#like in many many ways it's much better in the graphic novels??

[cassmouse]

I think I might want to write a 40 page essay comparing the representation of female characters in the Scott Pilgrim graphic novels vs the film

[angelisverba]

praise

in which y/n notices something isn't quite right with her professor, and harry loves chasing this little bunny

word count: 5.5k

pairing: vamp!h and y/n (but really it's more like professor!h with a side of vampire)

warnings: this fic contains graphic depictions of sex and blood.

author's note: happy late halloween!

When y/n was little, her mother always told her to stay inside on Halloween.

She never got to go trick-o-treating like the other kids because of this, not until she was old enough to pay for her own costume, but by that time it was too late because trick-o-treating turned into bar hopping and candy turned into drinks. She took part in these activities for as long as it took for her to figure out that she didn't like alcohol or big crowds or dressing up.

Also by that time, many of the holidays took place around the time that she was stressing about papers and exams and midterms and other deadlines a college students faces around the end of the semester. She was a dedicated, busy little bee with few friends that knew her enough to know that when she's focused, theres no getting her to come out for anything, so they didn't even extend invites.

Which is why she finds herself inside, at the library, on Halloween night. She has a little ear worm of Linus writing his letter to the great pumpkin running around in her brain, but that's as far as her spooky spirit goes. The rest of it is consumed in her paper about sublime notions of nature in the latest gothic novel assigned by her literature professor, Mr. Styles.

Had it been any other teacher, she wouldn't have lingered so much on grammar, word choice, or reading her paper over and over again so that her ideas were clear and concise, but... but there was something about him. She can't really but her finger on it, but a big part of it is fear. Intimidation. He's so... commanding in the way that he carries himself. Almost menancing, his figure carrying the threat of punishment.

He walked into the lecture hall everyday dressed like a model from a vintage academia magazine. Tweed bottoms. Button up shirts. Loafers. Sleek black shoes. A pristine silver watch on his wrist. A golden chain that twinkled on his neck and disappeared into the collars of his shirts like a shooting star. Slicked back chocolate brown hair from which a single curl sometimes escaped and swayed on his forehead like the hooked tail of a monkey. Tailored pants that accentuated the litheness of his hips perfectly so, making her wonder if he had them altered to fit him exactly. A badge on a simple, black attachment pinned on his hip spelled his name underneath a coyly smirking ID picture of his face; Harry Styles. 

So y/n had a little crush.

A silly little bundle of love-misted roses perched in her heart with a ribbon and a name tag that had her English professor’s name on it. 

She tried to tell herself that it was a school girl’s crush (it literally was), but it was hard to keep her daydreams cemented underneath the rounded realm of reality when her heart kept reading into every single little interaction she had with him, knowing that all her fantasies would only ever exist in her dreams because he was an employee. He was older than her. He would never be interested in a girl, a student, like her. His serious disposition did nothing to quell her. 

In fact, it almost egged her on. The perfectionist in her wanted to be perfect for him, so be praised by him for her hard work. She wanted so badly to be his teacher's pet that it reflected in her work ethic. Every paper she turned in was better than her last, she paid rapt attention in class, took the most intricate care in her notes. She always looked her best on the days she had his class- black ballet flats with black skirts, frilly socks, cardigans and collared blouses- ever the neat student. She's every professor's wet dream, she knows this.

Yet, the approval and validation that she craved. No, needed. The validation she needed from him was never given to her, no matter how hard she worked. The notes on her paper were always asking for more, she could do better, she could be more clear, she wasn't quite*getting it. And he always left a note that she should see him in his office hours.

But she couldn't.

Y/n was sure that she would spontaneously combust is she was in an enclosed one-on-one space with him. Which was funny because many of the female students fought for that time with him. One time she heard a few girls in her class say that they tried to call him by his first name and he told them that "it was Professor Styles or Sir to them". Just listening to it second hand was enough to have her squirming. The though it, to have his striking green eyes on only her, his gravely, accented voice directed at her. It was an intoxicating though.

She could imagine it.

He would sit on the other side of his desk in that suave way of his, ankle crossed at his knee, one hand resting on the arm of his chair while the other props his chin up as his finger taps against his sharp cheekbone. He would watch her with an unwavering, predatory gaze, like he's waiting for her to make a mistake to step in and correct her. Y/n would sit in the seat across from him, her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting, her lips wet with her spit from how much she'd chew on them, her eyes unfocused and struggling to keep contact with him. The silence in the room would probably be filled with her 'umm's and 'like'. She'd be so nervous, and he would see right through her, and all her hard work would be diminished to nothing.

And then she would probably cry and Professor Styles doesn't really look like the type to console his students, so y/n would just embarrass herself.

So she settles for putting her all into her work, tweaking what he's made notes on from previous papers, and hoping that it's enough, that one of these days she'll she exclamation points at the end of praise instead of at the end of 'explain this'.

With a weepy, overwhelmed sigh, y/n rubbed her fists into her eyes and ran words over and over again in her head. She was the last one in the library, the light from the lamp at her desk was the only source of illumination in her little study corner. This late into the semester the school didn't close libraries, opting to not get in the way of students and their work. It was nearing midnight, and she was getting tired, but this paper was due in two days and she wanted at least one to edit it.

A little delirious from lack of sleep and anger from how difficult this was all turning out to be, y/n blinked back tears. She was a little cold and she was hungry. But she was not going to leave until this paper was finished.

She would however close her eyes, just for a little while. Y/n put her head down on the desk, telling herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes, that she was not going to fall asleep.

But like every college student that snoozes their alarm twenty million times because they're just going to rest their eyes for a few more minutes, she falls asleep.

She startles awake in the dark at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

When she jerks upright, Professor Styles is sitting across from her, reading her paper.

***

Harry is so fucking hungry, and he's looking for a snack. Maybe even a meal if he can get away with it.

He hasn't fed in nearly a month, and normally even two weeks is pushing it. But it was the month of October, and as the holidays neared and the parties increased, so did security and people's guard. It was extra hard to find a bite now, not the kind he liked.

Sweet, pure, and innocent. Untainted flavor.

A few days ago he managed to snag a few blood bags from the campus' blood drive center, but it wasn't enough. He craved the puncture, the warmth of a body in his arms, the fresh throb of a pulse underneath his tongue. He wanted the erotic writhing of struggle and submission against his body. Many of his kind didn't share their fondness for this part, but he loved taking care of them afterwards. Making sure they were okay, steady. Sated in the same ways he was. Being a vampire came with the ability of glamour, a bit of mind influencing, so that he was able to make the situation a little more favorable on his end.

He had decided to go for a stroll, having been caught up late in his office grading papers, when he caught a hint of something sweet and familiar in the night air.

It reminded him of one his students, y/n.

She always sat in the middle of the third row with perfect posture, listened to his lectures as if he was God. Her eyes would get mooney, and if he listened hard enough (which to him wasn't really that hard because he was a vampire, he had super human hearing) he could hear her heart beat faster in the seconds that his eyes held contact with her as he talked, delicate and quick like the wings of a hummingbird. Everything she turned in was perfect. She was smart but not pretentious in her way of writing, and something about the way she wrote reminded him about the tender inside of a wrist. Her wrist.

But Harry was mean, and he liked to tease, and he could tell that y/n was waiting. She was sitting on a precipice, hanging on to his very word, her body strung taught and stressed. She was waiting on him. He was going to make her wait until he did as he asked. He wanted one on one time with her, and until then, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

Whether she realized it or not, she was teasing him, too. In ways that y/n probably wasn't even aware of. The way she bit her lips so they were bright with her blood right underneath the surface, the promise of her heat with every exaggerated sigh she let out as she walked out of his lecture hall. Her clothes, god they killed him.

She wore these black kitten heels once, and they drove him crazy.

Now, he knows his place as Professor, and he didn't just get this job to fuck around. He enjoyed teaching and knowing secretly that he knew first had about the things he was talking about. He loved seeing how his life was absorbed by the younger faces (not that he looked old, he would forever appear to be 23). He respected others, their will, their purpose, and only went as far as his moral compass would let him to take care of his needs.

But he was a man, and he could be brought to his knees by a pretty thing like y/n.

Harry remembers that day, how his trousers were uncomfortable and he had to spend the whole time behind his podium. How he needed to slyly inch a calculating hand to the ever-growing uncomfortable center of his groin and tug the snug fabric away from their vacuum-sealed hold on his hips. It was maddening for him, but uncomfortable for her (he thinks). She never wore them again, and he suspects they may have hurt her delicate feet if the way she kept shifting was anything to go by. 

Not that he noticed.

Harry most definitely did not notice that the tip of her toes kept tittering tenderly up and around in slow, hypnotizing circles, meant to relieve pent up tension. He most definitely did not notice that the way her frilly white socks kept sliding down the slope of her ankle with every movement. Or the tantalizing trekk of her delicate fingers against the curve of her thigh, behind her knee, and a little further where the pads of her lucky fingers dug into the soft, aching- he assumed- flesh of her calves. He didn’t fucking hold his breath and become stiller than a statue to try and to hear the sweet, breathy sighs of relief that left her parted lips. No, he did not. That would be a violation of the contract he signed upon assuming his position. It would be betraying the trust of the snarky, reluctant, port-belly head of academics that judged his ambiguous resume with reluctance.

Of course he didn’t. And he wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed that he never saw them again. 

This student of his had captured his attention this semester, almost distracting him. Her smell, from what he knows the few times he caught a whiff of it amongst all the others, was sweet, yet not overwhelmingly so. It was mellowed out and warm, and the closest thing he could compare it to from the food he had as a human, was apple pie. She was warm, sweet, honeyed, with the zest of cinnamon.

He wanted to taste her so fucking badly.

Harry doesn't know if it's because he's so hungry that he's smelling her now.

Trailing after the scent with his nose leading the way like a drooling dog, he wonders- no, he knows that he won't be able to fight the urge to taste her if it's really her he finds at the end of the line.

It gets stronger in the library, but from the looks of it, it's dark and empty. From the looks of it, but Harry knows better. He can hear better and smells better, and he knows she's in here. The swift intake of her breath rings in the silence, his ears picking up on the only human sound in the buildings. The near-silent whines that sit at the base of her throat and die before they exit through her nose.

Her hearbeat.

Calm. Steady. Alive.

It sounds like a drum, low and pounding and it thrills him.

He wants to hear it beat faster and faster, like a bunny when it's being chased. He wants to hear the even paced breaths become rapid and disorganized with heightened emotion.

He can smell her, too, the delightful aroma making his fangs itch and his loins ache. Walking further into the library, the stacks of books growing dense with sharp corners and cozy study nooks, he can trace the direct path she took to her spot- the table in the corner with the lamp still on. She has her head resting on her arms, hair haphazardly strewn across the wooden table and some papers, a pencil between her fingers still.

She probably set her head down after saying she was only gong to rest her eyes. She's probably been here for a really long time, he can hear her stomach growling. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pulls the chair back with a motion that's sure to wake her up at the same time that he pinches the paper with two fingers and begins to read.

Waking with a little gasp, y/n straightened. He could pinpoint the exact moment she became fully cognizant of what was happening because her heartbeat picked up in a way that concerned him, and she became utterly still. From the corner of his eye (Harry was reading her paper, a really good paper, and hadn't looked at her. Not even once) he could see her mouth open and close a few times, words escaping her. Y/n rolled the pencil between hands that had begin to perspire and began to chew on her bottom lip.

Internally, Harry groaned. He needed to get her to stop doing that because he was imagining things that no person is his position of power needed to be imagining and his cock was fattening against his thigh. He was hungry in more ways than one for her. A part of him wanted to mark her up like he was a dog and she was his chew toy, licking and sucking and biting on the sweetest parts of her to suckle on her blood; everywhere. The other wanted to do all of those things, and not just for her blood.

He had to get her to speak.

The paper that he held in his hands was probably the best that he was going to get from her class, or maybe all of them put together. The ideas were fresh with just the perfect amount of information from his lectured tossed in for a response to the prompt on the book they were currently discussing. But he had to keep playing his game with her, he had to see her fold like a ragdoll. He wasn't going to tell her what he truly thought about it, how it was so good, how she was such a good student, how she made him so proud. How she was a good girl.

Instead he put the paper down in front of her, crossed his arms and spread his legs in the chair to give his swollen dick some room and said, "you should go home. Have a meal. Go to sleep.”

At this her shoulders sagged, and it was like watching dominoes fall against each other to release different triggers, Her lips crumpled, her chin wobbled, and her eyes blinked away a sea of crystalline tears.

Y/n stared at him, a wet look that punched his gut at the same time that it made his gums salivate and his hips itch to thrust up against the desk like a thing in heat. He looked back at her, his head tipping slowly to the side to track her gaze as it dropped. Like a predatory, he observed her with the kind of stillness that promised a charge of action. That promised death in the maw of a killer.

Her mouth did that thing where it opened and closed again, sounds that came before actual words coming out of her, but never intelligible sentences. Her heart was racing, but her lungs were doing a weird thing. Like they weren't getting enough oxygen.

"Why don't you take a deep breath , hmm? And we can talk about what's going on here," he got up from his chair and stood at the side of his desk, arms crossed and feet spread shoulder width apart, formidable. If she looked closely enough, she would be able to see a thick bulge at his crotch.

But she didn't have a reason to look. He wasn't adjusting himself. He didn't even look like it bothered him.

In fact, he looked almost... mad.

Y/n looked at him straight in the eyes, and her's went doe-like, everything in her stilling like the fawn-like creature in the way of an oncoming vehicle.

Everything, including her breathing.

He wasn't going to have her passed out before all the fun began. Needing to get a grip on her, he took a few heavy steps foward, and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand tucking into his pocket to actually adjust himself this time because it was starting to get uncomfortable.

Tilting her face up and closer to him, he bent forward so that their noses were barely touching. Her warm breath huffed against his nose, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

"Breathe, y/n. You can do it," peering down at her with his jack slightly slack and his eyes at half mast, he imitated inhaling deeply, and she mimicked his motions. Her lungs expanded, and her heart slowed slightly. "That's it, darling. Again."

She gulped and her hands squeezed the fabric of the plaid tennis skirt she was wearing, bringing the hem up slightly so the thinner skin on the inside of her thighs gleamed at Harry.

Then he smelled it, and this time he didn't fight the shiver that ran through him. She was wetHis eyes closed, and a groan rolled deep in his chest. His body tensed and relaxed at the same time, like a transformation.

And when he opened his eyes, he was a different version of himself.

One that didn't give a fuck that he was a professor and she was his student.

This version only had one goal in mind: to consume her in every way he could until y/n went limp in his arms.

"Now what's the matter, little bunny?"

***

Y/n didn't know what was happening, only that something had... changed.

She might have been a quivering mess for him, but she felt the shift in him. The edge to him. The gleam in his eye. She had seen his body shiver at the same time she felt her pussy clench at his words. That's it, darling. Again. Little bunny.

He was encouraging her, not far off from what she wanted to hear from him. It stroked her muddled brain and made her feel fuzzy all over. Some of what he was saying was very inappropriate. But she could care less.

“W-what?” she mumbled, confused. She blinked so that a few tears ran down her face, and she couldn't even feel embarrassed about it.

“Y’heard me loud and clear, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself," her professor tutted.

"i'm sorry, sir. It's just that... I need to work on my paper." And she mumbled something afterwards. Low enough that he wouldn't have been able hear if he was a human. But he wasn't. That didn't mean he couldn't play with her.

"Speak up, y/n. Good girls don't mumble." His tongue was like a lashing, a reprimand, and she felt the scolding everywhere.

"It needs to be better for you, sir." Gulping, she rubbed her thighs together and shuffled in her seat. Y/n was finally one-on-one with him, and she thought she knew what it would feel like.

She was wrong.

Everything was sensitive. Hot. Cold. She was twitchy and there was this squirrley, jumpy feeling inside her. She wanted to run away like a little mouse, but she also wanted to be warmed in his hands. By his words. She wanted to hear the praise come from him so that she could stop feeling so desperate.

Y/n got like this sometimes. Whiny. Insatiable. But no one ever knew how to handle her, when to realize that she was finally full. So she was always... hungry. Like something inside her needed to be stuffed. Abused a little, maybe. She wanted to be handled and then petted. Fucked and kissed and then held. She wanted to be good.

And being like this with him, in a position that made it seem like that was possible, y/n thrummed.

Humming in realization, he stroked his knuckles down the side of her face in a caress, "and what makes you think it isn't already good?"

She leaned into his touch without realizing it, nuzzling into his hand. All she had to do now was purr. Y/n shut her eyes before speaking, "Y-you... you never-"

"Open your eyes and look at me when you're speaking, bunny." Again, the stern, scolding tone. This time it made her flinch and whimper. Her hips rocked in the chair, and he tracked the movement like a leopard in the trees ready to pounce. Y/n knew that he saw, and her face bloomed with heat.

In a breathy, chocked string of words, "you never leave nice notes on my papers, sir. All the others do, but there never any on mine and I just thought... that I n-needed to work harder to be b-better."

She shuffled again in her seat, and her professor's eyes pinched. His had trailed down to her throat, and he squeezed to hold her still.

“Stop squirming, y/n. You want to be better? Stop fucking squirming," and he released her with a small pulse at the base of her neck. He could feel his teeth bulging under his upper lip, the thrum of her life under his fingers enticing him further. Every bit of reason was escaping him. He was going to lose control. Decades of practice, of edging on months of hunger, were nothing to her allure.

He stepped back at the same time that he realized they weren't close enough.

"Stand up," he told her. He watched as she pushed the chair back and stood on wobbly knees, her gaze still searching for recognition that he had heard what she had said, that he had read between the lines and realized what she needed. "Sit on the edge of the table, facing me so we can speak properly."

When she was seated and her hands began to fiddle in her lap, he stepped close enough that her knees were almost touching his hips. And she couldn't miss it this time. The thick length of him, hard against his hip.

"S-sir?" she prompted meekly.

"You want me to leave nice notes on your papers, y/n?" He asked, settling his hands on either side of her and haunching over her so they were nose-to-nose. She could smell him, strong masculine scents of vintage leather and tobacco and bergamot.

Nodding eagerly like a dog, "mhm. Yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you come see me like I asked on every single one of those papers? You didn't listen to me, so why should I reward you?" He mouthed the words against her skin, trailing them down her jaw to her throat where he teased the skin with the tip of his nose.

The area around her neck felt scorching hot, his lips trailing searingly against her. She couldn't hide how desperate she was anymore. She arched, her body was taught, fighting the urge to wriggle because she couldn't decide if she wanted to get away from him or have more of him, and she needed to be good. He had told her to stop squirming.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Y/n closed her eyes and tentatively braced herself against him. Trembling hands settled on his arms, thick with deceptive muscle. She could feel the strength hiding beneath the surface, tense like a snake preparing to strike. A strong hand settled at her waist, clamping like iron, and another on cupped her jaw tenderly. It was a dichotomy of treatment. Rough and tender at the same time.

"You were a bad girl, y/n."

Then she felt it, a sharp sting where her throat met her shoulder, where Harry was biting her, and licking her, and suckling at her all at the same time. A mixture of a squeal and a moan jumped out of her, and she dug her fingers into his arms, frozen. Whatever he was doing to her hurt. But it hurt in a good way. A way that made her ache with that need to be filled.

She cried out, "I'm sorry, sir." A wet apology that bared how anguished she was.

His hot tongue flattened against her, and she she vibrated in the place where he left his heavy pant, "are you going to be good for me, bunny?"

"Yes, sir. I wanna be good, please," her head was bobbing in that earnest way again, but with his head in the crook of her neck he could only feel the movement against his hair.

He suckled a little more at bite that was already beginning to close, kissing it tenderly, "gonna be my good little bunny?"

Y/n was huffing, not even bothering to hide that she was horny, “please, p-please- I need-”

“Tell me exactly what you need. C'mon, you can do it,” he coaxed her. The hand at her hip molded the flesh there, pulling her closer to him so she was sitting just at the edge, and her knees were pressed into his dick with the lightest pressure. He bucked against her, a slow roll of his groin against her delicate bare knee.

“I need to cum, sir. I need-” 

“Don’t-” he pinched her hip roughing, his thick eyebrows furowing in disapproval, “forget your manners, little bunny. Rude darlings don’t get to cum.”

"Please let me cum, Professor," she repeated, eyes glossy but no longer with tears. This was something else. Something needy. Y/n could feel her slick juices seeping through her panties and making the insides of her thighs sticker. The triangle of cloth was sticking to her, and the tight feeling of it against her clit made her want to scream. It was just barely pushing, a teasing sensation that was driving her crazy.

She wanted him to touch her. To rub her swollen clit until she drenched hand in her cum, and then to- to-

"I'm not sure I should, y/n. You didn't listen to me. Didn't come to my office. Instead I had to come find you here. What about me, hmm? What if I need something from you?" Harry leaned back, letting his hands run down so they rested on her knees and his fingers could play with the hem of her skirt.

"Whatever you need, sir. Please." Y/n was beginning to sound a little broken. Her hips struggled to stay planted on the desk and her knuckled turned white from how hard she gripped the edge of the wood. She would much rather touch him, but he was too far away and she didn't want to upset him. She stared at him, silently pleading for his hands to creep up and shove into her panties, to play with her hole.

"Right now I need to eat you, little bunny. Are you going to let me?" He tilted his head at her again, calculating. Waiting, observing.

"Yes!" Y/n shrieked, her thighs trembling.

"Spead these pretty thighs, darling. Let me have a taste," he crooned down at her as she opened up, her skirting riding so he could see her panties, how wet they were, nearly transparent with her arousal. With a deft finger, he pulled the gusset of her panties to the side and dropped to his knees.

Y/n whined at the look on his face. Mouth parted, eyes half-lidded and downturned. He looked hungry. Desperate.

Without warning he leaned forward and covered her with his mouth, his tongue licking her and then dipping into her pussy to collect what had pooled at her opening, his teeth lighting tapping against her clit. He thrusted his tongue into her once, twice, three times, and that was all it took. A gush of wetness coated his tongue, and her tremors pulsed against his lips.

He leaned back and slapped her cunt with an angry growl, and then shoved two fingers into her, fucking her roughly so his fingers got wet with her, "seriously, y/n? Did I give you permission to cum?"

"N-no, sir," as she sat hunched over his kneeling form still twitching, Harry shoved his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of her, and then stood up, not even bothering to lay her panties right before yanking her to stand.

"Get up. We're going to walk to my rooms. Your'e doing to do so quietly, and when we get there, you're going to take your punishment like a good girl, do you understand me?" With a single finger pointed at her, y/n understand she was in for it. Her hands flew to pick up her things, showing her papers into her bag and looping it on her shoulder so she was ready to go.

"I understand, Professor"

He took the bag off her shoulder and laid a hand on her lower back, keeping her at his side as he led her out of the library and into the night, "that's better. Come this way. The night is still young, bunny, and we're both in for a treat."

*****

happy halloweenie!! hoped u liked this heehee. missed mr. vamp. lmk ur thoughts!!!

[reel-fear]

Hey if anyone wants the pdf for that Dreams Come To Life Graphic Novel, you can hit me up. Once again reminding you guys not to buy it. If you literally buy anything that has a Bendy label slapped onto it, it just tells the devs they don't need to actually make a quality product. Attitudes of how mean it is to boycott a shitty book or how bendy fans should be loyal to the devs is exactly how so many famous people/companies get away with AWFUL practices the same way the bendy devs have.

I also feel bad for anyone who wastes/wasted their money on it. That thing is not worth your shelf space. I've read through the entire thing and it's garbage, art wise, writing wise and adaptation wise. Me and my partner are writing a whole damn google doc explaining why but yeah. I hope a lot of you can get your money back and discourage others from buying it too. It's the only way we can prevent the devs from pushing out such a rushed and awful product again.

Anyways below the read more there's a screenshot of a fucking coloring mistake on the damn thing [it might get fixed for the Final Final release but this being shown to be there just like 2 weeks before release should show how damn rushed and underpaid the artist was. Their portfolio shows they can do so much better but they were clearly not given ANY time to make this any good.]

Reminder! The artist and writer don't get ANY of the sales money, that goes directly to the bosses who kept cracking the whip at them to draw faster and faster.

[achromant]

AND HERE WE ARE! My project for the gw2 'zine!

Featuring Baruhn, reflecting on his life so far, the challenges, the small sparks of joy, the horrors, loss and gain.

For clarification's sake; I did in fact plan to depict every stage of Baruhn's life, but uuh. File was already too big.

Might do a series of short comics (graphic novels?) though, because i fking love storytelling.

Let's look at my idiotic level of detail a bit, eh?

[Long Text Ahead]

Baruhn's story begins in the Plains of Ashford. An unsuccessful attempt to stem the tide of Ascalonian Ghosts leads to the demise of many year-long allies. Dozens of brave soldiers gave their life for a mere week of peace until the ghosts reformed. They always do. Soldiers don't.

Shaken in his faith in the Legions, the first seeds of doubt arise.

Until finally he found someone to trust with his pain. In a tavern at the edge of the Black Citadel, he gets to know this odd fellow, who is continuosly follow by the faint smell of sulfur. Although Baruhn knew where that path led, the warmth radiating from the old veteran in front of him was not only a physical, but an emotional one.

With the Three Legions busy with their internal quarrels, fighting over an empty promise, Baruhn took the first steps down a previously thought to be dark path.

Surprisingly, die Flame Legion was welcoming, their fires offered light and guidance, the embers igniting the skies like stars. Surely this was better than the cold metal over the Black Citadel.

Baruhn took to learning first, handling the small flames with ease after years of throwing fireballs at ghostly shapes. Then, he figured out how to teach, and that is where the real magic comes from. Nurturing a flame, protecting it from harsh winds, adding a bit of kindling and coal here and there. He even taught the more elusive ways of magic that wield smoke and ash.

Baruhn knew about the war, the countless lifes lost on the other side of the fence. But those were humans, and here he was among family.

That is, until he met Molly.

After a small recon mission that was assured not to be much of a hurdle, Baruhn found himself alone in a forest. The small fires he conjured for light and warmth only drew in the nearby villagers. Those with pitchforks and torches, with crude swords and a thirst for blood. He couldn't really bring himself to hate them, this was war after all. But at what cost are these battles to be won?

Trying to escape the villagers was a futile attempt. He sank to the ground, his own hot blood dousing the little flames beneath his weary head.

For some reason - maybe hope, maybe resignation - he forced open his heavy eyes, only to discover his wounds cleaned and bandaged with fragile white cloth. A small human girl, of all things in this damned forest, tried to help. Even in his weakened state, even with just one hand, Baruhn could have easily grabbed her and cracked her skull. But the only thing he did was listen. He listened to the ramblings of the small human, going on and on about faries made of leaves and gnomes of stone. She called him "bear".

When the villagers came, they saw the girl at his side. That was all it took for them to turn on her. She was to be executed like that beast that now slowly stepped in front of her. For the first time, Baruhn spoke to the girl. "close your eyes."

Fire roared, not red, not orange. not a warm, welcoming fire. Not one that belongs in a hearth, that thrives in the arms of a family. This was so much worse. This was years of inner conflict, of doubt, of closing his eyes on the other side of the fence. For the first time in his life, this was the only thing that he wanted to do, protect the little insignificant human behind him. Fire roared, and it burned wood and it burned flesh.

Baruhn picked up the little girl, she held tight to his horns, nestled in his mane. He ran for hours, years of military training finally useful. The little girl, Molly, lost her mother years ago. She burned in the fires of a war she tried to escape. "And your father? What about your family?", he asked between deep breaths. Molly was quiet for a while, then whispered, her voice barely audible, "My father burned today."

They stayed together, for quite a while. He protected her, and she, with her head full of stories, and a book full of dreams, protected him.

Things came, things went. Baruhn rejoined the High Legions, acting as a spy for Ash, keeping an eye on Iron and Blood.

Baruhn ultimately took on his role as Novice, then Archivist, then Commander. He helped during the struggles against Scarlet. A small flame here and there, some shrouding smoke, a well timed lightning strike. It was other people that finally defeated Scarlet, but he was always in the background, with all the small things at just the right time.

Mordremoth came, but with him new allies.

It was but a small tangent in the grand scheme of things. Watching the fragile sapling while waging war on the jungle itself.

Their relation was something more than friendship, something else than love. They were there for each other when they needed to be. Be it only to keep a flame burning or to banish the voices to the back of the head again, they walked the same path for a long time.

Tarir, the Egg. Aurene. A new flame entrusted to him, his to nurture, his to raise. A gamble, again. What if that little flame would some day devour the world? But Baruhn did, what he could do best. Teach.

Darker times came. Caudecus and the White Mantle. The raid on the Mursaat's prison. Then facing the last Mursaat himself.

Balthazar came, and in his wake a new kind of fire. A war, similar to the ones Baruhn had seen before, but still different. A war without a cause, war for war's sake. War against nature, against the world, like a child lashing out when there were none to help them up. Maybe Balthazar's flames were not too different from his.

After the festering swamp that Joko was, came the mountain, Kralkatorrik. Death was not a hindrance anymore, not for the Commander and his dragon. The story went as the story goes.

When it came to face the frost, the whispers, Jormag. Everything fell apart. Jormag pried into the deepest, darkest corners of Baruhn's life, dragged every doubt, small as it may have been, into the light. In the ice, every truth was warped, encased in whispers, in lies. It suffocated any hope and planted even darker seeds than anyone thought possible.

It was the spirit of the Raven that aided Baruhn. Even the black feathers of its wings were shimmering like rainbows in the moonlight.

A small piece stayed with him, just a fragment. Nevermore.

After that, the stars themselves. Astralaria.

So many stories that make a life, so many pieces. Every encounter, every step along the way is another fragment of the whole. People are made of other people, that is what it means to be alive.

[spirits-n-giggles]

Must.... conclude.... Beetlejuice story.... after.... 2nd.... movie....

Go on this journey with me

(slightly edited for a better flow.)

Picture it:

A few years goes by....

Astrid and Lydia had become inceperable after their Halloween from hell and live together, but she eventually talks about wanting to experience dorm life for her first year of college. Lydia is happy for her daughter but is now afraid of being alone, not entirely sure what might happen with so many dreams that always plagued her sleep since the resurgence of ☆he who shall not be named☆ - and I want them to use that line as much as they used "keepin' it real."

The house on the hill will become internationally known as the notorious "Lydia Deets' Haunted Arthouse", she didn't have a show anymore, but that didn't stop her reputation from growing exponentially after the Halloween fiasco. People wanna buy this property for millions of dollars, but Lydia will be too afraid of whatever might happen to anyone, should they ever meet the demon from her nightmares, so she keeps the house by using some of Delia's fame funds to keep the home in their name - something Delia would HATE lol - but Lydia doesn't wanna actually be in the house.

Betelgeuse is stuck in the underworld, trying to hide from a revived Delores that continues to terrorize the afterlife, only now she is destroying the place. If the Sandworm can't kill Betelgeuse, how tf is it gonna kill Delores? Wolf Jackson is of course on the case, but things are getting out of hand. This makes Betlegeuse a prime target for anyone with a soul that might wanna rat him out. And there are PLENTY who wanna rat him out. Trying to find a way out or a way to kill the broad, he has to get creative as he stays in hiding. And where is the perfect place to hide? In a certain model town in a certain model home.

Rory will be undead and use his winning personality to act like he worships the ground Delores walks on so she doesn't suck out his soul. She will say she wants Betelgeuse and wants to kill Lydia. He is cool with that and says he will help her achive that goal. He will then become her lacky and tell her how pretty and perfect she is to keep the target off his back. He will be terrified of her but this will gradually make her love Rory and this can cause some potential fun for future scenes.

Lydia has nightmares that always involve Betlegeuse, even some can involve them going on wacky cartoon adventures from the show, but they'll be creepy and dark and stop-motion because Burton. She tries therapy, but it will end up being a bust. It's hard finding the right therapist with someone as much truama as her. OH MY GOD HAVE MICHAEL KEATON PLAY THIS CHARACTER!!!!! (Nice little nod to movie 2) It will freak her tf out thinking she's seeing Betlegeuse everywhere!

This will cause her to become a shut-in after getting rich off the royalties of selling her personal story - a melodrama of love and the loss of two parents after a lifetime of hauntings from their psychic daughter. She sells this story to various people who want to write it into something. She will end up reading raving reviews about a live theater production of her story called "Ghost House" or "Scared Sheetless" after a graphic novel that was released or some shit. Supernatural levels of meta. Might as well! :D

After a particular dream that ruffles Lydia awake in her own apartment, (the dream at the end of movie 2 maybe?) something strange will happen to the house on the hill, causing Lydia to go back and figure it out. Astrid will hear of this and not want her mom to be there alone and goes with her to help solve the mystery. Lydia thinks she knows what (or who) it is and doesn't want Astrid to come along, but she does anyway.

Hiding there in the model, Betelgeuse will see that she and her daughter have returned, thinking she's finally come to her senses and come back to him lol. Betelgeuse gets desperate for Lydia's attention in the best way he knows how - dreams. They've got a psychic connection, and he's done it plenty of times, but now it's for business as well as pleasure.

It would be some kind of earthquake that shakes the hill. Being careful and walking around whatever damage was mysteriously done, some locals say its another haunting and they want to tear the large house down and make something new. Aatrid can hear these comments and relay them to her mom. This will start making Lydia curious about the history of the hill this house was built on, especially since it's so close to the graveyard (the same place Betlegeuse was buried in the model in movie 1)

So she goes on a hunt in the small town, expands it a little, maybe even find the Mainlands old shop? This can parallel with expanding the afterlife while Betlegeuse is trying to find allies. Betelgeuse tries to round up anyone he knows that he can trust - literally anyone from the past - gotta bring Catherine O'Hara and Gena Davis back, right? Stop motion her in as a ripple in dimensional shifts or something and just use her voice. Richard would help as a thanks for helping his kid in the past, and I KNOW we can get Bob back if we tried.

Lydia can end up learning about some of Betlegeuse's history - finds a picture of an eerily familiar couple - but all this place knows is that they were just two of the MANY that were tossed in mass graves on this land centuries back but they don't know details other than they came from Italy. She will make it a mission to go to their original resting place to try to get more info. She's rich. She can do that. (Their love story was in Italy, right?)

Getting to Italy, Lydia learns the urban legend of a murder suicide of some nutorious bad couple who was known for terrorizing the nights in their hellrsising escepades, but after they were dead and buried, the two lovers corpses, along with many other discarded corpses of dead evil people, were moved out of their original land and brought to a new land to be buried there - getting rid of unwanted individuals so they could bring in the industrial revolution. There will be several names, but two will stand out along with a picture -- Delores and another name that's crossed out. Make it Lawrence, lol. Isn't that Betlegeuse's name in the cartoon?

"Betlegeuse?" Lydia whispers.

“Mom!”

“S-sorry."

Astrid tags along with her mother, happy to travel and hunt creepy shit again. Her dad would be proud. This time she won't meet a boy but maybe a girl who was also doing her own research for school. Jeremy was technically her first experience with a boy, and it's possible to stray away from reminders of bad experiences and kids experiment at this age anyway. It will be a cute goth girl who is a fan of Lydia's old show and is one of the first girls Astrid's age to ever actually be nice to her. A nice connection. This could also be a ploy to pull Lydia back into BJs world again, too - yay twists! She can maybe be an illegal ghost girl looking for help from Lydia because she thinks the paranormal human can help everyone in the afterlife.

Underworld is in chaos, and here is a rift between worlds after so many souls had been taken from the afterlife. There's no more order, reality is breaking, and the only way to get everything back in order is to destroy the soul sucker and release the souls she has absorbed. The more she absorbs, the more power she gets.

They get home, and another shift happens between worlds, and with so much death in the afterlife, it's causing serious problems in the real world and Astrid has an idea to maybe call someone for help. Lydia shuts it down, but more rifts and earthquakes happen. She will have another dream of him trying to get her to call his name. And maybe she can awaken in a living nightmare caused by the rift between worlds, and they are both almost killed (by a sandworm, why tf not!!!) before calling Betlegeuse for help.

Get real 'out there' and put those practical affects to good use and let the shenegins begin! As much as I love watching Betelgeuse try to marry Lydia, there is no attempt at marriage this time. There's too much to do. "I just saved your life, now you can help me save mine and finally kill that soul sucking witch for good.”

“No games. No tricks.” Lydia warns.

“I'm not the trickster in this relationship babe,” he wickedly grins, “but we can get back to that after we save our asses. You're coming with me.” Have him turn into a tour guide as he shows off different aspects of the afterlife thays falling apart before the three of them eventually have to run from people who have allied themselves with Delores to find Betelgeuse.

Imagine the reunion of seeing Rory with Delores. Imagine crazy shit that can magically appear to help end the story. Hell, have the goth girl Astrid meets to come back and redeem herself at the end. I dunno. She can appear and admit to being Delores daughter (before meeting Betelgeuse) and thats why she was at the same place Lydia and Astrid went in Italy to find answers- she was too.

This relationship can parallel Lydia and Astrid's positive one- have Delores sacrifice her daughter to start her sacrificial rite for power, and her daughter never forgive her (I swear I am just pulling this out of my ass) have the girl hold vengence for her mom and she can give Lydia the dagger that her mother Delores killed her with that still has the young girl's cursed blood on it. She says to use it to kill Delores, but Betelgeuse is the only one strong enough who can get close enough to do it.

With so much chaos and so many souls taken, anything can happen in the underworld, and chaos ensues. Maybe even break in to see glimpses of the afterlife, perhaps they see a glimpse of hell and see how Jeremy is being tortured (it will be a silly Tim Burton way). They can see part of the great beyond maybe wave at Delia (and the back of Charls’ head) too?

They finally meet Delores and she will say she is over Betelgeuse, happy with her new pet Rory. It's a shock for Lydia to see Rory there but isn't surprised to see him so desperate to fawn after Delores. Satisfied with the new power she’s gained, Delores prefers to keep Betelgeuse alive to torture him.

Lydia will give Betelgeuse the dagger so he can pop her like a bubble and all the souls she's consumed will escape and go back to their soul holders. But why waste energy killing Betelgeuse when Delores can just use him? She is able to levitate him up but Lydia, Astrid, and the goth girl work together to pull him back down. - this is where the goth girl can suddenly enter for the final fight!

Seeing her daughter makes her angry, and seeing her help her foes pisses her off. Delores grows in size to show her strength, and ordering Rory to take care of those little girls. Little goth girl and Astrid go after Rory and Lydia will get a plan -

"Oh... you're not into him anymore, huh? So... you wouldn't care if I did this?" And Lydia pulls that fucker in to kiss him. (This feels very Phantom of the Opera coded.....) Just a peck is enough for Delores to RAGE and she goes full attack mode. She goes after Lydia and Beletgeuse steps in front of her and kills Delores with whatever magical shit her dead vengeful goth daughter supplied, lol. (And I'm talking full jack sparrow stabbing the kraken slow mode scene) Epic as shit!!! Delores daughter will then rest in peace.

Astrid will then ask herself, “Now why the hell can't I connect with humans like I can with ghosts?”

“Family trait, unfortunately.” Lydia says feeling Beletgeuse's breath literally go down her neck with his close proximity. "At least they didn't try to suck you into marrying them."

End it with Lydia being recruited by Wolf Jackson to find those who have been lost in the real world or something. Make it to where she and Betelgeuse have to work together to keep the plane between the living and the dead closed with her as the keeper of the house.

Have the house be the main character in the end!!!!

Betelgeuse will turn to Lydia and say, "So, you're not the marrying type, eh? I'm fine with that-" He'll try to pull her in for another kiss, but she'll push him away.

"Nooo! No-" He lets her shove him to the floor, "I just knew something like that would save your ass. That's what you asked for right? Now we’re even." He quickly jumps back up. "I know jealousy when I see it.”

"You sure do." he inches closer to her, but she crosses her arms looking away, seemingly uninterested.

"Betelgeuse...”

"I can wait, honey. I know you want me." He flexes as he slowly walks away with pride. "No one can resist ‘the juice’ once they've had a taste." He winks.

Astrid groans for her mother, but Lydia just looks to him like she always does.

"Betelgeuse..."

"You will be the one to kiss me again, babes." He holds his arms out in his iconic way. "I got all the time in the world." He thinks this is the end.

"Betelgeuse."

Hmmm.... he doesn't disappear?

But he does give a wicked smile.

Turns out when killing the spirit of the soul sucking witch, the souls did escape, but her power had to be absorbed by someone, and Betelgeuse didn't... really... need.... help with obtaining more power, did he?

Would he be like demi-god state now? Why the hell not? Give me an Astarion evil ending kind of transformation. Give me love and deepspace realness. (google those). Go the whole nine and make him HOT AND SCARY in the end. Michael Keaton is attractive. It's doable! Antihero status! Make it wild! Demigod!!!!

Imagine THAT being interested in you, Lydia. I don't think you'd say no.

End it with his new form levitating and him saying that that iconic voice and green glowing eyes. "It's Showtime."

Throw in a musical number somewhere, a little justice for Bob and you have a lovely story.

There. Done.

I don't think a 3rd will be made, and if there is one, I don't think it would be this ^ stupid! Lol

[bogkeep]

[now entering: the OPINION ZONE]

the way i feel about Booktok(tm), as a phenomenon, or maybe more as a weird miasma that is seeping through every bookstore i enter, is that we don't see eye to eye. i'm sure it's got a lot more variation and diversity than whatever weird takes bubble up to the surface for my tiktok-less self to stumble upon - mostly i just feel like my motivation for reading books is different than theirs. there is the occasional overlap in the Books I Enjoy / Big On Booktok venn diagram (which makes me feel very weird about those books but that's for me to sort out), but i cannot personally Trust a booktok recommendation, if that makes sense. either way, it's none of my business what other people like to read, and i think me and booktok can peacefully coexist in each our own spheres. (if all of this is completely incomprehensible to you i salute you and envy your peace of mind.)

anyway, a very fascinating discussion that keeps showing up recently is the phenomenon where popular booktok influencers admit to skipping paragraphs that are too long, or only reading the dialogue of a book, or performing shock at a printed book containing Too Many Words Per Page. what fascinates me is not so much that it is happening (though it DOES fascinate me), but how much people reacting to this struggle to explain exactly Why it's so aggravating.

like, i feel like the obvious takeaway is that these people are monetizing their alleged joy of reading, and then... don't? even like to read? that the consumerist aesthetic of Being A Reader is more profitable on a video platform than doing the due diligence of reviewing books properly? that the content machine marches on and if you're too slow you'll fall behind??

INSTEAD the discussion seems to center around the good old "oohh nooo people read BAD BOOKS instead of GOOD BOOKS and IT'S IMPORTANT TO CHALLENGE YOUR BRAINNN or else the MEDIA LITERACY....." and i'm sorry but i think this has been a moral panic for as long as we've had literature. media literacy has never had a golden age that i'm aware of. there's always been trashy romances that authors pump out on the monthly for easy consumption. capitalism is gonna value profit over quality for as long as it's in charge. people who read for fun are gonna read what they're gonna read, and they're gonna read it in the way they enjoy reading. i agree that reading Good Books is deeply fulfilling! but that is my personal and subjective experience that not everyone is going to share.

i think the reason i feel weird about the insistence that you Must, at least occasionally, Challenge Yourself while reading is that... i'm exhausted in my brain. too exhausted to challenge myself for fun. maybe it's a burnout thing. i really really get looking at a paragraph and finding it simply too much to absorb right now. my main method of getting through books these days is in audio format, even if i would personally prefer to read them visually (they'd stick to my brain better, i would see how names are spelled, sudden POV switches between paragraphs would be less confusing). but reading a book in text form is taking me weeks at best - unless it's a special kind of book that i can't help but devour immediately, sleep schedule be damned (which is another toll to pay). some books are just too complex and need too much focus for me to enjoy right now, so i keep having to goldilock my way to what feels Just Right. some books, i'm sure i'll get back to later. some i've made my peace with never picking up despite the fact that they feel Obligatory (my apologies to lord of the rings. i've Tried and i just can't do it). so like i GET IT. sometimes reading is too much.

what i Wish the discussion was more about, was instead finding ways to read that's enjoyable for you. there is literature and screen plays that are Only Dialogue. there's graphic novels. there's audiobooks and e-readers that let you change the font sizes. there's lots and lots and lots of fanfiction that's literally just banter and smut. there's no shame in reading what you enjoy! there's no shame in spending months on the same book! but i suppose it's not as ~Aesthetic~ as purchasing 10 editions of the same book series on amazon dot hell!!!!

[elkkiel]

Regarding ST's merch, I think it's really obvious quality wise what merch the boys had a direct hand in and what merch is just RCA slapping ST's name and logo on something because they know it'll sell. The figurine and the constant HT/Spencer's drops scream RCA just trying to make a buck.

I think the big thing we can do as fans, or in this case consumers, is just be really picky about what merch we actually buy. Let sales numbers and the market talk for us ig (ew capitalism, but unfortunately that's how this works)

Things like the graphic novel? Hell yeah, support the shit out of that! We're out here Obtaining new, original stories made in collaboration with the band themselves, AND supporting art that aligns with the band's previously-curated brand image. Throw your money at that or hype it up online, since that's what we REALLY want to see from them. (even if it's too $$$ for many people. But, I get the sense that they wouldn't mind the pdf being shared with other fans lol. You can't tell me those nerds haven't read pirated manga/comics/books online before)

The low quality, soulless Licensed Products keep on coming because there's apparently a market for them. People will buy it just because it's ST, not because it's actually worth the money. As if it'll bring any value to their experience with the band. How many fans actually want a fuckin lava lamp, or any assortment of the hot topic merch that's just Vessel's face cheaply screenprinted on the front?

I think there's a lot of hype and market potential for their brand and likeness right now, and—for a corporate entity—it makes sense to flood the market like fucking Atlantic with whatever merch will sell. Voting with your wallet really does help. Not buying into the obvious cash-grab merch produces data that tells marketers that we're tired of it. It produces trend reports which indicate their current merch practices are becoming unprofitable to continue (oh, the horrors!)

Idk like I said last night, there seems to be a big disconnect between the band's history of being very selective with aesthetics/design, and whatever is going on right now. Personally, I'd much rather wallow in despair over sleeping through a relatively rare merch drop during European daylight hours. Because then at least the drop feels worth it, and fans who were able to buy merch will have a better, higher quality experience that actually aligns with their brand. Literally anything other than what we're seeing from them right now.

Sorry I just woke up not too long ago, so this might not read very clearly. I want to see my boys succeed and make a living off their art as much as anyone else, but surely there's a better way to support them.

[yuurei20]

Hiii!

I was wondering how the rooms were distributed in each dorm. I know that the housewardens have their individual room but i believe that in Hearstabyul Ace and Deuce share their room with other 2 students and in Octaville Jade and Floyd share a room, so i guess it's different in every dorm and i wondered how It was in other dorms and if there was any information abt the roomates.

I rlly like your posts, it's rlly cool learning more abt TW lore and characters.

Hello hello!! Thank you so much, you are too kind! ♡ And also thank you for this ask, it was so interesting to look into!

Some room situations have been confirmed via dialogue while others have not, there are various theories based upon the cross-referencing of dialogue, graphics and the novel, and something curious might be going on with EN-server's Octavinelle:

First-year living situations are referred to at least twice as being four-man rooms. As this information comes from Ace and Deuce it seems not uncommon for people to assume that this must be Heartslabyul's particular setup, but neither character ever specifies that this situation is unique to Heartslabyul: they say it is specific to first-year students.

And the rooming situation at NRC is described explicitly in the second novel:

"In each dorm 1st-year students are four to a room with 2nd-year students two to a room and, as a 3rd-year student, you finally get a room to yourself.

Housewardens are the one exception, with their own room regardless of year."

So it is possible that roommate arrangements are the same across all seven dorms. But! Many things have been changed in the novels from the original game (Leona's introduction, the prefect going to Pomefiore alone, etc), so it might be better to not use the novels as a reference for what is or isn't game-canon. This neither proves nor disproves the possibility of the game following the same roommate system, but it does give us something to go off of :>

Ace and Deuce were hinted at having the same bedroom in a vignette, and this was confirmed during Spectral Soiree when Ace says he can hear Deuce grinding his teeth in his sleep.

Comparing their bedrooms themselves, objects from Ace's bookshelf can be seen in Deuce's room.

Unlike the overlapping objects in the Ace/Deuce shared bedroom, there is no proof of Cater, Trey or Riddle sharing a room with anyone, which may support the "third years and housewardens have private rooms" theory.

Further support comes from Cater's comment that he and Trey only shared a room for their first two years at the school.

This might point to them sharing a room with two others in their first year, having a room alone together their second year, and now they are in private rooms.

There is an interesting situation at Savanaclaw where they have empty rooms in the dorm, but students are still rooming together rather than cleaning out a room to use for themselves.

It is possible that "first-years are four-to-a-room, second-years are two-to-a-room" is a rule at the school. Only some first- or second- years getting private rooms or fewer roommates wouldn't be fair to the others, so they have to share rooms even though there is space available.

Leona has a line about Ruggie sharing a room with at least one other person during Spectral Soiree, so Ruggie having a roommate is also confirmed.

(The Japanese language doesn't really have "the" or "a," and EN chose to write this line as "a guy in his room," as though there are multiple people besides Ruggie. It could technically be interpreted either way.)

Much like Ace and Deuce, illustrations show proof of other people living in Jack and Ruggie's rooms, while there is no such proof in Leona's.

There is also no visual proof of Azul sharing a room with anyone, while there is proof in Jade and Floyd's.

Based on visuals alone it seems there might be an argument for the twins sharing rooms with other people: the positioning of the chairs and a stack of books in Floyd's room do not seem to correlate with Jade's room. A stack of objects in Ace's room can clearly be seen in Deuce's room, so it seems like such details would be carried over if that's what we're supposed to think is going on.

But, unlike most other characters, it has been confirmed in dialogue that Floyd and Jade share a room on JP!

The Japanese language doesn't really use possessive pronouns in the same way that English does, as things like that are generally communicated via context.

Since English forces you to specify such information (which Aniplex USA might not actually know), they added "Jade's room" to Floyd's dialogue in his birthday vignette, despite how Floyd did not specify Jade having a separate room at all: he just says that Jade is always keeping an unspecified room clean. While he could technically be talking about Jade's room, he could also be talking about their shared room.

This is a kind of vague example and may not be particularly convincing either way, but there have been at least two more references in-game:

In Floyd's original, in-game dialogue, he says that he doesn't want to go back his room because he wants to be alone, but Jade will be coming home soon. The word "room" was changed on EN to "dorm," not once, but twice:

In another vignette he says that Jade smells so earthy all the time that it brings his mood down just to be in the dorm room. So I think I can understand someone playing EN and thinking that the twins might be in separate rooms with different roommates, but that does not seem to be the case!

Much like Riddle, Leona and Azul, there is no proof of roommates in the bedroom illustration for Kalim, but another student's rug, bookshelf and desk can be seen to the side of Jamil's despite how he is a vice-houswarden. This may be in support of the "two students per 2nd year bedroom, housewardens are the only exception" theory.

Neither Rook nor Vil have any proof of roommates in their bedroom designs, while what may be another student's closet can be seen to the side of Epel's.

There is no proof of a human roommate in Idia's bedroom (the blue stand off to the right is heavily hinted in Book 7 as being for Ortho), and he has a voice line about being miserable sharing a dorm room until becoming Housewarden.

Despite being counted as a first-year student (while he has technically been at the school as long as Idia), post-Book-6 Ortho's room also does not seem to have any proof of being a shared space, but it was confirmed in New Years 2024 that Ortho does have multiple roommates.

There is proof of roommates in both Sebek and Silver's room illustrations, with what are presumably other students' desks seen in both of them.

There is no proof of roommates in Lilia or Malleus' bedrooms, and we learn in Spectral Soiree that their two rooms are located next to one another:

[anticmiscellaney]

I absolutely adore your work! What's your process been like for writing NewOldRare and developing Neil and Louis? Your art and character writing feel so genuine and realistic to me, so I'm really curious how you go about it!

Thank you! I've always been obsessed with character-driven stories and interaction, so I guess this is the result of years of practice and observation, and dismantling stories that do and don't work to see why.

Unfortunately, there isn't a clear way to explain it. It's one of those "you know when you get it right" things, requiring an eye developed over a long time. I will redraw things if I don't feel like I've captured the nuance I wanted to, and a few months later I'll look at it and see where I could have done better. Same with writing. I'm obsessed with pacing and page design, I had a moment of "that's how I think about it too" when Will Eisner described comic panels like music.

The technical approach is I make notes about stories I want to write, then I expand that into outlines, then scripts, then thumbnails, then I draw the comics and colour them and finalise the dialogue. At every stage I'm asking myself if it feels right, if I'm getting across what I want to. That's not to say there aren't surprises and things don't develop organically, but every stage is an attempt to solve as many problems as I can before the next stage. My thumbnails are quite detailed because it makes pencils easier, and I spend a while on them.

I have total aphantasia so I am operating off feeling rather than any mental images. I have no idea how it works and no idea why I pursue this when I'm missing what many visual artists describe as a crucial component. I just do it and I have better things to do (art) than wonder about something I can't change. I don't think it's made me a better or worse artist, though I think it has given me different ways of approaching/developing things. But also, literally everything about you makes your work different to everyone else's work.

You need to care. If your character is into music, listen to that music. If they have an old car that keeps breaking down, read up on common problems for that model. If they work as a film projectionist, watch a training film about using the machine. The characters care about things, have things in their lives that matter, have skills and interests and challenges. If I don't care enough to understand them, why should anyone reading it care, and also why am I writing it if I don't care?

So I do, and in caring I understand them better. This helps me develop characters/story but it also gives me so much more to write/draw. Understanding how things work and how they are done from a physical standpoint makes writing/drawing them easier too. The more you put into your head, the more you can get out later. I'll do way less for a 12 page short than for a 300 page graphic novel, obviously. Pick your battles, a little can go a long way.

They tell artists to collect visual references - solid advice - but you should collect substance too. If you pay attention, you will hear and see things you could never in a million years make up.

I find online socialising difficult, so I go out regularly and talk to people, or just hang around and observe. Chatting with strangers mostly involves listening to them. No one in gay spaces is interested in flirting with me (I'm rather homely and queer men assume I'm straight) but I think an audience is just as appealing sometimes, and maybe even harder to find. You'd be amazed what people will tell you if you're genuinely interested and listening. I once spent forty minutes at a sci-fi con talking to a guy who'd recently gotten into fisting. While I have zero personal desire to partake in that activity (and he had no interest in being fisted by me), I'm engaged, I'm invested, I'm asking questions, spare no detail.

I collect behavior and movement and the ways people interact too. Reading stories on reddit or whatever is one thing, but the words might not be as interesting as the way they're standing, the way their hands move, the way they respond. A guy in a bar once literally humped my leg like a dog because he felt I wasn't paying enough attention to him. I would never think of that as a response to that situation, but he did, and he followed through. Fortunately my friend had just tried to drunkenly sit down and missed the chair, otherwise I would never hear the end of it.

I see the leghumper around sometimes, he's got a boyfriend and avoids making eye contact with me, thank god.

[starcocaine]

Who the fuck is this? Seriously, ever since I discovered this monstrosity, I've been feeling disgusted. My friend informed me about this design, and despite it not being 100% official, the damage is still done.

I know many people acknowledged Norman as someone black. And I've agreed most of the time even though in my au I never actually made him black, lol. But I agree on this one. He should be black. Literally, the whole fandom agrees on this one. Yet hear me out- I am not mad since his VA wasn't black at all, color really doesn't matter to me. But what bothers me so much is that he's simply hideous, ALL OF THEM.

They are so many talented artists that you have no idea just how many they are. They had options, many more. Just now, I saw the most jaw-dropping, beautiful- breathtaking fanarts of these same characters. I wish I could tag them all.

I just don't know what to say anymore. I've been such a huge fan of batim since 2017. I was a weird kid since I never stopped talking about it. And I don't mean this as a flex, I'm trying to say that batim has truly been my most precious thing ever. I can't explain how much I loved this back at the time, I still do.

It's been a while since I started to lose my way in the whole lore. Ever since batdr dropped, I haven't been able to catch up. And I must say, ever since they said that a movie, graphic novel and many other books would drop. I just knew I couldn't have high expectations on something like this.

And Jesus christ. I guess we were all right about this one. I really hope they do better, I really do. All I know is that I fear for Thomas Connor, Sammy Lawrence, and Wally Franks. They are absolutely my favorite characters, and even though I have my own impression and headcanons about them, I just pray to the Lord for them not to be THAT bad.

I only had to say this, lol. I needed to vent, whatever happens, I guess there's not much I can do anyway.

P.S. I made this drawing. This is my design of Thomas Connor, lol. Fun fact is that Thomas and Norman are my favorite characters.

I ship those two, btw... Norman x Thomas sounds fun.

What do you think about this in general?

[tnbc-thoughtsandheadcanons]

The Battle for Pumpkin King #5

Here are my thoughts on the last issue of the comic. After this, I'll be writing a full review looking at the series as a whole. As always, Spoilers under the 'Read More'!

The last competition for the title of Pumpkin King between Jack Skellington and Oogie Boogie is designing and carving their own giant Jack-o-Lantern. It's clear that they must complete it on their own, even cleaning out their pumpkins, and will be judged by 5 Townspeople.

Edgar suggests for Oogie Boogie to break the rules (again) by using Lock, Shock, and Barrel, this time to clean out his pumpkin for him. He says if Boogie wins, he can continue using his Lair, even having it as his own. While they clean out his pumpkin, Oogie wastes time by talking to the Judges and even taunting Jack, who questions why he isn't dirty from cleaning his pumpkin.

Jack starts to have doubts about himself and wonders why he's working so hard while things come 'naturally' for Oogie. He is comforted by Sally, who tells him he workd hard because it's natural to him, too, and is giving his all.

Oogie sends some bugs and snakes Jack's way to bother him while he carves. Lock, Shock, and Barrel start throwing pumpkin guts at each other inside, which sends a flurry onto Jack's pumpkin. Thinking quickly, Jack meshes it to look like hair on the jack-o-lantern. In contrast, Oogie's pumpkin is a mess from the trio's mischief.

The judges (as we all know) choose Jack's jack-o-lantern unanimously over Oogie Boogie's, winning him the crown of Pumpkin King. Boogie is furious and stomps the winning pumpkin down, arguing with Edgar and claiming his Lair as his own. He officially ends his friendship with Jack and storms off. Elsewhere, Jack suggests using Oogie's mess for a pumpkin pie, along with the Mayor's suggestion of a party to celebrate his victory.

Edgar congratulates Jack on his winning and claims he will retire to the pumpkin patch since Oogie is now in his Lair. He lays with the pumpkins lamenting Oogie's loss and their wasted potential as a team, but now he can finally rest.

Oogie, now in Edgar's Lair, claims everyone is against him, and vows no one will ever cheat him again.

---

This comic was a LOT of fun to read and buy, much like Mirror Moon was. But I think I enjoyed this one more, despite TBFPK not having as extreme concepts. I will go into more detail in my full Review - keep an eye out for it! ;)

#5 was a great wrap to everything, showing us how Oogie ended his ties with Jack and what happened to Edgar in the end. Crazy to think the previous Pumpkin King might be one of the many pumpkins in the patch now, if he's not already long gone by this point.

It's interesting how Oogie was easily manipulated by Edgar, cheated in the competitions, yet feels betrayed and cheated HIMSELF after he loses. He gave up his friendship with Jack over a potential team-up with Edgar, only to lose THAT in the end(except gain his Lair). I can see why he would take control over the trio down the line, seeing as they indirectly caused his loss for the crown. I bet he forever holds that to them....

Also, very sweet little moments between Jack and Sally. I wonder how their friendship grew in this way. And I'm happy to see how Jack won his crown, it's fortunate it hadn't been Oogie(unless, without Edgar's influence, he would have wanted to rule Halloween Town...better? And possibly had a greater chance in the Competition without his help?)

I have a lot more to say about this series, so I'll start on the overall review soon. If you can, consider buying the Issues, or the Graphic Novel that comes out next month!!!

[flawseer]

What are your headcanons on the Nightwing Tribe's views on Art? Do they like it, or, like some humans, do they think it is a waste of time?

It's somewhat ill-advised to paint an entire culture composed of many thinking, feeling individuals with one brush; there will be Nightwings who fall into one or the other camp, and others still who haven't really formed a definite opinion on the matter. But in terms of general societal norms and expectations, I think I imagine it like this:

The ancient Nightwing tribe, circa 3000 AS and before, had an active art scene. We actually see some glimpses of this in the Darkstalker Legends book. There were implied school classes on painting and (presumably) other art forms, and art pieces were being displayed at fairs and public celebrations. The hallways of the palace were decorated with mirrors, and there were glassblowers making sculptures and such. I believe Nightwings may actually have had an affinity for glasswork specifically; not only because of the glass sculptures, but a Nightwing with glasses appeared in that book, and Mastermind also had glasses in the graphic novel adaptation. It was probably practical for them, since they lived right next to the continent's largest sand pit back then.

When the Nightwings relocated due to the whole Darkstalker debacle, their priorities must have shifted. Not much at first; there were probably efforts to restore their old way of life as authentically as it was possible on the island, which would have included artistic expression. But over the years, with the volcano becoming more active and reducing the quality of life, the tribe shifted gears into a "survival first" mindset. With their very existence threatened, the tribe needed to become more efficient. The Nightwing government became much more overbearing and artistic pursuits were regarded as frivolous; if what you were doing wasn't filling bellies, improving the quality of life, or advancing Nightwing interests, you were seen as wasting time and resources and may have experienced pushback from your neighbors. The tribe needed soldiers, doctors, scientists, hunter-gatherers; and kids needed to be pushed towards those careers so the supply didn't suddenly run dry.

I don't believe artistic endeavors were completely suspended during that time though. That's kind of impossible; where there's life, there will be art. But I imagine artistic pursuit became more of a counter culture thing, practiced as a way to voice discontent with the poor life standard and the crown's apparent inability to provide a better existence for the people. Think subversive, anti-authoritarian displays, likely created anonymously. Naturally, the Queen would have been cracking down on this eventually, declaring such outlets as acts of delinquency that were eroding the moral foundation of Nightwing society.

I don't know, I can just picture Fierceteeth leaving an unflattering graffiti of Morrowseer and Battlewinner on some wall in the shade after being reprimanded for sneaking into the rainforest and seeing firsthand what the Queen's regime was depriving them of.

Now that the Nightwings have relocated yet again and are living in conditions where they won't have to worry about either suffocating or starving to death 24/7, I believe artistic expression will see a general resurgence in popularity. We already kind of saw this with Mightyclaws, who has taken up painting (the story frames it as Starflight having suggested painting to him, but judging by the apparent quality of his work I believe he already had a prior inclination towards it, and Starflight's suggestion was to make use of a pre-existing hobby as a therapeutic outlet, rather than to start it up). So yeah, art is on the upswing again.

Those are probably my thoughts on the matter.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 1 Pt. 1 (Meet the Founder!)

When you play a challenge in The Sims 4 that ignites your imagination but is supposed to be fun (so why am I plotting generations like this is a real novel?!), you figure out how to use Tumblr to share it because you've officially put in too much effort for it to be a little word doc on your laptop and you actually can't get over how pretty this game is, even with the most basic graphics card on earth.

Gen 1 is a breeze compared to Gen 2, so enjoy the casual fun gameplay while it lasts... (And no, I'm not great at gameplay screenshots, thanks in advance for not caring! It gets better by Gen 2 but not incredible or anything.)

Generation One (Founder): Daisy Lea Darden Clumsy, Cheerful, Loves Outdoors Gardener (Botanist) Favourite Colours: yellow, white Favourite Drink: Apple Nectar Favourite Music: Cottagecore

Daisy Darden took some time after high school to decide what she wanted to do with her life. She ultimately chose to return to the home she lived in before her grandmother's death – a quaint village cottage at 5 Cobblebottom Street in Henford-on-Bagley. Raised by the old woman after her parents were killed in a car crash when she was a baby, Daisy was young when her grandmother died too, tossed into the foster system with nowhere to call home.

But the deed was still in the family name and Daisy was the only descendant. She hoped to find success as a gardener in one of the greenest towns in Simlandia, but more than anything she wanted to find the family she was robbed of as a little girl.

Despite everything she’d been through, she was optimistic and smiled when she thought about her future.

Not long after her arrival, she met Henford civil designer Neal Nesbitt, who made her feel things she'd never felt for a man before. He thought she was beautiful, and they loved spending time together outdoors, commiserating over Henford's often-rainy weather. Their connection was deep and immediate, and a daytrip to the city for a comedy festival let Neal see his cheerful girl in her element.

Already stressed by political red-tape at work, then the roof burst at his cottage north of town. During the repair, Daisy let him stay with her. Content to be alone after the shock death of his parents to a pandemic flu when he was just out of high school, Daisy made Neal feel at ease. He never wanted to leave, and he moved in for good before the repairs on his house were complete. That's when Daisy discovered his parents had been well off, leaving them more than enough to live comfortably as they began their life together. Daisy never cared about money, but she was grateful not to have to struggle after so many years of hardship.

To cope with her years in the foster system, Daisy had taken up meditation as a teen, guiding her mind to a place of calm despite the tumult in her life. It also helped her find literal balance, as she’d always been a bit clumsy. She stocked her kitchen with the cheapest dishes imaginable because she was always breaking them in the sink! When she wasn't tending to Henford's many beautiful green gardens, including her own, she was helping residents from Henford and beyond with guided meditation sessions in-person and online.

Neal and Daisy found themselves expecting after just a few months, but a blissful babymoon in Granite Falls convinced Neal he'd met the woman he wanted to spend his life with. He and Daisy were young but determined to make a good life for themselves and their child. They eloped in Oasis Springs on the way home, just months before the birth of their daughter, Heather. Even though she had to be induced and it went against Daisy's hopes for a natural home birth, that Heather was healthy was all that mattered.

Dog-lover Neal brought home a rescue, but even with the chaos of new parenthood, the smart, friendly sheepdog named Ralph fit with their little family perfectly.

How would a baby change life in Henford for lovebirds Daisy and Neal? ->

WCIF Neal Nesbitt + 5 Cobblebottom Street lot in the gallery.

[valiantstarlights]

Okay I have GOT to know what “Hflwaohfpufw” is 😂

🤘five-and-dimes

*checks notes because I genuinely don't remember what it's about* 😂

*reads notes* ...Oh. 👀 It's a spicy dreamling fic. Except it starts out as crack. 🤨 I think this was the time I came across the breasted boobily post, yelled for five minutes straight, and then opened my notes app and wrote spicily. 😂

It starts with a sad Hob wandering around the Dreaming library after a long day at work. Too many students writing about Shakespeare being awesome, you know? 🥺 Lucienne takes pity on him and directs him to the smutty crack novels section, so he can cheer himself up (and allow her to do her duties on the other side of the library).

So Hob has a good time reading absolutely terrible smut. As a treat(?), here's one of the passages: "He licked madly at her cave of wonders, his tongue spelling abracadabra in cursive. She screamed bloody murder and writhed against her restraints like a chained zombie."

After an hour or so, Dream finds Hob still in that section, laughing his ass off and wiping happy tears from his eyes. (Dream was doing his duties, but came as soon as he could after Matthew informed him that Hob was in the library being sad.)

Domestic fluff ensues. That is, until Dream sees what Hob is reading, and his eyes suddenly become dark with spicy intentions. 😏 Like, oh, are you here because you couldn't wait for me to take care of you? Hob denies this, of course; Lucienne was the one who directed him to this section of the library. But Dream is in the mood now, and doesn't Hob want to hear how the Lord of Dreams talks dirty? It's going to be so much better than the porn he's reading, and he's gonna wake up refreshed. ✨

Hob agrees after a few steamy kisses, and confesses that he's been wanting to warm Dream all day because he was so stressed, and being good for Dream calms him down. Dream smiles and parts his legs, allowing Hob to kneel between them. He tells Hob that he's going to read what Hob has been reading while Hob warms him, just to see why it makes him laugh.

--

Hob finds himself floating as he holds Dream's cock inside his mouth, nose pressed against the dark pubic hair and head resting on Dream's thigh. Above him, Dream runs his fingers through his hair with long, skillful fingers.

Dream lets out an amused hum as he turns a page. "I can see why this entertained you. It's very...graphic, albeit in a ludicrous way." Dream tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and grazes the nail of his forefinger lightly against the shell. Hob moans around him and squirms, his own neglected cock stirring at the gesture. "Were you turned on, Hob? While reading?"

Hob shakes his head a little, mindful of his teeth. Fuck no. He was the farthest thing from turned on while reading...whatever that was. He might be a freak, but he's not that freaky.

Dream chuckles as if he heard Hob's thoughts and goes to set aside the book he's holding. "And now?" he asks. Hob feels Dream shifting his weight, and he moves obediently as Dream slots one leg between Hob's own. He chokes on a moan as he feels Dream nudging his stiffening cock with his shin. Does Dream want him to hump his leg like a dog? Because he would. He's not above doing something like that. But only if Dream wants him to. Only if Dream commands him to.

"Good boy," Dream says, when Hob just whimpers but doesn't move. He is rewarded by Dream grinding his leg against his cock. "Can you come like this, my love? Or shall I make you come untouched with just my voice?"

--

Ask about my WIPs

[sketching-shark]

I was curious to know, is there a specific adaptation of JTTW that you particularly enjoy? Whether its good or accurate isnt important but more like in your personal taste

AUGH going to be honest @seasonalsummers in that I don't feel like I can pick just one...there's so many excellent retellings! But I will take this opportunity to present some of my favorites.

So first up we have the 1986 Journey to the West tv series. It is in many ways very goofy and gaudy, but there's just as many reasons why it's considered one of the best retellings out there, from its genuine heart to the adherence to the og classic. And needless to say its Sun Wukong really set a standard for cheeky scheming monkey behavior. You can start watching it here:

Next up is 2016s The Monkey King 2. While this film is one of those retellings that gives the White Bone Demon a lot more prominence than she has in the og classic--and definitely has its own silly stupid moments--it also stands as one of the very few retellings that directly addresses the paradox of Tang Sanzang's mission: that he's trying to get the sutras to help mortals achieve a state of peace all while abhorring violence, and yet its only because of the violence of his disciples, especially Sun Wukong, that he's able to right a number of wrongs or simply go from day to day uneaten. You can watch it here:

And now it's time to give kudos to 2015's Monkey King: Hero Is Back. While this film is FAR from a faithful retelling and (usual refrain) has its own silliness, pretty simple plot, and gross-out humor, it also has so much heart and stands as a wonderful embodiment of the dad Wukong characterization. One also has to give it credit for its main child character, Jiang Liuer, being a genuinely charming kid who's wonder at the world and desire to do good drives the story forward in a sincerely lovely way. You can watch it here:

More recently--and in a work that is at best only loosely following the plot of Xiyouji--is 2022's Lighting Up the Stars. This film follows the story of a Li Nezha coded little orphan girl Wu Xiaowen and a Sun Wukong coded funeral director Mo Sanmei as they go from a very tense relationship to a genuinely loving father-daughter relationship. While there are moments of this film that feel kind of overwrought, it's an honestly wonderful exploration of what goes into dealing with death and the importance of love in all its many forms during life. I also have a soft spot for Mo Sanmei, who from what I've seen is the very peak of explicitly shitty cringefail loser who then genuinely works hard to become a better person Sun Wukong out there. It can be watched here:

Turning away from film and animation for a moment, I simply have to give proper kudos to Chaiko Tsai's comic The Monkey King. Between the gorgeous art, fun character designs, a good sense of how to translate many of the stories of Xiyouji into comic format, and a resolution to the Sun Wukong vs. Niu Mowang fight that I actually prefer above that in Journey to the West itself, this is definitely a comic worth going through! You can purchase it here for about $30.00

And last but certainly not least, one simply has to give due credit to 1964's Uproar in Heaven. It's an absolute gem of stylized Chinese animation, a work with the very rare allowance on the Monkey King getting to go full grandpa for tons upon tons of monkeys at Mt. Huaguoshan, and it's very faithful to the first half of the og classic with the difference that here Sun Wukong does his havoc in heaven and gets away with it. All around its a really fun work to watch and does have a lot of importance from both an animation and a historical perspective. You can watch it here:

So those are my favorite adaptations of Journey to the West! It's but a fraction of the adaptations out there, but I hope other people found these as fun as I do.

[mybworlds]

CHAPTER 13

status: ongoing

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: your life is full of 'must'. You live with your overprotective mother who controls every aspect of your life. You have a dream, to write romance novels, but love - real love - you haven't found yet. Your mother has even decided what you must do in your free time: play music. One day, however, when you go to your music teacher's house, you will have an unexpected encounter and from that day on things change…

Masterlist

rating: 18+ explicit (minors, DNI)

A/N thank you for your support, for your likes and reblog, thank you, thank you, thank you ❤️ If you like it pls leave a like/comment/reblog it, if you don't like it don't be rude and keep going. Please remember English is not my first language, so please be merciful!

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner and thanks @saradika-graphics for the divider.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed

Joel fortunately is okay. He told you by phone, you unfortunately had to go back home or your mother might have suspected something. In the meantime, during these three weeks, you received an e-mail saying that your application was accepted at the library as a library worker. The interview took place in a historically decorated room with two staff members who asked you a lot of questions, such as your interests in the field, what you aspire to in life, whether you know what you're going to do, they asked you how many languages you speak, in short, questions to try to test your preparedness and interest. You got up from that chair satisfied and the heat rising to your cheeks with excitement. You hope to be called, you really want to.

You tell Joel about what you have seen, done, your emotions, your feelings, he listens to you, asks you questions and is once again interested in you, your future, your dreams. In addition, you tell him that you' ve been inspired to continue to write your story.

"This time I will hold you in my arms as I watch you write, I promise," he tells you.

You smile, "Being in your arms always gives me great security, you know."

You hear him sigh, "Honey, I wanted to propose something to you, for Friday."

"What?" you ask him.

"I'd like to take you somewhere," he replies in a mysterious tone making you very curious.

"Where?" you ask him hoping he will tell you.

"I'll see you on Thursday for class and then I hope you'll say yes for Friday." he resumes.

"Whatever it is, it's fine," you reply, "You know I trust you."

"I know," you hear him sigh "Where are you?"

"In my room, I'm already in bed-I haven't had dinner, I'm not hungry," you reply.

"Why?"

"Nothing. . . I was thinking about you," you answer him in a whisper. "I wish it was already Wednesday night," you confide to him.

You hear him smile, "I know, I wish that too."

"How are you?" you ask him.

"Stitches are pulling a little, but no big deal, baby. Besides, now that I hear you, it's so much better." you smile "Would you like to try something together now?" he asks, you furrow your brow.

From a distance?

"Tell me." you invite him to continue intrigued by his proposal.

"Imagine me there with you now," and you don't struggle to imagine him in your room, you don't struggle to think of him lying on his side next to you, kissing you softly and telling you how beautiful and perfect you are for him, you shudder "can you think of me there with you?" his voice is so warm and husky.

You close your eyes and for a moment you can almost feel his hands cupping your face gently, your breath getting shorter, "Yes." you reply intrigued and at the same time holding your breath.

"Now, touch yourself, touch your breasts the way you'd like me to touch you," you gasp realizing what you're doing together, you've never done it before, but you've heard about it and doing it with him turns you on like crazy.

You touch yourself exactly as he does in that firm but gentle way. Your breath breaks. "Gently." he says in a husky tone of voice that causes you to shiver.

You do what he says, you close your eyes surrendering to his voice and the sensations you are experiencing.

"Now open your legs." he orders and you execute "How you feel?"

You gasp, you don't know how to feel, you don't know what to do, but you wish he was here with you, on the top of you kissing you all over.

"Joel. . . I wish you were here." you gasp.

"I am. Now reach down with your hand and touch yourself there." you hear noises on the other side of the phone, you can't help but wonder if he's touching himself too, you wonder what he's like, you clench your bottom lip between your teeth moaning just at the thought "I can almost feel your soft breasts in my hands, it drives me crazy. . ." he says after a while "I can even see the expression on your face, oh shit..." you swallow imagining that he's giving himself pleasure right now "Are you wet?" he asks.

"Yes." you answer shakily, "J - Joel..." you moan sliding two fingers inside you, you tighten your lips feeling your walls contract around your fingers, your breath gets shorter and shorter, shivers ripple your skin, "Joel... I ... it's so good ... I wish you were here."

"I'm with you." he replies, "I'm touching you there, baby." his breath is panting, you imagine him lying there, touching himself, you imagine him with his face tense, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed "Stick a second finger inside you."

"I'm doing it," you reply in an even more trembling tone, you are close to the edge, "Really? Then stick another finger in," you hear him with shortness of breath. You do as he says, "Oh God, Joel... I..." your shivers are getting stronger and stronger "I'm going to... I'm... Joel... oh, God." you groan louder closing your eyes and folding your legs, it was the strongest climax you have ever felt up to that moment.

You don't talk for a couple of minutes, just listen to your heavy breathing. You wonder if he came too, what he looks like when he comes, the look on his face now, what he would have told you to do, what he would have said to you.

"Joel?"

"Sweetheart,"

"I..." love you "I want you with all my being." you tell him, you hear him sigh, as you sit in the middle of the bed still shaken from your climax, "I know it's the same for you too."

"You right." he admits, "I want to hold you tight to me as I make you come, I want to see the look on your face, I want to feel you clench around me and scream my name." you feel wet again just thinking about it and the image of you underneath him sinking inside you, you're short of breath again just thinking about it.

"Joel..." you don't know what to say.

"Don't say anything. Maybe I had not to. . ."

"Joel," you say "don't be sorry, I liked that." you quickly reassure him fearing that he is about to apologize for what the two of you shared a few moments ago "You know, I've been thinking about what you told me about the contest." you tell him changing completely the subject "I don't think I can sign up, Seattle is so far away. . too far away from you."

You hear him breathing heavily, "You don't have to be afraid, you know? Going away doesn't mean forgetting."

"I remembered the quote differently." you point out "Going away means forgetting." you quote "And I don't want to forget or leave you." you add feeling a knot in your throat.

"Honey, I. . ."

"I can't wait for tomorrow!" you exclaim, "Then you'll tell me where you're going to take me, right?" you ask him, changing the subject again. You hear him sigh, "Is that a yes?"

"No." he answers you dryly "'s a surprise and I don't like to reveal it ahead of time." he explains.

You fall asleep thinking about him, about this mysterious surprise, about his words. You dream of leaving, of leaving your city, but of doing it with him. Even in your dreams you cannot think of a future without him. He has become too important to you.

The excitment spreads through your body, you begin to see stars as you feel the climax already mount inside you.

It's Thursday. You are wearing a slightly less warm jacket, heading for the Miller house. When he opens the door, you pounce on him, kissing him and feeling yourself immediately enveloped by his strong scent and his muscular arms closing around you in a pleasant grip. The two of you barely make it to his couch as you slowly undress each other between kisses. His scent of coffee, cologne and wood envelops your senses. You lie on your back as he kisses your neck and collarbones. He gently wraps your breasts in his hands in a languid caress before rolling gently your nipples between thumb and forefinger, his caresses break your breath each time. Your breath becomes even shorter when he takes one nipple in his mouth and sucks it and caresses it gently with his lips and tongue, you slip your hands into his hair closing your eyes when he moves to the other nipple with a pop.

"You're fucking perfect," he tells you while you open your eyes, you see him descend lower and lower leaving a trail of wet kisses, opening your legs as your eyes open wide for the surprise and the growing arousal.

"What you doing?" you ask him breathlessly as he pulls off your briefs.

"I want to try something new," he replies by giving you kisses in your inner thigh, you close your eyes for a moment savoring the soft contact of his lips and the rough contact of his beard, then you lean back on your elbows to observe what he does "If it bothers you, tell me, I stop."

When you realize what he's about to do, you open your eyes even wider and your breath stops, his kisses are getting closer and closer there to your womanhood, then you feel his tongue licks very slowly along your slit, "Fuck..." you gasp closing your eyes and leaning your head back on the sofa cushion.

Joel takes this as a sign that he can continue, you feel his fingers open you to him and his tongue poking between your folds, you squeeze your eyes tightly lost in that sea of pleasure he is giving you, you moan shamelessly surrendering yourself completely to the renewed pleasure he is giving you.

Then, his tongue hits that little bundle of nerves making you see stars behind your eyelids.

"Mmmh, mmh..." you groan unable to say anything else, you open your mouth gasping , you hear him moaning against you, and his hot breath against your intimacy sends more bursts of pleasure.

"You're so good, I'd stay like this forever," he tells you, you open your eyes and seeing him there between your legs giving you pleasure is an even more erotic feeling, your heart beats faster and faster, "You're so wet." he tells you alternating small hits with deeper licks.

"J - Joel... I - I..." you can no longer formulate a coherent thought.

"Let go, baby, I know you want it, let go," he tells you as he alternates his tongue with his fingers.

You tilt your head back closing your eyes and let out a long resounding moan as you feel your climax explode violently.

He continues to caress you even as your climax wanes, when you open your eyes, you see him intent on watching you and only then you notice your release on his beard and it's such a sensual sight, you tilt your head back again feeling your breathing still erratic.

"Joel... fuck, I..." you can't express your thoughts about it yet, it was beautiful, overwhelming, too much. You feel him move and when you open your eyes he is on you again, cupping your cheek, while with the other he keeps to the side of your head so as not to burden you too much.

"How are you feeling?" he asks you.

"W - well, it's..." you take a long breath "I don't know what to say." it's the only thing you are able to say, he smiles at you and you return his smile and then lean toward him and kiss him. It's a slow kiss, different from the ones you gave each other when you entered his house.

"We should have played." he says, smiling at you.

You giggle, "I'm naked, you just made me come, you're half-naked and you think about music?"

"Well, you right." he retorts by giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose making you close your eyes "You have other talents besides music." he adds making you open your eyes and look at you with a sweet expression.

He caresses your forehead which, only at that moment, you realize is covered with a light layer of sweat, caresses one cheek and places a light kiss on your lips. You decide to interrupt that cuddling moment, you want to think about him, you just want him to be as good as you are. This time, you are the one who will not take no for an answer.

You move to the side putting a hand on his bare chest and make him move making him lie down, you sit up, "Where are you going?" he asks thinking you were getting up. You don't answer, you lean toward him kissing him and then with your hands you go down his abdomen, then you look at him "If you don't want to, you don't have to..." he makes to say, but you interrupt him by kissing him on the lips again.

"Shut up and tell me what to do," you tell him, looking into his hazel eyes and you see his eyes become even darker, you settle between his legs, open his belt and then unbutton his pants, as you make these gestures you look for his eyes. You see his tense but at the same time yearning expression. He swallows and nods as if to reassure you that you are not doing wrong. He lifts his pelvis helping you take his pants off, he remains in boxers and his arousal is huge, you open your eyes wide in disbelief.

"It's not gonna fit," you comment in a breathy voice.

"It will, don't be afraid." he tells you noticing your expression.

"I'm not," you tell him, fear no, but concern yes. He sits up kissing you on the lips making a hand wander from your cheek until he slips it into your hair as if to reassure you, then he goes back to lying down and helps you take his boxers off and, if covered his erection seemed big to you, it's even bigger now. He's big, you swallow, you're fascinated by the veins running through him and the round pinkish glans. "May I?" you ask without being able to stop looking at his cock.

"Yes." he answers you, holding his breath as you grip him with your hand. He's hard, but at the same time soft, you find yourself swallowing, you can't wrap him completely, then he wraps your hand in his and moves it up and down, "Like this," he whines and when he has figured out that you have figured it out how to give him pleasure, he lets go to your hand and surrenders to your rhythmic caress.

You don't know whether it's more erotic to clench his intimacy in your fist or whether it's more so his tense expression, his clenched jaw, his lips parted, his eyes closed, his heavy breathing that breaks as you reach the tip and return to the hilt, "Am I doing it right?" you ask him noticing a light layer of sweat on his forehead.

"Yeah. . . 's fine," he replies breathlessly "You're fucking perfect." he adds opening his eyes and looking at you focused on him, "You're a natural." he comments closing his eyes.

"This?" you ask him, alluding to the scrotum, you know what it is, but you don't know whether touching it's pleasant or bothersome.

"You can touch it if you want," he replies looking into your eyes through almost clenched teeth.

"And does it feel you good?" you ask him, he nods clenching his jaw again and closing his eyes, you resume to stroke him and he in response makes an almost animalistic sound "Did I hurt you?"

"No, go on, go on." he answers you, at that moment you notice a drop of transparent and viscous fluid leaking from his glans, you swallow, you don't know if you'll do well, but you run your hand over him and he almost jumps opening his eyes suddenly "Fuck. . ."

"Hurt?" you ask him spreading that liquid along his shaft.

He reaches out to your breast, squeezes it gently, while you gasp, closing your eyes for a moment. His large, warm hand gently caresses first one breast and then the other, at the same time you continue your stroking movements.

"No, you're. . ." he swallows exhaling noisily through his nostrils as you continue pumping alternating between a slower and a faster gesture until he opens his eyes and exclaims "Stop!" this exclamation leaves you dumbfounded "Stop." he repeats in a peremptory tone and you stop immediately, "Lie down." he tells you making you lie down almost abruptly.

"Did I do something wrong?" you ask him worried that you hurt him.

"No, I want to come on you." you'd be blushed at another time if you had heard him talk that way, but not now, not with him towering over you as he pleasures himself with quick movements, "Hold still like that, honey." he tells you as he continues to touch himself and groaning and moaning uncontrollably. The image of him on top of you, his fist pumping his cock, his moans getting louder and louder send you into ecstasy, then a whitish hot liquid leaks out of his tip and squirts onto your belly. He lets out an animalistic cry as he closes his eyes, then all is silent. There is only his erratic breathing and you staring at him with lust-filled eyes and observing the pitiful state he is in now.

After a while he opens his eyes and looks you in the eye, "Hold on, honey, I'll go get you a towel," he says getting to his feet and moving away from you. You wait for him without being able to stop looking at what he has left on you, you never thought that you could make him come.

He lays the washcloth on your belly helping you clean yourself, then adds, "If you want, you can take a shower." you still nod wordlessly. When you are completely clean, you get up and throw the washcloth away, look at him and find him staring at you. You never thought you'd see him naked or you'd have been able to stand in his presence completely naked, you thought you'd feel uncomfortable or that you'd run to cover yourself right away, but instead. . .

He comes up to you wrapping his arm around you at waist level bringing you closer to him and kissing you deeply, "We can shower together" he says kissing you softly making you smile.

You remember when you first thought that you would want Joel with you in the shower, nothing had happened between the two of you yet, but you already wanted him. You didn't imagine what it would really be like, you only had an idea, a vague and imprecise idea.

You brought things with you to play, but you don't play.

You live.

The next day, you are back at his place, he is waiting for you outside his house. He smiles at you, gives you a little hug, he's afraid that someone might see you and therefore get you into trouble. Then, you get into his SUV and drive off. You can't stop looking at him, you smile at him, you are happy. He too returns the look and the smile by intertwining his hand with yours and gently kissing the back of your hand. You don't know where you are going, but you don't care, you are with him: wherever will be fine.

Joel drives for what to you seems only a few minutes, slowly leaving the city and turning onto a gravel road, the vegetation is thicker there. You look puzzled at the driver, who nevertheless watches the road carefully; you look ahead again, trying to figure out where you are going. It is not the cabin, but where. . .?

When he stops, before your eyes there's a hill overlooking the Lake, you open your lips and eyes wide, then you look toward Joel who is watching you with smiling eyes, you go back to look toward the Lake surrounded by trees of many pastel colors. You are breathless.

You look at Joel with bright eyes, remembering when you told him what you had never done, and on your bucket list there was actually going to the Lake. The water is barely rippled by the wind, but the thing that fascinates you most moving from the cobblestone road is climbing the two sheer steel ramps that pass through the woods. You place your hands on the balustrade and enjoy the sight of it all.

The man next to you follows you silently, says nothing, just watches you. His eyes are shining, a light illuminating his face too. Joel's heart is full of joy at knowing you are happy, at seeing your eyes full of light, he would like to see you always like this.

Perhaps it is a foolish hope, but it is what he hopes for you.

You turn to him in a long silent smile.

You don't know what to say, he has left you completely speechless and breathless. You look at him spellbound, his hazel eyes in that light seem to be the color of honey, his gently windswept hair is a messy cluster of dark curls, his lips curved upward.

His is a heavenly portrait in a breathtaking place.

"I love you." you tell him before you think about. But those three words came out of your heart after all you've been through together, after all your first times together, after he brought you to this place.

Joel cannot hide the emotion that crosses his face, his eyes, "Oh, baby." he tells you, sinking his hands into your hair and resting them at the base of the nape of your neck, "I love you too."