#i just have so much other stuff i'm working on as is

[lulujamesspencer]

I think for sensitivity/authenticity readers you need to approach it like any other outside reader or editor: approach it as you would a therapist and pick one that fits with your style of working, actually reads and likes your genre, and will be able to give their edits/critiques in a way that is accurate AND kind. This is especially important for neurodiverse folks (solidarity fist bump to my RSD neurodiverse folks).

Story: About 10 years ago, I graduated seminary and had an idea for a theological non-fiction book on mulit-faith spirituality, which also strayed into politics and other issues. I wrote an introduction that I thought was good and interesting, so I sent it to someone who I thought would give me good advice on some of the topics, since she had experience in those areas, and maybe point out if I'd gone too far afield with some of the topics.

When I got their comments back, it was devastating and soul crushing. They ripped it to shreds, and, in areas I thought we shared similar opinions they shredded my manuscript as if they put it in a wood chipper then stomped on the mulch. Much of it the shredding was due, I think, to a mininterpretation of my wider neurodivergent thinking, but it may just be that I didn't explain myself right or... well, I just don't know, since it was hard to get past their criticisms and telling me how I was completely stupid and wrong about all of it. Now, if their comments were more like, "I don't think I agree with this statement. Did you mean for it to come off saying XYZ?" of "This doesn't happen in my experience, could you explain what your thought process was here?" I probably would have been fine, but instead they were angry and mean and assumed I didn't have knowledge about certain areas when I actually did have extensive knowledge. It was my first foray into non-fiction and as I said earlier, it was soul crushing. I really wanted to write that book, and still wish I could, but to this day I can't even start writing non-fiction without thinking about that and getting extrememly anxious. (And yes, I go to therapy, etc etc) For my fiction stuff, I'm much more careful about who I let read my early drafts. My Wife is my first reader/listener and she loves scifi and fantasy and she's able to give me feedback that's constructive, but also kind and compassionate. I have a great editor who is also very good at giving me constructive edits and feedback, but is also very kind and compassionate in the way she does it. I have a lot of friends from different experiences in life that I am comfortable asking questions of if I need to check things and I'm also very good at research. This, so far, has worked for me, and now I have 5 books of fantasy and science fiction out.

This is also why I self-publish. The constant rejection of traditional publishing would stop me from writing all together. I still can't write non-fiction in book form and that was from just one person who didn't really think about how their criticism would effect me. I also don't do writing groups, as many writing groups use a model that would absolutely ensure I never write again. So, if you are an editor, beta reader, part of a writing group, or even an agent or publisher, know that your rejections, harsh criticisms, or tough love, doesn't improve most writers, especially neurodivergent writers. Know that a lot of writers DO want to do justice to characters from experiences that they don't have experience in. I've heard stories like mine with really mean sensitivity/beta readers, and a number of those people will never write again, or never write publicly again. Please be aware that you can kill someone's passion and talent, possibly permanently.

And writers, be careful who you ask to read your stuff, and if someone has been mean, know that it's not you or your writing. Try not to give up, or give in to the tapes in your head that tell you you're horrible. Find better people to read your stuff.

On sensitivity readers, weakness, and staying alive.

The other day I was part of a Twitter conversation begun by a fellow-author on the subject of sensitivity readers, in which he said that no serious author would use sensitivity readers, and spoke of work being “sanitized”. The conversation devolved, as it often does on Twitter, but it got me thinking. It must have got someone else thinking too, because a journalist from the Sunday Times got in touch with me the next day, and asked me to share my ideas on the subject. Because I have no control over how my words are used in the Press, or in what context they might appear, here’s more or less what I told her.

I think a lot of people (some of them authors, most of them not) misunderstand the role of a sensitivity reader. That’s probably mostly because they’ve never used one, and are misled by the word “sensitivity”, which, in a world of toxic masculinity, is often mistaken for weakness. To these people, hiring someone to check one’s work for sensitivity purposes implies a surrendering of control, a shift in the balance of power. 

In some ways, I can empathize. Most authors feel a tremendous sense of attachment to their work. Giving it to someone else for comment is often stressful. And yet we do: we hand over our manuscripts to specialists in grammar, spelling or plot construction. We allow them to comment. We take their advice. We call these people editors and copy-editors, and they are a good and necessary part of the process of being an author. Their job is to make an author’s work as accurate and well-polished as possible.

When writing non-fiction, authors sometimes use fact-checkers at the editorial stage, to make sure that no embarrassing factual mistakes make it into print. This fact-checking is a normal part of the writing process. We owe it to our readers to be as accurate as possible. No-one wants to look as if they don’t know what they’re talking about.

That’s why now, increasingly, when writing about the lives and experiences of others, we sometimes use readers with different specialities. That’s because, however great our imagination, however well-travelled we may be and however many books we have read, there will always be gaps in our knowledge of the way other people live, or feel, or experience the world. Without the input of those with first-hand knowledge, there’s always a danger we will slip up. That’s why crime writers often consult detectives when researching their detective fiction, or someone writing a hospital drama might find it useful to talk to a surgeon, or a nurse, or to someone with the medical condition they are planning to use in their narrative. That’s why someone writing about divorce, or disability, or being adopted, or being trans, or being homeless, or being a sex worker, or being of a different ethnicity, or of a different culture – might find it useful to take the advice of someone with more experience.

There are a number of ways to do this. One of my favourites is The Human Library, which allows subscribers to talk to all kinds of people and ask them questions about their lives  (Check them out at https://humanlibrary.org/). The other possibility is to hire a specialist sensitivity reader to go through your manuscript and check it. Both can be a valuable resource, and I doubt many authors would believe that their writing is sanitized, or diluted, or diminished by using these resources.

And yet, the concept of the sensitivity readers – which is basically another version of the specialist editor and fact-checker – continues to cause outrage and panic among those who see their use as political correctness gone mad, or unacceptable wokery, or bowdlerization, or censorship. The Press hasn’t helped. Outrage sells copies, and therefore it isn’t in the interest of the national media to point out the truth behind the ire.

Let’s look at the facts.

First, it isn’t obligatory to use a sensitivity reader. It’s a choice. I’ve used several, both officially and unofficially, for many different reasons, just as I’ve always tried to speak to people with experience when writing characters with disabilities, or from different cultures or ethnic groups. I know that my publisher already sends my work to readers of different ages and from different backgrounds, and I always run my writing past my son, who often has insights that I lack.  

Sensitivity reading is a specialist editorial service. It isn’t a political group, or the woke brigade, or an attempt to overthrow the status quo. It’s simply a writing resource; a means of reaching the widest possible audience by avoiding inaccuracy, clumsiness, or the kind of stereotyping that can alienate or pull the reader out of the story.

Sensitivity readers don’t go around crossing out sections of an author’s work and writing RACIST!!! in the margin. Usually, it’s more on the lines of pointing out details the author might have missed, or failed to consider: avoiding misinformation; suggesting authentic details that only a representative of a particular group would know.

Authors can always refuse advice. That’s their prerogative. If they do, however, and once their book is published, they receive criticism or ridicule because their book was insufficiently researched, or inauthentic, or was perceived as perpetuating harmful or outdated stereotypes, then they need to face and deal with the consequences. With power comes responsibility. We can’t assume one, and ignore the other,

Being more aware of the experiences of others doesn’t mean we have to stop writing problematic characters. Sensitivity reading isn’t about policing bad behaviour in books. It’s perfectly possible to write a thoroughly unpleasant character without suggesting that you’re condoning their behaviour. Sensitivity is about being more authentic, not less.

People noticed bigotry and racism in the past, too. Some people feel that books published a hundred years ago are somehow more pure, or more free, or more representative of the author’s vision than books published now. You often hear people say things like: “If Dickens were around today, he wouldn’t get published.”

But Dickens is still published. We still get to read Oliver Twist, in spite of its anti-Semitism. And those who believe that Dickens’ anti-Semitism was accepted as normal by his contemporaries probably don’t know that not only was he criticized by his peers for his depiction of Fagin, he actually went back and changed the text, removing over 200 references, after receiving criticism by a Jewish reader. And no, it wasn’t “normal” to be anti-Semitic in those days: Wilkie Collins, whose work was as popular as Dickens’ own, managed to write a range of Jewish characters without relying on harmful and inaccurate stereotypes. 

But it isn’t automatic that a book will survive its author. Books all have shelf lives, just as we do, and Dickens’ work has survived in spite of his anti-Semitism, not because of it. The work of many others has not. Books are for readers, and if an author loses touch with their readers - either by clinging to outdated tropes, or using outdated vocabulary, or having an outdated style – then their books will cease to be published, and they will be forgotten. It happens all the time. What one generation loves and admires may be rejected by the next. And the language is always changing. Nowadays, it’s hard to read some books that were popular 100 years ago. Styles have changed, sometimes too much for the reader to tolerate.

Recently, someone on tumblr asked about my use of the word “gypsy” in Chocolat, and whether I meant to have it changed in later editions. (River-gypsies is the term I use in connection with Roux and the river people, who are portrayed in a positive light, although they are often victims of prejudice.) It was an interesting question, and I gave it a lot of thought. When I wrote the book 25 years ago, the word “gypsy” was widely used by the travelling community, and as far as I knew, wasn’t considered offensive. Nowadays, there’s a tendency to regard it as a slur. That’s why I stopped using it in my later Chocolat books. No-one told me to. It was my choice. I don’t feel as if I’ve lost any of my artistic integrity by taking into account the fact that a word has a different resonance now. On the other hand, I don’t feel that at this stage I need to go back and edit the book I wrote. That’s because Chocolat is a moment in time. It uses the language of the moment. Let it stand for as long as it can. 

But I don’t have to stay in one place. I can move on. I can change. Change is how we show the world that we are still alive. That we are still able to feel, and to  learn, and to be aware of others. That’s what “sensitive” means, after all. And it is nothing like weakness. Living, changing, learning – that’s hard. Playing dead is easy.

[lyn31]

Do you mind if I request a pure fluffy oneshot about pregnant MC feels lonely since Zayne always busy at work where in fact, Zayne already planned a long holiday to take care of his pregnant wife?🥺🥺

Omg this is so cute! Thank you for the request/idea! I try my best for pure fluff! Hope it's what you're thinking of!

Lonely?

Summary

You thought you’d have to endure more lonely days, waiting for Zayne to come home late from work. He’s always been attentive, making sure you’re comfortable, checking in on your cravings, and doing everything he can to care for you—even from a distance. But it’s not enough. You don’t just want his care. You want him. And what you don’t realize is that he’s already made sure you won’t have to wait much longer.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader If you've been reading my stuff, you know I'm prone to getting carried away—but not too much this time! Anyway, pure fluff incoming!

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The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the kitchen. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of whatever simple breakfast you managed to put together. Across from you, Zayne sits with his usual composed demeanor, sipping his coffee as he reads something on his terminal. He looks effortlessly put together, as always, dressed in his usual crisp attire, ready for another long day at the hospital.

You try not to pout. You really do.

But the disappointment settles in your chest before you can stop it.

It’s not like Zayne has been neglecting you—far from it. Even with his busy schedule, he still makes sure you’re eating well, checks in on your cravings, and finds small ways to take care of you. But it’s not the thoughtful gestures you want right now. It’s him. His presence. His warmth—well, as warm as he can be. You just miss having him by your side.

“Another long shift?” you ask, poking at your food without much enthusiasm.

Zayne glances up, his golden eyes calm as ever. “Hm?”

You roll your eyes. “At the hospital. You’ve been working late every day. It’s fine, I’m just asking.”

There’s no accusation in your tone, but you still feel a little guilty for even bringing it up. It’s not like Zayne is staying late for fun—he’s a doctor. His work saves lives. But still, a selfish part of you wishes he could just… be here.

Zayne sets down his coffee cup with a quiet clink, studying you for a moment. Then, instead of answering directly, he asks, “Did you sleep well?”

You huff. Typical. He always redirects the conversation back to you. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Back pain?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“Hm.” He reaches for a small dish beside him and slides it toward you. “I picked these up on the way home last night. You mentioned craving something sweet.”

You glance down, finding a delicate pastry, the exact kind you’d been wanting the other day. Your heart squeezes. See? He never forgets. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.

You pick it up, turning it slightly between your fingers before taking a bite. The flaky crust melts in your mouth, the filling perfectly sweet without being overwhelming. Exactly the way you like it.

Your mood should lighten. And in some ways, it does—just not the way you need. Zayne always remembers these little things, even when he barely has time to breathe.

You swallow, glancing at him as he returns his attention to his terminal, seemingly unbothered. Like picking up pastries at an ungodly hour just to make you happy is the most natural thing in the world.

Your lips curve slightly. “You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

Zayne hums, not looking up. “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely with the half-eaten pastry. “This. Bringing me things. You’re already busy enough.”

Finally, he meets your gaze. “It’s hardly an inconvenience.”

The words are simple, stated like a fact rather than reassurance. But you know what he means. If it’s for you, it’s never a burden.

The warmth in your chest grows, just enough to quiet the selfish ache—at least for now.

You take another bite, letting yourself enjoy the moment. Even if he has to leave soon, at least for now, he’s here.

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There’s not much to do when you’re off work and pregnant. Ever since you and Zayne found out, you’ve both been buried in pregnancy books, but now that you’re in your second trimester, there’s more waiting than anything else. At least your pregnancy has been on the milder side so far.

It’s not like he’s neglecting me. You keep telling yourself that, fingers absently tracing patterns against your stomach. He still calls. He still buys me whatever I want. I’m fine. The house is quiet—too quiet—and before you can stop yourself, your gaze flickers to the clock. I don’t need to be so clingy. But somehow, the weight in your chest doesn’t ease.

So here you are again, texting Tara and catching up on the latest gossip.

Tara: Oh, and get this—remember that newbie from last week? The one who swore up and down that they could handle a solo mission?

You: The one who nearly got flattened by a Normal Wanderer?

Tara: Yep. That one. Well, guess who had to bail them out today?

You: No way. You?

Tara: Of course me. Because someone didn’t read the mission brief properly and walked straight into a nest.

You: LMAO, you’re kidding.

Tara: I wish. I had to listen to them apologize every five seconds while I cleared the area. If I hear one more “I’m so sorry, Senior Tara” I might actually lose my mind.

You: Pfft. Sounds like a fun day for you.

Tara: Oh, absolutely. Thrilling. The highlight of my week, really.

You: LMAO.

Tara: Anyway, why aren’t you asleep yet? You need a lot of rest—you and the baby, that is.

You: I’m waiting for Zayne to get home 🥺

Tara: Eh? He’s not home yet?

You: He’s supposed to be, but there was an emergency he had to take care of 😩

Tara: Well, that’s rough. But still, don’t you see him when he gets home anyway?

You: Barely. I keep falling asleep early 🫠 And now, for the morning I keep waking up later and later… Damn hormones, I swear to god.

Tara: LOL, what can you do? It is what it is. Just don’t stay up too late!

You sigh, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. Just this once, you want to stay awake—just to see him properly, not only in passing before he leaves for work.

“I get it. He’s busy. I shouldn’t complain.” The words come out light, almost dismissive, but your fingers catch on the hem of your sleeve, twisting the fabric between them. Even saying it out loud doesn’t make it feel any less hollow.

And, of course, your body has other plans. Because when you open your eyes again, it’s morning.

You're no longer on the living room sofa but tucked into bed instead. The sheets are smoothed around you, and the weight of a blanket drapes comfortably over your body. A pillow has been carefully adjusted against your belly, positioned just right to relieve any strain.

You groan into your pillow, frustration muffled against the fabric. You missed him again—just like every other night these days.

A cool, gentle touch lands on your shoulder.

You peek up, already knowing who it is.

Zayne is squatting beside the bed, his hazel eyes level with yours. Dressed in his usual crisp attire, he looks as composed as ever.

“Are you feeling any discomfort?” His tone is clinical, but the concern beneath it is unmistakable.

You shake your head, your voice still heavy with sleep. “No, I’m good. I just keep missing you coming home.” You pout without meaning to.

Zayne leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, then another to your temple. “Sorry.”

Your heart squeezes. A tiny, selfish part of you wanted him to feel bad for leaving you behind so often. But not like this.

You shake your head, frowning. “What are you sorry for? It’s your job—just like when I get emergency calls for Wanderers, remember? I understand.” You smile, actually meaning it.

Zayne takes your hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing your palm. “You won’t have to miss me for much longer.”

You blink. What?

But before you can question it, a thought occurs. Right. He’s probably pushing himself harder just to get home earlier.

You huff. “Just don’t overwork yourself, got it?” You reach up and pinch his cheek lightly.

Zayne merely hums, his lips twitching slightly before he leans down, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. Then, he stands. “I made breakfast. If you’re ready, I can help you get up.”

You narrow your eyes at the curve of his lips, recognizing the teasing edge in his voice.

Still, you reach for him anyway, stretching out both hands toward him. “Well, husband, help your wife up, then.”

His low chuckle is your only warning before he pulls you into his arms with practiced ease.

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“Take care, Mrs. Li.”

You reply with a smile, “You too.”

The person—whom Zayne hired at the start of your pregnancy—gives you a polite nod before stepping out, leaving your home spotless as always.

Honestly, sometimes your husband is even more dramatic than you. It’s sweet that he refuses to let you lift a finger, but now you’re left with nothing to do. The house, now silent and empty, feels even bigger than usual.

You huff, shaking off the creeping loneliness. You could dwell on it… or you could find something to entertain yourself with.

Speaking of entertainment, Zayne should be on his break around this time.

So, of course, you text him.

You: Zaaaaayyyneeeeee.

Mine♥️: Yes? Did something happen?

You: Send me your selfie ☺️

Mine♥️: My selfie? How about you send me yours first?

Did he just? This man, you swear. You shake your head grinning while you type your reply.

You: Hey! I say it first! The baby’s asking.

You can practically see Zayne’s deadpan stare through the screen, and the thought alone makes you giggle.

Mine♥️: The baby is asking?

You: Yes. The baby wants to see their dad’s face 🥺

You stare at your screen, waiting, watching the three little dots appear… then disappear. Then appear again. Then disappear.

You know he’s hesitating.

Mine♥️: That doesn’t sound medically accurate.

You snort, already imagining his flat expression.

You: Wow. Are you denying your child’s request? How could you, Dr. Li?

Silence.

Then, finally—a new message arrives.

It’s an image.

You open it eagerly, only to burst into laughter.

It’s exactly what you expected. A slightly blurred, poorly angled selfie, as if he took it at the last second just to shut you up. His expression is his usual composed neutrality, though you can see the faintest arch of his brow, like he knows this is ridiculous but indulges you anyway. The lighting is terrible, half his face is cropped out, and yet—it's still unmistakably him.

You: LMAO, Zayne, still?? Are you sure you know what that is?

Mine♥️: A selfie.

You: This is a crime against photography.

Mine♥️: You asked. I delivered.

You can’t stop grinning. Even with his reluctant participation, it’s these little moments that make you feel closer to him, even when he’s away.

You: Fine, fine. You win. But I’m adding this to my Zayne’s selfie collection.

Zayne doesn’t reply immediately, but when he does, it’s only two words.

Mine♥️: Of course.

And maybe it’s just your hormones, but somehow, that single message makes your heart flutter a little too much. After a beat he sends you another text.

Mine♥️: Now, where’s mine?

You debate teasing him for a few seconds, but you’re feeling generous, so you take a picture of yourself, angling a bit to show you holding your baby bump, and winking at the camera. Then you send it.

Mine♥️: Perfect.

You stare at the screen, re-reading his response. Perfect.

It’s such a simple word. Just one. But somehow, it makes your chest feel warm and achy all at once.

You puff out a breath, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Why is this making you emotional? It’s not even that serious. It’s just Zayne being Zayne. Calm, composed, and effortlessly sweet in that way of his.

But then you glance back at your own selfie—the one with your baby bump in clear view—and your eyes start to sting.

He thinks you’re perfect. Just like this.

Hormones. It has to be the hormones.

You sniff, rubbing at your eyes, and quickly type back before you can get any more sappy.

You: I’ll let you have that one, Dr. Li. Just this once.

His reply comes instantly.

Mine♥️: I appreciate the honor.

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. Even if you feel lonely right now, at least moments like this remind you—Zayne is still with you, no matter the distance. And yet, no matter how sweet these moments are, the ache of missing him doesn’t go away.

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Another morning dawns, light filtering softly through the curtains, painting everything in a muted golden hue.

You wake up feeling... off. Not upset, not really, but there’s a quiet heaviness in your chest, a weight of reluctance. Maybe it’s just that your bed is so comfortable, or it’s the cool presence beside you—one you know will be gone in just a little while.

Zayne is still half-asleep, his breathing slow and steady. The moment you shift closer, he stirs. He doesn’t say anything, but his fingers find their way to your hair, smoothing down the strands with that same absentminded gentleness he always has.

You press your face against his shoulder, sighing. Just a few more minutes. Just a little longer before the day starts and he leaves again.

But time moves too fast. Before you know it, he’s getting up, moving through the familiar motions of getting ready. You stay in bed longer than usual today, even though you’re already awake, not feeling like facing the day just yet, but eventually, you shuffle out of the room, just in time to see Zayne placing the food on the table.

He glances up when he notices you. “Come sit. You need to eat.”

You hum noncommittally but let him guide you to your chair. Breakfast is warm, comforting—just like always. You eat quietly, and while Zayne doesn’t comment on it, you know he notices. He always does.

And now, here you are, standing at the front door, watching him as he prepares to leave for yet another work day. You keep your expression neutral. Or at least, you try. But it must show anyway, because as Zayne smooths out his sleeves, then glances at you. “You won’t be waiting much longer.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tilts his head slightly, as if this should be obvious. “Today is my last shift before my extended leave starts. I’ll be home starting tomorrow.”

Your brain stalls. You just stare at him, completely thrown. The words don’t quite register at first, like your mind refuses to take them in all at once, because—what?

You open your mouth, then close it again, struggling for words before finally managing— “You’re…staying home starting tomorrow?” The words come out small, hesitant, like you’re scared to believe them. But the look on Zayne’s face—calm, assured, like this was never even a question—makes it all too real.

Then the realization crashes into you, and before you even know it, your eyes burn—tears spilling over, completely unprompted, catching even you off guard.

Zayne’s expression shifts in an instant. His hands reach for you immediately, one settling on your back, the other tilting your chin up so he can study your face. “What’s wrong?” His voice is calm, but you can hear the thread of concern beneath it. “Are you in pain?”

You shake your head rapidly, even as another choked-out laugh bubbles up between your tears. “No, I just—” You sniffle, gripping onto his coat.

His touch is gentle as he tilts your chin up again, but before that, his thumb brushes the corner of your eye, catching a tear before it can fall. He exhales softly, barely more than a breath, and murmurs “No tears, love.” low and steady, as if grounding you with just his voice.

And that you make your tears flow even more. “I’m just really happy. And I feel ridiculous. Oh my god, I can’t stop crying—”

Zayne blinks, still looking slightly lost. But he tightens his hold on you, shifting slightly to the side so he doesn’t squeeze you or the baby, his hand stroking your back in slow, steady motions. Then, as if something clicks, he exhales softly. “Didn’t I already tell you? That you wouldn’t have to miss me for much longer?”

You let out a hiccup, still clutching his coat. “You were being vague! I thought you meant coming home earlier or something!”

His lips twitch slightly—amused, but choosing not to show it too much for your sake. “I see. My mistake.” He presses a kiss into your hair, exhaling a quiet chuckle. “You think I’d leave you lonely if I had a choice?”

You huff, burying your face against his chest. Zayne lets out a quiet breath before wrapping his arms securely around you. “And you’re not ridiculous,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “But you do need to breathe.”

You let out a watery laugh. “I am breathing.”

“Barely.” He smooths a hand down your back, his voice quieter now. “You really missed me that much?”

You nod against his chest. “Yeah. I really did.”

Zayne says nothing for a moment, just holds you there, his grip firm and steady. And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says, “Then I’ll make up for all of it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by just how much you love this man. “You’re not allowed to leave me for even a second, you hear me?”

A pause. Then, so casually, “That might be difficult. What if you need to use the restroom? You don't usually let me follow you there.”

You pull back just enough to glare at him. “Zayne.”

“Hm?” His expression is calm, but you can see the slightest glint of amusement in his eyes now.

“You’re ruining the moment.”

Zayne hums, entirely unbothered. “I thought I was making it memorable.”

You sniff, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“I know.” He smooths his hands down your sides one last time before stepping back, adjusting his coat. “Now, go inside. You shouldn’t be standing out here too long.”

You cross your arms, still pouting. “Fine. But you better come home on time.”

Zayne lifts a brow. “I always do.”

“Liar.”

He exhales through his nose—just barely amused—before leaning in, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And with that, he turns, heading off without another word. You linger for a second longer, watching him go before finally stepping inside.

By the time evening comes, the moment Zayne steps inside, you immediately cling to him. His hands settle at your waist, steadying you, and just when you’re about to pull back, he shifts his grip—lifting you effortlessly.

“Zayne! Are you insane? Put me down! I’m the weight of two people!”

“This is why I work out,” he replies smoothly.

You gape at him before bursting into laughter. He just walks, carrying you as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, before gently setting you down on the living room sofa. Squatting in front of you, his eyes flick toward the kitchen, probably catching the scent of the food you just finished making. One brow lifts.

“You were cooking?”

“I’m pregnant, not invalid.” You challenge his stare with a pointed look.

He exhales, clearly holding back a remark, then concedes with a small nod. “Alright then. Do you want to eat first?” He asks, even though he already knows your answer.

Now that your mood feels much lighter, you flash him a sweet smile. “I’m eating with you, obviously. Speaking of, husband…”

You toy with his collar, dragging a finger slowly down his chest. Zayne watches you with a suspicious gaze.

“Do you want to eat first, take a bath, or…” You drag out the words teasingly. “Me?”

You wink, fully expecting him to scoff. And he does—but not before his eyes flick down to your breast, then back up. The way his gaze darkens for half a second makes your breath hitch.

Then, without missing a beat, he says, “You first, then.”

“What?” You laugh, eyes widening as he shifts to sit beside you, pulling you against him. His cool breath brushes against your skin, lips grazing the curve of your neck.

“You asked, darling.”

And just like that, the day ends in the most perfect way possible.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

Hehehehehe 😳 sorry ahahahaha love how this turn out actually, gosh they're so cute 🫶🏻😩🥹 This is ended up connected ahaha either way, if we're going for chronological order here it is: (this is part 2) part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 smut one perhaps? ahahaha

[heavyhitterheaux]

Girl Errands

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: You try to distract your husband from the multiple bags piled up in the back of your car, which was the result of you running "errands"

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Glancing down at your dashboard in your car, you saw that it was now around two in the afternoon and figured that Joe would probably be making his way home soon.

So, that left you with one task.

Beat him home so that he doesn't see the multiple bags that are a result of you telling him that you were going to run “errands”. 

You in fact did not run one errand according to Joe if you were to ask him since they consisted of Target, TJ Maxx, Starbucks, JoAnn Fabrics for more things to crochet, and last but certainly not least browsing the Savage Fenty website for new lingerie which you knew would end up getting torn and would make Joe buy you more. 

As you pulled out of the Target parking lot, you were met with a stop sign before turning on the main street and coming to a red stop light. You just so happened to glance to your right to see no one other than your husband drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and waiting for the light to change.

“Shit!” You muttered as you glanced behind you to look at the multiple bags in the backseat.

When you turned back around, Joe just so happened to catch your eye and you smirked before you gestured for him to roll down his window.

You might as well distract him.

“Hey handsome! You got a girl? I'm trying to go on a date with you tonight.” You said as you winked at him while he couldn't help but to laugh at your horrible attempt at a pick up line.

“I have a wife actually and I highly doubt she would like that very much.” 

“Well, I won't tell if you won't.”

“I'm trying to save us both from ending up being six feet under. She's short, but don't let that fool you.” He replied as you turned up your nose and glared at him.

“I'm sure I can take it. So what do you say?”

Before Joe could respond, he glanced in the backseat of your car and made a face before turning his attention back towards you.

“Uh oh.” You said quietly before you heard your husband's voice.

“Baby! What do you have in the backseat!?”

“Nothing! Bye!” You told him as the light turned green and you pulled off without another word.

But your luck ran out when you were once again caught at a stop light literally less than a mile from your house right next to Joe as he gestured for you to roll your window down and you shook your head no.

So as soon as you told him no, your ringtone for him started blasting throughout the car and you hesitantly hit accept.

“Princess….”

“Oh thank goodness. There's this weird dude who keeps following me in his car and pulling up next to me every time I'm at a stop light.”

“I am not doing this with you today. I refuse.” Joe said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Refuse what, babe?”

“Don't act dumb. Now what is in the backseat?”

“Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“For me to know and for you not to find out because I was supposed to beat you home and hide everything.” You honestly told him.

“Hmm, and how's that working out for you?”

“It'll be fine once I get home before you do.” You replied as you hit the gas once more and sped away from him.

“I am literally right behind you and you better slow down before you get a ticket.”

“I'm pretty and I'll be let off with a warning. Works every time.”

“Why do you love to stress me out on a daily basis?”

“You're the one who asked me to marry you so you did this to yourself.” You replied as you pulled into the garage with Joe right behind you.

Joe got out of his Porsche before coming over to the driver's side door of your car and opening it, seeing you smiling at him, but he did not look amused.

“Hi baby!” You greeted him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs wrapped around his waist.

Placing a kiss on his lips, he didn’t return it which made you frown. 

“Give me a kiss and fix your face.”

Joe rolled his eyes before kissing you and continued to make a face at you as he pulled away.

“Is this supposed to be serving as a distraction?”

“A little bit, but I can take my clothes off if it isn't working. Now how about that date you promised me?”

“I never even gave you an answer.”

“You're undressing me with your eyes so that's a good enough answer which obviously translates to yes.”

“We can go on a date... right after you show me what's in the backseat.”

“No.”

“Fine. I'll just get my hair cut and run errands in my gray sweatpants.” Joe told you as your eyes then went wide.

“I… Just get the bags please and I'll tell you.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Faerie question! What do you think about the relation between their realm and our geography? Your 'white American fae stories' mention reminded me that I was thinking about this a while ago - if someone is interacting with ~fairyland~ from a regular ass non-European continent, is it (Watsonianly!) weird that they are interacting with Welsh-culture faeries? Or is that place decoupled from our land? Conversely, if the supernatural world you access depends on your human world location, does that imply that different cultures' supernatural entities have a similar geographic relationship with each other to human lands? or does it imply that the shape of the fae is downstream of human culture a la Small Gods?

Oh this is FUN and I am going to RAMBLE

So the thing that sort of answers and sort of complicates both of your questions is that Welsh faerie lore and mythology, while having some Venn diagram overlaps, is nonetheless Very Much Different from Irish or Scottish (or indeed English) stuff. It's an interesting one, because while I have increasingly strong Views on the way Welsh faerie lore is used by white American authors who want to write about elves with wings who fuck and think this is the solution, actually a huge chunk of what those authors use - and what Americans in particular more broadly know about faeries - isn't Welsh at all, it's Scottish. Seelie and Unseelie courts, season-based courts, never thanking a faerie to avoid offending them, selkies, the list goes on. None of that is Welsh.

I, as you know, have been writing werewolf erotica, for fun and sport. Set in Wales, of course. I haven't directly included faeries yet, but they've been mentioned, and I know how I'm going to be building that part of my world. And to me, faeries come in different species with a different geographic distribution - if my characters were to approach the Fae in Wales, it would mean entering Annwfn. They would meet very Welsh types of faerie. Welsh rules would apply.

If they were to go to Scotland, they'd be dealing with different types entirely. Seelie and Unseelie would now apply, and not thanking and all that jazz. To speak like an ecologist for a moment lol, it's a question of biogeography.

Soooo, yeah, I find it weird when American fantasy lit describes Celtic fae creatures in America, because to me... surely there's native shit there. Like what is this? Did the Fae colonise with the humans? Has the American Otherworld been invaded and settled? What am I looking at, here? Why is the author ignoring this question? How are there gwyllion in those mountains and what did they displace? Did they follow the people and just naturalise, or are they invasive? Are there gwragedd Annwfn in Lake Superior? How is that working? These are questions I have, but alas, no answers.

(I can allow arguments for Appalachia, given, you know. <same-mountains.jpeg>)

That said, the rules are fuzzy for time/space distortion with entering Annwfn. This is a (relatively) new addition to faerie lore, because once upon a time Annwfn was a place you could just... walk to. It had a geographical location, like Rhyl. You could find it on a map, and that map would tell you it was Somerset, pretty much. But over the centuries, human population density grew; Somerset stops being a place of mystery and starts being the place your flighty cousin ran away to and now grows a cider orchard. The magical realms hidden in thickest forest are demonstrably not there when you cut the forest down and just find a bunch of exposed bears. So the lines, as it were, get redrawn - we know it's there somewhere, but part of the magic hides it; so maybe what we were pointing to on that map wasn't Annwfn, but the doorway...?

By the 1700s at least, the concept of the faerie ring being a doorway between worlds was fixed. The 1800s gave us the Victorian concept of the veil between worlds, two worlds overlaid on one another, which mapped beautifully on and basically reconciles the issue perfectly in the minds of believers (faerie belief in Wales persisted into the early 1900s). Enter that cave and you'll enter Annwfn; not because it's in the cave, don't be silly, it's because the door is in the cave. Step in that mushroom circle and see another world; not because Annwfn is a patch of land three feet across in Mam-gu's garden, don't be daft, it's because that's the way through. Welsh faerie myth was already enamoured of the time distortion element, but this is where spatial distortion kicks in as well.

So understanding all of that means you can exploit those rules to explain a lot. Watsonianly speaking, does a doorway lead to Annwfn if it's in Wales, but Tír na nÓg if it's in Ireland? Or could a doorway for either turn up anywhere, given that spatial distortion? What is it about Wales that ties Annwfn here specifically? Does the land generate the specific type of magic needed to fuel it? Or could it feasibly go anywhere now, as that separation between worlds has evolved - initially they lived in this world, but they evolved to straddle here and another, and then to draw a veil between the two, and now they run parallel and so can send the tunnels between the two wherever they like. It depends on the story you're telling, I guess. As I say, I know how I'm doing it lol! But there are options available

[verdancy-hime]

Yes except people are withholding things for me to do because they want to force me to be understimulated so I have constant suicidal depression. All the books I try to read either contain weird boring hypnotic inductions for 5 pages before I get to the information or they seem designed to be annoying to read on purpose because they don't get to the damn point or they're romances about people the author of the book thinks I should date but in a way where it explains that I'm not dating them because of my terrible personality and I'm their toxic ex, the music I try to listen to is telling me I suck, all the social media is just rage bait trolls telling me how everything is my fault and everything would be so much better if I wasn't crazy and I'm fundamentally flawed, every YouTube video I try to watch is like "we have 3 sentences of content and it's stuff you've already seen or read and it's hidden behind 30 minutes of nothing content" or "we recorded something you said while you were talking to yourself and put it on a random YouTube channel" or it's the news and it's like "by the way the Jesus freaks have won and they are going to take over your country and turn everything into a giant human trafficking cult and we keep heaping more fake rape accusations on the accusations of that one gay guy who can't come out because it's complicated who helped you when you were a little girl with that thing one time and we're setting it up to do ethnic cleansing and hurt all your queer friends and go back to the 1920s and make sure everyone becomes nazis and also we remade all your favorite shows and made them shitty but at least we also put Abigail Thorn in literally everything which like good for her but it would be cool if they didn't rape the last of the American dream to death also."

Every phone sex caller I talk to is like "I will only do calls when it's not your normal business hours and I want to start actual fights with you on purpose rather than just get my rocks off and I want to intentionally set you up for failure and only do things that I know you don't like because how dare you ever say no to anything we are going to torture you into hating your job and hating men we are going to send you weird vague threats all the time."

I go outside and people are pretending not to know who I am while also saying weird cryptic shit about like blog entries I wrote 10 years ago or something.

Literally it's like all of reality is just a machine for torturing me.

No one is making any demands. No one wants anything. At first I thought there were specific things they wanted me to do or say, but I realized they were literally just things that I would rather die than do like move to someplace very hot when I have summer sad and have a lot of exposed skin when I have sensory issues or get married when I don't think living with other people works for me, or do race play porn when I have personal reasons not to do that.

It's just a giant machine for making me constantly miserable and depressed for no reason until I die from it. But they keep trying to sabotage me trying to kms? So what the fuck is the point?

Recently discovered, fully by accident, that the trick to feeling like you have more time in the day is to actually do shit with the time that's there, which seems fake and wrong and it's frankly infuriating that it works >:|

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

DEATHSTROKE!READER HEADCANONS CUZ YALL LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!

Deathstroke reader's hair is fried, like it was back when they used to be Robin. They used to straighten their hair to an unreasonable amount. Actually, think of Steph back in her Robin days—that was literally the reader's hair back when they were Robin, but it didn't work well for their hair type, resulting in terrible and irreversible hair damage. When they joined Deathstroke, they shaved all their hair off and started fresh. Fresh hair. The reader has a buzz cut that is gelled to be spiky and styled; it's actually pretty good. They used to dye their hair a lot, like blonde, which also contributed to the hair damage. Last but not least, the Wilson family loves to rub your freshly buzzed hair.

Deathstroke reader has acne around their face, which is basically your fault because you wear a lot of makeup, causing some acne. Also, your mask makes you sweat, clogging your pores. You've been thinking about getting a skincare routine, but you're too lazy, so Rose does your skincare every now and then. Your acne isn't really noticeable; it's just there. But as long as you keep up with those face masks, you'll be fine.

Deathstroke reader is non-binary; they go by all pronouns and wear both masculine and feminine clothing. They used to only wear masculine clothes back in their Robin days because they hated femininity due to their mother. I'll get into this deeper in a later fic. Deathstroke reader is also around 19 to mid-20s; I wanted to make them older compared to the other readers, who are either in high school or in college. Deathstroke reader is pretty tall, like basketball-level tall, standing right next to Slade's shoulder.

Deathstroke reader smokes; Rose does too, and I'm pretty sure I saw a comic where Slade smokes. It runs in the family, I guess, but you can't find your lighter anywhere—borrowed by Rose, or you lost it some way, somehow. So you find intricate ways to light a cigarette. Hell yeah, the Flash's electric speed definitely helps your Green Lantern boyfriend light your cigarette for you. Totally, Deathstroke reader will literally walk up to Bruce, smoking in his face. The rest of the Bat Family hates the fact that you smoke, scolding you and saying it's bad for you, like you're some child, even though you're about to be pushing 30. It gets on your nerves.

Deathstroke reader isn't much into relationships; mostly, they have meaningless flings. When you're thinking about getting into a relationship, you're already waking up with someone gone. You have an ongoing fling with Constantine—not a serious relationship, really; it’s routine at this point. You call him up for a favor or he does, and you both get a drink, maybe a smoke. You end up at his dank apartment, then you leave the next day. You don't intend on staying, and you don't intend on loving him either, but he's developing warm feelings in his chest because of you. You always have to remind him it's just a fling. Roy, on the other hand, isn't so easily persuaded. That ginger will not believe it started as a one-time thing. The moment he saw you playing around with Lian was the moment he declared you his. So gentle with her, so sweet; you only say it's because you have siblings, but he knows better. The nights you two spent together are passionate and sweet, but you always seem to leave his bed with no intention of coming back. You're breaking his heart.

When Deathstroke reader was Robin, they had internalized misogyny within them, not just because the Robin mantle used to be for guys, but also because of their relationship with their mom. Think about the "I Hate My Mom" song by GRLwood—like, they used to hate almost anything feminine because it reminded them of their mother: long nails, makeup, eyelashes, dresses, skirts, all that stuff. It's not until they worked with Slade that they started to embrace this part of themselves. You're not like your mother; you never will be. It doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't make you any less strong. That's something I can understand—makeup and flashy clothing, embracing yourself more.

Deathstroke reader is brutal when it comes to fights; they do not fight fair at all—biting, slapping, scratching, kicking—almost anything. Sure, they do know fighting styles, but their greatest strengths are brute force and ambushing their attacker with punches to the point where they're unable to react. You had a fight with Cass one time, and you dominated her with hits over and over again, not letting her let up. Sure, she can read body movements, but yours are so aggressive that it's honestly too hard to fight back. You're pummeling Damien like he's not your little brother, more like a stray dog on the street begging for scraps. Your head-butting Jason's Red Hood mask, making cracks in his mask and giving him a black eye in the process. Sure, your head was ringing for at least an hour, but it was worth seeing the shock on his face. You remember one time Bruce visited you at Arkham Asylum—the asylum he put you in—trying to manipulate you into coming home. You jumped across the table, beating the shit out of him. It took multiple nurses to get you off of him. Anytime the Bat Family comes to visit, especially Bruce, you're stuck in a straitjacket with a glass wall in front of you. There's literally a struggle at Arkham to try and get you into the meeting room. They have to roll you in a wheelchair like luggage out of an airport because you tried to escape multiple times, but it always fails, and you're stuck in that meeting room. They're rambling on and on, saying they'll bring you back home. Yeah, right.

[zilabee]

the thing is if you're writing a beatles book, you'd want to know basically nothing about anything. it's a fine tradition of beatles books. you wouldn't want to bring too much 'knowing things' to a 'ridiculous assumptions' party.

the whole of it is that men's books will never be anything in comparison to women's understanding, because in actual fandom, you don't hide all your working and then put out a ridiculous standalone thing that feels important. You just put stuff out there for other people to see, and then you take your feelings and some other feelings, and sort of smudge them up, and together you all create a cob house of possible feelings, with a vaguely plausible layout, which you're not saying is absolute, but which you are saying is wonderful and possible and which smells like home. And then sometimes someone comes over and adds some detailing to the mantelpiece, or builds a little annexe, or someone else is like 'well that window doesn't make sense there!' and you're like 'yeah I know - but we had all this rumour and conjecture and we had to put it somewhere'.  And then they take it out and put a three word quote from a 1975 magazine article in its place and everyone gathers to look at the lovely new thing with better flow, and have a cup of tea. 

and meanwhile men are building fucking standalone square houses from a flatpack, and pretending they fit in the space, pretending they're new or interesting or even fucking functional, when they've not even built foundations and the whole thing would blow over in the slightest wind, but they're too busy lauding each other as design geniuses to actually care.

this is not about ken womack* specifically who I know nothing about and I'm sure is fine.  it's not even about anyone specifically.  it's about how much better the internet is at understanding beatles than books.  and how much more I value fandom than authorship, and how hilarious it is that books are taken more seriously than any decent blog with a functioning tagging system.

* a post I wrote when Ken Womack brought out his book about Mal's diaries, and confidently decided that little cartoon was Paul, and a post which the whole Ian Leslie stuff has reminded me about so I went into drafts to find it.

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Had another ISaT AU dream

This one was much less atmospheric and cool than my Tower of Dormont AU one but for anyone out there looking for fic ideas: Modern day 'urban fantasy AU' with the classic 'all the magic types are hidden' masquerade shenanigans going on but well the setup is: Isabeau, neighbourhood friendly vampire, trying to be as ethical as he can with his blood consumption, wanders areas like the outside of night clubs and the park late at night totally just 'out for a late night jog' with emergency fruit snacks and juice boxes on hand-

meets Siffrin, an exhausted, lonely, 'working far too many hours to barely break even on their rent' human on the way back from his 6 to 3am shift attempting to stargaze in the middle of the park, and the two get SO into talking Isa kinda forgets to even bite the little fella (oops!) before offering them a juice box. Cue Sif and Isa both deciding for '100% totally logical reasons' to keep frequenting the park, Isa having his first real 'help Mira, Ma'dam I'm biting someone I know on the regular, and I'm not sure if I LIKE-like them or if this just, idk, stupid vampire instincts going on' crisis combined with some secondary 'also I'm really worried about their living situation and maybe I could invite them to stay with me, introduce you all to them cuz they don't really seem to have any friends, etc' stuff, Sif slowly gets to meet everyone in 'the supernatural support group/family' (aka Mira, Odile, Bonnie and Nille), Isa and Sif's relationship progressing firmly into romantic territory with Isa stressing about how to explain the whole 'vampire' thing and how to apologise about all the hypnotising and get across that the only thing he's ever used it for was Sif's blood only (which btw is very tasty and sweet and also lets him daywalk sometimes which usually only happens when it's freely given, so Sif should probably not let any other vamp know about that) and- And-!

Annnnd it turns out that actually, Siffrin has known Isa was a vampire this entire time and that Isa's hypnosis never worked on them: Sif just accepted that getting bitten by the wonderful funny buff Isa-vamp was a small price to pay for free meals and good conversation on the regular, Isa's occasion 'red eye' thing was just a attractive tell for when he was getting hungry and as a 'Null'(1) -aka one of the Universe's designated monster killers who's constantly having to butcher and then hide the bodies of all the monsters that keep trying to pull off kills or worse right in front of them (when Sif's not being targeted himself. Late night solo shifts at the 7/11 / gas station are the worst)- this frankly has been the nicest, least stressful string of monster encounters they've had in a long time and they're really enjoying the reprieve.

TLDR: Isabeau is a vampire in the modern day who's hyper freaked out about confessing his (and his friends') monster status to his totally normal overworked human 'maybe partner' Sif, who actually knew Isa was a vamp the whole time, is actually THE primary monster hunter of the area, and is simply really happy that Isa and the other monsters he keeps introducing them to are actually good company as opposed to usual murderous eldritch horrors they usually run into. (1) My dream gave me a surprising amount of worldbuilding here (thank you dream Odile for trying to sus Sif out) but Nulls are sort of something akin to a Slayer in Buffy - Chosen ones selected by The Universe to slay evil. Nulls specifically 'ping' as 100% normal human to pretty much all supernatural senses (hence why they're called Nulls) but they're just flat out immune to mind manipulation and perception filters, they heal back from horrific levels of injury relatively quickly (though it's not quite at 'abusable in combat' levels), they instinctively know exactly how to hurt and kill any foe they deem in need of killing, and they tend to have major 'kill them all' issues towards most supernatural types since they often become Nulls as a result of their family's getting murdered or nearly being erased from existence by some sort of cosmic horror etc... Resulting in them being officially 'the ones monsters tell horror stories of'. Incidentally, one of the 'tells' of a Null is that they tend to be especially 'alluring' in various ways to most kinds of 'human hunting' monsters: Their blood, flesh, emotions etc all 'smell' and 'taste' especially delicious (and may grant 'special' properties such as giving Vampires sun immunity), they tend to work odd hours or 'do at one's own pace' jobs (aka being murder monster catnip tends to result in a lot of unscheduled and inexplainable emergences), and they tend to be perpetually exhausted (due to having to be near constantly hyper alert in case of Yet Another Monster after them, and all the monster slaying itself).

As for other stuff:

I vaguely picture Mira and the other Dormont Housemaidens as Angels for the Change God (think like bees to a hive - collecting the 'byproducts' of fresh hope and change in humans to make into food), Odile as some kind of primordial Eldritch Thing who's always lent towards benevolent observation of humanity (also one of the few supernaturals to ever have met more than one Null before and lived to tell about it. Probably the only supernatual being in setting who's likely to treat them as highly dangerous people first, murderous killers second), and Bonnie and Nille as Were Beasts of some kind (plz picture Sif being charmed over by Bonnie in an instant, being enthralled by their big gush/bragging about the 'once a month family camping trips' where they and Nille go to the countryside to hunt wild boar or deer which then Bonnie cooks up real nice for everyone except Za because he's a weenie who can't handle any good seasonings like garlic' and immediately offering to save Frin the best cut next time since it probably wouldn't be safe to bring him on the trip with them).

Also Isa totally works as a 'night only' beat cop or park ranger or something (gets away with just working the later hours since 'sun allergy' is accepted as a reasonably common disability in a human society full of secret monster folks trying to blend in) though he IS currently undertaking an online apprenticeship with a well known fashion designer who's been around forever.

Sif's Null awakening probably involved a 'history eating' eldritch horror (so um. Yep, sorry Sif, you still have memory loss, no ID and probably no education past middle school level) and The King's also a Null but of the 'genuinely murderous and terrible' kind - specifically in my dream, Sif's awakening involved killing The King (and mercy killing a whole bunch of innocent monsters The King was keeping as 'living trophies' or something because Sif had no idea how to free them from their various fate-worse-than-deaths otherwise) but like. I'm not writing this so do as you wish~ I do very much like the visual of Sif's 'Null' instincts including other Null who've 'gone wrong' though and hope that gets included. Makes for a nice 'and then Isa and the other friendly monsters had to process that cute, sweet Siffrin who's so gentle with Bonbon, stepped in to help Mira and Nille with babysitting near instantly, gets teased by Odile and throws everything into making Isa laugh and swoon, is in fact the rumored serial killer of serial killers who once dealt with a guy that had a rep akin to 'He Who Must Not Be Named' among the monster community, when he was around 14 years old and armed with a pencil sharpner.

Oh and before I forget again: Sif has absolutely zero knowledge of supernaturals other than 1) they exist, 2) most other people don't know they exist, and 3) Siffrin is supernatural catnip who's really really good at murdering things before they can murder him or other people. Also they do not get paid enough for this, monsters tend to carry less money on them than one might think, and the police start asking very awkward questions if you become known as 'that one guy who keeps finding and selling stuff suspected to belong to missing persons at the nearby pawn shop'.

Only reason Sif didn't start their 'three warnings before murder' thing with Isa is that they were just that damn tired when they met him that they didn't pick up on his vampy vibes until his teeth were in their neck, they didn't have the energy to 'bother' fighting him off (they were firmly at the 'this might as well happen, why not die at the teeth of someone who was at least nice about it' point) and well. Cue dull, confused happy surprise (much akin to someone just coming off a vamp's hypnosis) when Isa stopped them from tipping over, apologised for 'keeping them out so late they were fainting from low blood sugar' and gave them half a dozen snacks before offering to walk them home.

So yeah. There's another AU out for adoption if anyone wants in (do feel free to ask for help if you want more world building or whatever) and off I go back to typing away at my endless amount of ISaT Selkie AU notes instead~ XD

[nerdcrawfish]

Ouch because yeah.

Really long rant.

It gets very frustrating because having healthy relationships with food tends to be a luxury and people don't get it. And honestly, I am very bad about this but I will be a bit mocking towards like well off people that don't try foods and also are racist and find cultural foods gross just because they're not white people food... But also I think it's because previous food insecurity of being poor means that it fucking irritates my ass to see people who don't know what it's like to be hungry and mocked for it because you're fat being that way. Of enjoying eating shit like cookies and not being mocked with "But aren't you supposed to be poor?" or "Shouldn't you lay off the cookies, porkie?" Like fuck you dude.

And like, food insecurity and obesity are highly correlated. Part of that is because your relationship with food is entirely fucked. You gorge when you have food available--and that's what we're designed to do. Store energy in fat for when there isn't any food. It's natural and instinctive reaction to food insecurity. But the other part is just what we are forced to eat.

Pantry stable foods for the most part now, cheap foods, are heavy in ingredients that are not good for you at all. And they're high in carbs, crappy oils, and sugar. And the main culprits here is that sugar and carbs combo. Look at any processed food and it has sugar in it. And that's also going to trigger a response in your body that will start collecting fat. And remember, when you're food insecure and you're dependent on shelf stable food? That's all you're eating. And it will trigger lipogenesis because you've hit high levels of this type of energy and your body is DESIGNED to store fat when these high levels get hit. It's like with bears--store excess energy by eating a lot and you can survive the winter. And it's normal as shit. We all have it. The issue is that food insecure folks can't offset their carbs and sugars with nice stuff like fruits and veggies. That's expensive. It's not shelf stable. It's not full of cheap preservative.

And like, a lot of your meats are preserved with ingredients like nitrites and nitrates which have long been correlated with cancers and actually found in colon cancers and such. This shit is also killing us. But it's the only food that will fill your stomach and you can afford.

Oh and the other thing is, you should look at nutrient deficiency in people. They'll be round and fat but are dying because they aren't eating food that has proper nutrients in it. It really fucks up kids too... Like having food does not equal having a good diet. Having food does not equal being healthy. And any impoverished person knows that intimately. And often times in the US, obesity is a sign of being impoverished than it is of excess. And yes, you are going to still be hungry. Because you're just eating cheap shit that doesn't have nutrients. And honestly. intuitive eating comes more when your nutrients are properly balanced and met. Because your body is really good at knowing what foods have what nutrients. And like... Even if your pasta only has a trace amount of such and such mineral--it will crave it because your body KNOWS that you can get that mineral from that food. Well, that's how it is for my family at least. So maybe disregard that... But seeing how craving work, that for me holds very true.

Since I'm now able to eat a diverse diet, I eat way less and feel immensely better. I can easily eat snacks and feel fine because yes--I know they'll be there when they come back is a huge part. But also because they're mentally classed as a treat and I'm actually satiated. I have meals that meet my body's needs and I don't need to scrounge around with what I have to accumulate the levels I need to operate. That's a huge hunger driver. it's part of why despite eating so much--you still are so fucking hungry. So fucking hungry...

Oh and driving into another thing... Right now I'm finding out that oh I had a gluten allergy this entire time. What do you think food insecure pantries look like? What do free and reduced lunches look like? LOTS of pastas, pizzas, and breads etc. They're also relatively shelf stable and also convenient for working families (because luxury of time to cook is not a thing for parents have when you're fucking poor. You work and work and work just to survive and the state gets mad you're not spending enough time with your kids and then forces you to work at shit like McDonalds for "wages that are for kids so they don't need to be raised!" and then the state tries to take your kids because you can't afford a house...)

And kids are smart. They feed off of parents' anxieties--so when your parents are anxious about paying bills and it leaks over to food? You're going to be anxious around food. I still to this day compare prices and I don't need to so much. Like, a 15 cent difference is not that much. But I grew up freaking out about that shit. I grew up watching my parents freak out about that shit and then have the looming threat of a state trying to snatch you from your family. You start looking at that 15 cents and it triggers this fear that is ingrained--of when times were not okay. And like.. 15 cents can fucking make or break a fucking ability to make a payment. Like... When I was jobless, I had a slight mental error paying a car payment and the fucking thing TOOK my 2 dollar payment--bounced my account--and then didn't go through with the preceding $500 payment that I had made and then because I got hit with an overdraft fee--I now couldn't make my $500 fucking payment. Because I accidentally made a $2 dollar payment when I meant $1. Freaking out and slippery finger cost me $30 dollars I'll never get back and a hit to my fucking credit and THEN I also got fucking late fees on my car payment. So yeah. Fucking "pithily" amounts like that mean EVERYTHING when you're impoverished. And tiny mistakes... God they're never fucking tiny. They hurt so fucking much and sometimes? You wonder why you're even fucking trying.

(And I can't lie. I look at our economy and you can tell a recession is going to happen and all I can think about is 2008 and all of it. When my family was left out to dry like so many and thankfully my suicidal mom just keep going on for us--her kids. Jesus.)

So yes, you look at food differently as fuck when you're insecure. And like... Thankfully at some point we got on food stamps. And I will CUT motherfuckers who fucking diss on food stamps.

Like, you are ENTIRELY fucked up if you honestly believe that someone on food stamps shouldn't be allowed to have lobster for Christmas. Like fuck you. It takes strategy to make it happen, and it's fucking CHRISTMAS YOU FUCKS. But it's an off fucking shoot of "If you're poor WE get to tell you how to eat. And that's pasta and bread and shit full of chemicals. NOT fresh fruits and veggies and NOT a Christmas fucking meal with lobsters of all fucking things!"

Oh and what kills me is that EVEN if I was diagnosed with having a gluten issues during that time? We'd just have to keep on going on like we did. Because what the fuck are you going to do? Nothing. You can't do shit. So I just wonder how many people are just dealing with the same shit in poverty man. And like they said above--genetically? Some people are predisposed to be obese. I emphasis this IMMENSELY because certain group just are. Especially hunter gather cultures man--which tend to be non-white. Because Europeans had the best fucking climate and water and soil for growing crops geographically wise. That's not the case for the rest of the world. And I hope you've looked at history enough to see the large swaths of cultures that were hunter-gatherer. And I also HOPE you realize it's not a disparaging thing at ALL. They're not lesser for living that fucking way. Wanna know why the Dust Bowl happened? It's fucking because dumbass white Europeans thought the Plains Native Americans were uncivilized for not farming. No bitch, the plains aren't a good fucking place to fucking farm--much less for water-intensive crops LIKE WHEAT.

God and I can talk about how native crops--like carbs like amaranth and corn--were fucking vilified and amaranth specifically was so persecuted that the Spanish would cut off the hands of indigenous folks who had the seeds of amaranth... And I feel like my gluten allergy is derived from my native ancestors. We didn't fucking eat wheat--we had corn on my Aztec side. Corn doesn't have gluten. And that's your farming culture carb right there. Because farming culture will have a carb like that. Asia has rice. Europe: wheat. Americas corn and amaranth. Africa sorghum. And so forth for those areas that could farm. Crops that can be made shelf stable (to survive when the crops can't grow) and have a good amount of energy output relatively. All of these dry VERY well and store VERY well... And...

Food insecurity is a tool of oppression. And oppression comes with dehumanization. Oppression is wanted because it's all about control Control. Control. CONTROL. So... That entire shtick of talking shit and bullying obese people and impoverished about their food and choices? It's because the ruling class believes it's their right to control them. This is why poor folks are so fucking dehumanized. And fatphobia is an offshoot of this poverty dehumanization. And it's because morality is fucking tied to your body and your fucking income in this god forsaken country. And it's all tied to shit like divine right. God made you poor to serve us rich folks. And we can talk about shit like Calvinism and it's effects on modern US law and shit... But I'm all over the place already...

And at the end of the day? Yeah, no wonder we all have disorders and fucking trauma. This shit is made to oppress us and oppression fucking hurts. It fucking kills. It fucking goes against our nature to survive and thrive in a world where there really aren't rules about where and what you can eat. Birds don't have rules about what other birds can eat--just don't eat the food they're trying to fucking eat.

And sorry. Like... We were talking about the trauma associated with it and like... I have to do history and political science in addition. I don't mean it to disparage how it affect people individually--and that is all valid. It is. My addition it to not subtract at all. My addition is just to show that this suffering... It's so fucking cruel.

Because the idea that this shit isn't nefarious and engineered? That the cruelty isn't the point and is just some unforeseen byproduct? Yeah. That's bogus as fuck. The cruelty is the point.

It always is.

"Oh so we should just eat anything we want??"

Well actually YES but also:

Restricting food Does Stuff To Your Brain. "Restricting" doesn't mean stopping when you're full. I feel like this is what gets misunderstood a lot. It means placing rules and limits on food that supercede what your body is signalling that it wants. Let's use cookies as an example. Restricting would be:

- I can only have cookies when I deserve them.

- I can only have cookies when I'm alone.

- I can only have two cookies.

- I can only have low-calorie cookies.

- I can only have cookies on set days, or so-called cheat days.

- I can't have cookies.

- I can't have cookies in the house.

- I'm bad when I eat cookies.

- Cookies are a bad food and I must compensate for having eaten them.

Whether or not you stick to the restrictions you set, your brain is learning to be an anxious mess around cookies. It might want to avoid anywhere that has cookies. It might feel shame for wanting or eating cookies. It might get exhausted from suppressing the craving and decide to binge. It might go into binge mode every time you eat cookies because you've taught your body that This Will Not Be Available Whenever. It might feel ridiculously important to eat all the cookies while you can.

I know we're all so used to constantly talking about food, diets, weight and bodies, and it's completely normalised to look at absolutely everything you eat and assign it the level of guilt you're gonna feel for eating it, and to brag about not eating this and that, and to announce that you know it's a Naughty Indulgence when you eat anything sweet.

But oh my god, it's such a huge weight off your shoulders to just let yourself eat cookies because you wanted cookies and stop when you feel satiated and know that the cookies will be available next time you want cookies because you don't need to earn them in any way. Because a brain that knows it can have cookies whenever it wants cookies, doesn't crave cookies all the time. Nor does it feel any self-loathing when it does crave cookies.

And I just wish everyone a very chill brain and some cookies

[olderthannetfic]

So apparently Wattpad has a little questionaire thing you can fill out for your story's metadata.

It starts out pretty reasonable, but quickly gets insane. I'll screenshot the whole thing so you guys don't have to create an account and a dummy work to see it.

The options under the "goal type" dropdown change depending on if you've selected "Physical:

or Emotional:

I guess it works for generic romance? But even then those little sliders are going to be difficult to work out for the more interesting OR the more cardboard protagonists. For the likeable/unlikeable slider, I'm not sure if they mean that from a reader's perspective (which is subjective) or within the narrative (which could well change over the course of the story).

Mind & Logic vs Heart & Emotion activates a pet peeve of mine about how you can't use one without the other, but I can't opt out of that slider, I just have to leave it in the middle.

And of course, all this is assuming that the main point of the story is a protagonist's personality and actions, and not a setting or a relationship. So it doesn't even work for generic shippy romance where the draw is dynamic between two characters or even the personalities of both.

And very little of this is at all applicable to the kinds of horror stuff I tend to write. So if it doesn't work for romance or for horror, what does it work for? Low conflict coming of age stories, I guess? But I don't think the "story goal" things would be very easy to answer for those. And it's very difficult to map any of this this to short story format where things don't progress or change much but where the reader simply sees an interesting moment (PWP is one example there, half of Lovecraft's output is another).

I suspect this form just exists to train algorithms (or LLMs, brrr), but since the ticky boxes can't actually represent a story, it can't actually be used to train an algorithm to consider two stories similar or dissimilar.

(Also this might be old news, this is the first time I'm seeing the form, but I poke at Watpadd like once every two years or something)

--

Egad!

[parascials]

can u write for Shauna reaction to reader dying instead of Jackie and what she does pls

nonnie, you are sick... but it's okay because i'm sicker. not really sure how to do the 'and what she does' part because i don't quite understand what you mean. like, i just interpreted it as shauna and her ear-nibbling stuff with a side of her guilt. but yeah, hope this is good — even tho i am aware this isn't my best work — and thank you for being my first anon request!

warnings: major character death; reader. violence; human dissection mention, cannibalism

▸ almost dumb, honestly. that's how shauna feels when she wakes up, looks out the window, and sees that damn pile of snow. no, no, no, she thinks to herself, not like this. it's not her fault, right? you were just stubborn and refused to go back inside. it was your fault! but she couldn't convince herself, not enough. shauna rushes downstairs and whimpers when she opens the front door, the cold breeze hitting her face and making her cheeks rosen.

she paws at the snow, moves as much of it as she could. your face was dry, cold. she rubs at your cheeks, trying to warm you up again. if she was so easily able to take your life away, then she could surely give it back, yes? no, shauna, it's not your fault, she tells herself, insistent. that other, louder voice at the back of her head refused to let her believe it, though.

the rest come outside, groggy and sleepy, once they hear shauna's almost animalistic screams.

▸ a few days had passed and shauna used her butcher privileges to keep your rotting body in the 'meat shed'. she does your makeup ever so often — rosies your cheeks, glosses your lips — to make you seem more, well, alive. it makes her feel better when she's talking to your corpse.

her hallucinations don't bother her at first. she imagines you forgiving her, hugging her and telling her that it'll all be okay, that she was right. slowly, though, her guilt catches up to her and her perception of you warps into this hostile, vengeful thing.

it started accidentally, y'know? when shauna first sliced you open. she was just curious, that damn biology class. plus, you just kept teasing her. she's not dumb, she'll prove it. she knows where your cephalic vein is! the second she sees the flesh open, she pulls back and stops her incision. no, you're her bestfriend, she's not supposed to dissect you.

you'll be so upset next time you talk to her, having found out she was using you like some morbid science showcase for her own curiosity. that's what she tells herself, at least. shauna uses cloth from her own shirt to wrap a makeshift gauze, ribbon and all, around your wrist.

▸ her little obsession grew over the next few days. your varsity jacket kept you covered and shauna had tied your hair so your lack of ear doesn't show. she's been... modifying you a bit. she's so nice and gentle about it, too. you should be thankful your bestfriend is still so kind to you even when you're so mean and spiteful.

don't you get it? she didn't want you to die! you're making her want to cut your tongue off — oh, right, you're not real anymore. well, she justifies her anger by thinking real you would've also mocked her.

▸ i like to think shauna kept you to herself. didn't share with the group since she always made sure to properly cover the tracks of her little restoration project. whenever she misses you too much, she just takes a small slice of you — muscle, skin, and meat — to cook alongside her other food. makes her feel closer to you since you're a part of her now. literally. her bloodstream is full with your proteins.

it all started when you had been calling her names and shauna got so sick of it that she just did what she knows — she bit on your arm. like a chewtoy at first, angry, only for her to then impulsively pull back with her teeth and ended up swallowing it. a good addition to her menu. it keeps her stomach happy and it keeps you quiet.

▸ a little bonus detail would be shauna eating you during her pregnancy cravings because she wants you to father her child, not lottie and her psycho wilderness nonsense. it's the only control she can have over her baby right now, she thinks.

[xiepheer]

hello i was thinking this so does the Beast's have nicknames for Y/N like cute sweet and silly nicknames for them just for them to be very embarrassed about when they got older as well If the Beast's show any baby photos or videos of baby Y/N being very cute and i very much headcanon mostly Shadow Milk Cookie taking thoese photos/videos just to embarrassed Y/N

By the way now i can't stop seeing Y/N as a little owlet being born from a egg and being very fluffy and cute as well for them being a snow owl or something like that

Their Tiny Owlet

Beasts x daughter/son reader!

Scenario: Their nicknames for you and them showing your baby pictures!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Hello guys! As you can see, I have decided to open my Tumblr again!

Honestly I'm more active in tiktok rather than other social medias!

But here! 💗

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Mystic Flour cookie

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

For Mystic Flour, her nicknames for you as her duaghter will be 'Dear', 'Dear daughter', 'Dearest', or 'Child'.

Why?

She sees you as one of the most important things in her world.

Of course it's because you're her offspring and she knew if she loses you, then she loses the very thing she created.

And of course, creations can be fragile if not watched properly.

Shes not the type to be teasing you.

The fact she's as quiet as the wind flowing in peace.

The wind is quiet but can be strong.

She's the mother where actions speak well.

She would take care of you but teach you less about words.

She would rather teach you how to act polite and be polite.

And she would assign you a private tutor or give you dictionary simply because she's not too fond of words.

Or maybe is that (headcanon) she speaks in her ancient language when English wasn't a language yet.

When she was walking around, cleaning and organizing the things that aren't supposed to be there,

She stumbled upon a box.

But not just any box.

The box full of your memories.

She took the stuff out and nostalgia hit her.

She could see how fast you've grown.

From a tiny sprout to a sprout that is able to stand on its own.

She opened her eyes to stare at the photos and after centuries, she manages to smile.

It was small but it was noticeable.

She decided to take these and show you this.

She didn't see anything wrong to seeing your old baby photos. Why you are embarrassed seeing your old photos.

She didn't see anything wrong to you at all.

You claimed it was because you used to be chubby or fat or ugly but she didn't see anything wrong with that.

"Dear child, your appearance when you were young was how any normal person would look like. Do not feel embarrassed for seeing a natural part of a cycle"

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Burning Spice cookie

You, being his only child means you have to go through ridiculous things.

Such as nicknames.

His nicknames for you was 'Warrior' or 'Sprout' or 'Little thing'

He didn't see much into you but put more work into making you the heir of the throne.

He he doesn't even know who the mother is.

He trained you to fight and wield a sword.

To win every battle you've come crossed.

That is his true desires with you.

He never really liked children much.

Why?

He sees them more as a nuisance and a pain in the ass.

But you, you live for a purpose.

And that purpose was to fight and be the next head of the throne.

When he found your baby pictures, he could only feel proud at how you went from a weakling to a warrior.

He would show you and tell you how much you've grown and grown strong.

You, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel embarrassed at you old weak state.

You were weka but it all takes progress.

"Oh I definitely understand why you feel embarrassed! You were weak!!! But nows the time to feel proud for as you've grown twice as strong as you were when you were young!!"

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Shadow Milk cookie

Being the daughter/son of this jester clown means you also have to go through his nuisance tricks.

But mainly, he calls you by the names 'Lil clown' or 'Little girl/boy' or calls you by your name. Sometimes he even adds 'ily' in the end of your name. (Similar to Vanilly)

He never actually did it with anyone but created you as a mere puppet.

But to his surprise, he's created more than a puppet.

A puppet with a brain of its own.

At first, he was shocked to even find out that you were learning.

Most of his puppets would stay brainless and wouldn't even process the things around them.

But you, he considers you as his daughter because you were created by him not by blood but was created by his own will.

He taught you things and even taught you to embrace deceit itself.

You weren't just a brainless puppet, you have memories, emotions, feelings, sensations.

Those were the things that his other creations couldn't get.

Of course, it's your brain or mind was what was growing.

Your puppet body never actually grows.

Your body stay as it is but you improve.

Like a robot or AI.

Ai or robot stay as a robot or Ai and computer but it's their minds that improves.

Their body may not show and improvement, but it's the mental mind that is improving.

When he was lurking in his spire, he was surprised to find old photos of you.

You when your mind was 5 months old, 5 years old, or 10 years old.

When he showed this to you, you honestly didn't see any difference.

Why?

Well obviously it's because it's you mind that changes.

But of course he still teases you for being naive and innocent back then.

You never truly desired to feel embarrassed but it's what he says that makes you feel embarrassed.

"Oh don't feel embarrassed now! You're my greatest creation! You should feel proud that you're unique! Or you would've been thrown in the pit where my other puppets lay!"

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Hi everyone! So sorry if this one is short but I hope you like it!

Also school is almost ending!

Might update more in the summer if I pass! (My grades are low but they're still passed)

Let's see if I'm going to pass or pass away!

Anyways guys, byeee!

[anthropologistfromentropy]

Even more painful when there wasn't anyone who loved them. Young Lichinka 💔 His life actually got BETTER when he became a child prostitute at age 9, at least he and his "siblings" loved each other. Also the owner and clients treated him better than his dad, or the orphanage that tried to exorcise and beat the "demon"/ASPD out of him.

Well, at least the Bolsheviks at the cafe/bar protected little Lichinka when his drunk dad drove him out of the house, but I wouldn't say even Alexey really loved him, he cared more about the revolution than Lichinka.

Thinking of Pushka as a child just made me happy tho. Being friends with Matvey, ice skating and baking. Working on their prosthetic leg with their dad, building cool stuff.

It's probably because Pushka doesn't have anything bad happen to them in my fic. They just happily work as Sergey's engineering apprentice and throw Molotov cocktails at the Black Hundreds lol. Their dad still loves them, and so does the whole Bloody Doves. Even if they and their found family are technically terrorists.

Alixander had a happy childhood and adulthood too, but I haven't thought of his childhood much because he's Trotsky's brother and I'm too lazy to research.

never think about your oc as a child btw it’s an irrecoverable pain . when they were young and the world was small and there was someone there who loved them

[kesujo]

Please Rank these different Taeyeon scenarios from hot to I’ll go feral and we’ll fuck non stop for months. Thank you hehe. Also which ones are your favorites?

Mother

Step-mother

Mother-in-law

Older sister

Noona Taeyeon

Baby sitter when you were younger

Best friends mother

Older next door neighbor

Neighborhood MILF

Boss

Older coworker

Teacher

Random stranger you hook up with.

A voyeuristic/exhibitionist Taeyeon

Older Taeyeon but submissive to a younger male.

If you don't mind, I'll be taking your prompt extremely literally (without taking into account the fact that I'm demisexual). You'll see what I mean when I get there :D

This is going from most favorite to least favorite.

Older Taeyeon but submissive to a younger male. This one is goated for sure. Taeyeon is older than me, and I think I prefer to be dominant, so this pretty much perfectly fits my current situation (I guess I should put a disclaimer here to say that, of course, I don't ever anticipate, like, being able to have a chance with Taeyeon ever xD). Yeah, not too sure what else to say here.

Taeyeon is mommy, but she also gives off pretty submissive vibes sometimes. 😌

Also, look at that shirt. Even offering her youth to me. Very submissive, very breedable. I will be taking no further comments, thanks.

Older next door neighbor / Neighborhood MILF I know there's quite a big difference between these two, but honestly, they're both equally hot in my mind. One is just someone who lives nearby, while the other, I imagine, compensates for that by being more flirty and whatnot. Either way, this one is nearly tied with the above, and maybe in fact I would place higher if I thought about it more ... I guess there's something about the hot, older woman neighbor that's just dents my brain.

Cutie-pie, def gives next-door-neighbor vibes here, no?

And then, the neighborhood MILF ... yep, brain dented.

Older coworker Being a coworker invites lots of natural everyday interaction, which is always a plus. The only negative is if there's any fallout, then things may become awkward, but then again, didn't a lot of people meet by being coworkers before dating apps were a thing? But yeah. Being able to see her every weekday, or nearly every weekday, is a huge plus, and even more if there are company dinners and stuff. All of these 4 scenarios are very good ones in my book

Taeyeon walkin up to be like this, I will do anything you want me to do. Ma'am. Respectfully.

Noona Taeyeon Not too sure what this meant, so I just took this to mean, like, Taeyeon but she's your senior in something, like taekwondo classes or something. Taeyeon gives massive noona energy, and I feel like she treats her dongsaengs pretty well, so this one is also a pretty good scenario. Very nice. Would love to be in this scenario with her. (:

Some may recognize this outfit as the same one I used for the fic I dropped for her birthday this year. Gives some pretty serious Noona vibes though, no? Or, maybe this one, too

Yep. Would.

Boss This one is ... sorta troublesome? There's some power dynamic, but on the other hand, that's sorta hot? I don't know, man. Taeyeon can boss me around all day is what I'm sayin. I'd work so much overtime if Taeyeon was my boss.

I'm not really one to do overtime, but ... I mean, are you telling me if your boss looked like that, you aren't immediately complying with any of her requests to work overtime? And, in return, she'll grant me some favors...? 😳

A voyeuristic/exhibitionist Taeyeon Wasn't really sure where to put this one, tbh. On one hand, I don't really like the idea of the girl I'm seeing being seen by others, but on the other, you aren't asking about that. A Taeyeon who loves to show off her assets is almost nearly what we have in this timeline, which is to say, it is a very nice situation. A voyeuristic/exhibitionist Taeyeon would be showing off a little bit more, I guess? Showing off more of her ass maybe, the occasional nip slip, or perhaps some underboob ... 🤤

pretty much, technically SFW voyeur Taeyeon.

Random stranger you hook up with I said I'm not going to take my demisexuality in mind here, but in general, I don't really see much appeal to hooking up with strangers. BUT, IF THAT STRANGER IS TAEYEON ... I mean, I can make exceptions to the rule. Taeyeon is my exception to pretty much any rule.

Like, you're telling me Taeyeon walks up to me like this and smiles at me like this, that I'm not gonna smash? Nope, definitely gonna smash.

Teacher There's some power dynamics at play here again. Gonna sorta ignore the pedophilia thing, because even if you were to say it's an 18-year-old high schooler (and, since it's a teacher and not professor, I'm assuming this isn't a college teacher), that's still a little ... YEAH, SO IGNORING THAT, teacher Taeyeon is a pretty hot concept.

Point proven.

Starting here is the area of, well, I guess, 'no pretty much no matter what' kinda deal.

Best friends mother This one, although it's not wrong in any way, just sorta feels like you're doing something bad. Like, imagine finding out your best friend was secretly sleeping with your mother behind your back ... yeah, that wouldn't be too fun to find out. At least, for me.

Step mother This would imply that she's married to my father - this is a step removed from below, Mother-in-law, which I have below, but ... yeah, not too keen on helping someone cheat, especially if I know my partner's significant other, and especially if that significant other is someone I care about.

Mother-in-law Taeyeon being my Mother-in-law assumes that I'm married, which would mean that I would, presumably, be in love with my wife, which would not be ... very conducive to wanting to fuck her, I'd say :p

Baby sitter when you were younger This is basically pedophilia...? I mean, the hot baby sitter is a trope and everything, but ... yeah ... as I said, sorry, but I'm taking this extremely literally xD

Mother Everyone knows the Oedipus Complex that speculates that a man is most attracted to a woman that is similar to his own mother (there's probably more to this, but that's what's relevant here), but if I'm understanding this properly, it's not saying that the man is attracted to his own mother, just a woman like her. All that to say, yeah ... if Taeyeon was my mother, I'd maybe be a lucky boy because I don't have a reason to suspect that Taeyeon would be a bad mother, but I wouldn't want to have sex with her if I were her son.

Older sister In my books, older sister is definitely worse than mother, especially since I have an older sister and I'm pretty close to her. As much as both are pretty repulsive, I'd say siblings are more likely to be closer and therefore, it's weirder/worse in this scenario?

I guess the 'appeal' of Mother/Baby sitter is that this woman is your caretaker and that translates into sexual attraction, or something? Idk, tbh.

OK BACK TO WRITING

[flowersforthemachines]

Useless Veilguard fact of the day: Day 57

It looks like you were originally able to craft items when interacting with the faction merchants. Each merchant has an assortment of lines about crafting items - for example, they can praise Rook for their skill, comment on Rook using their tools, or just provide a general greeting or goodbye.

These lines also appear to be voiced. Though I've only extracted Vorgoth's (Doing all of them would take a lot of time, I'm not sure there's that much interest. Maybe some other day).

[Accessing the crafting screen for the first time] Vorgoth: MAKE YOUR WILL MANIFEST. [Crafting something cool] Vorgoth: WELL FORGED. Vorgoth: BEHOLD YOUR CREATION.

The text versions of lines of all other merchants can be found under the cut.

Check out the tag for more useless facts: #useless davg fact of the day!

Amylia (Veil Jumpers merchant)

[Crafting greetings] Amylia: So you like to tinker, eh? I appreciate someone who's good with their hands. Amylia: Let's see what you can do. Amylia: Watch your fingers. Amylia: Tinker away. Amylia: Making your own bits and bobs, eh? Amylia: Make something good. [Reaction to Rook crafting something] Amylia: Very nice. Amylia: Oooh, I like that. Amylia: Couldn't have done better, myself. Amylia: A fine treasure, indeed. Amylia: Now, that's a bit and a bob. Amylia: All right, then—you know what you want. Always nice to work with people of discerning tastes.

Fletcher (Antivan Crows merchant)

[Crafting greetings] Fletcher: Build away. Fletcher: Make whatever you need. Fletcher: My tools are all but unused. Fletcher: Go on. I don't mind sharing my tools. Fletcher: My workbench is free to use. Fletcher: You're welcome to use my tools. Just clean up, if you please. Fletcher: Build whatever you like. Fletcher: Mind your fingernails. Dirty work. Rook: No shame in working with your hands. Fletcher: None at all. And I'll sell you a nice scented balm when you're all done. Fletcher: More do-it-yourself plans? Fair enough, if that's what you like. Rook: You don't maintain your own supplies? Fletcher: By the time it needs repair, it's so very last-season. Fletcher: You've used my tools more than I have in the last six months. Rook: Is that why they're impeccable? Fletcher: I supply the best whether I use it or not. That's just good advertising. Fletcher: Oh, up to making your own gear? Rook: You sound disappointed. Fletcher: I respect the skill, but thankfully for my business, Crows tend to buy new. [Crafting something cool] Fletcher: That's fine handiwork. Fletcher: Can't say I've seen anyone do better. Fletcher: You're the match of any maker I know. Fletcher: Impressive work. You freelance? Fletcher: You sure you don't do this professionally? [Farewells] Fletcher: Always enjoy watching you work. Fletcher: Whenever you need to do more work, come on back. Fletcher: Come by anytime. Fletcher: My tools are always here for you. Fletcher: Come back whenever you need.

Mateo (Lords of Fortune merchant)

Mateo: If you can't loot the right gear, make it yourself. Mateo: Remember, anything can be called tactical if you paint it black. Mateo: Ancient artifacts are great, but sometimes you've gotta forge a new legend. Mateo: You want gems on that? We can do gems. Mateo: Custom job? You've got it. Mateo: When in doubt, stick a rune on it.

Lorelei's assistant (Shadow Dragons)

[Greetings] Assistant: Feel free to tinker. Assistant: Working on something? Assistant: I'll stay out of your way. Assistant: Let me know if I can help. Assistant: Oh, trying to make something? Go ahead. Use whatever you need. [Crafting something cool] Assistant: That's quite impressive! Assistant: Good work! Assistant: Wow! Look at that! Assistant: That is some fine work! [Farewells] Assistant: Done for now? Assistant: See you later, then! Assistant: See you again soon! Assistant: Come back anytime!

Holden (Grey Wardens Merchant)

[Greetings] Holden: You looking to hammer out your own stuff? Rook: If you don't mind. Holden: Feel free to borrow my tools. Good work starts with good tools. Holden: Watch your fingers. Rook: I will. Holden: Sorry. I say it on reflex. Can't imagine why. Rook: You really don't mind me using your stuff? Holden: Nah. There's a lot out there that's hard to fix. Holden: So you come here and fix something small or make a thing yourself. It feels good, right? Holden: Lots of Wardens lend a hand from time-to-time. Holden: Just remember who the expert blacksmith is. Holden: What's the plan for today? Holden: Take your time. Holden: All yours. Holden: Getting to work? Holden: If you need anything, let me know. [Crafted something cool] Holden: Looks good. Holden: It's different when you make something yourself. Holden: That's some nice work. Holden: Fine quality work. Holden: You've got an eye for this. If you're ever looking for a change in work… [Farewells] Holden: All done? Holden: Take care out there. Holden: Done for the day?

[scarybabe]

you've been working with a personal trainer, yeah? i'm in the semi-weird position of both loving large bodies and wanting to be a hardcore fitness professional. is there anything your trainer does to make you feel comfortable in, like, gym spaces and stuff? any modifications or other programming that you've found beneficial as someone who's not necessarily trying to like... slim down as much as possible?

Hell yeah! There’s a lot of things my trainer has done right.

In my consultation with her I was around 250 lbs and I explained that I didn’t want to lose weight or restrict at all, because of my history of that being unhealthy for my brain and she was fully supportive. I explained my history with weight gain to her as objectively as possible and she was the opposite of judgemental - she said she thought it was really cool that I achieved my goal of 300 pounds despite the adversity of getting there instead of making assumptions (and yes I did explain the kink part of it) 🤭

As I started weight training more intensely I did lose more weight, which was frustrating because I had to get my wedding dress altered twice 😭

instead of congratulating me for my weight loss (I was really stressed in the month leading up to the wedding, it was a lot of planning and coordinating and money being spent) she had a very harm reduction mindset, she worked with me on what I could do to slow down the loss and building better habits in my day that could help me meet my nutrition goals easier.

At first I was not very mobile honestly, she had me send her videos of my lifting form and worked with me closely to make sure I wasn’t putting myself at risk for injury and assigned me mobility stretches to do before every weightlifting session (I still do them)!

She created a safe space for me to be honest if something the assigned me was beyond my skill level and never made me feel bad for not being able to complete or do an exercise. It was hard at first not gonna lie! Just the mobility stretches alone used to wipe me out 🤣 I’ve come so far, it’s crazy to think about.

As I got more mobile, she scaled up the difficulty of my mobility stretches and exercises. She’s also increased my nutrition goals a lot since I started training and my appetite is so much better than it was when I first started (I could write a book on how your body has to adapt to transitioning out of hardcore feedism but I’ll save that for another post) 💕

We have weekly check ins where I submit a form that covers all my basic functioning and tell her how my week went, strengths and weaknesses and she replies with a 7-10 min long video addressing everything and explaining any adjustments she’s making to my program, and advising me on whatever I ask her about. She’s also available all week in the coaching app if I need recommendations for pre-rave stretches (for example) or nutrition tips, or help with my form. We have a weekly group call on zoom where myself + her other clients discuss whatever topic she’s covering and share our wins and losses (last week it was “bite size habits”) ☺️ she also has ADHD and is very neurodivergent friendly in her coaching style.

Cost for the program averages out to I think $7-$9 a day? It’s not super cheap but she’s been invaluable to me in terms of staying on track to maintain my weight and gain muscle. If I feel depressed or stressed I can’t eat, and knowing she’s going to be checking to make sure I’m hitting my macros every day is good motivation to just power through on days I’m not feeling up to it. Accountability helps a lot. ❤️