#the author that also wrote the telltale heart

[l0ganberry]

Wally carrying one brick with two hands is cute but......

(My brain is not working that I accidentally put one hand instead of two hands. Wtf😭)

[cinnaminsvga]

intermission • vi | moonlight

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. jungkook) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none!! it's just jungkook being a cutie!! → words: 3.7K → a/n: this intermission chapter was actually written by @jincherie!! i'm posting it on her behalf since she's currently on hiatus. she had this chapter mostly finished a few months ago and we were waiting to post it until we were both more active (lol) but yeah... things change i guess... anyway see you guys next year (i wanna say /j but really... is it really /j...)

— • masterlist | prev | intermission vi | next • —

Jungkook's strength has never been making friends.

In his mother’s words, a “pleasant and sweet boy” though he might be, that didn’t help much when it came to meeting someone new and the storm of butterflies in his stomach would grow so strong that it froze his limbs and caught his tongue. He’s not too good at first impressions.

A “pleasant and sweet, but terribly shy boy” is actually more along the lines of how Jungkook’s mother describes him, now that he thinks about it. That’s probably a little more accurate.

The sprawling complex he lives in is full of kids, and Jungkook knows each and every one of them. He might be challenged in the social area, but his mother is anything but. She says he takes more after his father, and since his father is usually relaxing inside and reading or drawing when Jungkook sees him at home, he figures that makes enough sense.

Every time someone new moves into the complex, Jungkook’s mother goes to greet them. Of course, he is graciously asked (read: forced) to come along too, just in case they have any kids around his age. This is how he normally meets the other kids on the block. It’s fine, he can’t complain. He has to admit it’s nice meeting all the new and different people that come through. His family is probably one of the ones that have stayed in the complex this long.

When the house next door is emptied of the family he knew, it’s a while before the next one comes in. By the time Jungkook peeks out his window one morning, woken by the telltale sound of a truck beeping as it reverses, and finally sees some movement in the house next to his own, his mother isn’t home. She’d moved into the hospital just a few days earlier, looking ready to pop with the little brother he’d heard so much about in her belly. He’s excited to meet his little brother, and now as he stands on his tippy-toes to get a good look from the window, he finds himself a little excited to meet the new neighbours, too.

It only has a little bit to do with the great, big, fluffy dog they have. Just a little.

It takes a few days for them to move in fully. Jungkook watches from his window every now and then, seeing all sorts of different cars come through. This family has lots of helpers, he notices. By the time they seem to really settle in, Jungkook doesn’t see much of them. Actually, to his disappointment, he doesn’t see anyone around at all. He still hears the dog, glimpses it every so often, but realised that they probably walk it in the mornings before he wakes up.

His mother is home before long, his baby brother cradled in her arms. The first thing she asks as she steps through the door is, “Have the new neighbours moved in? Have you met them yet, Kookie?”

This is perhaps the first time all week he hasn’t cared about the neighbours-- he’s transfixed with his brother. It stays that way for a few days, until the allure wears off when the tiny baby won’t stop crying at night. Perhaps his little brother is something best loved from afar for now, Jungkook surmises.

Back to the window he goes – except this time, there’s actually something to see.

There’s a child! A combination of nerves and excitement bubbles within him as he sees a kid in the backyard playing with the dog, throwing a Frisbee for the massive puppy to leap up and catch in its mouth. The kid looks a little…. feral. Like the baby from that one funny caveman movie he watched with his parents. They’re rolling around with the puppy, uncaring of the way grass and dirt get on their clothes and tangle their hair-- they laugh the whole time. It takes a second for the sound to reach him, but when it does it makes his heart do something funny in his chest.

Ah, the neighbour's kid is a girl.

It’s you.

Jungkook has always been a little more shy around girls, but has never known why. To meet you, he’s going to need his mother there for backup. This is probably the first time he’s outright wanted to go meet one of the neighbours. It’s a little embarrassing, so he elects not to think about it too much.

He thought he would have to pester his mother more to get up and go greet them, but it seems she’s a little sick of being in the house so much because she jumps up the second he mentions it. His baby brother is graciously asleep when they make the trip one morning to the house next door, nestled in his mothers arms looking like an angel wrapped up in fluffy clouds. Jungkook wonders if you’ll like his brother as much as he does. If you don’t, then he doesn’t know how good of a friend you’re going to be.

The doorbell is different, it’s the first thing he notices about the house. Your family must have changed it when you moved in. It’s a bubbly, fun tune now, and he doesn’t even realise the smile it brings to his face. His grip on his mother’s hand tightens, but he misses the fond look she casts over him.

When the door opens, Jungkook thinks his nerves just might eat him alive. He’s so stiff he’s worried he might turn to stone and disintegrate into dust on the spot.

It’s you who answered the door.

You don’t look as wild and unkempt as you did that day he saw you from the window. Actually, your hair is in two cute little buns on top of your head and there isn’t a spot of dirt or grime on your overalls.

The way your eyes light up when you see him and his mother, as well as the baby held to her chest, is enough to make him forget to breathe for a moment. When he remembers, he feels like running his head into the pole of the awning.

“Hey, sweetie,” his mother greets, that big smile on her face that normally wins everyone over. “We’re from the house next door! We wanted to come say hello and meet you. Are one of your parents home too?”

“Hello!” Your response is instant, and the smile you return is so big Jungkook can easily see the gap where you’re missing a tooth. It seems like you’re beating him, he hasn’t lost that one yet. “Yeah, my mama’s home-- you should come in! She said she wanted to meet you guys! Oh, also, we have a puppy! She’s big, and actually maybe she’s too old to be a puppy but… she’s cute. I want you to see her!”

You’re rambling, but you don’t seem to realise. Jungkook couldn’t get a word in edgewise if he wanted to, but he finds himself more than happy to simply listen as he and his mother follow you into the house.

Your mother isn’t as wild as you, but he notices the same little sparkle in her eyes that you have in yours. He wonders if he and his mother have their own matching sparkle. That would be cool.

Right away, his mother hits it off with yours – two socialites of a feather, it seems. You fawn over his baby brother for a few minutes while they talk (he knew right then that you were a good one), before grabbing him by the sleeve and insisting on showing him around. You get a full tour in, and miraculously Jungkook finds it in himself to ask a few questions as you go.

“S-so, you like it? Here?” Every time he opens his mouth the words don’t come out how he wants them, but he can’t do anything now. At least he only stuttered once.

“Yes! It’s so much better than my old house! There’s so many more kids here, and they’re all so nice too!” You’re more than happy to blabber on, a hand thoughtlessly carding through the long, fluffy fur on your dog’s back. Jungkook’s own hand is doing the same (the fur is just as soft and fluffy as he imagined). “There’s more room for Poopie to play, too.”

Jungkook still isn’t quite used to the name of your pet, but something more important in what you said is taking hold of his attention. “Wait, you, uh… you’ve met some of the other kids?”

“Yep,” you say, gaze off in the distance as you try to summon them all from your memory. “Not all of them, but some! Um, I think one of them is named…. Chanyeol…? He lives down the street. Then there’s-- …”

A queasy feeling fills his stomach. He thinks it might be disappointment. For some reason, he thought he was going to come in here and be the first kid you met, that he was going to tell you all about the complex, maybe show you down the street. If you turned out to be a real good egg, then he had even planned to show you his secret place. But now that he thinks about it, it’s a bit silly to think that none of the other families would have come to greet you by now. You’ve been here for more than a week, after all.

He had a good time when visiting you, but for some reason after that day, he finds himself hanging back a bit. He wants to go out and play with you and the other kids, but when he sees you getting along with them so well he’s reminded of that queasy feeling from that day and he stays inside. Which, oddly enough, makes him feel even worse. He feels like no matter what he does, he’s losing progress with you. Maybe you won’t even want to play with him at all, you might think he’s boring after having so much fun with the other kids.

“You gonna go out and play, Kookie?” his mother catches him staring out the living room window one afternoon. She’s bouncing his brother on her hip, the demon baby sated for the time being. “There’s still plenty of time before dark.”

“No, I’m okay,” he answers, hating himself a little bit for it. Why was it so hard to say that yes, he wanted to play, but also that he didn’t. He thinks his mother would be able to help, but he has no idea how to tell her his woes. “I think I might draw a little.”

“Okay, sweets.” She comes over and ruffles his hair. “But if you do decide to go out and play, just let me know so I know where you are, okay?”

He nods, and she leans to kiss his hair before wandering back into the depths of the house. Maybe he will do some drawing, he ponders. It might distract him from the sight of you getting along so well with all the other kids.

Jungkook’s strength has never lain in being outgoing. This proves itself over the months when his attempts to grow closer and befriend you turn out unsuccessful, without fail.

You’ve made a good space for yourself amongst the kids of the block. You’re nice, caring and understanding, and never mean – sure you pushed Chanyeol off the seesaw once, but that was because he was being mean to Suzie. He didn’t do it again afterwards, and peace was maintained in the playground in the park at the end of the complex. Your friendship is sought-after, and with the beginning of the school year looming so close he’s running out of time to establish a friendship between the two of you.

When he spends an afternoon riding his bike at the end of the street, looping around and through the park, it’s definitely not just because you’re sitting there with some of the other girls on the block. When he summons all the knowledge stored in his brain from watching those bike tournaments and attempts to do a little trick, it’s definitely not because he thinks you might be watching. If you happen to see and think he’s cool, then it is what it is. It’s not like he’s actually trying to impress you or anything.

It goes okay, for the most part. His legs are a little tired though. He probably shouldn't attempt the trick he’s thinking of next, but he swears he sees you glance his way and he feels a surge of confidence flow through him. He attempts it.

He botches it.

The bike clatters to the ground and he rolls a bit, but his knees take the brunt of his meeting with the concrete path.

Lucky he wasn’t trying to impress you, because that was pretty humiliating. Lucky you probably didn’t see, either. His knees burn and he feels tears prick at his eyes, probably not just from the pain. He feels so embarrassed, so dumb. He’s touched his bike five times since he got it for his birthday last year, why did he think he would be able to do awesome tricks on it? Dumb, so dumb. He flees the scene before anyone can notice what happened, and completely forgets his bike.

He’s made it all the way home before he even realises it, his vision blurred from the tears that just won’t stop falling and his knees still singing in pain each time he bends them. He almost goes inside, craving a hug from his mother and her gentle hands on his wounds, but then he realises she would ask what happened, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to tell her. It’s too embarrassing. He’s so embarrassed.

So he bypasses the front door, going around the side and slipping through the gate. There’s a tree that lines the side of the house where his window is, and it’s so tall it reaches well above the roof. Without pause, he climbs it, hands finding familiar grooves. He halts, hissing at the sudden sting – it would seem he’s scraped up his palms, too. His eyes burn with the added humiliation and he darts up the tree, making quick work of the climb until he reaches his special spot.

The roof of his house is mostly slanted, but there’s a flat bit at the very top on one side of the house. This is where he likes to go. No one ever looks for him here, plus the view is always very pretty. He doesn’t appreciate the sunset right now, though. He feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

The whole way home, Jungkook held in his cries. He didn’t want anyone to hear and tell his mother. But now, in the embrace of his little ‘safe haven’, he lets them out. He buries his head in his arms and sobs, the pain of moving his palms only making it worse.

He doesn’t know how his little body can handle so much embarrassment, let alone so many tears, but for the moment he doesn’t think about it and surrenders himself to his woes.

He must be up there for a while before his crying ceases. By the time he lifts his head, the last of his tears drying against his cheeks, the sun is just beginning to disappear beyond the horizon. It’s pretty, how it casts light around the shadowy silhouette of the city buildings in the distance. He kind of wants to show it to you. That thought is quickly shut down. He’s going to ask his mother if they can move cities so he doesn’t have to face you again.

Alas, the world just doesn’t seem to be working in his favour today. He hears the rustling of the tree before he sees it. By the time he looks over to investigate, you’re already clambering onto the roof, an oversized fanny pack bursting at the seams with whatever you’ve shoved inside slung over your shoulder.

“Hey!” You greet with a smile, apparently oblivious to the dumbstruck look on his face. “Man, it took forever to find you! If I didn’t see you from the window in my room, I never would have known where you went!”

That was the idea, he laments. He hadn’t wanted to be found.

“Anyway,” you say, plopping down a foot away from him, safely away from the edge of the roof. You swing the fanny pack around so the zip is at your front, and rip it open. Immediately, a tsunami of bandages and band-aids flow forth, fluttering to the tile before you. They’re all sorts of different sizes, but one thing is common across them all – they all have pikachu’s face plastered on them in one way or another. “These are my special band-aids! My mama uses them when I hurt myself, and they always make it heal really quick! I didn’t know how big your owie is, so I brought them all.”

Jungkook is still stunned into silence as you sort through them, organising the chaos at least a little. One of your buns has come loose, he notes. One pigtail, one bun. You look a little more like that wild child he first saw from his window. The knees of your overalls are smeared with dirt, too. He wonders if it got like that while you were looking for him. It makes him feel a little warm inside.

And a little warm outside – his cheeks are starting to burn. He doesn’t remember scratching them too, but maybe he did…?

“Let’s see…” you’re practically just holding a conversation with yourself at this point. He surrenders his leg without protest as you grab it to inspect his knee. “Yep. That’s a big ‘un.”

His whole face has lit on fire. Even his ears feel hot. Is that normal? Probably not. He’d have to ask his mother to take him to the doctor. Maybe he’s dying.

He notices how close you are suddenly, realises this is the first time you’ve been fully alone together (without Poopie), and suddenly he can’t think. Like, at all. He may as well not have a tongue because he can’t remember how to use it anyway.

Somewhere amongst the bandages you’d shoved some tissues. You pull them out now, gently clearing the dirt away from the wounds on his knees. You’re talking as you do it, but his brain is full of static. Your hands are even tinier than his. Is that normal? Wait, no-- they’re the same size. What is he doing…?

Is he going to get in trouble for being alone with a girl…? His mother hasn’t told him about the birds and bees like she said she would yet-- is that what this is? Will he turn into a bird if he gets any warmer? Jungkook doesn’t want to be a bird.

You are placing large plasters over his knees when he finally tunes in to what you’re saying. “… -that last trick was pretty cool, too. It would have been even cooler if you didn’t fall.”

Jungkook squeaks, “You saw that?”

You nod, apparently unaware of his utter humiliation. “Yeah! You’re pretty good on a bike. Can you teach me sometime? I want to show my dad.”

He makes a noise that sounds enough like an affirmation that you accept it, a big grin on your face. For a few more minutes, you finish patching him up.

“There! All done!”

Pikachu stares back up at him from his knees, looking a little wonky because of their shape. The band-aids are a bit wrinkled, but you look so proud of yourself he forces himself to ignore it. He looks up, the words of thanks he took so much courage to summon dying on the tip of his tongue as he sees you.

The setting sun changes the colour of your eyes a bit – it’s pretty, he finds himself thinking. Immediately afterwards, he blushes. Even more embarrassingly, he finds himself unable to help but observe that the sun suits you, actually. Bright, persistent, a little bit sparkly. In the sun’s last reaching rays of afternoon light, you look a bit like you’re glowing.

Of course, Jungkook is used to his silence, but it seems you’re only just noticing it. You seem to misunderstand it’s cause. “Oh, do they hurt?”

Your words tear him from his reverie, and the startled look on his face doesn’t exactly help his case. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realise they were that bad-- oh! I almost forgot the next step! My mum always does this whenever I hurt myself.”

Then, without a second spared for him to prepare himself, you lean over and plant a kiss on each of his bandaged knees.

Jungkook thinks he might explode. The entire neighbourhood is going to see him take off and zip through the sky like a rocket. His earlier thoughts of moving cities and changing his name come back full force.

“There, they hurt less now, right?” But you’re still grinning, still bright as ever with shining eyes hoping for a certain response. Despite himself he takes a moment to assess the level of pain he’s feeling – oddly enough, it does feel a bit better.

There’s no way he can manage to say that, though.

Instead he nods, wide-eyed. You let loose a sigh of relief, muttering about how you didn’t know what you’d do if that didn’t work. He swears he catches the slightest warmth in your cheeks, but doesn’t know whether it’s a trick of the sun.

“Thanks,” he finally manages, his voice just shy of a whisper. You hear him anyway and flash that gap-tooth smile his way.

“Of course! This is what friends are for!”

You think of him as a friend? Jungkook can’t help the dumb smile that rises to his face. He likes that. Friends. As the two of you stay on the roof until moonlight begins to filter through the tree and your parents are calling your name, he thinks he’d like for things to stay that way.

He’d like to be friends with you. Always.

[wangxianficrecs]

Hi MomJo.

What you are doing is noble, promoting the hardwork of other people. You deserve kudos.

I'd like to add about the kudos/comments and you can post this if you think it is beneficial.

A girl of 13 was having a problem with her friends. She belonged to this group who believed that the world should be perfect. It became too extreme that they started to think suicides. She reported this to her mom who was a fool. She brought this suicide/depression discussion to other moms who were not ready for this kind of conversation (and instead of finding solutions, they screamed at their children because they were not grateful). The girl ended up being casted out because of her telltale. The suicidal thought increased. She and her mom went to counselor but she closed herself.

She wrote then. Fanfic in Watt* that didn't allow kudos but number of reads and comments only. Her fanfic got so many reads and positive comments that it boosted her confidence.

A few days later, this group came to her, blocking her on her way home. 7 of them, ready to confront her. They accused her of calling them bullies. But because of the confident she gained from writing, she faced them calmly, explained why they did to her was bullying, laying all proofs. One of them was ready to jump on her. She apologized and said that they might be the right ones and she left with her head held high.

The girl is my daughter. This happened 3 years ago. She no longer writes fanfic (she does poems now). But I will never forget what the positive comments and in a way kudos (because they kept coming back to read it) helped her life and made her a better person.

Readers have that power in their hands. Use it for good.

Some of these writers are kids who are struggling with life. Help by appreciating them. It doesn't cost you anything.

For writers, I understand how this kudos and stats can effect your life and you start comparing yourself to other. I was a Wangxian fanfic author for 1.5 months and I decided that it was too toxic for me. So I quit (per yesterday). I think it is wise to know when the time to cut ties and don't let something you like (writing) destroys your day.

That's my story & my experience (I am old hahaha!)

This has become an essay >.<

Have a nice day, Momjo!

Keep doing this great work :D

Oh.  Honey.  This just punched my heart. So before anything else, have *so many hugs*. That is just. When you're a mother and your child is hurting to that degree -- it's so terrifying and overwhelming and you feel so helpless and afraid and angry. I'm infinitely relieved you and your daughter came through that safely, and are even better off for it!

(Also, let me commend you on knowing your personal limits. That's a really hard lesson to learn. Especially when you're getting conflicting signals that sometimes the thing is good and sometimes it's painful. It can be really hard to get off the fence.)

This is such a great story about the positive effect of writing fanfiction and being a part of a supportive and enthusiastic community. I really do think that a lot of the negativity that happens towards writers is because a few readers have kind of forgotten that the writer is part of their community. Sitting right there in the circle, watching them speak.

So a reader can build up or tear down the author of a work. And honestly has no idea what their background may be. I think this is a great reminder:

Readers have that power in their hands. Use it for good.

Thank you for sharing your story!

[jensungf]

𝐌𝐘 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 🌌 𝐡.𝐫𝐣

summary: he was your best friend. you should’ve been happy when he went to go ask that girl whether or not she was his soulmate. so why was the universe pulling at your heartstrings now?

pairing: reader x best friend!huang renjun genre: fluff + soulmate!au word count: 1.6k warnings: none

6:23pm. you rolled your eyes as you read the time. where the hell was he?

your focus drifts to the onyx swirls dotted on your wrist, and you subconsciously trace all the scribbles making up your tattoo. you had been impatiently tapping your foot for what felt like forever, but in actuality, was about ten minutes. maybe i should just leave, you thought ruefully as the digit on your lit-up phone screen changed once again.

you had been through this too many times for you to simply count with your fingers. it was almost like clockwork at this point. despite this only beginning months ago, you knew the cycle. renjun would encounter someone, and would feel compelled to chase them down and ask if they were possibly his soulmate. unfortunately, it always ended in rejection.

you were always the one to comfort him when he returned with the same answer like always— that they had found their soulmate or they didn’t feel any connection at all. despite your annoyance of having to be inconvenienced at random hours of the day and having your quality time with him interrupted, you knew deep down it hurt you just as much as it hurt him.

yet you never once considered the reality that perhaps he would actually find his soulmate one day, and how that mere possibility would change your entire life.

if renjun was seriously going to confront that girl with a simple question of whether or not she was his soulmate, what was taking them so long? surely he would’ve texted you by now if he was successful, knowing you were still waiting for him. or at least let you know he was on his way back.

you winced at the thought that he might be too busy engaging in other endeavors, ones that involved less talking and more touching. you shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of those thoughts, burying the odd feelings that made your stomach twist and turn. no, that wasn’t the renjun you knew. he wouldn’t be as daring as that despite his growing impatience to find his soulmate. besides, you wanted him to find his soulmate. there was no reason for your heart to twinge at the chance that maybe this time was the right time. you were his best friend. you were supposed to be happy for him, and hope for the best.

you hastily unlocked your phone, typing out a very annoyed albeit passive aggressive text to your heck of a best friend who decided to abandon you in the middle of your weekly dinner date to chase down a girl. you should’ve just left him moments ago, yet your feet stay planted in your spot outside the moomin plushie store.

“stupid renjun,” you muttered under your breath as you realized that the sky was beginning to settle into a hazy cloud of purple and pink. dusk was always your favorite time of day, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit embittered that renjun wasn’t here with you to enjoy the view with. just when you were about to click send, a shadow casts over your figure and you lift your head.

“hey,” renjun says simply. his hands are shoved deep into his cream-colored denim jacket and he gazes at the sky instead of at you, causing you to stare quizzically at him.

“so....” you cock your head at his silence and wait for him to answer the obvious question. however, he makes no move to look you in the eyes. you hesitate, unsure what to do at your best friend’s abnormal silence.

usually he would be telling you that it wasn’t the right person and he had made a fool out of himself again or something along those lines, but this time, he remained silent. his eyes still avoid yours and you feel panic bubbling up in your chest. why was he acting like this? had something gone wrong?

“can i... try something?” he breaks the silence, asking quietly, almost as if he would break glass if he spoke any louder. he leans in slowly, and you freeze, your breath hitching. your mind screams for you to move away, to question what he was doing and whether he was in his right mind. yet your heart palpitates erratically and you make no move to turn away. his dark brown eyes gaze into yours, and you feel your head spinning.

despite your daze, you somehow feel your head nod ever so slightly, almost out of pure instinct with no control of your own body.

albeit with great reluctance, renjun takes this opportunity daringly. he closes the gap separating you both and gently presses his lips against yours. you melt into his warmth, closing your eyes as your hands subconsciously reach up to pull him in closer by gripping his jacket. his hands raise up to gently cradle your head and his lips feel like velvet, pliant against your own. the kiss is delicate yet firm, all hesitance dissipating as the seconds pass. you both pull away for air, but it felt as if you had just taken a deep breath of air for the very first time in your life.

people had told you about how they felt when they found the one, and you had never understood what they meant about how one person could make them feel just right until that very moment. how complete you had felt. your heart tugs almost as if you had finally crossed the thin line separating you from friends and lovers, something you never knew your heart had been aching for until now. you had always had renjun in your life, but you never knew how much he made you feel whole until this very moment. like he was the last missing puzzle piece that had finally found its place in your life, and nothing more could rival the feeling of this very moment.

he rests his forehead against yours and smiles meekly. your head was still reeling, and renjun moved his hand to gently cup your cheek. your mouth opens ajar, as you wrack your mind for the right words to say. “i… what? injunnie—”

he cuts you off by pressing another soft kiss to your lips. your eyes widen at his impulsive action, taken aback by how uncharacteristic that was. “i know you have a lot of questions, but i couldn’t resist,” he admits as pink dusts his cheek.

he entwines his hand with yours, fitting like two puzzle pieces as he leads you to the park bench. he looks up at the hazy sky once again with admiration before explaining.

“i never understood why it was so difficult to find my soulmate, when my tattoo was one of the more common ones,” he confesses as he glanced down to his moon tattoo. although it was indeed not as uncommon as yours, you had always admired the beauty it held, how beautifully and different it was drawn compared to the generic crescent symbols you had seen before.

it was as if renjun had drawn it with his own hand, with every tiny detail matching precisely with his art, his masterpieces. you look at yours, your wrist adorned with tiny scribbles of planets, stars, and even the sun scattered around all in one area.

suddenly it dawns on you. the space separating the sun and planets and stars is no longer empty, instead replaced with a replica of a moon. 

renjun’s moon.

“ever since we reunited with each other, i’ve been feeling more and more desperate to find them because i couldn’t help but feel something towards you, and i couldn’t live knowing you weren’t mine. at least— not until now.”

renjun is absolutely glowing when you look up at him.

“i guess you’re my universe, y/n,” he scoffs with a smile. his eyes meet yours, but despite the firmness in his voice, his telltale signs of embarrassment say otherwise.

and you believe him, because when he smiles at you, it’s as if you were the one who put the sun and moon and stars in the sky, as if you were the center of his galaxy. as if you were his universe.

“i never realized how much i needed you, until i saw that girl. she told me that she was the sun to someone else’s galaxy, and that’s when i realized that i had been trying to push away the pull towards someone who was always beside me for too long. somehow who should’ve been with me all along.”

you both locked eyes before bursting into laughter at his cringeworthy yet heartwarming confession. “when did you become such a cheeseball?” you snort. he locks you in a loving chokehold and your heart nearly skips a beat.

“we both wasted our time, didn’t we?” you remark with a carefree smile. all the worries, the gut feeling that made your head spin, the questions of why you couldn’t feel happy when it came to not having him, disappears within a simple kiss. the puzzle was done. the masterpiece was completed, but what was funny was the mere fact that you had no idea anything was even missing in the first place. you looked down at his wrist, now full with doodles of your galaxy. it glowed just like yours.

“we can make up for lost time.”

you nod and bask in his presence, gazing up at the stars scattered across and the luminescent moon peeking out against the darkness of twilight sky.

soulmates were an odd thing— to simply leave it up to a mere tattoo to connect you both when you had been connected since the very beginning. but you couldn’t have asked for anything more, when fate had already decided that you were his universe, and he was your moon.

you completed each other.

author’s note: i wrote this for @yongiefilms to thank her for being such a good friend and also bc i needed an excuse to post smth while i work on my main wip! i seem to have a curse where i cant write blurbs cus they end up turning into drabbles. oops? also i spent wayy more time on the header than the actual story lol ANYWAYS yay to my first renjun fic <3

[lilbabycee]

an hour ago // steve rogers 🥀

↳ summary: steve makes some plans for you that you don’t know about.

↳ relationship: soft dark!steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 2.4k

↳ warnings: mentions of blood (nothing too graphic), gaslighting, some angst, and some hurt without the comfort

↳ author’s note: hey! i wrote this for the weekly challenge by @captain-a-rogerss​ @donutloverxo​ @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ based on the moodboard below - enjoy! ❤️

It was a pretty dress - a lace bodice held up by thin straps, flaring out at the waist into clouds of white tulle that swish around your body like waves and gently brush the smooth skin of your thighs a few inches above your knees. He liked the way that your face brightened when you’d pulled those shoes that you’d had your eye on earlier that week out of the black box that he gave you. You liked it, too - saw your beaming face in a mirror and couldn’t believe that you were the same person staring back at yourself. The shine of your skin was all because of the man standing behind you, arms coiled around your middle and chin resting on your shoulder, the thick hair of a dark blonde beard tickling the sensitive skin of the bare column of your neck. Even though you squirmed in his arms as if you wanted him to let you go, you didn’t - not by any stretch of the imagination. He met your gaze in the mirror and as much as your subconscious tried to fight it, a wide grin split your face in half. 

He likes it when you smile like that - when you aren’t scared of laughing too loud or loving too hard, completely unabashed in your actions because you aren’t worried about what other people think. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your face when you’d slipped into those heels as if they’d always belonged on your feet and walked around with the poise of a woman who was born to wear clothes like these. He’d escorted you down the stairs with your hand in the crook of his elbow and a proud smile on his face that made the bees in your stomach come alive, basking in the attention and slamming against the sides of your body excitedly. You looked but more importantly felt like a princess.

That was at the beginning of the night. 

Now, you’re running, the gusts of wind cracking whips against your wet cheeks and stirring the torn skirt of your dress every which way as the city that never sleeps stares at you from below. The winking lights of the buildings full of people who don’t want to go home glare at you almost mockingly as your bare feet slap against the cold tile. The way that you wind through the foggy paths of confusion distorting the rational thought in your brain is not dissimilar to the way you dodge and weave through the clusters of people in your way, frantic apologies spilling from your lips out of courtesy when you step on a toe or spill a drink. 

Spill a drink - you look down only to be reminded of the ruby-red Cabernet Sauvignon that tarnishes the once-beautiful dress on your body, a color that reminds you so acutely of your own blood that you have to look away, feeling the acidic tang of bile rise in your throat. You can almost smell the pungent odor of copper, certain that you must be imagining it until your eyes zero in your hands - more importantly, the rivulets of red that stream down the fingers of your right hand that is clutching your dress. 

You’d dropped your glass when you’d found out what he’d planned - shattered it, really, but that distinction wasn’t important when you first broke it, nor is it important now. The tiny shards of glass stuck in your skin are no longer the primary source of your pain; rather, that comes from the way that your heart fell out of your body and exploded right there on the floor between the both of you. You’d left the fragmented pieces where you were standing right before you ran away, not even attempting to salvage any of the broken parts before you took off. That coupled with the weight of the heavy ring on your left hand, your chest feels as if it’s caving in on itself. 

You’re getting looks now, low whispers ripple through the well-dressed people who’ve all come here just for you. They try to point discreetly, raised eyebrows and bewildered glares following you as you continue to sprint away from the flocks of party-goers. Running away won’t solve anything, but when he put that ring on your finger you knew you weren’t ready - far from it. So yes, you’re delaying the inevitable but that’ll have to be good enough for now because you’re not at all ready to face your boyfriend.

And then the perfect opportunity arises. You round a corner so quickly that you almost sprain an ankle, only to stop short when you see what’s in front of you. Not only is the area around it completely free of people, but the pool is also fully empty. With a cursory glance over each shoulder, you decide that it’s your best option - stay in there for as long as possible because if someone merely looks out in this direction, they’ll assume that no one is here. You know he’ll find you eventually but you’re panicking, your anxiety bubbling up over the low flame of the anger that festers deep within your body.

So you dive in as gracefully as you can considering your attire but in your haste, it’s only when your hands break the surface of the water that you remember that they are still covered in blood. The thought is left up in the air as soon as your head is underwater. Opening your eyes as best as you can in the chlorinated abyss, you see a darker corner of the pool right across from you where the light doesn’t reach and push yourself towards it, hoping that it’ll conceal you for the time being.

Once you get there, you risk coming back up to take a breath, pushing the water out of your eyes only to scream when your vision is less blurry. A shadowy figure is crouched right in front of you, weight on his toes and elbows resting on his knees with his hands clasped together. Droplets of water roll down your skin and your dress hangs heavy on your body: you’re definitely soaking wet but underneath Steve’s hot gaze, it might as well have been the contrary - the fire burning through his eyes would be more than enough to dry you off.

Your eyes roam his form slowly as you swallow down gulps of air, noticing how not a single strand of his long, slicked-back hair is out of place. His black three-piece suit might as well have been taken straight off of the rack, black tie straight and jacket unwrinkled, and his beard looks as soft as it was when you ran your fingers through it an hour ago. 

The sole indication of his ire is the clench of his jaw, that telltale muscle ticking rhythmically like the hands of the clock on the timer of his patience. 

The left side of his face is shrouded in shadows, but it does nothing to hide the curve of his full lips, a smile that feeds the anger in the pit of your stomach. If you had been asked three days ago - hell, an hour ago - how that smile made you feel, you’d have said that it was the smile of the man who hung the stars in your sky, the man who would steal the moon for you if you asked. 

But that was then. And this is now.

“Found you, sweetheart,” he rumbles, his words fueling his smirk and causing it to spread into a full-blown grin. You’re paralyzed in shock, thinking that you would’ve had more time to mull over your predicament. This doesn’t hinder him; he repositions himself to kneel, giving him more leverage to grasp you underneath the arms and pull you out of the water. You don’t even have it in you to object as he hauls you away from the pool, your fighting spirit exhausted and cold in the crisp night air. You pull your arms into your chest to try and stave off the biting wind as Steve carries you bridal style - you want to laugh at the irony - towards the nearest sofa.

Setting you on his lap - wet dress, be damned - his blue eyes examine your face which you just know is a mess. The makeup that you had so flawlessly applied is more than likely to be streaming down your face, but you don’t care because you’re staring right back at the man you thought you knew with a gaze emptier than the hole in your heart.

“Lemme see your hand, baby,” he murmurs and you acquiesce, handing it to him while your gaze focuses in on the single red rose tucked in the pocket of his jacket. It’s beautiful, to put it simply. It’s so soft, drops of water pooling in between the maze of its petals and caressing it as it trails down the thornless stem. You’d know - you were holding that rose approximately thirty minutes ago as your bridal bouquet.

Steve curses quietly as he turns your hand back and forth in his, the light catching against the shards of glass embedded in your fingers and your palm. His eyes snap to yours and you can feel the reprimand on his tongue before he even opens his mouth, but you have no voice left to stop him so you shake your head instead. Thankfully, he does as he’s told and keeps it to himself. His body is emitting heat in rolling waves and you can feel it seep into your skin, a brief shudder running through you as it does. You instinctively lean into it, momentarily forgetting about his deception. His arm drapes over your body, and he can feel his heart swell at how much you still need him.

The silence stretches between you two for a few minutes longer, your eyes stinging, the harbinger for your tears, until Steve clears his throat quietly. 

“You ran away from me,” he states and without even looking at him, you know that he’s staring at you because the weight of his gaze is almost as crippling as the ring that weighs down your whole body. 

“I did,” you reply simply, running your tongue over your lips. 

“I thought you loved me,” he says softly which makes you so desperately want to roll your eyes. 

“I do,” you speak slowly, unsure whether or not you even believe the words coming out of your own mouth. You know that it’s easier this way, telling him what he needs to hear to placate him. But he’s still perplexed - you can tell because his eyes are the same teal as the swimming pool. 

“No,” he protests, hand coming to grip your waist in a way that sends brief shockwaves of pain across your body. You draw in a gasp between clenched teeth, and your own hands fly up to claw at his arms. “If you loved me, then you’d have wanted to marry me-”

“I do want to marry you,” you try to declare firmly, but you find it increasingly difficult when he keeps holding you tighter and tighter; you know he doesn’t mean to. It doesn’t hurt anymore - the aching in your chest overpowers any other sensation - but it’s more uncomfortable than anything. He’s pulled you so far into his chest that if you were an inch closer, you’d only become another part of his body. You’re still digging your nails into his forearm. “Just not like this.”

“Why not?” he pipes up, his tone deep though whiny. This makes you laugh (inside your head) - he’s almost a breath away from stomping his foot like a petulant child. Instead, his hands press harder into your sides, pushing against your head so that it rests right over his beating heart. His beard brushes against your forehead and where that sensation was pleasurable earlier, in this moment you want to run as far away as possible.

“Because we weren’t even engaged before tonight-”

“But why does that matter? We’ve talked about it - you knew this was going to happen someday-”

“That’s not an excuse, Steve,” you exclaim indignantly. Even though you’re looking right at him, you do not recognize the man holding you so close to him in the slightest. You’ve never heard of anybody’s boyfriend planning them a surprise wedding without even proposing beforehand, but you were under the impression that if you were to hear a story as outrageous as that, it wouldn’t be your life.

It’s hard to believe how wrong you were. 

He looks as if he’s about to speak before he shuts his mouth, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek before nodding slowly. “Okay, honey, okay. You’re right. Not tonight. You’re all worked up and I get it - you need time.”

Now this is the Steve you know. The heaviness that lies in the way he looks at you eases up considerably and you’re relieved that he’s finally making sense. You move to pull the ring off of your finger before he quickly places a hand over yours. Lifting your head in confusion, he looks at you with alarm etched into every feature on his face. 

“Baby,” he laughs, breathless and surprised. “Just because we’re not getting married tonight doesn’t mean that it won’t happen at all. I’ll give you the rest of the night to clear your head but tomorrow is another day. All of these people are in town until the end of the week and I’d hate to have invited them here for no reason. We’ve got plenty of time for you to think about it.”

You open your mouth to reply but he silences you with a kiss, short but passionate. His lips move against yours with pressure and urgency never before seen from the Steve who you love. You’re not sure who this man is. When he pulls away, he presses a kiss on your forehead and pulls your face into his chest so that any words that you try to speak are inaudible. 

“Shhh, doll,” he hushes you, massaging circles into your spine, and your skin crawls when you hear the glee in the tone of his voice. “We’ll get you a new dress and try again tomorrow.”

[lightningbugqueen]

Hey, to all my creators, especially writers, here’s a little uplifting story I wrote. Enjoy. 

Lillian fiddled with her hands nervously as she put one foot in front of the other, forcing herself into the lobby. The large, clean building was filled to the brim with young adults and the occasional older person. The room echoed with shrieks of excitement, friends calling out for one another, and people selling their wares. It was like an enormous medieval market, with blacksmiths, cobblers, and jousting knights except for one thing: this place was for the nerds.

Lillian was not one to lie to herself; she was a major nerd. From a young age, comic books and fantasy epics had been her thing, and it never went away with age. Now, at 22 years old, Lillian Bailey was a published fantasy novelist who wore a shirt with the Gallifreyan word for Kryptonite on it and was over the moon to be invited to a comic con. She had been to tons of these conventions and hadn’t felt this nervous since her very first one. However, she supposed, this was her first one in a way. It was her first one coming as an author, rather than a reader.

So, this enormous room chock full of comic book and movie crazed people should have been home. Unfortunately, today was a very special day.

She tugged on her lucky gray sweater and looked around the room again. Seeing no one she knew, and feeling the panic rise up inside of her, Lillian pulled her phone out of her brown messenger bag and called her publisher, Maeve Collins.

“Yeah?” Maeve said on the first ring, her trademark gum snapping in her jaws over the phone.

“I have no clue where I’m supposed to be right now,” Lillian said, her voice speeding up like it always did when she was nervous, “And there are like, five bajillion people here right now when I’d really rather it be five. Or none, now that I think about it.”

“Right uh, where are you?” Maeve asked, and Lillian could hear keyboards clacking on the publisher’s side.

“ I just walked in the entrance, I’m standing inside the door.”

“Ok, look to your… left,” Lillian hummed her agreement, “Now, do you see a door with a yellow sign on it?”

“Yeah,” Lillian caught sight of a flash of yellow and headed that way.

“Ok, that sign should say ‘author entrance.’ Go in there, there’ll some like, techies, or whatever to get to ready for the panel. Just, hang out back there if you want to, but I’m pretty sure you can look around too. Who knows, you might find some fans.”

Lillian scoffed at this. She had told Maeve countless times since she was invited to the con that there wouldn’t be any actual fans of hers here.

She hung up and found the door, where she flashed her ID at the guard who let her slip past him.

Inside was what appeared to be some sort of green room. She didn’t recognize any of the dozen people there, which meant this must be the place for the lesser-known authors. As Maeve had said, some teenagers in mostly black clothing ran up to her and handed her a packet about where she was supposed to be and when. They explained that while she was required to show up in an hour to get ready for the panel, until then she could go anywhere in the building her badge gave her access to. She was not allowed to sign anything until after the panel, although she could take selfies. As if anyone would want to do either of those with her.

Lillian grabbed a coffee to settle her nerves (not the smartest choice) and a muffin. She ate her food and drank her coffee, which only gave her the jitters, before giving in to the urge to move around. Despite her fear of the hordes of fangirls outside, the nervous silence inside the green room and the knowledge that at least she had once been one of the fans urged her back out the door.

People were everywhere. The place was crawling with teenagers especially, and Lillian couldn’t remember when this had felt like fun to her. Sure, she still liked the same stuff, but it was all so overwhelming. She couldn’t see over anyone’s headed, there were stands and crowds everywhere, and it was all so much more hectic than she remembered.

Eventually, she settled on heading over to a stand holding all of the newest comic books, hoping to get the latest Harly Quinn she missed.

Suddenly, Lillian heard the telltale high pitched screeches and “OMG!”s that came with a famous person showing their face. She spun around towards the ruckus, hear braid accidentally slapping her face, and saw three girls pointing right behind her. She searched over her shoulder, but couldn’t see anything but confused faces just like hers. As she continued looking for the supposed celebrity, Lillian felt a tap on her shoulder. It was one of the previously screaming girls, all of whom had come up and crowded behind her.

“Hi, uh, are you Lillian Bailey?” one of the girls asked.

“Um, yeah. How do you know me?” Lillian was very confused, especially considering these girls had been freaking out over a still unidentified celebrity only moments before.

“You wrote ‘Out of the Ashes,’ right?”

“You’ve read my book?” Could these girls be excited over… her?

“OMG, it was you! Didn’t I tell you, Kristy? Yes, I’ve read your book, it’s just my favorite book ever! It’s got adventure, magic, war, and finally some good representation of an LGBTQ character!”

“Holy cow!” Lillian exclaimed. She was overwhelmed, but this time in a good way, “I’m so happy you liked it! That was exactly the way I wanted people to perceive it! Also, you really think it was good? I tried not to make Alex too stereotypical, but also make it accurate.”

“Are you kidding me?” the same girl asked, “It was amazing! I also can’t believe you were so young when you wrote it! Oh, right, uh, manners. I’m Courtney, this is Kristy,” she gestured to the girl on her left, “and that’s Lyla,” she pointed to the girl on the other side of Kristy, “and we’re all super huge fans of yours. We started this book club in our school reading your book, and one of the main reasons we came today is because we heard you were speaking. Wait, is that weird? It feels a little weird to tell you that.” Courtney blushed when she finished, but Lillian was so flattered she barely noticed. And, if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was to fangirl.

“Thank you so much, that means so much to me!” she said, “And no, it’s not weird. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve been in your shoes countless times. Meeting someone who wrote a book that important to you, wow, by the way, is always crazy. It always feels like you really know the author already, because we pour our hearts and souls into our books. Listen, I can’t sign anything right now, but I would love to talk a selfie with you. Maybe I could hold up the book in the picture? I’ve got a copy here.” she pulled her copy, the second one ever made (the first didn’t leave her house) out of her messenger bag.

The girls squealed and nodded their heads. Courtney pulled out her phone and they all crowded around Lillian. Courtney took what must have been a hundred photos before they all thanked her profusely and rushed off, leaving Lillian in their dust.

She found an empty corner of the room and slumped against the wall, putting a hand to her forehead.

People, actual people, liked her writing. Liked it as much as she had liked Harry Potter or the Lord of the Rings. How in the world was that possible? Three years ago she had been Courtney, rushing around with her friends, looking for their favorite writers, but now she was the writer. This had always been her goal, not even to be known, just for people to find something in her writing.

Lillian had always acted like she believed in herself, convinced others that she did, but she never quite thought she would get right here, right now. And she did it. She finally, finally did it. Lillian Bailey, once a teenage girl who loved Doctor Who and The Hobbit, was a published author with people who like her writing. Loved it, actually.

If there was anything more incredible than getting right where she was today, shaking with caffeine and nerves, face flushed and brow sweating, heart beating like the drums of the monsters in her story, Lillian had no clue what it was.

@deano-cas @gender-snatched @queven @themoosegoes-deanicandothis

[svankmajerbaby]

i was tagged by @punkenglishnerd - thank you very much, and i’m sorry for being so late!!!

🎃 Pumpkin: Favourite season? spring, because it’s my birthday... and usually the first days of spring are rainy, but then it’s sunny and not very hot yet, so i can dress in layers but i can still bask in the sunshine. i really like autumn too, because while at first it’s too hot to do anything, when it starts to cool down it’s a delight

👻 Ghost: Do you get scared easily? it really depends... for some reason gore doesn’t faze me much, and i’ve become kind of desensitized to a lot of typical horror stuff. but i’m terrified of r*pe scenes, they leave me very nervous and in general a lot of realistic horror, like abuse, torture and the like, gets me very anxious and stressed... i don’t know if i’d call that fear exactly, but if it does, then yeah, i’m a scaredy cat :^/

🎃 Candy Corn: What’s your favourite kind of candy? dark chocolate!! i love really bitter chocolate, or chocolate covered peanuts -that’s what i used to ask for when i went out with my family to the cinema

👻 Vampire: What is your favourite supernatural creature? any sort of manmade creature!!! i really like automata, frankenstein monsters, golems, creepy dolls... but i also love the concept and the symbolism of ghosts and haunted houses......

🎃 Witch: If you could have any superpower, what would it be? i really don’t know... there’s so much i’d like to do... i’d love to be able to speak any language, but i think it’s not really a superpower? since this is halloween themed, i’d have to say telekinesis (matilda was one of my favorite childhood books) and being able to shrink. i’d love to be small as a mouse and wander around the house

👻 Trick or treat: What was your favourite Halloween costume? i dressed as a witch several times!! we don’t celebrate halloween here in argentina, but still there were some birthdays or club parties which were kind of a replacement halloween celebration?? once i went as candy-skull-frida kahlo, and i still think that was my most complex costume... but i really loved dressing up as a witch when i was little, with my green and black striped socks and my witch hat and my long sleeved black top >:^)

🎃 Black cat: Are you superstitious? nah

👻 Ouija Board: If you could change your name, what would you change it to? i used to hate my name casandra, because everyone was called camila or martina or daniela or more “normal” names, and i thought mine was weird... but i still wanted to stand out, so i pretended my second name was miranda, for some reason?? and for some time i was convinced i should change my name to miranda. but after a few years ive grown to like my name, even if i think it does sound kinda pretentious (my parents gave it to me, so its not my fault!!). i’ve also grown to like the other name they would have given me, bruna, which at first i hated but now i kinda love?? maybe i’d change it to that. but i like my name, currently

🎃 Graveyard: Do you know any good scary stories? hmmm the only one that’s like, a scary story, is one i was obsessed with, that was in a book at my school library -i think it’s pretty well known -about the girl with the green ribbon tied around her neck, who has a boyfriend that asks her why she wears it, and she doesn’t say, until she’s in her deathbed and she tells him he can take her ribbon off and he does and the girl’s head falls off. that story lived in my head 24/7, along with actual short stories like the black cat, the telltale heart, the oval portrait, the masque of the red death... i considered metamorphosis by franz kafka a horror story, too, so i guess i’ll add it here. oh, i know!!!!!! one that i think a lot of people don’t know about. the feather pillow, by horacio quiroga. a young couple move to the countryside, and while the husband is away at work, the woman stay at home all the time. the woman falls ill, and the doctor tells her to stay in bed and rest. she gets worse and worse, and withers away. her husband worries but doesn’t know what is going on. the woman finally dies, and when the maid is about to clean the sheets, she notices that the pillow is extremely heavy. and then -she and the husband and the doctor realize -there was a tick, a blood-sucking bug inside the pillow, a typical goose tick that, when given time, can drain a whole person of all their blood it’s better the way the author wrote it, i think i’m selling it short

👻 Skeleton: Have you ever broken a bone? no, i never did anything that could lead to that {:^) when i was younger i climbed trees and played in parks and stuff, but i never played any sports that could make me break a bone... i did break my knee or something?? i can’t remember, but my knee was sort of displaced during a school camping trip in which i got out of the shower and slipped badly

🎃 Werewolf: What is your favourite urban legend? oooooo there’s a bunch from the local high-class cemetery, the Recoleta Cemetery (though i can’t remember any of them very well), where there’s a lot of great urban legends, most of them from the nineteenth or early twentieth century, like one of two star crossed lovers -a young woman who fell for a french soldier visiting argentina -and when he died in the battlefield, she died as well and haunts her grave ever since... or, well, the famous ones like whatever happened to evita’s corpse, which is kind of squicky but still sort of morbidly fascinating??

👻 Horror flick: Do you like scary movies? Boy Do I. i love frankenstein (1931), crimson peak (2015), corpse bride (2005), blood tea and red string (2006), cat people (1942), abominable dr phibes (1970), gaslight (1944), institute benjamenta (1995), little otik (2000), little shop of horrors (1986), picnic at hanging rock (1975), carrie (2013), a girl walks home alone at night (2014), the magic toyshop (1987), faust (1926), mildred pierce (1945), the devil’s backbone (2001), sleepy hollow (1999), the raven (1963), the fly (1958), cronos (1993), the man who laughs (1928), the babadook (2014), whatever happened to baby jane (1962), the cabinet of dr caligari (1920), aaaaand.... the night of the hunter (1955)

🎃 Haunted house: Would you prefer to live in the city or the country? city all the way. i need cinemas, and libraries, and theaters!!!!

👻 Zombie: Do you think that you could survive a zombie apocalypse? oh, no... i’d probably try to kill myself so i can keep myself from being bitten and hurting other people

🎃 Cauldron: What kind of potion would you make if you had the opportunity? some sort of health potion? i wish people didn’t die of perfectly preventable or curable diseases...

👻 Full moon: Do you prefer nighttime or daytime? daytime, particularly the afternoon

🎃 Corn maze:  What is your favourite autumn activity? eating, basically; last autumn i spent it baking, i think. i can’t remember, by this point... we don’t have any particular “autumn traditions”, i think...

👻 Broomstick: What exciting places have you travelled to? i really enjoyed istanbul, with all the cats and the beautiful architecture, i’d like to go back ;_; but i also loved prague a lot, we went in winter and it was all snowy and lit at night and it was such a beautiful place... portugal was a surprise, i liked it a lot more than i expected!!! i miss edinburgh a lot, too, even if it’s a bit too stuffy for me, i still liked it.... and berlin, i think i was in berlin for too short a time. i loved the cinema museum so much, and everyone was so nice, and the city has so much fascinating history... and i also miss athens -again, i was surprised, and i spent very little time there, but everything, the ruins, the modern city, the people, everything was gorgeous and wonderful... and dublin!!!!! dublin was amazing!! i’ve travelled a lot. i want to keep travelling. this year my family and i were supposed to go to russia, and i’m still kinda eager to go.

thank you so much for tagging me!!!!!! and sorry again for taking so long... i’m tagging (only if you want to do it!) @saumenschliesel, @flowerb-0y, @jacobaco, @majorabbey, @thatqueerweirdo, @sbongebob, @buffoello, and whoever else would like to do it!! i really enjoyed answering these asks :^)

[blueiscoool]

The Vatican Issues a Street Art Stamp and Gets Sued

One night in early 2019, Rome street artist Alessia Babrow glued a stylized image of Christ she had made onto a bridge near the Vatican. A year later, she was shocked to learn that the Vatican had apparently used a reproduction of her image, which featured her hallmark heart emblazoned across Christ’s chest, as its 2020 Easter postage stamp.

Babrow sued the Vatican City State’s telecommunications office in a Rome court last month, alleging it was wrongfully profiting off her creativity and was violating the original intent of her artwork. The lawsuit, which is seeking nearly 130,000 euros in damages, said the Vatican never responded officially to Babrow’s attempts to negotiate a settlement after she discovered it had used her image without her consent and then allegedly sold it.

“I couldn’t believe it. I honestly thought it was a joke,” Babrow told The Associated Press in an interview, steps from St. Peter’s Square. “The real shock was that you don’t expect certain things from certain organizations.”  The Vatican is home to some of the greatest artworks ever made, and it vigorously protects its right to reproduce them by enforcing its copyright over everything from the Sistine Chapel to Michelangelo’s Pieta. But now the tables have turned, and the Vatican stands accused of violating the intellectual property rights of a street artist.

Copyright lawyers familiar with the case say it is an important benchmark for Italy and evidence of the increasing appreciation for Banksy-style street art and the belief that even anonymous “guerrilla art” deserves protection against unauthorized corporate merchandising. Or, in this case, church merchandising.

Massimo Sterpi, whose Rome firm has represented Banksy’s Pest Control agency in copyright cases, said intellectual property law in much of Europe and the U.S. protects artists’ rights even if the artwork was created on public or private property illegally.

“The law considers it irrelevant if the work is made on paper, canvas or a wall or a bridge,” Sterpi said. People who then commercialize the work without making good-faith efforts to find the artist and negotiate use of the image “do so at their own risk and peril,” he said.

The Vatican stamp office declined to comment on the lawsuit, said the stamp office chief, Massimo Olivieri. The Vatican press office also declined requests for comment.

The artwork in question is a 35-centimeter-high printed picture of Christ styled on the famous work by the 19th-century German painter Heinrich Hoffmann. On Christ’s torso is Babrow’s telltale tag: An image of a human heart with the words “JUST USE IT” written graffiti-style across.

The work is part of Babrow’s “Just Use It” project, which began in 2013 and has included similar hearts on Buddhas, the Hindu deity Ganesha and the Virgin Mary that can be found on walls, stairwells and bridges around Rome, as well as on a huge version gracing a palazzo scaffolding.

The concept of the project, Babrow says, is to “promote the intelligence and the brain of the heart” in a holistic, non-judgmental way. Lawyer Mauro Lanfranconi argued in the lawsuit that by appropriating the image to promote the Catholic Church, the Vatican “irrevocably distorted” Babrow’s artistic intent and message that there are no universal truths.

Babrow says she created the Christ image on Feb. 19, 2019, and glued it soon thereafter onto a travertine marble wall just off the main bridge that leads to the Vatican, one of a dozen or so pieces of poster art she put up that night around central Rome. The work bears her scripted initials inside the heart.

She found out it had been used as the Vatican stamp when a well-known Rome street art photographer saw it and immediately recognized it as Babrow’s handiwork.

Olivieri, the Vatican’s numismatic chief, has told an Italian journalist that he took a photo of the Christ when he saw it while riding his moped one day and decided to use the image for the Easter stamp in an apparent attempt to appeal to a new generation of stamp enthusiasts.

In comments reported by the journalist in the online arts blog “Artslife.com,” Olivieri said he feared the Holy See higher-ups might resist using a hip, graffiti-style stamp for Easter. Normally the Vatican might select an Old Master to reproduce from the Vatican Museums.

“Instead, the acceptance was immediate and convinced,” Olivieri was quoted as saying.

The Vatican printed an initial 80,000 stamps of the Christ at 1.15 euros apiece, according to the lawsuit. The stamps and a commemorative folder were still on sale at the Vatican post office last week and were prominently featured at the cashier’s desk as a promotional item for sale.

Babrow’s lawyers sent a registered letter and an email to the philatelic and numismatic office identifying Babrow as the artist, the lawsuit says, but there was no written response to her request to negotiate terms of use, prompting her to sue.

“I thought they were acting in good faith, that it was true they were looking for me, like had been written in the papers,” she said. “Only it seems it wasn’t that way because they never wanted to meet with me.”

Babrow stressed that the lawsuit wasn’t an attack on the Catholic Church or Vatican, but rather an attempt to protect her rights and make sure her artwork wasn’t being used to finance things outside her control.

Copyright lawyers said the Vatican’s status as a sovereign state likely wouldn’t protect it from an Italian court’s jurisdiction, given the commercial activity occurred in Italy.

The case is somewhat surprising, given the Vatican is well-versed in intellectual property rights and has shown its eagerness to protect its own copyright over everything from the pope’s words to its vast art collections.

Years ago, the Vatican’s publishing house demanded royalties from journalists who wrote books reprinting Pope Benedict XVI’s homilies. The Vatican Museums has long required media covering news events in the museum to agree to turn over the copyright of their images, lest anyone try to reproduce a Raphael without the pope’s authorization.

Enrico Bonadio, professor of intellectual property law at the University of London’s City Law School, said street artists can use those same protections for their own creations.

“The law does not discriminate,” Bonadio said in a phone interview. “Copyright laws do not subject the protection of an artwork to the fact that it is in a gallery or a museum.”

By Nicole Winfield.

[cyborg-squid]

Fanservant: Berserker Edgar Allen Poe

While able to be summoned into the Caster class like many author Servants, the Grail found the Berserker class a better fit for famed horror writer Edgar Allen Poe, given both his many stories about madness and grief, and the lies spread about him after his death. 

Skill 1: Innocent Monster A. This skill is similar to that of both Hans and Salieri, sharing a similarity with Hans due to the fact that audience’s perceptions of the author were shaped by the stories he wrote. Reading the macabre tales of Poe gave rise to the idea that the author was a depressed, and in some cases, unhinged man who had suffered many tragedies in his life. While his life was filled with it’s share of hardships, he was hardly the miserable figure he is often made out to be. This image of him was also widely spread after his death, as one of his literary rivals got a hold of his estate and published slanderous rumors that he was a drunk and a druggie and a creep and insane and more. Poe did struggle with drink, and the causes of his death are widely debated, but he was hardly all of the things Griswold accused him of being. Nonetheless, these rumors persisted for a long time after his death and have influenced his manifestation as a Servant. The Raven is Poe’s most well known work, and for some reason due to this, this skill also grants him a pair of dark feathered wings.

These rumors around him also tie into his class skill of Madness Enhancement C, along with the precarious mental states featured in his works. It is not hard for a Master to get along with this Berserker, but he rarely speaks clearly and his abilities are complex, making it hard for a Master to make proper use of him. 

However, he does gain moments of lucidity when he makes use of his Deductive Reasoning B skill. While not an actual detective (though he deliberately got himself kicked out of West Point), he is regarded as the father of modern detective stories. While this skill is active, Berserker does not regard himself as Poe or even Berserker, instead referring to himself as ‘Dupin’, his detective character featuring in stories like ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’. A logical and rational attitude is adopted, albeit with an overblown manner of speaking similar to that of his normally altered personality, and conversation and planning with his Master is possible. Traps are able to be lain, or solved, and mysteries unraveled. The skill would be of a higher rank if he was summoned into the Caster class. 

Berserker possess two Noble Phantasms, which work together in a peculiar but devastating way. The first is The Telltale Heart, the still beating heart of the murdered landlord in the story which drove the protagonist to madness out of guilt and fear. Berserker buries the heart beneath the ground, and slowly over time, the radius of the Noble Phantasm expands, subtly twisting the world around it. The landscape begins to take on a sinister affect, inspiring a sense of fear within those inside. Scenes from his stories gradually creep in as well, and the area is made to be more dangerous and potentially lethal... leading to his second Noble Phantasm, The Imp of the Perverse. An anti-Psyche Noble Phantasm, the Imp of the Perverse affects his opponents minds, tempting them to act on their worst desires, to turn on their companions using the methods provided by the landscape of the Telltale Heart. While for sinful and wicked folk, like most typical Mages, it does not take much to get them to act their worst, but while affected by these Noble Phantasms, an out-of-character feeling of guilt and fear takes hold of them, as they begin to irrationally fear that their crimes will be exposed. Their hearts begin to pound louder and louder, representative of their growing feelings of guilt. Poe hears the beating of these telltale hearts and tracks down the guilt, receiving a boost to his stats when attacking them, intent on ripping out and exposing their sinful hearts. Virtuous heroes and Masters, able to resist the dark temptations of the Imp, stand a better chance at facing Berserker and searching for the Heart, though not without impediment, for Berserker will take their infallibility as indicative of deeper and darker sins, and will come after them with vigor. 

[twdteacakes]

TWDG Drabble - Take a Break

A/N - A close friend requested that I do 20 and 30 from TWDG Mix and Match Challenge (Created by @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale). So here it is, for your viewing pleasure. This takes place after Minerva and Sophie go missing, but before Clementine arrives at the school. And just a quick FYI, Marlon is one of my favourite characters in Season 4, but this is the first time I’ve ever wrote him in a story, so I hope it turned out alright.

Marlon is sick but refuses to let it keep him in bed.

The papers on Marlon’s desk looked like complete and utter gibberish. He had been staring blankly at the school map and inventory list for the past hour. Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead, causing matted blonde locks to stick to his skin. He felt like he was being burned alive, while also being dunk in a tub of freezing cold ice. 

Marlon slumped back in his chair, a dull moan escaping his lips as he rubbed his sore temple and bloodshot eyes. He had been suffering from insomnia, and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. To add insult to injury, the boy’s head throbbed mercilessly, almost resembling a power drill being pushed deep into his skull.

Rosie whined and licked his free hand, which was hanging lazily within her reach. This action coaxed a shy smile out of hiding, and Marlon pushed aside the fatigue, in order to gently pet his loving, faithful companion on the head. 

“I’m alright, girl.” He whispered, ruffling her short, bristly fur and scratching behind her ear. “I just… I just need a minute, is all.”

An ear piercing noise ruptured through the air, leading Marlon’s splitting headache to intensify. He began to grind his teeth in frustration, and curled his fist into a tight ball. “Goddammit.” He grumbled, heaving himself off the comfy, leather chair, and rising unsteadily to his feet. Louis’ routine piano session couldn’t arrive at a worse time. 

Marlon exited the headmaster’s office, and Rosie followed close behind. However, the minute sound of the heavy door scraping against the wooden floor was almost too much for him to bear. At least his own footsteps were softened by the carpeted stairs as he descended, and ventured over to the music room.

Louis was inside, occupying his usual spot at the piano, and playing his latest, self proclaimed ‘masterpiece’. He watched his best friend for a moment, before calling out to him. “Lou.”

He was too transfixed to notice Marlon’s presence, so he tried again, with a little more volume. “Louis!”

Still no reaction from the amateur musician. 

Marlon grunted, his broken patience now scattered to the wind. “LOUIS!” He shouted at the top of his lungs.

Louis flinched and immediately retracted his hands from the ivory keys. “Whoa, hey there, bud.” He greeted, in a rather nonchalant manner, despite being momentarily startled. The amateur musician’s eyes wearily drifted up and down Marlon’s physique, before he continued speaking. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”   

“Could you knock it off, please? I really need some peace and quiet.” Marlon half commanded and half begged - the authority slipping from his desperate tone. 

“...Sure thing, man.” He agreed. Louis then eyed Marlon once more, and traces of concern flitted across his previously relaxed expression. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you look like you’re at death’s door.” He quipped.

“Funny.” Marlon responded, but no laugh came.

“No, but seriously, man, you don’t look well at all. Why don’t you take a break, have a nap or something- go see Ruby, maybe she can help.”

“Lou, I’m fine, really.” The leader insisted, whilst mopping the sweat from his brow. “Besides, even if I wanted to take a break, it’s not like I could. This place won’t run itself.”

“I’m sure somebody could cover for you.” 

“Ha, that’s a good one.” Marlon muttered, a small chuckle mixed into his sentence.

“...It wasn’t a joke.” Louis stated, the worry on his face deepening. “Come on, man, at least take five minutes off.”

Five minutes doesn’t sound too bad… He thought. No. I can’t. I have too much work to do. “Nah, I should be heading back. Thanks though, for stopping. You can play for twice as long tomorrow, if you want.”

“Hey, no problem. Shout me if you need anything, okay?” 

Marlon nodded as he retreated through the doorway. “Will do.”

The trip back to the office was relatively peaceful. He was still plagued by a dull, constant headache, but hopefully the now quiet atmosphere would allow it to ease off. He entered his work space, and shut the door - his spirits held high.

...And was immediately hit by an intense wave of nausea. His only capability in that moment, was keeling over on the floor, and hurling up his last meal into the nearest trash can.

Rosie whimpered and nuzzled against Marlon as he knelt, heaving and coughing. Finally, after emptying his stomach, he climbed to his feet and wiped the puke from his mouth. He glanced down at his reliable dog, unable to feign even the weakest of smiles. “Well… Back to work.” He stated, the helplessness of his situation creeping to the forefront of his mind. 

Come on, Marlon… You can do it… Just power through the pain. He encouraged himself, as he edged over to his desk and tethered himself to that all too familiar chair. 

Power. Through. The. Pain. 

[something-tofightfor]

Tonight - Part 1

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader (first person POV)

Word Count: 3,375

Rating: R/NSFW **steamy** (language, sex, drugs, drinking, sliiiiiiiiiiiiiight BDSM themes)

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of drug use, drinking

Summary: You’ve been friends (and with some benefits) with Logan Delos for a few months, but can you continue to watch him self destruct, or will you finally hit your breaking point? 

Author’s Note: I figured that the first time I wrote for Logan, it’s gotta be a “go big or go home” moment... so here we go. This will be a two part piece; this part is pretty tame, but honestly, the second part is likely gonna be straight Logan Delos filth. I spent a week and a half writing Ryan Brenner without any sex, and I needed to switch gears to get my mind back to Billy. (Roundabout way, I know... but whatever.) I hope that the POV isn’t too jarring, but it’s something I wanted to experiment with - and who better than my favorite #blackhat? 

*** This comes from an unofficial request from @ooo-barff-ooo ***

I’d never seen Logan quite like this before, wound up and yet still completely sober. He’d answered the door for me, barely looking into my eyes as he waved me into his house - an obnoxiously large mansion overlooking Golden Cove in Rancho Palos Verdes. “Logan, what -”

  “Come in. I’m getting ready to go out.” Why’d you call me here then?” I followed him up the stairs, shaking my head as I heard him muttering something under his breath. “I just wanted to have you here as proof.”

 “Proof of what?” He’d gone into his bedroom, disappearing into his closet and I walked over the windows overlooking the ocean, crossing my arms as I stared out at the waves. I’d been in Logan’s bedroom plenty of times, but never like this, in the light of day when both of us were coherent. “Logan, you just got back, what’s going on?” He cleared his throat and I turned around, breath catching as I watched him pulling a dark dress shirt on, his long fingers smoothing the fabric down, but not tucking it into his pants. Looks expensive. I watched in silence as he buttoned it, leaving the top few undone - just a glimpse of the perfect skin visible beneath it, and then Logan began to methodically roll up his sleeves, head tilted down. “Logan, I’m not going to ask you again. Why am I here?” He finished with the sleeves, leaving them just below his elbows, which exposed his muscled forearms… and hid the marks that I knew were likely there in the crook of his elbow, marring his otherwise flawless skin.

 “I told you, as proof.” He stepped forward again, finally looking at me and I saw the worry in his eyes, the pain. “I needed you to to come here so that when I inevitably tell my father whatever story I tell him about why I got so fucked up tonight, I can also tell him that you tried to stop me. Fuel the fire, right? Perpetuate that I’m so much of a fuckup even you couldn’t keep me from making a fool of myself?” Why would I be able to stop you? He winked at me, but it wasn’t Logan’s typical wink, and I sighed deeply, my eyes moving over him from head to toe.

 “You gonna go out and get high, Logan?” I couldn’t keep the sadness out of my voice, the disappointment. “Gonna go out and get high and spend the night fucking some woman that you won’t remember in the morning?” He was close now, close enough so that I could smell his cologne -  Eros, if I remembered correctly - and see the lines next to his eyes, see just how tired he truly was. “What happened, Logan, you were fine the last time I saw you.” He licked his lips, staring into my eyes, but then shook his head, sneering.

 “Why do you care if I go out and fuck someone tonight?” He shook his head. “You said it yourself, I won’t remember it in the morning, so what does it matter?” My hand reached out, closing around his forearm just beneath the cuff of his sleeve and Logan looked down in surprise. “You never touch me, not unless…” He looked back at me, confusion in his eyes and I smiled sadly, squeezing his arm. He was right, I made it a point not to touch him unless we’d both been drinking and things had progressed to the point of no return between us, but he thought it was because I couldn’t stand the thought of him otherwise. The truth was that I had to keep myself out of his proximity when I was thinking clearly because I knew that there was only so much I could take, and the feeling of my hands on him - or his on me - while sober would have been too much.

 “Logan.” I lowered my gaze, using my fingers to push his sleeve up, exposing the inside of his elbow and felt my heart sink. “Logan, what happened?” There was a single divot in his skin, a red mark surrounded by a faded bruise the size of a thumbprint. “This is a few days old, Delos.” My voice was soft and I shook my head. “Don’t add another one tonight.” Please. I raised my eyes again, looking at him. “Talk to me, Logan. We’re still friends, right?” His eyes flashed in the remaining sunlight that was streaming in through the window and for one moment, I thought I’d gotten through to him. One single moment, and then he tore his arm out of my grasp, stepping even closer to me.

 “What does it matter?” His voice was quiet but forceful, and I could hear the anger in it. “You know me so well, everyone does. I’m just Logan Delos, the fuck up of the family. They said as much at the board meeting today. Fucking William and my father already have zero faith in me, so why not go out and do what I’m good at? At least I’ll make someone happy tonight.” It won’t be you.

 “Log-” He cut me off, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair, knocking he dark strands out of place so that they fell messily over his eyes.

 “You’ve already decided that I’m not worth it, too.” What? He shrugged his shoulders. “So who cares if I go out and fuck something and make myself feel better? Who cares if I stick a needle in my arm? I’ve done it before and no one batted an eye.”

 “Logan, this isn’t fucking Westworld. You can’t just go out and drink and fuck and get high without any repercussions.” I reached out for him again, this time going against my better judgement and putting a hand to the side of his face - the first time I’d ever done so out of bed. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about you.”  He laughed, closing his eyes and then his tongue was out again, wetting his lips. “You’re sober now, right?” He nodded. “And you have been since…” I glanced down at his arm and then back at his face and he nodded again. “Then don’t go. Don’t put yourself through that shit. Stay here.” I took a deep breath. “Stay with me tonight, Logan.” He sucked a breath in, eyes widening.

 “What do you mean?” He tilted his head to the side, waiting for me to answer him and for long seconds, all I could do was stare, my hand falling away from his face and back to my side. There was a line that I was determined not to cross with Logan, and I was standing just behind it, toeing it, testing it. If I didn’t come clean, he’d go out again, meet some woman or man at a bar and go home with them, hitting up one of his suppliers on the way. He’d wake up tomorrow with a fresh mark in his arm and the telltale signs of being thoroughly fucked, but have no clue where he’d been or who he was with. If I did tell him what I really wanted, there was a chance he’d laugh, that he wouldn’t believe me, that he’d turn me down and tell me to get out of his house and still go out and repeat his self-destructive cycle.

 That had been why I’d started sleeping with Logan in the first place, to keep him from making bad decision after bad decision, going home with people that didn’t care about him, that wanted something from him, that enabled him. We’d been friends for a while, and he was flirty with me, but that’s just how Logan was; I had a pulse, so he was interested by default, and it got increasingly apparent when he was using drugs or alcohol. But early on, I’d realized just how Logan really made me feel, and knew that as long as I could use the excuse that the alcohol had fueled our hookups, that I’d never acted on my actual feelings, I’d be fine. I was very wrong.

 The first time he’d taken me to bed, we’d both been drunk after a Delos function. I’d intercepted him on his way out the door with some bleached blonde, running my fingers down his arm and telling him that I thought we could have some fun, if he wanted. He’d been gone the next morning when I woke up, and I hadn’t heard from him for a week. When we finally talked about it, we agreed that we wouldn’t speak of it again, that it was a one time thing. It wasn’t. Logan and I would drink with friends and then end up at one of our places. We’d go out separately, and then one of us would send a text to the other, ending up together at the end of the night. The flirting when he was sober changed but didn’t stop entirely - he wasn’t trying to get into my pants anymore because he already had.

 Seven months of back and forth between Logan and I had ensued, and I’d had enough, telling him that I couldn’t hook up with him anymore, that I didn’t want to be his go-to after drinking too much, or deciding that he was too high to go home with a stranger. I was done with that, and had been simply trying to protect myself by cutting him off in that respect, but now I was thinking that it hadn’t been the right call. I hadn’t wanted to see him like that, to watch him in such obvious anguish, unable to vocalize what I wanted to. Fuck my feelings, I guess. We had a delicate balance, tenuous friendship, but I knew that this particular night was going to change things one way or the other even before I’d asked him to stay.

 “I mean… don’t go out. Don’t… choose someone else.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Logan, I.... we’re friends.” He rolled his eyes, signaling with his hand for me to continue. “Don’t make me say it, Logan. You’re not dumb.” His eyes were locked on mine, but he was silent. Silent Logan wasn’t something that I was used to, but I took it as a positive sign. He’s listening. “I want…you, Logan. Not drunk Logan, not high Logan. I’ve had that before.” I took a deep breath. “Don’t go. Don’t do that to yourself. You’re better than that, more than that. I see it, and you should too.” He frowned, hs eyes narrowing but he didn’t move.

 “You’ve never wanted… never said... “ He opened his mouth, blinking at me. “It’s always been when we’re... “ Yes. It has been.  “I didn’t know.” His eyes widened further, Logan’s head shaking back and forth as his fingers raked through his hair, pushing it back into place. The light had changed in the room, shadows crossing his face. “I swear I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have...” He stepped forward, breathing hard, his hand reaching out for my arm but stopping just short, hanging in the air between us. He didn’t say anything else for a long time, just stared at me, and I felt myself deflate. That’s all I’m going to get. I lowered my head, bringing a hand up to the bridge of my nose and then took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders before looking at him again.

 “I’m gonna go, Logan. I… I shouldn’t have said anything.” With a forced smile, I nodded at him. “I guess… call me if you need anything, just let me know you’re OK, please?” Moving to the side, I took a few steps toward the door before I felt Logan’s fingers wrap around my wrist, freezing me in place. What?

 “No.” I stopped, turning to look at Logan over my shoulder. He had a different look in his eyes, one that I couldn’t read fully. “Nope.” Logan stepped forward as I turned around. He was quiet as he moved toward me, his other hand coming up to my jaw, fingers spread out against the side of my throat as he pulled me closer to him with the ones wrapped around my wrist. Teeth bared in a smile that made his nose crinkle at the corners, Logan closed the distance between our mouths, barely brushing his lips against mine before moving them to my ear, taking the lobe into his mouth for a few seconds and sucking. “Tonight, you are mine.”

 I gasped and heard him laugh again, but then he was kissing me, fingers tightening on the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I knew that it was a mistake, that I’d more than likely regret opening my mouth and saying anything, but in that moment, I didn’t care. Logan tasted like mouthwash, unlike the previous times I’d kissed him when it had been all whiskey or bourbon, and I sighed into his mouth. He pulled away, looking at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Logan, I -”

 “Oh no. You wanted me to stay here with you tonight, and the way that you just kissed me tells me exactly what you want that to include.” His tongue moved over his lower lip again and a slow circle of his hips against mine proved that he wanted the same thing. “You’ll be the first live woman I’ve fucked sober in years.” He nipped at my skin, mouth moving against my jaw. “How do you want me, hmm?” He paused, lips moving closer to my ear. “You tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.” His hand trailed up my arm, tugging on the edges of my sleeve. “I think, though, that we’re both overdressed.” He stepped away, raising an eyebrow . “What are we going to do about that?”

 Emboldened by his words and the way he was looking at me - eyes dark, lips parted  with his thumbs tucked into the waistband of his pants - I shrugged my shoulders. “I donno, Delos. What are you gonna do about it?” He stood still for a few seconds and I drew in a breath, but then Logan stalked forward again, hands settling on my hips as he pushed me backward toward the bed, hair falling in his eyes once again.

 “What we’re gonna do, darlin’,” he started, even as I reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it quickly. “We’re gonna do this like we should have been for these last seven months.” What? There’s no way… Should have been? “You want me?” I nodded, fingers pushing beneath the soft material of his shirt, pressing against his skin. “You want all of me?”  I nodded again, not even noticing that he was easing my shirt up my body until he had it up to my chest and I had to lift my arms to allow him to remove it. “You sure you can handle that?” No. Not if the stories are true. I nodded my head, noticing that Logan was staring at me in a way he never had before, his eyes clear and focused. “Tell me if it’s too much.” He was smirking,  but he shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor behind him. “You know what I want?” I shook my head, eyes roaming over his bare, broad chest, working down toward the line of dark hair beneath his navel. “I want you to be honest with yourself, and with me.” Logan stepped closer, his hand coming up to the base of my throat, a single fingertip against my skin as he moved it downward, catching on the center of my bra for a moment before it continued, joined by  a second finger as he reached my abdomen. “Because I’m gonna be real honest with you.”

  “Logan, what?” He shook his head, eyes cast downward, watching his fingers, which were now  stroking against the skin of my stomach, his other hand pressed flat against the small of my back, right above my waistband. “What do you mean?”  He took a deep breath and then spoke again, voice low and thick.

 “I want this too.” He sighed, looking back at me and all of the bravado was gone, Logan left  looking vulnerable and young as he stood almost completely still. “I just want to be treated like…” Oh, Logan. “You always treat me like I matter, even when I’m… “ He shook his head again, taking a deep breath. “Don’t stop that, please.” Heart pounding, I paused for a moment before responding to Logan in a way that I knew he’d appreciate.

 “Hey, Logan?” I raised a hand, running my fingers through his hair, pulling on the ends, which resulted in a quiet groan from him, a sound that I knew I’d never forget, even if I never heard it again. “I thought you’re supposed to be the one making me say ‘don’t stop”. It only took the span of a single breath for the smirk to creep back across Logan’s face, the light coming back into his eyes. There you are.

 “Oh.” He nodded. “OK.” Another nod, and Logan rolled his neck, throwing his shoulders back, which caused my fingers to tighten in his hair. “You got a mouth on you, don’t you?” I didn’t look away, staring straight into his face - daring him to act. “Guess we gotta do something about that, don’t we.” It wasn’t a question, but I still nodded, using the hand that was tangled in his hair to pull him closer to me, inhaling before I pressed my lips to his. His hand moved from my stomach to my hip and slid around to join the other one on my lower back before they both went even further down, his fingers reaching into the back pockets of my jeans. It was my turn to moan as he flexed his fingers, digging them into the muscle beneath the denim and pulling my hips even more tightly against his. “I should punish you for talking back to me,” he muttered as he pulled away from me, tongue tracing against my lips as he broke the kiss. Oh fuck. “But I’m not going to.” Logan’s lips were just beneath my jaw and I felt his teeth graze against my skin before tilting my head to the side, eyes closed. “Not yet, anyway.”

 He continued to tease me with his teeth and tongue, rocking his hips against mine and I tightened my grip on his hair, holding his face against me. “Logan.” I breathed his name out, trying to calm my racing heartbeat even though I knew it was pointless. “Logan, I swear to God, I-” But my words were halted as he bit down on the curve where my neck met my shoulder, tongue sweeping over the stinging skin once he’d released it from his teeth. I cried out, the hand that wasn’t in his hair digging into his bicep and Logan laughed, moving his mouth further along over my shoulder, taking my bra strap in his teeth and tugging, letting it go with a snap. At the contact with my skin, I tensed and Logan stood up straight, his eyes locked on mine.

 “So.” He licked his lips, leaving them parted as he stared at me. “You need to take these jeans off.” His grip on me tightened and he blinked his eyes quickly, wrinkling his nose in amusement. “Unless you want me to do it for you.” Is that an option? Logan had never been this hands on before; though he was attentive and thorough each previous time, he’d never actively involved me so much, and the way that he was looking at me sent a shiver throughout my entire body - one that I knew he felt. “Oh, you like that idea, hmm?” Another slow swipe of his tongue over his lower lip, and Logan shrugged his shoulders, pulling his hands from my back pockets and moving them back to the front of my body, fingers easing between my jeans and my skin. “Alright, then. Let’s have some fun.”

---

[icemankazansky]

K, N, U, and Z for the fanfic ask meme please

Thank you for asking! I'd love to.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

Oh, man. Um. Okay. So, in high school and into college, I wrote a massive (like 100,000+ words) B/A future fic with them married with kids, and then Angel is killed by the First Evil and things get DARK. I'm not going to be explicit about it, but basically the First raises him as Angelus and his mission is to tear his family apart, and he does. I stopped publishing with two chapters completely written and never released because I just felt bad doing that to my characters and my readers. It will never be finished.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Someone please finish my Top Gun Age of Sail AU. It has been eight years, 20,000 words (cut down to 12,000 after The Purge), and it's still not done. But I can still hear it, begging to be finished. It is my telltale heart.

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

These are all authors whose stories I read over and over and over again, and I also know them all personally.

escritoireazul

Carla has an incredible imagination, intuitive understanding of her characters, and she can write anything. Her prose is gorgeous, lyrical but still earthy and visceral, and she highlights these gorgeous little details that you wouldn't normally think of first, and it makes you see the characters in a new way. She's also one of my ride or dies, fiercely generous and so brave, and all around one of my favorite people.

myhappyface

It KILLS ME that Holly doesn't write anymore. Kills me. Her fiction is this maddening tightrope walk between beauty and simplicity. She writes most things very precisely, without a lot of fuss or purple prose, and then at exactly the right moment, she'll let things breathe, pull back and give you this gorgeous, layered, lyrical description or character moment, and it's like being struck. She has a great instinct for pacing, and her dialogue is so damn good. She's also a dear friend who is basically my dog's godmother and she is unfailingly kind.

derangedfangirl

She is also no longer in fandom, and it hurts me so much. Her fiction is so sharp, and so funny, and her love for Val Kilmer rivals my own. She can write all over the spectrum: she's written everything from gut-wrenching emotional distress to brutal love to hilarious sexcapades, and I was drawn in by all of it. As a person, she's also wonderfully supportive and crazy creative, and genuinely one of the most beautiful people I've ever met.

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?

I don't. I don't like to read it, and I don't like to write it. When I was growing up in fandom, I could really get into the angst, but now I am officially Too Old for That Shit, and I want happy endings and the characters I love enjoying each other's company. A fic has to have a helluva pull for me to start reading anything with that tag. (@boasamishipper think about that, knowing that I read aaaaaaall of there's a raging fire in my heart tonight.)

[justanotherloveaffair]

Breaking Rules (Part 2) - Chadwick Boseman x Reader

>>> Link to Part 1 (June Smutfest one shot)

Summary: The punishment continues, but Chadwick shows you mercy after being very well behaved.

Warnings: Daddy!Chadwick, smut (obviously), Dom/sub

Word Count: 3,638

Author’s Note: I hope you guys like this. Sorry it took so long to get this up!!!! I wrote this in one sitting, it just came out so easily once I got started. Also I love the thought of a very sweet and benevolent Daddy after the punishment is over :) 

Your name: Submit (what is this?)

My Masterlist

Taglist: @afraiddreamingandloving, @killmongerrss, @kumkaniudaku, @nah-imjustfeelinit, @tchallaholla, @a-heretic-child, @simplyyamberr, @trillblackmama, @ljstraightnochaser, @h-challa, @theunsweetenedtruth, @fullonfrenzy

* I can’t remember all the people who wanted to be notified about a Part 2 so sorry if I missed tagging anyone. I actually have no idea who wanted to be tagged on this post so sorry if the taglist is whack LOL

Yes. Please. Thank you.

Those were the four words he allowed you to say. The word no was not allowed in your vocabulary as he made you wear a revealing dress, slid a remote-controlled bullet vibrator into your pussy and had you follow him out the door to wherever he felt like taking you, like an obedient pet.

And hell yes, you were loving every minute of it.

Being submissive was something you always knew was a deep, secret part of you but the experience was usually limited to an ex-boyfriend spanking you occasionally. At most, a hand around your throat.

And then Chadwick came along. Chadwick, who was eager to richly and deeply live out any fantasy you had, as you were of his and the sex was so off the charts dynamite that you wished you could tell everyone about it.  Chadwick, who, when you were out with friends and wincing as you sat down, would wink at you as only he knew it was because your ass was freshly spanked from his palm. Chadwick, whose dirty talk in your ear would make you moan halfway through dinner.  

He was endlessly inventive in ways to turn you on and had a detailed, dirty imagination, and could be ruthlessly patient when it came to punishing his babygirl.

Tonight was no different. Tonight was about him reasserting control, and you made a conscious decision to do everything perfectly, answering him not a beat too quickly or too late, thanking him when he set off the vibrating bullet even though it made you grit your teeth.

At the bar he took you to, you were told to sit on the stool with your legs crossed as your short dress rode up your thighs, only acknowledge him and always with Yes, Please, or Thank you and he damn well knew every man there was salivating at what was his.

He had you swallow a glass of whiskey as his fingers brushed your leg, fingertips grazing just under the skirt while he stared at you with wolfish eyes. He looked sexy as hell, his shoulders and arm muscles popping in a black v-neck shirt and that added another layer of torture, as he still wouldn’t allow you to touch him.

As you placed the old-fashioned glass back on the bar he slipped his fingers a little further up your dress, and his voice was deep and silky as he asked, knowing full well what the answer would have to be but the question was only to remind you that you couldn’t say no,

“Do you want another one?”

You bit your lip and yelped a little as the vibration returned, knowing his eyes were trained on your expression. The edging was starting to become too much, even for you. You had no choice but to answer yes, and right away, Chadwick had another whiskey brought to you.

The liquor made you warm and relaxed and even hornier. He ordered some appetizers and you picked at them but only ate because you were told to. The taste barely registered on your tongue. All you could focus on was him, his heavy hand possessively resting on your upper thigh and how badly you wanted him to make you come. All it would take was a second or two more of vibration each time he turned it on, just one second more, but each time he saw the telltale sign of your breathing starting to hitch, he would turn it off.

He leaned over and whispered in your ear. “Do you enjoy being tortured like this, for everyone to see?”

Your hand gripped the bar, your mind grasping on the only word you had in your arsenal to beg him to stop. “Please.”

You felt his lips on your neck, just a slight graze against your over-stimulated skin and you moaned, your knuckles going white as he asked, “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

Your eyes were screwed shut, pushing out the whole world so it was only him and his breath and voice filling your whole body.

“Yes.” You gasped.

“You’ve been very well behaved, babygirl. Daddy’s gonna take you home and reward you.”

A breath of relief escaped your lips and you mouthed, your shaking voice barely above a whisper, “Thank you.”

After being on edge for hours you were trembling and grateful for any touch or look he graced you with, mindlessly willing to do whatever he wanted as long as it pleased him. Your trusting him with your body and mind was a gift he didn’t take lightly, and after these long punishments he always showed you his thanks and you couldn’t wait to get home to receive it.

Twenty nervous and excited minutes later he walked you in the door, his hand on the small of your back.

As the door closed softly shut behind you, he stepped close behind you, so close you could smell his intoxicating cologne and feel the warmth radiating off of his body, but he still wasn’t close enough to touch you.

After hours and hours of being broken down, you were patient and pliant, like a doll. This was your submissive self in its most pure, raw state. You felt safe, calm and ready for anything. Anything he wanted.

His fingers began to unzip your dress, all the way down until it sagged and fell down your legs. You stood obediently still, feeling every sensation multiplied a hundred-fold: the in-and-out of his breathing, the cool apartment air on your naked skin, the shape of the vibrator inside you every time you shifted your feet.

You were staring ahead into the dark room while behind you, you heard the shifting of clothes and sudden excitement spiked through you at the sound of his belt coming undone. His shirt and pants joined the pile at your feet and your heart was racing, knowing he was so close to you and naked.

When his voice filled the dark room, it was with a honey timbre that made you twinge as he praised in your ear, “You’ve been such a good girl. Will you let Daddy show you how grateful he is?”

The promise of imminent pleasure made your knees go weak and the air burn around you as if the room suddenly caught fire. You felt such giddy, simple pride at having pleased him it made your entire body flush. Nothing was sweeter than the erotic, tender way he showed you mercy after a long session, you craved it, lived for it and now you were about to have it.

All four words combined into one needy sentence, “Yes, please, thank you,” came your strained voice and his gentle laugh filled your ears and you nearly cried.

“To the bedroom my baby.”  He touched his hand to your back to encourage your movement and you padded forward, your hands wringing together as sparks of excitement crackled all around you.

His next instruction came paired with a little lovebite on your neck and a light tap of his fingers on your hip. “On the bed.”

You got up and kneeled, your hands still in your lap. He hadn’t even touched you yet but your heart was so full of joy that he was about to ease your suffering that tears pricked your eyes. 

The bed dipped behind you from his body weight, the bed springs below you straining and it was the only sound in the room aside than your heavy, anxious breathing.

Two hands settled on your shoulders and twisted you gently, giving you permission to finally turn and face him, your heart beat thudding hotly in your ears as you turned on the bed and melted under the warm gaze he greeted you with. All day he’d been harsh with you, cold in his treatment and now, he was smiling. The image greeted you like a balm that soothed any and every worry you’d ever had in your life. It was like sunshine, coming home, as satisfying as an incredible meal or a cold drink on a hot day.

“I want to make you happy,” he looked over you with warmth in his eyes, that smile still on his face. “You can have whatever you want.”

You looked at him as if he’d just walked you into a candy store and given you unlimited free reign and your eyes grew wide.

“What would you ask of your Daddy?” He prompted, his hands reaching out to your hips to rub circles into them.

There were too many possibilities and your mind couldn’t focus while you looked at his painfully beautiful face so they slid down his body, down the plains of that delicious skin you were aching for earlier and you knew right away what you wanted.

Staring below his waist, you said “Please?” in a small voice, turning one of your four words up into a question and he laughed again, one hand coming up to caress your cheek.

“Baby, you can speak your words again.”

“Let me touch you, please,” you said, begging huskily and Chadwick’s eyes softened as he nodded.

You bit your lip, one hand reaching out to touch your fingertips gently and cautiously to his chest, tentative as if he were going to disappear the moment you did it. He was solid as steel and twitched slightly when he felt you, and at that moment you realized how difficult your punishment had been for him as well as for you.

You traced your fingertip down between his pecs, over his abs and watched with fascination as his stomach tightened, his breathing picking up the lower your touch went. Both of your gazes looked down to watch your hand skate down his abdomen, towards your prize that was hard and twitching as it anticipated your touch and you relished the sight of it, the perfect size that fit you so well, challenging your limits while giving you endless pleasure. You loved his cock and took every opportunity to show him and tell him how good it felt, how much you craved it, how big he was as he pounded you. He saw the love in your eyes as you took a moment to touch him slowly, just tracing him with your fingers, barely holding him but he felt your touch down to his toes.

“Is this what you wanted? To torture me back?” His voice was amused but strained and the corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile as his eyes closed.

You didn’t answer but shifted down on your knees and before he knew what was happening, your lips were slipping over the tip of his dick.

“Ohhh, fuck!” he cursed loudly, looking down in surprise at you on the edge of him, opening your mouth wide as you looked up adoringly. The erotic sight almost cost him an instant orgasm and he gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath to steady himself.

When he looked back to you, you batted your eyes coquettishly and smiled with him in your mouth before you slid him deeper, hollowing your cheeks to suck him just right, making his eyes roll back at the pressure and wetness of your mouth.

This was what you wanted all day. From the moment he tied you up and forced you to watch him touch himself, your end game was to have him writhing and helpless as you worshipped his body and as you kept your eyes trained on him, you could see you were well on your way. 

Chadwick was fighting with himself for control, making animalistic sounds, his hands becoming fists at his sides while his mouth was dropped open still absorbing the shock of the sudden onslaught of sensations.

“Oh god please, stop….” he started bargaining for control but it only made you want to push even further. You forced as much of him inside as you could and saliva dripped down your chin and into your lap. You were moaning and making a mess as you slurped him with dirty enjoyment and Chadwick was speechless, unable to string coherent words together, only able to grunt and moan as he started to thrust into your mouth and your hands flew to his hips to control him.

He started to shake and you looked up just in time to catch the heart-stopping sight of his face right in the moment he erupted in your mouth. His sounds were the mewling gasps of a man who was seeing the face of God. You greedily swallowed his come, watching his every twitch, breath and groan at the height of his pleasure, your lips smiling around him the whole time.

When you were sure you’d gotten it all, your aching jaw released him, letting his softening cock fall from your lips but you went right back to his body, covering it with the kisses you’d been dying to give him all day. You kissed his thighs, nuzzled your nose in his trimmed pubic hair, and moved your lips up to his stomach as your fingers stroked up and down over his calves, knees and strong upper thighs.

“Baby, come here, oh my god,” he said in a hoarse voice as if one more touch would kill him. He pulled you back up to your knees and you immediately kissed the sweat that had collected on his face and forehead and you ran your hands through his beard while he smiled breathlessly.

“That wasn’t what I expected you to want,” he looked at you smiling, starry-eyed, in awe and wonder of you.

“What other reward could I possibly want, Daddy?”

Chadwick sucked in his breath as you looked at him with round eyes, the sincere sentiment in your words and your worshipping voice making him clench his teeth.

His hands slid around the back of your neck and he looked at you as if he might fuck you and propose to you all at once.

He shook his head, pressed his forehead to yours. “I don’t deserve you, babygirl.”

You basked in his love and attention knowing you’d made him happy and that was all you could want. Even though the evidence of your want was leaking down your thigh, anything else you could have tonight was above and beyond. As far as you were concerned, you’d already had your reward.

Chadwick kissed your forehead and whispered, “Stay here,” before he crawled off of the bed, leaving you kneeling there.

He reappeared in the room and returned to the bed, carrying the small black remote in his hand. With the other hand, he splayed his fingers over your chest and pushed gently with an instruction, “On your back, baby.”

Your heart started to pound as he burrowed between your thighs once you were back against the soft cushions. As you shifted your body, you felt the presence of the bullet vibrator inside your walls and once you were on your back, with a flick of Chadwick’s finger it was suddenly on its highest vibration setting and his mouth was on your clit.

“Oh FUCK!” You screamed at the immediate attack, his wet, warm tongue swirling over and over around your clit while your inner walls vibrated and you weren’t prepared for the onslaught. It was too much, too fast, too intense. It only took seconds for you to come with a gush of juices and a scream and Chadwick happily endured your hands gripping him at the back of his head. His moans vibrated against your clit as your wild cries filled the room.

The next thing you were conscious of was Chadwick sliding the small black bullet out, and then his mouth covered your pussy while you laid there breathing heavily, giving you wide, up-and-down licks over your folds. You went to push him away, make him stop, trying to close your thighs around him.

His fingers snapped your thighs back open and he pulled away from you to say, loud enough for you to hear through your post-orgasmic haze, “Daddy’s not done with you yet. Hold still.”

Eyes wide, you looked down your body at where his lips and tongue were teasing you with slow, wet licks and kisses and Chadwick returned your gaze with one of pure hunger and a warning in his eyes that nothing would come between him and what he wanted.

You were still recovering and sensitive but slowly you relaxed and sank back into the sensations of his searching mouth.

He sucked on you and released you a few times and moaned, “You taste incredible babygirl. Do you know how hard it makes me to feel how wet you are?”

You moaned at the sound of his voice coming from between your legs and then the wet, sucking sounds of his tongue returned as he went back to work. He ate you slowly and thoroughly, not aiming you towards another orgasm right away, but making sure to spoil you with as much pleasure as you could stand.

The contrasting feeling of his silky tongue and rough beard between your legs was one thing but the sounds were another. His moans were nonstop, deep “uhhhhs” into your pussy, making you claw at the bed. The erotic, slippery wet sounds of his mouth sucking you added to the pleasure and you felt yourself start to climb towards another peak at his slow, lazy enjoyment of you.

His mouth traveled upwards, knowingly latching on to your clit while you felt two fingers curl inside you, his considerable experience of your body guiding the way he touched you just right to make you shoot for the stars. He didn’t let up, and added a third finger knowing how much harder you came while being penetrated and began to fuck you, his tongue never stopping and you grinded your hips down against him.

“Yes, yes, Daddyyy!!” You unleashed with a cry, as your muscles clenched, the feelings coalescing and gathering into a tight ball of light before exploding behind your eyes. You clutched blindly down at him and he gripped one of your hands, giving you an anchoring point to squeeze as you threw your head back and bucked your hips. Awash and lost on the shores of another world, you let your pleasure be heard and Chadwick released your clit and smiled up at you, his hand clutching yours tight.

“That’s it, sing for me babygirl, let me hear how good it feels,” you heard him say during your mindnumbing climax and your moans intensified in response.

Slowly, ever so slowly you came back to your body, surprised to find yourself blinking away tears as you looked down at him as he rubbed slow circles into your thighs and stomach.

“Shhh, that’s my girl, good girl,” He praised endlessly while your hips continued to roll in his hands.

It was your turn to be in awe of him. The way he made you feel was a thing of beauty, a work of art in itself, making you come like it was second nature where for past boyfriends it had been a complex task. And yet for Chadwick, coming undone for him was as easy as breathing.

Your heart swelled and filled with gratefulness and you both took a moment to smile at each other, sweaty, happy and totally satisfied.

“Chadwick,” You sighed and squeezed his hand. You didn’t have to say anything more, he knew just how you felt and what you wanted and he crawled up your body to rest over you, holding himself still at your tight, wet entrance before pushing forward until your hips fit snugly together and you sighed happily. His thick cock pulsed inside of you, stretching you wide and you both groaned at the intimacy of the moment, wrapped up in each others arms, as close as two people could get.

“Y/N,” He sighed in your ear, his hands clutching your hips tightly. “I’m yours.”

You smiled and held his head against your neck as he started to move in the familiar, comfortable intimate way you loved as he surrounded you making you feel safe, adored, and needed in his arms. Your bodies rocked together in perfect harmony, the only sounds between you being gasps of pleasure and each other’s’ names until he gripped you in his strong grasp, wrenching one of your legs up behind his arm as he fucked you with long, hard strokes that made your eyes roll back and you both keen towards an orgasm that exploded over you both in tandem, sharing each other’s cries as you both came again, together.

Your arms and legs locked around his back, fusing yourself to him and cradling his head to your chest where he gasped and moaned through the earth-shattering pleasure, his breath scalding hot on your overheated skin, his fingertips rough and biting on your hips as he held you up against him.

Your bodies fell back to the bed, weary, exhausted, totally drained with pleasant aching and still tingling as you smiled side by side up at the ceiling.

As you laid there breathing in and out, you marvelled at how much had happened that day, from being tied up in the living room to having your body worshipped and fucked like a goddess, and the fact that all of that and more was possible on any given day with Chadwick made your heart seize in your chest.

You were a lucky bitch and you knew it. It couldn’t possibly get better.

“Hey,” you felt his hand come to rest between your breasts and rub back and forth to get your attention.

“Yeah baby?”

“You wanna smoke a joint and order some pizza?”

You grinned, realizing you were wrong.

It got better.

[tamisdava2]

💕📖📝🌐📺🌼

I guess you are asking me, but i’ll do it for my OC too. Lets start from me1. Your two top fave fictional characters.I really into alot of fandoms, and thats means that i have alot of fav characters so its hardest thing to do. If you would asked me at one specific fandom then i would’ve answered.

2. Fave bookNu i am kinda into Dostoevsky now, that man went deep into alot of things that human have questioned: Morals, existence of god, free will, doubt, faith and many interesting things. And sure he knew how to develop his characters so reader would’ve been attached, AND THEN TURNs THEIR HEARTS INTO DUST! Sure his characters develop better than most of the characters from our modern TV shows, films and etc. I read his Idiot, and it broke my heart. I thought after reading Idiot that it will stay my fav book till the end of my life. But then i started reading his brothers karamazov. And geez that good. I amn’t done reading it, i done its first book and i read half of second so pretty soon i am going to start reading Dostoevsky’s another book.

3.My fav Quote? “growing up isn’t the problem, forgetting is” From little prince’s cartoon.

4.I speak Georgian because i live in Georgia, Russian i learned in kindergarten, i loved it so much that me and my sister still talk in Russian for 2/4 a day, Hebrew in which i speak so-so, 4 years ago i actually spoke better because i had to communicate with my first and only best friend in Israel and we both knew English bad back then, and before i went to Israel i knew Hebrew not so good, teachers were teaching us Hebrew, and my Hebrew wasn’t that good, not because teachers teached bad, but we needed to communicate more to learn using Hebrew better so i did it in Israel, i am trying to learn German by my own, but its hard, atleast i know few words, Thanks to Roblox i started learning English, before Roblox my English was pretty bad, also i hated English because i thought it was too hard, i thought that i would go far with only knowing Russian, with a better English i role played better in Roblox. Even my scary English teacher this year praised me after i retelled the text and i showed her that now i know grammar. And she wrote in journal 10/10. Really, i was very afraid of her, and everyone in my class since the 5th class, so i was shaking seriously shaking, even my classmates noticed it. And i still was shaking with a smile on my face after the lesson.

5.Its hard choice, because me and my sis watched alot animes, before 2010 of course. I guess that i have to vote for Soul Eather then, i and my sis still have good memories from this anime and there is my first fav ship, i cant belive that i started shipping when i was 5-6 years old, or maybe even smaller. The anime has great storyline, humor characters and etc. I amn’t talking about Soul Eater NOT.

6.Fave flower… Oh… Nu i like alot of flowers but i’ll stop on Violet because its very beautiful, also i am into purple.

Erika go!

Me: here catch those questions!

Erika: why the hell i have to answer question of strangers when we dont know if they asked you or me!(they totally asked you)

Me: Answer!

Erika: Ok! Hm, fave fictional characters the first one is Flareon from Eevee’s adventure telltale story and Austyn from my favourite anime.

Favourite book, Bara Frisk’s Sun, she was 20th centuries writer, sadly not very famous. For short in this book: There is begining of 19th centuary after the discovery of Alola region in 1778 started an actual big migration alot people came to Alola because there was peace, and in other regions were… Ehm some historical political moments. But those historical moments are just background most of the time. And those historical facts aren’t very accurate. But in the begining of 19th our protaganist Norbert Eriksen came to Alola to try and start new chapter in his life and etc. From the description it maybe doesn’t seem to be very interesting but this book has pretty deep morals.

So for short favourite quote: Just be whoever you are, no matter what they are talking about you, words are just words.

Erika: English just English, not like there are other “languages”, but i speak Kantoian, Johtoian, Sinnohian and Kalosian because they are similiar to each other, Pronunciation of a words is little bit hard in Kalosian English, but i am doing it somehow.(in the pokemon world letters came from Unown so that can mean that there is only English writing, but there can be different versions of English, yea i know its sounds stupid but its headcanon)

My favourite anime is “the change” In this anime author really used his imagination. So suddenly pokemons start to disappear which causes very serious problems but i dont want to spoil anything. Austyn is from this anime.

My favourite flower is Red flower.

[aion-rsa]

Owen Wilson’s Loki Character is Based on a Beloved Marvel Writer

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Among this overwhelming tidal wave of Disney project news that consumed us all Thursday night, we got to see the new trailer for Loki, which will be hitting Disney+ this coming May. As shown, this Loki isn’t the one who got choked to death in the opening moments of Avengers: Infinity War, but the Loki appearing during the Time Heist in Avengers: Endgame. After the events of the first Avengers went awry, that version of Loki was able to sneak away with the Tesseract and create a tangent universe.

And now…he’s stuck running suicide missions with the Time Variance Authority. What a way for a god to spend his days.

Getting away from Tom Hiddleston, the trailer also makes everyone realize, “Wait, is this Owen Wilson’s first time in one of these? How has it taken so long for Owen Wilson to get a role in a Marvel movie?”

Plus there’s the big question of who he’s supposed to be.

While we don’t know the full details of what’s going on, Loki is dealing with the Time Variance Authority. Due to that telltale mustache, Owen Wilson appears to be Mr. Mobius M. Mobius.

The Time Variance Authority was introduced in Thor #372, but wasn’t fully figured out as a concept until afterwards. Most notably, the group antagonized the Fantastic Four and Dr. Doom in Fantastic Four #352-354. They’re meant to keep time travel under control and prevent paradoxes, but instead of being a rad setup of jacked, soldiers in colorful spandex begging for their own comic series, the TVA is essentially a bunch of boring, cosmic bureaucrats.

While the lowest level employees of the TVA are faceless goons, the middle-management folks are human-looking. In fact, they all look like the same human. More specifically, they’re made to look like Mark Gruenwald, a beloved Marvel writer/artist/editor known for his passion and endless knowledge of detailed Marvel history.

You want to make sense out of the multiverse and timeline malarky? Make a bunch of clones of the guy who can tell you what issue Luke Cage fought Mr. Fish without having to look it up. He was the guy writing the Official Marvel Handbook of the Universe and he was celebrated for being that guy.

Gruenwald was a major asset to Marvel back in the 80s and former 90s. His lengthy run on Captain America gave us US Agent, Crossbones, Diamondback, and that amazing sequence where Magneto captured Red Skull and left him to die in a bunker. He also wrote Squadron Supreme, where he put together a deconstructing take on Marvel’s Justice League knockoff team, acting as Marvel’s contribution to the Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen vibes growing in ’80s comics.

He also did a 5-year run on Quasar, notably doing a weird issue where – taking place sometime after the events of Crisis on Infinite Earths – a blonde speedster in tattered, red tights showed up in Marvel and could only remember that his name sounded something like “Buried Alien.”

Dude was awesome, is what I’m saying.

Sadly, Gruenwald died in 1996 due to a heart attack. He remains beloved in the industry and lives on whenever the weirdos in the TVA show up to try and put a cage around the chaos. They usually fail, but the effort is there.

Mr. Mobius is just another one of his in-universe clones, but one that got promoted above his genetic equals. Not that he’s the man on top. No, that’s Mr. Alternity, who’s based on editor Tom Brevoort.

The biggest eyebrow-raiser in all of this is that there’s a minor member of the TVA, also a Gruenwald clone, named…wait for it…Mr. Tesseract.

Mr. Tesseract. In the same organization that will be showing up on a TV show born out of Loki sneaking away with the MCU’s Tesseract. No way is that sleeping dog going to lie.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

This could very much mean that we won’t just be getting Owen Wilson, but a legion of Owen Wilsons! That’s a lot of guys going, “Wow!”

Loki will premiere on Disney+ in May 2021.

The post Owen Wilson’s Loki Character is Based on a Beloved Marvel Writer appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/378CryR

[all-good-things-dot-dot-dot]

All Good Things… The Good With the Bad.

All Good Things… The Good With the Bad. #Blog #Bloggerstribe #AllGoodThings… 24th June 2020 Hello, Chaps and Chapettes,

(Source: https://www.keengamer.com/articles/guides/list-of-common-fallout-4-pc-errors-and-how-to-fix-them/ ) It might have seemed like I stopped for a little bit there, huh? In actual fact, I have still been writing, but more or less in the background rather than doing a full-on post like this. Does that mean I’ve been “neglecting my duties” or “forgetting the challenge” I set myself to write for thirty minutes a day? Well, sort of. I cannot lie. Let’s see if we can analyze what happened here and correct the error, shall we? The main hiccup was actually on Friday where I did not write anything at all. I did end up writing that blog on Saturday and followed it up with the actual Saturday blog which I wrote and posted on Sunday, but by then I was already going back on several guidelines that I’d set myself. The first was to ensure that I wrote thirty minutes a day, this was missed on Friday, and the second was to have a break on Sunday.

I’ll come back to Friday in a bit and how I’ll resolve that in the future but I also want to talk about why Monday and Tuesday also didn’t happen. Monday was an oddly exhausting day. The heat has been creeping up this week, today being the hottest so far, but Monday was still cool. I had to take a nap after work and then when I did sit down to write, what I wanted to write was not one of these. Instead, I wanted to work on “Scoundrels”, a story about colorful ponies living in apocalyptic times. They swear, take drugs, shoot guns, it’s fun to write. The reason I wanted to write that, was because on Tuesday I attended an online workshop by a fellow writer who goes by the codename “Somber”. I know there’s non-bronies who read this on my Tumblr so, to summarise, they wrote a particularly famous FanFiction called “Fallout Equestria; Project Horizons”, millions of peeps have read it. It’s also a spin-off from an equally successful story called “Fallout: Equestria” (written by another fanfiction writer, KKat). Somber has a background teaching English so a class on Creative Writing was practically extra studies for my university course!

(Art by me, see https://derpibooru.org/images/2200843 )

The workshop was brilliant. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to workshop my story as we ran out of time but I didn’t feel too down about this. I made friends with a few other fellow writers and so could happily learn and share ideas with them. This ran on quite late and by the time it had ended, the clock was telling me I wouldn’t wake up for work if I didn’t attempt to sleep. That, neatly, leads me to today. As you can see, although I’ve had a busy day of work, walking to and from the shops and watching “Game Night” with my brother, I still managed to find the time to write this. That’s because tonight I had the time. That’s important. Friday, the time wasn’t there. I had to be there for a friend who was in need and since my chat, I have it on good authority that their life is looking up. Sunday was father’s day and I wanted to see both dad and stepdad, which I accomplished. Both men had a great day and felt loved, which was another mission accomplished. Sunday night was blitzed by a migraine and it took two paracetamol two hours to put those fires in my brain out. Monday, as said, was a very tiring day. But I also spent time writing something, even if it wasn’t this. So there was still something completed by the close of the day. Tuesday, there was work, I had my mother pop over for something, I had to cook dinner, and despite all of this still managed to make Somber’s workshop and find writing allies. Do you see where I’m going with this? Basically, just because you don’t get done what you wanted to do, do not look at it as a wasted day. Even a rest day is a success, so long as it is used to let you prepare for some harder work ahead. You are not failing if you didn’t hit that word count, or forgot to do something you wanted to do, or missed that walk to slim down the spare tractor tyre your gut has become. Even little accomplishments are still a win in the grand scheme of things and believe me they make all the difference. And sometimes, if someone you know, care about, or love is in need of you, then you should down tools to help them. Let me reiterate that it should be somebody you care about or at least someone who will return the favor along the line. There are people, even family, who can be a drain on your time, resources, and energy. I learned that the hard way last week (see my blog about bullies). Follow your head in these instances, especially if it is aligned with your heart. Most of all, I want you to take this away with you. Did you wake up today? Do you know how many didn’t get out of bed? Pulled a sickie? Or gave up? You didn’t so in that sense you’re already winning. Now go treat yourself to some cake, champ, you earned it. Stay safe, stay happy. All good things, Love, Scaramouche. X Oh, eerrrr, still here? Okay, let me square with you. Thirty mins just ran out but I wanted to include this; I am writing a spin-off of that “Fallout: Equestria,” series too, as I mentioned, called “Scoundrels”. I did have a lot of the story already up in my FIMFiction library, but I have unpublished it. Here are my reasons; I didn’t like how confusing it was. It felt like it started in the middle of a story. I had made choices as a writer that took the story in some strange directions. I made the plot too complicated. I made some of the good characters unlikeable. I made it too long while not much/ too much happened. So, I am holding onto what I wrote. I want to rewrite it, so that story that you may or may not have read does still exist and isn’t a waste of time, it just needs surgery. When it’s ready, you’ll be able to see it again. Until then, here’s a sneak peek at “Scoundrels”, the ponies of the apocalypse story I will be writing, have edited and polished before I publish it as fanfiction. Enjoy!

(Artist: Brainiac - see https://derpibooru.org/profiles/Brainiac ) ~ Scoundrels Written by Scaramouche “War,” a voice, masculine and gravelly, haunted my hangover. “War never changes.” It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stir me from where I’d attempted to make my early grave. My snout had the telltale feeling you got when you accidentally snorted water while submerged in a pool... Or hit too much Dash. I pushed my hooves out around me before my eyes were able to open and felt tiny canisters rattle away from me wherever I moved. My ribs hurt, telling me I hadn’t found a nice or even barely comfortable place to flop. The information fed back to me from all my senses came to the conclusion that I’d bucked up again. Daring to wake, I cracked my eyes open for as long as I could muster and fluttered the lids ‘til I could make out the shapes of a flickering square of light in the night-time room. Black and white images flashed through the screen of ponies dressed in armor and uniforms, those in the foreground attempting an escape with their wounded while the “best and bravest” continued to fight, to injure, to die. The image changed to Wonderbolts tearing over a coal cloud that once belonged to a shining city. I realized it was Manehattan, the place I’d hailed from. I knew from the shadow of a building topped with a huge pony head choking on the fumes. The Pegasi just seemed like haunting crows over that havoc. After the Manehattan skyline lingered for a few seconds, it switched to a shot taken behind ponies hiding from the invisible foe in a shady tunnel. Their silhouettes were huddled and perpetually expecting the worst of what was to come. Image after image along with the low, tedious voice seemed to mingle with the throbbing headache I’d gained. It reminded me that as gloomy as these images were, they were only the precursor for the apocalyptic times that came after them. I watched, laid lazily on my side among spent stims I’d used to forget the woes of the new world. I couldn’t help thinking that those dumb saps who had lived nearly a hundred years ago never knew how lucky they were. They could still trust the folks either side of them and that was more than could be said for most ponies this side of a century. “... But out of the devastation that arose from the wars, a few were able to reach stables that could house and shield them underground.” The narrator of the scenes kept going with his spiel regardless of whether I was listening or not. I looked about, but it quickly became apparent to me that the voice was just that. A recording from a stallion no doubts long gone now. There was nopony else in the place but for me that I could see. Nonetheless, he persisted. “Your family was part of that group and took refuge in Stable Thirteen.” On-screen, a snap of the giant cog that had once locked up this subterranean vault could be seen. “No, they weren’t, pal,” I grouched, squinting about the area still while battling with some persistently annoying amber locks of mane in my eyes. Something in this place was still trying to live, based on the squealing of a harmed fan spinning in the walls. Thanks to the projection lamp, I could see the tiles that dripped from the ceilings as age and erosion pulled them down. Wires knotted into nooses hung out from the ceiling gaps. Across dirty, rusted floors, the corpses of chairs lay on their sides and backs, stricken by the last unknown executions that had taken place here. Near me and my graveyard of used drug containers, a card crate lay on its side in a beaten state. “You are the first generation born in this stable to have not known the-the-the--” Apparently, I still wasn’t to know what “the” was. Above me, the box that had created this depressing light and sound show for me fizzed, crackled, sparked, then died. All light failed and draped a veil casually over me and space. Yet, this wasn’t as terrifying to me as might have been to somepony else. I sighed, relaxed, and let the gentle black patch encourage my head to heal. The festering stable was dead, the complaining sounds of the vents now a memory, and it was good. It was calming. I could maybe forget everything and fall back into a graceful slumber with it. After all, a ship in the harbor is a ship that’s safe... Of course, fate intervened. “Breeze! Breeze, where are you?” The voice was distant, but it was growing closer. “Gypsy Breeze, I swear on the spirit of Celestia, if you don’t get your ass into gear…” Fresh, battery-powered light began to dawn around the edges of the forever-open doorway into the corridors, confirming that the calling, living voice wasn’t far from finding me. “Buck,” I grunted to myself and pushed back the pain sloshing side to side in my cranium. I had to get myself up before they found me and the evidence littered around me. My legs complained but lifted me, allowing me to stand and let my brain cease paddling about in my skull. I swung a hoof out, brought it down, then my face immediately met the oxidized floor once more as a giggling Dash inhaler tripped me and twirled away. “Breeze?” They’d heard my tumble. “Buck,” I hissed painfully and scrambled back up, firing up a spell. I knew the caller in the halls would see the light but hoped I’d be quick enough. Despite the magic throbbing behind my junked-out eyes, I gathered all the emptied Dash I could see in the enchanted light. Catching as many as I could levitate, I shoved them into the deteriorated box, managing to slip the last of them away when a blinding orb swung through the door. I covered my bleary eyes and snarled out at a feeling only a vampire pony in the baking sun would understand. “Gypsy!” The dazzling sprite squeaked. “That’s my name— Buck, Hayfever, could you drop the light of that thing? My bucking eyes are about to explode…” mercifully, the beam lowered to ground level, allowing me to partially see the mare I knew behind it. Her sunset orange wings were spread in preparation to once more admonish me while the expression on the pegasus remained concerned. “You split from me again, Breeze. Ottawa said this stable is particularly dangerous, we shouldn’t be going off alone when--” “Ottawa was wrong,” I skulked somehow towards the door and waved my hoof back the way she’d come from. “I caught a terminal back up that way and… I dunno, something about the water talisman failing? Either way, the pony meant to fix it shuffled out the main door, and never came back. After that, the rest of the dwellers overthrew the overstallion and let themselves out of their own accord. Probably likely that nopony’s been here since.” If I’d have sounded more sure of myself in that last comment, I might not have seen doubt spread across her freckled, gold-lit face. “No, somepony has been here before us,” she suggested, “I found the mattresses pulled out of their rooms and laid together in the atrium. There was waste and broken gear that could only have come from outside too. Could be scavs, could be raiders, either way, we don’t want to take our chances.” “It could have easily been the Stable Thirteen ponies too,” I countered, “especially if they were going back and forth in and out of here, not wanting to--” I interrupted myself, as a false step kicked something, which ricocheted off of the metal wall and swirled unfortunately into the light of Hayfever’s torch. It only took her a second to realize what it was and I was already cringing guiltily when the light raised back accusingly at me. “Gypsy Breeze, you silly mare,” she scolded as well as any experienced mother could, “Using? Again? I thought you were beating this.” “It’s not mine,” I played the part of a lying teenager as best as I could, “it’s from those raiders you were bitching about--” “Oh, so now we believe in the raiders?” She had another quick examination of the inhaler and sighed, ruffling her wings in irritation as she walked past me, ensuring her hoofsteps echoed her annoyance. “When I agreed to hide your troubles from the rest of Helping Hooves, it was on the promise that you were going to make an effort to quit from them. Not so that you could privately indulge in the stuff.” She collected my saddlebag, discarded on a spineless chair, and was about to toss it to me when she had second thoughts. At my protests, she flipped the flap open first and rifled through up, digging out what she had expected to find almost instantly. Five more full inhalators of Dash were plucked out and tossed into the void of the room before she was comfortable returning my near-empty sack to me. “I’m not doing it to be an ass to you, Gypsy,” she said as I mournfully took the bag and slipped it back on. “As mayor of Helping Hooves I have a duty to look out for everypony and that includes you. But if you’re going to endanger lives this way, I’ll have no choice but…” I waited for what kind of penalty she’d place on me. Yet, all she could do was gaze at me, not mad, just disappointed. I gave a low groan, both out of the pain of coming down and the guilt of letting down a mare who was just looking out for my best interests. “Can we just get out of here?” I pleaded, “the air in here is making me feel sick.” “You sure it’s just the air?” She thrust a hoof forward, directing me on the way to head next. “But you’re right. Let’s just get the spark batteries Ottawa needs and high-tail it out of here…” To be continued...

(Source: https://thegeek.games/2020/03/24/fallout-3-war-war-never-changes-retro-2008/ )