#love in a bottle... what a novel concept

[riis-reborn]

If alcohol bad coping mechanism for loss and grief then why warm fuzzy feeling inside

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[hanahanumana]

From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

[the-force-awakens]

Two Birds, One Stone

Pairing: poe dameron/f!reader (no pronouns) Rating: explicit Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: smut (18+ only): fingering, oral (m receiving) unprotected piv, alcohol consumption (both parties are sober tho), friends to lovers, one night stand (or is it?) A/N: I have no idea why this concept burrowed into my head the way it did or how I ended up almost writing 5k of it but??? here we are.

You glance around the rec room - Snap and Karé making eyes at each other in the corner, Tallie and Paige already making out at another table - then back at Poe who is staring studiously ahead following his unintentional slip up that he's frustrated in a very particular kind of way, and wraps his lips around the bottle of coruscant cooler he bribed Yolo for. 

And it's gotta be the sip you've taken of your drink that makes you blurt, out of the blue, "There's me.”

His entire frame goes carefully rigid, enough so that you almost want to take the words back — almost but not quite. Poe lowers his drink slowly, casting you a skeptical look. "What?”

You shift slightly, giving him a casual shrug. "I said there's me. I'm not under your command, no reason for you to feel guilty. And -” despite the brazen nature of your suggestion, you feel warmth climb up your neck to your face - "it's been a while for me too. Two birds, one stone. Well - one dick, I guess.”

His eyebrows had nearly shot up to his hairline, but they lower now, something shifting in his expression as he studies yours. "You're serious?”

At this, you can't help but feel a little offended and you don't bother disguising that as you reply, "No, I just decided to screw with you about screwing you - yes, I'm being serious.”

He snorts at that, pushes away his bottle and turns in his seat, looking around the room before his gaze lands back on yours, a gentle heat building in his eyes that makes you falter and wonder if you've made a terrible mistake in suggesting this. "You know how many people we're going to hear an 'I told you so' from if they find out?”

You grin, leaning forward and daring to place your hand high on his thigh, enough that Poe's breath audibly hitches. “Do you really care what they have to say if it means getting off tonight?”

"I - uh - nope," he lands on empathically, popping the 'p' as he slides off his bar stool, offering you his hand to help you down off yours. It's sweet and he's done it a million times - but now it makes your heart trip over itself. "You sure about this?”

You are, in the sense that you know you want this. But what you're not so sure about is if it's a good idea, when his sheepish smile and crinkled eyes alone give you butterflies. Knowing his body intimately like you've suggested seems like playing with fire. 

"Yeah. You?” Because he hasn't actually said yet, though you know he wouldn't have budged if he hadn't made his mind up already - if it wasn't a yes, he'd still be at the bar.

"Surer than I've ever been," Poe replies with a crooked grin, squeezing your hand slightly and - yeah. This was a really fucking bad idea.

But you also really don't care.

You wonder if Poe can feel you watching him the entire walk back to his quarters. Nothing about the trek back seems significant yet at the same time incredibly surreal: you know where he keeps his flimsiplast blueprints of classic starfighter models hidden away for safe keeping, the name of that really naughty erotic romance novel he secretly loves even though the ending made him cry, you've curled up in his bed watching horror movies while he used you as a human shield and peering at the screen from behind your shoulder (which you found particularly endearing, considering how daring he is in every other facet of life, and also because it warms you from the inside out that he trusts you to protect him). 

And now you're going to know what it's like to have him spread out against his mattress, flushed and panting underneath you. The thought sends desire zipping down your back so intense that for the first time since leaving the rec room, you drop your eyes away from Poe - something like guilt surfacing over the thick wave of arousal at the fantasy you've conjured. Is it really wrong to think about it when it's about to be a reality?

You're yanked out of your thoughts by the soft beeps of Poe punching in the code to his room - Leia's birthday - and the pneumatic hiss of the door sliding open. His smile is genuine and earnest as he motions you to go in first.

It's surprisingly clean, cleaner than it'd been the night before last when you'd unceremoniously dropped onto his bed complaining about Laszlo being a dick during your shift (though there was never a time when he wasn't a dick) — so you assume Poe must've found the time and energy to tidy this morning before his patrol, or BB-8 did. Speaking of which -

“Where's Bee?” You ask as Poe steps in after you, the door sliding close behind him. Though you don't turn around, you sense him moving closer - slowly, like he's either trying to work out his next move or if he's not sure when you're supposed to begin. 

"He wanted to spend some time with the astromech pool,” Poe answers, giving in and lightly dragging his knuckles down the length of your bare arm, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. "Probably won't be back until later.”

"Lucky,” you breathe, heart rate picking up already because he's never touched you like this before. You were used to being touched by him because Poe was incredibly tactile and affectionate, but those had all been fleeting because despite his touchy nature, Poe didn't linger. 

He's lingering now, though, stepping close enough you can nearly feel his chest against your back. He flexes his hand out, lets his palm slide back up as he replies, "Yeah, luck seems to be going around tonight.”

Ordinarily you'd have rolled your eyes - hell, the temptation to do it is so instinct you nearly do, but it's overpowered by how the sincerity of his voice makes you melt. 

And melting is really not ideal. Neither is the way your traitorous knees already want to buckle just from this, from his close proximity that's still nowhere near close enough to sate you — either of you, really. 

You turn slowly around, breath catching low in your chest as you finally get a glimpse of Poe's face, of the unmasked want darkening his features and his eyes, which unabashedly rake over your frame like he's been waiting for permission to do so for a while. 

The thought that maybe he wants you almost as bad as you want him makes you clench your thighs together, and soothes some of the sting of the thought simmering in the back of your head which is that you want more than one night of this. 

No, that's not quite it either. 

You want this, you want - need - to know what it's like to have him inside you, to hear him moan your name, watch him unravel; you wouldn't take back your offer now and you're sure as hell not going to regret it later, not when Poe is looking down promisingly at you like that.

You want him in every single way you can have a person and it terrifies you because you've never felt like that for anyone — because sex has always just been a bit of fun for you, a way to stop thinking, to feel good. 

But it already feels like so much more than that right now. You feel like by inviting yourself into his bed, you've cracked open your ribcage so that all the love you've been hiding can spill out. 

"Can I kiss you?” Poe asks, deadly serious as he zeroes in on your mouth, before flicking up to meet your eyes - searching for any sign of hesitance. 

"Please.” It comes out breathier and a little more desperate than you meant for, but you don't think you can wait any longer. And it seems like Poe's patience has run out as well, because he surges forward, pulling you flush against him as he cups your face, kisses you hard.

You open your mouth to him, groan when he slides his tongue in, when his blazing hot hand meets bare skin as your shirt lifts up when you go to wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, your other hand sliding up his stubbled jaw — it prickles against your palm and you moan again, thinking of what it'd feel like against your thighs.

Poe nudges you forward, keeping you steady as he walks you backwards to his bunk - like you don't already have the layout to his room memorized, you're in it more than your own - and you're struck with three simultaneous realizations at once:

Poe Dameron was as good at kissing as he was flying

You probably could have done this without kissing him at all, kept this impersonal, kept some line in the sand of your relationship with him

You were about to have sex with your best friend. 

And some-fucking-how the least terrifying on the list was the third one.

You break apart from each other slowly, exchanging a weighted look that's filled to the brim of unsaid things and emotions clawing their way to the surface like a drowning man desperate for air; Poe's cheeks are already flushed and when he shifts closer, you feel his hard length pressing against the seam of his trousers. 

Taking a step back from him, you toe off your boots, immediately knocking them aside and out of the way with your ankle as Poe kicks his off. As he shucks his jacket off, you peel your shirt up and over your head — and are immediately rewarded with the sound of Poe inhaling sharply because you didn't wear a bra tonight. 

You don't normally, the weight of the straps often giving you migraines, so you usually opt for tank tops underneath: you hadn't worn one tonight, hadn't made an effort to be remotely put together because your plans had involved having a drink with Poe and then crashing for the night after such a long day - which, technically speaking, nothing about that has changed.

You sit down on the edge of the mattress, which is a bad idea because it puts you at eye-level where his trousers are tented. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you're reaching for him, undoing his belt with nimble fingers. 

"What are you - oh fuck -” Poe sucks in a sharp breath as you yank down his trousers and underwear in one quick motion, revealing his thick cock. It's curved up, towards his tummy, and already leaking precum.

You pull him closer, fingernails digging probably too harshly into his thighs. You glance up at him under your eyelashes, find him staring at you with dark, frantic eyes as his chest heaves. He's already unraveling and you've barely begun. The thought does very little to help the gathering dampness in your underwear, but it sure motivates you into returning your focus to the task at hand. 

You don't immediately go for his dick though - instead you lean in, pressing your nose against the soft skin of his thigh, ghosting your lips across it and you're struck with the exigent need to mark him. Which shouldn't be on the table, it shouldn't. But the thought of leaving behind evidence of tonight on his body, one that he won't be able to ignore, that will remain for a day or two and that he'll have to look at in the shower or when he dresses or (hopefully) when he gets himself off — makes something thrash in self-satisfaction behind your ribcage. 

Something that's immediately replaced with a wave of disappointment: you don't have any claim on him, even if you know him better than anyone else in the galaxy. Even if you're a little bit hopelessly in love with him. 

So instead of pinching his skin between your teeth, you move further up to his neglected cock and lick a long, slow swipe up the underside of his shaft, which makes Poe gasp roughly, his head tipping back and exposing his throat.

Scratch that. You're completely and utterly gone for your best friend, no ‘little bit’ about it. Which, again, is not ideal so you shove the thought away angrily and take it out on Poe by swallowing him down.

What you can't take in your mouth, you wrap your fist around, jerking him off at the same time that you savor the weight and taste of him on your tongue, every groan and whimper that falls from his lips.

It doesn't feel like it's been long at all when his hips buck harshly into your mouth and you hear him swear, bitten off. He grabs your hair, pulling you off abruptly, his breathing erratic as he releases his grip on you, rubbing your skull apologetically with his thumb. "Not gonna last if you keep that up, maker fuck, you're good at that.” 

"Oh, did you underestimate how good I'd be?” You retort, scooting backwards on the bed when Poe gestures for you to, giving him room to crawl in after you. 

"No.” It's a surprisingly clipped answer, and there's a weight to it that gives you pause, trying to search his shadowed face for a deeper meaning because for once in his life, Poe isn't saying something. 

But before you can ask another question, he's ducking in to kiss you again, slowly as he settles over you, gently pushing until you're supine on your back, his body covering yours as he braces himself on his elbow so as to keep his full weight off you (not that you'd really mind), while letting his hand slide down to your neck, his thumb settling in at the dip of your throat and maker fuck that shouldn't feel so good. 

He wedges one thigh between your legs, grinding up and you nearly choke, whining his name against his lips - which has the delightful side effect of making Poe groan, bucking against you before having the audacity to pull his thigh back away from your core.

He tears his mouth away from yours, the hand that was around your throat sliding down your bare torso, stopping to thumb the underside of your nipple which has you arching up into his touch carelessly, eyelids fluttering shut so you miss his brief, pleased smile before he works his hand between your bodies. 

Poe pushes aside your underwear, dipping one finger inside you to the knuckle, making you both moan. "Gods, you're wet,” he sounds like he can't believe it, even though you can both hear the slickness as he drags his finger slowly around. "All this just from getting me off, baby?”

The endearment falls off his lips easily and without thought but it makes you clench down around him subconsciously as your mind grapples with the fact that this is actually happening, that his calloused finger is pressing up against your slick walls.

The realization thuds around your brain like an echoing drum, intensifying when he slides another finger in. The stretch is slow, stings a little because it's been a while since anyone's fingers but yours were down there, and Poe's are decidedly thicker. 

Longer too, evidently, because he's reaching a place that has sparks appearing behind your eyes, something sharp, full and hot building low in your stomach. You rock into his hand, nodding wordlessly as you try to chase your own high. "All for you," you hear yourself say, high-pitched and barely familiar to your own ears. 

“All for - gods,” his voice breaks down into something nonsensical as his fingers slide deeper inside, grinding against your walls and crooking back towards himself in a way that leaves the entire world muffled around you, your mouth dropping when he leans back on his knees, using his other hand to give attention to your neglected clit. "All for me," he murmurs again, incredulous while you whine and squirm, openly admiring your wrecked expression. "You gonna come for me, too?”

The combination of being stuffed full of his fingers, his clever ministrations against your clit and his makerdamned voice is enough to — you're not even sure what happens. You cum but it's nothing like anything that's happened before: instead of crashing over the edge and losing temporary awareness of your body, it's like you've surfaced from the deepest part of the ocean and are sucking in greedy lung-fulls of air, no longer crushed down by the unforgiving current pressure. 

Your whole body is trembling when Poe slowly removes his fingers, transfixed at the sight between your legs — before his eyes trail back to his fingers, which gleam in the low light with the thick evidence of your climax. He brings them up to his mouth, sucking away the residue: his eyes roll back like they do when his taste buds go alight with something you've baked together in the kitchens, an appreciative noise rumbling up his chest and going straight to your core as he drops his hand. 

He seems wrought with indecision for a moment - you can tell by the way his brow furrows, his tongue darting out to swipe along his bottom lip that he's thinking, considering his options while situated between your thighs.

You're too impatient for that: you breathe out his name, reaching for him and it breaks his reverie. He's back over you in an instant, kissing you again, parts long enough to murmur, "You taste so good.”

His praise makes you groan, and you drag him down to kiss him again, fingernails scraping his scalp - which he seems to like by the way he jerks into you with a gasp, reminding you of just how badly want him inside you.

"Poe, come on -”

"Anyone ever tell you you're impatient?” Poe asks around a grin, but he obeys anyway (which makes your brain light up with interest), and strokes himself roughly, going to line up with your entrance. 

You snarf at that. “Yeah, you have - repeatedly. Last I checked you weren't any better.”

He notches the head of his cock against you and your breath stalls, grip tightening in his hair as Poe slowly sinks in another few inches. 

"I'm patient about - hnngh - some things,” he says, face pinched as he unexpectedly stops. He's not even halfway in yet and already you feel unbearably full. You can't imagine what it'll be like when he's in all the way. "The important things - those I'm - fuck you're soft and -”

He makes another wordless noise of appreciation, hands gripping your thighs so tightly that you know there will be bruises there later - and, oh, how that makes your stomach corkscrew with desire. 

You exhale shakily, slacken your hold on his curls, try to summon the energy to speak, to help him breathe through it — he said it's been awhile since the last time he was with anyone, after all. “What are you patient about? Not the first cup of caf, I can tell you that.” 

He huffs a noise that might be a laugh, moving just that much deeper inside of you. Poe's eyes are squinched shut, eyelashes long and dark against the tips of cheekbones. “I - this - been waitin' for this - been -” his sentence fades in a shared synchronized moan between the two of you as he sinks in fully, his cock disappearing inside of you. 

If it's possible to be cock drunk instantly, you wonder if you aren't now, because everything feels heady and light as you adjust to the feel of him, his words bouncing around in your head but not quite sticking. You clench around him unintentionally and Poe swears, dropping his head to your shoulder. 

Belatedly, you realize he's still rambling — you open your mouth to start to interrupt, tell him he can move now, when he says, "This is so better than I imagined it'd be, you feel so good, you -”

He stops abruptly, going as carefully still as he had in the rec room, this time because he can feel you tense beneath him. Slowly, Poe lifts his head up from your shoulder, dark brown eyes flicking between yours panickedly, "It - I just - I meant -” 

You press your finger to his lips, stopping him from going on another spiel and - for good measure - you let your other hand slide around the curve of his back to keep him in place, in case he gets the idea of pulling out of you following his unintentional bombshell.

"It's better than I thought it'd be too,” you tell him softly, trailing your fingertip down his kiss-swollen lips as your heart pounds. You know Poe better than anyone, better than yourself, yet there's still a seed of anxiety sprouting in the back of your mind that you're misunderstanding him, that he did just mean it's better than he thought it would be back at the bar.

You ignore it, forging ahead to confess, "I just wish it was for more than one night.”

Poe pushes up on his elbow in surprise. The sudden movement tips the angle of your hips, so that he pushes in even deeper, the tip of him hitting some sweet spot that has your stomach flipping. 

It also means that his face is caught between pleasure and revelation, which is a funny mix but it just softens his countenance to the point that affection swells up your throat: you love him so much that it isn't fair. 

"Doesn't have to be if you don't want it to,” Poe says, shyness creeping into his voice. It's rare, hearing that from him - you're so used to his confidence that the absence of it is so stark and surreal you nearly forget how you ended up in this conversation. 

"I want every night with you, every morning. I want you. Not just like this - though, this is -” experimentally, you lift yourself up, grinding into him and making you both groan - "good, this is really fucking good. I want…want you. All of you.”

You don't realize you've closed your eyes until Poe taps you lightly on your sternum: when you blink them back open, he's smiling softer than you've ever seen him. “You have me, you've had me for a long time. Maker, I've wanted you so bad -” he laughs, rakes his free hand through his hair - "didn't expect to tell you like this though.”

And you can't help but laugh too, because everything is backwards and completely perfect too. You hitch your leg up around his hip, pressing the heel off your foot against the small of his back, opening yourself up to him. “Somehow I can't imagine it happening any other way…but do you think we could reconvene on laughing at how ridiculous we are later and get back to the fucking now?”

"Yeah, I can do that.” Poe leans back down, grinning broadly as his lips find yours, kissing you long and slow as he finally pulls out, thrusting back in with a lazy grind, letting you feel every vein and ridge of his cock drag against your walls. 

"Oh - just like that - more -” you break off as Poe tilts his head, licking into your mouth, tongue slick against yours as he snakes one hand between your bodies to thumb at your clit while he continues his devastating slow pace.

Slow but hard, snapping up into you just like you want, adding just enough force at the apex of each thrust that you see stars, electricity zipping up your spine as the throbbing between your legs crests —

Your thighs tense around Poe as you come, his name a jagged noise on your tongue as you cling to him through the haze, trying to catch your breath even as Poe continues to rut into you, desperate for his own release. 

He's well beyond words now, reduced to grunts and the occasional whimper, clutching your knee - rubbing the bump of bone absently with his thumb, even as he chases his own high. 

Eager to help him get there, you slide your hands back into his hair like he seemed to like earlier, tugging on his curls as you lean in and knock your mouths together in a messy kiss, trying to meet his thrusts with your own, clenching weakly around him. 

It's when you tug on his bottom lip that Poe finally comes, spilling inside of you for what feels simultaneously like lightyears and mere seconds, dropping his head against the curve of your neck as he lets go of your leg so you can straighten it out finally.

He doesn't pull out immediately and you're glad, gladder still when Poe wedges his arms around your back, drawing you closer - kisses your sweaty skin at your collarbone. The kind of sleepy, thoughtless affection you've been dreaming of for years. 

Eventually after a while of luxuriating in the honey-like bliss that's enveloped you both as you come down from your respective highs, Poe perches his chin in the valley of your breasts, which makes the juxtaposition of his serious face all the stranger as he studies you. "I love you - is that okay?”

There's a million and one ways you've imagined him saying those three words to you, and a million and one ways you've imagined responding to them.

In this one, you knock your knee against his ribs, grinning crookedly when you reply, “Only if it's okay that I love you too,” before tugging him up to kiss his smiling mouth again - because you can. 

And not just tonight. You'll get to kiss him in the morning when you wake up together, still entwined together, and again before his next patrol; you get to have him not for just one night, but for every night, as long as you both want.

You wrap your arms around him, hugging his warm body to your own as sleep begins to pull you both under, his weight a comfortable pressure against you, leaving you utterly content.

This, you decide sleepily, was single handedly the best idea you've ever had.

[harmonic-melodii]

Writerly Questionnaire

Thanks, @davycoquette, It's time for me to drop some more lore about myself! My answers will most likely end up longwinded. And here's a link to the original post too for the questions if you'd like to fill them out yourself! Link

About You

When did you start writing?

I started writing around 2016, so when I was about 12 years old. I was already an avid reader and devoured every single book I came across. Back then my stories were much more fantastical, but the passion never died.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

I will never write Historical Fiction despite it being one of my favorite genres to read. Books that delve into alternative history or simple romance stories that take place around historic events have always held a special place in my heart. Why will I never write in that genre? Because I'm not built for the research that goes into creating those settings.

I also enjoy the occasional romance novel, though I don't write romance-specific stories. The lightheartedness is a much-needed break from the gritty stories and concepts I write. At most I include romantic subplots in some things, but I don't like focusing on romance as a plot.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

Not for my fantasy works. For sci-fi, I would like to emulate Ray Bradbury. I've always loved his books and short stories. And how he wrote about the human condition and its interactions with technology for better and worse. Though I cannot say I have written anything as profound yet.

As for poetry, I'm heavily inspired by many African-American poets like Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. As a young black woman myself, I hold a lot of respect for similar artists in my discipline that came before me. And while my poems are inspired by my experiences and struggles with race, I believe they can bridge gaps of understanding.

Overall, I have never been compared to any authors.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

My writing spaces are as chaotic and fluid as me. Sometimes I will be sitting at my desk with a water bottle and typing on my computer. Other times I'll lie in bed at 2 am typing furiously into my notes app. Hell, I have a tiny spiral notebook that's a bunch of index cards with entire plots and character profiles. I write wherever and whenever I can.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Music. I create countless playlists, some of which I'll share soon. I probably have over 70 total. Not all for my WIP or other characters that exist, but all of them are for writing in some form or another. Otherwise, I try to regularly consume new media. That is a lot harder because it takes so much energy for me to engage with new content, but when it works it works.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Not necessarily. Very little of my inspiration comes from the beach town I grew up in. Rather I'm influenced by places where I've endured insane life trauma. Don't worry, there's no trauma dumping here. I want to write about those places because it allows me to visit them again safely and on my own terms.

As for people, yes a handful of my characters are inspired by people I've met. Some are not the best. But hey, it makes for decent inspiration.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

I feel like I always gravitate towards writing about religion in some form or another. I was raised Christian myself and currently identify as Agonistic. I like deconstructing faith and what it means to believe in something greater than yourself. So it doesn't entirely surprise me that I circle back to religion in one way or another.

I also write a lot about family dynamics and the platonic love or lack thereof within those dynamics. And about the limits of love and what is considered "too much".

Your Characters

Me? Talking about the lesbians in my novel?? Yep!

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Hands down my favorite character in the cast is Aaliyah. She's the main protagonist. An optimistic college freshman, who has an intense thirst for knowledge. She was raised by her father, Ezra, all on his own. Ever since she could remember it's only been the two of them. She's funny, sweet, but very sheltered at the end of the day.

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

I think I'd be decent friends with Graham. She's a guitarist in a rock band. A little rough around the edges, but I'd love to hear the music she plays.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

It'd probably be Ezra. He's a strict man and quite judgmental of people. If anything he'd dislike me first and I'd simply have to fire back on principle.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

In general, all of my characters start as an idea or concept. For example: Graham came to fruition because I thought it'd be funny for the man who oversees campus safety at this small college to have a rebellious daughter. Then slowly, I add more details about who she is as a person. I ask "why?" questions all of the time. Once I have a solid idea of who they are, I connect them to other characters. Sometimes relationships come before the solid idea and they help.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

I write so many lgbtq+ and people of color. I genuinely don't think I have many cishet white characters. Because if they're not straight, then they're bisexual, lesbian, or asexual. I write a handful of trans people (Graham my darling beloved is trans). And I don't write a ton of white people because I enjoy writing things that represent me and my communities.

When it comes to this specific unnamed WIP the characters share themes of guilt, love, and rebellion. Which is what creates the perfect storm of the plot they find themselves in.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

I use picrews to imagine what my characters look like. I don't draw and I prefer the blank canvas I get with avatar creators. It's very freeing.

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I write to share my thoughts and feelings. My opinions will be heard one way or another.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Honestly, most comments are motivating enough. Just the idea that someone looked at my work and felt compelled to write something about it is enough for me.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Character building and writing tension. I feel both go hand in hand when you're writing scenes. The stronger the character the better potential for a tangible relationship between the two.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Professors have complimented me on tension and character-building. I've been told I have the ability to really dig things out.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

It's fun and cool. Best hobby ever!

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Definitely. In fact, I'd probably write in obscure and weird places. Like I'd get paint and write lines of poetry on the street. Things like that. All of my writing doesn't need to be read, I just like getting it out of my head.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

As someone who has also written fanfiction, I don't care what other people enjoy. I write for myself first and foremost. Because for every single person who doesn't like my writing, I know there's at least a handful of people who love it. If I focused on what people enjoyed reading I simply wouldn't be writing my WIP novel.

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

Tag list time !

@sodaliteskull @honeybewrites @cowboybrunch @writeblragenda

+ Open tag to anyone else who wants to participate!

[runawaymun]

If no one else has asked yet - I need to know about "MGME except it’s my OC from my sci fi novel."

This is just a really intriguing concept!

AHHHHHH yes I was really hoping someone would ask about this. While I love all my OCs obvi this one is my big blorbo from this particular project.

Ask me about my not-yet-written-fics from this list

MGME except it's my OC from my sci fi novel

so, this OC is very much Elrian coded. Or rather, she's a very similar character, I guess? That was actually one of my concerns while writing Stars -- to make them two distinctly different characters.

she comes from a very similar background to Elrian actually, just in a sci fi context and from a very different cultural set.

The other important thing to note here is that my sci fi has fantasy elements, and the OC's main culture is polytheistic. Her specific house worships a deity that's meant to grant immortality and prophetic dreams -- at great cost.

This OC has a lot of prophetic dreams.

Unlike Elrian, she does not have an Elrond figure to help her get out of her shithole of a life. She has to do that all by herself.

But of course I got to thinking haha what if she had Elrond.

And then I was like--- hold on, wait a second.....wait.... what if...

The main isekai force here are her dreams. I'm thinking like, her actual physical self is retained in her world but she gets transported into Middle Earth

Language barrier obvs because I'm a sucker for language barriers.

Elladan and Elrohir find her and are like "???? random???? woman/young girl (I have not decided at what point in her life she gets transported. The book series follows her life from about the age of fourteen up until her late thirties. My one stipulation is that she probably needs to have zero of her kids that she has yet). Anyway Elladan and Elrohir don't speak her language obvs and she's just like "well this is a werd af dream what the fuck."

They figure if anyone will know what she's speaking or at least what language root it is, their dad will.

So off to Rivendell they go.

(There is an alternate version of this actually because I can't decide between the two of her getting transported to the second age and having a much younger Elrond -- and this being set in Lindon and Gil-Galad's court, which I think would play off of this OC's backstory in very interesting ways....)

let's go with that because it's more interesting. The only further fun part of the Rivendell branch is just more of SOL and the weird dream back-and-forth.

But there are several cultural misunderstandings that can actually come from her being in Lindon around Gil-Galad because she comes from a god-king culture (and is, in fact, a crucial member of her particular god-king's household who is, you guessed it, striving for immortality and has so far succeeded. This is like.... a numenor situation? basically? I think that's the closest comparable situation).

I do love the idea of younger Elrond trying so very hard to learn her language and connect with her and figure out where tf she belongs.

And basically, when she goes to sleep in her world she's transported to middle earth, and when she goes to sleep in middle earth she wakes up in her world

And there's just this awful back and forth and it's very jarring and hard on her because her life in her world fucking sucks

And honestly I would love for her to find a way to stay in Middle Earth.

But basically it's an excuse for some magic, and my good ol fav trope of 'healing from trauma and learning to trust' -- and also I feel like once she and Elrond get to a point where they're able to speak in a broken mish-mosh of each other's languages there's potential for her to absolutely spill her guts because she still thinks this is a dreamscape.

which is great for her because this character is INCREDIBLY angry and INCREDIBLY traumatized and she bottles up all of her emotions.

I have not worked out how I get her to stay in middle earth though. That's the problem. Unless she makes some kind of deal with the Valar or something idk?

I am probably not explaining this well this one is soooo vague. It mostly consists of conversations between this OC and Elrond and a heck of a lot of cultural miscommunication and assumptions about things.

but she would hate Gil-Galad she would hate him sooooo much haha

poor Elrond trying to explain that Gil-Galad is actually really cool and not a god-king wtf

also there's that fun aspect of like. The house she works for is attempting to achieve immortality at any cost (and murdering a fuck ton of people to do it) and THESE people are immortal???????? Who did YOU guys murder to do it?????? hello?????

I'm rambling.

Thank you for coming to my incredibly nebulous "there's no plot here" tedtalk.

In conclusion

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 13/4 - 2

Yup! The Alpha timeline offers a novel solution to the problem of Sylladex capacity. If the Captcha index only needs to be consistent in the Alpha timeline, then it doesn't have to worry about reserving index space for every possible item.

If this is how things work, then the Sylladex isn't predestined, per se - it's enforced. Everyone has a finite set of objects that they're allowed to captchalogue, and if you pick up anything else, your index is invalidated - and your timeline is pruned.

You could still call it predestination, if you were so inclined, but that's only partially accurate. It's more that you're coerced into 'choosing' one particular destination - or else.

I'm loving these voice headcanons. Scratch as Emperor Belos is inspired.

What the hell? That's amazing.

Based on my (admittedly limited) experience with web administration, it's not all that surprising, either. Hacks like this are shockingly common.

No worries! The vast majority of followers don't actually interact with these posts' notes, but I still assume they're reading them. Just a quirk of Tumblr's norms.

My best guess is that the drones would arrive when the troll is on the cusp of adulthood, shortly before they leave Alternia. That would give them as much time as possible to form potent relationships - which would, in turn, give the Empire the most potent wrigglers.

I still think it would motivate younger trolls, though. I mean, if all single people are executed at eighteen, you might feel a little pressure to enter the dating game early.

Never forget the Der-sayer incident.

Rereading it, Karkat scans as sad, angry, resigned, confused, lonely, and trying to bottle up an avalanche of "FRESH RAGE."

I think we're both half right, here - he's drowning in a tide of pretty much every negative emotion imaginable.

Thank you!! We triple-checked, and it seems like Tumblr ate the first half of this ask :(

Much appreciated, though!! I love that metaphor for coming up with scattershot theories.

Oh, that makes sense. Can't believe I missed a Hussie pun, but that one was a little harder to notice.

This makes it sound like the universe is tethering her to life, just as she tethers it. What is up with this lady?

That's true! I'm pretty sure it's both.

I'd always imagined Equius as being pretty tall. They're all the same height in sprite art though, so I think it's another case of sprite art being non-representative.

I'm withholding judgement on the Meowrails until we get more interactions between them. Their early conversations were a little worrying, but it's possible that Hussie hadn't fully fleshed out the concept of Moirallegiance at the time. We'll see how they interact now that how their quadrant works has been expanded on.

[ Problem sleuth is still hosted there😁- C ]

It still seems to work for me!

Oh, fun! I guess John's birthday does sort of fall into a half-pattern with the others.

Still, it would have made more sense for him to be in a line with the other Players - his Chumhandle doesn't match theirs, either, so maybe John's just a weird case.

Thank you! I feel like this sort of analysis can only really be applied to fictional characters, though. Everything a character says or does is the result of a deliberate choice made by a writer, and I can use my knowledge of that fact to frame my analysis.

In real life, though, people just say shit - often for no reason, or for reasons they don't understand themselves. People are a lot more complicated than even the most well-written character, and understanding them requires a whole different skillset!

Someone also posted Hussie's author comment about this. It's been years since I watched the movie - and if I recall correctly, it was also pretty meta itself. Maybe I need to watch it again, as reading material for Homestuck.

ferretlady97 submitted: talking about the book commentary reminded me of something i was gonna send you when the troll black queen took off her ring but forgot "Note that when she takes the ring off six orbs are filled. Three players from the blue team have entered the session, and three from the red team. Aradia was the second of the blue team to enter. Nepeta was third. Aradia's entry is when the frog mutations took effect on the ring-wearer. And then an interval passed before Nepeta's entry. Which means the queen actually spent a decent amount of time looking like a frog, deliberating whether or not she could put up with this for an entire game session. Ultimately, she couldn't hang in there. But this does imply she at least tried." i just think it's funny thanks for your time

The language used here - the fact that she couldn't 'put up' with her transformation into a frog, and couldn't 'hang in there' - seems to imply that doing so harms her in some way.

All the frog symbolism is still a closed book to me. What exactly does Bilious Slick represent or symbolize that Derse hates so much?

[ you got another ask about LOLCAT but it has classpect spoilers so I'm saving it for later - C ]

I suppose that could work - but then again, it seems that 25% of all Lands have some association with water, so it can't always represent Life. I do want to come back to this later, though, when the Classes and Aspects are better defined.

Send away! It'll be a while until I use them, though.

I appreciate it! That's a minimum bound that I'd have to pick up the pace to reach, at this point.

Hey, what can I say? I'm here for a good time, and a long time. >:)

I keep forgetting that LOSS is a references to a fanfic. I associate it more with you, the LOSS Anon!

If she can't, she's definitely phrasing things in a misleading way, trying to imply that she can. The Tavros scene is arguable, but I really can't think of any other way to interpret how she talks about the Consorts, unless she's straight up lying - and she really doesn't do that much.

Vriska 100%s the game, but skips all the cutscenes?

...yeah, I can see it. Every side quest is another chance to win!!!!!!!! >::::)

[scalamore]

Rupelali's budding romance (Lari version)

What I always find endearing (?), is how Rupelali are just so ignorant of their own feelings for each other. It's not a simple misunderstanding type of situation, but rather "two people who have never experienced romantic love can't tell they love each other". Love, after all, is an abstract concept, especially for the both of them. Lari, as fond as she is of romantic novels, has never felt romantic love of her own, and fails to recognize the "heartaches" she feels when she looks at Rupert is romance (heavily hinted), and instead mistakes it as anxiety/nervousness/guilt, which is an emotion she's very much used to from her trauma of TL1.

What amuses me, is that SO MANY people knew Rupert and Lari had a thing for each other, YEARS before the two actually realized it themselves. In manhwa chapter 60, Tori first hinted at Rupert's feelings for her. Around that time, Louis had complained that he was already giving special treatment towards Lari. As crown prince, the maids and servants noticed when Rupert protected Lari from the arrogant knight, and how he defended her when she was framed. This gossip spread to the south, where Nelly and the Nanny had asked her about that palace romance - which of course Lari denied. Because, as far as she was aware, she was bound to Rupert though that promise in Chapter 32 - She was his maid, she belonged to him, and that's it. She earned enough of his trust so he'd protect her, and that's it. He may own her, but her feelings are her own

Besides, It's not like Rupert ever showed any romantic feelings for her. He's the usual Rupert - minds his own business, is rude, and condescending to her. He still insults her sometimes... where is the romance in that? Again, she's just his trusted attendant. Of course, others will see "romance" between them, but they don't know of their promise. But Lari's not dumb, when she realized Rupert yeeted to the South, even harming himself with Alchemy when he heard she was injured.... she admits, yes, she's become someone so important to him... those feelings *could* be of love... but... So she chooses to IGNORE her suspicion that he loves her. That's not something she wants to find out the answer to. After all, "he" killed her in TL1. He's treated her the same as always. She doesn't want to get ahead of herself and embarrass herself by jumping to conclusions either. So she chooses to run away, and not talk to him about it. Even when he proposes marriage - even though he was serious - the fact he was so nonchalant about it made Lari think he wasn't serious at all, and decline it.

Lari's characterization is consistent: She's been alone this whole time, she doesn't have anyone she can trust and talk to about things like this. She bottles up her emotions, trying to deal with everything herself. She convinces herself that Rupert doesn't like her, doesn't feel anything special for her, because he has Tori. She shouldn't get in their way, because she's an outsider. She doesn't want to talk to Rupert about it, because it's none of her business. Lari keeps on running away from her own feelings, and from Rupert as well.

After Rupert acknowledges that he really, really cares about Lari, really treasures and cherishes her, and vows to give her anything she wants in Ch 98 (but doesn't quite understand he loves her yet), Lari feels burdened by his feelings. It's getting harder for her to deny his feelings, and she feels so guilty and awkward, she starts hiding from him, but of course as tenacious as he is, Rupert always goes to look for her. He actually finds it a bit fun to find her during this game of "hide and seek" (he also gets Elaine and Louis to help lol). It gets to the point that Lari is aware, but full on denial of his feelings by the night of his coronation to Emperor. As much as she trusts him, her self-doubt blinds her:

Through Lehan's gaslighting, Lari was convinced: As much as Rupert loves and cherishes her, it won't be enough. He will choose the throne over her.

That is literally Lari's fatal mistake: she's so caught up in her despair, she makes assumptions out of fear. She's completely blindsighted to even the idea that Rupert truly loves her, and will choose HER over the throne. She understands how much she hurt Rupert, poor Rupert who was happy at how well they were getting along, living a comfortable live at the palace... all he wanted was the be coronated Emperor and have Lari be happy and congratulate him... but all he got was Lari, who had disappeared, and he found her unconscious in a sea of flames.

When she woke up, Lari finally apprehended him: He loves her, doesn't he? Although Rupert couldn't clearly articulate "yes", Lari knew it all along: he did. He does. But in her condition, she was unable to accept. So she chooses to break everything off. Otherwise she'd feel overwhelmed by the burden of everything in both timelines, and want to die. So Rupert allowed her to leave, because by being free, she would be "alive". While in the village, Lari again, knows full well how much Rupert love her, and how much she hurt him by feigning ignorance to his feelings. She just hoped he would have moved on by now... but she can't help but miss him, and all the time they spent together. While she hated House Belois, especially Lehan and Trash dad, she could never hate Rupert. She kept Lehan around to get updates on how Rupert was doing, after all. She really misses him, and the time they spent together at the palace. And when they reunited - she felt so relieved and excited to see him again, a feeling that she had almost forgotten after a year ... So by the time chapter 124ish comes around, that time apart had strengthened Lari's resolve: She has finally healed enough to accept Rupert's feelings, as well as her own. Her choice was clear: She will stay beside Rupert, and ensure he's happy and will protect him, because if not her, who else? She will protect him, herself. If he still loves her this much, then why should she continue to deny bother her feelings, and his? There's no point in her pointless shame and apologies, if he's really accepted them both as well. So the answer is clear: she chooses to, and will stay beside him from now on as "Lariette". :)

and I think all this is beautiful ;__;

[xomakara]

The Highlights of Romance

THoR Chap. Masterlist | Previous | Next

Chapter length | 1,503 words

Chapter 003 - Research

“Do you want to meet Bunny?”

“Bunny?” You blinked several times. Did you hear him right?

“Ah, my dog.” Mark said as he noticed your confused face.

Mark wanted you to meet his dog? “You want me to meet your dog?”

Mark nodded. “Well yeah. I figured since we’re neighbors, you’ll be seeing Bunny around often. Might as well start now.”

“Sure. I'd like to meet your dog.” You chuckled. He was kind of right. You were going to be neighbors and it did make sense to meet his dog. Wait…did that mean you would be alone in his apartment?

He laughed when he saw the expression on your face and unlocked his door. He gestured for you to go in first. “Ladies first.”

Your first thought as you walked into a single man’s home was that it was nice and tidy. You were relatively surprised since most of your ex-boyfriends had dirty houses. Taking off your shoes at the entrance of the doorway, you couldn’t help but feel conscious of Mark behind you. 

Was he checking you out by any chance? You weren't exactly dressed to impress at the moment. Why were you feeling so self conscious?

As soon as Mark took off his shoes, you heard the little pitter patter of tiny feet. You were greeted to the sight of Mark’s adorable dog, Bunny, greeting her father at the front door.

“Oh my god! She’s so cute!” You called out, Bunny looking up with curiosity. “Can I pet her?”

Mark chuckled, seeing your reaction. “Help yourself. Are you thirsty? Would you like some water?”

“Water is good, thank you.” You said as you stooped low to shake paws with the dog. “Oh you’re so cute! Cute just like your dad.”

Cute, huh? It's been a long time since someone called him cute. Mark let out a little chuckle as he pulled out two bottles of water before joining you and his fur child. He handed the water over to you, a small thanks escaping your lips, before turning his attention to Bunny. “Bunny, this is Mimi. She’s our new neighbor and friend, so be nice. Okay?”

Bunny looked up at her dad, her tail wagging as if she was saying that she was in agreement. Both you and Mark continued to play with the dog until you remembered that you were going to let him read one of the manuscripts. Getting up from the floor, you bid her farewell to Bunny and walked over to your apartment across the hall, Mark trailing behind.

"I know it's here somewhere..." you muttered as you ruffled through a box. Looking up at Mark, you gestured to the couch. "Take a seat. I know the manuscript is here somewhere. I just saw it."

Mark took a seat on the couch and watched as you searched through the boxes. He couldn't help but run his eyes over the length of your body. You had a nice body he could tell, despite wearing clothes that were too big. Taking a deep breath, Mark looked away from you to take in the rest of the apartment.

"Oh, I found it!" You exclaimed and joined him on the couch. You handed the manuscript over to him. "Here you go."

"Thanks. I'll take a read when I get back to my apartment." Mark chuckled.

"Say Mark-ssi..."

"Mark." Mark muttered, a small smile on his lips. "Just Mark. You’re older than me and I’d like it if you just call me Mark. You don’t have to be so formal."

You let out a little laugh. "Okay, Mark. Can you help me with something?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"I'm suffering from a case of writer's block lately and I don't know what to write nowadays. I need a new, fresh approach. Some new research."

"Research?"

You smiled. Leaning back on the couch, you stretched your arms. "I need a new concept. So far all my novels involve a rich guy and poor girl who fall in love with each other."

"What kind of concept?" Mark raised an eyebrow. You let out the briefest of a laugh and before Mark knew it, you were straddling his lap. What in the world was happening? "W-what?!"

"You're a smart guy, so I'm sure you kind of guessed my relationship with Yuta and Jaehyun." You let out, your hand resting on his shoulder. You could feel how tense he felt. "Mark, do you want to have sex with me?"

"Wait...what?!" Mark looked at you with wide eyes. You were crazy right?

"Come on, Mark." You whined. "My body's been feeling all sorts of things because of Johnny’s stupid teasing earlier."

"What if the others find out?"

"Whose to say that I won't ask them the same thing?" You replied. You wiggled a bit in his lap, your eyes wide when you realized the effect you had on him. "See? I know you want this."

"Any man would react the same when a beautiful woman is sitting in his lap." Mark muttered, his eyes refusing to look at you.

"I saw the way you looked at me earlier." You muttered, hands running down his arms. "I won't tell, if you don't."

It took all of Mark's strength and focus to lift you off his lap. "Look Y/N, you're very pretty and I'm flattered you want to have sex with me... But we just met a few hours ago. Do you really want to do this?"

"Yes." You replied, crossing your arms over your chest. "If not you, then I'll ask one of the others. Besides, it's also for reasearch purposes. I can't write a sex scene unless I have sex with someone. Why do you think I have that kind of relationship with Yuta and Jaehyun?"

"Why not continue with them?" Mark asked.

"They live too far." You stated matter-of-factly. "Plus... I have a feeling that Taeil knows that I’m sleeping with them."

“And you don’t think he’ll know if I sleep with his little sister? He’s my boss, you know.” Mark frowned. He looked at you. “I need this job.”

“Mark, you don’t need to work at my brother’s company to be a great writer.”

“Says the bestseller.” Mark ran a hand through his hair. "Look…I need some time to think."

"Okay," You muttered with a sigh. "But if you take too long with your answer then I'm going to pick one of the other guys."

"She asked you what?" Yangyang asked the next day. Johnny, Mark, Renjun and Yangyang decided to meet up for lunch at one of the cafes next to their apartment building. Mark was recounting last night's events to his friends. Yangyang shook his head when his friend told him that he rejected the pretty female. "Bro, how could you refuse her?"

"I would've tapped that, if I'm being honest." Johnny nodded his head. "She's cute, she seems fun to talk to... who cares if she's slept with other guys before."

Renjun agreed. "Yeah. I like a woman who knows what she wants. I'm pretty sure Y/N knows what she wants."

"She said she'll come to one of us if you refuse her, right?" Johnny asked, Mark nodding. "Hmm...if my friend of the same age needs help with 'research', I'll be down to assist."

"But we just met her." Mark muttered. "Sure, she affected me sitting in my lap but we just met. Plus she's Director Moon’s younger sister!"

"Who cares if she's Taeyong's sister?" Johnny scoffed. "The woman is hot."

"Didn't Mr Lee say that he wanted one of his employees with his sister instead of the ones his wife picks out?" Renjun chuckled. “She looked very close to your coworkers, Yuta and Jaehyun.”

"Is she sleeping with one of them?" Yangyang asked. "The tension was weird amongst them last night."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, she is. According to her, she doesn't want to continue their relationship because Taeyong probably caught on…Plus…"

"Plus what?" Johnny looked at his friend with a confused look.

"How do I put this the right way?" Mark thought. He looked at his friends and before he could mutter anything, he noticed the door to the cafe opened and in walked Mimi. "Ah shit."

"Mark!" She made her way towards them and squeezed into the seat next to Johnny and Yangyang. "Good to see you. Have you decided?"

"Um..." Mark scratched the back of his head, eyes looking away.

"So Y/N,” Johnny began, noticing how her hand was sneakingly running up his thigh. "Instead of Mark, why not me?"

"Are you sure you'll be a good research subject for me?" The female smiled at him, her eyes running down the length of his body. She looked at Renjun and Yangyang. "What about you Renjun? Yangyang?"

"I'm game." Renjun let out a small chuckle, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Yangyangnodded in agreement. "This will be fun."

"Oh it will be." She winked. "I always make sure of it. Be ready to have your sexcapades in my next novel, boys."

THoR Chap. Masterlist | Previous | Next

[cannibalgirlzz]

starting to release snippets of my novel- heres one of them

Kitty hogged the mirror, her face reflected in the sliver of glass, as she contorted her visage into a series of expressions - pout, simper, smile. Fragments of her face, like pieces of a puzzle, shifting and reconfiguring, never forming a cohesive whole. With a deft motion, she combed her hair, drawing a silken strand behind her ear and affixing a delicate clip to one side.

Flouncing and smiling, her magenta lips parting, she turned to Yawen. "Will I do?"

The sliver of mirror on the wall told Yawen that Kitty was a posh, her appearance flawless, save for the cow-like eyes that betrayed her true nature.

"Do what?" Yawen asked, the words tumbling forth, tinged with a brusqueness that belied her confusion. Did Kitty require assistance in making her bed or tidying her tools?

"Oh, why must you always be so cross?" Kitty groaned, a plaintive note creeping into her voice. "It's the festival of lovers! Time to have fun!"

A cold sweat prickled Yawen's skin. The fate mate, that distant concept had never truly occupied her thoughts, always seeming too remote to be real.

"Don't be silly, Kitty," Yawen's voice snapped, though she rearranged her features to match hers, a mask of gooey longing and desperate yearning to find love, to meet her life partner. And yet, there was no time for such frivolous desires if one was a triad - those urges had to be boxed up and locked away.

Kitty sighed, a wistful expression settling upon her face. "But just imagine if he's there today, and we meet and somehow recognize each other, how romantic would that be?"

As romantic as picking lice from one's hair, Yawen mused.

"It would be the best thing in the world," Yawen said, the words like ash in her mouth, "up there with fig and mangoes."

Kitty gazed upon her reflection, a ritual of primping and preening, as if by the meticulous arrangement of her outward appearance she could somehow order the chaos within. With a deft motion, she plucked the clip from her hair, the strands tumbling down in a cascade, and a flicker of perverse curiosity stirred within her.

"Perhaps a ribbon?" she mused, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation, as if in the simple adornment of her head she might find the elusive key to unlock some deeper truth.

A ribbon to strangle her with and wipe that dumb expression off her face.

Yawen stirred from her sprawling position on the mattress, her limbs heavy with a tedium that had settled upon her like a shroud. "Hurry up," she muttered, the words laced with a weary resignation, "I don't want to miss out on the food."

The Drainers and Scavvies, those denizens of the fringes, perched upon the balconies that lined the streets, their legs dangling over the edge, as if daring the fates to pluck them from their vantage. "Why are we waiting?" they cried, their voices tinged with a petulant impatience, "Get on with it!"

And so they passed the bottles of whiskey and rum, the amber liquid a salve to dull the ache of their existence, a ritual toast to the headaches that would inevitably visit them in the morning.

Then, as if summoned by some unseen conductor, the band upon the stage struck the first chord, the musicians beating their drums and shaking their bells, chanting the festival songs that had long since lost any vestige of meaning. And the crowd swayed, their lips mouthing the words, a chorus of the damned, condemned to repeat the same hollow refrains.

And there was Kitty, her voice ringing out like the sun would never rise again, her eyes shining with a desperate twinkle, her body contorting in the jig of a pleasure worker, chest thrust out, hips shaking like a bag of uncooked rice. The men, they could not help but gaze upon her, their eyes drawn as if by an unholy magnetism, yet she, in her infinite vanity, pretended not to notice their staring.

"Come on, Yawen. Come on!" Kitty cried, her hands grasping at her friend, but Yawen, she cared not for the singing or the dancing. Her gaze was fixed upon the pens, those holding pens where the participants in this morbid game had been herded, like cattle to the slaughter, their faces a mixture of excitement and trepidation, for they knew not what fate awaited them.

And then, the music ceased, the dancing died, and the Matchmaker, that arbiter of destinies, appeared at the podium, his scarf straightened with a practised hand. He cleared his throat, and the silence descended, save for the murmurs of those at the back, pushing forward, their fingers pressed to their lips, a hush falling upon them as they strained to hear the names of their loved ones.

The helpers handed the fate mates a cup of love potion, then tied their wrists together with a coloured ribbon. The couples teetered on the stage, their eyes glazed, either with love or from the drink, as they looked out over the blur of faces.

The pens empties as the stage filled up. Kitty nudged Yawen, “Do we have to wait for them to say their vows? I'm hungry. I hear there is going to be horse today, not just boring old chicken I don't want to miss out.”

The crowds had hemmed them in, so she told Kitty to be patient. Yawen wasn't ready to head off for the food queues- Kitty may not have been fussy, but horse was not something that Yawen wanted to eat. And sometimes the festival threw up a surprise.

A couple of years back, a boy jumped off the stage and tried to run away from his fate mate- a fierce goblin of a girl. He was hard-tackled by some in the audience and handed over to his parents who kept him in quarantine for several weeks, fed on a liquid diet of love potion and drilled in lessons of intimacy before being given back to his fate mate. They say that he is docile now. He never forgets to carry out the night soil and the goblin girl is content.

The holding pens were now empty, and the Matchmaker passed the slate to a helper. The couples began to chant their vows, promising to stay together until death do them part.

After many festivals, Yawen knew the words by rote. She would be ready if the time to enter herself into the game ever presented itself.

“Look,” Kitty said, gripping Yawen's arm, “Look over there, that participant.”

Yawen glanced up at the stage, a boy had stepped forward. The girl he was tied to was pulled with him. The coloured ribbon bit into their wrists as he tried to wrench away. The chanting stopped.

“I didn't want to enter the festival!” the boy shouted. He resisted the girl, her face the colour of sunburn as she tried to drag him back. He searched the faces in the crowd, “She's not the one I want to be with!”

A voice cried out behind the crowd. Yawen turned to look, along with the rest. Kitty's neck whipped around so fast it was a mystery she hadn't put her back out. She hated not being the first to know something. Yawen and Kitty had this in common, but Yawen hid it better.

A girl had collapsed. She clutched her stomach and whimpered ugly, desperate cries.

“I know her, Ignacio has taken a liking to her a a few pubs before,” Kitty grumbled.

The girl looked as though she had been caught in the lair of smaug and the dragon. Except there was no chink in this dragon's armour. And there was no bard to save her. She scrambled to her feet and dodged arms, pushing traders out of the way as she ran. But she was not fast enough. Because the crowd would not let her pass. And there were no eagles to lift her high in the sky away from the goblins and wargs.

“Stop her!” traders trapped the girl and held her arms. They pinned her legs down as she fought to get free. She glanced at the boy on the stage. The look they shared was enough to make Yawen question the validity of love's existence.

She was gone, and the parade squawked and shrieked like a nest of birds. What was the boy thinking? What sort of person enters themselves into the festival just to defy it? Who was this girl? How could this have happened?

Their words censured, but their voices were oiled with glee. Everyone liked having something to gossip about when they were waiting in the food queues for their piece of burnt horse. Some knew the girl. Today, and on many days thereafter, they would be telling stories of the girl who caused all the trouble.

“I knew. I knew there was something up with her, since the night Ignacio gave her a tour of his drawls. And after that, at the pubs, she really was getting fat.” Kitty's eyes widened and she gasped, “Oh, no. she's going down the river.”

The news got around like an epidemic of Sun Sickness. The girl was pregnant- as the people of Slum City put it, she was going down the river. Breeding before marriage was discouraged so much so they may as well have made it a crime. So girls concealed their condition for as long as possible and when their time came, many took the path down to the river and hid in the dunes. There, they dealt with things. And when they returned, a piece of them was always missing.

Going down the river was both the worst and the best thing that could happen to the girl. The story had grown meat on the bone.

“Silence,” The Matchmaker demanded, his mouth as tight as a fist. He turned to the remaining couples on the stage, “The vow shall continue.”

But everyone had lost interest a while ago.

Yawen followed Kitty toward the gossip and food in the queues. Kitty squeezed ahead, while Yawen got trapped. She looked back, “I'll keep you a place.”, kitty mouthed. But when Yawen freed herself from the crowd, she was nowhere to be seen.

[deersaints]

⤑ maris racal, 27, demi woman, she/they 𓇢𓆸 it’s a wonder that marijoy bacalso - coughlan has lasted so long. they always seem to disappear into those woods with her family, and they look real rough and tumble when they get back. if you ask me, they seem pretty wily and garrulous for a banshee, but they earn their reputation as intrepid and mirthful. but hey, what do i know? they’ve only been here for twenty years. if you need to get in touch, you can probably find them as a horoscope columnist at the blackwater harbinger.

content warnings for... tbd.

profile.

full name — marijoy bacalso - coughlan.

nickname(s) — mari; joy; ms. fortuna ( her alias in the blackwater harbinger ).

place of birth — kibawe, philippines.

date of birth & age — august 31st, 1997. twenty7.

gender / pronouns — demi woman, she / they.

orientation — bisexual.

occupation — horoscope columnist at the blackwater harbinger, hunter, letterboxd romcom reviewer, lover.

astrology — virgo sun, leo moon, aries rising.

kind of being — banshee.

abilities — sensing impending danger & death, an uncontrollable scream, prophetic dreams, heightened intuition & empathy.

residence — if a mcmansion and a cottage had a lovechild of overgrown weeds and TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT signs; beloved rocky knoll, the only home remembered.

interests — knitting & crocheting blankets and sweaters and cup cozies. glitter, sparkles, rhinestones, sequins; the like. diy projects, improving things with their bare hands. hunting; the archery range at renaissance festivals. bright, overwhelming colors and patterns. maximalism. romance novels and pop music. staying active. small animals. playing matchmaker, loving herself; love as a concept. mood rings and candy necklaces. cloud - gazing, bird watching. funky textures. fresh fruit, especially mango. making fun little cocktails. going on first dates. journaling. expressing herself. dancing, of all kinds. flavored lip balms, gourmand perfumes. pigs. matching with her siblings. surrealism.

aversions — losing competitions. unhelpful negativity, unnecessary cruelty. negative self - talk. when storms roll in one after another and it feels like she'll never see the sun again. not using sunscreen. being alone for a long period of time. being content with what she has. the idea of being buried alive. microtrends and fleeting aesthetics; not knowing oneself. feeling judged, or like she has to change for someone else. heartbreak! sad endings! movies that are all shock value and no substance. being undermined and undervalued because of her femininity.

quirks — consistently trying to set up her friends with people they think they'd be good with. knows every tiktok dance like muscle memory. sings in the car, in the shower, when getting ready, etc. bedazzles her tools and weapons because they can be functional and fashionable. uses reusable grocery bags only. collects a tote bag whenever possible; further customizes them. knits for her friends and family. also writes fanfiction of them.

most played — motivation by normani.

notable features — dark eyes filled with nothing but warmth and plump, rosy cheeks. a beauty mark at the corner of her lips. a new, lovingly knitted sweater each day. hair filled with butterfly clips and charms.

general disposition — dizzyingly bright; pep to every step. energy that cannot be contained and must be let out, like a shaken coke bottle.

character study — mabel pines ( gravity falls ) & elle woods ( legally blonde ).

background.

tldr; an uncontrollable banshee baby's cries lead to abandonment and then adoption by a man plagued by grief and vengeance. one of seven lucky ( or unlucky, depending on the person ) children to be adopted by him; raised to hone their supernatural abilities in ways that'll only benefit others. of course it's dysfunctional. killing the riverman is your dream, dad. soft at heart, refuses to let death become her undoing.

details.

joy has unfortunately never learned how to shut her mouth. chronically talkative, and always finding new things to yap about. was born screaming, and she'll continue yelling if she can help it. if allowed, she'll ramble for hours on end without stop.

aside from her skills as a hunter, joy loves art and any creative pursuit. is especially fond of 3d art and multimedia, combining mediums. a big fan of textures and colors. loves keeping busy and having hobbies that don't include another person's vengeance. the best at homemade gifts; loves giving and receiving.

as is normal in any family; joy is incredibly adept at wilderness survival because of the numerous times she's been left in the woods to fend for herself ( alongside her siblings on occasion ). knows a lot of incredibly useless facts, and incredibly helpful skills involving starting a fire, netting food in trees, handmade compasses, the lot.

marijoy is obsessed with the concept of love; has always dreamed of having a big romance, of sweeping someone off of their feet ( they're always the one doing the sweeping, not the other ). is constantly harboring crushes, no matter how childish it feels. has thousands of hearts with her initials combined with others; journals of love stories.

in addition to that, joy has the terrible habit of trying to matchmake all of her single friends. it's her own personal life mission. often jokes she should've been a love advice columnist, but she loves the sometimes ominous, sometimes pointed messages she can leave people each week.

a girl's girl, first and foremost. her friends always come first, and she's not afraid to betray any of her siblings in the name of girl code ( although it'd be a hard decision ). really, truly values her friendships. can't say she has an enemy, really ( though she's sure people dislike her, even if just by association ). would literally kill for the people she loves.

being a banshee doesn't come without disadvantages, though; the weight of constantly meeting death can weight heavy on her, even if she's technically used to it. she often contemplates life on a grander scale, what her purpose is - what it means to be a banshee. has a lot of self - doubt that she'll never admit to.

overall tries to be optimistic and there for people, even if she doesn't particularly like them. believes strongly in second chances, and fated encounters. she's confident, and enthusiastic, and endlessly energetic. a big ball of energy that's probably capable of supplying the town with endless power.

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

Here Are Some Insanely Good Graphic Novels You Should Definitely Check Out

1. A Guest in the House, by Emily Carroll:

Summary: In this graphic novel by Emily Carroll, a young woman marries a kind dentist only to discover a dark mystery surrounding his former wife’s death.

After many lonely years, Abby’s just gotten married. She met her new husband―a recently widowed dentist―when he arrived in town with his young daughter seeking a new start. Although it’s strange living in the shadow of her predecessor, Abby does her best to be a good wife and mother. But the more she learns about her new husband’s first wife, the more things don’t add up, and Abby starts to wonder...was Sheila’s death really by natural causes? As Abby sinks deeper into confusion, Sheila’s memory seems to become a force all its own, ensnaring Abby in a mystery that leaves her obsessed, fascinated, and desperately in love for the first time in her life.

Rating: ★★★★½

Thoughts: It's been a while since I've been this invested in a graphic novel. This novel gripped my attention, and pulled me in from the jump. The twists, the turns, the constant unease, and the way it left me questioning everything I thought I knew... I was itching to read more and could barely put it down. It's visual fairy telling and contrast between the Dreamworld, and the real world is truly striking. And while the ending left me slightly perturbed, it was still mesmerizing.

2. When I Arrived at the Castle, by Emily Carroll:

Summary: A castle, a killer, and prey all bound and blurred by lust and blood." Like many before her that have never come back, she's made it to the Countess' castle determined to snuff out the horror, but she could never be prepared for what hides within its turrets; what unfurls under its fluttering flags. Emily Carroll has fashioned a rich gothic horror charged with eroticism that doesn't just make your skin crawl, it crawls into it.

Rating: ★★★★

Thoughts: A jaw dropping tour through a vampires castle, where everything is dripping with rich mystery and nothing's quite as it seems... In this gothic story filled to the brim with erotism and lust, culpable violence is the thread that pulls these two together.

3. Isle of 100,000 Graves, by Fabien Vehlmann and Jason:

Summary: A treasure map leads to an island with a terrible secret in Jason’s new graphic novel. Five years ago, little Gwenny’s father found, inside a bottle, a map with instructions on how to reach the mysterious Isle of 100,000 Graves and its legendary treasures ― and then he vanished. Now Gwenny, having stumbled across another bottle-shipped map, enlists the dubious help of a shipful of pirates, sets out to find the island, and her long-lost dad.Little does she realize that the Isle comes by its ominous name honestly, as the location of a secret school for executioners and torturers, where apple-cheeked youngsters are taught the finer points of extracting information from prisoners… and then putting an end to their lives in a wide variety of gruesome ways. And they’ve reached the point in their studies where theory should ideally give way to practice, so an influx of uninvited visitors comes as a blessing to the faculty. And yes, this story is a comedy. Albeit a dark one.

Rating: ★★★½

Thoughts: The concept of an island full of a secret medieval executioner society, is admittedly hilarious. I thought the ending was strange, a little unfulfilling, but it was one that I appreciate more as time passes. I wish we got some more answers to clarify certain things and events though. Specifically when it comes to the secret our pirate guide holds. I kept thinking: "Are they really going to blue ball me like this?!" (Note: Google straight up removed my review because I used the term: "blue balled.") 🤣

4. Funny Creek, by Rafael Scavone:

Summary: Lilly is a smart girl in the 1980’s who (quite literally) falls into her favorite cartoon: The Funny Creek Show. But this joyful experience will soon become dramatic when her cartoon hero, the Sheriff Clumsy, shows himself in a darker light than she expected.

Rating: ★★★½

Thoughts: I liked the plucky art style, it strongly reminded me of Gravity Falls. The colors were vibrant and the town was lively. The main character likes to think of herself as someone kind and righteous. She's obsessed with a show about a sheriff clown named: Clumsy. A heroic and goofy protagonist that spends his days protecting the residents of Funny Creek.

But Clumsy isn't actually all that heroic as it turns out... And Lilly's world is shattered. How will she get back home? And can she free the townfolk from the tyrant?

While I enjoyed this comic run, I couldn't help but wish the ending was explored in depth and I wished some things were explained more thoroughly. Some questions were answered, and some threads were left dangling. I enjoyed the parallels between Lilly and Clumsy and how heroes aren't all they seem. Lilly is angry to find out her hero is a cowardly snake, and she has to come to terms with her own shortcomings in the process.

5. Stray Dogs, by Tony Fleecs:

Summary: It's scary being the new dog.In this suspenseful new series, readers meet Sophie, a dog who can't remember what happened. She doesn't know how she ended up in this house. She doesn't recognize any of these other dogs. She knows something terrible happened but she just... can't... recall... Wait! Where's her lady? It's all coming back to her now, and it's enough to raise Sophie's hackles. Now Sophie has to figure out where she is, what's happening and how she's going to survive this.They say there's no such thing as a bad dog, just bad owners. STRAY DOGS is a heartbreakingly adorable suspense thriller by My Little Pony comic artists TONY FLEECS and TRISH FORSTNER. It's Lady and the Tramp meets Silence of the Lambs.

Rating: ★★★½

Thoughts: Stray Dogs, written by Tony Fleecs and illustrated by Trish Forstner, follows a group of canine friends that wouldn't be out of place in a G -RATED movie. But instead of discovering the power of friendship, they use their limited detective skills to uncover that their new owner, is in fact, a serial killer. Stray dogs, is a strange mix of a cute Disney movie, meets "Silence of the Lambs." The overarching mystery pulled me in instantly, and the hits kept coming...

(I felt similarly about this ending, as I did, with Funny Creek's. And I'll definitely reread it again sometime.)

[rapid-artwork]

I'm fascinated with Fourth, she's so cute! I'd love to hear more about her.

Fourth is one of my favorite OCs, both because I feel I stumbled upon a really solid visual design, but also because of how personal her story is to me.

Quick summary:

Fourth is a lonely human girl who seeks to escape from the space station she spent her entire life aboard. She holds a lot of anger inside but she is a genuinely bubbly and sweet person. She really likes the concept of water, specifically lakes, oceans and rivers. (Even though she never seen any of these in person.)

She's the protagonist of my (currently in progress) Sci-Fi Horror Visual Novel: Mothers Favorite

Tw: Child Abuse, Body Horror and Trauma. (It is a horror story.)

The story takes place aboard the Mobile Quarantine Station 388-SR. A space station originally designed to carry thousands of sick patients off world should a plant-wide pandemic occur.

However, a series of unknown events caused the station to launch with only four living patients aboard. Figuring out why is part of the mystery in-game.

When the game starts, Fourth is the only remaining patient onboard, the other three patients all dead or unaccounted for.

Fourth is afflicted with something called the 'Omega Virus', which is a highly dangerous and has no known cure. Most of my stories all take place in the same overarching universe, and many of my Sci-Fi stories deal with the consequences tied to the spread of the Omega Virus.

I really like Fourth's story since I think it makes for a great starting point into many of my future works. I like that through Fourth we get to see the effects of the virus first hand, and get a little window into the galactic politics that arose in response.

The station was built to be a closed-off self sustaining system, with a fully automated treatment staff of robotic caretakers. Meaning all of Fourths daily needs are met, but that her only social interactions are with pre-programmed AI that see her strictly as a patient first, and a living feeling human a distant second (doesn't mean that they don't try, bedside manner is still a thing.)

Since Fourth has never met another living person before, and they have never seen the outside world through anything other than a computer screen, they can be a little naive. That doesn't mean she's foolish, far from it. Fourth is highly intelligent (not much to do all day other than read and do homework over and over.) and has a deep curiosity for the outside universe her space station.

Since Fourth has had to interact with the robots the way they expect her to act, she has learned to put on a mask around them, and only lets it slip when she is alone. She has a really funny sarcasm to the way she thinks internally and I like writing her deadpan responses to the sci-fi bullshit she has to endure.

She also has a wonderful sense of joy and love that makes a lot of the darker challenges she faces that much worse. She is the type to experience big emotions at all times. When she loves you, she lets you know, and when she hates you, she doesn't hold back. (At least she likes to think she does, in reality she has a to bottle a lot of her true feelings up in order to survive.)

Since she is the player character, I made sure to code a lot of flexibility to her personality depending on how you play. She will become more extroverted or introverted based on the dialogue choices you make, and big source of tension is how well you manage to hold onto her optimism throughout the game.

(there is also a funny bit I programmed a flag where Fourth will not know what swear word are unless you push for her to learn about them. After that point she will swear like a sailor for the rest of the game.)

This is the original concept sketch I made of the main characters all the way back in 2016. I had an idea for a 'sci-fi Alice in wonderland' Where there was only one human trapped with a bunch of malfunctioning robots who seemed to act like everything was totally fine.

I like that the main designs have remained pretty consistent since then.

Fourth's design was very calculated from the start. I wanted her to look like someone forced to wear a Disney princess outfit that was slightly too small for them. It was supposed to show that she is treated like a child since these specific robots were only ever programmed to care for very young children, and were not prepared to deal with a teenager or adult. (maybe because the people who programmed them didn't expect any afflicted children to survive that long.)

As for the influences and themes, a lot of it centers around the main idea behind the Omega Virus.

The Omega Virus has a lot of weird stuff associated with it, but the main thing to keep in mind is that the Omega Virus offers up incredible power in exchange for a terrible corruption of the physical and mental state of the subject.

I have always been a fan of drawing weird gross body horror stuff, and the Omega Virus provides a lot of opportunities for that don't get me wrong.

But the important thing is the effects the virus has on the mental state of those it infects. It slowly eats away at the memories of it's host, piece by piece taking away everything that makes someone who they are.

I lost family members to Alzheimers as a teenager, and I wrote a lot of the Omega Virus stories as a way to cope. I was deeply terrified by the concept of forgetting who you are and not even knowing it is happening.

What started as an edgy teenage avenue for grief turned into something more over time. Where I would make these really likable characters dealing with a sci-fi disease that gave them super powers in exchange for a creeping death following them for the rest of their lives. I really like writing characters who know that their sense of self is in danger, and living to constantly reaffirm who they are and their desire to live.

A huge factor in what I hope makes the game scary is that there is more than just 'death' as a threat, but the idea that if you choose wrong, you will have to watch Fourth slowly dissolve until all that she is is empty and gone.

But also because I am pure evil and really like hurting my audience as much as possible, there is another way worse horror that is much more personal and immediate.

Mothers Favorite deals with the physically and emotionally abusive relationship Fourth has with the stations main AI, a giant half organic creature called Mother.

I idea of what would happen to an AI afflicted by the Omega Virus was really interesting. I imagined that they would slowly lose the smaller nuances of what it meant to act 'human' and be reduced down to their core programming, even if that core was no longer logical.

Abuse between loved ones usually stems from a place of control and corrupted ideas of loves. The idea of 'doing this because I love you' is a very painful concept I have personally experienced, and could come about if the abuser had a fundamentally incorrect definition of what love is.

A robot follow its program so much to the letter that is loops back around to something indistinguishable from malice is something Fourth will have to deal with more than once. What I really like about writing her is the uncertainty she feels about her robot 'family' they can be loving and caring one moment and cold and abusive the next. They see nothing illogical about their actions and Fourth feels alone in her feelings. Which I hope gives the game a sense of terror even if there isn't more traditional jump-scares or managing survival mechanics.

I think the visual novel medium helps put players in the head of Fourth a lot better, since you will have to sit and weigh each dialogue option, not knowing which one will set the robots off, and which ones will earn you a few more minutes of safety. That was a fear I lived with growing up and it certainly didn't impact my art in anyway no sir!

I wanted Fourth to be a conduit for a story about love, family and the beauty of self, all of which are under slow attack from both outside and within. There is a lot of ways to unlock happy or at least 'happier' endings and I hope it makes for a good story, not just a non-stop misery fest.

Little bonus:

Mothers Favorite was always intended to be part 1 in a 4 part series. Each story would focus on one of the four original inhabitants of 388-SR. Each game would be an independent story, with all three crossing over in the final game. Your choices in the first three games would carry over and influence the plot of the fourth game.

The next game in the series is planned to be a murder mystery about a military spaceship that takes multiple play-throughs to solve and leads to some fun meta-timelines shenanigans.

Thank you for letting me rant about my OC for a bit. I really love Fourth even though I keep coming up with new ways to hurt her.

[sparrowmoth]

Red Days, Blue Nights • [AO3]

Teen | Drabble | Carvie | Resurrection, Dark Devotion, Mild Horror

A/N: A little gift for my lovely friend @infiniteecosmos. <3 Please note that dialogue is presented in an experimental style in this fic (insp. the novel NW by Zadie Smith). Also, "Red Day" is my original concept for how Valentine's Day might be "celebrated" on the Isle.

CW: Mild thematic horror, referenced child abuse, implied MCD (and resurrection), blood mention

On the Isle, they call it Red Day, for all the blood in the streets. Death. More than usual. Screaming, crying, all what’s familiar—just more. More for some, that is, but not for Carlos. Never less than blood and tears and so much noise it turns to static, glasses clinking, bottles dropping, shards all scattered, deathly silence, heavy breaths.

He hears footsteps as the last thing sometimes, smells her breath as she starts to speak—probably cursing him to live. And he does. But he dies first. On Red Day or Monday or some winter evening or a sunny afternoon. He doesn’t always track the date, you know—it doesn’t matter. But that day, it must have been in February—

That day, when he returned, it was to thinking he was still dead, in a dream he had between of sleeping warm beneath cloud cover—thick blue night air pulled up to his shoulders, the scent of flowers in the grass—the dark sheen grass that spilled like oceans, like her hair—

Just like her hair.

She was laying beside him.

— Evie.

— Carlos.

He slips back into present with that single whisper, hearing his name as assurance he is. He takes a slow breath, swallows a gasp—feels the pain and the pleasure of Evie tracing her fingers over spiderweb cracks. His skull had split open. He remembers the feeling.

The bones are still healing, quicker surely from that touch.

There is a little magic even here on the island—but only ever from Good, only ever from Love, only ever from such words that are spoken like poison, spat on the floor—should never be felt—

Evie pulls back her hand and lets it rest on Carlos’ shoulder. She kisses his forehead, leaving red where the blood was. She pulls back altogether and her bedroom opens up, moonlight showing through the windows—fuzzy, muted white, tinted golden from the barrier.

He should be waking under soil or on the shoreline or an alley.

She knows what he’s thinking.

— I know where to look.

When she can’t find him, she means. He doesn’t press for more. Some children get coffins or tucked into bed, some children are garbage and he knows which he is. Evie doesn’t like to say it—

But she’ll have thrown out his old clothes.

They’re not ones to waste, but sometimes, sometimes—

There’s not patches to be made, not even rags or bandage strips.

— I was going to wait to give this to you.

And there’s the proof of her guilt, the proof of what she’s thinking. She’s got something to replace, something to make up for—like she hadn’t dragged his corpse home, cleaned him, changed his clothes, made him comfy there beside her with his skin still blue and cold.

— It’s not my birthday.

Probably not. His mother never told him.

Evie tosses her hair and rolls her eyes skyward—all the way through the ceiling, all the way through the barrier. Then she cracks a little smile and takes a seat there beside him, on the edge of the bed.

She’s gotten something from her dresser drawer.

It’s sitting in her lap, wrapped neatly in paper—butcher’s paper, clearly used. That’s traditional for Red Day. It must be getting close.

He pushes up against the pillows, brain spinning in his skull but the bed at least feels solid. Not as hard as the floor, just solid. He plants his palms flat, pressed to the sheets, lets his spine curl back until the pillows mold around him, and finally reaches for the present—

It’s weighted in his hands, wetness seeping through the paper.

— Whose is it?

He asks that, having not peeled back the paper. There’s just—and he’s not one for the mystic—but there’s just this… feeling he gets, when there’s a heart in his hands. Like he can still feel it beating.

— Cruella.

She says that and never “your mother.”

She says that and he smiles, and she leans in to kiss him, and there’s blood stains on her nightgown—old and new, because he knows now that she hasn’t laid beside him the whole night, waiting.

He doesn’t say that he loves her, because that word isn’t theirs.

They are the children of monsters.

They might be monsters, themselves.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are always appreciated. If you’d like to leave a kudos or comment on AO3, I’d really love that, as well! ♥

[nflstreetsanimereviews]

Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon Volume 1

Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon is by far one of the silliest concepts for a light novel I’ve ever read. Of course, that’s stating the obvious with a title like that. In the oversaturated isekai market, one needs to find a gimmick, its niche, in order to get it to stand out from the others. A light novel about being reincarnated into a vending machine sounds impossible to write at first, but Reborn as a Vending Machine manages to get out enough material for a whole volume. It helps that vending machine enthusiasts exist in real life; with museums dedicated to them in both Japan and America. Reborn as a Vending Machine, funnily enough, is getting an anime adaptation. That has to account for something. Due to air this summer (2023), there’s no better time than now to read Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon!

Our main character, whose name in the real world we never get to know, is a vending machine otaku. He loves vending machines so much that he sacrifices his life for the sake of one. Instead of becoming a ghost or going to heaven or whatever, our main character wakes up in another world. In this new world, he’s unable to move and is only able to say a list of canned lines–that’s because he’s been turned into a vending machine. ‘Boxxo’, as he gets to be known eventually, starts in a remote location next to a lake, but eventually gets to meet Lammis, an extremely strong girl that transports him back to town.

With such an absurd idea as ‘being reborn as a vending machine in an isekai world’, the quality of the story depends on how much it’s willing to commit to the bit. If Reborn as a Vending Machine was too cowardly to do so, it would end up being just another standard isekai. And there are thousands of those out there. Thankfully, Reborn as a Vending Machine gets very creative with the concept, writing it in a way that makes what otherwise would be a dull and uninteresting life into an adventure that has some action mixed in with it.

Boxxo, our vending machine main character, works from some source that we aren’t aware of. He’s able to restock at any time, can buy upgrades that are applied immediately, and can change his look at will, providing that he has the points to do so. Boxxo can sell anything that he bought out of a vending machine in real life, which includes an endless variety of cold and hot drinks, snacks, toiletries, and even ‘adult’ items such as condoms and porn magazines. The way that Reborn as a Vending Machine portrays being a vending machine gives me the same vibe I get when playing a management game. As a fan of those types of games, this draws me to this novel more than I would expect it to do. This is the closest thing we’ll probably get to a game like ‘Vending Machine Simulator’. If you dislike management games, then this novel may be a drag for you.

The novelty factor is a definite draw to this series. I would be lying if it wasn’t at least a reason why I decided to read it. I mean, it’s such a silly concept that I was fully prepared to read a story that was lacking in substance. Luckily for us, Reborn as a Vending Machine manages to keep the story fresh, never becoming simply repetitive, something that other light novels with similar ‘wild’ concepts like this often do.

The main reason why Reborn as a Vending Machine can be captivating until the end is because of the creative situations where Boxxo contributes to fights. His ‘Force Field’, a ‘Blessing’, is a power he uses to assist his friends and fight back against enemies. It’s quite overpowered, but it’s really the only ranged move he has. Being a ‘magic metal box’ in a land that has never heard of a vending machine is dangerous for him. Due to technically being in a dungeon, he can up-charge a good bit for food and drink. I mean, nowhere on Earth you can charge ten dollars for a bottle of water. You start to see how much you can make when you’re the only vending machine on this planet, which makes me somewhat envious. Only because I’m so into management games. There’s a reason why he’s charging so much for his items–he’ll be able to ‘transform’ for a price of one billion points. The way he obtains points is by selling items. The currency he obtains for selling items is converted to points, which he can also use to buy more features. Boxxo isn’t shy about upgrading himself–buying seven new features just in this novel alone. Being the only vending machine around, and being able to transform at will, of course he’s making so much money. It almost makes this a ‘cheat’ isekai with how much Boxxo can contribute to the fight. The only reason why it maintains to be not one is because the main character is a vending machine. No matter how overpowered he is, he can’t talk freely and isn’t able to move. He can only speak in canned lines. The novelty factor may eventually go away, but for at least right now, Reborn as a Vending Machine can pass solely based on creativity.

For a book that’s about life as a vending machine, Reborn as a Vending Machine was a pleasant surprise story-wise. The actual story, which doesn’t have an overarching goal other than ‘become able to walk and talk’, manages to keep being interesting. There are three major arcs in this novel, with some one-off chapters in between them. While possibilities are technically endless, I worry that the novelty will wear off before the series can make significant progress. I mean, there are only so many things you can do with a vending machine. That’s the inherent problem with gimmicky series like these. Reborn as a Vending Machine successfully sells the notion that our main character was a ‘vending machine otaku’, something that actually exists in the real world. The way he’s able to change from vending the machine to vending machine, and the only limit on what he can be and what he can sell is if he bought it in the real world makes me believe that his isekai world is ‘all a dream’. The fact that two people from this isekai world say ‘how on earth’ backs that statement up–it’s either that or it was a: error in translation; the isekai world is also ‘the earth’; OR the author simply didn’t think that far ahead. Being a light novel, there’s a case to be made for all three options.

The author of this book (named Hirukuma) thinks ‘selfishly’ that this is a “good book to recommend to people who are bored of protagonists who are really good-looking but claim they’re not popular with ladies.” While this isn’t why I read Reborn as a Vending Machine, I get his point. Boxxo is a vending machine. He has no gender. There’s nothing sexy about him. But that’s not why I read light novels. I read them if the story is good. In a way, this makes Reborn as a Vending Machine special, because in this case, there’s no way that the story will be ruined by pointless ‘romance’ for the purpose of selling merchandise or whatever. However, in replacement of that, we still get fanservice. Because of Boxxo's lack of gender, there's no shame of him being in a women's locker room. So there's still fanservice. That's great, I guess for people that want that. It's maintained in really only on part thankfully. While the writing in Reborn as a Vending Machine is only average, its level of creativity makes it worth reading for now. I have a feeling that eventually, the author will run out of ideas and either this series will stall or get worse, but that point isn’t now. To be quite honest, I would wait until the anime airs, since there are only three volumes of this out so far. That means that the anime is going to adapt all of the series (more than likely), so there’s likely not much you’ll miss out on if you don’t read the light novels. Then again, it’s up to you. If you read all of this, you’ll likely like the first volume of Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wonder the Dungeon. It’s able to use its novelty to good use. It’s a short read as well.

65/100

[mocha-writes]

Sun, Moon, and Star OC Meme

Tagged by: @perkeleen-lavellan 

Sun

Isaac Hawke

Honestly, this ended up being the only motif left after assigning moon and star to my Inquisitor and Warden, but it fits a cheerful extrovert with red hair. Besides being a musician, I’ve pictured Isaac as someone who gardens--I don’t know if I’ve discussed this headcanon anywhere before or not, but I want to think that he and Merrill actually restore the gardens at the Amell estate--and the idea of sunlight as restorative and nurturing seems relevant for that. There’s also a connection with Varric’s tarot card representation (the Sun), so I think this suits Isaac rather well.

Moon

Solomon Trevelyan

Solomon has the color scheme for this, with albinism making him unusually pale and white-haired, but thinking of the moon as a representation of mystery, cycles, and emotion, I think this fits him as well. He’s a necromancer whose magic taps into life energy itself and deals with spirits that could easily be considered demons, and his life has been marked by phases that ultimately end in a “return”: growing up in the Alienage, being adopted into his father’s family after his mother’s death, being sent to the Circle where he gradually goes from rebellious apprentice with multiple escape attempts to Senior Enchanter and person who keeps the Ostwick branch of the Libertarians afloat after news of Kinloch Hold’s near-downfall causes a decline in membership, the Circle falling just for him to end up as part of the delegation of mages at the Conclave, being Inquisitor, and finally shedding that title by disbanding the Inquisition as well as his “human” name in favor of reclaiming “Sulevin,” his birth name that he had no choice but to give up when recognized by his father, Bann Trevelyan. He’s gradually had to learn to bottle up his emotions and get better at picking his own battles just to survive, but I still picture him as someone who feels a lot, deeply, and this, combined with “dark forces aren’t necessarily evil” and “it’s never too late to reconnect,” make me think a moon motif suits him.

Star

Ephraim Surana

This one came to mind immediately, because I’ve had “Ephraim studied astronomy in the Circle and is fascinated by the stars” as a headcanon for long time. Thinking about stars as crucial to navigation and as ways of understanding the world, considering all of the myths and history associated with constellations both in our world and Thedas, I think this motif suits Ephraim, who I also associate with stories and history. I feel like I’ve talked about the headcanon that he loves romance novels and has written fanfic for his favorite ones a lot, but one I haven’t focused on as much is “he translated and made copies of the Eluvian manuscript that’s crucial to the plot of Witch Hunt, so there’s no stealing of the text from Ariane’s clan by Morrigan, who’d have her own copy that Ephraim shared with her during the Blight.” I want to think there was an entire “ring” of mages dedicated to ensuring access to their people’s knowledge that the Chantry tried to claim and to preserving what they might have brought with them from outside the Circle, like songs, recipes, etc. It’s not an original idea by any means (thank you Kari/October-Rosehip for having things like this in Macsen’a backstory if you see this), but the sheer concept of an “underground elven library in Kinloch Hold” compels me. To bring this back around to stars, thinking of them as omens makes me think of Ephraim as well—he’s my oldest Dragon Age OC and has been through so many changes. I’ll probably mess with his story more if I ever get to replay the series again. But one theme I want to think has been consistent with him, and one I want to keep, is “no matter what one has done, one can always decide and try to be a better person.” When I think of omens, I think of symbols, mysterious and powerful, and I think that suits the Hero of Ferelden.

Tagging: @scribbledquillz @zeesqueere @musingmycelium and anyone who wants to do this and needs an excuse. Let me enable you. There’s no obligation, as always, this was just fun and I thought I’d share