#no cookies were harmed in the making of this film

[tiredeldritchhorror]

I’m having a grand ol time, have the lil doodles of ShadowNilla I made while working on the animatics, hopefully I can finish them sometime in the coming days, we’ll see

[shrewsburysworld]

Twisted Devotion | Kim Taehyung (m) Part 1.

*This is a fan fiction. completely fictional. The behaviour of characters in this fiction is not something to emulate. You are responsible for your own consumption. Thank you.*

*This is original work. Do not copyright*

Pair: Yandere Taehyung × Obsessed Reader

Summary: You were obsessed freak for the new police officer in the town. Trying to get into his heart and pants both with your efforts. But when you give up on him, he comes again in your life and you were dumbfounded when you get to know that he isn't a normal police officer.

Warning: The behaviour of characters are not something to emulate. Reader isn't yandere just crazy for him, blood, reader cuts herself for show off, argument, appearance of choi Yeonjun.

Rainy season has touched South Korea, although many people hated rain Kim Taehyung was not one of them. And it was for variants of reasons.

One of those reasons being her. That woman.

He unintentionally looked at the door as if his eyes were waiting for her. The longing of seeing her was so much that he started hallucinating her standing at door, all drenched, her outfit clearly showing cleavage and her palm all bloody - wait! What?!.

Taehyung snapped out of his imagination while he saw you standing there in real. He quickly got up after he realised that you were crying for help. The junior officer, Choi Yeonjun who was standing beside can't help but cringe. You were coming into police station regularly since two weeks.

And even a blind person can figure out you were in love with officer Kim. He just saw you as a silly girl who was begging for attention. People will say he's too harsh but looking at you clinging on officer Kim like your life depends on it, he was sure.

Taehyung doesn't know what to do, you were crying - probably fake. He knows you by now. And complaining about some unknown person who harmed you. Him being a gentleman gave you a handkerchief and told you to sit on the other side to write a report. Thankfully Yeonjun was already out when hugged him.

He saw your obvious pout after pulling out of hug.

"So, did you see their faces?" Taehyung asked the question even after being sure that this was self harm.

"Won't you ask me how I am?!!" You asked in slight anger tone.

"My palm has been cut open!!" It was not that big but you wanted to see worry or love or whatever it is in his eyes.

Taehyung massaged his head, loudly breathing through his nose. He remembered the night he met you - some goons had attacked you. You were lucky that he was nearby. He fought with them in his regular black tshirt with leather jacket. It was raining so it went all slow motion for you. Your knight in shining armor was nothing less compared to heroes in films.

He lend you his jacket to make you feel more safe. And there were butterflies in your stomach as he made such move. You asked for cleaning his little wounds to touch him, feel his muscles and he thought you were just being kind.

After that night you visited the police station as he told you he works there. You brought him luxurious gifts just simply on the name of being saved. Only if he knew you already gone for him.

He thought it was cute. After that day, she seemed to be everywhere—offering him homemade cookies, dropping by the precinct with lunch, giving him luxurious gifts here and there even if he refused.

You were quite flirty as well but what began as harmless flirtation quickly escalated into something much more unnerving. Every day, you found new ways to insert yourself into his life.

Like - right now you were being pain in the ass. Solely focusing on does he care about her - not even caring about her wounds.

"You need to back off , YN!" Taehyung told you, his voice tight with frustration.

You were silenced by his serious tone.

“This isn’t cute anymore. It’s not a game. Stay away from me.”

But You weren't deterred.

“Taehyung, you don’t mean that,” you said as your voice soft and coaxing, as if you could soothe away his anger with just a few words. You reached out to touch his hand, but he jerked away, his patience at its breaking point.

You were upset not with him but with yourself. You being a rich brat was always given what you wanted. So you were determined to get him to love you.

But now you understood that love can't be forced even after trying so many times you failed to gain his love. You can't always win anything even with money sometimes.

You stood up and left the police station. Your hand was taken care by him while you were expressing your agony.

It's been awhile, taehyung hadn't seen you. Who was he kidding tho it was just second day of you not visiting him.

Taehyung couldn't believe you didn't come the other day after argument. He thought you will enter with your sunshine smile and homemade cookies in your hand, flirting with him by openly calling him baby and talking dirty just to make him blush.

On the first day of your disappearance, he was astonished not founding you by his office door with some notorious idea to see him but he became busy to stop the feeling, the feeling of loneliness. He was surrounded by people but at the same time he wasn't. It was like you had his identity, and that somehow made him happy.

The second day was normal for everyone but not Taehyung, not him.

At first, it was just a flicker of curiosity. He wondered where were you, what were you doing, why the heck you had finally listened to him. But as the day turned into night, that curiosity grew into something more—a strange, burning need to see you again.

The rain wasn't stopping and for the first time he felt like hating the rain for the first time. It can't be right?! He promised himself to be rain lover all his life.

He began to replay your encounters in his mind, each memory sharpened by the absence of your chaotic energy.

And then, the dreams started. Dreams where you was the one pulling away, where he was the one chasing you, begging for your attention. Each time he woke, his heart pounded in his chest, his sheets twisted and damp with sweat and maybe some white substance. He hated the way you had wormed your way into his thoughts, but he couldn’t stop it. The more he tried to push you away, the more you consumed him.

Soon, Taehyung found himself driving by your apartment, lingering outside the places you used to wait for him, hoping for a glimpse of the woman he had once been so desperate to escape.

The tables had turned, and now, it was Taehyung who was haunted by the obsession that had once belonged to her.

But except it wasn't just a normal obsession, it was intense. Seems like you didn't know about officer Kim Taehyung at all.

next part

Did you guys like it?! Yandere Taehyung is about to take place in part 2!!.

Show some love and appreciation, it'll make me happier ��

Tag list : @hoji-licious , @tan-veee , @illnevertrustmyselfagain , @tae-n-u

[i-am-baechu]

♬ Summary: After Y/N tells him something that makes him have bad dreams, Jungkook will do anything to show her that this is the right universe for her. Even though she already knows that 

♬ Pairing: Established relationship; Jungkook x reader 

♬ Rating:  Explicit (18+) 

♬Genre: Established relationship, comedy, fluff, and smut

♬ Warnings: Smut 

♬ Part of, ‘ His Fan Girl

♬ Author’s note: Special guest lol and Part two to Seven 

♬ Playlist: POV - Ariana Grande

Y/N sat in the back and smiled to herself. This was the first time she actually met Mingyu in person. She actually talked to him through facetime on accident and him being an extrovert was happy to make a new friend. Especially if that friend is his best friend's fiancé.  

Jungkook just released his single Seven and Y/N couldn’t be happier for him. She felt bubbly at the song but she does everything in her power to ignore the explicit version. Even though Jungkook sings it to her everyday. She knew the song would do good and the music video shows how clingy he is when he’s in love. Army loved the song and the accomplishments that he did with the song amazed her. She knew Army powers but it always surprises her. 

She let out a laugh when Mingyu messed up the choreography and her laugh only got louder when she saw Jungkook glare at him, “Mingyu, I told you to learn the choreography!”

“I was learning it!”

She shook her head and stood up from the ground. She walked towards them and placed her hand on Jungkook, “Be nice to him. He has a lot of choreographers in his mind.”

Jungkook pouted at this and turned towards her, “Don’t defend him.” 

“No, Y/N, defend me.” 

She leaned forward placing a kiss on Jungkook’s cheek, “Just re-do it. No harm in re-doing it.” 

He rolled his eyes and nodded his head, “Fine but you need to film one with me.” 

“Whatever you want, love.” 

She sat back down and watched them do it again. She took out a bag of cookies from her pocket and nibbled as the two argued about the lighting. She picked up a water bottle and looked at Mingyu, “Mingyu, you should have some water.”

Mingyu smiled at her and glared at Jungkook, “At least someone is nice to me.”

“She’s an extension of me which means I’m being nice to you.” 

After an hour, they finally got the clip and Jungkook shared it on Tik Tok. The drive home was quiet and a thought came to her mind. She let out a small laugh and tiredly turned towards Jungkook, “You know...I wasn’t supposed to go to the BTS concert all those years ago.” 

Jungkook raised his eyebrow and glanced at her through the mirror, “What do you mean?”

“My cousin had tickets for Seventeen. Her mom upgraded her tickets to meet and greet tickets at the last minute.”

“Yo-You were going to meet Seventeen?” 

“I was but I declined because I had a test the next day. I didn’t really think about it until I saw Mingyu today.”

Jungkook nodded his head in a nervous manner and then looked back at her, “Who’s your bias?” 

She let out a small laugh and leaned back in the seat with her eyes slightly closed, “Why?”

“Just curious...” 

“Honestly, I like all of them. I don’t have a bias. I’m going to take a nap okay...I’m tired from work.”

Jungkook nodded his head and rubbed thigh gently as he stared at the road, “Get some sleep babe. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” 

It’s been a week since this conversation and Jungkook has been having dreams about it. What if Y/N went to that concert? He would’ve never met her and he would probably still be single. The possibilities of her being with someone else never crossed his mind because it was always them together. Nothing more and nothing less. It was another night and Jungkook was sound asleep well, trying to be. The mind is a dangerous place. 

“Jungkook, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Jungkook put down his papers and turned to see Mingyu smiling at him, “Oh? Who?”

He moved to the side and there was Y/N. She was dressed in a pink floral dress with her hair in a low pony-tail. He felt his heartbeat go faster at the sight of her, “This is my girlfriend, Y/N L/N.”

He glanced at Mingyu and then back at Y/N, “Girlfriend?” 

“Yeah, I met her at a meet and greet. I saw how shy she was and I couldn’t stop myself.”

She shyly smiled and gently smacked his arm, “Gyu...stop it.” 

Mingyu wrapped his arm around her waist and smiled at Jungkook, “Y/N, this my close friend, Jeon Jungkook.” 

Jungkook couldn’t stop staring at her and he felt guilty. This was his best friend's girlfriend and here he was looking at her like she was his. He shook his head and smiled, “He-Hey.” 

She bowed her head at him and offered him a smile, “Hello.”

Mingyu leaned down and kissed the top of her head, “I’m happy you can meet her.” 

Jungkook shot up in his bed and ran his fingers through his hair roughly, “Fuck.” He glanced to the side to see Y/N sleeping with the plushie that he won her at a festival. He smiled to himself and pushed some hair off of her forehead. His touch wasn’t light enough and she moved in her sleep. She opened her eyes and frowned at him, “Are you okay, babe?” 

He sighed and looked down at the blanket, “It’s stupid.”

She slowly got up and she wrapped her arms around his arm with a worried look, “It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you baby. Take your time.” 

He sighed and glanced down at her, “It’s something about last week that happened...I’ve been thinking about it.” 

She frowned and thought to herself, “Is it because I ate your noodles? I’m sorry-”

“What? You ate my noodles?”

She let go of his arm and frowned, “Yeah....is that not what you're talking about right now? 

“No...you owe me noodles though.” 

She let out a small laugh and pushed some hair off of his forehead, “What’s bothering you then?”

“You were supposed to go to a Seventeen concert...instead of mine.”

She nodded her head and her face shifted in confusion, “Yes? I declined it, remember?” 

“I know...but my mind is making up situations. In another universe you would’ve been with one of them instead of me.” 

She frowned at this and hugged his arm, “Well, it didn’t happen baby. It was fate for me to decline and it was fate that we met.” 

He glanced down at her, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, you're my everything. Jungkook. Is that why you’ve been sending me flowers everyday?” 

“Well, you deserve all the flowers in the world and also yes.” 

She let out a laugh and kissed the side of his head, “I appreciate the flowers but baby, I always want you. In every universe.” 

The next moments were blurred but the only thing she knew was that Jungkook was cock deep inside of her. His body pushing hers into the mattress. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and she couldn’t help but admire his dark brown eyes in the lighting. She pushed some hair away and he stopped mid thrust to look at her. She smiled and leaned up the best she could, placing her lips gently on his, “How could I want someone else?” 

He brought his hand and gently touched her face like she was made out of glass, “I hate that I thought of that. Will you ever forgive me?” 

She clenched at this question causing him to moan, “I will...you have a whole lifetime with me to do so.” 

He chuckled at this and gently thrusted into her making her eyes close, “I will do two lifetimes to get you to forgive me.” 

“Jung-Jungkook, this isn’t a competition.” 

“Y/N, you are the woman that I dreamed about when I was younger. The manifestation of every thought of what I want in a partner. I love you, I love you. You are not only my garden but the sun to my garden. My wife.”

She felt her heartbeat faster at his confession and leaned up to bring him in a passionate kiss. He returned the passion (maybe even gave more) and let out a dreamy sigh against his lips, “You’ve been watching too much Netflix.” 

He let out a laugh and kissed her again, “It’s the truth. I love Jeon Y/N.”

She let out a laugh and pressed her forehead against his, “I love you more.” 

“Impossible.” 

Her eyes fluttered closed when she felt another thrust. She couldn’t stop herself from clenching and he groaned at the feeling. The pure feeling of overstimulation and pleasure was taking over, “Jung-”

“I know.” 

She let out a moan at affirmation and he placed a kiss in the crock of her neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he rocks against her. His hips sutter and she felt his fingers digging deep into her skin as he climaxed inside of her. 

He pushed hair away from her forehead and kissed it as she was dazed out, “This is the right universe. Always with me, always. I love you.” 

[jexnkookie]

BTS: In the Secret (Idol! Jungkook x Reader) [Chapter 3]

Summary: Big Hit announces a new season of In the Soop with a twist; one lucky Army is going to join the members for an entire summer of filming, picked by a random poll. You were selected, and ready to have an amazing summer. But what happens when you win something else that's a bit more complicated; the heart of the group's maknae?

Rating: M (18+)

Chapter Warnings: None.

Tag List: @cassies-cookies @hoeinthehouse @jjeonjjk7 @kaitieskidmore97 @leetha43 @rrosiitas @whoa-jo

As the sun went down, Yoongi made good on his promise to share his whiskey with you. A bet is a bet, after all. But once the other members saw the bottles coming out of their hiding place in the kitchen, suddenly everyone had an empty glass that needed to be filled. A few drinks led to everyone sitting in the living room together, talking and enjoying each other’s company. Jungkook, however, was still stewing over the events earlier that day in the pool. It was burned into his brain, and it just wouldn’t stop until he talked to someone about it. Jin, who was seated right next to him, seemed to be the best solution. 

“Hyung?” Jungkook said softly, not wanting to draw attention to the conversation. “What game were you playing with Y/N in the pool?” 

“Just water guns. She beat me!” He laughed. “I thought I had her, but Taehyung protected her.” 

“Mhm.” Jungkook pursed his lips, watching as you sat next to Taehyung and smiled at him warmly. “They get along well, don’t they?” 

“Ah, I think I see what you’re getting at.” Jin whispered as he followed Jungkook’s eyesight to note what had his attention. “Someone in this room has a bit of a crush on Y/N. Don’t worry, hyung’s got this.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened and his stomach sank at Jin’s words. As Jin stood up, seemingly to get everyone’s attention, Jungkook felt like melting into the couch until he was completely hidden into the cushions. Whatever the oldest member meant by that, it wasn’t going to be what Jungkook had in mind. 

“Why don’t we place truth or dare?” Jin asked the group of drunk faces. “Taehyung, you want to go first?” 

“Uh…. sure?” He question, sitting up a bit straighter as eyes fell on him. “I guess dare?” 

“I dare you to…..” Jin thought for a moment, before landing on his decision. “I dare you to kiss Y/N.” 

If someone had dropped a pin in the room, anyone could’ve heard it. Everyone held their breath, not knowing how you would react. Jungkook’s eyes grew even wider as he stared at you, his heart beating fast in his chest. As he focused on your face to gauge your reaction, ready to jump in if you were showing signs of being uncomfortable, Hoseok watched him in a similar way. Understanding how sensitive Jungkook really is, Hobi wanted to make sure he was ok while also respecting his decision not to reveal his feelings. 

“Hyung, c’mon, Y/N doesn’t have to do this.” Taehyung pouted, before turning to you. “We’ve just been drinking, and we play dumb games when we drink…” 

“No, it’s ok.” You said, smiling politely. “I don’t mind. It’s just one little kiss, what’s the harm?” 

“A-Are you sure?” Taehyung clarified, his big brown eyes looking into yours in surprise. “It’s really ok if you don’t want to.” 

“Seriously, what’s the big deal?” You giggled, clearly influenced a bit by Yoongi’s whiskey. “Watch, we’ll do it right now.” 

To say Jungkook was fuming would be an understatement. Watching you lean towards Taehyung and give him a quick, innocent peck on the lips, making the man’s cheeks blush, was more than he could take. Even though you clearly meant nothing by it, and Jungkook knew you were just playing the game, he had had enough of the show. The room felt heavy to him, like he couldn’t breathe under its weight. 

“I’m going to bed.” He announced bluntly, making everyone turn away from you and Taehyung to face him.

“Yeah, I uh… I think we’ve all probably had enough to drink.” Yoongi coughed before gathering up the glasses. “I think that’s a good call.” 

Jungkook glared at Taehyung, who was too busy looking at your lips like a toddler eyeing a jar of candy, to notice. The youngest member walked out of the room, trying his best not to look so obviously effected by something so small. Bam greeted him at the door of the guest house with a wagging tail, but the wagging stopped as Jungkook barged right past his pup, ready to throw himself into bed and sulk. 

He laid there alone, in the dark, trying to lighten the heaviness in his chest. His thoughts raced, and he knew he had to get you alone. Unable to sleep due to his racing thoughts, he heard the front door open and your voice giggling alongside Taehyung’s. You were obviously trying to be quiet, assuming that Jungkook was asleep, but he listened in on every word. His heart sank knowing you were with Taehyung, because he didn’t have a bedroom in this guest house. Why would he come here with you? 

“I’m really sorry.” Taehyung whispered to you, not wanting to wake Jungkook. As your bedroom was right next to Jungkook’s, he listened in to your conversation. “I hope you didn’t feel pressured to do that.” 

“No, it’s really ok!” You whispered back. “It’s just a game, right? It didn’t mean anything.” 

“Yeah.” Taehyung smiled warmly, before glancing down at your lips. Jungkook frowned at the lingering silence, wanting so badly to walk out of his bedroom and see what was happening. 

What he would’ve seen, however, is a very awkward looking you, not knowing how to excuse yourself politely from the moment. Taehyung was handsome, sure, but what had happened was an innocent game, same as in the pool. You hadn’t felt a spark, things just happened. 

“I, um.. I should go to bed. I’m so tired.” You lied, laughing the moment off. Thankfully, Taehyung smiled warmly, picking up on the hint. 

“Yeah, I get it.” His deep voice said. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

Jungkook smirked to himself, his inner self bouncing up and down excitedly.  That’s my girl. He thought to himself, biting his lip to contain his happiness. 

As soon as Taehyung left, you felt like you could breathe for possibly the first time since you arrived back at your room. You took a second to yourself before noticing Bam, staring directly at you with his puppy eyes as his tail slowly wiggled at finally having your attention. 

“Hey, baby.” You smiled, bending down to encourage him to come to you. He did, sitting in front of you and wagging his tail more excitedly. “Why didn’t Jungkook put you to bed?” 

Fuck. Jungkook thought to himself. He was so ready to be alone in bed, he had completely forgotten his pup’s routine. Jungkook leaped out of bed, and walked out to see you on the floor with his dog. 

“H-Hey.” He stuttered, immediately going soft, but trying so hard to play it cool. “You’re still up?” 

“Mhm.” You hummed. “I should probably go to bed, but I can’t sleep yet.” 

“Me either.” Jungkook admitted. God, she’s so pretty. He thought. “I forgot to take Bam out… Wanna come with?” 

“Sure.” You replied, smiling softly as you looked up at him.

“Sure! Yeah, ok.” He said energetically, mentally cursing himself for tripping over his words. “Let’s go, Bam.” 

“Come on, baby. Let’s go outside!” You said excitedly, getting Bam wound up for his excursion. Jungkook smile widened as he headed towards the door, opening it for you and Bam to exit first before he followed. 

He stood next to you in the dark, and the silence was almost overwhelming. He wanted to talk to you so badly, but when he searched his brain for something to say, his anxiety took over and he came up with nothing. He settled for just looking over at you, as you were too distracted by Bam’s playfulness to notice his gaze. He focused on your lips, and how soft they looked. Your hair, and how it seemed to fall perfectly, even when it’s a bit messy. He wanted to wrap himself around you and hold you, to keep you warm. 

Warm. Warm. 

You must be freezing, and he didn’t even think about it. 

“Are you cold?” He asked, suddenly worried. “Here, take my sweatshirt. I’ve got a shirt underneath, it’s fine.”

“Then you’ll be cold.” You laughed gently. “I’m ok. Really.” 

“Please, just wear it.” He insisted, already slipping out of the black sweatshirt. Playfully, he slipped it over your head as though catching and dressing a toddler while you giggled, making his nose scrunch in adoration.  

“Fine, you win.” You laughed, situating the sweatshirt so it sat correctly on your frame. 

“Better?” He asked. 

“Better. Thanks.” 

“Anytime.” His voice went soft. 

While you looked at him with a smile, you realized this was the first time you had spent any real time alone with Jungkook. You couldn’t deny that he was obviously cute, and despite your short time knowing him, he had been so sweet to you. They all have been, but for some reason, spending time alone with Jungkook really emphasized how drawn you were to him for some reason you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“Hey.” You whispered softly, realizing just how long you’ve been looking at each other.

“Hey.” He smiled. 

“Do you know what everyone has planned tomorrow?” You asked, and Jungkook shook his head. “Well… Do youhave any ideas on what we could do? I’m down to hang out if you want, but I don’t have anything in mind.” 

“Y-Yeah, uh…” Jungkook stuttered, clear surprise lacing his voice. “I think it’s supposed to rain tomorrow so… movie day? Maybe?” 

“That sounds fun.” You smiled. “Let’s do it.” 

“Cool.” He grinned, absolutely giddy that somehow he was able to get you to himself. 

You both walked back to the guest house with Bam following next to Jungkook. You both said your goodnights and retreated to your room for the night. You felt less like sleeping than you did before your time outside, and you realized you were wearing Jungkook’s sweatshirt still. He never asked for it back. Shrugging, but feeling your heart beat a bit faster, you snuggled into it while on your bed. 

Jungkook, laying in his bed on the other side of the wall, also noticed you never asked to give it back. He wasn’t going to ask for it, he wanted you to keep it. Smiling to himself, feeling butterflies in his chest, he also struggled to sleep. His thoughts raced, and he silently hoped you fell asleep in his sweatshirt. 

Next Chapter: x

[davekat-sucks]

lute x adam is better than davekat and chaggie. they both sound killer singing together.

also just like wish's "villain", I find no fault in adam's reasoning, sinners such as rapists and pedos should be eradicated. i dont give a fuck about how apparently there are random kids in hell to emotionally manipulate the audience, for all we know that could be a grown ass man pretending to be a kid, and maybe that could have been more interesting: to see a hell's citizen take advantage of vaggie's kindness. it'd explain her trust issues & lute's bizarre reaction to actual mercy.

whats up with modern shows/films these days and their weird morals...

Adam x Lute is better than Davekat and Chaggie. Funny enough, Vivziepop confirmed that pedophiles, Nazis, and racists are already wiped out after they died. Like, human pedophiles/Nazis/racists who die, don't go to hell, limbo, purgatory, or heaven. They just get erased from existence. Angels have nothing to do with it. The Hazbin/Helluva universe already does its work. Of course, imps and hellborn creatures like hellhounds or the Sin ringleaders, can still be pedophiles, Nazis, and racists. But they are exempt from extermination. So the only sinners that do get sent to Hell to just do the same old shit would be murderers, con artists, human traffickers, rapists, and those who commit slavery, are still around. Which makes me question where does child murderers or those who lead child human trafficking and slavery fall in. Do they get wiped out from existence too if they didn't touch the child in that way? Do they get wiped out from existence for harming a young soul? Or do they get straight sent to Hell because murder is bad, regardless of age? Probably doesn't help that Heaven already admitted they don't know the requirements of people getting into Heaven, so it's a mystery on who is even checking since apparently at this point, even innocent souls who likely died of accident or bad circumstances, get sent to Hell regardless. It probably will be answered later on by some bullshit means, but it raises more questions on when in point did that become a thing. People pointed out that Angel Dust's sister, MOLLY, is there. What point in time Heaven allowed others to get in before it all changed with the extermination? Does even something small as when you were a kid stealing from the cookie jar, count as a major sin to be sent straight to Hell and that's why the child is sent in? Who the fuck knows. Maybe it will get answered in finale. Maybe they will hold it off for season 2 since it is confirmed and they are already recording the lines as we speak. I think the reason for these weird morals in recent modern media, just only goes for the straight black-white mortality, but hide it differently in these recent times as an act of justice that we won't make the same mistakes like we did in the past. Unfortunately, they are but are too ignorant to see it. Also in the case of how Hazbin Hotel is presenting with its rushed pacing, people, audiences and creators, would rather get to the heart of the matter fast and immediately than to build it up on how to get there. Why the fuck should we know about Camille and her backstory when all that matters is that she is a protective mother and that's it? No need to build up sustenance, all it matters is just the emotional factor to pull at your heartstrings for one moment like a quick sugar rush. No need to show the slow burn romance of why Vaggie likes Charlie. All it matters that she is now cute lesbians with her and its a good rep for LGBT. TL;DR of that is people are impatient.

[baddiewiththebook]

ONE OF THEM [PART 4]

-> Dating your best friend Eddie Munson might have been pictured differently in your head. Despite a blissful weekend, you’re met with a few bumps in the road; and, your friends slowly figure out that what you're doing in private crosses the boundaries between friend and lover.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, secret relationship, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive scenes [no smut]

[Part 4] [Part 5 - Coming Soon]

This is a sequel to One of the Boys

-> <-

“Do you think he has plans for that asparagus, or does he just need a friend?” Eddie’s head is tilted just to the right, while he studies the man across the aisles.

You plop five plump potato’s into a plastic sack provided by the grocery store, and hum a soft tune to yourself. Ignoring Eddie, you take the sack and drop it down onto the metal scale to imagine the price point.

When you move, however, Eddie is frozen in time. His eyes move past the displays of fresh lemons and limes, and over the apples and pears. A man is scratching his finger over the Saran Wrap tucking a set of asparagus in a tight film. Peering through Coke bottle glasses, he pouts his bottom lip and then puts the produce back.

“You’ve been watching him for a while?” You try to sound less irritated than you are. Shopping with Eddie got easier once you asked him to push the cart. In a way, this tethered him to you because he kept his hands busy and off of the shelves where he insisted on touching everything.

Eddie doesn’t mean any harm, after all he is just looking. Suppose he looks for a bit too long and he’s a bit distracted, then you’ll correct him with a sour sort of ‘come on, Eddie,’ like his uncle Wayne does sometimes. But, his uncle never buys fresh potatoes. Eddie has got no idea what you’ll do with those. When you told him you wanted to make dinner for him tonight, he thought the box of mashed potatoes was fine enough and the steaks in the back of the freezer had only been there a few months - or a year. Who can tell the difference?

You surely can.

When you suggested that he come with you to go to the grocery store, he saw the glee on your face. He can’t say no to you.

There’s something soft about the way you’re touching everything on purpose. You studied those potatoes like the man did with his asparagus, but when you got a little pouty, Eddie’s heart fluttered in his chest.

You’ve got one hand on the cart, so to him you feel connected even if you’re not holding onto each other. Guiding him in the right direction down the isle, he'll never get lost as long as you're there with him.

Eddie is damn near snoozing by the end of the laundry list of grocery items. There is only six, but that's six too many. You offer to buy him something sweet in exchange for his patience with you.

“Did you want to go to the little bakery? They’ve probably got chocolate cake or cookies,” you wiggle at the end of the cart.

Eddie straightens his back at this.

“Sure, but no chocolate,” he shakes his head. “I don’t like that stuff.”

“You don’t like chocolate,” you’re more taken aback than he imagined you might be. “But, what about the chocolate cake I made you for your birthday two years ago, and the cupcakes I made for your birthday this year! You said they were the best. I even kept the recipe!”

“Sweetheart,” he catches up to you, so he can wrap an arm around your shoulders. “How could I possibly tell you that I didn’t like chocolate when you’d spend all day baking for me? Hm? I really did appreciate the gesture. You know- among the thick layers of goo- oof!”

You’ve elbowed him in the side. Rightfully so! Smiling into the case of donuts, you make a beeline for the grinning worker behind the counter.

“Can I get a loaf of- erm, that one,” you’re not sure how to pronounce the name.

Eddie’s gone when you spin around with your bread loaf. Eyeing the treats, he aims for a small cherry pie. He pulls his hand back and shakes his head. Your boyfriend flicks his hair behind his ears because as much as he likes his hair, he does get hot sometimes. Boyfriend.

Eddie Munson is your boyfriend.

Have you said that out loud yet?

“The bread,” you announce like he’s memorized dinner plans.

Eddie shocks you, “steak next, right?”

Aisles of produce pass you by like time ticking on a clock. You’ve gotten everything on your list by now that Eddie clutches in your hand. Time wastes on because you don’t want to go home quite yet. You’re in control of the cart, and Eddie’s bounding between aisles to show you something ‘cool’ he’s found.

The cart slowly is taken over by snacks you haven’t planned to spend money on, but you do anyway because Eddie’s joy means more to you than a dollar.

Eddie pops a rope candy in his mouth, while you organize the cashier belt in line.

“Don’t forget the bags,” Eddie pulls some plastic bags from the bottom of the cart that you keep in your house. You reuse them as long as possible, and Eddie finds this endearing.

“Thanks,” you put them in the front of the groceries already stacked on the belt.

Eddie tosses a wrapped piece of chocolate onto the belt you hadn’t seen him grab from the shelves.

“I thought of you,” he taps the wrapper, before the belt sweeps the sweet away. “It’s got caramel. Your favorite, right?”

"It is," you sigh completely defeated that he knows more about you than you about him.

"My favorite is cherry," he swings the licorice in the air.

“Sir,” the cashier’s lips thin. “You’re paying for that, right?”

Eddie’s chewed through the whole package of candy by now, and humorously he’d like to imply that he’s not. But with you in mind, he hands the woman the wrapper without fuss. You wrap onto his arm like a child, and he places another kiss to the top of your head.

You’re paying for the grocery run today, but Eddie promises that the next time you’re shopping together that he will pay. The conversation floats past your ears because you’re just thrilled there will come a next time.

The van is waiting for you in the parking lot, where Eddie tosses you the keys to unlock the doors. He’s busy rummaging through the back trying not to rattle his band equipment, but he does use the inside of the drums to steady the dozen eggs.

“Are you buckled?” Eddie climbs into the drivers side.

You’re set in the passenger seat with the chocolate that Eddie bought for you. Using his thumb, he swipes at your chin where you’ve smeared melted chocolate on by accident.

“I’m buckled,” you tighten the seatbelt. “Do you want a bite?”

“No, but could you hand me the hamburger back there?”

You scrunch your nose. “How long has that been there?”

“Eh.. like a couple days?”

“Eddie!”

Laughter fills the corners of the van like a harmonious song. Well tuned - perfectly pitched.

-> <-

Eddie is an awful cook.

Finding your attention drawn onto the sharp knife in your hand, slicing potatoes into chunks, you’re not watching Eddie scrambling behind you. He’s got two spoons in his hands, but he scratches his head at what for. It isn’t until you’re gasping at the blackened smoke coming from the stove.

Flipping the carrots around in the pan, Eddie’s apologizing over and over. You reassure that the carrots still could be edible, but judging by the blackened bottoms, you both know well-enough to toss them.

You’re putting the potatoes into the hot water, only burning the tips of your fingers.

Eddie’s in control - er, sort of - cutting up new carrots. Following along what you did earlier, you bite your tongue at the massive pinches of black pepper and salt he’s added. Tablespoon or teaspoon? He’s got no clue!

“I’ll keep an eye out this time,” he holds a staring contest with the searing hot pan that’s still a bit too hot for the carrots.

You turn the burner down, and flick the carrots around until the smoke clears. Eddie groans, and takes over because he doesn’t like being micromanaged. It’s all in good fun, though. He does find being in the kitchen with you quite homey.

Homey.

Eddie’s never had that feeling before. Last time he’s felt at home, no offense to Wayne, was when his mom found him hidden in the cupboards of their little house. Sure, life wasn’t perfect for the Munsons, but his mom always kept the court dates and the legal shit out of his eye the best she could.

When she died, a part of Eddie had too. He misses the warm hugs and kisses, the way she lets him lick the spoon when she makes cookies from the tube.

But, alas, if his life was perfect then he wouldn’t be here with you. Eddie finds himself feeling pretty perfect anyway because you’re there. You’re humming a tune to yourself, as you twist the timer to twenty minutes. Old and barely alive, the timer clicks on like a mighty oak.

“Twenty minutes until the potatoes are done,” you swirl around to Eddie. He knows the sigh coming from your mouth is less about the exhaustion from cooking, as it is dealing with him in the kitchen. “What should we do while we wait?”

Eddie places his hands on your cheeks, and brings you into his chest. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. Beating rhythms of your hearts pump between you two. You’ve got your ear to his breast imagining what’s dancing around in there.

Unintentionally, Eddie flicks the backing of your bra. A flame ignites inside you. Did he notice? Did he mean too?

Are you even prepared if the night falls that way?

You’re a bundle of nerves knowing that when that moment drops, and the both of you find yourself even closer than you are now that nothing could be the same. Going back isn’t an option. Swirling stars cloud your vision, as your breathing slows.

Eddie hums when your grip on his back loosens. He sways with you, while you’re drifting farther into your head.

Skies of warm orange and cotton candy coated pinks cloud your eye. Touching a garden of soft spring flowers. Ridges of the stone bridge. A kiss is pressed onto your forehead like a dew drop, raising you from your state of hypnosis.

“You still with me?” Eddie’s voice vibrates through your ears.

“Hm,” you hum. “Should we sit down?”

Eddie guides you to the couch where you’ll stay drifting into your own world with a blanket draped over your lap. You attempt to join him in the kitchen when the timer goes off, but Eddie raises his index finger and says,

“Don’t you dare.”

Then, your boyfriend wrestles with the oven to get the roast from it’s hot cage and plops too much butter into the mash. He winces when he puts the spoon to his lip, and tries to fend off your worry by telling you that the food is just hot.

Eddie sits next to you with two plates of food - one in each hand. He waits a moment for you to sit back up after sinking into the aged sofa, then lands the warm plate in your lap.

You’ve got no idea what you’re watching on the television, but right beside you is all the entertainment you need. Laughing heartily at Eddie’s cross expression, he sticks out his tongue at the well-done carrots.

“Don’t eat them,” he reaches for a glass of water. “They’re really awful.”

You nibble at the end of a carrot, and suck down your outward terror at how salty the vegetable is.

“It’s not that bad.”

They are indeed that bad.

Worse - even.

“You’re cute, but a terrible liar,” he pinches your shoulder.

-> <-

tags: @stardustingold @loves0phelia @ogoc-19 @hellfirenacht @blackholegladiator @alligator-person @eggo-segual @rustboxstarr @harmfulb1tch

[synergysilhouette]

Hot take: Asha should've been written similar to Charlotte La Bouff

Eventually I'm gonna be able to move on from my dissapointment that is "Wish," but then I remember it's been less than a year since the film's came out, and I don't feel that bad. Anyway, allow me to explain my viewpoint: why Asha, the charismatic hero of Rosas who overthrows the (suddenly) power-hungry king, could've leaned more into characterization similar to Charlotte La Bouff, a spoiled rich girl in New Orleans.

Their exposition and personalities--Asha is introduced to us as a teenager from the get-go, with us introduced to her family for a split second before starting her job as a tour guide to Rosas, while Charlotte's first scene is as a child in her father's mansion with her friend and her mom (as her father is her "best customer" for ordering custom dresses). First impressions are everything, and both leave VERY different impressions: Charlotte is depicted as a spoiled child while Asha is a young woman who's kind and outgoing. However, while this makes Asha SOUND better, it in reality shows how shallow her characterization is: her qualities are indistinguishable from other Disney women, particularly ones of recent films. Meanwhile, Charlotte's flaws are presented first, showing that she's used to getting what she wants as a rich white girl in the Southern United States (Asha's own culture isn't really explored; it isn't a requirement, but her grandfather at the very least is older than Magnifico, and where he comes from and her mother's North African heritage isn't featured, either). Even her brief interactions with her father offer more than Asha's with her mother and grandfather, showing how much Big Daddy has enabled her. I would've enjoyed more situations into Asha's family life and how they influence her (especially since her dad is a huge influence on her but he's mentioned, like, only a handful of times), as well as her being less cookie-cutter. Her personality doesn't help her stand out from Moana, Anna, Mirabel, or Rapunzel, at least not positively.

Ideally, Charlotte's spoiled behavior would've been a neat personality trait for Asha. Disney's tinkered around with a female lead with significant flaws, ie Raya and Judy having prejudice against certain ethnicities/races, but it's not something the characters fully embody, with their positive traits shining through until the climax when their perspective on their journey changes. Making Asha someone who's spoiled and expects her wish to be granted (perhaps because she's a tour guide and in her mind, brings a lot of positive press to an already magical country) sets her up in a unique space for a Disney protagonist, having gotten what she wanted from her family (maybe they were poor before Rosas and spoiled Asha when they arrived) and often told that if anyone deserves their wish to be granted, it's her. This is a sharp contrast from the film, where Asha's goals are altruistic and wants her grandfather's wish to be granted. Asha being self-centered would also explain why she has seven "friends" who feel very underused; she sees them as only important when they're around her, and since she likes the focus on herself, she often doesn't like to be part of a big group. Making her a Kuzco figure to where she actually doesn't realize how harmful she is also gives some likeability to her, since marketing a hero who's deliberately cruel and says "and what?!" would probably not be the best at being marketed, even if she changes. It'd also give rise to why she thinks she should be Magnifico's apprentice; her fame, greed, and self-centered personality makes her entitled to the role, to which the wizard-king rebuffs, as well as rejecting to grant her wish, either because it's vague, dangerous, or she's undeserving, setting up the conflict.

2. Their flaws--Asha isn't written with any, tbh. She tells Magnifico that she "cares too much," but aside from coming off as disingenuous whenever someone says it about themselves, there's no time in the film where her caring about someone so much ends up hurting her or anyone else (well, you can argue it does, but it's not acknowledged as being her fault or something she needs to work on). Charlotte, on the other hand, is seen as a work in progress. For most of the film, she's depicted as a young woman who means well, but is often blinded by her own life and making her ignorant to other people's problems, ie helping clean Tiana up after her restaurant plans go under, but failing to ask why she was upset. Tiana was her friend, but her happiness was a bonus for Charlotte rather than a requirement (maybe not all the time, but a lot), and it isn't until she sees that Tiana is in love that she's willing to give it up. Honestly, it's slightly surprising; while Charlotte isn't completely selfish, she doesn't go through a journey of self-reflection where she realizes she hasn't always been an emotionally present friend for Tiana, and it's actually her innocence and daydreaming of fairy tales and love that convinces her to help Tiana, showing that her positive traits (that some may have labeled additional flaws) helped her come to a fair conclusion.

Connecting to part 1, Asha being selfish gives her a significant flaw that affects her journey and how she interacts with others. Charlotte likes to socialize, and her father's finances allow her to live in ignorant bliss to what goes on around her. She can be demanding and rash, wanting what she wants WHEN she wants it, and the shallowness makes her easy to manipulate in Dr. Facilier's (and Lawrence's) plan. Making Asha a selfish dream-chaser could have her undervalue her friends; perhaps she took advantage of Dahlia's connections and used them to get access to the castle and an interview with Magnifico (assuming her being hired as a tour guide was done informally; still confused about that). Perhaps she grants an evil wish, or her dream of getting her wish summons an innocent star that helps give her her wish, not realizing the consequences of either actions. It's a "what could possibly go wrong?" situation driven by tunnel vision. Seeing how she hurt others and how it causes them to resent her--and even make Asha resent herself--changes her mind to how she sees things, even remembering her time with her family and how when her father died and her family showered her with gifts and attention, she sought out power to fill the void she developed at her father's death.

3. Their inspiration--In TPATF, Charlotte's mindset isn't just driven by her riches, but her romanticism of fairy tales. She dreams of finding a prince, becoming a princess, and living happily ever after. She equates the fantasy with her future reality, and believes that Naveen's handsomeness and exoticness is just like princes in her storybooks, which isn't surprising, since the USA hasn't been tied to a monarchy in centuries and thus conflates them with other fantasy aspects rather than practical aspects. Since Naveen is popular in the tabloids (but apparently his lack of resources is a recent development, as knowledge of it not to be widely known), Charlotte has probably seen the life he lives and wants a life like that of her own. Asha, on the other hand, has her dreams motivated by her father, who is unnamed and seen once in a brief flashback during "This Wish" and mentioned only a couple times. Meanwhile, her mother and paternal grandfather, like her, are archetypes, providing support to her until she challenges the king. However, when the king himself reveals his nature, they support her. They don't have any specific characterization outside of her grandfather's wish to make a song to inspire the next generation (which IS super vague, to Magnifico's point, and kinda cheating in an artistic sense), and Asha's mom's own wish is never stated. They feel very flat and cheap; they could've easily been replaced by Asha's friend group.

In my opinion, I feel like the perfect idea for a Disney anniversary movie is to make Asha either love or despise fairy tales, and while it may scream "I'm not like other protagonists" at first, I'd go with the latter. Asha being someone who doesn't care for fairy tales and considers them misleading (seemingly because they make achieving a fairy tale ending sound easier than it is, but in actuality she's concerned that her actions and words are more equated with a fairy tale villain) but comes to love and appreciate them encapsulates the Disney company's message of having dreams. Charlotte's love for fairy tales helps her overcome her own selfishness in order to support her friend, and Asha realizing how powerful dreams are and that wishes carry a lot of weight (and you know, actions have consequences that you can't always avoid) would be a nice celebration of Disney's legacy.

This ended up being longer than I thought, but tell me what you think! I was also gonna use Nakoma from "Pocahontas" for the discussion (essentially making it a "What a rejected Disney princess could've learned from Disney princess' best friends" essay), but she and Charlotte are so distnct that I didn't wanna go off on two different tangents when talking about how Asha could've been written--but a sarcastic girl who likes to avoid trouble but likes to have fun still works.

[desertfangs]

Subtle Salvation [AO3] Armand/Lestat - Mature - 3,463 words

This is my first entry for Lestat Birthday Bingo hosted by the amazing @vampirefest for the square "The performer: Actor/Rockstar."

On Night Island, while Lestat angsts over his concert and the fall out, Armand appears and tries to pull him from his malaise.

Short Exceprt:

“After the tragedy,”—the anchor’s voice came over footage of ash smeared on the floor and firefighters bursting into the arena as the crowd screamed and pushed their way out—“there’s been no comment from The Vampire Lestat, the band or the lead singer of the same name, other than a brief statement that the band regrets any damage or harm done during their show.” 

Lestat thought of the band: his dear Alex, Larry, and Tough Cookie. He’d rushed from the Cow Palace to escape the murderous immortals who’d gathered to destroy him and left them behind. Their faces flashed in his mind, laughing and elated as they’d recorded songs on the album and filmed their music videos. Patient as Lestat pushed them to the background and took center stage. They’d been thrilled and excited about the concert and they’d played their hearts out. 

He should check on them. Find out if they were okay. He would know if they weren’t, surely, these damnable news segments would say if anything had befallen them. But he had to make sure they were provided for, taken care of. 

The anchor on the screen continued: “Some theorize it was all a publicity stunt to sell books and albums—“  

The television clicked off. 

Lestat turned. Armand stood just inside the doorway of the small parlor looking like an angelic creature. His auburn hair hung loose around his pale, youthful face. His skin was tinged pink, a sign that he’d recently fed, and Lestat could smell the rich aroma of blood rushing through his veins. The television remote—pilfered off the end table—dangled in his fingers.

“I was a god on that stage, you know,” Lestat said. 

Armand set the remote back on the table. “Playing god and being god are not the same thing.” 

Lestat grinned. “Still so devout. And yet you came to witness me, surely as the rest of them.” 

Armand frowned deeply at him. “I went to the concert because I had to. Because of everything that was happening to our kind. There was no other choice.” 

Lestat scoffed, waving a hand. “Ah, but you wanted to see me! You wanted to be there while I gave my performance.” 

Armand pressed his lips together in a tight line. 

“That fledgling of yours told me everything, you know,” Lestat said, grinning mischievously. 

“Daniel exaggerates,” Armand said, but there was something softer in his expression as he spoke of the boy. 

Read the Rest on AO3!

[mrsreginagold]

Fic: Take Your Hand To My Heart

Fandom: Crossover (Saw VI x Ready or Not)

Pairing: William Easton x Grace Le Domas (Willace)

Rating: R

Spoilers: Set after the events of both films, in an AU where William survives his test. 

Summary: Grace wishes to take things with William to another level after they’ve been dating for months. The problem is that he seems a little reluctant, so she decides to find out why.  

Author’s Note: This will be my last work for this pair for the time being. While I have other ideas I do wish to explore eventually, my heart ultimately belongs to Nikari and they get priority over all my other ships at the moment.

So hold me close and kiss my skin,

Don’t be afraid, let me in,

I’ll hold you close and take your hand,

To my heart: here I am.

-War Paint, Kelly Clarkson

Take Your Hand To My Heart

Grace Le Domas took a comforting gulp of lavender tea before surveying the reflection in her floor length, bedroom mirror one final time. 

                  It was normal to be anxious before a significant event, but the serious case of butterflies swirling around in her stomach was bordering on absurd. 

                  It’s just a date. A perfectly normal, nice date with the man who called you beautiful while you were puffy-eyed and crying over Titanic. Calm. The fuck. Down.

                  She exhaled and then downed the rest of her beverage swiftly. 

                  This had been all her idea to begin with, so she really only could blame herself for the nerves. 

                  It didn’t exactly help matters that William Easton was as kind as he was handsome, and that this would be the first time she had entertained someone romantically in her apartment. 

                  She glanced down at her watch. There was still roughly a half-hour to go till her boyfriend arrived, which meant that she had to preoccupy herself, so she grabbed a book off her shelf and attempted to concentrate on it. 

                  After about five minutes, she gave up and moved to her couch to turn on the television instead. 

                  As the local anchor droned on about the upcoming weather patterns, Grace allowed her mind to drift back to how she and William initially met. 

                  It wasn’t every day that you found a man willing to risk re-opening his stitches to grab the cookies from the top shelf in the hospital cafeteria. Yet, that was exactly what happened. They had both been recovering from their individual tribulations in the same clinic, and she swore that it was fate that caused him to wander in while she was attempting a small bit of innocent thievery. 

                  The incident bonded them immediately, and they spent the next few days getting to know each other properly. On the day they were both to be released, he suggested sharing a cab, and that night they went out to dinner in celebration.

                   That could have been the end of it, but it wasn’t. His job as a consultant with various non-profit organizations allowed him a flexible schedule, so it was relatively easy to start a pattern of dates when her free time allowed. 

                  She loved spending time with him, but moving things forward when it came to intimacy had been a slow build up. It was easy to tell that he wanted her just as badly – if their most recent make out session had been any indication, it was definitely not a matter of attraction – however something was holding him back, and she was determined to discover what that was. 

                  Her little experiment was a simple one: instead of heading out for a meal, they would cook one together. It would be quiet, and they were familiar enough to allow her to prod him gently on the subject. If he balked and changed the direction of the conversation, then no harm would be done, but she sincerely hoped he would be open to discussion. 

                  Grace was pulled from her reverie by a knock at her door. She scrambled up, tugged the hem of her skirt back down over her thighs, and hastened forward to answer it. 

                  Her heart danced happily in her chest when she found William standing on the other side. 

                  “Hi,” his stunning blue gaze raked over her appreciatively, which told her that the simple, flower-printed sundress she had chosen earlier had been the right call.

                  “Hi yourself,” she grinned and allowed herself a moment to admire the picture before her. 

She had requested that he wear something casual, as she had only ever seen him in some kind of suit. It figured that he would look just as handsome in jeans and a pale green button-down shirt, if not more so. His collar was unbuttoned liberally enough so she could catch a glimpse of the hair on his chest where it peeked over his clavicle, and his sleeves were also rolled up to bare his surprisingly toned forearms. 

She knew why he preferred to hide the skin there, as there was pale scarring visible from having tattoos removed.

                  Reflexively, she rubbed over the grafted flesh on her left hand, a product of the surgery she’d needed after a bullet had gone clean through it. She really did understand covering the wounds of the past, but it wasn’t the time to dwell on unpleasant things, so she invited him inside. 

                  “I thought about getting you some flowers and then realized that I never asked you what your favorite was,” her guest accompanied her to the kitchen.

                  “That’s easy. Daisies,” she leaned against the tile counter. “Though I don’t mind roses.”

                  “Duly noted,” he glanced around at her set-up, curious. “You definitely have more space than I do.”

                  “I like your apartment; it’s cozy,” she protested, taking hold of his arm, and dragging him in the short distance between them so she could drape her arms over his broad shoulders. 

                  “I know you didn’t invite me over to compare living spaces,” his already deep voice seemed to drop another octave when he whispered, which only made the sound more sensual. “And that we could have just ordered a pizza. What are you planning?”

                  She was forced to bite back a moan thanks to how easily he had sparked arousal. Instead: she adopted as innocent a look as she could, batting her lashes before replying. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

                  He arched one eyebrow, his lips pursing skeptically. “Gracie…”

                  “Will, I swear, I just wanted to change things up. We always either go out to a restaurant or order take-out at your place.” The lie fell easily enough from her tongue, and it really was more of a half-truth. “Besides. It’s about time I invited you over here instead.”

                  He tilted his head. The suspicion didn’t fully lift from his handsome face, but he seemed to accept the answer because he gathered her to him for a kiss that she gladly returned. 

                  William tended to embrace her delicately, as though she was a fragile object that would shatter in his grasp. She knew that this was another hurdle to overcome, but she also couldn’t deny that it made her heart soar to be treated with such reverence. 

                  Grace coaxed at his lips, her fingers twisting into the soft fabric of his shirt to keep him from breaking the kiss too soon. 

                  Luckily: the message was received loud and clear. A startled gasp emerged when he abruptly lifted her in his arms, separating from her for a few brief seconds to set her gently on the cool marble island in the center of the room and then – he dived back in for something more passionate. 

                  This time, she gripped at his collar while he captured her mouth, their tongues dancing as she coiled her legs around his midsection for balance. 

                  His lips strayed, drifting over her throat, and then nibbling deliberately at her clavicle. She moaned, throwing her head back to grant him better access, her hands weaving into the silken strands of his hair, which was longer now than it was when they first met. 

                  Clever fingers inched their way up her bare thigh, hinting at how ardent he could be. She wished that, for once, he would just let go and ravish her the way she fantasized about, but it wasn’t long before he pulled away to catch his breath.

                  What an image he made, though – chest rising and falling steadily, the aquamarine depths of his gaze practically invisible thanks to his pupils blown black. In spite of not giving in, he looked utterly hers, and it made her ache with want. 

                  “So…” she inhaled shakily to regain some composure. “Is there anything you don’t like on your pizza?”

                  “I’m partial to the classics. When I was a kid, it was always pepperoni and black olives.”

                  “Really? Everyone I grew up with hated olives, but I never minded them,” she hopped down from her perch and began to gather the necessary ingredients, as she had been thorough at the grocery store in her preparation. “I went with this because you can buy pre-made dough. I definitely don’t have the skill to make it from scratch.”

                  “That’s better than me,” he walked over to assist her. “I was always so busy at my old job that I never had time to cook. It was always takeout or whatever Pamela would bring over.”

                  “How is your sister?”

                  “Thriving. She just got promoted, and I saw her looking at diamonds the last time we were out. I think she’s going to pop the question to her girlfriend.”

                  “It’s about fucking time! How long have they been together again?”

                  “Going on three years,” there was no denying the relief on his angular, striking features. 

                  She nudged at his shoulder with her own, reaching between them to gather up a handful of mozzarella cheese. “It’s great when things work out, don’t you think?”

                  “Yes it is,” he began to separate pepperoni slices. 

                  They fell into a comfortable silence as they created the pizza to share. 

                  It didn’t take long to complete their task. Grace slid the tray containing their meal into the oven, set the timer, and then spun to gesture at the bottles of wine resting on the counter. “Do you prefer red or white?”

                  William smiled and pointed at the merlot. “Red.”

                  “Good choice,” she grabbed the bottle and two glasses, signaling for him to follow her into the living room. “I get to pick a movie though.”

                  “It’s your place, your rules,” he settled in, stretching one arm over the back of the couch as he got comfortable. “Though I’d advise against something along the lines of Titanic given what happened last time.”

                  She made a triumphant sound when she managed to pull out the cork with little resistance but still leveled a glare in his direction. “It had been ages and I thought I could handle it better than I did when I was a teen, all right?”

                  He held up both hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. I cried too because it’s that kind of film. I just thought that maybe something more light-hearted is better for the mood you’re clearly attempting to create.”

                  “Who says I’m creating a mood?” she poured them two half-full glasses and placed them on the coffee table, along with the rest of the bottle. “Maybe I’m going with the flow.”

                  “Grace. I know you well enough at this point to read you like an open book. The amount of trouble that you’re going through is evident,” he ran his fingers, one handed, through his hair and then patted the space next to him. “Come here.  Tell me what’s truly on your mind.”

                  There was time until the pizza would be ready and beating around the bush had never really been her style. 

                  “Should have realized you’d see right through me,” she sighed heavily and then plopped onto the cushions next to him. “You were right earlier; I was planning something. Only I was trying to make it look like I hadn’t planned it at all.”

                  “What were you planning? And why?”

                  She twisted to look directly into his eyes. “We’ve been dating for what, four months?”

                  “Close to five.”

                  “I know that we both had a bunch of recovery to do before sex could enter the picture, but I also noticed recently that every time we get hot and heavy, you hesitate. Will, I want to be close to you. Truly close. If there’s something that’s bothering you about it, you need to tell me.”

                  He glanced at the floor, a rueful chuckle emerging. “It’s not that something’s bothering me, Gracie. It’s – how do I put this?” he exhaled, reclining further into the plush sofa, and pondering over how to communicate. “Back before we met, I was a total workaholic. Sure, I got to know the people at Umbrella well enough, I even had friends, but romantic relationships were just something that didn’t matter. Nothing besides success mattered if I’m honest. I never engaged in anything beyond a meaningless hook-up for years. Then my “game” happened, and I survived, and it was after when I realized that I was missing a lot in my life.” He took her hands within his, his thumb caressing lightly over hers. “Meeting you at the hospital brought it all into perspective. I’ve been taking things slow because it's the first time I’ve wanted something real.”

                  Her heart fluttered at his explanation. It made sense now that she knew his reasoning. “If I’ve pushed at all, I’m sorry.”

                  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he shook his head, cupping her chin lovingly. “I should be thanking you for being patient.”

                  “Well…mostly,” she toyed with the top button on his shirt, sliding it free to expose more of his chest to her view. “You haven’t exactly made it easy to resist you.”

                  “Is that so?” his tone turned playful, and his gaze sparkled with amusement. “It’s never been my intention.”

                  “Unintentional or not: you manage to drive me up the wall with lust sometimes.”

                  “Is one of those times right now? Because it would explain why you’re trying to get my shirt off.”

                  “What? If I’m not getting toe-curling lovemaking then I at least deserve a bit of eye candy.”

                  “I never stipulated that it was off the table.” He yanked his arms free of the garment when she pushed it down his shoulders, saving her a bit of work. “Stop jumping to conclusions.”

                  “Then stop making me want to jump you,” she countered, lunging forward to kiss him. 

                  He eagerly swept her into a fervent embrace, effectively drawing their conversation to a halt so more pleasant activities could be focused on. 

                  Grace shoved William onto his back, straddling him seconds later and guiding his hands around to the zipper of her dress.

                  He drew it open slowly, his fingers slipping beneath to trail over her bare skin before pulling the straps down her arms. 

                  Just as she was about to take things to another level, there was a loud beep to signify that the pizza had finished cooking. 

                  She let out a frustrated groan but hastily fixed her clothing. “I better get that out before it burns.”

                  “At least this time the interruption wasn’t my doing,” he teased.

                  “You. Stay. I’ll be back with sustenance.” She tapped at the center of his chest and then hurried off. 

                  The diversion of removing the pizza from the oven and setting it nearby to cool for a few minutes gave Grace a chance to calm her wildly beating heart. It never took much for William to spark desire within her, and embarrassing as it was, she needed a private moment to compose herself. 

                  She distracted her racing thoughts by searching for a knife to cut the food with, internally debating if she should slice the pie into triangles or squares. 

                  She was so caught up in her own reverie that she didn’t hear her lover enter the room.

                  She looked over her shoulder and jolted slightly when she spotted him resting against the doorframe. 

                  The fact that he had remained shirtless only made matters worse, as he was devastating enough to look at fully clothed.

                  “Did you need something?” she finally managed, lowering the utensil she held slightly. 

                  A soft, bemused smile crossed William’s mouth and he sauntered fully into the room. “Just my girlfriend. I thought maybe you wanted some help.”

                  She turned her attention back to their pizza. “I can handle it. I just wasn’t sure how big to make the pieces…or what shape.”

                  “Now you’re the one thinking too much,” deceptively strong arms circled her waist, his bare chest brushing along her back. 

                  She swallowed a moan and resisted the urge to lean further into his embrace, which proved very difficult when he pressed closer. 

                  “You know, I’m not exactly starving at the moment,” his resonant baritone was arguably sexier when he was murmuring directly into her ear, his lips grazing against the shell. “It should keep, right? At least for a while.”

                  “Mmm…well, at every sleep over I attended as a kid they left pizza boxes out overnight and we all ate from them in the morning. As far as I know, no one got sick.”

                  This prompted a seductive chuckle, which caused liquid heat to pool at her core. 

                  The meal was completely abandoned when Grace twisted around to kiss William thoroughly.

                  Her dress hit the floor, and then the rest of their clothing joined it piece by piece.

                  He scooped her up with little effort and carried her to the bedroom located in the back of the apartment, refusing to stop kissing or touching her for the short journey, which she very much appreciated. 

                  They fell back on her bed, limbs entwining instinctively while hands became versed with each other’s bodies. 

                  She was rapidly consumed by the heat of his skin against hers, her nails raking through the soft hair on his chest as she brought him in closer, her hips arching up in invitation. 

                  He wasted no more time – joining them together with a fluid thrust and then skimming his hand across the curve of her leg when she hooked it over his to anchor them. 

                  Her head tipped back, exposing the swan-like column of her throat while they started to move at an even pace. She gripped tightly at his biceps and met his motions with her own, crying out sharply when he adjusted his angle to bury deeper. 

                  He proved attentive: dipping his head to rain fiery kisses along her shoulders and then drifting lower to pay special attention to her breasts. 

                  As the intensity of their coupling began to spiral, she couldn’t help marveling over how perfectly they fit together. It was as if every move, every touch, every kiss had been crafted for her and her alone. Nothing else mattered, the world around them fading away entirely while they gave in.

                  When they ultimately reached their peak: it was in unison, and shortly after they collapsed into the rumpled bedclothes, still connected, and clinging tightly to each other. 

                  Grace was the first to regain a sense of comprehension, at least long enough to ask: “Remind me again why we waited?”

                  “Some fucking nonsense about taking it slow,” William’s statement was partially muffled, his head buried in the junction of her neck. He sighed and nuzzled at her lazily. “We can consider that my mistake.”

                  A cheerful laugh was offered in answer and then she twisted, sending him toppling into the pillows, successfully pinning him beneath her and ducking several kisses to his chest. “You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

                  The last thing she witnessed before they were distracted again was a genuine, blinding grin of approval. 

                  Time passed swiftly while the couple devoted themselves to each other. When she finally convinced him that they should take a break and eat something, he had lived up to his promise many rounds over. 

                  She headed to the kitchen with a pilfered sheet wrapped up like a toga around her slender form, as she had insisted that he remain in her bed. She made them a plate of pizza to share that she warmed up in the microwave, and then grabbed a couple of chilled sodas from the refrigerator.

                  With the items carefully balanced, she returned to her bedroom.

                  Grace smiled upon seeing that William had rearranged the pillows so they could lounge comfortably. He was currently resting on his side, blankets pooled at his waist, and she privately mused that he looked more delicious to her than the food did. 

                  “Special delivery,” she quipped, offering him the plate. 

                  “You’re a goddess,” he took it from her, gratitude visible on his face. 

                  She placed the sodas on her nightstand, then climbed back in next to him, taking a few minutes to get settled before she reached for a slice. 

                  She watched him take a bite, relieved when his eyes lit up. “It’s good?”

                  “It’s incredible! Far better than ordering in.”

                  She pressed a thankful kiss to his shoulder and then joined him in devouring the pizza. 

                  Once everything had been polished off, she made another quick trip to throw the soda cans away and rinse off the dish. 

                  Further clean-up could wait till the morning, as she was eager to return to her lover’s side. 

                  She walked back in to see him emerge from her adjoining bathroom, presumably to freshen up. Deciding that it was a wise idea, she did the same.

                  He was propped up one elbow, reading the back of a DVD cover from the stack that she had left on her dresser, when she came back to his side.

                  “I’m surprised that you like horror movies so much considering you lived through one,” he commented.

                  “Only some of them. I draw the line at anything too extreme,” she confessed, slipping under the covers, and plucking the case from his hand. “Ah. Army of Darkness. A classic. Have you seen it?”

                  He shook his head. “No, I’ve never really been into the genre.”

                  “Can’t say I blame you,” she caressed the raised flesh that ran across a portion of his abdomen. 

                  He shivered slightly under her hand, which alerted her to the fact that it was more sensitive than the rest of his skin.

                  “This was from where the key was put in, isn’t it?” she peered up at him. She knew all too well how easily affected one could be by scars that had been earned through a traumatic experience. 

                  “It was,” he replied, his fingers crossing over her own to still the movement. 

                  “Have you ever wanted to get revenge?”

                  “Have you?” William’s touch ghosted over Grace’s shoulder, pausing at one of her own scars, which traversed the swell of her breast. 

                  “Maybe someday,” it was growing more difficult to concentrate thanks to his proximity and the pleasant heat radiating from his palm. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

                  “I know I’m not,” he admitted. “However, with you beside me? I might eventually get there.”

                  She tangled her hands into his tousled hair, tugging him to her in a kiss that properly expressed her similar thoughts on the matter. One day – they would overcome their pasts. For now, the only thing that truly counted was that they would face it together. 

The End

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; timekeeper cookie

requested by ; anonymous (12/07/23)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; timekeeper cookie

outline ; “Hey there can you do dating timekeeper cookie headcanons!!”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

their love language is affectionate bullying — they always seem to have some sort of teasing remark or joke on their lips whenever they see you — but they have also been known to take you on the most unfathomably amazing dates whenever you’re free for them to take you (though they could just make the time themselves but they tend to respect your space when it comes to your schedule)

they always bring you trinkets, moments and gifts from their travels through time — be that something small that caught their eye or something more significant that they knew you’d love

amongst this amassed collection are: a large array of signed first editions of your favourite classical novels, cuttings of plants that have since gone extinct, clothes from your favourite periods of fashion (all custom tailored to your proportions, of course), films and other entertainment based media from the future (along with the tech needed to engage with them) and a number of small statues/figures, toys and jewellery

they rarely ever actually use your name and will instead make use of a large rotation of increasingly bizarre pet names — some from the forgotten past, some from the future and others of their own design that they felt suited you for whatever reason

they’re not the most physically affectionate person, but they won’t brush you off or turn you away if you lean your head against their shoulder or reach for their hand — they’re not touch-averse or ashamed of you, either, it’s just not something that comes naturally to them

when you’re feeling down they try and lift your mood by bringing you along to see what they deem as the most beautiful moments in time: the birth of the universe, the explosions of supernovae, the ocean when it’s freshly teeming with new life in the cambrian and more — just because they’re desensitised to it all doesn’t mean that you are, and they take full advantage of that fact

timekeeper will never admit this to you, but they’ve loved you for far longer than you’ve existed — having met first you in the far future when you were already taken with them and immediately having gone back to meet you for the ‘first time’ properly

they didn’t want to spoil anything else for themselves and it’s because of this that your relationship is the one thing that they avoid looking into when they travel forwards — they want to experience it with you, not be left looking beyond the now and leave you resentful in their wake

they sleep as stiff as a board and snore quite loudly, but if you cuddle up to them they’ll get this peaceful smile on their face and they’ll get ever so slightly quieter (but even then it’s like sleeping next to a muffled freight train)

protective to a fault and they have been known to obliterate anyone who might intend to cause you or your relationship harm — be that someone who was or was considering flirting with you, or someone who was or was going to become a threat to your physical well-being

they enjoy going on adventures with you and having fun — loving the sound of your laughter more than anything else — but they’ve also grown to appreciate the slow peace of domestic life, something they’d loathed before you

and even still they do prefer excitement — they’re just much more willing to set aside their thrill-seeking in order to spend that bit more time by your side

[astraeasi13nce]

As Her Ecchymoses Healed

a flash fiction Project: Microcosman Characters: America, Japan (Nihon) Word count: 971 Content notes: implied self-harm Summary: Nihon and America spend time together, but something's wrong—America has gotten new bruises.

✦

Late at night, America entered their shared Northern Marianan house half an hour past their agreed meeting time. Nihon would’ve grumbled about her poor time management had he not noticed the smudged eyeliner and mascara blackening the skin around her dull red eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as she kicked off her sneakers.

“Hmm?” She hurried past him in the hallway, into the kitchen. He followed and watched her open the fridge. She continued, “Sorry for being late, like, really late. I wanted to make some cookies, but I burned them. Silly me! Um, is there anything you want—”

Nihon pulled her away and closed the fridge. He held her shoulders, and she flinched and looked down. He felt as if he was looking into a mirror—despite how they could be polar opposites, America also struggled with admitting when her mood was low. Sometimes she needed to be distracted; other times, she needed to face her issues. Nihon had no clue which would be most helpful now.

His silence dragged on for too long, so she said, “Can we go watch a movie? Or play a game? I don’t know why we’re just standing here.”

He nodded once. “Sure.” Damn it, he messed up as usual; he should’ve said something (following her to the living room); he knew how to wield a sword or a gun, how to put a curse or exorcize a spirit—even how to torture or be tortured; but not how to be a good friend; America should not have asked to see him tonight while so many others could do better than him. But what, what could he have said?

He should have asked her what was wrong again. But they have sat on the couch and selected a romcom (Seriously? he had asked her, and she had shrugged and smiled); now five minutes have passed, and America has become quiet, her eyes trained on the flat-screen TV; now it was too late to ask.

He would just count the minutes toward the movie’s end, and he could ask her afterward. 

When the soon-to-be couple had their first awkward conversation, ten minutes of the whole movie had so far passed; when they reached the first misunderstanding that could easily be resolved, half an hour; (Nihon tuned out by this point) forty-five minutes, forty-eight, one hour, one hour and seven—

“Stop that,” America sighed.

“What?” he muttered. “Not my fault that this movie is mind-numbingly sappy.”

She laughed for the first time that night (clearly, the comedy in the film hadn’t worked). Out of habit, she started pulling her feet up onto the couch, but then she winced—pain fleeted across her face before she donned another smile, but Nihon saw; and he saw the way she hugged her knees to her chest so gingerly, so hesitantly, as if the thighs she hugged were weeping.

He had to ask of course. “Are you hurt?”

America looked up at him. “What? I—yeah, I got into a fight.”

“Really.”

“Yep. You see, um . . . I fell a lot. And a bunch of things hit me. But I managed to turn the criminals over to the police. The bruises will heal soon, so it’s no big deal.” She shrugged one shoulder. Her feet went back onto the floor.

“Okay.” Nihon frowned. “Why didn’t you heal yourself to speed up the process?”

“I’m tired. And lazy.”

“I can do it for you.”

America chuckled. “Oh, you don’t have to . . .” She grew quiet at Nihon’s stare, one that demanded as much as pleaded, Let me help you. With a new tremble in her lilt, she agreed.

First, Nihon turned the damn movie off. Then America lifted her illusion spell off herself; her once slender arms and soft legs swelled up into hard muscle mass that bulged even under her knit sweater and gray sweatpants; bruises began appearing along her knuckles, and when she slowly rolled up her sleeves, the reds and blues continued splotching their way across her freckled skin.

They both knew these wounds weren’t from a fight. There were too many, too dark, too calculated for ordinary humans to be able to inflict.

Nihon had the sense that America was ashamed; she cringed away while he examined the bruises as if she was sure they embarrassed or angered him, but how could he ever feel that way in these situations?; how could he feel anything but the need to reverse the wounds? He didn’t bother telling her (they had that conversation countless times), so he got to work instead, holding her hands first to turn discoloration into daintiness, the blood-filled shadows glowing with magic before fading. The arms were a quick job as well. He was right to ask her to lift her top because contusions marked her stomach too.

For the legs, she stood and slid her pants down. When he reached for her thigh though, she grabbed his wrist. “Can you . . .” Her grip softened as her lips quivered and closed.

Nihon gestured for her to continue. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath and said, “Can you at least leave the biggest bruises alone?”

“America . . .”

“Please. They’ll heal by themselves quickly anyway. I just want—I just want to see—” The brown and amber of her irises shook and scintillated through rising tears.

Nihon sighed out a heavy breath for the both of them. “Okay.”

He’d like her to not pummel herself at all, but for now he’d rather leave a few bruises that last a day than have her make new ones within minutes after healing. He’d like her not to have to come to a shattering point where she suffocated on her sobs, but he’d rather wipe her tears than have her hold everything in. His words and her cries echoed off of each other as her ecchymoses healed.

✦

vent writing. This is less of a commentary on anything specific, more of a character study on America and Japan as well as a try at leaning poetic/metaphoric more than my usual

I’d be happy to know if I succeeded or not. The somewhat poetic sentences were fun to come up with, but idk if they hurt my clarity a lot. Clarity is one of my top issues

NOT Hetalia, countryhumans, or anything else. This is Microcosman, my national personification passion project of 4 years so far, many more in the future

The background picture is from Pinterest. The writing is mine. The idea of Microcosman is mine.

Link in bio for other sites I'm on.

[davidsphysicsblog]

Encounters with robots - Part I

Figure 1 - Messier 51, the Great Whirlpool Nebula photographed by the author using Robotic Telescope T18 on the iTelescope.net network

To people of my generation, the concept of robots began first with Robby the Robot Toy of the 1950’s and more so with the stories of Isaac Asimov, and of the Hallmark Hall of Fame, science fiction at its height. We dreamed of a world of robots and androids and pondered weighty issues such as whether they would be programmed with a prime directive “to bring no harm to humans” and whether we would be so kind in return.

Well, fiction becomes truth! For decades robots built our automobiles, farmed our farms, baked and packaged cookies for us. But they were huge ungainly contraptions, and there was no sense that theycould be interacted with directly. Well, wake up Rip van Winkle! I find that I have come to consciousness in 2023 and encounter robots everywhere. They have crept up on us, and they now surround us, not necessarily in a threatening way but as our helpers. And, indeed, the word “consciousness” rings true. We have come to grapple with the question of their sentience and awareness, even if we like to tuck it away somewhere safe.

When I was a teenager I was very “into” amateur astronomy. Back then if you wanted to see something with your telescope, a star, planet, or galaxy say, you pulled out your Norton’s Star Atlas and carefully “star hopped” from some bright star following the map field by field until if you were lucky found the desired object. Recently, telescopes have evolved with various complex auto-alignment systems. Well, I will have to admit that with age crawling around in various awkward positions to look under and over my telescope to get it aligned, more often than not defeated me. It was all very frustrating! Recently I added the Celestron StarSense Autoalignment System to my telescope. It is a little robot that you tell to align my scope and it does. Then you tell it what you want to look at and it goes there and tracks the object. Purists may argue that this is very algorithmic and not true artificial intelligence. But it is truly marvelous, arguably the best thing ever, and it is robotics at its very best, since it takes a difficult task for humans adn makes it easy and trivial. That in the end is what robotics is all about. Farming the Earth and building automobiles is one thing, aligning my telescope quite another! I call my telescope Celeste. My telescope now is smart enough to have a name if not a soul.

Still there is the problem that I would like to have Celeste high on a mountain top and I would like her to have a larger aperture so that I could take marvelous astrophotographs. Enter the age of robotic eyes, telescopes that you can control remotely, all located in distant sites perfect for astrophotography – places like Nerpio, Castilla-La Mancha, Spain. I took Figure 1 of Messier 51, the Great  Whirlpool Nebula using a 12 inch robotic telescope (T18) on the iTelescope network. I have also used robotic telescopes on the Skygems Remote Observatories network.  The proposition is a simple one. You control the telescope, either in real time or on a schedule, and the telescope takes the image. Then you download and image process it on your home computer. These encounters with robotic eyes are truly wonderful and enriching.

Purists will argue that this is not the same as taking the image yourself on your own telescope. I feel about this the same way that I feel about the argument that film-based analogue photograph is purer and better than digital photography. In fact, our cameras have become robots and through the combination of automatic analysis of the scene and high dynamic range digital imaging sensors have freed us of cumbersome analysis of the image, freed us to be artists. So often I hear “show me the camera’s raw image,” as if that were somehow truer and purer. I personally always shoot in raw, but I process, true to the point made by Ansel Adams that “You do’nt take a photograph. You make it.”

So three robots enriching my life anyway: the Celestron StarSense Autoalign, robotic telescopes, and my digital camera. I am truly Rip van Winkle, awakening in a Brave New World. To paraphrase Miranda in Shakespeare’s “The Tempest,”

O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous [machinekind] is! O brave new world That has such [robots] in’t!

[a-little-revolution]

Let me ask one more question about little people in fantasy media if you don't mind. I really appreciate you being open to sharing your perspective in such a detailed and thoughtful way.

What advice do you have for people who are trying to create stories using lore from a genre that has such a long history of many different bigotry ingrained in it? Many fantasy tropes and lore are so tangled with the discriminatory views of the society they were made in, that it's difficult to know how to fix it and strike a balance between using creative ideas available to the public consciousness and trying to alter them to remove things that perpetuate real world harm.

For example, I am a dungeon master running a game in a sort of stereotypical high fantasy setting. What in your opinion would be the ideal thing to do? Trash all the lore about DnD dwarves and have them not exist in this universe? Change the lore to make it more clear they aren't just short people, but a different nonhuman race altogether? Call them something else? Leave it as it is but have fleshed out "dwarf" characters so their height isn't their only prominent trait? What about gnomes and halflings? Should we try to just distance them from the real human condition?

I would be fine just not having fantasy dwarves exist, but that also feels a bit disrespectful. Have you ever seen a piece of media that had a fantasy "dwarf" race (and not a human with dwarfism) that did it right, or do you think that's inherently impossible?

Hello! The only race of fantastical dwarfs that I feel did it right was 1988's Willow starring Warwick Davis - but what made the film fantasy was not the village of little people, but the presence of magic in their lives. I didn't find it overly whimsical, and it didn't follow the cookie cutter set up of Snow White or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. All the little people lived whole lives, with families and culture, personalities and journeys. The film was made in the 80s and has it's faults, but overall I really enjoy it :)

I strongly feel that the fantasy race of "dwarves" should not exist. Any lore surrounding the made up race was created to dehumanize real life little people. People with dwarfism should be included in all genres, but the made up race of "dwarves" in the fantasy sphere is not true inclusion, particularly since it's usually able bodied people playing as these characters. I'll leave it to fellow little people to decide their own comfort levels on the subject, but when in doubt I'd prefer people outside the community to stick to creatures like fairies, sprites, borrowers, etc. when looking for small fantasy characters.

For more of my thoughts on the matter, see posts here, here, and here.

Hope this helps!

- Elliot (they/them)

[revenge-of-the-shit]

Writing Chinese characters set within Western worlds

If you don’t want to read it on tumblr, go check this out on medium or go follow me on instagram at @annessarose_writes!

Alright. You know what. I’ve seen plenty of stereotypes in fiction (and in social media) that are so incredibly pervasive I’ve seen many Chinese people within the western world internalize it themselves. So here’s a rough guide on writing Chinese characters in an English-speaking Western setting, written by me, a Chinese Canadian woman.

If you’re here to say something racist fuck off. Otherwise, welcome! This is not a comprehensive guide by any means. This is merely a brief overview based on my own experiences. My experience (as someone in North America) will differ from someone living in, say, Europe or South America. I’m not representative of every Chinese person because everyone’s experience is unique. So here were are.

1. Our names

Chinese names are usually written as follows: [family name] [name]. Let’s take a Canadian historical figure as an example: 黃寬先. In Chinese, it’s pronounced “Wong Foon Sien.” On Canadian documents — which are written [First name] [Last name], he’d be called “Foon Sien Wong.” He went by “Foon Sien” for most of his life. That’s his full “first name.” Nobody would call him Foon because that’s just half of his name (unless given permission). It’d be like meeting a stranger called Alex and calling them “Al” right off the bat. Sure, they could go by Al, but you don’t know that.

For those of us living in the Western world, some of us have both a Chinese name and an English name. In these cases, our Chinese name becomes our middle name in English (e.g. a character could be called John Heen-Gwong Lee).

For some people who immigrated to the Western world but were born in China, their legal name would be their Chinese name. Some choose to keep that name. Some choose an English name as their “preferred” name but keep their Chinese name on legal documents. It varies.

2. Parents & Stereotypes

There’s two stereotypes which are so pervasive I see it being used over and over in jokes even within Chinese (and, to a larger extent, asian) communities:

The [abusive] tiger mom and the meek/absent dad

Both parents are unreasonably strict/abusive and they suck

I have yet to see any fiction stories with Chinese parents where they’re depicted as kind/loving/supportive/understanding (if you have recommendations — please do send them my way). Not all Chinese parents are tiger parents. Chinese parents — like all parents — are human. Good god. YES, they’re human! YES, they have flaws! YES, they are influenced by the culture they grew up in!

That isn’t to say there aren’t parents like those tropes. There are. I know this because I grew up in a predominantly Chinese community where I had many a friend’s parent who was like this. Parents who compare their kids to the best kid in class. Parents who force kids into private lessons and competitions that the kid despises because the parents think it’s for the best. Parents who have literally called their kid a disappointment because they didn’t get 100%.

But please, also consider: there’s parents who support their child’s goals and who listen. Not all parents force their kid into the stereotypical trifecta of lawyer/doctor/engineer — I know of a good number who support their child in choosing the path they want. There’s parents who make mistakes and learn and try their best to support their child. So please, for the love of god, if you write a Chinese character, don’t reduce their parents to stereotypes.

3. Language & Learning

When I first read The Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan, I was so excited to see a Chinese Canadian character in Frank Zhang. Finally, there was someone like me. Finally, there was representation in well-known western media.

While I do appreciate that RR added in Frank Zhang, it’s pretty obvious that he didn’t really know how to write a Chinese Canadian character. One of the most glaring examples: in The Son of Neptune, Frank reveals he can’t really read Chinese. In like, the next book (I think — it’s been a while since I read it), Frank is suddenly able to read Chinese because he “learned” it in two week’s time.

Nope. Nuh-uh. Learning Chinese is a pain, let me tell you. There’s thousands of different characters and it is something you need to devote a lot of time to learning (especially if you’re progressed past the best childhood years for learning a language). So if you’re writing about a Chinese character living in the western world, here’s what you need to know:

A character who was born and raised in the western world does not necessarily know how to read/write in Chinese.

If they were raised by their own family, the character would very likely know how to speak their own dialect. They’d be able to understand the language used in movies/TV and they sound like a native speaker, but they may not know how to use language outside of certain contexts (the term for this is heritage speaker).

They probably went to Chinese school. They probably hated it. Chinese school is usually universally hated and does not teach you jack shit other than a hatred for the place and a vague memory of learning how to read the language without actually retaining knowledge of what you learned.

Most of my friends who know how to read/write in Chinese learned from tutors, parents, or were born in China.

There’s two main types of written Chinese: Traditional (used by Cantonese speakers) and Simplified (used by Mandarin speakers).

There are MANY other dialects (which I don’t know much about). The most common ones are Mandarin (usually spoken by people from the mainland), then Cantonese (usually spoken by people from Hong Kong).

4. Fitting into the community

Usually, the story is one of two things: they’re the only Asian kid in the entire school, or they grew up in a predominantly East Asian community. Things to consider for both of these when you’re writing:

Growing up the only Asian kid

They’re “that Asian kid.” They’re different. They walk into a class and feel weird and out of place.

They bring food from home (usually ethnic cuisine) to school. Other classmates stare at it, make fun of it, demand what that strange food is.

“Where are you from?” “Here.” “No, like, where are you really from?”

“Your name is funny.”

People literally never getting the character’s name right.

And that horrible, horrible feeling: wishing that they were white so they could avoid all of this.

Growing up in a predominantly East Asian community

It’s not uncommon for Chinese cuisine to mix with other east Asian cuisines. For special occasions (or just for a casual night out), your character could very well go out to get some sushi, or go for some KBBQ, or get some Vietnamese noodles.

Screaming “AIYAA” at/with their friends unironically if they’re annoyed (I’ve done this a lot with Cantonese friends. Less so with Mandarin friends).

Slipping into Chinese for like, two words, during a mostly-English conversation to talk about food or some other topic that can’t be adequately conveyed in English.

Reading books by white authors and learning about white history and growing up thinking white names, white books, and white history is the norm and standard even though the community is surrounded by East Asian people.

When the character leaves this community, there’s a brief culture shock when they realize how sheltered they’ve been.

Things in common for both of these:

The character has grown up on ethnic cuisine. Yes, Chinese people do eat rice with many of our meals. Yes, boba (bubble) tea is extremely popular. No, rice isn’t the only thing we eat. No, not all Chinese people love boba (though as a Chinese person I admit this sounds sacrilegious to say…)

The character likely grew up watching film/TVthat originates from East Asia. It’s not uncommon to watch Studio Ghibli films. It’s not uncommon to watch Japanese or Korean shows with canto/mando dub (examples: Ultraman, Kamen Rider). If you want to see a classic Chinese film from Hong Kong that’s fucking hilarious, watch Kung Fu Hustle.

The character has felt or been told that they’re “too westernized to be Chinese, but too Chinese to fit into the western world.” They’re torn between the two.

5. General portrayal

It’s quite simple, really. We’re human. We’re regular people. We have regular hobbies like all people do. We’re good at some subjects and bad at others. We have likes and dislikes like all people do. So here’s a list of stereotypes you can avoid.

STEREOTYPES TO AVOID BECAUSE WE’RE REGULAR HUMANS AND WE DON’T FIT INTO A SINGLE COOKIE CUTTER SHAPE, DAMMIT.

The character is a maths whiz and perfect at all things STEM.

The character is a straight-A+ gifted/IB/AP student.

The character is the next coming of Mozart and is amazing at piano/violin.

The character’s free time is spent only studying.

The character is insanely good at martial arts.

The character is either meek and submissive or an explosive, dangerous force.

I’m not going to mention the other stereotypes. You know, those ones. The really obvious ones that make fun of and demonize (sometimes through multiple untruths) how we look and how we live our lives. You should know.

Of course, there are people who fit into one or more of these. That’s not the point. The point is: molding all Chinese characters to these stereotypes (which white media tends to do) is harmful and reductionist. We’re more than stereotypes.

—

6. Conclusion

We need more diversity in portrayal of Chinese characters. Reducing us into one-dimensional caricatures has done nothing but harm us — look at what’s happening now. This guide is by no means comprehensive, but I hope it has helped you by providing a quick overview.

If you want to accurately portray Chinese characters, do your research. Read Chinese fiction. Watch Chinese films/TV. Initiate a conversation with the community. Portray us accurately. Quit turning us into caricatures.

[ragingbookdragon]

Love Bites (But So Do I) PT. 2

Justice League x Reader One-shot

Word Count: 2.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Aye, we're back with another Skyrim!Reader fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It’d been close to a year since she’d joined the Justice League, and though the original members were a tightknit group, they’d welcomed her with open arms. Some of them were still wary about her, but for the most part, she was doing well within their ranks, especially when it came to being around Bruce or Hal. Given her longevity, she’d seen men like them before, known how to get along with them. Bruce she could meet on equal footing, Hal was simply a man that had to be shown who was in charge; it didn’t take much to make Hal crack under her authority, and in mere days, she had him wrapped around her fingers—Bruce too, but he’d never outright admit it to her face, or anyone else’s, even if a gun was put to his head.

She didn’t particularly fight much when they went on missions, preferring to be backup as well as their combat medic, a job she did well. She’d sewn up most of them without a blink of an eye, and while the first time she sewed Bruce’s wounds up, Clark and Diana stood beside to watch in case she tried to feed, they quickly learned, not only through her own comment but also his, that she wasn’t going to harm anyone.

Barry liked her. Or at least he enjoyed speaking with her. He found her ten thousand years of experience interesting, the history of her life, the survival of it. They’d spent hours talking about the past, hers and his from going back in time often. She enjoyed puzzling the poor scientist with magic. Barry wasn’t one to follow the whole “It’s magic” sermon; he wanted scientific evidence, hypothesis and experiments to prove how sparks, fire, and frost flowed from her fingertips like water. How natural it was for her as if it were like breathing.

She liked Barry. Liked to help him through personal issues. Her many years had given her experience in most subjects of life. Spurned lovers, betrayal of friends, death, life, all of it. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t help with, the League had come to find out. Sometimes, she even helped, and she didn’t even realize it.

***

It was one of the routine meetings for the month; she sat next between Diana and Hal, trying to focus on the words coming out of Bruce’s mouth but all she could hear was the quiet rumbling coming beneath them. What was she hearing? A broken pipe in the ceiling? Air hissing from a crack in a window, perhaps? No, it seemed to be coming from the table. But what was it? Nothing was shaking the foundation. What—

“(Y/N), is something wrong?”

She cocked her head up, realizing she’d pressed her face to the table in hopes she could listen closer to the noise; clearing her throat, she felt the eyes of the group on her. “Apologies,” she excused. “There’s…there is something I keep hearing under your voice. It’s…distracting.”

Her eyes found Clark’s. “Listen for a moment and see if you can hear it.”

They waited, everyone holding their breath, and when the rumbling came again, her eyes widened. “See! That! What is that!”

Clark held his hand up to say wait and she fell silent, letting him listen of for a few more moments, and then he cracked a smile and laughed.

“What? Why are you laughing?” she questioned. “What is it?”

“It’s Barry’s stomach,” he chuckled, nodding at the Speedster who suddenly flushed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you guys could hear it.” He laughed nervously. “It’s past my usual snack time so I’m really hungry.”

“I’ve got you,” Hal replied, digging in his bomber pocket to pull out a candy bar. “Snickers?”

“Ooo!” Barry chirped, taking it from him with a, “Thank you. I forgot to pack snacks when I left the house today.”

“Bar, one day, you’re gonna keel over from hunger because you forget. I swear, your memory is just as bad as your lateness.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Barry snickered.

(Y/N) hummed, eyes lingering on Barry for a moment before she turned to Bruce. “Sorry for the interruption. Please, continue.”

Bruce didn’t skip a beat, but she kept the thought of Barry in the back of her mind.

***

A couple hours later, the meeting had ended, and she caught up with Barry and Hal as they left. “Barry, a moment of your time, please? There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Hal waved the two off and continued to the Zeta tubes, leaving them and Barry smiled, “What’s up, (Y/N)?”

“How often do you eat?”

Hello left field with that question.

“I—what?”

“Consuming sustenance,” she reiterated. “How often do you do it?”

Barry shuffled on his feet, scratching at the back of his head. “Well…my metabolism burns through food like Hal does jet fuel.” He saw her cocked eyebrow and unimpressed look and immediately said, “I need to eat roughly 4.8 million calories a day.”

Her eyes went wide and for a moment she simply gaped at him, then she recovered and shook her head. “Divines, you eat a lot of food.”

“Yeah,” Barry chuckled. “Only downside of being a Speedster besides seeing the world in slow motion.”

“Forensic scientists make between forty and one-hundred-thousand a year. Is it possible for you to afford the nutrition you need to adequately feed yourself?”

Just like that, she hit a sore spot because Barry stilled, a remarkable feat, and his cheeks tinted red; she heard the stutter in his heart rate, noted the way he looked around uncomfortably. “I…Bruce…helps me sometimes.” He shifted nervously. “High calorie protein bars are the easiest to manufacture in massive quantities. I need them most nights.”

“So, you can’t afford the amount of food you need?” (Y/N) hummed, eyes narrowing as she brought her hand to her face, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “I’m going home for the evening,” she suddenly blurted out. “Come back here tomorrow around the same time. I’ll have something for you that will help with your food shortage.”

As she walked off, Barry grabbed her arm, pleading, “Wait, (Y/N), don’t. I can’t take money from you.”

“I never said anything about money,” she corrected, removing his arm. “I merely said for you to come back, and I’ll have something for you.” She winked. “Relax Barry. I’m not going to tell the world your secrets.”

***

He stood in the center of the area where he was supposed to meet (Y/N), had been standing there for an hour, but then again, she was only fifteen minutes late and he forty-five minutes early. Barry glanced at his watch when a buzzing started in his pocket; he pulled his phone out and saw her caller ID, lifting it to his ear. “Hello?”

Barry! Sorry for calling late. That thing I’m looking for is taking a bit longer than I expected it to. Do you think you could come to my home in Gotham? I’ve already called ahead and let Bruce know you’d be in city limits.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered. “I’ll be right there.”

Good! Travel safely!

It’d taken him all of ten seconds to get from the Watchtower to her house and Barry almost shit his pants when he saw it. It reminded him of Hagrid’s house but slightly wider and with multiple conjoined buildings to it. He walked up to the front door, hyping himself up to grab the brass doorknocker that resembled a demonic skull. When he knocked on the door, nothing happened, then the locks flipped and it opened, creaking on its hinges like a cheap eighty’s horror film, but it did the trick because Barry was scared out of his mind when all he saw was a darkened room lit up only by a candle holder on a table in the middle.

“I’m in the back!” a voice called from inside. “Fang is coming to greet you! He’s bringing Nevermore!”

Nevermore was the bird. He remembered that one, but who was Fang?

His question was answer by a giant mastiff came bounding from an opening to the hallway and Barry almost jumped a foot in the air; it looked terrifying, but he merely whined and shoved his head into Barry’s palm, waiting to be scratched behind his ears.

He relented, giving Fang a good ear-scratch, and smiled as Nevermore hopped up his arm to sit on his shoulder.

“Hungry!” he croaked. “Want snacks!”

Barry dug around in his pocket, finding a half-eaten granola bar. “Granola?” he offered, holding up a piece and Nevermore swiped it with a quick snap of his beak.

“Come in!”

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“In the back!” she called. “I told you that already!”

“I meant where!” Barry laughed, coming to the hallway. It split down two sides, one going to the right the other left. The right opened to what looked like a studio. The left went down and had two doors on the wall, what were bedrooms, and at the end of the hall was a study.

“Bedroom!” she answered, and Barry walked down the left, stopping at the second door that was creaked open.

He saw (Y/N) laying over her bed, digging for something on the opposite side away from him. “(Y/N)?”

“Come in,” she said, listening to him walk around to see her. “I forgot I shoved this underneath her a long time ago when I was cleaning things out.”

“How long is a long time ago?”

“Hmm…American Revolution? Give or take a decade or so?” she waved it off, pulling out what looked like an antique drawstring bag, about the size of a dinner plate; she held it up and patted the bed beside her with her free hand. “This is going to solve all your food problems,” (Y/N) announced, watching him sit down.

“Uh…how so?”

She placed it in his lap. “Think of your absolute favorite snack food. Chips or cookies or something.”

He did.

“Now…reach into the bag and pull it out.”

Barry’s brows furrowed as he reached in the bag, and she knew he’d found them because his eyes went wide, and he pulled out a snack pack of cookies. “What the—”

“Magic food purse,” (Y/N) explained. “Found it one day when I was exploring.” She took it back and reached into it, pulling out a thin tray of expertly wrapped sushi. “It’s really helpful when you’re traveling and can’t carry massive amounts of food around with you.”

Barry watched her pop one in her mouth; he knew damn well that sushi wasn’t in there when he reached inside. He swiped the bag from her and opened it, peering inside, but all he saw was a dark, stretching expanse. “That’s not possible,” he breathed. “There’s nothing in here.”

“It’s magic,” (Y/N) snorted, reaching in to pull out a frosted chocolate cupcake. “Anything you can imagine eating or drinking? It will come out.”

“That’s not scientifically possible!” Barry stressed, trying to shove his head into the bag. There had to be some gimmick to it. A transporter! Something!

“Why is it so hard for you to accept that some things in this universe can’t be explained by science?” she stared at him. “For Divines’ sake, Barry, your best friend is a man who wields a magic ring. You run faster than the speed of light.”

“There’s science behind some of that!”

“Not much.”

“But there is science! Here—there’s nothing!” Barry was having a crisis. “I don’t know how this works. I don’t understand.”

(Y/N) smiled and folded the bag up, gently stowing it in Barry’s jacket pocket. “It’s not about understanding, Barry, it’s about accepting that there are some things you won’t ever understand.” Her eyes crinkled at the edges. “That bag will never run out of magic. You can think all the food and drinks into existence and never run out of food again.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “No more high calorie meal bars unless you have to eat them. No more worrying about putting money aside to make sure you have enough to eat. No more relying on others to keep yourself from going hungry.” (Y/N) whispered comfortingly, “No more fear. No more worries.”

Barry felt the lump rise in his throat. He’d never admitted it, not even to Hal, but he worried constantly about keeping fed. Worried that money wouldn’t come in, that he’d go hungry, that something worse would happen. All the nights he’d laid in bed and had to roll over on an empty stomach because he couldn’t afford to buy more or eat what he’d planned for tomorrow then. All the skipping meals, all the exhaustion, all the worry. Gone in moments.

He felt her thumb under his eye, and he looked into her umber ones, seeing her smile softly as she wiped away another tear. She didn’t say anything, merely gazing at him and Barry leaned into her palm, reaching up to cup her hand closer to his cheek. “Thank you,” he managed through the lump in his throat. “I don’t know how to repay you for—”

“Shhh,” (Y/N) hushed, pressing her thumb to his lips. “There’s nothing to repay anyone for. I did this for you, Barry, not so you’d owe me.” She pulled away from him and rose from the bed, looking back. “Now, if you’d like a moment to yourself, I understand. But I was planning on making dinner. Would you like to stay the night?”

“You don’t mind?” Barry asked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a wink, flashing those pretty white fangs in a smile as she flirted, “Stay all you want, Barry. I won’t bite…yet.” She left Barry in the room, heart pounding in his chest, but not from fear—from excitement and anticipation.

[zcls]

[9:39pm] ⋆ ࣪. chenle felt a connection to the warm rays of orange and pink beams that spanned across the firmament above his head, and the trees that swayed effortlessly in the mid-september breeze. lying within the grass with his camera caught upward, he took photographs of the birds singing hymns in the sky, alongside the clouds that were moving in a steady manner. he loved to watch the world like this; serene and tranquil, with no harm or unnecessary ugliness from the cruel aspects of it.

he watched and loved the world as it was— beautiful and cruel at once. beautiful for making evenings like this so beautiful; within one's grasp to hold onto and never let go, and cruel for ripping these moments away and continuing on as if they never happened. he dreamed in velvet— the colors of the sky tugging at his heartstrings and putting blissful daydreams within his mind. he was called a dreamer, but his heart only longed for everyday sunsets, for the world to exist in only pink and orange. 

as his back sunk within the grass that was now dying due to the upcoming winter; his mind went to you. you who filled his film with beautiful pictures; you who turned every photograph into something that had a story behind it. you who made his life the glorious colors of pink and orange without a sunset behind you. you were his sunset.

pictures of you staring at the stars on the nights you spent on top of his car with blankets; gazing at the sky and making wishes with intertwined hands. pictures of you with flour on your cheeks from baking cookies before he had to babysit his cousins that weekend— pictures of you being ever so beautifully you. 

as he reminisced on you, he stared at the soft hues of pink and let out a chuckle; one of happiness, one of sorrow and pain. if only he took another picture of you— maybe you’d still be by his side.