#in which case now you also have a new direction for things!

[yuurei20]

Hi I anon'd before about a rumor write-up and you said to submit specific things, so I went around and collected some I saw people talking about. You don't have to go into a ton of detail if you don't want to but a yes/no on these would be great, thank you.

Kalim was accepted to RSA but his family bribed him into NRC

Trey and Cater are roommates in the game but not in the novels

Toboso Yana confirmed that there is more to come after Chapter 7 (people keep saying RSA content is confirmed?)

Yuu is the housewarden of Ramshackle

Deuce's signature spell doubles the force of the attack he is hit with

Yuu appears in groovied art like Ace's ceremonial robes and Leona's labwear coat

Hello hello! Thank you for these questions! It is easier to prove that a thing has happened than it is to prove a thing hasn't happened 💦 But will do my best to be brief!

In Summary 1. No in-game proof (as of this post) 2. Disproven (Wish Upon a Star, Trey MyRoom Birthday) 3. No proof (as of this post) 4. No: "Housewarden" (寮長) and "Prefect" (監督生) are two different things! 🦐 5. No: Deuce explains that his magic only "stores" damage 6. No: those are both Epel! 🍎

Details/Sources:

Rumor: "Kalim was accepted to RSA but his family bribed him into NRC" Status: No proof

It has been often hinted in the game that Kalim was homeschooled prior to NRC, and we received outright confirmation that he had never been to a school in Book 7 (censored awkwardly below for spoilers).

While it is still technically possible that he received a letter to RSA and ignored it, this has never been stated in-game.

All we know is that Jamil was admitted to NRC and Kalim's letter of acceptance arrived one month later, with no mention of Kalim attending any other school or receiving any other letters in the interim.

Rumor Source: This is possibly from confusion with Jamil's overblot monologue and Kalim's delayed admittance!

During Jamil's flashback we see that he went to Crowley to ask him to not allow Kalim's promotion to housewarden, where Crowley says that "providing education comes with costs" and Kalim's family has been "quite generous in their support," but this was about his ascension to housewarden, not about his admittance.

Jamil does have a whispered line in Book 5 about how he suspects that Crowley also accepted a bribe for Kalim's enrollment but Jamil does not actually know, and neither do we!

He may be proven right in the future, but not as of this post :>

Rumor: "Trey and Cater are roommates in the game but not in the novels" Status: Disproven

We learn during Wish Upon a Star that Cater and Trey roomed together during their first two years at NRC, but this is not the case for their third year.

In addition to confirmation that all third-year students at the school have private rooms (more here) the new "Relaxing MyRoom" birthday series goes into a lot of detail about who has who for a roommate, confirming that Jade and Floyd room together while Trey is alone (Cater's birthday is not here yet!)

Rumor Source: I am not sure where this one would have come from! Maybe confusion over Cater's Wish Upon a Star wording, being misinterpreted as "We did room together (and we still do now but we did before, too)"?

Rumor: "Toboso Yana confirmed that there is more to come after Chapter 7 (people keep saying RSA content is confirmed?)" Status: No proof

Explained in more detail here!

Rumor Source: There was a new interview released along with Book 7-2, within which Yana says, "Going forward things are going to be on a much larger scale, incorporating not only the vertical and horizontal axes of the story but also expanding upon elements such as a present, past and future. Look forward to Book 7 (currently on chapter 2)!"

This was before any of us knew the direction that things were going to go in, but now--almost two years later--it seems very much like she was hinting about the events of Book 7 itself rather than anything beyond :>

This does not mean that there is not more to come after Book 7 or that an RSA arc is an impossibility! But nothing has been mentioned as of this post ^^

Rumor: Yuu is the housewarden of Ramshackle Status: No, housewardens and the prefect are very much two different things!

Deuce explains that the player character was put in charge of Grim, saying nothing about them being in charge of Ramshackle Dorm.

It is possible they also could have been named the "Grim Warden," but they were called the prefect, instead :>

(a similar ask was received before and the answer went wildly off track, but for reference!)

Rumor Source: I am not sure! Maybe confusion over whether or not "Housewarden" and "Prefect" were the same word in the original game, made into two words for EN? (They are very much two different words on JP, too, accurately localized for EN!)

Rumor: "Deuce's signature spell doubles the force of the attack he is hit with" Status: No, Deuce explains his unique magic directly to everyone in Book 5!

He says: "I wasn't the one who made it so strong. Vil was. That spell stores up all the damage I take from someone, then hits back with it all at once. So it was only potent because Vil hit me with really potent magic to start with."

He does not take credit for his magic "doubling" Vil's attack, saying outright that all he does is store the magic he is hit with and then reflects it back upon his attacker, so he can only hit with the same degree of strength that strikes him.

Rumor Source: This one probably came from the English-language localization of Deuce's UM ^^ In the original game it is called "Bet the Limit" (and this can be heard in the audio, as he says it in English), but it was changed to "Double Down" on EN!

Both "Bet the Limit" (poker) and "Double Down" (Blackjack) are card-playing terms!

Why this was changed is unclear! I agree that it does sound very much like "doubling" is what Deuce's magic should do, but it doesn't--hence why he never uses the word "double" in his actual dialogue!

More here:

Rumor: "Yuu appears in groovied art like Ace's ceremonial robes and Leona's labwear coat" Status: Disproven. They are both Epel! The prefect has never been represented visually in any artwork in the game or novels.

Rumor Source: I am not sure where the rumor for Ace's would have come from, as the prefect had not entered the world at the time of this scene 🧐

The prefect is present in the scene of Leona's labwear, but in dialogue Leona explains how he has picked up only Epel and Grim.

He threatens to pick up the prefect but does not actually do so. Maybe the rumor is from before the EN server was released, back when it was more common to try and understand the vignettes based on the visuals alone? :>

[yuesya]

as an author: how do you loose the fear of straying away from canon??? or is it just a me thing? like every time i make a decision for my oc i have this nagging feeling that it’s not gonna fit in for later arcs and i just *noises* alternatively: how do you tie in the oc with the canon in general 😩

Unfortunately (fortunately?), I don't think I have any other advice for you than 'just go for it' haha. I mean. Tweaking canon events is half the fun in writing fanfiction!

I'd compare this to wading into a sandbox. Just by stepping in, you're already going to be affecting whatever was previously built there, so I wouldn't stress too much about changing things. Of course, some changes are going to be purposeful, while others are going to be accidental. It usually helps if you have a general idea of what you want to change beforehand, and how you'll be working towards it.

But in the end, having fun while you're romping around the sandbox is what's most important! :D

[daisywords]

\

[sirfrogsworth]

I think in this new age of A.I. the general public is going to need to increase their photography and lighting literacy. The response to this photo has just been a shit show.

There are people pointing out perfectly normal edge lighting and misunderstanding how reflections work.

First the plane is parked at an angle. The tail is farther back than the nose. But also that is a curved surface and it tapers. It's reflecting the area to the right of the photo.

And the bottom of the plane is reflecting what is directly underneath. Which is the tarmac, not the crowd.

It should also be noted that photo was shot with a very telephoto lens and everything is super compressed. The crowd appears much closer to the airplane than they actually are.

But then someone who should have good understanding of lighting said this...

And now I'm worried for her clients. Because that's very... wrong.

Well, wrong-ish.

First, let's try to understand why this photo is setting off some alarm bells.

The crowd toward the rear is in shadow, but they are still very well exposed. But then there is also a bright light source creating a strong edge light on them. Looking at this photo with just the context of what is in it, there are some things that seem uncanny.

The information we do not have is the people in the shadow area are inside a very brightly lit airplane hangar.

So they have artificial light blasting them from the top.

But that light is still much dimmer than the sunlit areas outside so they appear in shade. But we are used to shade being much darker than areas in direct sun. So the balance seems off in our brain. We expect the people to be darker because we don't have the context of the bright hangar lights above them.

But the other issue is that the photo was post processed. It wasn't manipulated. The pixels weren't changed. But the exposure balance was altered.

If I were to guess, the original photo looked more like this...

But newer digital cameras can have 13 to 15 stops of dynamic range. And if you shoot in RAW, you can easily lift shadows and bring down highlights. You can balance the exposure so the dark parts aren't as dark and the bright parts aren't as bright. This photographer might have overdone it a bit in this case, but this is a fairly standard edit used to bring balance to photos.

And lastly, where does the edge light come from?

Edge lighting or backlighting or rim lighting (all the same) should probably be called wrap-around lighting if you want to be more accurate.

It comes from a homogenous light source that is larger than the subject being lit. So with my knife photo, I placed it on a large LED panel light.

The light source was bigger than the subject so it wrapped around the edges.

And I'm afraid the airplane is not nearly large enough to create a light source to wrap around everyone in the crowd. It isn't even reflecting direct sunlight. So I'm sorry to say that lighting designer was mostly mistaken despite the confidence.

The light source is... everything.

That entire red area I highlighted is the light source.

As well as everything above and everything to the sides.

And the biggest aspect of that light source would be the sky above. I think people always forget the sky is a light source. If you are seeing blue, you are seeing light. And I guess the plane is included in that, but that entire highlighted red area is so bright, and so filled with sunlight bouncing around, that it creates basically a giant softbox. It becomes a huge single light source for the people in the hangar.

If you look at footage taken from way inside the hangar, you can see the camera adjusting exposure for the crowd inside, but look at what happens to the sunlit area outside.

What does that look like?

A giant softbox.

A single homogenous light source blasting light inside the hangar.

The sun is so incredibly bright that even when it is not directly lighting something, the light just bouncing around outside is enough to overpower the very bright hangar lights.

So, what have we learned from this?

Perhaps people should hire me to be their lighting designer.

Though I'm sure she is actually very talented. She seems to work with stage lights and this is more physics and photography.

Phystography.

[laurellala]

What if the characters in Ace Attorney all texted each other. Because they're friends. <3

(My alt text descriptions were a little long so I've added the individual text exchanges below, btw if there's any way I can improve my alt text please let me know!)

[id: drawing one shows text history between Maya Fey and Phoenix Wright on Nick's phone, starting with older texts at the top

Maya: ramen? (Nick has given this a thumbs up)

now we see texts from today at 11:37

Maya: Burgers?

Nick: sorry, not today, big case :(

Maya: Aww Nick

Maya: I'll pick it up and bring it over!

Maya: ... can i use your credit card (she punctuates the sentence with a big smiling face emoji) /end id]

[id: drawing two shows text history between Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth on Miles's phone, starting with older texts at the top

Edgeworth: This was a riveting article, I thought it might interest you.

now we see texts from today

Nick sends a screenshot of a twitter post that reads: Lawyers help people get through the worst day of their life. They're good at it because they have experience getting through their own worst day, which just so happens to be every waking day of their existence

Miles: Ha.

Nick: Just one "ha"?

Miles: Not your best work.

Nick sends a frowny face :( /end id]

[id: drawing three shows text history between Miles Edgeworth and Maya Fey on Maya's phone. The text bubbles from Maya here are green as a result of her, an iPhone user texting Miles, a google pixel user. Maya has also sprinkled several emojis into Miles's contact name, the libra scales, the angry face emoji, the shouting emoji, and the clashing swords emoji. They're mid conversation and Miles has sent a text bubble so big we can't read the whole thing.

Miles: -completely unnecessary. Doing a Steel Samurai reboot so soon after the series ended is a foolish decision, everyone will be directly comparing the two from the moment the first episode drops. I don't believe they even have a fresh direction for the show, the only difference will be the cgi. God forbid we rock the boat and follow a new character! It's abundantly clear to me that the studio executives are cowards.

Maya: Oh my gosh, and did you see the new outfits? Maya includes a sobbing emoji

Miles: Oh, don't get me started.

we see three dots at the bottom of the screen indicating that Miles is still typing. /end id]

[chithereader]

jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder. 

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face. 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

“You don’t think you’re my girl?” 

[5ummit]

New Mature Content Warning Overlay (And How to Get Rid of It)

More fun community label "features"! Unlike the new mandatory label for #NSFW, this one is a bigger deal to me because it affects my entire blog and it can't be avoided by just using a different tag.

Apparently on custom blog layouts, if you happen to post or reblog even a SINGLE post that's been flagged with the mature content community label, a full-page warning overlay will appear blurring out your entire blog that must be manually clicked through every single time the page is refreshed. At first I thought this was just a bug due to my older layout but I've come to realize it's not. It's a feature (as confirmed by this recent changes post) that affects all custom themes. The formatting will vary based on your own theme but here's what it looks like on my blog:

I don't know about you but I find this is stupid and annoying. If it could be dismissed once and never seen again that might be one thing, but that's not the case. The vast majority of my blog is not "mature" enough to warrant such an aggressive and invasive warning. I also think pop-ups are obnoxious in general and I'll be damned if tumblr's going to force me to have one on MY blog.

After some desperate googling for a known workaround and being unable to find even a single mention of it, I decided to take on the challenge myself. I'm not a theme coder, so apologies if there's a better way to do this, but luckily it only took me like 10 minutes to figure out a simple fix, which I'm now sharing with anyone else who may want it:

.community-label-cover__wrapper {display: none}

Just copypaste that somewhere in your CSS and goodbye pop-up!

If you're not sure how to access your theme code, check out this help article. You can also add the code via the Advanced Options menu, which is actually even better (if you can get it to work, it depends on how your theme was coded), because it will then automatically be reapplied to a lot of themes without having to remember to manually add it every time if you change your theme in the future.

Obviously this will only remove it from your own blog for anyone who may visit it. If you never want to see this warning again on other people's blogs you can also add this custom filter to your ad block:

tumblr.com##.community-label-cover__wrapper

Unfortunately I do not have an easy tutorial on hand for this one as the method will depend on your specific ad block app or extension.

Some additional notes:

After adding the theme code and saving the changes, give it a minute to update as it sometimes takes a little while for the page to refresh.

The warning overlay only seems to appear if a "mature" post is on the FIRST page of your blog, which is still annoying and makes the whole thing even more pointless and stupid because what if someone visits any other page of your blog, and oh no, happens to see "mature" content they weren't warned about?!

The warning also appears on direct links to "mature" posts.

This hack has NOTHING to do with entire blogs that have been flagged as NSFW. It only works for non-flagged blogs with custom themes that happen to have individual "mature" posts.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[pathologicalreid]

hotchner!reader (hotch’s daughter) who’s married/dating Spencer, and then telling her dad she’s pregnant, lots of fluff please!! :)<3

goads and goats | S.R.

telling your dad (who is also your boss) you're having a baby ends in him giving spencer a hard time

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: accidental pregnancy, missed period, hotchner!reader, pregnant!reader, not proofread, dad!hotch, established relationship word count: 1.01k a/n: i have been so down and out about writing recently but i had so much fun writing this. i firmly believe that if spencer was dating hotch's daughter hotch would never let that man have a moment of peace.

“He’s going to throttle me,” your boyfriend announced mournfully, holding the door open for you to enter headquarters, the two of you flashing your badges at security before passing through the metal detectors together.

Rolling your eyes, you reached your hand out and nearly dragged him into the elevator with you. He had been digging his heels in the mud all morning, even going so far as to propose playing hooky, which you were fairly certain he had never done in the history of ever. “He is not going to throttle you. I mean, just imagine the HR implications,” you gently chastised, watching Spencer as he leaned against the wall of the elevator. “Hey,” you said, standing in front of him, you placed a hand on his chest, “We don’t have to tell him today, you know. It could be our little secret for a while.”

Quicker than you expected, Spencer shook his head, “Of course, we have to tell him today. What would happen if you got sent out into the field?” He self-consciously readjusted the strap of his shoulder bag before looking up to watch the floor numbers rise as the elevator went up, “If we didn’t tell him because of my own reservations and then something happened to you, it’d… I’d…”

Your chest clenched as his voice trailed off and you thought of the positive pregnancy tests that were still sitting on your bathroom counter. The tiny wad of cells that had been settling in your womb for weeks without your knowledge – until Spencer asked if you needed pads while you had been grocery shopping – was already so loved.

The first test had come back with such a faint line that you convinced yourself it was just a shadow of an indent on the fragile plastic, but the test you took this morning had been glaringly positive. Slowly, you reached out and took Spencer’s hand, intertwining your fingers as the door to the elevator opened and the two of you stepped out together, “Nothing’s going to happen to me, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, he nodded while holding the glass door to the bullpen open for you, glancing up, you saw that your dad’s office door was open. As soon as you set your things at your desk, you looked at Spencer, nodding up the steps, figuring it was better to do this now than wait.

By Spencer’s math, you were approximately five weeks pregnant, much earlier than people usually elect to share their news. Still, both of you immediately decided it was in your best interest to let your dad know right away.

Leading the way, you knocked on the heavy wooden door to get his attention, his head snapped up in the direction of the noise, shoulders relaxing slightly when he saw it was you, likely having thought a case was being brought in. “Do you have a second?” You asked softly, nerves creeping up as your father waved the both of you in.

“For you, of course,” he responded, nodding at Spencer in acknowledgment before watching suspiciously as the two of you sat in the chairs in front of his desk. “What’s wrong?” He asked, watching you fold and unfold your hands in your lap, it didn’t help that Spencer looked like he had been called into the principal’s office.

You shook your head, “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. We just needed to have a chat,” you told him.

Frowning, his curiosity deepened, “A chat?” Hotch questioned the word that wasn’t a frequent flyer in your lexicon.

“A talk?” You tried again meekly, knowing that he’d start making his own conclusions if you didn’t say something soon.

He looked over at your boyfriend, “If it’s just a talk then why is Reid avoiding eye contact?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhaled heavily, “We should’ve waited,” you muttered to no one in particular.

“Waited for what, exactly? You’re not splitting up, are you?” He inquired, likely developing a list of forms that would need to be filled out if the two of you had in fact broken up.

You waved your hand aimlessly in the air. It seemed that neither of you had fully understood how hard it would be to announce your accidental pregnancy to your father and your boss simultaneously.

Since neither of you spoke, your father continued, “I’m obligated to side with my daughter. Which isn’t solely based on my belief that she can do no wrong, but if-“

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted, clamping your hand over your mouth as if you could recapture the words that had flown from your lips.

What followed was the silence that you had dreaded. Weren’t people supposed to jump for joy in situations like this? However, the moment Hotch jumped for joy for anything would likely end in someone being institutionalized.

Slowly, you dropped your hand from your mouth, watching your father as if he were a ticking time bomb.

“Is this a good thing?” He asked, finally shattering the wall of silence that had been put up.

Your eyes widened as you looked between your father and your boyfriend, “Oh, yes! We’re very happy,” you clarified, bracing your hands on the armrests of your chair.

Finally, your dad smiled and stood up from his desk chair, waving you over and enveloping you in a hug, “Then congratulations,” he told you, pulling away slightly, “How long have you known?”

You looked back at Spencer, who was standing up beside you and looking decidedly less nervous, “About ten hours,” he answered for the both of you.

Releasing you, your father looked your boyfriend up and down, “You should probably get married before the baby arrives,” he suggested. You recognized the mischievous look on his face – you frequently sported the same look.

“Right, of course,” Spencer said, straightening his posture behind you, nerves once again emanating from him.

You held a hand up, “An incredibly bold statement considering I was in your wedding,” you peered at your father.

Ignoring you, your dad continued, “So, we should settle on a dowry.”

“Dad!”

[hencheri]

love, H

18+ mdni.

pairing: stalker!heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: stalking, yandere elements (i hate saying that), heeseung's a freak, noncon/dubcon, knife play, fear play & chase kink ig.

wc: 2.2k

.

It’s cold. Freezing cold. The night air has you clutching to your arms in an attempt to heat yourself up, but the breeze hitting you in the face, flowing through your hair and into the collar of your coat, makes it impossible to feel any type of warmth. 

You should have brought a scarf, you knew you should have right when you stepped foot outside this morning, but you didn’t. And now you’re sure you’re going to freeze to death before reaching your front door. 

But at the sight of someone in particular, your heartbeat quickens in seconds, pumping blood so rapidly you feel it pounding against your chest. You don’t feel cold anymore. 

A man you can’t name, but who has been following you and watching you for weeks — probably months at this point. You look back at him, halting your steps, his body standing a few feet away from you just outside your workplace like he’s been waiting for you for a while.

You don’t see his eyes, don’t see his face — never did you, and you might not discover it very soon either — a black hoodie draped over his head as it is often the case. 

He gets away from the wall he was leaning on when you walk away in the direction of your house. You check a few times behind your shoulder, seeing him following you closely in such a casual manner it reminds you how often you experienced this exact same situation before with the exact same person. Your faceless stalker. 

You live a few blocks away, and turning corner after corner, noticing he hasn’t disappeared, you start to really freak out. He usually doesn’t follow you until there, you’ve always supposed he was too scared in case he could get spotted by your neighbours, but this fear doesn’t seem to stop him at this moment. 

You fasten the pace of your steps, quicker and quicker until you’re actually running, the only sounds you hear being your boots hitting the pavement and the rapid breaths you take, accompanied, of course, by his own footsteps chasing after you. 

Your eyes well up in tears as you tighten your hold around the straps of your shoulder bag, taking a look behind you and being horrified to see his dark silhouette still behind you, determined and eager to catch you. You let out a sob, one that rips up through your throat, heartbeat now pounding in your skull, making your ears ring loudly. 

You’re breathless, scared and desperate, a spark of hope lighting in you at the view of your house. You’re almost there, come on. Your stomach hurts as well as the soles of your feet, but you keep going, running because your life depends on it. He’s never expressed the want to kill you, but he’s expressed many other things that made the hair on your arms rise up, and thinking back to it, you don’t want to discover what’s going to happen if he gets his hands on you. 

The letters he leaves you… they all ended up in the trash, until one day where he threatened in his letter to enter your house during your sleep if you got rid of this one, too. They’re now stacked up in the last drawer of your vanity, still in their original envelope. 

You could recite each one of them and exactly what they’re talking about. The subject always the same, but told in a different way; you. Only you. 

You find yourself rereading them sometimes, usually when a new one comes in. He leaves them in your mailbox, but it happens you fall upon one on your nightstand coming back from work, or, the weirdest, in your underwear drawer, exactly in the spot where one of your panties is missing. 

He’s not subtle about it, he admits it pretty buntly, in fact. He tells you which pair he took exactly, the last one he described as the ‘cute baby pink panties with a white heart pattern and small bow on the front’ and he also says what he does with it, a part that always leaves you in shock and weirdly turned on. 

He tells you when he gets inside your house, what he touches, what he likes, what he keeps. His words are kind and surprisingly caring, but when you do something he doesn’t appreciate, like throwing his letters in the trash for example, his tone changes completely. This double side of him is what scares you the most because you truly never know the extent of what he’s capable of. 

He talks about his fantasies, whether they’re explicit or not, you don’t know what to expect when opening his letters. He admits his desire to have you, possess you, his carnal need to make love to you as he so calls it, but anything he describes is the opposite of making love. 

You think he doesn’t really know the difference between love and obsession, but you’d be fooled with how skilled he is with words. Everything sounds poetic, when in reality, the meaning of his words are far from beautiful. They’re deranged and don’t make sense either. You can’t pretend to love someone you say you’d chop in little pieces if they throw away your unsolicited love letters. 

He always signs with H, that’s pretty much all you know of him, and you don’t even know if his name really begins with the letter H. You don’t know if he’s someone from your daily life or a stranger you’ve never met. You know nothing, but he knows everything, every little detail of your intimacy… 

He’s aware of that power he has over you. He could have had you way back before, but he didn’t. He wants you to be familiar with him, wants to make its way into your life without even revealing himself. He wants you to know you’re eventually going to be his and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Like tonight, there’s nothing you can do to stop him. 

He has the way to your house, he can get inside whenever he wants. If he decides to catch you tonight, he will, and with the chasing that’s happening right now, you think the time has come. You’ll be his, finally. 

But you’ll have to give up on running before he even touches you. 

You cross your front yard, clumsily climbing up the stairs to the entrance door. You slip your hand into your pocket and pull out your keys, hurriedly trying to insert it into the lock. You know he’s behind, you hear him, and you think you’ve never been so frightened in your life before. 

You turn the key and then the handle, pushing your door open and immediately getting inside. You only realize how close he was to getting you when closing the door, he startles you by rushing into it, seeing his body watching through the transparent glass. 

You lock it, shaking in fear, but relieved that you made it in. He hits the glass with his hand out of frustration, visibly upset. His head is down, so you can’t decipher any of his features, but knowing he’s angry is enough to make you scared, recalling the words he uses when he’s annoyed with your behaviour.

‘If you ever escape me, I’ll make sure you never use your legs ever again,’ followed by your name and then ‘love, H’, ending the letter. 

You never knew what that meant, but now you think you do. 

He stays behind your door for a minute or so, both looking back at each other, without you being able to see his eyes. 

He steps away and you watch him leave, wondering where he’s going. Your senses are all enlightened, a million thoughts going through your head at the same time. You walk into your kitchen, grabbing a knife, feeling a tad bit safer now armed. 

But there’s still this little voice in the back of your mind telling you the knife is useless, he’ll get you unarmed in a matter of seconds. You can lock yourself up in a room, he’ll still find a way in because he always does. 

And unconsciously, you make yourself an easy prey. You like it, you anticipate it. Why did you never call the police? Why haven’t you changed the locks on your doors? 

Why in the hell are you turned on to know he touches himself with your stolen panties? 

From the corner of your eye, you get the glimpse of a shadow. You instantly turn around, pointing your knife in front of you, but there’s nobody in the kitchen beside you. 

You walk out, looking on each side of you, being on your guard. Your face turns pale, noticing the back door half open. You gulp down. 

He’s inside. Your stalker, he’ll kill you. He will tonight in your own house.

“Oh, sweetie…”

Your heart skips a beat. 

You turn around again, losing all of the strength you had earlier to fight him. You step back until you hit the sliding door behind you, feeling the cold glass through your clothes. You clasp your hand tightly around the handle of the kitchen knife, but you look much more ridiculous than intimidating. 

“My poor little girl, all frightened and helpless,” he chuckles, and you find back the light-hearted tone he uses in his letters. It sends shivers down your spine, your pussy throbing.

He walks toward you and you point the knife at him, “don’t get any closer!” you sob out, wanting to sound serious, but your voice breaks pathetically at the end. More tears fall down your cheeks, the previous ones now dried out on your burning skin. 

You can see a smirk drawn on beautiful heart-shaped lips, and your mouth opens in shock when he pulls his hoodie off his head. 

Your arm holding your knife is trembling, your eyes staring at his face. You’ve spent night after night imagining what he could look like, feeling so powerless thinking that you might never know who he is, but he’s just revealed himself to you now. And it’s nothing you ever expected to see. 

He’s beautiful.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that thing?” he asks mockingly, referring to the knife that you no longer hold properly, letting your emotions get the best out of you. He approaches you despite your warning — that was nothing other than laughable. “Stab me, maybe? I know you could never.” 

You watch him taking control of you in no time with tearful eyes. He takes the knife out of your grip, and the way he easily uses it against you is humiliating. 

He swiftly puts the tip of the blade under your chin, forcing your head up. “I admire your tenacity, my love. I really do,” he tells you, and his voice is soft, almost too gentle. “But I thought I was clear on that; you’re mine. You can’t run away from me.”

You try to hold back your cries, keeping your mouth closed and looking away from his face, but the tears still roll down your cheeks, drawing a wet trail from your eyes to your jaw. 

“Look at me,” he suddenly growls, pressing the blade harder under your chin, but not enough to cut you. You reluctantly do what he said, your eyes meeting his. “There you go,” he coos, “I know you dreamt of this exact moment. You’re a little freak who likes the attention of deranged guys like me. You’re no secret to me, baby.”

Your bottom lip trembles, no words coming out of you. What possibly can you say? You’re not stupid enough to think you can change his mind. 

And maybe a part of you really waited for this moment to happen. For him to catch you. 

You gasp when he tears through the front of your shirt with the knife, tilting your head downward to see your chest exposed, goosebumps all over your skin. 

“So pretty. I always wanted to see them from up close,” he moans, dragging the knife between your naked breasts, going over your heaving stomach down to the band of your leggings. He lowers them with his other hand, pushing them all the way down to your ankles. 

He tears through your panties as well, leaving you with nothing covering your private parts and you can’t feel more embarrassed. 

The blade of the knife stays just under your belly button as his eyes stare at your uncovered pussy, wetting his lips with his tongue. He’s in love, to say the least.

“Fuck that shit.” He throws the knife away on the floor and with both hands free, he unzips his pants and takes his hard cock out. 

He aligns his leaking tip with your entrance, feeling how wet you already are. 

“N-No, don’t, please!” You cry out, holding his shoulders, but doing no attempt in pushing him away. 

Just as he pushes himself into you, he glances up at your face, looking totally blissed out. His mouth hungs open, staring back into your eyes as he thrusts up all in the way in, making you moan out in pain. 

“Stop lying to yourself, baby,” he groans, “we both know you love it.”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

I Don't Suffer I Just Have It

The lads men and their nuerospicy adhd/add reader A/N: Your mental health matters and don't sacrifice it for anyone. These are a few things I deal with. Everyone's experience with adhd/add is different. [Requested by: luxis-journal]

Time Blocking

I have to be there by 5:30pm, but I need to shower and do my makeup so I need at least 2 or 3 hours for that, but I should give myself time so im not rushing because I hate being rushed and I know I'm gonna want to eat before I go so I should make time for that and picking out an outfit will take some time so I need to start getting ready at like 11am you know incase there’s traffic and im not rushing

Zayne doesn’t question it and just gets ready in 30 minutes while you still run around getting dressed Rafayel rushes you just to piss you off and immediately regret it when you tell him to leave without you because you’re not going anymore Xavier when you tell him the rundown of your getting ready time he’s confused until he wakes up an hour before you need to leave and you’re still getting ready Sylus happily just watches you get dressed while he’s still in bed

ADD/ADHD Pause

That moment when you need to turn the lights off, but you need to grab your car keys off the kitchen counter, but your jacket is still in your room so you can’t turn the room light off just yet and you need to grab your travel mug from the fridge so now you’re just stutter stepping in one spot trying to do everything at once

Zayne tells you to grab your drink while he grabs everything else Rafayel puts his hands on your shoulders and directs into your room to grab your jacket and then asks what else needs to be done Xavier quietly grabs everything for you Sylus grabs your chin, tilting it up to look at him and simply says “One thing at a time sweetie”

Nightly/Tired Zoomies

Hysterically laughing at anything and thinking of everything funny that’s ever made you laugh right before bed or when you get tired. Crackhead energy.

Zayne sweetly smiles while you tire yourself out and cuddles you when you lay down and pass out in his arms Rafayel is cackling with you and not just laughing, but also adding onto the jokes you both end up laughing until you’re in tears Xavier he’s already knocked out while you’re still up laughing at videos on your phone Sylus teases you the entire time which only makes you laugh more then makes you lay down because he knows you’re just sleepy

Non-verbal and/or Overstimulated

Those moments when you just don’t feel like talking and everything is pissing you off especially unnecessary noises

Zayne leaves you be and just sends you texts to check on you. Turns on your favorite show when he’s about to eat so you don’t yell at him for making too much noise Rafayel still wants your attention so he just lays on you hoping it would make you feel better. it works for a while until the sound of his breathing starts irritating you “Why are you breathing so loud?” “Im sorry for being alive??” Xavier leaves you alone and just leaves you little snacks in case you get hungry he knows you’ll come talk to him when you’re ready Sylus simply texts you when you don’t feel like speaking sends the twins in to see how irritable you are because if you get snappy with them he knows you’ll bite his head off

Vocal Stimming

A new random sentence or song snippet every week from “FLINT LOCKWOOD” to “Say its fine (fiiiinneee) happens all the time” to just random noises when the silence is silencing too much

Zayne just looks at you and goes on about his day Rafayel gets them stuck in his head now he’s randomly saying it too Xavier questions it “Where did that come from?” Sylus just lets you do your thing chuckles from time to time because he finds it cute

[lifeamongtheamazons]

For my linguistsics degree, I did a project on why I'm seeing more people saying "on accident" instead of "by accident." I looked at almost a million pieces of writing pulled from news sites, blogs, academic articles and television transcripts. I found almost three hundred cases of "on accident" being used. It was a surprisingly even spread across sources. Even more interesting, I organized the hits by date and tracked an upward swing in use as time goes on. This means that the use of "on accident" is increasing over time, and may eventually supplant and drive out the classic usage of "by accident." I like to call this prepositional shift.

Now, looking at my data and looking at the age ranges of the writers or speakers, the majority of them were under the age of thirty. So I interviewed a panel of people, choosing twenty with a spread of about half above thirty, and half below. Those older than thirty years of age felt "strongly" or "very strongly" that "on accident" was wrong in all cases, and that "by accident" was the only correct phrase. However, those younger than thirty were much less rigorous, with more than half feeling "ambivalent" or "less strongly" about which was correct. This demonstrates a generational link in preposition usage.

When presented with options for the definitions of "by" and "on," we also get some interesting data. For by, there are two main definitions according to the Oxford English Dictionary: 1. Identifying the agent performing an action. Or 2. Indicating the means of achieving something. Whereas "on" has many more definitions, the pertinent ones being 1. To indicate the manner of doing something or 2. To indicate active involvement in a condition or status. By the above definitions, either "by accident" or "on accident" is a correct usage of the term. However, native speakers of English could not successfully define either preposition, instead just choosing one, the other, or both as "sounding correct."

The only evidence for a rule-based shift that I could find was a correlation with the paired phrase for the opposite condition "on purpose." While the younger interviewees were ambivalent about the correctness of "on accident," they uniformly rejected the correctness of the suggested phrase "by purpose." So the shift can only be in one direction according the the native ear, towards the preposition "on."

Whether this means that the particular usage of "by" is becoming archaic or the definition of "on" is expanding is a possible subject of further study using a wider range of phrases. But I found the wider acceptance of "on accident" versus "by accident" to be a fascinating look at how prepositions can shift meaning and usage over time.

So now I'm curious, five years from my initial study (and itching to try the Tumblr poll feature):

[lennadanvers]

Drunks tell the truth

Rommate!Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Simon has a roommate. His roommate has a secret. Johnny has a knack for meddling in other people's business.

A/N: Hi! This ended up being way longer than I expected (3.800+ words), but it's okay because I had fun writing it. I'm not sure it went in the direction I had in mind at the beggining, but I'm not about to start all over again. If I ever feel like it, I might rewrite it, though. But it won't be soon. Also, as I was copypasting it from word, it occured to me I might need to start using dividers. If you know where I can find cute ones, please let me know. Hope you like it! <3

When he opens the door and finds the apartment silent and dark, Simon is both relieved and disappointed. On one hand, he gets to take a deep breath and let the rests of Ghost dissolve in the empty space. He doesn’t have to see you yet- you don’t have to see him yet. He still has time before you worry about all the new bruises, before he has to insist he really doesn’t want you cleaning and patching them up, before he has to suppress the shivers that always respond to your fingers on his arm.

On the other hand, Simon spent all the way from the airport picturing your eyes and your welcoming smile. It’s hard not to be a little heartbroken over the fact that you’re not home in your pajama, willing to hug him hello and make all the gunpowder disappear. He even left Soap at a bar to drink by himself, hoping to have some time alone with you. Of course, his excuse was that he was tired. Never in a million years would Simon admit out loud that seeing his roommate is the only rest he needs after months of deployment.  

As he makes his way to his room, wondering if he has time to cook something before you get home, Simon realizes his mistake. It’s Friday. Not only that, it is also dark outside: it’s Friday, and it’s late. That only means one thing: danger.

All the fatigue and relief are gone instantly. He knows the time you get off work, and it was ages ago. Even if you had stayed late, you’d be home by now. Also, your work badge is in the bowl next to the door, he checks. You definitely came back home. And then -Simon confirms with one look at the wet shower- you got ready to go out.

Now, this is not a bad thing per se. He’s glad you’re having fun, spending time with your friends and dancing. You deserve to have a good time. Simon knows your girlfriends take care of you if they need to; you’re safe.

But he’s not.

You going out means one of two outcomes: you either come back home, or you don’t. He isn’t sure which is the worst one. If you find someone and leave with them, he’ll spend the night convincing himself you’re okay and forcing his eyes closed. He’ll have to pretend his stomach doesn’t hurt, his eyes aren’t a little too red and that the sleep doesn’t come because of the jet lag.

If you do come back to sleep in the apartment, it’s worse.

See, Simon is terrified of you when you’re drunk.

As if you could smell his fear, he hears your keys jingling in the hallway. Simon must be a masochist, because he doesn’t find cover. Instead, he watches as the door opens and you appear, almost tripping over your heels. When you look up and find him staring at you, your smile shakes him to his bones.

Simon sees in slow-motion how you let your keys fall to the floor and you stagger up to him- he’s two shades of scared now, because your balance while drunk is notoriously inexistant. He gives a few hesitant steps in your direction, cautious arms extended in case you fall. Which you do. Right on his chest.

Suddenly, there’s a shortage of air. You are soft and warm. He’s big and close to having a panic attack. Your perfume has so many layers- and he can smell them all. Your hair is touching his neck, involuntary caress, and your hand is holding his bicep. That’s great: the next hundred times he’s at the gym training his ass off, he’ll be thinking of you. Exactly what he needed. As if it wasn’t enough having you haunt his dreams.

Your giggle he’s used to, but it still feels different when it vibrates so close to his ribs. Oh, and what he feels there is your chest, isn’t it? When you smile up at him, he thanks the god he doesn’t believe in that he was too frozen to hug you: it would have destroyed him.

Luckily, he manages to get a hold of himself and slowly push you away. It’s useless, though, because you take advantage of the small distance to grab his chin.

“Si! You’re home early! I missed your pretty eyes…”

He tries to force some sarcasm into his smile.

“You’re drunk.”

You laugh again, taking a step back.

“I just went to get some drinks with the girls, Mary got a promotion and…”

Still talking, you bend over to start unclasping your heels. All Simon can do is swallow, forcing his eyes to stay focused in your clumsy fingers and not in the hem of your dress- that was short to begin with, but now is probably by the middle of your ass. Definitely showing the full length of your legs. And at least, a sliver of your underwear…

No.

No, he reminds himself. Simon forces his face to stop blushing and kneels to help you take off the godforsaken heels. A quick escape from the view that will follow him to bed tonight- and the next couple thousand nights-, but a stupid move overall. Because now you’re smirking at him from above.

It’s fun, seeing his desperation. He’s such a big man, always in control of himself… Making Simon lose his cool always feels like an accomplishment. You mutter a giddy thanks, but still try to untie the ribbon around your ankle, forcing him to grab your hand to take it out of the way.

°°°

“Let me do it, okay? Or we’ll be here all night.”

You pout playfully, but let him do it. When you’re finally on your feet, you sigh and pat his shoulder. So much better. He’s now a couple feet taller than you- it’s always nice to feel comfortably small.

Without looking back, you wobble towards the bathroom. Over your humming, you can hear his steps. Usually, he’s quiet. Sometimes, though, he makes noise on purpose, to make sure you know he’s there. Based on experience, you’d say he hates to scare you.

You don’t close the door behind you. Why bother? You simply kneel to open the last drawer to grab the make up remover. Yeah, maybe the floor is a little cold and leaves your knees slightly red. It’s okay, the counter is cold too when you sit on it. Feels good, your skin is warm and you’re feeling fuzzy.

The mirror shows him looking at you from the door. His arms are crossed, tattoos at full view. Hands clenched.

Wiping your right eye, you try to soothe him.

“You’re home now. Safe. See? Just me. Relax, Simon.”

He chuckles. Sometimes he does that, too. You probably said something he finds almost funny. He relaxes against the door frame, but it still looks forced.

“Mrs. Byrne brought me cookies yesterday. They’re in the blue jar, if you want any. She got a new puppy. She’s grey, some small breed with a lot of hair. Her name is Princess. Sometimes she cries at night. I told Mrs. Byrne it’s okay, I just hope the poor puppy gets used to her new home soon, but she insisted on baking cookies for everyone in the building. I don’t think it bothers anyone, really…”

You keep yapping and Simon slowly starts to look calmer. More like he’s at home, and less like he wants to run away. You finish wiping your make-up off by carefully erasing any traces of red lipstick. It’s a shame, really, because it looks so nice. Simon seems to think so too, judging by the way his gaze caresses your reflection in the mirror.

Instead of just jumping off the counter and going to bed, you start taking your jewelry off.

“…and the café two blocks away has this new carrot muffin- that doesn’t sound tempting, I know, but it tastes so good!”

Okay, maybe you didn’t need to moan. In your defense, they are really that good. And you’re drunk, you’re allowed to have less inhibitions. Simon shifts against the doorframe.

“You need to try them. We could go tomorrow… Or, maybe you’ll want to sleep in. I bet you missed having an actual bed, huh? All warm and soft. By the way, I washed your sheets. They didn’t have our usual laundry detergent, but I got one that smells quite nice. Nothing too strong…”

Simon suppresses a groan. His sheets?

°°°

“… So you can have your beauty sleep. Not that you aren’t beautiful now, you just look tired. But dark circles never hide eyes like yours. Still, it’ll do you good to…”

Beautiful? Him? Is it too late to go back to base? Maybe if he’s a couple hundred kilometers away you won’t be able to see the way his blush makes a return, this time all the way down to his neck. It makes it even harder to not stare at your legs, that swing smoothly, skin reflecting the ceiling light.

Instead, he focuses on your hands, and the way you slide your rings off. You do it slowly, probably because it’s a task that requires a non-alcoholic level of coordination. Somehow, you can keep talking, though.

“… I mean, you are looking good. More muscles. You’re always so fit, I bet your abs are like a table… Like, all firm…”

You interrupt your yapping for a second, just to untangle one of your bracelets from the other. He pictures you eating at his table. Simon stops himself from closing the bathroom door- he isn’t sure which side he would like to stay in.

“And that hair! How come it’s so soft…? I mean, it looks soft. Can I touch it?”

One thing about you in this state is that you just do things. Invading his personal space is one of them. Usually, you just leave his body alone. You cross other lines, teasing and sarcasm being an everyday occurrence. But touching him? Not more than necessary.

Now, however, your hand is on his head. Your tiny fingers- everything is tiny next to him- are caressing his hair. He can feel your nails lightly stroking his scalp, going in gentle circles. Simon realizes he can’t move. The bathroom is not wide enough for him to step away. You’re sitting on the counter, barely leaning in his direction, but you’re everywhere.

Your perfume is in his chest, for the second time in a couple of minutes. It’s burning like his cheeks, and all he can do is stand there. Your eyes are so big and bright, how come they’re in his apartment and not up in the sky with the other stars? And your smile, it’s too round and pink for his sanity.

Not for the first time, he wonders what would happen. How would he live if he gave up and kissed you. If he was just a little brave. Not even brave enough to go for your lips, but for your cheek or your wrist. Maybe your shoulder.

But he’s not that kind of brave. He’s suicidal brave, instead. Heroic brave. The kind of brave that makes him a good soldier and a bad person. Simon is a coward, who can barely swallow a whine when you pull his hair playfully. He hides it by clearing his throat.

“I’ll tell you my beauty secrets when you’re sober enough to appreciate them. C’mon, you need to go to bed.”

Grabbing your wrist is easy. Pulling your hand away from him is the hardest thing he’s ever done. Holding your waist to help you get off the counter, easy. Taking a step away, new world record of hard.

Taking another step back, because you stepped close again; alarmingly harder.

And you step closer again. He doesn’t have the heart to step back this time. All Simon can do is hold his breath while you lean in. You stand on your toes and his hands start shaking. There it is again, your perfume. Your lips. Your smile. Oh, you’re smiling up at him. So, so close. Simon can see the look of want in his own face that’s reflected on your pupils.

“Simon?”

He means to reply, he really does. At the very least a “Yes, love?”- something gallant; something that’ll make you put your hands on his chest. Something that’ll open the door for him to grab your waist again, this time like he’s not hiding. Something that’ll bring you even closer.

Instead, he just exhales. A pathetic, pained, whiny breath. It seems to be enough of an answer for you, though.

“Si…”

He stops himself from nodding.

“You’re blocking the door.”

It takes Simon a second to process. You’re still looking at him with dreamy eyes, hair like a halo in front of the mirror light, cheeks rosy and fresh. When his stupid brain finally comes to terms with what you just said, Simon crumbles.

He throws himself to the other side of the hallway, tongue heavy with shame. It’s like his shoulders are glued to the wall, and his stomach to the floor. You don’t seem to notice, shuffling over to your room while humming the same pop song from earlier.

Sometimes, Simon is sure he must be in hell. He sure deserves it. He sees you walk away- bare feet, naked legs, messy hair- and he’s certain.

Some other times, though, he knows he’s in heaven. Shocking, because Simon doesn’t believe in heaven- and he doesn’t think he’s earned it, either way. But when things like this happen, when you pop your head out of your bedroom door to look back at him, it’s easy to pretend. It’s easy to laugh when you ask him why he’s not putting you to bed.

Simon stills himself and walks into your room. It’s tidy and warm, smells like you, and he makes a mental note to let you decorate the rest of the apartment. If he uses that as scenography for his fantasies- where he lives in your room, where you share it, where he can fall asleep in your space-, then it’s nobody’s business.

Luring Simon into your room is quite easy. Most things you do with him are easy. It makes you giggle again. It’s easy being like this, too. Open and bubbly, no mental barriers to stop you from touching him or saying whatever you happen to think. No inhibitions to forbid you from taking off your dress once you’re facing your open wardrobe.

°°°

You could swear you hear him choke. He coughs, and you ask him if he’s okay. There’s some water on your bedside table, if he wants a sip. You hear his steps. He does, great. You put on an oversized t-shirt and turn around.

His eyes are a little too wide. It’s not easy to catch him off guard: tonight is a lucky one. Simon is not the only one surprised, though- you could swear you’d left your purple vibrator on top of the bedside table, and not on the floor. Oh, well, a problem for tomorrow-you.

As you shuffle towards your bed, he steps back, putting distance between you.

“That’s my shirt.”

Sounds a bit like a question. You climb into bed.

“Nah. It’s my pajama. See?”

You look up at him from under the covers. You curl up, the sheets are cold. Luckily, his stare is hot against your face.

“…sure. Sure, it is.”

Simon doesn’t move. You blink a couple of times, before a yawn takes over.

“You’re not gonna turn the lights off?”

He hesitates. His eyes look at your bed, more than half empty. Then steps forward.

“Goodnight, then.”

Simon bends down and kisses your forehead. You’ll blame the sigh you let out on the alcohol. When he turns the lights off, becoming just a silhouette at the door, you wave your fingers at him.

“Sweet dreams, Si.”

Simon barely sleeps that night. He dreams with your forgotten heels on the bathroom floor, and your smile that looks like sunrise decided to light up his midnight.

°°°

He gives up before the actual sun comes out. His voice is so desperate when he calls Johnny, that his friend barely complains about the time. Simon warns him not to ring the doorbell- and maybe includes a little threat that Soap laughs off.

They are still chatting in the kitchen when you wake up. Luckily, you’re wearing pants now. But, by the look in your tired face, you weren’t ready to find a stranger in your house. Frowning, you mutter something like “good morning”- even though it’s closer to noon.

Johnny smiles, charming as always, and Simon squints. Before it can get too uncomfortable- for you, Soap can be uncomfortable all he wants-, he speaks. He keeps his voice low, anticipating your hungover.

“This is Johnny. Soap, this is my roommate.”

You wave at him and grab a cup. As you’re preparing your late breakfast, you start humming quietly the song from last night. It grabs Soap’s attention.

“Aye, I ken that song. Yer the lassie from last night, aren't ye?”

You freeze.

The music is loud. You yell along, grabbing one of your friend’s hands and making her do a spin. She does the same with you.

°°°

It’s a nice night. The bar started to empty some time ago- no more touchy men to bother you and your friends. It is a little hot, though, so you ask if anyone wants something to drink.

You slide up to the bar, not far from where you friends are still dancing. You need to gesture for the bartender to understand your order over the music, but he eventually nods and walks away. While you’re waiting, you feel someone stand next to you, back resting on the bar. You glance sideways- it’s a handsome man, with electric blue eyes that look at you like he’s found a pot of gold.

“Hi, bonnie. Are ye having fun?”

You smile politely and say yes. He doesn’t seem to hear it, but he understands nonetheless.

“What’s yer name? Ah’m John.”

Again, you reply. He seems nice enough- John’s not looking at your boobs or ass, so it counts as a win.

“Kin ah buy ye a drink?”

Now, he’s forcing you to decide. First option is saying yes, you can let him dance with you the next song and see where it goes. His eyes get more beautiful every second you spend looking at them, and his smile promises fun… Which leads you to option number two: saying no. He’s handsome, yes, but you don’t know him. You think about Simon. He’d scold you for considering going home with a stranger. Besides, he’d kill you if you brought him to the apartment.

Well, it’s not like he’ll find out, will he? Simon will be away for God knows how long.

You offer John your most sincere smile and a cheeky wink.

“Sorry, I don’t drink.”

Just on time, the bartender hands your bottle of water over the counter and you thank him. Without looking back, you join your girlfriends again.

It doesn’t take long for you to decide to head back home. The idea of an empty apartment is weighing on you. At least you can be sad in pajamas when you get home. As you hug your friend goodbye, you see John laughing next to a blonde at the back. Well, at least someone will have a happy night.

“Sorry, I don’t think I remember you.”

°°°

Johnny looks taken aback.

“Ah offered ye a drink, bit ye said...”

You cut him off, still not looking at them.

“Yeah, drinks. I had quite a few of those last night. I don’t remember much, sorry.”

Simon doesn’t like the way you close the cabinets, with a little too much force. Nor does your quick talking calm his nerves. Now he’s fully frowning at Johnny, who looks confused out of his mind.

Before he can keep bothering you, you grab your cup and turn around.

“Tylenol’s in the bathroom.”

His careful voice stops you in your tracks. You look guilty, almost sorry, when you offer a shy smile.

“…thanks, Si. Nice to meet you, Johnny. Sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have had that many drinks.”

Simon can barely hear your steps as you flee directly to your room. Your embarrassment, pink on your cheeks and nose, are added to the collection of things he’ll dream of every time he closes his eyes.

Next to him, Soap has a weird expression.

“Ah met her last night, she ainlie drank water. Ah swear… I watched’er all ni-”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t need to.

He’s worried you’ll hear Johnny’s annoyingly loud voice from your room. You’re innocent enough to think you can fool him. And Simon doesn’t have the guts to let you know that he knows just yet. There’s a reason he doesn’t say anything about the way you smell whenever you come home from the bar- all nice perfume and zero alcohol-, or how he knows you didn’t take any Tylenol. A reason why Simon lets you pretend to be drunk, grab his hair and smile at him. A reason why he himself pretends to believe you.

And he’s not going to let Johnny spoil figure that one out just yet.

[merrybloomwrites]

When You're Lost, Just Look For Me

Summary: You’re not always good at asking for what you need. Luckily your bandmates know when you need a little extra love and are there to support you.

Word Count: 2.5K

CW: mentions of: neglectful family, periods, little bit of online hate

This story is set in the 1D days, and therefore Liam is a main character just like the other boys. Wanted to give a heads up in case anyone wants to avoid stories with him in it.

AN: When the news broke last week I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue writing, and really didn’t know what I would write about if I did. But then Passing Contact doubled in notes so I took that as a hint that it’s what people might want to read right now. So I decided to write a part 2 in hopes that it can help people in any way.

I have a couple other ideas for stories of reader x one direction that would also take place back when they were touring, but if you have any requests please let me know

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

It’s a day off in a random hotel room in a random city in the United States. Of that you’re sure. But you're not sure of much else at the moment. 

You’re thinking back to the past few days. You’d messed up your backing vocals on stage, and had to re-record your parts for the next album because you just could not get it right. Numerous rumors were being spread about you being spotted with random boys, leading to renewed comments calling you all kinds of nasty things. 

You’re still in your pajamas, which you realize somehow consist of a pair of Louis’ sweatpants, one of Zayn's t-shirts, and a sweatshirt Liam had given you a week ago that you have yet to return. You think about texting one of them to come hang out, but you don’t want your glum mood to bring them down. Instead you turn on the TV and wrap yourself in all your blankets. 

It’s what you always did as a child when you were sad. Your family was never open with their emotions, and affection made them uncomfortable. From a young age you knew that going to your parents for comfort would end with rejection. So you’d learned how to comfort yourself. 

The blanket nest barely does its job today, and you’re still lost in your thoughts of self doubt when a knock at the door startles you. 

For a second you think about ignoring it, but odds are the person knocking wouldn’t just go away. So you pull yourself up and open the door, seeing Niall there waiting for you. 

“Hey, haven’t heard from you today, wanted to see what you’re up to,” he says. 

You’re hit with a wave of embarrassment, not wanting to admit that you've been wallowing all day. 

“Just taking it easy,” you reply, “Catching up on sleep.” It’s believable enough, none of you sleep too well on the bus and this is your first hotel bed in over a week. 

“I hear ya, think I slept twelve hours straight,” Niall says with a laugh. 

Knowing that he’s hoping for an invitation you step aside and motion your arm, silently asking him to join you in your room. You glance around quickly, glad to see everything is neat except the bed. You hope that he doesn’t judge the mess of blankets, and considering he just kicks off his shoes and climbs into your bed, you assume he’s fine with it. 

“What are we watching?” Is his next question so you sit on the other side of the bed and pass him the remote, allowing him to scroll through the channels until he finds some nature show that looks mildly interesting. 

You stare at the screen but you’re not focusing on it. You’re more focused on Niall just a couple feet away from you. 

During a celebration after the first tour, where you’d all indulged a bit with some drinks, you’d let slip about your family and your reluctance when it comes to physical affection. They listened and then made it a goal to help you be more comfortable with hugs, and hand holding, and all kinds of friendly contact. 

And it was nice. You’d always known that babies could be touch deprived, but you’d learned that adults can be starved for human touch as well. There was no doubt that you fell into this category, so getting random bouts of touch and affection from your band members had been healing in a way.

But lately things have been so crazy that everyone has been focusing on themselves. Plus you’re older now, not the teens that you were when you started the band. As people in your early twenties, the casual physical affection has dwindled. 

The boys seem to be coping with this, as though they haven’t even realized that the group hugs and cuddle piles have stopped. But you’ve noticed. And you’ll be the first to admit that you miss it. 

Now especially, with all this stress and disappointment weighing you down, you can’t help but desire a hug, one so tight that you can just burrow into one of the boys for a little while and feel safe and loved. 

But even though Niall is right there, you can’t bring yourself to ask. You can’t even move closer and get rid of the space between you. Because it was always the boys initiating the contact. You’re nervous to try, terrified that you might get rejected. 

Niall can tell something is going on with you, but he’s not sure what. He’s never been the best at navigating other people’s emotions so he calls in backup by sending a text to Harry who arrives a little bit later. He brings lunch with him, and you’re grateful for that since you’ve barely eaten all day. 

The three of you sit together at the table to eat. The food is good, and you’re grateful that Niall and Harry are talking to each other because you don’t have much to add right now. You don’t realize the way they’re watching you, communicating their worry through pointed looks. 

When lunch is done you all head back to the bed and put on a movie. You’re sitting against the headboard, Niall on your left and Harry on your right. And somehow, they’re still not touching you. At this point you’d take a brush of their arm against yours. Anything to help you feel less alone. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to lean closer to either of them. It’s maddening. 

“Y/N,” Harry says, catching your attention.

“Yea?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, not even sure why you’re lying to him.

“We know something is bothering you,” Niall adds. 

You take a breath before spilling everything that’s been going on. They listen and reassure you and while you do feel better after talking with them, there’s still that part of you that’s so on edge.

“What do you need?” Harry asks.

You think about it for a moment and say, “What I need is for people to stop judging me.”

“That’s a fair point. But I want to know what you need right now. From us.” Harry says.

The thing is, he knows the answer. He’s already aware of what would make you feel better. But he wants you to say it. He wants you to be comfortable to voice your needs with him and the other boys. 

Finally you blurt out, “I just need a hug.”

“That’s not it,” Harry says.

Now you’re confused. It’s what you want. You tapped into all your bravery to even say that. And now he’s telling you that’s not right?

“You want something more than that. Need something more than that,” he adds. 

You think about it for a moment and you realize that he’s right. A little hug isn’t going to cut it.

“I need someone to hold me,” you say quietly. “I need to be held.”

Neither boy hesitates now, and you end up tucking into Harry's side with Niall wrapping around you. They hold you tight, hands gently rubbing your back or arms to soothe you. 

It’s not often that you allow yourself to cry, but you do now. You heave out a sob and feel their arms tighten around you. They stay like that until your sobs turn into tears before finally drying up. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly once you’ve calmed down fully. 

“Of course, YN,” Niall says. “We’re always here for you. Whatever you need.”

“We’re in this together,” Harry adds. “And we take care of each other. Always.”

Their kindness, and comfort has you feeling so much better, but you remain in their hold just a bit longer. It feels so nice to have this type of physical contact after so long without it. 

The three of you eventually get cleaned up and join the rest of the boys for dinner. You end the day feeling so much better than you did at the start, and you know it’s thanks to these boys you call family. 

But despite how nice it felt to be held, thoughts of doubt and embarrassment fill your mind in the weeks that follow. When you look back at that afternoon you first think about how good it felt. And then you begin to feel weak that you even needed to be babied in the first place. 

You vow to be stronger in the future and not ask for that again. They have their own things, they don’t need to be taking care of you too. At least, that’s what your parents had always said. 

Tour continues, and one night you all have to stay at the venue for a while after the show. Security said something about it being unsafe to travel just yet, but you were too tired to listen to the details. 

After more than an hour of hanging out backstage you finally get the all clear to head out. But in that time you’d practically fallen asleep on the sofa. You have zero desire to get up so you sleepily raise your arms and look at Liam who’s standing before you and say, “Carry me.”

He chuckles, and a sweet smile appears on his face. Without even saying a word he leans down and slides an arm behind your back, the other under your knees to scoop you up bridal style. You sling one arm around his neck and hold on as he adjusts his grip to make sure you are secure. 

Once back on the bus he tucks you in, straightening your extra blanket and placing your stuffed cat in your arms. He runs a gentle hand through your hair until you fall asleep, once again feeling so safe and loved. 

A couple weeks later your period hits, and for some reason this month is especially bad. It’s day two of non stop cramps, and as much as you try to keep this a secret from the boys, they always know when you’re feeling particularly bad. 

Louis is the one to find you curled up on the couch. He brings chocolate, pain relievers, and some tea that’s supposed to help. You’d never heard of it before, but apparently his sisters swear by it. 

When nothing helps right away he lays down with you. His hand goes to your stomach and begins to rub, somehow soothing more than just the pain. Once your cramps finally go away you turn so that you're facing Louis. You tuck your head under his chin and he puts his arm around your waist to keep you close. 

It should be strange, being so close to him. But it just feels right, just like it does with the other boys. You let yourself enjoy the comfort as Louis’ hand rubs gentle circles on your back. 

Not only are your cramps gone, but the feelings of sadness and anxiety that usually come with your period are gone too, all thanks to Louis’ compassion and gentleness. 

A few days later you're sleeping in your bunk when a nightmare hits. It’s one that you used to get all the time, but now only comes when you’re extra exhausted or stressed. And with it being the last couple weeks of tour, you’re both of those things. 

You wake up gasping, adrenaline coursing through your body. You hoped that you were quiet and didn’t wake anyone else, but a moment later Zayn appears and asks if you’re alright. 

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Just a dream. I’m good now.”

But of course these boys can read you like a book. And Zayn immediately knows you’re not fine. 

“Scooch over,” he says, and you listen. As soon as there’s room he climbs in the bunk with you. He lays on his back and pulls you so your head is resting on his chest. 

You get comfy but you can’t help but feel bad. These bunks are small, uncomfortable for just one person. Definitely cramped with two.  

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine,” you say. 

“Nonsense. No one should be alone when they don’t have to,” he replies. 

You can't argue with that. The two of you hold each other close and fall into a peaceful sleep. He’s still there when you wake up in the morning and you snuggle closer, taking advantage of his comforting touch. 

When tour ends you’re a weird mixture of relieved and sad. It had been exhausting, but so wonderful. 

And you have to admit to yourself that you’re going to miss the boys. It’s only a couple of weeks apart before you come back together, but you’ll be back home with your family during that time. 

And you’re realizing that they’re not really family to you. 

Zayn, Niall, Louis, Liam, and Harry are your family. They care for you in ways your own parents never did. And you’re going to miss that while you’re all back home. 

The boys know how you feel about going to stay with your family. That’s why they plan a night in rather than going out to party. You have some drinks and pizza, and spend the evening reminiscing about the past months you had together. 

The later it gets, the more glum you feel. You know the goodbyes are coming soon, and that puts a damper on your mood. 

Liam’s the first to notice how quiet you’ve gotten. He sits next to you on the couch and gently nudges you with his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

You don’t want to bring down the party, but you can’t ignore his pleading eyes so you reply, “I’m just going to miss you guys.”

He nods but continues to look at you, knowing there’s more to it. Sighing you add, “And you guys are so happy and so warm. At home everyone’s cold and distant.”

“What can we do to help?” He asks. A memory pops into your head. Another hotel room when you were feeling down. You know exactly what you need. And you’re no longer scared or embarrassed to ask for it. 

“I need to be held,” you say. 

“I think we can do that,” Liam says before once again picking you up and announcing, “Cuddle party on the bed!”

He gently tosses you onto the plush king bed and in no time you’re surrounded by your boys. That’s how the six of you sleep that night, all snuggled together in one big pile. 

You’ve never before felt so safe, so loved. And you’ll forever be grateful for the opportunity you received that brought you close to these boys. Because they are the ones who taught you what love truly feels like.

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

AN: While I was working on this a butterfly landed next to me and stuck around for a while. Brought me a bit of peace.

To my readers, I hope you’re all doing okay, and if you need someone to talk to know that I’m here and willing to talk!

[kdinjenzen]

So with all the stuff going on around Nintendo Vs Pocketpair I feel like people are missing the point of what's going on.

And this article actually finally brings up the biggest point: Nintendo has 1000s of patents and chooses not to enforce them all on everyone.

The idea that, quoting the article and Serkan Toto, "Nintendo's sweeping list of patents means it likely "could have sued half of the gaming industry back in 2017," …so like WHY NOT DO THAT?

There's a million reasons to not do it for Nintendo but TLDR is it's just bad business for them to do so.

The real take away is -what has PocketPair/Palworld done- that has brought out Nintendo to start enforcing these things in this particular situation?

A lot if you pay attention to PocketPair/Palworld's marketing and social presence. They threw rocks at Nintendo, so Nintendo is finally pushing back.

Now I'm not going to fully go to bat for Nintendo and say "they are a good company" because there's no such thing truly…

But in most cases with Nintendo, they C&D folks multiple times before even thinking of escalating anything to real legal trouble. Which is kinder than most companies.

The final thought of the article says that Nintendo may feel "threatened" by PalWorld but… I don't buy it.

Pokemon is THE highest grossing franchise in the world… ever… of all time. It's total revenue is around $100 BILLION with a B.

PalWorld, even at it's height, didn't even come close.

The aspects that I think Nintendo decided to act upon in their mind for this is the brazen bold rudeness and shit talking that happened on social media/marketing with PocketPair/Palworld.

PLUS the fact that Pokemon fans were also quick to be like "bruh, even if this isn't stolen it's obviously design lifted" for a lot of Palworld's Pals.

Add in the fact that both Microsoft and now Sony have pulled PalWorld onto their platforms… Nintendo is going to notice and get mad.

The truth is that PocketPair is an indie dev… with major AAA studios behind it now in a lot of ways. Which actually hurts PocketPair in a sense.

Nintendo tends to ignore indie stuff and has actually collabed with many indie studios before in major ways, so they aren't anti-indie.

Nintendo is OLD SCHOOL and expects a little bit of respect.

Nintendo has not taken action against pretty much any of the other true new Tiny Critter Collecting Indie IP that have popped up, a lot of them are ON Nintendo platforms and have had Nintendo feature them in directs…

But PocketPair threw rocks. Nintendo easily saw this as disrespect, but could be ignored.

What CAN'T be is the outcry from their own fanbase to "look into things" with PalWorld to see what, if anything, was lifted from Nintendo directly.

And Nintendo did. They took over a year to look into it.

This isn't Nintendo doing a knee jerk reaction, they went over things and took their time to research what PalWorld and PocketPair were doing.

Nintendo isn't stupid. They don't pick fights for no reason.

Regardless of if you LIKE Nintendo, or your feelings on a big company taking on a little company… Nintendo is very likely on the right side of business, IP, and patent law here.

Nintendo -losing- here would be, actually, really bad for small folks more than big guys in the long run.

Adding in the fact that PocketPair launched a generative Ai art game on top of all that…

This feel like, yes, Nintendo is flexing in a lot of ways but… they chose who to flex on and not to flex on -everyone-… so there seems to be a solid reason as to -why-.

Again the real take away is that IF Nintendo could have sued half of the gaming industry (as of 2017) with all the patents they have … why didn't they and WHY are they choosing to sue PocketPair/Palworld -now-?

Because that's more important than anything else.

[ilguna]

☼ whisper of the beast (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; on your own, you try to find your boyfriend in the arena. instead, you run across something much, much worse.

warnings; swearing, death, weapon usage, ehhh gore, blood mention.

wc; 2.5k

prompt; 11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great."

—

There is something seriously horrifying going on with this arena, and each time you think you get close to figuring it out—it changes.

The only consistent factor in each of your theories is the jungle, and that’s because it’s the root of the fear. When you travel through the greenery for long periods of time, a creeping feeling grows on you, one that you can’t shake unless you make your way back to the beach.

Which is far from safe, itself. Especially since there are nine other tributes alive here, roaming around, hunting for lone victors. For it only being the second day of the Games, it’s remarkable that so many are dead, already. With six of them dying today, alone.

It makes you think that you’re being overly paranoid, because you’re out here by yourself. It’s a completely new experience to you. The first time around, during your Games, the Career alliance lasted up until the very last second. You never had to keep an eye out for yourself, because you had others with you that were doing the same thing.

You were under the impression that you’d be doing that for these Games, too, but nothing has gone according to plan. You and Finnick had a long discussion the night of the interviews on what to expect regarding corralling Katniss and Peeta into the alliance. Neither of you thought it would be easy. Worst case scenario, you’d grab one and he’d get the other, and the two of you would meet up somewhere in the middle. 

The Gamemakers really must have it out for you this year, determined to keep you and Finnick apart. That’s why they decided to put you on the opposite side of the Cornucopia, keeping you from seeing Finnick. While also putting Brutus in your water wedge, to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

By the time you fought off Brutus and got to the Cornucopia, all three of them were gone. The only option you had left was to wait for Johanna and Blight, but with them still in the water and the Careers coming to take over, you had to leave. There wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Since, you’ve spent your time traveling through the jungle and taking the occasional rest on the beach, in the hopes that you’ll run across your boyfriend. The search was casual yesterday, as you were more worried about finding drinking water than the rebel alliance. Now that the numbers are spiraling, you know that the rescue plan is right around the corner.

You’re confident enough to say that they won’t do it today, but it’s got to be tomorrow or the day after. They won’t have Katniss and Peeta openly in danger like this for longer than they have to. You likely have less than forty-eight hours to find them, or else you’ll get trapped in here and taken by the Capitol.

You would say that you wish you had a general idea on which direction they went in yesterday, but it probably won’t make much of a difference. With the amount of people dying in these trees, you’re sure Finnick is directing them the opposite way, just in case. 

It’s another reason why you can’t stand to be in the jungle for long periods of time. From what you’ve gathered, at least half of the tributes that have died today so far, have come from somewhere in the trees. It makes you think that something is out here, and it’s more than just a rogue tribute.

In fact, it would make more sense for it to be a mutt of some kind. In the last Quarter Quell, they were everywhere. There was not a single animal that a tribute could trust to be friendly. On top of that, there were aspects of the arena that took them by surprise. 

It appeared to be the most breathtaking place imaginable. The Cornucopia was in the middle of a vibrantly green meadow, the sky a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds. In the distance, there was a snow capped mountain, one that looked straight out of a picture book. On the other side, a healthy forest with plants you couldn’t name.

Of course, it was all too good to be true. The mountain was revealed to be a deadly volcano, the plants were poisonous, the water was infected with a disease, the insects stung and the flowers could kill when inhaled too closely. Everything that was placed in that arena was working against them.

Who’s to say it’s not the same for this one?

You pause next to a nearby tree to rest your feet, because they’re throbbing in your shoes. You lift one, stretching your thigh, feeling the immediate relief that comes with being off the foot. After a minute, you switch, but it doesn’t feel as good this time around.

When you reach up to run a hand through your hair to smooth it back, you find that your scalp is wet, soaked from sweating so much. It feels much hotter today than it was yesterday, like the Gamemakers are trying to boil you alive. It’s brutal enough being in here, do they really need to make it any worse?

You dip your head, eyes closed while you take a deep breath, sighing it out. You return to walking, paying attention to where you place your feet.

It might make more sense for you to go down to the beach and wait for Finnick, Katniss and Peeta to show up. The issue is that you’re not willing to take the risk of the Careers spotting you while you’re down there. The four of them could easily get you pinned down. You’ll be dead before you can call for help.

A branch rustling behind you makes your next step stutter. Your eyes widen, as you slowly look across the fern in front of you, to the left of your vision. With sensitive ears, you adjust the spear in your hand, turning your body halfway to look behind you, at the tree you were just standing at.

There’s nothing.

You take a minute to search the trees around you, backtracking to get a better look. Even if it’s just a critter, you want to know. If there’s living animals out here, that means there’s a water source—and you won’t have to depend on your sponsors to keep you hydrated.

There’s not a trace. At least, that’s what you think, until your eyes catch the hoof print in the mud. Your face contorts, you drop into a crouch to get closer, curious on what could’ve made a mark like this. As far as your knowledge on the jungle goes, there shouldn’t be anything that could leave this behind.

The goosebumps that crawl up your arms are involuntary, stomach dropping. The safety blanket that the jungle had been providing seconds ago, is gone now. There’s something in here with you, and it was smart enough to run when it made noise.

You raise your head, thinking about the best way to handle this situation, when your heart seizes in your chest.

What the fuck is that.

In one fluid movement, you jump to your feet, turning in the direction of the beach, and beginning to sprint down the slope. A screech cuts through the previously quiet air, piercing your ears enough to make you wince at the pitch.

And then you can hear it galloping behind you, hands and feet pounding against the spongy jungle ground. A scream rises in your throat, terrified to look behind you to see how fast this thing actually is.

You take the chance when you swing around a tree, stealing a glance over your shoulder. 

Whatever it is, it’s demonic.

You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s coming at you on all fours, there’s hooves where its feet should be, with long and pointed nails on its fingers. Its fur is so black that you can’t make out where its eyes are, or if it has any skin exposed at all. It’s a beast straight out of one of your nightmares.

It isn’t fast by any means, but it’s not slow, either.

You can hear it tearing up a path behind you, trampling through the bushes, ripping bark off trees. As the path between the trees narrows, the jungle becomes more condensed. You hear less of it coming in contact with the ground, thumping replacing the noise.

Until it stops altogether.

Your instincts take over, jerking to the right, shoulder slamming into the tree. You watch in silence as the beast flies by where you were a second ago, claws out and ready to latch on. It comes into contact with the ground about ten feet away, head whipping unnaturally to see over its shoulder.

“No, no!” You let out, beginning to weave through the trees.

A snarl rips through its throat at the idea of you outsmarting it. It’s coming for you, and there’s nothing you can do besides run for your life and dodge it each time it tries to attack. 

You play this game for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than twenty minutes. You make it half a mile down the slope, knowing that the beach can’t be that far away from where you are, when you realize that it’s gone. The monster that has been chasing you has given up.

You lean over your knees, mouth watering, throat beginning to close. As you gasp for air, your body tries to expel some of the heat by making you sweat, but all that’s doing is making you sick. You think you might throw up. 

Right as you’ve come to terms with losing all the water and food in your body, spit falling from your mouth in long strings, a shadow on the ground grows larger. Your face twists, thinking that something must be falling, like a leaf.

It hits you, literally, flattening you against the ground, head hitting the dirt. It digs in, nails cutting through skin as it tears through your back and arms, shredding your jumpsuit. A scream leaves your lips, a white hot and blinding pain smothering you all at once.

Your hand tightens around the spear, cheek against Earth as the beast presses into your shoulders, keeping you from moving. Still, with the small amount of mobility you have, you swing the head of the spear up, toward yourself, narrowly missing your left  shoulder.

It lodges into the beast, causing it to roar in pain. You shove the pole further back, hoping that it pushes into its body deeper. The weight on your shoulders disappears, you can hear it stumbling away.

In the window you have, you get back to your feet, ignoring the screaming pain your entire backside is in. You just need to make it to the beach, it’s not that far away, you’ve covered this distance in your sleep before. It’s harder to do, though, when every hard step you take makes you grit your teeth to keep from crying out. 

The beast is catching up with you, recovering from its wound. It’s faster than you are, and it’s completely disregarding everything in its path. Nothing can slow it down. You can see the golden sand through the trees, you’re almost there.

A body jumps out from behind a bush, making you run into it. For a moment, you’re sure that it’s an exact replica of the monster behind you, but once you realize that you’re staring at another tribute jumpsuit, the panic subsides. But only for a second.

“Move!” You shriek, trying to get around him. He grabs the sides of your arms, holding you there.

You look up, finding that you’re standing face to face with the male tribute from Ten—someone who is not part of the rebel alliance, and doesn’t care whether or not you make it out alive. When you glance over your shoulder, you can see that the beast is getting closer. It’s not going to stop until it gets its hands on somebody.

And it won’t be you.

The only choice you have is to sacrifice him, so that’s exactly what you do. You jerk him around, switching places with him, forcing his back to the beast. His eyes widen, mouth opening to say something, when you pull back from him, lifting your leg to kick him in the chest.

The beast takes him gratefully, landing on his back. He stumbles forward, struggling under the weight of the beast. You watch in horror as its jaws unhinge, revealing razor sharp teeth. It throws its head back, before whipping forward, mouth securing around the tribute’s neck.

And with no resistance, he rips out a chunk of the flesh. A spray of blood hits you in the face, and it coats the jungle floor. You back away with wide eyes, watching as Ten’s legs can’t hold him up anymore, body collapsing in the dirt beneath the beast.

A cannon fires.

You turn, making the final push for the beach before it can come after you, too. 

The moment your feet hit the sand, it begins to drag you down, keeping you from running as far away as your mind is screaming for you to go. You make it a few feet before landing on your hands and knees, sucking in sharp breaths and letting them out aggressively. 

That was almost you. That could’ve been you.

You try to crawl, hands forming in fists in the sand, tears falling from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” You hear. There’s a headache forming, black spots coming to eat away at the corners of your vision. “(Y/n), hey.”

A hand touching your lower back makes you swing a hand up to get them off. Your wrist is caught, eyes meeting Finnick’s, finding him worried. 

“You’re okay, honey. I’m right here.” He pulls at your elbow to make you sit up on your knees. 

You grab onto his shoulder, struggling to breathe, “It—it… The—” 

Finnick takes your hand placing it against his chest. “Follow me.” He takes a deep breath, you try to follow, stuttering. He blows it out, you sob. “Come on, (Y/n). Just keep breathing. In and out.” You mimic his breaths, allowing them to even out. “You’re doing great.”

“Finnick.” You cry, head falling forward.

He cups your face with both hands, lifting your head. He’s only a couple inches away from you. “You’re safe with me, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s in there?”

You look away, eyes too intense to stare into. “A monster.”

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!