#if gifs can even be made with high enough quality to see the differences

[lazycats-stuff]

I love the Brazilian batboy fanfic, consider doing it with a Venezuelan batboy in the future please 🙌🏻

Alright, lets do it! This gif is from Giphy since there are no good gifs regarding Venezuela on Tumblr so I thought why not get something from the internet. Also, this is shorter than usual since the heat is killing me. Officially, I swear. I want winter back.

Summary: (Y/N) is Venezuelan. Enough said.

Warnings: none really

Bruce strikes once again with his mister worldwide status. Turns out that Bruce had another kid in Venezuela. At this point, everyone was already over it and had no intentions of even getting aggravated in the slightest.

Even Damian, the only biological son up until this point didn't get pissed. He said it wasn't worth the aggravation and went on with his day calmly and peacefully. Bruce was suspicious beyond belief, but eventually said that a calm Damian is a great Damian. He really didn't expect this reaction from Damian, but he choose not to question it.

Either way, with everything going on with in Venezuela, he wanted to bring his son here, to the USA, so he can attend great college once he finishes high school. Immigration might be a bitch, but hey, he has money, connections and people who have power owe him favors. And besides, anyone seeing his name will make them move faster.

Sure, it sounds entitled and out of touch type of shit, but Bruce couldn't care at this point. Immigration is the worst type of torture in modern day society. But honestly. Anyone trying to move or get a visa or a citizenship, knows it's the biggest hassle and annoyance in the world.

But either way, Bruce brought (Y/N) to Gotham and (Y/N) was working on getting his American citizenship. (Y/N) was slowly getting there. He knew English, but when it came to Spanish, he talked insanely fast. Insanely. When he got mad, he was talking faster than Flash could run.

Jason found it amusing as hell. Sometimes he would intentionally make (Y/N) mad to see how fast he could make him to talk. Everyone else stayed out of it, trying to see how they could get along with (Y/N).

Dick noticed that (Y/N) was warm towards everyone, welcoming to whoever came to him and open. That was nice compared to Americans. Dick adored those qualities in him and in people. Sure, the world is a cold place and you can't trust everyone, but sometimes you need to be open.

Tim loved how loudly (Y/N) would talk. It would keep him up when he needed to be up late. Sometimes it would scare him and he would jump like a scaredy cat sometimes, but he enjoyed the loudness of his voice and how it would keep him up when they talked.

Damian loved how he prioritized family. Despite not being blood related to everyone, he treated them like that. No difference. Whatever they needed, (Y/N) would tried to help them all. Damian respected that more than (Y/N) could ever know.

And, Jason loved how (Y/N) could party his ass off. Jason has never met a person who could party like him. Just let loose and have fun with his family or friends he has made here. It was just... Cool and Jason wished he was so cool and so relaxed.

However, Bruce didn't know that all of Gotham would go insane for his son. He didn't know that Venezuelan people were all pretty. Well, not all, but a good majority. He didn't expect the entire city to just talk about his son as if he was a piece of meat...

Sure, (Y/N) had Bruce's looks and his mother's looks and sure, (Y/N) was Latino, but this is slowly but surely getting out of hand. (Y/N) didn't mind, knowing he looked great, but Bruce was worried. As always. He always worried about his children. No matter how old they are, Bruce is always worried.

Sexualization of children is never okay. No matter the gender. And no matter the age as well.

But all in all, (Y/N) adapted to American culture quite well. Sure, there were weird moments where (Y/N) wondered what the hell were Americans thinking, but all in all, (Y/N) was doing great.

[dxstopiaa]

Impetous Injuries

Synopsis: Caring for an irresponsibly injured man was not on your plan for today, so why was he at your door?

Characters: Morax, Xiao, Childe and Scaramouche x Fem! Reader!

Warnings: Zhongli as an archon and Scaramouche as fatui again, Childe’s part has angst/comfort. description of injuries and trauma. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ [i needed to post something sfw and clear my drafts! <3]

Morax

It wasn’t every day that you’d hear the hasty pummel of closed fists against your front door and even rarer was it to witness one of the Seven requesting for your help— a meagre goddess who tried to live a tranquil, joyous life to the best of her ability.

“I fear i may of overestimated myself, dear.” Morax’s throaty voice could be made out from behind the door, notably lower in volume. Neither was this the first time, yet something felt different than usual. Of course, the archaic god was prone to injury in battle, but upon opening the door, he was more maimed than you had thought.

Brunette strands of hair plastered to his chest and forehead—covered in elemental ichor and sweat. His limbs were littered in a spectrum of wounds, bruises and incisions alike. His robes of ivory reduced to scraps of crimson-dyed fabric, blood from who knows where drenched his torso.

In short, you were responsible for an Archon who had gotten himself too deep into bloodlust. As always. Your lips pressed together before you let out a displeased hum. You just wished he would of cared for himself better.

“Morax…are you even aware of the severity of your injuries? Thank Celestia no one had attacked you on the way here!” You scolded, arms crossed as an attempt to look irked enough for the irresponsible man to come to his long-lost senses.

Though to him, you just looked adorable, he had always been fond of your gentle heart in the midst of a war. Therefore, Rex Lapis knew you valued him too much to leave him isolated in the dangerous depths of the night, entering your abode and placing a bloodstained hand on your pretty face. You didn’t grimace from his touch.

“I’m truly sorry, but you’re the only one i can trust with healing, my goddess.” You felt your knees buckle at the endearment, rather embarrassed that such a high-status being was addressing you as superior. He just never learns, does he?

“Please stop the flattery, my Lord. Instead, follow me so i can actually treat you.” Another exasperated sigh from your lips, you gently held his finger and guided him to the steaming bath, collecting all relevant tonics and herbs in your store room and returning back to the wounded god.

Your heart lept in your chest seeing this he was, quite literally, already fully undressed. Oh, so shamelessness was another quality he lacked? It most certainly didn’t help that he could barely even fit his tall frame into the jade tub, glowing aureate arms casually resting on the outskirts of the container. You felt your mind begin to wander as did your trail of vision.

“Ah, my injuries are starting to sting slightly—Hm? What has you so timid?” Morax’s tone felt unfamiliar to you, seeing the God of contracts so relaxed might of stunned you beyond repair. You dismissed yourself, dampening a medicated towel and wiping it gently over his chiseled chest—as calmly as one could in such a predicament.

Grunts and groans followed with some obscenities of his at the stinging serums painted your cheeks scarlet. Genuine or not, you didn’t think you could hold your composure for another minute. Even worse— the youthful archon wouldn’t remove his piercing critical gaze from your face, analysing every single movement in your expression.

“Admire me and my lips all you’d like afterwards, but i’m in a dire condition at the moment, dearest.”

“It’s not like that, Morax! Halt such talk and stay quiet whilst i treat you! Please!”

Xiao

Stubborn.

The quality that the Yaksha had always been described as. Especially by you. Yet he never listened to your pleads to let you help him.

Xiao hesitantly loitered around the door to your estate, a gloved hand lingering on the doorknob for longer than it should have. He’s been doubting his feelings of just ‘friendship’. He’s seen human couples— so loving and expressive it squeezes his heart in a manner so painful, you deserved better than a man who didn’t even think to enter your home, so he discarded his thought.

Especially one who would turn up with blood around his clothes, a deep wound on his side too.

Just as he contemplated leaving, the wooden barrier inched open. You held a miniature basket, a lengthy list in the other. Xiao was keen to disappear at that moment. Despite this, you were quick to drop them both to encase the adeptus in a tight embrace.

“Xiao!” An excited exclamation from you as you rested your cheek against his shoulder. Had you noticed his injuries at all, or was it pure blinded excitement to greet him? Crimson still trickled down his abdomen, but you had wrapped your arms around his waist.

A surge of pain and discomfort flashed through his body— he couldn’t stop the loud gasp he let out when your arm grazed his injury.

“Agh!” Xiao cried out, causing you to recoil back into place upright upon the doorstep. Your delicate features morphed into a state of horror whilst he stumbled back. Your sleeves were coated with vermillion fluid, eyes fluttering to the yaksha’s expression and back to your stained clothing.

“This isn’t anything major, i’ll leave myself to treat it—” You barely let the usually vigilant adeptus finish his sentence before grabbing his wrist and pulling him close gently, barricading him from vanishing into a flurry of karmic debt.

“No. I can’t let you go until you’ve recovered well, you can barely walk upright Xiao!” You smoothed your thumb over his cheek tenderly, distracting him that you were, in fact, taking him inside into the safety of your abode.

The adeptus’ face was warm— tentatively watching your own lips so close to his. Your kindness was irreplaceable, your heart was too soft for his liking, but he’s never once felt unwelcome in your presence. Xiao had witnesses the false sympathy humans showed off towards him, yet you’ll always be willing to listen.

Now you’re treating his wounds? Why are you doing this?

“I’m running out of my medicine, i’ll visit Bubu Pharmacy later, just have these now, please?” You offered, suddenly noticing the flush over his cheeks. Maybe he has a fever too? He accepted the concoction of herbs, hesitantly consuming the mixture. Xiao, having noticed your obvious staring at his chest, shifted around in his seat.

“Xiao…?” Archons, he just looked so anxious it’s endearing, you’d hate to push him from his comfort zone but he hasn’t got much of a choice.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to have to…remove your shirt—” You meekly stated, ashamedly hanging your head down at your lap as he cleared his throat numerous times. That just sounded so disrespectful! What if he took it the wrong way? You resided within the embarrassing realm of overthinking.

“As you wish, but be quick, i’d rather not have you ogling me.”

“I do not!”

Childe

Two in the morning.

That was the time your beloved decided to show up— weak, timid thumps of his open palm across the wooden barrier. Childe knew he had already messed up, clenching his jaw with anxious anticipation. What would you say? Yesterday, tired tears flowed down your cheeks. It hurt him to leave his care in your hands rather than his own. Would you do anything at all? Would you leave him lonely in the cold?

The harbinger’s questions were answered for him. Your body slumped over, distress tugged at your eyebrows. You stared at every injured limb of his.

Merciless splotches of the infamous crimson liquid matched his scarf, ripped and loosely tied against his thigh. A tourniquet, ideal for hiding the severity of the injury below it. His bruised skin was as lifeless as the pale snow cascading to the floor, where his eyes stayed put. A classic snezhnayan man fitting right into his war-strife homeland. If it wasn’t his own blood, it was the metallic scent of other’s. The unpleasant smell was overpowering, that migraine of yours worsening and nausea invading your stomach.

You remained blank and wordless, firmly securing one of his least injured arms over your shoulders and guiding him to the armchair. Childe hated seeing you like this— yet he never changed his ways. He didn’t know what hurt more, the pre-assembled medical kit laying on the side cabinet, or the two cold dishes set upon the dining table that went uneaten from hours ago. He messed up, for sure.

“Darling…Please, say something.” Tartaglia breathily beseeched, clasping a wounded hand over yours. You shook him off. You yourself didn’t know what you were feeling. Shock? Well, this was the third time this week, so no. Hurt? Something deeper than that.

“Say what? Childe, you just never learn!” Your sudden outburst made him flinch, and your heart panged with guilt—yet it was never strong enough to overcome your fury.

“Two days ago you arrived with major burns, the next with a broken wrist and today barely making it alive? Tomorrow will you even come back to me? Or will your coworkers deliver me your death instead?” Your tears swelled up in your eyes, distracting him from you by pressing the antiseptic towel against his stab wounds.

Childe hissed, unsure if the sting was from your harsh words or from the medication. His heart felt as if someone had squeezed it tight, the truth pained him to hear, especially from his wife’s mouth. He had kept you up for so long, losing your rest and throwing you into an abyss of constant worry. He deserved it. How could he ignore you?

“Love, i’m so sorry, i beg you, you can do anything to me. Ignore me, hate me or punish me for all i care, just don’t leave me alone…please.” His cerulean eyes held no lies, staring into your distant ones with desperate longing.

He clinged onto your torso, near sobbing into the crook of your neck. The frantic nature of his words broke your trance, anger dissipating with each tear of your own. Soon enough, your arms instinctively raised to wrap him in your embrace. Staying infuriated with him was futile.

His half-conscious pleads ceased as he calmed down, exhaustion catching up to the young Harbinger. You combed his matted tresses with your fingers, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead to lull him into comfort.

“I’m sorry, Childe, just take better care of yourself, okay?” You reassured, his confirmation in response felt real this time. He rested his heavy head in your lap, enjoying the warmth of your hand on his cheek.

Your husband wouldn’t give up your company for the world—if he had to cease his pursuit of strength for you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Scaramouche

“What, are you just going to stand there staring at me? Let me in.”

A rude introduction from an even more arrogant man. Scaramouche stood lazily upright at the entrance to your estate, somehow expecting you to take him in your arms and nourishment. Expecting you not to question him. Too bad you did just that.

“Yes, i will. Care to explain why you’re here?” You scoffed in an equally aggressive manner. Your eyes trailed up his legs and waist, exposed and bruised— if that was possible for a puppet. Nothing spilled from said wounds, but the Harbinger discreetly winced from the pain. He remained there silent, opting not to share any details.

“Shut up, this isn’t my fault.” Scaramouche almost yelled, his unexpected outrage igniting irritation through your body.

Oh? You clenched your teeth together in frustration. Your grasp on the doorknob was deathly, you were in no mood to deal with his attitude nor his own problems. “Then this isn’t my concern.”

And with that, you forced the door shut— well, as far as you could. Scaramouche pushed the door open with his foot and arm, a look of disbelief and confusion gleamed in his eyes. How dare you? Those words he wanted to spit at you, but all that fell was a single word.

“Wait!” The harbinger exclaimed, forcing his way through the gap in door. He couldn’t believe himself. First, he dared to show up to your house and now he’s begging for your help? He felt pathetic, truly.

Resistance was pointless against him. Letting your ex-boyfriend back into the very same house he’d swear he’d never step into again. But being ruthlessly ignorant was his characteristic, not yours. Scaramouche had obviously forfeited whatever ego he latched onto— you weren’t that cruel as to leave an injured man by himself.

“I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t of been so blunt.” His head, for once, was inclined towards the wooden floor, indigo eyes barely meeting yours. It was an apology nonetheless. “I mean, for everything, even for how i acted before.”

Scaramouche was…genuine? Bewilderment accumulated within your judgement, your heart softened. You knew this feeling— you knew you shouldn’t be feeling sympathetic for the harbinger you used to love so dearly, the man who left you without a valid answer. It couldn’t be helped.

The more that Scaramouche longingly gazed at you, the more he desired to be kept in your arms just like he used. His cold exterior melted away like treaded snow, instead your footsteps trampled over it. He couldn’t justify the guilt-ridden sensation plucking away at each inch of his body. He found himself on that day, emotional, again.

Scaramouche doesn’t act like this. Kunikuzushi does.

If he had to surrender his dignity to take you back as his, he’ll do it, just this once. His fingers, still blistered and scarred from earlier yet appearing so delicate on his porcelain skin grazed your jaw. Soft touches and gestures lulled him into safety within your embrace. An action he missed far too much.

Kunikuzushi latched tightly onto you in his mindless stupor of mental and physical distress, not coming to terms with he consequences of his behaviour later on. You found his conduct abnormal—  if it was fear of losing you again, or simple loss of informed conscious, you wouldn’t know.

Raised, superficial gashes of violet and burgundy littered his pained countenance. You never thought that wounds could look as pretty as his. Not a single tear was shed for a vessel such as he, but his grasp on you slipped once the puppet fell into a peaceful slumber.

With your heedful care and more ointments than preferred, he had recovered by the next morning and those surreal memories wafted back to him. Two sentences wavered in his mind.

“Don’t disregard my words from yesterday, i meant it. Whether you accept it, it’s up to you…”

“…If it results in less harm for you, i’ll listen to those words from my mouth thousands of times over.”

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (IV)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — Your relationship with Adar develops and you already see he is going to be a completely different kind of a partner than Sauron was. You're trying to gain your new husband's trust and you accompany him and his army during the attack on Tirharad where you get to witness the Orcs' battlefield havoc for the first time with your own eyes.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I am hyperfixating on this fic so much and it feels amazing to be so devoted to writing again. In general, the brainrot is real when it comes to The Rings of Power and I have not expected it but it is the most welcome. I already loved Season One but nothing could have prepared me for Season Two! 💕 Because of that, this fic will most likely have more parts than I have planned, so be warned already. I also might have an idea for a fic with Annatar but I would rather make it a long one-shot instead of starting yet another multichapter... But we will see... 🤔 I start my job soon and I honestly have no idea how I will be able to focus there to learn all my tasks if all I can think of is Adar and Sauron lol

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship, every trigger from S01E06 (death, battle, violence) + Reader is not very fond of the humans and considers them a lower form of life (she is Sauron's lover, okay? I do not share her beliefs because I am a human, too)

WORD COUNT — 5,570

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (IV)

Tirharad was close but the Orcs could not travel freely in daylight. Even hidden by the thick forest, when the sun rose high up enough, they had to hide. So, you were standing by your horse and watching them setting up a small camp in the middle of the woods. Adar was standing nearby and you could overhear his conversation with Glûg.

“Are we attacking tonight, Lord Father?” The Orc asked.

“Tomorrow,” Adar answered and squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Tonight I shall send the scouts to observe the village,” he explained and Glûg nodded at him before going away to tell the news to his friends.

Adar approached you and you slightly flinched, which was an unplanned and uncontrolled reaction. He spotted it and froze for a short while, refusing to get any further. You were surprised to see that he seemed to respect your personal space and he was ready to back off any moment after realising you were not comfortable with him being around you now. On the other hand, considering the tortures he had been through, it made sense that he was sensitive about the concept of violating someone’s space.

When you first had seen him, he had terrified you. And the idea of marrying him had been the most dreadful. But now you were slowly realising that as cruel as he was to his enemies – he would not be a husband as brutish.

“What am I doing here?” You asked him, quietly. Then, you looked up to meet his gaze. “If it was your plan to destroy Ostirith and its habitants all along… Why save me? Why take me with you?” You asked, genuinely wondering.

“We share certain… qualities,” Adar explained softly. “Loneliness, attraction to darkness. You were trying to tempt me so I would agree to your father’s offer and marry you. And you have tempted me indeed because I’ve been lonely for a few centuries too long now,” he admitted. “And it was the most endearing when I realised you were doing it all for your mother.”

You looked down, not being able to hold his gaze any longer when he mentioned your mother. Yes, it was true that you had been sacrificing yourself for her as well. But what truly had been in the back of your mind was Sauron and the fact that getting close to Adar and his army of Orcs could help your lover in his future schemes.

And perhaps Adar indeed was sick with loneliness if he couldn’t see how truly rotten you were.

“Lord Father, your tent is ready,” one of the Orcs approached you and pointed at the largest tent for Adar to rest in.

“Thank you. Prepare one for my wife, too,” Adar nodded at him.

“There is no need. That one is big enough for us two,” you pointed out and walked inside without looking back.

You looked around and sat on the wooden chair by the small table. The Orcs had no home, so they were travelling with some furniture in case they would spend their days in camps like this one. It was a very poor setting but you were not one of the Elves who had grown up in the rich and beautiful realms like Eregion or Mithlond, so you were not complaining.

Adar walked inside, carrying a heavy wooden chest with some of his belongings. You watched him place it on the ground nearby the bed.

“These are too important to lose or leave unsupervised,” he informed you and straightened his back before looking down at your face. “If you do not wish to be in my presence for now, I understand. I thought you would hate me. Perhaps you do but you do not show it as fiercely as I suspected you would.”

“I feel bad for the Elves you slaughtered inside Ostirith just because they were unfortunate enough to work under my father,” you admitted. “But watching this fortress tumbling to the ground was an oddly satisfying experience to me,” you added and Adar furrowed his brows. “It had been like a prison too many times,” you explained.

In fact, you mourned Ostirith a little but no amount of admitting it would change what had happened and you did not want him to see your weaknesses. You wanted to earn his trust as much as you could. His and his children’s.

“What do you keep there?” You changed the subject lazily and pointed at the wooden chest with your chin. You truly were curious but you wanted to ask in a careless manner, so he would not get too suspicious.

Adar hesitated for a moment before crouching down next to the chest and opening it. You had to fight every muscle in your body from trying to get a better look inside and to keep appearing unbothered.

But when he lifted up the Iron Crown, you gasped. A thrill went down your spine; a malicious shiver as your heart clenched inside your chest. You could smell Sauron’s blood on it and you immediately realised how your beloved had died. It was a twisted way to get rid of him and quite poetic, too – you had to admit it.

“You recognise the item,” Adar pointed out.

“Has my father not mentioned my education and intuition?” You cracked a nervous smile. “How did you get Morgoth’s crown?”

Adar only smiled at that and hid the item again, locking the chest with a key that he kept with himself.

“It is strong enough to kill Sauron – it has defeated him once. Not fully, so it seems. But with the help of even stronger magic, it could work again and this time it could finish the job,” he explained. “Now you know how important this chest is. I have shown it to you in case something happens to me.”

Now it was your time to smile mysteriously but you only nodded at him to show him you understood completely.

“Do you wish to rest now, my Lady?” Adar asked as he straightened his back and stood up. “I shall go to my children and answer their questions about the attack,” he said.

“I have nothing else to do, it seems, my Lord,” you sighed and leaned back on the chair as you watched him approaching the way out of the tent. “Unless…” You stopped him and he turned his head around. “Unless you would not mind my company. I am curious about the attack myself,” you added. “I am your wife,” you reminded him. “Your equal. I wish to stand by you always instead of hiding away in tents, camps and woods; left in the darkness of not knowing what is happening around me. I have never wished to be this kind of woman,” you stood up as if you were challenging him.

“You take matters into your own hands,” Adar commented. “I have seen that already back in Ostirith. You may join me, wife,” he emphasised the last word and it sounded a bit like mockery but you also spotted a hint of affection.

He extended his hand carefully towards you, still remembering how you had flinched before but this time you were in full control of your body, so you approached him, although instead of taking his hand, you put yours on his arm like a viper snake tightening its hold around the victim.

But your victim was powerful and treacherous, therefore you had to be the most cautious.

Adar deciding to attack in the evening of the next day only prolonged the anxious anticipation. You had never taken a part in any battle of this sort before.

When you had told your husband that you had never wanted to be this kind of woman – hiding away and waiting – that had been a lie. You had been like this with Sauron whenever he had been scheming and plotting somewhere. All you had been doing was warming up the bed for him. And whenever he had been back… He had been the most hungry and thirsty for you. That was all you had been caring about with Sauron. That, and to become his Queen.

But the cruel fate had taken your lover away from you and now it was time to prove your love and devotion to him. To help him – as simple as it was. You would bring the army of the Orcs to him and you would destroy your own realm for him on the way if you had to.

Sauron had always been quite… chatty. He had not only been drowning you with the countless affections and sweet words but he had also been sharing lots of his plans with you while playing with your hair or caressing the curves of your body. And perhaps he had been thinking that you had not been listening to any of it but it was not true. You had been a devoted listener.

And you knew his plan for the Southlands was to take over these lands and to make them his own terrifying realm. You knew his plans for your home were the most horrific and yet you liked the idea of ruling Middle-earth from the ruins of your homeland. It would be a symbol for you – a purge of the Southlands and Ostirith – your personal prison being turned into ashes and you becoming the Queen of them.

However horrific it would be, you knew it would not matter. You would rule alongside your lover and that was all you needed. You could be his Queen in the most precious gemstones and you could be his Queen in rags. You could rule over the beautiful Elves and you could rule over the filthy Orcs and it made no difference to you. What mattered was being by his side and getting intoxicated with his love and his worship.

Thinking of Sauron fondly, you wondered if you should try to wear your tempting nightgown again for this night as the sounds of the partying Orcs were reaching you from the outside of the tent. But then you thought that perhaps the nightgown had the opposite effect on Adar who simply did not like seeing you trying to seduce him. So, you just stripped yourself down to an underdress and rested on the bed, looking bored as you played with the necklace around your neck.

When Adar entered the tent, he tilted his head at the sight of you and then he sighed, sitting by the table and opening the notes from the scouts that had been waiting for him.

You kept observing him from the corner of your eye but he seemed to be uninterested in you, so you rolled your eyes and looked away. For a man claiming to be so lonely, he was also very cold. And you knew that in the eyes of the Valars, you were still unwed because the marriage was not consummated. However, you did not want to push him into anything because it could cause his mistrust and anger.

“I am scared of my uncertain position here,” you finally admitted and he froze before turning around to look at you, confused, still holding the piece of paper in his hand.

“What do you mean, my Lady? You are my wife,” he shook his head.

“No, I am not… yet,” you swallowed thickly and squeezed the pendant of your necklace in your hand.

You had no idea how to seduce sexually or convince him to join you in bed because Sauron had never taught you any of this – he had always been an eager lover.

Adar sighed and left the table to sit on the edge of the bed as he looked down at you. He extended his hand to brush your cheeks with his fingertips and then he allowed his hand to go lower to your chest, which was rising up and down in the pace that was going quicker now. In that moment, you could see clearly in his eyes that he desired you, so you could not understand why he was stopping himself from going further.

“Is it because of something Morgoth had done to you?” You asked, trying to sound gentle and hoping it would not anger him.

“No,” Adar shook his head with a very gentle hint of a smile. “It is because you do not want it willingly,” he admitted and retreated his hand. “When I agreed to marry you, I knew you were being forced by your father. You could have been assuring me that you wanted it but I knew you were only doing it for your mother and now, when she is safe, you are doing it to ensure your own position,” he kept explaining and you couldn’t help being surprised.

He was one of the most dangerous people you had ever met and surely one of the most brutal and yet he refused to harm his own wife in any way even if it was not love that had bonded you two but loneliness and the shared rot of the soul.

“Do you know that arranged marriage is against the Elven customs?” Adar asked with a sad smile.

“We are going against all Elven customs, haven’t you noticed, my Lord?” You swallowed thickly and lifted yourself up on your elbows.

“You are wearing my ring and I am wearing yours. We are wed for eternity no matter what,” Adar stood up to leave the edge of your bed. “And eternity is a long time for you to eventually warm yourself up to the idea of sharing your bed with me. And if not, I shall survive,” he shrugged his arms. “There is more to life than the pleasure of the flesh.”

You opened your mouth to say something – anything – and to deny his words, to keep tempting him somehow. But Adar interrupted you and saved you from any further embarrassment.

“Speaking of survival, I have something for you. Gifts,” Adar pointed at the chest that had been put inside the tent not so long ago by one of the Orcs but you had been ignoring it until now.

“I did not expect you to be a husband who would spoil his wife with gifts,” you tried to tease as you sat up fully now and watched him open the chest.

“These are not traditional gifts by any means,” Adar warned you and he approached the bed again to hand you a slim and beautifully ornamented dagger, made of black metal.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. In fact, it nearly made you sick and you tried very hard not to show how much this item had affected your senses.

It was Sauron’s dagger; the one he had been carrying with him most of the time. Adar had to take it away from him alongside the crown when he had murdered your beloved. You knew that dagger – you had been watching Sauron with it countless of times. And Sauron himself had been using it on you many times before to increase the pleasure of your intimate moments. That dagger meant the world to you and to hold it in your hand was like holding the hand of your lover again after all those centuries of separation and yearning.

“I-it is beautiful,” you stuttered out and took it, trying to compose yourself.

“You seem to be uneasy,” Adar furrowed his brow and you quickly came up with an excuse as you looked up at him with a trembling lower lip.

“It is of great beauty but I can sense a tremendous darkness within it,” you explained.

“It belonged to Sauron,” Adar admitted. “If it is too corrupted for you, I can take it from you and have a custom one made,” he assured you. 

“I can handle it,” you shook your head and squeezed your hand around the blade’s hilt. “It was just a slight disturbance when I first touched it,” you answered. “Thank you, that gift is very thoughtful, my husband,” you forced a smile and Adar sighed with relief. He extended his hand to gently grab your chin and caress your cheek before he walked away to the chest once again.

And when he turned around one more time, you gasped once again at the sight of a black breastplate. It was Elven – you recognised the ornaments in the shapes of leaves immediately.

“It belonged to one of the Elves we killed on the way. We collect their armour to later transform the pieces into the items we find useful but this breastplate I ordered to paint black since it might suit your size,” Adar admitted. “You march with the army and you need to be protected from the blades and arrows of our enemies,” Adar placed the breastplate on the chair next to the bed but you already stood up, all ready to wear it and see for yourself.

He assisted you in putting it on and you had no mirror to see how you looked, so you had to rely on his opinion on it.

“And?” You asked, excitedly.

“I think it fits you well, my Lady,” Adar nodded and you smiled widely at him. “And I see the gifts do please you.”

“Of course they do. So far, the books have been my weapons, but this feels quite empowering,” you admitted and tried to get a glimpse of your appearance in the reflection of your dagger’s blade.

Sauron had only been gifting you jewellery, dresses and nightgowns that later would end up torn or cut up with this very dagger. Sometimes, he had given you a book when he had wanted you to study it for him to help him expand his knowledge. And as much as you loved being spoiled and worshipped by him in this way, you also found it very dignifying to receive gifts of this sort from your husband.

“I want my wife to be respected not only because of being my spouse but because of who she is on her own. I want the whole Middle-earth to see the Dark Lady that you are,” Adar confessed in the Quenya language while he stood behind you and you felt his hands on your hips as he leaned in to whisper into your ear. You watched his distorted reflection in the blade of your dagger and in that moment, you swore, you truly wanted him and it scared you because it could mean that it was not Sauron whom you loved but the promise of power he had been presenting you with.

You felt the small amount of pain from squeezing the blade too tightly and it brought you back to reality. You shook these thoughts off and took a deep breath in. Of course you loved Sauron – you loved everything about him. Every inch of you craved and missed him to the point that you ended up caressing the hilt of the dagger for the whole night long, trying to feel the remains of his fingertips.

You have observed the fire of the burning villages from the Ostirith’s watchtower but now you were experiencing the Orcs’ havoc for the first time personally, walking into burning Tirharad alongside your husband. Dead human bodies scattered under your feet while the rooftops of the houses burnt as the Orcs kept destroying everything on their way as if they were in a frenzy, chanting the word nampat. 

You were wearing your new breastplate over your black dress and you had the dagger attached to it on your hip in case you needed it but there were no humans around anymore even though they had to fight bravely since the ground was also full of the dead bodies of the Orcs.

You were careful with your steps and it felt as if you watched the scene in slow motion – in a way, you were alone in the middle of this small hell. You let Adar walk past you as your own pace slowed down. Those were the lands your father had been the guardian of. Now they were burning and you only watched.

No, you didn’t just watch. You participated in it. You had brought death to the village of Tirharad.

“Is that what you wish to be?” You joined your husband’s side again. “The King of ashes?” You asked.

“I do not wish to be a King,” he remarked, “and my children do prefer the ashes.”

You joined the Orcs that were trying to get inside the tavern where the remaining villagers seemed to be hiding and they had barricaded themselves. However, it was only a matter of time when the Orcs would finally be able to open the wooden doors.

You felt a thrill of anticipation and excitement when they succeeded. You were not quite sure what was the item your husband was seeking – as much as he trusted you with some things and had even shown you the crown of Morgoth, he also kept some information hidden from you.

You took a step ahead but Adar’s hand stopped you from walking further by taking you by your wrist as the Orcs ran inside, attacking the villagers.

“Do not rush, my Lady,” he scolded you gently. “Let my children take them over first. You would make an easy target,” he pointed out and even though his words hurt your pride a little, you knew he was right and he had only done it to protect you.

You nodded your head at him and you waited a moment before Adar let go of your hand and walked inside the tavern. You could hear how quiet it got and you understood why since he had that effect on people. You took a deep breath in and straightened your back before following him, ready to face all those humans and make your appearance as Adar’s Dark Lady for the first time in public.

But when you walked inside, there was only one person that you could keep your eyes on as you gasped quietly at the sight of him. He was being held by two Orcs and his eyes widened at the sight of you, too.

“Arondir…” You whispered his name. “I thought you were dead,” you admitted.

He had not returned from one of his scouting missions and that had been one of many such cases lately when the Orcs had overtaken these lands. You all had mourned him already in Ostirith and you personally had been very sad about him in particular because you considered him to be one of your closest friends inside the fortress.

“My Lady…” Arondir was clearly confused to see you like this. “I thought the same of you when we watched Ostirith fall,” he admitted. “I have mourned you.”

“And I have mourned you, old friend,” you nodded at him and you stood next to Adar. You finally looked at the other faces and they kept staring at you with terror.

They knew you. You did not know them but they knew about you. Your father had been no King but he had been the protector and the guardian of these lands and you were his only daughter – a beautiful Elven maiden walking around the forests or riding her horse through this realm, sometimes talking to its habitants on the way. You were a part of their stories and myths, their songs and their legends and in their eyes you were a Princess. 

Now, they could not comprehend why you were standing next to the man who was the very reason of their doom.

However, no one dared to ask any question. Not even Arondir and you just knew he had to be dying of curiosity to know what had happened. Just like you were pretty curious to find out why he had never made it back to Ostirith, which seemed to had been his own choice.

In the meantime, after observing your interaction with Arondir, Adar approached him slowly, staring at your friend with the most intensity.

“What I seek. Give it to me,” Adar said in the Quenya language. 

“Let them go. I will consider it,” Arondir answered in the same speech and no trace of fear was spotted upon his face. You knew that your husband would not get whatever he wanted easily because you knew Arondir and you were aware of his stubborn and courageous nature. You were afraid it would lead him to his death now and that was the loss you would grieve surely, especially after witnessing it with your own eyes.

Suddenly, you started to think that, perhaps, being this kind of woman – who would stay behind and wait… Perhaps it would be better. Perhaps Sauron had been protecting your innocence and your fragility when he had not been taking you with him anywhere. Perhaps he had not wanted anything else except for him to corrupt you.

Adar nodded his head at the Orcs and the ones who had human villagers at the ends of their blades began to use their weapons and kill these poor people.You tried your best to remain unbothered by it but your heart pounded inside of your chest. You could see some of the people who were exclaiming in fear were also looking up to you to help them but you could not. You could not risk this fragile thread of trust that connected you with your husband.

And, unfortunately to them, no human life was worthy enough for you to risk ruining your plans to help Sauron in the end of all of this. They had to die, so the greater thing could emerge from it later. The Dark Lord who would heal all Middle-earth. Their sacrifice would be the most appreciated then.

“Why sacrifice their life for such a little thing?” Adar asked and in that moment once again you were confused by how cruel this man could be – the very same man who refused to touch you just to make sure everything between you two was consensual.

That made you feel special.

More people kept dying and Arondir screamed in anger into Adar’s face, then he looked at you, awaiting any reaction but there was none even though your eyes had to betray you a little bit and show some pain.

“Arondir, please,” you stepped in. “Just cooperate,” you tried to reason with him. “For the sake of our friendship.”

“I am no friend of yours!” Arondir spat out and even though his reaction was the most understandable, it stung your heart and angered you. 

You had never been able to handle rejection very well. The pain and compassion in your eyes turned into rage in a very brief moment. Sauron had always found your mood switches of this sort very endearing.

Adar turned around and spotted a wounded woman laying down with the blade pressed to her neck. She was oddly calm in the middle of this bloody chaos.

“The woman next,” Adar ordered and these three words seemed to have a very strong effect on Arondir. He screamed and grunted, trying to get out as the Orcs holding him struggled to keep him steady.

“No!” Some young boy shouted, most likely that woman’s son.

But you focused on Arondir as you smirked. So, it was love that had kept him away from Ostirith. It was love that had caused him to not come back. And it was love for a human to make it even more romantic in the cheapest way.

You had always heard stories of the Elves falling for the humans but you had never understood any of them. Why would any Elf fall for a creature so weak…? You were quite the opposite – you loved a Maia; nearly a God – and you often wondered what he had seen in you… a common Elf.

“Wait!” The young boy shouted at the Orc who raised his hand to strike the final blow upon the woman’s neck.

“No!” Arondir screamed at the boy and you raised an eyebrow.

“It’s under here,” the boy confessed, desperate to save his mother and Arondir looked at him with terror in his eyes. “It’s under here.”

“No…” Arondir whispered at this betrayal.

“Elves do love differently than humans,” you explained to the boy. “He might love your mother but he will still sacrifice her – and this whole village – for this one magic item,” you pointed out with mockery. “He does not understand why none of this matters to you. You just want to save your mother, am I right, boy?” You asked him and approached him as Arondir shot you a deadly glance.

But, in a way, you did not have to fake much of that compassion towards the boy. You knew what it was like to love your mother and to try to save her no matter the cost.

The boy nodded at you and you nodded at the Orc standing behind him to let him go. So he did and the boy grabbed the tool that would help him to get to the item.

“Theo!” Arondir called his name.

“I’m sorry,” the boy named Theo whispered and pried one of the stones that the floor of the tavern was made of.

Arondir kept grunting and trying to get out of the Orcs’ hold but they were stronger than him. Adar crouched down to get the small thing covered in dirty rags out of the hole under the stone as you stood above him and looked down with curiosity. When he opened it, a sword’s hilt was revealed and it had been forged in the same fashion as Sauron’s dagger or Morgoth’s crown. You could feel its dark magic as an ominous feeling sent a shiver down your spine.

Then, the loud rumbling reached your ears and you all furrowed your brows at the sound. You realised it was coming from the many horses going your way from afar. Someone was coming with an army to help the people of Tirharad.

You were scared at first. Scared of such a quick defeat. If it was an army of the Elves, your whole scheme would be over before it had even started. On the other hand, considering the fact you had been married to Adar for a few days, you could still save yourself by putting on a show of sobbing and explaining to the High King how much your awful father had been forcing you to become a part of this union. Perhaps he would believe you but you were scared of Gil-galad the most because he was so pure and made of such strong light that he would surely see through you immediately.

In such a case, it was very beneficial that your marriage at least had not been consummated.

Adar grabbed you by the sleeve of your dress and walked you out of the tavern. You could sense he was nervous as well and you two nearly bumped into Glûg standing in front of the building, anxiously waiting for his Lord Father to tell him the worrying news.

“The army is coming, Lord Father. We do not know yet who–” he started.

“I have a task for you,” Adar ignored him as he turned around to face you and Glûg shut his mouth as he looked down.

“What is it?” You asked, trembling slightly. The rumbling sound coming from the distance was growing louder as your anxiety was rising.

“You will go back to Ostirith and use your blood to extend the sword. There is a crevice – you know which one; Ostirith was your home. You have to insert the sword inside and twist it,” Adar handed you the hilt, still covered in the dirty rags.

You took it from him but you were out of words as you kept staring at him. He had to be desperate to give you out of all people such a task.

“That will open the dam,” you shook your head. “I do not understand.”

“Do it,” Adar insisted and clenched his jaw, staring at you intensely. “This way, you get to finish what I started and you get to be safe, away from the battlefield. You have no time to lose. Glûg will go with you,” he looked at at the Orc. “Look after my wife, Glûg.”

The Orc nodded at you, visibly proud of the job he was given.

You were still unsure of the whole thing, clenching the sword hilt covered in rags in your hands but you saw an opportunity of getting out of danger that was coming. However, when you looked at Adar, you realised it could be the last time you were seeing him alive and for some reason it made you sad a little bit. He was a mysterious man and you hoped to get to know some of his secrets before you would get back with Sauron.

“Are you sure you trust me with such a task?” You asked. He looked like it was a very important job to do and he cared deeply about it being done properly.

“I do not have many I can trust,” he only said.

“Clearly,” you answered and took a deep breath in before looking at Glûg. You nodded at him and you both ran away as fast as possible towards the woods.

MASTERLIST

[patchofgrey]

Welcome to Part One of my head cannons for my OTP:

Nejiten Head cannons; Part two , Part 3

Tenten Head Cannons | Neji Head Cannons | Nejiten Family Head cannons

I have a few head cannons for these two that I wanna throw out there; Writing these two for like 10 years has made me realized that no matter what situation they are in (if writing in character) they are the idealistic couple. Sure, they argue and fumble the bag sometimes, but their dynamic is FIERCE. You cannot tell me that his most trusted friend, partner, and balanced scale IS NOT IDEAL? These are my head cannons that I base my stories on while writing them in character (which took a long time to do honestly, writing in character with characters who are not fully developed is hard as fuck. But you take whatever crumbs you get.)

Plus, I would’ve changed a bunch of things in this anime but that’s besides the point

😤

Follow me on my delulu because it’s the only solulu:

1. Neji started liking Tenten prior to the second round fights of the chunnin exams. It started as admiring her skills, but grew to an emotional level as time went on. He asked her specifically to train with him because he felt that she was able to keep up and offer him a challenge in a realm he was not skilled in; weapon handling and evasion. This is going off of the fact that in one of the video games, Tenten had beat both Neji and Lee in evasion training, which in my mind, means that Neji saw Tenten for her skills and held her in very high regard even if she got clapped by Temari (which he didn’t fault her for! It was a bad match up). While they trained, Tenten would push conversation with him to the point where they started talking about their personal lives and led to Tenten finding out about the curse mark, his father, and his blind spot. Tenten had shared her deep insecurities about never being able to match up to them, or to be good enough to be like Lady Tsunade (especially after she fumbled the medical ninja training). To that, Neji ensured her that she was a great match up to himself and Lee; which is why he asked her to help train him in the first place. Since then, Neji has made it his priority to ensure that Tenten did not fall into a deep depression and would always praise her with the “you are good enough as you are.” He would shower her with subtle affection by buying her sweets when she was in a bad mood and spending some of his days off with her. In fact, it wasn’t until Gai-sensei had pointed out that Neji was attached to her, and was doting on her to make sure she kept a smile on her face. Neji would roll his eyes (as most 13-14 whatever’s they were) but kept at it well into their late teens.

2. Tenten is oblivious as fuck to Neji’s affection. I used this a lot in my Sleepless Nights fic, and sprinkled it in for some oneshots as well as hinted at it in Frequency. Tenten is an over thinker and can get inside her own head very easily. She thinks Neji is just being a good friend; arguably, she considers him a best friend since they are with each other all the time. She’s been so focused on her work that she never even considered the possibility that Neji liked her in anything past a friend. To be fair, Neji doesn’t seem like the type to make it obvious when he likes someone. And we’re about to get into that…

3. Neji is awkward as hell when it comes to anything emotion related but his love languages are Acts of Service and Gift Giving. Neji is alright with quality time, but he is a protector before anything else. I see Neji more as a “how can I help?” Or “Let me know if you need me.” He probably also gets snapped at by Tenten when he instinctively helps her and does things for her without asking if she needs help. She very much “I can do it myself” type of girl. Like I said before, he dotes on Tenten by buying her sweets and things she likes, I wouldn’t be surprised if he followed her around different weapons shops while they were on missions and helping her add to her enormous weapons collection. We also saw the acts of service come out of him when he shadowed Hinata (which was really sweet honestly. It showed his softer side and he maybe felt a bit guilty for treating her like garbage after his father died and was trying to make it up to her).

4. Tenten started realizing her feelings when they retook the chunnin exams. C’mon we all saw the look on home girl’s face when Fuu grabbed Neji’s hand and asked him to be her friend. It screamed LET GO OF MY MAN. Tenten hasn’t seen or experienced Neji interacting with other girls besides herself and Hinata (excluding Sakura and Ino who they were all friends with, but only interacted with on occasion). She didn’t like the idea of Neji getting attention from other girls.

5. Both are the jealous type. I know, I didn’t think Neji would be either, but it makes sense to me; Why would she be with anyone else other than him? Was he not her best friend? Who they shared all their deep dark feelings and secrets with? How dare someone else look at her partner in such a way? How dare they talk to her like that in front of him! For Tenten I don’t see it running extremely deep, but maybe a touch of it like stated above.

6. Lee was in on it. He absolutely knew. There’s no way Lee is so oblivious to his rival’s feelings. Especially since Gai has VERY loose lips. I wouldn’t be surprised it Lee was there when Gai had pointed out Neji’s affections for Tenten when they were gennin. Lee wanted them to be together and wanted to see them happy; Neji found comfort in knowing Tenten was alright. Tenten found comfort in Neji by trusting him with her feelings and not being harshly judged for it. I can see Lee purposefully hanging back and watching the two of them spar.

7. Neji only genuinely smiles around Tenten. Sure, he would offer a small smile of a smirk most of the time. But, around her he can actually pull his guard down and feel happy. He does offer small smiles and half smiles around Hinata and Naruto, however those big cheesing moments are usually kept in the presence of his bunheadded teammate.

8. Neji struggles to keep his feelings towards Tenten in check. He feels as though he doesn’t want to ruin their deeply rooted friendship and tends to keep a straight face when they are with a group. Tenten-again being oblivious- thinks he is just being an egotistical jerk around everyone when he’s not really like that when they are alone. He keeps some physical distance towards her as well unless they are fighting together, to prevent any mistakes and obvious signs of his affections. Perhaps he’s not into PDA either.

9. They argue. A lot. But it never ends in them feeling unheard or disrespected; these two have strong personalities and are very opinionated anyway.

10. Neji confided in Hinata about his feelings on Tenten, and Hinata promised to keep it a secret. (more on that in part 2 of my headcannons)

11. Neji tries to encourage Tenten to use her Taijutsu skills for close combat more. There’s a post circulating right now about how Tenten’s close combat abilities surpassed everyone but her team’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tenten felt discouraged by the fact that both boys on her team were already close range fighters and struggled with her gifts of long range fighting; she overthinks and puts herself into a box. Neji probably has attempted to strictly train with her (think Shippuuden…17-18 years old?) on her taijustu so she could gain some confidence. In fact, he has brought up to her that she would have beat Temari years ago if she would’ve show cases her taijustu abilities.

12. Their fighting style is more like a dance in flow. Tenten is very flexible and since her and Neji have been training since they were gennin, it would only make sense that they are so insynch with each other it almost look graceful.

I have more but imma stop there lol. I have ideas on how they first kissed, slept with each other all that stuff; how he would’ve proposed; It’ll be a very long post especially if I get into the whole “if Neji survived the war” which I do have a fanfiction on right now 👀 look at my pinned post for the link.

Thank you for joining me in my delulu 🫡 Here's part two, and Part three

[cardassianexpats]

On Good Omens, contentment and happiness

Okay, everybody, please bear with me, this might be long.

This is about something that I've noticed in the past, but that was really painfully obvious following the release/leaks of information around Good Omens season 3 over the last few days.

There seem to be two categories of people. The ones that appreciate what they have and the ones that always demand more. Let's talk about the latter category first:

I am using the word demand here because very often I am more reminded of a toddler throwing a tantrum about not being allowed more candy than a grown person that has any experience about what the world is like. I don't want to over-simplify, but for the sake of brevity, let's call this group "the pessimists".

Let's take a small detour and state the facts (as of Oct 24th):

Good Omens season 3 had been announced as 6 episodes, roughly 45min each.

(Credible) Sexual assault allegations against Neil Gaiman (NG) -- the head writer and producer -- had been made public.

Good Omens season 3 production had been "paused".

Plenty of rumors about a cancellation, lots of radio silence and finally a few days ago strategic leaks from people actually involved in the production that there might be a chance.

Amazon confirmed (today) that season 3 is going forward, without NG on the production team. The format is now one 90min episode/film/feature.

Now, people's reactions to this reveal have been mixed, very understandable, I also have very mixed feelings about this. So far so normal. From my perspective, the difference (and this is the part that is applicable to life in general, not just Good Omens S3) is which side of the "mixed" feelings wins out.

Reactions I've observed in the "pessimist" group: - Outrage that a company associated with NG is in any way legally involved. - "It is now all ruined". - "One episode can never be enough, we need MORE". - "F*ck this". - "This will be horrible". - "I don't want a film". - People outright demanding to get 6 episodes. - "I am literally crying here, my life sucks so bad".

Now, for contrast and for the sake of clarity, I'll call the other group "optimists": - "omg, I am so glad we will get closure". - "90 minutes is basically 2 full episodes". - "I trust Michael and David to make it work". - "I am so grateful to all the people behind the scenes that fought so hard to make this happen". - "The people working on the production are as dedicated fans as we are, they will make it work". - "Other awesome pieces of media are even less than 90 minutes".

To sum up my reaction to these and quote someone I reblogged earlier today (@paperpoetryandpetrichor), what did you think would happen?!

Feelings of disappointment are 100% to be expected, every fan wants as much high quality content as possible. All feelings are valid, but some are (imo) clearly healthier and more productive than others.

I am also sad that we'll "only" get the equivalent of two episodes instead of six. But you know what would have been way sad-er? Zero episodes. Or if they had kept NG involved (Amazon could have simply tried to ignore all this, as TV producers have in the past). There is an infinite plethora of other outcomes that would have been so much worse.

I for one choose to see the positive sides. We will get closure. NG not on production team. Both Michael and David on board (which, as we've also learned today was not a given, everybody had been released from their contracts!). And speaking of Michael and David, they know how much we all love this show -- and they do as well --, they know how much we love Aziraphale and Crowley. I trust that they will fight tooth and nails to make this the absolute best version it can be.

So yeah, what about the overall lesson I draw from this and from the two groups?

I believe that people who are able to focus their energy on the positive aspects of anything really live much happier lives. The same set of facts spark two totally opposite directions of thoughts. We all start out with "oh. I don't know how I feel about this new piece of information?" but where we go from there is totally up to us. For me, the greatest driver of happiness is contentment. Be happy with what you have. You can always want more, because it is important to have aspirations and goals and places/versions of yourself you want to be. But focussing only on what you do not have will just make you unhappy, on top of the not-having.

Breathe. Most everything has a bright side to it, if you focus on that you'll be way better off. The world is not fair and likely never will be, but letting that stop you from enjoying the things in it that are good and bright and joyful only makes you feel worse. Fight to make the world fairer and a better place for everybody. But stop every now and then to smell a flower (or re-watch your favourite series) on the way to remind yourself what you are fighting so hard for.

"To the world."

I want to round this out with a quote from the Good Omens novel:

Because, underneath it all, Crowley was an optimist.

If you want your life to be a South Downs cottage, be like Crowley.

[emeritusemeritus]

Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt 5.

[Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of sex, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting. Tiny bit of angst, possessiveness, talk of kids. Mentions of dominant behaviour. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Love potions? But none are actually used.

Potions lesson’s with Snape, what could go wrong? 🥀

You held back a shiver as you took your assigned seat in the potions classroom, cursing the fact that the dungeons were always at least 10 degrees colder than anywhere else in the castle, so much so that you could almost make out your own breath in the chilly room.

Despite the fact that it was Monday morning and you were absolutely freezing, you actually enjoyed potions class, as much as Snape made it somewhat intolerable for most students. In your multiple years at Hogwarts, you'd proven yourself to be a competent student in potions, consistently achieving high grades and maintaining your spot as top of the class. It wasn't pure, natural talent per se but rather a profound interest in the subject that began in your first year and had developed into a pasable skill.

"Turn your books to page 634," Snape orders as he crashes into the room, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him with a resounding bang and distinctive rattle of the bolts and metal hinges. He flourishes his wand and the shutters to the small windows slam shut as he takes his place at the front of the class, beside the chalkboard. One window illuminates the entire classroom, enough to see your own workstation and the raised level where Snape stood, but not much else.

"Today's focus will be on Amortentia; one of the most dangerous and powerful potions in existence. It's very purpose is to deceive and ensnare the mind, you will be wise to not underestimate the dangers of this particular elixir."

The word 'Amortentia' is written in chalk upon the blackboard as you cast your eyes down to the textbook page which details the recipe and method of creating the potion.

"Can anyone tell me what this particular potion is commonly known for?" He asks, glaring out into the class as he looks upon the faces of the students. He gives a harsh, solemn nod towards a girl in the back who had shakily raised her hand.

"It's a love potion."

"Love is a misguided term, but nevertheless it is grouped as so," he huffs, both confirming and rejecting the girl's answer. "Love in it's entirety of unconditional and eternal attachment cannot be brewed nor recreated even by the most skilled potioneer. Of all the love potions created, Amortentia is the most powerful of all, known to create an instantaneous, obsessive infatuation in the drinker so infallible it is near impossible to detect until the effects ware off."

He suddenly closed the book he was reading in his hands with a slam and placed the book onto his desk, looking out towards his students.

"Who can tell me what distinctive qualities define Amortentia from the other infatual potions?" He almost sneered when no one raised their hand until you reluctantly did so, trying to temper him. He gave you a nod, selecting you to answer. You noticed that the nod he had given you was in stark contrast to the one he had given to the other student.

"The pearlescent shine, spiralling steam helixes and the subjective scent. It smells different to everyone as it's based on what we find most attractive, even if we don't consciously know or acknowledge those feelings," you explained, pulling your knowledge from the book that Snape had given you to read over the summer to advance you in preparation for the year and for your NEWTS.

You swore you could almost see Snape's mouth shift into a very slight smirk, or at least move from its near constant downturned fixture.

"Very good miss y/l/n, 10 points to Gryffindor," Snape said, acknowledging you before turning back around to scribble on the chalkboard. Hushed whispers of surprise murmured around you at Snape's generous praise; he had frequently removed house points but never once had he given points, especially not to Gryffindor.

Katie whispered a kind well done in your ear as she nudged your shoulder which made you quietly giggle and try to hide your slight blush at the response you'd received.

Snape continued to outline the dangers and general uses for Amortentia and the larger group of love potions until it was time to collect ingredients and begin brewing. With an uncaring wave of his wand, all the flames under the small cauldrons in the classroom ignited, ready for brewing.

You gathered your ingredients and laid them out responsibly in order according to when you would need them, trying to be thorough in your method.

You began by bruising the peppermint flower heads in the pestle and mortar rather than fully crushing them as the recipe specified, something that Snape had shown you privately the previous term, before adding them into your simmering potion water and then adding the leaves as a whole

You stirrred gently and began sprinkling in the moonstone powder one teaspoon at a time before stirring until you had used enough. Whilst the potion was stirring itself you added the rose thorns and immediately snuffed out the flame to let the potion simmer with only the residual heat of the bunson burner.

Snape stalked between the students as he made his rounds, observing the other students in their attempts at brewing an advanced potion. You'd absently heard him calling out a few students for their lack of effort, attention and overall helplessness but you'd paid it no mind, focusing on the tempestuous potion below you.

Once it had thickened to your desire, you began adding the ashwinder eggs one by one, allowing them to dissolve into the mixture without any assistance of your stirrer. You turned back on the flame only very gently, enough to keep the heat of the cauldron but not as to increase it and finally allowed yourself to stir it once, checking that no ingredients were sticking to the side and potentially spoiling the potion you'd put so much effort into.

You sat back on the stool as you observed the potion, making notes of your findings into your notebook after glancing at the clock, when you saw something in your peripheral. Steam, spiralling steam.

You leapt off your stool and stood before your cauldron as you looked upon the potion that had gained a beautiful mother of Pearl iridescence of pink and white hues which made your heart leap at the very sight.

Curiosity overcame you and within seconds you leant down gently to smell the effervescent potion below, trying to get an idea if it actually worked.

Sweet, earthy hues of Dandelion and Burdock immediately filled your senses immediately knocking you off guard, instantly mentally winding you as you considered the implication. As you began to pull away in shock, the scent changed in your mind to the sickly sweet, alluring tang of toasted marshmallows which lasted only a second and then adapted once again, the smokiness that lingered in the back of your mind becoming the only thing that filled your head. You knew that scent anywhere, it was the specific scent of the settling smoke after a series of whizz-bangs had been set off.

Fred.

Your mind raced as you tried to work out of there was anyway that George was included within those smells, or if you'd perhaps confused it but it was impossible, all those things were specifically and undeniably Fred Weasley.

Your stomach dropped as you stood frozen in place, guilt and shame immediately overwhelming you as you considered what this meant. Your feelings for Fred were stronger, so much so that a potion had revealed your uttermost secret, illuminating your true feelings until they were staring you right in the face.

Fred filled your mind as the lingering scent of him consumed you, the last notes of the potion haunting you as a reel of Fred played in your mind. His laugh, his voice, his gentleness and his teasing make butterflies erupt in your stomach, though it wasn't enough to quash the uneasiness and guilt you felt.

You thought of George, and the guilt felt crippling. You thought of the night you'd spent together just days ago, the wonderful night spent stargazing on the balcony at the burrow wrapped in blankets and in each other, George giving you his sweater to wear in the chilly night air, making love under the stars and sharing stolen treats afterwards. You thought of how gentle he'd been, how tender and romantic it all was and how much effort he'd gone to just to spend some time alone with you. He'd never once pressured you into choosing between the brothers, even when you spoke of your futures and your dreams, he had been gracious and selfless, which only make you feel worse.

A foreboding popping noise brought you out of your daydream and you leapt forward to snuff out the flame, praying that your careless daydreaming hadn't ruined the brew as it had began to pop and broil under the heat.

You looked down to examine it and were immediately drawn to the spiralling steam which rose up and filled your nostrils again. You prepared yourself to smell the delicious mixture of dandelion and burdock but when that never came, you stood dejected, realising you had ruined the perfect batch you'd created.

Immediately you froze as the scent surrounded you, only it wasn't the sugary sweet scent you had expected, it was something entirely different.

The scent of pumpkin spice filled your mind instantly, the spicey sweet blend making your mouth water for a second before the scent changed to something that made your heart soar and the lead weighted feeling in your stomach disappear; the scent of freshly washed wool that mixed with a woody scent as if a garment had been stored for a while. The scent was soapy and fresh but not overly so and was a distinctive blend of scents and oils that gave you an immediate complete sense of comfort. It couldn't be mistaken for any generic brand of detergent as the complex mixture of smells was too distinctive; it was Mrs Weasley's famous homemade blend. George's sweater. The scent then changed so quickly you couldn't fathom when exactly it did, but the third scent was all too familiar to not recognise instantly, causing a pained laugh to bubble up in your throat at the irony. The Smokey smell of the aftermath of a whiz bang- exactly the same as his brother.

George.

You stumbled back slightly at the implication and the notion of your discovery. Before you could process or ruminate on the changing scents, Snape suddenly stood before you staring down into your cauldron with an unreadable expression.

He suddenly looked up at you with eyes that implored your own, effectively silencing your spiralling thoughts from what had happened as you watched him stand with mouth agape, looking between yourself, the cauldron and your open notes page.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lilyfig leaf and drops it into the potion, watching with astonishment as it dissolves entirely in seconds.

"It appears Miss y/l/n has perfected Amortentia, I'd like you to all gather around and see for yourselves the impeccable sampling she has managed to conceive," He says loudly, addressing the entire class as they huddle forward to gather around your now settled potion.

A few excited murmurs fill the crowd as they look on, each of the girls trying to edge forward to see and smell for themselves but Snape quickly puts a stop to all of this as he explains the qualities of the potion, able to now physically show the class with the specimen in front of them.

Usually you would feel a sense of accomplishment at what you had created, especially after receiving praise from Severus Snape but the previous encounters with your own potion had made you completely conflicted, knowing you must have done something wrong.

You couldn't even bring yourself to listen to Snape or the other students around you, feeling like you were trapped in a bubble, your ears hearing nothing but static as your thoughts drowned out all of your senses.

How had the potion changed? How had you so specifically smelt Fred and then later George? You were certain you'd never heard of such a thing happening- perhaps your heart was just as conflicted as your mind when it came to your feeling for both the brothers, perhaps you would never know who you desired the most.

You were distraught at the conflict it had raised in you, feeling sick to your stomach as you considered the implications and the further questions it had raised.

Did you love Fred?

Did you love George?

Did the potion get it wrong, or did you mistakenly identify the scents?

Did the potion changing to George mean that it was him and not Fred you had larger feelings for?

You reasoned that the potion only changed after you thought of George and the most recent night you'd spent together, did that impact it? Was Fred the right answer because it had shown him first, even when you weren't thinking of him?

"20 points to Gryffindor," you finally heard, the roars of excitement from your house peers sharply pulling you back from your spiralling thoughts. Katie and a few of your fellow Gryffindors around you reached out to pat you on the back as you forced a smile onto your face, turning to look at Snape who looked relatively pleased.

The loud chime signalled the end of class and each student flocked to their workstations to clear away their work, disposing of their mixtures and collect their items ready for the next class.

"'Miss y/l/n," Snape called out from the front of the room, beckoning you with a simple pull of his index finger. You turned to Katie who was waiting for you and she nodded gently, turning to wait just outside the door for you.

"Well done miss y/l/n, your predisposition for potions has once again come to fruition, never once have I seen a student create such quality drafts that potion masters would be envious of," Snape says, his eyes looking into yours with a softness you had rarely seen. It looks as if he is just as uncomfortable with the words as you are, but you had to commend him for trying.

"Thank you sir," you replied though it was only half heartedly mumbled, the conflict within you not allowing you to accept the praise.

"You are doubting your abilities?" He asks sharply, reading your downtrodden expression as his eyes squint in questioning.

You quickly debate wether or not to bring up the mysterious situation that happened earlier, now knowing wether it was a fault with the brew or yourself but you quickly decide not to speak of it, knowing how little Snape cared for trivial matters of his students. Perhaps you could use that to cover your steps.

"No sir," you say, trying to exude a little more confidence than you felt. "I'm just a little... conflicted by the outcome of the potion scenting," you said trying to imply that the scent was not what you expected it to be, knowing that Snape would dismiss you immediately at your personal matter.

"Oh," he says, recoiling ever so slightly with awkwardness, just as you were hoping. You waited for him to make a snide or harsh comment but it never came, much to your surprise. "The mind is a complex and many layered thing, not always does it connect to our hearts so transparently, no matter how desperately one tries," he says, his eyes lingering at the desk as he absently tidying up a few stray quills that litter the wooden table.

His words sink in immediately, leaving you a little breathless as he seems to summarise your feelings in one fell swoop. You nod your head gently as you consider his words, realising that he must have spoken from a place of knowing, a pang of empathy running through you at the notion.

"Sir?" You implore after a moment, seeing that he hadn't spoken again, addressed nor dismissed you. He gazed back at you and straightens up, his show of vulnerability dissaperating instantaneously as he falls back into his usual emotionless self.

"You are excused from the homework this lesson as an accolade to your achievement," he says in his regular tone, "I anticipate my expectations to be met if not exceeded again next class, you are dismissed," he says, the usual downturned mouth frown lifting gently to almost be a smile.

"Thank you sir," you said quickly, turning to exit before you paused, turning back to him with the need to show your gratitude, feeling a sort of even footing happening between the both of you, "the potions book you leant me last term has been invaluable, so I only have you to thank."

You didn't wait around for his reply as you walked away and out of the cold room. You spot Katie waiting for you in the hallway and offer a wince of remorse at keeping her so long but she simply shrugs it off and instantly sprouts into an excited monologue about her love potion identification, which closely resembled her long time crush, Oliver Wood.

As much as you wanted to listen to your friends outpouring of emotion, you were bitterly conflicted and exhausted by the emotion turmoil you endured at the events of potions class, as well as the surprising turn with Professor Snape.

"Are you coming to lunch?" Katie asks as you make your way up through the corridors and to the main staircases, feeling yourself get warmer and warmer with each step, feeling as if you were finally defrosting from the temperature of the dungeons.

You pondered briefly, considering your options. On one hand you desperately wanted to hide away in your dorm, avoid Fred and George at all costs as the feelings of uneasiness lingered within you but you also simply wanted to eat and allow your friends to hopefully provide relief and distraction from your destructive thoughts.

"Yeah," you said absently, following her lead to the great hall. Your conversation with Snape had delayed you slightly and so most of the students were already seated and digging in to the feast.

You huffed out a breath as you spotted your group in their regular positions high up the table, with Hermione multitasking at trying to eat and read at the same time whilst also chastising Ron for shoving so much food into his mouth he could barely chew. Harry and Ron were conversing about something as Ginny looked on, listening but not speaking. Your eyes closed as a pang of dread filled you at seeing the only vacant seat available from Neville down to Seamus was placed between Fred and George, which you knew would not be a coincidence.

As you neared the group, Fay Dunbar and Carl Hopkins suddenly stood up from their place at the table and began clapping with a little cheer as you made your way over, a sudden onset blush staining your cheeks. Cormac looked over from his place at the top of the table and stood up immediately, ushering his friends and joining in the cheering, no doubt for the points you'd been awarded in class, which had pushed Gryffindor to the top of the leaderboard, the flags in the main hall all shining with red and gold.

"Here she is, Hogwarts' new potion master, or mistress I suppose," Carl says from his place beside Neville, a sarcastically elated grin spread across his face as he continues clapping.

"Shove off," you said without any conviction as you laughed, moving to walk behind George as you take your place, allowing your hand to graze his back lightly as you climbed onto the bench.

"What have we missed?" Harry says suspiciously as you take your seat, your face no doubt bright red from the attention as you attempt to hide behind your hair. Fred's arm moves instantly behind your back to rest on the back of the bench, securing your place between your boys.

You can feel the stares of the people around you as they wait in anticipation of explanation for your reception, the stares of George and Fred in particular feeling hot on your skin but you hardly look up to meet anyone's amused gaze.

"Snape awarded her 30 points in class!" Fay, who was in your potions class, spoke up whisky pointing her finger at the totals displayed in the main hall.

"She was bloody brilliant, Snape said that he'd never seen a student create such quality drafts and that that potion masters would be envious of of her!" Katie excitedly chattered as she made her way over to her usual place with the Patil sisters.

Ron and Harry immediately quietly cheered and Hermione seemed to throw out a flustered congratulations though her tone couldn't quite hide the tinge of underlying jealousy.

Fred nudged your shoulder playfully with his own and leaned in to whisper in your ear, "well done Princess." His whispering voice so close to your ear made you fight back a shiver of arousal. The cheeky sod knew exactly what he was doing.

George leaned over towards you just as Fred pulled away and brought his hand up to criss cross over his brothers to rub at your back, suspiciously just below your bra strap. "Yeah well done angel." He lingered just a moment and you could tell that he wanted to kiss your head, just as he always did in private but thought better of it.

"What were you brewing?" Hermione asks, pausing her reading to ask, her voice breaking you out of your little internal monologue.

"Amortentia," You replied, shrugging gently.

"But that's advanced level!" Hermione states with a mixture of outrage and bewilderment. Once again you shrug and reach forward to pick at a chicken leg sat in front of you, choosing the side closest to you so you don't touch anything Ron might have had his grubby hands on.

"Oooh love potions Eh?" Ginny smirks, wagging her eyebrows at you, which you counter with a sarcastic smile and glaring eyes.

"Should we be worried?" George teases quietly, leaning in again, just loud enough for you and his twin to hear. You elbow him playfully earning a synchronised laugh from the twins. Fred chooses that exact moment to readjust his arm to bring it forward underneath the table to rest on your thigh.

"I think someone slipped Snape some, he seemed awfully smitten with her, I'm sure he nearly almost smiled," Katie says loudly as she tucks into her lunch. Fred and George cast a glance at you which you know resembles slight jealously mixed with amusement at the very notion someone else would be interested in you.

"Yeah that was my master plan all along, seduce Snape into giving me good grades, maybe next year I'll try Mcgonagall," you said sarcastically, earning a laugh from the people around you.

"Georgie, why have we never thought about that?" Fred asks faux-distraught as he turns to look at his twin over your head.

"I don't know Freddie, maybe we should try it on Flich and work our way up," George smirks, playing along. "Y/n/n here can brew for us and we'll go into business, Weasley and Y/l/n incorporated."

"No way are you dragging me into your sadistic schemes," you retort, turning to face George who gives you a smile with a wicked glint in his eye, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Name's too long, it should just be Weasley incorporated; one of us will just have to marry her so she can join the family business," Fred says, shooting a wink in your direction as you choke on the sip of water you'd just taken at his words. Both the twins laugh, eyes shining as you squirm in your place, heart leaping at hearing those words.

"Well in that case I choose Bill," you joke, circling back to the joke you made yesterday, earning a swift attack from Fred who lunges for you and tickles your side at your audacious claim. George attempts to pin you down once again to allow Fred's attack and you can do nothing but try to hold in your squeals as Fred's long fingers run up your sides, tickling wherever he can reach.

"Alright enough enough!" You wheeze still laughing at the sensation as Fred and George pull away, smirking down at you.

The rest of lunch carried on as usual and was largely uneventful. Hermione and Ron were squabbling, Harry tried to keep out of it, Ginny remained quiet with frequent stolen glances in Harry's direction and the twins schemed secretly. Both of them were trying their luck with teasing you, littering your body with little secret touches and gestures which had you flustered the entire time.

You couldn't shake the lingering guilt and unease that you felt from your discovery that morning, the moment and the smells replaying in your mind like a broken record. You tried your hardest to push down the feelings, trying to appear normal to the twins and the people around you but in all honesty you just wanted to crawl into bed and be alone with your thoughts to try and process them. The conversations happening around you where causing you to feel massively overstimulated and agitated, like a constant buzzing in your ears as you tried to focus on a single thought.

Being sat in between the two boys you were trying to chose between was the worst possible situation right now and you felt helpless. They were usually your comfort blanket, always there for you when you needed them and grounded you when you were feeling out of control, but now the problem was them and you had nowhere to turn as you couldn't tell anyone what had happened earlier that day.

Instead of going to transfiguration next class when the bell chimed, you made your excuses, slipped away from your classmates and retreated to your dorm. You passed Ron on the way to the common room and forced out an excuse of feeling ill, hoping he wouldn't question you further. Luckily, he didn't and you were able to avoid anyone else as you climbed the stairs.

As soon as you stepped through the portrait hole, you felt an instant wave of relief at seeing the common room empty and quiet. You walked up to your dorm and instantly began pulling off your uniform and changing into something more comfy, trying to soothe yourself in any little way you could.

You must have sat there for an hour at least, trying to work out in your head what had happened earlier that morning.

In the months that you'd been seeing both George and Fred, you never knew who you liked more, not truthfully. Fred had always been the one you fancied, the one you were slightly closer to and he was the most openly flirty and affectionate through your friendship. The flirting and the banter between you both had grown stronger and stronger over the years to the point neither of you could deny feelings for each other.

But George had surprised you. You never realised that he too had feelings for you as he was much quieter and shy than his brother, both in life and in your friendship. It had monetarily knocked you for six when you found out about his feelings, most of all because it made you confront your own.

You'd spent so long fancying Fred that you hadn't realised how incomplete you felt when George wasn't around. Never wanting to make them think they were a package deal like so many others, you'd never asked where the other was or seemed like you were disappointed by only having one near you but you couldn't deny that everything was better with the both of them there, like you were finally at peace. You'd pushed down your feelings for George and deflected them into Fred because of how taboo it was to like both brothers at the same time but with this whole new arrangement, you couldn't deny it any longer. How were you ever going to be able to chose between the two brothers? If Amortentia couldn't even show you your true desire then how the hell would you be able to decide yourself?

A gentle knock on your dorm door sprang you out of your thoughts and you quickly wiped at your eyes before swishing your wand to open the door.

George.

"Angel, Ron said you weren't feeling well," he says stepping towards you with a face of concern as he moved to sit on the side of your bed.

"Its just a headache Georgie, I'll be fine," you replied with a small, shy smile, hopeful that he wouldn't see that you'd been crying. He lifted his hand to touch the back of your head to check for a temperature but when he found none he simply smiled and looked you in the eyes for a second before standing up off the bed.

"Want some company?" He asks, beginning to tug at his tie, "no doubt Fred will be along soon, soon as he hears you aren't well."

You nod enthusiastically and open up the covers for him as he quickly shucks off his shoes and climbs into get beside you, instantly reaching out to pull you towards him and into his chest.

You sigh a breath of relief at the contact and the familiar smells of George, thankful that for now it's just him and you don't have to split your affections.

It lasted all of 10 minutes before Fred barged into your room, not even bothering to act as if he knocked as he came barrelling towards you both in the bed.

"Princess, are you okay? Ron said you skipped class, you're not feeling well?" His worrying was awfully cute and you couldn't resist the smile that hung on your lips as he climbed in bed beside you so that you were now sandwiched between the pair.

"You know if Errol ever croaks, Ron could take his place," you mumbled into George's sweater, realising that Ron had alerted both boys and no doubt numerous friends to your absence. Both boys chuckled as George pulled you closer into his chest, whilst Fred placed his arm securely around your waist.

Instead of the intense conflict you'd felt earlier in the day, you finally felt at peace between the brothers, with both of them by your side.

[winterrrnight]

Hey! I love your work, Could you possibly write a Zach Maclaren x reader, where the reader searches for a roommate and she meets Zach and they start being roomies and like cute stuff happens and they end up together🫶🏻

thank you so so much for this gorgeous request! I can't even tell you how much I've always thought about it, I have so so many ideas for it, I am just struggling to put them all together in a good order, so it took me so so long to put it out, but, nevertheless, I hope you enjoy reading it!!

roomies (part I)

PAIRING: zach maclaren x gn!reader

SUMMARY: as your bills pile up and it starts to get lonely living in your apartment, you start your search for a roommate. little did you know, you will come across someone so much more than a roommate.

WARNINGS: none!

EDITH SPEAKS: this is finally out! probably one of my favorite requests I've ever had. this took me so long to write, and honestly, I'm still stuck at a certain part of it, so I decided to split it into parts. who knows, it may become a very amazing series <3

please please reblog if you enjoyed reading this! feedback is always so loved and appreciated <3

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You sigh as you put up one of your last flyers on a pole. It's been weeks since you started looking for a roommate who can move in with you in your apartment, but you've turned up with no luck. Whoever calls you up to be your roommate always has this one problem which is something you just can't handle.

One of the guys who called you up was a drummer, and as much as you love music, all the drumming throughout the day will not help you when you're trying to get some work done at home.

Another one is a complete party animal, and your will power isn't strong enough to wake up almost everyday to a mess of empty alcohol bottles around your house.

So you've made a tough but much needed decision: you will accept whichever person calls next to be your roommate.

Are you desperate? Extremely.

Will it affect you if the person has some qualities or hobbies which do not align with your own life? Of course.

But will it help you pay all your bills? Yes.

No more questions needed.

You come back to your apartment and find an envelope waiting for you in your mail. You open it up to see it's the updated electricity bill for the month. You've seen enough bills with an insane amount of zeroes at their bottom, and this one makes you realise if you don't get a roommate soon, you're going to be kicked out of this apartment.

You sit at your kitchen island, your forearms resting in front of you and your head slumped in your hands as you turn over the details of the current situation you're in over and over in your head. You don't exactly have the most high paying job which can allow you pay all your bills independently, leaving you with enough money for your university tuition and to feed yourself.

Your phone dings with a notification, and you look at it to see it's an unknown number. With hope heavy in your heart you open the text, and you're very glad to see it's someone asking about the apartment.

unknown number: please tell me you are still open to take roommates because I've been looking for an apartment for weeks and have had no luck. I promise I'm not weird.

You let out a small chuckle as you read the text.

you: yes it's still available. and it's okay I don't think you're weird I feel your desperation because same, I've been looking for a roommate for weeks.

You text this person a bit more, and you find out his name is Zach Maclaren and he's in the same university as yours, but you two have very different courses so you never saw each other on campus.

You both have set up to meet at a local coffee shop to get to know each other better, and you have been feeling a bit more excited than you should be. You saw his pictures and you definitely found him attractive. And if he helps you by being a perfect roommate, you might as well gain something more out of this whole situation.

You reach the coffee shop and just as you sit, Zach arrives. He comes up to you with a big smile on his face and even gives you a hug, encasing you completely in his warmth.

You definitely have trouble parting from him, seeing how perfectly your body fits within his, but you do and you both sit on the opposite seats of the table you chose.

"Are you coming from one of your soccer practices?" You ask, as you take a proper look at his outfit to find he's wearing a t shirt with shorts and some sports shoes.

"Yeah, I was worried the practice time might clash with our time to meet up, but thank god it didn't," he lets out a light laugh as you smile at him.

You decide to order all your food first, and then resume your conversations as you wait for it.

"You're telling me you love to cook?" You gasp and he laughs at your reaction.

"Yes," he says with a big grin on his face.

"That's actually so perfect, I mean, if you do move in with me, we can make a proper system of how one is mostly responsible for the cooking and the other for cleaning. It's actually going to relieve so much load off the both of us," you say, as you are served all your food.

Zach takes his coffee and takes in a big sip before speaking. "That is going to be great," he adds. "And we can do all the other stuff together, like grocery shopping or shopping for anything for around the house,"

You smile wide and nod at him, and you both start to eat the scones and croissants you got. A silence falls around you both for just a few minutes as you both eat, but it doesn't feel awkward, if anything, it feels so right. As if you're both meant to be sitting opposite to each other every single day while having your dinner.

You have clicked very quickly with him, and you're so grateful for that, because this might as well be the end of your long, tiring search of finding a roommate. All that is left is to get a approval from him, but you have a feeling he won't say no, because he seems very enthusiastic about it, just the way you are.

"So, what's the verdict? Would you love to move in with me?" You ask, your heart slightly beating faster.

"Of course I would love to! I have spent way too long trying to find a roommate and I don't think I want to continue to do that, but also you seem very nice and I think we would work perfectly together," he smiles at you. You immediately relax and let out a scream of happiness. You get up from your chair to give him another hug as you walk behind him, wrap your arms around his shoulders and gently squeeze them with happiness.

"Thank you Zach, thank you so much," you say as he laughs and gently holds onto your arms. You let go of him and sit back on your seat.

"There's one thing you need to help me with though," you say, and he looks at you expectantly, "so you see, about this month's rent..."

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You finally get the last box from Zach's car and bring it up to your apartment. You keep it on the floor right next to the others and let out a sigh of relief as you sit on your couch to rest.

Just a few minutes Zach comes up too after getting some other things from his car. Just a few days ago, you brought him to your place to allow him to look around and explore. There isn't much to explore, but you were glad when he was happy with his bedroom. But he there is one thing he isn't satisfied with: your kitchen.

"No, you just don't have all the stuff you'll need in here," he says as he walks to your kitchen with a box in his hand labelled as 'kitchen equipment' as you follow him, concerned about what he means when you don't have all the 'stuff'.

He sets the box on the kitchen island and opens it, and you peek over his shoulder to find equipment you only see in those fancy cooking videos on the internet; something you never even considered of buying.

"Whoa," you whisper, as you see him pull out atleast 10 different types of baking moulds. You pick one up and see it is in shape of a skull.

"And this comes in handy when. . ." you trail off, looking at him expectantly, but he's just ushering around your kitchen to keep all his stuff and also rearranging some of your own utilities.

"Halloween, duh," he adds, turning to you and taking the mould from your hands. He keeps it alongside his other moulds in one of your cabinets.

"Your spice drawer needs a lot of work, by the way," he comments, leaving the kitchen and getting started on organising his bedroom.

You huff at his unrequired comment and follow him to his bedroom to help him set up everything in there.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You wake up to the sunlight entering through your curtains, lighting everything around you in a golden tint. Unlike the usual silence you hear each morning when you wake up, today you hear the sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen, something sizzling away on the stove and the string of the melody being sung by the one and only, Zach.

You go into the kitchen to see him with his bare back towards you as he flips a pancake (and your eyes wander over his back muscles flexing, but that isn't what's necessary right now) and places it in a plate of already piling pancakes next to him. They are perfectly round and golden, something you can never be so perfect at even if you tried too hard.

"Oh hey good morning," Zach says with a smile as he notices you have appeared by his side.

"Hey," you say with a yawn, your eyes still threatening to close. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, actually, for some reason I thought it may take me some time to adjust to a whole different room and bed but I was very relaxed," he tells you. He piles the last pancake on top of the others and now fully turns around to face you.

"I don't think I've ever had such a lavish breakfast on my own before," you say as you take two plates and knives and forks and follow Zach to your kitchen island.

"Well, now I'm living with you, so it's lavish breakfasts, lunches, and dinners from now on," he grins. You break into a smile as he serves you some pancakes. You thank him and just as you take the first bite, you feel like you've been transported to heaven.

"Wow," you say, your eyes wide and your voice muffled. You never knew homemade pancakes could be this delectable. Zach smiles at your reaction and eats his own pancakes, both of you completely contented as you kick start your Sunday.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You reach Zach's room with your vacuum cleaner; as per your system, you are responsible for all sorts of cleaning around that house and Zach for the cooking. You knock at his door and here a 'come in' and pull on the latch.

He's going through one of his drawers to get a t shirt while he stands with just a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet as drops drip down his neck. He swallow the huge lump in your throat as you close the door behind you.

"I'm just going to vacuum in here real quick," you clear your throat as you peel your eyes off his toned chest and focus on cleaning. The humming of your vacuum cleaner fills the air around you, and Zach goes back into his washroom to wear his clothes.

"Oh would you like to hit the grocery store with me? I noticed you're out of some vegetables and other stuff," he asks as he comes out of the washroom.

You nod at his words and quickly finish up the vacuuming of his room. Soon you both leave for the grocery store.

You take a cart and push it around the store as Zach brings items to put in the cart. You spot some items you have never even thought of adding to your food before. Zach is quick to pile up the cart.

"You know you're hundred percent responsible for all the food bills of our house," you say, half joking.

"Oh yes don't worry about that," he says seriously, as he bends down to a lower shelf to get some sort of special sauce.

When the cart is pretty much filled to the brim, you both reach the self check out station. You stand at the side and Zach starts to bill in all he has bought, and just as he said, every single penny for the groceries came out so his pocket.

When Zach has put all the bought items in the bags, you go ahead to pick one but he stops you.

"Don't worry about it, I'll handle it," he says, picking both of the clearly heavy bags with ease. You try to say something, but you realise quick that there actually isn't a point to say anything; what he wants his way, is going to happen his way.

You follow him out to his car.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

It's been just over a week since Zach moved in with you, and you've got to say, you've adjusted way too quickly than you thought you would. Every plan you make, every task you set, seems to always align perfectly with his own, which allows you both to do your own things in your own perfect harmony. He even helped you with your loading bills of the month, even though it was initially decided he would start taking his financial duties from the first of the upcoming month.

Every morning you wake up to the most perfect breakfast you can dream of, and Zach gets to come back from university to a spotless home. You both usually carpool and save a lot on gas money, which has started to make an effective change to your savings.

Zach's home cooked meals are out of this planet, and you don't remember what's the last time you ordered take-out. Everytime you crave something, Zach will make it at home, and you'll be left completely surprised with how it tastes even better than the take-out.

Zach loves to try new things almost each week, and you're now his personal taste tester (as he likes to call it), or his personal guinea pig (as you like to call it, because you think he's experimenting on you).

"You can so easily sneak poison into any of your dishes and bam, no one will ever know," you joke from your position in your living room, as Zach is in the kitchen whipping up something.

You hear him laugh from the kitchen, and you shake your head with a smile as you focus back on the book you're reading.

Suddenly he comes running out of the kitchen to you, with a ladle in his hand. Before you can question him about anything, he basically shoves it in your mouth.

"How is it? Too spicy? Too salty? I think it needs just a dash of cumin but I'm not sure if it needs cumin or maybe some, I don't know, paprika? Fenugreek seeds? I just, I cannot think-"

"It's perfect," you whisper, as you feel the earthy broth go down your throat, spreading the most beautiful symphony of flavors in your mouth.

Zach stops his rant and looks at you with his eyes wide. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes I am!" You say excitedly, as you get up and push him towards the kitchen. "This is absolutely perfect," you look at the pot full of the broth kept on a low simmer. You take the ladle from him and scoop some more broth from the pot and move it closer to him.

He gently sips onto it and closes his eyes for a moment. "It is perfect," he whispers, taking the ladle from you. You nod with a big grin on your face as you watch him add some coriander on top to garnish and close the lid.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @tahliac11 @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

(let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the future parts!)

[zenderstorm]

i remembered i havent posted this yet here, so have this !

ZOHAKUTEN VARIATIONS

concept & headcanons !

ive read some of those ideas which another “boss” clone is formed when a clone besides sekido absorbs the rest. this is my take on it ^^

all four of them are “zohakuten”, and they represent different ways one can show and feel hatred. [I didn’t go with “evolved emotions” like anger -> hatred or sadness -> depression because 1. you can feel hatred without anger and 2. its funnier with more haters on the team]

i made it so that all their abilities are related to music (?) like how the OG uses drums. [ik zohakuten’s drums are based on a japanese thunder god’s drums or something but i only remembered that after i finished this 😭] all of them have around the same levels of strength, but have different techniques.

theoretically it’s impossible to manifest them all at once.

any clone can absorb the rest to form zohakuten. but the clone with the final say is often sekido, because he’s more aggressive and dominant compared to the rest. so they form the OG (who has a personality similar to sekido.) however there’s a chance that another clone gains control, creating the variations.

fusion probability 7%, formed from karaku, finds pleasure in hating

extends fights for over weeks on end, because he gets a bit relaxed with attacks. his defence is really high though so u can’t really take advantage of his relaxation.

fights with explosions. his explosions have the qualities of each emotion clone like sonar screech explosion, weeping spears explosion, etc. the explosions are triggered landmine-style and when you step on it it plays a piano-like sound. different notes represent different attacks. he’s immune to the explosions.

fusion probability 0.5%, formed from aizetsu, hates those who make him sad

most likely to spare victims. if you don’t make him feel miserable you can probably get away. but like he won’t let you win, he’ll just let you escape.

fights with wires. the wires are strong & thin enough to cut flesh, and spread further out the longer you fight him. they sprout out of trees, an even if they look organic up close, are electrically charged. he strums them to control them (wrap around victims, strengthen electrical current) and is unharmed by the wires.

fusion probability 90%, he OG formed from sekido, we know how this works, he hates those he sees as villains.

his probability is the highest cuz the other clones kinda let sekido form him, since this zohakuten is the hardest to fight and won’t play around.

we know how this pookie fights. however I headcanon he can transform surrounding trees into even more wooden dragons.

fusion probability 2.5%, formed from urogi, hates those who he thinks are happier than him, so don’t you dare show him a smile.

quickest to eat his victims. like he wants to chow down so bad. sometimes even if he hasn’t killed them yet he’ll just start biting.

hearing him sing causes small figs to sprout in your ears, which can grow into full on trees. he can hide & sprout his wings (i let him do this cus of that one scene where tanjiro cut urogi’s wings!! so this zohakuten can hide his to prevent it from getting cut) he can also use the emotion clones’ techniques while singing.

maybe i’ll draw them fully one day 😭 idk. thank you for reading my yapping this far here are his beans

[bullet-prooflove]

Hi,I noticed you have wrote for raylan givens and wondered if you have any helpful tips as I’m currently working on writing my first ever raylan fic. Huge fan of Justified :)

I don’t have anything specific to Raylan but the most important things I’d recommend to anyone starting to write a story are:

Editing – Are you putting out the best version of your work? Don’t just write a piece and post it right away, have a careful read through, change anything that reads awkwardly or places where you’ve used similar phrases/words. Are you writing in the same tense throughout? From my experience readers like high quality work so take the time to put the extra effort in and it will pay off for you in the long term.

Cause & Effect – I go on about this all the time but I can not state it enough. The reason a lot of fics fall flat is because the writers don’t go beyond surface level with their characters. They say so and so is DA or a cop or a nurse but they don’t think of anything beyond that so their character is basic, their plotlines generic and they have issues writing realistic dialogue. They don’t know the person they are writing about. You have to ask what made them decide to work towards that role, the challenges they faced getting where they are today. An example would be Gutterson and Lucky. Lucky’s an FBI agent, the one he constantly mentions in the series. They met during they’re time together in Afghanistan when she was in Intelligence. They started a thing but could never find time for an actual relationship because they’re assignments took them in different directions even when Tim left the military. She went to FBI because she loves the investigation side of things and Tim went US Marshal’s because snipers, they love the hunt.  That is cause and effect. Lucky’s time in Intelligence led to her FBI career because she likes solving puzzles, it also makes her ideal for UC work which is how the two of them reunited again and is now the crux of the conflict between the two of them. Just out of giving her that tiny bit of history I have developed a storyline, a character that’s well rounded with her own idiosyncrasies and dialogue that’s unique to the two of them.  Oh and also the nick name Lucky from her time over there. Another example is a character has siblings. Is their brother a junkie or a priest, do they have moral conflicts because of it? Are they called out because he’s constantly in trouble? All of that feeds into your character, develops potential storylines and gives them more of a voice.

Research – The reason my writing gets a lot of attention is because of authenticity. I take the time to research what I’m writing about so when you’re reading it, it seems real. A lot of people will hash over this but it’s what really makes my writing sing, it also helps to create plotlines. An example of this is Beau & Ally, the first time I wrote them was to a prompt of ‘I’m not the man they think I am at home’ – it ended up beomcing a piece about how people think he’s very cold but he’s actually not, it’s a self defence mechanism due to this role and the poor dude just misses his wife. When she comes back from the deployment we see a whole other side of him. This then turned into the Deployment series because I had to research deployment and I came across so much information about how it effects families and a couples and I wanted to explore how it would effect two spouses who were enlisted. People love that series because of the emotional depth, the rawness of it and the authenticity. I couldn’t have brought that to life if I hadn’t done the research.

In my opinion if you want to be an exceptional writer you have to actively do these three things otherwise you’re at risk of not connecting with your readers.

[carnal-lnstinct]

Friends with benefits Broly x Reader?

BROLY (DBS) X READER

☆☆ Content: ( au: post - super hero, friends with benefits, implied size difference, oral - male receiving ) ☆☆ Warning: ( M / 18+. MINORS DNI. explicit language )

☆☆ A/N: I can't believe I haven't written spicy broly since November, now he out here getting "foodie calls"

You don’t know how you got roped into this cycle of feeding saiyans. There was no obligation for you to do it like Bulma and Chi Chi, but it quickly became a regular thing and at least twice a month you had the three showing up at your home after training waiting to be fed. It all started with their new addition and your new mutual friend, Broly. You quickly became acquainted and whatever you chose to label your loose commitment, you grew more familiar with him than any other man you’ve known as “just a friend”. Regardless, you accepted this cook role for what it was if it meant you got to see more of Broly. Certainly, this was his excuse to see more of you. You even found yourself planning out meals for their next visit to flex your cooking skills. 

There was a language of love in cooking for others who enjoyed it, and it shined in your determination to awe them for the next time. Delving into recipes from the common modern cuisine to some from your cultural background. Sometimes comparing your own meals to the others often made you hesitant to try bolder recipes, however. Bulma can produce high-quality and multi-course meals at the snap of her finger, enough to feed them for months at a time. And Chi Chi’s a virtuoso with creating unique, hearty, and delicious home cooking from scratch, able to use all her resources to satisfy the hungriest of warriors. They’ve also been doing this longer, you have to remind yourself. 

But you’ve never gotten criticism from either one of the saiyans intending to bash your skills, only from how quickly certain portions can disappear without a ready refill from Vegeta and Goku. 

Broly never complained, he accepted everything you could give him with quiet contentment and simply ate his share of the large portions. It’s hard not to notice when the other two are so vocal about wanting more, so you just made sure to give Broly a little extra here and there. A polite thanks is given in return when you refill his plate before it empties. You don’t know exactly where he came from, other than Goku describing it as “repugnant”, but it was nice to know that someone capable of such frightful powers still came with his manners. He may have been the biggest saiyan you’ve ever seen, but he was without a doubt the most soft-spoken and polite, an amusing change from Goku’s free-and-easy demeanor and Vegeta’s snobbish persona.

You used to think the sex would help bring Broly out of his shell (it did wonders for Vegeta’s personality), knowing he is locked in this mundane routine of physical and mental training, but it may have just made him more docile. Perhaps he mistook it as more training for his emotions. It did make it easier to talk about with him, at least.

You eventually left the three to finish chatting up about their day and finish up the last of the food, returning to the kitchen to start cleaning the dishes. The only downside to their company was being left alone to clean up the mess so you figured you’d get a headstart. You weren’t left alone for long, however, a sudden large hand on your shoulder almost jolting you out of your skin from Broly’s quiet approach. You laugh off your scare and quickly take notice of the timid, yet distressed frown in his features, realizing it was there before he accidentally surprised you. Did you miss something over their mealtime?

“Oh, hey. What’s the matter?” You asked, concerned about the reason behind this change from his normal demeanor. Based on what you did tune into from their chatting, you could think of one reason this may be. “Bad training session?”

“No.” Broly paused, then looked further disappointed by his answer. “Not…really.” He corrected. They couldn’t stop talking about Goku and Vegeta’s exhibition while they ate, but Broly and Goku sparred too. Along with its abrupt end, it never came up for conversation. Had he not almost lost control, maybe things would have ended differently today. He would have a nice story to share with you on his progress instead.

It was truly an experience to be on the spectator side of a fight for once and Broly was moved to try to emulate the other two saiyans’ ability to maintain their power as they fought, however he couldn't overlook his lack of dominance over his strength and be ashamed. Being unable to control his power even after a couple of years of training with Goku made him feel like he was missing something in his lessons. He's improved dramatically, but still so much is left to learn.

“Did you…lose focus again?” You asked, halting your cleaning entirely to look at him. Broly nods softly.

“Only for a moment.” He admitted. Even for just a brief instance of a slip-up where he caught himself, he wanted it to sound better than it was, how it made him feel. In search of that relief, you were more than receptive to his troubles and willing to help.

"Do you need help with ‘focusing’ again?" You inquired further, a sincere concern with a suggestive undertone he did not miss. In fact, he hoped for it. With nerves building in the base of his chest, Broly swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded at you again.

You smiled at him, charmed by his ability to say so much with his actions than words. And still so careful and shy about approaching you for your “help” after doing this a couple of times already. You quickly felt your insides come alive, motivated by the decadent impulses that would consume you from here on. Indulging saiyans is truly a delight you never thought you wanted until you had it.

Calmly drying your hands, you close the space between the two of you and hold up your hands invitingly. At the ready, Broly follows along. His larger hands press into yours where your fingers interlock. He watches you close your eyes and take a deep breath, doing the same.

“Where am I?” You asked him and you feel the little squeeze of his hands around yours.

“You’re here.” He says, his heart skipping a beat but another deep breath eases its rhythm. Your smile grows hearing him do so and you reopen your eyes to look up at him.

“Where are you?” You follow up, giving his hands a squeeze in return.

“Here..” Spoken gently, Broly opening his eyes, finding himself lulled to the familiar relaxed state of being with a floaty sensation, yet his senses were so keen and sparked by the body before him. Then his eyes locked onto yours and he allowed himself to fall into his urges. Giving in only to those that could desire the warmth of your body, all others drowned out in the placid state of his mind. A shade of pink rises in his tan cheeks remembering the acute sensations of you, leaning down to kiss your lips the way he learned. He moved more confidently than he has before, more controlled, which you appreciated.

It’s not exactly the place you want to do this, but you doubt the other two would be in a hurry to move after putting away all that food. Urgency was the key still as Broly would have to return to Lord Beerus’ planet after this. You freed one of your hands to cup his chin, basking in the sweet kisses heating up between you as he fills his hand with your face as well. Deepening the kiss. His unspoken neediness reared itself quickly when you found your backside bumped against the counter, bound in the small space with his body pressing closer to you. A mess waiting to happen if you knock over the stack of dishes. So you opt for something else.

His pelt brushes over your nose when you got on your knees in front of him, the mixed scent of his musk from training and the last time you cleaned it for him filling the air around your head. Alluring and rugged, you couldn’t help taking a moment to let it intoxicate you. Half of your face disappeared beneath his pelt as you kissed along the tent on his formfitting pants, feeling it flinch in return. Your eyes peer up at him, checking in. Broly is slightly hunched over to watch you, eyes darkened and face glowing with his desire.

"I'm here." He reassures you, encouraging you to continue for more. He sees your eyes smile back at him and it felt like his heart was flipping in his chest in anticipation of what was coming next. You pulled the purple fabric free of Ba’s ear and down the bulge before you, freeing his hard cock as it hung erect above your face.

The size of it never failed to impress you, the mere fullness of his girth and its strong length bearing its weight. One could easily be lost in staring at it just by how intense it looked and only the brave like yourself could find how sensitive it truly was. That had to be your favorite part. You give the exposed head a kiss before you grab him at the base of his length and rub your flattened tongue across the tip. Broly took in a sharp, deep breath once your lips wrapped around him, falling past his lips with the shaky heat from his chest. His eyes softened at the touch, fighting his instincts to close them so he can keep them on you. This was where he needed his control the most, when you trusted him to hold his focus. He’d bite his lip bloody and bury his nails into the palm of his hand before he would let himself hurt you.

But it felt so good, the warmth of your mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, suckling around the sensitive glans and working your way further down the length with your hand coming the opposite way. It sent a shiver all the way up his spine as he leaned his hips into you, his voice creeping out of his slacked jaw. You truly enjoyed the way your mouth felt opening up to his size. It was easier for now, but you knew the further this went the more trouble it would be to hold it in your mouth as you were, let alone slide it as deep as you could.

Broly came with a little trick you never seen before and made you curious if all saiyans did it, but as fully erect as he was, he was far from his true size. With a strong hand cupping the end of the counter and the other on the nearby wall, you feel him buck against your opened mouth and your eyes look up to him, relaxing your jaw so he would slip free. His cock twitches more excitedly, missing the sensation of you.

"I-I'm here…" Broly breathed heavily. Practically pleading in his lust for you to go on, licking the dryness from his lips.

He does let his eyes close this time when you draw him back past your lips and his head lulls back as a moral vocal groan leaves him. As you picked up your pace, you started to feel his girth swell, expanding your jaw to a more discomforting stretch and you knew he was about to cum. Your one hand and lips couldn’t quite meet in the middle any longer, so you brought your second to add to his pleasure. Slick with your saliva, you switched to pumping the swollen length while you continue to suck only on the sensitive head of his cock, motivated to keep this pace by the lively twitches under your ministrations.

[fionarara]

+ hipster ! kenma .

+ tw : one mention of a drug, cigarettes, slight cat slander, please this is a joke

+ hipster ! kenma . owns a hairless sphynx cat, because cutesy cats with fluffy fur are for plebs + hipster ! kenma . who shows up to a kickback party at kuroo’s place and upon discovering that the fridge is only stocked full of ultra-generic basic beer brands, decides he would rather drink the warm belgium-imported craft beer which has not yet been cooled, because dude would never be caught holding a shitty bud light in hand or drinking a white claw + hipster ! kenma . “knows the DJ” when you walk into this music venue with him, but in actuality, they only had a singular random encounter on the street during one of kenma's smoke breaks from his part-time job at a local arcade bar: this DJ guy just happened to be strolling by when he casually asked kenma if he could bum a cig off of him and come in real quick just to use the bathroom

+ hipster ! kenma . says, not only is it too expensive to touch up the roots of your hair so often with bleach, but it’s also way too high maintenance, and according to hipster kenma, high-maintenance = highly manufactured, super lame. clearly, presenting with two-toned slightly unkempt hair with a heroin-chic grunge look is some sort of torch one can hold about their own authentic individuality against the status quo...and how one is too cool to give a fuck, yeah + hipster ! kenma . who only rolls his own cigarettes, being the loose tobacco aficionado he is, and uses Bali Shag brand–exclusively. shows you how to roll it just right into a small narrowed cone shape that’s precise and comfortable enough to rest between your pretty fingers, demonstrating how to twist the tip’s end of the handmade cig in the most exquisitely cool way so that when you flame it up, it'll flash with a dazzling little light show right before you take a puff and inhaaale + hipster ! kenma . shows you his entire collection of vintage 8-bit video games, his faves are the few that are most rare and special edition versions where only a handful in the world were made (500 copies worldwide to be exact) + hipster ! kenma . will often wear high quality acetate-plastic glasses with thick-rimmed frames – non-prescription. boy has 20/20 vision and, more often than not, has his bicolored strands of hair hanging over his eyes, barely able to see from his own peripheral vision, so can someone please explain why the guy has thirteen different varying-style pairs of them? + hipster ! kenma . who is, duh, a self-proclaimed male feminist. he even has a cat onesie for his hairless sphynx kitty made of organic cotton with the words 'The Future is Female' printed on it. he makes sure to put the garment on his penisy-looking cat before going out on any first date in case he happens to score that night by getting to bring the date home

+ hipster ! kenma . buys and then wears a thrifted 90s D.A.R.E. T-shirt three days in a row, but later that weekend does cocaine off the cover of a vinyl record by The Stokes at this hole-in-the-wall dive bar while attending Yamamoto’s birthday party

+ hipster ! kenma . hates every mainstream video game, yet you’ll still catch him playing Pokémon GO on the DL when he thinks no one is looking because the nostalgia can’t be beat no matter how much his little alt-heart tries, plus deep down he refuses to quit until he’s at least caught the shiny versions of Jolteon and Umbreon

+ hipster ! kenma . has a nose piercing, with a vintage sterling-silver stud that comes with a whole intricate story and history behind it that he purchased at this obscure pawn shop out in the arts district of a super hip neighborhood he heard about + hipster ! kenma . whose newest pair of skinny jeans are so tight on him, they’ve begun to chafe the delicate skin of his thighs and a small rash developed as a result (despite hinata repeatedly mentioning they were probably a bit too snug), so he takes himself in for a yearly doctor’s visit for a simple topical cream prescription fix when his physician informs him they’d detected some curious results of a lower sperm count, asking kenma if for any reason he’d been doing anything as of late that would impact his testicles…oopsie

+ hipster ! kenma . whose favorite beanie is definitely in need of a wash soon, however he can’t just go ruining the ethically-sourced organic cashmere it's made of and risk ruining this special material + hipster ! kenma . would grow a “dope stubble beard” – if only he could, but alas – (and he would use the word, alas, whenever sharing this dilemma with anyone) alas, he—cannot. “...damn my damned genetics...”

+ hipster ! kenma . has not been to see or support a nekoma game as an alumni ever since he seriously started working (–biking to work, by the way, because ‘excess fossil fuels are whack’) in the tech world at this startup company of some trendy new game app…since being associated with any jock conduct anymore is the antithesis of his counter-culture lifestyle now

+ hipster ! kenma . believes heavily in the issue of gentrification in the new neighborhood he just relocated to, without realizing he is part of the problem + hipster ! kenma. has a snide opinion about eeeeverything …

 + hipster ! kenma . part 2 . ⇢ + link2masterlist . ⇢

[teenandbeyond]

Hanta Sero x Reader

Since my Tumblr on my laptop was acting suuuper buggy* Excuse the quality.

(⁠☞⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠☞(⁠☞⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠☞(⁠☞⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠☞

Want more from me? Masterlist

🩹Christmas Love🩹 (BNHA)

Warning(s): Fluff

Sero takes you out on a date or... You take him out???

🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹

Before Sero’s knuckle could leave your door, it was open in a rush.

He jumped back in surprise, but couldn’t hold back the fond smile at what he saw.

You grinned wide, jumping in excitement, “Hanta! It’s snowing on Christmas! In Japan!”

“I know, can’t say I expected to wake up to it.”

You hurried back in to put on your cute Christmas coat and boots you liked before closing the door behind you.

He sighed, the puff of air visible with the chill, “Looks like our original plan won’t work with all this snow.”

Your grin was wide, “That’s okay. We can improvise.”

He yelped as you quickly grabbed his hands, dragging him along. Then he chuckled.

“I’m coming, baby. I promise.”

“Then put those nice thighs of yours to use and walk faster!”

✧*̥˚ *̥˚✧

“So, what are we doing first on this improvised date of ours?”

You didn’t answer, too focused on all the pretty Christmas decor decorating different places.

“[Name]?”

“Hmm…? Oh! We should check out the antique Christmas stand first!”

You dashed away, Sero having to rush after you.

“Hello, sir. You have such pretty things here,” you were looking with interested eyes after a polite bow.

“Oh, yes. I have old Christmas gadgets from all over the world here—I’m quite a collector, but I’m getting older you see. I’d like to let you younger folk gain happiness from them like I did at your age.”

Sero watched you look at everything with a soft smile.

He loved you so much.

As if you felt his eyes, you looked at him, only to shyly smile at the burning gaze and busy yourself with a Santa plate.

And you didn’t even know it.

The two of you hadn’t exchanged the ‘L’ word yet.

It wasn’t because he was so busy at UA, because you visited him every other day with special permission.

Or because you hadn’t gone on too many dates.

It was fear, he’d met you during the break before high school started. And you hadn’t known each other long before he’d gone through USJ. You were a rock he hadn’t known he needed.

You stuck by him. Helped him with his studies, helped him just get a break from it all, and comforted him after each villain situation.

He fell for you, it was impossible not to with how kind of a soul you were, and you fell for him.

So you made it official. But things were still kind of fresh.

So he thought it would be too soon to tell you…. ‘[Name]! I’m in love with you!’

So he just kept all that deep love in, letting enough of it seep out and pass as ‘like’.

Even though what he felt was so much more deeper and passionate than the simple feeling of ‘like’. ‘Liking’ was a boy’s feeling, he was a man that loved you.

But…what if you didn’t feel the same?

“Hanta? Are you still there or did you freeze from the cold?”

He snapped out of it, eyes meeting your amused ones.

“Yeah, just…You’re really cute right now.”

That look, so full of something you couldn’t place had you playing with your gloves. It was too intense.

“W-well anyway, I decided to get this,” you showed him your choice. “Let’s go!”

You zoomed away, but something caught his eye before he could follow you.

A gold carnation necklace.

“Ah, yes. It isn’t necessarily Christmas-themed, but I wanted to get rid of it.”

“How much is it?” he looked back up to the seller.

The elder man smiled at him, “Free of charge. You can take it.”

“There’s no way I could—”

“I know a man in love when I see it. Carnations are a wonderful flower to show that love with—and it’s old, nothing I can do with it. Go ahead!”

“Thank you.”

The seller put the necklace box into a pretty bag.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Yes, you too.”

You patiently waited a distance away, looking in different directions to find where Sero had disappeared to.

“Sorry, I got caught up buying something.”

“That’s okay! I noticed there was a hot chocolate stand not too far from here, let’s go there next!”

Sero just followed like the dutiful boyfriend he was, though he had to admit, once it cooled down a little, the hot chocolate was delicious.

The two of you continued walking, holding each other’s free hand as you talked about anything coming to mind.

Then Sero got bumped into.

“Ah!”

“Sorry!”

“Hanta! Are you okay?”

He waved off the person so they wouldn’t keep feeling bad.

You pulled him to the side to check his hand.

With the pout, you checked his hand, body hovering over it to block some of the cold.

“I told you you should’ve worn gloves…that would've helped a little.

“I wasn’t thinking about it.”

He watched as you took care of his hand, so gentle with him, checking how he was feeling.

You were always gentle and caring with him.

That’s why…

“I love you.”

Crap, did he say that out loud?

Your hands paused just as you placed one of your gloves on his wrapped hand.

“Uh, [Name] I—I shouldn’t have—”

“—Do you mean it?”

He couldn’t lie to you.

“...Yes. I love you so much it–it doesn’t make any sense. I love how much you care for me. I love when you’re so happy your face lights up. I love when you’re sad and come to me, wanting me to make you feel better. I love everything about you…” he looked away from you, “I know it’s kind of soon, but I just can’t help it. I–”

“—Love you, too.”

“Wait, huh?”

Your smile was soft and happy, “I love you, too. I had been hoping you felt the same way. I was going to ask you later today.”

Now Sero was happy, a bubbly grin stretching onto his face, “Wow. This is the greatest Christmas present ever—And I didn’t even need the necklace.”

“What necklace?”

He shyly rubbed his neck, “I, um—That man from the store gave me a necklace—A flower to confess love or something.”

“I’ll still take it. Just to be sure you really love me.”

“Of course, I love you! I’m serious!”

“I’m just teasing, Hanta. I know.”

“No. You need to be assured,” he went to attack your face with kisses.

“Stop! Your lips are cold!”

“Your face is hot enough to make up for it.”

“Shut up!”

“You loooove me.”

“You love me too, goof!”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I appreciate that you are a very thoughtful and clever commentator on culture even when you have strong conservative views. So let me ask you where do you stand on the censorship of Roald Dahl’s books by his publishers?

Although he was never knighted nor awarded any significant distinctions by the government, turning down an OBE in 1986 as insufficiently impressive, Roald Dahl was by far the most popular children’s writer of his generation, and continues to be totemic for both readers and authors. Indeed I read all the Dahl books as a child and had fun doing so. It is debatable how much of a career David Walliams would have if his books didn’t overtly pay homage to Dahl’s, even down to hiring his regular illustrator Quentin Blake for some of them. And yet Dahl’s recent public reputation has been chequered enough throughout his own lifetime for the Royal Mint not to issue a coin commemorating his centenary, as they described him as not being “an author of the highest reputation” – an excellent piece of bureaucratic double-speak.

So I was surprised to see how viral the controversy regarding the rewriting of Roald Dahl’s books, to make them more commercial sensitive, had crescendoed in the media in the UK and abroad. In all honesty I find the whole thing rather tedious.  It’s been discussed to death and my feelings are predictable - you can already guess that I’m against the changes, the people who read me already agree, and the people who disagree would never listen to me anyway. I’m against any censorship of Dahl’s books on the grounds of morality and also quality.

Sometimes they’re editing Dahl-as-such and sometimes his characters. The gluttonous Augustus Gloop in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is no longer described as “fat” but rather as “enormous,” thus leaving readers free to imagine that he’s a powerlifter in a high weight classification. Dahl himself is the insensitive one there. When a character says of another character “I’d knock her flat,” Puffin’s so-called ‘super sensitivity readers’ (hired within the publisher’s staff to weed out things each would find ‘problematic’) replace that fierce language with “I’d give her a right talking to.” But what if the character speaking is the type to use strong language? Or do bad things? Shall we have a version of Crime and Punishment in which Raskolnikov skulks around St. Petersburg fantasising about giving his landlady a right talking to?

Sometimes it’s hard to tell what offence the super-sensitives imagine: It’s not clear that calling someone a “trickster” rather than a “saucy beast” makes an improvement in manners; what is clear is that the meaning is completely different. But: while Dahl referred to Mrs. Twit as “ugly and beastly,” she is now just called “beastly,” though I cannot imagine why calling someone a “beast” is unacceptable but calling them “beastly” is hunky-dory.

One could go on about this silliness all day, and many are doing so, but I actually think there’s an important point to be made in response to these changes: the people doing it have no right to do so. They have the legal right, but what they’re doing is morally wrong.

It’s morally wrong first of all because it’s dishonest. The books will still be sold as Roald Dahl’s - it is his name that will draw readers to these volumes - but they are in fact Dahl’s involuntary collaboration with people who find some of his words and phrases intolerable. That this is so should be announced on the book’s covers – but you may be sure that it will not be. If you own the rights to Dahl’s books but passionately believe that what Dahl wrote is too offensive for today’s readers to face, then your only honourable option is to stop selling the damn books.

This may sound like an odd digression, but bear with me: I’ve been reading a bit of John Ruskin and in his The Seven Lamps of Architecture, Ruskin confronts the widespread practice, in the England of his time, of either dramatically renovating or tearing down old buildings.

First, Ruskin says, when a building is stripped down to its shell and given an entirely new interior, those who do it should call it what it is: destruction. “But, it is said, there may come a necessity for restoration! Granted. Look the necessity full in the face, and understand it on its own terms. It is a necessity for destruction. Accept it as such, pull the building down, throw its stones into neglected corners, make ballast of them, or mortar, if you will; but do it honestly, and do not set up a Lie in their place.”

So also I say: Do not set up a Lie in place of Roald Dahl’s actual books. If they are intolerable, do not tolerate them. Let them go out of print, take the digital editions off the market, and force those of us who are bad enough to desire the books to scour second-hand bookstores for them.

But let’s pursue Ruskin’s argument a bit further. Sometimes a building is torn down altogether, razed to the very ground. What does Ruskin say about that?

“Of more wanton or ignorant ravage it is vain to speak; my words will not reach those who commit them, and yet, be it heard or not, I must not leave the truth unstated, that it is again no question of expediency or feeling whether we shall preserve the buildings of past times or not. We have no right whatever to touch them. They are not ours. They belong partly to those who built them, and partly to all the generations of mankind who are to follow us. The dead have still their right in them: that which they laboured for, the praise of achievement or the expression of religious feeling, or whatsoever else it might be which in those buildings they intended to be permanent, we have no right to obliterate. What we have ourselves built, we are at liberty to throw down; but what other men gave their strength and wealth and life to accomplish, their right over does not pass away with their death; still less is the right to the use of what they have left vested in us only. It belongs to all their successors. It may hereafter be a subject of sorrow, or a cause of injury, to millions, that we have consulted our present convenience by casting down such buildings as we choose to dispense with. That sorrow, that loss, we have no right to inflict.”

As astonishingly eloquent and impassioned declaration, which, in regard to architecture, one might plausibly disagree with. Buildings take up a good deal of space, and the maintenance of them can be expensive; there certainly are circumstances in which demolition is indeed necessary. Ruskin, remember, grants this point, though not without a bit of hedging and tweaking.

But Ruskin’s argument is irrefutable when it comes to the other arts of the past – poetry, story, music, painting, sculpture. There can be no justification for mutilating or destroying them to suit “our present convenience.” We do not know whether later generations will think as we do, will share our preferences and our sensitivities; to preserve the art of the past is to show respect not only for that past but also for our possible futures. And it is to establish a standard for how we wish to be treated by our descendants.

Even the Victorians (and some of their successors) who thought sculptures of naked men too offensive for ladies to see merely covered the pudenda with plaster leaves - the penises themselves remained untouched, for later generations, and less delicate viewers, to see if they wish.

The second domain argument I have against censoring Dahl’s book is the patent drop in linguistic quality. In other words, they patently degrade the quality of the text. Witness how Dahl’s mild comic surrealism gives way to a joyless lecture:

No one would deny that Dahl was a rather scabrous and even sadistic writer. But part of the fun of reading him, as a child, is grappling with the darkness - beginning to comprehend the shadows one has glimpsed around the world. These small-souled artistic vandals are flattening out those interesting quirks in the grip of a paralysing fear that someone, somewhere might read it and then take or give offence.

If Roald Dahl cannot even say that Mrs Trunchbull has a horsey face - because nobody has unsightly features or because we are forbidden from noticing them - what else could be changed? If books like Matilda and films like Gone With the Wind are being sliced and diced, what could happen to less famous and more genuinely provocative books, films, opera, even songs? Indeed, look at how Dahl’s publishers have decided that authors as illustrious as Joseph Conrad and Rudyard Kipling - referenced in Matilda but now replaced with Jane Austen and John Steinbeck - are too dangerous to even mention in front of kids. Do these literary scolds actually think there is no literary value in reading Heart of Darkness or Kim? Jesus wept.

The final clinching argument I’ve heard from critics who want to censor Dahl and his books is because he was an alleged anti-semite. And if he was, so what? If that’s the standard then we should be binning every author, artist, composer, musician for any kind of transgression or character flaw against some absolute moral standard.

As the great pianist and conductor, Daniel Barenboim, once said of Wagner, that it was reductive to say that Wagner was a terrible man with reactionary ideas in general, and therefore his music, no matter how wonderful, is intolerable because it is infected with the same poison as his prose. How would that be demonstrated? How many writers, musicians, poets, painters would be left if their art was judged by their moral behaviour? And who is to decide what level of ugliness and turpitude can be borne in the artistic production of any given artist?

Once one starts to censor, there is no theoretical limit. Rather, I would think that it is incumbent on the mind to be able to analyse a complex phenomenon such as the question of  such creative artists whether they be a Wagner, a Celine, or a Dahl; or indeed, to give another example, Joseph Conrad as analysed in a famous essay written by the brilliant Nigerian novelist Chinua Achebe, reading Conrad's Heart of Darkness for an African today. With all these artists the challenge is the same: to show where the evil is and where the art is.

The truth is for a mature mind it should be possible to hold together in one's mind two contradictory facts, that Dahl was a great writer, and second, that Dahl was mean spirited shitty human being. Unfortunately, one cannot have one fact without the other.

Does that mean, therefore, that Dahl should not be read as he wrote his books? Most assuredly not, although it is obvious that if an individual is still troubled then there is no need at all to inflict Dahl on oneself - but you can’t make that choice for others.

An open attitude towards art is always necessary. This is not to say that artists shouldn't be morally judged for their immorality or evil practices; it is to say that an artist's work cannot be judged solely on those grounds and banned or censored accordingly.

Now I’ve heard from Dahl’s supporters that there are excuses that can be made. Dahl’s publisher Tom Maschler, who died in 2020, was a notoriously difficult and egocentric man, as well as being Jewish, and it could be argued, somewhat tendentiously, that many of Dahl’s attacks on Jews could be interpreted as necessarily veiled expressions of his venting his frustration with Maschler. Hmmm, yes, well.

More persuasive is Dahl’s friend Isaiah Berlin’s comment that, “I thought he might say anything. Could have been pro-Arab or pro-Jew. There was no consistent line. He was a man who followed whims, which meant he would blow up in one direction, so to speak”.

Dahl was a peculiar man whose richness of imagination went along with deep personal eccentricity. This was both tolerated and facilitated by those around him. Although JK Rowling raised eyebrows with her first post-Harry Potter novel, The Casual Vacancy, containing swearing and sex scenes, it seems extremely unlikely that she would have interrupted her career as one of Britain’s most successful ever writers to produce an erotic novel aimed at adults, as Dahl did with his (excellent and deeply un-PC) 1979 book My Uncle Oswald.

Likewise, the macabre violence visited upon children in books such as The Witches and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory suggests an ambivalence towards his readership that may have been borne out by one of the more eyebrow-raising anecdotes in Kingsley Amis’s Memoirs. Upon meeting Dahl at a party and being asked if he has any ideas for children’s books (“that’s where the money is today, believe me”), Amis regretfully replied that he did not, saying “I don’t think I enjoyed children’s books much when I was a child myself. I’ve got no feeling for that kind of thing.” To his surprise, Dahl replied “Never mind, the little bastards’d swallow it.”

Yet, just as Berlin suggested that the writer would switch from one persona to another on a whim, Dahl later collared Amis again at the party, and, apparently sincerely, informed him:

“If you do decide to have a crack, let me give you one warning. Unless you put everything you’ve got into it, unless you write it from the heart, the kids’ll have no use for it. They’ll see you’re having them on. And just let me tell you from experience that there’s nothing kids hate more than that. They won’t give you a second chance either. You’ll have had it for good as far as they’re concerned. Just you bear that in mind as a word of friendly advice.”

Amis records Dahl walking off “with a stiff nod and an air of having asserted his integrity by rejecting some particularly outrageous and repulsive suggestion”. What he hints at, but does not explicitly state, is that Dahl was perfectly sincere in both statements, switching with no apparent contradiction in his own mind between the personae of cynical exploiter of the young and heartfelt creator of magical stories.

This ability to snap between attitudes and personae might be described as sociopathic, and indeed much of Dahl’s life and career does hint at an unbalanced and inconsistent mind, both when it comes to attitudes that most people would find repellent and in the richness and immersive nature of the characters and worlds he created.

Like his great hero Lewis Carroll, another visionary eccentric, the wonder of Dahl’s writing is that he believed wholeheartedly in a fantastical universe, and the books represent that universe committed to paper. They are less a creative feat, and more a marvel of reportage, from the most vivid of imaginations.

None of which excuses his anti-Semitism. It is nonetheless the case that we should regard Dahl’s often provocative and thoughtless public statements in context with his imaginative genius. Rather than castigate him as yet another privately educated racist, we should instead treat him, like so many of his characters and peers, as a naïve and unworldly man who never entirely left the realm of make-believe.

We should neither censor Roald Dahl, nor celebrate him unreservedly, but instead treat his life and work with the careful consideration that it deserves, never forgetting the joy that it has given many millions over the decades.

The immediate and most important point: buy your kid a different book. Just buy your kid a different book! There are tens of thousands of children’s books out there that are inoffensive by anyone’s definition. Just buy those books. Exercise your choice. Not everything is made for you. I get that people feel that they are nothing but their consumption, that they have no identity but that which they buy. But not everything is for you. Buy something else. Buy something else!

But the cynic in me thinks this is all playing quite nicely into Puffin’s hands. It’s one great way for Dahl’s publishers (and Netflix) to make a killing because they have in effect sanctioned two versions of Dahl’s books now: the censored line of books and the original unedited books under the ‘classic collection’ label. It’s like New Coke and Coke Classic, clearly differentiated by label.

In this new woke world it wouldn’t surprise me if they did advertise the one and not heavily advertise the other; they could make their preferences clear; they could say “If you are a Good Person you will purchase our sanitised versions rather than the nastiness written by Roald Dahl himself.” And then people could buy the version they want.

I know which version children and adult readers would want. The so-called in’-house ‘Super Sensitivity Readers’ would choose the sanitised version because they believe in the one canonical rule of their world view: the reader is always wrong. Because any genuine reader is, by definition, not a super sensitive.

Thanks for your question.

[regarding-stories]

Silly things I read: My Monster Secret

Here's a long-running comedy for you indeed - it finished at 22 translated volumes. It's a rather quirky high school story about a boy falling in love with a vampire. With none of the glitz you'd expect.

See, every single character in this story is really stupid. Our main protagonist is supposedly incapable of keeping secrets, which he rapidly improves upon, making him stand out among a cast which is completely incapable of protecting their own secrets.

Each of them happens to be a girl. Oops, spoilers...

The vampire? Fails at being a cool beauty (growl) and has only minor vampire blood. The alien? Let's say her "military training" is... lacking. Each of our heroines is somehow flawed or stupid... or both.

Characters that get introduced in a way that makes them too unlikable get gradually remade into something else, even with a different core trait. The werewolf? Now struggles with her nympho nature. The "evil queen of gossip?" Gets a "god of fortune" tsukumogami. All to ensure they have something to contribute to the ongoing wackiness while justifying remaining as core cast.

The series is entertaining enough that I keep going through the volumes, but it also has some flaws as well.

One thing is that it has a lot of formulaic filler. We get a lot of "crazy hijinks caused by the devil principal" episodes, same for "crazy hijinks caused by triggering the spinster teacher." The principal is a character that due to her behavior is borderline unlikable - and everything she instigates in terms of plot is usually of lesser quality than the rest. You tend to feel like half the series is made up of that, really.

The art is a bit below par but can really get to you, especially in the standout moments (which all are romantic or at least emotional). Then the comedy drawing style gets taken up a notch.

Another thing probably not sitting well with today's reader demographic (outside Japan?) is that there are several installments where male characters have a near-mental breakdown over being on the receiving end of affections from a man (though the man in question is justifiably a creep). It's hard to see these scenes as anything but people freaking out about "gay" (neither of the involved actually is) and the joke usually hinges on a man being in a woman's body at the time (can't see that part going down well, either!)...

Otherwise it's a harem comedy in the sense that a lot of the females harbor a crush towards the MC. This aspect is actually quite well done as it involves people coming to terms with their feelings (mostly) and the MC being monogamously attached to the initial heroine. It moves back and forth between comedy and being (at times) rather touching as people come to terms with who they are and find acceptance with others and deepen their bonds.

That's a weird mix to pull off for sure!

[wild-grinders]

Wild Grinders: The Fan Analysis (Pt.2)

Previous

Hooooooo boy. This is the one that everyone wants to talk about. The haters and the fans. But the haters mostly want some sort of fuel to hate Wild Grinders. Don’t.

3k+ words

This is criticism, not the bashing reviews you see on YouTube where the speaker goes on a tangent and use every swear in the book. This critical review of Wild Grinders will be slightly more professional and come from my visual fine arts background. (Long sentence, but basically this is from 4+ years of training in art criticism).

The point of criticism is to discuss, not to attack the artist. In art you can’t just say a piece makes you mad (and it’s complaining by that point), you have to actually tell your reason WHY you feel mad. Not only that, but you have to understand the construction of the art before you make critical comments (usually the artist’s jobs is to decide whether or not they accept your criticism). Critique also requires a basic understanding of the medium itself (and taking account of the artists’ circumstances as well) for it to be fully developed.

Anyways, the one who is writing this criticism…. Is literally a fan of Wild Grinders. My money? It went to buying episodes and toys. My blog? It is a Wild Grinders themed fandom blog. My hyperfixation since 2013? Wild Grinders.

But just because this series has a special place in my heart, that doesn’t mean it’s free from faults. Flaws exist in everything.

Because this will be critiqued in an artistic way, it will include bits of the positive things about the series. Reviews and criticism are not always a full-blown hate rant that people make it look to be. You’re allowed to say what you enjoyed about the subject during a critique.

Enough of the foreword rant about art critique, it’s time to evaluate a TV series from 2012. This critical review will be split into 2 major themes that the show is often criticized for; animation and story.

Animation

Everyone’s shouting that Wild Grinders has bad animation. We get it. But that sentence needs to be elaborated. Why was it bad?

My expertise really isn’t in animation because ‘animating is hard.’ It takes days and years of practice and self-study to have some of the best animation most Disney media has. But the reason why Disney have some of the best animation is due to a rigorous process of rejecting mediocre and only taking the best. That, and also most of their animators graduate from CalArts. And most of the time, they usually want to keep their “bests” and pull them into contracts where they cannot work for other studios or share their work to the public.

Wild Grinders was a spur of the moment that Nickelodeon wanted out of nowhere for their sports-themed branding of 2012… And most of the early animation were 2-minute promotional shorts to advertise the toys. Also Tracy Tubera’s artwork was made for toy design and 2D illustration.

Not to be that guy, but Rob Dyrdek and Tracy Tubera simply didn’t have huge backgrounds in animation. Rob Dyrdek ended up hiring a group of various freelance animators and expected them to work their magic on Tubera’s style. The results gave him an animated show at the end of the day, but it wasn’t high-quality.

My reasoning for this lack of quality was due to multiple factors. The first factor was Rob Dyrdek hiring random freelancers to make something fast. Not only that, but some of their experiences in animating were different. Some of them worked on more professional projects while others… were Flash Adobe Animators. You can even go to the search engine to see who worked on the show as well. (Fandom is a hobby that doesn’t pay, don’t expect me to write formal letters to these storyboard artists/animators. They can share whatever information they want to).

Overall, flash animation would be favored due to it being cheaper and spit out episodes faster. There is an entire phenomenon of broadcasting stations that also favor it for the same reasons.

...After contemplating over this critique on the animated aspect of the series, it’s been decided that animation is NOT my field of expertise and my brain cannot comprehend the way it works. From most of my research, animation is something that always has a great amount of discourse about what’s best and worst.

Some of the most award-winning animation comes from studios where the artists are treated horribly (making people claim that good animation comes from abusing workers). MEANWHILE unsavory shows, for example Big Mouth surprisingly treats their animators way better.  There are other discourses that involve the animation studio just being lazy. 

But here’s the thing! Flash animation can be used to create phenomenal works! It just depends on the way it’s used. Flash animation discourse makes everyone believe it’s the “wrong” of animation, but the reality is that animators have to put effort to use it to full potential. The best example that used flash animation and had a sharp, blocky art style was Motorcity. (Honestly please just watch it, it’s insanely underrated).

Back to the animation Wild Grinders… Yeah. It wasn’t as phenomenal. It was blocky and not as dynamic. A majority of the cartoon is fairly flat, save for some small details if you look closely. (My life has been dedicated to finding these short moments where the animation did a thing, expect a video of those moments). And the animation was all done in flash and a recruitment of various freelance animators. Nickelodeon most likely didn’t provide a professional crew for it either. And again, Nickelodeon was never looking for a masterpiece CalArts cartoon. They wanted to have a sports cartoon and called up the man who helped built a giant skateboard and made a few animation shorts. (Nickelodeon also did the same thing for Making Fiends, the first cartoon that came from a webisode series).

After skimming through some sites of the animators (who worked on Wild Grinders), a lot of them were varied in experience and what skills they had. However, some stuck out having only experience in Flash animation and not really doing it for the art. Safe to say, there were plenty of issues behind the animation of Wild Grinders. Some of them were minor issues, while others fumbled the animation. At the end of the day, it slanders the energy in Tubera’s non-animated art and everyone wants to complain that the cartoon looks bad. A lot of the things that people hate about the animation are due to what Nickelodeon wanted. An exciting, mindless cartoon about skating for the alarming generation of kids who would be Instagram-saavy influencers. (Trust me on this. In 2012-2015, Instagram was the only social media that my class and generation would use and it was normal for everyone to have one).

Anyways, that’s what my take on the animation of Wild Grinders. It just didn’t reach for a higher bar based on the way the animation is. And it wasn’t just the animation where the bar was set low. The writing of Wild Grinders is something that never reached its potential for similar reasons.

Writing

There’s an ongoing trend that bad animation means bad writing for cartoons. Unfortunately, Wild Grinders makes this claim to be true. Honestly, it’s complicated and difficult to comprehend it. The writing was full of jokes and punches rather than having a linear story. The more you watch it, sometimes the lines can be funny and understandable. However, it’s difficult to enjoy it on the first watch of an episode.

In 2023 (the year this was written), a lot of lines have aged well compared to the 2014 audiences. Some lines in the writing will make me cringe, do a double take, or laugh alone hysterically. (In short, there were plenty of subtle jokes meant for mature people who have seen everything on the internet). However, most of this is humor and not the actual story.

…There never was a true story in Wild Grinders. A lot of the episodes were kept the same and did not become epic stories like Steven Universe and Star vs. the Forces of Evil. Around this time, more western animation were becoming greater narratives and cartoon fandom was at its peak (especially on Tumblr). It’s not surprising that people were demanding “more” from western animation. They expected thrilling plots like Adventure Time. They demanded their cartoons to raise the bar because My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic had top-tier writing that past series wouldn’t even attempt.

Wild Grinders was always meant to be short, wacky episodes to watch after school. Rob Dyrdek clearly didn’t have a plot in mind when creating it. He simply wanted to focus on creating characters for the toy line. He had their personalities fleshed out, but didn’t seem interested in story narrative. In the early days of Wild Grinders, there were 2 short movies that Dyrdek was most likely involved in. (He didn’t play a huge role in the writing for the TV series). And from the writing, there was an attempt to create a good plot. The plots of both movies weren’t bad. They involved an outside force to take the crew on an adventure and they’re all friends.

Golden Grinders was not my favorite. (And it still isn’t). It felt very… Hollywood glamorous. It’s am ‘instant’ rags to riches story where it relies on celebrities as the importance. The Wild Grinders were put into a gold filter and they lied. In the end, they learned their lesson (kinda). Honestly, it was really was a boring story. It focused on gold and famous figures that society puts on a pedestal. In a nutshell, it’s not relatable to the crowd that doesn’t care about the tabloids.

Next we have “The Lost Skate Spot” or the movie that actually felt like it belongs to Wild Grinders. It’s hard to explain, but the outfits to the setting to the humor just nailed the characters perfectly. It introduces characters more naturally compared to the TV series where every side character NEEDS to insert themselves into the situation. This movie uses the right timing for humor and involving supporting characters when they are actually relevant. Not only that, but it actually focuses on the skate crew as a whole! In the TV episodes, the crew is always together, but Lil’ Rob often steals the spotlight. He does play the hero in this movie, but his role as the hero is better. Why? It’s because he watches out for his friends in the movie and lends a hand to them. He also gets snarky responses from his friends as well (while the TV series constantly makes him praised by his friends, save for a few episodes).

These movies are honestly the closest vision we have of what Wild Grinders was meant to be. Rob Dyrdek was more involved. The characters weren’t like their comical, zany TV counterparts. They felt far more natural as a friend group. However, that’s enough praise for the earlier works in the series. This essay is meant to cover the TV series.

In the TV series, there was an obvious lack of a narrative. Most likely due to Rob Dyrdek’s lack of experience in writing. He dropped out of high school when he was sixteen and got lucky enough to gain a sponsorship for skateboarding. This man was clearly not a bookworm gifted student who could write 200k+ word stories that included a fantasy plot. Instead of doing things the introvert way, he mainly relied on experiences to write Wild Grinders. After all, the idea of Wild Grinders came from his childhood skate crew. But he didn’t put 100% focus on that aspect. And Dyrdek ended up pulling more inspiration from the present (2012-2014). Wild Grinders became less grunge-like and more glamorized to fit his current TV lifestyle. His love for skateboarding was still important to him in those years and he’s done a ton of work for children’s charities. However, that couldn’t help him have the skills to write a good narrative for his series.

And honestly, a lot of the show’s writing wasn’t actually done by Dyrdek himself. Instead, there were multiple script writers. Do you get the idea? My guess would have to be that the writers would send Rob Dyrdek the scripts/ideas for episodes and he would usually greenlight them (he was working on his projects like Fantasy Factory and Ridiculousness). Not only that, but Rob Dyrdek would give a quick description of what he wanted and the writers would carry it out. This is what he had done when designing the characters for Wild Grinders; he hired artists to draw their styles of his characters and rejected multiple artists until he reached out to Tracy Tubera. It’s not surprising if he did something similar for writing the TV show. If it seemed okay and outlandish enough, he’d probably agree to it.

And that’s where many problems in the writing become visible. Some of these cartoon writers were adults who didn’t understand kids. Or they hated kids and tried to insert jokes to make fun of the younger generation. Either way, some episodes were good. Others were… bad. Like. After seeing everything on the internet and learning about the psychology of child development, there are some unsavory scenes that were insanely uncomfortable to watch as an adult. We are talking about deviantArt fetishes being slipped into some frames. (Literally screamed in agony when seeing Jack Knife’s feet in that one spooky episode and died a bit inside from other moments like that). Yes, it can off be played off as toilet humor for kids, but there were some moments where it went to places it didn’t need to go. (Or it just seemed heavily pushed into the episode when it wasn’t needed). Especially for too many episodes.

There’s a whole discourse about this happening in many kids’ shows. The animated series who got the worst of it was Totally Spies. Even the Powerpuff Girls Reboot got hit by multiple fetish writers (it’s a lot worse than you think). If there’s anything to take out of this, Wild Grinders isn’t the only show that had this inappropriate writing slipped into production. The reason why it’s still a problem is that it just that it can make anyone walk out the room because it’s uncomfortable to watch.

The TV writing department for Wild Grinders messed up in various ways. Some made the script too gross, while others decided to copy from other cartoons to be “funny.” Yes, this is referencing to Johnny Test. One of the writers thought it was real funny to parody off of other cartoons instead of just being creative and working on what characters they were given. One of the other “too real” adult internet jokes that made its way into an episode involved bronies (like the grown men stereotype). It’s doesn’t reference it one-to-one, but seeing a fat unicorn man on the couch as the song goes “but we don’t talk about him” and it just clicked. One of the writers really wanted to make fun of bronies in this skateboard show. There are a lot of internet meta moments that will ‘click’ if you pay careful attention to the writing. Not only does it ruin the watching experience, but it shouldn’t have been there at all. It just makes the writing joyless to know that the adults wanted to insert their commentary instead of focusing on the story. Like, it does happen in other cartoons. But it’s just the way it’s told in the story that matters.

That being said, there were some episodes that weren’t always this bad. (Usually, those are my most favorites episodes). There were some episodes that were pushing for a better narrative and character development. However, a lot of it gets drowned out because they weren’t wacky enough for kids.

In the second season of Wild Grinders, some of the later episodes felt more experimental and even different from the early TV episodes. “The Big Sleep...Over” was very ominous for an episode because it centered around a mysterious character known as Stubford’s mother. Like, she wasn’t treated a joke either. She was written in a way that took her character seriously. And it ended in Lil’ Rob hugging his mother at the end and being grateful to have a loving mom. “Demolition Man, Man” featured a character that was also very negative compared most of the characters in Wild Grinders. He actively mistreats and torments Jack Knife, but not in the quirky style of Wild Grinders. He belittles Jack Knife, literally the kindest character of the crew, and gives him a wedgie in public. Not only that, but this character was definitely older than everyone. Like damn, they actually had a character being a full-on asshole to an 11-year-old. “Midas Touch” was definitely another experimental episode as well and honestly. That episode needs an essay on its own.

A lot of the faults in the show was mostly due to Rob Dyrdek’s and even Tracy Tubera’s lack of experience in creating an animated series. While Tubera consumes a lot of comics and animated movies, he was the artist for Wild Grinders and didn’t have the role as writer. Even Rob Dyrdek didn’t have a major role as a story writer either. He’s a busy man and seems to throw vague ideas to make an episode. They didn’t work with a professional animation studio. They were hiring freelancers who worked on various cartoons (multiple to be exact, but they weren’t usually working on the cartoon for that long). And again, the plan for Wild Grinders was to create 11 minute story in an episode. Creating plot was not on anyone’s mind. They were just expected to make random adventures for each one. And you know what they did. They used those 10 minutes to shove whatever wackiness, Instagram, and mainstream internet they could.

The next part of essay will cover improvements for Wild Grinders. (Brain tired).

Next 

[jjraderftw]

Eden of the East (ep. 1,3,4,5)

Eden of the East begins its first set of episodes by providing a very explicit commentary on the work life, culture, and expectancies of not only Japan, but most modern day societies. The way society looks at work culture and youths in particular is one of a constant busy nature. Saki and her quest to find a job outline the cruelties of the modern workforce and the lack of compassion for personal pleasures. The game Akira plays outlines the paradox of this want for all people to work as fast as possible and it poses the question of what can your work truly do for society. Is it the fact that you're working a busy job that contributes? Or is what you would be able to do if you were not confined to the chains of a job to make a minimal amount of time money what really matters?

The search for the Saki’s job shows the high level of urgency society has for the youth to begin working. Saki is freshly out of college and she has finished going through all the stress, work, and frustration involved with getting a degree. The fact that it takes a lot of hard work and determination to earn a degree is a fact often forgotten by those in power in society, making them see college graduates as “slackers” who haven’t worked hard yet. Despite this, Saki and her friends take a vacation to unwind which costs her an opportunity at a job. This job then ridiculed her for not immediately beginning to work. This is a tragic mentality in my eyes because it shows the almost slave-like mentality people have. Life is meant to be enjoyed, regardless of age. You should make the most out of your time on earth and have a combination of a fulfilling job and fun pleasures. However, society sees this as inefficient. As outlined in the show and Ross Mouer’s Work Culture, many countries expect people to constantly be working. Regardless of the happiness level or quality of the job, the world expects you to be busy. If you are enjoying your life briefly, it’s seen as slacking. The entire reason you should work should be to provide for society and earn money to make a living. However, the process of getting a job and starting to make money is one that is grueling making it not only hard to stop being looked down upon, but one that most people will have to go through. When the business people made fun of Saki, it highlighted workplace toxicity that makes the job search process so scary.

Akira’s participation in the game outlines the paradox of the constant want to work. The entire purpose of such a rigorous work culture is to help society and make money. However, in order to make a difference in the world, you will most likely need to have money. Additionally, your job should be something that is impactful and useful. Unfortunately, most jobs aren’t intrinsically “pivotal” for society and won’t make you enough money to cause anything groundbreaking. As a result, the reason to want everyone to have a job then becomes more of a want for everyone to be busy. These jobs that are filled up involve long hours and little pay, making this reality one that not many people look forward to and wish they could escape. Those that do, either through unemployment or lack of finding a good job are labeled NEETS and made feel even worse by society. This positive feedback loop creates a lot of the depression and sadness seen throughout our societies today. Akira’s participation in the game shows how the access to countless amounts of money can’t even truly fulfill the expectation of helping society with money. A job and money does not provide inherent value to a person, rather, it’s what that person is capable of doing and thinking that gives the individual merit of admiration.

Overall, I am really liking the show. I think its messages are powerful and clear and I cannot wait to see more. Furthermore, the art style is cute yet the dark nature of the story is a good contrast that keeps things interesting. I can’t wait to finish off the series.