleep in his arms wishing he could spend more time with you, but knowing you are happy with him this way too

a/n: thank you for reading!! 🫶

[jester-lover]

Batfam with a Desi! S/O

CWs: Fem! aligned reader discussions of discrimination, angst, spoilers, but overall fluff

AN: I'm desi and I rarely see desi! reader content out here, so I felt the need to deliver, would love feedback! Also, I'm very new to the Batfamily dynamic, so please don't think anything OOC is intentional.

Bruce

You’ve got to be a really smart person to catch his eye; when you’ve got him, he’s absolutely ensnared by you. Bruce worships the damn ground you walk on, and he respects your culture from the get-go.

As a businessman, he’s met people from all countries. He knows how to behave respectfully towards your family without much nagging. By that I mean, he’ll take his shoes off when he gets to your place.

You know those big gold bangles and accessories you’ve always wanted? You’ll get them. Bruce knows what an investment gold can be, and he’s insistent on only the best for you.

Desi culture is very family-oriented, and while at first, he’s a little put off by how close everyone is, he warms up to it. Your family adores him because they know he can take care of you, and he actually puts in effort to connect with your identity.

He encourages you to wear traditional clothes to every press event you attend, and whenever you’re at desi events together, he’ll wear a kurta too. Imagine going to a desi wedding with a billionaire in tow, and he starts throwing hundreds on the dance floor lol.

You worry about him regarding his double life, but he tries to keep the crime in Gotham away from you the best he can.

Dick

He’s so down bad about you his own teammates make fun of him for it.

Dick would see you doing something like oiling your hair and beg to try it out too, so now you oil his hair once weekly. He tells everyone it’s a secret, but they all know it got better as soon as he was with you.

He would love watching sappy old Bollywood/Tollywood movies with you; the plots and slang might be outdated, but he loves the ornateness of it all. Like he’s a sucker for good background and costume design.

Your family loves how much attention he pays to himself and his body, and he practically soaks in the adoration of any number of little cousins he can pick up and spin around at family functions.

Speaking of functions, you know he’s gonna be in the middle of the dance floor. Does he know even a single song or move? Absolutely he does not, but is he gonna try to replicate SRK from his heart? Yes, he is.

He might shed a little tear the first time he sees you in traditional clothes; you just look so pretty to him. He loves seeing you in lehengas and saris, especially the long, flowy fabric that makes you look like a princess to him.

Jason

I really don’t think your family would like him at first, but he’s committed to you, and he’s gonna be with you as long as you’ll have him. He’ll happily immerse himself in your culture and eventually gain their trust, albeit, hanging on a thread.

Similarly to Dick, he’ll ask for you to try oiling his hair, but he’d love oiling your hair too, helping you tend to it during slow days. 

While none of the other people here would be quiet in the face of you facing discrimination, Jason would be the most willing to cause equal or worse harm. God forbid someone acts rude or racist towards you; they will find their lives slowly falling apart around them. From flat tires to burnt-down houses, he will willingly cause misery for those who have upset you over something you couldn’t possibly control.

Loves to help you cook; seeing a dish come together makes him feel all domestic and giddy inside. Even if it’s something simple, like a cup of chai or basic daal, he loves the richness of the flavors and spice. His spice tolerance is also high, so you don’t need to make your shared meals blander.

Worrying about clothes is a little out of his general interest, but he loves how opulent your traditional clothes are, like the amount of attention to detail and elegance. He thinks you look pretty even after the event, shoes in hand and hair messy after dancing for hours. He’ll carry you to the car if you ask him.

On the topic of clothes, Jason would look so gorgeous in a silky black kurta; I just know it.

Tim

One of my favorite gora pakoras.

He’d love to visit your country of origin someday; warm weather, good food, meeting your extended family—it’s all great for him.

Loves desi sweets so much. His favorites are mostly kulfi and syrupy treats like gulab jamun, but he loves snacks like pakoras.

This is the boy you want to bring home; he’s smart, self-reliant, comes from money, and is willing to keep up with the various traditions we have. Tim will happily learn your language, even if just to greet people respectfully at events. Your desi mom will literally start telling you to act more like him.

He’ll get himself matching kurtas to your outfits if you want him to, even if he kind of just sits around at events. It's not that he doesn’t want to socialize; he’s just a little nervous.

Tim will watch all the Desi rom-coms you want with you, especially the musical ones; they’re his guilty pleasure.

Duke

He’s so sweet, genuinely such a good partner in general, but also so conscious of cultural and social differences. 

Duke Thomas would be the type of boyfriend who carries around extra safety pins whenever you’re in traditional clothes or bobby pins for your hair, just thoughtful in little but important ways.

Running around fighting crime really takes a lot out of a guy, so you know he’d love to eat some hearty food; I think his favorites would be biryani or anything similarly substantial. 

This is the boy who’d spend any spare hour he has listening to you ramble on about family drama that goes back three generations and spans 3 continents. He’ll even help you oil your hair while he’s at it; he’s pretty decent at massaging it into your scalp. 

His favorite clothes on you are the less gown-like desi clothes, like the Shalwar Kameez; Duke thinks you look absolutely adorable in a dupatta.

He adores you so much because of everything that makes you, you. That includes loving your culture.

Barbara

Barbara’s such an ideal girlfriend in any situation, but with a desi partner, she’d really adore exploring your culture with you.

Another one who’d love watching Bollywood/Tollywood movies with you, especially some of the newer ones by more obscure directors, focusing on women’s issues and other elements of modern Desi society.

She would help you do your makeup for formal events, and it will be locked down for the night. Imagine wearing matching lehengas with Barb; she’d look so stunning!

Warms up to your family pretty quickly; she loves sharing chai and biscuits in the morning with them, talking about all the happenings in the city.

Barbara loves desi jewelry; she’d adore it if you got her a piece. She loves seeing you in ornate matching sets, just decked out in glamour.

[yurozo]

time in a bottle (secret santa)

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐ leon kennedy x reader ( roommates / christmas morning / musician!reader/leon || gift for @its-wolfgangster ) @leonsecretsanta summary: after leon's unfortunate mission to spain, you've taken it upon yourself to get him into the christmas spirit with a long string of presents. leon tries to make it up to you. (2.5k words) tags: fluff, romance, no use of y/n, post-re4!leon, mentions of alcohol. a/n: merry christmas babies! this work was done for a @leonsecretsanta event, and i am so honoured to be included in the list of super talented artists and writers for this!! please check out everyone else's pieces and especially check out @its-wolfgangster they're a super talented writer AND artist!! their stuff is just so chefs kiss. wolfie, i'm pleased to be ur secret santa, and i hope you like this!!! └─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

Leon finds the first on a rather unremarkable Tuesday, well before the first snowfall. Over two months since he had returned from Spain— barely conscious and half-delirious, mind you— before promptly falling asleep for two straight days. Over two weeks since he had finished the necessary reports and administrative work post-mission, only for Hunnigan to push him into a temporary leave of absence for ‘health reasons’. Over five days since he had poured his last bottle of whiskey down the drain and told himself that he had to be better this time. 

Over six years, two months, and three days since you had moved in, threaded yourself into every aspect of his life, and slowly stitched him back together. 

Whatever Leon had expected next in this long string of near-misses and almost-dying, it wasn’t this. A perfectly wrapped box, tied together with a bright blue bow, nestled into his closet. 

It’s noticeably out of place with the rest of the room. Beautiful and picturesque— all tight corners and pressed paper, where the rest of his belongings is usually scattered haphazardly into its approximate area. In a cramped space of wrinkled post-ironic t-shirts and combat boots, it sticks out like a sore thumb. He has to run his fingers along the wrapping just to ensure it’s not a trick of the light, or maybe the remnants of some undiagnosed disease playing tricks on his already vulnerable mind.

It’s real, at the very least. And saves him from a very awkward doctor’s appointment and government appointed psych eval. 

It doesn’t take him long to find the culprit. Leon just follows the faint sound of strumming into the living room, holding the box in one hand like a piece of delicate evidence. You’re sitting there, casual as ever, tuning your guitar like Leon isn’t giving his signature cop-stare from across the room. 

��This your doing?” He’s holding it up for inspection with one hand, the other placed perfectly on his hips. Ever the stance of the interrogator, practiced with years of getting answers from belligerent detainees. 

Which apparently does not work on you. You just shrug nonchalantly, staunchly avoiding eye contact with him. 

“I’m just trying to figure out if we need to update the security system.” He tries again, shaking the box in his grasp. It doesn’t rattle— clue number one. Another hint at whatever gift you thought was so necessary that you’ve given it to him weeks before actual Christmas. “Lots of robberies in this neighbourhood, you know.”

The slightest raise of your eyebrows and twitch of your fingers over the strings. Guilty. 

“Maybe the person just really wants you to open it.” You half-concede, still maintaining at least some air of dignity. “And robberies kind of require the person taking something from the house, not leaving things there.”

He doesn’t take the bait. Giving Leon anything that isn’t directly asked for requires some degree of inconspicuousness, like replacing his boots after they’re nearly falling off his feet when he’s not looking. It doesn’t really help, most of the time. He’s nothing is not observant, and more than a little justifiably paranoid, given the circumstances. 

So he does exactly what you expect him to do. “What if it’s a bomb?”

“It’s not a bomb.” Your fingers pluck one of the strings in annoyance, and the high-pitched squeal of the chord only succeeds in making him laugh.

“How would you know?” Leon asks innocently, even if he’s already pulling the tape off the box. If it’s from you, he’ll go through the increasingly annoying task of not ruining the paper, especially since you insisted on one-upping him on the presentation factor. “Comes with the job, you know. Maybe I pissed some asshole off, they break into the apartment, leave an inconspicuous gift to-”

“Can you focus on opening the damn present?” You finally snap, even if the anger is half hearted. The admission of guilt makes him smile, even if it’s quickly schooled by his usual intense look of focus. “Like pulling teeth with you.”

He just scoffs, finally pulling the last of the paper off and letting it flutter to the ground. 

It’s a songbook. One he had been eyeing at the music shop, only to convince himself out of it. The home recordings of Kurt Cobain, most definitely inspired by his longing gazes and Spotify playlists. The gift is personal, authentic, caring. Everything you are, and everything he is decidedly not. 

“I-” he stammers, clutching the book like it will dematerialize from his sight if he were to let go. “You-”

“Articulate.”

A hint of faux-annoyance flicker over his features, almost too quickly for you to clock had you not been searching for any sign that Leon suspects the true nature of your supposed generosity. 

“You wanted to learn,” you answer simply, like you didn’t just rip out his heart and hold it still beating in your hands. “It’s easier when it’s music you actually like, rather than just playing a single chord progression over and over.”

Moments pass in a stiff silence. There’s an expression you recognize— gratitude with the slightest twinge of guilt. Either about the gift, or for the annoyance of listening to his half-tuned strumming at all hours of the night. Before you can say more, his face falls back into something unrecognizable, before he’s giving you a stiff nod and walking briskly back to his room with his metaphorical tail between his legs. 

You feel unaccountably pleased with yourself. Getting him to quip back with a sarcastic remark is easy. Given, almost, given his penchant for brushing off any form of emotional confrontation. Reducing him speechless required a great deal of effort and was, therefore, exceptionally rare. 

The gift is placed on his bookshelf, finding its resting place on wood that’s been collecting dust for quite some time. He swore to himself he would fill it eventually, only to realize just how much of his life had been rendered empty. There’s no souvenirs to document his life, no gifts from family or friends to remind him of home. 

A bookshelf, dust, and you. 

He hasn’t even bought your present yet. There’s a notes app on his phone, ironically also collecting dust, of potential gift ideas that he’s scrapped over the past few weeks. Nothing ever seemed right— nothing encapsulated the lengths of his gratitude towards the one frustrating constant in his life. The one person who had invited him into your life like he had always been a part of it. 

That’s the part he felt the most guilty about. What could he possibly give you that you could keep without him?

The portrait of Cobain looks disapprovingly at Leon from across the room, like he too understands just how terribly inconvenient it is to have the one person he shouldn’t have wriggle between his ribs and nestle next to his heart.  •,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•

The second time, Leon becomes understandably frustrated at just how thoughtful the gift is, and how sneaky you’ve become at leaving it somewhere you know he’ll find it before he can stop you. Bioweapons and double agents, sure, Leon can handle that. His roommate sneaking around at all hours just to give him presents is apparently where Leon’s agent skills are tested. 

Then the third happens, and the fourth; each more creative than the last. Hidden at the bottom of the laundry basket, under his pillow, and then on his work desk. Apparently you’re charming enough to rope Hunnigan into this little scheme too. 

Not that he’s all that surprised about it. He too has been a victim of your whims— roped into whatever you desire by batting eyelashes and pouting lips. 

A new pair of guitar strings, a model of his old Heckler, and a bottle of cologne join the book on his shelf. Things he’s been secretly eyeing for weeks, and another thing he’s been meaning to replace. It softens his heart more than he should let himself, more than he’s ever let himself. 

And he still hasn’t bought your gift yet. Not for a lack of trying, mind you, he’s been stalking the nearby mall for days in hopes something would just scream out at him. Christmas is still creeping ever-closer, the clouds above swelling with unfallen snow. 

Leon scowls. It’s been an unusually warm winter, which makes his sixth trip to the mall slightly more bearable, but the clerks are starting to recognize him at this point. Somewhere in your shared home there will be another present, this he can be certain of. It will be a decoy, a pretense: small enough to get under his guard before the big present comes and simultaneously sweeps Leon off his feet. 

It only achieves in making him more irritable— at the consistent blaring Christmas music, the swarms of people around him, at your persistent cheeriness around the apartment. Like you don’t know how many nights he’s spent sleepless, guilt gnawing at every piece of him. 

The coin is already in his pocket when he thinks to look for it. HIs thumb absentmindedly rubs the worn face of it, at the memory of his fingers repeating the same motion every time he feels his heartbeat start to double in his own chest. 

Something he can give to you, that you can keep when he’s long gone. Either stuck on a helicopter halfway across the world, or buried six feet under the ground. Something that will prove he existed, at least for a time, and had the privilege of circling in your orbit. •,¸,.·' '·.,¸,• The persistent cloudy weather eventually gives way to snow by the time Christmas actually rolls around. Thick snowflakes stick to every surface they touch: his hair, his thin jacket, his month-old boots. They endure on the box in his hands too, which unfortunately lacks your flair for presentation. 

He had to pack it at work, with Hunnigan snickering behind him the whole time, hurling accusations of Leon being a secret romantic. His grumbles deterred her little, and he was forced to eventually cave to the idea that he had become much softer than initially intended. 

By the time he opens the front door to your shared apartment, you’re already sitting by the tree, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. 

The near-sodden box nearly crumples in his tight grip at your easy smile. 

“Merry Christmas,” you call out, pulling out the final gift from under the tree. Another painfully thoughtful gift, he guesses, if the others were any indication. “Merry Christmas.” Leon tries, not quite successfully, to hide his smile. His present is unceremoniously handed off to you, and his fingers just ever-so-slightly graze your wrist when he does. Your skin is warm, as it always is, and he can just barely feel your shivering pulse ringing through his skin. 

Leon really doesn’t know how to untangle any of that, so he picks the easiest reply he can think of. “It’s no Ferrari.”

His quip only dims his nerves a little, and is barely heard over the rustle of your hands ripping apart the wrapping. While you may lack the careful precision he usually enacts, your excitement makes up for it tenfold. 

“Good. We’d only ruin it.”

Leon’s watching you from the edges of his vision, like staring at you too directly would forever burn your image into his retinas. A small box is sitting in your hands, and the small click of its opening feels more like a gunshot in a painfully silent room. The shared silence sings with uncertainty, and Leon is almost sure he’s going to throw up if it endures any longer. 

A coin sits on the cushion inside, rusted and worn from years of use. Imprinted with the constant movement of his thumb, rubbing over the metal before and after every mission. A reminder that someone’s at home waiting for him, that he actually matters enough to at least try to return unscathed.

A coin that you had given him in the wreckage of Racoon City as a meagre attempt to bring him protection. It was simple instinct, a soft I’ll take care of you that Leon has been trying to make up for in each passing day. You just happened to have it in your pocket, he’s smart enough to know that, and yet he carried it with him every day for exactly six years, two months, and fifteen days since. 

A coin that is currently being held up by a chain in your hand, glittering in the dimming light. 

The silence lingers. A long, impenetrable pause. 

“Leon,” you mutter eventually, “I-”

“Very articulate.” 

“Asshole.” Ever observant as always, Leon catches the slight hitch of your breath that will soon give way to tears. He also knows that you won’t let them fall until you’ve successfully sequestered yourself away, while he feels unimaginably useless puttering outside your door like a lost puppy. 

“A good luck charm.” His voice softens as he kneels in front of you, thumbing the budding tear from the corner of your eye. “To keep you safe. At least while I’m gone.”

Leon spent six years lingering in the edges of your life, trying to keep himself as close to your orbit when his routine was so often upended by an emergency halfway across the world. Chaos had become his trademark, and he didn’t often get to feel the privilege of becoming familiar with things. 

Sometimes, he just wants time to stand still for a while. 

His hand lowers to the cusp of your jaw, holding the weight of it in his palm. Ever so gently, your fingers curl around his wrist, and his heart fucking soars.

“Can I?” He finally asks, nearly begs, because his heart is and always has been inextricably entwined with yours ever since the burning ruins and the end of the world. 

There’s a pause, before a meek nod. 

It’s shy, at first. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more, just holds his lips against yours. Like if he sits in this moment, completely unmoving, maybe it will stretch on and on until the end of time. 

Twenty minutes later, when he’s been thoroughly kissed and properly sated, the two of you are sitting on your shared couch as he strums on his new guitar. The movements are stiff and clumsy, requiring your helpful intervention to get the right chords.

Your hands are pressed against his, and every so often, your lips pepper small kisses along his neck. His fingers hurt from the strings, but it’s a comfortable and controllable sort of pain. One that can be managed and packed into neat little boxes, rather than scattered through his life and inflicted on random and excruciating intervals. 

“I can teach you a song from the book, if you have the time.”

Leon smiles and presses one final kiss against your cheek. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

[mara-and-its-the-same]

let’s understand that this is Mara immediately post breakup so this means i get to have it as wild as i want it to be...but anyway, all i’ve been thinking about is rebounding with Danny, duh. Beyond suggestive, it's directly implied, 2k words and a big thank you to @frnchgirls, rose is a most gracious help. Enjoy 🥰

“What about like this?”

If anyone asked Danny the series of events that led him here, there would be no sane answer. Friday night he meets you at the Vandals’ bar, Saturday night he learns that you live in Chicago but were dating another Vandal in a different chapter and just suffered a messy break up, and by Sunday afternoon he’s got you posing on his bed with the brand new knowledge that before you got into that relationship you were a lingerie model until that guy made you quit. 

“Danny?” You ask him again, leaning on your elbows and one knee slightly bent to the side over the other.

He shakes himself out of his daydreaming to realize that reality is ten times better and hopes you don’t notice his dazed off gaze from your side of the camera. “Yeah?”

“Is this a good pose?” 

Kathy told you that you should get back into modeling, then offered Danny to help you practice, maybe get new photos to show some agents.  Neither of you were busy this weekend, so now here you are in a brand new soft blue babydoll negligee that she made you buy the minute she heard about the split, on Danny’s bed. 

God, how he washed those sheets and cleaned all over his apartment as soon as you asked if you could do it at his place. It hasn’t been so neat since he toured the place. But now there you are wanting him to tell you if you look good in your lingerie on his bed. But photography is his job, he’s a professional, he can do this.

He could do this, if his tongue wasn’t suddenly tied until he swallowed thickly. “Yeah, maybe you just lean back a little more?”

“Like this?”

“Perfect.” He captures the picture and tries some more from a few different angles. “What about laying down?”

“Mhm,” you move a bit further down the bed and let your hair fall around you as best it could on its own. “Here?”

“Yeah, can I move your hair?”

“Yeah,” he rearranges your strands so they frame your face perfectly and look as effortless as possible.

“Gorgeous.” The shudder clicks right as he said it, so fast that he hits it a second time just to catch your smile when he says it.

“Really?” He catches the moment your face changes from eyes closed and sultry, to open and joyous.

“Beautiful.”

“Me? Or just your pictures? 

“You, and the pictures of you.”

“Thank you,” you roll over again and he gets one from another angle. 

It was never anything crazy, the sets you modeled. Just some odd jobs for more local boutiques, never anything obscene or ridiculously lavish. Danny refuses to believe that though. You make plastic rhinestones shine like diamonds. Machine spun cotton lace looks like hand threaded silk from Paris the second it touches your skin. 

“Do you think we got enough of this one?” you ask.

“I think so. I can get these developed and have them ready in a few days,” he starts packing his camera away. “What size did you say you wanted?”

“Oh I don’t know, but— Well actually I brought one more thing to try on. Unless you want to be done?”

He’s not sure how much more of this he can really take. How much longer can he be in the same room as you before he busts just from looking at you. 

“Yeah, sure- I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He tries not to stare as you slide of the bed and start looking through the bag you brought on his way out the door. 

3 minutes later your head is poked out of the door and into the kitchen, “Danny, you can come in now.”

Oh what a sight you are. The black nightgown reaches down all the way to your ankles, the silky fabric falls over your hips so perfectly, and the only thing between the air and your chest is a thin layer of the finest lace he’s ever seen. “I haven’t worn this in years.”

“That’s a shame.” He can’t believe he’s said that, especially in the tone he did, like he couldn’t believe you wouldn’t even wear it just by yourself. You must know how you look in it, how it looks tailored to your body in every square inch. 

“I know. But he didn’t like it. It’s vintage Chantelle, all silk. Didn’t know how to appreciate it properly.” You sit back on the bed again and just then he notices the slit up one side that just about nears the top of your thigh. 

You’re about to take a new pose when he asks you a most peculiar question. 

“I’m sorry?” You ask.

“Do you mind if I move you?” He says with more confidence this time and what a gift that he did.

“Sure.”

He sets the camera down on his dresser and comes towards you. With his hands on your shoulders— your nearly bare shoulders, his thumbs fitting perfectly just into the dips of your clavicles —he leads you to lay down against the pillows and rearranges your hair. He takes one of your hands and places it beside your head, the other he moves across your torso with your hand cusping your hip bone. He steps back a bit to consider your legs, with respect to the slit. After slowly, so slowly coasting down the length of your leg, he softly pulls one ankle down straight, and pushes the other slitted one up so that it is slightly bent at the knee and tilts it towards the other. 

He takes a second to look at you, really look at you, and he can’t believe anyone would ever try to keep you from this. 

Maybe he’s just getting to know your form, for the sake of the composition, you think. But only for a moment before you see him suck his bottom lip between his teeth, just for a second but you notice. 

Finally, finally, he takes the first picture of you like this. With the click of the shutter you’ve made your mind up, you decide to press your luck. “What if I like…” you bring the hand that was on your hip up to your mouth and bite the top knuckle of your index finger.

“Yes.”

“What’s the look you’re thinking though?”

“They’re your pictures. I’m thinking whatever you want me to think.”

“But you’re the photographer, the artist.”

“You’re the art.”

“Would you kiss me?”

He nearly drops the camera. “What?”

“They like when pictures tell stories, the story would be that I’m messy and ravished and the clothes are serving their intended purpose. If you’re alright with that?”

He so absolutely, most certainly, positively is more than just alright with that. “Yeah, ok.”

You push yourself back up on the bed while he positions himself at the edge. “So how do you wa—“ he’s cut off by your pull to his collar and the press of your lips. Surpassing his initial surprise he brings a hand up around you to hold your waist, and the other up to your jaw. Messy, you want it messy. And salacious, lascivious even. Beyond suggestive, obvious is what you need. He can tell from the way you continue to pull him into you even as his chest is flush against yours. 

You pull away panting for no more than a second to order “Get the camera off the bed.” How sweet of you to be concerned, he nearly leaps over you to put it on the nightstand and he’d like to say ‘if it were any less expensive’ he would have just thrown it, but he knows that the price of it wasn’t what stopped him, it was the fear of damaging even a single one of those pictures of you. 

As he’s leaning over you, you slide down a little further on the bed so he can reach you easier. Or maybe to muss your hair up a little more if it’s against the pillows, or any other excuse you could make to make it seem like this is all for the picture and not your own desires. 

From there it is licks, bites, tugs, sucks of lips. And you’re trying, you’re both trying to keep your hands out of it, but how could you when his hair is so soft and the back of his neck is the perfect shape for you to hold. And how could he when your skin is so perfect and your bare leg is right there.

“I want a hickey.”

“Huh?”

“Kiss my neck.” He kisses you twice more on his way to your throat and you can’t help the sound you make when he reaches the perfect spot. Already he has you gasping for air. “Oh god.” His hand slithers up the slit, sliding even higher in search of your hip bone or waist to hold. 

“Wait,” He lifts himself to be eye level with you, “wait—“

“Hm?”

“Sorry, just…You’re—This is real now, right?”

“Yes, yes, very real.” You rush to pull him back down to your lips and nearly crash noses with the way he rushes down to meet you. 

“Mmph,” he groans at the scratch of your nails across his scalp and just the sound makes your back arch. Moving down again, he passes soft kisses down the valley of your chest. You’re positive he can feel the beat of your heart through every inch of your skin. How you’ve missed this, being wanted, being adored. And how he’s missed crossing beyond the other side of the lens, the feel of sculpting another body just by the skill of his touch. 

As he’s pushing the side of your skirt up and away a sudden fear strikes you, “Wait!”

“What is it?” He immediately sits back and takes his hands away, looking into your eyes for any cause for concern.

“I’m so sorry, but I really don’t want to rip it.”

“Oh,” you see him immediately relax, “So…”

You make no answer, though you do sit up to your knees and move the skirt out from underneath you. With a gesture to the strap that has fallen off your shoulder, he finally gets the message. However, in the spirit of fairness, his own shirt is the first thing to go and before you have time to remember your original intent you both rise on your knees just to kiss again. You feel before you look while your hands roam his torso. 

And slowly, so slowly, through wandering presses, pulls, and squeezes, he reaches the sides of your thighs and takes your nightgown by the seams to lift it over your head. He takes it by the straps to hang by the corner of the headboard rather than tossing it to the floor. 

You guide him forwards as you move to your back again, his knee moves between your legs while his fingertips smooth along your jaw. His eyes dance around your face, and as embarrassed as he may be to admit it, he takes a fleeting glance down the space between your bodies. An idea flashes before him, a bold one, but at this point in the afternoon he’s not sure there’s much left that could happen between you two that’d be too bold. He reaches for the camera slowly enough that you knew exactly what he wants. You resist the instinct to shy away when you still see his soft gaze over the camera. The shudder clicks and he drops it back on the nightstand, “That one’s not making it into the book,” Danny smirks at his own teasing before leaning back into you to finish what he started with a smile still on his lips. 

[inspiringimarah]

DISCLAIMER: Check if the mods are compatible if you’ve updated to the recent patch!

Use Scarlet's Realm list to check for updates 💕

overrides

Refreshed Main Menu 

Urban Erotica (functional books)

No Tune After Loading

Nap Replacement Mod

Restaurant Default Menu

MyxDoll Fenty Beauty Override 

HighSchool Years Textbook Override

Toothbrush override by dsco

Paintbrush Override

The Ultimate Default Underwear Collection by vixonspixels

Paired Selfie (in game photo overrides)

iPhone 12 Override OR H&B Smartphone Override (ONLY CHOOSE ONE)

UNO Card Replacement

 Photo replacements (in game)

Pink Build Buy UI 

Black Sitcom TV Overrides 

San Sequoia Bridge Override

Realistic TV Mod (Reality TV)

Realistic Phone Icons (multiple available on CoCo Games patreon)

Phone Wallpaper Kit OR Phone Wallpaper Override (only pick one)

Control Any Sim

San Myshuno Billboards

PC Game Overrides 

CocoGames Video Game Bundle

Starbucks on Campus

My Wedding Stories Engagement Ring Recolours 

Stand Still in CAS Poses

Hidden Highlight 

Functional Airpods

Hello Kitty Infant Seat

The Missing Plumbob

No zzz (when sim is sleeping)

Towel After Shower

Functional PS5

Black Art Painting Mod

The Sims 2 Font or Life is Strange Font (only pick one)

Gallery Poses (female)

Gallery Poses (male)

Gallery Poses (couple or duo) 

Take Off Shoes With Animation

Stop Random Accessories on Townies

Parenthood Recolour - link is at the bottom of the thread

lighting

check my updated lighting mod list here

cas & loading screen

CAS background

Loading Screen Plumbob Replacement  OR by pinkishwrld

Minimalist CC Wrench Override

More CAS Columns (I use 5)

Map Replacements Overhaul

Colour Slider Mod

I alternate my CAS backgrounds so see below for my fave creators:

- MeekGames

- LadySimmer

- SlimmazSimz

- Essemelle 

- BougieChloe

- SierraTheSimmer

- Xurelia

- DonavinGames

- NeriSims

food

Somik & Severinka (I use the Realistic Cooking Mod & all others they have)

ONI Custom Food

QMBIBI Stirring the Pot

QMBIBI Thee Kitchen Tablet

Functional Breakfast Cereals

Airfryer

Waffle Maker

Pressure Cooker

gameplay

misc

Computer Side Gigs

Kuttoe Mini Mods: Small Additions

Carry & Kiss

Longer Parties & More Guests

Functional Magazines

Better Social Media Sponsorships

Higher Lifestyle Brand Payouts 

QMBIBI Skincare Mod

QMBIBI Express Delivery

QMBIBI BabyCare Overhaul

Online Skills 

It’s Movie Time 

BabyCare Mod

Basemental Drugs

Basemental Gangs

Celebrate Adoption

Sip & Paint Event

Luxury Real Estate Career

Recipe Notebook

Sulani Events Calendar and Flyer

Functional Personal Care Products

Go For A Jog... Together

Morning Routine

Everyone Can Sleep Together

Spa Day Face Masks From Mirrors

Pole Dance Mod

Online Apprenticeships 

Turn the TV on

Ask For Money 

UI Cheats

MC Command Center

Self Manicure & Pedicure

Make Functional Perfumes

Shear Brilliance - Active Hairstylist Career

Cute Romance

LOT 51

- Ring Doorbell 

- Dust Buster 

- Plumbros (heating, plumbing & cooling)

- Alarm Clock 

- Simlink (wifi)

High School Years

Fashion Authority   KimbaSprite has a tutorial on this mod here

More Classmates

Adeepinigo

I have many mods by this creator, check out their website here

Lumpinou

There is an index on Lumpinou’s Patreon with all the below mods listed, see here

- LGBTQIA+

- Memory Panel Mod 

- Open Love Life

- RPO Collection “Realistic & Pregancy Overhaul”

- Science Baby Tweak

PandaSama Childbirth 

SimRealist 

- Mortem  - no recent updates

- Real Estate

- Private Practice

- Sim National Bank 

- Sim National Bank Bills

- Sim National Bank Financial Center

SimWithShan

- Cyber Teacher Career

- Homebody Prefences

- Housewife Aspiration

pose player mods (for in game photos)

- Andrew Poseplayer 

- Teleport Any Sim 

Go to creators for poses & animations: 

- KatVerse 

- King Black Cinema 

- Frxsk0sims

- helgatisha

- AfroSimtricSims 

- Gawdly Games

- Hardswae

- Maysbat

- TS4 Poses (tumblr blog)

♡

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

Front Page News

Prompt: Wrath | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Property Damage | POV: Goodie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Background Buckingham | Tags: Modern Setting, Famous Corroded Coffin, Pissed Off Eddie Munson, Lavender Marriage, Steve & Chrissy, Secret Relationships, The Goddamn Prying Paparazzi, Chosen Families: No Matter How Unconventional

Goodie scrolls and scrolls and scrolls. His phone screen is getting hot in his hand because he's been reading so long. Continuously scouring for more information. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. This can't be happening. Eddie's gonna lose his fucking mind. There are blind items, and a copy of Alex's birth certificate being posted for the world to see.

And the tweets. 

Not to mention the fucking Reddit threads. Comment after comment. 

Goodie wants to kill them all. Rain down a pox on them and theirs for doing this. For digging. For getting into things that are of no goddamn concern of theirs. They need to mind their own fucking business.

Eddie's gonna explode. The shower is still running, and Goodie's standing guard outside of the door. Staying between Eddie and his phone. Goodie'd reached in and swiped it off the vanity, just to be extra careful.

Jeff and Gareth better get their asses here, and soon. See if they can limit the fallout. Eddie's off social media, but this dam is gonna break and word is gonna trickle to him if they don't hurry up and get there first.

"Eddie," Gareth says, and they've corralled Eddie. Cornered him, and now all they can do is watch him rage. He's destroying his hotel room. But none of them are about to tell him to knock it the fuck off. Not today. Not over this. 

He bounces off the wall and Goodie braces for impact. Catches and releases him in one fluid motion.

"Eddie, you can't do this," Jeff says, but Eddie's not listening. 

But Eddie's got a temper, a short fuse, always has. But it's never manifested like this before. 

"You're too old to act like this!" Gareth screams, and fuck if he isn't right.

But they've also never dealt with anything this personal before, either. And it spiraled into a major scandal in one afternoon. Their PR is working on a spin, but Goodie's not sure how they're gonna get Eddie out of this one. Enough of it's true, a straight denial is never gonna work. Eddie is on the birth certificate of a brand new baby. With a woman married to someone else. Living in the suburbs, with three other kids at home. 

Those are just facts. There's no getting around 'em. Everything about this is bad optics. 

It's just the context these fucking vultures don't know, and honestly, don't deserve to know.

Chrissy's been married to Steve for nearly twenty years, but he's been with Eddie longer. Chrissy, with Robin. Those kids? Shared in a way Goodie can't understand. It's a fucking mess, and not anything Goodie would want any part of, personally, but they did what they thought they needed to do back then. And until now it had worked. 

Only this time, they used Eddie's sperm and his name on the birth certificate. Not realizing people would dig around, gleefully releasing that info. 

A good marriage, as lavender as it may be, about to be blown to fucking smithereens. 

Eddie, slandered, shamed. 

Steve's not here. Steve's in the fucking Palisades, at home. Probably getting ready for a PTA meeting or practice. The perfect stay-at-home dad, with the perfect wife, who loves her job and works long hours.

Eddie screams at the top of his lungs, and they're gonna get complaints. Even in the middle of the day. 

Gareth goes in, wrapping his arms around Eddie, trying to hold on, trying to calm him down. But Eddie shoves him off, and Goodie takes a fucking knee with a thud that fucking hurts, goddammit, but he makes it down in time to catch Gareth. The last thing they need is Gareth with two broken arms from catching himself on the floor under this thin carpet.

"Thanks," Gareth breathes, hands squeezing both of Goodie's shoulders, sprawled on top of him. It knocked the wind out of Goodie, but neither of them are hurt, and Jeff helps both of them right themselves. As much as they can, right now, anyway.

They might be done for a little while. This might not blow over. Eddie might get arrested if he can't pull his shit together. Quick.

Goodie supposes that depends on the route Steve and Eddie and Chrissy and Robin want to take. Come clean, or batten the hatches and take the onslaught until something more scandalous comes along in the news cycle.

"Sorry," Eddie says, reaching for Gareth, and Gareth reaches back, wrapping him in a hug. One that Eddie is ready for, this time. "I'm just so mad," he says, under his breath, but it's enough for them all to hear. "I know," Jeff says, "we'll find a way to fix it. We will. You'll see."

Goodie goes back to his own room and calls Steve.

"Oh, yeah, they're here," Steve says, and describes the paparazzi standing outside of the gated house. 

"At least they aren't on the lawn?"

Steve laughs, and Steve's not worked up in the slightest, it seems.

"Eddie's having some sort of mental breakdown, and you're just, what, fine?" Goodie asks.

"I'm not fine, but there's no reason to get so fucking worked up. Can you put him on the phone?"

"He's not in here, but I'll get him to call you."

"Tell him it's fine. We're fine. Whatever happens, it's all fine. I'm fine. Chrissy's fine. The kids are fine. Robin's fine. Tell him we're all good over here."

"I will," Goodie says, and he's not sure Eddie will accept good as an answer today, but he'll try.

They are past the point that being queer is gonna tank Eddie's career. So, Goodie doesn't think it's the coming out that has Eddie in such a goddamn tizzy. Goodie's pretty sure it's the loss of normalcy for the kids, for Steve, Chrissy, and Robin that he's furious about, that he's mourning. Steve loves Eddie, but he wanted a family, a life and a home.

He didn't want to spend a lifetime on the road. So, a plan was hatched. A deal in place, and it's worked so damn well. For decades. Eddie had a homebase nobody knew about, Steve has his three kids and a pool-full of age-groupers to coach.

Maybe if they were coming of age now, they wouldn't have taken this route. Adoption for two queer men would have been an option. But, twenty years ago, this was the best idea they had. 

And now here they are. Freaks. Front page news.

Goodie basically scruffs Eddie like an angry cat, even if he's not currently shredding the curtains, and marches him right to his phone.

"Call Steve. He's good. You'll feel better after you do."

"What if our phones are bugged?" Eddie asks.

"Jesus H. Christ, Ed, so what if they are? Fuck 'em. There's no tap dancing out of this one. Some sort of the truth is gonna have to be announced. Don't fuck things up with your family because you're mad things aren't exactly as you want them to be."  

That's a problem Eddie has, and they all know it. It's his way, or the highway, always. And they've all stupidly catered to it maybe a little too much over the years.

But Goodie watches him dial, and waits until he's sure he's connected and calm. 

"Hi," Eddie says, then adds, "Anything new going on?"

And Goodie can hear Steve laughing through the phone, and Goodie's blood pressure plummets back to normal. It's gonna be fine.

Steve's got it from here. 

Back in the safety of his own room, Goodie crashes into the chair, and pulls out his own phone. It's finally cooled down, though the battery is depleting.

He calls home, too.

"You're famous," she says, and he laughs.

"Fucking Eddie. My knee hurts," he says, and then starts gossiping in the way you only can with your spouse. Telling her everything he knows.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[six-eyed-samurai]

I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if you could do a Gyutaro fic? If you’re going to make it heart wrenching angst then PLEASE have like teeny tiny bit of comfort or something otherwise my heart cannot take ittt

SUMMARY: Trust fall: in which you slip and let go on purpose, hoping - no, knowing - that someone will catch you in the end. A/N: It was 3am and I was delirious and thinking about that one demon from Judge from Hell that died to protect his girlfriend from Venato and you can see what spawned from there - but as requested the ending is...uh... better WARNINGS: suicide, Gyutaro's usual self harm

Daki had warned him, hadn't she? Stay away from that human or it'll be bad for the both of them - three of them, including her.

But it was kind of like trying to separate two magnets with opposite poles: they kept inching back together until one of them enters the field and they’re practically glued together. Gyutaro couldn’t stay away if he tried (not very hard), using any excuse however pathetic and unbelievable to even just walk past the door and see the shadowy figure behind moving about. Stolen trinkets he claims Daki no longer wants placed on the windowsill, leaving his sister’s body to take a walk on the roofs as the Red Light District burst into color during the night, when it was no one but Gyutaro and-

“Oof - ! It’ll be so much easier to walk up the stairs if I could open my eyes, you know.”

“Walk more slowly then!”

Speaking of a walk…is this how it’s going to end? He’s lied, but only to Daki, himself and maybe denied everything in the face of Kibutsuji-sama’s wrath. He’s a demon who deals in poison, but the ones pouring out of Gyutaro’s mouth tastes worse than anything, bitter and stinging and if he could, he’d take it all back, let go of the hand he was holding, force the one he was leading to turn around and run, run, run far far away. Both from here and from him.

Because Daki was right all along. He should’ve nipped it right at the bud, eaten the human like any good, loyal demon would and Gyutaro wouldn’t be sullenly watching these events fold with something akin to…emotion? Negative human emotions?…rising up within him.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You already know.”

“Up to the roof, then? What’s got you so secretive about it then?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Maybe he should be nicer, Gyutaro reflected in the only part of his mind that isn’t torn between fear of Kibutsuji-sama and regretful tension of what he’s doing. Yeah, he should be nicer, seeing as it was his last chance to do so. He pulls at the hand faster instead.

Nice. That was a word completely foreign in Gyutaro's dictionary. He'd just planned on toying with the gullible human, play around and push around until it broke and paid for the crime of being fortunate and beautiful. It must already have been broken, because what other human would eagerly await his presence every night, thread fingers into his tangled hair and comb it out, force a festival mask on him in order to blend in with the crowds during walks? Gyutaro despised the Red Light District, even though as both a human and a demon he called that place home; but around his plaything - human - love - something he could take pleasure in the parades, vibrant lights and lively night.

He must be broken too, because what other demon would chase and fall for their prey?

Nice. Gyutaro really has let himself go. Forgotten what he is and forgotten what he owes to Kibutsuji-sama.

Unintentionally his nail digs a little too deep, deep enough to draw blood.

“What's so special about this roof?”

“Nothing. View's better.”

Better is the word, Gyutaro agreed in his mind. Just not to describe the view. Better height. Better for them both.

Kibutsuji-sama’s voice was still fresh in his head. He knew exactly how to play, how to toy, how to push Gyutaro’s buttons until he was tearing scars all over himself to watch them quickly heal themselves and be reminded of how if he didn’t do as the Demon King said the next time he’s slashed it won’t even be a slayer’s Nichirin blade or the sun’s rays that does it. No, it’ll be Kibutsuji himself who does it, for demons are not supposed to be friends - in love - with humans, degrade themselves to those imperfect insects in the dirt. And Gyutaro has just done that, whatever his vehement denials.

It all amounts to nothing in the end. Not nothing, exactly, but in the end the choice was between having Daki killed and him punished or kill the human and all will be forgotten; Gyutaro can’t actually even be sure Kibutsuji will keep that promise of letting the human be. Is it a selfish choice? Probably, but a choice where at least two people are still alive albeit miserable and the third can…can…can do it in a way that won’t leave Gyutaro a raging mess. Do it on their own terms. So, well, nothing.

(Better if neither of them had met in the first place.)

“Why are you being so secretive? That’s no fun, come on, tell me!”

“Nehh, stop nagging, it won’t be a surprise otherwise. Go ahead and turn back if you don’t want it!”

“Oh shut up, you know I do, as long as it’s you.”

“Shut up.”

“Heh, you’re blushing, I can tell!”

Would the truth, or some vague suspicion, inkling of it, not make an appearance soon? Please turn around, please run away, and I won’t follow and I’ll make my excuses and everything will be - just turn around, run away -

There were plenty of other opportunities to run, and Gyutaro would’ve given up a lot of things for it to have happened. If the other would not run, fine, he would run, run far far away from everything that led up to this moment of him coaxing and pulling that hand up the stairs and past everything, beyond anyone who could hear or see or understand.

The stupid human should’ve run from all the nights they spent together, run before he even showed up. But Gyutaro was the one who should’ve run away that night - the first night they’d met.

He’d been out hunting, searching for a good, pretty meal as usual. Beloved Daki had been too picky and greedy and now it was going to take them a while before their house had more beautiful humans to devour. Hungry, he’d stolen off with someone and was finishing up the last of them when damn, had a stupid, scrawny cat really started everything?

The animal had just run into the alley he had squatting and using the shadows to blanket himself with, yowling like it had a dog on its heels, but maybe that was just because it had a stolen treat in its mouth. He should’ve killed the cat right there, to keep it quiet, because the next thing he knew a human had appeared, out of breath and the chaser.

“Oh…is the cat yours?”

He was too stunned to reply, honestly. Gyutaro was ugly. Gyutaro was a demon. Gyutaro had just eaten a human. Usually that was enough to deter anyone.

“My bad, have a good night!”

And after that he should’ve run away instead of stalking and watching and tracking and leaving gifts by the window just because he became a little obsessed over the smallest interaction with someone who did not first notice his looks.

“Okay, at least tell me what's so special about tonight then?”

“We're celebrating.”

Or he’ll be celebrating, alone, for decades and decades to come because demons are immortal and fixable but humans, weak, ugly things, were not. The one he was leading now, trusting blind lamb following the big bad wolf, was anything but weak and ugly if only in unconventional ways, so Gyutaro wondered if they were - could - be different.

Maybe he could make them a demon? Too late, Kibutsuji-sama would still have his head for that; throwing away his precious gift of blood for love, of all insane and worthless things. And it was for the same reason Gyutaro never did it before: change. He was terrified of a potential monster who could only think of its stomach, a bloodthirsty shadow of- damn, he really was going soft, humane. If he were Kibutsuji-sama he would’ve killed him on the spot, so he supposed he should thank whoever was listening for this small mercy.

Humans are so, so delicate. Why would anyone willingly choose to be one? Why was he so besotted over this one, the one trailing after him, excited at imaginative fantasies and expectations for yet another night together, uncomprehending of the truth. A part of Gyutaro wondered how his more unforgivable crimes during his time as a demon weighed less than this act of humanity on his mind?

Humans are weak, ugly things but the one he was leading now was anything but, so Gyutaro wondered if they could be different.

But a human, no matter how beautiful or amazing or strong or everything could survive falling off the roof.

“You can open your eyes now.”

The moon, the sun, the lights of the Red Light District all dim when those eyes open, but for once they darkened enough to rival instead of dominate. “It’s a…nice view, but it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”

“This roof is taller.”

“Yeah, I know, but what -” The measurement from here to the ground finally clicks. His secretive behavior, his sudden affectionate nature, his irritation when asked, it clicks. The way he had carefully guided the hapless lamp to the very edge, where he wasn’t even holding out an arm for support. “Gyutaro. Look at me.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he replied roughly, scratchily instead. “It was either you or me.”

Gyutaro likes to make himself sound more selfish than he actually is, doesn’t he? Because me here means me, Daki and you, doesn’t it?

“…Was this always your plan…then?”

“No!” Gyutaro backed away. “It’s punishment - ‘m a demon, you’re - you get it? It wasn’t supposed to happen so I gotta end it. I should’ve just eaten or poisoned or killed you that night.”

“But you didn’t.”

Tense shoulders relax. Gyutaro hardly dared to - he didn’t know what to think. This was more than he could comprehend, more than he could take, demon instincts and attachment warring against one another. He took it out on his face.

“It’s that demon, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. Don’t make this harder.” Gyutaro’s never brought out his sickles before, until now, but he’s holding it up more like a shield than a weapon meant to kill. “This was better. He would’ve done worse to you. You can do it yourself - I’ll be here, I can do it for you - just do it -”

“Why here?” He’s thankful that forgiving (why can’t it be accusing? It’ll be so much easier, so, so easier) gaze has wandered over the ledge and not at him.

“Because everyone else got thrown off as well. It’ll be - it’ll be if you didn’t.”

Also because this was the roof when two broken things watched the sky break from fireworks and lights and laughter below as well.

“Okay.”

It’s too quiet for him. “SAY SOMETHING!”

Gyutaro doesn’t think he deserves that understanding, forlorn smile. “I’ll do it then. If you’ll hold my hand halfway.”

He’s got nothing to say to that so he does it anyway. The human looks like it does (it’s eight letters, starts with I and ends with U, but none of them can say it because everything is-).

“We’ll see each other again, somehow.”

At least no one’s there to witness that one traitorous droplet leaking out of Gyutaro’s yellow, bloodshot eye when the hand slips and - and -

In the midst of the screaming at another body found on the ground Gyutaro retreats and returns to the back of Daki’s mind.

Somehow.

***

“WATCH OUT!”

The kid with the too-big raincoat and scowl on his face barely heard the warning in time before he’s stumbling back and falling on his butt into a puddle. The instigator’s a speeding calico cat with a bell jangling around its neck, so he vents his rage at the rapidly approaching owner instead. “Your stupid cat knocked me over!”

A giggle is the last thing he expects. “Sorry! He’s new and we just brought him home, so I guess Chachamaru is excited.”

“My shoes are full of water,” He tries to complain.

“Oops -” The cat’s scooped up, meowing, and the kid squints at it indignantly. “Sorry again. Do you wanna come in and dry them off then? My mom made dorayaki!”

“That’s not going to make you my friend or anything!” But the boy sulkily tromps after anyways. “…can I bring some back for my sister?”

“Sure!” How bright can that smile possibly be? “What’s her name and what’s yours?”

“…Ume-chan.” He hunched his shoulders, averting his eyes. “’m Gyutaro.”

[entertext]

HGSN 30-1

Chapter (Japanese)

(Please hit the green thumbs up at the end of the Japanese chapter to show support)

Rough translation by me

P1

(sfx: crowd chatter)

(sfx: taiko drums)

Hikaru: Wow!!

Yoshiki: It's really crowded...You'd never see this in Kubitachi.

Maki: Duh!! Don't compare us to that backwater place!

Maki: Not that we're all that much better

P2

(sfx: taiko drums)

(txt: Ashidori Houko Festival)

Yoshiki: (Houko Festival...)

Maki: You're eating it like a hunk of meat

--

Yoshiki: Hole-patching?

Bro: In the first place, see, this "Houko Festival"

Bro: is a pretty weird festival, y'know?

P3

Bro: It's an event where you put out a "houko"* doll holding a needle and thread

Bro: and when it's over, it's put into a cave on the outskirts of the village

Bro: In the mid-1700s with the arrival of the missionaries, the custom changed into a festival,

Bro: But before that, it was called "Hole-patching"

Bro: It's not really known what kind of custom it was exactly

Bro: But it seems like it started when the village split and Ashidori was founded...

Yoshiki: The cave on the outskirts of the village...

* houko - meaning a "crawling child", referring to the shape of the doll (wiki)

P4

Maki: It's called Ashizukadou*, y'know, the place where a bunch of bones were found

Yoshiki: ...!!

(Hikaru: The location of the holes must be "where the bones were found", right!?)

Yoshiki: Huh...

Maki: It's technically a tourist spot, so

Maki: anyone can go inside

* 足塚洞 - (leg - burial mound - cave)

P5

Bro: I've heard that similar customs were once practiced in Kibougayama and Udekari...

Bro: but didn't find anything more than rumors

Hikaru: ...? Did the abandoned villages have something similar as well?

Bro: Abandoned villages...? Ah, well, who knows?

Bro: There aren't any documents from those places. (lol) To the point that its actually weird

Rie: It's true, I've lived here all my life and don't know anything either

Bro: ...Hn? Who's the lady just now? (lol)

P6

Maki: She's the strongest exorcist, Kurabayashi-san

Bro: ......

Bro: Wait, whaaaaaaat!!? Are you serious!??

(sfx: shriek)

Maki: You know about her, big bro?

Bro: Know about her? She's super famous in these circles, a legend (lol)

Rie: I'm nothing all that special, but the rumors have gone and, well...

Bro: She really exists!! (delight)

Bro: Hey, uh, can I ask you a question!? How do you do exorcisms!?

P7

Rie: Sure? It's a little different from an exorcism, but... Ummm...like with a slap...?

Rie: like, "Hey now!"

Bro: Exorcism Slap!!?? (rustle rustle open click click scribble scribble scribble)

Bro: Oh shit, my plane's going to take off

Bro: Yuuta, lemme know what kind of talisman you want as a souvenir from Thailand!

(sfx: hangs up)

Maki: ...Sorry my bro's such a creep

P8

(sfx: taiko drums)

Performers: Ah, Tenban to the north, sorayoiyoi~

(sfx: crowd chatter)

Hikaru: Hey, what's that? That glowing drink!!

(sfx: GRAB)

Yoshiki: Hey, don't forget what we're here to do

(Rie: I'll go take a look at that Ashizukadou cave, so you two see if you can find any clues from the festival)

P9

Yoshiki: We're looking for some hint about closing the hole-

(sfx: thump)

Yoshiki: Whoa!

(sfx: whuff)

Yoshiki: Oh, wait!

??: Hey!! Luna!!

P10:

Mother: I'm so sorry!

Yoshiki: Here

Luna: Thank you

Mother: And after you worked so hard to make that doll

==

Next chapter: In one week

Twitter Extra (link):

Hikaru: Maki, do you have a photo of your bro?

Maki: Yeah, I do

Hikaru: Whoa! He's handsome!

Maki: But he's missing his teeth

[vintagerpg]

Sea of Mystery (1981) is an interesting Tunnels & Trolls solo. The concept is pretty straightforward: you get on a boat, looking for adventure and, generally, it finds you. In practice, this is essentially another teleport dungeon like Deathtrap Equalizer, its just that the meandering whims of the seabound life obscure the mechanisms a little better.

As I said, you get on a boat. From port there are a number of short adventure paths to follow, some silly, most extremely deadly, one surprisingly horny (I did not realize until this batch of T&T solos how horny this game is, generally). The Sea has some strangely convenient magical properties that mess with your equipment, essentially acting as the rules equalizers in the Deathtrap encounters. Finally, you can exit the solo whenever you hit port, which is a little more plausible than teleporting out with a frog-shaped ring.

Does it work? I think so. The variety in the threads is good. For the most part, you’re kind of stuck in the flow of events, which makes sense being one person on a boat. I like that. It often feels like you’re being pulled to a foretold destiny. Some folks will hate that, but here it feels novel. Most of the variance is down to saving throws. What choices you do have tend to be moral choices on the good/evil binary that remind me an awful lot of a BioWare game, except a little cruder. It’s not bad, though, and definitely interesting.

Ken Macklin’s cover seems a little underwhelming in the context of the whole line, but I really rather like it. It sets a strong tone and gives me Elric, sailor on the seas of fate vibes that feel real good. Interiors are by John Barnes and I love them. Boldly graphical, reminding me of some CYOA illustrations, actually. Good, clean stuff.

[celestial-sphere-press]

That National Geographic leather binding for Yellowstone is fucking Gorgeous!!! (Pardon my Language)

How long have you been binding, and what would you recommend to someone who wants to try it for themselves?

hello and thank you so much!! I worked really hard on that one (and no pardon needed haha)!

I started binding in February of 2021, which means in a few months I'll have reached 4 years. It's been an awesome journey!!

If you'd like to try it for yourself, I'd recommenda few things!

1) You can 100% try out the basics with near free or cheap materials. People typeset in Word or Google Docs or Pages. You can print on printer paper & use regular sewing thread & scavenge board from old books or notebook backs or do a limp leather binding & use no boards at all. You can make paper pamphlets. Any comments I make following this are about my preferences for best results. The most expensive part that cannot be avoided is printing. On the other hand expenses can wildly escalate if you're committing to it; once you are doing leather it becomes somewhat unavoidably expensive.

2) Check out some tutorials from SeaLemon or DAS Bookbinding on YouTube for the physical construction. SeaLemon is really clear for a beginner starting out, but then I'd move to DAS for better technique (DAS also has a beginner series though). I watched DAS Bookbinding videos for three weeks straight before I was able to start, & while that doesn't maybe work out for everyone I do think it gave me a pretty strong basis of understanding for structural techniques. DAS is *really* good at explaining why he thinks you should do something. The structure of the NatGeo bind is basically DAS's video on a rounded & backed bradel binding (but with leather & sewn on recessed cords). There is some good stuff on Tiktok/IG, but watch short-form videos/reels with caution. They move a little fast and I've seen a couple give instructions that can result in structural flaws (not that this is unique to the form, cross-referencing on instructions from any source is a good practice). They are good for if you're looking for a specific technique (particularly modern decorative ones, like cricut use, edge gilding, HTV application). There are also published books you can buy or maybe request through your library, such as Hollander's Introduction to Bookbinding. Renegade Bookbinding Guild runs a whole bunch of technique-specific in-house zoom classes annually.

3) Look to other fanbinders for tutorials on how to format the text (this is because most pro bookbinders do not do both text design & book creation! it's a pretty unique feature of fanbinding). @renegadeguild has some publically provided resources on our website here and more typesetting tutorials for a whole host of softwares (Affinity Publisher is my choice - one time purchase, fuck you very much Adobe InDesign) located in the discord server. Anyone 18+ can join the Discord. The NatGeo inspired book (text & dust jacket) was created in Affinity Publisher.

4) Join a community of fanbinders! It's really lovely. The space has exploded & there are tons of people to be friends with, trade tips, & cheer each other on. I'm part of @renegadeguild and we do a whole bunch of events throughout the year, and we have an in-person retreat every other year. I've met with over 20 different renegaders so far, in three different countries, and it's been such a blast. Definitely the community helps keep up the motivation. Renegade isn't the only community out there though! There's groups more rooted in IG/tiktok circles that have their own discords, plus a number of FB groups. I do think most people who are comfortable on tumblr enjoy Renegade's vibe.

5) While I learned most of what I do online, some things really benefit from in-person learning. If you want to do leather binding I would really recommend trying to take an in-person class. I did two attempts at a leather binding on my own before I decided to hold off until I'd had at least one in-person class. Leather binding can be extremely frustrating, especially when you can easily end up with a book that looks worse than a cloth binding at your same skill level but for double the cost. Imo this is mostly because the leather specific skills like paring, warp management, and assessing a random piece of leather for bookbinding suitability are all pretty tactile experiences, all of which are difficult to assess through a screen and can result in an unpleasantly bulky/stiff/shapeless book if ignored. For example- while this book of mine is a pretty popular post, I don't enjoy holding it and reading it, especially in contrast to the NatGeo bind. Part of this was the material I chose; part was not being able to adhere to the instructions quite well enough; part was just not knowing enough about what I was doing; part is they're different constructions. This might just be a me thing though; I'm sure others have had success with online only tutorials for leather.

6) I'm not going to get into specific tools bc that could be a whole post, but some things are necessary (printer access), some things are necessary depending on style, some things are "makes life easier but only drop the money if it's stopping you from making books out of frustration", some things are just technique-specific tools. Examples - sewing frames are often brought up but are never necessary unless sewing on cords; cricuts & cutting machines are commonly used in fanbinding circles but I don't have one (& don't intend to atm).

7) Don't be shy to offer the author a copy!! Like other fan activities, fanbinding is part of our fandom community ecosystem. Your fanbinding is in communication with the author's story. Giving a bind to the author is a great way of keeping the ecosystem going. I tend to think of binds as a combo of comment, fic rec, and fan art inspired by the fic.

8) Paper grain sounds stupid but it IS IMPORTANT! My personal hierarchy of give-a-fuck for grain: Board grain, spine card grain, endpaper grain, cover paper grain, text block grain, book cloth grain. The only thing I personally sometimes ignore is book cloth grain; but many people will not worry too much about text block paper grain.

Gonna stop there for now. If you've got specific questions or want elaboration, feel free to ask. As with all things, YMMV, this is my own opinions/experience and may not apply in all cases. There's a whole lot of different techniques out there, and it's hard to ever say something is wrong, per se - but I think it's important to understand if a method has an outcome you may want to avoid. Prioritize your goals & adapt for them - what's your goal? Longevity, readability, aesthetics? You might make different choices depending on them. My choices influence the techniques I chose to focus on, the tools I buy, and thus the final aesthetic of my binds.

[suzukiblu]

WIP Wednesday Game

Taken from @kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

file names:

a fake cryptid and a real romantic

mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees

YJ accidental baby acquisition

merfam drama

gentle princely caretaking 

snippet from "a fake cryptid and a real romantic":

Clark hears a sudden rush of air and a thrumming, not-quite-human heartbeat, and is therefore unsurprised when Superboy pops up over the side of the Metropolis rooftop he’s sitting on and grins up at him. The kid always seems to be in a good mood, but is clearly in an even better one than usual. 

“Guess what?!” Superboy greets gleefully, pushing himself up on the edge. 

“What?” Clark asks, smiling wryly at him. The kid just gets so enthusiastic so easily. It’s kind of funny, to be honest. 

“I got a date!” Superboy says delightedly, plopping into a seat beside him and kicking his legs excitedly as he does. “Robin said I could go hunting with him in Gotham this weekend!” 

“You’re going to hang out, you mean,” Clark corrects kindly, since Superboy still has a notably skewed education and concept of correct terminology and probably calling working with another vigilante a “date” without knowing what that actually means isn’t going to end well for the kid in the long run. Especially since Robin isn’t actually an aspect of Gotham like the Batman is and would definitely be confused by it. 

Admittedly, the Batman gets confused by some very straightforward things sometimes, but still. 

“‘Hang out’,” Superboy repeats, cocking his head with a slightly puzzled expression that almost immediately clears into another excited grin. “That, yeah! I caught Catwoman breaking into some fancy cat exhibit in Gotham and dropped her off for him, and he was into it! And I gave him a diamond and he liked that too!” 

“A . . . diamond?” Clark blinks. He really hopes Catwoman didn’t manage to be that bad of an influence on the kid in one meeting, but he wouldn’t put it past her. Superboy’s impressionable and Catwoman is . . . well, Catwoman. “Uh–where’d you get that?” 

“I made it!” Superboy says proudly, puffing himself up as he mimes the act of crushing something in his fists. 

. . . alright then, Clark thinks, mildly bewildered. He has no idea why Superboy would make a diamond, much less give it to Robin, but the kid gets weird ideas into his head sometimes and he supposes it would’ve been good practice for controlling his strength to very specific pressures, so he’s not going to say anything about it.

“Did you?” he says, figuring he should keep the conversation going. Superboy’s an odd kid, but he’s eager and has a good heart and always soaks up attention like a sponge, so Clark always tries to talk to the kid at least a little whenever the other finds him. 

“I figured Robin’d like it,” Superboy says reasonably, kicking his feet again. “Birds like shiny stuff, and he’s kinda a bird, right?” 

Clark is going to assume that Tim Drake more appreciated the expensive gemstone than the “shiny stuff”, assuming a teenage boy would even care about anything like that anyway, but he doesn’t want to rain on Superboy’s parade. Honestly, he’s just glad the kid’s finally trying to make a friend or two in the community who isn’t wearing an “S”. It never hurts to have a little backup on call–or to have a friend who understands the life around, either. 

He’s not actually certain what the Batman’s latest Robin’s policy on maintaining his secret identity among the larger hero community is–even Dick still typically presents himself as a city splinter, just of Bludhaven instead of Gotham now–but even if he keeps passing for a cryptid with Superboy for a little while longer, it’s not like Superboy’s had a normal life experience. He’s not going to be bothered that he can’t talk about girls and homework with his new friend first thing. 

Clark vaguely dreads the possibility of Superboy eventually deciding to come to him to talk about girls, because he has absolutely no idea how to talk to anyone about girls, much less an impressionable teenager who’s guaranteed to hang on his every word for the whole conversation and take everything he says as gospel while also misunderstanding at least half of it, judging by most of their previous conversations. He hasn’t even been able to figure out how to give the kid the Kryptonian version of the talk, though, much less if it’s actually applicable to him. Relationship issues and dating are a whole other kettle of fish. 

Well, with any luck Superboy will stay too young for that kind of thing for a little while longer, Clark hopes halfheartedly. Just–please?

[elllisaaa]

Hihi , im not really sure if it would be ur style of writing but i had a dream abt it and i thought u could write smth along those lines(i think for this fluff would be good🥹 but if u wanna add smut is fine too hehe)

Heres the prompt:

Basically most of the days you would be hanging out w ur bff beomgyu after sch, just hanging out in each other’s presence is enough. You guys wont force a conversation if its not needed n sitting in silence gives you both a peace of mind.(thise type of fs)

But one day u told him that u were going to an event with ur girl bff , where she could see her fav artist , and you being a supportive bestie decided to go with her!

Somehow thru the night things changed and you ended up with beomgyu saying these words: “ It’s always been you y/n, my eyes are only for you”

(Not rlly sure if this is how a prompt should be(if im giving too much cos this is my first prompt) but i hope it sparks interest >_<)

hiii anonie !! this definitely so damn cute, i got a little overboard with this one but i love it so much, it's so soft omgg ! this definitely such a good idea i love it, and don't worry - the longer your thoughts are, the more i'm happy !

BFF!BEOMGYU who never stops annoying you every day, be it by sending you tons of texts or by dropping by your place when he's done with his schedule. well, you always claim that he's annoying but he knows that it isn't the truth and that you're always happy to see him.

"by the way, i will not be there for our movie night tomorrow, i'm sorry." beomgyu turned to you with a judgemental look on his face. "you're letting me down !?" you rolled your eyes as you threw one of the cushions of your sofa at him. "don't be so dramatic. i'm just going to a fanmeeting with one of my friend because she didn't want to be alone."

and even if your reasons were very valid, beomgyu couldn't help but be bothered. you always spend your free time with him, and it didn't even matter if the two of you just laid in your bed in silence, watching a serie while playing stupid games on your phones. it didn't matter because what he seeked was your presence, feeling you by his side. he loved to know that he could lay his head on your lap anytime and that you would drop your phone to thread your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.

but sometimes, just sometimes, he wished he could be even closer to you. the type of closeness that would allow him to feel jealous about you going to a fanmeeting of another idol. the type of closeness that would allow him to kiss you, and love you like you deserved to be loved.

a pout was visible on his face, but what was even more striking was the slighlty hurt look in his eyes. and even if your best friend was always a little drama queen whenever you cancelled plans with him or hung out with somebody else, you never took him too seriously, knowing that he just liked to yap. but today, it seemed different.

beomgyu didn't want to separate from your warm body, but he still sat up, already missing the feeling of your hands in his hair, but his heart was hurting too much to keep pretending this time. it was nothing, he was aware, and he didn't have any right being jealous or feeling like he was. but he did, and he wished you would feel the same even if it was impossible because he was him and you were yourself, and there was simply no way that you would love him like that.

"why are you taking it like that gyu ? i know it's a little late to let you know, i should've told you before but it's no big deal, yeah ? i'm free this weekend if you wanna come by after practice, i'll even cook for you if you want."

beomgyu could feel a knot forming in his throat the more you talked, realizing how wrong he was for making you feel guilty about something you weren't responsible for. but the question he was dying to ask still got out of his mouth, the words coming out almost against his will : "do you like him more than me ? do you think that he sings better ? is that why you're letting me down ?"

his shaking voice made your heart clench, and you paused the movie that was now serving as a background noise, focusing entirely on your best friend and the way he was fidgeting, not daring to look you in the eyes but he seemed more than anxious, more than sad.

"where is that coming from gyu ? i've never said that. or did i make you feel this way ?" but beomgyu shook his head no. "you didn't. it's just…" he stopped for a moment, seemingly thinking about something before he curled up on himself on your couch, gaze fixed on the frozen tv screen. "forget it, i'm just being selfish."

the entire mood had changed, but you couldn't care less - you were only very worried about your best friend. "you know you can be selfish sometimes, i don't mind. tell me what's going on, please ?" and beomgyu finally looked at you in the eyes, biting his lips as if he was still unsure about what he was going to say : "i'm making a big deal out of this because i want to be the only one you're fangirling over, okay ? i want to be the only one you find handsome, and the only one you gush to your friends about. i wanna be the only one for you because for me it has always been you y/n, my eyes are only on you."

you looked at him dumbfounded, as you clearly didn't expect a confession, especially from your best friend. but quickly, a little smile spread on your lips as you reached for beomgyu's hand. he let you do that, and he let you pull him closer to you too, your face only inches away from the other.

"you've always been the only one for me too gyu, i simply didn't think that you would feel the same because you're always surrounded by the most beautiful girls of the country, so why would you choose me ?" - "because i'm in love with you, so in love with you it hurts sometimes." your smile was matching his, and you could see his brown eyes sparkling with joy again. "i'm in love with you too, have been for so long." - "does that mean i can kiss you now ?" you chuckled but still nodded : "yes, you can."

so beomgyu kissed you, and the way his heart exploded in his ribcage was only another proof of how down bad for you he was. and he didn't want this feeling to ever stop if that meant he could wake up by your side every morning.

[wutheringmights]

I finished rereading The Song of the Lioness quartet by Tamora Pierce a couple of days back. I already talked about the first book in a post that garnered more attention than it deserved. I guess we were all happily reminiscing about the menstruation scenes together, or Tortall fans are so starved for content they (we) will reblog anything.(Understandable. I too am starved for a thriving Tortall fandom.)

I'm too lazy to make separate posts about each book, so we're just going to do a mega post covering the second, third, and fourth book.

Unlike last time, I will be giving a little criticism to this series. I still love it endlessly, but there were a few things about the prose I thought was interesting that I want to talk about a bit.

So, without further ado~

In the Hand of the Goddess

I think this one is my favorite one, despite how rushed the plot it. It contains all of my favorite plot points, like awkward romances with George and Jon, attending knight lessons, and a little summer war. Fun stuff.

But it definitely feels rushed. I really wish someone told Pierce to make this a 12 book series, expanding on Alanna's years at the castle. It would have gone so far to better develop the romances and the friendships in these books.

I am fascinated by what Pierce chose to skim over. Characters would die or kiss for the first time off screen, with the prose resuming with Alanna reacting to it. It demonstrates an understanding of character work that I personally adore and try to emulate in my own writing-- the real bones of a story being in how characters respond to fantastic events as opposed to the fantastic events themselves.

Also, the whole veil spell Roger cast in objectively stupid, and I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. You're telling me that Roger used magic to make Alanna lose interest in doing anything about the obviously evil things he was doing? That's fucking hilarious. You know an editor came back to Pierce and asked her to come up with a reason why Alanna wasn't just going to spring into action at the first sign of Roger trying to kill her, only for Pierce to come up with this. It's so silly. I love it.

Woman Who Rides Like A Man

Did this book age poorly? Yes, but not as badly as I remembered. That's not a stirring defense, and it's really not meant to be.

The Bahzir are a mess of Orientalism, and Pierce definitely deserves criticism for not only the way she wrote them but for the ways in which she frames their cultural practices as something that needs to be fixed. Having Alanna want to force them to change their culture to suit her beliefs is not a great look for both the character and the writer. And that's not even getting into the whole assimilation plotline.

But I did enjoy Pierce's attempts to expand on the definition of womanhood, especially as a part of Alanna learning to embrace femininity. There is this running thread in these last two books of Alanna learning about all the different ways to be a woman and choosing for herself what her gender means to her. It's not done particularly well, and anyone looking for a revolutionary examination of gender roles and identity is going to be sorely disappointed. But there's an attempt here that I can't help but appreciate.

This book is also where Pierce starts to slow the plot down, which lends it to having the most reasonable pacing out of the bunch. That being said, it's also the book where the lack of development for a bunch of the side characters start to hurt. I really wish Gary or Raoul joined Alanna in the desert. Raoul gets his moment in the sun with the Protector of the Small books, but Gary remains largely forgettable. In fact, I spent this entire read-through convinced this man dies at the end of the last book, if only because I can't remember where he appears in any of the other books.

Lioness Rampant

This book somehow has the improved pacing of the third book while still feeling rushed. The quest for the Dominion Jewel really should have been it's own book, if only to give Thayet and Buri more room for development. Thayet in particular really needs her moment to shine, especially when she continues to be an important character in the other series.

But do you know who did get a lot of screen time? Liam.

Remembered shit about this guy before going into this book. I could only vaguely recalled disliking him as a kid, but not as much as I venomously hated Jon. (Speaking of which-- I love the way this man is realistically shitty. Him getting dumped by Alanna is always my favorite scene.) But Liam? Fuck that guy. Holy shit. I give full applause to Pierce for portraying the important milestones every girl goes through growing up, which includes having a situationship that is so shitty that it becomes essential character development.

Roger's return feels very... cheesy? I think Alex should have stepped up to be the final villain on the story. Unlike Roger, Alex was Alanna's friend. They have history. The betrayal would have imbued that final fight with so many more emotions than it ultimately had. I also would have liked Alanna to have at least meaningfully talked to Alex sometime before the climax.

Honestly, it's impressive how reactive Alanna is as a character in the last half of the book. She doesn't seek out how to stop Roger's plan, or fix Thom, or anything. Other characters make plans and she just... waits for something to go wrong.

That being said, by virtue of Alanna's relationships with George, Liam, and Jon all happening sometime in this plot, this book becomes a good place to look to get the full berth of how Pierce handles romances. Which, I love her approach. The romances are never over the top or, for lack of a better word, too romantic. It's very down to earth, with characters dating, marrying, or breaking up for realistic reasons.

Jon and Alanna were friends who broke up because they had different life plans. Liam and Alanna broke up for having fundamentally different values. As much as I bitch about how shitty Jon and Liam are, they're not cartoonishly evil. They're just a little shitty the way most of your exes will be. Jon and Liam are men could find love with someone else. They just aren't suited for Alanna.

Meanwhile, the most romantic things George does are wait for her and be supportive. He doesn't fight or get territorial. He makes his feelings clear, then waits for Alanna's cues. Alanna definitely loves him, but she ends up with him in the end because their lifestyles and core beliefs meld together. There's no grand romantic gesture or whirlwind affairs. They are just a good pair.

I have read stories with far heavier focuses on romance, and none of those couples feel as perfect as Alanna and George. Those stories prioritize all the gooey moments over showing why the main couple should get together. For how little romantic interactions they have, you believe these two could have a successful marriage. Perfect stuff.

---

Over all, I really enjoyed rereading these books. For all my griping, I still love the story. I love Alanna. She's a character who is fundamental to my soul. No matter where I am in life, I will always want to open these books and find her again, to walk back into Tortall and join her on her quest to be a lady knight.

My copies of the series come with forewards from a previous edition. In one of them, Pierce wrote that this series started off as an adult fantasy story that was much darker and edgier. I need to know what that story looks like, what happened in it. Pierce can claim as she wants that she hardly remembers what it looks like, but I refuse to believe that. Release the unedited first draft, Pierce. I am begging you.

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will... (Brush Name, Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader)

The new gallery space was open, and under everyone's noses a local artist was featured and studied by a enthused debutante.

W.C:~2.3k Warnings: Erotic works, Semi public sexual interaction (no PIV but there is not-so-dry humping), horny paint/art talk, (please let me know if I missed anything)

Your feet were planted solidly on the spot as they had been for the past few too many minutes.

A few steps to the left... and then you were still again, your eyes stuck on yet another hung canvas.

The shades of summer warmed the very air around you, you felt the sand under your toes, the ocean air whipping across your face and whistling past your ears. Your mind was held within the work as you stood there, completely in another world.

The opening of a small wing in the Carroway gallery was hardly a large event in the busy calendar of the Ton, especially when it sat, as it did, between a dozen or so back to back dances, balls and garden parties. There was barely a hundred people milling about the space, and with such grand high ceilings and vast wooden flooring it seemed close to barren.

Walking around the room as you were, other people were barely a consideration as your eyes flickered from one work to another, so a graze of wool sweeping past your bare elbow was a jolt enough to pull your eyes from the wall. The man was speaking, that was for sure, but the words were a flurry of mumblings to your ears, that were still working to tune back in to the world around you.

Your gaze followed the arm by your side, as it pointed about the work, to points and places your eyes never found, too busy working their way backwards towards the man's face. His vest and coat were finely made, the collar of his shirt and the scarf that secured it were very much the same but were overshadowed completely by the flurry that was his Adam's apple as he spoke so vehemently. Finally finding his face you trailed along his jaw, over his lips that danced about impassionedly, up his nose, and settled on his eyes, as fervent as his mouth but with a sparkle that was uniquely his.

'Mr. Bridgerton' Your utterance had interrupted his speech and led his words to a startled end as his flittering stare found you.

Functionally half asleep, you passed by the curtsey you were surely meant to give, and instead followed his arm, still held in gesture, back to the paint strewn canvas.

He greeted you briefly before following your lead and returning his focus forwards, at which point you spoke softly once again; 'I apologise for my absent state. Would you greatly mind repeating yourself?'

He released a chuckle before pausing a moment, seemingly caught in a silent conversation with himself, that concluded in summarising his point. 'I was only stating how enthralling this artist's use of the lighting was, as if the well itself was a set atop a stage, all but commanding our attention, yet I suppose you are my case and point.' His voice flowed like honey lilting over every syllable as he went.

'I suppose I am... You seem much better at keeping yourself grounded.'

'Practice makes perfect, as they say'

'Are there any you have seen that have tempted you today, into breaking that perfect run?' A smile crossed your lips as you kept your eyes fluttering about the space, avoiding the painting itself in an attempt to keep your feet on the ground.

Benedict stood a little taller, casting his gaze about the room a quiet hum sounding from his pursed lips and drawing your own attention. So much so that you had to blink quite a few times to tune back in as he returned his focus to you, the arm that was stretched towards the art was now hooked in your direction.

'Let me show you, hm?' Meeting his eyes you threaded your arm through his and nodded up at him, 'Please,' The word was barely a whisper as it slipped out of your mouth but his soft smile made it apparent he'd heard you clear as day.

His steps were slow, decidedly so, as if he was holding himself back from hurrying to his favoured piece, presumably for the sake of not drawing the full attention of the attendees. Benedict was nodding politely at those you passed, and although you were thankful for his tact, a part of you yearned to witness the full excitement he was so evidently supressing.

The work he brought to you was, by most members of the Ton's opinion, obscene at the very least. That much you had gathered by the wide berth given to the space where the painting hung, and upon settling your eye on it, you caught on to why. Following the strokes, the fleshy tones and the heat of the captured moment, you felt yourself slipping away from where you were and the man who remained intertwined by your side.

It was as if the flesh in front of you was our own, as if you could feel the artists eyes, their brush, tracing the curves of your form, and as your mind fell from its place in the gallery, you began to feel your chest burn.

Your breath grew shorter the longer your eyes rested on the art, this was a change the man by your side took in stride as his own gaze fell from the frame to the placard beneath, wherein the name 'Barnard Blake' sat neatly engraved.

B.B.

He was nothing if not slightly cocky, so yes, despite how seemingly obvious the pen name might appear, it was still the one he chose to use for such pieces that weren't as fit for the eyes of polite society. This moment however was a new one for him; getting to see the reaction people had to his art, and it was a rare treat, even more so, for the viewer to be someone so apparent in their appreciation for the medium.

Benedict watched as your glazed eyes roved the piece, he grew more and more desperate to hear the thoughts that he could feel building within your mind, so with a light hand he ran a path along your skin, hoping to pull you back to the surface.

The heat of his fingers in the chill of the winter air did its job of tearing your focus from the art in front of you, yet as your eyes moved from the wall, it fell to his presence against your flesh. Flickering your eyes back in front of you, the name beneath the the frame rung through your mind, it was one you hadn't heard before and still it prompted a strange sense of Deja vu, one that was echoed again by the touch upon your arm.

'Mr- Benedict, what is it about this that draws your reverie?' You dropped your pretence, in front of a piece like this, one he himself had pulled your attention to, there seemed no need for title or formality.

His eyes seemed to taunt you, never meeting your own but tracing your features lazily as he spoke; 'It feels extensively personal, like the artists eyes are my own.'

'Is that so...' You mused returning your eyes to the work, 'Is that perhaps because they are?'

Benedict's eyes seemed to remain unfazed for a few moments even as his lips formed a question of his own, 'What are you saying?'

'I'm saying...' connecting your eyes with his you watched them shift, as you brought your hand to his, stilling it in its trailed path. 'Bernard, were those lines, those strokes, strewn by these hands?'

'And what if they wer-'

'Say, Bridgerton? Surely you are not exposing this young woman to such profane works?' One Lord Hollowvale had stepped up behind the pair of you, so slipping your arm and hand from his, you withered at the draining warmth as his presence drifted, albeit mere inches from you.

'Of course, Hollowvale, we were simply passing through this part of the collection' Benedict's voice was even and slightly raised as if seemingly fixing himself back to formality.

'Good, good. Anyhow, I've been meaning to speak with you regarding...'

Taking this as a good point of flight you curtseyed your goodbyes and with a brief meeting of Benedict's eyes, you took your leave.

You returned quickly to your prior process of staring and floating away, now, however, the observation was now intercut with moments where you searched the space for his familiar frame. Lord Hollowvale alongside a few other men conversed with him for the following hours, by now you were approaching the last of the paintings, and soon enough you were moving to leave. Against any thought you dawdled as you left, stepping into the hall you trailed the trim of the panelled walls with your eyes, somehow straying even then...

Drifting so much so that you failed to note footsteps, only noting their adjoined figure as his shadow darkened the wood you stood atop.

'Leaving so soon?' Turning your head to the man behind you, you shivered as his touch found the hand by your side. Drawing a line from the tip of your middle finger, over your palm and up your arm, Benedict's touch was like fire tearing your skin asunder and leaving a burning heat in its wake. As his hand raised to toy with the hem of your sleeve your breath caught, and your lungs began to ignite.

'I believe you asked me a question. Care to remind me of it?'

His voice was low, words ghosting past your collarbone as his head dropped down beside your own, seemingly revelling in the lack of thoughts thriving between your ears.

Cobbling together the syllables you could, you spoke, your voice barely a whisper, 'W-was that work, the-the nude, did you paint it?'

It was then his hand delved beneath the fabric of your sleeve, curling around it and slipping it from your shoulder, replacing the silken fabric with his lips against his skin. Benedict's arm sweeping over your front shelved your chest as he grasped your side, his mouth patterning a pillowy trail across to your throat, secured a latch like pucker against your flesh releasing only briefly to murmur out his response.

'And what if I had?' his words rushed air down the front of your dress teasing your bosom with their heat and running a titillating sensation up your spine.

'Then I would label you lewd, and rakish for exposing me to such debauchery.' Your words sounded unsure of yourself despite any inward conviction.

'You would shame me so publicly? Call me such things with my lips on your skin? With my hands upon your body?' He emphasised his words with an open-mouthed press of his lips and a squeeze of his hands, the other of which had snuck to grip the fabric on your hip, bunching it up between his fingers.

'I would not' The chuckle that hummed against your neck spurred you further, 'For then I would have to submit myself to that same title.' At this Benedict raised his head, leaving in his wake, a chill as the air brushed over the memory of his kiss. His grasp spun you beneath him, pulling your front to his own as your eyes met once again.

'You never said what you thought of the painting, what you felt as you fell into the work. I watched it happen and I admit, watching you trace my lines with your eyes as your mind drifted was an indecently captivating sight.'

'I-I was feeling your touch, your brush against my skin, your eyes covering every inch of my body. It was what clued me in to you, your touch on my arm, drawing across my skin. It was identical. Had you paint on your fingers I was sure you would coat me all the same.'

'Is that what you want? My mark upon your flesh, adorning you head to toe?' Benedict was teasing that was for sure, but the look in his eyes let you know there was no word he did not intend to follow through on.

'Y-yes Bene-Benedict I-' Your words fell short as his hand at your hip began gathering more and more of the fabric of your dress, tugging it higher and higher until that side was all but bare, the skirt collected at your hip. Looking down at the space by your feet, you watched as his leg snuck between your own, the harsh cloth grazing the sensitive surface of your inner thigh and pulling the air from your lungs in a shuddering exhale.

'Yes what lovely?' His tone was even and his lips stamped the corner of your mouth as he awaited your breathless answer,

'I want your touch, and everything it leaves. I want you closer.' The words were rushed, tumbling from your lungs between pants.

His hold on you drew you closer as his lips pushed against your own and as your hips dragged over his leg, the knitted material drawing a whimper from your throat that fell right into his mouth. Your hand clutched his shoulder in a scramble for balance, leaning completely into Benedict as the sensation between your legs sent a delicious heat throughout your body that warmed the very air around you. Shifting slightly as you breathed your way through the overwhelming feeling, you moved back and forth over the meat of his thigh the drag eliciting the most intense desire in your stomach.

Your eyes, screwed shut in the heat of the moment, darted open as Benedict dropped his leg from your core, the wetness clinging to your skin was set alight by the chill of the winter air. Senses shocked and desperate for more your voice whined, 'Benedict P-please, stay.'

looking to his face as the weight of your dress fell back into place, you followed his sight down to his leg, where a darkened stripe had been drawn the length of the cloth. 'Oh-Oh I'm so Sorry.' Tilting your head back up to his own, he connected your lips once more before wordlessly tugging his scarf from his collar and pressing it to the wet patch.

'It will stain...' you trailed off, your cheeks burning with heat, that only grew worse as the man above you met your statement with a raised brow, a wicked smirk and the muttered,

'Will it now?'

Benedict was much too joyous at the ruin of his pants in your opinion, but how could he complain. If you were willing to bear his marks he was happy to wear yours.

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

helloooo!! i’ve read a few of your works, and i love the way you write the creeps! i was thinking of a laughing jack, candypop, and jason the toymaker x princess!reader (separately, not poly) the reader can also just be royalty if you want to make them gn :)

tysmm :)

Summary: Jason the toymaker, Candypop, and Laughing Jack with a princess reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None!

A/n: I heart the clown trio, but they're so rarely requested <//3 I especially love Jason though :3

Credits: Laughing Jack- Creepypasta, Candypop- Creepypasta, Jason The Toymaker- Creepypasta, Pictures- Pinterest, Divider- @ kidcorebuggy

Laughing Jack

He doesn't really quite grasp human politics

Like he knows what they are, but he doesn't understand all of the formalities

So when he goes to events with you (depending on what kind of princess you are, he will most likely be in a human disguise) he gets very confused when seeing people practically drooling all over themselves while acting like you're the most fragile glass vase

But he also thinks it is very funny, and likes to make some of your guests mess up in minor ways just to see them freak out over something he thinks of as so silly

He also likes to go with you to see you in all of your clothes

Watching you get laced up in probably the 12th set of underskirts and corsets, seeing your dressers help you into your shoes, and finally seeing the tiara placed on your perfectly styled hair

Something about it just fills him with adoration for you and makes him fall in love all over again

Of course, he always has to get dressed up too, being your plus one to almost every event

But he does have his moments where he doesn't like your being a princess

He is a very big jokester, he loves to cause mischief and crack up with you

But due to your position, you have to always be seen as prim and proper

Of course, when you are alone you can be yourself, but as for public appearances it is very strict

But he gets his little moments here and there where there can be some mischief

His favorite is pulling you behind a curtain and coming out 30 minutes later with lipstick marks all over his face >:)

Candypop

Candypop sees your role as a princess as more of a character you play

Almost like a cosplay if that makes sense

And he likes to play the character too sometimes

What kind of character? The prince of course!

He acts like a whole new man when playing this role

Candypop is usually a pretty sassy, quick witted and confident guy

But when playing this role, he is the most princely prince you could ever hope for

He knows all the niche little mannerisms he has to adopt and oh baby, he DELIVERS

And when you're finally alone, he just goes back into his normal self like nothing happened

You like to tease him about it sometimes

"Aw, where'd my prince go?"

"I'm right here, doll" he'd say with a grin

Like Jack, he also likes to cause mischief

He might be playing a role, but he's still Candypop after all

His favorites ways to play little pranks is to the officials who consider themselves better than everyone else

Things like ripping their pants, whoopie cushions, etc make him giggle

And no one would ever suspect him because he's known as being so proper

Well, no one except you

And he can tell you know when you give him that little look out of the corner of your eye and a knowing smirk

Jason The Toymaker

Jason gets very excited to accompany you on your royal duties

He insists on helping you sew your dresses

And if he can't make it entirely himself, whilst you are getting dressed you will be able to see him walking around you, occasionally commenting about how the seams aren't sewn tight enough or how a color change would have made the fit look better

Of course, he still thinks you look gorgeous anyways

He is just very picky in what he wants you wearing, only the best!

You can literally be giving a speech and you will feel his hand on your back, using his mini scissors he keeps on him to snip off a loose thread

Surprisingly, he is the only one you won't be able to get into a prince's suit

He's too busy making sure you look good

And I think he'd rather die than wear something he didn't make

Trying to get him into any princely attire is like trying to bathe a cat

But he is more than happy to be announced as "The Royal Stylist" instead!

He would much rather take the background than the spotlight anyways

Though, this does put a little bit of a strain on the relationship, because it would be most improper of the princess to be caught smooching up on her stylist

But it can make it a bit more exciting too

IMAGINE! He is lacing up your corset when a group of important advisors walk in to talk to you

And while they are talking, he continues his work

What your advisors see as him just doing his job, he is actually rubbing your hips lovingly, placing his hand on the small of your back as he reaches for a clip, gracing your shoulder with his hand, etc

giggles and kicks my feet and screams xDDD

[aggressivenesswhilecrying]

Sugar threads

Summery:

With mumbo being far too tall, and far too skinny for any human, almost all of his clothes have to be hand made, with lots of love and care, to fit him. And who better then the local tailor, of which he is dating, who has quite a lot of love to spare for the redstoner?

No Tigger warnings!!

Not proof read or edited!!

(This is for an event by the name of @redscapeweek!! Day 4. Tailor/sharing clothes/vintage!!)

Mumbo had requested something he had never yet asked for. A dress. Now, scar is over the moon!! Thoughts fill his mind at every corner, ideas, designs, fabrics, all the sorts. Accessories and more.

The tall man himself had requested a blazer like top, and a skirt that went down just a little bit past his knees. And scar had fallen in love with the idea in seconds. A loud clicking sound leaving him in excitement, quickly rolling off to grab his sketchbook and look at fabric, mumbo following with a huff of noise.

"I- I wasn't even done talking!!" He laughed out, shaking his head as he bent down to fit through the doorway. Light streaming in through large windows overgrown with all sort of forestry. Rolls of fabric covering walls with a large simple desk in the middle. Sewing equipment thoroughly covering the desk. A large sewing machine on the left side. 

"Well I gotta be ready!! Mister mumbo, inspiration hit, and I can only help but follow its lead!!" He laughs lightly as he comes to a stop at his table, reaching for his notebook, he practically throws it open, jotting down the small amout of notes he already has. Clicking his tounge as he turns the page.

Mumbo leans slightly over his shoulder, fiddling with his hands as scar starts with a sketch.

"do you want it flowy or skin tight..?" He trails off a little, looking up at mumbo with eyes that seem to hold every possibility, every thought, everything. The way the brown eyes stay wide and scar grin at mumbo, has mumbos knees weak, and his heart soar. 

"I uh. The, the top I would like skin tight? The blazer? But, the actual dress part I uh, flowy? If that makes sense?" He asks with a bit of hesitance, an awkward smile on his own face.

Scar laughing softly as he jots it down. Adding to the sketch with a grin. "Well of course it is mumbo jumbo!! Why wouldn't it be?" He teases lightly, his eyes staring at the tall man's stature from the corner of his eyes. Said man almost folding more in on himself like he was punished.

"Well, it's, it's it like, we'll, complicated?" He chuckles, leaning down quite a good bit, practically on his knees to drape himself over the back of the wheelchair, and onto scar. Scar letting out a huff of a laugh at this.

"Complicated, won't stop me, remember that suit covered in fake flowers? That was far more complicated then this." He snorts. The sketch, and imagine of the dress blossoming under scars fingers.

With mumbos impossible hight, thin body, and sensory issues, almost everything has to be hand made for him to wear. Abd everything matters, down to the tag, the stitching, and the fabric.

It has to be made with love.

Lucky for mumbo 

Scar has a lot of love for the man, that he can pour into each outfit.

Moments past, and before either of them have the chance to notice, the sketch is down and scar is rolling off to the fabrics. Stopping at the blacks.

"Do you want to pick one that feels nice for the outside?" Scar asks with a chuckle as mumbo walks up, feeling along each fabric with care. Knowing that not only is the fabric expensive, but it must also feel safe. He stops at an almost silky one. Thick with a smooth feel to it. Plain black with lines on it, it a barely noticeable darker black. 

"I think this one will be nice..?" Without missing a beat, scar rolls over, looking at the number of the roll and writing it on his wrist.

It's easy to do the same with the rest. Selections of a red dress, following the silky feel. And a soft and warm white for the inside.

They realize it's easy to follow old habits, of mumbo spinning in circles as scar measures him. Scar kissing small areas he can reach, just to fluster mumbo, no matter how often he does it, the pale man still goes bright red, words getting caught in his throat. Mumbo and scar humming along to the same music. Scar joking the mumbo gets the boyfriend privilege of free clothes, Mumbo huffing out laughs in exchange as he makes a silly joke of how it's surprising that scar isn't trying to milk him out of every last Dimond, scar will comment how he'll milk him for something else with far too much confidence, ans then they'll develop into fits of giggles when scar realizes the implications of what he just said, with red faces. Mumbo sitting with scar and idling around the room on the days scar works on it. 

They never really change these days. They don't think they need to.