#least to say i've learned a lot and it's going to be some time before this story sees the light of day again

[sharoo]

The Flower-Seeker, the Robot, and the City without Faith

It's me again emerging from my mole's burrow to leave a thematic analysis piece and then bury myself again for a few more months.

Spoilers for Canto 7

CW for mentions of suicidal ideation and some death talk

Let's talk about Bari and her role in the world of Projmoon.

I think everyone who experienced LoR before Limbus was in the same camp as me upon the reveal of Bari.

Which is to say:

The chat was not normal.

But now I've had some time to cool off and actually think and Bari's position in her world is honestly kind of fascinating, especially as a take on immortal characters.

Because first and foremost, Bari has to be ancient. In a meta sense, sprites of the Book Hunter, as we knew her back then, date back all the way to Lobcorp. In universe meanwhile, she was already a long time traveller before she met Don Quixote senior and Sancho. She was there when the Associations were being established and competing for popularity. That was, on the low end, several hundred years ago. We don't know how long it took to construct La Manchaland, or how long that operated before everything fell apart and Quixote Senior sealed everyone away for 200 years.

All through this, Bari hasn't aged a day. My guess is that it's possibly thanks to the river of immortality Xichun mentions, or something else found outside the City.

And this is where we hit one of my favourite tropes - immortals passing time.

1. Remember that you will not die

One of the most interesting things to consider in fiction is the question of "What would you do if you were immortal? You'd have infinite time to do anything you desired - to travel, learn, rest. What would you do?"

Very often, humans who undergo this process in stories eventually begin to stagnate. They end up not doing anything, because internal motivation disappears. This is understandable, because, to get a little memento mori for a moment here, death is the biggest motivator we humans have - it's our time limit. You only get X amount of time to enjoy certain things, to achieve certain goals, so that at the tail end of it you'll be able to reminisce and hopefully smile before you expire. Add to it that age itself limits us, be it youth not allowing us independence or old age slowing us down and limiting us with weakness, and you can see how we are driven, at least in theory, to live life fully as long as we can.

To lose that - the constant dread of your body slowly, but surely, progressing towards failure, breaking down little by little, is to rob us of our inherent motivator. It is a very large part of being a human, really. A lot of our lives and cultures circle around this immutable fact that we don't last, and our questions regarding the why and the what comes after. Religion exists to answer most of those questions.

So... what does one do when they lose that, and become immortal without purpose?

They seek another. Or they disappear.

2. Faith (A Ruina tangent)

Before I get to Bari, it's important to examine her debut game, and the one person she interacts with (and believe me I have thoughts about it).

So, Angela. Our most beloved not-human with all the characteristics of humanity except a lifespan, and a perfect example of an immortal trying to pass time.

LoR goes to great lengths to show her desperation going back all the way to Lobcorp. It shows, quite clearly, first her inability to cope with the circumstances Ayin stuck her in, followed by her resignation to fate and a silent wish for the end. I will not mince words, Angela reads to me back then as silently suicidal, in that she's given up on any other solution to her pain but the conclusion of the play. Then, and only then, was she to be allowed to rest. She had no say in when the play would end so she could only hope it eventually would.

She yearned for death. But then, something changed. Netzach points out that indeed, though she wished for the end, she truly wanted to live. To exist, to escape her prison and to finally know this world besides the pain. That desire gave her enough humanity to manifest her own EGO.

All with the purpose of seeking the One Book that'd give her humanity, and, in her eyes, make her finally complete and able to live in happiness.

The most important part of LoR for this analysis is the Floor of Religion, and Hokma's view of faith. Honestly I'd recommend watching through all of these because it's so poignant. Or better yet, watch Hydrojoy's Angela video (the fact they've got so few subscribers with this level of analysis is a crime honestly).

Some lines I want to focus on, though, are these:

Things without purpose shall disappear. People without purpose will similarly expire.

Angela admits to herself that she doesn't know what she's doing. She's simply chasing some sort of meaning - revenge, freedom from her robotic condition, power, knowledge, anything that'll give her fulfilment.

And in the forgiveness route, she finally finds that in companionship of Roland and, I'd like to think, the Librarians.

But if she doesn't forgive, she ends up losing any purpose besides continuous revenge. There is no companionship when the Librarians turn on her for betraying them. There's no use in being human when it doesn't benefit her mission, and frankly just makes it harder because it makes her easier to harm. There's no point leaving the library when outside will not welcome her, it's much safer to stay inside forever.

There is no point to anything. Angela's revenge is hollow, really - Ayin is dead and no amount of sticking it to him will earn a response from a dead guy.

Enter the Book Hunter.

I will be honest in saying I don't fully understand what they both mean, with them speaking in sort of vague terms. It sounds like Bari was employed by Angela to kill other Book Hunters (perhaps in exchange for knowledge?).

What matters to me, though, are the final lines - the recognition of what Angela is and delivering death to the last librarian.

3. The Scholar of Meaning and the Reaper of the Meaningless

As the Limbus wiki points out, Bari is likely named after a Korean funerary goddess who sought both a healing river and a flower of immortality. But this influence strikes me especially in the context of her being an immortal who meets a lot of other (and often younger) immortals.

She's wise to the fact that all things need meaning to exist. They need an ambition, a wish, something to strive for.

So she attempts to give it to them.

This is shown not just explicitly with Quixote senior, but also with Quixote junior after Sancho gives up her memory, itself a form of death Bari guides her to. For 200 years, Bari made sure to visit Don Quixote and leave her letters so that this person who was once a dear friend may dream, may have meaning and a purpose in her immortal life.

Because you need something to drive you in life, be it becoming a legendary fixer, creating a place where Bloodfiends can live in peace with humans, or searching for a flower which grew from the mysterious rivers flowing through your world.

And if you have lost purpose and can no longer find one, if she cannot save you from that void, she will be there to put you out of your misery, for a meaningless eternity is its own sort of hell, and cruelty it perpetuates is nothing but needless.

In her own words - you must pursue your dream, even if it means wagering your life in the chase.

I think Bari's view of the Bloodfiends' illness and what Carmen describes as the disease humanity could be similar if not the same thing. Roland says in Floor of Religion's first episode that the City has no established religion - people focus on their immediate survival, suffering is everpresent, and the more organised religious-seeming groups are cults trying to exploit you.

The City has lost its purpose. People do not dream, or are not allowed to for long because those dreams are swiftly quashed. Carmen offers an out to suffering through becoming so unapologetically yourself you gain the power to enact your will on the world, for better or worse.

Bari seeks, I think, to give the same, but through simple companionship. Not cohersion, not magic, but through the same thing that has given so many people across this franchise meaning - having a friend to be there for you as you look for what drives you. Because to be alone in meaninglessness is the most cruel and difficult thing. I wonder if she knows that from experience...

I really hope we get more of Bari in the future so I can see if my analysis is more fanfiction than truth but with just the bits we have I have to say she's one of my favourite secondary characters in Limbus.

[chrysanthemumgames]

I have a perhaps personal ask, and at the same time struggling with how to phrase it. I've been looking into making an interactive story myself, however, I... cannot code. For the life of me. I can tell one hell of a story, but coding it beyond my grasp, and the system I currently use, while it ought to be simple enough even someone like me could do so, isn't exactly working for how I want it to. Do you perhaps know anything anywhere that I might start looking for someone who would be willing to work with me? I am so sorry if this is a bothersome ask.

Hi anon!

I'm probably not the best person for advice on this, because I've never been in that situation before. I've put some thoughts under the cut, with the caveat that only a small portion of them actually address the question you've asked, with the majority being related but perhaps not helpful for you, depending.

So, I think where you'd go to find a coding person depends on what language you're using. If it's ChoiceScript, probably the forums. If it's Twine... I honestly don't know. Maybe the subreddit, though you'll want to double-check that such requests are not against the rules there.

I sincerely doubt you'll have an easy time finding someone, though. Most folks who code in the systems used for IF are IF authors who taught themselves the coding techniques in order to tell their own stories, not someone else's.

That said, and this is the part you can ignore, because you know yourself better than I do, but... I'm pretty sure you can learn to code. It's not easy, necessarily, and it doesn't come intuitively to everyone, but there are resources out there to help you. Again, this will depend on what system you're using, but the CS forums are very useful for figuring out CS (as is the wiki, once you know enough to parse it). For Twine, there are loads of archived posts on their forums and on the subreddit for specific questions, but for general ones, the documentation for your preferred program (e.g. SugarCube), the Twine Cookbook, and similar resources will break things down into smaller, more digestible chunks. I personally recommend the Twine Grimoire (volumes 1 and 2), for basic interface aesthetics, once you get to that point.

Here on tumblr, @/nyhelism, @/cerberus-writes, @/manonamora-if, @/idrellegames, and others have all answered questions about Twine coding or even in some cases made templates that take a lot of the work out of it. Most have a masterpost regarding things they've answered about Twine or made for others' use, but be sure to check that they're currently accepting coding questions before sending them any, of course.

Learning to code may be slow and incremental, and lots of people manage better if they start with a small project just to learn how to do the basic things in their language of choice. I'd really recommend figuring out what you need your game to be able to do, and learning those functions one by one—it's less overwhelming than trying to tackle everything at once while also writing a huge project.

If all else fails, my most esoteric suggestion is to familiarize yourself with the basic principles of symbolic logic. I took a class in it as part of my degree, and have since also taught that class, and I think understanding things like the logic of conditionals (if statements) as they're used in coding (rather than natural language) really gave me a leg up in learning to code. Not that I'm an expert, but I know enough to make a basic game, at least.

Most (all?) of these things should be findable with a google search; I know there are at least some Twine tutorials on youtube as well, though I'm unsure of CS or any of the languages I'm less familiar with, like Ink, etc.

I do apologize that the section where I encourage you to do the thing you don't think you can do is longer than the one where I answered your actual question, but that's the part I might actually have something useful to say about. If you're absolutely certain you can't do it, I'm sorry for banging on about it, but if you're not sure or on the fence, maybe give it another go before trying to find another person. I've seen a lot of writers looking for coders in the past, but maybe only once was a coder offering their services to writers (and that was a long time ago).

[closetkitsune]

...sooo yeah, I've seen a lot of posts about "tiktok therians" and also younger therians in general and I might as well get my two cents about it out here.

Short version: leave them alone; if they bother you that much then block them and move on instead of wasting your energy

Long version: Loud sigh... I feel like I might get some hate for this, but I might as well get it off my chest sooner or later.

Look, I get it, people are frustrated with how things are being watered down, but please think before you cause needless damage. What if, instead of your teacher correcting your answers on a quiz or test, they just insulted you, ignored you, and kicked you out of class? Not only would you not learn anything, but you'd probably end up disliking the teacher, if not developing a dislike for the subject they taught as a whole (as younger crowds tend to do). I've seen this happen in LGBT+ spaces and it saddens me to see it here, too.

Doesn't anyone else remember what it's like to be a teenager, exploring your identity, exploring concepts of the world in general, learning things, growing and maturing as a person? People get stuff wrong and misuse terms ALL. THE. TIME. Especially when young! That doesn't mean that some of them policing terms and identities is okay, of course; I don't blame anyone for taking a stand when it comes to that.

It's important to ensure that misinformation doesn't spread, of course. And that isn't done with gatekeeping and rage; it's done with compassion and patience. Not everyone is built for that sort of thing, of course; I'm not saying everyone out there needs to have the patience of a saint to correct people when they get certain alterhuman-related concepts or terms incorrect. Just know that being a bully on any level, no matter the excuse, will cause more harm than good.

"But it's the only way they'll learn!" No. Those are the words of someone who is letting their frustration and anger guide their actions. Maybe some people will need that kind of kick in the rear, but that should never, ever, ever be the action of choice. To be fair, I might be biased in this regard; my abusive guardian used that excuse all the time to make me do things because she didn't fully understand how my neurodivergence affected me. As a result, every time I see/hear anything similar to that, I'm strongly against it because it only reminds me of the bullying I endured.

Those who have been in this space for a while need to be welcoming to newcomers, willing to point to resources on some level, but still be firm in their boundaries in case someone decides to start trouble. Gatekeeping is not the answer and will never be the answer; the only thing it does is make the whole community look bad while ultimately causing damage. Of course, if you don't have the spoons to deal with any of this, then just block and move on. don't waste your energy on something you know isn't going to do you any good.

Those who are new to the space NEED to do their research from older, more established sources instead of only defining things in a way that they prefer. Things are going to exist in ways that don't make you the most comfortable, but you have the tools to keep that out of your space and you should absolutely make use of them.

I think everyone needs a reminder here that You are in charge of you. If something upsets you, it's your responsibility to block the appropriate people, set up the appropriate filters, whatever you need to do to make your space safe. If you claim an identity, you should at the very least know what it means and refrain from trying to needlessly police it.

And, I say this as a sex-repulsed asexual: sexual things are going to exist in every single space, be it an identity, fandom, hobby, whatever. It's not inherently bad, but it's certainly okay to not like it and it certainly shouldn't be aimed at minors. Set up your filters, block as needed, and move on. (And if you're the one posting NSFW stuff, tag it or otherwise mark it appropriately.)

If you're coming to tumblr from Tiktok, welcome! I hope you can find a safe space here. If you're a minor, please remember to practice basic internet safety. Don't share your age or location, don't show your face (masks are great for this!), be careful who you talk to, etc.

Please, don't fight each other. Educate each other and stand together. The world is a scary place; we don't need to add more bickering where it could be avoided. And we certainly don't want to alienate people who don't need to be.

(Obligatory disclaimer because this is the internet: please remember to use common sense and critical thinking; I'm not going to tolerate any logical fallacies. I don't have the patience for that.)

[front-facing-pokemon]

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[ms-demeanor]

Hey also you know that post about getting better at cooking and handling meat and stuff?

Meat is really expensive and it goes bad pretty quickly.

If you're a new cook and you're trying to figure out how to pan-fry something so that it tastes good, might I recommend tofu?

I'm not saying "treat tofu like meat and try to replace all your favorite meat dishes with tofu" (though, I mean, if that sounds good - go for it), I'm saying "it's a lot easier to practice heating a pan and flipping objects in a pan for a meal and seasoning objects in a pan when the objects in the pan cost two dollars instead of ten dollars."

Tofu lasts a lot longer in the fridge than meat does, is easy to season, and you can easily learn how to pan-fry it into a tasty snack (or main course) and only requires a little extra prep. You can also pretend that the tofu is raw meat (the texture isn't dissimilar) and start practicing for things like how to take it out of a package or cut it on a sanitizable surface, etc.

My favorite way to cook tofu is to press extra firm tofu for at least half an hour (you can get a cheap tofu press for around ten dollars, or you can put it between two plates with some books on the top plate - this is that extra prep i was talking about - tofu cooks best if you press the excess water out), then slice a 14oz cake of it into 8 slices. I lay these flat and sprinkle cayenne pepper, mushroom powder, and smoked paprika on all of the slices, then I rub it in and flip the slices and season the other side the same way. I cook it in a frying pan with a thin layer of avocado or olive oil over medium heat, flipping every two minutes until the flat sides start to crisp up a little. Just before the last flip I add about a tablespoon of tamari sauce (you can use soy sauce, I've just got allergies) to the pan, sprinkling it over the tofu so that both sides get a little bit of sauce on them.

I have that with steamed vegetables and with jasmine rice (with two teaspoons of rice wine vinegar per 3 cups of dry rice and 4.5 cups of water). I also make a honey-siracha-mayo sauce that I dip the tofu in.

It's really good. And now I end up eating leftover rice and sauce with fried eggs for lunch at least two days a week and that's also really good.

This has become one of my go-to low spoon foods because it's so easy to make, it's filling, it tastes good to me, and it has become extremely easy for me to keep a stock of tofu in the fridge compared to the effort of keeping un-expired meat in the fridge.

I find that a 14oz pack of tofu feeds two adults for one meal, though I can stretch that to three meals if I'm the only one eating.

It makes a very cheap, filling, easy dinner that I can keep the ingredients around for without too much concern for food waste or anything going bad (the tofu that I get lasts about a month in the fridge and these days I just buy three packs every time I'm at aldi and cycle in new stock - it costs $1.50 per pack)

If you're interested in becoming a better cook, rather than worrying about actual high-risk products like raw chicken that can be seriously dangerous and also cost a fair amount, tofu has a pretty low barrier to entry while also being a good way to learn on a new ingredient that has some similar properties to raw meat.

[clockwayswrites]

Bitty birb in the nest is worth...? Part 19

Masterpost This is going to have many typos and spelling issues, but it currently feels like I've got an ice pick in my temple and my skin hurts so there's no rereading happening atm. Sorry!

-

Danny looked up as Tim Drake-Wayne strode into the lab and closed the door quietly behind himself.

“Tim?”

“Mm-hum?” Tim hummed as he sat down his thermos before he shed his messenger bag, coat, and school jacket onto an open part of desk.

Danny watched on with bemusement. The kid looked half asleep. “Not that it isn’t great to see you again, but what are you doing here, honey?”

“Bruce is on a call running Luthor in circles and then has to talk to legal about some stuff because Luthor is always an ass. We’re supposed to go run an errand and then to dinner together, so I’m stuck here until he’s ready to leave for the day.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said honestly.

“It’s okay, at least Bruce won’t forget, not like—” Tim shut his mouth with a snap, seemingly suddenly thinking about what he was saying.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Danny said, because he did. “You need somewhere to hide out then?”

“Yeah, it’s… calm here.”

“Okay. Sit wherever you want that’s clear. If you need to move something, let me know first, okay?”

“Thanks,” Tim said, shoulders finally losing some of their tension.

“Of course, whenever you need.”

Not wanting to push Tim in any way, Danny kept a subtle eye on the boy as Tim absently wandered around Danny’s office. To Tim’s credit, he did try to touch anything or move things around, even as he obviously grew increasingly tired.

It would be a lot, Danny supposed, to be a teen ager trying to live up to the legacy of two important families in the area, learn the business, go to school, and (hopefully) also spend time with friends. Danny knew how hard it had been only having Phantom as an obligation.

While, sure, Danny wished Tim had made chosen a less neck cramping spot, he was happy to see Tim finally settle down and seemingly fall asleep… under one of Danny’s work benches. Danny couldn’t fuss too much, he’d done that plenty in grad school himself. Once Tim seemed properly asleep, Danny got up to fetch his cardigan from the hook by the door and took it to drape over the sleeping kid. Tim let a little huffed breath of air before he snuggled further into the cardigan and settled back into sleep.

It made Danny’s heart melt in a way that he didn’t want to think too hard about.

It really was no surprise when about forty-five minutes later one Bruce Wayne poked his head into Danny’s office. The door was hardly open when Danny had his finger up and over his mouth in the universal sign of ‘shush’.

Bruce titled his head curiously. Danny gave a little nod of his head towards the workbench that Tim was sleeping under. Silently, Bruce moved to the work bench and crouched down next to it. There was a soft, amused sound before Bruce reached out to brush his hand over Tim’s forehead, as if habitually checking for a fever.

When Bruce returned to where Danny was working, he asked softly, “How long has he been asleep?”

“A little over a half hour. It took him about ten minutes to settle in,” Danny answered, voice equally quiet.

“Then do you mind if I let him keep resting for another fifteen minutes or so? He’s likely to wake up on his own then.”

Danny shook his head. “Nope, let the kid rest. He seems like he needs it.”

Bruce glanced at Tim, his expression that soft sort of worried only parents seemed to get. “He does. He works too hard at… everything. He’s always trying to prove himself even when he doesn’t need to anymore.”

Danny made a little questioning noise as he got back to fiddling with the annoyingly tiny screws.

“His parents were… demanding. They had very exacting ideas of what proper high society behavior was,” Bruce explained. “I’m sadly not the best suited at dismantling those ideas either.”

“Ah… well, what do you do that encourages him to be a kid?” Danny asked.

“He skateboards, actually. And he enjoys photography, but even that became a goal what with art competitions at school.”

“Maybe take him and Damian on a mini art vacation? Somewhere pretty. Somewhere where it’s not about judges,” Danny suggested. He finally got the last screw seated so he glanced up at Bruce’s thoughtful face.

“That’s a good idea,” Bruce said. “I’ll start looking at what might work. Thank you.”

“Sure, ideas are kinda what I do,” Danny said and motioned to the office around him with the screwdriver.

Bruce’s answering chuckle was low and warm. “I suppose it is. I hope you’re also not overworking yourself.”

“I’m doing much better,” Danny assured Bruce. “I just needed some rest.”

“Which my children made sure you got. I’m still sorry that they kept you so long on Friday.”

It was Danny’s turn to laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think you really have much control over what they do.”

“No, I really don’t,” Bruce admitted. “But I wouldn’t have them any other way.”

“That’s good; they’re a pretty amazing family,” Danny said with a soft smile. “And if I don’t get to be sorry about falling asleep, you don’t get to be sorry about making me rest.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but deal.”

“I am a master business man,” Danny teased and ducked his head to hide his smile.

“I’ll have to watch for corporate take overs. Keep an eye on the stocks and papers.”

“Maybe. Oh, speaking of… Well, not speaking of but sort of related? You know, I was joking about us making the papers.”

Bruce hummed curiously so Danny set aside his tools to pull up the story that several coworkers had sent him on his table. He spun it to face Bruce. The picture of them in the box was big on the screen. They were pressed almost chest to chest with Bruce’s arms around Danny. It certainly looked incriminating.

“Well shit,” Bruce said with a sigh. He picked up the tablet to scan through the article. There wasn’t anything in it, of course, just wild speculation. “I hope you haven’t been harassed about this by anyone.”

“I don’t think anyone knows who I am to harass me,” Danny said honestly. “Some coworkers have sent me it, but apparently it’s just my luck to have both randomly run into a Wayne and be invited to an event and have one of my ‘spells’ when I’m around them.”

Bruce looked at him with one well manicured brow raised. “You have interesting luck.”

“Yep. It’s been quite a life so far. I was pretty much born into interesting luck and life has really lived up to that luck and died by it,” Danny said with a little chuckle as he took his tablet back.

“I feel concerned by that last part.”

Danny hummed in question, distracted by pulling his notes back up.

“The having died by the luck part.”

“Oh.” Danny smiled, but he knew that expression was less than a happy one. “I think I mentioned that there was an accident when I was a kid?”

Bruce nodded and lean his elbows on the work bench and crosses his arms. “You did. One that is apparently still affecting your pulse to this day.”

“Yes, well,” Danny glanced away from Bruce. Why was it still so hard to talk about. “When I was fourteen, I was electrocuted at at an… industrial level of voltage. Unsurprisingly it killed me. And hey, obviously I came back! But that sort of thing sticks around.”

“I’m sorry.”

Danny looked back at Bruce, honestly startled. In all this time, Danny wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard a ‘I’m sorry’ about his accident, not without strings attached. His lips quirked into a smile again. This one felt more pleasant. “Thanks. Trust me though, I’m grateful that life has, had been calmer.”

Whatever Bruce was going to say to that was cut off by a loud yawn, the sound of someone shifting around, and then the unmistakable bang of a limb against the metal legs of one of the workbenches.

Quiet cussing followed a moment later.

“You okay there, Tim?” Danny asked.

“Fine,” Tim hissed back.

“I’m sure I have an instant icepack in my office. We can grab one before we leave,” Bruce said.

“B?” Tim asked, voice noticeably brighter. A moment later he appeared out from under the desk.

“Hi, sweetheart, sorry that I had to take that call,” Bruce said as he stepped over to Tim. He reached out to brush the teen’s hair a little straighter.

“It’s fine, it’s Lex, I get it.”

“I know you get it, but that doesn’t mean it has to be fine.”

Tim just shrugged. The action made him notice the the cardigan draped over his shoulders. A little blush rose on his cheeks as he took it off and handed it back to Danny. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for Tim, you weren’t any problem,” Danny assured him. “You’re welcome in my office whenever.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Tim said.

Danny just shrugged with a smile.

“Come on, chum, let’s go find that icepack. We’ll still get to your store before it closes,” Bruce said and started to guide Tim out by the shoulder.

Bruce glanced behind him and Danny gave a little wave to the retreating Waynes.

His luck indeed.

-

“What happened in Danny’s office that’s bothering you?” Tim asked. He had the icepack pressed against his elbow and was sitting almost sideways so that he could take in all of Bruce’s expression.

Bruce was doing that thing where he was feeling big, complicated emotions and wishing he wasn’t. Tim could read it in the way that Bruce’s shoulders were set, that little bit of tightening under his eyes, and the way he was very purposefully not frowning.

“B,” Tim pressed.

Bruce sighed, the sound all of his air. “I think we should leave Danny alone, both as Waynes and as Bats.”

Tim jolted and scrambled to sit up further. “Wait, what? Bruce, what happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Bruce assured Tim. “Nothing bad happened. Vicky got a picture of Danny and I at the ballet. We spoke some about it and Danny talked about how he had interesting luck. He said he was grateful that life has been calmer; he had to change that to had.”

“…oh.”

“It’s just that—”

“No, you’re right. I’ll try to talk to the others about it because you know they won’t listen to you about it.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

[jessica-problems]

Seeing @thydungeongal constantly wrestling with people interpreting her posts about D&D in ways that seem completely alien to me has convinced me that there are actually multiple completely distinct activities both being referred to as "playing D&D" Before we begin, I want to stress that I'm not saying one of these groups is Playing The Game Wrong or anything, but there seems to be a lot of confusion and conflict caused by people not being aware of the distinction. In fact, either one works just fine if everyone's on the same page. So far, I think I've identified at least two main groups. And nobody seems to realize the distinction between these groups even exists. The first group of people think of "Playing D&D" as, well, more or less like any other board game. Players read the whole rulebook all the way through, all the players follow the instructions, and the gameplay experience is determined by what the rules tell each player to do. This group thinks of the mechanics as, not exactly the *whole* game, but certainly the fundamental skeleton that everything else is built on top of. People in the second group think of "Playing D&D" as referring to, hanging out with their friends, collaboratively telling a story inspired by some of the elements in the rulebooks, maybe rolling some dice to see what happens when they can't decide. This group thinks of the mechanics of the game as, like... a spice to sprinkle on top of the story to mix things up. (if you belong to this second group, and think I'm explaining it poorly, please let me know, because I'm kind of piecing things together from other people saying things I don't understand and trying to reverse engineer how they seem to be approaching things.) I think this confusion is exacerbated by the fact that Wizards of the Coast markets D&D as if these are the same thing. They emphatically are not. the specific rules laid out of the D&D rulebooks actually direct players to tell a very specific kind of story. You can tell other stories if you ignore those rules (which still counts as "playing D&D" under the second definition, but doesn't under the first)And I think people in both groups are getting mad because they assume that everyone is also using their definition. For example, there's a common argument that I've seen play out many times that goes something like this:

A: "How do I mod D&D to do [insert theme here]?" B: "D&D is really not built for that, you should play [other TTRPG] that's designed for it instead" A: "But I don't want to learn a whole new game system!" B: "It will be easier to just learn a whole new system than mod D&D to do that." A: "whatever, I'll just mod D&D on my own" And I think where this argument comes from is the two groups described above completely talking past each other. No one understands what the other person is trying to say. From A's perspective, as a person in the second group, it sounds like A: "Anyone have some fun inspirations for telling stories about [insert theme here]?" B: "You can't sit around a table with your friends and tell a story about that theme! That's illegal." A: "But we want to tell a story about this theme!" B: "It's literally impossible to do that and you're a dumb idiot baby for even thinking about it." A: "whatever, jerk, I'll figure it out on my own."

--- Whereas, from B's perspective, the conversation sounds like A: "How do I change the rules of poker to be chess, and not be poker?" B: "uhhh, just play chess?" A: "But I already know how to player poker! I want to play poker, but also have it be chess!" B: "what the hell are you talking about? What does that even mean. They're completely different games." A: "I'm going to frankenstein these rules together into some kind of unplayably complex monster and you can't stop me!" ---

So both people end up coming away from the conversation thinking the other person is an idiot. And really, depending on how you concieve of what it means to "play D&D" what is being asked changes considerably. If you're only planning to look through the books for cool story inspiration, maybe borrow a cool little self contained sub-system here or there, then yeah, it's very possible to steal inspiration for your collaborative story from basically anywhere. Maybe some genres are kind of an awkward fit together, but you can make anything work with a little creativity.

If, however, you are thinking of the question in terms of frankensteining two entire board games together, then it becomes a massively difficult or even outright nonsensical idea. For example, for skill checks, the game Shadowrun has players roll a pool of several d6 at once, then count up how many rolled above a target value to see how well a character succeeded at a task. The whole game is full of specific rules about adding or removing dice from the pool, effects happening if you roll doubles, rerolling only some of the dice, and all sorts of other things that simply do not translate to rolling a single d20 for skill checks. On a basic level, the rules of the games work very differently. Trying to make them compatible would be much harder than just learning a new game from scratch. Now, neither of these approaches is exactly *wrong*, I guess, but personally, I find the rules of TTRPGs to be fascinating and worth taking the time to engage with all the weird little nuances and seeing what shakes out. Also, the first group, "TTRPG as fancy board game" is definitely the older and more widespread one. I kind of get the impression that the second group largely got into D&D through actual play podcasts, but I don't have any actual data to back that up. So, if you're in the second group, who thinks of D&D as basically a context for collaborative storytelling first and a game second, please let me know if I'm wildly misunderstanding how you approach D&D. Because I'm pretty sure it would save us a whole lot of stupid misunderstandings.

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

"Bite Me" - Alastor x Reader - Part 2

prev

You....really shouldn't have bitten Alastor.

It was a threat, yep, and the guy did need to learn his actions had consequences, but...er. Was that really worth this?

The Radio Demon had practically been your shadow for the past week. His expression never changed, his tone never shifted. You were like, 90 percent sure he was thinking of the best way to kill you for maximum pain.

Pain wasn't good. You were allergic to it.

...That line usually got a chuckle out of whoever heard it, or in your case, whenever you thought it. However, this time, it didn't quite tickle your funny bone as it usually did.

Because Alastor was standing right there.

And staring at you.

In your goddam bedroom.

"....Hi." You said, chewing on your bottom lip.

Alastor's gaze darted for a second to your lip, then back to your eyes. And he said nothing.

"...Did you need something?" You said.

He continued to stare at you, unblinking.

You sighed "Listen, if you're going to kill me can you just hurry up already? I'm sure it beats how awkward this is."

Other than the slightest twitch of an ear, he still didn't respond.

You huffed, narrowing your eyes as a growl permeated through the air. "At least say something!"

He didn't.

"OKay, fine!" You snapped, throwing your hands up in the air. You crossed them over your chest with a pout, giving Alastor a mean side-eye. "Keep standing there doing nothing. I guess I could use a new hat rack anyway."

"...You don't have any hats?" He said, tilting his head to one side.

"I'll get some so I can justify having a hat rack." You said, tail flicking.

"Mhm... So, how sincere is this threat?"

"What?"

Alastor straightened his posture, taking a couple long strides to stand right at your bedside. "You make a lot of threats, my dear. And I've only ever seen you carry 1 out."

"Usually people listen to me." You said, rolling your eyes.

"So you've never actually follow through before?" He tilted his head to the opposite side than before. His grin seemed to stretched a bit, ears becoming less stiff.

"Does that make you happy?" You said, turning to face him "That you're the first idiot who made me actually do something?"

From how he practically beamed you can only assume it did. You sighed, flopping down onto the bed on your side. The intent was to ignore him until he got bored and went away or got sick of you and killed you.

Instead you found a shadowy tendril wrapping around your middle, rolling you onto your back. Alastor grinned down at you, his body a perfect 90-degree angle bent at the waist.

"I'm the first one you've bit?"

"...Yeah?" You said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean. I think I bit people when I was little and pretending I had rabies, but not really intending to hurt them..."

His grin widened. "How did I taste?"

...

"What."

"I want to know. How did I taste?"

Oh right he was a cannibal. You grimaced internally. Was that just something cannibals got giddy about? 'Hey I'm the first person you've eaten hurrah!'

The tendril around you gave a firm squeeze. You sighed and met Alastor's crimson eyes, giving him a flat look of your own.

"Dry and tough- like badly made jerky."

He laughed. "Well, of course! You bit into my jacket! Silly creature, you."

"....Well, you asked."

"That I did, that I did." Alastor hummed. He tilted his head too far to one side, leaning in closer to you "Would you care for a taste without my jacket?"

"No." You responded curtly.

The silence was palpable. Neither of you broke eye contact or changed your expressions for several moments. Those moments seemed very, very long.

His eye slowly twitched up and his ears dropped ever-so-slighty-

"Hm. Well, it's not like you'd manage that anyway."

"Probably not. Are we done?"

Another beat of silence passed before the shadows tendril dissolved into mist and Alastor was standing up straight again.

"Now, I wouldn't say this matter is done, but I suppose it could wait."

You sat up, staring at him. The more you stared, the more his eyes couldn't seem to decide on what to focus on. Was he...nervous?

That encounter didn't go anywhere else significant. He simply said a farewell and left you to your own devices.

===========

Your eye twitched as you took a long, deep breath.

Alastor was being so horribly, horribly annoying.

The last couple days he resumed his role as your shadow, but this time solely with the task of irritating you. He'd chew loudly, he'd step in an off-rhythm on purpose, he'd claw the surface of things you couldn't stand the sound of and it made your ears hurt and your jaw ache from how much you were grinding your teeth.

You had enough.

"Will you LEAVE ME ALONE!?" You snapped at him. He didn't so much as flinch, simply tilting his head and he leaned closer to you.

"Or what?"

"I'm going to shove your hooves so far up your ass you'll be coughing up horseshoes for a week-"

"I'm a deer, not a horse." He said, eyes crinkling up in amusement at your 'threat'.

You hissed out an agitated breath before taking a couple deep, long breaths and you felt your jaw lax (a little) and your temper die down a bit.

"...Yeah, you're right." You said after a moment "And I'm sorry. I didn't really have much of a reason to snap at you like that."

His eyes narrowed and you couldn't be bothered to wonder why. You said a curt goodbye and meandered off, feeling his eyes trained on your retreating form. You couldn't be bother to think about that, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi it's me the writer. Letting you all know that this is not planned in the slightest and i'm just winging it. No smut will happen EVER though because I don't wanna write it. So kindly look elsewhere if that's what you want. I will put a poll here though with considerations for potential next installment

[cup-o-stars]

How to draw like you no borax

Good question!

I'd warn against following my process (at least if you want to learn), but I'll be honest and show you, lol. (Heads up: this is just how I do FAN art. When having fun, I generally care less about the fundamentals.)

1. I slap down super rough sketches, jotting lines/expressions like bullet points of my idea. Pretty much stick figures with just enough detail to remember who's who later. Not shown here, I also move, resize, and add details to express the intended composition if I'm planning something larger. You may notice a lot of curved lines / haphazard circles.

2. I refine the sketch by drawing it with more intention and build structure with slightly blockier shapes. If I'm really struggling with a pose, this is also where I'll find references or look at myself for bits and pieces to fill in the gaps. (When practicing, I would highly recommend using a reference from the start so all your limbs are an appropriate length and you don't need to say things like "that's passable" right before posting. If you're a perfectionist you'll leave that thought with the rough sketch.)

3. I'll decide around here whether or not to leave the sketch as is or commit to lineart (not likely). I guess I'd say I "shape the lines" here by going over some to add thickness/weight, and by adding basic sort-of-shading to break things up a little. Then I'll just fill in space if the page looks empty. (Usually this is where I incorporate the borax, but I hear baking soda works nicely if you're worried.)

4. Onto coloring. I don't feel confident enough to pretend I know what I'm doing here, lol. I just choose my base colors, imagine the general direction of the light source, then add minor gradients to the light and dark layers so they don't look flat. Then I just add some BS highlights and outline them. I've only recently found the motivation to properly practice coloring and just go with the flow tbh.

You may notice that Nami's forearm is too long, her hand looks like a pancake and Chopper has no joints! My kind sibling explained to me once that my anatomy is poor, but cohesive enough that nothing stands out too bad, lol. That's why it is important to use references!! And if you're me, practice all parts of anatomy at the same time with full bodies so that even when you're at a loss, your hands aren't that much better than your feet.

All in all, to draw like me, just have a very hedonistic approach to art, ha. Draw what you want, avoid getting burnt out on any single piece (sometimes that happens when you try to perfect drawings one at a time), and follow my personal motto:

Make fun, not masterpieces.

Idk how helpful this was, but there you have it!

[barefoothighlander]

never going back again - 02

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), mentions of eating, nightmares, mention of alcohol, mutual pining

prev part masterlist next part

It was the calmest he'd ever been, lounging around the cottage with you near, he wasn't much for conversation but he enjoyed asking you questions, how long you'd lived there,

"3 years next month, I bought it a while back after moving here on a whim"

What you did all day,

"Garden and read, lots of painting, even more cooking"

It was all so foreign to him, the idea of living one day at a time, not worrying about the outside world or whether or not your life was in danger, he'd realized quickly that this was the first time he felt safe in years, even with the looming threat of enemies outside and the lack of contact to his team. It did occur to him that if he didn't reach out eventually he would be labelled MIA, but to a man who wasn't even legally alive, the prospect of never seeing his team again didn't worry him a bit, what did worry him was the burning smell from the kitchen.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I was trying a new recipe, it's harder than it looks" You rush to turn off the stove, quickly pulling the pan from the surface and using a towel to waft the smoke.

"I thought you were good at cooking"

"No I said I liked cooking, not that I was any good" You huff while reaching to open the small window above the sink, allowing the fumes to migrate through the opening.

He leans his hands against the table "It doesn't look that bad"

"You're a terrible liar, has anyone ever told you that"

"Most say I've got a great poker face" He tilts his head, you respond with an unamused haha,

He stands to his full height, moving towards you "Let me"

"Let you what"

"Cook, I'll make dinner"

"Anything's better than this" You nudge towards the pan of burnt food, straightening your clothes before allowing him the step to the stove. You turn to sit at the table, watching as he moves around the kitchen with ease, grabbing ingredients from various spots while you point him toward the proper cabinets.

"Where'd you learn to cook?"

"Had to figure out a way to feed myself once I left home"

"They don't feed you at work?"

"They do, but it's mostly inedible, more nutrient based than anything"

"Did your mum cook?"

He doesn't respond for a moment, leaving you to realize the words that come from your mouth, your smile fading quickly, "I'm sorry I forgot"

"S'alright, she um, she didn't often but some Sundays she'd make a roast, best meal I ever ate"

He turns to you, his gaze soft as you smile slightly in response,

"Well let's hope her skills weren't wasted on you"

He laughs lightly, a real laugh before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the stove. You watch as he prepares the food for a few minutes, reaching across the counter to add spices,

"So what are you making?"

"I am making" He stops his sentence, turning off the stove and twisting to face you, "French toast"

"French toast?"

"I said I could cook, not that I know a lot of recipes"

You cover your mouth as you laugh, your eyes creasing at the sides as he places a plate in front of you,

"Well, it smells great"

The two of you dig into the food, your gaze focused on the plate as you allow him the privacy to lift his mask up slightly, revealing his mouth, falling into a comfortable silence as you eat, Simon smiles to himself as you make a small hum of approval,

"You can't be serious"

"What'd I do?"

"That's like a cup of syrup"

"So?"

"You're teeth are going to rot from your head"

"What if they already have"

You scrunch your face at the thought, "At least it'd explain the mask"

"You don't have to turn away you know"

You make a small huh? in response,

"When I pull on my mask, I don't mind you seeing parts of my face"

"I just assumed"

"I know, but you don't have to turn away"

"Okay" Your voice is smaller, intrigue and confusion mixed into it as you nod. “How’s your cut”

“Healing, thanks to you, still tender”

“Can I” You turn your eyes to his, standing from the table to kneel by his side, his breath catches in his throat as you lower your body, your fingers inches from his stomach.

He nods lightly in permission, lifting his shirt for you and settling it on his lower stomach, your fingers pressing gently on the sides of his wound as you inspect it. His eyes stare at your face, holding back a smile as you bite your lip in concentration, you stand, turning behind to grab some new bandages from the cabinet behind you before returning to your position in front of him.

You brace your fingers against his skin, tugging at his bandage,

“Sorry”

“Doesn’t hurt”

You tilt your head to him and he’s watching you, his eyes locked on your face, your cheeks flush slightly under his stare, turning your attention towards his wound as you dress it, pressing the bandage into his skin. You let your fingers linger for a moment, feeling his stomach rise and fall with each breath before you slowly pull away, standing up and nodding.

“That should do”

“Thank you”

“It’s nothing”

“Thank you” He repeats in a lower, softer voice as he lets his shirt fall into place.

"Any idea when your ear thing will work again?"

"You trying to kick me out?"

"No" You widen your eyes at your quick response, "Just, want to make sure there isn't someone at home missing you"

"There isn't"

You mouth a small oh before turning your gaze toward the window, "It's late, you should rest"

"Right"

There's tension between the two of you, neither wants to leave the others company yet at the same time, neither of you will do anything about it.

"I'll see you in the morning" You smile, passing through the kitchen towards your room and closing the door, leaving Simon alone.

He wakes in a blind panic, the sky outside still dark as he blinks his eyes, turning his head towards your door, he can hear you shouting, rustling around and without thinking he enters the room. Your limbs are twisted between the sheets, jolting around as you mumble, he takes a step back as you sit up, your chest heavy.

You clutch your chest at the sight of him, lurking in the doorframe,

"You scared me"

"You were having a nightmare"

"Yeah, they happen sometimes"

It's then that you notice he's not wearing his mask, the room is dark but there's enough light for you to make out the curve of his nose,

He scratches the back of his head, "Okay" turning to leave,

"Simon"

He lazily turns his gaze back to you, responding with a small hmm.

"Will you stay, it's just"

He cuts you off, "Easier to sleep with someone beside you"

"Please"

"Of course"

You watch as he crosses the room, looming beside your bed as you pull the sheets to cover you, feeling the mattress dip under his weight as he settles in. He lays awkwardly on his back, his arms crossed over his stomach, you watch his chest rise and fall, without thinking you slide your palm against it, your fingers light on the fabric of his shirt as you move closer, pressing your chest against his side and resting your head on his shoulder. He snakes an arm around you, letting you nestle against him as his hand settles gently on your arm, his touch feather-light as he tries to keep a consistent heartbeat.

You must've fallen asleep shortly after, waking to the sun streaming into the room, your limbs tangled between his, both of you had turned in your sleep, his chest now pressed against your back as his arms held snugly against your waist. You can feel his steady breath fan across your neck, his face close enough that the tip of his nose grazes your skin, he's so warm, the sheets on the bed long forgotten in your sleep and the heat coming from him is more than enough.

You reach a hand to his arm, tracing over the lines of his tattoo and you feel him tighten his grip, his stable breaths now ragged as he wakes up. It takes him a moment to realize the position he's in, his brain doing little to comprehend the situation.

"Do you have something in your pocket?"

He pulls from you instantly, jolting upwards and turning around as you giggle,

"M'sorry" His voice is groggy, his accent thicker than usual.

"It's fine"

He keeps his gaze away from you, anxiously stretching his limbs before you realize,

"I'm gonna shower, I'll turn away so I don't"

"Thank you"

You can only see the back of his head, his blonde hair that's a mess, the outline of his head as he nods, shaking your thoughts as you move out of the room.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, hoping that he didn't get a chance to see you that morning either, your hair was everywhere, the skin under your eyes dark from your usual lack of sleep as you strip your pyjamas, turning on the faucet.

You stand in the warm water, letting it wash over you, hoping it would calm your rampant thoughts as you hear Simon moving around behind the door.

You step out of the shower, wrapping your body in a towel and smoothing your hair back before opening the door, the steam wafting from the small room into the house.

“Where’s the kettle?”

“Top left cabinet”

You stand in the doorway, your hands squeezing the water from your hair as you look at him,

“Thanks”

He turns quickly to you and his body freezes, his eyes glued to your practically naked form as you stand, the beads of water dripping from your warm skin.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yep, just making tea”

“Okay, bags are in the lower cupboard”

He nods awkwardly, furrowing your brows at him before turning around, he lets out a heavy breath as you leave, leaning back against the counter as he drops his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“Shit” He mumbles to himself, adjusting his pants feeling them grow tighter as his mind runs circles around the sight of you, replaying the way your fingers traced over his skin, and scent of your hair as he rested his head against yours. He was awake most of the night, listening to you breath, smiling lightly as you mumble about nothing, you were soft, he’d never had soft before always jagged and dark.

His mind snaps back as you call from the other room,

“Are you any good at fixing things?”

“Depends, what needs fixing”

“The shutters outside, they’re falling apart”

“I could give them a look”

You appear in the entry, smiling at him, now clothed with your hair pulled back, he just watches you in awe, the fact that you could look so perfect no matter the circumstances, you could be caked in mud and still make his heart flutter.

The two of you sit for tea and chat about nothing, asking more questions that he dodges while you openly answer everything he had wondering about.

“I think you’re his new favourite”

Simon makes a small huh before you nudge your head toward his feet, the small cat nestling itself against his calf.

“Strange”

“He’s not strange”

“Not him just, I’ve never had a cat do this”

“Well get used to it”

He smiles under his mask, he could get used to this, spending his days with you, cooking and drinking tea, just enjoying each others company around the house.

“The shutters”

You set your cup down, nodding at him, “There’s some tools in the shed outside, not sure what’s left but maybe they’d help”

“I’ll get right on it then”

It was sweltering outside, the sun beaming down without a cloud in the sky as Simon tries to navigate his way around fixing the shutters. You see him through the window, his arms flexing as he unscrews some things and nails in others, you had no idea what he was doing but he looked good.

I’m hot, he must be hot you fan yourself with your hand, pulling the hair from your sweat glistened neck, eyes darting around the kitchen before an idea clicks in your head.

“Beer”

It’s the only word you can manage to think of as your eyes fall on him, somewhere in the last few minutes he’d stripped himself of his shirt, tucking the loose material into the belt of his pants as his sweat dripped down his skin.

“Cheers, love one”

Your throat dries, nodding as you extend a n arm toward him, the cold glass of the drink transferring to his grip as he tips it towards you in thanks, turning around to lift his mask slightly before taking a sip. Your eyes trailing down his muscled form, roaming over every ridge of his stomach before moving back up.

“Must be hot with the mask”

“Get used to it”

You take a few gulps of your own drink, running the glass across your skin in an attempt to cool yourself. He turns his gaze back to you, watching as you let the beverage run across your skin, leaving a trail of drips behind, he can’t tell if you’re teasing him or this is just how you act naturally.

“How’s it looking”

“Great”

“So you’re almost done”

“Huh?” His eyes pull back to yours,

“Are you almost done, it’s getting unbearable out here”

“Yeah, nearly there”

“Great, I’ll be inside”

The rest of the evening was calm, the two of you doing your best to stay cool in the small cottage as the sun set over the horizon, deciding on cooking something that didn’t involve the use of heat, settling on sandwiches for dinner.

“Mind if I shower, I’m covered in sweat”

“Yea of course” Your mind floods with the sight of his bare form, thankful that the hot air masked the flush of your cheeks, “Towels are in the washroom”

He nods, standing from the table to move toward the shower, closing the door behind him before turning it on. You blow out a long breath, bracing your hands against the table before turning your head at the sound of him wincing,

“You alright?” You call

“Yeah, just sore”

“Well hurry up, I’ll check your stitches”

You sit impatiently as he showers, nervously tidying the kitchen as you wait, your chest fluttering as you hear the shower turn off.

“Figured it’s easier if I just put my shirt on later”

He must be doing this on purpose, once again your eyes roam his form, his sweat replaced by dripping water as his freshly cleaned skin draws your attention,

“Sure, easier”

He sits on the couch, leaning back and positioning his arm against the top to allow you a better view to his stitches, to your surprise they’re doing well, no inflammation or bleeding, they look good.

“S’good, should be able to take them out soon”

“Great”

“Might leave a scar”

“Adds to the collection”

You pass your gaze over the skin of his chest, littered with scars, some small and others long, some old and some new.

“I’m fine”

“I know you are”

“It only hurts a little, when it happens”

“And someone did this to you”

“A few people”

“How many is a few?” You stare at him with rounded eyes,

“Nothing you need to worry about”

You soften your gaze, standing from the couch,

“I guess we should sleep now” His eyes follow your movements, he shifts in his spot trying to get comfortable,

“Simon, would you- nevermind”

“What do you need?”

“I felt bad waking you last night and I was thinking maybe, if we slept in the same bed I wouldn’t have any, you know”

“Yeah, I’d like that- you not having nightmares” He fumbles over his last words, trying to keep himself together at the prospect of once again having you close.

“Okay” You walk nervously toward your room, the simple action now feeling foreign as he trails behind you, “I’ll keep the lights off if you want”

He nods, closing the door behind him as you get into the bed, shuffling around a little before finding comfort in your position, you turn to your side but keep your eyes on him as he reaches to tug his mask off, your mind trying to piece together what he might look like behind the sharp lines of his shadowed face.

He sets himself beside you, moving an apprehensive arm under your pillow, making sure you were okay with it. You push back against him, your body perfectly slotting in front of his as his other arm settles around your waist, you hold it with your fingers, your thumb rubbing against the skin as you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

You’re asleep in no time, the warmth of the air combined with the comfort of Simon behind you lulling you into a dream while he stays up, his arms tucked against you, it was the most comfortable he’d been in years, maybe ever and be didn’t dare move, his body freezing everytime you moved a leg against him or squeezed his forearm lightly, they were like subconscious reminders that you wanted him there and it warmed his heart, melting against you as he tucked his nose against the nape of your neck, your hair brushing against his skin.

He wakes to an empty bed and a weight on his chest, opening his heavy eyes to the sight of Goliath,

“Good morning kitty”

He runs a hand across his back, smiling lightly as he purrs against his touch before he jumps off, startled by the sounds from the house. Simon quickly realizes that he’s not wearing a mask, it’s light out, and you’re not there, a small panic setting into his nerves as he stands.

He tugs on his mask and a shirt before leaving the room, pressing his side against the frame as he watches you move around the kitchen, steeping some tea while you clean up.

“Mornin”

You turn around with a wide smile, “Sleep well?” You ask, leaning against the counter,

“Best in years” He’s being honest, something about you was so comfortable, safe, he wanted to stay forever, if this was what life had in store for him then he’d accept it with open arms.

“Good, cause I think I found that wire you needed”

His heart sinks in an instant, “You did?”

“I think so, was tucked back in the drawer”

“Oh, I’ll see if it’s the right one then”

You smile, turning back to the kettle that had begun whistling as Simon panics, it was too soon, he wanted more time, he needed to figure out a way to stay longer, something good that would keep him here at least a few more days.

“The bathrooms got mold in it” It was the best he could come up with, he hated lying to you.

“Huh?” You turn with your brows furrowed,

“The bathroom, noticed it last night, I can’t fix it if you’d like”

“Are you sure, I didn’t see any”

“Easy to miss sometimes, it’s just near the drain, shouldn’t take more than a day to clean up”

“Yeah sure, just let me know what you need”

He nods, fighting back a smile of success behind his mask, excusing himself from your direct line of sight before internally celebrating, before stopping to think to himself,

Now I’ve gotta figure out how to retile a shower.

[froggibus]

hiiiiiii i just wanna say i love ur work so much. i was wondering if i could request a jason todd hurt/comfort fic. i recently had a really scary experience outside of a bar, and it has been taking a toll on me. maybe something like reader and jason fight over something silly, and then something like that happens to reader and he comforts them after and feels bad about the fight before? with a lot of fluff and reassurance. maybe he gives them a bath or something:) THANK YOUUUU

Never Let Me Go - Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn! reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst -> fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: after an argument with Jason, you're left to fend for yourself outside of a bar

CW: attempted assault, attempted SA, chasing, slight violence, dissociation/shock (reader), arguing, alcohol, hurt/comfort, pet names (Jason calls reader baby/hun), bathing together, jason is snarky at first

sorry this took so long! really hope you're feeling better, but if you (or anyone else reading this) ever need to talk, my inbox is always open <3 i talk about my own struggles with ptsd on this blog, and i want everyone to be able to feel safe enough to talk about theirs, too

i tried to keep the assault scene short and brief, but i've also added cuts before and after in case anyone would like to skip it.

(title slightly based on this song)

“You know that stuff is pure sugar and no alcohol, right?” 

You roll your eyes when Jason gestures to your drink with a look of distaste, hiding his snark behind the rim of his glass. You’re tempted to remind him that the foamy beer he’s pounding back has even less alcohol than your Cosmo, but think the better of it. He’s in a bitchy mood, and there’s no point making it worse.

He’d gotten into a fight with Bruce the night before, and had practically gone on a rampage through Gotham’s underground. The anger radiated off of him still when he’d showed up at your apartment an hour earlier, even after he’d flashed you a tense smile and planted a tentative kiss to your lips.

You’d told him at least three times since then that he didn’t have to come with you—given the bar was around the corner from your home, and you could stumble home from it drunk, backwards and in your sleep—but Jason had insisted. As if you ever thought Jason would be able to relax knowing you’re out at a bar in the heart of Gotham, despite your assertions that you would only be having a couple drinks and maybe some chili fries.

You swish your glass around, watching the raspberry coloured booze slosh on the sides. “We can go home if you’re not feeling up to this,” you say gently. “I don’t mind.”

He gives his broad shoulders an irritating shrug. “You wanted to get out of the house, we’re out of the house.” 

Though he doesn’t say it, you can hear the unspoken words crackling through the air. What more do you want from me?

“But do you want to leave?”

Jason’s eyes narrow, black pupils forcing out imperial blue. “I go where you go.”

It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to resist tugging at your hair. Though it’s been years since he lived in Wayne Manor, and even longer since he studied under Bruce, the lessons he learned have never left him. Including this form of aggravating, diplomatic speech where his answers gave no answers at all.

“Whatever,” you sigh under your breath, crossing your legs and tilting your body back to your drink.

Jason scoffs, “whatever? Really?”

“Yes, really!” You’re grateful that the mix of conversations and the drone of 90s rock are loud enough to cover up your rising voice. “I just wanted to get out of the house for once and you’re being mean.”

“I’m being mean?” There’s a cruel smirk on his lips. “The only reason I’m here is because of you, so that you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“I never asked for that.”

Your heart races painfully in your chest. You’ve never liked arguing, especially not in public when the both of you have been drinking and especially not when Jason is already chafing under the expectations of others. It’s a nightmarish combination that leaves electricity sizzling in the air and everyone in the room on edge.

He chugs the rest of his beer, not even bothering to wipe away the tiny bit of white foam that catches on the shadow above his upper lip. “Fine then,” he grumbles, and tosses a fifty onto the counter. “I’ll see you.”

He leaves no room for protest, already barreling his way through the tables. By the time you’ve even processed what just happened, he’s already at the door, back muscles tensing beneath brown leather as he yanks it open hard enough to shake the hinges.

You wait until you hear the familiar rev of his motorcycle before ordering another round.

It’s late by the time you decide to pay your tab and head home. Your phone has long since been dead weight in your pocket, but even if it weren’t, you wouldn’t have bothered to check it. There was a part of you that hoped Jason would come back, that he would apologize, but that part is about as dead as your phone is.

It’s brisk outside now, and cold rain sprinkles from above. The dark rain clouds block out the moon, dim flickering street lights the only light you can see. You take a long, deep breath that clouds the air as you release it, rubbing your freezing forearms. Home is just around the corner, but that’s still an eight minute walk. Minimum.

A groan slips past your lips as you lean against the outside of the building, peering into the dark streets for any sign of a cab. A rock skids across the ground to your left and you snap your head in the direction it came from.

A man saunters towards you, his body encased in shadows. “Need a ride?”

A shiver rises up your spine. You shuffle further to your right, trying to put more distance between you and the stranger. 

He doesn’t take the hint. He moves closer, purposefully slamming his boots harder into the ground to get your attention. “I said,” he repeats, “do you need a ride?”

“No,” you swallow hard, adding a quick, “thank you.”

You don’t know this man, but you despise him. You despise his imposition, the southern twang of his voice, the fact you’re instinctually polite to him so that you don’t risk pissing him off.

Despite your plea, he keeps coming towards you. “I reckon you do.”

The alarm bells in your head start to shriek. You shove off of the wall, stumbling only slightly before you regain your balance and take off down the sidewalk. It’s dark and though you can no longer see him when you glance over your shoulder, you can hear the pounding of his boots on the pavement behind you.

And then his cold, clammy hands lock around your wrist and tug you hard. You strain against his grasp, using your entire body weight to get away, to go anywhere but here.

He’s so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the warmth of his body. Not warm the way Jason is, but warm the way a fire you shouldn’t go near is. You cry out desperately. The bar is still within sight, someone has to come out, someone has to see.

“Why not just let me show you a good time?” He says, “I’m a really nice guy if you give me a chance.”

You drive your elbow into his arm and his grip loosens enough for you to tug away. You rip your wrist from his grasp, but as you do, you lose your balance and crash onto the dirty, wet Gotham pavement. With how cold you are and the adrenaline your heart is furiously pumping through your body, you barely feel the impact.

You can’t see the expression on his face as you drag yourself across the pavement, but you hear a low chuckle. You imagine it’s similar to that of a wolf zeroing in on its prey.

And then, a booming voice cuts through the darkness. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jason sounds pissed, but it's maybe the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. The most beautiful string of words in the English language.

The man spins on his heels away from you just in time to catch a harsh uppercut to the face. A loud crack reverberates through the buildings, and he goes down like a sack of potatoes on the concrete next to you.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, looking up at Jason through your lashes. “You’re—how?”

“Oh, baby. Baby, baby,” he sighs, dropping to his knees on the pavement next to you. His new jeans are probably ruined from touching the ground—as are yours—but that seems to be the least of his concerns right now.

He cradles your head in his lap, his hands trailing up your damp, aching skin for any sign of injury. You shiver, closing your eyes and letting Jason hold you. The adrenaline flooding your veins has not yet diluted, and the calloused warmth from Jason’s hands is the only thing keeping you from floating away.

“I didn’t leave, baby, would never leave you. I was waiting around back when I heard you and,” he sighs, “I’m so sorry.”

His words are faint, so faint, and more gentle than you’ve ever heard him speak. Though he clutches you tightly to him, the feeling registers as barely a whisper. And then you’re on your feet, propped up against his side as he helps you back to where he propped his bike.

Your mind is somewhere else now. You’d have completely forgotten about your own body if it weren’t for the frantic, rhythmic shove of Jason’s heart against his ribcage with every step you take.

You’re not sure how you got back to your apartment, but you’re sure it was through no small effort on Jason’s part. Your waist is warm from where his hand rests—he’s refused to let you go for even a moment since he saw you on that pavement. 

You shiver violently even after you return to the warmth of your home. Jason had wrapped you in his jacket but even that did little to stop the shaking. 

He cups your face, a soft intensity in his eyes. “Let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

You barely react to his touch, or to his words. It doesn’t take a genius to know you’re in shock—Jason’s seen it more than enough times in his lifetime to recognize it at a glance. 

The shivering, that faraway and glassy look in your eyes, the way your lips move as if they’ll form words but no sound comes out. Your pupils themselves have almost doubled in size from the adrenaline coursing through your system. 

He’d take the crowbar a thousand damn times if it meant he would never have to see you like this. He would give away all that he has, and all that he is, to never subject you to this kind of pain.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and starts towards the dark hallway leading to your bedroom and bathroom.

You let out a choked gasp—the most sound you’ve managed since earlier—and Jason whips around. Blue eyes snap to yours, looking more like broken glass through the tears catching on your own lashes. 

Don’t leave, you want to say. Not even for a minute, not even for a second. But your words fail you, and all you have to fall back on is a gasp of air and the tears in your eyes.

Jason understands, though. “Let’s go together, then.”

He grabs one of your hands in his, and holds your waist with the other. You walk like that down the hall, Jason holding you tight and guiding you to your bathroom. He helps you settle down on the toilet seat while he runs a hot bath.

Jason has you sit on the side of the bathtub, only your bare feet resting in the warm water. He sits with you, his legs on either side of your own and his arms around your waist. Already, the shaking has subsided and your eyes have started to clear. Relief floods his system, wiping away the guilt that’s been bubbling in his stomach.

He waits a few minutes, before saying, “let’s get you out of those clothes and into the bath.”

It’s posed more like a question, his fingers tracing inquisitive circles on your hip. He’s asking, you realize, if it would be okay for him to help you undress. If you’re comfortable being naked in front of him right now. The kindness of the gesture has your shoulders dropping from your ears.

“Y-yeah,” you manage.

Jason keeps his touch firm, steady, while he peels your dirty shirt over your head. He has you raise your feet above the water so he can help you with your pants and underwear, discarding your clothes in a pile on the tiled floor. 

He squeezes your shoulders reassuringly when he sees you hesitate at the side of the bathtub before finally stepping in and letting your aching body settle in the warm water. 

It’s an immediate relief. The chill your skin has taken on, the ice running through your blood, starts to defrost. 

Jason watches you relax into the warm porcelain, your impossibly tense muscles finally loosening. “Feeling any better?” He asks quietly.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble quietly.

He grabs a washcloth from the drawer beneath the counter. “Hey, none of that.”

“I just,” you take a deep, shaking breath, “if we had never gone out tonight, none of this would have happened and you wouldn’t have had to help me and—”

Jason splashes warm water over your head. “None of that,” he repeats. “I don’t want to hear any of that.”

“But—”

“Nothing that happened tonight was any fault of yours.” He brushes the wet washcloth across your face, wiping away stray tears. “You did nothing wrong. I should never have left you, plain and simple.”

“It’s not your fault either, Jay.”

He strokes the washcloth over your forehead. “I’m supposed to protect you, hun. I didn’t do a very good job of it tonight.”

“Get in here with me?” You clutch his forearm.

He chuckles. It’s been a very, very long time since Jason Todd could comfortably fit in a normal sized bathtub, but for you, he’d do anything. He’s  gentle climbing in the bath behind you, propping his legs around the outside of yours so you can comfortably lay back on him.

It’s a cramped fit, it couldn’t possibly be comfortable for anyone—but Jason sucks it up for your sake. Despite the ways his knees ache from the angle he keeps his legs, it all feels worth it when you lay your head on his chest.

“Thank you for being here,” you say quietly.

He plants a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “For you? Anything.”

And you know he means it.

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

Masterlist | DC Masterlist

[no1deepspacehater]

⸻⋅☾SYLUS - NSFW ABC's☽⋅⸻

TW: Spoilers, General TW (It's Sylus, c'mon now) and mentions of CNC (he doesn't like it, it's just mentioned)

AN: Since he's come out i've been spending so much time exploring his character and unlocking his myths!! This man has me in a chokehold. I'm so sorry Xavier.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s gonna have you in his hold for a bit, he’s not a big cuddler, but he wants you to come down nicely. So it’s a bit of him watching you relax and whipering how good you were etc for a bit.

Then, mostly for him, he’s gonna have a bit of wine (he’s such an alcoholic).

He’ll offer you a bath and shower, which he does take even if you don’t want to (remember, aftercare goes both ways, this is his way to relax.)

But don’t worry, if you want some cuddles he’s willingly, after much teasing of how much of a needy kitten you are.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Everything is his favourite part.

But if he has to choose, his arms and hands.

He’s put a lot of hours into training, without his evol he can still strangle the light from someone’s life on his own and punch the daylight out of them too.

For you, he is an ass and tits man. Why does he have to choose? He can and will have both.

Loves to see a curvy dress on you that shows off your physique. His hand is so quick to slide around your waist, proud to have a good looking person like you by his side to show off.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Thick, clear ropes of the stuff. He almost gets annoyed with how messy it can be.

Not that he’s opposed to covering you with the stuff, no he just prefers to fill you with it.

Loves tasting you, and having you coat his entire hand with your essence.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

During his surveillance of you (stalking), has watched you bathed and shower at least once or twice.

Didn’t make it a habit, even he has lines, but he’s found himself enraptured with just watching you do these simple things.

It weird because he doesn’t watch you masturbate, nor masturbate himself really during the times he watched you shower.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Knows about sex. Fucks.

He’s experienced, you can’t tell me otherwise. He’s had a few workers here and there.

He also knows that just because he has experience with other women, doesn’t mean he knows all about your likings.

But trust, he’ll spend all night learning you.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Reverse and regular cowgirl, surprisingly.

Bet let’s dissect, even though you’re the one on top of him, he’s of course in control.

He has no trouble holding you down on top of him, or moving you up and down on him.

And of course, the sight is beautiful to him, he’s in close reach of everything, and of course, most of the time you have no other option to be face to face with him.

Where he can really see wha’t going on in your mind.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I wouldn’t say he’s overly serious, but if you call his constant teasing humorous then he’s fucking hilarious.

But yes, he’s more focused on whispering the most outright naaesstttiest filth close into your ear while you come undone before him.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Shaved down to a minimum and neat. He has his own (very high quality) clippers for down there. Takes pride in his look.

Wouldn’t mind if you like to keep things natural, but does like to have things low for you as well.

Hell, he’ll go crazy if you have some type of design on it!

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s more of a dirty romantic.

But he can be sweet, in his own way.

Telling you how much he adores you, your sounds, your body.

Soft touches, handling you delicately at times.

And he keeps you pretty close during the act, lots of skin to skin touching.

His kisses range from feather light to deep kisses, and leaving marks is definitely one of his acts of affection.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

This might be crazy, but hear me out.

I do not see this man masturbating often.

Maybe like ONCE in a literal blue moon, like if he’s deadly bored. (And let’s face it, he’s too much of a busy man to be bored.)

Also, he’s the most powerful man in the N109 zone, and basically has most of Linkon in his hands, I’m sure he will find someone (You) that will satisfy his needs.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Need I say, BLOOD KINK!?!

Yeah, he get’s down like that, and I will die on this hill.

He’d love to see your pathetic attempts at trying to make him flinch as you draw a blade against his skin, it winds him up.

Won’t go too crazy on you, but let’s just say you’re going to need a bandage for that bike mark.

Ropes, whips, cuffs, he’s into that entire scene, anything to make you submit to him.

Vibrators are common place, one of his favourite things to do is to watch you fall apart without even laying a finger on you.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

One of his many secluded castles or cabins. He can get you as loud as he wants there.

Not that he really cares if anyone hears the both of you.

Prefers to be in a comfortable place really, but doesn’t mind if you want to get dirty in a semi-public place (Like a private room, clubs, office).

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you stand your ground.

Once, you pistol whipped a high ranking gangster during an undercover mission, after he ‘joked’ about a female being in a room. Then you proceeded to berate him and his whole crew coldly and put him in his place.

He was rock hard after that. Wanted to take you then and there.

Also has a thing for you being bratty, replying smartly to his teasing. Makes him want to fuck it out of you.

Seeing you dressed up. He knows you’re not materialistic, and neither is he, but seeing you in a fitting outfit that you bought with his card (that probably cost thousands), drives him crazy.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Consensual-non-consensual, or noncon stuff. Yes, he likes when you’re bratty and put up a fight a little, but not in that way. (He sees the effect of trafficking in the N109 zone, and doesn’t feel comfortable seeing anyone portray that.)

Anything that involves other types of bodily fluids, yes, that type of stuff. He finds it weird.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

LOVES a blowjob with all his cold heart. Would never say no. He can be kind of a head pusher, because he knows it ticks you off, but if you’re not comfortable he can resists, he just likes to hear you choking on him.

Does also like to eat you out, only if you’re cool with him doing it to the point of much overstimulation (he’s going to do that anyway).

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely prefers Slow, sensual, but DEEP!!

You swear, you don’t know how he does it, but he’s gotten to places you can’t even reach with a dildo.

He’ll go wild sometimes and fuck you with sharp, sudden movements, because he’s close but he wants you to come before him (But he won’t tell you that).

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Prefers to have his way with you.

He can get busy at times, so he’s not always available for that. He tends to disappear randomly in the night and show up randomly.

If you beg him enough, rile him up enough secretly, he will not hesitate to push you up against a wall in an alleyway and give you what you’re asking for, just know that he always ties up loose ends, and we will be continuing later.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s very open, apart from the hard no’s.

Likes the heart pounding excitement from taking new, kind of dangerous risks.

Won’t do anything that will put you in serious danger or grievous harms way.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

If it’s night, he’s going to town.

But that’s mostly because he’s taking his time with you.

Short refractory period after the first 2-3 times, then after the 5th time he’s just focused on making you cum.

If it’s the day, let’s say about 2, maybe three rounds max. He’s definitely less energized because he’s normally asleep.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Not really toys, since the handcuffs, muzzles and whips have actually been used for other affairs... But they’re multipurpose, anyway, or so he says.

Does invest in vibrators and the like when he sees how much he can do to you with them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Do you really have to ask this, for SYLUS?

The man was practically born to tease. You think it’s his new way of trying to kill you, or drive you insane, at least.

If he’s really feeling like a prick, he’s denying your orgasm a couple times, and punishing you hard if you do, by overstimulating you until you’re shaking.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not a moaner, honestly, if he wasn’t talking you through it most of the time it’d be deadly quiet.

He’ll let out a grunt here and there, a breathy sigh that still gets you weak occasionally.

But of course, he’s talking you through it, and his vocabulary is quite expressive.

With his baritone voice, he could be talking about pineapples and it’d still get you going.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He knows the twins have been trying to eavesdrop sometimes.

Once, you asked if they could watch, and he allowed it.

He can always tell when they're there, and tells you that you spoil them too much.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Big, I don’t care, argue with the wall.

Okay okay, more length than girth if we’re being real, but he’s not skinny either.

At least 9 inches. He’s GIGANTIC, look at him! Def a shower.

VEINY!! Decorated from tip to balls.

His entire shaft turns red from stimulation, the tip being the brightest. It rivals his eyes.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Surprisingly not that high, honestly.

Sure, he likes to tease and rile you up, but it’s not like he’s expecting or wanting sex just because.

Can go pretty long without it honestly, there are other ways of having his fun with you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Unless it’s in the morning/day, he’s staying awake.

Sex is one of the few energy-inducing activities for him that will keep him awake for hours.

Will probably play with your hair, or just lay by you for a while until taking a short nap himself, maybe sipping a few wines to relax him.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not to be a downer, but I actually finished my novel and now I’m confused because I don’t want to publish it. I don’t even particularly want anyone other than maybe my two close friends to even read it. What on Earth did I write 40k words (which I know is not really long enough for a novel, but it’s still far and away the longest thing I’ve ever written) for? I know people say “write for yourself” but like… am I just wasting my time? Help?

(p.s. you can leave this off anon)

(p.p.s your blog is really great 👍)

There's No Such Thing as Wasted Writing

I'm going to tackle this two ways...

#1 - "Write For Yourself" - there's a reason this common phrase has echoed through the Hall of Writers since time immemorial. It's because it's true! Writing doesn't have to be anything more than a pastime. It doesn't have to be anything more than something you do for your own benefit and enjoyment.

I have an in-joke with family members about how any time one of us does something the least bit crafty, DIY, skilled, whatever, a particular family member will always say, "You did a great job! You should do it for a living!" Like, someone can't even crochet a Kawaii mushroom without being pressured to turn it into an Etsy dynasty, or paint a cabinet without being pressured to become the next Property Brothers. And that's such a BANANAS capitalistic mindset, isn't it? This idea that nothing can be done purely for our own enjoyment. That you can't just write a novel because you want to... you can only write it if you plan to share it or publish it? It's just so silly.

And, the thing is, we don't even apply that mentality to a lot of other things people do purely for enjoyment. No one is streaming all of Bridgerton in two nights and saying, "I enjoyed every second of that, but why did I do that? Such a waste of time!" No one spends an hour strumming their guitar under the stars on a beach, and then says, "That was so relaxing and fun, but I didn't charge for that performance and I didn't record it to sell it, so that was obviously a waste of time."

You know what I mean?

#2 - And Anyway, Practice Makes Perfect - And if you keep writing--even if you continue not to share or publish--you'll get better and better with each story you write. Which, maybe all that means is you get to appreciate your own improvement, but also, should you ever change your mind and decide to write something to share or publish, you've now spent time honing your skills. Even if those other stories never see the light of day, they're still an important foundation of the writer you become. Do you know how many unpublished novellas, novels, and short stories I have? Too many to count. Hundreds of fan-fiction and original fiction short stories I've only shared with one or two other people, if anyone. A dozen or so novels and novellas that have only been read by a few people, and some haven't been read by anyone else or have only been read by my CPs. I would never consider those stories and novels and novellas to be a waste of time, because I know every single one made me a better writer. My published work is better because I wrote those other things.

So, I hope that makes you feel better. At the very least you hopefully enjoyed writing your novel--or at least got something out of it--and you definitely honed your writing skills, which matters! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Were You Wooing Me?

Prompt Day 11: Cabin | Word Count: 769 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Dustin Henderson: Matchmaker, Background Ronance (or not, your choice), Acting on Feelings, First Kiss,

It could be worse.

It could be better, too.

But it could definitely be worse. In the pro column, it's not located in the Upside Down, Steve supposes. But Henderson could have also not talked it up quite as much as he did. It looks like his great-grandparents just walked out one day and never returned. 

"Is there really only one bed?" Robin asks, pacing around the cabin, as if another room is suddenly gonna appear. 

"Looks that way," Nancy says, and Steve is pretty sure there's not room for more than one bedroom here. But Dustin swore there was room for all four of them, easy. 

He's a dirty, little liar.

Eddie's settled into the old rocking chair, and is gently keeping himself swaying. He's always moving as far as Steve can tell, but right this second he's looking distinctly unbothered for Eddie.

"You two take the bedroom, we can crash on the floor," Eddie says, and Steve thinks that's awfully generous of him. But it does make the most sense. He can't imagine listening to Robin yap about being stuck on the floor. 

This will be easier for everyone. Even if it means he has to sleep on the floor with the mice.

Fuck, he hopes there's not mice.

The girls go to bed, and he can hear them in the bathroom, washing their faces or whatever it is that girls do once they are in a bathroom together.

Eddie has started a fire, and it's actually warming up nicely. Steve has squatted down in front of the fire, rubbing his hands together as Eddie bustles around behind him. Steve's leaving him to it. Eddie was quite adamant that he didn't want, nor need, Steve's help.

It's still the floor, so Steve isn't getting too excited. But at least they probably won't freeze to death. They did bring a pile of extra blankets, just in case, because Nancy made them, and Steve's happy about that, now. This place wasn't exactly ready for guests. Eddie gathered up their share of the blankets, and said he was making them a pallet on the floor. Steve's not really sure what that means, but he lets Eddie do his thing.

"Tada," Eddie sing-songs, and Steve turns his way.

Whoa, it looks just like a bed, just without a mattress.

"Wow, how'd you learn how to do that?" Steve asks, and he's almost scared to mess it up.

"Wayne," Eddie answers. "I stayed with him a lot as a kid, and he'd always make me a pallet bed. Most of the time it was better than anything I had at home."

Steve swallows. That's a depressing thought. 

"That was before he had to give me his room when I moved in officially to make the state happy, of course. He bought a roll-away at an old motel auction for himself. It was never as good as his pallets, though."

Steve bets they made Eddie feel special, because hell, this right here tonight makes Steve feel special. It's not just a pile of blankets on the floor, which is definitely what Steve would have done if he'd been in charge.

"It looks really nice," Steve says, "thanks, Eddie. I would have just slept on the hardwood floor."

Eddie laughs. 

"Just get in bed, Harrington."

They lay shoulder-to-shoulder. Steve has been feeling some feelings about Eddie for a while now and he's just pushed it all down as deep as he could hide it. Sure that Eddie wasn't interested.

But, well. Maybe. 

Everything he's done tonight feels a little bit like wooing. 

And Steve?

He'd really like to be wooed. 

It's quiet between them, only the crackling fire providing background noise. It's a comfortable silence, though. 

But Steve still can't help himself.

"Were you wooing me?" Steve asks, and immediately regrets opening his mouth.

Eddie laughs, and Steve kind of wants to jump in that fire just to escape this. He shouldn't have said anything. He feels like a fool.

"I've been wooing you for months, Harrington. You just realized that?"

"Yes," Steve says, then adds, "No. I don't know. I didn't want to assume."

"Assume away."

And Steve wants to, he really, really wants to. 

Steve rolls onto his side, so he can see Eddie better. Eddie rolls onto his side as well, meeting him face-to-face.

"You think Henderson did this on purpose?" Steve asks.

"Oh, hell yes he did," Eddie says, and Steve smiles. 

He can't be that mad about it, then.

And Steve reaches out and cups Eddie's cheek, leaning in, his lips pressing to Eddie's for the very first time.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!