#hopefully helpful to folks outside the us as well

[auburnflight]

A SIMPLE FLOWCHART OF WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU CHOOSE TO VOTE (or not vote) IN THE US PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION:

A lot of folks (specifically self-identified "progressive" folks!) are talking about not voting here in the US as if it's a form of protest. Here's a graphic to explain why NOT to do that.

Sadly, we are currently living in a broken two-party system, where the only viable winners are going to be from one of two major parties. There has not been a President who is from a party other than Democrat or Republican since 1848, and that will statistically probably not change this year. This means, regardless of your ideals behind why you choose not to vote (I wish we had a better alternative than Biden too), we'll get one of two results. Pick the one that WON'T lead us to getting a dictatorship, because if you don't vote this year and Donald Trump is elected, there probably won't BE any elections to vote in.

*"Left-leaning" is starred because what is considered left in the US is actually closer to the center of the political spectrum. The US is just so right-leaning that anything more centrist feels leftist in comparison.

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

[14dayswithyou]

💖 Day 3.5 is now available! 💖

For the last couple of months, only Server Boosters had access to the 3.5 update... Buuuuut now it's available for everyone to play in the 14DWY Discord — and soon itch.io once I'm happy with the QA and state of the game — so please don't feel pressured to join unless you want to!!

The full devlog + even more screenshots are under the cut ^^

What's been added to the 3.5 version?

📺 Streamer Mode!

I've been told that it's difficult to stream and monetise age-restricted videos on YouTube and Twitch, so I added an option to remove the sexual content and strong language used in the demo.

Now y'all can invite Ren into your bed for cuddles without putting your streamer career on the line /silly /lh

This won't affect the 18+ rating or dark themes/elements of the game, however! Although Streamer Mode will prevent you from seeing any "gruesome" CGs in the future, most of the core elements of the game will still be tied to the choices and decisions you make. So you won't miss out on the overall experience by using streamer mode!!

⚙️ Custom Pronouns!

It only took me one entire year to get around to it, but you can finally choose your own preferred pronouns (or use a set of pronouns instead)... At the cost of being able to change them mid-game ^^;

Since the original pronoun screen wouldn't update until a new scene was displayed, I temporarily disabled the feature. But once I find a workaround, I'll bring it back!

💗 Choose how others perceive you!

You can now choose how the cast and narration perceive you! Originally, the narration was kept strictly gender-neutral (outside of pronouns and genitalia picked by the player), but this will soon change in future updates.

For more clarity: you don't get to choose the words specifically, but you can choose between masculine, feminine, and androgynous terms!

📋 Separate top and bottom genitalia!

You can now choose your tatas and pps separately! >:3

Alongside that, you can also choose your preferred body type!

I removed the "both" genitalia option because a few players still assumed it was an obscure version of "intersex". That wasn't my intention and I don't want to mislead anyone, so I took it out for now ^^;

I also didn't want to include a screenshot of the new genitalia choices in action (because it's NSFW), so y'all get the same character menu screen for the nth time instead lmao

📱 Relationship Screen Overhaul!

You can now change your own status for more immersion, and long-term Server Boosters will eventually be able to submit and use their own icon within the game as well!

Stalking finding your friends has now become easier by using "Buddy Maps"; a new app that allows you to see the location of all the cast members!

I want to offer players more incentive to check the relationship screen since they tend to miss the status updates, so hopefully this might help ;v;

It also says it "updates every few hours" so folks don't go overboard and check every 5 seconds to see where Ren is gdsghf (also keep in mind that he's a hacker lol)

🖤 Additional Scenes Update!

Day 2 received a brand new CG!!!!! Originally, I planned on only adding a few CGs sporadically throughout the game, but it didn't feel right to leave Day 2 so... empty... so I added a brand new CG to (hopefully) make things feel more balanced and natural!

If you decline Teo's offer on Day 3, Leon will now call and try to convince you to reconsider. However, players are still allowed to decline, and if they do, they'll reach a dead end.

After listening to feedback on itch, I changed some of the dialogue during Days 1-3 to make it seem more consistent! They're only small changes though, so it's honestly not worth looking for sdgjssga

🎶 Updated BGM and SFX!

I wanted to try out a different style of music to see if it fits the vibe of 14DWY more! The BGM features more acoustics to suit the "beachy" theme of Corland Bay, though I made a conscious effort to include piano elements as well to stay true to the original!!

I figured it'd be better to give players a live example before I make a poll (to see if they prefer the change or not) and publish it to Itch.

Some new SFX have also been added, though it's very minimal and honestly not that noticeable.

How to download and play the update?

(warning: clicking on the following links will open Discord!!) To download the Day 3.5 update, simply join the 14DWY Discord server, verify your age, and visit the "14dwy-updates" channel!

Alternatively, you can also wait until the update is publicly released on Itch to play it as well!! (It normally gets released shortly after a round of QA testing/getting feedback from the server, though I may release it earlier if I feel like it hehe ^^)

Enjoy!!

[rebelliousstories]

Not Like The Movies

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Violence

Word Count: 1,688

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: How Cooper got landed with someone of her sunny disposition, he will never now. And it does not help that she knows his films.

“Good morning, you cutie. Oh who’s the best little girl ever?” A feminine voice brought Cooper out of his deep slumber. His eyes had to adjust to the bright light outside that flooded the building they had stayed the night in. He looked around for the source of the noise and was relieved to see it was just his partner playing with DogMeat. The man sat up from the bed that was miraculously in the building that probably used to be someone’s house and began to roll the sleep from his muscles and bones.

“Well, good morning to you, cowpoke.” She greeted, allowing the dog to roam around wherever she pleased.

“Mornin’ sweetheart. Whatcha doin’ up this early?” He asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His boots hit the floor right next to where his partner was, as she sat up on her knees to pull him in close. Physical affection was something Cooper was still not used to after all this time, but he was slowly coming around to it. All of the affection happened behind closed doors, or in this case, a closed house. He still had an image to maintain after all.

“Couldn’t sleep, so I spent some time with Bella.” She said cheerfully into his chest. Cooper just sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Don’t go naming the thing. Then you’ll get too attached and then you’ll be depressed when it dies.” He groaned out, shifting their bodies so their eyes met.

“But she can’t be named ‘DogMeat’. That’s not a proper name,” came her cry. She laid on the puppy eyes really thick.

“DogMeat is a proper name because that’s what it is.” He argued back, tilting her head up by her chin.

“Fine,” she relented, and smushed her face back into his chest. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, gotta head into town now. Stock up on some supplies, gather a new bounty hopefully.” Cooper pressed a kiss to her hair, and shuffled so that he could pull both of them up to stand.

“You gonna behave when we get into town?” He drawled, voice leaning into dangerous territory. His partner giggled and nodded her head.

“Of course, Coop. When am I not?” She inquired, biting her lower lip. That woman knew the easiest way to get Cooper riled up was to do just that motion right there. Because, in an instant, his eyes were locked on to her lips.

“What about back in Filly where you kept smilin’ at folks, leaving me to save you from someone’s fist in your face? Huh?” Howard recalled, watching her shift in his arms as she, too, recounted their last adventure into town.

“How was I supposed to know?” Her whimper made Cooper weak, but he had a job to do today.

“Just tone down the sun a little bit, alright? Maybe a nice cloudy day instead of bright ass sunshine.” He offered, bringing her face back up to his. She nodded and stood on her toes to reach his face. Cooperate, ever the gentleman, met her halfway and locked their lips together. They moved as one, letting their lips slide across the other’s. Hands roamed freely, and it was starting to look like they were not going to be making it to town soon. That is, of course, until DogMeat came back in the room with a dead iguana in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor, and pawed at the man and woman who were locked in their embrace. The Ghoul groaned as his partner detached them in favor of tending to the dog he claimed he did not want.

“Good girl. Such a good hunter.” The baby voice was back. Seeing that the dog was getting the attention now, Cooper moved to grab all of his effects from where they were strewn about the room. His duster sat upon his shoulders, while his hat found its spot on his scarred head.

“Come on. Let’s get goin’.” He stated definitely. His saddle bag was slung across his shoulder, and his hand helped navigate his partner through the abandoned house.

They began their trek into town, which thankfully was not too long of a walk. DogMeat followed on the other side of Cooper, hot on his heels. He kept his eyes peeled as they drew further and further into the town. There was a pharmacy, a trader’s hut, several food stalls, and even a mechanics repair shop. Plenty for the two of them. Turning to his partner, he passed her some caps and pointed towards a couple stalls.

“Go get you some dried meat, and get a box of ammunition. Don’t smile so much, alright?” Cooper stressed. She nodded in return and patted his arm as she left with DogMeat.

The Ghoul made his way into the trader’s hut first to find a new bounty that was around. Thankfully, the woman behind the counter had one, and it was simple enough. Someone had not paid her what she was owed, and now she had a hat out on the man. He accepted half of the caps upfront, before moving on to the pharmacy next door. Cooper’s eyes caught his partner and DogMeat traversing the stalls, already having several pouches of meat in her bag.

Which is why he was not afraid to leave her alone while he took his time getting his chems from the pharmacy. Being a ghoul certainly had its drawbacks; the stares, reputation, and fear. But it also held some positives; the stares, reputation, and fear. It certainly helped when acquiring what he needed for a reasonable price. A commotion caught his ears from outside, but he was not afraid that it was his partner.

Until he stepped outside. Cooper saw his partner being crowded against a pile of sheet metal while DogMeat kept barking up a fuss. The dog ran over immediately to the man and began to drag him by his duster over to the woman.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t play hard to get.” Some man crept into her space, making her cower down even further. Based on what he could see, and the description the trader gave, this must have been the bounty. She did mention that he tended to go where he pleased like he owned it all.

“Please. Let me go.” She whimpered. Her voice was full of fear and worry, and Cooper was not about to let that stand.

“Everyone’s got a price. I can pay whatever your price is.” He continued, placing his hand on the woman’s waist.

“I do believe the lady asked you to let her go.” Cooper finally made his way over. The man turned around, and smiled with blackened teeth.

“Don’t worry, Ghoul. Once I’m done with her, I’m sure you can have a turn. Certainly don’t wanna do it the other way around.” He laughed, as if what he said was the funniest thing in the world. Cooper began to chuckle lowly as he peeked his eyes out from the lip of his hat. Catching his partner’s eyes, she felt relief as she saw her savior in western gear.

“See, she might be bein’ nice and askin’ you to let her go. But I ain’t that nice. So now I’m tellin’ you to let her go. Now.” Cooper growled, feeling his patience wear thin.

“Or what, Ghoul?” The man never got to hear another response. In a flash, Howard had aimed his gun and fired on his legs. Blowing both of them off, the not-so-tough man now crumbled to the ground, screaming and crying, pleading for the ghoul to have mercy on him.

“Well, ain’t that some shit.” The Ghoul growled, tying a rope around the torso of the man, and began to drag him to the trader’s hut. He focused on the task at hand, knowing that DogMeat would take care of anyone else that had dared get close to her owner.

Walking out of the trader’s hut, Cooper’s eyes scanned the town as he tried to find her partner. He found her, hugging her lugs, stuck in the same place that she was being held. DogMeat was chowing down on the legs that were left. His pocket felt heavy with the weight of the caps, but all that mattered now was taking care of her.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Howard held a hand out for her to grab onto, and she did. Eagerly shoving her face into his chest and letting out a shaky breath as she processed the events that had just unfolded.

“I’m good. Can we go please?” Her words were muffled in his shirt, but he understood them plenty. Calling for DogMeat, Cooper led the three of them out of the town and into somewhere more secluded. Once they were there, tears fell from her eyes as the weight of what happened fully caught up to her. He set her down on something resembling a chair, and squatted down in front to check her over.

“You saved me.” She whispered, letting her partner do what he needed to do.

“Course I did. What’d you expect? Me to leave you with that man?” He countered with a ridiculous tone.

“It’s like one of your old sheriff films.” Her giggles matched his groan as he dropped his head.

“This ain’t the movies, darlin’.” Cooper looked up at her.

“It’s kinda like the movies.” She replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to bring him in close.

“I can always take you back to that town and leave you there.” He stated in her shoulder. She giggled again.

“That’s not very sheriff-y of you.” Every time he thought he had won, she proved him wrong.

“Alright,” he stood up and took her with him, “let’s get moving. Maybe if we’re lucky we can find another house to sleep in.”

“Ooo, do you think we could find one with a television and a few films?” She teased, already walking off away from town. Cooper groaned, but caught up to her and kept her underneath his arm as they walked away from that town.

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part I

Well, it happened... After trying to evade the hype for so long they finally got me 😂😂 This story has had me in a chokehold (haha, get it?) since I started toying around with the idea of it. Hopefully you guys enjoy it, let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for future chapters and/or Sleep Token one shots!

WARNINGS: None

Part II

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link!

Credit to @spookyghostjelly for beta reading, ily bb 💗💗💗

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You sat with your feet propped up on the counter, one of the magazines you had yet to sell spread open on your lap. "Be fashion forward this fall." You read out loud to the empty store in a mocking tone as your eyes grazed over the pictures of chunky sweaters, jeans, and boring, brown leather boots. The bell over the door jingled as a customer entered the store, your eyes darted up, expecting one of your regulars. You were met with the sight of someone in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over their head. 'Great,' you thought to yourself, 'just when I thought I was going to have an easy evening.' You watched the man carefully, waiting to see what exactly he was going to stick in his pockets. Now, you normally turn a blind eye to shoplifters up to a certain extent, everyone deserves to have something to eat. But, being an independently owned store you could only take so much of a loss on your inventory. To your surprise, the man didn't pick up a single item. He took his time looking over the contents of each shelf, his hands never leaving his sweatshirt pocket. "Can I help you find anything, sir?" His head turned slightly in your direction, but not enough for you to see his face.

"What time do you close?" You were caught off guard by his British accent, it was an uncommon occurrence to get outsiders in your small backwoods town.

"Eight o'clock." He nods his thanks and hurriedly exits your store, almost bumping into one of your regulars on the way out.

"Everything alright?" He asks as the strange visitor leaves your store.

"Do you know him?" You ask quietly, as if he would somehow be able to overhear you despite having rounded the corner of the building already.

"Yeah, he's one of those… those cultists that set up shop in the woods." He explains. You were a bit shocked at the realization. You had been seeing headlines in the local newspaper for months as curiosity rose around the small group of men that had built a few Cabins on the very edge of town. Reporters didn't dare venture into their camp for an interview, but that didn't stop them from snapping a few pictures from the safety of the treeline. Four cabins sat at each corner of a small clearing, a large fire pit dominated the center. From what you could make out they seemed to have some sort of root cellar and a lackluster garden, which would explain why you hadn't seen any of them in person until this afternoon. "You be careful, (Y/N). Freaks like that might just try to sacrifice you to some goat demon they worship." He warns. You can't help but roll your eyes at the outlandish statement.

"Mark, those boys haven't done a single thing to bother anyone since they got here. They've been out there for months, if they were going to take someone they would've done it by now." You argue.

He chuckles, "Trust me darlin', I hope you're right. But until then me and a lot of other folks around here plan on keeping a close eye on them. You'd do best to stay away from them."

"You think I can't take care of myself?" You challenge, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Now, Miss (Y/N), you and I both know you'd beat my ass to next Sunday if that's what I was implying." The two of you shared a laugh. "I just don't want something bad to happen, that's all. These strange men show up out of nowhere one day and no one knows where they came from, hell none of us have ever seen their faces. They all wear these black masks, least that's what the reports are saying. You can never be too cautious."

"I'll take my chances." You smile politely in an attempt to get him off his soap box. "Now, I take it you're here for your pack of Marlboros."

"Yes ma'am, and an extra one for Donnie if you don't mind." He responds with a nod as he fumbles for his wallet in his back pocket.

"You got it boss." The rest of your evening was spent rather uneventfully, save for the fact that you would practically jump out of your chair every time the door opened. You glanced up at the clock, there was about twenty minutes left until you closed. "Maybe he decided to not come back." You shrug. Moments later an old, beat up pick up truck rumbled into the parking lot. You watched as the driver got out, his head dipped low to hide his face in the hood of his black sweatshirt. He pushes through the door, the jingle of the bell the only sound to cut through the tense silence. "Welcome back." You tried to sound friendly despite your unease. He nods at you in response, not saying a single word as he makes his way quickly and directly to everything he needs. He approaches the counter, unloading his arm load of supplies before taking a step back. "You got a name to go with those big, broad shoulders of yours?" You ask in a bit of a teasing tone, trying to do what you could to lighten the mood. He remained silent, despite the fact you couldn't see his face you couldn't escape the feeling of his piercing gaze. You opened a bag, carefully organizing his contents inside. "$18.75, sir." He slaps a twenty dollar bill on the counter, not even waiting for his change as he grabs his bag and flits out the door. You watched as he drove off, not sure exactly what you were supposed to make of that interaction. You had a similar occurrence every day for almost a week. He would come in, grab an armful of groceries, put down his money, and he left. You would try and greet him whenever he would come in your store, it was always met with a curt nod.

"Vessel." You froze as he finally spoke up. You looked up, your eyes met with 6 slits on an odd looking mask. "You can call me Vessel." You couldn't think of how to respond at first. He had barely acknowledged your existence before tonight, what had changed?

"Vessel… (Y/N)." You stick out your hand to shake his. "It's nice to finally meet you." You smile as his hands clap into yours.

"You're different from the other people we've run into from town." He remarks.

"The reporters?"

"Some of them, a few others we just happened to cross paths with." You could feel him studying you. "You don't seem scared."

"Vessel, you've been coming in here for over a week now. If you were going to try and hurt me you would've done it by now." You notice the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile.

"I guess you have a point." He chuckles. You finish scanning his items and give him his total. He places the money down on the counter and picks up his bag.

"How come you never take your change?" You ask as he's almost out the door.

"I know you run this place by yourself, think of it as me tipping a small business." He flashes a brief, brilliant smile at you. You try to hide your shy smile by fixing up your register. "Oh, and (Y/N)?" You glance back up at him. "It's nice to finally meet you too."

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Tag List: @herripinkle @mustluvecho @jumpcauseimfroggy (If you would like to be tagged for Sleep Token stuff let me know!)

[bunnysbrainrot]

Bourbon and Mead

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 '𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝' 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader, Jackson!AU

Content: Alcohol consumption, flirting, slow-burn tension, slow dancing with Joel, teasing, POV switch. Bear with me, folks, this'll be worth it.

Summary: It's been a busy first week in Jackson, but you're finally starting to feel at home. Even still, you haven't made many new connections, but hopefully tonight's big event can help. Despite your nerves, you go anyway, and see some familiar faces.

Word Count: 4,300+

It had been just under a week since your patrol with Joel and his group, and you're settling in rather well. For such a shabby spot, you have decorated your living space impressively, and it settles something in you. After so long, you're really starting to have a place to call home.

Knock, knock, knock.

The noise shakes you out of a stupor, and you make your way to the heavy wooden door, and tug it open to reveal a friendly face, Maria.

You've had little chance to interact with new people since arriving in Jackson - when you're working as a community this directly, a hell of a lot of work goes into it. Which means, everyone's busy. Just about constantly. That being said, outside of your own room, Maria has been your only companion.

She can sense your loneliness, too, but she hasn't let on. The last thing you needed was the pressure of making a name of yourself in the first few days, so she had kept you busy with chores, patrols, hunts, you name it. To her, that plan would help you adjust to how Jackson functioned as a whole, so you could have the foundation of being a community member, to get your bearings.

Her smile is bright as she speaks, "Hey, sweetheart, just wanted to let y'know about the dance happening tonight. If you're feeling up for it, you should stop by."

The offer erupts a warmth in your chest.

"The dance?" You ask eagerly.

Maria nods, "Used to call it a square dance, but not enough folks know how to, so it's more of a get-together now, but we'll have music, drinks, the whole nine."

It doesn't take long for you to choose your answer. You cheerfully tell Maria, "That sounds wonderful. Where is it, and when does it start?"

She starts to describe the layout of the nearby buildings to the dance, waving her hands in front of her methodically, "But trust me, you won't be able to miss it. Just follow the music." Maria ends her sentence with a wink.

"What do I wear?"

There's a beat as she looks you over, and past your shoulder to your chest of drawers, which she helped stock when you first arrived.

Maria waves a hand dismissively as she replies, "Some people take the chance to dress up, some people dress down. You do whatever you're comfortable with, honey."

You flash her a grateful smile, and she issues a small goodbye before walking off.

---

A good few hours buffers you before the dance. The optional dance, but something in you will stop at nothing to go. You need to see people, have some laughs, live a little.

You take your sweet time getting ready, too. Some downtime is well deserved and rare, but it gives you the perfect window of time - debating on your outfit takes the longest. You opt for a casual hairdo, one that won't get your neck all hot and sweaty once you start dancing. The watch on your left wrist reads 6:47 PM up at you.

Whooping voices can be heard outside your window as people saunter down the street, toward the festivities, you assume. You sneak a peek through the curtains, eyeing a gaggle of townsfolk laughing alongside one another. Their eyes are bright, voices uplifted and loud. The men clap each other on the shoulder aggressively, while the women jab each other in the sides with their elbows. There wasn't much to make out, but whatever they were joking about had them roaring with laughter.

Seeing the crowd inspires you to make way out the door. You ensure all your lights are off, save for your nightstand lamp to come back to an inviting space. A deep breath later, and you were out the door, too.

There's a new feeling in the air, and you can place it precisely. Upbeat music plays far down the small Jackson streets, but its effects are widespread. All around, the other residents beam brightly as they go about the evening. Most people nearest you exchange small 'hello's' and wave politely, others still smile your way. Tightness wells in your chest as you realize just how long it had been since you'd seen so many friendly faces.

The music's volume eventually blares as you near the open area for the dance. The weather proves to be fair enough to host the event outside, so rows of string lights hang between nearby poles and sides of buildings. In the back of the venue is a group of people wielding a variety of instruments, nodding and bouncing with the quick beat of what you knew as bluegrass music.

"Hey, look who's here!" A voice calls out. You glance around until you realize the call was for your attention. You turn to the voice and recognize the woman from last week's patrol, who'd given you the rundown of who your partners were.

You greet her in return before registering the rest of the group. A few of them could be familiar around town, but for the most part, new faces.

Except for one.

Joel's eyes aren't on yours when you find him in the group. He's looking to one of the men, seemingly in a deep conversation. Perhaps he could feel your eyes on him, because his eyes flicker to yours for a split second. He pauses, lets his conversation partner speak, while he gives you a polite nod, before turning back to the man.

The fluttering in your gut was a dead giveaway, this is why you wanted to come. The prospect of seeing Joel again was exciting, but usually slim. And here he was. If only he could just move on from his conversation...

A hand lands on your arm comfortingly. The kind woman tells you, "It's so good to see you again! How have you been settling in?"

There's a twinge of an accent in her words, Southern, but more subtle. Her words are as soft as a hug.

"It's been going alright, finally getting to decorating," you start. The woman listens. Wait... did she ever introduce herself? Shit. How were you supposed to see someone this much without knowing their name?

"That was the best part when I got here. Once I had my space set up, it really felt like home," she replies.

There's a beat of silence between you, and it breaks when you ask, "I'm sorry if this is awkward, but I never got your name the first time we met." You briefly introduce yourself before she replies.

Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, "I'm Cara. I never introduced myself, but I wanted you to have at least be one friendly face here."

"I'm thankful for it, I really am. It feels better now that we have names to the faces," you offer with a nervous smile.

Cara looks at you mischievously, softly grabbing your bicep, "Let's get a drink. Whaddya say?"

That kind offer melts your anxiety away, and all that's left is you, Cara, and the joy of sharing a drink with a friend. In moments, you have a glass of homemade mead in your hand.

Someone else from the group calls Cara over, so for a moment you're left alone with your cup of fermented honey goodness. It's sweet, slightly bitter, but leaves your stomach feeling warm as it settles. The burn in your throat is numbed by the warmth in your belly. You make it back to Cara's group and decided to strike up conversation with those folks, thinking that it'd be a good place to start.

The first few conversations are long - a flurry of questions about your background, your journey out to Jackson, and how you've been adjusting to the move. You learn some basics about some of them, but there's a distraction lingering in the back of your mind.

Joel.

A few people in the group break away to leave for the dance floor, the jovial music beckoning them ever closer. You don't follow immediately, which leaves you with a few stragglers, and him.

For the first time in days, you hear his voice again, "What'd you get?"

The question snaps you to attention, looking down into your glass. You glance back up at him and motion with the cup with a swish, "Some mead, I think. Pretty good."

He nods, "Pete makes some damn good mead, 'specially if it's for a party. Pulls out the good stuff."

Part of you wonders if his lighthearted talking is to make up for the blunder on last week's patrol, to ease the embarrassment you still held from it.

"What's in your cup?" You retort.

"Usually it's bourbon, but tonight, it's beer," he replies with a gaze into his own cup. He copies your motion and swirls the cup a few times. A bit of the foamy liquid sloshes out and onto the dirt in front of your, nicer, combat boots. Some of the beer spatters onto your feet and into the dirt.

"Damn, maybe they should cut me off," Joel jokes, reaching into his back pocket and revealing a handkerchief, holding it out to you. "Sorry 'bout that."

You take the cloth, "Making a mess of the place already, and it's not even eight o'clock yet, impressive."

The joke seems to land with Joel; you can tell by the way the corners of his eyes tighten.

Joel

What you say makes him chuckle. It's rare to find someone with a sense of humor these days. That kind of fresh attitude can bring a lot of life in a world like this, especially around here, especially after the loss these people have felt.

New folks were few and far between, given how desolate Jackson had become since the world fell to shit, but there was a wind of change when you arrived last week. Joel could tell from the second he saw you on patrol, even trotting ahead of the group at one point. The light in your eyes when you awed at the mountains tugged at his heartstrings. A type of longing for that kind of simple joy. To be young, without most of his hardships, seeing new parts of the world, even though it had shrunk.

On the patrol, you had gotten too far ahead, in line with Joel in the lead, and you knew it wasn't your place, but you hadn't shied away from him. In fact, you had embraced it, and listened keenly when Joel advised you keep your distance. Normally it'd feel like taming an unruly child, but you had a certain curiosity in your eyes, you were eager to learn.

Joel knows how harsh he can be, let alone to new faces. The worry of how that attitude rubs off on people subsided decades ago - one could say that Joel has truly embraced that 'grouchy old man' stereotype. That attitude has saved his ass more times than he could count, and has kept him safe after all these years. But, there's an unavoidable weight when it comes to hardening yourself up as much as Joel has. It's a truth that he's been evading for years. You make yourself untouchable, but you forget how much you need someone else.

Even so, it's easier that way. You keep losses to a minimum as long as you're not attached. Living that way had gotten him this far.

But now you stand in front of him, with beer-splattered boots and a kind smile despite your new shoes being soiled. You take his handkerchief and bend down to clean your shoes, and hand the cloth back to Joel. His fingers brush against yours when he takes it back - yours are delicately soft against his calloused ones, and it takes him by surprise.

In that split second, Joel's eyes search your face for any change, to see if you freeze like he does, to see if your breath hitches like his did, for any sign that this isn't just some fluke.

It could be a trick of the light, but Joel swears there's a new redness in your cheeks. When you look at him next, it's with bright, innocent eyes, a type of innocence Joel would surely ruin.

"Thank you, Joel," you say softly. His name on your lips is the sweetest thing he's ever heard, it's almost sickening.

Joel clears his throat and gives you a nod, "It's the least I can do."

The sun is dipping behind the mountains, streaking the sky with glorious pink hues against the emerging stars of dusk. A fiddle lilts happily as the song picks up pace, the tune itself serving as an invitation to get yourself moving. In the distance, Cara flashes you a wide smile, and waves a beckoning hand over to her gaggle of folks. You can barely make out her words as she mouths them.

"Let's dance!"

Joel notices your distraction, looking back at Cara trying to whisk you onto the dance floor. There's a good number of people breaking into a flurry of moves, all whooping and laughing as they pass one another. Joel looks back to you, the softness that was there before is seeming to dissipate. His face is hardened again, resigned.

"Guess I'm being stolen away," you say.

"Be careful," Joel replies, "Carried Away Cara doesn't let up. You'll be dancing for hours."

You comment, "Didn't know I signed up for that kind of night."

You've reached the group by now, and Cara is already handing you another glass of mead, and a huge smile to go along with it.

----

You're onto drink number four, you think, and the sky has shifted from a pale pink to a deep indigo, littered with bright stars and a beautiful crescent moon. It seems like the music has blurred together without beginning or end, and your boozy haze doesn't reveal any tiredness, so you keep dancing. Joel was right, Cara's had you dancing for what feels like hours at this point. But damn, did she know how to party.

The song the group's playing begins to slow down, and part of the crowd disperses away. Chattering can be overheard amidst the quieting music. You place a mostly-empty glass onto a nearby picnic table and look around the venue. Folks pass you by with a pep in their step, their faces flushed red from alcohol and relentless dancing.

A breath of fresh air wafts through the venue, rustling through your hair that had tacked with sweat to the nape of your neck. You smile from the sensation, relishing in the cool air across your hot skin. Shit, what time is it?

Your watch beams 10:13 PM back up at you.

Damn, where did all that time go?

The night has given you a rush of adrenaline you haven't found in what feels like months. Something about this dance is erupting a sense of joy you were sure you'd never feel again. Laughter, dancing, good people. Such simple things really do lift the spirits.

You can feel a pointed stare at you off to the side, but do you dare look? Of course you do - it's not like the mead is letting you act composed. Being as subtle as you can muster in your state, you glance to the side, where that looming sense had come from. Far off, leaning against a tall wooden fence, is Joel.

While he had practically ignored you when you'd first seen him tonight, he can't take his eyes off of you in this moment. Your heart skips a beat when he holds the stare, his deep brown eyes never leave yours, even as other partygoers pass between you. It's as if the world had paused, but perhaps just for you, frozen under Joel's gaze, the sole subject of his attention.

He stands alone on the side. No one to interrupt you if you go over...

Before you decide, you wave and smile. A silly drunken grin you'd normally hide. Right now, with his focus only on you, is the most alive you've felt in months. The high of it creeps up from behind, whispering encouragement in the form of a dare. Go up to him.

Your legs make the journey before you register what's happening; your body suddenly has a mind of its own, no way to back down now.

The narrowing distance from Joel pushes your heart to your throat. While your legs carry you smoothly, your senses are turned upside down. The anxiety you have about Joel is nothing but a distant memory. Tonight, you'd overcome your nervousness.

"Not much of a dancer, hm?" You call to him over the music.

A small smile spreads across his lips, "With these knees, I'm lucky to do a damn foxtrot. Someone out there was having the time of their life, though."

He truly has a gift. The moment he speaks, everything else seems to disappear. God, you'd ask him question after question just to hear that voice - deep and gravelly, but the accent is thick and sweet like molasses. A slip of your imagination has you wandering into uncharted territory. Imagine a "baby" or "honey" or "sweetheart" in that voice... Your mind vacates long enough for Joel to arch an eyebrow at you, and you're immediately brought back down to earth.

"I don't know how I went dancing for that long," you exhale.

Joel shakes his head with a chuckle, "You'll get some damn good sleep, that's for sure."

It'd be better if you were sleeping with me.

The unfiltered thought jolts through you, snapping you back to attention. Maybe the mead was making you a little too confident.

Behind you both, the music group's slow beat has pulled folks into a smooth rhythm. The dance floor littered with small groups and couples as the song continued. This new intimate energy could not have been timed any worse. You took a big breath and let it out slowly.

"It's getting late, I should probably head home."

Joel pauses, looking toward the band, then down into a cup of amber-brown liquid. Maybe he resorted back to his usual bourbon.

You follow suit and watch the band play on. A tug in your chest begs you not to go, not yet.

"Think you got time for one last go?" His question snaps your head to him. There's a new spark in his eyes, a softer glint amidst the chocolate brown.

Your answer is immediate, breathless, "Of course."

Anything. Anything for him.

As long as it reveals a glimpse of the man underneath the tough shell. It's still in him.

Joel extends his hand, palm up, to take yours. You lay yours on top plainly, holding a breath at the sensation of your skin against his. It's not like before with the handkerchief. This time, it's intentional, he wants to touch you.

The way his fingers curl to hold your hand settled that debate. His touch is careful. It didn't take a genius to know how rough he could be, with those toned muscles shifting under his plaid shirt; in contrast, he held you with such delicacy, as if you'd break if he gripped too hard.

"You know how to dance at all?" Joel asks.

You bark a laugh, "With this many drinks in me? Highly doubt it."

Joel's laugh is louder this time around. You can actually make it out, and you can feel that it's genuine. "I warned you about Cara. Now I get a drunk dance partner."

"Hey, you asked me to dance. You don't get to give me shit for havin' a good time," your words slur together, proving Joel's point.

Amidst the crowd, Joel manages to find you two a nice spot with plenty of room. The surrounding couples look how you feel - entranced with their partners, focused and attentive, like the other person is the only one left in the world.

"How 'bout this? You lead me."

You freeze, "But, I-I don't know what to d-"

"Do what you want. I'll follow."

"And if I make a fool of myself?" You question.

His other hand migrates to your waist, holding you gently at your side, "The you better really sell it."

Your laugh is giddy. He lets you have room for mistakes. There's room to be human around him.

A deep exhale later, you place your hands on Joel's shoulders and begin to sway, a slow and steady pace with the beat of the song. Seems the mead has done its work of clouding your judgement - you're locked in the swaying motion.

"Is this okay?" You ask softly, finding Joel's eyes. There's a warmth in them you hadn't seen before.

He nods gently, "You lead the way, sweetheart. Don't worry about me."

Who'd have known that a single word could melt you completely. Your mind instantly hooks on it, cycles it in your mind as if to brand it into your memory.

Sweetheart.

Your smile is instant, but feels like one of those sloppy, stupid drunk grins that reveal how not-yourself you are at the words.

And so, you sway. As promised, Joel follows right along.

He shifts closer, readjusting the hold on your waist, spanning his fingers along the small of your back. A polite caress, not meandering and wandering around like most drunk men you'd encountered. Joel can keep his hands to himself. Joel has manners. Joel has self-control.

There's a lead to follow with his movements, you discover. It does feel more natural to wrap your arms around his neck like this...

In a swift moment you've melted into him, and with it, your nerves.

You also find that it's far more comfortable to rest your head on his chest. A beat later, your senses return, and you raise yourself back into standing position, realizing the crossed boundary.

"Gettin' tired already?" Joel asks bemusedly.

Maybe he didn't catch it. Thank goodness.

"You're basically rocking me to sleep here," you quip back.

Joel reminds you, "You're the one leading us."

You roll your eyes as you shake your head, bringing a laugh from him again. The sound of it lights you up from inside, flipping your stomach. You'd already learned that that sound was rare.

"Some dance partner I am," you say sarcastically. Joel's smile broadens, and the hand on your back shifts. His thumb idly sweeps across your spine.

Somehow, your arms are back around his neck, and your head is against his chest, all without protest. Joel's thumb still caresses your back as a sign. The song in the background changes to something simpler, with fewer instruments, giving highlight to a slow solo from the fiddle player.

"You're right, I think I'm gonna sleep like a log tonight," you murmur.

Joel's chuckle vibrates against your cheek. The huff of his laugh gives you a whiff of bourbon, sickly sweet and smoky, blending in with his deeper woodsy scent.

"You gotta be more careful next time," his voice slows. "We'll get some water in ya, help fight that hangover tomorrow."

You nod against him, smiling broadly, knowing that you're in good hands. Your words come out sheepishly, "I'm sorry I got so drunk. I... didn't think you'd see me like this."

A gentle squeeze on your side.

Joel's breath skirts across your neck when he mutters, "You think I'm gonna blame you for havin' a good time?"

His lips graze the shell of your ear as he speaks, and his words have a secrecy to them, an intimacy you hadn't seen from him before. You pay attention to the feel of his lips on your skin - they're soft and gentle, but know where to drag along in all the right places.

It's enough to leave your knees wobbling in your drunken stupor, high purely off of his touch, head spinning as you search for a new sensation.

"It has been pretty fun," you reply between trembling breaths.

There's a subtle brush of lips against your neck when he speaks, "I'd say I'm havin' a pretty good time."

Your knees practically buckle beneath you.

The rush of it all has you pulled back from him now, staring at him with surprised eyes. It's not that you didn't enjoy or accept that move, just that quickly, in front of so many people...

Joel's look shifts to something of embarrassment, "Maybe I've had a lil' too much."

You let out a nervous laugh, "I think I'm right there with you, I... I'm sorry."

He doesn't ask what the apology is for. He knows exactly which line was crossed. The hardened look returning to his eyes tells you that this moment of bliss is coming to an end.

"You don't got anything to be sorry for," the thick Texas accent is palpable in his reassurance. "I'm bein' a fool."

A fool. For doing this.

Hopefully he can't see the way that word breaks you. You force a bigger smile, a dismissive one that says 'we can just forget this ever happened', with a wave of a hand.

You offer, "Like you said, just having a good time."

His smile is wry. There's something unreadable in his expression.

Nonetheless, his grip of your waist loosens, releasing you as the fiddle in the background song comes to a silent end. Something akin to tension hangs in the air between you, pulled taught like a string to be severed.

"Well, I won't keep ya any longer. I... appreciate the dance. I know you're probably itchin' to get back in bed, so..." Joel says, trailing off, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You nod, collecting yourself, "Y-Yeah, probably good to get some sleep soon. You, too."

Joel smiles again, but his heart isn't in it like before.

He gives you a quick pat on the shoulder, eyes averted, "Get home safe, alright?"

Before you can wish him the same, he's lost amidst the crowd.

Hello, my sweethearts! So glad to be developing this story more, and I hope you've been enjoying so far! If you'd like, vote in the poll below for how'd you like to see this story develop (if you catch my drift)

As always, thank you so much for your support. And if you're new, it's nice to meet you! Love you all!

-Bunny

{all banners/dividers are from cafekistune on Tumblr}

[villainology]

i feel like a kid running around with their drawing to show everyone else in the room bc i've already told like 2 other blogs about this scenario i had while i was trying to sleep but can you IMAGINE being a family friend of the sawyers? maybe your grandparents knew theirs before times were tough and cannibalism became their means of survival, and your family's died off and left you the little farmhouse and patch of land a few miles outside of the sawyers' boundaries. drayton's clarified you're off-limits (through some honorary family-friend ideals, or as not to upset grandpa 'cause your folks were always kind to them) and you're none the wiser to their true savagery they get up to (you can hear a scream once or twice, when you drive your dad's old beat up truck near their land sometimes, but you always think they've got really rowdy and funny sounding goats). but you've inherited your family's farmhouse and poor little you just doesn't know anything about farming and fixing up the house! no matter how hard you try, nothing grows, so one uneventful day you drop off some seeds as a gift for drayton since, well, they're not getting any use with you, and you mention a problem that needs fixing. maybe it's a rusty shed door you can't get open, or a busted roof. either way, drayton's always liked to keep up apparances and you haven't had a chance to meet the new additions of the family, so drayton sends johnny back with you (after giving him thorough lecturing about how no, you are NOT a potential victim, you're just a little oblivious, and plus johnny's the most... convincingly normal one out of all of them, arguably) to fix something up for you as thanks for the seeds. so now there's a sweaty, attractive, pretty charming (and maybe a little subtly condescending) guy fixing up something because you hadn't the slightest clue how to fix it, so you might as well make him some lemonade or tea and thank him! and, well, johnny might think you're amusing. pretty sweet, pretty cute, pretty *airheaded*. drayton said you were off-limits for anything violent, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't test any other limits, right?

aaaah~ no bc wait I think you’re onto something here!! you got me thinking so many filthy thots rn, so I made a lil drabble, hope that’s okay w you? 😭❤️ sjdbdjdndnfnf I hope it’s written okay, I wrote this half asleep in bed but I couldn’t stop thinking abt it!

warnings — slight dub-con, light smut, Johnny being Johnny!

“Here you go, Mr Johnny,” you smiled up the ladder toward him as you walked out with two glasses of lemonade in hand, “where’d ya want it?”

“Just set it down on the table there.” His voice was stern, a tad hint of annoyance laced into it, not that you noticed.

Johnny stood at the top of the ladder, nail in mouth as he hammered another into roof of your porch, closing off the gap which would hopefully stop the rattling noise anytime there was a gust of wind. He slipped the hammer and last few nails into his work belt before looking down at you stood below him, so innocently sipping through the curly straw in your lemonade glass.

The Texan heat wasn’t good for much, but the way it made a light coat of sweat glisten on your body as the sun began to set was enough to make him appreciate the summer weather. Your denim shorts just a little too high up and your white vest top just a little too low, but from where he was stood he got to have the perfect angle down your shirt, and you were none the wiser.

Johnny carefully came down the ladder before picking his glass up off the table, his eyes never once leaving your body. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, you really were oblivious, so innocent and air-headed that he wondered how you survived off by yourself all these years before coming back to the farmlands.

The way Drayton sent him out here with you alone, like sending a lamb off to the slaughter — an adorable, pretty little lamb making lemonade for a starving lion. Johnny wondered to himself what you’d think if you found out what they were really like, just how savage and dangerous they were, would you run scared from him, give him chase to hunt you down on acres of land?

“Sorry about you having to come out here, I’ve clearly got a lot to learn about all this type of stuff, huh?” You laughed as you gestured toward the house and the land surrounding it.

Johnny was snapped from his thoughts, a fake little smile crossing his face as he nodded, “don’t sweat it, darlin’, friends helping out friends, ain’t that right?”

He knew that Drayton said you weren’t to be a victim, that you weren’t some prey to be chased and hunted down, butchered just for the hell of it, but what about anything else? After all, this was Drayton’s way of saying thanks to you, but what did Johnny get out of this? Where was his thank you for fixing up your roof free of charge? If you weren’t going to be Johnny’s victim then he’d sure as hell find away for you to give him thanks.

“Say,” he placed his half empty glass down on the table beside him, “you moved back up here all alone, not got a boyfriend following you here?”

“Oh, heh, no. Haven’t had one of those in a long while, Mr Johnny.”

“Huh, well that’s just peachy, darlin’.”

He walked from the table and closer to you, his hand stroking up and down your arm as he worked his way behind you, his warm body pressing up against yours as he leaned down to your ear, “how about a thank you for all my hard work, hm?”

His hand snaked its way around your waist and played with the button of your shorts, his lips grazing across the delicate skin of your neck, gently kisses to distract you from what his hands were doing. Truth be told you didn’t want him to stop, and he could tell. The way you let him unbutton your pants without a fight, his fingers working their way between your legs and tracing a line back and forth against your clothed cunt.

“Mr Johnny, I don’t think—”

“That’s alright, baby, you don’t gotta think,” his free hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your head to the side so he could more easily bite and suck at your skin, “just gotta do whatever I tell you to do.”

After all, Drayton said you couldn’t be slaughtered like he did the others, but he didn’t say anything about Johnny not being able to fuck you til’ you couldn’t walk no more.

[mittensmorgul]

Hi everyone! I just need like two minutes of your time.

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[many-but-one]

?? What is new age programming?

Old-age programming focuses on the programmed system remaining hidden. They do a lot of therapy interference and silence programs and denial related programs to ensure the non-knowing parts never find out about the programming, and if they do, they never speak out about it. This is the stuff you see published everywhere, though a lot of it is a bit up for debate and tends to be pretty conspiratorial. From what I understand, this is the programming modality that was used in the 70s to about the 90s.

New-age programming, from what I understand, focuses less on keeping the system hidden and more on making sure the system can never heal. Programmers care less about the survivors talking about it and going to therapy for it, and care more about making sure the survivors are never able to heal and remain accessible to the group, even if the survivor has left the group or aged out. From what I gather, this programming focuses more on distracting the system and the therapist (so, having them focus on things that don’t really matter, kinda like red herrings) to draw their attention away from the more serious kinds of programming and the parts that hold it. I’ve also heard that this type of programming focuses on making the survivors seem as “crazy” as possible to outsiders so that they will never be believed. This sort of programming means that programmers know that therapists and authorities (like the FBI) know what they’re doing and don’t care, their main focus is making survivors easily discredited and difficult to deprogram. Based on the ages of survivors I’ve talked to and my own experiences, this type of programming likely started in the late 90s and early 00s.

Our system seems to have a combo of both, as the programming modalities were just starting to evolve and programmers were starting to adjust their methods as we were being programmed.

I hope this answers your question! I’m not an expert in new age programming, this is just what I’ve heard. It’s less known and talked about because those that have it and are working on deprogramming haven’t spoken deeply on the subject publicly and the therapists that treat it are still working on how to properly deprogram these new types of programming. Hopefully soon there will be accessible resources to help survivors with this type of programming deprogram. I can only imagine folks with this info are nervous to share for fear of programmers changing tactics again.

Take care and be well!

-Many

[starflungwaddledee]

Hello hello!! I absolutely adore Starstruck Dee, she’s a darling!!

I hope it doesn’t sound too strange to ask, but I finished playing through Forgotten Land’s main and postgame stories, and between that and seeing all these wonderful ocs and everything… where can I learn more about the Kirby lore/timeline? Where would I even start with it?

Is it the sorta thing where the base concepts from canon are the same but everyone has their own interpretations of it?

Are Kirby and Bandee kids?? Younger adults? Is it a Rayman situation where they grow up over the course of their games?

I know I sound very uneducated but I really really want to learn!

hi there! thank you so so much! 🥺 i'm so happy that you like her!

this isn't strange to ask at all, and you don't sound uneducated! i'm thrilled to answer for you and if you have any other questions please don't hesitate to reach out!

i'm popping all of this under a read more just because it got very long!

topics covered: the joys of 30+ years of breadcrumb lore delivery, the diverse headcanons of a very creative community, and recommendations on where to step off from if Forgotten Land was your first kirby experience

to be honest kirby "lore" is enormous and sprawling and has been spread out in tiny little crumbs across multiple platforms and medias for over three decades. if you're poking around in tumblr fandom as a starting point, one of the reasons it can be so hard to figure out what's what is because a lot of folks pick one aspect (early game dynamics, ancient anime lore, the mirror world, niche subgames, etc etc) and hyper-focus to their hearts content!

one of the nicest parts about kirby is that the lore, while comprehensive and really cool, is very very open for interpretation. the fandom is very creative, and build all their own niches and headcanons based on the bare bones that we were given in canon, and it's wonderful to see!

for this reason though, i would actually recommend (and this was my personal experience, though only incidentally) you stay outside of the fandom for a bit and formulate all your own preferred headcanons and thoughts, rather than being influenced by others right out the gate. then you can come into fandom and see brand new takes that might surprise you, and hopefully find some folks who have come to the same niche conclusions as you!

a good starting point is Wikirby, and for games specifically their series list is very helpful. it shows you the mainline games, considered 'game canon', and the smaller titles in chronological order. this is often used by folks as a sort of "timeline" for the lore, though again it's totally flexible

forgotten land in particular was an unforgettable (ha!), incredibly beautiful and cinematic game, as well as the series' first foray into 3D gameplay rather than side scrolling platformer.

if you're looking for an active suggestion for which game to play next and you want a similar experience with familiar characters, (and you don't want to do a full chronological playthrough-- this would take you a long time; i should know, i've been working on mine for months!), i would recommend that you try Return To Dream Land Deluxe.

RTDLDX is a scene-for-scene remake of an older chronological game from the modern era of storytelling with a whole additional storyline, so it's a good place to start, and it's also available for the switch which i'm guessing you must have! you'll find familiar characters in there (Kirby, Bandee, King Dedede, and Meta Knight), multiplayer mode, recognisable copy abilities, and an engaging story-- read as little ahead of time if you haven't already so that it can surprise and delight you!

Star Allies is the other mainline game available for the switch, and it was made as a kind of love letter to the series up until that point. it honours dozens of characters who appeared in previous games and is chock full of nostalgia and uncharacteristically blatant lore drops, but in my opinion you'll enjoy it much more if you have at least a passing idea of who all the allies are!

if you're looking for something other than games, i highly recommend this tumblr masterlist for translations of the light novels! other medias you can check out are the anime and the various mangas. all three of these are quite different to the games, and can be considered to have their own separate canons; some folks prefer one over the other, or will mix and match elements from all medias! some even like to bring in "lore" from the real life kirby cafes!

kirby as a creative playground is diverse and really beautiful; it's the only franchise i have ever created for and fandom i have participated in actually, because i've not seen another quite like it. if you're interested in being creative yourself, i do strongly recommend that you play around in your own sandbox (or with one or two friends who are also discovering kirby) for a little while first to get a feel for what you like!

i hope you'll have a fun time interacting with the franchise, and if you play any of the other games i really hope you love them!! if you want any other suggestions, feel free to reach out!

as for the question of ages, you'll find this question in particular gets western fandom a little more riled up than most. none of the characters have any canonically stated ages, and in japanese remarkably few have genders. kirby himself is specifically intended to be projected on by the player! technically, that could make kirby your age, and your gender, if you so wish!

japanese fandom generally focuses on a very wide range of characters and interconnected relationships, even including a lot of common enemy characters, and considers most of the characters to be of comparable ages; either all teens or all adults. western fandom focuses quite a lot on the much beloved meta knight and dedede partnership, and subsequently-- as romance centric fandoms do-- likes to play around with the idea of kirby and bandee as their kids or wards.

fandom will offer you everything in this regard; far future AUs, baby adoption AUs, even AUs where meta knight and dedede are children while kirby and bandee are adults! it's really entirely up to you, and my number one suggestion is to always be respectful and kind towards everyone's creative headcanons, even if they do not align with your own.

for me, i naturally project onto player characters, and so i always saw kirby and bandee as similar in age to myself. as such, because i'm an adult, they've always been adults to me, and i do like to imagine that they have grown from young adults to full adults over the course of the series! i actually was quite shocked to learn that a lot of tumblr folks thought of them as kids, but that's the fun of joining fandom the way i did, and why i recommend it! bake your own cake, and then hop online and find a million others of all different flavours you can try!

[curieklei]

listen man you can do your own thing and life and that’s all cool, it’s hard to ignore the people from my side who are unnecessarily angry with regular Jewish folk rather than the Israel government. Just don’t go out of your way to paint a false picture, eh? Use your brain just enough to draw all the parallels between what happened to we natives, and then compare it to what’s happening in Palestine will ya. Y’all can co-exist, your higher ups just choose not to. Rally for peace, not death 🕊️

Uh... I'm not sure what false picture you're talking about, but I confess that I tend to take people less seriously and put less effort into my arguments to them when they whiff me away as a "genocidal hasbara bot" or whatever they wanna come up with. I assure you that my takes outside of toxic reply sections are very much peaceful two-state solution oriented, while still being realistic and mournful of the many casualties. Besides, it's the only way I find people that are actually down to have a real discussion, and it's always a very pleasant surprise. So far I've only found like 5 of these, you are very welcome to become another, if you feel like it.

As for the higher ups - Hamas is being squashed, and Fatah (a much less radical group that is mostly in the west bank) is hopefully still willing to work with Israel. Meanwhile, the far right government of Israel has lost a lot of its reputation due to an attempt at a judicial reform, against which people were protesting for about 9 months before getting shelved on Oct 7, as well as other things which led to the latest elections being repeated like five times or something. I don't believe they have a real chance to stay the ruling party, but we'll see that on October 2026.

I do not "rally for death", I only stay realistic about it being inevitable when:

a. There's a war against terrorists

b. The terrorists are glad to use human shields and civilian infrastructure.

c. The civilian infrastructure is packed with civilians

d. Weaponry of extreme precision is not largely available

The "unnecessary anger" you speak of has given some of us (Jews) pre-holocaust vibes. I hope you understand what this means, because I simply don't have the words to help you with that. The abhorrent antisemitism, fandom-like behavior, history inversion and yes, rallies for deaths are not "hard to ignore", they should be given all of the attention and criticized until the movement overall would be actually considered more productive than performative. Burning yourself alive isn't "a heroic act of protest", it's something you'd hear about in death cults.

[fandom-free-bingo]

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@thebigbangblogproject

[novaonhere]

Buddy System

Relationship: Cal Kestis x f!reader

Summary: Cal wanted to go out on his own, but after not being by his side for quite some time, you bring up something you learned back at the Temple when you were just a youngling.

Word Count: 880

Warnings: Nah, sexy time proposed in a funny way

A/N: Bored at work so clearing through my drafts, here’s a quick blurb

Prompt: "Then why did you even come along?" "Because someone has to save your ass if this inevitably goes wrong."

(gif not mine)

————————————————————————

The crew, such to Cal’s disappointment, wanted to take a day break on Koboh at the cantina. After a few weeks hunting down bounty hunters, everyone was exhausted. Cal finally caved when you fell over after standing for a few minutes from pure exhaustion.

Cal was restless. He wanted to keep the go-go-go mentality, and keep hitting them when they thought they could take a breather. He wasn’t used to breaks; he was used to running, fighting, pushing through.

He sat outside the cantina, tinkering with his saber with BD-1 at his side. He watched the people come and go, wanting to follow one that started their journey outside the city. BD-1 tries to entertain him, chirping some songs that he picked up from Greez and yourself. It only worked for ten minutes.

You’ve kept an eye on Cal as soon as you landed. You knew he wouldn’t be able to sit in one spot for longer than a few hours. Staying aboard the Mantis, you used this time to lay on the boarding ramp, using the ship as shade to read a few books. Every so often, you peeled over your book to see if Cal was still there, which he was.

You got to a good part of the book and hyper focused for a bit too long. Finally, after you flipped to the next chapter, you peered over to see your boyfriend gone. Aw crap, there he goes. You should’ve done more to help him relax, but he’s an adult he can manage. Well, apparently not. Throwing your book inside, you hop to your feet and take a better look. There goes the red head, following a raider towards their base. Something’s up.

You manage to find a balance of quickly walking and slowly jogging to catch up and hopefully not be suspicious. Cal flicks his head back and notices you making your way up. He doesn’t make a face as you look your arm into his.

“I watched him leave someone’s home with that bag, I have a bad feeling. The owner of the house was also crying.” Cal whispers, pointing to the large bag that the raider had in his hand. You nod.

“Now or later?” You ask, Cal shaking his head.

“I want to see where he’s going, see if there’s more stuff they’ve stolen.” The raider turns around to see us, but we wave and continue walking past him, coming up with a story to seem less suspicious. You both walk slow, causing the raider to groan and bump through you too to continue on.

“Well I’m coming with, obviously.” You smile, using your free arm to pat his arm. Cal seems annoyed.

“No, today was your rest day.” He whisper argues with you, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“And to you, and you know that we don’t like others dipping by themselves.” You roll your eyes. “Do you know remember what we learned at the Temple?” Cal blinks blankly, obviously confused.

“The buddy system?” You ask, Cal shaking his head. “Seriously? Damn, we didn’t like that lesson as much so I figured you didn’t like it as much.”

“If you don’t like the buddy system, then why did you even come along?” Cal grumbles, not wanting their cover to be blown. You could care less about the raider and trying to talk to your boyfriend.

"Because someone has to save your ass if this inevitably goes wrong." You scowl, just too loud. The raider finally turns around, shoving his weapon to your chin.

“We are out of town, what business do you folks have with my team?” He hisses as you throw your hands up.

“Sir, we were told to follow a raider heading out of town to pay someone back.” You explain, the raider slowly lowering his weapon.

“Who?”

“You all look the same.” You state blankly, Cal holding in a scoff of laughter. The raider doesn’t seem amused.

“I’m not going anywhere,” The raider stands facing you two, crossing his arms. “You’ll have to wait for the correct man.” You and Cal look at each other, coming to the same agreement. Cal flings into action, bashing the raider back with the butt of his saber. Stunned, the raider drops the bag, giving you time to grab it and run. Cal follows, leaving the raider gasping for breath, laying on the ground.

“When we return this, you are going to properly rest.” You shout at him as you both run into town.

“Oh yeah? How?” He scowls, catching up to you.

“You look pretty relaxed after an hour in the bedroom.” You smile, shocking Cal. He smiles widely like a happy boy on Christmas morning.

“Give me the bag, and meet me on the ship.” He exclaims, slowing down as you reach town. You both stop and you give him a quick peck on the cheek. He rushes into the house, startling the owner.

Giggling, you make your way towards the Mantis. Before you get too far, you feel a pair of hands snake around you, turning you around. Cal places a sweet kiss to your lips before throwing you over his shoulders. You shriek in delight as he takes off to the launch pad, a few passer byers giggling at your shenanigans.

[brucewaynehater101]

Hi! I'm the same person as the Fucked up Batfam ask. I really like your idea for robin angst, poor Damian already feels guilty enough for having attacked Tim in the past after they fix things 😭😭 I would love to hear your ideas on F!Barbara and F!Steph (I'm still working my way through the canon so I didn't have any ideas for either of them). No pressure though! Thanks for answering I think the community you've created is great for fandom (sharing and building on each other's ideas)😊😊

Hello again 👋 Thank you!!!!!!!

Hmmm... For F!Barbara, it depends on how you mess around with canon. Personally, I hate erasing her growth and path as Oracle. Magically healing her after all of that is distasteful and ableist (in my opinion). Oracle is such a badass, extremely competent, and terrifying. She doesn't need to fit able-bodied standards to completely decimate her enemies.

So, my idea of a F!Barbara is one who chose to become villainous on her inital path to becoming Oracle. She's paralyzed and struggling with these changes, but she's learning about how much she can still fuck up other people's days. In this AU, her Bruce basically wrote her off. He barely tolerated her as Batgirl and deemed her useless to his crime fighting business after he learned of her medical status (this Bruce is entirely focused on the "mission" and lacks ability to care outside of it). Maybe he threw money at her to pay for the medical bills, but overall left her alone to recover (idk where Dick is in this).

Barbara, maybe after hearing another ableist comment directed at her by Bruce and other folks, gets tired of being written off. She's also so fucking sick of all the injustice that her Bruce doesn't fight (violence against minorities [women, LGBT, POC, certain religions], disportionate wealth, corruption, etc). She starts out as a hidden force online that not even Batman knows about.

Then she gets captured by some hero and of course Batman doesn't save her. Scorned from how heroes fail her and others, seemingly only helping those from certain groups, she vows to hold all of them accountable. No hero in any country can operate without her thorough approval, or she incapacitates them.

For F!Steph, I am so so sorry. I am going to cause her so much pain, and obviously she doesn't deserve any of it (nor do any of the other characters, but rip Steph).

Okay! So, Bruce already treated her poorly in canon when she was Robin. Ramp that up quite a bit for this AU, make the rest of the Bats shitty to her as well, and Tim and Steph never end up dating. Steph does end up pregnant when she's Spoiler, but she decides to keep her kid in this AU. Only Bruce and her mom know about it. Steph then has to step up and everything that happened during her final days as Robin happened to her.

Eventually, she returns to Gotham, where she finds out that Bruce had gotten her kid killed (either through negligence or intention, dealer's choice). After dying for Bruce and him causing her kid to be killed (and the shitty ways the Bats treated her), Steph says "fuck it." She works her way steadily through all of Gotham's gangs and mafias until she becomes the leader of Black Mask's rival gang. She then takes him out and absorbs his empire. She is untouchable in the world of crime in Gotham, and Bruce can't prove a damn thing. She has her fingers in all of GCPD, the courts, the politicians, etc. She practically owns Gotham now, and she uses that to get revenge on Bruce.

Hopefully, those are good F!Bats for Steph and Barbara ^^

[cellarspider]

Qunlat 10/12: Profession Names

⭅ Previous =⦾ Index ⦾= Next ⭆

Alright! Get your Qunlat name info here! It took me nine posts worth of setup to get here, and hopefully that’ll help folks to make their own names, rather than feel limited to words that are already in the dictionary.

We’ll start with Qunari names, or rather, professions. 

First, I want to start with a bit of IRL history, because frankly, the use of these titles has been treated as alien, when English does this all the time, ours are just fossilized into surnames. Abbot, Baker, Carpenter, Draper, Earl, Fletcher–I can go through the entire alphabet except for Z, and that’s just from English names! If you have a surname that’s a name for a current or former occupation, it means one of your ancestors did this job. Probably multiple generations thereof, because social mobility was not much of a thing. Also makes “Abbot” a pretty spicy name to inherit, come to think of it. Maybe they were the Abbot of Cockaigne.

Now, let’s be clear–we only know profession-names that have made it outside of Qunari territory. That limits us mostly to professions in the Antaam, Ben-Hassrath, and support staff. Our names, hell, all of our vocabulary is going to be skewed toward them. But we can make some general observations that can be broadly applicable.

The compounding and derivational rules we talked about last time also apply to names, so we can split them into a few major patterns:

Adjective-noun compounds: This is most obviously seen in Saarebas, “dangerous thing”. Note that saar and bas are the root words, with an -e- inserted between them. Unlike the other use of this infix, it seems to purely act as a spacer vowel, which makes the name flow a little better. This is not consistently applied to “r-b” consonant clusters, and it doesn’t seem to have a grammatical use. We’re in “do it by vibes” territory here.

Noun-agentive or verb-agentive derivations: Profession-names often take -ad or -aad as an ending: Ashaad, Arvaarad, Karasaad, etc. The wiki claims this is an Antaam thing, but that’s not true–Hissrad is part of the Ben-Hassrath, and that’s technically an Asala role. We don’t know what -aad might then mean, because even some Antaam roles use -ari instead. It’s worth remembering that, like the rest of Qunlat, -aad and -ari can be either plural or singular: Beresaad, obviously, is usually used to refer to those that collectively fall under a particular branch of the Antaam, while Ashkaari can refer to a single person.

Verb-noun compounds: These are quite common, and we’ll come back to these in Vashoth names as well. For profession-names, we have Taarbas, Viddasala, Karashok etc. These can be translated as “one who [verb]s [noun]”: One who keeps things, one who converts purpose, one who… somethings struggle, we don’t actually have a canonical translation for kara. We only know it appears in a lot of Antaam names for warriors, groups of warriors (karataam), and one untranslated word spoken by Arvaarad in DA2 (karasaam). I won’t speculate on its meaning here.

There are some that don’t fit these patterns: The salasari triumvirate use a special agentive prefix Ari-. Given its use as “people” in other contexts, this may mean “the people’s [x]”, or simply emphasize their role in reflecting the collective’s needs under the Qun. 

Others are of ambiguous definition or structure that we don’t understand: Arvaarad,⁽²⁾ Salit,⁽³⁾ Tamassran,⁽⁴⁾ Vidathiss,⁽⁵⁾ etc. I’ve got lots of speculations about these, which I’ve banished to the footnotes, but nothing concrete about them.

Other names, however, break the rules, and I want to explain why these may not sound right in translation.

Let’s use Bas-taar as the example. It’s supposed to mean “keeper of bas”, an equivalent to a warden or overseer for prisoners of war.

Anyone who has taken a peek at the dictionary spreadsheet may possibly have seen my annoyance about this name: Tevinter Nights actually explains the joke of the name to you. It sounds like “bastard”, you see. Very funny. Ha. I am amused.

But looking at how we’ve broken down the names here, one may see the problem: bas is a noun, and taar is a verb, making this a noun-verb compound. …Which we haven’t been doing, only verb-noun compounds. You could, theoretically, do it the other way, but it has grammatical implications. 

Let’s compare the name to a suspiciously similar one I already introduced: Taarbas. “(One who) keeps things”. This follows Qunlat’s overall word order of Subject, Verb, Object. Bas is the object that’s kept, so it comes second. Bas-taar implies bas is the subject, the one who keeps. Hence also Bas-Saarebas, a foreign mage. So, Bas-taar implies a meaning of “foreigner (who) keeps”. 

Because I am long-suffering but fair in my wrath, I will say there is a way to make Bas-taar work,⁽⁶⁾ but for the sake of general naming schemes, just know that you need to be careful with word order when creating compound words and names.

There’s one last thing to cover in this segment: given names, including nicknames. Because Qunari do have those, logistically you need those. Unless you’re the Valo-Kas and numbering your Ashaads, you need some way to tell people apart! And we know this starts early in life: Tamassrans working as teachers and carers for Imekaari may give them names–Bull was Ashkaari due to his inquisitiveness as a kid. 

These names may not stay with them as their official title, but it indicates that even when someone has a role–in this case “child”–they still can receive other names on a semi-formal basis. This ends up pretty similar to how people can accumulate multiple names throughout their lifetime in many cultures, such as courtesy names across East Asia.

And then there’s nicknames, given to someone by a non-official source. The only one we know of is Gatt, from gaatlok: nicknamed thus for his volatile temper resulting form the whole was-almost-a-magister’s-child-sacrifice situation. I’ll note that “gatt” as a word breaks our previously established phonotactics with that double T, but let’s let the guy have this one. He deserves it.

We’ll look at Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth names next time.

⭅ Previous =⦾ Index ⦾= Next ⭆

Footnotes

(1) https://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basic-concepts.html

(2) Arvaarad has a canon translation: “One who holds back evil”, but I’ve never been able to make that fit. Ar should mean “hold back”, but the way vaar gets compounded into other words is… it’s rebracketing, like with asala-taar last time. If vaar means “evil”, Basvaarad would mean “one who is an evil foreigner”, and darvaarad would mean “one who is a place that’s evil”. Darvaarad has an easy fix: The suffix -dar is used in placenames. A place that holds back evil would be Arvaardar.

Basvaarad is especially weird though, because it first appears in Shepherding Wolves, a quest that uses the term Bas-Saarebas for a foreign mage. Bas-Arvaarad would be perfectly possible, but was not used. 

(3) I have almost no idea with Salit. Sala means “purpose”, so sal might be a root word of that. That would theoretically leave -it, which has been seen as a variant third person singular pronoun in astaarit, something that still annoys me for its Englishness. But no other name uses it or asit to refer to the person doing the job, so I can’t say for certain what it means in this context, or if I’m even breaking the name down correctly. Might be Sa-lit, might be Sal-it. I actually prefer the former, though it would make it even harder to parse.

(4) Tamassran is translated as “those who speak”, which gives us an odd new suffix -ran. It might be a synonym for “person”, or an unknown hyponym: a word that covers a smaller scope (ex. “child” is a hyponym of “person”). We don’t know anything about the rest of the word. Tamass would presumably mean “speak”, but it may, again, be a hyponym that specifically covers teaching and instruction. 

(5) This name spells Viddath wrong, which is a bit of a problem to begin with. Seen in Viddathari (“converted-people”), -ath appears to be a passive derivational marker equivalent to English -ed. Iss is translated as “experienced” in the context of weapons in DA2. So… Converted by experience?? But Vidathiss is described as a Ben-Hassrath reeducator, so “converts by experience”, “experienced converter”, or “converter of experience(d people)” was probably intended. That’d be Vidda-iss, Viddiss, Iss-vidda, or maybe even Iss-viddaad, depending on how you translate it. 

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(6) Okay. So remember that whole thing about possessed-possessor compound words, and how they can sometimes be unmarked? Bas-taar could be one of those. But that requires taar to mean “keeper”, though we already have it being widely used to mean “armor” or “materiel” more broadly. If you wanted to make it a person and improve the brain-rotting joke, Bas-taarad is literally right there. 

See? Said I was fair. I’ll judge the writers for explaining a bad joke, but I’ll do my best to make the bad joke work better.

[llunapastell-reads]

ᴄʜ. ᴛᴡᴏ || ʀᴇᴅ ʟɪɴᴇ (ʜ.ʜᴊ) ──

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 :･ hwang hyunjin x fem reader | hyunjin pov 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗥𝗘 :･ warm n fluffy | comfort 𝗖𝗛. 𝗪.𝗖 :･ 1.5k 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 :･ profanity | implied smut

𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 :･ this could be read as a standalone story tbh. Also story undercut is in regular size font for all the folks like me that enjoy tiny print aesthetic but struggle to stare at it for too long ...

✧.* 𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗪 𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 & 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚

Pale moonlight spills across Y/N’s bare shoulders and down streaks of hair that pool upon her pillow. Her silhouette has darkened against its bluish hue, but the curve of her body is illuminated so perfectly by the light; what a shame it is that she's facing away from me, how ethereal her face must appear under this thin veil of moonshine. I always give her a hard time about sleeping with the windows open, the perpetual buzz of spring is so much louder without a barrier separating us from its seething. But tonight, I’m thankful there is nothing to obstruct the stream of light that pours into this compact bedroom and along her skin. 

Although reluctant to shift my eyes away from her serene form, there is a ritual to finish: a challenge to sketch a new pattern in the textured ceiling above us. With my hands propped behind my head, I imagine myself plotting a new constellation— a fresh body of stars only visible when my back is flush against her sheets. My eyes will retrace the image until my consciousness finally slips away, hopefully sooner than later. We both usually sleep well through the night after we untangle our bodies from on e another, but as soon as spring came and that damn window cracked open, I’ve been slowly turning into one of those nocturnal creatures I hear outside. 

I sigh, the interrupted rest is bothersome, but I wouldn’t dare take away her natural lullaby. She falls into such a deep slumber amongst the noise, and I’d be lying if I said her tranquility wasn’t endearing to witness. As I inch closer to Y/N, my lips ghost against her shoulder; the soft skin smells like warm amber and sex, a scent so comforting in my lungs it almost feels like touching cashmere to my bare chest. I snake my arms around her sleeping form, careful not to disturb her dreams. She exhales deeply from the diaphragm, and I can’t help the smile that forms. I pride myself on the idea of bringing her comfort and ease. 

If you told me all those months ago that my life would change at midnight, I would laugh in your face and encourage you to shove that fortune cookie bullshit back up your ass. A mere recollection of New Year's Eve still leaves me bewildered; It doesn’t take much, just recalling the resonance of bright laughter in that diner, or her hands lost in my hair, the weight of her body pressed on top of mine—I still catch myself considering if it was just a fever dream my subconscious fabricated. But then Y/N cradles my face with a memorizing smile crinkling the corner of her eyes. That knowing look I’m convinced I could find even in the middle of Shibuya Crossing. A language of empathy unspoken between us: one she taught me, one only we can comprehend. 

We have spent almost every day together since then, teaching each other different things over endless cups of coffee and wine, some days at my art studio while I’m painting or hidden in the tiny reading nook by her living room window. Or in the dead of night, when the only sounds you hear are ragged pants and shy giggles. She’s entrusted me with roadmaps to her past, where her hopes and aspirations are leading her. I’m creating some guides of my own, like charting all the tender spots on her body, with pure delight and fascination.

Her presence reminds me of the calm after the rain. It’s so soothing and light, I marvel at the phenomenon whenever I pause to notice. It takes me aback how unaware she is, she exudes such a comforting aura without even realizing it, sometimes without uttering a word. In the moments when I seem to return a fraction of the consolation she offers, I rejoice. 

“Hmm… Jinnie?” A tiny voice reverberates under the palm of my hand. My  lips nuzzle into her hair as I tighten my grip, reassuring the sleepy girl of my presence. She leans into me before a placid yawn disturbs the stillness.

“It’s the window, isn’t it?” 

I bite my lip to suppress a chuckle. She can read my mind even in her sleep. “It’s fine, angel. Go back to bed.”

Her form shifts under my hold until her cheek brushes against my nose. I mindlessly peck the corner of her mouth, a habitual occurrence when our faces are within this proximity. My lips linger, enjoying the way her mouth faintly curls upwards in response to my gesture. 

“Should I distract you? From the noise?” She whispers and shifts again, gentle fingers trailing heat in their wake up the skin of my neck. The lethargic caress earns a hum of satisfaction from me, which she celebrates with a hungry kiss. We are getting better at not being consumed by lust whenever our lips meet, but this is our safe place. Holding back would be nearly impossible when only cotton sheets separate our bodies. 

I’m proud that my movements have become less crass—Y/N likes to believe she has made me a more disciplined lover—but truthfully, I want to savor every moment of getting lost in her. Her smell, touch, and taste have an intoxicating effect: overwhelming but in a kind of dazzling way. Maybe it’s how her musk smells sweeter when blush blossoms under her skin, or the friction of her hips rolling against mine that sends electricity through all my nerves, her melody of moans and praises that exhilarate me, always encouraging me to be greedier and luxuriate in the act even more. If only I could bottle it up and indulge like an addict whenever I wanted. I would float in our unique brand of euphoria forever if I could.

“You are sadistic, Hwang Hyunjin...” I can tell by the elevated tone that she's smiling as she whines. My mouth pauses its careful pursuit down the torso beneath me to chuckle against her. Y/N squirms and another laugh slips passed my lips. 

“Isn’t the torture always worth it in the end?” I feel goosebumps awakening every time I exhale. My breath must feel cool on the part of her skin I’ve nipped at. Hasty fingers thread themselves through my hair while she mulls over a confession.

“Yes… but it's 3:32 AM, and the more you tease me, the louder I’ll be. Think of my poor neighbors!” A slight tug on the strands in her grasp prompts me to meet her hooded gaze.

“That’ll teach you to sleep with your window open now, wouldn’t it?” With a smirk, I tickle her sides playfully. Twinkling laughter fills the space as Y/N tries to wiggle out of my hold to no avail. 

“Hahah— stop! You’re evil! You—“ a quick hand is clasped over her mouth to muffle the shrill exclamation.

“You brat...” I can’t help but laugh along, her eyes are so cute when they curve into crescent moon shapes and the hushed giggles tickle my palm. As her breathing settles, my hand is replaced by eager lips. She leans up into the kiss, trying her damndest to hold in the laughter attempting to escape.

It doesn’t take long for her body to remember where we left off. It’s comical to think about how we always end up like this; no matter how the intimacy begins—whether a result of playful banter while we make pancakes at midnight, or pinned in a coat closet because her hips look too damn entrancing hugged in a little black dress—calculated caresses or frantic gropes, it’s the same: always fingers laced in my own, eyes locked onto mine as we chase our highs harmoniously. 

A piece of the universe feels confined to these moments with her, like tonight, as I fixated on all the specks in her irises until Y/N’s eyelids flutter close in sheer ecstasy. When her kiss-bitten lips part and she whimpers my name, I again question if she came from another realm. Just how can she make something so small and mundane become profound all of a sudden? Like a spell, my name meant nothing until she uttered it, and now it’s this heavenly sound pushing me over the edge to join her in bliss. 

We exchange light puffs of giddiness and drift back to reality with smiles etched into our faces. I revel in how the faintest mist of sweat causes her body to practically shimmer beneath me. Her chest heaving up and down, desperate to steady her breath while draped in this soft glow—it’s a luscious sight imprinted on me, worthy of capturing on canvas. 

“I could fall asleep like this, ya’know….” She drowsily twirls strands of my hair around her fingers after the serenity of night floods the room once more. My ear is pressed to her chest, her even heartbeat the perfect soundtrack to my view of the sleepy cityscape. 

“Don’t you always?” I counter with a smirk.

Y/N just hums a pleasant tune in response. The soft vibrations against my cheek relax me completely, and my eyelids grow heavier with every passing second. My smirk softens to a small smile; the buzz of spring is just no match for the rhythmic thumping lulling me to sleep.