#one day i will learn how to give short answers to asks instead of writing a damn novel every time...today is not that day

[adancingalien]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x bracken!reader

summary: after learning of your impending betrothal to another, you and Benji make a plan to stop it

warning: smut 18+ no use of y/n this fic revolves around pregnancy and has some light breeding kinks towards the end. the reader in this is able to get pregnant and is described as a woman.

word count: 3.9k

note: its finally here! i've really enjoyed writing this fic, its been a while since written one and i've never written smut so if its not the best sorry lol. thank you for everyone's support! i hope you guys like it <3 next time I post it will be on this account @dancingaliensfics so if you like this follow that account. also a couple people asked me to tag them so here you go x @alifeinspiredd @gotranting

It's Early in the morning when your father gives you the news. The sun had risen only an hour prior, the days growing short as winter approached, and your mother sat across from you. 

Marriage.

You spend some time considering the thought whilst eating your porridge. In any other case, it would have been good news. The list your father had created so far was filled with well-suited men. You recognised some, two Bracken cousins you knew well, a Mallister boy you’d met at a tourney. They were all reasonable ages, only one was older than thirty and he seemed to be an afterthought. Your father assured you that he'd consider your opinion in his choice. 

Truthly you were lucky, if it was a year earlier you'd be excited. But the one name you wanted, the only man you would ever consider marrying, wasn't on the list and never would be.

Benjicot Blackwood.

Heir to Raventree Hall, the seat of your enemy house, the man who'd captured your heart 10 moons ago.

And so you sit in silence, eyes distant, as your father speaks to you of balls and meetings and gifts. Your mother watches you quietly, although what goes through her mind you cannot say. Eventually, the conversation fades to noise as you watch the last streaks of pink fade from the sky. 

You meet with Benjicot in the same spot you always do. A field of clover and wildflowers, sheltered from the gaze of Stone Hedge by a small patch of woodland. He brings you a bouquet of dandelions, dittander and hedge bindweed he picked himself along the path. Every time you meet he brings you one and each time he hands it to you with that grin before hiding his face in your neck. You love it, and after all this time you still feel your heart flutter at the sight, no matter how torn and pathetic the blooms themselves usually are. 

Gods, you love him. And you're certain you'll never love anyone else the same. Still, you hope he hasn't found the bindweed from near your gardens, it's beautiful but so quickly consumes all other plants.

He flops onto the grass and then beckons for you to do the same. Benji wraps his arms around your side and you lean your head on his chest as he begins to tell you about some skirmish at the hedge stones.

“Those Brackens think they can do whatever they please whenever they choose. You’d think they'd have learnt their lesson after the beating we gave them last time.”

As he speaks you pluck at blades of grass beside you, tearing the seeds from the stem. He often forgets your heritage, as you do his, and the reminder makes you anxious.

“Still,” you mutter, “I wish you wouldn't rush so quickly into battle.”

Benji turns his head to look down at you and you feel his breath on your face. He pauses for a few moments, watching you closely before responding.

“You needn't worry, dove, I can hold my own, especially against some Bracken bastards.” His words are harsh and said with a grin but you can feel the sentiment behind them. Still, his answer doesn't satisfy you.

“You're not the only person I stand to lose in a battle.”

The two of you tend to speak little of the different sides you sit on, choosing instead to focus on your shared qualities. But since your father's announcement that morning, you find your heritage is all you can think of.

His hands tighten on your side and he begins to shift in the way he often does when unsettled. “Tell your bracken brethren to stay on their side of the lines then.”

“Yes because it is such a simple thing, to announce our ties to my whole family!” You turn from him with a huff pulling hard on the piece of grass in your grasp. You regret your words immediately but find yourself unwilling to apologise.

Benji pulls his brows tight, running his fingers over the hem of your skirt. He looks like a scolded dog, his face sullen and eyes moving quickly.

“I’m sorry.” He looks at you softly for a moment. “Will you tell me what's bothering you love? You've been down all day.”

You pause for a while, having pulled away all the grass in your little patch, leaving your fingernails stained green.

“My father gave me news.” You lift your head to look at Benji, his eyes watching you closely. “He's finding me a husband.”

“No.” The response comes quickly and with strong conviction.

Baffled by his response, your brows furrow. “What do you mean no?”

“I simply won't let it happen. You're mine and I'm yours and we were destined to be together, I know it. You will not be with anyone else.”

You pull a pained face, turning away from him. How can he say that with such certainty? That he simply won't let your father marry you off as though it's such a simple thing. It's both endearing and irritating.

“It's not so simple you know.” You look out at the setting sun as you speak, “I've been trying to think of ways to avoid it but truthfully, I have nothing to complain about. What can I say to stop it? I've spent so long thinking of options but nothing seems right.”

Benji takes hold of your hands, gazing at you with such intensity it catches you off guard.

“We'll run away together, you and me, right now.”

Your eyes widen and you stumble on your thoughts. What an idea. It's a pleasant thought really and part of you is compelled to accept, to leap up and run away with Benji in that moment. But it is not this part of you that speaks.

“What- Benji- I cannot, we cannot! Where would we even go.”

“Essos, the free cities, the North, gods I'd go to the Iron Islands if it meant I could marry you. Anywhere in the world where the names bracken and blackwood mean nothing.” your heart skips at the thought, that Benjicot Blackwood would abandon his title and land and family to be with you. Travel to an unknown land and begin again. It's a feeling that quickly spreads through your body leaving you warm and filled with a joy so strong it again compels you to accept and leave in that moment.

You run your fingers over his knuckles, feeling the healed cuts and scrapes that cover them. You consider your own family, of your mother, sat at her window, waiting for you to return home. Your father, sending out his men to fruitlessly search across all of Westeros for his beloved daughter. 

“I can't Benji.”

“Then we'll go in a few days instead, you can pack your things, and I'll think of a plan of where to go-”

“No Benji.” you look into his eyes. You see in them a future and a path you cannot take at this moment. “I couldn't do that to my family, couldn't leave them forever and you couldn't either. It would break your mother's heart.”

Your words sour his mood and he visibly shrinks. You take his hands fully in your own and reach over to kiss him softly on the cheek. You can feel slight stubble and realise he must have rushed out after receiving your letter. How you love this man. 

It isn’t long before you see a new thought arrive in his mind and it's clear he does no further thinking before sharing it.

“I'll just take you then!”

Truthly, your expectations were not high but you still find yourself floored by the stupidity of his ‘plan’.

“What.” You can simply find no other words.

Benji turns to face you fully, squeezing your hands tightly. He has a crazed look on his face and you wonder if this is what your Bracken brethren see on the battlefield. 

“Listen, I’ll simply take you with me to Raventree Hall and we will wed there.” He must notice your unimpressed look as he quickly continues. “That way you don't have to go too far and your family will know you're safe. Sure it'll take some time for those Bracken curs to accept it but eventually they'll have to and then you can see them when you please.”

“Safe? Benji, you've come up with some terrible ideas but this is a new level. It would be war! You really believe that my father, that any bracken would simply accept a blackwood taking their daughter in the night?”

“Then war it would be. I'd kill a thousand men to keep you.”

“A thousand of my men, my blood! Yes, what a beautiful honeymoon it would be, setting the funeral piers of my family.”

He falls silent at this and looks down at his hands. You can see him thinking but he has the sense to keep his thoughts to himself. After a few minutes, you sigh and take his hands back in yours, having dropped them at some point during your rant. Leaning over, you capture his lips in your own for just a moment and when you pull away he follows after you.

“Just… leave it to me. I shall think of a plan for us. We can keep yours as a last resort, yes?”

He brightens at this, happy to trust in your judgement. He agrees quickly before closing the small space between you.

It's a week later when you send a raven summoning Benji. As a child, you had discovered passages within Stone Hedge which had long been forgotten and often used them to pass in and out of the castle. Now you and Benji used them to visit each other in secret. It's a few days before he is able to make his way to Stone Hedge, having been corralled by his father into some dull political nonsense you couldn't care less about. By the time he makes it to you, slipping into your chambers using the passage hidden behind large tapestries, you feel truly desperate for him.

It's overwhelming really, how much you love him. Your entire body aches for him, your mind thinks of him at all times. The thought of marrying another leaves you ill and to imagine laying with a man that isn't Benji is truly mad. He knows you in ways no other has, and, if you get your way, never will. So really it's not a surprise that upon seeing you waste no time in pressing yourself to him. As your lips meet you can feel all the stress of the past days leave your mind and you quickly forget what it was you summoned him for. It seems Benji has found himself in a similar position to you as his hands begin to explore your body through your evening gown. His soft touch turns rough as you run your fingers through the coarse strands of his hair. 

You pull away, moving toward to settee. He trails after, lounging next to you with his around your shoulders, fingers toying with your hair.

“I’ve had much time to think,” you say hands resting on your lap. “And I believe I've thought of a solution. It’s mad truly, but it is the best chance we have. I am certain I want it but if you do not you must say and that will be final. It is not a decision to take lightly.”

At your serious tone, Benji straightens and looks at you fully. You are nervous, such a proposal is hardly made easily and yet you feel certain in your bones that he will accept. You know he loves you, there is no doubt about it. You only wonder if he is truly ready for a life together.

“I would do anything to be with you, dove. Tell me and it'll be done.”

You sigh at his words, both from frustration and adoration. 

“Do not say such things before you hear the proposal.”

“Then tell me it so that I may say them with informed certainty.”

You look him in the eyes then, struggling to find a way to say what you mean.

“I would have your child.”

Benji pauses at this, and you can see confusion in his eyes before he speaks.

“Yes. when we wed we shall have many children, as many as you wish.”

“No Benji,” you squeeze his hands tightly and push yourself to speak. “My father will never choose you as my husband so we must give him no choice. If I was with child, with your child, he would have to accept a marriage or risk shame upon myself and our house. I know my father well and I am sure he would choose my happiness over tradition.”

At this, Benjicot stops and his face falls blank. It's as if his mind is —- and you wait patiently for his response.

“It is…” he stops and then restarts “I would love nothing more than to have a child with you. It is something I have dreamt of and I truly believe myself ready for such responsibility. I do not doubt the longevity of my love for you. So please do not think it is commitment with gives me pause. It is just…” he begins to play with your fingers, nervous energy flowing through him. He stands quickly, releasing your hands though you are used to his restlessness and simply wait for him to return. He paces in a small circle, running his hand through his hair and then returns to his seat. 

“I would not do that to you,” he says finally. You look at him in surprise, his answer seeming nonsensical to you.

“You have done it to me many times.”

“No not that,” he says quickly, covering his face in his hands as he thinks again how to phrase what he means.

“I wouldn't put you through such treatment! As an unwed woman to father a child by you. No, I couldn't dishonour you like that.”

“Dishonour me? Benji, you have dishonoured me more times than I could count. By simply being here in this room you dishonour me. We have laid together, many times. If this was a concern of yours, you should have voiced it long ago.” your words are tinged with amusement.

Benjicot stands again, moving his arms wildly. 

“And what of how you would be treated? Not just by your parents but every member of the court, the servants, anyone who knew of it. You would be shamed and shunned by others.”

“You think I care what others say of me?”

“I think you will care when it happens.”

“Do not make assumptions on my behalf. I am my own woman, I can make my own choices. And I do not need you, Benjicot Blackwood, to decide such things for me.” 

You pause, breathing deeply in an attempt to remove the heat from your voice. It isn’t your intention to force Benji to do this with you and you fear if you continue to argue your meaning will be lost.

“If your reasons to not go forth are your own, because you do not feel ready or because you do not want to, then that is fine and I will accept it.”

Your attempt to calm the situation backfires miserably and your words light a fire inside of Benji.

“Of course not, didn’t say I would marry you in that field? That I would give up everything to be with you. Do not doubt my love.”

“I do not doubt it, Benji. But if you are willing to give up your titles and home, go through battle and fight hundreds to have me, why can't you trust that I would endure the shame of a pregnancy outside of wedlock for you?”

At last, Benji returns to his spot next to you. He looks into the fire but his gaze is distant.

“I can protect you from danger, from enemies. I can kill any man that threatens you. I can stand with you in fire and pain. But I can’t save you from cruel words and shame. This is… it's something you’ll have to bear alone. And I hate the thought of it.”

At last, you understand his meaning. Benjicot Blackwood is not a man who often loses control. He is fierce and strong and can slay any man who comes in his path. 

“I am strong. And I can protect myself, just this once. And you will be stood with, at my side, to give me strength when I fail.”

“I know, I just fear you aren’t ready.”

“I am ready.”

A coy smile spreads across your face.

“Let me convince you.” 

At that you kiss him, one hand placed on his cheek and the other on his chest. He quickly reciprocates and you move closer until you can throw one leg over his lap. His hands find your hair, attempting to undo your intricate braids before pulling away in frustration and glaring at the strands. You laugh lightly, moving to remove your pins as he reaches for your neck, leaving a firm bite before his tongue lathes over the area. His ministrations pull a soft moan from your mouth and as he lifts your skirts to run his hand up the soft skin of your thigh, your hair is released.

His other hand quickly finds its way into your hair, fingers weaving into the strands before your head is pulled back allowing better access to your neck. As Benji continues trailing kisses across your neck and chest, you begin to move yourself on his lap, grinding against him as you feel his cock harden beneath his breeches. How you long to feel him inside you, and the thought of him staying even as he reached his peak, seed spilling inside you, has you moving with increased vigour. Benji begins to let out his quiet groans and pants to match your soft moaning and it's not long before he has your behind held firmly in his grip. 

His mouth reaches the neckline of your dresses and begins to suck marks onto your skin while you fumble with the fastening of your gown. Once the bodice is undone and the stays are loosened, he pulls them down, taking your breasts into his hands. His mouth quickly latches onto one of your peaks and his tongue swirls around them. He shows you no mercy in his actions, hands pressing so tight they are sure to leave bruises. Benji moves his hand to your core, fingers covering themselves in your wetness before pressing against your clit. They move quickly, circling your bud for some time before travelling towards your hole. His thumb moves to take its place, pressing firmly against you as it rubs. His fingers prod gently at your hole, before one slips inside. He stays like this, easing his finger inside of you until you're ready to take another. His fingers move inside of you for a few minutes, your walls clenching around them as they stroke, before they increase in speed, beginning to curl deep inside of you. Benji continues to assault your chest, relishing in the moans and whines he pulls from your lips. 

It isn't long, however, before he pulls away from your chest to speak.

“I need you, my love.” he lifts your chin so that your eyes meet. You lean forward and kiss him, giving your answer through your actions. He removes his fingers from you, wiping them on your dress much to your disgust before standing, holding you with his hands beneath your ass and your legs around his waist.

 He moves quickly towards the bed and, though he's strong, you can see him focusing on not dropping you. You take the chance to join your lips to his neck, leaving your marks there. Although you know him to be faithful to you, you can’t stand the thought of any Blackwood whore making a pass at him and the hickeys serve to claim him as yours. Gods, you think, you must stop thinking in such ways, you’ll be a Blackwood yourself soon. The thought leaves you giddy and you grin at his neck. Benji drops you rather unceremoniously onto the bed before staring at you with a bemused look on his face.

“What you grinning about him?”

“Just the thought that I will soon be your wife.”

His grin widens at that and he leans down to capture your lips once again. 

“Yes, my wife and I'll be your husband.”

You kiss him again, biting his lip and tugging on it slightly.

“All mine.” your words pull a deep moan from him.

It isn’t long before both of you have stripped completely and you find yourself lying back on the sheets, Benji between your legs. He moves quickly above you, rubbing his cock against your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit with every stroke. You moan wantonly, fingers reaching up to pull Benji towards your lips by the hair. Your firm grip causes him to groan deeply into your mouth and his movements increase in speed. It isn't long though before you pull away.

“Benji, darling, I need you inside of me please.”

You're expecting him to tease you, and make a joke about your begging and neediness but instead, he lets out a long breath, before reaching down and taking himself in hand. He runs the tip of his cock along your wetness once more before pressing inside of you. Your body accepts him eagerly and it isn't long before he fills you. How could you ever marry another when even your body is moulded perfectly to him? The sounds of your pleasure harmonise as Benji begins to move inside of you. His thrusts are fast and deep as always, his hips snapping against yours with every thrust. You feel your mind slipping as your sounds increase in volume. Your hands roam his whole body. Filthy words spill from your lips.

“Benji please my love- ah- I must have you. Please”

“You have me sweet one, you have me.”

You pull roughly on his hair at his words.

“No I must have all of you, please I need your seed. I want you to cum inside me.”

His hips stutter before his thrusts continue with increased fervour.

“Fill me please Benji, it will feel so good.”

Benji lays his head in the crook of your neck moaning without restraint. You feel yourself reaching your peak quickly and want him to cum with you. You lift your legs and wrap them tightly around his waist, moaning, turning to shrieks.

“I love you so much Benji,” you cry out, fingernails leaving scratches down his back. “I love you and I want your baby, please cum inside me.”

At your words, Benji lets out a choked sound, hips pressing firm against you, and feels the warmth of his release spill inside of you, pulling you to your peak alongside him. Your eyes squeeze shut, but if they hadn’t you would have seen the most delightful look on Benji’s face and he finished inside of you. It takes some time for his cock to stop twitching and even longer for the both of you to come back to the world of the living. Benji begins to lift himself off of you, but you tighten your legs.

“Stay.”

A simple command that he follows without question.

[ramp-it-up]

All I Know It Feels So Damn Good

Summary: James Bucky Barnes was an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and knocked him on his face. Bucky gives you anything you want. Anything.

Word count: 2.5 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic is connected to the Knock You Down AU, and comes After ...As Hard As I Did but BEFORE Dessert or Disaster, but it can be read as a stand alone. It is in answer to this ask. Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run is making me feral. I can write these two ALL DAY!!!! Y'all are gonna have to deal with this for a while, sorry not sorry.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. This is porn with some plot. GNO tipsy texting returns, Dom/sub elements, phone sex, talk of raw p in v, description of sex with condom, Bucky being fluffy while filthy, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation kink, talk of face slapping, talk of finger f*cking, talk of oral sex, praise kink, breeding kink, begging, use of Daddy, use of google translate Romanian. Actual raw p in v, lactation kink if you squint, nipple worship if you squint, belly bulge, non-existent refractory period. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

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It was your first Girl’s Night Out as Bucky’s girl. You’d texted him tipsy messages all night, teasing him with your selfies and requests of the same from him.

Your flirty banter was all fun and games until your received a terse, ‘Call me when you get home’ voice memo. 

You don’t know why six little words got you all worked up, but there was a delicious feeling of anticipation in your stomach until you settled into bed after you showered and dialed Bucky. 

For the short time you’d been intimate, you’d sensed that he was holding back something darker, more forceful and to think of it didn’t scare you.

It only served to get you so incredibly hot. Something inside you wanted to push his buttons.

Maybe it was that, and not the champagne, that impelled you to text him what you had earlier.

Bucky was on his couch, staring at the Manhattan skyline and waiting for your call. He answered on the first ring.

“Hello, Frumoasă. Did you have fun tonight?”

His question seemed innocuous enough. Bucky listened as you recounted the drama and escapades of the night with your girls. 

You asked him how his evening with Steve and Sam was and he replied shortly, “Fine. Until I got distracted.”

Then he got to the point.

“Now. Let’s talk about the text you sent me earlier. Run that back for me? What is it that you want to do while I do what to you now?”

The way he slid into confronting you was savage. You weren’t expecting it and now you didn’t want to say it out loud.

Had you crossed the line, you wondered?

Your silence made Bucky smile. He knew he had you flustered, having learned your tells already. You were about to be in the mood he wanted you in; he just needed to push a little further.

“Cat got that talented tongue, baby? Tell me what you said. Or are you only a whore over texts?”

The coldness in Bucky’s tone made you whimper. And wet.

“James…”

Bucky’s cock swelled. He was ten seconds from jumping into his car and showing up at your door. Instead of that, Bucky decided to be patient.

But clear.

“Tell me.”

“I said…I said that I wanted to suck your fingers while you fuck me raw.”

Bucky grunted to cover his moan. You being his shy little slut was so hot.

“Hmmmm. What made my sweet girl think such whore thoughts? Was it the picture that you requested and I sent?”

You shuddered as you ran your fingertips along your belly, playing with the waistband of your underwear. Your nipples were stiff peaks, poking through your thin sleep shirt, which was one of his white tees. 

The fine cotton fabric felt so good against your skin and his scent lingered on the surface. These sensations, along with the knowledge that the shirt, and you, belonged to Bucky sent your fingers further.

“Thank you for the picture, Daddy.”

Bucky clenched his jaw at the moniker. He couldn’t deny you a thing. Even when he was out to dinner with his boys, he would send you a bathroom selfie if you asked. He hadn’t expected the response, however.

You’d only been together for a couple of weeks, and he’d religiously used protection, even after you’d both gotten tested the week after you got together. Despite your clean bills of health, Bucky never pushed to not use protection. He didn’t try to change your mind, he was just happy to be in the room.

In fact, Bucky loved using condoms with you. 

The way you rolled it on him always made him about to bust. The sight of your small fingers on him when you both were past the point of desperation drove him insane with romantic thoughts.

Your tiny hands rolling the rubber on him made him feel like you were his queen and he your knight. And he would vanquish any foe for you. His holy grail was your precious pussy, and if you wanted to use condoms, he was your humble servant. 

But of course, he dreamed of fucking you raw. How could he not with the way your juicy pussy sucked his digits in when he fucked you with his fingers, and the warm wet feel of you when his tongue penetrated your core?

You’d discussed birth control and you had additional methods, but when he snuck a peek of the ring in his closet, he allowed himself to fantasize about making you pregnant.The images got him so hard and yet he restrained himself.

But now that you opened the door, he could let his fantasies run wild. And dare to hope.

“Tell me more, Frumoasă.”

“Well… your fingers in the picture got me hot. You look so fucking Daddy, your eyes, your hair, which I love a little longer by the way, the grey in your beard. Those lips. But those fingers holding that ratty ass phone…”

You giggled until Bucky spoke again.

“As long as I can talk to you and get those kinds of messages, I don’t need a new one. But do go on…”

You melted at his sentiment. How did you get a man that was so open with his feelings?

“Those fingers, mmmm, they are magic. Make me wanna be a slut for for them, for you, James.”

You heard Bucky moving on his end of the line. You guessed at what he was doing.

“What are you doing, Jamie? Are you touching your cock?”

You bit your finger as you listen to him moving.

“Do you know that I daydream about that beautiful dick of yours?”

A groan was all that you received in response.

“Ever have a goal, James? Sucking your cock is mine. It’s so big. Love to get on my knees and swallow you down. Makes me feel accomplished. Ya know?”

“Holy shit, Y/N…”

“I want to feel it without a condom. I- I just think it will feel so good. Don’t you?”

As he thought of what you would feel like as he sank into you, skin to skin, a shiver ran up his spine.

“You know that I give you anything you ask for. Your soft, wet pussy would feel so warm and so good wrapped around me, Y/N. Are you sure you want that?”

You felt an enormous sense of power, and you had a feeling that Bucky was letting you have your way. For now. You took full advantage.

“You know that vein that runs around your shaft  to the tip?”

Bucky was tracing that very vein with his fingers.

“You mean the one that you love to rub those sweet lips on? The one that your wicked tongue traces to my fat head for your sweet little mouth to suck?”

You gasped at Bucky’s lewd language. You were soaking your panties and you moved to take them off. This conversation was the shit.

“Is that what you want to get on your knees for? To try to make me your slave to your slutty mouth?”

“Yes, Daddy just thinking about it makes me wanna cum.”

Bucky’s ears perked up at your breathless voice. He knew that you were touching yourself.

“Oh yeah?”

“Ummmhmmm.”

“Cum for me now, Frumoasă.”

You moaned and rubbed furious circles around your clit. Your arousal was evident in the sloppy sounds emanating from between your legs

“Is that my wet pussy I hear, Baby? How did that happen? Are you that much of a slut?” 

“Th-thinking about you, Daddy. Always a slut for you,” you keened in response.

“What exactly are you thinking about me? Fă ce spun eu frumos.”

You caught Bucky’s tone, and also the hitch in his voice. He was as close as you were.

“Yes, Daddy. ‘M thinking about your fingers inside me. Your cock. How big it is. The way you handle me. The way you talk to me. How you make me feel nasty and angelic all at the same damn time.” 

“Good girl. Now. Make sure that you fuck your fingers into that sweet cunt.”

You moaned as you obeyed. 

 “Oh. Fuck!” 

“There’s my good little whore. I should slap your fucking face for being so dirty. ” 

You gasped, then thrilled.

“Ooooohhhh, Daddy!” 

You were breathless and Bucky’s heart was beating out of his chest. You liked degradation. Really liked it. He took note.

“‘M so wet for you, Jamie.”

“I’m going to fuck you senseless, and you won’t be able to run from my cock when I fuck all of your fucking holes raw. Gonna leave my cum dripping out of everywhere.” 

You gasped, fingers flying over your clit. 

“Daddy…”

“But what if you get pregnant?”

You cried out. 

“Godamn it, Frumoasă. That belly swollen because I fucked my cum into you. Full of my… fuck… full of my baby. Those tits gushing milk every time I fuck you…”

“Oh yes. Make me a Mommy!”

“You’ll be mine, Frumoasă. In every single way imaginable.” 

“Oh oh oooooooooh!”

Your pussy spasmed under your fingers as his words pushed you over the edge.

“Don’t fucking stop rubbing that clit until I say so.”

He was so mean. You squeezed your thighs around your wrist, but did as he said.

“NNnnnghhh, Daddy… please!”

You continued stroking your oversensitive clit until you heard your name through the fog.

“Take your hand away..”

You gladly obeyed, gasping in order to take in oxygen. Your head was spinning and there was a giant smile on your face. 

“Holy shit. That was…”

Bucky’s low chuckle made you giggle. You heard movement over the phone.

“What’re you doing?”

“Made a mess all over my shirt. Taking it off.”

Your pussy pulsed again at what he said.

“You can’t say things like that when I’m still pounding, Daddy…” you whimpered.

“Poor Y/N, can’t handle the things she starts.”

You laughed and then stopped abruptly.

“You better be glad that you’re not here right now. I’d knock you the fuck out.”

“Big talk. Little girl.”

“Try me, Mr. Barnes.”

He couldn’t resist you and he couldn’t stay away. So he gave up trying.

“Brat. Be there in 30 minutes. Be ready to put your money where your mouth is. I’d like to see you live up to your threat, Baby.”

“Oh I’m ready, James. Leave the condoms at home.”

—-

45 minutes later, Bucky was sinking into your wet heat, eyes rolling back into his head. He was inside in one long stroke, burying himself in your wetness with a fair amount of stretch.  He was huge. But he’d made you so wet.

You quivered around him, sensitive to every twitch of his dick, and he wasn’t even moving yet.

“Who do you belong to, Frumoasă?” 

“You,” you moaned, not even hesitating. 

Bucky flexed his hips, opening you with controlled thrusts. Almost immediately, you were close. His fingers covered your throat, cradling your jaw, and a thumb pushed between your lips. You sucked it eagerly as he lifted one ankle next to your ear.

Blucky’s searing eyes met yours. His black pupils took over the blue as he took in your open mouth and fucked out expression. 

He pulled you up to kiss you on the lips.

“God, you feel like heaven. So unbelievably hot and silky. And soft.”

You clenched around him at his words of praise. You were spiraling at how hard and good and electric every ridge and vein on Bucky’s cock felt inside you. He filled you up so good and now you were addicted.

It wasn’t fair. 

You pouted at him, then put your hand on the bulge he was creating in your belly.

“Feels so fucking good, Daddy. So good. So big.”

His mouth turned up into a half grin as he looked down and put his hand over yours.

“Gonna fucking fill you up.”

He started moving, slowly, gently at first, building to a crescendo the more you moaned and cried. He was hypnotized by your bouncing breasts and your tiny stiff mountain peaks. When his mouth closed over your tight, puckered nipple, you let out a scream. 

Bucky grabbed your ass and smacked it, causing you to clamp down immediately. He gazed at you, eyebrow raised at your reaction. You closed your eyes and threw your head back, but he stopped, grabbed your hair and made you look at him. He paused, balls deep inside you.

You breathed out his name.

“...James…”

Your desperation almost made him come on the spot, and you could feel him pounding inside you. The truth was, he needed a little break so this could last.

The way your pussy was sucking his dick was insane.

“D’you feel how soaked you are?” he crooned, gripping your windpipe again.

“You need this so badly, don’t you? Go on, Frumoasă. It’s not so hard. I know you want to beg me for it. You like being a little whore..” 

You sucked in a breath, remaining silent as you stared at him insolently. His grip tightened. 

“Say it. You love being my cumslut.”

His voice was on the edge of control. It was everything.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Please, Daddy, Pleaseee…”

Bucky started moving again and you realized how sensitive to him you were. You clutched the sheets as he lengthened his strokes.

 “Fuuuuuck,” you gasped. 

Bucky leaned down to kiss you as your sweat combined with your slick and soaked both your bodies. His hips were moving relentlessly, his cock lighting up every nerve ending inside your tight channel. You squeezed him deliciously.

Bucky’s thumb was lighting up your clit and you were running headlong toward that cliff. He growled into your mouth as you tightened around him in a rush of pleasure.

As you neared your peak, your pussy pulsed erratically and you sparked around him like a firework. When you cried out, he spoke again, his hand around your throat with his thumb, (coated with the essence of you) inserted again into your mouth.

 “Look at you, baby,” he said, low and heated.

“You’re gonna cum so hard, and just the way I want you to. Around my naked cock. Gonna give you all this cum.”

He whispered it into your ear.

“Oh God, I’m cuming.” 

“You better hope none of my little soldiers make it past your birth control, little girl.”

You shrieked around his digit, shuddering as one wave after another crashed over your body. Bucky’s cock jerked inside you and he choked on air.

“Oh Goddddd!”

Bucky’s low, deep moan made you shudder around him again as he sped up, unable to contain the feeling that rushed down his spine when you came. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck FUCKKKKKKKK!”

Bucky pounded you out as you came with him. He collapsed on top of you, laughing, as he kissed and licked your sweat filled neck. Then, he rolled off of you and put his arm over his eyes, his chest heaving beside you. 

You curled up next to him and practically purred as you traced his tattooed sleeve.

“Told you I’d knock you out old man. Too bad you have to go to work tomorrow. How are you ever gonna do it when you’re so worn out? I feel like this pussy was worth it tho.”

Bucky moved his arm and opened one eye at you, a scowl on his face. Then he smiled. The brat in you turned him the fuck on. He turned toward you and traced his fingers along your side, caressing your curves like a feather. His voice was the gentlest whisper.

“Wonder how you’re gonna work tomorrow when you can’t walk, Y/N?”

You felt his dick awaken and gasped as you looked down. Bucky slapped your ass as he stood up to go to the foot of the bed, stroking his cock.

“Turn the fuck over. I’ll show you an old man.”

“We’ll see who is gonna knock out who first tonight. Give me that fucking arch.”

You smiled as your face was pressed into the comforter.

----

Reblog if you liked it! :)

Next part here.

[etirabys]

Apologies if this is personal and you don't want to answer (or you don't want to answer for any other reason!); if that is the case no worries. But anyway by virtue of the fact that I am (sort of) a linguist I often get curious about people's language situation. You speak English obviously but spent your childhood in Korea, and often went to the English language book store while there? What is like, your personal linguistic history? Like, what language(s) did you grow up speaking, which ones did you learn later and when, etc? How fluent do you consider yourself in both English and Korean? If you don't mind my asking.

Haha, this is a dream scenario for me (someone asking about a situation I find fascinating about myself because I've never met anyone else with that background, but is probably boring to most people). Here's a longer story than you probably want:

My parents emigrated to the US before I was born, stayed for a decade, and moved back to Korea right after I was born. They're conversational in English, and my sister (12 years my elder) is fluent. Speaking English is valuable in Korea, so they raised me to be bilingual. They taught me the alphabet, bought me English language children's books, and sent me to an English language school run by Christian missionaries for preschool, kindergarten, and part of first grade.

My sister left the country when I was three to go to a boarding school in the US, but she came back every year for holidays, spoke exclusively in English to me, and refused to let the conversation move on if I mispronounced a word.

When I was six, my parents moved further away from the missionaries' school and switched me to a neighborhood public elementary school. At this point I was mildly more fluent in English than in Korean. Reading (English books) was a self-sustaining reaction I spent every free hour on. There were fewer interesting Korean books for children. Korea had industrialized ~30 years prior, and the hangeul writing system had only been in full use ~50 years at that point. As far as I knew, there was no CS Lewis of Korea, no Tolkien, no Diana Wynne Jones. In Korean bookstores, many of the prominent books on display were translated – The Little Prince was popular for children, and there was a children's fiction fad around another French author (who afaik never made a splash in the States) whose name I forget.

So I'm reading like 10 hours a day, at the dinner table, on the escalator when my mom takes me while she's shopping, sometimes under the desk at school flipping the pages with my toes, because the teachers don't care. (This is a huge W as far as I'm concerned for Korea – public school teaching is a somewhat competitive and standardized government job, it attracts people who lack great passion for either teaching or controlling children.) Meanwhile my peers don't like me much because my vibes are rancid: I have a compulsive laugh tic I haven't gotten under control, and I don't seem to understand their preferences very well or actively seek to understand them. Fair enough. I have one friend at any given time and she's usually on the fence about me.

When I'm old enough to take the train on my own, some weekends my mom gives me 5000 won for the train ticket + lunch, and I go into Seoul to visit one bookstore that has a 10-shelf English section. I pick a book, spend the day finishing it, and go home. Instead of my English language skills lapsing and being overtaken by the language I'm immersed in, I'm going deeper into English. Which increased the disconnect between me and my peers. I remember overhearing a conversation about an anime (The Black Cat) and eagerly asking if they'd also read the Edgar Allen Poe short story. I wanted to much to talk about shared interests, but it didn't occur to me to "invite myself into their interests" by picking up the manga they talked about.

...this all made my childhood weird in ways that have shaped me hugely but are difficult to describe. I was isolated and not, happy and not, stimulated and not, developing unevenly...

At eleven I discover fanfiction.net, probably one of the most impactful events of my life. I'm running out of physical books, I've read everything five or ten times, but then the computer! has made a deal with me! It contains INFINITE LITERATURE, although sometimes people seemed to misspell things on purpose and I didn't know why. (I had, approximately, never encountered misspellings in written material before.) In return the internet would take MY SOUL FOREVER although I didn't realize this at the time. I post a 100K Harry Potter epic over the next year where Harry is trained by a special assassin cult that lives under a mountain.

My parents have no idea what is on the internet. They're on a new temporal continent with no clue there's a parasite that can turn your daughter into a fujoshi. They do know that they have a worrying child. But! Her grades are really good, especially when she's testing in English. Good enough that although they originally intended not to send me to the US (my sister got depressed and burned out, and they attributed it to sending her to a different country for school), it made much more sense for me to go. I was on track to get a full ride at an Ivy, a carrot they were Not Immune to, and I obviously despised Korea and wanted to leave.

When I arrived in the States, I was terrified of speaking English to real native speakers. My language experience was "reading/writing: 95% English, speaking/listening: 90% Korean". I could perfectly pronounce any English sentence when I tried, but I'd occasionally and bizarrely mix up R and L, or the vowel sounds "ih" and "eeh" if I weren't paying attention. This went away after a year but I felt extra shy and didn't talk much. I'd guess 80% of my social cachet in freshman year came from writing funny Facebook posts.

I remember my time in Korea without feeling bothered by any single aspect, but overall I still have a big sense of "wow I didn't like that", have avoided non-Americanized Korean people since getting here (ten years ago), and now speak Korean haltingly. I'll try to teach it to my children so that they have the option of that cultural connection, but I don't think I can do a good job. It's feels 90% true thinking/speaking Korean is just a normal skill, a thing I do sometimes on the phone – and 10% true that the happier and more whole I become in the US, the more unsettling it feels to speak Korean at all.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I've got young kids, work full time, went back to school to get my degree and my spouse is also in a degree program. Finding the time to write feels impossible. There's no way I can write daily.

I feel like maybe my dream to be an author is out of reach. When should you really ask yourself if you truly want to be an author? Forget an author.. do you really want to be a writer? 

Author Dream Feels Out of Reach

You've come to the right place. ♥

First, I want to tell you that what you're feeling right now is totally normal. So, so many of us go through it. I promise you're in good company.

Second, I submit that this isn't really about whether or not you want to be a writer/author. You wouldn't be here if some part of you didn't want to be a writer/author... you wouldn't be reaching for a dream you didn't have...

Third, I further submit that rather than questioning your intentions, you may just need to consider what you want to get out of writing, what your goals would be as an author, and then create realistic goals to help you get there. That's where I come in...

1 - I'm here to tell you that you don't have to write every day. I spent a long, long, embarrassingly long time parroting back the traditional "advice" that one must write every single day in order to be a successful writer and reach your author dreams. Head, meet desk! In the intervening years, I've learned that writing every day simply isn't realistic for the vast majority of people. Why? Because we're not all independently wealthy bachelors who retired in our 40s, who spend our days fishing and our evenings partying with our eccentric creative friends, and then burning the midnight oil on our latest manuscript while we sip brandy and puff on a fine cigar. If only! (minus the cigar part... yuck...) Instead, we're members of family units, friend groups, and communities. We're parents and grandparents and guardians and caregivers. We're students, we have jobs and roles and responsibilities. We're anxious, tired, and stretched so unbelievably thin. The world is falling down around us. And it's... a lot...

2 - But... that's why we write... ALL OF THAT, I say, gesturing broadly at everything, is why we write. We write to tell the stories of the eccentric brandy-sipping writers, the stressed-out-stretched-thin-parents, the overworked-and-underpaid teachers, the exhausted caregivers who feel their dreams slipping between their fingers, and still hopeful dreamers who cling to the stars with the dust of the crumbling world in their eyes. We write to tell their stories, and we write to give them stories. We write because the world needs our stories. ALL of them. The good, the bad, the clean, the spicy, the angsty, the swoony, the cringey, the comforting, the excessively long, the absurdly short, the plainly written, the purple prosey... all of it matters. All of it serves a purpose.

3 - So, why did you start writing in the first place? You don't have to answer this for me, just for yourself... many of us would answer by saying things like, "because I have story ideas that demand to be written," or "because it's something I do for fun and escape, it's self-care," or "because I love to explore human stories." Getting to the heart of why you write, outside of any goals or future plans, can help ground you in the storm.

4 - What are your author goals? Now, if time, energy, and other considerations were no object... if you could spend as much time writing as you wanted and there were no obstacles to any author goal you had, and no limit to achieving your dreams, what would your author goals be? Do you want to share your stories on Wattpad or a similar platform? If so, do you have any goals related to views/reads/comments, and how often you hope to post a new story? If you want to pursue traditional publishing, are you happy being reasonably popular within your niche, or do you want to be a big time best-seller with your books made into movies? If you want to be an indie author, is there a certain number of books you want to get out each year? Is there a certain number of sales you want to hit for each book? A certain income level you want to aim for? Figuring out exactly what your goals are is important if you want to map a reasonable path toward getting there.

5 - What's a reasonable path to get there? Imagine "reasonable" lit up with lights here, because it's so, so important. Really, the biggest reason writers get overwhelmed and give up is because we have unreasonable expectations and are trying to meet arbitrary goals that sound great, but are just not possible to meet. If you can only muster maybe three hours to write on a good week, and you can write 26 words a minute on a good writing session, if your goal is to write 10,000 words per week, guess what... that's more than TWICE the number of words it's even possible for you to write in a good week, so you're going to fall far, far short most weeks. It's an unrealistic goal.

If you're averaging roughly 11,000 words per month and your goal is to write a novel in six months and have it revised, edited, and published (or revised, edited, and sent off with queries), guess what... your manuscript is sitting at 66,000 words at the six month mark without a single second for revision, editing, or anything else. Once again, it's an unrealistic goal.

One of the best ways to figure out a realistic goal is to take an honest look at your schedule. My favorite way to do this is by the month, using a calendar I can write on. Now, I'll go through and cross out all the days I know I won't be able to write... like, maybe I never write on Sundays because they're too busy, so I cross those off. Maybe I'm going on vacation for four days mid-month, and I know I won't write the day before or after, so I cross those six days off, too. My days tend to fall apart if I have an appointment or other unusual event, so I will usually block off those days as well. Finally, I know I will probably lose at least three days a month to not feeling well or having to attend to a family member who isn't feeling well, and another three days to run-of-the-mill nonsense, so I'll cross off the last six days in the calendar. What I'm left with is a reasonable estimate for the number of days I'll be able to write that month.

Now, let's say I'm left with 17 potential writing days. And let's say I'm fairly certain I'll be able to commit about twenty to thirty minutes to writing on each of those days. And... let's say I know I generally write about 26 words per minute during the average writing session. Twenty minutes across 17 days is 340 total minutes, times 26 wpm, nets me about 8,840 words for the month... and that's not frickin' bad! In fact, at that rate you could potentially have a first draft done in six to eight months! And that's in just twenty minutes a day three or four times a week.

It isn't about time spent, it's about setting reasonable goals.

If you create reasonable goals that you can actually meet, you start building forward momentum. You're not exhausted from fighting with your schedule and failing to squeeze writing in on days when it isn't possible. You're not beaten down from disappointing yourself over and over again. You're actually getting somewhere, and you're excited about it!

So, that's it. Before you get all philosophical about whether or not you really want to be an author or want to be a writer... before you start tossing your dreams out the window or feeling like your dreams are out of reach, try this. Be realistic. Be patient with yourself. Take support where you can get it. And don't be afraid to fiercely guard whatever writing time you do have.

I'm here for support, and there a million wonderful writing communities out there filled with other supportive writers if you have some time to look for them and spend some time getting to know them.

All the best! You've got this... TRULY! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Do you think the bayverse turtles ever get stuck on the back of their shells???

I cackled at this mental image XD

-A bayverse adorer and a huge fan of your work❤️❤️

Turtle Spinning Tops

A/N: Thank you so much, it means a lot😘💚🐢 The short answer is no, I don’t think so. But if one were to keep them on their shell and spin them around… hehehehe. I also decided to write a whole piece on this, because I have no chill💙❤️💜🧡

----------

Warnings: Spelling and mental imagery of back spinning Bayverse turtles.

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On one really knew when it started. It had just always been a thing they did to each other, especially as children. If one were to slip and fall, and land on their shell (which wasn’t too nice already), it wasn’t uncommon for that poor turtle’s brothers to jump into action, force them down while one to a hold of their ankles before spinning them around like a spinning top. Or as Mikey called it, a Turtle Blade, finding it similar to a Beyblade.

None of the turtles were a big fan of being a turtle spinning top, but they couldn’t deny how hilarious it was to watch their brothers spin helplessly on the floor. Besides, they had done it to him, so why shouldn't he also do it to them? It was only fair!

With that being said, a turtle spinning on their shell did cause a lot of distress. Especially when they were younger. Regular turtles aren’t meant to be upside down for a long period of time, so for a mutant baby turtle, their survival instinct would kick in. But as they grew older, it became less distressing and just more annoying. Once they hit their late teens, it became more and more rare for them to do it. If Raphael was watching television, and Donnie accidentally slipped on his way from the kitchen, Raph couldn’t be bothered enough to call in Leo and Mikey to help him. Instead he would just look over and ask, “shell’s good?”, which it usually was.

If you were to ask Master Splinter, he’ll tell you this started around the time they started walking. One would fall onto their back, either because their legs gave out, or because they took a misstep, and in no time the others would be upon the poor fellow. Back then it was almost a terror for them to be stuck on their shell, and Splinter had to step to comfort them.

But as scary as it was for them as toddlers, they almost found it fun once they hit their early twenties. After two to three years of not doing it, because it was “child-like and so not cool”, they started doing it again. But now it had suddenly turned into a way of celebrating. Instead of holding their brother above their heads and praising him around like many humans did, they get them on their backs as fast as possible. Leo finally mastered that technique he had practiced for months, maybe even years? Get him on his shell, now! Mikey finally had the world record in some obscure game none of them had ever heard of before? Turtle Blade! Donnie had finally cracked the code on something, or he finished that thing, he had been working on day and night in his lab? Spin and jump, so his legs don't kick you out! Raph set a new weight record, just like he had been trying to for months now? Spin! Spin! Spin!

God forbid if any of them ever got married. People will be asked to move from the dance floor, so they can give their brother a proper spinning. They only spin that could rival that, was if any of them had children. Their partner would quickly learn to keep a space open, if they ever had to tell his brothers any big news.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

GN! TA Reader x Professor Jonathan Crane Headcanons: 

Characters: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow); Gender Neutral! Reader 

Universe: Nolanverse (Batman Film Trilogy) 

Pairing(s): The beginning of a one-sided Jonathan Crane/Reader, if you squint 

Word Count: 1.6k 

A/N: It’s that time of year when I rewatch the Nolanverse Batman films and obsess over every frame that Cillian Murphy is on screen. (Okay, but he absolutely killed it, and what I wouldn't give to see him counter Robert Pattinson’s Batman.) This combined with reading some other Scarecrow/Reader fics has accumulated into this little plot bunny of my own. And yes, while I say these are headcanons, it’s more like extended fic. I truly tried to keep it short but, much like Dickens and Hemingway cannot seem to help myself when it comes to writing extended sentences. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

ALSO— in answer to the question you’re no doubt wondering—Yes! Answers to submitted asks will return after this deviation. I’ve just had this character circling in my head the past few days and I couldn’t get him out. 

TW!: Slight Manipulative/Yandere (by Crane, but nothing explicit); Also, please beware the formatting gets more unhinged/distracting as you read on, so if you have tracking issues or sensitive eyes, please be wary

Catching Professor Crane’s Attention Would Look Like: 

You were a great student, (obviously!), one the brightest and most dedicated in his class for you to be his TA. 

At first, Professor Crane found your enthusiasm and attentiveness annoying. He pegged you for yet another professional student brownnoser failing to get on his good side. 

Most of his TA’s enthusiasm eventually fizzled out once they realized flattery would get them no further in his gradebook. That, and his more advanced courses were incredibly demanding— they took a decent chunk of any student’s time and energy. 

Much to his surprise, not only did your cheery demeanor fail to vanish, but you somehow stayed on top of every bit of work he assigned. On top of which, you excelled in your role as Teacher’s Assistant, practically teaching half of the lessons when he was too busy with his, let’s just say, other proclivities, to make it to lecture on time.  

Jonathan was impressed when he learned you’ve spent nearly every spare moment you had in his official lab’s research library, reading through all of his previous labs’ notes and official documentation. He didn’t allow students, not even students of the Psychology Department, to make Xerox copies or check out his work— it was only available for temporary reading and viewing within the confines of his dedicated lab space.

He caught a glimpse of your notebook one day, having actually made it on time to be able to teach his lecture, seeing how meticulously you’ve copied down his experiments’ notes. In the past, only his most advanced students bothered to take notes on his previous work, and at best, they’d simply record the abstracts from his many published theses. 

He should have found it alarming, as opposed to intriguing. If one was to truly study his notes, they’d find vague little inconsistencies across his verbiage from where he was forced to omit information to cover his tracks. A smart enough person might be able to piece together that something else had been his true point of study in his experiments, and that meant having to dazzle the university board with bullshit and bribery once again. He had to take care of you and neutralize the threat before that happened. 

He should have felt resigned, indifferent to the unavoidable fate you’d just sealed for yourself. Instead, he wanted you to continue; he wanted to poke and prod you as you tried to figure it out. Observing you had turned into an utterly fascinating pastime to him.

He spoke to you after class one evening and enquired as to why you felt compelled to copy his exact notes down. Did you perhaps intend to parrot his findings as your own? Was this an ill-advised attempt at plagiarism? He comes off as cross, perhaps harsh, in his line of questioning, but he desperately needed to know how you’d respond to such an interrogative line of questioning. 

The question of ‘Why?’ had been gnawing at his psyche for days, even during his newfound dealings with Falcone and his thugs, and that simply would not do. He could not get distracted by some suck-up student. His work on secretly developing the most stable version of his toxic compound all while flying under the radar of his nosy, stupid University higher-ups was much more important than the mental inner workings of some lowly college student. His intrigue slowly turned to anger.

After you tell him you’re more fascinated by “the why of the why”— all his ruminations stop cold. You weren’t flustered, weren’t defensive, weren’t sniveling and begging for his forgiveness like the ones who have come before you, oh no. Instead, you met his gaze directly and answered his question with what sounded like a riddle. Your evasive answer officially moved the dial and Crane’s intrigue became replaced with disdain. 

How dare you?! Do you think your measly intellect could ever stump him? It would be almost laughable if it didn’t make his jaw clench and his nostrils flare. But Crane is nothing if not a control freak. So he did what any wise control freak would do, and decided to change the setting of the fight back to his familiar home turf. 

“I see.” Professor Dr. Crane kept his answers curt and restrained as per his usual. “I must admit you’d be the first student applying such a subjective angle to your thesis all while using a rather definitive lens. We should discuss your topic in depth before you waste any more time writing potentially unobjective garbage. Office Hours are posted on my door. I expect to see you before our lecture next week.” 

You were in your last year of University, with a declared double major in Psychology and Biochemistry, with a minor in Creative Writing of all things. By this time, you had undoubtedly outlined the controls for your upcoming psychological lab requirement for your Advanced Independent Study next semester. Of course, an Advanced Independent Study requirement for a Psychology Major was nothing compared to those seeking a Doctorate or Ph.D. However, it still involved a substantial amount of clinical time spent organizing and studying volunteers from your academic peers. 

If his work on fear and fear stimulation hormones was a similar area of interest, it could prove bothersome. If your… experiment was similar enough in nature, and it failed to yield similar results, it might encourage the University Board to take a closer look at his synthesized “fear hormone”. The morons on the board had accepted his previous explanation of whatever pharmaceutical mumbo-jumbo he’d thrown at them. A little cortisol here, a little adrenaline there… And those fools had bought it hook line and sinker! 

You arrived at his office the next morning, your usual bright and shiny self. Of course, you had signed up for the first available slot the following day, and of course, you showed up with even more coffee and donuts in hand. 

If you were anyone else, Dr. Crane would feel insulted that you thought you could quite literally sugar him up. But judging from the sincere look on your face to the way your own eyes lit up when he accepted the coffee, made him think bribery was the last thing on your agenda. It unnerved him how he failed to find an ulterior, more insidious motive within you. 

You explained that in your class lectures, you recalled Dr. Professor Crane had spoken about the major causes of fear, as well as its evolutionary purpose. You couldn't help but wonder, in the modern day and age, when humans were no longer nomads, no longer living in pre-industrial conditions, if that evolutionary aspect of fear hurt more than it helped. 

Your lab proposal went as followed: You wished to pool a large group of students, determine what their primary and secondary greatest fears were, and then, through a series of pre-set further questions, see if you could catalog how many such fears either 1) helped the individual’s behavior, or 2) merely hindered it. 

Jonathan found it a modest proposal, for your grade level anyway. And it would serve as a good taste of what working in either a clinical or research setting would look like after furthering your education and licensing accreditation. 

Unable to stop ruminating over the personal reasons as to why you found this fascinating, his obsessive nature prevented him from striking your proposal down. ‘What could be the harm?’ He asked himself after giving your study outline his official approval. You were nowhere near his intelligence level. Even with all your scribbling and copying of his notes, it was unlikely you’d ever uncover his plot. Besides, should push come to shove, all he’d need to do was ask Falcone for a favor, have you bumped off before things started to get too involved, too messy… 

But a little mess? A little chaos? The idea sent a chill down Crane’s spine. It was the thrill of the chase, the inevitable mouse and cat, predator and prey dynamics that drove him to master the power of fear for himself. It was that addictive rush of adrenaline— the way it stroked his well-deserving ego— the way his victims screamed and cried and begged for mercy before him. 

Crane wasn’t oblivious as to why he relished such power. He was a psychologist after all. The doctor was well aware that childhood trauma was a powerful thing, an unstoppable perimeter in what made people tick. Professor Doctor Crane knew that he was rotten, yes— vile, at his core. It was that exact rot that enabled him not to care. 

Fear was the ultimate equalizer, it was the ultimate revenge. No one, not even himself could ever truly escape it, not entirely anyway. No amount of toxin tolerance or cognitive behavioral therapy, medication, or meditation could stop the chokehold fear had on all human beings. 

It seemed you knew that too… Why else would you have as much of a fascination with it? Why else would you scour his notes so intently? It was rather ironic, Jonathan thought to himself, one night, hidden deep in his basement Arkham Asylum Lab: it seemed fear ruled you just as much as it ruled him. 

Perhaps, with the right persuasion, and the right exposure, you would be open to exploring greater boundaries and experimenting with fear. 

Not once prior had Jonathan ever considered acquiring an assistant— someone to work on his toxin with. It was far too risky to have such little benefit. Everyone was far too stupid, too simple to realize the true greatness of what he was working on, the true greatness that Ra's al Ghul would help him release upon Gotham, and soon, the world. But you…. hmm. 

You— he would have to keep a closer eye on. 

A/N 2.0: Whoo! There you have it! My first official DC fandom post!

And if you enjoyed it, *Sabrina Carpenter voice* please, please, please REBLOG! Likes are great but Reblogs spread my writing much further.

Consider Tipping Me Via Kofi <3

[birindale]

Hi I just wanted to double check something I am pretty sure I read on this blog. Is the origin of C'yra of D'riluth iii from the original cannon or was it a later addition? Also what does "of D'riluth iii" actually mean? I remember there being some vagueness to what it means

Okay there's a long version and a short version of this story.

Short version: It was a later addition. In 2008 Mattel launched a toy line called Masters of the Universe Classics, which could only be ordered through their website and was aimed at the collector market. One of the things they did was include "character bios" in a sort of homage to the G.I. Joe toys of the 80s, which featured 'personnel files' that gave specializations and a brief character history, including their real names (e.g. Duke was actually named Conrad S. Hauser).

Catra's figure was released in 2011 for about $65 USD. Her bio (which I've lifted from a Poe Ghostal review) is as follows:

We (I, and my friends whom I've pestered for opinions) are pretty sure D'Riluth III is the name of her planet, even though another planet in the same solar system (from the New Adventures of He-Man in the 90s) has the Arabic numeral 7, so including Roman numerals is a strange choice.

Long version: There was a fellow working for Mattel at the time named Scott "Toyguru" Neitlich, and he was (and remains to this day) exceptionally bad at things like 'writing' and 'creativity'. He was never very interested in She-Ra, though he loves to tell the story of stealing his sister's doll one year, so to him Catra is simply an agent of the Horde... which, in order to adhere to the 2002-2003 tv show, was now 5,000 years old. This bio directly contradicts the Filmation canon of Catra's mask having belonged to the Magicat queen, for instance, and introduces a number of confusing details.

One of the least popular was Adora being Hordak's "step-daughter" instead of his "adopted daughter", which was already kind of a gray area since he didn't exactly raise her. Scott digging in his heels on the matter was actually how I learned he'd written the thing in the first place:

Now you may be wondering, jeez, it's pretty confusing and the writing isn't great but aren't you being kind of harsh? Surely the push-back from the He-Fans was bad enough. Well give me a minute, dang. This is the long version!

I reached out to him about a year and half ago to ask 1. How it's pronounced, 2. If he could confirm that D'Riluth III is the planet, and 3. If he remembered how he came up with it. He told me the following:

Some backstory here--Scott runs a bit of a one-man content farm, in an effort to avoid paying hosting fees for advertisements or actually engaging in SEO. He is a marketing consultant.

He used to upload a 5-10 minute video every day, but shortly after I contacted him that dropped to only five a week, and his weekly "Director's Commentary" videos about MOTUC figures that he worked on (largely just explaining who the character even is in an unedited stream of consciousness, as his videos became slideshows of google images) moved to bi-weekly.

I was like, okay, he left Mattel in 2014 right? So surely once he's through that year he'll get to this new series.

Nope! He's doing 2015 too! So I reached out again in January, just to like. See if he was still intending to cover the 'real names', which imo should have been part of his commentary to begin with, but...

He had forgotten <3 I explained no, I was asking about these specific questions that I had outlined in my first email (I had replied to his last message in the chain for simplicity's sake), and he just said he'd be doing it soon. So I was like oh, cool, do you know if you'll be doing one a week still? since that would put a Catra video about 4 years out as he does them in release order, and he then promised he'd get to it soon and didn't answer the question.

Annoying, certainly, but whatever. Unless one of us dies horribly I can wait it out, right?

WRONG.

Scott, being an idiot, has not credited a single one of the images he lifted from google over his four years of mostly-daily slideshows. And recently, somebody fucking noticed!

So this guy--Ethan Wilson, a very talented toy photographer and reviewer--was informed that Scott (in his capacity as Spector Creative, the name of his YouTube channel/consulting business) had been using his pictures in videos. Actually, let me use Ethan's own words here:

I decided to dig a little deeper into Spector’s channel, and found 81 instances of my photos being used in 68 of the channels videos.  None of these featured credit to me for use of the photos, and 48 of the 81 instances removed or obstructed my watermarks.

-About This Spector Creative Thing

I very strongly encourage you to read through this linked post, as it gets worse! Somehow!!

Scott, not noticing these as they came in over the course of 10 days, logged in to discover his channel had been taken down. He emailed Ethan in something of a panic to ask that Ethan reverse the claims as a 'professional favor', as Scott got all his clients through his channel's "advertising".

Now you're never gonna believe this... but when he and Ethan came to an understanding, suddenly Scott didn't give a shit.

He released a libelous video claiming Ethan had no rights to the images (he does) and that Scott could use them all he wanted because of Fair Use (he can't) and emailed Ethan the following.

First of all: this is bullshit. Copyright is automatic in the US, trademark wouldn't apply regardless, and as Scott should fucking know by now Ethan doesn't have a 'channel', he has a blog.

Second, he shot himself in the foot with the Fair Use defense by outright stating that his channel is his exclusive advertisement for his business and that he depends on his content to make a living. He said in his first video that it was "educational" 🙄

So Ethan realized Scott was a Fucking Liar and decided he should just copyright claim the rest of Scott's shit, in order to protect his images and rights thereto. YouTube can't take the channel down again unless Ethan is willing to pursue legal action--which he isn't, because he has a full time job and two kids and even though he'd probably win, it's a lot of time and energy.

I and a few others were trying to convince him that it would be worth it anyway, and looking into identifying and contacting the other artists Scott's stolen from over the years, when... Scott released a book. His first-ever graphic novel [looks into the camera like i'm on the office]

drawn entirely by AI.

So we have a frankenstein's monster of copyright infringement masquerading as illustrations (with all the uncanny valley that implies), Scott's technically and practically terrible writing, and the plot is Greek mythology. There are four and a half typos just in the free sample, and that's not including the words in images like his map or logo. He claims the title is a registered trademark but it certainly isn't registered in his state, or federally, and it's already in use by several other brands, so I wouldn't believe him even if he hadn't demonstrated a lack of understanding of copyright & trademark as recently as last week.

So I'm kinda fucking done waiting for answers! I can't trust a thing out of this guy's mouth! And he's pretty stupid, so do I even care what he thinks? I have decided that no. No I do not. I'll check back in 2028 and if he's survived + actually followed through then maybe I'll give his video a watch but until then it is simply pissing me off to remember this guy exists.

Sorry this turned into a rant I'm just really starting to loathe the guy. It's been an infuriating week or two. But uh... No, it's only canon to this one action figure line that ran for a little over a decade. We're certainly not beholden to it, it's more of a fun little in-joke for the fandom these days. You see someone use C'yra and you're like haha I know her! It's fun :3 Regardless of Scott's bullshit I enjoy seeing it around, and it's not like he owns or benefits from it in any way when maybe 1% of the people using it know where it comes from (and the people who know it was him specifically may be limited to the followers that have watched me complain about it).

Thank you for asking, I really do love asks even if the answer isn't what I want it to be lol. I'm happy to verify or explain anything I can!

[seventeenlovesthree]

Digi Dynamic Shipping Game

Send me two names among the following 12 and I’ll write a short analysis post about them:

Taichi Yagami | Yamato Ishida | Sora Takenouchi | Koushirou Izumi | Mimi Tachikawa | Jyou Kidou | Takeru Takaishi | Hikari Yagami | Daisuke Motomiya | Miyako Inoue | Iori Hida | Ken Ichijouji

Whether canon provides input on them or not.

Unfortunately I didn't make it before the end of Pride Month, but - while there are a lot of potentially queer ships in the subtext of the Digimon universe that fit the tone, there aren't as many of them that came this close to technically being confirmed as having a valid (canon) baseline as this one.

To ask if canon provides input on Daisuke and Ken - or Daiken, Kensuke, Daisuken, however you want to call them -, is, once again, like asking if water is wet; they're the most elaborated relationship in the entirety of Digimon Adventure 02, the majority of Ken's development is tied to his bond to Daisuke... If you want to read more about why I value their relationship so much, I definitely recommend this post here, because they're just... Endlessly fascinating to me.

The good-hearted goofball with self-esteem issues that lead him to play a role to impress others initially - meets a corrupted genius and literally slaps the darkness out of his system. They turn from fated rivals to fated partners, facing the powers of darkness together and eventually, they become better people in the process thanks to one another. Daisuke's entire priority system changes upon wanting to give Ken a chance, he not only becomes more honest and less defensive, but also lets his personal sense of courage and friendship shine through; Ken, who's initially reluctant to take the hand Daisuke is offering him due to all the guilt he feels, slowly but steadily becomes the kind and gentle soul that was always within him, because there is someone by his side who has his back. Always.

It's a beautiful story of two complementing souls, whose bond enables the first real Jogress evolution, despite the fact - or even because - they couldn't be any more different. It's a story of repentance, forgiveness, learning to befriend others despite your own trauma and differences - and the story of a romantic subtext that almost hits you in the face if you're not careful enough. There is a reason why the screenshot above exists - the most recent movie literally acknowledged that, even after all these years, the bond between Daiken has not vanished and has, instead, gained a somewhat (actively) flirtatious nuance. While it used to be Ken who blushed due to Daisuke's (oftentimes oblivious) bluntness, the same Ken is now forward enough to openly praise Daisuke in ways that make it impossible to overlook the potential implications here - well, for anybody who isn't Daisuke himself at least...

Whether I think why and how they’d work.

Given the circumstances that we're, unfortunately, not talking about a canonically confirmed ship, we just gotta pretend that there will be a day when Ken's attempts of asking Daisuke out will be answered in two potential ways: 1.) "Huh? YOU WERE FLIRTING WITH ME THE ENTIRE TIME????" or 2.) "Huh? I thought we were together this entire time anyway???" Because both of these would be somewhat plausible "Daisuk-esque" reactions in my opinion.

I thoroughly believe that these two would work out romantically in fantastic ways - even though it'd take a lot of work, but which relationship that intends to last doesn't? They both chose careers that require enormous amounts of time and energy - and very irregular working hours. Granted, the latter applies to the majority of the Chosen Children, but an aspiring chef of his own Ramen cart may only be able to see an aspiring police officer if the latter's break time allows him to grab a meal at a Ramen facility that is coincidentally very close by... Gate hopping may have made that a lot easier, but at this point, we don't even know if that is still a thing anymore.

I still maintain that, as much as they'd be married to their jobs, they both still have quite a romantic side to themselves once the curse is broken - so they would make time, just like they did throughout all these years. While their interests in general might also be quite different, they would always find a way to bond over their mutual love for sports, football in particular. Ken needs someone who pulls him out of his head - and Daisuke needs someone who grounds him, which, as The Beginning suggested, is (basically) exactly their dynamic. They always enjoy group gatherings with their friend groups, food tastings are always a reason for Daisuke to invite everybody over - especially to lure Ken away from work. And let's be real, I can also see them go on cheesy dates - that mostly consist of them doing sporting activities (any kind of ball sport, rollerskating, hiking) where Daisuke can (pretend to) be competitive and Ken knowingly plays along with the teasing, just so they have an excuse to be close. Because they'd be cheesy like that, oh Lord, they'd be so cheesy in the most wanna-be-bro way possible.

Whether I’d prefer them as platonic or romantic ship.

In a universe in which Miyaken doesn't become canon, there is literally no reason for Daiken not to be endgame - unless the writers actually had some guts and turned them into an official OT3 in The Beginning. Of course I can always enjoys them as just platonic life partners, bros 4 life, you don't even have to give it a label, as long as they remain as close as they are. Because they simply belong together, one way or another.

[chthonic-mommy]

Imagine a Good Ending for Karlach

Larian hire me right now.

also my English is weak but I’m trying so please be kind I can’t REMAIN SILENT ANYMORE. it was a 3am unfiltered stream of consciousness written in language which isn’t my native.

So, the final battle. Karlach overheats. I don’t care how are they going to get rid of anything else - that’s not the topic. Then Tav (maybe with Gale’s help) uses extreme ice spell on Karlach, a few seconds before the end. This won’t let her die - but won’t let her live either. Tav just couldn’t tolerate the thought of Karlach dying. The battle ends. Everything’s over. Everyone is alive. But there is Tav - with swollen eyes, feeling like her own heart’s gonna explode instead of Karlach’s engine. And then there is The Body. Tav holds her head close to her chest, crying, but Karlach’s cold now, too cold. Gale tries to go talk with her, but both Astarion and Lae’zel ask him not to. Tav is overwhelmed and incredibly protective over The Body. She is a short and weak bard, but she will not let anyone touch Karlach, she’ll protect her like a mother lioness protects her cub.

She’ll take The Body home with her. Cold, with an ice crust on that place where soft light was coming from.

A year passed. Tav stayed in Baldurs Gate. Karlach’s dream was to help tiefling children who lost their parents. Karlach told Tav “All children should have proper housing. I didn’t have any opportunities when I was a child myself. It didn’t turn out good.”

So Tav opened a home school. She wasn’t as good with children as Karlach was, but she originated from aristocratic family, so she, as a woman of great knowledge, became a teacher for tiefling kids. They were stubborn at first and didn’t attend classes, but by time they started to listen. They began to help Tav with the garden, so they could eat stuff they grew together afterwards. Mattis remembered what Karlach told him - it’s easier to avoid battle and come out as winner out of any situation if you have a way with words. Mol was the last to stop leading her illegal lifestyle, influenced by others.

Tav taught them proper writing, counting, helped them with better clothing. She couldn’t give them everything - money won’t last forever. But she tried - tiefling kids had breakfast and dinner, they had a place to sleep, they were learning something.

Tav was numb. She stopped crying - work and children who needed her, all of that made her tougher. She was weak physically before - Karlach was always there for her to help. She remained weak, but could hardly afford that weakness now.

Three years have passed. Tav searched. Karlach’s body remained the same. There was a way to melt her heart, but she’ll die right after, Tav needed a way to melt her engine without damage, and a way to make it work. Gale told her one day “You need to move on, Tav, those children need you.” Tav answered him “She wanted to live more than any of us did. I’ll rip my own heart out, if needed. Help me or leave me alone.” She and Gale stopped talking for a year. Than he returned to her with loads of books and an apology.

Astarion didn’t like the whole idea of home school at first, but he still was coming to Tav as frequent as he could. He taught kids personal boundaries, cuz Tav didn’t want to be touched, so Astarion taught children that before a hug you need to ask first. Astarion never left Tav’s side, he supported her in her dream to bring Karlach back. He missed his barbarian friend too.

Five years have passed. Lae’zel and Shadowheart came to Tav’s place and brought their hatched gith child with them. Lae’zel also brought githyanki medicine, Shadowheart brought her prayers. Gale and Astarion came, bringing a fire artifact they’ve been searching for during the last year. Halsin and Will came, bringing their magic. Dammon was there as well. The whole group have got together again because everyone knew - if today’s stuff won’t work out, Tav will lose her life purpose. She needed their support.

It was the dark and cold night. Tav was nearly as cold as Karlach, tearless and calm. Gale started to dissolve the spell, the engine began to melt. Halsin was trying to support Karlach’s health, at least till the engine starts. And then everything went wrong. The engine started to heat like crazy, burning Karlach from inside, Dammon took his blacksmith tools and started to repair the engine right there. Tav took the fire artifact and put it into the engine. It burned through her gloves, it burned her hands heavily. Dammon took a step back.

Karlach’s body twisted in pain, she started to cough. She threw up. She coughed again, there was a black smoke, the smell of charcoal and burned flesh.

Everyone stood still, until Astarion ran for Karlach and hugged her tight.

“Damn, Fangs, I’m gonna vomit again…”

He looked nervous, his eyes twitched just like he was going to start crying, but he buried himself into that hug even more. Lae’zel came to them too, swearing, but hugged them with all her strength. Then was Halsin and his bear-like hugs. And Gale - who already started crying. Shadowheart and Will stood aside politely.

Karlach coughed uncontrollably, suffering from pain, laughed, not quite understanding what happened. For her it was just a moment - like she slept for a while. But everyone was different then she remembered. Gale had more wrinkles, Astarion never hugged her like this before, and Tav… looked like a pale imitation of herself. She stood silent, watching the hugs happening. Like she wasn’t there at all.

Everyone moved away, leaving Karlach sitting on the floor, still coughing but not that bad. Tav stayed on her place. She was afraid to believe it.

“Love…” Karlach started, and Tav whimpered, her heart skipped a beat. “…What’s with your hands? Did I burn you?”

Tav came closer, with tears dropping on the floor, breathing fast, looking like she’s gonna either have an anxiety attack or faint.

“Tav?” That’s was enough for her to burst out crying. She rushed into Karlach’s arms, crying like a baby, shivering.

Karlach’s started to kiss Tav’s face, trying to calm her down, caressed her hair. She worried so much and her engine was still unstable - it started heating again. Tav kissed her lips and felt them burning, like it was their first kiss.

“We need to stop, Tav, something’s wrong.”

“I’ll never stop! Karlach I missed you so fucking much! You were here, your body, cold and silent, I could touch you but there was no YOU in there! For five fucking years! I’ll rather burn myself than hold back now.”

Karlach looked at her in shock.

“Five years? How… How did you?..”

“I needed you to live. I did what I could.”

“That’s why your hands are burned?”

“That’s a small price.”

Karlach pulled her close, while her engine calmed down a little.

“And you waited for me for five years…unable to reach me… just like I waited to touch you… when we just met… it’s all crazy.”

“I was afraid I’d lose you. I’d die too.”

“Love…”

“Don’t tell me anything. It’s easy to get used to good things. When you lose them - you may never recover.”

Karlach kissed her again, kissed her burned lips, kissed her forehead, kissed the tears traces on her cheeks.

“We’ll talk about it later… I’m here, love, I’m here…”

That was the first night after the final battle which they spent happy, together. Tav was crying over and over, snuggling to Karlach and holding her hand tight, like she’ll disappear at any moment.

The next morning Karlach found out about kids. Most kids who she remembered were nearly young adults now. Mol and Mattis came early to help Tav with her house chores and ran to Karlach’s arms like they were her own kids.

“Karlach, we thought you dead!”

“Yeah, we thought mama Tav lied to us so we wouldn’t be sad about you!”

And Karlach hugged them close, but then pushed away to ask a question.

“Mama Tav?”

“Yeah, everyone calls her mom, it’s easier to explain and to remember.”

“She adopted EVERY child here?”

“Not really, but we’re still hers, I guess. She helped us all this years.”

They told Karlach about their jobs, about little ones who came when Karlach was already “away”. When little ones, those who stayed at Tav’s place, woke up, they rushed to see what’s happening and why this place is so crowded.

Mol said: “Listen here, little bastards, THAT’S Karlach we told you stories about! She finally came back!”

And then there were lots of “wow”, “she’s as tall as I thought!”, “the light from her chest is real, see?” and “are you mama Tav’s wife? she wouldn’t tell us”. Karlach was delighted.

She got to meet Lae’zel’s and Shadowheart’s baby gith, and couldn’t get enough of him.

She and Tav made use of every free minute to speak. Tav started to bloom like she used to - colors came back to her. They kissed again and again to the point when Astarion started to joke dirty about putting Karlach back to sleep.

When Karlach asked Dammon, how’s her engine, he told her he doesn’t know how long will it last. They didn’t know anything at all.

Lae’zel always asked Tav before, why does she read so much, isn’t she already one of the smartest women in Faerun?

Tav always answered that the main point of learning is that you never stop. Science has no answers, you learn and then you understand that you know nothing and then you learn again. And that’s an endless path, you’re never stagnated. Lae’zel was fascinated by that.

Tav answered Karlach’s question about her engine just as expected.

“If it breaks, we’ll find a way to heal you again. And again. That’s the never-ending path of knowledge…”

“Knew you’ll say that.”

“So why did you ask then?”

“Just wanted to hear it aloud. It’s strange to know… that now I’m finally free. What should I do, Tav?”

“You can start at helping me with our homeschooled gang. I’m slowly getting burnt out. Mal and Mattis are helpful, but I can’t trust them with everything and they don’t have to be here all the time.”

“Understood…” Karlach stopped thinking about her future after Dammon for the first time told her that her engine can’t be entirely fixed. She couldn’t imagine someone going this far to bring her back. But Tav did it.

Karlach was free. Finally free of Avernus, free of her past, nearly free of death (Tav made her believe in that). She was surrounded by children and her friends were all here to welcome her back. Tav was here - with her hands and lips burned and painful, but refusing to leave her no matter what. Sweet Tav, who seemed so little in comparison to Karlach. Her savior.

“Gods,” Karlach smiled bright. ”Love, it feels so good to be alive.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Hellooooo I have been DYING to know this from you 👉👈. You know how there's a lot of tips for writing stuff? Well do you happen to have any tips for reading stuff? I want to read the books you recommend but I fear I'm just too dumb 😭 and won't understand what is going on let alone the themes and philosophies discussed. I feel like I would be insulting Dostoevsky by reading his work looool. We were never taught this stuff in schools ;O

I'm talking about critical thinking and analysis skills, media literacy, being able to picture and visualise sceneries; characters' voices/appearances etc., and just overall being able to comprehend one sentence that doesn't use the most basic active voice structure 😭 thank you if you choose to answer!!!!

SWEET ANON !!!! YOU ARE NOT DUMB !!!!

this is coming from a survivor of the american education system, so it might not be universal, but my experiences in middle/high school made me dislike reading books. no joke. i didn't see the point and thought reading the classics was a waste of time. i'm sure that's partially teenager arrogance, but from the conversations i've had with others, reading was rarely framed in a way that stoked intrigue. we're not given the tools to engage with the text so i'm rarely surprised when i see the worst takes imaginable on a piece of media i enjoy from a 14 year old.

i'm still learning myself when it comes to media literacy, it's an ongoing journey. when i read notes from underground for the first time last year i was literally so confused. i can normally read anywhere from 80k-100k words in one day if i'm motivated enough, but NFU, a novella at around 43k words, took me over a week.

i say all this to reassure you that you're not alone!

some advice that comes to mind when reading a dense work:

do some background research on the author. i know teachers hiss at wikipedia for some reason but reading a few paragraphs about the person's life, beliefs, politics, etc really helps put their writing into perspective.

look into the time period it was written. what were the pressing social issues at the time? who was in charge? what conflicts were ongoing/just ended? what was the predominant religion? books don't exist in a vacuum, a lot of the classics are filled with jabs at ideologies the author doesn't like (i'm looking at you, dante).

if the author's from a different country than you, getting a basic grasp on the culture helps a lot. with reading dostoevsky specifically, historical events like the emancipation of the serfs was an entirely new concept to my american brain.

not everything is going to make sense. sometimes the cultural/historical layers go so deep you'd need to have been alive at the time to immediately get it. fortunately, there are nerds with degrees in book who do extensive research and can give insight. i'll think i maybe understand a book okay, go to read a journal article on it, and go ??????? wat???? page 632 paragraph 3 references euclid's optics?? how was i supposed to know that.

finally, you're not going to like every book you read, even if it's well written. there's a difference between persevering and actively torturing yourself with words. if you dread picking it up again, there are other books to check out instead. there are some classics that i don't care for much (some of edgar allen poe's short stories, the fall by albert camus, no longer human by dazai osamu, to name a few).

ask yourself questions while reading. why did this character do that? is there a reoccurring motif throughout the work, and if so, why might the author be trying to highlight that? what perspective is the work from? is the protagonist lucid, are they an unreliable narrator? what themes are being explored here?

i hope some of this helps dsfhgkdjshgks there's a lot to be said on the subject but i didn't want this post to be miles long.

[emo-trash101]

Hi I was wondering if you could do a skipp x male reader where, yk how he plays like his little ukulele (guitar?) Maybe just reader and skipp having a cute moment of him playing reader something sappy and cute and reader falling even more head over heals for him, PLZ FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS IS YOUR UNCOMFORTABLE OR ANYTHING❤

I WOULD LOVE TO WRITE THIS, also just for everyone's knowledge, Zeddyzi confirmed that Skipp plays a mandolin (I'm not sure if that's really changed) but I'm going to be sticking with that. I also made it a one shot, so just let me know if you want headcannons instead!

When Words Fail, Music Speaks

Skipp x m! Reader

Pronouns: Second person, male implied

Word count: 679

Tw: Too much cuteness, betting???

Late nights weren't exactly a you thing, but with all the stress if possibly not having enough money to feed everyone along with your own personal quarrels of having a huge crush on one of your closest friends, you don't particularly have a choice. However, that doesn't mean you necessarily mind. Looking at the stars and moon late at night when there's nothing else to bother you is very serene.

On the other hand, no matter how many times you try to think about literally anything else, your mind always wanders back to Skipp. With his kind eyes and caring heart, it's honestly hard to dislike him, but you got the short end of the stick. You don't just like him, you like him, which is almost a completely different problem.

"Hey (name)..." You hear from behind you, and you almost go flying like a feral cat. You turn around to see who just approached you and it's no one other than Skipp. "Oh! Hey Skipp!" You say, trying to mask your nervousness with excitement (it's obviously not working).

Before you really even know it, Skipp is sitting by you conversing with you like every time he speaks he doesn't make your heart race. "So, what's been going on with you?" He asks, looking at you with that almost sickeningly sweet face you've learned to love. "W-what do you mean?" You ask, almost completely about to panic and just run away towards the moon so you would never have to answer his question.

"I'm just a bit worried about you, you've honestly been acting a bit strange" He says almost defeatedly. Suddenly you feel a pang in your heart. Did I really make him worry about me that much? you think to yourself fear and anxiety plaguing your emotions. "But you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." He adds on, which makes you realize how long you've essentially been sitting in silence for. "Oh no! It's just that I'm worried we haven't been making enough money...y'know?" You almost whisper shout, almost lying. It's not exactly that it isn't part of the truth, but it's not exactly it either.

"Thats okay! I worry about that too." He says, smiling at you so kindly. That smile that makes you feel like you could either vomit or die, or both. You look back at him, your face probably having a stupid lovesick look plastered on it. For once you are genuinely grateful that the moon has horrible illumination. "Is that why you're awake this late?" He asks, and before you even know it, you're nodding in agreement, silently hoping he'll offer to give you a hug or some other sweet form of affection to "help you sleep".

After you nod, he just looks at you, almost like he's studying your face like one would study an art piece. "Well...I can play you something on my mandolin if you'd like." He says, pulling him mandolin seemingly out of nowhere, but honestly, you could care less about the laws of physics currently, you just wish he would keep looking at you like that every single day.

"Yeah, I'd like that." You say smiling softly. He quickly lifts it up to himself and starts plucking the strings slowly. As he plays the mandolin the whole world feels as though it stops. The stars seem to shine brighter, the moon feels fuller, and you and him feel so much more awkwardly closer.

Before really anyone could stop it, your head is resting on his shoulder, and you're fast asleep. He glances down at you, a smile slowly making its way onto his face. He could worry tomorrow about making money or talking to you about your obvious feelings for eachother, but right now you're passed out on his shoulder.

Sure, tomorrow morning Vinnie and Stone will wake up first, and Vinnie will owe Stone extra food for having guessed that y'all would eventually fall asleep together, but that's for tomorrow. Tonight, you are a night person who happens to love listening to the mandolin.

This was so delightful to write, and I listened to so many songs played on the mandolin just to figure out how to write it 😭 Anyways for those who care, this is the song I honestly pictured Skipp playing

Have a lovely day y'all!

[wingsofimagery]

Healing Aurora | First Meet - Wooyoung

❂ Summary: Supernatural Inn & Spa Owner/Keeper!MC x Multi-route (haha... ik) ❂ Characters: Jung Wooyoung ❂ Genre: General/Supernational ❂ Warnings: N/A ❂ Word Count: 2070 ❂ A/N: Phew, finally chapter one is out! I really hope you guys enjoy this! Give me a reason to want to continue writing this Banner credit to my friend once again, she was so sweet to help me make simple mood banners for each chara

You felt your heart pick up its pace when two figures came running up to meet the four of you. You were frightened by the speed they were coming at you, but with a hand raised, the two figures slowed down at Hongjoong’s command. You held your breath as they came to a stop before you. Their eyes were bright and expectant, but you had no idea what they were waiting for.

Were they expecting something from you?

Silence hung around the room, your eyes glancing back and forth between the two males that stood before you with anticipation. You scratched your cheek.

“Um… How can I help you?”

The redhead’s expression changed to a solemn one. He quickly gazed at Hongjoong in confusion, but Chan answered his unspoken question instead.

“They lost their memories, but it seems some would return when physical contact is made.”

“So they don’t remember me right now?”

His voice sounded so broken, making you feel bad for not remembering who he was. He looked like you meant a lot to him with how he reacted, unlike his black-haired mate, who stood next to him with a frown and a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

“Would you like to make physical contact? I’d like to know who you guys are to me too. I feel terrible for not remembering.”

He did not need to be asked further. He closed off the remaining space between you and coddled you into his arms. Your eyes sparkled the same way they had the previous three times. You heard a soft prayer from him, “Please remember me, princette,” before you were thrown into a whirlwind of memories.

- - -

As a Tanuki, Wooyoung was often seen by humans as a bad omen. They never wanted him around, and, despite wanting to be a part of a family, not even the supernaturals wanted to be around him. The stigma around his legend was well known to the point he was sent malevolent glares daily by all. That did not stop him from being a trickster, though. Instead, they fueled him to cause mischief more.

He played around with humans. Ruined relationships, fixed relationships, found some friends, made some enemies; all of it was fun and games until he met you. It was you who opened his heart to the feeling of loneliness. He may not have been alone, but before meeting you, he was lonely. The twinkle in his eyes now was never fully there back then. Instead, he lived life half-full before you came into his life. You were a wonderful breath of fresh air to him.  

You had worked at the inn for a little over a year now. Your master had passed the inn down to you. Choosing you out of the handful of people from your clan to become the next interworld innkeeper. You learned quite a lot in the year-long succession, but you knew there was still more to learn. After the year, you were forced to man the place by yourself as she had up and disappeared one day with just a farewell letter.

You had no idea how your master could take care of this inn all by herself but remembered that she was a half-breed or, what was called, a halfling amongst us (not to be confused with beings who are half as short as humans). You were also a halfling, but unlike her, you had not yet developed the ability to harness elements of any type. A breath of sigh left your lips as you made your way to the front yard of the supernatural side, but a voice from the entrance stopped you from your work.

“Oh~ What’s this?” A male looked around curiously, a playful smile plastered across his face.

“Welcome to the Eternal Sunshine Inn and Magic Spa, where our motto is: we melt away your problems guaranteed.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, “What a weird name and motto. Not all problems can be solved with a trip to an inn for a spa trip, ya know.”

“Maybe not, but the motto has not once failed. When we guarantee a solution, we mean it.”

And you truly do. The reputation of this inn was one of the best, and you know, damn well, that today will not be the first time the motto’s failed. So you did what you did your best and catered to his needs. Once you had him settled in a room under his name (which he introduced himself as Brian), you returned to the front yard to resume your duties.

Moments later, a kitsune entered the inn with a request for entry to the hot spring. You led the way and left her to her own devices. As soon as you stepped foot into the front yard, you were forced to greet another guest. One after another, it was nonstop. Different species of the supernatural and humankind entered your inn, yet you took a moment to realize how empty it was—despite all these entries.

It may have taken a while, but you were slowly figuring out the prank. A chuckle escaped from your lips as you covered your mouth. You hope he did not hear you.

The following person entered while you huffed and brushed the broom against the floor. This time, a man with red fluffy hair. He had a beauty mark on his lip and under his eye. You found them very pretty and could not help but blather about it. This pulled a blush over his cheeks.

“How can I help you today?”

“Can I get a room?”

You nodded, leading him to the front desk. You asked for his name, to which he answered, ‘Wooyoung.’ When you finished, you handed the card to him, and your eyes sparkled knowingly.

“Well, Wooyoung. I hope this is your real name and not all the other ones you gave me,” you made sure to give him a smile, “or is this also a fake, just like Brian was?”

His eyes widened at your assumption. Though you are right, his mistake in misperceiving your ability to see through his tricks had led him to this speechless state. There was only one question going through his brain: how?

“I’ve learned to read auras, and then I print it onto each keycard as a note. That way, I don’t have to ask when anyone checks out. Both humans and supernaturals have their own aura. They’re like signatures; changing your appearance does not change your signature.”

As if he could not be more surprised, your explanation has Wooyoung finding respect for you in a newfound manner. He looked down upon you a little too much that he had forgotten you were not some ordinary innkeeper. He sighed and smiled sheepishly at you, mentally apologizing because he did not want to admit that he was belittling you.

You decided to ignore him and pulled some paper out to start writing.

“So, are you going to be staying for real this time now that you are busted?”

“Why would I stay here now that my cover is blown?” He looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

You stopped writing and blinked owlishly at him, “Why not? I’m allowing you, aren’t I? It just seems like you’re looking for somewhere to blend in. I think this is the perfect place for you. I’d like to think I got this aura reading right by now, so please prove me correct in that you’re looking for a place to stay… permanently.”

It was his turn to just stare and blink. You laughed at his reaction because it was evident by the tears collecting at the bottom of his eyes that he was touched by your gesture. And, that, you were correct. You were among the first people to open your arms and welcome him, one of the first to enjoy his pranks. Everyone either hated him for pulling these pranks, or they never knew. Yet here you were, giving him a place to stay.

“Oh— the stay won’t be for free. So long as you live here, my condition is that you work under me. I’m really low on staff… actually scratch that; I’m the only one working here. I’m not as skilled as my master was, so if you want to stay, you’ll have to work your share. Are you willing?”

You peeked at him to see that he was wiping the tears off his face. He nodded silently. Something in his heart told him that staying here would benefit him. He hoped to find somewhere to settle; what better place than somewhere that would accept him.

“It seems you have made your decision,” you slapped the paper you were writing on in front of him, which he realized was a contract, “just sign and ink your fingerprint here.”

When you saw he had not made a single movement, you frowned. You wondered if you had the wrong idea, so you began to pull the paper back, ready to redact your offer. His hand shot out to stop you, taking up the pen in his dominant one and signing it. He dipped his thumb in the inkpad you provided and pressed it onto the paper. The color stamped his fingerprint vividly on the parchment.

Removing his finger, he kept the hand on yours and gazed at you to see what would happen now. You moved your free hand, palm over the paper. With a whisper of enchantment, the paper folded until it could not fold any more. It shrunk itself until it was no more. You gazed at the mark that formed on his neck.

“Wonderful. It formed without any trouble,” you touched the seal, “You’ll have explicit permission to shapeshift. The only reason you were able to do that at first was because you only entered the supernatural resting quarters. It is forbidden to show any hints of your supernatural abilities to humans. Therefore, anyone without a consent seal,” you pointed to the seal on his neck, “are prohibited from showing any of their powers and are only allowed to be in their human forms within the inter-species areas. You still are not allowed to shift before any human's eyes, of course, but you do not have to roam around in one form; you’ll need your powers to ensure everything is in place, after all. I trust you to keep this in mind and warn or punish those who don’t listen.”

Wooyoung nodded. You hummed, then handed him the broom, “Go clean the front yard for me. I sense a large human group incoming.”

-

When the twinkle in your eyes died out, you hugged Wooyoung back.

“Do you remember me now?” His voice trembled with worry.

“How could I forget my very first employee? You’re everything I could ask for in a starter companion.”

He held you tighter in his arms as if you’d leave him if he let you go. You took a deep breath before gently pushing him away from you. His arms stayed wrapped around you, but it was now loosely sitting on your hip.

“Wooyoung, you have a vice grip.”

“For a good reason,” he defended himself.

You shook your head and laughed in good nature. You then looked at his friend who had accompanied him. Ready to ask if he’d like to make contact as well, he had beaten you to it with an answer.

“I think you’ve had a tiring time since you’ve awakened. We can all take it slow. For now, I’ll introduce myself. My name is San. It’s good to see you again, princette. I hope we can get your memories back to full function soon.”

You smiled gratefully at San. Honestly speaking, you were getting a bit tired and overwhelmed. The break was needed.

“Well then,” Chan interrupted, “I will have everyone gather and introduce themselves to you in a bit. For now, are you hungry?”

You nodded in reply, “Quite, actually.”

Wooyoung made a break for it; his arms flew off you as he ran toward what you expected to be the kitchen, “I’ll make something you’ll like!!”

San followed behind him, shouting that he’d make sure Wooyoung would not burn down the place. You laughed at their antics because you knew Wooyoung could cook very well, so there was no need to be so worried.

[thecoramaria]

Hello!

Thank you so much for your blog, it's helped me a lot in writing my fics. It's definitely one of the best fic writing resources out there.

Onto my question: do you have any advice on how to write more quickly + not hate everything I write?

I do writing sprints a lot of the time but I can't help but feel as if my writing has gotten worse, and I feel guilty cutting down my work because I struggle to meet the daily word count goal I have for myself (600 words a day).

I'm about a quarter of the way through my longfic, and I feel like I've just gotten worse and worse at writing. I still love the story, but my writing feels clunkier and flows less smoothly.

Thank you!

I'm glad you're enjoying the channel! It's getting late where I am rn but sleepy Cora is gonna try to answer your ask anyway.

First of all, I'd just like to say that 600 words a day is a lot! (And so is being a whole quarter through your story btw.) While I have won NaNoWriMo a few times (a challenge that involves writing 50k+ words in a month) it's definitely not sustainable for me. Recently, I've struggled to just average more than 300 words in a day. Unfortunately I'm still coming to terms with my chronic pain and the limits it places on my ability to write fic. 600 words a day on average is just... not possible for me.

However, something I have been doing lately is to learn what my current capacity is, which seems to be 300 words a day on average. Note: on average! A lot of days, I don't even write that much, but some days I make up for it by writing a lot. As I say in this short, good writing goals are like persistence hunting. You might find yourself more motivated if you set monthly or quarterly word count goals rather than daily ones. Then it's not a big deal if you write very little or not at all on some days, since you'll still have plenty of time to catch up.

(Also if you tell a non-writer that you wrote like 300 words in a day, they'll probably be impressed!)

So TL;DR: focus on learning what your capacity is, and then set your writing goals around that. Also focus on writing goals that cover a longer period than a day to allow wiggle room for your erratic progress.

Now, onto writing sprints.

I have the flavour of autism that gives me a processing speed deficiency, meaning that it takes me longer to Do Things than the average (usually allistic) person. This means that I'm a slow drafter, but also a more methodical, intentional one.

This means that writing sprints aren't all that helpful to me. I need to ponder every sentence and detail as I write it, because I already figured out the plot points and character arcs in my outline. "Just get the story down in the first draft" doesn't work for me because I already did that. In a highly detailed outline.

So writing sprints may be what's causing you to feel like your writing is getting worse. There are two perspectives on this:

First drafts are supposed to be bad, and writing sprints are supposed to just help you get them done so you can fix them later. If you were previously a slow, methodical drafter, then switching to a strategy that focuses on quantity over quality is going to make for rougher drafts, and thus make you feel like your writing is worse. That's okay though, because you can edit a rough draft. You can't edit a blank page.

Writing sprints are sabotaging the quality of your drafts, so instead, you can ditch them and focus on the slow-and-steady drafting approach. It'll make for less editing time in the long run, and you'll feel more confident in your writing ability if you take a quality-first approach.

But wait! I have a secret third option! One that may not be to do with writing sprints at all!

Could it be that the reason why your writing feels worse... is that your current WIP happens to be challenging you in new ways?

The reason why I bring this up is because this is something I've encountered recently while editing my current WIP. For context, it's the second book in a trilogy, and the first book didn't require nearly as much structural editing and rewriting, so what's changed? Why are my drafts for Book 2 so much worse than Book 1?

It's because Book 1 relied on the Stations of Canon, (warning that this article mentions 'Harry Potter' if you'd rather avoid that) while Book 2 breaks away from them.

Basically, I built my fic around a plot formula from canon that was already proven to be effective, but now, I'm having to build the plot from near scratch. It's like learning to build a house where the scaffolding and measurements are all done for you vs having to do all that yourself. Of course my writing feels worse! I'm learning an entirely new storytelling skill. There's going to be plenty of mistakes along the way.

However, I'm making peace with my first drafts for Book 2 being "worse", because I'm learning just how crucial and transformative editing can be. Taking on these new challenges means that I'm noticing weak spots that were previously invisible to me, and what is a weak spot but opportunities to improve my craft?

I'm a big believer that if you feel like your writing is bad or getting worse, instead of stewing in the insecurity, you should instead investigate why. Why is your writing clunkier or flowing less smoothly than it used to? Is it that you use redundant phrasing and tautology? Do you take 20 words to say something that could just as easily be said in 10? Vague feelings about the quality of your writing is what allows insecurity to fester. Actually knowing what the issue is makes that much harder, because now you have a concrete problem to solve. I do have a partial draft for a video that goes into that more, so if anyone wants to see me complete and film it, let me know!

Thanks for the ask, Nonny, and I hope this helps~!

[littlecactiguy]

Aziraphale, Crowley, Herschel of Ostropol, Chanukah, and a story...

Sooo there's no way I can think of (and I have been thinking on this a lot) that this post isn't going to be a little bit awkward, but it's going to exist anyway.

A year ago, in 2022, I saw this post from 2021 by @anonymousdandelion on Aziraphale and Crowley meeting Herschel of Ostropol (protagonist of Herschel and the Hanukkah Goblins, a Jewish children's book, as well as a Jewish folkloric figure).

Then, a) being Jewish and Herschel and the Hanukkah Goblins being a fondly remembered book from my childhood, b) someone who enjoys Good Omens, c) also a fic writer and, d) the idea being adoptable, I started to write a story.

(and okay, it's taken me roughly a year to give it a solid shape (long story short that's less to do with the story itself and more to do with me figuring some things out about what and who I want to write for, but I digress), but the fic itself very much exists now.)

I planned to have the full Chapter 1 done in time for Chanukah this year. Due to life in general being pretty chaotic, that hasn't happened. Instead, under the read more is a preview (the first scene of chapter 1), because I still wanted to post some part of it for the holiday.

Some Fic Notes:

-This story is, arguably, two stories intertwined. One that takes place in the 'present day' (though before the Apocalypse, etc.), and one that takes place during the Herschel story.

-It will largely follow the perspective of and by driven by OCs. Though, Aziraphale and Crowley will have a strong presence and influence, it didn't feel like it was their story to tell.

-It is written with two base structural rules in mind;

Aziraphale and Crowley had a hand in the stories of Herschel of Ostropol being remembered. The original kernel this fic was built around and expanded from was answering the question of how that happens.

There can be absolutely no interference in Herschel's story happening in the synagogue (i.e. the narrative of the children's book cannot be altered). Though, that doesn't necessarily mean Herschel is prevented from appearing in the story ;)

Story Preview Beneath The Cut

Generally speaking, the old bookshop is almost always closed.

If one, however, is in ownership of a decent set of lock picks, they may find it otherwise.

For what it’s worth, Tziporah (Tzi to her close friends, Nora to most everyone else at school, and young lady to almost all adults—including her parents, Bubbie, aunties and uncles, and the odd, inconvenient passerby—all who’ve caught her getting into trouble), most of the time, does her best to not use her lock picks. It’s just…it’s…

It’s like this, alright?

Tzi was born into a family with a long, long, long tradition of bookbinding. The kind that historians sometimes visit to ask stuffy questions about. The kind that causes librarians to visit requesting restorations of aging tomes. The kind that means their home has a dedicated workshop full of fairly ancient machinery that no one outside of the family knows how to use. Of course, there are other bookbinders in the world who would certainly recognize and understand the functionality of the more modern pieces of equipment Tzi’s family has. They just won’t recognize all of what they use. Not the Family bits.

The point being, when you grow up in such a setting, you tend to learn certain things. The store names and locations of almost every bookshop dealing in antique or rare books fairly close by, for instance. Also, a lot of the owners become familiar faces (or have been since before Tzi could remember). As the future of the Family Tradition, it’s only natural that she should accompany whomever is doing the deliveries or house calls regularly.

Thus, when you have this knowledge and you can be an Extremely Trustworthy Child (sure, Tzi may cause trouble regularly, but some things (like books, it’s books) are far too precious not to be Extremely Careful about), you’re, more often than naught, allowed to explore such bookshops, and read to your heart’s content.

And if you’re Tzi and you’re allowed to come along on a visit to The Bookshop That You’re Family Rarely Does Business With Because Their Books Are Almost Always In Unexplainable, Impeccable Condition, you’re going to want to read something (and you inevitably will).

The problem of course becomes, if you happen to be Tzi, and your mother, or father or whomever finishes up the Official Business rather quickly, you don’t have enough time to finish whatever it is you’re reading. And it being The Bookshop That You’re Family Rarely Does Business With Because Their Books Are Almost Always In Unexplainable, Impeccable Condition, you know you probably won’t have the opportunity to come back. At least not on an official bookbinding-related visit. Not for a Long While.

First, you’ll try coming back during regular business hours, as you have for many a bookshop previously.

Except, this bookshop doesn’t seem to have regular business hours.

So, given the story you were reading has been buzzing around your head for days, you come up with an alternate method.

Tzi isn’t going to take anything of course! She’s going to be extremely careful. She just wants to finish the story.

No one will ever know she was even there!

Except the giant snake waiting for her on the other side of the door.

If Tzi didn’t regularly inhabit spaces full of delicate books in need of repair or the equally delicate tools used to repair them, she would have jumped. As it stands, she finagles the lock open, slips in through the door quietly, turns around to the face the bookshop proper, and and a yelp almost escapes her lips. The snake, black as ink and with scales bigger than Tzi’s thumb, regards her coolly with brilliant golden eyes. She stares back, hyperventilating at first, but as the seconds pass and nothing happens, her breathing evens out.

“You aren’t going to eat me, are you?” Tzi asks the snake.

The snake’s tongue flicks out and back. It doesn’t say anything, or stop gazing at her for that matter.

Tzi studies the snake with more scrutiny. “I don’t suppose you could. I mean, of course I know snakes can unhinge their jaws and all, but even if you did, you look like you aren’t big enough to fit more than my arm in your mouth, and then what would you do? You’d be stuck hanging off my shoulder.”

There’s a long beat where it seems they’re both considering this possibility (in truth, only Tzi is, in a ‘walking into school with a giant snake hanging off my arm would be really cool’ kind of way. The giant snake, for what it’s worth, is feeling mildly insulted by the implication that he’d try to eat her).

“Well,” Tzi finally says. “I did plan for this.”

Technically speaking, she only sort of planned for this. Tzi had been skeptical of the rumored sightings of a (pet?) snake in this particular bookshop when she first heard them. More so after she visited for the first time and no such snake could be located. Regardless, when One Is Determined To Finish The Book She Was Reading, One Has To Prepare For As Many Possibilities As Possible. So, Tzi had hardboiled a few eggs (because an article she read once said snakes like to eat eggs) and put them in a tupperware and put that tupperware in her bag before she left home an hour ago.

Tzi takes the egg tupperware out of her bag now and shows it to the snake. “Would you like one? They’re tastier than me, I promise.”

The snake turns its head slightly down to look at the eggs in their unassuming plastic container, and then turns back to gaze at Tzi again.

It’s at this moment that Tzi remembers the article she’d read had been about foxes, not snakes, and that she may have just insulted this particular snake (since snakes lay eggs, right? Tzi is fairly certain of that fact, but all snake facts she knows seem to have taken her seeking them as an impromptu game of Hide and Seek in her mind and they are hiding Very Well).

Tzi gulps (and briefly considers pretending one of the eggs is a stone and crushing it as a show of strength to intimidate the snake, but he can clearly see they’re eggs so that probably won’t work).

In the end, Tzi’s desire to just find the book she wants to read already, reinforced by the snake not doing much beyond staring at the eggs, wins out.

(For what it’s worth, when the snake in question has confronted intruders into the bookstore in the past, the intruders have usually taken more aggressive approaches to him. Eggs in a plastic container gifted by a girl who clearly isn’t going to run screaming at the sight of him is certainly New, and he’s not going to be given enough time to fully figure out how to respond).

Tzi places the egg tupperware down on the floor in front of the snake and snaps off the lid. “Sooo…” She draws the word out. “I’m going to go read.” She tentatively sidesteps away from the snake. When he doesn’t react, she goes to hurry off, stops herself, turns back, takes a deep breath, and “You’rewelcometojoinmeifyoulike!” tumbles from her mouth.

Without waiting for a response, Tzi darts through the chaotically organized bookshelves of the shop until she finds the one holding the book she’s after. Gingerly she plucks it off its shelf and, after memorizing its place so she can return it to exactly there, sets off for a comfortable place to sit and read.

All the while, the snake slithers after her.

After a couple minutes of fruitlessly trying to find a seat, the snake bumps its snout into Tzi’s shoulder and, when she looks at it, points her in the direction of a comfy-looking armchair that, hidden in the shadows as it is, previously escaped her notice.

Once settled, Tzi gently opens the book, finds the place she left off, and begins to read.

It’s well into the evening, after the traveler who called himself Herschel had gone up to the old synagogue, that two more visitors arrived in our small town…

[moonlight-warrior-1316]

"She Ate the Squid"

Alternate Title: Tox and Neuro are chaotic neutral and should never be left unsupervised.

Hello everyone!

So, I kind of want to get back into writing. Nothing major yet, just some one-shots and short stories.

I got the motivation to write this instead of doing anything productive, like sleep, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Also I hope I posted this correctly. First time posting something like this.

Fandom: Lego Ninjago

Word Count: 1.1k

Relationships: Brief! Tox/Neuro

TW: Swearing, Homophobia, and Sex Talk. Not bad but there.

“Alright bitches!” Chamille hollered across Skylor’s restaurant. “Tonight, we are playing Truth or Dare!”

            A mix of groans and cheers was the response.

            It had been a few months after the Tournament of Elements. In order to keep in touch and not be at each other’s throats all the time, all the Masters have agreed to meet once a week at Skylor’s Noodle House.

            Things had been awkward the first couple times. Learning preferred names and pronouns, likes, dislikes, allergies, home village/city/country, family, etc. had been awfully hectic and have caused a few fights. But Skylor ended up taking charge during the early days to ensure this new Alliance worked out.

            Now the meetings have developed into a quick catch up on what they’ve been up to and then a game afterwards. And it was unfortunately Chamille’s turn to pick.

            “Isn’t that for middle schoolers?” Pale retorted in response. Chamille shushed him.

            “Everyone in a circle,” Chamille continued. “And I will go first.”

            A collective sigh went up from the group as they all gathered around as closely to a circle as possible—Since there were booths and tables in the way—but they made it work.

            Chamille smugly sat on top of the counter, pointedly ignoring Skylor’s glare. “As I’ve said, I’m going first. Shade, truth or dare?”

            “Uh, truth,” Shade awkwardly answered, not trusting Chamille to give him an easy, legal dare.

            “Hmmm......Is your skin naturally grey or is it just a power side effect?” Chamille asked.

            Everyone turned to look at Shade. He sputtered.

            “It’s a side effect,” he muttered. “Like how Neuro’s hair goes white the more he uses his powers or how Tox’s hair is green.”

            “Fair enough!” Chamille cheered. “Now you pick.”

            “Okay...um...Bolobo, truth or dare?” Shade questioned.

            “Truth.”

            “Were you really a pizza shop manager and Jay’s temporary boss?”

            “Yes.”

            “Wait, what?!” Turner cackled.

            Bolobo sighed. “Before I got more in-tune with my powers, I was the owner of a pizzeria. This was roughly a week or so after the Great Devourer attacked Ninjago City. And Jay, the Master of Lightning, was asking about a job. He was my fastest delivery drivers before he quit.”

            “Holy shit,” Turner laughed. “I’m absolutely holding that over him.”

            “Poor Jay,” Skylor giggled.

            “Next!” Chamille shouted.

            And so it went.

            A few dares were sprinkled in. Pale jump scaring a couple on a date in the park. Jacob sonic screaming from the roof. Skylor throwing a water balloon at a police car.

            Then it was Ash’s turn.

            “So, Tox,” he drawled, casually sipping on his soda. “What the hell is the origin of yours and Neuro’s joke of ‘they ate the squid’?”

            Tox and Neuro both choked.

            “Uh, what?” Gravis asked. Pale laughed.

            “Yeah!” Pale chimed in. “You and Neuro only ever say it to each other. What’s it from?”

            Tox’s face flushed. “Oh. Um. It’s a long story. And not suitable for children.”

            Ash grinned. “Spill.”

            Tox shot Neuro an apologetic look. Neuro put his head into his hands.

            “So,” Tox clapped her hands together once. “It started at the Ninjago City Pride Festival roughly a week after the Tournament. I ran into Neuro by accident.”

            “You crashed into me and sent us both to the ground,” Neuro interjected.

            “Whatever. Anyway, long story short, we found out we were both gay. And we agreed that we would go together to any and all Pride festivals.

            Well, on our fourth one, Neuro was trying to introduce me to fried squid with ghost pepper shavings tossed in powder sugar. ‘It’s a delicacy from where I’m from!’ he said. It looked gross so I refused.

            So we started talking on which celebrities we found attractive. I was on a rant when this homophobic lady showed up and started yelling at us. Neuro, take it from here.”

            “She was a Karen,” Neuro supplied helpfully. “And I was trying to enjoy my fried squid. She then asked us how we knew we were gay when we’ve never had sex with the opposite gender before. I countered with: ‘Do you like to eat squid?’. She answered no that it looked and smelled gross. With that, I shot back at her saying: ‘How do you know you won’t like it when you’ve never tried it?’ She was mad.”

            The other Masters chuckled at that. “Go on!” Turner encouraged.

“At that point, she was full on screaming at us,” Neuro continued. “So in order to shut her up, me and Tox agreed to make a deal with her.”

“What deal?” Gravis inquired.

“If she ate the last 6 mini fried squids on Neuro’s plate, we would hook up and give straight-people sex a try,” Tox replied.

Dead silence.

“Did—did she do it?” Ash wheezed, looking between Tox and Neuro, shocked.

“Yes. Why do you think our joke of ‘She ate the squid’ came from?” Tox confirmed.

The room burst out in laughter.

“We didn’t think she would!” Neuro cried. “Then she did, and it was a whole ‘Oh shit!’ moment!”

“You guys kept your end of the deal?!” Skylor gasped.

“Yeah!” Tox and Neuro yelled.

For a solid five minutes, the only thing to be heard in the restaurant was laughter. Once everyone calmed down, Chamille took a breath and said: “Y’all need to tell us how this ended.”

“After she ate the squid and we confirmed a meet-up date and time so we could tell her how it went, we went back to Neuro’s apartment,” Tox began.

“And then spent 20 minutes figuring out how exactly we were supposed to do this. Since I’ve only slept with guys and she’s only slept with girls,” Neuro sighed.

“20 minutes?!” Shade chuckled.

“Once we sorted it out on how to do it,” Tox plowed on. “We made it quick.”

“And it was the worst sex I’ve ever had.” Neuro chimed.

“Agreed.” Tox nodded.

“Did you guys actually go back to meet up with her?” Ash asked.

“Yeah. And we told her that after that, we are for sure gay. And that it was the worst sex we’ve ever had.” Neuro answered. “She wasn’t happy about it. The best part was that her husband was with her and demanded an explanation on what we were talking about.”

“Yep. Turns out her husband was horrified to learn she was homophobic, since he himself was bi,” Tox giggled. “But after that me and Neuro agreed that when someone does something that we never, in a million years, would have expected, it’s called “they ate the squid’.”

“Alrighty then,” Chamille laughed. “That is the greatest origin story of an inside joke I’ve ever heard.”

“Though, for curiosity’s sake, did they divorce?” Pale leaned forward.

“I’m not sure,” Tox replied.

“They did.” Neuro piped up. “Her ex-husband told me all about it after we hooked up.”

The screams of shock, howls of laughter, and choking on drinks could be heard through the restaurant walls.

[soulsisterif]

Games of the Show

In the last post I was telling you I had written the part of the story where Dawn explains the show's mechanics. The relevant thing for this post is the games and their rewards. You'll have to win games to get rewarded in the show (getting dates, choosing group activities and so on) and I also wanted those games to help you learn about the ROs lives, interests and preferences. About themselves, in short.

That means conversational games are my main focus, even if they're silly, particularly if they can be used to discover what is it that they look for in a relationship: Orange Flag, Weird Words, Hot Takes, They're a 10 but...

Oh, I really want to involve the audience in some games, too. That'd be rad. And it would be a good way to put the How the Audience Views You stat to use, too.

I'm open to suggestions, as always. The only thing I refuse to change about this game is how the relationships among characters deepen through interaction. You can sleep around if you're shallow, but if you want to romance them, or even just have a genuine friendship with them, you have to actually get to know them. Now, in a normal, day-to-day dating environment that would mean deep chats and coffee dates, which you can get in the game, anyway. But this is a dating TV show, so there should be something else to it, and I have my take on how I'd like to do that.

I was a little against games involving kissing because I'm the kind of player that chooses one RO and sticks with them as faithful as a puppy for the whole playthrough (unless they screw me over. Looking at you Threxia from Soulless). Then I realised that I have to allow people to play the field, too, so they can be good for that.

The thing that I'm worried about is what I call the "Love Island ick". For reasons...

I'm not adding games like "kiss the hotest cotestant", "imitate a sex position with whoever", "give a lap dance to—". Nope. That's just... Nope. I might add some spicy games to play privately with your chosen RO later on, but as a group it just makes me cringe. A game of good ol' truth or dare, or two truths and a lie can be a fantastic way to get to know someone in a fun way, but if you write it in a super crass or childish way it's just painful to read. (watch me fail misserably for trash talking, hahaha)

Still, I did want to include those but turning them into a competition. For instance, imagine a game of Truth or Dare with scores. Like, if one dares MC to do something, the other contestants can bet on whether or not MC will do the dare or pass. If they're right they get a point. MC would only earn a point if she takes the dare and the person who issued the challenge can only earn a point if MC passes on it.

Contestants would pick easier and more relevant questions and dares if they are interested in someone, but go harder on those they don't fancy as much and try to win some points instead.

There's also follow-up scenarios with this game. Let's say someone flirty (*cough* Joanna *cough*) was into MC. Then they may be interested in asking something like"what is your favourite type of kiss?". That would be an opening for the RO give MC that kind of kiss. Or even have several ROs try out, to see who she likes better, maybe in exchange of one of your points?

There are a lot of ways to play it, but you get what I mean. You could always pass and refuse to answer the question or take the dare, of course.

This way you could both state your MCs romantic/physical predilections and also learn about the ROs'.

Damn, it's late, this got way too long and I just want to go to bed. So, to sum it up, I want conversational games, the audience involved sometimes, and you'd be rewarded for winning them.