#i have no idea why i am using this font

[anormalf1sh]

Warrior cats alphabet challenge but pixelated

C if forrrrr CURLFEATHER!

[zablionsea]

I had to install a whole other font just to get some characters working in my Rich Text Editor for notes on something.

But apparently, I accidentally pasted in my section on everything, and the characters work fine on Tumblr?????? What? Okay? Like what am I gonna need that for anyway?????

Separate but related revelation: I thought NOISZ ARC⌖CODA's symbol was the supposed to be coda from musical notation (y'know, given the name). But it's a different Unicode character?

Coda is this: 𝄌. This one (⌖) is a symbol for position tolerance in engineering? At least according to Wikipedia (great source, I know/s). I'm guessing that it was intentional because coda isn't as widely supported by fonts as the position tolerance symbol. Again, I literally had to download a new font to get coda working in my RTF but did literally nothing for ⌖, and it was fine. (LAST⌖ARC also uses the position tolerance one and not coda).

The distinction only really matters when typing the name, and honestly, even if it looks wrong to me, I'll still use the position tolerance character and not the coda one. It's just that… I can't unsee it now.

[dalishious]

About Davrin's little blurb on the official website for Dragon Age: The Veilguard...

"Though he was raised in a Dalish clan, he craved excitement and adventure. He'd rather make history than reflect on it."

There's actually a lot to unpack about these two sentences.

First off, placing the word "though" in front of being "raised in a Dalish clan", gives such a thing a negative connotation. The word "though" is used in a way that sounds like "despite", as in, somehow wanting excitement and adventure must go against being Dalish. This correlates with sentence that follows. "He'd rather make history than reflect on it." The word "rather" is yet again used to separate Davrin from his Dalish origin. All together, this promotional description of Davrin is insisting that he is "not like other Dalish".

Now, obviously the game is not out yet, so we do not have total confirmation on what the nature of Davrin's relationship to his culture is really like. But there is absolutely something to be said about promoting the character this way, regardless of however he actually turns out in game. There is absolutely something to be said about how, as @/the-eldritch-it-gay put in their tags here, why do writers feel the need to make fantasy minorities hate or distance themselves from their culture? As a selling point?

Maybe this is completely misleading bullshit, maybe it isn't. All we have to go by, is what BioWare chose to say here, and their past track record with elves:

Zevran may talk about his mother in a font way, but he still has the line, "Too many of our kind think we deserve pity simply because we have failed to defend ourselves."

Velanna is one of the two elves we've had who is overtly proud of her culture, yet she is treated like she is unreasonable and too angry because of it.

Merrill too, is proud of being an elf, and of being Dalish. The story punishes her left and right for this, treats her like a child, and in the end she is either ostracized from her clan or they end up dead because... she cared too much?

Fenris has pretty much zero engagement with elven cultures, and spends his time ridiculing Merrill for being proud of hers.

Solas complains about the Dalish from the start, and says plainly that he does not see himself as having anything in common with elves of current time. "Oh, you mean elves" he says, when the Inquisitor asks how he feels about his people; the thought does not even occur to him.

Sera is... Sera is a character who could have been a really interesting examination of overcoming internalized racism, if she was written by someone competent with the subject. Instead, she just cringes at everything "too elfy" through the entire main game, and only has a single line in Trespasser that hints that she may have a personal struggle going on. But it's still left unresolved.

That's a lot a lot of negativity. So of course seeing a suggestion that more is to come with Davrin has people wary and tired.

Let us also consider the fact that Davrin is overtly Black as well, and what that means. Acting as if one must disregard history in order to make it, as his description so claims, is bullshit. It sounds too much like promoting gentrification/assimilation in my opinion; the idea that you cannot keep your culture if you want to be successful.

I also think that it goes even deeper, on a meta level - I think that BioWare is afraid people will not be able to like or relate to Davrin, if he is "too ethnic". I think that BioWare is taking this Black character and instead of questioning how he can best represent marginalized fans - particularly Black fans - they are questioning how to make him more relatable to white fans. And the only answer to that is to, of course, make him seem like he is an exception to marginalization through separating him from his people.

I am still holding onto hope that Davrin will overall be an interesting, well-written character. And I sure as hell will still be defending him from the people who are already hating on him or ignoring him completely because of their racialized biases. But that does not exempt BioWare, and specifically his writer, John Dombrow, from any criticism. This is not about Davrin the character, this is about BioWare the company's handling of Davrin the character. And in that regard, they're not off to a great start with this.

[mythrilthread]

The Devil Went Down to Georgia (And Then Went Down on Johnny) by @notbecauseofvictories

This is one of the stories that I enountered purely due to seeing absolutely outstanding bindings of it, and boy, am I grateful for that, because this one is SO GOOD.

🎻 I knew I wanted to do something that differed from previous takes on the story, so I had a pretty solid design idea, then had a lot of fun typesetting this series using musical notations (many thanks to @lootthecoyote, my resident music expert), sewn the textblock, and THEN had a brilliant idea that, as I'm using leather anyway, why not try a completely new binding type?

🎻 So off came the mule, I hammered my very much swell-less textblock into as much of an arc as I could, and began gleefully constructing the cover with its many fun cutouts and overlays (that I used to create the violin design under the leather).

🎻 I then went through hell and back trying to pare leather for the first time (I survived the ordeal, but barely. Me being afraid of sharp knives certainly didn't help!) I did mess up quite a lot of things, but I'm still very happy with the result. The A6 books have too light pages to do the tightback thing and drape really well, but it does the signature K118 party trick of opening ALL THE WAY, as you can see in the last photo.

🎻 Additional design notes: the endpapers are yellow paper with a lovely linoprint of a cornfield on it, with additional leaves of black paper, the body (AND the header) font is, of course, my beloved Georgia — not only dear to my heart, but also PLOT RELEVANT, there's a nice engraving of a fiddle on the title and half-title pages, and table of contents and individual story titles feature a frame that gave me ~bluegrassy vibes~.

[besottedbyher]

The Gift of Opportunity

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

Description: Rossi recommends Emily to a ‘special service’ after finding out she’s having a bit of a sexual dry spell.

Warnings: (18+) porn with plot, escort!reader, strap!on use, bottom!emily prentiss cuz imma freak like that.

Words: 11.3k (plot addict)

Available on AO3

Masterlist

Taglist: @agenderrat @leolionsblog @keepinggcomposure @prentisslvrsworld @sarahjohannson @prentgarcialuvr @seasonsmaywinter @lez-talk1 @mrsines @lcprentissmills @bjkbk

…

“Oh, come on…” 

“What?” JJ raises a brow, looking between Emily and Rossi curiously.

“Is everybody around here getting laid except me?” Emily groans, admiring the faint glow that seems to be emanating from JJ.

“Well, I’m not.”  Rossi butts in, and both women turn to him with a confused expression.

“Wow…” Emily raises her brows.

“I’m sorry, gallows humor, but it’s all I’ve got right now.” Rossi deadpans.

“You know what? I will take gallows humor over no humor.” Emily chuckles, reaching a hand out and patting Rossi’s bicep before spinning around and walking down the hall, continuing the conversation they’d been having prior.

…

A knock on Emily’s office door pulls her out of the pile of work she’d been shoving herself into for the past couple of hours.

“Hey, do you need something?” Emily asks, eyeing Rossi and the peculiarly devious expression he wore.

“No, just stopping in before I head out, I did want to ask you something though…” Rossi steps through the door, moving forward to stand behind the chairs in front of Emily’s desk.

“What is it?” Emily sighs, going through all the possible questions he could possibly ask in her head.

“Y'know, how we were talking earlier about not getting laid?” He leans against the chair.

“Yes.” Emily sighs, smiling to herself as she rubs at her temple.

“Well, I wanted to share one of my little secrets with you…” Emily’s eyes shoot up, brows creased.

“There’s this… special service, I haven’t used it in ages but, it’s an excellent establishment. Very clean, very well done, and very discreet.” Rossi’s hands make vague motions as he describes.

“Dave.. I am not paying for sex. That’s so very unethical, I can easily go out and find someone…” Emily shifts her gaze to her hands resting on the desk, trying to remember the last time she even had a date, let alone one that ended with sex. 

“I’m sure that’s very true. But, if you ever want something easier…” Rossi pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Don’t hesitate to call, and make sure to tell them I sent you.” He places the paper on the edge of the desk.

With a quick smile, Rossi shows himself out. Emily scoffs, watching his form fade down the hall. She turns back to the pile she’d been working on, scribbling down a few notes before the glint of the paper on her desk catches her eye. She looks up at the open door and back to the paper. 

Straightening herself out, she reaches for it. Holding it between her fingers for a moment before unfolding it. Divine Feminine Valet, the card read in a shiny cursive font. Below the label, is a single phone number with a local area code.

“Jesus Rossi…” Emily shakes her head, her silver hair slightly disheveled from the stress of the day. She sighs, running a hand through the locks, brushing it back.

She takes the card and drops it into her purse beneath the desk, chewing her bottom lip.

Am I really going to do this? Emily ponders. Though the idea of calling an escort service to finally get a little action feels absolutely foul, she can’t help but wonder if it might be worth it… 

It has been quite a while… and she could definitely use the stress relief. 

No. Why would that even be a consideration? The weight of her conscience is knee-buckling. 

But, what if? Emily pushes herself up from the desk abruptly. Grabbing her bags and coat and heading out the door. 

As usual, she is the last to exit the bullpen. The sound of her heeled boots clacking on the tile, disrupting the peaceful serenity of the empty federal building. 

As Emily enters the parking garage, she remote starts her car, the engine’s rumble echoing through the concrete corridors. She slips into the driver’s seat and lights up a much-needed cigarette before peeling out.

…

Arriving back at her apartment, Emily kicks off her boots and places her things on the kitchen table. 

Reaching around, she unclasps her bra, letting the heavy flesh fall from the uncomfortable confines of the underwire. Emily unbuttons her blouse as she pads down the hall, slipping it off her shoulders once she steps into her bedroom, the bra soon following.

Grabbing her ratty old academy T-shirt from the bed, she pulls it over her head, breathing in the warm scent of her laundry. She unbuckles her belt, letting the loose slacks fall to the floor and not bothering to pick them up.

In just a pair of panties and a t-shirt, Emily pads into the en-suite. She looks up at her dimly lit reflection, grazing her fingers over the lines in her skin. She sighs, pulling her hair back messily before bending over the sink to wash the day from her face.

Emily pats herself dry with the closest towel she could find before rubbing some creams into the soft skin of her face, making sure to drag it down to her neck and chest.

Exiting the bathroom, she drifts down the hall, landing in the kitchen. Grabbing a Tupperware of leftovers from the fridge, she tosses it in the microwave and pours herself a decent helping of wine.

The cushions of the couch welcome her with the utmost kindness, hugging her aching joints as if it were the touch of an angel. She flicks on the TV, settling on some ludicrous reality show. Basically, it’s just some background noise for her thoughts as she shovels the lukewarm pasta into her mouth. When you work for the BAU, you often forget about hunger until food presents itself to you.

After some time had passed, the dish emptied and her single glass of wine turned into the entire bottle, Emily sits in an uncomfortable silence. Picking at her cuticles subconsciously as thoughts float through her mind. 

The card that sits in her purse keeps calling to her, morbid curiosity itching at her like the hives of a poison ivy-induced rash she’d had as a child, all those years ago.

And after that bottle… things begin looking a bit more optimistic on the subject.

Would it really be that bad? It’s basically just a one-night stand with guaranteed results. And I’m sure the girls know what they’re doing… but what will they do? Oh god… what if they try something super kinky? My body doesn’t work like it used to, I’m not sure I could handle all that…

A sharp pain pulls Emily out of her thoughts.

Looking down at her hands, she notices a crimson stain smudging over her fingertips. Figuring she must’ve picked a little too hard at her nail bed, she gets up and walks over to the sink, washing the blood from the cracks in her skin.

Turning back to the living room, she pauses momentarily, staring at her purse on the table.

Chewing her lip, Emily moves towards the bag, digging inside to pull out the card. She holds it for a moment, just staring at it.

Trudging over to the couch, she plops against it. Picking up her phone, she unlocks it and opens the keypad, inputting the number. Swallowing down the anxious bile that threatens to spill out, Emily takes a deep breath and presses the call button with a shaky finger. Immediately dropping the phone into her lap and covering her face with clammy hands.

The line rings a few times before it finally crackles with an answer. 

“Divine Feminine Valet, how can we be at your service?” A raspy accented voice asks, seemingly that of an older woman. French.

“I- um… hello, David Rossi sent me… I’m not sure what that would mean to you but-”

“Ahh yes, a friend of Monsieur Rossi…” the voice cuts Emily off mid-sentence. “We’ve been expecting your call…Miss Prentiss, is it?” 

“Oh- um.. yes.” Emily chuckles to herself. 

God damnit Rossi, you ass.

“Well miss, it seems we already have a bit of information on file for you from Monsieur. When might you be looking to book your date?” Emily could hear the crackle of a cigarette and quick typing on a keyboard through the line.

“Oh… I’m not sure.” Emily bites her nails, thinking of all the ways she’s going to murder that man.

“I see… Well, how does tomorrow night sound? It’s a Friday after all!” The woman’s voice is light, her tone somewhat amused.

“I suppose that’ll do…” Emily sighs, resting her chin over her palm.

“Brilliant. Now, is this your cell I’m speaking with you on?” The clacking of the keyboard continues.

“Yes, it is..”

“Alright, you will receive a text message from your date tomorrow around midday, at least that is what I presume, she can be a bit unpredictable with timing... but alas.”

She? Has someone been picked already? Emily makes a tilted face, a bit confused. But then again, she isn’t familiar with how this type of thing works. Maybe this is always how it is.

“The message will tell you when and where to meet her. As well as all other details you’ll need to know.” The woman on the phone continues.

“Alright… and, what is the payment situation like? How much do I owe and how do I pay you?” Emily starts off to her purse, ready to grab her checkbook.

“No need, miss. It is taken care of.” Emily chuckles dryly again. That man is going to die.

“Okay then… is that all?” 

“Yes, all the other information will arrive tomorrow as I said. Have a good night, Miss Prentiss, and enjoy!” The line clicks and Emily is left with the dial tone ringing in her ear.

David Rossi, you are a dead man.

…

When Emily arrives at work the following day, she makes a B-line for Rossi’s office. Her boots clacking angrily against the floor as she trudges past the desks scattered around the bullpen, catching a few concerned glances from the agents. 

Without knocking, Emily shoves Rossi’s door ajar, causing him to jolt back in his seat.

“Nice of you to knock… what can I do for you?” Rossi’s hands fold together over the paperwork he’d been filling out, smirking slightly.

Emily scoffs, shooting daggers at him with her eyes as she turns to close the office door before stepping towards his desk and crossing her arms.

“I cannot believe you.” Emily tsks.

“What?” Rossi stares dumbly, mouth parted.

“Who in their right mind would give out private information regarding a government official to an escort service? Without their knowledge might I add!” Emily raises a concerned and questioning brow.

“I’m just trying to help out a close friend. We all have needs, Emily… I was just giving you the opportunity for a head start, and it appears that you took it.” Rossi leans back in the chair, bringing his folded hands to rest below his chin, aiming a pointed look at her.

“I- yes, but still-” Emily stutters and Rossi chuckles, turning back to his pile of work.

Emily is red in the face as she turns to leave the office, scoffing, but abruptly spinning back around. 

“And- thank you… by the way. You didn’t have to pay for that. I’m not sure why you’d want to…” Emily grimaces before looking back at the old man.

“Like I said, just trying to help out a friend.” He gives her a tight-lipped smile, nodding before looking down once again. Emily smiles faintly back at him, sighing before turning to leave once again.

…

The day is passing by at an agonizing pace for Emily as she sits at her desk, looking over files and a never-ending stack of forms and paperwork. The curiosity is itching at her again. Her mind racing with thoughts of who this girl might be and what she might do. 

Emily knows nothing will happen if she doesn’t want it to go further. But, what if the meeting does go well and they do end up sleeping together? Will they actually sleep together? Or will the girl just do her job and leave? It’s all too overwhelming, and Emily has begun developing a migraine.

A faint buzzing in the purse at her feet whips Emily out of her thoughts. She leans down to grasp the device, bringing it to her desk before looking at the notification.

‘Unknown number iMessage’ it reads.

Is it? Emily’s heart jumps at the realization, quickly unlocking the phone and opening her messages.

“Hey! Is this Miss Prentiss?” 

“Who is asking?” Emily responds.

“I’m from DF. We’re supposed to have a date tonight… if this is Miss Prentiss of course:)” Cute, Emily thought, smirking slightly.

“Well then, yes. This is she.”

“Great! I’m sure you were made aware I’d be texting you when you spoke with the Madam over the phone.” 

“Yes, she mentioned it.” Emily inhales deeply, feeling the stretch in her diaphragm.

“Ok, All you need to know for tonight is that we’ll be meeting at a restaurant called Divinità on Fielder St at 815. I suggest you wear something comfortable but a bit dressy, it’s a nice place.” 

“Okay, is that all?” Emily types with shaky fingers, the anticipation sinking into her nerves.

“From me, yes. Do you have any questions, Emily?”

“Not really. But, are there any… idk physical requests you have for me? Like should I have gotten a wax? Haha.” Emily groans at the embarrassing and likely very unnecessary statement. 

“Lol you’re funny, but no. How you like to present yourself is 100% your decision.” Emily lets out a sigh of relief. However, she will most likely do something about her situation downstairs when she returns home later. It’s been a while.

“And just so we’re clear…. Tonight’s happenings are fully on your terms. If you wish to continue with more intimate things after our initial date, your request will be fulfilled. But if you would like to simply call it off, that is completely alright. It’s all about your comfort:)” Emily flushes mildly at the statement. She didn’t expect an escort to be so… considerate? But then again, she hasn’t done this before.

“Okay, thank you. I will see you tonight then.” Emily shuts the phone off, placing it back in her purse, trying her hardest to return to her work and ignore all the inappropriate thoughts in the back of her mind.

…

Emily’s long day has finally come to a close. All files are neatly arranged for their next trip around the office and all necessary paperwork is filed and put away. She picks up the mildly cold coffee she made earlier in the day and tosses it back, swallowing down the remainder of it in hopes that it’ll perk her up for tonight.

Her text had been left on opened, and it’s been bothering her more than it should.

Making her way out of the office, she passes Rossi’s. Looking through the open blinds in the window to check on him. He looks up, catching her as she does so, and waves at her to come in.

“Hey stranger, you’re leaving relatively on time?” He raises a thick brow.

“Yeaaah… I’ve got plans later.” Emily smirks, resting against the doorframe. Rossi smiles proudly. 

“You’re actually going through with it?” His voice is chipper.

“Yes, David. I’m going through with it.” Emily flicks her hair back, putting her hand in the pocket of her slacks. 

“Good for you. It’ll be nice having you in a decent mood around here for once. Maybe some of us will finally catch a break.” He chuckles, and Emily scoffs.

“Goodnight.” She says monotonously, rolling her eyes and closing the door behind her with a laugh.

Emily struts down the corridor with a slight confidence, a faint smile gracing her lips. 

She checks her watch upon entering the elevator. Ten past six, plenty of time for her to get home and clean up before leaving. The restaurant’s name is familiar in Emily’s mind, though she’s never been inside. And if she’s remembering correctly, it’s only a short drive from her apartment. 

Upon arriving home and completing her usual routine of placing her things on the table and stripping herself down, Emily opts for a second shower. Just to freshen up. 

She scrubs her scalp with her favourite floral-scented shampoo, making sure to deep condition the lengths of her hair before lathering herself in soap and exfoliating. She then shaves all the necessary bits and dries off before applying her post-shave body oil and lotion.

Throwing on a robe, Emily blow-dries her hair, curling the layers so they form into a sort of feathered style. She rubs a creme over her palms before running her fingers through the silver locks, molding them into place.

Sauntering out of the bathroom, Emily opens the closet. Inspecting the items for something that would fit the description her date had given her. 

After plucking out a few dresses, and deciding none of them would be well-suited for tonight, Emily searched her drawers for her nicest pair of slacks. A black cotton pair with crisp pleats and an inseam that easily covers the majority of her feet in a taller heel. She pairs the slacks with a deep blue silk blouse and a crisp black leather belt, the silver buckle glinting in the low light of the bedroom.

Tossing her outfit choice on the mattress, she digs deep into her underwear drawer, searching for a decent set. She opts for an almost matching pair, black panties with a lace trim and a bra that is fully lace, the cups mildly see-through.

Pulling the garments on, she runs her hand through her hair again, pushing it to the side as she gives herself a once-over in the tall mirror across from her wardrobe. 

“Good enough…” she sighs.

Returning to the bathroom, Emily pulls out her makeup bag. Applying a thin layer of foundation and concealer over her skin before dusting a faint smoky-eye look on her lids, following that with a bit of liner and mascara, accentuating the already naturally long lashes.

Adding the final touches of jewelry and her favourite perfume, Emily then slips on a pair of black block heels and a long black coat that touches just below her knees. 

She looks herself over in the mirror one last time, zhuzhing up her hair and straightening out her clothes. Emily checks her watch.

Seven fifty-seven. Perfect timing.

Grabbing her bag and keys from the kitchen table, Emily makes her way out to the car, lighting a cigarette to ease her tense nerves as she drives.

She isn’t scared. Just so fucking anxious.  She is nervous about what the night will bring. Nervous but also curious as to who the woman she will be meeting is. Nervous about how she will react to inviting someone, a stranger, into her body, nonetheless her home, in the shadowed hours of the night. Will she tense up and blunder? Will she cut the night short and send the woman home? Or will she let herself go? Releasing all arms and just letting herself be ravished by the desire she hasn’t felt in so long.

A loud honk draws her out from the depths of her thoughts, the light long turned green. Emily lets the car roll forward, speeding off towards the restaurant.

The quaint establishment sits on a dim corner in the city, warmly lit by street lights and a few neon signs from neighboring buildings. The only parking available is on the street, but luckily, the meters turn off at six. 

Emily takes a deep breath, rubbing her clammy palms over her thighs and cracking her knuckles before climbing out of the car and locking it.

She prances across the street, slipping past a small crowd of people outside before pushing through the revolving entrance door. The air is smoky as she steps inside, and it smells like whisky and expensive perfume. 

It dawns on Emily that she isn’t sure what to do now. She is a few minutes early, unsure whether the woman wants Emily to grab a table for them or meet her at the bar.

Her prayers are soon answered when her phone buzzes in her hand.

“Ask for table 14:)” Emily’s heart pounds.

She turns to the host, giving him a shy smile before asking. He only nods in return, stepping away from his booth and walking down the dark corridor next to the bar and toward the back of the room. The walls are lined with small, two or three-person booths, all filled.

Except one at the far end of the row. 

A woman sat alone, a captivating young woman. No younger than 25, but mature. She sits poised, her mid-length dress sleek against her body, hugging the curves of her hips and waist. Her skin is smooth and her hair loose over her bare shoulders. 

If Emily wasn’t intimidated beforehand, she certainly is now.

As she steps closer, the young woman looks up. Glancing at Emily for the first time tonight. She smiles, teeth sharp and pearl-like. Emily can’t help but grin back, her chest flushing beneath the fabric of her shirt.

The young woman shifts, rising to her feet. She looks to be around the same height as Emily in her heels. Her leg, peaking through the slit on the side of her dress adds a teasing ambiance to the attire. And Emily definitely appreciates it.

“Miss Prentiss, I presume?” Her voice is gentle as she extends her hand for Emily to shake, to which she accepts, sliding her palm into the younger woman's.

“Yes! Hello…” Emily pauses, giving the woman a questioning look, realizing she hadn’t gotten her name.

“My name is Y/n, it’s lovely to meet you, Miss Prentiss.” She grins, squeezing Emily’s hand before sliding back into her seat.

Y/n… Emily repeats to herself internally. What a lovely name for such a beautiful girl. She thinks, slipping off her coat and bag, tossing them inside the booth before slipping in after it. 

“It’s lovely to meet you as well, Y/n.” Emily flushes under the younger woman's intense gaze, her warm eyes seemingly taking Emily in, studying her. Y/n giggles, resting her chin over her palm.

“Can I get you something to drink? Eat? Anything!” the young woman chirps, picking up the small folded menu from the edge of the table and passing it to Emily enthusiastically. 

She hums, looking over the menu before deciding on a drink and a simple appetizer, not wanting to bloat herself.

“Sure, I think I’ll just get a whisky neat and an order of fries.” Emily looks up from the menu, meeting Y/n’s awaiting gaze.

“Sounds good! I’ll be right back, hold tight!” Y/n shifts out of the seat again, slipping past the thick curtain that went to a backroom she is presumably familiar with.

Emily takes the moment alone to collect herself. Taking deep breaths and rubbing at her temples, attempting to shake the nerves from her system. She can’t battle the heat that's beginning to creep throughout her body at the thought of having a woman so attractive all to herself for a night.

…

When you return, Emily’s gaze immediately rises. Her piercing brown eyes glance noticeably over your figure as you set the glass and plate in front of her.

“Whisky and some fries for the beautiful lady…” You flirt, Emily smiles up at you softly in response. Her cheeks flush, and her lips curl into a bashful smile. You can’t help but smile back, finding the older woman’s shy nature somewhat endearing.

“Thank you.” She clears her throat, fingertips brushing against yours as she maneuvers the plate towards her. 

“You’re welcome…” you climb back into the booth, your knees knock Emily’s beneath the small table. “So…” you breathe out, resting your chin in your palm. “How was your day?” 

Emily chuckles, taking a brief sip from her glass. “My day was alright, rather boring with lots of paperwork but, that’s nothing too out of the ordinary these days.” she meets your gaze, tossing a fry into her mouth.

“Mmm, paperwork. How sexy.” you tease, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth with a smile. The older woman flushes once again, her eyes falling shyly to the heap of fries. 

“And how was your day?” Emily counters, swallowing down a few more fries before leaning back in her seat, watching you attentively. She wears a tiny smile, moving her hand up to fiddle with the delicate gold chain around her neck.

“Mine was alright too. Slept in, spoke with a few… friends, did a little online shopping, and then I got ready and came here, to see you.” Your eyes span across her face as you speak, taking in her faint mannerisms.

“Am I your only… date, for today?” Emily’s face is curious, her brows curving with the question. “Sorry, I don’t mean to snoop about your work… I’m just curious.” Her hands motion in defense, coming to rest over the table.

You raise your free hand from its place in your lap, trailing over the wood before running your fingers over Emily’s svelte digits. Her skin is soft and warm and the tendons twitch at your touch. 

“It’s okay to be curious, and yes… you are my first and only client today.” Your fingers travel up the dorsal side of her hand, gliding over the veins and circling the bone of her wrist before coming back down and lacing your fingers between hers. 

Emily faintly smiles at your apparent comfortability, glancing down at the scene developing before her. She flips her hand over, allowing you to trace over her palm. You can feel the warmth of her skin, the crevices slightly damp with sweat. Figuring she must be feeling a speck of nerves about tonight.

In the beat of silence, you take a moment to absorb Emily’s appearance. She isn’t your typical customer, that’s for sure. She is breathtakingly gorgeous, not like the wrinkly old fellows you typically see. Her eyes are warm, inviting pools of deep chestnut that you could stare into for ages. A certain comfort lurks with them, but there’s something else too, something within the depths that attracts you dangerously. And that outfit she’s sporting doesn’t help, either.

When you got the call regarding your appointment with a certain Miss Prentiss, you’d been excited. Finally a new client. Her file was rather empty, not much to read into except that she is fifty-five, into women, and has a rather high-profile and demanding line of work. The file also mentioned she is a friend of Mr. Rossi, an old familiar face amongst the girls in the company. 

“May I ask about your work, Miss Prentiss?” The tone in your voice is subtly diplomatic, drawling as you circle her open palm with your fingernail. 

“Go for it.” 

“What is it that you do? You can be vague if you’d like. Just curious.” You laugh, mocking her phrasing from earlier. Emily chuckles in response, fingertip tracing the lip of her whisky glass. 

“I work for the government. FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, actually. It isn’t necessarily a secret… a quick Google search and you could probably find my picture, if I had my badge on me I’d show you, but it’s at home.” Emily scoffs, taking a sip of her drink. That will be an indulgence for later, you think.

“Oh, that’s awesome! I bet you're a busy woman, taking down terrorists and shit.” You beam at her, taking a sip of your cocktail as well.

“That and analyzing and investigating crime scenes, creating profiles that’ll assist in finding and collecting an unsub, amongst a few other things” There is a hint of pride in her smile that makes your stomach churn, her sharp white teeth on full display.

“That sounds insane, I don’t know how you guys do that sort of thing.” 

“I think I could say the same for you, honey… but I’ve put myself into some off-the-wall situations for work so… I digress.” Emily gestures, head tilting to the side.

You can’t help but laugh, touché.

The conversation flows easily after that, mostly easy questions with easy answers. You find that Emily is quite a pleasant date, she is so effortlessly funny and sweet, not to mention incredibly charming. It feels like you’ve known her for much longer than half an hour. If it weren’t for your compromising line of work, you might consider taking her on a real date.

Emily looks down at the plate, a singular fry left resting on the porcelain. She looks up at you with a quirked brow. You smile, leaning forward and letting your mouth fall open. Emily takes her time placing the fry in your mouth, lingering for a moment. Her finger nearly brushes against your lip as you pull away slowly.

“You know…” you speak gently, chewing the fry and swallowing before speaking again. Emily’s gaze watches you attentively. “You’re very attractive.” 

“Oh… stop.” Emily grimaces, burying her face in her hand.

“What? I’m serious… you’re fucking gorgeous, and you’ve got yourself all dolled up just for me.” your hand pulls from hers, reaching up to brush a misplaced hair from her cheek. Emily shifts narrowly from the cover of her hand, mousy eyes peering at you from between her fingers. A flimsy smile graces your lips, as well as a faint chuckle.

“Thank you… you’re a doll.” She mumbles, her hand falling away from her face, letting it land on her glass. She picks it up, locking eyes with you as she tosses the remainder of it back, downing it without a single grimace.

You watch her throat bob as she swallows, your hand moving to play with her fingers again, aimlessly.

“Tell me, Miss Prentiss-”

“Emily… call me Emily, please.” She cuts you off, her voice somewhat calloused in desperation. “I’m not sure how much longer I can put up with that title.” She chuckles.

“Okay… tell me, Emily, how do you feel about me asking some more… personal questions?”  There is a challenging glint in your eyes as you await her answer.

“I would like to think of myself as an open book tonight, so fire away.” She smiles, leaning onto her elbows, holding your hand between the both of hers.

“When was the last time you slept with someone?” Emily sputters at the abrupt question.

“Oh- um…” She clears her throat. “If I'm being honest, I don’t really remember. Maybe around seven months ago?” Emily looks up at you with a pitiful expression, your mouth falls open slightly, somewhat in disbelief that a woman like her isn’t getting all the action in the world.

“Was it good?” You raise a brow at her, and Emily flushes.

“I- eh-I guess? If I don't remember it off the top of my head, it couldn't have been that good. Most likely just a quick hookup at a bar or something.”

“Good… okay, hypothetically speaking, if we were to go home together tonight, would you rather it be your own home or a hotel?” Emily’s face twitches, her expression stirring.

“Oh boy, uhm… I think I’d personally feel more comfortable in my home, just because y’know… I've never done this before. I’m usually not keen on inviting anyone into my home to be quite honest, but in this situation, I think I’d rather be in my place.” Her brows worry for a moment.

“Of course, and like I mentioned before, how tonight goes is one hundred percent up to you, Emily.” Your hand squeezes hers, attempting to settle any nerves she might be feeling. She simply nods, seemingly awaiting your next question.

“Do you have any preference on how things go in the bedroom?” 

Emily stills, her breath catching subtly. You notice the flush starting to creep up her neck, the palms of her hands beginning to sweat again.

“I’m not entirely sure… I think it kind of depends...” her eyes wander, looking down at your intertwined hands. “Do you have a preference in the bedroom?” Emily asks, her voice shy as her eyes raise, holding yours in a deep stare.

“Hm, well… I’ll be whoeeever you want me to be. But, personally speaking…” you whisper, leaning over the table, fingers scratching over her forearm as her gaze shifts to your newly exposed cleavage. “ I like to be in charge.” Emily shudders out a breath, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“And what about you… Miss Prentiss? Do you like to take charge or do you like to be dominated?” Your head tilts as your eyes trail over her flushed face, lips curling into a devilish smile.

Emily doesn’t say a word, she just sits, her eyes on your mouth as her chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Well, if I’m profiling you correctly,” you chuckle amusedly at your joke. “I’d say you want me to take away all the pressure.” You drawl. “Want me to boss you around so you don’t have to think. You walk around all day telling everyone else what to do, but when does Emily get to be told, hm?” Your voice is nearly a sympathetic whine, you give her a pout.

 Emily’s fingers twitch on the table, her eyes rake over your body once more before meeting yours. The color of her irises, noticeably darker under the guise of her dilated pupils.

“I- you..” Her mouth flaps open and closed, trying to find the right words. You just stare at her, patiently waiting, fingernails slipping beneath the sleeves of her top, raking against her hot skin. 

“Would you like me to take you home, Emily?” you husk, nails digging into her forearm. Her eyes dart across your face for a moment, jaw slackened. 

“Yes.” Emily whispers so quietly you almost don’t hear it, but you do. Her gaze is timid, and it brings out a certain moxie within you. A determination to do everything in your power to give this woman what she wants. What she needs.

With that, you rise from the seat, grabbing your bag and taking her hand in your own, pulling her up from the booth. She hurriedly grabs her coat and own bag, not wanting to hold you any longer.

Your grip on her hand is strong as you tug her down the corridor and out the front door. When you turn around to ask if she drove, she's already pulling her keys from her purse, face flushed and chest panting. You smile, nodding for her to lead the way.

Emily fumbles with the key as she tries to start the vehicle, her hands trembling with excitement. She nearly rolls the car at the speed she rips out of her parking spot, you hear a few honks as she speeds off. You look over at her brightly, chuckling.

“Someone excited?” 

“God, yes.” Emily sighs, her knuckles whitening as she grips the steering wheel forcibly.

You reach over, leaning against the center console as your hand runs over her trouser-clad thigh. The muscle of it clenching beneath your touch as you give it a rather harsh squeeze. Emily hums, her lip catching between her teeth.

“How long until we’re at your place?” you ask, playfully running your hand up and down her thigh, trailing your fingers teasing along the crease at her hip when you reach the apex.

“Five minutes.” Emily husks, her foot pressing hard against the gas pedal, you can feel the rumble of her engine vibrating through your body as she races down the familiar streets. You can’t help the adrenaline that rushes through your veins at the recklessness. The recklessness that you’ve caused. She wants you badly enough that she is willing to risk a life. Lives even.

Emily whips into her driveway with a screech of tires against the pavement, the hard stop practically jerking you from the seat.

“Jesus…” you look over at her with wide eyes, hand still gripping at her thigh. She turns off the ignition and looks back at you with a mixed expression, lips parted and eyes hurriedly searching your face. 

“We’re here.” Emily smiles tightly, her hand patting the top of yours as she slips out of the car. You quickly follow, the beep of her car's locking system startling you as you step closer to her. 

Her hot breath clouds around her in the cool night air, you take her hand as she trudges up the pathway towards her front door.

You press against her back as she unlocks it, your face burying itself in her soft hair and breathing it in. She smells absolutely heavenly, and you cannot get enough. Emily stiffens as your nose touches the back of her neck, her keys clattering to the floor. She quickly bends to pick them up, your eyes catch the curve of her ass in her slacks, tightening perfectly as she crouches.

When she finally manages to open the door, you're practically shoveling her inside, hands gripping against her waist as you step into the foyer. Before the door even clicks shut your mouth is on her, pressing sloppily against the hot skin of her neck. 

“Oh-” Emily gasps, her hands climbing to grip at the back of your head. Her body crashes against the door, coat and bag falling to the floor.

Your hands run over her sides, landing on her hips and pulling them against your own. Emily groans, her hands moving to grasp at the sides of your face, pulling your mouth up to connect with hers.

You can taste the whisky on her as you run your tongue over her bottom lip, enclosing your mouth around it and sucking gently. Emily’s hands tighten in your tresses as the kiss deepens, the passion growing into a blazing pit of burning desire. 

Emily lets out a faint whimper as your body presses further into her, your thigh coming to rest between hers, applying slight pressure to her pelvis. Her kisses falter as she tries to grind herself against your thigh, the thickness of her pants doing little to assist. 

“Mm, you sound so pretty…” you break the kiss for a moment before delving right back in, fervently. Paying close attention to how Emily’s body reacts to every little movement, every little touch. She moans into your mouth when you grip her ass aggressively, pulling her crotch against your thigh.

“Fuck, Y/n… wanna.. mm.. bedroom.” She murmurs against your lips, trailing her palms down your chest and coming to rest over your half-exposed breasts as she leans back, giving you a once-over before tugging you in the direction of her bedroom. 

“Yes, ma’am!” Emily chuckles at your enthusiasm, bumping the bedroom door open with her hip before immediately pulling you in for a passionate, slow kiss. Her lips slide deliciously over yours, hands resting at the junction of your jaw and neck.

Your hands move over her abdomen, sliding up the sides before landing at the front of her blouse, fingers tweaking at its buttons.

“May I?” You whisper, nipping at the older woman’s bottom lip.

“Please…” Emily gasps, connecting your mouths again, eagerly.

You begin unbuttoning the blouse with expert precision. The soft fabric falling loosely around Emily’s torso. Your hands slip beneath the garment, running over the smooth, warm skin of her stomach. Fingers running over the ridges of her ribcage as she breathes heavily, you swear you can almost feel her heartbeat from down there.

Emily’s hands slip into your hair once again as you move up towards her bra, thumbs brushing against the lacey underwire. Her nails claw at your scalp, the pleasurable sharpness of it pulls a moan from your throat.

Emily’s hip bumps into the corner of her dresser as she begins moving both of you towards the mattress, she giggles, correcting herself and letting herself drop down onto the soft cushion. She looks up at you with dark eyes, her lashes fluttering, chest heaving. 

You take note of her see-through bra as you hike your dress up, crawling over her and settling on her thighs. Emily’s hands reach out, resting her palms against the smooth skin of your legs.

“So beautiful…” you bend down and press a chaste, wet kiss just below her sternum. “Mm, I could devour you.” You press a few more kisses over her chest, Emily groans, pulling you back up to her mouth. 

Her body practically writhes beneath you, heat radiating from her mostly clothed skin. Your hands travel up towards her breasts, palms sliding over the hefty cups before giving them a generous squeeze. Emily hums, her blunt fingernails raking over your back, bare from the low cut of the dress. 

“Sit up for me.” you whisper, leaning back in her lap to make space. You pull the blouse from her shoulders, aggressively and toss it across the room. You tilt forward and kiss her again as your hands trek down towards her waistband, tugging her belt loose and unbuttoning the trousers. You can feel Emily smile into the kiss, her tongue flicking out against your top lip.

Emily’s hands slide over your bare thighs, slipping under your dress and pushing it up. You slip away from her mouth for a moment to let her pull the thin garment over your head, leaving you practically nude in front of her.

Her eyes are glossy as the trail over your body, her chest rising and falling unsteadily. Her fingertips trace over the lines of your stomach and chest, the sensitive skin twitching beneath the gentle touch.

“You’re perfect.” She mumbles feebly, her eyes darting across your skin as she cups the underside of your breasts.

“Now let’s see you, baby.” You bend towards her, lips mere inches away from her neck as you wrap around her and unclasp the lacey bra with practiced ease. The fabric falls from Emily’s chest with a shudder, her skin pebbling with the new exposure, dusky pink nipples standing proudly. 

With a groan you grab a rough handful of both breasts, squeezing the mouthwatering tissue. Emily mewls, head rolling back as you trail sloppy kisses over her neck and down to her freckled chest. 

“Fuck Emily, you’re so fucking sexy.” Your voice is muffled against her skin, your lips closing around a nipple soon after. She tastes sweet again the drag of your tongue, circling her stiffened bud before nipping gently and moving to repeat the ministration on the ladder breast.

“Hmph- Y/n, kiss me.” Emily huffs, the skin over her clavicle burning with a muted red flush. Your neck arches up at her request, connecting your lips with blazing force. Your heads lull together in the motions of passion, mixed saliva spilling onto cheeks and chins. 

Your hands move to grasp her shoulders, pushing softly so that she falls back onto the mattress. The feeling of your bare breasts pressing against her own is positively nectarean. 

You grind down into Emily’s lap, she lets a soft moan slip past her lips and into your mouth. 

Abruptly, you pull back, sitting up and staring down at her pitiful condition. Panting and flushed, hands grasping at whatever part of you she can reach.

“Where are you going?” Her face worries as she sits up on her elbows. 

“I have an idea, I’ll be right back” You cup her face, giving her a gentle kiss before swiftly climbing out of bed and tiptoeing quickly out of the room and to the foyer where you’d left your bag earlier.

Quickly re-entering the room, Emily looks up from her perch at the edge of the bed. A bright smile lingers over her face as she loosens her grip on the silken robe she’s tied around herself in your absence.

“You’re back.” She chirps excitedly, leaning back against her palms, the hem of her robe slipping open and revealing only a pair of panties. My god. 

“Well look at you…” you husk, eyes wandering daringly over her figure.

“Why did you have to get your bag?” Emily chuckles, raising a brow.

“Hm, well for one…” your hand dips inside, digging around for a moment before pulling out your speaker. “I like background music when I’m having sex… adds a nice touch.” You send Emily a wink, pressing the button and letting the speaker come to life. She only groans in response, her legs shifting together as you busy yourself with selecting a playlist.

The slow sensual tune of ‘Still Loving You’ by Scorpions begins vibrating through the small speaker, Emily turns to you with a gasp.

“I love this song…” She sheds the robe, her hands wrapping around your waist as you crawl over her on the bed, she stretches up to kiss your jaw.

“Mmm, me too.” You sigh, letting her kiss down the sides of your neck. A sharp breath rips through you as her teeth pinch the skin of your collarbone. Emily giggles, her arms sliding down to squeeze your ass, kneading the supple flesh. 

Your hand comes up to rest just above her cleavage, gently teasing down the valley before shoving her into the mattress. She lands with a gasp, her head lulling to the side as you attack her throat. Sucking, kissing, biting the sensitive skin. 

“Oh-” Emily whimpers, her hands planting themselves in your hair, fingernails digging into your scalp. You shift quickly, letting your knee slide between Emily’s, spreading her open so you can easily slot yourself between them. Her calves wrap around your waist, pulling your hips against her clothed center.

“Needy, needy, needy…” You mumble against her chest, wrapping your lips around her nipple once again and sucking.

“Yes.” She pants breathlessly, watching as you descend her torso. 

The sound of her moans mixed with the growing heat and faint music is Shangri-la in your mind. Every little sound and reaction you elicit scratches deliciously at the ever-growing avowel to take this woman into a state of blissful euphoria. To give her anything and everything she wants.

Emily sits up on her elbows as you begin kissing along her panty line, tongue twirling over the curve of her stomach. Your hands slide lower, brushing over her smooth thighs, down and around her knees, then back up. 

The tips of your fingers barely breach the hem of her panties just above her hip and she is already rolling her hips towards you. 

Scooting further down the bed, you sit back on your heels as Emily’s leg moves to rest over your shoulder. You press a delicate kiss to her inner calf.

She smiles dazedly up at you through her lashes, you give her a smirk back, hands sliding over the outside of her thighs, and trailing over her hips before finally looping around her waistband and tugging gently. 

Emily lifts her hips urgently, slackjawed as she lifts her legs over your head so you can slip her panties the rest of the way off.

“So pretty,” you whisper, crawling between Emily’s open legs and settling into your stomach, taking in the sight of her heated sex. Red and swollen with want, her scent forming a heady, lust-filled fog over you.

You dip lower, neck craning as you slide your nose down the inside of her quivering thighs, trailing a path of gentle kisses and nips against the sensitive skin in your descent.

“Such a tease-” Emily gasps, her hips gyrating, desperately seeking that delicious friction.

You keep on until your nose brushes against Emily’s sex, placing a kiss over the trimmed pubic hair, and around her outer labia. You raise your thumb to your lips, dipping inside to collect a decent amount of saliva before running it over her slit. Emily’s breathy moans cloud your mind with an insatiable hunger. A desire to taste and tease and fuck till she’s begging for mercy.

You feel the sting of your salivatory glands as they swell, flooding your mouth with hot liquid. Your tongue slips past your lips, wetting them before leaning in and dragging the hot muscle over her awaiting cunt. 

Emily gasps as you flatten your tongue over her clit, circling it with an iniquitous slowness that drives her half mad. Her fingernails claw at your scalp, tugging you impossibly closer.

“Fuck, that feels so good…” Emily whines, letting herself fall back onto the pillows as your tongue dips inside. You hum against her pussy, she twitches at the vibrations, the hand in your hair clutching tighter as she grinds herself eagerly against your face.

You let your legs fall off the side of her mattress, planting your feet on the floor. You tug Emily to the edge of the bed, your mouth never leaving its sloppy perch over her sex. 

Emily shrieks as she slides over the covers, your hands wrapping around her hips and lifting, holding her still against your incessant tongue. 

You draw circles over her clit with the perfect amount of pressure, taking turns swirling it in each direction. Emily’s hips stutter as you swipe the hypersensitive spot at the apex of her slit, the majority of your musings decidedly concentrate there. One hand leaves her hip, sliding up towards her breast and wrapping around it, pinching her nipple between your knuckles.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum…” Emily moans, twitching against you as you roll her nipple between your thumb and index. Your tongue licking pointed stripes over her slit, dipping inside and repeating the process over again.

“That would be the plan…” you snide, Emily jerks at the vibration.

Easing up on her nipple, your hand slides further up her chest, over her neck, finally landing at her mouth. Your fingers slide over her parted lips, awaiting acceptance.  

Emily opens further, allowing you to curl your fingers inside. Her tongue swirls languidly over your digits, soaking them thoroughly with her hot saliva. She hmphs when you pull your hand away, but quickly quiets down once she realizes where they’re heading. 

Emily pants, her climax already rapidly approaching, and you haven’t even gotten your fingers inside yet.

Pulling your mouth away, you glide your slick fingers over her slit, spreading her apart and dipping a single finger inside.

“Oh, fuck.” Emily sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, hissing as her hips buck against your hand. 

You begin pumping into her slowly, letting her adjust as you reattach your mouth to her sensitive bud. She practically chants your name as her hips roll determinedly, using your face to push herself further toward her climax. You pull out and slip a second finger in when you think she’s ready, pumping in and out steadily, curling your fingers deep inside, repeatedly hitting that sweet spot that sends her spine arching into the air.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Emily’s breathing is erratic, her body shaking at the intensity of her impending orgasm. Her thighs quiver as they clench around your skull, trapping you there, your movements unrelenting.

Emily’s body seizes up, and you can feel her pulsating around your fingers as she cums. Her quiet moans puffing out with each strangled breath.

“I love the way you sound cumming for me, baby.” You mutter against her, voice low and raspy as you press a few soft kisses to her mound and up her abdomen, climbing over her body once again.

Your arms bracket her head as you lean down to kiss her passionately, tongue slipping into her mouth and curling against hers. You groan as Emily sucks the muscle into her mouth, lavishing the taste of your mouth mixed with the taste of her pussy.

The familiar synth-type intro of ‘Martian Cowboy’ by Toyah begins playing as she releases the muscle and pulls you back in for a chaste kiss.

“Mm, this is a good one too…you’ve got quite the taste for such a young thing.” Emily murmurs, breaking away and brushing the messy hair away from your face.

“I’m an old soul.” You roll your eyes sarcastically, Emily chuckles.

“Thank you, by the way… that was- incredible.” Her gaze wanders across your features, a blissful expression resting across hers.

“You think I’m finished?” 

“Oh?” Emily’s eyes go wide.

“I…” you press a kiss to her bottom lip, “am definitely not…” a kiss to her top lip, “a one-and-done type of girl.” You nip at her bottom lip before running your tongue over the swollen skin.

“What else are you gonna do to me?” She whispers breathlessly, her words fanning across your mouth.

“I have a few ideas…” you lean into Emily’s hand as it rests against your cheek. “But you have to give me the okay before I do anything.” Your brow raises to an arch.

“Okay. Tell me what you want to do.” Her curiosity is adorable, the faint sparkle in her dark eyes even more so.

“How do you feel about strap-ons?” A smirk curls into your lips at the statement, and Emily’s eyes flash with a surge of want. She certainly wasn’t expecting that.

“Like… you want to fuck me with one?” Her brow raises, chest fluttering with an excited inhale.

“If you’ll let me…” you trail off, leaning down to press a wet kiss to her chin, she hums in response, seemingly in thought as she runs her hands over your back.

“I think I’d like that…” She finally says after a moment.

“Yeah?” You meet her gaze with an excited smile, your voice dropping a slight octave.

“Yeah… fuck me.” Emily sighs, her brows knitting together as she leans up, pulling your mouth to hers. Lips locking with one another in a fierce open-mouthed kiss, tongues and teeth clashing. You groan into Emily’s mouth as her nails claw at the back of your neck, pulling your body tightly against her, the disparity in her touches quickly making a return. 

Your knees scoot underneath the older woman’s thighs, pushing them up so that they’d wrap around your hips. Emily lets out a sharp moan at the feeling of your pelvis brushing against her bare sex.

The recovery make-out session does not last very long. The way Emily grasps at you, writhes against you, kisses you with such hunger… it’s all so very tolling, and your body can’t help but succumb to its desires.

“Be good and hold on a second for me…” You slip away from Emily’s grasp with a quick kiss, your body immediately missing the warmth. 

Slipping back off the mattress, Emily gives you an inquisitive look. Her eyes follow your movements as you pad over to your back on the floor. Reaching into the bag, you pull out a black leather harness, a silicone cock of the same color, and a tube of lubricant. 

Emily rolls onto her side, sizing up the toy from afar as her fingers toy with her breast, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. You slip into her ensuite with a faint smile, making quick work of making sure the toy is thoroughly cleaned and prepped for her.

When you reemerge, Emily stares at you silently, watching with prompt attention as you step into the harness, fastening it snugly over your hips before securing the cock in the o-ring. You have to admit it is rather flattering on you, and the way Emily is looking at you furthers your confidence on that note.

“You look… sooo sexy.” Emily groans, flicking her silver hair to the side as she moves to crawl to the edge of the bed, meeting you halfway.

“You’re gonna look even better with my cock in you.” You counter, your hands grasping at the sides of her neck, tugging her in, and kissing her hard. She loses her balance slightly at the pure force of it, her hands reaching out to steady herself against your shoulders as she whimpers into your mouth.

Your hands slide down towards her breasts, palms smoothing over her hardened nipples before squeezing at the meaty flesh. Moving down her sides, your nails leave faint red streaks across the pale skin as they go. Emily shivers as they scratch over her hip bones, causing them to jolt forward.

Her ability to kiss you back with a similar consistency has begun to lessen, the feeling of your hands roaming her skin is too much to bear, and the fact that she can feel your strap-on probing at her thigh does not help.

“Lay down on your belly for me, love.” Your request is nearly a whisper against her lips, she nods eagerly, turning away from you and doing as told. 

Pulling a pillow from its place near the headboard, Emily tucks it under her arms, resting her chin over her forearm. Your eyes rail over her form, pale skin stark in contrast to the dark color of the duvet. The muscles in her back flex idly as she shifts into a comfortable position.

Your hands trail over her spine as you hum, leaning down to place delicate kisses on her shoulder blades. You move to straddle Emily’s ass, the delicious pressure of your weight draws a deep mewl from her chest. You run your palms over her back, pressing into the muscles, massaging gently.

“Mm, that feels nice.” Emily mumbles, her voice stifled against her arm.

“I bet it does, baby.” You bend down, leaving sloppy kisses over the erogenous zones of her back. Emily hums, her fist clenching the pillow to steady herself from the tickle of your lips.

You let yourself fall onto your elbow, chest pressing against Emily’s back. Your nose brushes against her messy hair, breathing it in. She smells sweet and delectably like a woman, you press a kiss to the junction of her shoulder and neck.

Your hand travels down her sides, caressing her with a teasing softness. The same hand strides further down, coming to rest atop her ass. You squeeze it gently before slipping between her parted legs.

“Please…” Emily whimpers into the pillow, you press a few more wet kisses to the back of her neck.

“Please what, Emily?” Your breath is hot against the shell of her ear. You let your tongue flick out, swiping over the burning cartilage as you rub slow circles over her clit. Emily inhales sharply, the sensitivity between her legs reaching its zenith after her previous orgasm. 

“I want it… want you. Please, Y/n.” Her voice trembles, hips rolling slightly in an attempt to gain more friction. 

“You want my cock, baby?” Your vulgar words send a tangible chill down Emily’s spine, her back arching against the mattress, pushing her ass into the air to coarse your fingers back inside.

“Yes. God, yes.” You smile at Emily’s eagerness, pressing a few gingerly kisses to her sweat-dampened neck as you shift to mount her. You nudge your knees between Emily’s quivering thighs, urging them to spread further apart and accommodate you.

You reach across the mattress for the container of lube, flicking it open and squirting a sizable amount into your palm. You wrap your hand around the shaft, spreading the gel accordingly.

“How do you want it, Emily… hm?” Your hand presses into the base of her back, forcing her stomach into the mattress whilst your other hand steadies the base of the dildo, stoking it along her slick entrance. “Gentle… or merciless?” You just barely press the head of the cock inside before swiftly pulling out. Emily lets out a breathy moan, gripping desperately at the bedsheets while her contorted, open-mouthed face presses into the material. 

“Answer me.” your torso bends over her, hand sliding from her lower back and up to the base of her neck. The hair at her nape sticks to the sweaty skin, it glistens as you brush her thick locks to the side and run your tongue over her protruding vertebrae.

“Slow first… I’ll let you know when I want more. I just need you inside me right now.” Emily gnarls through clenching teeth as her head turns to the side, eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed. 

“Good girl.” You hum against the curve of her jaw, kissing it before sliding back into your previous position. A hand holding onto the curve of her ass as you bring the head of your cock back to her pussy, swiping it over her entrance before pressing forward, sinking in halfway before pausing and allowing her muscles to relax around the girth.

“Oh-” Emily gasps, the exquisite burn of the stretch settling deep inside of her belly.

Leaning over her once again, you begin slowly rolling your hips, bottoming out. Emily groans as your weight compresses her, the feeling of your hot skin sliding against her from behind fueling the blazing fire that's growing more and more with each thrust you give. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of her neck, tugging on it just enough so her head would lift from the pillow but not enough for her to be uncomfortable.

“Feels so good… oh, fuck.” Emily’s face scrunches up as you hit that particular spot deep inside.

Wrapping your arm underneath her belly, you reach down to rub her clit as you pick up the pace. With every thrust, Emily whimpers. The soft, breathy noises are music to your ears, urging you on. Your knees press her thighs even further apart, eventually impelling her to lift onto her knees slightly, the new position allowing you to go even deeper. 

“More-” Emily pants, her moans growing louder. You immediately oblige, gripping her shoulder and pulling her body into you, your pelvis slapping against her ass. Your other hand continues working her clit, pushing through the faint atrophy burning in your muscles.

Emily smiles as you fuck into her, jaw slack and face flushed. You can see the sweat beading at her temples, and the vein in her forehead protruding as she struggles to keep her breath.

“So pretty and taking my cock so well… you like it when I fuck you like this, Emily?” You growl into her ear, hips snapping at a nearly devastating pace. 

“Yes- fuck… I love it.” Emily’s arm slips from under her pillow, darting out and landing on the back of your thigh, nails digging into the flesh.

You groan at the sharpness, your head falling against her shoulder. You can already feel your own orgasm building at the way the harness rubs ever so slightly against your clit. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on while doing your job, and she hasn’t even touched you. To be honest, she probably won’t need to. Just the sounds of her moans and the feeling of her body as you pound into her alone might just be enough to finish you off.

When thrusting from this angle begins getting a little too uncomfortable on your aching abdominal muscles, you slip from between her legs, pulling out of Emily completely.

She whines at the loss, her head whipping around to look at you.

“On your back...” Your hands grip her waist, flipping her over and quickly throwing her legs over your hips. “Wanna see your pretty face while I fuck you.” You smirk, sliding a bit more lube onto the strap.

Emily hums, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches you. Her hands swipe through her messy hair before moving down to your knees, scraping her nails over them affectionately.

Lining yourself up with her pussy and pressing inside, slipping all the way to the base with ease. Emily arches off the bed with the intrusion, you lean down and press a kiss to her sweaty, flushed chest. Trailing them up to her clavicle and neck, but hovering over her lips as you start rolling into her again.

Emily’s mouth falls open in a silent moan, her breaths fanning across your lips. You hold her eyes with a deep stare, a hand coming to rest over her throat. A whimper falls from her as you press your fingers gently into her pulse points, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Look at me.” Her eyes shoot back open at the tone of your voice, deep and raspy. Moving your free hand to her lower belly, you press down slightly, feeling for the toy’s movements inside of her.

Emily lets put a guttural moan at the pressure, her ankles locking around your back, allowing less room for you to move back, only forward.

“Hmph- fuck, Y/n. I’m gonna cum, don’t stop- please, don’t stop.” Emily’s arms reach up for you, wrapping around your shoulders and holding you tight against her as you fuck into her ruthlessly. Her hand tangles into your hair as you suck at her neck, while the other claws at your shoulder blade.

Bringing your hand back up from her belly, you lick your fingertips, sliding them back down to her clit and rubbing sloppy circles over the bud as you lift your head, watching her face as she’s taken over with pleasure from your ministrations. 

“Come on, baby… so good, so pretty like.. gonna come for me?” You whisper against her chapped lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her chin as she nods frantically. Unable to form the proper words. All that leaves Emily’s mouth are tiny little whimpers and moans as you fuck into her. 

You keep up the pace until Emily’s body starts to tremble, and her pussy begins clenching around the toy, stifling your movement. Your hand holds its movements over her swollen clit as she falls over the edge for the second time tonight, her body twitching aggressively underneath you.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck-” Emily chants, her hand moving to grasp at your hand on her clit. Holding it still and pressing it down hard against the bud.

“Holy shit…” You breathe against her lips, eyes wide and body thrumming with adrenaline as you feel her body reacting to the pressure. You feel almost lightheaded as you lean in to kiss her, licking over her mouth before locking your lips together in a passionate embrace.

“You’re telling me…Jesus Christ-” Emily’s body falls limp, her belly twitching intermittently with aftershocks. You chuckle, kissing her bottom lip gently.

Emily sighs into the kiss, wrapping her arms around you once again. You don’t even care that the skin between you is drenched with sweat, your mind is simply clouded with visions of her. Of Emily.

‘You’re the Only Woman’ by Ambrosia plays softly in the background as you let your weight fall against her chest, catching your breath.

“Thank you… again.” Emily giggles, her hand petting the top of your head, her fingers running through the locks.

“It was my pleasure. Thank you.” You rest your head on your hand that’s propped up beside Emily’s head. Your eyes trail over her dazed face, admiring your handiwork. Her eye makeup- smudged, lipstick- gone, spread across her chin and cheeks and guaranteed that it’s also all over your face as well.

“What?” Her brows furrow in question.

“Nothing… you’re just beautiful.” You smile cheesily and Emily blushes, snorting at the compliment in disbelief.

“It’s true.” You swat at her shoulder, she gives you a sarcastic eye roll.

“How does a shower sound?” Emily asks, brushing a fallen lash from your cheek.

“As long as you’re in there with me… brilliant.” You smile, teasingly. Now it was Emily’s turn to swat at you.

“If you’re gonna fuck me in the shower, too, you’ve gotta give me a minute.” Her eyes sparkle as she smiles at you, and it has to be the most endearing thing you’ve ever witnessed.

“Okay…” You roll off of her, slipping the strap out of her gently. “You can recover while you give me one.” You shoot her a wink, climbing off the bed and walking towards the bathroom.

“Done.” Emily flies off the mattress at lightning speed, dragging you into the ensuite in a fit of giggles and kisses.

...

a/n: HII!! i hope you guys enjoyed reading... this shit took me forever to finish, but i am very happy with the finished product so... yeah

feel free to leave a comment or some constrcutive criticism!

Also lmk if you see any typos… i was so tired proofreading this.

[sabertoothwalrus]

heyy i adore your art! do you have any advce for a small artist trying to get out there?

I guess it depends what you mean by “get out there”!

I’d say number one is to ignore the numbers. Unless you’re intentionally trying to sell yourself to some app’s algorithm, obsessing over the numbers will not help you.

The thing is, it is ok to care about other feedback you get on your art. I often hear social media treated like a dichotomy, to either “ignore it completely and draw for yourself” or to “strive to be a famous viral artist”. And I’m saying it’s not that simple.

It all boils down to why you’re making art. For some people, art is a much more personal expression, and it’s not meant to be seen by others. It’s more about the process and the catharsis than the outcome. This kind of art doesn’t need to be shared with other people.

For others, it’s a living. These people don’t mind that their art becomes “marketable”, if it becomes generic with a mass-appeal. This kind of art isn’t here to send a message, it’s here to look pretty. And that’s ok.

For me, art is communication. I’m telling stories. This is why I’m most drawn to comics and animation. I don’t pay attention to numbers, but I pay a lot of attention to comments because they help me gauge how successful I was at communicating an idea, an action, a joke, etc. It’s still important you develop thick skin. You have to detach yourself emotionally from them, and use them as a tool to help you learn.

This is why clarity is one of my biggest priorities in art. Clarity has less to do with skill and more to with “can you understand what this is you’re looking at”. There are some artists out there who are very good at what they do, but they still struggle with clarity. And the inverse is true; even beginner artists can have clear, easy to follow art.

Some things I actively try to do in my art to improve clarity:

Is the pose clear? Is the figure overlapping themself too much, or is the action still readable from the silhouette?

If there’s text, is it clear? Is the direction of speech bubbles confusing? Is my handwriting/font easy to read?

Would a background or prop help clarify the setting better? (What’s the least amount of effort I can put into this that will give the necessary information?)

Are my lines too loose? Sometimes it’s fine, but if they’re too unconnected, the form gets lost. Should I close my lines better, or maybe add a tone to separate the positive and negative space?

Does the “punchline” make sense? What AM I saying? What could communicate it stronger?

If your art is clear, people will find it and share it! Just keep telling the stories you wanna tell, make the art YOU want to see, and your audience will build around you!

[neovillains]

FINDING EQUILIBRIUM · GOJO SATORU

( EPISODE 4 : PURRFECT TIMING ) things have seemed to be going smoothly. gojo manages to reconcile with his friends, even introducing you to them. however, just as things seem to get better, things turn downhill once again. | watch time: 3.2k words.

── chat noir!gojo satoru & student!reader, angst & fluff, friendship reconciliation, confessions & heart ache, featuring geto suguru & shoko ieiri, etc.

note. y'all not ready for the end of season one tbh.

Just as told, Professor Mei Mei had assigned the class a project. It seemed to be easy enough— create a presentation revolving around the different cultural practices that might interfere with different businesses around the world. The professor uploaded the class’s partners online through a QR code, but Gojo was already on his way towards you when the professor instructed all the students to meet with each other before the class ended. Your typical class partner stood up, groaning that she had to leave you while Gojo took her spot. Sliding into the chair, he has a happy smile on his face when he lets out a dragged out groan. “Oh, how I’m happy that you’re my partner.”

“Why?” you chuckle. “So you can throw me all the work?”

Gojo scoffs, pulling out his laptop from his bag and plopping it down with a metallic thud. “Why do you keep making up these lies? I’m not going to leave you hanging.”

For the rest of the twenty minutes in class, you had set up the powerpoint while Gojo researched journal articles to use for the assignment. Simultaneously, the two of you chatted about everything but the project, finding humor in anything and everything as by the end of the class period. By the time the two of you were walking out of class when she dismissed everyone, Professor Mei Mei had her eyes on the both of you. “I hope the two of you actually got some work done with all that talking.”

And in unison, you and Gojo both responded, “We did!”

The two of you both agreed on times that you could meet up and do the assignment. On a handful of days, it was either in your apartment or his. But on various occasions, the two of you decided to meet in the library or at a cafe on campus. There were a handful of times where Gojo had texted you that he was going to be late, but he always assured you that he would be there and that you would not have to do his part. He upheld himself on that promise, always rushing in late and plopping his stuff down. He’d be a panting thing, always looking like a mess, and thus leading you to never question his whereabouts. 

Plus, you were impressed by his work and ideas, not having to reformat and reword things like you would typically need to when you worked on partnered assignments. Gojo constantly reassured that you were in good hands for this assignment and that he wouldn’t let you down, and he held true to that word. 

Today, the two of you were doing the finishing touches on the assignment. You were fixing things up style-wise, centering the titles and assigning designated fonts for everything. You made sure that everything was appeasing to the eye, while he worried about correct citations and fixed up any misspellings and grammar. The two of you were perched at a table in the library, iced coffees sitting on each other’s rights. You reach for your cup, taking a sip of your vanilla iced coffee and typing with your next hand. Gojo was hunched over, squinting at the screen as his mouth opened up a mere centimeter. 

“I think…” he breathes. “I am… done!”

He shuts the screen, the assignment autosaving as he throws himself back in the seat. He stretches his arms, hearing the cracks in his muscles as he stretches. With a huge yawn, he squeezes his eyes shut while you’re still at it. Watching you silently, he chuckles with a shake of his head. “You’re doing too much work.”

“No, I’m not,” you simply retort. “I’m just making sure that everything is presentable.”

“I’m pretty sure it already is,” he sighs. You shake your head, eyes starting to burn but you refuse to wipe them. “No, I still have to do the transitions and animations for the text and pictures.”

“There you go,” he chuckles. “Proving my point.”

“Didn’t you say you were glad to work with such a scholar like me?”

“Yeah,” Gojo says. “But I’m starting to regret it.”

With a sarcastic laugh, you finally shut your laptop screen. “I’ll finish the rest of it later. I’m pooped out.”

The two of you are about to leave, agreeing to go out and get lunch together before heading your separate ways. Walking together out the door, you can’t help but think about how the more you spend time with Gojo, the more your heart flutters. You enjoy getting to know the man, his interests and what he doesn’t like. He’s very easy to talk to, which you aren’t always used to, having to take some time to open up. Today, he wore a sweater that was twice his size and a pair of charcoal gray sweatpants and it was so simple, yet it sparked up a heat inside of you that made you feel embarrassed. 

You feel so abashed, wondering if it’s normal to be experiencing such high school level emotions as someone in their early twenties. Your breathing grows heavy as he draws closer to you, nudging your shoulder as he teases you about something. The both of you had agreed on getting Chinese down in the food court, about the head down when he all of a sudden stopped. He spots two familiar faces. His heart pangs when he sees Geto and Shoko sitting at a table on the other side of the library. His step falters as you walk ahead. When you look back, he says, “Wait up for me? I wanna speak to a few… friends of mine.”

You follow his gaze, ultimately nodding as you walk ahead. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

Gojo doesn’t get it. As Chat Noir, it’s so easy to confront his enemies. To put on a brave face and go against them in a battle of two-on-one. Is it the extra hand that makes it easier? Is it the fact that he’s not alone? He fiddles with his fingers, picking at the dirt inside of his fingernails before inhaling deeply. 

One foot in front of the other, he walks over to their table, his shadow alerting them of his presence. They sit rigid in their seats, looking up at the taller individual as no one says anything for a while. Shoko has to be the one to break the stifling silence between the three of them as Geto turns his gaze away from Gojo. “Do you need something?”

“Can I sit right here for a quick minute?” Shoko looks over at Geto, but Geto’s gaze is still on his laptop, typing away furiously in order to keep his attention off of Gojo. Shoko lets out a sigh, having told Geto that he needed to speak to Gojo in order to get things resolved. However, the boy seemed to be more stubborn than an ass. She motions to the chair, giving Gojo the go ahead with a slight eye roll. “Go ahead.”

When Gojo grabs the chair, he spins it around, leaning against the back of it. His breath trembles as he averts his gaze down to the table instead of directly at them. “I want to apologize—”

Geto scoffs, cutting off Gojo before he can continue. Gojo inwardly curses his best friend for not making this any easier on him, but an apology isn’t supposed to be that— easy. With a deep inhale, Gojo continues, finally looking up to see that both of their eyes are on him. Geto gestures for him to continue with the roll of his hand. “Go on.”

“I want to apologize for the last time we saw each other,” Gojo fiddled with his fingers underneath the table, cracking each and every knuckle until he couldn’t crack anymore. “I—” He had practiced this in his head a thousand times, rehearsing as he knew exactly what to say. He had made plenty of plans and wasted initiatives to meet with them when he could, but always bailed at the very last moment. Now, everything that he mentally prepared himself was gone and out the window of his mind. “—I was lying… I do have something to hide.”

“Oh?” Geto didn’t expect this much from him. An apology, yes, but was he really going to reveal the very thing he was suspecting him to be? Gojo nods, losing some tension in his shoulders. 

“I can’t tell you what though,” Gojo grows more confident, looking the two of them in the eye. “I just… can’t. And I really wish I could. The moment I found out, I wanted to, but—” If he continued on elaborating, Gojo knew they could possibly guess what or badger him to know in more further detail, so he restrained himself. “—I just can’t tell you guys what.”

Finally, he raises his hands to the table, his entire body relaxing. “I’m sorry for constantly ditching you both. I’ll try to be a better friend from now on.”

Shoko looked happy, seemingly approving of his apology. However, Geto was the one he worried for the most. He knew how well his friend could hold a grudge. Both Gojo and Shoko stared at the long-haired man, waiting for his approval. With a deep sigh, Geto dropped his shoulders. “That’s all you could have said from the jump. We would’ve understood.”

“I know,” Gojo elongates his groan. “But I panicked and instead, made everything worse.”

“That you did,” Shoko agrees with a point. 

“Can I treat you guys for dinner as an apology?” Gojo beams, a smile gracing his features. 

“What?” Geto quips. “No lunch?”

“Nah,” Gojo says, standing up. “I actually have to go meet someone for lunch.”

Geto and Shoko give each other a curious glance before raising their eyebrow at Gojo. They saw the person he was with earlier, both questioning to themselves who that possibly could have been. Shoko asks, “Is it that girl you were studying with?”

His eyes widened, not knowing that they had seen them together. He nods. “Yeah, we were working on an assignment together.”

“Mm,” Shoko hums. With the look on his face, Shoko can tell that there’s possibly more than them just simply sharing a class together. Geto and her have both seen the two of them walking alongside each other a couple of times. The way they talked— the way they looked at each other seemed to be something more to it. “Well, I wouldn't want to keep her waiting much longer.”

“Yeah,” Gojo agreed, looking over at Geto. Relief flooded him seeing that his best friends were finally talking to him, and happy with himself for finally doing the hard part. “I’ll see you guys later?”

“Yeah,” Geto agreed, before giving him a pointed look. “That’s if you’re available.”

“I’ll let you both know what’s up,” he grins from ear-to-ear. 

Equilibrium— Gojo remembers learning that word in high school. It’s when two opposing forces or influences are balanced. It was universal amongst the majority of topics and discussions that the word can be applied. However, in that class, he was working on different chemical reactions and how he could bring them to an equal state. He liked the word— different from equivalent or equilateral. The word just had a nice sound to it. But now, he felt like he could apply it to his regular life and how it fit to the occasion. He was trying to find a balance between college, his social life, and being a hero. Never seeming to be able to find enough time to juggle all three. 

However, now, he feels like he’s one step closer. Catching up to you in the courtyard, he jogs in your direction. Hands open like a cat ready to pounce, his palms capture your shoulder as he shouts, “Boo!”

You jump with a high-pitched squeal, turning to see the devil-eyed culprit. You groan, eyebrows frowning as you slapped at his chest. “You asshole!”

“Yeah, yeah, you love me,” Gojo laughs, throwing a hand over your shoulder. He walks at your height, hunched over as his feet clunk on the floor. A shiver runs down your spine at the heat of his body against yours. Your body tenses up and you’re hoping he doesn’t notice. 

“I really don’t,” you grumble, despite the heat rising to your face. 

“Ready for lunch?” His face turned towards you, so close. 

“Mhm,” you nod. “You’re paying.”

You maneuver yourself from his hold, going ahead of him. He chuckles, standing tall as he strolls after you. You didn’t need to run. He was going to pay either way. 

Yeah, Gojo nods. He’s finding equilibrium.

—

At some point, you and Gojo become a regular thing. He doesn’t ask what you’re doing and if you have the time for something, he just messages you that he’d like to do something and tell you to join him, and you’d just agree. Or, he’d ambush you on your way out of classes to seek out your comfort in the library or the campus cafe right next to it. He becomes such a natural occurrence in your life that you don’t even question it, not that you ever did. 

Tonight, he’s invited you out with his friends. The ones you saw in the library— Shoko and Geto, if you’re remembering them correctly. You feel so tense in their presence, watching how fluidly they interact with each other. Shoko’s sitting to your left, elbows on the table as she leans over, silently listening to the two goofballs. She’s glancing at you occasionally, wondering if you’re usually this quiet. You don’t seem that way when you’re with Gojo.

“You alright?” She directs her attention to you. “Or, are you tired of us already?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m good.”

“So,” Shoko begins. “You’re a business major, too, huh? You’re not as obnoxious as the rest of them are. How do you deal with it?”

You snort at her comment, eyes lighting up as you shift towards her. “I disassociate and shut them out from the rest of the world.”

“That’s what you must be doing with Satoru, then. Ignoring his annoying ass.”

“Oh, definitely,” you giggle. Gojo squints his eyes, looking from Shoko to you. He’s enjoying the fact that you’re getting along with her, watching how you’ve come to relax in her presence. You start to laugh before glancing over at him and immediately reverting your attention back to Shoko. Something itches inside of him to interject, no longer listening to Geto when he blurts, “Are you guys talking about me?”

And boldly you say, “Yes, and it’s all about how horrible of a friend you are.”

Gojo pouts, taking your statement seriously as he turns his attention to Shoko. “I thought we got past that. Haven’t you guys forgiven me?”

“Oh my gosh,” Shoko gasps. “She was joking, ‘Toru. Can’t you take those anymore?”

“Oh,” he juts his bottom lip out. The two girls give each other a look before laughing together. The rest of the night goes smoothly, integrating each other’s separate conversations into one. The four of you are loud in the small restaurant, having to be told on multiple occasions to silent down. When the sky gets too dark, you and Gojo say your farewells to Shoko and Geto. 

“It was nice meeting you guys in person,” you wave. “I’ve only heard your names when he was talking about you. It’s good to put names on the faces.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Geto smiles. “It’s good to see ‘Toru talk to someone outside of us.”

Gojo grimaces, groaning at Geto’s statement. “Yeah, whatever. We have classes tomorrow.

“That’s a fucking lie,” Geto snorts, but dismissing the two of you. “Whatever. Good night.”

You don’t remember the last time you’ve ever confessed to someone. In junior high, you believed? But each occasion that you’ve had a crush, you were always the one to cave into your emotions and confess. It’s the same way you're feeling right now, feeling the way your emotions are starting to bubble on your chest, slowly starting to kill you. 

Right now, Gojo’s right next to you as you’re unlocking the door to your apartment, making sure that you get inside safely. You’re fumbling with your keys, but the urge to confess is starting to ruminate and boil over. You’ve gone through your keys for the fourth time before you just finally give up and spin around. “Gojo, can I ask you something?”

It comes out so abrupt that it catches him off guard, making him straighten his posture as he nods. “Yeah, you can ask me anything.”

“I—” Maybe you were getting way too ahead of yourself, reacting immediately to your impulses. “I…”

You take a deep breath, controlling your racing heart. “I don’t know if I’m getting way too ahead of myself, but… I don’t know. I could be reading all the signs wrong and I’ll feel like a complete idiot, and then I’ll feel like a complete idiot, but—”

Gojo’s eyes widen, taking in what you’re saying— through all your rambling and nonsensical words— he can deduce exactly what you’re trying to say. He should be elated because deep down, his heart was begging for the exact same thing. However, fear begins to seep in his heart in regards to your safety. Gojo could give you the love that you needed, but Chat Noir can’t. His two identities would only hold you back, and he wouldn’t be able to give you what you need. 

“—Would you like to go out sometime? As a date.”

You’re waiting so expectantly, pretty eyes that look up with him— a fine mixture of anticipation and nerves. You’ve got a horrible habit of biting your nails, chewing on them and feeling the crunch as you peel at them with your teeth. Your heart starts pounding, beating against your chest in strong attempts to escape. It’s too long of a wait and by the time he calls out your name, it’s a low whisper. His eyes drop and there’s something in his eyes that immediately makes you assume, no. “I— I’m sorry, but…”

Gosh, you cry. I feel so stupid. You shake your head, quick to dismiss it as he calls out name again, telling you to wait. However, you choose to ignore it. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you grab your keys, going to unlock the door. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

With that, you shut the door on Gojo. Tears streaming down your face in utter embarrassment as you curse yourself. But, you could only put the blame back on you. That’s what you get for being too hasty, you chastise yourself. You wipe away the tears as you blindly lead yourself to your bedroom, dropping your bag by the door and diving straight on the bed. 

Outside, Gojo still stands by the door. Cursing at himself for hurting you, he runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the knots. Just like that, that band of equilibrium breaks in two. Two unequal pieces as both solutions start bubbling over. I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. It's all that Gojo can repeat to himself. In the little opening of his bag, Plagg looks up at Gojo with his bright blue eyes. “Why’d you say no? Don’t you like her?”

“I do, I just—” Gojo sighs, giving up. “Just forget it. It’s just one other thing that I was bound to ruin.”

[traegorn]

So when I do finish this book I am writing (speaking it into existence bc adhd is a BITCH) Like what's your experience with publishing? How much does it usually cost? What kinda income does one get? I don't really care about making money but it would be super neat to make something since I cannot work. How do taxes work on that also? Google is confusing me

So far i have an idea and half a first chapter with thrilling notes such as " add a cat" and "insert spell here"

So I self publish, so that's the world I know. If you want to find a traditional publisher, you'll need to query agents and do a bunch of other stuff. My only advice for traditional publishing is that when going that route, money should always flow towards the author. If they're asking you to pay for something, they aren't a traditional publisher and there's a good chance it's a grift.

So let's talk about what I do know.

(And this turned out to be long as hell, so I'm putting in a "keep reading")

When you self publish, you are effectively acting as the publisher. If you want someone to do edits? You'll have to hire an editor. If you want someone to do the book layouts? You'll have to hire someone to do it if you can't do it yourself. You need a cover? You get the idea.

Now I don't pay an editor, so I can't really give you a price range on how much they cost off the top of my head. I do know they can get expensive though.

I also do all my own interiors, but I have a graphic design background and have been doing print layouts for decades. If you want to hire someone to do the interiors, that can run you $100-500, so I recommend just... learning to do it yourself.

Frankly, it's not terribly hard. I do mine in Apple Pages on my Mac for my paperbacks and Amazon has a free program for formatting eBooks (which you can export both as the Kindle format OR the more universal ePub format). With your print version, you just want to make sure you get your margins right, along with using a standard font like Times New Roman.

Like, literally just pick up a book and study the layout. Look at the front matter (copyright page, title page, etc) of a handful of books and mimic what you find there. I don't know why so many self published authors get that bit wrong. It's a book. Format it like a book.

Now the cover... this is where you'll probably end up spending something. I do my own covers for my comics, but hire out for my novels because I can't do the kind of covers expected of my genre. And you do want to match your genre, because you want a potential reader to know what they're getting into. I've seen so many self published books with terrible covers and it drives me nuts.

Cover design can run you anywhere from $35-$400 depending on who you choose to contract, and this is where I recommend you spend your money. On the cheap end you have companies like GetCovers. Now they primarily do covers made from edited stock photos, and I've honestly been pretty satisfied with their work... but you have to hold their hand and be very clear with what you want.

GetCovers is a part of Mibl Group, and it's pretty much all of their most inexperienced employees. The whole point of it is to get them the experience to work on bigger projects down the road. They have cheaper packages, but for their best work you'll probably only spend like $35-$45. If you're working in a genre that mainly uses stock images, that's who you want.

I often end up retouching the covers they do though, because I'm impatient. Like there are edits to The Witch and the Rose and Shadowcasting I made after they handed me the completed files. You're going to have to be very specific with what you want. The first version of the Bloody Damn Rite cover they did... was awful. But they did the revisions I asked for, and the version they delivered in the end was great.

Now if you want, like, original art or just more complicated, custom stuff? You're looking at at least $250 on the cheap end, but sometimes you end up in the ballpark of $700-$1000. Like on their regular site (just to use the same company as GetCovers for comparison), the Mibl group charges like $300 for a more complicated stock photo based cover (that requires more complicated edits) and at least $700 for covers that require digital painting, 3d modeling, etc.

There are a wide range of prices depending on what you're asking for. But, y'know, you're paying that once for a commercial piece of graphic design.

I'm cheap and can do some of the work myself, so I go for the $35 cover. I also figure out what fonts they used for the covers, so I can go buy my own commercial license for them and replicate a similar logo on my title page. You don't need to do that bit, I'm just finicky.

Actually publishing the book is easy. You'll want to use a self publishing platform like Kindle Direct Publishing or IngramSpark (or, if you're like me, both). I sell KDP books on Amazon, but all other distribution is through IngramSpark. You make more money on Amazon by using KDP, but even though they offer distribution, no book store will ever order through them. So I turn that option off, and then I take the same book and I make it available through IngramSpark.

On amazon I make a little more than $2 on a $3 ebook, and about $4.00 on a $12.99 paperback. When a bookstore buys an IngramSpark version, I make about $2.50 on a $14.99 book (if you wondered by my books cost more when not buying it through Amazon... that's why). Now if you buy yourself author copies, they cost way less -- in the end I think I can get them for like $5 a book? So when I sell them in person, my margins are much higher.

But, y'know, you have to actually sell them.

Because that's the hard part. When self publishing, you only have you to market it. I don't know how many books I'd be selling if I didn't have a pre-existing audience -- and even then it's not a huge amount. I've sold about 200 books this year? Which isn't nothing, and I appreciate every single person who's purchased one of my titles, but it's obviously not enough to quit my day job for, y'know?

That said, I've known people who do sell enough to make a steady living. So it's possible for sure.

But it's not going to happen overnight, and it won't be easy.

As for taxes, you'll need a 1099 and do stuff with the Schedule C. I always forget exactly what until I'm actually doing them, but it's not super hard, just annoying.

[purplestanleypinkblanket]

A Witch Hunt, Moonlit Solace (1):

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Rating: M (16+)

Summary: While on a witch hunt, you and the boys unknowingly walk yourselves into a trap. A trap that opens up old feelings you have long tried to forget.

Warnings: Minor mentions of violence and blood, supernatural elements (aka witches and hex bags), mild language, heavy angst, mild unwanted physical contact (witch taunting the reader), Implied childhood trauma (is only in the final sentence but will be marked a different color and font, as well as will have a warning leading up to it. Implied childhood trauma is spoken about 'being that little girl again' and 'feeling alone'.) Reader experiences illness. Cliff hanger!

Genre: Supernatural, action, slow burn, hurt/comfort (in a sense), angst.

Word Count: 2,923

Master list: Coming Soon!

"Find anything?" Your voice echoed in the bunker's library as you leaned over Dean's shoulder, eyes on the laptop screen. One of your hands rested on the back of his chair while the other was on the table, both supporting your weight.

Dean glanced up at you, unable to keep his eyes on you for long after your last encounter in the garage. It wasn't an awkward moment, so why did he feel so...vulnerable...looking at you now?

"Yea. Some people went missing in Salem, Massachusetts. Looks like it could be worth taking a look at." His voice was slightly rough, well, rougher than usual. Dean lifted his hand off the laptop, bringing it to run over his lower face, thumb trailing his jaw.

"Sounds like you found us a job, Dean." You smiled brightly, relieved for a reason to leave the bunker. It had been a few weeks since the vampire hunt and your itch to see something other than the same damn walls was coming back.

"I don't know if you should come this time." Dean spoke up, sighing as he leaned into the chair, his back pressing against your hand.

"Wait, what?" Your eyebrows rose in surprise, had you heard him, right? He didn't want you to come? You had been with them for almost three years! Sure, it wasn't until recently that you had taken up the stabbing side of hunting, but you worked hard to be helpful!

Dean looked up at you, a frown falling on his lips. As if he could sense every single thought in your head, he spoke, "You just haven't been in-the-field hunting for very long, sweetheart." He lied, hoping his excuse was enough to mask the concern he felt. Dean couldn't just tell you that he suspected witches to be the perpetrators in Salem. Or that everyone disappearing were women who had similar features to you. He didn't need you to stress, to worry, or worse- to insist on coming even more so. You had always been so protective of others in your gender group. Dean could remember the day a man was hitting on a woman who wasn't the least bit interested in a bar you lot were at. He had never seen you rise into action faster than that moment; your fist met the man's face before Dean could even blink.

"Dean." Your serious voice broke him from his trance, "I don't give a flying fuck whether or not I've been in the field long. If people need help, I want to be there." A mutual, unspoken need to look out for the other passed between you. God, your stubbornness frustrated him. Despite how much it aggravated him, it was also endearing. You stuck up for what you believed in. That was something he admired about you.

"We don't even know for sure what we're hunting." Dean countered.

"Do you have any ideas?" You argued back, arms crossing over your torso as you stood strong.

Dean scowled softly at you, a look you returned instantly. A beat passed between you, a silent battle raging. Non verbalized words floated between the two of you.

'You're not coming,' he adamantly straightened his shoulders.

‘Yes I am. You can't stop me.' Rising to his challenge, you also straightened your shoulders, eye’s narrowing.

'Wanna test that theory?' You watched as his eyebrow lifted in the corner just slightly, a small cue to the deep rooted determination he felt. 

Finally, Dean let out an exasperated huff. "Damn it, fine. Just don't do anything stupid, got it? Don't be a hero." A beaming smile crept onto your face at his surrender, it wasn't every day you won an argument against Dean. With a victorious stance, you eagerly leaned down and pressed a thoughtless peck to his face. You knew he didn't want you to come but, boy, were you glad you could. Perhaps you did it because you wanted to cheer him up, to show him appreciation. Or, maybe, it was because of the bad feeling burrowing itself deep into your gut. All too suddenly, you were fully aware of your lips pressed to his cheek. You were aware of how delicate the action was, how your eyes had fluttered for a split second at the contact. Your eyes widened as you froze, you wanted to pull away, you were desperate to. Your face paled just before the storm, humiliation filling you. 

Pulling away far too quickly than you should've, you brought your hand to your lips. Desperate to say anything, to relieve the suddenly uncomfortable awkwardness you felt, you started to speak.

"I...."

Your face burned red hot- a dead giveaway to the deadly embarrassment flooding you. Why on earth would you kiss him?! Why make it awkward! Why wasn't he responding? You watched his jaw clench slightly, the bones of it flexing and unflexing. Dean wasn't moving, his gaze focused ahead. Oh god, what if he tried to talk to you about it? You could only dread the possibilities. With a stutter, you ushered a quick apology, racing towards the stairs in an attempt to escape the situation. Despite having reached the top of the stairs, you paused, looking back at him for a split second, waiting- no, welcoming him to say something. When he didn't speak, or even move, you left.

Dean hadn't untensed from your touch until after you were gone, his face pale as his mind wracked any form of connotation behind the kiss. He wished you had stayed longer and had given him a chance to speak. He wanted to explain why he tensed under you. He wanted to tell you that he was terrified to move only to find out you weren't there. He wanted the kiss to mean more but he found himself scared of that. Dean was petrified of caring for you, and you getting hurt because of it…of him. He looked towards the stairs you had raced up, a frown on his lips. If he had moved, had leaned into the kiss, had grabbed you before you could leave; would you have stayed? Deep down, Dean wanted you to come back, to tell him what it meant.

The only sound in the quiet drive to Salem was Sam. You and Dean had avoided each other for the last few hours, trying to hide from the awkwardness from earlier. 

"All women victims, none have been found..." His voice drowned on, just becoming another distant sound as you stared out the window.

Pain.

Searing, red-hot pain filled your limbs.

You looked down at your shaking hand. Before your eyes, claws sprouted from your nails. Jagged, desperate pleading fell from your lips but all that all that came out was an angry, pained roar.

"Hey, sweetheart." Dean's hands shaking your shoulders brought you back to reality, "You alright?"

"I..." Your gaze was frantic as you looked around, eyes finally landing on Sam and Dean. They had opened the door you sat next to; Dean was leaning inside while Sam peaked in. Concern was evident on both of their faces. "Yea, yea, I'm fine. Sorry." You murmured, shaking your head to get the delusions off your mind. The lingering stretching pain in your limbs continued to haunt you. "Just...spaced out there for a second." You shrugged, grasping Dean's hand as he helped you out of the car. Looking around, you immediately noticed all the small mom and pop shops filled with gothic or Victorian style elements. The town really seemed to embrace they're witch-rich history.

"I'll go get us a room." Sam spoke up after a beat, his eyes moving between you and Dean who still held onto your hand. You glanced at Sam, nodding. You remained silent; your mind still focused on what you had felt in the car.

Pain.

Soul-breaking pain. Your limbs cracked and snapped every which way, followed by a howl of pain each time.

"Hey," Dean called out to you, voice soft and low. His thumb trailed over the back of your hand, grazing along your knuckles. The action was simple enough, but it was exactly what you needed to return to the moment. The warmth of his skin was the perfect reassurance, the comfort of having him so close seemed to soothe the tremble of your fingers. "What's going on?" He asked, concern evident.

"I don't know." You confided, free hand finding your head. "But my head aches like hell." Dean frowned softly, pressing the back of his hand and knuckles to your forehead.

"You're super pale, and sweaty." He observed, brows knitted together as he wiped your sweat off onto your hoodie. Dean kept your hands together, savoring the feeling of your skin against him. He hated the circumstances that surrounded it though, he hated knowing you only let him do so because you needed the comfort.

"Yea, I feel like my body's stretching past its limits." You admitted, voice shaky.

"Why don't you stay in tonight?" Dean offered in a demanding tone. It wasn't a choice he was giving you, even if it was phrased as one.

Instantly, you shook your head, "No. I'll be fine, I just need to eat something, I think." You argued, eyes watching his jaw clench in reluctance. "Really, Dean. I'll be fine." You pleaded with him, hand tightening around his. You watched the internal struggle behind his green eyes. On one hand, he wanted to be able to keep an eye on you. Dean wanted to make sure you were fine, and he couldn't do that if you were in the hotel room. However, he was also worried about you. You were acting odd, spaced out. Like your mind was in a hundred different places but nowhere all at once. He wanted you to rest, to get better.

"We both know if you don't let me come with you and Sam, I'll just wander about by myself." You informed him, as if you could read every thought in his mind.

With a sigh, he finally relented, "Fine but you're staying in the car." He watched your grateful smile form, his hand squeezing yours slightly. He was happy you were smiling, proud even. Although, as the evening went on, Dean couldn't help but wonder if the price was really worth it.

You had been getting worse by the hour. You grew paler, face sickly, your limbs ached and burned more by the minute. Your hair had begun to stick to your face from sweat despite the freezing temperature of your body. Every time Sam and Dean returned to the car, Dean instantly noticed the slight differences in you. You no longer asked about how their questioning went. You never even noticed they were back in the car until the doors slammed.

"Sweetheart." Dean called out to you, snapping you from your trance. The look of concern on his face spoke volumes. Guilt swarmed you, you didn't want to be another burden- another issue. Not when all these women were going missing.

"They tell you anything?" You flashed a sweet smile that failed to reach your sunken eyes.

"Yea, they told us a lot. It's bigger than we thought." Sam added, "Maybe we should check in for the night. It's pretty late anyway." It was late? Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you looked out the window, it was practically night.

"When...?" You started, startled by the sudden time shift. It felt like it was daytime not even five minutes ago. The cobblestone streets and iron decorative light posts added an eerie feeling to the neighborhood. Dean began the drive back to the motel, casting occasional looks at you through the rearview mirror. He hoped that if he stared long enough then the answer of what is plaguing you would be revealed.

Sam's voice filled the silence as he told you about what they discovered, "Supposedly, these women had started acting weird before they disappeared. They would start to look super sick. Stopped showing up to work, constantly talked about their limbs hurting." Sam shared a look with Dean, both of them clearly disliking how similar the experiences sounded to yours.

"Aint I flattered." You grumbled; voice hoarse. "So, who did it? Some kind of siren? Maybe a dragon?" You listed off the first creatures that came to your mind.

"It's a witch. We found hex bags in the victim's purses." Dean sighed.

The car fell silent as Dean parked at the motel.

"Hex bags...?" You frowned.

"Hex bags." Dean echoed, and, with sudden determination, hopped out of the impala as he strode towards the room.

"Dean?" Sam called out; voice filled with confusion. You shared a glance with Sam, brows furrowed, before you both clambered out of the car and raced to follow him. The door to the motel room was wide open and Dean was inside, your bag in his hands as he tossed your clothing and essentials out.

"Dean!" You gasped, racing forward to stop him. "What the hell are you doing?!" You demanded.

After a few minutes of trying to wrestle your bag from Dean's ripping grip, he pulled out a small hex bag.

"That's it. We're leaving." He adamantly decided. "Sammy, back our shit up in the car. I'll go pay the receptionist." Before either of you could interject, Dean was already out the door. You and Sam shared a look, confusion and concern evident. You cast your gaze down, staring at the hex bag that Dean had thrown aside angrily.

"Sam-..." You started, voice pleading. Women were going missing here, and maybe using this situation to your advantage could help you save those who had yet to fall target.

"Dean's right." Sam voiced; lips pursed with concern. On one hand, he wanted to help prevent other women from becoming victims. But on the other hand, he refused to let you sacrifice yourself. He and Dean had lost so much to the hunting life, and he refused to let you be another name on the list. He wouldn't do that to Dean, he couldn't. Gathering his and Dean's bags, Sam turned to you. "Look, I'm going to put these in the car, then we'll wait for Dean to get back. We'll find a way to fix whatever is going on." His tone was filled with a promise to you. You nodded, guilt and relief wracked your system as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone. You wanted to help these people, wanted to stop whatever was happening to them. Yet, you couldn't deny the relief you felt at the idea of leaving the town haunting you.

It had been almost fifteen minutes since Sam and Dean had left the room. You expected at least Sam to be back by now. With protective hesitance, you stepped outside the room. Cold night nipped your skin as you looked around the parking lot, no sign of Sam near the impala.

"Sam?" You called out, voice holding a strength you currently didn't have.

No response.

Looking around, you stepped towards the impala. "Sam...?"

Still nothing.

Sucking in an ice-cold breath, you frantically looked around, "Dean?" Any strength in your voice was gone when Dean hadn't responded. You could feel your heart pick up its pace as you moved towards the main area that the front desk resided in. Stepping inside, you noticed just how trashed the room was, as if a fight had occurred. Papers and utensils were scattered, chairs flipped and torn. Blood coated the walls and wood lined floor in inconsistent splotches. You knew Dean wasn't here, but that didn't stop the frantic call of your voice. "Dean, please." You stepped into the room more, hand reaching for the small silver pocket knife in your jeans. "I swear to fucking god, Winchester..."

"I don't think God would take too kindly to that." Someone interrupted you. The voice was cold, icy. Whipping around, your eyes landed and a brunette witch with pale eyes, a grin on her lips. Her presence was overwhelming. Just her stare made you want to run away and cry for your mommy. Standing straight, you pulled out your silver pocket knife, arming yourself.

"What in hell did you do to him?" You growled out, prepared to fight. "Tell me or I'll-"

"Or you'll what? Pretty me to death?" The witch taunted. You stepped towards her, suddenly aware of how sluggish your body was. How exhaustion wracked you. With determination, you continued to move towards her despite your failing body. Your jaw clenched when you found yourself stumbling to your knees in front of her, blade falling from your hand. The ache in your limbs was overpowering, and your eyes felt as if they hadn't found solace in sleep for almost a year. "You fought pretty damn well." The witch pointed out, patting your head as if you were a new trophy, "Lasted far longer than the others. And you're still going!" She laughed. "Yes, you'll do nicely."

Darkness closed in around you as you fell to the floor, no longer able to fight back whatever charm she had put on you. You felt alone, scared. Dean wasn't there, he wasn't there to take your hand, to call you sweetheart. Sam wasn't there to tell you lighthearted stories that humiliated his brother.

(Warning: Implied childhood trauma)

It all came crashing to you how alone you truly were right now. How you hadn't felt this alone since... A sob wracked your body.

Just like that, you were the little girl you tried so hard to leave behind. 

[lucky-draws]

(transcript + some notes/explanation under the cut:)

i feel like the context of this is maybe only apparent in my own head LOL so basically ive kind of imagined an au where, based on the rebirth ending, james has succeeded in bringing mary back to life, but also maria, and also james gets killed in the process. so it's basically just maria and mary alone in the townTM trying to figure each other out. and this is a letter maria sends mary at some point basically. transcript in case the font is annoying to read:

Mary, You’ll have to forgive me if any of this sounds a little weird. I haven’t written anybody a letter in years, and I’m not sure if I have much of a way with words. Though I’ve been spending a lot of time in Ernest’s library lately, so hopefully some of his great literature has rubbed off on me. Somehow, I had this idea that I never liked reading much - that it wasn’t really my style - but I ended up getting kind of hooked. His dusty old books sure aren’t the worst company in this town, at any rate. I wonder what we really are, you and I. I used to think of us as two music box dolls: dancing side by side, spinning in perfect unison to somebody else’s tune. Like a pair of clocks keeping the same time. Two parallel lines, and an impossibility for us to ever intersect, to face each other head-on without some kind of disaster.

We’re not completely identical, though. If you looked closely at me - if you could bear to do that - you’d see all my imperfections. I lack your fine details. The paint on my lips is messier, my joins are showing, and there are bits of sprew left between my fingers. Pick me up, and you’ll feel how much lighter I am - I’m missing a lot of internal parts, you see. I’m a knock-off - we were cast from different molds. You were born of nature, while I was born from your very own killer. But I suppose I don’t need to tell you that. Do you hate me? I understand if you do. Or maybe I’m not so important - maybe you can only think of him. Or perhaps you’re trying not to think of anything at all when you sit by that lake for hours on end. I don’t know how you can stand it - going to the lake every day. It's so quiet. No ducks, not even a single bird. I’d go crazy, I think. That’s why I like to stay at the bar: there’s no one here either, of course, but it feels easier to imagine there might be. To pretend that we’ve only just closed, that those drinks on the table belonged to the last customers, and not to me. I’ve been so restless lately, sitting in the bar all night. I wonder if - no, I guess I’m hoping that - something’s going to give, soon. I think I’m losing the beat  - I’m spinning slower than you are. I think it’s because I keep getting distracted, always thinking of you. I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it’s simply because you’re the only thing in this dreadful town that’s not a monster. But I think you must be as lonely as I am. Much more so, probably. And I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if you’d only reach through the mirror and touch me. I’m full of missing pieces, I know - but I have this notion that between us, we might just be able to come together into something like a real person. You know, some days I feel I hardly know who I am; but other times I feel so sure that I’m beginning to dance to my own beat. It’s no fun dancing alone, though. Well, I guess you know where to find me. I’ll be waiting at the bar tonight. I always am. I’ve waited there every night - for something, someone, anything, anyone - for what feels like forever. But these days, I’m just waiting for you. See you around, Maria

[ditizygirl]

Editblr is a breeding ground for idolatry, ableism, racism and so much more all for a community about putting images together.

I've been here for only a year but I feel like I've seen it all, and the excuses oh my god the excuses. You are all 15-19, you should not have the mental capacity of a 8 year old. Your common sense is non existent and almost all of you guys are so fucking stupid it's pissing me off more than any god can understand. You are old enough to have logical thinking skills, you may have a disorder and it may be a reason but not an excuse.

Alot of you have forgotten the saying "Think Before You Talk" and I've sure as hell done alot of thinking. This is my deep dive into editblr.

Ableism

Typing quirks are a way of personal expression but why do so much of you hate to add plain text. I can understand to extent because plain text hates my head because of how long it can be but I'm not gonna act like a little bitch about it. I'm gonna add my typing quirk or even fonts itself to it.

I'm gonna ask someone to help me, or to do it for me. Stopping making excuses for ableism. Alongside with the typing quirks, your psds are ugly and eyestrainy. Psds also fall under racism because I have no idea why you guys are ignoring the fact some make dark skin characters lighter but in the case of ableism most of them are really bright and makes it hard to see.

Orange and brown? Green and yellow? Blue and brown? Why are you putting colours that can be so much eyesore together? And won't even tag as eyestrain and when someone does ask you only do it for one post.

Romanticization

This one is weird as fuck and I see no one mentioning it. Editblr highkey has a ddlg problem, this "little girl" aesthetic you guys have going on borderlines ddlg alot and its icky. The baby talk typing quirk is disgusting, stop it.

I'm not one to judge how someone copes with their trauma but what I DO judge is how you act when majority says its uncomfortable. Now this section I'm a bit unsure how to phrase it, gotta love dyslexia, but that isn't going to stop me.

There's alot of very uncomfortable romanticization of stalking which I've seen so much of alongside abusive relationships and the justification of these things.

Racism

Really can't escape this one unfortunately. Many of you are like kpop idols, you're too dyslexic towards the difference between appropriation and appreciation. Incase you forgot let me remind you.

You can not gift japanese names. Gifting names is a native practice therefore you can only gift native names. Also I've noticed you weirdos befriending people just to use their cultural names. I can't even say it east asian fetishization because its only Japanese.

Also for the love of God can you guys stop saying nonmem and non women especially when referring to sexualities. It's not hard to simply say "queer attraction to women" and "queer attraction to men".

Coming back to the "gifting" names thing, I think it's interesting how all of you conveniently have a Japanese friend who "gifted" you the name of a cute pink anime girl. Maybe I'll do a post later on how much of a bad liar you guys are.

Closed symbols is also another big problem you all have. No matter how much times you're told you can't use something you always cry "but my friend from xyz culture said it was ok!" One person can't speak for a whole culture. You're nothing but a coloinzer in disguise hiding behind the idea of aesthetic. If you want to know if a symbol is closed just use this site.

Goddess Personas

Yea this one is getting a whole section of its own. Like any people I am uncomfortable with goddess personas, especially being someone with biblical sources. Now the idea that a teenager on the internet is making people call them a goddess is strange isn't it?

In my opinion, they're all annoying, copy and paste, and I think not a lot of people talk about how the really bad ones get. You all love to indulge them, make them think they have power over them. You put them on a pedestal and praise them and get surprised when it all goes to their head?

Stop giving 14 years old power, stop indulging in their habits and letting it go their head. Forcing people to refer to you as their goddess? Their Lord and saviour? Their idol? Someone they must listen to? It creates a power inbalance which always leads to the weirdest of manipulation. Also all the engagekiss copiers are so obvious why would you want to copy the identity of a groomer? It says alot of about yourself if that's what you think is ideal.

Callout Posts

Now, personally, I believe that the only reason a callout post happens is because someone was affected, does it not? Very rarely would a callout post would be a fake one, especially if someone has more then one. If you defend someone who has more than one call out post that's on you and you're gonna end up making one some day I can genuine you that. People don't make them for no reason.

This is all I have to say for now. I hope you guys really consider what I have written here, or not, considering the fact you guys have shown multiple times you lack reading comprehension

@starriesse @dollicous @doveinne @firstgf @kiochisato @lamboll @cherryshh @narcbf @lavendergalactic @npditary @sprinkleoverdose @necroangelz @eskeys

[anormalf1sh]

Warrior cats alphabet challenge but pixelated

B is for Briarlight

[callmearcturus]

Paradise Killer is 6 dollars on Steam until May 16 and I am here to hard sell you all on it because it's one of the best games I've ever played.

I'm gonna go beyond giving you a bunch of punchy keywords and telling you it's queer as hell and making meme-y jokes, and I'm going to actually tell you what this game is.

So top-level, WHAT IS PARADISE KILLER?

Mechanically, Paradise Killer is an open-world murder mystery. There is zero combat but a lot of exploration of a very unique location. The majority of your time is going to be walking about Paradise 24, looking for people to discuss the case with and for clues that are scattered around the world.

One of the most interesting concepts in Paradise Killer that is both mechanical and narrative is deciding What Is Your Truth? What Is A Truth And What Is A Fact? From the moment you start the game proper, you can turn 180 degrees and begin the trial and decide who the killer is, before talking to anyone about the case.

For example, getting into the actual crime scene takes a lot of puzzle solving to unlock the sealed room where the victims were killed. But maybe instead of examining the crime scene, you talk to everyone on the island and think you have a good idea of what happened.

Meaning: It is perfectly valid to decide you have the answer to the mystery and just go complete the trial whenever you personally are ready. YOU decide when this ends.

Which frankly I think is a cool-as-fuck concept. Also, I fully believe if three different people find EVERY CLUE and talk to EVERY SUSPECT and hear EVERY PIECE OF EVIDENCE.... they might decide on three different truths entirely. And THAT to me is ingenious mechanical design I have not seen anywhere else in a video game.

Okay let's stop burying the lede and talk about the world of Paradise Killer.

The non-batshit version:

Paradise Killer takes place on a big, beautiful island, the 24th Paradise. The architecture is a delightful mix of black obsidian obelisks, brutalist monuments, opal crystals to slumbering alien gods, garden paths, luxury yachts, and a whole lot of gold and neon.

Neo-occultist urban residential vaporwave-core. If you are like me, you will be taking a lot of screenshots. My wallpaper on my computer is Paradise Killer.

Your interactions with the cast are done in visual novel-style, though I feel I have to shout out this isn't your stock Ren'py UI experience. Every single aspect of the way the game looks compounds the vibes even further.

And the characters are infuckingcredible.

(Notice the different font? This game has A FUCKTON OF ACCESSIBILITY OPTIONS, including dyslexic font options.)

Sammy Day Break, born under the sign of Shadow Zero, is the local distillery and bartender for the Syndicate. Talk to him about what's unique about the whiskey he's made on Paradise 24, or about the good old days of the Syndicate.

Is Doctor Doom Jazz, born under the sign of Cosmic Deceit, really that carefree about what happened? Is his willingness to rekindle his fling with Lady Love Dies just a diversion to hide something? Well, he's one of the most cooperative witnesses on the Island.

Crimson Acid has been through a helluva lot since the last time she saw Love Dies. Blessed by the gods with her stunning rack (of horns! OF HORNS!), she's become quite the idol now. So why is she also an information broker? And can you figure out what her true feelings for Love Dies are?

Between all of these conversations, you can explore the island and collect RELICS and BLOOD CRYSTALS (the local currency) and CITY POP SONGS.

Okay so the Slightly Batshit Version:

Shinji: The Syndicate worships alien gods who want to drown the world in war and blood. Lady Love Dies: I don't see how that makes us the bad guys.

You are LADY LOVE DIES, born under the sign KISS ME TO THE MOON, the INVESTIGATION FREAK. She was exiled to the Idle Lands several cycles ago for falling prey to the seduction of the god Damned Harmony and endangering the entire Syndicate. Only now, with the death of the Council on the eve of Paradise 25, is Love Dies summoned back to solve the murder.

The Syndicate are a group of functionally immortal humans from all across history who are trying to create the perfect bubble of reality, their utopic Paradise where they can safely revive their dead gods. They were granted many powers and boons by their first god, Silent Goat, and hope through rescuing more gods they will grow in power.

How do you create a bubble of reality to do all this totally ethical shit? Easy! You abduct a bunch of normie humans to live on your island to use as a mass sacrifice to generate energy to fuel the creation of each Paradise. If only the outsiders would stop getting in the way!

Paradise Killer's world is delightfully out of its goddamn mind and half of the fun of the game is just picking up little nuggets of information about each member of the Syndicate, the gods, why each Paradise failed (there was an outbreak of vampirism that took out like three of the Paradises???), and just the way this universe works.

Okay this post is already too long but I'm begging you all to give Paradise Killer a chance. It's gorgeous, it's funny, it's mechanically really interesting, it's chill as hell, it has an incredible soundtrack,

and you should try it.

I'LL SEE YOU IN A PERFECT 25 . . .

[hallowpen]

The Legalities of GMMtv's Yfind

Some of us have probably moved on already... but I finally heard back from my mother's coworker [X] regarding the legalities of GMM's Yfind process as laid out in their terms and conditions, which I have translated here. For privacy reasons, I'm not going to name my source, but just know they are a qualified contract lawyer currently working for CUIPI. My mother and I have both profusely apologized for bothering them with this matter, for which they've been incredibly gracious.

As I've stated, the 'contract' is creatively worded to skirt around company liability, though I didn't exactly have the legal know-how to explain why. Now that I am armed with that information, let's dive in...

First things first: the Terms and Conditions are, in fact, considered a binding contract as you are required to have read them before you can submit your work. This initial contract is considered to be legally sound in its use of specific terminology as to not violate Thailand's "Unfair Contract Terms Act". What really matters, however, is the final negotiated contract between the winning applicants and the company... which is unavailable for inspection.

The Prize Money. So... this is where things get a little exploitative. Because it's hard to put a price on someone's work when there aren't any 'clockable' hours. Some might be thinking, "Three pages doesn't seem like a lot of work," but you can do a lot with three pages. It was pointed out that spacing, font size, and margins were not specified beyond the standard default document settings. Meaning, if an applicant were to submit a document using the default normal spacing, 11 point font, and 1 inch margins, they can average anywhere between 1500-2000 words. Not to mention... there's pre-planning, brainstorming, and drafts that must happen before the writing of a final 'submittable' synopsis. AND they are allowing a total of two works per submission. Story developers within a production company typically do not work alone. Your normal story developer, as part of a low-end production company (so not GMMtv), averages about ฿300/hr. For an average nine-hour work day, the prize money works out to be equal to twelve and a half days of work. Work that would typically get done as part of a development team... who would be earning much higher than the average salary given GMMtv's stature. The 'reward' money is the only compensation applicants will be receiving should they agree to transfer ownership of their property to the company, there are no royalties (this is standard for novel to television adaptation rights, as well). You can decide for yourself if that seems fair.

Liability. (Without seeing the final contract negotiations and transfer documents, a lot of the information provided to me is purely speculative) The company has, essentially, ensured that they will not be held liable for any copyright or intellectual property lawsuits... should they arise. They have avoided explicitly stating their sole legal responsibility of the property once ownership has been transferred. Meaning, that even though winning applicants will no longer own their work, they can still be held liable (by those claiming infringement AND by the company themselves) for these types of lawsuits. And where the company has access to a lot more financial and legal resources, the burden placed on applicants is a lot heavier. This is where the next point comes into play.

Legal Advocation. It is highly recommended that, should the company not already provide one, winning applicants should seek legal representation to negotiate on their behalf. They are within their rights to request an advocate be provided for them on the company's dime. The company is also within their rights to refuse... but at that point, it's a clear sign to back out from negotiations and not sign any legal documentation. If they really are this desperate for ideas, then there shouldn't be a problem... unless GMM are purposefully looking to take advantage of someone who doesn't know any better. If applicants are under the age of consent (in Thailand, that's anyone under 20), an advocate must be provided for them regardless, otherwise all binding contracts are considered null and void.

IP Retention Rights. It was also pointed out to me that it was interesting to see GMMtv [barely] address intellectual property retention rights in their FAQ rather than in their terms and conditions. What does that mean? If GMMtv do not legally obtain the rights to an applicant's work, it should remain the sole property of the applicant. BUT intellectual property ownership is a lot harder to prove in a court of law than, say, filed patents and copyrights. So even though GMMtv will not own the property per se, they do retain access to it after it's already been submitted. (Again, speculative ->) They have teams who can develop and change enough of a property to avoid infringement liability. And even still, should a case be made for infringement, it's the applicants (who are at a disadvantage) vs. GMMtv's wealth of financial and legal resources.

Bottom Line... Yfind is bullshit (my words) and unfortunately, there will be people who are going to fall for it.

[midorisudachi]

I took a break from drawing Dragon Age Inquisition fan art (because let's face it, it's not doing well here on Tumblr or my Instagram) and returned to Star Wars!

So, who else is totally loving Star Wars Rebels Season 5, er, I mean...Ahsoka?  

I drew this today! It was a random idea that came into my mind when I watched episode 4 (for the 2nd time on Friday) with my son. Sabine has such a cool look in the first episode and I love her darling Loth Cat. Why are Loth cats so cute? I want one! This version of Sabine would be so cool to cosplay, but I think I will pass (as much as I love her character) because I know she's going to be a super popular cosplay and I don't think I will even have time & money to make/buy it. As it is, I need to get started on my new SW cosplays for me and my son (for WonderCon next year). I have been in such a mental funk the past few months and wasn't in a cosplay mood, which was one reason I started with the DAI artwork. (I'm so obsessed with that beautiful game!)

I love, Love, LOVE seeing the Rebels characters in their live action version. So far the series has been most excellent! However, I am a wee bit sad that it is only 8 episodes total. Even so: I'm elated that we are getting this series. I can't wait to see what happens in the next episode. The two Sith look so cool, don't they?

Drawn with Sakura Pigma Micron Pens, and then coloured in with a mixture of Copic Markers & Ohuhu Markers. White accents done with a gel pen. I originally drew the city skyline but it looked like absolute rubbish (the "joy" of traditonal art...once you eff up, you can't fix it), so I edited in the city in Photoshop Elements (using a stock photo) and tweaked it a bit. The clouds are also done in Photoshop (because they are hard to draw), as well as the font. A mix of traditional and digital art! 

Please share if you like this artwork! 

Star Wars/Ahsoka Series/Sabine Wren/Loth Cat/ Lothal © Disney & Lucasfilm

Fanart © me (Jacqueline E. McNeese)!

[luciawithoutj]

Hey hi hello!

I have some things to say about new merch and jo merch in general so this is gonna be a litrle longer post and actually I think I should cange my semiotics theme (which is already about jo) about how bad their merch design is.

First of all little disclaimer: this is all my humble opionion based on what I learned in my one year of being graphic design student and an artist and designer on the internet for last 4-5 years. Before going to uni I learned most of about art and graphic design stuff by reading books and watching tons of yt videos. Second of all this critic is just coming from place of love for this band because I see so mucb potential and they could do some amazing merch designs if they give it a chance and I am fully aware how expensive the touring is and why they had to cut the quality of merch products.

So far my favorite jo band merch designs are cds (that probably required some designer to make), condoms (because they are really funny, genius, nicely designed and unique merch that fit the vibe of the band and matches their songs as well) and the new tshirt from last merch drop (which design is made by one slovenian fanartist : link.

Main reason that made me want to speak up is seeing that this merch drop will only have 100 products (my friend said that could mean 20-ish shirts per size) which how big this fandom has gotten in last year is pretty really dam limited. For a limited product I am really disappointed and I hoped for more. For such a limited product that design is the most default design they could have gone for and I am so sorry for Damon because his work is goregous, amazing, breathtaking and I could talk about it for ages and how inspiring it is but this shirt design isn't serving.

If they wanted to do bare minimum of design with those 5 images here is some of my ideas (unfortunately I don't have time to visually show them to yall on a mock ups because of finals that I should be studying for instead of writing this so try to imagine what I am trying to say and demonstrate). First is just simple instead of white choose black shirt or even better a thisrt. If you want it to go a stepp further is using their name logo font (font name is Avaline btw if anyone wants to download and use it for their designs :))) and either put it how they did when they promoted the everybody's waiting or to write idk therapy sessions or anything related to the band or it can even be some inside joke.

Something like this would make design just a bit more intersting but still bare minimum but amazing for regular merch. If they want to go a step further but want to keep the long sleeves (this idea was suggested by few people I talked too) they could put pictures vertically on the sleeves. I would find it a bit cooler if it is on the right sleeve out-side and then they put their band logo (the heart one) on the left side of the shirt where people's hearts normally are.

After exams I would definitely like to try to make some designs and just limit myself with this 5 pictures and play with typography and photoshoop to make something interesting.

Another I want to mentioned is how in my humble opinion if you are gonna sell limited edition either make it really pretty or good quality or really cursed and funny with inside jokes.

I think people (and me first) would eat tshirts (but also other merch designs) with some cursed designs or just texts that say "sparklative" or "slay pose" or "I feel SloveNACE" (this 3 were suggested by amazing people in tumblr discord server) or even let Jan photoshoop their faces on most random picture. This 5 guys with their gen z humour could make and do some hilarious merch like how amazing idea the condoms are.

Last thing I want to say is how many amazingly talented fans are. I mean even Damon was so shocked and moved by amount of talent and art made in this community. Furthermore I know (some of them as online friends and mutuals, others as just artists from same fandom) who are also either graphic design students or they work in art/graphic design/entertainment fields and some of them (including myself) would be so happy to even make few merch designs or art for them for freee or for a ticket for their show. Personally I would die from happiness if I get a chance to work with my favorite band that inspires me so much everyday to the point people at my uni think I am from Slovenia and know slovenian because of how much I include them in my uni work and how much fanart and designs I made because of them in last 6 months.

I just think there is so much potential guys might not be aware of (Idk honestly because who knows what is going on backstage in their lives). But yeah they could have even asked Damon to help them with composition of the pictures on that shirt or even hire Racik to make some pretty art or any fanartist honestly. Here is just few links of my favorite fanartists who also do a lot of graphic design related stuff (and also some of them sell their products on their own websites/redbubble/etsy/inprint/etc) :

Tia <3

Roxanne

Vic

jo.kam_ (previously mentioned her design)

Lemon

yelecx

Racik (ofc)

There is probably more but my brain for hell of it won't remember any names so feel free to add in the comments or tags more artists <3

I could probably go more in depth and give more ideas how to improve merch designs the cheapest and best way as possible but still trying to keep the quality good as it needs to be. I know there is still gonna be people fighting for this shirts and people are still gonna buy their merch but just it hurts my art/designer soul seeing this bad designs when there is so much potential and they have amazing fans and amazing crew and they work with so many talnted people and they themselves are so talented and their music inspired so many and so much.

Thanks everyone for coming to my TedTalk. <3

Actually now I am thinking and from just talking about jo work from design and semiotics perspective for that semiotics seminar I could just focus on their merch design and go more in detail about it and if yall want when it is done and I translate it in english I could share it here for people who want to read about it. Let me know I guess.

Also if someone is interested my art and design insta is lucia.without.j and my redbubble is lucia-without-j and my dms are always open if someone wants to chat or complain about anything art, design, joker out or any other fandom I am in related.

P. S. I am so sorry for any spelling mistakes and if what I said doesn't make sense. English isn't my first language.