#made a wager and holy shit

[terramcgarden]

Friends and I have a story about Dinosaur Riders Vs Aliens. Each of our rider character's dino is named after a character from an ancient story. My characters partner is a Raptor and has been for years. But then one day bestie just asks out of the blue:

I personally find this hilarious. Now if the dinosaur really did spit venom and hoots like an owl is irrelevant. My bestfriend saw "VENOMOUS HOOTING OWL DINO!" And thought of me.

And guys....

She commits... now at first it was a simple copy and paste... but as you can see; shes getting a bit creative.

And starting to disolve into madness.... more to come

[fraugwinska]

Since @chefskjssart's artwork that I commissioned was such a BANGER, I felt like I needed to do something to show my gratitude. So, I messaged her and gave her free choice over a little One-Shot I'd gift her. And that's how we ended up here :D Where are my little TV Sluts at? You can thank Chef - and I hope you all have fun ;>

NSFW - Explicit Sexual Content - Minors DNI - 5.7k words

"Gotta say, Val, the revenue of your movies really skyrocketed this quarter, fuck me."

Vox flipped through the quarterly reports, eyebrows raised and a grin on his face while Valentino, very pleased with himself, lounged on the chaise next to Vox's desk, smoking.

"I told you I've made a good investment." He grinned and blew out a puff of smoke. "All the horny bitches out there are eating my movies up."

"It's more than that, you're even making headway into other rings, holy shit! We've even got a foot in the Lust Ring market, which is almost impossible with that kind of competition..."

Valentino hummed approvingly.

"And the best part: I didn't have to do much." He added and let the tip of his cigarette rest against his lips, his grin widening. "My newest author is a kinky little genius."

Vox turned his attention to the papers again, his smile slowly turning into a frown as he scanned the declining sales in Voyeurscopes.

"What are you talking about? All of your authors write pretty much the same shit, what could be so special about-"

Valentino laughed and shook his head. "That one is - believe me, carino. Poor bitch has the mind of a succubus on crack but she can't get off."

Vox looked up, an eyebrow raised in skeptic questioning.

"Can't get off?"

"Can't feel anything. Can't cum for the life of her." He replied, leaning back and spreading his arms. "Numb like a fucking dead fish."

"Or maybe she just hasn't found a good dick." Vox mumbled, returning back to the reports, skimming over the numbers.

"Mh, you be the judge amorcito. Because I tried." Valentino growled, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

Now that got Vox's full attention. The TV demon stared at his partner for a few seconds of silence, then laughed maniacally, almost falling off his chair while Val rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Fucking weird little thing, she is. She can write the craziest shit, the hornier the better. Writes like a damn porn beast, but has no clue what good sex actually feels like."

Vox heaved, wiping his screen as if in tears.

"Ohoho, Christ on a Cracker Val, maybe you've been out of the business too long… are you maybe losing that golden touch?"

Valentino sneered. "Ay, and you think you would've been able to get that bitch to cum? Be my guest, I'll gladly watch you fail."

Vox grinned at the moth, his eyes dangerously teasing. The reports were long forgotten - this was too entertaining, and Vox loved to be challenged, because he loved the feeling of superiority he felt when he succeeded. And that feeling would be so much more satisfying when he'd beat his long time partner and porn prince of pride at his own expertise.

"Wanna up the ante? Make a little wager out of it?"

Valentino scoffed, then chuckled deviously. He took another drag from his long cigarette, his cerise teeth glistening with red saliva as he began to drool in anticipation.

"You know I like to play, Voxxy. Especially if the odds are so much in my favor."

Another script done.

Your best one yet, if anyone asked you. But you knew no one asked ever, so why bother?

You stood up from your desk in your private office - being Val's favorite pen pet had it's perks afterall.

You skipped the stage of employment where you'd be cramped in one of these horrible cubicles together with the other overworked, caffeinated and tired writers, typing another outdated secretary-fuck-fest-plot while the other employees complained about their last bad lay and the shitty pay.

At least you didn't have to deal with any of that. Your room was quiet and peaceful, the door able to be locked shut and the walls soundproof. No distractions, no chit chat, no loud coworkers or malfunctioning printer noises. Just the humming sound of your computer, and the whirring of the A/C Val had granted you - a luxury that most of your colleagues bitched about behind your back.

You stretched, your tired bones popping into place and you sighed. You were done for the day. Finally.

With the deadline looming over you, you had been a bit late with the last part, and the thought of being late with your work made you sick. But Val pressed for another banger (pun intended) like your last one, 'Dante's Infern-Hoe' and you didn't want to risk the benefits you were offered so temptingly by being sloppy.

But the script for 'The Devil wears Nada' sat now, freshly printed, next to your laptop, the file saved locally and in the cloud, with about an hour to spare still. You smiled, content and relieved. An hour of paid slacking off was nice, and you checked with a glance that the electric door still was set on LOCKED before you flopped down at the two-seater by the window, grabbing the remote from the small side table and turned on the TV.

A familiar voice spoke through the speakers, and you relaxed into the pillows with a small sigh, eyes closed.

As shitty as the program in Hell was, one thing it had going for it was Vox. That smooth, hypnotizing voice of the overlord that held pride's media empire in his claws was a delight to your ears, and even the mindless, overplayed commercial jingles were pleasant enough if he was the one narrating them.

For the millionth time, it seemed, your hand wandered under the hem of your pants, fingers rubbing lazily at your cunt, as you listened to him talk, advertising the latest angelic protection device that didn't do what he promised it to do.

It was insanity at this point, doing something over and over again expecting a different outcome. Every night your fingers were cold and wet with your slick and your clit bloody and raw while you felt nothing of even your most violent and feverish touches, trying for minutes to hours to experience a sensation you wrote daily about without the satisfaction of any remarkable buildup or release.

It was no use, you knew it was a fruitless attempt, just like all the others. The most you got out of your endless tries was a slight tingle one time where you were so desperate you fucked yourself with an electric rod on its highest setting, resulting in a power outage in your apartment and a big fat fine from your landlord a few days later.

Still, you craved it. Craved to one day feel at least something. After the disappointing One-Night-cannot-Stand-the-thought-of-it with your boss, the literal porn mogul you were ready to just give up. If the face of pride’s sexdrive couldn’t get you over the edge, was there any chance at all?

Valentino had been the last in a long line of desperate attempts, paartners ranging from incubi, paid whores, porn actors to even sexbots made by Asmodeus, costing you a pretty penny just for the hassle of trying to get through the return hotline to get your money back, explaining No, you don’t know how it was possible that the cock of the ‘Fuckboy 3.0 XXL’ broke into pieces after one time usage. 

You chuckled humorlessly at the memory - It was truly a pathetic time in your eternal existence, filled with you masturbating alone in bed like a sad porn star, yearning to experience sex like you wrote about in your scripts. Maybe this was hells way to punish you for your sins, your personal plan of torture - To never experience the very thing that possessed you on the daily.

The television droned on in the background, Vox advertising his latest technological developments; new features on your phone that you really could not care less about. Despite his unusual appearance, Vox was one of your absolute go-to Stand-in's for your plot protagonists. Charming, suave, depraved when called for and a dominating, thorough lover that took what he wanted, but with so much skill that his partner would cum threefold before he'd even begin to think about finishing. Cocky and yet sensual. Aftercare included. All the things your colleagues were too dumb to include, no wonder their scripts were a bust.

Yes, it was hell and therefore tastes were more... depraved than in the living world, but that didn't mean the populus secret wishes for some sort of common sexual decency was out the window, goddamn.

Your mind wandered away from your depressive ruminations, your hand never stopping its circular pattern around your swollen clit as your thoughts started to wander to its usual place, the only way that came close to what you longed for and what was the source for all of your best-selling porn scripts. Your boundless realm of fantasy.

'Come out, come out, wherever you are...'

Vox is standing in your doorway, his silhouette prominent against the bright white neon light coming from the corridor of the empty floor. His suit, neatly fitted to every curve of his slender body, is showing just how thin his waist really is, but that does not come even remotely close to describe his broad shoulders and firm, wide chest, contrasting it deliciously. His navy blue skin reflects the harsh lighting in the hallway, his screen sharp and clear, digital eyes never leaving you as he closes the door behind him, dipping the room you're in in darkness, the only source of light his brightly illuminated screen where his digital, mismatched eyes are solely fixated on you, hiding behind the long backrest of your couch.

'Found you, babydoll.' he says with that god forsaken sultry voice of his as he reaches for your throat, long fingers wrapping themselves around your neck as your breath hitches and he pulls you up from your crouched position, his long tongue running over your collarbones, the wet trails feeling as cold on your skin as his appendage feels hot. 'Now remember what I said? Ready or not...'

He presses you into a wall, his big, hard erection rubbing teasingly through the layers of fabric on your already wet core as you whimper with want. '... here I cum.'

You moan his name, the imagined feeling so painfully surreal, and you wished once more that your working fingers would elicit some sort of real, bodily response.

A cough makes you freeze in your movements. Your fantasy shatters like a mirror shot with a bullet and your eyes fly open, expecting to see maybe a dumb segment of a rerun of 'Vox2Nite'. Instead, you see the actual, real TV demon overlord, standing live and in color just a few strides away with an expression that was a mixture of confusion, curiosity and slight annoyance.

"I'd ask if I am interrupting, but it seems you already had me on your mind, huh, doll?"

Realizing that you weren't - in fact - hallucinating, you immediately whipped your hand out from under your panties, sitting up, flustered like a child caught with their hands in the cookie jar. How did he get in? Did you forget to lock the door? No. Did he unlock it?! You must have missed his opening and closing of the door over the voice in your fantasy. The same voice that is now echoing in reality. Oh what a shameful ending for a perfectly good fantasy orgasm.

"Um... shit, sorry, Mr. Vox, sir. I was just, you know..." you scrambled, getting nervous under the actual gaze of him as he folded his arms, waiting for you to end that sentence with a pitiful smirk. Jesus Christ, those arms are slender and muscular…

"Thinking! Just thinking, making script... scenarios..."

"Uh-Huh. And how is that coming along?" He asked, seemingly unfazed by the display before him as he took a few steps towards you.

"Oh, uh, haha, I didn't really... finish..."

He stopped directly in front of you, shutting you up with a low chuckle and his hand around your wrist, the one attached to the hand that had been in between your folds just literal seconds ago, lifting them up to look at the still shimmering wet residue on your fingers with a sneer.

"Mhm. Yeah, I've heard you have some problems with that."

Now that was embarrassing as it was alarming, and you ripped your hand out of his grip. Or better, you tried to do so anyway. It was a pointless exercise, his hand had an iron-tight grasp around your wrist as he pulled you up with one swift motion, so fast you stumbled into him, face to chest, breath caught in your throat as you were made suddenly aware how huge he really was compared to you.

"W-wow, my kinda pathetic reputation precedes me it seems. That's..." just great is what you wanted to say, but all words failed you when he lifted the hand in his grasp to his face, his thick, long tongue slithering out of his mouth just to wrap itself around your digits, lapping up the sticky residue of your arousal, watching you as your pupils widen and you squirm in his grip, mortified and turned on at the same time.

"Eh. Not as pathetic as my business partner's failure to provide something he's built his reputation on, sweetheart. Unusually smart of him to get you under contract before you shout it from the rooftops." He hummed as he tasted you, sucking in the pads of your finger hungrily and without hesitation, and all you could think of, frozen stiff like a deer in headlights, was: What the fuck is happening?

"But Val never had the kind of mindset I have... I don't do failure... or better said: I always finish what I start." His low rasp vibrated in the air around him, echoing in your head, and the heat his voice had brought to your skin left your mind racing. You asked yourself panicking if you had written too many dumb porn plots or if he was really implicating what you thought he was implicating.

"So, whaddaya say, doll..." His breath tickled your cheek as he leaned in closer, pulling you flush against him, a soft grunt of content as his hard dick pressed into your soft belly, his mouth right next to your ear, one of his hands running teasingly down your sides as he licked your ear shell. "...care to see if I can end your unlucky streak?"

'Fuck, yeah.' You thought, and almost moaned out loud as you let your head fall back to make room for his waiting mouth, when suddenly you stopped in your tracks. His hands were already groping over you greedily, squeezing your ass, your thighs, your breasts as he looked down on you, surprised to see your conflicted face.

"W...Wait. What's in it... for you?"

"Mh, you're clever. That's a new one." Vox laughed, his hand running up to the side of your face to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles on the corner of your lip. "Me and Val made a little bet, you see, and well... Let's just say: I want this to work out just as much as you do, since my success depends on yours."

"Oh.." So Val was talking about you, that bastard. He had you sign an NDA when he hired you, given that you had been unwilling to make a soul contract with him, but you guessed that that had been naively one-sided. Asshole.

Vox stroked your bottom lip, parting them before you opened them slightly on your own accord, his dark blue tongue languidly tracing the edges, waiting for your decision, coaxing you to decide in his favor. And even though you were kind of pissed at Valentino for running around telling people about your... situation - you couldn't deny it was tempting, turning fantasy into reality. And what was another overlord trying to do the impossible? Worst case - he'd try and fail, just as all the others did before, like the stupid moth pimp. At least you'd have some leverage for maybe another good deal for your silence on it. And in the highly unlikely best case…

With your decision made, you flicked your own tongue against his, humming at the unfamiliar taste and the sizzling static electricity on your tongue. Vox grinned, his sharp teeth pressing onto your lips, nipping at the sensitive flesh and growling with approval when your lips parted.

"Ohoho, baby, this is gonna be fun."

Vox ran his claws through your hair, loosening your already messy bun until your hair fell free with his playful pulls as he explored your mouth, deepening the kiss with every lick, until he could push his whole tongue into your mouth, moaning and grabbing the back of your head tightly as you let him fill you without the slightest hint of protest, fighting a desperate losing battle for air.

"Fuck, don't you need to... breathe?" you whispered after he finally pulled back, a wet trail connecting his tongue to yours, grinning down on you while your lungs burned for oxygen.

"Perks of being state of the art, sweetheart." he watched your swollen, drool covered lips - parted to catch your breath - for a few seconds longer before he inquisitively tilted his head. "Did you feel any of that?"

You contemplated lying, but figured honesty would probably be the best in this situation, shaking your head and giving him your most pitiful attempt at an apologetic smile, already bracing yourself for him to give up or get mad. "My lips tingle a little."

"Mh." He huffed as he pushed you back into the two-seater, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thump, and unceremoniously pulled on your very not-sexy-at-all sweatpants and slightly-more-sexy-but-not-quite panties until they slipped over your legs.

"How about this then?" He pressed his knee in between your legs to nudge them apart. "Can you feel any of this?" He spread your already wet slit open to run a cold claw over your hole, softly dipping first one, then two and lastly three of his fingers inside to stretch you further open and push it back in, repeating the movement slowly while keeping his eye contact trained on your face.

You hummed non-commitally, closing your eyes and pressing yourself into the cushions, trying to feel for any sensation that should come with every slow drag of his digits pumping inside of you, and not finding any of it was so fucking frustrating. You felt like you were not only disappointing yourself, but him, as stupid as that sounded. But with every added finger and still a lack of response, you saw the progression of frustrations in his face that you knew all too well - eyebrows furrowed, irritated twitches of the corners of his lips that turned into a snarl with the third added digit. You frowned, sighing and bit your lip - nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and fucking nothing again, just another wet hole, the clenching of your walls a habit and reflex only, no pleasure whatsoever.

"It's no fucking use..." you whined, pressing your hands to your face in frustration and fear of looking back into his eyes, "I can't feel anything at a-aaAAH...!"

Your back arched at this strange jolt running down your spine, forcing you to grind down on his hand as a strong electric current buzzed from his claw tips right through your cunt, curling in your stomach in a hot wave of wanton need and knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes flew open just in time to see the flash of victorious satisfaction on his screen before his face turned fuzzy as you began to tear up.

"There's some reaction. There we go, sweetheart." He cooed and curled his fingers in that deliciously sinful way again, making your breath catch in your throat. For the first time since you can remember, you FELT. You dropped your hands from your flushed, hot face onto the plush of the couch, fingers desperately digging into the fabric, and stared at Vox with wide eyes. He winked, nudging his head to his buried fingers, and with a shattering gasp you could see neon blue bolts of electric sparks traveling down his slender arm, crackling around the soft flesh inside of your pussy that had never felt so sensitive.

"How are y-aaaa.... aaa-AAah...." he silenced any questions you might have had or possible retort with another shock wave traveling through his hand as he dragged his fingers in and out in an agonizingly slow pace, it had your ears ringing with white noise and your eyes water with unknown, strange pleasure.

You were shaking, and though it should have frightened you a lot more than it did to be electrocuted while doing something that could be considered borderline treason to Valentino (And it still had your cunt dripping on a whim), but there was nothing left for you to think of other than the sharp shocks making every nerve inside of you buzz, your thighs already trembling in anticipation of the possibility of an unknown, but oh-so-wanted climax. Yet it was somehow still out of your reach, out of your range of senses.

"I feel like we are getting closer, babydoll." The TV demon chuckled darkly, his voice over amplified, the electrical buzz reverberating loudly in the soundless room. "How 'bout we kick it up a notch, huh?"

He pulled out his fingers in a quick, cruel movement, making your pussy clench around nothing as you already mourned the feeling. Before you had the time to voice your loss however, he had your thighs already in his hands, pushing them back to almost fold you in half and spread them apart as wide as he could get them without hurting you. With a smirk he stuck out his tongue, inhumanely long, thick on its base and pointed at the end - and let his electric energy visibly spark around it. Holy Shit.

The moment his head dipped down and his appendage swiped through your puffed, red folds, you could feel your insides buzz in sync to his delighted moan. He began eating you out feverously and obscenely, not holding anything back, just like you wrote your most popular protagonists to do - NO, this was so much better than anything you've ever written or fantasized about, his tongue twisting in patterns that felt like nothing you've ever even came close to imagine before. It was like he powered your whole nervous system, overriding every strand of nerve with his own electricity, amplifying any touch, any lick and any suction that would normally not even register a thousand-fold.

"O-Oh my g... F-fffuuuuhhh-ck.. meeee..." you moaned in confusion and amazement, your legs shaking helplessly on either side of Vox's rectangle head as he fucked his tongue into you, switching between the deep, long, thorough thrusts and fast, small, teasing flicks into the wet heat of your cunt, coating his screen in a shining mix of your natural juices and his blue neon saliva. He sucked at the protruding of your swollen bundle of nerves, your sensitive clit twitching under his attention - it was maddeningly unreal. You felt like a complete, utter sham - if this was sex, you've never written it anywhere correctly.

"I'm working on that, sweetheart."

Vox smirked against your pulsing core, humming with satisfaction at your wet, gaping slit begging for him to push back in and fill you up again, making you ache for his tongue deeper and deeper, forcing every shred of sense you had to leave your mind as you bucked into his grip in desperation, chasing another intense jolt he held just out of your reach as he laughed deviously at your hungry reaction to his teasing antics.

You didn't care how pathetic you looked, how undignified or desperate you sounded. This was nothing short of fucking fantastic, this all new, unknown sensation that you deemed impossible to ever experience and an real, tangible orgasm so close you could almost grab it. You felt a violent greed, you needed more of this, more more more, you needed to cum and you knew exactly that only Vox was able to do it - but you needed him inside of you, pushing you into oversensitivity, no matter what was required to get you over the edge. Fuck all dignity, that ship had sailed the moment your back hit the couch.

You shook your head vigorously, choking down sobs of grateful pleasure that racked your body with every curl of his tongue inside of you and a guttural moan, high pitched and broken.

"P-Please... ah, Pl..please..." you panted and Vox felt for your thighs to hold you steady. His claws sank in with such force into the soft meat of your legs he drew blood. "F... Fu..Fuck me.. please." you stammered and he smirked, a look of pure joy in his digital eyes as he stared you down.

"Oh, I will, baby." He smiled against your core, curling the tip of his tongue around your clit with just the right amount of pressure that your entire vision went blank with a broken cry and the strongest wave of static he'd managed to work you up to so far. "Don't worry about that, I'm not nearly done with you."

He fucked his long, slippery tongue back into your quivering pussy, his thumb taking the place on the sensitive bundle of nerves where his pointy tip had been and you cried out again as he found that one spot you've always read (and written) about. You had questioned it's actual existence, believing it to be one of those wishful myths girls dreamt and you by proxy wrote about - Until Vox and his fucking talented mouth and miraculous tongue brushed right up against it with expert accuracy. It made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth open to cry out as your back arched like a bow string.

"Yeah, there? F-Fuuuck..." The overlord growled, watching your blissful face twist with a new kind of overwhelming pleasure. "You gonna cum for me baby? Come on, let go, good girl..."

You knew the reader-pleasing phrase by heart. You used it a hundred times and fantasized about it even more - It shouldn't have that effect on you, but yet it was that comment of his, spoken in a raspy low rumble directly into your cunt that finally pushed you over the edge, leaving you panting helplessly and cumming.

Hard. Harder than you've ever dreamed about. Every nerve ending on overdrive, every hair standing on edge - it felt like getting struck by lightning, the static electricity sizzling through your blood vessels like a thunderstorm as he was still thrusting that goddamn magic tongue into your spasming hole through the clamping of your muscles, taking you through it with small, measured licks to keep you on the edge a little longer, whines and hiccups mixed with breathless laughs leaving your raw throat as you slowly returned to reality.

This was it, what you've always longed for, you realized after your vision came back to you, staring down at the smug looking TV demon who was still settled between your legs, his glowing screen painted with the remains of your climax. You managed to give him an exhausted smile, blowing a stray strand of wild hair from your face with a quick puff before dropping your head back in the pillow, absolutely spent. Vox pressed a toothy kiss on your thigh and pushed himself back to his feet.

"You've got quite the gushy orgasm, doll, damn..." he wiped a thick blotch of your arousal from the corner of his screen, the neon blue stained fingertip disappearing in his mouth as he hummed appreciatively and licked it away. Then he looked over you, slumped lazily on the sofa, your face flushed, your hair all tangled and the exposed pieces of skin covered with a shiny layer of sweat.

"Shit, sweetheart, you look goddamn good when you're all messed up like that..." He eyed you intently and leaned down, his heavy frame caging you in underneath him, one hand trailing a line from your still heaving chest, between your breasts and up to your throat.

"T-That was.. wow. Just... wow." Clearly illiterate and 50 IQ-points dumber post-orgasm, you cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. While you were a little disappointed that you still hadn't really fucked, he did what he promised to do. Got you off - and how. You were grateful.

Sad that it was over, maybe even sadder that the chances of a repetition were likely zero - Vox was a goddamn overlord, and who were you other than a nobody with a hard-to-please cunt?- but grateful nonetheless. And you felt the need to let him know that.

"I don't know how to than... w-what are you doing?"

You sat yourself up on the elbows with a dumbfounded expression as Vox began to undress himself, his jacket, bow tie and undershirt discarded within seconds onto the ground and he practically pounced you as he began to undo the belt of his slacks, trapping you in between his legs and under the very prominent hard-on he sported.

"What, you really thought that was it? Make you cum once, win my bet and ding-dong-ditch like a fucking amateur?" Vox laughed as he pulled his massive length out of his pants - Words were your bread and butter but they would ever fail you to describe the gloriousness that was his cock.

Almost as thick as your underarm, smooth and almost shiny, glowing with built-in LED lights along the underside of his shaft and practically weeping with precum. He knelt down on the sofa, taking your hand to run it over its full length, smearing the sticky residue along your fingers, his almost bioluminescent cum dripping thick and slowly from the angry swollen tip. "Fuck no, sweetheart. In case you forgot, let me remind you..."

He leaned down to your ear, a violent electric bold jolting from his cock through your hand right into your overwhelmed, disbelieving brain as he guided you to line him up with your still throbbing entrance.

"I always finish what I start."

Vox had never been in a better mood.

His phone - finally surviving for more than just a few days, since his win against Valentino prevented the moth pimp from smashing it, even in one of his many temper tantrums - buzzed again. A notification of another upload into the cloud. He smirked when he saw the name of the user.

The whole conversation after he fucked Val's writing savant into Limbo and back had been a fucking blast for Vox - he reveled in the morbid joy of cashing in his stake while teasing Val that he'd have to wait another eternity for the chance to make Vox star in a double length porn with him - a fantasy of the moth Vox has been always against. Not to mention that Vox had accomplished what Valentino with all his 'mighty dicks and porn mastery'-aura couldn't. Which (rightfully) sent him into his biggest hissy fit yet, so enraged that, in lieu of Vox's phone to throw against the wall, he threw his newest Robo-Assistant Kitty out the window.

Although Vox had been certain he wouldn't lose the little bet against his partner, he still felt a little relief that his ass wasn't on the next new load of crappy porn DVDs. Granted, that would've surely caused sales to skyrocket - but with his revived and improved little star author that was more than just unnecessary.

Val's fears that a good dicking with a Happy End would sort of break the little writers 'Sex-Spell' and her scripts turn into shite like the rest of Val's useless crew produced proved to be the exact opposite. Ever since Vox made her cum - on his fingers, mouth and cock for multiple times that fateful night - her scripts improved even more, resulting in stellar sales reports, a major spike in cashflow and a personal inquiry letter for a meeting from Asmodeus himself (which Vox contemplated to frame and hang over his fucking bed like a medal of honor).

And since Valentino, in his hurt pride and childish, stubborn pettiness refused to speak or fuck with him, Vox had no qualms of paying his little writer a few more visits. Every time he found impish joy in finding new ways to make her cum, and after one shag-date where he actually stayed long enough for an after-sex-cigarette and some smalltalk, he discovered that she wasn't just a kinky, but also an interesting bitch with great taste in whiskey and a crude sense of humor that was just up his alley.

"I'm curious doll." Vox said as he took another drag from the cigarette before he handed her the bud, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her onto his bare chest as he lounged on the new, bigger sofa he got for her office (more space and much more versatility) "What the fuck did you do to end up in hell? You don't seem like the ax-murder type."

She chuckled mischievously. "I was a pretty popular crime author back upstairs. I hit a pretty bad writer's block, and decided to get in some field work to inspire me for more creative ways of murder. No axes, but I did have a fable for knives." She grinned, inhaling the thick smoke as he laughed and the way her tits pressed into his skin had him almost hard again. "You know what's the most ironic part?" She asked, putting the bud out in the ashtray on her side table and glanced back over her naked shoulder to him, a devious glint in her eyes. "I got the electric chair for that." That woke his cock fully up again, and he couldn't help but take her for another round.

His assistant babbled something about his schedule, but Vox didn't listen. Instead, he planned on visiting her office again, maybe he'd even stay after and order sushi for two, who knew? The media Overlord smiled smugly as he opened the database and looked over the newest script you had uploaded to the cloud. It was when he read the title that he burst into ringing laughter.

'Electrocutie - One Big Cock Shock'

[howlingguardian]

hi hello i just wanted to let you know that i just binge-read your butcher!Taylor story and holy crap. wow. i'm amazed by how relatable you've managed to make the Butcher personalities—many of them, specially Firecracker, Nemean, Anchorage and Tactical, make me feel a bit like "and there, but for the grace of God, go I"—if it weren't for my heaps of sheer dumb luck (and the fact that this is isn't Earth Bet, obviously), that could have been me. it makes the entire story super interesting, and makes me kinda hope for the time Amy manages to get those letters to their destination—i really hope they get some closure, and not just Flinch's family. This last chapter—aside from making me despair about the cliffhanger—was really sweet: i loved the Amy interaction and I agree with Anchorage's Grandmaw that good food heals all, and helps always. I also really loved the Sophia, Taylor and mall guards interaction as well—Taylor was right in calling those fuckers out, and idk whether or not you're white, but you get internet cookies for that. I'm also a fan of Danny and Taylor rebuilding their relationship, Danny visibly getting better, and how despite Taylor gaining a newfound confidence bc of the Butcher's memories & life experiences, she isn't magically over what the Trio did to her—they still affect her, even if she's better equipped to dealing with them. It makes her more believable as a character. I'm also deeply curious about T���I'm hoping for an interlude from his POV eventually. He's been right there through a lot of it, and he's stuck by Taylor, and we don't really know what's up with him—there are some hints about helicopter parents who are overly supportive, but it sure stands out how he hasn't really told them he's a cape, which makes me think they're more overbearing than supportive, but I don't know. The way in which he covers himself in metal sure feels like burrito-ing in a security blanket, times 10. My heart goes to Vicky too—what she's going through sucks, hard. And I really appreciate how you've made an effort to make Brandish come across as a total bitch who has her reasons—she's not totally irrational, just differently rational. Really comes across how she's very obviously talking from a place of trauma and not casual cruelty. Also loving how you humanized Manpower—made it real clear even the "well-adjusted" capes are a lil fucked in the head (/non-pejorative—so am i, frankly). And I *really* love your Assault. I'm kinda hoping he breaks lines and has some words w Elpis, off the record—just because I really like him, and as someone who also has some misgivings abt the Gov, I'd like to see what Assault is thinking—that bit where they referenced Assault's past as Madcap as his "misspent youth" really made me grind my teeth.

This has been enough ranting I wager but anyways, the point is: awesome story, I love it, tahnk you for writing it!!!

Holy shit, this is, by a wide margin, the longest ask or message I've ever got. Thank you so much! I'm working on the next chapter as we speak, and it's going to be a big one!

I did aim to try and make the point that the Butchers, like a lot of villains, did not just decide to turn to a life of crime for shits and giggles. Many of them were forced into it by circumstance and spiralled down to stay alive. In the right environment, they'd have thrived.

The letters too- those will play a part, showing the Butcher's human connections and emphasising that they are human themselves. Even if they are currently disembodied voices in the head of a tenage girl.

Tarquin is... honestly, thinking some things about myself, I think he's got elements of myself in him. My parents aren't so hovering, but I do get the idea of putting up a facade to hide your vulnerabilities.

Characterisation is important in fanfiction, and maintaining nuance can make or break a story. Sometimes it's fun to exaggerate a character's personality, but I wanted to stick close to canon, so it's very encouraging to hear you approve of how I've written Vicky and Brandish and Manpower and a lot of other tricky characters.

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoy Here Comes The New Boss! The next chapter's coming out sometime this week, but if you can't wait until then, you can try my spin-off Hostile Takeover for a bit of fun.

[blackjackkent]

Comfort Food for the ship of your choice~?

(Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase)

41. Comfort food

-----

"There." Wyll stalks into camp, lugging a heavy parcel wrapped in brown paper. He sets it down next to the fire and grins brightly at Rakha. "I found us a present."

Rakha walks over to his side and nudges aside the paper. Within is a small box full of little vials, all of which appear to contain thick powdery substances of various colors. Her eyes narrow and some of the tension eases off her face with this new mystery. "What is it?" she asks curiously.

Wyll's grin widens. "Spices," he says. He picks up one of the vials and turns it between his fingers. "I took them from the inn's stores. Jaheira and the Harpers certainly weren't using them. And you-- you've never eaten anything properly spiced, have you?"

Rakha shakes her head with slight bewilderment. Her recollection of food is limited only to what she has experienced on the road since the nautiloid. This is a haphazard affair at best, usually a few mouthfuls of whatever they happened to scrounge during the day's adventures. Sometimes they combine it over the fire into something Gale optimistically calls "stew", but in Rakha's experience, it doesn't really change much; it's the same mouthfuls, only wet.

Karlach, wandering past, does a double-take seeing the box, and her nostrils flare as she leans in. "Holy shit," she says. "Is that garlic?"

Wyll laughs. "Among other things."

"Oh, FUCK yes," Karlach says with deep satisfaction. "Soldier, you are about to have the best night of your life."

Rakha's expectations aren't really that high in spite of Karlach's enthusiasm. But she watches curiously as Wyll takes the day's meat - a cut of venison, magically preserved, from a deer Astarion emptied back in the mountain pass - and liberally sprinkles it with dust from several of the small containers.

A pass of black powder, and then a sprinkling of white crystals. A handful of the pale beige dust Karlach called garlic. "You can do lots of very complicated things, cooking," Wyll tells her as he works, his fingers moving deftly to coat the meat and then place it onto a stick over the fire. "Father made sure I had lots of practice, even though most of the nobles thought it was rather beneath them. But this is a simple combination that works with just about anything. I wager it'll make for good comfort food out here."

Rakha doesn't answer; her eyes have drifted half-closed and she's focused suddenly on the smell rising from the campfire. It is like nothing she's ever smelled before and seems highly incongruous in the dead blankness of the shadowlands - a thick rich warm scent that does indeed seem to calm something inside her briefly.

Her stomach gives an abrupt, sharp rumble, and Wyll laughs. "That's what I like to hear."

The whole camp gathers around to watch Rakha's reaction when she finally takes a bite. Karlach in particular bounces from foot to foot with open eagerness. "Well, Soldier? What do you think?"

Rakha chews the mouthful of seasoned meat for a long time before swallowing. Her eyes go very wide and her head cocks to one side. "Oh," she says, but the single syllable resonates with wonder which she usually reserves for the machinations of the Weave.

"Right?!" Karlach says enthusiastically. "Shit like that is what makes life worth living." She slaps Wyll on the shoulder. "Great work."

Wyll chuckles, swallowing a bite of his own meal. "I do what I can," he says lightly, but his eyes are fixed on Rakha's, clearly relishing the expression of pleasure in her eyes. When the others have started to drift back to their own business, he leans in close and presses his lips to hers gently; his lips taste of the heat of the spices, gentle and sharp at once.

"I'm glad you like it," he murmurs. "Things like this... you deserve to be able to remember."

[collectingmuses]

// Hello, yes, here's the mentioned shippy drabble I wrote about two OC's set in the late 70s.

Is this purely for myself???....yes. I'm posting it anyways.

Her eyes were drawn to the glint of the coin in the dim light, watching as it flipped effortlessly through the air, blurring into a silver orb as it twirled. The quarter clattered against the bar top, bouncing unsteadily onto it’s edge where it wobbled and spun before finally falling over and settling to a full stop.

“Heads. Fuck!” George Washington’s expressionless face stared off into nothingness as Maggie let out a frustrated groan.

“Holy shit.” Eric murmured, his usual dry monotone tinged with the faintest hint of genuine surprise and enthusiasm. “I won? I never win.”

“We can flip it again.” Maggie offered. “Yeah? Best two outta three?”

“Oh, no. No, no.” Eric’s smirk stretched out into a full blown smile as he picked up the coin, tapping it against the hardwood of the countertop and slowly backed his way towards the jukebox. “The rules are clear. Winner gets jukebox rights for the rest of the shift.”

Maggie cringed. “At least pick something good.”

The only thing close to a reply that came from Eric was the sound of the quarter dropping into the metallic slot on the front of the jukebox. Maggie sighed, frowning in anticipation while watching Eric press a few different buttons, getting his money's worth of music. The jukebox whirred to life, dropping the first 45 onto the spindle.

Buddy Holly began to play, eliciting another exaggerated moan of anguish from his coworker.

“Mate, you’re killin’ me with the grandpa music.”

The duo were opposites in every sense of the word. Maggie, a fish out of water, was stranded a long ways away from her native England. That in itself was enough to make her an oddity in this backwater Louisianan town, but her chopped and dyed hair and DIY clothes, all ripped and torn and sewn and safety pinned, made damn sure that she stood out amongst the locals more so than she ever did back in West London.

Eric was a veteran, a draftee of ‘nam. He never talked much about it, and Maggie never really pried, but she’d gleamed enough to know it was a bad time for him. Real bad. Not that you’d ever know it to look at the guy. His dry, sardonic voice...the little grin tugging at the side of his mouth as he swept the bar floor and grooved along to the music he knew she couldn’t stand...he seemed normal, well adjusted. He was the exact kind of square that Maggie and her friends would snark about in her old life.

‘Funny how that works out?’ Maggie mused to herself, absently polishing the last of the glasses, stacking them up in rows of five behind the bar. ‘Anywhere else, any other time or place on the face of the earth, and we’d never even give one another the time of day.’

She glanced up in time to see Eric twirl the broom around playfully as he began sweeping between the opposite row of tables.

‘Well...I wouldn’t, at least.’ she continued the thought. ‘Eric’s too much of a puppy.”

“What?”

Maggie jumped, Eric’s voice jolting her from her little daydream. Part of her worried she had accidentally uttered the quiet part loud, but the truth was only slightly less mortifying. Eric had caught her staring at him.

“You.” she covered, not missing a beat. “Just watching the show. They teach you those moves in boot camp, soldier boy?”

It was enough to earn a laugh from the young man. “Oh, yeah. First week in basic...how to cut a rug.”

“Too bad your taste in music is shite.” she teased, still somewhat sore over losing the wager. One of the positives about closing the bar alone was having full control over the music. She’d managed to sneak a few records from her personal collection into the machine, and while she’d been able open up Eric’s mind to the new punk sound, he still had a habit of playing tunes that hadn’t been considered cool in well over a decade. She missed nights of endless Sex Pistols, The Damned, and the Stooges.

The song came to an end, the jukebox whirred to life as it switched out the vinyl for the next song. Eric shrugged and set the broom aside.

“You don’t like my music, you don’t like my moves. I just can’t win, can I?” he replied, playfully pouting. “Make you a deal, though. You do me this one little favor and I’ll unplug the jukebox, reset it, let you play what you want for the rest of the night.”

“Mmmh, tempting. What’s the catch?” Maggie asked, arms folded atop the polished countertop as she leaned forward, like she was about to hear some juicy secret. The needle dropped inside the machine, the opening strains of “You’ve Really got a Hold on Me” by Smokey Robinson began to play from the speakers.

“Dance with me?” Eric asked, as casual as can be while threading a hand through his shaggy mop of blonde hair.

Maggie the sarcastic, tough, caustic, young woman that she was hadn’t expected to be caught so off guard by the bluntness of the request. Her face went a faint shade of red, which she tried to hide by tossing up her hands and (accidentally) letting out the most undignified snort/laugh/squeal that either of them had ever heard.

“Are you takin’ the piss?” she asked, all while Eric smirked and began to dance along to the song. Maggie shook her head, trying her damnedest to appear unaffected, which wasn’t doing much to convince either of them. “You must be. You’ve lost it, man.”

Eric didn’t respond, instead he kept dancing, picking up his broom to use once again as a stand in for a dance partner. He moved to the beat...even began to sing along to it while playfully motioning to Maggie to join him.

‘ I don't like you, but I love you...’

“Oh, no. Now the singing. I can’t believe this.”

‘Seems that I'm always thinking of you.’

“Eric, seriously, I’m weighing the pros and cons of committing arson right now.”

“Oh, oh, oh, you treat me badly...”

“Ugh, ALRIGHT fine!” She huffed, slapping her hands against the counter, just barely hiding her own bemused smile. Maggie stepped out from behind the bar, dragging her feet while making her way over to the taller man. “...but I get to play what I want for the rest of our shift.”

“Hey, that was the deal, right?” Eric replied, dropping the broom, and offering his hand to the punk rocker. She hesitated, suddenly feeling quite shy. Eric was a friend, about the only one she had since ending up here in Sunny Hollow...he was always kind to her, despite her sarcasm and barbs aimed at his insufferable, loud mouthed brother. He was just goofing around, nothing more...right? No, she wasn’t reading too much into this.

So then why the hell was her heart pounding so hard as she took his hand?  Where was her wit and venom as he gently pulled her closer to his chest and began to slow dance with her? Just like that, her defenses were gone.

Whatever concerns she had about getting back home, about this strange little town, about where exactly her and Eric stood had melted away. Right now all that mattered was the moment. An arm slid around the soldier’s waist, her cheek resting against his chest, letting Eric lead them as the song continued to play. 

It wasn’t a very long song, unfortunately, already more than half over by the time she had finally agreed to the dance. Just as it ended she felt him begin to pull away, no doubt to keep up his end of the promise.

“Ok, Mags...I guess I made you suffer enough. I’ll go unplu-”

Maggie tightened her embrace, keeping him from breaking away just yet. Puzzled, Eric peered down at Maggie who met his gaze.

“One more?” she asked. “Your taste isn’t that bad.”

[demonicintegrity]

I’m kinda mulling around in my head the options the show has for season 2. From the one article I skimmed the show has completely covered everything that was in the manga. As it stands, it’s a perfectly valid stopping point. We’ve got a complete story here even with room for more adventures and conflict.

That being said, season 1 showed that forcing romance isn’t the way to go about things. Over and over again, whenever Riri intervened it almost always made things worse. They themselves admit they just don’t get it. And that’s because Riri, and I’m sure like others, see love as a formula. Or a path in a game.

Check off encounter, then the awkward intimate closeness, then Bonding Activity, then save or do smth for the other, go on a date, and then boom you got a romance. Riri’s following a checklist that doesn’t work outside of a completely conceptual and fictional environment. (Never mind the fact that Anzu just doesn’t want one)

So if Riri’s mission is showing us that forcing a romance doesn’t build a bond or that a bond isn’t a checklist of things you have to do, I’m thinking Kate’s mission with Kishi could show that love doesn’t fix people.

I can see it now, the company is like “oh okay, her problem was that she was in love with a teen. Set her up with an adult her age and that’ll fix things ^u^ teehee”

(Rip Kate, I truly think she’s just a new(er) employee still in training that was thrown into this because Riri failed.)

Because Kishi clearly has a history of issues. But being in love won’t fix it, if anything it probably made her more delusional. If she ever wants a chance at forming any healthy relationships, Kate would have to get her to be receptive to a lifetime of therapy. Maybe start her off with some friends first if she can do that. One step at a time sorta deal.

Even if Kate miraculously found someone who would cool and into/patient with her obsessive ways, it’s not gonna make things better. In fact, I’d wager she’d hurt someone innocent anyways because of a delusion that they were getting too close to her love. She seems like she’s has zero hobbies, which would be the inverse of Anzu’s problems. She would need to have fun with something first for her own mental health, and then as a bonding point with others.

She’d also need to be surrounded by a support system that didn’t enable or excuse her worst traits. Not to entirely throw her mother and uncle under the bus here. I do think her mother was lied to about the extent of who/what Katzuki was to Kishi, I can’t imagine her being cool with her daughter dating a high schooler. That being said, holy shit her mother’s A+ parenting skills had to have contributed somewhere here.

My point being here: if the show wants to keep following this overarching theme of society’s misconceptions about romance, they absolutely have the room to do so. Keep satirizing and deconstructing everything about romance; that you need it, that it can fix your issues, that it should result in kids, the heteronormativity of it, etc.

Season 2 and onward can still be focused on Anzu of course. Her building relationships with the guys and Saki, but near the end/periodically check in with Kate and Kishi to further highlight that forcing romance is wrong. Especially on someone who isn’t mentally ready for it, and that this meddling could cause worse things. Anzu still gets screen time and development, there’s shenanigans with Katzuki and Junta knowing what Riri is trying to do and disputing them. Hell, let them get serious with them explaining they don’t want their help with their relationship with Anzu.

I really like Romantic Killer because it has a lot of promise in its themes and deconstruction. It’s already done so well with very little complaints. Given the ample chance and opportunity I think it could be a key piece of media to highlight various toxic mentalities in romance and relationships.

[anotherghoul666]

I want to know the answer to so many of those questions for the ao3 wrapped. I'll settle for these though: 3, 9 and 28

Buddy, please, you could ask all of them and I'd jump for joy and answer every single one. Engagement is author food and I hunger like nobody's business XD If you want to know the answer to anything else, please send them over. Never hesitate to engage with me. I'd wager most authors would also love the engagement but I don't want to speak for everyone, so maybe check in first, but I LOVE it. I don't find it cringe, I don't find spam likes or reblogs annoying, I love asks, do your worst!

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

This Could All Be Yours! Because this beast was an ORDEAL to make. I actually pushed through and produced something that I can legit enjoy now that I've stepped away from it. So much shit happened while I was actively writing the stripper!AU. I wrote it through an insane work rush where I'd do 10 days in a row no breaks spent between my two jobs because of the stupid holiday season, have a day off to recover, then get shoved back in it again. I wrote it through a covid outbreak in my residents at job 1 from which we were not properly protected. I wrote it under the threat and stress of maybe catching covid again, maybe giving covid to my partner, maybe ruining the holidays for everybody cause both our families have immunocompromised members so we had to isolate preventively besides going to work. I wrote it through a good ol' bout of the Spicy Sad. I somehow managed to write Rain to a satisfying standard where I love how I wrote him now but while I was doing it? Holy shit did this cryptid stump me and made want to pull my hair out xD Every scene with him did not flow while I wrote, it was slow and painful and like pulling teeth. Many people have had me in their DMs complaining about why is our water boy so fucking hard to write XD And in the end it worked out so good and I love himmmmm but my god, I had another Rain fic planned right after this and NOPE XD I need a Rain break, I can't put myself through that again so soon hahaha. I can write him well but he's the ghoul I struggle with the most. So yeah. Through all that shit, I wrote almost 20k of what I find to be a very well build verse I'm excited to go back inside of, and I'm proud I managed to get it out in these circumstances!

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

Besides the obvious answer of polyghouls because I ship them all as a poly unit, my favorite dynamic is Swiss/Dew. These two together are magic. They're a fucking forest fire. They are so much fun to write, they're natural, they flow so well, they're painless, and I can push shit with them. Swiss is my go-to sadist, Dew is my go-to masochist (even if I 100% plan to make them switch, because all my ghouls are switches, and Dew has a mean sadistic streak too). I'm a fervent follower of the Hurt Dew 2k22 agenda and I shall pursue some version of Hurt Dew 2k23 too, honestly. It's just, right on target for what I love to write the most, these two. The banter, the back and forth, the meanness, the issues, the humiliation and shame sweet spot, the pain and shared delight, that manic electric energy they get into, on a backdrop of so much love and care and trust. They're the pair I realistically see pushing their kink the furthest in terms of edge play and real heavy shit that teeters lines and limits and I love that vibe. I cannot wait to write more of their brand of tender violence. I want to see see how much I can push with these two in the future, how far I'll take them in terms of the more niche or "extreme" kinks and edge play. That's the kind of exploration that really gets my experimentalist kinkster mind going!

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

Drought or Euphoria probably. It's the most self-indulgent work I wrote for sure, in terms of saying fuck it, this will not be for everybody, but it's what gets me off, and I will write something I'd get off to if I found it in the wild. Turns out, more people than I had expected have suddenly found themselves with an sudden new interest for leather boots hahaha. Yall are welcome for the sexual awakening btw ;) But yeah. Most of the key elements in this fic are self indulgent. It's me pressing my own buttons. The gratuitous descriptions of Swiss and his salt and pepper facial hair that makes me weak in the knees. The whole "consensually twisting someone's arm and tricking them to make them do what you want" dynamic Swiss enacts on Dew. The descriptions of the smell and taste of leather, that's for me to have the scent in my nose and the taste in my mouth while I write. The boot worship. The obedience. The devotion. The humiliation. The shameless projection of my own oral fixation and enthusiasm for blow jobs on Dew, which is now something I've kept on his character for good and will write more of. The monstrous tongue which is me displaying my inner monster fucker. The denial ending. This shit is like, my own kryptonite. I will happily write for kinks that aren't my favs or aren't even kinks I have, for requests or exploration's sake. But oooh boy, when I get to just make an entire fic to be a collection of *my* shit, it's pure fun and it goes to the top of the favorite list real fast hahaha.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Simmer - A special request drabble.

This, as the title suggests, is a special request drabble for the lovely @carmens-garden​ for her OC’s, Riley Parrish and Coop Harris, written for the Teen Wolf fandom. @carmens-garden​, I do hope you enjoy this little drabble, and anyone else who is interested in reading it, too!

Words - 741

Warnings - None

As a werewolf, Coop Harris possessed senses probably a thousand times stronger than those of a bloodhound, but he wagered that even if he didn’t, he’d still be able to smell the obnoxious aroma currently drifting under his nose as he made his way towards the front door.  

“Mom, are you cooking the trash?” he called out upon entry, closing the door behind him. “Holy shit, please don’t say she’s attempting chili again.” Kicking his sneakers off, he heard no reply from his mother, walking through to the kitchen to find his girlfriend there instead, stirring a bubbling pot upon the stove. “I thought you witches used cauldrons?”  

Riley turned away from the rising steam of her brew, her mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “It’s cold out, and there wasn’t enough tinder around to make a fire. Besides, my cauldron is at home, and your mom has a way nicer kitchen than my uncle. Since she said I can treat this place like home, I figured I’d do just that.”

He scoffed, moving to open the back door in an attempt to release the odour and let in a little fresh air. “I think she’ll come to regret that once she finds out you made her house smell like the bottom of a dumpster. A dumpster on fire.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” she scolded, waving a finger at him, making him shudder immediately. “She happens to like my home brewed teas.”

“Stop with using your magic on me, we’ve discussed this,” he spoke, half laughing, half grumbling, that deep wolf rumble entertaining her as she worked the charm to make him feel as if he was being tickled between his shoulder blades, right where she knew he couldn’t reach to scratch. “So, which witch teas are you stinking out the place with? Which witch teas, hah! Get it?”

She rolled her eyes, continuing to stir. “Oh, you’re so very funny!” she exclaimed, unable to keep her usual little bite of snarkiness from the tone she used. “Liquorice root and cinnamon. Nice and spicy, cleansing, too.”

“Maybe your snarky ass should take a bath in it, then.” Oh, he couldn’t help himself sometimes, to tease his feisty little witch. He considered it part of his charm, although if you asked Riley, she likely wouldn’t go that far. His joke received the kind of withering look he was used to, his beaming grin eventually prompting her own, shaking her head at him. “Oh! Here, check these guys out. I was browsing Spotify and I added ‘em to your playlist. Thought you might enjoy.”

She loved that about him, that whenever he heard new music, even if it wasn’t to his taste, he made a note to share it with her, or as he had done in that instance, add it to the special playlist he’d created for her. He might have gotten on her last nerve with his teasing, but Riley always appreciated just how thoughtful Coop was.  

While she enjoyed the song he’d put on, placing his cell down on the chopping board to their side next to a pile of carefully prepared herbs and items Coop could only describe as dried... things, not truly know what on earth they were, she felt his arms slide around her waist, his lips meeting her cheek.

“So, where is my mom, then? I expected her to be here,” he asked, resting his chin on her shoulder.  

“She’s gone to the store and then for coffee and cake with a friend. She said she’d be home by about six.” She felt it ripple through him, that feral energy at hearing they had the house to themselves for a few hours, her skin prickling pleasantly.  

“Turn the hubble bubble brew down on low and come upstairs,” he suggested, kissing her neck a few times, his hands beginning to roam. “I wanna take a shower, and not be alone while I do.”

Riley arched an eyebrow, turning to see him depart the kitchen, pulling his shirt off and flinging it in the general direction of the laundry basket present at the foot of the stairs. “Don’t leave me waiting, babe.” he called back over his shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

At hearing that, she turned the stove down to low, placing the lid upon the pot, leaving it to simmer as she felt her lust begin to do the same. “Horny fucking werewolves.” she snickered, following him upstairs.  

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Season 1 of Promised Neverland is a damn-near masterpiece… The show in season 1, I thought was going to be one of the all-time greats. I thought The Promised Neverland was on the right path to be a staple in anime. A show that anyone could pick up and love because there was so much to like about it.

I feel this quote deep in my soul. (Also the PowerPoint comment is so prophetic holy shit kjdsfldk)

Krone's depiction for a significant portion of her screentime being horrible (although I believe this is the general consensus at this point as opposed to dismissing valid criticism of it/telling people to "get over it") and the whitewashing of characters aside, there was enough merit in the narrative of the series to make it a darling of the Winter 2019 season. Makes it all the more tragic to see it degrade and end up as one of the biggest letdowns in recent memory, and for some this unshakeable sense of unfairness in that due to not necessarily a direct evaluation of that merit on its own, but how it translated into blu-ray and merchandise sales (something I mention here while citing this reddit thread).

I was expecting more of a split between the last two choices, but Goldy Pond ranking so high isn't surprising with how the fandom on tumblr generally seems to skew (in contrast to say, Twitter, and without even getting into any potential differences between the English-speaking and Japanese-speaking fandoms, among others.)

It's interesting for me because I remember having a slight sinking feeling at the genre shift while reading it and the series potentially turning into "another shounen battle manga" after the intricacies in the mental battle of wits and strategy of the earlier arcs, but the fear of them strong arming their way through conflict with guns ended up being more of a worry for the Return to Grace Field arc.

(Referencing the tags on this post) Oh man I cannot imagine the devastation of keeping up with the series and being involved in any capacity with the fandom as it was airing.

With the way they handle Isabella's reintroduction into the series with the explicit wording of her going after the Grace Field escapees, it feels like initially the creative staff had no idea it would end the way it did either. Borrowing from the Mother's Basement video on season 2 @19:52:

I can only speculate, but my previous speculation that the anime would casually cascade into a parallel timeline did prove to be correct. It's just that most of that timeline was condensed into a PowerPoint presentation and shoehorned in after a stripped-down version of the finale that they clearly originally planned for. I'd bet good money that the credits were supposed to role right after that big stone door slammed shut, and I'd further wager that a combination of fan reactions to and dipping ratings for early episodes caused the production committee—who are the ones who actually have final say in this, not CloverWorks or even Shirai—to cut their losses and turn that cliffhanger into a skeleton of a conclusion. My best guess is that call was made in the week they bought themselves by gratuitously recapping seventeen episodes, which would have left the team with only six weeks to rejigger an already half-finished ending.

With how much time it takes to make a single episode of anime, I'm hesitant to say these decisions came in early 2021 as opposed to late 2019 or early 2020—whenever Shirai confirmed he would be concluding the main story before the end of 2020—and the anime's production was delayed due to coronavirus. It gave TPN Committee more time to decide on whether they wanted to embark on a longer venture, even if it was still a truncated one based on episode 4, or cut their shareholders' losses and end it there.

(Also yeees the shared dislike of CEO children 🤝 even if one can understand the reasoning behind that decision.)

#god this was difficult #pretty much all of these things were the main reasons i disliked s2 #in the end I chose that it’s how it’s the way people will remember tpn #because having this catastrophic failure attached to the series pretty much discourages anyone from joining the fandom #i also strongly hated how they butchered emma’s character #they have her keep her ideals but don’t show her fighting for or risking herself for them at all (like what she does in gp and seven walls) #so she just seems so useless and weak #speaking of seven walls: it would’ve looked SO FUCKING COOL if it was animated #demizu’s illustrations are incredible and i love them but i feel like animation would’ve been the best medium for the arc #imagine if they did something similar to spiderverse where it looks all glitchy and abstract at times #obviously that would have wrecked their budget but just think of the possibilities that arc presents if it was ever animated omfg #and i feel like the anime community would’ve loved yugo and lucas; just two besties meeting again against all odds and fathering 50+ kids #also the Goldy Pond crew and all their chaos #even with the manga’s flaws toward the end there was still so much that would’ve adapted beautifully into an anime #the only parts that really needed to be changed imo was after seven walls; everything before (plus some parts after seven walls) was great #just gotta hope tpn will get the fma treatment and will get a remake someday #but even if that ever somehow happened (I doubt it will) it would suck to see s1 get changed (via @swarm-of-rabid-bees)

For me, I feel I would have appreciated Goldy Pond's action more if it had been properly animated because while Demizu doesn't do a horrible job conveying it by any means, it would be nice to see those gaps in movement filled in.

But honestly they could have blown their entire animation budget on just either one of those arcs lol

And going back to these posts from ages ago and again this one, I've become more comfortable with the idea of a reboot of season 1 that would incorporate internal monologues at the potential cost of some suspense, but the things that would gut me would be potentially losing the VAs of the major characters due contracts or scheduling conflicts, and "Isabella's Lullaby" and the rest of Obata's score (even if the majority of it is the same four themes being retooled and repurposed).

#as much as i want to choose emma being treated horribly (it actually really fucked me up in 2021) i have to go with how the series is remembered #because tpn had so much potential in every aspect and it just got thrown away for what #if you go to search tpn on youtube the top 50 results are ''the downfall of tpn'' ''why did this anime turn out so awful'' and its so sad #there will never be a revival because it isnt beloved anymore #this is why i have to be as neurodivergent about it as possible (via @pawphin)

Combating algorithm hell 🤝

Again, wild how there's such a strong shared sense of wrongness for this production. Undoubtedly some of those videos are made to keep up with current topics for views, but still, such intense reactions wouldn't be sparked if the story hadn't, at least at one point in time, gripped people on some level. People love stories, enough to where they're willing to suspend disbelief at technicalities and contrivances if it means they'll receive something by the end that resonates with them, so seeing that unspoken agreement tossed aside by a third party seemingly so indifferently feels like a gross intrusion that's just…demoralizing.

#idc about anime adaptations all that much #smaller fandom is cozy too #but it was disrespectful #singling out this one series while kimetsu and dr.stone comfortably got faithful adaptations even after manga ending #i didn't like how people kept blaming shirai for things he almost certainly didn't do #like 'not liking the manga ending he wrote so he decided to butcher the anime ending too' #if only we had a good adaptations a lot of criticisms re:manga would be overlooked and forgotten #we would've had more official contents and fanarts and edits #maybe we will get reboot in 20 years or so hope it's a great one (via @1000sunnygo)

And you're not one to shy away from critiquing Shirai lol; like, if you're gonna do it, be fair about it.

For a lot of people more casually engaging with a work, it's much easier to look at the author or a production studio as a monolith and use that as a metonym for all the intricacies of the industry they're not privy to, especially on social media where brevity is valued (though I'm also guilty of doing that with TPN Committee). Something that can be irksome in general, but I imagine is even more frustrating for someone so involved in making content of the series more accessible to a wider audience not for financial gain but pure affection for the source material.

*We never got to see the Paradise Hideout in its proper glory, along with all the characters introduced during that arc

**Isabella being reintroduced back into the story differently in S2e04 but still following the same path she took in the manga (minus her dying)

***The special ops team armed with guns being taken out during the bunker raid by a group of kids thirteen and under armed with a chair and a few bows and arrows and none of the finesse used to escape Grace Field

Wish we had ranked poll choices because all of these are terrible, but what hurts you the worst specifically.

[xjoonchildx]

adonis | pjm x reader

🚨 summary: your crackpot of a neighbor will not rest until you throw yourself at the gorgeous paramedic in town. she's nuts, y'all.

🚨 pairing: reader x paramedic!jimin

🚨 genre: meddling neighbors? horny little old ladies with bad-slash-good intentions? awkward OCs who can't find the words to speak in the presence of greatness?

🚨 warnings: one very mouthy senior citizen, sweet/shy jimin, an OC who can't find a clean shirt throughout the entire fic, one very spoiled pomeranian, smoking, sexual innuendo, literally one line of implied smut

🚨 word count: 3.4K (lmao)

🚨 notes: this is my drabble *snort* for the possum anniversary and i am celebrating the wonderful @starlostjimin who is such a cool, funny, amazing, talented person. did you know that 911 is 911 in america AND canada? anyhoo. i hope you like my very first jimin fic ever, and i hope it delivers on the things that you wanted 💕

thank you always to @hobi-gif for being the most amazing beta and person in general.

If you had to wager a guess, you’d say it was Mrs. Choi from the fourth floor who’d dialed 911. That miserable old bat has always struck you as kind of a snitch.

At any rate, that’s how you find yourself standing outside your condo at ten o’clock at night, wearing nothing but a faded bathrobe and a pair of worn-out house slippers. Lights mounted on top of the fire truck idling at your building’s entrance turn the courtyard into a tragic makeshift disco, everything and everyone splashed in flashes of red and white. 

You mill around on the damp grass with the rest of your neighbors, each of you turned into temporary exiles in mismatched sleepwear. 

Mr. Nam from the sixth floor is yelling into his phone as he paces, giving someone an earful about the disruption. Mrs. Song from the seventh floor was smart enough to grab a lawn chair and she watches the scene unfold like it’s one of her beloved dramas. Mr. Baek from the first floor doesn’t pay any mind to the fuss around him, engrossed in a book good enough to drown out the grumbling and sirens. 

But you don’t spot the woman who lives in the unit next to yours – not right away – because it takes her an absurdly long time to heed this whole evacuation business. 

When Mrs. Yun finally breezes through the condo’s glass doors, she does so with all the subtlety of a pageant queen. She makes a beeline for you, decked out in a Hawaiian-print muumuu loud enough to wake the dead – accessorized by a full face of makeup, a full set of curlers, and her trusty Pomeranian tucked under one arm.

“What is all this fuss about?” she pouts, giving Chichi an affectionate scratch. You lean over to give the dog your own scratch and she licks your fingers as thanks.

“Hell if I know,” you shrug. “I came outside when I heard the sirens. Which, by the way, was about ten minutes ago.”

“I was busy,” Mrs. Yun sniffs, affronted by your reprimand. She sets Chichi down to pat her curlers and make sure each is still in place. “I have a friend coming over tonight.”

“A friend.”

“Yes honey, a friend,” she echoes, tone haughty. “You should try it some time.”

God, you really should. The only man in your life these days is the Doordash driver and the last time he’d come by, he’d made a clumsy joke about your sodium intake. You’d been embarrassed, sure, but somehow that pales in comparison to this reminder that you’re being outsexed by the little old lady next door.

“You should ask someone when they plan to let us back in,” Mrs. Yun says, tapping her foot impatiently. “You should ask – ” she pauses to look out over the crowd, eyes lighting as she points one fresh gel nail in the direction of the fire truck, “ – him.”

You follow the trajectory of that thin finger with your gaze until your eyes land on Mrs. Yun’s intended target. And then you blink as you take in what is surely the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Dark eyes and sandy blonde hair and a jawline so sharp, it could have been cut from granite.

Holy shit.

“I’ll say,” Mrs. Yun grins, and your face burns with embarrassment when you realize you’ve spoken out loud. It flames even hotter when she raises an arm to wave him over. 

“Sir? Sir!”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.”  You panic, whispering in the most threatening tone you can muster. “Put your hand down. Don’t – ”

But it’s too late. Mrs. Yun has already caught the attention of this Earth-bound Adonis. He makes his way towards you both without delay, wearing an easy smile so devastating it makes sweat bead at your temples.

“Hi there,” he greets kindly. “How can I help you?”

“Thank you, Mr. – ” Mrs. Yun pauses to squint at the name embroidered on the man’s dark navy uniform, “ – Park. What’s all this uproar about tonight, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he chuckles, and you find yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Someone called 911 because they smelled smoke, so we had to come check it out.” A radio secured to his shoulder crackles with an incoming transmission and he pauses to listen before he speaks again. “Pretty sure they’re almost done checking the building. Old places like this, we’ve always got to put in a bit more attention where the wiring is concerned. Wouldn’t want to leave you ladies in a dangerous situation.”

“Oh, of course not,” Mrs. Yun purrs, making no effort to hide the cheeky once-over she gives him. “We certainly appreciate you being thorough.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – flushes, clearing his throat as the tips of his ears turn pink. You make a mental note to sit Mrs.Yun down later to explain that a few things have changed since her heyday.

The radio crackles again, a garbled voice coming over the line.

“Sounds like they’re almost done,” he explains, looking down at his feet to find Chichi sniffing at his boot. He crouches down to pet her and she curls into the curve of his hand, eager for his touch. 

Somehow you’re willing to bet this man has that kind of effect on everything in his path – men, women, and houseplants alike.

He gives Chichi a few firm scratches before getting back to his feet. The rigid fabric of his uniform pants strains against the lean muscles of his thighs as he moves and Mrs. Yun’s eyes practically bug out of her face. You’d jam an elbow in her side if you thought there was a chance you could pull it off without being caught.

“I’d better get back,” he says, turning to you with one of those debilitating smiles. Your toes curl inside the shabby velvet of your slippers. “Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

“Oh, we won’t!” Mrs. Yun calls out, appreciating his retreating form with a lifted brow. You wait until the man is well out of earshot before turning on her.

“What the hell was that?” you demand.

“That – ” she says with her nose in the air, “ – is why you never leave the house without your face on.”

“You were practically undressing that man with your eyes,” you accuse hotly. “You do know what sexual harrassment is, don’t you?”

Mrs. Yun huffs as she bends down to scoop up Chichi. “I wasn’t harassing the man, I was appreciating him. Fine art is meant to be admired.”

“Oh, please,” you grumble. “And don’t think I missed that little detail about the smoke.”

She narrows her eyes at you.

“Mind your business.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

One week later, a knock at the door nearly startles you right off the couch. You frown into your half-eaten carton of ramen and set it down on the coffee table, taking a moment to seriously contemplate pretending not to be home.

But then there’s more knocking – more insistent this time.

You pad across the floor, crack the door open and the ramen in your stomach threatens to come right back up.

“Hi again.”

You blink. 

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just that your neighbor suffered a fall and she said you would have a key to get into her place.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – looks a little sheepish as he stands in the doorway, waiting for you to speak like a normal human being with a passable set of social skills. He shoves one hand through his sandy blonde hair and the locks seem to fall back in slow-motion.

“I – y-yes of course,” you stutter, so flustered that you nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to scramble for the kitchen. You dig Mrs. Yun’s spare key out of the silverware drawer and rush back to drop it into his waiting palm.

“I hope she’s okay,” you worry, biting at the inside of your cheek. “I’m right here if you guys need anything else.”

“We’ll take good care of her,” another voice promises, and you crane your neck to peer past the stunning Mr. Park to search for the source of it. A second man stands out in the hallway, a heavy duffel bag slung over one muscular arm covered in a myriad of tattoos. His face is boyish and beautiful and soft, a stark contrast to his powerful body.

Jesus. Who’s doing the recruiting in this city?

“We’ll have this back to you right away,” Mr. Park promises, and your neck heats when he rewards you with one of his sweet smiles. 

The second they leave, you make a beeline for the bathroom – and cringe as you stand in the mirror and peel one half-dried ramen noodle off the front of your shirt.

🚨🚨🚨 🚨

15 minutes later, Mr. Park’s picture-perfect partner is knocking at your door.  

“Hey there.”

You might have run a brush through your hair and dabbed on a bit of tinted chapstick in the last five minutes, but he notices that – or the absence of one half-dried ramen noodle, he makes no indication.

“Hi again,” you say. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, for sure. Maybe a little banged up, but otherwise she’s alright. She’s asking for you though, if you can walk over with me.”

“Yes, of course.” You shuffle into the hall and let him lead the way, through the open front door to Mrs. Yun’s unit and the narrow foyer that opens up into her living room. She’s upright on the couch, holding an ice pack to her head. The glorious Mr. Park is bent down on one knee at her side.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says, looking as pleased as a queen holding court, “I’m grateful every day for the very dedicated public servants in this city. That was terrifying.”

“But you’re okay, right?” you ask.

“Nothing broken, so far as we can tell,” the Adonis says. “She’s probably going to be good and sore tomorrow, but for now she’s doing just fine.”

“Thanks to Mr. Park and Mr. Jeon here,” Mrs.Yun says sweetly. A little too sweetly, in fact. The wheels in your brain start to turn and you eyeball her from across the room. She peeks at you from behind the ice pack and dons an angelic smile.

“Yes, they are certainly appreciated,” you say slowly, the skepticism in your voice vibrating at a frequency only Mrs. Yun can hear. She beams at Mr. Park as he gets to his feet and starts to pack up his things.

Mr. – Jeon, was it? – slings his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. “Be sure and take those anti-inflammatories tonight, okay? You’ll be all locked up in the morning if you don’t.”

Mrs. Yun practically preens at the personal attention she’s gotten from these two insanely good-looking men. “I will.”

“You’re lucky to have a good neighbor,” the Adonis says to Mrs. Yun, turning to you with a genuine smile. Your heart thuds in response. “If it’s alright with you, keep an eye on her tonight? She might need your help.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, alright,” you say with a tight smile, and Mrs. Yun clears her throat.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

“Promise me – right now – that you really fell.”

“What did I tell you about leaving the house with your face on?”

“Answer the question,” you fire back and Mrs. Yun sighs, tossing the ice pack down on the couch.

“Yes, honey, I did fall. I fell in love with that scrumptious Mr. Park the second I saw him. And if I were a woman thirty – ”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“ – Okay, fifty years younger than I am, I would be taking him for a spin myself. But since I’m not, I’ve decided that you should have him. Did I bend the truth a little? Yes. But for a good cause. I’m a very thoughtful person, you know.”

“You are outrageous,” you hiss, pacing as Mrs.Yun pretends to look for dirt under her fingernails. “This is a waste of public resources! They’re supposed to be responding to emergencies. Real emergencies.”

“First of all – ” Mrs. Yun is defiant, chin in the air, “ – Nothing ever happens in this town. Nothing. And second, there’s dust in your panties, sweetheart. If that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and Mrs. Yun ignores it, climbing off the couch with ease to cross the room and crack open a window. She pulls a box out of the tiny accent table perched beneath it and proceeds to light an absurdly long cigarette.

“You’re too damned young to be shut away in your house all the time,” she argues, pursing her lacquered lips to blow a stream of smoke out the window. “Work. Couch. Work. Couch. How can you stand it? Let me tell you what I’d be doing right now if I could turn back the clock and have your youth again: Mr. Park. I’d be doing Mr. Park. You should be doing Mr. Park.”

You stifle a disbelieving laugh. The novelty of your neighbor’s loose lips and bad habits wore off a long time ago, but sometimes she still manages to catch you off guard.

“Well, I’ve got an early morning so unless you have any more unsolicited sex advice to share, I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Mrs. Yun blows another long stream of smoke out the window. 

“Nope. I’ve got it all off my chest.”

“Good then,” you say, turning on your heels. You make it all the way to the door before you pause and call out to her.

“And put that thing out!”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

Three days later, you find yourself struggling with an overloaded paper bag from the grocery store. Yes, you’ve purchased the reusable ones and yes, they’re a hell of a lot stronger – but you never miss an opportunity to leave them hanging in the closet on your way out the door.

Something in the bag is wet – well, moist at the very least. And it’s enough to have you gripping the bottom tight with both hands as you try to maneuver your way through the revolving door at the entrance to your condo. It’s an awkward fit inside the narrow sliver of space and as you’re shuffling forward, the door’s momentum dies. You push at it with one foot and lose an onion from the bag, nearly losing your balance in the process.

You blow out a heavy breath and go to push the door again, only this time it smoothly glides away before you even make contact. The misstep makes you jerk forward, but at least the door keeps moving long enough for you to step out of it.

“Think you lost something back there.”

Most of your hair has slipped out of your ponytail holder by now, the strands matted to your forehead with the sweat you worked up on the walk from the car. But when you turn, you can still make out the glorious Mr. Park quite clearly. He drops the onion back into your bag and smiles at you.

“Please, allow me.”

He lifts the bag out of your arms, carefully securing the bottom like you’d done just moments before. With your hands now free, you push your hair out of your face and silently pray that you don’t look as unfortunate as you suspect you do.

“You don’t have to do that,” you demur. “But I appreciate it anyway. Mr. Park, right?”

“Well, I’d much prefer you call me Jimin,” he laughs, the sound of it making heat bloom inside your chest. “But yeah, it’s me again.”

He’s not wearing his uniform, you realize. And though some small part of you mourns the loss of those fitted shirts and pants, his off-duty look – an oversized sweater, jeans and pair of sharp boots – sure as hell doesn’t disappoint.

“Do you… live here?” you ask stupidly, as though a man this handsome could live anywhere on this entire street without someone taking notice. “Or – ”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I came by to check on your neighbor. You know, after the fall and all. I told her she could call me if she ever needed anything and she asked me to stop by.”

“You gave – ” you pause, shock forcing your voice at least an octave higher, “ – You gave Mrs. Yun your phone number?”

His cheeks pink at the observation. “She’s in her 70s, you know? Lives alone. I really don’t mind.”

You truly have no idea how your chain-smoking, jazzercising, oversexed hellion of a next-door neighbor has managed to convince this man she’s a frail old woman in need of a hero.

Will wonders never cease?

“Besides,” he says, “She’s kind of...quirky, you know?”

“That’s a very strange way to say unhinged,” you counter.

He laughs.  

“You’re funny. Come on, I’ll walk you up.”

yun: DID YOU HAVE YOUR FACE ON [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: he told me he helped you with your groceries [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: now tell him to help you out of your clothes [ 9:16 PM ]

you: go to bed [ 9:16 PM ] 

Two days later, legs like noodles from spin class, you limp through your front door and sag onto the couch. You might have napped for a second, you’re not entirely sure – but after a knock sounds at your door, you are most definitely alert. Your thighs protest as you force yourself off the couch to answer it.

You crack the door open and it’s him. Adonis. Mr. Park. Jimin. 

And you’re wearing a gray workout shirt with what you are certain is one very sizeable sweat stain down the front. Good God, will there ever be a time when you see this man and don’t look like a complete wreck?

“Oh my gosh, did she call you again?” you ask, incredulous. “You are so sweet to do this for her, really but this is too – ”

“ – She didn’t call,” he interrupts, looking just the tiniest bit bashful.

“Oh.”

“Listen, this is kind of embarrassing and maybe not entirely appropriate given I know where you live, but it’s just that I don’t have your number.”

Your eyes widen and your already distressed legs start to feel a bit more weak. Jimin scrubs a hand down his jaw before he speaks again.

“I was actually wondering if you might let me take you to dinner sometime.”

You blink. 

“Or I could cook you dinner. I make this really great prawn dish? But again, I’m not trying to be a creep or anything and it’s okay if you’re not comfortable with that – ” he’s backpedaling now, his words coming out in a rush.

“– You are not a creep,” you insist, when you’ve finally come to your senses and figure out how to access your words and use them to form sentences. “I just – I was just not expecting that. But yes, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

Your knees threaten to buckle at the slow smile that comes over him.

“That’s great.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

You fling the silverware drawer open and practically rip Mrs. Yun’s key out of it in your mad dash to her apartment. No, you do not feel guilty for letting yourself into her house, the woman has absolutely no boundaries and could use a taste of her own medicine.

You slam the door behind you when you walk in, and Mrs. Yun squints at you from her perch in the window. She blows out a perfect ring of smoke and then raises a brow.

“Got a bee in your bonnet?”

“Give me one of those,” you demand. “Right now.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

There’s a knock at your door – again – only this time, you already know who’s on the other side. It’s your beloved Doordash driver, bringing an order of your beloved shio ramen. Two, actually.

You open the door to grab your food and Jimin calls out from the couch.

“Need some help with that?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you say over your shoulder. 

When you turn back to thank the Doordash guy, he’s staring into your living room, eyes wide and trained on Jimin. You clear your throat and he snaps his focus back to you.

“Have a good night,” he says pleasantly.

And then he gives you a thumbs up.

yun: can the two of you keep it DOWN  [ 11:22 PM ]

yun: some of us need our beauty sleep [ 11:22 PM ]

[breelandwalker]

From this post -

dr-auraturatus: This is such a beautiful sentiment. BUT the psychological model (ie that spirits are an extension or projection of the magician's mind) is very much not animist; rather it is quite the opposite. It is hard to validate & assuage someone of their anxieties when you start by telling them their spiritual perspective is fundamentally wrong.

Hi, I'm Bree and I'm a soft animist who would very much like my friends and neighbors, especially the newer witches that I've dedicated my time to teaching, to understand the difference between "This Seemingly Inanimate Object Can Possess Life / Spirit Energy" and "This Deck Of Cards Has The Same Level Of Sentience And Emotional Intelligence As A Human Being."

I made that particular post in an effort to combat an unfortunate trend (on tiktok, it's almost always on tiktok) whereby newer witches exploring divination are being told that if their tools don't work, it either means that they're just not Gifted enough to do the work, or that their tools are alive and actively sabotaging their efforts because of some unknown faux pas or contrarian whim.

Scare tactics like this are rampant in the witchcraft sector of social media, and it certainly doesn't help practitioners who are inexperienced, anxious, or uncertain to be told that if they don't do things Exactly Right, their tools will rebel against them, demons will invade their home, and random witches on the internet might decide to hex them for shits and giggles.

I also include discussions on mental health quite frequently in my talks on witchcraft, particularly as it applies to ADHD, depression, and anxiety. Something that I emphasize as part of building a healthy practice is understanding where the line is between believing in magic and magical thinking, and recognizing things like confirmation bias and the importance of nuance and putting things into context.

There is a vast yawning chasm of difference between "Please Be Sure To Self-Check For Anxiety, Consider Trying Again Later If Your Reading Isn't Working, Please Don't Buy Into Scare Tactics, Your Cards Don't Actually Hate You" and "Your Beliefs Are Bullshit."

Also, given that the general response to the post has largely been variations on the theme of Holy Shit I Needed To Hear This, I would wager both that my audience understood what I was saying and that it was something that needed to be said.

[yukidragon]

Hello, could I get your thoughts on something? As another fic writer for SDJ (love Sunshine in Hell btw), I’m trying to keep lore straight in writing the first meeting between my OC and Jack. Unlike sweet Alice, she is ready to throw hands with this clown out of fear. XD But wouldn’t that count as rejection and make Jack disappear? Idk if the game will later elaborate on if the MC had a specific reaction to first seeing Jack after watching the tape, but I wonder if it’s important that the MC wasn’t so frightened that it counts as rejection of him. (In my fic, I’m currently taking the approach of “holy shit who are you oh wait you must be a hallucination and oh you’re a nice hallucination i guess you can stay” and that it happens so quickly that Jack doesn’t go away.) What are your thoughts?

Ahhh... I’m so glad you like Sunshine in Hell and Alice! Thank you! 💖

I think your MC being more frightened and having a more violent initial rejection of Jack is the more common interpretation of what happened. Heck, I know I certainly would freak out if suddenly a giant muscular stranger appeared in my home without warning.

In the demo, the reaction MC has to waking up to find Jack there is left ambiguous intentionally so that we can fill in the blanks with how we would have our MCs react, I’d wager. We don’t know how MC and Jack bonded, and I suspect that’s going to be a big reveal later in the plot.

My personal interpretation of what happened was that Jack struck a deal with MC, one that exchanged a bit of each other’s souls to free him from hell. What they would get in return is someone who would never betray or abandon them like Ian did, someone who would love them forever. Maybe there were other things offered too, since I have no doubt Jack would do anything to escape that cold, sleepless hell.

Alice agreed to the bargain because she was in a vulnerable state and because she felt bad for this trapped spirit who was suffering so much pain and was so desperate to escape it. She knows what it’s like to be desperate to escape pain, and she’s a very empathetic person. It was absolutely a reckless decision on her part made from a place of emotion rather than cold logic.

Consent is a huge part of Jack’s character. He needs MC to need them, and if they don’t want him there... he starts to disappear. However, even though his grip on reality slips in the “no” route, MC is downright desperate to keep him. MC wants him around even while they question if he’s even real or if they’re just losing their mind.

This is why I think that Jack being bound to MC was something MC agreed to, but no longer remembers due to the trauma of having a piece of their soul taken and exchanged. Jack simply tolerated the experience better because his soul was being tortured for the past 40 years.

Once they were connected, then they could share feelings. Jack, in the “no” route can pour more good feelings into MC. Despite their resistance, they are lonely and vulnerable due to what Ian did to them, and I think that’s the crack in their armor that he can seep into. He can make them feel good, even when they’re trying to put some distance between them. He can offer them friendship, love, servitude, good feelings... whatever they want, he’ll provide it.

Plus, even if MC doesn’t consciously remember, if they created this sort of supernatural bond between them, a part of them would feel a connection to Jack. He would feel close to them because, well, they have a piece of his soul in him and vice-versa. Even if they forgot the deal, feelings would still play a part... after all, it’s their feelings of wanting him there that keeps him around.

But, again, this is my personal headcanon for what happened. We most likely won’t know what actually happened when the two were bound together until the game’s full release. You might want to go with a different headcanon, or avoid touching on that part of the story entirely until the game’s release. It’s really up to you to decide what feels right for you.

I think you’re free to interpret what’s going on in whatever way makes you feel most comfortable. Focusing on the consent aspects of Jack’s nature is what appeals to me the most, so that’s why I have Alice being an active participant in his presence in her life.

I hope this ramble about my thoughts on this part of the game and my version of the story helps at all. Remember, the fanfic you’re writing is your story, and you’re the one making the lore. You can tweak it as you please into something that makes you happy and makes sense to you. I think that’s one of the most beautiful parts of making our own version of the story when we make fanfiction. 💕

Good luck with writing your story. I’m cheering for you!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore  

[makeste]

BnHA 323: “I Don’t Know How to Explain to You That You Should Care About Other People”

Previously on BnHA: Kacchan was all, “Izuku, I’m sorry.” Bakugou Stans were all, “[sobs for a week straight and tearfully awards him the Nobel Prize for character development].” Deku was all, “[faints in Kacchan’s arms].” Iida was all, “[trying to decide if Ochako genuinely tried to kill him a few minutes ago].” Horikoshi was all, “NO TIME FOR HUGS WE MUST GET BACK TO UA.” The civilians holed up at U.A. were all, “WE TOOK A VOTE AND DECIDED THAT WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE JERKS ABOUT THIS AND MAKE A BIG FUSS ABOUT YOU LETTING DEKU BACK INTO THE SCHOOL.” Deku was all “[stands there looking like he expected nothing less and breaking my heart more and more with each passing moment].” Ochako was all, “that does it, looks like I’m gonna have to do something about this... next chapter, that is.”

Today on BnHA: Flashback!Rat Principal is all “I just want you all to know that I spent nine million dollars turning U.A. into a giant Battleship-style grid that can burrow underground and zoom around in a giant subway maze because Horikoshi lacks a grounded understanding of both civil engineering and economics.” Back in the present day, Jeanist is all, “EVERYONE TAKE HEED, MY COMRADES AND I HAVE DEEMED IT EXPEDIENT TO CONVEY THIS AUSPICIOUS YOUTH BACK TO THIS STRONGHOLD. WE ANTICIPATE THAT WE MAY DEPEND UPON YOUR GOODWILL AND ACQUIESCENCE TO THESE TERMS.” The civilians were all, “NO.” Ochako was all, “EMPATHY, MOTHERFUCKERS, DO YOU SPEAK IT?!” The civilians were all, “oh shit.” Anyway so Ochako is a giant badass, but I’m a little worried that she’s going to get struck by lightning. Please come down from there.

so before we start this chapter, I would just like to apologize for having not posted the ch 321 recap yet, and would like to reassure everyone, and especially Iida who is staring at me with Sad Wobbly Guilt Trip Eyes, that I will get to that as soon as I can

OMG FLASHBACK??

yes please Horikoshi please show us more of class 1-A and their Deku intervention strategy jam sessions

oh dear

Iida you are too pure and good for this cruel world. [sprays the U.A. civilians with a water bottle] NO. BAD CIVILIANS! NO OSTRACIZING SCARED AND EXHAUSTED CHILDREN IN THE HOUSE

EXCUSE ME RAT PRINCIPAL WHAT’S WITH THESE MIXED MESSAGES

???

RAT PRINCIPAL: he’s free to return to us at any time!!

ALSO RAT PRINCIPAL: but it’s too risky for him to return to us

?? ??????? ?????????????????????

so now he’s going on about how strong the U.A. Barrier is, and how it’s comparable to the defensive capabilities of Tartarus. this would have sounded a lot more impressive before chapter 297 lol

OH!!!! HELLO, WHAT’S THIS!!!

A TIMELY CALLBACK TO A CERTAIN MYSTERIOUS EVENT WHICH HASN’T BEEN REFERENCED SINCE USJ? [U.A. TRAITOR MUSIC INTENSIFIES]

so now Rat Principal says he upgraded U.A.’s security systems with his own “modifications”, whatever the fuck that means. I mean look, I’ve been saying for a long time now that U.A. is the best place for everyone to hole up, don’t get me wrong. but that was mostly on account of there not being any other practical alternatives. but you’re making it sound like you figured out a way to actually make it Decay-proof or some wild shit like that

-- hold up, DID YOU ADD A FORCE FIELD. DID YOU TRICK THIS SCHOOL OUT WAKANDA-STYLE YOU CRAZY MARSUPIAL. HOLY SHIT. because that would actually be perfect

LMAO

WHAT KIND OF GALAXY BRAIN BULLSHIT. “NAH THERE’S NO NEED FOR A FORCE FIELD, LET’S JUST PUT WHEELS ON IT”

oh okay so the whole campus is basically capable of burrowing itself underground. that’s insane lol I wonder how they pulled that off. probably got poor Cementoss working overtime

blah blah blah so basically the entire campus is split into a grid and each section of the grid is capable of its own independent movement. lol this is just the Merone Base from KHR. you thought no one would notice this casual plagiarism ten years after the fact, but YOU UNDERESTIMATED YOUR AUDIENCE, HORIKOSHI

“joke’s on you imma just lampshade it” WELL ALL RIGHT THEN

“look at me I’m so fucking self-aware” fucking swear to god. I can’t believe this man is my favorite mangaka of all time smdh

“excuse me, I wasn’t finished describing all the rest of this bullshit yet,” Rat Principal breaks in impatiently. “we also added a steel wall all around the underground of the campus that’s 3000 steel plates thick. that’s fifteen fucking meters of solid fucking steel just fyi. and if anyone fucks around with any part of it the defense system will activate immediately! and also all of the plates are independently motorized, whatever the fuck that means!! in conclusion you’re gonna need a fucking tower crane to suspend all of your disbelief by the time I’m through with this paragraph”

“also Shiketsu is almost as reinforced as U.A. but not quite because we still had to make sure we were better.” but of course. and apparently the two schools are connected via a secret tunnel as Hagakure mentioned earlier

LSDKFJLSDKJFLK

“WAIT WHAT” LMAO YOU HEARD HIM, NOW INASA CAN VISIT YOU BOTH IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND TELL YOU ALL ABOUT THE WEIRD DREAM HE HAD. GOD BLESS YOU HORIKOSHI

(ETA: moment of appreciation for Shouto and Katsuki having the same thought at the same time and making Knowing Eye Contact and saying the exact same thing out loud in perfect unison like the best friends they are. what a blessed day.)

so Tokoyami is all “but wait if you engineered all this shit all the way back during the Band arc how did you even know that Tomura’s quirk awakening would become a thing, Horikoshi -- uh, I mean, Principal Nezu”

and Rat Principal is all “lol idk”

“basically I just woke up one morning and was all ‘say, you know what this school really needs? a fifteen-meter-thick underground steel wall, and the ability to break up into little pieces that individually zoom around wherever the fuck they want.’ jesus christ. lol if money and common sense were apparently no obstacle why didn’t you just teleport U.A. to the fucking moon or something. maybe I should shut up before I given him any ideas

dsfaelkjldkjgl

you heard it here first, folks, all of this cost a grand total of nine million U.S. dollars. well technically it cost “more than” nine million dollars. never has that distinction been more important lmao. are we sure this barrier was really made of steel and not cardboard? who the hell sold it to them, Ea-Nasir??

this is my favorite manga series of all time. yes I am ashamed

“in conclusion please do your best to reach Deku-kun” SO WHAT WAS ALL THAT NONSENSE ABOUT IT BEING TOO RISKY THEN. anyway thank you for this super informative and edifying flashback, Horikoshi. I will cherish it always. I don’t even want to read another translation of this absurdity lmao, there’s something special about it just the way it is. pretty sure Horikoshi just had a cracked out fever dream one night and transferred it to the pages of the manga verbatim

anyway so back to the unruly mob

not their finest moment. please excuse me while I cover poor Deku’s ears and give him a good shoosh pap

oh wow the parents are out here too

is Mitsuki trying to hold Inko back?? that’s the last thing this fandom needs right now is more Mitsuki discourse fffwlkjs. and even Jiroudad, scientifically proven to be the best dad in all of BnHA, is just standing there silently looking vaguely unhappy. way to rise to the moment you guys

MONOMA

so this settles it for me that Aizawa is not at UA. I know a lot of people have been wondering about his whereabouts, and if I had to wager a guess it would be that something happened with Shirakumo/Kurogiri. I can’t think of anything else -- even the loss of an eye and a limb -- that would keep him from his kids at a time like this

anyway but this is excellent Monoma content right here though. I love that he apparently adopted Eri after a single interaction with her. also WHERE IS SHINSOU DAMMIT. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW

and Kouta’s there too looking like he wants to run over to Deku but Ragdoll won’t let him :/

it’s gotta be pretty upsetting for him to see his hero like this and not having anyone stand up for him. [taps megaphone] IS THIS THING ON. OKAY YEAH IT SEEMS TO BE WORKING. AHEM. PAGING URARAKA OCHAKO. GONNA NEED YOU TO GET OVER HERE ALREADY AND MAKE THAT BIG DRAMATIC SPEECH WHICH YOU ARE CLEARLY DYING TO MAKE. IF YOU DON’T DO IT SOON I’M GONNA HAVE TO STEP IN, AND YOU REALLY DON’T WANT ME TO DO THAT SINCE MY SPEECH WILL NOT BE VERY GOOD OR INSPIRING, AND WILL PROBABLY JUST CONSIST OF “HELLO, YOU ARE ALL STUPID, PLEASE SHUT UP AND GO AWAY”

so now Mic is telling them to calm down. at least someone’s speaking up here, geez

OH MY GOD

MY MAN JEANIST OUT HERE DOING WHAT HE DOES BEST: MAKING EVERYONE FEEL GUILTY AND JUDGED

OH MY GOD HE IS GIVING SUCH A LONG AND BORING SPEECH LMAO IS YOUR STRATEGY TO PUT THEM ALL TO SLEEP OR WHAT

truly in awe of this man’s ability to take messages which could easily be conveyed in ELI5-speak, and stubbornly convert them into incomprehensible language the likes of which you need a graduate degree in order to understand

“hey guys, so originally our plan was to use Deku as bait for the villains, but that didn’t really work and also we realized it was kinda dumb and was probably gonna get him killed, so we brought him back here instead.” was that really so hard, Jeanist. also are we all really just gonna sit back here and watch Jeanist take full credit for Bakugou’s plan just like that lmao

(ETA:

WHERE DID ENDEAVOR GO AND WHO IS THIS DIABOLICAL MASTER OF DISGUISE. lol I genuinely didn’t notice this because I was too busy digging through thesauruses trying to rewrite Jeanist’s speech; many thanks to @class1akids​ for pointing it out and making my day immeasurably better. take it easy there Dick Tracy.)

“anyway so please stop being dicks and let him fucking rest so he can save all your ungrateful asses” what an impassioned and inspiring plea. time to see if the masses will listen to reason

narrator: they did not listen to reason

oh my god finally Ochako is doing something. YEAH OCHAKO WOOOO SHOW THEM HOW IT’S DONE

hmm

this entire chapter is truly and utterly nonsensical to me lol

(ETA: on my second readthrough I’m fucking dying at how she stole the megaphone right out of Mic’s hand lmao. and how Kacchan is all “fuck yeah nothing I appreciate more than some quality fucking larceny.”)

oh I see she was jumping on top of the main building so as to scream down at them all more impressively

“ANYWAY DEKU IS PRETTY COOL ACTUALLY, YOU GUYS ARE JUST MEAN” couldn’t have said it better myself Ochako

lol uh

gotta say I did not have “Ochako reveals the secret of OFA to the entire U.A. Citizen Clown Parade” on my bingo card for this week. it’s a bold strategy cotton let’s see if it pays off

SDLFKJSL

“NO, SERIOUSLY, HAVE YOU LOOKED AT HIM YOU GUYS. YOU THINK HE LIKES RUNNING AROUND DRESSED LIKE A RUSTED OIL DRUM?? HE DID THAT FOR YOU YOU UNGRATEFUL SLOBS”

so she is basically explaining the entire Deku Angst arc to them and explaining what a good and selfless protagonist Deku is, YES, PREACH

OMG IT’S THE GIGANTIC FOX LADY

not to insinuate anything, but what exactly were you doing standing out here with the hysterical mob, Gigantic Fox Lady? you’re better than that

-- KACCHAN SIGHTING!!

sdlkfjl. thanks for weighing in with that helpful and important observation. where have you been for the last five minutes. were you asleep. was it Jeanist’s speech

never mind, now he’s yelling at the civilians so I instantly forgive him

THE FUTURE NUMBER ONE HERO, EVERYONE. THANK YOU, THANK YOU. HE’LL BE HERE ALL WEEK

“anyway so I’m just going to end the chapter here” lmao seventeen pages truly do go by so fast. at least he didn’t try to force in a cliffhanger at the end this time. dare I say, growth

so I guess the civilians are either gonna have a Kamino and/or Fukuoka-esque moment where they remember how to be decent people and apologize to this poor young man, or else they’ll remain unpersuaded, and so Kacchan will have to knock a few of their heads around until they become more inclined to be reasonable. either option is fine by me lol

[dmwrites]

Bedraggled and smelling of smoke constantly. That’s how Techno would describe the man at his door. The man he was currently watching stumble back and fourth across the decks of his and Phil’s houses. The man had a bottle of something in one hand, something that sloshed out occasionally and splattered all over the nice wood decking. Phil wouldn’t like that.

The door of Phil’s house creaked open, and the man himself emerged, bow and arrow trained on the guy. Phil saw Techno standing at his own door and raised an eyebrow. Techno shrugged. Phil raised the bow back into position and aimed. The man didn’t seem to notice either of them. Too much staggering. Probably drunk.

Techno made a wager with himself that if the arrow missed, he’d bring the dude in. If it hit, well, eh, he probably had it coming. Phil moved the bow with the man, then fired. It missed, narrowly, and stuck into the siding of Techno’s house. It did, however, get the man’s attention.

“Holy fucking shit! The fuck was that for, huh? Bitch?” The man swayed towards Phil, but Techno stepped outside and grabbed him under the arms and picked him up.

“L dance, old man, you missed, he lived.

I’m taking him inside.” Techno snorted with laughter.

“Oh fuck off, Techno.” Phil replied in good nature. “You want to nurse some drunk back to health? Have fun with that, and don’t come crying to me when he throws up on your couch.” With a cackle, Phil shut his door again.

Techno chuckled and carried the man inside and placed him down on the couch. “Don’t listen to Phil, he’s a grumpy old man. Don’t throw up on my couch though. Or I will have to finish what Phil started.”

“Fuckin- Technoblade?” The man stood up, wobbling, and now that they were inside, Techno could smell the stale alcohol and general grime the man reeked of. He was holding a dirty knife, and it was pointed right at Techno’s stomach.

“Yup, that’s me. And I’m guessing you’re new around here, because most people know better then to threaten me with a dirty toothpick.” Techno said, plucking the knife out of his hand and tossing it into the sink.

“New? You motherfucker, I’ve been around longer then you’ve been here! I’m fucking Jack Manifold!”

“Jack Manifold… Jack Manifold…” Techno clicked his tongue and squinted his eyes, thinking. “Oh my god, yeah! The bald dude! Didn’t I kill you one time? LMAO.” Techno looked him up and down. “You’ve looked better.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You fucker.”

“Well, no matter what I am or what I do, I can’t have you stinking up my house. Bath time.” Techno picked the man up again and brought him to a small tub. “Here. Water. Soap. Don’t try to drown yourself because I will know and will stop you. There’s some clean clothes on that stool there.”

Jack muttered some curses under his breath, but Techno ignored him and closed the door. He sat down in the living room, picked up a book, and started to read. There was more muttering, then silence, then, after a long while, a deep sigh and water splashing. More muttering. Techno chuckled.

Eventually, the door opened. Techno looked over the top of his book at the man, and snorted. He was wearing some of Techno’s old clothes, and it looked like someone had thrown his clothes on a broom handle or something. Some soft brown pants with patches all over them and a thermal shirt, all bunched together in the middle with some rope.

“Happy?” Jack raised his arms in defeat.

“Not until I don’t have to talk to you anymore. You need to sleep off the booze, man.” Techno stood up and offered the couch to Jack. Jack stumbled over and sat down. Techno moved to his armchair and opened the book again.

“Are you gonna fucking watch me sleep or something, bitch?” Even after a bath, Jack was still full of bristling anger.

“Please, Bitch was my fathers name, call me Techno.” Techno said deadpan. “And yes, because I don’t want you choking on your own vomit in your sleep or something. Having a dead body in my house is bad mojo.”

“And that’s all I am to you, huh? Just a person whose death you don’t want to deal with?”

Techno raised an eyebrow at him. “Care to elaborate? Or are you just too drunk to make sense.”

Jack put the heels of his hands to his head, pressing hard. “You fuck- you killed me! I died, I crawled out of hell, and no one cared! No one! I remember, although you clearly don’t, how you laughed so fucking hard because you killed me for no good reason! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Techno snorted and put down the book. “Well, I’m sure whatever reason I had was a good one.” Techno said, and he grabbed a blanket and lay it over Jack’s bristling form. “Go to sleep, Jack. I’ll wash your knife, and you can threaten me all you want in the morning, if it makes you feel better. It’s whatever.”

Jack looked at him as Techno settled back down in the chair. “You’re not even going to say sorry.” It wasn’t a question.

Techno ruffled the pages of his book and began to read again. He read until Jack lay down, and his fake snoring became real. Then he got up, and, true to his word, washed the knife. It wasn’t much of a knife, but, Techno thought, if it’s all Jack has in the world, it should at least be clean.

[therealvinelle]

How many people do u think the cullens have killed?

A lot.

I’ll try to answer on a Cullen to Cullen basis, and make my estimate as conservative as possible. Also, for this estimate I'll look only at direct kills, complicity doesn’t count, which for example means I won’t add Royce King II & friends to Carlisle’s count, even though he made himself complicit when he helped Rosalie plot their murders.

Without further ado:

Alice has had her accidents, plural, so 2≤ humans. After joining the Cullens, mind you, we don’t know how she lived as a newborn. I’d guess her visions told her to feed from animal blood early on, to accustom her to it sooner rather than later so life among the Cullens would be easier. The interesting thing about Alice having a body count is that her gift should be helpful in avoiding these kinds of situations, meaning that Alice’s accidents have caught her unawares. So, we have at least two humans, and considering the newborn army the number might be higher. Might. Jasper tried his damndest to keep Alice safe in that fight, so it stands to reason he killed anyone who got close to her. Alice might not have had the chance to kill any newborns. If she did, and counting kills she helped with, then I’d put my estimate at a conservative 0-1. Then we have Rosalie, who says she has the second best streak in the family, second only to Carlisle. Rose killed 5 humans (she corrects herself a bit later to 7, but this doesn’t make a difference. She’s still second best to Carlisle). She admittedly doesn’t mention Alice, but if Alice had a better record than her she likely would have. Which jumps Alice up another few steps, to 8≤.

Bella hasn’t killed anyone. 0.

Carlisle had a perfect record until the newborn army attacked. So, no humans, but most likely newborns. When Carlisle attacks Bree in “The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner”, it’s a fast and brutal attack. I’ll just paste the scene: A blond vampire glanced at me, meeting my gaze, and his eyes flashed gold in the sunlight. (...) I turned and really ran for the trees (...) I was a few feet into the trees when a force like a wrecking ball hit me from behind and threw me to the ground. An arm slipped under my chin. (The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner, page 91) For the record, holy shit Carlisle, that was so brutal! I can’t believe that the minute Bella steps off screen the guy rips off his shirt and becomes the Terminator. Damn. ... Point being, Carlisle was an active participant in that battle. It makes ethical sense for him to be, the newborns had to die, it would have been hypocritical to tell his family “you guys go roll in the mud, I’m too saintly to get my hands dirty”, and if he didn’t pitch in his family and the shapeshifters would be in danger. It becomes morally just to join in the battle, and with a zeal at that. Or at least that’s how he appears to have reasoned, because holy shit, Carlisle took the gloves off. So, Carlisle can reasonably be assumed to have killed at least 1 newborn, likely more. I’d say 3 at the most, though there’s the possibility that he co-opted some kills with the others. (I have more thoughts further down).

Edward left for four years to eat people. At first he ate junkies and homeless people, they did not taste good. Would this have motivated him to eat more than one every fortnight? Alas, I’m keeping my estimate conservative, so let’s wager no. So, one human per fortnight for four years. 26*4=104. That’s the lowest possible estimate of people Edward killed, though I’m inclined to think higher. Given his mission to stop evil, if Edward found a rapist it’s not like he’d go “aw shucks, I can’t kill him yet because it hasn’t been a full two weeks!” Add Victoria to that count, and we’re at 105≤.

Emmett killed his two singers, but considering Rosalie’s statement he too falls under the 8≤ number. He helped kill James, which adds +1 to the vampire tally. Then comes the newborn battle. Bree sees him kill one of the newborns, so we know he got some action. I’ll make the same assumption as I did for Carlisle, which is 1-3. So, 2-4 vampires total.

Esme is explicitly stated to have a worse record than Rosalie. She has killed 8 people or more. As for the newborn army, I’m not sure I can picture it. If Esme did kill anyone, I imagine it was along with others. Let’s put her down for 1.

Jasper my poor guy, he’s in another league. Turned in 1863, he lived with Maria until 1938, then met Alice and became a vegetarian in 1948. He’s had a few accidents since. From 1863 to 1938 I think we should assume one person per week, as strength was paramount in the world of newborn armies, blood was a reward for soldiers, and Jasper won Maria a lot of territory. They would not want for blood, and he recounts she rewarded him often. So, 52*75=3900 dead humans. Jasper then runs off with Peter and Charlotte, presumably eating at a normal rate of every other week. We don’t know when he split off from them, but let’s assume an even split and that he left after five years, leaving another five years of lone wandering where he tried to starve himself. So, 26*5=130 for his years with Peter and Charlotte, then assuming he made it a month each fast before surrendering, 13*5=75 for the lone years. We then have accidents. He’s had more accidents than any of the other Cullen children (I don’t think it’s every actually specified that he’s had more accidents than them all, meaning Esme could still have slipped more), putting him at 9≤ accidents. Then comes the vampires he’s killed. We know he killed Nettie, Lucy, and James, so that’s 3. Newborns take time to train, but to make up for that we have a lot of armies. Let’s assume Maria’s army got into one battle every six months. Let’s assume Jasper always killed at least 1 vampire. (See what I meant by conservative? In my defense, Victoria’s army was huge and not at all representative) That’s 130≤ vampires. Jasper also mentions that as a newborn he kept getting into fights with his brothers-in-arms, he killed several. So, let’s assume 4≤, since it sounds like it was certainly more than 2. More numerous are the vampires he executed. Jasper’s gift meant Maria could have a lot more soldiers than most, and he doubled her army’s numbers. His first major accomplishment was to make her an army of 23 newborns. Assuming he kept up this good work, knowing as we do that Jasper was the only vampire Maria never replaced, and assuming some newborns were lost to infighting or battles, we can assume a replacement cycle of Maria needing 20 vampires executed on a yearly basis. 20*75 = 1500. Which... does feel a little high, but Jasper’s backstory is extreme. As for the newborn battle, let’s assume 4.

Renesmée hasn’t killed anyone either, 0.

Rosalie we know for sure, 7 humans. Let’s assume as with Carlisle and Emmett that she took out 1-3 vampires.

(NOTE: When it comes to how many newborns from Victoria’s army each Cullen killed, all we can do is estimate:

The Cullens divided evenly with the shapeshifters. There were 16 newborns at the battle, giving us 8 newborns per Cullen. There were 6 Cullens present, meaning at least 1 each. Jasper did more than his fair share, and Alice and Esme can both be speculated to have been smaller parts in this battle. I think it’s fair to assume Carlisle, Emmett, and Rosalie killed at least 1 newborn each, though likely more, especially if we take shared kills into consideration. I think 1-3 is a fair assumption, and I’m tempted to assume Jasper killed was everywhere and it feels like lowballing to estimate 4.)

Total:

Alice: 8≤ humans, 0-1** vampire. 9 total

Bella: 0

Carlisle*: 1-3**, all vampires.

Edward: 104≤ humans, 1 vampire. 105≤ total

Emmett: 8≤ humans, 2-4** vampires. 10≤ total

Esme: 8≤ humans, 1 vampire. 9≤ total

Jasper: 4105≤ humans, 1638≤** vampires. 5743≤ total

Renesmée: 0

Rosalie*: 7 humans, 1-3** vampires. 8≤ total

*with both Carlisle and Rosalie we have an upper limit. Carlisle’s body count can’t be higher than 15, and Rosalie’s can’t be higher than 22 (I get the number 15 from 16-1 newborns, as there’s one vampire we know for a fact was killed by Emmett alone) and that would be in an extremely contrived scenario where he or she was somehow everywhere at once.

** when adding up the total of vampires killed by Cullens at the newborn army, regardless of the composition of who killed who, the sum is (assuming an even split with the shapeshifters) 8.

Added together, this gives us:

4240≤ humans and 1643≤ vampires.

If we remove Jasper’s past from the equation, because newborn army George who spent 75 years in a newborn army killing every day is an outlier and should not have been counted, then the tally becomes: 

144≤ humans and 10 vampires.

If we remove Edward’s rebellious era from the equation, as he was not a Cullen at the time, the human tally sinks to: 

40≤ humans. (This is counting Rosalie’s revenge. There have been 33≤ accidents.)

This is the lowest possible estimate. The number is likely higher.

Special thanks to @theunexpectedness​ on the Twilight Forever discord for digging up her copy of “The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner” for me so I could get my quotes straight.

Also, feel free to point out errors in the math. I’m sure I’ve made some.

[sierraraeck]

Struck by Lightning

Derek x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: After breaking up with your boyfriend, you go out for a girls night. Unfortunately, he follows you to the club to try and win you back. To show him just how over him you are, you kiss the first stranger you see walking through the door. Luckily for you, that man is a sculpted god of chocolate thunder.

Category: Spicy fluff

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. Age gap between adults (maybe like 10ish years) but I never actually mention it lol. Some cussing.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This was inspired by the song “Guys My Age” by Hey Violet. If you wanna give that a quick listen, go for it, if not, that’s chill too. This is also for @fortheloveofcriminalminds 600 follower celebration! The prompt “in the likely event that this all goes pear shaped, just remember I told you so” is in bold!

“I finally did it,” you told your friend over the phone.

“You did!” she squealed. “You dumped Brody? I’m so proud of you!”

You laughed, “Thanks, Jess. God, I was just so tired of his bullshit. He never wanted to do anything but hang around his house with his friends, ya know?”

“Yeah, I do know,” Jess responded very dramatically. “I’m so glad you’re done with him! This calls for celebration!”

“Oh god,” you mumbled, knowing exactly what that entailed. Jess was always a bit excited when it came to celebrating. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yes! Girls night!” The high frequency of her voice nearly blew your eardrums out. “There’s this new bar and club downtown that I’ve been dying to check out. I’m going to call the girls!”

Without getting another word in, she hung up, leaving you no choice but to start getting ready for what you were sure would be a wild night.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Wild would not be the word you’d use to describe the night so far. Irritating would be more accurate.

Not even ten minutes after you’d arrived, Brody and his asshat friends showed up too. Of course, they couldn’t just keep their distance like any normal person who’d just been dumped would, maybe a normal person would even leave to go to a different club, but no. The first thing Brody did was approach you, sliding into the barstool next to you.

You could smell the alcohol and weed on his breath when he said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Go away, Brody,” you deadpanned. You’d finally gotten away from your immature, never-wants-to-do-anything boyfriend who never put you first, who now all the sudden that you’re gone, decides to start making an effort. And of course it had to be on the night that you were celebrating the single life again that he just had to show up.

“Don’t be like that, babe,” he said, reaching out to touch you.

You scooted out of reach of him, “Don’t touch me.”

“Come on, baby, we used to have a lot of fun. Let me remind you of that,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

You put your hand in the way and pushed his face away from yours. “I would literally rather kiss anyone other than you,” you spat.

“You don’t mean that,” Brody tried to schmooze.

“Yes I do.”

“Oh really? Prove it,” he challenged.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s just go. He’s not worth it,” Jess told you, your two other friends at her sides.

But you were too competitive for that. Plus, this was your girls night out, at the club that Jess had been dying to see for ages now, and you weren’t going to let your stupid ex ruin that. So you accepted by saying, “I will. Next person who walks through that door.”

Brody shrugged, a smug smile on his face. “Fine. Let’s see it.”

You eyed the door as Jess leaned in and whispered, “In the likely event that this all goes pear shaped, just remember I told you so.”

You rolled your eyes, still facing the door. Then you saw movement behind the glass, the door swinging open to reveal the person you’d fated yourself to kiss.

And holy shit. You don’t think you’ve ever been so lucky in your life. The honest to god hottest man you’d ever seen walked through the door. He was tall, broad shoulders accompanying his strong build, and when you saw him turn and smile at the rest of what you assumed were his friends walking through the door, you thought you might pass out. He had to have been sculpted by Zeus himself.

You were staring in shock, as if you’d been struck by lightning, almost forgetting you had a small wager on the line. Jess gave you a small nudge, springing your feet into action.

You couldn’t believe you were about to do this. But, you strutted up to the man still partially in the doorway with confidence like you’d never had before, the group of people facing your way tracking your movements. The man himself had barely enough time to turn around and register you walking toward him before you reached up behind his neck and pulled him just slightly down to you. You smashed your lips to his with a bit more force than you intended, and could feel the shock coming from everyone around you.

They weren’t the only ones to be surprised, though. In only a matter of seconds, without pulling back to ask any questions, he started kissing you back. It caught you a little off guard, to be honest, thinking you were just going to kiss him and awkwardly walk away. But he kissed you back. Like really kissed you back. His lips were soft and smooth, and before you could fully register it, your tongues were exploring each other’s mouths, pushing and pulling in a way you’d never felt before. One of his hands rested on your jaw and the other snaked around your back, spurring on your confidence enough to place your other hand on his very firm, and very muscular chest.

You weren’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but you felt like you had to pull back when one of his friends cleared their throat. You looked into his dark, cocoa eyes now that you could really admire his face close up, and he was looking at you with a mix of confusion and wonder.

You bit your lip and turned to quickly glance at the brunette who’d cleared her throat. She was pressing her lips together to suppress a smile, but wasn’t failing dreadfully at it.

You turned your attention back to the man in front of you, still looking at you in awe. Running on pure adrenaline and confidence, you slowly looked him up and down, then let out a satisfied sigh. “Not bad,” you muttered to yourself, barely loud enough for him to hear it. You ran both your hands down his chest and flirtatiously continued, “Not bad at all.”

You easily slid out of his grasp and winked over your shoulder as you strutted away.

You heard the woman who’d cleared her throat say, “I know you’re Derek Morgan, and I know you’re a catch, but has that ever happened to you?”

You peered over your shoulder and saw him staring at you. Derek, you now knew his name to be, shook his head just slightly and mumbled, “Never.”

You quickly turned away, not wanting any of them to see your grin as you practically bounced back to your seat at the bar. Brody was nowhere to be found.

Jess was slack jawed, eyebrows almost lost in her hairline. You teased, “What was that you were saying about things going wrong? Something about telling me so or..?”

Jess pulled herself together and feigned annoyance, “Oh shut up. You know you got hella lucky.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “I know.”

“Seriously, Y/N, what the hell was that?”

You shook your head, feeling as in awe as the man you’d kissed only moments ago had looked. “I have no idea.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

You eyed each other for the next hour or so, neither of you being too inconspicuous about. You’d been on the dance floor while him and his group were at a bar table. He finally approached you when you’d taken a break to get another drink.

He walked up to you and leaned against the side of the bar you’d just order from. He hadn’t said anything yet, so, without looking at him, you filled the airspace. “You know it’s considered rude.”

“Excuse me?” he questioned. It was the first time you’d really heard his voice, and it was a deep velvety sound you wanted to remember.

“It’s considered rude to stare,” you started, turning to face him, “Especially if you’re not going to buy the next drink.”

He swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, “Is that so?”

You simply nodded as the bartender brought you your drink. He had already fished out a twenty, holding it up between two of his fingers. He never took his eyes off you as the bartender took the cash and you sipped at the liquid in your glass.

“That’s a little better,” you teased.

You stood there leaning against the bar shamelessly looking each other over for another moment before he spoke up again, “I’m Derek Morgan.”

“I know,” you stated, flashing him a smile. He looked at you expectantly, but you weren’t about to give anything up.

He sighed a little, but gave you a small smile when he asked, “Well, if you won’t tell me your name, would you at least like to dance with me?”

You opened your mouth in fake surprise, “Ooh, so you’re a trade off kinda guy.”

He quickly backtracked, “No, that’s not-”

You laughed, cutting him off. “It’s okay, I like a little trade off. How about I dance with you, and if I’m any good, you put your number in my phone. If I’m not, I’ll tell you my name.”

He smirked, “Deal.”

Derek offered his hand and you gave him a small smirk as you took it, letting him lead you to the dance floor.

You both started rhythmically moving to the deafening beat, sharing glances and mimicking movements. The two of you owned the dance floor, people from all across the bar looking your way, but neither of you bothered to notice. You were way too caught up in each other, slowing moving closer and closer as you danced.

Being around him was electric, and each time your skin touched his it sent shock waves through your body, as if the man himself was made from lightning. You were becoming more and more convinced that he was handcrafted by the gods themselves.

You couldn’t remember how long you’d been on the dance floor, but when Derek dragged you off, it seemed like you could have wasted endless time in your own world out there. He was a great dancer, and you loved that he was more than willing to dance with you. Not enough men were interested in dancing like he seemed to be.

He pulled you off to the side in a low traffic, dark hallway. His whole figure seemed to glow despite the dim lighting, and the only real sound was your labored breathing above the muffled bass.

Derek’s eyes raked from your eyes down to your lips, so it was no surprise when his actions followed his gaze. His lips were on yours, and your back was in contact with the wall in a flash. He kissed you with more passion and vigour than the first time, completely dominating the kiss. You didn’t mind, wrapping your arms around his neck to get as close to him as you possibly could and then some. Your heart was racing as you tried to cling to the feeling, ignoring your lung’s cry for air.

Derek was the one who pulled away, but only to trail kisses down your neck, giving you enough time to catch your breath. “Hey, hey,” you whispered. He looked up at you with curious eyes, “Does this mean I won our little trade off?”

A hearty chuckle escaped his chest making your knees weak and he beamed at you as he answered, “I guess it does.”

You grabbed a wad of his shirt and pulled his lips to yours again, then released it to take his hand. You led him from the hallway and back to the bar where you’d left your phone, handing it to him. After he’d typed in his number, one of his friends from earlier, the same brunette, approached the two of you. Derek gave her a defeated look and she nodded her head. He sighed, an entire conversation you couldn’t follow happening in front of you. She shrugged and walked away.

When Derek’s attention was back on you, he said, “It looks like I have to go. But is there really nothing I can do to convince you to give me your name?”

You shook your head with a cheeky smile, “I guess you’ll just have to wait for a phone call.”

“You know,” he started with a joking tone, “I work for the FBI and could probably get your name if I wanted to.”

You laughed, “Is that where you’re off to?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he answered with dry humor.

“Interesting.” He gave you a look but you shrugged. “Makes sense, though, I’d pegged you as more of a SWAT guy.” He laughed and you couldn’t help but join him.

“Morgan, let’s go!” a blonde this time yelled to him.

He rolled his eyes, completely ignoring her and said, “I hope I hear from you soon.”

“Hang in there, Agent Derek Morgan,” you teased.

He flashed you that award-winning smile before turning to leave. You watched him all the way out the door, and once he got there, turned back to look at you. He smiled to himself again and left, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so.

Something about the energy in the room changed when he was gone, like all the electricity had followed him out. You were sure, then, that he wasn’t just created by Zeus, but had to have been Zeus himself. And you couldn’t wait to be struck by the lightning of his presence again.

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