#i COULD be drawing. or writing. but.. i'm not. ? ?????

[everestgale]

The World's Most Boring Group Photo

Sixteen Colds, all so different, and yet all equally bored.

Wait, who dimmed the lights all of a sudden?

[Notes, comments, and design credits are under the cut!]

Hello! This is my propaganda post for every Cold in the @voice-of-the-sexyman tournament!

If you have not voted, you can do it right here, under the "#tournament voting" tag, you should be able to see all the rounds and vote for all the different Colds!!! There's also a ton of wonderful art for different Colds in the blog, so give it a scroll if you wanna see them! Or check out "#sexyman propaganda" tag, that also works!

Okay now that I've sufficiently advertised the tournament, here's my usual Everest ramble (apologies if it makes 0 sense, it's almost 6 am as I'm writing this):

When all the contestants were first announced for the tournament, I wanted to make a group photo with all the Colds, similar to the Hero one I did for New Years. But then I got distracted and kind of intimidated by the idea, and went "Well, I guess not this time."

Turns out all I needed for an inspiration push is for someone else to make some wonderful propaganda, and so here we are! This drawing is also why I asked everyone in the tourmament about the heights of their Colds, just so I could roughly place them! I tried my best to stick to the heights that were given to me, but a bunch definitely ended up shifting and growing/shrinking as I was changing the composition. So, uh, sorry about that!

And also sorry if I made mistakes in drawing any of your Cold designs, I really wanted to finish it as early in the voting week as possible, so I just spent 6 hours almost-straight drawing this! So there are most definitely some mistakes </3

But that aside! This tournament has been very fun already, everyone's Colds are absolutely wonderful, and they've been super fun to draw! In my eyes, they're all winners and all the sexymen (gender neutral) <3

Here's an annotated version of the drawing, with credits to each of the designs, go check all of these artists out!!! <3

@wysteriaisapenguin @toon-topaz @stoned-frog @lucidlytimid @boatslut @salty-an-disco @remaking-machine @acethekenku @dampfur @spupulum @miyuka1709 @phantasmatoucan @itsonlypolite @glitchh1337 @saranorah228

[hotchnerwrites]

hello this is my first time requesting so sorry if it’s bad😭😭😭. but i was thinking about maybe the reader having a hard day at work (she worked at the bau) and was kinda stress out so hotch sits her in between his legs and fingers her while whispering sweet nothings in her ear ???? i just need him to take care of me😩😩😩😩😩

Reckless

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: NSFW (18+), fingering, mirror sex, kind of established but hidden relationship, no use of (y/n), afab reader

A/N: Hi, hun, thank you so much for taking the chance on me and requesting, especially since this is your first time <3 It was a great request, and I love the idea! I'm kinda new to writing smut. It's definitely a learning curve for me, but I tried my best. I really hope you like this, and it's what you wanted!!! mwah mwah mwah, enjoy. And man, I want Aaron to talk me through it so bad 😩

My requests are open. Send me stuff! :)

You hate Denver.

It’s ridiculously hot. Not even the AC was helping. And to add fuel to the fire, the local sheriff was utterly incompetent. Not only had he lost half the physical evidence, but he was also getting in the way of the team’s job.

And just your luck— you’d been tasked with retrieving the evidence. In a desperate effort to escape from reality, you’d locked yourself in the evidence cabinet, hands still shaking from too much caffeine. You knew it couldn’t last forever, but even ten minutes away from the local police was solace. 

For a while, the only noise in the room was the ruffle of papers as you dug through cardboard boxes desperately, wishing the documents would magically reappear. Mindless work, but it was grinding your gears, and you could feel yourself becoming more stressed by the minute. But you keep at it, hoping against hope. 

Just as you begin to settle into your task, you hear the door creak open. Damn it.

You tense, hoping it’s not that damn sheriff again. You didn’t want to have to punch him in the face. But a familiar cologne of warm spice and amber crowds your space and the tension eases— Hotch. 

Though you were grateful for his presence, the case, the pressure, the exhaustion— it had all built up to a breaking point. The last thing you wanted was to talk, but you couldn’t shake the knot in your chest. Hotch, always attuned to your mood, noticed how you seemed to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders right now. That’s why he’d followed you into the filing cabinet. 

Wordlessly, he slides you a small piece of paper. Before you could open it, he places a soft kiss on your temple and leaves the way he came.

10 pm Knock thrice if you’re feeling reckless. Twice if you want me to behave. Either way, my door is always open. - A

You smile.

———

You lay spread-eagle on your bed, listening for the sound of doors closing. You wanted the team in bed before you went to Aaron. All but one door… and there it was. The last click. The coast was clear. You swing your legs off the bed. Exhaustion racks your frame, but your excitement masks the strain.

You slip out of your hotel room, gently drawing your door close. Aaron’s room is opposite yours— convenient. As you’re about to knock on his door, you hesitate for a second. Twice or thrice? But as the week you’ve had flashes in front of your eyes, your resolve hardens. 

Tap-tap-tap.

The door swings open almost immediately. Chocolate brown eyes meet yours, and the day’s irritation melts away. Aaron takes you by the wrist, guiding you into the room gently. The warmth of his palm was comforting, a reassurance that you were safe, even when your mind was racing.

As you follow him, you take in the state of the room. Files are scattered across the desk. A few are marked with sticky notes, others open to pages filled with dense reports and scribbled annotations. A half-finished glass of bourbon is balanced precariously nearby, and his blazer is draped over the back of the chair. Aaron’s tie is missing, tossed in some dark corner.

A dry chuckle escapes you, “Good to see I’m not the only one going nuts from stress.”

He doesn’t respond, but the small quirk of his lips tells you he heard.

“Sit,” he instructed softly, pointing towards the edge of the bed. With a quiet exhale, you obey, letting yourself be steered. You didn’t want to think anymore. Your knees fall open as you settle in, tension roving through your muscles.

Hotch steps between your legs, presence steady and grounding. Without a word, he places his hands on your shoulders, expert thumbs kneading the knots there. 

Slow. Deliberate.

You can’t help the groan that falls from your lips. It felt heavenly. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. “Take a deep breath for me.”

The rigidity in your neck eases slowly, and your breathing evens out. For the first time since landing in Denver, you let go.

But just as you begin to get comfortable under Aaron’s ministrations, he moves.

Not far, just enough to sink down on the mattress beside you. Before you could process his decision, his large paws envelop your waist. And he pulls— guiding you effortlessly into his lap.

A quiet gasp escaped you as you let yourself be gathered into his hold, your back pressing flush against his chest, his arms winding around your middle.

“Better?” he murmured against your hair, his lips barely brushing your temple.

You exhaled, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Better.”

“Let me take care of you tonight, honey,” he whispered, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

He wasn’t kidding about being reckless. You had never done this before on a case. Despite that, you nod eagerly. You needed this. And something told you that Aaron did, too.

He doesn’t waste any time. Pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hands trail up your ribs, going all the way up under your shirt. The feeling of his fingers on your skin set your senses on fire. Heat blooms across your face and your head lolls back against his shoulders as he cups your tits, the rough pad of his thumbs flicking against your nipples. A low grunt from Aaron conveys that he’s grateful for your decision to forego a bra tonight. 

Without warning, he pinches your right nipple. The sudden sensation catches you off guard, and you gasp, arching into his touch. He’s barely even started touching you, and you’re already losing it.

“The mirror,” he says suddenly.

The words cut through the haze of arousal settling on your brain. “What?”

“The mirror. Look at it.” You feel him indicate with a nod, and you blink, gaze shifting forward to land on the large mirror across from the bed—one of those standard hotel-room fixtures positioned perfectly to reflect the two of you. 

What you see makes heat spread across your face. You, seated in Aaron’s lap, with his arms wrapped securely around your waist. Your face is flushed, and your nipples are pointed through the material of your shirt. Your jaw hangs slightly open, and you’re breathing audibly. You look utterly wanton and at Aaron’s mercy. With a start, you realise his shirt is rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms.

Just the way you like it.

And the way they strained as they caged you against him? Words couldn’t describe how badly you needed him right now. Sensing your desire, Aaron moves faster. In the blink of an eye, he pulls your thin shirt over your head and discards it, exposing your breasts. Large, calloused hands sweep across your body and whispered sighs fall from your mouth. 

“Touch me, please,” you beg, desperate for his hands to graze you where you need him the most.

Through the mirror, you watch Aaron as he slowly mouths up your neck, settling on that soft spot behind your ears. Impatience takes over, and you grind into his lap, rubbing your pussy into his hardening crotch. You needed him inside you now, and you didn’t care whether it was his fingers or his cock.

“Patience,” he rasps into your ear, “Or I’m gonna go even slower.”

Your retort burns on your tongue, but before you can do anything about it, Aaron slides his hands under the waistband of your pants. He brushes his fingers gently over your abdomen, taking his sweet time.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight, sweetheart,” he continues. His voice is unfairly composed. You have no idea how his brain is still functioning because yours certainly isn’t. All you can think about is the feeling of his thick fingers, preferably buried inside your cunt.

A prolonged moan slips out of you. You couldn’t give less of a damn about who heard right now. 

“Aaron,” you plead, making eye contact through the mirror. He looks so pleased— like a cat that got the cream. And then, slowly— oh, so slowly—his fingers flit over where you needed him the mouth.

“I want you to keep your eyes on yourself, sweetheart,” Aaron commanded, his Unit Chief voice seeping out. “If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

Your breath hitches. You nod. Anything. Whatever he wanted, you’d give it to him. You just wanted him inside of you. 

Aaron rolls your pants down in a deft movement, letting his palms rove over your stomach. Thankfully, he decides to put you out of your misery, and slides his fingers into your panties, groaning in your ear as it slips in oh so easily, creating a wet sound. The friction sends you to heaven, and you stretch your legs further apart, too far gone to be embarrassed by how you look in the mirror right now. 

“My pretty girl,” he rasps, “You’ve been so good today.”

The praise has you whimpering and you grind down on his palm.

“Didn’t even complain,” Aaron grunts, hooking his fingers inside your gummy walls, “Such a good girl.” You whimper at his words and the feeling of his warm breath on your neck. The way he’s scissoring his fingers in your cunt… 

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re so wet for me right now.”

Aaron continues to slide his fingers in and out of you, ever so slowly but oh so perfectly. You bite your lips to contain the noises threatening to escape you, but when he grabs your tit, rolling a nipple between his fingers, your eyes slide shut, letting the sensations take over.

“I said,” he growls, punctuating his words with thrusts of his fingers, “Look. At. The Mirror.” 

Your eyes fly open, and your hips jerk involuntarily, overwhelmed by the feel of his touch. Your body burns in pleasure, and his name falls from your lips, tangled with a soft moan. 

“God, you feel so fucking good, honey,” Aaron groans, “I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re so wet. You’re doing so well, baby”

“Please, yes…” you whine back, body arching to beg for more. His fingers are dripping wet with your arousal and you watch them disappear repeatedly into your cunt, making damp sounds. You bite your lower lip to keep your impending orgasm at bay, but just then, Aaron circles your clit with the pad of his thumb.

The cry that leaves you only seems to incense Aaron. He’s fully hard by now, and you can feel his cock straining painfully against your ass. Pleasure clouds your brain, and you can’t do anything but take what he gives you and grind helplessly on his lap. Despite that, you don’t look away from the mirror, watching indulgently as you bounce on Aaron’s hand and he sucks light bruises into your neck.

Aaron keeps circling your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. The coil in your belly is tightening and you can barely even concentrate on the honeyed words he’s spilling in your ears. He continues to work you, pumping his fingers steadily into your pussy.

“Aaron, I wanna cum so bad,” you sob, hovering over the edge. The pleasure is spreading from your clit to the rest of your body, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers, “Let go.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. 

Your orgasm crashes into you like a massive wave, walls squeezing his fingers tightly. Aaron groans deeply in your ear as you ride out your pleasure, watching you through the mirror. He continues thrusting his fingers inside you, his other hand holding your waist tightly.

Tears prick your eyes, and your body shakes. You take time to come down from your high, but when you do, you can’t even remember why you’d been in such a shit mood today to start with.

Aaron gently brushes strands of hair away from your face, still whispering sweet nothings. His eyes were still dark with lust, but he was looking at you like you’d hung the moon. You lift a trembling hand and wrap your palm around his wrist. Not pushing or pulling, just holding on.

“There’s my girl,” Aaron smiles, holding you close. “Feel any better?”

“Much,” you admit. 

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as he peppers your neck and shoulders with kisses.

“Hey, Aaron,” you start suddenly, “I think I know where the sheriff put the evidence.”

“What?” Aaron blinks at you, processing your words. Then, with an exasperated smirk, “You really know how to kill a mood, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[renae-nicole-lynn]

Invincible x Frankenstein’s Monster!Reader

(GIFS are not mine)

So 'Why Him?' did pretty well, and it turns out I missed writing fanfiction so I decided to try my hand at some other Mark x Reader stuff. Holy fuck this is so bad I am so sorry 🫠.

Originally I thought of idea as an OC but I can’t draw for shit so Reader it is!

Why Frankenstein's Creature/The Bride? Best explanation I can come up with is watching Creature Commandos and Invincible in a short timespan 🤷‍♀️. I took inspiration from a couple of different Frankenstein's Monster/The Bride tropes from different sources and squished them all together; so that means white streaks in your hair and scars/stitches hold your limbs together and your powers are super strength, enhanced intelligence, and the ability to detach your limbs from your body and retain sentience over them.

The first time you saw him, you were perched on top of a building picking off the flaxan invaders with a rifle as they streamed through the portal and you see him through your scope. He's familiar to you, but in the moment the 'why and where' wasn't important as Atom Eve yelled at him to take the civilian in his arms to the hospital. It's not until three days later when he approaches Eve at school does it click. You've seen him around school for years, and only now does he have super powers; Mark Grayson is [title card].

Things are a little… rocky at first. You think he’s too easily influenced by his father and he thinks you’re out of your mind for that. Poor Eve is forced to play referee as arguments start spilling into the hero side of things, but even your best friend couldn’t get through you, or him for that matter.

“Why don’t hate me so much!?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t hate you!”

You’d be a hypocrite if you did.

Mark crossed his arms. “Bullshit!”

“I don’t… you piss me off because I know you have the potential to be so good, probably one of the best! But you’re too caught up in being just like daddy dearest!”

He started floating. “My dad is one of the best.”

…you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t attack you here in a high school lab, but that doesn’t stop your fists from clenching. “So that means what? You’re content on being a copy of your father instead of your own person?”

“I am my own person!”

“Bullshit!”

“Who’s going to teach me then, you?”

“You bet your ass I will! 5:00pm at Teen Team headquarters!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

You didn’t really mean to offer to teach him, but your offer stayed in the front of your mind as you punched away at one of the punching bags engineered for your strength. It's not like he's going to show up. Except he did, and you were surprised he even showed up around the time you gave... granted, ten minutes late.

Mark doesn't know why he showed up. Maybe it was a pride thing, maybe it was because of what you said. He came in almost shyly, asking if you really think he could be one of the best. You surprise both him and yourself with how quickly you reaffirm what you said before.

"Just because I do though, doesn't mean I'm going take it easy on you."

He kind of scoffed when you said this. "No offence, but I have super strength."

"Oh no way." You crack your knuckles with a grin. "So do I. Keep fighting until tap out?"

"You're on!"

You won, mostly because you managed to outmaneuver him.

Mark stayed on the ground when you realeased him from the hold you had him in. "So did you do all this to kick my ass?"

You scoff and drag a hand through your hair. "No, just seeing what I have to work with... I'm not saying learning from your dad is a bad thing." Oh how wrong you were. "But knowing different disciplines is going to help you in the long run."

He... didn't quite know what to say to that. In a way, what you were saying was similar to what his mother has been telling him and his father for years. "Same time next week?"

From there the two of you come to an agreement; the two of you spar together and you stay off each other's cases in civilian life. Plain and simple right? Wrong.

In civilian life, the two of you end up gravitating towards each other. Turns out you can find that you have a lot in common with someone when you're not constantly at each other's throats (comic books of all things, ya freakin' nerds). Before you know it, you can comfortably call him a friend, much to Eve's delight.

It's not long before the two of you hang out together outside of the supersuits, whether you're just walking around town or going to the comic book stores for the latest issues of your respective favorites. You tease him for Seance Dog and he teases you for your favorite.

You roll your eyes as you (carefully) snatch the issue back from him. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

"Only if you read at least one issue of Seance Dog."

"...Fine."

He grinned brightly cutely as the two of you traded comic books “Fine!”

At some point, you do show him the rest of your abilities. He’s amazed by your intelligence, but lowkey freaks out when you casually pop your hand off your wrist and subtly let it drop to the floor. He can only watch in horrified amazement as your hand uses your fingers to scuttle along the ground and up your leg so you can reattach it. The look on his face when you yanked your head clean off your shoulders was absolutely priceless and you may or may not have a picture of it.

The two of you begin confiding in each other. He tells you about Viltrum and how he doesn't know how to live up to the legacy, to which you reiterated that just being himself should be enough and if his father or other viltrumites thought otherwise they can fuck right off. Oh the way he looked at you when you said that…

You tell him how you were created, your subsequent abandonment, and how you had to learn everything from scratch. Mark tries to ignore the white hot anger because who the fuck would just abandon you like that?! The person he's gotten to know over the last few months, as hidden as your kind heart is, you didn't deserve that. When he tells you as much, something in your eyes shifts and (surprising you both) you shyly squeeze his hand in thanks but say nothing else. Neither of you pull away for a very long time .

Realization hits for the both of you when you’re running along rooftops for patrol and swan dive off a skyscraper. You never like talking about your past, it always put you in a bad headspace. So maybe you let yourself get a little too close to the ground, not that it would have killed you you’ve tried that and other ways with obvious results. You had your grappling line ready, but before you could fire it at the next building, Mark appears out of nowhere and all but plucks you out of the air before flying to the top of the closest building.

You blink in shock at your friend as he sets you on your feet but doesn’t take his hands off your hips. “Hi?”

Even with the goggles you knew his eyes were staring deep into yours. “You’re not disposable.”

“What are you-”

His grip ever-so-slightly tightened. “You mean a lot to people; Eve, the Guardians-”

You grimaced at that. “I’m pretty sure the Guardians old or new couldn’t give-"

“Will you please let me finish?!” Something in the way his voice cracked kept you from saying anything else, and he paused before continuing on. “You mean a lot to me… If you ever feel like this again, you call me. Call me and I’ll be there.”

Your heart started doing a weird dance in your chest, and you tried to bring yourself back to reality. “You mean a lot to me too. But we’re heroes, Mark. You can’t just promise that.”

Something clicked for Mark then. Getting to know you, speed running to a level of trust and vulnerability that usually took years to get to within the span of a few months, what else was there to say? “Fine, then we’ll just have to stick together.”

Oh.

Oh.

It clicked for you then. This boy trusts and cares about you. He cares about your physical and emotional wellbeing and whether or not you were safe, and seems hellbent on ensuring it.

You hug him close, burying your face in his shoulder when he hugs you back.

“Okay.”

Everything and nothing changed. Despite the words and actions shared on the rooftop that evening, you both carried on as usual… save for now always being together for hero work and the emotional tension in the air.

True to the nature of your relationship leading up to this point, both of you were waiting for the other to crack. Remember the flirty sparring matches comment I made on 'Why Him'? As Mark gets better with hand-to-hand and the two of you find a flow when sparring together, a few teasing comments from the both of you are thrown here and there until eventually the two of you are point blank flirting.

Later, you'll insist he was the one who said it first and he'll argue right back that you were the one to say it.

"Loser kisses the winner?"

"You're on.”

[emeraldsk]

*Gasps* Meee? Woooww!

Okay well uh oo what do I mention that I didn't mention on my own post...

.

I've had a Sonic game release on my birthday recently. Until then I was upset cause I love Sonic (Was introduced to it at the age of -5) but none of the main nor side releases released on my birthday (unless it was a stupid sports game or somethin). Until Sonic Frontiers.

I also 100%'d it, and it was my first one ever. I love this blue weirdo.

Oh crap it's all the blue blur hang on- Okay uh-I am a 'rubbing textures for some comfort' kind of gal somehow. Give me a figure of Sonic or the Puzzles lanky plush, and I'm rubbing his quills/arms respectively.

Yes I have autism, yes I act young, but no I'm not physically affected.

I love drawing and writing a lot! If I published my Sonic book eventually, I think I could get money from it somehow-

I collect pencils cause of the art. I'm at a fair? Give me all your pencils instead of toys. NOW.

I used to think being called gay was an insult. Seriously. I looked in my diary from like 2nd grade, and I said that. Look, I was in a Christian school don't bully past meeeee (Cause IMMA DO IT GIRL YOU GAY LOL)

Let's see... Rory is already tagged...

@mrtophat518 @alelathedragon @briandraws @4thwallbreakerdraws2 (I hope that's the right blog)

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[justnatoka]

Hey there!! saw that your requests were open so i thought i’d share some inspiration<3

david x fem!witch!reader ??

big bad vampire x cutesy witch who could totally give him an aneurysm when he pisses her off vibes lol

need david who’s just soft on his little witch 🕯️🌙🩸

Big bad vampire and his little witch

David x Fem! Witch! Reader

A/n: Thank you so much for requesting! I'm not particularly into the witch/magic user reader fics, but I really enjoyed writing this one! I hope you will like it too, anon! Special shoutout to A Reading by @theyreonlynoodlesmike! It's an amazing fic with a witch reader, and it gave me a lot of motivation and inspiration for writing this.

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You happen to catch the eye of a certain vampire one night on the boardwalk. All dark, mysterious and handsome; the intrigue in definitely mutual.

Nobody could deny that Santa Carla was a colorful place. People from all different walks of life ended up in the small beach town. It was a place where you wouldn't easily stick out, no matter how you looked or what you did. If a pack of vampires, and a very loud one at that, could operate here without being found out, a humble witch like yourself faced basically zero threat of being outed.

At least you called yourself humble, although in reality you were probably one of the more powerful supernatural beings living in Santa Carla. You didn't like to advertise it, satisfied with leading a quiet life. Business was booming anyway. The little shop you set up on the boardwalk offered a vast array of products and services. You sold all sorts of pretty but useless trinkets, stuff that caught the eyes of tourists because they looked interesting and otherworldly. But a good portion of your products were actually the real deal. Healing stones, charms for protection and prosperity, herbal teas for all sorts of ailments. For some extra cash you also made personalized potions, performed palm or card readings.

Your customers ranged from interested non-believers who were drawn in by your very deliberate aesthetic choices, to spiritual ex-hippies, all the way to people who believed the most harmless pendant you sold held some type of magical power. You've seen and heard it all.

Still, there was one particular person you couldn't help but be intrigued by.

It was an especially busy night on the boardwalk when he first approached you, the air practically buzzing with all the noise and energy. You just said bye to a customer when you felt it again, that light tickling sensation as the hair on the back of your neck stood up. Someone was watching you. You've been feeling it on and off for a while now, not particularly alarmed, more like curious. It wasn't out of the ordinary for people to stare, your unique looks and decorations naturally had that effect; it was something you've counted on to draw in new customers. However, no one has ever been this persistent.

And after a group of teenagers moved on from your table, in a small gap in the crowd you finally spotted him. A stranger, all dark, mysterious and handsome with bleached blond hair was leaning against the back of a game booth, taking slow drags of his cigarette. Even though you couldn't make out the color of his eyes from this distance, you knew they were trained on you with a stare almost unblinking. Just as he moved to push himself away from the wall, a group of people entered your field of vision, and the crowd swallowed him once again.

You were trying to see if you could catch another glimpse of him, but by the time that spot became visible again, he was no longer there.

That's why your heart jumped when the smell of cigarette smoke entered your nose, and he was suddenly standing right in front of you. Not many people were able to sneak up on you like that these days. You weren't even sure he belonged to the category of 'people'. There was a persistent tingling under your skin radiating from the small amulet you've worn around your neck, your magic signaling you that something was not normal about this guy. And as his eyes (a striking blue as you noted) met yours, you were certain he was not human.

You put on your most charming smile as you greeted him.

"Evening, mister! What can I interest you with? I've got many different magic potions and amulets for all kinds of problems," you started your usual spiel, playing into the bright and alluring witch persona you usually put on. Most people like it when it seems like you hold knowledge on all the hidden secrets of the world. They don't need to know that they are partially right.

"You." The single word cuts off your chatting, your rhythm faltering for a moment as his eyes bore into you, and he slowly blows out a cloud of smoke.

"Excuse me?" The tingling in your body started to intensify, becoming sharp, almost like a beast clawing against your nerve endings. It wasn't particularly unpleasant.

"I'm interested in you," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a little smirk.

It was clear you were sizing each other up.

You were searching in the back of your mind for the source of this strange feeling. It was like the answer was right on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach enough that it was driving you crazy. He looked like any other young man on the boardwalk – although a slightly better dressed one –, but as you met his eyes curiously, there was something timeless about them. Then it clicked.

A sweet smile slowly stretched across your lips as you let the innocent facade drop.

"Show me yours, I'll show you mine, vampire."

His smirk became sharper, his irises tainted with yellow for just a moment, the stone around your neck pulsing in answer, the wind chimes hanging from the roof of your shop swinging gently without the slightest breeze in the air.

No one noticed anything, people passing by just as they did before, but something changed between you two that night. He didn't stick around for much longer after that, leaving you with a hint of that tingling in your magic, a lingering scent of cigarette smoke, a mind full of intrigue and a name.

David.

It wasn't long before he started showing up at your shop nearly every night. Sometimes he was with his friends, but most of the time he was alone. You had a feeling he wanted to keep your encounters to himself, and you couldn't particularly blame him. You've made some friends of your own since coming to Santa Carla, but you haven't told them about him either.

There seemed to be an unspoken connection between you, one that grew stronger the more time you spent together. Mostly, he would watch you work, listening in with interest when you performed your readings, asking questions when you made potions, or just simply keeping you company.

Before you realized it, his dark silhouette became a permanent fixture at your shop; taking long drags of his cigarette and leaning against the far side of the counter, close enough to make conversation, but out of the way enough that he didn't scare away potential customers.

However, sometimes he just couldn't help but intervene.

It had been a slow night on the boardwalk, with slightly less people meandering around than usual. You and David had been having light conversation on and off, both of you content with sharing comfortable silences in between.

For some reason, it was always nights like these when weird people found you. The guy that strolled past your shop was pretty unassuming, his eye briefly meeting yours before he seemingly changed his mind and turned back, leisurely making his way over to you.

An easy smile stretched across his lips as he took you in behind your counter with more curiosity. Something about it made your insides squirm.

"Hey there! Pretty sweet setup you have here," he greeted, motioning over your items and decor before his gaze returned to you once again.

You thanked him with your pleasant customer service voice.

"You run this shop all alone?" he asked after pretending to look at some of your merchandise.

There was some unspoken implication in his question that you couldn't quite place. Nothing seemed outwardly wrong about him, but you still couldn't help the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. It wasn't your magic warning you this time, this was the intuition of a woman who has seen things.

"Yes, I do. Have been for a pretty long time," you answered with caution.

His eyes squinted at that.

"Aren't you a bit young to be doing this for a 'long time'?"

Your smile definitely had an edge to it as you replied,

"You don't know how old I am."

Throughout your short exchange you have been growing more and more conscious of David standing not far away. He was half-blending into the shadows, not saying anything, but his presence seemed to have grown heavier. The creep wasn't noticing it though.

He leaned on your counter, his forearms messing up the neat arrangement of charms and amulets in front of you.

"So," he started, his voice conspiratorially low. "You really believe in all this supernatural stuff, huh?"

"I guess I do," you deadpanned. "Comes with the job description."

He breathed out a laugh.

"You're funny. But really, you don't have to lie to me, everyone knows it's all bullshit." There was the slightest hint of condescension in his voice. "Just a way for pathetic folks to deal with life. But you're selling it pretty well," he winked at you.

You were done. You could feel your heartbeat rising, the air around you pulsing with anger. But before you could open your mouth to do some damage, a growl sounded from the shadows lurking around your shop.

In your irritated state you forgot him for a second, but David was quick to step forward.

"I think it's time you fuck off." His tone had an edge that promised danger.

The creep blinked at him, caught off guard for a second. "Where the hell did you come from?"

He swiftly recovered however, answering David's harsh words with some of his own. "And who the fuck are you? I was just having a conversation with her."

David was suddenly standing right in front of him, his hand gripping the guy's shoulder painfully tight. As he leaned in close, his face started to change, his features looking less and less human.

"Fuck. Off." He emphasized his words by snapping sharp teeth at him.

The guy was just about soiling his pants. David gave him a rough push, and he almost fell over his own feet in his haste to scamper off.

When you looked up at the vampire, he was in the process of snuffing out his cigarette just before pulling out another, his face completely back to normal. Noticing your stare, your eyes full of wonder, he cocked up an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You know I could have fried his brain if I wanted to, right?" An amused smile was playing on your lips.

"I know, sweetheart. I just didn't like the way he was talking to you." He wasn't looking you in the eye as he said it.

Oh, he's cute. Your insides were turning mushy from him turning into protective, big bad vampire. With a radiant grin on your face, you beckoned him closer. A small flame lit up at the end of your pinkie, lighting his cigarette for him. Now it was his turn to look at you with wonder.

"Thank you," you murmured, very much enjoying his close proximity.

"Your welcome," he answered with a softness in his gaze that you haven't seen before.

You went back to your usual routine after that; you rearranging your items that were moved out of place and chatting with customers, and him standing to the side listening in. You know he noticed how your heart was beating faster, and he knew you noticed how he moved just a bit closer from his previous position. None of you said anything about the silences between you being feeling charged with something more now either.

Tags: @stinkydove @pandemoniavenus @000-colby @lunarwhitewolf7 @notalwaysa @binightowl @darlingnikkisixxxx @skrimblo-blumpkgo @wpdarlingpan @gibzzsworld @thelostboysforeva

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

[hexcorenova]

i have such a huge theory and missing moments about what happened between old!viktor and his jayce that i could probably write an entire 20-chapter book on it. i'm also considering drawing some scenes if i can manage it. i'd love to explore the idea that this viktor can use magic so well because he wasn't corrupted by shimmer. let me know if anyone's interested in hearing the whole story and all the details! ✨

[taeaura]

what do you think reader x Thomas's wedding would actually be like if it would be a small Christian wedding with the family or smth like that and also if you could do a small oneshot or smth if maybe reader being hit on working in the gas station and if luda mae is there ifyk what I mean ty x

<3

omg I love thisssssss !! I'm gonna write + post the oneshot on another post, don't worry! I'll tag you in it <3

What Would a Realistic Wedding Look Like For Thomas {And His S/O} ?

_____

I think the wedding planning would really be in Luda Mae's hands - She's always been one to take charge. Her idea of the 'ideal wedding' is much different than Thomas' idea of the 'ideal wedding'. Luda wants a traditional, in-church wedding with classic, elegant attire {that can be found in a small town}. Thomas, on the other hand, prefers to draw as little attention as possible to both himself and the family. He wouldn't care if it was just the two of you exchanging rings and calling it a day - As long as you two were together {and blessed by The Lord - cue Thomas' religious upbringing and generational trauma}.

If the town was still alive at the time of your matrimony, it would most likely be held in a church {as required requested by Luda Mae}, with all the family {and potentially friends of the family}. I do, however, think it would be difficult to obtain considering the majority of the town find the Hewitts to be...a bit odd.

If the town has already died down, the wedding would be held on the {Hewitt} property - With Charlie Hoyt as the 'priest' {because of course he'd be}.

I also have this little headcanon-ish thing that Jedidiah {if you keep him in the fantasy} would be the ring-bearer {and he'd be very pleased to do so!}

Hoyt would definitely crack some jokes in-between lines, with multiple side-eyes and sighs from Luda Mae {Monty would try to hide his chuckling, though, he's not very good at it}.

-

Thomas would pick you a {disheveled} bouquet of wildflowers - Mostly bluebonnets and white yarrows. Overall, he loves you. He doesn't matter if the wedding was simple and secluded {he'd prefer it that way} - As long as the two of you are happy and blessed by the Lord.

{Thomas has very deep religious/generational trauma. He's been taught to believe that an unholy/non-traditional marriage isn't going to last.}

I hope this was coherent enough! If you need any further clarification, or another ask, just comment or message me!🫀

[theoreticalli]

in the spirit of the game I'm going to attempt a natural philosophical style definition of a video game. insert school of athens fresco Let's Discuss

1. DIGITAL; a video game has a digital interface by which the player interacts with the pre-existing code of The Game via text and/or images (a paper sudoku book, tabletop board game, or physical sport are not video games; a FitBit could be a video game).

2. INTERACTIVE; a video game requires a loop of input and output between the player and the code of The Game, wherein the player has multiple options for input and will receive an output event affected by both the input and the code (writing in a word processor or drawing in a paint program are not video games; a visual novel and a uquiz are video games)

3. PLAY; a video game serves a primary purpose of entertainment; the player must be engaging in Play and must be able to stop playing as desired (a spreadsheet with a lot of interlocking formulas is not a video game unless you're having fun. a FitBit is only a video game if you're having fun. a workplace training module is not a video game.).

you may think my conclusions obvious but I argue: no esports player can touch a video game once they sign a contract for that game. the game ceases to become a game at their very touch. alright diogenes out, discuss

What's a video game?

Watch the new episode now on Dropout

[diminuel]

There's been an accident on the Merry!

Just before arriving in Alabasta, Captain Luffy ended up transformed into a 3- to 5-year-old boy with no memories beyond his age… now he cries for his mother and calls everyone kidnappers…

The crew doesn't know what to do; as far as they knew, their captain was an orphan! (He wasn't, he just didn't want to cheat by using his connections on his pirate adventure, so he didn't tell anyone.)

Oh no, that's so cute and is going to lead to excellent chaos...! Little Luffy at that age hasn't decided to be a pirate yet and still is a cry baby, which would probably freak his crew out. So being out on the open sea with a bunch of pirates might shock him. I can see him trying to call the marine (his Grandpa) to report a kidnapping but of course the whole crew would wrestle the snail phone from him.

And they're just about the land on Alabasta and Vivi is quite desperate because her country cannot effort any further delay. She cannot let it fall into Mr. Zero's hands!

I'm not sure if Luffy would reveal who his parents are, we know how he is about keeping secrets - very stubborn even if it hurts him. But he can't lie at all so he might still accidentally reveal some things.

Would Luffy manage to get to the phone after all and call Crocodile?

Would Luffy spill the beans that his mom (is this female!Croc or was Crocodile still mom back then but no longer now?) worked in Alabasta? Then the Strawhats would probably move on with their journey and their attempt to pick a fight with a Warlord, hoping that either Luffy returns to normal or they could get Luffy's "super super super strong!!" mom to help them?

Would they go into Alabasta since they had no other choice and then meet Ace (who Luffy would not recognize I guess) who then tags along to get Luffy to Crocodile?

Many options!! X'D

The crew is definitely having their hands full with their deaged captain...!

(This goes on my to draw list but I must first ponder this X'DD Also, I'm in fic writing mode right now but who knows how long that will last!)

[witsserviceablesubstitute]

Sometimes I see takes against fandom fetishism by the queer community and I do agree, especially when they're thoughtful and kind rather than condemning.

But I always want to add that people latch onto something subversive and romantic and sexual because there are few places left for that particular creative freedom and self expression. I mean, the sheer amount of these gorgeous pieces of European Christian medieval artworks being reinterpreted to include two queer men, outwardly filling this traditional role of Knight and Lord but inwardly much more complex— it is beautiful, romantic, and absolutely subversive. The sheer queer joy of it all! It also reframes the original artwork to say that those men and women definitely had more going on behind the scenes too.

On my bookshelf I have a lot of Danmei, a genre of queer fiction that people have been imprisoned for. It's far too complicated to handwave it away as gay porn when (4 volumes per sex scene might be stretching the definition of porn a bit) authors are at substantial risk for writing it, but people do try. However, Danmei wouldn't exist without Yaoi, which has its own history of empowering queer voices in Japan, China, and South East Asia. China has one of the largest and quietest queer populations in the world and in Danmei they have a voice. Indeed, Porn, Romance, and Erotica were often the only spaces queer stories could be told— at least joyfully. Yaoi even has a subcategory for this phenomenon, Bara, which is still definitely porn but uplifts the voices of Japanese queer men specifically, and is one of the only places to do so.

What I'm saying, I suppose, is perhaps what some people get from Hans and Henry is a handlehold on hope in an increasingly christofascist present? Perhaps what they get from writing religious trauma into their relationship is a safe space to process their own? Perhaps the process of writing and drawing them in heteronormative roles is also a form of processing their own gender and sexuality? All of that matters too and has its own relationship with trying to come to terms with sexism, homophobia, and heteronormativity.

But, yeah, as a queer person who lives and breathes stories about complex queer characters, I can definitely understand the frustration of them being OOC for the sake of heteronormativity.

[nohoperadio]

It's stupid to idealize past eras that didn't have the technologies we take for granted, but if you know you're being stupid it can be harmless to do recreationally. One thing I sometimes recreationally idealize is how shadowy each person's view of the vast majority of the world must have been before the widespread availability of photography and video of basically everything that exists that we enjoy now. For most of history the average person was aware of the existence of distant parts of the globe where the landscape and climate was completely different, the plants and animals, the buildings and food, people's clothes and languages and religions and general daily lives were all completely different, while seeing almost zero "primary sources" for what any of this was specifically like. Even not-so-distant places could feel relatively exotic if you hadn't personally traveled there. Illustrations of various kinds existed but would have been very limited in both quality and availability for the most part, you're largely dependent on written and spoken accounts not just for (as nowadays) understanding and insight but also for just the very simplest sensory information, colour size shape sound vibe, what is all this stuff like on the most basic possible level? Those shitty medieval illustrations of animals that look nothing like the animal because the artist had only ever read about them are a kind of small window onto this.

And clearly this would suck! But there's also something that really appeals to me about the way it heightens the felt significance of description and imagination. In order to think about the world beyond your back yard at all you had to be constantly exercising your imagination because you didn't have anything else, you had to supply whatever images you lacked from your own mental resources.

This is putting it a bit too strongly, but there's really a sense in which for me in the present, reading a written description of anything is essentially just reading a commentary upon visual images I've already received and retained; even if it's a description of something I can't have seen a real image of like a scene from ancient Rome or something, I've seen a Hollywood version of that scene, the description can't do much more than modify and correct what I already have. This seems to me to be a completely different experience from if the written description is the raw material to which I'm contributing the bulk of the imaginative heavy lifting myself, having to come up with my own shitty medieval lion drawings in my own mind whenever I come across something new. I think there's genuinely a profound experience there that we've more or less totally lost now.

(this post is arguably guilty of exaggeration in service of the general gist, I know, but I'm getting tired of writing it and I can't be bothered to try to make it more subtle right now)

[spidercatweb]

Bookmark ★ Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: none really! fluffy fluffy fluff!! fem! librarian!reader, one single use of y/n, mention of being starving (when r gets home from work, she eats but it doesn't say what), use of song lyrics, this is so cute i fear... Spencer texting too formally is canon to me.

Description: r finds a note left in a book for her by Spencer <3

Read part 1 of my librarian!reader series here!

Word Count: 628

A/n: this one is was not peer reviewed so apologies if it's not great 😬 but I quite enjoy it :3

All sorts of bookmarks were left in books by all types of people. Some taken from your own library, decorated with a variety of different art from book covers. Some with famous quotes. Plenty were handmade, though. Pieces of paper cut into perfect bookmark size, with messy colorful scribbles, hidden away in children's books. Grocery receipts. Even torn scraps of paper or half-done homework sheets.

You'd seen pretty much every possible bookmark. You even kept a collection in a box at the front desk. But you'd never seen anything like the one you'd just found. In a book returned by none other than Dr. Spencer Reid, who you'd just recently started going out with. Just a few dates, nothing too serious so far.

A unique looking doodle of a girl that looks a lot like you. Beside it, a few words —lyrics?— scrawled in a squiggly font that matched the art style perfectly.

"If I wasn't shy

I'd ask you, if you don't mind,

To kiss you a hundred times

If I wasn't shy"

The little note is terribly cute. A smile crosses your face. Is this me? Did Spencer leave this just for me? Did he really write that?

After folding the paper carefully, you slip it into your skirt pocket. This one is special. I'll take it home.

That night, you slide off your shoes just inside your front door. You place your work bag on a hook above the shoe rack. Heading to your room, you take the paper out of your pocket. You unfold it. A warm feeling flutters in your chest as you admire the drawing once again.

It was silly to be this giddy over such a simple little thing. What if it wasn't even Spencer who left it there for you? Was it even for you? You could just ask him. You do have his number.

Maybe you'll text him after you've changed out of your work clothes and eaten a proper meal. Food. Food sounds nice. You place the paper into a small box in your closet for safekeeping.

Feeling much cleaner, and much less starving, you lounge on your bed. Cozy, warm, and soft. You could fall asleep in a heartbeat. Or could you?

The image of the drawing fades into your mind as you close your eyes. You grin just thinking about it. Maybe you should ask him about it before it completely takes over your brain.

Blinking your eyes to feel more awake, you grab your phone from your nightstand. Sleepily standing up, you head to your closet. Opening up the small box and taking the paper into your other hand, you snap a picture of it.

After a few minutes of anxious contemplation, you muster up the courage to send Spencer the photo. Along with a single question mark.

You didn't expect him to reply so quickly. You assumed he would be out on a case.

"You found it! :-)"

You smile and reply just as quickly.

"You left it for me? It's adorable, by the way <3"

"I was worried you wouldn't find it."

"And yes, I left it just for you."

"Awwwww, that's so sweet of you, thank you, Spencer."

"You're welcome, Y/n.”

"I also made sure to use a pen that I was sure wouldn't transfer onto the pages of the book, if you were worried about that."

"You're so lovely :("

"So are you."

"I was wondering if you'd like to go on another date this Friday? If I'm not away on a case that is. If so, then maybe when I get back?"

"Of course, I'd love to. Just tell me the time and place, and I'll be there."

“And I might just take you up on that kiss offer :)”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Thank you for reading! <3

Feedback is very much appreciated!!

My requests are open <3

Song that the quote is from ⤵️

[cyanmoe]

my eltingville ocs!!

I haven't drawn in a long time, so that's why my drawings look a little bad in terms of anatomy. I hope to improve my drawings over time.

They're basically the Eltingville club, but instead of being obsessed with American media, they're obsessed with Japanese media.

Nancy: Club leader, she is extremely narcissistic and manipulative, she is rarely genuine with people, including her friends, she is always lying or hiding her true intentions. She has a "balance" between her hobbies and obligations, although she does not hesitate to spend her money on buying merchandise, she steals, scams and catfish on the Internet to get money. She genuinely believes that her tastes make her better than others. Her specialty is anime and manga.

Maria: Vice president of the club, she acts like a idiot all the time, she is incapable of taking anything seriously, yet she is nice to people (normies) she hates it when normies "steal" her hobbies and tastes. She is working hard to learn how to draw and compose music to become a vocaloid producer.

Stan: Nancy doesn't remember accepting him into the club, he just started following them everywhere, Nancy doesn't mind this because she thinks he's cute. Stan is a weirdo but intellectual, he is calm most of the time and knows how to act, he could have friends but he hates normies with all his soul, he tries to gatekeep and starts to hate things he like when they become mainstream. He plans to go to college in Japan to write his own light/visual novels.

I'm embarrassed to post this but I hope you guys like my ocs ^w^ :3:3:33

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

Hi hi! I love your translations💙I’ve been listening to yume no kanata on repeat it’s literally my favorite, is there any way possible we could get a translation for it🤞🤲 thank you for everything!!

Skipping around in the request queue while I chip away at Torima Get on the Floor. So sure thing!

Stylistic notes:

This song is written in a semi-literary, confessional style reminiscent of an I-novel. In the interest of capturing a similar tone, I've been a little loose with word choice and sentence structure but have taken care not to introduce new ideas. Some reasonable assumptions have been made and marked in footnotes.

The song is playful with its ambivalence in subject and listener. "You" is only explicitly mentioned twice (信じられるのは君だけだわ - You are the only one I can trust; 君の背中は今日も強く大きく見えたんだ Today again your back looms before me), and every other stated subject is conveyed via pronouns connoting distance or lack thereof. Distance plays a distinct role throughout the song thematically. Gentarou, the speaker, is placing himself at a distance from the listener ("you") in a deliberate subversion of the close, intimate nature of confessional writing.

This ambiguity allows for many valid interpretations of the same song. While it might be possible to write an equally ambiguous version of the text in English, I suspect the overall effect would be far more avant garde than the Hypmic writers intended. I therefore chose the interpretation that made the most sense to me: the listener ("you") being both Fling Posse and Gentarou's brother.

I encourage casual readers to ignore the footnotes, but those interested in alternate translations or the nitty-gritty details of this song will have plenty to devour.

Translation:

Oh, I'm so very tired of this mundane, superficial world we live in. I keep waiting for the truth. (Or is it your response I'm waiting for?) [1] I know the object of my desires will never come--but still, I wait. Oh, I'm so very tired of being betrayed, of having my expectations shattered, so I think I'll choose to place my trust in you--and only you. I'm not sure I feel at home in "my" new room yet. [2] You are gone, but some part of you remains--a warm afterimage that refuses to cool. [3] [4] For you've gone and hidden yourself away again somewhere far, far away. [5] I can only wonder: Where are you? What does the world look like through your eyes, wherever you may be? [6]

I say nothing when the rain comes pouring down upon my head. I make no sound when sorrow weighs my steps--but it matters little, for there is no fooling you.

Wherever I look in town, there you are. [7]

Wishes rattle off your tongue as automatically as you draw breath. [8] It's enchanting, really--so much that I find myself torn between you and "you." [9]

There is nothing more wretchedly useless than meaning, but all the same, I must admit--not one word of all you've said was a lie. [10]

The fated hour is close at hand, but there's so much more of this story still yet to read--I don't want to give it up now.

For as we speak, the very same stars that shine down on me are bathing you in their light somewhere far, far away. [11] I can only wonder: Where are you? What does the world look like through your eyes, wherever you may be?

You mustn't think I'm being dramatic. I'm not putting on airs when I speak in such a fashion. I've simply [12] staked everything that I am--gambled my life--to do what I must. [13] It has changed everything. Everything--the vacuous, [14] insipid world we live in; my truth [15]--has transformed into... [16]

I say nothing when the rain comes pouring down upon my head. I make no sound when sorrow weighs my steps--but it matters little, for there is no fooling you.

Wherever I look in town, there you are: in this spinning record of a town [17] that brings me ever closer to hopes of better tomorrows [18]--carries me far, far away. [19]

Footnotes:

[1] "Truth" is placed at a neutral distance from the speaker, hence "the." "Your" response is assumed based on series context. Presumably, it's Gentarou's brother responding/waking up from his coma. The word "truth" is spoken in the song but written with the pronunciation for "response" in the lyrics. This is a common tactic in writing to suggest and emphasize that two disparate things are the same, hence the parentheses.

[2] It's perfectly valid (and perhaps more natural) to read this line as "Are you settled into your new room?" Per series context and the following line, I chose to make Gentarou the subject for the purpose of this translation. "My" is in scare quotes to draw attention to Gentarou assuming his brother's life; it is original to this translation.

[3] I leaned into the emotional aspect of this line to convey the connotation of 温もり/warmth. 温もり often suggests emotion, love, etc. and to preserve the cooling image from the source I kept the word "warmth" as is and added the "afterimage" and "some part of you" aspects for tone. "You" is assumed from context and the distance in その. Were we to read this as Gentarou talking about his brother's room (see footnote 2), I suppose this would indicate something like "You still carry your life/energy/warmth with you into your new [hospital?] room."

[4] The excessive em-dash usage is a translation original and was chosen for tone. The deliberate placements are for poetic structure.

[5] Added "far, far away" for distance imagery (see the その) and to set up repetition for the final lines of the song. Again, this is for poetic structure.

[6] "You" is assumed. An argument could be made that Gentarou is referring to himself (almost in third-person) as the one hiding away and looking out at the world, perhaps not seeing anything, but this wouldn't be my first reading of it.

[7] I originally wrote something like "Wherever I look in town, I see you stamped over it in an indelible imprint" but decided that a simpler, shorter line would have more effect on the heels of the longer sentences preceding it. The literal "Today again your back looms before me" is referring to the common image of "seeing [someone else's] back" or the speaker feeling that someone else is worthier/stronger/"ahead of" themselves. It can also be accompanied by a feeling of someone being "close" enough to catch up with, Here, I interpreting it as Gentarou seeing reminders of his brother everywhere and thinking he has big shoes to fill. Later, I read the "you" as having switched to Fling Posse, with Gentarou seeing the mark they've made on the world and thinking he's finally "close" enough to join them emotionally. It could also be read as Gentarou literally walking a pace or two behind Fling Posse on an outing, with his attention focused on them. Finally, the この on "town" suggests a closeness of feeling. I opted for simple "in town" for the simplicity and the closeness implied in its colloquialism.

[8] "as [someone] breaths" is a common phrase and is short for "as easily as [someone] breaths." The verb used for "speaking" on this line has a somewhat negative connotation, so I went for "rattle off the tongue."

I'm interpreting this "you" as Fling Posse.

[9] Added "between you and 'you'" for clarity. The scare quotes are simply for readability and to draw attention to the nature of the two listeners. That Gentarou feels forced to choose between his brother and Fling Posse is an assumption on my part substantiated by canon and context of the song.

[10] The その on "words" gives it a distance that suggests these words belong to "you." I found this interesting--I would've assumed it was Gentarou talking about himself if not for the rest of the song's structure.

[11] "夜天光" is technically cosmic background radiation, but I swapped this for "stars" for the sake of tone. I'm not sure if the distinction carries intended meaning. I'm inclined to think no... I could see an argument for tying this into Gentarou's feelings of emptiness, but as the word contains nothing about the vacuum of space in Japanese, this feels like a stretch.

[12] Intentional oxymoron. Gentarou is being very dramatic in his word choice.

[13] "do what I must" is implied. I was a bit torn on how to handle this, as the source only outright says "to take on" and leaves the challenge/hurdle/ordeal implied. This can be interpreted in a number of different ways, particularly Gentarou facing Otome over the manuscript, so I tried to preserve the ambiguity in such a fashion that would still be poetic.

[14] I'm not married to any of the wording in this translation apart from this use of "vacuous" to suggest emptiness.

[15] Bolding and italics mine for emphasis. The word "truth" from the opening verse is now paired with この for closeness. Used "my" for the same effect.

[16] The source trails off to imply that a change has been made, that the vapid everyday has become meaningful and fun. I spelled out "It has changed everything" and "transformed" to preserve this meaning and also let it trail off to avoid putting extra words in Gentarou's mouth.

[17] The 廻る/"spinning" alludes to Torima Get on the Floor, so I added the "record" for clarity.

[18] 明日を迎える/"to reach tomorrow" is a common hopeful phrase, so I used the common phrase "better tomorrows" and fluffed up the phrasing for tone.

[19] The 彼方/"other side"/"far away" from the title

[friend-of-giants]

○○ WIP Wednesday/Wednesday Wrensday ○○

Tagged so far by @theoneandonlysemla @skyrim-forever and @labskeever! Thank ye kindly <3

I'll tag @vervayyn @sheirukitriesfandom @heavy-metal-dick @lucien-lachance @umbracirrus @pocket-vvardvark @juniperberries-canisroot and YOU, yes you reading this!

Sharing a snip of writing this week, since I haven't had time to draw. I do have a Brynjolf planned from my post last week where I asked for different NPCs to tackle, but all I have so far are a few ref pics 😅 It's been a busy few days, but I hope to get some art and writing done in the near future!

Context, Wren just heard about a nearby dragon attack that ruined Shor's Stone, and she's been summoned to go kill it. But first, dinner. PS: Hofgrir Horse-Crusher has dogs because I said so.

All afternoon [Wren] had been looking forward to dinner, but now, as she pulled their steaks from the cooking grate and saw the charred, sizzling meat, her stomach began to churn.  She'd be seeing more of that in the near future, and it wouldn't be edible. 

At the table, Teldryn picked at his food, managing to eat half of his steak and two bites of potato.  Her own potato was gone completely, and her steak remained whole, save for a single piece of meat stuck on the end of her fork.  She couldn't bring herself to put it in her mouth.  

“Food's good,” he said, gesturing to her plate with his knife.  “Aren't you going to finish it?”

“Tough talk for someone who can't even finish his own,” she muttered.  “And no, I can't.  I've lost my appetite.”  

Memories of Helgen flashed in her mind; the stench of death and dragonfire, the bodies littering the roads, the thick clouds of flies swarming the dead.  It was the first time she'd witnessed what a dragon was capable of, how easily one could take so many innocent lives with so little effort.  To know that she held that same power, to render living beings to…

She looked back down to her steak, the crispy edges and the juices pooling on the plate, and suppressed a gag before shoving it away.  

“I have trouble eating when I'm nervous, too,” Teldryn admitted.  “Makes me feel like heaving my guts.”

Nervous wasn't how she would describe the sheer disgust she felt, but thought better of correcting him.  “Aye, me too.  Might go see if Hofgrir's dogs want my leftovers, then go see what the Jarl wants.

[randomfoggytiger]

Jesus, what was that podcast?? We can tolerate cannabis, but… we need to talk about Cosby. Or don't talk, forget and move on to the next one. Please don't say it was cute and funny.

A few points:

Firstly, I'm sure you were reaching out in advocatory passion, but please remember: I'm an adult, and I'll say what I want. Always open to constructive criticism or critique, but this was neither of those.

Secondly, David Duchovny and Jaleel White were discussing the oft-debated concept of art vs. artist; and they built off of Cosby because Jaleel, not DD, brought up the man specifically to draw attention to a thought process he'd encountered while writing his book.

Thirdly, David Duchovny does three things in the conversation: 1. understand that context is key to understanding situations, 2. agree that contextualizing behavior leads to a detached observation that neither condemns nor condones, and 3. reinforce that he's not talking about (and I quote) "crimes" when he discusses humans, their failures, and mistakes-- even further, he says there's a marked difference between "mistakes" and "pathological mistakes" (the former is redeemable because they grow and learn, the latter is a different animal because they refuse to atone and change.)

Fourthly, David Duchovny is of the mind that, culturally, the public is moving towards context rather than complete erasure. It's an ugly but true aspect of humanity that the worst people can also create beautiful art-- one that Stephen Fry (a Jewish man) brought up when he and Craig Ferguson discussed his love for Wagner's (an antisemite) music. (The conversation starts at 1:13:01):

DD also believes it's a harder but more realistic way to tackle what can and can't be held up as artistic merit.

Fifthly, David Duchovny doesn't know where he, personally, draws the line-- mainly, I would wager, because society as a whole hasn't arrived at a clear and distinct set of rules regarding the topic.

Just for you, anon, I listened to (most of) the podcast again, and transcribed the conversation-- point-by-point-- so that you and others can judge the context for yourselves:

**Note**: There are likely typos, but I can't be bothered to edit them out now. Will ghost edit later.

DD and Jaleel meet-and-greet.

Jaleel relays how kids at his daughter's school endeared him to the parents.

Jaleel relates a story where a black teacher was using him as an example of an "acceptable" character for white people, erasing the importance of his work and the character's legacy.

DD asks how Jaleel crafted his character and comedic timing.

Jaleel talks about sports, keeping his performance as a child fresh, the different directors and people that made an impact at the time.

Which led into Cosby, who Jaleel brought up, and needed to talk about to get some disappointments off his chest:

DD: "You mentioned listening to the audience-- so there's a feedback loop you're engaged with there. And also it affects your timing: because you can't, like, there's often two jokes in a row, you gotta wait, you know. So, where... At twelve, you're just feeling your way through-- you just 'have it.' Was that your experience of it: that I have this gift, and I'm just going to keep doing it'?"

JW: "Again, I think the beautiful part about having grown up in the 80s and 90s is I didn't see it as a gift. It was just me being 'me.' And, um, if anything I was in awe of... yeah, your Eddie Murphys and, y'know...." [Pause.] "Suffice it to say, I wish I could say another name but, your Bill Cosbys at the time."

DD: [Reassuring voice} "Yeah, sure."

JW: "Everybody on In Living Color."

DD: "Yeah."

JW: "All of my inspiration was generally coming from adults...."

7. DD and Jaleel open up about comedic inspirations, and the hilarious child actors they thought were above the material given to them.

8. Talk about the joy of performing. Harrison Ford anecdote.

9. Aging out of the Urkel character and panic (and sitcom characters.) Reality was different for sitcom actors in the 90s-- could get away with a little more absurdity than today. Surrealism.

10. Acting has been under duress for the past four or five years.

11. DD and Jaleel talk reboots and auditioning for Full House. "Rejection's God's protection." Model New York in L.A.

12. The 90s is our 60s now (DD doesn't like the internet.)

13. Jaleel's experience writing his book.

14. Jaleel talks about leaving out corporal punishment: how it would be unfair to include that aspect of his mother's punishment when it was the norm while he was growing up:

DD: "But isn't this what we run into all the times, because cultural norms change."

JW: "Right."

DD: "Not just parenting; but also racial--"

JW: "Yep."

DD: "--sexual, religious."

JW: "Exactly."

DD: "We have to be able to contextualize the behavior."

JW: "Yep, yep."

DD: "Without condoning or condemning, right?"

JW: "Right. You know, I wrote about Mr. C, um, in my book a lot; and.... And there's certain people that still-- even though I devoted several pages to put it in the proper, putting my interaction with him in the proper historical context-- that are still gonna be like--"

DD: "Oh, when you said Mr. C, I thought you meant cocaine."

JW: "No!"

[Both laugh, tease at his misstep.]

[Continued:]

JW: "Okay, we're gonna say 'Cosby.' Um, but some people still felt like I was celebrating him too much; and it's just like, Nah, man. I don't think you really understand what a loss that was for us culturally-- as black people; and as people who just toil in comedy, not even black. What that, y'know, did for-- and what a let down it was for us to see his legacy come down, like... like a statue... of, of... I can't even say what kind of statue."

DD: "I understand."

JW: "You understand what I'm saying-- like a fallen statue of, you, you, you.... This was a monument, this dude. And, um. So, I would always love for this show [reboot], if we get a chance-- and we will, I can feel it-- that, that we're able to depict history with respect; but at the same time create conversation between people as they're watching. 'Hey, this is the way it was then; and this is the way it'll never be--"

DD: "The question becomes do we throw out the entire existence of the person, and the legacy of their art and comedy."

JW: "Yeah."

DW: "Or... do we try and, in an adult way, see the difference between the person and the art."

JW: "I think it all goes out, man."

DD: "I think we have been in that place. I think we might be moving out of that place."

JW: "I'd like to see us move out of it because I let God do the judging. But, um, but that might be wishful thinking, man. I think it all goes out."

DD: "You say that you let god do the judging. I wouldn't say that for myself; but I try to separate, y'know, the person from the work as much as I can."

JW: "I do, too."

DD: "Yes. There's crimes; there's horrible things that can happen and can be perpetrated by certain people. But you look back at some of the great art, and...."

JW: "Oh, yeah."

DD: "In history. And they weren't saints. And--"

JW: "But it wasn't covered the same way. And because it wasn't covered the same way, it was weird; it was strange. I actually went to see my favorite art exhibits I've ever seen; and it was, um, in San Francisco. And it was a combination of Walt Disney and Salvador Dali. I had no idea that they were great friends."

DD: "Neither did I."

JW: "And Salvador Dali's art is just captivating. You just stare at it, it's amazing.... They were great friends; and then after having seen that art exhibit, I did my own research on Salvador Dali. And this dude... this dude was a monster! I mean, I'm not even going to describe what this dude's afflictions were!" DD: "Right."

JW: "But we didn't live in internet times where you could learn of Salvador's afflictions in 30 seconds around the world, everybody hitting their phones."

DD: "If I could just boil that down to--"

JW: "Please, do."

DD: "--to where we are in this podcast, which is... as well. We can't, it's harder to get beyond your failures now, because they're curated forever on this thing; in this cloud. You used to be able to forget some stuff."

JW: "Yep."

DD: "Some stuff used to be able to go away. And I'm not talking about crimes. I'm just talking about human failure, whatever. Bad judgement. Mistakes. Uh, flops. And, y'know, part of what I like to talk about on this podcast is, y'know, forgiveness and forgetting; and kind of... accepting of those moments when we fail-- as long as they're not pathological, and we don't continue to do the same thing.

TLDR: Jaleel White started the conversation (wanted to discuss the misinterpretation of his words on the Cosby subject); David Duchovny added his two cents in agreement; both disagreed on the cultural castigation of canceled artists; and DD drew a marked distinction between crimes and mistakes.